China's Scientific Elite (Routledgecurzon Studies on China in Transition, 21)

CHINA’S SCIENTIFIC ELITE

China’s Scientific Elite is the first scholarly work on scientists holding China’s highest academic honor—membership of the Chinese Academy of Sciences. Having carried out extensive systematic data collection of CAS members, Cao examines the social stratification system of the Chinese science community and the way in which politics and political interference have effected the stratification. A close comparison is also made between the stratification system of Western scientific elites, particularly those in the United States and those in the Chinese system. The conclusions are fascinating, not least because one national elite resides in a democratic liberal social system, and the other in an authoritarian social system. Characteristics that the book examines include: ● ● ● ● ● ● ●

Family background. Educational attainment. Mentoring. Types of research. Political participation. Social roles as intellectuals. Process of nomination, evaluation, and election.

Perhaps most important, the book highlights how the recognition and promotion of scientists in China are independent of political, cultural, and historical fluctuations. Containing unique interviews with elite scientists, this study will be of interest to researchers in both Asian Studies and Sociology. Cong Cao is a Research Fellow in the East Asian Institute at the National University of Singapore.

ROUTLEDGECURZON STUDIES ON CHINA IN TRANSITION Series Editor: David S. G. Goodman

1 THE DEMOCRATISATION OF CHINA Baogang He 2 BEYOND BEIJING Dali Yang 3 CHINA’S ENTERPRISE REFORM Changing state/society relations after Mao You Ji 4 INDUSTRIAL CHANGE IN CHINA Economic restructuring and conflicting interests Kate Hannan 5 THE ENTREPRENEURIAL STATE IN CHINA Real estate and commerce departments in reform era Tianjin Jane Duckett 6 TOURISM AND MODERNITY IN CHINA Tim Oakes 7 CITIES IN POST MAO CHINA Recipes for economic development in the reform era Jae Ho Chung 8 CHINA’S SPATIAL ECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT Regional transformation in the Lower Yangzi delta Andrew M. Marton 9 REGIONAL DEVELOPMENT IN CHINA States, globalization and inequality Yehua Dennis Wei

10 GRASSROOTS CHARISMA Four local leaders in China Stephan Feuchtwang and Wang Mingming 11 THE CHINESE LEGAL SYSTEM Globalization and local legal culture Pitman B. Potter 12 MARKETS AND CLIENTALISM The transformation of property rights in rural China Chi-Jou Jay Chen 13 NEGOTIATING ETHNICITY IN CHINA Citizenship as a response to the state Chih-yu Shih 14 MANAGER EMPOWERMENT IN CHINA Political implications of rural industrialisation in the reform era Ray Yep 15 CULTURAL NATIONALISM IN CONTEMPORARY CHINA The search for national identity under reform Ying jie Guo 16 ELITE DUALISM AND LEADERSHIP SELECTION IN CHINA Xiaowei Zang 17 CHINESE INTELLECTUALS BETWEEN STATE AND MARKET Edward Gu and Merle Goldman 18 CHINA, SEX AND PROSTITUTION Elaine Jeffreys 19 THE DEVELOPMENT OF CHINA’S STOCKMARKET, 1984–2002 Equity politics and market institutions Stephen Green 20 CHINA’S RATIONAL ENTREPRENEURS The development of the new private business sector Barbara Krug 21 CHINA’S SCIENTIFIC ELITE Cong Cao

CHINA’S SCIENTIFIC ELITE

Cong Cao

First published 2004 by RoutledgeCurzon 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by RoutledgeCurzon 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2004. RoutledgeCurzon is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group © 2004 Cong Cao All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Cao, Cong, 1959– China’s scientific elite/Cong Cao. p. cm.—(RoutledgeCurzon studies on China in transition; 21) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Science—Social aspects—China. 2. Scientists—China. 3. Elite (Social sciences)—China. 4. China—Intellectual life—1949– I. Title. II. Series. Q175.52.C6C36 2004 331.7⬘615⬘0951—dc22

2003015201

ISBN 0-203-39060-1 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-203-66963-0 (Adobe eReader Format) ISBN 0–415–32757–1 (Print Edition)

FOR XIAOZUO AND YIYANG

CONTENTS

List of tables Acknowledgments Abbreviations

x xii xv

1

Introduction

1

2

China’s science in perspective

22

3

The evolution of an academic honor

52

4

Social origins

73

5

The influence of elite mentors on students

97

6

The characteristics of research and becoming elite

117

7

“Red” or “Expert”

136

8

Elections of scientists into the elite group

160

9

Toward a better understanding of China’s scientific elite

184

Appendix: interviewing China’s scientific elite

204

Notes Bibliography Index

215 225 251

ix

TABLES

1.1 1.2 1.3 1.4 3.1 4.1 4.2 4.3 4.4 4.5 4.6 5.1 5.2 6.1 6.2 6.3 7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4 7.5 7.6 7.7 8.1 8.2

CAS members by years of election, Academic Divisions, and genders 2 China’s social strata 10 Compositions of CAS members (March 2003) 16 Institutions with a large number of CAS members (March 2003) 18 Profiles of party members among 1955 appointed CAS Academic Division members 60 Birthplace distributions of CAS members 75 Fathers’ occupations of CAS members 77 Educational attainments of CAS members’ parents 79 Undergraduate institutions of CAS members 85 Foreign graduate origin of CAS members 90 Educational attainment patterns 93 Undergraduate institutions of China’s elite physicists 99 CAS members who had physics training at Qinghua, Beijing, and Southwest Associated Universities 100 Institutional affiliations of CAS members at elections 122 Military research programs and CAS members (I) 126 Military research programs and CAS members (II) 129 CAS members in the National People’s Congress 142 CAS members in the National People’s Congress Standing Committee 143 CAS members in the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference National Committee 144 CAS members in the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference Standing Committee 145 Admissions of CAS members to the Chinese Communist Party 150 Political party affiliation of CAS members 155 CAS members in the Chinese Communist Party Central Committee 157 Sub-groups of the CAS Academic Divisions in candidate evaluation 162 Ratio of elected CAS members and candidates (1991–2001) 164

x

TA B L E S

8.3 9.1

Age distribution of CAS members at elections Profiles of CAS members who signed the 1989 petition to support Fang Lizhi A.1 Characteristics of informants A.2 Comparison of the population and the sample (1997)

xi

170 192 208 213

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I finally turned my doctoral dissertation, finished in 1997 at the Department of Sociology, Columbia University, into a book. I would like to first thank Professor Jonathan R. Cole, my dissertation advisor. Although he was fully occupied with administrative tasks at the university, Professor Cole tried to find time to advise me and to read and criticize various drafts of my writing. He was always available. The late Professor Robert K. Merton, the founder of the Columbia school of the sociology of science, encouraged my pursuit of the topic and especially inspired me to turn an interesting project—the study of China’s scientific elite—into an important one. I am also indebted to Professor Harriet Zuckerman, who was instrumental in bringing me to Columbia, guided me through the research, and finally served on my dissertation committee. Other members of my dissertation committee—Professors Susan G. Lehmann, Kelly Moore, Peter A. Messeri, and Andrew J. Nathan—were also very supportive. Their comments on drafts of my dissertation greatly helped sharpen my ideas. I am also grateful to Professor Richard P. Suttmeier, a political scientist and leading scholar of Chinese science at the University of Oregon, a great mentor as well as a trustful friend. When I was working on my dissertation, I started contacting Professor Suttmeier who kindly agreed to read and comment on my work. Later, I worked with him at Oregon. He has always been there whenever I needed help. Having worked together on several papers including one on the elitism in Chinese science and engineering, we are looking forward to seeing our book on the Chinese scientific community in print. I have also been lucky to have had the help of many other scholars. Professor Laurence Schneider, a historian of Chinese science at Washington University in St. Louis, read, commented on, and criticized the entire draft of the dissertation. Professor Nathan Sivin at the University of Pennsylvania, and Dr Catherine Jami at the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique (the French National Center for Scientific Research, CNRS), both historians of Chinese science, commented on the paper of the evolution of the Chinese Academy of Sciences (CAS) Academic Divisions from a scientific leadership organization to an honorific society. Professor Michael Agelasto and Dr Bob Adamson at the University of Hong Kong commented on several drafts of my paper on the relations between educational xii

ACK N OWL E DGM E N T S

attainment and the formation of the scientific elite and kindly included it into a book of Chinese education they edited. Finally, Professor Gerald Holton at Harvard University provided me with the information on the mandatory rule of electing young scientists at the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, which helped me put the Chinese case in a comparative perspective; and Professor Loren R. Graham of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology helped with the case of Soviet science that has had a profound influence on China. The final revision of the work was done at the East Asian Institute, the National University of Singapore, where I benefited from the active research environment, discussion with colleagues, and institutional support. My field research in China was supported by the National Science Foundation of the United States, with first a dissertation improvement grant from the Sociology Program (SBR-9521358) and subsequently a grant from the Societal Dimensions of Engineering, Science, and Technology (SBR-9800174). I interviewed seventy-nine members of CAS—some more than once—in two trips, between October 1995 and February 1996, and October and December 1997, but their names are kept anonymous, as promised. I also interviewed the ex-CAS member Fang Lizhi in Tucson, Arizona in October 1996. Without the participation of these scientists, the work would not have been complete. The fieldwork was also greatly facilitated by the help of Professor Fan Dainian, formerly with the CAS Policy and Management Institute, and Mr Chen Dan who was with the Chinese Academy of Engineering when I conducted my fieldwork. Mr Chen, in his current capacity as the deputy director of the General Office of the CAS Academic Divisions, filled my many e-mail inquiries when the work was in its final revision. Thanks also go to other knowledgeable scientists, science administrators, and social scientists for their insights on the CAS history and the recent development of Chinese science, among others. At RoutledgeCurzon, the Asian Studies editor Stephanie Rogers and her assistant Zoë Botterill saw through the project. Two outside reviewers endorsed the book, which was then included by Professor David S. G. Goodman into “China in Transition,” a series he edits. Moira Eminton was responsible for the production of the book, and Vincent Antony did the copy-editing. Finally, I have had the continuous support from my family and relatives. My wife, Xiaozuo, and my son, Yiyang, have shared my excitement as well as frustration, to them I feel indebted—without their emotional support, understanding, and patience, I would not have gone through the long and arduous journey. This book is dedicated to them. I have used materials—with revision and updated information—from my previous publications. They are: Cong Cao (1996) “Modernizing science through educating the elite,” in Michael Agelasto and Bob Adamson (eds) Higher Education in Post-Mao China, Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 99–119, © 1996 by and with the permission of the Hong Kong University Press; xiii

ACK N OWL E DGM E N T S

Cong Cao (1998) “The Chinese Academy of Sciences: elections of scientists into the elite group,” Minerva 36 (4): 323–46, © 1998 by and with the kind permission of Kluwer Academic Publishers; Cong Cao (1999) “The changing dynamic between science and politics: evolution of the highest academic honor in China, 1949–1998,” Isis 90 (2): 298–324, © 1999 by the History of Science Society, with the permission of the University of Chicago Press; Cong Cao (1999) “Red or expert? Membership in the Chinese Academy of Sciences,” Problems of Post-Communism 46 (4): 42–55, © 1999 by and with the permission of M.E. Sharpe, Inc.; and Cong Cao (1999) “Social origins of the Chinese scientific elite,” The China Quarterly 160: 992–1018, © 1999 by School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, and with the permission of Cambridge University Press. Cong Cao and Richard P. Suttmeier (1999) “China’s ‘brain bank’: leadership and elitism in Chinese science and engineering,” Asian Survey 39 (3): 525–59; © 1999 by the Regents of the University of California, with the permission of the University of California Press. I thank anyone who has reviewed these publications.

xiv

ABBREVIATIONS

AAAS ACFNSS ATP BEPC BIOGRAPHIES CAE Cal Tech CAS CASS CAST CCP COSTIND CPPCC IHEP KMT MIT MOST NAS NBS NDIO NDSTC NOTES NPC NSF NSFC SSTC YSZLYYJ ZRBZFTX

American Academy of Arts and Sciences All-China Federation of Natural Science Societies Adenosine triphosphate Beijing Electron-Positron Collider Xiandai Zhongguo Kexuejia zhuanji [Biographies of Contemporary Chinese Scientists] Chinese Academy of Engineering California Institute of Technology Chinese Academy of Sciences Chinese Academy of Social Sciences Chinese Association for Science and Technology Chinese Communist Party Commission of Science, Technology, and Industry of National Defense Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference Institute of High Energy Physics, CAS Kuomintang, the Nationalist Party Massachusetts Institute of Technology Ministry of Science and Technology National Academy of Sciences, the United States National Bureau of Statistics National Defense Industry Office National Defense Science and Technology Commission Zhongguo Kexueyuan yuanshi zishu [Autobiographical Notes of the Members of the Chinese Academy of Sciences] National People’s Congress National Science Foundation, the United States National Natural Science Foundation of China State Science and Technology Commission Yuanshi Ziliao yu Yanjiu [History of the Chinese Academy of Sciences: Materials and Research] Ziran bianzheng fa tongxu [ Journal of the Dialectics of Nature] xv

1 INTRODUCTION

There are basically two types of academies—the pure honorific societies like the Royal Society of London and the National Academy of Sciences (NAS) of the United States, and honorific societies like the French Academy of Sciences and the former Soviet Academy of Sciences which combine research with honorary activities. Both types of academies confer honors upon outstanding scientists to acknowledge their achievements as well as their value as individuals. While such recognition is supposed to be nonpolitical and based on merit alone, this has not been the case under totalitarian regimes—notably the former Soviet Union where political criteria became at least as important and maybe even more so than scientific reputation (Graham 1967, 1977; Kojevnikov 1996; Tolz 1997; Vucinich 1956, 1984). This book examines a similar but rarely studied case—the Chinese Academy of Sciences (CAS). As China’s most important scientific establishment, the CAS is an academy of the second type. At the top of the scientific hierarchy in mainland China, it is an entity of scientific research, headquartered in Beijing and comprises eighty-four research institutes and a research staff of 45,000 scattered throughout the country (Kexue shibao March 26, 2003). The CAS is also designed to assume academic leadership in setting and implementing science policy and in leading scholarly activities for the entire nation (Suttmeier 1969: 130–3; Yao 1989b: 453). The CAS pursues this goal through the offices of the Academic Divisions (xuebu)— Mathematics and Physics, Chemistry, Biological Sciences, Earth Sciences, and Technological Sciences—by attracting eminent scientists from across the country.1 Founded as organs of state science policy so that their scientific status was less important than their orientation to government needs, these divisions, though still affiliated with the CAS institutionally, taken together, now resemble a Western-style honorific society—an evolution that finds semantic reflection in the change of the title of their members from xuebu weiyuan (Academic Division member) to yuanshi (academician), now China’s highest designation in science and technology, signifying great honor and academic authority.2 Between 1955 and 2001, a total of 970 Chinese natural scientists have become CAS members (Table 1.1); and as of the end of March 2003, 634 CAS members were alive.3 The book focuses on the function of the CAS as an honorific institution 1

30 22 60 24 36 172 1

1955 6 2 5 3 2 18 0

1957 51 51 53 64 64 283 14

1980

Year of CAS membership election

Sources: Academic Divisions of the CAS (2001a). Author’s collection.

Mathematics and Physics Chemistry Biological Sciences Earth Sciences Technological Sciences Total Female total

Academic Division

38 35 34 35 68 210 12

1991 10 10 11 10 18 59 3

1993

Table 1.1 CAS members by years of election, Academic Divisions, and genders

10 9 12 10 18 59 6

1995 9 10 12 10 17 58 4

1997

10 8 11 10 16 55 2

1999

10 10 12 9 15 56 8

2001 174 157 210 175 254 970

Total

50

10 11 13 7 9

Female total

I N T RO DUCT I O N

and in particular on CAS members as a group that serves as a bellwether for the direction of changes in the areas of science and technology as well as society. While China’s elites, in politics (Goldstein 1994; Li C. 2001; Zang 1991), the military (Li C. and White 1993), business (Pearson 1997), and among the ethnic minority (Zang 1998), have been the subjects of intensive scholarly research, this book represents the first effort to systematically study China’s elite scientists. Employing the Mertonian sociology of science in general and the norm of universalism and the theory of social stratification in science in particular, the book examines the basis for the formation of this elite group in China. Specifically, it explores the influence of such factors as social origins, influence of mentors on students, the assessed quality of research recognized by the scientific community, political party affiliation, and personal relations (guanxi), among others, on Chinese scientists becoming members of the honorific society. It also investigates historical continuity and discontinuity by looking at the impact of major historical changes on the development of science and on the formation of the scientific elite in China. The study will put the Chinese case into a comparative perspective. Finally, the book examines the scientific as well as political and social roles the elite has played in influencing the nation’s policy making and urging autonomy and democracy in scientific research and societal life. This introductory chapter first summarizes the lines of literature relevant to the study—the sociology of science, social stratification and its application to the scientific community, and studies on science in China. After a general description of the social stratification in Chinese society, the chapter will define China’s scientific elite, explain why such a definition is used, and examine the current composition of the elite. It will then spell out the major research focuses of the book.

Relationship to the existing literature The universalistic norm of science No research on the norm of universalism in science can begin without immediate reference to the work of Robert K. Merton. The idea of universalism is implicit in much of his discussion of the problems raised by the imposition of irrelevant criteria for evaluating scientific knowledge. By this Merton means the requirement that a scientific contribution be judged according to universalistic, or “impersonal” criteria. Personal and social attributes of a scientist such as race, nationality, religion, class, and personal qualities are deemed “irrelevant” in such judgments ([1942] 1973: 270–3). The norm of universalism also requires that a scientist be rewarded in accord with the extent of his/her contributions to science ([1957] 1973). The universalistic norm of science further assumes that “science is afforded opportunity for development in a democratic order which is integrated with the 3

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ethos of science” (Merton [1942] 1973: 269). In other words, the circumstance of democracy could be more suitable or less constrained for the development of the universalistic norm of science. Along the same lines, Barber suggests that “liberal” societies are more favorable in certain respects to science than are “authoritarian” societies (1952: 61). Or, there may be an intimate link between science and democracy—“good” science requiring autonomy and the independence of scientists from “external” political and economic pressures (Fuchs 1992: 38–9), although this does not imply that science cannot develop in a despotic or totalitarian regime (Salomon 2000). This universalistic norm of science has provoked prolonged and heated discussions (Zuckerman 1988: 514–20). Early research on the sociology of science provided evidence that science is universalistic in the way in which scientific work and scientists are evaluated. For example, while the institution where the doctoral research was carried out is important to the scientists entering the top ranks of graduate institutions, it has eventually had little effect in comparison to productivity rates as far as avoidance of their placement in the lowest prestige category is concerned, which lends support to the universalistic argument (Hargens and Hagstrom 1967). And despite having an independent effect on positional success, the social origin of a scientist has very little, if any, influence on reputational success; and the single most important variable in influencing the distribution of rewards is the quality of one’s work as perceived by one’s colleagues (Cole J. R. and Cole S. 1973). Similar findings were obtained elsewhere. In Great Britain, for example, the prestige of a scientist’s current affiliation had only a negligible effect on his productivity; social class origins, type of undergraduate university, and prestige of current affiliation of British scientists were not found to be related to recognition, with the exception of the class secured by scientists in their undergraduate degree, because back then many British scientists did not take PhDs; and productivity and recognition were strongly related (Gaston 1970, 1978). Studies from the relativist/social constructivist school of the sociology of scientific knowledge, however, have denied that scientific knowledge can be evaluated objectively, which in turn implies that there are no universalistic criteria and that all evaluation of scientific knowledge is inherently subjective and therefore particularistic. As Mulkay puts it, “we should not assume that any norm can have a single literal meaning independent of the contexts in which it is applied” (1980: 112). That is to say, science could not be separated from society as a whole. Instead, it could be said to consist of a series of nested layers of institutions; and it is the economic and political systems outside science under certain conditions that allow universities and research laboratories to exist. These in turn become an intermediate layer of social and material conditions within which scientists can operate. In fact, Merton himself discussed the interaction of science, technology, and society in seventeenth-century England ([1938] 1970: chapters 4, 6 through 9). In a sense, therefore, the post-Mertonian “relativist/social constructivist” sociology has actually offered little that was not anticipated in Merton’s work (Gieryn 1982). 4

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Recent studies in the sociology of science seek a “rapprochement” between two frameworks (Cole S. 1992). For example, by integrating the Mertonian and the social constructivist schools, Fuchs developed a theory of scientific organizations, which takes into account the macro-institutional structure of a scientific community while examining the production of micro-scientific knowledge (1992). Yet, Merton’s student Stephen Cole stands by his mentor’s universalistic model, believing that “the perceived ‘quality’ of a scientist’s work remains in general the most significant determinant of recognition” and that particularism plays “at the day-to-day individual level” (1992: 171–5). He further makes an analytic distinction between particularism based upon cognitive evaluations and non-cognitive personal valences and network ties. According to him, cognitive particularism in most evaluations of frontier science is “an inherent part of science”; particularism based upon network ties and noncognitive characteristics has some serious negative consequences for science, but these negative consequences, at least in the United States, are sharply reduced by the social organization of contemporary science. In particular, non-cognitive particularism based on gender, rank of doctoral department, personality, and political views, though possibly negative for individuals, does not always have “negative consequences for social institutions” (Cole S. 1992: 198–205). From this point of view, his current position is the revision and extension, rather than the “concession,” of the Mertonian school as Shapin suggests in the review of Stephen Cole’s book (1993). There is another revision or improvement of the universalistic norm of science. Yu Xie suggests distinguishing two versions of the universalism hypothesis—a strong one and a weak one (1989: 11–12). Strong universalism assumes that functionally irrelevant factors should never have any effect on the final outcome of rewarding scientific work and recruiting scientists, while weak universalism deals with a specific process and admits that inequality created before the process began could be affected by particularistic factors. He argues: As long as the specific process is directly determined only by universalistic (impersonal) criteria, the process can be said to be weakly universalistic even though particularistic factors may have indirect influence through intermediate but functionally relevant factors. . . . The difference between the strong and the weak hypothesis of the universalism lies in the interpretation of mediating factors that are functionally relevant. (Yu Xie 1989: 11, emphasis original) Here, “process” is the way through which a particular factor is evaluated. For example, in the intergenerational mobility literature, educational attainment as measured by the years of schooling is universalistic; while in the literature of the sociology of science, educational attainment as measured by institutional prestige is particularistic. According to Yu Xie, however, both are weakly universalistic (1989: 12). The major hypothesis of the book is whether there is an internal mechanism in science that is not circumscribed in the democratic prerequisite for scientific 5

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development as Merton suggests. If this mechanism can be shown to exist in both Western and Chinese social systems, of which scientific elite formation is one aspect, it could give more validity to the universalistic norm of science. In addition, since the universalism of scientific elite formation was originally discovered in Western democratic social systems, the book also represents a departure from or an extension to the prerequisite of the theory. That is, scientific elite formation could be universalistic, or be at least weakly universalistic, regardless of the social system. Although it is built upon the Mertonian sociology of science and especially the theory of social stratification of science, the book does not mean to totally reject the utility of the sociology of scientific knowledge. Both the micro approach that focuses on the impact of societal changes on the development of science and the process of knowledge production and the macro approach that takes into account the factors affecting the evaluations of scientific work are useful in examining the formation of the scientific elite in China. More important, because the past research from the Mertonian sociology of science has concentrated on the science in the West, an investigation into the scientific elite formation and scientific development under a different social system will shed new light on the universalism hypothesis. It is from this perspective that the study also represents an effort toward the “rapprochement ” between these two schools. Social stratification in science and the scientific elite Stratification is ubiquitous in science as it is in society. The extensive literature includes testing the universalism hypothesis through examining how universalism and particularism function in stratifying scientists. Universalism dictates that scientific merit and the quality of role performance be the sole basis for decisions on appointment, promotions, fellowships, publication, research funds, and honors. Particularism, in contrast, takes personal relations, social origins, and social status as the basis of such decisions (Zuckerman 1988: 518–19 and 526–8). The studies show that, in practice, processes in which scientists are stratified are neither wholly universalistic nor wholly particularistic. Connections do exist between the extent to which scientists have contributed to the advancement of knowledge and the formation of a hierarchical system in science (Allison and Long 1987; Cole J. R. and Cole S. 1973; Cole S. et al. 1978; Gaston 1973, 1978; Stewart 1983; Zuckerman 1977). However, particularism affects such decisions and is applied along with the quality of role performance. The particularistic factors of relevance here are having a higher social class origin (Crane 1969), receiving a degree from or working at a prestigious university (Allison and Long 1990; Crane 1965; Hagstrom 1971; Long 1978), following a powerful mentor (Long and McGinnis 1985; Reskin 1979), being a male (Bielby 1991; Cole J. R. 1979; Cole S. and Fiorentine 1991; Fox 1991; Keller 1991; Long 1990, 1992; Long et al. 1981, 1993), and staying longer in a rank (Zuckerman and Merton [1972] 1973) (see Long and Fox 1995 for a recent comprehensive review). 6

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At the topmost layer of the scientific hierarchy, as in other social stratification systems, there is an elite group whose composition rests on scientifically assessed role performance. Through her research on the American scientific elite—Nobel laureates and the extended elite members of the NAS—Zuckerman explores the problem of how the highest scientific hierarchy was formed. The conclusion is that while social origins (family background, religion, and educational attainment), master and apprentice relations, and career path had an impact on the formation of the elite group, the quality of research was the most significant in a scientist becoming an elite. Her findings affirm the universalistic and rational criteria in stratifying the system of science (1977). However, the sociology of scientific knowledge believes that the actual cognitive content of science has been influenced by the more traditionally defined social or political attributes of scientists making discoveries or by the contexts in which the discoveries are made. Such arguments have two implications for the stratification process in science. First, social stratification in science cannot be separated from other stratification systems. Such factors as race, religion, gender, age, and political affiliation could initially determine the likelihood of an individual getting into the pool of potential scientists. Without such a head start for certain members of the scientific community, there would be no social stratification in science. But this implication may be problematic empirically. By comparing the social origins of scientists with those of non-scientists, for example, Yu Xie finds evidence “in support of the universalism hypothesis in so far as the relations between recruitment of scientists and social origins are concerned” (1989: 163–6), and concludes that “science is equally open to people from all kinds of family background if they complete a college education” (1992: 273). The second implication is that the social environment in which scientific research is conducted would also have an impact on the stratification of the scientific community. In this regard, Zuckerman did not really examine the extent to which American science was largely driven by military concerns. The United States gathered many of its most distinguished scientists in physics and adjacent fields to concentrate their abilities on the most difficult technical problems of the war and serve in either of or both the capacities of researchers and policy makers in science (Kleinman 1995: 52–73). Because those scientists working on military-related projects were more likely to move upward in the career hierarchy of American science, their odds of winning a prize and of attaining the elite status were increased. Another aspect that Zuckerman might pay attention to, if she were to approach the research scenario today, is the influence of the increasing commercialization on the stratification process of science during the past two decades (see Zucker and Darby 1996 for the case of the biotechnology industry). Research on Chinese science The sociological study of Chinese science has not touched such topics as the scientific community and its stratification and the elite: Suttmeier’s work on professional 7

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societies in China is seminal in that it explores an important component of the scientific community (1987); and another analysis of the Chinese scientific community is more an examination of China’s evolving science policies than a study of the characteristics, interests, and behaviors of Chinese scientists (Yang et al. 1997). Neither has research dealt with the application of the universalistic norm of science to the Chinese case, with the exception that Suttmeier suggested some thirty-five years ago that the universalism of science had not been an issue among Chinese scientists (1969: 200–3). There appears to be two distinct reasons for the paucity of research on these subjects. For the Western sociologists of science, the language barrier seems to have prevented them from working on China; for the scholars of China studies, the sociological study of science might have possibly been too trivial. Given the increasing importance of science and technology in China’s move toward modernization, a study of the Chinese scientific community— especially its elite members—seems to be both timely and significant. Research on Chinese science has suggested that China has its own political system that has shaped and will continue to shape the direction of its science and technology (Goldman and Simon 1989; Suttmeier 1989a). The intervention of politics was to intentionally foster the development of some scientific fields—most being applied research—while hindering others (Suttmeier 1989a); or to promote one school while devaluing others from an ideological rather than a scientific standpoint, the domination of Lysenko biology in China during the 1950s and 1960s being an example (Schneider 1986, 1989). Moreover, the Chinese partystate has set research priorities for scientists such as the strategic weapons programs (Frieman 1989). Related research has also paid attention to scientific manpower in China (Cheng C. 1965; Orleans 1961), the institutional organization of science (Lindbeck 1961; Suttmeier 1969), China’s science policy (Saich 1989b; Suttmeier 1974, 1980b; Wang Yeu-Farn 1993), the relationship between science and politics, and the interaction between the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) and scientists (Cheek 1992; Chen T. 1961; Fang and Dicker 1992; Frieman 1994; Miller 1996; Simon 1987; Suttmeier 1987; Wang Yeu-Farn 1991). All these literature provide valuable information in understanding the part played by external factors in the stratification process of Chinese science.

Stratification in post-1949 Chinese society Class, occupation, and stratum Before turning to the discussion of China’s scientific elite, it is necessary to look at the social stratification in China. From 1949 when the People’s Republic was founded to the late 1970s when China launched the reform and open-door policy, notions of class and class struggle were dominant. Based on the class analysis theory by Mao Zedong, then chairman of the CCP Central Committee, the problem of distinguishing friends from enemies politically was most important and class struggle was believed to exist in the entire period of socialism. Thus, the 8

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Chinese society was divided roughly into workers, peasants, soldiers, students and intellectuals, businessmen (gong, nong, bin, xue, shang), plus various enemy classes, such as landlords, rich peasants, counter-revolutionaries, bad elements (di, fu, fan, huai), and others who were targets in different political campaigns, say “rightists” ( youpai ) in the 1957 Anti-Rightist Campaign and the “capitalist-roaders” (zouzipai) during the Cultural Revolution of 1966–76. It was the identifying of a class with the regime that determined its status in society. Because workers, peasants, and soldiers participated in the Chinese revolution led by the CCP, they were the leading class or party’s alliances. Such a class categorization was also used to mobilize different political forces. However, enemy classes such as landlords, rich peasants, and capitalists were linked to the properties which they were deprived of after 1949; thus, such a property model of stratification was mainly a measure of political status and social honor, rather than an economic definition of a class, to stratify the Chinese (Kraus 1981). There also existed an elaborate system of work-grades ( jibie) to classify Chinese employees (Kraus 1981: 31–4). Such occupational ranks encompassed almost every employee, denoting with clarity his or her position in a hierarchy of jobrelated rewards, income levels, prestige, privilege, and authority. Within this system, civil service personnel, or cadres (ganbu), were assigned to one of the thirty grades, with grade one for state chairman and vice-chairmen, and grade twentysix for the lowliest cadre (grades twenty-seven through thirty were reserved for janitorial and other service personnel). Similarly, military bureaucrats were ranked by a comparable system; workers at most state-owned enterprises were divided into a hierarchy of eight (but sometimes fewer) grades according to their skill and experience; there were twenty-five grades for educational administrators, twelve ranks for professors; engineers had eight levels, and technicians may attain five possible grades; scientists, writers, actors, and opera singers were state cadres; and even the inmates of labor reeducation camps were sorted into grades for wages. Only peasants were not incorporated into this occupational hierarchy. The jibie system was a better index to the economic position of an employee, usurping the economic aspects of the class designation. Social stratification in China has changed since the late 1970s (Walder 1989). Among the current ten social strata (Table 1.2), peasants gained the first stratum as they broke through the planned economy and pushed forward the market economy practice. It is from this stratum, along with other beneficiaries from the early reform, that the individual household-based businessmen (getihu) and private entrepreneur strata have emerged. The production workers, which according to the communist rhetoric still lead the nation, seem to lose the most in terms of political and economic status: since the mid-1990s many have been laid off or have migrated to other social strata, most likely for worse. Those in the administrative positions of the state and social affairs, or cadres were not compensated economically for their participation in and advocacy of the reform until the 1990s; so were the professionals. But lately, while some of the professionals and cadres have moved to the upper echelon of the managerial stratum, many others have also seen their political and, 9

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Table 1.2 China’s social strata (%) 1952 Administrators of state and social affairs Managers Private entrepreneurs Professionals Civil servants Individual household-based businessmen ( getihu) Service workers Proportion of peasants Industrial workers Proportion of peasants Peasants From other rural areas Unemployed or underemployed

1978

1988

1991

1999

0.50

0.98

1.70

1.96

2.10

0.14 0.18 0.86 0.50 4.08

0.23 0.00 3.48 1.29 0.03

0.54 0.02 4.76 1.65 3.12

0.79 0.01 5.01 2.31 2.19

1.50 0.60 5.10 4.80 4.20

3.13 0.00 6.40 0.00 84.21 n.a. n.a.

2.15 0.80 19.83 1.10 67.41 0.00 4.60

6.35 1.80 22.43 5.40 55.84 0.10 3.60

9.25 2.40 22.16 6.30 53.01 0.20 3.30

12.00 3.70 22.60 7.80 44.00 0.10 3.10

Source: Lu Xueyi (2002: 44, table 14).

especially, economic positions improve tremendously in the past decade (Lu Xueyi 2002: 1–124; see also Nee 1991). Among the professional stratum are the scientists. Social status of intellectuals Historically, intellectuals occupied a higher position in the Chinese society: The scholars, the farmers, the artisans, and the merchants (shi, nong, gong, shang) were the four classifications of pre-modern social groups (Bodde 1991: 203–12; Wortzel 1987: 15–17). Scholars in this sense were those with proper knowledge measured by a good command of Confucian classics, and they formed the stratum from which the officials came. Upon passing imperial civil service examinations (keju kaoshi) at various levels, they became scholar-officials, or gentry (shishen), a distinct social group in imperial China (Chang C. 1955). Scholar-officials dominated the social and economic affairs, had recognized political, economic, and social privileges and powers, and led a special mode of life. That tradition had been preserved, although keju kaoshi was abolished in 1905 and the Qing dynasty was replaced by a republic in 1911. During the nationalist (Kuomintang, or KMT) government era, intellectuals with advanced training background were respected and promoted to important positions in education, economy, and even politics. One example was that the National Defense Planning Commission (Guofang Sheji Weiyuanhui ) and its successor, the National Resources Committee (Ziyuan Weiyuanhui ), recruited the geologist Weng Wenhao, the economist Qian Changzhao, and the mining expert Sun Yueqi—all foreign-trained— to direct the nation’s research, planning, and managerial bureaucracy. Weng, not politically ambitious, was even appointed premier (Kirby 1989). 10

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It was under the communist leadership that Chinese intellectuals were considered to pose difficult ideological problems.4 According to the property model of stratification, intellectuals possess nothing but knowledge; therefore, their status could not be defined by the orthodox Marxist criterion based on their relationship to the means of production, nor be dealt with in Mao’s class analysis of the Chinese society (Kraus 1981; Wortzel 1987: 97–9). Intellectuals, scattered among various professions from scientists, engineers, professors and medical doctors to schoolteachers, are in the ranks of cadre. But because knowledge and education had long been of secondary importance in China, no matter how important intellectuals were in the nation’s economic, political, and cultural affairs, they remained only a marginalized social “stratum” or “element” working for the leading class, and could not be an independent class on their own (Kelly 1990). According to Mao Zedong, intellectuals were just “hairs attached to the skin”—their social status was attaching to the “skin” of the stratified structure of contemporary Chinese society (Zhang W. 2002). During the Cultural Revolution, intellectuals were even labeled as the “stink ninth category (chou laojiu),” behind the other class enemy categories of landlords, rich peasants, counter-revolutionaries, “bad elements,” “rightists,” traitors, spies, and “capitalist-roaders” (Ch’i 1991: 126 –7). Now, Chinese intellectuals are being more and more recognized and appreciated for their roles in society so that they are regarded as part of the leading class, at least verbally.5 The occupational prestige of intellectuals in general and that of scientific professionals in particular have become comparable to that in developed countries. For example, a 1983 survey on the occupational prestige in Beijing found that physicians, electric and electronics engineers, university teachers, and natural scientists were the four top-rated occupations among the fifty occupations that were studied (Lin and Xie 1988); so did a 1988 survey in Tianjin (Bian 1996). In 1989, a survey on Chinese public attitudes toward science and technology asked people aged eighteen and over to rank the occupational prestige of ten professions. The result was that scientists were first, physicians second, and engineers third, followed by architects, lawyers, government officials, businessmen, journalists, bankers, and accountants (Zhang Z. 1991). More recent surveys have obtained similar findings. For example, in a 1997–98 survey on the occupational prestige in Beijing, scientists, university professors, engineers, physicists, and physicians received the highest scores, which were almost across genders, age groups, and occupations (Li Qiang 2000). The 2001 survey on Chinese public attitudes toward science and technology also showed that scientists, doctors, lawyers, primary and secondary school teachers, and government officers were top on the occupational prestige list (Wu Huanqing 2001).6 Such a dramatic change in the prestige of Chinese professionals and intellectuals has caused them to be highly admired. However, higher occupational prestige had not been translated into decent economic benefits in the early reform era. In general, Chinese intellectuals were excellent in their performance but inexpensive in utilization ( jialian wumei ) 11

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(informant no. 48), as a frequently quoted saying suggested, “those who made atomic bombs earn less than those peddling tea-leaf-soaked eggs on the street, and those who performed surgery earn less than hair cutters” (zao yuanzidan buru mai chayedan, na shoushudao buru na titoudao).7 The divide between the high reputation and the low material reward has narrowed now. The intellectual stratum—scientists among them with CAS members at the top—has now become the one to occupy important positions and enjoys not only significant social status but also higher income and other privileges, similar to its counterparts in other countries. It is reported, for example, that about 40 percent of intellectuals earn an annual salary of more than RMB100,000 and have real estate and other assets (Nanfang ribao January 18, 2003); in fact, the salary of those in the scientific research and technological service sector was the highest among the sixteen sectors surveyed in 2000 (Beijing yule xinbao April 8, 2003). However, Chinese intellectuals seem to be satisfied with the improved social status and respect but reluctant to pursue independent thinking and open dissent for the sake of their vested interests.

Stratification and China’s scientific elite Stratification in Chinese science As an important component of the intellectuals, China’s scientists are stratified in various ways. Geographically, in addition to Beijing, scientists concentrate their research activities in the eastern part of the country, such as Shanghai, Jiangsu, Liaoning, Jilin, Tianjin, Shandong, Guangdong, Zhejiang, Fujian, and Hebei while the provinces in central China constitute another tier in science. By contrast, in various western provinces, scientific activities as well as education and industries are still significantly underdeveloped. The exceptions are Sichuan and Shaanxi where the establishment of institutions of research and learning and heavy government investment in the 1950s and 1960s enabled scientists to be engaged in research related to national defense. More meaningful than the locality in stratifying China’s scientific and technological manpower is the so-called “five fronts” (wu lu dajun) (Saich 1989b: 66–77; Simon 1983; Suttmeier 1980a: 23–7, 1980b: 41–6). The CAS, as a research institution, is no doubt the strongest powerhouse. From 1949 on, the CAS has nurtured many important fields of research and played a key role in developing new scientific disciplines from nuclear physics to nanotechnology (Science 1999). As the nation reformed its scientific research and development (R&D) system in the mid1980s the academy implemented a “one academy, two systems” policy, that is, keeping a small number of its research personnel in basic research while leaving the rest to seek outside support for applied research and development work that directly benefits the economy and meets market needs (Yao et al. 1994: 218–19; Zhou G. 1995). But in late 1998, with the endorsement from Jiang Zemin, then party general secretary and state president, the Chinese government affirmed the role of the CAS as a center in China for world-class basic research, for training 12

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the next generation of scientists, and for incubating high-tech industries, and allocated special funding to launch a Knowledge Innovation Program at the academy (Cao 2002; Science 1999; Suttmeier and Cao 1999). Researchers in institutions of higher education represent another important sector. In addition to their main task of training the next generations of scientists, China’s universities and colleges, especially those “key” (zhongdian) institutions, have gradually abandoned the former Soviet model of separating research and education, and have become an important knowledge innovation base (Conroy 1989; Hayhoe 1996: 122–7). With 17.8 percent of the nation’s total (22.6 percent of scientists and engineers [S&Es]), R&D personnel from Chinese universities contribute about 70 percent of the publications. During the Ninth Five-Year Plan period (1996–2000), universities participated in one-third of the State High-Tech Research and Development Program (863 Program) projects and one-third of the State Basic Research and Development Program (973 Program); in 2002, university scientists participated in 102 of the 198 nationally rewarded research projects—in particular, of the twenty-four National Nature Science Awards, twelve went to projects involving these scientists (Zhongguo jiaoyubao March 26, 2003: 4). The third force is the research institutes affiliated with various ministries or bureaus, such as agriculture, public health, geology, and production industries. Each of China’s government agencies follows the same pattern, maintaining universities for training and institutes for research, development, and design, besides the production function. The reform initiated in the mid-1980s to better link this front to industries has made some progress, but the problem of the separation of research and economy is far from being solved (Gu S. 1999). Since late 1999, 242 research institutes under the jurisdiction of ten industrial bureaus of the then State Economic and Trade Commission started to go through another round of reform, either being turned into S&T enterprises or being merged into other enterprises or institutions, and the rationalization of the remaining research institutes under the State Council has been under way. Although the national defense sector—with its separate research, training, and manufacturing facilities—could be included in the ministerial sector, its importance warrants a special treatment, and indeed the Chinese themselves regard it as such. In the 1950s, the Second to Seventh Ministries of Machine Building— corresponding to atomic energy, aeronautics, electronics, ordnance, shipbuilding, and astronautics—were founded, which constituted what is usually meant by the term “military-industrial complex.” They have virtually developed and produced all China’s weapons which are not part of the formal military command structure (Frieman 1989: 256; Gallagher 1987: 992–5). These ministries have also experienced reforms and were in 1999 turned into ten industrial corporations (Renmin ribao overseas edition July 2, 1999: 1) (for further discussion on China’s defense research sector see Chapter 6). The last front is research facilities under the jurisdiction of provinces and municipalities, or run by industrial enterprises (Conroy 1982).8 China’s large- and medium-sized state-owned enterprises (SOEs) usually have their own R&D centers, 13

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although at the same time they may depend on scientists from other fronts, say ministerial research institutes, to carry out tough tasks that they are unable to handle. For quite some time, Chinese enterprises had neither the incentive nor the resources to undertake major research initiatives; but corporate R&D activities are expected to be increasingly crucial to China’s national innovation system which centers on industrial R&D activities (Liu and White 2001). A national scientific community is rarely isolated. China’s scientific community has also gone beyond the confines of the mainland (Kraus and Suttmeier 1999: 211). Scientists from Taiwan and Hong Kong have close connections with their mainland counterparts. More significant, some of the overseas Chinese scientists have been in one way or other involved in research and education activities in their homeland. For example, the old-generation scientists Chen Ning Yang, Tsung-Dao Lee, among many of Chinese origin, played a significant role in the recovery of Chinese science in and after the Cultural Revolution (Wang Z. 1999). In recent decades, some Chinese scientists who left the country after the late 1970s and established themselves internationally have become “extended” and active members of the scientific community in their homeland. They have been appointed the Cheung Kong (Chang jiang) professors through a scholarship program endowed by the Hong Kong business tycoon Li Kaiching at Chinese universities, or have worked under similar arrangements at universities or research institutes (Cao and Suttmeier 2001). With globalization, Chinese scientists have become members of the world scientific community, although they are currently on the periphery (Schott 1991). Defining China’s scientific elite Along with the geographical and institutional stratifications is the stratification of Chinese scientists in terms of their professional ranks. At the top of the scientific hierarchy are members ( yuanshi) of the CAS,9 who have been renowned, nationally if not internationally, for their academic achievements. Also, the CAS Academic Divisions have become an honorific society which now awards “the highest academic title and an honor of life time” to those scientists “with Chinese nationality (inclusive of those who reside in Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, Macao Special Administrative Region, Taiwan province and overseas) who have made systematic and creative achievements and major contributions in the fields of science and technology, and who are patriotic, honest and upright in their style of learning” (Academic Divisions of the CAS 2002a). CAS members have thus become a unique group of scientists in China, possessing a reputation similar to that enjoyed by their counterparts in other countries, such as members of the National Academy of Sciences in the United States,10 fellows of the Royal Society of London in England, and so on (Boffey 1975; Zuckerman 1977). The occupation of scientists is ranked the highest in China, and being a CAS member represents the highest scientific designation in China through which one’s eminence in the nation’s science is recognized. In 2001, 2,051,822 Chinese 14

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were engaged in scientific and technological activities in the areas of natural science, engineering, agriculture, and medicine in institutions of research and higher education and large- and medium-sized enterprises, with 1,324,135 S&Es (NBS and MOST 2002: 16–17, 30–1, and 368). The information on their professional ranks as a whole is not available. Assuming that 40 percent held senior-level positions, it comes to the number of 530,000; and further assuming that one-third of them held full professorship or equivalent titles, the number is 159,000, from whom recent CAS members were elected. By using Zuckerman’s analogy (1977), for every CAS member, there are about 251 full professors, 836 scientists with senior ranks, 2,089 S&Es, and 3,236 Chinese who are engaged in activities in the natural sciences and technology. Thus, it is reasonable to define CAS members as the scientific elite in China. According to the by-laws on the CAS membership, the academy started electing foreign members in 1994, including ethnic Chinese and others who are not only internationally renowned but also helpful to the scientific development in China (see Chapter 3 for more discussion). The CAS has also seen new members elected from Hong Kong since 1995 and included in the 2001 election the first overseas Chinese member—a Harvard-trained mathematician who is now a professor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and concurrently a Cheung Kong professor at Beijing University. Composition of the current CAS members Table 1.3 lists demographical information on the current CAS members. The geographical distribution of the scientific elite tends to be concentrated in a limited number of locales. Not surprisingly, Beijing, with the largest concentrations of S&Es, also has the largest number of CAS members, which is almost four times more than that in Shanghai. Other provinces with large numbers of S&Es such as Jiangsu, Liaoning, Jilin, Hubei, and Shaanxi are generally well represented in the ranks of CAS members, although one might argue that Shaanxi, located in western China, is somewhat underrepresented, given its large technical communities for reasons to be discussed. On the other hand, the city of Tianjin, and the provinces of Zhejiang, Fujian, Guangdong, Sichuan, and Anhui, with relatively smaller numbers of scientific personnel, have disproportionately more CAS members. The geographical distribution of CAS members reflects both the distribution of traditional centers of excellence—many of which predate 1949—and the spatial consequences of Chinese science, industrial, and security policies during the years of the People’s Republic. The large numbers of S&Es in “less developed” Shaanxi and Sichuan, for instance, reflect earlier decisions to locate military research and strategic industries in those regions and the fact that these seem to be underrepresented in the CAS may be a function of the classified military research done there (both do somewhat better in Chinese Academy of Engineering (CAE) membership, however [Cao and Suttmeier 1999]). Anhui’s good showing in CAS 15

Table 1.3 Compositions of CAS members (March 2003) Characteristics

Active member (N ⫽ 462)

Senior member (N ⫽ 162)

Total (N ⫽ 634)

240 59 28 15 7 9 9 8 6 5

101 19 10 4 4 0 0 1 3 0

341 78 38 19 11 9 9 9 9 5

13 13 8 4 3 2 1

3 2 1 1 1 0 0

16 15 9 5 4 2 1

11 8 4 2 1 2 1 1 12

3 3 2 1 2 0 1 0 0

14 11 6 3 3 2 2 1 12

100 76 81 75 140

19 34 31 34 44

119 110 112 109 184

Institutional affiliations Institutes affiliated with the CAS 187 Universities 180 Government affiliated research institutes 44 Military institutions of research and learning 57 Research institutes affiliated with local government 4

56 47 23 25 1

243 227 67 82 5

155 7

593 41

Geographical distribution East Beijing Shanghai Jiangsu Liaoning Tianjin Zhejiang Guangdong Fujian Shandong Hebei Central Hubei Jilin Anhui Hunan Henan Heilongjiang Jiangxi West Shaanxi Sichuan Gansu Yunnan Guizhou Qinghai Shanxi Guangxi Hong Kong Academic Divisions Mathematics and Physics Chemistry Biological Sciences Earth Sciences Technological Sciences

Age distribution of active members ( years old) 70 and over 60–69 50–59 40–49 Under 40

203 229 25 14 1

Mean Median

69 69

Gender Male Female

438 34

Source: Same as Table 1.1.

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membership, in spite of being a generally poor and underdeveloped province, is explainable by the presence of the prestigious University of Science and Technology of China as a result of decisions made during the Cultural Revolution; in fact, all the eight members were from that university. In addition to these pre- and post-1949 policy legacies, one can also find explanations for geographical distribution patterns in idiosyncratic factors having to do with excellent research groups forming around especially talented senior scientists—at work in Gansu—or the establishment of a center of research excellence that is related to special or unique natural phenomena (Shaanxi and Gansu). Disciplinarily, more CAS members are in the technological sciences, followed by mathematics and physics, biological sciences, chemistry, and earth sciences. The current CAS members are more likely to work at institutes affiliated with the academy itself and universities. Scientists from military institutions of research and learning are somewhat underrepresented for the reason mentioned before— the difficulty in assessing their work. Government affiliated research institutes in such areas as medical science and earth sciences are also important. Of the five fronts of scientific research in China, research institutes affiliated with local governments and enterprises are almost not represented in the elite, which is not unanticipated given that the elite has been mainly chosen from scientists in the basic research or mission-oriented basic research ( yingyong jichu yanjiu) areas. Beijing University has the most number of CAS members on its faculty, which is 50 percent more than institutions with the next largest number of CAS members—Qinghua and Nanjing Universities. As a combination of four CAS institutes in related fields—mathematics, applied mathematics, systems sciences, and computing mathematics—the Academy of Mathematics and System Sciences has fourteen CAS members (See Table 1.4).11 Ten CAS members are active at the Chinese Academy of Engineering Physics, an establishment of atomic energy and related research. There are seven CAS members on the campus of the University of Hong Kong. An additional fourteen institutions of research and learning have more than seven elite scientists. Elite members in foreign academies have shown similar concentrations of geographical location and primary work institutions of the members. In the NAS of the United States, for example, four states—California (567), Massachusetts (286), New York (194), and New Jersey (108)—combined to account for 60 percent of its current members (1947 excluding foreign associates), while Harvard University (151), the University of California at Berkeley (124), the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (99), Yale University (68), the California Institute of Technology (63), Princeton University (59), and the National Institutes of Health (50) are among the institutions that have a large number of NAS members (NAS 2003). The CAS has been facing the lack of a contingent of middle-aged and young members, as the academies of other countries have been. More than one quarter of the CAS members are senior members (zishen yuanshi )—the oldest one being the 102-year-old geologist Wang Hengsheng—who, as stipulated by the by-laws on the CAS membership, are now relieved of the burden of electing new 17

Beijing Beijing Jiangsu Beijing Beijing Beijing and Sichuan Shanghai Beijing Shanghai Beijing Beijing Anhui and Beijing Beijing Shanghai Beijing Tianjin Beijing Beijing Beijing and Hubei Zhejiang Jilin Liaoning Fujian Jiangsu Hong Kong

Beijing University Qinghua University Nanjing University Academy of Mathematics and Systems Science Chinese Academy of Geological Sciences Chinese Academy of Engineering Physics Fudan University Institute of Physics Shanghai Institute of Biochemistry and Cell Biology Chinese Academy of Medical Sciences China Aerospace Corporation University of Science and Technology of China Institute of Geology and Geophysics Shanghai Institute of Organic Chemistry Institute of Theoretical Physics Tianjin University Institute of Semiconductor Institute of Chemistry Chinese University of Geosciences Zhejiang University Jilin University Institute of Dalian Chemical Physics Xiamen University Nanjing Geology and Palaeontology University of Hong Kong

Source: Author’s collection.

Location

Institution

Table 1.4 Institutions with a large number of CAS members (March 2003)

University University University CAS Ministry Military University CAS CAS Ministry Military University CAS CAS CAS University CAS CAS University University University CAS University CAS University

Affiliation 25 16 16 14 7 10 9 9 8 5 4 8 7 7 7 7 6 5 5 7 7 6 6 4 7

Active member 8 4 3 1 5 1 2 1 2 5 6 1 2 1 1 1 2 3 3 0 0 1 1 3 0

Senior member

33 20 19 15 12 11 11 10 10 10 10 9 9 8 8 8 8 8 8 7 7 7 7 7 7

Total

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members and participating in academic duties. The average age of the 472 active members is 69 years, with 203 aged 70 and older but only thirty-nine under 60 years—the youngest being the female chemist Ren Yonghua (Yam V. W. W.) elected in 2001 from the University of Hong Kong, who is less than 40 years old. Although the academy has taken measures to recruit more young members, it seems not to be very successful yet (see Chapter 8 for more discussion on the issue of the aged elite). Throughout its history, the CAS has elected a total of fifty female scientists into the rank of the elite (see Table 1.1), among whom forty-one are still alive, with seven senior members. The presence of women in the elite can be compared with the numbers of women in science more generally. In China, both genders are supposed to have equal opportunity in education and employment. In 1990, for instance, 42 percent of the principal investigators of national programs sponsored by the then State Science and Technology Commission (SSTC) were women and 47.3 percent of the major research projects within the CAS were led by females (Renmin ribao overseas edition March 4, 1993: 8). In 1993, women scientists accounted for about 35 percent of the scientific manpower in China (Gui 1996) and have maintained that percentage ever since (Beijing ribao April 1, 2003). However, only 10 percent of them had reached the senior level of associate professor and above (Renmin ribao overseas edition September 3, 1992: 3) and few attained the elite status. This statistics is indicative of the party’s failure in the realm of social revolution.12 Nevertheless, the representations of female scientists in the entire elite population (5.2 percent) and in the current elite body (7.2 percent) are comparable to those in the honorific societies in other countries. In the NAS of the United States, for example, the number of female members has been doubled over the past decade (Colwell 2002), and have made up 7.7 percent of the academy’s 2,015 living members after the 2003 election (Science 2003); while of the 1,248 fellows in the Royal Society of London as of May 2002, only forty-three (or 3.4 percent) were female (Royal Society of London 2002). Finally, scientists from Hong Kong are apparently overrepresented in the elite group on the mainland. In 1995, the University of Hong Kong chemist Zhi Zhiming (Che C. M.) became the first CAS member ever elected from that territory still under British control. The elections in 1999 and 2001 saw a total of eleven new members being added. Scientists from Hong Kong are young (56 versus 69 years of their mainland counterparts) and well educated (all except one have doctoral degrees).

Research focuses and the organization of the book CAS members form a unique group in the Chinese scientific community. The book examines the characteristics of these scientists and the criteria and the processes through which they have been evaluated and promoted. As in the cases of other countries, various factors might have influenced the stratification in Chinese science and the formation of a scientific elite, among which the assessed 19

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quality of research recognized by the Chinese scientific community should be the most important one. However, other factors, such as social origins (family background and personal educational attainment) may also be influential. As personal relations (guanxi) play a significant role in China’s social life (King 1991; Yang M. 1994), reflected in the CAS membership elections is the mentor–student relations and the same work unit (danwei )13 colleague relations. This may show patterns similar to those found in the industrial setting described as communist neo-traditionalism by Walder (1986); that is, to some extent the admission as a CAS member may depend on who one knows in the Chinese scientific community. Given that the communist party has enforced its control over Chinese society by placing its members throughout every danwei (Nathan 1990: 6) and that political loyalty is rewarded systematically with career opportunities, special distributions, and other favors (Walder 1986: 6), the scientific community could not be an exception. Thus, the relationship between being a CCP member and a scientist’s election as a CAS member is an interesting and significant aspect. In addition, the reward system in Chinese science is not separated from China’s social, political, and economic contexts in which scientists have made achievements and contributions. The question then is, to what extent scientists have benefited from working on priority research projects set up and supported by political patrons. In the historical periods covered by the research, from the late Qing dynasty when some of the elite scientists began their education (1890–1911), to the nationalist government period (1911–49), through the early years of the communist regime (1949–66), the Cultural Revolution decade (1966–76), and the postMao reform era (from 1976 on), tremendous social and political changes have occurred in China. By focusing on the shared and distinctive attributes of the elite, the book will try to figure out the impact of major historical developments on Chinese science and the formation of the scientific elite in China so as to examine a historical continuity/discontinuity. Following this introduction will be a description of the development of scientific enterprise and the interplay between science and its political, economic, and social contexts in China (Chapter 2) to lay down a historic background for the book. Chapter 3 will review the history of the CAS membership, focusing on the institutional evolution of the CAS Academic Divisions from a scientific leadership organization to an honorific society. Social origins (including family background and educational attainment) and the academic influence of mentors upon students will be discussed in Chapters 4 and 5. Chapter 6 will examine the academic achievements of elite scientists in terms of the characteristics of the research in which they were engaged—basic or applied science, military or civilian research, and “key” projects or non-“key” projects. Chapter 7 examines whether the “red and expert” issue and the political honors—deputies to the National People’s Congress (NPC) and members of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC), and CCP membership—have any impact on forming the elite group. Chapter 8 details what kinds of criteria were involved in 20

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recent CAS membership elections and looks at, in particular, whether personal relations (guanxi) have affected the recruitment of scientists into the elite group. Chapter 9 will examine the missions and political behavior of CAS members, and put China’s scientific elite in a comparative perspective so as to arrive at a better understanding of this unique group of scientists.

A note on data This is a sociological theory-driven, empirical, and comparative work. The empirical investigation draws largely from two sources of data. The first is biographical information of CAS members, from Chinese books to newspaper and journal articles about and by these scientists. But the sociologists of science in the West could never imagine the scarcity of information on Chinese scientists, especially on recently elected CAS members. Searching, recording, and checking very basic information on their family and educational backgrounds, institutional affiliations, political party affiliations, and so on became an important and necessary part of the research. The Internet has made more information available. A more important data source is the interviews with seventy-nine CAS members of different ages, from different geographical locations, working on different disciplines, and appointed/elected in a span of almost five decades. The interviewing of China’s scientific elite will be described and discussed in the Appendix.

21

2 CHINA’S SCIENCE IN PERSPECTIVE

The rewarding of scientists in China is related to the kind of research projects that the scientists have worked on, from where they have received funds for research, and most importantly, how they have been affected by the political milieu. Thus, to provide a proper historical context for the discussion on the formation of China’s scientific elite, it is necessary to survey the development of science in China and the social and political environment within which Chinese science has operated. This chapter will begin with a description of the process through which modern science was introduced and institutionalized in China. Then it will focus on the organization of scientific research in the People’s Republic, research priorities in applied and basic science, and the interaction between the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) and the intellectual community.

