Monday, November 25, 2024

Persian Name in a Bon History, Anenhar in Drenpa’s Proclamation



A figure with the very unusual name Anenhar (A-nan-har) is mentioned twice in the recently released translation of a late 12th-century Bon historical text, Drenpa's Proclamation (pp. 254-5). He’s visible in the beginning of section 70 entitled “The Tibetan Armies are Defeated.” The narrative is set in the third quarter of the 8th century, when Emperor Trisongdetsen, a new convert to Buddhism, decided to embark on not one but three foreign military ventures simultaneously (even in the best of times never a good idea):

Not listening to him either,

the king, ordering them to subdue the ‘Three Great Realms’

by means of Ch’ö,

(1) ordered Dré Pelgyi Lodrö

to subdue the realm of Tazik;

(2) (he) ordered the monk Anenhar

to subdue the empire of T’rom Gesar;

(3) (he) ordered the monk Dharmazhala

to subdue the empire of China.

Having thereupon suppressed the formerly auspicious Bön,

he performed various practices of Ch’ö

and adopted the ‘holy Ch’ö’ of India.

... ... ...

(1) First Dré Palgyi Lodrö conquered Tazik, (B 54b)
(but) the Four Citadels of the highlands were lost,
Badakshan and Utibuling revolted,
and Gongla in Tsang was vanquished by Mön.
(2) Then the monk Anenhar conquered Hor,
but Gagong and Yutsen were killed,
and the citadel Tsenpo Lich’ung was lost to Hor.
(3) Then the monk Dharmazhala conquered China,
but Ke’ushika revolted.

Remember that this is a Bön history, so the ill fortunes of the imperial armies can only be turned around by returning back to the Bön religion and once again seeking the help of the imperial gurlha guardian spirit. Many of the place names are not easily identified, so for now we will try to overlook them and focus our sights on the monk cum army commander by the name of Anenhar (A-nan-har). I would just say, because it is directly relevant, that the region he was meant to conquer is Khrom Ge-sar (here Hor means Uighurs rather than Mongols), and that would be just a general name for the Turfan Basin, the Anxi “Four Garrisons” region north of Tibet, in our modern times Xinjiang.

  • I ought to make my method clear ahead of time. Whenever I see a multi-syllabic Tibetan name or term with a final syllable difficult or impossible to etymologize within the Tibetan language[s], I strongly tend toward seeing it as a foreign borrowing. Then, even if the spellings of the first syllable[s] may on occasion look as Tibetan as can be, I would still suspect them of being ‘Tibetanizations’ (use of familiar spellings with relatively clear Tibetan meanings tending to naturalize the exotic syllables). I’ve found this to be productive in the past, as you might see in an earlier blog discussion of Tibetan name elements ending in the syllable -zi, explaining four such names — Ka-zi, Ga-zi, Mu-zi and Ya-zi — as being of Turkic (and possibly also Iranic), origins (see the postscript to this blog). I’ve discussed the noun kha-tham as Aramaic for ‘seal’ in yet another blog, and hope to write about the odd pre-Mongol-era vocabulary items ya-lad and dmu-yad before long. There is a method to what some may see as my madness.

The final syllable in question today with its different spellings does indeed look like some form of an ancient Zoroastrian concept xvar corresponding to Sanskrit śrī, with both the Persian and the Sanskrit terms sharing the meaning of ‘glory’ (the Tibetan, if you’re interested to know, would be dpal). So let’s start by looking at yet another proper name that ends with that same* final syllable. It is found not in a Bon text, but in a quite different textual context, one connected with the history of Tibetan Ch’an (Zen). Here it is not the name of a monk warrior, but rather a meditation teacher, Master A-rtan-hywer.
(? I’m not troubled by the different spellings for the time being, are you? P.K. reminded me that in the more ancient times Avestan hvar meant ‘sun’ and corresponded with Vedic svar, ‘sun,’ and would only later develop the correspondence in meaning with Sanskrit śrī.)


Click on image to enlarge


Brief Indications of the teaching lineage of Master Namkhai Nyingpo.

“As for the teachers, there was the Master A-rtan-hywer, knowledgeable in the Path of equality of [all] dharmas. He departed India and for the benefit of beings proceeded to the country of An-se.* Gathering around him some 300 disciples, he taught them how to access the meaning of the Great Vehicle. He took divine sustenance from the sky (i.e., from Namkha) and sated the hunger of his 300 disciples. When he achieved the age of one hundred, he passed beyond time** in the way of Ner-ban (nirvāṇa). The An-se King stroked his body and said, “Master, if you could teach so much Dharma for sentient beings, are you departing without teaching me even a few words?” Three days after his death he rose again. He then taught Dharma to the An-se King Kva-tsi-thang (Kwa-tsi-wang?) and passed beyond time.”***

(*The place name in Tibetan spelling An-se, Schaik interprets as Anxi, the relocating capital of the Four Garrisons region, its name moving with it. 
**I see the unusual phrase dus-las 'das as something associated with early scriptural translation literature. It may have originated as a calque of Sanskrit kālagata. It could well be translated less literally as ‘come to his end,’ ‘[whose] time has come,’ or just ‘died.’ 
***See Lalou's essay, p. 505-521 for the first published facsimile, with French translation. For an alternative English translation, see Schaik, Tibetan Zen, pp. 164, 170. For a modern edition of this text, see “Mkhan-po Nam-ka'i-snying-po'i Dge-ba'i-bshes-nyen-gyi Rgyud Mdor Bshad-pa,” contained in: Lo-paṇ-gyi Rnam-thar Phyogs-bsgrigs, Krung-go'i Shes-rig Dpe-skrun-khang (Beijing 2018), in 7 vols., at vol. 1, pp. 9-13. For a modern edition and study, you might consider reading the Chinese-language essay by Tshe-ring, listed below.)

