Introduction to Tibetan Book Arts

The Tibetan world has an amazingly impressive book culture, truly different from what you find elsewhere.* I could think of no better way to illustrate it than with a few slides borrowed from His Holiness the Karmapa's own Flickr-stream for the 2017 Kagyü Mönlam. This annual event is held in Bodhgaya, at the site of the Buddha's Enlightenment. (*A note in advance:  What you will find in this and in a few planned future blogs are rewritten sections of a presentation recently given at an academic workshop on manuscripts. They share some of their subject matter with the article that will eventually be published, but should not be confused with the article.) 

Today will just be a brief verbal and visual introduction to Tibetan usages of books. We will emphasize understanding how books are situated among the holy items capable of being consecrated. The photos surely help with this. 

In the first picture you see monks (nuns and laypeople also participated) reading aloud. They are not reading in unison the same passage. Each one has his or her own set of pages from one scripture or another. The words of the Buddha blend together to become a uniform roaring sound soaring up into space. I suppose this is one major point in the reading ritual, since anyway most of the symbols of Buddha word are loud or roaring sounds that carry for a great distance, like the lion's roar or the beat of a drum, or the piercing tones of a bell or gong. I suppose each participant is understanding their own bit of text in their own way, but really, even given that intelligibility has its place, it isn’t given much space in this ritual-devotional context. If you want to start understanding what is going on here, forget your classes in reading comprehension and prepare to enter into a different reading economy.

I chose photos to demonstrate how young and old participate in the ritual.  Many will
recognize this particular monk as a well-known Rinpoche of the Kagyü school.  

In Tibet in our times you can observe many manifestations of laypeople’s respect for Buddhaword when, for example they use their katag scarves to take dust from books laying on their temple shelves — not so much motivated to remove the dust from the books as to take some home with them. And you see that often the Kanjur shelves are raised up over a meter above the ground. I suppose the reason for this may be to keep them beyond the reach of moisture from the ground or creatures that might disturb them. But laypeople take advantage of this by walking under the bookshelves, in a bowing position, as a way of receiving the blessings of Buddhas’ pronouncements. 

The bases of a great deal of Tibetan Buddhism, not just lay devotionalism, but also the most lofty flights of mystical as well as rational visions and speculations, are found in the idea of the Body, Speech and Mind of the Buddha[s]. We approach the world, and religious practice, through our body-speech&mind complexes, with the Buddhist aim not to sit there as passive, forever-submissive devotées, but to aspire to and eventually accomplish the task of becoming the ultimate Body, Speech and Mind of the Buddha. We could say people are supposed to use methods that make use of their ordinary body (movements, gestures), speech (recitations, mantras) and mind (aspirations, meditations) to achieve Body, Speech and Mind. Until that happens Buddhists go on paying respects to their future Enlightenment by showing reverence to representations (or icons, or receptacles) of Enlightened Body, Speech and Mind. Enlightened Body is symbolized as any kind of two- or three-dimensional image or a divine form of aspiration: drawings, paintings, statues. Enlightened Speech is represented primarily by the holy Volume that contains enlightened utterances. Enlightened Mind is most often represented by the Chörten (Sanskrit Stûpa), understood as a memorial for the Enlightened Ones (other objects, like the Vajra, may also be placed in the class of Mind receptacles). 

All three types of icons, when they are complete in all their parts, can and ought to be consecrated before offerings begin to be made to them, and consecration is mainly about setting things apart for use in worship and in religio-spiritual practices of still other kinds. Tibetans (unlike some Indian Buddhists of a thousand years ago) normally do not perform consecrations for such things as wells and bridges. These rites Tibetans reserve for Body, Speech and Mind receptacles exclusively. In Tibet the following fact is abundantly clear: books in the form of Volumes belong to the broad category of holy objects every bit as much as Chörtens and Images.  (Not to neglect the building that contains them, the Temple, which is more likely to receive the more elaborate and lengthy consecration rituals.)

