Richard E. Nisbett explains and illustrates the fundamental differences in East Asian and Western thought in The Geography of Thought: How Asians and Westerners Think Differently…And Why. He traces those differences back to our respective cultural/philosophical roots and the subsequent thousands of years of relatively independent societal development. That’d be the ancient Confucians for East Asia, and the ancient Greeks, notably the neo-Platonists and Aristotle, for the West.

Some of the major areas of difference are getting their own posts; it helps me sort this stuff out into my neatly arranged, mechanically-related Western categories.

The critiques I read say Nisbett’s strong on the “How Asians and Westerners Think Differently” part. He has international clinical studies to back up his analysis and as a well-known and respected social psychologist, he speaks authoritatively regarding insights from his particular academic domain. It’s the “…and Why” part that seems to draw the most criticism. He ranges over thousands of years of history, philosophy, and politics to produce a very neat explanation of how we got this way. Some people think he’s being too simplistic for the sake of convenience and should be more careful outside his particular area of expertise. However, since the list of academic awards he’s received over the last four decades is longer than your browser window, and I don’t have the academic perspective to evaluate those evaluations, I’ll just cut the ol’ boy some slack.

Posts on some of the major ideas are in the pipe.

Culture wars. You may or may not have noticed, but there’re a handful of rather influential cultures on this globe that don’t necessarily see eye-to-eye. What’s going to become of it all? What kind of world will our grandchidren live in? How will they think about whatever they have to think about? Will they see the world like we do, or like Asians do, or like Arabs do, or what?

Some political and social scientists, like Francis Fukuyama, actually argue that the West has already won and that eventually the whole world will be capitalist and democratic. Global politics, economics, and values will converge on Western characteristics more than anything else. Richard E. Nisbett characterizes this view in The Geography of Thought:

Everyone is really an American at heart, or if not, it’s only a matter of time until they will be.

I’m assuming that Fukuyama might say it a little different.

Not surprisingly, others, like Samuel Huntington and Nisbett, have issues with that. Huntington says that we’re on (over?) the brink of a “clash of civilizations” that is better attributed to irreconcilable differences of culture, thought process, and perspective, rather than to conflicting economic or political interests. Nisbett quotes Huntington:

In the emerging world of ethnic conflict and civilization clash, Western belief in the universality of Western culture suffers three problems: it is false, it is immoral, and it is dangerous.

The economic advances of the Far East and the demographic growth of Islam mean that the relative global influence of the West will decline significantly.

Nisbett proposes his own third option:

the world may be in for convergence [Fukuyama] rather than continued divergence [Huntington], but a convergence based not purely on Westernization but also on Easternization and on new cognitive forms based on the blending of social systems and values.

Now, I don’t think he’s just saying that in the future more hockey mom’s will take more yoga classes, Western doctors will prescribe more herbs, Western young people will get more mistranslated Chinese tattoos, and Western kids will buy lots of Hello Kitty (behold the Cult of Cute). Ever notice how certain Western world leaders and certain Islamic world leaders seem to talk past one another? Or that what “they” say makes no sense to us and what we say apparently doesn’t count for squat with them? “New cognitive forms based on the blending of social systems and values” – he’s talking about foundational differences in how people see and how they think about it.

I don’t have a clue which one of these three predictions, if any, will be more accurate. Our grandkids might, though. In the meantime, I think we’ll keep learning Mandarin, but I’m boycotting Hello Kitty.

I teach the youngest kids at our school, which is really fun…but can also be frustrating and trying, particularly in the first month or two when most of the kids are not used to an “English-only” environment and don’t understand a lot of what I’m saying. Nevertheless, it can be really funny too…as evidenced by “portraits of the teacher” that two of the students drew last week.

This was just an average day and an average coloring assignment until one of the students decided to spice up his picture quite a bit.

He said, “Teacher….this is YOU!” I looked at the picture and said, “Me? I don’t have a tail!” He said, “Yes, you have tail…and THIS! (pointing at the horns) and THIS! (pointing at the wings) and THIS! (pointing at the claws). I’ve had to be a little extra firm with him at times, and he’s lost a few breaks…so from his perspective, it’s probably an accurate portrait.

