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My alma mater, Shanghai’s Fudan University, celebrated its 120th anniversary last month. The school’s liberal-arts legacy is profound. It is where writer Lu Xun laid the foundation for modern Chinese literature, where the political theorist Wang Huning rose to national fame and where former President Ronald Reagan, during his historic 1984 visit to China, candidly described Americans as a people who are “free to disagree among themselves.”
For me and many others, Reagan’s speech, with its message of openness and individual liberty, left a lasting impression and helped turn Fudan into our dream school. The very classroom where he spoke, No. 3108, became a sacred place—our go-to sanctuary for burning the midnight oil.
China’s leaders back then put emphasis on reviving the humanities and social sciences—disciplines abandoned during decades of political turmoil—in a bid to build a modern economy.
Recently, however, Fudan, along with universities across China, have been pivoting sharply toward the “hard” sciences. The shift, guided by Beijing’s focus on building China into a powerhouse in areas like artificial intelligence, risks overlooking the human element in the development of high tech.
The whole-of-nation AI effort by the world’s second-largest economy is undeniable. From ambitious policy goals and massive government funding to a revamped education system emphasizing STEM, China is churning out a formidable army of engineers and data scientists, positioning the country as a key player in areas like facial recognition and autonomous vehicles.
The goal is technological supremacy, but the shift comes at a price: Disciplines dedicated to understanding human behavior, culture, ethics and society at large are increasingly marginalized.
A political scientist professor at Fudan recently went as far as calling for “shrinking” studies of social sciences while the university embarks on an initiative to embed AI education across all disciplines for all students. The new curriculum system is called “AI-BEST.”
Blind spot
This neglect of the fields devoted to the deep understanding of humanity represents a significant blind spot in China’s grand tech strategy. The reason is simple: The development of technologies such as AI isn't merely a technical challenge; it is a deeply human endeavor with profound consequences for society.
The algorithms used to power AI are designed by people, trained on data reflecting societal biases and deployed in complex social contexts. Without the critical lens of the humanities and social sciences, the risk of creating biased, unfair and even harmful AI systems escalates.
Then there are important questions about the moral dilemmas posed by AI. Questions like the accountability of autonomous weapons require deep and nuanced ethical reasoning, not just elegant code.
Like Reagan said at Fudan, "It's not so much what's inside the Earth that counts but what's inside one's heart and mind, because that's the stuff that dreams are made of."
One might argue that the higher education system in China is under heavy state control anyway and the teaching of liberal arts-related disciplines isn’t meant to foster independent and critical thinking. That argument, while understandable, fails to recognize the progress the Chinese people have made toward reviving a tradition of humanistic inquiry and scholarly debate—progress made possible by the country’s engagement with the rest of the world, including the U.S.
Over my years at Fudan, we had many Fulbright scholars who introduced us to some of the best work in American journalism. We could read The Wall Street Journal at a new library funded by the Americans. We even had Lung Ying-tai, an outspoken cultural critic from Taiwan, as our guest speaker.
China is stronger now and as it focuses on technological supremacy, at least to this Fudan alumna, it is worth keeping in mind that the insights of political scientists, poets and philosophers are still as crucial as the algorithms of engineers.
During Fudan’s anniversary celebrations, a poignant moment came from alumnus Wang Changtian, who is now a media executive. His declaration—“I am proud of being a liberal arts student of Fudan!”—was met with thunderous applause. That roar from the crowd felt like more than just school spirit; it seemed an endorsement of an ideal in danger as China’s national priorities shift.
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