Prof. Volker Scheid PhD, FRCHM, FBAcC is an internationally known practitioner, teacher, and scholar of Chinese medicine. He was Director of EASTmedicine at the University of Westminster, a trans-disciplinary research centre for the study of East Asian medicines, from 2004 to 2018, and is now a Visiting Researcher at the China Centre, University of Kiel. His latest book, Searching for the Dao of Medicine: Landscapes of Thoughtful Practice in Late Imperial Study (Berghahn 2026), explores different pathways to clinical virtuosity proposed by physicians and medical writers in China between the fourteenth century and the present.

More than many other places in the world, Covid-19 vaccines and other mitigation efforts were notably controversial in the United States, deepening political divisions across American society. During the 2020–2023 period, practitioners of Asian medicine in the US became fractured by these controversies. Rancorous arguments festered on social media platforms and divided Asian medicine classrooms and clinics around the country. At the time of this writing, the authors are unaware of any study that has attempted to systematically gauge attitudes toward Covid-19 prevention, treatments, or vaccines among this community. This paper reports on a survey of US-based practitioners of Asian medicine conducted in late 2022 to early 2023 at the height of the controversy over vaccines in the US. The study questions were designed to explore divisions over these issues and the underlying causes of those divisions. We had hypothesized that differences between practitioners’ attitudes — and, in particular, their opinions about vaccines — would be connected with epistemological factors related to Asian medicine methodology and body concepts. However, after analyzing our data for a number of epistemological, demographic, and social correlations, we concluded that the main influences underlying the divisions in the Asian medicine field in the US ultimately have to do with political affiliation. 

Literature Review 

As far as we are aware, at the time of this writing in April 2023, there is no previous scholarship specifically measuring attitudes toward Covid-19 vaccines among US practitioners of Asian medicine. Nevertheless, the present study intersects with several related topics that have been previously investigated by scholars, some highlights of which can be mentioned in brief.

The first is Covid-19 vaccine hesitancy in the US more generally. Studies on this topic have found that demographic factors play a role in shaping attitudes toward vaccines. In a national survey conducted in the first half of 2021, for example, Kricorian et al. (2021) noted that those who doubted the Covid-19 vaccine was safe were on average “less educated, lower income, and more rural than people who believed the vaccine is safe.” Later that year, a survey by Hamel et al. (2021) looked at race, education level, age, health insurance status, and political affiliation. One of their major takeaways was that political “partisanship and vaccination status continue to loom large as factors in how the public views both the U.S. vaccination effort and the government’s response to the pandemic in general.” Shortly afterwards, a survey by Frisco et al. (2022) examined racial and ethnic factors underlying vaccine hesitancy. They found that “U.S.-born Black adults are more vaccine hesitant than U.S.-born White adults,” that “U.S.-born Hispanic adults are less vaccine hesitant than U.S.-born White adults,” and that “there were not significant differences between foreign-born Hispanic and U.S.-born White adults in vaccine hesitancy.” 

A second area of relevant scholarship is vaccine hesitancy among practitioners prior to the pandemic. While not specifically focusing on traditional Asian medicine, Wardle et al. (2016) provides a critical review of 39 studies conducted between 2000–2015 measuring vaccine hesitancy among practitioners and users of “complementary medicine.” These authors found that the use of childhood vaccines was less prevalent among this population; however, respondents’ attitudes “may be confounded by other factors,” including “higher income, higher education or distrust of the medical system.”

A third related area is the attitude toward traditional Asian medicine for both prevention and treatment of Covid-19 among specialists and the general public. A number of qualitative studies on this topic have been conducted outside of the US, most notably in China. Pu et al. (2021), for example, surveyed about 400 medical professionals in Sichuan and found that over half agreed that Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) “can be used for the prevention and treatment of Covid-19.” Nguyen et al. (2021) surveyed members of the general public in Vietnam and found that “the use of herbal medicine during the Covid-19 pandemic was a common practice among Vietnamese people.” D’Arqom et al. (2022) found that, among Indonesian mothers with school-age children, 65.6% consumed a mix of “medications, vitamins/minerals, and herbs/natural products” to ward off the virus. In Western countries, Bourqui et al. (2022) surveyed 320 practitioners of TCM in Switzerland about the traditional medicine treatments they administered to Covid patients. Additionally, Kong et al. (2021) surveyed over 750 Chinese immigrants in Canada about their attitudes, finding that “TCM was widely believed by Chinese immigrants in Canada to be an effective means of preventing Covid-19 and many also stated they would use it if they were experiencing symptoms of Covid-19.” 

A final area of previous research that may be interesting to readers of the current paper is detailed historical and ethnographic studies of traditional medicine practice in the US. These studies have largely focused on Chinese medicine, including works by Wu (2013), Pritzker (2014), and Phan (2017). While produced in the pre-Covid era, this scholarship can give us a sense of the cultural and social dynamics among communities of Asian medicine practitioners in the US, which can help to contextualize the findings in our own survey. Lastly, while comprehensive demographic data is not available for all types of traditional Asian medicine in the US, some professional organizations maintain statistics that may be useful to compare to the data from our survey. These include studies from the National Certification Commission for Acupuncture and Oriental Medicine (Ward-Cook 2017) and Yoga Alliance (2016). 

All of the mentioned publications notwithstanding, the overall point is that previous research has not directly attempted to measure attitudes toward Covid-19 vaccines among American practitioners of Asian medicine as we are attempting to do in this study.

Our Survey and Respondents

Asian medicine practitioners were invited to participate in our survey through announcements we made in three large international English-language Facebook groups dedicated to Asian medicine. These groups had a notably apolitical stance on Covid-19, and our invitation to participate in the survey did not reveal that we would be asking about potentially contentious issues. 

The survey (see Appendix below) included multiple choice, multiple selection, and open-ended questions. It was made available to participants via Qualtrics from December 2022 to January 2023. We received a total of 145 responses, the largest cohort of which (n=81) were those based in the United States. We had initially intended to conduct a comparative international survey; however, as we did not receive enough responses from any other country to make meaningful comparisons, only responses from the US have been considered in this report.

Our survey results are reported in full in the appendix. To summarize some of the key points here, the respondents were diverse in terms of race, religion, location within the US, and their chosen field of Asian medicine practice. The majority was female (representing 63% of all responses), white (77%), native speakers of English (99%), and well-educated (69% had a master’s or doctoral degree of some kind), and most commonly identified themselves as practitioners of some kind of “Chinese medicine or TCM” (72%). Level of experience in the practice of Asian medicine was generally high, with 51% having a graduate degree in Asian medicine and 58% having spent more than 10 years working in the field. A majority of the respondents (52%) were full-time practitioners, 28% were teachers, and 73% identified Asian medicine as their primary source of income. Given these patterns, we feel that the survey likely is not representative of the practitioner community in the US. In particular, our survey is lacking any respondents under 25 and has very few non-native English speakers. Thus, it fails to capture the opinions of the youngest generation of practitioners, the large number of immigrants working in the massage industry or as community healers in Asian American neighborhoods, and other important populations of practitioners in the US. These omissions notwithstanding, we nevertheless believe that the survey results can be useful to better understand a segment of the Asian medicine community’s attitudes and opinions.

In addition to demographic questions and questions about their practice of Asian medicine, we had respondents rate a list of words in terms of their relevance for prevention and treatment of Covid-19. In an effort to include the widest possible range of interventions that are meaningful to our practitioner population, these interventions included conventional public health practices, Asian medical approaches, lifestyle choices, as well as what might be characterized as more spiritual or religious practices. The most highly rated (8 out of 10) interventions were sleep, personal hygiene, and herbal medicines. The lowest (5 out of 10) were prayer and luck/fate/karma. Interventions such as masking, social distancing, and vaccines fell in-between.

We also asked respondents to rate a list of words that could describe Covid-19 vaccines in positive or negative ways, ranging from “important” and “beneficial” to “toxic” and “dangerous.” Salient data from this portion of the survey that caught our attention included the fact that only 7% of respondents said that Covid vaccines are incompatible with Asian medicine. However, 26% of respondents said that vaccination is ineffective, and 33% of respondents said that the vaccines are dangerous. These beliefs about the vaccine correlated with behavior: 24% reported being completely unvaccinated, in contrast with the 63% of respondents who had received 3 or more doses at the time of the survey. 

Our survey included open-ended questions to elicit more detailed opinions about prevention and treatment. Respondents in the unvaccinated cohort responded to these questions with dismissive comments about the severity of Covid-19, calling it “a type of common cold” with a “low death rate” that “mostly affects the elderly.” They denigrated vaccines, saying that they are “highly problematic,” that there is “no difference in transmission rates or severity of symptoms,” and that getting a shot results in “a range of health concerns and death.” On the other side of the fence, one respondent wrote that “acupuncturists being anti-vax and Covid conspiracy theorists is an embarrassment to the profession, and I am ashamed to be associated with them.” Numerous other respondents wrote in support of vaccines as being effective in preventing serious illness and as important tools for community or public health.

On this basis, we concluded that our anecdotal observations were true: there were indeed divisions within the community in terms of attitudes toward Covid prevention and treatment, including strong divergences in opinions about vaccination. Having established this fact, we then turned to try to discover the likely source of these divisions. 

Are Epistemic Strategies to Blame for Polarization?

David G. Robertson has written that “the dominant forms of epistemic capital in the contemporary world are scientific, tradition, experience, channeled, and synthetic knowledge” (2021: 29; Robertson & Amarasingam 2022). These “epistemic strategies” struck us as being potentially quite relevant for understanding differences between practitioners of Asian medicine. We hypothesized that the epistemological commitments and assumptions of practitioners of various kinds of Asian medicine would exert a major influence upon their ideas about Covid-19.  In order to test this hypothesis, we asked our respondents to score each of these strategies from 1 (“completely irrelevant”) to 10 (“absolutely fundamental”) based on their “importance in your practice of Asian medicine when diagnosing/assessing patients.” The survey described these epistemic strategies as follows, in an attempt to explain Robertson’s categories in terms that would be accessible to our respondents:

1. Scientific (methods based on clinical trials, using evidence-based research)

2. Traditional (methods based on established norms that are common to a particular lineage of practice)

3. Individual experience (methods using “felt sense,” intuition, or personal experience as primary criteria)

4. External powers (methods such as divination; channeling or engaging with deities, spirits, ancestors, or any other external entities)

5. Synthetic (putting together clues and evidence in a unique or novel way that doesn’t privilege any of the abovementioned methodologies)

The five different approaches were rated by our respondents in the following order: “traditional” (average score 8 out of 10), “individual experience” (7), “scientific” and “synthetic” (tied at 6 each), and “external powers” (4). This general pattern of preferences held surprisingly steady across the majority of respondents with only slight variances.

We noticed that enthusiasm for each of these epistemic strategies correlated with certain demographic features. Practitioners who rated their enthusiasm for “scientific methodologies” at 7 or above were twice as likely on average to vote for the Libertarian party and three times as likely to identify as politically conservative. Those who rated methodologies related to “individual experience” highly had considerably less experience as practitioners. Those who favored methodologies related to “external powers” were far less likely than the average respondent to have completed a graduate degree and were much more likely to currently be a student. These respondents were much more likely to be Asian, to vote Democrat, and to report have recently tilted in a more liberal or progressive direction. Finally, those who thought favorably of “synthesis” had much more training in Asian medicine than the norm but much less experience working in the field, and much more likely to have earned a graduate degree in science. 

What about the hypothesis that practitioners’ strategic preferences would correlate with their attitudes toward prevention and treatment of Covid-19 as well as their vaccination behavior? We had expected, for example, that respondents who subscribed to scientific methods would be much more likely to endorse vaccines and conventional public health measures than those who subscribed to traditional strategies. In sorting through the data, we did indeed find that those who favored “scientific” methodologies were somewhat more likely to be vaccinated. In addition, those expressing enthusiasm for “external powers” expressed much more enthusiasm for energy practices, meditation, prayer, and luck/fate/karma than the others. However, while such findings are interesting and perhaps warrant further research, we felt that these correlations were not strong enough for us to conclude that epistemic strategies were strongly predictive of attitudes toward Covid-19 vaccination.

Are Body Concepts to Blame?

When designing the study, we had also hypothesized that the different conceptions of the body that are taught in different Asian medical systems may be another important distinction between Asian medicine practitioners. We developed the following list of body concepts that are prevalent in different Asian medicine traditions as well as in the religions that inform various types of Asian healing, and asked respondents to rate each one on a scale from 1 (completely irrelevant) to 10 (absolutely fundamental) based on “their importance in your clinical practice of Asian medicine”:

1. The body is a material structure.

2. The body is explainable through the fields of modern scientific anatomy, physiology, and biochemistry.

3. The body is a web of energy.

4. The body is constantly being affected by the energies of the natural world, such as the seasons, the stars, animal, and plant life.

5. The body is inhabited by divine powers or entities.

6. The body is itself a manifestation of the divine or cosmic reality.

7. The body is empty, insubstantial, immaterial, or mirage-like.

8. The body is an illusion that appears only in one's thoughts.

9. The body and mind are completely intertwined with one another, or are not even separate entities.

10. The body is multilayered or like “nested dolls,” with all of the above qualities being paradoxically true at the same time.

The overall respondent pool strongly approved of seven of these options (score ≥7), giving a mid-range score for “divine powers/entities” and low scores for “the body is empty” and “an illusion.” Again, we noted correlations between body concepts and certain demographic features. Asians were more enthusiastic than other racial groups about the notion that “the body is empty.” The 26-35 age group was more likely to endorse the statement that the body is “inhabited by divine powers or entities,” as were respondents who identified as Christian. Atheists predictably were the least likely to say that the body is a “manifestation of divine or cosmic realities”; however, the more education a respondent had, the more likely they were to rate that concept highly.

Such differences notwithstanding, there turned out to be no statistically coherent pattern between body concept preference and attitudes toward Covid-19 prevention, treatment, or vaccines. While we had theorized that a practitioner’s understanding of the body would play a major role in influencing their approaches to Covid, we concluded that this hypothesis was false. 

What else might be a factor? 

Having disproven our hypotheses that epistemological factors were to blame for practitioners’ polarization over Covid vaccines, we then began to look for patterns in the data related to field of specialization, position in the industry, demography, and other social factors. Education did not play any role in vaccination behavior: respondents with a doctorate degree were as likely to be unvaccinated as they were to have received 4 or more doses, and it made no difference if their graduate degree was in a science field. Nor did the location where practitioners had trained make any difference. Years of experience, whether or not Asian medicine represented the main source of income, and status in the field (teacher, student, full-time, part-time, etc.) were all statistically insignificant. 

We did note some demographic correlations of minor magnitude. Although the numbers were tiny (n=6), all of the Black and Hispanic/Latinx respondents in our data pool had received 3 or more doses at the time of the survey. Christians were likely to have had more vaccines than the other religions. On average, women had received slightly more vaccines than men. Nevertheless, as the magnitude of these differences was small, we again found such patterns to be insufficient to explain the strong polarization of Asian medicine practitioners’ attitudes and behaviors.

While drilling down to examine the unvaccinated cohort more closely, we were interested to find that some of the open comments from this group framed resistance to vaccines and other public health measures in terms of a defense of science. For example, one respondent lamented the “eroding of public trust in science” caused by the US government’s response to the pandemic. Rather than appeal to historical Asian medicine epistemologies or doctrines, these respondents equated Asian medicine with contemporary science, calling their own treatment plans “scientifically based schematics,” “process science,” and “evidence-based medicine.” This attitude seems to suggest that at least some of this cohort believed that Asian medicine approaches to Covid prevention are superior to biomedical approaches not because they are less scientific, but because they are more so. While this was the opinion of a small minority of practitioners, it may be a phenomenon that warrants more research.   

All of the above is interesting but does not clearly explain the strong divisions in the Asian medicine field. However, during this phase of our data analysis we did find one correlation that jumped out to us as a strongly predictive factor of Asian medicine practitioners’ attitudes toward Covid prevention and treatment, including their opinions about vaccines. That correlation was political party affiliation.

Politicization

When we zoomed in to look at participants’ political affiliations, we discovered two very different kinds of practitioner, which we might call “left-leaning” vs “right-leaning.” The left-leaning group, by far the larger of the two, was made up of Democrat and Green Party voters (n=49, i.e., 61% of the whole). These respondents were older, more female, and whiter than the overall pool. They had slightly more experience in the field but were more likely to be working part-time rather than full-time as an Asian Medicine practitioner. 

The smaller right-leaning group of Republican and Libertarian voters (n=11, i.e. 14% of the whole), on the other hand, were much younger and much less wealthy. They were also more likely to be female than the overall respondent pool. In the aggregate, they were less educated, with less chance of having completed a doctorate or master’s degree, and they had much less exposure to science (40% chance of never having taken a university course on any scientific subject). Right-leaning practitioners were likely to have less experience in the field than the overall respondent, and less likely to be a teacher. While the vast majority of left-leaning respondents reported not having shifted their voting patterns in recent years, the right-leaning ones were more likely to have shifted more conservative in recent years, and to identify the U.S. government’s Covid-19 policies as the reason for that shift. In terms of preventing and treating Covid-19, they had far less enthusiasm for masking, social distancing, vaccination, and ventilation machines than the overall average. 

Upon analysis, practitioners’ left- or right-leaning political affiliation turned out to be the single most significant correlation with attitudes toward vaccination. In the word association question, those on the left showed more support for positive descriptions of vaccines (i.e., natural, safe, beneficial, important) than the overall respondents and less support for negative words (i.e., ineffective, artificial, unsafe). Those on the right were the mirror opposites, exhibiting more support for negative descriptions of vaccines and less support for positive words. These attitudes also translated into actions. Left-leaning practitioners were 84% likely to have gotten 3 or more doses of the Covid vaccine with only an 11% chance of being unvaccinated, while those identifying as right-leaning were only 11% likely to have gotten three doses with a 67% chance of being unvaccinated. 

Conclusion

While the number of right-leaning practitioners is dwarfed by the left-leaning ones, the differences in attitudes between these two groups could not be starker. In the words of one of our respondents, such polarization made the issue of vaccination “confusing and difficult to discuss” among the community. The vast majority of our respondent pool signaled that they felt this way. When one of our word association questions asked them to rate a list of words that could be used to describe Covid vaccines, by far the top choice across all demographic and social groups was “politicized.” On this one point, it seems, everyone can agree.

Perhaps these findings should not have surprised us. We have known about the politicization of American attitudes toward Covid vaccines since soon after they first became available (e.g., Hamel et al. 2021). However, our research team had expected that the specific type of Asian medicine one practiced, differences in these traditions’ epistemological strategies and body concepts, or other professional or demographic factors would account for some of the differences in attitudes and behavior toward Covid-19 among practitioners. After exhaustively searching for these other factors, however, we were forced to conclude that the single most influential explanation of practitioners’ attitudes and behaviors was voting patterns. Sometimes, it just comes down to politics. 

References 

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Appendix: Asian Medicine & Covid-19 Survey

Part 1. General Demographic Information

Select the types of Asian healing practices that you engage in [check all that apply] (n=81)

• ·    Ayurveda, 7%

• ·    Chinese Medicine/TCM, 72%      

• ·    East Asian Medicine, 39%  

• ·    Mindfulness or Meditation of an Asian lineage, 26%

• ·    Qigong, 34%

• ·    Reiki, 18%

• ·    Shiatsu, 7%

• ·    Sowa Rigpa, 1%

• ·    Taiji/Tai Chi, 21%

• ·    Thai Massage/Medicine, 32%

• ·    Yoga/Yoga Therapy, 21%

• ·    Other Asian or Asian inspired body work, 13%

• ·    Other Asian or Asian inspired energy work, 7%

• ·    Other Asian or Asian inspired martial arts for therapeutic effect, 7%

• ·    Other Asian or Asian inspired spiritual healing practices, 9%

• ·    Other practices not listed above, 9%

Sex/Gender (n=76)

• ·    Male, 33%

• ·    Female 63%

• ·    Non-binary/Other 4%

Age (n=76)

• ·    26-35, 13%

• ·    36-49, 42%

• ·    50-69, 42%

• ·    70+, 3%

Race/Ethnicity [check all that apply] (n=78)

• ·    Asian/Pacific Islander, 8%

• ·    Black, 4%

• ·    Hispanic/Latino, 4%

• ·    Native American/Indigenous, 1%

• ·    White, 77%

• ·    Other, 11%

Zip code range (n=65)

• ·    Northeast, 31%

• ·    West coast, 31%,

• ·    Midwest, 12% 

• ·    Rockies and Southwest, 3% 

• ·    Southeast, 23%

Primary language (n=76)

• ·    English, 99%

• ·    Other, 1%

Individual income (n=75)

• ·    Less than $25,000 per year, 8%

• ·    $25,000 – $50,000 per year, 27%

• ·    $50,000 - $75,000 per year, 31%

• ·    More than $75,000 per year, 35%

Religion [check all that apply] (n=79)

• ·    Buddhist, 25%

• ·    Christian, 18%

• ·    Hindu, 0%

• ·    Jewish, 10%

• ·    Muslim, 0%

• ·    Spiritual/Non-religious, 40%

• ·    None/Atheist, 8%

• ·    Other, 22%

Highest level of education completed (n=75)

• ·    Highschool, 8%

• ·    2-year college, 7%

• ·    4-year university, 15%

• ·    Master’s Degree, 33%

• ·    Doctorate Degree or equivalent, 36%

• ·    None of the Above, 1%

Political party you tend to vote for most often (n=72)

• ·    Democrat, 63%

• ·    Republican, 7%

• ·    Green, 3%

• ·    Libertarian, 8%

• ·    Independent, 13%

• ·    Other, 7%

Political self-assessment 

• ·    Very conservative, 4%

• ·    Conservative, 3%

• ·    Moderate, 31%

• ·    Liberal/Progressive, 31%

• ·    Very liberal or very progressive, 17%

• ·    Other, 15%

Have you changed the political party you vote for or your political orientation since 2020?

