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Objectives for week 6
- To describe and apply the concepts of “mental operating systems” and ontologies;
- To distinguish between dualist and monist/holistic ontologies, and between naturalist and analogical ontologies;
- To explore and imagine the experience and implications of an analogical ontology, using the case of Chinese practices of the body and qi;
- To explore and imagine the experience and implications of the spiritualisation of the body, or of the extension of the mindscape into the “bodyscape”, with reference to the Daoist tradition;
- To consider the problems inherent in comparing and evaluating different ontologies.
Week 6: Cosmos and Body
Cultural “operating systems” and ontologies
Our mindscape is populated by all sorts of objects of consciousness. How are all of these objects of consciousness linked together and activated? We can use the metaphor of an "operating system" to describe how our mindscape is organised. Culture can be likened to an operating system, which not only organises and activates our objects of consciousness, but also generates objects of consciousness and implants them into our minds. We all have at least one mental operating system, and often more than one. Cultures, ideologies, religions, and specialised systems of knowledge are all mental operating systems. Worldviews and value systems are all mental operating systems. Our mind cannot function without an operating system. Our shared operating system with members of our society allows us to perceive the same things, to build a common understanding, and to coordinate our actions. Of course, there are limits to the notion of an operating system as an analogy. We don't simply "download" a ready-made operating system into a blank mind. While we do, through education, absorb fully functional "operating systems", we also actively participate in interpreting them, modifying them and transmitting them to others. But it's interesting to think about culture and religion in terms of an operating system.
Cultural or religious operating systems categorise our objects of consciousness into different categories, and induce us to perceive and to respond to different classes of objects differently. This basic categorisation is called an ontology. “Ontology” sounds like an abstruse philosophical concept, but it basically refers to the question, “what are the basic components of reality, and how are they connected together?” At the core of any cultural operating system is a specific ontology.
We can find many different types of ontologies in different cultures and religions; and philosophers have explored the nuances and implications of ontologies in much detail. Without getting into hair-splitting metaphysical discussions, there are a few different ways in which we can classify different ontologies.
One important distinction is between dualistic ontologies and holistic (or monistic) ontologies. In a dualistic ontology, reality is composed of two radically different and irreconcilable elements: for example, mind vs. matter; or Good vs. Evil. In a monistic or holistic ontology, on the other hand, there is ultimately only one underlying reality; reality thus forms a single whole.
To illustrate the difference between these ontologies, let’s look back at some of the examples we have considered in the past few weeks.
Modern society is dominated by a dualistic ontology that is often called the “naturalist” ontology, in which the world is divided into two categories of beings: (1) the world of material nature, which operates according to universal, objective, impersonal laws that operate independently of humans and that are knowable to humans; and (2) the world of human consciousness and subjectivity, which is unique to each individual, and which cannot be objectively known. Overlaying this distinction is the mind-body dualism: (1) since we have material bodies like non-human beings, we are part of the material world of nature, and our bodies follow the laws of nature; but (2) we also have interiority and subjectivity – we have minds -- and so we are radically different, not only from the world of nature but from each other, since each person has a different subjectivity. The materialist ontology, that I mentioned a few weeks ago, is very similar to the naturalist ontology, except that it considers interiority, subjectivity and the mind to be mere reflections or expressions of the material world; and thus, it accords the highest value to material existence, survival and wealth. In the dualistic ontology of naturalism, however, one may either privilege the material reality, or, like a romantic poet, one may accord higher value to the inner life of the mind, emotions and imagination.
According to the naturalist ontology, the world is divided into two: the world of objective matter, which is common to all beings, and the world of subjective consciousness, which exists only in humans. In other words, the universe is also divided into two types of beings, namely (1) nonhumans, who follow the laws of material nature, and (2) humans, who are divided into material nature (body) and subjective mind. If you meet a nonhuman, it has its external appearances – shape, colour, structure – but it has no mind or subjectivity. It doesn’t have any consciousness, and it only exists as an external thing. That is the world of nature in the naturalist ontology – nature doesn’t think, or have consciousness or the ability to communicate. If we think non-humans have emotions or consciousness, or if we feel a deep connection to non-human worlds, that is a nothing more than a subjective belief, since there is no way to prove it.
A few weeks ago, when we experimented with the idea of removing meanings from things, like what Sartre and Camus did, we touched the core of the naturalist ontology – that any meanings in the world, actually come from us. Only humans create meanings and significances, because only the human has consciousness, subjectivity and interiority. We may think that nature, plants and animals are beautiful, but that is just our own opinion, our subjective judgment. We may want to protect animals or make our gardens beautiful, but these notions also come from us, not from them. They themselves don’t know if they are beautiful or ugly, nor do they even care; beauty and ugliness are only human judgements. Animals, plants or the universe have nothing to say about it. They just have pure existence; and humans have subjective feelings about them. That’s it. This is the naturalist operating system.
Following this line of division, in the naturalistic ontology, a dichotomy is posited between the mind, which is endowed with subjectivity, and the body, which is seen as pure materiality. Thus, in Western culture and the currently dominant worldview around the world, we have completely disembodied experiences or understanding of our minds. We tend to think about thinking as something completely abstract that is completely separate from the material world. Our thoughts may be reflections of the material world; and they may, through the action of our body, impact on the material world; but thinking and material processes occur in completely different spheres of reality. In school, you take courses, you have to sit down and learn through your books. Your body is not involved, except that you use your eyes and ears to send information to your mind, and you use your brain to process the information. The rest of your body is only used to prop up your brain. Meanwhile, you also have your physical education classes, which are separate. So, in our education system, at a given moment, you are exercising either your body or your mind. It is usually considered that the two are independent or even mutually contradictory to each other. For instance, if you are good at sports, people might consider that you aren’t academically inclined. On the other hand, if one is really intelligent and good at academic study, people might expect you to be weak at sports.
This is how modern society separates mind and body. Also, this is how modern society, most of the time, understands spirituality and religion, which is considered to have little to do with the body. Most people consider that religion is something in peoples’ minds, and that it involves beliefs in abstract ideas.
In a sense, our culture’s dominant operating system has done with our bodies what Jean-Paul Sartre did to the knarly tree root, making our bodies meaningless. In this case, the body is just meat that is alive, or the flesh that digests the food we eat – that's all our bodies are for. The most important thing is within the head, whilst the body is something that transports the head around. We want to keep our bodies healthy so that they can hold up our heads. Apart from that, there is no other significance or meaning associated with the body.
Cultural or religious operating systems categorise our objects of consciousness into different categories, and induce us to perceive and to respond to different classes of objects differently. This basic categorisation is called an ontology. “Ontology” sounds like an abstruse philosophical concept, but it basically refers to the question, “what are the basic components of reality, and how are they connected together?” At the core of any cultural operating system is a specific ontology.
We can find many different types of ontologies in different cultures and religions; and philosophers have explored the nuances and implications of ontologies in much detail. Without getting into hair-splitting metaphysical discussions, there are a few different ways in which we can classify different ontologies.
One important distinction is between dualistic ontologies and holistic (or monistic) ontologies. In a dualistic ontology, reality is composed of two radically different and irreconcilable elements: for example, mind vs. matter; or Good vs. Evil. In a monistic or holistic ontology, on the other hand, there is ultimately only one underlying reality; reality thus forms a single whole.
To illustrate the difference between these ontologies, let’s look back at some of the examples we have considered in the past few weeks.
Modern society is dominated by a dualistic ontology that is often called the “naturalist” ontology, in which the world is divided into two categories of beings: (1) the world of material nature, which operates according to universal, objective, impersonal laws that operate independently of humans and that are knowable to humans; and (2) the world of human consciousness and subjectivity, which is unique to each individual, and which cannot be objectively known. Overlaying this distinction is the mind-body dualism: (1) since we have material bodies like non-human beings, we are part of the material world of nature, and our bodies follow the laws of nature; but (2) we also have interiority and subjectivity – we have minds -- and so we are radically different, not only from the world of nature but from each other, since each person has a different subjectivity. The materialist ontology, that I mentioned a few weeks ago, is very similar to the naturalist ontology, except that it considers interiority, subjectivity and the mind to be mere reflections or expressions of the material world; and thus, it accords the highest value to material existence, survival and wealth. In the dualistic ontology of naturalism, however, one may either privilege the material reality, or, like a romantic poet, one may accord higher value to the inner life of the mind, emotions and imagination.
According to the naturalist ontology, the world is divided into two: the world of objective matter, which is common to all beings, and the world of subjective consciousness, which exists only in humans. In other words, the universe is also divided into two types of beings, namely (1) nonhumans, who follow the laws of material nature, and (2) humans, who are divided into material nature (body) and subjective mind. If you meet a nonhuman, it has its external appearances – shape, colour, structure – but it has no mind or subjectivity. It doesn’t have any consciousness, and it only exists as an external thing. That is the world of nature in the naturalist ontology – nature doesn’t think, or have consciousness or the ability to communicate. If we think non-humans have emotions or consciousness, or if we feel a deep connection to non-human worlds, that is a nothing more than a subjective belief, since there is no way to prove it.
