Recently I participated in the commentary on the <《中国公民科学素质基准》>, and was invited to write a piece for *China Science Daily*, which was published together with interviews with many teachers; see here.
Because of the word limit, I accidentally wrote too much. When the article was published, the editors cut and revised it; actually the revisions were quite good—they kept all the key points and reduced the aggressiveness. Still, I’ll post the unedited original here for reference~
The newly released <《中国公民科学素质基准》> has stirred up a great deal of controversy. Beyond simply laughing at it or picking holes in it, there has gradually also been some serious discussion by scientists and scholars in related fields such as history of science and sociology of science; some scholars have even pointed out that the release of this <基准> also has many positive implications.
Of course, there are positive implications. In any case, controversy itself helps increase attention and stimulate discussion. As the saying goes, a blessing in disguise—but to speak to the matter itself, one cannot excuse the reasons that led to the loss of the horse (such as negligence or theft) by pointing to the gains that came afterward. As for the release of the benchmark itself, I think it is always bad. Hitting the target by chance is luck, but what matters more is still reflecting on and examining just why the shot went astray.
The implementation of this <基准> itself has the feature of “result obscuring process.” Some scholars saw that related work on assessing citizens’ literacy had been carried out successfully in the United States and other developed countries, and therefore believed that the introduction of a Chinese benchmark was also a good thing in line with international practice. Yet in terms of the design and implementation process of the benchmark, our approach is entirely different. In the West, such assessment benchmarks are often designed by academia or private institutions, serving as references for investigating citizens’ scientific literacy. In China, this assessment benchmark itself has also become a learning material, issued top-down by the official authorities, requiring departments at all levels to organize study.
If you are in good health, you will naturally have a rosy complexion; judging the complexion is an external benchmark for assessing whether the body is healthy. If we only care whether the result of being rosy-faced has been achieved, and not about the process of how to exercise the body—for example, by striking your face until it swells so that you appear rosy-faced—it may indeed fool the evaluator, but that is obviously putting the cart before the horse.
It is quite obvious that the cultivation of citizens’ scientific literacy should rely on better primary and secondary education, as well as the influence of the overall social and cultural environment, rather than on studying the assessment standard itself.
Chinese people are good at training themselves for examinations, but do not pay attention to the cultivation of qualities. Students who score highly on English exams may be unable to communicate smoothly with foreigners, and students who score highly on political science exams may not believe in communism at all. Of course, out of considerations of fairness in selection, to value “exam-oriented” performance within a certain range and to make grades the sole criterion for heroes is, after all, something forced by circumstances. Yet the matter of citizens’ scientific literacy has no need to be pushed forward in this way at all.
Such an implementation method not only brings no benefit; it may instead cause new harm. The “melamine” incident, for example, is a typical case. Adding melamine to milk powder brought no benefit whatsoever; its only function was to pass the protein-content test. If protein were not tested, then the problem with milk would at most be that a bit too much water had been added, which would not be very harmful; yet the implementation of protein testing might instead produce worse results.
So, the fact that implementing a related assessment benchmark in the United States is a good thing does not mean that introducing this benchmark in China is also a good thing. If what this benchmark incentivizes is not richer enlightenment education and more open science communication, but instead prompts each institution to parrot and cope, opening the door for people to use melamine as a substitute for protein, then the effects it produces may well be even worse.
So let us take a look: if the implementation of the <基准> is likely to lead to which kinds of “melamine,” that is, which harmful notions may be mixed in under the cover of the <基准>?
First, the <基准>’s understanding of the concept of “science” is very vague. In many cases, “science” is basically equivalent to “what is right,” even to “what is good,” and “scientific knowledge” is equated with “correct knowledge.” This too is a manifestation of “result obscuring process”: science includes not only the settled body of scientific knowledge, but also the complex and diverse activities of seeking knowledge.
Although the <基准> nominally acknowledges that science is “constantly developing” (Article 3), what it means is only that “scientific knowledge itself needs to be continuously deepened and expanded,” while it never discusses the fact that science can also make mistakes, and that the development of science involves not only deepening and expansion but also correction and renewal. We certainly cannot expect to use Popper’s falsificationism or Kuhn’s theory of Scientific Revolutions as the benchmark for public understanding, but at least the features of freedom and criticism in the scientific tradition since ancient Greece should be included, shouldn’t they?
The <基准> mentions only in Article 10 the “scientific spirit of seeking truth, questioning, and empirical verification,” but from the rest of the content it is clear that the spirit of questioning the editors have in mind is basically directed at things outside science. For example, in Article 32, immediately following the empty slogan “practice is the sole criterion for testing truth” is the statement “experiments are an important means of testing whether science is true or false,” which is a serious misunderstanding—in fact, experiments are indeed a key link in modern science, but their significance is obviously not to test whether “science” is true or false. A scientist proposes a hypothesis; if an experiment confirms it, that is of course cause for universal rejoicing. But if an experiment falsifies the hypothesis (and leaving aside the fact that falsification is in fact quite complex), then at most one can say that this “hypothesis” has been falsified; one cannot say that “science” is false. Some hypotheses proposed by Einstein were ultimately refuted by experiments, yet Einstein remained a scientist. A prophecy made by a charlatan may happen to be confirmed by an experiment, but that does not mean that his system of theory is not pseudoscience. Experiments are an important tool in scientific research, but they are not a tool for testing science itself.
This kind of attitude that understands “science” as a ready-made correct conclusion is everywhere throughout the whole <基准>. Another example is Article 33, which says that “explaining natural phenomena should rely on scientific theories… and one should not be superstitious or blindly follow things that cannot yet be explained by scientific theories.” This sentence sounds roughly right, but it seems to require people to know in advance which phenomena have been explained by science and which have not. A charlatan may also provide explanations in the name of science, and erroneous explanations may also appear in some seemingly authoritative texts (for example, this <基准>’s explanation of sunlight). Many people are willing to believe in science, but in practice they end up blindly following a charlatan. So what should be done? Actually, it is very simple: saying “do not be superstitious, do not blindly follow” is enough. Even explanations given in the name of science should not be accepted with superstition or blind obedience.
Confounding “science” with “correctness” is one of the implicit forms of “melamine” in this <基准>. First, it allows people to “cut corners,” directly attaching themselves to ready-made scientific conclusions and bypassing the process of free thought and critical questioning; second, it easily mixes together different kinds of “correctness” in different contexts. For example, we can say that melamine is a “good thing”—it is very useful in plastics and coatings—and then we also say that a bit of “good stuff” can be added to milk powder, such as vitamins or amino acids. But if we detach these from their respective contexts and treat this good thing as that good thing and mix it into milk powder, the result may be catastrophic.
The same kind of situation applies to the yin-yang and five phases thought of ancient China mentioned in this <基准>, as well as philosophical concepts such as dialectics and system theory. Some scholars point out that traditional ideas such as yin-yang and the five phases are indeed very valuable and truly worth understanding for modern people; this is not wrong. But the key issue is: what role are they assigned, and in what manner are they introduced into the <基准>? This question is more important than whether they themselves are “good things.”
Some scholars think that “yin-yang and the five phases are valuable, so mixing them into the <基准> is a good thing,” but they ignore or do not care that the value of yin-yang and the five phases in their own minds and the value of their introduction into the <基准> are two entirely different matters. Result obscures process, and perhaps they have already been poisoned by the <基准> and its evaluative logic.
Translated from the Chinese original with AI assistance. The original text is authoritative.
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