Lexicon Browse

in addition to overexerting with physical work, qiánglì (強力) can refer to “overindulging in sex,” which also injures the kidney qì.

this is the name of the Yellow Emperor’s primary interlocutor in the dialogues of Nèijīng. Most translators choose to leave it untranslated (in pinyin) as a proper name. Yet, among all possible names, the authors of Língshū and Sùwèn chose Qíbó (歧伯). When is a name not just a name, and what might this name suggest? I’ve chosen to render the names of the noble advisors and teachers who participate with the Yellow Emperor in these dialogues one time in each chapter into English, for readers who are not literate in classical Chinese. Then, these proper names will be left in pinyin, as is typical in other translations. How much significance should one place on these names? Who knows? How much significance do we put on the many suggestive names used in western literature?

literally means “qì (氣) achievement or skill.” It is the name for a wide variety of personal cultivation exercises. Qìgōng (氣功) exercises, like their precursor dǎoyǐn (導引), are based on bringing together physical movements of one’s body, movements of one’s breath, and the watchful (non-judgmental) attention of one’s awareness. Such exercises are especially valued in Daoist cultivation traditions, because they work by bringing together the ‘three treasures’ of each individual:

• jīng (精) represented by the movements of one’s physical body
• qì (氣) represented by the movements of one’s breath
• shén (神) represented by the attention of one’s awareness

is usually translated as “Eight Extraordinary Vessels.” While this is the common denotation of this phrase, it is not the greatest translation. Elizabeth Rochat once told me a very important principle of translating classical Chinese is to be clear on exactly how each character is being translated. In this case, the second character, jīng (經), is not mentioned in the common modern translation. If instead, we break this four character expression into two pairs, we have: qíjīng (奇經) and bāmài (八脈). The second is easy; it simply means “eight vessel flows/movements.” Noting the possibilities for translating a complex including the character “jīng (經),” qíjīng (奇經) could be translated as “extraordinary organizing principles,” or “organizing principles of the Extraordinary.” Thus, the entire expression could be read as either “the eight vessel flows of the extraordinary organizing principles” or “the eight vessel flows of the organizing principles of the Extraordinary.” These eight qíjīng (奇經) are conduits of jīng (精) in the form of yuánqì (源氣), while the twelve ‘primary’ jīngmài (經脈) are conduits of wèi (衛) and yíng (營).

means primarily “to cool or refresh;” it has come to mean “to clear up (including to count), settle (including accounts), clean up, or purge;” as an adjective it means “pure, clean, distinct, clarified, just or honest” though also “fresh, cool, quiet, and even lonely or poor;” in modern Chinese medicine, qīng (清) refers to the therapeutic method of ‘clearing’ pathogenic factors, especially external ones; when pathogenic factors are not cleared, but instead are retained internally, the embodied spirit naturally generates heat, as we learn from the yangming ‘stage’ of Shang Han Lun.

literally means “to select, take out from, fetch, take hold of, obtain;” in Chinese medicine, qǔ (取) is used for how to treat; for instance it is used twenty-one times in Língshū 7, which is the chapter on “Governing Needles;” this reminds us that treating with needles is intrinsically the process of attracting qì (氣) to the needles — déqì (得氣). Once ‘obtained,’ that qì may be further directed in some way through various manipulations; doing acupuncture is an interaction with the patient’s qì, rather than a procedure applied to patients.

a spring or fountain; quán (泉) can also mean wealth. The lower portion is shuǐ (水) , which simply means “water,” especially flowing water. According to Karlgren, the upper portion was “originally a picture of a basin from which water flows; remade into: 白 (white:) pure 水 water.”

literally “to put into an official position,” or the roles of that position; it can also mean to allow or tolerate, or to bear or be responsible for a burden.

literally means “three burnt [spaces];” within Chinese medicine theory, sānjiāo (三焦) refers to the three ‘levels’ (lower, middle, and upper) in the expression of jīng (精) into qì (氣), especially through the medium of fluids; relative to the five zàng (臧), the sānjiāo (三焦) regulates the coordinated expression of kidneys, spleen, and lungs; in some contexts, sānjiāo (三焦) is responsible for regulating the dissemination of jīng (精) into yuánqì (原氣).