A few weeks ago, when we experimented with the idea of removing meanings from things, like what Sartre and Camus did, we touched the core of the naturalist ontology – that any meanings in the world, actually come from us. Only humans create meanings and significances, because only the human has consciousness, subjectivity and interiority. We may think that nature, plants and animals are beautiful, but that is just our own opinion, our subjective judgment. We may want to protect animals or make our gardens beautiful, but these notions also come from us, not from them. They themselves don’t know if they are beautiful or ugly, nor do they even care; beauty and ugliness are only human judgements. Animals, plants or the universe have nothing to say about it. They just have pure existence; and humans have subjective feelings about them. That’s it. This is the naturalist operating system.
Following this line of division, in the naturalistic ontology, a dichotomy is posited between the mind, which is endowed with subjectivity, and the body, which is seen as pure materiality. Thus, in Western culture and the currently dominant worldview around the world, we have completely disembodied experiences or understanding of our minds. We tend to think about thinking as something completely abstract that is completely separate from the material world. Our thoughts may be reflections of the material world; and they may, through the action of our body, impact on the material world; but thinking and material processes occur in completely different spheres of reality. In school, you take courses, you have to sit down and learn through your books. Your body is not involved, except that you use your eyes and ears to send information to your mind, and you use your brain to process the information. The rest of your body is only used to prop up your brain. Meanwhile, you also have your physical education classes, which are separate. So, in our education system, at a given moment, you are exercising either your body or your mind. It is usually considered that the two are independent or even mutually contradictory to each other. For instance, if you are good at sports, people might consider that you aren’t academically inclined. On the other hand, if one is really intelligent and good at academic study, people might expect you to be weak at sports.
This is how modern society separates mind and body. Also, this is how modern society, most of the time, understands spirituality and religion, which is considered to have little to do with the body. Most people consider that religion is something in peoples’ minds, and that it involves beliefs in abstract ideas.
In a sense, our culture’s dominant operating system has done with our bodies what Jean-Paul Sartre did to the knarly tree root, making our bodies meaningless. In this case, the body is just meat that is alive, or the flesh that digests the food we eat – that's all our bodies are for. The most important thing is within the head, whilst the body is something that transports the head around. We want to keep our bodies healthy so that they can hold up our heads. Apart from that, there is no other significance or meaning associated with the body.
The cosmic body in the Chinese tradition
But the body is conceived differently in many cultures, as inseparable from the mind and deeply connected with cosmic and spiritual forces. Several religious traditions have developed sophisticated techniques of the body, which aim to harness, control, and develop these powerful forces, and to align the body/mind with the deep structure and powers of the cosmos. In that sense, the body becomes something very meaningful and even sacred. This idea is widespread and deep in Chinese culture and especially in Daoism.
A whole range of Chinese practices, from martial arts to taijiquan and qigong, and even acupuncture and Chinese herbal therapies, are based on a common ontology. This ontology sees no clear dichotomy between the mind and the body. Indeed, Chinese traditions have not objectified a physical body separate from mental functions or even the individual’s social persona. The body is understood in a non-dualistic sense that literally embodies all interconnected human functions, including thinking, feeling, moving, breathing, desiring, ingesting, digesting, and so on.
In Chinese tradition the body (seen non-dualistically as including mental and spiritual functions) is typically considered to be sacred. This view permeates popular culture and customs as much as it does Confucian and Daoist philosophy: As a sacred gift from our parents, the body must be protected in its integrity; as the object of love and attention, a healthy body is the sign of and the repository of life, and so the body must be well-fed and nurtured in order to attain good health and longevity. The care of the body is expressed through the great importance attached to food, to eating, and to the therapeutic qualities of different ingredients and dishes. It is also expressed through the rich and varied techniques of gymnastics, breath training, meditation, and other forms of “life cultivation” (yangsheng 養生), which aim to nurture and strengthen the vital energies and capacities of the body. Even the sexual act, or the “arts of the bedchamber,” are seen as a form of life cultivation, which can be properly trained to minimize the loss of vital essence and to maximize the circulation and exchange of yin and yang energies.
While notions of nurturing, managing, and disciplining the powers of the human body are widespread in Chinese popular culture, they are also the themes of specialised religious regimens. For a committed practitioner, the signs of accomplishment are typically considered to be vigorous health, longevity, virtue, wisdom, and the ability to perform paranormal feats: so attuned are the powers of his body to those of the universe, that he can accomplish anything effortlessly.
In contrast to the Western, naturalistic ontology that posits a radical dualism between the objective body and the subjective mind – or between the body and the soul --, Chinese and other traditions seek to nurture the oneness of mind and body, by extending the mindscape to the inner perception of the entire body, and beyond it, to the relationship between the body and its environment, and even to the entire cosmos. So, we can talk about “mindscaping the body” – bringing the experience of the body into the mindscape, or expanding the mindscape into the entire body.
In Daoism—and also in other traditions such as Tantric Buddhism, Indian Yoga and in Jewish Kabbalah, the mind is trained to expand into the entire body, experienced as a field of energies. Different parts of the body are perceived as different energy centres. These energy points are linked together, forming a system of energy circulation in the body, and between the body, the environment and the cosmos. Through training in concentration, visualisation and breathing, the practitioner tries to nurture and guide the circulation of these energies in the body and between the body and its environment. She tries to harmonise the vital energies of the body, tending towards inner and outer oneness.
A whole range of Chinese practices, from martial arts to taijiquan and qigong, and even acupuncture and Chinese herbal therapies, are based on a common ontology. This ontology sees no clear dichotomy between the mind and the body. Indeed, Chinese traditions have not objectified a physical body separate from mental functions or even the individual’s social persona. The body is understood in a non-dualistic sense that literally embodies all interconnected human functions, including thinking, feeling, moving, breathing, desiring, ingesting, digesting, and so on.
In Chinese tradition the body (seen non-dualistically as including mental and spiritual functions) is typically considered to be sacred. This view permeates popular culture and customs as much as it does Confucian and Daoist philosophy: As a sacred gift from our parents, the body must be protected in its integrity; as the object of love and attention, a healthy body is the sign of and the repository of life, and so the body must be well-fed and nurtured in order to attain good health and longevity. The care of the body is expressed through the great importance attached to food, to eating, and to the therapeutic qualities of different ingredients and dishes. It is also expressed through the rich and varied techniques of gymnastics, breath training, meditation, and other forms of “life cultivation” (yangsheng 養生), which aim to nurture and strengthen the vital energies and capacities of the body. Even the sexual act, or the “arts of the bedchamber,” are seen as a form of life cultivation, which can be properly trained to minimize the loss of vital essence and to maximize the circulation and exchange of yin and yang energies.
While notions of nurturing, managing, and disciplining the powers of the human body are widespread in Chinese popular culture, they are also the themes of specialised religious regimens. For a committed practitioner, the signs of accomplishment are typically considered to be vigorous health, longevity, virtue, wisdom, and the ability to perform paranormal feats: so attuned are the powers of his body to those of the universe, that he can accomplish anything effortlessly.
In contrast to the Western, naturalistic ontology that posits a radical dualism between the objective body and the subjective mind – or between the body and the soul --, Chinese and other traditions seek to nurture the oneness of mind and body, by extending the mindscape to the inner perception of the entire body, and beyond it, to the relationship between the body and its environment, and even to the entire cosmos. So, we can talk about “mindscaping the body” – bringing the experience of the body into the mindscape, or expanding the mindscape into the entire body.
In Daoism—and also in other traditions such as Tantric Buddhism, Indian Yoga and in Jewish Kabbalah, the mind is trained to expand into the entire body, experienced as a field of energies. Different parts of the body are perceived as different energy centres. These energy points are linked together, forming a system of energy circulation in the body, and between the body, the environment and the cosmos. Through training in concentration, visualisation and breathing, the practitioner tries to nurture and guide the circulation of these energies in the body and between the body and its environment. She tries to harmonise the vital energies of the body, tending towards inner and outer oneness.
An analogical ontology
These traditions are expressions of an ontology that the anthropologist Philippe Descola has called "analogical", and which he contrasts to the naturalist ontology.[1] In the naturalist ontology, humans and non-humans share a material exteriority, but only humans have interiority. In the analogical ontology, there is no strong distinction between exteriority and interiority. All beings are combinations of different elements, forces and energies in circulation. Different orders of reality all have analogical structures -- that is to say, they are considered to be structurally similar, by analogy to a basic cosmological structure.
For example, in the Chinese cosmology, the cosmos is made up of the interactions between the forces of yin and yang and of the Five Phases (wu xing 五行). These forces are conceived of as analogical to the cardinal points, the seasons, the times of day, the copulation of male and female, etc. They operate at all levels, from the whole universe to the individual body. The body is a microcosm of the entire cosmos. Spiritual and religious practice, within such a system, consists in expanding one's mindscape to the entire body, and from the body to the entire universe, seeking for the underlying unity that transcends the division between interiority and exteriority, and between all the diverse elements and forces of body and the cosmos.