• ·    Yes, I moved in the direction of more conservative, 14%

• ·    Yes, I moved in the direction of more liberal/progressive, 4%

• ·    No, I stayed about the same, 82%

Was this change due to the government’s Covid-19 policies?

• ·    Yes, 21%

• ·    No, 79%

Part 2. Asian Medicine Practice

What is your level of training in your primary Asian medicine practice [check all that apply]? (n=85)

• ·    Doctorate, 24%

• ·    Master’s degree, 27%

• ·    Professional Training, 29%

• ·    Apprenticeship, Informal, or Family-based Training, 11%

• ·    Self-Study, 9%

Where did you study your primary healing practice? (n=80)

• ·    Asia, 19%

• ·    Canada, 1%

• ·    UK, 1%

• ·    US, 73%

• ·    Other, 6%

How many years have you been practicing your primary healing practice? (n=67)

• ·    Under 5, 24%

• ·    5 – 10, 18%

• ·    10 – 20, 22%

• ·    Over 20, 36%

What level of training do you have in biology, chemistry, biomedicine, or any other modern scientific disciplines? (n=66)

• ·    Never took a university class, 15%

• ·    Took some classes in university, 55%

• ·    Majored in a science field in a university, 17%

• ·    Completed a graduate degree in a science field, 13%

Is Asian Medicine your main source of income?

• ·    No, 27%

• ·    Yes, 73%

What best describes your role in Asian Medicine [check all that apply] (n=80)

• ·    Hobbyist, 7%

• ·    Student, 12%

• ·    Part-time practitioner, 34%

• ·    Full-time practitioner, 52%

• ·    Teacher, 28%

• ·    Retired, 3%

Please give each of the following methodologies a score based on their importance in your practice of Asian medicine when diagnosing/assessing patients? Rate each item rated on a scale of 1 (completely irrelevant) to 10 (absolutely fundamental). (n=66)

• ·    Scientific (methods based on clinical trials, using evidence-based research), average rating 5

• ·    Traditional (methods based on established norms that are common to a particular lineage of practice), 8

• ·    Individual experience (methods using “felt sense,” intuition, or personal experience as primary criteria), 7

• ·    External powers (methods such as divination; channeling or engaging with deities, spirits, ancestors, or any other external entities), 4

• ·    Synthetic (putting together clues and evidence in a unique or novel way that doesn’t privilege any of the abovementioned methodologies), 6

Please give any additional details or clarifications you wish about your response to the previous question.

[Open responses]

Please give each of the following views of the human body a score based on their importance in your clinical practice of Asian medicine. Rate each item rated on a scale of 1 (completely irrelevant) to 10 (absolutely fundamental). (n=65)

• ·    The body is a material structure, average rating 8

• ·    The body is explainable through the fields of modern scientific anatomy, physiology, and biochemistry, 7

• ·    The body is a web of energy, 8

• ·    The body is constantly being affected by the energies of the natural world, such as the seasons, the stars, animal, and plant life, 8

• ·    The body is inhabited by divine powers or entities, 5

• ·    The body is itself a manifestation of the divine or cosmic reality, 7

• ·    The body is empty, insubstantial, immaterial, or mirage-like, 3

• ·    The body is an illusion that appears only in one's thoughts, 2

• ·    The body and mind are completely intertwined with one another, or are not even separate entities, 8

• ·    The body is multilayered or like “nested dolls,” with all of the above qualities being paradoxically true at the same time, 7

• ·    Other, 6

Please give any additional details you wish to about your response to the previous question. (Open response)

Part 3. Asian Medicine and Covid-19

Please score the following when it comes to the prevention of Covid-19. Rate each item on a scale of 1 (completely irrelevant) to 10 (absolutely fundamental). (n=63)

• ·    Masking, average rating 7

• ·    Social Distancing, 6

• ·    Vaccines, 6

• ·    Diet, 7

• ·    Exercise, 7

• ·    Sleep, 8

• ·    Personal hygiene, 8

• ·    Herbal medicines, 8

• ·    Energy practices, 6

• ·    Meditation, 6

• ·    Prayer, 5

• ·    Luck, fate, and/or karma, 5

Please score the following in the order of importance when it comes to the treatment of Covid-19. Rate each item on a scale of 1 (completely irrelevant) to 10 (absolutely fundamental). (n=61)

• ·    Pharmaceutical drugs, average rating 6

• ·    Ventilation machines, 7

• ·    Diet, 7.

• ·    Exercise, 7

• ·    Sleep, 8

• ·    Personal hygiene, 8 

• ·    Herbal medicines, 8

• ·    Energy practices, 6

• ·    Meditation, 6

• ·    Prayer, 5

• ·    Luck, fate, and/or karma, 4

Which of the following words do you associate with Covid-19 vaccines? [check all that apply] (n=61)

• ·    Natural, 7%

• ·    Artificial, 36%

• ·    Organic, 0%

• ·    Chemical, 28%

• ·    Safe, 31%

• ·    Dangerous, 33%

• ·    Effective, 56%

• ·    Ineffective, 26%

• ·    Unsafe, 33%

• ·    Beneficial, 51%

• ·    Toxic, 23%

• ·    Important, 51%

• ·    Waste of resources, 16%

• ·    Politicized, 72%

• ·    Incompatible with Asian medicine, 7%

• ·    Compatible with/complementary to Asian Medicine, 54%

How many Covid-19 vaccinations and/or boosters have you received personally? (n=62)

• ·    0, 24%

• ·    1, 5%

• ·    2, 8%

• ·    3, 26%

• ·    4, 34%

• ·    More, 3%

What other vaccines do you remember receiving? [check all that apply] (n=56) 

• ·    Annual flu shot, 48%

• ·    Chicken pox/shingles, 27%

• ·    Diphtheria (DTaP), 55%

• ·    Hepatitis, 66%

• ·    HPV, 5%

• ·    Measles, Mumps, and Rubella (MMR), 84%

• ·    Polio, 68%

• ·    Pneumonia, 13%

• ·    Tetanus, 93%

• ·    Tuberculosis (TB), 46%

• ·    Other, 9%

We are interested in how practitioners of Asian medicine think about the prevention and treatment of Covid-19. Please share your thoughts with us and provide as much information as you would like to on this topic. The more information you share, the more you will help our study. (Open response)

A movement is afoot to replace the word "oriental" in AOM schools and organizations. How much do practitioners wish to engage in the work of examining Orientalism within our field - self and public perceptions - along with changing its presently Orientali

Orientations:

Beginning in the wake of the protests memorializing George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and too many others in summer 2020, two movements began to address a related issue of racism within our own scholarly and professional field. At the grassroots level, Influential Point launched a petition and campaign requesting that the U.S. acupuncture and oriental medicine (AOM) community remove this racist word from our professional discourse. At the administrative level, Dr. David Lee, the Academic Vice President of Alhambra Medical University in California, initiated a campaign among his peers to “repeal and replace” the word “oriental,” school by school, in school names and degree titles, with the goal of carrying this momentum forward into pressuring ACAOM and NCCAOM to do the same. Collectively, it would seem, the moment has come for making long-overdue, necessary change.

But after determining to not use this word, what other word should we use? And more importantly, how do we make that choice? How might we, the professionals impacted by the name and public face of our craft get a say in making it? If practitioners wish to have a voice in the decision about how we redefine the AOM profession to patients and our broader communities, step one is educating ourselves about the pros and cons of commonly proposed alternative names.

This list of terms, and breakdown of some of their more salient associated issues, is by no means exhaustive. This paper presents a starting point for opening an informed discussion based on something other than personal opinions. It is further my hope that it will help readers cultivate an appreciation for the many different filters through which different people can see the world, let alone a single word. For this reason, each term needs to be looked at from many possible perspectives. One person’s opinion is not going to decide this for us. Nor should it.

I am a clinician, philologically trained translator of classical Chinese, and historian-in-training. This is to say that I have spent countless hours researching and thinking closely about exactly what a word means, or what is the best way to translate X concept into Y language, or for Z type of audience. At the most fundamental level, any alternative would be better than the deeply embarrassing, racist word that we currently use. That said, how we choose our marginally better word matters, too. It is an opportunity not only for learning and self-reflection about the word “oriental” that we seek to replace. It is also an opportunity to recognize some of the many ways in which our field is Orientalist - perpetuating a reified notion of an exotic, but ultimately undifferentiated or falsely uniform, "alternative" or "other-than” medical culture.

How much do we wish to engage in the work of examining Orientalism within our field - self and public perceptions - along with changing its presently Orientalist name?

To change the broader dynamics (removing Orientalism), rather than only the most visible external manifestation of those dynamics (removing only the word oriental), are two separate things. In my opinion, we should not neglect the former opportunity in our rush to correct the latter problem. The work of examining the Orientalism that permeates our field is important work because it can help us to clearly define and create a professional community. At present, the AOM field in the United States, with its crazy-quilt patchwork of organizations, state practice scopes, regulatory agendas, and heterogeneity of training, entirely lacks professional cohesion. Such fragmentation prevents us from standing united against threats to our scope of practice, such as dry-needling, let alone advocating more strongly for our potential role as first point of contact providers of healthcare in a country desperately in need of primary care providers.

How might we use the process of reflecting on replacement terms as a kind of professional praxis, forcing us to confront the ways in which words matter because words connote as well as denote, delimit, and define?

The idea that the name or definition of something matters - that a name should accord well with the thing it names - is not a new or radical one. Rather, we know that Confucius himself advocated for the “Rectification of Names," warning against the confusion and social unmooring created by the drift between signs (names) and the things they signify. As we come together as a collective in exploring the full context of each possible term, we are also forced to open a conversation about what values undergird our selection strategy. Naming ourselves presents an opportunity to better define the dynamics of our profession as a whole, our individual positioning within these dynamics, and a collective re-envisioning of how we wish to define ourselves and our practice.

Articles in this four-part series were published simultaneously on AMZ and Medium.com.

My last three posts have dealt with meta-level epistemic questions in the study of Asian medicine. It is now time to focus in on how these big-picture concerns play out in day-to-day decision making in the clinic. This post explores in more depth the concept of polyperspectivalism. I discussed previously how polyperspectivalism is a key to developing more productive collaborations with colleagues. Here, I argue that it also leads to greater conceptual flexibility, and therefore more clinical options, when treating patients.

Polyperspectivalism is the ability to allow multiple, mutually-incommensurable perspectives to coexist and inform your practice. It is like picking up multiple camera lenses to view an object using a variety of different perspectives, without feeling the need to stitch those perspectives into a single coherent image. It’s not about trying to square what you see through one lens with what you see through another; rather, it’s about using each lens in turn to discover what it reveals or conceals.

An example of incommensurability

Polyperspectivalism is a critically important strategy for overcoming one of the central problems in the contemporary practice of traditional Asian medicine: the cognitive dissonance caused by incommensurable interpretations. For purposes of illustration, let me use an example from my own experience that I think will be generally recognizable by practitioners of all forms of traditional Asian medicine.

My own career as a practitioner lasted for about 10 years before I abandoned it to become a full-time academic. In the early portion of that time, I spent two and a half years in Thailand studying a variety of traditional healing practices. Circulating between classes in traditional medicine clinics, apprenticeships with individual healers, and retreats at Buddhist monasteries and meditation centers, I was exposed to a very wide range of healing techniques and approaches. All of these were deemed “traditional” by the practitioners who were teaching me.

Despite the Thai government’s recent efforts to develop an integrated system officially called “Thai Traditional Medicine” (abbreviated TTM in obvious mimicry of China’s TCM), traditional medicine in Thailand is not a unitary or coherent system. The government has created various regulatory schemes for herbal medicine since the early 20th century and for massage beginning in the early 21st, but there has to this day been little success in producing an overarching systematization or codification on the ground. In the 1990s, Thai medicine was even less homogeneous than it is today. Someone like myself learning from a variety of sources invariably encountered not only a wide range of different practices, but also radically different theoretical justifications—even completely different models of health, disease, and the body—from the teachers we learned with.

Take lom ลม, a concept that is often said to be central to the practice of traditional Thai bodywork.This is a common Thai word that means wind, air, breath, or gas. In the specialized context of bodywork, however, I heard this word interpreted in various different ways:

• From some teachers, I learned that lom was the last of the four elements (i.e., earth, water, fire, and wind), a term that referred to the breath and the mobility of the physical body. These teachers would say that Thai bodywork focuses on pressing and manipulating the material or physical aspect of the body (i.e., the earth element) in order to achieve fluidity of lom (i.e., the wind element). Saying that Thai bodywork helps with lommeans simply that it is intended to improve the mobility of the physical body.

• Meanwhile, other teachers said that lom is a kind of energy or vital force that animates the body. It flows from the core to the extremities along invisible pathways, and ultimately connects the individual body to the mind and the rest of the world around us. The therapist’s focus on lom, according to these teachings, is not about mobility of the physical body per se, but rather the vitality of the underlying subtle body or energy system. In fact, addressing a problem with lom might not involve working with the physical body at all. I was taught to work directly on the system of wind-energy pathways through visualization and meditation practices that were integrated into the bodywork session.

• In addition to these two perspectives, I briefly studied with a teacher who taught that lom was interchangeable with the Chinese concept of qi. She also taught movements that would generate or dissipate lom from the specific organs, in order to tonify or regulate the body’s overall level of yin and yang energy.

• There was another teacher I worked with who refused to say anything concrete about lom—or any other concept for that matter. If I asked any questions about the theoretical side of the bodywork, she would tell me to stop worrying about such things and instead to pray to Jīvaka, the “father doctor” of medicine and the Buddha’s doctor. I was told I should stop trying to use thought to figure out what to do, and instead to let his spirit enter into my body to guide my hands during the massage himself.

• One teacher I was acquainted with, when questioned about lom, insisted to me that all of the above was a load of superstitious nonsense. In her view, massage therapists should focus strictly on physical, anatomical, fleshly realities: pressing the muscles, nerves, tendons, flesh right in front of our eyes and beneath our thumbs. Nothing more, nothing less.

• Finally, several years later after I had left Thailand and was conducting research for my Masters thesis, I learned that the Thai word lom is used as a translation term for various different concepts. On the one hand, it can be a translation of the Pāli term vāyu, the wind element, which is integral to early Indian medical and cosmological theory and entered into the Thai lexicon via Theravāda Buddhism. But, it can also translate the Sanskrit term prāṇa, which is associated with Indian tantric or yogic practices that circulated widely in Southeast Asia in the late medieval period and that are becoming increasingly popular today. And, I learned that in certain cases lom can also be a translation for the Chinese notion of qi. Because these concepts are all translated with the same word, I began to see that lom could have completely different cultural resonances and clinical implications to different teachers. I also began to see that differences in how people thought about lom often depended on specific social factors such as the teachers’ level of formal education, status in the community, gender, religious commitments, and ethnic affinity.

Before I continue, let’s just stop for a moment to appreciate the fact that, on their face, the six different interpretations of lom above are truly incommensurate. Either lom refers in a general way to the breath and the mobility of the physical body, or it’s a complex system of specific energy channels that lies beyond the physical body. Either it’s the central concern of the therapist, or it’s superstitious nonsense. Either practitioners should intentionally understand how to work with lom, or we should stop thinking about it. Either this is a natural feature of how the human body works, or a sociocultural construct. Confronted with these divergent interpretations, it may be possible for me to create a theory where some—or even all six—of these perspectives are integrated into a coherent framework, but that would be my interpretation and none of my Thai teachers would have subscribed to it. Likewise, it may be possible for the Thai government or another organization intent on systematizing to step in and mandate some compromise or orthodoxy, but again that would be their interpretation and not my teachers’.

How do you navigate differences?

Whether you practice Chinese medicine, Ayurveda, Sowa Rigpa, therapeutic yoga, Buddhist healing meditation, or any other tradition, I think all practitioners of Asian medicine will recognize the underlying issues here. Even if you don’t know anything about lom or Thai medicine, I’m sure you have encountered similarly fundamental differences between schools, texts, lineages, or teachers that cannot be reconciled with one another in your own tradition. You no doubt have yourself grappled with how to navigate those differences in different educational settings, and how to decide which approach to take in the clinic.

When presented with incommensurate interpretations such as these, practitioners often feel forced to commit to one viewpoint—or to integrate several of them together if possible—and to jettison the ones that can’t be made to fit. This impulse is understandable, as it is a way of minimizing the cognitive dissonance that comes from incompatible truth-claims. But, how do you decide what to keep and what to discard? In a previous post, I outlined three different “epistemes” or worldviews that many practitioners can get locked into when making these decisions.

When I was first starting out, like many practitioners of Thai medicine Western and Thai alike, I was convinced that the only legitimate place to look for the answer to what lom “really is” is within the tradition itself. In other words, back then I subscribed to what I now call the “traditionalist episteme.” Traditionalists agree that the definitive source that will solve the problem for once and for all will be a text, a book, or a teaching by someone inside the tradition; however, they differ vociferously on which exact source they deem most authoritative. One may feel that the answer is to be found in this or that particular manuscript, while another may feel that Dr. So-and-So is the most knowledgable authority. In Thailand, well-respected teachers routinely scoff at the interpretations being offered by other equally well-respected teachers, and many of these animosities have developed into high profile feuds between their students around the globe. The stakes in these debates seem high because traditionalists in one camp feel that the others are misunderstanding, misrepresenting, or even disgracing the tradition. They likely disagree about what exactly “the tradition” even means. But, ultimately, they are all seeking the resolution of the problem from within the tradition, however they define or understand that term.

Someone who subscribes to the “modernist episteme,” on the other hand, would base their decision about what lom “really is” upon which interpretation is most compatible with modern science or biomedicine, or has the most empirical evidence behind it. Many modernists feel that the entire tradition as a whole is scientifically justifiable. Others argue that the tradition “gets it” even better than biomedicine. Modernist Thai medicine is the form of practice with the most official support, funding, and institutionalization both in Thailand and globally. Proponents of the Thai government’s officially sanctioned version of TTM, for example, offer modernist reinterpretations of Thai tradition in Thailand. Scientists at Thai universities conducting research on traditional medicine and publishing their results in internationally circulating journals also subscribe to this episteme. Western-trained massage therapists with strong backgrounds in the medical sciences also have been popularizing a modernist view of Thai massage in North America and Europe.

Finally, the “postmodernist episteme,” as I have defined it in previous posts, describes a stance that is most common among academic scholars of Asian medicine who are typically themselves not practitioners. Postmodernists have a different approach to incommensurability, in that they are not necessarily interested in “solving” the problem by determining which of the various interpretations is right. For example, I mentioned above that once I became an academic, I became more interested in investigating how context shapes practitioners’ interpretations of lom than in finding the one correct definition of the term. For an academic scholar, identifying the cultural settings, local histories, social positions, identity politics, and other similar factors behind the differing opinions is in itself a satisfying explanation. It resolves the question of incommensurability by placing all of the options into a larger intellectual framework. Of course, few practitioners would agree that these are satisfying answers, and they usually caricaturize postmodernists as irrelevant denizens of the “ivory tower.”

As an active participant in the westward spread of Thai massage and medicine in the 1990s and 2000s, and as an academic observer of this process since then, I have watched as adherentsof all three of these epistemes have struggled to discuss the question of lom and other similar conundrums in a constructive, productive, or even collegial way. In my view, conflicts between and among proponents of these different epistemes are preventing most practitioners from taking advantage of the full range of possibilities in their practice.

Is there a better way?

Polyperspectivalism is a new approach to the problem of incommensurability. Instead of looking through just one lens or trying to combine what you see through different lenses into a coherent picture, polyperspectivalism is about allowing all of the competing lenses to stand on equal footing as viable alternatives. Applied to the example of lom we have been talking about, a polyperspectival approach would mean acquiring as many different interpretations of this term as you can, studying them all as deeply as possible so that they can all become tools within your healing repertoire.

Rather than trying to smooth over differences between these lenses, the goal of polyperspectivalism is to learn from their juxtaposition. A temporary shift to a different conceptual system might clearly reveal what has been rendered invisible by the lens you’ve been accustomed to looking through. But, you can only see what has been hidden in plain sight if you fully remove your current lens and try a different one. Polyperspectivalism is therefore different than translation or “medical bilingualism.” When you translate something, the assumption is that there is a meaning that stays stable as you move from one language to the next. Polyperspectivalism has nothing to do with trying to keep anything stable across the epistemological divides. Rather, you could say, it is about intentionally looking for what is untranslatable within each episteme.

One of my recent posts described how this approach can also lead to more flexible collaborations with colleagues who don’t share our own particular worldview. When we encounter other practitioners who exhibit strong differences with our own understandings, rather than perceive them as misguided, threatening, or just plain wrong, we can approach them with deeper curiosity and perhaps even gratitude. What new lens might I pick up from someone with such a radically different interpretation than mine? What might their perspective illuminate that mine doesn’t? What might I be overlooking or misinterpreting that their lens can bring into focus? 

However valuable it may be for collaborations, in this post, I am focusing on how polyperspectivalism can be an asset in clinical practice. I’ll give two brief examples of polyperspectival approaches to lom in order to illustrate the value of the approach. Even if you’re not a practitioner of Thai bodywork, I think you will see clear parallels with your own practice.

Two examples of polyperspectivalism

The first example involves the so-called “blood stop” (also known as “opening the wind gates”), a maneuver that was common in bodywork circles in Thailand in the 1990s. I was taught by multiple traditionalist teachers that the principal way of opening up the flow of lom in the body is to release lom from the limbs into the abdominal cavity. This was done, I was taught, by placing your hands on the patient’s femoral and brachial arteries, and pressing down with enough force to stop or severely curtail the blood flow. You held the pressure for up to 10 heartbeats, and then released. You knew you had done it with enough pressure if the patient’s limbs went numb during the press and tingled strongly with “pins and needles” after the release.

There were some differences in how this step was performed. Different practitioners held the press for different amounts of time. Some teachers taught it should be done with the open palms, while others taught that it should be done with the fingertips while the hand was held open rigidly. One teacher taught me that the “blood stop” should be done on the carotid arteries as well as the arms and legs. A purely traditionalist viewpoint would try to figure out which of these methods was the most “authentic” while staying within the traditionalist episteme. You might decide which technique to use on the basis of which teacher was the most respected, the most wise, or the most authoritative. Or, if you thought historical antiquity was the main criteria for authenticity, you might try to consult ancient manuscripts to find a description of how this step was performed in the past.

