The ideologisation of success in education

In contemporary education systems, the notion of “success” has evolved from being a simple outcome into a measure of one’s social value. Originally understood as a sign of personal growth and the fulfilment of individual potential, success today has become synonymous with comparison and performance. As French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu observed, education often reproduces rather than reduces social class differences, turning into a mechanism for transmitting “cultural capital” (Bourdieu, Distinction, 1984). In this sense, success reflects not so much individual ability as inherited privilege and societal expectations.

From an early age, children become carriers of the slogan “you must be successful.” Parents, schools, and society transform this notion into a tool of psychological pressure, restricting the natural freedom of childhood and the playful nature of learning. Psychologist Alfie Kohn refers to this as “the trap of the success culture” (Kohn, The Myth of the Spoiled Child, 2014). He argues that modern education values performance over learning itself, devaluing the process of discovery in favour of results.

The school system, built around grades and scores, has turned into a mechanism for measuring human worth. As a result, education drifts away from its essence, driven less by intrinsic motivation and more by external reward structures. The grade becomes a symbol of social status rather than knowledge itself. American education researcher Carol Dweck calls this phenomenon a “fixed mindset,” noting that it instills a fear of failure in children and shifts focus from experience to outcome (Dweck, Mindset, 2006).

In Azerbaijan’s context, this pressure is particularly visible. The competitive culture formed between schools and private tutors transforms childhood into a constant race. Children live with the fear of not appearing “perfect” or “good enough,” leading to emotional strain, loss of self-confidence, and a kind of social comparison psychosis. In such an environment, the system values conformity to a standard model more than individual growth.

The most dangerous aspect of this ideology is its erosion of moral dimensions of success. Values such as empathy, compassion, ethics, and creativity are neglected simply because they cannot be measured. Yet education should not be limited to knowledge transmission. It should be a process of nurturing human beings. As Finnish educators often emphasise, a truly “successful education system” is not one where all students achieve the same results, but one that brings out each child’s unique potential (Sahlberg, Finnish Lessons, 2015).

Thus, the idea of success gradually turns into an ideological core. One that shapes not the child’s inner world but external expectations. It deepens social inequalities while emotionally laying the groundwork for a generation suffering from burnout. Childhood was never meant to be a race. It was meant to be a journey. Yet modern education has divided that journey into a start and a finish line.

Once upon a time, childhood was a period filled with imagination, play, and natural curiosity. Its essence was not about learning facts, but about sensing and experiencing life. However, the rigidity and performance-driven nature of modern schooling have turned childhood into a stage of competition. Today, very few children are ever scolded for studying too little; instead, they are discouraged from playing too much. This shift is not only psychological but also anthropological. A sign of a broader cultural transition. Society has begun to perceive childhood as “unproductive time.”

In psychologist Erik Erikson’s theory of developmental stages, childhood represents the phase of “experimentation and the formation of creativity” (Erikson, Childhood and Society, 1950). Yet in today’s world, creativity and free play have been replaced by tests, exams, and endless “preparation.” The constant demand for results weakens children’s intrinsic motivation and leads to emotional exhaustion (burnout) at a very young age.

Systemic pressure within schools deeply shapes the child’s psyche. Every mistake is punished. Every correct answer is rewarded. Gradually, children begin to see learning as a means of earning worth. Emotionally, this is highly dangerous: their sense of value no longer arises from within but depends on external validation. As American psychologist Edward Deci points out, when motivation relies on external sources, individuals become not self-directed but externally controlled subjects (Deci & Ryan, Self-Determination Theory, 1985).

All of this erodes the natural emotional processes of childhood. A new phenomenon emerges what might be called “the fear of childhood.” Children begin to feel ashamed of simply being children. From an early age, they hear messages like “act mature” and “don’t waste time,” which make play and rest feel like guilt. Rather than fostering emotional growth, this mindset creates fearful individuals conditioned for control rather than freedom.

In Azerbaijan, this phenomenon manifests even more sharply. Many families see their child’s success as an extension of their own social standing. Phrases such as “We studied harder at your age” or “If you succeed, the family will be proud” place an emotional burden on children’s shoulders. As a result, a child grows up feeling responsible not only for their own life but also for the family’s reputation. Psychologically, this creates a state of constant tension, fear, and shame.

Within the school environment, the pressure takes on a systematic form. Test-oriented education models, private tutoring culture, and the race to enter “the best schools” turn children’s emotional worlds into laboratories of comparison. As British educator Ken Robinson famously wrote, “Schools kill creativity” because they teach conformity rather than curiosity, and correct answers rather than original thought (Do Schools Kill Creativity?, 2006).

