And there are very great differences indeed which I was
totally unaware of when I was first invited to give a seminar on five element
acupuncture in Nanning
by Profession Liu Lihong . If I remember rightly, I arrived with only
very vague ideas as to who the people I was going to teach were, how many there
would be and how I would structure the seminar.
I had no idea at all about the level of knowledge of five element
acupuncture, or even whether those taking part in the seminar were already
trained acupuncturists, or would simply form the kind of audience composed
mostly of lay people I was often used to talking to in this country. With hindsight I am surprised that I had not
discussed all this in greater detail before setting off for China, but I think
I was basing my thoughts on a brief discussion I had had with Mei Long about
her introductory seminar in Nanning which gave Liu Lihong the incentive to invite
me. And in the photos Mei showed me it
was obvious that what was waiting for me was a small but very eager group of
mainly students or herbalists (Liu
Lihong is a qualified herbalist)
In the event I walked into a classroom of about 40 people in
the newly set-up centre of the Tong You San He Foundation in Nanning .
Half the group was composed of complementary medicine practitioners
(herbalists and some acupuncturists), and the remainder were a mixture of
interested lay people, including members of Li Lihong’s family. I was amused to see among these the guard
from the Nanning
compound which housed the centre, who would join us at intervals, obviously
listening with great interest to what I was teaching. Also among the audience were some of those
who were actively supporting Liu
Lihong in his attempts to set up what has
now become a highly successful Research Foundation focused on research into
traditional forms of Chinese medicine.
This has now moved to Beijing ,
and has also expanded into establishing centres in other Chinese cities.
Something which shaped my teaching very strongly became
obvious from the start. Unlike in this country everybody was steeped in an
understanding of the elements. All of
Chinese life is based on respect for the elements which are regarded as forming
an integral part of every aspect of how people conduct their lives. There was therefore no need to spend time on
starting my introduction to five element acupuncture with a description of the
qualities and characteristics of the elements, which takes up so much of every
five element course in this country.
What I quickly discovered, though, was that although the understanding
of the elements was based on extensive knowledge of the classics of Chinese
thought, such as the Nei Jing, it did not translate into the, to me, obvious
application of this to the actual practice of acupuncture. I came to see that what all Chinese
acupuncture students learn by rote, often reciting word for word whole passages
of the Nei Jing, remained completely separate from their acupuncture
practice. This was in contrast to five
element acupuncturists over here who can easily call upon many passages from
the Nei Jing to support their practice
After all, this forms the basis of much of Father Larre’s and Elisabeth
Rochat de la Vallée’s excellent
work in helping interpret these ancient texts in a form which makes them easily
accessible for our five element practice of today.
It became clear to me that what I was bringing with me into
the practice room for Chinese acupuncturists was providing a welcome link in
the chain of transmission from the ancient Chinese world to the present day, a
chain which had become weakened over the centuries. This has also been one of the unhappy effects
of the introduction of Western medicine into China , starting with the appearance
of Christian missionaries in the 19th century. Since then Western medicine has become ever
more dominant, to the extent that it has come to be considered superior to
traditional forms of Chinese medicine, which have been consigned to an inferior
role. It is against this background, therefore, that I started what I regard as
my important work in returning to its ancient homeland this most spiritual of
all acupuncture disciplines.
One of the most significant aspects of my teaching was
something which struck me very early on, and this was the astonishment many
students showed at seeing the emphasis we placed on the importance of the
personal relationship between our patients and ourselves. I realised that this emphasis on the
emotional aspects of a therapeutic relationship was something totally alien to
them, and something which disturbed them for its unfamiliarity. I remember one of the students, an
acupuncture practitioner of many years, who, after watching me talk to a
patient in front of the class, asked, “How can I learn to relate to my patients
as you did to this patient? I don’t know
how to do that.” And I remember
answering, “All you need to do is just be human,” which was perhaps a rather
inadequate reply but the best I could think of to help her at the time.
I also learnt a lot about how they viewed my approach as a
result of a comment made at the end of one of the first seminars. One participant started to cry, as she told
me that when I met her in the hotel lobby at the start of the seminar, “You
looked at me and smiled.” That helped me
understand that interpersonal relationships between teachers and pupils were
very different from what I had been used to with my own students in England . The emotional detachment which those in
authority exercise in every walk of life in China extends to the interactions
between patient and practitioner. To
break down this barrier has required some courage on the part of the Chinese
practitioners, for this brings up all kinds of personal issues which anybody
undergoing any form of therapy in the West is well used to acknowledge.
It therefore took quite some persuasion from me to encourage
students to step into the unfamiliar territory of their patients’ emotional
lives. Initially their presentation of
the patients they brought to the seminars covered only physical symptoms, but
gradually the more daring of them widened their approach to touch upon their
patients’ emotional problems. I was
therefore delighted to observe, after this my 14th visit, that every
practitioner now obviously discusses emotional issues as well as physical
complaints with their patients. In some
cases, practitioners concentrated almost exclusively upon these, which
represented a huge breakthrough in their approach to five element practice.
The cultural differences also extended to certain areas of
emotional life which I did not suspect, and so I found myself at my last visit,
all of eight years since my first, making what was obviously a deeply offensive
faux pas in joking about something which my European students would certainly
have joined me in laughing at. I was
talking about how patients often cannot acknowledge the cause of their
distress, and assume it is because of some physical disorder. I told them of a patient of mine who came to
me for help with severe back pain, and after some weeks of successful treatment
suddenly laughed and said, “I thought the reason I was coming here was for my
back. I now realise that it may well be
because I have not until now realised how much I dislike my father.” When I have told this story at our seminars
in England, citing this as evidence that physical complaints are often a safe
way of masking emotional distress, my listeners have laughed with me. In China , however, my words caused an
absolute silence to fall in the crowded seminar, and I knew that I had had made
some grave mistake. Asking my Chinese
friends about this afterwards, they explained that it would be considered
extremely rude to express such negative feelings towards a parent in this way,
family being such a powerful influence in every Chinese person’s life. In the West, where we are all conditioned by
many years of psychological exploration of our relationships with our families,
and where nearly everybody now has had some form of counselling help to explore
their “inner you”, negative feelings towards members of the family are almost
regarded as the norm and to be expected, and their expression often actually
encouraged. This taught me a great
lesson, and I won’t make this mistake again.
There were, however, surprisingly few tricky moments like this, considering the very different backgrounds my Chinese students have compared with their English counterparts. Instead, the common humanity we all share with one another, whatever our cultural differences, has shone through any slight misunderstandings or bewilderment at trying to take account of each other’s differing lifestyles and expectations.
After reading the above, Caroline, my Mandarin translator, sent me the following interesting comment: