A while ago, the presidents of Renmin University and other universities raised the issue that the government’s policies toward Peking University and Tsinghua University are too heavily tilted in their favor.
The government’s preference for Peking University and Tsinghua is indeed very obvious, showing up not only in financial support but mainly in the enormous tilt of admissions policy.
This tilt in admissions is especially evident in Shanghai’s college entrance examination system: in Shanghai, Peking University and Tsinghua are the so-called “zero-choice” option, separate from the other preferences, with applications first processed for the zero-choice option and only afterward allocated among the others. In other words, you might as well fill it in. Even if a student has already received preferential treatment through independent admissions, bonus points, and the like from Fudan, Jiaotong University, and other key universities, that still does not prevent that student from listing the zero-choice option; if Peking University or Tsinghua takes them, the other universities can do nothing about it. This means that Shanghai’s very best candidates, unless they do not wish to leave Shanghai, can certainly be admitted as long as they would rather go to Peking University or Tsinghua.
The very best candidates are poached by Peking University and Tsinghua. The best pool of students is monopolized by just two universities. Is that fair? Unfair?
Let me begin with the reform of the primary and secondary school education system:
I started attending “Olympiad math classes” in second grade; in fourth grade of elementary school, I transferred into a math “experimental class” that gathered together more than half of Huangpu District’s Olympiad math prodigies; in middle school, we were even “poached” into a “special class” that gathered almost all of Huangpu District’s Olympiad math prodigies; and by high school, I was sent directly, without taking the exam, into the legendary “national science experimental class,” composed of only 24 top students selected from among provincial first-prize winners in science competitions.
I was extremely lucky—starting with the grade below ours, the major elementary-school mathematics competition used to select math prodigies was abolished, and then the Ministry of Education gradually introduced a series of reform measures: abolishing after-school Olympiad math classes in primary and secondary schools, strictly prohibiting the establishment of subject-specific “special classes” (in fact, this had already been in effect; theoretically, the top classes in my elementary and middle schools were all “illegal”), abolishing the admission privilege granted by middle-school competition prizes, discontinuing the all-science experimental class…
Our little band of prodigies won many honors for our elementary school and middle school, and built up quite a reputation. But now our principals have all had a rough time. When I recently ran into our elementary school principal, he had just come from an education reform meeting and was furious. He sighed: “Alas, back then things were so good for you; now we can’t do Olympiads anymore. Ha ha! Today at the meeting they said we were butchers who brutalize children! Ha ha, I’ve become a butcher…” Our middle school has been even more miserable: while it was busily preparing its tenth-anniversary celebration, it suddenly announced that it was to be dissolved! Admissions were halted, teachers’ wages were all frozen, the school’s land was being prepared for takeover by a tourism school, and the teachers were waiting to be reassigned…
I have always been deeply dissatisfied with China’s “educational reform”! I remember that in middle school, when the clamor for “quality education” was at its height, my “weekly diary” for Chinese class consisted of nonstop sarcasm and criticism of educational reform! Looking back, it was probably from that time on that my essays became almost uniformly argumentative, with a style that was chiefly sharply polemical. It seems that educational reform did, in a certain sense, push me ultimately into the philosophy department.
China’s education system shouts “reform” every year: the college entrance examination system changes every year, primary and secondary school policies change every year; from the time I graduated from elementary school (our cohort happened to catch the reform abolishing key middle schools) until now, when I have entered university (for example, Peking University’s so-called reform of the faculty appointment system), I have basically grown up listening to slogans about reform.
The word “reform” has completely degenerated into an empty slogan. Of course, although some people claim to be carrying out reform, in fact they are merely putting up a sheep’s head while selling dog meat, making their political achievements look and sound a bit better; but there are indeed also reforms that are genuine and forceful, major and sweeping. The question is: are the effects of these reforms equally genuine and sweeping, or the opposite?
First of all, one of the most serious mistakes in many people’s minds is the belief that “reform” is always good—even if the results may not be ideal, if what exists is not perfect enough, then reform is absolutely necessary; whether the reform is done well is a technical issue, whether to reform at all is a question of attitude! One must go all out and carry out reform, otherwise one is conservative, retreating, and doing nothing!
This is not merely a problem in education; it is truly a malady of the present age in China. I once briefly mentioned related symptoms in my article “Keyword Fever Syndrome” —the moment one hears the word “reform,” one’s blood boils, one’s head heats up, and one jumps around with excitement. The reason is really that the power of “reform and opening up” has been too shocking. In the eyes of many Chinese people today, the only questions are how to reform and how to open up; they no longer consider whether in some cases one should first pause to think a little about whether reform is needed at all, and whether opening up is appropriate.
