--- title: "Explaining the Yijing to a Distant Friend: An Introduction to the Xici Zhuan" description: An introduction to the Xici Zhuan (Appended Statements) of the Zhouyi, written for a faraway reader. Beginning with the fundamental concepts of hexagrams, lines, yin-yang, and the high and the low, it clarifies the composition and reading of the Xici, dispels the most common misunderstandings of beginners and overseas readers, and paves the way for a close study of the twelve chapters of the Upper Xici. date: 2026-07-05 author: Xuanji Editorial Board cover: "https://pub-3a45e04801a641b79b5b4303c5ae7394.r2.dev/blog-covers/系辞传/00-为远客说易.png" pdf: "https://pub-3a45e04801a641b79b5b4303c5ae7394.r2.dev/blog-pdfs/系辞传/00-为远客说易.pdf" tags: - Zhouyi - Xici Zhuan - Pre-Qin - Confucianism - Daoism - Xici Introduction - Hexagrams and Lines - Yin and Yang --- # Explaining the Yijing to a Distant Friend -- An Introduction to the Xici Zhuan > *This article was translated from the original Chinese by AI. Nuances may differ from the source.* ## The Occasion The *Xici* is one of the commentarial appendices (*zhuan*) to the *Zhouyi* (the Book of Changes). To discuss the *Xici*, one must first speak of the *Zhouyi*; and to speak of the *Zhouyi*, one must begin at the very beginning. So before we commence in earnest, here is this introductory essay -- like packing a fellow traveler's luggage before a long journey: written for friends who have never read the *Zhouyi*, for readers overseas, and for those willing to start afresh. Readers well versed in the classical tradition may skip this essay and proceed directly to the first lecture. In the *Zhouyi* there is a hexagram called *Jian* (Gradual Advance). Its six lines describe a wild goose flying stage by stage: first to the water's edge, then to a great rock, then to a high plateau, then to the trees, then to the hilltop, and at last soaring high among the clouds -- "its feathers may be used as ceremonial ornaments." Even the feathers it sheds can serve as adornments for the human world. Reading the *Xici* should be just like this: each stage has its own scenery, each stage its own resting place. This introduction is simply the first step at the water's edge. ## I. What Kind of Book Is This$1 Among all the books of China, the *Zhouyi* is the most ancient; later generations honored it as the foremost of the Classics. But its original form did not look much like a "book" -- it was sixty-four symbols, together with brief statements appended beneath them. First, the word *yi* (Change). *Yi* means transformation, flux, alternation, generation: the sun departs and the moon arrives, cold recedes and heat comes -- that is *yi*. The *Xici* says, "What is called *yi* is the ceaseless generating of life" (*shengsheng zhi wei yi*): generating and generating again, changing and changing again, ever renewing without end -- this very process is *yi*. Yet *yi* also carries the meaning of ease and simplicity. The *Xici* opens by saying, "Qian knows through ease, Kun acts through simplicity" (*Qian yi yi zhi, Kun yi jian neng*) -- Heaven and Earth bring forth all things not by laborious means but by the simplest constancy. Restlessly moving, yet its principle is simple; myriad phenomena in profusion, yet its Dao is one throughout. The single word *yi* shoulders both these meanings. Why is this book called *Zhouyi*$2 *Zhou* is the Zhou dynasty. Three thousand years ago, around the transition from Shang to Zhou, this book gradually took definitive shape, hence the name. Later scholars also read *zhou* as "all-encompassing" or "universal," saying the Dao of Change is vast and all-embracing -- though this reading arose later, it is not without a certain beauty of extension. The entire *Zhouyi* is divided into two parts: the *Jing* (Canon) and the *Zhuan* (Commentaries). The *Jing* consists of the hexagram figures, hexagram names, and the prognosticatory statements appended beneath the hexagrams and their individual lines. The hexagram figures are symbols: an unbroken horizontal line "⚊" is called a yang line; a broken horizontal line "⚋" is called a yin line. Three lines stacked together yield eight possible arrangements -- these are the Eight Trigrams (*bagua*). When two trigrams are placed one atop the other, six lines stacked together yield sixty-four possible arrangements -- these are the sixty-four hexagrams. Each hexagram has a name -- Qian, Kun, Zhun, Meng, Xu, Song... Each hexagram has a general judgment called the hexagram statement (*guaci*); each individual line likewise has its own statement called the line statement (*yaoci*). For example, the hexagram statement for Qian is the four characters *yuan heng li zhen* ("originating, penetrating, beneficial, steadfast"), and the line statement for its first line is "The dragon lies hidden -- do not act" (*qian long wu yong*): the dragon still lies submerged in the depths; the time is not yet ripe for rash movement. These phrases are extremely ancient and extremely spare, like inscriptions on bronze vessels -- every character carries weight. The *Zhuan* comprises the later commentarial texts explaining the Canon, ten texts in all, traditionally called the "Ten Wings" (*shiyi*) -- wings in the sense of flight and support, meaning these ten texts give the Canon wings, enabling its meaning to take flight. The Ten Wings are: the *Tuanzhuan* (Commentary on the Judgments), Upper and Lower, explaining the hexagram statements; the *Xiangzhuan* (Commentary on the Images), Upper and Lower, explaining the hexagram images and line statements; the *Wenyan* (Commentary on the Words of the Text), devoted exclusively to elaborating the two hexagrams Qian and Kun; the *Xici Zhuan* (Appended Statements), Upper and Lower; the *Shuoguazhuan* (Discussion of the Trigrams), on the natures and imagery of the eight trigrams; the *Xuguazhuan* (Sequence of the Hexagrams), on the order in which the sixty-four hexagrams are arranged; and the *Zaguazhuan* (Miscellaneous Notes on the Hexagrams), pairing them for comparison. The name *Xici* itself deserves a word of explanation. *Xi* means to tie, to attach, to append. Originally, *xici* referred to the statements tied beneath the hexagrams and lines -- after the sage observed the images, he "appended statements to determine good fortune and misfortune" (*xi ci yan yi duan qi jixiong*), hanging written words beneath the symbols, like tying a label to a medicine pouch, or fastening a kerchief to a traveler's bag. Later, the commentarial text that explains these hexagram and line statements and provides a general discussion of the Canon's grand meaning also inherited this name and became known as the *Xici Zhuan*. Thus *xici* has two referents: in the Canon, it means the statements on the hexagrams and lines; as a commentary, it means the general treatise we are about to read. Western translations most often call it the *Great Treatise*, or transliterate its older name as *Ta Chuan* (Great Commentary) -- "Great Commentary" is indeed its ancient appellation, reflecting its status as the crown of all the commentaries. The *Xici Zhuan* that our series will expound holds a unique place among the Ten Wings. The other commentaries all follow the Canon line by line; the *Xici* alone departs from that verse-by-verse format, rises to a higher vantage point, and offers a comprehensive account of the principles of the entire *Zhouyi*: how this book came to