The competition to get into top schools has never been greater today. A single debenture in the open market in Hong Kong can fetch millions of dollars and there is steep competition for placements at prestigious kindergartens. Being a young father, I am acutely aware that the seemingly innocuous choice of kindergarten has implication not only for primary school but will determine whether a child will go to a local or overseas secondary school, and that it will affect the kind of university my child will eventually enter. Given the gravity of this decision, it is little wonder that parents are willing to invest tremendous sums in education, for no other reason than a deeply cherished parental hope to get the best possible education for their children. However, this competitiveness also engenders an attitude that focuses single-mindedly on academic performance, leading to a heavy proclivity toward examination, and correspondingly, an escalating academic pressure on children from a very young age.

I for one am deeply ambivalent about the current situation in Hong Kong. I cannot but wonder whether such emphasis on academic performance does more harm than good, whether it stifles a child’s innate creativity and interest to learn, and whether this style of education in the long run creates responsible citizens who can rise up to the challenge of finding innovative solutions in a rapidly transforming world, or whether we are simply churning out narrow-minded technicians and bureaucrats who have a habit of falling back on memorised formulae.

Is our education system, in fact, conducive to nurturing responsible and creative leaders of tomorrow? I would like to review this by looking back at forgotten education ideals of classical times.

Ancient philosophers believed that education is fundamental to the health of a given society.

A good education should attend not only to the attainment of general knowledge and achieve a balance between practical skills and abstract thinking, but more importantly, serve to nurture spiritual wellbeing through moral philosophy, refining a sense of appreciation for beauty through arts and music, and fortifying spiritual strength through sports and physical training. Accordingly, the aim of classical education is none other than laying the foundation for a lifelong pursuit of the eternal ideals of truthfulness, virtue, and beauty; and citizens thus educated will form the nucleus of an ideal community, imbued with a collective appreciation for the value of justice, armed against the corrupting temptations of personal greed, carnal desire, and political ambition, and inspired by the idealism of beauty towards self and communal perfection. A society thus created cannot but become a vehicle towards eudaimonia for the self and collective wellbeing.

Much has often been made of the cultural differences between Asia and Europe, but if we carefully examine the teachings of classical educators, we will find a striking symmetry in the ideals between Plato and Aristotle of classical Greece and Confucius of ancient China. For them the aim of education is to create an all-rounded individual who knows the laws of natural and political science; a master who navigates and adds value to the socio-political universe through a combination of correct speech, rational mind, spiritual and moral strength, and courageous action, who strives always to be impeccable in behaviour and irreproachable in ethical conduct.

In ancient Greece, this means mastering the practical art of rhetorics together with an integrated knowledge of astronomy, geography and rational philosophy, whereas in classical China, Confucius expressed this ideal in terms of the Six Arts, which exhort the student to study a diverse curriculum from mathematics to rites, music, literature, charioteering and archery. In the Greco-Roman world, a truly well-educated man is the philosopher-king whose spirit soars high into the ideal realm of moral perfection, whereas in classical China, the man of culture becomes a gentleman, a junzi, who constantly strives for the betterment of society, unaffected in his goal and action by external vicissitudes. Then and only then, may a man call himself truly human.

Looking through the lens of modern liberalism, while we may not wholeheartedly embrace Confucius’ paternal political vision and find Plato’s Republic anachronistically authoritarian, there is yet much to commend and learn from their holistic vision of education. In the 21st century, as the International Baccalaureate gains momentum in global education, we recognise a swing from narrow specialisation and the factory model prevalent since the turn of the 20th century to one geared towards a more humanistic approach centering on a philosophy of holism. However, while piecemeal change is taking place inside the classroom, a more fundamental recognition of the need for systemic reform is still lacking in conventional education, particularly in Hong Kong.

My suggestion is that we should go back to first principles and ask ourselves, as our ancient forebears once did in classical times, ‘What is the purpose of education? And what kind of society do we hope to create through education?’