Chinese representations of BCIs are often conceptualized as metaphorical “Electronic Brains” known as diannao in Chinese. Image generated by AI

How did the ancient Chinese think? Understanding ancient Chinese thought merits consideration not only through the lens of East-West differences but also within the framework of historical continuity. The latter perspective raises a pertinent question: As contemporary Chinese individuals, do our modes of thought differ significantly from those of our ancestors? I contend that mere comparisons based on temporal differences are inadequate. Instead, we should acknowledge a similar distinction at a deeper level of thinking. Evidence suggests that ancient Chinese thought patterns still subtly influence the spiritual life of contemporary Chinese people.

‘Electronic Brains’

To demonstrate more clearly how ancient thinking implicitly influences the contemporary Chinese mind, I will focus on science and technology, the most contemporary field, particularly focusing on the recent advancements in brain-computer interfaces (BCIs). Instead of solely highlighting the technical progress of BCIs, this article explores the imaginative realms of life and immortality sparked by these breakthroughs. One thing is noteworthy in particular: unlike technology, which pursues universality as a goal, imagination is often based on particular contexts. A typical example can be found in Chinese representations of BCIs, where they are often conceptualized not as linking the brain to a conventional computer, but rather as metaphorical “electronic brains” known as diannao in Chinese. In the West, however, despite scientific explorations of brain-inspired computing, we rarely find such computer-electronic brain metaphors, nor any terms that precisely correspond in meaning to the Chinese word diannao.

As such, it can be speculated that the notion of a BCI as a synthesis of two types of brains is more likely to arise within the Chinese context. This concept had already appeared in Chinese literature long before the inception of BCI technology. For instance, a science fiction story titled “The Electronic Brain,” published in the Chinese magazine Zhongxuesheng (The Juvenile Student) in 1956, tells the tale of an engineer father who attaches an “electronic brain” to his son’s head to aid with homework. This idea of augmenting the human brain with an external device to enhance its capabilities aligns with the aspirations of BCI technology.

However, BCIs currently focus on “brain control,” examining how the human brain’s commands can be received and executed by machines, enabling applications in clinical medicine and other fields. The imagination in the aforementioned story is exactly the opposite: its focus is not on the human brain, but on the machine, envisioning an external device that functions “like a brain.”

The designation of the computer as an “electronic brain” rather than an “electronic heart” signals a shift in the recognition of the brain’s role in China. This change reflects the spread of Western science into modern China, particularly the now widely accepted understanding that the brain governs cognition, a concept introduced through modern medicine, psychology, and other sciences. The question is, if this common understanding forms the basis for imagining a computer as an electronic brain, why has the term “electronic brain” not gained popularity in the West? In addition, despite the widespread dissemination of this common sense, contemporary Chinese language retains many metaphorical references to the brain that do not pertain to cognitive functions. For instance, nao (brain) appears in political terms like shounao (literally head of state), in culinary terms like doufunao (tofu pudding), in the name of substances like zhangnao (camphor), and to indicate quantity, as in yigunao (all of it). 

Given this, scientific enlightenment alone seems insufficient to explain contemporary Chinese people’s preference for “brain.” If the imagination of the electronic brain did not emerge spontaneously, it is only logical to seek an explanation in ancient Chinese thought. In fact, even before encountering Western science, ancient Chinese people already associated cognitive activities with the brain. For example, terms like tounao (brains; mind) and naojin (brains) that appeared in Ming (1368–1644) and Qing (1644–1911) novels actually refer to thinking ability. However, thinking ability was mainly attributed to the heart in the classical Chinese knowledge system, and the idea that the brain is responsible for cognition indeed comes from the West. Consequently, the connection between the metaphor of the “electronic brain” and classical Chinese thought might be easily overlooked. This connection would have been more explicit if the term “electronic heart,” rather than “electronic brain,” had been used to refer to a computer.

A machine with a heart 

Silicon chips are known as xinpian (芯片) in the Sinophone world. The fact that silicon chips can be referred to as xinpian implicitly relates to the understanding of the heart in classical Chinese knowledge systems. A representative description in the ancient text On the Origins of the Six Types of Chinese Characters states “what is stored at the core/center is called 心 (xin). The heart of plants, flowers, and leaves is 心, which is also written as 芯 (xin).” This analogy compares the core of a plant to the human heart, suggesting that the essential core of any object can be considered its heart and called 芯.

The “心” analogy may surprise contemporary Chinese people, but the ancients often extended the concept of the heart from the human body to various domains, including objects. For example, the word tongxin (to be of the same heart or core) can describe both people and objects, as exemplified in the poem “in free time I weave the tender willow branches into the knot of one heart.” The aforementioned ancient text discusses the heart of things in the sense of what is “stored at the core/center,” which is consistent with the ancient Chinese insight that the “heart is the center” (recorded on the Tsinghua Bamboo Slips). This constitutes the origin of the modern Chinese word zhongxin (center).