I know what some of you are thinking right now, just because you are familiar with someone else who died and rose again after three days. We’ll leave that aside for now, and instead point out that some have already supposed this Tibetan A-rdan-hwar to be the well-known Persian name Ardašīr (founder of the Sasanian Dynasty who had many later namesakes). I am not convinced of this yet. I prefer to see the name as a direct and unmediated transcription from an Iranic language, with greater likelihood Sogdian, into Tibetan. Anyway, I'm finding myself convinced by what Mike Walter says in his well-informed discussion I warmly recommend to you. To read it, just scroll down further in today’s blog. 

I would just emphasize this: The presence of two Iranic names — one the name of a monk general* and the other a Ch’an contemplation master from India — both in three syllables, with their final syllable being -h[w]ar, is surely of some significance, and both names are connected with the same Anxi region. It isn’t likely either of them really came from “India” exactly, more likely Bactria or Sogdiana. Leaving the details as well as the wider implications to be worked out, today’s business has been completed, so I bid you all adieu.
(*The text uses variant spellings of the word bande. In Bon sources this could mean simply ‘Buddhist.’ Elsewhere in Tibetan sources it tends to mean an itinerant Buddhist ritual specialist or teacher who is likely not fully ordained, or just a layperson. It certainly resembles the Pāli term bhante, Japanese bonze, etc. The Tibetan term doesn’t carry with it the same high level of respect that the Pāli does.)


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Find me! Read me!

Bianca Horlemann, “Early Tibetan Toponyms. An Attempt to Identify 'Byi-lig of PT 116 and PT 996,” Xiyu lishi yuyan yanjiu jikan/ Historical and Philological Studies of China's Western Region, vol. 5 (2012), pp. 113-133, especially p. 114.

Per Kværne et al., Drenpa’s Proclamation: The Rise and Decline of the Bön Religion in Tibet, Vajra Books (Kathmandu 2023), in 656 pages. This is a full translation, with text edition and notes, of a never-before-translated 12th-century history of Bön composed by an anonymous Tibetan author.

Marcelle Lalou, “Document tibétain sur l’expansion du Dhyāna chinois,” Journal Asiatique, vol. 231 (1939), pp. 505-21.

Alexander Lubotsky, “Avestan xvarənah-: The Etymology and Concept,” contained in: W. Meid, ed., Sprache und Kultur. Akten der X. Fachtagung der Indogermanischen Gesellschaft (Innsbruck, 22.-28. September 1996), IBS (Innsbruck 1998), pp. 479-488.

Carmen Meinert, “A Pliable Life: Facts and Fiction about the Figure of the Chinese Meditation Master Wolun,” Oriens Extremus, vol. 46 (2007), pp. 184-210, particularly p. 191, where we find the spelling Ardasīr (A rdan hvar). What I see in Pt 116, at photo no. 88, is the complete name and title “Bsam-brtan-gyi Mkhan-po A-rdan-hwer.”

Sam van Schaik, The Tibetan Chan Manuscripts: A Complete Descriptive Catalogue of Tibetan Chan Texts in the Dunhuang Manuscript Collections, Papers on Central Asia no. 1 [41], The Sinor Research Institute on Inner Asian Studies (Bloomington 2014). On pp. 50-57 is an indispensable catalog of Pt 116, with Ch'an Master A-rtan-hwer mentioning his appearance under the spelling A-dha-na-her in Bsam-gtan Mig-sgron (1974 ed., p. 58, lines 5-6; Dylan Esler’s 2022 English translation not yet available to me). On pp. 76-78 is a catalog of Pt 996.

——, Tibetan Zen: Discovering a Lost Tradition, Snow Lion (Boston 2015). Artanhwer is mentioned on pp 48, 163-165, 170. At pp. 164-165 is the relevant discussion:

“The spelling of the master’s name (a rtan hwer) suggests that it has been rendered into Tibetan from Chinese characters that were attempting to transliterate a foreign name. One scholar has argued that it represents the Persian name Ardašīr, though this is difficult to substantiate. The first part of the name may represent the Chinese surname An, which would imply an origin in the region of Sogdiana. In any case, the lineage is first recorded in Anxi, the name of the Chinese command center for its western territories. This had been in Kucha until the late 680s, when Kucha was taken by the Tibetan army, and the Chinese moved the Anxi commandery to Qocho. Thus by the time of Artanhwer, Anxi may have referred to Qoco (Ch. Gaochang).”

Tanabe Katsumi, “A Study of the Sasanian Disk-Nimbus: Farewell to Its Xvarnah Theory,” Bulletin of the Ancient Orient Museum, vol. 6 (1984), pp. 30-34.

——, “Iranian Xvarnah and the Treasure of Shosoin at Nara in Japan,” Iranica Antiqua, vol. 23 (1988), p. 365. I haven’t been able to check this particular reference yet, but hope to do it in the new library soon.

