Lexicon Browse

most commentators consider this a conjunction of two things (nouns); 筋 (jīn) is often rendered as the combined network of tendons and muscles, sometimes as “musculo-tendon” or sometimes simply “sinew;” however, it refers to both their physical structures and their ability to generate intentional physical movement; 脈 (mài) is often rendered as “vessel,” though it refers more to the flow than the thing conducting it, so Unschuld generally translates 脈 (mài) as “vessel circulation.” As a conjunction, one might render 筋脈 (jīnmài) as “sinews and vessel movements.” On the other hand, I’ve read jīnmài (筋脈) as a complex, and rendered it as “sinew flux,” or “flux of the sinews;” of course, this reading raises the question: what is this sinew flux or flux of sinews?

read as a complex, jīnyè (津液) means “(physiological) fluids;” this is another yīn-yáng (陰陽) nexus: jīn (津) are the ‘thin’ fluids, which lubricate the sense organs and nourish wèiqì (衛氣); yè (液) are the ‘thick’ fluids that nourish the zàng (臧), spine, and brain. Sometimes jīn (津) are identified with exocrine fluids, and yè (液) are identified with endocrine fluids.

literally means “to increase or very,” especially for things that are troublesome; in Língshū 1.17, it suggests struggle with an ‘excess’ of a blockage or pathogenic factor.

literally means “a guest, visitor, or stranger;” it is frequently used in Língshū to refer to a prime cause of disease — some influence other than one’s own embodied spirit (jīngshén (精神)). In that context, kè (客) connotes “an intruder,” and it is sometimes rendered that way. However, in all cases it is both ‘guest’ and ‘intruder,’ which invites us to confront the moral projection most people apply to disease. This projection is also expressed in the usual translation of xié (邪) as “evil,” rather than the more value-neutral “perverse.”

literally means “empty, hollow, or (the empty space of) the sky;” according to Shuōwén, the imagery of kōng (空) refers to an aperture; sometimes in Nèijīng, this character is used as an alternate name for a point (xué (穴)), which is also the top portion of kōng (空); one key challenge in reading each instance of this character’s use rests in deciding what (if anything) defines the space of its emptiness: is it an aperture through something dense or ‘opaque,’ or does it refer to a wide open empty space, as in the sky?

generally translated as “mania;” according to Shuōwén, kuáng (狂) was originally the pictogram of a rabid dog, and was eventually extended to mean a yáng-type ‘craziness’ in people. However, I chose to leave kuáng (狂) in pinyin in Sùwèn 3, to open its interpretation beyond the mental and behavioral manifestations of mania. Sùwèn 3.8 suggests kuáng (狂) might also refer to a ‘somatic’ yáng-type pathogenic process, by contrasting it with the quintessential yīn-type pathogenic process of bì (痹).

these characters repeated and followed by “乎”, likely makes these statements in Sùwèn 3.4 exclamations; both of them have the ‘flowing water’ radical on the left side; kuì (潰) means to burst or break through a dam, though can also mean “dispersed, scattered, or disordered;” mì (汨) is the name of a river, and also means “confused,” or “to be thrown into disorder;” mìmì (汨汨) denotes the sound of waves, so by parallel construction with the previous phrase has been rendered in Sùwèn 3.4 as “torrential overflow;” see Commentary of Sùwèn 3 for an alternate reading of this passage.

literally means “the grain or pattern in jade.” Lǐ (理) extends to mean any organizing principle, law of natural science, theory or doctrine, and even reason or logic. Lǐ (理) extends even further to mean “to put in order, manage, or run” an enterprise according to such well-organized and reasonable principles.

literally means “to stand;” here it is rendered as “to establish” (as in 建立, jiànlì), though many other places in Nèijīng it means “to restore health;” so, the character used at the end of Língshū 1.1, meaning “to establish” the precedents of acupuncture that should be passed down to subsequent generations is also used elsewhere in Nèijīng, to refer to “restoring health.”

