Category Archives: Chinese & East Asian Medicines

Healing Experiences of Vipassanā Practitioners in Contemporary China, Case study 4

This is a case study that is part of a series of linked posts:
Introduction, case 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Case 4: Jiang Hailong

Since May in 2006, Jiang Hailong, a forty-six-year-old civil servant from Fujian Province, had started practicing vipassanā with Goenka’s method for ten years. He attended four ten-day retreats and five eight-day satipaṭṭhāna retreats. Jiang said: “Learning vipassanā can purify the mind and cultivate wisdom. After a car accident in October 2005, I started suffering from headaches all the time. They could not be cured, although I had tried various kinds of treatment in clinics by spending a lot of money.”

Finally, he started practicing vipassanā to help relieve his physical pain in his daily life. He shared with me in a grateful tone: “I practice mindfulness every moment. From my experience, I feel pain in my head if I don’t practice. Yet with moment-to-moment awareness, the headache can be released. I can see clearly the change in the mind and the body. The whole body is composed of waves and particles. They emerge and disappear. I can see the phenomenon clearly during sitting and in my daily life. There is no concept of my arms, legs and head. They are waves only, with the vibration of particles. They arise and fall like bubbles… many bubbles …arise and fall… very quickly.”

Jiang highly recommend the teaching of Goenka. He believes that the teaching can lead to liberation of life and death. “Without awareness, I feel so painful. It is suffering. With awareness, the pain is relieved. Previously I had hatred towards the pain. Progressively the pain and hatred have faded away. A pleasant feeling even sometimes arises. Yet [I remind myself] not to attach to it.”

Jiang highlighted meditators should report to meditation teachers, who would give instructions during interview. Jiang thought that he did not practice well. He said shyly and humbly, “I have never dared to share with anyone about my practice–the experience of impermanence and not-self. But when I report to teacher, he confirmed that he could see it [in a similar way].”

Healing Experiences of Vipassanā Practitioners in Contemporary China, Case study 3

This is a case study that is part of a series of linked posts:
Introduction, case 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Case 3: Xie Mingda

Xie Mingda, in his 40s, was born in Shamen of Fujian Province. With the influence of his parents and relatives, he has had chances of learning Buddhism since he was a child. “I attended some classes of Buddhism, and learned some Chinese Buddhist scriptures, such as The Diamond Sutra. I have a few good friends who have ordained as monks in Chinese Buddhist tradition, and also some in Theravāda tradition. I have been interested in learning scriptures in Theravāda tradition and Pāli language.”

Since 2008 he has attended ten-day vipassanā retreats of Goenka’s method for ten times, twenty-day for once and thirty-day for twice.[i] He has also served ten-day vipassanā retreats ten times as a volunteer helper.[ii] Nowadays he practices meditation for two hours every day. He found that his physical health has improved. His mind has become more balanced and more compassionate.

“I had suffered from Ankylosing Spondylitis, a disease related to immune system. It took me a few minutes to get up from sitting meditation posture. After I insisted to practice regular meditation, my body has been improved a lot. I feel that the body is full of energy after meditation.” However, he emphasized that a right attitude of meditation practice is important. In the beginning of his practice, he hurt his leg as he tried to strive for good results.

Overall, Xie Mingda showed a great sense of gratitude to meditation practice. “[Through practicing meditation, I have experience the sense of impermanence[iii] and not-self.[iv] Comparing with a few years ago, I feel that the sense of self has been reduced.” The benefits of meditation have influenced his mental state. “I work in Futures trading [which renders me a lot of stress.] After practicing vipassanā, the anxiety emotion has been reduced. The mind has become more balanced. I think that my frequent donation also helps.”

[i] See Vipassana Meditation website for details https://www.dhamma.org/

[ii] It is usually called as Dhamma worker (Ch. fagong).

[iii] Ch. wuchang; P. anicca.

[iv] Ch. wuwo; P. anattā.

Healing Experiences of Vipassanā Practitioners in Contemporary China, Case study 2

This is a case study that is part of a series of linked posts:
Introduction, case 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Case 2: Wu Jianhong

After the experience of curing sub-arachnoid hemorrhage, a life-threatening condition in 2013, Wu Jianhong, a 50-year-old civil servant, has changed his lifestyle rigorously. He was still impressed about the shocking moment: “I visited a medical doctor after having a long-term serious headache. After the assessment, I was shocked that when he asked me: ‘Do you have any religious belief? You’d better have one as you cannot do much either office or labour work in future.’ I said I didn’t know that as I have never explored any religions. The doctor said he became a Christian after studying abroad in France and the United States. I said that I was not interested in Christianity. I think that I may be interested in Buddhism.”

Wu then reflected on his previous lifestyle: “I remember that I used to experience mental stress from my office work. And I was quite frustrated about my unsatisfied achievement, such as my financial situation and social status. Then I was pessimistic about many things in my life. And I started some unhealthy habits. For example, I addicted to gambling and drinking. [However,] when I was sick, I thought it was time to understand my life again. I started thinking: why do human beings live with suffering?”

