The original writing plan for “Yanyuan—The Four Schools” had stalled for a long time because I shut myself away and hid from the blog. Now that graduation is practically upon me, it’s time to restart this task.
Just then the student union was organizing a “My Yanyuan Memories — A Commencement Essay Collection for Peking University’s Class of 2008 Excellent Graduates,” asking each department to nominate writers. Although I do not like taking part in essay contests, especially those initiated by official bodies, I was going to write something anyway. So I might as well take part. There was also a call for submissions from 《Communist Youth Garden》, and perhaps I could handle that all at once.
In light of this, this essay will be written in a somewhat more harmonious key, and some of the sharper attacks will not appear. But of course I will not deliberately cater to the requirements of the contest; my writing has always been free.
You don’t know until you write: three to five thousand characters really are so few! The moment I picked up the keyboard and clattered away, I saw I had only two thousand-odd characters. So I hurried to economize and compress, writing while deleting, and only with great difficulty did I manage to cobble together (not quite) five thousand characters—of course by going from more to less—and it still came to an abrupt halt before it had even begun to spread out. I also know that lecturing about “freedom” is too verbose, but I truly cannot bear to delete it, because this is the only thing I most want to convey to those who come after me.
At the time I casually agreed to the department’s invitation to recommend me for the essay contest, but when I actually set pen to paper I regretted it a little—knowing full well that whether in achievement or in literary grace, I could not possibly “represent” Peking University or the philosophy department’s “excellent graduates.” I usually write miscellaneous essays only for my own amusement, yet this time they would actually be compiled for posterity, and I would also have to shoulder the mission of “distributing it to the undergraduate freshmen of the Class of 2008, helping them plan their college lives in advance and achieve all-round self-development.” Such a “misleading the young” mission is truly enough to make one uneasy and ashamed.
But on second thought, my earlier worries were in fact relieved. It turns out that the spirit of Peking University lies precisely in freedom and inclusiveness. Here everyone can choose a path that belongs only to themselves, and therefore no one can “represent” all Peking University graduates, nor is there any uniform standard by which to determine what level of achievement counts as excellent. At Peking University, if you have found your own ideal and firmly set out on the path you believe in, then you are excellent.
This is also the greatest difference between university and middle school—in middle school, our studies are often “planned” for us by others: which courses we take this term; when we take which class; which teacher teaches it; which classmates we attend with; in which classroom and at which seat we listen, and so on. From the broadest direction down to the smallest detail, we have almost no room to choose. Apart from choosing the liberal arts track or the sciences track (a division which is itself regrettable), only the most insignificant matters ever require us to make a choice.
But at university, especially at Peking University, not to mention the philosophy department of Peking University, no one will make “plans” for you anymore; everything is open to choice. Such a sudden freedom often leaves people at a loss.
The philosophy department’s “freedom” is astonishing even within Peking University; probably only Yuanpei College can compare with us. Adding up all four years, the fixed required courses amount to just around 20 credits, a mere handful of classes (for example, Introduction to Philosophy, History of Chinese Philosophy, History of Western Philosophy, and so on), and even the timing of course selection is not compulsory (for instance, if you think the teacher teaching the history of Western philosophy this year is not sufficiently decent, you can simply wait until next year to enroll, since the instructor often changes). The rest are “category requirements,” meaning that within a certain broad category (such as Western philosophy) you only need to accumulate a certain number of credits; which specific courses to take is entirely up to you. Beyond that there are several dozen credits of “major electives,” which, though called major electives, can actually be fulfilled by taking courses from other departments or general education courses. Our cohort could even fulfill all the credits with general education courses; in later cohorts the rules seem to have become somewhat stricter, requiring a fairly substantial proportion of courses from the department itself, but overall it remains quite relaxed.