In this ontology, everything is a combination of different types of energies. Force and energy are circulating all the time. Everything is changing all the time. Everything is analogical to each other. The body is a microcosm of the entire universe; it is “analogical” to the cosmos in the sense that in the body, you can find the same structure and energies as the entire cosmos. Thus, by going into the body, in a sense, we can go into the entire cosmos. While everything appears to be different in the world, underlying all these things in the world, there is one invisible reality – Dao.
There are some basic concepts in the Chinese analogical understanding of the universe. Crucially, it makes no radical distinction between the mind and the body. The naturalist ontology posits that the mind and the body are completely separate, whereas Chinese thinking postulates otherwise. For example, in the Chinese language, xin (心) is a word that is translated in English as both “heart” and “mind”. This term can barely be translated into English. The same word translated into English leads to completely different concepts. Following the naturalist ontology, in English, the “heart” is a physical organ, whilst the “mind” is where you process abstract ideas. Or, the “heart” is the seat of the emotions, whilst the “mind” is the seat of rational thinking. The naturalist ontology considers mind and body to be completely distinct and often opposed things. Another dualism considers rationality (the mind) and emotions (the heart) to be completely opposite. How is it possible to use to same word to denote two opposite things? But in traditional Chinese thinking, the same word is used, because even there is no strong distinction between these concepts. This is the non-dualistic property of xin.
For example, in the Chinese cosmology, the cosmos is made up of the interactions between the forces of yin and yang and of the Five Phases (wu xing 五行). These forces are conceived of as analogical to the cardinal points, the seasons, the times of day, the copulation of male and female, etc. They operate at all levels, from the whole universe to the individual body. The body is a microcosm of the entire cosmos. Spiritual and religious practice, within such a system, consists in expanding one's mindscape to the entire body, and from the body to the entire universe, seeking for the underlying unity that transcends the division between interiority and exteriority, and between all the diverse elements and forces of body and the cosmos.
In this ontology, everything is a combination of different types of energies. Force and energy are circulating all the time. Everything is changing all the time. Everything is analogical to each other. The body is a microcosm of the entire universe; it is “analogical” to the cosmos in the sense that in the body, you can find the same structure and energies as the entire cosmos. Thus, by going into the body, in a sense, we can go into the entire cosmos. While everything appears to be different in the world, underlying all these things in the world, there is one invisible reality – Dao.
There are some basic concepts in the Chinese analogical understanding of the universe. Crucially, it makes no radical distinction between the mind and the body. The naturalist ontology posits that the mind and the body are completely separate, whereas Chinese thinking postulates otherwise. For example, in the Chinese language, xin (心) is a word that is translated in English as both “heart” and “mind”. This term can barely be translated into English. The same word translated into English leads to completely different concepts. Following the naturalist ontology, in English, the “heart” is a physical organ, whilst the “mind” is where you process abstract ideas. Or, the “heart” is the seat of the emotions, whilst the “mind” is the seat of rational thinking. The naturalist ontology considers mind and body to be completely distinct and often opposed things. Another dualism considers rationality (the mind) and emotions (the heart) to be completely opposite. How is it possible to use to same word to denote two opposite things? But in traditional Chinese thinking, the same word is used, because even there is no strong distinction between these concepts. This is the non-dualistic property of xin.
Yin-yang
In the Chinese analogical ontology, health, prosperity, long life, and spiritual transcendence derive from the circulation of cosmic forces, both by properly positioning one’s body or one’s home in relation to analogical structures of time and space through which cosmic energy flows, and by manipulating such flows to one’s advantage. These cosmological methods are used in the many healing systems and body cultivation systems that are based on cosmic forces, such as fengshui, Chinese herbal medicine, acupuncture, martial arts, qigong and Daoism.
In the dualistic ontology of naturalism, everything in the material world is made of fundamental particles of matter. Higher-level organisms are made of complex combinations of such particles. The questions most commonly asked are related to substance: “Does it exist?”; “What are its constituent parts?” And the most fundamental type of relationship is a binary one: yes/no, is/isn’t, 1/0.
Chinese ontology is more concerned with processes and patterns than with substances. The world as we experience it is the ephemeral expression of the ever-evolving unfolding of processes and the interrelation of forces and energy flows. The types of question this ontology gives rise to are of the type: “What is the tendency? What type of process are we in? How are different processes interacting and how does this affect the overall pattern?”
This ontology is expressed through the symbols of yin and yang. Yin represents processes of inward contraction, tending toward receptivity, interiority, darkness, and rest, while yang represents processes of outward expansion, tending toward assertiveness, exteriority, brightness, and movement. This is a way to look at the universe by analogy. Yin is analogous to female, and Yang to male. That is why this is called an analogical ontology.
In the dualistic ontology of naturalism, everything in the material world is made of fundamental particles of matter. Higher-level organisms are made of complex combinations of such particles. The questions most commonly asked are related to substance: “Does it exist?”; “What are its constituent parts?” And the most fundamental type of relationship is a binary one: yes/no, is/isn’t, 1/0.
Chinese ontology is more concerned with processes and patterns than with substances. The world as we experience it is the ephemeral expression of the ever-evolving unfolding of processes and the interrelation of forces and energy flows. The types of question this ontology gives rise to are of the type: “What is the tendency? What type of process are we in? How are different processes interacting and how does this affect the overall pattern?”
This ontology is expressed through the symbols of yin and yang. Yin represents processes of inward contraction, tending toward receptivity, interiority, darkness, and rest, while yang represents processes of outward expansion, tending toward assertiveness, exteriority, brightness, and movement. This is a way to look at the universe by analogy. Yin is analogous to female, and Yang to male. That is why this is called an analogical ontology.
The notions of yin and yang appeared over 3000 years ago, when Chinese people observed the regularities of cycles of time and their association with aspects of geography and human life. These cycles were associated respectively with light and dark, hot and cold, south and north, going out and coming in, outside and inside, motion and stillness. These sets of opposites were symbolised by the characters yang, meaning “the sunny side of a hill,” and yin, meaning “the shady side of a hill.” Yin and yang were seen to be in a dynamic, complementary, copulative, and generative relationship: the alternation and union of yin and yang gives birth to all beings.
Yin-yang categories have been used in China to classify everything in the universe. For example, looking at social relations, the men went out into the fields in the day, and came into the home to their wives at night: masculinity was associated with yang; femininity, with yin. Looking at the body, certain conditions, such as cold and deficiency, are yin while others, such as heat and excess, are yang. Looking at the landscape, certain features, such as mountains, are yang while others, such as pools of water or graves, are yin. South is yang and north is yin. Morning is yang and evening is yin. Summer is yang and winter is yin. The relative state of yin and yang can be compared to undulating waves: like the cycle of the seasons, at times yang is ascendant, at other times yin is. Life is generated by this dynamic and harmonious interplay of yin and yang. But if the harmony is broken, if the processes are thrown out of balance, illness and possibly death will occur. In a case of yang deficiency, yang needs to be strengthened through appropriate exercises or herbs; and the converse is true for yin deficiency.
Yin-yang categories have been used in China to classify everything in the universe. For example, looking at social relations, the men went out into the fields in the day, and came into the home to their wives at night: masculinity was associated with yang; femininity, with yin. Looking at the body, certain conditions, such as cold and deficiency, are yin while others, such as heat and excess, are yang. Looking at the landscape, certain features, such as mountains, are yang while others, such as pools of water or graves, are yin. South is yang and north is yin. Morning is yang and evening is yin. Summer is yang and winter is yin. The relative state of yin and yang can be compared to undulating waves: like the cycle of the seasons, at times yang is ascendant, at other times yin is. Life is generated by this dynamic and harmonious interplay of yin and yang. But if the harmony is broken, if the processes are thrown out of balance, illness and possibly death will occur. In a case of yang deficiency, yang needs to be strengthened through appropriate exercises or herbs; and the converse is true for yin deficiency.
The Five Phases
A more complex scheme of interrelated processes is called the Five Phases (wuxing 五行, also translated as Five Elements or Five Agents). Each component is symbolised by a natural element: wood, fire, earth, metal, and water. In the words of Ted Kaptchuk,
[e]ach Phase is an emblem that denotes a category of related functions and qualities. The Phase called Wood is associated with active functions that are in a growing phase. Fire designates functions that have reached a maximal state of activity and are about to begin a decline or a resting period. Metal represents functions in a declining state. Water represents functions that have reached a maximal state of rest and are about to change the direction of their activity. Finally, Earth designates a balance or neutrality; in a sense, Earth is a buffer between the other Phases.[2]
[e]ach Phase is an emblem that denotes a category of related functions and qualities. The Phase called Wood is associated with active functions that are in a growing phase. Fire designates functions that have reached a maximal state of activity and are about to begin a decline or a resting period. Metal represents functions in a declining state. Water represents functions that have reached a maximal state of rest and are about to change the direction of their activity. Finally, Earth designates a balance or neutrality; in a sense, Earth is a buffer between the other Phases.[2]
The Five Phases can be mapped onto the yin-yang ontology:
Each of these Phases is found in the human body, associated with one of the organs:
According to the traditional Chinese cosmology, everything exists through the interaction of these five Phases, including the human body. But does it mean that, for example, if I open up my body, I will be able to find metal, wood, water, fire and earth here and there? Obviously not. These Five Phases are used analogically; they are names for five types of energies, powers or processes. For example, what “wood” actually means is a power, or a process that is analogous to that of a plant that grows into a tree. Fire is a process that heats, spreads and gives life, but exhausts itself quickly.
