Yijing: Chinese Politics

Yijing and
The
Chinese Politics
Classical Commentary
and Literati Activism
in the Northern Song
Period, 960–1127
Tze-ki Hon
The Yijing and Chinese Politics
SUNY series in Chinese Philosophy and Culture
Roger T. Ames, editor
The Yijing and Chinese Politics
Classical Commentary and Literati Activism
in the Northern Song Period, 960–27
Tze-ki Hon
State University of New York Press,

Published by
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hon, Tze-Ki, 958–

The Yijing and Chinese Politics: classical commentary and literati activism in the
northern Song Period, 960–27 / Tze-ki Hon.
p. cm. — (SUNY series in Chinese philosophy and culture)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0–794–63–7 (alk. paper)—ISBN 0–794–632–5 (pbk. : alk. paper)
. Yi jing. 2. China—History—Song dynasty, 960–279. I. Title. II. Series.
PL2464.Z6H66 2004
299.5'282—dc22
2004042987
0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 
To Wan-Chiung 婉瓊
This page intentionally left blank.
Contents
Acknowledgments ix
Chronology of Northern Song Emperors xiii
Introduction 
. The Northern Song Historical Context 5
2. The Northern Song Yijing Text 28
3. Mission of Civil Bureaucrats: The Yijing of Hu Yuan,

Li Gou, and Ouyang Xiu 49
4. Inner Roots of Ordering the World: The Yijing of

Zhang Zai, Sima Guang, and Shao Yong 77
5. Coming to Terms with Factional Politics: The Yijing of

Cheng Yi and Su Shi 0
Conclusion 4
Appendix I: Names and Images of the Eight Trigrams 5

Appendix II: Names and Images of the
Sixty-four Hexagrams 53
Notes 57
Glossary of Chinese Terms and Names 9
Bibliography 97
Index 23
Acknowledgments
Like a traveler who returns home after a long journey abroad, I have
mixed feelings of awe, joy, and humility when looking back on what
it has taken me to write this book. The book began a decade ago as
a doctoral dissertation and reached its present form through vari-
ous incarnations—conference papers, journal articles, book chap-
ters, encyclopedia entries, and manuscript drafts. Along the way
many teachers, colleagues, friends, and relatives have given me sup-
port and encouragement. Without them, the book would not have
been written.
First and foremost, I thank members of my dissertation commit-
tee at the University of Chicago: Professors Edward L. Shaughnessy,
Guy S. Alitto, and Anthony C. Yu. With patience and forbearance,
they guided me through a project that appeared, at the time, to be
exotic. Professor Shaughnessy, my principal advisor, was particularly
helpful in teaching me how to read Yijing commentaries as histori-
cal records. Much of what I intend to prove in this book originated
from his inspiring Yijing seminar in 988, in which each member of
the class was responsible for comparing different interpretations of
a hexagram. His support of my study of Yijing commentaries went
beyond supervising my dissertation. Over the past decade, he has
been assiduous in pushing me to turn my dissertation into a book, and
when the prospect of publishing the book seemed bleak, he reminded
me of my responsibility to write for future readers.
A number of scholars and friends read parts of my dissertation or
drafts of this book, and their comments saved me from making embar-
rassing mistakes. Among them, I must thank Stanley Murashige, my
fellow schoolmate, for teaching me the art of writing. What started off
as a small favor to proofread my dissertation has turned out to be his
most treasured gift of showing me how to write in simple and direct
ix
x Acknowledgments
manner. In his long marginal notes on pages of my dissertation, Stanley

always found ways to render my ideas in plain language. As is shown
in the text and the notes of this book, I am deeply indebted to the four
authors of Sung Dynasty Uses of the I Ching (Princeton, 990): Kidder
Smith, Jr., Peter K. Bol, Joseph A. Adler, and Don J. Wyatt. Their book
appeared while I was writing my doctoral dissertation, and affirmed (at
a time when I most needed) my belief in studying Yijing commentaries
as historical documents. I am particularly grateful to Professors Kidder
Smith and Peter Bol for sharing with me—a graduate student with no
connection to them—their experience in studying Yijing commentaries.
Kai-wing Chow, Yuet-keung Lo, and On-cho Ng read various drafts of
the book and offered critical comments. They, as friends, had gone out
of their way to push me to finish the book, and I am deeply grateful
for their enduring friendship. Two anonymous reviewers at the State
University of New York Press gave me constructive criticisms on an
earlier draft of the book, and their suggestions helped me frame the
book for a larger audience.
SUNY-Geneseo, my home institution, provided me with travel
grants and research supports administered through the Office of Spon-
sored Research headed by Dr. Douglas J. Harke. I am especially grateful
to President Christopher C. Dahl for granting me two professional
leaves—Drescher Affirmative Action Leave in January–May 999, and
the Sabbatical Leave in September–December 2002—that allowed me
to immerse myself in writing this book. My colleagues at the history
department were always receptive to my peculiar interest in premodern
China, and they gave me opportunities to present parts of this book at
faculty forums. The Interlibrary Loan Office of Milne Library at SUNY-
Geneseo rendered me a great service by ordering a large number of
books from libraries around the world, and I thank Harriet Sleggs for
her persistence in finding books from far-flung libraries.
As research associate, I received generous support from the East
Asian Program at Cornell University. I am grateful to Laurie Damiani,
Administrative Director of the East Asian Program, who arranged library
privileges for me to use the Asian collection at Wason library.
I thank the Monumenta Serica Institute and the State University
of New York Press for granting me the permission to use materials
in my published writings: “Eremitism, Sagehood, and Public Service:
The Zhouyi kouyi of Hu Yuan,” Monumenta Serica, 48 (November,
2000): 67–92; “Redefining the Civil Governance: The Yichuan yizhuan
of Cheng Yi,” Monumenta Serica, 52 (2004); “Military Governance
Acknowledgments xi
versus Civil Governance: A Comparison of the Old History and the

New History of the Five Dynasties,” in Imagining Boundaries: Chang-
ing Confucian Doctrines, Texts and Hermeneutics edited by Kai-wing
Chow, John B. Henderson, On-cho Ng (Albany: State University of
New York Press, 999), 85–06.
During my annual summer visit to Chicago to conduct research
at the Regenstein Library of the University of Chicago, my relatives
in Naperville, Illinois—my mother-in-law, Chiu-hsia Wu Liu; my in-
laws, David E. and Yuan-yu Franklin, James and Yuan-lin Cempel, and
Jessy and Lin Liu—opened their homes to me and showered me with
hospitality that no one could have anticipated. Their generosity and
companionship made my research trips more comfortable and fruitful
than I had expected. Although half the world away, my parents, Hon
Hing-kuen and Fu Ssu-duan, lent support to my research by sending
me books from Hong Kong.
Wan-chiung Liu, my wife, has been my steadfast partner through-
out my decade-long journey of writing this book. Like many couples,
we went through together both good and bad times, and fought to-
gether to overcome obstacles. In the process, she assumed a number
of roles—a friend who shared my apprehension about the uncertain
future, an associate who worked in tandem to create a better situation,
an advisor who suggested the best course to be taken, and a teacher
who had a better sense of what was at stake. Certainly my journey was
a lot less horrifying and dramatic than Dante’s to the inferno, it seems
to me that my partnership with Wan-chiung can be compared with
that between Dante and Virgil—I am a Dante who acts, and she is a
Virgil, the mind behind the actions. For this partnership, I dedicate
the book to her.
Chronology of
Northern Song Emperors
Taizu 太祖, 960–76

Taizong 太宗, 976–97
Zhenzong 真宗, 997–022
Renzong 仁宗, 023–63
Yingzong 英宗, 063–67
Shenzong 神宗, 068–85
Zhezong 哲宗, 086–00
Huizong 徽宗, 0–26
Qinzong 欽宗, 26–27
Introduction
T his book is about how the educated elite of the Northern Song
(960–27) came to terms with major political and social changes
through commenting upon the Yijing (Book of Changes). By relating
classical commentary with history, this book attempts to link two
different fields of study in premodern China: the study of the Yijing
and the study of the Northern Song. Although the relationship be-
tween the two fields has long been recognized, little effort has been
made to render the relationship explicit. Thus, the goal of this book
is to demonstrate how the Yijing commentaries can be an important
source of information on the momentous political and social changes
of eleventh-century China.
The study of the Yijing, originally developed as part of the mis-
sionaries’ attempt to match Christianity with Confucianism, has been
conducted in a fashion best described as the “book of wisdom” ap-
proach. Even though it has long been known to Western scholars that
the Yijing was originally a divination text in early China and did not
become a Confucian classic until 35 B.C.E.,¹ major Yijing translators
such as Rev. Canon McClatchie, James Legge, and Richard Wilhelm
interpreted the classic as if it were transtemporal. Certainly, this
ahistorical approach has the merit of giving interpreters the liberty to
render the text in ways that are accessible and meaningful to Western

2 The Yijing and Chinese Politics
audiences, and the popularity of the Richard Wilhelm and Cary F.

Baynes translation during the 950s and 960s proves the strength of
this approach. However, the “book of wisdom” approach also ignores
the history of the text and the impact of that history on the social and
cultural life of China. As Richard John Lynn points out, “we are becom-
ing increasingly aware that the [Yijing] exists in as many versions as
there are commentaries on it: its text is so dense and opaque that its
meaning depends on how commentaries interpret it.”² And the limits
of the “book of wisdom” approach are most revealing in its lack of at-
tention to Yijing learning during the Northern Song—a period widely
known in standard accounts of Chinese classical commentary as one
of the most productive times in the history of the classic.³
In contrast, the study of Northern Song China has been driven
by an interest in social mobility. From Edward Kracke to John Chaffee
to Robert Hymes and Peter Bol, historians are concerned with broad
patterns of socioeconomic transformation by analyzing the civil service
examination system and the changes in the self-identity of the educated
elite.⁴ There is, of course, much to be gained from this “longue durée”
approach, such as a deeper understanding of the structure of Chinese
society, and a better view of the mechanisms through which different
groups of Chinese rose and fell on the ladder of success. However, in
centering on broad patterns of socioeconomic change, historians have
not been giving sufficient attention to classical studies, particularly
classical commentary. This lack of attention to classical commentary
is troubling in light of the historians’ quest for better understanding
of the complexity of Northern Song social change. Well known for its
success in opening the floodgate of social mobility by institutionalizing
and expanding the civil service examinations, the Northern Song was
a time when classical studies became a major channel for the edu-
cated elite to succeed socially and politically. For pragmatic purposes
or personal interests, members of the Northern Song educated elite
had to excel in classical scholarship in order to be significant players
in social and political discourse. And there is no way to gauge the full
impact of social change on their lives and their self-perception unless
we examine carefully their classical scholarship.
Coming to Terms with Change
How am I going to link the two fields of study? To answer this question,
we need to know what the Yijing is about. The Yijing (also known as
Introduction 3
I Ching) literally means “the classic of change.” It is a text of multiple

layers, and through these multiple textual layers, it discusses the notion
of change. First of all, the original layer of the classic, commonly known
as the Zhouyi (The Yi of the Zhou [Dynasty]), consists of sixty-four
hexagrams, each accompanied by a hexagram statement and six line
statements.⁵ The sixty-four hexagrams are graphic representations of
a dynamic universe. As a grouping of six lines intricately related, each
hexagram is a field of action with multiple actors or factors. Reading
from the bottom to the top, a hexagram is a situation in which six play-
ers or components are locked into a complex network of correspon-
dence based on their positions in the hexagram and their yin (passive)
and yang (active) predisposition. For instance, the first, second, and
third lines (counting from the bottom) are considered to be the lower
trigram, and the fourth, fifth, and sixth lines are grouped together as
the upper trigram. Each trigram is regarded as a separate unit with
its own dynamics, and each plays an important role in influencing the
overall relations of the six lines. Within a hexagram, the second line
and the fifth line are considered to be a pair, even though they are far
apart spatially. The second line (usually known as the line of an official)
is supposed to render direct service to the fifth line (usually called the
line of an emperor), and in turn, the fifth line is expected to supervise
the second line in carrying out whatever task is at hand. To make the
Yijing even more interesting with respect to graphically depicting the
possibility of change, each hexagram can be linked to, and sometimes
even be transformed into, another hexagram based on line alignment
or the yin-yang correspondence. Accordingly, the sixty-four hexagrams
become sixty-four different configurations of forces that are part of
a gigantic and dynamic system. As such, they symbolize the infinite
possibilities of structuring human and natural resources in coming to
terms with contingency and change.
In addition to the sixty-four hexagrams, the Yijing also con-
tains the Ten Wings—seven pieces of commentarial material divided
into ten documents including Tuan (Commentary on the Hexagram
Statements) I and II, Daxiang (Commentary on the Images of the
Hexagrams), Xiaoxiang (Commentary on the Images of the Hexa-
gram Lines), Xici (Attached Verbalization or Great Treatise) I and II,
Wenyan (Commentary on the Words of the Text), Shuogua (Remarks
on Trigrams), Xugua (The Sequence of Hexagrams), and Zagua (The
Miscellany of Hexagrams). Although written in a different style and
focusing on different issues, the Ten Wings share the same theme
of comparing changes in the human world with those in the natural

world, making both appear to be resonating with one another.⁶ This
theme is particularly clear in the Xici, which stresses the mutual cor-
respondence between the natural and the human worlds.⁷ Consider,
for instance, the discussion of “the Way of the Three Realms” (san ji
zhi dao) in chapter 2 of Xici I. Speaking of a hexagram as representing
both the natural and the human worlds, the Xici chapter describes
the movement of the six lines as the transformation of the “Three
Realms”—Heaven (tian), Earth (di), and Humankind (ren).⁸ Whereas
Heaven and Earth denote the forces of change in the natural world,
Humankind symbolizes what human beings can do to manage their
lives. Thus, the mutual correspondence and interdependence of the
six lines—particularly the ways in which the yin lines interact with the
yang lines—reflect waxing and waning, rise and fall, and fortune and
misfortune in both the natural and the human worlds. The six lines
of a hexagram imply that what happens in nature will have an impact
on human beings, and vice versa.⁹
Through these different measures—graphic images, diagrams,
philosophical treatises, and short essays—the Yijing reveals patterns of
change. It discusses how to initiate change when things do not work,
and how to cope with atrocity and turmoil when things have been
turned upside down. Addressing an issue that is so fundamental to
human life, the Yijing speaks to everyone who is in the midst of change.
For the blessed, it issues warning about the transience of success and
the danger of hubris. For the downtrodden, it offers encouragement to
make the best out of a given situation and to work for a better future.
For the rest, it provides resources to anticipate, in Richard Gotshalk’s
terms, the “movement into the unknown and the uncertain.”¹⁰
From historical sources, we learn that people of the Northern Song
were indeed facing dramatic change. During the Northern Song, none
of the big aristocratic families who had previously monopolized power
and wealth had survived.¹¹ The trinity of their power—land owner-
ship, access to office, and education—was rendered ineffective by the
introduction of the civil service examination system as the ladder of
success.¹² Testing candidates’ command of the classics and language
skill, the civil service examinations were open to all who could pay
their way to the examination halls. In theory if not in practice, merit
rather than family background determined one’s chance to enter into
the government. Although historians are still debating on what exactly
that social mobility meant and how big an impact the social mobility
Introduction 5
had on Chinese society as a whole, there is little doubt that the social
structure of China in the eleventh century was quite different from that
in the ninth and tenth centuries. As expected, this drastic social change
created anxiety among those who were in the midst of it. Especially for
the people on the upper rungs of the social ladder, the stake was even
higher. If they managed to cruise through what John Chaffee calls “the
thorny gates” of civil service examinations,¹³ they would gain power,
wealth, and prestige, transforming themselves into active players in
governing. But if they were stopped at the thorny gates, they would
remain obscure scholars who might continue to write to lament their
fates or to teach to plant seeds for future change, but they would have
limited impact on government and society. Recently historians such
as Peter Bol, Beverly Bossler, and Tao Jingsheng have found an array
of materials including letters, poems, paintings, funerary writings,
and tomb inscriptions in which the educated elite expressed in clear
terms their hopes and fears of this drastic change.¹⁴
This anxiety about change and the apprehensions about the un-
certain future also contributed to a great number of writings on the
Yijing, the classic that directly dealt with the question of change. For
instance, in the “Yiwen zhi” (Record of Literature and the Arts) of the
Song shi (History of Song), we are informed of more than sixty com-
mentaries written on the Yijing during the Northern Song. Although
many of these commentaries are no longer extant today, the list of
commentators is impressive, including such major cultural figures
as Chen Tuan (?–989), Shi Jie (005–045), Liu Mu (?–?), Shao Yong
(0–077), Hu Yuan (993–059), Ouyang Xiu (007–070), Zhang Zai
(020–077), Wang Anshi (02–086), Sima Guang (09–086), Su
Shi (037–0), Cheng Yi (033–07), and Lü Dalin (046–082?).¹⁵
If we add to this list authors of treatises, essays, and poems about the
Yijing—for instance, Li Gou (009–059) who wrote thirteen essays
on the Yijing, and Fan Zhongyan (989–052) who composed five rhap-
sodic poems (fu) on themes of the Yijing—the number of Northern
Song Yijing exegetes would be staggering.¹⁶ Further evidence of this
tremendous outburst of energy on the Yijing is found in the comments
of the eighteenth-century editors of the Siku quanshu (The Complete
Works of the Emperor’s Four Treasuries). Viewing the history of Yijing
learning as a linear progression of “two schools and six subgroups”
(liangpai liuzong), the editors held the Northern Song in high regard
by linking many of the key developments in Yijing learning to that
period. According to the editors, whether it was the xiangshu (image
and number) or the yili (principle and meaning) school of Yijing com-
mentary, the Northern Song commentators were well represented, and
many of them (e.g., Chen Tuan, Shao Yong, Hu Yuan, and Cheng Yi)
were in fact pivotal figures in establishing the basic rules for interpret-
ing the Yijing.¹⁷
Yet, despite their huge number and the high honor bestowed on
them in later centuries, the Northern Song Yijing commentaries have
not been studied as voices of change in the way that some historians
have done with letters, poems, paintings, funerary writings, and tomb
inscriptions of the same period. This is partly due to, as discussed
earlier, the “book of wisdom” approach of Yijing studies that presents
the classic as transtemporal and ahistorical. This is also partly due to
the lack of dialogue between scholars in the field of Yijing studies and
the field of Northern Song studies. To fill this void, this book examines
the Yijing commentaries written from the 050s to the 090s, when the
Northern Song educated elite felt most acutely the impact of political
and social change on their lives. Focusing on three exegetes—Hu Yuan,
Zhang Zai, and Cheng Yi—this book examines the debates among the
educated elite over their role as political and social leaders. By com-
paring these three exegetes’ readings of the Yijing with those of their
peers, this book traces the changes in the self-identity of eleventh-
century educated elite, who considered themselves to be corulers of
the empire rather than the emperor’s subservient administrators. This
self-identity of the educated elite was predicated upon an assumption
that only they could fully comprehend the intricacy of human affairs
and that even the emperor himself had to learn from them about the
skills of ruling. This assumption, presumptuous and impractical as it
may seem, won the day in the Northern Song. In this book, we will see
why this assumption appeared to be convincing to the educated elite,
how the assumption acquired new meaning over time as the country’s
fiscal and military crises deepened, and what impact it had made on
the political discourse of the Northern Song.
Synchronic Comparison
In recent years, we have witnessed a tremendous increase in interest in

the study of Chinese classical commentary. This interest has shed new
light on what “classic” meant in imperial China and how a classic was
transmitted in the Chinese tradition. For instance, John Henderson has
identified the assumptions and strategies that governed the Chinese
Introduction 7
commentators in interpreting the Confucian classics.¹⁸ Based on a

comparison of differing commentaries to the Shijing (Odes, or Book of
Poetry), Steven Van Zoeren demonstrates the creative process in which
the Chinese commentators rendered a classic anew.¹⁹ Concentrating on
the commentaries to the Laozi, Rudolf Wagner explains the craft of the
commentator Wang Bi (226–249) in relating the classic to his times.²⁰
Employing the European theories of hermeneutics to discuss Chinese
classical commentaries, Daniel Gardner and On-cho Ng demonstrate
how a detailed study of the Confucian commentarial tradition will yield
a deeper understanding of Chinese cultural history.²¹
With respect to the Northern Song, two works are extremely
important in elucidating the historical significance of classical com-
mentary. One is Alan Wood’s Limits to Autocracy: From Sung Neo-
Confucianism to a Doctrine of Political Rights (Honolulu, 995), in
which the author compares the commentaries to the Chunqiu (Spring
and Autumn Annals) by Sun Fu (992–057), Cheng Yi, and Hu Anguo
(074–38). Wood uses these three commentaries to demonstrate how
the Northern Song educated elite intended to gain more power by sup-
porting imperial autocracy on the basis of “honoring the emperor and
expelling the barbarians” (zunwang rangyi). He explains that, paradoxi-
cal as it may seem, the educated elite’s support of imperial autocracy
rested on a pragmatic calculation—the opportunity “to appropriate
for themselves the emperor’s power through their dominance of the
government bureaucracy.”²² While Wood may be too ambitious in using
the Northern Song case to launch his broad-sweeping comparison of
Chinese, Japanese, and European political philosophy,²³ nonetheless
his analyses of the three Chunqiu commentaries point to the close
connection between classical commentary and political discourse
during the Northern Song.
Even more relevant to the present study is Sung Dynasty Uses of
the I Ching (Princeton, 990) jointly written by Kidder Smith, Peter Bol,
Joseph Adler, and Don Wyatt. The book is significant in two respects.
First, it represents the first attempt at defining a methodology for study-
ing Yijing commentaries as historical documents. Calling their method
“the study of the [Yijing] in history,” the four authors plan to show “how
a classic was appropriated by later thinkers, how a single text could be
taken to mean many different things, and what it is about the [Yijing]
that made it so significant to literati of the [Song].”²⁴ In essence, they
lay out an approach that centers on the Yijing commentaries rather
than the Yijing, that focuses on the creativity of Yijing commentators
in reinventing the classic, and that stresses the historicity of Yijing

commentaries as direct responses to change in time.²⁵ Second, by of-
fering a detailed analysis of four eleventh- and twelfth-century Yijing
commentaries, the authors of Sung Dynasty Uses of I Ching demonstrate
what commentators must do in order to make the Yijing meaningful
to their readers. On the one hand, they must understand the spirit and
letter of the Yijing in light of its received commentarial tradition. In
the case of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, it means that the com-
mentators had to be familiar with the differences between the Han
Dynasty method of employing images and numbers in interpreting
the Yijing and the Wang Bi method of rendering the Yijing as a moral
and philosophical text.²⁶ On the other hand, commentators must give
life to the Yijing by transforming it into a voice of the present, speaking
directly to issues at hand. In the context of the eleventh and twelfth
centuries, it means that the commentators had to wrestle with such
issues as the relationship between literary creation (wen) and moral
cultivation (dao), and the link between self-cultivation (de) and the
pursuit of knowledge (xue).²⁷
Their contribution to the historical study of Northern Song
classical commentary notwithstanding, Wood and the four authors
of Sung Dynasty Uses of I Ching adopt what I would call a diachronic
comparison of classical commentaries. By that I mean they compare
classical commentaries across time, decades or hundreds of years
apart. Take, for example, the three exegetes whom Wood compares.
Sun Fu lived in the early Northern Song period, shortly after politi-
cal fragmentation had ended. The mood of his time was one of hope
and optimism. In contrast, Cheng Yi spent much of his mature life
confronting factional rivalry of mid-Northern Song. The climate of
his time was one of conflict and reconciliation. For Hu Anguo, who
lived during the transition from the Northern Song to the Southern
Song, he faced the threat of foreign invasion and endured the humili-
ation of seeing the Song court move from Kaifeng to Hangzhou. The
environment of his time was one of crisis and turmoil. Given the
distinct differences between these three exegetes, comparison of their
Chunqiu commentaries cannot be done simply on such a broad basis
as statecraft (Sun) versus morality (Cheng and Hu).²⁸ Rather, it has to
be done by taking into account the distinct historical context in which
each commentary was written.
Similarly, Sung Dynasty Uses of the I Ching is hampered by its
temporal structure. Writing their works at a time when eleventh- and
Introduction 9
twelfth-century intellectual life was considered to be part of the “un-

folding of Neo-Confucianism,”²⁹ the four authors saw the Northern
Song Yijing learning as a stepping-stone for Zhu Xi’s (30–200) grand
synthesis. Although the bulk of the book is clearly about the Northern
Song, with five out of seven chapters devoted to eleventh-century
Yijing scholars, including Ouyang Xiu, Su Shi, Shao Yong, and Cheng
Yi, ultimately it is Zhu Xi of the Southern Song who ties the book
together. Born a century later than the rest of the exegetes discussed
in the book, Zhu Xi is presented as the one who “resolves” the differ-
ences and the controversy among the Northern Song exegetes.³⁰ Even
though Zhu Xi’s Yijing scholarship was evidently based on prior work
in the Northern Song (particularly those of Shao Yong and Cheng
Yi), in their concluding chapter, the authors of Sung Dynasty Uses of I
Ching suggest that Zhu’s achievement in Yijing learning “was part of
his exhaustive reevaluation and systematization of virtually the entire
Chinese cultural tradition.”³¹
In view of the limitations of a diachronic comparison, I adopt in
this book a synchronic comparison. I structure the book in accordance
with three time periods of the Northern Song: () the early Northern
Song, covering from 960 to 022, in which the Song court rebuilt a
centralized government by marginalizing aristocratic families and the
military establishment on the one hand, and forming a partnership
with civil bureaucrats on the other; (2) the mid-Northern Song, cover-
ing from 023 to 085, in which the Song court decided to carry out
large-scale reforms to address problems arising from the increase in
fiscal costs and alarming military failures; (3) the late Northern Song,
covering from 086 to 27, in which the Song government suffered,
as a consequence of its flip-flop in reforms, from rounds of factional
rivalry among civil bureaucrats. In each of these periods, I focus on
one Yijing commentary as my entry point into the milieu of the time.
Accordingly, for the early Northern Song period, I examine Hu Yuan’s
Zhouyi kouyi (The orally transmitted meanings of the Yi from the
Zhou [Dynasty]);³² for the mid-Northern Song period, Zhang Zai’s
Hengqu yishuo (An explanation of the meanings of Yi [by a reader] from
Hengqu); and for the late Northern Song period, Cheng Yi’s Yichuan
yizhuan (A commentary on the Yi [by a reader] from Yi River). Unlike
Wood and the four authors of Sung Dynasty Uses of I Ching, I exam-
ine these three commentaries not just as they are, but also compare
them with other commentaries of the same period of time.³³ For Hu
Yuan, I compare his commentary with those of Li Gou and Ouyang
0 The Yijing and Chinese Politics
Xiu who, like him, were active in calling upon the educated elite to
join the Song government as civil bureaucrats. For Zhang Zai, I com-
pare his commentary with those of Sima Guang and Shao Yong who,
along with him, stressed the importance of inner cultivation to attain
a full vision of one’s role in the universe. For Cheng Yi, I compare his
commentary with Su Shi’s, his archrival within the antireform camp.
Both of them, having spent years in banishment to remote corners of
the country, used the occasion of writing Yijing commentary to reflect
upon the causes of human conflict and the prospect for reconciliation
and harmony.
These comparisons, of course, are not exhaustive. They focus
primarily on what some Yijing scholars may call the yili school of
commentary.³⁴ I also do not include a number of important Northern
Song Yijing exegetes such as Chen Tuan, Liu Mu, and Lü Dalin, who
deserve careful study. Incomplete as they are, these comparisons are
to make explicit the interrelationship between history and classical
commentary—that is, how issues of the day affect an exegete’s reading
of a classic, and how an exegete’s reading of a classic helps to shape the
direction of public debate. These comparisons highlight the variety of
opinions within the same period of time, and the multiple possibilities
of the Yijing to be a forum for political discourse. More importantly,
they call attention to the dramatic changes during the Northern Song
that have received little attention to this day: the destruction of mili-
tary governance in the early Northern Song period; the flourishing of
civil governance in the mid-Northern Song period; and the trials and
tribulations of civil bureaucrats in the late Northern Song period. And
the lives of the three exegetes who serve as the anchors in this book
mirror these important changes.
Born in 993 when the Song court had just solidified its control
over its territory, Hu Yuan belonged to the first generation of Northern
Song educated elite with an acute sense of living in a new era. Having
witnessed the gradual establishment of civil governance, characterized
by large numbers of scholars being admitted into the Song bureaucracy
by passing the civil service examinations, he took it upon himself to
articulate the mission of these new civil bureaucrats, who believed
they ruled the world with the emperor. Thirty-years junior to Hu Yuan,
Zhang Zai grew up at a time when civil governance had been firmly
established and the civil bureaucrats were in full control of the govern-
ment. Unlike Hu Yuan who struggled against the military governance
of pre-Song times, Zhang Zai took civil governance for granted. In his
Introduction 
mature life, he witnessed two drastic reforms of the mid-Northern

Song—the 043–044 reform of Fan Zhongyan, and the 068–085
reform of Wang Anshi—both planned and led by civil bureaucrats.
Seeing only the positive aspects of civil governance, Zhang Zai firmly
believed in the possibility of founding a perfect human order based on
a civil code of behavior. Twelve years younger than Zhang Zai, Cheng
Yi saw the benefit and also the cost of civil governance. Having spent
his first fifty years studying Confucian classics as a private scholar,
Cheng Yi was appointed in 086 as the teacher of the young Emperor
Zhezong, a golden opportunity to rule the empire through teaching.
Unfortunately for Cheng Yi, that teaching duty took place at the height
of factional rivalry among groups of civil bureaucrats, and it made
him an easy target of political retaliation. Consequently, he suffered
tremendously from political rivalry: banishment, the burning of his
writings, being forbidden to take office in the capital, not being allowed
to teach publicly, and most damaging of all, having his name marked
on a condemnatory stone tablet placed outside the imperial palace.
At the low point of his political career, Cheng Yi sought solace in the
Yijing and contemplated, through writing a commentary, what had to
be done to reinvent the civil governance.
Song Learning versus the Learning of the Way
What we are going to find in this synchronic and historically based

comparison of Yijing commentaries are the intellectual vitality, daring
thoughts, breathtaking ideas, and grandiose plans that made the
Northern Song so unique. And as such, the picture of eleventh-century
intellectual life that we are about to see differs substantially from that
of the Daoxue (Learning of the Way) studies. As mentioned earlier, in
conventional accounts, many of the Northern Song Yijing exegetes are
traditionally grouped together as forerunners of the Cheng-Zhu school
of Daoxue. For instance, in Zhu Xi’s Yiluo yuanyuan lu (Records of
the Origins of the School of the Chengs) and the “Daoxue” chapters
of the Song shi, Cheng Yi and Zhang Zai were featured as members
of the “Five Masters of the Northern Song” (beisong wuzi) who alleg-
edly partook in the transmission of the true Confucian Way leading
to Zhu Xi. In both accounts, which are still considered by many to be
foundational texts for studying the Song-Ming Daoxue, efforts were
made to underscore the relative importance of the two Northern Song
thinkers in their transmission of the true Confucian Way. Hence Cheng
Yi, who is taken to be more pure in transmitting the true Confucian

Way and the cofounder of the Cheng-Zhu school of Daoxue, was placed
ahead of Zhang Zai, despite the fact that Cheng was junior to and a
nephew of Zhang.³⁵ Although hardly a Daoxue thinker by conventional
standards and born a generation prior to Cheng Yi and Zhang Zai, Hu
Yuan was honored in Quan Zuwang’s (705–755) Song Yuan xue’an
(The Song and Yuan Schools of Learning) as a thriving force for the
establishment of Song Daoxue.³⁶ Likewise, in discussing Hu Yuan’s
contribution to the study of the Yijing, the eighteenth-century editors
of the Siku quanshu, who were heavily influenced by the Song-Ming
Daoxue, made strenuous efforts to emphasize the link between Hu and
Cheng Yi. They wanted to give an impression that despite belonging
to an earlier generation, Hu did play a significant role in shaping the
development of Song Daoxue.³⁷
There is no doubt that these Northern Song thinkers contributed,
directly or indirectly, to the formation of the Cheng-Zhu school of
Daoxue; nevertheless, the traditional picture of them suppresses their
differences of opinion and their creativity in rendering the Yijing anew.
In this book, by showing their differing interpretations of the Yijing
and their creativity in using the classic to respond to issues of their
times, I join other historians in making a sharp distinction between
“Song Learning” (Songxue) and the “Learning of the Way” (Daoxue).
This distinction, simply put, is one of time and scope. “Song Learning”
refers broadly to a rebirth of interest in Confucian classics and liter-
ary writings during the eleventh and twelfth centuries. The “Learning
of the Way” describes, more narrowly, one particular group of the
Song Confucians in the twelfth century, whose writings formed the
basis of the state orthodoxy from the Yuan to the Qing periods. This
distinction—supported by Hoyt Tillman, Peter Bol, Thomas Wilson,
and Benjamin Elman³⁸—rectifies two problems in earlier scholarship.
One is the tendency to read retrospectively the intellectual history of
the Northern Song as preparation for founding Daoxue in the hands
of Zhu Xi. These “Zhu-centered projections of Song learning,” as Hoyt
Tillman points out, “have exaggerated [Zhu’s] role and ideas at the
expense of major alternatives during the Song.”³⁹ Second is the lack
of attention to Daoxue as a state orthodoxy which was created to set
limits on intellectual diversity. “By viewing Daoxue as a problem in
intellectual history rather than just a stage in the march of philosophical
truth,” Benjamin Elman suggests, we will be able to make “the process
Introduction 3
of Southern Song literati classifying themselves as orthodox an object

of historical analysis.”⁴⁰
Thus, in reading the following chapters, readers are advised to keep
in mind that we are dealing with “Song Learning,” not the “Learning of
the Way.” We are discussing a flowering of intellectual originality and
diversity, long before it was absorbed, subsumed, and redeployed as
part of the “Learning of the Way.” The book opens with two chapters
that provide the historical and textual contexts of Northern Song Yijing
commentary. Chapter  explains the historical uniqueness of the North-
ern Song as a break from previous practices of militarism. Taking to
heart the volatile history of the preceding century, the early Northern
Song emperors were determined to restructure their government to
eliminate the possibility of military coups d’état and the domination
of aristocratic families. As a result, a new form of political structure,
civil governance, was created based on a partnership between the Song
imperial court and the up-and-coming civil bureaucrats. Much of the
changes in the eleventh-century interpretations of the Yijing would
be directly or indirectly related to this civil governance. Therefore,
before we examine the commentaries, we need to consider what the
civil governance was and how it had shaped the self-perception of
civil bureaucrats.
In chapter 2, I discuss the Yijing text of the Northern Song. As
a multilayered text transmitted through centuries, what exactly the
Yijing text looks like and how it should be read are questions that
remain unresolved today.⁴¹ But in the eleventh century, the question
about the Yijing text was comparatively simple. For better or worse,
the Yijing was simply the Zhouyi zhengyi (The true meaning of the Yi
of the Zhou [Dynasty]) compiled by a team of Tang classical scholars
headed by Kong Yingda (574–648). In the Zhouyi zhengyi, designed
as a composite commentary to standardize the reading of the Yijing,
there were not only informed annotations on every part of the text,
but also suggestions as to how to properly pronounce each word of the
classic. Assigned as the text to be examined in the Yijing section of the
ming jing (understanding the classics) examination, the Zhouyi zhengyi
was literally the official Yijing commentary of the Northern Song. Not
surprisingly, all the exegetes discussed in this book understood the
Yijing through the lens of the Zhouyi zhengyi, and they wrote their
commentaries in part to respond to its interpretations of the classic.
So to fully appreciate the creativity of these eleventh-century exegetes,
we have to know the textual parameters that the Zhouyi zhengyi had
set for them.
The next three chapters are the heart of the book. Through a
synchronic comparison of selected Yijing commentaries, each chapter
examines major public issues in one particular period of the North-
ern Song. The story that unfolds in these chapters describes what the
Northern Song educated elite had gone through in building civil gov-
ernance to break from the previous practices of militarism. It focuses
our attention on the jubilation of the educated elite in parting ways
with the past and envisioning a perfect human order. It also tells us
about their anxiety, agony, and regrets when dealing with the reality
of politics and the horrendous results of factional rivalry. Together,
these three chapters offer us a glimpse of the hopes and fears of the
eleventh-century educated elite in their attempt to build a new socio-
political order, which was supposed to bring peace and prosperity to
the human community.
In the conclusion, I return to the theme of linking history with
classical commentary. I assess the significance of Northern Song
Yijing exegesis in light of the current scholarship on the Yijing and the
history of eleventh-century China. I suggest that despite occasional
pedantry, the Northern Song Yijing exegetes wrote their commentar-
ies in response to the sociointellectual change of eleventh-century
China, and as such, they contributed significantly to the establishment
and functioning of civil governance. To different degrees, they were
instrumental in fostering the political idealism of Northern Song civil
bureaucrats who expressed their courage and imagination in full force
in the drastic reforms of the mid- and late Northern Song. In hind-
sight, the civil bureaucrats might have overestimated their ability in
establishing a perfect human order. However, even seen from today’s
perspective, their courage to envision a new sociopolitical system is
admirable, and their ability to imagine the unimaginable is what makes
the Northern Song so unique.
1
The Northern Song Historical Context
In the chaotic period of the Five Dynasties, an emperor was not

an emperor, a father not a father, a son not a son. Even the human
bonds governing older brother and younger brother, and husband
and wife were completely destroyed. [During this time,] the prin-
ciple of Heaven was almost annihilated.
—Ouyang Xiu, Xin Wudai shi
I n the study of Song China (960–279), experts in the field tend to

see the period as part of a long process of change dating back to
the Tang Dynasty (67–907). This six hundred years of change, or the
Tang-Song transition, is believed to have drastically altered the politi-
cal, social, and cultural structure of medieval China, thereby laying the
foundation for the following centuries until the end of the monarchical
system in 9.¹ Politically, many scholars see the period as a continu-
ation of the weakening of the Chinese state while Chinese society
became increasingly powerful and variegated. For these scholars, this
weakening of the Chinese state may have begun in the Tang, but the
process definitely quickened when the Song court was forced to move
in 27 from Kaifeng (in the Eastern Yellow River basin) to Hangzhou
(in the lower Yangzi River area). For them, the relocation of the Song
court signifies not only the transition from the Northern Song to the
Southern Song, but more importantly, the further disintegration of
the national polity and the concomitant rise of the local gentry as the
real power holders.²
The Tang-Song transition was equally dramatic with respect to
technology and the economy. Many historians of the Song describe
the period as full of rapid technological and commercial progress.
There occurred rapid urbanization, the rise of a monetary economy,
5
the creation of movable-type printing, the development of new

