This is an excerpt of The Spirituality Gap: Searching for Meaning in a Secular Age by Abi Millar. It has been slightly edited for AMZ, removing references to information found elsewhere in the book or inserting a few words in brackets to give needed context.

‘It’s an often overlooked fact that mindfulness, the way that it’s taught in all of these apps, is a practice that derives originally from Buddhism,’ says C. Pierce Salguero, transdisciplinary scholar of health humanities at Abington College, Penn State University, when we talk.[1] ‘But it has also undergone a pretty thorough transformation, to be turned from a more religious or spiritual practice into a secularised medical or mental health practice.’

As an expert in Buddhism and medicine (although, interestingly, not a Buddhist himself), Salguero has a lot to say about how mindfulness-for-health fits into its historical context. In his book Buddhish: A Guide to the 20 Most Important Buddhist Ideas for the Curious and Skeptical (2022), he explains how Buddhism itself has been reimagined in the West, laying the groundwork for the present mindfulness boom. Historically speaking, Buddhism has involved a rich tapestry of traditions, some of which are flagrantly religious or magical in hue. By contrast, the Buddhism many of us in the West recognise, in which the Buddha was something like an ancient psychologist, designing an empirical ‘science of mind’, emerged little more than a century ago.

‘At the time, European discourse was talking about how backward the Asians were, and Buddhism was held up by colonial authorities as a prime example of superstition,’ says Salguero, echoing what Shreena Gandhi told me about yoga. ‘Buddhist authorities all over Asia engaged in a project of reimagining Buddhism in a more secular and scientific way, moving away from magical practices and rituals and emphasising the practice of meditation as a psychology and a philosophy.’

European and North American intellectuals, drawn to this rejigged form of Buddhism, started promoting meditative practices at home. Meditation became widespread, and with it, the perception of Buddhism as somehow more objective or empirical than other religions. When [Jon Kabat-Zinn, founder of the modern MBSR mindfulness protocol] set to work on making mindfulness ‘commonsensical’, the earlier colonial push to secularise Buddhism surely helped him along the way.

It isn’t clear, though, that the endgame of a Buddhist mindfulness practice is quite the same as the endgame for MBSR. As Salguero explains in his book: ‘Buddhist trainings that emphasize concentration often focus on generating what in the Pali language is called jhana, advanced states of absorption in which you become so concentrated on the object of meditation that the rest of the world melts away … Trainings emphasizing insight, on the other hand, focus on perceiving your chosen object of meditation as a manifestation of suffering, impermanence, and non-self.’[2] In either case, the idea is to deconstruct our usual habits of mind and see ‘reality as it is’, as opposed to reducing anxiety or fostering calm.

‘In general, the idea that Buddhist meditation is going to lead to inner peace is a misunderstanding,’ says Salguero. ‘What it does give you is the tools to be able to deal with a whole range of different kinds of experiences in a more detached and neutral way.’

At the bare minimum, he adds, you’re going to experience sore knees and a sore back. People might also experience latent traumas and other kinds of negative emotions. ‘If there’s any inner peace to be had, it takes the form of your being able to sit there with equanimity while the emotional and physical pain pass through your body and mind.’

Salguero’s description resonated with me, and even felt somewhat validating. Unlike the other routine self-care practices I am somehow not too busy for (exercise, taking a bath, brushing my teeth), meditation strikes me as an unknown quantity, and that’s why I’m often reluctant to go there. For me at least, the benefits have never emerged in anything like a linear, predictable way.

Sure, sometimes it’s relaxing, as the apps would have it. Sometimes I can see that it’s helping train my concentration and focus, as any corporate mindfulness programme would have it. Other times, though, the experience is more complicated and confronting. I may find myself crying. I may find myself racked with existential confusion. I may find old issues resurfacing or new aggravations arising, or I may just sit there feeling frustrated and bored.

I’ve had powerful meditations too, in which new insights have bubbled up prolifically, or long-buried emotions have found release. On one occasion, I was trying to ‘be present’ with an overwhelming feeling of rage. Rather than getting lost in my thoughts about the rage, I tried to pay attention to the original feeling and how it hunkered in my body. I noticed my heartbeat, more emphatic than normal, and the coiled spring of my muscles primed for action. The feeling in its distilled form was not purely negative. It was powerful. It reminded me of fire — raw, amoral, magnificent, full of destructive potential. Afterwards, I felt something toxic had left my system for good.

Experiences of this nature have left me in a conflicted place. On one hand, I’m intrigued by meditation. I’ve tasted some of the possibilities on offer. I like a challenge, and there’s a swashbuckling part of me that’s fully on board with a quest through the gnarlier regions of the mind. On the other hand, if I’ve got ten minutes to spare for mental and spiritual maintenance, I’m going to default to something that reliably makes me feel safe or calm or connected. If you’ve ever tried meditating and felt less than beatific, it’s easy to conclude that you’re failing at it, or that the concept has been mis-sold.

‘Maybe some strategic misinformation is being promoted about mindfulness, that it’s just going to make you happy,’ says Salguero. ‘But if you practice mindfulness seriously, it’s going to make you experience all your suffering in a way that is much rawer. You’ll develop a lot more equanimity, maybe more bravery, because you’re not fighting those forms of suffering as they come up. But it’s certainly not going to make those kinds of things go away.’

In more recent years, the ‘underbelly of the mindfulness movement’, as Salguero described it to me, has attracted more attention. One powerful critique comes from Ronald Purser, an ordained Buddhist teacher and management professor at San Francisco State University. In his book McMindfulness: How Mindfulness Became the New Capitalist Spirituality(2019), he makes the case that mindfulness has been hijacked by consumerist culture. It has been reduced, he thinks, to an individual coping mechanism, engendering a passive acceptance of the systems that have caused our stress in the first place. This is particularly the case when corporations get involved, offering up mindfulness to their workers as opposed to improving their working conditions. For instance, Starbucks attracted ire in 2020 when it gifted its overstretched employees a Headspace subscription.[3]

As for the ways that mindfulness has taken off in Silicon Valley, there is clearly a stark contradiction in executives using a Buddhist-derived practice to get ahead in business. In Purser’s view, practices like MSBR are being used to uphold the neoliberal status quo, masking the revolutionary potential of Buddhist teachings.

‘Mindfulness has been oversold and commodified, reduced to a technique for just about any instrumental purpose,’ he writes. ‘It can give inner-city kids a calming time-out, or hedge fund tracers a mental edge, or reduce the stress of military drone pilots. Void of a moral compass or ethical commitments, unmoored from a vision of the social good, the commodification of mindfulness keeps it anchored in the ethos of the market.’[4]

Purser’s tone is trenchant. After attending an MBSR programme, he does concede that ‘MBSR is a saving grace for many people … The course was accomplishing exactly what it was intended to do: teach people how to reduce their stress and anxiety, cope with pain, and live a more mindful life.’[5] But nevertheless, he contends, mindfulness stands to make us ‘better adjusted cogs’, docile in the face of exploitation.

His book is a bracing read and I found myself nodding along in places. That said, I sensed he didn’t give the average Western meditator enough credit. Sure, meditating tech bros are a thing — microdosing, biohacking and breath-working their way towards corporate dominance. At the same time, there are many people whose inner explorations will lead them far off the beaten path of capitalism. To my mind, just sitting and being and doing ‘nothing’ is an inherently anti-capitalist practice, the antidote to our obsession with chasing future rewards. It is very likely to bleed into something spiritual too, even if that isn’t always the terminology the practitioner would choose.

‘Ron is articulating one response that Buddhists have had to the mindfulness movement, but the Asian Buddhist communities that I’ve been involved with have actually had a different response to Ron’s,’ Salguero says. ‘The one I’ve heard most frequently is: the more people who practice mindfulness, the more wellbeing we’ll have on the planet. The more people who practice mindfulness, the less suffering there will be across humanity. And moreover, the more people who practise mindfulness, the more people might be exposed to Buddhist ideas. For me, I think there’s truth in both these responses.’

Jiva Masheder goes further, remarking that Purser has fundamentally misunderstood MBSR. As she sees it, his mistake is to conflate acceptance with resignation, which mindfulness teachers have never promoted. If there’s any truth in his argument, she thinks it lies in his observation that mindfulness has been reduced to an individual coping mechanism. Traditionally, Buddhism would have been practised in a community setting (the Sangha) with a teacher, and MBSR courses are based on the same model. She thinks you’re unlikely to get the full measure of mindfulness if you’re doing it at home on your own.

A different kind of critique comes from Willoughby Britton, who made a splash in 2017 with a paper on the potential negative effects of meditation. Britton, who is a clinical psychologist and a professor of psychiatry and human behaviour at Brown University, was interested in experiences that could be ‘described as challenging, difficult, distressing, functionally impairing, and/or requiring additional support’. Her team interviewed ninety-two Western Buddhist meditators who had reported these kinds of outcomes.

The resulting study, called The Varieties of Contemplative Experience, identified fifty-nine categories of negative experience, ranging from ‘loss of the basic sense of self’ to ‘changes in motivation’, ‘the re-experiencing of traumatic memories’ and even ‘gastrointestinal distress’. A whopping 88 per cent of the meditators said their challenging experiences had spilled over into their everyday life. Shockingly, 17 per cent had felt suicidal and another 17 per cent had required inpatient hospitalisation. [6]

As the paper explains, many Buddhist traditions ‘acknowledge periods of challenge or difficulty associated with the practice of meditation’. It adds that: ‘Given that some of these effects might even run counter to the dominant paradigm of health and well-being, it is critical that the range of effects associated with Buddhist meditation be investigated in the modern Western context.’

For sure, these study participants aren’t representative of the average person who downloads the Calm app. They were serious meditators, who had been selected for the study precisely because they’d had a tough time. Such experiences might be extraordinarily rare — the functionally impaired exception that proves the happy, healthy rule. But for researchers like Britton, they’re too important to be ignored. Today, she offers trauma-informed mindfulness trainings called ‘First Do No Harm’, and provides support services to people who’ve run into meditation-related difficulties. As she remarked in a 2014 Atlantic article: ‘As much as I want to investigate and promote contemplative practices and contribute to the well-being of humanity through that, I feel a deeper commitment to what’s actually true.’[7]

Britton is not the only researcher to probe the dark side of meditation practice. As I have argued, there is a tension between mindfulness as a spiritual practice, and mindfulness as a tool for personal thriving. According to Salguero, this very tension can sometimes cause people harm.

‘A small minority of people are interested in meditation for health and wellbeing purposes, who do some intensive practice or go on a retreat,’ he says. ‘They don’t know about the Buddhist concept of non-self and they don’t know that this is a practice designed to trigger those kinds of realisations. So, when they experience some of these effects, they don’t have the context to understand what they’re experiencing.’

It seems there are documented cases of people who have practised secular meditation and inadvertently ‘cracked open the fiction of self’. We’re talking about the kind of ego death experience we explored with the neuroscientist, Dr James Cooke, earlier in this book. For Cooke, this was a positive occurrence, but others are more panicked or perturbed by it. In some cases, they might call on a mental health professional, who is no more schooled in Buddhist frameworks than they are.

‘They’re diagnosed in many cases with serious psychiatric diagnoses like depersonalisation and derealisation,’ Salguero remarks. ‘If you read the symptoms, this sounds exactly like what Buddhists are going for with loss of self.’

Back to that Trojan horse: might someone who innocently downloads a meditation app independently reach some Buddhist realisations? After all, these apps have been stripped bare of any theoretical underpinnings. They don’t purport to explain why you’re calm, why you’re relaxed (or as the case may be, why you’ve wound up re-evaluating your basic concept of personal identity). Any explanations you might find will likely be couched in physiological terms: you are calm because meditation calms your nervous system, not because you’ve happened across a truthful and spiritual insight.

Buddhist meditations, by contrast, are meant to guide you towards a particular way of seeing the world. It is intriguing to consider that the practical techniques adopted by MBSR might succeed in doing the same thing, even minus the supporting philosophy.

For that reason, Salguero thinks that meditators, however secular their inclinations, should be aware of the possible outcomes. In common with Britton, who came up with the idea, he thinks meditation ought to ‘carry a warning label’.

‘You can take the practice out of the temple, and you can secularise it, reinterpret it and put it into the hospital setting,’ he says. ‘But the practice was designed to produce these kinds of experiences. If you don’t know anything about emptiness or non-self, then these experiences can be really disorienting.’

[1] Interview with C. Pierce Salguero, conducted by author — Over Zoom, 8 May 2023

[2] Salguero, C. Pierce, Buddhish (Beacon Press, Boston, 2022), p. 64. Kindle Edition.

[3] Kaori Gurley, Lauren, ‘Starbucks Workers Want More Hours. Instead They Got a Meditation App’, Vice (8 January 2020), https://www.vice.com/en/article/z3bxn3/starbucks-workers-want-more-hours-instead-they-got-a-meditation-app.

[4] Purser, Ronald E., McMindfulness: How Mindfulness Became the New Capitalist Spirituality (Watkins Media, London, 2019), p. 17. Kindle Edition.

