Recently, I’ve been reading “傅佩荣的西方哲学课” (Fu Peirong’s Western Philosophy Course) and have completed about 10% of the first round. At this pace, it feels like it will take half a year to finish, but I’m reading carefully and gaining a lot.

I had long heard that Steve Jobs was willing to trade his lifetime of technological achievements and wealth for an afternoon with the philosopher Socrates.

Initially, my understanding was simply that both Socrates and Jobs were remarkable figures, and Jobs believed he could extract valuable insights from Socrates.

Since beginning my exploration of the realm of cognition, many fragmented insights have accumulated. Now, within this philosophical system, I’ve finally found solace. It turns out that the various problems I’ve encountered were also faced by philosophers two thousand years ago.

Human nature largely involves trying to prove one’s own ideas are correct. Discovering like-minded individuals inevitably leads to a feeling of profound connection, like meeting a long-lost friend after a thousand cups of wine. Such encounters are rare, leading to sighs of感慨 (gǎnkǎi, sighs of feeling).

For example, reading about Socrates’s death, I was shocked to learn that he chose to face death to uphold the law. This transcendence of life and death is truly astonishing.

This finally helped me understand why Jobs was willing to give up his entire fortune for a conversation with him.

For instance, while reading about Heraclitus, I discovered his belief that logic underlies everything in the world.

This happens to be an insight I’ve recently gained, and I was deeply moved to find that these ancestors had already pointed in this direction.

These philosophers often couldn’t escape studying theology. One often hears that philosophy has its roots in theology.

However, this “theology” isn’t the “ghosts and spirits” we commonly understand. In my view, it’s akin to “神即道，道法自然” (shén jí dào, dào fǎ zìrán - God is the Tao, the Tao follows nature), the natural laws governing the universe.

Understanding the world ultimately boils down to one’s worldview—认知 (rènzhī, cognition) is simply the cognition of one’s worldview.

This is another conclusion I’ve recently reached, and it resonates deeply.

Philosophy pursues a “low-profile attitude towards life”—peace, tranquility, and balance.

This has always been the state of mind I’ve sought, an inner equilibrium that has eluded me for so long. Thankfully, the path of philosophy offers some consolation.

Descartes said, “Everyone should, at least once in their life, doubt everything that can be doubted.”

I interpret this as a kind of “rebirth,” a transformation from sensibility to rationality, a process of metamorphosis for being human.

Confucius said: “朝闻道，夕死可矣” (zhāo wén dào, xī sǐ kě yǐ - If I hear the Tao in the morning, I can die content at dusk).

Abstraction

Recently, during a training session with new colleagues, I observed a common pattern: many people tend to take notes by writing everything down, attempting to capture every word they hear or every task they perform.

The result? It’s challenging to identify the key points from such notes, and even harder to clearly recount the main ideas.

One effective method to practice is continuously refining, abstracting, and categorizing your outputs.

Coincidentally, I came across “Fu Peirong’s Western Philosophy Lectures,” where he discusses three levels of abstraction:

1. Physical Abstraction
2. Mathematical Abstraction
3. Metaphysical Abstraction

These levels of abstraction reflect a transition from reality to consciousness, from the objective to the subjective.

Physical Abstraction

Physical abstraction involves stripping away the physical characteristics and specific details of an object.

For example, when you say, “I see a car,” you recognize it as a car even though no two cars are identical. This recognition implies that you’ve abstracted its individual physical traits. In other words, physical abstraction is an innate function of human reason.

A child looking at a lion’s picture in a book might think it resembles a cat due to its size in the image. However, upon seeing a real lion at the zoo, they instantly recognize it as a lion. This capacity to abstract allows them to move beyond the specifics of what they see. Without physical abstraction, we would only perceive individual and unique instances without grasping the universal concept behind them.

This kind of abstraction is what enables us to “see through phenomena to understand essence.” It’s the foundation of holistic, macro, and systemic thinking. When we talk about humanity, we are not referring to a specific individual but to a universal concept.

