On International Workers' Day, the topic of "labor" is ironically one many wish to avoid. A holiday should be an escape from work, and speaking of the "dignity of labor" now might lead some to think you are being sarcastic. After all, anyone who has held a job knows the exhaustion it brings, and who hasn't resorted to self-deprecation at times? Yet, human nature is inherently contradictory: excessive busyness can lead to illness, but idleness can be just as harmful. People often grow restless, feeling a need to engage their physical and intellectual capacities in some activity. Even the most work-averse individual would find it more terrifying than death to lie in bed doing nothing, like the character condemned for "sloth" in the film *Se7en*. Thus, while people seek to escape labor that earns them a living, they often enthusiastically embrace unpaid forms of labor, such as cooking, gardening, fishkeeping, or playing video games. Wait, playing video games? Absolutely. Today, industries like "account leveling" and "game coaching"—where people play games on behalf of or alongside others—are well-established, with most games having corresponding markets. If you are willing to take on "orders" for others, you can earn money through gaming. Many do so precisely because they enjoy gaming. But for most, gaming is a personal pleasure; turning it into a job would strip away the fun. Seasoned players often gladly guide newcomers for free, yet many would refuse if it became paid work. The same applies to my own writing. Researching and drafting on topics of personal interest during free time is an enjoyable leisure activity, regardless of payment. However, writing reports under a supervisor's directives feels deeply unpleasant, even for someone like me who enjoys research and writing. Reflecting on labor that brings a sense of achievement and fulfillment reminds us that work can be honorable and passionate. The issue lies not in the concept of labor itself, but in for whom and what kind of labor it is. As Marx eloquently described in his *Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844*, when labor becomes alienated, the worker "does not affirm himself but denies himself, does not feel content but unhappy, does not develop freely his physical and mental energy but mortifies his body and ruins his mind." Consequently, workers "only feel themselves outside their work, and in their work feel outside themselves." Objectively speaking, our era has progressed significantly compared to Marx's time, when the average life expectancy of laborers was around twenty years. Today, most people are not subjected to the same life-threatening "ruin" at work, nor are they driven by extreme poverty to "queue up to die" in factories, as Marx depicted. Higher living standards and basic social safeguards have granted more people the ability to choose their work and find a degree of fulfillment in it. Unlike 19th-century laborers who knew their work was a death sentence, many contemporary workers experience not direct devastation but disillusionment. They may have entered their jobs expecting to find成就感, whether due to employers' promises or personal industry expectations, only to discover that their labor remains alienated, not truly their own. Psychologically, this disillusionment may be more painful, yet from a societal development perspective, it signifies that people are closer to a future where labor belongs to themselves—even if the road ahead remains long. In today's era of rapid AI development, the pursuit of self-determined labor appears to face new challenges. On one hand, there is a desire to avoid alienated labor; on the other, there is the fear of being replaced by AI, losing even the opportunity for such labor. As the saying goes, "Worse than being exploited is having no chance to be exploited at all." However, setting aside exaggerated claims and anxiety-driven rhetoric, current AI and robotics are far from replacing human labor entirely. They remain tools of production, not laborers themselves. Whether it is providing the material infrastructure for AI, maintaining its operations, or utilizing AI in various tasks, substantial human labor is still required. That said, AI does threaten many well-paying middle-class positions, and those affected, often vocal, may present themselves as representative of all humanity. When jobs that never held particular significance are automated, some proclaim that all human labor has become meaningless, then paradoxically divert their limited intellectual energy into worshipping and mystifying AI. A brief look online at works created with AI assistance reveals that the technology serves to enhance human creativity, not replace it. This is not to say AI has no impact on labor, but the impact lacks the mystical qualities some attribute to it. Like all historical advancements in productivity, the key lies in who controls the means of production. Whether AI or factories, when these means are monopolized by a few, technological progress only deepens labor alienation and exploitation. Only when ordinary workers can access and control these means can technological advancement help them realize the value of their labor. Therefore, whether humanity can reclaim control over labor depends not only on the development of productive forces but also on the broader struggle for human liberation. Phrases like "liberating all humanity" may sound abstract, but who in the contemporary world can claim to be entirely disconnected from such a vision? However tortuous human history may be, progress is undeniable: we enjoy greater material wealth, longer lifespans, and more freedom than previous generations. This progress did not happen automatically; it was driven by revolutionary martyrs and laboring masses who dedicated themselves to this vision. As someone living in modern China, I have a deeper appreciation for this truth. My existence is indebted to past and present laborers who believed in a future of human liberation, and I, too, believe that such a future is inevitable. Our generation may not witness the full realization of human liberation, but we live within this process, benefiting from it and contributing to it. Ultimately, humans are social animals; none can exist independent of others' labor. The article I write now embodies not only my personal effort but also relies on the education provided by family and society, the peaceful and developmental environment fostered by national progress, and the conveniences created by laborers across all industries that support my life. These contributions from others are as omnipresent and vital as air, their significance often overlooked but undeniable. Every individual in society depends on the contributions of others. Conversely, every laboring individual, in some way, benefits others and society through their work. On a grander scale, as long as the cause of human liberation advances, even the most ordinary labor contributes to the world's most magnificent endeavor. That said, can such lofty ideals truly motivate me to face daily workplace absurdities? Perhaps not; the pressure of a paycheck often speaks louder than grand principles. Yet, to live and labor, one needs values beyond material desires—whether it is a sense of achievement or something else. While people may grow weary of talk of "passion," and such sentiments can often mask ulterior motives, a society where everyone pursues only self-interest and no one embraces higher values is unsustainable. One cannot expect to benefit from others' idealism while adhering solely to personal gain. Conversely, without any higher purpose, one would logically discard all moral constraints, pursuing maximal pleasure and desire fulfillment. But most people do not live this way, which is why our society functions as it does. Consider Faust: offered everything by the devil—power, knowledge, women—he found no happiness, only tragedy. It was only when the blind Faust heard the sounds of laborers at work, mistakenly believing he was leading them to build an earthly paradise (while they were actually digging his grave), that he finally found contentment, ceased his striving, and died fulfilled. For ancient peoples, the highest value driving labor and life often came from religion. For us in secular society, this ultimate value must reside in humanity itself. I cannot speak for others, but if I see humanity striving toward a better future and can contribute to that effort, I may, like Faust, face death without regret. Of course, I may not die at an opportune moment or for a noble cause. So be it. Humanity is complex, history is winding, and hoping for an immediate utopia or the end of history is a naive fantasy detrimental to both personal well-being and social progress. Recognizing the limits of human aspirations and the ruthlessness of the objective world allows us to appreciate how hard-won human progress truly is. Countless human endeavors have turned to forgotten dust in the river of history, and you and I will be no exception. Yet, this is an indispensable part of historical advancement; nothing is in vain. Thus, for each day I live and labor, I can witness humanity's progress and contribute to society, doing what I can. This is my motivation to keep living, but also my acceptance of mortality. So, returning to the initial question: why is labor glorious? Because, at the end of a life of labor, one can cite these timeless words: "The most precious thing for a person is life. It is given to us but once. And we ought to live it in such a way that, looking back, we would not regret the years spent in vain, nor be ashamed of a petty and meaningless past. So that, dying, we might say: 'All my life and all my strength were given to the finest cause in the world—the struggle for the liberation of all humanity.'"
Comments