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Plague of cut'n'paste poisons our society

THEFTS are happening in one of the most unlikely places: academe.

Zhejiang University recently announced the expulsion of associate professor He Haibo for plagiarism and falsifications in an article attributed to He and his supervisor, Professor Li Lianda.

The 75-year-old Li is an academician of the Chinese Academy of Engineering and dean of the College of Pharmacy, Zhejiang University.

Li insisted he had no prior knowledge that his name was on the paper, and accused the whistleblower of seeking revenge because one of Li's studies has negatively impacted a product of a company the informer represents.

Unfortunately, the motivation of an informer does not constitute extenuating circumstance in these cases of theft.

Instead of trading accusations, both Li and the university authorities ought to place blame where it belongs: the prevailing practice of equating a researcher's competence with the number of articles published in learned journals. Overseas English-language journals enjoy special prestige.

The scandal was a depressing commentary on the university's newly acquired honor - last December 9 it was announced that Zhejiang University was ranked the No. 1 in terms of the number of articles, reviews, letters and editorial materials included in the SCI (Science Citations Index) for 2007.

For years this dubious honor belonged to neighboring Nanjing University, Jiangsu Province.

Nationally, the number of items that have been cited by that now-sanctified SCI amounted to 94,800 in 2006, representing a stunning 33.5 percent increase over 2006.

Universities are in a race with each other in churning out the most SCI articles.

The whistleblower revealed that to have one article published in scholarly journals in Europe would involve a payment by the article's writer of 300 to 500 euros (US$287-645) in "publishing fees."

For those who can pay, this is a small investment compared to the many benefits accruing from "articles published in foreign core journals."

Our reliance - for purposes of evaluation - on standardized external tools, rather than human intuition and judgment, is at the root of these problems.

This relentless pursuit of instrumental rationality makes many people totally forget the high purpose and ethics associated with research.

It was not an accident that systematic study of any traditional Chinese scholar began with conduct of the individual, then proceeded to conduct of the family, and then to the administrative affairs.

I have already made my six-year-old son commit to memory the first parts of Dizi Gui (Precepts for Pupils) handed down from the Qing Dynasty (1644-1911).

They begin with injunctions like this:

"Be filial to your parents and respectful to all of your elders, be trustworthy, cautious and kind, draw near to those who are good and love all equally - and when you still have time to spare, devote it to learning."

High purpose

English readers may feel this is a book of platitudes, and it sounds quite prosaic and commonsensical when stripped of the classical elegance and epigrammatic polish in the original - but it's considered the foundation of any educated Chinese.

These doctrines may not make my son an academician, but they are sufficient - if taken to heart and practiced - to save him from the vice committed by the above-mentioned academician.

A traditional Chinese scholar may have many merits, but those of first importance are whether he has ren (benevolence), yi (justice), and li (propriety).

Contrary to popular belief, acquiring these virtues requires a lifetime of assiduous cultivation.

This emphasis on moral principles is quite distinct from modern Western views that the merit of a scientist can be assessed quite independent of his character - that falls within the category of privacy.

Obviously, it is easy for a smart but unscrupulous men to prostitute his talents in the service of mammon, or demons.

We are told scientists are among the greatest men and women, but how about those who devote their lifetime to making bombs, concocting toxic chemicals, or polluting our habitat?

We must confess that academician Li seems quite innocuous compared with some of his counterparts.

As Henry Fielding noted in his preface to "Tom Jones," "I believe it is much easier to make good men wise than to make bad men good."

Three decades ago we still spoke of the ideal of being red (of sound political principles) as well as expert.

Before that, casual assessments from venerated figures sufficed to change a man's fate.

Otherwise-obscure painter Xu Beihong became known after scholar Kang Youwei praised his paintings in 1910s.

Modern artist Chen Danqing questioned recently whether Xu could hope to excel today?

Self-taught Liang Shumin began to teach at Peking University in the 1910s after one of his journal articles on Buddhism was approved by Cai Yuanpei, dean of the university.

Can we place similar trust in big names today?

We cannot.

This is because scholars like Cai Yuanpei, while quite responsive to Western influences, also had solid grounding in Chinese classics.

As well-known historian Fu Ssu-nien (1896-1950) said, "Our ideas and beliefs are new: Our ideology is totally Westernized, but we are still essentially Chinese in terms of our attitudes, outlook, and private conduct."

It was reported that a fifth grader jumped to her death from a sixth floor in Shanghai on Monday, the first day of the new school term (last September four fell or jumped in Shanghai within two days after school opened).

It is reported that before she took the plunge she was tortured by the question, "Is it always right to tell the truth?"

Could it be possible that the fifth grader had already become fatally aware of the deep cleavage between what we claim to be and what we really are?




 

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