[5] Ibid p104

[6] Lindahl, J. R., Fisher, N. E., Cooper, D. J., Rosen, R. K., & Britton, W. B. (2017). The varieties of contemplative experience: A mixed-methods study of meditation-related challenges in Western Buddhists. PLOS ONE, 12(5), e0176239.

[7] Rocha, Tomas, ‘The Dark Knight of the Soul’, The Atlantic (25 June 2014), https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2014/06/the-dark-knight-of-the-souls/372766/.

The following is part of a series of experiments using A.I. for a range of academic tasks. In this case, I have used Claude 3 Opus (set to “formal” style) to summarize a recent publication of mine. Unlike in other instances where I found A.I. to be incapable of performing basic humanities research tasks, I think that Claude did a decent job of summarizing various specialized academic texts I gave to it. Its outputs never capture the author’s tone or style, but they do usually convey the main ideas or major take-aways of the content accurately.

Given its strengths in this area, I think one helpful application might be for academic authors to use Claude to summarize academic content that is published in venues that are prohibitively expensive for non-academic readers to access, and/or that is written in extremely inaccesible ways due to the use of field-specific jargon and dense academic writing style. I have looked into the copyright status of doing this, and believe that summaries such as this one are covered by the doctrine of “fair use.” The piece below is substantially different than the original. I have not included the statistical details presented in the original, ensuring that any scholar who uses this research in their work will need to access the original and thus avoiding competition with the original work.

Readers who are interested in chasing down citations or gaining more precise information about the study can access the published paper here: C. Pierce Salguero, 2024, “American Buddhism and Healthcare.” In Scott Mitchell and Ann Gleig (eds.), Oxford Handbook of American Buddhism, pp. 318–34. New York: Oxford University Press.

(Energy usage disclosure: According to Claude.ai’s own reporting, generating this summary used as much electricity as conducting 15 standard web searches.)

A.I. Summary of “American Buddhism and Healthcare”

This article examines the current state of American Buddhist healing based on ethnographic interviews with 36 practitioners across the US. I map out the key demographics, practices, and contexts shaping how Buddhism is used for health and well-being in the U.S. today. My central argument is that the landscape of American Buddhist healing is far more diverse than is typically recognized, extending well beyond the medicalization of meditation practices such as mindfulness that receives the most attention in the media and from scholars. By identifying four distinct "positionalities" or overarching approaches taken by contemporary Buddhist healers, the article provides a framework for understanding this diversity and points to promising directions for further research. In shedding light on the many ways American Buddhists pursue health and healing outside the mainstream medical context, this article makes the case for a more expansive and nuanced discourse around Buddhism's role in the U.S. healthcare ecosystem.

Historical Background & Previous Literature

An interest in the relationship between mind, body, and liberation has been central to Buddhism since its very origins. Early Buddhist texts contained extensive teachings related to health and prescribed specific practices for preventing and treating illness, including meditation, moderation in diet and lifestyle, ritual chanting, and other religious observances.

As Buddhism spread throughout Asia in the premodern period, these practices were adapted to local cultural contexts. For example, Buddhist healers in China tended to frame their work in terms of indigenous concepts like qi, while those in Tibet developed a unique synthesis of Indian, Chinese, and local medical ideas known as Sowa Rigpa. This points to a consistent pattern of "domestication" whereby Buddhist notions of health were reinterpreted and recontextualized in light of the prevailing cultural worldviews and medical theories of each culture Buddhism encountered.

This cross-cultural exchange was not merely a one-way process of Buddhist ideas being modified by their new environments. Rather, the encounter with Buddhism also thoroughly transformed and revitalized many local healing traditions, with Buddhist philosophy and cosmology coming to serve as the foundation for the development of new medical systems in regions as diverse as Sri Lanka, Myanmar, Thailand, Tibet, and Mongolia. Many of these Buddhist-influenced healing traditions remain widely practiced in Asia and around the globe today.

The modern integration of Buddhist practices, especially meditation, into healthcare in the contemporary Western context has involved an ongoing dialogue and mutual influence between Buddhism and science. Buddhist concepts of mind and mental training have influenced research in fields like psychology and neuroscience while also undergoing medicalization and secularization to fit modern clinical frameworks. Ultimately, the current landscape of American Buddhist healing must be understood as a continuation of Buddhism's longstanding pattern of medical integration and innovation across cultural boundaries. This is not a modern anomaly, but rather a defining feature of Buddhism's long history of promoting health and well-being globally.

At the same time, a detailed examination of how this cross-pollination is unfolding in the context of the modern American healthcare ecosystem has yet to be thoroughly examined. There is limited existing scholarship on connections between Buddhism and healthcare in the United States. In one key study, Wu Hongyu (2002) found that 100% of the 19 respondents believed Buddhism was beneficial to health. Another important study is Paul Numrich's 2005 research involving interviews with 30 American Buddhists. Numrich found marked disinctions between “culture Buddhists" and “convert Buddhists” in terms of their use of “folk healing,” complementary and alternative medicine (CAM) practices, and biomedicine.

While Wu and Numrich paint generalized pictures of Buddhist communities, much more robust individual detail is provided by Kin Cheung's research on the practices of a Cantonese-speaking community healer in Brooklyn, NY, who uses an eclectic mix of Buddhist, Daoist, medical and folk practices. My own previous work has included a comprehensive ethnographic study conducted from 2015-2020 on the lived experience of 45 Buddhist organizations in the area. I also recently published results of a survey of American Buddhists from various backgrounds about their attitudes toward health and healing. The main findings in both of these studies is that Buddhism is playing a larger than recognized role in shaping American healthcare attitudes in contemporary times, and I argued that the full breadth of practices deserves further study.

Overall, the existing literature demonstrates that while research on Buddhism and health in the U.S. remains limited, existing scholarship consistently points to the importance of Buddhism in shaping American healthcare in ways that go beyond the typical focus on meditation alone. The studies span different communities and methodologies but converge in suggesting many American Buddhists view diverse Buddhist practices as legitimate, effective means of promoting well-being. The full scope of American Buddhist healing merits expanded academic attention.

Survey of American Buddhist Healers

My research assistants and I conducted a survey between 2015 and 2019 involving extensive interviews with 36 American Buddhist healers. The sample included a mix of races, genders, ages, geographic locations, sectarian affiliations, and cultural origins in an effort to capture a representative cross-section. All interviewees were long-term Buddhist practitioners involved in healing others or teaching self-healing using Buddhist techniques.

The survey of American Buddhist healers (n=36) included a diverse sample across dimensions of race, age, gender, geography, immigrant status, Buddhist sect, cultural lineage, and primary practitioner role. However, the sample overrepresented certain groups, such as white (55.5%), Generation X (58%), and female practitioners (56%). The most common primary occupations were professional healers (31%), monastics (19%), and priests (19%). While not a perfectly representative sample, the diversity of participants provides insight into the breadth of the American Buddhist healing landscape and the variety of ways Buddhism is being integrated into health and wellness-related work. (For more specific data, see Table 1 in the published piece.)

The survey found large majorities were in favor of the statement that Buddhism has a connection with mental health (89%) and physical health (76%). Respondents identified “meditation” as the practice most commonly associated with mental and physical health (86% and 73% respectively). Other practices frequently mentioned as health-promoting included “participation in Buddhist groups, cultural activities, or social gatherings,” “chanting,” “attending specific healing rituals, classes, or activities,” “visualization,” and “vegetarianism.” (For more specific data, see Table 2 in the published piece.)

With regard to specific reasons or mechanisms whereby Buddhism promotes health, an analysis of the open-ended responses showed a number of common themes mentioned across the interviews. Among these, the most frequently mentioned were “emotion regulation (e.g., management of stress, anger, etc.)” (61%), “mind-body connection or body awareness” (52%), and “social connection” (51%). (For more specific data, see Table 3 in the published piece.)

These findings notwithstanding, I argue that the most meaningful patterns discovered in the study were not demographic but rather based on the "positionality" of each healer - their role and approach to integrating Buddhism with healing. The paper identifies four distinct positionalities:

1. Incorporating Buddhism into mainstream healthcare

2. Integrating Buddhism with traditional Asian medicine

3. Optimizing Dharma teachings for health outcomes

4. Eclectically mixing religion, spirituality and healing

Each of these positionalities involves distinct professional settings, practitioner backgrounds, and target populations. This taxonomy cuts across demographic categories, capturing shared perspectives and practices based on the healers' roles and community contexts.

Incorporating Buddhism into Mainstream Healthcare

This group included chaplains serving in hospitals, hospices, and similar settings, as well as a leader of a Buddhist charity providing free medical clinics. Although their chaplaincy training discouraged overt religious content, they all reported drawing on Buddhist practices for patients' and their own well-being.

Key characteristics of this positionality:

• Emphasized values like equanimity, generosity, and forbearance as inherently healing for patients and protective for healthcare workers

• Downplayed need for complex ritual, instead stressing simplicity and seamless integration of basic practices (breath awareness, simple chanting/mantras, metta) into healthcare settings

• Prioritized non-judgmental presence as the essence of their work

Integrating Buddhism with Traditional Asian Medicine

Composed of practitioners of various Asian medical modalities (e.g. acupuncture, Sowa Rigpa, Thai massage, yoga therapy), this group actively integrated Buddhist practices with their therapeutic work and self-care routines.

Key characteristics of this positionality:

• Emphasized traditional training and lineage authenticity for both Buddhist and medical learning; saw both as complex lifelong paths

• Offered treatments combining physical and spiritual elements, e.g. bodywork with blessings, herbs empowered by mantras

• Used Buddhist practices for their own protection and well-being in clinical work

Optimizing Dharma Teachings for Health Outcomes

This group consisted of Buddhist clerics and community leaders who, while not primarily identifying as healers, reported regularly teaching their communities how to modify Buddhist practices to improve health.

Key characteristics of this positionality:

• Emphasized the preventive and curative potential of dedicated, long-term lay Buddhist practice; many discussed advanced meditation attainments

• Commonly taught specific chants, prayers, and rituals for healing, especially related to Bhaiṣajyaguru (i.e., the Medicine Buddha) and Avalokiteśvara (i.e., Guanyin)

• Also focused on benefits of practice for social and communal well-being

Eclectically Mixing Religion, Spirituality, and Healing

A group of Buddhist-inspired healers who offered unique blends of therapies drawing from multiple traditions, often in private practice settings.

Key characteristics of this positionality:

• Emphasized the healer's individual attainments and special abilities to perceive and manipulate subtle energies for diagnosis and treatment

• Employed eclectic and idiosyncratic methods including channeling deities, crystal healing, and Buddhist-derived rituals

• Conceived of disease and treatment in spiritual/energetic rather than biomedical terms

Conclusion

In summary, the positionalities identified in this article provide a bird’s-eye-view map the complex ways American Buddhist healers are integrating Buddhist practices and principles with other therapeutic modalities and applying them in different community settings. By identifying overarching orientations cutting across individual demographics, this framework provides a nuanced view of how Buddhist healing takes shape "on the ground." The diversity of approaches points to the need for further research exploring how American Buddhist healing extends beyond the medical mainstream. Please see the published article for more details.

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

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.

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 vipassanāmeditation 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 Defilementsand 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.

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.

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].”

Case 5: Candasaro

Before ordaining as a monk in Thailand, Candasaro had worked at a private factory as a production manager in Sichuan for over 30 years. In 2008 he started exploring Theravāda meditation by learning observing the breath[i] with Pa-Auk Sayadaw’s method at Jiju Mountain for about two months in Yunnan. He later gave up this practice as he could not see any sign[ii] emerged in his sitting. “My personality is quite fast-paced. It’s difficult to cultivate calmness.”[iii] In May 2011, he firstly learnt about the practice of dynamic movement at a ten-day retreat led by Luangpor Khamkhian Suvanno, from Thailand, in Hongzhou.[iv] During the retreat, he tasted a sense of joy[v], a positive outcome of meditation.

Candasaro found that dynamic movement suited him perfectly. He explained about the practice: “In the beginning [you] observe the movement of the body. Later [you can] observe the mind. All practices are similar. They firstly cultivate calmness by bringing awareness to one point. That is developing an ability of concentrating the mind. Without calmness, it is impossible to practice vipassanā. When you open the six sense doors, you hold one of them, like a monkey holding the main pillar. In dynamic movement, the main practice is moving the arms. In Mahāsi’s method, it is about the rising and falling of the abdomen. … I like observing the movement.”