As the saying goes, “A new official gives three fires upon taking office.” A good official, in order to prove that he is a good official, must certainly “set fires”; an old official must also keep “setting fires,” or else he is likely to be seen as stubbornly conservative. “Setting fires” is “reform”: reform has to be red-hot and resounding in order to show the majesty of a good official. Reform is political achievement; each reform is one more merit. Imagine an official who has been busy for several years and writes a performance report saying, “I faithfully continued my predecessor’s work; there was nothing much to reform.” Another person, by contrast, lists a long stack of reform achievements—the former, no matter how solidly he worked, ends up with only a thin few pages of performance record; while the latter, regardless of actual results, can first present a thick pile of materials. Under today’s evaluation model, clearly the latter’s achievements are more easily recognized.
But is reform necessarily a good thing? Well, let us suppose that a certain reform is a great good, a great leap forward. Does that mean its effects show up immediately once the reform is completed? In fact, any reform will always be accompanied by a period of transition, during which there will be some disorder, and even temporary stagnation or regression. But if we firmly believe that the reform is reasonable and positive, then we should allow it sufficient time. During that period, what we need more is calm and stability rather than boldness and fearlessness; only then can reform truly become beneficial. If policies change every year and everyone shouts for reform, then there will not even be a chance for a good reform to emerge.
For example, if Peking University wants to strive to become a so-called world-class university, it assumes that it must do “reform” and “innovation” in order to achieve a breakthrough. Innovation is certainly a good thing, but is “innovation” really all we have in our heads? If there is no root and no source, how can one innovate? If there is no head and no brain, where is one to reform? Why do we not talk more about the spirit of old Peking University?
The major “reforms” in world history, such as the Renaissance and the Protestant Reformation, all involved “looking back in order to move forward” —they all first traced back to the past, recovered tradition, and consolidated their foundations, and only then was it possible to step forward. But people today do not know how to look back, nor how to pause and think; they only know how to charge forward single-mindedly—without even knowing where the “front” is. Anyway, they just keep their eyes fixed straight ahead.
Besides “reform,” another kind of restlessness reflected in educational discourse is the “egalitarian” thinking that permeates deep within people’s minds today. “Democracy” is a good word, but in our understanding, “democracy” is often equated with “egalitarianism” —equal opportunities, equal treatment for everyone. Of course, these claims are not wrong, but becoming too fixated on them is a problem.
Without even discussing anything else, just looking at education: the reason Renmin University wants to attack Peking University and Tsinghua, and the reason those top classes and Olympiad math classes have been forced to shut down, is all due to the influence of egalitarianism. A so-called top class, of course, means gathering the most excellent children together, assigning them the strongest teachers, and giving them the best support and care. Naturally, many parents of ordinary students are unhappy about this; they believe schools should not grant privileges to certain students and that all children should be treated equally. As a result, schools and education authorities ultimately banned top classes on the grounds that they allocated educational resources unfairly and affected ordinary students’ motivation to study, among other such reasons. Further still, they abolished key middle schools, and all elementary-school graduates entering middle school were assigned “nearby.” In their view, the ideal situation is for all schools to have the same level of education and for every student to enjoy the same educational resources; that is what they call “equal opportunity”!
Of course, the proliferation of top classes is indeed not a good thing, but is “leveling everything flat” really a good thing? Those who formulate education policy probably have long forgotten the four characters “teach according to individual aptitude,” haven’t they? For a child’s growth, the environment is extremely important. In ancient times there was “Mencius’s mother moved three times,” precisely to give the child an appropriate environment. Bringing excellent students together, even if one does not assign the very best teachers, will still greatly promote their growth. I have personal experience of this.
One kind of propaganda we have all received since childhood is that “diligence produces genius.” This is certainly not wrong. Saying that genius is 1 percent talent and 99 percent perspiration is also not wrong. However, there is still that 1 percent after all! If you do not have that 1 percent, what good is all the perspiration in the world? Could Mozart have been created by diligence alone? “As long as you work hard, anything is possible” —this sentence has helped many people, but it has also harmed quite a few. Everyone has his own suitable path of development; if one does not know how to adapt and instead charges ahead blindly, one will also miss opportunities. Besides confidence and hard work, people also need a little self-knowledge. Moreover, diligence is itself a kind of special talent; for those students who are especially good at diligence, shouldn’t they be given special attention?
Under an egalitarian education system, how are children’s geniuses to have a chance to reveal themselves? How are children’s unique talents to be discovered? How are the potential of those children with special strengths to be stimulated?
If children with sharply different strengths and different talents are mixed together, leveled flat, and assigned to various classes, then each teacher must labor painstakingly to figure out how to “teach according to individual aptitude” one by one; compared with gathering children with similar strengths together, managing them as a group, and allowing them to spur one another on. Which of these two methods makes more effective use of educational resources?
April 13, 2006
Translated from the Chinese original with AI assistance. The original text is authoritative.
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