be, why the sages created it, what kind of language the hexagram images and statements constitute, what the principle of change is, and how human beings should conduct themselves between Heaven and Earth. One might say that the other commentaries escort us into the hall; the *Xici* leads us into the inner chamber. The other commentaries gloss the words; the *Xici* illuminates the Dao. The earliest and most complete expression of China's fundamental thinking about the cosmos, change, language, and human life is to be found in this single text. It is divided into an Upper and a Lower section; the conventional reading since later times divides each into twelve chapters. Our twelve lectures follow the twelve chapters of the Upper *Xici*, one chapter per lecture. ## II. How This Book Came to Be The *Xici* itself relates the origins of this book, and relates them with great beauty. The second chapter of the Lower *Xici* says: > In ancient times, when Baoxi (Fuxi) ruled the world, he looked upward and observed the images in the heavens; he looked downward and observed the patterns on the earth. He observed the markings of birds and beasts and the suitabilities of the land. Nearby he took from his own body; afar he took from things. Thereupon he first created the eight trigrams, in order to penetrate the virtue of the bright spirits, and in order to classify the conditions of all things. Baoxi, also known as Fuxi, is a legendary sage-king of the most remote antiquity. This passage tells us that the original symbols were not fabricated from nothing but were *observed* into being. He raised his head and looked at the constellations and clouds of the heavens; he bowed down and looked at the veins and textures of mountains and rivers; he looked at the patterns on the hides and plumage of birds and beasts, at the aptitudes of grasses and soils. From what was near he drew upon his own body; from what was far he drew upon all things. After long and deep looking, he drew eight symbols, using them to penetrate the principles of the hidden and the manifest, using them to classify the conditions of the myriad creatures. Note the sequence: first Heaven and Earth exist, then the observer appears; first comes observation, then come the symbols. The foundation of the *Zhouyi* is *guan* -- observation -- the prolonged, reverent, and meticulous gaze of a human being upon the world. This is the very first thing a beginner should know. Once the eight trigrams were drawn, they were, according to tradition, further combined and elaborated into sixty-four hexagrams. By the end of the Shang dynasty and the rise of the Zhou, the statements beneath the hexagrams gradually became fixed. The Lower *Xici* says: > Did the *Yi* arise in the middle antiquity$3 Did its creators know anxiety and adversity$4 And again: > Did the *Yi* arise during the last age of the Yin (Shang) and the flourishing virtue of Zhou$5 Was it not in the time of King Wen and the tyrant Zhou (Zhouxin)$6 Therefore its statements convey peril. The old tradition holds that King Wen of Zhou, imprisoned by the tyrant Zhouxin at Youli, elaborated the *Zhouyi* during his captivity. A captive king, his life and death in another's hands, facing an unfathomable destiny day and night -- the statements of this book carry just such a tone of deep concern and far-reaching vigilance. That is why the *Xici* says "its statements convey peril" (*qi ci wei*): those lines are alert, as if treading on thin ice above a chasm, teaching people to be cautious and to examine themselves, to think of danger even in times of safety. Readers of the *Zhouyi* often feel that this book possesses an extraordinary tenderness toward the human condition, an extraordinary lucidity about the way fortune and misfortune lean upon each other -- these are not words that could have been written by a person at ease. Anxiety and adversity are this book's birthmark. Another five hundred years passed, and in the Spring and Autumn period, the Master -- the figure Western readers know as Confucius -- came to love this book deeply in his later years. The *Analerta*, chapter "Shu Er," records his words: > Give me a few more years -- if at fifty I study the *Yi*, I may be able to avoid great errors. Give me a few more years; if I take up the study of the *Yi* at fifty, my life may be free of great mistakes. Note that the Master speaks of the benefit of studying the *Yi* not as seeking good fortune and avoiding calamity, not as foreknowing the future, but as "avoiding great errors" -- he transformed this book of divination into a book of self-cultivation and the reduction of faults. This turn set in motion the tradition of reading the *Yi* for the next two thousand years and more. The texts of the Ten Wings are traditionally attributed to the Master himself; viewed today, they contain many passages introduced by "the Master said" (*zi yue*) and are most likely records and elaborations of the Master's teachings composed by his later Confucian disciples during the Warring States period. But whoever held the brush, the perspective in the *Xici* that redirects divination toward moral meaning and draws the Dao of Heaven toward human affairs is unmistakably the Master's own method. Thus the *Zhouyi* is a book of three rings of growth: the innermost ring is the symbols, born of the most ancient observation of images; the middle ring is the prognosticatory statements, born of the anxiety and adversity at the Shang-Zhou transition; the outermost ring is the commentarial text, born of the philosophical reasoning of the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods. Three rings of growth, each clearer than the last, are precisely the sediment of three eras of the Chinese mind. Let me also tell our friend from afar of a modern marvel: in the 1970s, from a Han-dynasty tomb at Mawangdui near Changsha, a copy of the *Zhouyi* written on silk was unearthed. Its hexagram sequence differs greatly from the received text, and the wording of the *Xici* also diverges considerably. This manuscript, buried over 2,100 years ago, saw the light of day once more; scholars were overjoyed. It proved that in the early stages of transmission this book had more than one form, and it proved that the received text we read today is the result of countless hands transmitting, collating, and choosing over long centuries. Our twelve lectures follow the received text; when significant textual variants arise, we note them in passing. An ancient book is like an ancient tree: beyond its growth rings there are scars and graftings -- these do not diminish its beauty but add to its authenticity. Master Zhuang, summing up the Six Classics, said: "The *Yi* is for expressing yin and yang." The *Shi* (Odes) speaks of aspiration, the *Shu* (Documents) of events, the *Li* (Rites) of conduct, the *Yue* (Music) of harmony, the *Chunqiu* (Spring and Autumn Annals) of proper distinctions -- and the *Yi* speaks of yin and yang, of that grand rhythm of opening and closing, going and coming between Heaven and Earth. ## III. How to Read the Hexagram Figures For friends who have never seen a hexagram figure, here, in the fewest possible words, is how the symbols are read. Everything begins with two symbols: the yang line "⚊" and the yin line "⚋." One solid, one hollow; one continuous, one broken. They are not writing; they do not denote any specific thing. Rather, they mark two complementary and opposing forces: yang is movement, expansion, firmness, manifestation; yin is stillness, contraction, yielding, concealment. Three lines stacked form the eight trigrams, each with its own name and basic image:
Trigram Name Image Nature
☰ Qian Heaven Strength
☷ Kun Earth Yielding
☳ Zhen Thunder Movement
☴ Xun Wind Penetration
☵ Kan Water Danger (sinking)
☲ Li Fire Clinging (attachment)
☶ Gen Mountain Stillness
☱ Dui Lake Joy
The *Shuoguazhuan* sums up the natures of the eight trigrams in eight phrases: "Qian is strength; Kun is yielding; Zhen is movement; Xun is penetration; Kan is danger; Li is clinging; Gen is stillness; Dui is joy." Heaven moves with firmness, the Earth's tendency is gentle yielding, Thunder governs stirring, Wind excels at entering things, Water's nature is to engulf, Fire must cling to fuel, the Mountain stands immovable, the Lake moistens and delights. The *Shuogua* further says that Qian is the father, Kun the mother, Zhen, Kan, and Gen the three sons, and Xun, Li, and Dui the three daughters -- the eight trigrams are like a single family: Heaven and Earth are the parents, the six children each partake of their parents' nature. Please remember this metaphor of "one family," friend from afar; we will need it again when we discuss "Heaven is high, Earth is low." When two trigrams are placed one atop the other, we get the sixty-four hexagrams. The positions of the six lines, counted from bottom to top, are called *chu* (initial), *er* (second), *san* (third), *si* (fourth), *wu* (fifth), and *shang* (top) -- note that they are read from bottom to top, like a plant growing upward, like ascending a staircase. Yang lines are designated "nine," yin lines "six"; thus the first line of Qian is called "initial nine" (*chu jiu*), and the first line of Kun is called "initial six" (*chu liu*). The six positions are like six stages of a situation, six levels of standing: the initial line is the beginning of an affair, the commoner's obscurity; the fifth line is the affair's zenith, the sovereign's eminence; the top line is the place of extremity on the verge of reversal. Take one hexagram as an example. *Qian* (Modesty): below is Gen (Mountain), above is Kun (Earth) -- the mountain lies beneath the earth. A mountain is by nature lofty, yet here it stations itself below the plain: that which is high places itself in a lowly position -- this is modesty. The Image Commentary for Qian says: "Within the earth there is a mountain: Modesty. The noble person reduces what is excessive and augments what is deficient, weighing things to distribute them equitably." The noble person observes this image and learns to diminish excess and increase what is lacking, measuring things to bestow them fairly. Among the sixty-four hexagrams, Qian alone has line statements that are entirely auspicious with no misfortune -- this book of anxiety and adversity that constantly speaks of "regret," "distress," "danger," and "misfortune" withholds nothing in its praise of a single virtue: humility. We shall return to this when we discuss "Heaven is high, Earth is low." Now consider the hexagram Qian (the Creative, all yang). Its six lines are all yang, pure firmness; its six line statements compose the biography of a dragon: "The dragon lies hidden -- do not act" -- submerged at the bottom, one must not move rashly. "The dragon appears in the field" -- it shows itself on open ground, beginning to distinguish itself. "The noble person is active and vigilant all day; at nightfall he is still watchful, as though in danger" -- ceaselessly firm throughout the day, still alert with caution at night. "Perhaps leaping in the depths" -- testing a leap, neither advancing nor retreating decisively. "The flying dragon is in the heavens" -- soaring into the sky, fully exercising its powers. "The dragon that has overreached will have regrets" -- having flown too high, severed from the earth and from the multitude, regret follows. The six positions of a dragon from abyss to sky trace the complete arc of a life, a career, from concealment to zenith to excess. Paired with Qian is Kun (the Receptive): six yin lines throughout, pure yielding. Its line statements offer a different landscape: "Treading on frost, solid ice is coming" -- when your feet meet the first frost, know that winter's hard ice is on its way; from the faintest sign, discern what is to come. "Upright, square, and great; without practice, nothing is unfavorable" -- upright, proper, and magnanimous, without any deliberate contrivance, nothing is unfavorable. "Containing elegance, one may remain steadfast" -- harboring refinement without flaunting it, one can hold to what is right. "A tied sack: no blame, no praise" -- the mouth of the sack is bound shut; speak and act with caution; there will be no disaster, but also no acclaim. "A yellow lower garment: supremely auspicious" -- wearing the yellow garment of the lower body, occupying the center while remaining below; great good fortune. At the top six: "Dragons battle in the wild; their blood is dark and yellow" -- yin swollen to its extreme contends with yang; both are wounded. The way of Qian is the measure of striving; the way of Kun is the measure of receptivity. Qian's peril lies in overreaching; Kun's peril lies in contention. Reading the two hexagrams side by side is like beholding the sun and moon, like hearing the qin and the se in concert -- the gateway to all sixty-four hexagrams is already within them. There is one more basic convention in reading hexagrams that must be mentioned here; otherwise the divination records of the ancients will be unintelligible. When the ancients performed divination, they would often obtain a result in the form "such-and-such hexagram *going to* such-and-such hexagram" -- for instance, the example we will encounter later, "Kun going to Bi," meaning that the divination yielded Kun, with one of its lines being a moving line, which upon changing produces the hexagram Bi. In such a case, one reads the line statement of that moving line. So "Kun going to Bi" calls for reading Kun's line at the fifth position: "A yellow lower garment: supremely auspicious" -- because it is precisely the fifth line of Kun that, upon changing, yields the hexagram Bi. The hexagram has its fixed image, but the lines carry the potential for change; once a single line moves, the entire configuration is altered. This word *zhi* ("going to") best reveals the worldview of the *Zhouyi* -- no situation is static; within every situation lies a pivot leading to another situation. Reading hexagrams to this point, one understands: the sixty-four hexagrams are in truth sixty-four situations; the 384 lines are 384 moments of timing. The *Zhouyi* is a book about "situation and timing." It promises no once-and-for-all position -- hiding has its proper path, soaring has its perils; all fortune and misfortune depend on what position you occupy, what virtue you hold, and what advance or retreat you choose. ## IV. To Divine or Not to Divine There is no need to dissemble: the *Zhouyi* was originally a book of divination. When the ancients faced momentous decisions and felt uncertain, they would take fifty milfoil stalks and, through a quiet and intricate procedure -- dividing, counting, suspending, and gathering -- arrive at a hexagram, then read its hexagram and line statements to determine fortune or misfortune. In high antiquity, there were