Psychological Cancer

A co-pilot, driven by severe depression, attempted to take his own life. Yet, in doing so, he crashed the aircraft into a mountain, killing one hundred and fifty innocent people.

The Germanwings Airbus A320 was en route from Spain to Germany. Inside the cockpit, the captain had stepped out, leaving co-pilot Andreas Lubitz alone at the controls. The cramped space of the cockpit suddenly became an absolute prison. Within Lubitz’s mind, an invisible fury screamed silently. He said nothing, but his eyes were cold and resolute. His hands moved swiftly over the buttons, locking the cockpit door tight. The electronic lock clicked—a tiny sound, yet utterly ruthless.

Outside, the captain returned and knocked on the door, his voice still relaxed. "Open up, Lubitz." There was no reply. He knocked harder. Still silence. Instantly, the calm vanished, replaced by panic rising from his feet. "Lubitz! Open the door!" The knocking turned into violent pounding, into desperate screaming. But the cockpit door is designed to withstand any intrusion from outside, and now it slammed shut like the gates of hell.

Meanwhile, Lubitz remained seated, staring toward the Alps as they drew nearer. In his mind, fragments of nameless, formless sadness piled upon one another. It was not because a lover had left, nor because he was unemployed, nor for any reason that could be named. It was a sorrow that formed itself, multiplying like a psychological cancer cell metastasizing within the brain. This sorrow swallowed his reason, transforming a well-trained pilot into a mass murderer. The plane plunged straight into the Écrins peak in the Alps. The impact echoed, and then all fell silent. One hundred and fifty lives, including Lubitz himself, turned to dust.

When the black box data was investigated, the world was stunned. It was not terrorism, nor a technical failure. The sole cause was a mental illness known as "depression." This is what we call "psychological cancer." Like physical cancer, it grows silently and invisibly, undetectable by X-rays or ultrasounds. No doctor found any "tumor" in Lubitz’s brain. Yet that "tumor" had grown large enough to destroy the entire nervous system controlling emotions, turning his life into a tragedy.

"Psychological cancer" is dangerous because it generates sadness without needing a cause. An ordinary person sitting by a river might see a pile of trash floating by and think, "Life is tedious; why are people so careless?" That is a fleeting sadness, which will soon dissolve. But for someone with "psychological cancer," that trash becomes a catalyst for reason to begin "persuading" the self: "Life is already sad, and now people throw garbage into the river; there is truly nothing left to hope for." Then a fishing boat passes by, adding another reason: "People must struggle to survive, killing sentient beings; life is indeed tragic." Sadness piles up, multiplying and feeding itself. There is no one left to love, no specific reason remains, yet sorrow surges like a tsunami, drowning reason.

Psychiatrists have identified this illness. They attempt to use medication like Prozac to "turn off" the sadness. But the price paid is that the brain loses other functions as well. Those who take the medication become numb, dull, losing the capacity to love anyone. It is a cruel trade-off: to end the sadness, one must end the love. Yet, paradoxically, the great compassion of the bodhisattvas—sorrow born from the suffering of sentient beings—is supremely noble. This is sadness arising from infinite love, yet the bodhisattva remains tranquil, quiet, continuing to meditate, smiling, and performing countless acts of merit. These two types of sadness are entirely different: one burns up its owner, while the other uplifts the whole world.

Where does this "psychological cancer" originate? It is also governed by cause and effect (karmic law). The proximate cause may be minor factors, but the root cause, the distant cause, lies in past lives. In previous existences, perhaps we did not beat anyone, but merely performed slight actions that made sentient beings so sad they nearly committed suicide. In this life, we receive the karmic result of depression and baseless sadness. Just as a neighbor looking at us with disdain, or making sarcastic remarks, can trigger our pride and afflictions (kleshas). If we do not know how to apply humble intention, if we do not view ourselves as grass or dust to block these reactions, then "psychological cancer" will develop into a major disease, swallowing our entire life.

The only solution is to stop it right at the seed. For those practicing the Buddha's teachings (Dharma), the first goal is to remain free from afflictions (kleshas). We must maintain peace and tranquility before every issue. We must continuously apply humble intention, imagining ourselves as a lowly servant, eager to serve everyone. Simply visualizing this increases blessings from merit naturally. Two friends start equally, but if one constantly imagines being a "servant," their life gradually succeeds, and everyone loves them wherever they go. The other, forgetting this visualization, sees their life progress only ordinarily.

**The Meaning of the Story**

Depression, or "psychological cancer," is a dangerous mental illness that generates causeless sadness, potentially driving patients to suicide or harming others. The greatest lesson is to stop it right at the seed by keeping the mind peaceful, free from afflictions (kleshas), always applying humble intention, and viewing oneself as grass or dust. Simultaneously, practitioners must understand that the most noble sadness is "great compassion"—the sorrow for the suffering of sentient beings, yet maintaining tranquility and silence.

Compiled from the dharma talk of Venerable Thich Chan Quang