staple and commercial crops, a rapid increase in population, and a
robust maritime trade.³ Most significantly, these technological and
commercial developments have led many historians to believe that
during the Tang-Song transition, the economic center of China shifted
from the Yellow River valley to the Yangzi River valley, and hence
altered the basic structure of the Chinese economy in the follow-
ing centuries.⁴
Corresponding to these social and economic changes, impor-
tant intellectual changes took place during the Tang-Song transition.
These included the rise of ancient prose style, the revival of classical
studies, the emergence of civil culture, and the genesis of Daoxue.
For many Song experts, these intellectual changes were not isolated
events. Instead, they were attempts by the educated elite to redefine
themselves in response to momentous sociopolitical changes. From
“the aristocratic clans” to “the civil bureaucrats” and to “the local elite
families,” each time the educated elite changed their self-definition,
they altered the criteria by which the upper echelon of Chinese leader-
ship was measured, and consequently redefined the boundaries within
which they would operate in state and society.⁵
As a part of this broad scheme of development, the Northern Song
(960–27) is often assigned an ambiguous role. Temporally located at
the midpoint between the Tang and the Southern Song (27–279),
the Northern Song is frequently seen as either a recipient of something
that happened in the past or a forerunner of something important in
the making. On the one hand, it is seen as an extension of the Tang,
namely, the revival of guwen (old style) prose and of Confucian ethics
started by Han Yu (768–824), and the continuation of the decline of the
aristocratic clans in Chinese politics since the mid-eighth century. On
the other hand, it is understood as a preparation for the Southern Song,
such as the decentralization of state power from the civil bureaucrats
to the local gentry, and the gradual crystallization of Daoxue eventually
completed by Zhu Xi. There are certainly many valuable insights to be
gained from seeing the Northern Song as a midpoint of some broad
trends. At the same time, we also lose sight of the particularity of the
Northern Song as a unique historical period. For the Northern Song
people, especially the educated elite, their main concern was neither
to imitate the Tang nor to pave the way for the Southern Song. Rather,
their main concern was to find solutions to problems and conflicts
that plagued their lives. To fully appreciate the historical significance
The Northern Song Historical Context 7
of the Northern Song, it is imperative to keep in mind its particular

historical context.
Two Centuries of Military Governance
One of the issues that the Northern Song educated elite had to grapple
with was how to construct a lasting civil governance. The goal of con-
structing civil governance—a sociopolitical order founded upon a civil
code of behavior and administered by a group of learned men steeped
in classical studies—was to replace its opposite sociopolitical order,
military governance. Built on a military code of behavior and ruled by
military generals, military governance stressed efficiency, a clear chain
of command, and the absolute obedience of juniors in rank. While
both forms of sociopolitical order accepted the paramount power of
the emperor and the legitimacy of the imperial system, they differed
fundamentally in ways by which to allocate political power, resolve
conflicts, and structure political and social life.
Immediately preceding the Northern Song, for over two cen-
turies, much of northern China practiced military governance. This
military governance, which first appeared after the Rebellion of An
Lushan (755–763), was a combination of Central Asian nomadism
and the Tang system of military governorship (jie du shi). This rise of
military governance took several steps. It began with the division of
the mid-Tang empire into a military zone in the northeast and a civil
zone in the central and southern parts of the country. This bifurcation
of China into military and civil zones led to what contemporary histo-
rian Chen Yinke (890–969) calls the condition of “one dynasty, two
states” (yichao liangguo).⁶ The process continued with the expansion
of the military zone at the expense of the civil zone. It finally reached
a point in the late Tang, around the time of the Huang Chao rebellion
(875–884), when the military governors displaced the Tang court as
the de facto rulers of China. This militarism reached its climate when
the military governor of Henan, Zhu Wen (r. 907–92), brought the
Tang dynasty to an end in 907.
The fall of the Tang signaled the beginning of a period of fifty-
three years of total military control of China, known in history as the
Period of the Five Dynasties (907–960). The Period of the Five Dynas-
ties includes five northern dynasties and ten southern kingdoms. The
five northern dynasties, located in the Yellow River valley and the Wei
River region, were Later Liang, Later Tang, Later Jin, Later Han, and
Later Zhou. The ten southern kingdoms, clustered around or south

of the Yangzi River valley, were Wu, Nan Tang, Wu Yue, Min, Nan
Han, Chu, Early Shu, Later Shu, Nan Ping, and Bei Han. During those
fifty-three years, changes of power took place frequently, sometimes as
frequently as once every ten to fifteen years. Among the five northern
dynasties, three of them (Later Liang, Later Tang, and Later Jin) were
founded by Shatuo Turks, who had been present in China for centuries
as Tang military officers. To indicate their link with the Tang imperial
court, some of the Shatuo Turks carried the Tang royal family name
Li, such as the first emperor of Later Tang, Li Cunxu (r. 923–926).⁷
Exemplifying the extent to which China had been militarized, the
military generals were in complete control of the government, and
the civil officials were at best secondary players in politics.
This militarization of China also brought change to the family
system. Family ties, rather than being based on blood genealogy as
prescribed by Confucianism, entailed the widespread practice of
adoption based on practical convenience and mutual interest, modeled
after the military custom of “joining hearts by sharing the same family
name” (xixing yi jie qixin) between generals and soldiers.⁸ Originally,
the practice was a means for military generals to build up an elite
army known as the “Army of the Adopted Sons” (yier jun). Personally
loyal and directly responsible to the military generals, the “Army of
the Adopted Sons” was the core army of the military generals in battle
and the administrators in occupied territories. Related as lords and
vassals, the military generals and the “Army of the Adopted Sons”
pledged to share whatever they gained in conquest.⁹ This practice of
“joining hearts by sharing the same family name,” which later spread to
nonmilitary sectors, meant that once pledged, the two strangers would
treat each other as father and son. The adopted father would regard
his adopted son as if he were his son by blood, giving him full-fledged
family privileges and property inheritance. Likewise, the adopted son
would regard his adopted father as if he were his real father, cutting
all connections with his biological father. This practice, a product of
military governance, transformed the family structure in much of
northern China during the ninth and tenth centuries.
A case in point is how the second emperor of the Later Tang,
Li Siyuan (r. 926–933), rationalized in 925 his decision to succeed his
deceased stepbrother Li Cunxu. As an adopted member of the ruling
Li family, Li Siyuan’s decision involved two parts: () how he claimed
The Northern Song Historical Context 9
to inherit his stepbrother’s throne based on kinship; (2) after his rise
to power, whether he should establish a new dynasty or continue
the imperial line of the Later Tang. In his first public announce-
ment after ascending the throne, Li Siyuan gave answers to these
two questions:
I had served Xianzu [the father of Li Keyong, the founder of Later

Tang] since I was thirteen years of age. Since then, I have been doing
my best to serve the [Li] family as if it were my own family. I had also
served Wuhuang [Li Keyong] for thirty years by helping him resolve
problems, bearing the gusty wind and pouring rain, and risking my
life in combat. [In the process,] I had experienced all the danger and
borne all the hardship. The enterprise of Wuhuang is my enterprise;
the world ruled by earlier [Li] emperors is my world. Hence, I am
following the rightful procedures as a younger brother to succeed
my deceased older brother [Li Cunxu]. Since it will deviate from
the rites and conventions if members of the same family adopt a
different dynastic title, I will take full responsibility for the fortunes
of the [Li] family, regardless whether the future will be kind or harsh
on us. [Therefore,] I have decided not to accept the suggestion [for
establishing a new dynasty].¹⁰
There is no doubt that Li Siyuan’s announcement, elegant and majestic,

was part of his ploy to legitimize his rise to power. But even in this
political act, we see how the practice of “joining hearts by sharing the
same family name” had changed the notion of family in tenth-century
China. Li Siyuan’s main argument was that one’s kinship was not given
by birth; rather, it was earned through sharing hardship together to
achieve a common goal. For more than thirty years, he claimed, he had
worked hard to improve the interests of the ruling Li family, proving
his full-fledged membership of the family. It was on the ground of
kinship earned through sharing hardship that he thought he had the
right to inherit his stepbrother’s throne. To make certain that there was
no further doubt about his full-fledged membership in the Li family,
he rounded off his announcement by stating that he had resisted the
temptation to create a new dynasty. Whether Li Siyuan truly believed
in what he said or whether he thought that founding a new dynasty
would be harder to justify than inheriting a throne, we do not know.
Nevertheless, it is clear that he put “joining hearts by sharing the same
family name” to good use to advance his political interests.
Reconstruction of Civil Governance
With this historical context in mind, the resemblance between the early
Tang and the Northern Song—particularly with respect to the pen con-
trolling the sword and the center dominating the periphery—was not
repetition by chance. In fact, the Northern Song rulers reconstructed
civil governance after it had lost its appeal for quite some time. In this
process of reconstructing civil governance, the Northern Song rulers
certainly took into consideration the early Tang model. As much as
possible, they wanted to emulate what the early Tang rulers had ac-
complished three centuries before in putting in place a civil code of
behavior. At the same time, they also intended to go beyond the early
Tang model to make sure that the new civil governance would not
eventually produce the military domination that brought an end to
the Tang.
This Northern Song project of reconstructing civil governance
was easier said than done. Much rebuilding had to take place to break
down the military establishment, particularly the military gover-
nance at the center and the military practices in society. In terms
of putting an end to the military governance at the center, the first
two Northern Song emperors—Taizu (r. 960–976) and Taizong (r.
976–997)—had made decisive moves to centralize the military forces
in their own hands. Themselves career military officers before coming
to the throne, the two emperors made three major changes during
their reigns. First, immediately after the Song was established, all the
major generals were asked to give up their military power. Known
in history as “dissolving military power over a cup of wine” (beijiu
shi bingquan), this transition of power took place during an imperial
dinner in which Emperor Taizu succeeded in persuading his military
generals to accept retirement.¹¹ Second, the military establishment
was completely overhauled in such a way that the best army of the
country was stationed around the capital, Kaifeng, leaving the feeble
and the less trained to the provinces. In effect, this centralization of
military force ended the late Tang system of military governorship.¹²
Third, all the top military positions were filled by civil ministers cer-
tified by the expanded civil service examination system, setting the
stage for civil officials to dominate military affairs. Throughout the
Northern Song, all the military policies, including war plans and
combat strategies, had to be approved by the top civil officials in the
government.¹³
The Northern Song Historical Context 2
Concomitant to the destruction of military governance was

the rise of civil bureaucrats through an expansion of the civil service
examinations. Although scholars are still disputing the impact of the
examination system on the social structure of the Northern Song,¹⁴
there is no doubt that a new ruling class emerged in the Northern Song
that earned its right to rule by passing the civil service examinations.
A major characteristic of these civil bureaucrats was their undivided
loyalty to the emperors. To underscore the civil bureaucrats’ link to
them, the Northern Song emperors, beginning with Taizong, offici-
ated over the palace examination.¹⁵ As the ceremonial chief examiners
who failed no one, the Northern Song emperors performed the act of
ordination. They granted titles, and thereby the license to rule, to the
successful examination candidates. In return, the civil bureaucrats were
expected to serve the emperor with their hearts and souls. Hence, a
partnership was formed: the civil bureaucrats would have the power
to rule the country, but they pledged not to challenge the imperial
authority, as the aristocratic families and military generals had done
during the late Tang and the Five Dynasties period.
In the Song shi, we find evidence of this partnership between
the Northern Song emperors and the civil bureaucrats. In the open-
ing paragraph of the “Biographies of the Loyal and the Righteous”
(Zhongyi zhuan), the editors of Song shi made the following remarks:
“During [the period] of the Five Dynasties, the literati’s spirit of loyalty
and righteousness had completely dissipated. At the beginning of the
Song, even [chief councilors like] Fan Zhi and Wang Pu had reasons
to regret, not to mention others. . . . During the reigns of emperors
Zhen[zong] and Ren[zong], distinguished men in the government
such as Tian Xi, Wang Yucheng, Fan Zhongyan, Ouyang Xiu, and Tang
Jie promoted straight-talking and speaking in one voice. As a result,
officials and gentry throughout the empire aspired to moral integrity
and a sense of propriety. Gone were the vulgar practices of the Five
Dynasties period.”¹⁶ To the editors of Song shi, a drastic change in the
Northern Song bureaucracy took place during the reigns of Zhen-
zong and Renzong (997–063), when civil bureaucrats replaced the
aristocratic families as the administrators of the empire. On the one
hand, the civil bureaucrats were more loyal to the emperor than their
predecessors, placing the interest of the empire above and beyond their
own interests. On the other hand, they demanded a closer relationship
with the emperor, actively and aggressively participating in making
decisions with the emperor on matters related to the empire.
Characteristics of the Mid-Northern Song
Although, due to the concerted efforts from above, military governance

had been structurally demolished in the first three to four decades
into the Song, many military practices and military values remained
dominant in society. It took another half century, through the reigns
of Renzong (r. 023–063) and Shenzong (r. 068–085), for the new
civil governance and the new civil culture to be fully developed. Those
sixty years from 023 to 085, commonly known as the mid-Northern
Song, have long been regarded as the high point of the Northern Song
period. In thought, the first generation of the Daoxue scholars such
as Shao Yong, Zhou Dunyi (07–073), Zhang Zai, Cheng Hao, and
Cheng Yi began to make their marks in the intellectual landscape.¹⁷
In government, the three major Northern Song political thinkers and
reformers—Fan Zhongyan, Wang Anshi, and Sima Guang—imple-
mented drastic reforms to shape the country in accordance with their
own social and political visions.¹⁸ In the arts, the essayist Ouyang
Xiu, the painter Guo Xi (ca. 020–after 090), the calligrapher Mi Fu
(05–07), and the poet Su Shi, completed their masterpieces, which
are still admired today.¹⁹
It would certainly be an exaggeration to characterize the mid-
Northern Song as a complete break with the early Northern Song, but
substantial differences are evident in the values and social practices
of these two periods. One key difference was the self-identity of the
educated elite who gained fame and power by participating in or pass-
ing the civil service examinations. While during the early Northern
Song, members of the educated elite were still fighting against the
old habit of mind that required civil officials to be subservient to the
rulers, during the mid-Northern Song they were confident that they
were the “corulers” of the empire. As the corulers, they believed that
they were ruling the country with the emperor rather than for him.²⁰
They thought that they were legitimate leaders of the empire, sharing
with the emperor all his responsibilities of ordering the world. It was
in this context of the educated elite believing in ruling the empire with
the emperor that Fan Zhongyan, Wang Anshi, and Sima Guang car-
ried out drastic reforms to address the administrative, financial, and
military problems of the mid-Northern Song.
A prime example of the difference between these two genera-
tions of literati was their views on the Five Dynasties official Feng Dao
(882–954). A respected scholar and a skillful civil official, Feng Dao
The Northern Song Historical Context 23
served in four out of the five dynasties of the chaotic period.²¹ He had a
good relationship with major military leaders, so much so that despite
rapid dynastic changes he always found a way to remain in power. Other
than being good at winning the trust of the military leaders, Feng Dao
was also capable of serving as a bridge between the military rulers and
the civil officials. He was particularly good at remonstrating with the
military leaders in humble and yet clear language mixed with military
metaphors. As the subservient civil official par excellence, Feng Dao
saw himself as a follower of Confucian teachings. In the preface to
his “A Self-Portrait of the Ever-Happy Old Man” (Changlulao zixu),
he presented himself as a contented old gentleman who was proud of
watching his family flourish under him. He claimed that in public he
might have shifted his loyalty from one imperial court to another, but in
private he had done his utmost to perpetuate his family interests.²²
In the Old History of the Five Dynasties (Jiu Wudai shi) compiled
by Xue Juzheng (92–98), we find a positive assessment of Feng Dao’s
career. Finished in 974, two decades after the founding of the Song, the
Old History represented the view of the early Northern Song literati
who looked up to Feng Dao as their model. In the Old History account,
Feng Dao’s subservience as a civil official was considered to be a virtue
rather than a defect. After a summary of Feng Dao’s life, Xue Juzheng
offered the following remarks on Feng as a historical figure: “What
[Feng] Dao had done exemplified the standards of ancient gentlemen.
What [Feng] Dao had achieved in subservience to [leaders] fulfilled
the demanding task of a major official.”²³ By emphasizing that Feng
Dao’s subservience was fulfilling his responsibility as an official, Xue
judged Feng Dao on the basis of a submissive official (chen) in serving a
dominating emperor (jun), the first relationship in the Confucian Five
Cardinal Relationships (wulun). For Xue, after Heaven had made its
view known regarding who was the Son of Heaven, an official had to
follow the Mandate of Heaven by serving him wholeheartedly. Thus,
there was nothing wrong with Feng Dao’s subservience, and he should
be honored as a faithful Confucian official.
Nor was Feng Dao morally wrong in serving four dynasties,
according to Xue Juzheng. Himself having served in four dynasties,
Xue commented favorably on a group of Later Liang civil officials
who joined the Later Tang government. He complimented them for
rendering a high quality of service to both governments as a “steadfast
palm tree [which] does not change in the four seasons, and a broken
jade [which] can stand a hot fire.”²⁴ In Xue’s mind, given the political
situation in the Period of the Five Dynasties, the civil officials were at
best secondary players in politics. What the civil officials could hope
to achieve was to serve responsibly any government that happened to
have the Mandate of Heaven. Judging Feng Dao by the standards of his
time, Xue had no doubt that he was a successful Confucian official.
In the New History of the Five Dynasties (Xin Wudai shi) by
Ouyang Xiu, however, we have a completely different picture of Feng
Dao.²⁵ Completed in 053, when the fourth emperor of the Song Dy-
nasty, Renzong, was directing his attention to reform the country’s
bureaucracy and economy, the New History presented the view of the
mid-Northern Song civil bureaucrats who entered the Song government
by passing the civil service examinations, not through blood privileges
or family network. In the New History account, Feng Dao became the
symbol of what had gone wrong in the Five Dynasties. In a didactic
tone, Ouyang Xiu condemned Feng Dao for being shameless:
Having read Feng Dao’s self-glorifying account in his Preface to an

Ever-happy Old Man, I find him shameless. One can tell how shame-
less the society was at that time. In the Period of the Five Dynasties,
I can only find three persons with full integrity, and fifteen civil
officials died for their government. But there were many strange
people wearing Confucian gowns and claiming to learn from the
past. They received high salary and served in the government, but
they never made sacrifice for the sake of righteousness and loyalty.
Instead, only the military officers and soldiers made sacrifice. It
seems that there was no true Confucian scholar [in the Period of
the Five Dynasties].²⁶
For Ouyang, the case of Feng Dao was revealing. It revealed how seri-
ous militarism had become during the Five Dynasties. Not only had
militarism corrupted the Chinese state and the Chinese family, it had
also corrupted the scholars, the self-proclaimed custodians of Confu-
cian ethics and Confucian culture. Even if both the Chinese state and
society were corrupted, there was still hope that a moral reawakening
might occur through the mere examples of a few true scholars. But
since most of the scholars, like Feng Dao, were so eager to accept the
status quo, Ouyang found the Five Dynasties utterly hopeless.
Particularly important to Ouyang was what Feng Dao’s example
might have meant to his mid-Northern Song readers. To fully appre-
ciate Ouyang’s concern, we need to keep in mind that, up until 032,
early Northern Song emperors continued to pay tribute to Feng Dao
by regularly granting official titles to his descendents.²⁷ This policy

of honoring Feng Dao appeared to terminate in 05 after Emperor
Renzong refused to grant the great-grandson of Feng Dao a govern-
ment title after his submission of Feng Dao’s policy papers to the
government.²⁸ For Ouyang, if Feng Dao could be called a Confucian
official and was regularly honored by the emperors, the Northern Song
project of rebuilding civil governance would only be empty rhetoric.
For him, his critique of Feng Dao was not only a critique of him as a
person, but also a critique of the feckless Confucian scholars who had
yielded to the rulers and the military state.
Factionalism in the Late Northern Song
As leaders of Northern Song civil governance, there were two sides of

the educated elite’s belief in ruling the empire with the emperor. On
the one hand, they were extremely active, sometimes even zealous,
in participating in governing. Driven by their self-imposed mission
of ordering the world with the emperor, the educated elite assumed
a wide range of duties: counseling the emperor on national affairs,
carrying out government policies, supervising military campaigns,
looking after provincial and village schools, serving as local governors,
and so on. They were so eager to partake in governing that they would
do anything as long as it benefited the empire. The great reformer Fan
Zhongyan gave poetic expression to this political activism by calling
on his fellow civil bureaucrats to be “first in worrying about the world’s
troubles and last in enjoying its pleasures.”²⁹ On the other hand, with
high expectations attributed to their participation in governing, they
were unwilling to yield in policy debates, regardless of whether the
opposition came from their own kind or from the emperor himself.
As the country confronted internal and external problems, their re-
luctance to compromise and their propensity to be morally dogmatic
produced rounds of bureaucratic factionalism that split them into
groups competing for power.³⁰
Worse yet, as the scope of reform expanded from the times of Fan
Zhongyan to the times of Wang Anshi and Sima Guang, bureaucratic
factionalism became increasingly intense. As a result, during the reigns
of Zhezong (r. 086–00), Huizong (r. 0–25), and Qinzong (r.
26–27), commonly known as the late Northern Song, officials in
the central government were practically divided into two opposing
camps: one in support of Wang Anshi’s reform called the xin tang (new
party), and the other in support of Sima Guang’s reform called the
jiu tang (old party). At the height of partisan factionalism, when one
group was in power they expunged the other group from the govern-
ment; when the other group held the upper hand they returned the
favor. As a result, almost all major cultural/political figures of the late
Northern Song, including Cheng Yi, Su Shi, Su Zhe (039–2), and
Liu Zhi (030–098), were involved in partisan factionalism. Many of
them, most notably Cheng Yi and Su Shi, suffered from humiliating
banishments.³¹
During the last forty years of the Northern Song, when the body
politic of China was threatened internally by partisan factionalism and
externally by foreign invasion, some members of the educated elite
began to question the validity of civil governance. They wondered
whether civil governance was responsible for incapacitating the central
government and weakening the military defense. Shortly before the
Song court was to move south to Hangzhou to escape the invading
Jurchen army, the discourse on civil governance had reached full circle.
The high hopes in the early Northern Song for ordering the world gave
way to end-of-the-dynasty pessimism about the human inability to
control one’s life. Although many members of the educated elite were
not yet willing to let the military generals and aristocratic families take
over the government, they had lost confidence in themselves to build
a perfect human order based on classical learning and a civil code
of behavior.
Scholar-Official and Scholar-Gentleman
In the following chapters, we will examine this momentous trans-

formation from military governance to civil governance during the
Northern Song. Particularly, we will focus on the change in the self-
identity of the educated elite who played a leading role in building
civil governance. Like other social groups, the educated elite were not
monolithic. There were, at least, two major types of educated elite—or,
using an eleventh-century term, shi (men of letters). The first type was
the scholar-official. It refers to men of letters who, with or without
aristocratic family backgrounds, joined the bureaucracy after success-
fully passing the civil service examinations. These men of letters were
given the power to rule having proven their accomplishment in classical
and literary training. The three great Northern Song reformers—Fan
Zhongyan, Wang Anshi, and Sima Guang—are the prime examples of
scholar-official who mastered the Confucian classics, passed the civil

service examinations, and applied their knowledge of the classics to
governing. The second type was the scholar-gentleman. It refers to men
of letters who were yet to pass the civil service examinations, but they
used their family and educational backgrounds to cultivate a social
network with those in power. Some of these men of letters achieved
fame by socializing with powerful officials, and others entered the
bureaucracy based on the recommendations of their friends in high
position. Cheng Yi is a good example of the second type. He did not
pass the civil service examinations, and yet based on Sima Guang’s
recommendation, he earned a job in 086 as the teacher of the teen-
age Emperor Zhezong.
This distinction between the scholar-official and the scholar-
gentleman is significant because it shows the variety of roles assumed
by these men of letters in state and society, and the webs of relation-
ship that bound them together as a group. More importantly, it points
to, using Pierre Bourdieu’s words, the “cultural capital” of these men
of letters in advancing their social and political interests.³² Through
patronage, sponsorship, inter-marriages, and informal social networks,
these men of letters enjoyed a range of social and political resources
that were not available to other walks of life.³³ There was, however,
one precondition. All of these social and political resources became
available to these men only after they had demonstrated their classical
and literary skills in the civil service examinations.
2
The Northern Song Yijing Text
The Yijing was written to teach a lesson . . . to decipher [the func-

tioning of] Heaven and Earth, to give order to human relationships,
and to explain the Kingly Way.
—Kong Yingda, Zhouyi zhengyi
T he Yijing that a Northern Song person read was not the same as the
one canonized in 35 B.C.E. Certainly the Northern Song person
still read the sixty-four hexagrams, the hexagram statements, the line
statements, and the Ten Wings—all the parts that formed the Yijing
in the Western Han. However, he no longer read them independently.
Instead, he read them based on the commentaries written from the
third to the seventh century. As the official commentary to the Yijing
in the eleventh century, the Zhouyi zhengyi (True meanings of the Yi
of the Zhou [Dynasty]) comprised three interlocking parts: the clas-
sic, its commentary, and a subcommentary to the commentary. With
these three parts, the Zhouyi zhengyi firmly united the Yijing with a
commentarial tradition and guided readers to understand it from a
particular perspective. What was that particular perspective? How was
it presented and reinforced through the complex textual body of the
Zhouyi zhengyi? What was its impact on the men of letters of the elev-
enth century? These are the questions that this chapter addresses.
Unifying the Yijing Interpretation
Let us begin with the history of the Zhouyi zhengyi. In 63, thirteen
years after the founding of the Tang Dynasty that ended centuries of
28
The Northern Song Yijing Text 29
division in China, Emperor Taizong appointed Kong Yingda (574–648)

to head a massive project known as the Wujing zhengyi (True mean-
ings of the five classics). The project was to compile sub-commentaries
on the Five Confucian Classics: the Yijing, the Shujing (Book of His-
tory), the Shijing (Book of Poetry), the Liji (Records of Rites), and the
Chunqiu (Spring and Autumn Annals). As part of the Tang effort to
unify China, the goal of Kong’s project was to eliminate differences
in classical scholarship that had developed over centuries of division.
To unify the interpretation of the Confucian classics, Kong adopted
a two-pronged strategy. First, he identified what he considered to be
the best commentaries on the Five Classics. Second, in order to make
certain that the chosen commentaries would be properly understood,
he led a group of classicists to compose subcommentaries (shu) to
those commentaries.¹
For the Yijing, Kong chose the third-century Zhouyi zhu (Com-
mentary on the Yi of the Zhou [Dynasty]) as its official commentary.
His explanation for the decision was brief but decisive. To him, the
Zhouyi zhu was simply the best commentary ever written to the classic.
Although many high-quality commentaries had been written, none of
them, according to Kong, could be compared to the Zhouyi zhu.² Seen
with our historical hindsight, Kong’s decision was not as simple as it
appeared. First, he had a number of alternatives in deciding upon an
official Yijing commentary, such as the Han Dynasty commentary by
Zheng Xuan. Given his assignment to unify the interpretation of the
Yijing after centuries of division, he knew his decision would shape
the way that the Yijing was to be read in the Tang. Second, in the early
Tang, the Zhouyi zhu was more popular among scholars in southern
China than in northern China.³ Fully aware of the regional differences
in Yijing scholarship at his time, he understood that his preference
for the Zhouyi zhu would not please everyone, especially the Yijing
scholars in the north. Yet, with so much at stake, he chose the Zhouyi
zhu as the official commentary of the classic.
Like the Yijing text itself, the Zhouyi zhu was also a composite text.
There were two commentators in the Zhouyi zhu—Wang Bi (226–249)
and Han Kangbo (d. ca. 385). Wang Bi wrote commentary on the
sixty-four hexagrams and their hexagram and line statements. He was
also the author of six essays suggesting ways to read the Yijing. Those
essays—collectively known as the Zhouyi lüeli (Brief remarks on the Yi
of the Zhou [Dynasty])—accompanied the Zhouyi zhu as appendixes.⁴
The other commentator, Han Kangbo, wrote commentary on the rest
of the Yijing, including the Xici, Xugua, Shuogua, and Zagua. Although
little is known about him and his relationship with Wang Bi, many
Yijing scholars in the early Tang (Kong Yingda included) regarded him
as a follower of Wang Bi, and therefore considered his commentary a
faithful summary of Wang Bi’s views. Thus, the Zhouyi zhu was often
referred to in the Tang as the Wang-Han commentary.
Despite the fact that Kong Yingda was listed as the author, a
number of scholars were involved in the writing of the Zhouyi zhengyi.
First was Lu Deming (550–630) who wrote philological notes explain-
ing how to pronounce each word of the classic. Second was Kong
Yingda who wrote a subcommentary to both Wang Bi’s commentary
on the sixty-four hexagrams and Han Kangbo’s commentary on the
rest of the Yijing. He was also the author of the preface (xu) to the
Zhouyi zhengyi and seven short essays explaining the textual history
and commentarial tradition of the Yijing. Both the preface and the
seven essays appeared at the beginning of the Zhouyi zhengyi. Third
was Xing Shu (date unknown) who wrote a commentary to Wang Bi’s
Zhouyi lüeli. Along with Wang’s Zhouyi lüeli, Xing Shu’s commentary
appeared at the end of the Zhouyi zhengyi. In addition to these three
authors, the names of four high-ranking Tang officials were mentioned
in Kong’s preface for offering comments and editing services.⁵ All in
all, as the compiler of the Zhouyi zhengyi, Kong was eager to present
his subcommentary of Zhouyi zhu as a product of a team of experts.
This image of Zhouyi zhengyi being a collaborative project appeared
to be important to Kong, because it helped to support his claim that
his subcommentary was the authoritative reading of the Yijing in the
early Tang.
Three Meanings of Yi
To make certain that readers had the proper perspective from which to
read the Yijing, the Zhouyi zhengyi opened with Kong Yingda’s seven
essays on the textual history and commentarial tradition of the Yijing.
Before readers began to read the Yijing, they were asked to ponder
several key textual and commentarial questions associated with the
classic: What does Yi of Yijing mean? Who was the one transform-
ing the eight trigrams into the sixty-four hexagrams? What were the
titles of the Yijing in ancient antiquity? Who was the author of the
hexagram statements and the line statements? Why is the main body
of the Yijing, which contains the sixty-four hexagrams, divided into
The Northern Song Yijing Text 3
two halves? Did Confucius write the Ten Wings? Who was involved
in transmitting the Yijing? Who added the term “classic” (jing) to the
Yijing to signify its canonical status?
In giving short and clear answers to these seven questions, Kong
defined what the Yijing was about. A case in point is Kong’s essay “Yi zhi
san ming” (The three names of Yi) in which he explained the meanings
of yi of Yijing. Citing two Han documents, Yiwei qianzaodu and Zheng
Xuan’s Yijing commentary, Kong declared that there were three mean-
ings of yi—change (bianyi), constancy (buyi), and ease (yijian).⁶ Based
on homonymy, Kong associated three different meanings to the word yi.
At first glance, the three meanings of yi seem to be contradictory. How
can something of a constant nature be involved in change? How can
someone be at ease while undergoing drastic changes? Contradictory
as they may seem, Kong used the three meanings of yi to call attention
to three equally important components in the Yijing—() its emphasis
on manifold elements and unceasing changes in the universe, (2) its
description of the universe as a stable system with a fixed principle
and a permanent structure, and (3) its depiction of the spontaneity
and effortlessness with which changes take place in this universe. To
explain yi as change, Kong directed readers’ attention to the change of
weather in the four seasons and the change of power in government.
To explain yi as constancy, he referred to the fixed positions of Heaven
and Earth, and the hierarchy in government and society. To explain yi
as at ease, he focused on the regularity with which natural phenomena
and human affairs took place.⁷
For Kong, these three different aspects of the Yijing taught readers
an important lesson. He noted: “The Yijing was written to teach a
lesson. . . . It was written to decipher [the functioning of ] Heaven and
Earth, to give order to human relationships, and to explain the Kingly
Way.”⁸ For him, trigrams and hexagrams in the Yijing are represen-
tations of an order, a structure, and a pattern in the universe. This
natural system can be replicated in human society by establishing a
proper political and social order, such as the Three Bonds (ruler and
official, father and son, and husband and wife). Just as the universe
is full of motion, movement, and creativity, the proper political and
social order gives its people wealth, prosperity, and a good life. Similar
to the regularity and spontaneity with which natural phenomena take
place in the universe, the proper political and social order produces a
government that rules without overt intervention, strict regulations,
or a display of force.
Thus, in assigning three meanings to yi, Kong interpreted the

Yijing as a classic about the art of governing. He defined its target au-
dience as rulers—namely, emperors, government officials, and heads
of households. He specified its goal as explaining the “Kingly Way”
(wang dao); that is, the perfect political and social order based on the
Confucian Three Bonds. And by drawing a parallel between the natural
order and the human order, he gave the “Kingly Way” the legitimacy
that it needed to be the principle of ruling.
Explaining the Kingly Way
In the Zhouyi zhengyi, its three interlocking parts—the Yijing, the

Zhouyi zhu, and the subcommentary to the Zhouyi zhu—were clearly
marked. A typical textual arrangement of a hexagram went like this:
It began with the hexagram and line statements from the Yijing, and
then they were followed by Wang Bi’s commentary and Kong’s subcom-
mentary. To make certain that a reader would not confuse the classic
with its commentaries, Wang’s commentary was marked with the word
zhu (commentary) and Kong’s subcommentary, shu (subcommentary).
In the eighteenth-century Siku quanshu version, the three parts of
the Zhouyi zhengyi were even more distinctly demarcated. The Siku
editors marked each part with a different size of Chinese characters.
The biggest size was used to copy the classic, the medium size the
commentary, and the smallest size the subcommentary.
There is a paradox to this clear marking of the three parts. On the
surface, the order in which the three parts appear seems to indicate their
relative authority. It suggests that the authority of the Zhouyi zhengyi
lies in the Yijing, the classic. It reminds readers that the Zhouyi zhu
and its subcommentary are to explain, clarify, and develop what has
already been said in the classic. Their goal is to serve the function of
a messenger, relating the Yijing to readers of their times. However, in
length, the relationship of the three parts is reversed. The commentary
and the subcommentary appear to be more prominent because they
are much longer than the classic. Usually a brief line from the Yijing
would inspire Wang Bi and Han Kangbo to write a few lines, and
they in turn would trigger Kong Yingda to write a few pages. Reading
through the Zhouyi zhengyi line by line, a reader is induced to pay
more attention to the commentary and subcommentary than to the
Yijing. More importantly, before adding his own comments, Kong
repeats in his subcommentary everything that has already been said
in both the Yijing and the Zhouyi zhu. Appearing last and containing
all information, Kong’s subcommentary becomes, in effect, the sum-
mation of the three parts.
Take, for example, Kong’s subcommentary on hexagram “Kun”
(The Receptive, #2). Speaking of the hexagram as a passive but perse-
vering person, the hexagram line of “Kun” employed the metaphor of
a mare to describe the unyielding person, and suggested that he find
friends in the direction of west and south, but not of east and north.⁹
On this line statement, Wang Bi wrote a paragraph explaining why
“Kun” was referred to as a mare, and ended his paragraph with a remark
on the peculiar way that “Kun” found and lost friends. Invoking the
yin-yang reciprocity, he said that because of the person’s yin nature,
he had to leave his kin to find people of the opposite kind, preferably
of yang.¹⁰
In the Yijing, yin and yang are symbols of two vital forces in the
universe. On the one hand, they are opposite: yin being soft, submissive,
and enduring; and yang being firm, aggressive, and swift. On the other
hand, they are codependent and mutually reinforcing. Represented in
a hexagram as broken lines (yin) and straight lines (yang), the two op-
posites form a perfect pair because each of them contains something
that is lacking in the other. Hence, in the Yijing two yang lines or two
yin lines will always cause conflicts; but one yin line and one yang line
will resonate with each other, regardless of how far apart they may be.
This “complementary bipolarity” of yin and yang, using the words of
Andrew Plaks,¹¹ was Wang Bi’s basis for explaining the friendship of
“Kun.” Considering “Kun” as the symbol of yin, he read the hexagram
line as saying that, because of the complementary bipolarity of yin and
yang, yin had to leave its own kind in the direction of east and north,
in order to seek for yang in the direction of west and south.
Building on Wang Bi’s comment, Kong Yingda went a step further
to explain why “Kun” lost friends in one direction and gained friends
in another. In his subcommentary, after summarizing what Wang Bi
had said about the complementary bipolarity of yin and yang, Kong
added that there was a hidden meaning in Wang’s remark. To explain
that hidden meaning, he wrote: “Speaking in terms of human affairs,
it suggests that officials should leave their kin to join the government,
and women should leave their homes to join their husbands’ families.”¹²
Functioning as a conjunction, the phrase “speaking in terms of human
affairs” (yi ren shi yan zhi) and its variant “applying to human affairs”
(si zhi yu ren shi) appear frequently in Kong’s subcommentary. As a
transitional marker, the phrase “speaking in terms of human affairs”

serves as a reminder that despite all the efforts to find out the meaning
of the hexagrams, the hexagram statements and the line statements,
ultimately the goal of reading the Yijing is to understand the Kingly Way.
This was true also of Kong’s expansion of Wang Bi’s remark on “Kun.”
For Kong, Wang was correct in relating the friendship of “Kun” to the
complementary bipolarity of yin and yang; but it was still too broad
for the readers. Turning what was abstract into something concrete,
Kong gave two examples to elucidate the yin-yang bipolarity: an official
who left his kin to join the government, and a woman who left her
natal home to marry her husband. After adding these two examples,
Kong slightly changes the meaning of Wang Bi’s remark. Instead of
being a discussion of cosmology, Wang’s remark becomes a discussion
of political and social order. Rather than a general comment on the
yin-yang bipolarity, it becomes a focused discourse on the Confucian
Three Bonds.
In his subcommentary to hexagram “Mingyi” (Darkening of the
light, #36), Kong, again, turned the abstract into the concrete. For in-
stance, the hexagram statement of “Mingyi” stresses the importance
of perseverance in adversity by discussing the need to look for light in
darkness.¹³ In his commentary, Wang Bi does not offer any comment
on this hexagram statement, implying that, he believed, the line could
speak for itself. But Kong did not think so. To clarify the Yijing lesson
in “Mingyi,” he wrote a long comment:
“Darkening of the light” is the name of the hexagram. Yi [of Mingyi]
means being impaired. The hexagram image suggests that the sun
is setting on the earth. This is a symbol of “Darkening of the light.”
Applying [this] to human affairs, it is an obscure king in the high
place and a brilliant official in the low position. [The brilliant of-
ficial] dares not show his talents and intelligence. [As such,] this is
another meaning of “Darkening of the light.” Although it is a time
of utmost obscurity, one cannot follow the trend and bend on one
side. Therefore, it is appropriate for [the brilliant official] to bear
with difficulties and to remain firm [on his principles], abiding his
upright virtue. Hence, in time of “Darkening of the light,” it furthers
one to be persevering.¹⁴
In his comment, Kong transforms the hexagram statement from a gen-
eral discussion of the “darkening of the light” into a focused discourse
on political order. The transformation involves two steps. First, Kong
equates the “darkening of the light” to sunset, turning the hexagram
statement into a description of nature. Then, he draws a parallel be-

