学术无须道德，娱乐才要真相

2010.07.16

伟大的事业可以让人们尽情说谎，娱乐的事业却更需要人们说出真相。

为了伟大的事业人们不仅可以说谎，还可以出卖朋友，可以不顾家人，可以诬陷他人，可以编造历史，可以把白的说成黑的，甚至还可以理直气壮地杀很多人，等等。比如《潜伏》中孙红雷饰演的我党特务余则成，做了所有这些正常人都不能、不愿和不允许做的事情，才成为需要被大加歌颂的革命者。很多人抱怨今天的中国社会道德失落，也许是因为很多人在为人民服务和从事商业活动的时候，也以为自己是在做革命工作，什么事情都可以做得出来。

1994年老帅哥Robert Redford拍了部部电影叫做Quiz Show，讲的是1958年的Charles van Doren事件。这件事情我以前在在《不必言必称哥大－－哥大博士也触犯学术规范》中提到过。

wiki百科电影Quiz Show信息链接：http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quiz_Show

事情是这样的：

Charles van Doren是哥仑比亚大学著名教授和作家Mark van Doren的儿子，年轻有为，他自己也是哥大当时的年轻的助理教授，他拥有哥伦比亚大学的天体物理的硕士学位和英语文学的博士学位。Mark van Doren和兄弟Carl van Doren都获得过普利策奖，后者1938出版的Benjamin Franklin传记是富兰克林最权威的传记之一。

Charles vn Doren年轻有为，文理双全，又出生于学术世家，当然具有最理想的智力竞赛优胜者的形象。1958年Charles和全国性的电视智力竞赛节目Twenty One的主办方合伙做假，成为该智力竞赛节目的常胜将军，该节目收视率暴涨，据说一度居然同时有5000万人观看。出了丑闻不轰动和引起震动才怪。

这个作假欺诈事情被披露后，美国国会于1959年专门组织了委员会调查电视娱乐界的欺诈行为。自此Charles名声扫地，也不得不辞去哥大的工作，不以公众人物的身份露面。

《不必言必称哥大－－哥大博士也触犯学术规范》博文链接：http://www.sciencenet.cn/m/user_content.aspx?id=18328

1994年《纽约时报》上关于Quiz Show的电影评论题目叫做QUIZ SHOW; Good and Evil in a More Innocent Age。美国人虽然允许在全世界卖假文凭，但在事关自己顶级大学和商业活动的事情上倒是天真（Innocent）得紧。

纽约时报FILM REVIEW: QUIZ SHOW; Good and Evil in a More Innocent Age文章链接：http://www.nytimes.com/1994/09/14/movies/film-review-quiz-show-good-and-evil-in-a-more-innocent-age.html?pagewanted=all

2008年7月，Charles Van Doren在New Yorker发表了一篇文章ALL THE ANSWERS-The quiz-show scandals—and the aftermath的文章，讲述当年发生的丑闻和之后自己的生活。

Charles Van Doren2008年在New Yorker上的文章ALL THE ANSWERS文章链接：http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2008/07/28/080728fa_fact_vandoren?printable=true

Quiz Show不过是一个娱乐性的商业节目，Charles Van Doren在这个节目中参与作假，受到了美国国会的专门委员会的调查，直至名声扫地。看来娱乐的事业才真正需要真实，不能像干伟大的革命事业那样，只要情况需要，想怎么说谎就怎么说谎。

唐骏同学的事情，比较娱乐化一点，所以是需要真相的，也没有人出来为他打群架。

汪晖同学的事情，是正儿八经的学术问题，是有关伟大的理论是否被人相信的问题。所以，真相是不需要出来被说清楚的，而且全世界不少著名的理论家们还会出来帮他打群架。

科学网上的著名哲学家周可真教授到现在为止还称侯成亚先生是他自己尊敬的学者，大概也是出于同样的道理。

现在那些出来替汪晖打群架的哥伦比亚教授们和Mark Van Doren相比差别有多大，也许只有他们自己才知道。在Charles Van Doren的All The Answers文章中，有一段Charles和他父亲Mark Van Doren的交谈。此时Quiz Show作假的事情还没有败露，Charles说这个时候他也还没有跟他父亲讲述事情的真相，但他关心儿子的父亲却给了他一些让他当场落泪的忠告。

One day in the spring of 1957, shortly after Gerry and I were married, my father and I had a conversation. We were walking slowly down the road from his house, a road lined with stone walls on each side. At that time, our neighbor pastured heifers and dry cows—pregnant cows waiting to deliver—in the nearby fields. When we walked at night, the cows, curious about us, would breathe and snuffle, sometimes scaring our city friends.

“I’ve never asked you about this whole experience, Charlie,” Dad said. He was dressed in overalls, denim shirt, and boots, like the farmers he was descended from. In New York, he was an elegant figure, but this was the father I loved best. “But I get the impression you’re not too comfortable with your new fame—I mean, the way the quiz show may have changed your life. You have many opportunities now that you might never have had before. But I’ve wondered if they’re good—for you, being the man you are, or the man I think you are.”

I didn’t know what to say, because I suddenly sensed that he knew the truth about the show. I had thought of telling him, but I hadn’t been able to.

As we walked on, he said, “You know, I’ve never been certain you wanted to live my life over again—be a professor at Columbia or anywhere.” He mentioned the contract I had with NBC. “I know it’s tempting, but it might not be the right thing for you, either.” He brought up Mortimer J. Adler, a family friend who was then on the board of editors at the Encyclopædia Britannica, and said that Adler had talked about making me editor-in-chief of the Britannica.

“You might or you might not want to take that on,” he said. “Or you might just want to be a writer. You could live for years on the money you’ve won, couldn’t you?”

I had lived in Paris for a time, and Dad recalled how happy I had seemed then. He mentioned a novel I had worked on—“You somehow lost the thread of it,” he said. “You and Gerry could go to Paris.” And he added, “You can do anything you want, Charlie. I wish you knew that.”

“I don’t?”

“No, you don’t. You’re now one of the most famous people in the country—much more famous than I ever was.” He quoted Mark Twain—“You surprised everybody, and astonished the rest”—and urged me to “wipe the slate clean, start over.”

“You think the slate is dirty?” I couldn’t look at him.

We walked along for a while. Then he said, “It’s none of my business. Dirty or not—and I don’t know what ‘dirty’ would be—the fact is you’re caught up in something you may not really want.” That was as direct as he got that day. “Sometimes I think you’re having a lot of fun, other times you seem sad. I think turning your back on all of it might make you really happy.”

Tears came. “Dad,” I said, “I’m sorry, but it’s just not possible.”

“Why not possible?”

“I’m afraid there’s no way out anymore. In a way . . . I think I’d like to have done what you describe. As far as fame is concerned, you know as well as I do that celebrity isn’t the same as fame.” Finally, I said, “Oh, shit, Dad, I wish I were . . . free to do this.” My father and I never talked about it again.

Charles生于1926年，这篇New Yorker文章发表的时候他82岁。