I remember clearly the response my classmates and I got from our primary school teacher when we pooled our pocket money to buy her a gift on Teacher's Day, which falls on September 1.

She accepted it and reciprocated with words of inspiration: "Children, the best way you can thank me is through your contributions to society when you grow older."

Like most Chinese students of my age, I grew up on this didactic diet of devotion, so it might seem disingenuous that so many people nowadays think first for themselves, not others or society.

But my teacher's words sounded noble then, although I was baffled about what would qualify as a social contribution in her eyes.

Many years on, I count myself, not without a bit of conceit, among those rendering meaningful services that would do her proud. Conceited I was until the recent remarks of an outspoken professor reminded me of how meager my "contributions" were.

"Don't say you are my students if you cannot make 40 million yuan (US$6.12 million) when you turn 40," Dong Fan, a Beijing Normal University professor, wrote in a microblog, adding that was his demand of his graduate students.

For those of you who question the apparent logic gap between social contributions and wealth accumulation, Dong had an uncanny ability to bridge it.

"Getting rich means vast contribution to GDP growth, taxation, creation of jobs and benefits to low-income people. It also prevents oneself and his or her relatives becoming a burden on society," Dong said.

A sad fact is that despite the high-sounding words with which Dong sugarcoated his argument, it simply cannot hold water.

As a humble reporter with nary a possibility of amassing this much money, I might do well to stand back and yield pride of place to people who Dong said are capable of making a difference.

Money worship

But sometimes the difference some of them make is in the national revenue lost to tax evasion and other dodgy practices.

And it's even more distressing to see that trickle-down economics and fiscal transfers supposedly tipped in favor of the poor haven't narrowed the income gap as anticipated.

This, however, should not be interpreted as general contempt for all Chinese millionaires, some of whom did acquire their wealth legally despite widespread misperception of their "original sins."

Even in China's traditional Confucian society where money worship once was considered repugnant, gentlemen don't shy away from seeking it but are fastidious about the means and appearances.

Ever since a famous slogan "To get rich is glorious!" took hold some 30 years ago, what was a healthy clarion call to reawaken the pent-up entrepreneurial spirit in the Chinese has been increasingly distorted beyond recognition.

Sense of duty

In a retort to critics who blast him for promoting avarice, Dong said stoking students' thirst for wealth is part and parcel of his job. He, however, lost that sense of duty when appealing to the crude drive in the crassest fashion possible. "Contribution," or success writ large, according to him, can be manifested and measured with tangible gauges such as one's personal wealth.

There is a hidden message in his remarks. While Dong based much of his reasoning on the assumption that the 40 million yuan must be lawfully obtained, the fact that up-and-coming entrepreneurs find it hard to succeed in the same way their forebears did 20 years ago - through honest labor and in their own right - speaks volumes about his true intentions.

Chances are that he is trying to lead by "example." As director of the real estate research center at his university, he has a history of throwing weight behind the sector, a known money-spinner.

His string of rants against people opposed to the revival of the property sector - including grave charges like "anti-human" and "jeopardizing national interests" - reflect that he's more a broker for property developers than a disinterested observer.

An intriguing point many have made online is that while Dong actively despises penury, does he have 40 million yuan himself to justify being self-righteous? If not, isn't he unworthy of his students and professorship, rather than the other way around?

With people like Dong populating our universities, and tolerated for affronts to the moral bottom line, it's no wonder that China's education has been a hotbed of mercantile values and teachers are dead earnest about diversifying their work from disseminating knowledge.

During the review and defense of my bachelor's dissertation in 2007, three of the five judges had excused themselves to answer calls outside, which made the symbolic rite even more insipid.

From their brightened looks I knew they were probably fielding business calls from firms they consulted for during spare time.

Unlike them, their predecessors had little time to spare for pursuits other than shaping of unselfish character.

Tao Xingzhi, a renowned educator who like his contemporaries saw education as the only way to revitalize China, summed up the commitment of teachers in his famous motto, "When I come, I come with a full heart; when I leave, I take nothing with me."

Not many educators cherish this vision today. In fact, some have renounced it, albeit cautiously.

Caution didn't bring Professor Dong fame, impudence did. Desperate for the honors accorded Yu Dan, who teaches at the same university, after she popularized Confucius' teachings on TV, Dong had contacted reporters in the hope of publishing his ramblings. The latest gaffe is perhaps but a publicity stunt.

Several calls seeking comments from the university's publicity department and the research center Dong heads rang unanswered.

He was quoted by Beijing News as saying on April 6 that the university had ordered him not to speak to the press.

Days later, however, the university told the online version of People's Daily that Dong had freedom of expression but his views were entirely his own. It denied the accusation that he was forbidden from speaking to reporters.

To some extent, that we have professors like Dong inculcating young minds with poisonous ideas - and not stripped of their jobs - mirrors the disturbing state of affairs of not just the universities, but of society at large.

Where money worship is king, free speech is only its handmaid.

Introspection

Mesmerizing as the gospel of money is, some former converts are vigorously resisting it now, as evidenced by the decision of Dana Gioia, former corporate executive of General Foods, to resign to become a full-time writer.

In a 2007 commencement address at Stanford University, he said, "There are so many other ways to lead a successful and meaningful life that are not denominated by money or fame. Adult life begins in a child's imagination, and we've relinquished that imagination to the marketplace."

So far no such attempt at correction is within sight in China, where the myth of the market has stronger appeal than is officially admitted.

Before serious introspection begins, we'll have to live with so-called "inspirations" and "success stories" that are against everything Confucius, Tao Xingzhi or even my primary school teacher held dear.