从民国时期大师的毕业赠言中看其处世和做人

又到毕业季,青春潮涌动。很多学生将走出校门,或继续求学读书,或走向社会实践。如何保持求学初心?如何审视自身、合理规划人生?今天,我们来听听民国时期大师的毕业演讲,看看他们是如何勉励青年一代、又是如何教他们为人处世的。

发表时间:1919年

演讲主题:今日青年之弱点

少年中国学会筹备于1918年6月30日,1919年7月正式成立,章太炎应邀发表演讲。他以“今日青年之弱点”为主题,鼓励广大青年学生认清自身缺点,努力改正,脚踏实地,寻求救国救民之良方。

在演讲中,他提出了当下青年的四个主要弱点,一是把事情太看容易,其结果不是侥幸,便是退却。他认为,很多人每做一件事情,起初并不容易区别谁为杰出之士,必须历练许多困难,经过相当时间,然后才显得出谁为人才,其所造就方才可靠。

当前很多年轻人都把事情看得很容易,凡事皆想侥幸成功。但是天下事又能有多少是侥幸成功的呢?于是一遇困难,很多青年便即刻退却。“现在青年只有将这个弱点痛改,遇事宜慎重,决机宜敏速,抱志既极坚确,观察又极明了,则无所谓侥幸退却,只有百折千回以达吾人最终之目的而已。”

二是妄想凭藉已成势力,既想借助外力成功,而缺少自身的努力。“本来自己是有才能的,因为要想凭藉已成势力。就将自己原有之才能皆一并牺牲,不能发展……已成势力,无论大小,皆不宜利用。宗旨确定,向前做去,自然志同道合的青年一天多似一天,那力量就不小了。惟最要紧的须要耐得过这寂寞的日子,不要动那凭藉势力的念头。”

三是虚慕文明。章太炎指出,青年人若是虚慕那物质上的文明,其弊是显而易见的。就是虚慕那人道主义,也是有害的。今后之青年做事皆宜彻底,不要虚慕那人道主义。

四是好高骛远。他指出,当下很多青年在求学时代,都以将来之大政治家自命,并不踏踏实实去求学问。“我想欧美各国青年在求学时代,必不如中国青年之好高骛远。大家如能踏踏实实去求学问,始足与各国青年相竞争于二十世纪时代也。”

发表时间:1936年

演讲主题:大学毕业要做怎样的人

声望卓著的科学家竺可桢曾担任浙江大学校长13年,他曾于1936年发表演讲,鼓励师生努力学习,毕业后勤于为国家和社会奉献。在演讲中,他和学生们分享愉快的大学生活,他说,大学是人生最快活的时期,没有直接的经济负担,没有谋生的问题。在学校的学习生活,不仅让学生相互了解,还有很多与师生切磋学问的极好机会。学生要珍惜时间,勤奋学习。

同时,他也介绍了浙江大学“诚”和“勤”的学风精神,他希望学生不浮夸,做事勤恳,维护学校的良好声誉。“有的学校校舍很好,可是毕业生做事,初出去就希望有物质的享受,待遇低一点便不愿做,房屋陋不愿住。浙大的毕业生便无此习惯,校外的人,碰见了,总是称赞浙大的风气朴实。这种风气,希望诸位把它保持。”

此外,竺可桢还在演讲中提出问题让学生思考:将来毕业后要做什么样的人?而他也给出了几点意见和建议。首先,他认为学生毕业后应保有清醒的头脑,这是事业成功的基础。学生毕业后,小到办一桩事或研究一个问题,大到成就一番事业,都需要做到三点:一是以科学的方法来分析,使复杂的变简单;二是以公正的态度来计划;三是以果断的决心来执行。

同时,他也指出,青年学生要懂得吃苦,学会思考、创造和学习,切不可有享乐主义的思想,并以中日学生的留学故事举例说明,中日同时派学生留学欧美,中国的学生,一看见各类机械,便问从何处购买?何处最便宜?而日本的学生,只问如何制造?