like biǎo (表), lǐ (裏) includes the radical 衣 (yī), which means ‘clothing’ on the bottom; the top portion of lǐ (裏) is a variant of 裡 or 里 (lǐ), meaning inside; so, the pictogram lǐ (裏) refers to the inner lining of cloths, and by extension what is in the interior and thus unseen; in Chinese medicine, lǐ (裏) is frequently paired with biǎo (表), and they are frequently translated as ‘interior’ and ‘exterior,’ respectively, as two of the ‘eight principles’ of differential diagnosis; this translation then leads many practitioners to inaccurately use this pair of characters to differentiate between internal or external pathogenic factors or other lifestyle causes of a patient’s condition; however, these characters actually refer to the manifest or outward expression (biǎo (表)) of an individual’s condition and the internal or hidden dynamics (lǐ (裏)) that create it.

literally means “to leave, retire or separate,” also to be “apart or distant from.”

literally means “a hill, mound, or tomb;” it can also mean “to traverse;” if we consider the point names that have become universal, it refers to below the knee; so, it refers physically to the mounds at the medial head of the tibia and the head of the fibula, respectively, in lines 23.3 and 23.4 of Língshū 1.

This is one of two texts, which comprise Nèijīng (內經). For most of the history of Chinese medicine, Língshū (靈樞) has been called “Zhēnjīng (針經) — The Acupuncture Classic.” The opening chapters of Língshū (靈樞) introduce the jīngmài (經脈), including three different perspectives on the so-called ‘primary channels,’ and each of the three ‘secondary vessels’ — the  jīngjīn (經筋), the luò (絡), and the jīngbié (經別), which support the primary channels in preserving the vital flows of life. Together these jīngluò (經絡) provide the ‘organizing principles’ of acupuncture, and they are the fundamental conceptual framework of individual life throughout Nèijīng (內經).

literally means “six gatherings;” in acupuncture theory, it refers to the six names of the jīngmài (經脈). Each of these six is represented on both the arm and leg, making a total of twelve jīngmài (經脈). The liùhé (六合) is a very ancient concept of Chinese thought and natural philosophy, predating its adaptation for use in Chinese medicine. Originally, the liùhé (六合) represented the four cardinal directions (north, south, east, west) plus up and down. Thus, at its core, this idea of the liùhé (六合) has long been what we would call today “a system of axes for all of manifest reality.”

Later in Chinese medicine, by the time Nèijīng (內經) was recorded, the liùhé (六合) were understood within individuals to be the three yáng (陽) and three yīn (陰):

• tàiyáng (太陽)
• shàoyáng (少陽)
• yángmíng (陽明)
• tàiyīn (太陰)
• shàoyīn (少陰)
• juéyīn (厥陰)

Each of these six represents a directional movement, and together they can be used to differentiate all movements between Heaven and Earth — within the qìjiāo (氣交). Thus, they are a fundamental system of ‘axes’ for differentiating movements within each individual, as a microcosm of qìjiāo (氣交). All of an individual’s “post-natal” movements and interactions can be differentiated with these liùhé (六合), just as some practitioners have learned to use the wǔxíng (五行). However, the wǔxíng (五行) are more accurately used to differentiate movements of jīng (精), as it expresses outward as yuánqì (源氣) to support post-natal qì (氣).

Indeed, the twelve jīngmài (經脈) are clearly more a manifestation of the liùhé (六合), than they are of the wǔxíng (五行), and the jīngmài (經脈) convey and manage the fundamental movements that sustain life. How can it be that modern Chinese medicine makes so little use of the liùhé (六合), and few modern practitioners know much about them? They are every bit as important as the wǔxíng (五行).

literally means “bent, deformed, or hunchback;” as though carrying a heavy burden in life, when the individual’s yángqì (陽氣) — his or her wèi (衛) — generates cold.

while this character has been rendered here as “dew” in Sùwèn 3.7, it can also mean “to be open or exposed to,” or even “to reveal” or “to be betrayed.” So, one could read Sùwèn 3.7.3 as, “… avoid exposure to the betrayal of fog.”

full, complete, or satisfied; mǎn (滿) seems to connote being filled with something; Wiseman and Ye defined its use in subsequent medical literature as the subjective feeling of being full of something. If so, this suggests mǎn (滿) was used to describe the fǔ (府), as they internalize food and drink, and convey their products into the embodied spirit for further processing, and then remove the byproducts of digesting one’s food and drink back to the world. This exchange by the fǔ (府) — beginning with the stomach, and the individual’s subsequent transformations of what they exchange, is a key part of the individual’s qì generation process. According to Wiseman and Ye, mǎn (滿) is characterized by pressure or distention, which suggests a degree of qì stagnation. How much (and what) qì stagnation does each individual have ‘encoded’ into his/her qì generation system?

