The pneumonia epidemic is raging, and I didn’t go home for the New Year this year either. I’m just staying at home in a daze, which is a good excuse to write something. But I’m feeling restless, so before writing on other topics, I might as well first say a few things about this epidemic.
Still, I should make it clear from the outset that anything I write here is utterly useless for the practical work on the front lines of epidemic prevention and control. I have neither the standing nor the ability to “offer advice and propose measures” for anyone. Of course, simply shouting a couple of slogans like “Wuhan, stay strong” or “trust the country” is actually of little use either. I do not expect to help with the urgent problem of disease right now; I am merely borrowing the occasion to discuss some old problems in the philosophy of technology.
My field is the history of science and philosophy of technology. Philosophy and history both like to engage in “after-the-fact” commentary; they are devoted to recording and reflecting on things from the “past,” but when it comes to urgent matters of the present, they often seem “out of season.” For example, right now, we would expect a physician or biologist to answer questions and clear up confusion, or perhaps a psychologist or public administrator to offer advice and proposals, but no one expects to hear what a philosopher has to say at a critical juncture.
Not only in emergencies, but in ordinary times too, philosophy is not exactly popular. That is because modern people care more about “urgent” matters. Technology changes with each passing day, new opportunities and new problems keep emerging, and philosophy cannot put food on the table; it cannot solve any urgent matter of the moment.
But this “pragmatic logic” of focusing on urgent matters of the present is precisely one of the targets of criticism for philosophers of technology. Marcuse pointed out that the demand for operationalism had long since gone beyond the scope of the natural sciences and become the shackles modern people placed on their own rationality. Operationalism holds that discourse is meaningful only when it can clearly indicate an actionable solution. “No empty talk” is the banner of modern technology, and it dominates modern people’s “reason.” But Marcuse believed that this also led to modern people’s “one-dimensionality,” that is, the loss of critical capacity.
What, then, is operability? What is pragmatism? Such talk first of all presupposes the rationality of “reality,” including the technological environment and the basic system. So-called operability simply means speaking about problems within the range permitted by the “existing social system of operation and technological conditions.” But once we insist on pragmatism in this sense, then this “reality” itself becomes something we can never deny.
If I am dissatisfied with reality itself and launch a critique of it, someone will quickly ask: after talking so much, why don’t you produce some concrete plan for how it should be done? If you cannot come up with a pragmatic solution and only talk criticism in the air, isn’t that just speaking from the sidelines? But the problem is this: if I can produce a set of effective concrete measures, then that means all my ideas rest on the premise of compliance with the overall system of the existing order. I can only “patch” things on the basis of the present environment, within the range allowed by the current system, but I cannot launch a critique against the “whole.”
This situation is the same for China and for foreign countries alike. It is not only that Chinese people cannot criticize the entire “system”; Westerners too cannot escape their own system. This is not determined by any particular policy, but by the fundamental logic of modern technology.
Heidegger called the dominant power of modern technology “Gestell” (enframing). What does that mean? Gathering, assembling, placing, arranging… In plain language, it means that “everything is arranged clearly and completely.” How each person or each thing ought to function has already been arranged in advance, as a whole. Ore, before it is mined by miners, has already been arranged by the factory; it has been “arranged” as an “energy reserve.” University graduates, before they even graduate, have already been arranged by the talent market; they are reserved in advance as “human resources.” The differences among each stone, the unique personality of each person, will not disrupt these “arrangements” either; at most, they are simply calculated beforehand and folded into “random variables.”
Thus, in the modern world, everything runs in an orderly fashion, and every thing or every action can find a prearranged place within the overall system. Even thought and speech must find a clear position in order to have any effect. Are you left or right? Are you on Trump’s side or Hillary’s? You always have to find a place to stand in order for it to make sense. If you don’t stand on any side and support no action at all, then it can only be pointless empty talk.
Under this logic of “prearrangement,” there is only randomness and no true “accident” anymore. Variables are controllable too; it is merely a question of how precise the control is. The capriciousness of nature is controlled by dams and chemical fertilizer, and the hope for “favorable weather and timely rain” has become an estimate of “precipitation levels.”
Even “disasters” are prearranged, or rather, we believe they are.