Each Phase leads to the next Phase according to what is called the “generative” cycle, while it overcomes another Phase according to what is called the “restrictive” cycle. Excessive strength or weakness in one of the Phases in the body thus affects the balance of all the phases and leads to illness. Diagnosis consists in determining the overall pattern of the body’s processes, and identifying where the imbalance is occurring. Treatment consists in taking herbal combinations, acupuncture sessions or exercise regimens that are designed to reset the balance in the body’s processes.
Recently, some American practitioners of Chinese medicine,[3] taking a pop-psychology approach, have also mapped the Five Phases onto personality types:
If you are wood, you are associated with upward thrusting that breaks through in the springtime. At the end of the winter, everything is still sleeping and there is not much life. However, there are a few plants that lead the rest, breaking through – that is the idea of the “leader”. That’s why if you are a leader, you are associated with the element of wood. Some people are the “inspirer” type. For people who belong to this type, they awaken the potential liveliness of the others. They enthusiastically influence other people. However, that kind of inspiration and enthusiasm hardly lasts long. They will burn away like fire quickly. The type of “diplomat” is associated with Earth, which is about sharing and connecting. Another representation of the Five Elements places earth in the middle of the circle of the other four. It is about making connections between everybody, and about distributing and sharing with everybody. The diplomat cares about others and always tries to strike a balance between giving and receiving, which is a spirit represented by Earth. Lastly, some people are associated with Metal, being the “observer” type. During the Metal phase, the active life force is not strong anymore. The quality of metal is thus being colder and more analytical. Water is associated with the “philosopher” type. The philosopher is in the invisible realm of darkness and mystery. It is at night that people are dreaming, travelling into other worlds in their dreams, thinking very deeply. They are philosophising and thinking about deep questions. That’s why if you belong to the philosopher type, you are associated with the element of water.
This is how the analogical ontology works. It makes analogies between different things, between the different aspects of nature, between the cycles of time, and then is applied to the personality analysis. This “psychology test” is a recent, modern application of this theory. But at the Chinese medicine clinic, the doctor of traditional Chinese medicine will apply this theory to the human body.
- Wood is Lesser Yang (shao yang 少陽)
- Fire is Greater Yang (tai yang 太陽),
- Earth is in the middle (zhong 中)
- Metal is Lesser Yin (shao yin 少陰)
- Water is Greater Yin (tai yin 太陰),
Each of these Phases is found in the human body, associated with one of the organs:
- Wood: Liver
- Fire: Heart
- Earth: Spleen
- Metal: Lungs
- Water: Kidney
According to the traditional Chinese cosmology, everything exists through the interaction of these five Phases, including the human body. But does it mean that, for example, if I open up my body, I will be able to find metal, wood, water, fire and earth here and there? Obviously not. These Five Phases are used analogically; they are names for five types of energies, powers or processes. For example, what “wood” actually means is a power, or a process that is analogous to that of a plant that grows into a tree. Fire is a process that heats, spreads and gives life, but exhausts itself quickly.
Each Phase leads to the next Phase according to what is called the “generative” cycle, while it overcomes another Phase according to what is called the “restrictive” cycle. Excessive strength or weakness in one of the Phases in the body thus affects the balance of all the phases and leads to illness. Diagnosis consists in determining the overall pattern of the body’s processes, and identifying where the imbalance is occurring. Treatment consists in taking herbal combinations, acupuncture sessions or exercise regimens that are designed to reset the balance in the body’s processes.
Recently, some American practitioners of Chinese medicine,[3] taking a pop-psychology approach, have also mapped the Five Phases onto personality types:
- Wood: Spring: Morning: Leader
- Fire: Summer: Noon: Inspirer
- Earth: Late Summer: Afternoon: Diplomat
- Metal: Autumn: Evening: Observer
- Water: Winter: Night: Philosopher
If you are wood, you are associated with upward thrusting that breaks through in the springtime. At the end of the winter, everything is still sleeping and there is not much life. However, there are a few plants that lead the rest, breaking through – that is the idea of the “leader”. That’s why if you are a leader, you are associated with the element of wood. Some people are the “inspirer” type. For people who belong to this type, they awaken the potential liveliness of the others. They enthusiastically influence other people. However, that kind of inspiration and enthusiasm hardly lasts long. They will burn away like fire quickly. The type of “diplomat” is associated with Earth, which is about sharing and connecting. Another representation of the Five Elements places earth in the middle of the circle of the other four. It is about making connections between everybody, and about distributing and sharing with everybody. The diplomat cares about others and always tries to strike a balance between giving and receiving, which is a spirit represented by Earth. Lastly, some people are associated with Metal, being the “observer” type. During the Metal phase, the active life force is not strong anymore. The quality of metal is thus being colder and more analytical. Water is associated with the “philosopher” type. The philosopher is in the invisible realm of darkness and mystery. It is at night that people are dreaming, travelling into other worlds in their dreams, thinking very deeply. They are philosophising and thinking about deep questions. That’s why if you belong to the philosopher type, you are associated with the element of water.
This is how the analogical ontology works. It makes analogies between different things, between the different aspects of nature, between the cycles of time, and then is applied to the personality analysis. This “psychology test” is a recent, modern application of this theory. But at the Chinese medicine clinic, the doctor of traditional Chinese medicine will apply this theory to the human body.
Qi
Underlying all of these ideas is the flow of qi, which literally means “breath,” “gas,” or “vapor” and, in discussions of cosmology, is often translated as “vital energy” or “cosmic energy.” Sometimes understood as the essential substance of the universe, its nature is to flow and circulate; its expression is life. Blocked or disrupted qi circulation is a sure cause of illness or misfortune; the flow of qi needs to be restored through exercises, through herbs, through acupuncture, or through modifications to one’s house or environment.
In the Daoist fieldtrip, there will be a practice of qigong. When you practice, some of you might not feel anything at all, but some of you will feel something – something that the Daoists will call qi. Some of you may wonder if people simply conjure up such feelings in their mind, or imagine them. The answer goes back to what I talked about earlier about imagination. By moving your body in a certain way, breathing in a certain way, you may feel some sensations in your body. By focusing your mind on those sensations, and then imagining that these sensations are “qi”, the sensation may become stronger. Your imagination strengthens the sensation.
These practices are based on the interplay between what is going on in your mind and the type of movements that you are doing with your body. Therefore, there is nothing strange about having such experiences or feelings. Once you get this kind of feeling by focusing your minds on it, you can actually make it stronger and stronger. You will be more sensitive to it and expand it. Your mind can follow the circulation of qi around your body, and it can also guide and enhance such circulation. Qi is neither a material substance, nor is it a purely mental idea. It’s a feeling or energy that is generated through a certain type of interplay between the mind and the body.
Last year one student said, “My friend was experiencing headaches every two days. He had tried many cures but it was not healing. His uncle knew a Japanese version of qigong, called Reiki. He transferred some of the positive qi energy to him. That made him feel better. But I don’t really know whether it is just a psychological effect or not.”
So, you wonder if this is simply psychological (in the mind), or if it’s something that objectively exists (in the body or in material reality). The friend got better, but you want to locate the cause of the improvement: in his mind (psychological), or in the material world (objectively existing). What this question does, is tries to fit the phenomenon into a naturalistic ontology, which posits a dichotomy between subjectivity and physicality, in which the latter is more “true” than the former. The practice of qigong is based on an analogical ontology, which assumes a different structure of reality, and produces different results.
If we switch from that to the naturalist operating system, you have to assign the phenomena to the mind or to the body, one or the other. What is it? It’s either a subjective experience, happening in your mind -- it’s psychological. You did something in your mind and your mind made you get better. Or it’s something objective that really happened – and in that case, you want to find out what the objective, material basis of qi is. In the naturalist ontology, everything has either one or the other source. Either it’s an internal subjective source, or it’s an external objective source. It can’t be both, and it can’t be in between. And if it’s subjective, it’s less real. But in the analogical ontology, there is no rigid boundary between mind and matter, between objectivity and subjectivity. Qi flows through all reality, whether mental or physical; but it is not distinct from mental or physical activity either. It can only be understood through the Chinese analogical ontology; it can never be understood through the naturalist ontology.