tween sunset and a brilliant official persevering under a corrupt king.
The parallel appears to be important to Kong because it allows him
to inject a political message into the hexagram line. Taking sunset as
the symbol of a government ruled by a corrupt king, Kong ponders
what a brilliant official would and could do under such circumstances.
Even though the brilliant official is more capable of governing than
the corrupt king, Kong does not think the brilliant official should take
over the government or topple the dynasty, for fear of discrediting the
political system and violating the ruler-official relationship of the Con-
fucian Three Bonds. Instead, Kong recommends prudence. He urges
the brilliant official to hide his discontentment and carry out his usual
duties as an official. Stressing the importance of perseverance—the
main theme of “Mingyi”—he interprets the hexagram as an occasion
when the loyalty of an official is tested. To uphold the Kingly Way at
all costs, Kong sees no other option for the brilliant official except to
endure the corrupt king until a new king replaces him.
Subjects’ Obedience to the King
In the history of Yijing commentaries, Kong Yingda was not the first
exegete to read the classic as a discourse on political and social order.
Wang Bi had earlier inserted political and social discussions into
his commentary on the sixty-four hexagrams. This observation may
cause alarm to some readers, because Wang Bi is widely known as a
Neo-Daoist who championed “the study of the dark” (xuanxue). From
Feng Youlan and Tang Yongtong in China to Wing-tsit Chan and Alan
Chan in the West, Wang Bi is presented as the Chinese philosopher par
excellence who offers deep insights into the nature of the universe.¹⁵
That image of Wang Bi may be correct if one focuses on his writings
on the Laozi, particularly his Laozi commentary, Laozi zhu. But it is a
different story if one looks at Wang Bi’s commentary to the Yijing. As
Edward Shaughnessy points out, there are many discussions of politics
and social cohesion in Wang Bi’s Yijing commentary, including such
topics as the process of a change of power and the need for a strong
central government.¹⁶ These discussions—often intermixed with or
cloaked in meditations on metaphysics—show that Wang considered
the Yijing as a classic with a political and social vision.
Yet, given the pressing need in the early Tang for creating a uni-
fying political ideology, Kong Yingda had more reasons than Wang
Bi to render the Yijing into a political text. Take, for example, Kong’s
subcommentary on the hexagram “Guan” (Viewing, #20). Speaking of
a ceremony involving an offering, the hexagram statement of “Guan”
describes the solemn atmosphere that captivates the spectators.¹⁷ Like
many other hexagram statements, the hexagram statement of “Guan” is
brief and enigmatic. We know the statement refers to a ceremony that
requires an offering. But we do not know the intent of that ceremony.
Is it for a deity? Is it for an ancestor? Is it to seek blessing for a military
campaign? Nor is it clear why the people are filled with trust and a
solemn attitude after viewing the ceremony. Who are those people?
How are they filled with trust and a solemn attitude by viewing the
ceremony? With so many gaps, Wang Bi has plenty of room to read this
hexagram statement as a discussion of political order. He identifies the
viewing as the witnessing of the performance of the ancestral temple
sacrifice, one of the most solemn ceremonies conducted by a king.¹⁸
As a political act, a king offers sacrifice to his ancestors in front of his
people to show that his legitimacy as a king comes from his forebears. In
this public performance, a king affirms his superiority over his subjects,
and reinforces the existing political and social hierarchy. In Wang Bi’s
comment, these political functions of the ancestral temple sacrifice are
skillfully injected into the hexagram line. First, the “viewing” is defined
as what one would see at an ancestral temple sacrifice: the offering and
the ablution. Second, the ancestral temple sacrifice is carried out in a
frugal way, leaving not much to be seen except the ablution. Hence, in
keeping with the Confucian tradition, the king practices the “Kingly
Way” by focusing on the symbolism of the ritual rather than indulging
himself in extravagance. Third, because the king has shown the “Kingly
Way” in carrying out the ancestral temple sacrifice, he achieves his
goal of morally transforming his people. Those who have witnessed
the sacrifice receive reassurance that the government is in good order,
and feel blessed by being a member of the moral community.
Turning to Kong Yingda’s subcommentary on “Guan,” we see
that the political functions of an ancestral temple sacrifice are even
clearer. After reiterating what Wang Bi has said regarding the view-
ing of an ancestral temple sacrifice, Kong focuses on the purpose of
having such an ancestral temple sacrifice. He says, “Having witnessed
the elaborate rituals of the ancestral temple sacrifice, the people in the
audience are transformed. . . . They are transformed after viewing the
sacrifice because the king on stage has given them a model to follow.”¹⁹
In Wang Bi’s comment, the superiority of the ruler over his people is
implicit; it is mentioned in reference to his role as a political leader

and a moral teacher. In Kong’s comment, the king’s superiority over
his people becomes explicit. First, the difference in their social status
is highlighted: the king is on stage and the people are in the audience.
Second, the duty of the people to “model after” (xiao) the king is stressed
to indicate the need for them to obey the king’s order. Besides being
a public event in which the king performs his function as the moral
teacher, the ancestral temple sacrifice in Kong’s eyes is an occasion
when the hierarchy of government and society is on public display.
Similarly Kong Yingda expands on Wang Bi’s political message in
interpreting the hexagram “Wuwang” (No Errancy, #25). Discussing
agriculture, the line statement of the second line of “Wuwang” exhorts
farmers to work hard in the field without concerning themselves too
much about the results.²⁰ Yet, in commenting on this line, Wang Bi
thinks that the line statement is as much about government as about
agriculture. By drawing a parallel between a hardworking farmer and
a supportive official, Wang Bi uses the line statement to discuss the
“Way of the Minister” (chen dao).²¹ Although in his commentary Wang
says very little about what the “Way of the Minister” means, it is clear
that in the example of a hardworking farmer, he has in mind a selfless
official who goes out of his way to work for the ruler without claiming
any credit for himself.
Turning to Kong Yingda’s subcommentary, we find a detailed
discussion of the “Way of the Minister.” With ample examples, Kong
offers specific advice as to how to be a model official:
Line Two, which is yin, is located in the middle [of the lower trigram].
It [symbolizes an official who] practices the Way of the Minister by
not making the first move, but by concentrating on finishing his
assignments. What he does is similar to a farmer who cultivates a
field without concerning himself with reaping, and works on mature
land with no plan for developing new fields. Like a farmer who
pays more attention to finishing a task than to initiating a new job,
an official who practices “the Way of the Minister” should refrain
from suggesting changes in policy and focus on helping the king to
implement his plans.²²
Building on Wang Bi’s brief remark on the “Way of the Minister,” Kong
Yingda explains what an official should do in order to be a model
administrator. Using the example of a hardworking farmer, he gives
the official two suggestions. First, he should never involve himself in
policy decisions, instead giving the king the absolute power to govern.
Second, he should focus on the execution of policy, helping the king to

implement whatever measures he thinks necessary. Again, in offering
concrete examples to elucidate Wang Bi’s remark, Kong slightly changes
its meaning. For Kong, in practicing the “Way of the Minster,” it is not
enough for the officials to be selfless; they have to be submissive. Not
only do they need to refrain from claiming credit for their work, they
should also follow the king’s orders strictly. Thus, as in his comments
on “Guan,” Kong stresses in his comments on “Wuwang” the superior-
ity of the ruler over his subjects. Whereas in his reading of “Guan” he
focuses on the superiority of the king over his people, in “Wuwang” he
concentrates on the superiority of the king over his officials. In these
two hexagrams, he shows the range of the king’s power. As a ruler, the
king not only possesses absolute authority over his subjects, he also
commands absolute obedience from his officials.
Circumspection and Moderation
For Wang Bi and Kong Yingda, the “Way of the Minister” was as
much about politics as about ethics. In their minds, the way that a
submissive official conducted himself in government—knowing his
position in the political system, following orders from his superiors,
acting strictly in accordance with his assigned duties, and adjusting to
situations—would be the same as a moral person conducted himself
in daily life. Despite the differences in the public and private spheres,
there was one thread that tied the two together, namely, circumspec-
tion and moderation. The two commentators made this point crystal
clear in their commentaries on the hexagrams “Jiji” (Completion, #63)
and “Weiji” (Incompletion, #64).
In general, in the Zhouyi zhu, Wang Bi reads each hexagram as
an independent unit describing one specific situation. But on a few
occasions, he breaks his own rules by linking a hexagram with its neigh-
boring hexagram to form a pair. The pairs of hexagrams that he links
together include “Qian” (The Creative, #) and “Kun” (The Receptive,
#2),²³ “Tai” (Peace, #) and “Pi” (Standstill, #2),²⁴ “Ge” (Revolution,
#49) and “Ding” (The Caldron, #50),²⁵ and “Jiji” and “Weiji.” Among
these pairs of hexagrams, Wang Bi’s attempt to link “Jiji” with “Weiji”
is particularly significant because of their position among the sixty-
four hexagrams. Being the last two hexagrams of the sixty-four, many
readers may ask why “Weiji” (Incompletion) follows “Jiji” (Comple-
tion), rather than the other way around. If indeed completing the task
at hand is the key issue in the Yijing, then “Jiji” should follow “Weiji.”
With “Jiji” at the end, the sixty-four hexagrams achieve closure. It
suggests that if not now, at least in the distant future, all the problems
in this world will be resolved. With “Weiji” at the end, however, the
sixty-four hexagrams become open-ended. As the complete act in
“Jiji” turns into an incomplete act in “Weiji,” it appears that there is
no perfection on earth; what is at one point a perfect state will quickly
become imperfect at another moment.
To explain why the sixty-four hexagrams end with “Weiji,” Wang
Bi adopts a two-pronged approach. First, he links “Jiji” and “Weiji”
together such that they form a single unit, reaffirming the need for
constant adjustment. He does it by pointing out the various ways that
the one hexagram invokes the other. For instance, when commenting
on the sixth line statement of “Jiji,” Wang Bi stresses the interrelation-
ship between “Jiji” and “Weiji.” The line statement describes a person
who, although at the apex in the state of completion, is in danger of
submerging his head in the water.²⁶ In his comment, Wang Bi ac-
knowledges that on the surface “Jiji” and “Weiji” are indeed two totally
different situations—one is completion and the other incompletion.
But at a deeper level, he argues, they are actually the two poles of the
same continuum. When one reaches the end of completion, such as
in the case of the sixth line of “Jiji,” one arrives at the beginning of
incompletion; when one reaches the end of incompletion, such as the
sixth line of “Weiji,” one arrives at the beginning of completion. This
continuum points to the need for human beings to constantly respond
to their surroundings.²⁷
In addition to linking the hexagrams, Wang Bi gives a positive
tone to “Weiji.” Commenting on the Tuan statement of “Weiji,”²⁸ he
suggests that there are two meanings to the hexagram. On the one
hand, judging from its line positions, “Weiji” is indeed a dreadful
condition: all of its yang positions (first, third, and fifth) are occupied
by yin lines, and all of its yin positions (second, fourth, and sixth)
are occupied by yang lines (see the hexagram image of “Weiji” in
Appendix II). Being in the wrong positions, all of the six lines have
difficulty fully realizing their potential. At the same time, although all
the positions of “Weiji” are in the wrong order, the lines correspond
with one another because of their yin-yang nature: the yin lines at
the first and third positions correspond respectively with the yang
lines at the fourth and sixth positions, and the yang line at the second
position corresponds with the yin line at the fifth position. Because
of these yin-yang correspondences among the six lines, Wang Bi finds

immanent vitality in “Weiji.” He believes that once this immanent
vitality is activated and realized after a reordering of their positions,
“Weiji” will be on its way to completion. For this reason, he thinks that
“Weiji” can also mean keji, the potential for completion. ²⁹ By adding
these changes to “Jiji” and “Weiji,” Wang Bi transformed the appar-
ently inconclusive ending of the sixty-four hexagrams into a lesson on
adjusting to changing environments. He argued that, by appearing to
be open-ended, “Jiji” and “Weiji” not only underscored the fluidity and
contingency of life, but also forced readers to reflect upon their own
precarious situations. As completion quickly becomes incompletion
and vice versa, readers have to learn to be circumspect and moderate
in order to come to terms with changes.³⁰
Turning to Kong Yingda’s subcommentary, its main thrust was
to summarize Wang Bi’s argument on the relationship between “Jiji”
and “Weiji.” But as in his other subcommentaries, his summary here
was both a restatement and an embellishment. In restating Wang Bi’s
remarks, Kong summarized Wang’s main points at the beginning of
each hexagram. That way, readers would have a clear idea of what
Wang wanted to say before they went on to read Wang’s commen-
tary. The prime example of Kong’s embellishment of Wang’s remarks
is his subcommentary on “Weiji.” Building on Wang Bi’s argument
that “Weiji” means both negatively as incompletion and positively as
potential for completion, Kong ponders whether there can be a third
meaning of “Weiji.” He raises this possibility in his commentary on
the Tuan statement of “Weiji”:
When we speak of something being incomplete, we mean that the
task is not completed today, but that there are ways to complete it
later. With respect to the six lines of “Weiji,” they are not in their
proper positions and consequently they cannot finish their assign-
ments. However, since they resonate with one another because of
their firm and soft nature, they are full of potential. In recognition
of their potential to finish their work, the hexagram is called “In-
completion” rather than “Completion.”³¹
Building on what Wang Bi has said about the two meanings of “Weiji,”
Kong stresses in his subcommentary the potential for completion in
“Weiji.” But to fully comprehend the meaning of “Weiji,” he adds that
one should also consider what has been ruled out in the hexagram name.
He argues that in recognition of the potential of the six lines of “Weiji,”
The Northern Song Yijing Text 4
the author of the Yijing has decided to call it weiji (incompletion) rather
than buji (without the means to complete the task). That decision, in
Kong’s view, underscores once again the paramount importance of
having a perfect order. It is because while “Weiji” is full of potential, a
great deal of work needs to be done to correct the positions of the six
lines, and to make them work as a team. Harking back to the theme
that he stresses throughout his subcommentary, he considers building
a perfect order as the first item on the ruler’s agenda.
Reversion to Wu
In the current scholarship on Neo-Daoism, much has been said about

how “the study of the dark” (xuanxue) from the third to the fifth centu-
ries was built on a pair of concepts, you and wu, and how Wang Bi was
among the first to use the pair of concepts to discuss the nature of the
universe. Commonly rendered into English as Being and Non-Being,
you and wu denote two levels of existence.³² You (Being) refers to the
visible, tangible, and sensible world that we experience everyday. Wu
(Non-Being) describes the web of relationships that connects every-
thing of this world into a system. For this reason, Tang Yongtong and
Feng Youlan have pointed out that wu does not mean nothing exists
(wuyou); rather, it means the invisible (wuxing) and ineffable (wuming)
web of relationships that binds everything together in this universe.³³
The two levels of existence that you and wu describe are distinct and
yet related. They are distinct in the sense that one has form and shape,
and the other does not; one is discrete part, and the other is the whole.
They are related because they are joined together as substance (ben)
and function (mo). As the whole, wu is that which gives rise to you; it
is the totality of all the discrete parts of the universe. As discrete part,
you allows wu to manifest in form and shape: it is an occasion when
the web of relationships in this universe becomes visible, tangible,
and sensible.
Contrary to the general impression that Wang Bi was a major
figure in the “study of the deep,” he seldom made reference to you and
wu in his Yijing commentary. In fact, the only place in his Yijing com-
mentary where he discussed wu is his commentary on the hexagram
“Fu” (Return, #24). As a hexagram, “Fu” consists of one yang line at
the bottom and five yin lines at the top. The hexagram is commonly
considered a symbol of reversion—the gradual return of the yang force
while the yin force is still dominant. Yet, in commenting on the Tuan
statement of the hexagram,³⁴ Wang Bi appears to have a different view

of “Fu.” First, he defines “Fu” (to return) as “to revert to the original
substance.”³⁵ This reading suggests that Wang was more concerned
about the substance-function relationship of you and wu than the ebb
and flow of yin and yang. Although in his commentary Wang did not
explicitly compare you with wu, the contrast between the visible and
invisible world, part and whole, and events and system was apparent.
He introduced the two levels of existence through a series of contrast-
ing pairs—activity versus tranquility, speech versus silence, movement
versus quiescence. These contrasting pairs indicate that beyond the
discrete objects in the phenomenal world, there is a totality that binds
everything together. In the former, one is dazzled by changes; in the
latter, one finds peace in the principle of change. In the former, each
object is separate; in the latter, everything is connected through a web
of relationships. For Wang Bi, from a human perspective, the reversion
in “Fu” has to be understood as a broadening of one’s horizons. Instead
of focusing narrowly on immediate surroundings, one should visual-
ize the complex web of relationships that binds everything together
in this universe.
Although Wang Bi discusses you and wu only in his commentary
on “Fu,” in Kong Yingda’s time this pair of concepts was deemed essen-
tial to interpreting the Yijing. This perception was mainly due to the fact
that you and wu appeared frequently in Han Kangbo’s commentary on
the Xici. Accepted in the early Tang as a faithful summary of Wang Bi’s
views on the Yijing, Han’s commentary made the reversion of you to wu
the main theme of Xici. Take, for example, Han Kangbo’s commentary
on the Xici statement, “That which has a yin and a yang is called the
Way” (yi yin yi yang zhi wei dao).³⁶ Despite its overt reference to yin
and yang, Han reads the line as a plea for reverting from you to wu. In
his comment, he equates the Way (Dao) with wu, making certain that
the Xici statement is a discussion about wu.³⁷ Then, he argues that “a
yin and a yang” (yi yin yi yang) in the Xici statement have nothing to
do with number. They do not mean that numerically there is a single
yin and a single yang in this universe. Instead, they refer to the com-
plex relationship between you and wu. The key to Han’s argument
lies in the meaning of yi (solitary) in “yi yin yi yang.” With yi standing
for wu, he argues that yi yin means the yin state of wu or wuyin, and
yi yang the yang state of wu or wuyang. Whether in yin state or yang
state, the same wu makes its presence known. Presumptuous as it may
seem, Han’s commentary underscores the importance of reverting
from visible and sensible events to the invisible principle of change.

He reminds his readers that wu, the totality of the universe, is not only
omnipresent, but also takes different (sometimes even contradictory)
forms to make its presence known.
Similarly, Han Kangbo renders the Xici statement, “In expanding
the numbers, the total is fifty; of these, forty-nine are used,”³⁸ into a
discussion of reverting from you to wu. This Xici statement appears
at the beginning of a long paragraph discussing the procedure for
throwing the yarrow stalks to come up with hexagrams for divination.
Claiming that he is stating what Wang Bi would have said on this line,
Han turns this line into a plea for the reversion of you to wu.³⁹ First, he
takes the one unused number (or stalk) to mean wu, and the forty-nine
used numbers (or stalks) to mean you. On the one hand, he stresses
that you depends on wu for its existence, just like the forty-nine used
numbers become useful only when they function in a mathematical
system. On the other hand, he emphasizes that wu cannot fulfill itself
without you, just as the merits of a mathematical system have to be
manifested through the computation of numbers. Abstract as it may
seem, Han’s comment underscores the part-whole relationship be-
tween you (events) and wu (system).⁴⁰ As parts, discrete events make
the system alive. As the whole, the system gives unity and coherence
to discrete events.
Political Implications of you and wu
In general, in his subcommentary, Kong Yingda followed strictly what

Wang Bi and Han Kangbo had said about the reversion of you to wu.
Yet, in this particular case of Han’s reading of the unused yarrow stalk,
Kong appears to have had reservations. In his comment on the same
Xici line, Kong mentioned that there were many schools of thought
on how to compute yarrow stalks, and there was no definitive read-
ing of this Xici line. However, based on the fact that “Han Kangbo
had been a follower of Wang Bi and he was faithful in summarizing
Wang’s views,” he accepted Han’s interpretation as given and restated
it in his subcommentary as Wang Bi’s view.⁴¹ Kong’s position on the
unused yarrow stalk reflected his overall position on the Zhouyi zhu.
That is, he took the Zhouyi zhu as the authoritative reading of the
Yijing and refrained from pointing out its mistakes even if he felt they
were apparent.
Although Kong Yingda might have had reservations about Han

Kangbo’s reading of the unused yarrow stalk, he supported the rever-
sion of you to wu. Just as he did in other parts of his subcommentary
where he restated Wang Bi’s views to make his points, in his subcom-
mentary to the Xici he also embellished Han Kangbo’s commentary
to express his views. A case in point is his comments on Han’s reading
of “That which has a yin and a yang is called the Way.” As discussed
earlier, Han reads the Xici statement as a plea for reverting from you to
wu. In his subcommentary, after restating Han’s interpretation, Kong
introduces a new issue: unpremeditated action (wuwei). He writes:
In saying that “only when the functioning of you reaches its peak, the
merits of wu become manifest,” [Han Kangbo] refers to the natural
phenomena of blowing wind and falling rain. Wind blows and rain
falls without a premeditated plan. Yet, the ten thousand things grow
and bloom because of them. Thus, from this example of blowing wind
and falling rain completing their functions without premeditation,
we understand why when the function of you reaches it peak, the
merits of wu become manifest.⁴²
Abstract as it may seem, Kong Yingda’s discussion of unpremeditated
action harks back to the theme he stressed throughout his subcom-
mentary; that is, building a proper order should be the first item on the
ruler’s agenda. In his attempt to explain how the merits of wu become
manifest through you, he emphasizes that under a perfect system,
such as the one that regulates nature, things will happen spontane-
ously and effortlessly. Each part does not need to know the reason for
its specific function. What it does will bring benefits automatically to
other members in the system, and in turn it will be rewarded for what
it does.
Whereas Kong Yingda was not always explicit about what “the
proper order” meant in commenting on the Xici, Xing Shu was un-
equivocal in associating “the proper order” with a powerful central
government headed by an absolute king. In his subcommentary to
Wang Bi’s Zhouyi lüeli, Xing Shu’s goal was to explicate the political
implications in the discussion of you and wu. In order to make his
point, sometimes he would inject ideas that might be foreign to Wang
Bi. Take, for instance, his commentary on Wang Bi’s first essay “Ming
tuan” (On the Tuan Statements). If read independently, Wang Bi’s essay
is about how to understand the Yijing by reading its Tuan statements.
In the received Yijing text, there is a Tuan statement accompanying
each hexagram. It appears to Wang Bi that the function of each Tuan

statement is to point out the characteristics of the hexagram that it
accompanies.⁴³ In his commentary, Xing Shu took Wang Bi’s remarks
in a completely different direction. He believed that besides teaching
readers how to understand hexagrams through reading the Tuan
statements, implicitly Wang Bi was discussing a political system as
well. To support his view, Xing Shu explained:
The reason why things do not err is that they have a ruler. When there
is a leader to set priorities and a ruler to coordinate things, things
become orderly even if they are complex, and people have no doubt
in their minds even if their numbers are huge. . . . The One that prac-
tices unpremeditated action is the Way [Dao] or the king. Although
the ten thousand things may all be different, the unfathomable Way
regulates and coordinates them into one body. Although the people
may be numerous, the king gives them a clear direction.⁴⁴
Drawing a parallel between understanding the multifaceted dimensions
of the Yijing through reading the Tuan statements and keeping order
in the kingdom with a powerful central figure, Xing Shu interpreted
Wang Bi’s remark as a plea for founding a strong central government
that would regulate and coordinate all aspects of its people’s lives.
Despite its overt political message, Xing Shu’s comment would not
come as a surprise to seventh-century readers of the Zhouyi zhengyi.
From Kong’s opening essays to his subcommentary on Wang Bi’s and
Han Kangbo’s commentaries, the main theme of the Zhouyi zhengyi
had been the absolute power of the king. The ways by which the dis-
cussion was conducted might differ, ranging from a discussion of a
king practicing the “Kingly Way” to a snapshot of how a king would
formalize his relationships with his subjects. Nevertheless, the Zhouyi
zhengyi was consistent in supporting a powerful central government
headed by an absolute king. With that in mind, what Xing Shu did here
was simply to give a sharper focus to Kong’s attempt at rendering the
Yijing into a political text.
Two Images of Wang Bi in the Northern Song
As a testimony to Kong Yingda’s success in turning the Yijing into a

political text, centuries later, many Northern Song commentators
continued to read the Yijing as a classic about the art of governing.
Despite the elapse of time and the changes in political climate, many
Northern Song commentators still read the Yijing for new ideas to
improve their political and social system. In reading the Yijing through
the lens of the Zhouyi zhengyi, they paid special attention to what Wang
Bi had said on the classic. From Wang Yucheng (954–00) in the early
Northern Song to Cheng Yi in the late Northern Song, the main issue
for many Northern Song Yijing commentators was how to go beyond
Wang Bi’s reading of the classic.⁴⁵ These attentions thrust upon Wang
Bi were in part a result of Kong Yingda’s success in promoting him as
“the best commentator on the Yijing.” Being the accepted author of the
Zhouyi zhu—the basis upon which Kong Yingda wrote his subcom-
mentary—Wang Bi symbolized to many Northern Song commentators
the authority of the received Yijing commentarial tradition. To affirm
or to oppose the received commentarial tradition, the Northern Song
commentators felt that they had to come to terms with Wang Bi.
There was a wide range of responses to Wang Bi in the Northern
Song. For some exegetes, like Su Shi, they thought their main task was
to further explicate Wang Bi’s reading and make it directly relevant to
the eleventh century.⁴⁶ They wrote commentaries modeled after him
and whenever possible cited him as their authority. For others, such
as Wang Yucheng and Sima Guang, they accepted the Zhouyi zhu as
the authoritative commentary to the Yijing, but they looked for ways
to improve upon it.⁴⁷ They pointed out areas in which Wang Bi had
misread the Yijing and offered their alternative readings. For yet others,
such as Zhang Zai, they were determined to replace the Zhouyi zhu
with a completely new reading of the Yijing. They criticized Wang Bi
and Han Kangbo for misleading generations of Yijing commentators,
and saw themselves as the true interpreters of the Yijing.⁴⁸
These differing responses to Wang Bi were, to a great extent, a
result of how he was presented in the Zhouyi zhengyi. Underlying these
differing responses were two conflicting images of Wang Bi that Kong
Yingda presented in his subcommentary. On the one hand, there was
an image of him as a philosopher, who offered profound insights into
the nature of the universe but had little interest in human affairs. The
supporters of this image of Wang Bi found evidence in his you-wu dis-
cussion in hexagram “Fu,” the summary of his views in Han Kangbo’s
commentary on the Xici, and his six essays in the Zhouyi lüeli. In the
Northern Song, Su Shi was the main force in promoting this image of
Wang Bi. In his commentary to the Yijing, Dongpo yizhuan (Comments
on the Yi [by a person from] the Eastern Slope), Su Shi expanded on
Wang Bi’s discussion of the reversion from you to wu. He focused
on the meaning of “the One,” “the Source,” and “the Way”—concepts

that were made prominent by Wang Bi. This image of Wang Bi as a
philosopher was so widespread in the eleventh century that even some
critics of Wang Bi, like Sima Guang, took it for granted.⁴⁹
In sharp contrast to Wang Bi the philosopher, there was also an
image of him as a political and moral thinker, who was deeply con-
cerned with improving the political and social system. Like supporters
of the other image, supporters of this image easily found evidence in
the Zhouyi zhengyi. To support their view, they could point to Wang
Bi’s frequent political discussions in his commentary on the sixty-four
hexagrams, Kong Yingda’s elaboration on some of Wang Bi’s remarks,
and Xing Shu’s explication of his essays in Zhouyi lüeli. Li Gou, for
one, saw Wang Bi this way. In condemning what he considered to be
unorthodox methods of interpreting the Yijing based on diagrams and
numerology (which apparently had become a popular trend at his time),
Li Gou suggested that scholars should follow in Wang Bi’s footsteps
to render the Yijing for “the urgent needs of Heaven and Earth and
the dynasty” (ji hu tianxia guojia zhiyong).⁵⁰ A similar view is found
in Cheng Yi. Widely known for his moral and political reading of the
Yijing, he urged his students to read Wang Bi’s commentary to develop
a “true understanding” of the Yijing.⁵¹
Dissimilar as they were, these images of Wang Bi reveal to us the
parameters for the Yijing discourse in the Northern Song. It appears
that in rendering the Yijing anew, the eleventh-century exegetes were
looking for answers to four questions: What is the relationship between
the natural world and the human world? What role does an individual
play in the natural and human system? What practical implications will
answers to the previous two questions have on improving the political
and social order? What should the educated elite do in leading the
political and social transformation? Certainly, these four questions
are not new in Chinese thought and some of them are foundational to
Daoism and Confucianism. But what is new about them is that they
were raised in conjunction with an image of Wang Bi and a reading
of the Zhouyi zhengyi. For those who were interested in the first two
questions, they looked to Wang Bi the philosopher for answers. They
concentrated on those parts of the Zhouyi zhengyi that discussed the
reversion of you to wu. For those whose primary concerns were the
last two questions, they sought inspiration from Wang Bi the moral
and political thinker. They focused their attention on those parts of
the Zhouyi zhengyi that discussed the need for a central government
headed by an absolute king. To a great extent, this debate on Wang

Bi can be seen as, using Hans-Georg Gadamer’s terms, a “fusion of
horizons” of the past and the present.⁵² On the one hand, it grew out of
a reading of the Zhouyi zhengyi, the authoritative Yijing commentary
of the Tang. On the other hand, it gave expression to a new historical
context that allowed the Northern Song commentators to demand
active participation in ordering the world. In the next three chapters,
we will see how the Northern Song exegetes addressed questions of
the past and the present in interpreting the Yijing.
3
Mission of Civil Bureaucrats:
The Yijing of Hu Yuan, Li Gou, and Ouyang Xiu
[A superior man] begins with himself and extends his virtue to

the people. Therefore, he never worries about himself, he worries
about the world; he never rejoices for himself, he rejoices for the
world.
—Hu Yuan, Zhouyi kouyi
F or many of his biographers, Hu Yuan was a forerunner of the

Cheng-Zhu school of Daoxue, worthy to be called a “master of the
early Northern Song.”¹ He is best known for being Cheng Yi’s teacher
at the Imperial Academy in Kaifeng, showing his brilliant student how
to pursue true Confucian learning.² Also, he is described as a man of
action, who made significant contributions in reforming the school
system and the court musical instruments.³ Despite these high honors,
however, he is not considered to be a man of thought, having profound
insights on matters that concerned the Northern Song educated elite.
But if we pay closer attention to his classical commentary, we will have
a different picture of him. There, we will find him a serious thinker—not
the Daoxue moralist of the sort that Zhu Xi and Wang Yangming came
to personify, but a self-motivated scholar who offered critical opinions
on current affairs and insightful suggestions on governing.⁴
This image of Hu Yuan as a serious thinker is particularly clear in
his commentary on the Yijing, the Zhouyi kouyi (The orally transmit-
ted meanings of the Yi from the Zhou [Dynasty]). His longest piece
of writing that has survived, the Zhouyi kouyi shows evidence of him
as a sophisticated classicist who made the ancient classic speak to his
eleventh-century readers.⁵ It reveals his skills in taking part in politi-
cal and philosophical debates by offering a new interpretation of the
49
Yijing. A prime example of his skills as an exegete was his decision to

challenge the official Northern Song Yijing commentary, the Zhouyi
zhengyi of Kong Yingda. In his attempt to expunge the militarism
of late Tang and the Five Dynasties Period, he identified the Zhouyi
zhengyi as the textual legitimization of what he considered erroneous
practices during those two periods. By attempting to set the Yijing free
from Tang influences, he expressed the desire of the first generation
of the Northern Song educated elite to part ways with the past. In this
chapter, we will examine Hu’s Zhouyi kouyi as a formulation of the civil
bureaucrats’ mission to order the world. At the end of the chapter, we
will contextualize his views by comparing his commentary with those
of Li Gou and Ouyang Xiu.
A Biography of Hu Yuan
Hu Yuan was born into a poor scholar family in Taizhou (in present-day
Jiangsu) in 993. Both Hu’s grandfather and father managed to secure
only low-level administrative posts at local prefectures. As a child, Hu
was known as a prodigy. He was proficient in writing by the age of
seven and mastered the Five Classics by the age of thirteen.⁶ Despite
his talents, however, he failed to pass the civil service examinations—a
stigma that he had to carry throughout his life.⁷
Following a popular practice of the time, upon reaching adult-
hood Hu left his family for Mount Tai (present-day Shandong) for
further learning. For ten years, he hid on the mountain like a recluse
and studied the Confucian classics with his two friends Sun Fu and Shi
Jie (005–045). According to one account, he was so absorbed in his
study on Mount Tai that he even threw all of his family letters into a
stream after spotting the words “peaceful and contented” (ping’an) on
them.⁸ Hu’s behavior, usually considered un-Confucian under normal
circumstances, is remembered as a sign of his dedication to Confucian
learning, which was apparently in decline at that time. During these
ten years, usually regarded as the pivotal period of Hu’s life, he devel-
oped his own understanding of the Confucian classics. Not only did
he have confidence in Confucian learning, he also strongly believed
that it needed to be applied in ordering the world.
Hu worked for a while as a private teacher in the Zhejiang area
before being invited in 035 by Fan Zhongyan to teach in the Suzhou
Prefectural School. It was in Suzhou that he first earned fame as a
strict teacher who enforced the school rules and demanded total
dedication to learning from his students.⁹ In 042, he was invited to
Mission of Civil Bureaucrats 5
teach in the Huzhou Prefectural School (near Suzhou). In Huzhou, he

initiated his famous method of dividing students into the “chamber
of classical studies” (jingyi zhai) and the “chamber of administrative
skills” (zhishi zhai).¹⁰ In the former, students were required to develop
their own views on the Confucian classics; in the latter, students were
given special training in practical skills like public policy, national
defense, and irrigation. His method of teaching, combining classical
scholarship with training in governing, attracted the attention of Fan
Zhongyan. Upon Fan’s recommendation, his method was adopted
by the newly established Imperial Academy (taixue) at Kaifeng in
044.¹¹ Some contemporary historians, such as Qian Mu, consider
the partnership between Fan and Hu Yuan as an important sign of
change in the intellectual milieu of early Northern Song. Although
Fan made his mark in history as a political reformer and Hu as an
educator, the two were committed to applying Confucian learning in
ordering the world. They were part of the revival of Confucianism in
the early Northern Song that motivated the educated elite to actively
participate in governing.¹²
Though Hu Yuan’s teaching method was adopted by the Impe-
rial Academy, for eight years Hu did not have a chance to attend to its
implementation. Between 044 and 052, he was commissioned by the
government to revise the musical system for the court.¹³ He helped
to prescribe a set of measurements for casting bronze bells, although
many of these were later proven to be ineffective.¹⁴ It was in 052 that
he was offered a professorship at the prestigious Imperial Academy,
reaching the apex of his career as a teacher. But being a former failed
candidate of the civil service examinations, his early days at the Impe-
rial Academy were by no means easy. He was constantly challenged
and, in many instances, despised. It was not until he had delivered
a series of brilliant lectures on the Yijing that he gained respect as a
well-learned scholar.¹⁵ Our received text of the Zhouyi kouyi may be
notes from these lectures compiled by his student, Ni Tianyin.¹⁶ From
then on, students from all corners of the country competed to enroll in
the Imperial Academy to study under him. Consequently, the Imperial
Academy was transformed from a preparation school for entering into
the bureaucracy to a center of high learning. At one point, the student
population grew so rapidly that the Imperial Academy had to enlarge its
size by acquiring a nearby military base. Because of his contribution to
transforming the Imperial Academy, his contemporaries remembered
him as the teacher par excellence.¹⁷
A Critique of Kong Yingda
Like Kong Yingda in his Zhouyi zhengyi, Hu Yuan opened his Zhouyi
kouyi with a discussion of the nature of the Yijing. In the preface (fa
ti) to the Zhouyi kouyi, Hu devoted considerable length to discussing
the meaning of the word yi of the Yijing. Being a classic with multiple
layers, the true nature of the Yijing had long been a subject of dispute
among classical scholars before the eleventh century.¹⁸ As discussed
earlier, both Wang Bi and Kong Yingda had to deal with this question
in their commentaries. For Wang Bi, he tackled the question by writ-
ing six essays, collectively known as Zhouyi lüeli, to discuss how the
hexagrams and the Tuan statements should be read. For Kong Yingda,
he addressed the question by writing seven essays to explain the tex-
tual history and the commentarial tradition of the Yijing. In one of
those essays, entitled “Yi zhi san ming” (The three names of yi), Kong
focused specifically on the meaning of the word yi. Hence, in defining
the meaning of the word yi of the Yijing, Hu Yuan appears to have had
two goals in mind: first, to put an end to the controversy of what the
word yi of Yijing meant; second, to challenge previous commentators,
particularly Kong Yingda, on their understanding of the Yijing.
Contrary to Kong Yingda who argued that there were three mean-
ings of the word yi, Hu Yuan believed that yi only had one meaning.
He began his preface as follows:
The Way of changes is the principle of Heaven and Humankind.

