During my undergraduate years, I once served as the editor-in-chief of Peking University’s Department of Philosophy magazine *Gongqingyuan*, and I put out Issue 40; at that time, it happened to be the 15th year of *Gongqingyuan*.
Later, on the occasion of the 20th anniversary, it was said that a commemorative issue was to be made, and I was invited to write a little text. This year is the 25th anniversary, and another commemorative issue is being prepared, so I, this senior alumnus, was dug out again for an interview, and was also asked to write whatever I liked. When faced with requests from younger classmates, I generally never refuse, and this time was no exception.
As for my experience editing *Gongqingyuan*, I already said some of it in the interview, and there isn’t much more to add. Since I have this chance to write freely, I might as well talk a bit more about my views and reflections.
It goes without saying that marking the 10th anniversary, the 20th anniversary, and so on is necessary; and yet a 25th-anniversary commemoration feels somewhat delicate. *Gongqingyuan* originally served as a publicity booklet for Youth League Day activities and came out relatively frequently, but at least around the time before and after I took over, it had basically become an annual publication, at most perhaps twice a year. In five years, only a few issues had appeared, so putting out another commemorative issue now probably feels a bit too frequent.
Young people look only forward and do not value commemoration very highly; they usually muddle through their twenties and thirties without much thought. Only those nearing the end of life are fond of commemorations: they hold a grand birthday banquet at 70, another at 75, and would gladly commemorate something every year.
Perhaps I am overthinking this, but I suspect that this situation implies that the development of *Gongqingyuan* has fallen into certain difficulties or a certain confusion. In the interview, I also learned that the recent *Gongqingyuan* seems to have positioned itself more toward publishing excellent academic papers, which is undoubtedly a bad trend.
The waves behind drive on those before, and the current younger classmates should in principle be academically stronger than we were back then; and yet, however academic they may be, they are still only undergraduates. What, after all, is the significance of a collection of excellent undergraduate papers? Truly outstanding undergraduate papers can be submitted to *Philosophy Gate*, or to proper academic journals; if students really want to read excellent papers, they should of course also go read proper scholarly publications. Producing a good collection of Tsinghua undergraduate academic papers will not make much contribution to the academic world.
So why, then, do we still need to publish such a magazine? Who exactly is this magazine for? And why should one read it?
If we are merely making a magazine for the sake of having a magazine, then what we pursue is indeed “excellent” articles, and as long as the included pieces are excellent, there is nothing to criticize and no fault to find; the task is then completed smoothly enough. If you want to “do something distinctive” and include all sorts of miscellaneous things, then of course the resulting magazine may have this kind of problem or that kind of flaw, and as far as completing the publication task is concerned, it may well be thankless labor.
If it were only this, then the existence of *Gongqingyuan* would not be necessary: as a publicity publication for Youth League Day activities, it would be better to build a website for posting information; as a collection of academic papers, Peking University’s academic level does not need to rely on an undergraduate magazine to bolster its reputation.
And yet I still believe that continuing a magazine like *Gongqingyuan* is meaningful. The key is not that it is an excellent magazine, but that it is “our” magazine. *Gongqingyuan* is a student magazine that we ourselves edit, and also one mainly written for ourselves to read; this positioning is, no matter what, something that should not be forgotten.
Why do I read *Gongqingyuan*? Because the papers in it are well written? — If I want to read good papers, why not search in the relevant academic journals? Why not ask my teachers and elders, instead of going out of my way to read the immature writings of people my own age? Yet no matter how excellent journal articles may be, what they cannot replace is that, in *Gongqingyuan*, I am reading the writings of our classmates, our senior and junior brothers and sisters; they are right beside me, and we live together and study together.
This sense of “togetherness” is the prerequisite for a magazine like *Gongqingyuan* to exist.
Given such a positioning, *Gongqingyuan* of course should publish excellent articles as much as possible, but more importantly, it should publish articles written or autonomously selected by “us” ourselves. Our own academic papers can of course be included, but they are not the best genre, because proper academic papers often require neutralization, thereby concealing the author’s own personality. So in my view, those essays, miscellanies, or less rigorous papers that more easily display individuality are the genres better suited to *Gongqingyuan*. Even for proper papers, what should be considered in selection is not just the excellence of the article itself; what deserves even more consideration is that sense of togetherness. For example, among the course papers from a course jointly taken by several cohorts of students, the best one is, in my opinion, the more appropriate choice.
In the internet age, many of the functions traditionally borne by print media have become obsolete. For instance, the function of disseminating information has long since been replaced by webpages and WeChat; people can easily search online for articles suited to their own interests and needs, and no longer really need a magazine office to specially select, compile, and deliver them into their hands. In this sense, many traditional journals and magazines have indeed lost their reason for existing; at the very least, the publication of their print editions has become less and less necessary. However, even if we no longer need *Philosophical Research*, *Gongqingyuan* still has value, precisely because the collectivity embodied by such a magazine is difficult to replace.