literally means “color, beauty, appearance,” though also “lust, lewdness, kind or quality;” within Chinese medicine, it is generally translated simply as “complexion,” though it refers to more than just the individual’s color. It includes a sense of the individual’s presence, specifically the relaxed profusion of wèi qì; it includes an aspect of charisma, which is generated by the combined qì and blood (wèi (衛) and yíng (營)) that spreads through them (Sùwèn 56 tells us this is specifically into the floating luò (絡)), radiates from them, and can be discerned as part of an individual’s dynamics by exemplary practitioners.

good, perfect, familiar; while shàn (善) may indicate true health, it can also refer to the individual’s familiar ‘dormancy,’ so each instance and case must be clearly differentiated.

this character is often translated as “spirit,” though modern people should be very careful to understand the ancient Chinese idea of shén (神) without coloring it with the western idea of “spirit,” which is certainly loaded, and thus frequently misleading. I’ve chosen to use the phonetic (pinyin) for this character, rather than translating it; shén (神) represents each individual’s connection with heaven (tiān (天)), which is the primal source of yáng (陽), activation; in Chinese medicine, shén (神) is differentiated into five aspects, each with various specific roles and responsibilities; in general, shén (神) is a yáng (陽) aspect of life, as it animates movement and consequently vital process. Primal yīn (陰) within individuals is represented by jīng (精). (see also jīngshén (精神)).

can be literally rendered as “the spirit’s illumination.” However, I’ve chosen to leave it in pīnyīn (拼音) to emphasize how different this idea is from various mystical interpretations of “spirit,” based on Christian or other western ideas. In classical Chinese thought, shén (神) is the animation and direction one receives from heaven (tiān (天)), which can also refer simply to the sky. The illumination (or brightness) of the shén (神) refers to its capacity for pure awareness.

Yet, in classical Chinese thought, shénmíng (神明) is considered a natural state of being rather than a mystical one. However, most people need to devote considerable attention to uncover and cultivate shénmíng (神明), by penetrating through (tōng (通)) the density and opacity of their conditioned consciousness. One may reach increasing depths of shénmíng (神明), by paying very careful attention in observing phenomena, and quieting the mind to be receptive (yīn (陰)), rather than actively projecting (yáng (陽)) one’s point of view onto circumstances and events. So, shénmíng (神明) is the ‘enlightened’ state of mind, which transcends an individual’s habitually projected point of view. Cultivating shénmíng (神明) allows one to see through his or her habituated interpretations to experience the phenomena that actually occur. Shénmíng (神明) is the source of an individual’s creativity, inspiration, insights and clarity.

shí (實) and xū (虛) are used rather differently early in Língshū 1, and throughout Nèijīng, than we generally see in the modern clinical doctrine of Chinese medicine. Wiseman renders shí (實) as “replete;” while that translation accurately reflects its meaning, it is also rather clumsy and obscure; in many cases, I prefer the more simple and direct “full,” though that rendition breaks down in Sùwèn 11.4, which brings in a rather different concept, 滿 (mǎn), which also means “full.” In classical terms, xū (虛) and shí (實) are not themselves pathological, so do not refer to ‘deficient’ and ‘excess,’ as they are frequently translated in modern Chinese medical contexts. However, they can lead to deficiencies and excesses, under specific conditions that precipitate pathology. What are they? (for classical terms that mean deficiency and excess, see notes on 不足 (bùzú) and 有餘 (yǒuyú)).

can be rendered literally as “taking this;” it seems to mean that these seasonal afflictions are complications of the beginning of the separation of yīn (陰) and yáng (陽) and consequent severing of jīng (精) described in the previous line in Sùwèn 3 (phrases 10.4 and 10.6).

this expression is used in both classical Chinese literature and modern language to refer to the intrinsic ordering or rhythm (xù (序)) of the timing (shí (時)) of the four seasons — the sìshí (四時). I’ve chosen to render shízhīxù (時之序) in Sùwèn 3 and many other passages of Nèijīng (內經) as the more literal “the rhythm of the timing.” My intention is to decrease the tendency modern people may have to interpret the ‘seasons’ primarily (or solely) in the macrocosm (of a year), rather than also within the microcosm of moments within an individual’s life (see Commentary for Sùwèn 3).

to guard, to attend to, or to be concerned with, depending on context and the sensibilities of the reader.