two methods of consulting the spirits in times of doubt: scorching tortoise shells or animal bones and reading the cracks was called *bu* (shell divination); manipulating milfoil stalks and working through their numerical transformations was called *shi* (stalk divination). The tortoise dealt in images and the milfoil in numbers; *bu* was the older practice while *shi* rose later. The *Zhouyi* belongs to the stalk divination lineage. But please do not imagine pre-Qin divination as benighted superstition. The *Shangshu* (Book of Documents), chapter "Hongfan" (Great Plan), records the ancient procedure for resolving doubt: "When you have a great doubt, deliberate with your own heart, deliberate with your ministers, deliberate with the common people, and deliberate with tortoise and milfoil." When facing a great difficulty, first ask your own heart, then ask the ministers of state, then ask the common people, and only last consult the tortoise and milfoil -- divination is merely one vote among many, and the last vote at that. Heart, ministers, people, tortoise, milfoil: these five are weighed together; never was the milfoil allowed to decide alone. Within this ancient institution there is a kind of admirable clarity: only after exhausting all human deliberation does one entrust the remaining unknowable to the milfoil; and what the milfoil answers is nothing more than that slender remnant of doubt remaining after all human effort has been spent. The distance between this and "abandoning thought and surrendering everything to divination" is immeasurable. This procedure is described in full detail in the ninth chapter of the Upper *Xici*; we will demonstrate it step by step in the ninth lecture. What I wish to say first here is something more important: already in the pre-Qin era, those most deeply versed in the *Yi* had transformed this book from "asking about fortune" to "asking about oneself." The *Zuozhuan* (Commentary of Zuo) contains two stories that best illustrate this transformation. The first is the story of Mujiang. The grand dowager Mujiang of the state of Lu, having participated in a rebellion, was relocated to the Eastern Palace. At the time of her removal she had a divination performed. The Grand Scribe examined the hexagram and said: This is the hexagram Sui (Following); *sui* means to come forth -- you will be able to leave soon. Mujiang replied: Not so. The *Zhouyi* says of Sui: "*Yuan heng li zhen*, without blame." *Yuan* is the foremost of all excellences; *heng* is the convergence of all that is fine; *li* is the harmony of all that is right; *zhen* is the trunk of all affairs. Only with these four virtues can "Following" be without blame. But as for me -- a woman who took part in rebellion, who occupied a position I should never have held -- that is a failure of benevolence and cannot be called *yuan*. Having disturbed the peace of the state -- that cannot be called *heng*. Having rebelled and thereby harmed myself -- that cannot be called *li*. Having abandoned the position I should have kept to conspire with others -- that cannot be called *zhen*. Lacking all four virtues, "how can this be Following$7 I have chosen evil; how can I be without blame$8 I shall surely die here and never get out." The hexagram plainly said she could leave, yet she faced that most auspicious oracle and, item by item, enumerated her own offenses, concluding that she would not get out. And indeed she died in the Eastern Palace. What is breathtaking about this story is this: the oracle is an external verdict; virtue is the internal verdict. When the two conflict, one who is truly versed in the *Yi* heeds the latter. Milfoil stalks cannot cleanse a person; auspicious words cannot guarantee evil deeds. The second is the story of Nankuai. Nankuai, a household officer of the Ji clan in Lu, was about to betray his lord. He divined and obtained the hexagram Kun changing to Bi; the line statement read "A yellow lower garment: supremely auspicious." Overjoyed, he brought it to Zifu Huibo, saying only, "I wish to undertake a certain matter -- what do you think$9" Huibo replied: I have studied this way. If the undertaking is one of loyalty and good faith, it may succeed; if not, it will surely fail. He then parsed the four characters "yellow garment, supreme auspiciousness" one by one: yellow is the color of the center; the lower garment is the ornament of the subordinate; *yuan* (supreme) is the foremost of all good. Without inner loyalty, one is unworthy of that word "center"; without compliant conduct, one is unworthy of that word "lower"; without good intent, one is unworthy of that word "supreme." Then he spoke the words that have resounded through the ages: "Moreover, the *Yi* cannot be used to divine treacherous designs." This book, the *Yi*, cannot be used to divine wicked schemes. If your heart harbors wrongdoing, then even if you obtain the most auspicious oracle, that good fortune does not belong to you. Nankuai refused to listen and later came to ruin. By the time of the Master, the statement was even more decisive. The *Analects*, chapter "Zilu," records: the Master cited the line statement of the third nine of the hexagram Heng (Duration) -- "One who does not maintain constancy in virtue will perhaps meet with disgrace" -- and then said: "There is simply no need to divine." A person without constancy in virtue has no need to consult the milfoil at all. Master Xun crystallized this idea in five characters: "One who is truly skilled in the *Yi* does not divine" (*Xunzi*, "Dalue"). The person most deeply versed in the *Yi* does not perform divination. At first this seems strange: a book of divination whose best readers do not divine$10 In truth it is not strange at all. Divination asks, "What is the fortune or misfortune of this matter$11" But what this book truly teaches is "whence do fortune and misfortune arise$12" -- from timing and position, from virtue and conduct, from the subtlety of advance and retreat. One who has seen through the principle, observing the images and savoring the words, already understands the workings of all beneath heaven; naturally there is no further need to beg favors from the milfoil. Just as one deeply versed in medicine need not take his own pulse every day to know how to order his life, one deeply versed in the *Yi* need not seek the milfoil's permission for every action to know the measure of proceeding and halting. The *Xici* says, "'Without blame' means being skilled at correcting one's errors" (*wu jiu zhe, shan bu guo ye*). The most common judgment in the *Zhouyi* is not great fortune or great misfortune but "without blame"; and the secret of being without blame lies not in supplication but solely in being skilled at correcting one's errors. This is the true lineage of reading the *Yi* in the pre-Qin era: from divination to moral meaning, from asking Heaven to examining oneself. Our series follows precisely this path. However, though divination itself need not be practiced, the spirit of reverence within the act of divination must not be overlooked. Before performing a divination, the ancients would fast and purify themselves, straighten their garments and caps, and quiet their minds -- because they believed that if the person was not sincere, the milfoil would not be numinous; without a reverent heart, asking was useless. The *Xici* says that the sage "used this to fast and purify, thereby making his virtue luminous through the spirits." Through this solemn ritual, a person gathered up a scattered mind, set aside a careless attitude, and faced one's genuine doubt squarely. Look at Mujiang, who confronted the hexagram and enumerated her own offenses; look at Zifu Huibo, who read the line statement and discerned loyalty from treachery -- before the milfoil stalks, people were at their most honest. Today as we read the *Xici*, the milfoil need not be at hand, but this sense of solemnity in the face of a task should be gathered up anew. Treat it as a "collection of ancient wisdom sayings" to be flipped through casually, and what you gain will be shallow. Approach it as something solemn, as the ancients approached divination, and only then will the words consent to speak to you. ## V. Several Easily Misunderstood Terms The language of the *Xici* is supremely beautiful and supremely susceptible to being obscured by later or foreign concepts. There are several key terms that, if clarified at the doorstep, will spare much wandering after one has stepped inside. **Yin and Yang.