Yoshiyuki SATO and Takumi TAGUCHI, Datsugenpatsu no tetsugaku (Philosophy for Abandoning Nuclear Power), Jimbun Shoin, 2016.

by Shen Yun-Yen

語言:
English
Photo Credit: 資源エネルギー庁ウェブサイト/WikiCommons/CC BY 4.0

1.

THE NUCLEAR BOMB certainly posed a serious problem for contemporary philosophy. From Heidegger to Arendt to Marcuse, philosophy in the mid-20^th century struggled to deal with this all-annihilating artificial production. Unfortunately, most of these philosophers did not analyze the complex relationships between nuclear technology, capital, state, etc. They did not even attempt to analyze the history or the ABCs of this technology. Hence while they criticized the “atomization” of contemporary society, they did not even notice that the contemporary world is one in which the atom is no longer truly an “atom,” that is, something that cannot be split. What’s worse, philosophy seemed to be totally incapable of dealing with nuclear power. It’s simply beyond the limits of both reason and imagination.

Even after the Fukushima catastrophe, many philosophers continued to philosophize the phenomenon as usual, or, to borrow a phrase from Adorno, touting the “jargon of authenticity.” It’s just weak. Ontology alone will never constitute a critique of nuclear power. Rather than providing a sound critique, these sorts of philosophy books seemed to reaffirm the ontological inability of philosophy when faced with nuclear catastrophe.

Fortunately, two philosophers, Yoshiyuki Sato and Takumi Taguchi, accept the difficult challenge of philosophizing nuclear power. In their joint work Datsugenpatsu no tetsugaku, they argue at the outset that neither “pure philosophy” nor “philosophy as usual” will ever constitute an effective critique of nuclear power (13-4). What we need, according to Sato and Taguchi, is a Datsugenpatsu no tetsugaku, which can be translated as either a philosophy of abandoning nuclear power, or simply philosophy for abandoning nuclear power. Each translation carries different connotations. “A philosophy of abandoning nuclear power” seems to make philosophy a means for abandoning nuclear power, while the other seems to be a sublation of “philosophy as usual.” The logic is actually clear: nuclear power serves as a medium for philosophy to sublate itself.

Like Marx, who philosophically criticized philosophy by incorporating political economy and history into philosophy, Sato and Taguchi incorporate different fields of thought in order to critique nuclear technology and renew philosophy. They not only bring Günther Ander, Foucault, Judith Butler, Montesquieu, etc. together and interpret their thoughts, but also draw on official statistics, historical documents, the works of “critical scientists,” economists, sociologists, in order to develop a radical critique of nuclear technology.

The book is divided into four parts, each with three chapters, and a conclusion. The first part deals with the identity of kaku (nuclear weapons) and genpatsu (nuclear power plants); the second an ideology critique; the third a historico-politico-economic critique of the development of nuclear power; the fourth part attempts to consider nuclear power a public hazard; lastly, the conclusion provides a vision for a society without nuclear power.

2.

THE BOOK OPENS with a warning: our stubborn “blindness” to the repetition of nuclear catastrophes. In 1945, nuclear bombs were dropped in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, which made philosopher Günther Anders argue that “Hiroshima is everywhere,” that is, regardless of location, we were already living in an age where indiscriminate annihilation became possible, and irreversible. In 1954, the US conducted nuclear testing (H-Bomb) at Bikini Atoll, and the “ashes of death” fell all over the place, which led to the death of several Japanese fishermen fishing nearby. In the same year, Günther Anders lamented that, after Hiroshima and Nagasaki, we still suffered from the “apocalypse-blindness” to nuclear weapons. In 1979, the year of the Three Mile Island accident, Anders reasserted his arguments, and noted that nuclear plants served but a masquerade of nuclear weapons. And then there was Chernobyl (1986), which made Anders change his argument from “Hiroshima is everywhere” to “Chernobyl is everywhere.”

As Japanese philosophers, that is, philosophers from a country where nuclear tragedies happen most frequently (Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Bikini, Tokaimura, Fukushima), Sato and Taguchi clearly understand that Fukushima is not something “accidental” (sōteigai), as many commentators and government officials claim to be, but a repetition of the above-listed catastrophes (29). They also critique the fake distinction of the “civil use” and “military use” of nuclear power by drawing on the works of critical scientists such as Takagi Jinzaburo.

For Sato and Taguchi, the identity between nuclear weapons and nuclear power plants is established historically, that is, nuclear power plants share every feature of the Manhattan Project, from the principle of secrecy, the concentration of capital, the state-centrism, to its technical principles and, perhaps most importantly, the subordination of scientific development to the ends of the state.