中国人只知道买,以享受为目的,而日本人则重做,以服务为目的。“现在的世界是竞争的世界,如果一个民族还是一味以享受为目的,不肯以服务为目的,必归失败。作为青年一代,应该以享福为可耻,而以自食其力为光荣……因此诸位求学,应不仅在科目本身,而且要训练如何能正确地训练自己的思想,我们人生的目的是在能服务,而不在享受。”

竺可桢担任校长期间,日军侵华,他率浙大师生西迁办学,史称文军长征。并和师生一起积极开展科学研究,提高学术与教学水平,扩充院系,设分校,培植良好学风,使浙江大学声誉大增。

毕业赠言中看大师如何处世做人

胡适——为学生阐释人生真谛。1929年,胡适给当年毕业生的赠言是:“不要抛弃学问。这是因为,以前的功课,也许有一大部分是为了一张毕业文凭,不得已而做的。从今以后,你们可以依自己的心愿去自由研究了。趁现在年富力强的时候,努力做一种专门学问。少年是一去不复返的,等到精力衰时,要做学问也来不及了。即为吃饭计,学问决不会辜负人的。吃饭而不求学问,三年五年之后,你们都要被后进少年淘汰掉的。到那时再想做点学问来补救,恐怕已太晚了。”

朱自清——鼓励学生奉献社会。朱自清曾于1933年给即将毕业的学生赠言:“你们一旦想到就要走出天真和平的园地,而踏进五花八门的新世界去,不免有些依恋彷徨。然而这种欣慰与感伤都是因袭的,无谓的。堂堂的一个人若只知道‘仰足以事父母,俯足以蓄妻子’,或只知道自得其乐,那是没多大意义的。至于低徊流连于不能倒流的时光,更是白费工夫,所以要冷静地看清自己前面的路。你们在大学里造就了自己,这时候该活泼泼地跳进社会里,施展起你们的身手,或从小处下手,或从大处着眼,只要卖力气干都好。但单枪匹马也许只能守成,真正的力量还得靠大伙儿。”

闻一多——号召学生勇于拼搏斗争。1933年,闻一多的毕业赠言是:“一个真正的兵,要离开营盘,守壕冲锋,把死人踩在脚下,自己容许也挂了彩,这人才渐渐像一个兵了。打了败仗,带着遍体的鳞伤回来,剩下了一丝气息,甚至是连最后的这一点也没有。一个兵最大的出息,最光明的前途,是败,败得精光。朋友们,现在我将送你们这支生力军去应战。去了!我祝福你们—败!恭维的话、吉利的话,是臭绅士的虚伪,我们弃,想你们也厌恶。”

How HQ Trivia Became the Best Worst Thing on the Internet — From New York Times

Tracy Ma

On New Year’s Eve, I went to dinner in Los Angeles to close out 2017 with friends. Naturally, the meal ended with me white-knuckling my phone, my eyeballs glued open and my mind laser-focused on spitting up ephemeral internet trivia like who is the most followed celebrity on Instagram (Selena Gomez) or which book topped Goodreads’ best-of list in 2017 (“Little Fires Everywhere”). That’s because, just as the check arrived, HQ beckoned: The live trivia app had announced a surprise game, and if I wanted a shot at answering 12 multiple-choice questions and vying for a share of the $18,000 pot, I had to tap in instantly.

For the next 15 minutes, I was not exactly human. I was a slave to HQ.

HQ blasted out of obscurity this fall to become the best worst thing on the internet. It’s the most popular app that barely even works. The questions (“How many times does the word ‘sex’ appear in the U.S. Constitution?”) can be so obscure as to be meaningless, and the wording (“What is the more common plural form for octopus?”) is frequently indecipherable. (The hugely controversial “correct” answer: octopuses.) Some questions (“Which retro fashion style did NOT make a comeback this year?”) basically test opinions. Others, which mine inconsequential information about obscure start-ups, stink strongly of advertorials.

Then there’s the app itself, which is riddled with glitches and lags. Players are regularly booted from the game without explanation. The live host’s face is frequently obscured by the wheel of death. Sometimes, the whole game is scrapped for mysterious technical reasons — including one high-stakes game scheduled for 11:45 p.m. EST on New Year’s Eve, which was unceremoniously aborted, then rescheduled for 45 minutes later — the game I hopped into.

And yet, as many as half a million people are tuning in for each session. It’s maybe the only real appointment viewing across all of entertainment right now. Why?

HQ’s failures are, I believe, crucial to its appeal. Consider the warm sense of accomplishment you get from completing the crossword puzzle, which is meticulously crafted by professionals and is built on basically consistent branches of knowledge. HQ provides an even more beguiling sensation: the feeling of being aggrieved.

The game pulls you in by dangling a cash prize, offers manic highs and seething frustrations in quick succession, then dumps you out, usually empty-handed. But the HQ refractory period — six to 18 hours — is just long enough to relax you into a state of optimism about playing again. It’s dystopian “Jeopardy!”: not the trivia game we wanted, but the one we deserve.