“What are the origins of suffering? … I had never thought about that. I spent most of my time on work, entertainment and drinking. From the book, I remember a quote. ‘The source of suffering is an attachment to self.’ ……When we compare with others [about our achievement], we experience mental stress and suffering…… I finally understand that the cause of suffering is ‘the self’.” Wu Jianhong received a few books about Buddhism before the operation. After returning home from the hospital, he read Heart Sutra and Human Wisdom, a book written by Venerable Jiqun, the abbot of the Xiyuan Monastery in Suzhou. As he knew the great variety in Buddhist practices, he had an idea of exploring a way of practice. From reading The Diamond Sutra[i] and the Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch, he found that meditation was suitable for him. When his body was recovering, Lu visited Xiyuan Monastery to attend his first one day meditation retreat with Mahasī’s vipassanā method. “I remember that when I registered for the activity, I kept a very pious mind. It was so fortunate that I was selected to join the meditation retreat. ……Since then, I have learned to practice mindfulness at the present moment.”

As Jianxi Province is more close to his home, Wu then visited Yunshan Monastery in Jianxi for about three times every year to join seven-day or ten-day vipassanā meditation retreats.(See Fig. 1 and Fig. 2) For example, he first attended seven-day retreat led by Sayadaw U Indaka, a Burmese vipassanā teacher who practices with Chanmyay Sayadaw’s method.[ii] He also explored some books on vipassanā meditation. ‘Venerable Juexing gave me two books: Don’t Look Down on the Defilements and Dhamma Everywhere.[iii] After reading them, I felt that [the practice] is the same as that of Platform Sutra. I have already found my way of practice. I do not need to explore anywhere. I can understand my life.” To him, the practices of the Northern School and the Southern School are the same. “I am willing to learn whatever is beneficial to me…….I will check that whether the practice is about the Fourth Noble Truth, the Eightfold Path and the Twelve Links of Dependent Origination.” He does include the practice of reciting the Buddha’s name of the Pure Land tradition. When he is agitated, he practice meditation. “I calm down myself, and practice observing the breath. There are many ways of practices, for example, bringing awareness to some parts of the body.”

Wu Jianhong has cut off all his habits of gambling, smoking and drinking. Instead of spending time on entertainment, he enjoys practicing Buddhism and meditation. “In daily life I think, if Buddhist practice cannot be brought into daily life, it is difficult for us to survive in this society.” However, most of his family members, including his father, siblings and his wife, misunderstand his big change. “They even slander [me]. Yet I continuously insist [my practice]. Why? It has been greatly beneficial to me, including my body recovery. It support the recovery of my body and mind. I can see the changes. I used to have bad temper. Now I rarely lose my temper.” Despite the existing misunderstanding of Buddhism in the society, Wu does not intend to argue with those people. “I try to do my best about what I need to do. I think it shows how I have changed with Buddhist practice.”

[i] Ch. Jingangjing; Skt. Vajracchedikā-prajñāpāramitā-sūtra

[ii] Sayadaw U Indaka is the disciple of Chanmyay Sayadaw following the lineage of Mahāsi Sayadaw.

[iii] See U Tejaniya 2014.

Healing Experiences of Vipassanā Practitioners in Contemporary China, Case study 1

This is a case study that is part of a series of linked posts:
Introduction, case 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Case 1: Lu Hongji

Lu Hongji, a Chinese medical doctor from Shanxi in his 40s, is who has received benefits from vipassanā meditation of Mahāsi’s method. He started exploring various Buddhist practices, including canhuatou in Chan practice, since 1996. When Pa-Auk Sayadaw visited Guangdong Province in 1999, he became interested in the meditation practices of Theravāda traditions. With the encouragement from a friend who visited Myanmar, he traveled to Myanmar two times. He recalled: “In the first visit I had stayed at the meditation center of Chanmyay Sayadaw for over four months. In 2014 I had spent nearly four months at the meditation center of U Paṇḍita Sayadaw, who is famous for the strict rules for meditation practices. In the beginning I misunderstood that vipassanā was the same as qigong. Only after I have committed to the practice that I can fully understand the method. Now I understand that it is a unique practice. But it is connected with the practice of observing the mind from Chan tradition. I practice walking meditation to reduce the sense of sleepiness before sitting meditation. Each time after serious practice, my body is soften. I can feel the warmth in the abdomen area. The mind has become gradually awake and serene. With right mindfulness, insight developed from vipassanā meditation arise to deal with all kinds of thoughts in the mind. Practicing vipassanā has brought me an experience of great change in my life. For instance, I stop pursuing those materialistic goals which tire me. I am contented with the inner peace at the present moment.”

