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Lessons in Leadership from the Classics | Chapter 4: Nvidia The Patience and the Ascent of Jensen Huang How the Alleyways of Korea and the Floors of Semiconductor Factories Forged the Aesthetics of 古枯孤高 [Economy Daily] At the beating heart of the civilizational upheaval we call artificial intelligence stands one company and one man: Nvidia and Jensen Huang. The world measures them in market capitalization and market share. But the deeper truth of great leadership outlasts any number. It is the power of time, long and unhurried. It is the discipline of subtraction. It is the courage of solitude. And it is, finally, the dignity that comes only from having endured. In the vocabulary of East Asian philosophy, these four qualities compress into a single phrase: 古枯孤高 — ancient (古), austere (枯), solitary (孤), elevated (高). Nvidia's rise is not the story of a stock that spiked overnight. It is the story of these four characters slowly calcifying into the bones of one man and the culture of one company, across thirty years of painstaking accumulation. 古 — The Ancient: Time as the First Discipline Every great enterprise, if it is truly great, eventually earns its face — but only through time. Jensen Huang had been walking this earth as a businessman long before the world knew his name. His relationship with Korea begins here, and it begins on foot. According to domestic industry accounts from that era, Huang made repeated visits to Yongsan Electronics Market in Seoul in the late 1990s and early 2000s — when Nvidia was still an obscure startup struggling to be taken seriously. He came not as a visiting dignitary but as a salesman: explaining graphics cards to shop owners, persuading assemblers, winning trust one transaction at a time. Huang himself has said his connection to Korea dates to 1996. He has spoken of how South Korea's explosion of high-speed internet, its PC-bang culture, and the nationwide fever for StarCraft formed a critical foundation for Nvidia's early growth. Korea, in those years, was the world's most electrified laboratory for digital culture — and the heat of its gaming rooms, the sharpness of its consumers, the velocity with which it embraced new technology, all of it nourished a company that had not yet found its footing. This detail matters enormously. The histories of great corporations are often rewritten to begin in gleaming boardrooms or on famous stages. But Jensen Huang's formation happened in narrow storefronts, surrounded by towers of component boxes, in a market where customers were price-sensitive and performance-obsessed and utterly unimpressed by brand mythology. In Yongsan, he did not sell a brand. He sold credibility. He sold product knowledge. He sold the felt experience of superior performance. The I Ching offers an image for this season of a man's life: 潛龍勿用 — "the hidden dragon does not yet act." The dragon submerged beneath the water has not yet ascended to the sky, but it is already gathering strength, already orienting itself toward its direction. Korea was that submerged time for Jensen Huang. It was where the dragon went quiet and grew. 枯 — The Austere: The Discipline of Withholding Austerity is not poverty. It is restraint. And few companies in the history of Silicon Valley have practiced restraint as rigorously or as consequentially as Nvidia. While its competitors raced to win the surface war — chasing specification numbers, upgrading the cosmetics of their products, playing to the gallery of consumer benchmarks — Huang kept his organization's attention trained on something less visible and far more consequential: the underlying architecture of computation, the logic of parallel processing, the infrastructure that would eventually become the indispensable engine of artificial intelligence. This is the aesthetic the Chinese literati call 枯淡 — a beauty that comes not from ornament but from essence. The Diamond Sutra puts it this way: 凡所有相 皆是虛妄 — "all that has form is ultimately illusion." In business terms: what catches the eye rarely determines a company's fate. What determines fate is the capability that cannot be seen. Nvidia understood this early. That is why the Nvidia of today rests not on the appearance of its products but on the depth of its software ecosystem, its developer base, and the intellectual architecture that competitors cannot easily replicate. This philosophy of austerity extends to Huang's understanding of human character. Speaking at Stanford, he told students that the most important trait for success is not