this character is obsolete and both its meaning and pronunciation are rather obscure; dictionary references indicate it may also be pronounced: mán, or měn. The character, 悗, may be taken as a simple contraction of “忄(心 xīn, heart) and 免 (miǎn), which is the pictogram of a running rabbit. This combination of images may signify that the heart/mind is scattered; research into other classical uses suggests mèn (悗) means “mindless (lacking heart), without intention, confused, or oppressed/vexed.”

these characters have very similar meaning, and are used together as a compound to mean “secret, confidential,” though they are used separately in parallel construction in Sùwèn 3.10. The imagery of 密 evokes a common expression among tàijíquán (太極拳) (T’ai Chi Ch’uan) practitioners: to be still (宓) as a mountain (山); this expression exhorts practitioners to settle their yáng — to be “sealed within;” the other mì (秘) conveys the connotation of something that is mysterious, even occult; I’ve rendered it as “hidden” in this line.

these characters repeated and followed by “hū (乎)”, likely makes these statements in Sùwèn 3.4 exclamations; both mìmì (汨汨) and kuìkuì (潰潰) have the ‘flowing water’ radical on the left side; 汨 (mì) is the name of a river, and also means “confused,” or “to be thrown into disorder;” 汨汨 (mìmì) denotes the sound of waves, so by parallel construction with the previous phrase this has been rendered here as “torrential overflow;” 潰 (kuì) means to burst or break through a dam, though can also mean “dispersed, scattered, or disordered;” see Commentary of Sùwèn 3 for an alternate reading of this passage.

literally means “bright or illuminated;” this naturally extends to being able to see clearly and thereby understand — to be able to shed light onto circumstances and events. The idiom is remarkably similar in classical Chinese and modern English.

this is the name of the Great Hall where the Emperor held audiences, so the discussion in Sùwèn 75 has a formal importance beyond most others in Nèijīng. In chapters near the end of Sùwèn, the Yellow Emperor changes his role — in previous dialogues, he had earnestly asked one of his advisors to help him understand various points of medicine. In Sùwèn 75, he challenges the Thunder Duke to describe the Art of Medicine, and eventually laments its degradation and loss.
Within the microcosm of an individual, míngtáng (明堂) refers to a point one cun (寸) into the skull from yìntáng (印堂), which is between the eyebrows. This internal míngtáng (明堂) may indeed be the more important reading for the opening passage of Sùwèn 75.

this expression can be literally rendered as “hard work of envy;” when people envy the work or especially the possessions of others, they accumulate unresolved (internal) pathogenic factors based in those emotional reactions. However, the ‘hard work of envy’ only begins with maintaining the ongoing suspension of those feelings of inferiority. It also creates the need to generate another flow of evaluations of the person’s own worthiness; see Beware the Rampaging Hun.

is generally translated as “Inner Classic.” For a more detailed understanding of this title, see jīng (經), which could be rendered as ‘longitudinal organizing principle.’ Thus, it is also the Chinese term generally translated as “channels.” For an even richer understanding of how jīng (經) is used in complexes, see jīngmài (經脈). So, one could render Nèijīng (內經) as either “The Inner Organizing Principles” or “The Organizing Principles of the Inner.” In either case, the complex systems of jīngmài (經脈) are among the most fundamental organizing principles of an individually embodied spirit (jīngshén (精神)) and a central feature of the conceptual framework of Nèijīng (內經).

literally means “to oppose or be contrary, to disobey or rebel, to be rebellious;” or, in some circumstances, “to anticipate;” nì (逆) is neutral on the issue of being abstract or embodied influence on movement — it means equally ‘counter-flow’ or ‘rebelliousness,’ so that differentiation is determined individually in context; so, it refers equally to the flow of qì itself and to the impulse provided by those aspects of shén (神), which animates the specific qì we are identifying as moving in the wrong direction.