literally means “number;” in some contexts, shù (數) means “numerous times” or “frequently.” It is used this way in Sùwèn 3, lines 4 and 6 (of my rendition) to suggest pathology can arise from cumulative violations of one’s life. However, in Sùwèn 3.1, shù (數) refers to the ‘numbers’ of groups of poetic and symbolic images (xiàng (象)), which lay at the core of classical Chinese thought. The most common translation for shù (數 when used in this way is “theory;” so, we have expressions such as ‘yin-yang theory’ or ‘five phase theory,’ as concrete expressions of the numbers, shù (數), two and five. In Sùwèn 3.1.4, the text specifically characterizes two such numbers (shù (數)) — three and five, which are each quite important in Chinese medical thinking.

Nathan Sivin rendered shù (數) as “regularities” in his article of primary scholarship about Chunyu Yi based largely on a biographical sketch in the official history of the early Han Dynasty. I wrote an essay about the thinking process of classical Chinese medicine and how to learn it based on a few key ideas from Sivin’s article. My essay includes some comments on the challenges and opportunities offered by these healing arts for individuals within today’s society. Does all this talk about classical Chinese thinking process have any value today? Or, has the idea or regarding classical medicine as natural philosophy been supplanted by a clinical science of well-defined diagnostic categories and definable standards of care? I suggest these questions need further attention, based in experience and practical transmission of classical Chinese medical teachings, rather than speculation based only in reading the text. In the meantime, Elisabeth Rochat suggested I go even further in articulating this idea about shù (數), and translate it as “natural laws” in Sùwèn 3.1.5 (of my rendition).

Students of classical Chinese medicine learn to use several ‘numbers’ of symbolic images, such as yīn-yáng (陰陽), tiāndì (天地), sānqì (三氣), sānjiāo (三焦), sānbǎo (三寶), the wǔxíng (五行), liùhé (六合), and the interactions among the movements symbolically represented within these groups of symbolic images (xiàng (象)). Indeed, cultivating such symbolic thinking can form a cornerstone for an individual’s growth in classical Chinese medicine, and it is a HUGE undertaking. So daunting is the scope of this investigation into classical Chinese thought that many students and practitioners with the philosophical inclination to approach Chinese medicine this way tend to focus primarily on just a few groups of images. For instance, many focus their attention primarily on the the wǔxíng (五行), and the fundamental importance of the liùhé (六合) is not recognized beyond their each being part of the precise names of the channels. While the wǔxíng (五行) are the best system for discussing the zàng (藏), as there are five of them, the twelve jīngmài (經脈) naturally exhibit the liùhé (六合). There is one jīngmài (經脈) for each of the six (liùhé (六合)) on both upper and lower extremities: 6 x 2 = 12.

If one follows Nèijīng (內經) and uses the liùhé (六合) to identify the various jīngmài (經脈), the idea of shifting to the wǔxíng (五行) to differentiate them diagnostically is like trying to squeeze a pentagonal peg into a hexagonal hole. The wǔxíng (五行) is the appropriate shù (數) for discussing and differentiating the five zàng (藏), and the liùhé (六合) is the shù (數) to use for the jīngmài (經脈). The aspiration to understand the dynamics of life challenges one to study and use not just the wǔxíng (五行), but also the liùhé (六合), and especially the dynamic relationship between these shù (數). Why are there five zàng (藏), yet there are six fǔ (府) and twelve jīngmài (經脈)? How do five and six differ as shù (數)? What do each of them mean, symbolically, within classical Chinese thought?

Probing students of Nèijīng (內經) aspire to use ALL these shù (數): yīn-yáng (陰陽), tiāndì (天地), sānqì (三氣), sānjiāo (三焦), sānbǎo (三寶), wǔxíng (五行), liùhé (六合), and undoubtedly others — flexibly and incisively. Through cultivating the symbolic and synthetic thinking process of the shù (數), one may eventually discern the dynamic patterns within the flux of life, and understand the rhythms of Dào (道), as it expresses within the microcosm of each individual. These fundamental groups of symbolic images serve important roles in articulating various theories of physiology and patho-physiology within Chinese medicine. They can help practitioners identify key crucial dynamics (jī (機)) within each patient, which ‘trigger’ the individual’s physiological processes, and can also trigger their transformational healing.

a pivot, axis, or hub; the ‘center’ around which other things rotate; shū (樞) has special meaning in Nèijīng, where it is the second character in the title of Língshū. In Língshū 5, shū (樞) is used with “open” and “closed” to pair channels according to their primal movements, as differentiated with the liùhé (六合), rather than the more familiar pairings according to the wǔxíng (五行). In that chapter, the shū (樞) pair are shaoyáng (少陽) and shaoyīn (少陰), which regulate the relationship between open and closed, and between externalizing and internalizing.