Mathematical Abstraction

Mathematical abstraction, often expressed through the concept of mathematical modeling, is a way to represent the physical world through algebra and geometry. Examples include the binary representation (0/1) in computers, the minimalist art of traditional landscape paintings, and simplified geometric designs.

This form of abstraction allows us to simplify the complexity of the world into quantifiable and analyzable representations.

Metaphysical Abstraction

Metaphysical abstraction goes a step further. It doesn’t ask, “What is this?” or “Can it be calculated?” Instead, it asks, “Does it exist?” Anything that exists is treated equally—whether it’s a table, the sun, the moon, or a house.

Aristotle described metaphysics as “viewing beings as beings.” In this perspective, we ignore specific attributes, such as whether something is an apple or a sphere, and focus solely on its existence.

The Power of Abstraction

Each level of abstraction represents an elevation in perspective. As the dimensionality increases, the compression of information becomes greater—more concise yet encompassing a broader scope of meaning. This is often what we overlook when taking notes.

The ability to extract and refine abstractions enables us to grasp the essence and key points of phenomena, allowing us to infer universal truths. By honing this skill, we can better understand the world and navigate complex ideas with clarity.

On Logic: A Primer

We always aspire to see through the essence of things, to understand the underlying principles. Because only by understanding these principles can we know how to respond effectively.

But what is the essence of things? A key factor is logic.

The word “logic” originates from ancient Greece, transliterated as “logos,” originally meaning thought, reason, law, word, etc. It represents the rules of thinking and studies the forms and laws of thought.

Two preconditions exist here:

• What is “thought”? We’ll simply define it as a series of reactions from objective reality to the subjective human brain.
• Does language lose information when expressing logic? The answer is potentially yes.

We’ll initially assume that language can express logic itself as completely as possible. Some argue that logic cannot exist independently of language. We won’t delve into that debate now, as there’s a specialized field of study for this: Logic, Grammar, and Rhetoric.

More than 2,000 years ago, the Greek philosopher Heraclitus expressed that logos is the hidden law behind the unity of opposites.

The so-called unity of opposites simply means that opposing things need each other, are inseparable, and transform into a unified whole.

He believed that even all the changes in the universe follow certain laws, and this force is logos, the law behind the unity of opposites.

Since we became sensible, during our student years, and after we started working, we have often heard that logical thinking is very important. But we often mistake experience for logic. True logic is worth scrutinizing and can be debated.

Two main logical methods exist: induction and deduction. However, both methods have inherent problems and need to be used in conjunction.

An example of induction is the black swan event:

Before the 17th century, Europeans believed all swans were white. But with the discovery of black swans in Australia, this unshakable belief instantly collapsed.

Because they had only ever seen white swans, they assumed that only white swans existed in the world.

A classic example of deduction is this syllogism:

All men are mortal. Socrates is a man. Therefore, Socrates is mortal.

The reasoning process is sound, but the premise can be problematic. What if someone is immortal? The statement “all men are mortal” is based on our current cognitive experience. Or, what if Socrates possesses all the characteristics of a human, but also has attributes beyond our human understanding—what if he was an alien? Even if the deductive process is perfectly accurate, the conclusion might become meaningless.

Consider this: don’t we often make similar mistakes in our daily lives?

If A succeeded by doing X and B succeeded by doing X, then we will also succeed if we do X, right?

Are the words of experts, bosses, and influential figures always correct?

Often, in addition to our hard work and abilities, luck can also play a role in our success, but this factor is often overlooked. And a certain successful experience may become the very cause of a future failure.

Many laws exist in this world, which, based on current scientific understanding, are correct and can be used as references. Based on these laws, we can continuously examine and question many daily issues until we reach “first principles” that cannot be further deconstructed, such as: the law of increasing entropy, the law of conservation of energy, and Newton’s laws in the macroscopic world.

Let’s reconsider what logic is. Logic is the law governing our thought processes.