In the Daoist fieldtrip, there will be a practice of qigong. When you practice, some of you might not feel anything at all, but some of you will feel something – something that the Daoists will call qi. Some of you may wonder if people simply conjure up such feelings in their mind, or imagine them. The answer goes back to what I talked about earlier about imagination. By moving your body in a certain way, breathing in a certain way, you may feel some sensations in your body. By focusing your mind on those sensations, and then imagining that these sensations are “qi”, the sensation may become stronger. Your imagination strengthens the sensation.
These practices are based on the interplay between what is going on in your mind and the type of movements that you are doing with your body. Therefore, there is nothing strange about having such experiences or feelings. Once you get this kind of feeling by focusing your minds on it, you can actually make it stronger and stronger. You will be more sensitive to it and expand it. Your mind can follow the circulation of qi around your body, and it can also guide and enhance such circulation. Qi is neither a material substance, nor is it a purely mental idea. It’s a feeling or energy that is generated through a certain type of interplay between the mind and the body.
Last year one student said, “My friend was experiencing headaches every two days. He had tried many cures but it was not healing. His uncle knew a Japanese version of qigong, called Reiki. He transferred some of the positive qi energy to him. That made him feel better. But I don’t really know whether it is just a psychological effect or not.”
So, you wonder if this is simply psychological (in the mind), or if it’s something that objectively exists (in the body or in material reality). The friend got better, but you want to locate the cause of the improvement: in his mind (psychological), or in the material world (objectively existing). What this question does, is tries to fit the phenomenon into a naturalistic ontology, which posits a dichotomy between subjectivity and physicality, in which the latter is more “true” than the former. The practice of qigong is based on an analogical ontology, which assumes a different structure of reality, and produces different results.
If we switch from that to the naturalist operating system, you have to assign the phenomena to the mind or to the body, one or the other. What is it? It’s either a subjective experience, happening in your mind -- it’s psychological. You did something in your mind and your mind made you get better. Or it’s something objective that really happened – and in that case, you want to find out what the objective, material basis of qi is. In the naturalist ontology, everything has either one or the other source. Either it’s an internal subjective source, or it’s an external objective source. It can’t be both, and it can’t be in between. And if it’s subjective, it’s less real. But in the analogical ontology, there is no rigid boundary between mind and matter, between objectivity and subjectivity. Qi flows through all reality, whether mental or physical; but it is not distinct from mental or physical activity either. It can only be understood through the Chinese analogical ontology; it can never be understood through the naturalist ontology.
Secularising the Analogical Body
The ontology I have just described, made up of impersonal energies and processes that follow an analogical logic, sounds less “religious” than the gods, ghosts, and ancestors of Chinese folk religion. In addition, body cultivation techniques based on Chinese ontology, when practiced appropriately, are generally recognised as having beneficial health effects—whether they be exercise regimens such as martial arts, taijiquan or meditation, or therapeutic techniques such as acupuncture or herbal remedies.
People can engage in these practices for a variety of different purposes. For example, Chinese techniques such as taijiquan, the martial arts and qigong are all based on the same ontology of the circulation of qi in the body. But they can be practiced for simple health and healing, or for martial combat, or for spiritual transformation and transcendence. So, these practices don't fit neatly with clear-cut distinctions between the religious and the secular. It's hard to say they aren't "religious", because the "qi" energy they work with is not purely material, and is based on a cosmology rooted in the notion of Dao; the highest levels of practice involve, at some level, union with Dao -- a visceral connection with the invisible order of the universe, as I have defined religion. But it's also hard to say that these practices are religious, since many practitioners are not aware of their underlying cosmology, or don't care about it.
Many people therefore claim that these practices have nothing to do with “religion” and that they are actually quite scientific. This viewpoint has been widespread since the early twentieth century: as China came into intense contact with the West, and was defeated and humiliated in a series of wars against modern imperial powers, many Chinese intellectuals blamed China’s weakness on its traditions and superstitions. Traditional medicine and religious therapies were, they claimed, responsible for the poor health of the Chinese people who could not defend themselves against the aggressors. Chinese armies were no match for Western soldiers and artillery, and Western medicine—which was being introduced by Christian missionaries who established China’s first medical schools, in which many of the new intellectuals were trained— was seen as holding true and scientific remedies for illness.
For these critics, the solution lay in modernising China, and replacing traditional martial arts, body cultivation, and herbal healing with biomedical science and modern military drills, sports and physical education. One of the leading intellectuals of the time, Chen Duxiu (who was a founder of the Chinese Communist Party), wrote in his “Appeal to the Youth” in 1919:
Our men of learning do not understand science; thus they make use of yin-yang signs and beliefs in the five elements to confuse the world… Our doctors do not understand science: they not only know nothing of human anatomy, but also know nothing of the analysis of medicines; as for bacterial poisoning and infections, they have not even heard of them… The height of their wondrous illusions is the theory of qi which really applies to the professional acrobats and Daoist priests. We will never comprehend this qi even if we were to search everywhere in the universe. All of these fanciful notions and irrational beliefs can be corrected at their roots by science, because to explain truth by science we must prove everything with fact.[4]
Others, however, came to the defence of Chinese body cultivation and healing traditions. They claimed that these were actually scientific systems of knowledge; and as such, they should be preserved, further developed, and even promoted internationally. But they acknowledged that the way these traditions were practiced was usually mired in superstition: it was not uncommon for an acupuncturist to also compose talismans for his clients, for martial artists to perform invincibility rites that involved trances and ingesting magic potions, or for meditators to worship Daoist immortals and gods. This was simply because traditional culture made no distinction between what modern people call “religious” and “secular” or non-religious. The modern defenders of Chinese body traditions, however, were acutely conscious of such a distinction, and did everything they could to modernise the traditions, to expurgate all their religious and “superstitious” elements, and make them “scientific.”
Through these projects, a new discourse emerged in defence of what became the new categories of “national medicine” (guoyi國醫) and “national [martial] arts” (guoshu 國術): both of these traditions were reformulated as part of China’s “national essence” (guocui 國粹), priceless gems which, along with calligraphy and art, should be proudly preserved by any self-respecting Chinese. This discourse fit squarely within the new nationalism; it valued Chinese medicine and martial arts as much for their Chineseness as for their intrinsic therapeutic or combat value. National medicine and martial arts were thus to be “scientised,” with the goal of eliminating mystical and superstitious accretions, reformulating or reinterpreting classical theory in a manner compatible with science. In this system, occultism, mysticism, and magic were to be replaced by science—a science that would restore the original purity of the national essence, exemplifying the profound knowledge of physiology, mechanics, physics, and biology to be found in China’s native wisdom.
The government of the People’s Republic of China strongly supported these secularising projects beginning in the early 1950s, which it applied both to Chinese medicine and martial arts, and to the therapeutic traditions of minority nationalities, such as Tibetan medicine. It established large and prestigious hospitals and training academies for Chinese medicine, which could claim equal status with Western medicine. A nationwide system of training and tournaments was set up for martial arts. And meditation, breathing, and gymnastic traditions were promoted under the label of qigong. As a result of these secularizing projects, Chinese body traditions, including traditional Chinese medicine (TCM), taijiquan, and qigong, are usually seen as having nothing to do with religion, and are widely practiced both in socialist China and the West, by millions of people for whom the idea of a religious connection to these practices would never cross their mind.
It might appear, then, that these traditions have been successfully secularised, that they have nothing to do with spirituality or religion. And yet, the religious connection can never be entirely cut out. These body practices often, and unexpectedly so, become gateways into worlds of mysticism and religiosity. In the 1980s and early 1990s, for example, qigong was actively promoted by the Chinese ministries of health and sports, and even by some of the country’s top scientists and military leaders, as a cheap and efficient way to improve the health of the masses. But this led to a craze of trances and faith healing phenomena. The passage to religiosity is facilitated by the dense Daoist and Buddhist symbolism associated with traditional body technologies. Attempts to secularise the techniques cannot obliterate a millennia-long history of their being embedded in religion. The lineages of which many masters are the inheritors, the religious symbolism of the classical texts describing the techniques, and the magical content of the kung fu films and novels that permeate Chinese pop culture, all conspire to make the religious roots of Chinese body traditions resurface. Many of the most popular qigong masters and meditation methods openly draw on religious symbols.
Furthermore, people who practice Chinese body techniques often have experiences that don’t fit well with completely secularised worldviews. Indeed, it is not uncommon for qigong practice, for example, to trigger mental states and experiences that are difficult or even impossible to satisfactorily explain with materialist theories. These experiences include the sensation of flows of qi in the body, the sensation of receiving or emitting qi between persons, and visions and insights. The meaning of such experiences must thus be sought after elsewhere, usually through concepts derived from religious traditions. Thus, such practices draw the practitioner away from conventional materialist worldviews.