This monk carries on his shoulder, in a procession around the Mahâbodhi Temple, a wrapped Volume with flower offerings visible on top. Also visible here is the labeling flap. Under the three layers of contrastingly colored brocade you would likely find a flap of white gauze-like cloth with a short title and/or key-letter inked into it. Essential for keeping a working library, this is the Tibetan equivalent of a library call number.

When the procession is over, the Volumes need to be carefully reassembled and readied before they are returned to their places on the shelves. Here you see how one monk, with the help of another, wraps the book up in its clothing (the same word námza is used for clothing offered to sacred images). The clothing is in fact just one of a set of four or five objects that I would call binding elements, although each of these also serves a protective function against environmental hazards, something I’ll try to convince you of in some later blog. There are a lot of rules and tips for properly wrapping the cloth around the book that I won’t go into (see the demonstration video linked below). It’s generally deemed important to have the top of the book remain on top throughout the process, and there are ways to ensure this. That way the title page will be on top when the book is shelved. 

For today I’ll just end by saying that Tibetan ways of binding up books have changed in some interesting ways during the last millennium (and more). The book-boards, although they are and were always made in pairs, one above and one below, have today been reduced to thin cardboard-like objects identical in length and width with the pages they cover. In older days these would have been made of wood, which was important for other reasons than just stiffening the package (we’ll get to that eventually), and the wooden covers would have extended out beyond the paper stack. Today the title label is a separate object inserted into the cloth as it’s being wrapped around the book. In older days it was an inseparable part of the (often stiffened) front title page. Also, today the book-wrapper ends in a strap, sewn to one corner of the cloth. In older days (and even today in some cases) the strap was a separate object, often more like a belt with a buckle, that was used to tighten the loose folio pages between the two wooden boards.

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Take a look somewhere else!

For more photos of the Kanjur Reading and Procession that formed part of this year's Kagyü Mönlam, look here. On the sounds that symbolize Buddha Word, look at this previous blog. The University of Michigan Museum of Art is at this moment putting on a show of remarkable examples of Tibetan book-boards (look here). The exhibit has the title “Protecting Wisdom: Tibetan Book Covers from the MacLean Collection,” and it runs only until April 2, 2017, so you had better hurry. For more examples of book-boards, go to this Himalayan Arts Resources page about them. If you need a tutorial about putting the clothing on books, try this 10-minute video. 

If you don’t master every detail all at once no need to be discouraged. Anyway, not every Tibetan is equally finicky about what must be done when putting on the clothing, and in fact I’ve noticed some important “tucking” motions are commonly overlooked, especially by those in a hurry. The important thing is not to allow yourself to get overly neurotic about it. It’s best to see how a number of people do it before you develop our own style, at the same time trying to understand why all these things are done to begin with. If something isn’t found to have good rationales, you really do not need to do it. My home Tibetan library includes a few hundred pecha volumes, and I admit, I could do a neater job of it with a little extra effort. Although some might think it odd, I even use pecha wrappers when I’m traveling with books bound in your typical Euro-style, as they can prevent damage. And relax, it’s no wonder if you sometimes think a third hand is required when you see that even experienced monks need a little help sometimes.

Some Euro-American types are overly used to using the words binding or bound to mean only things sewn up in signatures, but they need to be disabused of this notion. Tibetan (as well as Indian) books are nearly all in fact bound even when the pages are (supposedly, according to Eurocentrics) “loose.” Tibetans make use of what I call binding elements, like the cloth and the strap, and I’ll say more about them another time, even attempt to explain their rationales. I may even go into their history a bit by looking at some thousand-year-old sources that practically everyone has ignored until now, sources belonging to the Bon religion.

The Wikipedia entry for “pecha” is brief and not bad as far as it goes. Better if you read this page on Tibetan book production.