Indeed, scientific knowledge is never innocent, which is why Sato and Taguchi employ a Foucauldian analysis of power-knowledge in order to critique the interrelationship between the two. The state decides who is allowed to participate the project, what to research, how much money an experiment needs, etc., without public scrutiny. This is why nuclear technology is a product of the “state-industrial-knowledge complex” (56).

3.

IF IN THE context of the U.S., the symbol of the “state-industrial-knowledge complex” is the Manhattan Project, in Japan it’s the “nuclear village” (genshiryoku-mura). The “village” is not a physical location but a principle of exclusion (murahachibu), that is, whoever holds opinions different from them will be excluded. As an entity of highly concentrated power, its impact should not be underrated.

First of all, the historical development of nuclear technology in Japan has always been designed and controlled by the village. What’s important is that, the logic of development actually comes from the development of electricity in Japan. One of its most significant characteristics is that it is a “long-distance electricity provision system,” that is, extracting energy from the peripheries and send it to the core (243). As a top-down system, the unsymmetrical, uneven relationship does not merely exist between the core and the periphery, but also the region (chihō, for example, the Tōhoku region, where Fukushima is located) and the state.

This can be seen as not only a supplement to Tetsuya Takahashi’s critique of the “system of sacrifice,” that is, sacrificing the peripheries (Okinawa and the Tōhoku region) in order to fulfill the needs of the core (the Japan proper), but also a concrete exposition of the system.

This top-down, exploitative, discriminatory system exists throughout the history of modern Japan, that is, from Meiji to the present. It is true that in the post-war occupied period, the main condition of getting back Japan’s sovereignty is to democratize the state. However, it is also true that, under the shadow of the Cold War, both the US and the Japanese government did not care much about democratization. The result is that former Class A war criminal suspect Nobusuke Kishi not only became the Prime Minister of Japan (1957-60) and President of the LDP (1957-60), but also played an important role in supporting the “village.” It is no wonder that Sato and Taguchi repetitively argue that nuclear development in Japan serves both economic and military ends, and that as long as this system exists, claims about the “democracy” or democratization of Japan will never make sense.

4.

THE VILLAGE DECIDES everything, including what’s to be done after the Fukushima catastrophe. First of all, given the identity of the “military use” and “civil use” of nuclear power, the authors argue quite convincingly that the impact of a nuclear catastrophe can only be compared to that of a war (34-7). That is, nuclear power plants’ disasters often produce effects analogous to those of war. From Chernobyl to Fukushima, whenever a nuclear disaster happens, there are always numerous refugees, lands that are no longer inhabitable, and almost unbearable economic costs.

After the catastrophe of Fukushima, there are many issues that remain unresolved even to today. However, the village’s attitude remains the same. The basic tone is denial and ideological. The point is why they act the way they do. Sato and Taguchi borrow from Foucault the idea of the security power, which is a power mechanism whose object is “population” (rather than individuals), and whose rationale is always socio-economic costs. In the case of the Fukushima catastrophe, the village (including scientists and doctors) decides to abandon certain populations in order to reduce economic costs (102). That is, because “electricity provision is necessary,” the village decides to make hundreds of thousands of residents (or refugees) continue to live under constant radioactive exposure (142).

The village has always been trying to promote an unscientific view of an “acceptable amount of radioactive exposure,” intentionally ignoring many scientists’ strong objections against this hypothesis. Hence, when there are lands still heavily polluted, the government policy asks many refugees to go back to their hometowns out of a deliberate calculation of cost-effectiveness. Without the intertwining of “scientific knowledge” and state power, this operation would not have been possible.

Sato and Taguchi go further to claim that, this sort of calculation is one of the reasons of the catastrophe. As a country where earthquakes happen extremely frequent, Japan’s earthquake studies have always been famous in the field. Long before the Fukushima tragedy took place, many specialists had already warned of a possible earthquake, tsunami, and nuclear disaster due to earthquake and tsunami. However, the village did not take action to prevent such a scenario from happening because the economic costs are just too high (138). It’s just not worth it.

After the Fukushima catastrophe, the village did not repent of its inaction. As for them, these warnings are not voiced from “specialists,” and this is the main reason why they will never take them seriously (134). As the authors point out, the so-called specialist is nothing but those who support the principle of the village (136).

5.

ONE OF THE most commonly expressed opinions regarding the residents of Fukushima is that, they are just too greedy. They want to make money from the nuclear power plants. They love the financial compensation from the TEPCO. They reap what they sow (jigō-jitoku). They made the decision, which is why they should take the responsibility.

