What We Teach vs. How We Practice

[Guest guest]

This is Part Two of a three part essay. Part One was posted on 12/26.

 

 

NOTE: I am a Chinese medicine practitioner of 20 years, beginning my

prescription of herbs in 1990, and acupuncture 5 years later. My

studies began in 1984. I also teach, both continuing education and

(until recently) to beginners. I have been the director of two

different AACOM accredited Chinese herbal programs at two different

schools. One of those programs was designed by me, and had a

significantly unusual format (perhaps more on this later), but AACOM

approved it with high commendations despite admitted initial

prejudice, so please know that the educational experience of which I

speak is NOT beyond mainstream standards. I have gifts as a

dramatist, and my class exercises and performance art allow many

topics of study to be more memorable and exciting than just reading

words from a book-- but the substance and basis of my teaching was

clearly recognized by AACOM as in alignment with the standards of the

profession. This conformity is not a result, in me, of any

compromise; it is part of the rigor of my work to be consistent with

commonly accepted fundamental understandings of Chinese medicine such

as AACOM recognizes.

 

(Just so you know that)

 

 

What We Teach vs. How We Practice

 

To a great extent, how we have been taught is reflected in how we

practice. To a significantly lesser extent, how we practice is

reflected in how we teach. Especially for experienced practitioners,

there is frequently a need to simplify our teachings for beginners.

 

This is an essay about the art-- and the perils-- of simplification

for the sake of education. The simplified tools for learning that we

give to our students can be stairways to greater and greater grasp of

nuance and complexity, or they can be cradles of fundamentalism.

 

Becoming a practitioner, and maturing as a practitioner takes place in

phases of development. Just a we would not teach children first

learning to read by introducing them immediately to James Joyce, there

are levels of subtlety and distinction available to experienced

practitioners that have no experiential correlate in beginners.

Premature exposure to excessive levels of complexity can render

students lost in chaos (or alternately, occasionally, filled with

hubris).

 

I think of how it was to study with Leon Hammer. At first my fingers

could only detect the most gross distinctions that Leon had indicated

as being present on the pulse. Trying to follow the full descriptions

of his findings was enough to make my head swim. When we had clients

who had severe cases of whatever it was we were supposed to be

detecting, it was tremendously helpful to the beginners. Over time we

became more proficient at noticing those same qualities when they were

less obvious by dint of being less pronounced, as well as embedded in

the complex context of other qualities.

 

Just so, for example, in my 5 Element training, at first I had no

ability to see the subtle hue around people's faces by which 5 Element

practitioners diagnose Color, and the voice tones were only

identifiable as one of the five Sounds when they were portrayed at

their most extreme. I was deeply grateful, though, for those

portrayals of extremes! It was in fact on a day when Diane Connelly

blew up at me in a rage that I saw my first Color: green. I cannot

remember now how I had so angered her; I can only remember, when her

fury was spent, being unable to respond beyond a pointed finger and a

triumphant squeak: " Green! I see GREEN! "

 

Over the years not only has green become easier and easier to see, but

now it is increasingly notable the distinctions between the strong

clear dark emerald of liver yin deficiency, versus the crocodilian

yellowy-green of damp heat in the gall bladder. It is debatable when,

or whether, it is even worth pointing this out to beginning students;

it took me many years to gain reasonable clinical reliability at this

level of nuanced perception, and with the exception of rare natural

talent, I do not expect it of new practitioners, let alone students.

 

Every teacher faces the dilemma of how much to teach-- and how simple

to make it. One of the biggest risks teachers run is the temptation

of what I call idiot-proofing. Idiot-proofing is the teacher's

attempt to remove all possible ambiguity from the subject matter. On

the face of it, this would seem to be a worthy goal. The price is the

sacrifice of fidelity to the richness of life's " rough edges, " as when

we " simplify " our music collection from vinyl analog recordings to

digital MP3s (more on this later when we come back to discussing

fractals). Also sacrificed is the development of the student's

capacity to respond flexibly and intelligently to ambiguity in a

clinical setting. Sun Ssi Miao says, " The practitioner must be

neither too confused nor too clear. " It is this capacity to recognize

ambiguity which later matures into the practitioner's finer and finer

grasp of subtleties in the treatment room.