By staying within the tradition, however, you would forever miss the crucial fact that this maneuver is extremely dangerous from a biomedical perspective. As soon as you switch to looking at this step through a modernist lens, the risks to the cardiovascular system become glaringly obvious. Seeing in this new way opens up a set of questions beyond just which teacher’s method is the most authentic. You might now find yourself wondering if you should discard the “blood stop” altogether. Or, you might decide to depart from tradition and invent a compromise in order to make the maneuver safe from a modernist perspective while still fitting within an energetic interpretation of lom.

A second example of how polyperspectivalism might open up new areas of inquiry is the teaching that you should always begin bodywork on the left-hand side when working on women, and on the right when working with men. I heard this countless times when I was studying in Thailand, and there are all kinds of traditionalist reasons why this makes sense that have to do with solar and lunar influences on the body. If we apply the modernist lens, as we did in the previous example, this time we will see that biomedicine has no opinion whatsoever on this question. But, as soon as we apply a postmodernist lens, we suddenly find a whole new dimension immediately comes into focus. What do maleness and femaleness actually mean in Thai culture? What are the implications of this male-female gender binary being mapped onto the body in this way? How do these left-right associations change if the patient is gay, transgender, or gender fluid? Do these distinctions make sense in my own culture? Do I want to be reinforcing traditional Thai gender norms through my own bodywork practice? What other connotations are there in Thai culture that I might be unconsciously inscribing onto my patient’s body during a massage session?

Again, my point here is not to answer these specific questions or to tell you what to do in the clinic. I just want to underscore how previously hidden dimensions of inquiry become glaringly obvious when you start looking through other lenses. Once you’ve seen these incommensurabilities you have the ability (and, of course, the responsibility) to make new clinical choices in light of these insights.

You’re no doubt already polyperspectival, so just embrace it already!

If you are a traditionalist in any Asian medicine tradition, ask yourself how would you respond to these two examples? Can you imagine yourself respecting your teachers’ traditionalist interpretations of lom, but discarding or modifying the “blood stop” because you take the biomedical understanding of the contraindications seriously? Can you see yourself also breaking with your teachers’ left-right protocol in order to accommodate a fluid postmodern stance on gender? If your answer to either one of these questions is “yes,” then you are already doing polyperspectivalism. If you can see the value of the new perspective brought by non-traditionalist epistemes in either these two examples, then you’re obviously not completely locked into a traditionalist stance. You are willing—at least on occasion—to oscillate into other epistemes, and to allow them to take precedence over traditionalist sources of wisdom.

Most contemporary practitioners I know would in fact respond “yes” to those questions and would in fact have no problem deviating from tradition in these two cases. However, in my experience, many of these same people would in the very next breath boldly declare on social media that “allopathic medicine is a big scam” or “academics are parasites who don’t know anything about practice” or “doctors and scholars may have one or two good ideas but most of what they say is complete bullshit.” (These are paraphrases of comments I have actually received on Facebook about some of my previous posts). I don’t think that this is necessarily intentional hypocrisy, but it certainly suggests a lack of self-awareness and a lack of appreciation for where some important correctives to their practice have come from. And it also is clear evidence that they are willfully shutting themselves off from vast areas of learning that they already know from experience will expand, enrich, or enliven — not “corrupt” — their practice.

I’ve used traditionalists as the example here, but the same conclusion applies if you are clinging to the modernist or postmodernist epistemes. A practitioner who is completely locked into scientific approaches or a scholar who is completely locked into postmodern frames of analysis is equally selling themselves short. My question for all such individuals is: why insist on epistemological purity when you already know that other viewpoints can be beneficial? Instead of all the posturing and fighting with your colleagues from other fields, why not embrace the different lenses they are making available to you, which in fact you are already using? Why not read and study as many traditional perspectives from as many teachers as possible? Why not read the science related to your practice—especially the studies that raise problems with it? Why not read the academic literature that deconstructs and critiques your tradition (Thai practitioners click here)? Why not lean into these differences, and see what new vistas some new lenses might reveal?

Once you are no longer limited by self-imposed epistemological constraints, you will find that you have many more options for how to think and act in the clinic than you previously thought. One day, a patient might present with a set of symptoms that seem not to make sense within one way of looking, but then they may cohere together when seen through another lens. You might treat one person with an entire protocol that is based on an energetic interpretation of lom, and treat the next with a strictly mechanical approach that was concerned only with the body’s anatomical structures. You might be in the middle of a difficult session that is grounded in the four elements theory, and suddenly throw up your hands in despair and channel the “father doctor” for inspiration. You might be planning out your protocol for working with lom to help manage the patient’s anxiety, and spontaneously be inspired to take a closer look at how the space you are practicing in is signaling cultural appropriation, white supremacy, or ableism. You might, instead of seeing these approaches as conflicting models, come to understand them as a set of diverse interpretive tools that are all equally available for you to draw upon, to selectively and skillfully meet different clinical situations as they arise.

On not being “right”

While in other fields, fundamental discrepancies can be treated more casually, in medicine it’s a matter of grave ethical responsibility to “get it right” — possibly even a matter of life and death. When there is an incommensurable difference of opinion over what should be done and why, the anxiety to cling to the tried-and-true is understandable. To me, though, the high stakes of the endeavor is all the more reason that polyperspectivalism is needed in the clinic. In my opinion, rather than being afraid to get it wrong, the bigger danger is thinking that you’ve got it right!

For anyone to think that they have found one episteme, viewpoint, or system that contains all the answers is, I have argued, sheer hubris. There is always something to learn from another viewpoint, and chances are it could be vitally important. To remain committed to a single episteme may seem safer, but like in the example of the blood stop and the left-right binary your blind spots are likely to be undermining the wellbeing of your patients in subtle or not-so-subtle ways. Given the complexities we are responding to in the clinic, how could trying on a variety of different lenses possibly be wrong?

Human health is a multidimensional, mysterious and unpindownable thing that cannot be reduced to a single narrow way of thinking. We already know this, so let’s just embrace it.

Articles in this four-part series were published simultaneously on AMZ and Medium.com.

Imagine you are some kind of super-intelligent alien located on a planet way out in the furthest reaches of the galaxy. You are looking out through a high-powered telescope, and have found this little planet called Earth. Your civilization’s advanced technology allows you not only to see across the vast expanse of space, but also to look across time. Through your telescope, you witness the birth of the planet, and see its whole history play out in fast-forward.

As you watch, the approximately 4.5 billion years of the Earth’s history unfolds before your eyes. First, the planet is born in an explosive galactic collision. As the fiery, gaseous heap of stone gradually cools, microscopic prokaryotes emerge and develop into multicellular organisms. Gradually, more and more complex plant and animal life takes form and populates the planet, transforming its atmosphere. From way out in space, the details of these lifeforms can’t be made out too clearly. In a seeming blur, one species after another evolves, thrives for a time, and then recedes again. Life organizes and collapses and reorganizes over and over again in a fractal pattern of near-infinite complexity. You can see all of these countless living beings constantly killing and birthing each other, eating and defecating out one another, as one throbbing blob of biological matter and energy. Sometimes you think you can make out some kind of cosmic order in all of it—at other times, it just seems like random chaos.

Somewhere along the line, human beings become visible as part of this mass. At this resolution, individual people are impossible to make out, but humanity as a whole is clear, its collective bioenergetic presence writhing, contorting, and pulsating across the planet. Cities, states, and empires burst in and out of existence, now burning each other to the ground, now swallowing each other up. Occasionally, viruses (also part of the whole of life) or some other momentary blip wipes out large portions of the population in a flash. But humanity bounces back, growing even larger and more vibrant, as if driven by a higher — or perhaps a sinister — intelligence. As you watch, lifeforms, the atmosphere, the planet as a whole is transformed again and again in a sometimes interdependent and sometimes antagonistic dance alongside human life.

Let’s say you also have a transgalactic microphone that allows you to hear the babble of this human biomass, as it talks to itself incessantly. You hear the cries of pain of billions upon billions of its voices, a sound that is matched by the same volume of joyous laughter. The soft words of kindness spoken by mothers and lovers are blended together with the words of violence and hate hurled at enemies and combatants. And through it all, the constant drone of the questions that arise from humanity: What’s happening here? Who are we? What does this all mean?

And then, after all of this raucous hurly-burly—one might even say this Carnaval-like cacophony if one had read the previous posts in this series—you arrive at the present. You now take the opportunity to zoom your lens all the way to the limits of its power, right down to the level of an individual person. You carefully tune your microphone as well, in order to pick one voice out from the crowd. For just a moment, you decide to give this person your full attention, letting them occupy center stage in this epic cosmic drama. Straining your eyes and ears across the light-years, you listen intently. And, ringing out across the universe, you hear:

Listen up, people! All of reality is described in this book that was written 2000 years ago. This particular book contains the truth, and anyone who disagrees with it is wrong.

Wait, what? you ask yourself. Am I hearing this right? You tune your equipment and listen in again, this time letting your instruments focus on another person nearby. Again, you pick up words loud and clear:

No, you’re wrong! This is all really just the interplay of inert physical matter. This is plain as day to see, and anyone who disagrees with this is ignorant.

In disbelief, you readjust and pick out a third person, listening in one more time:

You’re both fools! Truth is merely a social construct, contingent on historical and cultural factors. Anyone who disagrees with this analysis is just being naïve.

Alas! you think to yourself, if only my equipment could broadcast and not just receive signals. If only I could reach these people across the galactic airwaves. I would tell them about all of the details of the combusting, writhing, frothing vibrancy I’ve witnessed throughout this planet’s history. I would communicate the infinite complexity I’ve seen in the processes of birthing, dying, becoming, and changing. I would share the sorrow and the beauty, the suffering and the redemption, I’ve witnessed throughout the story of the Earth.

Oh, well, you think to yourself, I guess they’re on their own. And you move your gaze to a different far-off corner of the galaxy.

*

In the weeks since I wrote the first two posts in this series on “meta approaches” to Asian medicine, I’ve heard feedback from a variety of people who fall across the traditionalist, modernist, and postmodernist epistemes or worldviews suggested in the parable above (see definitions in post #1). Some readers have pointed out that a specific detail about one or another thing I’ve said is incorrect. Many have felt I’ve overstated the differences between these three groups, or ignored the cases where they genuinely have gotten along with one another or produced true insights. Others have responded by doubling-down on their own native episteme, upset that I’m just not getting why their perspective is actually the right one.

Regardless of the particulars of their responses — more than a few of which have been perfectly valid critiques — many of the people who have written or commented to me have expressed unease about my three core arguments: abandoning the need to integrate these epistemes, letting them co-exist as incommensurable approaches, and allowing ourselves to productively oscillate between or among them. Whatever the specifics of their position may be, most seem to agree that this would be radically destabilizing.

Exactly what would be destabilized has varied — for some it’s their professional identity, for others their beliefs or values, and for still others it’s the integrations and syntheses they have worked so hard to build up. Some respondents have seen the potential for the destabilization of their very conception of self. As one emailer put it: “I don’t agree with the incommensurability [of the three epistemes], for if I did I would be suffering from a triple split personality.” Another person shared the reaction of a family member: “If I let myself think about that, the whole world that I based my life upon would fracture. I can’t go there.” Someone else wrote that “one first has to have a fully developed identity before one can disassociate from or transcend it, and I don’t see most humans fully developing [to that level].”

To be clear, my proposal is indeed intended to be destabilizing in precisely those ways. I am indeed inviting us to fracture our selves: not just to triple-split, but maybe even to shatter into a million disparate pieces. Indeed, one way my position could be summarized is that an overly ossified sense of self is the problem. The self-assuredness that one of these epistemes has enabled us to arrive at the truth, or the belief that the synthesis of two or three of these will someday enable us to do so, or even the very idea that there is an ultimate truth that one could someday arrive at in the first place, is the problem. The notion that any ultimate truth could actually be captured by any particular paradigm is very much the problem. The three partisans in the parable above are laughable caricatures precisely because they’re three puny “blind men” groping at a cosmos-sized elephant. They are each totally convinced that they’ve got the one solution to the mystery, complexity, and enormity of the whole of reality… and that they’re going to tell us all about it.

In fact, every one of the epistemes we’re discussing recognizes that reality simply cannot be fully understood in that way. Each acknowledges that a deep mystery lies at the very core of existence. Postmodernism wears its uncertainty principle on its sleeve, seeing all “facts” as contingent and relative, constantly changing in response to social and cultural forces. In traditionalist terms, at the bottom of every form of Asian medicine I know of is the Dao that can’t be spoken, the ineffability of the cosmic Being, the emptiness of all dharmas, and so forth. Even the hardest of sciences knows that, at the highest resolution, everything solid dissolves into quantum probabilities and paradoxes. Deep down, these epistemes know themselves to be nothing more than approximations —useful perhaps, but always temporary, unstable, and partial. Each warns against the hubris of reductionism and totalization.

In other words, it’s not the epistemes themselves that are to blame for the self-assuredness of the blind men. Rather, it’s the rigidity with which they adhere to their convictions, the arrogance with which they inflate their disciplines into totalizing explanatory frameworks. It’s the earnestness with which they tell themselves comforting mythologies, and the violence — metaphorical and, all too often, actual — with which they bludgeon dissenting voices to prevent being challenged by other equally mythological stories.

My proposal for a metamodern and metadisciplinary approach is also a proposal for a metamorphic approach. Meta meaning beyond, and morphe meaning shapes or forms. An approach beyond forms. An approach that doesn’t need to create and defend stable shapes. An approach that oscillates or bounces or flows from one perspective to another without seeking a stable position. Whether we move through these fluctuations with fluidity or with abruptness, with grace or with jerkiness, is not important. What matters is that we never allow ourselves to fall into the trap of thinking that we’ve discovered a final answer to what all of this really means, or how all of this really works, and that we thrive on the uncertainty.

To be clear, I am by no means arguing that different types of thought haven’t made contributions to human understanding. Each of the three epistemes is an exceedingly valuable lens that reveals much about the world, and to argue otherwise is patently ridiculous. If you think I am arguing that tradition or science or academic postmodernism are “wrong,” then you have misunderstood what I’m saying in these posts completely. It is, in fact, critical to my argument to recognize the truth-value of all three epistemes. Each is equally right within its own domain of expertise. But, it is equally critical to recognize that they are all incomplete in their understandings of the whole. They each grant us an accurate but partial view of reality, revealing some truths while obscuring others. It is also critical to my argument to accept their incommensurability: that they do not fit together like neatly aligning puzzle pieces, and that their synthesis is highly problematic. If you don’t agree with these basic premises, which were argued in more detail in the previous posts, then this final post probably won’t make much sense.

Moreover, agreeing with these premises doesn’t invalidate the innate human curiosity that makes us want to understand our place in the universe. Metamorphosis doesn’t invalidate seeking knowledge for practical purposes. However, it does involve realizing that we could spend our whole lives — or, indeed, millennia — trying to figure out reality, only to find that we simply will never be able to comprehend it in its totality. Metamorphosis accepts this as a built-in limitation of our human minds, and knows that every seemingly stable position we could possibly come up with could only ever be just another hypothesis. That any new model we could possibly ever produce would always continue to have uncertainty at its core. That no matter how much conceptual knowledge we ever compile, we’re always going to be trying to name the Dao that can’t be named.

Life-energy, electromagnetism, or social construct from early China? Some combination of the three? Or, just maybe, none of the above!

Celebrating both the inevitability and the futility of our quest for truth, a metamorphic approach allows us to dive into epistemes and disciplines, to milk them for all they’re worth, all the while knowing that none of them will ever be fully and totally right. It demands that the moment we find ourselves settled into any one particular way of thinking, we start challenging our own core tenets. As soon as we start to feel like “I’ve got it,” we start destabilizing that coziness by thinking about all the ways that we could be — must be—missing the bigger picture.

By eschewing fixed forms and static positions, we leave behind a rigid or one-dimensional sense of self and become shape-shifters. Treating our convictions as lightly as Carnaval masks may indeed initially feel threatening or uncomfortable, and perhaps there are good reasons that this approach is not for everyone. But, the feeling that your whole life will lose its meaning if your worldview is challenged can only be true if your have overly identified yourself with your thoughts, beliefs, and stories. In these three posts, I’m suggesting that rather than cracking under the pressure of confronting one another’s truths, we might instead find a way to to allow ourselves to metamorphose into new and unfamiliar selves with every new encounter.

Once we’ve unwrapped ourselves from our conceptual cocoons, we can start encountering former rivals across the seminar table with vulnerability and compassion rather than defensiveness and enmity. Rather than donning our disciplinary war-paint, we instead can look each other nakedly in the eyes as fellow human beings. Only then can we extend a hand and join together in solidarity as we all blindly feel our way around this elephant together.

*

Not too much later, you’re able to find those three Earthlings in your telescope again. Thanks to a recent update to your equipment, you now are able to broadcast a message to them from your vantage point way on the other side of the galaxy. You tune your signal, clear your throat, and then begin to beam your message down to Earth….

What will you say? Will you pick a side in their debate? Will you play the peacemaker, seeking a comfortable détente between them? Or, will you perhaps decide to leave the Dao unspoken after all, and just sit back and enjoy the cosmic show?

Articles in this four-part series were published simultaneously on AMZ and Medium.com.

Interdisciplinarity has failed as a model for collaboration in the study of Asian medicine. Here, I propose the new model of “metadisciplinarity” as a means of bringing people together in more productive and more generative ways.

In my last post, “A Metamodern Approach to Asian Medicine,” I discussed a major communication problem within the study of traditional Asian medicine. I outlined the three major groups that dominate this field: the distinct and occasionally overlapping social groups of practitioners, scientists, and academic scholars. I introduced the epistemes or worldviews each group subscribes to, which I called “traditionalist,” “modernist,” and “postmodernist.” I described the stereotypes the proponents of each episteme have of one another, and the disciplinary rules and norms that are used to maintain and police the boundaries between them. I finished up with a proposal for how we can achieve more fruitful and more constructive co-existence, based on some ideas drawn from the theory of “oscillatory metamodernism,” as recently developed by scholars of aesthetics and religious studies.

While the last post focused on diagnosing the problem and laying out the bigger picture, here I want to explore in specific detail how we can achieve better communication Below, I will argue that our primary model for collaboration — interdisciplinarity — has failed to produce genuine dialogue across the epistemes. I then propose a new model I’m calling “metadisciplinarity” as a means of bringing people together in more productive and more generative ways.

Different types of collaborations

Before discussing the failure of interdisciplinarity, let me first define how I use this term, and related words, so that we’re all on the same page:

To begin with, I use the term disciplinarity to refer to a process of entrainment that involves steeping oneself in and taking on board the primary episteme of a particular discipline — including all of its the methodologies, assumptions, worldview, and truth claims. This is a crucial part of professional formation for traditionalist practitioners, modernist scientists, and postmodernist scholars alike. For each of these groups, cultivating disciplinarity involves internalizing a particular set of knowledge and practices, taking on a new professional identity, and learning to conform to the rules of the game as they pertain to the particular community.

Multidisciplinarity, then, is a form of collaboration in which practitioners or adherents of two or more disciplines with divergent perspectives come together to discuss or address a common problem. The problem is explored from different directions or through different lenses, but synthesis or mutual learning is not expected as an outcome. For example, imagine a conference panel on mindfulness that includes a Buddhism monastic, a neuroscientist, and a historian of religion. An event designed to be multidisciplinary might involve each presenter speaking for 20 minutes, and then the floor being opened up for comments and questions. In this case, the traditional, modern, and postmodern epistemes are given equal voice, but they are not expected to achieve true dialogue. (Multidisciplinarity, like the rest of the terms on this list, can also take the form of a single practitioner, in this case one person who juxtaposes two disciplinary perspectives without blending them together.)

Interdisciplinarity, on the other hand, is when those collaborators have the intention that each participant’s understanding will be enriched and expanded by interacting with the other. An interdisciplinary collaboration ideally should generate integration — some kind of novel approach or perspective that combines or synthesizes the disciplines. For example, if the panelists at the mindfulness panel are all aiming for interdisciplinarity, they will come to the event with the intention to learn from one another in order to find common ground. They would probably also organize the event as a dialogue instead of as a series of lectures or presentations.

A variation on interdisciplinarity is transdisciplinary, where the interdisciplinary collaboration is aiming to somehow transcend the original disciplines altogether — for example, aiming to discover a new field of research, or to bring new stakeholders into the conversation. If the interdisciplinary mindfulness event just described was also intending to inform public healthcare policy, or if it included politicians, healthcare workers, and/or members of the public in the conversation, it could be called transdisciplinary.

The failure of interdisciplinarity

It is important for me to distinguish these different terms in order to clearly state what I see as the problem. In the field of Asian medicine, interdisciplinarity (and, more recently, its variant transdisciplinarity) has been tasked with bridging the gaps between the traditional, the modern, and the postmodern. It has been touted as the tool or method by which these three epistemes will finally be combined together, and their adherents finally reconciled. The much hoped-for end is an “integrative” or “integrated” approach, which will be a synthesis of the most beneficial perspectives of all three and which will unlock all sorts of utopian health outcomes.

This sounds nice, but the problem is that almost every attempt to generate interdisciplinary collaboration of which I am aware has failed to achieve the holy grail of epistemological integration. Sooner or later, these interdisciplinary efforts have (1) failed to produce any collaboration at all, (2) devolved into multidisciplinarity, or (3) come to be dominated by one episteme or another. We’ll go through these scenarios one by one:

1.) Failure to launch

Interdisciplinary collaboration is often doomed to failure right from the beginning by the fact that some or all of the participants in the collaboration refuse outright to participate. While they may pay lip service to interdisciplinary goals, they either explicitly or implicitly refuse to buy into the idea that cross-epistemic conversation is actually worthwhile. This was the scene at the Third International Congress of Traditional Asian Medicine (ICTAM) in Bombay in 1990, described in an essay by Lawrence Cohen that I discussed in the previous post. Sponsored by the International Association for the Study of Traditional Asian Medicine (IASTAM), this conference had the stated purpose of bringing together practitioners and scholars of Asian medicine. Yet, despite the efforts of the organizers, the dividing lines between these two groups proved insurmountable. As Cohen described it, the separation was not only epistemological but also physical. Not seeing enough common ground to even begin the conversation, each group self-segregated into their separate corners of the venue. Ensconced within their own worldviews and paradigms, each group was unable to understand the value of even venturing over to the other side of the building.