Institutionalization of modern science in China Social conditions such as politics, economy, and culture can exert an influence on the development of science and technology. Because of its unified political system, landlord economy, and mature commodity system, China had maintained a comparatively higher level of technology throughout the Middle Ages. But starting from the sixteenth century, scientific experiments, theories based on a system of controlled experiment, and a structural view of nature began to develop in the West, which saw the development of modern science and capitalist economy in the eighteenth century. As a result, the development of science and technology in the West accelerated and surpassed that of China ( Jin et al. [1982] 1996). Various reasons account for China’s tardiness in progress (Needham 1969; Qian W. 1985; Sivin 1982). For one thing, China’s social system isolated itself from the rest of the world, especially Europe where science and technology rapidly flourished after the Renaissance. With the Western capitalist expansion, foreign missionaries entered China as early as the sixteenth century. The introduction of science and technology was definitely considered incidental to the task of evangelization; but missionaries did transmit science, especially mathematics and astronomy, to China through translating science books. For example, with the help of the Chinese scholar 22

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Xu Guangqi, the Italian Jesuit priest Matteo Ricci translated the first six volumes of Euclid’s Elements of Geometry into Chinese in 1607. Moreover, Western powers used gunfire to force China to open its door after the Opium War of 1840, which led some visionary Chinese to realize that their failure was due to the lack of advanced technology. These adaptable and liberal scholar-officials within the Qing court began to promote a Westernization agenda, which included purchasing equipment from the West, setting up modernized factories, inviting foreign experts, establishing new-style schools, translating science books, and despatching students abroad (Diao 1990: 299). No matter how powerful the resistance might have been to this new policy inside the government, the trend eventually prevailed. Sending students abroad Sending students abroad was an effective means of Westernization (see Y. C. Wang 1966 for the most comprehensive study on China’s sending students abroad between 1872 and 1949 and its implications on the development of science, education, economy, and culture in China). In 1872, under the suggestion and supervision of Rong Hong (known to the West as Yung Wing), who in 1854 became the first Chinese to be awarded a bachelor’s degree from an American university—Yale University, the first batch of Chinese teenage boys selected from Shanghai, Zhejiang, Fujian, Guangdong, and other regions was sent to the United States, shouldering the hope of absorbing Western academic ideas and making China civilized and prosperous (Ye 2001: 8–11). Students were also sent to Japan and the European countries. These earliest returned overseas students (liuxuesheng) mainly studied literature and humanistic subjects to prepare themselves for leadership in the social and political realms. When they returned to China at the turn of the twentieth century, they became elites in various arenas and exerted a significant impact on the social scene in China (Liu and Wu 1995: 154–9). Some became pioneers and a powerful force in political activities. For example, Sun Yat-sen, a returnee from Japan, led the 1911 revolution, successfully overthrowing the social system that had hindered modern science from developing in China. Returnees also participated in the May Fourth Movement of 1919, actively advocating the ideas of “science” and “democracy” (Fan and Li 1989). Around that time, another event that would change the destiny of many Chinese occurred. In 1900, the allied army of eight imperialist powers occupied Beijing after putting down the Boxer Rebellion ( yihetuan qiyi) and forced the Qing government to sign a treaty, asking that it pay a huge sum of indemnity. In 1908, the American government considered that the indemnity it received—$24 million— far exceeded its loss during the War so it decided to use $12 million of the money to train Chinese students. This included establishing a preparatory school for Chinese studying abroad, the forerunner of Qinghua University, and supporting Chinese to pursue studies in the United States (Hunt 1972). About three to four thousand Chinese went to the United States under the Boxer Indemnity Scholarship Program. Later, Britain and other countries adopted similar 23

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scholarship programs (Liu and Wu 1995: 209–13). Many of the scientists to be discussed in the later chapters studied abroad under such programs. Upon completing their studies, they returned with the vision of introducing modern science to China and with the hope of revolutionizing China’s scientific knowledge. It is because of their efforts that China began to witness the establishment of scientific organizations, independent research institutions, and modern universities on Chinese soil. Institution building Scientific societies were the first Chinese institutions involved in the spreading of modern science. The most influential one was no doubt the Science Society of China (Zhongguo Kexue She), founded in 1914 by Chinese students in the natural sciences programs at Cornell University (Buck 1980: 91–8; He and Liang 1994: 25–30; Liu and Wu 1995: 230–4; Reardon-Anderson 1991: 96–101; Wang Z. 2002; Ye 2001). They felt it necessary to follow an appropriate foreign model for the organization of scientific activities and these students formed the Science Society by emulating the American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS), with the Society’s full title being the Chinese Association for the Advancement of Science (Buck 1980: 91), and even the publication of the society, Kexue (Science) was named after the journal of the AAAS.1 The society wanted to use the journal to “promote science, encourage industry, authorize terminologies, and spread knowledge” (Buck 1980: 95; Liu and Wu 1995: 232). After moving back to China in 1918, the society made great efforts to advocate the importance of science, to persuade government and citizens to pay attention to and support scientific research, and to organize scientific research itself. At the beginning, members of the Science Society could not even distinguish between “a society,” “an academy,” and “an institute.” But in 1923, Ren Hongjun, director of the Science Society, argued that scientific ethos, scientific organization, and support from society to the scientific enterprise are the three necessary conditions for the development of modern science. This demonstrated that early Chinese scientists were gradually becoming mature in their efforts to build scientific institutions in China (Liu and Wu 1995: 232). The Science Society also evolved into a national organization, as the number of its self-selecting members rose from fifty-five in 1914 to 3,726 in 1949 (Buck 1980: 97; Yao 1989a: 59). The earliest scientific research institute in modern China was the Geological Survey established in 1916. It was transformed from the Geological Research Institute, an institution for training geological personnel despite being named “research institute” (Furth 1970: 34–65; He and Liang 1994: 14–15; Liu and Wu 1995: 228–30; Yang T. 1988). Then the Science Society founded the Nanjing Biological Survey in 1922 (He and Liang 1994: 28; Liu and Wu 1995: 233–4). Sagacious entrepreneurs also invested money setting up research entities; for example, the Yellow Sea Chemical Engineering Institute was founded by Fan Xudong of the Jiuda Refined Salt Company (Yao et al. 1994: 5). 24

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Another important factor that led to the institutionalization of modern science in China was the universities. After the 1920s, Chinese scientists with Western doctorates in mathematics, physics, and other fields of science and engineering returned to China, beginning their long and arduous journey of introducing modern science, along with the Western education and research systems, into their homeland. Due to the commitment and efforts of these scientists, as well as the support from society, China’s undergraduate education quickly reached the international standard, and graduate education began to take off. Apart from training capable students, scientists at national universities such as Peking (now Beijing), Jiaotong, Qinghua, Zhongshan, and Zhongyang were also engaged in research (Liu and Wu 1995: 267–9; Wang Y. C. 1966: 124). In doing so, the Chinese universities became important bases not only in nurturing scientific personnel but also in carrying out scientific research (Hayhoe 1996: 29–71). When the communists seized power in 1949, there were 205 universities, among which 30–40 were active in academic research (Yao et al. 1994: 5). Foreign missions also played a major role in the development of China’s higher education during a period of 100 years from the second half of the nineteenth century to the first half of the twentieth century. For example, three earliest established Chinese universities—Beiyang (now Tianjin), Jiaotong, and Peking— invited American missionaries as deans or directors of Western studies. Missionary professors were also invited to teach courses of English language, sciences, and engineering. Before 1949, famous missionary higher educational establishments included the Peking Union Medical College (established by missions from the United States in 1906), West China University (United States and United Kingdom, 1910), Hsiangya Medical College (United States, 1914), Fuchow Union University (United States, 1915), the University of Nanking ( Jinling) (United States, 1917), Yenching University (United States, 1919), Fu Ren Catholic University (United States, 1929), and so on (Bullock 1980; Feng K. 1994: 30; Li P. 1993: 605–6; Lu Y. 1996: 191–203; Lutz 1971: 531–4; Minden 1994; Shaw 1992: 59–92 and 275–80). Missionary universities and colleges followed the models of American or European higher education, and some had their degrees accredited by foreign institutions. They competed with China’s institutions of higher education for faculty, students, and research funding. Some even competed with their foreign counterparts. For example, the Peking Union and Hsiangya Medical Colleges were well known for their role in medical research, while Yenching became a university of international fame. Some of the future CAS members were trained in these missionary universities and colleges (see Chapter 4). Visionary Chinese thought that individual endeavors, if put together, would form a critical mass. As early as 1924, Sun Yat-sen thought of establishing a central scholarly academy in China (Gao [1982] 1996: 410; He and Liang 1994: 269). When the nationalist government was founded in Nanjing in 1927, it formally put the formation of such an academy on its agenda. After a one-year preparation, the Academia Sinica (Guoli Zhongyang Yanjiuyuan) was founded, with 25

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Cai Yuanpei appointed its first president (Gao [1982] 1996: 410; He and Liang 1994: 14–17; Liu and Wu 1995: 269–70). Cai was an educator with training in both Confucian scholarship and Western science: He passed the imperial civil service examinations (keju kaoshi ) at county, provincial, and national levels and was selected to the Imperial Academy; he also spent many years traveling and studying—at the University of Leipzig in Germany from the summer of 1907 to the autumn of 1911 and then in Germany and France from the autumn of 1912 to the winter of 1916. He served in Sun Yat-sen’s government as minister of education. In early 1917, Cai became president of Peking University, where his German-inspired view of university administration was reflected in his efforts to implement autonomy or “professorial rule” ( jiaoshou zhixiao) and academic freedom in the university, to expand its curriculum dominated by programs of law and politics to include those of arts and sciences, and to recruit first-rate faculty (Hayhoe 1996: 45–7; Liu and Wu 1995: 226–7). Likewise, under the leadership of Cai Yuanpei, the Academia Sinica introduced academic freedom in scientific research and subsequently attained a significant position in Chinese science during the Republican era (Gao [1982] 1996: 410–14). In 1929, another comprehensive research institution—the Peiping Academy (Guoli Peiping Yanjiuyuan)—was established in Peiping (now Beijing) (He and Liang 1994: 30; Liu and Wu 1995: 270). The establishment of both academies marked the beginning of China’s independent system of scientific research. At the end of 1948, these two comprehensive research academies in China—the Academia Sinica in the south consisting mainly of scientists who studied in the United States, and the Peiping Academy in the north comprising returnees from Europe (Yao 1989b: 447)—had thirteen and nine research institutes respectively in the fields of the natural and social sciences.2 There were also other independent research institutions. It was estimated that in 1949 there were about 700 natural scientists in China (Yao et al. 1994: 8). With the limited funding and personnel available, scientists made achievements in applied scientific fields related to China’s natural conditions— geology, mining, paleoanthropology, paleontology, geography, meteorology, biology, agriculture—as well as in basic sciences such as mathematics, physics, chemistry, and biochemistry (Crow 1988; Dai N. 1982, 1993; Haas 1988; He and Liang 1994: 35–194; Reardon-Anderson 1991; Schneider 1988; Yang T. 1988). In retrospect, the Science Society of China initially planned to adopt the model of an American scientific institution. However, because China’s economic, political, and social conditions were not conducive for it, the goal was not achieved. The Academia Sinica and the Peiping Academy concentrated on the nation’s talent, integrating research, administration, and funding, housing the natural and social sciences under one roof, and functioning apart from educational institutions and industries. Their manner of operation was actually more like the research system in France and the former Soviet Union, although Cai Yuanpei, the Peiping Academy President Li Shizeng, and others did not explicitly claim as such. More significant, such a system has had an enduring influence on the development of research and education in China. 26

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Research and education in the People’s Republican era Organization When the People’s Republic was established in 1949, the “Common Program” ( gongtong gangling), a temporary constitution passed by the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC), was stipulated to develop the natural sciences so as to serve industry, agriculture, and national defense; to reward scientific inventions and discoveries; and to popularize scientific knowledge (Wu and Yang 1992: 5). A national academy was proposed, plans chalked out, and finally founded as a government agency on November 1, 1949, exactly one month after the new China was proclaimed (Yao1989a: 60; Yao et al. 1994: 12). In fact, the communists took over all the research institutes operating under the jurisdiction of the Academia Sinica and the Peiping Academy in Peiping, Nanjing, and Shanghai except for the Institute of History and Language and the Institute of Mathematics of the Academia Sinica which retreated to Taiwan at the end of 1948 and the spring of 1949 (Yao 1989b: 447–8), and merged them into the new academy.3 The new academy was named Zhongguo Kexueyuan, but continued to use “Academia Sinica” in English until a later time when a new English name “The Chinese Academy of Sciences” was adopted to distinguish it from the Academia Sinica, which has continued its existence in Taiwan (Yao 1989a: 60). While the CAS was gradually built into the center and made the driving force of scientific work for the entire nation, China also followed the Soviet model to set up research academies in various ministries.4 For example, the Ministry of Health founded the Chinese Academy of Medical Sciences in 1950 and the Chinese Academy of Traditional Chinese Medicine in 1955. Each of the industrial ministries set up its own specialized research institutes and laboratories in many of the major industrial enterprises as well. The Ministry of Agriculture established the Chinese Academy of Agricultural Sciences and research institutes for agricultural sciences in provinces. Military-focused research institutes were also formed. At the same time as making efforts to concentrate research activities in the CAS and ministerial research institutes, in 1952, the government initiated a reform at China’s universities in the name of “adjustment of colleges and departments” ( yuanxi tiaozheng) (Hayhoe 1996: 77). The reform, carried out under Soviet guidance, relocated faculty and students at some universities and colleges. It also closed all missionary universities and amalgamated them into domestic institutions. For example, departments at Yenching University were combined into Beijing or Qinghua Universities. The adjustment also arbitrarily merged specialty departments among universities and colleges. Thus, Qinghua’s colleges of arts, law, and natural science became part of Beijing University, its college of agriculture was merged into the Beijing Agricultural College; meanwhile, Qinghua absorbed all engineering departments from Beijing and Yenching Universities and became a multidisciplinary polytechnic university. Then, specialty colleges were formed by transferring faculty and students from existing institutions. As a result of the

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adjustment, China’s universities began to focus on education, while their role in research gradually decreased, and the gap between research and education widened further. The relocation of specialties also broke the internal connection between basic research, applied research, and development, which has in turn had a longterm impact on the training of scientific manpower. In 1958, with the nation’s first science program and the Great Leap Forward (to be discussed) demanding highquality scientists and engineers, the CAS formed the University of Science and Technology of China as its training center. The organization of Chinese science did not experience dramatic changes in terms of the “fronts” (dajun, discussed in Chapter 1) engaged in research activities until the late 1970s when the reform and open-door policy was initiated. Since then, China’s universities and colleges, especially those “key” (zhongdian) institutions, have seen their roles in research expanded and enhanced dramatically (Conroy 1989; Hayhoe 1996: 122–7; Saich 1989b: 72–5). At the height of the reform of S&T management system in the mid-1980s, the CAS implemented a “one academy, two systems” policy by concentrating most of its efforts to research that directly benefits the Chinese economy and setting up enterprises to meet the needs of the market and at the same time continuing with basic research (Zhou G. 1995). Such a move indicates a substantial departure from the academy’s tradition of being a pure academic institution. Starting from 1998, the academy launched a Knowledge Innovation Program, aiming to build it into the nation’s knowledge innovation center in the natural sciences and high technology, and a base for world-class state-of-the-art scientific research fostering first-rate scientific talent and for the development of high-tech industries (Cao 2002; Suttmeier and Cao 1999). Meanwhile, universities and research institutes have set up national “key” laboratories open to those scientists from at home and abroad (Kinoshita 1995; Tsou C. 1989). Reform has also encouraged research institutions and universities to spin off new and high-tech enterprises with promising products and technologies and to team with enterprises, and military institutions of research and learning to develop dual-purpose technology. Most recently, the government required that enterprises play a more important role in forming China’s national innovation system through their indigenous R&D efforts. Program planning China’s leadership has had various objectives in its political manifestos. At one time, Mao Zedong requested that China “start a technological revolution so that we may overtake England in fifteen or more years” ([1958] 1970: 63); at another time, the CCP stated to achieve ultimately “four modernizations” in agriculture, industry, science and technology, and national defense (Renmin ribao January 21, 1975); and at still another time, it aimed to realize “the target of quadrupling, by the year of 2000, the annual gross value of industrial and agricultural output of 1980,” or “[t]he minimum target of our four modernizations is to achieve a comparatively comfortable standard of living by the end of the century,” by which 28

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Deng Xiaoping meant a per capita GDP of $800 (1984a,b). The CCP Sixteenth National Congress held in November 2002 further promoted an overall wellbeing (xiaokang) society, achieving by 2020 a per capita GDP of $3,000. In a sense, the Chinese political leadership has attempted to have its economy catching up with and eventually rivaling that of the advanced industrialized nations. An advanced scientific capability is the key to fulfill these goals. Therefore, Chinese scientists have carried out major programs and provided blueprints for the nation’s research and economic enterprises (Wu and Yang 1992: 87–140). The first of its kind was the twelve-year (1956–67) program of science and technology. Taking China’s economic and scientific condition into account, the program sought to follow the rapid development of world science and technology as well as to target fields with disciplinary significance. In particular, it selected fifty-seven projects, with twelve as “keys” (zhongdian) and five—atomic energy, electronics, jet propulsion, automation, and rare mineral exploration—most urgent ones. The twelve-year program for the first time formulated the so-called “missions-led disciplinary development” (renwu dai xueke) (Wu Heng 1994: 163–4), while the missions were politically oriented. The development of Chinese science afterwards has reflected the legacy of the program: politicization of science, state-led research endeavor, big science, resources concentration, and top-down interference (Ma H. 1995a, b; Wang et al. 1991). Under the guidance of the program and the coordination of the leadership, Chinese scientists made good progress in seven years, in spite of experiencing difficulties and delays in the completion of some projects due to the Great Leap Forward and the revoking of Soviet assistance. Then the next ten-year (1963–72) science program was proposed, which identified thirty-two “key” research areas based on a twofold criterion: to rapidly improve industrial technology, especially in basic industries, and many disciplines of basic science; and to carry out research and development activities in agriculture and those fields related to people’s clothing, food, housing, and transportation. However, with the exception of several military research projects such as the explosion of atomic and hydrogen bombs and the launch of missiles and satellites, the program as a whole failed because of the destruction of the entire nation during the Cultural Revolution that started soon after the initiation of the program. In the aftermath of the Cultural Revolution, Chinese scientists renewed their enthusiasm about modernizing science and technology. In 1978, an eight-year (1978–85) program of scientific development was formulated, targeting research in agriculture, energy, new materials, computer, lasers, space, high-energy physics, and genetic engineering. This time, however, influenced by the then overheated economic environment, the program was just too ambitious to fulfill (Orleans 1980a: xxxii). Thus, with the implementation of the “adjustment, consolidation, reorganization, and enhancement” policy in the national economy and the introduction of the strategy of “economic construction must be dependent on science and technology, and science and technology must be geared to the needs of economic construction,” this program was modified in 1981. The revised program 29

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shifted its focus to agriculture, light industry, foodstuffs, textiles, energy and its conservation, raw materials, machine building and electronics, transportation and communications, new technologies (such as optical fibers, lasers, superconductors, and biotechnology), and other technologies (including contraception, cures of various diseases, environmental protection and pollution treatment) (Saich 1989b: 21). In March 1986, four CAS members who had been involved in China’s strategic weapons program—Wang Daheng, Wang Ganchang, Yang Jiachi, and Chen Fangyun—wrote to Deng Xiaoping, then China’s paramount leader, suggesting to follow the world’s high-tech trends and develop China’s high technology. The suggestion was immediately approved, and a State High-Tech Research and Development Program (863 Program)5 was thus outlined, with RMB10 billion to be allocated and significant emphasis to be placed on seven fields—biotechnology, space technology, information, lasers, automation, energy, and new materials. These fields were further divided into 15 sub-fields, each led by “a chief scientist” and “a committee of experts” responsible for organizing research, selecting projects and participants, and allocating funds (Li M. 1997). Although the 863 Program also included basic research components that underlined the high technologies (Zhu L. 1995), the focus was on achieving technological advantages. Therefore, a program targeting mainly basic science and fundamental research related to missions ( yingyong jichu yanjiu) was initiated in 1989 to make up for such neglect. The so-called “Climbing ( pandeng) Program” was intended to attract China’s brightest scientists nationwide to work on thirty critical research projects, such as high temperature superconductivity, non-linear science, important chemical problems in life process, brain function and its cell and molecular basis, and so on (Song J. [1992] 1995). The program has evolved into a State Basic Research and Development Program (973 Program) in 1998,6 which would showcase China’s endeavors in pursuing excellence in basic research. The program originally called for the channeling of some RMB2.5 billion (US$300 million) over five years (1998–2002), via the Ministry of Science and Technology (MOST), to support projects falling within six broad areas relevant to the nation’s economic and social development—population and health, information, agriculture, resources and the environment, energy, and new materials—at an average level of RMB30 million (US$3.6 million) per project. The research projects to be included in the 973 Program must meet one of three criteria. First, they can attempt to solve major problems associated with China’s social, economic, and scientific and technological development. Second, they can be related to major basic research problems with interdisciplinary and comprehensive significance. Third, they can make full use of China’s advantages and special characteristics—including natural, geographic, and human resources—and help China occupy “a seat” ( yixi zhidi) in the arena of international research. For each project, the MOST appoints one to two chief scientists (normally not older than sixty) who have the authority to decide the direction of the project and the addition of sub-projects, as well as the responsibility for administering budgets and 30

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personnel by working with a project expert committee. An approved project will receive stable funding for five years, with the addition of new researchers, ideas, and sub-projects being factored in. Continuous funding is sometimes offered to a sub-project for an additional three years, depending on the performance evaluation at the end of the second year (the so-called “2 ⫹ 3” project management). Between 1998 and 2001, 108 projects were selected, with a total funding of RMB1.8 billion (US$217 million) (Cao 2002). Coordination of research In order to coordinate science programs and research activities in various “fronts,” China’s political leadership has adopted several measures over time. One is to establish the Academic Divisions (xuebu) within the CAS in 1955 to attract leading scientists from among the nation to participate in academic leadership. The other is to set up a State Science and Technology Commission (SSTC), renamed MOST in 1998, in the State Council in 1958 as a government agency in charge of formulating, organizing, and implementing science policies and various programs. As for coordinating higher priority military research such as the nuclear weapons and missiles projects, the Aerospace Industry Commission was established within the Ministry of Defense in 1956. In 1958, the commission was reorganized into the National Defense Science and Technology Commission (NDSTC), which assumed a considerably more important role after the Soviet Union withdrew its scientific and technical assistance and China decided to proceed with its nuclear weapons project independently. In addition, a National Defense Industry Office (NDIO) was created in 1961 to supervise weapons production.7 Both these national defense-related agencies were merged to form the Commission of Science, Technology, and Industry of National Defense (COSTIND) later (Ostrov 1991). Finally, an important institutional innovation in presiding China’s science system was the establishment of a Science and Technology Leading Group at the State Council in 1983 (Blanpied 1984; Saich 1989b: 22). The location of this group in the government hierarchy was further emphasized in 1989 when the CCP Central Committee and the State Council passed the “Decision Concerning the Speeding up of the Advancement of Science and Technology” (Renmin ribao overseas edition August 14, 1995: 3). When “rejuvenating the nation through science, technology, and education” (kejiao xingguo) became the new development strategy in the late 1990s, the leading group was reinforced in 1996 and eventually turned into a State Leading Group for Science, Technology, and Education two years later with education added to demonstrate the government’s new emphasis (Cao 2002; Suttmeier and Cao 1999). Funding China has always faced a dilemma in organizing scientific research. That is, it does not have sufficient resources to fully support research activities, even some 31

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important ones, although it is ambitious to become modernized in industry, agriculture, science and technology, and national defense. As a result, for quite some time, the state had to selectively support research projects with significant implications, most being applied research. Other than that, it did not actually distinguish between various levels or types of institutions or research activities, but furnished a lump sum uniformly from the higher-level administrative departments to the work unit (danwei ) as operating expenses according to the number of researchers (Saich 1989b: 91). Because very little control could be exerted by the state to ensure that the funds were used in the most constructive and efficient manner, working on easy but less important projects and duplicating others or foreign research were prevalent among rank-and-file researchers. This funding model had not changed until the reform in the mid-1980s, which required that most of the applied research institutes be oriented to the market and support themselves financially. With the restructuring of research institutes under the jurisdiction of the State Council and starting from the Tenth Five-Year Plan period (2001–05), China no longer allocates R&D funding based on the number of research staff in a danwei (China News Agency September 1, 2001). In the meantime, the scientific community realized that basic science should not be ignored. In May 1981, therefore, eighty-nine CAS members made a joint proposal to the CCP Central Committee and the State Council, suggesting the establishment of a science foundation within the CAS to support basic research. The proposal was promptly approved, and the CAS Science Foundation was set up the next year with a special allocation of RMB30 million from the state budget. The foundation, attached to the CAS in its administration, was supervised by an independent committee of scientists from the fields of science, education, industry, agriculture, medical research, and public health. From 1982 to 1986, applying the principle of “central macro guidance, free application, peer review by experts, and supporting the best,” the foundation appropriated the funds to about 4,500 projects at more than 450 research institutes and universities, of which three-fourth were not CAS affiliates (Lu J. 1993; Yao et al. 1994: 196–8). That is to say, the CAS Science Foundation served the function of a national, instead of an institutional, funding agency for research. The successful experiment of the CAS Science Foundation paved the way for the reform of the nation’s research management and for the establishment of a new national research funding system. The March 1985 decision on the S&T reform proposed the enforcement of the science funding system. In February 1986, the State Council decided to expand the CAS Science Foundation into a National Natural Science Foundation of China (NSFC), modeled on the US National Science Foundation (NSF). Compared with the situation where the party-state set up research priorities, the establishment of the NSFC indicates that Chinese scientists are more and more involved in the decision-making of research project funding. Following the principle of “relying on experts, practicing democracy, supporting the best, and being both fair and reasonable,” the NSFC mainly supports three categories of 32

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research projects—general, key, and major (mianshang, zhongdian, zhongda)—based on the importance of the projects. In 2002, the NSFC allocated a total of RBM1.97 billion ($237 million) to various projects; considering that in its first year the NSFC had only funds of RMB80 million ($21 million), a stable increase has been achieved. The intensities of sponsorship for general, key, and major research projects were RBM177,000 ($21,400) for three years, RMB1,450,000 ($175,000) for three years, and RMB5 million ($600,000) for five years respectively. In its fifteen-year existence, the foundation has supported a total of 240,000 projects (NSFC 2001).

Three priorities in applied research As noted, one science program after another has been outlined to set up priorities for Chinese scientists. In fact, most of the scientific research in China has been conducted around these priorities. This and the following sections will review the priorities in applied research and basic research respectively. When the communists took over power, they were confronted with an immediate challenge to improve public health and to increase food production. Zhou Peiyuan, one of the most influential Chinese scientists and a 1955 CAS member, acknowledged, “we had to first of all take care of such problems as clothing, foods, housing and transportation” (1993: 1). Or in the words of Tang Peisong (known to the West as Pei-sung Tang), a plant psychologist and a 1955 CAS member, Chinese scientists consciously or unconsciously probed for research problems to “meet the demands of a politically and ideologically new environment” (1980). It was only after achieving the initial priority of raising the living standard did China begin to “concentrate an increasing proportion of its scientific and technological resources on its three other priorities”—the national economy, military and national defense, and basic research projects that would earn international recognition and prestige for China (Orleans 1980a: xxx). This observation is acute in that except for projects in the third category, applied research has dominated Chinese science. It is worthwhile to point out that the Chinese practice was similar not only to that of its counterparts in other developing regions, such as South Korea and Taiwan in the 1960s and onward, but also that of some developed countries during certain periods, such as the United States prior to the Second World War (Greenberg 1967a: 51–67). Improving the living standard By putting a high premium on its public policy of improving the living conditions of its citizens, China has affected and stimulated the priorities for research in such areas as public health and medicine. From the time when there were only 41,000 college-trained physicians (Wegman 1980: 270), China started launching campaigns to reduce mortality and to control infectious diseases. The battle against schistosomiasis represents one such example. Because of the high infection rates 33

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of schistosomiasis among the Chinese—a 1951–56 national survey found 10,470,000 cases—in 1957, Mao Zedong ordered that an effort be made to eradicate the disease in twenty years. When he learned in the second year of the campaign about the stamping out of the disease in Yujiang county, Zhejiang province, one of the highest infected counties, he could not help writing a poem to commemorate the achievement (Warren 1988: 123–40). Another public health achievement was the introduction and use of live viral vaccines against smallpox, poliomyelitis, measles, rubella, and mumps (Halstead and Yu 1988). China held a basic concept with regard to public health, as Huang Jiasi, a 1955 CAS member and president of the Chinese Academy of Medical Sciences in the 1950s, pointed out, “[t]he problems of prevention and treatment of diseases most frequently seen always top the list of medical services and medical research” (cited in Wegman 1980: 269). Even with the shifts in political leadership and changes in contemporary priorities, the emphasis has remained on practical health priorities designed to improve the public health of the Chinese (Wegman 1980: 269). Such efforts have had a noteworthy payoff. For example, through controlling acute infectious diseases and frequently occurring diseases, adopting scientific methods, improving nutrition, and establishing medical facilities, Chinese medical scientists have sharply reduced infant mortality from 200 per 1,000 before 1949 to 33 per 1,000 in 2001; in such large cities as Beijing and Shanghai, the infant mortality rate has dropped to 5.05 per 1,000, close to the level in Japan and Sweden, which is under 4 per 1,000 (Renmin ribao September 11, 2001). The life expectancy of the Chinese was 71.8 years in 2001, reaching the level in industrialized countries (Renmin ribao March 28, 2003). The State Basic Research and Development Program launched in 1998 has public health as one of the six targeted areas. Nevertheless, China still faces an uphill battle in conquering many diseases among its citizens and further raising the living condition for them, especially those residing in the rural areas. The outbreak of the severe acute respiratory syndrome (SARS) in late 2002 and early 2003 indicates that China’s public health and disease control and prevention systems are still far from adequate. The national economy A related issue is the development of the national economy that could lay the foundation for improving the living conditions of the Chinese. China is still a country with a large rural population, where people are engaged primarily in producing food and fiber for themselves and urban dwellers. Therefore, production of enough food to feed more than one-fifth of mankind has been clearly a moral mandate and an urgent task.8 Chinese agricultural scientists have oriented toward practical aspects of the science and incorporated it into the broader program of agricultural research and production, which explains why Yuan Longping who found a new type of hybrid rice seed became one of the first two winners of China’s State Superior Science and Technology Award in 2001. China’s participation in the international rice genome research has also grabbed international 34

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attention recently (Feng Q. et al. 2002; Yu J. et al. 2002). In addition, China is developing the largest agricultural biotechnology capacity outside of North America, especially in genetically modified plants, although the research and commercialization in this area is still controversial (Huang et al. 2002). In addition to the enormous successes in agriculture, it must be an added tribute to Chinese scientists that their efforts toward a more prosperous national economy have envisioned parallel scientific applications to industry as well— a sign that these devoted men and women could contribute and have contributed the body of knowledge which is the source of hope and progress in China’s modernization. The informed endeavors in the iron and steel, crude oil, and other raw material sectors have vastly increased China’s industrial development. Computers, telecommunications technology, biotechnology, and other modern advancements in science and technology—domestically developed along with those imported—have not only changed China’s landscape of science and technology but also turned the country into the world’s important manufacturing base recently. For example, in 2001, China became the world’s number-one country in terms of its mobile phone subscriber base with 145 million users and its 179 million fixed phone lines were the second largest in the world, next to the United States; the numbers of total telephone users and mobile subscribers were further increased to 400 million and 200 million in late 2002, respectively (Renmin ribao December 18, 2002). Military-related research programs Military-related research has always occupied a significant position in Chinese science. While repeatedly claiming national defense to be the last priority of the “four modernizations,” the Chinese leadership has also insisted that military modernization be critical to the nation’s mid- to long-term development. Thus, the interpretation of the number four position of military modernization requires caution.9 There is no doubt that military modernization depends upon the development of military science and technology. China has developed, refined, and deployed nuclear bombs and strategic missiles, and successfully launched man-made satellites (liangdan yixing) with relatively little foreign assistance. The need for high quality defense capacities, no matter what the costs are, has justified rapid research and development in China in such areas as atomic energy, outer space exploration, computers, and other electronic systems that are badly needed for national defense. Nevertheless, the Chinese achievements in military-related research, especially in strategic weapons, are making the political point that it is on par with other great powers. China’s nuclear and missiles/space science programs have progressed rapidly thanks to the request and support of the leadership and the hard work of scientists. In January 1955, CCP Central Committee Chairman Mao Zedong, Premier Zhou Enlai, and other leaders invited the nuclear physicist Qian Sanqiang and 35

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the geologist Li Siguang (both became CAS members five months later) to lecture on introductory nuclear physics and uranium geology and the nation’s manpower and facilities in these fields. Afterwards, Mao declared that China would immediately devote major efforts in developing atomic energy for military purposes (Lewis and Xue 1988: 37–9; Qian S. 1991; Xie G. 1992 [vol. 1]: 26–7). As for the nation’s strategic missiles program, the return of Qian Xuesen, a famous rocket expert, from the Jet Propulsion Laboratory at the US California Institute of Technology, in October of 1955, marked its beginning (Chang I. 1995: 199–230; Xie G. 1992 [vol. 1]: 28–31). Although the 1956 twelve-year science program did not explicitly specify to develop atomic bombs and missiles, its top five fields— atomic energy, electronics, jet propulsion, automation, and rare mineral exploration—were all directly applicable to the development of nuclear weapons. Also distributed with the science program was a secret national defense science and technology program, which clearly listed atomic energy, jet propulsion and rocket, semiconductor, computer, and automation as top priorities (Xie G. 1992 [vol. 1]: 31–4). For that purpose, the government in the 1950s set up the Second to Seventh ministries of machine building, targeting research, development, and production activities in atomic energy, ship building, electronics, ornament, aeronautics, and aerospace (Cheng C. 1972: 8–14; Xie G. 1992 [vol. 1]: 6–25). Under a series of bilateral accords signed by China and the Soviet Union between 1955 and 1958 on the development of China’s nuclear science, industry, and weapons program, the Soviets were supposed to undertake a joint geological survey in China for uranium, to assist China for research on nuclear physics and the peaceful utilization of atomic energy, to aid in building China’s nuclear industries and research facilities, and to supply China with a prototype atomic bomb and missiles as well as related technical data (Lewis and Xue 1988: 41, n.). However, the Soviet Union tore up the agreements in 1960 so that China was forced to continue the nuclear weapons program on its own. China exploded a 20-kiloton atomic bomb on October 16, 1964 and a megaton-range hydrogen bomb on June 17, 1967, the latter move indicating that the country had made the transition from fission to fusion in less than three years, an impressive achievement for a country whose technological infrastructure was in shambles fifteen years earlier. At the same time, scientists also made progress on the missiles research, from modeling Soviet-made ones to manufacturing long-range ones themselves. After the initial warhead research and development was completed under the Second Ministry of Machine Building (nuclear weapons), the focal point of the program gradually shifted to the Seventh Ministry of Machine Building (missiles and aerospace systems), which assumed the responsibility for developing delivery and guidance systems (Frieman 1989: 261–2). In May 1958, seven months after the Soviet Union launched the first satellite, Mao Zedong claimed that China should develop its own satellites. But the antiintellectualism climate after the 1957 Anti-Rightist Campaign plus the extreme economic difficulty as a result of the Great Leap Forward postponed the program until early 1965 (Xie G. 1992 [vol. 1]: 386–8). After several years of research 36

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and improvement, on April 24, 1970, China launched its first man-made earth satellite for scientific experiment purpose, becoming the fifth country in the world to possess satellite launching capability. China has also successfully retrieved satellites from outer space and entered the international commercial satellite launching business (Min 1991). Now, China is in a state of euphoria over the success of putting the first Chinese in space in late 2003 (Wade 2003). There is also talk of China’s space stations and even a shuttle-like spacecraft. Perhaps the next footsteps on the moon will be those of the Chinese.

Basic research In spite of devoting a large amount of manpower and material resources to applied research—military research is also application-oriented in terms of its objective to manufacture a particular product, say an atomic bomb, or a missile— China has also engaged in basic science with impressive competence and capability. There may not be as many researchers as the size of the nation and its needs would suggest, but the best are almost as good as those who can be found anywhere. However, China’s basic research is characterized to be “window dressing,” or to achieve “a goal that permits some scientists to pursue work that may not be practical but can attract world attention” (Orleans 1980a: xxx). Such examples include high-energy physics and biochemistry.

The party leadership and the priorities in basic research The interference of the political leadership has made sense in determining some fields of basic science as priorities. It may be surprising that Mao Zedong was interested in elementary particle physics. In 1956, Mao had a long discussion with the Japanese physicist Shoichi Sakata on the possibility of discovering an ultimate elementary particle and requested Red Flag (Hong Qi ), the official journal of the CCP Central Committee, to publish an article by Sakata (Lewis and Xue 1988: 38; Yuan 1980: 111). In 1964, when a science symposium was held in Beijing, he arranged a special meeting with the physicist Zhou Peiyuan and Yu Guangyuan, then director of Science Division under the Propaganda Department of the Party Central Committee, to discuss some purely academic issues, including the application of the philosophy of “dividing one into two” ( yi feng wei er) to physics and the infinite divisibility of the matter (Zhou P. 1993: 1). During a 1974 meeting with Tsung-Dao Lee, the Chinese-American physicist who shared the 1957 Nobel Prize in physics, Mao asked Lee to give him a lesson on the principle of symmetry (Lee T. 1990). Premier Zhou Enlai was also an advocate of basic science. In his speech at the 1956 conference on intellectuals, Zhou criticized the neglect of long-term needs and the shortsightedness of theoretical work by pointing out that without a 37

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definite amount of theoretical scientific research as the foundation, “we shall not be able to register progress and transformation of a basic nature in our technique” ([1956] 1962: 140–1). In the same year, when he organized scientists to formulate the twelve-year science program and found that the program’s fifty-six projects were all related to the nation’s economic development, he suggested adding a theoretical research component as the 57th project that would include research on mathematics, mechanics, astronomy, physics, biology, geology, and geography (Wu Heng 1994: 164; Yao et al. 1994: 73). In the early 1970s, when China was still in the throes of the chaos of the Cultural Revolution, Zhou Enlai more than once had talks with visiting Chinese-American scientists on basic science. For example, during a banquet welcoming Wu Chien-shiung and Luke Yuan, a Chinese-American physicist couple, Zhou emphasized the importance of basic research and its possible long-term benefits to China and the world (Yuan 1980: 112). He also requested Zhou Peiyuan, then deputy director of Beijing University Revolutionary Committee—a title equivalent to university vice president—to advocate teaching and research in basic science (Saich 1989b: 7–9; Yan and Gao 1996: 412–13; Yao et al. 1994: 157; Zhou P. [1972] 1993). The CAS Institute of High Energy Physics (IHEP) was organized in 1973 on the suggestion of Zhou Enlai. High-energ y physics China’s devotion to high-energy physics, or particle physics, has been controversial.10 High-energy physics is known for its instrumental sophistication. The construction and the frequent update of an accelerator cost money, an astronomical figure; annual costs generally amount to at least 20 percent of the construction costs, and often a good deal more (Greenberg 1967a: 215, n.); moreover, even the most devout supporters of high-energy physics readily acknowledge that it clearly could not be justified on pragmatic grounds of immediate relevance. In a word, high-energy physics is located at the costliest, least intelligible, and least utilitarian end in the entire spectrum of science (Greenberg 1967a: 210). This is still the case now. When it was necessary to make hard choices involving the expenditure of billions of dollars in deciding what proportion of the American science budget should go to the Superconducting Supercollider, utilitarian considerations had to be taken seriously, which resulted in the termination of the construction of the accelerator complex (Flam 1993). Since high-energy physics is far from any application, military or otherwise, one would wonder why China should have stimulated concern about it, especially given its weak economy and the lack of funding for many of its research programs. However, it would become clear when taking into account the history of the Chinese enthusiasm about high-energy physics. First, such a decision has been encouraged by Chinese leaders. Elementary particles were one of the topics in which Mao Zedong had an extraordinary interest, while its revival in the 1980s came from the support of Deng Xiaoping, who appeared at both the 38

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groundbreaking ceremony of the Beijing Electron–Positron Collider (BEPC) in 1984 and the inauguration of the accelerator in 1988.11 In fact, owning such an experimental facility was perceived ideologically as Deng said: A European friend who is also a scientist asked me why China should undertake such a project (i.e., BEPC) when its economy was not well developed. My answer was that it is for the long-term interest, and that we may not think of the present only. Whether past, present, or future, China must develop its own high science and technology, and occupy a seat in advanced scientific and technological fields in the world. Without exploding atomic bombs and hydrogen bombs and launching satellites since the 1960s, China could not have become an influential nation and achieved such an international status. These products have reflected a nation’s power, and are also indicators of a prosperous nationality and country. (Renmin ribao overseas edition October 1, 1994: 1) Meanwhile, high-energy physicists are among the ones with the strongest voice in the Chinese scientific community. Historically, a significant number of elite Chinese physicists began their career in nuclear physics. Then, high-energy physics was on and off the lists of China’s most important scientific disciplines (Qian et al. 1994; Yuan 1980). The 1956 twelve-year science program already listed the construction of a 2 BeV accelerator, which never took off first because of several changes in the design of the accelerator between 1956 and 1965 and then owing to the Cultural Revolution. Thus, China had to heavily invest and participate in the Joint Nuclear Research Institute in the Soviet Union, where Wang Ganchang and Zhang Wenyu, both CAS members appointed in 1955, and about 100 nuclear physicists obtained significant achievements. Later, called on by the party, many of them contributed to China’s atomic and hydrogen bomb program (Lewis and Xue 1988: 39–59 and 137–69). When the nuclear weapons fever faded, these physicists returned to their original field—nuclear physics and the extended high-energy physics. In 1972, after suffering too long from not having an accelerator to work with, Zhang Wenyu and other eighteen high-energy physicists petitioned to the party and the government to build one, which was endorsed by Zhou Enlai (Wu Heng 1994: 367–73). The 1978 national science conference listed highenergy physics as one of the fields to be supported (Suttmeier 1980b: 36). At one point, a particularly expensive 50 GeV accelerator was to be built at the IHEP. Thus high-energy physics might also be selected to appreciate the loyalty of those involved in the nuclear weapons research. Of course, Mao’s interest in elementary particles further legitimated high-energy physicists’ request even when the Cultural Revolution was still under way. The support from the outside, especially from Tsung-Dao Lee,12 the Chinese American physicist who has been an honored guest of Chinese leaders from Mao to Deng to Jiang Zemin also played an important role. In 1976, Lee suggested 39

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building an accelerator, which was reflected in the 1978 science program; in 1982, he renewed his proposal to build the BEPC. From 1979 to 1983, at his initiation, more than forty so-called “Tsung-Dao Lee visiting scholars” were sent to the United States for comprehensive training at twenty-two universities or high-energy physics laboratories (Lee T. 1993). Finally, China’s emphasis on high-energy physics may not have been completely free from practical consideration. Particle physics merits support not only because it is the most basic field of knowledge in the physical world but also because its progress furnishes intellectual enrichment for other fields of science (Bethe 1965: 9). The technological developments required in building accelerators, sophisticated detectors, and data processing and analysis systems could produce substantial payoffs over the long run (Seitz 1998). Particle physics is also an excellent training ground for scientists and engineers who go off into other fields. Furthermore, developing high-energy physics research facilities could bring about other ancillary benefits—the increased knowledge of the large-scale mobilization and organization of advanced technology and the administration of a large number of active scientists—skills that China needs to become a modern nation (Yuan 1980: 118–19). To a large extent, China has achieved its goals in developing its modern highenergy physics facility. Although the energy of the BEPC is only 2 GeV, less than the energy in synchronous radiation light-sources, the facility is acknowledged by the international community of high-energy physics because the most important experimental results on particles within this energy range have been made in it. Compared with other electron–positron colliders of the same energy range (e.g. SPEAR of the United States and DORIS of Germany), the BEPC ranks first in the world, since it is more than five times as bright as SPEAR or DORIS. It conducted the new determination of the mass of ␶-particles from October 1991 to February 1992. It has also by all accounts proved to be a prolific source of B-mesons, which has set the laboratory brooding about the construction of a “B-meson factory,” or a collider optimized to produce B-mesons (Nature 1995). The BEPC prober went into production in January 1990, which has collected more than 8,000,000 cases of J/⌿ particles. Besides, high-tech products have been exported to Brookhaven and Stanford national laboratories in the United States and South Korea since 1987 (Lee T. 1993). Through building such a sophisticated machine, China’s high-energy physics program has also provided its industries with opportunities of improving their performance. Except for a few sophisticated components of computers and fast electronics instruments that China was unable to develop, and some instruments, materials, and components that were not worth devoting manpower and resources to produce, China was dependent on its own industrial capability. It was able to design, research, and develop the accelerator complex at the same time as assimilating advanced foreign technology in electronic circuitry, superconducting magnet development, fast computers, computer software and control systems, high-voltage high-power supplies, high-power radio frequency electronic tubes, 40

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sophisticated electronic display devices, and precision measuring instruments (Qian et al. 1994: 415–21; Renmin ribao overseas edition October 1, 1994: 1 and 3). On February 10, 2003, China’s State Council approved to upgrade the BEPC with a state budget of RMB640 million ($77 million) (IHEP 2003). Once completed in five years, the BEPC will continue to maintain its leading position as against all accelerators of the same kind in the world, and offer a new opportunity to high-energy physics in China. Biochemistry Biochemistry is another field of basic science in which Chinese scientists have surprised the world. The development of biochemistry in China dates back to the pre-1949 era. In the 1920s and 1930s, Wu Hsien and his associates did research on protein denaturation, immunochemistry, clinical analysis, and nutrition (Wang and Shi 1981: 33). The Academia Sinica had a preparatory division of medical science to house biochemical researchers. In 1950, it was based on this division that the CAS Institute of Physiology and Biochemistry was formed in Shanghai, which was divided into an Institute of Physiology and an Institute of Biochemistry in 1958. Wang Yinglai, a PhD holder from Cambridge and a 1955 CAS member, identified such dynamic biochemical fields as protein, enzyme, and intermediate metabolism as “key” fields. In order to carry out research in these fields, he attracted Zou Chenglu (known to the West as Chen-lu Tsou, [enzyme]), Cao Tianqing (protein), Wang Debao (nuclei acid metabolism), and Niu Jingyi (protein structure), back from Britain and the United States (they all became CAS members in 1980) (Wang and Lin 1994: 504). In 1963, biochemistry was chosen as one of the nation’s basic scientific research fields with the Institute of Biochemistry being given a leading role. Within two years, biochemists, led by Wang Yinglai and collaborating with the CAS Institute of Organic Chemistry and the Department of Chemistry at Beijing University, successfully synthesized bovine insulin and conducted its structural analysis, which was acclaimed as a major scientific achievement and an important indication that the Chinese scientific effort was about to achieve “quality in a growing number of fields” (Science 1966) and to be nominated for a Nobel Prize (Cao forthcoming). Then came the Cultural Revolution, during which almost all scientific research activities were severely disrupted. However, research on X-ray crystallography of insulin (at the CAS Institute of Biophysics in Beijing and Beijing University), study of structure-activity of insulin analogy (at the CAS Institute of Zoology in Beijing), and synthesis of other polypeptide hormones, continued. From 1968 to 1982, Wang Debao led another group of biochemists at the Institute of Biochemistry, with the help from the CAS Institutes of Cell Biology and Organic Chemistry in Shanghai and Biophysics in Beijing, the Department of Biology at Beijing University, and a chemical reagent manufacturer, synthesizing yeast alanine t-RNA, a nuclei acid (Beijing Review 1982). 41

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The researches in insulin and nuclei acid were great accomplishments in that they were carried through virtually unimpeded by the interference of the Cultural Revolution, for which there are two possible explanations. First, scientists succeeded in persuading the political leaders of the practical importance of their research, while the radical faction within the party supported the project because the results could be interpreted as confirming certain hypothesis of Engel in his Dialectics of Nature (the insulin and nuclei acid papers quoted paragraph after paragraph of Engel’s work). In other words, it represented a perfect match between the interests of scientists and those of the leadership. The second noteworthy factor might be that insulin could be used to treat diabetes, a disease Mao’s wife Jiang Qing suffered from, according to an observation made by Shen Shaowen, then deputy director of the CAS Institute of Biochemistry in 1983 (Kühner 1984: 42, note 82). Certainly, compared with high-energy physics, it has much more potential for application.

Interaction between the party-state and intellectuals One factor that could not be ignored in the development of Chinese science is the frequent intervention from politics. Chinese scientists, as important components of the intellectual community, have from time to time faced severe tension owing to the intrusion of the CCP. During the first thirty years of the communist regime the party adopted a policy of uniting with, educating, and remolding intellectuals, as defined by the Party Central Committee in the “Fourteen Articles on Scientific Work” in 1961 (Nie R. 1988: 719). By “uniting with,” the party meant to utilize the expertise of intellectuals; “educating” meant that the intelligentsia of the pre-1949 society and “black” class origin13 should engage in socialist reform and in the study of communist ideology, Marxism-Leninism-Mao Zedong Thought in particular; while the aim of “remolding” was to help intellectuals repudiate their bourgeois ideas so as to become politically conscious.14 The fundamental hostility of the Chinese scientific life of the post-1949 period, therefore, was that between the scientific professions, which were struggling to preserve their autonomy, and the communist party, which was seeking to extend its hegemony over every sphere of Chinese life. The establishment of the new policy: 1949–57 The first phase covered the period from 1949 to the eve of the Anti-Rightist Campaign in 1957, which was characterized by various political campaigns from land reform, the suppression of counter-revolutionaries, the resist-America-andaid-Korea war, to the three-anti’s (san fan) and the five-anti’s (wu fan).15 Also during this period, the Academia Sinica and other nationalist government-sponsored research institutes were taken over, missionary institutions of higher education abolished, and colleges and departments reorganized. The relocation of many pre-1949 intellectuals meant more than a change of institutions for them. If in the 42

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early years of the communist control intellectuals still enjoyed certain academic freedom within universities by exercising autonomy in teaching and research and maintaining authority as professors, they now lost the institutional shelter; the loss of which prevented them from pursuing their own interests. They were also urged to participate in the ideological reform campaign in late 1951, during which those with “black” family backgrounds and with Western-training had to go through a series of criticism and self-criticism sessions so as to get rid of the bourgeois stigmas. The implementation of the First Five-Year Plan, in mid-1955, to some extent enhanced the role of scientists. The establishment of the CAS Academic Divisions, for example, was to realize the leadership of the party over Chinese science; but the party realized that its leadership could only be achieved through the endeavors of scientists. More important, while simultaneously complacent over China’s completion of the transition to socialism and concerned about the country’s continued economic backwardness, the party hoped to encourage intellectuals’ participation in socialist construction and became more receptive to the idea of intellectual freedom (Meisner 1977: 167–71). However, the leadership did not consider intellectuals as members of the working class, the leading class of the nation, and paid little attention to such pressing issues as how to mobilize them to the fullest possible extent. Consequently, in January 1956, the CCP Central Committee convened a special conference on intellectuals. Premier Zhou Enlai gave a speech entitled “On the Question of Intellectuals” in which he explained the party’s view toward this social group: The overwhelming majority of intellectuals have become government workers in the cause of Socialism and are already part of the working class. . . . [T]he fundamental question of intellectuals was no longer a question of their political and ideological reliability, but rather that the forces of our intelligentsia are insufficient in number, professional skills and political consciousness to meet the requirements of our rapid Socialist construction. ([1956] 1962) In order to encourage and better utilize the talents of the intellectuals, Zhou suggested improving “the manner of employing and placing them,” giving them “due confidence and support,” and providing them with “the necessary working conditions and appropriate treatment.” Meanwhile, in order for intellectuals to be able to “develop their specialized skills to the benefit of the state,” they should be provided with better equipment and more books, better housing and higher wages, more rewards and rapid promotions, and not be burdened unduly with administrative tasks and political study sessions to the neglect of their professional work. Zhou also noted the party’s intention to “strengthen leadership of the party over intellectuals, to strengthen leadership of the party over work in the scientific and cultural fields as a whole” so as to “find a correct solution for the question of 43

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intellectuals, to mobilize them more efficiently, and to make fuller use of their abilities” ([1956] 1962). This conference marked a new stage in the interaction between the party and Chinese intellectuals. The party saw to it that the living conditions of scientists improved substantially and even admitted senior intellectuals into its rank as a way to mobilize their support. In return, scientists devoted their energy to working out the twelve-year science program. The Anti-Rightist Campaign and its aftermath: 1957–61 The conference on intellectuals was also the prelude to the “blooming and contending” policy that was designed to stimulate the activities of scientists, artists, and other intellectuals. This policy—“letting a hundred flowers blossom, and letting a hundred schools of thought contend”—was proposed by Mao Zedong at a session of the Supreme State Conference on May 2, 1956.16 Although its aim was largely practical—to give intellectuals a greater sense of participation and thus to simulate, directly or indirectly, a fresh flow of ideas that would hasten the progress of socialist construction—the policy was distinctly more liberal toward intellectuals than that suggested by Zhou’s speech (Bowie and Fairbank 1962: 6). In another significant speech, “On Correct Handling of Contradictions among the People,” to a session of the Supreme State Conference on February 27, 1957, Mao once again urged implementation of the “blossoming and contending” policy. Two months later, the party leadership launched a rectification drive, calling on intellectuals to help the party eliminate bureaucratism, factionalism, and subjectivism (Yao et al. 1994: 86). At first, the Chinese intellectuals hesitated, afraid that the party and Mao had laid a political trap. But when they were repeatedly requested to air their views they finally responded. Although a few intellectuals did express their grievances toward the communist regime, most showed their loyalty to the party and the cause they loved. Scientists had concerns about improving the research environment. At the Second Assembly of CAS Academic Division members, held in May 1957, many spoke at length about the issues of developing democracy in academic leadership and of enabling Academic Division members to play a leading role in scientific research. In the meantime, Zeng Zhaolun, Qian Jiaju, Hua Luogeng, Tong Dizhou, and Qian Weichang, all non-Party-member CAS members (Qian Jiaju was an economist and a CAS member in the Division of Philosophy and Social Sciences), outlined five areas for improvement in “Some Suggestions on China’s Science System”: the adoption of appropriate measures to relieve senior scientists of administrative burdens; collaboration among the CAS, institutions of higher education, and other research institutes; rehabilitation and development of the social sciences; leadership of scientific research; and the fostering of young scientists without political bias (Guangming ribao June 9, 1957: 1). These suggestions—though they would later be interpreted as the basis of an incipient opposition to the party—were intellectually coherent and defensible as measures to hasten scientific and technological progress (Salaff 1977: 228). 44

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Detractors challenged the position of the CAS in Chinese science: its tasks were not clearly defined, its administrative structure was more focused on the operation of the academy itself than on the implementation of science policy, and the duty of the Academic Division members was to render scientific judgments, provide scientific advice, and set the broad outlines for research plans (Suttmeier 1987: 130–6). Although most of the intellectuals perceived themselves to be expressing loyalty by participating in this move toward rectification, some of their criticisms shocked the party. For example, the party felt that any challenge to the CAS was tantamount to threatening its leadership over scientific research. It retaliated immediately and harshly, labeling some 500,000 intellectuals—including a significant number of high-ranking scientists—and college students “rightists.” The AntiRightist Campaign17 and its aftermath led not only to a new era in the extension of communist control but also to a tension between the party and Chinese intellectuals. This period, one of great trials and miseries for the intellectuals, lasted for about three years, but its influence on the intellectual community has endured. As a whole, intellectuals were deliberately humiliated, purged, became subjects of virulent attacks, were dismissed from their jobs and sent to the countryside or frontier areas for “labor reform” (Li X. 1989: 58). Many scientists were also criticized for pursuing narrow and specialized research topics, for being excessively preoccupied with publications, and for taking too many of their cues from international science rather than from the practical problems related to China’s development. In retrospect, the origin of the Anti-Rightist Campaign is still a puzzle. At that time Mao Zedong’s power was waning and his proposed “blossoming and contending” policy was finding opposition within the party. Therefore, he had to utilize his role as state chairman to launch it from another platform, the Supreme State Conference; he might have advocated the policy as a way to criticize the party apparatus. If so, the transformation of “blossoming and contending” into the Anti-Rightist Campaign would have marked a defeat for Mao and a victory for the party. There are also views that the whole process was just a trap laid by the party leadership, and Mao in particular—a Machiavellian plot to “smoke out” dissenters and punish them once they exposed themselves (for a discussion of the possible origins of the “blossoming and contending” policy and the Anti-Rightist Campaign see Bowie and Fairbank 1962: 5–16; Li X. 1989: 63–5; Meisner 1977: 167–203). The Anti-Rightist Campaign created a radically political mood that led to the introduction of a series of extreme “leftist,” or radical, measures represented by the Great Leap Forward, a political campaign intended to modernize China’s agricultural and industrial production (see Lieberthal 1993; Meisner 1977: 204–26 for the discussion of the origin, process, and consequence of the Great Leap Forward). What helped to give the radical Great Leap Forward campaign an absurdly “scientific foundation” was the rocket scientist Qian Xuesen who claimed in 1958 that rice production could be increased more than twenty times 45

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over an already inflated 1,000 kg/Mu (or 0.067 ha) (Chang I. 1995: 237–45; Zhongguo qingnianbao June 16, 1958: 4). Owing to its ambitious but impractical goal, the Great Leap Forward severely damaged the national economy. The entire country was permeated with an abnormal climate in which progressive development was condemned as conservatism, regulations were regarded as restrictions on mass creativity, and normal procedures of production were called retrogressive and superstitious. While attacking intellectuals for their bourgeois ideology, the party took unusual steps to remedy the problem: workers and peasants were invited to research institutes while experts were forced to reorient their research activities toward achieving political goals or to go to the countryside to cooperate with peasants in cultivating experimental farms. Another conference on intellectuals: 1962–66 The Chinese Communist Party’s ignorance and fanaticism caused great waste in natural and human resources. Coincidently, several years of severe natural disasters immediately followed, which further set back agricultural production and resulted in extreme food shortages and even famine. As the economic crisis mounted, the party had to reconsider its ill-conceived policy. In the political arena, the struggle between Mao Zedong and his rivals was intensified. In January 1961, the CCP Eighth Central Committee convened its ninth plenum, probing the national economy and considering adopting measures to alleviate the economic crisis. In January 1962, the party held a conference on a large scale, during which Mao had to admit his mistake in launching the Great Leap Forward in front of 7,000 cadres from all parts of the nation. On the economy front readjustment and consolidation occurred to organize agricultural production at a smaller, more manageable level, and to lower industrial targets. In the scientific front, the party leadership displayed a growing awareness of the need to utilize the expertise of intellectuals. Thus, in September 1959, on the eve of the tenth anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic, Mao recommended the granting of the first amnesty since the communists assumed power, including the removal of the label “rightists” from those condemned as such (Cheng C. 1965: 265). Meanwhile, the party modified its policy toward intellectuals by recalling scientists to key positions in research and education and allowing former “rightists” to return to their old positions. Individual research became legitimate; the value of scientific professionals—and their preeminence in scientific research—was recognized; and many science- and technology-related mass organizations were either consolidated or dissolved. The intellectuals as a group, however, had not recovered from the bitterness of the Anti-Rightist Campaign. A pall of depression continued to hang over the intellectual community. Even those who had not suffered direct political persecution lived in a perpetual state of fear; they were afraid to speak out, often unable to work in their chosen fields, or forced to attend many political study sessions. Thus, during a State Science Technology Commission-sponsored conference in 46

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Guangzhou in February and March 1962, the discussion turned from the original theme of planning for scientific development for 1963–72 to expressing dissatisfaction over the unfair treatment meted out to scientists. The Guangzhou conference settled the question of intellectuals’ class attributes, at least temporarily and superficially (Nie R. 1988: 723). In his keynote speech, Premier Zhou Enlai pointed out that, after “tempering” themselves for twelve years, even the intellectuals from the nationalist era had undergone a tremendous change. He reiterated what he had said in 1956: the overwhelming majority of intellectuals worked enthusiastically for socialism, accepted the party leadership, and—ready to go on remolding themselves—now belonged to the working class and should no longer be regarded as bourgeois. There were, of course, a few intellectuals who had retained bourgeois political values and still had doubts about or disagreed with socialism. However, so long as they went along with the demands of the state and engaged in normal pursuits, the party should assimilate them and assign them suitable jobs so that they could contribute their share to the country. Zhou particularly emphasized that as a long and arduous process for intellectuals, ideological remolding would proceed along a course peculiar to them and often through their own practice in scientific work. Therefore, the party should know how to absorb them, win them over, and help them. Demanding too much from intellectuals and too hastily in ideological remolding would lead to adverse reaction. Zhou also urged the intellectuals to become actively and wholeheartedly involved in the nation’s development effort. However, Zhou’s speech did not clearly absolve them of the title of “bourgeois intellectuals,” with which the attending scientists were still quite unhappy. Thus, before his departure for Beijing, Zhou Enlai asked Vice Premier Chen Yi to address the issue. Chen later boldly declared, “China needs intellectuals, needs scientists. For all these years, they have been unfairly treated. They should be restored to the position they deserve.” He encouraged intellectuals to take off the hat of “bourgeois intellectuals” and put on the crown of “intellectuals of the working people” (tuomao jiamian) (Nie R. 1988: 722–3). The speeches of Zhou and Chen gave Chinese intellectuals new hope that their services were finally needed and their contributions appreciated. The scientists were content with the conference and poured forth their gratitude for the concern Zhou Enlai and Chen Yi were showing them.18 The Guangzhou conference reversed the anti-intellectual trend that had prevailed since 1957. In general, natural scientists enjoyed a measure of prestige and respect between 1962 and 1965.19 The research environment was far less politicized than that in 1957–61, and the amount of time scientists spent attending political meetings was limited by a rule requiring that five-sixths of a scientist’s working week be devoted to teaching and research (Nie R. 1988: 722–3). The Cultural Revolution: 1966–76 These favorable conditions for natural scientists disappeared with the start of the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution in 1966. Despite its name, the “Cultural 47

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Revolution” was a political campaign launched by Mao Zedong in an effort to regain the power he had lost to rivals within the party—so-called “persons in power taking the capitalist road” (zouzipai) (Li X. 1989: chapter 4; MacFarquhar 1997; Yan and Gao 1996). It also aimed at attacking so-called “bourgeois, reactionary academic authorities,” namely, high-ranking intellectuals who were held to have aided and abetted the capitalist roaders. The turmoil of the Cultural Revolution traumatized and embittered practically all Chinese; it was a catastrophe for Chinese intellectuals and had an enduring and devastating influence on Chinese science. The decade from 1966 to 1976 became a nightmare for Chinese intellectuals, who, as a social group, were denounced as “stinking number nine” (chou laojiu) at the bottom of the barrel as social outcasts after landlords, rich peasants, counter-revolutionaries, bad elements, rightists, traitors, spies, and capitalist roaders. The salient characteristic of intellectuals—stink—was not a stigma of individual wrongdoing, lack of faith in the party or its aims, or unwillingness to sacrifice oneself for socialism, but their “bad” class inherence (Sivin 1989: 444). The party policy toward intellectuals during the Cultural Revolution was reflected in a strange logic of the Gang of Four, the radical clique within the party: “the more learning a person has, the more reactionary that person is.” Many intellectuals were attacked in big-character wall posters (dazibao), criticized and humiliated at public meetings, and investigated and interrogated by “extreme leftists.” Their homes were searched and their properties confiscated, and they were abused and tortured physically and psychologically. University professors were accused of “poisoning young students” through their teaching. If they studied abroad, they were labeled American or Soviet “spies.” Many scientists were deprived of the rights of teaching and research and even lost their lives to political persecution. Later, a large number of scientists who had been publicly denounced and criticized, along with other intellectuals and cadres, was sent to the so-called “May Seventh cadre schools”20 or settled down in the countryside where scientists were ruined physically and emotionally. They were also asked to work in factories. At the same time, the political leadership moved forward again by staffing workers who were not well-educated, peasants, and soldiers at institutions of research and learning and promoting mass participation in technology innovation to counter the elite orientation of Chinese science (Lee R. 1973; Macioti 1971). All these aimed at re-educating intellectuals so as to transform their thought and remold their bourgeois ideology. With its attack on intellectualism, the Cultural Revolution also paralyzed China’s education system. Having been denounced as a system for cultivating revisionist seedlings, formal higher education was abandoned in 1966. Undergraduate and graduate students had to discontinue their studies and were sent to factories, countryside, or army camps for re-education, and research activities were severely curtailed. When universities reopened their doors in 1973— graduate education was not restored until 1978—radical politics still prevailed. The standard course of study lasted three years on top of a cut in the length of 48

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the junior and senior high school education from six to four years. Because Mao Zedong instructed to admit college students from workers, peasants, and soldiers with practical experience, all high school seniors were sent to communes or factories for two to three years of work before possible consideration for admission to universities, which was then based on recommendation from danwei where they worked and not on entrance examinations of any sort. When these “workerpeasant-soldier students (gongnongbing xueyuan)” did arrive at universities, most of them were ill-prepared for university class so that they had to take some time to refurbish their elementary knowledge. And because Mao set out that education should serve proletarian politics and be combined with productive labor, curriculum on science became less professional, and more directly involved in production. At Qinghua University, China’s leading polytechnic university, for example, students spent 80 percent of their time learning science and technology, which included working in factories, 15 percent studying Marxism-Leninism-Mao Zedong Thought, and 5 percent doing farm work and “learning from the People’s Liberation Army” (Science for the People 1974: 182). Then professors and students often made extensive visits to factories and communes to study practical problems, and the research was device- and application-oriented. These conditions and arrangements did not provide an atmosphere conducive to the training of the next generation of scientists. It is estimated that China lost at least one million undergraduates and 100,000 graduate students to the Cultural Revolution (Qu 1993: 648). Thus, China’s scientific enterprise was deprived of qualified personnel, which has had and will continue to have an impact on Chinese science. Toward a new interaction: 1976 to the present When the Cultural Revolution ended in 1976, a full-scale restoration was undertaken in order for the regime to win back the trust of its people, including members of the intellectual community. By raising the prestige of scientists, the party hoped to rehabilitate its relationship with the scientific community and to eliminate the conflict accelerated during the Cultural Revolution while at the same time stimulating individual incentive. At the 1978 national science conference Deng Xiaoping gave a speech celebrating the role of scientists in society, in which he made it clear that science and technology are the principal “productive force” and that scientists are “part of the working class”—not somehow politically suspect as they had been since the Anti-Rightist Campaign (Saich 1989b: 12–13). As the party has given the highest priority to the development of science and technology and even recently stipulated a “rejuvenating the country with science, technology, and education” (kejiao xingguo) strategy, it has acknowledged the importance of withdrawing from its over-dominant position and granting scientists greater freedom within their areas of professional competence. Therefore, the party has given intellectuals as much—but still limited—freedom and autonomy as it could and in decision-making with regard to scientific research. But the party 49

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was still uncertain about how to strike a balance between freedom and autonomy for the individual scientists and institutions and its guidance and control, and exerted political control over this problematic social group (Goldman and Cheek 1987: 19–20; Saich 1989a: 84). In the party’s jargon, the party is in charge of the direction of the country while intellectuals are supposed to devote their energy to their own causes without challenging the leadership of the CCP, the socialism, the ideology of Marxism-Leninism-Mao Zedong Thought, and the so-called proletariat dictatorship. It is true that the CCP leadership wanted to mobilize scientists in its endeavor to fulfill the four modernization ventures and turn China into a xiaokang society so as to consolidate the regime. Thus, on the one hand, the scientific community in the 1980s witnessed the restoration of the CAS Academic Divisions, the establishment of the NSFC, the introduction of peer review system and academic reward system, the increasing role of scientists in the decision-making of the country’s affairs of education, science, and economy, and the implementation of the kejiao xingguo strategy ( Jiang Zemin 2000; Science 2000). On the other hand, it was also uneasy about the partial autonomy as defined by the party. During this period, there were political campaigns targeting intellectuals: the short-lived anti-spiritual pollution campaign of 1983, the anti-bourgeois-liberalization campaign of 1987, and finally, the pro-democracy movement of 1989 (Meisner 1996: 349–467). That is, the Chinese leadership has tried to make a trade-off, substituting a shortterm risk—giving scientists a bigger role—for a long-term benefit of ensuring China’s scientific and technical independence and ultimate superiority (Frieman 1994: 133).

Summary and discussion During most of the history of the People’s Republic, the development of science has experienced extreme control by the party in research organization, planning and coordination, and funding. Some areas of science have developed more rapidly than the others. For example, applied research was emphasized because of its relation to the improvement of the living standard for the Chinese; military research probably has been most important, which is reflected in the successful organization of liangdan yixing and other programs. The government was the only supporter, and is still the main supporter, of research so that it could concentrate the resources—personnel, funding, and materials—on “key” projects or missions it has defined. At the same time, scientists in selected disciplines of basic science have also made impressive achievements. The interests of the Chinese leadership in these areas, such as high-energy physics and biochemistry, have mobilized the support from the government, which has in turn roped in the cooperation and the participation of the scientific community (Shi T. 1990: 1193). It is only very recently that the scientific community has played the leading role in research agenda-setting. 50

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The development of science in China has also been influenced by party policy toward science and intellectuals. Such a policy has been unstable because it kept changing so rapidly. Even under the same leader, say Mao Zedong or Deng Xiaoping, it fluctuated between the poles of effective utilization and a serious combat of intellectuals. The policy has also been uncertain because the intellectuals never know how long a favorable policy toward them would last and when another political campaign would target them. Given the quick reorientation to placate the intellectual community after various political campaigns, the party policy toward science and intellectuals during its control over China has been surprisingly flexible. At one time, the regime would fight against individualism, self-interest, and the bourgeois outlook among intellectuals; at another time, the party would allow the scientific community to follow the internationally accepted norms and values of scientific research in making its own decision on research funding, introducing peer review system, electing honorific members, and so on. Such instability, uncertainty as well as flexibility have in turn reflected an oscillation between two extremes of the party’s control over economy, polity, and society, or the legacy of contradictions between tightening or restriction (shou) and loosening or liberation ( fang) (for an excellent description and analysis on the shou-fang cycles in the 1980s, see Baum 1993). Given the increasing exposure of China to the world and the significant number of scientists returning from abroad who not only have learned the sophisticated knowledge in their respective disciplines but also have experienced the integration of science and democracy, Chinese science has been gradually adopting the international norms about how science should be conducted. The scientific development in communist China has been full of achievements and failures occasioned by frequent disruptions by political campaigns. With the political environment of the nation shifting between shou and fang, intellectuals and scientific development have had different fates. Generally speaking, while shou destroys the incentive of scientists, fang stimulates scientists to pursue excellence. The participation of Chinese scientists in different projects and its implications to their career path will be discussed in the rest of the book.

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3 THE EVOLUTION OF AN ACADEMIC HONOR

Having provided the background against which Chinese science has developed, the book will now focus on how the Academic Divisions of the Chinese Academy of Sciences have evolved from an academic leadership organization into an honorific society reflected in the change of the title of the membership from xuebu weiyuan (Academic Division member) to yuanshi (academician). This change not only mirrors a transformation in the policy of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) toward science and intellectuals as described in the previous chapter but also indicates that China has been gradually adopting international norms in the practice of science.

