The Alchemist

Paulo Coelho's bestseller The Alchemist is an easy read. It is a spiritual novel, telling a story of a shepherd boy named Santiago who pursued his dream of finding the treasure at the Pyramid in Egypt. What happens during his journey from southern Spain to the Pyramid transforms the boy's life, a miraculous alchemical experience. 

The book aims to inspire: We all have our personal dreams, but often we ignore them because either we fear the difficulties to pursue them or we are distracted by other things. If we do take the path instructed by our hearts, we will have great life experiences no matter whether we eventually find the treasure or not.

The book reads like a fable, full of language of spirituality and big-letter words: Personal Legend, the Language of the World, the Soul of the World, Love, etc. Ten years ago, this would have been a perfect book to read, to inspire me to do what I wanted to do. Since I have passed that initiation stage, the book feels less relevant now, and somewhat even dry, didactic, and repetitive. My personal experience says things more visceral and powerful than what a fable offers. Nonetheless, the book does have some insightful lines. Here is one: 

When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.

This is very true. We are often afraid of initiating things different because we think they are difficult. Only to a certain degree. The difficulties are to stop those who only want these things superficially. If you want something badly, nothing can stop you, and actually you will find it not so hard to pursue it anyway. Internal conviction is much more difficult than any external difficulties that you can imagine. 

That is my experience eight years ago - eight years, woo, that is a long time. In late September that year, after more than two years of deliberation and struggling, I eventually decided to make the change, not just at the level of mental entertainment or confiding to a few close friends, but to act definitely - email the professors, talk to the people in the field, etc. It is true that once I did all these, a sign of my wanting it seriously, the whole world conspired to help me. I received lots of positive feedbacks and encouragements; I developed more concrete ideas to make the transition; I even found a person that had similar experiences as me. Three months later, on that unforgettable Saturday morning, I sat together with KC in his office and nailed the matter. That was pretty quick, wasn't it. But I don't want to de-emphasize the difficulty of the process. The difficulty resides, however, not in the process itself, but in the process of convincing myself to follow my heart, to pursue my "Personal Legend." That process is pretty damn hard. 

So in the fifth-year of my last PhD pursuit, my life underwent a drastic and decisive transformation. Now I am in the fifth-year of my current PhD study, reading The Alchemist. If nothing else, the book is reassuring, and elicits a sense of déjà-vu. I was there, like Santiago, taking a journey to pursue my dream. Now I am on the path that I chose, and moving forward to find my "treasure." It is a wonderful feeling.

Sayonara, Ayu san!

I met Ayu san when we both took Allan's course on the history of medicine a few years ago. She was a visiting scholar, doing research on athlete foot. In one section, we discussed a book called Modern Period - how 20th century American women embraced modern hygiene to manage their menstrual cycles. Ayu san said, in a dramatic yet assertive way, that Japanese women have the ability to control their periods. This amazed the American audience. 

And that showed Ayu san's character. She has great interest in, and actually believe in, certain things that we might regard mystical or even superstitious. We have talked about, on multiple occasions, her experiences with psychic readers. The messages she received from them became pivotal guides for her life, especially her personal life. This strong spiritual commitment provided her confidence and reassurance that sustains her life. 

On the surface, Ayu san is one of those achievers, finishing her degree quickly and obtaining one of the most competitive post-docs in Japan. She constantly works, even if she is aware of its caveats. But when I talked to her more, I found her quite an honest and warm person. She is one of my few friends to whom I can confide personal feelings about life, especially love life. She has a clear vision of what she is looking for, a vision gained from her psychic reader. It is a high, and unconventional ideal, maybe too high to be practical. Sometimes I felt conflicted when she asked advice from me. Should I encourage her? Should I recommend she be more realistic? I don't know. I see myself in her. 

"I have to believe in it, right, Yan san? Otherwise, how can I make it happen?"

Something in the past also bothered her - the tragic death of her former advisor. She has been trying to find the reason, but with no avail. In front of death, we all become powerless. This unpleasant memory lingers with Ayu san: underneath her ambitious and assertive face lies a vulnerable and sad heart. 

Ayu san is leaving, going back to Japan. People come and go, very typical of Cambridge culture. Whichever the pathway that Ayu san is taking, I wish her best luck. A person like her - sincere, idealistic, caring, and vulnerable, deserves a good life.