The significance of *Gongqingyuan* can be compared to the existence of a university campus. In this internet age, the circulation of information is extremely convenient: I can just stay home and watch course videos from world-class universities, buy the latest books by top scholars, and search for all kinds of specialized literature, from the oldest to the most cutting-edge. So why should I still go to university?
Of course, the impact of internet technology on traditional universities has not yet fully emerged, and its influence must by no means be underestimated. Yet the existence of the university campus still has something irreplaceable about it, namely this dimension of “togetherness.”
Learning includes both the transmission and instruction that start from the teacher and go to the student, and the inquiry and exploration that start from the student oneself — in both of these respects, the internet can to a large extent provide better substitutes; and yet there is a third, perhaps even more important, aspect, namely horizontal communication among classmates. This kind of communication still seems better supported by the “shared” life of the campus.
A few days ago, several of us senior brothers had a private meal together. While talking about *Technics and Time*, we also ate donkey-meat huoshao. One junior brother happened to receive a consultation from a classmate preparing for the graduate entrance exam; the questioner was a fan of Heidegger and, having heard that our Wu school specializes in phenomenology and philosophy of technology, came to ask what related courses in phenomenology and philosophy of technology one could study here if one came to pursue a degree.
The answer was zero. We do not have a single course specifically on phenomenology and philosophy of technology. Teacher Wu taught a “philosophy of technology” course many years ago, but in recent years he has only offered the undergraduate course “A General History of Science” and the graduate course “Selected Readings in the Classics of the History of Science.” He has never offered a dedicated course in phenomenology. And yet the senior and junior brothers of the Wu school, whether working in the history of science or philosophy of science, are indeed deeply influenced by phenomenology. Wu school students who go out really do have a distinctive flavor, with the feeling of forming a school of their own. So where did we learn phenomenology? How did we form our academic style? On the one hand, of course, birds of a feather flock together: the students who commit themselves to Teacher Wu’s tutelage more or less already have some relevant foundation. But on the other hand, what is even more important is the mutual influence among students.
Our weekly Wu school seminar is more important than any single specialized course. In addition, we have self-organized reading groups, and even in such small gatherings over donkey-meat huoshao, we will casually bring up topics in philosophy of technology. These kinds of intentional and unintentional mutual influence and mutual assistance in shared life are things no online course can easily provide. Of course, we may also set up various discussion groups online to create horizontal connections, but at least given today’s technical environment, it is still difficult to form such a sense of “togetherness” across a screen, thereby making communication among young people the most natural part of life.
The significance of *Gongqingyuan* must also be sought within shared campus life. If one looks only at individual good articles, then there is no need to gather them into a single volume. The reason these articles are worth gathering together is that, prior to that, their authors have already gathered together within Peking University’s Department of Philosophy. The significance of *Gongqingyuan* is similar to that of a banquet or a social evening: first of all, it is a jointly participated activity, a platform for classmates to meet one another and present themselves to one another. Its significance does not lie in its own completion. It is just like a business card: its mission does not lie in how exquisitely and perfectly it is printed, but in the further communication it triggers after being handed over. If the person who receives the business card merely marvels, “This person is amazing, so impressive,” and then puts the card away on a shelf forever, then the business card has failed. If the person who gets *Gongqingyuan* merely marvels, “Wow, these geniuses are really something; the articles are written so brilliantly,” and then puts *Gongqingyuan* on a shelf forever, then *Gongqingyuan* has also failed. Only when *Gongqingyuan* can promote mutual understanding among classmates, can become a temporary common topic for some students, and can serve as an opportunity for senior and junior brothers and sisters to meet one another and engage in deeper exchange, has it fulfilled its mission.
The “qing” in *Gongqingyuan* originally of course meant the Communist Youth League, but my predecessor reinterpreted it as “common youth,” and this is not a distortion. After all, the “gong” in “communism” is first and foremost the “common” in “common life”; without shared social life, merely stripping property away from private hands cannot automatically turn it into communism. If a park is only nominally public but never open to the public, then it cannot in any sense be called a park. If in a factory assembly line there is only a gathering of workers, but no shared life, then that is precisely the basic problem the so-called communist ideal seeks to solve. *Gongqingyuan* is the “communism” of the people of Peking University’s Department of Philosophy; it belongs to “us.” This does not depend on some empty, abstract byline or label, but is grounded in real shared life.
Translated from the Chinese original with AI assistance. The original text is authoritative.
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