Although woodblock printing (xylography) isn’t exactly on topic here, you might be interested in a recently uploaded English translation of an essay by the recent Tibetan scholar Dungkar Rinpoche; the PDF is here.

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For the Tibetan language lovers, learners and knowers, here is a set of vocabulary items used in this blog (if you are looking for a more complete and technical list, try this page at Dorji Wangchuk’s website, entry for June 1, 2013):

Bodhgaya → Dorjé Den རྡོ་རྗེ་གདན་
body → lü ལུས་
Body → Ku སྐུ་
Bön → Bön བོན་
book-board → legshing གླེགས་ཤིང་
book-strap → legtag གླེགས་ཐག
book-wrapper (clothing) → namza ན་བཟའ་ or peré དཔེ་རས་
Buddhaword → Ka བཀའ་
Chörten → Chörten མཆོད་རྟེན་
consecration → rabné རབ་གནས་
Dungkar Rinpoche → དུང་དཀར་རིན་པོ་ཆེ་
Kagyü Mönlam → བཀའ་བརྒྱུད་སྨོན་ལམ་
Kanjur → Kangyur བཀའ་འགྱུར་
katag → khadag ཁ་བཏགས་
labeling flap → dongdar གདོང་དར་
mind → yid ཡིད་
Mind → Tug ཐུགས་
pecha → དཔེ་ཆ་
receptacle → ten རྟེན་
speech → ngag ངག་
Speech → Sung གསུང་
Vajra → Dorjé རྡོ་རྗེ་
Volume → Legbam གླེགས་བམ་
woodblock print → par པར་

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Added on (March 22, 2017):

Just out: this New York Times story about the Derge Printery, one of the largest printeries that continues to produce traditional Tibetan books: Edward Wong, “Printing the Ancient Way Keeps Buddhist Texts Alive in Tibet.” One correction: It’s body, speech and mind, not ‘body, mouth and mind.’ I’ve seen this unfortunate translation elsewhere, especially in Zen translations from Japanese, but that doesn’t make it right.

Wheel Turning Mouse

I was perfectly relaxed this morning, leisurely absorbing a fascinating article by Minoru Inaba on the subject of From Kesar (see our blog entry "From Gesar"), a Turkic king of the general region that included Kabul in the early 8th century. The first item Professor Inaba brings forward in evidence is a stone stele with a curious inscription. It tells of Śubhakarasiṃha's journey to China, where he finally arrived in 716 CE. After passing through Kashmir where he levitated his way over an unfordable river, he visits Uddiyana (see “Swat's Good Feng Shui”), and what he finds there is “a white mouse which was spinning the wheel and gathering donations everyday.” 


There is no indication of how the author — evidently Li Hua or some other disciple of the famous Indian esoteric Buddhist master — felt about this mouse or its whiteness, nothing to elucidate what kind of wheel it was spinning, no explanation how it merited religious veneration in the form of donations. Donations of what? Things written in stone tend to be glib, chiseling is hard work after all. For myself at this very moment, so is using the computer keyboard, so I'll make this brief.

Wait, I can read your thoughts and they are saying ‘Why in heaven’s name would a cult of a white mouse find itself so worthy of the traveler's attention during his brief stay in the homeland of Padmasambhava in the Swat Valley known to Tibetans as Orgyan?’  My thoughts exactly. 

The human mind loves puzzles, but at the same time finds them so discomforting that it will reach for practically anything to come up with a solution. One idea did occur to me, although I don't have the least idea if it is going to turn out to be correct or not (for that I would need your help or hindrance). Let’s see how far it can go. Perhaps ‘mouse’ or ‘white mouse’ is actually a personal name that for better or worse got translated somewhere along the way. In Indic languages the usual word for mouse is something like muṣa. As many Tibeto-logicians know, the name of Moses (called Musa in Arabic, and Moshé in Hebrew) in the Kālacakra Tantra was dutifully rendered into Tibetan as Byi-ba meaning mouse (see Hoffmann's article). Now here is the big What if! What if the mouse appears here in stead of a name for someone with a name similar to that of Moses, or just similar to any old word for mouse?