intelligence but resilience — and went further, saying, "I hope you will have the experience of suffering and hardship." It is a startling thing to say, and deliberately so. His point is unambiguous: greatness is not the product of cleverness alone. Character is forged not in comfort but in friction. Huang speaks from experience. He has publicly described being bullied in an American boarding school as a boy, washing dishes and cleaning bathrooms at minimum wage. His philosophy of hardship is not rhetoric. It is autobiography. Most organizations today speak to their people endlessly about well-being and are afraid to speak about tempering. But Jensen Huang did not flinch from the uncomfortable truth: growth always requires some degree of resistance and endurance. He knows this in his body. 孤 — The Solitary: The Courage of the Unfashionable Conviction Solitude, properly understood, is not the condition of being alone. It is the willingness to choose a road that others have not taken — and to walk it long enough to find out whether you were right. Nvidia was, for a very long time, a company that received no particular applause. It was known as a graphics chip company, and in that category, it was formidable. But inside that public identity, Huang carried a private and lonely conviction: that the dominant paradigm of computing would shift — that the age of the general-purpose CPU would eventually yield to an age of accelerated computing. Markets demand the present moment. Leaders sometimes have to absorb today's contempt in exchange for tomorrow's vindication. Only those who sustain that solitude earn the right to the rewards of early arrival. The Analects of Confucius puts it plainly: 德不孤 必有隣 — "virtue is never truly alone; it will always find its neighbors." What appears solitary and eccentric at the beginning eventually draws its community. And in the story of Nvidia and Korea, this movement from isolation to alliance is almost perfectly illustrated. The partnership between Huang and South Korea has long since outgrown its origins in retail sales. SK Hynix began collaborating with Nvidia on High Bandwidth Memory in the uncertain early days of that technology — a bet made before the outcome was clear. That relationship has since deepened into something that resembles co-development more than supply chain. Nvidia has been advancing large-scale AI chip supply and infrastructure cooperation with the Korean government, Samsung, the SK Group, Hyundai Motor Group, and Naver. The lonely salesman who once walked the aisles of Yongsan is now at the table with the leaders of Korean industry and government, shaping the architecture of the nation's AI future. The solitary vigil became a strategic alliance. What was once walked alone is now walked together. 高 — The Elevated: Altitude as Accountability Elevation is not merely position. It is character — the capacity to see farther and to hold responsibility longer than others can or will. The Doctrine of the Mean speaks of 至誠無息 — "true sincerity never rests." This is, unexpectedly, one of the most precise descriptions of how Jensen Huang has run his company. He did not build Nvidia on a passing fashion. He crossed product failures, market cynicism, supply chain crises, and geopolitical headwinds, and climbed — slowly, deliberately, one foothold at a time — to the position the company occupies today. This is not a mountain ascended in a season. This is a summit reached in decades. Here, again, Korea re-enters the story. However regal the title "emperor of the AI era" may sound, the circuitry running through that crown is substantially Korean. Korea began as the consumption frontier — the PC-bang, the gaming market, the early adopter culture that gave Nvidia its first mass foothold. It has since become the strategic frontier: the partner in HBM and advanced memory, the co-architect of AI factories and digital transformation. Between the image of Jensen Huang persuading shop owners in Yongsan and the image of Jensen Huang discussing AI infrastructure with the heads of Korea's largest conglomerates, there runs a very long river. But the river is unbroken. What he first saw in Korea was not merely a sales opportunity. He saw a society with an extraordinary capacity for fast technical comprehension, for organizing technology into industry, for connecting the work of the mind to the work of the factory floor. That insight lives inside every partnership he has built here since. A Reckoning for Korean Business What, then, should Korean business leaders take from this? The lesson is not