He also practiced the dynamic movement at workplace. “While I was working at the control room, I managed the office work and communicated with my colleagues [when it was necessary]. The workload was not so heavy. There was only about one working our every day. It was relaxing.” Then in October 2011 Candasaro joined an organized trip to stay at WatPa Sukato[vi] for two months in South Thailand. This was the first time he travelled to Thailand. Located at Chaiyaphum Province, the temple covering an area of 185 acres, including a river and Phu Kong Mountain that was 470 meters above sea level. Sukato means ‘good’. Luang Phor Kham Khian Suwanno, the first abbot, shared his intention of building the temple, “Sukato is a place where people come and go for wellness, also for the beneficial impact of the environment, human being, river, forest and air. This is the wellness in coming, going and being. This wellness is born from earth, water, air and fire, not from one person alone. …There are shelter, food and friends who will teach, demonstrate, and give advice. Should one wish to stay here, his or her intention to practice dharma shall be fulfilled.”[vii]

In this huge forest temple, there were around 30 monks and 30 lay people only. As there were plenty established huts, every resident could stay in one hut.[viii] Every morning, all residents woke up at 3 o’clock in the early morning to prepare for the chanting and dhamma talk at 4 o’clock. Around 6 am, Candasaro and other monks, dressed in yellow monastic robe, formally visited villages nearby carrying their alms bowls for their daily alms round. (See Fig. 3 and Fig. 4) In Chinese Buddhist communities in China, alms round practices have been faded out for many centuries. With bare feet, the monks lined up tidily first and started walking towards one of the target villages. After entering the village, they stopped in front of a household where donors were waiting with cooked rice and food. Whenever people from households offered food to monks one by one, they would line up before the householders and chant blessing words in Pāli. All the monks went back to the monastery with the received alms. At around 7.30 am, volunteers in the monastery kitchen finished preparing the foods so that the monks and all residents could have their first meal. For monks, this was also the only meal according to their precepts.

In August 2012, he stayed there again for a month. In 2013, he decided to quit his job and receive early retired pension. He decided to ordain as a bhikkhu and settled at WatPa Sukato. He enjoyed his monastic life very much, “I don’t need to spend any money by living at a monastery. I have been working in government and business sectors for many years. I am very tired of them. And my wife agreed to that [the separation] ….  After you practice diligently, awareness lead you to have a strong sense of renunciation from the mundane world. Firstly, [it’s] renunciation; secondly, you do not attach or crave something.” (See Fig. 5)

Although Candasaro could not speak English, he had learnt some basic Thai words to communicate with Thai people for his daily basic needs. Over the past four years, he went back to China a few times to attend retreats and also invited some friends to travel to WatPa Sukato. In 2017, he returned to China and settled in Fujian Province. He started teaching dynamic meditation and led alms round in the village.

[i] Ch. guanhuxi; P. ānāpānasati.

[ii] Ch. chanxiang; P. nimitta.

[iii] Ch. ding; P. samādhi.

[iv] Luangpor Khamkhian Suvanno was a disciple of Luangpor Teean.

[v] Ch. xi; P. piti.

[vi] See “Wa-Pa-Sukato,” Tourism Authority of Thailand, https://www.tourismthailand.org/Attraction/Wat-Pa-Sukato--3354

[vii] Ibid.

[viii] Ch. gudi; P. kuṭi

Defining Daoist contemplation

To be able to track down history of contemplative practices we first need to be able to define what we mean by contemplation. Modern practitioners usually prefer to use trendy terms like mindfulness often defined as conscious awareness and non-judgmental acceptance. While this might work well for some forms of practices, for more historical study we have to to rely on Daoist and Chinese Buddhist terms, definitions and context. Mindfulness research literature often takes terms sati (Pāli) and smṛti (Sanskrit), which directly translates to Chinese niàn 念, to mean contemplation and mindfulness. Niàn means memory or recollection; to think on or to reflect upon something; to read or study. In Daoist context this term can be used for studying scriptures and contemplating or holding an object or idea in mind. Sometimes this is done by concentrating on a deity. However, most of the Daoist texts use term guān 觀 in Chinese literature. It translates to looking and observing. Very often it is used in connection with word nèi 內 which means inner or internal to denote the nature and direction of observation. Therefore nèiguān 內觀 could be translated as inner observation. Nèiguān also serves as literal translation of Buddhist concepts of vipassanā (Pāli or vipaśyanā in Sanskrit). Inner contemplation or nèiguān is set of practices where one directs his awareness within himself. In different types and stages of the practice object of awareness can be body as whole or some part like an organ. Object can be an emotion and how it is experienced within body-mind in level qì or energy. Many of these techniques concentrate on breathing. Some of the breathing meditations are similar to what is described in Buddhist Ānāpānasati Sutta (Pāli) or Ānāpānasmṛti Sūtra (Sanskrit). However Daoist practitioners often start their practice by concentrating on subtleties of breathing felt on lower abdomen instead the mindfulness of breathing itself. The aim of contemplation has usually been, especially in Daoist practice, to be able to slowly shift ones attention to mind itself. This is usually seen as the key element of the practice in Daoist context as the “real” contemplation is apophatic in nature, striving to attain total emptiness and complete negation or detachment from desires, concepts and contents of the mind. This emptiness is obtained by silencing the mind with sustained non-interfering observation or Nèiguān. The famous Qīngjìngjīng 清靜經 explains:

能遣之者,内觀於心,心無其心;外觀於形,形無其形;遠觀於物,物無其物。三者既悟,唯見於空。觀 空以空,空無所空。所空既無,無無亦無。無無既無,湛然常寂。寂無所寂,慾豈能生?慾既不生, 即是真靜。

“These [desires] can be removed by internally contemplating the heart (mind). The heart is not this heart. Externally contemplating form. The form is not this forms. From distance contemplating things. These things are not these things. After these three have been realized and [you are] just seeing these as emptiness, contemplate this emptiness with emptiness. Emptiness does not exists in emptiness. In [this] emptiness there is still [further] non-existence. Non-existence of non-existence is also non-existing. [When] non-existence of non-existence is non-existing, there is deepest and eternal stillness. In stillness [where even] stillness does not exists, how could desires arise? When desires cannot arise, it is true peace.”

Despite the epilogue by Gě Xuán 葛玄 (164–244) who attributed the text to goddess Xīwángmǔ 西王母, in reality the text is probably written during early Tang-dynasty (618 – 907)[1]. The wording is clearly influenced by Buddhism but it gives the essential idea about contemplative practice and its apophatic nature. Following this nature we can start tracing contemplative practices through history. This nature is crucial for understanding continuation of the practice, its ideals and importance to Chinese medical and philosophical culture.

Early views and history of contemplative practices in China

Nèiguān practices that flourished in China during Tang-dynasty (618 – 907) are usually thought to have their origin in Buddhism. Buddhism started spreading to China during the 2nd century CE and one of the most well known Buddhist missionaries during the time was Ān Shìgāo 安世高 (c. 148 – 180) who translated Buddhist texts to Chinese language[2]. Among these texts there was also Ānāpānasati Sutta containing outlines of same idea used in practice of nèiguān. But even before that the practice was already well known in China. One of the oldest and synonymous expression to nèiguān is kǎonèishēn 考內身 which can be found from scripture titled Báixīn 白心 or Purifying the mind. In Báixīn there is a passage which says:

欲愛吾身,先知吾情君親六合,以考內身。以此知象,乃知行情既知行情,乃知養生。

“Desires and affections [arise from] our own body. First we understand our emotions, ruling sentiments and six harmonies by looking inside the body. Then we'll know images after which we understand movement of emotions. By knowing movement of emotions we then understand cultivation of life (yǎngshēng).”

I translate kǎonèishēn here as looking inside the body. It might have been more easily understood by Western readers of spiritual practices, if I had translated it to inspecting inner bodies but that might be a bit stretching for context of early Daoist texts. Therefore the word body (shēn 身) needs bit clarification. The view of body in many archaic Chinese texts was much more broad than our modern use of the word. It was not just torso with four limbs but more a vessel composed of and containing different energies, spiritual influences and essence (jīng 精). It was seen intimately connected to time and world around us. I'll come back to nature of body-mind in next part but the important thing here is that Báixīn gives advice to turn our attention into our body-minds to become aware of emotions and mental images. Báixīn also belongs to the earliest texts using term yǎngshēng or cultivating life which later formed a central concept in many medical and religious practices. Báixīn dates back to 285 – 235 B.C. being from last period of Jìxià Academy (Jìxià xuégōng 稷下學宮)[3]. It is included in collection of political and philosophical texts named Guǎnzǐ 管子. The collection contains three other meditative texts namely Xīnshù shàng 心術上, Xīnshù xià 心術下 and Nèiyè 內業. Both Xīnshù texts speak of emptiness of the heart or mind. “Empty it (mind) from desires and Shén (Spirit) enters its domain. Clean from impure and Shén will remain in its place.” (《心術上》：虛其欲,神將入舍。掃除不潔,神乃留處。) Xīnshù texts expand the ideas presented in older text called Nèiyè and transform individual meditation practice to fit the fields of economics and politics. They advocate importance of contemplative mindfulness practice to rulers and bureaucrats. The ideal ruler must remain detached from confusion of emotions and doubts. Their mind must remain clear in order to rule efficiently. Xīnshù xià states that:

心安,是國安也。心治,是國治也。... 治心在於中,治言出於口,治事加於民;故功作而民從,則 百姓治矣。

“When mind is peaceful nation is at peace. When mind is governed nation is [under] governance…When governed mind stays at its center and controlled words come out of mouth then governed actions are guiding the subjects. Thus good results are achieved and people will follow. In this way the common people are governed.”

Many texts from Huáng-Lǎo School promote contemplation to gain understanding of laws of governing people and contemplation was seen as a mean to understand universal way or law which also controlled the society. This discourse is highly interesting when we compare it to modern mindfulness movement and especially mindful leadership where we see similar claims and uses. Meditative texts of Guǎnzǐ do not demand worship, divination or other ritualistic techniques. They are plain and simple self cultivation practices written by the literati to other members of ruling class of their time. The fact that these texts were included in highly political text collection gives us an impression that these practices were wide spread and not known only in religious circles. This is especially evident as many of the texts in Guǎnzǐ belong to strict Legalist school that saw tradition and softer values as weakness to be cut down[4]. The Guǎnzǐ collection also includes scripture called Nèiyè 內業 or Internal practice, which is probably the oldest of surviving Chinese meditation manuals and dates back to circa 325 B.C. The poetic style of Nèiyè suggests oral tradition and therefore even older origin.[3] Nèiyè presents very clear and plain description of meditation. Its themes are similar to many Tang-dynasty meditation texts and Nèiyè defines connection of man to universe, reason for contemplation, different attitudes and key elements for practice. The text begins with idea how human being is connected to cosmos:

凡物之精,比則為生下生五穀,上為列星。流於天地之間,謂之鬼神,藏於胸中,謂之聖人。

“From the essence of every being comes their life. Below it gives birth to five grains, above forms the constellations. Its flow between heaven and earth we call as spirits and gods. When it is stored within center of chest we call him a sage.”

During writing of Nèiyè the idea of essence (jīng 精) was still developing. The essence was seen as something having nature of divinity or spirit. Later it became described more substantial and bit liquid like as in texts like Huángdì Nèijīng Sùwèn 黃帝內經素問. The concept of Jīng-Shén 精神, which is usually translated as life-force or vigor it still retained its early intangibility. Some of the early texts see essence as one of the “bodily spirits” or shén. The text proceeds defining how all the sorrows arise from the heart and they are ended with the heart. The heart was seen to effect everyone around us, bringing with it our fortunes or misfortunes. Only cultivation of the heart was seen as means for real moral development and thus Nèiyè states that:

賞不足以勸善,刑不足以懲過。氣意得而天下服。心意定而天下聽。

“Rewards are not sufficient to encourage virtue, nor punishments enough for disciplining. [Only] when qi-mind is obtained, that what is under the heaven will be subjugated. Only when heart-mind is stopped that what is under the heaven will obey.”

Same idea of shedding false morals, ethical values and empty rituals and replacing them by true nature was recurring theme in even earlier Zhuāngzǐ 莊子. Author(s) of Nèiyè also pondered how or what in the mind can observe itself:

何謂解之,在於心安。我心治,官乃治。我心安,官乃安。治之者心也,安之者心也;心以藏心,心之中又有心焉。彼心之心,音以先言,音然後形,形然後言。言然後使,使然後治。不治必亂,亂乃死。

“How to explain that which is in peaceful heart? [When] I (ego) and heart are regulated, officials (organs) are regulated. [When] I and heart are at peace, officials are in peace. One regulating them is heart. One pacifying them is heart. There is heart hidden within heart. In the center of the heart there is another heart! This heart within heart is the voice before the words. From the voice follow forms, from the form follow the words. From the words follow actions and from the actions follow governing. [From that which] is not governed follows chaos and from the chaos follows death.”

As non-controlled mind was seen as main reason for chaos and destruction the often emphasized benefit from cultivation was freedom from internal conflict and outer catastrophes. In Nèiyè this freedom is describes thus:

中無惑意,外無邪菑,心全於中,形全於外。不逢天菑,不遇人害,謂之聖人。

“Without confusing thoughts within, one is externally without evil and disasters. Heart maintained in the center and form is maintained externally. [Thus one does] not encounter heavenly calamities nor face human troubles [therefore] we call him a sage.”

