Breaking Through Perfectionism Brings Inner Peace
A circle is a geometric shape found throughout nature: a figure drawn around a point (the center) with a line segment as radius is a circle. We use the circle to symbolize the most perfect state in the world; we wish everything to be complete. Mathematicians through the ages have also been fascinated by the circle; they have long hoped to compute its circumference and area with numbers, but this is an extremely difficult problem, and we may never be able to find the circle's true circumference and area.
The methods we now use to calculate the circumference and area of a circle were invented by Archimedes. Archimedes was a disheveled mathematician who often walked in a daze — most scientists and thinkers who love thinking and lose themselves in it are unkempt in appearance. He spared no effort to solve the problem of the circle's circumference and area. There is no direct way to compute the area of a circle, but Archimedes discovered he could calculate the perimeter and area of the closest regular polygon inscribed in the circle.
Archimedes found that if one marks six equally spaced points on the circle and connects them into a hexagon, the result is a regular hexagon whose side length equals the circle's radius. The side length and area of this regular hexagon can be calculated; its perimeter is three times the circle's diameter, i.e. C = 3d (where d is the diameter) or 6r (where r is the radius). This perimeter is somewhat close to the circle's circumference.
If we divide the circle into 12 equal arcs and connect the 12 points into a regular dodecagon, the calculation becomes more precise. By the same reasoning, the circle can be infinitely divided into regular polygons that approach the circle more and more closely. The perimeter and area of such polygons become very close to those of the circle.
Archimedes' idea is the differential method of calculus. He ultimately derived the famous formula for the circumference of a circle and the value of pi, which we still use: C = πd, where π is the ratio of circumference to diameter and d is the diameter. This can also be written C = 2πr, where r is the radius.
Using this method of division and the Pythagorean theorem, Archimedes, with the help of a 96-sided inscribed polygon and a 96-sided circumscribed polygon, calculated that π lies between 3+10/71 and 3+10/70, i.e. 3+10/71 < π < 3+10/70. The π we use today is only an approximation: 3+10/70, or 22/7, usually taken to four decimal places as π = 3.1415. π is an irrational number; with modern calculators we can compute π to two billion decimal places, but that is still not its final value.
In fact, the π in our circumference and area formulas is itself only an approximation, not the true ratio; and this approximation is infinite — we cannot even locate an exact point for π on the number line. With human wisdom, perhaps we will never find the exact relationship between the circumference of a circle and its diameter and radius.
Mathematics is not perfect; calculus was born to solve problems of the infinite. Modern science is built on calculus, and the infinite gives us enormous imaginative space. As Archimedes said, intuition and imagination are indispensable in mathematical research; he hoped that in present and future generations, some would use this method (combining intuition and imagination) to find other theorems we have not yet grasped.
If you love mathematics and calculus, you will find traces of calculus everywhere. Zhuangzi said, "The greatest has nothing outside it; the smallest has nothing inside it" — this is the idea of calculus, which studies the infinite. When people thought the atom was the smallest particle of matter, science took a step forward and discovered the quantum. Is the quantum the smallest particle? Hard to say; perhaps, as Zhuangzi put it, "the smallest has nothing inside it," and in the future we may discover particles even smaller than the smallest ones we now know.
We think science is exact, but the ratio π pours cold water on us: science is only an approximately accurate, rough number. The truly exact number may be an unknown we can never compute. Nothing in the world is truly perfect; if we trace everything back, all things lead into an endless abyss.
Buddhist philosophy proposes the concept of dependent origination and inherent emptiness (yuanqi xingkong). "Dependent origination" and "inherent emptiness" coexist. Buddhism holds that the essence of all things is "inherent emptiness," but because everything in the universe is interwoven, various causes and conditions arise, which give inherently empty things various "characteristics." Yet these "characteristics" are not the original self-nature of things; the self-nature of all things is empty, is non-existent. This Buddhist philosophical idea also studies the infinite; this is why so many high-IQ people through the ages have been drawn to Buddhist philosophy, which investigates the infinite very deeply. It is, in effect, another expression of the idea of calculus.
The perfection we desire cannot be computed; one might even say it is empty. The state of perfection sought by the perfectionists in this world is actually a circle whose precise value cannot be calculated — an endless infinity, an unreal, illusory goal. So perfectionism is essentially a pathology; perfectionists are a group of mentally ill people who can never reach their goals in a lifetime. The pursuit of perfection is less a noble act than an ignorant and sick one.
Only by breaking with perfectionism can the heart truly find peace. Only by giving up the pursuit of perfection can we draw closer to real life; only by giving up near-perfect demands on others can we maintain good relationships. In parent-child relationships, if we hold to perfectionism, our children may develop terrible anxiety and depression and may one day die by suicide. If we hold false perfectionist fantasies about medical outcomes, we will only experience repeated disappointment. If we pursue a perfect love, we will eventually find no such partner in the world and will keep missing those who truly love us warmly.
