The Cruel Truth About Education: Most of Us Are the Denominator

 

The Cruel Truth About Education: Most of Us Are the Denominator

Education, though often idealized as universally empowering, hides a brutal arithmetic. Most secondary school programs are not designed for everyone—they’re built for the few who can continue mastering a field after graduation. The rest of us serve another, quieter purpose: to make the system run.

The economics are clear. If you calculate your teachers’ total hours then multiply by the average tutoring rate, you’ll realize your family could never afford that level of personalized instruction. Education is expensive beyond imagination. That’s why we study together—pooling human and financial resources so that a few can truly thrive while the majority keep the structure sustainable.

Those who excel become the numerator—the visible success that justifies the collective cost. The rest are denominators, invisible but essential. If you manage to perform well in even one subject, you’ve already balanced your share of the bargain; two or more mean you’ve “profitably” learned. But if nothing clicks, resist complaint: the curriculum wasn’t built around you—it was built for potential itself, and you still benefited by proximity.

At the societal level, education serves a humbler goal: preventing collective stupidity. A population that understands basics, even without brilliance, wastes less time and money on foolish mistakes. You may never “play the game professionally,” but you’ll know not to ruin it for others—and perhaps even learn to cheer for those who do.

That, in the end, is what public education buys us: not equality, but a kind of shared literacy that keeps civilization coherent.

The Wandering Mentors: The Precarious Life of Private Tutors in the Late Ming

 

The Wandering Mentors: The Precarious Life of Private Tutors in the Late Ming

The Late Ming Dynasty was a period of intense social and economic flux, a reality reflected poignantly in the lives of private tutors, known as shushi. These educators, often unsuccessful candidates in the imperial examinations, navigated a professional landscape defined by "覓館" (miguan—the search for a teaching post) and the inherent instability of short-term employment¹.

Finding a position was rarely a matter of public advertisement; instead, it relied heavily on a complex web of social credit². Tutors depended on "social credit relationships" such as kinship, lineage, master-disciple bonds, and geographical ties to secure a place in a household³. These intermediaries acted as guarantors for the tutor’s character and scholarly competence⁴. However, as the era progressed and competition intensified, the cost of securing these roles rose significantly, while their stability plummeted⁵.

This precarious existence led to a common life cycle of "finding a post, losing it, and seeking another"⁶. Such instability fundamentally altered the professional spirit of the tutor class⁷. Rather than a path for self-actualization or the lofty pursuit of "the Way," teaching became a survival strategy—a means to "support one's studies through teaching"⁸. This shift contributed to the perceived decline of "the Way of the Teacher" (shidao) during the Late Ming, as the tutor became a wandering laborer of the intellect rather than a permanent fixture of moral authority⁹. Ultimately, unlike other emerging professional groups of the time, private tutors failed to form a cohesive professional identity, remaining fragmented by their constant struggle for economic security¹⁰.