The name Who Can Say in Chinese / Japanese...

東方自尊 is the universal way to write “Asian Pride.”

We worked on this one for a long time. The effort involved both Chinese and Japanese translators and lengthy discussions. If you have been searching for this term, there is a reason that it's hard to find the way to write “Asian Pride” in Chinese and Japanese - it's because of the inherent difficulties in figuring out a universal combination of characters that can be read in all languages that use forms of Chinese characters.

This final solution that you see to the left creates a reasonable title in Chinese and an exotic (perhaps unusual) title in Japanese (This could be read as “Eastern Self-Respect” in Japanese”).
Although not as natural, it does have the same meaning as Korean Hanja, and the older generation of Vietnamese people will be able to read it.

The first two characters literally mean “Oriental” and the second two mean “pride,” “self-esteem,” or “self-respect” (we chose the most non-arrogant way to say “pride”). If you have “Asian Pride” (sometimes spelled Asian Pryde) these are the characters for you.

Note: For those who wonder, there is nothing technically wrong with the word “Oriental.” It is a correct word, and any bad meanings were created by so-called “Asian Americans” and Caucasians in the United States. To say “Asian” would not completely correct the intended meaning since that would include people from Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Iran, India, and portions of Russia.

For further proof, if you were of East Asian ancestry and born in England, you would be known as a “British Oriental” (The “Oriental stigma” is basically an American creation and, therefore, applies mainly to the American English language - where they get a bit overzealous with political correctness).

Further, since the Chinese and Japanese word for Oriental is not English, they can not be construed as having ill meaning. On one trip to China or Japan, you will find many things titled with these two characters, such as malls, buildings, and business names. These places also use “Oriental” as their English title (much as we do since our Chinese business name starts with these same two characters).

In short, the first two characters have the meaning that Americans attach to “Asian” but is more technically correct.

基督教 is the Chinese, Japanese and Korean word for “Christianity.”

Just as in English, this word is often used to mean “Protestant” but includes Catholics in the true definition.

It is the word used to refer to the whole “Christian religion” or “Christian Faith,” and therefore, it can be translated as “Christianity.” However, used as an adjective in regard to a person, it would translate as “Christian.” But more like saying, “His religion is Christianity,” rather than a noun form.

If you break it apart, the characters mean Base/Foundation Leading/Supervising Religion/Teaching. It makes more sense in Japanese, Chinese, and Korean. The first two characters together are translated as “Christ.” So you can also say this means “Christ's Religion” or “Christ's Teachings” when directly translated, or in reverse, “The Religion of Christ” or “The Teaching of Christ.”

Notes: The last character has a slight difference in one stroke - however, in calligraphic form, this will not be apparent. This entry can easily be read by any Korean person who knows Hanja characters (Chinese characters used in Korean).

See Also:  Jesus Christ | God of Abraham

危機 means crisis in Chinese and Japanese.

Separately, the first character here does mean “danger” or “to endanger,” and the second character can mean “opportunity.”

However, I want to debunk a myth that was propagated by some westerners who did not have a clear understanding of Asian languages...

While often, Chinese/Japanese/Korean compound words (words of two or more characters) are the sum of their parts, this is not always the case. The compound is often understood with a completely different meaning than the two characters individually.

Many have said that the Chinese/Japanese/Korean word for Crisis is made up of the characters for “danger” and “opportunity.” 危機 is true when phrased this way.
However, it's not absolutely correct to say that “danger + opportunity = crisis” in Asian cultures.

English example:
If I tell you that...
Bovine creature + Guy behind the plate in baseball = Locomotive train protection
...you would think I was mad. But consider that “cow + catcher = cowcatcher,” which is the device that used to be found on steam engines to protect them if they hit an animal on the tracks. When we hear the word “cowcatcher,” we don't separate the words into their individual meanings (necessarily).
The same is true with the word for crisis in Chinese/Japanese/Korean. While you can separate the characters, few Asian people would automatically do so in their minds.

The final answer:
It is a half-truth to say, “danger plus opportunity equals crisis” in Chinese/Japanese/Korean. Use this statement and concept with caution.

Also, the second character can mean “secret” or “machine,” depending on context so I guess you have to say “a dangerous machine = crisis” or “danger + a secret = crisis.” Both of these are only slightly more ridiculous than the first premise.

PS: 危機 is probably not a great word for a scroll unless you have a special use for it.

逍遙 means freedom in Chinese characters.