Lu Hongji emphasized that it is important to learn meditation from an experienced teacher with skillful instruction skills. He said, “A good teacher can guide students to overcome any difficulties during meditation. Meditation can improve physical health. Once I gave meditation instructions to a few young people. The body of a student was weak. While he was practicing sitting or walking meditation, his body moved obviously. Strong reaction during meditation reflects that the body is weak.” He explained that, “[From the perspective of Buddhism], physical movement is a reaction of the wind element. That is also an imbalance of the four elements (the earth element, the water element, the fire element and the wind element). From the perspective of Chinese medicine, practicing meditation gives rise to positive energy (Ch. yangqi). The physical reaction is due to the interaction of the energy and the blocking area in the body.” Although meditation can heal the body, Lu reminded that one cannot strive in meditation practice. Meditators should prepare their body with a balance of four elements before the development of the mind.

Healing Experiences of Vipassanā Practitioners in Contemporary China

This is part of a series of linked posts:
Introduction, case 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

 

Meditation (chan), recognized as one of the key practices in Chinese Buddhism, has in mainland China historically been restricted mainly to monks at Buddhist monasteries. However, there has recently been an increasing number of laypeople learning various satipaṭṭhāna meditation practices from the Theravāda traditions, especially vipassanā derived from Burmese and Thai teachings. Hundreds of people have attended seven-day or ten-day vipassanā retreats in different parts of China. Drawing on interview transcripts from recent fieldwork in mainland China, this chapter focuses on the healing experiences of Han Chinese vipassanā practitioners.

Vipassanā, as it is known today, is largely a product of the modern era. With the influence of colonization and Buddhist modernism in the late nineteenth century in Southeast Asia, various Buddhist meditation practices were modernized. Scholars have identified Ledi Sayadaw (1846-1923) as a key player in the modernization of vipassanā.[i] As a Buddhist scholar and meditation teacher in Burma, Ledi Sayadaw simplified the theoretical underpinnings of meditation (the abhidhamma), and emphasized the cultivation of insight through vipassanā rather than the intensively ascetic mental absorptions known as jhāna. These innovations evoked a massive increase in lay people learning meditation in Burma.

After the independence of Burma in the 1950s, the vipassanā meditation teachings of Mahāsi Sayadaw (1904-1982), and their adaptations by lay teacher Satya Narayan Goenka (1924-2013) have become popular, and have spread to other Asian countries such as Sri Lanka and Thailand.[ii] Since the 1960s, some westerners travelled to Myanmar and Thailand to learn meditation as monastics or lay practitioners. Vipassanā meditation has been spread to Europe and North America by these Western meditators, as well as by Asian monks who have established meditation centers in the West and published meditation manuals in English.

Since the turn of the century, various meditation practices from Theravāda traditions have also been spread to Malaysia, Singapore, Taiwan, Hong Kong, and then mainland China through published books, websites, and travellers.[iii] Some Buddhist monastics and lay people from China have travelled to Southeast Asia to stay at meditation centers for a few months, or even a few years, to learn meditation. After returning to mainland China, some Chinese practitioners have organized retreats, inviting teachers from Myanmar and Thailand to teach vipassanā meditation in China.

In the mainland Chinese context, vipassanā meditation is translated as neiguan chan (lit. “internal contemplation meditation”), which emphasizes the observation of the mind and the body. Among those vipassanā meditation practices transmitted into contemporary Chinese societies, popular teachings include that of Mahāsi Sayadaw and Goenka from Burmese lineages, and the dynamic movement practice of the Thai monk Luang Por Teean. There are currently six vipassanā meditation centers set up offering Goenka’s meditation program across the country,[iv] and one meditation center offering Luang Por Teean’s teachings in Sichuan.[v] Although there is thus far no center dedicated to Mahāsi Sayadaw’s system established in China, a few famous disciples of his, including U Paṇḍita Sayadaw (1921-2016) and Chanmyay Sayadaw (b. 1928) have led retreats in China.

The three systems of meditation have their differences. Mahāsi Sayadaw has highlighted the role of vipassanā in helping the practitioner to overcome suffering by understanding the true nature of body (rūpa) and mind (nāma) as being composed of the Five Aggregates, according to the classic Buddhist doctrine. Unlike Mahāsi Sayādaw, Goenka uses the terminology of modern science. He explains that the mind and body are “nothing, but subtle wavelets of subatomic particles,”[vi] and he highlights vipassanā’s adaptation for modern life as a “secular, universal and scientific technique.”[vii] Unlike both Mahāsi Sayādaw’s and Goenka’s methods, which teach meditators to sit still with closed eyes to attain calmness, Luang Por Teean’s meditators practice rhythmic movements continuously. Keeping their eyes open, they believe that this practice can train the mind to become active, clear, and pure and to realize a state of freedom.

Overall, the transcripts from interviews that are excerpted and translated below will demonstrate that a number of Han Chinese practitioners of vipassanā have claimed to experience significant therapeutic benefits from their meditations. Many experienced practitioners shared that the main cause of suffering is attachment to self and material things in Buddhism. Vipassanā meditation has facilitated them to understand impermanence and not-self through mind-body experiences, so that they can deal with physical pain from their physical illness. The strong moment-to-moment awareness from the meditation practice in daily life can help meditators to reduce the sense of self and attachment to material world. With the right attitude of practice, the mind can cultivate calmness and joy with a balanced mental state. Hence long-term meditators can easily contented with their balanced mental state in daily life. Without a striving mind in the mundane world, one can reduce suffering and unhappiness gradually.