** Western readers encountering yin and yang for the first time tend to think of the battle between light and darkness, or the struggle between good and evil. This is the most pernicious association imaginable. Yin and yang are not good and evil, not God and the devil, not even two "things," but two complementary and opposing forces inherent in all phenomena: the sun is yang, the moon is yin; heat is yang, cold is yin; movement is yang, stillness is yin; expansion is yang, contraction is yin. Neither is meant to destroy the other -- winter is not the defeat of summer; night is not the enemy of day. The Most High (Laozi), author of the *Daodejing*, put it most intimately: "All things carry yin on their backs and embrace yang; the blending of their vital breaths produces harmony" (*Daodejing*, ch. 42). All things bear yin behind and clasp yang before; the two vital breaths surge and stir together into harmony. Harmony is where yin and yang come to rest. The *Xici* says, "One yin and one yang: this is called the Dao" (*yi yin yi yang zhi wei Dao*). The Dao is not in yin, not in yang, but in the very alternation of "one yin, one yang," the going and coming itself. These seven characters are the ridgepole of the entire book; we will devote the fifth lecture to them. **Heaven (tian).** "Heaven" in the *Zhouyi* and pre-Qin texts is not a personified Creator; it issues no commandments, metes out no rewards or punishments, and receives no prayers. The Master said: "What does Heaven ever say$13 The four seasons proceed, the hundred things are born -- what does Heaven ever say$14" (*Analects*, "Yang Huo"). Heaven says nothing; it merely lets the four seasons revolve and the hundred creatures grow -- it speaks through its operations and acts through its generating. Master Xun said: "Heaven's operations follow a constant pattern: they do not persist because of a Yao, nor do they perish because of a Jie" (*Xunzi*, "Tianlun"). The operations of the Heavenly Dao have their constancy; they do not exist for the sake of a sage-king, nor do they vanish for the sake of a tyrant. Therefore, when the pre-Qin Chinese "reverenced Heaven," they did not fear a god who could grow angry; they stood in awe of a constancy that commands trust without words and inspires respect without wrath. If a translator renders *tian* directly as "God" or "deity" in Western languages, the entire picture is distorted. **Spirit (shen).** Likewise, the character *shen* that repeatedly appears in the *Xici* does not in most cases refer to ghosts or gods. The *Xici* provides its own definition: "The unfathomable in yin and yang is called *shen*." When the transformations of yin and yang reach a degree beyond measurement and anticipation, that is called *shen*. The *Shuoguazhuan* also says: "*Shen* is the word used for the marvelous workings of all things." The so-called *shen* is a word spoken in reference to the wondrous fashioning of the myriad creatures. It is closer to the sense of "marvelous" or "wondrous" -- a quality, not a being. When you read "Shen has no fixed direction and Change has no fixed form" or "To make things luminous through shen depends on the person," understand them in this way. **The High and the Low (zun and bei).** This is the pair of words that most perplexes our friend from afar, and it is the very first sentence of the *Xici*: "Heaven is high, Earth is low" (*tian zun di bei*). In modern parlance, *zun* and *bei* almost inevitably read as hierarchical rank and status, making this sentence sound like an oppressive decree. But in the context of the *Xici*, *zun* and *bei* refer first of all to spatial elevation and lowness -- Heaven is above, Earth is below, a plain fact visible to anyone who raises their head or lowers their gaze. Moreover, in the pre-Qin tradition, *bei* (low, humble) is far from a pejorative; it is where the fullest virtue resides: Earth, by being low, bears all things; water, by seeking the lowest place, becomes rivers and seas; the noble person, through humility, endures to the end. This layer of subtlety is precisely the focus of the first lecture. Here we merely ask the reader to leave modern Chinese associations with "high and low" at the door for the moment. **Non-action (wu wei).** The *Xici* says: "The *Yi* is without deliberation, without contrivance, utterly still and unmoving; when stimulated, it penetrates all situations under heaven." The Most High (Laozi) also speaks repeatedly of *wu wei*. *Wu wei* is not doing nothing, not laziness or abdication; it is not imposing private intent upon things, not forcing one's way against the natural principle of things -- just as Heaven brings forth creatures without visible exertion, yet all things fulfill their lives of their own accord. This term is the source of the most misunderstanding; we will discuss it in detail in the tenth lecture. **Fortune and Misfortune (ji and xiong).** The *Zhouyi* is filled with fortune, misfortune, regret, and distress; first-time readers easily take these for a system of prophesied blessings and curses. But the *Xici* says: "Fortune and misfortune are the images of gain and loss; regret and distress are the images of worry and concern." Fortune and misfortune are merely signs of gaining and losing; regret and distress are merely signs of anxiety -- they are not rewards and punishments sent down from Heaven but the natural fruits borne by actions within their particular time and position. Therefore, whenever the *Zhouyi* speaks of fortune or misfortune, it always attaches conditions: occupy such a position, hold such a virtue, and the result is fortunate; otherwise it is unfortunate. It is a book about "how," not a book about "fate." **Time (shi) and Position (wei).