Such relaxed requirements are good news both for students who have their own ideals and plans and for students who are lazy and not striving upward. Lazy students discover that many courses can even be skipped for an entire semester; in the end, after spending half a day producing a seemingly decent paper, they can pass smoothly, and some can even receive fairly good grades. Thus they can choose as many easy courses as possible and muddle through; while those who are able to make plans for themselves also feel perfectly at home, able to make maximum use of Peking University’s teaching resources and devote their energies to the courses and undertakings they love as much as possible. Only those who are still accustomed to middle-school modes of learning will fall into confusion. They may also be good students who work hard and strive to improve, but they suddenly find that they no longer know clearly in which direction they are supposed to “improve.”
Many students would be dissatisfied with the department’s teaching: how can it be so casual? Does this not encourage a spirit of freedom and laxity? How can one ensure that the students trained this way are worthy of the name Peking University philosophy department? In fact, this kind of laissez-faire is precisely a respect for students, an acknowledgment of their independent judgment. This should be even more true of philosophy as a discipline: from the very beginning, philosophy has been what is called “leisure begets wisdom.” Only when you are not being forced or compelled, but are truly driven by inner curiosity and thirst for knowledge to ask questions, can philosophy possibly come into being. Other knowledge and undertakings are ultimately similar: the most top-level and cutting-edge pioneers are often driven by an inward passion.
Philosophy cannot be “forced” into existence. University teachers no longer coax and coerce you the way they do elementary school children in order to make you strive for improvement. They merely provide us with the best environment and resources, offering a rich variety of choices so that we may pursue our goals according to our own ideals and interests. Even if you are not very interested in philosophy and instead pursue your ideals through double majors or other routes, the teachers will also give you the greatest possible tolerance and support. If you are willing to degenerate and stop striving on your own, then you must bear responsibility for yourself; you should not blame the teachers’ tolerance.
Therefore, if you asked me to give future Peking University students some advice, so as to “help them plan their college lives in advance,” then the first thing I would say is: no one will plan for you. From the moment you enter university, you must plan your own life, shoulder your own future, and bravely take on your “freedom”—even though people often seem to lack freedom, more often they would rather flee from freedom, flee from the responsibility of making choices for themselves, and always hope that others will help them plan their lives. But no one can help you become yourself. At most, others can help by reminding you and awakening your self-awareness.
The above can be taken as a preface. I am by no means trying to deliver some kind of lofty sermon; what I want to emphasize is precisely this: freshmen must accept any advice or sermon from seniors or teachers with a critical attitude. Other people’s advice is nothing more than reference and inspiration; in the end, you are always responsible for yourself. I think the most important thing in four years of undergraduate life is precisely choosing the path of your life. If, by graduation, you are no longer lost about your future, then your university years have not been wasted. As for how good your grades are, how many academic papers you have published, how many honors you have gained in social work—these are all secondary. After all, even by the time we graduate from undergraduate study, our careers have only just begun; the road ahead is still long.
Now, to get to the point, let me talk about my own Peking University life.
I was a recommended-entrance student from the “National Science Experimental Class” at the Second High School Affiliated to East China Normal University (entering this class meant eligibility for recommendation to key universities). Starting in the second year of elementary school, I rode mathematics competitions all the way through recommendation to middle school, recommendation to high school, and then recommendation to Peking University. But why did I end up in the philosophy department? This puzzled many people around me, and some even felt sorry for me, yet I felt incomparably lucky—I found my direction as soon as I entered university.
In fact, what I originally wanted to study was still mathematics or physics. If I could not get into the school of mathematics or the school of physics, then other majors centered on mathematics or physics would also do (for example, geophysics was barely acceptable). I had not seriously considered entering the philosophy department or anywhere else. The reason, besides my love for mathematics and physics, may also have been a fear of the unknown: because I had always been doing mathematics and physics competitions, and for the sake of those competitions I had already previewed part of the university textbooks, so I had a rough sense of what mathematics and physics majors at university were about, and I had some confidence. As for other majors, I knew very little about them, especially things like the philosophy department—how exactly one studied there, I had absolutely no idea in my head. In high school I had already read many philosophy books, and I already knew that studying philosophy at university would definitely be completely different from middle-school politics classes, but I still could not imagine exactly how it would be different. So although at that time I was very interested in books on philosophy, economics, history, and so on, I still did not dare choose any of them as my university major; I only wanted to continue along this mathematics-and-physics path that I was already familiar with and had grown used to.