Here’s a guess that seems to roughly suit the time and place. It could be Jabir. Jabir appears in Tibetan sources as Dza-ha-pir (and the like) in association with particular long-life alchemical practices that were passed on in Tibet. Of course he is the one called Geber in European alchemical tradition, so he seems to have been or become renowned over a huge part of Eurasia. He has no exact birthdates, although as can be known from a quick web search, he is guesstimated to have lived from 721 through 815. He may have been Persian by birth, but in any case ended up in Khorasan (in what we now call Afghanistan) after the Abbasid revolution ended in 750. Mike Walter has published three amazing essays about the Tibetan sources on Jabir. To these I refer those who wonder, as many do, why that could even be possible.

In a world where we are slowly but surely, if resistantly, growing accustomed to Trumpian paralogistics, I can forgive you if you’re thinking this doesn’t tread water. Just let me add that Musa (for Moses) does appear in Jabir's full name: Abu Musa Jabir ibn Hayyan, meaning Jabir, Father of Musa and son of Hayyan. 

Okay, I tried. But I must admit I haven’t convinced myself that it was Jabir who was ‘turning the wheel’* in Oddiyana when Śubhakarasiṃha was passing that way in the early 710’s. The timing may be close, but not close enough for comfort. And like most puzzles, the solution even if it were established, which it isn’t, brings with it more puzzles. So this is where I appeal to you, dear friends, to write in with your cogent explanations and your bright ideas. There must be sense in this I’m still not able or willing to see.

(*For Tibeto-logicians that is just a nice metaphor that means teaching Dharma... or could it mean ruling?)

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Referrals

Helmut Hoffmann, “Kālacakra Studies I: Manichaeism, Christianity and Islam in the Kālacakra Tantra,” Central Asiatic Journal, vol. 13 (1969), pp. 52-73, with the discussion of Moses and mice on p. 58. 

Minoru Inaba, “From Kesar the Kābulšāh Kingdom,” contained in: Michael Alram, et al., eds., Coins, Art and Chronology II: The First Millenniun C.E. in the Indo-Iranian Borderlands, Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften (Vienna 1999), pp. 443-454.  Try "academia.edu." On p. 448, the reign dates of From Kesar (or if you like me prefer the form From Gesar) are more or less determined to be from around mid-730’s until 745 when he was succeeded by his son Bo Fuzhun.* 

(*Obviously a name that comes to us by way of Chinese sources, not that there was anything Chinese about him).

Silvio Vita, “Li Hua and Buddhism,” contained in: A. Forte, ed., Tang China and Beyond (Kyoto 1988), pp. 97-124. Inaba makes reference to it. This could have the answer to the mouse mystery for all I know (since I can’t get access to it from where I am).

Michael Walter, “Jâbir, the Buddhist Yogi I,” Journal of Indian Philosophy, vol. 20 (1992), pp. 425-438.

——, “Jâbir, the Buddhist Yogi II: ‘Winds’ and Immortality,” Journal of Indian Philosophy, vol. 24 (1996), pp. 145-164.

——, “Jâbir, the Buddhist Yogi III: Considerations on an International Yoga of Transformation,” Lungta [“Cosmogony and the Origins,” guest edited by Roberto Vitali], vol. 16 (Spring 2003), pp. 21-36. 

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Last word:

Nature does not open the door of the sanctuary indiscriminately to everyone … No one may aspire to possess the great secret, if he does not direct his life in accordance with the researches he has undertaken. It is not enough to be studious, active and persevering, if one has no firm principles, no solid basis, if immoderate enthusiasm blinds one to reason, if pride overrules judgment, if greed expands before the prospect of a golden future …  Jabir ibn Hayyan.