Freedom from human suffering later became exaggerated more and more until it became immortality and total untouchability during Han-dynasty and was still aim of contemplative practitioners during Tang-dynasty. See for example text called Preserving Shén and refining Qì. The themes of freedom, emptiness and cultivation of heart were also present in many other writings of the time, but were often less instructive and more ambiguous in their poetic or prosaic expression. Of these texts Dàodéjīng 道德經 and Zhuāngzǐ are famous examples. Zhuāngzǐ for example describes fasting of the heart in following quote:

回曰:「敢問心齋。」仲尼曰:「若一志,无聽之以耳而聽之以心,无聽之以心而聽之以氣。聽止於耳,心止於符。氣也者,虛而待物者也。唯道集虛。虛者,心齋也。」

“[Yán] Huí said: Could I ask about fasting of mind? Zhòng Ní answered: When having singular will, you'll not hear with ears but you hear them with heart. When not hearing with heart you'll hear them with qì. Hearing stops to listening with ears. Heart stops to symbols. The Qì is emptiness that receives things. Only Dào gathers in emptiness. Emptiness is fasting of the heart.”

Dàodéjīng as the best known Daoist text has collected many different translations around it. The text describes contemplation in its 16th chapter:

致虛極,守靜篤。萬物並作,吾以觀復。夫物芸芸,各復歸其根。歸根曰靜,是謂復命。復命曰常,知常曰明。不知常,妄作凶。知常容,容乃公,公乃天,天乃道,道乃久,沒身不殆。

“Reaching the utmost emptiness and guarding stillness and honesty, 10 000 things are working in union. Contemplating this, I'll return. Countless humans and beings all return to their root. Returning to the root is called stillness. It is also described as returning to life (fù mìng is literally returning the destiny). Returning to life is called eternity. Knowing eternity is called enlightenment. Not knowing eternity [you just] arrogantly cause disasters. By knowing eternal you'll accept. From accepting follows fairness. From fairness follows completion. From completion follows heavenly and from heavenly follows Dào. From Dào follows continuation and [then even] disappearance of body is not fatal.”

Considering this particular chapter we have to take into account that Dàodéjīng, as we now read it, was edited by Wáng Bì during early third century. The chapter found from the Mǎwángduī excavation, dating to second century B.C.[5] is very similar but a century older Guōdiàn[6] version does not mention contemplation at all. The importance of observing with empty mind is prominent in many other chapters as well. Taking into account textual evidence about these contemplative practices and the idea of using them for returning to original state or to finding true nature had clearly been already developed before end of Warring States period. The Chinese still remained isolated from India centuries after writing the meditative texts of Guǎnzǐ or Dàodéjīng and Zhuāngzì. It was only at the first and second centuries during which trading of goods and thoughts between China and India really begun. If we consider the possible dating of historical Buddha to be somewhere around the commonly agreed 566–486 B.C.[7], it is hardly likely that Buddhist influence at the time could have induced such a wide spread of contemplative ideology in China. Buddhist tradition speaks of teachers Ārāḍa Kālāmalta ja Uddaka Rāmaputta as well reputed teachers, so we can say that these practices were also more wide spread in India during that time. But with lack of active trade routes, cultural exchange and having textual sources showing more wide spread cultural use of the contemplative ideas in China, we may conclude that it is highly likely that contemplative practices were developed independently in China and the Buddhist influences merged to Chinese contemplative ideologies and practices only later. Rise of Buddhism in China however sparked new interest in contemplative practices. Old texts were edited, new texts were written and older classics were interpreted from viewpoint more fitting to contemplative practices. Zuòwàng lùn 坐忘論, which quotes heavily on Dàodéjīng and Zhuāngzǐ, is good example of reinterpreting older scriptures. The spread of Buddhism also influenced other areas of practices like dietary taboos and ethical codes. What remained the same was apophatic nature of contemplative practice. To quote a Tang-dynasty text called Nèiguānjīng 內觀經 – Classic of inner contemplation:

道也者,不可言傳口授而得之。常虛心靜神,道自來居。

“Dào cannot be put to words. By mouth it cannot be given or obtained. [By having] constantly empty heart and tranquil spirit, Dào naturally returns to its residence.”

References

1. Verellen Franciscus and Schipper Kristofer. The Taoist Canon: A Historical Companion to the Daozang. University Of Chicago Press, 2005.

2. Greene Eric M. Healing breaths and rotting bones: On the relationship between buddhist and chinese meditation practices during the eastern han and three kingdoms period. Journal of Chinese Religions, 4(2):145–184, 3 2014. (www)

3. Roth Harold D. Daoism in the guanzi. In book Liu Xiaogan (editor), Dao Companion to Daoist Philosophy, pages 265–280. Springer, 2015.

4. Rickett Allyn W. Guanzi: Political, Economic, and Philosophical Essays from Early China. Princeton University Press, 1998.

5. Harper Donald. Early Chinese Medical Literature. Routledge, 1997.

6. Meyer Dirk. Meaning-Construction in Warring States Philosophical Discourse: A Discussion of the Palaeographic Materials from Tomb Guōdiàn One. Doctoral thesis, Leiden University, 2008. (www)

7. Heinz Bechert, editor. The Dating o fthe Historical Buddha. Die Datierung des Historischen Buddha. Symposien zur Buddhismusforschung, IV, 1, 1991. (www)

The devotions begin with an offering by the association president to the officiating monk. The monk then leads 15 minutes of prayers (invocation and response in style) in which the whole group; some 200 students and staff in all are part of the ceremonies. As we sit with hands in a wai (ไหว้) a gesture of respect and thanks in which the palms are pressed together and raised before the heart), the monk embarks on a long address to the audience about their moral duties and responsibilities both as healers and as good Buddhists. Then as a group we students are blessed by a sprinkling of lustral water. We kneel before the faculty, and present flower and fruit offerings to our teachers. Our brows are anointed with Sanskrit letters ‘to open our way’ and to offer the spiritual gift of a path to knowledge. Each teacher offers a particular prayer to each of their students for the coming year. My blessing from the association president was to ‘…wish me luck with what was to come and to open my eyes’.

The teachers lead the way in making offerings and incense to the image of Shivaka Komarpaj. With bare feet and lowered heads the teachers kneel and place incense at the feet of the statue, followed by a long line of students. Thus begins the new teaching year for the school run by the professional association of traditional medicine practitioners.

The sudden appearance of a student who begins to speak as a medium at the end of the formal addresses marking the wai kruu (ไหว้ครู) while the individual students are presenting themselves to their lecturers causes a slight disruption in the proceedings. The student, a middle-aged woman suddenly shrieks, slumps and then begins speaking at high volume. She is assisted by the people around her. At the time I wonder if she has had a fit. Afterwards Mo Wan explained to me that this woman had been ‘taken by the spirit of Shivaka’. As I watched she is draped by ‘an assistant’ (for want of a better word) with a white robe and a tied head-cloth, given a large cheroot to smoke and a chair. A crowd gathered around her asking guidance. She is ‘speaking in tongues’ one of the students told me. People around her are making offerings and asking questions. She is shaking and mouthing and indicating she wants some more of the sacred cigars. She smokes two at a time at one point.

When I asked Mo Wan (who is one of the faculty and who I had accompanied to the ritual) about the appearance of this woman she is almost dismissive saying ‘she wondered if it was prepared’. It was apparently the first time in the association’s history that a medium has emerged at wai khruu. Mo Wan was clearly not impressed. The appearance of a medium and her performance were absorbed into the proceedings with minimal fuss. I was surprised, but other students encouraged me to take photographs and were unperturbed and some students were keen to seek guidance from the medium.

I introduce the appearance of a medium in a Northern Thai traditional medicine school not because it is uncommon, rather, mediumship has become a common sign of the re-emergence of local traditions in Northern Thailand (Morris, 2002). Morris suggests the increasing number of mediums in Northern Thailand in the late 1990s is symptomatic of the social and cultural disruption experienced in Thai society as a consequence of the boom years of development and globalisation. The emergence of a medium in this venue may be seen as part of the struggle to maintain the links between traditional medicine and ritual. The rupture between traditional medicine as it has been taught until the 1980s and the increasingly formal teaching of traditional medicine in tertiary institutions is recent. The sudden legitimacy of modernised forms of traditional medicine, and the emergence of university-based traditional medicine has produced a schism between formal and informal education. The last 30 years have been characterised by shifts in how traditional medicine practitioners are taught, how they practice and in the knowledge base of traditional medicine. The secularisation of traditional medicine and in particular the exclusion of ritual and magic from modernised traditional medicine practice is cause for concern among many practitioners. In this context the eruption of a medium during wai khruu, a day which is devoted to offering respect to teachers past and present, may be seen as an attempt to restore the importance of ritual and magic in traditional practice.

Mediums, traditional medicine and modernity

Mediumship is a particularly Northern Thai manifestation of the healing rituals which exist all over Thailand. The increase in mediumship in Northern Thailand in the 1990s (which was dramatic) has been attributed to changes in Thai identity posed by the dramatic rate of cultural and social change (S  Tanabe, 1991; 2002). Like many religious practices mediumship has become increasingly commercialised and this revival of Lanna rituals and the transformation of their meaning, leads Tanabe to argue that mediumship has been reconstructed as a consequence of the rapid changes in Thai society. Some argue that this return to ritual and the ‘re-mystification’ of everyday life has been a counter to the secularism of modernity (Morris, 2000; S  Tanabe, 1991), that the instability of rapid change and globalisation has encouraged the kind of charismatic leadership described by Weber (Anan Ganjanapan, 2000). The increased acceptance of supernatural phenomena and the use of mediums in an attempt to restore control and balance in an increasingly unpredictable world of rapid capitalist development, has also been framed as a form of traditionalism, a nostalgia for the past (Jackson, 1999; Morris, 2000, 2002; Reynolds, 2002) that is evident in other rapidly developing economies such as Korea (Kendall, 2009).

There are a number of ways to interpret the emergence of mediumship in the traditional medicine community that I witnessed at wai khruu. The speed and intensity of changes in traditional medicine education and practice in the last 20 years has led to disruption in rituals such as wai khruu, that have been signifiers of knowledge acquisition and of the importance of lineage and the oral tradition. University education has created friction within the traditional medicine community about what is authentic traditional medicine knowledge. The appearance of a medium in the ceremonies associated with this traditional medicine association school, may signal a desire for re-establishing some of the rituals associated with learning because ritual and religion are no longer central to traditional medicine as taught in the universities. It may be an attempt to return to the blurring of magical and medical knowledge that was formerly a part of learning traditional medicine as an apprentice. Mediumship as a manifestation of ‘traditionalism’ (a return to traditions) in Northern Thai culture is a reaction to the increasingly secularised approach to traditional medicine in Thailand.

The narrative of ‘traditional wisdom’ which has entered into the Thai lexicon in advertising, public discourse, government documents and the media is a potent way of shaping ‘new traditions’. The Thai state has taken on the role of the gate-keeper in reconfiguring what counts for ‘authentic knowledge’ in traditional medicine. The emergence of a medium in a private traditional medicine school may indicate how traditionalism now finds its place in community based organizations rather than in modern educational settings, such as the university.

Wai khruu and becoming a student

I was fortunate that one of my first ‘outings’ with the traditional medicine community was to join in the wai khruu ritual (the honouring of teachers on teacher’s day) at the school run by the Association of Thai Traditional Healers (Chiang Mai)[1]. The wai khruu ritual is performed by the school annually and is the formal occasion at which students of Thai traditional medicine pay their respects to their teachers (ครู khruu). It marks the beginning of the teaching year and is a demonstration of the bonds between teachers and students. The ritual renews what is considered an archetypal sacred bond between khruu (ครู teacher) and luuk sit (ลูกศิษย์ disciple/student). The teacher/student relationship in Thailand is considered a lifelong bond, in which the student incurs a debt of gratitude and respect that can never be repaid (Brun, 1990). This form of apprenticeship emphasizes lineage and it has the overlay of religious dimensions found in other Asian medical systems, especially Tibetan medicine (Craig, 2007; Pordie, 2008) but not found in many apprenticeship relationships outside of medicine (Lave & Wenger, 1991; Singleton, 1998). Giving respect and thanks to teachers (and to the lineage of teachers who precede your teacher) is considered an obligation for the traditional medicine student and a pathway to success and to good luck in the profession. It is also an ongoing spiritual and professional obligation, one which is carried out yearly for as long as the teacher is alive (and after the teacher’s death). It is a reminder of the gift of learning, and the responsibilities it engenders.

Wai khruu, the ritual which pays respect to Shivaka Komarpaj (ชีวกโกมารภัจจ์), the figure who is known as the founder of the healing tradition is perhaps the most direct illustration of the continuing entwinement of Buddhism and medicine in Thailand. Shivaka Komarpaj Buddha’s Doctor, the Father Doctor figure is everywhere visible in the images which cluster on traditional healers’ altars. Every traditional healer and traditional medicine practice I visited had an altar and Shivaka Komarpaj was visible on all of them. The legends and healing stories which are centred on Shivaka Komarpaj are derived from the Pali canons (the Vinaka) which detail Buddhist medical knowledge and describe him as the Buddha’s physician. These healing stories support Shivaka’s status as the titulary head of the healing pantheon in Thai medicine despite the fact that Shivaka is a figure from the Hindu pantheon and the stories derive from Sanskrit writings[2].