The Masters

CP Snow took over 30 years (1920s-1950s) to write The Masters, a novel on the academic life in an imaginary university in England. The plot is rather simple: The master of an old, prestigious university is about to pass away, so a new master must be elected. Faculty members presented two candidates: Jago, a professor in Humanities who has great ambition, strong social skills, but less of an academic achievement; Crawford, a professor in Science who is an established scholar, yet not as adept in human connections. Written in a first-person narrative in the eyes of one of the faculty, the book delineates the process of the election through a series of negotiations, persuasions, and power struggling. 

Snow is famous for his idea of "two cultures," i.e., the culture of Science and the culture of Humanities in academia. But the book strikes me not by the distinct characteristics of these two cultures but by a shared mentality that defines academic life, or more precisely, academic politics. As the heart of the contentious election lies the ambition, ideal, and self-interest of individuals. Both candidates desired the position badly, and they used all strategies, not always noble, to achieve their goal. The book is not an "exposé" of the dark side of academia, however. It is rather a sober reminder of the importance of social relationships and individual characters in shaping academic life.

In the eyes of Eliot, the narrator, each faculty member involved in this election has his own character. Eliot aligns himself with Jago, the candidate in Humanities. Why? Because Jago prefers self-torment than conceit. Ago is vulnerable in his own eyes. He is proud and diffident at the same time. Maybe at the deepest level, pride and diffidence becomes the same (p204). I resonate with this connection though it is hard to articulate why. Pride comes from within, from an attitude of pursuing something high and noble, with intrinsic values. Diffidence implies connection or comparison to others, how one positions oneself in a social network. We can do things that we feel proud of because they fulfill our moral needs. But that is a self-centered sentiment. Often times we don't experience that pride fully until what we do is socially recognized, or even better, appreciated. But that departs from one's own perspective; we are asking others, often unconsciously, to agree with us that what we think is right and good is actually right and good for everybody. Every time we do a good, unselfish thing, with lots of pride, we plead appreciation from others. Yet we are not sure whether what works within us works interpersonally, so comes lots of diffidence. Can we do things truly altruistic, without considering being paid back, not in material sense, but in a sense of social recognition? Are we all like Jago or Crawford, whose pursuit of mastership evinces their insistence on such a recognition? I don't have the answer. But I want to say this: morality entwines with sociability. I often consider my urge to do good things is self-satisfaction derived from a pure pleasure to be helpful and useful. But how pure is the pleasure if the satisfaction is conditioned and mitigated by the reactions from the helped? What if that person does not say "Thank you?"

Ang Lee at Harvard

People tend to have two kinds of dreams. One is more realistic; the other, dreamy dreams, unlikely achievable in their lifetime. Randy Pausch, in his last lecture, talked about his childhood dreams, most of them were achievable, and he almost checked off the whole list. Almost. Because he did have dreams like becoming a NFL player, a hard one for a university professor. That is a dreamy dream. 

If switching career is my realistic dream, what is my dreamy dream? Probably a film director. A director who can master all kinds of genres, producing films from all corners of the world with a strong independent, creative spirit. Of course, I desire recognition, fame, and box office as well. So I would image that I am a mix of Darren Aronofsky, David Lynch, Hayao Miyazaki, and … Ang Lee. 

If I have to choose one in that dreamland to emulate, Ang Lee is probably my best candidate. I have seen almost all his movies, except a couple of early ones, and often amazed by his extremely diverse cinematography. It is even more amazing for his capacity to interpret Western culture (Sense & Sensibility, Ice Storm, Ride with the Devil) perfectly as an outsider. We don't see this sort of artistic and commercial success duplicated in academic world. Not at all. Can I even think of one scholar, who is from a non-Western background, produce groundbreaking scholarship on Western subject matters? No. The power dynamics is manifest in Western academics: Many Western scholars are great Orientalists, although that term is not used anymore after Edward Said's Orentalism, but not vice versa. If in the era of post-colonialism and post-modernsim, the West do not perceive the non-West as culturally inferior, they might still consider they are historiographically superior. In this sense, Ang Lee's success is almost a miracle. After all, the world of film-making is different from academic world, where language still matters tremendously. Maybe the visual is a more universal, powerful, and communicable language that made Ang Lee the single person who successfully worked against this power dynamics.