Lest you think this is just an isolated example from many years ago, I will point out that such self-isolation continues to play out in many contemporary forums for traditional Asian medicine today. Take a look at any of the major Facebook groups in our field, and tell me which one sees active engagement and dialogue across epistemes!

2.) Bait and switch

Since the 1990s, organizations like IASTAM, their journal Asian Medicine (of which I am the editor in chief), and other smaller-scale efforts (such as this blog and the Asian Medicine Zone FB group) have succeeded in bringing traditionalists, modernists, and postmodernists together into the same space for the purpose of dialogue and exchange. Even when participants have been willing, however, they all too often have been unable to break out from their own disciplines and epistemes. Unwittingly and despite their own best intentions, they often wind up speaking past one another, and the interdisciplinary fantasies soon enough devolve into multidisciplinary realities.

Often, participants in such exchanges may not even realize that this is what is going on. To give an example, I was recently asked to keynote at a conference at a college that was launching an integrative medicine program. The intention of the meeting was to bring scholars and practitioners of complementary and alternative medicine together for mutual edification. My keynote (which was actually an early draft of my previous post on metamodernism) encouraged participants to let loose and enjoy the cognitive dissonance that comes from crossing epistemological boundaries. In the end, however, the conference consisted entirely of talks and panels that were each firmly grounded in one or another episteme. It was a diverse multidisciplinary array of presenters and audience members, to be sure — with lectures from reiki masters, nurse-practitioners, historians of Korean medicine, and many more. But with no structure in place to create dialogue between them, these groups were ships passing in the night. In the concluding plenary session at the end of the day, a spokesperson for the hosting organization proudly congratulated the audience on how much we had all learned from our cross-epistemological collaboration. The audience clapped enthusiastically, wholly unaware of the fact that little to no epistemological cross-fertilization actually had taken place.

3.) One episteme to rule them all

At times, there have been important breakthroughs in our field that appear to have come from successful collaborations between epistemes. Perhaps one of the most high-profile examples is the research done by Tu Youyou, who won a Nobel Prize in 2015 for her work on artemisinin as a novel therapy for malaria. The crucial moment in her discovery came, she says, when she discovered how to extract the compound using a traditional method that was recorded in a fourth-century text by the Chinese physician and alchemist Ge Hong (ca. 283–343 CE).

At first glance, using an ancient medical text to inform contemporary Nobel-Prize-winning scientific research seems to be a textbook example of the benefits that can come from cross-epistemic dialogue. However, alas, there is actually no interdisciplinarity going on here either. Rather, knowledge from one episteme is simply being absorbed or co-opted by another. In this case, Tu appropriated knowledge associated with the traditional episteme for modernist purposes. Extracting Ge Hong’s traditional method from its original cultural context, she repurposed the technique in order to produce knowledge that could be understood, valued, and utilized within scientific, medical, and public health frameworks.

Please don’t get me wrong: I am not for a moment criticizing Tu’s work, which has been more beneficial to humanity than everything I’ve done in my own life put together. I’m not even criticizing this kind of research strategy. The same basic approach has led to many healthcare interventions — such as Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction, yoga therapy, medical qigong, and all kinds of other traditional-modern hybrids — that have been therapeutically important in the past 50 years. This kind of approach is extremely useful and should continue; however, my point is that it is not actually an example of epistemological border-crossing. It is one-way translation, not a conversation between equals. It strengthens disciplinarity, not dialogue.

Metadisciplinarity

If we are interested in cross-epistemological dialogue — and, indeed, I recognize that not all of us may be — my proposal is not going to be that we get better at interdisciplinarity. Given our track record, I think interdisciplinary collaborations are largely destined to continue to fail. Rather, I am proposing an altogether new framework for cross-epistemological collaboration that I will call “metadisciplinarity.” If you have read the previous post you will recognize that this new framework draws from the theory of oscillatory metamodernism I discussed there. To use the metaphor from that essay, you could say that metadisciplinarity is a set of specific practices that can help to bring us together in a more productive and generative conversation. They also can help point the way beyond awkwardness and contentiousness, toward the joyous Carnaval-like atmosphere of metamodern oscillation.

In practice, metadisciplinarity involves at least three fundamental shifts in how collaborations across epistemes are oriented:

1.) From integration to polyperspectivalism

Our first order of business is to abandon the goal of integrating the three epistemes, to accept that their synthesis or reconciliation into a larger whole is a pipedream. A metadisciplinary collaboration instead begins with the premise that the traditionalist, modernist, and postmodernist approaches to Asian medicine are incommensurable. We understand that these are not different ways of seeing the same thing, but rather different ways of seeing different things.

Instead of striving for integration, a metadisciplinary collaboration makes space for the simultaneous presence of irreconcilable perspectives co-existing together within a single social frame. (By a “social frame” I mean anywhere where people and their ideas are gathered together, for example, a conference, a journal issue, a website, or a social media feed.) Participants in a metadisciplinary collaboration cultivate the ability to hear the unspeakable being spoken inside of that frame without the need to defend their turf. Participants learn to listen not with a cynical ear that is ready to attack and defend, but with a genuine appreciation — even enthusiasm — for radically alternative viewpoints that emerge through the conversation. We work to abandon the fragile mindset that must translate everything into our own language in order to make it sit more comfortably. We instead work on embodying a cognitive flexibility that welcomes being knocked around by new ideas, that finds creativity in the oscillation between different worldviews, and that experiences excitement or even joy at the chaos and dissonance that can result.

2.) From making truth claims to making meaning

If our social frame has any chance of becoming a tolerant space for that kind of polyperspectivalism, each participant is going to have to agree to refrain from making or defending ontologically strong truth claims. Recognizing that we will never agree across epistemes on what constitutes truth — or even what kinds of evidence are admissible in our quest for truth — we abandon trying to convince each other of any specific positions on it. Releasing ourselves from the burden of arguing over truth claims, we instead focus our energies on working together to explore what is meaningful to the group as a whole. Shifting from truth claims to meaningfulness allows each participant’s viewpoints to be heard not as threats or absurdities, but as valuable contributions to our collective meaning-making project.

Sometimes this can be no more difficult than changing how we turn our phrases. For a practitioner participant to turn to their historian colleague and say “I have direct experience working with qi, and I think my experience can contribute something to our current conversation” is a different statement than if they said “qi is real, and anyone who is sensitive enough can feel it.” The latter makes a black and white assertion from the perspective of one particular episteme, and closes down further dialogue. The former, on the other hand, opens us up a space for sharing, storytelling, and mutual listening.

3.) From disciplinarity to disciplinary transparency

All too often, the participants in cross-epistemic collaborations operate from a set of assumptions that are so well-known and obvious within their home disciplines that they go unspoken. We tend to forget that these assumptions we have internalized are not natural ways of being, but rather are the result of study, memorization, and embodiment through many years of training and practice. These assumptions remain inscrutable for outsiders unless they are made explicit, and they can easily become major obstacles for anyone trying to engage with us on our topics of expertise.

In a metadisciplinary collaboration, each participant in the dialogue therefore commits to being transparent about the disciplinary tools they are deploying at any given moment, and to making their unspoken epistemological assumptions explicitly visible to all participants at all times. The focal point of the collaboration shifts from trying to “solve the problem” or “arrive at the right answer” toward the sharing and refining of a meaningful collection of methods, tools, and insights. Drawing these equally from across the different disciplines and epistemes represented in the collaboration becomes a central concern of the collective meaning-making project.

New possibilities

These three shifts — welcoming polyperspectivalism, focusing on collective meaning-making, and a focus on explaining and sharing disciplinary tools — take us away from policing, defending, and strengthening the epistemic divides that keep us separated from one another, and instead provide a framework for entering into productive dialogue and collaboration across disciplines and across epistemes. But we must resist the impulse to make metadisciplinarity into a new systematization. Remember, oscillatory metamodernism is not about integration, it’s not about organizing everything into some kind of stable hierarchy, and it’s not about splitting the differences between us. Likewise, a metadisciplinary collaboration is not about producing some kind of harmonious stasis. In fact, if a collaboration finds itself in a peaceful stasis, it’s a sign that it’s not metadisciplinary enough! This is not about finding our common ground, but rather finding joy and making meaning in the cacophonous, unstable juxtaposition of incommensurable viewpoints.

To make this more concrete, imagine this scene from a hypothetical conference: An interdisciplinary panel session is put together with three presenters. A practitioner of Thai massage walks the audience through a “traditional treatment to clear the chakras.” A physician presents on how there is no scientific basis whatsoever for the concept of chakras. An academic then presents on how this particular model of chakras has nothing to do with traditional Thai culture, but rather was invented by a guy from Germany in the 1990s. Chaos ensues.

Where do we, the participants in this panel, go from here? Do we cringe and avoid eye-contact? Do we muddle through our presentations and then go our separate ways? Do we publicly duke it out to see whose perspective will win the day? Rather than any of those options — which have become our normal responses to epistemological disagreements in our field — I’m suggesting that we start by explicitly accepting that we will never see eye to eye with our co-panelists. But yet, we still commit to engaging with one another in good faith, at least so long as we are in the shared social frame of the panel session. I’m suggesting we use the allotted time for our panel to create a genuine dialogue where the main focus in not on figuring out which of these viewpoints is right, but rather on figuring out what value there is in one another’s approaches. I’m suggesting we can find joy in experimenting and investigating how we three can make meaning together, while still appreciating the incommensurability of our perspectives.

What would the result of such a collaboration be? Who knows! Metadisciplinarity is fluid, emergent, and unpredictable, and depends entirely on the specific participants gathered together. But, one thing I am certain about is that overcoming the current stalemate in our field depends on whether proponents of the three epistemes can learn to enjoy being jostled together in this way. If you read the previous post, you know that I believe that this kind of opening up to one another is what is needed both in our field and also in the world at large as well.

This is important, so let’s work on it together — no matter which social group or episteme you primarily affiliate with. I’m looking forward to the conversation, and hope that maybe we’ll actually hear each other for the first time.

Articles in this four-part series were published simultaneously on AMZ and Medium.com.

The traditional Asian medicine community has a communication problem. We know it all too well. Lawrence Cohen identified it decades ago when he wrote about the Third International Congress of Traditional Asian Medicine (ICTAM) in Bombay in 1990. He observed that conferencegoers who were practitioners were congregating in certain parts of the conference talking among themselves, while the scholars occupied their own separate spaces. This divide was not only physical but also intellectual: each community’s conversations inhabited radically different conceptual worlds. Cohen wryly summed up the scene as an “epistemological carnival.” [1]

I have been for the past 25 years or so a practitioner, teacher, and scholar of traditional Asian medicine (below abbreviated TAM, by which I intend to include acupuncture, Sowa Rigpa, hatha yoga, Thai massage, mindfulness meditation, qigong healing, and all the other contemporary Asian healing systems that claim to have premodern origins). Having attended numerous conferences and gatherings on both sides of that aisle (including several ICTAMs of my own); having edited an academic journal on TAM, and a Facebook group for both communities, I can attest to the fact that there have been an increasing number of interdisciplinary collaborations in our field since Cohen wrote his piece (such as this one). However, I all too often have also seen practitioners and scholars speaking past one another. All too often, to quote Cohen again, the air has still been “thick with colliding assumptions and bad tempers.”

Irreconcilable epistemes

Below I’ll introduce a way forward, but first, in order to understand the rancor that still persists, I think we need to take the time to appreciate where the participants in this carnival are coming from. My assessment is different than Cohen’s in that I see not two but three groups, but I agree that each is beholden to its own episteme (or, you might say worldviews or paradigms, let’s not get too hung up on the terminology). For purposes of our conversation here (and again, let’s not focus on the terminology), we’ll call these three groups “traditionalists,” “modernists,” and “postmodernists.”

The first group, the traditionalists, are characterized by a deep commitment that their particular brand of TAM is a genuine font of wisdom. The knowledge carried by their traditions transcends historical epochs and geography. It is possible to practice these ancient traditions today because they have been handed down by a continuous lineage of masters and through authoritative texts. Because the biggest danger to the authenticity of these practices is the corruption of tradition by misunderstanding or modification, tradition must be preserved and continue to be handed down in a pristine way. The traditionalists see themselves as doing precisely that. (As did I when I started out in the practice of Thai medicine, meditation, and yoga.)

The highest status among traditionalists — if one is not a wizened practitioner from Asia oneself — comes from having a reputation for being able to access such people. Better yet, being authorized by such people to share the inner teachings of the tradition. Or, at the very least, being able to read ancient texts that have a quasi-sacred status within the community. But, gaining support from science or academia is helpful. Traditionalist practitioners often appeal to contemporary scientific or academic concepts, and they may even avidly follow these literatures.

The traditionalists’ claim to authenticity is established, conferred, and reinforced largely via non-scientific and non-academic media ecosystems, such as social media, YouTube videos, trade journals, and various other popular media. Professional accolades, membership in certain professional bodies, and personal websites are also often important, although all of these are always secondary to claims of direct access to the “true” tradition.

The second group, modernists, are far less concerned with tradition and authenticity than with empiricism and universality. For them, TAM practices also transcend time and place — not because of the continuity of lineage, but because of their ability to be scientifically verified. The modernist is convinced that the active ingredient in any given TAM intervention can be isolated. Whether it’s a chemical derived from an herbal medicine or the proper “dosage” of mindfulness, once it’s identified, it can be explained, understood, and practiced independently from the “cultural trappings” of the tradition of origin. Also, once extracted in this way, it can be studied in the lab.

The modernist is fully confident in the power of science, biomedicine, and public health to explain the efficacy of TAM. But, this does not mean the modernist is necessarily a scientist. Of course, there are scientists, medical researchers, and others who investigate TAM in labs around the world who win accolades and legitimacy by publishing novel findings in research journals, landing prestigious postdocs, and even winning Nobel Prizes. A quick PubMed search will reveal that these individuals are responsible for a robust and growing scientific literature on all manners of TAM.

But, there is also a sizeable swathe of non-scientist TAM practitioners — acupuncturists, massage therapists, herbalists, and others — who also prioritize science over tradition even if they personally have never looked through a microscope. They justify their acupuncture practice not with ancient texts but with modern kinesiology, say, thinking primarily in terms of fascia and electromagnetic fields rather than channels of qi. For these practitioners, success comes when an inscrutable TAM practice is made legible to modern medicine, when it can be bottled (literally or metaphorically) and spread far beyond its original cultural milieu, and when it finally becomes recognized by international healthcare regulators.

The third group of participants in our carnival are the postmodernists. Postmodernists style themselves as observers of TAM instead of practitioners of it. Most are scholars trained in Western universities, or they are analysts who primarily take this scholarly approach. In actual fact, a good number of postmodernist scholars (present company included) either were or still are practitioners, but, if so, these two sides of their life are well compartmentalized. The central questions of the postmodernists are not about how to tap into an authentic tradition or how to scientifically prove that TAM works. Instead, they are interested in how power dynamics, discourse analysis, nationalism, gender, race, class, identity, and a number of other historical and sociocultural forces shape the practice of TAM. Scholars may indeed talk about tradition or empirical proof — but only about how these concepts are socially constructed.

The intellectual and disciplinary underpinnings of the postmodernist are similar to what you would find in other academic fields. Injected with a critical edge by post-Foucaultian histories and anthropologies of medicine, the academic study of TAM is housed within the fields of Anthropology, History, and Religious Studies, and comprises a group of scholars whose primary commitments are to those fields.

Though gaining increasing recognition as a legitimate area of study since the 1990s, the study of TAM is still quite marginal within the academy more broadly. When not among their fellow TAM enthusiasts, the postmodernist scholar is therefore likely to be found in a defensive crouch, constantly deconstructing the other epistemes in order to demonstrate to the broader academy that they too belong at the seminar table.

An increasing number of scholars of TAM can be found attending academic conferences, publishing in the journals, and professionally affiliating with this field, and so its profile has grown a bit since Cohen published his write-up of ICTAM. Works by these scholars are consequently coming to be more accessible to traditionalist and modernist practitioners; nevertheless, for the most part, non-scholars tend to continue to hold the postmodernists at arm’s length, if they notice their presence at all.

Let the jousting begin!

While individual members of these three groups have often played nice together in the TAM field, these three factions just as often have expressed — how shall we put it? — a rather low estimation of each other. For example, the most withering critiques of traditionalists made by those outside the episteme center on their extreme naïveté and blind faith in the wisdom of the ancients. Their fetishization of Asian tradition smacks of orientalism and cultural appropriation.

The modernist, on the other hand, is quickly accused of scientism. The detraditionalization of thousands of years of cultural production, boiling it all down into a synthetic pill or an 8-week practice protocol is laughably reductionistic. The ease with which the modernist tells us “what is true” about the tradition smacks of arrogance and neo-colonialism — not to mention that many of them are complicit in the actual colonialism of bio-prospecting.

Often it’s the postmodernists who are lobbing these very accusations. But of course, to anyone outside of academia, the ivory tower has its own obvious flaws. Like traditionalists, the postmodernists have the habit of fetishizing their Asian culture of choice, and eternally dwell on the narcissism of minor differences. The moral relativism and the hermeneutic of suspicion behind the academic stdy of TAM is also seen as leading to paralysis: steeped their privilege and hopelessly aloof from the real world, the professors have no reply to the needs of the present moment.

To be clear, what I’m presenting here are the negative stereotypes. These are the maximally uncharitable views each of the epistemes have expressed about the others, and I’m overstating their differences to make my point. But only slightly.

In addition to stereotyped views of each other, each episteme is continually policed against intrusions. Each of the three factions has its own well-defined body of “unmentionables,” things that simply cannot be said in polite company because they would undermine the principal commitments of the episteme. For example, it is allowable for a Western-trained historian of Japanese medicine returning from a Reiki conference to admit to colleagues that they “enjoyed doing field work.” But, would they wax poetic about the scientific evidence for ki-energy at the seminar table during a job interview for a history department? Likewise, would a student in a yoga therapy program vocally protest the Western yoga industry’s rank orientalism, cultural appropriation, and neo-colonialism? Would a qigong master with a strong traditionalist following highlight the fact that they simply invented their routine last Tuesday based on reading kinesiology textbooks? Not if they don’t want to commit professional suicide.

In practice, it is clear that some territories are more vehemently guarded than others. The grant proposal and the conference panel are especially well-defended, for example. The parameters dictating what’s allowable are also well-fortified in departmental policies, peer review processes, international healthcare policy debates, and other institutional structures. And thus they inescapably shape the limitations of our professional identities, our research agendas, and our collaborations with one another. There are some individuals who appear to be able to successfully navigate between two or more of these worlds with a certain amount of “medical bilingualism.” But, more often than not, such people have had to learn to self-silence, to edit themselves, or to code-switch in different environments. For the most part, our disciplinary rules limit our abilities to speak, or eventually to even think, across the epistemic boundaries.

A metamodern solution

So far, I have only been speaking in relation to TAM, but the reader may already have intuited that the stakes are so much bigger than that. For, doesn’t the basic problem of irreconcilable epistemes apply to every aspect of twenty-first century life more generally? Isn’t this the same exact impasse that prevents us from developing any solutions to climate change, to economic inequality, or to global armed conflict? Isn’t the fundamental problem behind all of these issues — and all the other huge unsolvable problems — that we simply do not know how to engage in productive dialogue with people who see the world drastically differently than we do?

Surely we must see by now that consensus on any of these truly tough problems simply cannot be won by argumentation. Let’s make no mistake: the epistemes are irreconcilable. When I find myself operating from a different epistemic perspectives than someone else, no matter how logical my arguments seem to me, they will fall on deaf ears. I may tell myself that my interlocutor is too stupid to understand what I’m saying, but the true barrier is that my ideas literally make no sense within their worldview. My words are unspeakable, my ideas unthinkable within the reality they inhabit.

How to communicate across epistemes and achieve mutual understanding is, you might say, the central question of the era of globalization. Recently, the word “metamodernism” has been floated as a name for the solution to this kind of epistemological impasse. I am going to use that term here as well, although I need to introduce a caveat, because there are at least two drastically different interpretations or approaches to metamodernism. On the one hand there are models associated with Hanzi Frienacht, Integralism, and the likes, which arrange divergent epistemes hierarchically and developmentally (i.e., modern is more advanced than traditional, postmodern is more advanced than modern, metamodern most advanced of all). That form of metamodernism has all kinds of issues, and is in fact the antithesis of what I’m advocating here.

What I am interested in is what we might call the “oscillatory” model of metamodernism that the Dutch academics Timotheus Vermeulen and Robin van den Akker proposed in a 2010 paper, in this follow-up piece, and in a 2017 volume co-edited with Allison Gibbons. This form of metamodernism has been used by scholars of aesthetics and media studies, as well as by artists and commentators, to describe a wide variety of global cultural forms, particularly in the realm of film, art, and popular media. What makes a work metamodern, in their estimation, is the juxtaposition of postmodern and modern elements, not resolved within some larger hierarchical scheme, but rather coexisting in an unreconciled tension. Having both the naïve emotionality of the modernist and the cynical deconstruction of the postmodernist equally prominent within the same frame could potentially be jarring or even disorienting for the viewer, but the hallmark of metamodernism is that this juxtaposition is emotionally rich, exuberant, heartfelt, and most of all, fun.

