Faith, Healing & the Unexplained Near Benxi

China is the birthplace of one of the world's oldest continuous medical traditions. Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM), with roots stretching back over 2,500 years, is based on concepts of qi (vital energy), yin-yang balance, and the five elements. The Huangdi Neijing (Yellow Emperor's Classic of Internal Medicine), compiled around the 2nd century BCE, remains a foundational text. Hua Tuo (c. 140-208 CE) is celebrated as the first surgeon to use general anesthesia (mafeisan) during operations, and Li Shizhen's 16th-century Bencao Gangmu (Comperta of Materia Medica) catalogued over 1,800 medicinal substances. Acupuncture, herbal medicine, and practices like qigong and tai chi continue to be widely practiced alongside Western medicine.

Modern Chinese medicine achieved a landmark in 2015 when Tu Youyou won the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine for discovering artemisinin, an antimalarial compound derived from the traditional Chinese herb qinghao (sweet wormwood, Artemisia annua). This discovery, which has saved millions of lives, beautifully exemplifies the bridge between ancient herbal knowledge and modern pharmacology. China's healthcare system has undergone massive expansion, with institutions like Peking Union Medical College Hospital (founded 1921 by the Rockefeller Foundation) serving as centers of excellence. China also pioneered variolation — an early form of smallpox inoculation — centuries before Edward Jenner developed vaccination in England.

China's ghost traditions span over three millennia and are deeply embedded in the fabric of Chinese civilization, drawing from Confucian ancestor worship, Taoist cosmology, and Buddhist theology. The Chinese concept of gui (鬼) encompasses a vast taxonomy of spirits, from benevolent ancestral ghosts who protect their descendants to malevolent hungry ghosts (饿鬼, è guǐ) who were denied proper burial or mourning rites. The Hungry Ghost Festival (中元节, Zhōngyuán Jié), observed on the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month, is one of China's most important supernatural observances. During this period, the gates of the underworld are believed to open, releasing spirits to roam the earth. Families burn joss paper (representing money), paper houses, cars, and even paper smartphones as offerings to ensure their deceased relatives' comfort in the afterlife, while elaborate Taoist and Buddhist ceremonies are performed to appease wandering ghosts.

Perhaps China's most iconic supernatural figure is the jiangshi (僵尸), the "stiff corpse" or hopping vampire, a reanimated cadaver that moves by hopping with outstretched arms. Rooted in Qing Dynasty folklore, jiangshi were said to be created when a person died far from home and a Taoist priest would reanimate the body to "hop" it back for proper burial — a practice possibly inspired by the real tradition of transporting corpses over mountains using bamboo poles, which gave the appearance of hopping. Chinese ghost lore also features the nü gui (女鬼), a female ghost typically dressed in red who died unjustly and returns for vengeance, and the yuan gui (冤鬼), ghosts of those who died from injustice who haunt the living until their grievances are addressed.

The Chinese afterlife is conceived as a vast bureaucratic underworld called Diyu (地狱), presided over by Yanluo Wang (the King of Hell, adapted from the Hindu Yama) and staffed by judges who review the moral record of each soul. This underworld contains multiple courts and levels of punishment, reflecting the Confucian emphasis on moral accountability. The concept of ancestor worship — maintaining tablets, offering food and incense at household altars, and performing ceremonies during Qingming Festival (Tomb Sweeping Day) — remains one of Chinese civilization's most enduring practices, reflecting the belief that the dead continue to influence the fortunes of the living.

China's vast history contains numerous accounts of miraculous healings, many associated with Taoist immortals, Buddhist bodhisattvas, and folk deities. Guanyin (Avalokiteśvara), the Bodhisattva of Compassion, is widely venerated as a healer, and temples dedicated to Guanyin — such as the Putuoshan temple complex in Zhejiang Province — maintain extensive records of attributed miraculous cures spanning centuries. In TCM, the concept of "miraculous" healing is often framed differently than in the West, with practitioners pointing to cases where correct qi alignment produced seemingly impossible recoveries. Modern Chinese hospitals have documented cases of spontaneous remission that combine elements of traditional practice and unexplained phenomena. The qigong movement of the 1980s and 1990s produced numerous claims of extraordinary healing abilities, some investigated by Chinese Academy of Sciences researchers, though many remained controversial.