Helmut Tauscher, “The Rnal 'byor chen po bsgom pa'i don Manuscript of the ‘Gondhla Kanjur’,” contained in: Deborah Klimburg-Salter, Kurt Tropper and Christian Jahoda, eds., Text, Image and Song in Transdisciplinary Dialogue, Brill (Leiden 2007), pp. 79-103, at p. 83.

W. St. Clair Tisdall, “The Mare’s Nest Again,” The Muslim World, vol. 4, no. 3 (July 1914), pp. 295-302. I list this antique essay here because I find clever and at times amusing its takedown of the Christian apologist hyper-vigilant to find every possible sign or trace of the life of Jesus (and of course the cross) wherever in world mythology they happen to be looking. Here, for instance, we learn that in Finnish mythology the savior was born of a virgin berry.

Tshe-ring, “A Research on the First Part of P.T. 996: mKhan po nam ka'i snying po'i dge ba'i bshes nyen gyi rgyud mdor bshad pa,” contained in: Shen Weirong, ed., History through Textual Criticism: Tibetan Buddhism in Central Eurasia and China Proper (Beijing 2012), pp. 3-22 [in Chinese, with English summary], with Roman transliteration of the Dunhuang text on pp. 4-7.



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All of the remainder of today’s blog is by Mike Walter 
who kindly allowed me to post here his valuable discussions.

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Notes on origins of Tibetan forms of names in text 


Michael Walter, Nov. 15, 2024

(References are found at the bottom of this brief disquisition, which I hope is not an imposition or uncomfortable as an inquisition.)

  The names could conceivably be transcriptions of either Sogdian, Bactrian or Khotanese, although the latter is an outlier. I’ve recently discovered that there were Bactrian Manichaeans in Turfan as well as Sogdian, and that Sogdians were a significant element of the population in Khotan (Dunkin-Meisterernst.2018; Zhang.2018 [no quote from latter]).

  As to the idea of a Chinese intermediary in the transmission of these names, that is always possible. However, the variety of transcriptions of /hwar/ in Tibetan which express both palatalization (y) and labial velarization (w) would not be expected from informants speaking the same language. It cannot be excluded that different written versions of these names were available and consulted. “An” may also have come from a written source as well as a spoken.

  This situation may have arisen in part through the frequent need of intermediary interpreters for communication among traders, attested at Turfan and other locations. This may also be a reason why there have not yet appeared any Sogdian terms in Tibetan—perhaps most Sogdian-Tibetan trade was effected using Chinese as an intermediary or with the aid of a Chinese interpreter. Since both Tibetans and Sogdians lived for quite some time in Dunhuang and Turfan, bilingualism involving the Chinese language must have been common, and nearly everyone would have understood what An/ 安 referred to. (There are two quotes concerning the name Anxi at the bottom of this statement. They support the pronunciation Anse and give a hint about the complicated employment of the term.) 

  Let’s begin with a-nan-hwar. I was immediately disabused of the notion that /hwar/ in these examples was a variant of far/farr/farn, because in all three above Iranian languages the f- is preserved (becoming the plosive ph- in Khotanese). [Gnoli.1999] Therefore, as you suggested, the only logical alternative would be hwar, Romanized identically in today’s transliteration of Sogdian. It has a long history in Iranian languages as meaning “sun”. Gharib’s dictionary of Sogdian provides only one meaning: xwr, i.e., xur, xwar, ‘sun’, the likely word here. I considered rendering xwar here as ‘brilliance’, because that is the metaphorical value for the sun in Iranian culture. However, ‘sun’ is also attested as the second element in two Parthian Manichaean names. [Cited below at Cereti.2008] The significant point here is that, because of its multivalence in Manichaeism, such as a being worthy of offering prayers to, the Sun was considered a god. This helps us make sense of these two names.

  The a-nan element may be resolved into An and Nana. I.e., this was a Sogdian from Anxi named in part for Nana, the most important goddess of Central Asian Iranians. Most Iranists believe she was neither a Buddhist or Manichaean goddess, but basically a deity of the Bactrians and Sogdians who became the city goddess of Panjikent. Yoshida considers her a goddess of the Zoroastrians with regard to the theophorism nnyprn, Nanaifarna. [Yoshida.2018.22]

  I am helped to this conclusion because, despite not affiliated with a major religion, Nana(i) ranks as one of the most common theophoric name elements attested for Sogdians in ancient sources. [Lur’e.2019.447]

  Therefore, this name is most likely to be read as An Nanahwar, ‘He who is from An, (a worshipper of) Nana and the Sun’.

  Now, as to /a-rtan or rdan-hwer/. First, let us postulate that the various forms of the second element provided here for both names represent the vagaries of scribes. As far as I can see, hwar is the only alternative among the variety here (-har, -hywar, -hywer, hwer) which can be matched with a meaningful term in Sogdian. Two variations given here may, indeed, be explained as variants of hwar which have undergone metathesis. [Yoshida.2016: “xwyr ‘sun’ < *xwarya- …”] So, again we are dealing with the Sun here.

  The t/d alteration is a common and ancient feature in Iranian languages, occurring as a dialecticism, a result of ambiguities in scripts, or simply an ad hoc variation. There are examples very similar to what we have here. [Justi.1895, cited below.] Justi also provides an ancient identification which corroborates your intuition, a venerable and noble name: Justi.1895.37 “Artanēs, from time of Herodotus”. The presence of the -n here is significant; the presence of an n is otherwise very difficult to explain in either sort of compound considered here, making Artanēs an even more likely choice. Originally it is the Greek form of the name of the brother of Darius. It seems to have developed the extended meaning “virtuous; doer of good deeds”, etc. Since Sogdians are already attested to have been part of the Achaemenid’s forces, there is well over 1000 years during which the Sogdians may have adopted this extended meaning. 

