Why We Do Research

A good research project, a good paper, first needs to well justify your research motivation. If the motivation is insufficient or impure, even if your solution and results are hyped to the sky, not many will appreciate them. Many people choose the research path—whether as graduate students or working in universities or institutes. But have you ever thought deeply about the motivation of doing research itself? Or why we do research?

Two things prompted me to write about this. First, I’ve gained some insights over the past year. Second, a blog post on ScienceNet a few days ago stirred up a huge discussion, and I want to share my thoughts. The original post is here:

“Sleepless Last Night” http://blog.sciencenet.cn/blog-660333-632151.html

Let me start with that post. The gist is a talented young researcher who decided after graduation to give up research and become a middle school teacher. The post doesn’t explain why, but from the comments, the most likely reason is financial pressure—Beijing middle school teachers earn decent money. Some blame the浮躁 (restless) society; others blame the person’s shortsightedness, etc. Personally, I support this guy’s decision. At least he knows what he wants and how to get it. When he found research couldn’t help him achieve his goals, he had the courage to give it up. That alone is commendable. It’s far better than students who don’t know what they want to do in the future, what they want out of life, or even if they know, how to achieve it. They drift through undergrad, then grad school, then PhD—accidentally finishing a PhD and living half their lives without knowing what they want.

In quiet moments, I ask myself: why do I choose to stay in academia? Two reasons: 1. Fame and fortune. 2. Interest. How to maximize fame and fortune? The most direct measure is income (titles are虛名 (empty fame); real gold and silver are what count). How to maximize interest? Research results. If you’re genuinely interested in something, you naturally want to produce something meaningful. Sometimes these two align, sometimes they don’t. Win a Nobel Prize in Physics—interest maximized, money follows. But few researchers reach that level. Why do I do research? Using the problem formulation method I mentioned before, I formulate my motivation as:

Maximize: Research output Subject to: Income >= minimum threshold for decent living

Of course, there’s another formulation that many people probably use. Take a look and draw your own conclusions:

Maximize: Income Subject to: Research output >= minimum threshold set by employer

This past year in Hong Kong, I’ve also often回顾 (looked back) at my journey—from leaving my parents at 18, emerging from a mountainous village to study, to now. Which times flew by, which dragged on like years. Gradually, I feel that spiritual mentor Kai-Fu Lee was right: follow your heart. The two happiest periods were the two years after transferring to the software school, and now. The two unhappiest periods were the three years of my Master’s, and the year before I came abroad to study.

When I decided to transfer majors, it was my own choice—from accounting to software engineering. The study pressure increased十倍 (tenfold), but I was happy. I still clearly remember the pure joy when my first Minesweeper program recursively revealed blank areas, when my little Paint program could draw pictures and set them as Windows wallpaper, when my little website went online for friends to visit, when I braved SARS to report for my internship at Microsoft’s Metro Tower. Now it’s similar—living in the worst conditions of my life, with dark circles from severe sleep deprivation. But every day feels fulfilling. In the morning I figured out a problem, in the afternoon I learned a new method. That’s pure joy!

However, ideals alone won’t work. The Party’s history has proven that starting a revolution on an empty stomach, or preferring socialist weeds to capitalist seedlings, doesn’t work. So I added a “decent living” constraint to my formulation. If that constraint isn’t met, talk of high-quality research is empty. What constitutes a decent living? Hard to define. Let me just compare what I’ve seen.

I’ve been reading some modern history of science lately and noticed a pattern: most of the famous scientists who contributed to modern science were well-off, even from贵族 (noble) backgrounds. From Copernicus to Descartes, from Leibniz to Maxwell, even Marx and Engels—they were all wealthy second-generation or official types. They did research because they had nothing better to do, not as a tool for the oppressed to翻身 (turn over) and become masters. China’s thousands of years of科举 (imperial examination) system made education the only hope for countless poor farmers to change their fate. Though the imperial exams were abolished a century ago, education remains the main path to changing one’s destiny in contemporary China. How is “good education” measured? By diplomas and degrees. How do you get the highest degree? By doing research for a PhD. At this point, the motivation starts to go wrong.