** These two words are the key to understanding all the hexagram and line statements. The same dragon: hidden in the depths, "do not act"; flying in the heavens, "it is beneficial to see a great person"; overreaching in excess, "there will be regret" -- the dragon has not changed; what has changed is the time. The same yang line: in the second position it "receives much praise," in the fourth position it "meets much fear," simply because one is far from the sovereign and therefore at ease, while the other is near the sovereign and therefore in danger -- the talent and virtue have not changed; what has changed is the position. Therefore the *Zhouyi* never asks abstractly, "Is this good or bad$15" It only asks concretely, "At this time and in this position, what should one do$16" The Judgment Commentary of hexagram Gen (Keeping Still) puts it best: "When the time calls for stopping, stop; when the time calls for moving, move. When movement and stillness do not miss their proper time, the way ahead is bright." Stop when stopping is called for, move when moving is called for; when neither movement nor stillness misses its moment, the path ahead is naturally bright. This is not opportunism; it is the deepest honesty -- honesty toward the inherent rhythm of things themselves. Western readers may be reminded of a passage from their own tradition: "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven." Indeed, humanity's deepest wisdom often meets and smiles at just such places. **The Noble Person (junzi).** The *junzi* of the *Xici* is not an aristocratic title but a name for a kind of personhood: one who takes virtue as one's charge, who strengthens oneself ceaselessly throughout the day, who knows to be cautious when facing affairs, and who dwells in equanimity while awaiting what is appointed. The Great Image Commentary of the entire *Zhouyi* comprises sixty-four entries, every one of which reads "The noble person, on this basis..." (*junzi yi...*) -- "The course of Heaven is strong and vigorous; the noble person, accordingly, makes himself strong and untiring." "The tendency of Earth is yielding and receptive; the noble person, accordingly, bears all things with broad virtue." One might say that the sixty-four hexagrams, in the heavens, are sixty-four images; in the human sphere, they become sixty-four lessons for the noble person. When readers encounter the words "noble person," they may freely insert their own name -- this book has always been written for "one who is willing to be a noble person," regardless of where that person was born or what language they speak. **The Center (zhong).** Among the six lines, the second position occupies the center of the lower trigram, and the fifth position occupies the center of the upper trigram. Whenever a yang line occupies one of these positions with its firmness, or a yin line with its yielding, the hexagram and line statements tend to be favorable, which is called "attaining the center" (*de zhong*). The "yellow garment, supremely auspicious" that Nankuai obtained in his divination owes its auspiciousness to the fact that the sixth in the fifth position is a yielding line occupying the center -- yellow is the color of the center, the lower garment is the ornament of the subordinate; to hold the center while remaining below, hence the great good fortune. This word "center" carries tremendous weight in Chinese thought. It is not the mathematical midpoint, not a wishy-washy compromise, but rather *hitting the mark* -- neither too much nor too little. The Master said, "Excess is as bad as deficiency"; going too far and falling short are equally flawed. What the 384 lines of the *Zhouyi* teach through their myriad fortunes and misfortunes amounts to nothing other than this single lesson -- be firm but not excessive, be yielding but not servile, advance yet know when to retreat, rise high yet know what is below, and at every moment seek that exact measure of fitness. In later times, the Confucian school produced a work entitled simply *Zhongyong* (The Doctrine of the Mean), which is nothing other than the unfolding of this one character's meaning. **Dao and Vessel (qi).** The *Xici* says: "What is above form is called Dao; what is below form is called vessel (*qi*)." That which has visible shape and trace is a vessel; that which operates above all shape and trace, making the vessel what it is, is the Dao. A bow is a vessel; the principle of drawing and releasing is the Dao. A carriage is a vessel; the principle of revolving and turning is the Dao. In later Chinese history, the Western term *metaphysics* was translated as "the study of what is above form" (*xing er shang xue*), the wording taken directly from this sentence. But the distinction between Dao and vessel in the *Xici* is less about dividing reality into two worlds than about pointing to a way of seeing: in every artifact, in every human affair, discern the invisible principle that makes it so. The Dao does not exist outside the vessel, just as wetness does not exist outside water. We will discuss this sentence in detail in the final lecture; for now, simply note it. All the terms above are thresholds. The purpose of a threshold is not to bar the way but to remind the one entering: there is a step at your feet as you cross the door -- lift your foot. Once the reader from a foreign land has crossed these thresholds, the *Xici* they see will be the same book that Chinese readers see. But if misunderstandings take root at the entrance, the deeper one reads, and the harder one works, the further astray one goes. Should you find at some later point in the text a sentence that grates on your ears or a principle that will not come clear, you may return to this section and check whether you have once again been deceived by the modern garments of an ancient word -- ancient characters often stand at the crossroads dressed in modern clothing, and they are the most accomplished of all at being mistaken for someone else. ## VI. A Roadmap of the Twelve Chapters of the Upper Xici Now that the luggage is packed, let us show the traveler a map before setting out. The Upper *Xici* has twelve chapters; our twelve lectures cover one chapter each. Here, in a few sentences per chapter, are the main features, so that the reader may return at any point along the way and know where they stand. **Chapter One:** "Heaven is high, Earth is low; thus Qian and Kun are determined." The foundation of the entire book. Beginning with the elevation and lowness, movement and stillness of Heaven and Earth, it proceeds to the two fundamental forces of Qian and Kun, arriving at "Qian knows through ease, Kun acts through simplicity" -- the way Heaven and Earth work is, in fact, supremely simple, and simplicity is the secret by which virtue and enterprise endure and grow great. Our friend from afar asked his first question about the very first sentence of this chapter; the first lecture will devote its full strength to answering it. **Chapter Two:** "The sage established the hexagrams and observed the images." It tells how the sage set up the hexagram images and appended the statements, making fortune and misfortune visible. It says, "Change and transformation are the images of advance and retreat" -- the changes of the hexagrams and lines are nothing more than reflections of human advance and retreat. It concludes by prescribing the noble person's daily practice: "observe the images and savor the statements; observe the changes and savor the prognostications." This chapter is about how to use the language of the *Zhouyi*. **Chapter Three:** "The *tuan* (Judgments) are what speak of the images." It explains, one by one, the basic terms of this book: *tuan*, *yao* (line), fortune, misfortune, regret, distress, and "without blame" -- the five characters "without blame means being skilled at correcting one's errors" compose the most compassionate sentence in the entire *Zhouyi*. This chapter is the dictionary of this language. **Chapter Four:** "The *Yi* is