Through exploring the inner universe of the body and directing the circulation of its energies, entering mystical realms through trances and visions, and connecting themselves, through a master, to ancient spiritual traditions, practitioners may enter an alternate world. Here, the body becomes a receptacle and a conduit of traditional wisdom and mystical symbols. Hitherto unknown forms of energy inside and outside the body can be experienced, monitored, directed, and emitted, leading to a feeling of better health and, often literally, of heightened power. Chinese body cultivation traditions offer ways of personally appropriating and embodying this new world of knowledge, power, and experience.
People can engage in these practices for a variety of different purposes. For example, Chinese techniques such as taijiquan, the martial arts and qigong are all based on the same ontology of the circulation of qi in the body. But they can be practiced for simple health and healing, or for martial combat, or for spiritual transformation and transcendence. So, these practices don't fit neatly with clear-cut distinctions between the religious and the secular. It's hard to say they aren't "religious", because the "qi" energy they work with is not purely material, and is based on a cosmology rooted in the notion of Dao; the highest levels of practice involve, at some level, union with Dao -- a visceral connection with the invisible order of the universe, as I have defined religion. But it's also hard to say that these practices are religious, since many practitioners are not aware of their underlying cosmology, or don't care about it.
Many people therefore claim that these practices have nothing to do with “religion” and that they are actually quite scientific. This viewpoint has been widespread since the early twentieth century: as China came into intense contact with the West, and was defeated and humiliated in a series of wars against modern imperial powers, many Chinese intellectuals blamed China’s weakness on its traditions and superstitions. Traditional medicine and religious therapies were, they claimed, responsible for the poor health of the Chinese people who could not defend themselves against the aggressors. Chinese armies were no match for Western soldiers and artillery, and Western medicine—which was being introduced by Christian missionaries who established China’s first medical schools, in which many of the new intellectuals were trained— was seen as holding true and scientific remedies for illness.
For these critics, the solution lay in modernising China, and replacing traditional martial arts, body cultivation, and herbal healing with biomedical science and modern military drills, sports and physical education. One of the leading intellectuals of the time, Chen Duxiu (who was a founder of the Chinese Communist Party), wrote in his “Appeal to the Youth” in 1919:
Our men of learning do not understand science; thus they make use of yin-yang signs and beliefs in the five elements to confuse the world… Our doctors do not understand science: they not only know nothing of human anatomy, but also know nothing of the analysis of medicines; as for bacterial poisoning and infections, they have not even heard of them… The height of their wondrous illusions is the theory of qi which really applies to the professional acrobats and Daoist priests. We will never comprehend this qi even if we were to search everywhere in the universe. All of these fanciful notions and irrational beliefs can be corrected at their roots by science, because to explain truth by science we must prove everything with fact.[4]
Others, however, came to the defence of Chinese body cultivation and healing traditions. They claimed that these were actually scientific systems of knowledge; and as such, they should be preserved, further developed, and even promoted internationally. But they acknowledged that the way these traditions were practiced was usually mired in superstition: it was not uncommon for an acupuncturist to also compose talismans for his clients, for martial artists to perform invincibility rites that involved trances and ingesting magic potions, or for meditators to worship Daoist immortals and gods. This was simply because traditional culture made no distinction between what modern people call “religious” and “secular” or non-religious. The modern defenders of Chinese body traditions, however, were acutely conscious of such a distinction, and did everything they could to modernise the traditions, to expurgate all their religious and “superstitious” elements, and make them “scientific.”
Through these projects, a new discourse emerged in defence of what became the new categories of “national medicine” (guoyi國醫) and “national [martial] arts” (guoshu 國術): both of these traditions were reformulated as part of China’s “national essence” (guocui 國粹), priceless gems which, along with calligraphy and art, should be proudly preserved by any self-respecting Chinese. This discourse fit squarely within the new nationalism; it valued Chinese medicine and martial arts as much for their Chineseness as for their intrinsic therapeutic or combat value. National medicine and martial arts were thus to be “scientised,” with the goal of eliminating mystical and superstitious accretions, reformulating or reinterpreting classical theory in a manner compatible with science. In this system, occultism, mysticism, and magic were to be replaced by science—a science that would restore the original purity of the national essence, exemplifying the profound knowledge of physiology, mechanics, physics, and biology to be found in China’s native wisdom.
The government of the People’s Republic of China strongly supported these secularising projects beginning in the early 1950s, which it applied both to Chinese medicine and martial arts, and to the therapeutic traditions of minority nationalities, such as Tibetan medicine. It established large and prestigious hospitals and training academies for Chinese medicine, which could claim equal status with Western medicine. A nationwide system of training and tournaments was set up for martial arts. And meditation, breathing, and gymnastic traditions were promoted under the label of qigong. As a result of these secularizing projects, Chinese body traditions, including traditional Chinese medicine (TCM), taijiquan, and qigong, are usually seen as having nothing to do with religion, and are widely practiced both in socialist China and the West, by millions of people for whom the idea of a religious connection to these practices would never cross their mind.
It might appear, then, that these traditions have been successfully secularised, that they have nothing to do with spirituality or religion. And yet, the religious connection can never be entirely cut out. These body practices often, and unexpectedly so, become gateways into worlds of mysticism and religiosity. In the 1980s and early 1990s, for example, qigong was actively promoted by the Chinese ministries of health and sports, and even by some of the country’s top scientists and military leaders, as a cheap and efficient way to improve the health of the masses. But this led to a craze of trances and faith healing phenomena. The passage to religiosity is facilitated by the dense Daoist and Buddhist symbolism associated with traditional body technologies. Attempts to secularise the techniques cannot obliterate a millennia-long history of their being embedded in religion. The lineages of which many masters are the inheritors, the religious symbolism of the classical texts describing the techniques, and the magical content of the kung fu films and novels that permeate Chinese pop culture, all conspire to make the religious roots of Chinese body traditions resurface. Many of the most popular qigong masters and meditation methods openly draw on religious symbols.
Furthermore, people who practice Chinese body techniques often have experiences that don’t fit well with completely secularised worldviews. Indeed, it is not uncommon for qigong practice, for example, to trigger mental states and experiences that are difficult or even impossible to satisfactorily explain with materialist theories. These experiences include the sensation of flows of qi in the body, the sensation of receiving or emitting qi between persons, and visions and insights. The meaning of such experiences must thus be sought after elsewhere, usually through concepts derived from religious traditions. Thus, such practices draw the practitioner away from conventional materialist worldviews.
Through exploring the inner universe of the body and directing the circulation of its energies, entering mystical realms through trances and visions, and connecting themselves, through a master, to ancient spiritual traditions, practitioners may enter an alternate world. Here, the body becomes a receptacle and a conduit of traditional wisdom and mystical symbols. Hitherto unknown forms of energy inside and outside the body can be experienced, monitored, directed, and emitted, leading to a feeling of better health and, often literally, of heightened power. Chinese body cultivation traditions offer ways of personally appropriating and embodying this new world of knowledge, power, and experience.
For example, we can see how far Daoism goes in imagining the human body as a micro-cosmos of the entire universe. Here we have the Daoist “Chart on Cultivating Perfection” (xiuzhentu 修真圖), which paints the body as a spiritual landscape. We might say that the mindscape is applied to the entire body. Various points are centres of energy, such as dantian (丹田), the “elixir field”. Therefore, the idea is to be aware of and to visualise these important centres so as to create a mindscape around them. And various Daoist traditions go even further, by imagining those energies to be deities and spirits, with their own consciousness. Thus, the body becomes a landscape full of different mystical and mysterious powers. The idea is to get the energy circulating around the entire body, transforming and sublimating the basic substance of the body.
In the Daoist ontology of the body, there are actually three different kinds of energy. One is jing (精), which is translated as ‘essence’ in English. In its material form, it is related to blood and sperm, the substance of life. The second type of energy is qi (氣), which literally means “vapour”; its material expression is our breath. And the third type of energy is shen (神) or Spirit; its material expression is our mental activity. But all of these material expressions – sperm and blood, the breath; the mind – are related to a hidden, invisible, spiritual energy – the “pre-natal” (xiantian 先天) energies, those of the “uncarved block” from the pure spiritual state before we were born. This is what the Daoists refer to when they refer to jing, qi and shen.
In the Daoist ontology of the body, there are actually three different kinds of energy. One is jing (精), which is translated as ‘essence’ in English. In its material form, it is related to blood and sperm, the substance of life. The second type of energy is qi (氣), which literally means “vapour”; its material expression is our breath. And the third type of energy is shen (神) or Spirit; its material expression is our mental activity. But all of these material expressions – sperm and blood, the breath; the mind – are related to a hidden, invisible, spiritual energy – the “pre-natal” (xiantian 先天) energies, those of the “uncarved block” from the pure spiritual state before we were born. This is what the Daoists refer to when they refer to jing, qi and shen.
Through meditation exercises, Daoists seek to return to the state of the uncarved block by transforming those energies into ever subtle forms, from the post-natal state to the pre-natal state; and turning jing into qi, qi into shen, and then, turning shen back into the Emptiness (xu 虛) of the Dao (lian jing hua qi, lian qi hua shen, lian shen hai xu 煉精化炁,煉炁化神,煉神還虛). Through a series of transformations of the energies of the body, one transcends oneself and the universe to connect with Dao.
