Chapter Two: From Ze to Xiang — A Great Cognitive Leap

I. "Fashioning Likenesses of Their Forms and Appearances" — Simulation and Abstraction

The next step in the text is critical: "and fashions likenesses of their forms and appearances" (er ni zhu qi xingrong).

Ni (拟), according to the Shuowen: "Ni means to measure." Duan Yucai annotates: "To measure — to regulate, to plan." In the pre-Qin context, the basic meaning of ni is "to compare," "to simulate," "to liken." As in the Liji (Quli Shang): "When comparing people, one must compare those of the same class" (ni ren bi yu qi lun).

Xingrong (形容) in the pre-Qin was not a single word but two juxtaposed concepts. Xing is outward form or shape; rong is bearing, aspect, countenance. Together they denote the outward, visible, describable features of things.

Thus "fashioning likenesses of their forms and appearances" means: taking those recondite, difficult-to-perceive deep textures (ze), and comparing them to the outward forms (xingrong) in which they manifest, so as to simulate and express them.

This is a profoundly important cognitive step. Ze is concealed and cannot be directly presented, yet it invariably reveals itself through the xingrong of the myriad things. For example: the operation of heaven is hidden and invisible, yet the rising and setting, waxing and waning of sun, moon, and stars are visible; the vitality of the earth is hidden and invisible, yet the flourishing and withering of plants and the rise and fall of rivers are visible. What the sage does is approach the directly unpresentable ze through these visible xingrong.

In the language of modern epistemology, this process is grasping essence through phenomena. But the distinctive quality of pre-Qin thinking is that, unlike later Western philosophy, it does not sharply oppose phenomena and essence. Rather, phenomena are themselves the "manifestation" of essence — xingrong is the outward expression of ze, and ze is the inner ground of xingrong. The two are inseparable; the only distinction is between "manifest" and "hidden."

II. "Imaging What Is Fitting for Each Thing" — Image-Taking and Appropriateness

"Imaging what is fitting for each thing" (xiang qi wu yi) is the second step immediately following "fashioning likenesses of their forms and appearances."

Xiang (像) here is a verb meaning "to portray," "to depict," "to take an image of." In ancient texts, xiang (像) and xiang (象) are interchangeable. The Shuowen says: "Xiang (象) — the great beast of the southern regions," extending to anything with visible form. But xiang (像) emphasizes the action of "resembling" or "comparing."

Wu yi (物宜) — a phrase well worth investigating. Wu is "things" or "the myriad creatures"; yi is "fitting," "suitable," "appropriate." Combined, wu yi refers to the suitable states, proper positions, and fitting relationships of the myriad things. The Zhouli (Diguan, Dasitu): "By the method of what suits the soil, distinguishing the products of the twelve kinds of terrain." Here "what suits the soil" (tu yi) means the products each kind of land is suited to grow. By extension, wu yi means the laws of existence and relational patterns that suit each of the myriad things.

Thus "imaging what is fitting for each thing" means: using the method of image-taking to depict the suitable states and relationships of the myriad things.

Understanding "fashioning likenesses of their forms and appearances" and "imaging what is fitting for each thing" together: the sage first compares the outward forms of things (xingrong), then further depicts the inner fitting relationships of things (wu yi), and ultimately produces — xiang (image).

This process reveals a profound epistemological principle: xiang is not a simple imitation of any single concrete thing, but a "typified expression" abstracted through the comprehensive comparison of the forms and fitting relationships of the myriad things.

Consider an example: the image of the Qian hexagram corresponds to heaven, the firm, the vigorous, the sovereign, the father, the horse, the head, metal, jade. Why are these seemingly unrelated things grouped under a single xiang$11 Because they share the same wu yi — firmness, sovereignty, the position above, ceaseless motion. The sage "perceived" this common texture (ze) concealed within heaven, the sovereign, the father, the horse, and other disparate things; through "fashioning likenesses of their forms and appearances" (comparing their respective outward features) and "imaging what is fitting for each thing" (depicting their shared suitable states), he ultimately fixed this common texture by means of the single character "Qian" and the symbol "☰." This is the birth of xiang.

III. "Therefore These Are Called Xiang" — The Solemnity of Naming

"Therefore these are called xiang" (shi gu wei zhi xiang) — this is not a casual definition but a solemn act of naming.

In pre-Qin thought, naming was by no means arbitrary. The Most High (Laozi), Chapter 1: "A name that can be named is not the constant name" (ming ke ming, fei chang ming). The Lunyu, "Zilu": "If names are not correct, speech will not be in order" (ming bu zheng, ze yan bu shun). A name is a form of grasping and fixing the essence of a thing. To name something is to confirm that human cognition of that thing has reached a degree that permits articulation.

"Therefore these are called xiang" — because the product of this entire process (perceiving profundity, fashioning likenesses of forms, imaging what is fitting) is "xiang."

But we must press further: why the name xiang, and not something else$12

The original meaning of the character xiang (象) is "elephant." In oracle-bone script, xiang depicts an elephant in profile — long trunk, large ears, thick legs. In the Shang dynasty, wild elephants did indeed roam the Central Plains; xiang was the largest land animal people of that time could see.