Respect and devotion to the legendary Shivaka figure and to the sacred nature of healing is revived in the formalised practice of the wai kruu as a marker in the life of students and of practitioners. For some traditional medicine practitioners wai kruu is a devotion performed at the beginning and end of each day. For some practitioners it is the prelude to seeing the first patient, for others this prayer and ritual precedes reusi dat ton (ฤษีดัดตน), the therapeutic exercises used to prepare massage practitioners for treating patients[3]. The depiction of medical knowledge as passed down since the origins of Buddhism in India is a narrative used in most official histories of Thai traditional medicine (see Vichai Chokevivat and Anchalee Chutaputthi, 2005a). As Catichai Muksong and Komatra Chuengsatiansap (2012) point out the use of Buddhism to legitimize traditional medicine is a part of a specific period of state sponsored ideology in Thailand which existed until the beginning of the 20^th century.

The centrality of Buddhism to Thai culture and its continuing role in traditional medicine is one of the many fault lines visible in the evolving traditional medicine practices of Thailand and in Thai culture more generally. While modern professional practice has emerged (and a modern Thai culture has developed) there has been a growth in new forms of religiosity which Jackson suggests represent the intersection of the pre-modern with global capital (Jackson, 1999, 260-261). The incongruity of elements present in the wai khruu ceremony described at the opening of the chapter, indicates the cross currents operating in Thai culture and in the traditional medicine profession.

Wai khruu is a ritual linking traditional medicine to a Buddhist mythology which continues to be a significant focus for students of Thai traditional medicine. The presence of a monk at this ritual and his extended sermon confirm the enduring links between religion and healing. The surprising appearance of the medium in this ceremony highlights the connection of traditional medicine to pre-Buddhist religious practices. The current development of modern traditional medicine practitioners in Thailand can be seen in the context of state-based rationality; this carries with it the impetus to create a secularised practice of traditional medicine. Traditional medicine education based in universities and integrated into the public health system, is only one part of an exceedingly variegated medical landscape in Thailand. Such are the radical discontinuities which beset traditional medicine in 21^st century Thailand.

Anan Ganjanapan. (2000). Changing power and positions of mo muang in northern Thai healing rituals. Journal of the Siam Society, 88(1), 58-71.

Brun, V. (1990). Traditional manuals and the transmission of knowledge in Thailand. In B. Arendrup, S. Heilsen & J. Petersen (Eds.), The master said: To study and... (pp. 43-65). Copenhagen: East Asian Institute, University of Copenhagen.

Craig, S. (2007). Place and professionalization: navigating amchi identity in Nepal. In L. Pordie (Ed.), The world of Tibetan medicine: contemporary trends in the politics of medical knowledge and practice (pp. 62-90). London: Routledge.

Jackson, P. (1999). Royal spirits, Chinese gods and magic monks: Thailand's boom time and religion of prosperity. South East Asian Research, 7(3), 245-320.

Kendall, L. (2009). Shamans, nostalgias, and the IMF: South Korean popular religion in motion: University of Hawaii Press.

Lave, J., & Wenger, W. (1991). Situated learning: legitimate peripheral participation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Morris, R. (2000). In the place of origins; modernity and its mediums in Northern Thailand. London: Duke University Press.

Morris, R. (2002). Crisis of the modern in Northern Thailand: ritual tradition and the new value of pastness. In S. Tanabe & C. Keyes (Eds.), Cutlural crisis and social memory: modernity and identity in Thailand and Laos. London: Routledge Curzon.

Pordie, L. (2008). Tibetan medicine today: neo-traditionalism as an analytical lens and as a political tool. In Pordie (Ed.), Tibetan medicine in the contemporary world: global politics of medical  knowledge and practice (pp. 3-32). London Routledge.

Reynolds, C. (2002). Thai identity in the age of globalization In C. Reynolds (Ed.), National identity and its defenders: Thailand today (2002 ed.). Chiang Mai: Silkworm Books.

Singleton, J. (Ed.). (1998). Learning in likely places: varieties of apprenticship in Japan. Cambridge: Cambridge Univerity Press.

Tanabe, S. (1991). Spirits, power and the discourse of female gender: the phi meng cult of Northern Thailand. In Manas Chitakasem & A. Turton (Eds.), Thai constructions of knowledge (pp. 183-212). London: School of African and Oriental Studies, School of London.

Tanabe, S. (2002). The person in transformation. In S. Tanabe & C. Keyes (Eds.), Cultural crisis and social memory: modernity and identity in Thailand and Laos (pp. 43-67). London: Routledge , Curzon.

[1] The Association of Thai Traditional Healers (Chiang Mai) runs a traditional medicine school which teaches traditional medicine (including Thai massage) to Thai students in Chiang Mai. It was one of two private traditional medicine schools in Chiang Mai where I spent time as a participant observer interviewing students, interviewing lecturers and joining classes. The other school where I spent some time interviewing and observing was the Old Medicine Hospital, a centre for the study of Thai traditional medicine run by the Shivagakomarpaj Foundation. It teaches traditional medicine (including traditional herbal medicine, traditional pharmacy and traditional massage) to Thai students and it also teaches Thai massage to foreigners.

[2] As McDaniel (2013) points out there is a wealth of religious and cultural hybridity in this one figure although he is claimed as the Buddha’s doctor. McDaniel (2008) argues that Buddhism in Northern Thailand is notably syncretic and despite attempts to systematize practice and liturgy it is eclectic and resistant to such centralizing tendencies.

[3] The practice of ruesi dat ton is traditionally used to strengthen and prepare the practitioner for the practice of massage. It is conceptualized by some western commentators as a form of yoga that strengthens the body and clears energy blockages and moves energy through the body. Each morning that I studied Thai massage we would meet as a class in the teaching sala and practice reusi dat ton for an hour before breakfast. We began with the Pali chanting of the prayers to Shivaka Komarpaj.

Wai Khruu

The joke occurred to me as I pondered whether the people I study as a historian—Chinese elite doctors of the Song (960-1279), Jin (1115-1234), and Yuan (1271-1368) dynasties—would share my feeling of anxiety over whether and how these three parts of my life fit together. All three of these activities play important roles in my life. As a historian, practitioner, and teacher of Chinese medicine, I can unembarrasedly claim some form of expertise in both scholarship and healing, and while I would never presume to be an expert in any form of meditation, it has been a part of my life for more than twenty-five years. It was meditation that led to my interest in Asian cultures and religions, which led in turn to my interest in Chinese history and medicine. From the beginning, these three were aspects of one thing in my life, but when forced to contemplate them side-by-side, as I was that autumn day, I couldn't deny the sense of disjuncture I was experiencing. Would my Chinese predecessors have shared it?

My instinct was that they would not. After all, a good elite physician was supposed to be a gentleman, and a good gentleman was supposed to be, or at least affect to be, a scholar of the Chinese literary, historical, and philosophical tradition. Neither was there any dearth of reasons for a gentleman to meditate. Chan Buddhism (禪, better known by its Japanese name: Zen) was a living influence on elite society in this period, and many proponents of the Confucian movement, the Learning of the Way (Daoxue 道學), encouraged a meditative form of self-cultivation known as “quiet sitting (jingzuo 靜坐).” Furthermore, various forms of Daoist meditation, aimed at promoting health and longevity, were suitable practices for gentlemen, and this period saw the emergence of several new Daoist movements and meditative techniques for which the literati-elite were the primary audience and practitioners. There was, then, ample social sanction for an elite physician to also be a scholar and meditator. In fact, it might even seem odd if they were not. Surely, then, the doctors I study were happily exempt from my distress.

But were they? Is social sanction enough to prevent activities from feeling dissonant with each other? After all, my broad knowledge of Chinese medical literature elicits no objections from my colleagues in either academia or medicine. Whether as a historian or a practitioner of Chinese medicine, such knowledge is seen as an asset. What occasionally raises eyebrows among both practitioners and academics is not what I know, but who I am: the problem is that I am both a historian and a clinician. By the same token, although a knowledge of medicine—which could be used benevolently to help family, friends, and neighbors—was a praiseworthy accomplishment for a Chinese gentleman, my own and others’ research has shown clearly that elite society continued to view the practice of medicine as an unworthy occupation, even as more and more elite men took it up out of necessity. Gentlemen-physicians felt the need to defend their choice of career, and many only turned to medical practice only after failing at the far more prestigious career of government official and man of letters. So even in middle-period China, being both a doctor and a scholar was potentially fraught.[1]

What, then, of being a meditator? In the following sections, I examine the different contexts in which an elite doctor might have meditated. I have ignored the vast terrain of meditation as part of Buddhist or Daoist ritual for the simple reason that few elite doctors were also ritual practitioners of this sort. They relied on other, generally sub-elite ritualists when such services were necessary. For the sake of convenience, I will use the term meditation in its typical modern sense—any practice involving a quiet focusing of the mind—but this usage is highly problematic in the time and place I am discussing. I will return that problem at the end of this essay.

Sitting in Chan to Obtain the Way

For many years scholars took it as given that during the Song dynasty, Buddhism entered a period of decline from which it never recovered. Although monasteries continued to thrive and grow, the ideas and practices of this degenerate Buddhism were said to lack the creativity and vitality that characterized Buddhism under the Sui (581-618) and Tang (618-907) dynasties. Buddhism, if it retained any social significance, did so only among commoners. It was no longer a living force among the elite.[2]

Fortunately, scholarship over the last twenty years or so has done a great deal to correct this appraisal of Buddhism’s place in middle period China. Far from a period of decline, the Song Dynasty was one of the most dynamic periods of Chinese Buddhist history. It differed in many ways from preceding periods—most notably in that new developments were no longer coming from India but from within Chinese Buddhism itself—but it remained an active part of the life of the elite as well as commoners. Members of the literati-elite continued to visit, support, and contribute to the founding and repair of Buddhist temples and monasteries. Most importantly for the current topic, they continued to practice Buddhism, and for many of them such practices were real and relevant in their lives.[3]

Two forms of Buddhist meditation were particularly popular with the middle period elite: Chan and Pure Land (jingtu 淨土) meditation.

Chan meditation itself existed in two forms during this period, which came to be known as silent illumination Chan (mozhao Chan 默照禪) and phrase-observing Chan (kanhua Chan 看話禪). Silent illumination meditation was based on the idea that the quieting and stilling of the mind would allow the meditator to awaken to enlightenment. The practice was frequently described as “just sitting (zhiguan dazuo 只管打坐)” and became characteristic of the Caodong (曹洞, Jpn. Sōtō) branch of Chan. Phrase-inspecting meditation involved focusing on an enlightened conundrum expressed in a gongan (公案, lit. public case; Jpn. Kōan). Gongan were usually records of interactions between Chan masters and their students involving some logically inexplicable element. After meditating deeply on the heart of this conundrum, the meditator’s mind would make the leap to direct perception of a solution that could not be expressed in unenlightened words. The Chan masters who established these two approaches as distinct and separate were popular figures with large followings among the elite at a time when elite support was particularly crucial to the survival of Buddhist institutions, and it has been argued that the differentiation of these two approaches owed more to Chan teachers’ need to distinguish themselves in a competitive religious marketplace than it did to doctrinal or other intra-Chan disputes.[4] Regardless, the literati-elite were clearly the main audience for and practitioners of these kinds of meditation.

From their inception, soliciting elite support was one of the purposes of Song Dynasty pure land societies. These groups, formed in imitation of a society founded long before by the revered monk Huiyuan (334-416), were organized to provide support for Buddhists seeking to be reborn in a pure land (jingtu), the paradisiacal realm inhabited by a Buddha. In particular, devotees sought rebirth in the pure land of Amitābha Buddha (Emituofo 阿彌陀佛; Jpn. Amida Butsu). Pure Land practice focused on “Buddha-mindfulness meditation” (nianfo sanmei 念佛三昧; Skt. buddhānusmṛti samādhi). This term initially referred to the mental recollection of a Buddha, but over time came to be increasingly associated with recitation of a Buddha’s name. Although Buddha-mindfulness became one of the most widespread forms of meditation in China—embraced by all social strata—it originated in an effort to bring in more of the literati-elite and remained a common practice among them[5]

Quiet Sitting and Active Study

The religious movement for which the Song is most famous is without doubt the Learning of the Way (often called Neo-Confucianism). Founded on the teachings of the Cheng brothers—Cheng Hao (程顥, 1032-1086) and Cheng Yi (程頤, 1033-1107)—the Learning of the Way was part of a more general Confucian revival during the Song. Its supporters decried the moral degeneration of their times and sought to create a society founded on the teachings of the legendary sage-emperors of Chinese antiquity. To the existing Confucian literature, Learning of the Way scholars added a more sophisticated vision of cosmology that rooted Confucian morality and self-cultivation in the very nature of the universe. They sought a higher goal than merely becoming a refined and moral gentleman (junzi 君子), proclaiming that it was possible to become a sage (sheng 聖)—a human who understood and accorded with the true nature of things and therefore responded perfectly to all situations and was a supreme source of guidance to all around him. They also created new rituals and social institutions designed to bind families and communities together as morally active communities.