Indeed, in Daoist lore, such an adept would be able to escape death—not through the soul’s liberation from his body, as in most religions, but through a process of meditational discipline, by refining his powers and bodily substance to such a degree that it becomes ethereal and immortal, no longer subject to the limitations of space and time. These visions of spiritual perfection draw heavily on alchemical metaphors: just as the alchemist attempts to forge the “philosopher’s stone” — known in Chinese as the elixir of immortality (jin dan 金丹) —by combining various mineral substances, refining them and inducing their transformation into a new substance, so the “inner alchemist” mentally collects the various energies and substances of the cosmos and of his body—notably breath, saliva, and semen—directs their circulation, sublimates them into spiritual essences, and combines them in his body to produce the “golden elixir” of health and immortality.
This process of spiritual refinement is said to go through three stages: the first stage involves techniques for ending seminal emissions (for men) and menstrual flows (for women), thereby preventing the dissipation of vital essence. Through meditation techniques, the essence is circulated and transformed into vital energy (qi). The next stage involves, through other procedures, turning qi into spirit, and from thence, from the realm of the spirit, to return to the void. The process is thus one of transmuting the essential substance of the body, turning it into something increasingly ethereal, until it can no longer be affected by processes of decay and death. Indeed, it is said to reverse the process of aging, returning to a state of infancy and even beyond, to a state of pure energy that has not yet condensed itself into the physical form of the human body.
Those who have attained to immortality are said to have become a “perfected one” (zhen ren 真人), a “transcendent being” (xian ren 仙人). Connected with Dao, such beings aid the common people by curing the sick and the unfortunate. They do this either as living healers in this world, or, having become transcendent beings, they are worshipped as gods in temples, responding to prayers for health and protection.
In Chinese medicine, debates constantly rage over where to draw the line between the “scientific,” the “superstitious,” and the “religious.” At one extreme, there are those who want to look only at what can be observed and proven in the laboratory, and discard any trace of Chinese cosmology: study the chemical properties of Chinese herbs, for example, and isolate the active ingredients, extract those chemical elements, and manufacture them into pills that can be taken to treat diseases identified through biomedical diagnostic procedures. This approach aims to fit Chinese medicine into the naturalist ontology.
Others, however, claim that such an approach misses the entire point and efficacy of Chinese medicine: that it is the combination of different herbs according to carefully calibrated yin and yang properties as well as the Five Phases of water, wood, fire, earth, and metal; and that these calibrations are based on Chinese diagnostics, which look at how these properties are unbalanced in the patient. This approach aims to preserve the analogical ontology at the basis of Chinese medicine. And still others go further, insisting that divination practices, exorcism, and deity worship continue to be important elements of Chinese medicine.
Part of the problem here is that although Chinese ontology has a rational basis and need not include personified deities, it remains incompatible with the naturalistic ontology of modern science, which cannot admit the existence of qi, yin and yang or of the Five Phases, because they are neither observable physical substances, nor measurable physical forces. From such a perspective, they can only be considered to be metaphysical speculation or poetic metaphors – only subjective mental ideas; not a material reality. As a result, in spite of all the attempts to modernize and secularize Chinese body traditions, they have never been fully recognized or integrated into mainstream scientific thinking and practice.
Indeed, in Daoist lore, such an adept would be able to escape death—not through the soul’s liberation from his body, as in most religions, but through a process of meditational discipline, by refining his powers and bodily substance to such a degree that it becomes ethereal and immortal, no longer subject to the limitations of space and time. These visions of spiritual perfection draw heavily on alchemical metaphors: just as the alchemist attempts to forge the “philosopher’s stone” — known in Chinese as the elixir of immortality (jin dan 金丹) —by combining various mineral substances, refining them and inducing their transformation into a new substance, so the “inner alchemist” mentally collects the various energies and substances of the cosmos and of his body—notably breath, saliva, and semen—directs their circulation, sublimates them into spiritual essences, and combines them in his body to produce the “golden elixir” of health and immortality.
This process of spiritual refinement is said to go through three stages: the first stage involves techniques for ending seminal emissions (for men) and menstrual flows (for women), thereby preventing the dissipation of vital essence. Through meditation techniques, the essence is circulated and transformed into vital energy (qi). The next stage involves, through other procedures, turning qi into spirit, and from thence, from the realm of the spirit, to return to the void. The process is thus one of transmuting the essential substance of the body, turning it into something increasingly ethereal, until it can no longer be affected by processes of decay and death. Indeed, it is said to reverse the process of aging, returning to a state of infancy and even beyond, to a state of pure energy that has not yet condensed itself into the physical form of the human body.
Those who have attained to immortality are said to have become a “perfected one” (zhen ren 真人), a “transcendent being” (xian ren 仙人). Connected with Dao, such beings aid the common people by curing the sick and the unfortunate. They do this either as living healers in this world, or, having become transcendent beings, they are worshipped as gods in temples, responding to prayers for health and protection.
In Chinese medicine, debates constantly rage over where to draw the line between the “scientific,” the “superstitious,” and the “religious.” At one extreme, there are those who want to look only at what can be observed and proven in the laboratory, and discard any trace of Chinese cosmology: study the chemical properties of Chinese herbs, for example, and isolate the active ingredients, extract those chemical elements, and manufacture them into pills that can be taken to treat diseases identified through biomedical diagnostic procedures. This approach aims to fit Chinese medicine into the naturalist ontology.
Others, however, claim that such an approach misses the entire point and efficacy of Chinese medicine: that it is the combination of different herbs according to carefully calibrated yin and yang properties as well as the Five Phases of water, wood, fire, earth, and metal; and that these calibrations are based on Chinese diagnostics, which look at how these properties are unbalanced in the patient. This approach aims to preserve the analogical ontology at the basis of Chinese medicine. And still others go further, insisting that divination practices, exorcism, and deity worship continue to be important elements of Chinese medicine.
Part of the problem here is that although Chinese ontology has a rational basis and need not include personified deities, it remains incompatible with the naturalistic ontology of modern science, which cannot admit the existence of qi, yin and yang or of the Five Phases, because they are neither observable physical substances, nor measurable physical forces. From such a perspective, they can only be considered to be metaphysical speculation or poetic metaphors – only subjective mental ideas; not a material reality. As a result, in spite of all the attempts to modernize and secularize Chinese body traditions, they have never been fully recognized or integrated into mainstream scientific thinking and practice.
Holism and Virtue
Furthermore, Chinese medicine and qigong are often associated with attempts to create a new system of knowledge, one that would integrate the rational and the spiritual aspects of Chinese tradition into an all-encompassing, holistic wisdom. For example, one famous qigong master, Yan Xin, called for qigong to be seen as
[A]n ideal, all-encompassing form of erudition which includes multiple forms of knowledge, allows mankind to know himself and the universe, has an epistemology and a methodology, and contains a philosophy of life, of the world and of the cosmos [. . .] It is a complete scientific discipline. [. . .] [As a science of the mind, qigong requires one] to stay in an enlightened, virtuous and moral state of mind, nourished by a high ideal. The ancient qigong masters of high antiquity had already recognised that man, if he wants true happiness, must have a luminous and infinite inner heart, and be benevolent to men and things. […] The Ancients, in high antiquity, according to primary sources on qigong from 7000 years ago, [. . .] [emphasised the importance of] “being rooted in virtue” 重德為本 [. . .] Thus, the simultaneous training of both spirit and body is the most important characteristic of qigong. It is not merely mechanical gestures, nor the arduous but superficial training of ordinary martial arts, but a training of the inner spirit. It involves linking our thoughts to the great common aspiration of the whole world [. . .], to use our wisdom to harmonise all things in need of harmony. The greater our contribution, the greater our merit, and the higher our benefit; the bodily and spiritual benefit then becomes obvious. Thus, the concrete training of the body is of secondary importance.”[5]
As this passage shows, Chinese body traditions reinforce the tendency, already strong in Chinese culture, to experience the corporal, the emotional, the social, and the spiritual as a single undifferentiated holistic ontology. The practitioner is thus led to seek a globalising explanatory model, incompatible with the reductionist and analytical categories of biomedical science and the naturalist ontology. From health technique, then, these practices lead relatively easily to mystical experience and spiritual orientation. One passes easily from physical training to moral discipline and questioning on the meaning of life or the nature of the universe.
