Author: h24

The early twentieth century witnessed the birth of science-fiction (sci-fi) as a literary genre in China. It was initially viewed by Ling Qichao (a prominent Qing period politician) as a gift from the West that would serve to express ideas charting the roadmap of Chinese progress.¹ Over the course of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, however, the genre has witnessed a meteoric rise across the globe (both in terms of readership and acclaim) that, perhaps, transcends Qichao’s perception of it. But, has Chinese sf truly established itself as something greater than the Chinese nation, or are they still tied to each other in some way?

The time period in which Chinese sf is placed has by no means been a politically stable one. Dissent (and a governmental crackdown on it) has been a recurring theme throughout this phase. I argue that the emergence sf granted Chinese writers the ability to operate in shades of grey, and thus, voice criticism in subtle, creative yet effective ways.

The relationship between artistic expression and compliance with authority has been a complicated one in China, especially in recent times. Mo Yan, a prolific Chinese writer who was awarded the Nobel Prize in 2012, received severe criticism for not using his platform to criticise Xi Jinping’s regime, and being silent on certain pressing political issues. Salman Rushdie called him a ‘patsy of the regime’.² Ai Weiwei also disapproved of Yan- himself, a noted Chinese artist known for expressing brutal criticism of the regime via his artwork. Weiwei is the son of Ai Qing, a poet who was exiled under the Mao regime for his dissentious writings. Weiwei, like his father, too, has been subjected to repeated attempts of silencing made by the government in response to his artwork.³

In this milieu, do artists really have to make a surrender-or-die choice in their artwork? Do they have a responsibility to express criticism? It is noted that western audiences expect art from ‘authoritative’ nations to only be good if it is dissentious.⁴  However, the case of Chinese sf has shown two things: first, that aesthetic merit isn’t compromised by the lack of criticism; and second, if artists do choose to express criticism, they don’t have to do it in an overt manner in order for it to have value.

Consider the skepticism towards rapid development in the works of Wang Jingkang and Han Song. In ‘The Reincarnated Giant’, Wang relays a cautionary tale of rampant development spearheaded by a business tycoon in the fictitious ‘J-nation’ (a reference to Japan), leading to ‘uncontrollable results’ at the cost of human life. Han Song, in ‘Goatie’ and ‘Subway’ uses  Chinese high-speed trains and the Beijing subway network as a metaphor to depict eventual catastrophes that will occur as a consequence of uncontrollable development.⁵  In ‘Goatie’, a high-speed train deviates from the space-time continuum, and cultivates the emergence of a ‘harmonious society’ within it-Song uses this as a metaphor for forced harmony in the face of rapid development in Chinese society.⁶

Sf has also served as an avenue to parody and critique China’s historical memory. In another novel, Song sets his story in 2066 (to mark the 100th anniversary of Mao’s revolution), when China has taken over America as a global superpower; while this does mark change, the 2066 Chinese regime maintains its power by employing a mind-controlling AI, Amuando- intended by the author as a callback to China’s authoritarian ways.⁷ Contrast this criticism of China’s past with Ai Weiwei’s  ‘Dropping a Han Dynasty Urn’; a series of photographs, beginning with Weiwei holding this relic of the Chinese past, ending with it shattering into pieces.⁸ While Weiwei’s art may be lauded for its bold, straightforward approach to voice criticism, I don’t think it’s the only way forward for Chinese artists; as in the case of SF, an artist can use more creative and nuanced ways to deliver similar messages. 

Sf, then, not only represents an alternative way to voice criticisms, but also serves as a novel lens for historians to understand the manner in which dissent has been voiced in China. 

1. Song, Mingwei. “Variations on Utopia in Contemporary Chinese Science Fiction.” Science Fiction Studies 40, no. 1 (2013): 86 [↩]
2. Katie Stallard, “Literature under Xi Jinping,” The New Statesman, March 23, 2022. [↩]
3. Walter C. Clemens Jr., “The Literature of Utopia and Dystopia in China”, Global Asia, 2023 [↩]
4. Michael O’Krent, “The Language of Chinese dreams is Science Fiction- and sometimes, they’re nightmares”,  Reactor Magazine, 2022 [↩]
5. Song, Mingwei, ‘Variations on Utiopia’, pp. 92-93 [↩]
6. Ibid., 94-95 [↩]
7. Ibid., 87-88 [↩]
8. ‘Ai Weiwei dropping a Han Dynasty Urn’. Guggenheim Bilbao. 1995. Accessed 29 November 2024 [↩]

Sociologist Thomas Gieryn, having analysed how places influence what is believed to be true, proposed the notion of ‘truth-spots’: locations which, by design, facilitate the credibility of beliefs that are associated with them. For example, a scientific discovery claimed by someone working in a lab is considered more credible than if it were claimed by someone working out of their garage. To put simply, the credibility of claims can be said to be shaped by the places they are associated with.¹

In the 20th century, many Chinese philosophers carried out a formalised assimilation of Chinese philosophical thought with that of the West. I argue that the manner in which this took place may have been caused by a perception held by Chinese philosophers (at the time) of the West as a truth-spot. This is reflected in their adoption of Western methodologies and ideas to reinterpret elements of their own philosophical tradition.²