The theory has also been taken up by religious studies scholar Linda Ceriello to discuss the “productive destabilizations” available by juxtaposing traditional and modern visions of Asian mysticism, among other things. Although all of its main proponents have been adamant about this form of metamodernism being a descriptive term for a “structure of feeling” in culture and the arts, and not a cultural or social program of any kind, here I am going to extend their model in a prescriptive direction. Essentially, I’d like to argue that, in order for genuine constructive dialogue between different players in the TAM space to emerge, we need to start intentionally fostering a metamodern sensibility. That is to say, we need to combine the naïve convictions of the traditionalist and modernist practitioners with the cynicism of the postmodernist academics within a single social frame (such as an ICTAM conference) in a way that is both productive but also fun.

I’ll get into more specifics about how precisely to make these changes in Part II of this series. For now, I’ll simply emphasize that approaching TAM in this spirit would lead practitioners and academics alike to be able to oscillate among epistemes with a lightness of being, without feeling tied down by any particular disciplinary restrictions. We would become able to appreciate the paradoxes that arise from the juxtaposition of different truths, without feeling the need to resolve those tensions. A practitioner of qigong, for example, may learn to entertain serious doubts about the Daoist origins of this practice that is so meaningful to them, even while simultaneously being at one with the Dao when they practice it. Or, a scientific researcher of mindfulness may find themselves genuinely excited about the potential health benefits of our mindfulness practice, while also having strong objections to the way that mindfulness science is appropriating and commodifying Buddhist meditation practices. Or, a scholar may find themselves believing they have the power to communicate with disease-causing ghosts even while knowing perfectly well that that spirits are just social constructs.

From carnival to Carnaval

In the end, of course, all of this is not just about improving our collaborations in TAM; it’s also about each of us learning to to enhance our own cognitive flexibility, to transgress the limits places on our thinking by our professional identities, and to expand our imaginations beyond our self-imposed boundaries.

Cohen’s notion of the carnival was meant to draw attention to the negative consequences of miscommunication. When cross-epistemic translation fails, it’s a Tower of Babel, it’s chaos and disappointment. If there is any conversation at all, it is contentious cacophony. Each faction competes to have the loudest voice, each striving to enforce a master perspective that can “make sense of it all,” while in actual fact just speaking past one another.

What is needed is not a louder voice in the mix, or a bigger and better master perspective. A oscillatory metamodern approach would instead allow us to celebrate our radical differences without being threatened by the dissonance. Yes, there would be cacophony, but we would experience it as a joyous and party-like atmosphere. The competitive carnival would be transformed into the playful spirit of Carnaval (please read that word with a Spanish accent).

Carnaval, as we know, is a time for feasting and revelry. It’s a time when the usual social norms are suspended, when roles are reversed, when the “unmentionables” that usually are hidden from polite society are embodied and put on full, garish display. Carnaval is an invitation to temporarily cease grasping so tightly to what we normally hold to be right and true. For a limited time, we don our feathered headdresses and besequinned masks, taking on alternate identities. (We might even drop all of our defenses altogether, nakedly hurling ourselves into the festivities with drunken abandon!)

Carnival vs Carnaval: is this a distinction without a difference? I don’t think so. When we are able to hold our disciplinary identities as lightly as if they were Carnaval masks — to switch masks midstream, or to discard them altogether — we become able to experiment with different ways of knowing and different ways of being. When we stop taking ourselves so seriously — or better yet, throw away our rigid concepts of self altogether — I think we will become light and experimental and non-self-serious with each other and with ourselves. We will not need to identify so strongly with any one way, and will value plurality more than ever. I am certain we will have better interactions with others in our field, and we will all definitely have more fun. Who knows, together we might even find ways to solve much bigger problems… or maybe even save the world.

Oh, sorry, was that too naïve?…. well, feliz carnaval!

[1] Lawrence Cohen, “The epistemological carnival: meditations on disciplinary intentionality and Āyurveda,” in Don Bates, ed., Knowledge and the scholarly medical traditions, Cambridge UP 1995.

Modernity’s Mechanical Metaphysics

Modernity, which had its originary moment as a European phenomenon in 1492^[1]  is a historical epoch characterised by the emergence of capitalism, industrialism, ratio-legal bureaucracies, and state control of military power and surveillance. Icultural dimensions include discourses of rationality, scientism (‘an uncritical faith in science’)^[2] and progress through economic development, objectivity, and in the field of medicine the culture of the randomised controlled trial (RCT). In his book Cosmopolis the Hidden Agenda of Modernity (1990), Stephen Toulmin aptly describes the cosmology of ‘High Modernity’ as one ‘which saw nature and humanity as distinct and separate’.^[3] This cosmology in turn gave rise to the Cartesian credo of ‘I think, therefore I am’^[4] which opened the way to the mechanical metaphysics of dichotomising the mind from the body, theory from practice,^[5]‘heaven’ from ‘man’.^[6]‘God the father’ from ‘Mother Earth’,^[7] ‘space’ from ‘time’ and a ‘gulf’ or a ‘divide’ between ‘people’s expectations and their daily experiences of real life’. ^[8]

One of the consequences of the 1911 revolution (xinhai geming) in China was the political demise of the traditional Chinese calendar (li fa).^[9] On 1 January 1912, Sun Yat-sen announced the establishment of the Republic of China in Nanking, and was inaugurated as the provisional president of China’s first republic. In the ‘Inaugural Announcement of the Provisional President’, the unity of the ‘Chinese races as one’ was greatly emphasised. Subsequently, on 2 January 1912, Sun Yat-sen informed all provinces that participated in the uprising against the Qing imperial rule that ‘the Yin calendar yin li陰曆 (lunar calendar) or Xia Calendar xia li 夏曆,^[10] has been abolished and replaced by the yang calendar’^[11] (yang li).^[12] The ‘fourth year of the Xuantong emperor (1911), calculated using the lunar calendar, will be followed by the first year of the Republic (1912), calculated using the solar calendar’.^[13] The Era of the Republic of China was promulgated, and 1912 was officially declared the first year of this historical period, with 1 January 1912 officially the first day of the Republic and years to be counted successively from 1912.^[14] After 1949, the People’s Republic of China in Mainland China adopted the Western Gregorian Calendar.^[15] Hence, since 1912, as China adopted the Gregorian Calendar and Greenwich Mean Time, the modern Western time system replaced the pre-modern Chinese time system. The traditional Chinese calendar was hegemonically translated i.e. one-sidedly rendered into the image of the ‘universe’ of the Western Gregorian Calendar and Greenwich time. The ‘primordial unity of the system of space with the system of time’ (yu zhou) was replaced by the Newtonian doctrine of absolute space and time. According to Shu-hsien Liu, this doctrine never developed in pre-modern China.^[16] Instead, Shu-hsien Liu (quoting the late Chinese contemporary philosopher Thomé H. Fang) saw 

The ‘Universe’ or ‘Cosmos’, as expressed in Chinese, is ‘Yü-Chou’, designating Space and    Time. What we call ‘Yü’ is the collocation of three-dimensional spaces; what we call   ‘Chou’ is constituted by the one dimensional series of changes in succession—the past continuing itself into the present and the present, into the future. Yü and Chou, taken together, represent the primordial unity of the system of Space with the system of Time. Yüchou without a hyphen, is an integral system by itself to be differentiated, only later on, into Space and Time. The four-dimensional unity of Minkowsky and the ‘Space-Time’^[17] of S. Alexander even cannot adequately convey the meaning of that inseparable connection between Space and Time that is involved in the Chinese term ‘Yüchou’. The nearest equivalent to it would be Einstein’s ‘Unified Field’. ‘Yü-Chou’, as the Chinese philosophers have conceived it, is the unified field of all existence. 18 

In the pre-modern Chinese time system (which is the traditional Chinese calendar), Shu Hsien Liu contended that ‘space and time are not to be separated from the actual content or happenings of the world, material and spiritual’. ‘The ‘universe’ or Yuchou ^[18] is seen by the Chinese philosophers to embrace within itself a physical world as well as a spiritual world, so interpenetrated with each other as to form an inseparable whole. It is not be bifurcated, as is done in Western thought into two realms which are mutually exclusive or even diametrically opposed.’ I believe these ‘two realms’ refer to the ‘realm of the abstracted theoretical world’ (theory) and the ‘realm of the real world’ (practice). 

In essence, the political demise of the traditional Chinese calendar in 1911 fractured the ‘unified field of all existence’ i.e. the ontology and epistemology of various pre- modern traditional Chinese natural studies and their corresponding practices including traditional Chinese medicine (TCM) chuan tong zhong yi, chrono-acupuncture zi wu liu zhu, astronomy tian wen xue, calendrical studies li fa, geomancy feng shui, organic farming, traditional Chinese sexual practices fang zhong shu, ancient Chinese divination zhan bu 占卜and traditional Chinese prognosticational yu ce 預測 systems of foretelling major climactic events (floods, droughts) epidemics, natural disasters like earthquakes etc.^[19]

Modernity: New Technologies, New Media and ‘New Modes of Existence that Replace Former Ways of Inhabiting Space and Experiencing Time’

To operate within modernity according to Sharon L. Snyder also meant to participate in the belief that one finds bold contrast between modern conceptions of the cosmos and the worldview of premoderns or “ancients.”^[20] In the field of philosophy, premodern beliefs yielded to modern dismay about how social systems determine a great deal of life experience for any one individual. German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche  proposed that modernity is typified by crises in systems of morality, so that once belief is lost, there can be no restoration. He also noted that many of these crises in self-perception occur because of advancements in knowledge and an uncritical embrace of new technologies. ‘Modern’ technologies^[21] themselves participate in the decentring^[22] of human confidence in perception^[23] and planning. Modernity as a historical coordinate, a marker in a chronology of named epochs, depends on the distinction between new modes of existence as well as new perceptions of a self that attends to transport, architecture, mass events, and media^[24] that replace former ways of inhabiting space and experiencing time. Thus, some scholars will even go so far as to locate modernity with the advent of the printing press and the mass circulation of print information that brought about expanded literacy^[25] in a middle class during the 15th century. The printing press are machines by which text and images are transferred to paper or other media by means of ink. Although movable type, as well as paper, first appeared in China, it was in Europe that printing first became mechanized. The earliest mention of a printing press is in a lawsuit in Strasbourg in 1439 revealing construction of a press for Johannes Gutenberg and his associates. The invention of the printing press itself obviously owed much to the medieval paper press, in turn modelled after the ancient wine-and-olive press of the Mediterranean area. A long handle was used to turn a heavy wooden screw, exerting downward pressure against the paper, which was laid over the type mounted on a wooden platen. In its essentials, the wooden press reigned supreme for more than 300 years, with a hardly varying rate of 250 sheets per hour printed on one side.^[26]

The Hegemonic Scientific Translation of  the Chinese word Qi 氣:  The  Calendar Case , The Hou Qi  ‘Watching the Ether’ Controversy and the Inroad  of ‘Western Learning’ and  Modernity into China

As modernity xiandaixing or xiandaihua or ‘Western Learning’ or ‘Western culture’^[27]  or ‘Western science and technology’^[28] sat foot in late Ming (1368-1644)  and early Qing  (1644-1911) China  xixue dong jian西學東漸 i.e. as ‘Western learning spread to the East” , the polysemic Chinese word qi  ‘lost’  its premodern metaphysical meaning  which saw the  natureworld and the humanworld as  organically linked by one  cosmic breath  qi   tianren tongqi. ^[29] By the late Ming and early Qing, Western scholars like Johann Adam Schall von Bell while adopting mechanistic metaphysical values which dichotomizes the natureworld from the humanworld,  mind from  body; space from time, as well as theory from practice, encountered problems in  ‘seeing’ and ‘watching the ether’ qi氣 i.e. ‘watching for the rise of the invisible qi 陽氣and visible matter’陰氣.^[30]

Johann Adam von Bell (1592-1666), whose Chinese name was Tang Ruo-wang湯若望 assumed directorship of China’s Astronomical Bureau during the Ming-Ch’ing transition. Beginning in the second year of  the Shun zhi 順治reign (1645), Schall reinstated the yearly excursion to  Shun-tien prefecture to watch the ethers (qi) during the five days preceding the onset of the Li Chun 立春 forthnightly period (jie qi 節氣). Perhaps as a proleptic gesture to silence possible mutterings, which could have led to undesirable confrontations, the Jesuit sent an official from the Calendrical Office (li ke 歷科); one from the Clepsydra Office  lou ke ke漏刻科) and such local officials as timekeepers (si chen 司晨) to perform the traditional operations. However, perhaps because the operations of hou chi 侯氣 ^[31] were unverifiable, these officials did not normally bother to make actual measurements and instead thje timekeeper si chen  simply submitted a false report stating that the c’hi  (qi 氣) had manifested itself. The day before the arrival of  li Chun 立春forthnightly period (‘Spring Begins,’ author) the pitch pipes were put away and a report made to the effect that some or all of the ashes had flown…The astronomical Bureau charged with making the yearly calendar, had the formal responsibility of ensuring the precise timing of Li Chun…When Adam Schall assumed the directorship of the bureau, he deliberately forced out those astronomers who had been trained in traditional Chinese and Muslim astronomy. However, he had underestimated the tangled intertwining of astronomy and yinyang numerology shuli tianwenxue fangfa  数理天文学方法. The old method numerologists had used in telling fortunes were undermined when Schall ‘changed the (spacetime) sequence of  Zi 觜(the twentieth of the 28 constellations) and shen 參(the twenty first of the 28 constellation) ; ‘transposed luo hou 羅睺 (Rahu) and ji du 計都 (Ke tu) and obliterated zi qi 紫氣 ( the auspicious purple cloud) in his new calendar 新法. ^[32]The reaction to this was intense, recriminatory outcry from conservatives. Yang Guang-Xian 陽光先(1597-1669) , in order to uphold tradition, brought a suit against the Jesuits in 1664— this was the so called ‘Calendar Case.’ In the midst of this conflict, the attitudes of the Catholic astronomers toward hou-chi 侯氣 (‘watching the ether’) came to be the focus of the attacks of the Chinese conservatives.”^[33]

The 12 Pitch-pipes as Instruments that Validated the Existential and  Metaphysical Values of the Invisible Cosmic Breath  Qi    

‘During the Han Dynasty (202 BC-AD 220), when the pitch-pipe lore was greatly elaborated, the dimensions of  the primary huang chung tube was also made the basis for deriving the standard measures of length, capacity and weight. In view of this central importance of  the pitch-pipes for music, the calendar, and the system of weight and measures alike, it is not surprising that they should come to be regarded as instruments whereby to observe the cosmic movements’^[34] yu zhou yunxing i.e.spacetime motion of the yin (visible matter) and yang ethers (invisible qi)” 

Performing ‘Watching the Ether’ hou qi  

[Bodde, “Chinese Cosmic Magic  1981,353]

Water Clock <https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search#!?q=China&perPage=20&sortBy=Relevance&offset=0&pageSize=>>0

The Twelve Pitch-pipes十二侓

1. Yellow Bell        黃鍾  

2. Big Bell 大呂

3. Great Foliage 太簇

4. Pinched Bell  夾鍾

5. Maiden Purity 姑洗

6. Median Regulator 中呂

7. Fringe Guest  蕤賓

8. Forest Bell  林鍾 

9. Tranquil Pattern  夷則

10. Southern Regulator 南呂

11. No Discharge  無射

12. Responsive Bell 應鍾

Provenance: Joseph Needham &Wang Ling. Science and Civilization in China Vol. 4 ‘Physics and Physical Technology. Cambridge University Press,1962,174.

“At all times, in recording data or information for a new  traditional Chinese Calendar, numbers are used to calculate it 推之; the celestial phenomena to fathom it 測之; the waterclock (clepsydra) lou 漏to verify it kaozhi考之; and the presence (existence) of the ‘ether’  陽氣 (invisible qi)) to validate it yanzhi驗之... Hence the  clepsydra must be checked and tested  so that it runs 100 ke 刻 a day. Then the  pitch-pipes are placed inside the triple-walled chamber to observe the phenomena of the arrival of  the ‘ethers’ 陽 氣 (invisble  qi) i.e. ascertain the exact time when the reed ashes (‘visible matter’) 陰氣came out of the corresponding  pitch-pipe tube. In this way one can  determine and calculate whether this is  the exact time or day when the sun has entered the 1st or 15^th degree of  one of the 12 zodiacal signs (each forthnightly  period or solar term  jie qi 節氣) being given an appropriate name indicating the obvious changes in nature at the time it comes around) or not 以知推算之時刻分秒與天地之節氣合與不合. ^[35]

Nowadays, (Schall) relies only upon his own calculations and has abolished those offices that used this old system… [When ]the pitch-pipes used by the Lou-k’ o Office are abolished and no consideration is given to their flying ashes, even if people go so far as to violate the hou-ch’i   in its very chamber and celestial aberrations appear, who will dare to speak up? Thus will Schall deceive the whole world  in order to present his new method.”  -Yang Guang Xian 陽光先.^[36]

Reconstructing A New Metaphysical Spacetime Cosmic Order

Having restored the metaphysical value of the cosmic breath qi to the real world , let us now proceed to a reconstruction of a new metaphysical spacetime cosmic order in the emerging era of transmodernity.^[37]

According to Ian Coulter, metaphysics are ‘broad generalisations about the nature of the world and are usually ontological (about the ultimate nature of reality). Unlike thories that try to make sense of observations, metaphysics are a priori   in that they provide schemes in terms of which reality can be approached before we even begin to think about theory. Examples of metaphysics in science include mechanism, dualism, realism, idealism, materialism and reductionism. These are all fundamental presuppositions whose truth or falsehood cannot be established empirically through observation. They are also fundamental in the sense that the purpose of research done under their guidance is not to question or test these assumptions. To this extent, they are taken-for-granted guidelines for investigations. If they are challenged, it will be through appeal to an alternative metaphysics. So for example, Descartes challenges the extreme notion of mechanism, and rescues mechanism by establishing a dualism to deal with the order of the mind. Current chaos theory challenges the metaphysic of determinacy.’ Yan Fu 嚴複 (1854– 1921) was one of the first generation of Chinese translators of European texts who used the Chinese term xing er shang 形而上 to translate Aristotle’s metaphysics. ^[38] Thomas Michael believes that the domain of metaphysics begins with the question of ontology: ‘what is there in the universe?’ (minds? Bodies? Stuff? Ghosts?Spirits?Angels?). It then asks the question of cosmogony: ‘whatever there is in the universe, how did it originate?’ (Genesis? Brahma? Shunyata?). It finally asks the question of cosmology: ‘Whatever there is in the universe, how do the pieces of it relate to each other?’ (Mind body problem, how many angels dance on the head of the pin, reductionism). Theology adds a further consideration with its soteriology: ‘Whatever there is in the universe, where does it lead?’ (Salvation or damnation? Utopia? Democracy, theocracy, or socialism?. ^[39]

Ian Coulter pointed out that Joseph Agassi in 1964 proposed that metaphysics play a dominant role in working out which scientific or technoscientific problems at any given time will be engaged with by scientists, a role given to paradigms in Thomas Kuhns [1962) theory. ^[40]

 The Discourse of Modernity: A Standard Representationalist View in Science 

And according to associate researcher fellow at the Institute of Modern History, Academia Sinica, Taiwan, Sean Hsiang Lin Lei, central to this ‘discourse of modernity’ is what philosopher of science Ian Hacking referred to as the “representationist conception of reality”^[41] or the standard representationalist view in science which upholds the universalizing role of theory in knowledge production. It puts theorizing forward as the main activity of value in knowledge production. That is to say, all knowledge is a mere abstraction of the objective world. Joseph Rouse in emphasizing science as a field of practice said that “action has its own kind of understanding which cannot be reduced to theoretical representations.” ^[42]

I would like to suggest a way of ‘healing’ this fractured metaphysics that separates the realm of ‘the abstracted theoretical world’ (theory) from ‘the realm of the real world’ (practice ). In its place I propose the performative metaphysical paradigm of theory-as-practice which holds a ‘macrocosmic (yin)-macrocosmic (yang) view of the living human  being as the universe contained in the individual [Yinyang PMPTAP. ^[43]The interaction between the yin visible material cosmos and the invisible yang cosmic breath qi brings about life in our universe. And ‘the Five Elements wu xing,  are  encompassed by  the  two Yin and Yang Qi (invisible yang cosmic breath qi  and the yin visible material cosmos and the five ascending, floating, descending,  sinking  and centering space-time-matter-in-motion.

The Western notion of the four elements of fire, air, water and earth is comparable to the five elements wu xing of TCM: mu  (wood), huo  (fire), tu  (earth), jin  (metal) and shui  (water)—in the sense that in both philosophical systems, the elements constitute the ultimate roots of all natural things. In the atmosphere (of the universe), there are four basic chemical elements i.e. oxygen yang, hydrogen qing , nitrogen dan  and carbon tan .There are numerous chemical elements in the athmosphere. Aside from these four elements which accounts for the most numerous, other elements do not affect the integrity of human life. Oxygen moves upwards; hydrogen floats upwards; nitrogen moves downwards while carbon sinks downwards. These four elements combine making it impossible to differentiate one from the other thereby neutralizing or counterbalancing each other zhong he in the course of their cyclical motion. The quickest upward motion ‘floats’ fu. The most rapid downward motion ‘sinks’ chen ^[44]

‘It is also important to realise that the basic elements necessary for life as we know it - carbon, hydrogen, oxygen and nitrogen exists throughout the heavens, and that amino acids have been found in meteorites. Given the proper environmental conditions, these molecules may join to form proteins and RNA of living cells, which can then replicate themselves. Such action would signify life.’^[45] As Paul Pitchford pointed out in 2002, “in ancient Chinese therapeutics, jing  contains growth and development, including genetic codes  and networks ( RNA/DNA) . In many practices of ancient China, people would actively strengthen their jing  with appropriate foods, herbs and awareness practices.”^[46] And this jing精is refined qi undergoing transformation ab initio.