Speaking of changes in terms of the Way of Heaven, they are the
completion of the ten thousand things due to the changes of the
yin and the yang; they are the succession of the four seasons due to
the changes of the hot weather and the cold weather; they are the
appearance of day and night due to the changes in the position of
the sun and the moon. Speaking of changes in terms of the Way of
Humankind, they are the fortunes and misfortunes due to changes
in gains and losses [in one’s activity]; they are the comforts and dis-
comforts due to the changes in man’s sincerity; they are the orders
and disorders due to the changes [in the relative power] of superior
men and inferior men [in the government].¹⁹
Seemingly straightforward, Hu’s interpretation of yi was in sharp con-

trast to Kong Yingda’s. As discussed in the last chapter, a main theme
of Kong Yingda’s Zhouyi zhengyi was the reversion from mundane
daily events (you) to the invisible web of relationships in the universe
Mission of Civil Bureaucrats 53
(wu). To underscore this reversion, Kong Yingda argued that the word
yi of Yijing had three meanings: change, constancy, and ease. By giving
these three meanings to the word yi, Kong described three equally
important components in the Yijing—() its description of the natural
world and the human world as contingent and ever-changing, (2) its
emphasis on the existence of a regularity or a pattern for all changes,
and (3) its depiction of the spontaneity and effortlessness with which
all changes take place in the universe. In contrast to Kong’s interpreta-
tion, Hu Yuan insisted that yi meant changes alone. His denial of the
meanings “constant” and “easy” for yi was more than a disagreement on
the meaning of the word. It was, in effect, a rejection of Kong’s reading
of the Yijing as a pointer to the grand natural system. By restricting yi
to mean changes alone, Hu affirmed the status of the Yijing as a book
on phenomenal transformations in general and human affairs in par-
ticular. The significance of Hu’s position regarding the meaning of yi
lay not so much in its novelty, but in the way it challenged Kong’s plea
for a reversal from discrete phenomenal objects (you) to the web of
relationships that joined everything together in this universe (wu). By
arguing that yi meant changes alone, Hu treated phenomenal affairs
as ontologically real, and thereby significant in their own right. Under-
lying this viewpoint is a different cosmological outlook: the universe
is an organic totality in which everything (visible or invisible, part and
whole, manifest or immanent) intermixes and interchanges.²⁰
Hu Yuan elaborated on this cosmological outlook in his com-
mentary on the Xici. As we recall, in the Zhouyi zhengyi, both Han
Kangbo and Kong Yingda interpreted the Xici from the perspective of
reversing from you to wu. But in Hu Yuan’s commentary, we find him
interpreting the Xici as purely a description of phenomenal changes.
For example, in commenting on the Xici I regarding the succession
of the eight trigrams and the interlocking of the yin and the yang,²¹
he states:
Heaven originally lies above, and earth originally lies below. When
the vital spirit from heaven descends and the vital spirit from earth
ascends, the yang will change into the yin as soon as it is in full force,
and the yin will change into the yang as soon as it is in full force.
[In this manner,] when the yang is firm, the yin will be soft; when
the yin is reduced, the yang will return with strength. The firm and
the soft cut and rub each other. They cause changes to each other.
Thus, the principle [for the generation] of the myriad things comes
into being.²²
In this comment, Hu attempts to give an explanation of the creation

of the universe. For him, the universe is created by two forces, the
yin and the yang. By constantly transforming into each other, the two
cosmic forces give dynamism to the universe and generate the myriad
things. Certainly, Hu’s cosmogony does not account for how the yin
and the yang come into being. Nor does he explain how the two forces
come to intermix and interchange with each other. But even with
these crucial questions remaining unsettled, he still makes his point
clear that this universe is created by itself and that it perpetuates itself
through the incessant interchange of the yin and the yang.²³ With this
point established, he has taken his first step toward undermining Kong
Yingda’s argument that there are two levels of existence: one is our
visible world of mundane daily life, and the other is an ineffable web
of relationships that “gives birth to” (sheng) all beings.
Based upon his cosmogony, Hu developed his dynamic view of
the universe. One place for him to air his view was the Xici I state-
ment “sheng sheng zhi wei yi,” which can be translated as “generation
and regeneration is called change.”²⁴ In the Zhouyi zhengyi, Kong
Yingda interpreted this line as evidence of the “unpremeditated action”
(wuwei) of nature which generates the myriad things without leaving
any traces.²⁵ In Hu’s commentary, we find a different interpretation:
“Generation and regeneration” means the yin gives birth to the yang,
and the yang gives birth to the yin. The Way of heaven and earth as
well as the virtue of a sage are called “the noble enterprise” when one
speaks of them from the perspective of their significance in bringing
prosperity and abundance [to this world]. They are also known as
“the divine virtue” when one speaks of them from the perspective of
their significance in renewing [the myriad things] on a daily basis.
And the way of generating and completing [the myriad things in
this world] takes the forms of transmutation and metamorphosis,
life and death. What is alive will soon become dead; and what is
dead will soon become alive. The “enterprise” and “virtue” of heaven
and earth and the sage are to keep generating and regenerating the
myriad things without an end.²⁶
In this comment, the description of the universe as a dynamic entity

constantly generating and regenerating itself is expressed in full. Since
the universe creates itself and perpetuates itself by the constant inter-
change of the yin and the yang, unceasing transformation becomes a
characterizing feature of the universe. And since all transformations
in this universe are nothing but the interchange between the yin and
the yang, life and death—the two most distinguishing stages of change
in the phenomenal world—are not the beginning and cessation of life
in the conventional understanding. Rather, they are different phases
of the continuum of change espoused by the interaction of the yin
and the yang. In this regard, what is living becomes dead, and what is
dead becomes living, depending on how the two forces interact at each
point. When life and death are interchangeable, all other elements in
this universe—be they natural or supernatural, visible or invisible, big
or small, animate or inanimate—are interchangeable as well.
From this dynamic view of the universe, Hu launched his attack on
Kong Yingda. One example is his commentary on the Xici I statement,
“what is above form is called [D]ao; what is within form is called tool.”²⁷
In the original Xici statement, a clear distinction is made between “what
is above form” (xing er shang) and “what is within form” (xing er xia).
In the Zhouyi zhengyi, Han Kangbo and Kong Yingda take this Xici
distinction as their justification for differentiating you from wu. They
equate you as “what is within form” and wu as “what is above form.”
To drive home his point, Kong Yingda adds this comment: “The Way
refers to the essence of wu. Form denotes the discrete objects of you.
Just as wu gives birth to you, the Way is the source of form. Thus, the
Way precedes form; the Way is above form.”²⁸
Turning to Hu Yuan’s commentary, we find him rendering the
Xici statement in a different way:
The Way of heaven begins in formlessness (wuxing) and ends in form

(youxing). Form and formlessness are both creations of the Way (Dao).
The Way is that which man models after; it is that by which [man]
connects with the myriad things. Before the existence of heaven and
earth, the Way disperses in the vital forces. After assuming form and
shape, the Way is immanent in phenomenal objects. Thus, the Way
is all-encompassing and not confined to formed objects. When the
Way is applied to the whole world, it penetrates all things. When
the Way is applied to practical affairs, it exhausts changes. All these
are the essence of the Way. Indeed, [the Way] begins in formlessness
and ends in form.²⁹
In the above, Hu makes the “Way” the supreme concept in describing

the organic, ever-changing universe. In his mind, there is no category
other than the Way that can accurately portray the dynamism and the
self-generative nature of the universe. Even formlessness (wuxing)
is only one aspect of the Way. And by upholding the Way as the su-
preme category concerning the universe, he succeeds in eliminating
the dichotomy of you and wu that is central to Han Kanbo’s and Kong
Yingda’s reading of the Xici. For him, the distinction of form and form-
lessness is meaningless because both are different phases of the Way.
No matter whether one focuses on mundane daily life or the ineffable
principle of change, the phenomenal objects or the invisible webs of
relationships, what one finds is still the same organic, ever-changing
universe in action.
The Yijing as a Classic on Human Affairs
Based upon his understanding of the meaning of yi, Hu suggested

that the Yijing should be read from a humanistic perspective. With-
out denying that there is a cosmological dimension in the Yijing, he
argued that the classic is at its best when offering advice for perfecting
human society and minimizing human misfortunes. To underscore
this humanistic dimension of the Yijing, he concluded his preface as
follows:
Hence, the changes in the natural realm are growth and completion,
which are constant on their own. The changes in the human realm
depend upon how those in the higher positions [in the government]
make their judgments. Why must it be so [regarding the changes
in the human realm]? [It is because,] if those with positions know
that orders and disorders arise due to the changes [in the relative
power] of superior men and inferior men, then they should always
put superior men in government posts, and abandon the inferior
men. [When this is done], what is underneath heaven will always be
in order, without disorder. [If those with positions] know that ben-
efit and harm arise due to the changes of one’s sincerity, then they
should employ purely sincerity, and get rid of insincerity. [When this
is done], what they do will always be beneficial, without any harm.
[If those with positions] know that fortunes and misfortunes come
as a result of the changes in one’s gains or losses, then they should
strive to gain in their activities, and avoid loses in their activities.
[When this is done,] their activities will always be fortunate, without
any misfortune. All these point to one thing: one must take great
care in the changes in human affairs.³⁰
This is an important passage for our understanding of Hu’s position on

the Yijing. In the passage, he first acknowledges that changes in both
the natural realm and the human realm are discussed in the Yijing.
Then, he immediately adds that from a humanistic point of view, the
Yijing is most enlightening in its discussion of changes with respect
to man. For him, changes in nature—no matter how spectacular and
orderly they are—are beyond human control. They run their own course
and man plays no part except to comply. Conversely, man’s acts are
always significant to the changes in the human realm. His acts have a
direct impact on his fortunes, comforts, and governing. In the human
world, man is always an agent of change and a determining factor in
his future. For Hu, the Yijing’s discussion of changes in human affairs
is an inexhaustible treasure for all reflective souls.³¹
A point of textual evidence for Hu’s humanistic reading of the
Yijing is that the classic ends with the hexagram “Weiji” (Incompletion,
#64). As discussed in chapter 2, with respect to its hexagram image
and line statements, “Jiji” (Completion, #63) appears to be the more
logical ending of the classic. With its perfect alignment of the yin lines
and yang lines and its auspicious line statements, the hexagram “Jiji”
offers an assurance that everything is fine after one has gone through
all the challenges in life. True to its name—“Completion”—the hexa-
gram would provide a closure to the reader’s long journey of reading
through the classic, and by extension, the long journey of life. Instead,
the classic ends with the less desirable hexagram “Weiji.” The hexagram
is troubled by its line alignment—its yin lines and yang lines are appar-
ently out of order, with a yin line in a yang position and vice versa. Also
true to its name—“Incompletion”—the hexagram line statements are
filled with warnings about imminent danger and suggestions for more
work to be done. Hence, the question for many Yijing commentators
(including Wang Bi as we have seen) is why the classic appears to end
without an ending.
In his commentary on “Weiji,” Hu Yuan offers an explanation to
this peculiar ending of the Yijing:
On the question of why the sixty-four hexagrams begin with “Qian”
and “Kun” and end with “Weiji,” “Qian” and “Kun” connote the sources
of growth and completion, and therefore they must be placed at the
beginning. “Weiji” is placed at the end because it is human nature to
lose one’s head when things seem to be in order. Either the person
may be unable to worry about dangers in times of comfort, or unable
to think about annihilation in times of safety. As a result, troubles
come. Hence, by ending the text with “Weiji,” the sagely writer [of
the Yijing] is giving us a profound lesson.³²
In explaining the significance of the hexagram “Weiji,” Hu Yuan has

a great deal to share with Wang Bi. Although not as elegantly written
as Wang Bi’s exegesis, Hu Yuan also takes the hexagrams “Jiji” and
“Weiji” as a unit, symbolizing human precariousness in a contingent
and ever-changing world. Like Wang Bi, Hu sees the two hexagrams
as warnings against complacency. For him, everything in the human
world is in constant flux and in an incessant process of becoming.
Any careless act can be detrimental, if not disastrous. Hence, man has
to be prudent and circumspect in his acts. He has to expect danger
when he is still secure, and plan for emergencies when everything is
still in order. He has to be constantly self-reflective and self-critical
in order to ensure his comfort and fortune. From this perspective,
the entire text of the Yijing is meant to sharpen its readers’ awareness
of the contingent nature of the human world. Although it is divided
into sixty-four hexagrams, three hundred and eighty-four lines, and
the Ten Wings, the goal of the classic is to urge prudence in action.
Precisely for this reason, the imperfect hexagram “Weiji” is a better
ending of the classic than the perfect hexagram “Jiji.” While ending
with the hexagram “Jiji” would give readers a wrong impression that it
is possible to establish a perfect order once and for all, the hexagram
“Weiji” reminds readers that they are constantly in search of a perfect
order. For Hu, the “profound lesson” in the ending of the Yijing is that
human beings are in a constant process of renewing themselves and
their social and political structure.
Human Activism versus Predeterminism
On the surface, Hu Yuan’s reading of the Yijing as a classic on human

affairs reminds us of Kong Yingda’s attempt to turn the classic into a
political text. Both commentators appear to emphasize the importance
of the Yijing as a classic teaching the art of governing. Nevertheless,
there is a key difference in the two commentators. Whereas Kong
Yingda’s reading of the Yijing tended to support the absolute power
of the king, underlying Hu Yuan’s reading was his belief in human
activism, directed broadly to all individuals. He believed that human
beings, although to a great degree influenced by their environment,
could take an active role in shaping their lives. He also believed that, as
part of the universe, human beings were already fulfilling their cosmic
mission by improving their social and political order. For him, since the
universe is actively renewing itself with the interaction of the yin and
the yang, human beings should also be actively renewing themselves

in matters big and small.
In the early Northern Song, Hu’s belief in human activism was at
odds with many of his contemporaries. Shaped by their experiences in
the Period of the Five Dynasties when political power changed hands
five times in less than sixty years, the early Northern Song emperors
and many high officials believed that human affairs were predeter-
mined. They believed that human beings were forever barred from
understanding the intent of Heaven. What human beings could do
was to follow what heaven had decided, known as the “Mandate of
Heaven” (tianming). For instance, partly to justify his rule, Emperor
Taizu (r. 960–975) discussed repeatedly how he was put on the throne
by Heaven. Referring to the palace coup d’état in 960 that started the
Song and numerous occasions where he almost lost his life, Emperor
Taizu remarked that “the rise to power of an emperor depends on the
Mandate of Heaven, neither can one seek for Heaven’s Mandate nor
can one refuse it.”³³ A few decades later, Emperor Zhenzong went a
step further in showing how heavily human affairs were determined
by the “Mandate of Heaven.” Having made peace with the Khitans by
signing the Treaty of Shanyuan in 004, Emperor Zhenzong indulged
himself in receiving “the heavenly writings” (tianshu)—supposedly a
sign from Heaven with specific instructions on governing. Orchestrated
by the minister Wang Qinruo (960–025), Emperor Zhenzong spent
years on the road paying tribute to Heaven by visiting sacred sites
and mountains.³⁴ Likewise, many high officials of the early Northern
Song such as Wang Pu (922–982) and Xue Juzheng continued to
adopt the fatalistic worldview of the scholar-officials in the period of
the Five Dynasties. They passively accepted whatever came to them,
and were seldom assertive in changing the course of events.³⁵ A poem
by Feng Dao, a high official of the Five Dynasties whom Ouyang Xiu
condemned in New History of the Five Dynasties, helps to illustrate
this fatalistic worldview of many high officials of the early Northern
Song. Still circulated among a small number of early Northern Song
officials, Feng’s poem runs as follows:
Poverty and prosperity are all determined by the Mandate

[of Heaven].
We have no need to sigh in sorrow.
So long as we keep performing good deeds,
We need not ascertain the future.
When winter passes away, the ice will melt.

When spring comes, the grass will grow.
I invite all of you to observe this principle.
The Way of Heaven will be abundantly clear.³⁶
In contrast, by rendering the Yijing into a classic on human activism,
Hu Yuan intended to challenge this fatalistic view of the early Northern
Song. He wanted to replace the passive, receptive attitude to life with
one that stressed active involvement in changing the social and political
order. More importantly, by articulating a dynamic cosmological view
based on a reading of the Yijing, he sought to give the Northern Song
educated elite—who entered the Song government in huge numbers
since the 990s—the confidence to participate in ordering the world.
Sage versus Hermit
To emphasize the importance of human activism, a recurring theme

in the Zhouyi kouyi was sagehood. Repeatedly Hu Yuan read the
Yijing—sometimes at the risk of twisting the text—as a treatise on the
meaning of sagehood. In his mind, there was no doubt that the Yijing
stood out among other Confucian classics because of its emphasis on
sagehood. For him, the discussion of sagehood in the Yijing begins
with its first hexagram “Qian” (The creative). In commenting on the
line statement of the first line, “Hidden dragon, do not act” (qian long
wu yong), he stated:
“Hidden dragon” here means the yang is not manifest and remains
in a hidden ground. “Do not act” is the sagacious writer’s warning
to posterity not taking “hidden dragon” as a virtue. Why is it said
like this? It is because man with his embodiment of the finest spirit
of the Five Agents is born to be the most spiritual being among the
myriad things. Yet among us, fools and the unworthy are always in
the majority, and wise and capable persons are often in short supply.
Sages, with their embodiment of the completely refined virtue and
with their endowment of the purity of heaven, are far superior to
the wise man. With his quality, a sage will penetrate all things and
illuminate all events. Hence, a sage should make himself available to
society. It is appropriate for him to complete his worldly enterprise
by giving assistance to the emperor, bringing welfare to the people,
and facilitating the myriad things. This is why the Wenyan³⁷ says: “A
superior man will practice his virtue in actions. Every day one can
see him in actions.” Nowadays, those who have sagacious virtue and
intelligence hide themselves from human affairs. Then, who is going

to administer the fools and the unworthy in this world? [It is clear
that those who choose to hide themselves] do not know the divine
purpose of having sages on earth.³⁸
Hu’s interpretation of this line is unconventional. For most Yijing com-

mentators since the sixth century, the line had been taken to mean
that one must retreat from political activity when the government is
in disarray. In the Zhouyi zhengyi, for instance, Kong Yingda cited
Emperor Shun (a farmer) in ancient antiquity and Emperor Gaozu of
Han (a junior military officer) in the second century B.C.E. as examples
of “hidden dragon” abstaining from serving the crumbling state.³⁹ The
strongest textual evidence for this kind of interpretation comes from
Confucius’s exhortation in the Analects to hide in times of misgov-
ernment.⁴⁰ For Kong, “Hidden dragon. Do not act” was a restatement
of Confucius’s well-known maxim “When the Way prevails under
Heaven, then show yourself; when it does not prevail, then hide.”⁴¹ In
this regard, Hu’s interpretation of the line as not following the example
of a hidden dragon is not only at odds with the received understanding
of the line statement, but also casts doubt on the projected image of
Confucius as an advocate of protesting by reclusion.⁴²
In addition, Hu’s interpretation directly goes against his own
actions. Having spent ten years hiding on Mount Tai pondering the
classics and discarding family letters upon seeing the words “peaceful
and contented,” does he not seem to be a hermit? Having not passed
the civil service examinations to become an official to serve the state,
does he himself ever help in managing human affairs? Although we do
not have any historical evidence of Hu having been criticized for being
a hermit, judging by the furor centered upon Sun Fu (Hu’s companion
on Mount Tai) for his being a hermit, it is possible that the same ac-
cusation could have been made against him. Regarding the criticism
of Sun Fu for his alleged eremitism, we find reports in the Song shi and
Song Yuan xue’an about Sun Fu being invited to serve in the govern-
ment only after his student Shi Jie had defended his eremitism.⁴³ In
the Song Yuan xue’an, this episode of defending Sun’s eremitism was
centered on Shi Jie’s essay “On Reclusion” (Ming yin). In the essay, Shi
explained the differences between Sun Fu’s retreat at Mount Tai and
the retreat of other hermits. He argued that Sun Fu’s stay at Mount Tai
was not a real retreat, but a preparation for an upcoming opportunity
to serve the state.⁴⁴
If such was the case that, like Sun Fu, Hu Yuan had to explain his
alleged eremitism in his early life, the questions for us are as follows:
given his precarious position as a semihermit, why does Hu speak of
a sage as not being a hermit? Why do being a sage and being a hermit
have to be antithetical? How does Hu perceive his hiding on Mount
Tai as categorically different from ordinary recluses? It is in light of
these questions that Hu’s critique of Kong Yingda’s interpretation of
“hidden dragon” is revealing. He said:
In [Kong Yingda’s] sub-commentary, the examples of Emperor Shun
farming on Mount Li, and Gao Zu of Han being a junior military
officer at River Si are cited [to elucidate the meaning of “hidden
dragon”]. Were they hiding themselves? No, they were only cultivat-
ing and completing their virtues. At times, do sages not also find it
imperative to hide themselves? Yes, but the fact is that they know the
Way in them is yet to be implemented, and their mission is far from
being fulfilled, so they engage in learning to cultivate and complete
their sagely virtues, and implement them later to the whole world.
They are never satisfied with spending their whole life in mountains
and forests. Yet, there are occasions in which the entire government
is in disarray. These are indeed times for hiding. That is why the Doc-
trine of the Mean says: “The Way of the superior man is abstruse and
wondrous.” Be that as it may, it is still not hiding oneself. It is only
hiding one’s body without forsaking one’s mission. It is done by not
giving one’s private interest precedence over the public good.⁴⁵
Like Shi Jie in his essay “On Reclusion,” Hu Yuan presents two con-
trasting views on being a hermit. On the one hand, he outlines the
conventional position as expounded by Kong Yingda; that is, being a
hermit is permissible in times of misgovernment. On the other hand,
he enunciates his own perspective on the issue; that is, being a hermit
is morally wrong regardless of the state of government. Through rounds
of questions and answers, he gradually brings to the fore the central
point of contention between these two positions—the meaning of
being a hermit.
For Hu, it is of course permissible for one to refrain from serving
the state when it is already in disarray. Moreover, he does not find it
objectionable to seclude oneself in the mountains as a sign of protest.
On these two points, he shares the conventional view on being a hermit.
Yet, what separates him from the others is the purpose of hiding. At
this crucial juncture, he introduces a distinction between “hiding
one’s body” and “forsaking one’s mission.” For him, a sage hiding on
a mountain (like his stay on Mount Tai) is only hiding one’s body but
not forsaking one’s mission. The hiding sage spends all of his time in
seclusion preparing himself for his upcoming opportunity to serve the
public. By contrast, a hermit is one who hides on a mountain to sever all
connections with human affairs, content with devoting the remainder
of his life to his own enjoyment. For a sage, hiding on a mountain is
only a compromise in times of trouble. It is a temporary retreat for a
more meaningful service in the future. For a hermit, however, hiding
on a mountain is his renunciation of his duties to humankind, and his
declaration of the pursuit of happiness for himself. The distinction
between the two does not lie in the act of hiding; it lies in whether one
gives precedence to the public good or to private interest.
Opposing the Practice of Honoring the Hermits
It is important to notice that Hu’s interpretation of “hidden dragon” was

aimed at the early Northern Song practice of honoring the hermits. In
Hu’s times, being a hermit was considered to be a lofty undertaking, or
an expression of one’s supreme intelligence. Famous hermits, such as
Chen Tuan (?–989) and Zhong Fang (955–04), were regarded as wise
men possessing foreknowledge about the future. They were believed
to lead their lives in complete harmony with the grand scheme of the
universe.⁴⁶ To some historians, this respect for eremitism during the
early Northern Song was in part a response to the rapid change of
government during the Period of the Five Dynasties. To explain why
hermits were honored in the early Northern Song, the “Biographies
of the Hermits” (yinyi zhuan) of the Song shi opens with a preface
containing the line statements of hexagrams “Gu” (Decay, #8), “Dun”
(Retreat, #33), and “Gen” (Keeping Still, #52). It is said that during the
early Northern Song, reclusion was considered a lofty undertaking
because, by withdrawing themselves from society and enduring the
hardship of living alone in the mountains, the hermits were thought of
as performing a moral act, protesting against corrupted governments
and irresponsible rulers.⁴⁷
There were plenty of examples of this respect for eremitism during
the early Northern Song. One was the Taiping yulan (Imperial Digest
of the Reign of Grand Tranquility). Completed in 983 under the order
of Emperor Taizong and representing the epitome of the highest level
of scholarship of the time,⁴⁸ the Taiping yulan contained a full section
on hermits, along with sections on loyal officials, devoted relatives,
and necromancers. Underlying the contributions of hermits to society

and polity, the section on hermits brought together all the important
statements throughout history concerning the importance of eremit-
ism.⁴⁹ Another example was the early Northern Song emperors’ policy
of honoring the hermits. To show that the Song government was
categorically different from those in the Period of the Five Dynasties,
the early Northern Song emperors (particularly Emperors Taizong
and Zhenzong) regularly granted audience to hermits in appreciation
of their loftiness.⁵⁰ With their presence in court, the early Northern
Song emperors wanted to prove that the Song had the moral support
of hermits, and the government was aggressive in seeking their sagely
advice. A case in point is Emperor Taizong’s numerous meetings with
the hermit Chen Tuan. Feeling uneasy about Chen Tuan’s reluctance
in offering advice to the Song government, Taizong kept pressing him
for advice during many of his visits to the imperial court. Finally Chen
figured out a way to please the emperor. He told the emperor that since
the Song government was well run and had brought peace to China
after decades of chaos, he had nothing to offer to further improve the
government. Apparently Emperor Taizong got what he wanted from
Chen. He immediately promoted him to a higher rank and allowed
him to return to the mountains a few months later.⁵¹
In this regard, Hu Yuan’s interpretation of “hidden dragon” was
aimed at correcting what he perceived as a widespread wrongdoing. To
fully understand Hu’s purpose in opposing eremitism, we turn to his
commentary on the hexagram “Gu” (Decay, #8). In the early decades
of the Northern Song, the hexagram “Gu” was frequently evoked to
justify eremitism. For example, in support of reclusion, the editors
of the Taiping yulan began the section on hermits by citing the line
statement of the top line of “Gu,” which says: “He does not serve kings
and princes, but sets himself higher goals.”⁵² For readers of the Taiping
yulan, the line statement appeared to justify eremitism by calling it a
lofty enterprise. This reading of the top line of “Gu” was not entirely
baseless. It derived from Kong Yingda’s rendition of the line, which
said: “No longer worrying about mundane affairs, [the person at the
top line of “Gu”] does not set his heart on human events, nor does he
accept the constraints of duty and rank. Instead of serving kings and
princes, he gains honor by focusing on activities that are pure and
vacuous.”⁵³ Although Kong did not explicitly mention eremitism in
his commentary, his reference to “pure and vacuous activities” (qing
xu zhi shi) was an important hint for his eleventh-century readers.
For Hu Yuan, however, the top line of “Gu” had nothing to do with
eremitism. Rather, the line statement was about a graceful retirement
of an official after spending his entire life serving in the government.
Hu’s commentary on the line statement reads as follows:
In administering affairs, if one begins with care, then at the end
his goals will be accomplished. . . . If [an official] reaches high age
when the government is in good order and the tasks of governing
have been completed, he should be contented. Not being tempted
by [the rewards in] high position, he should set himself higher goals
by retiring from serving kings and princes.⁵⁴
Rather than seeing the lines as a justification for hiding on mountains,

Hu Yuan reads “not serving kings and princes” to mean an aging of-
ficial yielding his power in the government to enjoy his retirement.
Instead of glorifying the loftiness of a hermit, he reads “setting him-
self higher goals” to mean a retiring official who, by stepping down,
gives precedence to public good over his personal interest in power.
Although we have no evidence to prove that Hu wrote this commen-
tary in response to the Taiping yulan, it is apparent that in composing
the commentary he had in mind what the line statement was taken to
mean by his contemporaries.
As if to ensure that readers of his time would fully comprehend
his point, Hu ended his commentary on the top line of “Gu” with a
direct reference to the practice of honoring the hermits. He said:
It is unfortunate that today many of us take “high goals” to mean not
working for his family, respecting his parents, serving the government,
being loyal to the emperor, and bringing benefits to the people. For
them, having “higher goals” means withdrawing from society and
hiding in the mountains. What they mean by “higher goals” is to keep
company with animals, plants, and rocks. This is not the original
meaning of the line statement of the top line of “Gu.”⁵⁵
Here Hu makes clear his opposition to the practice of honoring the her-
mits. By referring to the hermits as the “companions” of animals, plants,
and rocks, he underscores the danger of favoring eremitism—creating
a lack of interest among the educated elite in social and political affairs.
For him, eremitism may be permissible or even respected in time of
political chaos (such as the Period of the Five Dynasties). However, it
should not be encouraged when a stable government (like that of the
Song) is already in place. Leaving aside the fact that Hu may not be
entirely correct about the original meaning of the line statement of the
top line of “Gu,” it is clear that he skillfully uses the line statement to
call his readers’ attention to an outdated social practice, urging them to
change it as soon as possible. Also clear in Hu’s commentary is his idea
of being timely. For him, the times had changed, and the social values
needed to change accordingly. The practice that used to be honorable
during the Period of the Five Dynasties (such as eremitism) might not
necessarily be applicable to the needs of the Northern Song.⁵⁶
Sage for the Public
From a slightly different perspective, Hu’s objection to eremitism

was more than a critique of contemporary practice. It pointed as well
toward a redefinition of sagehood. As one recalls, the main thrust of
Hu’s commentary on “hidden dragon” of the hexagram “Qian” centers
on the notion that a sage has to dedicate himself to the public good. It
is the sacrifice of one’s personal interest for the sake of the common
good that characterizes a sage—the highest stage for a learned man.
On the surface, there seems to be nothing new about Hu’s notion of
sagehood. Both the Analects and the Mencius have been unequivocal
in presenting sagehood in this manner. For example, in the Analects,
Confucius’s discussion of the concept of Ren (Altruism) is clearly
centered upon one’s commitment to serve the public.⁵⁷ A similar
argument is also found in the Mencius wherein Mencius debates with
King Wei at Liang on various issues like kingship, altruism, and human
nature.⁵⁸
But what is significant about Hu’s interpretation is that he was
reiterating a standard Confucian notion of sagehood to inspire among
his contemporaries an intense concern for the public good. Through-
out the Zhouyi kouyi, taking care of the public was the single most
important theme in his discussion of sagehood. A case in point is his
comment on the line statement of the sixth line of the hexagram “Jing”
(Well, #48). The line statement refers to uncovering the well to allow
people to draw water from it.⁵⁹ Hu’s comment reads:
“To draw” means something is drawn out. “Cover” means to conceal.
The Way of a well is to benefit man by letting him draw water from
it. . . . “Do not cover it” means that when the Way of a well is in full
completion at the sixth yin line, then people from all over the world
and travelers from all corners must be allowed to nourish themselves
by drawing water from the well. The well cannot be covered for
selfish reasons. This is comparable to a superior man, whose virtue
is complete, needing to extend his service to the world and let all
mankind receive his benefits. He should not hide himself in the
mountains and forests, and attain goodness for himself. He should
not be stingy and should render service [to humankind].⁶⁰
By taking “the well” and “to cover” metaphorically, Hu relates the Yijing
statement to the issue of serving the public. By equating a well in full
service with a superior man extending his service to humankind, he
finds reason to condemn “the covering of a well,” or the forsaking of
one’s duties to his fellow beings by hiding his talents. Thus, Hu makes
his point clear that it is a sage’s duty to serve the public.
In other cases, Hu’s message is conveyed in the form of pas-
sionate exhortation. The best example is his commentary on the Xici
statement regarding a superior man who “actively involves himself in
managing the world without being carried away” (pang xing er bu liu)
and “rejoices in the fate of Heaven and understands his own mission”
(le tian zhi ming).⁶¹ Hu’s commentary goes like this:
A sage assumes the central position between Heaven and Earth,
resides in a place facing south, eliminates his personal desires, and
separates from vicious groupings. What he does is centered and just,
straight and honest, treating the whole world as one family and the
millions of people as having one single sentiment. Every act [of the
sage] is done in accordance with the Way of Supreme Centrality. Here
“[a man] is actively involved in managing the world without being
carried away” is said, because a sage does not only aim at purifying
himself. Equipped with his virtue of Utmost Centrality, a sage also
seeks to align with heaven above, integrate with earth below, and
unify with man in the middle. He does not have selfish desires and
one-sided inclinations, nor is there anything beyond his concern.
Even when he acts in the world, he is never selfish, errant, or deviant.
All of this occurs because a sage is utmost fair and just.⁶²
From the above depiction, a sage is not only an anthropocosmic being
(like Chen Tuan and Zhong Fang) providing a link between humankind
on the one hand, and Heaven and Earth on the other. More impor-
tantly, a sage is one deeply involved in human affairs, who considers
“the whole world as one family and the millions of people as having
one single sentiment.” By being actively involved in managing human
affairs, a sage turns this world into his testing ground, proving and
elevating himself through service to the public. Of course, the human
world is full of vices, prejudices, and injustice. Anybody in it is at risk
of being debased and deformed. Yet, it is through countering human
wickedness, transforming vices into good deeds, and providing care

to others, that a sage completes his sagely mission.
To further support his argument that a sage completes his mission
in and through the human world, Hu specifies the criterion for being a
sage. In commenting on the Tuan statement of “Tongren” (Fellowship,
#3),⁶³ he writes:
A superior man has the mind of altruism and righteousness, and the
way of honesty and forgiveness. He begins with himself and extends
his virtue to the people. Therefore, he never worries about himself,
he worries about the world; he never rejoices for himself, he rejoices
for the world. The justice of a superior man is to have every man on
earth share his view and follow his way. Hence, the way of “Tongren”
is to benefit the justly superior man alone.⁶⁴
In this, one finds echo of Fan Zhongyan’s oft-quoted maxim that men
of letters should be “first in worrying about the world’s troubles and
last in enjoying its pleasures.”⁶⁵ Expressed in a fashion remarkably
similar to Fan, Hu argues that the criterion for a sage is: “he never
worries about himself, he worries about the world; he never rejoices
for himself, he rejoices for the world.” For both Fan and Hu, a sage
must give priority to the public interest. It is by transcending one’s
selfishness, expanding one’s horizon to embody others’ interests, and
taking service to others as service to oneself, that a man can reach the
highest plane of humanity—sagehood. And this similarity in outlook
between the two persons may explain why Fan Zhongyan invited Hu
Yuan, a semihermit, to teach in provincial and national academies. It
was with Fan Zhongyan in the government implementing the Qingli
reform in 043–044 and with Hu Yuan at schools teaching students
new values that a public-serving spirit was ushered in among the early
Northern Song scholars.⁶⁶
Mission of Civil Bureaucrats
In stressing a public-serving spirit among the educated elite, one may

say that Fan and Hu were articulating the mission of the Northern Song
civil bureaucrats. As Peter Bol has pointed out, the civil bureaucrats in
the tenth and eleventh centuries were substantially different from the
scholar-officials of the large aristocratic clans from the sixth century
to the ninth century.⁶⁷ While the civil bureaucrats earned wealth and
power by passing the civil service examinations and working in the
government as officials, the aristocratic scholar-officials inherited

wealth and power from their families, including their positions in
the government. For the civil bureaucrats, their personal interests
coincided with those of the government. They flourished only when
a structure of recruitment based on examinations was in place. By
contrast, the aristocratic scholar-officials paid premium on protect-
ing and perpetuating family interests. Although in many instances to
protect the interest of one’s family involved protecting the interest
of the imperial court, the aristocratic scholar-officials never doubted
that perpetuating the family interests always took precedence over
perpetuating the interests of the state.⁶⁸
Among the top officials in the Period of the Five Dynasties and
in the early decades of the Northern Song, many were the aristo-
cratic scholar-officials. A characteristic of these scholar-officials was
that they took a passive role in policy making, following rather than
initiating orders. Unwilling to risk their careers, they never chal-
lenged the emperors openly, even though they might harbor different
opinions. A case in point is the Grand Councilor of Emperor Taizu,
Fan Zhi (9–964). Having served the last three dynasties in the Five
Dynasties Period, Fan Zhi was one of the leading officials helping to
establish the Song government in the first few years after its estab-
lishment. In an overt attempt to win the trust of Emperor Taizu, Fan
Zhi recommended the abolition of the longstanding practice of the
emperor holding regular meetings with the Grand Councilor, giving
the emperor all the power he needed to decide policies. As the top
official in the first few years of the Song government, Fan Zhi acted
like an imperial secretary copying meticulously every word uttered
by Emperor Taizu, for fear of misrepresenting his orders.⁶⁹ Another
example is Zhao Pu (922–992), who served as the Grand Councilor
of Emperor Taizong. Joining the Song as a former official of the Zhou
(last dynasty in the Five Dynasties Period), Zhao Pu was more asser-
tive a Grand Councilor than Fan Zhi, nonetheless he never confronted
Emperor Taizong openly. His strategy for letting his views be known
was to repeatedly send the same document to the emperor until it
was accepted. If the emperor felt irritated (in one case, Taizong tore
his document into pieces), Zhao Pu would stop pursuing the subject
and never mention it again until the following day.⁷⁰ This strategy of
not confronting the emperor continued among the top officials during
the reign of Emperor Zhenzong. When the emperor engaged himself
in extravagant travels to show off the “heavenly writings” and to pay
tribute to sacred sites and mountains, none of the top officials dared
to question his decision. One top official, Wang Dan (957–07), was
reportedly feeling ashamed of himself for not attempting to oppose
the emperor’s self-indulgence.⁷¹
In sharp contrast to the passivity and self-serving attitude of
the aristocratic scholar-officials in the early decades of the Northern
Song, the civil bureaucrats of Fan Zhongyan’s generation believed that
they ruled the world with the emperor. Entering into the bureaucracy
through passing the civil service examinations, the civil bureaucrats
in the 040s thought that they had the responsibility to improve the
government in order to ensure its longevity. They regarded advancing
the interests of the government as important as, if not more important
than, advancing their own. As James Liu has shown, this idealism of
Fan’s generation was given an expression in the innovative, although
short-lived, Qingli reform in 043–044.⁷² Encapsulated in Fan’s famous
ten-point proposal—which included reforms of local administration,
and the recruitment and advancement of officials—the civil bureau-
crats in the 040s attempted to reconstitute the social and political
structure of the Song to avoid impending fiscal and military crises.
Although it lasted only for a year and a half, the Qingli reform set
the stage for even more aggressive reforms in the reign of Emperor
Shenzong (068–085), such as Wang Anshi’s New Policies.⁷³
What is less known but perhaps equally revealing was the contro-
versy that took place in 032 surrounding Emperor Renzong’s decision
to demote Empress Guo. In love with the imperial consort Zhang, the
young emperor planned to make her his official wife. As the first step
to achieve his goal, he demoted the empress and relocated her to a
remote palace. Risking their careers if not their lives, the young censors
Fan Zhongyan and Kong Daofu (986–039) stood up to oppose the
emperor’s decision by protesting in front of the imperial palace. Also
putting their careers on the line, other censors and officials lent support
to Fan and Kong, after the emperor had sent his Grand Councilor Lü
Yijian (997–044) to reiterate his decision to the protesting censors.
When the emperor decided to punish the outspoken censors and of-
ficials, many of them took the punishment without regret, regarding
it as their duty to suffer for the just cause.⁷⁴ This self-sacrificing spirit
of the civil bureaucrats shocked not only the young Emperor Renzong
(who had just begun to rule after eleven years of Empress Liu’s regency),
but also many of the high officials. So used to following orders from
the emperors, many of the high officials could not comprehend why
the young censors and officials were eager to give up their future to
protest a seemingly minor decision of Emperor Renzong. In the late
030s, showing again their determination to sacrifice their careers for
a just cause, Fan Zhongyan’s three supporters—Yu Jing (000–064),
Yin Zhu (00–46), and Ouyang Xiu—accepted banishment willingly
in protest against Fan having been wrongly accused of forming a sub-
versive faction. In a letter to Yin zhu, Ouyang described the disbelief
of many high officials after watching one young official after another
volunteer to accept punishment along with Fan Zhongyan. Underscor-
ing the historical significance of the episode, Ouyang argued that for
decades the high officials were used to remaining silent in the face of
the emperor’s decisions, they could not believe their eyes when they
saw so many young officials give up their careers in protest.⁷⁵
We do not know whether, in commenting on the Yijing, Hu Yuan
had the demotion of Empress Guo or the banishment of Fan Zhongyan’s
three supporters in mind. Nor do we know whether he would have
taken the same provocative action as Fan Zhongyan and others did, if
he had been a high official. But it is clear when he said in the Zhouyi
kouyi that “[a superior man] never worries about himself, he worries
about the world; he never rejoices for himself, he rejoices for the world,”
he captured the self-sacrificing spirit of Fan Zhongyan’s generation
in their attempt at ordering the world. By defining a sage as a public-
spirited person, he gave voice to the mission of the civil bureaucrats
of the 030s and 040s, who believed that they ruled the world with
the emperor. In this regard, Hu Yuan’s discussion of sagehood in the
Zhouyi kouyi was not a repetition of the past but a direct attempt to
address contemporary needs. The sagehood of the Zhouyi kouyi was
meant for civil bureaucrats who increasingly controlled the Northern
Song government. It was to remind them that the regularity in nature
was applicable to human society, and human beings were capable of
constructing a social and political structure as lasting as the natural
system. Of course, political infighting and factional struggles during
the Qingli Reform showed that civil bureaucrats might have overlooked
the complexity of politics and overestimated their power to change the
world. Yet, as demonstrated in the Zhouyi kouyi, civil bureaucrats of the
030s and 040s were determined to part ways with aristocratic scholar-
officials who had dominated the political scene for centuries. After
decades of effort by the Northern Song emperors to replace military
governance with civil governance, finally civil bureaucrats had formed
their own identity, one that separated them from their predecessors.
Li Gou’s Essays on the Yijing
Among Hu Yuan’s contemporaries, Li Gou also expressed the same

