When All Is Silent It Is the Most Terrifying Hour; When All Panics It Is the Safest

Laozi said: "Reversal is the movement of the Dao." Laozi's words sum up the essence of reverse thinking.

A whirlwind does not last a morning, nor a torrential rain a whole day. The world will not always look as it does now; it is forever changing. The more turbulent the times, the more this is so. When the world reaches one extreme, it most easily turns toward its opposite.

That is why the moment when everyone is silent is the most terrifying moment, and the moment when everyone panics is the safest moment.

It is said that the elites of Wall Street exploit precisely this point to harvest everyone's wealth. I have no interest in wealth; as long as I can survive, I ask for nothing more, so I will not use this theory to harvest wealth. For those who play with fire often burn themselves, and it is commonplace for wealth-harvesors to be harvested in turn.

As Laozi put it: "There is no greater disaster than discontentment; no greater fault than the desire to possess. Therefore the contentment of those who know contentment is constant contentment." As long as one is content, one has no need to possess much wealth.

I love the life of taking a leisurely walk in place of a carriage and living on plain tea and simple fare. Confucius said of his disciple Yan Hui: "A single bamboo dish of rice, a single gourd of drink, in a mean alley—others could not have borne the distress, but Hui did not change his joy." I very much admire Yan Hui's attitude to life.

My luck is a little better than Yan Hui's; my material circumstances are not so dismal. Even so, I have voluntarily chosen the Yan Hui way of life.

The reasons I venerate Yan Hui's way of life are, first, that it is the healthiest; second, that it is low-cost, highly sustainable, and low-volatility, with limited impact on one's mood; and third, that I am lazy and do not much care to spend thought and effort on hustling—I am used to just getting by.

So although I am over forty, many people think I look only thirty. A life of contented contentment does not age a person too fast.

This attitude to life has served me well in the current crisis. At a time when many people are frightened out of their wits, I can calmly read and write, just as usual.

I have never traded stocks, nor invested in any business, nor do I have any interest in bottom-fishing or speculation to strike it rich, so the market's upheaval does not affect me at all.

My demands on life have always been low to the extreme; I ask for little, and what I have is enough. Though the present situation is grim, it has no impact on my quality of life. A person who has reached rock bottom in poverty fears no poverty.

This is the spiritual core of the practitioner of Chinese medicine. We draw the wisdom of living from the ancient precept "When the mind is tranquil and vacant, and the spirit is kept within, how can illness arise?" We also learn to view life and death lightly from Laozi's philosophy: "Man follows the earth, the earth follows heaven, heaven follows the Dao, and the Dao follows nature."

But viewing life and death lightly does not mean recklessly sacrificing oneself. Living in this world, being a little vigilant can keep us safer. The world is complex, yet there are always clues by which we can see risks in advance.

Laozi said: "Therefore constantly be desireless, that you may observe its subtle essence; constantly be desiring, that you may observe its manifestations." Only by perceiving the subtle can one grasp the whole and recognize the truth. One must learn both to see the essence of the world amid great storms, and to see, from the merest clues, the risks about to erupt.

To achieve this, there is no way but to set aside calm, independent thinking. Because in this world the true and the false are intertwined, only by possessing the skill of "observing return" can one have discerning eyes and detect the truth behind the chaos.

What is "observing return"? Laozi said: "Attain the ultimate in emptiness; hold fast to the steadiness of quietude. The ten thousand things rise together; I watch their return. The teeming things all return each to its root. Returning to the root is called quietude; this is returning to one's destiny. Returning to destiny is called the constant; knowing the constant is called enlightenment. Not to know the constant is to act blindly, and that is ill-omened."

The Daoist concept of "observing return" is consistent with the Confucian "investigation of things to attain knowledge" and with the mathematical-logical thinking of the West. All seek, from the intricate world, the inner laws by which all things operate. Daoism names this inner law the "Dao" or the "constant"; to know the constant and adapt to change is to have attained the Dao.

From December 31 of last year, I learned at the first moment that there was an unexplained pneumonia in Wuhan. A medical person is more sensitive to such information than an ordinary person. Among doctors, I am of the especially high-alert type. So from then on I followed simultaneously the Wuhan pneumonia, the brucellosis in Lanzhou, and the plague in Inner Mongolia.

In early to mid-January of this year, I sensed, from the various clues in the news, an extreme danger. In early January I began stockpiling masks and gloves. But later I felt the stockpile was insufficient, so in mid-January I restocked once more; altogether at home I had stored 500 masks and 400 pairs of medical gloves.

At the same time I built up an adequate drug supply, asking someone to bring back from Japan a plentiful stock of kampo medicines for respiratory diseases, and I also stocked enough medicines for my patients to last two or three months, just in case—even though at the time I could not be certain what would happen.