  Therefore, the name Artanhwar is most likely to mean, “Who (worships the) Sun and The Doer of Good Deeds.”

  How do we interpret such name forms? Comparisons with Sanskrit compounds abound in such onomastic studies. Most often mentioned for Iranian theophoric compounds are equivalents of dvandva and ṣaṣti tatpuruṣa formations. The presence of dvandva compounds in Iranian languages is rather recent and not without controversy. [Cereti.2008] However, the dvandva concept seems to fit these two examples, provided that the analysis of the meaning of har, hwar, etc. is correct—that the term refers to the sun. Thus, An Nanahwar could follow the examples at Cereti.2008, cited below. (Another reason to prefer this over “Sun of Nana” is that Nana is often iconographically shown holding the Sun and the Moon, making the meaning of “Sun of Nana” uncertain.)

  In any event, there is little likelihood that these are the names of Sogdian Buddhists, in particular monks. These names lack any reference to Buddhism. Also, some Sogdians who converted to Buddhism bore names beginning with Buti-, ‘Buddha’. [Yoshida.2006] This element is also lacking. However, as is so often the case, we cannot know this with certainty. E.g., consider the numerous ancient Buddhist writers who carried their Hindu names with them, such as Haribhadra or names with the element īśvara. However, the text is supposed to be mentioning the names of monks. This does not seem possible.

Historical note of some significance in Chen&Mair.2017.202: 

“… it would seem no less legitimate to characterize a nearly simultaneous socio-cultural import, namely the arrival of theophoric names in China during early medieval times, as the Iranisation of Chinese nomenclature. In a short timespan after the collapse of the Western Jin 晋 dynasty (265-316), all principal types of theophoric names found in the Near East, namely verbal-sentence, nominal-sentence, one-word, genitive-construct, and even hypocorism, were attested in China. The long-ignored historical fact is that the Iranians-Sogdians spearheaded the introduction of theophoric names into China.” 


CITED SOURCES

Dunkin-Meisterernst.2018:

“… the Bactrian fragment … is written in Manichaean script and is therefore the only surviving Bactrian text not written in Greek script. Since Greek script used for Bactrian is defective, for example, in not having a letter for the sound h whereas Manichaean script has a letter h and some other relevant features, the fragment is valuable for its script alone. But its value goes deeper. The fragment consists of a page from a book, folded to a small size, possibly for use in an amulet. It is direct evidence for a Manichaean book and for Manichaean literature in Bactrian and therefore a highly significant link in the chain of missionary endeavors that brought Manichaeism from Mesopotamia … in the third century CE to Turfan.”

Gnoli.1999:

“Among Middle Iranian languages it is attested in Sogdian farn, Bactrian far(r)o, and Khotanese phārra and then in the Digoron and Iron dialects of Ossetic respectively as farnä and farn “peace, happiness, abundance, fortune …”

Cereti.2008.5:

“In his article on Manichaean names, Sundermann (1994, 256) reports … MP Bārist-Xwaršēd “Paradise and Sun” and Wahman-Xwaršēd "Wahman and Sun.”

Yoshida.2006:

“Some Sogdians were converted to Buddhism and bear names beginning with buti- “the Buddha,” e.g.—one of the rare female personal names in the material—Fuzhitai (31) (*bʻi̯tu tie dʻai; Li and Wang, p. 180) = pwty-δʾyh “the Buddha’s slave [fem.].” It is interesting to note that these Buddha names are all attested only after the latter half of the 7th century. The fact seems to hint at the period when Sogdians were converted to Buddhism (Yoshida, 1998, pp. 40-41).”

Justi.1895.21:

“Ardām = Artames”. See also Harmatta.1994.402 (“Artanēs (read Aryandēs formerly) *Artāna- ‘righteous’ (cf. Avestan ar∂ta- above.)”

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES 

This list covers material quoted above as well.

Cereti.2008 “Copulative Compounds in Iranian Onomastics”

Chen&Mair.2017 “A "Black Cult" in Early Medieval China: Iranian-Zoroastrian Influence in the Northern Dynasties”

Dunkin-Meisterernst.2018 “Aspects of Multilingualism in Turfan as Seen in Manichaean Texts”

Forte.1996 “Kuwabara's Misleading Thesis on Bukhara and the Family Name An 安”

Gnoli.1999 “Farr(ah)” (Encyclopaedia Iranica)

Harmatta.1994 “Languages and Scripts in Graeco-Bactria and the Saka Kingdoms”

Justi.1895 Iranisches Namenbuch

Lur’e.2010 Personal Names in Sogdian Texts

Lur’e.2019 “The Pantheon of Sogdians from the Onomastic Viewpoint”

Rong.2005 “Name of the So-Called ‘Tumshuqese’ Language”

Yoshida.2006 “Personal Names, Sogdian. i. In Chinese Sources” (Encyclopaedia Iranica)

Yoshida.2016 “Sogdian Language i. Description” (Encyclopaedia Iranica)

Yoshida.2018 “On the Sogdian Version of the Lengqie shiziji and Related Problems”

Zhang.2018 “Sogdians in Khotan”

FURTHER NOTES (also by Michael Walter)