commensurate with Heaven and Earth." It rises abruptly, declaring that this book's scope matches that of Heaven and Earth, that it "encompasses the Dao of Heaven and Earth." It speaks of the hidden and the manifest, of life and death, of ghosts and spirits; it arrives at "One who delights in Heaven and understands destiny does not grieve," and at "Shen has no fixed direction, and the *Yi* has no fixed form." This is the most magnificent chapter in the entire book. **Chapter Five:** "One yin and one yang: this is called the Dao." The summit of the entire book, and the source of some of the weightiest sentences in the history of Chinese thought: "What continues it is the good; what completes it is the nature"; "The benevolent see it and call it benevolence; the wise see it and call it wisdom"; "The common people use it daily without knowing it"; "The ceaseless generating of life is called *yi*"; "The unfathomable in yin and yang is called *shen*." If you are permitted to read only one chapter, read this one. **Chapter Six:** "The *Yi* -- how vast and great it is!" Continuing from the heights of the previous chapter, it speaks of the vastness of the Dao of Change: of Qian -- "in its stillness it is concentrated; in its movement it is direct" -- and of Kun -- "in its stillness it draws together; in its movement it opens out." Describing how each behaves in stillness and in movement, it portrays Heaven and Earth as two elders of different temperament; the brushwork is exquisite. **Chapter Seven:** "The *Yi* -- has it not reached the utmost$17" An extremely brief chapter, yet it is the master outline of the sage's cultivation: "Knowledge is lofty, ritual is lowly; the lofty models itself on Heaven, the lowly models itself on Earth"; "Completing one's nature and preserving it always: this is the gate of Dao and righteousness." Wisdom must reach the highest extreme; practice must descend to the lowest. Within a single person there is already a Heaven and Earth. Our friend from afar posed his second question about this chapter; the seventh lecture will answer it. **Chapter Eight:** "The sage had the means to perceive the profound complexity of the world." The Master takes up seven line statements and expounds upon them one by one, like seven short sermons: "A calling crane in the shade; its young one harmonizes with it" speaks of the sympathetic resonance of words and deeds. "When two people are of one mind, their sharpness can cut through metal" speaks of the power of shared purpose. "A toiling, modest noble person" speaks of one who has achieved merit yet does not presume upon it. "The dragon that has overreached will have regrets" speaks of the regret of being exalted without a proper position. "The prudent and discreet do not let words escape" speaks of the discipline of speech. "One who carries on his back yet rides in a carriage" speaks of the disaster that comes when virtue and rank are mismatched. This is the most intimate and approachable chapter in the entire book. **Chapter Nine:** "Heaven is one, Earth is two." It discusses numbers: the numbers of Heaven and Earth total fifty-five; the number of the great expansion is fifty, of which forty-nine are used -- providing a complete account of the ancient method of sorting milfoil stalks to produce a hexagram. Though it appears to be mere numerology, it is in fact a profound effort by pre-Qin thinkers to replicate the rhythms of Heaven and Earth through number. Readers who fear numbers may rest assured: the ninth lecture will demonstrate this ancient method step by step. **Chapter Ten:** "The *Yi* contains the Dao of the sage in four aspects." It speaks of the four aspects of the sage's Dao contained in this book, and concludes with the immortal sentence: "The *Yi* is without deliberation, without contrivance, utterly still and unmoving; when stimulated, it penetrates all situations under heaven." Ultimate stillness and ultimate responsiveness are two faces of one body. **Chapter Eleven:** "Opening up things and accomplishing affairs." It speaks of the *Yi*'s function of opening up all things and bringing affairs to completion; it says, "The sage uses this to purify his heart, withdrawing and hiding in the innermost place." Then it unfolds that famous diagram of generation: "The *Yi* contains the Supreme Ultimate (*taiji*); this generates the Two Modes; the Two Modes generate the Four Images; the Four Images generate the Eight Trigrams." **Chapter Twelve:** "Writing cannot exhaust speech; speech cannot exhaust meaning." The conclusion of the entire book: the limits of language, the deep significance of establishing images, "What is above form is called Dao; what is below form is called vessel," and finally, "To make things luminous through *shen* depends upon the person; to accomplish in silence and to be trusted without words depends upon virtue and conduct." When all that can be said has been said, whether it comes to fruition depends on the person, not the book. The twelfth lecture ends the series at precisely this point, reserving this sentence as our parting gift. The journey through the twelve chapters follows a general pattern of three risings and three descents. Chapters one through three establish the framework, explaining the origins and reading of hexagrams, lines, statements, and images. Chapters four through seven reach the greatest depths, speaking of the Dao, of *shen*, of virtue. Chapters eight through twelve carry the teaching into practice, speaking of speech and action, of number, of sympathetic resonance, and of the boundary between words and meaning. It is like climbing a mountain: first one identifies the trail at the foot of the mountain, then one enters the clouds, and finally one descends, carrying what one has seen on the mountain back to the human world. The attentive reader will ask: what then of the Lower *Xici*$18 The Lower *Xici* also has twelve chapters, discussing the fashioning of implements and the exaltation of images, the nine hexagrams of anxiety and adversity, and "the great virtue of Heaven and Earth is called life" -- it is no less brilliant than the Upper. This time we will first complete the Upper *Xici*; if circumstances permit in the future, we will begin a separate series for the Lower. The wild goose of the hexagram *Jian* did not fly to the hilltop in a single day. ## VII. How to Read, and a Word to Our Friend from Afar A few final words on reading. The *Xici* prescribed a daily discipline for the noble person who reads the *Yi*: "When at rest, the noble person observes its images and savors its statements; when about to act, the noble person observes its changes and savors its prognostications." In times of quietude and leisure, observe its images and savor its words. When action is imminent, observe its transformations and savor its judgments. The most endearing word here is *wan* -- to savor, to play with, to turn over repeatedly in one's hands and mind, tirelessly. This book is not meant to be skimmed at a glance but to be kept close at hand and close to the heart, like fondling a piece of jade: the more one handles it, the warmer and smoother it becomes; the longer one keeps it, the more its luster emerges. Therefore the first secret of reading the *Xici* is: *slowness*. One chapter may be read for a month; one sentence may be pondered for three years. Our twelve lectures are deliberately written at a leisurely pace -- each lecture