Life Resides in the Time We Are Able to Dispose Of

The title of this article is an idea Dr. Shigeaki Hinohara, the Japanese physician, kept preaching in his later years. The same profession makes me deeply agree with it. Physicians have essentially only two missions: first, to prolong the patient's life as much as possible; second, to improve the quality of the patient's remaining years as much as possible. We want patients to have more disposable time and to live it meaningfully.

Given that everyone is merely an appointment on the road to the Yellow Springs, and that death cannot be avoided, I believe the principles that apply to our patients apply to everyone, myself included.

To this day I still dare not be a self-appointed teacher, cleverly telling others how to live their lives; I only dare keep exploring how to walk my own road. That is why, when I write, I prefer to dissect myself rather than dwell on others. Nor do I assume my explorations are necessarily right, so I often consult elders and wiser people around me for guidance. I also constantly test my understanding in practice and correct my biases.

But some ideas have truly sunk into my bones and are not easily changed. A person needs something as firm as faith to give his life its character.

My grandmother and aunt were devout Buddhists. Not long ago I phoned my cousin, my aunt's son. He told me that during the Cultural Revolution, at great personal risk, my aunt still burned incense and worshipped the Buddha every day at two or three in the morning, when all was silent. Her family could do nothing about her steadfast faith; knowing they could not shake it, they stopped trying to persuade her to give it up.

My aunt's character came from my grandmother. My grandmother was a bound-footed old lady who, past eighty, still often went to temples to worship. Even after a fall on a mountain road that seriously injured her, she did not change her faith; burning incense and worshipping the Buddha gave her inner peace. I did not once approve of my grandmother's and aunt's ways, but after seeing how many people in this world spend their whole lives, lacking any faith or firm conviction, in confusion and unease, I came to approve.

I have inherited this trait of my grandmother and aunt, except that I differ: I am a steadfast atheist. I have something like religious faith, but I do not believe in any religion—though I often borrow wisdom from religious doctrines. I have insisted all my life on truthfulness, frankness, diligence, and self-discipline, and I strive to be fair, just, objective, rational, kind, and generous, giving as much as possible and taking as little. I have my own life ideals, for which I have striven since middle school and have not abandoned to this day. I keep moving forward, refusing to waste my time.

In holding to these principles, I am no different from my grandmother and aunt. I may have inherited some of their genes but not their religious faith. They worshipped the Buddha daily; I sharpen myself daily. Self-cultivation cannot be interrupted; steady, constant progress matters. Fickleness and on-again-off-again effort only end in great ambition and small talent. A daily push, deep accumulation, and steady release—kept up for a lifetime—yield no small results even with only middling talent.

This way of thinking and acting has benefited me greatly; I rarely stay long in grief, anxiety, depression, pain, confusion, or chaos. Even while being tormented by pain, I do not give up the daily habit of sharpening myself. This lets positive forces easily overcome negative moods and bring me back to positive, optimistic living.

I like to tidy my space, and I like to tidy my life. The principle of tidying is to make everything orderly and no longer chaotic. There may be a slight obsessive tinge to this, but undeniably, living in a restless world, a simple and orderly life makes the inner heart more at peace.

For inner peace and ease we must not rely on the outside but on our own willpower. The temptations and distractions of a lifetime are too many; without firm will, if we fall at every temptation and quit at every distraction, our life loses its main thread and we live on a shallow surface, never reaching the core. The difficulties and trials are many; if they easily crush us, we too become failures. Willpower is the inner strength that helps us resist temptation, distraction, difficulty, and trial; we rely on it to recover from setbacks.

I am always grateful. I believe I possess these qualities because fate has favored me. I know that a person's talent and personality are shaped jointly by inborn genes and acquired environment; only lucky people inherit good genes and grow up in a good environment. My parents gave me good genes, and nearly everyone around me gave me abundant care as I grew—they even continued to support me, through many difficult moments of my life, with their love.

I must humbly admit that all my so-called achievements are not worth pride or display. If others had my genes and the favorable conditions I enjoyed while growing up, they might have done better. One needs the courage to admit that one's achievements are just luck, and the generosity to admire people less lucky than we who have more inner strength.

How shall we dispose of the time we have? For a doctor, the greatest meaning of life is to relieve patients' suffering—and patients are not limited to those who pay to see us, but all beings with physical and mental pain. That is why many doctors are also science writers, spreading knowledge and experience of physical and mental recovery to society. Dr. Hinohara especially emphasized that people must keep giving throughout life; only in giving do we continually know the unknown self and harvest more wisdom. I deeply agree, because I have felt this in practice.

Mr. Ji Cheng, son of Ji Xianlin, wrote in a preface to one of his father's books that the life-value he had realized was a person's value to others. Life has no inherent value, but when we are of value to others, our lives gain value.

Whether collectivist or individualist, life's value can only manifest this way. The so-called individualist is just another kind of collectivist; within an individualist life, he has worked out survival experience beneficial to his fellows and made remarkable contributions. That experience is borrowed by others and those contributions benefit others, and his value is realized in the process. When a reader, reading an author who celebrates individual freedom, is soothed, that author's value to the collective is realized.

We cannot change the basic fact that humans are social animals; selfishness and altruism are things each of us does unknowingly all our lives. In poverty, cultivate yourself alone; in success, care for all under heaven. When a person's ability reaches a certain level, the wealth he creates and the wisdom he gains cannot be kept to himself; he must share it in some form—with family or with others.

Through the ages there has been no lack of greedy people, but even they, after death, return the wealth they created to society. People cannot control their own birth and death, and so cannot permanently hold their wealth and status. Pitiably, even strongmen like the First Emperor of Qin and Emperor Wu of Han could not see this through; they deluded themselves that their descendants would rule for ten thousand generations, and came to bad ends.

Gibran said that possessing wealth beyond survival needs is a sickness. This holds not only for wealth but for fame and status. The earlier we see this, the more calmly, lightly, and easily we can live.

We may have decent intelligence and abundant energy, and create life-value faster than most, but all the material and spiritual wealth we create should return to society as early as possible to benefit others. Only then is our life more meaningful.

Indulging our own greed or indulging our family's greed ultimately produces only sin and unbearable burden. Desire is a bottomless pit, and people easily press for more; greed and demand are endless. So we must not only restrain ourselves but set impassable boundaries for everyone around us, refusing every unreasonable demand; otherwise others can manipulate us spiritually. Only by keeping our love and desire within a reasonable measure do we avoid becoming slaves to them.

Some lucky people have mastered how to use time efficiently, and so live lives of positive meaning. Some are born unlucky, inheriting bad genes and learning bad habits from their environment; they cannot use time efficiently and live passively. Still others are more unfortunate, beset by illness, not only unable to use time efficiently but needing others' care. These are fate's arrangements, beyond human control. But the differences between people are actually small; as long as each person lives his life diligently, he has a clear conscience and deserves respect. People are not divided into high and low; dividing them by external vanity is a sickness. Status-consciousness only makes a person feel inferior before the strong and arrogant before the weak, and cannot give him the ease of neither servility nor arrogance.

The Song-dynasty Cheng Yi wrote a poem, Occasional Thoughts in Autumn, with a line that rings true for me: 'Contemplated quietly, all things are at ease; the joys of the four seasons are shared by all.' Perhaps one day, when we can always do what we want with ease, while appreciating all the world's beauty and gladly seeing others also enjoy their work and life with ease, we will be nearly complete.

I hope that, within the time I am able to dispose of, I may reach that state.