Academicianship ( yuanshi) under nationalist China A proper understanding of the evolution of the CAS membership is impossible without looking first at Academia Sinica academicianship ( yuanshi ) during the nationalist era (1927–49). It was the Academia Sinica (Guoli Zhongyang Yanjiuyuan), the academy sponsored by the nationalist government, that first bestowed the title “academician” as an honor.1 After the People’s Republic was established, some “old” nationalist academicians became “new” communist Academic Division members (xuebu weiyuan). The Academia Sinica, as the premier institution for scientific research in nationalist China, was supposed to have two tasks: conducting research; and guiding, coordinating, and rewarding research (Fan H. 1990: 210; Tao and Na 1988: 20). The first task was fulfilled by its affiliated research institutes, while the second was realized through a Research Council (Pingyi Weiyuanhui ), formed in 1935, which functioned as the nation’s highest academic reviewing organ. In 1946 the Research Council suggested establishing the Academia Sinica academicianship as a lifetime honor (Fan H. 1990: 219 –20; Tao and Na 1988: 217). Academicians would be elected from among those Chinese scientists with significant achievements. Their duties were to include choosing new members and honorary members, electing Research Council members, and formulating the nation’s policies on scientific research, as well as designing, investigating, and evaluating research activities at the request of the government (Fan H. 1990: 221). 52

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By 1947, the nomination of candidates for academicianship was under way nationwide. Those who received the recommendation of five or more Research Council members were eligible; alternatively, nomination could come from universities, professional societies, and research institutes. This procedure produced a pool of 402 candidates, from which 150 formal candidates were selected. With the criteria for academicianship in mind, and after soliciting the views of others, Research Council members cast anonymous votes; the eighty-one scientists who received more than four-fifth of the votes were named academicians in 1948. Academia Sinica scientists represented only one-fourth of the entire membership; the rest were scientists from the Peiping Academy, universities, and other research institutes (Fan H. 1990: 221 and 225–31). All were chosen because of their academic expertise and special contributions to Chinese science, without regard to the prestige of the institutions to which they were affiliated. Because these academicians were elected on the eve of the collapse of the nationalist government, they had little chance to play a role in mainland China.

Foundation of the CAS Academic Divisions (Xuebu ) The Chinese Academy of Sciences and its Special Advisory Committee The Chinese Academy of Sciences (CAS), founded exactly one month after the proclamation of the People’s Republic, was based on the Academia Sinica and the Peiping Academy and included several research institutes outside these academies. It was created as a government agency under the control of the State Council. As part of the government hierarchy, it was responsible for the administration of scientific research, allocating manpower and facilities, and funding among its research institutes. The party and the government also required that the CAS become the nation’s center for science and technology. However, the academy did not have authority over the entire scientific community; nor did it have an administrative body by means of which outstanding scientists from the entire nation, not just within the CAS, could be mobilized to direct research, evaluate results, and promote scientists. A Special Advisory Committee (Zhuanmen Weiyuanhui ) was therefore formed within the CAS in June 1950 to address these problems (Li Zhenzhen 1992: 40; Song Z.1991; Yao et al. 1994: 24). Modeled on the Academia Sinica Research Council, the CAS Special Advisory Committee was mainly responsible for planning the nation’s scientific development, approving the annual reports of the academy, and examining and evaluating the nation’s scientific achievements. It was divided into twenty subgroups, corresponding to the twenty CAS research institutes. From 1950 to 1953, the Special Advisory Committee gradually appointed 253 outstanding Chinese scientists, including some who were still abroad, as CAS advisors. Of them, 192 were natural scientists (136 from outside the CAS) and sixty-one social scientists (forty-nine from outside) (Song Z. 1991: 44–51; Yao et al. 1994: 24). 53

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The fact that nearly three-quarters of the advisors were appointed from outside the CAS indicates that the academy did not occupy a dominant position in scientific research at that time. In the words of Li Siguang, then CAS vice president: In order to build the CAS into the academic leader of the nation’s scientific research, we would like to invite scientists from the entire nation to participate in academic activities. It is only through the hard work of scientists within and outside the CAS that we can turn the CAS into the academy of the scientific community for the entire nation. (cited in Song Z. 1991: 41) The setting up of the Special Advisory Committee was the first step toward the establishment of the CAS Academic Divisions. Indeed, when the Academic Divisions were formed in 1955, 130 CAS advisors became their first members. Professional societies At that time, there also existed a parallel entity—the All-China Federation of Natural Science Societies (ACFNSS). A professional rather than a governmentsponsored society, it was proposed in May 1949, before the founding of the People’s Republic, when scientists were asked to participate in the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC), and it was finally established in August 1950 (Wang Shuntong et al. 1994: 16–29). China’s natural scientists had a strong tradition of voluntary, autonomous associations, and various societies predated 1949. The ACFNSS included not only scientists from the CAS but also those in universities and industry. Given this wider representation, it became a de facto academic authority among scientists who were in turn reluctant to acknowledge the leadership of the CAS. In their minds, the ACFNSS was their own organization and the authentic leader of Chinese science. Some members even used the ACFNSS to challenge the CAS; this move offended the party, which in turn pointedly questioned the necessity of the ACFNSS (Li Zhenzhen 1992: 41; Li and Wei 1991: 22).2 With this challenge to the CAS, the party realized that the academy could not hope to exercise scientific leadership on the basis of its administrative powers alone. The critical problem was to increase the authority of the CAS by establishing its central place in China’s science system—at the hub of its other research institutes, institutions of higher education, and industries—and thus to consolidate the party’s control over science. To solve this problem, the CAS turned to the Soviet Union for experience and advice in managing scientific research, although it could model itself on the Academia Sinica to establish the academicianship. The party agenda in conflict with scientists’ interests The CAS delegation of party cadres and scientists that traveled to the Soviet Union in 1953 discovered that the Soviet Academy of Sciences had an honorific 54

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academicianship that organically linked scientific activities in research institutes, universities, and industries, and encouraged the pursuit of scientific excellence. In a political climate that mandated Soviet patterns, the Soviet model of academicianship not only inspired Chinese scientists but also seemed to legitimize their desire to form such a system in China. In addition, the honorific “academician” was familiar and desirable to those who had held such titles before 1949. Despite the enthusiasm of the scientists, CAS party leaders did not favor honorary academicianship. Instead, they showed interest in another component of the Soviet Academy—the academic divisions within which each member had an affiliation. They believed that academic divisions could become an effective means for establishing the party’s leadership over scientific research. Officially, the party claimed that conditions were not yet ripe for establishing an honorific system: China lacked a stable environment in which scientists could concentrate on research and therefore scientific work was at a low level and academic achievements relatively few. The real reason for the reservations about academicianship, however, lay in the power academicians might possess. In the Soviet Academy 34 percent of the academicians and 42 percent of the corresponding academicians were communist party members, but there were few party members among high-ranking Chinese scientists (Cheng C. 1965: 164). From the establishment of the CAS in 1949 to the end of 1955, for example, the nuclear physicist Qian Sanqiang was the only one of the 400 senior scientists (rank of associate professor and above) who joined the CCP (Li Zhenzhen 1992: 46; Yao et al. 1994: 69); outside the academy, Liu Xianzhou, an expert in mechanical engineering and first vice president of Qinghua University, was admitted into the party in 1955 (BIOGRAPHIES [vol. 1]: 706). The party was afraid that its weak presentation among Chinese academicians would hamper its ability to maintain control and implement its preferred policies. Some party cadres even went to the extreme of claiming that promotion of honorary academicianship was a ploy aimed at wresting power from the party. For example, the party veteran Wu Heng pointed out: The ideology of scientists was backward. If the General Assembly of Academic Division Members (Xuebu Weiyuan Dahui ) became the highest organ of academic leadership in China as it is in the Soviet Union, it would be difficult for the policies of the party and government to be carried out. (1991: 30; see also Wu Heng 1994: 147) According to Yu Guangyuan, then Science Division director in the Propaganda Department of the Party Central Committee, “The president of the Soviet Academy of Sciences is elected by members. Could the party leadership be assured if the president of the CAS is also chosen this way?” (cited in Li Zhenzhen 1994: 11–12). In adopting the Soviet model of the academic divisions instead, the party would be able to limit the power of the members. Moreover, the less rigorous 55

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criteria for academic divisions membership meant that party members—and not just elite scientists—were eligible.3 In addition, party cadres thought that social scientists should be treated differently. Appointments of the first Academic Division members: 1955–57 On November 19, 1953 the CAS Party Committee formally suggested to the CCP Central Committee about the setting up of the Academic Divisions. It outlined a structure of academic leadership in the CAS. With an Academic Council at the top, the CAS would lead its research institutes through the work of four Academic Divisions (xuebu): Physics, Mathematics, and Chemistry; Biological and Earth Sciences; Technological Sciences; and Philosophy and Social Sciences. Each Academic Division would include twenty to fifty Academic Division members (xuebu weiyuan), with a Standing Committee handling routine tasks and a secretariat to assist the Academic Council. Academic Division members were to be responsible for providing scientific leadership rather than performing administrative tasks. The new organizational structure of the CAS was expected to enable it to exercise academic leadership. Coincidentally—and in the wake of government-wide reorganization in 1954—the CAS was no longer designated a government agency but the nation’s highest academic institution (Li Zhenzhen 1991: 43; 1992: 42). In the following year, the founding of the Academic Divisions proceeded apace as their directors and secretaries were appointed. Scientists convened to discuss the criteria and procedures for selecting members who would include the directors of research institutes as well as experts within and outside the CAS. Their selection would be guided by three criteria: academic achievement, promotion of the disciplines, and loyalty to the people’s cause, with the first being the most important (Ge 2002: 109; Li Zhenzhen 1991: 45–6; 1992: 43; Wu Heng 1994: 148; Yao 1989b: 453). From June 1954 to May 1955, the selection process for CAS Academic Division members went through three stages: recommendation of candidates by scientists and through institutional channels; negotiation among various interest groups and approval of candidates by the party; and appointment by the State Council. After consultations with CAS vice presidents and party committees for higher education, public health, industrial ministries, and regional governments, the CAS Party Committee submitted several candidate lists to the Propaganda Department of the CCP Central Committee, which was in charge of ideological matter pertaining to the scientific community (Li Zhenzhen 1994). These lists reflected compromises that balanced the credentials, experience, research specialties, and political attitudes of the candidates. Several rounds of discussions, submissions, negotiation, and rejections finally yielded a roster of candidates endorsed by the party’s Propaganda Department. On May 31, 1955 the State Council approved the list. The Inaugural General Assembly of CAS Academic Division Members was held the next day. On June 3, Premier Zhou Enlai signed 56

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a State Council decree appointing 233 scientists (including 172 natural scientists) as CAS Academic Division members (Renmin ribao June 3, 1955: 1). In 1957, twenty-one additional members (eighteen from the natural sciences) were appointed. They included several scientists whose credentials had warranted appointment in 1955. The biochemist Liu Sizhi and the virologist Tang Feifan, for example, had been on the final list submitted by the CAS but were rejected by the party (Li Zhenzhen 1992: 46). Also added were recent returnees from abroad, such as the experts on mechanics Qian Xuesen and Wu Zhonghua who had been in the United States. Although these scientists were included largely on the basis of their academic achievements, their appointment might also have been a gesture to attract more Chinese scientists from abroad. At the same time, the Division of Biological and Earth Sciences was divided into a Division of Biological Sciences and a Division of Earth Sciences (Song Z. 1990: 278–9). Intrusion of politics into science The CAS Academic Division members appointed in 1955 and 1957 generally represented the state of science and the caliber of scientists in China; thus the CAS began to gain authority through its Academic Divisions. However, the criteria used to select these scientists went beyond academic achievement, promotion of the disciplines, and loyalty to the people’s cause. Multiple and varying criteria were applied to different scientists. For example, their administrative positions were taken into account. There was also a process of negotiation aimed at balancing the numbers of scientists from various disciplines and government ministries. Consequently, some deserving candidates in disciplines such as physics, mathematics, chemistry, geology, zoology, and botany were left out in order to make room for candidates from such underdeveloped fields as agronomy, forestry, pedology, medicine, and technologies. More significant was the effort of the party in scrutinizing the political credentials of the candidates. Of the fifty-nine Academia Sinica members (fortyone natural scientists and eighteen social scientists) who remained on the mainland in 1955, forty-seven were appointed to CAS Academic Divisions. Eight of the twelve non-members were social scientists—Chen Da (demography), Gu Jiegang (Chinese history), Liu Yizheng (Chinese history), Qian Ruisheng (comparative political systems), Yu Jiaxi (textual research on ancient books, died in 1955), Zhang Yuanji (historical record analysis), Liang Siyong (archaeology, died in 1954), and Zhou Gengsheng (international law). Candidates for social science membership were examined politically to see whether they supported socialism and the CCP and whether they applied Marxism to their research, criteria more stringent than loyalty to the people’s cause (Liu Danian 1991: 40; Li Zhenzhen 1994: 13 –14; Wu Heng 1991: 31). Zhang Jiafu, then CAS party secretary, acknowledged that the party was concerned that few social scientists favored Marxism (Li and Wei 1991: 26 and 39–40); and Yu Guangyuan, then Science Division director under the Propaganda Department of the Party 57

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Central Committee, recalled that the department was highly critical in selecting members for the Division of Philosophy and Social Sciences: Social science research deals with using Marxism-Leninism as a guiding ideology so we [party cadres] were responsible for selecting candidates. There were specific guidelines; for example, sociology and political science were banned at that time, so there were no Academic Division members selected from these fields.4 (cited in Li Zhenzhen 1994: 13 –14) Other considerations mattered as well. If the political ideology of a social scientist was the only deciding factor, the appointment of Chen Yinke would be inexplicable. Chen, a historian of the Wei, Jin, Northern and Southern, Sui, and Tang dynasties (AD 220–960), candidly stated that he opposed Marxism. However, he did not go to Taiwan in 1949 with the Academia Sinica Institute of History and Language, a point in his favor. According to Zhang Jiafu, Chen’s credentials were so strong that if he had not been selected neither the academia nor Vice Premier Chen Yi, who was then in charge of science in China, would have been satisfied. Finally, the CAS Party Committee had to bring the case to Mao Zedong, then chairman of the CCP Central Committee, who approved Chen’s appointment (1984: 131; YSZLYYJ 1991: 16). It would have been understandable if only the so-called bourgeois or nationalist social science academicians were excluded. In fact, the Academia Sinica academicians Hu Xiansu (biology), Jiang Lifu (mathematics), Li Zhongen (medical science), Weng Wenhao (geology), and Wu Dingliang (physical anthropology) were also denied CAS Academic Divisions membership. There was consensus that Weng Wenhao, Jiang Lifu, and Hu Xiansu deserved appointments given their scientific achievements. Weng was the first Chinese to earn a doctorate in geology (in 1912, from the Catholic University of Leuven, Belgium) and was recognized as one of the pioneers of China’s geological survey and scientific research enterprise. His reputation was so well established internationally that he was elected a foreign member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences in 1947, a very rare honor for a foreigner (BIOGRAPHIES [vol. 5]: 334–45). Jiang and Hu were both PhD degree holders from Harvard, one in mathematics (1919), the other in botanic taxonomy (1925). Jiang was a pioneer of Chinese mathematics who founded mathematics departments at various universities (BIOGRAPHIES [vol. 2]: 6–12), and Hu actively participated in the establishment both of the Science Society of China when he studied in the United States and of the Biological Survey after his return (BIOGRAPHIES [vol. 4]: 423–33). The reasons for their rejection were probably political as well. Having had close personal connections with Chiang Kai-shek, president of nationalist China, Weng and Hu once held important positions in the nationalist government: Weng was minister of economic affairs, chairperson of the National Resources Commission, and even premier, while Hu was president of Zhongzheng University which bore the 58

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courtesy name (zi) of Chiang Kai-shek—Zhongzheng. In addition, in the early 1950s, Hu challenged Lysenko’s theory of genetics and opposed political intervention in scientific research, which angered the party (BIOGRAPHIES [vol. 4]: 423–33; Li P. 1988, 1994; Li Zhenzhen 1994: 12; Schneider 1986, 1989). Although Mao Zedong did not object to his inclusion, officials in the Propaganda Department of the CCP Central Committee stubbornly reject him (Chen and Song 1999: 415). Jiang was perhaps held responsible for the move of the Academia Sinica Institute of Mathematics to Taiwan in 1948, although he himself returned to the mainland soon thereafter. Politics could be a force for inclusion as well: forty-one scientists who were party members were appointed to the Academic Divisions. Among the seventeen natural scientists in this group (9.9 percent of 172 natural scientists) (see Table 3.1), twelve were underground party members in nationalist governmentcontrolled regions or held science- and technology-related administrative positions in CCP-controlled Yan’an before 1949; only five had joined the party in 1949 or later. Most controversial was the appointment of those from Yan’an and the underground party members, whose scientific achievements were minimal. However, since Academic Division membership was an academic leadership title, while these party members held positions in research administration, they were selected to represent the party leadership over scientific research. All but two—Li Qiang and Wu Heng had dropped out of college to join the revolutionary ranks—had at least training in the natural sciences with college or graduate degrees. The educational attainments of these party members—seven doctorates, three graduate degree holders, and five who had bachelor’s degrees—were roughly comparable to those of their fellow members. Thus, their selection may suggest that the party recognized the dilemma it faced: to maintain its control over the CAS Academic Divisions without being blamed for intervening too much in the natural science research by appointing too many party members with inferior educational or academic credentials.

The Academic Divisions in political turmoil When the Academic Divisions were formed, an eventual move toward honorific academicianship ( yuanshi) was also envisaged. In his speech at the 1955 Inaugural Assembly of the CAS Academic Division Members, Vice Premier Chen Yi predicted that the CAS would adopt such a system in three years ([1955] 1995: 11). CAS President Guo Moruo pointed out at the same assembly that “the academicianship system, which uses the assembly of academicians as the highest organ of the CAS, is the best way to show democracy in science” (1955: 12). Despite these expressed views, the evolution of Academic Division membership to academicianship was not to occur. One reason was that Mao Zedong wanted China to be more egalitarian. Some existing hierarchical systems, among them military ranks and academic degrees, were discarded because they were to represent “bourgeois rights”; it was not the time to establish new ones (informant no. 10). A more 59

Specialty

Chemistry

Radio

Geology

Metallurgy

Mechanics

Agronomy

Chemistry

Chemical engineering

Name

Yun Ziqiang

Li Qiang

Xu Jie

Li Wencai

Zhao Feike

Chen Fengtong

Qian Zhidao

Hou Xianglin

1912

1910

1897

1909

1906

1901

1905

1899

Year born

Carnegie Institute of Technology (PhD, 1948)

Zhejiang University (BA, year unknown)

Liverpool University (Master, 1935) Peiping University (Graduate study, year unknown)

Nanjing Higher Normal College (BA, 1920) Donghua University (Ungraduated, 1926) Beijing University (BA, 1925) Dreston Institute of Technology (Doctor, 1939)

Institution of highest degree award (degree, year)

Table 3.1 Profiles of party members among 1955 appointed CAS Academic Division members

1938

1938

1936

1931

1930

1926

1925

1925

Year joined the CCP

Director, North China Agricultural Research Institute Deputy Bureau Chief, Ministry of Machine Building Vice President, Academy of Petrochemical Engineering

Deputy Director, CAS Office Deputy Minister, Foreign Trade Deputy Minister, Geology Director, Beijing Metallurgy Research Institute Unknown

Position held

Medicine

Botany

Surgery

Mechanical engineering Agronomy

Physics

Mechanical engineering Medicine

Shen Qizhen

Wu Zhengyi

Zhou Zezhao

Tao Hengxian

Qian Sanqiang

Liu Xianzhou 1906

1890

1913

1901

1914

1902

1916

1906

1914

University of Minnesota (PhD, 1937) University of Paris, (Doctor, 1940) University of Hong Kong (BA, 1918) Peking Union Medical College (MD, 1933)

Qinghua University (Graduate studies, 1942) Zhongshan University Medical School (MD, 1926) Tongji University (BA, 1939)

Qinghua University (Ungraduated, 1937) Japan Imperial University Medical School (MD, 1931)

Sources: Editorial Board of The Elite of Chinese Science (1985 and 1988). BIOGRAPHIES (from many entries in BIOGRAPHIES).

Huang Jiashi

Tu Zhi

Geology

Wu Heng

1955

1955

1954

1950

1949

1946

1942

1941

1939

Deputy SecretaryGeneral, CAS President, Central Academy of Public Health Deputy Director, CAS Botany Institute President, Beijing Hospital Ministry of Machine Building President, Xinjiang Agricultural College Director, CAS Institute of Modern Physics Vice President, Qinghua University Vice President, Shanghai No. 1 Medical School

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important reason was that recurrent political campaigns, especially the Anti-Rightist Campaign and the Cultural Revolution, attacked Academic Division members and Chinese intellectuals in general. As noted, the Anti-Rightist Campaign of 1957 struck a hard blow at the kindhearted Chinese intelligentsia. As the first political campaign in communist China that targeted intellectuals who were too naive to understand that their willing assistance to the CCP would ultimately result in their personal suffering, the Anti-Rightist Campaign persecuted some 500,000 intellectuals, including ten CAS Academic Division members—Lei Tianjue, Liu Sizhi, Meng Shaoying, Qian Weichang, Sheng Tongsheng, Xie Jiarong, Yu Ruihuang, Yuan Hanqing, Zeng Zhaolun, and Xiang Da (all but the last were natural scientists)—who in turn lost their membership privileges. Zeng Zhaolun and Qian Weichang were expelled for their role in drafting “Some Suggestions on China’s Science System” (see Chapter 2); but Hua Luogeng, Tong Dizhou, and Qian Jiaju, all of whom worked at the CAS, were not denounced. This selective punishment might have been due to the skepticism that Zeng and Qian Weichang—two professors at universities—expressed about the role of the CAS in scientific research, which was regarded as a challenge to the party. In addition, CAS member Feng Zefang was on the verge of being labeled a “rightist”; and Tang Feifan, another CAS member, committed suicide before becoming a “rightist” (interview with a retired CAS official, Beijing, China: 1996). In the meantime, non-“rightist” scientists were compelled to criticize themselves or their peers. CAS President Guo Moruo and other high-ranking scientists denounced “Some Suggestions on China’s Science System” as an anti-socialist program. Although he escaped expulsion from the CAS for his participation in drafting the “Suggestions,” the mathematician Hua Luogeng had to admit and criticize his “rightist” standing (Kexue tongpao August 12 and 27, 1957; Renmin ribao June 14, 1957, June 12, 1958; Salaff 1977: 225–8). Although, in the early 1960s, the party shifted its policy toward intellectuals and adopted measures to rehabilitate them and more importantly to mobilize them to overcome the severe economic crisis, the shift was not intended to strengthen the role of the CAS Academic Divisions, which existed in name only after the Anti-Rightist Campaign. At the time when China was still very much under the influence of radical ideology, the Third Assembly of CAS Academic Division Members, held in 1960, proved to be of no exception (Yao et al. 1994: 94). But the Academic Divisions were destroyed completely during the Cultural Revolution of 1966–76. In January 1967, radicals within the CAS issued their first circular, announcing their desire to “smash” the Academic Divisions which they denounced as mere copies of the Soviet revisionist model. They did, literally, smash the seal of the Academic Divisions (interview with a retired CAS cadre, Beijing, China: January 23, 1996). During the decade of turmoil the activities of the CAS Academic Divisions came to a complete halt, and many members were branded “bourgeois, reactionary academic authorities” and persecuted and deprived of their rights to conduct research and to teach. Special investigative groups were set up to dig into the past of Zhu Kezhen and Wu Youxun, two CAS vice presidents and Academic 62

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Division members (Yao 1989a: 464). The radicals interrogated and forced Zhao Zhongyao, a returnee in 1950 from the United States, to admit that he worked for America’s nuclear weapons (Nie L. 1998: 495). Even CAS members with party membership could not avoid political persecution. Qian Sanqiang, the first senior CAS scientist to join the party and the organizer of China’s nuclear weapons program, was sent to the countryside immediately after the explosion of the first atomic bomb in 1964; during the Cultural Revolution, he was further attacked for his “past history” and then forced to go to a May Seventh cadre school in 1969 (Nie L. 1998: 495–6). Wu Heng, then deputy commissioner of the State Science and Technology Commission (SSTC), had his home searched, was tortured, and had his possessions—including a paper with Mao Zedong’s hand writings—confiscated (1994: 337–41). Some Academic Division members were killed, committed suicide, or died because they could not endure the persecution, among them the microbiologist Deng Shuqun, the geologist Meng Xianmin, the architect Liang Sicheng, the civil engineer Liu Dunzhen, the biologist Liu Chongle, the physicist Rao Yutai, the mathematician Xu Baolu, the metallurgist Ye Dupei, the mathematician Zhang Zongsui, the geologist Xie Jiarong, and the meteorologist and space physicist Zhao Jiuzhang. Several CAS members, like Ye Qisun, died after the Cultural Revolution as a result of their suffering during these ten years (informant no. 59; BIOGRAPHIES; Fairbank 1994: 176–90; Wen 1994; Yao et al. 1994: 155 and 189). In short, the role of the Academic Divisions in scientific leadership was decisively eliminated.

The Academic Divisions after the Cultural Revolution Restoration of the Academic Divisions and the second membership election: 1980 5 In the aftermath of the Cultural Revolution, the regime gave high priority to rehabilitation of its relationship with the scientific community and motivation of its members. As one goodwill gesture toward scientists, the prospect of restoring the CAS Academic Divisions was raised. During the 1978 national science conference, surviving Academic Division members gathered for group pictures, symbolizing their rebirth after the catastrophe. On January 24, 1979 the CAS issued a circular on the restoration of the Academic Divisions, formally announcing resumption of the activities of “smashed” Academic Divisions and rehabilitation of denounced Academic Division members. The circular was sent to the work unit of every member (General Office of the CAS 1982a: 198). The Academic Divisions also invited members in Beijing to attend that year’s Chinese New Year tea party and published the attendance list in newspapers as a way of publicly restoring the reputations of these scientists (General Office of the CAS 1982a: 210–13; Renmin ribao January 27, 1979: 1). Tremendous changes had occurred since the founding of the CAS Academic Divisions in the 1950s. In 1977 the Division of Philosophy and Social Sciences 63

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was separated from the CAS and became an independent Chinese Academy of Social Sciences (CASS); in fact, its members did not attend the Third Assembly in 1960 (Yao et al. 1994: 94). Meanwhile, about two-fifths of the members appointed to the natural science divisions in 1955 and 1957 had deceased, and the average age of surviving members had risen to seventy-three. For these reasons, in May 1979 the CAS issued a “Circular on the Enlargement of CAS Academic Division Membership” to plan the election of new members (General Office of the CAS 1982a: 210–13). A joint CAS Academic Divisions Standing Committee met from May 17–21, 1979 to discuss procedures for the new membership election with the nuclear physicist Qian Sanqiang in charge (Ge 2002: 239). The procedures included three steps. The first was recommendation or nomination. Two or more Academic Division members could recommend a candidate directly. Nomination could also come from CAS branches and affiliated institutes, research institutes under government ministries, institutions of higher education, science and technology commissions of provinces, municipalities, and autonomous regions, and academic societies affiliated with the Chinese Association for Science and Technology (CAST). Throwing open the process to recommendations from these broader channels would allow these organizations to nominate outstanding scientists in their jurisdiction. Candidates nominated by CAS members would not need to go through a preliminary selection process, while those nominated through other procedures would be screened by respective higher-level committees. The second step was the evaluation of candidates by existing members of the relevant academic divisions. This would yield a final candidate list to be available to all Academic Division members for comments. Anonymous voting within each academic divisions was the third step. Those unable to vote in person could send their confidential ballots by mail, to be unsealed on the same day when other members voted. Only candidates who received more than one-half of the votes of existing members would be elected. The CAS Academic Divisions Standing Committee suggested that the number of scientists elected should be 180. In comparison to these detailed procedures, the criteria for choosing new members were not so explicit; the only mandate was to include “those comrades who support the party and socialism, and have made important achievements in and contributions to our country’s research on science and technology, as new members” (Yao et al. 1994: 210). With the approval of the procedures and criteria by the State Council on June 26, 1979, the CAS announced to natural science research institutes, universities, professional societies affiliated to the CAST, and CAS Academic Division members the beginning of the election of new CAS members (Ge 2002: 239). Preliminary selection produced 996 candidates from about 10,000 nominated scientists. Evaluation by existing Academic Division members further narrowed the number of candidates to 196. Most of them, however, were elderly scientists from traditional disciplines who worked at prestigious universities or research institutes with a long history. This selection did not reflect the fact that some younger scientists had done excellent work even during the Cultural Revolution. 64

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Nor did the election of older scientists solve the problem of the aging membership. Such issues, along with the nature, missions, and by-laws on the CAS, were discussed at a meeting of CAS Academic Division members held from March 28 to April 2, 1980, the first after the Cultural Revolution (Ge 2002: 254). Afterward, the CAS submitted a report to the State Council, suggesting that the total number of members be increased to 350 with twenty positions reserved for those who worked in interdisciplinary fields of the natural and social sciences (General Office of the CAS 1982a: 181–2). The State Council approved the report. CAS Academic Division members thus conducted another round of evaluations that produced a final candidate list with 376 names. On November 26, 1980, casting secret ballots, 117 CAS members elected 283 scientists as new Academic Division members. The final pro-forma approval of the membership list by the State Council was announced in March 1981 (Renmin ribao March 30, 1981: 1). At the same time, the Division of Mathematics, Physics, and Chemistry was bifurcated into a Division of Mathematics and Physics and a Division of Chemistry (Song Z. 1990). In the discussions about enlarging the CAS Academic Divisions, the question of introducing the honorary title of “academician” emerged once again. Two options were under consideration. The first was to promote all Academic Division members to academicians; the second was to elect academicians from among Academic Division members, with “academician” being the nation’s highest academic honor held for life, while Academic Division membership a four-year position of scientific leadership.6 The CAS, the CASS, and the SSTC discussed the issue together and concluded that it was not only possible but also indeed necessary that the honorific system be established. Rewarding outstanding scientists with the highest academic honor would showcase the achievements of Chinese science as well as the government’s emphasis on science and its encouragement of scientists. The joint report to the State Council underscored the fact that the academicians should be chosen from those scholars with exceptional academic achievements who had made significant contributions to research and that extrascientific factors should not be taken into account (General Office of the CAS 1982b: 72–3). Unfortunately, the proposal was not implemented because it was impossible for the CASS to adopt an honorary system so soon after the Cultural Revolution when radical ideologists dominated social science research. Peer election of members The 1980 election took place at a time when, once again, the regime needed the intellectuals to bring the nation out of chaos. Not only were the CAS Academic Divisions restored, but the procedures for the new membership elections were formulated by the scientists themselves. Central to those procedures was peer election. In 1955 and 1957 the party had controlled the selection process, and, in the end, the government appointed the Academic Division members. The 1980 election was the first time Chinese scientists engaged in an election that could be 65

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characterized as merit based, peer reviewed, and academically democratic, with little interference from the party-state. One significant change of the electoral procedures was the introduction of differential ballot where a ballot is valid only when the total votes cast for a member is within the difference set before an election. The procedure became the basis which the elections since 1991 have adopted. Before the new Academic Division members were approved some government ministries insisted that the election was unfair because their ministers or vice ministers were not chosen; ministries of military industry complained that their nominees had been ignored as a result of the difficulty in assessing their confidential work; and the State Council demanded that more middle-aged and even young scientists be elected. Such protests would probably have been heeded in earlier years when the party made the final decisions on all scientific issues. But those involved in the 1980 election, including Academic Division members and administrative personnel, insisted that they had followed appropriate procedures approved by the State Council. In the end, they refused to accommodate these attempts at interference. Of the 283 newly elected scientists 109 were party members. Apparently, the percentage of party-member scientists was higher than that of the appointees of the 1950s, a result of the party’s efforts in the mid-1950s and after the Cultural Revolution to enroll high-ranking scientists. However, although support of the party and socialism was one criterion for CAS membership, party membership was not a prerequisite (see Chapter 7 for more discussion). Because the party now cared more about the professional credentials than the political backgrounds of the nation’s scientists, it chose to leave the judgments about the qualifications to scientists.

Establishing honorific academicianship ( yuanshi ) The third membership election: 1991 No CAS Academic Division membership elections were held in the 1980s for several reasons (interview with a deputy director of the General Office of the CAS Academic Divisions, Beijing, China: 1996). An important one was that elections, though the domain of the CAS, had to be approved by the party. Another reason was that in the mid-1980s the CAS faced a possible reorganization that would integrate research within the structure of the national economy. As in the 1950s when the position of the CAS was challenged by university scientists, the question of the academy’s role in the Chinese scientific community was raised once again. The party considered disbanding the CAS and reallocating the scientists who pursued basic research to universities and the applied research personnel to industries. But the academy eventually survived by adopting the “one academy, two systems” policy. The third reason was that the scientific community continued its debate on whether to maintain Academic Division membership in the existing form or to establish honorary academicianship (Ge 2002: 340). 66

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Meanwhile, in the course of the 1980s, tension had once again accumulated between the intellectuals and the regime. Extended exchanges between Chinese scientists and their foreign peers led the Chinese scientific community increasingly toward the adoption of the norms and values of international science, as demonstrated by the establishment of the science funding system, the introduction of peer review, and the increasing role of scientists in decision-making about education, science, and the economy. However, intellectuals were uneasy about the partial autonomy that the regime permitted them and became targets in several political campaigns (see Chapter 2). On May 7, 1990, then CAS advisor Qian Sanqiang, who was in charge of the 1980 election, wrote to the then Premier Li Peng, suggesting the election of new Academic Division members. Qian pointed out the serious aging issue that existed in China’s science and technology as well as in CAS members. At that time, the average age of the 322 CAS members was over seventy-five years, not a single member was younger than fifty, and only a dozen or so were less than sixty. He said in the letter: Although all of us senior scientists have strong patriotism, and are willing to contribute to the prosperity of science and technology and our country, most are aged and fall short of our wishes. We are often worried about the serious aging situation and hope to be able to change it. Having considered various scenarios, we think that the most feasible way to change that is to elect new CAS Academic Division members. The academic community differs in whether to keep the Academic Division membership or to establish the academicianship. Under the circumstances that the condition and timing for setting up the academicianship are unavailable, we all think it most urgent to add Academic Division members and to make them younger. (cited in Ge 2002: 339–41) On June 2, Premier Li Peng had a discussion with the then CAS President Zhou Guangzhao and CPPCC Vice Chairwoman Qian Zhengying who passed Qian Sanqiang’s letter to Li Peng. Afterwards, the CAS and the SSTC submitted a formal report to the State Council on the issue of electing new CAS members, which was approved during the State Council’s 69th standing committee meeting. In particular, the State Council approved to elect some 200 new CAS members and decided that the election of new members would be held biennially (General Office of the CAS 2001; Ge 2002: 341–5). To some extent, it is an indication that the party once again saw a need to improve relations with the intellectual community in the aftermath of the 1989 pro-democracy movement. In 1991, the third large-scale CAS Academic Division membership election was conducted—it followed the procedures established in 1980, including recommendations through multiple channels, preliminary screening, evaluations by existing members, and secret ballots with differential votes. This time, 210 scientists 67

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who received more than half of the votes cast became new CAS members. The 1991 election also paved the way for the establishment of honorary academicianship in China. Changes in the nature and name of the title Academic Division members had always been actively involved in decisionmaking about China’s science and technology. For example, after the founding of the Academic Divisions, the members and other scientists worked out and finally implemented a twelve-year science program that included fifty-seven important projects. Academic Division members also helped establish the nation’s science award system in the 1950s. After the Cultural Revolution they restored the research and education systems in China and pushed scientific enterprise forward. It was at their suggestion that the nation’s science funding system, modeled on the US National Science Foundation, was established in 1982 (see Chapter 9 for the discussion on the missions of CAS members). However, CAS Academic Division membership was neither intended nor perceived as an academic honor before 1984, when the Fifth Assembly of CAS Academic Division Members was held.7 Fang Yi, then state councillor and later president of the CAS, announced in the assembly that “CAS Academic Division membership is the title of our country’s highest academic honor” (Song Z. 1990: 278). When the Sixth Assembly of CAS Academic Division Members was convened in 1992, the “By-laws on the Academic Division Membership of the Chinese Academy of Sciences” were passed, which defined CAS Academic Division membership as “the highest academic title, a lifetime honor established by the state in science and technology.” Eligibility for membership is restricted to “those scientists with Chinese nationality (inclusive of those who reside in Taiwan, Hong Kong, and Macao regions and overseas) who have made systematic and creative achievements and major contributions in the fields of science and technology, and who are patriotic and honest and upright in their style of learning.” The by-laws also regulated the biennial supplementary elections, during which no more than sixty new Academic Division members may be elected; and formalized the electoral procedures introduced in 1980 (General Office of the CAS Academic Divisions 1994: 30–5).8 The 1993 election, which added fifty-nine new members, followed the guidelines in the by-laws. When the Chinese Academy of Engineering (CAE) was proposed by members of the CAS in 1993, the founders determined that it would be different from the CAS. There would be no research institutes under its auspices; instead, the CAE would comprise only academicians ( yuanshi) responsible for consultation on the nation’s technology- and engineering-related issues. Inspired by these developments, the CAS reasserted its enthusiasm for honorary academicianship—this time suggesting that all CAS Academic Division members should become academicians. This request was approved by the State Council: having waited almost 40 years, the natural science members of the CAS Academic Divisions appointed 68

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in 1955 finally obtained the honorary title “academicians of the Chinese Academy of Sciences” (Renmin ribao January 22, 1994: 3).9 The Seventh General Assembly of CAS Members, held in 1994, changed the words in the by-laws from xuebu weiyuan to yuanshi. Speaking at the assembly, then Premier Li Peng described the move as “an important measure that conforms to the practice of the scientific community in the world and indicates the strong and general aspirations of the scientific community at home” (General Office of the CAS Academic Divisions 1994: 2–4).10 Academicianship has not, however, been extended to the social sciences. The CASS did not recognize members appointed in 1955 and 1957 in the Division of Philosophy and Social Sciences. From time to time the social sciences were still condemned as “the sciences of the bourgeois.”11 Repeated appeals from China’s social scientists to adopt the Academic Division membership or academicianship in the CASS have not been heeded.12 Elections of academicianship: 1995 onward In 1995, election for CAS academicianship was conducted for the first time. Following the by-laws, existing academicians chose fifty-nine scientists as new academicians, among whom was the chemist Zhi Zhiming, the first Hong Kong scientist of Chinese nationality. Similar elections have added more members every two years thereafter (see Chapter 8 for discussion on the recent elections). When the State Council approved the resumption of the CAS membership election in 1990, it also proposed to establish an honorary CAS membership (rongyu xuebu weiyuan) at an appropriate time. The State Council made another request prior to the Sixth General Assembly of CAS Members in 1994 and a third one in 1996 (interview with a deputy director of the General Office of the CAS Academic Divisions, Beijing, China: 1997). It was not until 1998 that the Ninth General Assembly of CAS Members amended the by-laws to specify that those eighty and older should become “senior members” (zishen yuanshi). They no longer hold posts within the CAS Academic Divisions and are relieved of the duty of recommending and electing new members (Renmin ribao overseas edition June 6, 1998: 1). Of course, the academy and the state still seek their opinions on the development of Chinese science and technology. Foreign membership elections Like the honorific societies in other countries, the CAS has also named foreign members (waiji yuanshi ).13 In 1993, the first twenty-seven foreign scientists were nominated by CAS members and twenty-four deemed eligible were well known internationally and had made important contributions to Chinese science and technology. At the Seventh General Assembly of CAS Members in 1994, fourteen foreign scientists who received more than two-thirds of the votes cast became CAS foreign members. Among them, ten were American scientists of Chinese 69

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descent and five Nobel laureates, including three Nobel laureates with Chinese origins, Tsung-Dao Lee, Samuel Chao Chung Ting, and Chen Ning Yang. Yuan Tseh Lee, then fourth Nobel laureate of Chinese origin, was a prospective candidate. However, since he assumed presidency of the Academia Sinica in Taiwan in 1993 and renounced his American citizenship, he was no longer eligible for CAS foreign membership according to the by-laws (General Office of the CAS Academic Divisions 1994: 43–6). Election for foreign membership has also become a biennial event, which occurs on the occasions of the assemblies of CAS members, and the total number of foreign members elected thus far is forty-six. Since candidates for CAS foreign membership are all world-renowned, particular attention has been paid to their contributions to science in China. Indeed, their relationship with the Chinese scientific community has been considered as important as their scientific achievements. One candidate of Chinese descent has an outstanding reputation as is obvious by his position as the chairman of the World Federation of Geological Science Societies. However, his extremely critical remarks about some Chinese geologists offended the Chinese geological community as a whole; as a result, he was not elected. Even one of the fifteen geologists who nominated him declined to vote for him, explaining that the nomination was a favor to others (informant no. 47).

Summary and discussion Since their founding in 1955, the CAS Academic Divisions have gone through several phases: the early years following their establishment, destruction during political campaigns, restoration in the post-Cultural Revolution period, formalization and routinization of membership elections, and, finally, evolution from an organization intended to provide scientific leadership to an honorific society. This evolution has corresponded to the changing political climate in China, especially the policy of the CCP toward science and intellectuals. In contrast to the founding of the scientific academies in the West, generally the accomplishment of a few dedicated men, the establishment of the CAS Academic Divisions is a textbook example of the intervention of politics in science. When it was founded, the new CAS faced the immediate problem of positioning itself in the Chinese scientific community. Meanwhile, the party meant to ensure its control over science by establishing the CAS as the nation’s highest research institution and leading scientific center. It also wanted to make use of scientists in all sectors to serve the nation’s need for socialist construction without giving them too much power and authority. In order to achieve these goals simultaneously, the party borrowed the model of academic leadership from the former Soviet Union, instead of carrying on the legacy of Academia Sinica academicianship (Xie Yong 2000). Over time, however, the party came to recognize the importance of having outstanding scientists rather than laymen who were party members in leading scientific research positions. Although there had been no plan to set up an 70

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honorific society that would give extra recognition and power to the leading scientists, the party did acknowledge the necessity of such a system by establishing the CAS Academic Divisions as a transitional step. The formation of the Academic Divisions in 1955 resulted from interaction between the political agenda of the party and the needs of scientific development. Later political campaigns gave rise to an anti-intellectual climate throughout China that prevented an elitist academicianship from being established. Against this background it is easier to understand why there were neither consistent elections of CAS Academic Division members nor consistent criteria for elections, why the power and authority of the Academic Divisions and their members were limited, and why the nature and role of the Academic Divisions posed a knotty problem (Cheng C. 1965: 25–6; Li Zhenzhen 1992: 49–50; Suttmeier 1974: 52–5; Yao 1989a: 453–5). The development of the CAS Academic Divisions has mirrored the changing dynamic between the party’s sometimes ideological and sometimes utilitarian agenda for science and the scientific professionals’ demands for autonomous, peer-defined research environment and reward system. From the 1950s to the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, the party revised its policy toward intellectuals time and again, not only because it wanted to ease tensions with them but also because it needed to mobilize scientists in its efforts to consolidate the power of the regime. Similarly, the regime again changed its approach in the aftermath of the Cultural Revolution and the 1989 Tiananmen pro-democracy incident; this time it went so far as to allow the creation of honorific academicianship. To summarize: all these decisions have been motivated by near-term economic as well as political requirements. As the party now gives the highest priority to the development of science and technology, it has acknowledged the importance of relinquishing its dominant stance and granting scientists greater freedom within their areas of professional competence, of allowing the scientific community to follow internationally accepted norms and values. But the party has been uncertain about how to strike a balance between permitting freedom and autonomy for individual scientists and institutes and its own role of guidance and control over a social group—the intellectuals—that is still considered problematic (Frieman 1994; Saich 1989b: 84). The evolution of honorific academicianship in China has also reflected, to some extent, the need for the development of research organizations. The hierarchical structure, the reward system that encourages research, and the role and function of the elite are organic components of modern science. Thus, from an institutional point of view, the evolution of the CAS Academic Divisions shows how scientific institutions arise and change in response to new challenges and opportunities. Although Chinese scientists had opportunities to promote their own interests, for a long time they were subject to the control of the party. The implementation of the reform and the open-door policy in the Deng Xiaoping era has finally made it possible for Chinese scientists to pursue their interests and create an environment of self-governing (Suttmeier 1987: 153; Ben-David [1976] 1991: 175). Since the 71

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late 1970s, the importance of adopting international norms and values in science has been given more attention: a science funding system has been founded; peer review has been introduced; the scientific community has seized every opportunity to request more freedom and autonomy in decision-making with regard to scientific research; and Chinese scientists have played an increasingly independent role in society. The designation of CAS Academic Division members as yuanshi indicates the efforts by which Chinese scientists have moved toward internationalization. It also shows that the CAS Academic Divisions have matured as an honorific society, in spite of the short history compared with the Royal Society of London, and the National Academy of Sciences in the United States, or the Soviet Academy of Sciences on which the CAS was modeled.

72

4 SOCIAL ORIGINS

Status attainment is closely associated with ascribed family background and acquired individual education. During the process of intergenerational conversion, families play a remarkable and resilient role, with the father’s education imposing an influence on the education of his children. With higher rates of industrialization, an individual’s own educational achievement more than the father’s occupational status predicts, or at least significantly shapes, a person’s own occupational success (Blau and Duncan 1967: 170–5 and 412). As a matter of fact, the stress on education, one of the important features of Confucianism and family values of Chinese, has survived the historical changes in China. In traditional society, those who wanted to become scholar-officials, or gentry, had to master Confucian classics and succeed in imperial civil service examinations (keju kaoshi) (Chang C. 1955; Ho 1962). From 1949 when the People’s Republic was founded to the late 1970s, intellectuals were behind workers, peasants, and soldiers in political status and social honor, and sometimes even labeled as enemy, for example, “rightists” in the Anti-Rightist Campaign, and the “stink ninth category” (chou laojiu) during the Cultural Revolution. But except during extremely radical periods, admissions to higher education were based principally, if not entirely, on one’s score in a nationwide standardized examination, and professionals such as scientists, engineers, physicians, and professors recruited from among university or college graduates. In the post-Mao era, meritocracy finally prevailed in education (Kwong 1983; Shirk 1984). However, educational credentials have been ambiguous assets in communist China in that the positive effect of a father’s education was drastically reduced or reversed during the Cultural Revolution (Davis 1992; Deng and Trieman 1997; Zhou et al. 1998). To some extent, it is because the regime implemented a biased affirmative action that favored those of peasant and working-class origins (Cheng and Dai 1995; Walder 1989). This chapter examines the interplay of family background and an individual’s educational attainment in fostering members of the Chinese Academy of Sciences. It explores the consistent and universal role of education, while at the same time revealing the importance of family (including parental occupation and educational level), in the upbringing of these scientists. By looking at the social origins—a microscopic image of a changing society—of China’s scientific elite, 73

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the chapter may throw light on the general background of the social and political world in which the scientists have operated or of which they bear some imprint.

Geographical concentration of the elite’s birthplaces Before discussing the social origins of China’s scientific elite, let us begin with a brief inquiry into these scientists’ birthplaces. The birthplaces are significant not only because the Chinese are not very mobile and usually receive their early education where they are born but also because recruitment of scientists into the elite status involves their early concentration within a social and educational structure (Zuckerman 1977: 82). In addition, a setting is not just a spatial parameter and physical environment in which interaction “occurs”: it is these elements mobilized as part of the interaction (Giddens 1979: 207). And it also could provide the contexts in which scientists started shaping their viewpoints toward education and science. There is an obvious geographical effect in the distribution of the birthplaces of CAS members (Table 4.1). In contrast to western China which as a whole has contributed sixty-three (6.5 percent) elite scientists, such eastern provinces and cities as Jiangsu, Zhejiang, Shanghai, Fujian, Guangdong, and Beijing have each produced more than fifty CAS members, and Hunan, Shandong, Hebei, and Sichuan more than forty.1 More astonishing is that some 42 CAS members were born in one county: Dongyang in Zhejiang province (Renmin ribao overseas edition November 21, 1992: 4). Since becoming a scientist is a means of personal advancement, what might have contributed to the concentration of the birthplaces of Chinese elite scientists in some regions? The most immediate consideration might be the economic conditions of these regions. China’s economic development has been uneven, past and present, with some regions appreciably more advanced than others. The developed regions have usually been located along the coast, such as the Changjiang (the Yangtze river) Delta in the east and the Zhujiang (the Pearl river) Delta in the south. For example, centered on highly commercialized and densely populated cities such as Shanghai, Nanjing, and Hangzhou, the Changjiang Delta, or “the Lower Yangtze regional core,” has been one of China’s richest agricultural areas from the tenth century onward (Bell 1992; Skinner 1977). Guangdong and Fujian provinces also have well-conditioned coastal cities, as do Hebei and Shandong provinces. As Shanghai gradually developed into a large commercial and industrial metropolis, it attracted laborers, merchants, and entrepreneurs from the economically developed Jiangsu, Zhejiang, and Guangdong provinces (Honig 1992: 272; Jacobs 1997). Coastal locations made these regions into China’s major seaports— transport pivots for both domestic and international shipping. As a result, trade and commerce flourished. For example, between 1860 and 1930, Shanghai accounted for an average of 68 percent of the total reexports value of goods within China; in 1933, the foreign trade of Shanghai equaled 1 percent of the 74

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Table 4.1 Birthplace distributions of CAS members Region

Year of CAS membership election 1955–57 1980

East Jiangsu 39 Zhejiang 34 Shanghai 13 Fujian 13 Guandong 9 Beijing 7 Shandong 5 Hebei 15 Tianjin 2 Liaoning 1 Subtotal Central Hunan 8 Anhui 4 Henan 6 Jiangxi 9 Hubei 9 Shanxi 0 Jilin 1 Heilongjiang 0 Inner Mogolia 0 Subtotal West Sichuan 6 Shaanxi 2 Yunnan 0 Guangxi 0 Guizhou 1 Gansu 0 Subtotal Outside Mainland 6 China Total 190

1991

Subtotal

%

1993 1995 1997 1999 2001

65 41 16 19 17 22 17 13 8 3

43 23 25 14 12 9 8 6 5 7

8 9 8 4 6 3 4 2 0 1

12 8 10 2 1 1 3 1 0 3

8 7 7 4 2 3 2 4 4 1

6 5 8 2 3 4 3 1 0 1

5 7 8 3 2 2 2 1 3 0

186 134 95 61 52 51 44 43 22 17 705

19.2 13.8 9.8 6.3 5.4 5.3 4.5 4.4 2.3 1.8 72.7

12 13 8 4 3 4 2 2 0

10 6 7 9 7 1 1 1 0

4 1 1 2 1 0 0 0 1

2 1 3 1 2 2 0 0 0

4 0 0 1 2 0 0 0 0

3 2 1 3 1 1 0 2 0

5 1 1 0 0 0 2 0 0

48 28 27 29 25 8 6 5 1 177

4.9 2.9 2.8 3.0 2.6 0.8 0.6 0.5 0.1 18.2

7 2 0 1 1 0

9 0 3 0 1 0

1 0 2 0 0 0

5 0 1 0 0 0

4 3 0 2 0 0

3 0 0 0 0 1

5 2 0 1 0 0

3

3

1

1

0

5

6

40 9 6 4 3 1 63 25

4.1 0.9 0.6 0.4 0.3 0.1 6.5 2.6

283

210

59

59

58

55

56

970

100.0

Sources: Editorial Board of The Elite of Chinese Science (1985 and 1988). BIOGRAPHIES (from many entries in BIOGRAPHIES). Academic Divisions of the CAS (2001a).

world’s total; and by 1936, half of China’s foreign trade was conducted through Shanghai (Fung et al. 1992; Jacobs 1997; Yeh 1990: 51–5). In the meantime, industrial development was also stimulated. The 1933 industrial statistics indicate that, excluding the four provinces in northeastern China and such hinterland provinces as Gansu, Ningxia, Qinghai, Yunnan, and Guizhou, 75

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there were 2,435 factories in seventeen provinces, among which Jiangsu, Zhejiang, Fujian, Guangdong, Shandong, and Hebei had a predominance of 2,241 (92 percent), while Shanghai alone numbered 1,186 (48.7 percent) (Guo F. 1994: 4). However limited the consequences might have been, economic well-being made it possible for the rich regions to have more money for education. Visionary businessmen contributed money to establish schools or fund education. Before 1911, Jiangsu and Zhejiang were already leading the nation in the number of people donating money for education and the amount of money donated (Zhang B. 1996: 109). The more the number of schools in a region, the larger the pool of qualified students. Historically, coastal regions had more imperial degree holders (Chang C. 1955: 71–164). In the Ming and Qing dynasties, Zhejiang and Jiangsu held the first and second place in total numbers of jinshi (Zhang B. 1996: 26). When higher education became popular in China, the economically advantageous regions began to monopolize the country’s educational opportunities. For example, in 1932, Jiangsu had 35 percent of all Chinese college students; and most of the Chinese who studied in the United States, Europe, and Japan between 1872 and 1949 originated from Jiangsu, Zhejiang, and Guangdong ( Wang Y. C. 1966: 15 and 156–64). In other words, with higher levels of economic and educational development compared with other parts of the country, China’s coastal areas not only could afford to send their children to colleges but also had more qualified students from whom to choose. Another possible reason for the concentration of the birthplaces of China’s scientific elite in the coastal regions might be that these regions were exposed to new ideas earlier than the other parts of China. Missionaries who introduced Western science usually started from the coastal areas (Buck 1980: 109), and missionary institutions of higher education were mainly set up along the coast (Lutz 1971: 531–3). Due to their convenient locations, the coastal cities of Ningbo, Shanghai, Fuzhou, Xiamen, and Guangzhou were forced to be opened to the West as treaty ports after the defeat of China in the Opium War of 1840. As Western countries penetrated unevenly into different parts of China, from the highly Westernized seaports to the rural areas where tradition scarcely changed, their influence on the people’s outlook and behavior was varied (Wang Y. C. 1966: 156). Thus, the Chinese living in the coastal cities—where foreigners conducted business, established schools, and disseminated the idea of capitalism—had early interactions with Western people, and had ample opportunity to absorb new trends of thinking, including the importance of education and science. To conclude, it is one of these factors—a region’s economic development, flourishing in education and availability of high-quality students, and accessibility to new ideas—or the interaction of these factors that might have enabled some Chinese to have a head start. This, in turn, might have resulted in the uneven distribution in the emergence of elite scientists. 76

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Family background Fathers’ occupation Bearing in mind the above socioeconomic environment—an important background against which China’s elite scientists grew up—the chapter will further examine the family background of the Chinese scientific elite. The occupations of some CAS members’ fathers are presented in Table 4.2. The reason that only fathers’ occupations are taken into account is to follow the conventional procedures in the study of social mobility; moreover, married Chinese women traditionally stayed at home when most elites were young (Mann 1992: 246). Of the 479 CAS members whose fathers’ occupations are known, only thirtyfive (8.8 percent) were born into farmers’ families. Even if the twenty-two scientists whose fathers had dual jobs in the rural areas are included, the number of elites with a farming origin is not significant, considering China’s historically agrarian population. Some fathers were businessmen (48, 12.1 percent) who either ran small businesses or owned such properties as lands and real estate; others were employed by the government as officials (26, 6.6 percent), or by companies, banks, and factories as clerks (55, 13.9 percent), occupations which gave a relatively stable income to their families. Nevertheless, some fathers did odd jobs to supplement income. Chinese elite scientists were also born into the families of physicians, lawyers, scientists, engineers, and other professionals (66, 16.9 percent). But the most important occupation was teaching, from tutor of sishu (a small, family-style private school) to university professor. This category constituted more than one-fourth (102, 25.8 percent) of fathers’ occupations. Dual-job fathers were most likely to be teachers. Table 4.2 Fathers’ occupations of CAS members Occupation

Total

%

Teacher Scientist, lawyer and other professionals Clerk Businessman Farmer Official Physician Worker Dual jobs with teacher Dual jobs with others Total Death

102 56

25.8 14.4

55 48 35 26 10 2 38 24 396 83

13.9 12.1 8.8 6.6 2.5 0.5 9.6 6.1 100

Sources: BIOGRAPHIES (from many entries in BIOGRAPHIES). Interviews with CAS members (China, 1995–97).

