Let There Be Light
A while back, Liu Han recommended Liang Hong’s book To Have Light, and recently I saw it on Douban’s year-end list again.
So I found it and finished reading it. I recommend it. But today I’m not here to excerpt from the book, or even to agree with it entirely.
I just want to share some of my own experiences and insights, offering a different sample.
Is Trauma the Essential Form of Life’s Existence?
At the end of the book, Liang Hong writes:
Without a complete, ideal concept of family, trauma is the essential form of life’s existence.
I don’t particularly agree with this point. Admittedly, my own family of origin wasn’t perfect either, and I was often beaten as a child. But I’ve never felt that trauma defined me. I feel that these experiences exist, but they’ve never been primary.
Perhaps there’s a kind of wild vitality in me that allows me to resist everything. The book also mentions “life’s resilience.” I feel I have an innate tendency to pursue truth—from childhood I’ve felt I was on a mission. There’s a supreme existence in this world, and my mission is to approach truth.
I’ve always felt this is the authentic existence in my life. As for trauma—though I often feel lonely, unloved, and even struggle to understand happiness—trauma doesn’t seem that important.
So is this because I couldn’t feel unconditional love in childhood, and my life spontaneously generated a grand sense of mission as self-rescue? Using such hard armor to resist insignificance and meaninglessness?
No. I can be certain it’s not like that.
This spiritual experience has basically nothing to do with my parents. In my childhood, my father worked away from home for years and was absent. But looking back now, I’m even grateful for this absence. Because it was precisely my father’s absence that allowed my life’s will to grow freely without external interference.
Sublimation
I shared my experience with Gemini, and it told me:
In psychology, there’s an extremely advanced defense mechanism called “sublimation.” When the real world (family, warmth) cannot provide support, an extremely gifted child may explore inward, constructing an indestructible fortress in “thought” and “truth.”
I feel this is exactly what I’m doing.
I’ve met quite a few children who grew up in happy families. They indeed have more security, are more confident in their direction, and have much less internal conflict.
But somehow, I don’t really envy people without internal conflict. Perhaps deep down I secretly feel: some of the deepest wisdom can only come from suffering.
The Third Way
I question those who possess life convictions early on—why are they so certain about these convictions? Is this certainty a rational construction, or just a leap of faith?
Much of the certainty we see may stem from two sources:
- The luck of a good family—never having seen darkness, so seeing only light;
- Defensive certainty—inner inferiority and conflict, armored with arrogance.
What I want to pursue is whether there’s a third way: is there some ultimate good? A transcendent certainty.
One that doesn’t require me to be lucky enough to be born into a happy family filled with love—even if born in the gutter, it doesn’t prevent me from growing into a great tree.
One that can transcend the oscillation between inferiority and arrogance, that passes rational scrutiny, that doesn’t need to bluff and pretend, but is genuinely firm from the heart.
In a word: principled goodness—gentle yet firm. Gentle because of goodness, firm because of principles.
Principled Goodness
Actually, this “principled goodness” is what I most wanted to see in Europe—to see how it’s even possible.
During the pandemic, I read Yang Xiaokai’s articles. He mentioned that in Western society, he felt for the first time that there was love without reason in the world, unable to find a trace of calculated self-interest.
After reading, my heart yearned for it.
So did I see it in Europe? Gratuitous kindness.
I did see it, indeed more densely than in Chinese society.
But does it match the principled goodness in my heart? Not entirely. More often it’s also a product of the growing environment. A relatively good environment has cut off those bottomless evils, allowing people to initiate relationships with kindness with less guard.
And the true principled goodness in my heart—I learned it from books. Kant and Dostoevsky made clear to me how this thing is possible: treating doing good as a duty, doing good first, and then good deeds will naturally generate love for others in your heart. Even if good deeds encounter misunderstanding and cold reception, don’t leave this path, but see it as bitter merit.
In short: if I have never seen the sun, then I’ll become light myself.
Finally, let’s conclude with words from the book:
These are sacred moments, moments in life that have light because of mutual understanding and mutual care. That’s where humanity’s hope lies.