This refers to a practical or technical skill, rather than simply an intellectual process; thus, the Art (shù (術)) of Chinese medicine is an applied natural philosophy of life, where the practitioner learns through working with the dynamics of qì (氣) in an array of individuals, watching what happens, and especially figuring out what that means about the person’s pathological process and what he or she needs in order to facilitate healing. In certain contexts, such as in discussing the cultivated arts/skills of Daoists, shù (術) can be rendered as “magic.” Facilitating the intrinsic dynamics of qì (氣) can inspire such profound healing that is seems magical; changes that seem to defy the laws of science.

favorable, prosperous; to obey or agree; in accordance with, to go along with, in the same direction as, to obey or be suitable; this is the character used to describe the ‘direct flow’ of qì in the channels that regulates and coordinates the individual’s vital functions in life; 順 (shùn) is often paired with 逆 (nì) in both medical literature and widely in Chinese literature; in all cases, 順 (shùn) means to flow with and 逆 (nì) means to flow against.

literally means “shining, glimmer, twinkle,” (as in 閃爍); the imagery of shuò (爍) suggests its use in Chinese medicine — from 火 (huǒ) ‘fire’ and 樂 (yuè) as the ‘phonetic,’ though shuò (爍) also means ‘pleasure,’ apparently referring to the sheen one gets with excitation; shuò (爍) refers to the ‘shiny complexion’ of one who is deficient. An older meaning for shuò (爍) is “burnt (away).” In either case, shuò (爍) can ensues from indulging to an excess in the ‘sheen of pleasure,’ such as late night partying with drugs, alcohol, and/or sexual indulgence; this usage is remarkably similar to our contemporary English vernacular of ‘being burnt out’ after such behavior.

literally means “to say, to tell, and (even) to scold;” in Língshū 1.22, it is juxtaposed with the simple yán (言) earlier in this phrase, which means “the words that you speak;” shuō (說) is a complex of yán (言), together with duì (兑), which means “to exchange, to barter;” so, the last phrase of this sentence literally means “does not tell anything of value;” thus, “it has no meaning” or “makes no sense.”

This is an ancient lexicon of Chinese language. It full name is Shuōwén Jiězì (說文解字), which means “Explaining Graphs and Analyzing Characters.” Shuōwén (說文) was compiled by Xu Shen, a Han Dynasty scholar, who finished it in 100 C.E. It was the first Chinese text to systematically discuss the structure and visual imagery of characters, sometimes including their etymology. A small portion of Shuōwén (說文) has long been available in English, translated by Weiger, which is now even more accessible on software resources, such as Wenlin. While information about character derived from such sources can be suggestively interesting, and even evocative, both Sabine and Elizabeth Rochat have warned me to NOT try to draw firm conclusions from it, even though my interest in Weiger and thus Shuōwén (說文) was stimulated more than thirty years ago by the work of Father Larre and Elizabeth Rochat. Shuōwén (說文) is not a dictionary, and should not be used like a modern one. The study of written Chinese etymology is a specialty in itself, and it requires considerable research beyond the portion of Shuōwén (說文) compiled and and translated by Weiger. Yet, even with all these qualifications, material from Shuōwén (說文) can inform our study of Nèijīng (內經), in part because it was compiled just a couple hundred years after the Chinese medicine classic was originally published, so it can give insight concerning the use of characters at that time. We simply need to be circumspect about reaching conclusions based on short excerpts from Shuōwén (說文); rather our conclusions should be based on other scholarship and education, and our clinical and personal experience.

literally rendered as “four bonds;” one of the common meanings of sìwéi (四維) is “the four directions;” within the microcosm of individual life, the four directions are expressed through the four limbs, which are the ‘four bonds (or ropes)’ through which individuals connect with the outside world; in Sùwèn 3.3.7, sìwéi (四維) can certainly refer to the four limbs — so, when the natural flow of qì is impeded by stagnation, the individual’s exchange through the channels causes swelling of the four limbs, and this consumes the individual’s yáng. Might sìwéi (四維) have some other reference in Sùwèn 3.3?