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As the economic condition of a family was closely connected with the father’s occupation, does it suffice to say that the financial ability of families contributed to their children’s education? Not exactly. Meritocracy has provided Chinese of humble origins with opportunities to enter high status ranks. Imperial civil service examinations (keju kaoshi) primarily admitted men who had received high marks, regardless of their socioeconomic status ( Wang Y. C. 1966: 23). During most of the nationalist era (1927–49), entrance examinations for higher education were open to all high school graduates. Tuition fees for attending national universities were nominal. In addition to scholarships, there were need-based loan (daijin) programs to support students who were in financial difficulty. After the Japanese invasion in 1937, universities which retreated to the hinterland provided all enrolled students with loans (Wang Y. C. 1966: 126). As for studying abroad, applicants’ scores in admission examinations determined whether they were to be funded by the central or provincial government, by foreign scholarships or had to fund themselves, although in the early twentieth century those who studied in the United States generally came from fairly well-off families (Shu [1927] 1989: 46). Among the twenty-seven CAS members interviewed who entered colleges before 1949, thirteen were supported by their families for education, seven by the government or the colleges, and seven through the combined financial sources of the government, the colleges, and their families. Of the seventeen interviewees who studied abroad for advanced degrees by 1951, only one student financed his own education; the rest were dependent upon government support or scholarships from foreign sources. From 1949 onward, students have been admitted on the basis of their scores in nationwide college enrollment examinations, although admissions became entangled with issues of class background and political activism from time to time. The post-1978 educational reforms have diminished the attention paid to students’ class background and other political values and restored examinations as an allegedly “class-neutral” instrument for determining promotion in education (Ogden 1992: 312; Shirk: 1984). Until very recently, no tuition was charged for undergraduate education and stipends were available to students from low-income families. The government sponsored students to study in the former Soviet Union in the 1950s and the early 1960s and in the West after the late 1970s. Thus, opportunities for receiving higher education have been fairly open to talented students, the exception being some rural areas where the door has been firmly shut by the communist regime with the persistent unwillingness of the central government to fund rural education and the economic underdevelopment in these areas. In addition, the fact that some fathers of elites-to-be were located at the higher end of the status continuum did not necessarily mean that they were affluent. During the 100 years after the mid-nineteenth century wars were unceasing, and many Chinese, rich or poor, had to flee, change jobs, and put up with unstable lives. As shown in Tables 4.2 and 4.3, sixty-seven future CAS members lost their fathers when they were young, forty had a childhood without their mothers, and sixteen more lived with their elder brothers, sisters or relatives after the death of both 78

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Table 4.3 Educational attainments of CAS members’ parents Educational background

Illiteracy Literacy Sishu Elementary school Middle school Normal school College Foreign college Foreign graduate school Foreign degrees unknown Imperial degrees Total Death

Father

Mother

Total

%

Total

%

5 11 17 5 18 7 49 7 11 26 49 205 83

2.4 5.4 8.3 2.4 8.8 3.4 23.9 3.4 5.4 12.7 23.9 100

18 38 5 2 18 14 6 1 0 0 0 102 56

17.6 37.3 4.9 2.0 17.6 13.7 5.9 1.0 0 0 0 100

Sources: Same as Table 4.2.

parents. They were overwhelmed with sadness and financial problems. Several families of future elite scientists could not afford to raise their children themselves and had their children adopted. Here is what an aerospace expert had to say: My parents were both farmers who were illiterate. Because they could not afford to raise me, they had to have me adopted. Originally, a wealthy Singaporean businessman wanted to adopt me; he would not allow my native parents to see me again so that my parents did not agree. Then a local craftsman became my adoptive father. Although he only paid a nominal amount of money, my parents and I could see each other. At that time, I was only two years old. (informant no. 50) Because of their families’ economic constraints, some future scientists had to attend normal schools or vocational schools to take advantage of the free tuition and meal allowance or had to work for a couple of years to save money for higher education, rather than going to colleges directly after their graduation from high schools. One chemist recalled: My father had a small grocery store, but the economic condition of my family did not allow me to continue my education. I spent my junior high school year as a day-boarder, which did not cost much money for my family. My father hoped that I would help manage the store, but I wanted to continue my studies, so did my teacher who came to my home and discussed that issue with my father. Because my family could 79

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not afford a residential high school, I applied for and was accepted into Wuxi Normal School which did not charge tuition, and provided students with free meals as well. In return, I obliged myself to teach at an elementary school for at least one year before applying for college. (informant no. 32) The situation was worse for the mathematician Hua Luogeng who had to put an end to his formal education altogether after junior high school and one-year vocational school, and start working at his father’s grocery ( Wang Yuan 1994: 13–22). There were also cases where talented students were supported by their teachers for their high school education, without which they would not have achieved higher status in Chinese science later. In sum, economic conditions of families did not necessarily make a significant contribution toward the promotion of higher education among China’s scientific elite. Then, why were most of the elite scientists born into professional families? Parental educational background might provide an answer. Parents’ educational attainment The influence of a family on its child begins long before the child receives formal education through the family’s cultural capital, while the efficiency of the cultural transmission by the family and the school depends on the amount of cultural capital directly inherited from the family (Bourdieu 1984: 23). As a matter of fact, in China’s long history there have been only a few cases where wealth was perpetuated in a family beyond two or three generations, while the names of illustrious ancestors are known by their descendants at all times (Wang Y. C. 1966: 24). The environment in worker and peasant families clearly was not as conducive to preparing children intellectually as that in urban professional families (Kwong 1979: 72; Schurmann 1968: 171), which at least partly explains why most of the CAS members came from this latter group (informant no. 5). A critical factor in educating China’s future elites is likely to be the transmission of cultural, or educational, capital from parents to children (Kwong 1983). The education of parents is important in that a father’s higher educational attainment served as a role model for his children, while an educated mother would help create and maintain a learning environment for the children. Unfortunately, the data on parents’ educational backgrounds are largely incomplete (Table 4.3). As far as the data show, the educational attainments of CAS members’ fathers were high. Apart from the eighty-three who died before future elites entered colleges, only five fathers were illiterate. Sishu was the only educational instrument dominating the Qing dynasty when some of the elites’ fathers lived, which prepared them for becoming teachers, businessmen, or physicians of traditional Chinese medicine. Forty-nine fathers held various imperial degrees—xiucai, juren, jinshi or zhuangyuan—by passing keju kaoshi at county, prefecture, provincial or national 80

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levels. More significantly, sixty-seven fathers (32.7 percent) studied in China or abroad for undergraduate or graduate degrees, and a further twenty-six (12.7 percent) studied abroad (whether they earned any degrees is unknown). In a time of little opportunity for college education, about half the fathers of future CAS members had received higher and foreign education, which could have had an impact on the educational attainment of their children. More crucial might be the education the future elite’s mothers received. A Chinese girl becomes a member of her husband’s family after marriage where her main duties were to be a good mother and a virtuous wife (xianqi liangmu) and to assist her husband and educate her children (xiang fu jiaozi). It seemed to be a poor investment for a girl’s family to spend money educating her. The best hope for a girl who was eager to be literate, therefore, was to observe the instruction of sishu tutors hired to educate her brothers or to obtain instruction from her father and brothers (Borthwick 1983: 114–18). The chances of accessing higher education was very limited for women (Mak 1991: 32–3). However, excluding those mothers who were dead, only eighteen mothers were unable to read, while the others had some kind of education, from sishu to college, apart from being educated at home. In addition to seven mothers with college education, about one-third (thirty-two, 31.3 percent) attended middle schools or normal schools. The families of these mothers made a wise decision in investing in their daughters’ education, which in turn had an unpredicted return for the later generation.2 Since most mothers were housewives who spent their time at home, their role in educating their children should not be neglected (Ye 2001: 132–3). Observing China’s long tradition of attaching importance to education and utilizing their knowledge, those educated mothers tried to push their children ahead so as to maintain the family’s status of learning (shuxiang mendi) in society. Furthermore, mothers with formal education also set good examples for their children. Family influence on children Despite the differences in their families’ economic conditions and their parents’ educational backgrounds, many CAS members have one thing in common: their parents valued learning highly as a way of getting ahead in society, encouraged the children to study hard, and tried their best to create a learning environment for the children. If parents have a high level of education, then the children, from very early years, are more likely to be keen to strive toward an intellectual profession. In most cases, parental influence was edifying. Educated parents have a profound impact on their children’s values relating to expectations from work, professions that are acceptable or unacceptable, and other components of career orientation and aspiration. For example, two CAS members’ fathers were engineers who built rail lines across the country so that their families followed to the fields where the fathers worked. Such experience led the children to choose disciplines close to those of their fathers: one studied mineralogy and the other majored in mechanics (informants no. 45 and 47). Parental influence may also 81

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explain why several families have produced more than one elite scientist. There have been three pairs of father-son CAS members—Chen Jiangong (mathematics) and Chen Hanfu (systems science), Xie Jiarong and Xie Xuejin (earth science), Yan Jici (physics) and Yan Luguang (electrical engineering); three pairs of fatherdaughter CAS members—Tang Zhongzhang and Tang Chongti in entomology, Li Siguang (geology) and Li Lin (physics), and Yin Zhanxun (geology) and Yin Wenying (entomology); eight pairs of brother CAS members—Fu Ying (chemistry) and Fu Chengyi (geology), Liang Sicheng (architecture) and Liang Sili (space technology), Wu Zhengyi (botany) and Wu Zhengkai (radiochemistry), Qian Linzhao (physics) and Qian Lingxi (mechanics), Wang Shoujue and Wang Shouwu in physics, Feng Kang (computing mathematics) and Feng Duan (physics), Yang Fuyu (biochemistry) and Yang Fujia (nuclear physics), Zhuang Fenggan and Zhuang Fengchen in space technology; and one brother-sister pair—Zhang Zhongsui and Zhang Zhongyie in physics.3 In the case of the Liangs, they were born into the family of Liang Qichao, one of China’s prominent and influential thinkers at the turn of the twentieth century, who not only encouraged and supported his children to study abroad but also in particular advised Sicheng to spend his honeymoon in Europe absorbing the richness of the Renaissance architecture and helped arrange Siyong’s job after his study at Harvard (Fairbank 1994: 15–30; Wu L. 1999: 127–215). As a channel for achieving upward mobility, education was emphasized by parents of both high and low socioeconomic status. Two scientists testified: My father graduated from Cornell University with a master’s degree in mechanical engineering. He died when I was five years old. He strongly hoped that we children would become scientists. My mother followed father’s wishes to encourage us. Meanwhile, through her own efforts, she finished her studies in accounting and became a teacher in a kindergarten. (informant no. 8) My father died when I was six. My mother had to support the family as a street peddler. Although she did not know a Chinese character, she hoped her children would grow up to be useful. She even sold her ring to pay for my education at a missionary high school. There are six brothers and sisters in my family. Because of the encouragement and support of my mother, all except my eldest sister have a college education. (informant no. 3) These future scientists were unfortunate because they lost their fathers when they were young; however, they were fortunate to have mothers who understood the importance of education for their children. Here is a story of Huang Liang, a female chemist and a 1980 elected CAS member. Her mother sent six-year-old Huang to a boarding school in Shanghai after divorcing her degenerate father, 82

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while she herself attended a midwife school. Later, the mother left her midwife job and became a special family nurse so as to earn more money to support Huang’s studies at a missionary middle school and then a missionary college (NOTES: 176–7). Xiong Darun, a 1991 elected astronomer, had another experience. After 1949, his father taught at a school away from home. He sent money home infrequently, and it was not sufficient to support a family with four children and their mother. However, the mother did not disclose the financial difficulty to her children, and sent the four children to colleges by borrowing money. The children later spent several years paying back the debt (NOTES: 191). Members of the extended family, such as uncles, aunts or cousins, could be influential. The example of Zhang Cunhao, a 1980 elected chemist, is a case in point. Zhang’s father studied in the United States and was a chemical engineer before his retirement. Although such a family background could be expected to have an impact on Zhang’s education, even more influential was that from the age of nine to seventeen, Zhang lived with his aunt Zhang Jin and uncle Fu Ying, a 1955 CAS member, both with doctorates in chemistry from the University of Michigan. Young Zhang moved with them to wherever they taught. He entered middle school at the age of ten, and became a college student when he was fifteen. Finally, he also attended the University of Michigan at the time when his uncle and aunt were conducting research there, and became a chemist himself. Zhang Cunhao’s uncle and aunt certainly made a great effort in arranging an education for him; but their devotion to chemistry was an even better example for Zhang Cunhao, and shaped his future career (BIOGRAPHIES [vol. 1]: 286). Influence also came from cousins. Peer pressure in the pursuit of educational excellence played a stimulating role. One CAS member recalled: The most important influence [on my education] was from my cousin who was 15 to 16 years older than me. She admired my father for his encouragement to study abroad, and carried me to the dock to see my father off when he left for the United States [the father later obtained a master’s degree from Cornell]. She went to America herself later. Her husband was also American-trained. Their legacy circulated in my entire clan which was big.4 (informant no. 8) The exact impact of family background on the growth of the Chinese scientific elite needs to be further explored. However, an environment of learning, or the “family’s intellectual climate” (Blau and Duncan 1967: 316–20 and 412), including but not limited to parents’ educational attainment, seemed to be more important in encouraging and shaping the intellectual orientation of future Chinese elite scientists. Of course, the transmission of ascribed parental status to their children is achieved through the education and efforts of the children themselves. 83

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Educational attainment Undergraduate origin As expected, almost all CAS members had formal undergraduate education. Except a few who had no formal higher education, the remaining scientists graduated from different institutions of higher learning in mainland China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, and foreign countries. Table 4.4 lists the names of the universities or colleges in mainland China that have contributed more than ten CAS members so far and the numbers of CAS members they have individually contributed. China’s higher educational system is stratified so that the universities or colleges in Table 4.4 fall into three categories (Suttmeier 1980a: 25; Taylor 1981: 13–14). Although not all have been equally prestigious throughout their history, Beijing, Nanjing, Fudan, Wuhan, Xiamen, and Zhongshan Universities are now among the most outstanding comprehensive (zhonghe) universities in China. They are “comprehensive” in that they offer courses in a broad spectrum of disciplines in the natural sciences, social sciences, humanities, and even engineering. Mention has to be made about the now-defunct Southwest Associated University (Xi’nan Lianhe Daxue). Because of the Japanese invasion of China, Qinghua, Beijing, and Nankai (another comprehensive university) Universities had to retreat from Beijing and Tianjin to Kunming, Yunnan province, where they combined to form Southwest Associated University. In spite of its short history—from April 1938 to May 1946—and the extreme difficulties it faced as a result of war, Southwest Associated University played a significant role during that period (Israel 1977, 1998; Qu 1993: 522–30). Its students included Chen Ning Yang and Tsung-Dao Lee, two Chinese American physicists who would win the Nobel Prize for Physics in 1957. The second type is the polytechnic (ligongke) university, represented by Qinghua, Zhejiang, and Shanghai Jiaotong Universities. Some of these, such as Qinghua and Zhejiang, were also “comprehensive” universities before the 1952 reorganization of colleges and departments ( yuanxi tiaozheng), and have now become comprehensive universities again as a result of the reorganization of Chinese universities in the late 1990s. By acquiring Hangzhou University, Zhejiang Medical University, and Zhejiang Agricultural University, for example, Zhejiang University is now China’s mega university. Polytechnic universities are well known for their training programs in the natural sciences and engineering. The University of Science and Technology of China, founded in 1958, is a topranking polytechnic university affiliated to the CAS, which produced twelve CAS members in the six recent elections. The third category of higher educational institutions includes specialty colleges. The Beijing Geological College is an example with its production of fifteen CAS members since 1991, which is significant considering that it was established in 1952 as a result of the college and department reorganization. The prestige of universities is usually accumulated over time. In addition, the more prestigious universities usually selectively recruit faculties and students and

84

Table 4.4 Undergraduate institutions of CAS members Institution

Year of election

Year of graduation Before 1949

Comprehensive University Beijing 1955–57 1980 Universitya 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal Nanjing 1955–57 Universityb 1980 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal Southwest 1955–57 Associated 1980 Universityc 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal Fudan 1955–57 University 1980 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal Wuhan 1955–57 University 1980 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal Xiamen 1955–57 University 1980 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal Zhongshan 1955–57 Universityd 1980 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal Other 1955–57 “Key”s 1980 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal Others 1955–57 1980 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal Subtotal

31 36 5 1 73 25 40 21 7 93 0 29 5 1 35 4 0 0 0 4 1 4 3 2 10 2 5 0 2 9 5 8 0 0 13 5 8 0 3 16 7 21 8 6 42

Subtotal Total

1950–52 1953–66 After 1966 0 2 3 6 11 0 2 1 4 7 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 2 1 4 0 1 2 0 3 0 1 1 0 2 0 0 2 3 5 0 1 3 3 7

0 5 15 42 62 0 1 7 14 22 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 10 13 23 0 0 5 1 6 0 0 2 4 6 0 1 0 1 2 0 0 3 13 16 0 0 1 5 6

0 0 0 4 4 0 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 2 0 0 0 3 3

31 43 23 53 150 25 43 29 26 123 0 29 5 1 35 4 0 10 15 29 1 5 10 4 20 2 6 4 7 19 5 10 1 1 17 5 8 5 21 39 7 22 12 17 58 490 (Table 4.4 continued)

Table 4.4 (Continued ) Institution

Year of election

Year of graduation Before 1949

Polytechnic University Qinghua 1955–57 1980 Universitye 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal Zhejiang 1955–57 Universityf 1980 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal Shanghai 1955–57 Jiaotong 1980 University 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal Tongji 1955–57 Universityg 1980 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal University of 1955–57 Science and 1980 Technology 1991 of China 1993–2001 Subtotal Tianjin 1955–57 Universityh 1980 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal Other 1955–57 “Key”s 1980 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal Others 1955–57 1980 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal Subtotal Specialty College Tangshan 1955–57 Institute of 1980 Technologyi 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal

27 36 6 1 70 3 19 3 3 28 7 14 3 2 26 4 6 1 1 12 0 0 0 0 0 3 4 0 0 7 0 3 1 0 4 1 1 1 0 3

Subtotal Total

1950–52 1953–66 After 1966 0 3 9 3 15 0 5 5 5 15 0 0 5 0 5 0 1 2 2 5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 2 0 0 1 1 2 0 0 0 0 0

0 0 6 12 18 0 0 2 1 3 0 0 3 1 4 0 0 1 2 3 0 0 2 0 2 0 0 0 2 2 0 2 4 7 13 0 0 1 3 4

0 0 0 4 4 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 9 10 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 2 0 0 0 0 0

27 39 21 20 107 3 24 10 9 46 7 14 11 3 35 4 7 4 5 20 0 0 3 9 12 3 4 1 3 11 0 5 6 10 21 1 1 2 3 7 259

4 6 1 0 11

0 0 2 2 4

0 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0

4 6 3 2 15 (Table 4.4 continued)

Table 4.4 (Continued ) Institution

Year of election

Year of graduation Before 1949

Beijing Geological College

Shanghai No. 1 Medical College j Other “Key”s

Others

Subtotal Outside Mainland China

Others

Total

1955–57 1980 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal 1955–57 1980 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal 1955–57 1980 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal 1955–57 1980 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal

0 0 0 0 0 0 2 1 0 3 5 0 0 0 5 11 3 1 3 18

Subtotal Total

1950–52 1953–66 After 1966 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 4 4 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 3 0 3

0 0 6 9 15 0 1 4 0 5 0 0 6 18 24 0 1 12 13 26

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 3 3 0 0 0 3 3

0 0 6 9 15 0 3 5 5 13 5 0 6 21 32 11 4 16 19 50 125

1955–57 1980 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal 1955–57 1980 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal 1955–57 1980 1991 1993–2001 Subtotal

39 5 1 1 46

0 0 2 0 2

0 2 11 15 28

0 0 2 6 8

184 250 61 33 528

0 17 44 35 96

0 13 101 176 290

0 0 3 41 44

39 7 16 22 84 6 3 1 2 12 190 283 210 287 970

84

12

970

Sources: Same as Table 4.1. Notes a Includes Yenching University and Peiping University. b Includes Nanjing Higher Normal School, Dongnan University, the University of Nanking (Jinling), Zhongyang University (Nanjing and Chongqing). c Southwest Associated University, located in Kunming, Yunnan, from April 1938 to May 1946, amalgamated Beijing, Qinghua, and Nankai Universities, during the Anti-Japanese War. d Includes Zhongshan University Medical School and Guangdong Higher Normal School. e Includes Qinghua School, a preparatory school for sending students to America. f Includes Zhejiang University Medical School. g Includes Tongji University Medical School. h Includes Beiyang University. i Includes the Tangshan Institute of Railroads. j Includes Shanghai Medical College.

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maintain superior facilities. Scientists trained at these universities are exposed to a socialization process which helps them get a head start in becoming successful (Gaston 1970: 719). Hence students acquire prestige from such universities which in turn receive further prestige from their eminent graduates (Zuckerman 1977: 63). The universities listed in Table 4.4 (except Southwest Associated University) are among China’s “key” (zhongdian), or most prestigious, institutions of higher education. Most have had a long history—Shanghai Jiaotong University dates back to 1896, and Beijing University celebrated its centenary in 1998—although they did not initially bear the name of “university” and the length of time they have offered undergraduate and graduate education is shorter. With their higher prestigious stature, Beijing and Qinghua Universities are China’s equivalents of Harvard University and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) in the hierarchy of American higher education. Throughout their histories, these universities have received support from either the nationalist or communist governments. In 1995, the Ministry of Education launched a 211 Program to position some of China’s universities as world-class distinguished academic institutions in the twenty-first century. To that end, about 100 leading universities and some 6,000 disciplines were identified, with Beijing, Qinghua, Fudan, Zhejiang, Nanjing, Shanghai and Xi’an Jiaotong Universities, the University of Science and Technology of China, and the Harbin University of Technology being designated as “the most important of the important”; and they are to receive financial assistance from the state. For example, Beijing and Qinghua universities would each receive RMB1.8 billion over a three-year period (Cao 2002). As such, key Chinese universities could sustain a remarkable level of academic excellence by recruiting superior faculties, maintaining strong libraries and facilities, and achieving outstanding academic results. Based on the number of papers published in journals included in the Science Citation Index, a database compiled by the Institute for Scientific Information in Philadelphia, in 2001, Qinghua University, Beijing University, Nanjing University, the University of Science and Technology of China, and Zhejiang University were ranked as the top five universities in China in the fields of science and technology (Wenhui bao December 17, 2002). Graduates from these universities usually have good opportunities to find jobs at prestigious institutions of research and education and there is more likelihood of their studying abroad (Shirk 1984: 248). Such advantages have allowed these universities to attract the very best students from around the country, and when they prove to be excellent, they add further reputation to their alma mater. Although from the pedagogical point of view, there is no reason why a non-“key” university could not provide as good an education as a “key” one, the statistics indicate that China’s “key” universities are more successful as measured by their domination in the CAS membership. As shown in Table 4.4, the sixteen “key” universities named have produced a total of 668 (76.6 percent) CAS members among those with Chinese undergraduate degrees; “key” universities as a group have reared a collective number of 752 (86.2 percent) elite scientists. Admissions into China’s top-tier universities has become the primary path to scientific elite membership in China. 88

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The spatial distribution of China’s universities and colleges is geographically unbalanced. As a result, the majority of the Chinese scientific elite have gravitated to the universities in the east: the sixteen universities in Table 4.4, except Wuhan University and the no-longer-existing Southwest Associated University, are located in that region, with seven in Beijing and Shanghai. In imperial times, China recruited its best scholars, or emperor’s students, to study in its capitals. The centralization of educational system has provided China’s capitals with a significant status in higher education. Nanjing, where Nanjing University is located, and Beijing, which houses Beijing and Qinghua Universities, have served as the capitals of the nationalist and communist governments respectively, as well as the centers of Chinese science and education. As a legacy of urban orientation, prestigious universities were also set up at such cities as Shanghai, Hangzhou, Tianjin, Wuhan, Xiamen, and Guangzhou. Between 1919 and 1937, for example, nearly three-quarters of China’s college-educated persons received instruction in Shanghai, Beijing, and Nanjing (Yeh 1990: xi). Although the demands of socialist construction after 1949 have created regional centers for research and education, the role of metropolitan “key” universities has not been replaced (Hayhoe 1996: 149–248; Montaperto 1979; Taylor 1981: 11). In addition, the educational and scientific planning of the 1950s has made some inner cities, such as Xi’an and Lanzhou, centers for scientific research, even though the economic infrastructure there did not warrant these (Zhong and Hayhoe 1993), and universities there have not contributed significantly to the education of the scientific elite. The institutional origins of CAS members are further related to the strength of a discipline at a university. In the case of geology, by 1995 Beijing University alone had produced forty-five CAS members, or 30.8 percent of the scientists in the Division of Earth Sciences.5 At the turn of the twentieth century, industrial development in China necessitated the exploration of natural resources so that young students were sent abroad to study mining and geology. When they returned in the 1910s and 1920s (e.g. Zhang Hongzhao was back from Japan and Ding Wenjiang from England in 1911, Li Siguang from England in 1920, and Weng Wenhao from Belgium in 1922), they taught in the Department of Geology at Beijing University, and trained generations of geologists. In 1952, when the reorganization of higher education took place, the geology faculty at Beijing University was transferred to the newly founded Beijing Geological College, where it continued to turn out outstanding geologists, including fifteen CAS members in recent elections. In 1955, Beijing University restored the Department of Geology. Similarly, polytechnic universities, such as Qinghua, Shanghai Jiaotong, Tianjin, and Zhejiang, have contributed more elites to the Division of Technological Sciences. Graduate origin Graduate training is a virtual prerequisite for admission into the ranks of scientists. Through this important process, young scientists obtain training in theory and methodology and gain research experience for their future careers. 89

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Many Chinese elite scientists have followed this pattern by attending graduate schools and even earning doctoral degrees. Among them, however, only 175 (18.0 percent) had graduate training in China. Contrary to the small proportion of Chinese elite scientists who were trained at home, about half (467, 48.1 percent) earned master’s or doctoral degrees from Table 4.5 Foreign graduate origin of CAS members Country

Academic Divisions Mathematics Chemistry and Physics

United States Doctoral 37 Others 2 Great Britain Doctoral 18 Others 0 Germanya Doctoral 3 Others 0 France Doctoral 5 Others 1 Japan Doctoral 3 Others 1 Other Western Countries Doctoral 1 Others 0 From USSR Doctoralb 7 Others 4 Eastern European Countries Doctoralb 1 Others 0 Others Doctoral 0 Others 0 Total Doctoral 75 Others 8

Subtotal

Total

Biological sciences

Earth sciences

Technological sciences

50 12

55 8

16 8

39 24

197 54

251

8 3

9 2

9 1

10 6

54 12

66

6 0

5 0

10 0

10 1

34 1

35

0 0

8 0

3 0

1 0

17 1

18

1 0

3 2

1 1

0 0

8 4

12

3 0

5 1

6 0

4 0

19 1

20

7 0

10 1

11 1

16 2

51 8

59

1 0

1 0

0 0

0 0

3 0

3

2 0

0 1

1 0

0 0

3 1

4

78 15

96 15

57 11

80 33

386 82

468

Sources: Same as Table 4.1. Notes a Includes West and East Germany. b Includes candidate degrees ( fuboshi).

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foreign universities and research institutes. Table 4.5 presents detailed information on the numbers of these degree holders from various foreign countries. The United States nurtured the largest portion of CAS members in terms of graduate training: 251 (25.9 percent) CAS members pursued graduate study in American universities. Other countries where CAS members received graduate degrees include Britain (66, 6.8 percent), the former Soviet Union (59, 6.1 percent), Germany (35, 3.8 percent), and France (18, 1.9 percent). If only the foreign graduate degree holders were to be taken into account, the proportion of those who originated from American graduate schools reaches a significant 53.6 percent. Universities in the United States also awarded more doctoral degrees (197) to future CAS members than all other countries combined (189).6 Many Chinese elite scientists received their degrees, either masters or doctorates, from a few elite foreign universities. They went to America’s “Ivy League” schools, such as Harvard (20), Cornell (16), Columbia (10), Yale (9), Princeton (7), Pennsylvania (5), Brown (2), and other prestigious universities, such as MIT (23), the California Institute of Technology (Cal Tech) (19), Chicago (16), Illinois (16), Michigan (12), the University of California (11), Wisconsin (6), the Carnegie Institute of Technology (6), and Johns Hopkins (2). A sizable number held degrees from famous institutions in other countries: the former Soviet Academy of Sciences (21), London (17), Cambridge (11), Paris (9), Moscow (9), Edinburgh (8), Berlin (7), Manchester (7), and Munich (5), among others. Why did Chinese elite scientists choose to attend elite foreign graduate schools? In some instances, they were the only schools which provided training in certain fields; in other cases, these universities provided students with financial assistance; in addition, Chinese scientists who graduated from these foreign universities recommended their students to their alma mater; or their destinations and specialties were chosen by the government, such as those who went to the former Soviet Union and East European countries in the 1950s and the early 1960s. More important, the number of foreign graduate degree holders among Chinese elite scientists from a particular school often corresponds to the strength of the field there. Princeton has been well known for its program in mathematics; consequently, three doctorates of the seven Princeton-trained CAS members studied mathematics. As the cradles of future Chinese elite physicists, MIT and Cal Tech have turned out twenty-seven CAS members in the fields of physics, electronics, and aeronautics and aerospace engineering; engineering-strong Purdue has witnessed six Chinese alumni become CAS members; while Edinburgh awarded five doctorates to future Chinese elite physicists. Columbia, which has been strong in chemistry and chemical engineering, has produced six, including five doctorates, Chinese elites in these areas. In biological sciences, Cornell and Cambridge have produced ten and four elite scientists respectively for China. Young Chinese scientists not only selected better schools but also followed the best professors, many being Nobel laureates. For example, Ye Qisun’s doctoral thesis was advised by Percy W. Bridgman; Wu Youxun was a doctoral student of Arthur H. Compton who claimed Wu to be one of his two most talented students 91

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(the other is Luis W. Alvarez, the 1968 Nobel Prize winner in Physics); Zhao Zhongyao was supervised by Robert A. Millikan for his doctoral thesis; Zhou Peiyuan worked with Werner Heisenberg, Wolfgang Pauli, and Albert Einstein; Qian Sanqiang was a doctoral student of Irène Joliot-Curie and Frédéric Joliot; Lu Jiaxi worked with Linus Pauling for five years after he obtained PhD; and Tan Jiazhen worked in Thomas Morgan’s genetics laboratory at Cal Tech for his doctorate (BIOGRAPHIES). That is to say, the access of the future Chinese scientific elite to some of the greatest minds in world science in the early stages has contributed to their excellence in science. One further point should be made on the role of foreign-trained elites. In total, about 1,500 Chinese natural scientists who obtained doctoral degrees and candidate degrees ( fuboshi ) from abroad between 1850 and 1962 returned to China.7 Following this lead, it could be figured out that 352 CAS members are among those who obtained doctoral degrees within the specific training periods corresponding to the specific countries awarding such degrees. In other words, one-fifth of the returned foreign doctorates were elected CAS members. In the case of physics, 58 out of the 168 Chinese who were awarded foreign doctorates in pure and applied physics between 1900 and 1952 have become CAS members (Dai and Wang 1993: 1213–52). The statistics indicate a significant presence and influence of returned scientists in the elite group, which tends to be telling given that some of the returnees had already passed away when various membership elections were held. Missionary education As noted in Chapter 2, missionary universities and colleges were important components of China’s higher education until 1952 when the communist government abolished them and amalgamated them with Chinese universities. Table 4.4 lists graduates from those former missionary universities under the institutions into which they were merged. If counted separately, however, missionary universities contributed a total of eighty-two CAS members. Yenching (24), Nanking ( Jinling) (17), Soochow (9), and Hujiang (7) were the significant producers of future elite scientists. An additional twenty-eight CAS members-to-be received graduate education in missionary universities (including twenty who continued graduate studies there), bringing the total number of CAS members with missionary higher education to ninety, or 9.3 percent of the entire elite body. The proportion of CAS members with education at missionary institutions was higher in chemistry and biological sciences. For example, missionary university-trained scientists accounted for 16.6 and 19.5 percent of the members in these divisions; and of the twenty-eight members with missionary graduate education, twenty (five and fifteen) were in these fields. In short, although the role of foreign missions in China has been a subject of controversy among some Chinese scholars (Feng K. 1994: 29–32 and 181–3; Qu 1993: 359–61; Zhang and Waldron 1991), the figures themselves seem to suggest their positive role in educating future elite scientists. 92

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Educational attainment patterns and their implications The above analysis suggests that educational attainment—especially doing undergraduate work at China’s “key” universities and having graduate origins from foreign countries—is a factor that turns Chinese scientists into the elite. How have educational attainment patterns of the Chinese scientific elite changed over time and across disciplines? These patterns may be categorized according to their terminal degrees: ● ● ● ●

foreign undergraduate degree; foreign graduate degree; Chinese undergraduate degree; and Chinese graduate degree.

Table 4.6 shows these patterns for each of the eight elections of CAS membership and for each of the five Academic Divisions. The educational attainment patterns of China’s scientific elite mirror the history of higher education in China. A first glance indicates that about half the CAS members received degrees from foreign graduate schools. A quite significant number of CAS members in the 1950s and 1980, studied in the United States and Britain, most on Boxer Indemnity Scholarship Programs. Upon finishing their Table 4.6 Educational attainment patterns (%) Educational attainment pattern

Academic Division Mathematics and Physics Chemistry Biological Sciences Earth Sciences Technological Sciences Year of CAS membership election 1955–57 1980 1991 1993 1995 1997 1999 2001 Total

Others

Total

Foreign undergraduate

Foreign graduate

Chinese undergraduate

Chinese graduate

2.3 1.9 2.4 1.7 2.8

47.7 59.2 52.4 38.9 44.5

36.2 26.8 33.8 40.0 42.5

13.2 12.1 10.0 17.7 9.1

0.6 0.0 1.4 1.7 1.2

100 100 100 100 100

2.6 0.7 3.8 3.4 0.0 1.7 5.5 1.8 2.3

77.4 66.4 28.1 25.4 28.8 17.2 25.5 30.4 48.1

15.3 25.1 48.6 64.4 54.2 56.9 43.6 44.6 36.5

1.1 7.4 19.0 6.8 16.9 22.4 25.5 23.2 12.1

3.7 0.4 0.5 0.0 0.0 1.7 0.0 0.0 1.0

100 100 100 100 100 100 100 100 100

Sources: Same as Table 4.1.

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studies, they returned with the knowledge of modern science and helped stimulate and develop undergraduate education in China. For quite some time, an undergraduate degree was the highest pursuit for a future elite scientist unless he or she went abroad. Around 1930, graduate education was gradually established at prestigious Chinese universities, such as Shanghai Jiaotong, Qinghua, and Beijing; but many students still used Chinese undergraduate or graduate training as a springboard for a higher degree abroad. In the 1950s and the early 1960s, Chinese students went to the former Soviet Union and East European countries. Since 1978, with China reopening its door to the world, an unprecedentedly large number of students has gone to Western developed countries, and some of them returned, exerting a significant impact on the development of their respective fields (Schnepp 1989; Zweig 2002: 161–210). Among the 131 CAS members elected between 1991 and 2001 with foreign doctoral degrees, thirty were returnees from the West after 1980: thirteen from the United States, four each from Japan and West Germany, two each from England, France, and Denmark, and one each from Austria, Australia, and Sweden (those working in Hong Kong and in the United States are excluded). It is predictable that Western-trained scientists, especially those with doctoral degrees, will appear in greater numbers in future CAS membership elections. Finally, while foreign graduate degree holders have dominated all fields except earth sciences, more than half of the elite chemists and biological scientists have had advanced training abroad, which might imply that Chinese science in these fields are more internationalized. The number of elite scientists with domestic undergraduate training increased from 1955 to 1993 and has been stable thereafter. This does not mean that undergraduate education was sufficient or graduate education was unnecessary for the elite; instead, it also reflects the change in China’s higher education after the communist accession to power. Between 1949 and 1969, about 8,000 Chinese finished graduate studies in science-related fields in China’s universities and research institutes, although no graduate degrees were conferred because of the pursuit of egalitarianism.8 During the decade of the Cultural Revolution (1966–76), higher education was virtually destroyed: there was no graduate education and even no formal undergraduate training. From the early 1950s to the late 1970s, apart from the graduates sent to Eastern bloc countries, hardly any students were despatched to Western countries for advanced training, and few returned from the West. However, because capable scientific personnel were in demand, those post-1949 college graduates with academic caliber had to be reinstated, which explains why at least 40 percent of those elected between 1991 and 2001 had only a Chinese undergraduate education.9 The pattern seems to be salient in earth sciences and technological sciences, areas of research focusing more on the features of the nation. And despite a decline of this educational pattern this situation is not likely to change soon; that is, in the near future, scientists with only domestic undergraduate degrees will continue to be elected to the elite group, until scholars with post-Cultural Revolution doctorates, both from abroad and at home, become mature. 94

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Indeed, recent elections have already witnessed an increase in the number of CAS members who received their terminal degrees from graduate schools in China—from 1.1 percent in 1955 to more than 20 percent in three recent elections. Among the 108 recently elected CAS members with domestic graduate degrees, 102 were awarded the degrees after 1949, with forty being CAS graduates. China’s graduate education has been flourishing since the late 1970s, and doctoral degrees have been granted since 1981. In fact, ten scientists who received Chinese doctorates (seven from the CAS itself ) since the 1980s were elected between 1995 and 2001. It is therefore expected that scientists with Chinese graduate credentials will also have a greater chance of being elected to the elite group in the future.

Summary and discussion This chapter has examined various aspects of the social origins of CAS members. The scientific elites have been concentrated in the east in terms of their birthplaces, as a result of the levels of economic and educational development, among other factors. That elites are grouped geographically is an interesting phenomenon in China. For example, political and military elites under Mao Zedong largely came from central China, especially from Hubei and Hunan, while those under Deng Xiaoping originated mostly from eastern China, such as Shandong, Hebei, and Jiangsu (Li and White 1993: 766). As shown earlier, teaching and other professional occupations such as scientist, engineer, physician, lawyer, and businessman account for about one-half of the occupations of CAS members’ fathers. Such professional backgrounds are usually associated with higher educational attainments of the fathers. Further inquiry into the educational attainments of CAS members’ parents showed that not only did sixty-seven (32.7 percent) fathers receive at least college education, but a significant number of mothers (46, 45.1 percent) had formal education as well. These findings might suggest that the level of educational attainment of elites’ parents is a more important factor than the socioeconomic background of the family as measured by the father’s occupation. Such findings are not unique. In American science, social origin affects the recruitment process largely through the indirect effect of social origin on educational attainment (Yu Xie 1992: 273). The American scientific elite—Nobel laureates and the more extended elite, members of the National Academy of Sciences (NAS)—mostly originated from professional families, which included secondary school teachers, college professors, physicians, engineers, lawyers, dentists, artists, and so on, a fact which implies that it was “the educational environment, rather than opulence, that mattered most” (Zuckerman 1977: 63–8). Similarly, a large proportion of nineteenth-century members of the French Academy of Sciences were of broadly middle-class origin (Crosland 1992: 176–9). Compelling facts have been found from other socialist nations. In the former Soviet Union and East European countries, for example, education is important 95

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for elite sons to inherit parental status and for the children of peasant or worker origin to move upward (Connor 1979: 133–42; Heyns and Bialecki 1993; Lane D. 1982: 108–16; Slomczynski 1988; Wong 1998). As for the importance of birthplaces and family background, in 1956, Moscow and Leningrad were the most prominent birthplaces of the members of the Soviet Academy of Sciences, while a vast majority of them were of what may be termed non-proletarian origin, with the families of intelligentsia having the largest representation (Vucinich 1956: 99–103). In looking at the educational attainments of CAS members, the chapter has found that many of these scientists had undergraduate education at China’s prestigious universities, and if possible, they went abroad for graduate studies and earned advanced degrees from elite foreign institutions of learning and research. The importance of a few Chinese “key” universities to the scientific elite parallels the domination of those who have studied, taught, and worked at Qinghua University among China’s civilian leaders (Li C. 2001: 87–126). It is also a worldwide phenomenon that the training of elite scientists has been across national boundaries. In the nineteenth century, the education of an American or British scientist was considered incomplete until he had spent some time in Germany, studying with one of the renowned professors, far more of whom had won acclaim and scientific distinction than the scientists of any other country (BenDavid and Zloczower ([1962] 1991: 127). Between 1815 and the outbreak of the First World War, more than 10,000 American students passed through German universities, one-half being at the University of Berlin (Brubacher and Rudy 1976: 175). The American scientific elite has also been produced from a very small number of prestigious universities. By 1972, forty-two out of the seventyone American Nobel laureates had top undergraduate origins, and more than half of all the Nobel laureates who studied in the United States received their doctoral degrees from just five universities: Harvard, Columbia, Berkeley, Johns Hopkins, and Princeton (Zuckerman 1977: 82–95); in 1969, 73 percent of the 710 NAS members who earned their doctorates in the United States received their degrees from just ten universities (Cole J. R. and Cole S. 1973: 72). Therefore, it is not surprising that the pattern found in China with regard to the production of elite scientists replicates what has been found in other cultures and countries. Although social origins alone could not warrant elite membership for a Chinese scientist, family influence has been important and education has played a continuous and consistent role in fostering the scientific elite. The social origins of the Chinese scientific elite are “convergent” with those of the scientific elite elsewhere; in other words, a cadre of elite scientists coming from backgrounds that are unusual in the cross-cultural and cross-national perspective has not been the case in China. Such a pattern is not just the result of the post-Mao transformation from “red” to technocracy in politics; instead, the changes in China’s social and political environment and educational system have not longitudinally caused a major shift in the pattern of producing elite scientists.

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5 THE INFLUENCE OF ELITE MENTORS ON STUDENTS

A mentoring relationship is usually established between someone who is older, wiser, more experienced, and more powerful with someone younger or less experienced ( Jeruchim and Shapiro 1992: 23). It is especially important at the beginning of a person’s career or at a crucial turning point in his or her professional life, and is influential and instrumental in that a mentor can significantly help a protégé reach his or her major career goal. Perhaps the best known kind of mentoring takes place in competitive areas such as business where a mentor takes a special interest in a protégé moving up the corporate ladder (Kram 1985; Roche 1979; Zey 1984); or academia where a mentor helps the entry of a woman into the professoriate (Anderson and Ramey 1990). Science remains the field in which the traditional master–apprentice relationship still prevails (Kanigel 1986: x). As it is in other cases, mentoring in science usually happens at the beginning of a scientist’s career and takes the form of young scientists working as students, postdoctoral fellows, or junior researchers under the aegis of senior scientists. Collaboration with a mentor is a particularly important factor for students since it affects not only their performance as students and later as researchers but also their career path (Long and McGinnis 1985). Among the scientific elite, such claims as “hereditary” influence are no aberration; in fact, they are the norm (Kanigel 1986: xiii). The mentor–student, or master–apprentice, relationship influenced the formation of the American scientific elite—Nobel laureates and members of the National Academy of Sciences (NAS). On the one hand, in the course of apprenticeship, which is also a process of socialization, “young scientists learn the scientific role,” including standards of work and modes of thought, standards of performance, scientific taste and style of work, and self-confidence (Zuckerman 1977: 96 and 122–32); on the other hand, the master–apprentice relationship explains to some extent the career advancement of apprentices (Zuckerman 1977: 106). This chapter examines the role of mentoring in the coming of age of China’s scientific elite. Because of the Chinese tradition of respecting the aged and experienced, students sincerely follow the guidance of their mentors. Most elite scientists are role models in learning as well as “paragons of virtue” for their students. But what Chinese mentors transmit to their students is not only the norms of 97

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international elite science but also such values as patriotism as required by the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), thus complicating the socialization process. In addition, given the penetration of personal relations ( guanxi) in Chinese life, mentors may also be influential in the recruitment of their students into the elite group (see Chapter 8).

Channels of elite mentoring in Chinese science Lecturing The first channel of mentoring is lecturing by elite mentors at institutions of higher education. Lecturing is both important and typical because one-third of CAS members have not received education beyond the undergraduate level (see Chapter 4). As such, mentoring in this instance is broader in scope than that in the case of the American scientific elite. However, as the presence of great teachers accounts in part for the differential distribution of American Nobel laureates among universities by their fields of work (Zuckerman 1977: 29), the growth of Chinese elite scientists in different disciplines could also be in part attributed to the strength of mentors at different institutions of learning. China’s elite physicists are a case in point. A total of 130 physicists have been elected CAS members in the Division of Mathematics and Physics (and its precursor, the Division of Physics, Mathematics, and Chemistry). Most of these physicists graduated from China’s “key” (zhongdian), or prestigious, universities (Table 5.1). Besides those who received education at colleges in Taiwan (2), the United States (4), and the former Soviet Union (5), only five elite Chinese physicists came from non-“key” undergraduate institutions in China. Here, three universities—Qinghua, Beijing, and the Southwest Associated which educated fifty-five of the elite physicists—are examined. Foreign-trained Chinese scientists have played important roles in the training of China’s scientific manpower (Cheng C. 1965: 234–42). In the case of physics, Rao Yutai, Ye Qisun, and Wu Youxun are generally recognized as the firstgeneration Chinese physicists who introduced modern physics into the country (Dai N. 1982, 1993). Rao and Ye obtained PhDs from Princeton and Harvard Universities in 1922 and 1923 respectively, while Wu studied at the University of Chicago where he received a PhD in 1925. Upon returning to China, they taught at Qinghua and Beijing Universities, the most important centers of China’s physics education. Ye served as chair of the Department of Physics and later dean of the School of Sciences at Qinghua, and he recruited into the Qinghua faculty physicists such as Wu Youxun, Zhou Peiyuan, and Zhao Zhongyao—the latter two being PhDs from the California Institute of Technology (Cal Tech) and second-generation Chinese physicists. Similarly, at Beijing University, Rao and his student Wu Ta-you,1 a 1930 PhD from the University of Michigan, built up its faculty. When the Anti-Japanese War broke out, Qinghua and Beijing had to retreat to Kunming, Yunnan province, where they combined with another 98

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Table 5.1 Undergraduate institutions of China’s elite physicists Institution

Year of CAS membership election

Total

1955–57 1980 1991 1993 1995 1997 1999 2001 Beijing Universitya Qinghua University Nanjing Universityb Southwest Associated Universityc Fudan University Zhejiang University Jiaotong University University of Science and Technology of China Other “Keys” Others Outside Mainland China Total

4 9 6 0

6 8 8 6

7 4 7 0

3 0 0 0

1 1 1 0

3 2 2 0

3 1 0 0

4 0 0 0

31 25 24 6

0 0 1 0

0 2 2 0

4 1 0 2

1 0 0 0

1 1 0 0

0 0 0 0

1 0 0 0

1 0 0 0

8 4 3 2

1 1 4 26

4 2 2 40

1 0 2 28

2 1 1 8

0 1 1 7

0 0 0 7

1 0 1 7

2 0 0 7

11 5 11 130

Sources: Same as Table 4.1. Notes a Includes Peiping University and Yenching University. b Includes the University of Nanking ( Jinling, a missionary university), and Zhongyang University (Nanjing and Chongqing). c The Southwest Associated University was a combination of Beijing University, Qinghua University and Nankai University, during the anti-Japanese War (1937–45).

university, Nankai, to form the Southwest Associated University (Israel 1977, 1998; Qu 1993: 522–30). During these difficult eight years (1938–46), physicists mainly from Qinghua and Beijing made great efforts to train a generation of Chinese physicists. When the war was over, Qinghua and Beijing Universities returned to Beijing. The 1952 reorganization of colleges and departments merged the basic science department of Qinghua into Beijing University, which has, in turn, held the top spot in educating Chinese physicists. Table 5.2 describes this mentor–student chain of elite physicists from Qinghua, Beijing, and the Southwest Associated Universities before 1952 when students had more autonomy in choosing their schools and mentors.2 Apart from those CAS members who were under the direct guidance of Ye, Wu Youxun, Rao and the later generation, some other students who studied abroad on nationalist government’s scholarship in the 1940s, including Wu Xuelin, Gu Gongxu, and Qian Xuesen, also sought and received advice from the physicists of the first two generations on where to study and whom to follow. Also included in the Southwest Associated University period were Chen Ning Yang and Tsung-Dao Lee, two Chinese-American physicists who went on to win the Nobel Prize for Physics in 1957. In fact, of the twenty-three scientists honored by the Chinese government in 1999 for their contributions to the nation’s nuclear 99

Table 5.2 CAS members who had physics training at Qinghua, Beijing, and Southwest Associated Universities Qinghua University (1920–37) Faculty Ye Qisun* (PhD, Harvard, 1923) Zhou Peiyuan* (PhD, Cal Tech, 1928)

Beijing University (1920–37) Wu Youxun* (PhD, Chicago, 1926) Zhao Zhongyao* (PhD, Cal Tech, 1930)

Students Wang Ganchang (1929)* Zhou Tongqing (1929)*,# Fu Chengyi (1929)*,# Gong Zutong (1930)** Wang Zhuxi (1933)* Zhao Jiuzhang (1933)*,# Lu Xueshan (1933, graduate)* Weng Wenbo (1934)** Zhang Zhongsui (1934)* Peng Huanwu (1935)* Qian Weichang (1935)* Qian Sanqiang (1936)* Wang Daheng (1936)* He Zehui (1936)** Ge Tingsui (1937)* Zhang Enqiu (1938)**,# Chen Fangyun (1938)**,#

Yutai Rao* (PhD, Princeton, 1922)

Guo Yonghuai (1935)* Ma Dayou (1936)*

Southwest Associated University (1938–46) Hu Ning (1938)** Dai Chuanzeng (1942)** Li Yinyuan (1943)** Jin Jianzhong (1944)** Huang Kun (1944, graduate)* Deng Jiaxian (1945)** Zhu Guangya (1945)** Qinghua University (1946–52)

Beijing University (1946–52)

Wang Zhuqia (1948; 1950, graduate)** Li Deping (1948)*** Zhou Guangzhao (1951)** He Zuoxiu (1951)** Hu Renyu (1952)*** Pu Fuke (1952)*** Huang Shengnian (1952)***

Yu Ming (1949)**

Source: Same as Table 4.1. Notes * Appointed in 1955–57. ** Elected in 1980. *** Elected in 1991 election. # In divisions other than Mathematics and Physics.

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weapons and missiles and satellites (liangdan yixing) programs, thirteen were graduates from Qinghua, the Southwest Associated, and Beijing Universities, among whom were Wang Ganchang, known as the “father of China’s atomic bomb,” and Zhao Jiuzhang, the most important contributor to China’s satellite program (Ying 1999). Another example is the concentration of Chinese elite geologists at Beijing University, and later, at the Beijing Geological College. At one time, as many as ten CAS members and members-to-be were on the faculty of that college: Feng Jinglan (appointed in 1957), Chi Jishang, Hao Yichun, Ma Xingyuan, Wang Hongzhen, Yang Zunyi, Yin Zhanxun, Yuan Jianqi, Zhang Bingxi (all elected in 1980), and Yu Chongwen (1995). At their guidance, fifteen graduates from the college were elected CAS members from 1991 to 2001. A mineralogist recalled how his years at the Beijing Geological College, particularly education received from elite geologists, helped shape his career: At the Beijing Geological College, Wang Hongzhen taught the history of geology, Yang Zunyi guided me to study mineralogy, Yu Chongwen taught me geochemistry, Yuan Jianqi lectured on mineral deposits, and Chi Jishang gave courses on specialty of mineralogy and recommended me to graduate school. (informant no. 47) Similarly, when the University of Science and Technology of China was founded in 1958, CAS members lectured students in their first year of studies: Hua Luogeng, a self-taught mathematician and a 1955 CAS member, and Wu Wenjun, a French doctorate and a 1957 CAS member, taught calculus; the physicists Wu Youxun and Yan Jici taught physics, and so on. Starting from the sophomore year, senior scientists from CAS research institutes were responsible for teaching specialties: courses at the Department of Modern Mechanics, for example, were taught by CAS members from the Institute of Mechanics—Qian Xuesen and Guo Yonghuai, both holding doctorates from Cal Tech, and Wu Zhonghua, an MIT doctorate; courses at the Department of Modern Chemistry were taught by scientists from the CAS Institute of Chemistry (informants no. 16, 45, and 58). Elite Chinese mentors have made the classroom a place alive with ideas. For students attending lectures by elite mentors, it was their first chance of coming into personal contact with these scientists. Though the interaction in lecture halls was indirect and brief, students developed admiration for and respect toward the teachers. Special seminars A second type of mentoring is that elite scientists held special seminars for which participants were recruited nationwide. Such year-long seminars did not confer graduate degrees on students, since in Maoist China any kind of degree was 101

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labeled “the right of the bourgeoisie” (informant no. 32). However, they were similar to graduate training not only because of the scope and depth of the knowledge covered but also because of the caliber of the faculty who, in most cases, had attended graduate schools abroad so that they emulated their own training. Holding such seminars was distinctive in the training of China’s scientific manpower at that time, while attending them proved to be beneficial to the future elite. From 1954 to 1958 several junior physicists went to the CAS Changchun Institute of Optics and Precision Instrument for a special seminar. Gong Zutong, then director of the institute who would be elected a CAS member in 1980, was a teaching assistant of Zhao Zhongyao when he was at Qinghua, and was dispatched by Ye Qisun to study applied optics in Germany in the 1930s. When the Japanese invaded China in 1937, Gong returned to China immediately without defending his doctoral dissertation and contributed his knowledge to developing optical instruments for military use (BIOGRAPHIES [vol. 2]: 182–3). Also at the institute was Wang Daheng, a 1955 CAS member and Gong’s classmate at Qinghua who had advanced training in England and worked at Chance Company before returning to China in 1948 (BIOGRAPHIES [vol. 1]: 138–9). A participant described what he learned during that period: We not only attended Gong’s lectures, and took notes for publication, but also translated a textbook of optical instruments from Russian into Chinese. Gong also sent us to factories to gain firsthand knowledge in designing, graining, and measuring optical lenses. Each trainee was asked to undertake practical projects from time to time and to report the progress to Gong and Wang who always challenged us with questions. Although it did not lead to an advanced degree, the training represented a rare opportunity and experience in the careers of us optical scientists, which was by no means inferior to formal PhD training in the West. It was an opportunity that God bestowed upon me. (informant no. 29) Three participants of that seminar—Mu Guoguang, Wang Zhijiang, and Deng Ximing—were elected to the CAS Division of Technological Sciences in 1991 and 1993. Similarly, Tang Aoqing, a physical chemist and a 1955 CAS member with a PhD from Columbia University, held a quantum chemistry seminar from 1963 to 1965 at Jilin University where he taught. The seminar, which enrolled eight formal students and twenty auditors, has had an excellent track record in producing CAS members: Sun Jiazhong, Jiang Yuansheng, Zhang Qian’er, Li Lemin, and You Xiaozeng in 1991, Deng Chonghao in 1993, and Liu Ruozhuang in 1999. Tang Aoqing has also had two participants of his polymer physical chemistry seminar between 1958 and 1963—Xu Ruren and Shen Jiacong—elected CAS members in 1991. 102

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Advising The supervision of graduate students or junior scientists by elite scientists at China’s universities or research institutes is similar to what is meant by mentoring in the American case. Compared with attending lectures at universities, students working under the guidance of senior scientists could have direct and frequent interactions with their esteemed mentors and gradually establish and maintain closer relations with them. Some scientists who attended the lectures of great teachers at universities later apprenticed to the same teachers; and some who studied with one elite were fortunate to be advised by another. The mineralogist who was educated at the Beijing Geological College further recalled: During my graduate studies at the CAS Institute of Geology, He Zuolin (a CAS member) encouraged me to choose the topic in which I was interested, and gave me freedom to pursue it. Later I worked in the same institute where Hou Defeng, Yin Zhanxun, Zhang Wenyou, and Tu Guangzi (all CAS members) directed my research. Such extended contact with elite scientists in my career gave me a notable training not inferior to studying abroad. (informant no. 47) In sum, about four-fifths of the seventy-nine CAS members interviewed have studied with, and/or worked under the supervision of elite mentors during diverse stages of their careers. Of the seventeen scientists who did not study with elite mentors, ten studied abroad, and others worked in disciplines that were new or special to China (e.g. traditional Chinese medicine, replantation of severed limbs) or military research. As noted in Chapter 4, some of China’s old elite scientists learned to be mentors from their experiences with great ones, including Nobel laureates, during their graduate studies or in the middle of their careers abroad. This fact simply suggests that China’s elite scientists, like their American counterparts, came under the influence of great mentors in world science and they have in turn applied such experience to the nurturing of the younger generation.

The selection of future scientists in China The American elite mentors influence their students through the joint operating process of self-selection of future scientists and selective recruitment by academic institutions. Involved in the process of mutual selection is also the engagement of both apprentices and masters in a motivated search to find and then to work with scientists of talent (Zuckerman 1977: 107). In the first thirty years of communist China, although institutions, teachers, and students also participated in selections, the meaning and the process of the selection were quite different. Therefore, it is 103

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necessary to take a look at the selection of future scientists in China before discussing the influence of elite mentors. China’s elite scientists have been mainly educated at “key” institutions of higher education. Students admitted to “key” universities are usually those who score higher in the nationwide college entrance examinations. In other words, China’s prestigious universities and colleges always selectively recruit from the entire nation the most talented students who also intend to pursue education there. Eminent professors usually teach at “key” institutions so that students there can have the chance to study with by superior faculty, including CAS members. Excellent students enter not only “key” universities but also “key” programs. For example, in 1956, when nuclear science became the highest priority of the nation’s science program, physics was the most favored field among outstanding students, with nuclear physics as the first choice. That is to say, there exists a selection to the extent that it matches the mutual interests of individuals and institutions. Upon graduation, students were assigned by the government to various work units (danwei ) and even graduate schools (informants no. 34 and 37). While taking into consideration the academic credentials and political loyalty of graduates and recommendations of their teachers, job assignments—to a university, a research institute or others as well as the location of the danwei—did not necessarily meet the choices of students. Those outstanding students, those who were educated at “key” institutions, and those who were advised by elite mentors might land positions at “key” danwei. To them, it meant a higher likelihood of working under the guidance of elite mentors on the nation’s important scientific or economic projects, which was translated into a brighter career. Job assignments also usually retained excellent students where they were educated. Although both party cadres and scientists were involved in assigning students, party cadres were more powerful in making the decision, as Premier Zhou Enlai pointed out in 1956 that the party and the government must do a better job of assigning intellectuals—graduating college students—to meaningful work posts ([1956] 1962). Job assignments might meet the interests of both students and danwei, as many cases have shown. However, the selection was totally decided by the danwei, which was further guided by the interests of the party-state. Again, “key” danwei usually sought out and took in good students who were then assigned mentors. Given the then low level of job mobility in China, if a student did not like the danwei or the mentor assigned, he or she seldom had a second chance to make another selection, which meant that his or her future was more likely to be ruined. On the other hand, if a scientist did not perform well at a “key” danwei, the scientist did not necessarily have to move to another danwei. Job assignments, rather than the mutual selection of mentors and students in the American case, have determined not only the career trajectories for many students but also the mentor–student ties. However, that mentors and students built their relations in a different way did not mean that the role of elite mentors in nurturing their successors can be underestimated. In addition, in a danwei, the influence of mentors on apprentices is similar to, if not the same as, the pattern found among the American scientific elite. 104

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For one thing, China’s elite scientists have applied the norms of international elite science to the training of their students, as an expert of mechanics indicated: I was a graduate student of Wu Zhonghua. He trained us strictly following the requirement for an MIT PhD degree, and even assigned the exact same textbooks he used there. (informant no. 16)

The influence of elite mentors The transmission of knowledge is only one, and probably not the most important, responsibility for Chinese mentors. In order for the academic tradition to be carried on, mentors have also paid more attention to imbuing students with the right attitudes toward learning, inspiring scholarship, and more importantly, educating students to be persons with “merit.” Students get an insight of enduring value and constant stimulation. Nurturing right attitudes toward learning Great mentors are those who have deep and genuine intellectual attitudes toward learning, research, and scholarship. Passing on such attitudes is a significant aspect that elite Chinese scientists have underscored in their interaction with students. Examples of how serious elite mentors have pursued learning and scholarship were recounted again and again by their students: When I did my graduate work with Wu Zhengkai (a Cambridgeeducated PhD and a 1980 CAS member), Wu asked me to present him a curve every week from my electrical chemistry experiments. (informant no. 3) My graduate advisor at Qinghua University was Tang Peisong (a 1930 PhD from Johns Hopkins and a 1955 CAS member). He stopped by at the lab every day and asked me to report research progress. He did so even after becoming the dean of the School of Agriculture of the university. (informant no. 31) The rocket scientist Qian Xuesen (a Cal Tech PhD and a 1957 CAS member) was so incredibly organized in his speech that it could be published without modification. He even did not tolerate appearance of scripted hand-writing and wrong punctuation in students’ work. (informant no. 41) When I arrived at the CAS Institute of Changchun Optics and Precision Instrument, Gong Zutong was a professor of the highest rank. At that 105

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time, he set a bed in his office so that he could monitor the glass melting process and observe the changes hour by hour. (informant no. 29) Elite mentors are good at providing fine instruction on learning. The physical chemist who was asked by Wu Zhengkai, his graduate supervisor, to come up with one electrical chemistry curve every week was also advised to broaden his knowledge beyond chemistry: During my graduate studies, Wu Zhengkai particularly instructed me to acquire knowledge in physics. I took four major courses—quantum mechanics, statistical mechanics, electronics, and mathematical equations—in the department of physics, thus laying a solid foundation for my future career. My research involves building experimental facilities by myself, which in turn requires knowledge of mathematics and physics. My training has eventually paid off. (informant no. 3) How to conduct research is sometimes a kind of intuition, a technique that is not teachable but rather understood by observant and conscientious students, while the profound impact of elite mentors on their students is mostly subtle. An expert of mechanics and a mathematician recollected that the mathematician Hua Luogeng talked on different occasions about how to “turn a book from thinness to thickness and then from thickness to thinness.” As a metaphor, it conveys much of Hua’s strategy toward learning. To students, reading a book always begins with thin pages; the more one reads, the thicker the pages one turns over. However, from thinness to thickness represents only one part of the learning process—going through a book. Of greater importance is how to feel that a book is getting thinner, which means that students understand the book so thoroughly that they can extract the essence of the thick book onto a thin piece of paper (informants no. 16 and 17). A self-made genius whose formal education was just junior high school plus one-year vocational school (BIOGRAPHIES [vol. 1]: 24; Wang Yuan 1994: 209), Hua summarized the philosophy of learning from his own experiences as well as Chinese culture so that he was able to convince those who heeded the metaphor (Schweigman and Zhang 1994: 40). The rocket scientist Qian Xuesen set up strict criteria for his students in research planning: Qian Xuesen instructed us to ask the following questions before initiating a project: What will I do, what will I not do? Why will I do this instead of that? Will there be any applicability of the proposed project? What results will I expect from the project—papers or others? If a project is conducted just for the sake of publication, Qian would not suggest pursuing it. Then we should make clear how others have 106

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approached the same problem and what their results have been; if others have obtained good results, Qian would not encourage us to pursue it either. In proposing a project, we should ask ourselves: Why can I do the research? Do I have any advantages? Only with all these questions answered did we consider how to conduct the research. (informant no. 41) For China’s basic scientists, pursuing first-rate research, and, especially, catapulting the nation into the ranks of the global scientific community has been their primary career goal. Although political turmoil in China has constrained their achievements, they have kept this vision and trained their students accordingly, hoping that their students could realize their unfulfilled dream. There is no doubt that the level of science in China as a whole is still far behind that in developed countries, but this has not prevented some Chinese scientists from achieving eminence internationally through “exploiting the niches” (zuan kongzi) in research (informant no. 73). A young physical chemist recalled: I remember a maxim by the mathematician Hua Luogeng when he taught me calculus at the University of Science and Technology of China in the 1960s. Hua said, if one adopts an advanced method in study, one could only reach a middle level goal; if one adopts a less advanced method, one could only reach a low level. That has guided my entire career. I have always applied the essence of this maxim to my research activity and tried to work on first-rate projects. My work on molecular local mode vibration has been known to the international community of spectroscopic chemistry, for which I was awarded the 1995 Thompson Memorial Prize, the top prize in the field. If I had not worked on first-rate topics, I might have still followed others and could not have achieved so much. (informant no. 58) That chemist was elected a CAS member in 1991 at the age of 45, quite an accomplishment for Chinese scientists that young. Following the norm of the international scientific community, Chinese scientists have greatly valued integrity in research. To Gao Jingde, the first Chinese to be awarded a doctoral degree from the former Soviet Union and a 1980 CAS member, integrity meant that his students should not exaggerate their research results: Regardless of theories or practical projects, Gao Jingde has taught us to be steadfast in our work. Otherwise, in his words, “the cloven hoof will be shown sooner or later.” (informant no. 34) Similarly, the engineering thermophysicist Wu Zhonghua never took credit for his students’ work by adding his name to any paper to which he had not contributed 107

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his ideas; the sequence of authors in joint papers was arranged according to the contributions to the paper, and he was conventionally the correspondence author, unless the research was “out” of his ideas (informant no. 14). He also insisted on paying attention to the quality of publications. One of his students recalled: Wu Zhonghua once proudly claimed that no one had ever pointed out an error in his publications because he had never rushed to publish. In 1962 when I improved his major work which earned him a second-class prize of China’s Natural Science Award in 1956, Wu at first thought the improvement to be impossible. Then he pigeonholed the paper for three years during which he not only tried to examine the result with different methods but also instructed his graduate students to examine the correctness of my method by different approaches. Finally, all testimonies proved my improvement correct so that Wu himself submitted the paper for me. He then suggested a new approach to me. (informant no. 14) Such “honest and upright” attitudes have shaped his students’ orientation toward scholarship and helped them launch successful careers. Two of them, including the one who improved his work, became CAS members in 1991 and 1995. Inspiration in scholarship Those students who have been under the direct or indirect advice of elite mentors might at first just admire their teachers. The more contact they have had with the mentors, the more they have benefited. To students, the benefits include the wisdom in choosing research projects and the manner of conducting them, which have, in turn, led the students to higher-quality scholarship. Here is an example of a plant physiologist: In the 1960s, I began to pay attention to the similarities, rather than just the differences, between animals and plants. I wondered whether a contractile protein is present in higher plants as it is in animals whose muscle contraction is caused by the interaction of a contractile protein— actomyosin and adenosine triphosphate (ATP). In doing experiments on the solutions extracted from tobacco and pumpkin plants, I found that the addition of ATP reduces the viscosity of the solutions which then rises again. The process could be repeated several times. That was the first evidence of the existence of a contractile protein in higher plants found through a biochemical method. The same finding was later discovered separately through the electronic microscope method. Why did I pursue the project? This is because of the legacy of my teachers’ teaching and scholarship, especially the broadness of their intellectual approaches. Tang Peisong, my graduate advisor, views himself 108

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broadly as a general biologist. I have been working with Lou Chenghou, who obtained his PhD from the University of Minnesota in 1939 and worked later at the University of London with Archibald V. Hill, a 1922 Nobel Prize winner. Tang’s interests include zoology, while Lou was a botanist by training and an expert on Darwin’s theory of evolution as well. By the way, Darwin in his later years also turned his interests to plants. (informant no. 31) Another plant physiologist worked with Yin Hongzhang, a 1938 Cal Tech PhD and a 1955 CAS member, from 1951 until Yin’s death in 1992. At first, the student was not interested in and not willing to work on photosynthesis, a field with a lot of potential. Like other great mentors, instead of persuading the student, Yin gave him patient and systematic guidance. Once the student started to conduct research, Yin further guided him to explore the basic mechanism, not just the physiology, of photosynthesis, and the photophosphorylation in particular, a topic interesting to Yin in the 1940s when he was a visiting professor at the University of Cambridge. The student testified: In 1954, when the American scientist Daniel Arnon found that chlorophyll could form ATP, elucidating the photosynthetic carbon cycle, Yin immediately noticed its significance and assigned other students and me to research on the topic. We published our first paper in 1956, and then closely followed the discovery of non-cycle photophosphorylation. Through carefully measuring the quantum requirement of photophosphorylation, we independently found in 1962 that the existence of “high energy intermediate” of phosphorylation is due to the difference in proton concentration. The American plant physiologist Peter Mitchell who hypothesized the concept of proton gradient was awarded the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine in 1978. Regardless of our awkward research facilities, we have been active in the research on photophosphorylation and had a position in the international community of photosynthesis.3 One of the reasons is that the foresighted Yin Hongzhang led us to the research frontier almost at the same time as scientists in other countries. He has made a difference in shaping first-class scholarship. (informant no. 6) A mathematician specializing in functional analysis has worked at the CAS Institute of Mathematics and then the Institute of Systems Science. CAS members Hua Luogeng, Wu Wenjun, Guan Zhaozhi, and Feng Kang (the latter two elected in 1980) have shaped his unique way of thinking and his scholarship: Guan Zhaozhi had a famous saying, “Hilbert space is actually twodimensional geometry,” which has actually become my motto, and from which I have developed various fundamental understandings of 109

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functional analysis, such as “a function is merely a vector with continuous variables,” “numerical solutions to linear differential equations come from the Pythagorean theorem.” I conclude that many results in functional analysis are a reproduction of two-dimensional geometry; or functional analysis does not aim to make mathematics more advanced, abstract, and complicated, but rather reducing it to its primary, simple, and easily understood format—high school geometry. Influenced by Guan Zhaozhi and Hua Luogeng, I have realized that principles of advanced mathematics could be fully understood only when their corresponding principles are found in high school mathematics. From this understanding, I have cultivated a habit of reducing the advanced, complicated problems into their most primary cases, and applied the approach in computing mathematics. I have worked on that since 1980. Such a way of thinking has also benefited from Wu Wenjun’s lecture style which always starts with the easiest example and Feng Kang’s approach toward research—keeping a distance from hot topics. (informant no. 17)

Educating students with “Merit” In most societies, a teacher’s role is to build a link between the accumulated knowledge of the past and the uncharted possibilities of the future. But a Chinese teacher has more to accomplish. In a sense, the role of a teacher is similar to that of a father, as one Chinese saying suggests, “a teacher for a day is regarded a father for a life time”4 or as verses in Three Character Classic, one of the most popular Chinese classics, point out, “To bring up children without educating them is a fault of the father. If teaching is not strict, the teacher neglects his duties” (cited in Wang Y. C. 1966: 8). A Chinese teacher is also required to be a role model of morals for his students, as another Chinese classic suggests: “It is only through the teacher that the Way is transmitted, learning imparted, and doubts dispelled” (Han Yü [803] 1960: 374). Here the “Way” (dao) means Confucian doctrines, norms, and values. Thus, the educational objective of a Chinese teacher, in addition to transmitting organized knowledge, is to give students a sense of right and wrong and to awaken in them a sense of mission toward their causes. Those Chinese elite scientists who were born before the twentieth century were imbued with traditional values by either their parents or sishu (a kind of private family school) teachers. They also learned from their own scientist mentors about how to be mentors. Upon becoming teachers themselves, therefore, they followed the same line to educate their students morally. In most instances, such an education has been imperceptibly imparted by the words and deeds of mentors. Educating students with merit means to nurture a kind of dedication to the scientific cause. Indeed, Chinese elite scientists have inherited a keen historical mission, a spirit, and a sense of responsibility as intellectuals and have instilled the 110

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same values into their students, who have had immense respect for their elite mentors because of their admiration for the dedication of the elite mentors. In the 1950s, when learning the languages of the Soviet Union was at its peak in China, many established, Western-trained scientists made great efforts to learn Russian, and amazingly some of them could read and translate Russian scientific literature eventually. Scientists engaged in the nuclear weapons program had stayed in the desert for many years before returning to urban cities, some suffering from serious illness. Moreover, one political campaign after another hurt Chinese scientists, but the elites never changed their devotion to scientific research. The following examples are some of the experiences the students had: In 1948, when I was a student at the University of Nanking ( Jinling), Dai Anbang (a 1931 chemistry PhD from Columbia and a 1980 CAS member) supervised my senior thesis. The experiment for the thesis was to turn soybeans into bean pastes through a high-temperature and highpressure process and then measure their viscosity. There were viscosity meters in the lab, but unfortunately no appropriate equipment to make the first step possible. Dai was just back from the United States, and brought back a pressure cooker. It was then an exotic cooking utensil to most Chinese, but Dai had no reluctance to take the cooker to the lab to let me use it in my experiment. (informant no. 63)

Fu Chengyi (a geophysicist with a PhD from Cal Tech and a 1957 CAS member) was the advisor of my senior thesis. He asked me to report ongoing research every Friday. I was supposed to be well prepared in advance and present on time so as to ensure efficiency. My thesis was about the WKB earthquake wave frequency. One of the major pieces of literature was in German, about which I had no knowledge. Fu assigned the reading on the first Friday. The following Friday, he handed me a black notebook in which he translated the original 40 or so page paper into English. Fu spent much time for a report of just a few minutes. (informant no. 53)

In order to acquire timely information in the international scientific community, Wu Zhengkai himself has subscribed to Physical Review Letter ever since his return to China in 1939, which has cost a significant portion of his modest salary. (informant no. 58) Zhang Dayu (a 1933 German doctorate and a 1957 CAS member) was my graduate advisor at the CAS Dalian Institute of Physical Chemistry. 111

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His influence has been most permanent. The greatest advice he gave me was that Chinese scientists should love their homeland and love science. In August 1986 when I was attending a conference in Beijing, I managed to find time to pay him a courtesy visit since he was in poor health. Zhang asked me why I was in Beijing, and I said that I was here for a conference. Zhang kept on asking the same question, thought that I came to pick him up to work, and he was ready to go, carrying a bag of books and other materials. (informant no. 54)

I am a graduate student of Xu Guangxian (a Columbia PhD and a 1980 CAS member) whose rigid pursuit of science has set up an example for me. He was trained as a quantum chemist. But for a long time, he had not been allowed to teach theoretical chemistry. So he worked on complex compound chemistry and its application in extraction and rare-earth elements as required by the nation. For various reasons, the repeated applications for the establishment of research institutes for rare-earth elements and later inorganic chemistry within Beijing University have not won support. But Xu has never said that he would give up as many senior scientists have done after experiencing the extreme political campaigns. He could not have done so without his love for science. (informant no. 70) The electrical engineer Gao Jingde not only gave his students academic guidance but also steered them toward a practical and realistic style of research, which is considered to be one of the qualities that an elite is supposed to possess. One of his students recalled: I was his graduate student in the 1960s. As an expert of electrical engineering, he attached importance to both theory and practice, and educated me to combine theory with practice. He instructed me not only to publish research papers on electrical power systems, but also to apply research results to such systems. In the 1980s, I carried out research on the non-linear optimal control of electrical power systems. I faced many obstacles and tougher challenges when the first experiment failed. Someone asked, given that no other countries in the world were working on the same problem at that time, why should China go ahead with that? Others gossiped that what I was doing was just to show off something unconventional or unorthodox. Having learned the situation, Gao told me, “No one should expect that a scientific research project succeeds in one shot, otherwise that could not be science. We should tolerate failures. But it is still too early to declare a failure. More important, there is no problem in your theory.” 112

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The research finally succeeded. If Gao had expressed otherwise, the research would have been all over, because if my mentor, who has a good reputation in both academia and industry, had not supported me, no company would have provided me with a site for further experiments. (informant no. 34) Thus, the mentor had exerted a decisive influence on his career, and by extension, on his becoming a CAS member in 1991. For, without the success of the research, he would have lost a piece of critical and highly weighted achievement in his credentials. He has not only been very grateful to the encouragement and support his mentor gave him when he desperately needed them, but also learned from the mentor the character of an elite scientist. One significant element in the process of students’ moral cultivation has been patriotism, or the love for China. Those attending Southwest Associated University have always remembered the extremely difficult living conditions there: frequent air raid, malnutrition, and inadequate classrooms, housing, and other facilities. But the excellent faculty at the university taught students not only knowledge but also patriotism that was gravely needed when China was in the war against the invaders. For both faculty members and students, the creation and maintenance of an atmosphere suitable for scholarship was a way to show their love for the nation (informant no. 30; Israle 1998). Since the establishment of the People’s Republic, patriotism has become a value shared by Chinese intellectuals who want their homeland to be more prosperous, richer, and stronger (Goldman and Cheek 1987: 12; White 1987: 253). The enthusiasm for patriotism reached its peak when China ruptured its relationship with the Soviets in the early 1960s and Chinese scientists were pressured for autarky to develop atomic bombs, missiles, and satellites (Zhang Jinfu 1999). The later-generation scientists have been also educated to be patriotic by their elite mentors who returned from abroad by breaking through one barrier after another when the People’s Republic was founded and who gave up their research in their established fields, working, instead, on projects assigned by the party-state. Such examples have helped foster the moral obligation among students, that is, to contribute their knowledge and wisdom to the motherland. A high-energy physicist recollected his memory about Wang Ganchang, a doctorate from Germany’s University of Berlin and the “father of China’s atomic bomb” in the late 1950s and the early 1960s: Wang Ganchang was deputy director of the Joint Nuclear Research Institute at Dubna, near Moscow. He did not pose as a big scientist although he had been a CAS member since 1955. Instead, he identified and worked with junior researchers and did not feel ashamed to learn from them. His salary was 5,000 rubles a month. Four years of work earned him quite a large amount of money which he surprisingly handed over to the government for overcoming economic difficulty after the Great Leap Forward. At that time, Wang Ganchang was an average 113

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scientist, not a party member yet.5 The broken relationship between China and the Soviet Union irritated the Chinese scientists at the institute who followed Wang to return to China, working on the nuclear weapons program themselves. (informant no. 18) “To be patriotic” had become the most important quality and the prerequisite of being an elite scientist in China in the 1990s. Elites do not favor those who have built their research bases abroad (informant no. 8) and were for the view that the advancement of Chinese science is dependent upon those scientists who work hard on Chinese soil (informant no. 35). For Chinese intellectuals, patriotism means to make contributions to the country in which they grow up and live, while the party requires that every Chinese citizen love his or her country, and by extension, the party-state. What should be stressed here is that the kind of overlap in patriotism does not necessarily mean that elite mentors have identified patriotism with the love for the party and tried to pass along the patriotism defined by the party to their students. Sometimes two kinds of patriotism seemed to work against each other. For example, some elites have especially objected to being asked to restrain their criticism and conform to a political consensus in the name of patriotism (Lee W. 1992: 38–9). The dissident physicist Fang Lizhi went to the extreme, arguing in 1989 before his CAS membership was deprived, “patriotism should not be our most important precept, our first principle,” and patriotism as defined by the party “is just an emotion that is constantly subject to political exploitation” (1999a; Ma S. 1998: 457) (see Chapter 9 for more discussion).