Too much on academic jargons. Back to the main topic. Ang Lee, together with his long-time partner James Schamus, came to Harvard to participate in a panel discussion about his films and his film-making experiences. It was an event that aimed to foster conversation between academics and artists. It was a nice attempt, though it is a bit awkward to see scholars offered their interpretations of Ang Lee's films, sometimes closely related to his personal experiences, right in front of the director. Of course Ang Lee was gracious, unassuming, and humble, and agreed with all these interpretations. But he also said something that manifested a clear distinction between a scholar and an artist: the former always analyzes, while the latter does what they feel right. Ang made movies out of his artistic instincts, not out of preoccupied analytical thoughts. In this sense, the philosopher-turned-director Terrence Malick is an exception, but even there we don't know how he produced a film since he rarely talks in public. Ang did say something deeper: We all live in pretense, underneath which hide our deeper, more complex, even disturbing, feelings that we cannot or don't want to explore. Film is one of the most powerful pretenses that allows us to explore our deeper feelings - often unpleasant, and a deeper understanding of ourselves. Making films, for Ang, is self-discovery. The topics and cultural backgrounds of his films are remarkably diverse, but they all connect to this discovery process, a process that resonates with all humanities. To use the cliché, we only understand the world by understanding ourselves. In this sense, the diversity of Ang's cinematography reveals the unfixedness of his own character: Always curious to explore new domains and never settled in one place. Underneath his docile façade lies a rebellious and free spirit.

Probably I will never be a film director, considering the dichotomous mindsets between an artist and a scholar. But Ang Lee's case is inspiring. Similar to Ang's experiences, I am also living between two cultures, and aspire to "step on the cultures of both China and West; wholeheartedly produce works with universal value." (兩腳踏中西文化，一心評宇宙文章 from 林語堂). How to make it work is a far more difficult question. How to balance between two cultural values? How to negotiate with my own tradition? Sometimes I consider myself a person who "travels with my root." (pilfered from Mu Xin 木心) I like that spirit because it nicely merges my individual spirit with my cultural identity. I don't believe in absolute freedom, because absolute freedom means absolute nothingness like what the movie Gravity portrays. Attachment is a fundamental aspect of humanity. What I desire is a "restrained freedom," conditioned by human relationship (family, friends, society). We may say Ang Lee is a genius, but he humbly attributed his success to team work, a spirit undoubtedly cultivated by him and his cultural background. Ang Lee's experiences best showed this: an individual, idiosyncratic indulgence of curiosity and pursuit of self-discovery can only be achieved and sustained by an effective collective support from others. A genius knows how to make the two mutually nourishing. This is no less true for academic success.               

New semester is about to start...

Today is literally the last day of summer. Tomorrow, the new semester starts. I am actually looking forward to it because it means a change of rhythm and style of life. This summer in Boston has been quiet and non-disruptive, and I am glad that I got some work done. The memory of my travels lingered. It took me a while to complete this transition, mainly mentally. Perhaps human mind is wired to gain happiness from anticipation. Before the travels, I did all necessary preparations - learning French, applying for fellowships - to get ready. Now the whole thing is over, so what is the next? This is the after-effect of an exciting experience; I was shrouded by a sense of emptiness and sadness. 

This nostalgic sentiment has been reinforced by what lays in front of me: publish a paper, finish the dissertation, find a job, and what happens after. All these sound daunting and not so much fun as my traveling experience. But I know that I cannot travel forever, just as I cannot be a student forever. I have to move on and find new excitements among new challenges. That is what life about. 

In the upcoming semester, I have three goals to achieve. First, to teach. I have always enjoyed teaching, not only because of its fulfilling process of knowledge transfer but because of the lively human company that it engages. Second, to apply for dissertation completion fellowships. This is another round of preparation. As I said earlier, anticipation is often a nice thing, as it motivates me and gives me hope. Third, to finish the second chapter of my dissertation. I am already excited about it, which is about minerals and alchemy. I hope that the first two chapters of my dissertation will be robust, paving the way for the rest of my writing. 

It will be a busy semester, but not crazily busy. A life in balance is a life that functions well. Early today, I biked on the Minuteman Bikeway again, for relaxation, exercise, and meditation. When I study, I find enjoyment in an interesting story, a stimulating comment, or a thought-provoking perspective. But when I biked on the suburban Boston, I smelled the lush trees, I listened to the raindrops, I looked to the beautiful red dirts on the road. They are another kind of enjoyment, equally indispensable for me.   

Good evening, Spy Pond!

I have been back to Cambridge for almost three weeks.