literally means “loose, slack, free, careless” as an adjectives, and as a verb “to loosen, slacken, let go, or untie.” In standing meditation, after the instruction to suspend from above, the guiding principle is sōng (鬆) — to relax and sink. One of the fundamental principles of the Chinese manual healing arts — shù (術), such as tuīná (推拿) and acupuncture, is the practitioner’s cultivation of sōng (鬆). Sōng (鬆) is what allows a needle to penetrate (tōng (通)) the patients jīngmmài (經脈), without the practitioner exerting force to it.

Sabine has assured me that the correct reading of 速遲 in Língshū 1.3.1 is sùchí, and the correct translation is either as a conjunction “fast and slow,” or as a complex “speed.” Her reading previews Língshū 1.6.6, where the text offers the following instruction, using different characters for ‘fast’ (疾, jí) and ‘slow’ (徐, xú):
大要曰：徐而疾則實，疾而徐則虛。
The “Great Guidelines” says: Slow then fast results in filling (shí); fast then slow results in emptying (xū);”
It is indeed common in Nèijīng that one passage may preview another, and reframing an idea with different vocabulary is a common way to accentuate its importance. I agree that a literate person, without substantial training and experience doing acupuncture, would read 速遲 as ‘sùchí,’ so certainly agree with Sabine that reading should be rendered either as a conjunction “fast and slow,” or as a complex “speed.” My idiosyncratic reading of this line is based on my practical experience of cultivating needles for déqì (得氣). The fact that Sabine was unimpressed by my reading may not have as much bearing on the merits of this issue for practitioners, as a practitioners scholarship is based on contemplating his or her experience working with a subtle and responsive dynamics of qì, rather than the academic standard of relying on the accumulated evidence of written words alone. I believe various practices working with qì, including needling for subtle déqì (得氣) has bearing on the scholarship of practitioners, and am looking to discuss my reading of this passage with people who are willing and able to evaluate it from both the perspectives of language and experience with needing for déqì (得氣). As individual characters:
速(sù) usually means “hurried, quickly, to urge or urgently,” though it can also mean “to invite.”
遲 is usually read chí, which means “to be slow, dilatory, or late; to delay or be tardy;” on the other hand, 遲 can also be read as zhì, which means “to wait, or to look for.”
My reading, which I do not consider exclusive, takes 速遲 as the conjunction sùzhì. I recognize this is peculiar, and even somewhat far-fetched, for a literate reader. Is it actually incorrect, especially when one learns to needle with the patient’s embodied spirit (jīngshén (精神)) rather than on his or her body (xíng (形))? What if one doesn’t consider speed a particularly subtle (wēi (微)) aspect of needling, but rather a fundamental and obvious one? While I don’t consider the conventional reading incorrect, it also isn’t very deep or interesting. Might this phrase be an example of a ‘secret’ teaching being encoded into the text for people who have received teachings and specifically have experienced and learned to work with subtle déqì (得氣)?
I believe this passage contains a ‘deeper harmonic,’ which tells us that needling is not about the techniques we do to the patient’s body, but about what response that can be elicited from his or her embodied spirit, and THAT is done through presence and timing, rather than technique. Needling is a kind of ‘push hands’ exercise, where the needle is inserted through sinking/relaxing (sōng (鬆)), rather than forcefully asserting it to pass through the skin, either by tapping on the top of the handle with a guide tube or poking the needle in without one. Needling is not poking, or even really ‘insertion,’ but a process of interacting with a patient’s qì (氣), and waiting for it to open, then sinking into his or her embodied spirit.

literally means “to follow, be in accord with, or accompany;” also “together, instantly, or subsequently.”

literally means “simple (or plain) questions.” It is the title of the first of two classical Chinese medicine texts, which comprise the Nèijīng (內經). The visual imagery of the first character, sù (素), is quite interesting. According to Shuōwén (說文), the bottom is sī (糸), meaning “silk.” The top 龶 represents mulberry branches, from which wild silkworm cocoons are collected. The silk radical — sī (糸) also appears in jīng (經), which is quite important in Chinese medicine.