As in all forms of Confucianism, study and learning had a central place in the Learning of the Way. What is less well-known is that a form of meditation called “quiet sitting” was also central to Daoxue’s practices. In particular, Zhu Xi (朱熹, 1130-1200)—whose interpretation of the Learning of the Way would ultimately become state orthodoxy—stressed the importance of this practice. For Zhu, quiet sitting was an essential step in the process of true learning:

When you first begin the effort of studying, what is necessary is quiet sitting. If you practice quiet sitting, the foundation [of your learning] will be stable.[6]
始學工夫，須是靜坐。靜坐則本源定。

Quiet sitting made one ready to learn and kept one in a receptive state:

If the spirit is not stable, then the principle of the Way has nowhere to gather.[7]
精神不定，則道理無湊泊處。

Zhu was aware that what he was prescribing to his students appeared superficially similar to Chan meditation, but he was adamant that in its essence it was quite different:

In quiet sitting, it is not the case that you want it to be like sitting in Chan [meditation] and entering samādhi. Just restrain this mind. Under no circumstance fall into [the error of] guarding against thoughts. Thus, this mind will be clear and still, without affairs, and naturally become concentrated. If affairs arise, then it will respond in accord with the affairs. When the affairs are complete, it will again become clear and still.[8]
靜坐非是要如坐禪入定，斷絕思慮。只收斂此心，莫令走作閑思慮，則此心湛然無事，自然專一。及其有事，則隨事而應；事已，則復湛然矣。

Quiet sitting was a more relaxed affair than Chan meditation and could be performed anywhere. Its goal was not so much a spontaneous awakening to truth (although some Daoxue supporters did advocate this kind of realization),[9] but acquiring a receptiveness to learning and a readiness to respond to situations appropriately and effectively.

Nourishing Life and Seeking Immortality

Of all the forms of meditation elite doctors would have likely encountered, none has such a clear bearing on health and healing as the practices designed to nourish life (yangsheng 養生) and seek immortality (xiuxian 修仙). By the Song Dynasty, most of these practices were firmly associated with Daoism, whatever their origins, and the appearance of new Daoist movements in this period facilitated the spread of these meditative techniques among the elite.

Strictly speaking, there was no clear line between nourishing life and seeking immortality. Both were largely conceptualized in terms of longevity (shou 壽). Thus one could strive to fulfill one’s allotment of one hundred years or one could strive for “longevity equal to that of heaven and earth.”[10] The methods involved differed considerably, but all were equally forms of nourishing life. Diversity was one of the hallmarks of this genre.

Many nourishing life practices had nothing to do with meditation. Manuals on dietetics, exercise, seasonal regimen, and other non-meditative methods of nourishing life enjoyed great popularity during the middle period. Other forms of nourishing life lay in the murky border between what we would call exercise and meditation: movements—subtle or gross—accompanied by specific visualizations, breathing exercises, practices of sexual cultivation, and so forth. Many techniques that we would see as unequivocally meditative existed as well.

There is not space in this paper to even survey the variety of Daoist meditative techniques common from the Song to the Yuan, so I will focus on a new movement that became highly influential from this time onward: internal alchemy (neidan 內丹). Internal alchemy was both a development of and a reaction against the older forms of physical alchemy—now often called external alchemy (waidan 外丹). In that practice, various minerals—most notably cinnabar and sulfur—were combined and heated in crucibles following very precise schedules in an effort to produce an actual, physical elixir of immortality. The advocates of internal alchemy rejected this quest as misbegotten. Only an elixir of the same nature as a human being could possibly lead to immortality, and such an elixir was only to be found within oneself, not in the external world.[11] The goal of internal alchemy was the generation of an insubstantial and immortal “embryo (tai 胎)” that was the adept’s true self and via which he would endure forever.

The practices of internal alchemy are complex, and they were made more inscrutable by authors’ habit of describing them in highly metaphorical language that drew on the trigrams of the Classic of Changes (Yijing 易經), the details of external alchemy, the technical language of Chinese medicine, and previous texts on internal alchemy. The profusion of symbolism and metaphor seems to actually be a part of the process of refining the elixir. Cloaked under such language, the texts of internal alchemy describe a plethora of meditative practices: stabilizing the concentration, breath control, internal visualization, guiding the qi and other fundamental substances of the body to circulate in particular ways, and more. Some of these practices, particularly in the later stages, resembled Chan meditation, but they were only one of a complex sequence of meditative practices designed to lead the adept to immortality and transcendence.[12]

Were There Meditators or Meditation in Middle Period China?

This is the sort of question you ask at the risk of being labeled a pedant, or worse. But it is precisely this sort of seemingly nitpicky detail that can ruin an otherwise excellent argument or offer a solution to an otherwise baffling conundrum. In my opinion, the question I posed in the introduction—“Would Chinese elite physicians of the middle period share my sense of dissonance between being a scholar, a clinician, and a meditator?”—can only be answered after considering this problem.

Although all of the practices described above would be called meditation today, there was no single term in Chinese that included all of them. Zhu Xi’s concern that students might confuse quiet sitting with Chan meditation clearly shows that he and others at the time recognized a similarity between the two practices. But was this a superficial similarity of appearance or a generic similarity in the type of activity being performed? This question goes far beyond the topic of this essay, but I would suggest that Zhu Xi’s argument was that the substance of quiet sitting differed fundamentally from that of Chan. The two were not different forms of the same activity, but distinct activities whose outward manifestations appeared similar.

If Zhu Xi’s opinion is generalizable to the rest of elite society, then Chan meditation, quiet sitting, and refining the elixir of immorality within one’s body were not species of the same genus, but separate genera altogether. There was no “meditation” in middle period China, and therefore there was no overall category “meditators.” Moreover, these practices were deeply embedded in the particular teachings that gave birth to them. The identity of a practitioner was thus not vested in the individual practices, but in the teachings to which they belonged. A man who practiced quiet sitting was not a “practitioner of quiet sitting.” This social role simply did not exist. He was a practitioner of the Learning of the Way and a Daoxue Confucian—and likewise for people who practiced Chan meditation or internal alchemy. The men I study, therefore, were doctors and scholars, but they were not meditators.

The English term “meditation” has come to refer to a bewildering array of practices that have little genuine similarity with one another. It is not unlike the problems with another word, “shaman,” that has presented interpretive problems for historians of China. But while scholars have already taken that word to task,^[13] “meditation” continues to run amok in our discourses, wantonly conflating unrelated activities. All of the practices discussed in this paper originated in one region within roughly a century of one another, and yet they differed greatly in their rationales, their goals, and in what their practitioners were actually doing. The only real similarity between them is that their practitioners were often sitting down quietly. Can this really justify taking them as members of a single category?

Conclusion: “And one Man in his Time Plays Many Parts”

I began this paper by wondering whether the elite doctors I study meditated, and if so, whether they would have shared my sense of uncomfortable disjuncture when forced to hold those roles simultaneously. Clearly, there were many situations in which these doctors might have engaged in practices we would call meditation. In fact, many of their day-to-day medical practices might also warrant that name. Anyone who has taken a pulse knows that it requires a great degree of inner calm and relaxed but concentrated attention. Is it so different from open awareness cultivated in silent illumination Chan? The art of crafting a medicinal formula also demands an inward contemplation and organization of vast amounts of memorized material. Is there no similarity between this and the inward visualizations of internal alchemy?

I also noted at the outset of this paper that it is my multiple identities, and not my activities per se, that occasionally cause discomfort or puzzlement to myself and others. It is perceived conflicts of social roles that lead to a sense of social dissonance. The elite doctors I studied experienced just that dissonance in juxtaposing their identities as physicians and scholars, but even if they were active participants in all of the practices described in this essay (not impossible, if unlikely), they would never have an identity as a “meditator,” because no such identity existed in their time. It is likely that they did have identities as Buddhists, Daoxue Confucians, and/or Daoists, but there was no necessary conflict between these identities and being a doctor and scholar. Therefore, while my doctors may have shared with me the difficulties of being both a doctor and a scholar, I can rest content knowing that they lived free of any anxieties regarding being a meditator—even if I cannot.

[1] Robert Hymes, “Not Quite Gentlemen? Doctors in Sung and Yuan,” Chinese Science, no. 8 (1987): 9–76; Stephen Boyanton, “The Treatise on Cold Damage and the Formation of Literati Medicine: Social, Epidemiological, and Medical Change in China 1000-1400” (PhD Dissertation, Columbia University, 2015).

[2] See, for example, Kenneth Chʻen, Buddhism in China, a Historical Survey, (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1972), 389–400.

[3] Peter N Gregory, “The Vitality of Buddhism in the Sung,” in Buddhism in the Sung, ed. Peter N Gregory and Daniel Aaron Getz (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2002), 1–20; Chi-chiang Huang, “Elite and Clergy in Northern Sung Hang-Chou: A Convergence of Interest,” in Buddhism in the Sung, ed. Peter N Gregory and Daniel Aaron Getz (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2002), 295–331; Mark Halperin, Out of the Cloister: Literati Perspectives on Buddhism in Sung China, 960-1279 (Cambridge: Harvard University Asia Center, 2006).

[4] Morten Schlütter, “Silent Illumination, Kung-An Intorspection, and the Competition for Lay Patronage in Sung Dynasty Ch’an,” in Buddhism in the Sung, ed. Peter N Gregory and Daniel Aaron Getz (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2002), 109–47.

[5] Daniel A. Getz, “T’ien-Tai Pure Land Societies and the Creation of the Pure Land Patriarchate,” in Buddhism in the Sung, ed. Peter N Gregory and Daniel Aaron Getz (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2002), 487–492.

[6] Categorized Sayings of Master Zhu (Zhuzi yulei 朱子語類, 1270), juan 12, xue liu, chishou, in Zhu Xi, Zhuzi yulei, ed. Li Jingde (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 1986), 217.

[7] Ibid., 216.

[8] Ibid., 217.

[9] E.g., Ari Borrell, “Ko-Wu or Kung-An? Practice, Realization, and Teaching in the Thought of Chang Chiu-Ch’eng,” in Buddhism in the Sung, ed. Peter N Gregory and Daniel Aaron Getz (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2002), 62–108.

[10] Awakening to Reality (Wuzhen pian, 悟真篇, ca. 1075), qiyan lüshi 10, in Zhang Boduan, Wuzhen Pian Qianjie, ed. Wang Mu (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 1990), 16; translation adapted from Fabrizio Pregadio, Awakening to Reality: The “Regulated Verses” of the Wuzhen Pian, a Taoist Classic of Internal Alchemy (Mountain View: Golden Elixir Press, 2009), 52.

[11] Wuzhen pian, qiyan lüshi 8, in Zhang Boduan, Wuzhen Pian Qianjie, 14–15.

[12] Isabelle Robinet, Taoism: Growth of a Religion, trans. Phyllis Brooks (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997), 215–250; Wang Mu, Neidan yangsheng gongfa zhiyao (Beijing: Dongfang Chubanshe, 1990); Wang Mu, Foundations of Internal Alchemy: The Taoist Practice of Neidan, trans. Fabrizio Pregadio (Mountain View: Golden Elixir Press, 2011).

[13] E.g., Alice Beck Kehoe, Shamans and Religion: An Anthropological Exploration in Critical Thinking (Prospect Heights: Waveland Press, 2000).

Recently, there has been burgeoning interest in healing for illnesses of the heart.1 People living in developed civilizations are burdened by heavy workloads that force them to live busy lives. As people produce more, they also consume more. It is common knowledge that in modern society, people are often treated as tools of production, and are valued for their utility rather than their being. Human dignity is determined by one’s degree of usefulness, and thereby humanity loses its true meaning.

Why do people today place such high value on material civilization to the detriment of living a happy life? Perhaps they suffer because of an incorrect interpretation of what it means to live a happy life. They seem to believe that happiness is not a matter of the heart, but instead depends on external material conditions. They strongly believe that happiness requires a certain status or social success, and to secure such a happy life, they are taught to believe that they must triumph through fierce competition to secure wealth and status. They believe that they should desperately use all means and methods to achieve such an esteemed life. However, owing to such beliefs, life can spiral downwards. Social pathologies and pain arising from misguided beliefs can only be resolved when one's viewpoints and attitudes change.

A change in viewpoint and attitude toward life must begin by reflecting on oneself. We should reflect on our wrong belief, and attempt to distance ourselves from it. Distancing ourselves means changing our viewpoint. However, a shift in viewpoint cannot be achieved simply by way of intellectual exploration. Intellectual work, which pursues the knowledge of the objective world, is just an auxiliary means to resolving pain. Beyond this intellectual effort, we should also look at the disposition of our mind, and practice resting the mind. This is the starting point of meditation.

Meditation, in my view, is not about pursuing external objects, but a disciplined way of looking for the lost self. Meditation is an attempt to search for the origin that gives the self his or her identity. The ordinary active mind is formed by our habits and experiences, as well as by our education. In this frame of mind, we can distinguish right from wrong according to our life standards, but can always easily slip into self-centered thought and act according to our own biases. When we do this, discrepancies in opinions arise, causing disputes and contributing to a painful life. Meditation aims primarily to distance ourselves from such an ordinary, habitual mind. It further seeks to eventually find the true self.