Of course, the term “logic” has several common meanings in our daily lives:

1. It represents the laws of interconnectedness and development of objective things, as well as the laws of human thinking that reflect these laws. For example, “the logic of things.”
2. It represents a particular theory, viewpoint, or way of looking at things. For example, “His logic in handling affairs is difficult for us to understand.”
3. It represents the science that studies the forms and laws of correct thinking, namely formal logic and dialectical logic. Usually, it is used to refer to formal logic. This is what we often refer to as “formal logic.”

So, what does formal logic study? What kind of science is it? Why should we study it?… Only after having a relatively systematic understanding of this science can we fully understand these questions.

More than 3,000 years ago, three inscriptions were carved at the entrance of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi in Greece:

• Know thyself. (ΓΝΩΘΙ ΣΑΥΤΟΝ)
• Nothing in excess. (ΜΗΔΕΝ ΑΓΑΝ)
• Surety brings ruin. (ΕΓΓΥΑ, ΠΑΡΑ ΔΑΤΗ)

The Delphic maxims were considered the spiritual pillars of the Greeks and are sometimes attributed to Socrates.

Socrates believed himself to be ignorant. This “ignorance” meant being wary of authoritative conclusions and maintaining a skeptical mindset. However, the “divine” oracle (here, “divine” refers to the words of the oracle conveyed by the temple priests) proclaimed that no one was wiser than him.

To verify his own “ignorance,” he specifically sought out three types of people:

1. Political figures who led the city-state;
2. Writers with many followers;
3. Artisans with professional skills.

He ultimately discovered that while these individuals might have been outstanding in their respective fields, this often led them to believe they were exceptionally clever, omniscient, and prone to expressing opinions—even influencing others—on various other matters.

Socrates’ final conclusion was: the divine oracle said I am wise, perhaps because I know that I am ignorant; others are just as ignorant as I am, but they think they know, believing themselves superior to others even in matters outside their expertise.

In youth, we possess a natural ignorance of the world, which leads to blind confidence or even arrogance. However, with accumulated experience and broadened horizons through reading, we increasingly realize our true ignorance. This “ignorance” is a sense of awe towards the universe, a humility in perceiving our own insignificance—merely a grain of sand in the vast ocean.

It’s difficult for people to have a clear understanding of themselves. Firstly, many people may need a long time to genuinely consider self-reflection and introspection. Secondly, even if they begin self-discovery, they may not truly understand themselves. This process, in my view, accompanies a person throughout their life.

As an ancient saying goes, “A person’s true worth lies in self-awareness,” originating from the Tao Te Ching: “Knowing others is wisdom, knowing oneself is enlightenment.”

This reminds me of Ding Yuanying’s knowledgeable ignorance towards Xiao Dan, which I deeply admire.

In life and work, we should trust professionals but also dare to be critical. The same applies to reading: to believe everything written in books is worse than not reading at all.

Diversity is Essential

After rewatching an episode of “圆桌派·尹烨” (Yuanzhuopai - Round Table Talk with Yin Ye) today, I wanted to share one particularly insightful perspective:

“Species must maintain sufficient diversity; monoculture or single-polarization is dangerous. Take tomatoes, for example. If only one type of tomato is cultivated globally, with no wild varieties existing, a single virus could wipe out the entire crop.”

There’s a scene in the movie “Interstellar” where vast cornfields are destroyed by a single blight.

Although the human genome has been sequenced, revealing approximately 3 billion base pairs, we still don’t fully understand which base pair controls which trait.

Biodiversity ensures the continuation of species. The selfishness of genes can also imply fragility in resistance. This explains why symbiosis should be the ultimate choice for ecology.

Many drugs and vaccines used to combat diseases are derived from plants and animals. We are fortunate to have this resource.

If humans were the only remaining species, with the biodiversity of plants and animals reduced to a single point, it would spell our own demise.

This same principle applies to human civilization and individuals. If we stubbornly cling to a single, unchanging form of civilization without open-mindedness, tolerance, and a willingness to learn, we will inevitably be eliminated by the times.