Another student saw his picture and decided to draw her own picture of the teacher:

As you can see, from her perspective, I appear pretty normal and nice. Granted, I don’t appear to have feet…but I don’t think that was an intentional thing. :D

So, am I the evil and wicked teacher that likes to eat small children? Or the sweet and kind looking (although footless) teacher?

Depends on the day, I suppose… or, the perspective of the student!

Pronounced: x? l? hu? l?
Means: “pitter-patter” – the sound of rain drops when they hit.

On the way to work we heard these strange sounds – one was like a really loud cell phone. Then we walked past a parked scooter with a parrot chained to the seat. It said hello to us in Chinese – “你好!” – and then made the cell phone noise again.

Crazy.

Pronounced: ch�u li?n
Literally: stinky face
Means: The Mandarin equivalent of a “dirty look,” as in, “Yang Mama told the lady to move her scooter, and she gave Yang Mama a ch�u li?n.”

We’ve kicked off our research practicum and anthropology readings, and that means a lot of cultural study. It’s one thing to read about East Asian worldview and thought process, but being able to read it and see it in action at the same time makes for an infinitely richer learning experience. The people and this place are starting – ever so slowly – to make sense. It’s such a blessing that our practicum supervisor is willing to invite us in to areas of the culture like this.

Observing Traditional Chinese Medicine
As part of our research practicum we have weekly debriefing interviews with our on-site supervisor to discuss our readings, research, and experiences. Tuesday he had an appointment scheduled with a traditional Chinese doctor and suggested that we come to observe the proceedings. We really appreciate him inviting us to something like this; aside from doctor visits being personal, he knows that Westerners typically look down on this kind of thing. It was also his suggestion to debrief over a hot-pot lunch afterward. That’s my style of education!

First Impressions

Walking in off the sidewalk, the smell of the medicine was the most immediately noticeable thing. It wasn’t bad at all, but it is distinct. We walked past the counter where they mix the various herbs and ingredients to a waiting area. The walls and doors were wood-paneled with a few calligraphy works here and there. A large TV was playing the Discovery Channel (it just happened that the one about the infamous penis-gourd tribe was on when we walked in). There were some nice woodwork designs in various places, beautiful orchids, a few technical-looking medical reports showing the effects of certain traditional medicines on patients’ organs, and a testimony board of people his treatments had healed – some that the western-style doctors had given up on. Judging from the appearance, this guy seemed to be doing pretty well. He’s been practicing for about 30 years and is considered a master.

Maybe 15 people were waiting. Everyone except for one teenage boy was grandparent age or older. Our supervisor was easily the youngest and strongest-looking patient. Pretty much all of them noticed us and our supervisor got some funny comments about coming in with wài guó rén. We ended up waiting for about an hour, so we had lots of time to ask questions and have him explain things. All of it fit with our readings.

Check-in

There are four aspects of a traditional doctor exam: observe, “smell” (in a multi-sensory kind of way), ask, and 切, which he couldn’t translate. First, at a desk in the waiting room, the doctor had him hold an electrode while touching another electrode to various places on his hands, wrists, feet, and ankles that correspond to internal organs. The readings from the machine were recorded on the form you see above – the columns indicate organs while the rows mark the reading. Feet, hands, and ears especially are said to contain these corresponding points: it’s not uncommon for people to address internal complaints with foot massage (apparently rather painful), or to walk barefoot on small stones in the park for health. Some parks have diagrams describing which parts correspond to what. It took the doctor about one minute to gather the readings he wanted and check his pulse (using both hands).

Contrasting Eastern and Western Medicine

After this the three of us waited for about an hour, during which time we saw a woman pay $11,000 NTD ($375 CDN) for a bag of herbal medicine. Our supervisor explained that unlike Western medicine, which seeks to isolate and treat a specific problem (“attacking the one place only”), traditional Chinese medicine is more concerned with addressing the environmental imbalances both inside and outside the body that are causing the problem in the first place. The substances within the body must be brought back into proper relationship, or balance, with each other, the body as a whole, and the daily environment of the person. Western medicine is more specific, discrete, “tunnel-vision”-oriented; traditional Chinese medicine is more contextual, holistic, and “big picture”-oriented. He mentioned that for surgery people will go to Western-style doctors, but for most everything else they want the long-term fix of the traditional approach. Traditional medicine prescriptions are slower to take effect, but are considered less harmful (more natural) and better in the long run.