Of course, now I can say: that fear at the time was precisely an evasion, an evasion of the future, of freedom, of the uncertainty of having nowhere to lean. I only wanted to continue my accustomed way of life, and did not face squarely this unavoidable fact: whether I wished it or not, university would certainly be a turning point on the road of life, and from then on I would have to make independent decisions and seek my own path. I could no longer cling to an anxious reluctance to change, nostalgic for a carefree childhood in which everything was arranged neatly for me by others. Even if I had entered the school of mathematics or the school of physics, I would still have had to confront the difference between university study and middle-school study, and could not simply turn a blind eye.
The reason I ultimately chose the philosophy department of Peking University was mainly due to four factors: first, in high school my reading interests suddenly expanded, and I read all kinds of miscellaneous books, including philosophy; I had already become interested in philosophy and even written some fairly decent articles; second, because I read too many miscellaneous books and for other reasons, my studies had somewhat gone to waste in high school, my grades had fallen to the bottom, and I had failed in competitions, so I could not be recommended to the school of mathematics, the school of physics, and the like; third, although I could choose any major I wanted at Shanghai Jiao Tong University, I still preferred Peking University; fourth, I must thank the then deputy director of the Peking University admissions office for recommended students (now the director), Teacher Liu Mingli. Through email exchanges with him, I was miraculously admitted to the philosophy department just as the first round of recommendation had been rejected and the Peking University recommended-student admissions process was about to close. On this occasion, I want to express my gratitude to Teacher Liu Mingli; I believe I did not fail to live up to your trust.
I chose the philosophy department of Peking University, and Teacher Liu chose to accept me: any choice comes with costs and risks. Choosing to admit me meant giving up the possibility of using this slot for someone else. But a choice also opens up new possibilities at the same time—I might become an excellent Peking University graduate, or I might disappoint Teacher Liu’s choice and become a blemish on Peking University. But all of this became possible only because I was chosen as a Peking University freshman. Every choice means giving up certain other possibilities, but if you never make any choice, if you always drift with the current, you will lose all possibilities. My choice of the philosophy department at Peking University meant that I gave up the possibility of going to Fudan or Shanghai Jiao Tong, and it meant that I almost gave up the possibility of becoming a mathematician or a physicist in the future, but I believe that through this I will gain broader possibilities that better suit me.
What exactly my high-school self felt toward Peking University in terms of longing and expectation, I have long since forgotten. Perhaps I simply felt boundless reverence for the history of the old Peking University. I vaguely remember that when I was about to step into Peking University, I seemed very calm, without excessive expectations, meeting this brand-new world with something close to taking things as they come.
My first impression after entering Peking University is still vivid to this day: one word, chaos! The demolition dispute at the South Gate was still deadlocked that year, and for several years the area outside the South Gate had been an eyesore of ruins, even decorated with big-character posters, and every so often a homeless man would hang himself there or something of the sort. The campus itself was not much better. There were all sorts of people—riffraff, beggars, thieves, hoodlums, perverts… in short, if you wanted to find any kind of person at Peking University, there was no shortage. The Triangle Area at the time had of course not yet been demolished either. The blackboards, once witnesses to the tradition of intellectual freedom, had long since been occupied by all kinds of random advertisements—training classes, bed rentals, and even ads for ghostwriters. Later we also witnessed the workers’ protest before the closure of Beixin Supermarket (which has now also become a lawn); huge banners hanging at the entrance read “We want to eat, we want human rights,” and after the store was cut off from electricity, the salesclerks set up stalls at the entrance to sell goods. It was a whole mess that lasted at least half a year.