Sato and Taguchi refuse this kind of simplification. To be sure, this is a simplified view of subject. The subject does not act totally voluntarily. They borrow from Foucault and Butler the idea of subjection (assujettissement), that is, “a subject is formed through subjection to power, and in order to persist its existence, the subject must attach to its subjection to power” (216). The more it attaches to subjection, the more it becomes a de-subjectified subject.

For the authors, the process of subjection begins with the above-mentioned policy, or the “long-distance electricity provision system.” The state chose certain regions to develop nuclear power plants because the regions were economically poor (as a result of systematic discrimination). The nuclear power plants, however, are more like drug addiction rather than hope. After conducting a rigorous economic analysis, Sato and Taguchi show that the more the regions attach to the nuclear economy, the more they become poorer, since this is nothing but a core-peripheral exploitative system (201-2).

It is now clear that the residents of Fukushima are far from some voluntarist subjects but rather a people who live under constant subjection. The installation of nuclear power plants was not democratically decided, neither did it bring any halt to the historical subjection. Rather, nuclear power plants worsened the subjection by reproducing subjection. It should be clear that the one who bears the responsibility is the “village” (TEPCO, the government, etc.) rather than the victims.

The Fukushima catastrophe makes the subjection clear, while also provides an opportunity to halt the subjection, according to the authors. That is, as an “event,” it changes the mindset of many of the residents and citizens. Many people chose to live without nuclear power (216), and one court decision even made clear that the lives of residents are above economic prosperity (87).

Seizing the opportunity to formulate a possible future against nuclear power, Sato and Taguchi argue that, firstly, nuclear power is entirely irresponsible for future generations, an idea they take from Hans Jonas (406). The reason is actually quite scientific: nuclear power cannot function without producing radioactive waste, which is inconceivable to be really “disposed.” The profit-seeking mindset of this generation will definitely do harm to next generations, if the world still exists.

Secondly, they argue that the government should formulate a system of referendum, as a way of practicing democracy (442-3). Given that the nuclear village almost always monopolizes any decisions regarding nuclear power, a referendum constitutes a way of abolishing the undemocratic structures of the state-industrial-knowledge complex.

Thirdly, the government, and every citizen, should take renewable energy seriously, and implement concrete policies to facilitate the transition from nuclear energy and highly polluting energies to renewable clean energy. They also go further to propose that energy provision should be taken as a common, rather than some private property monopolized by the “village” (448-50).

It is clear that, as for Sato and Taguchi, nuclear power is not just a feature of the Japanese state. Nuclear power, through its interconnections with capital, knowledge, science, etc., defines the state. A state defined by nuclear power, governed by the nuclear village, is necessarily unscientific, undemocratic, and irresponsible. Abandoning nuclear power, therefore, amounts to restructuring the state. If the Japanese government has always been touting its formal democracy, what the authors call for is a movement of democratizing democracy.

6.

AS A TAIWANESE READER, I couldn’t help but feel a little out of place when reading the work. The problem is not the book itself but that the authors have to put so much effort into dispelling some evident myths. For example, the unsound distinction between kaku (nuclear weapons) and genpatsu (“atomic energy,” or nuclear energy). In Taiwan, as in many other places, the two are the same. We don’t even use the word  “atom” (原子) to describe nuclear energy. It’s just scientifically inaccurate and even wrong.

Same as when the authors criticize the official labeling of the catastrophe as an “accident.” In Taiwan, the “Fukushima accident” is called “Fukushima nuclear catastrophe” or “Fukushima nuclear disaster” (福島核災). The point is not whether it is an accident or not, the point is that it is a nuclear disaster. It’s quite evident that what should be examined is the nuclear industry, nuclear policy, nuclear science, etc., rather than trivial facts such as how much money the residents get.

What I feel most bizarre is the fact that the Japanese government still tries to reopen the nuclear power plants, with little objection from the majority of the Japanese citizens. How many times we should suffer from this “blindness to nuclear apocalypse” in order to realize that nuclear power is just a technology against humanity?

Fukushima triggered a new round of anti-nuclear movements in Taiwan, with the final result of a zero-nuclear policy that will soon be implemented in 2025. When I discuss the recent development of the nuclear village with my Taiwanese friends who have all witnessed, through television, the Fukushima nuclear catastrophe, their reaction is always the same: What the fuck? Did the Japanese suffer from collective amnesia?

I would say yes.

But Sato and Taguchi demonstrate how this collective amnesia is produced rather than natural. Without the official ideology (the so-called “safety myth”) and the support from pseudo-scientific communities, this amnesia would not have been possible. Speaking of “collective amnesia,” one couldn’t help but think of issues regarding war responsibility and post-war responsibility. But, again, only a radical democratization can help the country to really face its past wrongs.