Feynman said calculus is the language of God; the two greatest characteristics of God's language are infinity and imperfection. Zhuangzi said, "My life has a limit, but knowledge has no limit; pursuing the limitless with the limited is perilous." Zhuangzi was a very wise man; he saw the finitude of life and the infinitude of knowledge, recognized the bounded and the unbounded, and so gave up the pursuit of the infinite, becoming contented and happy.
From a biological perspective, some genes in the human genome have been evolving in nature for billions of years, others may have just evolved; in the future, new genes will continue to evolve in response to environmental events — also an endless process. With the finite wisdom of humans and the finite survival history of our species, we cannot grasp all the mysteries of life. All things endlessly cycle and evolve; the ultimate answer does not exist, it is void.
Whether in mathematics, philosophy, biology/medicine, or religion, all roads finally converge on the infinite. The imperfect reality we see is the most real existence. The Japanese physician and author Shigeaki Hinohara said that we spend our whole life fighting the perfect self in our mind. No one else can meet that perfect standard, and neither can we. Only by recognizing this — by not being demanding of ourselves, our lovers, our families, our friends, others, or society — can we truly lay down the heavy burden in our hearts and live a relaxed, joyful life.
Afterword: This Spring Festival, I spent a great deal of time reading and writing specifically about depression and anxiety. This is because the cancer patients and their families I encounter in my work mostly have anxiety and depression. Some had anxiety and depression before encountering cancer, and these emotions may even have been one of the triggers; others, after cancer struck and their lives changed dramatically, were gradually consumed by anxiety and depression.
I have long wanted to research this topic to better help patients and their families. In developed countries, cancer patients and their families usually have psychologists to help them. But China's economic development is still limited, and psychologists who understand cancer patients and their families are scarce; the psychological problems of cancer patients and their families are therefore hard to relieve.
Clinical oncologists are very busy and specialized; most know little about mental health, and even they themselves, exposed to too much suffering and negative emotion, fall into anxiety and depression. Among the oncologists I know, two have died by suicide — one succeeded, one failed. Several close colleagues have left the field, moving to less stressful departments or leaving medicine altogether. I myself have had alopecia areata three times from excessive stress; fortunately I cured myself each time, and my psychological resilience is now much stronger than before. People who carry other people's lives and deaths on their shoulders can never be truly carefree like drifting clouds and wild cranes. We can only keep improving our personal cultivation and psychological resilience at work, to better fulfill our duty of coexisting with suffering.
I have long wanted to compile literature on anxiety and depression and write a series of articles, but it was always hard to find a large block of time to complete the plan. Now I have more or less finished it, fulfilling a long-held wish. Though after writing the series I feel it is patchy and am not very satisfied with my articles. But, in the spirit of this title, I should also give up the pursuit of perfection; so I will bring this topic to a close.
This period of writing has also prompted my own reflection. My father is actually a perfectionist with a moral cleanliness. The excessive mental pressure I experienced in late adolescence was related both to the academic and first-love pressures of the time and to my father's personality. I myself have, more or less, inherited this trait: extremely high standards for myself, exceptional self-discipline. But the drawback of people like me is that we can put pressure on those close to us. I have therefore apologized to my wife and son; fortunately they feel I am fairly gentle and have not caused them great harm. As for the bumps and scrapes of daily life, they are unavoidable for everyone; they do not hold it too much against me, which is a small comfort.
When Li Zongwu wrote The Thick Black Theory, he said he was not cursing others but cursing himself. Most of the time when I write, I am not criticizing others but criticizing myself. Many of the problems I criticize exist in me; I always complete my thinking by chewing over my own upbringing. Criticizing others has two problems: first, one does not know their situation and may be unjust; second, criticizing others easily makes people unhappy and sparks disputes, so criticizing oneself is safer. When, in self-criticism, others find they share some of my faults and are willing to take me as a mirror and reflect on themselves, I will be well content.
Everything has two sides. Perfectionism, for instance, is both one of the sources of human mental disorder and one of the engines of human progress. It is a stress mechanism developed over tens of millions of years of evolution. From a biological point of view, any gene that emerged during evolution is an optimal solution that organisms developed to survive in the ecosystem.
So we should view all phenomena with a dialectical eye, criticizing their shortcomings while acknowledging their benefits. Take myself: without my perfectionist tendencies, I would not have read so many books, and my writing would not have improved to its present level. But excessive pursuit of perfection leads many people into mental disorder, even mental disability, and ultimately paralysis of will, becoming a burden on family and society.
The ancients of China made remarkable achievements in balancing "excess and deficiency"; our ancestors invented the Doctrine of the Mean — "broad and great, yet delicate and fine; highly luminous, yet walking the middle way" — one of the fine cultural legacies they left us. So I hope that readers, as they read my articles, will uphold the middle way and keep a proper measure. The real world is not as pure as the ideal world; there is much that needs to be left fuzzy, and no need to be too rigid. We must have not only the spirit of negation but also the spirit of the negation of the negation; this is my final note on breaking through perfectionism.