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Afterword (May 16, 2017):

Now you had better move on to reading the comments section, where a revised translation gives the puzzling passage a different spin!

Channels = Veins, Nerves & What, Sinews?

I was planning a blog about chakras, but something else came up. I was reading Janet Gyatso’s translation and discussion on the typology of bodily channels that is findable in the Explanatory Tantra* when a remarkable parallel dawned on me, slowly. I have no intention to detract the least bit from Janet’s accomplishment. Quite the contrary, it is my fondest desire to send you off to read it so you will see for yourself how amazing it is. However, she uses that particular quote from the E.T. as a springboard to go into intricately nuanced studies of the historic discussions linking medical channels with those known from canonical Buddhist tantras. This problem occupies much of the heart of her book, while I spring off in a different direction.

(*One of the famous Four [Medical] Tantras, the Rgyud-bzhi. Although they do have the word tantra in the title, they do not form a part of the canonical Buddhist tantras. Confusing? Bear with us.)

Right now my finger joints are torturing me (perhaps tendonitis?) and I hope to avoid spilling a lot of my very limited keyboard energy. Instead I’d like to stop right there with the 3rd category of veins, called connective channels, since I noticed something very interesting, strongly suggesting what many will find a surprising connection with Byzantine or Graeco-Arabic medicine of the Hippocratic school. The four major categories are 1. formative channels, 2. evolving channels, 3. connective channels, and 4. lifespan channels. 

Now for no. 3, the connective channels, I quote the passage from the Explanatory Tantra, ch. 4, according to the official Mentsikhang translation (truncated just because at this late hour I think you and I will prefer something shorter):  

“The interconnecting channels are of two: white (nerves) and black (blood vessels) channels. The blood vessels having its main trunk branch upward to form twenty-four major blood vessels. These channels are responsible for the formation and development of blood components and muscle tissues. These twenty-four channels consist of eight major deep blood vessels, which are connected to the vital and vessel organs, and sixteen superficial blood vessels that are connected externally with the head and limbs... 

“The brain, being the base of the nervous system, is like vast ocean of channels from which the spinal cord descends like a descending root. There are nineteen peripheral nerves which are responsible for all physical mobility. Out of these, thirteen concealed nerves are connected with the internal organs like suspended silk cords, whereas six visible nerves which further branch into sixteen minor nerves are connected with the outer limbs.”

To unpack a bit, here there is a concern to distinguish structures visible on the surface, as many veins are, from those that are buried in deep tissue, and normally invisible. But note right away that in place of “sixteen minor nerves” we will probably prefer to read sixteen minor water channels (chu-rtsa phran-bu bcu-drug), although I suppose we could then argue that in this medical context, chu ought mean not just water, but bodily fluids in general. I suppose...

But wait one minute. Yonten Gyatso, in his review of Barry Clark’s translation of this passage criticizes him for translating chu-rtsa as tendons or as ligaments. The reviewer finds no reason that ligaments should appear in the context of channels, and there is indeed something puzzling about this. However, I would point out, there is a word chu-ba that means ligament, and the sixteen minor chu-rtsa are really and truly explained as connective tissues for bones* in the medical dictionaries available to me.  They even enumerate them, siting them in wrists, elbows and other joints.

(*Whether these sinews be tendons or ligaments, such are liable to be confounded in any language. In my understanding rgyus-pa should mean the tendon that connects muscles to bone, while chu-ba means the ligament that joins bone to bone. I have several hefty Tibetan-Tibetan medical dictionaries, but I’m too lazy to list their titles here. In her book, at pp. 229 and 447, Gyatso puts forward the correct spelling for the word for tendon as not chu-ba, but chus-pa, throwing us ever so slightly off track. No, the correct spelling is not chus-pa, and Yes, the chu in chu-rtsa is not the chu meaning water, but the chu that is short for chu-ba, so there is really no good reason to go on using the translation water channel.)