optimism about participating in ordering the world. In many respects,
Li Gou’s life mirrored Hu Yuan’s. First, like Hu, Li did not pass the
civil service examinations. Despite his accomplishment in classical
learning he was stopped at the “thorny gates” of the examinations,
spending much of his mature life as a private scholar. Also like Hu,
after years of solitary study, he was discovered by Fan Zhongyan who
recommended him to be a teacher at the Imperial Academy.⁷⁶ For Li,
his appointment at the Imperial Academy was not only a hard-won
honor after a lifelong commitment to scholarship, but also a living
example of the triumph of civil governance.
Li Gou did not write a full commentary on the Yijing. But his
two writings on the Yijing—“Thirteen essays on the Yijing” (Yilun
shisan pian) and “Preface to the edited Yi diagrams” (Shanding yitu
xulun)—reflect his commitment to rendering the classic as a treatise
on governing.⁷⁷ In these two writings, like Hu Yuan, Li Gou also used
the Yijing to counter the lingering impact of passivism and predeter-
minism of the Five Dynasties Period. However, there is a significant
difference. While Hu Yuan traced the source of passivism and prede-
terminism to Kong Yingda’s Zhouyi zhengyi, Li Gou saw them being
expressed in the development of sophisticated diagrams to explain
the Yijing during his times. In his “Preface to the edited Yi diagrams,”
for instance, he bluntly criticized his peers for wasting their energies
in improving diagrams such as the “Charts of [Yellow] River” (He tu)
and the “Books from Luo River” (Luo shu). For him, these diagrams
“led the students of the Yi astray” and “brought harm to the sagely
teaching.”⁷⁸ The problems with these diagrams, Li suggested, lay not
in their graphic presentation of the Yijing trigrams and hexagrams,
but in the ways they made the classic look unrelated to human affairs.
Reminiscent of Hu Yuan’s definition of yi in Yijing, Li told his readers
that the Yijing was about “the management of human affairs” (renshi
xiu) and “the explication of the Kingly Way” (wangdao ming).⁷⁹
Compared with Hu Yuan, Li was more forthcoming in invok-
ing Wang Bi as an Yijing authority. As mentioned earlier, parts of Hu
Yuan’s commentary were partially built on Wang Bi’s reading of the
Yijing (e.g., hexagrams “Jiji” and “Weiji”), but Hu never openly cited
Wang Bi. Hu’s reluctance to cite Wang reflects his ambivalence with
Wang’s exegetical methodology. On the one hand, he shared Wang’s
interest in rendering the Yijing as a political and moral text; on the

other hand, he had reservations about his plea for reverting from you
to wu. In contrast, Li Gou regarded Wang Bi as only a moral-political
thinker, and he considered Wang’s alleged metaphysical discussions
as something that Han Kangbo and Kong Yingda put in his mouth.
With this distinction, Li Gou described his “Thirteen essays on the
Yijing” as “an application of Wang Bi’s commentary to explaining the
meanings of the Yijing.” And the purpose of this exercise, according
to Li, was to serve “the urgent needs of Heaven and Earth and the
[Song] Dynasty.”⁸⁰
By “urgent needs,” Li Gou meant the early Northern Song concern
about setting up a stable social and political system, in order to avoid
becoming another short-lived dynasty like those in the Five Dynasties
Period. For Li, the Yijing had much to offer in restructuring the social
and political order, and Wang Bi’s commentary gave specific sugges-
tions as to how to apply the classic to governing. Thus, in “Thirteen
essays on the Yijing,” Li discussed the classic from three interlocking
perspectives: the emperor’s responsibility in ruling the empire, the
officials’ loyalty in serving the emperor, and the relationship between
moral cultivation and ruling the empire.⁸¹ Following a longstanding
tradition in Yijing studies, Li took the fifth line of each hexagram as
“the line of an emperor,” discussing what an emperor should do under
a particular circumstance. Similarly, he regarded the second line of
each hexagram as “the line of an official,” elucidating how an official
should act in a given situation. For instance, he read the fifth lines of
hexagrams “Yi” (Increase, #42) and “Jiji” (Completion, #63) as call-
ing on the emperor, at a time of peace and prosperity, to offer more
services to his people.⁸² He considered the second line in hexagram
“Jian” (Obstruction, #39) as issuing a warning to officials not to provoke
the emperor’s suspicion.⁸³ As a whole, like Wang Bi, Li Gou rendered
the Yijing as a classic about “worries and apprehensions” (you huan)
intended for anyone who was in the midst of change.⁸⁴ For him, the
Yijing teaches readers how to cope with the uncertain future, the rise
and fall of one’s wealth and power, and the ebb and flow in human
fortune.
Although Li Gou saw contingency in life as a fact that nobody
could avoid, he stressed officials’ duty to obey the emperor’s orders.
Regarding the emperor-official relationship, Li Gou was apparently
closer to the Five Dynasties aristocratic families than the early Northern
Song civil bureaucrats. As such, he differed significantly from Hu Yuan
in envisioning the mission of civil bureaucrats. A case in point is Li

Gou’s insistence on the humility of officials in interpreting the second
line of hexagram “Jian” (Obstruction, #39). As mentioned earlier, the
hexagram line is, in Li’s opinion, an encapsulation of what an official
should do in the government. For him, the reason for the second line
of “Jian” being described as “an official in grave danger” (wang chen
jian jian) is that it refers to a precarious situation in which an official
has to make strenuous effort to help the emperor. ⁸⁵ It is an occasion
when the official’s loyalty is being tested, and only after the official has
humbly and attentively served the needs of the emperor would he be
able to avert the imminent dangers. Turning to Hu Yuan’s commentary,
we find a different reading. For Hu, the second line of “Jian” is no doubt
about a loyal official making extra effort to serve the emperor. Yet, the
“grave dangers” of the official lies not merely in whether he will do his
utmost to help the emperor, but also in whether he realizes that in
helping the emperor, he is helping the people of the entire empire. To
stress the latter point, Hu suggests that his readers emulate the second
line “in serving the emperor above and the people below by ridding the
world of dangers.”⁸⁶ This difference between Li and Hu in interpret-
ing the second line of “Jian” indicates that not everyone in the early
Northern Song accepted the aggressive, assertive, and self-sacrificing
mission of civil bureaucrats as personified by Fan Zhongyan. For Li,
despite their good intentions to corule the empire with the emperor,
the civil bureaucrats should not overstep the boundary between the
emperor and the official. Whether they would be the corulers of the
empire, they were first and foremost officials who owed their power
and position in government to the emperor.
Ouyang Xiu’s Essays on the Yijing
Turning to another of Hu Yuan’s contemporaries, Ouyang Xiu, we have

yet another example of using the Yijing to define the mission of civil
bureaucrats. In the history of Yijing studies, Ouyang is well known
for his iconoclasm. In his oft-cited essay, “A young child’s questions
about the Yijing” (Yi tongzi wen), he challenged the longstanding con-
vention of taking Confucius to be the author of the Xici.⁸⁷ Although
unintended, his challenge also threatened another longstanding con-
vention—Confucius’s authorship of the Ten Wings, the widely ac-
cepted turning point in transforming the Zhouyi (a divination text)
into the Yijing (a moral and philosophical text).⁸⁸ His reputation as
an iconoclast notwithstanding, in much of Ouyang’s Yijing writings,

including “A young child’s questions about the Yijing” and “Questions
and doubts about the Yijing” (Yi huo wen), he affirmed the Yijing as
a moral and political text explaining Confucius’s vision of a perfect
society. More importantly, despite his questions about Confucius’s
authorship of the Xici, he believed that a large part of the Ten Wings,
particularly the Tuan, the Daxiang, and the Xiaoxiang, were written
by Confucius to express his discontentment with his times. Thus, in
evaluating Ouyang’s contribution to the study of the Yijing, we need to
balance his iconoclasm with his unwavering belief in the classic being
a Confucian text partly authored by Confucius.
For Ouyang Xiu, who in the 030s risked his career as an official
by standing up to Emperor Renzong, the Yijing lent support to the
civil bureaucrats’ demand for their active participation in ordering the
world. Certainly, as a leading historian of the Five Dynasties Period in
his times, Ouyang was fully aware of the need to preserve the integrity
of the social and political order. Decades of political fragmentation and
social degeneration preceding the Northern Song clearly demonstrated
the danger of allowing arrogant officials to usurp the power of the
emperor. But, for him, preserving the integrity of the social and politi-
cal order did not necessarily mean that officials had to be submissive,
docile, and compliant. If the emperor commits mistakes, the officials
will have the responsibility to remonstrate to the emperor on behalf
of the public. Should the emperor refuse to listen when the interest of
the public is in jeopardy, the officials will have the unwelcome task of
making revolution to change the government. For Ouyang, this paradox
of preserving the integrity of the social and political order on the one
hand and of encouraging officials to be aggressive in remonstration
and rebellion on the other, is explained in hexagram “Ge” (Revolution,
#49). Invoking the Shang revolution against the Xia as an example, the
Tuan statement of “Ge” describes a revolution on behalf of the public
as “following the direction of Heaven and responding to the request
of Humankind” (shun hu tian er ying hu ren).⁸⁹ According to Ouyang,
the Tuan statement is correct in promoting rebellion against the tyrant
king because the hexagram addresses a particular situation in which
the normal social and political order is being hijacked by a ruler to
pursue his private interests. In other situations, such as in hexagrams
“Qian” (The Creative, #) and “Kun” (The Receptive, #2) where the social
and political order is functioning properly, he pointed out, the Yijing
discusses the opposite—the need to protect the integrity of the social
and political order. For him, these differences indicate the complexity
of human life and the importance of dealing with each situation in its
own terms.⁹⁰
Whether working for or rebelling against the emperor, Ouyang Xiu
believed that the educated elite should have the interest of the public
in mind. On this score, Ouyang was in complete accord with Hu Yuan,
and they shared the same view on sagehood. As mentioned earlier,
Hu Yuan considered a sage as one who never worried about himself
but worried about the world, and who never rejoiced for himself but
rejoiced for the world. For Ouyang, it was the same. Whereas Hu found
a discussion of a public-minded sage in hexagram “Tongren” (Fellow-
ship, #3), Ouyang found it in “Yu” (Enthusiasm, #6). In particular,
Ouyang found the Xiang statement of “Yu” revealing. Commenting on
this Xiang statement, which refers to an ancient king offering sacrifices
to the deities,⁹¹ his comment reads:
In here, we see the purpose of the sage [in ordering the world]. The
sage worries about the world and rejoices for the world. When he
rejoices, he makes sacrifices to the deities and ancestors above, not
reserving anything for himself. It is because he sees his satisfaction
[in ordering the world] in the satisfaction of the public [with their
lives]. Since the sage sets his heart on working for everyone’s interest,
he worries about the world and rejoices for the world.⁹²
In Ouyang Xiu and Hu Yuan, we find an unequivocal expression of

the civil bureaucrats’ desire to participate in governing. We find that
both of them use the Yijing to exhort the educated elite to join the
Northern Song government to “corule” the empire. As members of
the early Northern Song educated elite, they promoted a self-identity
of civil bureaucrats which set them apart from their predecessors in
the late Tang and the Five Dynasties Period.
4
Inner Roots of Ordering the World:
The Yijing of Zhang Zai, Sima Guang, and Shao Yong
[I am] to pursue the Will of Heaven and Earth, and the Way of the
people; to continue the ancient learning of past sages; to work for
harmony and peace for ten thousand generations to come.
—Zhang Zai, “Zhang zi yu lu,” Zhang Zai ji
T he civil governance of Hu Yuan’s times stood on two pillars. One

pillar was a policy that kept the military establishment at bay
by constantly rotating military generals, and having the best armies
stationed in the capital, Kaifeng, under the direct control of the em-
peror.¹ Another pillar was the aggressive recruitment of civil officials
into the government through expanding the civil service examinations
and granting appointments to relatives, dependents, and retainers of
major civil officials. For the first six decades of Northern Song, these
two pillars had produced remarkable results. The Song military generals
no longer had the power like the Tang military governors to challenge
the authority of the central government, and the civil officials were
increasingly in control of the government believing that they ruled
the empire with the emperor.²
But by the 030s, as the civil bureaucrats like Fan Zhongyan,
Ouyang Xiu, and Yin Zhu were increasingly vocal in demanding active
participation in governing, problems began to arise. First of all, the
constant rotation of military generals and the presence of a huge army
in the capital added extra costs to the government expenditure. Worse
still, the increase in military expenditure did not stop the Khitan Liao
and the Jurchen Xixia from continuing to invade the Song’s northern
and northwestern territories. To appease the two northern neighbors,
77
the Song government offered them annual contributions, adding yet

another burden to the government’s finances. Meanwhile, the expansion
in the size of the civil bureaucracy was causing problems as well. The
number of civil bureaucrats entering into the government was so large
that sinecure positions had to be created to keep them employed. This
expansion in the size of the bureaucracy not only led to red tape and
inefficiency, but also to a large increase in the government payroll.
Hence, two reforms—one led by Fan Zhongyan and the other by
Wang Anshi—were carried out respectively in the 040s and in the
060s to address these military, bureaucratic, and financial problems.
Despite their differences in emphasis and in scope, the goals of these
two reforms were similar. They were to resolve the problems of the
“three excesses”—the excessive size of the army (rongbin), the excessive
number of officials in the government (rongguan), and the excessive
government spending (rongfei).³ For Fan Zhongyan, his “ten-point”
reform focused on tightening the standards for the recruitment of
civil officials, streamlining the procedures for advancement in central
government, improving provincial administration, and upholding local
law and order by creating militias among the peasants.⁴ Although
Fan’s reform lasted only for one and half years from 043 to 044, his
reform was significant, according to James T. C. Liu, “as the first at-
tempt to improve on a system that had been largely unchanged and
uncriticized since the beginning of the Song.”⁵ Wang Anshi’s reform, by
contrast, was larger in scope and more revolutionary in intent. Lasting
for almost two decades from 068 to 085, Wang’s reform addressed
the problems of the “three excesses” by overhauling the structure of
the bureaucracy, the military, and the economy. It included replacing
the civil service examination system with a nationwide school system;
strengthening national defense by conscription and better methods
to rear horses; establishing the Finance Planning Commission to cen-
tralize economic planning; and creating various programs to regulate
trade, currency exchange, and the market.⁶ As Peter Bol has pointed
out, the enormous scope of Wang’s reform was in effect to alter the
nature of the Northern Song government. The reform was intended
to build an activist government “which sought to manage social and
economic development in the interest of all.”⁷
Born in 020, Zhang Zai spent all of his adult life witnessing the
implementation of these two reforms. Although he was too young to
participate in Fan Zhongyan’s reform and was dead while Wang Anshi’s
reform was still underway, his life coincided with the mid-Northern
Inner Roots of Ordering the World 79
Song’s attempts to refurbish civil governance. In this chapter, we will

examine Zhang Zai’s Yijing commentary in the context of mid-Northern
Song reforms and their impact on the self-identity of the educated elite.
At the end of the chapter, we will compare Zhang’s commentary with
those of his contemporaries, Sima Guang and Shao Yong, to evaluate
his contribution as an Yijing exegete.
Zhang Zai: The Man
Zhang Zai, also known as Zhang Hengqu and Hengqu xiansheng

(Master Hengqu), lived in Hengqu, a small town of Mei county in
Fengxiang prefecture (modern-day Shaanxi province).⁸ For genera-
tions, Zhang Zai’s ancestors lived in Daliang (Kaifeng of modern-day
Henan province), east of Hengqu. It appeared that as far back as the
mid-Tang, none of Zhang’s ancestors was a scholar-official. But the
fortune of the family changed during the early Northern Song. During
the reigns of Emperors Zhenzong and Renzong, Zhang’s grandfather
and father, respectively, became government officials.⁹ Apparently a
result of the two Northern Song emperors’ aggressive efforts to recruit
civil bureaucrats into the government, the Zhang family won the status
of the educated elite.
Zhang Zai was associated with Hengqu for two reasons. The first
was that his family took up residence in the small town after the sudden
death of his father while serving as the town’s official. The second was
that in his later life Zhang Zai returned to Hengqu, spending his retire-
ment years teaching students and composing philosophical treatises.
Because of his long association with Hengqu, which was located in the
Guanzhong region between the two elbows of the Yellow River, the
school of thought initiated by Zhang Zai was often known as guanxue
(The school of thought of the Guan region).¹⁰
In Zhang Zai’s early life, he was very much in the public service
mode that Hu Yuan advocated in the Zhouyi kouyi. In 040, when
Fan Zhongyan was directing a military expedition against the Xixia in
the Northwest, the twenty-one-year-old Zhang wrote a letter to him
offering tactics to defeat the nomadic group.¹¹ However, Fan was not
impressed by Zhang’s military suggestions, though he was convinced
that the junior was more a talented thinker than a military strategist. As
a token of encouragement, Fan hand copied the Doctrine of the Mean
for Zhang and asked him to devote himself to Confucian studies.¹²
Neither the hand-copied Doctrine of the Mean nor Fan’s lukewarm
response had much direct impact on the young Zhang. At the time,
he did not find the Doctrine of the Mean appealing—although later in
life he developed a keen interest in the text and built his philosophy
based on a close study of it. Against Fan’s advice, he did not immedi-
ately launch himself into Confucian studies; instead, for several years,
he turned to Buddhism and Daoism for inspiration.¹³
According to some biographers, the major turning point of Zhang
Zai’s intellectual development occurred in his meeting, around 056
in Kaifeng, with the two Cheng brothers—Cheng Hao and Cheng
Yi. As the story goes, after an intense discussion with the two Cheng
brothers, he reportedly came to the realization that Confucianism was
superior to both Buddhism and Daoism. From then on, he devoted
himself wholeheartedly to Confucian studies.¹⁴ In some accounts,
perhaps to further highlight the significance that meeting with the
two Cheng brothers had for Zhang, the biographers describe Zhang
as being impressed by the two brothers’ reading of the Yijing, so much
so that he asked his Yijing students to study with the two brothers.¹⁵
Whether or not these stories about Zhang Zai’s meeting with the
two Cheng brothers are true, the text that we are about to examine,
the Hengqu yishuo (An explanation of the meaning of Yi [by a reader]
from Hengqu), was probably composed in 056–057, when Zhang
was lecturing on the Yijing in Kaifeng. In the Hengqu yishuo, Zhang
focused his attention primarily on the Xici, offering lengthy comments
on each Xici statement. Sometimes his comments are as long as a few
paragraphs, leaving no stone unturned in explaining the nuances of
a single Xici statement. In contrast, his comments on the sixty-four
hexagrams are brief, oftentimes offering no comment at all to hexa-
gram statements and line statements. His preference for the Xici over
the sixty-four hexagrams is a key characteristic of his approach to the
Yijing, and we will discuss the significance of this characteristic a little
later.¹⁶
Zhang Zai won the title of jin shi (presented literatus) in 058.
But due to the large number of civil bureaucrats already in the bu-
reaucracy, the government had difficulty assigning government posts
to new successful examinees. For several years, Zhang had to make
do with a low-ranking job as a county official. During his tenure as a
county official, he hosted monthly dinners to honor the elderly, and
made certain that government policies were accurately communi-
cated to every villager.¹⁷ At times, he was asked to give lectures at the
district academy (junxue). Partly to express his frustration with the
Inner Roots of Ordering the World 8
government’s inability to assign jobs to new successful examinees,

once he admonished his audience: “Can you people set your heart less
on the civil service examinations and devote yourselves more to the
realms of Yao and Shun?”¹⁸ A discouraging statement indeed to those
young and aspiring students, but it pointed out a common problem
that many mid-Northern Song scholars were facing. To the disappoint-
ment of Zhang Zai and some of his contemporaries, the civil service
examinations were no longer effective as a ladder of success and as a
channel for the educated elite to rule the empire with the emperor.
In 069, Zhang was summoned by the young and aggressive Em-
peror Shenzong to serve in the court. During Zhang’s brief service in
the imperial court, the Grand Councilor Wang Anshi began to carry
out his drastic reforms of the bureaucracy, the military, and govern-
ment finance. Eager to listen to different opinions, Emperor Shenzong
invited Zhang to offer advice to Wang on his two-year-old reform.
Showing his lack of political skill, Zhang was blunt when he had a
chance to speak with Wang face to face. He praised him for initiating
drastic reforms to reshape the government, but he criticized him for
being too ambitious in his reforms, covering areas that were beyond
his expertise. Employing an analogy to make his point, he told Wang
that his reforms could not be successful when the laymen were telling
the experts how to chisel and carve jades. His blunt comment angered
Wang, and he was forced to retire shortly after that conversation.¹⁹
During his retirement, he lived in Hengqu and finished his most
important work, Zheng meng (Correcting Youthful Ignorance). Al-
though not intended to be a commentary on the Yijing, the Zheng
meng was closely tied to the classic for two reasons. The first was the
title of the work. It was based on the Tuan statement of Hexagram
“Meng” (Youth Folly, #4), which said: “It is a sagely task to correct
youthful folly.”²⁰ Drawing upon the Tuan statement, Zhang intended
his work to be a ratification of what he considered as wrongdoings of
his times. The second was the content of the work. Divided into seven-
teen chapters, the Zheng meng dealt with a number of issues, ranging
from cosmology to ethics to rituals. For those chapters that focused on
cosmology—such as chapter  “Tai he” (Supreme Harmony), chapter
2 “Can liang” (Numbers Three and Two), chapter 3 “Tian dao” (Way
of Heaven), chapter 4 “Da yi” (Great Change), and chapter 7 “Qian
chen” (Qian’s Name)—they all contained excerpts from Zhang Zai’s
commentary on the Yijing, particularly his commentary on the Xici.
In these chapters, we find Zhang Zai the moral thinker who wanted to
recover the mind and heart of heaven and earth, and the metaphysi-
cian who argued that the universe is composed of qi.²¹
Yan Hui’s Moral Cultivation
As mentioned earlier, in the Hengqu yishuo Zhang Zai focused on

the Xici rather than the sixty-four hexagrams. In commenting on the
hexagams, he did not comment on every hexagram statement and line
statement; instead, he only offered remarks whenever he felt it neces-
sary. Of some hexagrams, such as “Tongren” (Fellowship, #3), “Yu”
(Enthusiasm, #6), “Jiji” (Completion, #63) and “Weiji” (Incompletion,
#64), he wrote merely a few lines, leaving much unexplained. But for
other hexagrams, for example, “Qian” (The Creative, #), “Fu” (Return,
#24), “Xian” (Reciprocity, #3), and “Dazhuang” (Power of the Great,
#34), he wrote lengthy comments, sometimes even pages, to elucidate
a single line statement.
One of those line statements that received Zhang Zai’s special
attention is the second line statement of “Qian”—“Hidden Dragon.
Do Not Act.” As we recall, Hu Yuan also found the line statement
important. Taking the line statement to mean not to hide on moun-
tains like a hermit, Hu Yuan used the line statement to criticize the
practice of eremitism during the Five Dynasties Period and the early
decades of the Northern Song. For Zhang Zai, on the other hand, the
line statement had nothing to do with eremitism. Rather, “Hidden
Dragon” referred to Yan Hui who, according to the Analects, earned
Confucius’s praise by engaging wholeheartedly in moral cultivation.
To explain the meaning of the line statement, Zhang wrote:
Confucius liked his students not to join the government until they
had completed their moral cultivation. [He feared that] without com-
pleting their moral cultivation, the students could not act properly
to produce constructive results. Hence, [he urged] them to hide and
take no action, avoiding to show their virtue of being a dragon. . . . Yan
Hui [is an example of ] hiding himself while he possesses the virtue of
being a dragon. He practices [what the Doctrine of the Mean describes
as] “not regretting even if he retires from the world and becomes
unknown to his age.” Indeed he is close to becoming a sage.²²
In explaining the meaning of “Hidden Dragon,” Zhang Zai calls attention
to the story of Yan Hui (also known as Yan Yuan or Yan Zi, Master Yan).
Depicted in the Analects and the Doctrine of the Mean as an extremely
self-motivated student, Yan Hui was engaged wholeheartedly in learn-

ing to be a sage.²³ Materially, he was in an uninviting situation—having
only a single bamboo dish of rice, a single gourd dish of drink, and
living in a mean narrow lane. But spiritually, he was always upbeat.
Everyday he studied the classics, debated with his fellow classmates,
and asked Confucius for advice. He was so self-critical that he earned
a reputation for not committing the same mistake twice. Before his
premature death, he was hopeful that his moral cultivation would bear
results. For Zhang Zai, the story of Yan Hui is illuminating. It not only
connects hexagram “Qian” with the Analects and the Doctrine of the
Mean, but also underlines moral cultivation as the precondition for
serving in government. Demonstrated in Yan Hui’s relentless quest
for moral perfection in his brief life, moral cultivation is an end in
itself that requires lifelong dedication. As shown in Yan Hui’s joy in
his strenuous life, the reward of moral cultivation goes beyond the
power and wealth of a successful examination candidate; it gives the
person a new perspective on life and a mission to fulfill.
In the rest of his commentary on “Qian,” Zhang Zai continued to
use the story of Yan Hui to interpret the other lines. For instance, in
commenting on the second line of “Qian,” he explained why the line
referred to “an emerging dragon in the field.”
One achieves moral perfection through ordinary speeches and acts.
In ordinary speeches and acts, the virtue of the great man prevails and
the results of human civilization become manifest. Yet, if a person
does not exhaust the miraculous transformations and adjust to the
needs of the time, he will be practicing rituals and acting righteously
without knowing their original intents. That is why, in his quest for
the virtue of a dragon, Yan Zi wants to be squarely in the middle.
Constantly improving himself morally, he contemplates what lies
behind [the rituals and the righteous actions]. He does not limit
himself by following the conventions uncritically.²⁴
Instead of seeing the first two lines of “Qian” as a progression—that
is, the “hidden dragon” of the first line developing into the “emerging
dragon” of the second line—Zhang Zai considers them as describing
different aspects of Yan Hui’s moral cultivation. While the “hidden
dragon” stresses the importance of moral cultivation as the founda-
tion of serving in government, the “emerging dragon” discusses the
contents of Yan Hui’s moral cultivation. For him, Yan Hui’s moral
cultivation involves both solitary contemplation and ritualized group
action. In the former, he gains an understanding of how rituals help

to build one’s moral character; in the latter, he puts his knowledge
into practice in rituals and ceremonies. According to Zhang, the key
point in the second line of “Qian” is that the “emerging dragon” is “in
the field.” That is, the “emerging dragon” learns to be morally perfect
through the humdrum of daily life rather than by serving in govern-
ment as an official.
In the same vein, Zhang Zai considered lines three, four, five, and
six of “Qian” as different aspects of Yan Hui’s moral cultivation. For
him, these lines represent different situations Yan Hui experienced
while engaging in moral cultivation. In lines three and four, Yan Hui
faced a situation where he had a lot of doubts. To focus his mind, he
followed his daily routine and learned to respond in a timely fashion.²⁵
In lines five and six, he was close to fully understanding his moral
nature. For this reason, Zhang describes him as “a great man” (daren)
after spending all those years in moral cultivation. However, Zhang is
not sure whether he has become “a sage” (shengren), because for Zhang
a sage belongs to a completely different category not measurable by
tangible results.²⁶
Idiosyncratic as it may seem, there is both internal and external
support for Zhang Zai’s reading of “Qian.” Internally, there is textual
evidence in the Yijing that links Yan Hui to the classic. In part 2 of the
Xici, Confucius is reported to have used the first line statement of the
hexagram “Fu” (Return, #24) to discuss Yan Hui’s moral cultivation.²⁷
Highlighting the fact that Yan Hui did not commit the same mistake
twice—the same story that is found in chapter 6 of the Analects—
Confucius is said to have cited him to illustrate the importance of
returning to one’s innate good nature through rigorous moral train-
ing. But this textual evidence alone would not have given Zhang Zai
the liberty to render “Qian” in the way he did. First, in the Xici, Yan
Hui is invoked to discuss “Fu,” not “Qian.” Second, in Kong Yingda’s
subcommentary on the Xici line, he made it clear that Yan Hui was
a relatively insignificant figure in the pantheon of Confucian sages.
According to Kong, Yan Hui was at best a sage of the second rank (ya
sheng) who was yet to understand the miraculous transformations of
the universe.²⁸
Another support for Zhang Zai’s reading came from the cult of
Yan Hui during the mid-Northern Song. Zhou Dunyi promoted Yan
Hui as Confucius’s favorite student who personified the best of Confu-
cian learning.²⁹ Using this extremely self-motivated man as a model,
Zhou called on his students (Cheng Yi included) “to desire what Yi

Yin desired and to learn what Yan Zi learned.”³⁰ The goal of this cult
of Yan Hui was to redefine the nature of Confucian learning. In earlier
times, learning was understood by Confucian scholars as learning to
be a loyal government official. Serving the human community by as-
suming a high-ranking political post was regarded as the direct way
to materialize the Confucian goal. Hence, successful prime ministers
(such as Yi Yin of the Shang Dynasty in the seventeenth century B.C.E.)
rather than the lone souls like Yan Hui were considered to be exemplary
students of Confucius. By promoting Yan Hui as the true student of
Confucius, Zhou Dunyi redefined Confucian learning as an individual
quest for moral perfection. Perfecting himself in a mean desolate lane,
Yan Hui personified a moral learning that had to be undertaken by an
individual, not in the collective enterprise of running a government.
Of course, serving the human community by joining the government
remained for Zhou an admirable way to connect with the universe;
but the starting point of learning had changed. While he still urged
his students to “desire what Yi Yin desired,” he called on them to first
“learn what Yan Zi learned.”
A nephew of Zhang Zai, Cheng Yi had written an essay, “A treatise
on what Yanzi loved to learn” (Yanzi suohao hexue lun), discussing Yan
Hui’s joy in his brief and strenuous life. In his essay, Cheng Yi gave a
systematic response to Zhou Dunyi’s call for learning from Yan Hui.
He described Yan Hui as the one who understood human destiny not
in terms of material comfort or personal gain, but in terms of the full
activation of innate human goodness. He explained Yan Hui’s method
of moral cultivation, which included both a “firm faith in the Way” and
a determination to practice proper behavior including right seeing,
right listening, right speech, and right movement. According to Cheng
Yi, it was Yan Hui’s inward self-reflection and outward conformity to
strict rituals that made him so dear to Confucius, who shed tears when
he heard of his premature death.³¹
Although we have no evidence of Zhang Zai being directly in-
fluenced by Zhou Dunyi and Cheng Yi, it is clear that Zhang’s reading
of “Qian” was in tune with the cult of Yan Hui in the mid-Northern
Song. Like Zhou and Cheng, he stressed the need for an inward turn-
ing and a strict observance of rituals in moral cultivation. Like them,
he attempted to make an individual’s quest for moral perfection the
most important part of Confucian learning. Unconventional as it might
seem, Zhang’s reading of “Qian” would have made sense to many of his
contemporaries, particularly those who were frustrated by their poor

prospects for serving in the government due to keen competition in
the civil service examinations and the surplus of successful examinees.
Instead of aiming at joining the bureaucracy to rule the empire (as Hu
Yuan had suggested), Zhang called on the educated elite to acquire the
proper moral perspective before joining the bureaucracy. He suggested
that they look at their coruling of the empire more broadly. In addi-
tion to understanding coruling the empire politically, as joining the
government, they should also consider coruling the empire socially,
by such actions as setting an example in following rituals, promoting
social harmony through conducting ceremonies, and encouraging an
interest in Confucian morality in society at large.
Control the Wandering Mind
For Zhang Zai, Yan Hui found fulfillment in his moral cultivation
because he gained control of his life. Instead of judging himself by his
rank in the government, Yan Hui measured his success by the extent to
which he controlled his mind. In commenting on the top line of “Ge”
(Revolution, #49), Zhang took the opportunity to discuss Yan Hui’s
dramatic transformation after he spent years in moral cultivation.
On the surface, Zhang seems to have chosen the wrong hexagram to
discuss Yan Hui’s moral transformation. First, conventionally “Ge” was
interpreted as a hexagram about political revolution. In the Zhouyi
zhu, for instance, Wang Bi linked “Ge” with its following hexagram
“Ding” (The Caldron, #50) to discuss a change of government. For
Wang Bi, “Ge” discusses the toppling of an ineffective government and
“Ding” concerns the reestablishment of political order.³² Expanding on
Wang Bi’s interpretation, Kong Yingda reiterated the theme of political
revolution in his subcommentary on “Ge.”³³ And, as discussed in the
last chapter, during the early Northern Song, Ouyang Xiu continued
to interpret “Ge” as revolution against a tyrant king. Against this long-
standing tradition of reading “Ge” as political revolution, Zhang Zai had
to be creative to turn “Ge” into a discussion of moral transformation.
Second, the line statement of the top line of “Ge” appears to have little
to do with moral cultivation. Rather, it discusses changes in physical
appearance—the superior man is said to change like a leopard, and
the inferior man is described as having changes in his face.³⁴ Based
on the literal meaning of the statement, it appears difficult to turn it
into a discussion of moral transformation.
For Zhang Zai, to understand the top line of “Ge” we need to

remember that physical appearance is the externalization of one’s state
of mind. From the changes in one’s physical appearance, he asserted,
we are able to tell the changes in that person’s state of mind. Hence,
equating Yan Hui with the superior man, he considered the superior
man’s physical change in the top line of “Ge” as a sign of Yan Hui’s
moral accomplishment.
The appearance of a great virtue can only be found in Yan Hui and
Mencius. After years of hard work, the changes in Yan Hui must
be drastic. That is like what we commonly say “the superior man
changes like a tiger.”³⁵ In “the change like a tiger,” we see traces of a
drastic change. The traces are so real that, even without divination,
its authenticity is unquestionable.³⁶
To further substantiate his point that physical appearance is a sign of
one’s state of mind, in the rest of the commentary Zhang Zai quotes
from the Tuan statement of “Gen” (Keeping Still, #52), which says:
“Keeping Still means stopping. When it is time to stop, then stop.
When it is time to advance, then advance. Thus movement and rest do
not miss the right time, and their course becomes bright and clear.”³⁷
For him, the Tuan statement of “Gen” implies that after years of moral
cultivation, someone like Yan Hui will “become bright and clear” and
subsequently undergo a substantial change in physical appearance.
The change in physical appearance indicates that after a long period
of moral cultivation, the person succeeds in focusing his mind on
things important.³⁸
The Tuan statement of “Gen” appears frequently in Zhang Zai’s
commentary on the sixty-four hexagrams. It is a line, he thought, that
succinctly summarizes the importance of controlling one’s mind. For
instance, in commenting on the hexagram statement of “Gen,” he in-
vokes the hexagram’s Tuan statement to explain why someone could
not see people in his courtyard:³⁹
Even if one is in a noisy environment, it does not prevent him from
practicing moral cultivation. Someone in this environment may
achieve what he wants in days; others may not achieve anything at
the end of the day. But having practiced moral cultivation for a period
of time, eventually one can accomplish a great deal.⁴⁰
For Zhang Zai, the hexagram statement does not refer to an absent-
minded person who is lost in day dreaming at home. On the contrary,
it describes a person’s accomplishment in moral cultivation, whose
mind is so focused that he no longer sees or hears anything in the noisy

courtyard. To give further support to his interpretation, immediately
following this general discussion Zhang quotes the hexagram’s Tuan
statement to highlight the importance of mental concentration.
As the Tuan statement says, “Keeping Still means stopping. When it
is time to stop, then stop. When it is time to advance, then advance.
Thus movement and rest do not miss the right time, and their course
becomes bright and clear.” In moral cultivation, one should move and
rest according to the needs of the time, so that the Way will not be
hidden. Nowadays, some people have little progress after engaging
in moral cultivation for a period of time. The reason is that they do
not know when to move and when to rest. In fact, they are easily
distracted by noisy discussions with nothing to do with them. How
can they succeed in moral cultivation like that?⁴¹
As this example shows, the Tuan statement of “Gen” was extremely
important to Zhang Zai. By frequently quoting it in his commentary
on the sixty-four hexagrams, he treated it as a capsule statement of
the Yijing, summarizing its essence in a brief line. For him, the Tuan
statement of “Gen” captures the essence of the Yijing in two ways.
First, it highlights the importance of moral cultivation in the Yijing,
reminding readers that there is a strong moral dimension in the classic.
Second, the Tuan statement of “Gen” reveals the implicit connection
between the Yijing and other Confucian writings such as the Great
Learning. A chapter in the Book of Rites (Liji), the Great Learning lays
out systematically the steps involved in moral cultivation. In its open-
ing paragraph, it identifies eight discrete steps in moral cultivation:
the illumination of virtue, treating people with affection, resting in
perfect goodness, knowing where to settle, knowing how to become
tranquil, knowing how to be at peace, knowing how to reflect, and
knowing how to attain profound understanding.⁴² As de Bary points
out, by identifying these eight steps the Great Learning sets forth “a
series of links connecting intellectual and moral cultivation on the
part of the individual with the establishment of harmony in the family,
order in the state, and peace in the world.”⁴³ In the Yijing Zhang Zai
was hard pressed to find the equivalent of this discussion of specific
steps in moral cultivation. But in the Tuan statement of “Gen” he found
something that was the equivalent of the opening lines of the Great
Learning. In one short line, it defined moral cultivation as controlling
one’s behavior according to the needs of the time.
Connecting the Yijing with the Great Learning
Occasionally Zhang Zai’s attempt to link the Yijing with the Great
Learning looks tentative. Take, for example, his comments on the
Tuan statement of “Daxu” (Taming Power of the Great, #26). To
explain the meaning of “Daxu,” the Tuan statement refers to the hexa-
gram’s image.⁴⁴ Consisting of a “Qian” trigram (three yang line) at the
bottom and a “Gen” trigram (two yin lines and one yang line) at the
top, “Daxu” symbolizes the rise of the yang force from the bottom
displacing the yin force in the middle. Accordingly, the Tuan state-
ment suggests that “the taming power of the great” derives from the
three yang lines at the bottom which, with the assistance of the yang
line at the very top, ascend together in opposition to the two yin lines
in the middle. As a whole, the Tuan statement appears to have little
to do with moral cultivation, let alone focusing one’s mind on things
important. Nevertheless, in his commentary Zhang Zai found a way
to link the hexagram with the Great Learning. And, as expected, the
Tuan statement of “Gen” was the bridge between the hexagram and
the Great Learning.
The yang trigram ascends and receives support from the yang line
at the very top. Thus, [the Tuan statement says:] “Firmness and
strength. Genuineness and Truth. Brilliance and light.” Those en-
gaging in moral cultivation often let their minds wander and spread
themselves too thin on unimportant matters. [They do not know that]
the best results come when their minds are focused. . . . In the Yijing,
“Gen” stands for stopping. If one stops his mind from wandering,
then he will be bright and clear. . . . If one is at rest, then he will be
bright and clear. Thus the Great Learning speaks of one being able
to reflect when he is at peace. If a person’s mind wanders, he will
not be bright and clear.⁴⁵
Similar to what he does regarding the hexagram statement of “Gen,”
in this commentary Zhang Zai focuses on the Yijing statement that
makes reference to brightness, brilliance, and light. For him, all Yijing
statements that describe light and color have to be taken allegorically.
They do not merely describe light and color, but also reveal a profound
change in the person’s state of mind. Hence, the first part of the Tuan
statement of “Daxu”—“Firmness and strength. Genuineness and Truth.
Brilliance and light”—reminds him of both the Great Learning and the
Tuan statement of “Gen.” Although not stated anywhere in the Tuan
statement of “Daxu,” he believes that the only way for one to have
brilliance and light is to control one’s mind. To hide the gaps between
the original statement and his commentary, he cites the Great Learn-
ing and the Tuan statement of “Gen” as if they are derived naturally
from “Daxu.”
Even though Zhang Zai’s attempt to link the Yijing with the Great
Learning occasionally looks tentative, he succeeded in transforming
the Yijing into a classic of morality. This transformation is significant
if we recall how the Yijing was read before Zhang Zai. As mentioned
earlier, in the Zhouyi zhengyi Kong Yingda read the Yijing as a politi-
cal text. Stressing the need for a powerful central government headed
by an absolute king, Kong gave readers the impression that the Yijing
primarily concerns the art of governing. Certainly Kong would not deny
the moral aspects of the Yijing, but in his reading the moral aspects
were always subsumed under his discussions of the art of governing.
This political reading of the Yijing continued in the Northern Song.
Despite his criticisms of Kong Yingda, Hu Yuan still read the Yijing
as a political text. Although he had a different perspective from Kong
on how to run the government, by and large he treated the Yijing as a
classic on governing, giving advice to high officials in the government.
The same is true of Li Gou and Ouyang Xiu. Whereas they had different
perspectives of the relationship between the emperor and the official,
they read the Yijing as a political text, elucidating the principle of ruling
the empire. In this context, what Zhang Zai wanted to achieve in the
Hengqu yishuo is significant. It was, in effect, an attempt to break from
the longstanding tradition of reading the Yijing politically. By linking
the classic with the Great Learning and the Doctrine of the Mean, he
focused readers’ attention on the moral dimensions of the Yijing that
had been suppressed in previous commentaries. In this regard, while
his reading of the Yijing might not always be convincing, he definitely
gave the classic a new look.
To fully appreciate Zhang Zai’s contribution, let us consider his
commentary on “Dazhuang” (Power of the Great, #34). Based on the
two trigrams of “Dazhuang”—a heaven (qian, three yang lines) at the
bottom and thunder (zhen, one yang line underneath two yin lines) at
the top—the Xiang statement calls on the readers to act in accordance
with the accepted rites.⁴⁶ In reading the Xiang statement, Zhang Zai
found another example where the authors of the Yijing discussed moral
cultivation. He wrote:
One needs great [mental] power “to return to the observance of the
rites through overcoming the self.” In “Dazhuang” of the Yijing, we
Inner Roots of Ordering the World 9
have an idea of the great power [we need to overcome ourselves]. . . .

