The Worldly Is Not Vulgar, and Common Sense Is Not Common

Ideas make people weak; instinct makes them strong.

— Zhang Xianliang

After living through some of life's partings and deaths, I have come to love this saying of Zhang Xianliang's. It has cured me of my various "mental ailments" and moved me from idealism toward a worldly outlook.

These years I have dealt most of all with cancer patients; my own mother was one of them. In the final stage of life, almost everyone can shed their disguises and confront life as it truly is. Had the grief of losing long-known cancer patients not cut so deep, I would be perfectly happy to live among cancer patients all my days—to treat them, befriend them, talk with them. These are people who live by instinct; survival is an urgent need for them, and relieving the fear of approaching death is an urgent need too. They are among those who most need compassion, and among those most capable of it; because they share in life's suffering, they cannot bear to stand by when others suffer.

Zhang Xianliang, a man of scholarly family, after living through the great famine, cast aside the reflective, refined life he had once loved and chose to live by instinct. Ordinary people are at peace; it is the sages who disturb themselves. In a sense, the thinkers and religionists who call themselves sages have done far more harm to this world than ordinary people. As Laozi says: "Heaven and earth treat the ten thousand things as straw dogs; the sages treat the common people as straw dogs." The ideal states the sages preach, once taken up by fanatical leaders, have often ignited wars, and the people have become sacrifices to the sages' ideas.

There is a Western proverb: common sense is not common. Some pure religionists and some perfectionist thinkers ignore this reality; they try to remake the world into the ideal realm of their dreams. The Pure Land of Buddhism, the Kingdom of Heaven of Christianity, the "high antiquity" longed for by ancient Chinese philosophers—all carry an idealism alien to the mundane. In their eyes, worldly life and the people who live in it are stained with a thick vulgarity.

In Beijing I have met young people especially longing for an idyllic life; most of them grew up in cities and have never done farm work. Before I was eighteen, studying in my hometown, I had to work the fields during winter and summer vacations—and even during the farming holidays.

I know firsthand how hard agricultural labor is. If I went back to the countryside for a holiday, or, having both money and leisure, grew some vegetables and did light farm work for comfort, that would be fine. But if I truly had to return to a life of plowing and reading, farming to feed myself, I could not do it. Of course, with modern machinery, being a rancher is a different matter. As far as I know, those young people who dream of pastoral life, once they take up heavy physical labor, basically never want to be farmers again.

The ordinary world, though imperfect, is far more real than the "sages'" ideal state. The common people I have met seem more lovable than the thinkers I have met. They live by instinct; in dealing with others, most follow the basic principles of good and evil. An ordinary person goes through life without ever entertaining the thought of remaking the world or interfering with others' lives; they know how to get along with their neighbors. Kindness, deference, courtesy—these commonplaces are deeply stamped on their daily lives. Though they can sometimes seem a little worldly, most of the time they are endearing. They live by common sense: making a living, raising a family, treating people kindly, supporting themselves, being industrious and frugal.

Such people constitute the great majority. There was a time when I was infatuated with all kinds of philosophical works and felt that my wife, who loved ordinary life, was spiritually incompatible with me; I kept trying to remake this first love and life companion whom I had known since my teens. But after going through life experiences similar to Zhang Xianliang's and beginning to reflect on the side effects of ideas, I realized that, in actual words and deeds, I fell far short of my wife, who dislikes discussing ideas and holds religion at arm's length. The industriousness, practicality and kindness she possesses flow from her instinct. With these, one has enough to live a life answerable to heaven and earth. From a perfectionist standpoint she certainly has room for improvement, but those very areas are evidently at odds with basic human instinct.

I still take an interest in ideas and religion, but my attitude toward them is far less ardent than it used to be. I even avoid most religionists and thinkers, steering clear of too much exchange with them. The perfectionist streak in such people is rather uncomfortable. Deep down, they are always trying to remake others and the world, to bring everything in line with the standards they approve; they believe they are doing good, fulfilling the social duty of a human being. Schopenhauer said that the most painful thing in the world is for someone to insist on altering our own will. I heartily agree. Perfectionists are the most lacking in tolerance. I unfortunately am one of them; now I am trying to learn from Mr. Wang Xiaobo to confine the object of my "salvation" to myself alone, and avoid interfering with anyone else.

None of mankind's ideal-state models has ever succeeded, or ever can. An ideal state built on perfect character can exist only in the fantasies of idealists, because the great majority of ordinary people cannot possess the "perfect character" the sages expect. A worldly society is far more tolerant than an ideal state; the demands idealism makes on human nature are too harsh.

Compared with the Industrial and Technological Revolutions, intellectual emancipation has brought far more happiness to humankind. Harsh standards may be applied to oneself, but not to others. In getting along with one another and with nature, human beings spontaneously restrain themselves to avoid excessive harm; this is an innate survival wisdom. To push such self-restraint to the extreme, into dogma that violates human nature, is to ask too much.

What is especially disappointing is that some thinkers or religionists cannot even keep the own precepts they have made; then they quibble to justify their conduct. Some thinkers or religionists, when their theories cannot square with themselves, resort to sophistry to prove their beliefs correct. What they are playing, to onlookers, is a rather pointless word game; yet they themselves are addicted to it, practicing the deception of covering one's ears while stealing a bell. The straight mind itself is the place of practice; common sense is the most solid truth. A sincere person does not enjoy word games.

Building a worldly society better—ensuring people have enough to eat when hungry, medical care when ill, security in old age, and that everyone's freedom and basic human rights are defended—is more realistic and more meaningful than building mankind into an ideal state. I certainly do not deny the value of idealism, nor do I disrespect the personal beliefs and life choices of idealists. But idealism can only live among small groups; it cannot extend to the multitude. Meanwhile, the sages who espouse idealism presumably also need to eat their fill, keep warm, and live the life of ordinary people.

To acknowledge the worldly, accept it, tolerate it, follow the common order, support oneself, live in reality, and reserve one's idealism solely for self-discipline—that is now my demand of myself.