It would seem — I claim no expertise for myself — that in the Hippocratic Corpus there are three main classes of channels: phlebes meaning mainly the blood vessels, neura, the ligaments & nerves, and poroi for the irregular on-and-off valve-like openings for draining excess fluids. On these, see Craik’s article, especially p. 107.  

Taking down my Liddell & Scott, I find that the word neura in Greek means “a string or cord of sinew, a bowstring” (in Homer, Hesiod, etc.). The Latin for neura is nervus.

I think you will remember this the next time someone says you are high-strung or about to snap. We’re all a little neurotic sometimes, although I hope you’re not thinking I am as much as I fear you are.

But seriously, in both Greek and Tibetan medicine, it looks as if we are meant to understand that [1] sinews — those most connective of connective tissues, [2] nerves, and likewise [3] blood vessels, are all about connecting things. Has this never occurred to you? 

Or, to cut this short since I’m low on energy and you have demonstrated enough patience by now, I’ll just conclude with a summation: A long-influential strain of early Greek-style medicine had in common with the official bible of traditional Tibetan medicine a tendency to classify the sinews and the nerves together, or what might be saying the same thing, they had some trouble distinguishing them. This general point, while I believe it will hold true, does require finessing, should you feel so inclined to go into it with the necessary detail and rigor. Feel free and stress-free until next time, my friends.

Notice the "suspended silk cords" or tassels
hanging directly down from the brain
(with no detour via the spinal column)

Good to read just so you’ll know:

E.M. Craik, “Hippocratic Bodily ‘Channels’ and Oriental Parallels,” Medical History, vol. 53 (2009), pp. 105-116.  Try this link.

Frances Garrett & Vincanne Adams, with assistance from Jampa Kelsang, Yumba and Renchen Dhondup, “The Three Channels in Tibetan Medicine, with a Translation of Tsultrim Gyaltsen's A Clear Explanation of the Principal Structure and Location of the Circulatory Channels as Illustrated in the Medical Paintings,” Traditional South Asian Medicine, vol. 8 (2008), pp. 86-114.

Janet Gyatso, Being Human in a Buddhist World: An Intellectual History of Medicine in Early Modern Tibet, Columbia University Press (New York 2015).

I.M. Lonie, “Medical Theory in Heraclides of Pontus,” Mnemosyne, 4th series vol. 18, no. 2 (1965), pp. 126-143. Interesting for its treatment of the poroi, Lonie takes you into a Greek medical world no less fascinating and surprising than the Tibetan.

D. Martin, “An Early Tibetan History of Indian Medicine,” contained in: Mona Schrempf, ed., Soundings in Tibetan Medicine: Anthropological and Historical Perspectives, Brill (Leiden 2007), pp. 307-325. It reveals the existence in Rome of the lost medical history by Che-rje dating to very close to the beginning of the 13th century. Neglected in this study is any notice of the closely contemporary parallel sketch of medical historical pluralism in the Four Tantras itself:  See now Janet Gyatso's book, at p. 150, and see also the Mentsikhang's edition and translation of the Subsequent Tantra, at p. 295 (listed here below ↓ under “Yuthok”). This passage, quite oddly, attributes pulse and urine diagnostics to Tibet’s own indigenous medicine, even when we now can say there are sure indications that the former was largely informed by Chinese medicine — the Four Tantras actually make use of borrowed Chinese technical terms in this context — while the latter, urinalysis, has clearly dependent connections with Graeco-Arabic sources on that subject.

Wendy McDowell, “Medicine’s Unique Ways of Knowing: An Interview with Janet Gyatso,” Harvard Divinity School Bulletin (2016), go to this link.

Plinio Prioreschi, A History of Medicine, Volume Two: Greek Medicine, Horatio Press (Omaha 1996), p. 262:

“The Hippocratic physician knew very little of the nervous system; nerves were confused with tendons and ligaments and the word neuron meant tendon or sinew.”