runs to ten thousand characters, reading line by line, never hurrying, never skipping ahead, learning from the wild goose of the hexagram *Jian*: one stage at a time. The second secret is to read it as *image*, not as *argument*. The *Xici* says that the sage, in creating the *Yi*, "likened things in their forms and appearances, and imaged things in their suitabilities." Its mode of language is to present images, not to offer definitions; to point and gesture, not to construct proofs. When you read "stirring them with thunder and lightning, moistening them with wind and rain," you should see the storm. When you read "utterly still and unmoving; when stimulated, it penetrates all," you should feel the stillness and the response. If you approach it with the habit of dissecting concepts, it is like parsing a poem into grammar -- the poem dies. For this very reason, the text is open to its readers -- the *Xici* itself says: "The benevolent see it and call it benevolence; the wise see it and call it wisdom." This is not vagueness; it is the honesty of a mirror. Speaking of poetry, a further word is in order. China's oldest collection of poems, the *Shijing* (Book of Odes), employs a technique of opening called *xing* (evocative image): first evoking another thing, then leading into the theme. "*Guan guan* cry the ospreys, on the islet in the river" -- first the water birds calling in harmony, then the young lord and the fair maiden. "How delicate the peach tree, how brilliant its blossoms" -- first the blaze of peach blossoms, then the bride going to her new home. The poet does not explain what logical connection the water birds have with marriage; he simply juxtaposes, and the reader's heart naturally builds a bridge between the two. The image-taking of the *Zhouyi* and the *xing* of the Odes are two expressions of the same cast of mind. The hexagram *Qian* (Modesty) does not say "you should be humble"; it simply shows you "a mountain within the earth." The hexagram *Jian* (Gradual Advance) does not say "all things should proceed in due order"; it simply shows you a wild goose flying stage by stage. An image does not pronounce a verdict; an image merely presents, and the human heart understands of itself. Once this is grasped, one understands why the *Zhouyi* has remained inexhaustible for a thousand years: definitions grow dated, proofs are overturned, but images are ever new -- the mountain still lies within the earth; the wild goose still flies. The third secret is to *turn it back upon oneself*. We said earlier that the true lineage of reading the *Yi* in the pre-Qin era runs from divination to moral meaning, from asking Heaven to examining oneself. At any sentence, one may ask: is this speaking of me$19 "The dragon that has overreached will have regrets" -- have I, in some matter, flown too high and lost the sound of voices from the ground$20 "Modesty ennobles and shines" -- have I, in moments of success, placed myself low$21 Read in this way, the sixty-four hexagrams become sixty-four mirrors; the book is no longer an antique from three thousand years ago but this morning's lesson. As for our friend from afar -- in your letter you said you are working on a translation of this book in your mother tongue, seeking to preserve the beauty of the *Xici* in your own language, and you called it "a beautiful undertaking for many years to come." When we read that line, we were moved. The *Xici* says: "Writing cannot exhaust speech; speech cannot exhaust meaning." Writing cannot fully capture what is spoken; speech cannot fully convey what is meant -- this is the abyss every translator faces daily, and the creators of the *Yi* three thousand years ago faced the same. Their solution was to "establish images to exhaust meaning": where concepts reach their limit, images ferry people across. May you, when you reach the point where the mountains and waters of language run out, also remember this ancient method -- seek the images in your mother tongue and ferry across the meaning of the *Xici*. On the subject of translation, two more earnest words. First, the difficulty of the *Xici* lies for the most part not in its sentences but in its key terms: *dao*, *shen*, *ji* (the subtle), *yi*, *xiang* (image) -- each is a deep well, similar at the mouth but different at the spring. On no account should a single translation be imposed uniformly from beginning to end. The same character *shen*, in "the unfathomable in yin and yang is called *shen*," means the wondrously unfathomable; in "to penetrate the virtue of the bright spirits," it means the principles of the hidden and manifest; only in "ghosts and spirits diminish the full and bless the modest" does it actually refer to ghosts and spirits. Examine the context at every occurrence; better to translate one character several ways than to let one translation stand for a lifetime. Second, the sentences of the *Xici* have a distinctive breathing pattern: four characters to a phrase, pairs in parallel, as in "the sun departs and the moon arrives; the moon departs and the sun arrives," or "utterly still and unmoving; when stimulated, it penetrates all." This breathing is part of the meaning -- that rhythm of alternation, symmetry, and recurrence is itself enacting the mutual pushing of yin and yang. If the translation can recreate a rhythm in your language, then even if the individual words deviate somewhat, the greater part of the spirit will have been captured. If the rhythm is entirely lost, then even if every word is precise, the truth may well have slipped away. Poets translating poetry attend first to the sound and only then to the words; translating the *Xici* should be the same. From the first Western translation of this book to the present day, more than two hundred years have passed; distinguished translators' versions each have their strengths and each bear the imprint of their era. What you are doing now -- one person, not for a degree, not for a publisher, but solely to preserve the beauty of an ancient book in your own mother tongue, taking many years to translate it -- this undertaking itself is perfectly in keeping with the temperament of this book. The *Xici* says: "Accomplishing in silence, trusted without words: this resides in virtue and conduct." Accomplish it in silence. Though seas lie between us, when we look up we see the same sky, and when we look down we stand on the same earth; cold comes and heat goes, the sun departs and the moon arrives -- it is the same *yi*. The *Xici* says: "Things of the same kind gather together; beings divide into groups." People gather by affinity of heart, not by the mountains and seas between them. This introduction has now reached its end; the luggage is packed. Looking back at what has been said: a book that arose from observation of images, deepened through anxiety and adversity, and reached completion through philosophical reasoning; a set of symbols read from bottom to top, with time and position as warp and weft; a reading tradition that turned from divination toward moral meaning; and several thresholds of terminology to be mindful of when stepping through the door. All of this is talk at the foot of the mountain. The scenery within the mountain must be seen in person, one stage at a time. In the next essay, we begin reading from the very first sentence of the book: > Heaven is high, Earth is low; thus Qian and Kun are determined.