“Being rooted in virtue,” more than any set of techniques, is always considered to be essential to any serious nurturing of the body in the Chinese tradition. On the one hand, vital energy is strongly connected with the sexual urge and its sublimation into spiritual power; to avoid the dissipation of vital energy thus involves disciplining the basic instincts, harmonising the emotions, and living a moral life. On the other hand, transcending the ego through conforming to Dao or Heaven leads to increased spiritual power, which is expressed through virtue and health. Moral behaviour and Confucian propriety are thus integrated into Chinese cosmology. Man is seen as occupying a central position in the universe—between Heaven (yang) and Earth (yin), at the junction of yin and yang, containing within his body all the elements and powers of the cosmos. He must respect the yin and yang positions of authority and submission within the social hierarchy: the ruler is yang to the minister’s yin, the father is yang to the son’s yin, the husband is yang to the wife’s yin. If man’s behaviour does not conform to the moral principles of the cosmic order, the disruptions can reverberate throughout the cosmos and come back to him in the form of illnesses or bad luck. This was all the more the case for the Emperor in traditional China who, as the Supreme Man, was the fundamental pivot between Heaven and Earth. When the ruler’s body was not disciplined, corruption would spread in government, cosmic harmony would be disrupted, and calamities, wars, epidemics, and natural disasters would be the result.
[A]n ideal, all-encompassing form of erudition which includes multiple forms of knowledge, allows mankind to know himself and the universe, has an epistemology and a methodology, and contains a philosophy of life, of the world and of the cosmos [. . .] It is a complete scientific discipline. [. . .] [As a science of the mind, qigong requires one] to stay in an enlightened, virtuous and moral state of mind, nourished by a high ideal. The ancient qigong masters of high antiquity had already recognised that man, if he wants true happiness, must have a luminous and infinite inner heart, and be benevolent to men and things. […] The Ancients, in high antiquity, according to primary sources on qigong from 7000 years ago, [. . .] [emphasised the importance of] “being rooted in virtue” 重德為本 [. . .] Thus, the simultaneous training of both spirit and body is the most important characteristic of qigong. It is not merely mechanical gestures, nor the arduous but superficial training of ordinary martial arts, but a training of the inner spirit. It involves linking our thoughts to the great common aspiration of the whole world [. . .], to use our wisdom to harmonise all things in need of harmony. The greater our contribution, the greater our merit, and the higher our benefit; the bodily and spiritual benefit then becomes obvious. Thus, the concrete training of the body is of secondary importance.”[5]
As this passage shows, Chinese body traditions reinforce the tendency, already strong in Chinese culture, to experience the corporal, the emotional, the social, and the spiritual as a single undifferentiated holistic ontology. The practitioner is thus led to seek a globalising explanatory model, incompatible with the reductionist and analytical categories of biomedical science and the naturalist ontology. From health technique, then, these practices lead relatively easily to mystical experience and spiritual orientation. One passes easily from physical training to moral discipline and questioning on the meaning of life or the nature of the universe.
“Being rooted in virtue,” more than any set of techniques, is always considered to be essential to any serious nurturing of the body in the Chinese tradition. On the one hand, vital energy is strongly connected with the sexual urge and its sublimation into spiritual power; to avoid the dissipation of vital energy thus involves disciplining the basic instincts, harmonising the emotions, and living a moral life. On the other hand, transcending the ego through conforming to Dao or Heaven leads to increased spiritual power, which is expressed through virtue and health. Moral behaviour and Confucian propriety are thus integrated into Chinese cosmology. Man is seen as occupying a central position in the universe—between Heaven (yang) and Earth (yin), at the junction of yin and yang, containing within his body all the elements and powers of the cosmos. He must respect the yin and yang positions of authority and submission within the social hierarchy: the ruler is yang to the minister’s yin, the father is yang to the son’s yin, the husband is yang to the wife’s yin. If man’s behaviour does not conform to the moral principles of the cosmic order, the disruptions can reverberate throughout the cosmos and come back to him in the form of illnesses or bad luck. This was all the more the case for the Emperor in traditional China who, as the Supreme Man, was the fundamental pivot between Heaven and Earth. When the ruler’s body was not disciplined, corruption would spread in government, cosmic harmony would be disrupted, and calamities, wars, epidemics, and natural disasters would be the result.
Conclusion: what can we learn from analogical ontologies?
My discussion of Chinese body-centred spirituality leads to several problems. On the one hand, since these practices are based on a holistic and analogical ontology, it’s impossible to understand, describe and evaluate them according to a dualistic, naturalist ontology. The holistic and analogical Chinese ontology helps us to overcome the mind-body dichotomy of naturalism. As one student wrote last year, “I can’t believe how anybody would really believe in a naturalist operating system. Our body and mind are obviously connected together. There is no strong distinction between interiority and exteriority. How could anybody possibly make this division between the mind and the body?” But on the other hand, others raise the question of what sometimes seems to be the “total nonsense” that we find among practitioners and promoters of qigong and other analogical practices.
Then what should we do? How can we judge these ideas and practices? I think there is no simple answer to this question. But my own personal answer is that different ontologies all have their strengths, but also their limitations. Ultimately, different ontologies are only systems of ideas, words and concepts: objects of consciousness, that can give us insights onto reality – but reality itself can never be fully grasped by human understanding. Complete reality is far too complex to be understood by the human mind. Words, concepts, ontologies and operating systems can only give us a limited understanding. Both naturalist and analogical ontologies have their clear limitations. In different situations, either can be very strong for understanding certain aspects of reality. Each helps us by cutting up, explaining, and organising the relationships between parts of reality in a certain way. But although each is strong in one aspect, it can be very weak in another aspect. When you take your camera and you focus very clearly on one thing, other things in the landscape will become blurred – they can’t be captured. There is no ontology or mental operating system that could fully encompass and capture everything in reality. You can take one operating system that allows you to focus very strongly on one dimension of reality; but precisely by doing that, you will ignore another dimension of reality. For another dimension, maybe another operating system works better.
In today’s world in which we are exposed to so many different ontologies, we can learn from all of them. We can use them and try to find out in which situation one of them works better than the others. But none of them will work perfectly well in all situations, and it can be dangerous to use any one of them in an extreme and rigid manner. Perhaps different ontologies can be seen as complementary to each other. There are other aspects of this question, that we will consider toward the end of this course.
Then what should we do? How can we judge these ideas and practices? I think there is no simple answer to this question. But my own personal answer is that different ontologies all have their strengths, but also their limitations. Ultimately, different ontologies are only systems of ideas, words and concepts: objects of consciousness, that can give us insights onto reality – but reality itself can never be fully grasped by human understanding. Complete reality is far too complex to be understood by the human mind. Words, concepts, ontologies and operating systems can only give us a limited understanding. Both naturalist and analogical ontologies have their clear limitations. In different situations, either can be very strong for understanding certain aspects of reality. Each helps us by cutting up, explaining, and organising the relationships between parts of reality in a certain way. But although each is strong in one aspect, it can be very weak in another aspect. When you take your camera and you focus very clearly on one thing, other things in the landscape will become blurred – they can’t be captured. There is no ontology or mental operating system that could fully encompass and capture everything in reality. You can take one operating system that allows you to focus very strongly on one dimension of reality; but precisely by doing that, you will ignore another dimension of reality. For another dimension, maybe another operating system works better.
In today’s world in which we are exposed to so many different ontologies, we can learn from all of them. We can use them and try to find out in which situation one of them works better than the others. But none of them will work perfectly well in all situations, and it can be dangerous to use any one of them in an extreme and rigid manner. Perhaps different ontologies can be seen as complementary to each other. There are other aspects of this question, that we will consider toward the end of this course.
[1] Descola, Beyond Nature and Culture.
[2] Kaptchuk, The Web That Has No Weaver, 343–44.
[3] See Beinfield and Korngold, Between Heaven and Earth.
[4] Chen Duxiu, in Kwok, Scientism in Chinese Thought, 1900-1950, 65.
[5] Quoted in Palmer, Qigong Fever, 112.
[2] Kaptchuk, The Web That Has No Weaver, 343–44.
[3] See Beinfield and Korngold, Between Heaven and Earth.
[4] Chen Duxiu, in Kwok, Scientism in Chinese Thought, 1900-1950, 65.
[5] Quoted in Palmer, Qigong Fever, 112.
References
Beinfield, Harriet and Efrem Korngold. Between Heaven and Earth: A Guide to Chinese Medicine. New York: Ballantine Books, 1992.
Descola, Philippe. Beyond Nature and Culture. University of Chicago Press, 2013.
Kaptchuk, Ted J. The Web That Has No Weaver: Understanding Chinese Medicine. 1st edition. Chicago: Congdon & Weed, 1983.
Kwok, Danny Wynn Ye. Scientism in Chinese Thought, 1900-1950. Yale University Press, 1965.
Palmer, David A. Qigong Fever: Body, Science, and Utopia in China. New York: Columbia University Press, 2007.
Descola, Philippe. Beyond Nature and Culture. University of Chicago Press, 2013.
Kaptchuk, Ted J. The Web That Has No Weaver: Understanding Chinese Medicine. 1st edition. Chicago: Congdon & Weed, 1983.
Kwok, Danny Wynn Ye. Scientism in Chinese Thought, 1900-1950. Yale University Press, 1965.
Palmer, David A. Qigong Fever: Body, Science, and Utopia in China. New York: Columbia University Press, 2007.