With respect to [the Xiang statement:] “Thunder in heaven above:
the image of The Power of the Great. Thus the superior man does
not tread upon paths that do not accord with accepted rituals,” an
example is found in a person who refuses to drink pure wine even
though he is thirsty. Another example is a person who refuses to join
a dinner party even though he is hungry. In both cases, it requires
a strong will to do what ordinary people fail to do. . . . Thus, one
needs great [mental] power to overcome oneself. By using his great
power to overcome himself, the superior man teaches the world by
setting an example.⁴⁷
Showing his strong interest in the story of Yan Hui, Zhang Zai relates
the Xiang statement to Yan’s discussion with Confucius on benevolence
(ren). Appearing in chapter 6 of the Analects, Yan Hui asks Confucius
how to achieve benevolence. In response, Confucius tells him “to return
to the observance of the rites through overcoming the self.” To further
elaborate on the importance of overcoming oneself through following
the rites, Confucius states: “If for a single day one could return to the
observance of the rites through overcoming himself, then the whole
world will return to benevolence. However, the practice of benevolence
depends on oneself, and not on others.”⁴⁸ In his commentary, Zhang Zai
links the Xiang statement of “Dazhuang” with the Analects by making
Confucius’s admonition to Yan Hui—“returning to the observance of
the rites through overcoming oneself ”—the main theme of his com-
mentary. Offering two examples of refusing to eat and drink in an
improper manner, he underlines the importance of having a strong
will to bring oneself to observe the rites. For him, the two examples
demonstrate that the observance of the rites is not only to follow an
accepted code of behavior to enhance social harmony, it is also to train
one’s mind to control one’s physical desires.
The Cosmology of Qi
Turning to Zhang Zai’s commentary on the Xici, on several occasions

he explained why he considered the Xici the most important part of
the Yijing. At one time, he told his followers: “The Xici reiterates the
fact the Yijing is a classic of changes. It summarizes various parts of
the classic and explains its main teaching to readers of later genera-
tions.”⁴⁹ At another time, he said: “If someone reads the Yijing without
first thoroughly comprehending the Xici, he will find the classic dis-
cussing matters too distant or too close to him. He will find the classic
difficult to understand.”⁵⁰ To drive home his point, he gave an analogy:

“Attempting to read the Yijing without knowing the Xici would be as
fruitless as studying the Spring and Autumn Annals without knowing
the rites.”⁵¹ These few remarks help to explain why Zhang Zai was so
thorough in commenting on the Xici. Not only did he comment on
every line of the Xici (as opposed to his brief and sketchy comments
on the sixty-four hexagrams), he also wrote profusely on many parts
of it. For him, the essence of the Yijing lies in the Xici rather than in
the sixty-four hexagrams.
An area in which Zhang Zai found the Xici particularly inspir-
ing was its discussion of qi (cosmic vital force).⁵² In reading the Xici
II statement: “Heaven and earth come together in a mist, and the ten
thousand things take shape and find form. Male and female mix their
seed, and the ten thousand things take shape and are born,”⁵³ Zhang
Zai believed that it described the movement of qi.
Qi, filling up the Great Vacuity, never ceases in ascending, descend-
ing, and floating in the sky. This is exactly what the Yi says “coming
together in a mist,” and what the Zhuangzi says “the living things are
blown with air” and “the wild horse.” This is the trigger of vacuity
and concreteness, and of movement and stillness. This is the origin
of the yin and the yang, and of firm and soft. That which floats on
top is the purity of the yang. That which descends below is the im-
purity of the yin. The mutual responses and the coalescence of the
yin and the yang give rise to wind and rain, and frost and snow. The
flowing shapes of the ten thousand kinds, the dissolution and the
congealing of mountains and rivers, dregs and ashes, are all objects
of learning.⁵⁴
For Zhang Zai, “the mist” in this Xici statement denotes the funda-
mental nature of the universe. It signifies a vital force which, invisible
but real, circulates constantly in the universe like dust. This vital force,
known as qi, is the basic constituent of the universe. By its unceasing
dispersion and condensation, qi gives rise to a series of opposites:
vacuity versus concreteness, movement versus stillness, firmness versus
softness, and so on. All these pairs of opposites, collectively known as
the yin and the yang, are the source of motion of the universe. With
this understanding, one can turn around and see all tangible objects
as concrete manifestations of qi’s dispersion and condensation. All
tangible objects, be they mountains and rivers, or dregs and ashes,
are results of qi’s constant activity.
To illustrate how the dispersion and condensation of qi can give
rise to manifold forms of existence, Zhang Zai asks us to think about

the freezing and melting of ice. When frozen, water is solidified into
ice; when melted, ice turns into water. With respect to their shape and
size, ice and water are drastically different. But if we consider what
they are made of, they are water through and through. It is on this
basis that Zhang Zai criticized earlier exegetes who had interpreted
the Yijing based on the dichotomy of you and wu.
The integration and disintegration of qi is to the Great Vacuity as the

freezing and melting of ice is to water. If we realize that the Great
Vacuity is identical with qi, we know that there is no such thing as
wu. Therefore, when discussing the ultimate problems of the nature
of things and the Way of Heaven, the sage limits himself to the mar-
velous changes and transformations of the yin and the yang and the
Five Agents (of Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth). The doctrine
of those superficial and mistaken philosophers who draw distinction
between you and wu is not the way to investigate to the utmost.⁵⁵
In the quote, Zhang Zai did not specify who “those superficial and
mistaken philosophers” were. Yet, considering the prominence of the
Zhouyi zhengyi in the Northern Song and its strong emphasis in its
Xici commentary on the reversion of you to wu, it is likely that he must
have had Han Kangbo and Kong Yingda in mind. But what concerns us
here is not whether Zhang Zai aimed his criticism specifically at Han
and Kong, but what new insights we can draw from Zhang’s attempt
to reject the reversion of you to wu.
From this quote, at least two observations can be made. First,
Zhang Zai believed that all dualities (be they yin and yang, you and wu)
are merely different forms of qi. For him, dualities do not constitute
the grounds for making primary-secondary distinction, or identify-
ing one as the foundational and the other as the derivative. Whether
things are visible or invisible, tangible or intangible, finite or infinite,
part or whole, they are qi through and through. Hence, for Zhang Zai,
earlier Yijing scholars have made a mistake because they invented a
series of dualities (e.g., you and wu) in interpreting the classic. Second,
precisely because all the dualities are in essence different manifestations
of qi, each pole of the dualities always has access to the other pole. For
instance, one knows the invisible from the visible, or understands the
infinite from the perspective of the finite. Regardless of what perspec-
tive one assumes, one is watching qi in motion. Hence, earlier Yijing
exegetes have made a mistake in focusing on the invisible rather than
the visible, the whole rather than parts, and the infinite rather than
the finite, without knowing that all of them are interchangeable.⁵⁶
To further elucidate this continuous flow of qi in the universe,
Zhang Zai offered a different reading of the Xici I statement “What
is above form is called Dao; what is within form is called tool.” As
discussed in chapter 2, in the Zhouyi zhengyi, Han Kangbo and Kong
Yingda use this Xici statement to support the distinction of two levels of
existence. They equate “what is within form” with you, the phenomenal
world in which we live. They interpret “what is above form” as wu, the
web of relationships that bind together everything in this universe.⁵⁷
Taken together, they render the Xici statement as an exhortation to
reversing from you to wu. In contrast, Zhang Zai reads the Xici state-
ment as follows:
Things that are “above form” are known as the Way. The Way is that
in which what is visible and invisible, tangible and intangible are
not clearly differentiated. Notice that qi emerges out of this undif-
ferentiated state, and it unifies you with wu. In the state of wu, qi is
produced naturally. This [natural production of qi] is the Way and
the essence of change.⁵⁸
In some respects, Zhang Zai’s interpretation of the Xici statement
reminds us of Hu Yuan’s. As discussed in chapter 3, in commenting
on the same Xici statement, Hu Yuan also upholds “the Way” (Dao)
as the supreme category about the universe, thereby eliminating the
dichotomy of you and wu.⁵⁹ But, there is one fundamental difference
between the two commentators. In his attempt to eliminate the di-
chotomy of you and wu, and to describe the universe as organic and
ever changing, Hu Yuan does not go far enough to pinpoint the source
of motion of the universe. On the other hand, Zhang Zai develops a
cosmology of qi to offer an explanation of how the universe sets in
motion and how its movement is directly related to humankind.
Moral Metaphysics
Based on his cosmology of qi, Zhang Zai did not consider the Xici as
a pointer, directing our attention from what is derivative to what is
foundational, as Han Kangbo and Kong Yingda had suggested. Instead,
it was a text in which “heaven and man should not be artificially di-
vided.”⁶⁰ For him, an overtly metaphysical passage in the Xici always
carried a hidden moral implication; conversely, an apparently mun-
dane utterance might carry metaphysical meanings. To demonstrate

the indivisibility of heaven and man, he made deliberate efforts in his
commentary to render the metaphysical metaphors of the Xici into
common human experiences. For instance, in commenting on the Xici
statement “the firm and the yielding rub each other” (gang rou xiang
mo),⁶¹ he did not read the statement as a discussion of the yin-yang
interaction, as many commentators had done; on the contrary, he read
it as a discussion of breathing.
In terms of human behavior, the mutual rubbing of the firm and the
soft is breathing. When qi [meaning both air and the cosmic vital
force] is discharged and inhaled, the qi coming from the top and the
qi coming from the bottom rub and interact with each other. This
can be seen in breathing through the nose. From the nose, qi goes
into the stomach after the mutual rubbing of the firm and soft. It
travels back to the mouth after the digestion of food.⁶²
To fully appreciate Zhang Zai’s originality in interpreting this Xici state-
ment, let us compare his reading with Kong Yingda’s. In the Zhouyi
zhengyi, building on Han Kangbo’s interpretation, Kong emphasized
the metaphysical implication of this statement. His subcommentary
goes like this: “With respect to phenomenal transformation, [this state-
ment] means the yang is transformed into the yin after reaching its
limits, and the yin is transformed into the yang after reaching its limits.
From the firm yang to the soft yin, and from the soft yin to the firm
yang, the firm and the soft rub each other to give rise to the manifold
transformations.”⁶³ By identifying the soft and the firm as the yin and
the yang respectively, Kong read the Xici statement from a cosmological
perspective, viewing it as a description of the interaction of two vital
forces in the universe. In contrast, Zhang Zai brought the statement
closer to the reader by rendering it as a discussion of breathing through
the nose. Relating the statement to a physical action that all human
beings must do every moment, he pointed out that the air inhaled and
exhaled through the nose is the vital force qi. As qi travels from the
outside into the human body, and then from the human body back
to the outside, Zhang argued, human beings are not only physically
connected with but also embody the entire universe.
With such a strong emphasis on the indivisibility of heaven and
man, Zhang Zai offered his eleventh-century readers a new interpre-
tation of the Xici. A case in point is Zhang Zai’s commentary on the
Xici I statement “That which has a yin and a yang is called the Way”:
The Way is one yin and one yang. Goodness is the human capacity
to embody the Way on a regular basis without end. Goodness is to
denote the human capability to continue the Way. To complete and
achieve the Way, one has to rely on manifesting one’s nature. This
is what we call sagehood. . . . That “The people use it day by day and
are not aware of it”⁶⁴ is because that which they are using is the Way
through and through. Drinking, eating, and [the coupling of ] a male
and a female are natural. But we are not aware of it. From dawn to
dusk, hundreds of actions take place, and they are all mutual re-
sponses among beings that escape our attention. Nowadays, neither
do people examine their heart and mind, nor do they examine the
mutual responses among beings. For this reason, many of them are
drunkards when alive and dreamers when dead.⁶⁵
Again, we will see Zhang Zai’s uniqueness as an Yijing exegete if we
compare his comment on this Xici statement with those of Han Kangbo
and Kong Yingda. As discussed in chapter 2, for Han and Kong, this
Xici statement describes the complex relationship of two realms of
existence—the visible, tangible, and sensible world that we experience
every day, and the web of relationships that connects everything in this
world into one system. For them, “a yin and a yang” in the Xici state-
ment do not mean that numerically there is a single yin and a single
yang in this universe; rather, they mean both in the yin state and the
yang state, the same totality of the universe makes its presence known.
For Zhang Zai, however, the Xici statement defines the moral mission
of man. Except for the first sentence in which he refers to the yin and
the yang in passing, the discussion of cosmology disappears from the
rest of his commentary. Instead, he focuses on moral metaphysics,
that is, how in daily life one can sustain the perpetual dynamism of
the universe.⁶⁶ For him, human beings are not only social beings, but
also cosmic beings who carry the Way in their bodies and assume the
mission of sustaining the ceaseless flow of qi in the universe. Hence, he
introduces the term “goodness” (shan), not merely as an ethical category
denoting human demeanor in society, but also as a moral metaphysical
category referring to one’s wholehearted devotion to keeping the cosmic
flow alive and refreshed. From the perspective of moral metaphys-
ics, any mundane human affair—including the satisfaction of human
biological needs such as food, drink, and sex—is vital to the human
mission to continue the cosmic flow. Each particular aspect of human
life becomes potent with metaphysical meaning, and what appears to
be moral and personal is in fact cosmic and transcendental.
With Zhang Zai’s moral metaphysics in mind, one will see why
later in his life he would have composed such a forceful and articu-
late essay as the “Western Inscription” (Ximing).⁶⁷ There, in concise
language, he recapitulated not only his entire argument about moral
metaphysics, but also his approach to the Yijing:
Heaven is my father and Earth is my mother, and even such a small
creature as I finds an intimate place in their midst. Therefore, that
which fills the universe I regard as my body and that which directs
the universe I consider as my nature. All people are my brothers and
sisters, and all things are my companions. . . . One who knows the
principles of transformation will skillfully carry forward the under-
takings [of Heaven and Earth], and one who penetrates spirit to the
highest degree will skillfully carry out their will. Do nothing shame-
ful in the recesses of your own house and thus bring no dishonor to
them. Preserve your mind and nourish your nature and thus (serve
them) with untiring effort. . . . In life I follow and serve [Heaven and
Earth]. In death I will be at peace.⁶⁸
In the above, Zhang Zai gives us a different look at morality. As part of
the ceaseless flow of qi in the universe, morality is understood meta-
physically. It no longer means, as it did, human demeanor among one’s
peers or in one’s society. Rather, it means one’s wholehearted devotion
to keeping the cosmic flow alive and refreshed. From this perspective,
man has a direct link to the universe and to all beings, animate and
inanimate. Man is not only a social being in need of communal life,
but also a cosmic being forming fraternity with all things on earth. As
“the guardians of the universe,” using Tu Wei-ming’s terms, human
beings must seek moral perfection through self-cultivation.⁶⁹
The Heart and Mind of Heaven
In many instances, Zhang Zai’s moral metaphysics gave him a distinct

vantage point in reading the Yijing, and his belief in the moral mission
of “the guardians of the universe” set him apart from other commen-
tators. A prime example that shows his originality is his reading of
the “Fu” hexagram (Return, #24). As discussed in chapter 2, Wang Bi
considered “Fu” a key hexagram in understanding the need for revert-
ing from the phenomenal world (you) to the principle of change in the
universe (wu). There are two points that support Wang’s reading. First,
the hexagram consists of one yang line at the bottom and five yin lines
at the top. Although the yang force is far outnumbered by the yin force
by five to one, “Fu” symbolizes the return of the yang force amidst the
domination of the yin force. Second, the Tuan statement of “Fu” says:
“In ‘Fu’ one sees the Heart and Mind of Heaven and Earth.”⁷⁰ It appears
to suggest that besides describing the return of the yang force in the
physical world, “Fu” actually offers a plea to Yijing readers to return
mentally to the “Heart and Mind of Heaven and Earth” (tiandi zhi xin).
Wang Bi appears to have taken this plea seriously. In his commentary,
he equates the “Heart and Mind of Heaven and Earth” with wu, and
interprets “Fu” as the reversion from you to wu.⁷¹ Similarly, Kong Yingda
renders “Fu” as reversion. In his subcommentary, he lists a number of
contrasting pairs, including activity versus tranquility, speech versus
silence, and movement versus quiescence. With these contrasting pairs,
he demonstrates that beyond the phenomenal world there is a web of
relationships that binds everything into a system. In the former, one
faces the hustle and bustle of you; in the latter, one attains spiritual
tranquility in the realm of wu. To Kong, between these two realms
of existence, the choice is clear. We will forever be perplexed by the
constant changes in the physical world, unless we learn to look at the
universe from the perspective of its totality (or wu).⁷²
Turning to Zhang Zai’s commentary, we find a different reading
of “Fu.” Although in his commentary Zhang does not make reference to
the commentaries of Wang Bi and Kong Yingda, he directly addresses
their main argument. In explaining the meaning of “the Heart and
Mind of Heaven and Earth,” Zhang Zai writes:
By and large, the “Heart and Mind of Heaven and Earth” refers to the
virtue of Heaven and Earth in giving birth [to the myriad beings].
It describes the fundamental nature of Heaven and Earth as giving
birth to the myriad things. . . . How can the movement of Heaven
be stopped? What should one expect from being totally tranquil?
The movement [in the return of the yang force] is a movement that
takes place amidst tranquility. This movement amidst tranquility is
a movement that will never stop. Being so, how can we divide this
movement amidst tranquility into beginning and end, or the point
of departure and the point of closure? Since the beginning of Heaven
and Earth, there has been movement amidst tranquility.⁷³
In explaining the meaning of the “Heart and Mind of Heaven and

Earth,” it is clear that Zhang Zai is engaged in a dialogue with Wang Bi
and Kong Yingda. He deliberately employs the same terms that Wang
and Kong use in their commentaries (e.g., fundamental nature, ben),
but he gives the terms different meanings. He focuses on the same

subjects that Wang and Kong discuss in their commentaries (e.g.,
the tranquility of Heaven and Earth), but he approaches the subjects
from a different angle. He asks himself rhetorical questions that seem
to originate from the commentaries of Wang and Kong (e.g., whether
there is a beginning and end in the universe), but he offers different
answers to the questions. Above all, he sees the universe as dynamic
and self-generative, something that can never be divided into different
spheres, be they you and wu, movement and tranquility, or beginning
and end. Rather than meaning “to return to the original substance”
of Heaven and Earth, for Zhang “Fu” means the automatic beginning
of a new round of movement in the universe after one round has
completed. To underscore this unceasing movement in the universe,
Zhang describes it as “the movement amidst tranquility” (jing zhong
zhi dong). While the phrase seems ambiguous and awkward at first
glance, we should keep in mind that by “movement amidst tranquility”
Zhang means the split moment when one round of movement has just
finished and another round of movement is about to begin. Even in
that split moment, Zhang argues, movement continues even though
it is more subdued and less perceptible.
Fearing that his readers might still think of the Tuan statement of
“Fu” as purely about cosmology, Zhang Zai concludes his commentary
with the following observation:
Without premeditated actions and preconceived plans, Heaven never
ceases in movement. The moral nature of man is similar to Heaven’s
[movement amidst tranquility]. It is innate to man, and it requires no
preconceived arrangement to remain tranquil [amidst movement].
Hence, moral cultivation is based on calming oneself.⁷⁴
Although not as eloquently expressed as in the “Western Inscription,”
here Zhang Zai restates his moral metaphysics. By drawing a parallel
between the “mind and heart of Heaven and Earth” and the “mind and
heart of man,” he defines moral cultivation as the cosmic mission of
humankind to continue the flow of the universe. Just as the universe
never ceases in regenerating itself, human beings should not stop re-
juvenating themselves morally. Just as the universe is tranquil while in
motion, human beings should learn to control their wandering minds
in conducting their lives. Harking back to the theme of stopping the
wandering mind in the Tuan statement of “Gen,” Zhang Zai demon-
strates that there is a direct relationship between moral cultivation and
spiritual transcendence. In the humdrum of daily life, he suggests, one

finds spiritual fulfillment as a guardian of the universe.
Expanding the Scope of Civil Governance
In the current scholarship, much has been said about Zhang Zai’s
importance in founding the Song-Ming Daoxue.⁷⁵ But little attention
has been paid to how his moral metaphysics related to the self-identity
of the Northern Song educated elite. In the context of mid-North-
ern Song reforms, besides offering a new perspective on the human
role in the universe, Zhang Zai’s moral metaphysics was significant
to the educated elite’s rethinking of civil governance. First, drawing
from the Xici, the Analects, the Great Learning, and the Doctrine of
the Mean, Zhang’s moral metaphysics added a new dimension to the
civil bureaucrats’ political activism. For the civil bureaucrats like Fan
Zhongyan, they separated themselves from the aristocrat bureaucrats
of the Tang and the Five Dynasties by their desire to take an active role
in governing. Rather than participating in governing for the interests
of their families, they considered themselves to be the corulers of the
empire, sharing the responsibility of ruling with the emperor. What
Zhang Zai did was to add a metaphysical dimension to this political
activism. In addition to the civil bureaucrats actively participating in
governing for the political reason of building civil governance, Zhang
Zai told them that building civil governance was also part of their
cosmic mission as human beings to perpetuate the constant flow of
qi in the universe. Hence, in coruling “this empire of ours,” the civil
bureaucrats were not merely displaying a dedication to public service,
but also participating in the regeneration of the universe.
Second, Zhang Zai’s moral metaphysics also expanded the scope
of Northern Song civil governance. For the civil bureaucrats of Fan
Zhongyan’s generation, to actively participate in governing meant
simply mastering the Confucian classics, passing the civil service
examinations, and assuming whatever government posts to which
they were assigned. For them, governing meant offering advice to
the emperor on national policies, supervising military campaigns,
serving as provincial officials, and managing the examination and
school systems. Here, with Zhang Zai’s moral metaphysics, the civil
bureaucrats of the mid-Northern Song were expected to do even more.
Besides administering the government, they needed to control their
own conduct as well as the behavior of the people around them. In
Inner Roots of Ordering the World 0
addition to being “a king outwardly” (waiwang), they were expected to

be “a sage inwardly” (neisheng). Whereas in being “a king outwardly,”
the civil bureaucrats would be judged by how effective they were as
censors, state councilors, provincial governors, examiners, and military
strategists; being “a sage inwardly” they needed to judge themselves
based on self-cultivation and the observance of rites. While the former
could be measured with well-defined criteria, the latter required years
of training and strict compliance with the moral code.⁷⁶ Because of
this expansion in the scope of civil governance, in his time Zhang Zai
was well known for prescribing a proper code of behavior for the edu-
cated elite. To his contemporaries, he was remembered as an expert in
ritual, particularly the rituals presumably practiced during the ancient
dynasties of Xia, Shang, and Zhou.⁷⁷ Although in his extant writings
we find little discussion of how to implement those ancient rituals, it
is clear that Zhang had inspired many of his contemporaries to turn
their attention to shaping social behavior and personal conduct.
Third, by adding a metaphysical dimension to the civil bureau-
crats’ political activism and thereby expanding the scope of civil
governance, Zhang Zai’s moral metaphysics was in effect a critique
of early Northern Song civil governance. Upon reaching the reign of
Renzong (023–063), the Northern Song government began to have
difficulties finding enough official posts for successful examinees.⁷⁸ A
good example is Zhang Zai himself who, a jin shi in 025, was given
only a low-ranking official post. The inability of the Song government
to provide appropriate government posts to successful examinees led
to widespread frustration among the educated elite, and undermined
the founding principle of the civil service examination system—that
is, putting the right man in the right job. Despite the government’s
attempts to reform the examination system in the 020s, 040s, and
070s, the system had continued to produce too many “right men”
such that there were no longer enough “right jobs” for them.⁷⁹ When
many “right men” were not given appropriate jobs, and when many
“right jobs” were given to the wrong men, the effectiveness of the
examination system as an unbiased mechanism of selection was very
much in doubt.⁸⁰
While Zhang Zai did not explicitly question the educated elite’s
belief in ruling the empire with the emperor, he attempted to lessen
their dependence on the Song government. If, as he suggested, moral
cultivation is an end in itself requiring lifelong commitment and its
goal is to continue the flow of qi in the universe, then the educated elite
did not have to become prominent government officials to fulfill their

moral duty. Gone was the close bond between civil bureaucrats and
the Northern Song emperors in cofounding a lasting civil order. Also
gone was Hu Yuan’s sense of a new era in which military governance
gradually gave way to civil governance, and peace and prosperity had
finally arrived. Instead, Zhang called on the educated elite to face the
bureaucratic problems of the mid-Northern Song by looking for al-
ternatives to achieve self-fulfillment. It was particularly with respect
to this last point that some of Zhang’s contemporaries took his moral
metaphysics to heart. After Zhang’s death in 077, Sima Guang composed
a poem recapitulating what he thought were the teachings of Zhang Zai.
Reiterating Zhang’s opposition to building civil governance based on the
civil service examination system, the poem ended with this advice:
[All of you] study the classics to follow the ancient learning, and
never let wealth and fame change you. [All of you] practice rituals
to model after ancient sages, and never let the conventions of the
time lead your way. [All of you] cultivate the inner rather than the
outer, and let your mind be broad and impartial.⁸¹
For Sima Guang, Zhang Zai’s moral metaphysics spoke directly to

those who were disenchanted with the examination system. Instead of
being appointed a role to play in government and society, Zhang urged
them to seek moral authority outside the preexisting sociopolitical
structure. By arguing that the part is the whole and that there is unity
in diversity, Zhang marked off a social domain wherein the educated
elite could claim absolute authority. Above all, with Zhang Zai’s moral
metaphysics, the unsuccessful examinees gained more options in “ruling
the empire with the emperor.” If they could not join the bureaucracy
to serve the public, they could corule the empire by learning to con-
trol their behaviors, shaping social values and practices, and forming
fraternity with all beings in the universe.
Sima Guang’s Yijing Commentary
At first glance, it looks surprising that Sima Guang would have been
so deeply impressed with Zhang Zai’s moral metaphysics. A powerful
official during the reigns of Shenzong and Zhezong, he was the civil
bureaucrat par excellence in the mid-Northern Song as Fan Zhongyan
had been in the early Northern Song. After passing the civil service
examinations, he not only entered the Song government but also
Inner Roots of Ordering the World 03
literally ruled the empire with the emperor. Particularly during the
early years of the reign of Zhezong, the regents of the young emperor
entrusted him with the task of undoing Wang Anshi’s reform, and
because of that he became the most powerful official in the land.⁸² So,
unlike Zhang Zai, Sima was a beneficiary of the Northern Song civil
governance, and he appeared to have little reason to be critical of the
system. Yet, Zhang Zai’s death in 077 triggered a torrent of emotions
in him and prompted him to compose two pieces of writing—a letter
discussing the honorific posthumous title for Zhang, and a poem
summarizing his life.⁸³ In both occasions, Sima held Zhang in high
regard for prescribing a proper code of conduct for the educated elite
by reviving the ancient rituals.
Seen with historical hindsight, Sima Guang’s affection for Zhang
Zai was partly a result of his power struggle with Wang Anshi and
his supporters. As the opposition leader to Wang Anshi’s reform,
Sima was forced to retire in the 070s and 080s when Wang won the
support of Emperor Shenzong to launch his ambitious “New Policies.”
During his temporary retirement, he moved to Luoyang for its natural
beauty and its political symbolism as the capital of previous dynasties
in past hundreds of years. There, spending much of his time reflecting
on his political career, he felt the frustration of many mid-Northern
Song educated elite who were motivated, on the one hand, to rule the
empire with the emperor and denied, on the other, the opportunity
to serve in the government. Watching on the sidelines of national
politics, he saw the wisdom of Zhang Zai in encouraging the educated
elite to look for alternatives to achieve self-fulfillment. Years later, in
writing his commemorative poem for his deceased friend, Sima still
thought of Zhang Zai as a profound thinker who had come to terms
with adversity. A case in point, for Sima, was Zhang’s determination
to stand up to Wang Anshi: “When the chief councilor was arrogant
and manipulative, using his power to make one prosperous and the
other desolate, Mr. [Zhang] refused to follow his orders and left the
government to return home. With a roomful of relatives needing sup-
port and without land to farm to make a living, [Mr. Zhang] happily
lived on wild vegetables, without expecting to have fat meat and fresh
food.”⁸⁴ In Zhang Zai, Sima found an independent-minded and incor-
ruptible scholar-official, who had no fear of political suppression.
In addition, Sima Guang’s affection for Zhang Zai was also the
result of sharing Zhang’s view of a dynamic universe. In a 085 letter
to his friend, Han Bingguo, Sima Guang discussed the meaning of the
hexagram “Fu” (Return, #24). Apparently a fan of Wang Bi, Han Bingguo
quoted, in his previous letter to Sima, from Wang’s commentary on
the Tuan statement of “Fu”—“In ‘Fu’ one can see the Heart and Mind
of Heaven and Earth.” Like Wang Bi, Han took the Tuan statement
to mean the reversion from you to wu. Sima disagreed. In his reply,
he accused Wang Bi of missing the true spirit of Yijing by employing
the ideas of Laozi and Zhuangzi to interpret the classic. To show his
friend what “Fu” really meant, Sima wrote:
Since the beginning of Heaven and Earth, the yin is born when the
yang reaches its peak, and the yang is born when the yin reaches its
peak. When movement reaches its limits then tranquility appears,
and when tranquility reaches its limits then movement begins. . . .
Like a circle without end, the ten thousand things follow this [pattern
of rise and fall, and waxing and waning]. For this reason, it is said [in
the Xici I] that “That which has a yin and a yang is called the Way.”
This [intermixing of the yin and the yang] is the Heart and Mind of
Heaven and Earth.⁸⁵
Here, we find the same argument that Zhang Zai made in his com-
mentary on the hexagram “Fu.” For Sima and Zhang, the universe
is a continuous process of generation and regeneration, and there
is no single moment when the universe will stop its movement. For
them, “Fu” describes this dynamic and self-generative universe by
focusing on the split moment when one round of movement has just
finished and another round of movement is about to begin. Even in
that split moment, whether it is from the yin to the yang, or from
the yang to the yin, movement continues. According to Sima Guang,
Han Bingguo had two problems in his cosmology. First, he sees the
split moment as a moment of quiescence where everything stops.
Second, he equates that moment of quiescence as the “Heart and
Mind of Heaven and Earth,” implying that the universe is inactive
in nature.
In Sima Guang’s commentary on the Yijing, Wengong yishuo (An
explanation of the meaning of the Yi by [Sima] Wengong), he further
explained the implications of a dynamic universe. With respect to
morality, like Zhang Zai, he held the view that a dynamic universe
was the basis for moral metaphysics, linking self-cultivation with the
unfolding of qi. For instance, he took the opportunity to explain the
importance of controlling one’s mind when commenting on the fourth
line statement of “Xian” (Reciprocity, #3). The line statement refers to
a person being agitated by his unsettling environment. Sima Guang’s

commentary reads:
In writing, the character for zheng [正 impartial] consists of yi [一
one] and zhi [止 stop]. By zheng, we mean to stop at one place and
from there we turn our attention to the rest of the world. [If one
can do that,] then what else do we need to worry about? Take, for
instance, a pond of still water, quiet and unmoving. The reason that
water is able to respond to myriad changes is that it stops at one place.
Sun and moon contain the essence of Heaven and Earth; winter and
summer are the result of [the movement of ] qi. When Heaven and
Earth are moved by the resonance and the waxing and waning [of
qi], how can human beings be different? Thus the Way of the Great
Man is nothing more than straightening one’s heart and mind.⁸⁶
Here, “Xian” for Sima Guang is similar to “Daxu” and “Gen” for Zhang
Zai. The hexagram is seen as a plea to control one’s mind, and a prime
example of the implicit link between the Yijing on the one hand and
the Great Learning and the Doctrine of the Mean on the other. More
importantly, it highlights the importance of becoming “a sage in-
wardly” as a precondition for fulfilling human beings’ cosmic mission
to perpetuate the movement of qi. For both Sima Guang and Zhang
Zai, previous commentators such as Kong Yingda had missed an im-
portant aspect of the Yijing—its discussion about the inner roots of
ordering the world.
However, being a powerful civil bureaucrat with long experience
in managing government affairs, Sima Guang regarded being “a sage
inwardly” as only a means to an end. It was a preparation for being “a
king outwardly,” readying one to serve in government and to rule the
world. On this score, Sima Guang was closer to Hu Yuan than to Zhang
Zai. Like Hu Yuan, Sima Guang had strong belief in “coruling” politi-
cally with the Song emperor. Also like Hu Yuan, he saw the Northern
Song civil governance as a system that granted officials unprecedented
power to run the empire. For instance, Sima interpreted hexagram
“Kun” (Receptive, #2) as a discussion of the civil bureaucrats’ mission to
corule the world with the emperor. Traditionally taken to be a symbol
of yin, “Kun” had long been rendered as a discussion about an ideal
official, who is obedient, supportive, and diligent. In particular, the
third line statement of “Kun” seems to confirm this image of a perfect
official by stating that an official has to follow the orders from the ruler
in order to be “great” and “bright.”⁸⁷ But for Sima Guang, this line also
means the partnership between an emperor and an official in coruling

the empire. He said:
Things grow with the yang and complete their growth with the
yin. [Similarly,] the emperor issues orders and the official carries
them out. Therefore, if there is the yang without the yin, then the
ten thousand things will hurt; if there is emperor without official,
then no one will run the government. The yin and the yang have to
collaborate to finish their task, and the same is true of emperor and
official [in ordering the world]. This is the constant law in Heaven,
and the unchanged practice in Humankind.⁸⁸
In the rest of the Wengong yishuo, Sima Guang further explains this
partnership between an emperor and an official by applying the Yijing
to “issues related to ruling the country” (qi yu guo ye).⁸⁹ For example,
he interprets the hexagram “Daguo” (Preponderance of the Great,
#28) as the troubling relationship between an arrogant emperor and
a compliant official;⁹⁰ the hexagram “Mingyi” (Darkening of the Light,
#36) as the collaboration of a forward-looking emperor and a sup-
portive official in establishing the social and political systems;⁹¹ and
the hexagram “Jiaren” (The Family, #37) as the link between managing
the family and ordering the world.⁹² This emphasis on being “a king
outwardly” indicates that Sima, despite his political setback, was still
optimistic about Northern Song civil governance. Whereas he was
more forthcoming than Hu Yuan in stressing the importance of moral
cultivation in preparing one to serve in the government, he did not
go as far as Zhang Zai in centering on moral cultivation as the cosmic
mission of the educated elite. To Sima, Northern Song civil governance
was undoubtedly imperfect; nevertheless, it was still the best system
that gave civil bureaucrats the power to order the world.
Shao Yong’s Yijing Commentary
Turning to another of Zhang Zai’s contemporaries, Shao Yong, we find