After January 10, I insisted that my son, who was studying in Beijing, wear a mask to school. He said his classmates mocked him at school, but I made him keep it up, until later everyone grew serious. Looking back now, we know that in mid-January Beijing was indeed very dangerous.

We had originally planned to return to our hometown on January 20, having bought tickets a month in advance. But in the days before going home, I spent every day earnestly persuading my family to give up the plan of returning home for the New Year. On January 18 I finally won everyone's agreement, and we refunded our tickets.

My greatest regret is that I had not a shred of hard evidence; I could only reason, from various news reports, using my mental tools that there were lies in the data, and so protect my family in advance—but I had no way to issue a more direct warning to society.

On January 19 I posted an announcement through my public account, stating that I would not return home for the Spring Festival that year, obliquely hinting at the risk to my readers. That same day I brought my father from Hubei to Beijing, and upon arrival I placed him in temporary isolation. This aroused my father's great indignation, but as events unfolded he came to understand.

Yet when everyone began to panic—especially when people all over the world panicked—my heart settled. I knew that although some tragedy was unavoidable, we were at least far safer than we had been in early to mid-January.

One must have a sense of crisis.

Laozi said: "Only he who regards illness as illness is therefore not ill. The sage is not ill because he regards illness as illness; therefore he is not ill." This saying of Laozi encapsulates the profound understanding of preventive medicine and crisis awareness held by the ancient Chinese. The sage faces "illness" squarely and fears "illness," and so does not fall ill. This dialectical thinking likewise accords with the philosophy of "reversal is the movement of the Dao."

Following the general law of "reversal is the movement of the Dao," Laozi also mentions: "Misery is what happiness rests upon; happiness is where misery lurks." In a crisis, many people see only the harm, but in fact the good brought by a crisis is no less than the harm.

We will witness Laozi's theory of "misery and happiness depending on each other" become realized in history. Since the end of World War II, human society has never experienced such a great upheaval as today. Yet this great upheaval will profoundly change human society in many ways, pushing human civilization toward a more scientific, rational, fair, and just direction.

Laozi summed up the universal law of defeat, ancient and modern, Chinese and foreign, in one line: "No disaster is greater than underestimating the enemy; to underestimate the enemy is all but to lose my treasure." Today many countries and regions are confirming Laozi's wisdom through their own practice. The entire book Laozi glows with the light of reverse thinking.

My vigilance comes from wide reading. Reading makes one see through the ways of the world; it also makes one deep and seasoned. Beyond that, reading can keep one unruffled amid great storms. So at a time like this, rather than panic, we would do better to read a few good books and nourish our hearts.

One must also have an optimistic spirit.

All the blossoms and splendor may be nothing more than a flash in the pan, and every darkest hour will also pass. All things are complementary in their opposites.

The prosperity of humanity yesterday was like "gold and jade without, rotten silk within," and today's upheaval too will usher in a moment of "willows dark, flowers bright, another village." We must learn to view problems with reverse thinking. Those who wield reverse thinking well have a keen nose before a crisis arrives, and after a crisis strikes they are free from worry and fear.

There is a classic line in Caigentan (Vegetable Root Discourse): "From favor has ever sprung harm, so when things go smoothly one should turn back early; after defeat one may in fact succeed, so when things go against the heart one should not let go." This too is typical reverse thinking. In peace one must think of danger; in danger one must also think of peace.

Reverse thinking is not easy; the key lies in stepping back to reflect. One step back merely stills strife; two steps back begin to restore the self; three steps back and only then does one see true insight.

So do not be content merely with "one step back and the sea and sky open up"; only after stepping back three paces can we experience what the Confucians meant by "Being settled, one can be tranquil; being tranquil, one can be at peace; being at peace, one can reflect."

For me personally, this time I may have to step back more than a hundred paces. My fame was only an accident; what I prefer is to explore obscurely in the vertical direction of using Chinese medicine to fight cancer.

My former life was good, with my heart undistracted and little noise. Helplessly, recent events accidentally made me famous, and my public account has gathered far too many followers unrelated to my research direction; I reckon it will take a long time to wash away the irrelevant fans.

Before thinking of advancing, think first of retreating. I also hope that the many readers unconcerned with cancer will do me a favor by unfollowing my public account, and even not adding my work account, restoring to me a quiet corner. Let me keep company with the flowers and plants, play the qin, read books, study medicine, write, and help people.

Starting tomorrow, my public account will return to its former normal state, publishing only dry, tedious, yet practical technical articles for cancer patients and their families.

This public account belongs to me, but even more to them. I know that many patients and their families regard this account as their spiritual home. And all I can do for them is "sometimes to cure, often to help, always to comfort."

I cannot remain away from my duties for too long.