Norwegian Lutheran stoicism near Benxi, Liaoning can mask suffering in ways that challenge physicians. The patient who describes crushing chest pain as 'a little pressure' and stage IV cancer as 'not feeling a hundred percent' isn't withholding information—they're expressing it in the only emotional register their culture and faith permit. The physician who cracks this code provides care that those trained on the coasts consistently miss.

Seasonal Affective Disorder near Benxi, Liaoning—the depression that descends with the Midwest's long, gray winters—is addressed differently in faith communities than in secular settings. Where a physician prescribes light therapy and SSRIs, a pastor prescribes Advent—the liturgical season of waiting for light in darkness. Both interventions address the same condition through different mechanisms, and the most effective treatment combines them.

The Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum in West Virginia—technically Appalachian, but deeply influential across the Midwest—established a template for asylum hauntings that echoes in psychiatric facilities near Benxi, Liaoning. The pattern is consistent: footsteps in sealed wings, screams from rooms that no longer exist, and the persistent sense that the building's suffering exceeds its current census by thousands.

Lutheran church hospitals near Benxi, Liaoning carry a specific Nordic austerity into their ghost stories. The apparitions reported in these facilities are restrained—no wailing, no dramatic manifestations. A transparent figure straightens a bed. A spectral hand closes a Bible left open. A hymn is sung in Swedish by a voice with no visible source. Even the Midwest's ghosts practice emotional restraint.

The Midwest's German and Scandinavian immigrant communities near Benxi, Liaoning brought a cultural pragmatism toward death that intersects productively with NDE research. In these communities, death is discussed openly, funeral planning is practical rather than morbid, and extraordinary experiences during illness are shared without embarrassment. This cultural openness provides researchers with more candid NDE accounts than they typically obtain from more death-averse populations.

Medical school curricula near Benxi, Liaoning are beginning to include NDE awareness as part of cultural competency training, recognizing that a significant percentage of cardiac arrest survivors will report these experiences. The question is no longer whether to address NDEs in medical education, but how—with what framework, what language, and what balance between scientific skepticism and clinical compassion.

Throughout history, the relationship between faith and medicine has been intimate, contentious, and constantly evolving. From the temple physicians of ancient Greece who invoked Asclepius to the medieval monasteries that preserved medical knowledge through the Dark Ages to the prayer rooms that exist in virtually every modern hospital — faith has been medicine's constant companion. The recent effort to separate the two entirely is, in historical terms, an anomaly.

Dr. Kolbaba's book suggests that this separation may be reaching its limit. As evidence accumulates for the health effects of spiritual practice, and as physician after physician describes encounters that medicine cannot explain, the wall between faith and medicine is developing cracks. For the medical community in Benxi and beyond, the question is no longer whether to engage with faith, but how to do so in a way that is ethical, evidence-informed, and respectful of the full diversity of human belief.

The STEP trial (Study of the Therapeutic Effects of Intercessory Prayer), published in 2006, remains the largest and most methodologically rigorous randomized controlled trial of prayer's effects on medical outcomes. Conducted across six hospitals and involving 1,802 coronary artery bypass graft patients, the study assigned patients to one of three groups: those who received intercessory prayer and knew it, those who received prayer but did not know it, and those who did not receive prayer. The results showed no significant benefit of prayer — and a slight increase in complications among patients who knew they were being prayed for, possibly due to performance anxiety.