On dvandva compounds in Iranian languages

  On the plausibility that these are dvandva or dvandva-like compounds, see Cereti.2008, with Sogdian examples of the use of the Sun as a latter element in cmpnds (.5), Bactrian & Sogdian exx (.5), and a long list of dvandva there. He also asserts (.5n):

“… taking into account the fact that in Middle Persian farr/xwarrah is also personified, they may also be interpreted as copulative compounds, as done by Gignoux (1986, 82) for Farr-Mihr, Farr-Narseh and Farr-Ohrmazd, but curiously not for Ardaxšīr-Farr and Ardāy-Farr. In Bactrian we have βαγο-φαρνο, καµιρδο-φαρ, where καµιρδο (< kmṛda-“head, chief”) is used as the name or title of a god, φαρο-οαραζο, and φαρο-οηþο”, in the ostraka from Nisa we find Mihr-Farn and Nanē-Farnak, and in Sogdian we have *rwtprn, βnprn, βγyfrn/βγyprnw, k yprnw k yfrn, m xprn , myrprn xprn myrprn, nnyprn, nwyfrn/nwyprn nwyfrn/nwyprn nwyfrn/nwyprn, *pwtyprn *pwtyprn *pwtyprn, and tyšfrn; the latter taken from frn Weber 1972, 195-200, who, however, does not consider them copulative compounds.” .8 “Interestingly, copulative compounds are found also in other Middle Iranian traditions, chiefly in Parthian and Bactrian, but also, though scantily, in Sogdian.” [NB: The transcribed Sogdian titles cited here from Cereti have not copied correctly and are to be disregarded.]

On problems connected with interpreting and transcribing Anxi, see Yoshida.2006, general note on names of Sogdian clans:

  “All these surnames were collectively referred to as Zhaowu (jiu) xing (11) “(nine) surnames of Zhaowu,” because Sogdians were believed by the Chinese to have originated from Zhaowu, a town in Gansu; the number nine in this case seems to mean “numerous.” Among the seven surnames, Kang and An are the oldest and were attested already in the Han time. However, in the older days Kang represented Kangju (12), which denotes a nomad state once ruling the area including Sogdiana, while An is short for Anxi (13), a transcription of Aršak “Arsaces,” i.e., the Parthian state, dating back to the Han period. An Shigao (14), who came to China in the 2nd century and was alleged to be a Parthian crown prince, is the earliest example of An as a surname. Later, when Kangju and Anxi no longer existed, the names came to be applied to Samarqand and Bukhara respectively. The others began to be attested later in the 6th century. Mi (< Middle Chinese *miei), Shi (8) (< *ṣi), and Shi (7) (< *źiäk) are characters representing parts of their original names: Maymurg, Kesh, and Chach. However, the reason why Cao and He were selected is not known. Apart from the seven most common surnames, there were a few others, but only Bi (15) has been identified (with Paykent). It is also to be noted that the other six names, but not Mi, were also borne by non-Sogdians (see de la Vaissière, pp. 124-27). On the other hand, due to the intermarriage between Turkish peoples, one sometimes finds Sogdian names among those who bore the surname Zhe (16), which is generally assumed to be a surname of a Turkic tribe, e.g., (Zhe) Hutianpantuo (17) (Li and Wang, p. 113) = Xwatenvandak (xwtʾyn-βntk) "queen's slave."

Rong.2005.124:

  “In addition to the Chinese materials, this toponym has also been noted in the following sentence of the Tibetan Prophecy of the Arhat Samghavardhana published by F. W. Thomas: 

  "Likewise also the monks of Άη-tse, Gus-tig, Par-mkhan, and Śu-lig, after great sufferings, will go to the Bru-sa land." 

  “The places in this sentence have long been correctly identified by P. Pelliot as the following: Άη-tse = Anxi [Kucha), Gus-tig = Jushide, Par-mkhan = Bohuan, Shu-lig = Shule (Kashgar).47 [The form of Gus-tig/Jushide in this document corresponds perfectly with Maue's new reading of the word in Tumshuqese, i.e. güzdi.] 

  “The dating formulae of documents in Iranian languages from the Western Regions also suggest that the word gyäzdi- should correspond to the place-name Jushide. As a rule, the dating formula refers to the year of a certain king, the word for "king" being preceded by a toponym denoting his domain.”

Forte.1996.652 On An vs An-xi:

“In fact, as far as I know not a single Chinese work on surnames indicates that the origin of this surname [An-mlw] was in the Western country of An. Rather, all declare consistently and coherently--including the Yuanhe xing-zuan—that it derives from Anxi. In stating this, I am not maintaining that people from Bukhara were not named An, but only that the An family from Wuwei, according to Zhang Yue, the Yuanhe xingzuan, and other sources, came from the country of Anxi during the Han. I should also add that … I have not found a single case where people named An who are declared to be from Anxi can be proven to have actually originated in Bukhara.”

 

Thursday, November 14, 2024

Prayer Wheels, Odd Ideas and Even Odder


Look closely at this illustration, found in a brief chapter on Tartary published in 1741. Engraved by Bernard Picart (1673-1733), it is one of many found in a 7-volume encyclopedia Religious Customs and Ceremonies of All the Peoples of the World. The large central figure is supposed to be a deified ruler of the Tartars (read into the neighboring prose and you find this is supposed to mean the Dalai Lamas, but honestly I would have taken him for Vasco da Gama). Below the smoke billowing out of his matching incense burners are two figures. Figure B is labeled as a Lama saying his prayers, while C, the one I particularly want to point out to you, turns a cylindrical instrument on his cube. To put it in plain terms, one of them is praying, while the other one is there at his service, rolling a cylinder on a cube, as if there were a division of duties.