[i] Braun 2013. Burma is used in this chapter to refer to Myanmar before the end of colonization.

[ii] About the influence of the teaching of Mahāsi Sayadaw in Myanmar and Thailand, see Jordt 2007 and Cook 2010 respectively; about the influence of the teaching of Goenka in Burma and Asian countries, see Bond 2003.

[iii] About the development of vipassanā meditation in Taiwan, see Chen 2012; about the development of vipassanā meditation in Hong Kong, see Lau, Ngar-sze. 2014. “Changing Buddhism in Contemporary Chinese Societies, with special reference to meditation and secular mindfulness practices in Hong Kong and Taiwan.” MPhil diss., University of Oxford.

[iv] See the website of Vipassana Meditation centres in mainland China, http://vipassana.sutta.org/

[v] Mahasati Dynamic Meditation Centre, http://www.zndzc.org/

[vi] Hart 1987: 115.

[vii] Goldberg 2014: 79.

FURTHER READING

Bond, George D. 2003.The Contemporary Lay Meditation Movement and Lay Gurus in Sri Lanka.” Religion 33: 23-55.

Braun, Erik. 2013. The birth of insight: meditation, modern Buddhism, and the Burmese monk Ledi Sayadaw. Chicago; London: The University of Chicago Press.

Chen, Chialuen. 2012. “Nanchuan fojiao zaitaiwan difazhan yuyingxiang.” Taiwanese Sociology 24: 155-206.

Cook, Joanna. 2010. Meditation in Modern Buddhism: Renunciation and Change in Thai Monastic Life. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Goldberg, Kory. 2014. “Chapter 3 For the Benefit of Many: S.N. Goenka’s Vipassana Meditation Movement in Canada.” In Flowers on the Rock: Global and Local Buddhisms in Canada, ed. John S. Harding, Victor Sogen Hori, and Alexander Soucy, Montreal & Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press.

Hart, William. 1987. The Art of Living: Vipassana Meditation as Taught by S. N. Goenka. Onalaska: Harper & Row.

Jordt, Ingrid. Burma’s mass lay meditation movement: Buddhism and the cultural construction of power. Athens: Ohio University Press, 2007.

Mahasī, Sayādaw. Dhamma Therapy Revisited: Cases of Healing through Vipassanā Meditation. (Aggacitta Bhikkhu Trans.). Taiping: Sāsanārakkha Buddhist Sanctuary, 2009. (Original work published 1976)

Pagis, Michal. 2009. “Embodied Self-Reflexivity.” Social Psychology Quarterly 72, (3): 265-283.

Schedneck, Brooke. 2015. Thailand’s International Meditation Centers: Tourism and the global commodification of religious practices. Abingdon: Routledge.

U Tejaniya, Sayadaw [Dejianiya Chanshi]. 2014. Bie qingshi fannao [Don’t Look down on the Defilements: They Will Laugh at You]. Translated by Li Mingqiang. Jianxi: Jianxi Buddhist Academy.

———. 2014. Yiqie doushi fa [Dhamma Everywhere]. Translated by Li Mingqiang. Jianxi Buddhist Academy.

GLOSSARY

Abhidhamma     ‘higher teaching’; refers to the collection of commentaries on Buddhist canon

Chan                            (Ch. meditation)

Jhāna                           mental absorption or trance

neiguan chan               (Ch. internal contemplation meditation)

satipaṭṭhāna                 foundations of mindfulness

rūpa                             body; physical component

nāma                            mind; mental components

 

See also: Case Study 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Chinese Medicine Brochure

This flier is designed for waiting rooms and Chinese medical colleges as part of the project to ‘teach the teachers’ i.e. that well educated teachers and practitioners are the best way to communicate latest research into the history of Chinese medicine to the general public. It is envisaged that the same sort of materials could be developed for Yoga, Ayurveda, Unani, Tibetan medicine, etc., and that each set would be edited by a board of IASTAM council/selected members. Ultimately similar material can be re-written for different audiences directly addressing school pupils, patients etc.

Created by Vivienne Lo, with Volker Scheid. Design Akio Morishima.

Download the PDF

YiMovi: traditional Euro-American medical humanities approaches to teaching with Chinese film

YiMovi applies traditional Euro-American medical humanities approaches to teaching with Chinese film.

Medical humanities (MH) was initially concerned with the training of medical practitioners in hospitals and medical schools. Major themes are understanding the patient experience, establishing empathy, medical ethics, the history of concepts of disease and therapies, and medicine and the arts. It is inherently interdisciplinary and commonly uses literature, theatre and the visual arts in participatory ways. In recent years the term Health Humanities has been used to embrace all the ways in which healthcare involves those other than professional medical communities.

YiMovi has emerged through our teaching MH to Chinese students. This has brought up critical points of cultural difference, and has highlighted the unique challenges that the Chinese speaking worlds face. It also brings a critical focus to what have been considered universal rights in healthcare, in death and dying, and medical ethics in general.