another reading of the Yijing. Conventionally, Shao Yong is described
as a specialist in numerology, charts, and diagrams with a unique view
of the universe.⁹³ He is also considered to be the “transition to Neo-
Confucianism,”⁹⁴ and a philosopher interested in “the abstract structure
and pattern of events in the universe.”⁹⁵ Because of his penchant for
philosophizing the nature of the universe, he is often seen as a system
builder or a diagram maker who cares little about human affairs. But,
as Kidder Smith and Don Wyatt point out, Shao Yong’s numerology
and diagrams were not merely to satisfy philosophical curiosity; they
were “to address the issues of human nature and destiny [xing ming]
that came to occupy the literati thinkers from the 030s on.”⁹⁶ More
importantly, as Don Wyatt demonstrates, Shao Yong was “the recluse
of Loyang” who, for decades, befriended a group of officials temporar-
ily out of power because of Wang Anshi’s “New Policies.⁹⁷ Among his
close friends in Luoyang were Sima Guang⁹⁸ and Zhang Zai.⁹⁹ What
this web of friendship shows is that Shao Yong was a member of the
inner circle of the “antireform” group. He might not have been active
in politics, or vocal in criticizing Wang Anshi’s “New Policies.” Nev-
ertheless, he was part of the discourse to reexamine the role of the
educated elite in the mid-Northern Song reforms.
Shao Yong did not write a commentary on the Yijing. But his
magnum opus, Huangji jingshi shu (Book of Supreme World-Ordering
Principles), was based on the Yijing. In the book, not only did he fre-
quently cite the Yijing, he also discussed at great length parts of the
classic, particularly the Xici and the Shuogua. Like Zhang Zai, he saw
the essence of the Yijing not in its advice for ruling the world, but in
its discussion of moral metaphysics. He regarded his numerology,
charts, and diagrams as explications of what had already been implied
in the moral teachings of the Yijing.¹⁰⁰ Unlike Zhang Zai, however, he
derived his reading of the Yijing more from the Shuogua than from
the Xici. On this matter, Shao Yong was totally unique because none
of the exegetes we have discussed thus far, from the third century to
the eleventh century, paid as much attention to the Shuogua as he.
A prime example of Shao Yong’s preference for the Shuogua was
his attempt to build his epistemological theory of “observing things”
(guan wu) based on the first paragraph of the Shuogua. The first para-
graph of the Shuoguo goes like this:
In the past when the sages composed the Yi, they created a method
of divination in order to provide mysterious assistance to the spirit;
they built a system of numerology by assigning the number three to
Heaven and number two to Earth; they invented the [eight] trigrams
after observing changes in the yin and the yang; they drew up the
lines [of the sixty-four hexagrams] after watching the movement of
the firm and the soft. [There, we find] peace and harmony in behav-
ing morally and in reckoning with what is proper. [We] reach our
destiny by exhausting the principle [of the universe] and completing
our nature.¹⁰¹
For Shao Yong, the Yijing is about humans’ connection with the uni-
verse, and the first paragraph of the Shuogua describes the process
by which human beings will find their roots in the universe. For Shao,
the process described in the Shuogua is one of reversion; its goal is “to
observe the ten thousand hearts and minds from one’s heart and mind,
to observe the ten thousand bodies from one body, and to observe the
ten thousand generations from one generation.”¹⁰² This reversion is
possible because, Shao believed, there is a single principle (li) that con-
nects all animate and inanimate beings in this universe. That principle
may be described in different ways under different circumstances. In
human beings, that pattern is known as nature (xing). When rigor-
ous efforts are required to uncover the universal principle in human
beings, then it is called destiny (ming). From the human perspective,
the process of reversion begins with reaching one’s destiny (zhi ming),
and then it goes a step further to completing one’s nature (jin xing),
and finally it reaches its highest point at exhausting the principle of
the universe (qiong li).¹⁰³ Through this process of reversion, or “reflec-
tive perception” (fan guan), the learner attains the perspective of the
universe such that he or she no longer sees objects from the observer’s
perspective (yi wo guan wu); instead he or she sees objects from the
objects’ perspective (yi wu guan wu).¹⁰⁴
The purpose of the “reflective perception,” according to Shao Yong,
was not to satisfy the curiosity to see the world in its totality, but to
make one a better person in life. With a broad perspective, the person
would be a better husband to his wife, a better father to his son, and a
better official to his emperor.¹⁰⁵ The person would be better prepared
to understand the fine points in such Confucian classics as the Yijing,
the Shijing, the Shujing, and the Chunqiu.¹⁰⁶ For Shao Yong, these
social, political, and moral implications of his “reflective perception”
had already been implied in the first paragraph of the Shuogua, which
suggested in its second to the last line that the goal of reversion was to
“find peace and harmony in moral behavior and righteousness.” And to
make certain that no one would misunderstand the goal of “reflective
perception,” Shao Yong’s son, Shao Bowen, made this comment:
All human beings are born from the same Heaven and Earth. From
me to others, and from others to things, all originate from the same
Way. Therefore, the sage completes his nature to complete the nature
of others, and completes the nature of others to complete the nature
of things. [So the sage] takes care of his parents to prepare for prac-
ticing kindness to the people, and practices kindness to the people
to prepare for loving all things on earth. From loving one’s parents
to loving others’ parents, from loving one’s children to loving others’
children, it is the same state of mind being applied to seeking benefits
and avoiding harm. From me to others, and from others to all things
on earth, there is no difference.¹⁰⁷
What Shao Bowen said about his father’s “reflective perception” re-
minds us of Zhang Zai’s essay “Western Inscription” and his com-
mentaries on the hexagrams “Daxu” and “Gen.” Both Shao Yong and
Zhang Zai, as Ann Birdwhistell points out, shared the same interest
in merging “the self with the whole, so that there is no consciousness
of self and other.”¹⁰⁸ Both of them, in response to the problems of the
mid-Northern Song, thought that to be “a king outwardly,” one had
first to be “a sage inwardly.” Contrary to Sima Guang, they saw the
need to reform civil governance by expanding its scope and directing
attention to moral metaphysics.
5
Coming to Terms with Factional Politics:
The Yijing of Cheng Yi and Su Shi
To advance, the great men have to group together. It is not merely

for the sake of their shared view or their common predisposition,
but also for helping one another. Therefore, whether a great man
or a petty person, one cannot stand still. He must find companions
and seek the assistance from his own kind.
—Cheng Yi, Yichuan yizhuan
I n 076, a year before Zhang Zai’s death, Wang Anshi stepped down
as the Grand Councilor of the Council of State. He left the capital
Kaifeng for good to spend his retirement in Nanjing. Although he was
out of power, his influence in the government remained strong. His
supporters continued to carry out his reforms over the next nine years
until the death of Emperor Shenzong in 085. For seventeen years after
068, Wang’s “New Policies” dominated the political discussion of the
mid-Northern Song. For better or worse, the New Policies brought
drastic changes to the bureaucracy, military, economy, and government
finance. They brought aggressive military actions against the Khitan
Liao and the Jurchen Xixia,¹ strengthened the power of the officials
to intervene in trade and economic development,² and increased the
state revenue at the expense of the interests of large land-holding
families.³ As a result, the New Policies built an activist government
that was remarkably different from the limited government of the early
Northern Song. Considering the scope of Wang’s reform, the length of
time of its implementation, and its broad impact on the Song dynasty,
James T. C. Liu is right to call it “the major reform” vis-à-vis “the minor
reform” of Fan Zhongyan.⁴
If one looks at what happened to the Northern Song after Wang’s
death in 086, there is another reason to call his New Policies the
0
Coming to Terms with Factional Politics 
major reform. Beyond his grave, Wang continued to shape the gov-
ernment and politics from the 080s to the 20s, the period of late
Northern Song. Despite many attempts, both the emperors and civil
bureaucrats could not make up their minds whether to continue
Wang’s reforms or to return to the old ways prior to Wang. First,
immediately following his death, Sima Guang discontinued the New
Policies. During the “Yuanyou transformation” (086–094), backed
by the regent Empress Gao (032–093), Sima and his supporters re-
instated many policies that had been in effect prior to the Shenzong
period.⁵ Then, when the young and aggressive Emperor Zhezong
took power in 094, he continued Wang’s New Policies in the name
of “carrying on a task started by one’s father” (shaoshu). By reinstating
Wang’s New Policies, Emperor Zhezong saw himself as continuing
the mission of his father, Shenzong, to build an activist government.⁶
Following the death of Zhezong in 00, a second round of restoring
the pre-Shenzong policies appeared when three empresses ruled the
country as regents. Then, when the young Emperor Huizong took
control of the government in 02, he once again reinstated Wang’s
New Policies. For the rest of his reign, more than twenty years, Em-
peror Zhezong appointed supporters of Wang’s reforms to lead the
government.⁷
This back-and-forth swing in government policy not only brought
instability to the late Northern Song government but also split the
civil bureaucrats into a proreform group (xin dang) and an antireform
group (jiu dang). Each time the government changed its position on
Wang’s reform, the two groups of civil bureaucrats became more
hostile to each other. A prime example of this rising hostility be-
tween the two groups was the reformer Cai Jing’s (047–26) deci-
sion to take revenge against the antireform officials. In 02, with
Emperor Huizong’s approval, he carved the names of 9 antireform
officials on a stone tablet in front of the entrance to the imperial
palace. Those whose names appeared on the stone tablet were labeled
as “members of a faction” (dang ren), regardless of whether they
were alive or dead. Those who were alive, they found their writings
burned, their ranks demoted, their jobs reassigned to remote areas,
and their relatives’ chances of entering government diminished. For
those already dead, their descendents were not allowed to marry mem-
bers of the imperial family, and they had little chance of entering the
government.⁸
2 The Yijing and Chinese Politics
Controversy on the Yichuan yizhuan
A victim of Cai Jing’s revenge was Cheng Yi. His name appeared at
the bottom of the stone tablet, following such luminaries as Sima
Guang, Lü Gongzhu (08–089), Wen Yanbo (005–097), Lü Dafang
(027–097), Fan Chunren (027–0), Su Zhe (039–2), Su Shi,
Qin Guan (049–00), and Huang Tingjian (045–05).⁹ Like others
whose names were carved on the stone tablet, Cheng Yi received severe
punishment. Earlier he had been banished to Sichuan because of his
association with the antireform leaders Sima Guang and Lü Gongzhu;
now he was told that his previous writings were banned because they
were “deceptive and misleading to readers now and in the future.”¹⁰ To
make certain that none of his current writings would be disseminated
publicly, the local officials were instructed to monitor his activities, and
he was not allowed to put his name on any of his current writings.¹¹
These punishments were devastating to Cheng Yi, because they in effect
brought an end to his earlier hope of participating in government as a
Confucian teacher. At this dark moment of his life, he completed his
commentary on the Yijing, the Yichuan yizhuan (A Commentary on
the Yi [by a reader] from Yi River).¹²
Although there has been little disagreement among scholars
about Cheng Yi’s role in founding the Cheng-Zhu school of Daoxue,
his Yichuan yizhuan has always been surrounded by controversy. The
controversies, surprisingly, began with Zhu Xi, the major annotator
of Cheng Yi’s works and the conventionally accepted cofounder of the
Cheng-Zhu school. Despite the critical acclaim of Yichuan yizhuan
after Cheng Yi’s death, Zhu Xi criticized him for restricting the Yijing
to human affairs and thereby distorting the original meaning of the
text.¹³ To drive home his point, Zhu Xi urged his students to read
other texts, like the Great Learning, the Doctrine of the Mean, and
the Book of Poetry (Shijing), before reading the Yichuan yizhuan.¹⁴
During the Ming and Qing periods, despite being part of the official
commentary on the Yijing, the Yichuan yizhuan was again the center
of debate. This time it was no longer Cheng Yi’s interpretation of the
Yijing that was in question, but the authenticity of two pieces of his
writings: a preface to the Yichuan yizhuan (yixu), and an essay on the
meanings of dividing the Yijing into two halves (shangxia pianyi). The
debate arose from the apparent discrepancies between the two works
and the rest of Cheng Yi’s Yijing commentary. In the debate, the works
were attributed to various writers including Zhu Xi.¹⁵
Coming to Terms with Factional Politics 3
In contemporary Yijing scholarship, views on the Yichuan yizhuan

have become even more diverse. There are, at least, three interpreta-
tions. The first one, advocated by Lin Yisheng, stresses that the Yichuan
yizhuan is an ethical reading of the Yijing. Because of this, the com-
mentary should be considered the prime Confucian rendition of the
classic.¹⁶ The second interpretation, advanced by Qiu Hanshang, argues
that the Yichuan yizhuan is primarily a metaphysical writing focused on
the Principle (li) of the universe. Although there may be discussions of
moral cultivation in the commentary, Qiu sees them as merely exten-
sions from Cheng Yi’s fundamental concern with metaphysics.¹⁷ The
third interpretation, proclaimed by Kidder Smith, is intended to be a
compromise between the first two views. Smith argues that the first
two views are complementary because the Principle of the universe
is a unity of differences (li yi fen shu).¹⁸ To explain how the Principle
can be transcendent and immanent, unitary and differentiated, at the
same time, Smith compares it to a human cell. He says, “Think of the
way in which the complete human genetic code or pattern is present
in every cell of our bodies, even though the genetic makeup of that
cell determines that it will be a liver or blood or nerve cell in form
and function. Then imagine this relationship obtaining between all
things, which make up one body with heaven and earth. Finally, note
that heaven is itself just the pattern, so there is no separate repository
where li could reside apart from all things.”¹⁹
While this debate over the true nature of Cheng Yi’s commentary
is thought provoking, it is important to take into consideration its
historical context—that is, civil governance during the late Northern
Song. Living in a time when partisan factionalism was at its peak,
Cheng Yi witnessed the horrors of two groups of civil bureaucrats at-
tempting to destroy each other. Being a victim of Cai Jing’s revenge, he
faced the unwelcoming consequences when the majority of the civil
bureaucrats were consumed in factional politics, devoting their energies
not to ruling the empire but to expunging their opponents from the
government. In this chapter, I will examine Cheng Yi’s commentary
in the context of late Northern Song factionalism. I will show that the
commentary was not merely another reading of the Yijing, but also a
testimony of late Northern Song politics and an attempt to redefine
the role of the educated elite in an age of factionalism. To demonstrate
Cheng Yi’s uniqueness as an Yijing exegete, at the end of the chapter I
will compare his commentary with that of Su Shi, his archrival within
the antireform group.
Cheng Yi: The Man
Like Zhang Zai, Cheng Yi was born to a declining scholar-gentry family.

When Cheng Yi was born in 033, his family, based in Luoyang, had
already lost its fortune as one of the early supporters of the Song impe-
rial court. Although Cheng Yi’s father, Cheng Xiang (005–090), was
able to attain several central and provincial posts through the system
of patronage, the Cheng family was no longer as influential as it had
been at the beginning of the Song Dynasty.²⁰ His father’s frustration
and disillusionment with the diminishing fortunes of his family must
have left a strong impression on the young Cheng Yi’s mind. In his
writings, there are two undated letters that he wrote for his father, who
wanted to comfort a friend recently reassigned to a minor post in a
remote area. In these two letters, assuming the voice of his father, the
young Cheng Yi told the distressed official not to be discouraged by
the bleak prospect of having a minor post, but to take the challenge to
be an effective official in the remote area.²¹ As a young man, Cheng Yi
saw his father and his friends struggling to give meaning to their lives
after their dreams of “coruling the empire with the emperor” had been
shattered. From his father’s experience, he learned how disheartening
it could be when idealism was tempered by harsh reality.
At the age of fourteen, around 047, Cheng Yi was sent, along
with his elder brother Cheng Hao, to study with Zhou Dunyi.²² Con-
sidered by later scholars as a pioneer of Cheng-Zhu school of Daoxue,
Zhou authored two influential writings on the Yijing—Taiji tushuo
(An Explanation of the Diagram of the Great Ultimate) and Yi tongshu
(Penetrating the Book of Changes). Possibly, Cheng Yi learned to read
the Yijing at this time. As Zhou’s students, the two Cheng brothers
were asked to find out what Confucius and Yan Hui loved to learn.
According to Zhou, Confucius’s favorite student Yan Hui had shown
the possibility for embodying the universe by recovering one’s innate
human goodness.²³
Unlike his older brother Cheng Hao, who earned a government
post by passing the civil service examinations, Cheng Yi did not pass
the palace examination (dian shi). At one point, in 056, Cheng Yi
took extra effort to prepare for the examinations by enrolling in the
Imperial Academy to study with Hu Yuan. It was during this time that
Cheng Yi won Hu Yuan’s admiration with his essay “A treatise on what
Yanzi loved to learn.”²⁴ In that essay, Cheng Yi argued that the search
for Yan Hui’s joy is tantamount to recovering one’s roots in this uni-
verse and a sense of being connected to all beings in this universe.²⁵

Unfortunately, due to an unexpected cut in the number of successful
candidates in 059, Cheng Yi failed in the palace examination, which
was pro forma under usual circumstances.²⁶
Although Cheng Yi was not successful in the civil service exami-
nations, he earned his fame by lecturing on the Confucian classics.
For instance, when Cheng Yi was at the Imperial Academy, he and
his brother impressed their uncle Zhang Zai with their thoughtful
readings of the Yijing. According to some accounts, Zhang Zai was so
overwhelmed by the two Cheng brothers that he asked his students to
study with them.²⁷ Being an expert in the Confucian classics, Cheng Yi
was particularly popular among a group of senior scholar-officials such
as Lü Gongzhu, Wen Yanbo, Han Qi (008–075) and Sima Guang,
who were the leaders of the “antireform group” in opposing Wang
Anshi’s reforms. When these officials were in power, many times they
recommended Cheng Yi to serve in the court. Probably still holding
hopes of passing the examinations, Cheng Yi used various excuses
to reject their recommendations and contented himself with being a
private scholar.²⁸
In 086, during the “Yuanyou transformation,” Cheng Yi finally
had the chance to serve in the imperial court. At the age of fifty-three,
he accepted the regent Empress Gao’s offer to teach Confucian clas-
sics to the teenage emperor Zhezong. As part of the attempt of Sima
Guang and Lü Gongzhu to undo Wang Anshi’s New Policies, Cheng
Yi’s duty was to shape the future ruler’s view on governing, so that he
would govern the empire based on the principles and policies of the
pre-Shenzong era. During his tenure as the imperial teacher, Cheng
Yi earned fame as a stern moralist. For example, he admonished the
young emperor for breaking willow branches and for banqueting
while still in mourning.²⁹ At court, Cheng Yi’s strict conformity to
moral precepts won him both friends and foes. While veteran states-
men like Wen Yanbo and Lü Gongzhu admired his uprightness, his
contemporaries (particularly young members of the proreform group)
hated his arrogance. In 090, when his father passed away, Cheng Yi
left the imperial court amid controversy.³⁰
In 093, when the proreform faction regained prominence in
the Zhezong court, Cheng Yi and other members of the antireform
group were blacklisted. Imperial edicts were issued in 097 to destroy
all of Cheng Yi’s writings and to banish him to Fuzhou, present day
Fuling county in Sichuan province.³¹ It was during his banishment in
Sichuan that Cheng Yi wrote the Yichuan yizhuan. In 099, Cheng Yi

completed the first draft of the commentary and wrote a preface to it.³²
This 099 preface is commonly known as the “Yizhuan xu” (Preface
to the Commentary on the Book of Changes), as distinguished from
another preface, the Yixu (Preface to the Changes), whose authorship
is questionable.³³
During his final eight years of life, Cheng Yi continued to improve
on his Yijing commentary. Considering it as his major writing, he
treated his Yijing commentary with utmost care, seldom showing it to
his friends and students.³⁴ Nevertheless, as part of his punishment for
being a “member of a faction,” he had to submit all of his current writ-
ings, including his Yijing commentary, to local officials for approval.³⁵
Although the antireform group briefly gained favor in 06, Cheng Yi
was already too ill to serve in the government. He died in the follow-
ing year when the proreform group was preparing yet another round
of persecution against the antireform group.³⁶ Fearing revenge from
the proreform group, few of Cheng Yi’s relatives and friends attended
his funeral. According to Zhu Xi, only five brave souls (including one
arriving after dark) came to pay their last respects.³⁷ In life and in
death, Cheng Yi was haunted by factional politics.
Yijing and Moral Metaphysics
Long before Cheng Yi began writing a commentary to the Yijing, he

wrote an essay, “A treatise on what Yanzi loved to learn,” which won him
Hu Yuan’s admiration.³⁸ Addressing the issue of human propensity for
evil, Cheng Yi distinguishes human nature before birth (xiantian) from
human nature after birth (houtian). While the human nature before
birth is innately good as Mencius had argued, Cheng Yi stresses that
the human nature after birth is contingent upon one’s social environ-
ment and one’s efforts at moral cultivation. If the social environment
is conducive to nurturing human innate goodness and adequate ef-
forts have been made to preserve the originally good human nature,
then the originally good human nature will be fully developed. Cheng
Yi calls this situation “turning the feelings into the original nature”
(xing qi qing). Conversely, if the social environment is harmful and
inadequate efforts have been made to preserve the originally good
human nature, then the originally good human nature will not func-
tion properly. Cheng Yi calls this situation “turning one’s nature into
feelings” (qing qi xing).³⁹
Due to this precariousness in manifesting one’s originally good

human nature, Cheng Yi considers moral cultivation a dual process.
Inwardly, it should be a “rectification of the mind” (zheng qi xin) to
activate the originally good human nature. Outwardly, it should be a
“nourishment of one’s nature” (yang qi xing) to create a healthy exter-
nal environment for the originally good human nature to flourish.⁴⁰
Probably still shaped by his early schooling with Zhou Dunyi, Cheng
Yi regards Confucius’s favorite student Yan Hui as the prime example
of this dual process of inward awakening and outward nourishment.
For him, Yan Hui’s joy in his brief and strenuous life derived from
his moral cultivation, which included both internally a “firm faith
in the Way” and externally a determination to practice a series of
proper behaviors.⁴¹
In many respects, Cheng Yi’s “A treatise on what Yanzi loved
to learn” resembles Zhang Zai’s “Western Inscription.” Both authors
assert that learned persons should be the “guardians of the universe,”
forming one body with the universe by preserving their innate good
nature. Also, both authors argue that learned persons are not merely
civil bureaucrats, but also moral leaders whose duty is to shape moral
values and social practices. With so many common points of interest
between the two authors, it is not surprising that their Yijing com-
mentaries were similar, particularly with respect to using the clas-
sic to discuss moral metaphysics. Take, for instance, the hexagram
“Daxu” (The Taming Power of the Great, #26). As discussed in the last
chapter, Zhang Zai read the hexagram as a discussion of controlling
the wandering mind. For him, moral cultivation begins with train-
ing the mind to focus on one thing at a time, and then sharing one’s
moral virtue with others by serving the human community. Similarly,
Cheng Yi read “Daxu” as advice to perfect oneself morally. The main
thrust of Cheng Yi’s commentary centered on the hexagram state-
ment which refers to good fortune in traveling overseas and not eating
at home.⁴²
For someone who perfects himself in learning, he saves a great deal
when he is filled with virtue in his body. . . . Since he is filled with
virtue in his body, it is pertinent for him to assume high position and
to enjoy heavenly rank. He must contribute by serving the world. If
so, it is not only a blessing to him but also a blessing to the world.
If he remains idle and supports himself at home, then the Way is
stagnant. Hence, [the hexagram statement says that] good fortune
will come when “[one is] not eating at home.” When one has saved
a great deal, then it is pertinent for him to apply [his virtue] to his
times and to help resolve problems and dangers of the world. This is
the purpose of saving a great deal. Hence, [the hexagram statement
says:] “It furthers one to cross the great water.”⁴³
By taking “Daxu” to mean “saving a great deal” rather than “the taming
power of the great,” Cheng Yi emphasizes the link between moral
cultivation and sharing one’s moral achievement with others. Like
Zhang Zai, Cheng Yi sees moral cultivation as a process. It begins as
a solitary quest in stilling the wandering mind, and then it ends as a
communal enterprise to transform human life and the universe as a
whole. To be a moral person, Cheng Yi suggests, one has to be “a sage
inwardly” and “a king outwardly.”
This similarity between Zhang Zai and Cheng Yi regarding moral
cultivation is more pronounced in their comments on “Dazhuang” (The
Power of the Great, #34). As discussed in the last chapter, Zhang Zai
interpreted the hexagram as a discussion of determination. He equated
the power of the great to the power of a determined mind in resisting
food and drink offered in an improper manner. In a similar fashion,
Cheng Yi defined “Dazhuang” as “great and strong,” meaning the de-
termination of a superior man in perfecting himself. He wrote:
An ancient saying tells us: “To be strong means winning over oneself.”
In [chapter 0 of ] the Doctrine of the Mean, [a superior man who]
“maintains harmony without wavering” and “stands in the middle
position without leaning to one side” is hailed as “How unflinch-
ing is his strength!” Going through hot water and burning flame,
and breaking through white swords, someone achieves these with
a warrior’s strength. As for “overcoming oneself and returning to
the observance of the rites” [as stated in Analects 2.], they cannot
be done without the great strength of a superior man. Hence, [the
hexagram statement says:] “Thus the superior man does not tread
upon paths that do not accord with established order.”⁴⁴
Here, Cheng Yi stresses the importance of training one’s mind inwardly
and committing to social practices outwardly. He highlights the need
for balancing the inner and the outer by derogatorily comparing the
strength of a warrior to the strength of a superior man. Despite his show
of force, the warrior is weak because of his lack of rational calculation
in employing his power. The strength of a superior man, in contrast,
is generated from within and extended to without. It builds upon a
perfect match of one’s personal demands and one’s social obligations.
By restraining himself, the superior man does not allow his desires to
overwhelm him; by observing rites, he balances his personal interests
with his duties to society.
Based on this notion of balancing the inner and the outer—and by
extension, balancing “a sage inwardly” and “a king outwardly”—Cheng
Yi gave a new reading to the fifth line of “Dazhuang.” The line statement
refers to someone feeling at ease in losing some goats,⁴⁵ and Cheng
Yi’s comment focuses on why the person is contented with losing
his property:
Goats advance in groups, and they like to gore with their horns. This
is why they are used to symbolize the advance of the yang lines [in
“Dazhuan”]. The four yang [lines] strengthen themselves and advance
together. If line five, a yin [line] in high position, resists [the four
advancing yang lines] with force, then it can hardly win and will have
remorse. The only option [that line five has] is to harmonize and to
be at ease with [the four yang lines]. By so doing, the yang lines will
not use their force. For this reason, [line five] has to neutralize the
strength [of the four yang lines] with harmony and ease.⁴⁶
Before Cheng Yi’s time, the “ease” in line five of “Dazhuang” had long
been a subject of controversy among Yijing scholars. Virtually each
commentator had his own definition of the word. For Wang Bi, the
situation called for line five, a yin line, to control its temper to “go
easy” with the advancing team of yang lines.⁴⁷ For Kong Yingda, “ease”
referred to a time of peace and rest, indicating the best possible time
for line five to make peace with the four advancing yang lines.⁴⁸ For Hu
Yuan, the word meant a place of no significance where the arrogant
line five mistakenly lost his goats.⁴⁹ By taking “ease” to mean at ease,
Cheng Yi distinguished himself from previous commentators by un-
derscoring the necessity to balance one’s personal interests with one’s
social obligations. For him, the only way for the fifth yin to avoid a
humiliating confrontation with the four advancing yang lines is to make
peace with them. On the surface, the fifth line seems to compromise
his esteemed position by assisting rather than forestalling the advance
of the four yang lines. Nevertheless, given the fact that the four yang
lines are determined to advance at all costs like an army of goats, there
is no way for the fifth line to stop them from moving forward. By going
along with the yang lines, the fifth line not only makes the best out of
an adverse situation, but also demonstrates the wisdom of being at
peace with one’s fate.
In the last chapter, we have discussed Zhang Zai’s commentary

on the Tuan statement of the hexagram “Fu” (Return, #24)—“In ‘Fu’
one sees the Mind of Heaven and Earth.” He took the Tuan statement
to mean that even at the split moment when one round of movement
in the universe has been over and the other round is yet to occur, the
universe is still in motion. To highlight his point, he called that split
moment the “movement in tranquility” (jing zhong zhi dong). Turning
to Cheng Yi, we find a similar interpretation. He also interpreted the
Tuan statement as a description of a dynamic universe. He wrote:
The movement of heaven and earth is like this: it always returns to
its beginning when it reaches its end, it often grows and decays, and
it takes seven days to return to its beginning. It is in accordance to
the Principle of Heaven that growth and decay generate each other.
When the muscular and firm way of a superior man is growing,
it furthers one if he has somewhere to go. A yang returning from
below [in “Fu”] symbolizes the Heart of Heaven and Earth in giving
birth to things. Scholars in the past usually took tranquility as the
manifestation of the Heart of Heaven and Earth. They did not know
that the beginning of motion is the Heart of Heaven and Earth. For
those who do not know the Way, they will never understand it.⁵⁰
Like Zhang Zai, Cheng Yi directs his comment at previous exegetes,

such as Wang Bi and Kong Yingda, who used “Fu” to support their
call for reversing from you to wu. For them, the only way to escape
from the confusion in life is to see the world from the perspective of
the universe, which is orderly, tranquil, and balanced. To Cheng Yi,
however, the universe is a constant process of growth and decay, of
coming and going. When he argues that the Heart of Heaven and Earth
is movement, he does not preclude tranquility as a characteristic of
nature. After all, in the universe’s self-regeneration, every moment
of movement is followed by a moment of tranquility, similar to the
waxing and waning of the moon. But by emphasizing that the nature
of the universe is movement, Cheng Yi highlights human activism
as the core of morality. For him, man is always active because he
has an external environment with which to deal. Thus, the constant
movement of the universe has to manifest itself in human beings’
incessant effort to balance their personal interests with the needs of
their surroundings.⁵¹
Also like Zhang Zai, Cheng Yi believed that being moral meant
one actively and existentially became part of the flow of the universe.
Coming to Terms with Factional Politics 2
In the hexagram “Xian” (Reciprocity, #3), he found a succinct sum-

mary of moral metaphysics. On the fourth line, which refers to an
agitated mind being disturbed by unsettled surroundings, Cheng Yi’s
commentary reads:
Human beings take action due to feelings (gan). Hence, “Xian” takes
on images of the human body to illustrate its point. [In line one,] the
big toe is used to indicate the slight movement from the bottom. [In
line two,] the calves of the legs are used to indicate early movement.
[In line three,] the thighs are used to indicate to follow. In line four,
no bodily image is used and it speaks directly about the Way of feel-
ing. It does not say feeling in the heart, because feeling implies [that
it is a function of the] heart. . . . Each feeling requires a response.
A response will trigger another feeling. And hence, [feelings and
responses] constantly produce one another. . . .⁵²
For Zhang Zai, as discussed in the last chapter, calming the agitated
mind of “Xian” means achieving spiritual tranquility by sheltering
one from human affairs. By concentrating our mind on the yin-yang
interaction in nature, Zhang Zai suggested, we will remove ourselves
from the interruptions of human affairs and attain a power to see
through things. Turning to Cheng Yi’s commentary, we find a slightly
different rendition of the hexagram line. Cheng’s emphasis is less on
calming the agitated mind than on taking action driven by a sense of
feeling connected with the universe. But his main argument is the
same as Zhang Zai. For both of them, the goal of moral cultivation is
to develop a feeling of being connected with the universe and a com-
mitment to serve the public.
Sixty-four Hexagrams as a Continuous Process
Despite their similarity in interpreting the Yijing from the perspective of

moral metaphysics, Cheng Yi and Zhang Zai focused on different parts
of the classic in their commentaries. First, while Zhang Zai focused
on the Xici and was brief on the sixty-four hexagrams, Cheng Yi did
the exact opposite. He was lengthy in commenting on the sixty-four
hexagrams and wrote little on the Xici. Treating the Xici as if it were
self-explanatory, Cheng Yi refrained from making any comment on it.
What he wrote about the Xici was a short essay entitled “Xici.”⁵³ But
even in that short essay, his goal was more to summarize the text than
to offer an analysis of it. Keeping in mind the fact that Cheng Yi spent
the last eight years of his life improving on his Yijing commentary, it
is apparent that the brevity in his commentary on the Xici was due to
his deliberate decision, not because of a lack of time.
More importantly, while Zhang Zai focused on the Xici, Cheng Yi
paid special attention to another part of the Ten Wings—the Xugua.
An essay explaining the meaning of the sequence of the sixty-four
hexagrams, the Xugua usually appears as an appendix to the Yijing.
For instance, in Kong Yingda’s Zhouyi zhengyi, the Xuga was placed
after the sixty-four hexagrams, along with the Xici and the Zagua
(Miscellany on the Hexagrams). Such an arrangement was meant to
tell the Yijing readers that the Xugua was a supplement to the classic
(like the Xici and the Zagua), and readers should focus their atten-
tion on the sixty-four hexagrams. In the Hengqu yishuo, Zhang Zai
followed Kong Yingda’s arrangement of the Yijing text and left the
Xugua outside of the sixty-four hexagrams.⁵⁴ Cheng Yi, by contrast,
broke the rules set down by Kong Yingda. He incorporated the Xugua
into the main text of the Yijing by interjecting the Xugua statements
into his commentary on the sixty-four hexagrams. Hence, the Xugua
comment on hexagram “Tun” (Difficulty at the Beginning, #3) appears
at the beginning of “Tun”; the Xugua comment on hexagram “Meng”
(Youthful Folly, #4) appears at the beginning of “Meng,” and so on.
The editors of the Siku quanshu may be right in suggesting that
Cheng Yi was inspired by the Tang exegete Li Dingzuo in incorporat-
ing the Xugua into the Yijing.⁵⁵ Or perhaps Cheng Yi learned it from
his teacher Hu Yuan, because in the Zhouyi kouyi Hu had already
integrated the Xugua comments into his commentary on the sixty-
four hexagrams. Regardless of where Cheng Yi got the idea, the key
point is that by incorporating the Xugua comments into the sixty-four
hexagrams, he looked at the hexagrams as a continuous process of
generation and regeneration, in which one part produces another part.
Furthermore, unlike Hu Yuan, who interjected the Xugua statements
into his commentary without elaboration, Cheng Yi took pains to ex-
plain how a hexagram arises from its preceding hexagram, and how
it helps to create the following hexagram. Thus, he saw the sixty-four
hexagrams as a single system in which every part is a factor.
Take, for example, the hexagram “Tun” (Difficulty at the Begin-
ning, #3). Cheng Yi begins his commentary on “Tun” by quoting the
Xugua statement: “Myriad beings are born after Heaven and Earth
have come into existence. These myriad beings fill the space between
Heaven and Earth, and hence there follows the hexagram ‘Tun.’”⁵⁶
Coming to Terms with Factional Politics 23
Then, elaborating on the Xugua statement, he explains that the diffi-

culty in “Tun” is a result of the initial interaction between Heaven and
Earth, namely, the mixing of the yin and the yang forces symbolized
by the joining of hexagrams “Qian” (The Creative, #) and “Kun” (The
Receptive, #2). Hence, for him, it is natural for “Tun” to follow “Qian”
and “Kun,” because it symbolizes a confusing and yet promising situ-
ation when the interaction of Heaven and Earth has just taken place.⁵⁷
However, in its attempt to resolve the difficulty in the interaction of
Heaven and Earth, “Tun” creates a new set of problems—how to attend
to those newly created myriad beings. For this reason, Cheng Yi finds
it not surprising that “Tun” has to give rise to “Meng” (Youthful Folly,
#4), a group of youngsters looking for guidance.⁵⁸ To drive home his
point, Cheng Yi opens his commentary on “Meng” with a quotation
from the Xugua: “‘Tun’ means plentitude. It also means things have
just been born. Things are obscure when they have just been born;
hence there follows the hexagram ‘Meng.’”⁵⁹ In this manner, by quoting
from and elaborating on the Xugua, Cheng Yi shows that the sixty-four
hexagrams are one continuous process that reproduces itself.
As an allegory of the dynamic universe, this continuous process
of generation and regeneration of hexagrams does not end with the
last hexagram of the Yijing, “Weiji” (Incompletion, #64). In chapters
2 and 3, we have seen respectively how Wang Bi and Hu Yuan inter-
preted “Weiji” as a better ending of the Yijing than “Jiji” (Completion,
#63). The two exegetes argued that since “Weiji” is not as perfect a
hexagram as “Jiji,” it cautions the Yijing readers about the dangers of
being complacent. In Cheng Yi’s commentary on “Weiji,” we find a
different reading. He begins his commentary with a quotation from
the Xugua: “Things cannot exhaust themselves; hence there follows,
at the end, the hexagram ‘Weiji.’ ”⁶⁰ Elaborating on this Xugua line, he
stresses that the entire text of the Yijing is about the “continuous pro-
cess of change” (bianyi er buqiong) in this universe.⁶¹ Then, he argues
that although a perfect hexagram, “Jiji” symbolizes the exhaustion of
things because of its lack of room for further improvement. On the
contrary, in Cheng Yi’s view, “Weiji” is a more desirable hexagram for
two reasons. First, with its imperfect hexagram image and inauspicious
line statements, it refers to a situation where drastic transformation is
absolutely necessary. Instead of stagnation (as in “Jiji”), “Weiji” points
to the will to change and the need for aggressive action. Second, de-
spite its location at the end of the Yijing, “Weiji” is the best hexagram
to represent the entire classic. Rather than signifying the end of the
Yijing, it symbolizes, according to Cheng Yi, the continuous process

of generation and regeneration in the universe.⁶²
Battle between the Great Men and the Petty People
At first glance, it appears that there is nothing new in Cheng Yi’s