Confucianism, Daoism, and Buddhism all uphold the goal of a perfected human being—represented by a saint, an immortal, or Buddha, respectively—and promise that this is a state human beings can reach through various practical disciplines taught by each tradition. From the viewpoint of all three Asian traditions, the realization of such an ideal human life lies in the search for one's inner foundation. In all cases, discipline and practice starts with overcoming the self, specifically, with winning the fight against the selfish persona. This paper discusses how this practice appears in the Chinese Daoist classic, the Book of the Way and its Power (Daode Jing), by Laozi.

Meditation in Laozi

Laozi's Daode Jing does not mention a specific meditation technique. However, there are hints of Laozi's ideas about how to practice. He instructs: “Close the mouth, shut the doors. Blunt the sharpness, untie the tangles. Soften the light, become one with the dusty world. This is called profound identification.”2 This expression suggests three stages of meditative practice.

The first stage, “close the mouth and shut the doors,” is the pre-meditation stage. Although it mentions only the mouth, the implication is we must close all of our sensory organs. This closes the doors through which qi exits, and via which our life energy is wasted. If we thus sit quietly, we are not distracted by the temptation of external objects.

Laozi's second stage of mediation is to “blunt the sharpness and untie the tangles.” This is the stage of mental discipline in which we refine the roughness of our mind. In this stage, it is important to forsake unnecessary desires that cause conflicts with others. Laozi also warns against pursuing futile knowledge. If we do so, we can be free from worries; we can empty our mind and remain serene.

In this serene condition, we can see the true nature of all things, which is the third stage. This transformation cannot come simply from philosophical thoughts, but must be achieved through a transcendental consciousness that is beyond the ordinary state of mind. That is the realm where light is softened, and one becomes one with the dusty world. This last stage of the discipline is called xuantong, “becoming one with the mysterious.”

Unfortunately, the Daode jing does not give more detail about specific methods involved in meditation. But, Laozi presents various ideas in the text about the practice and its benefits.

Laying down desires

The path of cultivation laid out by Laozi involves modesty, humbleness, and surrendering. By overcoming problematic situations caused by the bondage of the selfish self, we can heal a confused heart. Laozi sternly warns of the results of endlessly expanding material desires: “There is no greater woe in our lives than not knowing our satisfaction.”3 The more desire we have for wealth, power, and sensuous pleasure, the further we pursue them. People always seem to want to be satisfied, to stay ahead of other people, and to feel happy by pursuing sensuous desires. If we do not step away from the pursuit of these worldly values, we will not be able to attain peace of mind and a sense of balance.

In constrast, Laozi finds the true value of human life in remaining simple: “People around me are very bright, but only I seem to be dull. People around me have a calculating and careful mind, but only I remain in the dark. Quietness seems like a sea, and gusts of wind seem to run wild. People around me are all useful, but only I am uncivilized and outdated. Only I, different from others, see it important to move toward the Way.”4 It seems that, compared with others who seem to be moving at a fast pace in response to changing times, Laozi might look like a fool or outcast. However, unlike people who pursue their immediate interests in daily life, his mind is focused on the Way, which is the origin of things. This state of mind is not to be gained naturally, but must be reached through the practice of meditation.

People with Laozi’s “foolish mind” can deal with everyday situations with a flexible attitude. They will not manipulate people, and will not resort to acting immorally. They will handle work naturally. Laozi expresses such a life attitude as “soft.” He insists, “When human beings are alive, they are soft, but when they are dead, they become firm. As plants grow, they are flexible, but when they are dead, they become hard. Those things that are dead are hard and strong, and those things that are living are soft and weak.”5

Though a person who is like water might be humiliated by a strong person, hardness will always eventually be subjugated by softness. “There is nothing in the world softer than water, but when water accumulates and grows bigger it can penetrate even the hardest material. Everyone knows that something feeble can win against something strong, and something soft can win against something hard, though they do not properly practice this principle.”6

Worldly people continuously consume their lives competing with other people to attain more wealthy and honorable positions. In contrast, Laozi emphasizes that we should stay humble, yield to others, and live in a low position that is not usually favored. He says, “Rivers and seas allow all streams to flow into them because they stay low. Therefore, they can become the king of the streams.”7

Laozi believes that this concept of non-competition can help remove the roots of social injustice, and open the way to accept other people's position. A person with a water-like mind is able to restrain him or herself from fighting with other people. Laozi says, “Water benefits all things, does not pick a fight, and yet it stays where many people disdain it. It resembles the Dao.… It avoids fighting and thus, it has no transgressions.”8 Likewise, “A saint, although seated above, does not feel like a heavy burden to people, and he, although seated in the front, is not like an obstacle to people. Therefore, all people willingly honor him, but they are not bored with him. He does not fight with other people, and so he has no enemies.”9

Thus, Laozi, through his suggested methods of being flexible, keeping a low profile, and being non-competitive, intends to open the way for each of us to restore our own nature and to allow all things to realize their own nature. Through such efforts, we can aim to step away from being bound by our immediate desires and consumption, instead cultivating a yielding and modest mind that looks for a mutually beneficial situation for everyone.

Overcoming artificiality and affectation

However, while modesty and humility are desirable, our habitual, ordinary mind easily falls into temptation and vanity. We seek to resolve our life problems in a simple way rather than in a right way.

Laozi warns against “artificial doing” (youwei, or renwei), which can also be translated as “affectation.” Laozi says in this regard, “A person, with heels up, cannot stand long; and a person, with legs spread wide, walks clumsily and cannot go far. A person, if claiming his insistence, is not bright; a person, if insisting on being right, is not bright; a person, if showing off himself, loses his meritorious achievements; and a person, if boasting of himself, will not sustain his presence long.”10 A person with heels up, a person walking clumsily, and a person showing off or boasting are people who act unnaturaly. Such acts are all deemed “redundancies from the viewpoint of the Way.”11 Vanity is an unnecessary attitude one carries with them when doing a particular act. Such vanity hampers the course of a normal life, and, in worse cases, it leads to unhealthy situations. Laozi notes the diversity of affectations in our lives driven by vanity, and asks us to escape from them.

The causes of such artificiality can be explained in three ways. The lowest level of artificiality refers to the intemperate pursuit of sensuous desires. The stronger and more diverse the stimuli received from external sources through our sensory organs, the further our consciousness is pressed by and subjected to such external stimuli, and the further disabled the mechanism to look upon ourselves becomes. Laozi says, “Five colors blind people's eyes, five sounds deafen people's ears, and five tastes hurt people's mouths.”12 In other words, stimuli of all kinds dull our sensory organs, making us more and more numb. Obviously, the pursuit of temporary pleasures like these does not lead to true happiness. Furthermore, sometimes, manipulation in the pursuit of pleasures leads us directly to pain.

The second level is psychological or emotional artificiality: feelings of pleasure, anger, or numbness when showing off and employing one’s skills to gain favors from others. The third and last level is manipulation through thoughts,  theories, and ideologies. These three levels—sensuous desires, vanity, and ideological distortions—all lead people to manipulate others and to lose their true nature. Such loss of nature causes them to plunge into non-freedom.

To oppose and negate the manipulations of “artificial doing” (youwei), Laozi presents the concept of “non-doing” (wuwei). For Laozi, non-doing does not simply mean inaction. Non-doing is the positive action of refusing to give rise to the factors that lead to the abovementioned manipulations. The verb wu in wuwei can mean “to negate” or “to remove.” The target of such negation are mental states like dependence, falsehood, manipulation, and externalization. Human beings, if bound in these states, will become unnatural and devoid of freedom. Thus, Laozi asserts that, in order to escape from pain and move towards freedom,  these need to be negated and removed.

Non-doing is thus a training to negate and remove artificiality and affectation from the mind. It can be reached only through the course of strenuous discipline, paying attention to each moment in meditation. Only when this practical meaning of Laozi’s philosophy is properly disclosed, can the healing aspect of discipline be clearly understood.

Cultivation of a serene heart

In Laozi’s text, the goal of meditation is to produce a serene heart, through which we can escape from the bondages of life and pursue ultimate freedom. Stopping our desires and our artificial thinking is not merely to sit idle or stay in a dull state, but has the purpose of making us clearly awake and allowing our life to be guided intuitively.13

This state is described by Laozi as “empty” (xu) and “serene” (jing).14 He emphasizes one must become “wholeheartedly” empty and serene. This means concentrating our heart/mind on one thing.15 If our heart/mind is confused, we cannot achieve anything, and we will be driven by external influences and only be troubled. But, if our heart/mind remains truly empty and serene, our life is undisturbed by the movement of external objects.  “Although all things around me are turbulent, I can return to serenity.”16

Laozi closes with this sentence: “If we do not know steadfastness, we will become irrational and wild.”17 This is what we always experience in our routine lives. If we are continuously agitated by external objects, we experience never-ending suffering. We need to stop this situation. If we stop, we can distance ourselves from such situations, and clearly see ways to return to the origin. Then we can regain our stability and search for a steady way of life. However, most people do not properly understand the way to a steady life, and instead are consumed by external things and become ill because of their sensuous desires.

Pursuing meditation is different from the pursuit of external knowledge. Laozi says, “Acquiring knowledge requires daily accumulation; practicing Dao requires daily reduction.”18 Acquiring knowledge can be thought of today as the main pursuits of the natural sciences, social sciences, and other empirical fields. Knowledge pursued in these arenas are obtained outside oneself. On the other hand, practicing the Dao requires the person to look within. Elevating oneself is possible not by filling but by emptying, not by the external but the internal.

Through this inner awakening, we can obtain a clear and pure mind, and discover our true nature beyond our specific environment. Nonetheless, Laozi's pursuit of mental freedom through meditation is not to suggest we neglect our daily activities. Daoist philosophy is not simply about staying in the area of theoretical exploration. Laozi writes: “Embracing light with our heart and becoming one with the dusty world,”19 we should endeavor to purify and clarify our mind so we can apply these truths in real life. Daoist philosophical approaches thus are part of a practical system of overcoming pain and healing the heart.

Notes

1. The Korean sim (Chinese xin)⁠ is an East Asian word connoting both mental and emotional qualities in addition to the physical heart organ. For readability, I have most often used the translation of this term as “heart,” although in certain cases, I have opted for “heart/mind” in order to make clear what I am referring to.

2. DDJ 56

3. DDJ 46.

4. DDJ 20.

5. DDJ 76.

6. DDJ 8.

7. DDJ 66.

8. DDJ 8.

9. DDJ 66.

10. DDL 24.

11. DDL 24.

12. DDJ 12.

13. Kim⁠ 2011.

14. DDJ 16.

15. The discipline method of emptying the heart to obtain serenity shown in Xunzi, jiebi, comes from Daoism.

16. DDJ  16.

17. DDJ 16.

18. DDJ 48.

19. DDJ 56.

References

• DDJ: Laozi. 2007. Daode jing. Translated into Korean by Lee Gang-su. Seoul: Gil.

• Kim Jeong-ho. 2011. Mentoring on mind control and meditation. Seoul: Bulkwang.

We are hungry for a direct experience of the sacred in this culture.  We are continuously making contact with spirituality through our ways of making meaning.  This is the source of our resiliency. Narratives mediate between the inner world and the outer world, giving shape to our experience.  However, healing (even in psychology) is not only about talk.  It is embodied.  For this reason, the wider field of Buddhist healing practices, particularly Mahayana ritual, merits more thorough study.  Ritual is performed narrative, embodied narrative. The rituals of traditional Buddhist medicine are powerful vehicles for spiritual transformation that reconnect clients with an embodied wholeness.

Chod, Medicine Buddha practices, and other traditional Tibetan rituals are currently used by healers to evoke sacred energies. These rituals create the ground for experiences of radical empathy between client and healer, support psycho-spiritual integration of the healing crisis and also contact deep archetypal realms of the psyche. In reclaiming the power of ritual within healing, we have access to a deeper well than object-materialism provides.  Through this exploration of ritual we will rediscover healing as catalyst for spiritual transformation.

Healer- Coresearchers. 

Ten Buddhist healers shared their stories. Of these, most were Tibetan Buddhist practitioners, due to various social and cultural factors precipitated by the geopolitical struggles of the 20th century. Western acculturation has reshaped the societies of Thailand, Korea, Japan and other traditionally Buddhist countries during the past hundred years. Many of the lineages of traditional medicine have been the casualties of American missionaries’ proselytizing influence. Within China, Cambodia, and Vietnam, Buddhist societies were reshaped to fit the needs of an atheist state: Buddhist practices were considered bourgeois and a potential threat to the autonomy of the state. Acupuncture and other traditional healing practices were “reformed” by the Chinese government to retain mechanistic functionality; spiritual components of traditional healing were removed from the traditional medicine canon. While there are certainly reservoirs of traditional healing cultures within these countries, and to some extent, within their émigré communities, traditional healing resources are more easily accessed within Tibetan communities.