Of course, Peking University is much neater now, but compared with its neighbor, it is still quite disorderly; the campus area, buildings, dormitory conditions, and so on all leave much to be desired. But as the saying goes, “What is meant by a university is not a building, but a master.” I do not want to say much about the “buildings” of Peking University, but I can responsibly say this: Peking University is still a sacred place where masters gather.
By this I certainly do not mean only the few surviving national treasures such as Mr. Ji Xianlin and Mr. Hou Renzhi, but also many others whose names are not so famous, yet whom we can encounter at any time—the professors. Many people often sigh that the age of masters is over, that China no longer has masters, and so on. In fact, this is mistaken! Masters have always been there; it is only the age when masters were widely appreciated and revered that has passed. People are more enthusiastic about chasing entertainment stars, celebrities, and wealthy tycoons. If a scholar wants to attract public attention, it is often only possible if he has also become a television star or something similar. And most masters are indifferent to fame and gain, and are not good at nor interested in promoting themselves, so it is inevitable that they remain hidden from public view, and even within university campuses become marginal figures. The reason people feel that the age of masters has long gone by is precisely that the public gaze has already been overwhelmed by pop culture and fashion, by stars and idols, and is no longer like that earlier era when mass media was not yet developed and books and all kinds of publications had not yet flooded the world. Back then people could spend more time reading serious scholarly works and could free up more attention to focus on writers and scholars devoted to learning, and thus it was easier for them to discover the existence of masters. It is not that there are no masters now; it is that people no longer care about their existence.
I need not list the specific masters I have encountered. As long as we search with a sincere and studious heart, and listen with humility and a thirst for knowledge, masters are everywhere. Of course, there are also no shortage of professors who fish in troubled waters and pass themselves off as something they are not, but clearly we should cherish our own good fortune and listen more, rather than complain and sigh over the scarcity of masters. Here I would like to express my thanks to those obscure scholars who are content with solitude; they are the bearers of the spirit of Peking University.
After graduating from my undergraduate studies, I chose to stay on at the university for graduate study. Many people choose to be recommended for graduate study simply to postpone entering society—in other words, to postpone making their life choices—but I had already made my choice and set foot on the road of scholarship. (It should be noted that, in fact, the philosophy department is like other departments in this respect: very few students ultimately choose the academic path; one could even say they are a tiny minority. Most students will eventually go on to jobs in all kinds of fields. Where exactly will they go? They will go everywhere.)
My choice still made many relatives and friends regretful. Given my conditions, I could have chosen a path with much better “money prospects,” but I stubbornly volunteered to become a poor scholar. Yet measuring a person’s achievements solely by salary or wealth is itself a manifestation of fleeing from freedom. Such people lack confidence; they cannot affirm their own value themselves and therefore have to rely on some external, convenient, fashionable standard to evaluate it. I am not saying that it is wrong for some people to take making money as their ambition. Everyone has their own aspirations. As long as the aspiration truly comes from a free decision, and is not simply following the crowd, then it is worthwhile.
What, after all, is the purpose of university education? To train useful people for society? But if that is the case, then Peking University has no mission different from any vocational or technical school. What I want to say is that universities should not merely cultivate useful people; they should also cultivate people who can consciously ask, “What is usefulness?” As intellectuals, as the conscience of society, university students should first of all be people who are good at independent thinking and dare to shoulder freedom. To shoulder freedom means to reflect on those unexamined values and fashionable opinions, and to establish one’s own values personally. Whether Peking University graduates become scholars or enter any line of work, they should remember their mission as intellectuals. Excessive humility is another form of evasion; for example, some people always like to say that we Peking University students are nothing special, no different from ordinary people—this is of course fine as a negation of blind arrogance, but if one merely uses such words to comfort oneself so that one can feel at ease even while accomplishing nothing, then one should be ashamed.