Metaphysics As A ‘Unified Field of All Existence’

Chen Dingsan (1875–1960), a classicist Chinese medicine practitioner from China’s Sichuan province and author of the book Exploring the Origins of 

Medicine,^[47] drew a circular and quadratic diagram^[48] that explored the metaphysics or ‘unified field of all existence’ of the various traditional Chinese natural studies and practices. The circular diagram represents temporality or ‘time’ (yang) while the square or quadratic diagram represents ‘space’ (yin) 圆图为时间方图为空间. The two Chinese scripts 地方 di fang may lend themselves to be translated into English as ‘the square Earth’ while the two Chinese scripts 天圓 tian yuan may be translated into ‘circular sky’. And the ‘square earth’ is the yu 宇or ‘space’ or yin ; while the ‘circular sky’ is the zhou 宙 or ‘time or temporality’ or tian or yang . My view on this matter was confirmed by Zu Xing in his book Pictorial Explanation of the Book of Change which was published in 2007. Zu Xing in explaining the picture of the 64 hexagrams arrayed in a circular manner with another set of 64 hexagrams arrayed in eight columns horizontally and vertically thereby forming a square figure inside the circle of the other 64 hexagrams concluded that ‘the circular diagrams represents temporality or time while the square diagram formed represents space’ ^[49]圓為時間，方為空間.^[50]

In performing the metaphysical paradigm of theory-as-practice which holds a ‘macroscopic (yin) -microscopic (yang) view of the living human being as the universe contained in the individual,’ in localities of the northern hemisphere, spatial positions or cardinal directions like the northern cardinal direction, simultaneously indicate the temporality of the winter season; the sub-seasonal phase or jie qi of the winter solstice 冬至, the month of December; or the zi two-hour period (23:00–01:00 ). And in the Southern Hemisphere localities, the reverse of this is true.^[51] And zi 子 as one of the twelve terrestrial branches, together with ‘eight of the ten heavenly stems (tian gan ) and four of the ba gua 八卦 from the Yijing (the si wei 四維, four directions namely gen 艮, xun 巽, kun 坤, and qian 乾 for the inter- cardinal points’ form the ‘twenty-four compass-points ershisi fang , ershisiwei , ershisi xiang, or in geomantic parlance ershisi shan and set at 15° intervals. And the geomantic compass (luopan ^[52]) evolved from the Han diviner’s board (shi 式 ) from which the mariner’s compass (zhinanzhen ) evolved^[53] And the diviner’s board is also referred to as the ‘cosmic clock’ or ‘cosmograph’.^[54] This ‘diagram’ has  now evolved into the Transnational Elemental  Stems and Zodiacal Branches (Northern and Southern Hemispheres). 

The Transnational Elemental Stems and Zodiacal Branches Calendrical Clock (Northern/Southern Hemispheres)

The Transnational^[55] Elemental Stems and Zodiacal Branches Calendrical Clock TESZBCC (Southern and Northern Hemispheres) is a new global space time system whereby the 60 (sexagenary) ten elemental stems shi tian gan and twelve zodiacal branches shi er di zhi cyclical symbols representing the flow of the lunar years, months, days and 12 two-hour time periods of the traditional Chinese calendar are arrayed in tandem with the years, months and days of the Western Gregorian calendar and the 24-hour system of the Coordinated Universal Time. The TESZBCC is a heterogeneous assemblage of nature, people, places and practices which are site and time specific and thus inhabits a spacetime. This shared spacetime metaphysics or ontic-epistemic imaginary entities/beings  or  ‘unified field of all existence’ is sustained by the social labour of creating equivalences and connections, i.e. spacetime equivalences and connections in and between various time zones in all hemispheres of the globe. When varying knowledge traditions are performed in this spacetime way, an emergent local (time), national and transnational real world comes into existence.^[56]

In the paradigm of theory-as-practice, space time qi or cosmic breath [Tiquia, ‘Paradigm’, 2015, 215] is ̳forever flowing without beginning or end‘. And ̳traditionally, it is customary for the Chinese people to use the Gan-Zhi (ten elemental celestial stems and twelve zodiacal terrestrial branches) system [^[57]to mark the passage of spacetime [Shu-hsien Liu, ̳’Time and Temporality” 2]. There are ten celestial elemental stems shi tian gan and twelve terrestrial zodiacal branches shi er di zhi. An alternating and sequential combination of the two sets of Chinese scripts make a cycle of sixty (sexagenary) lunar years, months, days and two-hour time periods in a day.^[58]

According to Thomas Michael, time and space in early China tend more towards cyclicity than unilinearity’ [Michael, Pristine Dao, 6]. In his master‘s degree thesis (2004), Li Shao Yao from Taiwan Xuan Zang Institute of Humanities and Culture argued that the ten celestial elemental stems gan and the twelve terrestrial zodiacal E branches zhi constitute a system of spacetime codes^[59] or symbols. He said: 

The celestial elemental  stems  symbols are: Jia 甲, yi 乙, Bing 丙, Ding 丁, Wu 戊,  Ji 己,  Geng 庚, Xin辛 , Ren 壬, and Gui 癸. While the twelve terrestrial zodiacal  branches symbols zhi are Zi子, Chou 丑, Yin寅 , Mao 卯, Chen 辰, Si 巳, Wu 午 , Wei 未, Shen 申, You 酉, Xu 戌, and Hai 亥. The [elemental stems and zodiacal branches are symbols or codes that the ancient people in China used to record the passing of time as well as one‘s spatial position (cardinal direction) in the universe ji shi he ji fangwei de fuhao. ^[60]

In the Transnational Elemental Stems and Zodiacal Branches Calendrical Clock (Northern and Southern Hemispheres), yin embraces yang, one element embraces the other four elements/agents/phases and one trigram and hexagram embraces the other seven trigrams and sixty three hexagrams of the Book of Changes; north embraces south, east embraces west, the heart-mind embraces the body while the physical embraces the spiritual;^[61] the 24-hour astronomical time system embraces the twenty four  solar terms; the Gregorian Calendar months embraces the sexagenary lunar months of the traditional Chinese calendar and the human endogenous organ systems and their corresponding merdian/acutracs  embrace the triad of the Earth, Heaven and Humanity. In this way, the performance and mapping of the cosmic breath (qi) in a four-dimensional process encompasses the three spatial dimensions of length, breadth, depth and the fourth dimension of time^[62] can be realised, i.e. the realisation of space embracing time. 

The basic unit for measuring time is the second. The second multiplied evenly by 60 gives us minutes, or by 3600 gives us an hour. The length of days, and even years, is measured by the basic unit of time, the second.^[63] 3600 multiplied by 2 gives us 7200 seconds in a ‘ two-hour time periods.’ 7200 multiplied by 12  gives us 86,400 seconds in a day. Eighty six thousand 86,000 multiplied by 30 gives us 2,592,000 seconds  in one month. And finally 2,592,000 multiplied by 12 gives us 31,104,000 seconds  in one year. 

The Southern Hemisphere Calendrical Clock has two hands: a shorter hour hand as well as a longer second hand that both turn in a counter-clockwise direction. This is the directional flow of the motion and transformation ab initio of spacetime qi 時空之氣in the Southern Hemisphere [Tiquia, ‘Paradigm,’ 212]. To complete an hourly cycle, the longer second hand of the SHCC has to move round the clock in a counter-clockwise direction in 3600 seconds <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aey1oJiiP-8> Accessed December 24, 2019. The Northern Hemisphere Calendrical Clock NHCC also has an hour and a second hand as well that move in a clockwise direction. This is the directional flow of the motion and transformation ab initio of spacetime qi in the Northern Hemisphere. This sequence is used to explain the principle of spacetime qi motion and transformation in the Northern Hemisphere universe yuzhou and was the basis for the development of the Chinese calendar in the Northern Hemispherical region of China.^[64] To complete an hourly cycle, the longer second hand of the NHCC has to move round the clock in a clockwise direction in 3600 seconds <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z0QvXc8yLTQ> Accessed December 24, 2019

As an ̳assemblage, the Transnational Elemental Stems and Zodiacal Branches Calendrical Clock (Northern and Southern Hemispheres)  are at the same time a translation media, i.e. a transcription media upon which an equivalent version of an entity is rendered or performed. It is made up of letters, characters, phonemes, ideograms, tongue, mouth, throat, teeth, pin yin, books, discrete signals, computers, the internet and so on. In this assemblage, the performative nature of qi, i.e., the binary yin ̳0‘ (space) and yang ̳‘ (time)^[65], i.e., spacetime sequences of the sexagenary year, lunar months, days and two-hour time periods of the Transnational Elemental Stems and Zodiacal Branches Calendrical Clock is translated or transcribed into an equivalent digital version^[66] of the UTC (Coordinated Universal Time i.e. temps universel coordonne).^[67]

The system of ‘Coordinated Universal Time’ (UTC) has now replaced Greenwich Mean Time (GMT). With UTC, time (in various spatial zones on earth) is coordinated or synchronized well within 100 nanoseconds or 100 billionths of a second. Time is synchronized or coordinated through a network of 24 satellites that emit signals as they “orbit the earth at the height of 20,200 km in six fixed planes inclined 55 ̊ from the equator. The orbital period is 11 h 58 min, which means that a satellite will orbit the earth twice per day”. A GPS (global Positioning System) transceiver (mobile phone, computer) receive these signals from the satellites which then specify its position with an uncertainty of <10 meters.

Using the enabling capacity of the internet, I am developing the Transnational Elemental Stems and Zodiacal Branches Calencdrical Clock (MNorthern/southern Hemisphere) into an i-phone appliance that can translate the traditional Chinese sexagenary time system of the Lunar Years Nian/Sui, Lunar Month Yue, Days ri and ‘Two-hour time periods’ shi chen into the different times zones of the world. This project can facilitate the reconstruction of the ‘unified field of all existence’ of the various pre-modern traditional Chinese art and practices in a transmodern^[68] world like the traditional Chinese chronomedicine, chronoacupuncture,  feng shui, traditional Chinese organic farming, and the traditional Chinese prognosticational system of foretelling major climactic events (floods, draught), epidemics, natural disasters like earthquakes etc. in various localities of both hemispheres of the globe [Tiquia, “1911 Revolution,” 2012]

For the years 2016 and 2017, 2018 and 2019 I have manually translated and transcribed data on the years, lunar months, days , and the twelve two-hour time periods of the traditional Chinese sexagenary time system on to my personal computer Google Calendar with its settings fixed on GMT+ 11:00 AEST Melbourne, State of Victoria, Australia. Now, I am proposing to extend this to all time zones in all hemispheres of the globe thereby developing an i-phone appliance that can generate an equivalent UTC (Coordinated Universal Time) version of the traditional Chinese sexagenary time system of the years, lunar months , days and ̳two-hour time periods  in various times zones of the world.

 The Invisible Yang Cosmic Breath as an Ontological, Cosmological, Cosmogonical, Soteriological, Astronomical and Meteorological Force in the Universe

The metaphysical i.e. ontic-epistemic imaginary being cosmic breath qi  as an ontological, cosmological, cosmogonical, soteriological, astronomical and meteorological force in the universe drives the flow of the oceanic wave of “current and surf ( the swell of the sea bouncing on the shore of the reefs or the effervescence produced by this). The skill of the surfer lies in knowing at what time and in what direction to catch a wave.^[69] The prowess of a traditional Chinese medicine practitioner or feng shui or yinyang master rest in knowing when i.e. choosing the most auspicious Yang day ze ri  and time ze shi  and in what spatial orientation to perform a given act or construct a building^[70] i.e. to collect, concentrate and accumulate the universal energy of life or yang cosmic breath, and in the process hamonise and match space yin and time yang [Tiquia, “Paradigm,” 2015,220]. And in this regard, to successfully surf the oceanic wave of the invisible yang cosmic breath in various timezone localities in both the Northern and Southern Hemispheres, one needs the services of a new global time system — The Transnational  Elemental Stems and Zodiacal Branches Calendrical Clock. And in Melbourne, Australia, this new global time system is currently being used in locating effective acupuncture points (chronoacupuncture) in dealing with difficult clinical conditions^[71] as well as in adapting to dire climate changes we are experiencing globally by aligning our spacetime Qi  with the flow of season and time.

Conclusion

Adopting a new metaphysical world view i.e. a performative metaphysical paradigm of theory-as-practice which holds a ‘macroscopic (yin) -microscopic (yang)

perspective of the living human being as the universe contained in the individual [Yinyang PMPTAP], a critique is made of modernity’s. mechanical metaphysics. In the process, a new metaphysical spacetime cosmic order emerges thereby narrowing the gulf between nature and humanity; body and mind; theory and practice; God the Father and Mother Earth . The metaphysical values of the Cosmic Breath Qi and the Transnational Elemental Stems and Zodiacal Branches Calendrical Clock (Northern and Southern Hemisphere) are reconstituted. Consequentially, these will  interrupt the decline of traditional Chinese Medicine and other Chinese technoscientific practices and their respective prognosticative power as mobile bodies of local knowledge while ensuring  their continued innovation and regeneration.

Endnotes

^[1] David Turnbull in his book Masons, Tricksters, and Cartographerst highlighted the fact that the South American historian Enrique Dussell’s perspective that ‘ modernity had it’s originary moment as a European phenomenon in 1492, when Europe defined itself as the centre of world history in it’s encounter with the non-European other --an alterity it has erased’ [David Turnbull, Masons, Tricksters, and Cartographers (Australia: Harwood Academic Publishers, 2000), 227.

^[2] Professor Benjamin A. Elman pointed out in 2003 that scientism influenced a number of influential Chinese scientists trained abroad as well as other intellectuals like Chen Duxiu and Ba Jin (Li Feigan), who in his 1931 novel Family attacked ‘premodern Daoism 道教 and traditional medicine 中醫 as haven of superstition and backwardness’, Benjamin  Elman, ‘Rethinking the Twentieth Century Denigration of Traditional Chinese Science and Medicine in the Twenty-First Century’, paper presented at the Sixth International Conference on the Significance of Chinese Culture in the Twenty-First Century: The Interaction and Confluence of Chinese and Non-Chinese Civilisation’, International Sinological Center, Charles University, Prague, 1–2 November 2003, 20. 

^[3] Stephen Toulmin described ‘High Modernity’ as an age ‘which saw nature and humanity as distinct and separate’ giving way to an epoch of ‘humanised Modernity’ or postmodernity ‘which reintegrates nature and humanity’: Stephen Toulmin, Cosmopolis: The Hidden Agenda of Modernity (New York: Free Press, 1990), 182–3. Arguing for a sympathetic understanding, continuation and development of the northern hemispherical ancient Chinese geomantic practice of ‘wind and water’ 風水 from a local knowledge perspective into the southern hemisphere, Michael Paton and Zhang Chengmin pointed out that ‘in the large-scale social, political and environmental evolution in the global economy we need to be careful not to wage war on nature by remembering that the earth is one connected life system’: Michael Paton and Zhang Chengmin, ‘Southern Culture and the North/South Divide: More Than a Metaphor’, JOSA 46 (2014): 26–40. 

^[4] .J. Chan and J.E. Chan, ‘Medicine for the Millennium: The Challenge of Postmodernism’, Medical Journal of Australia 172:7 (2000): 332–4.

^[5] R. Tiquia, ‘Constructing a Non-Hegemonic, Interactive Space for Traditional Asian Medicine’, paper presented at the Seventeenth Biennial Conference of the Asian Studies Association of Australia ‘Is This the Asian Century?’, Monash University, Melbourne, 1–3 July 2008: <http://artsonline.monash.edu.au/mai/files/2012/07/reytiquia.pdf>, accessed 14 October 2013. 

^[6] Li-chen Lin from National Taiwan University in looking at three ancient Chinese scholars’ (Meng Hsi, Wang Pi and Chu Hsi) interpretations of the Book of Changes concept of ‘time’ and ‘position’ (cardinal direction) concluded that ‘all three upheld the unity of heaven [i.e. nature] and man, and denied that heaven and man constitute two distinct realms’. Li-chen Lin, ‘The Concepts of Time and Position in the Book of Changes and Their Development’, in Time and Space in Chinese Culture, ed. Chun-chieh Huang and Erick Zürcher (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 112–13. 

We can also say that the European colonisation of the Australian continent signalled the fracturing of the ‘Dreamtime’ metaphysics of the indigenous people. ‘Dreamings’ are the ‘secrets’ of the ‘country’ which is a ‘complex of myth, ritual, and local knowledge, binding man and nature in a living, personal relationship’, A.P. Elkin, The Australian Aborigines (Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1976), 43. 

^[7] “ If Western thinking arrived at a dualism of “God the Father” and “Mother Earth,” Chinese elixirists strove to transcend the yin materiality of earth and rise to the yang spirituality of heaven.  The drive for  transcendence is one for Christian and Taoist, but for Christian it was an act of faith backed up by will and mental concentration, whereas for the later Taoists the substance of the body itself could be transmuted.”  Douglas Wile, Art of the Bedchamber: The Chinese Sexual Yoga Classics Including Women’s Solo Meditation Texts (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1992), 71.

^[8] Chang-Tze Hu, ‘Historical Time Pressure: An Analysis of Min Pao (1905–1908)’ in Huang and Zürcher, Time and Space in Chinese Culture, edited by Chun-chieh Huang and Erik Zürcher.Leiden; New York: E.J. Brill , 1995,  329. 

^[9] Li fa refers to the traditional Chinese Calendar in contemporary times. The character li 曆 is translated into English as ‘calendar’ and ‘astronomy’, see L. Weiger, Chinese Characters (New York: Paragon, 1965), 618. Li fa is defined as ‘the method of calculating the motion of the sun, moon, stars and planets as well as the flow of the seasons’: <http://chardb.iis.sinica.edu.tw/search.jsp?q=曆 &x=33&y=19&stype=0>.

^[10] The Xia Calendar  夏历 “which embody the astronomy and reality in the locality of the  Xia Dynastic Kingdom”was the calendrical system constructed through the auspices of the  Taosi Astronomical Observatory 陶寺观象built during the late neolithic era in the north central China plain. The Taosi site is located in  N35° 52’  55.9’’  E  111°29’   54’’  in Shanxi Province, 5.5 km from the Fen River to the west and barely 10 km from Ta’er Mountain to the east. According to historical accounts and local tradition, this area was the heartland of the first dynastic polity in Chinese history, the Xia, which ruled the north central China plains along the Yellow River from ca 2100  to ca 1600 BCE. The Taosi astronomical observatory is identified in ancient sources as the location of the capital of Emperor Yao, the semi-legendary hero whose sagely government supposedly played a crucial role in the  formative period of Chinese civilisation [David Pankenier, Ciyuan Y. Liu, Salvo de Megs, “ The Xiangfen, Taosi Site: A Chinese Neolithic ‘Observatory’, Archaeologia Baltica 10 <<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taosi>> Accessed April 28, 2017. [R. Tiquia, Project proposal to hold a workshop in China : “Restoring the Chinese Calendar 历法 and the Cosmic Breath 宇宙之氣 to the Real World：From the Xia Calendar 夏历 to the Stems & Branches Calendrical Clock : North/South Hemispheres) 天干地支 历法时钟(南北半球) submitted to the International Research and Research Training Fund(IRRTF), University of Melbourne, 2017]. 

^[11] Li fa is also referred to as yin li 陰曆 and xia li 夏曆 while the Western Gregorian calendar is referred to as yang li 陽曆, gong li 公曆, and ge lili 格里曆 Gregorian Calendar.

^[12] Li Chien-Nung, The Political History of China, 1840–1928, trans. and ed. Ssy-Yu Teng and Jeremy Ingalls (Princeton, NJ: Van Nostrand, 1965), 256. Also see <http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Xinhai_Revolution&useskin=monobook>.

^[13] Henrietta Harrison, Inventing the Nation China (London: Arnold, 2001), 158. Similar dates for these events are in Huang Qiu 黃秋 et al., Shiyong wannianli 實用萬年曆 (Practical Chinese perpetual calendar) (Beijing: Zhongguo Zhongyiyao chubanshe, 1994), 315.

^[14] Hence, 1913 is min guo er nian, 1914 is min guo san nian and min guo 89 would be the year 2000, Endymion Wilkinson, Chinese History: A Manual (Harvard University Asia Center, 2010), 185.

^[15] ‘In their desire to abolish ancient customs, the Communists did not wish to create a new era (at least in the calendar) and they adopted instead the Western calendar. But till now, they have not been able to eradicate the old system; and thus, after several attempts to suppress the traditional dates in the newspapers (as happened at the beginning of 1977), they have returned once more to the solution of citing concurrently both calendars, the “common” calendar and the “peasant” calendar’, see Jean- Michel Huon de Kermadec, The Way to Chinese Astrology: The Four Pillars of Destiny (London: Unwin, 1983), 23.

^[16] Shu-hsien Liu, ‘Time and Temporality: The Chinese Perspective’, Philosophy East and West 24:2 (1974): 145–53.

^[17] The relativity revolution...dates from1905and1915...While struggling with puzzles involving electricity, magnetism and light’s motion, Einstein realised that Newton’s conception of space and time, the cornerstone of classical physics, was flawed. Over the course of a few intense weeks, in the spring of 1905, he determined that space and time are not independent and absolute, as Newton had thought, but are enmeshed and relative in a manner that flies in the face of common experience. Some ten years later, Einstein hammered a final nail in the Newtonian coffin by rewriting the laws of gravitational physics. This time, not only did Einstein show that space and time are part of a unified whole, he also showed that by warping and curving they participate in cosmic evolution. Far from being rigid, the unchanging structures envisioned by Newton, space and time in Einstein’s reworking are flexible and dynamic. The two theories of relativity [specific in 1905 and general in 1915] are among humankind’s most precious achievements, and with them Einstein toppled Newton’s conception of reality. Even though Newtonian physics seemed to capture mathematically much of what we experience physically, the reality it describes turns out to be not the reality of our world. Ours is a relativistic reality.’ Brian Greene, quoted in Alan Atkinson, The Europeans in Australia (Sydney: UNSW Press, 2014), 31. The ‘unified field of all existence’ is also referred to these days as the unified theory which is an ‘all-encompassing framework capable of embracing all of nature’s laws’ which today ‘ranks among the most important problem in theoretical physics’, Brian Greene, The Fabric of the Cosmos (Melbourne: Penguin, 2008), 16. 

