The Useless Class

The ultimate peril of any automaton system lies in its inevitable reduction of the world's complexity to computable parameters. Luhmann profoundly revealed the inherent flaw in any automated, algorithmic, or bureaucratic system: to function, it must create a simplified model of the world, and the disconnect between this model and the real world is the root of its potential risks. This is a philosophical warning that becomes increasingly crucial in today's era of big data and artificial intelligence. In the pursuit of conquering machines, humanity is simplifying the complexity of its own life, reducing everything to mere data.

As the times progress, we have built behemoths that devour all information, only to discover in terror that our own reflections are being gradually chewed up and reassembled by them. Efficiency and precision have become the universal standards of judgment, while useless contemplation—the very elements that once constituted the warmth of humanity—is being overlooked. 

Yet, humans are ultimately not algorithms.

A Southern Weekly New Year's message once wrote: while machines are racing forward on the path of simulating and surpassing humans, humans themselves still trudge along in their daily struggles for survival and routine. Searching in hesitation, groping in stumbles, and evolving in advances are the routine of life. The world is vast, and not every ark can carry all, yet every person born into ordinariness find in their "day after day." Though the future remains uncertain, they always harbor a vague hope.

This hope perhaps lies in our fundamental difference from machines: we will pause for a sunset glow, feel warmed all day by a stranger's kindness, shed tears late at night for a melody—these unquantifiable "useless things," these inner landscapes that data cannot capture, are precisely our last line of defense against being simplified, and the reason I belong to the "useless class."

When we temporarily lift our heads from the deep sea of data to catch our breath, we are struck by another kind of great power created by humanity itself—not the power of conquest, but the power of understanding, the power of connection.

When I refrain from simplifying a problem and instead associate it with the countless others—for instance, no matter how many satellites and spacecraft are launched into the sky, I am always moved to marvel at the crisscrossing paths of our modern world. The great power of humanity reveals itself so clearly in such moments. The dimensions of life are no longer confined to a flat plane; the breadth of vision is no longer limited to carts, horses, and boats. We soar above the clouds, looking down at the roads and cities stretching across the land like veins, and the knowledge from textbooks suddenly materializes vividly before our eyes. That sense of awe and fulfillment always "swells" to fill the entire heart.

How fortunate to understand why humans gather as they do—not as simplified data and conclusions, but as an epic written jointly by history, trade, culture, and survival wisdom. How fortunate to understand why rivers flow as they do—they follow the laws of physics while also carving the trajectory of civilization. How fortunate to understand why airplanes climb to certain altitudes—that is the optimal balance found among efficiency, safety, and passenger comfort. How fortunate to understand why the sky displays varying shades of blue at different heights—that is a poem about light and perception, co-authored by Rayleigh scattering and human vision. This is a deeper kind of luck.

The education we receive and the lives we live endow us with a dual perspective: on one hand, we remain being vigilant of technology's potential to alienate humanity; on the other, we can genuinely marvel at the magnificent feats achieved by humans using technology to expand cognitive boundaries.

This may seem contradictory, but it is precisely the wisdom of survival in our era. We can use tools with reverence while steadfastly guarding our souls. We can wander through the crisscrossing paths woven by data, yet deep within, always reserve the softest sanctuary for those things that cannot be calculated—the wind, the moonlight, and love. So, in today's world, what does it mean to be human?

Humanity is not born from the precision of data, but formed in the ravines of the soul. Beyond the logic of machines, we cultivate wildernesses of emotion; beneath the predictions of algorithms, we choose clumsy yet sincere exploration. Our greatness lies not in how high we have conquered the skies, but in understanding why we look up at the stars; not in how many paths we have calculated, but in our capacity to feel compassion for the blooming of a flower by the roadside.

The course of this ark of the soul has never been predetermined by any code or technology. The other shore lies in the moments we are still willing to pause for "meaningless" things, in the instances our hearts still tremble for the joys and sorrows of another life—herein, we define what it means to be human, and become human.

Now, with the development of AI, it’s becoming hard to distinguish whether photos and other artworks were created by humans or AI. I just watched a video by a content creator on this topic yesterday and saw many netizens discussing whether photography still holds value or meaning in this context. From the perspective of the "useless class," I prefer to believe it does. AI and similar technologies reduce the tool-dependent nature for artists, giving more photography and art enthusiasts a voice. Marxist theory remains relevant here: the fast pace of society stems from the development of productive forces. Whether it’s AI or other technological tools, they accelerate the rhythm of life. For instance, there have been discussions about how most people no longer have time to enjoy slow journeys—the leisurely experience of a green-skinned train has been replaced by a movie on a plane. Travel is no longer about immersion and reflection but more about social validation, with endless photo-taking and posting on social media. As technology advances further, with AI capable of generating images, productivity increases, and this advanced productivity will again alter production relations. In this scenario, photography becomes "useless" and "meaningless."  

I strongly agree with a netizen’s comment I saw earlier: inner balance actually comes from selectively ignoring the changes in productive forces and relations brought by societal upheavals. If "useless" things like photography are just about taking more meaningful photos for friends and family, or slowly wandering the streets to experience nature and culture, feeling the spiritual fulfillment of manual creation—that is meaning. This is also the original purpose of the photography industry. Photography is just an example; it may gradually become "useless," but our creativity and voice can be preserved and evolved. We can pay attention to these so-called useless things to enrich our inner selves.