Goals

In “The Boss Doesn’t Know Me” (老板不知道的我), it’s mentioned that a manager:

1. Should not let their own goals overshadow everyone else’s goals.
2. Should not let outcome-oriented goals overshadow process-oriented goals.
3. Should not let economic goals overshadow emotional goals.

We often hear that results are everything or that emotions are unimportant in the workplace. Is this true?

I agree with the three goal management principles above, and these are goal management directions that I’ve found particularly worthy of reflection and change in recent years.

Are results important? Absolutely. But ignoring the importance of a fact-based process is, in my opinion, nothing short of irresponsible.

In the internet era 10 years ago, everyone worked incredibly hard, which led to the toxic 996 work culture. We should continuously invest time in learning how to manage time and energy effectively, rather than endlessly competing to extend working hours or engaging in ineffective work.

Many things cannot be resolved well within a fixed timeframe. We must treat people as human beings, consider human nature, be realistic, take circumstances into account, and continuously summarize experiences and iterate on improvements.

In project task management, regardless of whether we use Agile, Scrum, or other methods, I believe the two most important points are:

1. Transparent Feedback: All collaborators should have the right to know the task progress.
2. Capability Estimation: All collaborators should have a good prediction of their own and their collaborators’ capabilities. The closer the prediction is to reality, the better.

If these two points are not handled well, simply pursuing results becomes an endless nightmare, a never-ending vicious cycle.

Over the years, I’ve led teams and run companies. Perhaps it’s because I’m getting older, but I enjoy two things very much: one is chatting with young people, and the other is mentoring new employees, and I’m willing to provide them with a good work and growth environment as much as possible.

Why do I do this? First, I believe that a company is never just one person’s company—not the boss’s, not the middle or senior management’s. A company’s primary goal is to serve customer and user needs. Second, I believe the future belongs to young people, and bosses or senior managers are just roles, guides, or pioneers.

To paraphrase a saying, society belongs to the people.

It’s difficult for newcomers to maintain consistent goals with the team and the company during their growth. This is why OKRs are tiered; the Os at different levels are different, but as long as the top-level O is consistent, there’s no problem.

Finally, are emotions important? We often overlook people’s feelings. If I’m unhappy at work due to insufficient resources, an unfair environment, or other messy things, my input will definitely be greatly reduced. Calming these emotions requires a lot of energy and could even become a hidden time bomb in the long run.

We always consider explicit costs, which are important, but we shouldn’t ignore implicit costs. Often, people are the company’s future, and they can perform at their best and reduce costs when they work and live in a happy and smooth environment.

Companies need to develop, and the future belongs to young people.

While goals are important, the people who achieve them are key. Enabling the right people to achieve goals to the best of their abilities is the real key.

An Era Continues

Recently, whether through reading or watching videos, I’ve felt strongly that the problems we face and are trying to solve today were encountered and explored by our ancestors hundreds or thousands of years ago.

In Thirteen Invitations (十三邀) featuring Zhong Shuhua (锺叔河), he made a point that resonates:

“The works from a century ago represent the continuation of our human progress. That process has not ended, nor has it reached a perfect conclusion. It will never have an end. Some of their past troubles, explorations, and hesitations still have direct significance for us today.”

One of the benefits of reading is the ability to travel through time and communicate with people from different eras—a truly magical experience.

The fact that knowledge and wisdom from centuries or millennia past can be passed down is perhaps a blessing of human civilization, made possible by written language.

Sometimes, I feel a sense of sorrow. While the internet solves the problem of information silos, it also generates countless information noise.

How do we filter and efficiently learn valuable knowledge? How do we share and benefit from excellent knowledge?

For a moment, I yearned to be in the era of the Hundred Schools of Thought, the time of Socrates, the Renaissance, the age of Einstein, the late Qing Dynasty and early Republican era, or the time of the Red Revolution. I wanted to see how the great figures of those times thought and made decisions. It feels like people in those eras had an endless spirit of exploration, a sense of responsibility, a sense of duty, and a sense of belief.