The study of medicine in China through film can also offer new insights for the Medical and Health Humanities, through a more intimate engagement with alternative health systems, but also radically different conceptions of state, community and individual. How the body has been used as a site of personal cultivation, social conformity or political contestation is all made visible in film.

www.yimovi.com

Short history of the Chinese term for ‘nerve’

The following is a syndicated post from the blog “Aowen Chinese Medicine 奧文中醫: Chinese medicine in words and pictures,” by Nicolaas Herman Oving (practitioner, translator, and educator in the field of Chinese Medicine). It originally appeared at http://ovingchinesemedicine.com/uncategorized/short-history-on-the-chinese-term-for-nerve/.

I originally wrote this in response to a colleague who suggested that the Chinese term for ‘nerve’, 神經 [shénjīng], implied that the Chinese conceived of this concept as meaning: ‘links of transmission (經) of spirit (神)’. Over the years I have shared it with students and in some discussion groups as well. The feedback I received has encouraged me to correct, expand, and polish it. I also added some illustrations in this new version. I hope you will enjoy it.

I am greatly and gratefully indebted to Hugh Shapiro for his thorough research on this topic.

Introduction

Can we say that the nerves are ‘the links for the transmission of spirit within us’? Is that the way the Chinese saw it when they began to use the term 神經 [shénjīng] for ‘nerve’? When I heard that I had serious doubts, mostly because the Chinese already had an elaborate system of transportation in the body, consisting of channels, vessels, and a network of smaller conduits. I simply could not imagine that when descriptions of the nerve and the nervous system reached China, they thought: “Ah, that’s what was missing, that could be the vehicle for spirit transmission!”

I was prepared to give it the benefit of the doubt, though, and decided to see if there was any evidence for it. The combination of the two characters 神 and 經 by itself (be it very interesting) is not enough for me to believe that it became part of Chinese medical philosophy in the way that my colleague had put it.

I specialize in the Chinese-English terminology of Chinese medicine, a medicine that I have practised as well. Besides my studies in Chinese languages and cultures I have done studies in lexicology and terminology. A brief introduction to what terminology is and how it works in our field of knowledge can be found here.

Of importance for the following is: A term is only a term when it has a definition. A definition describes the concept that is conveyed by the term. When a term is translated into another language, the definition does not change. This principle is a prerequisite for adequate translation and communication in any specific subject field. There is nothing special about it; it is the way knowledge is communicated in this world. Nevertheless, it often is overlooked in one particular field of knowledge, namely Chinese medicine.

 

<Anatomiae amphitheatrvm, Robert Fludd, 1623>

 

So, it is the definition of ‘nerve’ that applies to 神經 and vice versa. There are many ways new terms are formed and for the Chinese terminologies of Chinese medicine and that of biomedicine (a.k.a. Western medicine) there are some specific problems. When the Chinese create new terms for concepts that they did not invent themselves, like ‘nerve’, what they are doing is trying to understand what the foreign term means (by investigating the definition of the concept) and then come up with a term for it in their own language.

If you translate that new word back into the foreign language without taking into account what definition is attached to it, you can come up with something different. And that is what happens when you translate 神經 as ‘spirit transmission’ or ‘lines for the transmission of spirit’, or ‘spirit channel’. Regardless of the problem that both characters have multiple meanings (an ignoramus could say that 神經 means ‘divine menstruation’), what you are doing when you follow this method, is giving a new and different definition to an existing term. And that makes communication in any discipline very difficult if not impossible.

The compound word 神經 [shénjīng] in the meaning ‘nerve’ is interesting because as a term it raises several questions. Imagine a doctor in China who comes into contact with Western anatomy for the first time in history. What would you say they will think? They see drawings of human bodies with lines, read the description of this new concept, and why o why don’t they come up with something like 腦經 ‘brain channel’, 腦氣經 ‘brain qì channel’ or another combination that fits what they read and see?

 

<De humani corporis fabrica, Andreas Vesalius, 1543, Basel>

As an aside:

The word 腦 [nǎo] in Chinese has the same definition as ‘brain’ – like many other anatomical words that were invented in different cultures without intercultural exchange. Think of ‘blood’, ‘heart’, ‘little toe’, ‘nose’, etcetera – all very straightforward terms, because they mean the same for everyone in all cultures and times.

Such questions occupied my brain when I was thinking about what my colleague brought forward, and they motivated me to search for references. And guess what? I found (at least part of) an answer to this intriguing issue that could make it even more intriguing. I have tried to summarize the story.

 

The history

The concept ‘nerve’ was first translated into Chinese by Johann Schreck (1576-1630), a member of the Society of Jesus who, before he sailed to China as a Jesuit missionary, had an impressive reputation in European courts as a gifted healer. Working with a Chinese scribe, he prepared a translation into Chinese of a Latin text in two parts, namely on anatomy & physiology and on perception, sensation, & movement (by Caspar Bauhin, first published in 1597 in Basel).