Dr. Kolbaba's "Physicians' Untold Stories" acknowledges the STEP trial's findings but argues that they do not tell the whole story. The trial studied a specific, standardized form of intercessory prayer for a specific, standardized population. It could not capture the kind of deeply personal, emotionally intense prayer that often accompanies life-threatening illness — the desperate, whole-hearted prayer of a spouse at a bedside, a congregation in vigil, a parent pleading for their child's life. For readers in Benxi, Liaoning, Kolbaba's accounts of these intense prayer experiences provide a complement to the clinical trial data, suggesting that prayer's effects may depend on dimensions that clinical trials are not designed to measure.

The STEP trial (Study of the Therapeutic Effects of Intercessory Prayer), funded by the John Templeton Foundation and published in the American Heart Journal in 2006, was designed to be the definitive test of whether intercessory prayer affects medical outcomes. The study enrolled 1,802 patients undergoing coronary artery bypass graft surgery at six U.S. hospitals, randomly assigning them to three groups: patients who received intercessory prayer and were told they might or might not receive it; patients who did not receive prayer but were told they might or might not; and patients who received prayer and were told they would definitely receive it. The intercessors, drawn from three Christian groups, prayed for specific patients by first name for 14 days beginning the night before surgery.

The results were both disappointing and provocative. There was no significant difference in 30-day complication rates between the prayed-for and not-prayed-for groups — and the group that knew they were being prayed for actually had a slightly higher complication rate, possibly due to performance anxiety. Critics have argued that the STEP trial's design — standardized, distant prayer by strangers for anonymous patients — bears little resemblance to the kind of fervent, personal prayer that faith traditions describe as most powerful. Dr. Kolbaba's "Physicians' Untold Stories" implicitly addresses this critique by documenting cases where prayer was intensely personal, emotionally engaged, and accompanied by deep relational connection — precisely the kind of prayer that the STEP trial's design could not accommodate. For prayer researchers in Benxi, Liaoning, the STEP trial and Kolbaba's accounts together suggest that the question "Does prayer work?" may be too simplistic — that the more productive question is "Under what conditions, through what mechanisms, and in what forms might prayer influence health outcomes?"

The psychology and counseling community of Benxi, Liaoning increasingly recognizes that anomalous experiences—encounters with the unexplained that fall outside conventional psychological categories—are common in the general population and particularly prevalent among healthcare workers. "Physicians' Untold Stories" by Dr. Scott Kolbaba provides psychologists and therapists with case material for understanding these experiences in clinical contexts. For mental health professionals in Benxi, the book offers evidence that anomalous experiences reported by their clients may reflect genuine phenomena rather than psychopathology.

The research community at academic institutions in Benxi, Liaoning includes scholars who study consciousness, perception, and the philosophy of science. "Physicians' Untold Stories" by Dr. Scott Kolbaba offers these researchers a catalog of clinical observations that could inform research design—specific phenomena that could be investigated using the methods of neuroscience, physics, and psychology. For the academic community of Benxi, the book is not merely a popular work but a potential source of research questions that could advance our understanding of consciousness and its relationship to the physical world.

The "hard problem of consciousness"—philosopher David Chalmers's term for the question of how and why physical processes in the brain give rise to subjective experience—remains unsolved despite decades of neuroscientific progress. The hard problem is directly relevant to the unexplained phenomena described in "Physicians' Untold Stories" by Dr. Scott Kolbaba because many of these phenomena involve consciousness operating in ways that the standard materialist model does not predict: consciousness persisting during brain inactivity, consciousness accessing information through non-sensory channels, and consciousness apparently influencing physical systems without a known mechanism of action.

For philosophers and physicians in Benxi, Liaoning, the unresolved nature of the hard problem means that confident dismissals of the phenomena in Kolbaba's book—on the grounds that "consciousness is just brain activity"—are premature. If we do not yet understand how consciousness arises from physical processes, we cannot confidently assert that it cannot arise from, or interact with, non-physical processes. The physician accounts in "Physicians' Untold Stories" may be documenting aspects of consciousness that the hard problem tells us we do not yet understand—aspects that a future science of consciousness may incorporate into a more complete model of the mind.