This has a well-written meaning for a wall scroll. What I mean by that is while there is a way to say “freedom” orally, this word seems more appropriate for calligraphy. This can also be translated as “free and unfettered” in Chinese.

Note: In Korean and Japanese, this means one who rambles, saunters, or strolls (this entry is best if your audience is Chinese).

回教 means “Hui Religion” in Chinese.

It refers specifically to the Hui people (Huizu), who have typical Oriental looks but are Muslim (practice the religion of Islam). Hui people can be found throughout China, often establishing Muslim neighborhoods in many cities.

My Japanese dictionary lists this as the all-Kanji way to write Islam as well.

In Korean, the first character is used as a short name to say Muslim.

光明 is a nice way to say “light” in Chinese and old Korean Hanja.

This is because the word also suggests a bright future or refers to someone who is very promising (great future potential).

The first character means light or bright.

The second character means bright and clear (in this context).

This word appears in most Japanese dictionaries, but it is not the most common Japanese Kanji word for light (more commonly used for the name Mitsuharu).

In old Korean Hanja, this can also mean brightness or brilliance.

In the context of Buddhism, this means “Light emanating from a Buddha or Bodhisattva, symbolizing their wisdom and compassion.”

錢 is the simplest way to say “money” in Chinese.

It can also mean cash, coins, or currency. It's also a surname, Qian, in China.

This also means coins in old Korean Hanja and Japanese Kanji (though they use a slightly alternate form in Japan, as seen to the right). In both Japan and Korea, this can simply mean “one cent.”

On the left side of this character is a radical, which means “gold” (or metal, depending on context).

On the right are two repeated radicals which currently mean “small” or “narrow” but used to kind of mean “tools” or “weapons.”

It's a bit of a stretch, but you could suggest that money = “gold weapons” or “gold tools” in Chinese. Many Chinese people would argue otherwise depending on what they know of or the way they understand the etymology of the right side radical. I've seen some who say it means “industrialized gold,” but I take that to mean “raw gold turned into coins.”

Long ago in what is now China, there were many kingdoms throughout the land. This time period is known as “The Warring States Period” by historians because these kingdoms often did not get along with each other.

Sometime around 279 B.C. the Kingdom of Chu was a large but not particularly powerful kingdom. Part of the reason it lacked power was the fact that the King was surrounded by “yes men” who told him only what he wanted to hear. Many of the King's court officials were corrupt and incompetent which did not help the situation.

The King was not blameless himself, as he started spending much of his time being entertained by his many concubines.

One of the King's ministers, Zhuang Xin, saw problems on the horizon for the Kingdom, and warned the King, “Your Majesty, you are surrounded by people who tell you what you want to hear. They tell you things to make you happy and cause you to ignore important state affairs. If this is allowed to continue, the Kingdom of Chu will surely perish, and fall into ruins.”

This enraged the King who scolded Zhuang Xin for insulting the country and accused him of trying to create resentment among the people. Zhuang Xin explained, “I dare not curse the Kingdom of Chu but I feel that we face great danger in the future because of the current situation.” The King was simply not impressed with Zhuang Xin's words.
Seeing the King's displeasure with him and the King's fondness for his court of corrupt officials, Zhuang Xin asked permission from the King that he may take leave of the Kingdom of Chu, and travel to the State of Zhao to live. The King agreed, and Zhuang Xin left the Kingdom of Chu, perhaps forever.

Five months later, troops from the neighboring Kingdom of Qin invaded Chu, taking a huge tract of land. The King of Chu went into exile, and it appeared that soon, the Kingdom of Chu would no longer exist.

The King of Chu remembered the words of Zhuang Xin and sent some of his men to find him. Immediately, Zhuang Xin returned to meet the King. The first question asked by the King was “What can I do now?”

Zhuang Xin told the King this story:

A shepherd woke one morning to find a sheep missing. Looking at the pen saw a hole in the fence where a wolf had come through to steal one of his sheep. His friends told him that he had best fix the hole at once. But the Shepherd thought since the sheep is already gone, there is no use fixing the hole.
The next morning, another sheep was missing. And the Shepherd realized that he must mend the fence at once. Zhuang Xin then went on to make suggestions about what could be done to reclaim the land lost to the Kingdom of Qin, and reclaim the former glory and integrity of the Kingdom of Chu.