^[18] Yuchou is the Wade-Giles romanisation, rendered in pinyin as yu zhou.

^[19] Weng Wenbo 翁文波 and Zhang Qing 張清 (1993). Tian gan dizhi li yu yu ce 天干地支歷與預測 (The elemental stems and zodiacal branches sexagenary cyclical calendar and prognostication). Beijing: Shiyou gongye chubanshe,

^[20]According  to Marshall McLuhan in his book The Gutenberg Galaxy The Making of the Typographic Man (1962), preliterate or premodern cultures ‘depended primarily on face-to-face forms of communication in which all the senses –sight, smell, touch, taste and hearing—were simultaneously in play. Early forms of literacy, in which most reading took the form of reading out loud in a variety of social and public contexts, similarly involved seeing, speaking and hearing. Print culture, by contrast, abstracted the eye from the other senses and subjected it to a distinctive form of training by obliging it to follow each letter and each word, in their sequential toil across the page, then on the next line, and so on. The social consequences of this were, in McLuhan’s assessment, pretty well unlimited. The abstraction (‘disassociation’ , Merriam-Webster) of the eye from other sensory and other tactile forms of involvement paved the way for perspective art and for abstract numerical forms of calculation that proved crucial to the development of modern states and markets. Print, in encouraging silent and solitary reading, also played a key role in the development of modern forms of private life. And unlike manuscript culture, in which each letter is unique, the uniformity of print provided a model of visual repetition for the development of standardised forms of commodity production’ [Tony Bennett, “The media sensorium: cultural technologies, the senses and society,” in Mary Gillespie (ed) Media Audiences. Berkshire, England: Open University Press, 2005,51-96; 52-53]. 

Jack Goody in his book The Domestication of the Savage Mind (1977) claims that “the shift from  writing and then to print must be considered of critical importance in both formalising and increasing the flow of information that has been the precondition of many of the features that differentiate the prehistoric societies of the Neolithic and Paleolithic from the ‘modern’ civilizations that followed.” But it also crucially changes the kind of thinking and the kind of knowledge that is possible. “ Writing puts a distance between man and his verbal acts. He can now examine what he says in a more objective manner.”  Writing accounts for the difference between the open and the closed, between the rational and traditional, because it permits a different kind of scrutiny of current knowledge:” “Writing enables you to talk freely about your thoughts.” Writing allows for lists, formulae, classification, record keeping recipes, logic and formal texts of instructions. Thus, according to Goody, “Traditional societies are marked not so much by the absence of reflective thinking xingsi省思(‘examine oneself critically’ Plausible Labs Cooperative,PLECO)  as by the absence of the proper tools for constructive rumination. PLECO). This is because words assume a different relationship to action and to object when they are on paper than when they are spoken. They are no longer bound up directly with ‘reality’; the written word becomes a separate ‘thing’, abstracted to some extent from the flow of speech, shedding its close entailment with action, with power over matter’ [Turnbull,Mason, Trickdsters, 2000, 151].

^[21]   Premodern technology which is referred to as  ji shu 技術in Chinese, is a body of knowledge, skills and operational techniques  that humanity directly applies and uses in their practical life activities.  Ji shu 技術 人類在實踐活動中直接應用·的知識， 技能 和操作方法   Gu Hanyu Da Cidian古漢語大辭典,Shanghai, Lexicographical Publishing House, PLECO) . The Classical Chinese script  ‘ji ‘ 技  means ‘qiao’ 巧  (‘skillful’) . Cong shou從手 (manage with the hand)，支聲 (phonetics  zhi  ).《漢語大字典》p. 770. While shu 術 translates into English as ‘art’, ‘skill’‘way’ ,  ‘technique’, ‘method’ or ‘tactics’. Hence, premodern Chinese technology refers to is a body of knowledge, skills, techniques, methods, or tactics that humanity directly applies in their practical life activities  which involves skilful use of their hands. Premodern Chinese technology then is a combination of ‘technology’ or technique and a practice-based sciential  body of knowledge or ‘Technoscience’. 

^[22] ‘Decentering’ means to cause one to lose or shift from an established center or focus, especially to disconnect from practical or theoretical assumption origin, priority or essence [Merriam Wesbster]. 

^[23] ‘Perception’ refers to an awareness of the elements of environment through physical sensation [Merriam-Wesbster

^[24] In 2005, Arthur Asa Berger defined ‘media’ as the plural of the term ‘medium.’ And he saw a ‘medium’ as a “means of sending communicating messages, information, or texts of one kind or another, from one person to another or, in the case of mass media, to many people… Media communicate texts for the most part. For example, speech is a medium we use in conversation with one another; it is a personal medium. The mass media are generally held to include books, and other kinds of printed works, radio, film, television, CDs, DVDs, and the Internet. With the mass media, large numbers of people are involved as audiences in the communication process… As many commentators have pointed out, the purpose of television shows–as far as the television industry and advertisers are concerned—is to deliver audiences to advertisers. The obsession radio and television stations have with obtaining money from advertising helps shape programming. The same applies to all media” [ Arthur Asa Berger (ed), Making sense of media : key texts in media and cultural studies. Malden MA USA: Blackwell Pub, 2005, 4-5]. 

^[25] “The dissemination of printing to Europe terminated the monopoly of clergymen of the right to learning and higher education. It provided important conditions preparatory to the whirlwind advance of science following a long period of medieval darkness and to the Renaissance movement. In his letter to F. Engels in January 1863, Karl Marx referred to the discovering of gunpowder, the compass and printing as “prerequisites of bourgeois development,” a remark that places the art of printing in its properly significant role” [ Chinese Academy of Sciences, Ancient China’s Technology and Science, 1983, 391]. 

^[26] “Modernity” Encyclopedia Britannica <https://www.britannica.com/contributor/Sharon-L-Snyder/9421972>Accessed: July 2, 2017<<https://www.britannica.com/technology/printing-press>> Accessed July 2, 2017.<https://www.britannica.com/technology/printing-press>Accessed October 15, 2019; Tiquia, Rey, “Restoring the Metaphysical Values of the Cosmic Breath Qi 氣  to the Real World.” Powerpoint  presentation  at the 15^th Biennial Conference of the Chinese Studies Association of Australia (CSAA ) Macquarie University, Sydney, Australia, 10th -12th of  July <<https://www.researchgate.net/publication/318876769_Restoring_the_Metaphysical_Values_of_the_Cosmic_Breath_Qi_qi_to_the_Real_World_to_Realize_a_global_harmonisation_of_space_and_time_laishixianshikongdatong

^[27] Advocating digital minimalism and living better with less technology, Cal Newport expressed deep concern about  modernity  being at odds with solitude i.e.‘a subjective state in which one’s mind is free from input from other mind.’Quoting Anthony Starr who stated that “ contemporary Western culture makes the peace of solitude difficult to attain. He pointed to Muzak  and the recent invention of the “car telephone” as the latest evidence of this encroachment of noise into all parts of our lives.” [Cal Newport, Digital Minimalism, UK: Penguin Business, 2019, 99, 93. 

^[28] “ In the 17^th century, Western science and technology began flowing into China via the Jesuit missionaries. Some 200 years later towards the end of the Qing dynasty, the feudal rulers who have panicked before imperialist gun-boats suddenly turned from xenophobia to blind worship of anything foreign. This latter type of delusion infected certain influential people, who advocated “wholesale Westernization” even after the patriotic May 4^thMovement of 1919. China was submerged in Western science and technology at the cost of almost total obliteration of her own fine traditions” [Institute of the History of Natural Sciences , Chinese Academy of Sciences, Ancient China’s Technology and Science,Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1983,2]. Endymion Wilkinson refers to this Western European colonization of China as “The Transplantation of Modern Science” into China [ Wilkinson,2000,674-679]. 

^[29] Chen Dingsan 陳鼎三 and Jiang Ersun 江爾孫, Yixue tanyuan 醫學探源 (Sichuan: Kexuejishu chubanshe, 1986, 16). 

^[30] “For humans are endowed with the Six Qi from Heaven which in turn generates the Six endogenous fu organs 六腑. He/she is also endowed with the Five Elements which in turn generates the Five endogenous Zang organs 五脏. The Six endogenous fu and Five endogenous zang organs generate the twelve acupuncture meridians, the Five Sense Organs 五官 (eyes, ears, lips. nose, tongue), the ‘nine body openings’ 九窍, the four extremities, and the ‘hundred bones’. These are all categorized under ‘visible matter’ you xing zhi zhi有形之卮. None of these are unconnected with Heaven and Earth. The visible matter or substances in turn generate the ‘invisible qi sheng wuxing zhi qi生无形之气. On the other hand, the invisible qi moves the visible substances, none unconnected with Heaven and Earth. When the yin and yang qi move in harmony, then all the natural things multiply and thrive. And when the six qi flow in harmony, then all the acupuncture meridian pathways in the human body are not blocked, while human logic li 理and emotions manifest naturally. Otherwise, people become sick.” [Chen Ding San, Jiang Er Sun (ed. 1985), Yixue Tanyuan 医学 探源 (Sichuan: Sichuan kexue jishu chubanshe, 1985), p. 236.] R. Tiquia, “Constructing a Symmetrical Translating Knowledge Space between Traditional Chinese Medicine and Western Scientific Medicine in Australia.” In Complementary Medicine and Culture: The Changing Cultural Territory of Local and Global Healing Practices, edited by Tass Holmes and Evan-Paul Cherniack  161-189. New York: Nova Science Publishers, 2017,182-183; Rey Tiquia, “Restoring the Metaphysical Values of the Cosmic Breath Qi 氣  to the Real World.” Powerpoint  presentation  at the 15^th Biennial Conference of the Chinese Studies Association of Australia (CSAA ) Macquarie University, Sydney, Australia, 10th -12th of  July <<https://www.researchgate.net/publication/318876769_Restoring_the_Metaphysical_Values_of_the_Cosmic_Breath_Qi_qi_to_the_Real_World_to_Realize_a_global_harmonisation_of_space_and_time_laishixianshikongdatong

^[31] According to Huang Yi-Long and Zhang Chih-ch’eng, hou qi 侯氣(watching the ethers) was a method used to calculate the seasons. It embodied the premodern Chinese concept of unity of Heaven, Earth and Man. The practice of hou qi involved the burying of twelve musical pitch pipes of graduated lengths in a sealed chamber while filling the pipes with ashes produced by burning the pith of a reed (Phjragmites communis). People during premodern China believed that when the sun entered the second forthnightly (ershisige jie qi 二十四個節氣 or twenty four subsdeadsonal phases or ‘climactic periods) in any given month, the Earth’s qi would rise and expel the ashes from the pipes [Huang Yi-Long and Chang Chih-ch’eng, (1996) “ The Evolution and Decline of the Ancient Chinese Practice of Watching for the Ethers”, Chinese Science, No. 13,pp. 82-106, p. 82]. 

.”

^[32]The Chongzhen Chinese Calendar is a Western Astronomical Encyclopaedia. It’s first part included theories of Western astronomy and a compilation of astronomical tables (ephemeris). These tables were never recorded in the traditional Chinese Calendrical System 中國傳統曆法. They were hanged inside the offices of the Chinese Astronomical Bureau 钦天監. Hence, ordinary people could not see them [Jiang Xiao Yuan 江晓原, Xu Guang Qi yu Chongzhen Li Shu 徐光啓與崇禎曆書 (Xu Guang Qi and the Chinese Almanac),  2005年11月8日在“徐光启研讨会”上的演讲 (A speech delivered on the occasion of a symposium on Xu Guang Qi held on Novem ber 8, 2005)  , <<http://shc2000.sjtu.edu.cn/0512/xvguangq.htm>>Accessed, June 28, 2017]. The Chongzhen calendar (Chinese: 崇禎暦; pinyin: Chóngzhēn lì) or Shixian calendar (Chinese: 時憲暦; pinyin: Shíxiàn lì) was the final lunisolar Chinese calendar. It was developed by the Jesuit scholars Johann Schreck and Johann Adam Schall von Bell from 1624 to 1644, and was dedicated to the Chongzhen Emperor but he died a year after it was released, so it was propagated by the Shunzhi Emperor in the first year of the Qing dynasty who changed its name to Shíxiàn calendar <<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chongzhen_calendar>> Accessed December 22, 2019. 

.

^[33] Huang Yi-Long 黃一農， Zhang Zhi-cheng 張志誠, Zhongguo chuantong houqi shuo de yanjin yu shuai tui 中國傳統侯氣說的演進與衰頹, qinghua xuebao 《清華學報》,23 (2), 1993, 125-146.

^[34] Derk Bodde,”The Chinese Cosmic Magic Known as Watching For the Ethers,” in Essays on Chinese  Civilization,Edited by Charles Le BlancAnd Dorothy Borei, New Jersey, Princeton University Press, 1981,366; refer as well to R. Tiquia, “Restoring the Metaphysical Values of the Cosmic Breath Qi 氣  to the Real World.” Powerpoint  presentation  at the 15^th Biennial Conference of the Chinese Studies Association of Australia (CSAA ) Macquarie University, Sydney, Australia, 10th -12th of  July .<<https://www.researchgate.net/publication/318876769_Restoring_the_Metaphysical_Values_of_the_Cosmic_Breath_Qi_qi_to_the_Real_World_to_Realize_a_global_harmonisation_of_space_and_time_laishixianshikongdatong

^[35] This is this author’s translation of the original Chinese version of Huang Yi-Long and Chang Chih-

ch’eng’s paper.

^[36] Huang Yi-Long and Chang Chih-ch’eng, (1996) “ The Evolution and Decline of the Ancient Chinese Practice of 

Watching for the Ethers”, Chinese Science, No. 13,pp. 82-106, p. 92. 

^[37] David Turnbull quoting Enrique Dussel sees the ‘transmodern’ as a historical era where ‘modernity and its alterity co-realise themselves in the process of mutual creative fertilisation’[ Turnbull, Masons,2000, 227 

^[38] R. Wang, YinYang: The Way of Heaven and Earth in Chinese Thought and Culture (Cambridge University Press, 2012), 66.

^[39] Thoimas Michael, The Pristine Dao: Metaphysics in Early Daoist Discourse (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2005), 6. ; Tiquia, Rey.  “ Restoring the Chinese Calendar Lifa  and the Cosmic Breath Qi to the Real World,”   Proceedings of the  Intelligent Systems Conference,   7-8 September, 2017 , London, UK. <<https://www.researchgate.net/publication/319654236_Restoring_the_Chinese_Calendar_Li_Fa_and_the_Cosmic_Breath_Qi_to_the_Real_World_A_New_Global_Time_System_The_Stems_and_Branches_Calendrical_clock]. 

^[40]Ian Coulter, ‘Integration and Paradigm Clash: The Practical Difficulties of Integrative Medicine’, in The Mainstreaming of Complementary and Alternative Medicine , ed. P. Tovey, G. Easthope and J. Adams (London: Routledge, 2004), 103–21. 

^[41] Sean Hsiang-Lin Lei, Neither Donkey Nor Horse Medicine in the Struggle Over China’s Modernity,(Chicago: University of Chicago Press: 2014), 14 .

^[42] Joseph Rouse, Knowledge and Power: Toward a Political Philosophy of Science, (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, l987), 77].

^[43] And talking about Daoist  cosmology, Chang Chung-yuan (1907-1988) in his book Creativity and Taoism A Study of Chinese Philosophy, Art and Poetry (1963,137-38) pointed out that “Chinese cosmological theories  and the macrocosmic-microcosmic view of man as the universe contained in the individual” sees man/woman  as a “ microcosmic universe reflecting the macrocosmic universe about him. The movement of the inner and outer worlds is intimately correlated. Outwardly, man/woman move with the vast forces of the Heaven and Earth; inwardly there is the functioning of his own organs, following their universal pattern. Thus the physical functions and the structure of the inner organs have their cosmic analogies yuzhou leisi ^[43]i.e. spacetime analogies. It is on these cosmic analogies that the Taoist system of meditative breathing is constructed. 

^[44] Peng Ziyi, Yuan yundong de gu zhongyixue 圓 運動的古中醫學 (Ancient Chinese medicine’s concept of cyclical motion). Beijing: Zhongguo zhongyiyao chubanshe, 2007, 269-270]. 

^[45] Milton D. Heifetz & Will Tirion, A Walk Through the Southern Sky: A Guide to Stars and Constellations and Their Legends, Cambridge United Kingdom: Cambridge University Press,2012,12. Please refer as well to Rey Tiquia, “Translating the Life Energetic Qi, Yin and Yang and the Five Elements as Ontic-Epistemic Imaginary Entities to Interrupt the Decline of Traditional Chinese Medicine and Ensure its Continued Innovation and Regeneration,” powerpoint presentation before Annual Conference of the Society for the Social Studies of Science (4S) , ‘Innovations, Interruptions, Regenrations,’ Sheraton Hotel, New Orleans, Louisiana, USA, September 4-7, 2019. 

^[46] Paul Pitchford. Healing with Whole Foods : Asian Tradition and Modern Nutrition. Berkeley: North Atlantic Books, 2002, pp. 20-22. Refer as well to R. Tiquia “ The Use of Chrono-acupuncture and Chemotherapy in Treating Lung Cancer as Kesou (‘Cough’) in Melbourne, Australia : A Clinical Report, ” in presentation before the  1st International Conference of Advances in Cancer Medical Research (ACMR

2013) . Singapore. November 18-19, 2012 <https://www.researchgate.net/publication/324005558_Cancer_Singapore_Presentation>Accessed:December 22,. 2019.

^[47] Chen Dingsan 陳鼎三 and Jiang Ersun 江爾孫, Yixue tanyuan 醫學探源 (Sichuan: Kexuejishu chubanshe, 1986). 

^[48] This diagram featured in Chen and Jiang, Yixue tanyuan, , is equivalent to a ‘cosmic clock’, a ‘diviner’s board’ 式 or a ‘cosmograph’ which I will elucidate later in the text. 

^[50] Zu Xing 祖行, Tujie yijing 圖解易經 (Xi’an: Shanxi shifan daxue, 2007). 

^[51] R. Tiquia, ‘The Construction of a Chinese Medical Lunisolar Calendar for the Southern Hemisphere’, The Lantern 9:3 (2012): 33–51. 

^[52] ‘The Chinese used the compass less for navigation than for defining on the ground the points of the compass and auspicious and inauspicious influences by a system imaginatively called Feng Shui (Wind and Water). The basis of calculation is essentially the same as that used for the calendar and the establishment of the horoscope’, see Huon de Kermadec, The Way to Chinese Astrology, 52–3.

^[53] Field describes the use of the diviner’s board thus: ‘the cosmographer would orient the board to the cardinal directions, represented by the four sides of the board. Then he would align the number of the month on the heaven disc with the double hour of the day or night from the earth plate. Finally, he would note the constellation on the portion of the disc that fronted the southern edge of the board. These are the asterisms that would appear in the sky in the month and hour of the query.’ Stephen L. Field, Ancient Chinese Divination (University of Hawai’i Press, 2008), 93. 

^[54] Wilkinson, Chinese History, 680.

^[55] The theme of the 2018 annual meeting of the Society for Social Studies of Science -- TRANSnational STS – encourages presentations, panels, and other events that deepen and extend the transnational character of the Society itself, while engaging issues invoked by both the TRANS prefix (across, beyond, to change thoroughly), and by the problematic and evolving status of “nations” - and the reassertion of nationalisms - in processes of global ordering. Leveraging the global scope of Science and Technology Studies (STS), our aim is to intensify connection between conference participants (scholars, practitioners, and students) based in different regions, stimulating conversation about ways 4S and other scholarly societies can provide critical infrastructure for next-generation, transnationally collaborative, intellectual and political engagements. We also aim to encourage consideration of a broad array of concepts that are undergoing – or should undergo – transformation if we are to address key scholarly and practical problems of our times. Current concepts, knowledges, practices, and institutions of “the nation” are exemplary, pointing to a need for radical reformulation of habitual ways of thinking about and organizing governance, bodies and lifeworlds. Expansive reconsideration of other concepts, foundational and emergent (justice, biopolitics, innovation, Empire, and the Anthropocene, for example), are also encouraged. Activities that draw conference participants into issues of special importance in Australia and the broader Asia-Pacific region – indigenous politics, border controls, mining, climate change, and renewable energy, for example -- will be threaded throughout and offered in advance of the conference. The overall goal is to foreground diverse STS genealogies and approaches, leveraging the rich pluralism of STS, attuned to the rich pluralism of the contemporary world.

^[56] 4S Sydney TRANSnational STS Society for Social Studies of Science Annual Conference, Sydney International Convention Centre, August 29- September 1 2018 << https://4sonline.org/ee/files/4S18_web_program_180825.pdf>> 

^[57] Shu-hsien Liu, ̳’Time and Temporality: The Chinese Perspective’,  Philosophy East and West 24:2.

^[58] R. Tiquia, ‘The Paradigm of Theory-as-Practice: TraditionalChinese Natural Studies and the Performance of the Cosmic Breath qi in a New Global Spacetime System, The Journal of The Oriental Society of Australia, Vol 47 (2015), 215-216. 

^[59] Codes‘ are a ̳systematic modification of a language, information into letter figure or symbols for the purposes of brevity, secrecy or the machine processing of information‘ [Lesley Brown (ed) . The New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary vol. I. [Oxford University Press,1993]. 432. 

^[60] Li Shaoyao , Huangdi Neijing yunqixue yanjiu [Research on the Doctrine of Periods and Qi], Master‘s thesis, Centre for Religious Studies, Xuan Zhuang Humanities Institute , Taiwan, 2004, 15.

^[61] R. Tiquia, ‘The Paradigm of Theory-as-Practice: TraditionalChinese Natural Studies and the Performance of the Cosmic Breath qi in a New Global Spacetime System,’ The Journal of The Oriental Society of Australia, Vol 47, 2015, 228.

^[62] R. Tiquia, ‘The Construction of a Chinese Medical Lunisolar Calendar for the Southern Hemisphere.’ The Lantern Journal. 7:33-51. 2012. 