Summary and discussion Mentoring in the formation of the scientific elite in China is twofold. On the one hand, mentors have performed the role of teachers as in the case of the American scientific elite, educating their students in international elite science and imparting to them appropriate attitudes toward learning and scholarship; on the other hand, mentors have also made great efforts to transmit moral values to their students. This second aspect of mentoring might be neither as explicit as the responsibility of American elite mentors nor as important in comparison to their role of guiding students academically. But China’s scientists are obliged to educate their students to be human beings with “merit” before becoming elite scientists, which has made their type of mentoring unique. Being role models in academics as well as in morality has originated from China’s intellectual tradition. In the words of Fan Zhongyan, a scholar-official in the Song dynasty: “A scholar worries over the world before the world worries over itself; he is happy only after all mankind has achieved happiness” (cited in Wang Y. C. 1966: 9). Having experienced backwardness in science, education, and the economy and being old-fashioned teachers, China’s senior scientists felt strongly about making their homeland stronger and more prosperous and were willing to 114

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contribute their knowledge to achieving such a goal. For this reason, many of them abandoned affluent lives as well as bright careers abroad and returned to China soon after the establishment of the People’s Republic. Their suffering during the Cultural Revolution did not change their enthusiasm for science. They wanted their students to share and further their mission and to contribute to the country. That is why the cultivation of a patriotic spirit has been integrated with the transmission of scientific knowledge. Seniority means experience and prestige in Chinese culture, manifested through the manner in which Chinese deal with the elderly. Prestige may be exhibited through a great many behaviors, such as deference, obedience, gesture, terms of address, advice-asking, and so on. It also reflects the inequality between the aged and the young. As a matter of fact, veneration paid to the elderly in traditional Chinese society reached such a phenomenal state that it has often been referred to as one of the most prominent aspects of traditional China (Chou 1993: 189). Following the tradition, junior Chinese scientists have always respected the seniors and adopted a reserved attitude toward their teachers. Thus, mentoring might also have had a negative impact on Chinese scientists: students have seldom been taught to challenge their elite mentors so that most of them have not surpassed their mentors academically. Su Buqing, a mathematician with a doctorate from Japan and a 1955 CAS member, witnessed three of his students—Gu Chaohao, Hu Hesheng (Gu and Hu are husband and wife), and Li Daqian—being elected CAS members. Whilst proud that his students had surpassed him, Su also warned them sincerely about their not having turned out students who surpassed them (Zhao 1995: 8). Why has that happened? The story that Wu Zhonghua withheld the publications of his student for three years might provide an answer. The story told by the student was meant to show Wu’s seriousness about publications and scholarship and his intellectual vigor. However, another reading of it may show that the senior scientist suppressed the challenge from his student, while the student was afraid of further confronting the mentor. In other words, the mentor–student relationship based primarily on Chinese tradition—the respect of students for teachers—may have prevented students from pursuing independent and original scholarship. This is different from the ambivalence and conflict between American masters and apprentices where mentors may get improper credits for the contribution of apprentices (Zuckerman 1977: 138–43). This may also explain why scientists working in mainland China have never achieved a higher status in the international scientific community as measured by winning a Nobel Prize. The elusion of the Nobel Prize to Chinese has been attributed to the recurrence of political campaigns, insufficient research funding, and the lack of international scholarly exchange, among others. If the issue is examined from the viewpoint of the traditional Chinese teacher–student ties, the reason may lie in that Chinese mentors have rarely taught students the spirit of challenging their authority; or in the words of an ocean geologist, according to the Oriental tradition, the authority is like a “full stop” imposed in front of a later generation of scientists (informant no. 78). 115

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The issue of the mentor–student relations in China may be further rooted in the education and research systems. There were higher rates of inbreeding in China: outstanding students were more likely to be retained by their advisors once they finished formal education, and they seldom changed their danwei once they got in. For example, Su Buqing’s three students had been working with Su at Fudan University in Shanghai, except for a short period when Gu Chaohao served as president of the University of Science and Technology of China in Hefei, Anhui province. As noted, students have less freedom in selecting their mentors, and job assignments usually result in a lifetime commitment. Under the shadow of mentors, students probably are more aware of the presence and reputation of their mentors so that they hesitate to challenge the mentors. Once there is conflict between a student and a mentor, the student would have to face a difficult time because of the lack of possibility of job mobility. Also, because a mentor is respected like a father, challenging the mentor is considered to be similar to challenging the legitimacy of the father within a family, a value not accepted by Chinese tradition and society. The negative effects of society on the progress of science are the failing of such values as loyalty and solidarity characteristic of the Oriental intellectual tradition. A conversation between Yuan Tseh Lee, a Nobel laureate in chemistry of Chinese origin, and Wu Ta-you, Lee’s mentor and president emeritus of the Academia Sinica in Taiwan until his death in 2000, gives much food for thought. Wu claimed, “If Yuan Tseh Lee had been in Taiwan, he could not have won the Nobel Prize.” Lee himself acknowledged, “I have stayed in the US for 30 years and learned a lot. The most important thing I have learned is that every one is equal” (cited in Zhao 1995).6 Chen Ning Yang, another Nobel laureate of Chinese origin, also pointed out that the Chinese tradition would fetter creativity (Ning et al. 1989). Similarly, Japan, which shares aspects of China’s culture, has experienced the same problem. In the years following Japan’s defeat in the Second World War, Japanese scientists asserted that relatively little original work had been done in Japan because the “apprenticeship system” bound men to their seniors; the power of senior professors was a handicap to cooperative effect; and Japanese science had suffered from academic inbreeding (Bartholomew 1989: 1). Finally, although elite mentors have had a substantial influence on the career trajectories of their students, the efforts of the students themselves should not be neglected, because they are ultimately judged by what they have accomplished, rather than by where they were trained and whose students they were. As Yin Hongzhang, the Cal Tech-trained plant physiologist, advised one of his students: The role of a teacher is like that of a Buddhist master monk who is only responsible for leading a disciple into Buddhism. Understanding the essence of Buddhism depends on the hard work of the disciple himself. (informant no. 6)

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6 THE CHARACTERISTICS OF RESEARCH AND BECOMING ELITE

Chapters 4 and 5 described how the educational attainment and influence of mentors have affected the upward mobility of elite Chinese scientists. But achieving eminent status in science has much to do with the academic performance of scientists, which is one of the criteria of being a scientist (Zuckerman and Merton [1972] 1973: 501). This chapter will focus on the achievements of elite Chinese scientists to see whether and how their performance has been linked to their superior status. Traditionally, sociological studies of science have approached the issue by using such indicators as publications, citations, academic awards, and so on to quantify the achievements of a scientist and predict his or her chance to be recognized and rewarded (see, for example, Cole J. R. and Cole S. 1973). Unfortunately, several constraints limit the possibility of pursuing along this line. First, complete data on publications of Chinese scientists are not available. A curriculum vita with a publication list is something new in China. There were also publication interruptions. Scientists working on military research were not allowed to publish their results; well-known examples include the physicist Zhou Guangzhao, past CAS president and a 1980 CAS member, and the physicist Deng Jiaxian, also a 1980 CAS member, who had disappeared from the international community of physics for two decades because of their participation in the nuclear weapons program. Nonmilitary research scientists were also restricted from publishing in foreign journals for quite some time (Tsou 1998: 528). During the Cultural Revolution, many scientists even lost their rights to conduct research. Thus, it is difficult to assess the elites by their research productivity alone. Second, as an expert of mechanics observed: The use of The Science Citation Index (SCI) in the evaluation of Chinese scientists has experienced a historical evolution. Before China reopened to the world, Chinese scientists were not even aware of the existence of the SCI. In the 1980s, the scientific community began to notice its usage and role in the evaluation of the work of a scientist. Based on the understanding of the use of the SCI in the world, and the practice of the use of the SCI in China, the scientific community has reached a general 117

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consensus, that is, statistically, the SCI is better used in the comparison of research productivity at institutional level, rather than in the evaluation of individual scientists. The impact factors vary from discipline to discipline. (informant no. 45) Recently built citation databases of Chinese scientific publications are therefore at the level of institutions rather than of individual scientists.1 Third, a scientist makes his or her decision of publication in Chinese or other languages depending not only on the relevance of the particular research but also the training background and language ability of the scientist. For example, while biochemists who are engaged in basic research prefer to submit their papers to such internationally prestigious journals as Science and Nature, which have published a few papers by scientists working on Chinese soil, geologists working on earthquake in China may feel more comfortable publishing in Chinese journals. Liao Shantao, a Chicago PhD in mathematics and a 1991 CAS member, is said to have published his high-quality papers always either in Chinese or English in journals published in China (informant no. 36). Circulation of a paper in the Chinese or international scientific communities results in different citation patterns for not only individual scientists but also disciplines. China’s mathematicians, physicists, chemists, and scientists of other basic scientific disciplines have favored including citation statistics in performance evaluations and extended the approach to other fields. Earth scientists are also considering a frame of achievement indicators that may include citation data (informant no. 51). Fourth, academic awards in China sometimes have motives other than rewarding scientists for their achievements, although achievements have also been given significant weight. Awards could be politically motivated. Here is the example of the 1956 Natural Science Award, China’s first, where one of the first-class prizes went to the aeronautics scientist Qian Xuesen. According to the initial stipulation, awards would not consider works finished abroad. However, a special case was made to include Qian, who returned from the United States in 1955, as an awardee for his 1954 book, Engineering Cybernetics. Although measured by the quality, the work well deserved the award, one would speculate that the decision went beyond the award itself: using it to attract more returnees (Li Zhenzhen 1995). When they were restored after the Cultural Revolution, science awards carried a monetary incentive. CAS members interviewed between 1995 and 1997 frequently and surprisingly mentioned the unintended consequence of rewarding scientists—increasing their income and improving their living conditions, because awards themselves have monetary value and would entitle awardees other material benefits from the work unit (danwei) such as housing and promotion. Consequently, there were awards from the national, provincial, and ministerial down to individual danwei levels.2 On a few occasions, scientists were rewarded for projects that, upon announcement, their peers believed to be completely wrong (informant no. 44). More problematic is that awardees are not 118

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nominated by peers but applied for by the scientists themselves, although the evaluation is peer-reviewed. Several interviewees claimed to have never applied for any national science awards. Under these circumstances, it is hard to detect a causal relationship between being rewarded and becoming elites in China.3 Given these problems, the study had to examine academic achievements of China’s elite scientists from another angle—the characteristics of research in which scientists have been involved. In particular, it is going to compare three pairs of relationships—basic science versus applied science, military research versus civilian research, and “key” projects versus non-“key” projects.

Definitions of research There are diverse classifications of scientific research. On the one hand, research is categorized into two types, basic and applied; a third type would include development. As defined by the National Science Board of the United States, The objective of basic research is to gain more comprehensive knowledge or understanding of the subject under study without specific applications in mind. In industry, basic research is defined as research that advances scientific knowledge but does not have specific commercial objectives, although it may be in fields of present or potential interest. Applied research is aimed at gaining knowledge or understanding to meet a specific, recognized need. In industry, applied research includes investigations oriented to discovering new specific knowledge that have specific commercial objectives with respect to products, processes, or services. Development is the systematic use of the knowledge or understanding gained from research directed toward the production of useful materials, devices, systems, or methods, including the design and development of prototypes and processes. (2002 [Chapter 4]: 10, emphasis added) In other words, basic research is the quest for fundamental knowledge, regardless of the purpose to which it might be applied; as the quest for a new comprehension that is specifically directed toward making possible new development, applied research generally involves more technology than science. The two often tend to merge in this area. The development becomes the translation of existing knowledge into the hardware, gadgets, techniques, or new materials made by engineers. On the other hand, scientists have begun to see the long-standing distinction between “basic” science and “applied” science losing its purpose (Ziman 1994: 31). Instead, they are now talking about the concept of “generic” or “strategic” research. The idea is that the tactics of applying science for immediate, shortterm purposes need to be broadened into a more general strategy of undertaking more basic research with wide, long-term goals. Even in the finalized domain of 119

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science, it clearly makes good sense to foster open-ended research that is not directed toward achieving particular practical objectives. It is in this sense that there is increasing discussion of the “spin-on”—the use of technology for military purposes was first developed for civilian applications rather than the “spin-off ” of the other way only (Cohen 1996; Gummett and Reppy 1987; UK POST 1991). From the supply-and-demand viewpoint, scientific research could be driven by either discovering a potentially new scientific phenomenon (the discovery push) or fulfilling the demand for a new capability (the demand pull) (Holloway 1982: 288). In distinguishing basic research from applied research and development, it is obvious that basic research can be viewed as being pushed by the incentive of discovery, while applied research and development are pulled by the demand to achieve technically feasible innovation. The Chinese follow these conventional classifications of scientific research. According to China’s National Bureau of Statistics and the Ministry of Science and Technology: Research and development (R&D) are defined as the systematic and creative work in the areas of science and technology in order to increase the total amount of knowledge and to utilize the knowledge to initiate new applications. They include basic research, applied research, and development. Basic research is the experimental or theoretical work aimed mainly at obtaining basic principles of the new knowledge about phenomenon and observable facts—the revelation of the basics and laws of the nature and the acquisition of new discoveries and new theories—without targeting any specific or particular application or usage. Applied research is the creative work of obtaining new knowledge targeting a specific aim or goal. It is conducted to determine the possible applications of basic research results or explore new methods (principles) or new approaches to achieve a previously set goal. Development is the systematic work that applies the knowledge from basic research, applied research, and practical experiences to the production of new products, materials, and facilities, the establishment of new techniques, systems, and services, and the improvement of the elements mentioned above. (2002: 440, emphasis added)

Institutional location and division of labor As briefly mentioned in Chapter 1, China’s scientific and technological manpower is composed of five fronts (wu lu dajun): CAS-affiliated research institutes, institutions of higher education, research institutes under ministerial jurisdiction, military research establishment, and research institutes administered by provincial governments or enterprises. The difference in the location of an institution within 120

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the Chinese scientific community reflects the institutional division of labor for research—basic, applied, or development (Kühner 1984: 21–8). The mission of each institution was designated at the time of its establishment, usually by the party-state. The result was a rigid, hierarchical institutional structure of China’s research system. CAS institutes and “key” (zhongdian) universities are ostensibly the focal point for basic research or mission-oriented fundamental research ( yingyong jichu yanjiu). Scientists in these institutions in turn enjoy higher institutional prestige and academic laurels in the scientific community due to their participation in important, government-sponsored research projects with sufficient funding. For example, at one point, 75 percent of basic research funding, excluding the military sector, was spent within the CAS (Saich 1989b: 76). With the launching of the Knowledge Innovation Program in 1998, the CAS is expected to play a more significant role at the frontier of research (Cao 2002; Suttmeier and Cao 1999). Research institutes run by ministries and localities tend to engage in applied research and development, including engineering and design, dissemination and service, and production activities (Saich 1989b: 75–6; Simon 1983: 27). Research at ministerial and provincial institutes and non-“key” universities and colleges is usually assigned and funded by their respective administrative authorities. The division of labor in research work is, however, not entirely clear-cut (Saich 1989b: 75–6). CAS institutes are also important for carrying out applied and development research. One indication was that the implementation of the “one academy, two systems” policy in the late 1980s at the academy extended the function of the academy to high-tech development, and the Knowledge Innovation Program also reaffirmed such a role. Despite their main responsibility of solving R&D problems related to their respective sectors and contributing to the nation’s industrial and agricultural development, ministerial research institutions also have a substantial exposure to basic research. For example, the Chinese Academy of Medical Sciences under the Ministry of Health has put considerable stress on high-quality basic research that is as competent as the research by CAS scientists (Temin 1980; Wegman 1980). However, recent development indicates that most of the research institutions under the ministerial and provincial jurisdictions are undergoing a radical reform by turning themselves into enterprises or merging into other institutions and enterprises. In addition, the institutional division of labor does not necessarily mean the mutual exclusion of one front from the other in terms of the characteristics of research. The nation’s big science programs have always mobilized the entire scientific community to respond. Sometimes, the affiliation of an institution or an individual scientist could be reassigned accordingly. For example, the CAS Institute of Modern Physics was a basic science establishment when it was founded in 1950 and retained the status when it evolved into the Institute of Physics in 1953. But when the nation embarked on its nuclear weapons program in 1956, this institute was turned into the Institute of Atomic Energy, jointly administered by the CAS and the Second Ministry of Machine Building (atomic energy). Later, apart from those scientists who still work on nuclear science at the Chinese 121

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Academy of Atomic Energy, based on the Institute of Atomic Energy (Li Jue et al. 1987: 363 and 559), others were transferred to the Institute of High Energy Physics, founded in 1973, or to the Institute of Theoretical Physics, founded in 1980, both CAS affiliates. The change in the institutional affiliations of scientists was more significant given the very low job mobility in China, initiated either by an individual or by a danwei. In general, CAS institutes and “key” universities are located at the basic end of China’s science spectrum, with the regional institutions and industrial enterprise research labs at the other end—applied research and development, with ministerial and military institutions somewhere in between. That is to say, despite a not so accurate and precise indication, the institutional affiliation of a scientist in most instances characterizes approximately the research projects that he or she works on. Then, what has been the chance of a scientist becoming an elite from the institutional division of labor point of view? In order to answer this question, the study examines the institutional affiliation of a CAS member at election (Table 6.1). Basic science versus applied science China has a strong tradition of applied research. Four great inventions in the Chinese history—gunpowder, the compass, papermaking, and movable type printing—were made by sophisticated craftsmen for practical purposes Table 6.1 Institutional affiliations of CAS members at elections CAS institutes By Year of Elections 1955–57 1980 1991 1993 1995 1997 1999 2001 By Academic Divisions Math and Physics Chemistry Life Sciences Earth Sciences Technological Sciences Total %

Government affiliated institutions

Universities

Military institutions

Local institutions

Total

69 109 81 20 23 25 25 22

38 50 30 7 8 5 1 0

69 82 65 24 23 23 22 27

5 39 31 7 5 5 7 7

9 3 3 1 0 0 0 0

190 283 210 59 59 58 55 56

86 60 94 69 65

1 13 31 55 39

60 77 64 47 87

27 7 12 3 57

0 0 9 1 6

174 157 210 175 254

374 38.6

139 14.3

335 34.5

106 10.9

16 1.6

970

Source: Same as Table 4.1.

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(Hao 2002; Needham 1969: 64–76). Various areas of applied science—from the sky for astronomy and astrology to the bodies of humans and animals for medicine—constituted “a very different demarcation from that of modern science” (Sivin 1980: 7). It was not until the return of the foreign-trained Chinese scientists around the turn of the twentieth century that the knowledge of basic research was brought home and the importance of basic research paid attention to. When the communists took over power in 1949, the government announced applied research as its priority in scientific development and the scientific community devoted its efforts to solving various problems that the nation faced. That has not changed. In 1993, for example, Zhu Lilan, then deputy commissioner of the State Science and Technology Commission, pointed out, “the development of science and technology as a whole is featured by the trend of applying research achievement. It is clearly manifested in the three categories of basic research, R&D and R&P. R&D is important; R&P is even more important” (1993: 7; P here refers to production). That is, Chinese science has attached, and will continue to attach, its importance to applied research. In 2001, for example, 16.9 percent of China’s research and development expenditure went to applied research, 78.1 percent to development, while only 5.0 percent was allocated to basic research (in terms of personnel 8.2, 23.6, and 68.1 percent in basic research, applied research, and development respectively) (NBS and MOST 2002: 5 and 7). The recently initiated State Key Basic Research and Development Program (973 Program) also mainly targets the nation’s problems in population and health, agriculture, information, energy, materials, and resources and the environment (Cao 2002; Suttmeier and Cao 1999). With attention from the political leadership, a clear mission, and in turn sufficient research funding, scientists from applied research and development institutions are supposed to make much progress in their careers. If this logic holds, one may expect that scientists from applied research and development institutions would be well represented among the elite membership, namely, more CAS members would be elected from non-CAS institutes and non-“key” universities, from ministerial, military, and regional sectors whose focus is on applied research and development. In fact, more CAS members have been elected from the academy itself and institutions of higher education than from ministerial, military, and regional research establishments. In this regard there has been a consistent pattern throughout the CAS membership elections and across academic disciplines. Each election has witnessed more elite scientists elected from CAS institutes and universities, which together have contributed almost three-quarters (709) of the CAS members. In contrast, 139 (14.3 percent) CAS members have come from research institutes under ministerial jurisdiction, while the share of regional research institutes is less than 2 percent. Scientists affiliated with CAS institutes and universities have dominated various academic divisions as well. The Division of Technological Sciences, with 254 (26.2 percent of the total) CAS members elected thus far, is the largest among five 123

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divisions. Given its coverage of various applied disciplines from mechanical engineering, to electrical engineering, computer science, and architecture, scientists elected would be more likely to be involved in applied research and development work, relative to those elected to other divisions whose research is more basicoriented. However, only 6 (2.4 percent) scientists in that division have been researchers at enterprises. When these technologists were elected, 87 (34.3 percent) were affiliated to universities, 65 (25.6 percent) worked at CAS institutes, whereas ministerial and military institutions combined to contribute 96 (37.8 percent) elite scientists. The findings seem to contradict the “application-orientation” image of Chinese science, or, at least the formation of China’s scientific elite does not reflect such an image. It is true that although China follows the conventional definitions of research, scientists from CAS institutes and universities may have been actually working on applied, rather than basic, research projects, because many such projects carried out in China may be applied if the Western standard of science is used. A case in point is the State Basic Research and Development Program— basic research in name but mission-oriented in nature. However, it is also true that research conducted at the CAS and universities is oriented more toward the basic science end of the research spectrum than that of ministerial institutions and industrial enterprises.4 Various reasons can be put forward for the extreme imbalance between scientists of basic research and applied research and development among China’s elite scientists as measured by their institutional affiliations. For one thing, as indicated in Chapter 4, a significant number of early-cohort CAS members (in 1955, 1957, and 1980) received education abroad and had been exposed to basic research before returning to China. In the post-1949 period, however, they had to engage in applied research projects assigned by the party-state or perform tasks that could not give their expertise full play. But these senior scientists never gave up the norms of international elite science that they acquired abroad and applied such norms in the training of their students and the evaluation of the performances of their peers, expecting them to live up to the same high standards of scholarship and integrity that their own careers exemplified. They were also concerned about pushing Chinese science into the research frontier of the world and gaining recognition in the international arena by selecting the kind of topics that are fascinating the international scientific community (Saich 1989b: 16). As for the younger generation, studying and working abroad after China launched the reform and open door policy in the late 1970s have also opened their eyes to how scientific research is conducted. Because of their involvement in the elections of new members, these scientists have been more likely to choose those who met higher academic criteria. Similar to the West where elites have been chosen mostly from the institutions of high prestige (see, for example, Boffey [1975], for the case of the US NAS), the Chinese scientific elite has also been formed by those from prestigious institutions. This may explain, from another angle, why the government blamed the lack of affinity between research and the economy in Chinese 124

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science and the failure of Chinese scientists in tackling practical production problems, in addition to attaching importance to applied research and development (Simon 1983: 29; Suttmeier 1989). Military research versus civilian research The development of nuclear weapons, missiles, space, and other military technologies in China has demonstrated that the nation has a core of scientific and engineering talent. As a major employer of scientific manpower, the military research sector in the early 1990s attracted a total of 460,000 scientific personnel from 1,615 institutions, including CAS research institutes, universities, and ministerial research institutes, in its 30-plus-year operation; the participants in the intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBM) program alone numbered 35,400 (Xie G. 1992 [vol. 2]: 498). Military research has also absorbed a fairly significant amount of funding. In 1993, for example, RMB6.4 billion, or 32.7 percent of China’s total research and development expenditure (civilian plus military) (RMB19.6 billion), was spent on military research (Shaoguang Wang 1996: 896–9).5 Considering the size of China’s total scientific manpower and financial bases, these are extraordinarily high, subsequently testifying to both the importance of these programs and the degree to which resources have been reallocated from other initiatives to make the defense research effort possible. More significant is the appreciably higher quality of China’s scientific and technical personnel devoted to military research who have in turn contributed to the impressive progress of these programs (Frieman 1989). With the support and commitment from the political leadership, the access to the nation’s best scientific talent, the priority allocation of scarce and critical resources, and more and better equipment, especially sophisticated instrumentation and testing equipment, China’s military research sector has an obvious advantage over its civilian counterpart (Frieman 1989: 265; Simon 1983: 26). Nevertheless, too much emphasis on the military sector has resulted in one of the enigmas of China’s development after 1949; that is, in sharp contrast with military research, the general level of technology in Chinese industry and the quality of Chinese science at universities and research institutes remained at a consistently low level between the mid-1950s and the mid-1980s (Frieman 1989: 251). One explanation might be that the relatively advanced status of China’s military research was at the expense of the underdevelopment of civilian research. As a 1955 CAS member indicated, during most of post-1949 China, only funding for defense-related research was guaranteed to some extent, while that for other research was scarce (informant no. 4). Although military research has been given special attention and support, the conventional wisdom about the superiority of military research over civilian research in China seems not to apply to the formation of the scientific elite in China. Ironically, if only those directly employed by China’s military or national defense sector are taken into account, military scientists have had a very small 125

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share among CAS members: 104 or slightly more than 10 percent (see Table 6.1).6 Taking a closer look, one will find that those elites have been mainly from the nuclear weapons and missiles and satellites (liangdan yixing) programs, and that rewarding scientists of military research with the elite status peaked in the 1980 and 1991 elections (Table 6.2). Of the CAS members elected from military institutions in 1980, seventeen participated in the nuclear weapons program; and in 1991, 9 more nuclear weapons scientists became CAS members (Feigenbaum 1997: 384). In addition, a total of seventeen scientists elected from military institutions were participants of the missiles and satellites program. But by only considering institutional affiliations, one gets a ratio of about 8 : 1 civilian to military scientists among CAS members (864 versus 106). This to some extent undermines the importance of the military research sector in Chinese science, because in the above analysis, the determination of the characteristics of scientists’ research, military or civilian, is their affiliations at elections and does not count those scientists involved in military research but changed their affiliations before or after their becoming CAS members. For example, when they were appointed CAS members in 1955, Qian Sanqiang, Wang Ganchang, and Peng Huanwu were affiliated with the CAS Institute of Modern Physics, a civilian research institute. Later, the nuclear weapons program had its inception at that institute whose affiliation was in turn changed from the CAS to the Second Ministry of Machine Building (atomic energy). The same applies for Qian Xuesen, an aeronautics and rocket scientist, who worked at the CAS Institute of Mechanics when he became a CAS member in 1957, but later supervised the missiles and satellites program. In 1968, a spin-off of this CAS institute became the Chinese Academy of Space Technology, then under the Seventh Ministry of Machine Table 6.2 Military research programs and CAS members (I) Year of CAS membership election

Academic Divisions

1980

Mathematics and Physics Chemistry Biological Sciences Earth Sciences Technological Sciences Subtotal Mathematics and Physics Chemistry Biological Sciences Earth Sciences Technological Sciences Subtotal Total

1991

Nuclear weapons program 9 4 0 1 3 17 5 2 0 0 1 9 26

Source: Same as Table 4.1.

126

Missiles and satellites program

Other programs

Total

1 0 0 0 5 6 1 0 0 0 5 5 11

2 1 4 0 9 16 2 0 3 0 12 17 33

12 5 4 1 17 39 8 2 3 0 18 31 70

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Building (space); the academy now houses the key research institutes of the ICBM and satellite program (Frieman 1989: 255–6). In addition, some scientists who used to work at military institutions moved to civilian research institutions when they were elected as CAS members. For example, Li Lin and He Zuoxiu participated in the nuclear weapons program, but were affiliated with the CAS when they became CAS members in 1980. The broader measurement, therefore, is to take into consideration those scientists who are otherwise excluded from the military research category (Shaoguang Wang 1996: 892). Of the 15 scientists identified by Lewis and Xue to be responsible for developing China’s atomic bombs (1988: 247–9), 11 have become CAS members: Wang Ganchang (responsible for explosive physics, appointed in 1955), Peng Huanwu (theoretical design, 1955), Guo Yonghuai (configuration design, 1957), Deng Jiaxian (theoretical design, elected in 1980), Zhou Guangzhao (theoretical design, 1980), Zhu Guangya (nuclear physics, 1980), Chen Nengkuan (explosive physics, 1980), Yu Min (theoretical design, 1980), Cao Benxi (nuclear chemistry, 1980), Wu Zhengkai (nuclear chemistry, 1980), and Jiang Shengjie (nuclear chemistry, 1991). It should be noticed that the Lewis and Xue statistics has some contradictions. For one thing, Qian Sanqiang, a CAS member appointed in 1955 overseeing the scientific research on the atomic bomb program, is under the “Administrative Officials” rather than the “Scientists” category, which is probably based upon his capacity as the deputy minister of the Second Ministry of Machine Building (Lewis and Xue 1988: 249).7 Of the twenty-three most important contributors to the liangdan yixing program honored by the state in 1999, on the nuclear weapons side, Cheng Kaijia (1980) and Wu Ziliang (physics and metallurgy, 1980) are included, but not Cao Benxi, Wu Zhengkai, and Jiang Shengjie. Similarly, on the missiles and satellites side, the most important contributors Zhao Jiuzhang (meteorology and space physics, 1955), Qian Xueshen, and Wang Daheng (applied optics, 1955) would be included by using the military research participation definition, along with Yang Jiachi (automation, 1980), Ren Xinmin (rocket engine, 1980), Chen Fangyun (radio electronics, 1980), Tu Shou’e (rocketry, 1991), Huang Weilu (automation, 1991), Sun Jiadong (rocketry, 1991), and Wang Xiji (recovery technology, 1993). Further examination concludes that those who became CAS members in the 1950s—Qian Sanqiang, Wang Ganchang, Peng Huanwu, Guo Yonghuai, Zhao Jiuzhang, Qian Xuesen, and Wang Daheng—were leaders of the liangdan yixing programs, although some also conducted the research themselves, while those added to the elite rank in the later cohorts were mainly participants in the forefront. A broader definition of military research also refers to chemistry, engineering, mathematics, or physics research directed at the development or improvement of weapons or military support equipment (Frieman 1989: 251, fn). It is only fair to include all scientists who have taken part in military research in one way or other during their career. Often many scientific and technological advances in the civilian aeronautical, shipbuilding, metallurgy, electronics, computer, nuclear, space, biological, and chemical fields carrying significant military applications are not 127

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targeted for civilian uses; they are in fact initiated by military request. More important, the military research sector is also dependent on the endeavors of civilian scientists to provide spin-on technologies (Cliff 2001). Complete, credible, and accurate data on individual scientists who have participated in military research are difficult to collect due to the sensitive nature of such research. As a compromise and an approximation, the work uses whatever data available to further investigate the elite scientists’ involvement in military research (Table 6.3). More than one-quarter (225 out of 970) of CAS members have engaged in military-related research during some stage or other of their career. Such a number still seems to be insignificant considering the attention paid to the military or national defense research by China’s political leadership, and the pool and quality of scientists devoted to these programs. This somewhat distorted role of elite military researchers in China might be attributed to the incomplete data. However, the liangdan yixing programs are no longer secrets with major figures having been disclosed, and credible official history published. Among the 225 CAS members with military research exposure, 78 (34.7 percent) and 46 (20.4 percent) scientists were related to these programs. The fact may imply that the liangdan yixing programs were the “crown jewelry” of China’s military research, representing its national pride and military might. With all the “key” contributors to the famous programs recognized and rewarded, therefore, there seems to be no reason to suspect the accuracy and completeness of the data on the scientists working on other programs of military priority. That is, the number may be very much closer to that of elite scientists who have participated in military research. The party-state definitely wants to use the honorific title to show the appreciation to the service of military scientists. As indicated in Chapter 3, in the 1980 election, because the liangdan yixing programs were still classified, several important contributors failed to be elected so that the relevant ministers complained. The fact itself suggests that CAS members who evaluate candidates for the membership pay more attention to academic excellence than to the importance of the national defense research in which these scientists have engaged. Those CAS members with only civilian research experience would require their military peers to possess similar academic qualifications. The significance of an atomic bomb or missile could be easily understood by laymen as well as the elites. However, as long as the evidence of academic profoundness of military scientists is not available for evaluation, these scientists could lose an election. That is to say, the exposure of Chinese scientists to military research does not automatically warrant their being qualified for the elite membership. Meanwhile, scientists who have achieved in civilian research still have their chance to be admitted to the elite rank. Elections since 1991 have been so rigorous in taking into account the academic criteria rather than the political loyalty to the party so that the elites with the domination of civilian scientists have given candidates’ achievements in military research fair assessments. As a result, recent elections have seen an overall low percentage of scientists with military research experience. 128

Table 6.3 Military research programs and CAS members (II) Year of CAS Institutional affiliation membership election

Nuclear weapons program

Missiles and satellites program

Other Total programs

1955–57

14 4 0 0 19 0 0 17 6 2 0 8 0 0 1 3 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 1 41 6 1 30 78

6 0 0 1 6 0 3 6 5 1 1 6 0 1 0 2 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 3 1 0 0 2 19 2 4 21 46

0 2 2 4 9 3 2 16 6 4 0 17 4 2 1 2 1 2 0 5 4 2 0 4 0 1 0 3 1 0 0 4 25 16 5 55 101

1980

1991

1993

1995

1997

1999

2001

Subtotal

CAS Affiliated Institutes Institutions of Higher Education Research Institutes under Ministries Military Institutions CAS Affiliated Institutes Institutions of Higher Education Research Institutes under Ministries Military Institutions CAS Affiliated Institutes Institutions of Higher Education Research Institutes under Ministries Military Institutions CAS Affiliated Institutes Institutions of Higher Education Research Institutes under Ministries Military Institutions CAS Affiliated Institutes Institutions of Higher Education Research Institutes under Ministries Military Institutions CAS Affiliated Institutes Institutions of Higher Education Research Institutes under Ministries Military Institutions CAS Affiliated Institutes Institutions of Higher Education Research Institutes under Ministries Military Institutions CAS Affiliated Institutes Institutions of Higher Education Research Institutes under Ministries Military Institutions CAS Affiliated Institutes Institutions of Higher Education Research Institutes under Ministries Military Institutions

Total Source: Same as Table 4.1.

20 6 2 5 34 3 5 39 17 7 1 31 4 3 2 7 2 2 0 5 5 2 0 5 1 1 0 7 2 0 0 7 85 24 10 106 225

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“Key” projects versus non-“key” projects Research with priority imposes both an opportunity and a risk on a nation with great scientific ambitions but limited resources. A reasonable choice of a few priority fields would rapidly advance the nation’s scientific and technological levels without wasting resources. However, research with priority may require large, cutting-edge scientific facilities for some disciplines, which in turn can soak up pools of money that might be better spent on a larger number of projects with more direct impact on the nation’s economy. Furthermore, choosing between competing priority projects also sets different scientific factions against each other. That is exactly the situation the Chinese leadership and scientists have faced in deciding which projects were to be given extraordinary attention. As Mao Zedong once acknowledged, since Chinese economy is backward and China is materially weak, “we have been unable to take much initiative” in planning the national economy as well as scientific development ([1958] 1970: 63). Since the founding of the People’s Republic, the Chinese leadership has always used the strategy of waging wars planning scientific development. China’s science programs have usually been dominated by politically motivated “key” (zhongdian), or priority, projects. The construction of an atomic bomb was the most important project of the twelve-year science program formulated in 1956. Thus, strong political muscle from the leadership has guaranteed the aid of “key” projects requiring the mobilization and orchestration of institutions and scientific manpower that otherwise would not cooperate. However, the emphasis on this does not mean that scientists have been excluded from the decision-making process. Rather, when the party-state came up with a political goal, it was the scientific community that had been mobilized to make the goal achievable and finally achieved the goal. Recently, the scientific community has been taking a more active role in decision-making with regard to scientific research, as shown in such cases as the State High-Tech Research and Development Program (863 Program) and the State Key Basic Research and Development Program (973 Program). The success of the “key” programs and projects has depended upon the efforts of China’s most brilliant scientific minds. The development of the liangdan yixing programs from the late 1950s onward is an obvious example of the nationwide mobilization of human, financial, and material resources. A recent example is the Beijing Electrons–Positrons Collider (BEPC) project. As noted in Chapter 2, because of the extreme support from leadership, especially Deng Xiaoping, the BEPC became the nation’s “key” science as well as construction project and it was therefore shown the “green light.” One high-energy physicist was called back in the middle of his visit to Europe to lead the project (informant no. 18); physicists and other scientists were sent abroad to learn the construction and operation of a modern accelerator; and everything the BEPC needed was delivered without delay. Consequently, the BEPC was completed on time. Here, Suttmeier’s argument that “China has the institutional capacity to mobilize

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the talents and the material resources required to achieve high-priority national-security objectives” is applicable to the discussion on “key” civilian research projects as well (1989a: 377, emphasis original). In turn, those scientists working on “key” projects might have an advantage in their careers, compared with their peers working on non“key” projects that are usually initiated by individual scientists. For example, four scientists from this relatively small field of high-energy physics have become CAS members: Fang Shouxian and Xian Dingchang in 1991, Li Tipei in 1997, and Zhang Zhongye in 1999. Then, what is the general relationship between the involvement of a scientist in “key” projects and his or her achieving an eminent status? First, perhaps almost all of the CAS members have been involved in “key” projects one way or other to fulfill a moral obligation to the country—making it stronger and more prosperous. Moreover, the political environment before the late 1970s hardly allowed Chinese scientists to select projects of their choice to work on; they had to carry out whatever projects assigned, “key” or non-“key.” Only after the establishment of the science funding system in China have scientists finally had the freedom and opportunity to pursue research of their own interests. However, even projects supported by the National Natural Science Foundation of China (NSFC) are divided into general, key, and major (mianshang, zhongdian, zhongda) categories according to the importance of the projects and hence receive significantly different levels of funding. Participation in “key” projects would advance the scientists’ career, because these projects are not only better supported but also more likely to get publicity and visibility in the scientific community. Sometimes, the political goals of the party-state overlapped the interests of scientists and the requirement for the disciplinary development, as in the case of biochemistry between the 1960s and the 1980s when Chinese synthesized insulin, conducted structural analysis of the insulin, and synthesized yeast alanine t-RNA, which was quite an accomplishment in that these projects were carried out virtually unimpeded by the interference of the Cultural Revolution (Temin 1980; see also Chapter 2). Second, the chances to work on “key” projects varied among scientists. For those who became CAS members between 1955 and 1980, it was mandatory to take part in “key” science projects. Recently elected elite scientists have had more freedom to choose research projects themselves, many being small and non-“key” projects, or at least at the beginning. For example, in the mid-1980s, the physicist Zhao Zhongxian and his associates noticed an active research frontier in condensed-state physics—high temperature superconductivity. With a seed grant of RMB100,000 from the NSFC, they started exploring the field and finally made a breakthrough. The research later became a “key” project, and was subsequently funded by the NSFC, while Zhao, the initiator of the project, was elected a CAS member in 1991 (Zhao 1996). Third, China’s elite scientists have engaged in both “key” projects assigned by the government and projects of their own interests during different periods of their career. For example, those scientists who contributed to the development of 131

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China’s nuclear weapons were not trained to make atomic bombs. They made disciplinary migration, say from nuclear, particle, and theoretical physics to the study of the mechanism of atomic bombs, from geology to the survey of uranium minerals, and from chemistry to the separation and extraction of uranium. As military “key” projects no longer occupied the most important position, some of the scientists had moved back to their original fields, pursuing projects in areas they were trained and of their own interests. For example, Zhou Guangzhao who was responsible for the theoretical design of the atomic bomb joined the CAS Institute of Theoretical Physics in the 1980s, whose elected foreign associate of the US NAS in 1987 was apparently not due to his contributions to China’s nuclear weapons program. He Zuoxiu and Li Lin, two participants of the nuclear weapons research, returned to theoretical physics and high-temperature superconductivity respectively. Fourth, “key” projects are not necessarily the ones with theoretical significances and implications, although they were said to promote “missions-led disciplinary development” (renwu dai xueke). The twelve-year science program included such “key” projects as the automation of production process and precision instrument, and the application of chemical, mechanical, and electrical technology to agriculture (Wu Heng 1994: 164–5). Such projects could hardly advance the disciplines academically and be of interest to scientists with theoretical orientation. Thus, while working on assigned “key” projects, some of the scientists may use the official approved projects as “covers” for work of interest to them (informant no. 70; Suttmeier 1987: 127). That may have been more so after China reopened its door in the late 1970s. Fifth, while physical scientists between the 1950s and 1970s were more likely to participate in “key” military projects which were first motivated by political goals, biological scientists tended to be involved in “key” projects that were usually chosen by scientists themselves from the perspective of disciplinary development. The 1956 twelve-year science program ambitiously targeted almost the entire scientific spectrum, and this encompassing program was surprisingly fulfilled in seven years. In the late 1970s, several science programs failed due to their overestimation of the support from the national economy. Most recently, various science programs have still dominated the landscape of Chinese science. Finally, for some scientists, their most important achievements may not have been from “key” projects. For example, the physicist Wang Ganchang is best known for his contributions to the atomic bomb project, but he himself claimed that he was most satisfied with the research on inertia-controlled laser fusion. He recalled: I myself am relatively pleased with the concept I suggested in 1964, that is, to use laser to produce neutrons from deuteron nuclei. At that time, this was a completely new concept, which has later led to research on inertia controlled nuclear fusion. Once the nuclear fusion is achieved in this way, it is possible for human beings to solve the energy problem forever. (NOTES 20) 132

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Although inertia-controlled laser fusion became a “key” project later, its initiation was very different from that of the atomic bomb project. In terms of academic significance, the construction of an atomic bomb in China was to replicate a known theory by applying an unknown strategy, while the research on inertia-controlled laser fusion represented a new theoretical breakthrough. This might be what Wang Ganchang implied some thirty years later. Several interviewed CAS members made the similar point: My projects all came from my own ideas, though they were supported by the government. (informant no. 3) My research has been supported by the NSFC. The projects belonged to the “general” category, which means that the level of support is the lowest at the NSFC. In contrast to big science projects that are more likely to limit my creativity because of various constraints of the projects, small projects made innovative thinking possible. (informant no. 55) What I have done has been technological research. No money is available for big projects, and I have chosen what to do and what not to do. Small projects do not need much money, and I could do whatever I want to do. Many research projects have been out of my own interests. (informant no. 14) In short, non-“key” projects have given Chinese scientists more freedom and less restriction to approach the projects. As a result, scientists could be less concerned about adjusting the specific goals of projects and be more likely to make progress in their fields, which is in turn acknowledged by their peers.

Summary and discussion This chapter has discussed the relationship between the characteristics of the research in which scientists have been involved and their becoming CAS members. It has revealed that China’s elite scientists have been more likely to be elected from the fields of basic science and civilian research. It strongly contradicts the conventional image of Chinese science that has not only been oriented to but also concentrated its resources and efforts on applied and military research. This is because the elites in China, similar to their counterparts elsewhere, have been mainly composed of scientists in fields of basic research. In addition, the scientific development has its own trajectory to follow, that is, basic research, as the most important first step, can lay the foundations for applied research and development work. The external force, including the interference of the party-state, could not reverse the internal course of scientific development. The extent to 133

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which military scientists have been underrepresented relative to the support their military research received is probably due to the difficulty in evaluating their academic achievements given the secret nature of the research. As the nuclear weapons and missiles and satellites programs were easier to comprehend than other defense-related programs and unclassified first, most of the key figures have been rewarded with the elite membership. More civilian scientists among the elite may have reinforced candidate evaluations to be merit-based and further restricted the addition of military scientists (see Chapter 8 for more discussion on the CAS membership elections). That scientific development follows its own trajectory has found another example in the chapter. In post-1949 China, scientists worked on “key” projects, many being politically motivated. Despite having sufficient support in human, financial, and material resources for “key” projects, scientists preferred working on projects that were self-selected and made more sense to disciplinary development. Under the circumstances where they could not freely decide on projects of interest to them, some of them used the government-sponsored research as cover-up and pursued projects of their own whenever possible. With the gradual improvement of the research environment in China, scientists finally have more freedom and autonomy in proposing and working on their own projects. This chapter has implicitly indicated the strong effect of work units (danwei ) where scientists have worked on their becoming elites. It seems to be that those scientists affiliated with prestigious institutions are more likely to join the elite group. Research on American universities has suggested that scientists at prestigious university departments tend to be more productive than their counterparts at lower-ranking departments. There are several explanations to this institutional effect. The “selection hypothesis,” based on the Mertonian norm of universalism, assumes that the association between productivity and departmental prestige occurs because better departments are more successful in recruiting and retaining productive faculty members. The “department effects hypothesis,” on the other hand, holds that better departments are able to encourage and facilitate knowledge production of their members through providing facilities, intellectual stimulation, and motivation (Allison and Long 1990: 469–70). However, these explanations might not be completely applicable to the Chinese case. First, selection in China, as discussed in Chapter 5, happened when students entered and graduated from colleges or graduate schools. The scores that students received in college or graduate school entrance examinations arbitrarily determined the career paths of the students: those who scored higher in the examinations were picked up by prestigious institutions and those who performed well during their studies were then retained where they were educated, or assigned to other prestigious institutions after their graduation; while students who had the same or higher level of talents but were not good at test-taking had to enter less prestigious colleges, and even if they did well there, their career prospects were not so bright. At the early stage, students may not fully show their talents, let 134

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alone their research productivity; but their destinations were thus decided through job assignment, rather than the selection between institutions and students. That is to say, the selection in China recruited future scientists according to examination scores, or sometimes by chance. Such a process was different from that in the West where the selection is mutual, occurs at different stages of a scientist’s career, and takes the research productivity of a scientist into account. In short, the causal relationship in which better departments recruit scientists with high research productivity may not be applicable to China. Second, what prevailed in most of the history of post-1949 China was the low level of job mobility, which prevented scientists from getting transferred from one institution to another, either upward or downward. Thus, those who were first assigned to lower-ranking institutions but later proved to be highly productive had no chance to make another selection, while those working at prestigious institutions would continue to occupy the positions even if their performance was not consistent or satisfactory. In addition, difference in prestige among danwei made no difference in salary and benefits, which was for scientists, a further disincentive to make efforts in research. Third, as in the West, department effects do exist at China’s prestigious institutions. But such effects are not necessarily institutionally driven. Rather, they exist because scientists at prestigious institutions have access to first-rate research facilities, have adequate support from the government, and therefore are more likely to work on “key” research projects assigned by the government. The advantages of affiliating with better institutions, along with the exposure of scientists working there to a community of Chinese scientists with excellent caliber and scientists worldwide, let them have a head start. Of course, talented and diligent scientists are more likely to make rapid progress in their research. With the recent introduction of the international norm of science and education, a mutual selection between graduates from higher education institutions and prospective employers has been gradually in place. In the meantime, it is possible for scientists to select institutions where they want to work and be recruited to work at later stages of their career. CAS members to be elected in the future may display a different pattern from their peers.

135

7 “RED” OR “EXPERT”

Factors other than academic achievements are not supposed to come into play when scientists are evaluated and promoted. In communist China, however, political factors inevitably have a role in such decisions. The distribution of rewards in accordance with political virtue becomes a central element in the communist leaders’ strategy of social transformation, economic development, and political legitimation (Shirk 1982: 11), and those politically loyal to the regime are systematically rewarded with career opportunities (Walder 1985, 1986: 6). In particular, intellectuals are required to be “both red and expert” ( you hong you zhuan): both politically loyal and professionally competent, with emphasis on the former. Since members of the Chinese Academy of Sciences are at the top end of the intellectual spectrum, their professional expertise is assumed but may not be enough for career advancement. The problem is how to strike a balance between two polar extremes—merit and virtue. This chapter will describe the evolution of the concept of redness and expertness and how the concept has influenced the formation of the scientific elite in China. Since party policy toward Chinese intellectuals has been discussed in Chapter 2, attention here will be given to such aspects as appointments of CAS members in the National People’s Congress (NPC) and the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC), and their being recruited into the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). The political participation of elite scientists will be discussed in Chapter 9, along with other roles they have played.

The red versus expert issue and Chinese intellectuals What are red and expert? Red, one of the two colors—the other color being yellow—on the national flag of the People’s Republic of China, symbolizes revolution. Over the years, the meaning of “redness” in China has depended on the social and political context. In one sense, it is the antonym of “blackness,” a term often used to denote undesirable class origins. For example, children of landlords, rich peasants, counterrevolutionaries, bad elements, and rightists were called “the five kinds of black 136

“ R E D” O R “ E XP E RT ”

elements” (hei wulei ).1 As applied to intellectuals, redness indicates political consciousness—specifically, adhering to revolutionary lines and implementing party policy. The opposite of this quality is whiteness, a term borrowed from the Russian Bolshevik Revolution to describe counterrevolutionaries (Ogden 1992: 293). During the Cultural Revolution (1966–76), intellectuals from the pre-1949 period or educated in the first seventeen years of the People’s Republic were denounced as “white experts.” That is, despite their professional competence, they were politically and ideologically “white,” or bourgeois, even counterrevolutionary. The separation of intellectuals from practice, the masses, and manual labor was also “white.”2 The origin of the contradiction between red and expert in China is difficult to trace. It may have its roots in the populist and nativist perspective on science and education during the pre-1949 communist-controlled Yan’an period (Schneider 1989: 48); or may have partly derived from Chinese intellectuals’ own experience with anarchist social philosophy dating from the turn of the twentieth century (Dirlik 1989) and partly a reflection of values developed in the Soviet Union in the 1920s and 1930s ( Josephson 1991: 184–212). In his 1957 speech, “On the Correct Handling of Contradictions among the People,” then CCP Central Committee Chairman Mao Zedong discussed at length both politics and economy, and politics and technology ([1957] 1967). He summarized the relationship between “red” and “expert,” politics and profession, as “the unification of contradictions.” To him, redness and expertness were meant to be unified in politics and economy and in politics and technology, which must be so and would forever be so (Mao [1958] 1970). In the anti-intellectualism condition that prevailed after the 1957 Anti-Rightist Campaign, Nie Rongzhen, then CCP’s science and technology czar, organized in 1961, to formulate the “Fourteen Articles on Scientific Work,” a document intended to dispel prejudices against intellectuals (Nie R. 1988: 720; Wu Heng 1994: 181–6). The document pointed out that “red” and “expert” must be united and that it was wrong either to be “expert” without being “red” or to be “red” without being “expert.” It defined two criteria for scientists: supporting the communist party, and more particularly, using their knowledge in the service of socialism. A scientist who fulfilled these two criteria would be regarded as having become basically red. As for the pre-1949 scientists, it was only required that they be patriotic and willing to cooperate with the party. The document also suggested abolishing the term of “white expert” because it was ambiguous and dampened the enthusiasm of those intellectuals who were working diligently in their fields (Yao et al. 1994: 102–3). The Cultural Revolution was the uncompromising attempt by the reds to decimate the experts (Sivin 1989: 443). Mao’s death in 1976 brought an end to this policy. At the 1978 national conference on science, Deng Xiaoping offered a new interpretation: If a person loves our socialist motherland and is serving socialism and the workers, peasants and soldiers of his own free will and accord, then 137

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it should be said that he has begun to acquire a proletarian world outlook. In terms of political standards, he cannot be considered “white” but should be called “red.” Our scientific undertakings are an integral part of our socialist cause. Working devotedly for our socialist scientific enterprises and making contributions to them is, of course, a sign that one is expert; in a sense, it is also a sign that one is “red.” ([1978] 1987: 46) Deng seemed to turn the clock back to 1961 (Saich 1989b: 20–1).

A sociological perspective The red versus expert issue is the most important social issue in communist China (Schurmann 1968: 171–2; Sivin 1989: 443). Because the party originally expected its members and other loyal citizens to gain technical expertise, individuals with strong political credentials were recruited for the educational system. Reds, so it seemed, would be turned into experts (Ogden 1992: 293). Unfortunately, with less academic training the reds found it difficult to master advanced knowledge.3 In consequence, the demand for red experts to carry out scientific, educational, and medical work consistent with socialist construction and the four modernizations program soon outstripped supply. While the party allowed the better-educated experts to occupy responsible positions, it feared that unless they were politically converted, they would eventually reveal hereditary white-bourgeois tendencies. But from a utilitarian perspective, the party was more interested in the redness of experts than the expertness of reds; or political loyalty was not enough, “one must also have specialized training” (Walder 1985: 108, emphasis original). This explains why, from the 1950s to the 1980s, elections to the prestigious CAS membership required candidates to “show loyalty to the people’s cause” or “support the party and socialism” in addition to having academic achievements and advancing the disciplines (Li Zhenzhen 1992: 43; Wu Heng 1994: 148; Yao 1989b: 453).

A zero-sum approach The red versus expert issue is a lens through which one could view the vicissitudes of CCP policies and the efforts to reshape Chinese culture in a manner consistent with both economic development and utopian communist objectives (Ogden 1992: 292–3). Ideologically, the party faces the predicament of achieving rapid development without sacrificing its socialist core. In practice, party policy tends to emphasize one characteristic or another, because it is nearly impossible to combine them (Chai 1981). The problem lingers because the CCP has taken an all-or-nothing approach. Had it not repeatedly insisted on categorizing individuals as polar opposites for the purpose of recruiting the country’s elites, the issue no doubt would have 138

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disappeared long ago (Ogden 1992: 293). The regime needs scientific personnel for professional leadership positions, and the intellectual community is the only possible source of candidates. Yet, because the party’s great drive toward its social and economic goals requires leaders with red class origins and political consciousness, it has produced a bifurcated elite. While the political elite consists of the reds who have attained their status based on communist ideology, in science, prestige is based on education, knowledge, and performance (Schurmann 1968: 51). To some extent, China’s scientific elite is a hybrid of both strategies. The red versus expert issue frustrated the intelligentsia as a whole from the late 1950s to the 1980s. Because the party leadership did not trust intellectuals and even forced them to complete ideological remolding before allowing them to engage in scientific research, the intellectuals complained that redness was something within their sight but always beyond their reach. Consequently, Chinese intellectuals were subjected to long, hard regimens of “political reeducation” and “ideological reform,” including endless study of Marxism–Leninism–Mao Zedong Thought and the history of the CCP, frequent criticism and self-criticism, and manual labor in factories and on farms. The majority of the stubborn “bourgeoisie” became targets of political coercion (Mu 1963: 221–2). The issue of the proper mix of redness and expertise was not a simple matter of self-criticism or of citing the works of Marx and Mao Zedong in research papers (Ogden 1992: 292–3). Since ideological remolding was a long-term task, sometimes the party was tolerant (Nie R. 1988: 720). As long as scientists did not turn against the people in speech and action, and, even more, if they were prepared to devote their knowledge and energies to serving the people, the party was willing “to wait for the gradual awakening of their consciousness and help them patiently, while at the same time criticizing their wrong ideology” (Zhou E. [1956] 1962: 138). Moreover, from time to time, the party has proclaimed that Chinese intellectuals possess the redness due to their devotion of their expertise to China’s socialist cause. While officially maintaining that the natural sciences and technology have no class character, and that academic debate does not constitute class conflict, the CCP imposed Marxist dogma on scientists. Intellectuals, however, held that research is best pursued from individual interest and incentive, and that inadequately educated party leaders could not lead them. They contended that only academic experts were capable of properly administering research establishments, and only professors were qualified to run universities (zhuanjia zhi suo, jiaoshou zhi xiao) (Li C. 2001: 98–100). Since the party does not tolerate opposition to its dictatorship, particularly in the form of pleas for greater independence, intellectuals were suppressed in 1957 and 1989 for demanding more autonomy (Goldman 1994: 256–360; Meisner 1977: 167–203). Since political qualifications of Chinese intellectuals have been under the frequent scrutiny of the CCP, then, have they carried significant weight in determining the career paths and promotions for the intellectuals? If the answer is “yes,” then what influence have they had on the scientific elite? 139

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Political honors for elite scientists Because there have been comparatively few high-ranking (gaoji ) scientists and other intellectuals in China—CAS members among them—the regime has urgently wanted their cooperation (Cheng C. 1965: 159–60). Hence, except in the most radical periods during and following the Anti-Rightist Campaign (1957–60) and during the Cultural Revolution (1966–76), elite scientists have been appointed to high honorific positions in the political system, have had access to members of the political elite, and have enjoyed high social prestige. One measure of their political standing is the appointment as deputies to the people’s congress and as members of the CPPCC at the national, provincial, or municipal level.

The CPPCC and the NPC The CPPCC, a successor to the 1946 Political Affairs Conference held immediately after the defeat of Japanese invasion,4 was organized on the eve of the establishment of the People’s Republic to legitimate the postwar regime in the absence of a national election (Schurmann 1968: 178–80; Waller 1981: 86–7). The First CPPCC was convened in 1949 by representatives of the CCP, the People’s Liberation Army, minority nationalities, overseas Chinese, and other patriotic and democratic groups in China. These participants passed a “Common Program” ( gongtong gangling) as the constitution of the People’s Republic, according to which the CPPCC was a provisional organ exercising state power until deputies to the NPC could be elected; and during this interim period, the CPPCC would exercise its functions and powers in lieu of the NPC and would elect a Central People’s Government Council. Therefore, the CPPCC elected the first Central People’s Government Council headed by Mao Zedong and six vice chairmen. It also elected a CPPCC National Committee with Mao as its chairman. With the formal actions of the CPPCC, the People’s Republic of China was thus legitimated “by the people,” and formally proclaimed on October 1, 1949. Thus, to some extent, the CPPCC was construed to carry out the authority of the NPC, which, however, was not formed until September 1954. The First NPC adopted China’s first constitution, which made it clear that the CPPCC was being shorn of its original legislative role.5 As the highest organ of state power, the NPC, China’s parliament, had the constitutional right to elect the chairman and vice chairman of the People’s Republic, to choose the premier and members of the State Council and other government officials, to formulate the constitution, and to pass legislation that would become law (Ogden 1992: 164; Waller 1981: 97–8, 113–14, and 119). Its formation at least theoretically inaugurated a period in which the legitimation came from a body directly elected by the people (Schurmann 1968: 178–9). The party considered abolishing the CPPCC but eventually decided to maintain both the NPC and the CPPCC, with the latter forming a united front between the party and other political forces (Tong 1995: 71). In particular, the 140

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CPPCC gave a political voice, but not political power, to nominal components of the Chinese political landscape—members of the so-called democratic parties,6 scientists, artists, actors, and others—letting them perform roles required by the party. For example, after ten years of inactivity, the Second CPPCC was convened in 1959, aiming at reconciling the nation to the economic crisis that resulted from the Great Leap Forward; while the Fourth CPPCC was held in 1979 after the Cultural Revolution to reaffirm a national solidarity threatened by the turmoil. The CPPCC and the NPC have been convened almost simultaneously since the First NPC and the Second CPPCC in 1954, except in 1975 when only the NPC held its fourth congress. The CPPCC has not had any real constitutional status since 1954 and serves merely as a vehicle for all segments of the united front to approve the party line (Seymour 1987: 30–1). As a matter of fact, the CPPCC has more or less acted at the pleasure of the CCP so that it has been referred to as “a vase of flowers”—pretty to look at but of no use whatsoever; it complements the mostly “rubber-stamping” NPC (Waller 1981: 97–8). Given those characteristics, what does being appointed to either of these bodies mean? Appointments of the elite scientists to the NPC and the CPPCC Many CAS members have become deputies to the NPC and members of the CPPCC National Committee or their respective standing committees (Tables 7.1–7.4). Only the party can appoint intellectuals and other non-party personages to these positions (Tong 1995: 71–2). Whenever new NPC or CPPCC appointments are decided, a block of positions for the non-party elite is set aside for recommendation by the United Front Work Department (UFWD) of the CCP Central Committee. The appointment process has three steps. First, party leaders clarify the criteria for choosing non-party members. In Mao Zedong’s time, the emphasis was often on persons of historical importance to China, such as the nationalists who cooperated with the communists; during Deng Xiaoping’s era, the emphasis on social diversity brought more controversial figures into these apparatus, especially the CPPCC. The Jiang Zemin leadership was interested in having entrepreneurs on board. Second, a special UFWD working group puts together a name list, which is reviewed by the Organization Department of the CCP Central Committee. Third, the name list is discussed and approved at a meeting of the Secretariat or Politburo of the Party Central Committee and then sent to the provincial people’s congresses for a pro-forma election or to the CPPCC for a pro-forma appointment. Negotiation is a major component of the process. Over time, an individual may be arbitrarily assigned to different social groups, represent different geographical regions, or shift back and forth between the CPPCC and the NPC (for a description of how the Tenth CPPCC members were produced see Zhang Suping 2003). Non-CCP members usually account for 20–30 percent of the NPC deputies and 60 percent of the CPPCC members (Liu Z. et al. 2001: 320–2; Tong 1995: 72). 141

1954 1959 1964 1975 1978 1983 1988 1993 1998 2003

First Second Third Fourth Fifth Sixth Seventh Eighth Ninth Tenth

N %

1,226 1,226 3,040 2,885 3,497 2,978 2,970 2,978 2,979 2,985

Number of NPC deputies

69 36.3

69 80 119 38 46 32 13 2 0 0 175 61.8

2 6 89 32 46 37 24 14 5 0

1955–57 1980

36 16.7

0 0 4 1 4 13 14 19 13 8

1991

Year of CAS membership election

7 10.2

0 0 0 1 1 1 2 2 2 1

1993

Note The numbers in italics are used to indicate that these NPC deputies, when elected, were CAS members.