 

<Theatrum Anatomicum, C. Bauhin, 1605, Frankfurt>

After Schreck had served the Chinese rulers with his knowledge of astronomy (medicine and medical translation were private occupations) for a while he died, and Adam Schall (1592-1666), who had traveled on the same boat as Schreck, found a Chinese scholar, Bi Gongchen, whom Schall asked to translate the text into (more polished) literary Chinese. It was published in a single volume together with a text by Matteo Ricci, one year before the collapse of the Ming dynasty (1644).

In the text, entitled ‘Western Views of the Human Body, an Abbreviated Treatise’ (Taixi renshen shuogai ), ‘nerve’ is translated as 細筋 [xìjīn], which literally translates as ‘fine sinew’. The choice for 筋 ‘sinew’ reflects the understanding of nerves in Europe at that time. ‘Nerve’ and ‘sinew’ were, for instance, used interchangeably in early 17th century texts on anatomy. Also, the Latin ‘nervus’ means ‘bow-string, tendon, sinew’.

 

<Taixi renshen shuogai>

In Schreck’s text nervous function is explained by using the concept of 氣 qi circulation. The ‘fine sinews’ contain qi and no blood, and when they are cut, people lose their ability to move, etc.. The book did not give the Chinese much reason to become interested in an alternate method of healing, and the concept of nerves did not take hold in China until much later.

In Wang Qingren’s Yilin gaicuo (‘Corrections of Errors in the Forest of Medicine’), which after publication in 1830 became one of the most widely read medical texts in China (as it still is today), we find no mention of a term for ‘nerve’. Dr. Wang, however, recorded several anatomical notions that were revolutionary for Chinese medicine and in several ways heralded a period of modernization. For our story it is relevant that he presented anatomical ‘proof’ for what Li Shizhen had claimed in the Bencao gangmu, namely that the brain, and not the heart, was the mansion of the original spirit.

 

<Yilin gaicuo, Wang Qingren>

It was Benjamin Hobson (1816-1873), a medical missionary from England, who instigated renewed attention for the concept of nerve in China. With his text ‘A New Theory of the Body’ (Quanti xinlun, published in 1851) he had considerably more influence than Schreck. In the chapter on the brain and the nervous system, he introduced the term 腦氣筋 [nǎoqìjīn], which literally translates as ‘brain – qi – sinew’, that is, the sinew through which brain qi travels.

 

<Quanti xinlun>

Although China was in the middle of a modernization movement, in the beginning of the 20th century, the concept of the nerve was still not easy for the Chinese to digest. Of the twelve different words that had been invented for ‘nerve’ since the beginning of the 17th century, five made it to the shortlist of a terminology committee meeting held in Shanghai in 1916. The purpose of that meeting was to standardize Chinese terms for numerous scientific concepts coming from the West and biomedicine was the most important subject. The term for ‘nerve’ was debated for over two hours before 腦經 ‘brain channel’ or ‘brain tract’ topped 神經 ‘spirit channel’ by eight votes to seven.

Why did it take 300 years for the concept of nerves to take hold in China?

1. It was not particularly relevant for Chinese medicine.

2. It was associated with the Western notion of ‘volition’. The Greek term for ‘motor nerves’ was, translated literally, ‘capable of choosing, purposive’. The action of nerves was inseparable from exercise of will. In the West, volitional action was a crucial defining feature of identity. For the Chinese, who did not hold such a view of identity, the idea of incorporating nerves into medical theory was not attractive.

 

<Theatrum Anatomicum>

The term 神經 came to China via a different route. It was introduced in 1902 as a translation of the Japanese shinkei, which is written with the same characters. In 1774 it was coined by a Japanese doctor trained in Chinese medicine. He came up with the word after studying a post-Vesalian Dutch text on anatomy.

The story of the Japanese doctor resembles that of Wang Qingren. He went to an execution ground to observe the dissection of a cadaver in order to see whether the illustrations in the Dutch text made sense. When he was convinced that they did, he formed a translation group to study and translate the text, and that text is seen as the seed of biomedicine in Japan. He judged that the Dutch term zenuw (nerve) corresponded with keimyako – 經脈 [jīngmài], channels and vessels, and the term zenuw-vogt (nervous fluid), he argued, pointed to shinki – 神氣 [shénqì].

神氣 in Chinese medicine can mean several things: 1. spirit, vigor 2. In the Neijing, ‘spirit qì’ refers to the spirit, channel qì, right qì, the blood, and the yáng qì of the bowels and viscera. < Practical Dictionary of Chinese Medicine>. It is interesting to note that the Dutch word ‘zenuw’ (nerve) is directly related to the English word ‘sinew’.

Combining 神氣 and 經脈, our Japanese doctor-translator formed the neologism shinkei 神經 which consists of the first part of these two terms. Historians have not found evidence that the Chinese of the early 20th century were aware of the history of the term (namely that qì was part of its original full version), and argue that that is one of the reasons they favoured 腦經 [nǎojīng] as translation of ‘nerve’ in 1916.

Another note is that the word 神經 [shénjīng] already existed in classical Chinese as a designation for a genre of esoteric books. The Japanese shinkei 神經 is a new construction, derived from words unrelated to that classical meaning.

