As Sheets-Pyenson’s work demonstrates, in addition to encouraging a certain
economy of explanation, comparison discourages triumphal writing, for in any
historical comparison, even the most successful example carries less than desirable
traits. (Otto Neugebauer remarked, for example, that while Babylonian science
was clearly more sophisticated than Egyptian science, he would certainly have
preferred to live in Egypt over Babylon.) Comparison cautions enthusiasm. Early
in the 1980s, Joseph Needham published his Ch’ien Mu Lectures at the Chinese
University of Hong Kong. The book is an accessible meditation on science East
and West, continually comparing figures, inventions, and understandings. To cite
one of a very great many examples, Needham holds that “the centralised feudal
bureaucratic style of social order was in the early stages favourable to the growth of
applied science”. This social order, controlled by the shih, or scholar-bureaucratic
meritocracy, departed from the “aristocratic military” feudalism of the West, and it
permitted grand enterprises like the “Big Science” of the twentieth century:
Chinese society in the Middle Ages was able to mount much greater expeditions
and much more organised scientific field work than was the case in any other
society of that time. A good example of this is the survey of the meridian arc
carried out early in the +8th century under the auspices of I-Hsing ... and the
astronomer Nankung Yüeh. This was a geodetic survey covering a line no less
than 2500 km long, ranging from Indo-China to the borders of Mongolia. At
about the same time an expedition was sent down to the East Indies for the
purpose of surveying the constellations of the southern hemisphere within
20° of the south celestial pole.
He reviews the complex development of gunpowder, concluding: “While gunpowder
blew up Western military aristocratic feudalism, the basic structure of Chinese
bureaucratic feudalism after five centuries or so of gunpowder weapons remained just
about the same as it had been before the invention had taken place.” He reconsiders
the origin of Islamic alchemy, observing Chinese antecedents in macrobiotics and
the invention of automata. Needham concludes: “Arabic alchemical theory was a
marriage between the Taoist idea of longevity or immortality, brought about by
the ingestion of chemical substances, and the Galenic rating of pharmaceutical
potency, in accordance with the krasis, the mizaj, and ‘adal — the balance of the
four primary qualities, the natures.” The attempt of Jabir ibn Hayyan to create life
in an alembic is the union of Chinese medicinal alchemy and Greek metallurgical
chemistry, and “If nothing living was really ever seen to step forth from Jabir ibn
Hayyan’s cosmic incubators, chemotherapy with all its marvellous achievement of
today was certainly born from the Chinese-Arabic tradition with Philippus Aureolus
Theophrastus Paracelsus Bombastus von Hohenheim as its great midwife”. And
it was neither William Harvey nor the Damascus physician of the thirteenth
century, Ibn al-Qarashi al-Nafis, who originated the circulation of the blood:
it was the Chinese, although to Harvey fell the notion of the heart as a pump.