Effie, the author of Getting to the Point (直击本质), wrote in the preface: “Use what once saved you to save the world.”

What is life? What is death? Perhaps only by truly understanding the meaning of life, the meaning of being alive, can one realize that they are truly living and feel the vitality that comes with it.

It’s not about you saving the world. It seems that it is always the tiny human beings themselves who need to be saved. If this world truly becomes ill one day, I hope that when someone stands up, that someone can be you.

“Heavenly Way and Knowing”

After finishing “The Heavenly Way,” I stumbled upon an interpretation of Zhuangzi’s “Zhi Bei You” (Knowing North Wanderings). The allegory goes something like this:

A character named Zhi asks Wu Wei Wei how one can achieve “knowing,” “peace in the Way,” or “attaining the Way.” Wu Wei Wei doesn’t answer. Then, Zhi turns to Kuang Qu, who claims to know but stops short of speaking. Finally, Zhi consults Huangdi (the Yellow Emperor), who tells Zhi: Wu Wei Wei truly knows, Kuang Qu is close, but neither you nor I can fully attain the Way.

The line in The Heavenly Way, “You know yourself, and thus you are not yourself,” likely originates from this passage: “He who knows speaks not; he who speaks knows not.” Similarly, Ding’s superior insight over Rui in The Heavenly Way parallels this allegory.

The Layers of “Knowing”

When I first read “Zhi Bei You,” the concept of “knowing” gave me pause. Searching further, I discovered that “knowing” has five interpretations in classical texts:

1. Understanding the principles of Heaven and Earth, divine and human affairs.
2. Recognizing the path or road.
3. Gaining awareness or comprehension of things.
4. Administrative language in official documents, akin to acknowledgment or notification.
5. Referring to something formidable or impressive.

This made me reflect on how we casually use the word “know” in daily life. Do we truly know what we claim to know? Or is it merely a habitual expression akin to “heard,” “received,” “seen”? Have we truly grasped the essence—the Dao?

On the “Way” and Its Pursuit

Whether one achieves “peace in the Way” or “attains the Way” seems less significant. For someone like me, once the door to this inquiry opens, the pursuit of the Dao becomes an endless journey. As Zhuangzi suggests, we are unlikely to fully achieve it.

Years ago, I read about the three stages of Zen in perceiving mountains and rivers:

1. Seeing a mountain as a mountain, and water as water.
2. Seeing a mountain as no longer a mountain, and water as no longer water.
3. Finally, seeing a mountain as a mountain again, and water as water again.

I struggled to grasp the third stage, let alone reach it. In hindsight, the highest state might simply be this: absolute naturalness, free from artifice, entirely unattainable—and yet, therein lies the essence.

“Heavenly Way and Realms”

Today, I finished watching The Heavenly Way. Revisiting it brought me to tears during two profound scenes:

The first scene is when Rui Xiaodan decides not to pursue law school but instead to write novels. She asks Ding Yuanying three questions, and he answers each of them. Rui explains that when she chooses to express “cultural attributes” through novels and art, she feels an endless drive. Ding raises a toast to Rui’s “awakening,” and I was deeply moved by this moment.

The second scene is after Rui’s sacrifice. Ding, looking at her photo, says, “To live when it is time to live, to die when it is time to die. Come and go freely. Girl, remarkable indeed.” That “remarkable indeed” broke me completely.

Ding once told Rui that her realm surpassed his own. Rui didn’t understand and thought Ding was deliberately elevating her. But Ding genuinely believed Rui’s state of being was beyond his reach. Ding sought to live with clarity, yet struggled; Rui lived with spontaneity and ease.

Ding could understand Rui, and Rui could understand Ding.

Ding once said two enigmatic lines to Rui: “You don’t know yourself, so you are yourself. If you knew yourself, you wouldn’t be yourself.” Rui never fully grasped the meaning, but she didn’t need to. It was precisely because of this unknowing that Rui remained herself.

