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<\/figure>\n<\/div>\nWe have to go down the list to number seven before we reach a Western nation. And this ranking doesn\u2019t even include China. While China wasn\u2019t in this data set, in 2018 China\u2019s major metropolitan areas of Beijing, Shanghai, Jiangsu and Zhejiang (BSJZ) actually ranked higher than Singapore.<\/p>\n
East Asian countries also score high in reading, claiming 4 of the top 5 spots. This is even more impressive when you account for the fact that writing systems based on characters, such as those used in Japan and China, are much harder to learn than alphabetic systems used in most European languages.<\/p>\n
\u2028The obvious answer to the question of East Asian scholastic performance is culture.<\/p>\n
Of the six East Asian countries that top the PISA rankings in mathematics, all but Japan exceed the OECD average for weekly hours<\/a> of classwork, and including the combined Chinese cities of BSJZ, three were in the top seven worldwide for total hours studying. Many students in these high-performing countries also attend evening \u201ccram\u201d schools after<\/em> their regular classes conclude for the day.<\/p>\n \u2028Whether all this studying is a good thing (or not) is a complicated question. On the one hand, a competitive, academic culture may remove opportunities for kids to play and socialize. To the extent that the academic knowledge is not useful for many jobs, this approach may be a net-negative <\/a>that puts a drag on society.\u2028\u2028<\/p>\n But, it\u2019s hard not to look at the incredible performance of East Asian economies, such as the Four Asian Tigers<\/a> of Hong Kong, Singapore, South Korea and Taiwan, particularly in high-technology manufacturing, and believe that all this focus on math and science isn\u2019t having some payoff.<\/p>\n While it might be fun to debate the relative merits of different educational cultures (including some of the differences within East Asian approaches, especially Japan\u2019s outlier status in terms of high grades with comparatively fewer hours of studying), I\u2019m more interested in the origins of those cultures themselves. Why is there such a strong emphasis on educational attainment in East Asian countries in the first place?<\/p>\n One explanation for the cultural emphasis on education has to do with the long-lasting influence of the Chinese civil service exams, or the keju (\u79d1\u4e3e). While Europe was just beginning to invent feudalism, the Chinese state was staffed by a meritocratic bureaucracy drawn from graduates of some of the most competitive exams the world has ever known.<\/p>\n To try to understand this better, I recently read Ichisada Miyazaki\u2019s fascinating book, China\u2019s Examination Hell<\/a>, to look into the benefits (and costs) created by this system.<\/p>\n Initiated in the Sui dynasty (605 CE), the civil service examinations were originally designed to get around the powerful aristocratic families that wielded considerable control over the imperial government.<\/p>\n In theory, the exams were open to all men.<\/span>1<\/sup><\/a><\/span> Any man, from the son of a noble family down to a peasant commoner, could attend. In practice, of course, the financial burdens of years of study meant that few outside of the already well off could seriously pursue it.<\/p>\n Still, the system allowed for a degree of social mobility, helped legitimize imperial rule, and worked to centralize power. For these reasons, despite dynastic changes and even foreign conquest, the system persisted for thirteen centuries. It was finally abolished in the waning days of the Qing.<\/p>\n Even Hong Xiuquan<\/a> who, after failing multiple times to become a licentiate, had a nervous breakdown, believed himself to be the younger brother of Jesus Christ, and launched a war that killed tens of millions, nonetheless set up his own version of the examination system in the territories he controlled. The exams, even for those who personally suffered under them, were essential.<\/p>\n Miyazaki\u2019s book is interesting not only for its description of the system, with its many layers of examinations and re-examinations centered on memorizing the Chinese classics<\/a>, but also for his accounts of what it was like for the students themselves.<\/p>\n At the height of their complexity, in the late Qing dynasty, the exams had three major divisions: provincial, metropolitan and palace examinations.<\/p>\n The provincial examinations, held \u201cannually\u201d\u2014every three years\u2014had exam takers locked into tiny cells in large, labyrinthian exam halls for three days straight. Exam takers were provided with three wooden boards: one for a bed, one for a bench and one for a writing surface. The halls, used so infrequently, were often dilapidated, with students sheltering their precious exam answers from leaking rain.<\/p>\n Those taking the provincial exams faced not only harsh physical conditions, but also threats from the supernatural. It was widely believed that ghosts punished those guilty of unseen crimes at this stage of the process. Seducers and swindlers could expect to be haunted, with some anecdotes of guilty consciences leading to suicide or nervous breakdown during the three days of confinement.<\/p>\n In other cases, karma was more indirect. A past transgression might result in lamp oil accidentally spilling on one\u2019s answer sheets, a violation that led invariably to failure at the exams. It was widely believed that any apparent unfairness in the exam results must be due to concealed crimes or evil deeds being judged from heaven rather than some unlucky accident.<\/p>\n Of the few who succeeded, they made the long (and expensive) journey to the capital for the metropolitan examinations. In the early years of the keju, these were the final stage in a scholar\u2019s journey, after which he would have a near-guaranteed place in the Chinese bureaucracy.<\/p>\n Yet, the loyalty test-takers owed to their examiners created factions within the government system. Much as academics today often owe their careers to eminent doctoral advisors, scholars owed loyalty to their examiner. To prevent this from undermining imperial loyalty, palace exams, judged by the emperor, were instituted.<\/span>2<\/sup><\/a><\/span> This way, it was supposed, graduates would owe their gratitude not to an examiner, but to the emperor himself.<\/p>\n Given the enormous incentives for corruption in this system, it was impressive how many steps were taken to combat cheating and favoritism. Exam takers were thoroughly searched for any smuggled writing. Examiners only had access to students\u2019 seat number, not their names, and, in the higher exams, even the answer sheets were meticulously hand-copied by scribes so as not to reveal a test-taker\u2019s identity through distinguishing marks in handwriting.<\/p>\n Scandals, when they did emerge, created such public backlash that that there was a strong motivation to maintain at least a facade of integrity. Examiners found to engage in schemes to undermine the process were often exiled or executed.<\/p>\n The exam process itself was intensely competitive. Of those entering the provincial exam, first a local exam had to be passed just to get into the system. That exam had a roughly 1 to 2% pass rate. Provincial exams had a roughly 5% pass rate, and metropolitan exams had a 15 to 20% pass rate. Although few failed the palace exams, which tended to be more of a formality than a substantive test, the ranking one achieved there had an important impact on one\u2019s career opportunities. In all, from a hundred thousand potential applicants, perhaps a dozen would go on to see their dream realized by becoming a graduate of the palace exams (jinshi).<\/p>\n Unlike the modern university system, where key academic bottlenecks occur in one\u2019s youth, the process of studying and taking the imperial exams could go on for years. It wasn\u2019t uncommon for new graduates to be grey-haired old men. In some cases, elderly exam-takers were passed automatically, allowing them to earn their jinshi status, knowing that they had already passed the age of retirement from official positions in government.<\/p>\nThe Keju: 1300 Years of Studying<\/h2>\n
What Was it Like Taking the Exams?<\/h2>\n
Legacy of the Imperial Examination System<\/h2>\n