 

Idiot-proofing usually happens more readily in larger classrooms,

where it is impossible for teachers to respond differentially to each

individual student's capacity for complexity at their current

developmental stage-- but it can happen anywhere. Certainly J.R.

Worsley's teachings are an example of the hazards of extensive idiot-

proofing, and the Barefoot Doctor tradition of Maoist China is a fine

example of the blatant and intentional idiot-proofing process. How do

I simplify this material enough that it can be grasped, at least in

its essentials, by " average " students? Better yet, how do I simplify

it enough that it can be safely practiced SOON, without long years of

apprenticeship?

 

Apprenticeship exposes even the beginning student to complexity and

nuance right from the beginning; the teacher does not simplify

treatments just so that the student will understand them! But when

teaching takes place primarily in the the classroom, divorced (at

least initially) from clinical reality, then simplification becomes

possible-- and becomes necessary.

 

The benefit of the simplification process is that students may much

more rapidly gain a conscious and clear sense of having mastered the

principles and methods of healing with Chinese medicine. The risk is

that ambiguity and nuance must wait until much later; and if the

practical simplifications of the student's education have not equipped

the student for that later exposure, then ambiguity may be experienced

as a threat, and nuance that lies outside of the accepted parameters

of the student's field of distinctions may be suppressed or ignored.

 

An unfortunately high percentage of Worsley 5 Element acupuncturists

function exactly like this: if it was not a part of their original

curriculum, and the data does not fit within the conceptual or

perceptual categories originally set up in their minds, then that new

data/new perspective is inadmissible, worthless, and wrong.

 

I must say that I have seen just as many TCM practitioners whose

ability to think outside of their own education's brilliant idiot-

proofing is just as rigid.

 

How do we teach simply and clearly without idiot-proofing? and how do

we recognize and step outside of our own (generally unrecognized)

fundamentalism?

 

As an educator, I have given a lot of thought to this matter of

necessary simplification without creating limiting conceptual " boxes "

in the minds of my students. I've had a lot of help in this from my

husband, Tom Gentile, also a practitioner and educator in Chinese

medicine. What impresses me most about Gentile's teaching style--

especially in the role of clinical supervisor for new acupuncture

interns-- is his ability to help the students find a sense of

confidence and competence in the treatment room, even in the midst of

more data than they are yet fully capable of organizing. How do I

grasp what is basic and essential here, without denying what is

ambiguous?

 

Gentile says to his students, " What you don't know about Chinese

medicine is infinite. What you don't know about Chinese medicine will

always be infinite. Stand in what you know, open to what you don't

know. "

 

Educating students to competence includes exposing them to enough

ambiguity, unknown and even chaos that they are comfortable with it.

A steady educational diet of overly clear examples and well-organized

lists of indications leaves students uncomfortable with the rich melee

of clinical reality. Observing clients from these very clear

conceptual categories, it becomes more and more tempting to close out

the chaos by considering admissible only data which fits into our

conceptual structures.

 

As educators, it is imperative to set the standard for the

acceptability of ambiguity by balancing our presentation of clear

examples and conceptual certainties with examples of unclarity, and

with glimpses into our own frontiers of incomprehension. To quote the

old saying, the map is not the territory. We must be excellent map-

makers, but we must also teach our students to be able to face,

recognize and integrate data that is not on the map. We must also pro-

actively demonstrate instances when the map is hard to read, or may

admit of more than one interpretation. We must actively seek out

instances when the accepted theory is hard to apply in a given case,

and allow the students to watch us struggle with a subtle or confusing

situation. Without these skills-- the skills of floundering in the

half-light until clarity comes, with our mind and senses open-- the

student never learns to venture into the realm of the ambiguous, where

over time, subtlety may be born.

 

Naturally there is an art to the time of this journey; we need the

security of clarity before we need the sensory and cognitive

expansiveness of exposure to the unknown. While educators often fear

this exposure to ambiguity if it comes too early in a student's

education, we must also fear lest it come too late. Premature

certainty forecloses the nuanced perception that otherwise leads in

time to mastery.

 

Early on in the educational process, when the student is most needing

clear maps of the terrain and the teacher most fears creating

confusion and unclarity in the student, the best antidote to idiot-

proofing is examples of anything that the teacher does not know, or

admittedly cannot explain clearly. To the extent that the teacher is

relaxed and at ease with the ambiguous, the unclear, and the unknown,

the student will also be. This is in no way indicates a laxness about

the pursuit of knowledge; it indicates a reciprocal rigor between

acknowledging what we know, and being aware of what we do not.