HQ is based on an enticing proposition: It turns our phones, those founts of infinite knowledge, into a rare site of human recall. (Because questions are set on a 10-second clock, answers are generally un-Googleable.) But while the game purports to test legitimate knowledge, the questions are so frequently absurd that it comes closer to testing your undivided attention to mindless tapping. If you answer a question correctly, you still get that high of intellectual superiority. The Darwinian aspect — watch hundreds of thousands of people get eliminated as you rise — fosters a gleeful arrogance for as long as you’re on top.

But when you get a question wrong, you’re granted plausible deniability. If you can’t finish the crossword, it feels like a personal failure. But when you lose HQ — which the vast majority of players do the vast majority of the time — it often seems arbitrary and unfair, the fault of the unskilled question writers or the unsophisticated technology. It’s not you. It’s the game. And even if you do win, the big-sounding prizes — $1,000, $2,000, $10,000 — are often reduced to pocket change when split among the sometimes hundreds of other people who also won the game. HQ is a little app that channels big feelings about the fundamental lie of the meritocracy. Every session becomes an opportunity to rail against life’s injustices.

The avatar for all those feelings is Scott Rogowsky, the game’s usual host and its breakout star. Scott — players know him on a first-name basis — has been nicknamed “Quiz Daddy” by his fans. He calls his players “HQties.” On first viewing, Scott can come across as incredibly annoying. The moments in the game between the actual presentation of questions — when Scott is explaining the rules, making jokes, or dropping Phish references — can be excruciating. But after a few plays, Scott ingratiates himself into your psyche in a third-grade crush kind of way. Only after playing a game without Scott — a rotating crew of lackluster substitute hosts occasionally fills in — does his brilliance at his job become obvious: his unwavering eye contact; his punning proficiency; his confidence and coolness under pressure; his belief in himself, and in the game. Even when HQ crumbles, Scott is our rock.

Scott’s folk hero status was cemented by yet another unforced error by the HQ team. When a reporter from The Daily Beast conducted an anodyne interview with Scott, Rus Yusupov, the co-founder and C.E.O., exploded at the “unauthorized” conversation, called the reporter and threatened to fire Scott if the story ran. The bizarre exchange only endeared players to Scott more. He may play our trivia overlord onscreen, but on some level, he, too, is a slave to HQ. Now whenever a not-Scott host appears, the chat that unspools beneath the game erupts in displeasure: “NOOOO.” “It’s not Scott.” “Where is Scott.” “Free Scott.” “#NOTMYHOST.”

The chat is itself a fascinating artifact. When hundreds of thousands of people attempt to communicate at once, the only messages that scan are brief flashes of identity: “MAGA,” “OBAMA,” “BUSH DID 9/11,” “BUY DOGECOIN.” In the chat, griping about HQ has become as popular a pastime as actually playing the game. The slightest glitch produces a flurry of complaints like “LAG” and “NOT WORKING” and “WOW SCOTT.” Many of the game’s failings have crystallized into inside jokes. After incessant complaints of the app’s video stalling, Scott acquired a new nickname: “Lag Daddy.” The octopus question spawned its own in-game meme. Now the chat swims with octopus emoji.

HQ’s most impressive achievement lies in its re-establishment of appointment viewing in the Netflix age. You can now watch pretty much any TV show or movie whenever you want, but when your phone buzzes with an HQ notification, you have only a few minutes to enter the game. If you miss the window, you’ll be forced to watch helplessly, tapping in vain, as it unfolds without you.

HQ is a throwback to TV scheduling in the pre-DVR era, the digital equivalent of NBC’s Must-See TV lineup. (Scott is our Ross and our Rachel.) And the app has pulled it off by cultivating an unexpected sense of community amid the digital swamp. All the Darwinian competition, frustrating glitches and impossible questioning actually bring HQties together, bonding us through our performative trauma. The idea of actually downloading and playing the copycat app, “The Q,” is preposterous, even though its relatively minuscule traffic increases players’ chances of winning bigger sums. It’s not really about the money, after all.

HQ has the power to create bonds outside the app, too. I won that New Year’s Eve game — I wrote this whole column so I could brag about that — but only because my dinner party happened to include representatives of the film industry (who knew that “Beauty and the Beast” was the second-largest-grossing movie of 2017), an actual rocket scientist (who knew that the technology used to peek inside the Great Pyramid of Giza involved subatomic muons), and me, a possessor of meaningless facts concerning Selena Gomez. We won $59.41, an unusually generous prize, and got digitally foisted onto the internet’s shoulders: I heard from a colleague, a Twitter follower, my friend’s mom.

But when my phone buzzed the next day, summoning me to play again, it was as if a spell had been broken. I no longer feel the itch to play twice a day, at work and at dinner. I am free. Maybe I’ll check in from time to time, though. Just to see how Scott’s doing.