Space is limited, and it seems I have not even begun reminiscing before I must already end. But in fact, over these four years I have not had many exciting or interesting stories to write about. Although I myself have lived them as happy and fulfilling years, if I were really to describe them, it would amount to nothing more than attending classes, reading books, writing, playing… Apart from romance, I have also never encountered any setbacks or failures worth mentioning, and so I have nothing much to say in the way of experience or lessons. As for the experience of reading, writing, and romance, that is truly a long story; I am afraid it would not be appropriate to go on at length here, so let this essay end at that.
Appendix:
1. Life photos
2. Motto
Even if it is said that 99% of the universe is filled with darkness, when I look up at the night sky, in my eyes there is still that brilliant starry expanse! — Treat all good and beauty with a heart of gratitude; accept all evil and ugliness with a broad mind; love the whole world, love all people.
3. Brief personal introduction (200–300 characters).
Hu Yilin, male, born in Shanghai in 1985, second-to-last place in the second-to-last all-science class at the Second High School Affiliated to East China Normal University, admitted by recommendation into the 2004 undergraduate class of the philosophy department at Peking University, and will directly proceed to the philosophy of technology graduate program at the philosophy department of Peking University. His defining trait is an addiction to books, and he buys them by the mountain. In his spare time he amuses himself by watching animation (of course Japanese animation) and writing a blog (Suixuan). Usually taciturn, but once his fingers hit the keyboard, he can churn out tens of thousands of characters at a stretch. His screen name is Guchu, and he seems like a different person online and offline.
Dedication: (If a video dedication or something like that is needed, you can say this passage. Of course, it could also be considered for direct inclusion at the end of the main text.)
I often hear people say that we want democracy, human rights, freedom, and so on, but many people do not understand the weight of the word freedom. They think human rights and freedom are more or less the same thing; in fact, it is exactly the opposite. Freedom is precisely the antagonist of human rights: democracy is power (the “power” in strength), human rights are rights (the “right” in benefit), while freedom is precisely responsibility and duty. The reason democracy and freedom are always bundled together is that the price of possessing power is that you must shoulder responsibility. Freedom is not a kind of wealth worth boasting about, but a burden you cannot shake off; that is to say, you must make choices for yourself. Choice means precisely renunciation, while at the same time taking on responsibility. An unfree slave has it comparatively easy: whatever he does is something his master forces him to do; he has no room to choose, so he can throw responsibility back onto the master. But a free person can no longer go looking for someone else to lean on; he must bear responsibility himself. The reason we say that human beings are born free is that people always possess the ability to choose; even if you are enslaved by others, you still always have the chance to choose resistance. Freedom means that. Some people shout all day long that they want freedom, but if you look closely, you find that they are forever grumbling and cursing, always dumping responsibility onto the state, the system, culture, tradition, internal traitors, foreign enemies, and so on; it is very rare to hear them take responsibility upon themselves. That is not called pursuing freedom. “When the realm prospers or perishes, the common man has a share of responsibility” — that is what pursuing freedom means. What does “the common man has a share of responsibility” mean? It means “I” have responsibility. Don’t keep looking for responsibility in others; go look for your own responsibility — that is what pursuing freedom means. I have talked on and on for so long only because I sincerely hope that the junior students and younger sisters and brothers will be sure to be fully prepared in their minds: be prepared to shoulder the burden of freedom. Ordinary people evade freedom and live a little more lightly; that is understandable. However, as students of Peking University, having this sense of responsibility is only natural. You do not necessarily have to shoulder the rise and fall of the entire world or the fate of humankind; just shoulder your own life and your own destiny, and that is enough.
May 22, 2008
Latest Comments
- Soul Pilgrimage
2008-05-22 23:29:06 Anonymous 124.133.122.208
Still wanting more… I especially want to know your reading history. I wonder whether Suixuan’s host could perhaps write a separate essay on it when you have a moment? Many thanks in advance!
