There is a commonly used phrase in Chinese: 物极必反 wù jí bì fân – when things reach an extreme they turn and change. The phrase can be used as a warning, or a message of hope, but in the final analysis it is descriptive; it describes an observable process of nature, the cycle. Things can only go so far before a change has to occur.
Most traditional cultures recognise this as a core fact, but our modern Western culture, in the pride of its growing dominance around the world, acts like an arrogant adolescent. “There are no consequences!” all its actions shout.
“There are no consequences!”
However – the end of the world aside – this process of a cycle also applies in methods and styles of investigation, of learning about the world, of epistemology. More and more our preferred method of gaining knowledge relies upon technology, machines that extend our senses outward, that increase the raw calculating power of our brains, that manipulate things so tiny we could never perceive them without these extensions of our eyes, ears and fingers.
And this manipulation of the external world is fascinating (and profitable, don’t forget the profit), so fascinating that we forget that there are other ways of knowing.
These other ways are more personal, and do involve technology, yet these techniques are not external but internal to the person employing them. They too extend the senses, but not outward; this technology refines the inward sensing of movements and processes that are just as much a part of the world as the hydrologic cycle of rain or the movement of the planets, but they are known directly within the observer.
One interesting thing is that up until very recently, historically speaking, these two epistemological methods were not considered mutually exclusive. Goethe in the West is an excellent example of the combined use of both methods.1
Among others the Taoists in China were serious investigators of all realms, inner and outer. The early chapters of the Lei Jing suggest that the most talented of Chinese physicians may have accessed Taoist technology to enhance their understanding of the inner processes of the body, and thus take their medical abilities to new heights.
The other interesting thing is that the cycle that has afforded an absolute preference to the artificial “high-tech” sensory extensions may be close to its peak, and a change about to occur. One of the problems with the outward focused investigation is its tendency to proliferate detail in ever diffuse complexity, with difficulty apprehending the unifying factor, the central organising idea, its “wholeness”. This gives the process a sensation of cold lifelessness that patients (and the investigators themselves!) sense. It is also expensive, and for all its precision often quite slow: someone needing treatment right now might have to wait many days for “the tests to come back”.
One of the problems with the outward focused investigation is its tendency to proliferate detail in ever diffuse complexity. This creates difficulty apprehending the unifying factor, the central organising idea, its “wholeness”.
It may be time for the other method of epistemology to reappear and begin to restore the balance. This method is characterised by its apprehension of the linking of relationships, its unity, and this recognition of linking relationship often occurs in a flash of insight that not only knows what the problem is, but also how to rectify it.
I believe it is the place of Chinese medicine to offer access to this type of knowing, which will complement and balance (certainly not replace) those of artificial machine technology; that practitioners should have available training in the embodiment of the technologies that foster the flash of insight, the sense of wholeness, the understanding of relationships (medical, psychological and social). After all, the best of our predecessors seem to have been doing just that for centuries. Furthermore, since there is little doubt that our medicine has been shaped by the technology discussed above, its practice quite naturally urges the employment of those techniques for its complete expression.
A friend of mine with whom I used to discuss these things gave me a simple but classic example of how insight might work in clinic. A patient, he said, came to visit him and reported that her GP could not explain why her iron stores (ferritin levels) were low, while her haemoglobin was normal. Without any thought, he said, a possible explanation immediately occurred to him. “How are your stress levels?” he asked. When she reported extremely high stress levels, my friend explained that a probable explanation was the mobilisation of the blood stores to provide the ample supply that may be needed in a “fight or flight” situation. He was able to then use this hypothesis to guide his treatment.
Insight, the deep apprehension of how a system acts as a whole, the recognition of non-obvious linkages — these need not be the province of only a talented few, as techniques for training these skills exist and have been utilised for centuries. It is perhaps no coincidence that these techniques are also much more readily accessible now than they have been in the past, and this may be because we desperately need them.
What I mean is that even a modicum of experience with allowing the mind to settle and clarify itself will open up access to some of our quite natural and everyday abilities that are presently obscured by the continual distraction surrounding us. We don’t have to become “enlightened”, we just would benefit from becoming a bit more aware of the rich textures of life around and within us. And our patients would benefit, too.
Endnote
1. See Henri Bortoft, The Wholeness of Nature: Goethe’s Way Toward a Science of Conscious Participation in Nature, Lindisfarne books, 1996. Henri Bortoft has taught physics and philosophy of science. He did post-graduate work with David Bohm and Basil Hiley on the question of wholeness and quantum theory. About Goethe:
“It was Goethe’s belief that we should study nature and our world as people who are at home here, rather than as separate and alien from our own environment. He adopted a qualitative approach to science—one at odds with the quantitative methods of Newton, which were equally popular in his day. His is a sensitive science that includes our interrelationship with nature. Today, his ideas have been given special attention by scientists such as Adolf Portmann and Werner Heisenberg.”
The Fat Monk 