Thanks to the internet, I’ve got to follow up with the latest heated discussion at China Econ Annual Conference. During the panel discussion, Professor Lu Ming expressed his concern for Chinese economic ecology:
OG question (rephrased):
Q1 how to balance academic research and policy research?
Q2 how should young scholars plan their career path to do research that benefit society
TL;DR:
Q1 Economics research (in China) prioritizes methodological sophistication and journal publication over real-world relevance and policy impact. Journals’ incentives have distorted research toward complex but hollow models, misleading young scholars and stripping away China-specific realities. As a result, much academic work is disconnected from actual policy, sometimes even prescribing more regulation to fix problems created by regulation itself.
Q2 The economics profession excuse itself by “there’s no way”. Journals and scholars have surrendered leadership and ambition to flawed evaluation systems. Like the 19 century art salons that almost suffocated impressionism. Journals should lead rather than conform, and young scholars should pursue meaningful, reality-driven questions early instead of postponing genuine intellectual commitment in the name of survival.
Full content below
Q1 “How to balance academic research and policy research?”
Dear colleagues, let me be blunt and share a few thoughts directly.
First, regarding the so-called balance between academic research and policy research mentioned in the title: in principle, these two do not need to be deliberately “balanced.” Academia should allow a hundred flowers to bloom. Good policy research should, by its very nature, be built on solid academic foundations. I oppose so-called “pure” academic research that is detached from reality and from China’s basic national conditions, and I equally oppose policy research that has no research foundation at all and merely throws around opinions.
The real contradiction is not between academia and policy, but between publication in journals and actual policy impact.
Because of long-standing traditions, our journals place excessive emphasis on methodological precision. Empirical research has turned into a competition in causal identification; theoretical research has become a piling up of dynamic, general equilibrium models. We now hardly see papers like those from the 1980s and 1990s—papers that used only basic arithmetic, yet offered insights with extraordinary intellectual penetration.
This tendency is not limited to foreign journals; it is becoming increasingly pronounced in Chinese journals as well. Take some recent trends in Jikan—everyone here has seen them. I’m not afraid of offending people: its current orientation has produced enormous negative externalities. Outsiders come to believe that economics is nothing more than this, and young students within our discipline are misled into thinking that this is what authoritative journals consider “good” research.
That is why the guiding role of journals is critically important.
The third issue is this: do we actually care about reality?
Just now, Ding Kai mentioned a lot of external criticism. But let me ask a simple question:
How many people here have read the full document of the Third Plenum of the 20th Central Committee? Please raise your hands.
The result speaks for itself. As economists, if we have not even read China’s most important current policy document in full, how can we expect papers published in our journals to meaningfully connect with the country’s most important policies?
So I believe we are not yet at the stage of discussing how to balance academia and policy. Because a large share of our research has nothing whatsoever to do with real policy.
What does this relate to? Again, to our excessive emphasis on so-called methodological precision and model completeness. The more complex a problem is, the more necessary it is to abstract the key forces behind that complexity into simple logic. Instead, we are now using complex models to strip away what truly matters—often stripping away precisely the most crucial China-specific factors.
Coupled with our lack of genuine interest in policy itself, academic research naturally degenerates into a kind of decorative craftsmanship: it looks technically sophisticated, but has nothing to do with reality.
China’s economic problems are highly complex, yet many papers rely on models that are completely frictionless, with no policy and no institutional context. What is the result? A model world with no policy at all—so how could one possibly derive conclusions that are meaningful for real-world policy?
Many of today’s economic problems in China are themselves caused by policy distortions. Yet the models contain no policy, and the conclusions they generate often amount to: strengthen regulation. This leads to an absurd situation—using even stronger controls to solve problems that were created by controls in the first place.
My time today is limited, and I rushed here straight from class, but I want to emphasize one point: the current state of our economics profession really resembles that popular song circulating online recently, “No Prospects.” We should be rushing to do important things, yet instead we are rushing through formalities. There is also a line in the lyrics about “lying with your eyes open,” which I think is worth serious reflection.
We can no longer blame external factors. Many of the problems in academia today are our own problems.
Q2 “How should young scholars plan their career path to do research that benefit society?”
There is a clear kind of collective unconscious in today’s economics profession. As mentioned earlier regarding journal orientations, people frequently defend the status quo by saying “there’s no way”: journals say submissions leave them no choice, while young scholars say the evaluation system leaves them no choice. This circular logic traps the entire field in a passive stance.
Today’s academic world, in some respects, resembles the global art world of the 1970s and 1980s. At that time, classical schools controlled the salons and exhibition channels. As a result, many truly innovative artists—later recognized as masters a century on—were impoverished and ignored in their own time.
So how are masters created? If everyone merely obeys existing salon rules, can masters still emerge? For this reason, I believe that anyone who truly wants to accomplish something should stop constantly invoking “there’s no way.”
First, journals should not hide behind “there’s no way.” If they claim to be the best journals or the best institutions in China, they should shoulder the responsibility of setting direction. If they cannot lead, they should not occupy that position.
Second, I also often hear young scholars say they need to “survive.” Survival does matter. I agree with the view just expressed: one can publish papers first, secure promotions, and then pursue one’s interests.
But doesn’t intellectual interest require accumulation? If, when young, one never studies the questions one truly cares about, is it really possible to retain that passion at forty? I agree that there should be a division of labor in academia, with different people doing different kinds of work. But if you genuinely care about China’s economic realities and hope to contribute to the country, is it truly still in time to begin only at forty-five, after becoming a full professor? I do not think so.