Why is the position of “center” associated with the heart? For the ancient Chinese, the “center” represented the position of ruling authority: emphasizing the central position of the heart is to underscore its dominance over the human body. This is also an insight from early Chinese civilization. For objects, the component that is “stored at the center” is regarded as an object’s heart (called芯), comparing the decisive component in objects to the heart, which plays a central and dominant role in humans. Considering this, a re-examination of the term xinpian reveals that it refers to not merely to a certain component, but the component that plays a dominant role like the heart in the human body. In the Chinese context, a computer is not only analogous to the brain, but also possesses a heart. 

When the word xinpian is used today, the traditional understanding of xin may have long been forgotten, but ancient knowledge continues to play an implicit role. Scientific enlightenment has reinforced modern Chinese people’s conception of the brain, yet it has not diminished the impact of the ancient emphasis on xin [heart and mind]. In modern Chinese, “heart” and “brain” are still sometimes used interchangeably. For example, “to not use the brain” and “to not use the heart” can both mean half-hearted, and “to not to have a brain” and “to not to have a heart” can both be used to describe someone who is mindless. 

To a certain extent, the popularity of such words as diannao and xinpian is a result of replacing the original meaning of “computer” as a computing device with the body metaphor rooted in Chinese tradition. Whether conceived as an electronic brain or a machine with a heart, this reflects a way of thinking akin to that of the ancient Chinese. As stated in the Book of Changes, “getting inspirations by observing human bodies” involves understanding and explaining things using body metaphors. Therefore, it is safe to say that the ancient Chinese mentality continues to exert an implicit impact on modern science and technology—a field that was completely unimaginable to the ancient Chinese.

Continuity of explicit and implicit elements

Using body metaphors to describe things is not unique to China, but its extensive application and enduring influence can be considered a distinctive feature of the Chinese mentality. Beyond metaphors involving the brain and the heart, there are also those related to the head. As early as the pre-Qin period (before 221 BCE), the head was understood by the ancients as the leading part of the human body, and therefore many things that played a leading role were likened to the head. This tradition continues to shape contemporary Chinese concepts. 

However, it should be pointed out that “getting inspirations by observing human bodies,” the aforementioned way of thinking, is only one of the many strategies the ancient Chinese used to “judge others by what is nigh in ourselves.” The essence of this strategy is that the ancients generalized the most familiar experience and objects in their lives into models for representing and explaining issues in various fields. These models, derived from ancient experience, can still be seen in the conceptual spectrum of contemporary Chinese people.

It can thus be concluded that while many of the issues that Chinese people contemplate today differ significantly from those of the ancients, their mode of thought may not be fundamentally different. If this assertion holds true, it necessitates a re-examination of the continuity of Chinese thought throughout its historical development. This re-examination is crucial because uncovering such continuity informs whether the term “Chinese thought” refers to something completely different, and it determines whether Chinese people can achieve a holistic understanding of their intellectual heritage over time. The need to re-examine also rises from the fact that the continuity of Chinese thought has been most systematically portrayed within the narrative framework of the history of Chinese philosophy. 

Feng Youlan, who laid the framework for the history of Chinese philosophy, suggested that later generations selectively inherit their predecessors’ thoughts, extracting the worthwhile and discarding the worthless. In my opinion, such inheritance is necessary, but not sufficient. The viewpoints, doctrines, or so-called “propositions,” articulated by predecessors are merely the explicit elements of Chinese thought, apart from which there are implicit elements—mainly specific cognitive habits and argumentation strategies—which can potentially determine how thoughts are presented. 

Unfortunately, the traditional narrative of the history of Chinese philosophy gives much less weight to the implicit elements. As such, to understand the continuity of Chinese thought, it is necessary to focus on the continuity of both explicit and implicit elements demonstrated in the narrative of the history of philosophy.

The difference is that explicit elements are inherited consciously and selectively, while implicit elements can only be inherited in an unconscious and non-selective way, which has long been supported by neuroscience. When examining how ancient thought has affected contemporary Chinese people’s understanding of cutting-edge technology, it becomes evident that the continuity of the implicit dimension is the key to connecting the past and the present, thereby making Chinese thought holistic. 

In conclusion, in light of the traditional research approach to the history of Chinese philosophy, I am convinced that the study of Chinese philosophy, as a philosophical study of Chinese thought, should give more weight to the implicit dimension of thought development.

Li Wei is a professor from the School of Philosophy at Wuhan University. 

Edited by REN GUANHONG