The Chinese idiom shown above came from this reply from Zhuang Xin to the King of Chu almost 2,300 years ago.
It translates roughly into English as...
“Even if you have lost some sheep, it's never too late to mend the fence.”

This proverb, 亡羊补牢犹未为晚, is often used in modern China when suggesting in a hopeful way that someone change their ways, or fix something in their life. It might be used to suggest fixing a marriage, quitting smoking, or getting back on track after taking an unfortunate path in life among other things one might fix in their life.

I suppose in the same way that we might say, “Today is the first day of the rest of your life” in our western cultures to suggest that you can always start anew.

Note: This does have Korean pronunciation but is not a well-known proverb in Korean (only Koreans familiar with ancient Chinese history would know it). Best if your audience is Chinese.

These four characters together relay the meaning that can be expressed in English as “When three people say there's a tiger running in the street, you believe it.”

Of course, there is an ancient story behind this idiom...

三人成虎 is actually a proverb that resulted from a conversation that occurred around 300 B.C.

The conversation was between the king of the Wei kingdom and one of the king's ministers named Pang Cong.

It was near the end of one of many wars, this time with the Zhao kingdom. Pang Cong was to be sent by the king to the Zhao kingdom with the king's son, who was to be held hostage. It was common at the time for a king to make his son a hostage to secure stable peace between warring kingdoms.

Before minister Pang Cong departed, he asked his king, “If one person told you a tiger was running in the street, would you believe it?.”

“No,” the king said.

The minister continued, “What if two people told you?”

The king replied, “Well, I would have my doubts but I might believe it.”

The minister continued, “So, what if three people told you that a tiger is running in the streets?”

The king replied, “Yes, I would believe it. It must be true if three people say it.”

The minister then reminded the king, “Your son and I are now traveling far away to live in the distant Zhao kingdom - much farther from your palace than the street. Rumors may fly about me in my absence, so I hope your majesty will weight such rumors appropriately.”

The king replied, “I have every trust in you, do not worry”

While the minister was gone, the king's enemies gossiped about minister Pang Cong on many occasions. At first, the king thought nothing of these comments and rumors. But slowly, as the rumors mounted, the king began to suspect ill of his minister.

Sometime later, when peace was well-established, the minister and prince were freed and returned to the kingdom of Wei. The king received his son BUT DID NOT EVEN SUMMON MINISTER PANG CONG TO THE PALACE!

Hopefully, this story will help you see how dangerous words can be when used to promote rumors or create ill will. And perhaps will inspire you not to believe everything you hear.

There is also a secondary suggestion in this idiom that gossip is as ferocious as a tiger. Some Chinese people who don't know the ancient story above may believe that this scroll means that rumors are as vicious as three tigers.

Note: This proverb appears in my Korean dictionary but is not well-known in Korea.

大公無私 is a Chinese proverb that comes from an old story from some time before 476 BC. About a man named Qi Huangyang, who was commissioned by the king to select the best person for a certain job in the Imperial Court.

Qi Huangyang selected his enemy for the job. The king was very confused by the selection, but Qi Huangyang explained that he was asked to find the best person for the job, not necessarily someone that he liked or had a friendship with.

Later, Confucius commented on how unselfish and impartial Qi Huangyang was by saying, “Da Gong Wu Si” which, if you look it up in a Chinese dictionary, is generally translated as “Unselfish” or “Just and Fair.”

If you translate each character, you'd have something like

“Big/Deep Justice Without Self.”

Direct translations like this leave out a lot of what the Chinese characters really say. Use your imagination, and suddenly you realize that “without self” means “without thinking about yourself in the decision” - together, these two words mean “unselfish.” The first two characters serve to drive the point home that we are talking about a concept that is similar to “blind justice.”

One of my Chinese-English dictionaries translates this simply as “just and fair.” So that is the short and simple version.

Note: This can be pronounced in Korean, but it's not a commonly used term.

See Also:  Selflessness | Work Unselfishly for the Common Good | Altruism

吸血鬼 is how to say “vampire” in Chinese, Japanese Kanji, and old Korean Hanja.

Quite literally, this means “Suck Blood Ghost” or, more naturally, in English, “Ghost Who Sucks Blood.” This title is also used for leeches and blood-sucking vermin.

Just like the word “vampire” in English, this title is used in Asian languages colloquially to refer to “cruel exploiters,” and especially in China, it can be used to refer to “capitalists exploiting the workers.”

Alone on a wall scroll, this will be understood with just the “vampire” or “bloodsucker” meaning.