Source: Same as Table 4.1.

CAS members with NPC deputyship

Year

Session

Table 7.1 CAS members in the National People’s Congress

3 3.4

0 0 0 0 0 1 0 2 5 5

1995

3 5.2

0 0 1 0 1 1 0 0 2 5

1997

1 3.6

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0

1999

0 0.0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2

2001 0 80 119 38 46 69 37 35 27 21

N

0 6.5 3.9 1.3 1.3 2.3 1.2 1.2 0.9 0.7

%

CAS members elected to NPC

1954 1959 1964 1975 1978 1983 1988 1993 1998 2002

First Second Third Fourth Fifth Sixth Seventh Eighth Ninth Tenth N %

89 79 115 167 206 161 157 155 154 175 3 1.6

3 3 13 10 13 11 3 1 0 0 3 1.1

0 0 1 0 2 6 8 5 3 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 3 7 4 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

Number of Year of CAS membership election NPC 1955–57 1980 1991 1993 Standing Committee members

0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 2

1995

0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 3

1997

Note The numbers in italics are used to indicate that these NPC Standing Committee members, when elected, were CAS members.

Source: Same as Table 4.1.

CAS Members on NPC Standing Committee

Year

Session

Table 7.2 CAS members in the National People’s Congress Standing Committee

0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

1999

0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

2001

0 3 13 10 13 17 11 9 12 9

N

0 3.8 11.3 6.0 6.3 10.6 7.0 5.8 7.8 5.1

%

CAS members elected to NPC Standing Committee

1949 1954 1959 1964 1979 1983 1988 1993 1998 2003

First Second Third Fourth Fifth Sixth Seventh Eighth Ninth Tenth

19 24 52 36 48 47 25 10 2 0 19 10.0

N %

1955–57

84 29.7

1 2 10 15 56 74 68 36 19 4

1980

36 17.1

0 0 0 1 4 15 16 59 62 28

1991

Year of CAS membership election

180 559 1,071 1,199 1,988 2,036 2,081 2,093 2,195 2,238

Number of CPPCC members

10 16.9

0 0 0 1 0 0 1 8 10 7

1993

5 8.5

0 0 0 0 0 0 1 4 6 2

1995

7 12.1

0 0 0 0 0 0 3 4 7 8

1997

Note The numbers in italics are to indicate that these CPPCC National Committee members, when elected, were CAS members.

Source: Same as Table 4.1.

CAS Members on CPPCC National Committee

Year

Session

Table 7.3 CAS members in the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference National Committee

6 10.9

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 4 5

1999

4 7.1

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 3 6

0 24 52 36 48 121 93 105 106 60

N

0 4.3 4.9 3.0 2.4 5.9 4.5 5.0 4.8 2.7

%

CAS members elected to 2001 CPPCC National Committee

1949 1954 1959 1964 1979 1983 1988 1993 1998 2003

First Second Third Fourth Fifth Sixth Seventh Eighth Ninth Tenth N %

58 94 158 182 367 338 310 314 290 325 7 3.7

3 4 12 8 19 25 19 8 2 0 1 0.4

0 0 0 0 1 5 10 16 8 0 3 1.4

0 0 0 0 0 1 2 6 13 10

Number of Year of CAS membership election CPPCC 1991 Standing 1955–57 1980 Committee Members

0 0.0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 3

1993

1 1.7

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0

1995

1 1.7

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0

1997

Note The numbers in italics are to indicate that these CPPCC Standing Committee members, when elected, were CAS members.

Source: Same as Table 4.1.

CAS Members on CPPCC Standing Committee

Year

Session

Table 7.4 CAS members in the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference Standing Committee

0 0.0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2

1999

0 0.0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2

2001

0 0 12 8 19 30 29 30 25 17

N

0 0 7.6 4.4 5.2 8.9 9.4 9.6 8.6 5.2

%

CAS members elected to CPPCC Standing Committee

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For example, the current Tenth CPPCC has 1,343 members (or 60 percent of the total) not affiliated with the CCP (Zhang Suping 2003). The numbers of CAS members in these organs have varied and may include party-member scientists. The First and Second CPPCC and the First NPC were held before the CAS appointed its first members. In 1959, 80 CAS members were among the 1,226 deputies to the Second NPC (6.5 percent), while 52 CAS members became the Third CPPCC members (4.9 percent). Although CAS members appointed to both the NPC and the CPPCC did not decrease in the following sessions, the proportions dropped, suggesting that other political forces—workers, peasants, and soldiers—increased their shares and had their social status raised. For example, of the 2,885 deputies to the Fourth NPC, held during the Cultural Revolution, 72 percent were workers, peasants, or soldiers (Waller 1981: 108). The Sixth NPC and the Sixth CPPCC, both held in 1983, witnessed an increase of elite scientists in these national apparatus: 2.3 percent in the NPC, and 5.9 percent in the CPPCC. In the meantime, CAS members on standing committees of the NPC and the CPPCC National Committee recovered to pre-Cultural Revolution levels. Since the late 1980s, the levels of top scientists in the CPPCC and its standing committee have remained steady, but their proportions in the NPC and its standing committee have dropped. This may be because the intellectuals demanded for democracy and a greater role for the NPC in the nation’s decision making (see Chapter 9), and because members from another honorific body of technology and engineering—the Chinese Academy of Engineering, established in 1994—have been included. NPC and CPPCC seats serve as rewards to Chinese citizens for their services to their country. When elite scientists are appointed, their expertise rather than their redness is the main consideration. For example, the geologist Li Siguang, the physicists Yan Jici and Zhou Guangzhao, the chemist Lu Jiaxi, the surgeon Wu Jieping, the expert on fluid power transmission Lu Yongxiang, and the biochemist Han Qide have all been appointed as NPC vice chairmen. On the CPPCC side, the experimental embryologist Tong Dizhou, the mathematician Hua Luogeng, the bridge engineer Mao Yisheng, the physicists Zhou Peiyuan, Qian Weichang, and Zhu Guangya, the expert of mechanics Qian Xuesen, the chemist Lu Jiaxi, the systems scientist Song Jian, and the computer scientist Wang Xuan have served as vice chairmen (some of these scientists are “dual elites,” which will be discussed on p. 156 in this chapter). Elite scientists have also been appointed to the standing committees of the NPC or the CPPCC; in fact, they have been well represented in these two organs compared with their proportion in the NPC or the CPPCC as a whole. This may suggest that the state has given more weight to elite scientists than to other social groups. Appointments to these quasi-political positions also serve to rehabilitate victims of previous political campaigns. The 1964 appointments, the first since the AntiRightist Campaign, illustrate this point. At that time, some 174 CAS natural science members appointed between 1955 and 1957 were alive; among them 114 became NPC deputies, 31 joined the CPPCC, and another 5 had seats in both 146

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organs. Similarly, when the NPC and the CPPCC resumed their activities in 1979, about four-fifths of the CAS members who survived the Cultural Revolution (91 out of 127) joined the NPC or the CPPCC. But a seat in the NPC or the CPPCC does not mean a real voice in the affairs of state for the incumbent or his or her constituency (Seymour 1987: 31). The average ages of CAS members selected to the Tenth NPC and CPPCC in 2003 were 64.2 and 62.6 years; in comparison, that of the Tenth CPPCC members was 56 years (Zhang Suping 2003). Since many of them may no longer be active in research, it is questionable whether they represent the real interests of working scientists, let alone political opinions. As Wang Pinxian, an ocean geologist and a 1991 CAS member, pointed out in 1993 when he became a CPPCC member after serving two terms of NPC deputyship (he was 57 years old at that time): The CPPCC is still an organization of old people, and its working schedules are made with these aged members in mind. Young people, particularly young intellectuals, stay away from political forum and have become more silent in recent years. We are a stable force because we are aging and reluctant to move out. But young people are not. They are active, energetic, and volatile. They mean a lot for the future of our country. Their political presence will bring fresh air to the consultations and the decision making process. They could express their political opinions in a regular forum if they were given the opportunity. (cited in Jiang W. 1993: 30) Nevertheless, the NPC does not have significant political power as well, although its status is thought to be increasing. Therefore, such appointments have been purely honorary in nature (for the political participation experience of a scientist see Beihai Xianren 1999). Another reading of Tables 7.1 through 7.4 shows that some scientists were appointed to the NPC or the CPPCC before becoming CAS members. Since these individuals have spent time soliciting the opinions of or at least contacting their colleagues so that they can better represent the scientific community, the NPC or CPPCC appointment may provide them with a good chance to network with their peers, including CAS members who already held the NPC or CPPCC positions. One CAS member who was elected in 1991 but has been a CPPCC member since 1988 indicated: Being a deputy to the NPC or a member of the CPPCC could increase one’s reputation among scientists. You could not count on having such appointments. But when two candidates have equal qualifications, the one who is a NPC deputy or a CPPCC member would have more chance to be elected [to the CAS], because he has more contact with other scientists. (informant no. 47) 147

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That is to say, the participation of scientists in the NPC or the CPPCC could be a positive factor in their career mobility. In fact, one-fifth to one-third of the CAS members elected between 1991 and 2001, with the exception of 1993, have been NPC deputies or CPPCC members.

Party membership and the elite Since the communist party continues to enjoy a monopoly on power in China, its membership is a more important indicator of political standing than appointment to the NPC or CPPCC (Cheng C. 1965: 161–2). As an indicator of political loyalty and achieved status, party membership becomes a stepping-stone for further mobility (Lin and Bian 1991: 668) and may even double the personal gains for intellectuals (Frolic 1980: 75). In light of this, does party membership really help scientists attain elite status? The CCP’s approach to recruiting new members has always been part of a pragmatic effort to achieve its goals. Historically, whenever the party has had to mount a major military or political campaign or to implement a major social or economic program, it has expanded its membership by recruiting people with the requisite skills (Ch’i 1991: 123–4). In fighting against the nationalist party (Kuomintang, KMT) for control of the country, the CCP mainly mobilized the peasantry, transforming itself from a party of intellectuals when it was founded in 1921 to a peasant party (Ch’i 1991: 125; Guillermaz 1976: 131). Upon seizing power, the party came to realize the importance of urban manual workers in helping it combat the bourgeois and consolidate its power. Scientists and engineers were critical for industrialization and, later, the four modernizations. When scientists declared that “laymen could not lead experts,” the party opened its door to them, especially the elite, expecting to seek their cooperation, utilize their expertise, forestall renewed hostility, and control the scientific community.7 The “three represents”—the party should represent the most advanced productive force, the advanced culture, and the fundamental interests of the Chinese people—a theory debuted by Jiang Zemin in 2002 also underscored the importance of recruiting such social groups as intellectuals and entrepreneurs in renewing the party. The composition of CCP’s membership has varied according to the changes in recruiting policies. However, because the term “intellectuals” has been defined differently at different times, figures on intellectual party members in any period tend to be inaccurate. For example, party membership was once categorized into workers, peasants, intellectuals, and others (Schurmann 1968: 134–5). From 1949 to 1956, the proportion of intellectual party members rose from 5 to 15 percent, while in 1956 approximately one-third of all intellectuals were party members (Townsend 1970: 303). With the recruitment drive after the Cultural Revolution, intellectuals constituted more than 40 percent of party members in the first half of 1984 (Ch’i 1991: 136). When classified by educational level, however, only 4 percent of party members had a college-level education in 1984, and 5 percent in 1986 (Rosen 1991: 58, note to table 3). The percentage of party members with 148

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a two-year college education or above increased to 23.2 percent of the 66.4 million CCP members in 2002 (Xinhua News Agency September 1, 2002). Other than these, little is known of the occupational distributions of party members, and of the percentages of intellectual party members over time. Here, the number of CAS members who joined the party is an alternative indicator of party policy on recruiting scientists (Table 7.5). Party’s effort at recruiting intellectuals: two peaks There have been two peaks in the party’s efforts to recruit scientists as a social group. The first came after Premier Zhou Enlai’s speech on intellectuals in 1956 (Suttmeier 1987: 146). Before 1955, the party seldom admitted high-ranking intellectuals because of their problematic family and educational backgrounds. As a result, of the 172 CAS members of natural sciences appointed in 1955, only seventeen—including the newly admitted Qian Sanqiang, Liu Xianzhou, and Huang Jiashi—were party members (see Chapter 3). This closed-door, isolationist tendency discouraged many scientists and handicapped close cooperation between intellectuals and the party. Convinced that accepting intellectuals, especially high-ranking scientists, was the only way to remove this barrier, party leaders drew up a plan that required admitting one-third of all higher intellectuals by 1962 (Zhou [1956] 1962: 138–9). In the first half of 1956, a total of 2,592 leading academics who were thought to be politically red and therefore met the membership qualifications were inducted (Xu and Fan [1957] 1982: 194). Among them, 101 were current or future CAS members.8 To some extent, the CCP was following the example of the Soviet Union, where 42 percent of all Soviet scientists with candidate ( fuboshi ) degrees were party members in 1956, so were 34 percent of the academicians and 42 percent of the corresponding academicians of the Soviet Academy of Sciences (Cheng C. 1965: 164). Although in the aftermath of the Anti-Rightist Campaign the party did not suspend recruiting intellectuals, the process slowed considerably. Only thirtyseven elites became party members between 1958 and the beginning of the Cultural Revolution. During that period, several types of CAS members became targets of the party’s recruitment campaign. The first were those who had criticized fellow “rightist” scientists—regardless of the sincerity of the criticism— including the geologist Li Siguang and the rocket scientist Qian Xuesen (Renmin ribao June 25 and August 19, 1958; Cheng C. 1965: 163). Apparently, they were rewarded for their political loyalty. The second group included internationally renowned scientists, such as the physicist Zhou Peiyuan (PhD, Cal Tech, 1937), the mathematician Su Buqing (DSc, Tokyo Imperial University, 1931), the architect Liang Sicheng (Honorary Doctorate, Princeton, 1947), and the biochemist Wang Yinglai (PhD, Cambridge, 1941). This seemed to show that the party still opened its door to senior scientists despite having an overall negative perception about them. But the admission of Liang Sicheng into the party was postponed until Mao Zedong intervened in the matter (Liu B. 1998: 34). 149

N % 1 5.6

109 38.5

184

14 13 44 12 1 25 40 1 34

1980

57 26.7

89

2 10 17 5 3 6 14 0 32

1991

17 28.8

29

0 7 2 2 0 2 4 0 12

1993

Note The numbers in italics are to indicate that these CCP members, when admitted, were CAS members.

Source: Same as Table 4.1.

17 9.9

95

Total

CAS members with CCP membership

0 0 1 3 0 3 3 0 1

13 4 32 15 0 15 11 0 5

Before 1949 1950–55 1956–57 1958–65 1966–76 1977–80 1981–89 1990–present Year unknown 11

1957

Year of CAS membership election

1955

Year admitted to CCP

Table 7.5 Admissions of CAS members to the Chinese Communist Party

12 20.3

19

0 1 5 0 0 1 5 0 7

1995

3 5.2

16

1 0 0 0 0 0 2 0 13

1997

2 5.5

10

0 0 0 0 1 0 1 0 8

1999

1 1.8

6

0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 5

2001

459

30 35 101 37 5 52 81 1 117

Total

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Given the prevailing anti-intellectualism stance, Chinese intellectuals had to “surrender their hearts” ( jiaoxin). One strategy was to apply for CCP membership. For example, after his escape from being labeled as a “rightist,” the mathematician Hua Luogeng not only denounced his own “rightist” views but also decided to become “both red and expert” by joining the party (Renmin ribao June 12, 1958), which he finally did in 1979. Similarly, in 1958, nine famous embryologists, including CAS members Zhu Xi and Tong Dizhou, set up personal five-year plans to qualify for CCP membership (Cheng C. 1965: 164). That Liang Sicheng was admitted into the party was to some extent the payoff of his repeated confessions of his guilt and severe criticism of his father, Liang Qichao, the prominent reformist intellectual in late Qing dynasty (Fairbank 1994: 173). It is difficult to tell what—political pressure, fear of being purged, or showing loyalty to the party—motivated such famous scientists to make this radical move. Nevertheless, to survive politically, some Chinese had to lead double lives, criticizing and exposing one another, telling lies whenever necessary, and not daring to speak their true minds (Lin J. 1994: 14–15). However, not every elite scientist was received into the party. The case of Chen Jiangong, a mathematician with a Japanese doctorate, is instructive. He thought that being a party member meant attending endless meetings and participating in political activities that would take time away from teaching and research, and he did not wish to make such a commitment. After the party secretary pointed out his wrong thinking, Chen set aside his worries and applied for CCP membership in 1963. However, because he was famous, his application had to be approved by the CCP Central Committee; while the Cultural Revolution soon began, his application was never approved (Chen H. 1993). For the same reason, then CAS Vice President Wu Youxun who was so enthusiastic about joining the party ended up being disappointed because the party thought that he would play a better role as an outsider (Nie L. 1998: 432–9). Tu Changwang, a British-trained meteorologist, became a probationary party member in 1956, yet he was still labeled a “white expert,” leading to criticism at one meeting after another. Tu became a full party member only on his deathbed six years later (Tu D. 1993). This case also suggests from another aspect that even party membership could not erase the “white” label, a stink by nature. Recruitment of intellectuals also flourished after the Cultural Revolution. Because intellectuals were among the social groups that had suffered terribly during the political campaign, the party hoped that conferring membership on some of them, especially the elite, and integrating them into the ruling class would effect a reconciliation (Ch’i 1991: 131). Furthermore, the Cultural Revolution had bred political disillusionment, cynicism, and apathy (Meisner 1996: 135). Large segments of the population were disillusioned with the CCP and its guiding ideology—Marxism–Leninism–Mao Zedong Thought and the socialist system (Miller 1996: 42–6). Party membership is now scarcely attractive, especially to young people (Chen and Gong 1997: 157; for a recent account see Faison 1996). Under these circumstances, welcoming intellectuals into the party 151

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would set an example for the entire society. This recruitment agenda recalled earlier periods when pragmatic polities reigned and scientists and engineers were seen as important for achieving party objectives. More important, the party was in desperate need of scientific expertise if it was to achieve the four modernizations. Although the policy was resisted by some rank-and-file party members who feared that they would lose their leadership position to the intellectuals (Miller 1996: 110; Saich 1989b: 86–7), the effort had some success. In terms of educational level, college graduates have a significantly higher rate of joining the party than those with a lower education (Zhou et al. 1996: 789).9 One hundred and thirty-three CAS members joined the CCP—about one-third of them whose membership is known and who were enrolled between 1977 and 1989. As a matter of fact, the recruitment of elite scientists into the party was only to fulfill an overdue goal the party set up in 1956. Table 7.5 also shows that more CAS members from the first three cohorts are party members than those recently elected. Perhaps party acceptance favors older scientists; or incomplete data may lower the percentages of party members among recently elected elite scientists and among the entire elite population. But as a 1955 member, who is also a CCP veteran, suggested, among CAS members there were generally fewer party members than non-party members (informant no. 10). If that is the case, three possible reasons may explain the party’s interest in recruiting older scientists. First, perhaps it initially targeted only the older ones, many of whom had unsuccessfully applied for CCP membership in the past as shown in the Chen Jiangong and Wu Youxun cases. After 1979, the party not only decided to welcome them, but also actively sought them out. In doing so, it wanted to impress the younger generation of scientists that emotional commitment to the motherland and sympathy for communism could win complete political trust and genuine respect (Ch’i 1991: 138–9). The second explanation may derive from the political logic of the party. Because of their bitter experiences in the Anti-Rightist Campaign and the Cultural Revolution, members of the older, established intelligentsia had little taste for political activism of any sort (Meisner 1996: 129). Consequently, recruiting them posed no political threat to the regime. Given the rejuvenation of CAS membership, the party may be more cautious about recruiting younger scientists. Of the six CAS members known to be added to party’s rank after 1986, only one was less than 50 years old; the others were over 70, with the oldest being 91. For example, an interviewee in his mid-60s indicated that the party leaders in his danwei were not interested in admitting him because he frequently expressed opinions different from the party (informant no. 72). The third reason may be that younger elites hesitated to join the party. In the reform era, politics has been gradually separated from academic affairs. For example, “to love the motherland” has replaced “to be loyal to the party” and “to support the party and socialism” as a criterion for CAS membership. As a result, being a party member is no longer a prerequisite for career achievement. 152

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Party membership and elite mobility As indicated earlier, in Chinese society, political loyalty is often rewarded with career opportunities. Has that been applicable to CAS members? Alternatively, is there a causal relationship between CCP membership and CAS membership? The number of scientists who were party members when they were elected to the academy may provide an answer to these questions (see Table 7.5). According to the incomplete party membership data, overall there are slightly more non-party-member scientists than party-member scientists among the elite. However, the data for the first three cohorts of members are believed to be complete and accurate. The ratios of CAS members with and without party membership were 1 : 9 (17 vs. 155) in 1955, 1 : 17 in the 1957 election, and 5 : 8 (109 vs. 174) in 1980. This seemingly large percentage of party members in the 1980 elected CAS members reflects the party’s successful recruitment efforts among scientists after the mid-1950s. But the most recent elections were conducted in a less politicized atmosphere where party membership was not a “filter” for selecting those scientists loyal to the party and socialism;10 and as a fair speculation, the proportion of party members is unlikely to have exceeded that in 1980. In other words, the formation of the scientific elite in China might be a special case of status attainment: for the elite, career advancement has not been based on political loyalty, party membership has not been the prerequisite for upward mobility in the scientific community; on the contrary, scientists achieve professional recognition before becoming members of the political elite, and the party was more likely to admit the experts into its ranks. In other words, redness, as measured by CCP membership, has not been taken into account in evaluating the expertise of scientists or recruiting the elite, and party membership has come to be an honor accorded to outstanding scientists (see Walder 1995; Walder et al. 2000). However, why has redness not been important? This is because the role of the party is inevitably far less important in society. In addition, except for 1955 and 1957, it was the elite scientists themselves, not the party, who have run the evaluations and elections for CAS membership. Thus, even if the party hoped to impose its own political criteria or elect those with sound political consciousness but average achievements, it could do so only through the influence of partymember scientists within the elite group. As noted in Chapter 3, in the 1980 election, possible interference from government ministries were not accommodated. During the six recent elections, participating CAS members did not elect “star scientists” as requested by the government, while scientists-turned administrators did not reap any advantages that they used to enjoy as technocrats (see Chapter 8 for more discussion on that). That said, several factors merit consideration. First, the percentage of CAS members with CCP membership increased significantly from 9.9 in 1955 to 38.5 in 1980, and even with incomplete data, at least about one-quarter of the CAS members elected in 1991 and 1993 and 20 percent of those elected in 1995 were party members. Second, 60 percent of those who became CAS members between

153

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1955 and 1980 joined the party eventually. Considering the fact that the CAS members passed away before the party began to actively recruit them, the proportions of CAS members with CCP membership are surely significant. Similarly, of the CAS members elected between 1991 and 2001, 34 percent are party members. Of course, this is not a surprise given the nature of the CCP as a mass political organization in China (Schurmann 1968: 138). Third, the party’s effort to admit CAS members and other senior scientists is aimed at turning them into red experts and making them models for the entire intellectual community. Motivations for joining the party The motives behind scientists’ decisions to join the CCP may differ. There is no doubt that some of them wholeheartedly believe in communism, especially for those enrolled in the 1950s. In the 1980s, however, at least some of the partymember scientists used the party avenue to facilitate their own research interest (Suttmeier 1987: 153). In China, the work unit (danwei ), such as a research institute or a university department, is the basic social institution (Walder’s description of the party organization in the factory, a kind of danwei, is applicable here [1986: 88–9]). Within danwei, party secretaries had the final say on everything, from career promotion to material reward. They could block or promote individuals at their own discretion (Chen and Gong 1997: 151; Gold 1990: 198). Whichever they did, they often invoked the name of danwei party committees. Many scientists realized that being a party member could help them avoid confrontation with the danwei’s party leadership. As a mechanics scientist commented: The party secretary in my institute used to tell scientists it was the party committee’s decision to do this or that. Once I joined the party and even became a member of the party committee, I knew which issues the party committee members really discussed and how they discussed these issues. Under these circumstances, the party secretary could not stall scientists again by means of the party committee. The party committee could no longer interfere in research work. (informant no. 41) Nevertheless, among the interviewed CAS members, two called themselves “Deng Xiaoping’s party members” (informants no. 47 and 53), implying that they had been recruited as a result of Deng’s policy; two others did not acknowledge their party membership (informants no. 20 and 56). Apparently, some may begin to feel uncomfortable about their party membership (Chen and Gong 1997: 157). In addition, a quarter of the party-member elites have held concurrent membership of a democratic party—most likely the September Third Study Society and the China Democratic League (Table 7.6).11 Most of them joined a democratic party first and were later recruited by the CCP because of their expertise 154

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Table 7.6 Political party affiliation of CAS members Political party affiliation

CCP CCP and Democratic Party Democratic Party Total

Year of CAS membership election 1955–57

1980

N

N

%

Total 1991

%

N

1993–2001 %

N

N

%

%

63 43

47.7 32.6

122 62

58.9 30.0

84 5

77.8 4.6

77 3

84.6 3.3

346 113

64.3 21.0

26

19.7

23

11.1

19

17.6

11

12.1

79

14.7

132

100

207

100

108

100

91

100

538

100

Source: Same as Table 4.1.

or their influence in the scientific community. On the other hand, these democratic parties do have some appeal among Chinese intellectuals and have succeeded in recruiting thousands of young intellectuals in the reform era, including some who felt too embarrassed to join the CCP after the Tiananmen Square incident of 1989 but wanted to realize their political ambitions (Feng C. 2002: 78). In theory, the CCP admits only those who believe in communism. However, these dual party members are supposed to fulfill responsibilities to both parties, so their devotion to the CCP could be called into question. Being co-opted members of the CCP apparatus during most of the period of the communist control was more powerful and influential than just holding membership in the more vulnerable democratic parties; but in the reform era, dual membership could mean double career opportunity for some leading scientists. For example, the physicists Yan Jici and Zhou Peiyuan, the bridge engineer Mao Yisheng, and the surgeon Wu Jieping were chairmen of the September Third Study Society, the chemist Lu Jiaxi was chairman of the Chinese Peasant’s and Worker’s Democratic Party, while the experimental embryologist Tong Dizhou and the mathematician Su Buqing were in leadership positions in the Chinese Democratic League. The most recent case involves the biochemist Han Qide, current chairman of the September Third Study Society, who became a CPPCC Standing Committee member in 1998 and a vice chairman of the NPC Standing Committee in 2003. While some scientists probably joined the party to further their personal interests, party membership may also provide opportunities for them to better represent the collective interests of scientists (Suttmeier 1987: 146). Thus, some elite scientists joined the party in order to promote something other than the communist cause. Fang Lizhi, a CCP member until early 1987 and a CAS member until his alleged involvement in the 1989 pro-democratic movement, saw party membership in this way. In speeches delivered to university students in the 155

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1980s, Fang encouraged those who were determined to reform China and overcome its backwardness to join the party ([1986] 1989: 48). He felt that a reformist political agenda could be carried out more easily and effectively from within (see more on that in Chapter 9). This may explain why the party was slow to admit young generation of intellectuals even if they were elite scientists. Unlike their old peers, younger scientists could pose a threat to the communist regime. Dual elites Appointing CAS members to top scientific research administrative posts serves a dual function: subordinating scientific research to the party and ensuring that the party receives professional advice in its decision making. Those chosen as administrators have been loyal party members. For example, Song Jian, former state councilor, commissioner of the State Science and Technology Commission (SSTC), and CPPCC vice chairman, joined the party in 1947 when he was only 17 years old and was a full member of the CCP Central Committee between 1982 and 2002. Similarly, Xu Guanhua became CAS vice president in 1994, SSTC vice commissioner in 1995, vice minister of science and technology in 1998 when the SSTC was renamed the Ministry of Science and Technology, and minister of science and technology in 2001; meanwhile Xu was admitted to the CCP in 1984. Academy leaders also tend to be dual elites. With the exception of Guo Moruo (1949–78), a famous writer, historian, and archaeologist who joined the party in 1927, and Fang Yi (1978–81), a revolutionary veteran, CAS presidents have been both elite natural scientists and party members. Lu Jiaxi, a party member since 1956, became the third president of the CAS in 1981. At that time, CAS Vice Presidents Yan Dongsheng and Zhou Guangzhao were full and alternate members of the CCP Central Committee respectively, with their party affiliations dating from 1960 and 1952. Yan also served as secretary of the CAS Party Committee. Zhou was later promoted to full member of the Party Central Committee and succeeded Lu Jiaxi as CAS president in 1987. Current CAS President Lu Yongxiang joined the party in 1974 and is a CCP Central Committee member as well, while the CAS Vice President Bai Chunli is an alternate member of the Party Central Committee. These science administrators all have outstanding academic and professional credentials. Song Jian, who has a doctorate from a Soviet university, is a world famous expert in systems science and contributed to the development of China’s space program. Lu Jiaxi got his PhD at the University of London in 1939 and worked later with Nobel laureate Linus Pauling at the California Institute of Technology (Cal Tech). Yan Dongsheng has a PhD in chemistry from the University of Illinois in 1949. Zhou Guangzhao, who has a graduate degree from the prestigious Beijing University and worked at the Dubna Joint Nuclear Research Institute in Soviet Union, has been credited for his contribution to China’s nuclear weapons program. Lu Yongxiang got his doctorate from Germany’s Aachen Technical University in 1981. Bai Chunli, a PhD from the 156

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CAS, did his post-doctoral work at Cal Tech’s Jet Propulsion Lab in 1985–87, the first scientist from mainland China since the rocket scientist Qian Xuesen was expelled in 1955. Finally, Xu Guanhua received his training in the Beijing Forestry College and spent two years at the University of Stockholm after the Cultural Revolution. All except Song Jian and Bai Chunli were promoted to administrative posts after becoming CAS members. China’s official political structures are composed of a system of seven concentric circles with first gradually and later abruptly increasing degrees of participation in politics: the ruling political elite consists of about 800 leadership personnel from the central government down to the provincial and ministerial level (Domes 1990).12 Although the structures do not specify the location of full and alternate members of the CCP Central Committee, such membership holders are definitely in the inner circle. In fact, a few trusted CAS members have reached the core of Chinese politics (Table 7.7). For example, in January 1987, CAS Table 7.7 CAS members in the Chinese Communist Party Central Committee CCP Central Committee Year

Eighth Full Members Alternate Members Ninth Full Members Alternate Members Tenth Full Members Alternate Members Eleventh Full Members Alternate Members Twelfth Full Members Alternate Members Thirteenth Full Members Alternate Members Fourteenth Full Members Alternate Members Fifteenth Full Members Alternate Members Sixteenth Full Members Alternate Members

Total Year of CAS membership election Subtotal Total number 1955–57 1980 1991 1993–2001

1956–69

0 109 86

0 0

0 0

0 0

0 0

0 0

170 109

1 1

0 1

0 0

0 0

1 2

195 124

1 1

0 1

0 0

0 0

1 2

222 132

1 1

1 0

0 0

0 0

2 1

268 171

0 1

5 1

1 1

0 0

6 3

175 110

0 1

4 1

1 1

0 0

5 3

189 130

0 0

3 1

2 1

0 0

5 2

193 151

0 0

1 0

2 1

0 2

3 3

198 158

0 0

0 0

2 0

0 1

2 1

1969–73

3

1973–77

3

1977–82

3

1982–88

9

1988–93

8

1993–97

7

1997–2002

6

2002–present

3

Source: Same as Table 4.1.

157

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Vice President Zhou Guangzhao announced the removal of Fang Lizhi as vice president of the University of Science and Technology of China (Schell 1991: xxv–vi). Although the decision was made by Deng Xiaoping himself and the actual politics of the dismissal may not involve Zhou at all, it was Zhou who executed Deng’s decision. Academic competence is indispensable for dual elites. Meanwhile, because they are entrusted with political power and authority, their political backgrounds and standings are as important as, if not more important than, their expertise, and they have been certainly screened for political loyalty before being incorporated into the elite political apparatus. Because those scientists who finally move into the structure of political hierarchy are much fewer in number, they are required to meet the “both-red-and-expert” criterion. As for the scientific elite in general, what was to be examined has been merely their educational and professional credentials, because they are needed primarily for their valued skills (Walder 1995). With the exception of the nuclear physicist Zhu Guangya (an alternate member of the Ninth and Tenth Central Committees and a member from the Eleventh to the Fourteenth CCP Committees), Song Jian (a member of the Twelfth to the Fifteenth CCP Central Committees), Lu Yongxiang (an alternate member of the Twelfth and Thirteenth CCP Central Committees and a member since the Fourteenth CCP Central Committee), Xu Guanhua (a member of the Fifteenth and Sixteenth CCP Central Committee), and Bai Chunli (an alternate member since the Fifteenth CCP Central Committee), other dual elites were elected as CAS members before entering the circle of the political elite. This fact suggests that even the dual elites have not necessarily followed the same pattern of status attainment. While a few scientists turned to red first, most pursued excellence in their disciplines. Their being chosen as science administrators by the party may be an unintended consequence of their professional achievements.

Summary and discussion This chapter has examined several aspects of the red versus expert debate as it is applied to CAS members. Although the Chinese Communist Party places great value on political loyalty, it has adopted a liberal policy toward elite scientists by giving more weight to their academic competence than to their political soundness. As a result, the scientific elite has been rewarded with a range of political honors, including NPC deputyship, CPPCC membership, and even membership in the communist party. The career of Chinese scientists has differed from that of other intellectuals, such as writers and social scientists, both frequent targets of the party (for a discussion on this, see, for example, Goldman 1967: chapters 5–10; 1981; Goldman with Cheek and Hamrin 1987: chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, and 6–8). An obvious reason for this is that China’s emergence as a major power in the world depends on its scientific and technical elite, although they have also been mischievous from time 158

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to time. The party’s favorable treatment of the scientific elite stems from utilitarian considerations. Not only does it help mobilize the scientific community, the elite group also helps the party to consolidate its power by realizing various objectives, including most recently the modernization drive. To this end, the party needs the cooperation and participation of the scientific community and does not ask every scientist to be red and expert. Political loyalty is not equally weighed and is meaningful only in regard to those who hold administrative positions representing the party in scientific leadership. As for ordinary scientists and even the elite, the party could change the definitions of redness and expertise to accommodate both its political goal and the request of the scientists, and it is academic and research credentials, not political loyalty, that determine which Chinese scientists are accorded the highest professional distinction. As long as the scientific community does not challenge its leadership, the party would even allow science to operate according to international scientific norms and hope for scientists to play their maximum role. The shift from the red-and-expert criterion to the sole emphasis on expertise points to the end of political evaluation and promotion of Chinese scientists.

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8 ELECTIONS OF SCIENTISTS INTO THE ELITE GROUP

Thus far, the book has dealt with factors that might have affected a Chinese scientist becoming a member of the CAS. Although during various periods these leading scientists have been required to be loyal to the people’s cause, to support the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) and socialism, and to be patriotic, the political criteria have played a surprisingly insignificant role in forming the scientific elite. For example, in 1955, only 17 of the 172 natural scientists who were appointed members of the CAS Academic Divisions were also party members; in 1980, of the 283 natural scientists elected, 109 were party members. In general, becoming an elite scientist did not necessarily correlate with party membership (Chapters 3 and 7). In contrast, as shown in Chapters 4 through 6, social origins (including family background and educational attainment), the influence of elite mentors, and the types of research that scientists were involved in have had an impact on turning out the scientific elite in China. This chapter will turn to the factors that have been affecting recent CAS membership elections which have been held every two years since 1991—academic criteria, disciplinary characteristics, age at election, and the role of personal relations (guanxi). In addition, it argues that CAS members have resisted the pressure and interference of the party-state to maintain the integrity of the elite group.

Procedures in recent membership elections The CAS appointed members in 1955 and 1957, and elected members in 1980 and 1991; and in the meantime, it experienced two interruptions (see Chapter 3). It was in 1992 that the Sixth General Assembly of CAS Academic Division Members passed the by-laws for the first time, which, with revisions in the assemblies of CAS members ever since, regulates that the biennial election may add no more than sixty new members. Then, the Presidium of the CAS Academic Divisions adopted the “Detailed Procedures for the Implementation of the CAS Membership Election” to further stipulate the procedures of the elections (2002b). The 1993 election followed these procedures and determined that sixty new members would be allocated as follows: ten each in the Divisions of Mathematics and 160

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Physics, Chemistry, and Earth Sciences, twelve in the Division of Biological Sciences, and eighteen in the Division of Technological Sciences.1 Recent CAS membership elections take a full year to complete and include four steps. The first is recommendation. Three or more CAS members may nominate a candidate, similar to elections in its international counterparts such as the US National Academy of Sciences and the Royal Society of London. Each member can nominate no more than two candidates, and at least two nominators should be from the academic division to which they would recommend candidates. In addition, research institutes, universities, and academic societies can also make recommendations to prevent outstanding scientists from being excluded.2 Nominated candidates are then asked to provide credentials: ten representative publications, citation statistics and academic awards if available, and other supporting documentation. Candidacy is valid for a single election only. The second step is preliminary selection. Candidates nominated by CAS members go directly to the next step—evaluation of credentials, others have to be first evaluated and selected by their respective higher-level academic organizations. For example, candidates nominated by academic societies are screened by the Chinese Association of Science and Technology (CAST); the CAS as a research body is responsible for evaluating candidates from its research institutes; the Ministry of Education organizes the preliminary screening of those nominated by institutions of higher education; and provincial, municipal, and ministerial academic authorities select candidates from their respective jurisdictions. Only those who pass the preliminary selection become effective candidates ( youxiao houxuanren) who are submitted to the General Office of the CAS Academic Divisions, which is in charge of summarizing candidates’ credentials and handling logistic issues. The third step involves a number of serious evaluations and assessments by CAS members of the credentials of the candidates according to disciplines. At first, evaluation is conducted within relatively narrow subgroups (Table 8.1)—for example, candidates for the Division of Mathematics and Physics are first assessed in subgroups of mathematics, condensed-state physics, nuclear physics, astronomy, and mechanics (basic research)—and then within the entire division. The evaluation goes like this: A member familiar with the work of a candidate makes the first introduction, then deals with questions from other members. There might be several rounds of evaluations, each round reducing the numbers of candidates by anonymous voting until a final list of formal candidates (zhengshi houxuanren) is produced. At the final stage, CAS members cast anonymous and differential votes to elect new members to their own academic divisions. Differential voting means that the number of candidates is more than that of members to be elected. For example, the Division of Mathematics and Physics is to add ten new members; with a 40 percent difference, the number of formal candidates becomes fourteen. In an election, the number of votes a CAS member can cast is up to the number of new members an academic division is supposed to elect, which could guarantee that the number of new members elected in any division does not exceed the quota allocated 161

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Table 8.1 Sub-groups of the CAS Academic Divisions in candidate evaluation Academic Division

Sub-groups

Mathematics and Physics

Mathematics Condensed-state physics Nuclear physics Astronomy Mechanics (basic research) Inorganic chemistry, radiochemistry, nuclei chemistry, and material science Organic chemistry and polymer chemistry Analytical chemistry and environmental chemistry Physical chemistry Chemical engineering Medical science Agricultural science Ecology and taxonomy Molecular biology, biochemistry, and cell biology Geology, palaeonanthropology, palaeonzoology, and palaevebrate zoology Geochemistry Meteorology, ocean science, and environmental science Atmosphere physics and geophysics Mechanical engineering, electrical engineering, and power engineering Computer (hardware and software), semiconductor, electronics, microelectronics, and automation Hydraulic engineering, civil engineering and architecture, seismological engineering, and mechanics (applied research) Aerospace technology, and aeronautic technology Material engineering

Chemistry

Biological Sciences Earth Sciences

Technological Sciences

Source: Interviews with CAS members (China, 1995–97).

to that division—ten in the case of the Division of Mathematics and Physics. A CAS member can vote only if he or she participates in more than two-thirds of evaluation sessions (informant no. 73). Those who receive at least half the votes from the members present in an election become new members. The final results are acknowledged by each academic division, approved by the Presidium of the CAS Academic Divisions, and reported to the State Council for the record. An inorganic chemist detailed the electoral procedure within the Division of Chemistry in 1995, which also exemplified the procedure as a whole: Candidates for the Division of Chemistry were divided into five groups for evaluation: inorganic chemistry and materials science, organic chemistry and polymer chemistry, analytical chemistry, physical chemistry, and chemical engineering. Their academic achievements and contributions to the country were introduced. Each candidate was then graded by members on a 1- to 10-point scale, so that candidates could be ranked in order of their average scores. Normally, those who score 8–10 points are 162

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elected, while those who score 6–7 points could possibly be elected, but there is no hope for those with 5 points and below. Next, those with a score of 6–7 points were introduced in meetings of the entire division. The introduction was made by a member in a similar, if not identical, specialty so that he or she was familiar with the candidate’s major achievements and contributions. Neither those with good or poor chances of membership would be introduced, unless a member’s suggestion was seconded. Each introduction lasted 10–15 minutes, including discussion, argument, and assessment. The first round of voting then took place. Given that ten new members could be added in the Division of Chemistry, the number of formal candidates was stipulated as 14, and the first round of voting was supposed to yield a list of 28. Another round of introduction and discussion followed. There were more than 80 members in the Division. Those candidates who received 60–70 votes and those who received less than 30 votes were not put forward again: only those with an intermediate number of votes were further assessed. The division held the second round of voting, resulting in a list of 14 formal candidates. If the 14th, 15th, and 16th candidates received the same numbers of votes, another round of voting had to be conducted to decide their positions on the list. The final round of voting determined which ten candidates received more than half the votes. They became the new members. In 1995, there were nine chemists elected in my division, because they were the only candidates who received more than half the votes. (informant no. 26) The 1997 election introduced a new procedure: the credentials of effective candidates—those passing preliminary screening and those nominated by existing members—are posted at their respective work units (danwei ) for one month to solicit comments on whether their academic achievements and contributions were overstated and whether they are honest in their research activities. Anyone could report such cases to the General Office of the CAS Academic Divisions, which would then organize an investigation into the non-anonymous cases either through the danwei of the candidates or a group of its officials and CAS members. The results of the investigation are reported to the members when they conduct evaluation and election (interview with a deputy director of the General Office of the CAS Academic Divisions, Beijing, China: 1997). In 1999, the list of formal candidates is further stipulated to be posted on the CAS website and science- and technology-related newspapers for the same purpose. To reduce the time and burden spent in candidate evaluation, the CAS has taken measures to simplify the process. In 1999, for example, the Division of Earth Science experimented to evaluate effective candidates ( youxiao houxuanren) by correspondence to produce a list of preliminary candidates (chubu houxuanren) before 163

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Table 8.2 Ratio of elected CAS members and candidates (1991–2001) Year of election

Number of effective candidates

Number of elected members

Ratio

1991 1993 1995 1997 1999 2001

1,079 733 587 418 356 337

210 57 59 58 55 56

5.1 12.4 10.0 7.2 6.5 6.0

Source: Renmin ribao January 4, 1992: 3; December 30, 1993: 3; November 4, 1995: 4; December 5, 1997: 1; December 5, 1997: 1; General Office of the CAS Academic Divisions 2001.

convening to evaluate them. In 2001, the Division of Chemistry adopted the procedure, and the entire academic divisions are to implement that in the 2003 election. In doing so, members do not have to be on site evaluating all effective candidates but only preliminary candidates. Another measure is that those who have been effective candidates for three consecutive times but failed to be elected are required to skip an election unless they are nominated by six or more CAS members with at least four from the same academic division of the candidates. These procedures have been followed strictly and vigorously; CAS members have taken the task of evaluating candidates very seriously, and have been scrupulous in not electing candidates about whom there are any professional doubts. In the six most recent elections, although the numbers of effective candidates have been far greater than those finally elected, CAS members resisted filling the quota of sixty rather than electing scientists who failed to meet the high standards being employed (Table 8.2). In describing this situation, many members quoted a famous Chinese proverb, “passing five barriers and chopping off six generals” ( guo wuguan zhan liujiang), implying that only those with genuine qualifications could pass successfully through one round after another of evaluations and votes. In addition, the Presidium of the CAS Academic Divisions passed the “Scientific Ethics and Self-Discipline Codes for CAS Members” on November 9, 2001 to restrain the conduct of its members, including participating in the membership elections in an objective, fair, and impartial manner (Academic Divisions of the CAS 2001b).

Factors affecting the elections Academic criteria The evaluation of candidates for CAS membership is supposedly based upon clearly defined, meritocratic academic criteria. In practice, the number of papers published and citations to them have been used as two important measurements of the quantity and impact of a candidate’s research; awards received also 164

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provide the evidence of achievement. Interviewed CAS members described what they looked for in the evaluation: The importance of the Science Citation Index (SCI) in the CAS membership elections varied from discipline to discipline. Mathematicians and basic scientists hoped to use the SCI, while other scientists such as geologists thought it unfair to compare their fields with basic scientific fields. (informant no. 51) The SCI was emphasized in the Division of Biological Sciences. Its director, Zou Chenglu, carefully checked the impact factor of the journals in which candidates published their papers. (informant no. 69) At first, we felt the SCI to be important. We know how citation works. Some papers were cited paragraph after paragraph, some papers with errors were much criticized. I myself paid more attention to invited lectures at international conferences; for example, one member elected in 1995 was invited to give 15 lectures or keynote speeches. The lectures were not given at bilateral, or Asian and Pacific, but at truly international, conferences. He could not have received that many invitations through personal connections only—he must have something significant to say. But candidates like him have been few and far between. (informant no. 70) During the evaluation, we paid attention to the quality of a candidate’s publications. In what kind of journals were the papers published? How have other scientists commented on them? How many citations have the papers received? Citation depends on the size of a discipline, that is, on how many scientists are active in a field. Citation also depends on the language of publication: papers published in Chinese journals usually receive fewer citations. You could not expect many citations to a paper in a Chinese journal, even if it is published in English. (informant no. 6) Papers are the most important criteria. Scientists working in a similar field could understand the significance of the publications. The number of papers was important, and their quality was also considered. Quality was assessed according to disciplines; for example, my field is geophysics, which is closer to mathematics and physics [than some other fields of earth sciences], so citations were given a weight. As for those working on taxonomy, the number of papers, or the breadth of the research, had to be taken into account. (informant no. 46) 165

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CAS members should have systematic and creative achievements and have made major contributions in their fields: achievements are at the academic level, while contributions focus more on practical work. Which factor, achievements or contributions, is more important? How to evaluate those scientists whose achievements have been less significant but whose role in promoting scientific research in China has been important; and how to evaluate those scientists whose research has been unknown to the world but whose success in exploring China’s natural resources has been achieved in very difficult conditions? We have debated on such issues, and voted according to our respective understandings. (informant no. 71) Systematic achievements are shown through publications, which should also be recognized by the international scientific community. Creativity means that a scientist’s work has not already been done by others. (informant no. 74) In the case of scientists working in such areas as satellites, rockets, nuclear reactors, more emphasis was placed on contributions. But academic achievements were also taken into account. (informant no. 16) These observations suggest that attention has been paid to both the quality and the quantity of a scientist’s work. Academic criteria may have differed across disciplines; but within a field and an academic division, the standard of measurement has been primarily the same.3 Disciplinary characteristics Since candidates are presented by existing members, election depends to some extent upon the introduction, which is in turn related to how familiar an “introducer” is with a candidate’s work. It rarely happens that both are working on exactly the same topic, so the former may know what the latter is studying, but not in detail. For scientists working in fields where their “invisible college” is outside China, the introduction may be more difficult. Generally speaking, a good introduction focuses on academic achievements and practical contributions to the country and is supported by concrete evidence of their significance. An introduction that is made by someone unfamiliar with a candidate’s work or that does not clarify its importance is obviously ineffective and can blight the chances of an excellent candidate; while a highly effective introduction can make an average candidate seem impressive and therefore increase the chance of election: Not every member was familiar with the works of all candidates so knowledge about them mainly came from introductions. Of course, 166

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members reviewed the credentials themselves. If an introduction was clear, it was easy for members to understand the work of the candidate, and decide whether to vote for that scientist. Making a clear introduction does not mean exaggerating. Afterwards, members asked further questions, and the introducer’s answers could also have an impact. (informant no. 31) The prestige of a danwei—whether a research institute or a university—is gradually determined by how many of its scientists have been elected CAS members. Given the increasing visibility of elite membership in the Chinese scientific community and its importance in the competition for research funding, each danwei wants more of its scientists to be elected. On the other hand, because scientific research has become increasingly interdisciplinary, scientists can be nominated to different academic divisions. For example, depending on the emphasis of a research specialty, a seismologist could become a candidate for either the Division of Earth Sciences or the Division of Technological Sciences; a soil scientist may be elected into either the Division of Biological Sciences or the Division of Earth Sciences. Academic divisions evaluate and elect candidates independently and might have different criteria, so it is possible for a particular individual to be elected in one division but not in another. Therefore, each danwei might deliberately recommend its scientists to different academic divisions to increase their chances. In order to avoid this problem, the list of effective candidates is required to be circulated among all CAS members for their opinions on the most appropriate academic division for particular scientists; and the amended by-laws further indicate that a candidate has to be recommended by at least two existing members from the same division. Unfamiliarity of CAS members with research in fields other than their own could result in poor, if not wrong, judgments. Many participants in the recent elections elaborated this point by citing a famous Chinese proverb, “differences between occupations or professions seems to be as big as a mountain” (gehang ru geshan). As some of the interviewees indicated: Because the elections were held among colleagues in a large discipline (da tonghang)—say chemistry or physics—some members might know little about a specific subdiscipline. Even if they reviewed the credentials of candidates and listened to the introductions, they might still not catch the point. Generally speaking, most qualified were elected, although I cannot say that the unelected were less qualified than the elected. There is really no way of comparing a scientist from one subdiscipline with one from another. (informant no. 6) Modern science has been divided into so many disciplines that no one is expected to know everything. I could only base my judgments on 167

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candidates’ publication lists, my knowledge about the journals in which their papers were published, or how their papers were received by peers. I also had to listen to the introductions of their peers and colleagues. (informant no. 58) When physicists voted on mathematicians, they usually depended on the judgment and evaluation of mathematicians. (informant no. 18) The depth of understanding of CAS members into candidates’ work varied, despite our reviewing their credentials and listening to the introductions. Just as ten students who read the same textbook, attended the same lecture, and tried to understand the same question came up with many different answers to the questions in an examination, so it was with the evaluation of candidates. (informant no. 52) A related problem is the evaluation of candidates working in interdisciplinary fields: It is difficult for scientists working in interdisciplinary fields to be elected. Every scientist knows his or her own field better, and has likes and dislikes. For example, meteorologists believe their traditional methods to be the best, and measure the achievements of scientists from other fields in the same way as they evaluate traditional meteorologists. So they may not accept those scientists who apply new methods—say mathematics— to meteorology. (informant no. 53) If there are no interdisciplinary members within an academic division, it is difficult to elect such new members. (informant no. 51) The balance of elite scientists among disciplines ought not to be taken into account in evaluating and electing scientists. However, since scientists want more members to be elected from their own disciplines, big sciences have been getting bigger while small sciences have been shrinking in terms of the number of scientists elected (informant no. 68). Each member therefore bears disciplinary balance in mind. As an unwritten rule, if a field has more members admitted in one election, in the next election priority is probably given to other fields. Some academic divisions even allocate the total number to be elected among different disciplines. The allocation of ten members in the Division of Mathematics and Physics in 1995, according to a member in that division, was: 3.2 for condensed-state physics, 2.7 for nuclear physics, 2.4 for mathematics, 1 for mechanics, and 0.7 for 168

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astronomy (informant no. 15); that is, in every 3 elections, 10 condensed-state physicists, 8 nuclear physicists, 7 mathematicians, 3 scientists from mechanics, and 2 astronomers are supposed to be admitted. Thus if the number of qualified candidates from a discipline is more than the number allocated to the discipline, some candidates may not be elected. For example, in 1993, 2 space physicists were on the list of formal candidates in the Division of Earth Sciences, but only 1 was elected (the other had to be elected in 1995) (informant no. 47). Age Having had an extended experience, older scientists are more likely to be admitted to the elite group. In fact, the average age of CAS members at elections after the Cultural Revolution was higher than in the 1950s when closer to 90 percent of the members were under sixty and on average they were in their early fifties. In 1980, the percentage of CAS members in the 60-year-old and under group dropped to 32.2; before the 1991 election, the average age of existing members was seventy-five; and the addition of new members in that year only decreased the average age by six years. Although since then new members under sixty have been added, the average age at election has been still over sixty (Table 8.3). An aging elite population was one consequence of the Cultural Revolution that virtually destroyed China’s higher education and scientific research and seriously retarded the training and utilization of an entire generation of scientists. The interruptions in the CAS membership elections further worsened the situation, because older scientists were more likely to be admitted once the door to membership was reopened. A third reason may lie in the criteria for the honorific title stipulating the importance of systematic and creative work, which implies emphasis on scientific performances throughout a career rather than individual accomplishments. The aging of the elite causes another problem. Although some older scientists continue to follow the literature and can evaluate young talent, many are incapable of judging the quality of new work or the achievements of one scientist over another. Moreover, the interdisciplinary nature of scientific research means that even devoted scientists may sometimes feel their knowledge obsolete. However, scientists who have been inactive in research continue to be actively involved in evaluating candidates and deciding the fates of young scientists. They were also physically weak to endure the long and intense evaluation sessions and even had hearing difficulty (informant no. 75). One mechanics expert described the situation in 1996: There are more than 100 CAS members who are 80 to 90 years old. They do not spend enough time reviewing and analyzing the credentials of candidates, and could not make right judgments. They are accompanied by relatives who even vote on their behalf. The older the scientists, the more often they attend evaluations and elections, because they have so few social 169

52.3 53.0

Mean Median

Source: Same as Table 8.2.

4 16 83 58 11

2.3 9.3 48.3 33.7 6.4

50.6 50.5

0 1 8 7 2

0.0 5.6 44.4 38.9 11.1

%

N

N

%

1957 (18)

1955 (172)

Over 70 61–70 51–60 41–50 40 and under

Age group

62.8 63.0

35 157 73 18 0

N 12.4 55.5 25.8 6.4 0.0

%

1980 (283)

Table 8.3 Age distribution of CAS members at elections

61.2 60.0

23 81 96 10 0

N 11.0 38.6 45.7 4.8 0.0

%

1991 (210)

63.0 62.0

9 27 22 1 0

N 15.3 45.8 37.3 1.7 0.0

%

1993 (59)

60.9 60.0

6 22 28 2 1

N 10.2 37.3 47.5 3.4 1.7

%

1995 (59)

61.6 62.0

5 27 24 2 0

N

8.6 46.6 41.4 3.4 0.0

%

1997 (58)

62.1 64.0

3 39 9 4 0

N

5.5 70.9 16.4 7.3 0.0

%

1999 (55)

61.1 63.5

5 30 13 5 3

N

8.9 53.6 23.2 8.9 5.4

%

2001 (56)

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activities. As long as their health permits, they will definitely show up. But when asked for their specific opinions, they cannot distinguish the critical points differentiating scientist A from scientist B, or say that both could be elected if there were no quota limits. Because there are so many of them, their votes have carried significant weights. (informant no. 41) The dearth of young scientists has recently become a sore point among CAS members who have increasingly realized that a new generation of elite scientists is needed. In 1980, 91 (32.2 percent) scientists aged 60 years and under were elected in the interests of rejuvenating the elite population.4 The elections from 1991 to 2001 each added at least one-quarter of new members aged 60 years or under. In 1995, a fixed age quota was set aside: one-third of newly elected CAS members must be under the age of sixty. The youngest CAS members elected in that year included a 37-year-old chemist from Hong Kong, a mathematician with a Chinese PhD and a biochemist with a French doctorate—both in their forties; the elections ever since have seen several young scientists around forty. With the admission of more young elite scientists as a priority, . . . the chances are pretty good for some really excellent young scientists. What I mean is that if two scientists with similar achievements and contributions are evaluated, preference would be given to the younger one. (informant no. 2) However, a rare-earth element chemist claimed: Setting up a quota for young scientists is like affirmative action. Judged only by the SCI-cited publications, older scientists might not be as good as young ones. But in terms of the scope of research, older scientists have advantages: as an honor for appraising past achievements and contributions, membership should be awarded to them. Old CAS members share this sentiment. However, for the sake of the development of science in China, the one-third quota is reasonable. (informant no. 71) At one point, some CAS members suggested that the honorary title be retained for those aged 75 and over, which failed to win support among older members. In 1998, the Ninth General Assembly of CAS Members finally amended the bylaws, specifying that those aged 80 years and over should become “senior member” (zishen yuanshi ) and be relieved of the duties of recommending and electing new members (Academic Divisions of the CAS 2002a). The electoral procedures further stipulate that nominees are to be aged 65 years or under unless they are recommended by six existing members including four from the academic division to which they are recommended (Academic Divisions of the CAS 2002b). 171

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An “upright” attitude to research Having the upright attitude to research is being taken more and more seriously by the Chinese scientific community. By “upright” it means integrity of scientists who should not praise themselves, exaggerate their own achievements and contributions, plagiarize others’ work, or claim credit for others’ achievements. In other words, Chinese scientists are required to observe international norms and rules in scientific research. Although the scientific community cannot prevent fraud, it has the means to punish deviant scientists. In fact, dishonest scientists, once their deviance is disclosed, have had scant chance of passing the first round of evaluation (informant no. 41). For example, apparently by taking advantage of his position as chief scientist in a national science program, one candidate denied funding applications to a peer working in the same area and instead allocated funding to his own research group. Once CAS members knew this, he lost the election (informants no. 7, 24, and 31). Another candidate failed because he had not acknowledged the contributions of others who had prepared monoclonal cell antibodies for his research into liver cancer (informant no. 65). The case of a research institute director provides an example: He is an excellent director. But he claimed that he had published 28 papers a year. Members participating in evaluations found that number problematic. How much time could he have spent on research? Is it possible that someone else toadied to him, or did he take advantage of his position by adding his name to papers? Many members used to be or still are research institute directors, with their own experiences of such situations. Take myself: as a director, at best I could publish one paper as the first author, and a couple as second author. (informant no. 43)5 It is evident that CAS members know how to distinguish a scientist’s achievements on the bench from his or hers as an administrator. They are familiar with the common practice in large international laboratories where directors may do no research themselves but have their names on most, if not all, papers and they are aware of the misconduct cases that have occurred outside China. The practice of soliciting comments from the candidates’ danwei, which began in 1997, was aimed at further safeguarding the integrity of China’s scientific elite. On the other hand, scientists who do not attract public attention still have a chance of election. Several CAS members mentioned the case of an outstanding French-trained mathematician (informants no. 11 and 17). A “bookworm” not good at networking with others and never seeking fame, he was not recommended in 1991 by the university where he taught, which surprised those who were familiar with his work. However, in 1993, he was recommended, his credentials were collected and prepared by others, and he was elected. Many CAS members thought that the honor of CAS membership should be given to scientists like him. 172

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A final factor that has affected the outcome of election is an individual’s behavior during the Cultural Revolution. Someone who attacked other scientists made enemies in the entire scientific community, because many scientists were labeled “counterrevolutionary academic authorities” and suffered consequently. Such terrible experiences are not easily forgotten. While certainly a non-academic consideration, this cannot be regarded as unreasonable (informant no. 8). It is the only political factor that concerns the elite group of scientists.