Yang Ga (Dbyangs-dga'), The Sources for the Writing of the Rgyud bzhi, Tibetan Medical Classic, doctoral dissertation, Harvard University (Cambridge 2010). Here a number of connections are made between Tibetan and Greek medicines in fields of wound treatment, uroscopy, and so on. I should add that he finds many connections with Chinese and Indian medical systems as well. I notice, too,  that on p. 309 he translates chu-rtsa as “tendon-like channel.” For Graeco-medical urinalysis, Yang Ga drops the name of Theophilus (7th-9th century CE sometime), but see also R. Yoeli-Tlalim, who located impressive parallels elsewhere in the literature.

Ronit Yoeli-Tlalim, “On Urine Analysis and Tibetan Medicine's Connections with the West,” contained in:  Sienna Craig, Mingji Cuomu, Frances Garrett & Mona Schrempf, eds., Studies in Medical Pluralism in Tibetan History and Society, International Institute for Tibetan and Buddhist Studies (Halle 2010), pp. 195-211. In this article Ronit discusses Isaac Israeli, aka Isaac Judaeus (ca. 850-950 CE), a Jewish Egyptian-Tunisian medical writer, who composed his works in Arabic. His work was subsequently translated into Hebrew and Latin and became among the best known works on the subject in both the Middle East and Europe. The outline he supplies for his systematic treatment of urinalysis closely matches the outline of the urinalysis section in the Tibetan medical text the So-ma-ra-dza (Tibskrit for Somarâja, “King of Sleep,” an epithet of cannabis).

Yonten Gyatso, review of Barry Clark, The Quintessence Tantras of Tibetan Medicine, Snow Lion (Ithaca 1995), contained in Tibet Journal, vol. 28, no. 3 (Autumn 2003), pp. 97-106, and particularly p. 103, where the passage on the nerves is dealt with. The author is a contemporary figure in the field of Tibetan medicine, well-known for his herbarium project.

Yuthog Yonten Gonpo, The Basic Tantra and the Explanatory Tantra from the Secret Quintessential Instructions on the Eight Branches of the Ambrosia Essence Tantra, translated into English by the Translation Department, Men-Tsee-Khang Publications (Dharamsala 2011), the 2nd edition, in 337 pages; at pp. 62-65 you will find the main discussion of the channels. I find it interesting that this official publication gives the authorship credit without comment or discussion, since this has been a point of contention for much of Tibet’s history (see chap. 3 in Janet Gyatso's book). The cover page doesn’t distinguish the Elder from the Younger Yuthog, but we may learn from the Preface (p. v) that the Elder composed, while the Younger rewrote, the Four Tantras. As of today I believe it is quite sure and well established that the Four Tantras were put together in circa 1200 CE and that there never was an Elder Yuthog. So although it no longer makes sense to call him by this name, the Younger Yuthog (perhaps with aid of his immediate students) is to be regarded as the author/compiler of all of it.

Yuthok Yonten Gonpo, The Subsequent Tantra from the Secret Quintessential Instructions on the Eight Branches of the Ambrosia Essence Tantra, tr. into English by the Translation Department, Men-Tsee-Khang Publications (Dharamsala 2011).

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Afterwords:

If you want to try an experiment, go to this website and use their search-box to find “nerves” or “tendons” and see how they are seemingly identical (or confounded?) in a number of Hippocratic works.

The frontispiece, derived from the famous 17th-century medical illustrations that feature so largely in Janet Gyatso's not only well-written but beautifully produced book, is not actually meant to illustrate the channels themselves, but rather the pulses that indicate particular types of disorders. Don’t be surprised if I tell you that the Tibetan word rtsa means both channel and pulse. (Not every channel pulsates as much as the other, but well, I guess you got my point.)

From the pavement of Santa Catarina, Sinai.
We’re all interconnected, you betcha!
Look into it & you’ll start seeing things.