complicated, though it is demanding. Innovation does not arise from eloquent mission statements. It arises from time endured, from the discipline to discard the inessential, from the independence to pursue an unpopular answer, and from the accountability that eventually transforms all of it into something worthy of the word dignity. Jensen Huang's career is not a story of a man who happened to catch the AI wave at the right moment. It is a story of sediment — of years and decades of experience, discipline, and conviction accumulating until they were precisely aligned with the door that history opened. Which asks certain questions of Korean business. Do we still carry the original instinct of those years when we wrestled with the market on the ground floor — when we had no reputation to trade on, only our knowledge and our reliability? Do we have the austere courage to strip away what is not essential? Do we have the nerve to choose the lonely right answer over the popular wrong one? Management, at its best, is completed in the love of people, in the respect for the work done in the field, and in the refusal to defy the logic of time and nature. The tree that grows too fast is hollow at its core. The success that comes too easily has shallow roots. Nvidia — Jensen Huang's Nvidia — took the opposite path. It stood like an ancient tree, silent and unhurried, enduring the winds and the droughts, growing upward alone toward the high place it had decided, long ago, to reach. His success, for that reason, is not a flash of light. It is light that stays. That is the lesson of 古枯孤高. Only those who have endured long enough ascend high enough. Only those who have passed through austerity reach genuine depth. Only those who have borne solitude long enough find themselves, one day, at the center of their age. Jensen Huang's Korean story is one essential thread in that larger narrative. Today's glory is conceived in yesterday's alleyways. Even the history of the world's most powerful technology company is completed, in the end, only on the accumulated sweat and trust of human beings. He is demonstrating that, quietly, every day. The author is a contributing columnist covering business philosophy, technology, and economic history.2026-04-22 11:57:23
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![[데스크 칼럼] 나라(奈良)가 던지는 1300년의 질문](https://image.ajunews.com//content/image/2026/01/13/20260113103909559307.jpg)
나라(奈良)가 던지는 1300년의 질문 외교에서 장소는 배경이 아니다. 장소는 메시지다. 때로는 합의문보다 정직하고 정상(頂上)의 발언보다 깊은 울림을 준다. 13일 한·일 정상회담이 일본의 고도(古都) 나라현(奈良県)에서 열리는 이유도 여기에 있다. 이것은 단순한 의전상의 편의나 지방 활성화를 위한 선택이 아니다. 한·일 관계를 어떤 시간대, 어떤 지층(地層) 위에 올려놓을 것인가에 대한 분명한 의사 표현이다. 나라현은 일본의 한 지방 도시가 아니다. 일본이 '국가'라는 틀을 처음 갖춘 원점이며 동아시아가 충돌하기 이전 문명과 제도를 공유하던 기억이 응축된 공간이다. 이 공간을 어떻게 해석하느냐에 따라 이번 회담은 단순한 외교 이벤트를 넘어 동아시아 질서의 복원이라는 거대한 질문으로 확장된다. 나라현은 8세기 일본의 수도 헤이조쿄(平城京)가 있던 곳이다. 일본이 율령을 반포하고 중앙집권적 고대 국가의 기틀을 다진 출발점이다. 그러나 이 '출발'은 일본 내부의 자생적 결과물이라기보다 외부 문명을 필사적으로 수용한 선택의 결과였다. 헤이조쿄는 당나라 장안성을 그대로 본뜬 계획도시였다. 도시의 구획부터 관료제, 법률, 의례에 이르기까지 그들은 대륙의 선진 문명을 이식해 자신들을 '문명국'의 반열에 올리고자 했다. 즉, 나라현은 일본이 처음으로 동아시아 국제질서의 문법을 학습하고 제도화한 공간이다. 오늘 두 정상이 이곳에 선다는 것은 근현대의 불행한 충돌 이전으로 시선을 돌려보자는 신호다. 100년의 갈등이 아니라 1000년의 교류를 보자는 제안이다. 그러나 한국인의 시선에서 나라는 또 다른 층위의 의미를 갖는다. 일본은 이곳을 자신들의 역사가 시작된 성소(聖所)라 말하지만 그 바닥을 파보면 한반도에서 건너간 사람과 기술, 사상의 흔적이 지층처럼 깔려 있다. 나라 일대에는 지금도 '고려', '백제'라는 지명이 선명하다. 일본의 정사(正史)조차 백제·신라·고구려계 도래인들이 국가 건설의 핵심 엔지니어이자 브레인이었음을 부인하지 않는다. 불교와 건축, 토목과 의학, 금속 기술까지 고대 일본을 지탱한 하드웨어와 소프트웨어는 한반도를 혈관으로 삼아 유입됐다. 이것은 묵은 국수주의적 감정이 아니다. 차가운 역사적 사실이다. 일본 고대 국가의 성립은 한반도와의 교류 없이는 설명 불가능하다. 나라는 일본만의 시작점이 아니라 한반도가 일본이라는 국가의 설계에 깊숙이 개입했던 '공동의 기억'이 서린 장소다. 왜 하필 지금 나라였는가. 도쿄는 제국주의와 식민 지배, 근현대 정치의 악취가 밴 공간이다. 히로시마는 전쟁의 가해와 피해가 뒤엉킨 복잡한 도시다. 반면 나라는 근대 이전 총칼이 오가기 이전의 기억이 보존된 곳이다. 이곳에서의 만남은 과거사를 덮자는 뜻이 아니다. 과거를 다루는 순서를 바꾸겠다는 전략적 선택이다. 식민과 침략의 시간보다 교류와 공존의 시간을 먼저 소환하고 대립의 기억보다 공동 번영의 기억을 앞에 두겠다는 의지다. 군사 기지도, 현대 정치의 소음도 없는 이곳에서 침묵과 배치가 웅변하는 메시지는 '공존'이다. 이번 회담은 우리에게도 질문을 던진다. 우리는 한·일 관계를 어디에 놓을 것인가. 나라현에서의 정상 외교는 한국을 늘 설명하고 사과받아야 하는 '피해자'의 위치에만 가두지 않는다. 문명을 전파하고 국가를 함께 설계했던 '역사적 주체'의 자리로 우리를 다시 불러낸다. 이는 외교적 자존감의 회복이다. 동시에 일본에는 무거운 부담이다. 자신들이 외부 문명을 수용해 성장했다는 사실, 그 성장의 젖줄이 한반도였다는 사실을 있는 그대로 마주할 용기가 있는지 묻고 있기 때문이다. 외교는 종종 합의문보다 그들이 서 있는 땅이 더 많은 것을 말해준다. 나라현이 건네는 메시지는 명징하다. 갈등의 역사만으로 두 나라를 규정할 수 없으며 우리는 한때 서로 배우고 가르치며 동아시아라는 세계를 함께 조형(造形)했던 파트너였다는 사실이다. 그 질서를 그대로 복원할 수는 없다. 그러나 최소한 어디서부터 꼬인 실타래를 풀고 대화를 시작할 것인지는 선택할 수 있다. 나라는 바로 그 '시작의 기억' 위에 서 있다. 오늘 열리는 정상회담은 구체적인 성과보다 방향이 중요하다. 갈등의 시대에도 동아시아는 한때 함께 설계된 질서였다는 사실, 그 엄연한 역사의 무게를 양국 정상이 느끼는 것만으로도 이번 만남의 의미는 충분하다.2026-01-13 10:41:24
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