Some confusion has recently grown in me. First, when taking a broad view of the great figures of ancient and modern, Chinese and foreign alike, whether in the arts, the sciences, or the realm of thought and scholarship, one always seems to see a male monopoly — men ruling the world, and doing so in an absolutely overwhelming posture. Women, by contrast, are really as rare as morning stars. Last night I analyzed this with a classmate, and we seemed to conclude that the blame still has to be shifted onto the patriarchal society’s vast disparity in men’s and women’s status, the forced fixing of roles (intellectual confinement), and the extreme inequality in rights (mainly the right to education) and personal freedom that followed from this. In particular, the level of education seems to have had the greatest impact on the formation of this situation. Later I thought again: in contemporary society, men’s and women’s access to education has improved tremendously, but I wonder whether women will gradually rise, and perhaps lead the fashion in the above-mentioned fields? There should be no so-called gap between men and women in intelligence or thinking, right? But why does it still feel as though women in modern society remain at a disadvantage in these respects? Can the issue of education alone really explain it all, as if in “one phrase that covers everything”?
Second, when I went home for May Day, I happened upon my middle-school reading notes and found the following passages recorded there: Humanity has suffered two world wars in total, and both were instigated by it (Germany), and both ended in its disastrous defeat. So how, after all, does it view the world and view humanity?
In history, its Enlightenment was far slower, more tortuous, and more hidden than France’s, yet why was it able, from within such a backward condition, to quietly bring forth spiritual peaks such as Lessing, Kant, Hegel, and Feuerbach, and dominate Europe like a lion? Some say that all Western philosophy was written in German; how could it later overtake others and seize the summit in such an abstract field?
Goethe once said that the German individual is very rational, but as a whole it often gets lost. This has been repeatedly proven by history. The question is, what force can make rational individuals lose their way so neatly? And once lost, how is it that individual reason does not become entirely extinguished?
…………
The author’s confusion in this essay is also my confusion. The German nation is indeed an unbelievable nation, especially in philosophy. Is it the result of the workings of factors such as suffering, traditional culture, and national character that permeate their bones? Perhaps it is far more complicated than that.
(I can’t believe Suixuan’s host likes watching animation?! Haha, truly a young person of the new era. Imagine a future philosopher who knows the internet well (blogs don’t really count), uses QQ, and also watches animation (I wonder whether you play online games). Though it feels a bit odd, hehe, this is precisely a new atmosphere.
I recommend The Memories Trilogy, works by the Japanese animation master Otomo Katsuhiro. His style is completely different from Miyazaki Hayao’s; if one were to distinguish them by heaviness and lightness, his would count as the heavier one. Of course, good animation is not limited to Japan and the United States; most people pay the most attention to Japanese and American animation because their promotional reach is better. It is also worth paying proper attention to European animation, which has quite a number of fine works, and whose style is certainly distinctive as well. For example, The King and the Mockingbird, hehe) - Soul Pilgrimage
2008-05-22 23:34:19 Anonymous 124.133.122.208
The four words “shouldering freedom” really hit the nail on the head…
- Gu Du
2008-05-23 10:25:11
Why women are at a disadvantage in the realm of thought is a question worthy of deep inquiry. Simply attributing it to social injustice is, of course, very convenient and tidy; after all, as long as women have not achieved accomplishments comparable to men’s, one can always keep saying that society is unjust, but in fact that is evading the issue. Women’s mode of thinking cannot be the same as men’s; rather, there must certainly be enormous differences caused by nature and culture, and these differences are not caused by unfairness. You can think about it: human beings and apes differ in their genes by only 1%, whereas men and women differ by an entire chromosome. Then no matter how great the natural differences are, it is not strange. Saying that women are not the same as men is by no means belittling women. In the tradition, the standard by which human excellence is measured is singular, and it is set by men; therefore, to say that women are different meant that women were inferior to men. But if the criteria of evaluation are plural, then there is no problem of discrimination.