In the text mentioned below Hugh Shapiro asks the important question: Why then, did they eventually adopt the term 神經 [shénjīng] for ‘nerve’? According to Shapiro the reason can be found in the fact that thousands of Chinese trained in Japan and came back to China with Japan’s analysis of biomedicine in their luggage – accompanied by the terminology the Japanese used. Biomedicine (a.k.a. Western medicine) rapidly gained ground as part of the movement in China to modernize and catch up with the West. But more importantly, the Chinese were interested in the pathology of the nerves – a thing that was never described by the Jesuits who introduced the anatomy. And the Japanese doctors instructed the Chinese in nerve pathology as they had translated it from biomedicine.

 

<brain dissection, Japan, 18th century>

The concept of nerves as such did not appeal to the Chinese medical professionals (they didn’t really need it) but when they studied the illness neurasthenia as described by the biomedical literature of that time, they connected it to their understanding of depletion. In fact, neurasthenia, in Japanese shinkei shuijaku and Chinese 神經衰弱 [shénjīng shuāiruò], became much more important in China than in the countries where the idea originated but soon was discarded. Also, the foreign idea of ‘nervousness’ became very common in 20th century China.

Shapiro further argues that this can inform us that the Chinese and Western concepts of emotional and corporeal depletion were rather close, and that this is often overlooked when the differences between the two medical systems are discussed.

I might add that the ideas about several pathologies as described by Wang Qingren in connection to his, for China, rather new and revolutionary ideas about the brain and other anatomical parts, have contributed to the development of a more open view in Chinese medicine towards ‘facts’ instead of rigidly adhering to ‘theories’ only.

 

<Utriusque Cosmi …, Robert Fludd, early 17th century>

Literature

– Hugh Shapiro’s contribution in: ‘Medicine Across Cultures: History and Practice of Medicine in Non-Western Cultures’, a collection of essays edited by Helaine Selin (Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2003)

– Bridie Andrews’ Introduction in Yi Lin Gai Cuo – Correcting the Errors in the Forest of Medicine, and the chapter ‘On Brain Marrow’ in that book (published by Blue Poppy Press, 2007)

see also:

– Marta Hanson’s keynote lecture: Jesuits and Medicine in the Kangxi Court (1662-1722).

 

Pain, poison, and surgery in fouteenth-century China

This is a syndicated post that first appeared at http://recipes.hypotheses.org/9936

By Yi-Li Wu

It’s hard to set a compound fracture when the patient is in so much pain that he won’t let you touch him. For such situations, the Chinese doctor Wei Yilin (1277-1347) recommended giving the patient a dose of “numbing medicine” (ma yao).  This would make him “fall into a stupor,” after which the doctor could carry out the needed surgical procedures: “using a knife to cut open [flesh], or using scissors to cut away the sharp ends of bone.” Numbing medicine was also useful when extracting arrowheads from bones, Wei said, enabling the practitioner to “use iron tongs to pull it out, or use an auger to bore open [the bone] and thus extract it.” More generally, Wei recommended using numbing medicines for all fractures and dislocation, for it would allow the doctor to manipulate the patient’s body at will.

Wei’s preferred numbing medicine was “Wild Aconite Powder” (cao wu san), and he detailed the recipe in his influential compendium, Efficacious Formulas of a Hereditary Medical Family (Shiyi dexiao fang), completed in 1337 and printed by the Imperial Medical Academy of the Yuan dynasty (1271-1368). In his preface, Wei affirmed that medical formulas were the foundation of medicine and that a doctor’s ability to cure depended on his ability to use these tools skillfully. Wei’s family had practiced medicine for five generations, and he synthesized their knowledge with that of other doctors to produce a comprehensive treatise encompassing internal medicine; the diseases of women and children; eye diseases; illnesses of the mouth, teeth, and throat; ulcers and swellings; and diseases caused by invasions of “wind” (ailments with sudden onset, including febrile epidemics and paralytic strokes). Numbing medicine appeared in Wei’s chapters on bone setting and weapon wounds.

Wei’s Wild Aconite Powder is the earliest datable recipe that I have found for surgical anesthesia in a Chinese text, and it is a valuable window onto practices that were largely transmitted orally, whether in medical families or from master to disciple.  Dynastic histories relate that the legendary doctor Hua Tuo (110-207) employed a formula called mafeisan  to render his patients insensible prior to cutting them, even opening up their abdomens to excise rotting flesh and noxious accumulations. Some scholars have hypothesized that mafeisan (literally “hemp-boil-powder) may have contained morphine or cannabis (ma), but its ingredients remain a mystery.  A text attributed to the twelfth-century physician Dou Cai (ca. 1146) recommended using a mixture of powdered cannabis and datura flowers (shan qie zi, also called man tuo luo hua) to put patients to sleep prior to moxibustion treatments, which in this text could involve a hundred or more cones of burning mugwort placed directly on the patient’s skin.  Wei Yilin’s recipe provides important additional textual evidence for a tradition of anesthetic formulas based on toxic plants, one that was clearly in circulation long before he wrote it down.