Wang Guangfa, a member of the expert group sent to Wuhan by the National Health Commission and a respiratory physician at Peking University Hospital, said that the epidemic was “preventable and controllable.” He did not say this only on January 10; even after he himself was infected and Wuhan was locked down, he still insisted that it was “preventable and controllable”—only upgraded, as it were.
On January 10, we still hadn’t figured out the cause of the disease, nor had we figured out how it was transmitted. So why could one say it was “preventable and controllable”? And when the epidemic seemed to be getting out of control and Wuhan had no choice but to be sealed off, why was it still “preventable and controllable”?
I do not mean to criticize Expert Wang Guangfa. In fact, his logic is very clear: “In the end, the epidemic will be brought under control. … It’s just that society will have to pay a greater price for it, including kinship, human relations, health, and the economy.”
First, he uses a quantitative logic to assess the problem. In this logic, ordinary influenza and this Wuhan pneumonia are not qualitatively different; perhaps they are not qualitatively different from smallpox or the Black Death either. It is only a matter of how much “more” there is in the “greater price paid.”
Second, he has already taken the final outcome into account in advance, just as coal that has not yet been mined is still combustible, and an epidemic that has not yet been suppressed is still controllable. For their final destination has long since been “prearranged.”
In this way, “preventable and controllable” becomes nonsense, or rather a “flag.” Plant this flag, and it seems as if we have already “occupied” it and controlled it. And this control requires no deep exploration of unknown territory; it only requires raising the flag. “Preventable and controllable” is like an initial definition, established in advance before any actual discussion takes place. Any disaster, once we discuss it pragmatically, will by definition be “preventable and controllable.”
This flag will never fall, because it cannot be refuted. When we want to prove that something is “not controllable,” we can only claim that it is uncontrollable to such-and-such a degree. Thus “not prevented, out of control” and “preventable and controllable” become the same thing.
And yet, after all, we still prefer to hear the phrase “preventable and controllable” rather than the words “out of control,” because the latter would shatter our sense of security and throw people into panic.
What does this show? Modern technology prescribes pragmatic rationality, but nature, and human hearts too, do not always obediently submit to such rationality. “Controllable” and “out of control” are, from a technical standpoint, merely differences of degree; yet in people’s hearts they still appear utterly different. The former brings a sense of security, while the latter brings panic.
We reject “panic,” believing it to be “irrational,” a negative emotion, an emotion that needs to be controlled and eliminated. But we do not examine “a sense of security” with the same attitude.
Not only do we always believe that “everything is in order, can be handled by the current system, and at worst will be solved by science and technology before long,” more importantly, we also believe that such “belief” is only natural. Belief in science is rational, whereas panic and unease are irrational, or even “superstitious.”
From the standpoint of modern technological rationality, panic and unease are of course irrational, but likewise, the sense of security in “believing everything is under control” is also irrational. Modern technology is not really capable of preemptively mastering everything; under some sudden situations, a sense of security is not necessarily better than panic.
The fact that epidemic control missed the precious window of opportunity this time was, to a large extent, because of a panic over “panic.” Some decision-makers believed that releasing information to the public would cause unease and panic, so they desperately suppressed it. Even when they knew the virus was “unknown,” and that its source and mode of transmission were also unknown, they still stressed that it was “preventable and controllable,” all in order to maintain people’s “sense of security” and demand that people trust the government and trust science.
But if people’s confidence wavers and they feel panic, will society necessarily fall apart? Will things necessarily get worse? The facts show that not necessarily. Panic may cause masks to sell out, but it can also strengthen vigilance and reduce viral transmission. Distrust of the existing system will not necessarily trigger some anti-government force; it may also inspire more spontaneous organizations of mutual aid within civil society.
Like a sense of security, panic is also an irrational emotion, and at the same time, it can also become a positive, constructive force.
As Latour says, “We have never been modern.” “Gestell” is only a “belief” that dominates modern people’s rationality, but it has never become reality. In reality, we still encounter the “unknown” and the “unexpected”; we still blindly believe or panic. We should not believe in “belief,” and there is no need to panic about “panic.”
Translated from the Chinese original with AI assistance. The original text is authoritative.
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