English Version #

I recently stumbled upon an old piece I wrote two years ago, and it still feels painfully relevant today. In 2023, Professor Xin Deyong from Peking University made headlines with a bold move—he publicly released a job application letter, arguing that he had been treated unfairly after being denied the prestigious Boya Professorship.

To be honest, academia has long been plagued by hyper-competition. Awards, administrative titles, research grants, and tenure promotions are all subject to an extreme level of rivalry. The result? Ever-rising academic standards: degrees, international experience, publication tiers, research project rankings—all meticulously crafted, not necessarily to identify the best talent, but often to set artificial barriers. In such an environment, frustration, anxiety, and resentment become the norm. What’s even more absurd is that many scholars spend their time fulfilling assessment criteria that even the evaluators themselves recognize as meaningless.

In this system, university professors are reduced to “paper mill workers”—and in recent years, they’ve also become “project laborers.” Many academic works today are no longer about advancing knowledge but are instead a mechanical exercise in meeting publishing and funding quotas—all in pursuit of better compensation.

Professor Xin refused to play this game. He focused on writing and teaching rather than chasing grants—a stance that is nearly impossible for universities to accept under the current model. Today, many institutions demand five to eight top-tier journal publications per year and a national research grant every five years. While these goals are technically achievable, they leave little room for anything else. However, the reward for meeting these criteria is financial security, leading many scholars from northern China and Beijing to spend their early careers publishing aggressively, only to later move south for higher pay—a strategy that has ironically become a “successful” career path.

But Professor Xin’s demands were high. He wanted compensation equal to that of a Boya Professor at Peking University—an exceptionally rare million-yuan salary for a humanities professor. More importantly, he sought exemption from project funding obligations—an expectation that clashes with the very structure of academic evaluation. Publicly seeking employment like this is unheard of; universities must consider bureaucratic approval, societal reactions, and systemic risks before making such hires.

The Struggle Between Academic Freedom and Economic Survival #

Hoping to retain academic independence while relying on institutional resources is often a matter of whether those in power are generous enough to allow it. When they aren’t, the system becomes visibly exploitative, and fairness goes out the window. But what options do scholars really have?

This reminds me of something I saw years ago in the countryside. A friend was feeding pigs—dumping leftovers into a trough, tapping the bucket twice, and watching as the pigs rushed forward, jostling for every last scrap. I found it amusing at first, until a scholar standing beside me said coldly, “This looks exactly like competing for research grants and promotions.” The mood instantly turned somber.

Then, I noticed one pig lounging off to the side, watching the others with an air of indifference, almost disdain. Surprised by its composure, I asked, “Why isn’t that one joining the scramble?”

My friend chuckled, “That one often jumps out of the pen and finds its own food. When you can feed yourself outside, you can afford dignity inside.”

So, you ask me what I think about Professor Xin’s case?

I think of that pig.

Some truths, even pigs understand.

People ask, “Are you mocking scholars?”

How could I mock scholars?

What pains me is a society where scholars have to bow their heads just to survive.

Chinese Version #

翻到两年前写的一段文字，如今读来依然深感现实的沉重。2023年新年，北大辛德勇教授公开发布了一封求职信，引起了广泛讨论。这封信的核心诉求是，他未能评上北大的博雅教授，认为自己受到了不公待遇。

坦白说，今天的大学校园已经深陷"内卷"之中。学术界的竞争激烈，无论是奖项、行政职务、科研项目，还是职称晋升，供需之间的不平衡让每一个学者都如履薄冰。内卷的结果，就是学术标准不断提高：本科学历、海外留学经历、论文档次、项目评级……这些标准的设立，很多时候并非真正为了选拔优秀人才，而是为了人为设限。身处这样的环境中，压抑、焦虑和愤怒成了常态。更讽刺的是，许多学者在投入大量时间完成这些"考核指标"时，连评审者本身都清楚这些标准毫无实际意义。

在这样的体系下，大学教师几乎沦为"论文民工"，甚至在近年来演变成"项目民工"。越来越多的学术工作，已经不再关乎知识生产，而只是机械化地完成论文和项目的堆砌——一切的目的，仅仅是为了获取更高的待遇。

辛教授没有申请项目，而是专注于教学和写作——这在当前高校环境下几乎是不可接受的。近年来，很多高校的硬性要求是一年5-8篇核心期刊论文，五年内必须拿下一个国家级科研项目。虽然这些要求可以实现，但一旦达标，个人几乎已经没有时间做任何其他事情了。然而，完成这些任务带来的回报是更高的薪资待遇。因此，很多北方甚至北京的学者，年轻时拼命写论文、申请项目，职称到手后，便南下寻求更高的回报——这成了一种"成功"的学术路径。

然而，辛教授的要求并不低。他希望获得北大博雅教授同等的待遇，而文科教授百万年薪，在国内并不多见。此外，他还希望不被强制要求申请项目，这一点几乎与当前的学术考核体系背道而驰。在现行体制下，学术界的跳槽往往是暗中进行，而辛教授的公开求职，无疑是打破常规的举动。高校在招聘时，必须考虑教育主管部门的态度，社会舆论的影响，甚至可能带来的制度风险。

学术自由与生存压力的悖论 #

资源与待遇受制于人，却希望保持学术独立和尊严，这在许多时候只能取决于掌权者的雅量。如果他们没有这种雅量，制度的"吃相"就会变得难看，学术环境也会显得不公。而身处其中的学者，又能如何应对呢？

让我想起几年前的一次经历。我在农村，看到朋友喂猪。他把残羹冷炙倒进食槽，敲了两下，猪群立刻争先恐后地挤成一团，生怕错过这顿饭。我本来觉得挺有趣，直到身旁一位学者冷冷地说道：“这不就像申请项目、评职称吗？”这句话让在场的所有人都沉默了。

就在那时，我注意到有一头猪懒洋洋地躺在一旁，冷漠地看着其他猪争抢食物。我感到惊讶，这头猪竟然有一种超然的尊严。朋友看出了我的疑惑，笑着说：“这头猪经常跳到栏外自己找吃的，在外面能搞到食物，在圈里才有尊严。”

你问我怎么看辛教授的求职事件？我想起了这头猪。

很多道理，猪都懂。

有人问：“你为什么要嘲笑读书人？”

我怎么会嘲笑读书人？

我心酸的是，让读书人不得不低头才能生存的社会现实。

By: WeiqiMeng

Last modified on 2025-02-05