For me, the distinction between men and women and the love between men and women are precisely an excellent entry point for understanding my “pluralism.” I will write a separate essay on this later, and this theme will be brought up repeatedly by me.
As for what is going on with Germany, that is also very much worth discussing. I have one view: the traits of rationality and madness often go together; a nation that achieves excellence in rationality often is also a group that is simultaneously mad and unreasonable. But let’s speak of Germany later. Given the upcoming Olympics, I will first talk about ancient Greece — how the spirit of Apollo, which represents rationality, was unified with the mad spirit of Dionysus. The ancient Greek Olympics hint at certain mysteries: how could a group of naked people running and wrestling in the heat become the most sacred and most attractive activity in all of Greece? Unbelievable indeed. - Impatient for Stillness
2008-05-25 20:38:50 http://deleted
However, knowing only how to measure a person’s achievements by salary or wealth is also a manifestation of evading freedom; those people lack confidence and cannot affirm their own value for themselves, so they have to rely on some external, convenient, fashionable standard to make judgments.
After reading your self-description, I only want to say to you — the spirit of freedom, the character of independence!
Please accept my praise; although this hat is too heavy for you, I believe your perseverance will allow you, some years from now, to obtain a value that matches it! (Though I still hope you are a lovable scholar rather than an old pedant. Just like my earlier praise of you — having a childlike smile) - Gu Du
2008-05-26 16:00:35
Notes for the writing assignment
I. Purpose of the essay:
1. To be compiled into a book, as a commemorative collection given to the 2008 graduates as an everlasting keepsake.
2. After rearrangement, with an added video of the author’s parting message, to be compiled into a book and distributed to the incoming 2008 undergraduate freshmen, helping them plan their university life in advance and achieve comprehensive self-development.
II. Content of the essay:
1. As an outstanding graduate, to comprehensively review one’s own experiences of study and life at Peking University, as a record of personal growth, and to express one’s attachment to and gratitude for one’s alma mater, teachers, and classmates.
2. In the course of summarizing one’s own experiences and lessons of growth, to address current junior students and younger sisters and brothers, especially the incoming freshmen, and to offer one’s suggestions regarding university growth and development.
III. Word count: 3000–5000 characters
IV. Form of the essay: choose your own title; no restrictions on genre
V. Other requirements:
1. Provide one personal photo; the photo scene should preferably display some aspect of your growth, gains, or achievements.
2. Provide your own motto.
3. A brief personal introduction (200–300 characters).
VI. Submission deadline: Friday, May 23, 2008 - Dongxi Hehe
2008-05-27 11:20:15
Middle school and university really are completely different learning environments, but should there not be someone helping middle school students adapt? The current situation makes it impossible for middle school students to be “free” during their middle school years; can the three vacations before university be utilized? Should certain institutions take action?
Of course, at some universities now, things are run just like middle school, without giving students enough freedom, but the proportion of their graduates who get into graduate school is very high. Among my graduate-school classmates, there are many such examples. What a tragedy for the university. - Shi Zhiyanran
2008-08-06 09:19:16
I deeply agree with some of your views~~ And as a 2008 freshman, my understanding of Peking University may be vague and inaccurate; some of your views have provided me with new concepts~~ Thank you!!~
- Ji Zha
2009-08-14 13:19:33
I also come from Shanghai’s science-track class. I started studying mathematics competition problems from the third grade of elementary school, and all the way through admission by recommendation. Unfortunately, I chose to continue studying mathematics at university, and suddenly found that my interest in mathematics was not that great, so I studied it in quite a painful way. Looking back now, I was actually more interested in the humanities; if I had chosen philosophy back then too, at least I would not have wasted so much time in university. If I were to study philosophy again now as a graduate student, I wouldn’t have the confidence to get in, so I can only rely on self-study. I hope that in the future I can receive guidance on learning and research directions from a professional like the blogger here
Translated from the Chinese original with AI assistance. The original text is authoritative.
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