Guanxi and the membership elections Guanxi in contemporary china Guanxi (person relations) resembles “social networks” (Bian 1994: 96) and is a key sociocultural concept in understanding contemporary Chinese social structure (King 1991: 63). It represents a kind of group consciousness that is in turn translated into common interests. Such personal ties as kinship, locality (birthplace and dialect), and shared experiences as classmate, teacher, student, and colleague constitute the basis for group consciousness. The Chinese instinctively divide themselves into those with whom they share ties and those with whom they do not. The more ties an individual possesses, the more guanxi he or she is able to establish and, as a result, is better able to call on various resources and achieve goals in a competitive world. As an exchange relationship, guanxi mingles instrumental intentions with personal feeling. At one end, it is a relationship in which the personal element is predominant and the primary motivation is the affective aspect; this involves showing favoritism toward people with whom one has guanxi. The parties involved are willing and obliged to do something for each other, expecting that the favor will be returned whenever it is needed. Guanxi could also be a straightforward exchange of favors for material gain or a compensatory favor—such an instrumental dimension is primarily motivated by the direct exchange between those with power and those without. Between the personal and instrumental extremes is the type of relationship that individuals purposely cultivate with those in a position to benefit them; it takes place over quite a long period, through the giving of gifts and the performance of favors. Nothing is expected or asked for as return— at least for the time being. The intention is to cultivate personal familiarity and feelings for future advantage. Here, the personal and instrumental aspects of the relationship are more equally balanced than they are at either extreme. Both sides benefit more or less equally, although the exchange is neither immediate nor direct. The relationship is regulated because a person who accepts gifts and favors from another accumulates social obligations, but the instrumental exchange of advantage—relatively balanced—is also an important motivation for both sides (Walder 1986: 179–80). From this perspective, guanxi becomes a form of social capital, which could be invested by the involved parties for the long-term, future gain. 173

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In contemporary China, setting up highly personal guanxi has commonly been used as a strategy for securing social advantages in the attainment of goals (King 1991: 75). Guanxi can be established or strengthened in a subtle and complicated way so that it even becomes a means of social engineering and an art (guanxi xue) (King 1991; Yang M. 1994). Using guanxi has become the most effective and necessary way to get things done in today’s China. In order to collaborate when there is no preexisting relationship, or to consolidate less close relationship, the parties concerned could try to find common ties. Guanxi can be found everywhere: from the search for a job (Bian 1994: 95–122), to the conduct of research (Yang M. 1994). In selecting a cadre, for example, “age is a capital asset, diploma is indispensable, past work performance provides a reference, but guanxi is critical” (Ch’i 1991: 90). Guanxi and the election to the elite At different stages of their career, scientists may share group attributes through professional affiliations and contacts with relatives, mentors, classmates, students, colleagues, and collaborators. Thus, guanxi—whether personal, instrumental, or mixed—can be an important factor in their elections to the honorific society. In particular, who nominated whom is the critical first step. In evaluation, positive or negative comments by CAS members and the tone of the comments may affect whether a candidate passes through evaluations and is put on the list of formal candidates. Guanxi between members and candidates can influence the final outcome of the elections. It is legitimate for existing CAS members to ask a candidate for credentials before making recommendation. In fact, many scientists have done the opposite by utilizing their guanxi to ask CAS members to nominate them. Without recommendation in the first place, a scientist could not become a candidate and be evaluated, let alone be elected. Almost all the scientists interviewed had been asked for such favors. Although they despised such a behind-the-scenes activity, they could not always refuse for fear of hurting the feelings (mianzi ) of those who approached them and in turn damaging the guanxi between them (for a discussion on mianzi and guanxi, see Hwang 1987: 962). Ironically, in some cases nominators did not even vote for their own candidates. For example, a candidate recommended by three CAS members received only one vote in the first round, although all three who made the recommendations were present (informant no. 14). They wanted to spare the feeling of the candidate when asked to make the nomination, but did not necessarily feel that their nominee was qualified, so they just retreated. Smart scientists knew how to use the art of guanxi to get nominated, although they are supposed to be passive in the nomination process as the CAS President Zhou Guangzhao pointed out in announcing the resumption of CAS membership election in 1990 (Zhongguo kexuebao December 7, 1990: 1). Almost no one

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frankly conceded this point except two earth scientists: I was nominated by my institute as well as by D and Z. In fact, I asked D and Z to recommend me so as to make the nomination doubly secure. D and I work in the same large discipline so I think he understands my work. Z is the father of my friend and classmate. Why did I look to these two instead of others for recommendation? Because their social network is small, few people would approach them. Otherwise, how could I have had a chance of recommendation? The professors at the Geological University are not my teachers; and they would rather recommend their students. (informant no. 47) I approached three CAS members, X, F, and L, as sponsors. I was afraid my danwei would not nominate me, because a vice president of my danwei wanted to become a member himself. There have been cases in which danwei did not nominate those whom the directors did not like. (informant no. 73) A university professor of physical chemistry recalled how guanxi helped his election (informant no. 3). He was recommended by his mentor as well as two collaborators; the latter played the more important role—their relationship went back ten years. One, who works for a petrochemical engineering research institute, provided funds for the professor’s work, in the hope of applying the basic research results to industry quickly. They got to know each other well. Later a researcher at another research institute also became involved. Finally, during a business trip, the professor’s collaborators said they would recommend him. Guanxi was apparently important here: scientists usually nominate those with whom they have connections. During their collaboration, a type of working relationship had developed naturally, although guanxi was not their first concern. Also, when they started working together, CAS membership elections had not yet resumed, and the chemist could not have predicted that he would benefit a decade later. For the same reason, the positive comments of those who have worked with candidates or know their work—whether or not they have recommended them— cannot be viewed as the result of pure guanxi. One expert of mechanics pointed out: Two scientists who work in the same disciplines might share their academic ideas, have more chance to discuss questions together, get along and know each other well. So, in evaluating credentials, the member familiar with a candidate’s work would be consulted more since he or she could be less subjective. (informant no. 45)

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In discussing the role of guanxi in the CAS membership elections, one has to examine the mentor–student relationship. Just as Nobel laureates might be able to exert influence in putting their own outstanding apprentices into the competition (Zuckerman 1977: 106), so Chinese mentors also are not only responsible for their students’ academic training but are also obligated to help them in their career. Obviously, mentors usually know their students well and want them to become their academic successors; because the relationship has been cultivated naturally and over a long period, it is not unusual and uncommon to recommend their own students for elite membership. Among the scientists interviewed in 1995 and 1996, forty-four were elected between 1991 and 1995, of whom eighteen were either recommended by their mentors or had their mentors presented at evaluation and election sessions, which was clearly advantageous; nine out of the twenty-one CAS members elected in the 1950s and in 1980 mentioned that they nominated their students or apprentices. If during evaluation sessions mentors’ introductions are fair and not full of hyperbole, their comments are taken seriously by peers: It is quite natural for a mentor to say more about his or her students, and to hope they will be elected. The distinction is that you should give complete and clear assessments, rather than politicking for the students. In this respect, the obligation of scientists to the society should be higher than that to their students. (informant no. 45) In general, mentors did not want to promote unqualified students. Even if they did recommend them, they could not guarantee their election. Qian Xuesen, Lu Jiaxi, Wang Ganchang, Zhou Guangzhao, Yan Dongsheng, and Zou Chenglu— all powerful and influential in the Chinese scientific community—saw, on one occasion, their students fail to be elected (informants no. 18, 42, 43, 71, and 74). According to a high-energy physicist, a mentor has influence only when two wellmatched candidates are contested, one with a mentor who makes positive comments (informant no. 18). Thus, the elections of nine students of Tang Aoqing, a famous physical chemist, can be interpreted in either way. In the early 1960s, Tang held a quantum chemistry seminar which admitted chemists from various Chinese universities, seven participants had become CAS members recently; two other students who worked with Tang on polymer chemistry were also elected (see Chapter 5). Tang has been proud of this excellent record. While some interviewees attributed the election of the students to Tang’s influential role (informant no. 63), others believed that their success was due to their own superior scholarship (informant no. 47). In addition, not all Tang’s students have been elected (informant no. 71). In some extreme cases, mentors made every effort to promote their students. For example, one mentor was in very poor health; but in order to ensure his student to the final round and to be elected, he was carried by stretcher to every evaluation session.6 Mentors’ canvassing on behalf of their students could actually 176

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have negative effects (informant no. 40), and in doing so they could ruin their own reputations (informant no. 18). The relations between colleagues are as important as those between a mentor and a student. Through daily contact colleagues more easily establish guanxi, and are more likely to take personal feelings into account. Among the forty-four CAS members interviewed and who were elected between 1991 and 1995, twenty-four (including eight mentors in the same danwei) had their colleagues presented at various evaluation and election sessions—which helped candidates from their danwei, because Chinese are usually reluctant to criticize a person face-to-face or in front of the person who has close guanxi with the one being criticized. Senior scientists want their junior colleagues to succeed them and represent their disciplines in the elite group. A palaeobotanist in his late seventies asserted that since his colleague was qualified for the elite membership, he tried his best to introduce him and helped him be elected (informant no. 60). The more the scientists from a given danwei participate in an election, the higher the probability of a candidate from that danwei being elected. A geophysicist described the situation vividly as the gathering together of members from the same danwei to create an environment beneficial to their candidates (qihong) (informant no. 57). A polymer chemist recalled in 1996 how chemists from an institute of organic chemistry helped five of their colleagues to be elected: three in 1991 and two in 1993. In the 1991 election, three chemists from the institute were presiding; two years later, the number of chemists from that institute increased to six. The number was not enough to determine the outcome, so how did it happen? This institute has done excellent work, and also has the most organic chemists in the Division of Chemistry. Because of the larger number, it was easier to have candidates from that institute elected. I did not understand the trick until I was appointed as a scrutineer of the ballot. There was a stage when candidates were scored. The members from that institute always marked their colleagues higher, while giving lower marks to those from other institutes, and the lowest to those whose achievements and contributions were the same or about the same as of their colleagues. As a result, in 1993, two out of ten new members elected in the division were from that institute, while an organic chemist from my university failed (he was subsequently elected in 1995). (informant no. 63) However, the higher number of elites from a danwei could not sufficiently guarantee the election of a candidate from that danwei. Although there were eight CAS members in the Division of Chemistry from Beijing University by 1993, for example, the division had not added another from that university until 1999. In addition, if a member does not get along with a candidate from the same danwei, the member’s comments usually carry a significant negative influence (informant no. 75). 177

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A related problem is that some danwei make every effort to promote their candidates. Of course, such promotions are not always straightforward. A frequently used strategy is “letting members learn about our candidates beforehand” when credentials are sent to them. One molecular biologist recalled that the materials he received were so heavy that they had to be carried by a shoulder pole (informant no. 24). But an institution’s promotion of its candidates could make scientists strongly averse to both the candidates and the danwei (informants no. 5 and 10). If its behind-the-scenes activities are disclosed, that danwei can make a negative impression (informant no. 33). For example, one leading university set up a special office to campaign for its candidates; it asked alumni CAS members to vote for its candidates and played down those candidates with similar achievements and contributions (informant no. 47). This form of blatant activity angered the elite scientists and they rejected the candidates—which in fact hurt the university itself: only three scientists were elected from that university between 1993 and 1997.

Fairness of the elections Given that various factors, including guanxi, have been involved at the critical stage in elections to the scientific elite, a question that arises is how fair the elections have been. Almost all the scientists interviewed described the elections as a plot of “clean land,” and one of the two areas in China, which have not been “polluted” (the other being the nationwide college entrance examinations). An ocean physicist, educated in the United States and with a full professorship in several American universities before returning to China, commented: No evaluation is fair, of any kind. Although the entire academic level in China is inferior to that in the West, there has been no problem in the procedures in the CAS membership elections. As with tenure review and promotion in the United States, the elections could not be 100 percent fair. (informant no. 44) A mechanics expert concluded after discussing the issue with European and American scientists: Reviewing and promoting scientists in every country are based on their academic achievements, although opinions differ on what these achievements mean. Evaluations of candidates for CAS membership can be no different. However, government interference and human factors have been reduced to the minimum, as far as one can tell. (informant no. 45) 178

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Of course, errors do occur since academic achievements cannot be measured precisely, as a chemical engineer remarked (informant no. 20). Others commented: I do not admire less than five percent of the elected members. I also regret that about five percent of qualified scientists have not been elected. (informant no. 17) The elections have an error rate of about one to two percent. (informant no. 18) About 20 percent of members elected are not significantly different from non-elected candidates. (informant no. 25) As for the precision of election results in general, an analytical chemist thought: The evaluations and elections could be compared to analyzing the result of an experiment in analytical chemistry. From a statistical point of view, the degree of precision is not bad. (informant no. 13) In the meantime, although some CAS members have used various strategies to politick on behalf of their students and colleagues, although senior scientists may have more influence than junior members (informant no. 71), each has only one vote—an equally weighted vote. For their students and nominees to succeed, additional votes are needed. In the case of students of Tang Aoqing, Tang could not control the voting rights of others; they also had the sponsorship of other members. A member could exert an influence, but such influence has to have a reasonable basis. One physical chemist summarized the conditions necessary for admission into the elite group, a view shared by other CAS members interviewed: First, a scientist should have had significant academic achievements. Second, the introduction should clearly point out the significance of those achievements. Finally, the scientist should have the support of CAS members. (informant no. 58)

Elections free of political influence As indicated in Chapter 3, CAS members were appointed by the State Council in 1955 and 1957, during which process the communist party had the final say; in 1980, the party and the government tried to change the outcome of the election, but CAS members resisted the interference, and the party finally had to give up. 179

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During the six recent elections, elite scientists have actually used the autonomy given by the party to elect those they considered qualified, and the elections are now without political influence. For example, before the 2001 election result was announced, Jiang Zemin, the then party general secretary and state president, indicated that the average age of the new members was too high and wanted the Academies of Sciences and Engineering to reconsider the age factor. After deliberating, both academies stood by the results, but were willing to take the aging issue more rigorously in later elections (chat with a staff of the Chinese Academy of Engineering, Beijing, China: 2002). Many interviewed scientists gave the example of Chen Zhangliang. Chen, born in 1961, graduated from Washington University in St. Louis in 1987 with a PhD in biology. While other Chinese students sought to stay in the United States, Chen returned to China the same year, and soon became a “famous young star,” a “model scientist,” covered by news media. He was promoted to full professor, and subsequently appointed vice president of Beijing University, the premier university in China. Meanwhile, the party leadership hinted to CAS members that Chen should be given the honorific title. However, scientists participating in the elections resisted the pressure, and adhered to the academic criteria for membership. Chen repeatedly failed to be elected. In 1995, when CAS members learned that he was involved in a case of plagiarism, Chen did not even pass the first round of evaluation.7 Interviewed scientists also mentioned the case of Yuan Longping, an agricultural expert. Yuan has been credited for his contributions to China’s food production and is known as “the father of China’s hybrid rice.” The scientific community acknowledged the economic significance of his contributions to solving China’s food problem, claimed that he deserved to be hailed as a “model scientist,” and conferred on him the first State Superior Science and Technology Award in 2001. However, at the same time, it insisted that there was nothing new theoretically in his research. Therefore, CAS members did not elect him, despite pressure from the party leadership—including the then Premier Li Peng—and the provincial government where Yuan resides (Li M. 1997: 151–2).8 Many scientists-turned administrators have also lost the privilege that they used to enjoy. Back in 1955, party members elected to the CAS Academic Divisions included administrators of scientific research (see Chapter 3); now, such titles do not necessarily carry any weight. For example, one astronomer observed in 1996 that none of then five directors of China’s observatories had been elected (informant no. 15). A CAS deputy general secretary and CAS branch presidents had failed to be elected (informants no. 10 and 47). An organic chemist who was then deputy commissioner of the State Science and Technology Commission also lost the election, because one of his former colleagues doubted if he even had had any time to visit the laboratory (interview with a person involved in the CAS membership elections, Beijing, China: 1995); more significant is that the chemist-turned-administrator was from the same institute that has had seven new members elected recently. 180

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It might be that the high profiles of these scientists made them vulnerable to the kind of scrutiny that others were able to avoid. However, that has not been always the case. Almost all the interviewees said that elections were peerreviewed. Take the case of Yuan Longping. His achievements and contributions were given two introductions, and each lasted one and a half hours, while the time allocated to the introduction of a candidate is usually 15–20 minutes; that is to say, his case was fully discussed. CAS members finally concluded that Yuan had not made any theoretical breakthroughs in plant genetics, and theories such as “male sterility” and “hybrid advantages” were discovered long ago (informants no. 8, 31, 40, and 47). Nothing else prevented his election. For the elite scientists, the establishment of a good system of election to the elite is difficult, and maintaining it is even more difficult. Such examples indicate that China’s elite scientists have been attempting to avoid the intrusion of political factors in the evaluations of academic achievements.

Summary and discussion This chapter has discussed factors involved in the recent elections of Chinese scientists into the elite group. CAS members have taken academic criteria— achievements as measured by the quantity and quality of their research and contributions to the country—into serious consideration in assessing the credentials of candidates. Nevertheless, other factors may also be relevant, including disciplines, age, and so on. As for guanxi, an existing member would endorse his or her qualified students and colleagues, while non-members would try to utilize their guanxi to get nominated and elected; but in most instances, guanxi may have an impact only when qualification measures are met. As the Chinese scientific community has been paying more attention to the integrity of its members, playing the guanxi card sometimes could only jeopardize a candidate’s chance. The CAS Academic Divisions have improved the procedures and formulated the rule and the scientific ethics code to safeguard the fairness of elections, including keeping the evaluation secret, investigating into credible accusations, and requiring all members to discipline themselves. In contrast to the situation where the party-state had a definite role in scientific research and related affairs, the academy members have done their best to maintain the elections a domain of the autonomy. No one would expect that they objected to the instructions by Li Peng and Jiang Zemin. One reason for that is that such an act does not necessarily mean to challenge the political leadership, but falls within the “zone of indifference”; that is, the political leadership would be tolerant to such actions that are within the professional confines as long as they do not go beyond such a zone. The case of aging CAS members is similar to that in the US NAS where its members are seldom elected on the basis of a single contribution to science, however outstanding; a continued record of achievements is ordinarily required, so elections tend to favor older members of the scientific community (Boffey 1975: 32; 181

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Zuckerman and Merton [1972] 1973: 539). In other words, the criteria for elite membership disadvantage younger scientists who are at the peak of their career but have fewer achievements. Therefore, there appears to be a general pattern of recognition that up to a certain age a scientist has not had time to do important work—a factor exacerbated in China where leading scientists in their forties and fifties are not ready to take over from their old peers. In addition, the problem raised by the aging elite has concerned academies in other countries. For example, in the 1970s, the US NAS proposed an emeritus system for members at the age of 75, with quotas to ensure the election of younger scientists: both proposals were rejected (Boffey 1975: 32; Zuckerman and Merton [1972] 1973: 540, footnote 99).9 However, the American Academy of Arts and Sciences (AAAS), another American honorific society, according to the information provided by the physicist, historian of physics, and AAAS fellow Gerald Holton of Harvard University, has successfully introduced the active recruitment of younger scientists. Between 1966 and 1990, the average age of AAAS fellows had increased from 59 to 69, and the average age of the newly elected reached 59. New election procedures have addressed this problem; for example, the class membership committee chooses at least 50 percent from the younger half of their class candidates on the appraisal list (Council of the AAAS 1991). Then, there is the role of personal relations or network ties. The scientific community can be described as a series of social networks based upon intellectual and political alliances, institutional loyalties, and friendships (Collins 1986; Latour 1987). Although these ties are based upon empirically overlapping cognitive and personal factors which are hard to disentangle, they may strongly influence how scientific work is evaluated and scientists are promoted. In particular, four variables are relevant through which network ties influence a specific reward situation: the extent to which personal ties exist between the evaluators and the evaluated; the “observability” or “openness” of the evaluation process; the scarcity of rewards; and most important, the clarity of the criteria of evaluation. When deliberations are secret and evaluators are not required to justify their decisions, network ties are more likely to prevail; ambiguity in the criteria and lack of consensus about them also increase the chance of this happening. The more prevalent such ties are, the greater the chance that the ties will play an important role in the outcome of the evaluation (Cole S. 1992: 184–5). How is this discussion applicable to the elections of the Chinese scientific elite? The criteria used to evaluate candidates for CAS membership are vague in that academic achievements and contributions to the country are somehow difficult to quantify, and every scientist makes a personal judgment. However, the evaluation process has been quite transparent among CAS members, who take it seriously because they would be ashamed of electing unqualified scientists (informant no. 29). They would rather elect no one than elect a shoddy candidate (informant no. 31). In order to conduct fair, open, and impartial evaluations, some academic divisions have required that members whose relatives were candidates excuse themselves (informants no. 13 and 37), which was later adopted by the entire divisions. Even 182

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with a relative present, members still assessed the candidate concerned critically (informant no. 42). No mentor could guarantee a student’s election. Although elites usually voted for those with whom they have guanxi, rather than those they disliked or from whom they were rather estranged, such ties were only important when considering candidates with similar qualifications (informant no. 21). Because of these factors, according to an expert of mechanics, less than 10 percent of members were elected through the influence of guanxi (informant no. 41). Finally, elections to the CAS also represent an example of the “two-cut process” (Cole S. 1992: 189–90; Zuckerman 1977: 48–50). In granting scientists exceptional awards such as Nobel Prizes or membership of an honorific society, selection tends to be in two steps. First, a group of candidates is nominated. Although not all who could qualify are nominated, most nominees will be qualified, and nomination of an unqualified scientist is unusual. In the second stage, a selection must be made from the nominated group; only then does a candidate’s position in scientific networks come into play. In fact, the problem is not that unqualified candidates might be selected—this would usually be impossible even if the evaluators preferred them—but the difficulty of choosing from among the many candidates who are qualified. The elections of CAS members are no exception to this process. Nomination is aimed to include qualified scientists, which explains why multiple channels are used for nomination.10 Then, existing members seriously evaluate the nominated scientists, excluding those with fewer qualifications at different stages based on the criteria defined and used by each academic division. Some non-academic factors might have an impact here, but they are reduced to the minimum by the “multicut process” and the serious attitude of those participants. Such rigorous electoral processes can prevent the election of the less qualified, although they cannot always warrant the election of an outstanding candidate. Similarly, the elaborate and careful elections of the US NAS membership have seldom admitted anyone who does not deserve the honor, the main failures in the system being errors of omission. However, because the system was designed as such, members tend to vote for their close colleagues—namely those working in the same disciplines and at the same institutions as the existing members. As a result, while those elected are unquestionably good, they are not necessarily the most outstanding in terms of scientific originality; they are the best as “certified” by the existing members, but they are not necessarily the best by more objective standards (Boffey 1975: 20–38).

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The book has on the whole paid great attention to aspects and factors believed to have had an impact on forming the scientific elite in China. This concluding chapter will first summarize the findings and highlight their significance. To become a CAS member is more than to reach the highest academic rank and to achieve an eminent status in science, because scientists are supposed to offer expert opinion and make decisions in addition to producing knowledge—the expert’s role is to highlight the issues by providing the relevant information and to be prepared to enter the realm of controversy, while the policy maker has to weigh up the information and make decisions (Salomon 2000: 38). Therefore, the chapter will examine the societal roles this group of scientists have played in areas related to their expertise and as intellectuals. Finally, by taking a historical and comparative perspective, the chapter also tries to reach a better understanding of China’s scientific elite.

The formation of China’s scientific elite: a summary The role of family background is visible in the growth of China’s scientific elite. In this regard, the level of educational attainment of elites’ parents was a more important factor than the socioeconomic background of the family as measured by fathers’ occupation. Teachers, scientists, engineers, medical doctors, lawyers, and businessmen accounted for more than one-half of the occupations of future CAS members’ fathers. Further inquiry into the educational attainments of their parents has found that not only 76 (28.7 percent) fathers had received at least a college or higher education but also a significant number of mothers (38, 25.2 percent) had had formal education, which might suggest a similar role of the family’s educational environment in rearing the scientific elite in the case of the American scientific elite as identified by Zuckerman (1977). The analysis has also revealed a factor that Zuckerman has not mentioned—the influence of a relative who happened to be a scientist on the education of future elites. Most of the elite scientists have attended “key,” or prestigious universities in China, and, if possible, tended to go abroad for graduate studies and earned advanced degrees from leading foreign institutions of learning. Such an educational 184

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attainment pattern strongly coincides with what has been found in the American case (Zuckerman 1977). The changing political environment in China has caused the discontinuity in the education of Chinese, including the elite scientists, but the pattern seems to prevail. China’s scientists have also been influenced by their elite mentors during various stages of their career and through different ways. The Chinese mentors have performed the role of academic advisors as their counterparts have done elsewhere—teaching students the norms of international elite science and inculcating in them an appropriate attitude toward learning and scholarship. In the meantime, they have also made great efforts to transmit moral values to their students. This second aspect of mentoring might neither be so explicit as the responsibility of Western elite scientists nor as important as the role of guiding students academically in the West. However, following the Chinese tradition of showing respect for teachers and the aged, junior scientists have adopted a respectful and cautious attitude toward their mentors, which might have had a negative impact on Chinese scientists: students have been less likely to challenge the scholarship of their senior mentors and to produce innovative work. The admission of Chinese scientists into the elite group has been closely connected to the type of research in which they have been involved. CAS members have been more likely to be elected from the fields of basic science and civilian research, because the elite in China, as their counterparts abroad, have mainly been composed of basic scientists who might have applied higher academic criteria instead of practical contributions in the evaluation of scientific work. In addition, the institutional affiliations of scientists have strongly affected the chance of Chinese scientists’ becoming elites: the elite have been more likely to come from CAS institutes and “key” universities. But such a link of elite scientists to prestigious institutions could be explained neither by the “election hypothesis” nor by the “department effects hypothesis.” Although the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) has required Chinese intellectuals to be “both red and expert,” party membership has not necessarily been the prerequisite for scientific elite membership. The party’s recruitment of elite scientists into its rank has reflected the change of its policy toward intellectuals, while elite scientists have different motivations to join the party. Except for a very small number of “dual elites” who represent the party to lead the nation’s scientific enterprise, most Chinese scientists have been accorded the highest academic honor because of their excellent academic credentials and achievements rather than political loyalty, which in turn bring them political distinction such as the membership in the National People’s Congress, the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC), and even the CCP. Finally, recent CAS membership elections have mainly taken academic achievements and contributions of scientists into account. In general, only those really qualified could pass the several rounds of evaluations and votes. The rigorous and meritocracy-based electoral process could prevent those with less qualification from being elected, although it could not always warrant those 185

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elected to be the most excellent. Personal relations, or guanxi, and especially the mentor–student relations and the colleague relations, have played a significant role in the CAS membership elections, as they do in the daily life of Chinese and in the evaluation of scientific work in other countries; but the influence of guanxi is limited because scientists involved in elections tend to maintain the integrity of the elite institution. The work tries to identify sociologically the manner in which the stratification system characteristic of Western science is replicated in China and the ways in which it is not. The replication might suggest the function of internal mechanism of science, say the role of education, professional building, the emphasis on achievements; while the external social system—democratic or “liberal” for the West and non-democratic or authoritarian for China—might account for the differences in the pattern of stratifying the scientific community and the persistent departure of the Chinese case from the Western model. On the basis of the evidence presented earlier, the study has reached a tentative conclusion: the formation of the scientific elite in China has followed a similar pattern as discovered by Zuckerman (1977). Moreover, since the universalistic hypothesis of the scientific elite formation was originally shown to exist in a democratic or “liberal” social system and while the findings from the Chinese case are quite consistent historically in spite of the tremendous social and political changes that China has experienced, the significance of the findings should go beyond Zuckerman’s framework. That is, the recognition and promotion of scientists may be quite independent of political, cultural, and historical fluctuations, which are further related to the question of the compatibility of various political structures and the culture of science. For example, the Chinese scientific community has been vulnerable to the interference from the party-state; however, it has in some respects resisted government pressures and accorded a higher value to accomplishments in fundamental science than to applied and military research.

Scientific missions As an institution, the scientific elite is important in providing consultation regarding science and technology and related issues. Upon establishment in 1955, the CAS Academic Divisions were assigned tasks including learning the trends of science and technology and studying and solving scholarly problems with regard to research; planning and organizing research; evaluating research results of significance to the national economy and cultural enterprises, and making suggestions on the directions of further research and applications (Guo M. 1955). After the Cultural Revolution and especially after the CAS Academic Divisions became an honorific society, CAS members have been required to actively promote and contribute to the research, development, and the application of science and technology, and to strive for innovation and achievements; to be exemplary in advocating and upholding the virtues of science and fine styles of study and in 186

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popularizing the knowledge of science; to actively contribute to the training of qualified personnel and promote the construction of the contingent of scientific and technological forces; to undertake consultation and evaluation tasks initiated by the CAS Academic Divisions; to actively promote international exchanges and cooperation in the field of science and technology; and to put forward suggestions on the decision-making of the state in major science and technology issues (Academic Divisions of the CAS 2002a). In a word, CAS members are supposed to provide professional leadership in scientific and technological development and advice to national decision makers on difficult societal problems in addition to actively participating in research themselves. And they have been trying to fulfill such missions that accompany the honor. Advising scientific research and science policy Similar to the academies in other countries (Boffey 1975; Hay 1982), the CAS Academic Divisions are a body of elite scientists rendering advice and assistance to the government. Soon after the establishment of the CAS Academic Divisions in 1955, their members and other Chinese scientists developed and implemented the twelve-year science program, thus laying the foundation for Chinese science and technology in the years to come. Also thanks to the efforts of these senior scientists, the nation’s science award system was in place in the mid-1950s to recognize and reward professional achievements. Of course, the period in which they played an active role in formulating the nation’s science policy and organizing and evaluating scientific research was short because of the interruption of the political campaigns that followed. When the Cultural Revolution ended in 1976, surviving CAS members helped China restore research and education systems and pushed scientific research forward. They have also initiated many of the important changes in Chinese science policy. In 1982, the physicist Xie Xide and other eighty-eight CAS members proposed that new approaches to the funding of research be introduced. Inspired by the US National Science Foundation, this proposal led first to a peerreviewed semi-foundation within the CAS that, in turn, evolved into the National Natural Science Foundation of China (NSFC) in 1986. CAS members have held the NSFC directorship and played an active role in institutionalizing mechanisms for identifying and supporting the best research projects. As a result of the efforts of CAS members, the NSFC represents the most fair and open mechanism for funding research in China. CAS members have been instrumental in outlining and evaluating the nation’s major science programs in the reform period, and if they want, they can—and do—submit suggestions to the Politburo of the CCP Central Committee, China’s highest decision-making organ (informant no. 78). In March 1986, for example, in response to the growing international economic and military importance of high technology, four CAS members who were involved in the nation’s strategic weapons program suggested a program—the State High-Technology Research 187

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and Development Program (863 Program)—for tracking the world’s high-tech trends. With an emphasis on seven major fields—biotechnology, space technology, information, laser, automation, new energy, and new materials—the program involved the active participation of leading scientists in the organization of research, the selection of projects and participants, and the allocation of funding. In the meantime, the program also promoted fundamental research underlying these high technologies and became an effective tool for reorienting Chinese research and development during the reform period. In recent years, the State Science and Technology Commission and its successor the Ministry of Science and Technology have sought opinions from the CAS Academic Divisions on the choice of critical research and development projects such as the “Climbing Program” and the State Basic Research and Development Program (973 Program), and the then State Planning Commission asked CAS members to evaluate key projects. In addition to responding to consultation requests from the government, CAS members have also taken initiatives. For example, in 1993, astronomers outlined a major development strategy for the field of astronomy. CAS members solicited views from the astronomy community on the strategy and then played a key role in evaluating and ranking the views obtained, recommending the results for inclusion in the nation’s Ninth Five-Year Plan (General Office of the CAS Academic Divisions 1994). Involvement in important national development issues Beyond science policy itself, CAS members have made their scientific talents and counsel available on other important national development issues having scientific and technological content. These have ranged from such matters as the strengthening of biological education in high school curriculum and the issue of sustainable development of the Changjiang (Yangtze river) Delta to the development of new medicines and establishment of mechanisms for the national sharing of geological data. CAS members played a key role in the founding of the Chinese Academy of Engineering (CAE). In 1982, four CAS members in the Division of Technological Sciences—Zhang Guangdou, Wu Zhonghuo, Luo Peilin, and Shi Changxu— began considering to establish an engineering academy. Four years later, Luo Peilin drafted a proposal, which was cosponsored by eighty-two other members of the CPPCC—many being CAS members—to the Party Central Committee and the State Council to raise the status of engineers in the nation’s economic development and the establishment of an engineering academy (Ge 2002: 311). Finally, in 1992, Zhang Guangdou, Shi Changxu, Luo Peilin, along with three other members with engineering backgrounds—Wang Dahen, Zhang Wei, and Hou Xianglin—suggested to the Party Central Committee that the CAE be founded as China’s highest honorary and advisory institution in technology and

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engineering. The suggestion was approved, and the CAS was entrusted with the task of preparing for its establishment, during which the role of eighteen CAS members were critical. When the CAE was founded in 1994, thirty CAS members were among its founding members.

Political participation Most members of the intellectual community have been involved in the decisionmaking process of China’s educational, scientific, and cultural affairs where their expertise is useful. But intellectuals are valued more for their independent thinking in societal matters than mere involvement in areas of their particular knowledge. Chinese intellectuals as a group unfortunately do not have such a tradition. In fact, the culturally defined roles of China’s intellectuals—from the scholar-officials to establishments—have mainly served the authoritarian needs of the state (Wang Yeu-Farn 1991). From the establishment of the People’s Republic to the Anti-Rightist Campaign, most of the Western-trained intellectuals were incorporated into the governing body of the new state, where they played a visible yet clearly subordinate role out of a feeling of patriotism (Goldman and Cheek 1987: 5). In the “blossoming and contending” period, Chinese intellectuals— CAS members included—advocated seeking autonomy and freedom in research and teaching as well as in political affairs (see Chapter 2). But the year 1957 taught most of the intellectuals the virtues of conformity and compliance (Benton and Hunter 1995: 20) and marked the end of any political and cultural influences that they had been able to exert after 1949. Thereafter, intellectuals were considered important mostly for their technical knowledge. The Cultural Revolution further ruined the encouragement, if any, of Chinese intellectuals to voice even constructive opinions. Some, including the famous physicist Zhou Peiyuan, the then deputy chairman of the Beijing University Revolutionary Committee and the only “liberal” natural scientist, even earned the label fengpai (wind faction), indicating their blowing with the prevailing political wind no matter how frequently it shifts and how far from course it veers (Goldman 1981: 164–5; Thurston 1987: 57–8). It was not until the post-reform era that the issue of professional freedom— in spite of the uncertainty of its scope—emerged again. Even then, few Chinese intellectuals tried to articulate their own interests and to extend the granted freedom in scientific research to other arenas, and, most notably, politics. It is understandable in that they were attacked in repeated political campaigns so that few dared to take an independent stance; that they had not been in a politically advantageous position to make their opinions heard, and that in most instances they were not confident enough to become important players in societal issues. Therefore, when the astrophysicist Fang Lizhi—a CAS member elected in 1980 and fired in 1989—stood to challenge the party-state in the mid-1980s, his activities drew the attention of the scientific community in China and abroad.

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Fang Lizhi: from a model of “both red and expert” to a dissident When Fang Lizhi graduated from Beijing University in 1956 at the age of twenty, he was a model of “both red and expert”: being a party member and majoring in nuclear physics, the priority field in China at that time. He was assigned to the CAS Institute of Modern Physics to work on the nuclear weapons program. One year later, because of his outspokenness during the “blossoming and contending” period, he was labeled a “quasi-rightist” and was consequently expelled from the party and sent to the countryside to reform his thought through labor (Williams 1999: 66–7). After the 1959 amnesty, Fang was recruited into the newly founded University of Science and Technology of China (USTC) as an instructor of physics. During the Cultural Revolution, he immersed himself in reading Soviet physicist Laudau’s Classical Theory of Fields during his spare time in between manual work, thus shifting his interest to the theory of relativity, cosmology, and astrophysics and making academic achievements ever since. For Fang Lizhi, the significance of this shift was beyond academics itself. He came to realize the contradictions between the many contemporary discoveries in cosmology and the core of the orthodox Marxist theory—dialectical materialism—and became skeptical about the role of Marxism in guiding natural scientific research as a whole, thus setting him on the road to dissent (Schell 1991: xv–xx). When the Cultural Revolution ended, Fang was rehabilitated both academically and politically—being promoted directly from lecturer to full professor in 1978 and elected CAS member in 1980 at the age of forty-four as one of the youngest and having his CCP membership restored in 1979 as well (Williams 1999: 80). Obviously, he became a red expert again. However, Fang Lizhi’s active participation in the academic exchange with Western scholars after 1978 opened his eyes not only to the rapid development of science and technology in the world but also to the autonomy and freedom that his foreign peers enjoyed (Ma S. 1998). In comparison, he did not see any improvement in the social status of Chinese intellectuals during the communist regime. Fang tactically used Marxism, the guiding ideology of the CCP, to challenge the party. According to the Marxist theory of the productive forces and productive relationship, he asserted, intellectuals represent the most advanced productive forces in society so that Chinese intellectuals should become the nation’s new leading class, not just a social stratum or a part of the working class. In disapproving Deng Xiaoping’s metaphor that the party leadership steered the “ship” while the intellectuals focused on “paddling,” Fang argued that the role of intellectuals should not be limited to solving technical problems but be extended to making progress for the entire society. For Fang, intellectuals must be public figures actively combating the ideological fetters binding their academic pursuit, rather than merely accepting official guarantees of freedom of research and returning to a quiet life in the laboratory (Buckley 1991: 8). Another strategy of Fang Lizhi was to mobilize university students, the future and the hope of the country. He toured Chinese universities and gave speeches that touched on the problems that China

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faced in the mid-1980s, such as corruption, inflation, the social status of intellectuals, democracy, the lack of freedom in speech and thought, and so on (1990b: 95–121). Given his academic status and official position—CAS member and USTC vice president at that time, Fang Lizhi had a direct influence on the students marching on streets at the end of 1986. As a result, he was expelled from the party a second time and dismissed from his administrative position as well.1 He was then reassigned to the CAS Beijing Observatory where he continued his research on astrophysics. He was allowed to travel abroad—to Italy in 1987 and to Australia in 1988—but was denied a trip to the United States in late 1988 (Link 1990: 101–2; Miller 1996: 229–30); and he still kept the prestigious CAS membership.2 Compared with what happened to the rightists after 1957, with the bitterness of many intellectuals during the Cultural Revolution, and even with his own past experience, Fang Lizhi in the 1980s was extremely lucky; this represented a historical progress in which the party tried to separate politics from academic affairs. Open letter campaigns But for Fang Lizhi, it seemed impossible to retreat from the position of challenging the party because doing so would ruin his image as a public figure. Fang continued his crusade for democracy and freedom and finally became a dissident at the beginning of 1989 when he wrote an open letter to Deng Xiaoping, then China’s paramount leader, calling for a general amnesty for political prisoners, including Wei Jingsheng, the first among the dissidents formally convicted as a result of the party’s crushing of the 1978–79 Democracy Wall movement (Fang Lizhi 1990b: 242–3; Meisner 1996: 104–36; Miller 1996: 13). Fang’s letter was followed by two other open letters from the intellectual community to the leadership of the partystate, all expressing their support to Fang’s views and requesting the continuation of political reforms, the right of expressing different political opinions, the increasing support for science and education, and the improvement of the conditions for intellectuals (Miller 1996: 13–14; Qian L. et al. 1989; Shi H. 1989). Of significance to this open letter campaign was the participation of senior scientists who were once elite voices in the vanguard of Deng Xiaoping’s reform and opendoor policy (Miller 1996: 3). Among the forty-two renowned intellectuals who signed the second open letter were nine CAS members and Cai Shidong, who was raised in Taiwan, educated in the United States, and returned to the mainland in 1979, and was to be elected CAS member in 1995 (Table 9.1). The involvement of such a personality as Wang Ganchang who is known as the “father of China’s atomic bomb” could not be perceived as having intended to overthrow the CCP; instead, their endorsement of Fang Lizhi’s opinions was to show their concerns about the situation of China at the crossroad of economic and political reform and their willingness to offer their help to enhance the party leadership. It was also the first time since the Anti-Rightist Campaign that a significant number of elite scientists were organized to have their voices heard in China’s political and social affairs (Link 1990: 103; Miller 1996: 14). 191

82

70

73

77 71

70

70

71

Wang Ganchang

Shi Yafeng

Ye Duzheng

Hu Shihua Zhou Mingzhen

Jiang Lijin

Hu Jimin

Gu Zhiwei

1980

1980

1980

1980 1991

1980

1980

1955

1955

Year elected CAS Member

Source: Fan Dainian (1989) and Lu J. (1991–96). BIOGRAPHIES (from many entries in BIOGRAPHIES).

83

Age

Qian Linzhao

Name

Yes

Yes

No

Yes No

Yes

Yes

Yes

Yes

CCP Member

1984

1985

—

1954 —

unknown

1947

1979

1980

Year joined CCP

Former dean, Beijing College Former director, CAS Institute of Vertebrate Paleontology and Paleoanthropology Former deputy director, CAS Institute of Photochemistry Former chair, Department of Technical Physics, Beijing University CAS Institute of Nanjing Geology and Palaeontology

Former vice president, University of Science and Technology of China Former deputy minister, Second Ministry of Machine Building (atomic energy) Former vice president, CAS Lanzhou Branch Former vice president, CAS

Affiliation and position

Table 9.1 Profiles of CAS members who signed the 1989 petition to support Fang Lizhi

CPPCC member

CPPCC Standing Committee member

CPPCC member

NPC Standing Committee member

Former NPC Standing Committee member

Former CPPCC member

Political appointment

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The aftermath of the Tiananmen Square crackdown saw the dismissal of Fang Lizhi from the CAS Academic Divisions and finally his exile, and the purge, arrest, and exile of some other dissident intellectuals who signed the petitions.3 However, Qian Linzhao, Wang Ganchang, and other CAS members were basically untouched. These scientists were aged—most in their seventies or even eighties—so that they might have had little influence among young students who were the main force of the 1989 protest; they were highly regarded in the scientific community for their roles in the development of Chinese science; and they might also have had the protections from the scientists who were in charge of the scientific affairs. For example, Zhou Guangzhao, then a CCP Central Committee member and CAS president, was a junior colleague of Wang Ganchang at the Joint Nuclear Research Institute in the USSR in the 1960s and later under his leadership on the nuclear weapons program.4 Interestingly, Zhou taught at Beijing University when Fang Lizhi was a student there and Fang also worked on the atomic bomb program for a short period; but it was Zhou who announced Fang’s purge. The same group of scientists continued to use petitions as their weapon. In 1995, by taking advantage of the opportunity of the “United Nations Year for Tolerance,” an event of which ordinary citizens in China and elsewhere were hardly aware, Wang Ganchang and three other CAS members—Hu Jimin, Zhou Mingzhen, and Jiang Lijin (all signed the 1989 open letter)—joined forty-one other intellectuals and dissidents, appealing to the then CCP General Secretary Jiang Zemin and then Chairman of the National People’s Congress Qiao Shi to change China’s political environment. Their requests included that the party-state be tolerant to those with different opinions in ideology, political thought, and religion; to release those in prisons because of their thought, speech, and belief; and reevaluate the 1989 democratic movement (Tyler 1995; Wang Ganchang et al. 1995). In retrospect, the scientific community had maintained silence from the AntiRightist Campaign until the mid-1980s when the party leadership mobilized its members in the endeavor to realize the four modernizations. Motivated by nearterm economic requirements, the Chinese leadership made a trade-off, substituting a short-term risk—giving scientists a bigger role—for a long-term benefit—ensuring Chinese scientific and technical independence and ultimate superiority, and regime consolidation (Frieman 1994: 133). Seizing the opportunity, scientists expressed their opinions on such issues as the organization of science, the utilization of the scientific talent, and freedom and autonomy in research as they did prior to the Anti-Rightist Campaign. They succeeded in advocating the establishment of a national science funding system, in introducing peer review into the evaluation of scientific works, and in restoring the CAS Academic Divisions and evolving it into an honorific institution. Moreover, they sought a democratic political environment fundamental to the development of science. Thus, Fang Lizhi spoke out, Wang Ganchang supported Fang, and many scientists along with other Chinese marched on the streets in the spring of 1989. But the sympathy of, the support to, and even the participation of the pro-democratic 193

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activities did not necessarily risk their chance of becoming CAS members, as a mineralogist indicated: During the June 4 incident, I took part in the parade, signed letters to support the activity of the students. Many CAS members knew the fact, but they still voted for me. I probably received more votes because of this. (informant no. 47) The increasing role of leading scientists in the national political apparatus Deputies to the National People’s Congress (NPC) or members of the CPPCC used to think that there was no use advocating anything to the NPC or CPPCC sessions; so did CAS members with such positions. But what a CPPCC member said shows the enthusiasm of the elite to make a change: With regard to voicing opinions at the CPPCC sessions, there used to be a jingle, “you waste the opportunity if you do not speak; there would be no result even if you speak.” But some added a line, “even if you waste your time and energy speaking, you have to speak.” My suggestion is, “you have to repeat speaking until there will be a result.” (informant no. 14) That is to say, these elite scientists have been trying to seek an active role in the NPC and the CPPCC. They have expressed and even articulated the interests of the scientific community. One physicist said: I became a CPPCC member in 1993, representing the scientific community. The organ wanted to select those with a glib tongue. Otherwise, no one would talk during sessions. I belong to those who are actively participating in and giving opinions to state affairs. I am able to and have the courage to talk so that I have been welcomed. (informant no. 8) They started with proposals within the domain of their expertise. Along with other scientists, for example, CAS members have advocated increasing the funding to science year after year. Consequently, the expenditure that the State Council allocated to the NSFC has been increased steadily since its inception in 1986 (informant no. 35) and reached RMB2 billion ($241 million) in 2002. The government also stipulated in the Ninth Five-Year (1996–2000) Plan that the nation’s expenditure on research and development be increased to 1.5 percent of the gross domestic product (GDP) by 2000 from 0.5 percent in 1995, of which 15 percent be devoted to basic research (Renmin ribao overseas edition June 6, 1995: 1 and 4). Although the goal was not met by 2000, the nation has been 194

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increasing its research and development expenditure, and now has set 2005 as the new target year for achieving the goal. Also, in 1993, the NPC passed the Law of the Advancement of Science and Technology as a guiding line of the development of science and technology in China. The initiation of the State Basic Research and Development Program (973 Program) also resulted from the campaign of representatives of the scientific community in these quasi-political bodies (Suttmeier and Cao 2004). Individual CAS members have also been active on both sides of the debates over the Three Gorges dam project for building a dam across the Yangtze river. While a number of scientists and engineers, especially those in the water resources and electric power fields, including Zhang Guangdou, a hydraulics engineer and a 1955 CAS member, have supported the project, its potential ecological, cultural, and social impacts have brought objections from the scientific community. Those CAS members in the CPPCC requested that the project be reevaluated. In 1983, led by Zhou Peiyuan, a CAS member and then CPPCC vice chairman, a group of scientists and engineers undertook a major feasibility study that concluded that such a project was not feasible scientifically and economically. The scientists succeeded in holding up the project and forcing the government to revise it (Boland 1998; Dai Q. 1994; Fan D. 1997: 164–5; Seymour 1987: 78). However, after the 1989 Tiananmen Square crackdown, the government forbade public debate on the Three Gorges dam project. And in 1992, then Premier Li Peng, himself a hydraulics engineer by training, submitted the project to the fifth session of the Seventh NPC for approval. Concerns over the safety of the dam, migration of affected residents, conservation of cultural heritages, and possible environment impacts made one-third of the delegates either object or abstain in the voting, which was unprecedented from a body that usually rubberstamped all government proposals (Renmin ribao April 4, 1992). Scientists have continued voicing their opinions against the project, even though it has now been started. In 1996, in another unusual public challenge to CCP authorities, fifty-six leading cultural figures, including CAS members, petitioned the then President Jiang Zemin to intervene in the construction of the Three Gorges dam (Tyler 1996). Such requests on which these scientists have taken an independent stance are the ones in which they have a legitimate concern—issues related to their area of expertise per se, elite scientists have attempted to change the functions of the NPC and the CPPCC—to turn the former into a true nation’s political organ independent of the CCP, and to let the latter play an important advisory role in the nation’s state affairs. According to the CAS member Ye Danian, a geologist, a CPPCC member should be a political activist first rather than merely a representative of his or her own discipline. He has lobbied for the passages of several bills. One was a measure to enhance the role of political representatives in supervising government activities by proposing that members be given legal right to check or monitor government behaviors believed to be suspicious given the recent cases of rampant corruption and abuse of power ( Jiang W. 1993). 195

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Changing state–society relations and the scientific elite The post-reform period has entailed important changes in China’s state–society relations. In the intellectual community, for example, the control and penetration of the party-state has gradually given way to autonomy and professionalism.5 Then, will intellectuals in general and the scientific elite in particular become an important force to change China? On the one hand, the party-state believes that the middle class—intellectuals included—could pose a political threat. A study by the Organization Department of the CCP Central Committee published in May 2001 noted, “as the economic standing of the affluent stratum has increased, so too has its desire for greater political standing,” which would inevitably have a “profound impact on social and political life” in China (The Economist 2002). In particular, science has been a socioeconomic realm in China with a low political sensitivity—measured by the probability of challenging the legitimacy of the regime—and a directly favorable impact upon the implementation of market-oriented reforms as a result of the institutional changes, thus gaining a strong social autonomy from the party-state (Gu E. 2004). Or, as long as the communist regime continues to support the Chinese scientific profession as essential to the nation’s future, “some in the scientific community will continue to find inevitable connections between the ideals that motivate them as scientists and those that inspire their political lives,” and it is hopeful that one day elements of democracy will emerge in China (Miller 1996: 283). In other words, the impetus for future change may well come from “the ranks of the scientific establishment itself ” (Spencer 1996). Based on these, China is expected to see other Fang Lizhis to confront the party-state. On the other hand, the assumption of a link between the rise of a new elite—economic or scientific—and democratization is logically flawed and empirically unsupported. China’s new business elite, for example, while possessing relatively great autonomy and often holding politically liberal beliefs, has not emerged as a strong independent force; rather, both the state’s efforts to coopt this group and its ability to navigate the business environment using nondemocratic means have denied the new business elite the historical political significance many would wish for (Pearson 1997). The urban elites, who, as a whole, stand to benefit the most from the political status quo, are not necessarily the progenitors of radical change not only because many of them have been bought into a highly authoritarian and narrowly nationalistic ideology, but also because they owe their elite status to exactly the sort of closed and corrupt system that the CCP fosters. Therefore, it is not in their interests to promote democracy in business, science, education, politics, and other areas (Gilley 2001). Furthermore, according to a 1995 Beijing survey, state dependency, age, and educational level, statistically significant, predict a person’s likelihood of selecting “individual freedom” as the most important value (Down et al. 1999). That is, with the characteristics of the aged, higher levels of education, and intimate relations with the state, the scientific elite seems to be less likely to campaign for

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the “individual freedom,” just like in Russia, it is difficult, if not impossible, to predict if being a scientist means being a reformer (Sher 2000). In fact, the preeminent role of China’s scientific elite in the past decade has been mainly confined to the domain of their knowledge, not being extended to the democratization project. According to Zhang Dongsun, a late professor of philosophy and father of two CAS members—Zhang Zhongsui and Zhang Zhongye, the educated class is supposed to be the conscience of society, the paragons of reason and morality, and the motor of political change. Likewise, such dissidents as Fang Lizhi who took on the self-appointed mission of saving China have yet to develop fully Zhang’s notion of democracy as a culture pervading all aspects of society and to practice it as a way of life and a perfection of living (Fung 2002: 427–8). Consequently, as the scholar of Chinese intellectual history Yü Yingshi sees it, the intellectuals were pushed passively to the periphery, while the “lower elements” in the society, whose number greatly swelled as a result of social disintegration, ascended and occupied the central stage with the help of party ideologies and tight organization (cited in Ye 2001: 44). Now, intellectuals have seen their political standing and economic situation improve significantly, and some have become “establishment intellectuals” through being incorporated into the state apparatus (Cheek and Hamrin 1986; Hua 1994). However, the public role of the intellectuals has given way to the protection of vested interests. In other words, the leading intellectuals are unlikely to risk their gain for activities that would challenge the party-state (Israel 1986), or to raise the “communal critical self-consciousness” as in the early reform period (Tu W. 1992). It is in this sense that political marginalization of Chinese intellectuals is still an issue. Under these circumstances, members of the scientific community may adopt a modest approach to urge the party-state to be more responsible, accountable, and effective. The elite scientists are expected to enhance their role as the nation’s “brain bank,” providing the state with advices and consultation in the areas of their expertise and related to the economy. In fact, the elite institution bestows China’s academicians the responsibility to offer scientific and independent judgments. In doing so, this collective body of outstanding scientists will earn credits and further legitimate their status in society, and will advocate and promote professionalism, but will be hesitant to pursue causes beyond the profession. One final note is that one should also realize that while according the scientific intellectuals status as important resources, the party-state has also been extending a measure of political control through a loosely coordinated, but party-dominated network of professional societies (Kraus and Suttmeier 1999: 207–8).

Ambivalence toward the elite Given their backgrounds, achievements and contributions, and roles, members of the CAS (also members of the Chinese Academy of Engineering) are highly respected in China. But it is also noticed that the Chinese scientific community has generated grievance toward them. For one thing, Chinese academicians are 197

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entitled to a stipend from the state and material privileges equivalent to a vice-governor, receive other benefits from regional governments, or the danwei with which they are affiliated, and lifetime employment.6 In contrast, their international counterparts have to pay membership fees to maintain their honorific membership. When it was founded, the Royal Society stipulated that every fellow was liable to pay admission fee and encouraged its fellows occasionally to make further contributions toward particular costs (Hunter 1976: 17). In the case of the United States National Academy of Sciences, a member “whose dues fall in arrears for three successive years shall be transferred to the roll of emeritus members” (NAS 1997: 94). The membership in foreign academies also does not carry other material benefits and privileges, and even Nobel laureates do not enjoy special treatments. At the University of California (UC), for example, the entitlement to a Nobel laureate is only a permanent parking place on any campus of the entire UC system (Lu Xiaobing 2002). What has caused more frustration is that in reflecting a scientist’s higher academic standing in the Chinese scientific community, the CAS membership also means a high likelihood for its holder to be recruited to serve on expert panels and chair national research programs and, thus, be in a better position to secure individual research funding and special support for his or her danwei. Therefore, the new elitism not only reflects the strengthening of meritocratic values and a degree of increased academic autonomy; it may also invite corruption and compromise the role the scientific community might play in promoting a civic policy culture (Suttmeier and Cao 2004). Because of the prominence of, and especially the benefits and privileges associated to, the CAS membership, there is a mania toward academicians in society. News reports portray giving privileges to academicians as a way of respecting these elite scientists and the knowledge they represent; elections to the academy are said to be similar to excelling in imperial civil service examination (zhong ju) (informant no. 78). Some potential candidates for the membership launched public relation campaign to promote themselves and networked with CAS members for their elections, turning the recommendation and election process that is passive for candidates into one in which candidates play active roles (see Chapter 8). This has further created a negative image of the elite group as a whole. At the same time of blaming the unintended consequences of the elitism, it is obvious that members of the academy are responsible as well. Some become scientific and social activists, spending time networking with those in charge of funding, taking advantage of their status to lobby on behalf of themselves, their danwei or students, including in the membership elections, and being fond of becoming “vases” by holding many administrative positions. Some disclose information about evaluation and election sessions for the CAS membership to candidates. Some behave differently after becoming CAS members—usually becoming more arrogant, overweening, and supercilious (Yu and Zhou 2001). A small number of academicians have even engaged in activities they are not supposed to do, such as the promotion of pseudo-science and the involvement of scientific 198

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misconduct. Chen Minheng, for example, was found to be guilty in his student’s plagiarism. And the rocket scientist Qian Xuesen took a stand on the controversial subject of extrasensory perception, which was being hotly debated throughout China in the late 1970s and the early 1980s (Chang I. 1995: 256–7). Later, Qian became a proponent of qigong, a way of meditation, relaxation, physical movement, mind–body integration, and breathing exercises, claiming that truly top-class qigong masters do have “some physical paranormal powers.” In 1999, at the peak of cracking down Falun Gong, a superstitious “evil cult” of qigong, the then China’s President Jiang Zemin had to make a public visit to the aged and bedridden Qian to elicit his endorsement (Eckholm 1999). Nevertheless, CAS members have tried to discipline themselves and to clear the somewhat tarnished image. As early as 1982, CAS members were among the initiators to call for the formulation of an ethics code for scientific and technical personnel in Beijing (Ge 2002: 280–1). In 1993, fourteen CAS members made a similar call for the entire scientific community. Some elite scientists thought that being a CAS member just meant sitting on another academic committee (informant no. 72), and have disciplined themselves in their usage of the honorific title. Institutionally, a science ethics committee was established within the CAS Academic Divisions in 1997. In the same year, when a student of the CAS member Chen Minheng was found to commit plagiarism in his doctoral dissertation, the CAS Academic Divisions launched an investigation into Chen’s responsibility and involvement in the case, and finally stripped him of his honorific membership.7 The members also rejected repeatedly the candidacy of Chen Zhangliang, a party-designated “star scientist” who was involved in a plagiarism case (see Chapter 8). Posting the information of candidates for the membership in their danwei is aimed at getting help from the entire scientific community to safeguard the elite institution. To this extent the establishment of senior membership (zishen yuanshi) was also to decrease the negative influence that some of the aged members would have. And on November 9, 2001, the Presidium of the CAS Academic Divisions passed the ethics code to selfdiscipline the behaviors of their members (CAS Academic Divisions 2001b).

China’s scientific elite in comparative perspective Having argued that members of the CAS have been selected through an institution that is open, fair, and impartial and that the current CAS members represent the highest level of scientific research in China, the study is now in a position to examine this current group of scientists from a comparative perspective. In particular, where do they stand when compared with their predecessors and international counterparts? There has been the opinion that the overall performance of Chinese academicians is inferior to that of professors at the second- or third-rate American universities (Zhang Q. 2001). It is quite certain that the current CAS members are not at the same level of those scientists holding honorific membership in some of the most advanced countries. According to a 1999 assessment by Zhu Lilan, the 199

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then minister of science and technology, China was internationally competitive in only about 5 percent of the basic science fields and enjoyed a relatively high level of performance in only about 20 percent of these fields (1999). The situation has not had a fundamental change. In 2000 and 2001, scientists from mainland China published twenty-eight papers in Science and Nature, two leading international science journals, representing about 1 percent of the publications in these journals (Beijing qingnianbao April 6, 2003; Rao 2002). With a Science paper in early 2001, the biochemist Zhang Yonglian secured her position in the elite group in that year (Xie W. 2001). By this measure, many authors of the Science and Nature publications could have been elected CAS members if they had been Chinese. In terms of publication records, CAS members have also underperformed when compared to some of the Chinese scientists who have gone abroad for advanced studies and stayed there holding teaching and research positions in the reform and open-door era. In some extreme cases, CAS members are not even comparable to some of the Chinese postdoctoral fellows abroad. For example, one such researcher at an American lab run by an overseas Chinese life scientist had two first-author papers in Cell, the most prestigious journal in life science, and one second-author paper in Science; the significance of his research is shown by the large number of citations to the papers—by 2001 the Cell papers were cited 1,217 and 624 times and the Science paper received 1,399 citations (Kukouyao 2001). Presumably, his advisor has achieved more. In general, those who stay abroad are likely to be the most excellent. For example, among about 300 China-born life scientists who are as outstanding as their peers in terms of their appointment at prestigious institutions, their leadership of laboratories, their reputation at the international research frontiers, and their substantial amount of grant money, only five have returned to China, none of whom are among the top 20 percent (Keji ribao May 13, 1999: 1). The leadership of the scientific community, including some CAS members, is worried about the possibility that overseas Chinese would outbid their mainland counterparts in the Nobel Prize race (Cao forthcoming). A comparison of the CAS members included in the elite group between 1955 and 1980 with those elected thereafter also suggests the change in quality of China’s scientific elite. As discussed in Chapter 4, the former group did much better in terms of educational attainment: while many in the 1955–80 cohorts were trained abroad and possessed doctoral degrees, CAS members elected since the 1990s were more likely to be Chinese-trained and had merely undergraduate education. This was because of the reality of higher education in China; but one should not deny the difference in quality due to the lack of proper training. According to Zou Chenglu, a Cambridge-trained biochemist, the legacies left for the generation of Chinese scientists who graduated from the universities before the reform and open-door period and have been used to publishing in “home” journals, the difficulties lie in understanding the “rules of the game” of international science (Tsou 1998: 529). Consequently, many of those elected in the later years have spent some time abroad gaining research experience to compensate their lack of formal graduate education. 200

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In addition, many of the early generations of Chinese scientists are internationally renowned. For example, the physicist Wu Youxun, who helped his mentor, the 1927 Nobel laureate Arthur H. Compton, prove the Compton Effect experimentally, was regarded by Compton as one of the two best students (the other student, Luis Alvarez, followed his mentor’s step to win a Nobel Prize in 1968 himself); the aeronautics scientist Qian Xuesen, in spite of various controversies around him, held full professorship at two first-tier institutes of technology—MIT and Cal Tech—before he was deported from the United States (Chang I. 1995); the mathematician Hua Luogeng was a full professor at the University of Illinois before returning to China (Wang Yuan 1994); and the neurologist Zhang Xiangtong was associate professor at the Johns Hopkins University before his return in the mid-1950s (BIOGRAPHIES ). But few CAS members elected since the 1990s have achieved similar status. Also, most of the first-class prizes of China’s Natural Science Awards have gone to those earlier returnees (Wenhui bao March 3, 2003). Given these, although the current CAS members in general represent the quality of science in China and are most outstanding among China’s scientists, it is not an overstatement that they are inferior to not only their international counterparts and some of the prolific overseas Chinese scientists but also to their predecessors in China. One of the remedies for the academy to boost the performance of its members and to raise standards is to admit those scientists of Chinese nationality working abroad; and the CAS started to do that in 2001.8

Science and culture In discussing the reasons for studying Soviet science, Graham indicated that scholars should aim to achieve three goals—gaining a better understanding of the Soviet Union, science, and scientific or social problems that all industrialized nations face (1980: 205–8). The study of Chinese science is supposed to achieve the same goals. It is quite remarkable that the purge of intellectuals in the Anti-Rightist Campaign did not prevent Chinese scientists from working on the nuclear weapons and some other research projects; similarly, after the Cultural Revolution, Chinese scientists started their research without delay and have thus far made considerable progress in various fields. Then, how were science and scientists able to recover so quickly from political turmoil? How could the formation of the scientific elite have been following a consistent pattern regardless of several severe interruptions? An explicit description about the experience of Chinese scientists before, during, and after political campaigns, an analysis of science culture in China at different periods, and a comparison on the interaction between science and society in China and other totalitarian or authoritarian regimes will definitely serve the “better understanding” purpose. As Barber suggested half a century ago, science is harder to kill (1952: 61–2). During different political campaigns, Chinese scientists suffered as did their 201

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counterparts in the Nazi Germany and the former Soviet Union: some were put into jails or lost their lives. The practice of science was possible even under Hitler or Stalin, and in many cases with great success, so was it in Mao’s China. Also, the party has emphasized the role of scientists in building China, at least superficially or from a utilitarian point of view (T. Shi 1990: 1193), and scientists as a whole have not constituted a threat to the regime. Thus, although scientists as a group were deprived of the right of conducting research, the elite was generally protected by the party-state. Even during the Cultural Revolution, subscription to the leading international journals was only interrupted for about a year so that some scientists could still read these journals and follow what their foreign peers were doing. Once they were allowed to resume their research activities, they easily picked up the topics that they thought to be important. Some scientists did not stop their research even when they were persecuted. For example, the geochemist Xie Xuejin was labeled a “rightist” in 1957 and was not rehabilitated until the late 1970s; and his father Xie Jiarong, a geologist and a 1955 CAS member, committed suicide in 1969 because of the persecution. But Xie Xuejin emerged after the Cultural Revolution as an internationally renowned expert on geochemical exploration and mapping. In 1980, he delivered one of the three opening lectures at the Eighth International Symposium on Geochemical Exploration (BIOGRAPHIES [vol. 6]: 459–66; Wen 1994), and was elected a CAS member later that year. Another well-known example is Chen Jingrun, a 1980 elected CAS member and a mathematician at the CAS Institute of Mathematics, specializing in number theory. Just at the onset of the Cultural Revolution, he made a breakthrough in the “Goldbach conjecture” by proving that every sufficiently large even number could be written as the sum of a prime and a second number which is either a prime or a product of two primes. He further improved his proof and published a detailed result in 1973, which was considered to be “the best result so far on the elusive Goldbach conjecture” (Lane S. 1980: 58–9). He was condemned as a “white expert” and was criticized during daytime; but at nights he continued working on the conjecture. Whenever he had visitors, he always claimed that he was studying the quotations of Chairman Mao or listening to the radio for current affairs, instead of conducting research (Wu Heng 1994: 374–6). This shows that the existence of an army of scientists which is loyal to the scientific enterprise has contributed to the immediate rebirth of science after the political turmoil. Furthermore, since the turn of the twentieth century, Chinese scientists have always been charged with a historic responsibility. Having witnessed the backwardness of the nation, many of them were ambitious to save China by way of science (kexue jiuguo) (Wang Z. 2002). They are nationalists, scientific nationalists (Bullock 1996), worshipping scientism as their dominant ideology (Kwok 1971) and making great efforts to make their homeland stronger and more prosperous. Now, the leadership of the scientific community has endeavored to rejuvenate the nation with science and technology (kejiao xingguo). This new development strategy for the twenty-first century extends the nationalistic thinking of kexue jiuguo and furthers the responsibility of scientists. 202

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Then, why, despite the promotion of qualified scientists during different political climates, has Chinese science lagged far behind developed countries? Again, in the former Soviet Union, in addition to political interference, management, and organization, the low performance has been also due to the political and national cultures (Gustafson 1980). In the Chinese case, culturally, five modal characteristics have proven both particularly resistant to institutional change and troublesome as obstacles to the rationalization—and hence the modernization— of Chinese science. They include an ongoing intellectual tradition of cognitive formalism that has its historical roots in the metaphysical pseudo-science of classical Chinese philosophy; a methodological tradition of narrow empiricism that has characterized much of Chinese scientific inquiry over the past two millennia; a pronounced quality of dogmatic scientism in the ethos and epistemology of Chinese communism; a persistent legacy of feudal bureaucratism in the political culture of modern China; and a dominant behavioral style of compulsive ritualism deeply engrained in the process by which Chinese children are socialized to become responsible, compliant adults (Baum 1982). Since Chinese science is operated in such a cultural environment, it has seen the influence of the pragmatic aspect of Confucianism on scientists’ preference of short-term, reachable projects, the restriction of the “doctrine of the mean” (zhongyong zhi dao) on scientists’ innovative thinking, the obedience of students to mentors, the favor of age over innovation in promotion, the intolerance of failure, among others. In other words, the renaissance of Chinese science may depend on the change of Chinese culture.