Let me talk about what constitutes a decent life—from both the student and teacher perspectives.

Everyone says the opportunity cost of doing a PhD in China is high. Indeed, you’re nearly 30 when you graduate, with almost no money during your studies. The stipend from the state and advisor barely covers living expenses—hard to save anything. You graduate with nothing. And this is precisely when you need money most—to start a family and career. So many wise people skip the PhD. They go to companies as coders, find a good employer, and quickly earn more than they would studying. Under these conditions, many PhD students are在职 (part-time)—already university teachers without advanced degrees getting credentials. Or they’re officials and businessmen seeking to gild their resumes. The most ridiculous PhD thesis defense I know: an official was defending, and somehow turned it into a leadership speech. Before the defense began, the host announced: “Now, please welcome Leader XXX to deliver an important thesis defense.” The professors on the committee applauded wildly. I wonder if their hands hurt from clapping. After the defense, more applause, with declarations that “XXX’s defense is insightful, setting the direction for research in this field—we must study it carefully, deeply internalize it, revise our syllabi, and incorporate its important theoretical viewpoints…” What are Hong Kong PhD students like? Using myself as an example: after a little over a year here, my monthly scholarship more than covers food, shelter, and incidentals. I bought a Galaxy Nexus, New iPad, and Retina MacBook Pro, and I still have 120k HKD saved—more than I saved as a teacher in China. And this is after the post-SARS scholarship cut. I heard from senior students that about 10 years ago, a PhD in Hong Kong could save enough in scholarship (converted to RMB) to buy an apartment in Shenzhen. (Of course, HKD was worth more than RMB then, and Shenzhen prices weren’t crazy yet.) That should count as a decent life.

As for teachers: I won’t show my Tongji salary slip again—I’ve posted it on my blog before and nobody believed it. Let me just mention one item: my monthly housing provident fund is 500 RMB. My wife’s is five times that. What’s Hong Kong’s待遇 (compensation)? I’ve done some research—not precise, but close. A freshly graduated PhD earns around 50,000 HKD per month—about 10 times our salary. After getting associate professor, it’s around 100,000 HKD. Full professors: 150-200k. Above that is Chair Professor (which my advisor is)—even higher. For comparable titles, basically one person here earns as much as ten in mainland China. That should count as a decent life too. In China, I’ve seen many idealistic young teachers struggling near the poverty line. To survive, they have to chase projects and earn extra income—can’t really blame them for poor teaching quality. Another type of teacher joins academia for comfort and security—their family might already be wealthy, salary doesn’t matter, they just don’t want to work hard. A university is perfect for them. Chinese universities are at least half “inside the system”—an iron rice bowl. In all my years working, I’ve never seen anyone fired for poor performance, even those who provoke public outrage. Their positions remain secure. This second type—don’t expect much research output from them.

This article’s思路 (train of thought) is a bit messy. Just writing as things come to me, no structure. In my previous articles, some said I’m just a critic—anyone can be a critic. Like the national football team—everyone criticizes them, but can you come up with a way to get them into the World Cup round of 16, or top 8? China’s education problems are like lice on a monk’s head—obvious to all. If you want my solution—fine. I won’t “cross the river by feeling the stones.” The Westerners have already built a bridge for us with their modern education system. HKUST’s practice has proven this bridge isn’t bad. Founded in 1997, just 15 years old, and their CS department dominates Asia. What a contrast to domestic “century-old prestigious universities” including Tongji! If I had enough power and resources, I’d follow HKUST’s successful experience. First, raise the salary of research-track staff tenfold—so we can poach talent internationally, not be the last choice for top US PhD graduates after Hong Kong, Singapore, Japan, Korea, and Taiwan. Second, “to forge iron, you must be strong yourself”—firmly expel underperforming teachers from the revolutionary ranks. Even if you have to clear them all out and recruit from海外名校 (overseas prestigious schools) and fresh graduates. Of course, I know neither is realistic. Just entertaining myself.