No need to tell an intelligent person such as yourself that the Wheel of the Tibetan Buddhists isn’t that way. Making this picture even more absurd, observe how the chain-and-ball governor shoots out at an odd angle. The workings of this mechanism are entirely lost on this artist as is Newton’s discovery of 1687. But I’m not eager to belabor the fact, and the engraving is oddly inaccurate in nearly every way: the architecture, the light fixtures, the hats, the outfits, the Chinese characters. Keep looking at it and you will find more and more.

It is still, in 2024, a little too early to award ourselves a good pat on the back, as if now we are all post-colonialist and have gotten over Orientalisms’ many downsides. Well, I’m fairly certain you have one of those few intellects that entirely transcend all ethnocentrisms, but if I may speak bluntly you are not everyone. There are still people around you more than willing to selectively (and, I have to say often absurdly) make this or that aspect of the Wheels practices fit or misfit within Judaeo-Christian ideational contexts. They are likely to find the association of prayer (okay, mantra recitation) with wheel-based mechanisms both intriguing and worthy of ridicule. Instead of looking further into the matter, they find their own ideas about prayer fortified by way of the perceived contrast. This is a textbook case of confirmation bias.  

It may be best to teach your children well, and hope you will never have to defend the use of Wheels to a Baptist pastor from South Carolina. But when it does happen, use it as a chance to practice patience and empathy, while inserting a little softness and doubt into the inevitable talking points. That may prove more beneficial for the both of you than just spinning in the same tired circles. Or rolling in them.


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To read more about what outsiders routinely call “Prayer Wheels,” see the publications listed in the 2020 Tibeto-logic blog entitled “Prayer Wheels Came from Where?” The true ulterior motive for posting today’s brief blog is just to send you to a larger bibliography that includes quite a wide variety of works about Wheels. The link is supplied below.

Frontispiece:  For the source publication, see the links conveniently provided at Hathi Trust:

Histoire générale des cérémonies, moeurs, et coutumes religieuses de tous les peuples du monde, représentées en 243. figures dessinées de la main de Bernard Picard, avec des explications historiques, & curieuses ; par M. l'abbé Banier ... & par M. l'Abbé Mascrier.

Should the engraver be somewhat forgiven because some meager description of the scene was all he had to work with when the engraving (or rather etching) was commissioned? Verbal descriptions are unlikely to result in realistic portraits. As much as you might want me to go into this art history problem, I’m not equipped for it at the moment. There are a lot of books written on 18th-century book illustration, so I recommend going to find them if that’s what you want to do with your precious human rebirth.

Finally, if you are wondering why in the world I would put up this feeble blog, it would be because I want to tell you about a new bibliography just today hung up on the website called Tiblical under the title “Wheel Bibliography.” Go and see it by clicking here:

https://sites.google.com/site/tiblical/wheel-bibliography

and feel free to copy-paste it into a regular file on your own personal devices. You may find a good use for it in the future. I wish it to remain up there on the internet as a resource for all the humans who hope to hone their understanding of humanity.



Wednesday, November 06, 2024

Skepticism toward Doctors

A fox usurper on the throne


“One who out of desire for material gain merely assumes the guise of a physician is a destroyer of life.”  

— Bshad-rgyud, ch. 31.


Even if it isn’t always transparent, people who know me and know my blogs know I always write in response to events in my life. That’s why I have to tell you right away, I am not experiencing any new health issues, certainly nothing life-threatening that I’m aware of. Health is the least of my worries (insert wry grin). 

It’s just that recently a family member told me about visiting a very impatient M.D. He wished nothing more than to chase people out of his office and cancel his appointments. It showed. So instead of carefully questioning and listening, instead of seriously seeking a diagnosis, he basically dismissed my close relative with the equivalent of ‘Go home, exercise more, and stop taking up my time!’ If you think about it, I imagine you would come up with similar examples of your own, times you were manipulated or managed instead of getting the attention and care you required.

I think we have good reasons to approach health professionals with skepticism or at least caution. After all, the human body is a set of complex systems interacting in ways that can be very difficult for anyone to predict. Just look into the chemistry that kicks into gear whenever food falls into a stomach. 

My previous General Practitioner took credit for things I did all on my own and of my own initiative. We could say that it doesn’t matter how a positive outcome actually comes about, yet what truly matters to the physician is how to take full credit for it. And I haven’t often had any of my problems resolved at their hands except minor ones like cyst removals or wound treatments. Much more frequently their advice and their medicines did nothing good. Is it because our expectations are too high, or because our ailments are so intractable? Awed by those craftily cultivated auras of authority built up out of questionable claims of success we readily hand over our power over ourselves. And this even when it is a fox sitting with pride on that lion’s throne.

At the risk of self-contradiction, we know that doctors have spent a lot of effort accumulating what knowledge they do have, so we shouldn’t just dismiss them. They can’t all be fake, can they? If by chance we happen to receive good treatments we are bound to appreciate it. Admit it, there are doctors located at every point along the spectrum from superbly good to unutterably bad.