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APPENDIX Interviewing China’s scientific elite

Data collection on China studies Due to the isolation of China from the West between 1949 and the early 1970s, Western scholars of China had to observe and study their subject remotely. They mainly used Hong Kong as their “laboratory,” or research site, not only gathering various documents and newspapers from and about China but also interviewing refugees from the mainland. As Nathan recalls, his generation was trained to study China by sifting through the documents without going there or meeting any Chinese citizen except refugees (1990: 11). After the historic visit by the President of the United States Richard Nixon in 1972, American scholars set their feet on Chinese soil. But at first, the duration of their visits was short, usually less than three weeks, and social scientists were given lower priorities—they went to China not as researchers but as interpreters of other groups, say athletes, tourists, or natural scientists.1 Given the difficulty for these scholars to get first-hand information for their studies, refugee, or emigrate interviewing, as the research strategy was known, still had its edge, yielding an enormous amount of important scholarship on contemporary China (see, for example, Bernstein 1977 [sent-down youth in the countryside]; Chan 1985 [Red Guard, the radical youth during the Cultural Revolution]; Nathan 1985 [democracy]; Parish and Whyte 1978 [village and family]; Shirk 1982 [high school students]; Walder 1986 [factory life]; Whyte 1974 [small group]; Whyte and Parish 1984 [urban life]). With China reopening its door in 1978, Western social scientists have been permitted to do field research in China and have applied various social science data collection methods (Curran and Cook 1993; Davis 1992; Manion 1994; Walder 1992, 1995) and collaborated with their Chinese students (Blau and Ruan 1990; Blau et al. 1991; Li and Walder 2001; Lin and Bian 1991; Lin and Xie 1988; Nathan and Shi 1993; Nee and Su 1990; Zhou et al. 1996, 1998). Students from China alone have contributed to the better understanding of their motherland (see, for example, Bian 1994; Hua 1995). However, the sensitivity of some research projects has caused problems for Western scholars and even scholars of Chinese origin to conduct research on China. Under these circumstances, some

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recent scholarship on communist China continues to draw data from interviews of exiled Chinese scholars, students, and so on (Ding 1994). Such a methodology is problematic. For one thing, the data source was from those who fled China so that their accounts of events may not only be different from the official Chinese view but also more or less biased; some of their views were even exaggerated or fictitious (Curran and Cook 1993; Ma S. 1993: 376–9). Thus, in order to minimize the political bias of respondents, scholars refined their use of the refugee data. Part of the solution was to avoid asking politically sensitive questions, focusing instead on descriptions of everyday life and on its various aspects; another solution was to increase the size of the sample, which was made possible by the large influx of refugees to Hong Kong in the 1970s, and the increasing student population in the West after 1978. Finally, as more information about China is available, and as more researchers travel there for longer periods of time, it is possible for China specialists to ask better questions and recruit appropriate subjects for their studies. Studies on China’s science have adopted other strategies. For those who focus on traditional science in China, such as Needham and Sivin, the main sources of their research are Chinese classics. Others who have interest in such topics as the interaction between the party-state and intellectuals and the reform in the scientific community have either based their research on Chinese publications or reflected on their trip to China. Those working on contemporary Chinese science, both inside China and abroad, have recognized the importance of collecting systematic information on Chinese scientists and begun interviewing them. In contrast to refugee interviewing, such interviews have been conducted in China with their subjects being mainly Chinese scientists holding important research and teaching positions because of the less politically sensitive characteristics of such research. In this regard, historians have focused either on particular research fields, say genetics in the twentiethcentury China (Schneider 1986, 1988, 1989), or on individual scientists such as Hua Luogeng (Salaff 1977), Qian Xuesen (Chang I. 1995), Ting Wenjiang (Furth 1970), and Zhou Peiyuan (Bullock 1996). It appears that China’s dissident scientists are interesting to those social scientists on Chinese science, which might explain why Fang Lizhi, the most outspoken astrophysicist, has attracted so much attention (Kraus 1989; Link 1990; Miller 1996; Williams 1999). Within China, the goal of retaining the memoirs of old generation scientists has resulted in some oral history projects. Stories of famous scientists have been reported in Chinese newspapers and magazines; biographies of elites have been systematically compiled and published (see, for example, BIOGRAPHIES, NOTES ). This research represents the first endeavor to employ interviews with a group of China’s elite scientists, members of the CAS, as an important data source for a sociological study. In particular, it uses a semistructured, in-depth interview instrument to study how this unique group of Chinese scientists has been formed.

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Sampling consideration and selecting informants As of the end of 1995 when I started my research, there were 576 CAS members alive. Initially, I set a target sample size of fifty scientists, or about 10 percent of existing members for interview. In particular, I planned to have thirty interviews in Beijing and ten in Shanghai—two major cities each of which houses a higher elite population than other regions—and another ten in China’s other cities. Sampling options under consideration included: (a) drawing elite informants by a randomly selected and stratified way; (b) soliciting interviewees from their responses to my request; and (c) depending upon personal referrals, followed by snowball sampling through the introduction of interviewed scientists. It goes without saying that approach (a) is the best. However, few scientists replied to my interview request, which led me to realize that systematic sampling would be ineffective and wasteful if scientists who were randomly picked did not respond to my initial request. Despite the drawbacks of the other two approaches in that the resulting sample would neither be random nor representative, if carefully controlled, the sample might include diverse segments of the elite population in terms of age, gender, appointment/election cohorts, geographical locations, specialty, and so on. Thus, I adopted a combination of mail solicitation, personal referrals, and snowball sampling to recruit elite scientists (for a discussion of snowball sampling in the elite studies see Sudman and Kalton 1986: 413–14). The rationale for using this combined sampling method was that personal referrals in the first place would legitimate my identity as a researcher so as to ensure the initial access to the elites,2 while mail solicitation would enlarge and diversify the informant pool. The interview enrollment materials consisted of three items: (a) a letter in English with Chinese translation from my advisor introducing the purpose of my research in China; (b) a letter in Chinese from me briefly describing the nature and the goals of the study with a return form which included whether a scientist was interested in being interviewed, what time period would be alloted for the interview, and contact telephone number for me to call scheduling an interview; and (c) a stamped, self-addressed envelope to return the form. This package was either mailed to those I intended to interview, or was carried with me to interviews. At the conclusion of each interview, scientists were asked to refer one fellow scientist. However, I did not push hard in case a scientist was not willing to or could not do so. My primary concerns about the snowball sampling procedure with regard to selection bias were that respondents would influence fellow scientists’ willingness to participate in my study, and that those referred were from the same social network. In an attempt to reduce any biases, I instructed informants as to which characteristics of referred scientists I looked for, say election cohorts, age, and so on. I began interviews in Shanghai because there I could use my personal relations ( guanxi ) through relatives, friends, and former colleagues of mine. At first, I contacted the elite scientists through referrals. Once I realized that it was possible to secure ten interviews in Shanghai, I went to Beijing where most CAS members

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work. I then combined mail solicitation with personal referrals to recruit elite scientists. During my stay in Beijing, I sent letters to all CAS members in Tianjin and Dalian, asking for their participation in the research. The reason for doing so was that there are fewer CAS members compared with those in Beijing and Shanghai, and it was possible for me to get a considerable size of interviews in a relatively short period. Later, I had four interviews in Tianjin and three in Dalian. Since one scientist who used to work in Dalian but had recently moved to Hefei agreed to be interviewed, I decided to add Hefei as another site. Through the introduction of a former classmate of mine, I obtained one more interview in Hefei. As for the interviews conducted in Nanjing, I originally asked for help from an official of the CAS branch in picking up some scientists. However, that person was out of town during my visit. Under these circumstances, I had to adopt the unorthodox means of walking into the offices of some of the elite scientists, through which interviews were arranged. In a 1997 visit to Beijing and Shanghai, I interviewed fourteen more CAS members and talked to some whom I had interviewed previously.

Interviews In this way, I completed interviews with seventy-nine CAS members in cities of Shanghai, Beijing, Tianjin, Dalian, Hefei, and Nanjing,3 who answered my questions outspokenly, and shared their opinions with me (characteristics of the informants are listed in Table A.1).4 No one objected to my utilization of what they said in my work. The semi-structured, open-end interview was divided into ten sections, covering a wide range of questions from family background, educational attainment, mobility, foreign research/collaboration experience, scientific achievement, academic and non-academic award, teaching and management responsibility, personal connections, political party affiliation, and descriptions and assessments of the membership election. Although such background information as social origins, educational attainment, mobility, and so on would be better obtained by checking the biographies of the elite scientists, for some, especially recently elected ones, such basic information just does not exist. Pretesting in this type of study poses a special problem, that is, how it does not run out of the potential objects in a limited universe of elite scientists available for interviews. In order to avoid this problem, I mainly discussed the outline with Chinese sociologists who had experience in conducting interviews in China. Then, under the circumstances, not wasting a subject of interview, I first went through all the questions with a couple of scientists so as to determine the necessity of a particular question, and to get the right sequence of the questions. Generally, research into the background of elites would be of great help during the interviews (Zuckerman 1977: 261–7). Thus, I tried my best to prepare for an interview before conducting it. With good preparation, the elites interviewed felt that their precious time had not been wasted by talking to a knowledgeable 207

Table A.1 Characteristics of informants No. Gender

Year born

Year elected

Specialty

Affiliation

Location

Male Female Male Male Male

1920 1921 1933 1913 1918

1991 1980 1995 1955 1980

CAS research institute University University University CAS research institute

Shanghai Shanghai Shanghai Shanghai Shanghai

6 7 8 9 10

Male Male Male Male Male

1927 1927 1927 1925 1912

1980 1991 1980 1991 1955

Male Male

1927 1991 1924 1980

13

Female 1924 1991

Analytical chemistry

14

Male

1934 1991

15 16

Male Male

1938 1991 1941 1995

17 18 19 20 21 22 23

Male Male Female Male Male Female Male

1930 1932 1923 1922 1918 1919 1917

1993 1991 1980 1980 1980 1980 1980

24 25 26 27

Male Male Male Male

1930 1928 1918 1928

1991 1991 1980 1991

28

Male

1925 1980

Engineering thermophysics Astronomy Engineering thermophysics Functional analysis High energy physics Physics Chemical engineering Polymer chemistry Elementary chemistry Polymer physical chemistry Molecular biology Polymer chemistry Inorganic chemistry Pharmaceutical chemistry Cancer research

CAS research institute CAS research institute CAS research institute CAS research institute Ministerial research institute CAS research institute Ministerial research institute Ministerial research institute CAS research institute

Shanghai Shanghai Beijing Beijing Beijing

11 12

Infrared physics Solid-state physics Physical chemistry Civil engineering Pharmaceutical chemistry Plant physiology Biochemistry Theoretical physics Computer software Petrochemical engineering History of astronomy Catalyst chemistry

29 30 31 32

Male Male Male Male

1931 1922 1921 1920

1991 1993 1991 1955

33 34 35 36

Female Male Male Male

1919 1936 1935 1931

1980 1991 1995 1991

1 2 3 4 5

Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing

CAS research institute Beijing CAS research institute Beijing CAS research institute CAS research institute CAS research institute CAS research institute University University CAS research institute

Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Tianjin Tianjin Beijing

University CAS research institute CAS research institute University

Beijing Beijing Shanghai Beijing

Ministerial research institute Applied optics University Differential geometry University Plant physiology University Theoretical chemistry University

Beijing

Tianjin Tianjin Beijing Changchun, Jilin Photochemistry CAS research institute Shanghai Electrical engineering University Beijing Immunology University Beijing Radiochemistry University Beijing (Table A.1 continued)

Table A.1 (Continued ) No. Gender

Year born

Year Specialty elected

Affiliation

Location

37 38 39 40 41 42

1932 1935 1932 1931 1928 1930

1991 1995 1991 1991 1991 1991

University University Military university CAS research institute CAS research institute CAS research institute

Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing

Ministerial research institute Ministerial research institute CAS research institute Ministerial research institute CAS research institute University University

Beijing

Female Male Male Male Male Male

43 Male

1940 1991

Software engineering Micro electronics Electronic system Plant pathology Mechanics Traditional Chinese medicine Geophysics

44 Male

1935 1991

Ocean physics

45 Male 46 Male

1940 1991 1924 1980

Mechanics Geophysics

47 Male 48 Male 49 Male

1939 1991 1937 1991 1942 1991

50 51 52 53 54

1933 1942 1933 1916 1925

Mineralogy Computer software Mechanical engineering Space technology Seismology Sedimentology Meteorology Analytical chemistry

Military research institute governmental bureau CAS research institute CAS research institute CAS research institute

Male Male Male Male Male

1991 1993 1991 1980 1980

55 Male

1941 1995

Mechanics

University

56 Male

1934 1993

Mechanics

University

57 Male 58 Male

1930 1991 1946 1991

Geophysics Physical chemistry

University University

59 Male

1931 1991

Geology

60 Male

1917 1980

Palaeobotany

Provincial industrial bureau CAS research institute

61 Female 1935 1991

Acoustics

University

62 Male

1930 1991

Pedology

CAS research institute

63 Male

1927 1991

Polymer chemistry

University

64 Male 65 Male

1941 1991 1929 1980

Neurology Surgery

66 Male

1933 1980

Microwave electronics

CAS research institute University affiliated hospital Military university

Hangzhou, Zhejiang Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Dalian, Liaoning Dalian, Liaoning Dalian, Liaoning Shanghai Hefei, Anhui Hefei, Anhui Nanjing, Jiangsu Nanjing, Jiangsu Nanjing, Jiangsu Nanjing, Jiangsu Shanghai Shanghai Chengdu, Sichuan

(Table A.1 continued)

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Table A.1 (Continued ) No.

Gender

Year born

Year elected

Specialty

Affiliation

Location

67

Male

1928

1991

Electric engineering

University

68

Male

1932

1995

Meteorology

69 70 71

Male Male Male

1934 1933 1935

1991 1991 1991

72 73

Male Male

1938 1935

1991 1995

Plant ecology Physics Rare-earth element chemistry Solid-state physics Natural-gas geology

Ministerial research institute CAS research institute CAS research institute University

Hangzhou, Zhejiang Beijing

74 75 76 77

Male Male Male Male

1928 1928 1930 1934

1991 1993 1991 1991

Material reliability Neurophysiology Architecture Mining engineering

78 79

Male Male

1936 1933

1991 1991

Ocean geology Inorganic chemistry

University Ministerial research institute Military university University Ministry Ministerial research institute University CAS research institute

Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Beijing Shanghai Shanghai

Source: Interviews (China: 1995–97).

person, and the distance between us was decreased. However, on many occasions, even the basic background of a particular scientist could not be located. I was present with an interview appointment at a scheduled time at either the office or home of a scientist, depending on the willingness and convenience of the interviewee. I usually administered the outline for interviewing. However, when a scientist kept telling his or her own story, I often abandoned the outline, allowing him or her to talk at his or her discretion. When the story was finished, I checked with my prepared outline and asked the questions which had not been answered in the course of the talk for more information or for clarification. If a scientist was not willing to discuss a specific topic, I did not press him or her. An interview usually took one and a half hours. However, on several occasions, a friendly talk would last more than five hours, including a dinner in between or after. Each interview was tape-recorded if the interviewee permitted, and detailed, close to verbatim notes in Chinese were written down. Tape-recordings and notes were transcribed later in Chinese. One of the difficulties of conducting the interviews was their length, thoroughness, and ranges. For elder scientists who were semi-retired, that was not a problem. However, for others who were overloaded with normal work and especially with administrative roles, one and a half hours for an interview was a long time indeed. It was not my intention to deceive a scientist about the length of time that would be required, since he or she could cut off the interview at any point. However, such a situation did not occur, except in one case. This software scientist 210

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who agreed to be interviewed had been sick for a while. He was to leave the city on the day when I was supposed to meet with him. However, on the same morning, he had arranged to be interviewed by America’s NBC, and he preferred that interview to mine, so that I could talk with him only briefly after that interview. But I was allowed to be present when he was interviewed by the NBC. Another critical point to the success of interviews is how to establish the trust and rapport between researcher and research subjects. And that trust is based upon a belief in the integrity of the researcher—a belief that shared secrets will not be revealed to anyone else (Hertz and Imber 1995: 81). Thus, from the beginning of each interview, I tried to establish an interpersonal relationship rather than act in an indifferent, disinterested, alienated way toward the elite scientists. I explained the purpose of my research and tried to answer all of their questions and freely discussed my opinions about issues with mutual interest. Because of my sincerity, one scientist asked me to find out the whereabouts of his friend when he studied in the United States in the 1940s who happened to be a retired Columbia faculty member, another scientist asked me to check with an American journal for the status of his order for reprints of his paper. On occasions, I was invited by the interviewees for dinner, which was definitely a strong indication that we had surpassed the traditional interviewer–interviewee interaction, and established a level of personal interaction. Usually during such occasions, their discussions became broader and more casual, and scientists were willing to share more information with me and to refer their peers to me for interview. Generally speaking, research on Chinese science is not so sensitive as that on Chinese politics; studying Chinese scientists in the way I used is not so sensitive as Miller’s which discusses scientists on their course toward open, liberal political dissent (1996). However, the sensitivity issue did arise, which in this context means, as my experience has shown, one regarding a scientist’s political party affiliation and his/her nomination of an elite or his/her being nominated. Probably my identity as an American-trained social science scholar prevented some of them from disclosing their communist party membership. Moreover, the sensitivity of revealing personal relationship might have led some scientists to be hesitant in discussing whether they nominated someone or were nominated by someone. In any event, though, no one requested the interview to be stopped or gave me a hard time. In addition, sometimes, these questions could be crosschecked by searching secondary sources, such as biographies of scientists, or could be obtained from other scientists’ talks.

Sampling problems and use of the interview data in the book Because the interviewing sample was not randomly constructed, it might be biased if I want to draw inference from it. Elites in this study are not self-selected and not self-defined in terms of their membership in an honorific society. However, their participation in the research is rather self-selected, so that there is a reason to 211

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suspect that their self-selections make them an atypical subgroup among elite Chinese scientists as a whole. The problem lies in the fact that it was not only difficult, but also impractical, for me to locate a systematic, random sample. The schedule conflict between me and the elites who were busy and often physically mobile, away from where they worked, was one of the reasons. In Shanghai, for example, a scientist had agreed to be interviewed after receiving my initial letter. However, both of us were away from Shanghai for a while. Finally, he was caught at a conference where an interview was conducted during his lunch break. In Beijing, I met an ocean physicist from Shanghai at a New Year tea party of earth scientists. He agreed to be interviewed on a day when both of us would be in Shanghai. On the scheduled day, I was terribly sick so I had to postpone interviewing him; and the interview was actually canceled, because his stay in Shanghai was short (that scientist was interviewed in a later trip). There were also cases in which a scientist at a city, who had granted an interview, arrived after I left that city. On other occasions, selected scientists were just not willing to be interviewed. For example, I waited a couple of days in Dalian for a scientist who was out of city. However, when he returned, he rejected my request for an interview by claiming that “it is inappropriate for me to become the subject of your study.” Thus, a more practical approach was to try to recruit informants who represented a wide array of ages, genders, disciplines, institutional affiliations, and geographical locations by selectively interviewing scientists with these attributes, instead of sedulously striving for the perfection of the sampling. The result seems to find a quite good match of the sample with the population (Table A.2). However, the pool of informants may be atypical in the following ways. First, about 10 percent of current CAS members were interviewed in each academic division, except in the Division of Chemistry. The higher percentage of chemists among the elite scientists interviewed might be due to the indication of my undergraduate training in chemistry in the letter I sent to the scientists who probably were more willing to help their “quasi-student.” Second, the interviewees are younger than the elite population. Third, about half the elite scientists interviewed were from the 1991 election, because at first I intended to focus on that election which was not only the one after a ten-year interruption in the elite membership election but also the one with relatively sufficient information, there was even a book with lists of elites’ publications. Fourth, complete information on the political party affiliation of CAS members is not available for me at the General Office of the CAS Academic Divisions, nor in biographies of the elite. Finally, the sample may also be atypical in its significant metropolitan orientation. As indicated, the seventy-nine CAS members interviewed were from such big cities as Beijing, Shanghai, and Tianjin. On the one hand, CAS members in these cities represented a subpopulation of 80 percent of existing members, while the other two-thirds of regions, which contribute a small number of CAS members, were ignored; on the other hand, difference between metropolitan areas and other regions, especially hinterland, might more or less result in difference in individual scientist’s path to the elite group. 212

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Table A.2 Comparison of the population and the sample (1997)

Academic Divisions Mathematics and Physics Chemistry Biological Sciences Earth Sciences Technological Sciences Year of CAS membership election 1955–57 1980 1991 1993 1995 Age ( years old) 80 and above 70–79 60–69 50–59 49 and under Mean Median Gender Male Female Region Beijing Shanghai Jiangsu (Nanjing) Liaojing (Dalian) Tianjin Anhui (Hefei) Others Affiliation CAS research institute University Ministerial research institute Military research institute Regional research institute

Population (565)

Sample (79)

Sample/ Population (%)

N

%

N

%

111 99 94 102 159

19.6 17.5 16.6 18.1 28.1

13 20 12 14 20

16.5 25.3 15.2 17.7 25.3

11.7 20.2 12.8 13.7 12.6

47 200 202 58 58

8.3 35.4 35.8 10.3 10.3

3 19 45 5 7

3.8 24.1 57.0 6.3 8.9

6.4 9.5 22.3 8.6 12.1

128 161 223 49 4 71 70

22.7 28.5 39.5 8.7 0.7 — —

3 20 44 12 0 67 66

3.8 25.3 55.7 15.2 0.0 — —

2.3 12.4 19.7 24.5 0.0 — —

530 35

93.8 6.2

72 7

91.1 8.9

13.6 20.0

310 71 41 16 11 8 108

54.9 12.6 7.3 2.8 1.9 1.4 19.1

50 13 4 3 4 2 3

63.3 16.5 5.1 3.8 5.1 2.5 3.8

16.1 18.3 9.8 18.8 36.4 25.0 2.8

213 194 87 66 5

37.7 34.3 15.4 11.7 0.9

33 28 13 4 1

41.8 35.4 16.5 5.1 1.3

15.5 14.4 14.9 6.1 20.0

Source: Interviews (China: 1995–97).

Given these problems, it is necessary to discuss the use of the interview data in the book. The interviewing of China’s scientific elite is believed to be most efficient in obtaining information about subjects on which the elites are expert informants: for example, descriptions of the formal and informal networks which crosscut various sections of the elites, descriptions of the mentor–student relationship 213

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and influence, descriptions of the characteristics of their research, descriptions of and evaluations of the elite membership election, and so on. However, it is important to stress that the data obtained from the interviews represent only a part of the materials used in my book. The interview data were supplemented by other information I gathered in China, and my knowledge about Chinese society, science, and the scientific elite. For data from an elite sample can be analyzed only in the broad context of information about society as a whole (Moyser and Wagstaffe 1987: 14–21). Chinese scientists as well as elites cannot be separated from the society in which they live. Thus, the degree of dependency on the interview data is in inverse proportion to the degree of my expertise about and insight of Chinese society and its elites. Another dimension, which must be added to the interview data, is a historical one, since the specific characteristics of the current elites come into focus best when compared with the old ones.

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NOTES

1 INTRODUCTION 1 Philosophy and Social Sciences was part of the CAS Academic Divisions when they were set up in 1955. However, members of that division have not participated in the CAS activity since 1960; in fact, the division was separated from the CAS to form the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences in 1977. The book does not include that division and its members except for the discussion of establishment of the Academic Divisions. The CAE, established in 1994, is also an honorific institution. The founding CAE members included thirty selected from among CAS members. However, this book does not deal with CAE members either (for some analysis on CAE members, see Cao and Suttmeier 1999). 2 The meanings of “Academic Division member” (xuebu weiyuan) and “academician,” or “member” ( yuanshi ), are quite different in Chinese: the former is a scientific leadership title, the latter an academic honor. In general, “member” will be used throughout the book except when showing the explicit differences between Academic Division members and academicianship. 3 Others died except for Fang Lizhi, whose membership was revoked for his alleged involvement in the Tiananmen Square incident of 1989, and Chen Minheng, who was expelled from the CAS because he was involved in frauds of his students. 4 According to Mao Zedong’s standard, anyone with a high school education could be called an “intellectual” (zhishi fenzi ), with those having more education being “big” (da) intellectuals and those who had less education “small” (xiao) intellectuals (Ogden 1992: 295). Intellectuals were divided into “high-ranking intellectuals”—professors, senior researchers, senior medical doctors, and so on—and “ordinary intellectuals” (Ch’i 1991: 125–6). Recent studies on China’s social stratification suggest that the term “intellectual” refers to those whose educational level is college and above (Li Qiang 1993: 27–30). 5 Such dissident scientists as Fang Lizhi even argue that intellectuals should be the leading class itself, rather than being part of the leading class, based on the Marxist theory of the relationship between the productive force and the means of production (see Chapter 9 for further discussion). 6 The exceptions are a survey conducted in Shanghai at the end of 1994, which found that university professors and scientists were ranked tenth and eleventh (Qiu 1996), and a 1996 survey on Chinese public attitudes toward science and technology, which ranked scientists third (Wu Huanqing 2001); enterprise managers were at the top in both surveys. 7 In Chinese, dan in yuanzidan and chayedan is pronounced the same, while dao is knife of different types in shoushudao and titoudao. 8 Some observers of Chinese science include the research establishment under the provincial and municipal jurisdiction in the ministerial sector (Saich 1989b: 75–6), while others

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9 10

11 12

13

treat it as the local sector (Simon 1983: 27–9). Chinese sources indicate the latter categorization (Wu and Yang 1992: 100–1), which is adopted here. Also included in this top layer are members ( yuanshi ) of the CAE. However, it should be noted that the NAS of the United States, in its role of identifying and honoring scientific creativity neither requires nor claims to be a representative assembly of science. It is legally a private organization and can do as it pleases in terms of membership (Greenberg 1967b: 226). In fact, the three latter institutes were spin-offs of the original CAS Institute of Mathematics as a legacy of the Cultural Revolution (chat with a historian of Chinese mathematics, Los Angeles: February 21, 1997; see also Wang Yuan 1994: 169). Women made up more than one-third of the physics major at top Chinese universities in the 1970s. Now their numbers—less than 10 percent—are even below those in the West. According to Li Fanghua, a female physicist and a CAS member, there needs to be a major rethinking on how society views working women and it may be a long time before China relives an era in which women excelled in physics (Yang J. 2002). Work unit (danwei ) was powerful in its provision of housing, medical care, and retirement benefits which were not readily available to individuals through other means in China until very recently (Bian 1994: 24–50; Walder 1986: 1–27). But the role of danwei in its appropriation of technical knowledge and control over the personnel is one of the most serious obstacles to the modernization of China’s science and technology (Suttmeier 1989a). 2 CHINA’S SCIENCE IN PERSPECTIVE

1 However, according to Ren Hong jun ( Z. C. Ren known to the West), the Society was organized following the Royal Society of London ( Fan and Li 1989: 46; Liu and Wu 1995: 231). 2 Research institutes affiliated with the Academia Sinica were geology, astronomy, meteorology, social sciences, physics, chemistry, engineering, history and language (founded in 1928), psychology (1929), zoology, botany, pharmaceutics (1944), and mathematics (1947). Research institutes affiliated with the Peiping Academy included physics, chemistry, zoology, botany, history (1929), medicine (1932), physiology (1933), crystallography, and atomics (1948) (He and Liang 1994: 17–21 and 30–3; and Yao et al. 1994: 6–7). 3 Wu Heng, a CAS party leader at that time, acknowledges that the CAS was established on the basis of the Academia Sinica and the Peiping Academy (1994: 143; see also Cheng C. 1965: 16; Suttmeier 1969: 110–58; Yao 1989a: 60–2; Yao et al. 1994: 18–23). The CAS housed research institutes of the social sciences and humanities before they were separated from the CAS and developed into the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences (CASS) in 1977. 4 In fact, the CAS itself, as with other academies of sciences in socialist countries, followed the Soviet pattern, which was inspired by the “German model” of the KaiserWilhelm-Gesellschaft, today’s Max-Planck-Gesellschaft (Graham 1975; Mayntz 1998). 5 “863” is the code of the program to indicate that the program was initiated in March 1986. There are at least two possible interpretations of the origins of the 863 Program. Given the status of the senior scientists who were the driving force behind China’s nuclear and strategic weapons and space programs (liangdan yixing—in Chinese, liangdan refers to atomic bombs and missiles, while yixing, satellites) and their awareness of the US Strategic Defense Initiative, the program gave consideration to the national defense application potential of the selected areas. Ma Junru, the first director of the 863 Program Office, pointed out that the 863 Program is the “liangdan yixing program in the new era” (Li M. 1997; Zhongguo qingnianbao February 27, 2001). From another

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6 7

8

9

10 11 12

13 14 15 16

17 18

perspective, China was just as concerned with Japan’s Fifth-Generation Computer Program and Europe’s Eureka Program. Therefore, the 863 Program drew inspiration from liangdan yixing but has been basically focused on the civilian economy (Feigenbaum 1997, 1999). “973” is the code of the program to indicate that the program was initiated in March 1997. In theory, the NDSTC differed from the NDIO in that the NDSTC was under the jurisdiction of the CCP Central Military Commission, while the NDIO was affiliated with the State Council; and the NDSTC and the NDIO were in charge of R&D and production respectively. In practice, however, it is difficult to make the distinction, because prototype production is inherent in weapons development. As Ostrov states, “[t]he NDSTC was thrust into a potentially competitive relationship with the NDIO, heightened by the external dependence of both organizations on personnel in the same ministries and factories” (1991: 32). Between 1949 and 1978, rural residents who were mainly farmers accounted for more than 70 percent of China’s population. Rural population has decreased significantly since 1978 with the flux of farmers into urban areas. In 2001, about 74 percent of Chinese lived in the countryside, among them 22 percent worked at rural enterprises. After 1978 when so many rural residents poured into urban areas, agricultural development has been sacrificed to some extent (Harlan 1980: 310–11). While some suggest that “the main motive of China’s leaders in carrying out the ‘Four Modernizations’ is to become a great military power,” and “the only one of the ‘Four Modernizations’ which has gone at all smoothly is the military buildup” (Li X. 1989: 7, emphasis original); others point out that since the late 1970s China’s political and military leaders have viewed modernization, particularly economic modernization, as essential for improving China’s national security, which represents a departure from China’s past national security strategies (Folta 1992: 11; Saich 1989b: 5, n. 2; Frieman 1989: 268; Suttmeier 1989a: 380–1). Whether high-energy physics should be emphasized was controversial worldwide (Greenberg 1967a: Chapter X, “High energy politics”). Zheng Zhipeng, director of the IHEP, recalled in 1995, “ten years ago, Deng Xiaoping made the decision to build BEPC” (Mervis 1995). Chen Ning Yang, the other Chinese American physicist who shared the 1957 Nobel Prize in Physics with Lee, however, was critical of the development of the high-energy physics program in China (Saich 1989b: 14–15). This may have something to do with personal conflict between these two. “Black” class origin meant the offsprings from the families of landlords, rich peasants, counter-revolutionaries, bad elements, and “rightists” (Israel 1973: 7). Nie Rongzhen pointed out, “Now that intellectuals are part of the working people, we should no longer use the slogan of ‘uniting with, educating and remolding’ intellectuals” (1988: 719). Three-anti’s was directed against “three evils” of corruption, waste, and bureaucracy; while five-anti’s concerned “five evils” of bribery, tax evasion, stealing state property, delivering substandard goods to the government, and stealing economic information. The first half of the slogan was used by Mao in 1951 to characterize party policy for theoretical and literary reform, and the second half was a phrase describing the situation of academic freedom during the “Warring States” period of Chinese society (475–221 BC). Here, “right” is opposite to “left”—the former meant anti-CCP, anti-socialist, while the latter is the pronoun of revolution. The speeches of Zhou Enlai and Chen Yi, especially that of Zhou Enlai, were presumably approved by the CCP Central Committee and Mao Zedong. But after reading the transcripts of the conference, Mao Zedong was unhappy with the tone of the conference

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and the words of Zhou and Chen offered a direct affront to Mao. Therefore, when the Cultural Revolution began several years later, the Guangzhou conference was labeled as a “black conference” (Li Zhisui 1994: 389–90). 19 On the contrary, literary intellectuals and social scientists were frequent targets of the party during the same period (Goldman 1973). 20 The so-called “May Seventh cadre schools” were set up throughout the countryside following Mao Zedong’s directive on May 7, 1966. All “brain workers” were required to undergo the process of “ideological revolutionization” there, a celebrated remedy for their being divorced from politics, the masses, and labor. 3 THE EVOLUTION OF AN ACADEMIC HONOR 1 The Academia Sinica has continued to elect academicians ( yuanshi ) after its retreat to Taiwan in 1948. 2 In 1958, the ACFNSS was merged with the Chinese Association for the Popularization of Scientific and Technological Knowledge to form the Chinese Association for Science and Technology (Wang Shuntong et al. 1994: 55–66). 3 One knowledgeable person explained, “In our country, some party members are needed for their participation in the work. It would be no good if they were absent.” (YSZLYYJ 1991: 10) 4 The exclusion of sociology and political science from the landscape of Chinese social sciences was based on the Soviet precedent (Arkush 1981: 227–8; Guldin 1994: 7 and 153). In contrast, in 1948, several pro-communist social scientists and humanists, including the writer, historian, and archaeologist Guo Moruo and the economist Ma Yinchu, were nominated and elected academicians of the nationalist Academia Sinica (Luo 2003; Xie Yong 2000). 5 Much of the information in this section draws from an interview (Beijing, China: 1996) and personal communications (1996 and 1997) with a retired CAS official who in 1980 was deputy director of the office in charge of the CAS Academic Division membership election. 6 In English, then, another way to distinguish the two is to call them “member of the CAS” and “member of a particular Academic Division of the CAS” respectively (General Office of the CAS 1982a: 182). 7 The only exception was in the 1960s when D. N. Aidit, the secretary of Indonesian Communist Party, hoped to be given a title of “member ( yuanshi ).” “Membership” was awarded to him in English, but “xuebu weiyuan (Academic Division Member)” in Chinese and in nature (YSZLYYJ 1991: 21). 8 Before 1992, only one chapter in “The By-laws on the Chinese Academy of Sciences” dealt with the Academic Divisions and their members. 9 The first CAE academicians included those elected from among CAS members with a background in technological sciences. 10 To emphasize the historical continuity between Academic Division membership and academicianship, the assembly held in 1994 was called the Seventh Assembly. 11 The natural sciences are no longer attributed a class nature in the Deng Xiaoping era (Miller 1996: 71–5). 12 The most recent appeals were made by Wu Shuqing, an economist and, at the time, president of Beijing University, and thirty other deputies during the 1996 session of the National People’s Congress; Ren Jianxin, China’s inspector general during the 2000 session of the Chinese People’s Political Consultation Conference; and Ji Baocheng, president of People’s University of China, in 2001 (Renmin ribao overseas edition March 16, 1996: 3; Zhongguo qingnianbao June 15, 2001). In 2003 the Ministry of Education

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decided to establish senior professorship in philosophy and social sciences at universities that carry similar privileges of academicians in the natural sciences and engineering (Xinhua News Agency February 28, 2003). 13 The CAS was actually prepared to elect foreign Academic Division members in 1979 (General Office of the CAS 1982a: 211). 4 SOCIAL ORIGINS 1 Similarly as well as coincidentally, of the eighty-one Academia Sinica academicians elected in 1948, nineteen were from Zhejiang and fifteen from Jiangsu (Liang 2000). 2 The socioeconomic status and/or educational level of these mothers’ families were higher. For example, according to a 1937 survey, a higher than average proportion of the fathers of female university students had received a college education; another study found that most of the older university-educated women came from where the male heads of household were highly educated, and that family wealth played a major role before the communist revolution in women’s ability to pursue higher education (Mak 1991: 35–6). 3 If academicians of the Academia Sinica elected in 1948 are included, there is one more father–son pair: Jiang Lifu (Academia Sinica) and Jiang Boju (CAS) in mathematics, and the triple brothers of Liang Sicheng, Liang Siyong (archeology, Academia Sinica), and Liang Sili. 4 His cousin was elected a CAS member in 1980, while his cousin’s husband became a CAS member in 1957. There is one more pair of cousin earth scientists—Weng Wenhao (Academia Sinica academician, elected in 1948) and Weng Wenbo (CAS member, 1980). 5 The number includes those who were first enrolled in Beijing University but graduated from Southwest Associated University during the Anti-Japanese War (Exhibit, Department of Geology, Beijing University, 1995). 6 In addition, at least seventeen CAS members abandoned doctoral degrees in 1937 when the Anti-Japanese War broke out, in 1949 when the People’s Republic was established, and in the early 1960s when they were called on by the party from the former Soviet Union (BIOGRAPHIES and NOTES ). 7 The years varied from country to country; for example, the United States and Canada, 1850–1953; Japan, 1901–39; Great Britain, 1911–49; France, Germany, and other Western countries, 1907–62; the former Soviet Union and Eastern European countries, 1950–62 (Cheng C. 1965: 123, 199, and 223). 8 The number is calculated from a table of the number of Chinese students who had graduate study. Between 1949 and 1965, 16,397 Chinese students finished graduate training, among whom 6,454 (about 40 percent) were in the fields of science, engineering, agronomy, and medical science. The table does not collapse the total numbers across fields from 1966 to 1969, but only gives an aggregate number year by year, which amounts to 4,546 (Editorial Board of Educational Yearbook of China 1949–1981 1984: 964). If one assumes, similarly, that 40 percent of them majored in science and related disciplines, the number is 1,818. A number of 8,272 is thus obtained. 9 Nevertheless, many of them also spent time abroad after the late 1970s as visiting scholars.

5 THE INFLUENCE OF ELITE MENTORS ON STUDENTS 1 Wu Ta-you, another accomplished second-generation Chinese physicist, later worked in the United States and moved to Taiwan in 1967.

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2 Yan Jici, another famous second-generation Chinese physicist, graduated from the University of Paris in 1927 with a doctoral degree. He had only briefly worked at universities before holding positions at research institutes where he also trained many physicists. He had not taught a course until 1958. Since the concern here is mainly on the mentor–student relationship in three universities, he is excluded from the present discussion. Other first- and second-generation Chinese physicists who worked at these universities included Yen Kia-lok (PhD, Chicago, 1918; faculty of Beijing University), Ting Sihling (Master, Birminghan, 1919; Beijing), Li Shou-houa (DSc, Paris, 1922; Beijing), Sah Adam Pen-tung ( DSc, Worcester Polytechnic, 1927; Qinghua), S. C. Wang (PhD, Columbia, 1928; Beijing). However, they were not elected CAS members. 3 The series of articles on the mechanism of photophosphorylation was well received in reviews and books on photosynthesis ( Tang P. 1980: 527). 4 In fact, Gavril Pasternak, a young American scientist, also attributed his personal and professional debt to his mentor, Sol Snyder, a Nobel laureate, by calling Sol, professionally, “my father,” and Axelrod (Snyder’s mentor) “my grandfather” (Kanigel 1986: xiii). Similarly, the sociologists of science Jonathan R. Cole and Stephen Cole also considered Robert K. Merton as their “intellectual father” (1973: xiii). 5 Wang Ganchang became a party member in 1979. 6 In a recent speech on Chinese culture and education, Yuan Tseh Lee emphasized the importance of challenging the authority in the process of science (1999). 6 THE CHARACTERISTICS OF RESEARCH AND BECOMING ELITE 1 Of course, the citation statistics are somewhat inaccurate, which raise concerns about relying heavily on them in the evaluation of scientific performance (Nature 2002). 2 Recently, many low-level awards were discontinued. 3 Several recent awards sponsored by Hong Kong entrepreneurs have changed the selfapplication procedure. Awardee lists indicate that they have been mainly selected from CAS members, which also could not be used for research on such causality. 4 Zou Cheng-lu (Chen-lu Tsou as known to the West), a Cambridge-trained biochemist and a 1980 CAS member, approaches the issue from a different angle by pointing out, among the five divisions of the CAS, “the Division of Technical [Technological] Sciences has the largest membership (173 of a total of 604), and its influence continues to grow as it elects more new members every other year than the divisions for basic sciences” (1998). 5 According to another estimate, China’s annual defense-related research and development expenditure was $7–$15 billion opposed to a total R&D spending of $9.3 billion in 1992, exclusive of military projects ( Frieman 1996: 258). 6 There are four definitions of China’s defense sector. The first and second refer to all enterprises under the administrative control of the four ministries of defense sectors— nuclear, aeronautics, ordnance, and astronautics—which are subordinate to the National Defense Science and Technology Commission ( NDSTC) with a small discrepancy in Chinese press. The third usage includes, in addition to the first four, two other administrative branches: shipbuilding and electronics. The last refers to military supply factories under the People’s Liberation Army ( PLA) General Logistics Department (Folta 1992: 111–13). In this discussion, however, scientists working at various institutions under the NDSTC and the PLA are meant to be direct employees of the military research sector. 7 Biographic information on the other four—Qian Ji, Long Wenguang, Lu Fuyan, and Yu Daguang—are unavailable in Lewis and Xue (1988) as well as from the Chinese sources. However, Qian Ji did not participate in the nuclear weapons program, rather in

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the missiles and satellite program and was honored as one of the twenty-three most important contributors to the liangdan yixing programs. 7 “RED” OR “EXPERT” 1 In contrast, “the five kinds of red elements” (hong wulei ) include workers, poor peasants, revolutionary martyrs, revolutionary cadres, and revolutionary soldiers (Israel 1973: 7). 2 However, interestingly, between 1966 and 1969, CAS members of the social sciences with party membership, especially those relatively young party-member social scientists with high party seniority, were the targets of political attack while natural scientists and non-party members were relatively secure. The real victims of the Cultural Revolution, according to one observation, were the reds and the quasi-experts rather than the nonreds and the “real” experts (Chai 1981). 3 To remedy, the party has provided those it has selected as candidates for eventual leadership positions with opportunities of adult college education ( Li and Walder 2001: 1396–1400). 4 In achieving its political goals, the CCP has always tried to form a “united front” (lianhe zhengxian) with other political forces in China. It cooperated with Sun Yet-sen’s Nationalist Party (Kuomintang, KMT) in fighting warlords, stood with Chiang Kai-shek during the Anti-Japanese War. 5 In fact, on the termination of its first session in September 1949, the CPPCC ceased to play a major role, with the takeover of the newly elected Central People’s Government Council ( Waller 1981: 87). 6 The democratic parties here refer to the China Democratic League, the September Third Study Society, the China Association for Promoting Democracy, the Chinese Peasant’s and Worker’s Democratic Party, the China National Construction Association, the Kuomintang (KMT) Revolutionary Committee, the China Public Interest Party, and the Taiwan Democratic Self-Government League. The first two are almost entirely dominated by high-ranking intellectuals, the next two have a higher percentage of intellectuals, while the remainder represent other elements in China. In spite of the names, democratic parties are powerless organizations that generally support the CCP policies (for a discussion of the histories and roles of these democratic parties in Chinese politics, see Seymour 1987). 7 The CCP has enforced its control over Chinese society by placing its members in every institution (Nathan 1990: 6). The scientific community is no exception. 8 As for occupation, however, professionals had a significantly lower rate of becoming party members during the period 1949–65 as compared with workers ( Zhou et al. 1996: 789). 9 However, according to surveys of intellectuals in Beijing from 1996–97 and 1999, of non-party-member intellectuals, only 45.2 percent hoped to join the party; and the higher the educational attainment level and professional rank, the less the willingness to join the party (Institute for the Party Construction of the CCP Beijing Committee Party School and the Beijing Society for the Party Construction Studies: 122). 10 In fact, CAS members do not care about whether a candidate is a party member (informant no. 73). 11 There were historic periods in which the CCP encouraged its members to join other political parties to form a united front. For example, in the 1920s, in order to unite with Kuomintang, many high-ranking CCP members joined the KMT. That situation changed after the CCP took over power. A CCP member may not cross the line to be enrolled into a democratic party. Democratic party members, however, are allowed to be admitted into the CCP, if they hope to play a greater role (Seymour 1987: 79). 12 Tang Tsou had a similar description of the party’s decision-making circle (1986: 309–18).

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8 ELECTIONS OF SCIENTISTS INTO THE ELITE GROUP 1 An inorganic chemist and a deputy director of the General Office of the CAS Academic Divisions only indicated that the numbers allocated to each academic division were decided by the Presidium of the CAS Academic Divisions. They did not elaborate on the rationale behind the allocation (interviews, Beijing, China: 1995 and 1996). There may be some correlation between the number of scientists in a broadly defined field and the number of CAS members allocated to the field, but credible data on the distribution of Chinese scientists in various disciplines are not available. The larger number allocated to the Division of Technological Sciences may arise from the fact that technological sciences cover a wide range of disciplines than those in other academic divisions. The slightly larger number allocated to the Division of Biological Sciences may reflect the rapid development and the increasing importance of the field. 2 In the post-perestroika Russian Academy of Sciences, nominees for membership could also be put forward by Russian scientific, educational, social, and state organs ( Fortescue 1992: 465–9). 3 Some of the CAS members have left their original and familiar fields for new and unfamiliar ones as required by the party, sometimes even sacrificing their career for the training of the next generations of scientists. In such cases, their pioneering efforts have been recognized (informants no. 1 and 2). 4 Although those elected were supposed to hold the rank of “full professor” or its equivalent, as a matter of fact, five members elected in 1980 in their forties were associated professors. 5 Informant no. 11 mentioned that the same institute director had published only two papers per year before becoming director. 6 It was recounted by a person who was involved in the CAS membership election (Beijing, China: 1995). A neurophysiologist (informant no. 75) also implied the same story. 7 It was disclosed in August 1995 in Zhiran bianzheng fa tongxun [The journal of dialectics of nature], a Chinese magazine devoted to the philosophical, historical, and sociological studies of science. The case was an open secret among many Chinese scientists; but there had been pressures to prevent it from being publicly criticized. The article revealing the case was rejected by four journals, and Beijing University where Chen held the position of vice president even declared to fight back if the article was published. Finally, the scientific community and its independence won (Li and Xiong 1996). 8 Yuan was elected member of the Chinese Academy of Engineering in 1994. 9 The current NAS bylaw stipulates that it is the wish of a member to be relieved of the duties of active membership and to request emeritus status, and emeritus members shall neither vote nor sign instruments of election of members (NAS 1997: 94). 10 According to a deputy director of the General Office of the CAS Academic Divisions, an official with the CAST, and several interviewed CAS members, more than half of the candidates recommended by the CAST were elected CAS members given the overall elected CAS member/candidate ratio being less than 1:10, which is because the CAST takes a more neutral stand in screening candidates in the initial stage (interviews, Beijing, China: 1997; informants no. 14, 68, and 73). 9 TOWARD A BETTER UNDERSTANDING OF CHINA’S SCIENTIFIC ELITE 1 Fang Lizhi influenced his students through his various speeches. He induced students to march on the streets and was even asked by the party authority to induce students back to campus after the party leaders failed to do so. His influence among students

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2

3

4

5 6 7 8

shocked and scared the party, which was afraid of such an independent force in Chinese society. This, according to Fang, rather than his outspokenness, was the main reason of his purge in 1987 (interview with Fang Lizhi, Tucson, Arizona: October 1996). Fang Lizhi is known to the West as “China’s Sakharov.” In fact, Andrei Sakharov, academician of the former Soviet Academy of Sciences and a long-time campaigner for human rights, always kept his membership of the academy and enjoyed all rights and privileges (Graham 1977: 48). It is fair to say that Fang Lizhi’s influence was far greater on the 1986 student unrest than on the 1989 pro-democratic movement, although the party charged him as the “black hands behind the scenes.” He acknowledged that what he said and did surely had a strong influence on students’ thinking, but he held no organizational role at all in the 1989 student demonstrations (Link 1990: 102–4; Schell 1991: xxxii). It is interesting to note, however, that although the physicist Guan Weiyan was removed from his USTC presidency along with Fang in 1986 and strongly condemned the government for the Tiananmen crackdown in exile (Ta-ling Lee 1993: 233), he had kept his CAS membership until his death in a car accident in Taiwan in 2003. Because of his involvement in this and subsequent open-letter campaigns, Wang Ganchang saw his reputation tarnished in the party leadership. When he died in 2000, his funeral was treated on a significantly lower level than that he deserved (chat with a former student of Wang Ganchang, New York: 2001). The achievement of intellectuals with the kind of explicitly or implicitly negotiated freedom and autonomy from the political power is more typical of Third World societies (Sabour 1996). Interestingly, at the Eighth CPPCC in March 1993, a young scientist member proposed to increase the monthly salary of CAS members in the name of improving conditions for these senior scientists ( Jiang W. 1993; see also Fang and Zhang 1998). Probably for the sake of “saving face,” the CAS Academic Divisions had not made the news known to the public until it issued the self-discipline regulation in 2001. But as an interviewed immunologist remarked, Chinese science could only be improved through the work of those on Chinese soil (informant no. 35). More than a nationalistic manifesto, it represents the resentment among scientists working in China who are worried about the limited resources being drained by those “scientific travelers.” On the other hand, the Academia Sinica in Taiwan has elected overseas Chinese as academicians regardless of their nationality. APPENDIX: INTERVIEWING CHINA’S SCIENTIFIC ELITE

1 For example, Myron Cohen and Thomas Bernstein went to China as interpreters of American athletes (class notes), while Leo Orleans, Nathan Sivin, and Richard P. Suttmeier went with various American delegations of the natural sciences (Orleans 1980a: xxi–ii; see also Curran and Cook 1993). 2 To identify myself as a researcher through the introduction of others was crucial for me to get access to China’s scientific elite. On the one hand, there exist various anti-Chinese government, pro-democracy student organizations in the United States. On the other, several dozens of famous Chinese intellectuals, including Wang Ganchang, a CAS member and one of the leading contributors to the development of China’s nuclear weapons, other CAS members and even dissidents, just signed a petition to the Chinese leaders for political reform, which was denounced by the government (see Chapter 9). I therefore assumed that some scientists would be reluctant to talk to a researcher from abroad. Personal referral at the beginning served the function of assuring my identification. Shirk mentions that the

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use of personal introductions facilitated the establishment of trust between the interviewer and respondent (1982: 200). I tried, but failed, to seek help from some famous American-Chinese scientists who have had good connection with the Chinese scientific community for the same purpose. 3 In addition, in Beijing, I interviewed two scientists from Hangzhou and one from Changchun when they were there. However, due to time constraints and my health condition, I did not interview several scientists who agreed to be interviewed during my visit to different cities. 4 Only one CAS member when contacted through an introducer mentioned that I obtain permission for the interview from the General Office of the CAS Academic Divisions. In that case, I did not pursue further contact with the scientist.

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INDEX

863 Program (the State High Tech Research and Development Program) 13, 30, 130, 188, 216–17, 236 973 Program (the State Basic Research and Development Program) 13, 30, 123, 130, 188, 195, 217 Academia Sinica 25–7, 41–2, 45, 52–4, 70 Academic Divisions (xuebu) 31, 52–72, 215, 218 academic freedom 43 academician status 52–5, 58, 65–71 administrators of science 156, 159 advisory functions of scientists 53–4, 103, 187–8 age of CAS members 169–70, 181–2 All-China Federation of Natural Science Societies 54 Alvarez, Luis 92, 201 American Academy of Arts and Sciences 182 Anti-Rightist Campaign 45–6, 62, 152, 201 applied research: definition of 119–20; tradition of 122–4 Arnon, Daniel 109 awards, academic 118–19 Bai Chunli 156–8 Barber, Bernard 4, 201 basic research 37–42, 133, 185; definition of 119–20 Beijing Electrons-Positrons Collidor (BEPC) project 130 Beijing Geological College 101 Beijing University 15–18, 27, 38, 41, 88–9, 98–101, 112, 156, 177, 180, 189–90, 193, 218–22

benefits of CAS membership 198 biochemistry 41–2, 50 birthplaces of scientists 74–6 “blossoming and contending” policy 44–5, 189–90 Boxer Indemnity Scholarship 23, 93 Boxer Rebellion 23 Bridgman, Percy W. 91 Britain 4, 23–4 business elites 196 Cai Shidong 191 Cai Yuanpei 25–6 Cao Benxi 127 “capitalist roaders” 9, 11, 48 Cell ( journal) 200 Chang jiang (Yangtze River) 74, 188 Chao Chung Ting, Samuel 70 Chen Da 57 Chen Fangyun 30, 127 Chen Hanfu 82 Chen Jiangong 82, 151–2 Chen Jingrun 202 Chen-lu Tsou see Zou Chenglu Chen Minheng 199 Chen Nengkuan 127 Chen Yi 47, 58–9 Chen Yinke 58 Chen Zhangliang 180, 199 Cheng Kaijia 127 Cheung Kong professors 14 Chi Jishang 101 Chiang Kai-shek 58–9 China Democratic League 154 Chinese Academy of Engineering 15, 68, 146, 188–9 Chinese Academy of Medical Sciences 121

251

I N DE X

Fang Shouxian 131 Fang Yi 68, 156 fathers of scientists: education of 95, 184; occupations of 77–80 female scientists 19 Feng Duan 82 Feng Jinglan 101 Feng Kang 82, 109–10 Feng Zefang 62 feudal bureaucratism 203 “five fronts” of scentific research 12, 17, 120 foreign-based scientists 69–70, 201 foreign-trained scientists 92, 98–9 “four modernizations” 28, 35 Fu Chengyi 82, 111 Fu Ying 82–3 Fuchs, Stephan 5 funding of scientific research 31–3

Chinese Academy of Sciences (CAS) and its institutes 1–3, 12, 14–21, 27–8, 52–3, 68–9, 73, 136, 218 Chinese Association of Science and Technology 161 Chinese Communist Party (CCP) 20, 28–9, 42–3, 46, 50, 55, 66, 98, 138–9, 148–54, 157, 160, 179–80, 185 Chinese People’s Political Consultative Committee (CPPCC) 140–1, 144–8, 194–5 citation databases 117–18, 165 class divisions 8–9 “Climbing Program” 30, 188 cognitive formalism 203 Cole, Stephen 5 Communist Party see Chinese Communist Party Compton, Arthur H. 91, 201 compulsive ritualism 203 Confucianism 73, 110, 203 Cultural Revolution 41–2, 47–9, 62–4, 73, 115, 117, 137, 151–2, 169, 173, 189, 202 Dai Anbang 111 Darwin, Charles 109 democratic parties 154–5 Deng Chonghao 102 Deng Jiaxian 117, 127 Deng Shuqun 63 Deng Xiaoping 28–30, 38–9, 49, 51, 71, 95, 130, 137–8, 141, 158, 190–1 Deng Ximing 102 Ding Wenjiang 89 dogmatic scientism 203 dual elites 156–8, 185 educational attainment of scientists 84–95 Einstein, Albert 92 elite, scientific, definition of 14–19 ethical codes 199 ethos of science 4 Euclidian geometry 23 expenditure on research 195 family backgrounds of scientists 73, 77–83, 95–6 Fan Xudong 24 Fan Zhongyan 114 Fang Lizhi 114, 155–6, 158, 189–93, 197

Gang of Four 48 Gao Jingde 112–13 General Office of the CAS Academic Divisions 63–70, 161–4, 188, 218–19, 222, 224 genetic modification 34–5 Geological Survey 24 Germany 96 Goldbach conjecture 202 Gong Zutong 102, 105–6 graduate training of scientists 89–95 Graham, Loren R. 201 Great Leap Forward 45–6 Gu Chaohao 115–16 Gu Gongxu 99 Gu Jiegang 57 Guan Zhaozhi 109–10 Guangzhou conference (1956 and 1962) 46–7, 218 guanxi concept 173–7, 181–3, 186 Guo Moruo 59, 62, 156 Guo Yonghuai 101, 127 Han Qide 146, 155 Hao Yichun 101 He Zuolin 103 He Zuoxiu 127, 132 health services 34 Heisenberg, Werner 92 high-energy physics 38–41, 50 Hill, Archibald V. 109 Holton, Gerald 182 honorific academicianship 59, 65–71

252

I N DE X

honors for scientists 140 Hou Defeng 103 Hou Xianglin 188 Hu Hesheng 115 Hu Jimin 193 Hu Xiansu 58–9 Hua Luogeng 44, 62, 80, 101, 106–7, 109–10, 146, 151, 201 Huang Jiasi 34, 149 Huang Liang 82–3 Huang Weilu 127 inspiration in scholarship 108–10 institutional structure of research 121–2 institutionalization of science 22–3 insulin 41–2, 131 intellectuals: interaction with the partystate 42–50; recruitment to the CCP 149–56; role of 189; shou and fang types 51; social status of 10–12 Jiang Lifu 58–9 Jiang Lijin 193 Jiang Qing 42 Jiang Sheng jie 127 Jiang Yuansheng 102 Jiang Zemin 12, 39, 141, 148, 180–1, 193, 195, 199 Jiuda Refined Salt Company 24 Joliot, Frédéric 92 Joliot-Curie, Irène 92 kejiao xingguo 31, 49–50, 202 “key” institutions and projects 121–3, 130–5 Knowledge Innovation Program 13, 28, 121 lecturing 98–101 Lee, Tsung-Dao 14, 37, 39–40, 70, 84 Lee, Yuan Tseh 70, 116 Lei Tianjue 62 Lewis, John Wilson 127 Li Daqian 115 Li Kaiching 14 Li Lemin 102 Li Lin 82, 127, 132 Li Peng 67, 69, 180–1, 195 Li Qiang 59 Li Shizeng 26 Li Siguang 35–6, 54, 82, 89, 146, 149 Li Tipei 131 Li Zhongen 58

Liang Qichao 82, 151 Liang Sicheng 63, 82, 149, 151 Liang Sili 82 Liang Siyong 57 liangdan yixing 35, 50, 101, 126–30, 216–17, 221 Liao Shantao 118 Liu Chongle 63 Liu Dunzhen 63 Liu Ruozhuang 102 Liu Sizhi 57, 62 Liu Xianzhou 55 Liu Yizheng 57 living standards 33–4 Lou Chenghou 109 Lu Jiaxi 92, 146, 155–6, 176 Lu Yongxiang 146, 156, 158 Luo Peilin 188 Ma Xingyuan 101 Mao Yisheng 146, 155 Mao Zedong 8, 11, 28, 34–8, 42–51 passim, 58–9, 63, 95, 130, 137, 140–1, 149, 202 Meng Shaoying 62 Meng Xianmin 63 mentoring 97–116; advising 103; lecturing 98–101; special seminars 101–2 mentors 97–116, 176–7, 185–6 Merton, Robert K. 3–6 military-industrial complex 13 military and military-related research 35–7, 125–9, 133–4 Millikan, Robert A. 92 Ministry of Machine Building 36, 121, 126–7 Ministry of Science and Technology 30, 120, 156, 188 missionary activity 25, 92 missionary universities and colleges 25–7, 42, 76, 82–3, 92, 99 Mitchell, Peter 109 moral values 114, 185 Morgan, Thomas 92 mothers of scientists, education of 81, 95, 184 Mu Guoguang 102 Mulkay, Michael 4 narrow empiricism 203 National Natural Science Foundation of China 32–3

253

I N DE X

National People’s Congress (NPC) 140–3, 146–8, 194–5 Natural Science Foundation of China 32, 131, 187 Nature ( journal) 200 Nie Rongzhen 137 Nobel prize winners 7, 37, 41, 70, 84, 91, 95–9, 103, 109, 115–16, 156, 176, 183, 198–201, 217, 220 nuclear technology 36 occupational hierarchies 9, 11 occupational prestige survey 11 open letter campaigns 191–4 Orleans, Leo A. 37 overseas study 23–4 patriotism 113–14 Pauli, Wolfgang 92 Pauling, Linus 92, 156 peer election of CAS members 65–6 Pei-sung Tang see Tang Peisong Peiping Academy 26–7, 53 Peng Huanwu 127 petitions 193 Politburo 187 politics in science 57–63, 70 priorities in research 33–7 privileges of CAS membership 198 professional societies 54 purging of intellectuals 193, 201 Qian Changzhao 10 Qian Jiaju 44, 62 Qian Lingxi 82 Qian Linzhao 82, 193 Qian Ruisheng 57 Qian Sanqiang 35–6, 55, 63–4, 67, 92, 127 Qian Weichang 44, 62, 146 Qian Xuesen 36, 45, 57, 99, 101, 105–7, 118, 127, 146, 149, 157, 176, 199, 201 Qian Zhengying 67 Qiao Shi 193 Qinghua University 23, 49, 55, 88, 96, 99–100, 105, 230, 237 Rao Yutai 63, 98 red 96 red and expert 20–1, 136–59 Ren Hongjun 24 Ren Xinmin 127 Ren Yonghua 19

research, definition of 119–20 Research Council of Academia Sinica 52–3 research and development (R&D) 14, 123; definition of 119–20 research institutes 13, 26–7 Ricci, Matteo 23 rightists 9, 11, 36, 42–9, 62, 73, 136–7, 140, 146, 149–52, 189–93, 201–2, 217 Rong Hong see Yung Wing Royal Society of London 1, 14, 19, 72, 161, 198, 216 Sakata, Shoichi 37 SARS (severe acute respiratory syndrome) 34 satellite technology 37 Science ( journal) 200 Science Citation Index (SCI) 117–18, 165 Science Foundation of the CAS 32 Science Society of China 24, 26 selection of future scientists 103–5 seminars 101–3 “senior members” of the CAS 69, 171 September Third Study Society 154–5 Shapin, Steven 5 Shen Jiacong 102 Shen Shaowen 42 Sheng Tongsheng 62 Shi Changxu 188 social sciences 57–8, 69 social stratification 8–10 socialism, scientists’ allegiance to 138, 153 sociology of science 3–6 sociology of scientific knowledge 4, 6–7 Song Jian 146, 156–8 Southwest Associated University 84, 98–9, 113 Soviet Academy of Sciences 1, 54–5, 72, 91, 96, 149, 223 Soviet Union 70, 95, 202 Special Advisory Committee of the CAS 53–4 state-owned enterprises 13–14 State Science and Technology Commission (SSTC) 31 “stink number nine” (chou laojiu) 11, 48, 73 stratification in science 6–14 Su Buqing 115–16, 149, 155 Sun Jiadong 127 Sun Jiazhong 102 Sun Yat-sen 23, 25

254

I N DE X

Sun Yueqi 10 Suttmeier, Richard P. 7–8, 130–1 Tan Jiazhen 92 Tang Aoqing 102, 176, 179 Tang Chongti 82 Tang Feifan 57, 62 Tang Peisong 33, 105, 108–9 Tang Zhongzhang 82 Three Gorges dam project 195 Tiananmen Square incident 155 Tong Dizhou 44, 62, 146, 151, 155 Tsung-Dao Lee see Lee, Tsung-Dao Tu Changwang 151 Tu Guangzi 103 Tu Shou’e 127 United States 7, 23, 96; National Academy of Sciences 17, 19, 198 universalism in science 3, 7–8, 134 universities 13, 25–8, 48–9, 84–9, 121–2 University of California 198 University of Science and Technology of China 101 “upright” attitude to research 172–3 Walder, Andrew G. 20, 154 Wang Daheng 102, 127, 188 Wang Debao 41 Wang Ganchang 39, 101, 113–14, 127, 132–3, 176, 191, 193 Wang Hengsheng 17 Wang Hongzhen 101 Wang Pinxian 147 Wang Shoujue 82 Wang Shouwu 82 Wang Xiji 127 Wang Xuan 146 Wang Yinglai 41, 149 Wang Zhijiang 102 Wang Zunyi 101 Wei Jingsheng 191 Weng Wenhao 10, 58, 89 Westernization 23 Wu Chien-shiung 38 Wu Dingliang 58 Wu Heng 55, 59, 63 Wu Hsien 41 Wu Jieping 146, 155 Wu Ta-you 98, 116 Wu Wenjun 101, 109 Wu Xuelin 99

Wu Youxun 62–3, 91, 98, 101, 151–2, 201 Wu Zhengkai 82, 105–6, 111, 127 Wu Zhengyi 82 Wu Zhonghua 57, 101, 105, 107–8, 115, 188 Wu Ziliang 127 Xian Dingchng 131 Xiang Da 62 Xie Jiarong 62–3, 82, 202 Xie Xide 187 Xie Xuejin 82, 202 Xiong Darun 83 Xu Baolu 63 Xu Guangxian 112 Xu Guanhua 156–8 Xu Guanqi 22–3 Xu Ruren 102 Xue, Litai 127 Yan Dongsheng 156, 176 Yan Jici 82, 101, 146, 155 Yan Luguang 82 Yang, Chen Ning 14, 70, 84, 116 Yang Fujia 82 Yang Fuyu 82 Yang Jiachi 30, 127 Yang Zunyi 101 Ye Danian 195 Ye Dupei 63 Ye Qisun 63, 91, 98, 102 Yellow Sea Chemical Engineering Institute 24 Yin Hongzhang 109, 116 Yin Wenying 82 Yin Zhanxun 82, 101, 103 You Xiaozeng 102 Yu Chongwen 101 Yu Guangyuan 37, 55, 57–8 Yu Jiaxi 57 Yu Min 127 Yu Ruihuang 62 Yu Xie 5, 7, 95 Yü Yingshi 197 Yuan, Luke 38 Yuan Hanqing 62 Yuan Jianqi 101 Yuan Longping 34, 180–1 Yuan Tseh Lee see Lee, Yuan Tseh Yung Wing 23 Zeng Zhaolun 44, 62 Zhang Bingxi 101

255

I N DE X

Zhang Cunhao 83 Zhang Dayu 111–12 Zhang Dongsun 197 Zhang Guangdou 188, 195 Zhang Hongzhao 89 Zhang Jiafu 57–8 Zhang Jin 83 Zhang Qian’er 102 Zhang Wei 188 Zhang Wenyu 39, 103 Zhang Xiangtong 201 Zhang Yonglian 200 Zhang Yuanji 57 Zhang Zhongsui 63, 82, 197 Zhang Zhongye 82, 131, 197 Zhao Jiuzhang 63, 101, 127 Zhao Zhongxian 131 Zhao Zhongyao 63, 92, 98, 102

Zhejiang University 84 Zhi Zhiming 19, 69 Zhou Enlai 35, 37–9, 43, 47, 56–7, 104 Zhou Gengsheng 57 Zhou Guangzhao 67, 117, 127, 132, 146, 156, 158, 174, 176, 193 Zhou Mingzhen 193 Zhou Peiyuan 33, 37–8, 92, 98, 146, 149, 155, 189, 195 Zhu Guangya 127, 146, 158 Zhu Kezhen 62–3 Zhu Lilan 123, 199–200 Zhu Xi 151 Zhuang Fengchen 82 Zhuang Fenggan 82 Zou Chenglu 41, 176, 200 Zuckerman, Harriet 7, 184, 186

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