The healers represented a broad spectrum of healing praxis. Several healers worked within more than one healing modality. Two were doctors of Tibetan medicine; two were acupuncturists; five worked with subtle energy; three worked both through ritual and ceremony, and through counseling. These five classifications (doctors of Tibetan medicine, acupuncturists, energetic healers, performers of ritual, and counselors) describe the full range of traditional Buddhist healing practice. Coresearchers’ healing modalities reflected the syncretic nature of Tibetan Buddhist medicine, as it is influenced by other cultures and healing pathways. The acupuncturists had trained in both Tibetan Buddhist and classical Chinese medicine. One of the Tibetans integrated Reiki into his Medicine Buddha practice. A Chodpa (Chod practitioner) kept up a thriving homeopathy practice. This accurately reflects the cultural crossroads at which Buddhist traditional healing is situated in the 21st century. All were recognized by their communities as healers—sought out for pujas, traditional medicine and energy work and counseling, and given various degrees and recognitions according to their lineage.The Cultural Narrative of Ritual

Within the healers’ Buddhist cultures, rituals serve as the embodied narratives of healing practice. Let’s explore a few Buddhist definitions of ritual as a prelude to the discussion of the specific rituals that healers used in the context of their work.

Buddhist definitions of ritual.

There are several Tibetan words that convey the meaning of “ritual.” Choga is the Tibetan translation of the Sanskrit vidhi, “manner or way of acting” or “rule”: This term may refer to the guidelines for a ritual, or the ritual itself. However, Choga would not include the recitation of mantras or performance of mudras, although these are among the rituals described by these traditional healers, and these practices are part of many Choga (Cabazon, 2009). The Tibetan definition of Choga is “a method for accomplishing a goal” (Cabezon, 2009, p. 14). Within this broad understanding, we can consider all the healing practices described by these traditional healers as ritual. As Buddhist teacher Tenzin Wangyal Rinpoche has put it, “Ritual is like a form of language that has a power to catch issues when they are on the surface.[1]” Buddhist scholar Arai (2013) described the power of this embodied language to convey an experience of interrelatedness that surpasses cognitive processes:

In a worldview where the interrelatedness of all things is the primary point of reference, healing means to be in harmony with this impermanent web of relationships that constitutes the dynamic universe. It is difficult, however, to comprehend—much less experience—something so expansive. Interrelatedness cannot be experienced deliberately. Rituals, however, can be a conduit to an intuitive experience of interrelatedness, based on the body, precisely because rituals can induce modes of being that transcend linear and rational logic and facilitate contact with the ineffable. Rituals can affect a person holistically by entering below the radar of cerebral cognition and bypassing dualistic perception. They permeate the body-mind. . . . Therefore rituals that do not explicitly purport to be healing rituals can indirectly facilitate a key dimension of a Buddhist healing activity—a nondualistic experience of reality.[2] (p. 3)

These Buddhist understandings of ritual can provide a gateway into our discussion of ritual, which can additionally be informed by contemporary Western approaches to healing ritual—and ultimately, the healers’ stories and understandings of their work.

Cultural lenses. 

Given that an exploration of healers’ stories is a doorway into a different cultural world, a world of contemplative and indigenous practices, it is essential to prepare ourselves for the art and science of translation. While all interviews were conducted in English, these narratives, in their telling, also included body language, pauses between words, and other contextual cues that cannot be replicated on the printed page. As one healer counselled, it is necessary to listen for the spaces between the words.

Choga, ritual, is a path of accomplishing a goal; accordingly, in structuring  this discussion of healing rituals, I have differentiated between these rituals according to their goal.  A full description of these rituals can be found here.

Healing Across Cultures.  

The eclectic cultural praxis of the healers brought the researcher to actively question whether there are core ritual components of the healing process that can be identified across traditional cultures. Within this study, I sought to engage indigenous and transcultural scholarship that may illuminate the core elements of healing ritual. Koss-Chioino (2006a, 2006b) conducted field research in Puerto Rico and Latin American countries on Indigenous spirituality and healing. She then collaborated in the interdisciplinary STRP (Spiritual Transformation Scientific Research Program), which sought to identify universal factors that influence the process of spiritual transformation.  Based on this research, Koss-Chioino (2006a) hypothesized a global model of healing ritual.

My exploration . . . is based on an assumption that cultural elaborations—such as very different mythic worlds, diverse symbol systems, different schemas to identify illness and disorder, various types of ritual paraphernalia and so on—are elaborations of content rather than process. . . . What I suggest here as foundational aspects of the healing process can also be identified in some psychotherapeutic modalities, although they appear of lesser importance in the healing process in these psychotherapeutic modalities. (p. 46)

This model centered upon three components: transformation, relation, and radical empathy, a state in which the healer and client’s experiences are felt by the healer as a single relational field (Koss-Chioino, 2006b). This concept of radical empathy is analogous to Siegel’s concept of integrative joining: through tracking, the therapist’s whole-body listening and attunement to the client, accompanied by unconditional acceptance and kindness, a level of resonance is achieved that catalyzes the therapist’s interoceptive awareness of a connection “before and beyond words” (Siegel, 2010b, p. 142). Koss-Chioino’s finding of the centrality of radical empathy to the healing process is congruent with the narratives of traditional Buddhist healers: To cite coresearcher Dr. Wangmo, “the seed of the doctor is compassion.” Within this study, the centrality of radical empathy was expressed through the themes of reflecting wholeness and relationships. The active practice of radical empathy within ritual healing process is discussed in this study’s delineation of healing ritual through the use of the term therapeutic attunement.

Koss-Chioino (2006b) concurred with Katz’s definition of spiritual transformation as “dramatic changes in world and self views, purposes, religious beliefs, attitudes or behaviors (Katz, 2004, p. 15). She described the spiritual transformation of the healer as a somato-emotional and spiritual learning that supported new capacities for working with sacred energies and the development of empathy, often through the archetype of the “wounded healer” (Koss-Chioino, 2006b, p. 656). This is consistent with healers’ narratives, and particularly resonant with narratives that describe the healer’s successful resolution of healing crises discussed earlier in this chapter. Within this study, the centrality of spiritual transformation to the healing process is described through the theme of change of consciousness. In this study’s discussion of healing ritual, spiritual transformation is identified with the rituals of evoking sacred power and changing awareness.

Koss-Chioino identified relation as the third core element: healers expressed and acted on a belief “that a person is continually affected by what other persons are feeling, particularly within families” (Koss-Chioino, 1990, p. 55). In one setting, ritual communications reinforced the client’s awareness of this interconnection through reference to individuals as “grains of sand” within the wider universe. Within this study, the centrality of relation is described through the themes of relationships and tendrel. The active function of relation as an element of ritual is described as the ritual of reconnection with the natural world and community.

There is some distinction between these studies, with regard to the treatment of the spiritual transformation, relation, and radical empathy of the client: Koss-Chioino’s (2006a, 2006b) study described the centrality of these ritual elements with reference to the healers’ experiences. However, her model suggests that the experiences of spiritual transformation, relation, and empathy are also central to the client’s experience, both in traditional healing and within the psychotherapeutic process. Within this study, the connection between Buddhist healer’s ontology and praxis was additionally mediated through the core rituals of setting intention, mindfulness, and creating sacred space. These rituals prepared the ground for the efficacy of ritual elements identified with spiritual transformation, relation, and radical empathy.

It is the researcher’s opinion that this study should be weighed in context with Koss-Chioino’s fieldwork and related research on the core components of healing ritual, to advance the research of the STRP (Spiritual Transformation Research Project). More research is necessary to discern whether the core ritual components of healing across cultures can be summarized through an integration of Koss-Chioino’s three ritual elements with the ritual elements of setting intention, mindfulness, and creating sacred space, or whether there are functional differences across cultures with regard to their healing paradigms.

[1] Rinpoche, Tenzin Wangyal. In Traveling Between the Worlds: Conversations with Contemporary Shamans, Hillary Webb. Charlottesville, VA: Hampton Roads, 2004. 235.

[2] Arai, P. (2013). Bringing Zen home: The healing heart of Japanese women’s rituals. Honolulu, HI: University of Hawaii Press. p.3.

In this blog, I provide short abstracts of important Buddhist medical sources in Pāli. Note that I have only included texts, chapters, or sections that are primarily about medicine or nursing. There are many Buddhist texts that include isolated or scattered references to relevant topics which have not been included. This list is a work in progress that will be continually updated. The date above reflects the most recent date of modification. For references to the secondary scholarship cited here, see the H-Buddhism Bibliography Project on Zotero.

Please note that the abstracts below were written by C. Pierce Salguero, and are offered here under a Creative Commons license. They may be copied, distributed, or displayed for non-commercial purposes as long as the author is attributed. Any derivative works must be released under the same terms.

The Discourse to Girimananda (Girimananda Sutta) AN 10.60. Translated in http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/an/an10/an10.060.than.html Ānanda visits Girimananda, who has fallen gravely ill. He preaches the ten “perceptions” to the patient, which Thanissaro Bhikkhu translates as: “the perception of inconstancy, the perception of not-self, the perception of unattractiveness, the perception of drawbacks, the perception of abandoning, the perception of dispassion, the perception of cessation, the perception of distaste for every world, the perception of the undesirability of all fabrications, mindfulness of in-&-out breathing.” Upon hearing this teaching, Girimananda’s ailments are cured.

The Great Elephant Footprint Simile (Mahahatthipadopama Sutta) MN 28. Translated in http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/mn/mn.028.than.html A discourse by Sariputta on the Great Elements (Earth, Water, Fire, Wind, and Space). This text is counted among the earliest descriptions of the Great Elements in Indian literature. Under each of the first four Elements, Sariputta lists the anatomical structures and physiological factors that relate to the Element.

The Greater Exhortation to Rahula (Maha-Rahulovada Sutta) MN 62. Translated in http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/mn/mn.062.than.html Similar descriptions of the Elements as MN 28 (see previous entry). This text advocates developing meditations “in tune” with the Elements.

The Discourse on Angulimala (Angulimala Sutta) MN 86. Translated in http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/mn/mn.086.than.html The sutta focuses mainly on the conversion of Angulimala from a criminal to a realized monk. However, in one scene he blesses a mother and her unborn child through the power of a truth-statement, and both were healthy.

Excerpt from the Monastic Code: Vinaya regulations on medicine Mv 6. Translated in Horner 2000 vol. 4, pp. 269–350. To my knowledge, this is the only complete set of Indian monastic regulations on medicine and nursing care available in English translation. Includes enumeration of allowed medicines, instruments, and procedures. The bulk of this chapter of the Mahāvagga is concerned with rules regarding food, but medicine and nursing are major themes, particularly in the beginning sections and at the very end.

Excerpt from the Monastic Code: Biography of Jivaka Mv 8.1.1–36. Translated in Horner vol. 4, pp. 379–97. The biography of Jīvaka Komārabhacca, a physician and lay supporter of the sangha that is well-known in the Pāli Canon. Jīvaka is the abandoned son of a courtesan, adopted into the home of the royal family by Prince Abhaya. He learns the craft of medicine, and the biography recounts six healing episodes. These culminate in his cure of the Buddha of a case of the doṣas. This tale illustrates medical ethics, medical and surgical procedures, and the model physician in ancient India.

Excerpt from the Monastic Code: The Monk with dysentery Mv 8.26.1-8. Translated in Horner vol. 4, pp. 431–34 and http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/vin/mv/mv.08.26.01-08.than.html The Buddha comes across a monk who is ill, and inquires why he is not being assisted by his fellow monastics. Ānanda replies that this monk did not care for his brethren when they were sick, so they do not now care for him. The Buddha then outlines the requirements for giving nursing care among the sangha, the five qualities that make a patient easy or difficult to tend, and the five qualities that make for an effective or ineffective nurse. Both the narrative and the statements by the Buddha are found the Vinayas of other traditions (see discussion in Shinohara 2005; Salguero 2014).

The Discourse to Sivaka (Sivaka Sutta) SN 36.21. Translated http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/sn/sn36/sn36.021.than.html The Buddha refutes the notion that all human experience is preconditioned by karma. He specifies that, while some feelings are caused by karma, others are caused by bile, phlegm, wind, the combination of the three, the seasons, “uneven care of the body,” and harsh treatment. This appears to be one of the earliest mentions of the tridoṣa in Indian literature, although they are not identified with the word doṣa in this passage (see discussion in Scharfe 1999).

Gilana Sutta series SN 46.14, 46.15, 46.16. Translated in http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/sn/sn46/sn46.014.piya.html, http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/sn/sn46/sn46.016.piya.html In this series of discourses, the Buddha or one of his venerable disciples become ill, but are healed when reminded of the seven Factors of Awakening.

The Casket of Medicine (Bhesajjamañjūsā) Translated in Liyanaratne 2002, 2009. The only extant medical treatise written in Pāli, from thirteenth-century Ceylon. The first volume contains discussion of basic principles; the second mainly etiology and therapy. This text is similar in many respects to the Aṣṭaṅgahṛdaya.