While I worked on translating a 13th-century Tibetan work that criticizes bad doctors a few years ago, it didn’t occur to me to look into similar genres elsewhere. It practically goes without saying that some people everywhere would find reasons to complain about them. I only recently acquainted myself with a 1352 CE work by Plutarch, the famed classical revivalist, called Invective Against a Doctor. Petrarch’s work is framed as a critique of medicine as practiced in his day, all of it (this despite his protest*). The gist of it seems to be: That the secrets of the body are for divine intellect alone to know. Disregarding this truth, doctors mask their ignorance behind fanciful Latin terms to cheat people into thinking they know things. And if anyone brought about the deaths of as many people as they do, they would surely have to face legal punishments.

*Petrarch at one point vehemently denies he is attacking the entire profession (for the quote see the MARSH translation listed below). However, since he knows next to nothing about the life and practice of his addressee, he can in truth only speak in generalities.

I have to say, the Tibetans expressed skepticism against the bad ones for pedagogical purposes. Their skepticism was wasn’t just vituperative. They were all practicing physicians, and obviously not against the profession as a whole. They meant to convince future physicians NOT to do badly. That makes their words quite different in tone and in targeting compared to the Europe-cradled rhetorical tradition within which Petrarch figures so largely.

I would truly like to see more thinking about these kinds of issues in the various fields of Tibetology. When we compare we see things in common, and this allows the contrasts to appear all the more starkly. Is there some bigger message lurking here? Is Euro-American culture more prone to the dismissive type of cynicism and skepticism that says, Just toss the whole thing out the window? Is that some ponderous doctoral dissertation I see peeking in through the same opening? 

So many questions. And so little time. As the doctors of days gone by liked to repeat, “Life is short and the Art is long.”



They act like big know-it-alls without ever studying,

not even knowing the distinction between vital points and gsang-s,

overconfidently administering treatments.

Such physicians are simply madmen.

— The Tsangtö Teacher


Shot in the dark




Reading list for me and for you

Robert B. BAKER and Laurence B. McCullough, eds., The Cambridge World History of Medical Ethics, Cambridge University Press (Cambridge 2009). 

I can’t pretend to have read this encyclopedic tome, but for present interests I much recommend section 5: “Medical Ethics in Medieval Europe,” on pp. 373-375, part of the essay by Klaus Bergdolt, who died last year. This succinctly places Petrarch in a larger context of the European tradition.

 

BYANG-PA Rnam-rgyal-grags-bzang (1395-1475), “Advice to Physicians,” translated by Kurtis R. Schaeffer, contained in: K.R. Schaeffer, M.T. Kapstein & G. Tuttle, eds., Sources of Tibetan Tradition, Columbia University Press (New York 2013), pp. 480-484. The Tibetan title of the text is འཚོ་བྱེད་རྣམས་ལ་སྙིང་ནས་བརྩེ་བའི་མན་ངག་འཕྲུལ་གྱི་ཡིག་ཆུང་།


Andrea CARLINO, “Petrarch and the Early Modern Critics of Medicine,” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies, vol. 35, no. 3 (Fall 2005), pp. 559-582.


Stefano CRACOLICI, “The Art of Invective: Invective contra medicum,” chapter 16 contained in: V. Kirkham & A. Maggi, eds., Petrarch: A Critical Guide to the Complete Works, University of Chicago Press (Chicago 2009), pp. 255-262, 440-449. 

See p. 260, where we learn that Petrarch’s use of the invective tone was likely due not only to his professed concerns about the medical treatments being done to Pope Clement VI, but also the recent devastations of the plague (from 1346 to 1353), including the death of his own son, Giovanni. His vitriol against the medical profession and its failures had reasons to run deep. It wasn’t entirely rhetorical.


Christopher CRAIG, “Audience Expectations, Invective, and Proof,” chapter 7 contained in: J. Powell & J. Paterson, eds., Cicero the Advocate, Oxford Academic (2004), pp. 187-214. Open access at Oxford Academic website: 

https://doi.org/10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198152804.003.0008

I recommend this not only because it is freely available, but because it gives insight into the situated meanings of invective and vituperation, rhetorical moves far too familiar to us in both national and academic politics.


Penpa DORJEE and Dan Martin, “Verses on Good and Bad Physicians, Composed by the Tsangtö Teacher,” contained in: Charles Ramble & Ulrike Roesler, eds., Tibetan and Himalayan Healing: An Anthology for Anthony Aris, Vajra Books (Kathmandu 2015), pp. 529-541. 

This contains translation and discussion of 13th-century sets of verses by Gtsang-stod Dar-ma-mgon-po (BDRC no. P4987 dates him to the 11th, but no, he’s definitely 13th century). It bears an overall title that actually only applies to the initial set of verses: Arguments of Novices in the Medical Arts Rebutted, or, གསོ་བ་རིག་པ་ལ་འཇུག་པའི་རྩོད་སྤོང་།

 

David V. FIORDALIS, “Medical Practice as Wrong Livelihood: Selections from the Pali Discourses, Vinaya & Commentaries,” contained in: C. Pierce Salguero, ed., Buddhism & Medicine: An Anthology of Premodern Sources,  Columbia University Press (New York 2017), pp. 105-112.  

It seems early monk followers of the Awakened One were discouraged from practicing medicine, probably because of problematic situations that might ensue with the local lay community. Doctoring is a worldly profession, or at least has the danger of becoming one when payment is involved, making it a business unbefitting monastics. That monastics did for all that go on to practice medicine in various ways shouldn’t go without at least saying it.