Wiseman and Ye render nì (逆) as “counterflow,” which is the result of the embodied spirit’s impulse to ‘rebel’ against some blockage, stagnation, or simply one’s interpretation of some experience, and thereby flow opposite to its natural direction; that is, ‘counterflow’ results from the embodied spirit rebelling against something and thus moving qì counter to its natural flow; in many cases, I’ve chosen to accentuate the embodied spirit’s rebellion against something it perceives as a block or stagnation, more than the resulting contrary flow. Regardless of specific translation, these ideas are intimately intermingled.

means “to be slanted to one side or tilted;” thus, not in an upright or correct way (正). So, 頗 (pō) is rendered as “imperfectly;” this theme is refrained later in Sùwèn 75 with piān (偏).

literally means “to use” (as a verb) or “a tool” (as a noun). In the classical Chinese discussion of natural philosophy in the Great Commentary of Yìjīng (Xìcí (繫辭)), qì (器) was used to characterize an individual’s ‘ordinary’ relationship with the world — to use it to secure what he/she needs and wants. However, the author(s) of Xìcí recognized that investigations based on that yáng (陽) orientation toward the world would not help seekers discern the subtle dynamics if qì (氣). Instead, they found that watching carefully, while contemplating the various groups (shù (數)) of symbolic images (xiàng (象)) allowed them gradually to discern the subtle dynamics of Dào (道).

literally means “marvelous, rare, strange, or curious;” in addition to the ‘curious fǔ (奇府)” discussed in Sùwèn 11, qí (奇) is used for the Eight Extraordinary Vessels (qíjīngbāmài (奇經八脈)), which are also conduits of jīng (精); these “fǔ of permanence” (恆之府) discussed in Sùwèn 11 convey jīng (精), in contrast to the “conduct [through] and digest fǔ (see Sùwèn 11.3),” which receive water and grains to initiate the process of generating post-natal qì. (see also Língshū 52)

the lines on a piece of bamboo or wood, which were used to record amounts of things before the onset of writing; a notch or to make a notch; extends to mean “a contract or bond.”

Qì (氣) is usually left in pīnyīn (拼音), and thus untranslated; qì (氣) is very difficult to translate, because it suggests many meanings and connotations. There is so much potential to know it experientially; I believe one should start there. Another fundamental challenge in translating qì (氣) and MANY terms of classical Chinese medicine is that the meaning of most characters in classical Chinese language does not conform to what we call ‘parts of speech.’ So, it is NOT safe to consider qì (氣) as a noun, which signifies some ‘stuff’ or a thing, as nouns do in modern languages.

Qì (氣) is a fundamental term of classical Chinese worldview, which differs so profoundly from our modern scientific worldview, that modern people have a difficult time understanding it without direct experience and considerable contemplation. In modern times, qì (氣) is translated as “air/gas, smell, breath, tone, atmosphere, attitude; vigor, anger, and vital or material energy.” Of course some of these, such as breath, smell and vigor, are particularly suitable for Chinese medicine. Alas, the familiar concept of ‘vital or material energy’ is misleading, as it reinforces an unconscious bias toward contemporary worldview. Within the realm of medicine, qì (氣) is sometimes likened to steam, which is a ‘non-material’ form of water. Water is fundamental to life, both physically and symbolically. Water is an extremely important image — one of the five phases, which signifies the flow of a fundamentally nourishing (or sustaining) resource, which is associated with the individual’s ‘essence’ (), which is the foundation from which flows our source (yuán (源)) qì (氣).

We know from classical Chinese thought (for instance, Dàodéjīng (道德經), chapter 2) that many terms are best defined relative to something else, often in yīn-yáng (陰陽) juxtaposition. For instance, qì (氣) refers to the ability to act (the feeling of energy), in contrast to xuè (血), which refers to the capacity to experience. It refers to many aspects of an individual’s interaction with the world; so, for instance, wèiqì (衛氣) can be conceptualized well as a mist, but that image doesn’t work so well for yuánqì (源氣), which is dense and moves more slowly than wèiqì (衛氣). Qì (氣) is a relationship, or what conveys movement in an interaction.

Using more contemporary language, I find that conceptualizing qì (氣) as a field phenomena, rather than a material force, or indeed any kind of force, helps in many cases. Qì (氣) is an influence, which can either support or impede life; it can be either zhèng (正) or xié (邪), either upright or perverse.