It took longer than I thought to get resettled because of many miscellaneous things that I need to take care of after I came back. But mentally it is not easy either. I have been traveling in the past whole year. It was an exciting life, packed with activities. I also managed to meet many people especially during my stay in Taiwan. The interactions have been quite pleasant. Now I am back to Boston. I need to adjust to my life in the old days, quiet, regular, and solitary. It is a contrast to my travel life, but I know deep in my heart that as a humanities student, I will spend more days like this than those I spent in the past year. I am not complaining because I am quite all right with a solitary life. It is just that for this time I have been traveling for such a long time, I need a bit more time to get back to my normal life, that is, to establish a routine for my reading and writing. There is a slight sense of loss and loneliness, though, that had lingered with me these days. 

So today I biked to the Minuteman Bikeway, my favorite bike route in Boston. This route almost becomes the counterpart of Nicole Arboretum in Ann Arbor, my spiritual sanatorium. Ah, Nicole Arboretum, I miss you! The Harvard one at Jamaica Plain pales in comparison. But the Minuteman Bikeway is cool. It is almost like biking in the woods, and you have the feeling of entirely being emerged into nature. Each time I see the sunlight penetrating through the tree leaves and imprinting shades of all kinds on the road, I find it touchingly beautiful. When is the last time I saw this? Maybe in southern France last summer? On the way to the Grand Chartreuse? 

Initially I had the plan to just bike to Bedford, a mid-point on the path. Once I arrived there, however, I had the energy to go even further. So I did, and eventually reached the Walden Pond near Concord. This is the second time I biked to the pond, this time with more efficiency. It was quite a ride. Exhausting but worthwhile. I will tell you why. On my way back, I passed the Spy Pond near Arlington. It was already after eight and the sun was gone, but the clouds still had the reflections of the sunlight. It was truly amazing to see those clouds above the serene pond. In the past year, I have seen many beautiful sceneries, but beauty is everything, as long as you have the eyes to see it. Here and now, I found it! Let's hope the moments of beauty in life, like this, will motivate us to move forward and embrace all the challenges and difficulties. 

LJM Impression

It is a pleasure, and an honor, to know LJM.

We have been knowing each other for almost two years. Initially we met at a welcome party at K's house at Harvard. Later I participated in a course he and K co-taught in EALC. We also had several individual meetings that engaged topics both within and beyond academics. He is indeed fascinating to talk with.

Now since I came to Taiwan, I have more opportunities to meet him and his family. He is truly a generous, humble, and caring person, a remarkable teacher and a genuine friend to me. Last night, I went to his place to have a farewell dinner with him, and had a long conversation with him. Most of time, our topics have nothing to do with academics.

LJM talked about how our personal lives tangle with family background, especially our relation with our parents. Our personality is fundamentally shaped by how we were raised, and in his view, we tend to project that onto our relation with our partners, whether we are aware of or not. Marilyn Monroe is a beautiful woman, but she divorced three men in her short life. This possibly results from her constant, sometimes excessive, demand of love and attention from her partners because she did not have it when she was young. She was an orphan. The thought is Freudian, but I reckon the reasoning based on my own experience. I wonder, sometimes, to what degree my own life, especially my emotional life has been influenced by my relation with my parents. Quite a lot, I believe.

Furthermore, LJM talked about scholars in general. He thinks that all scholars in the world are perfectionists, but perfectionists of two groups. That is, the obsessive-compulsive type (强迫型) and the narcissistic type (自恋型). The former has a close-to-impossible standard for their academic achievement, so he/she continues working for that goal without feeling satisfied. The latter feels strongly about self-capacity, and constantly demands others' positive evaluation and applause to reinforce that conviction. The two types work from different directions to achieve perfection: the former from within oneself - he/she may be a bit machinist; the latter from outside - he/she strives for external recognition.

How about myself? I believe that I am a perfectionist, 80%OC, 20%N. For most times, I work for my own sense of fulfillment, even that engages a bit of maconism. Other times, I image situations in which my contributions, often veiled by my humbleness and low-key behavior, are eventually recognized and appreciated by the world. No matter how low-key I am, I believe there is a trace of ambition in me, reflected by a desire for recognition. Ah, the vanity of being a scholar!

I don't know how to handle these sentiments. As a student, I have been enjoying my academic life, especially in the past year of traveling-study(游学). But once I graduate and get a job in the academics, I may understand more what LJM talked about. Everyone has a dark side in himself. And for a scholar, this dark side may manifests in powerful ways precisely because scholars are also alike. Even I perceive myself as a nice and easygoing person, can I survive in this world without revealing my dark side. I still believe there is a possibility of doing that. But only time can tell. I have been hiding in the schools throughout my life, so the test is in front of me. It is a bit scary to look forward, but I have no other ways...

At least I have some role models, like LJM himself.