Barbara GERKE & Florian Ploberger, “The Final Doubt and the Entrustment of Tibetan Medical Knowledge,” contained in: C. Pierce Salguero, ed., Buddhism & Medicine: An Anthology of Premodern Sources,  Columbia University Press (New York 2017), pp. 593-601.

If we recognize that there indeed are deplorable doctors, we can also admit there are people who should never be allowed to become candidates. This issue of unsuitable vessels who should not be entrusted with medical knowledge to begin with, is another one covered in the Four Tantras, in the final 26th chapter of the fourth tantra.


Virginia Teas GILL, “Doing Attributions in Medical Interaction: Patients’ Explanations for Illness and Doctors’ Responses,” Social Psychology Quarterly, vol. 61, no. 4 (December 1998), pp. 342-360. 

I’m sure there are more studies like this out there that come to conclusions about just how deferential we can be when we have to talk to our doctors (the author did a whole dissertation on the subject). There is an “unequal distribution of knowledge and authority.” As we know even without doing a study of it, we can never make it sound as if we know what our problem is, even when we do. The patient is a supplier of data that can be analyzed and given meaning only by the doctor.

 

LAMA JABB, “A Poem-Song on the Perfect Tibetan Physician,” contained in: Charles Ramble & Ulrike Roesler, eds., Tibetan and Himalayan Healing: An Anthology for Anthony Aris, Vajra Books (Kathmandu 2015), pp. 419-434. 

This example is by Sun of Men (མིའི་ཉི་མ་མཐོང་བ་དོན་ལྡན་ aka ལྷ་བཙུན་བྱམས་པ་དཀོན་མཆོག་རིན་ཆེན་), a Tibetan physician who flourished in the mid-15th century, based on an incomplete citation of it in a later work (this being the reason we have no title for it). It portrays the ideal physician, ignoring the bad. The author was asked to speak about himself, and does so in a way cynics are bound to hear as boastful. The author’s medical works are said to fill eight volumes, but as of today I haven’t learned of their publication.

 

William A. McGRATH, “Reconciling Scripture and Surgery in Tibet: Khyenrab Norbu's Arranging the Tree Trunks of Healing (1952),” contained in: C. Pierce Salguero, ed., Buddhism and Medicine: An Anthology of Modern and Contemporary Sources, Columbia University Press (New York 2020), pp. 94-99. 

The translated passage from Khyenrab Norbu (མཁྱེན་རབ་ནོར་བུ་) starts out with the bad ones, then goes on to speak of the good ones. In this 20th-century treatment of the bad ones we detect the more or less direct inspiration of the 12th-century Yuthok passage (listed below), so the two ought to be compared.

 

Francesco PETRARCA, Invectives, tr. by David Marsh, I Tatti Renaissance Library (Cambridge 2003), pp. 2-179.

“You should know that I couldn’t help laughing when I read your letter. How could you more clearly prove the truth of what you deny? You abandon your own territory to wander in someone else’s domain, thus placing in the greatest danger those patients who blindly follow your advice. You promise them the fruits of good health. But although they need action rather than words, all you give them are the immature flowerets of your worthless verbiage.”  [p. 3] 
“Thus, I have absolutely nothing against medicine. I have said this a thousand times, but apparently it doesn’t suffice. So if I seem to have spoken against physicians, I shout it out passionately so that the whole class of the learned may hear me. Against you alone, and men like you, have I spoken and will speak in what follows.” [p. 107] 

 

Lee SIEGEL, “How Many Vaidyas Does it Take to Change a Lightbulb?  The Satire of Physicians in Sanskrit Literature,” Bulletin d'Études Indiennes, vol. 3 (1985), pp. 167-193. 

This isn’t actually available to me, but to judge from the title it might well be relevant or, at the very least, hilarious.

 

Nancy STREUVER, “Petrarch’s Invective contra medicum: An Early Confrontation of Rhetoric and Medicine,” MLN, vol. 108, no. 4 (September 1993), pp. 659-679.


YUTHOK Yontan Gönpo (གཡུ་ཐོག་ཡོན་ཏན་མགོན་པོ་,1127-1203), “On Physicians,” contained in: K.R. Schaeffer, M.T. Kapstein & G. Tuttle, eds., Sources of Tibetan Tradition, Columbia University Press (New York 2013), pp. 282-291.  

This is an extract from Barry Clark, The Quintessence Tantras of Tibetan Buddhism, Snow Lion (Ithaca 1995), pp. 223-233. The same chapter can be seen in an alternative English translation, together with the Tibetan text, in The Explanatory Tantra from the Secret Quintessential Instructions on the Eight Branches of the Ambrosia Essence Tantra (བོད་ཀྱི་གསོ་བ་རིག་པའི་རྒྱུད་བཞི་ལས་རྩ་བའི་རྒྱུད་དང་བཤད་པའི་རྒྱུད་), Bod-gzhung Sman-rtsis-khang (Dharamsala 2008 [2011]), pp. 281-299. 

Primarily about good physicians — and probably the most important of texts for both prescribing Tibetan medical ethics and understanding it  — you will not fail to notice toward the end a few pages on the bad ones.


§   §   §


  • Today’s illustrations are both drawn from thangka painting no. 37 meant to illustrate Desi Sangyé Gyatso’s classic Blue Beryl commentary on the Four Tantras, more specifically his commentary on the Explanatory Tantra, chapter 31 (for translations, look just an inch above). It would be fun to look at this chapter and its illustrations more closely.


 
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