At least as far back as the Divine Farmer’s Classic of Materia Medica(3rd c.), medical authors had described aconite as highly toxic (for contemporary Roman views of aconite, see blogpost by Molly Jones-Lewis). In the right hands, however, aconite was a powerful drug, and part of the Chinese practice of using poisons to cure (see blogpost by Yan Liu).  Warm and acrid, aconite could drive out pathogenic wind and cold from the body, break up stagnant accumulations, and invigorate the body’s vitalities. In the language of Chinese yin-yang cosmology, it nourished yang—all that was active, heating, external, and ascending. The main aconite root was considered more toxic than the subsidiary roots (designated by the separate name fu zi, “appended offspring”), and the wild form was more potent than the cultivated variety.

Images of toxic medicinal plants from China’s most celebrated pharmacological work, Li Shizhen (1518-93), Compendium of Materia Medica (author’s preface dated 1590). Woodblock edition of 1603. Wild aconite is the middle image in the top row. Cultivated aconite (main and subsidiary roots) are in the bottom right corner. Image credit: National Library of China. Posted on-line at the World Digital Library.
Images of toxic medicinal plants from China’s most celebrated pharmacological work, Li Shizhen (1518-93), Compendium of Materia Medica (author’s preface dated 1590). Woodblock edition of 1603. Wild aconite is the middle image in the top row. Cultivated aconite (main and subsidiary roots) are in the bottom right corner. Image credit: National Library of China. Posted on-line at the World Digital Library.

Wei’s numbing recipe consisted of 13 plant ingredients, including the main roots of both wild and cultivated (Sichuanese) aconite, along with drugs known as good for treating wounds:

Young fruit of the honey locust (zhu yao zao jiao)
Momordica seeds (mu bie zi)
Tripterygium (zi jin pi)
Dahurian angelica (bai zhi)
Pinellia (ban xia)
Lindera (wu yao)
Sichuanese lovage (chuan xiong)
Aralia (tu dang gui)
Sichuanese aconite (chuan wu)
Five taels each[1]

Star anise (bo shang hui xiang)
“Sit-grasp” plant (zuo ru), simmered in wine until hot
Wild aconite (cao wu)
Two taels each

Costus (mu xiang), three mace

Combine the above ingredients. Without pre-roasting, make into a powder. In all cases of crushed or broken or dislocated bones, use two mace, mixed into high quality red liquor.

Wei most likely learned this formula from his great-uncle Zimei, a specialist in bonesetting and wounds. Its local origins are also suggested by its use of zuo ru, literally “sit-grasp”, a toxic plant whose botanical identity is unclear. However, according to the eighteenth-century Gazetteer of Jiangxi (Jiangxi tong zhi), sit-grasp was native to Jiangxi, Wei’s home province, and was used by indigenes to treat injuries from blows and falls.  While classical pharmacology focused on the curative effects of aconite, Wei’s anesthetic relied on aconite’s ability to stupefy and numb, while curbing its ability to kill. If an initial dose failed to make the patient go under, Wei said, the doctor could carefully administer additional doses of wild aconite, sit-grasp herb and the datura flower.

Additional images of toxic medicinal plants from Li Shizhen, Compendium of Materia Medica. Sit-grasp herb is in the middle of the top row, and datura flower in the middle of the bottom. Image credit: National Library of China. Posted on-line at the World Digital Library.
Additional images of toxic medicinal plants from Li Shizhen, Compendium of Materia Medica. Sit-grasp herb is in the middle of the top row, and datura flower in the middle of the bottom. Image credit: National Library of China. Posted on-line at the World Digital Library.

In subsequent centuries, as medical texts proliferated, we find additional examples of numbing medicines that employed aconite, datura, and other toxic plants, employed when setting bones and draining abscesses, and to numb injured flesh before repairing tears and lacerations to ears, noses, lips, and scrotums.  Such manual and surgical therapies are an integral part of the history of healing in China.

Yi-Li Wu is a Center Associate of the Lieberthal-Rogel Center for Chinese Studies at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor (US) and an affiliated researcher of EASTmedicine, University of Westminster, London (UK).  She earned a Ph.D. in history from Yale University and was previously a history professor at Albion College (USA) for 13 years.  Her publications include Reproducing Women: Medicine, Metaphor, and Childbirth in Late Imperial China (University of California Press, 2010) and articles on medical illustration, forensic medicine, and Chinese views of Western anatomical science.  She is currently completing a book on the history of wound medicine in China.

Acknowledgements
This research was funded by the Wellcome Trust Medical Humanities Award “Beyond Tradition: Ways of Knowing and Styles of Practice in East Asian Medicines, 1000 to the present” (097918/Z/11/Z). I am also grateful to Lorraine Wilcox for directing me to the work of Dou Cai.

*****

[1] The weight of the tael (Ch. liang) has varied over time, but during Wei’s lifetime would have been equivalent to 40 grams.  A mace (Ch. qian) is one-tenth of a tael.