In such a system, making mistakes is no longer part of learning, it is seen as failure. Consequently, children strive not to learn, but to avoid being wrong. In doing so, they lose natural learning instincts such as risk-taking, questioning, and creative exploration.

The most painful outcome of emotional exhaustion is the child’s detachment from their inner voice. They stop asking, “What do I want?” because the answer has already been dictated: “You must study well.” This automatic response buries personal desires, passions, and creativity. Psychologist Carl Rogers described this as alienation from the self (On Becoming a Person, 1961) the fear of being authentic because authenticity is not approved by the system.

As a result of these mechanisms, an emotionally exhausted yet high-performing generation emerges. They study more but feel less, they work harder but understand less. Education, rather than cultivating the human spirit, often turns into a mechanical pursuit of achievement.

The loss of childhood thus becomes not only a personal but a social issue. A generation deprived of a genuine childhood grows into adults with fragile empathy, a tendency toward social isolation, and an underlying fear of inadequacy. They live among others, yet feel constantly “not enough” within themselves.

Ultimately, the modern education system produces the very opposite of its stated purpose: a generation that is knowledgeable but weary. True education should not merely teach a child how to learn, but how to be human.

The crisis of modern education stems not only from academic shortcomings but from its transformation into a structure that has forgotten the human being. For decades, education has been treated as the accumulation of information, leaving its moral and emotional dimensions in the shadows. Yet the true aim of education is not only to transmit knowledge, but to cultivate the capacity to think, to feel, and to connect. This perspective (known as human-centred education) has increasingly been proposed by educators and sociologists as a vital alternative for the future.

At the core of this model lies a simple idea, every child learns at a different pace and with different talents. Therefore, the education system must be flexible rather than standardized. American educator John Dewey wrote in the early 20th century that “education cannot be separated from life, because learning is itself living” (Dewey, Experience and Education, 1938). According to Dewey, schools should function as miniature societies, where children not only acquire knowledge but also experience values such as responsibility, collaboration, and empathy.

Human-centred education prioritizes psychological safety. Children should have the freedom to make mistakes, ask questions, and think differently. Finland’s education system institutionalizes this principle, competition among students is minimal, exams are reduced, and teachers are responsible for maintaining an emotionally supportive environment. Pasi Sahlberg notes that in Finland, “success is assessed through the learning process rather than the outcome” (Sahlberg, Finnish Lessons, 2015). In other words, a child’s engagement, curiosity, and approach to thinking are as important as the results themselves.

Furthermore, human-centred education aims to restore creativity as a social value. British educator Ken Robinson calls this “creative literacy.” He argues that schools should teach children not only to read and calculate but also to imagine and think divergently (Robinson, Creative Schools, 2015). Creativity is not confined to the arts; it encompasses problem-solving, empathy, and innovation.

From this perspective, the future of education should be built not on competition but on a culture of cooperation. Children should learn to understand one another, rather than to outperform each other. Some schools are already experimenting in this direction. For example, in Japan, the “Timshel” program encourages students to evaluate each other’s projects collectively, fostering both critical thinking and empathy.

In Azerbaijan, the need for such approaches is increasingly evident. The main challenge remains an exam-oriented system, where student creativity is often sidelined. Teachers, sometimes under pressure themselves, may struggle to address students’ psychological needs. However, in recent years, some schools and educators have started to prioritise emotional intelligence, social skills, and critical thinking. This marks an important turning point, as human-centred education begins with the development of emotional literacy.

Emotional literacy teaches children to recognise their own feelings, understand the emotions of others, and maintain balance in relationships. Daniel Goleman describes emotional intelligence as “a second form of intelligence essential for the calm of the mind” (Goleman, Emotional Intelligence, 1995). Without these skills, even high academic achievement cannot make an individual socially or psychologically resilient.

Implementing a human-centred model in education relies on several core principles. Education should prioritise critical thinking over rote memorisation. Assessment should be formative, taking into account process and progress rather than just final outcomes. Teacher-student relationships should be horizontal, fostering mutual learning rather than top-down control. Teachers themselves require psychological support, as stressed educators cannot nurture resilient children. Curricula should include lessons in psychology and ethics to cultivate empathy and moral understanding.

Human-centred education can lay the foundation for a new culture, both individually and collectively: the measure of success becomes the ability to remain humane, not merely to achieve results. Protecting childhood is not solely a matter of psychological health; it secures the emotional culture of society’s future. Education shapes the nation’s next generation. If it teaches only competition, fear, and obedience, society produces an emotionally impoverished generation. But if it fosters creativity, empathy, and humanity, the future will be built not just on intelligence, but on emotionally healthy and compassionate individuals.

In this sense, a human-centred education model is not merely a pedagogical reform. It is a social strategy for saving the human spirit.

Nigar Shahverdiyeva