An online math instructor earns 30 billion won annually. Given that the average annual salary of employees with 20 years of experience at large corporations is roughly 100 million won, this means a single renowned private tutor makes the same amount as approximately 300 high-paid employees. This is a staggering sum. Ironically, however, the reality is that a significant number of Korean high school students give up on math every year. A term has even been coined to describe them: “supoja”—students who have given up on math.
Such an Irony, isn’t it? Despite the high number of dropouts, the income of math instructors teaching high school students increases exponentially. What does this strange ecosystem mean?
In an era where education is for profit
Korean parents spend enormous amounts of money on private education. However, several studies indicate that the actual academic effectiveness of private education is minimal or controversial.
Then why do parents continue to spend so much?
Perhaps what parents are purchasing isn’t an educational service, but simply “emotional insurance.” The moment they sign up for a class with a star instructor, they feel a sense of self-satisfaction, believing they’ve “done their best.” Even if their child’s grades aren’t good, parents can console themselves with the thought, “I did my best.”
But facing this reality, a more uncomfortable question arises.
“Are we, instead of helping our children develop their own learning abilities, searching for famous instructors?”
Who should be the true subject of learning? The instructor or the child?
At the turn of the 20th century, Alfred North Whitehead, the British philosopher and mathematician, pointed out the following problems in mathematics education:
“Mathematics education has degenerated into a technical problem-solving exercise, rather than one that helps students understand important concepts.”
Over a century has passed since the great mathematician pointed out the problems in mathematics education, but Korean mathematics education remains stuck in the same flaws Whitehead identified. In fact, it may be worsening.
What are we buying?
Aren’t you beginning to suspect that what star instructors offer isn’t knowledge, but a kind of “self-efficacy”?
“Predicting exam trends,” “Special techniques,” “Unknown secret” etc. All of these, “psychological security” makes students believe their grades will naturally improve after taking a star instructor’s class.
At some point, this “psychological security” packaged as knowledge began to be perceived as a kind of exclusive information, demanding parents’ financial resources. But let’s think seriously. Where in this expensive “psychology” can true learning, the ability for students to understand concepts, analyze problems, and find solutions on their own, be found?
“Are we buying someone else’s already figured out answers instead of teaching our children how to think?”
Is it a problem of individual ability or of the education system?
The term “student abstaining” itself is intriguing. It sounds like a personal choice or a lack of ability. But is that really the case? While not a good example, students who study abroad in countries like the US or the UK often outperform their local peers even if they weren’t particularly good at math in Korea. If that’s the case, Korean students’ math prowess can be considered above average by global standards. Despite this, if many students are giving up on math, it may not be solely due to individual ability.
If so, perhaps the cause isn’t the subject itself. Could it be the college entrance exam system, which uses math as a selection tool and a gatekeeper for social mobility, that’s the culprit? Furthermore, under the current system, students don’t even have the luxury of reflecting on what they’re learning and why.
Students who haven’t given up on math are equally desperate. In a society like Korea, where a single marathon race determines success or failure in a modern-day caste system like “prestigious university admission,” no one is immune. In Korea, the question, “Which university did you graduate from?” isn’t simply curiosity; it’s a rite of passage confirming class. Amidst this fear, can students find the time and space to cultivate their own learning abilities?
Are parents facilitators or surrogate purchasers?
Here’s a scenario: a child struggles with math. Parents face two options:
A. Sit down with their child, discuss where they’re stuck, and watch them work through the problem on their own. It takes time, and there may not be immediate improvement in grades.
B. Put your name on the waiting list for a famous star instructor earning tens or hundreds of millions of won annually. It costs money, but you get the immediate sense of relief that you’ve “done your best.”
Few parents in Korean society choose option A. Why? Because they don’t have time. More precisely, they can’t afford to allow their children time to fail.
But isn’t learning essentially a process of failure and trial and error? How can self-directed learning be developed without making mistakes, realizing why, and trying again?
Aren’t we buying our children the learning experience instead of teaching them how to learn?
Pop Psychology and Luxury Education
Everyone around us is attending lectures by star instructors. Hesitating when asked, “Which instructor are you taking?” is a recipe for disaster. Parents line up for star instructors, just like buying a luxury handbag or lining up for a restaurant.
Rarity and symbolism. Something not everyone can possess, yet everyone recognizes it. This is the essence of luxury. And the moment education becomes a luxury, what we buy isn’t knowledge, but image.
But true learning ability—the ability to question, explore, and solve problems on your own—cannot be purchased. It must be acquired by the student themselves, through time.
Are we truly buying education, or image?
Who are the accomplices?
Who maintains this system? Greedy instructors? Incompetent education authorities? Companies that discriminate against academic background?
Or is it ourselves?
Parents who pay for private academies, thinking, “At least for my child.” Students who follow suit, thinking, “Everyone else is doing it.”
And most importantly, we may all be complicit in this problem, purchasing the products of someone else’s teaching instead of giving our children the time to develop their own learning abilities.
The True Meaning of 30 Billion Won and a Dropout
When star instructors invest in luxury real estate and art, what should we be looking for?
Personal success? The natural outcome of a market economy?
Or is this evidence of a structural distortion created by a system where parents pay celebrity instructors instead of developing students’ own learning abilities? Money spent on education flows into the real estate and art markets, which in turn drives up asset values, making the real estate market increasingly difficult for students who attended those classes as adults to enter.
At what point in this cycle can we truly say, “This isn’t right?”
When our failing public education system fails to foster students’ ability to learn independently, the private education market thrives. Because schools can’t provide adequate instruction, private academies are necessary. And because academies are challenging, they seek out more expensive instructors.
But what happens to the students’ own learning abilities in this process?
Would such a market have emerged if we had truly focused on fostering children’s ability to think, explore, and learn independently?
There’s no right answer. This isn’t simply a private education issue; it’s a question of how we view education, our understanding of the nature of learning, and our choice to allow our children the freedom and courage to fail.
One thing is clear: within this system, the biggest victims are our children. Parents are both victims and perpetrators. A bitter question arises:
“When will we finally have the luxury of giving children time for learning itself?”