Consider how the very discipline of philosophy came about in China: initially, fields like history, philosophy and literature were clubbed under a singular pursuit of study, ‘ethics’. However, the birth of ‘philosophy’ as a singular, distinct discipline took place in 20th century China, as an emulatory response to the kind of divisions (based on fields) that existed in institutions in the West.³ Further, Chinese thinkers took on the responsibility of drawing insights from Chinese philosophy that were mainly relevant to topics under scrutiny by Western Scholars; for example, Chinese scholars turned to ‘Masters Studies’- a term denoting scholarly work that took place during the Warring States era- because they were able to derive insights from it on psychology, logic and history.⁴  We see here, then, that Chinese thinkers associated intellectual practises and ideas that were birthed in the West- be it institutional organisation or topics of investigation- as more credible than their own schools of thought; as a consequence, they believed that this warranted a reshaping of their own philosophical schools.

A key example of this is the notion that Chinese philosophy is inherently ‘deficient’ in comparison to Western philosophy- since its mode of articulation is dominated by ‘aphorisms, allusions and illustrations’ and not the kind of systematic, logically rigorous forms of expression characteristic to the Western philosophical tradition.⁵⁶ This belief led many Chinese philosophers to rework elements of their philosophy, articulating them in a manner accessible to the West. For example, Feng Youlan, a noted philosopher, engaged with the emerging ‘New Realism’ school of thought in the West, which was concerned in the validity of metaphysics. Youlan argued that ideas of Zhu Xi (a Neo-Confucian philosopher) addressed some of the questions related to New Realism, however, they were articulated in a ‘moral framework of reasoning’. So, Youlan rewrote them, employing a logical method of expression.⁷

Gieryn suggests how places can act as truth-spots by imposing order; this is evident in Western philosophy- both in the way institutions are organised, and in the systematic method via which thoughts are expressed in it. He also notes that places may be viewed as truth-spots because they ‘manipulate time’, and this may be true for Chinese philosophy because of the preservation/survival of tradition reflected in it.⁸ It would be extreme to say that 20th century Chinese philosophers saw the West as the only truth-spot, and saw no signs of credibility in the beliefs associated with their own environment. However, it may, at the very least, be said that they perceived the West, in some sense,  to be a a truth-spot superior to their own.

1. Gieryn, Thomas F.. Truth-Spots: How Places Make People Believe. University of Chicago Press, 2018. Chicago Scholarship Online, 2019 [↩]
2. Note that conversely, the works of Western scholars who studied Chinese philosophy at the time (or the East in general) are often infamously termed as ‘Orientalist’ because of exploitative undertones present in them [↩]
3. Lin, Xiaoqing Diana. “Creating Modern Chinese Metaphysics: Feng Youlan and New Realism.” Modern China 40, no. 1 (2014): 42-44 [↩]
4. Ibid. [↩]
5. Ibid., p. 48 [↩]
6. Youlan, Feng. A Short History of Chinese Philosophy. (ed.) Bodde, Derek. New York, 1958): 12 [↩]
7. Lin, “Creating Modern Chinese Metaphysics”, pp. 47-51 [↩]
8. Gieryn, “Truth-Spots”, pp. 173-175 [↩]

Kim S. Young, in a study tracking the spread of Esperanto across the world in the 20th century, mentions that International Non-Governmental Organisations (INGOs) dedicated to Esperanto were the primary method of facilitating its growth (which was initially significant).³ However, he argues that while this method did foster the growth of globalist sentiment across the world in a rapid manner, it focused on Esperanto very generally; as a consequence, the growth of Esperantist organisations was sporadic. INGOs with more specialised interests and functions took over the responsibility of pushing globalist ideas, while the Esperantist INGOs dwindled, with occasional lukewarm attempts at revival.⁴  This somewhat informal, unofficial interest in Esperanto is what allowed for British Imperialism to take centre-stage in the proliferation of English.⁵

English isn’t the universal language Yu-Wei had in mind; he hoped for a world order established on equality, one that is free from conflicts and divisions. To characterise English as Yu-Wei’s ideal universal language, then, would be inaccurate, since its popularity was a result of a world order with a very clear power imbalance.

Would it be fair to say that the proliferation of Esperanto in a more rigorous, formal manner via government institutions would have resulted in it becoming a universal language as intended by Yu-Wei? we cannot say for sure. A possible cause for Esperanto’s failure that remains unexplored in this piece is its linguistic strength- its cleared Indo-European linguistic origins may have hampered its ability to take over as a universal language. These origins are also reflective of the power imbalance which I claimed is present in English’s popularity. The quest for an all-encompassing utopian universal language, thus, persists.

1. Yu-Wei, K’ang, and Laurence G. Thompson. Ta t’ung Shu: The One-World Philosophy of K’ang Yu-Wei. Reprint. Routledge, 2007. pp. 92-94 [↩]
2. Young, S. Kim“Constructing a Global Identity: The Role of Esperanto.” in Boli, John, George M Thomas (eds.) Constructing World Culture International Nongovernmental Organizations Since 1875. Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1999. [↩]
3. Ibid., pp. 127-129 [↩]
4. Ibid., pp.144-145 [↩]
5. Ibid., pp. 146-148 [↩]