I asked about a man there who was wearing a bracelet – a “niàn zhú” (sp?) – around his wrist that I knew to be a sort of talisman (he was the only one in there that I noticed had this sort of thing). Our supervisor drew a distinction between those kinds of things, which he referred to as accessories and religious business inventions, and Chinese medicine. You couldn’t buy things like that at the doctor’s office; that kind of thing comes from the folk-remedy shops in the night markets.

In the Doctor’s Office

His number finally came up. We followed him past everyone (and their stares and good-natured comments) and through the office door. Inside looked more like a regular office than an examination room. There was a desk to the left with an extra chair beside it, and two chairs off to the right backed by a large-ish atrium filled with plants and flowers. More orchids, too. Two thumbs up for atmosphere. We waited off to the side.

The doctor checked his pulse again with both hands. They talked and our supervisor said something to him about sleeping (so much for our listening comprehension!). The doctor had him stand up and turn around. While holding onto his leg, the doctor pushed with his thumb really hard along his spine. More questions and answers. He checked his blood pressure. After saying some more things and writing a prescription, we left.

The diagnosis? “The fire in your heart is too strong.” Chinese doctors have a bank of descriptive terms like this for specific conditions. Our supervisor described this as, “not overheating” but basically just too stressed and exhausted.

The visit cost $1,200 NTD ($41 CDN), and with the medicine (which he would pick up later) the total could easily hit $5,000 NTD ($170 CDN).

From there it was off to a hot-pot lunch before Jessica and I split for the 3pm English tour and the National Palace Museum.

Geeking out
Don’t you wonder how the heavily Confucian Tang dynasty (618-907 A.D.) could not only produce art depicting noblewomen playing polo but also China’s only female emperor? How can you be big on Confucianism and push women’s lib at the same time? Anyway, we made our second trip to the National Palace Museum in time for the English tour. There were four of us plus the guide, an Aussie, and we had a fascinating two hours. Doing that two or three more times should cement the general order Chinese history into our brains. And they change the exhibits every month!

Ah! Conflicted.

Our last grad classes are on – that means lots of reading and the end of my 92 day coffee fast. Is that long enough to make it Lenten? I don’t know. Anyway, after successfully proving to myself and the world for 92 days that I can choose to relinquish coffee entirely at any given moment, I had a couple cups. And even made it past the original end-date by a week. That’s not the problem.

I faced a dilemma this morning. Jessica – unrelenting coffee temptress in residence – made Starbucks (courtesy of Meredith).

I had to read for a while before work but was having no problem staying awake so I passed. I don’t want to drink it unless I need it or it’s a social occasion. But I don’t want to need it; drinking it when I need it seems like caving in. And if I wait for social occasions I’ll hardly get any. And in the meantime Jessica is going to be brewing Starbucks every morning for the next couple months.

This is compounded by a recent experiment involving Sunday mornings. Two Sundays ago (and coffee-free) I was nodding off bad during the sermon – a loooooong sermon – and I was nodding off the whole time. Not that I would have understood much if I’d been awake, but that’s not point. Last Sunday I had two cups before leaving the apartment and was wide awake the whole service and actually enjoyed the game of trying to decipher random words and phrases.

Ah! Life is so complicated.

Pronounced: zh? zh?
Means: spider

We found this, and more, on a recent hike up Elephant Mountain in which I had too much fun with the macro setting on the camera (click for photos). Creeps me out though… felt like slapping the daylights out of every slightest itch for the next half an hour. But that hike was our one break in a very busy two weeks or so. The latest:

• Chou-chou had worms, that meant a trip to the vet, and that meant we discovered just how much Chou-chou hates rectal thermometers.
• Some obsessive parents at the school are driving us and our boss insane. First time we’d seen him mad, actually. Nice to know he feels he doesn’t have to hide it from us, and the ensuing process of dealing with said parents is great experience in negotiating disagreement in this context.
• Our research practicum is arranged. Weekly (or so) debriefing meetings with our practicum supervisor will include weekly cultural experiences. He invited us to accompany him on his upcoming visit to a traditional Chinese doctor this Tuesday. Traditional tea houses, museums, temples, and other stuff are all in the works – definitely our preferred kinds of classrooms.
• Hundreds of thousands of people protested downtown last night again, demanding that Taiwan’s president step down. The subway was packed with people in red. Even their dogs were wearing red.

Anyway, more later.