 

It is of the greatest benefit to the student's future path to mastery

for the teacher to indicate-- and thus sanction as part of the

learning process-- what lies in the half-light of our own discernment,

i.e. clear examples of what we ourselves are unsure about. In this

context there is no pressure for the student to be clear (as this

material will certainly not be on the exam!), and the unknown becomes

a secure and comfortable realm to explore.

 

As for stepping out of our own unrecognized fundamentalism, the same

words from Tom Gentile easily apply:

 

What each of us doesn't know about Chinese medicine is infinite. What

each of us doesn't know about Chinese medicine will always be

infinite. Let's stand in what we know, open to what we don't know.

 

 

Thea Elijah

 

_________________________

 

This is Part Two of a three part essay. Part Three is entitled " The

Analytical and Analogical Mind, " and will, with a bit of luck, be in

post-able form by the end of the week (right now it is just a

weltering mass of passionately scribbled phrases).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Guest guest]

Thea,

Thanks for sharing your teaching experiences and style.

 

I'm interested in ways to learn. You have a very unique way of " knowing "

the plants.

Could you share how you came to know the " personalities " of the herbs for

your classes?

 

I think it would be valuable to understand this process.

Few people are thinking about the 'five element' paradigm in relation to

Chinese herbs,

let alone the ways herbs make us feel on a non-physical level.

 

Some examples of herbs that are traditionally known to directly change our

emotional life and have a distinct personality (according to their given

names) include the ones in the Calm Shen category:

 

He huan pi : " bark of collective happiness " for depression

Yu jin : " constrained gold/metal " for depression

Yuan zhi: " profound will " for mental cloudiness

 

But, you have expanded this understanding to the other herbs in the

pharmacopeia,

which as far as I know has no precedent, except possibly through oral or

esoteric traditions.

The roots of this understanding are animistic and universal.

Western herbalism has a very rich understanding of the " spiritual " ways of

using herbs, through magical traditions. It's interesting that this aspect

of Chinese herbalism has not been discussed very much.

 

My interest is knowing these plants as living entities with both bodies and

spiritual characteristics. A concern is knowing how easy it is for us as

humans to anthropomorphize everything around us.... project our visions into

other beings... make the " I " an " it " .

 

In the old days, shamans would be the scientists of the spiritual layer of

reality, interpreting data for the rest of the clan. Today, scientists do

this for our global villlage, but on a purely mundane level. We don't put

faith in our priests today to translate the things of this world. We only

trust them to speak for things that are unseen and mysterious, not for the

plants and animals.

 

So, how do we assure that our visions or intuitions are not imaginative,

fantastic and conditioned by what we already know or want to be?

 

We can find meaning in anything and everything, draw lines, color them and

create a reality.

If we publish a book, tell enough people through teaching, create a culture

around it and let it develop for a few generations, then who would even

think about how this all started...

 

Thanks for replying... I know you've been thinking about these questions for

the past 20 years.

 

K

[Guest guest]

On Dec 29, 2009, at 11:23 AM, wrote:

 

> Thanks for replying... I know you've been thinking about these

> questions for

> the past 20 years.

 

 

I appreciate your asking, and I actually did reply the first time you

asked a couple of days ago--- and then trashed the response because

I realized two things. One is that we just don't have enough common

vocabulary yet for my answers to make sense. The other is because I

realized that I was feeling rushed. This is my own responsibility;

but I know that I do not say what I mean to say most clearly when I

have that under-the-gun feeling. I was feeling fine until actually I

think it was your post about LI 16 that sent me over the edge of

feeling like there were too many simultaneous threads going in my head

and I couldn't keep track of them all and also make dinner and do

laundry.

 

There are some very swift intellects in operation here on this list

serve. That is marvelously exciting. I am not that swift. I have a

kind of intelligence, but it is the kind that moves in the dark and

hunts for words to describe an idea. When I feel up against a wall,

what comes out is not from my most intelligent self. Thus I am not

ignoring your question, but I am aware that I have a limited mind of

limited speed, and I am taking it much slower. Naturally none of this

has any real urgency to it; please know that I have not dropped the

question if I do not respond swiftly. My mind is a lot more like a

crock pot than a razor blade.

 

Thea Elijah