From the original meaning of "elephant," xiang extends across several semantic layers:

First layer: Image, appearance. Because the elephant is enormous in form and strikingly visible, xiang extends to all visible forms. Second layer: Sign, indication. Wherever an elephant passes, it leaves enormous footprints; so xiang extends to traces and omens left by things. Third layer: To model after, to take an image. As a verb, xiang means "to imitate the form of something." The Shangshu (Shundian): "Using images to display the punishments" (xiang yi dian xing).

All three layers are simultaneously present in "therefore these are called xiang": xiang is both the image the sage created (hexagram image), and the sign of heaven and earth and the myriad things (indication), and something modeled after the myriad things (emulation).

Han Kangbo commented: "Image (xiang) means likeness (xiang)." Kong Yingda glossed: "It means imaging what is fitting for things." Cheng Yi wrote in his Yi Zhuan: "The sage established hexagrams to image the affairs of all under heaven — this is what taking images means." Zhu Xi wrote in his Zhouyi Benyi: "Xiang includes the upper and lower bodies of the hexagram, as well as the statements appended by the Duke of Zhou."

Each scholar emphasizes a different facet, but the core is consistent: xiang is the great product by which the sage transforms the profundity of all under heaven into a cognitive form that is visible, transmissible, and applicable.

IV. The Archaic Roots of Xiang-Thinking

If we extend our view to the deeper past of high antiquity, the roots of xiang-thinking become even clearer.

In the early stages of human cognition, before abstract concepts were well developed, the fundamental way our ancestors understood the world was through "taking images" — grasping abstract, imperceptible principles through concrete, palpable forms. This is not a "primitive" mode of thinking; on the contrary, it is humanity's most ancient and most vitally enduring cognitive method.

Archaeological discoveries show that Neolithic painted-pottery patterns, jade carvings, and rock-art designs are all products of xiang-thinking. The human-face-and-fish painted-pottery basin of the Banpo site, the jade pig-dragons and C-shaped dragons of the Hongshan culture, the deity-and-beast-face motifs of the Liangzhu culture — these designs are not mere decoration, but the ancestors' xiang-based expressions of the ze (profundity) of heaven and earth and the myriad things.

The image of the dragon is a classic case. The dragon is not any single real animal, but a composite xiang formed by synthesizing, abstracting, and recombining features of the snake, fish, bird, deer, horse, and other creatures. It "fashions likenesses of" the "forms and appearances" of various animals, "images what is fitting for" the natural forces of water, cloud, thunder, and lightning, and ultimately becomes a comprehensive xiang representing the supreme life force and the power of transformation. How closely this process parallels the Xi Ci Zhuan's "the sage has the means to perceive the profundity of all under heaven, and fashions likenesses of their forms and appearances, imaging what is fitting for each thing — therefore these are called xiang"!

The eight trigrams are the same. "☰" — three unbroken horizontal lines — takes its image from the completeness and flawlessness of heaven, the vigor and ceaselessness of yang energy; "☷" — three broken horizontal lines — takes its image from the earth's capacity to bear and contain, the suppleness and receptiveness of yin energy. These symbols, pared to the utmost simplicity, condense the ancestors' insight into the deepest textures of heaven, earth, and the myriad things.

As Wen Yiduo pointed out in his Zhouyi Yizheng Leizuan, the formation of the eight-trigram symbol system was the inevitable product of human symbolic thinking reaching a certain stage of development — it marks the point at which humanity could employ radically simplified symbols to encompass radically complex worldly experience.

V. A Further Question: Why Xiang Rather Than "Concept"$13

This question merits deep reflection. Western philosophy, already in the age of ancient Greece, set out on the path of "conceptualization" — grasping the essence of things through logical definition. Plato's "Forms" (eidos) and Aristotle's "Categories" (kategoria) both build cognitive systems through abstract concepts.

But pre-Qin Chinese thought took a different path — "image-taking." This was not because pre-Qin thinkers were incapable of logical reasoning (the logicians of the School of Names, such as Hui Shi and Gongsun Long, possessed formidable analytical powers), but because they profoundly recognized that concepts sever the organic connections between things, while xiang preserves them.

A concept can only point to one class of things, and its boundaries are clear — "horse" is horse, and cannot simultaneously be "vigorous," "heaven," or "sovereign." But a single xiang can simultaneously point to multiple levels — the xiang of Qian is at once heaven, firmness, vigor, the sovereign, the father, the horse, the head. These different things are linked through the bond of xiang, forming an organic network of meaning.

This is precisely the greatness of xiang-thinking: it is not a reductive mode of thought (reducing the complex to the simple), but an analogical mode of thought (discovering isomorphic relationships among different things).

The Xi Ci Zhuan immediately after this chapter enumerates numerous instances of xiang:

"Therefore as for xiang — the sage has the means to perceive the profundity of all under heaven, and fashions likenesses of their forms and appearances, imaging what is fitting for each thing — therefore these are called xiang."

Here the text repeatedly emphasizes that the foundation of xiang lies in ze — in the fact that deep isomorphic relationships genuinely exist among the myriad things of the world. The sage is not subjectively manufacturing connections, but objectively "perceiving" these connections and then expressing them in the form of xiang.