^[63] James Jespersen and Jane Fritz-Randolph, From Sundials to Atomic Clocks Understanding Time and Frequency [ Mineola: Dover Publications, 1999] 23 

^[64] Jou Tsung-Hwa, The Dao of Taijiquan Way to Rejuvenation, ed. Sharon Rose and Loretta Wollering (Scottdale, Ariz: Tai Chi Foundation, 2002), 119. 

^[65] The binary numeral system, or base-2 system , represents numeric values using two symbols, ̳0‘ and ̳1‘...Owing to its straightforward implementation in digital circuitry using logic gates, the binary system is used internally by all modern computers. ‘Binary numeral System’.<< https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Binary_number>> Accessed: November 8, 2019.

^[66] Digital |ˈdɪdʒɪt(ə)l| adjective 1 (of signals or data) expressed as series of the digits 0 and 1, typically represented by values of a physical quantity such as voltage or magnetic polarization. Often contrasted with analogue. relating to, using, or storing data or information in the form of digital signals: digital TV | a digital recording.• involving or relating to the use of computer technology: the digital revolution. 2 (of a clock or watch) showing the time by means of displayed digits rather than hands or a pointer. Three relating to a finger or fingers. ORIGIN: late 15th century: from Latin digitalis, from digitus finger, toe‟. [Angus Stevenson and Christine A. Lindberg (eds) New Oxford American Dictionary Oxford University Press, 2010.Accessed November 10, 2016. http://www.oxfordreference.com.ezp.lib.unimelb.edu.au/search?source=%2F1 0.1093%2Facref%2F9780195392883.001.0001%2Facref- 9780195392883&q=digital. 

^[67] M. A. Lombardi,., L. M. Nelson,., A. N. Novick, , & V. S. Zhang, (2001). Time and frequency measurements using the global positioning system. Paper Presented at the Measurement Science Conference, A Walk Through Time. <http://www.nist.gov/pml/general/time/index.cfm>

^[68] David Turnbul quoting Enrique Dussel sees the ‘transmodern’ as a historical era where “modernity and its negated alterity co-realise themselves in the process of mutual creative fertilisation” [Turnbull, 2000]. 

^[69] Thomas E. Aylward, The Imperial Guide to Feng Shui & Chinese Asdtrology The Only Authentic Translation from the Original Chinese.London: Watkins Publishing, 2007, 53.

^[70] Stephen Jones, Daoist Priest of the Li Family :Ritual Life in Village China, St. Petersburg, FL: 2017, 14-15.

^[71] Rey Tiquia, “ The Use of Chrono-acupuncture and Chemotherapy in Treating LungCancer as Kesou (‘Cough’) in Melbourne, Australia : A Clinical Report, ” in Proceedings of the 1st International Conference of Advances in Cancer Medical Research (ACMR2013) . Singapore. November 18-19, 2012 <<https://www.researchgate.net/publication/260423193_The_Use_of_Chronoacupuncture_and_Chemotherapy_in_Treating_Lung_Cancer_as_'Kesou'_'Cough'_in_Melbourne_Australia_A_Clinical_Case_Report>>; Refer as well to Rey Tiquia “Surfing the Oceanic Waves of the Cosmic Breath Under the  Guidance of  the Stem and Branches Calendrical Clock .”.Academic Journal of Feng Shui 1st Symposium – Oceania, University of Technology Sydney, Australia, 13 & 14 May 2017 <<http://ajofengshui.co.nf/wp content/uploads/2017/05/Tiquia_Rey_2017_Surfing_Oceanic_Waves_L_P.pdf>>

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The Origins of Āyurveda

At the core of classical Āyurveda stands the aetiological theory of the three doṣas (tridoṣa), broadly defined as defilements of wind (vāta), bile (pitta), and phlegm (kapha). Disease is said to occur when for one or several reasons one or more of the doṣas moves from its seat to manifest someplace else in the body. On the surface of it, since the theory includes three well-defined Sanskrit terms, occurring together, it would seem to be a straightforward exercise to trace this transparent mode of thinking in Indian literature prior to the earliest medical treatises, in which the theory was first fully expounded. However, such has not been achieved and at present two opposing theories have been put forth for the origins of the three āyurvedic doṣas.

One maintains that the theory was wholly indigenous to the subcontinent, being embedded in early ideas of four of the five basic elements (mahābhūta): fire (agni) which characterises bile (pitta) and wind (vāyu), universal form of bodily wind (vāta); and perhaps also water (āp) and earth (pṛthivī), which characterise phlegm (kapha). The fifth element, space (ākāśa) is the realm of sound and does not easily fit to one of the doṣas. Sometimes it is paired with five to give bile. This analysis, however, occurs in the second level compilation found n Vāgbhaṭa’s seventh century Aṣṭāṅgahṛdaya Saṃhitā. It is also the point of view of most Indian scholars, while the other, advocated mainly by western scholars, posits that the theory is related to, if not dependent on, Greco-Roman medicine, since in its fundamental conceptual basis, Sanskrit doṣabears a similarity to Greek chymos, which gives rise to the four humours of black bile (melaina cholē), yellow bile (xanthē cholē), phlegm (phlegma), and blood (haima). While blood (rakta) is not counted in the list of three doṣas, Meulenbeld has shown that blood was considered in the same way as the doṣas in the classical Āyurveda.[1]The only missing pairing between Greek-Roman and Indian medicine is the doṣacalled “wind,” which was not one of the humours, but Greek pneumalike Sanskrit prāṇais found in a medical context.

Although Sanskrit doṣaoccurs in its original meaning of “defilement” or “fault” from the period of the early Upaniṣads (c. 800 BCE), its specific medical sense is first expounded in the Sanskrit treatises of Caraka and Suśruta. The medical notion of doṣacould not have come from nowhere, but from where and how.

Putting aside the two opposing points of view, I shall began afresh, starting with an examination of old literary sources in Sanskrit and working my way forward to the first systematic and composite treatises, the Carakaand Suśruta Saṃhitās, which date from around the first centuries before and after the Common Era.

Vedic Medicine

An early form of medicine was represented in the Vedic Saṃhitās from about 1300-800 BCE. Among these primarily religious treatises, there was no single text devoted exclusively to diagnosis and treatment of illness and malady; but rather randomly placed charms and incantations in verse were embedded in the earliest treatises of the Ṛgvedaand Atharvaveda for use in rituals to heal the sick and the suffering. The lack of a single text or texts dedicated to the subject of medicine indicated that healing was part of the overall socio-religious matrix in the earliest Sanskrit literature. On the other hand, only in its broadest underlying conceptual basis does a form of healing utilising incantations and rituals occur in the earliest āyurvedic treatises, especially in the context of maladies affecting children. Moreover, no direct linguistic parallels exist between the Vedic and āyurvedic incantations. This naturally implies that the āyurvedic aetiology of the three doṣas together with the extensive list of remedies based on it could not have derived solely from the medical theories and practices found in the early Vedas.

It must naturally also come from somewhere else. Could then part of the overall conceptual basis have derived from beyond the orbit of the Indian subcontinent, as several early western scholars of Indian medicine maintained? To try to answer this question, we must take the next histoical step and examine the literary sources composed between the Vedic hymns and the earliest medical works. My study therefore included an investigation of the later Vedic treatises of the Brāhmaṇas and Upaniṣads and the literature related to them. A deep study of these texts is still a desideratum, since I merely surveyed the principal texts. The cursory examination of them, however, revealed that there was little in the way of medicine that differed from that found in the Vedic Saṃhitās; and, moreover, there were still no individual texts devoted exclusively to medicine, with the exception of the formulation of the five bodily winds.

Although not a book per se, the fixed group of five bodily winds (apāna, prāṇa, vyāna, samāna, udāna) is a well-established idea that evolved from yogic practices involving breath control or prāṇāyamafirst mentioned in the early Upaniṣads and later picked up and medically altered by the early āyurvedic authors.[2]  The occurrence of the doctrine of the five bodily winds in the medical treatises is simply not enough information to establish the later Vedic literature as the principle and only source for the three doṣas, and therefore it was not a viable place for further investigation. I turn my attention rather to a more promising literature, not in Sanskrit but in the Middle Indic language of Pāli, in which the earliest Buddhist scriptures were composed.

Buddhist Medicine

The Monastic Code or Vinaya Piṭaka of the Buddhist Pāli Canon contained a large section devoted to medicines, along with numerous references to healing theory and practice throughout the earliest parts of the Canon, which probably took shape some centuries before it was written down in Sri Lanka in about 29 BCE. This would place the Buddhist medical doctrines historically immediately prior to and contemporaneous with the earliest āyurvedic treatises.

In summary, these sources revealed the following major points. Already in Pāli Buddist literature there is found:

1. a presumed understanding of the idea of the three doṣas;

2. a practical approach to healing indicated in case histories and remedies;

3. a legend of a famous healer, Jīvaka, which has travelled with Buddhism throughout Asia; and

4. a clearly defined role of the healing arts in the early Buddhist monastery or Saṅgha.[3]

The content of the Buddhist medical theories and practices points to an important intermediate step in the evolutionary history of Indian medicine from Veda to Āyurveda. Moreover, the medical knowledge was preserved and transmitted not by composers and proponents of Brahmanic doctrines and beliefs, but by knowledgeable and literate ascetics living what appeared for the most part to be a mendicant’s lifestyle. The study of early Buddhist medicine made the Sanskrit tradition that was maintained and transmitted by the Brahmans, even a more unlikely source of early āyurvedic theories and practices.

But, does the Buddhist involvement in early Indian medical history bring us closer to finding the origins of Āyurveda? Only in so far as it localises elements of what later became āyurvedic medicine outside the Sanskritic orbit of brahmanic knowledge. Moreover, it shows that the aetiological tridoṣic theory was already well formulated by the time of earliest Buddhist scriptures. The “smoking gun” that provides the precise origin of the doctrines of Āyurveda is still wanting. So, for time being, we shall have to admit that a direct transmission from one medical text to another may never be found and moreover might never have occurred. Some might say “well then give it up and move on to something else.” I preferred, however, to be more creative and widen the sphere of investigation.

I started to look to other systems of thought and practice that are related but not central to medicine. These include systems of knowledge found in the Indian astral science or Jyotiḥśāstra, especially those parts that have some connection to medicine, such as the divinatory system of human marks or physiognomy.

Although these studies are ongoing, they so far indicate that at least part of the āyurvedic system of medicine in India was shared with other systems of Indian knowledge, which indicate also influence from non-Indian forms of thought in antiquity. Three important points come forth, which show

1. a literary link between information in the early Sanskrit medical treatises and early Sanskrit astral literature;

2. a fundamental similarity to systems of physiognomy from ancient Mesopotamia and from ancient Greece; and

3. a possible dual role played by the Indian doctor as healer and diviner.[4]

Conclusions     

Perhaps we shall never find the precise origins of the āyurvedic theory of the three doṣas and the methods of the cures based on it, but we have come closer to identifying possible, viable places to search for additional information. Moreover, I have become more and more convinced that we should not expect to find a single text or group of texts from which the early Sanskrit medical treatises were translated or on which they were based. Rather we should consider Āyurveda as a medical system that evolved under the influence of fruitful exchanges of important theories and practices of different kinds of healers, such as Jīvaka in the Buddhist legends. It is likely that the exchange continued for centuries at a time when contacts between different healers were possible. This would imply that the interaction was constant and lasted long enough for intellectual exchange and practical learning to take place and be recorded. For the time being, this is perhaps the more realistic approach to the origins of Āyurveda, which could allow us to speculate that the tridoṣa theory resulted from assimilation and adaption, where a Greco-Roman conception of the four humours blended with Indian philosophical notions of the three guṇas or qualities (sattva, rajas, and tamas) and thenfive basic elements (mahābhūta), both of which were well-known among proponents of Sāṃkhya, with whose philosophical notions the composers and compilers of the classical medical texts were conversant. The precise means by which the assimilation took place could indeed be a fruitful topic of exploration.

Bibliography

Meulenbeld, G. J. 1991. “The Constraints of Theory in the Evolution of Nosological Classifications: A Study on the Position of Blood in Indian Medicine (Āyurveda);” in G. J. Meulenbeld, ed. Medical Literature from India, Sri Lanka and Tibet (Leiden: E. J Brill): 91-106.

Zysk, K. 1991. Asceticism and healing in ancient India. Medicine in the Buddhist monastery. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. Paperback: New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1991. Indian edition: Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1997, reprint, 2000. [Vol 2 of Indian Medical Tradition]. Second revised edition under preparation.

—, 1993. "The science of respiration and the doctrine of the vital breaths in ancient India," JAOS, 113.2: 198-213.

—, 2000. “"Did ancient Indians have a notion of contagion?"  in Lawrence I. Conrad and Dominik Wujastyk, eds., Contagion. Perspectives from Pre-Modern Societies(Aldershot, UK: Ashagate), 79-95.

—. 2007. “The bodily winds in ancient India revisited.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute (N.S.): 105-115.

—. 2016. The India System of Human Marks. Text, translation, and notes. 2 Vols.  Leiden: E.J. Brill [Sir Henry Wellcome Asian Series, Vol. 15].

— 2018. “Greek and Indian Physiognomics.” Journal of the American Oriental Society,138.2: 13-325.

Notes

[1] Meulenbeld 1991; cf. Zysk 2000.

[2] Zysk, 1993 and 2007.

[3] Zysk, 1991. I am happy to report that a revised, second edition of this study should be out soon with Motilal Banarsidass.

[4] Zysk 2016.1: 25-53; Zysk 2018.

On the morning I sat down to write this, the Nobel Foundation announced it had awarded the 2017 Prize for Biology or Physiology to the American scientists Jeffrey C. Hall, Michael Rosbash, and Michael W. Young for their work in the field of chronobiology. Over decades of meticulous lab work, the trio isolated the “period gene”, and described how the protein it encodes regulates each cell’s rhythm of vitality and rest in relation to cycles of light and dark.

The news made me smile.

After nearly 15 years of studying and practicing the narrow stream of Āyurveda to which I’ve had access – modernized, Anglicized, commodified, and merged with reconstructed European naturopathies – I’ve come to the personal conclusion that the most general gift this art form offers is insight into how human beings can heal our relationship to time.

My first Ayurvedic mentor said, “We are living in the most vāta-aggravated period in history, but we can take great comfort in the faithful stability of the solar cycle.” Using the mathematics of Jyotiṣa, he taught us the daily calculations for finding solar noon, and the precise transitions between the kapha, pitta, and vāta periods of day and night. He taught us how the stress of sundowning could be eased by meditation at dusk, about why we should avoid staying awake past the “pitta threshold” – that tripwire that gives us a second nocturnal wind, better applied to dreaming than internet browsing. He taught us how to calculate the pre-dawn moment of brahma muhurta, when the fluctuations of air and space seem to relax, and groundless anxiety can yield to expansive possibility.

The lessons communicated both primal dependability and existential maturity to an uncertain, insomniac, gaseous world. I began to feel that the “knowledge of longevity” for which Āyurveda is named is not so much about personal wellness goals as it is about making peace with time, which means making peace with change, which means making peace with death, the pole star of stress.

This core idea, fleshed out in the broad principles of dinacharya (“to follow the sun”, according to my teacher’s nirukta) has remained as stable for me as the solar cycle itself. It has survived the numerous waves of disillusionment I now see as natural to the interrogation of an unconsciously adopted religion.

My resonance with dinacharya has survived realizing that my exposure to Āyurveda has come through an alchemy of the neo-colonialism that wants to commodify it for export and the Hindutva ideology that wants to claim it as part of a saffronized patrimony. The former thinks it can be packaged and sold. The latter wants to deny that Buddhists played an essential role in its early formulation.

It has survived realizing that Āyurveda’s gender essentialism and heteronormativity – whether authentic to its historical roots or not – can be subtly oppressive to the women’s consumer market it claims to serve. (Not to mention wondering whether its obsession with human fertility is coherent in a world racing past its carrying capacity.)

It has survived realizing that modern global Āyurveda can provide sanctimonious cover for neoliberal propaganda, and contribute to the anxiety of privatized, aspirational responsibilism. Āyurveda in current practice can reinforce the punishing belief that self-care is the only care we can rely on, or that oil massage makes the world a better place, or that health is assured through kitchari and memorizing the doshic implications of red grapes versus green grapes.

It has survived watching friends from the country of the Nobel-winners use Āyurveda to faithfully but unsuccessfully manage cancer because they either distrust public medicine, don’t have health insurance, or both.

It has survived realizing the hypocrisy of Āyurveda’s marketing as a common sense, low cost, local economy wellness modality, whilst outside of low-income India it mainly flourishes as a lifestyle brand and leisure activity for the wealthy, consumable through long-distance spa vacations and carbon-heavy importation. Globalization popularizes and sells the notion of local authenticity through the process of destroying it.

It has survived realizing that Āyurveda’s premodern somatic poetry is elliptical enough to help contemplatives interrogate their internal sensations, but also vague enough to serve as a platform for Deepak Chopra to authenticate pseudoscience.

It has survived watching the rise of Baba Ramdev use Āyurveda as a tool of blood-and-soil purification: selling spiritually-inflected skin-lightening creams, or researching herbs that will cure homosexuality.

And today, it will survive both the grandiosity of biologists who have “discovered” that life has rhythm, and the patriotic fantasies of those who will claim that the “period gene” is described in the Vedas.

“Āyurveda is said to be eternally continuing because it has no beginning,” says Charaka (via Sharma). “Our understanding of Āyurveda has arisen a posteriori to Āyurveda’s eternal laws.”

I have only a dim understanding of where the cultures of Āyurveda have come from, and no real clue as to where they’re going, or how much trouble and joy they will foster. But between these mysteries lies a present, palpable phenomenon that points to the notion of “eternal law”. Even a deconstructionist such as myself can get behind it, and treasure it.

Through these histories of colonial, capitalistic and epistemological violence – histories that may cause more disease than the bacteria and viruses that Āyurveda cannot treat – the earth still turns in its measure. It faces the sun, and then faces away. The body radiates and grows dark. The identity extroverts and introverts. We wake and sleep. Dinacharya does not solve capitalism, climate crisis, or death. But it looks clearly at the rhythms of change, and perhaps relieves us of the suspicion that time is meaningless.

My memories of the trip are of my intense frustration at not being able to talk to the healers we visited and at the speed of the tour (it was a whistle-stop travel experience). There was a sense too, of peering briefly at a range of practitioners and practices that I realized even then I wanted to know much more about. I disliked the sensation of being a tourist in relation to traditional medicine and in many ways felt myself to be interacting with healers who practiced in a different cultural tradition, but with whom I felt an affinity. For many people these traditional healers may have been exotic but as a herbalist and naturopath I recognized in these traditional medical practices, similar kinds of understandings of the body, health and treatment to those found in ‘traditional herbal medicine’. Ideas about health and well-being were couched in terms of balance. Descriptions of patients and plants as hot and cold, and foods as medicines, were familiar to me from my own herbal tradition. Health in Thailand is considered a fragile, daily balance in which the environment, family and social relationships, emotions, spirits, karma and magic all feature. Patients speak of being dry and hot, of their medicines as cooling and refreshing and describe foods as strengthening. Folk healers talked about illness in terms of blood (lueat เลือด), poison (phit พิษ) and karma (kam กรรม). There were also features of the medical tradition that were quite unfamiliar to me like the use incantations (khaa thaa คาถา) to potentize medicines and to secure beneficial outcomes.

The other main memory I have from this trip was of managing somehow to have a fruitful conversation with the mo tam yae (หมอตำแย midwife) at a Lisu village where my herbal colleague and I shared birthing lore. Needless to say they were far more experienced in this area than we were. We spoke through the village headman, a youngish Thai man who spoke English, had a university education and had returned to his Lisu village home, which was unusual. We talked about everything from the use of roses for skin treatment to the use of ice-cubes for moving mal-positioned foetuses. Even now (14 years later) I wonder about whether this information has been used by the midwives. Did these bits of knowledge slip into practice in this Lisu village? Have these fragments of information and practice entered into Lisu traditions, in the way that the adoption of Hopi ear candles has permeated Australian naturopathic practice? ” (Hunter, 2014 (unpublished thesis): p.39-41)

This is a fragment from the thesis I subsequently wrote about the modernization and professionalization of traditional medicine in Thailand. I went on to spend a year in Thailand (in 2009 and 2010) doing ethnographic fieldwork as part of a PhD in medical anthropology at the University of Melbourne. I lived with, talked to and befriended many traditional medicine practitioners in Chiang Mai. I immersed myself in their world of students, classes, rituals and in the conferences which took place during my time there. I did my research not as a total outsider (despite my obvious whiteness and very basic command of Thai) but as a herbalist and teacher from another tradition. What I wrote about in my thesis was the way in which traditional medicine practitioners were now able to choose between learning from a teacher (khruu ครู) or going to university. As you can imagine the difference between becoming an apprentice and becoming a university student is considerable.

What I explored in my thesis was the changing landscape of traditional medicine education in Thailand. Folk healers established their knowledge through a sense of vocation by apprenticing themselves to a teacher, a process which linked them to a lineage of knowledge and teachers extending to Shivaka Kormarpaj, the Buddha’s physician and the Father of Healing in the Thai tradition. This method of learning was  an oral tradition. Students learnt by watching and working with their teacher; learning how to recognise plants, how to make medicines and observing how their teacher treated patients and gradually absorbing the healing traditions which had been passed down over centuries. The healing practices were taught in the context of the Buddhist culture they were drawn from. Healing rituals, use of magic and incantation were all part of healing practices. Rituals, beliefs and practices were local and the healing traditions of Thailand vary considerably from region to region.

By contrast modern university training has been established through a process of drawing together material in a formal educational curriculum. It draws on written sources and because it is taught in a modern educational institution it has been grafted onto a scientific base. Students acquire a formal education which emphasizes the scientific rationale for using plants and massage. They learn about plant medicines using pharmacology and chemistry as the lens through which they understand their properties and uses. They are trained to work in a modern health system and to work with nurses, doctors and pharmacists. In short they are trained to be modern health professionals.