In The Heavenly Way, Ding is portrayed as someone who has seen through cultural attributes and human nature—a person who has “attained the Way.” Yet, there is a sorrowful truth: some spend their entire lives navigating twists and turns, struggling to grasp the Way, only to find it elusive. Others, like Rui, seem to embody the Way effortlessly. Ding is the former; Rui, the latter.

Some people circle back to a place where mountains are mountains and waters are waters. Others see mountains as mountains and waters as waters from the very beginning.

Unattainable.

Having a profound understanding of oneself is essential, as is living authentically. Many pursue the idea of “living as oneself,” while others simply live as themselves.

Be yourself.

In the TV series “Tian Dao” (天道, literally “The Way of Heaven”), there’s a dialogue that resonated with me deeply during a recent rewatch:

丁元英 (Ding Yuanying) says: “There are three levels of perspective on society: technology, systems, and culture. Whether it’s an individual or a nation, their destiny ultimately stems from their cultural attributes. A strong culture creates strong individuals, while a weak culture creates weak individuals. This is a law, a ‘Way of Heaven’, that cannot be shifted by human will.”

“A strong culture follows the laws of things, while a weak culture relies on expectations of moral exceptions from the strong, hoping for a savior. A strong culture’s essence is like a ‘secret manual’ in martial arts, while a weak culture, being easy to learn, understand, and use, becomes the popular choice.”

芮小丹 (Rui Xiaodan) asks: “I understand a little from the words, but what’s the use of knowing this? How do we apply it?”

丁元英 (Ding Yuanying) replies: “Uselessness is precisely its use.” (无所用，无所不用 - wú suǒ yòng, wú suǒ bù yòng)

This concept of “uselessness is precisely its use” provided a perfect answer to the intellectual bottleneck I’d been experiencing.

Let’s first discuss “Tian Dao,” which represents the inherent laws I’ve been seeking, things that operate independently of human will—laws, ways of thinking, and various other phenomena.

Through extensive exploration, I’ve affirmed and embraced the underlying power of “Formal Logic” and the worldview of “Marxist Philosophy.”

After establishing logic and Marxism as fundamental driving forces, I felt a sense of confusion for several days. Perhaps it was the relief of finally finding an answer after a long search, or perhaps it was reaching a temporary destination.

Even with understanding the form, the specific content still requires breakthroughs. I pondered whether to continue researching specific details, but given the vastness of the world, even with immense curiosity and energy, one would eventually become exhausted. This realization led to a moment of boredom and powerlessness, even a loss of direction, possibly exacerbated by the prolonged lockdown in Shanghai.

My confusion stemmed from the seemingly metaphysical nature of these concepts, their apparent inability to solve practical problems like food, clothing, and shelter. I couldn’t help but ask: What can logic and philosophy offer us?

Rui Xiaodan also raised this excellent question: “What’s the use?”

“Uselessness” seems to imply a lack of practical application, but the following phrase, “is precisely its use,” encapsulates what I’ve always believed, though without firm conviction.

The boundary of “is precisely its use” lies in the fact that logic and Marxism can be applied to every aspect of daily life and work.

I mentioned to a friend that I feel like I’ve finally grasped something important in my thirties—fortunate indeed.

Looking back, “Tian Dao” provided a clear answer. The answer was perhaps already within me, but I needed a reason to believe in it and persevere.

An interesting question arises: Why do humans seek meaning in so many things they do? Is this meaning truly that important?

Even now, I don’t know the answer, but for me, it’s crucial to understand the “why” behind many things.

“Uselessness is precisely its use” represents simplicity in its highest form. Achieving seemingly simple things is incredibly difficult, while complex things can actually be simple, only complicated by the unknown or by our perception of them.

Lao Tzu said: “Act without acting, and there is nothing that is not done.” (无为而无不为 - wú wéi ér wú bù wéi)

By aligning with “Tian Dao,” being pragmatic, and seeing the cause and effect, we avoid blindly following existing paths.