Plain, Ordinary, Steady, and Peaceful
Unconsciously, I have now been in the medical profession for some years. Lately, invited by patients, I have been traveling back and forth across the country; when I return to Beijing, those seeking help fill my doorway. Faced with such influence, I will admit I feel a bit wary in my heart. For a young TCM physician, too great a reputation easily invites disaster. I only hope to live a plain life, be an ordinary physician, write and speak steadily without fabrication, preserve peace for myself and my family for a lifetime, and accompany those I love to the end of our days—that is enough.
These years there have been too many news reports of medical disputes. One often sees reports of respected, senior physicians being killed by patients. Sometimes, reading these reports, my heart does feel a certain desolation, and in my own work I have also encountered some close calls. I entered this life of saving the dying and healing the wounded out of personal grief at my own family's illness, never expecting that in today's society the physician's image in the public mind would be so dismal.
In reality, I have indeed seen some colleagues in the medical world acting recklessly, cheating and swindling, exaggerating their claims, and squeezing patients and their families to the marrow—appalling to see. Though I have always kept myself clean, stepping into this conscience profession that the public has already labeled negatively means I inevitably carry a taint of suspicion.
Among the physicians of all dynasties, the one I most admire is Li Dongyuan, one of the Four Great Masters of the Jin-Yuan period. He was originally a wealthy merchant with a vast fortune, the richest man in Zhengding. When he practiced medicine, he not only could forgo consultation fees but also helped poor patients. Although Li Dongyuan later saw his family fortunes decline through warfare and had to rely on medical practice for a living, throughout his life his personal integrity remained deeply admirable.
Years ago, when I still had some surplus from business, I too emulated Li Dongyuan, helping patients without accepting a cent and lending a hand to some who were poor. But because my own family circumstances were modest, within a few years my savings were exhausted, and in recent years I have begun charging consultation fees. Although my time-based fee is lower than that of a Beijing private tutor, once I began charging people, I felt uncomfortable all over. Perhaps I have not yet adapted to the fact of making a living from medicine; I often hope, outside practice, to do some business to support my family, so that in treating patients I can be as considerate as possible and relieve the poor. But those seeking help grow daily, and my time is no longer my own.
When one sees the worthy, one should strive to equal them; when one sees the unworthy, one should turn inward and examine oneself. Having seen the bad side of the medical profession, I have also, in this recent period, examined and reflected on myself: Do I exaggerate in speech and writing, misleading patients? In conduct and practice am I greedy? Have I lost the "original intention" with which I entered medicine? Am I arrogant or puffed up? Do I always keep an ordinary mind? Have I forgotten the various misfortunes my own mother suffered when she sought medical help? Am I not working hard enough at learning medicine? Am I not attentive enough to my patients?
Two couplets in Dream of the Red Chamber have left a deep impression on me. One reads: "Clear sight of the ways of the world is itself learning; practiced mastery of human relations is itself literature." The other reads: "With more than enough behind him, he forgets to withdraw his hand; with no road ahead, he thinks of turning back." These years in the bustling capital, I have studied, traded, learned medicine, treated patients, and written. Though I have always been too dull and clumsy in interpersonal relations to be called worldly-wise, because I have held to the basic principle of not doing evil, I have not suffered great disasters. But some of the people I have witnessed in officialdom, business, and the medical world have foundered because they lost their ordinary mind—some imprisoned, some bankrupt, some separated from wives and children. When they wanted to turn back, there was no turning back.
Practiced mastery of human relations is probably hard for me to achieve; I suspect Cao Xueqin, a mere scholar himself, could not achieve it either. But clear sight of the ways of the world can be achieved. Reading books and observing the world both help one see the ways of the world clearly. Not reaching out one's hand is also easy to achieve; if one is indifferent to fame and gain, there is naturally no possibility of "forgetting to withdraw the hand." Content to be an ordinary person, living a plain life and speaking steady words, one naturally will hardly reach the day of "no road ahead."
There is a saying in Caigentan (Vegetable Roots Discourse): "Secret schemes and strange habits, eccentric deeds and miraculous powers—all are the seeds of disaster in dealing with the world. Only ordinary virtue and ordinary conduct can complete primal chaos and summon peace." The TCM world is extremely prone to producing wonder-workers; a little efficacy is easily exaggerated to the point of megalomania. Moreover, many TCM "divine men" dress themselves up as people with strange powers and eccentric deeds; some have already been thrown into prison—Master Wang Lin being one example. All this is a warning to us.
The ninth-three line statement in the Qian hexagram of the Book of Changes reads: "The junzi is diligent all day long, and in the evening he is vigilant as if in danger; no blame." A person who works indefatigably while constantly examining himself, scrutinizing his words and deeds and restraining his desires, can achieve "no blame"—a lifetime of peace. In a high-risk profession like medicine, to live in peace one must hold the proper measure oneself.