incorporation of the Xugua into the sixty-four hexagrams. First, for
centuries before Cheng Yi, Yijing exegetes had known of the Xugua
argument that the sixty-four hexagrams are one continuous process.
Whether or not the exegetes incorporated the Xugua into the sixty-four
hexagrams, they knew that the sequence of the sixty-four hexagrams
was not random. Second, as mentioned in chapter 2, in his essay “Ming
Tuan” Wang Bi calls upon his third-century readers to look for one
coherent meaning behind the sixty-four hexagrams. He tells them:
“Things do not err; they always follow a pattern. They are united with
their same source, and are grouped together with their same origin.”⁶³
Although he does not specifically mention the Xugua, he makes clear
that the task for an Yijing exegete is to find out the one thread that
connects the sixty-four hexagrams.
Conventional as it might seem, in one particular area Cheng
Yi’s incorporation of the Xugua into the sixty-four hexagrams was
significant to his eleventh-century readers. By interjecting the Xugua
statements into the sixty-four hexagrams, Cheng Yi presented the Yijing
as a narrative of an incessant battle between the “great men” (junzi)
and the “petty people” (xiaoren). For him, the sixty-four hexagrams
symbolized not only the continuous process of generation and regen-
eration of the universe, but also the continuous tug-of-war between
two groups of officials in the imperial court. For him, the shifting
balance of the yin and the yang in each hexagram represented the
shifting balance of power of good officials (yang) and bad officials (yin)
in government. In some hexagrams the good officials held the upper
hand, and in other hexagrams the bad officials were in control. For
him, like the self-regeneration of the universe, the struggle between
the great men and the petty people would continue forever as part of
the human quest for a perfect government.
For instance, in commenting on the hexagrams “Tai” (Peace,
#) and “Pi” (Stagnation, #2), Cheng Yi describes this constant battle
between the great men and the petty people. In terms of the configura-
tions of hexagram lines, the two hexagrams are completely reversed.
Whereas “Tai” consists of three yin (broken) lines at the top and three
yang (straight) lines at the bottom, “Pi” has three yang lines at the top
and three yin lines at the bottom. In the Yijing parlance, “Tai” is said
to have a “Kun” (all yin) upper trigram and a “Qian” (all yang) lower
trigram, and “Pi” a “Qian” upper trigram and a “Kun” lower trigram.
In his commentary, Cheng Yi highlights this reversed yin-yang balance
of force, and explains its implication on the balance of power between
the great men and the petty people. For example, in commenting on
the Tuan statement of “Tai,” which refers to the departure of the small
and the arrival of the great, Cheng Yi begins with a meditation on its
cosmological meaning.
“The small” refers to the yin, and “the great” the yang. “Depart” means
departing to the upper trigram. “Approach” means approaching to
the lower trigram. [“Tai” symbolizes] the yang force descending [to
the lower trigram] and the yin force ascending [to the upper trigram].
When the interaction of the yin and the yang is harmonious and
smooth, then the myriad things grow and boom. There is peace in
Heaven and Earth.⁶⁴
Having explained the cosmological meaning of “Tai,” Cheng Yi imme-

diately turns to its political meaning. He takes the yang as a symbol
of the great men, and the yin the petty people. Equating the yin-yang
balance with the balance of power in government, he reads “Tai” as a
situation where the great men are in power. He writes:
Speaking in terms of human affairs, “the great” means emperor, and
“the small” officials. With trust, the emperor appoints the officials
to duties; with their utmost sincerity, the officials serve their ruler.
When ruler and officials freely share their views, there is peace in the
imperial court. The yang means great men, and the yin petty people.
When the great men approach and take up position inside [the gov-
ernment], and when the petty people depart and take up position
outside [the government], the great men are in power and the petty
people are under control. There is peace in Heaven and Earth.⁶⁵
For Cheng Yi, “Tai” is indeed an inviting situation, well deserved to be

described as “peace in the imperial court” and “peace in heaven and
earth.” The reason for the joy and jubilation is that the government is
in the hands of the great men. Located in the lower trigram (represent-
ing the political center of the government), the great men (yang) keep
the petty people (yin) out of the government. Confined to the upper
trigram (representing the periphery of politics), the petty people (yin)
are going to have limited impact on the government.
Desirable as it is, the “peace in imperial court” in “Tai” does not

last long. On the one hand, the great men cannot be in power all the
time, and on the other, the petty people will not be happy about being
on the periphery of politics forever. Hence, after a while, “Tai” turns
into “Pi” as the balance of power shifts. In “Pi,” the petty people (yin)
control the government (the lower trigram) and push the great men
(yang) to the fringes of politics (the upper trigram). To highlight this
change in the balance of power, Cheng Yi’s commentary reads:
The yin and the soft occupy the lower trigram, and the yang and
the strong settle in the upper trigram. The great men leave and take
position outside [the government], and the petty people come and
take position inside [the government]. This is a time when the petty
people are in power, and the great men are in retreat.⁶⁶
For Cheng Yi, “Pi” is worrisome. In “Pi,” there is no movement, no

action, and no progress in the government. With the petty people in
power and the great men out of favor, the government is in shambles.
For this reason, to Cheng Yi, the biggest problem of “Pi” is not the lack
of interaction between the yin and the yang; rather, it is “missing the
proper way of ruling the country” (tianxia wu bangguo zhidao).⁶⁷
In the early Northern Song, the civil officials frequently invoked
“Tai” and “Pi” to discuss their ruling of the empire with the emperor.
For instance, during Taizong’s reign, the Grand Councilor Song Qi
(998–06) used the two hexagrams to demonstrate to the emperor
the importance of forming a close ruler-official partnership.⁶⁸ He
argued that hexagrams “Pi” and “Tai” represent two opposite situa-
tions. Whereas hexagram “Pi”—with a “Qian” trigram at the top and a
“Kun” trigram at the bottom—refers to a situation where the material
forces of Heaven and Earth do not mix, hexagram “Tai” suggests the
opposite. With a “Kun” trigram at the top and a “Qian” trigram at the
bottom, “Tai” refers to a situation where the material forces of Heaven
and Earth are intermixed, and hence serves as a symbol of the close
partnership between the ruler (Heaven) and the officials (Earth). To
rule the empire effectively, Song Qi insisted, ruler and officials must
meet frequently to share their views.
In similar fashion, during the Zhenzong reign, the classicist
Feng Yuan told the emperor that the two trigrams of “Tai” represent
the descent of yang and the ascent of yin, hence implying the inter-
action of Heaven and Earth. By extension, Feng Yuan argued that the
interaction of yin and yang in “Tai” symbolize an equal exchange of
views between ruler and officials.⁶⁹ Whereas the ruler will impress his
vision of governing on his officials, his officials will convince the ruler
to accept their perspectives on improving the government. Subtly
suggesting “Pi,” Feng Yuan reminded Zhenzong that if there are no
frequent and frank exchanges of views between ruler and officials, the
empire will be out of order. Equating the ruler-official interaction with
the yin-yang interaction, Feng Yuan warned Zhenzong of the severe
consequences if he did not allow free exchange of views between him
and his officials.
Compared to Song Qi’s and Feng Yuan’s readings, Cheng Yi’s
reading of “Tai” focuses on the struggle for power among the officials
rather than on their sharing of power with the emperor. He was less
concerned about the civil bureaucrats’ role in coruling the empire, but
was keenly aware that the split among officials would have disastrous
consequences for the Song government. Certainly he was vague as
to who the great men and the pretty people were. Nor was he clear
about the criteria for distinguishing one group from the other. Yet,
he was certain that the split between the two groups of officials was
permanent, and there was little one could do to mend the fences.
He was also convinced that the struggle for power between the two
groups of officials would last for a long time, and there was no way
to tell whether the great men would eventually triumph over the
petty people.
Good Officials Make Good Government
In his times, Cheng Yi was not alone in reading “Tai” and “Pi” this way.
During the “Yuanyou transformation” when the antireform group led
by Sima Guang was in power and Cheng Yi was summoned to teach
the Confucian classics to the teenage Emperor Zhezong, high-ranking
officials like Wang Di, Sun Sheng, and Fan Chunren also cited “Tai” and
“Pi” in their memorials to highlight the distinction between the great
men and the petty people.⁷⁰ Like Cheng Yi, these officials read the two
hexagrams as a depiction of the constant power struggle between the
two types of officials. They also underscored the urgency for putting
the right persons in the government, warning Emperor Zhezong (and
implicitly the regent Empress Gao) of the danger of allowing the pro-
reform group to return to power. Granted that Cheng Yi was adamant
in opposing Wang Anshi’s reform and a target of Cai Jing’s revenge,
it is tempting to read his Yijing commentary as a political statement.
Like his contemporaries, Cheng Yi could have equated the great men
with the antireform officials, and the petty people with the proreform
officials. Nevertheless, throughout the Yichuan yizhuan, Cheng Yi did
not make such a claim. Nor did he provide any example, historical or
current, to elucidate what was on his mind regarding these two groups
of people. It appears that what he wanted was to call his readers’ atten-
tion to this continuous struggle between these two groups of people,
without concern with who these people might be.
Yet, despite this ambiguity, it is clear that Cheng Yi regarded
the selection of officials as the cornerstone of good government. His
political vision was such that he gave priority to “the rule of morally
qualified officials” (ren zhi) over “the rule by legislation” (fa zhi). Take,
for instance, his commentary on the hexagrams “Jin” (Advance, #35)
and “Mingyi” (Darkening of the Light, #36). Like “Tai” and “Pi,” the
hexagrams “Jin” and “Mingyi” are opposite. “Jin” consists of a “Kun”
lower trigram (three yin lines) and a “Li” upper trigram (one yin line
sandwiched by two yang lines). Conversely, “Mingyi” comprises a “Li”
lower trigram and a “Kun” upper trigram. In addition, the meanings of
the two hexagrams are opposite. Whereas “Jin” refers to the celebra-
tion of progress, “Mingyi” describes the dampening of mood due to
recent setback. For Cheng Yi, this pair of opposite hexagrams shows
the importance of putting the right people in the government.
As a hexagram, [“Mingyi”] consists of a “Kun” upper trigram and
a “Li” lower trigram, and symbolizes light hidden underneath the
earth. Since “Mingyi” is the reverse of “Jin,” its meaning is the reverse
as well. “Jin” represents brightness and prosperity; it refers to a time
when an enlightened ruler (ming jun) brings good people into the
government. “Mingyi” represents the darkening of light; it refers to
a time when an unenlightened ruler (an jun) brings harm to good
people.⁷¹
Seemingly plain and conventional, Cheng Yi’s interpretation of “Jin”
and “Mingyi” had a special meaning to the reform debate of the late
Northern Song. As recent studies have shown, Wang Anshi’s reforms
presented a vision of government drastically different from that of his
opponent, Sima Guang. “Their views,” says Peter Bol, “presented the
literati with a classic choice between an activist government, which
sought to manage social and economic developments in the inter-
est of all, and a more limited government, which sought to maintain
necessary public institutions at minimum expense to private inter-
ests.”⁷² The central issue in this reform debate was the assessment of
mid-Northern Song problems. Both sides agreed that the government
of the mid-Northern Song was plagued with problems, particularly
the tremendous size of its army, the large number of officials in its
bureaucracy, and its enormous government spending. However, the
two groups of reformers disagreed on what caused those problems.
Whereas the supporters of Wang’s reforms regarded the problems as
structural requiring drastic and extensive measures to correct them,
the supporters of Sima Guang’s reforms considered the problems as
minor needing only a few changes. Moreover, in the reform debate,
both groups presented their methods of governing as part of “the grand
tradition of the ancestors” (zuzong zhi fa), but they had different “ances-
tors” in mind. For the supporters of Sima’s reforms, they looked back
to Fan Zhongyan’s ten-point reform of the Renzong reign (023–063)
for justification to improve the selection of officials. For the supporters
of Wang’s reforms, the New Policies of the Shenzong era (068–085)
were their model to bring wealth and power to the empire through
government intervention in trade and economy.⁷³
In this regard, Cheng Yi’s interpretation of “Jin” and “Mingyi”
clearly shows where he stood in the late Northern Song reform debate.
Between reforming the selection of officials and reforming the struc-
ture of government, he preferred the former to the latter. Between
inheriting “the grand tradition” of Renzong and that of Shenzong, he
preferred the early model to the later model. For him, good govern-
ment required a discerning ruler who knew how to put good people
in the government. Like the ebb and flow of the yin and the yang, the
political prospects of the Song government would swing back and
forth between good government under an “enlightened ruler” (ming
jun) and bad government under an “unenlightened ruler” (an jun).
With or without drastic political restructuring, there would be no
end to this swing. What the civil bureaucrats had to do, according
to Cheng Yi, was to prepare themselves for both circumstances. In
times of good government, they served in the bureaucracy and ruled
the empire with the emperor (as hexagram “Jin” had suggested). In
times of bad government, they looked for alternatives and waited for
the next round of good government to come (as hexagram “Mingyi”
had recommended).
Protecting One’s Interest by Forming a Faction
If indeed the battle between the great men and the petty people would
last for a long time, as Cheng Yi repeatedly claimed, then what should
the Northern Song educated elite do politically and socially to prepare
themselves for this incessant struggle? This question was particularly
relevant to the late-eleventh-century readers of the Yichuan yizhuan,
for they were experiencing round after round of political rivalry. For
this reason, it is not surprising to find Cheng Yi address this question
in many parts of his commentary.
The advice that Cheng Yi gave to the civil bureaucrats was to
protect their interests by forming a faction (dang). As mentioned
earlier, “Tai” consists of a “Qian” lower trigram (three yang lines) and
a “Kun” upper trigram (three yin lines). In his commentary on “Tai,”
Cheng Yi considered the “Qian” lower trigram as the faction of great
men, and the “Kun” upper trigram as the faction of petty people. Hence,
in explaining why the line statement of the first line of “Tai” makes
reference to “pulling up ribbon grass,”⁷⁴ he wrote:
To advance, the great men have to group together. It is not merely
for the sake of their shared view or their common predisposition,
but also for helping one another. Therefore, whether a great man or
a petty person, one cannot stand still. He must find companions and
seek the assistance from his own kind.⁷⁵
Like bundles of ribbon grass, Cheng Yi considered the great men and
the petty people separate groups. They were together to lend support
to one another and to advance their collective interests in factional
politics.
In the same vein, Cheng Yi read the hexagrams “Bo” (Splitting
Apart, #23) and “Fu” (Return, #24) as groupings of the great men and
the petty people. Both “Bo” and “Fu” consist of five yin lines and one
yang line, with yin in overwhelming majority and yang in absolute mi-
nority. Thus, according to Cheng Yi, in the two hexagrams the five yin
lines form a “faction” to suppress the lone yang line. There is, however,
a significant difference. In “Bo,” the lone yang line is located at the top,
having been pushed by the five yin lines to the edges of the hexagram.
In “Fu,” the lone yang line is at the bottom, a fresh force to challenge
the dominance of the five yin lines. To explain why the solitary yang
in “Fu” is better located than that in “Bo,” Cheng Yi wrote:
Coming to Terms with Factional Politics 3
At this stage [of “Fu”], the solitary yang is extremely weak. It cannot
defeat the formidable group of yin lines to give birth to the myriad
things. To carry out its task of giving birth to the myriad things, it
has to wait for the arrival of other yang lines. Hence, [the hexagram
line statement says:] “Friends come, without blame.”⁷⁶ . . . That is to
say, the Way of the great men returns after a period of diminution.
But at this initial stage of return, the great men will not be able to
defeat the petty people. To defeat them, the great men need to work
with their own kind and wait for their growth of power.⁷⁷
Like what he said about “the ribbon grass” in “Tai,” Cheng Yi was
concerned with grouping with one’s own kind. Certainly there is only
one yang line in “Fu” and it is powerless compared to its formidable
opponents. But the solitary yang line in “Fu” has an advantage that
is lacking in its counterpart in “Bo.” It is located at the beginning of
the hexagram, which means that it has plenty of time to wait for help.
As the yin gradually loses its control, the solitary yang will have the
opportunity to seek assistance from it own kind and challenge the
dominance of yin.
New Meaning of Coruling the Empire
In the late Northern Song, Cheng Yi’s position on factionalism was

controversial. For decades, the civil bureaucrats had been debating
whether they should form factions to advance their interests. The debate
began in 044 when the eunuch Lan Yuanzhen accused Fan Zhongyan
of forming a faction with Yin Zhu (00–047), Yu Jing (000–064),
Cai Xiang (02–067), and Ouyang Xiu to promote reform.⁷⁸ Lan’s
accusation triggered a fury of countermemorials from Fan’s support-
ers, thus formally opening the debate on bureaucratic factionalism in
the Northern Song.⁷⁹ After decades of debate, there were at least four
different perspectives on bureaucratic factionalism.
The first perspective, advanced by Sun Fu (998–057), held that
only petty people formed factions.⁸⁰ For Sun, since the civil bureau-
crats, the corulers of the empire, identified with the interests of the
emperor, they had no need to form factions. Hence, bureaucratic
factionalism was an indication of civil bureaucrats betraying their mis-
sion to corule the empire with the emperor. The second perspective,
suggested by Yin Zhu, blamed the emperor for creating bureaucratic
factionalism.⁸¹ He argued that the emperor created an environment
for bureaucratic factionalism to arise when he drastically shifted his

direction in governing. Those policies the emperor supported would
be called “the views of all”; those policies he disliked would become
“opinions aired by a faction.” Bureaucratic factionalism was therefore
nothing but the emperor’s excuse for changing his policies.
The third perspective, made known by Fan Zhongyan, accepted
factionalism as an integral part of government politics.⁸² Accord-
ing to Fan, bureaucratic factionalism was unavoidable because civil
bureaucrats tended to divide into groups in accordance with their
common interests and shared perspectives. Hence, there was nothing
intrinsically good or bad about factionalism, but a fact that rulers and
officials had to live with. To support his view, Fan Zhongyan quoted
from a statement in the opening paragraph of the Xici, which said:
“Events follow definite trends, each according to its nature. Things are
distinguished from one another in definite classes.”⁸³ Decades before
Cheng Yi wrote his commentary, the Yijing had served as the locus
classicus in support of bureaucratic factionalism.
The fourth perspective, expressed by Ouyang Xiu, was the most
complex.⁸⁴ It built on the third perspective but also modified it. On
the one hand, Ouyang agreed with Fan Zhongyan that bureaucratic
factionalism was a result of the human natural tendency to form groups
according to common interests. On the other hand, he argued that
there is a categorical distinction between the “genuine faction” (zhen
peng) of the great men and the “fake faction” (jia peng) of the petty
people. Whereas the former was based on long-term interests and the
desire to serve the common good of the empire, the latter was built on
immediate concerns and personal interests. While the former would
last for a long time and contribute to the well-being of the empire, the
latter was subversive and would quickly disappear once their immedi-
ate needs had been satisfied.
Despite their differences, these four perspectives on bureaucratic
factionalism addressed one fundamental issue of Northern Song civil
governance: whether the civil bureaucrats should create their own
power base in government to advance their interests. The heart of the
matter was how the emperor and the civil bureaucrats viewed their
partnership in coruling the empire. From the emperor’s perspective,
since civil governance was to replace the military governance of the
late Tang and the Five Dynasties Period, he would not want to see
groups of powerful civil officials dominate the Song government in
the way that groups of military generals and aristocratic families had
done in the ninth and tenth centuries. By “coruling the empire,” the
emperor meant the civil bureaucrats’ wholehearted service to him,
as well as their total submission to his absolute rule. For this reason,
the Northern Song emperors, especially Emperors Taizu and Taizong,
took various measures to make certain that no single group of civil
bureaucrats would dominate the government. One of these measures
was the separation of power. A prime example was separating the
administrative branch of the government from the military and the
financial branches, such that the three agencies operated independently.
Another measure was check and balance. It gave the censors—origi-
nally a low-ranking post—the mission to monitor civil bureaucrats of
all ranks. Reporting directly to the emperor, the censors became the
emperor’s personal agents to check the power of civil bureaucrats.⁸⁵
For the civil bureaucrats, civil governance was a partnership
between equals. As corulers of the empire, they felt that they had the
duty and moral obligation to build a good government. For them, there
was no way to build a good government without putting good people in
the government, and there was no way to govern the empire effectively
without diverse opinions being expressed in policy debates. Forming
a power bloc with like-minded colleagues was therefore a means to
ensure good government, and a measure to check the autocracy of the
emperor. As the mid-Northern Song reform debate gradually tore the
fabric of the literati community, it had become politically necessary
for civil bureaucrats to form factions. For them, forming factions was
an essential part of the political game and an indispensable safety net
if things turned bad.
Compared with the other four perspectives on bureaucratic
factionalism, Cheng Yi’s view was unique. On the one hand, adopting
the view of Fan Zhongyan and Ouyang Xiu, he regarded bureaucratic
factionalism as a necessary part of governing to allow different interest
groups to express their views. However, unlike Ouyang Xiu, he found
no need to distinguish the “genuine factions” of great men from the
“fake factions” of petty people. For him, whether great men or petty
people, the civil bureaucrats were entitled to form their own factions.
As corulers of the empire, they were equal to the emperor in shoulder-
ing the responsibility for building good government. Because of that,
they should have the right to form their own power base beyond the
emperor’s control. On the other hand, like Yin Zhu, Cheng Yi took the
emperor to task for allowing bureaucratic factionalism to appear. He
argued that if the emperor was an “enlightened ruler,” he should be
able to separate the great men from the petty people, and to recruit
only the great men into his government. Turning the table against
the emperor, Cheng Yi suggested that the existence of bureaucratic
factionalism was testimony to the emperor’s failure in distinguishing
the good people from the bad.
Thus, in the final years of Cheng Yi’s life, when he was writing
the Yichuan yizhuan at his exile home in Sichuan, he was reexamin-
ing the role of the educated elite in the age of factional politics. By
expanding the meaning of the coruling of civil bureaucrats, Cheng Yi
made something good out of eleventh-century factional politics. In
emphasizing the need for civil bureaucrats to form their own factions
in government and to transform society through moral education, he
gave the educated elite a new identity. This new identity was quite
different from that of the 030s and 040s. From the civil bureaucrats’
mission of Hu Yuan’s times to rule the world politically, we now see a
new image of the men of letters, who would rule the world socially by
teaching the country how to live in ethical ways.⁸⁶ For Cheng Yi and
many literati in the 080s and 090s, civil governance meant not only
letting talented civil bureaucrats into the bureaucracy to govern the
country, it also meant a long process of social and educational reform
that would train generation after generation of moral persons, who
would serve the country in different capacities ranging from school
teachers to supervisors of rituals. As the new men of letters, the late
Northern Song educated elite would first establish their footing in
society as scholar-literati, and then, when political circumstances
allowed, serve in government as scholar-officials. Whether being “a
sage inwardly” or “a king outwardly,” they knew that they were ruling
the empire with the emperor.
Su Shi’s Yijing Commentary
As a critic of Wang Anshi’s New Policies, Cheng Yi headed a faction

within the antireform group known as the “faction from the Luoyang
area” (Luo dang). During the 080s and 090s, Cheng Yi’s faction ri-
valed Su Shi’s, the “faction from Sichuan” (Shu dang), in contention
for leadership within the antireform group.⁸⁷ Following the rise and
fall in the fortunes of the antireform group, Cheng Yi was several
times disgraced, banished, and rehabilitated. The same was true of
Su Shi, who was exiled to far-flung places like the northern borders
and Hainan Island. During his prolonged exile, from 079 to 00,⁸⁸
Su Shi composed his commentary to the Yijing, Dongpo yizhuan (A

commentary on the Yi by [Su] Dongpo), which included notes and
writings of his father, Su Xun (009–066), and his younger brother,
Su Zhe.⁸⁹ Like Cheng Yi, Su Shi took the occasion of writing an Yijing
commentary to come to terms with major setbacks in his life. Also like
Cheng Yi, he used the Yijing to address the pressing political problems
of the late Northern Song.⁹⁰ Despite their different views in politics,
these two exegetes found a common cause in reinterpreting the Yijing
for their eleventh-century readers.
Among the Northern Song Yijing exegetes we have discussed, Su
Shi was special in his unfailing support of Wang Bi’s interpretation of
the classic. In the Dongpo yizhuan he cited Wang Bi so many times
that the editors of Siku quanshu felt it necessary to describe the com-
mentary as “largely similar to Wang Bi’s.”⁹¹ By frequently citing Wang
Bi and elaborating on points he made, Su Shi honored him as the best
exegete of the Yijing. Although he did not explicitly discuss the rever-
sion from you to wu—the main theme of Wang Bi in his commentary
on the hexagram “Fu,” and the focus of Han Kangbo and Kong Yingda
in their commentaries on the Xici—Su Shi was greatly interested in the
human cognitive process to find one’s roots in the universe. As Peter
Bol summarizes, Su Shi described the process as one of three stages.
The first stage is “movement upstream toward the source,” freeing one
from the humdrum of daily affairs to acquire a broader perspective on
life. The second stage is “attaining unity with the source,” seeing the
universe from the perspective of the whole. The third stage is “return-
ing downstream” to handle daily affairs with spontaneity, purpose,
and ease.⁹² These three stages, which Bol calls “knowledge, unity, and
practice,” reveal Su Shi’s debt to the Zhouyi zhengyi.
In many respects, Su Shi’s cognitive process is similar to Shao
Yong’s “reflective perception” (fan guan). It is designed to help one find
peace in life by linking an individual with the entire universe, and is
intended to direct moral actions rather than to satisfy philosophical
curiosity. Also like Shao Yong, Su Shi found support for an expanded
vision of the universe in the Shuogua. As already discussed in the last
chapter, the first paragraph of the Shuogua links “reaching destiny”
(zhi ming) with “exhausting the principle of the universe” (qiong li) and
“completing human nature” (jing xing). For Shao Yong, the Shuogua
paragraph connects an individual with the myriad things based on the
common principle of the universe. For Su Shi, the Shuogua paragraph
also connects one with the universe, but it does so by describing the
mental process to trace one’s roots in the universe. Using an analogy

of a river, Su Shi explained the process:
What do we mean by moving upstream and downstream? The answer
is that they refer to one’s transformation in moral cultivation. A river
tends to move downward. [Thus, in moral cultivation] we need to
move upstream to reach the source that gives rise to the method of
divination, the numbers, the trigrams, and the hexagram lines. There,
we will be fully informed of the feelings of the myriad things. A sage
cannot establish himself morally by staying downstream, because he
does not have a view of the whole and an ability to fully respond to
changes. For this reason, he has to return to the source by moving
upstream. . . . After a sage has understood the principle of nature
and destiny, he follows the river downstream to exhaust changes.
He takes one thing at a time and looks at it from both sides [of the
argument]. He prepares grounds for generation and regeneration,
as it is said “taking action to assist people by considering the two
sides [of the argument].”⁹³
As Su Shi explains, the first two stages of locating one’s roots in the
universe involve going upstream. In going upstream, one attains the
knowledge of the whole and the unity with the universe. It is the
reversion from the part to the whole. After attaining knowledge and
unity, the third stage of cognitive process commences. The learner
will go downstream to practice what he has learned in the humdrum
of daily affairs. It is the reversion from the whole to the part. For Su
Shi, whether it is from the part to the whole or from the whole to the
part, the learner gains a broader perspective on life and a renewed
commitment to serve the human community.
Coming to Terms with Factional Politics
Despite the fact that Su Shi stressed the need for broadening one’s
perspective on life, he differed from Wang Bi and Shao Yong in applying
one’s broadened view to politics. Unlike them, he did not see moral
cultivation merely as a change in one’s perspective, a better control of
one’s behavior, or a systematic effort to shape social conduct. For him,
moral cultivation also involved making the right arguments in political
debate, anticipating the consequences of a political act, and understand-
ing both the benefit and harm of involving oneself in court politics. Part
of the goal of moral cultivation was, in his mind, to allow one to adapt
to the changing political landscape, and to continue to flourish despite

changes in the political wind. Again, Su Shi used the analogy of a river
to explain his political view. In commenting on the hexagram “Xikan”
(The Abyss, #29), he focused on the hexagram line which discusses
how one can avoid the danger of falling into an abyss.⁹⁴
The myriad things take forms, but the river does not. It takes the
form of its surroundings. By convention, we find things that take
forms trustworthy, and those that do not take forms untrustworthy.
And yet a square can be made into a circle, and a twisted object can
be straightened. These examples show that we cannot put our trust
in forms. Turning to the river, it does not have constant form but
takes the form of its surroundings. This is a fact that we are abso-
lutely certain about, and this is the model for the superior person.
Since a river does not have constant form, it does not hurt anything
that stands in its way. Because it never hurts anything, it does not
lose its credibility even when it reaches a dangerous spot. From this
perspective, a river has the greatest credibility in the world.⁹⁵
The reason Su Shi was so fond of the river allegory was that it conveyed
two important messages. First, the river is always on the move. As
such, it is a perfect symbol of the dynamic universe that never stops
moving. Second, the river is adaptable to its surroundings. It does not
compete with its environments; rather, it attempts to become part
of them. Being so, the river is both weak and strong. It is weak when
one looks at its adjustment to its surroundings; it is strong when one
focuses on its will to move on despite obstacles.⁹⁶
One may say that Su Shi’s river analogy was not new. For centuries
before the Northern Song, Yijing exegetes had been describing yin as
both weak and strong. To underscore the double nature of yin, the
Yijing exegetes (including Wang Bi, Han Kangbo, and Kong Yingda) had
employed such symbols as the earth and a mare to draw attention to
the persistence of yin in spite of its yielding appearance.⁹⁷ Conventional
as it might seem, Su Shi’s river analogy carried a special meaning to
his eleventh-century readers; namely, that one needed to learn from
the river to go beyond factional politics. For instance, in commenting
on the hexagram “Huan” (Dispersion, #59), Su Shi invoked the river
analogy to explain why the hexagram statement refers to, somewhat
paradoxically, a king making sacrifices to the deities while his country
is in disarray.⁹⁸
When the world is in order, it is like a river flowing downward fol-

lowing its own course. When the world is in disorder, it is like a river
bursting into different directions. The river, by nature, does not like
to burst into different directions. It floods everywhere only because
something has been done against its nature. Those who have done
something against the nature of the river will soon lose their power,
or they will come to their senses. As for the river, it will find its own
course again. In ancient times, good rulers never competed with
people. They let them choose what they wanted to do, and gave them
guidance. In referring to dispersion, [the hexagram ‘Huan’] describes
the fragmentation and disintegration in the country, resulting in
people losing their homes. This is time [for an assertive ruler] to
make efforts in putting things back in order.⁹⁹
For Su Shi, the river analogy brings out two characteristics of political
fragmentation. First, it describes political fragmentation as an excep-
tion, as opposed to the norm of political harmony. Just like the river,
which by nature flows smoothly downward, Su Shi reminds his readers
that politics is supposed to bring people together, not divide them.
Second, the river analogy identifies the cause of political fragmentation
as a ruler’s poor judgment. Just as the river floods its banks because
some people block its natural course, political fragmentation occurs
when a ruler fails to listen to the demands of the ruled and governs his
country dictatorially. We do not know whether Su Shi had the power
struggle between proreform and antireform groups in mind when he
wrote this commentary on “Huan,” but to his eleventh-century read-
ers, who were encountering rounds of factional rivalry, it must have
been comforting to read the commentary.
To an extent, Su Shi’s river analogy fulfilled the same function as
the Xugua did for Cheng Yi. It rendered political rivalry as a natural
phenomenon that runs its own course, and put the blame for causing
political fragmentation squarely on the shoulders of the Song emperor.
However, there are also significant differences. Unlike Cheng Yi’s read-
ing of the Xugua, which rationalized a constant battle between the
great men and the petty people, Su Shi’s river analogy predicted an
end to political fragmentation. Whereas in commenting on the Xugua
Cheng Yi called on the civil bureaucrats to form factions to advance
their interests, Su Shi’s river analogy looked to a sagely ruler to bring
peace and harmony to the government. Perhaps naively optimistic, Su
Shi’s belief in political reconciliation gave him a unique perspective
in interpreting some hexagrams. For instance, he considered “Tai”
(Peace, #) superior to “Dazhuang” (Power of the Great, #34) and

“Guai” (Resolution, #43).¹⁰⁰ On the surface, he suggested, “Tai” looks
inferior because there are only three yang lines in the hexagram, equal
in number with the yin lines. In contrast, “Dazhuang” and “Guai” have
more yang lines than yin lines, clearly giving the yang the advantage
over the yin. But precisely because the yang lines are dominant in
“Dazhuang” and “Guai,” they tend to bully, putting pressure on the yin
lines to comply with their views. According to Su Shi, this dominance
of the yang will only lead to one result: the determination of the yin
to fight back. In “Tai” however, since both sides are in equal force, the
balance of power will keep them in peace.
Another example of Su Shi’s unique reading of the hexagrams
is his comparison of “Bi” (Holding Together, #8) with “Tongren” (Fel-
lowship, #3).¹⁰¹ At first glance, the two hexagrams look similar. Both
suggest broadening one’s social network and making friends with
strangers. For Su Shi, however, there was a major difference. Focusing
on the hexagram’s image, he argued that “Bi” was a better hexagram
than “Tongren” because it consisted of water (the kun trigram) at the
bottom and earth (the kan trigram) at the top, denoting an openness
in working with opponents. Here, as in the river analogy, water and
earth are symbols of the will to yield. In contrast, “Tongren” is made
up of fire (the li trigram) at the bottom and heaven (the qian trigram)
at the top, symbolizing a selective grouping built on a narrow political
view. For Su Shi, the fellowship in “Tongren” is, in essence, a political
faction that excludes opponents.
In comparison, one may say that Cheng Yi was more pragmatic
than Su Shi in coming to terms with factional politics. Instead of pinning
his hope on a sagely ruler and wishing for tolerance in his opponents,
Cheng Yi called on the civil bureaucrats to strengthen their power
by forming factions in government and increasing their influence on
society through moral teaching. However, in calling for more factional
politics and fierce competition for social capital, he also added fuel to
the fire, causing more discord and fragmentation in civil governance.
Su Shi, by contrast, might have been too optimistic in hoping for an
end to factional politics. He might also have been overly idealistic in
wishing his opponents to settle political differences through peaceful
means. Yet, in calling for harmony and reconciliation at the height of
factional politics, Su Shi appeared to have a cooler head than Cheng
Yi. He realized that letting factional politics continue without end
would gravely damage Northern Song civil governance, particularly
the “corulership” between civil bureaucrats and the Song emperor.

Unfortunately, in the remaining years of the Northern Song, the major-
ity of civil bureaucrats adopted Cheng Yi’s view. Worst still, this trend
continued during much of the Southern Song, resulting in rounds of
bureaucratic factionalism.¹⁰²
Conclusion
S hortly after the Song imperial court was relocated to Hangzhou in

38, efforts were made to compile, edit, and categorize the North-
ern Song Yijing commentaries. Among the first to do so was Chao
Gongwu (ca. 02–87), who offered thoughtful and comprehensive
comments on the Northern Song commentaries.¹ Especially valuable
are his notes on the commentaries of Shi Jie and Wang Anshi because
they are the only information about them available to us. At the same
time, Chao’s notes set the tone for later discussion of the Northern
Song Yijing commentaries. Reflecting the view of his times, he regarded
the Northern Song Yijing commentaries as an extension of the Wang
Bi style of moral and philosophical reading of the classic. To show his
preference, he reversed the chronological order of his comments. He
began his notes with comments on the Zhouyi zhu and the Zhouyi
zhengyi of the Wei and Tang periods, followed by those on the Western
and Eastern Han commentaries.² To drive home his point, he men-
tioned repeatedly how greatly the Northern Song exegetes had been
influenced by Wang Bi’s interpretation of the classic.³
However, Chao Gongwu’s view was not universally accepted in
the Southern Song. Zhu Zhen (072–38), for instance, believed that
the Northern Song Yijing commentaries were derived from the diagram
school established by Chen Tuan during the Five Dynasties Period
4
and the early Northern Song. In his memorial to Emperor Gaozong,

Zhu listed three genealogies of transmission that covered most of the
major Northern Song Yijing exegetes including Shao Yong, Liu Mu,
Zhou Dunyi, Zhang Zai, and Cheng Yi. ⁴ Each genealogy was based on
one particular diagram or set of diagrams: Chen Tuan’s “Before Birth
Diagram” (Xiantian tu), Zhong Fang’s “River Diagram” (He tu) and
“Book from Luo River” (Luo shu), and Mu Xiu’s (979–032) “Diagram
of the Great Ultimate” (Taiji tu).⁵ Half way between Chao Gongwu and
Zhu Zhen was Zhu Xi, who regarded the Northern Song Yijing com-
mentaries as a mixture of the Wang Bi and the diagram commentarial
schools.⁶ To underscore the relation between the two commentarial
schools, he traced the diagram school to the original Yijing text of the
Zhou dynasty, which he claimed was a manual for divination. And then,
he linked the Wang Bi commentarial school to the Ten Wings, which
he thought were written by Confucius to transform the Yijing into a
moral and philosophical text. Finally, he argued that despite their ap-
parent differences, the two commentarial schools actually carried the
same message of the Yijing because of “the same origin of substance
and function, and the inseparability between what is manifested and
what is implied.”⁷ For Zhu Xi, the goal of examining the Northern Song
Yijing commentaries was not to find out which commentarial school
was dominant; rather, it was to distinguish the genuine “Confucian”
commentaries (e.g., Cheng Yi’s) from the misguided ones (e.g., Su
Shi’s).⁸
Throughout the Yuan, Ming, and Qing periods, as Zhu Xi’s com-
mentary (combined with Cheng Yi’s) was enshrined as the official Yijing
commentary tested in the civil service examinations, his view became
the standard interpretation of Northern Song Yijing commentaries. In
the eighteenth century, to reiterate what had already been an accepted
view of the Northern Song Yijing studies, the editors of Siku quanshu
wrote:
Not being far removed from the ancient times, the Han scholars
continued to discuss [the Yijing] based on images and numbers. On
their basis, Jing [Fang, 77–37 B.C.E.] and Jiao [Yanshou] used the
Yijing to seek blessings from the deities, and then, Chen [Tuan] and
Shao [Yong] attempted to comprehend the transformation of the
universe. As a result, the Yijing was no longer applied to people’s
daily life. [In interpreting the Yijing,] Wang Bi totally abandoned
images and numbers, and adopted the perspectives of Laozi and
Conclusion 43
Zhuangzi. Building on his view, Hu Yuan and Master Cheng [Yi]

began to [use the Yijing] to elucidate the Confucian principles, and
then, Li Guang [076–59] and Yang Wanli [2–204] employed
historical events to support [their interpretations of the Yijing]. Thus,
debates and discussions on how to read the Yijing abound, and sup-
porters of the two [commentarial] schools and the six sub-schools
attacked one another.⁹
Like Zhu Xi, the Siku quanshu editors considered the Northern Song
Yijing commentaries as merely an extension of the two preexisting
Yijing commentarial schools—the “image and number” (xiangshu)
school of Jing Feng and Jiao Yanshou of the Western Han period,
and the “meaning and principle” (yili) school of Wang Bi of the Wei
period. Certainly, the Siku quanshu editors were ready to credit the
Northern Song exegetes for expanding the two commentarial schools
to make them the bases for the post-eleventh-century Yijing commen-
tarial tradition. Yet, in their eyes, the Northern Song exegetes were
more transmitters of the past than innovators who linked the past to
the present.
This view of the Northern Song Yijing commentaries—which
remains popular among contemporary scholars¹⁰—is predicated upon
what John Henderson calls “the comprehensiveness of the Confucian
canon.”¹¹ Assuming that everything about the human and natural
worlds has already been included in the Yijing, the Siku quanshu edi-
tors consider the main task of an exegete as recovering the original
meaning of the Yijing. Whether an exegete adopts the “image and
number” school or the “meaning and principle” school, the key issue
for him is not methodology but how accurate he is in capturing the
original intent of the Yijing authors in ancient times. On this score,
the Han exegetes always had an advantage over later exegetes, because
they were closer to the ancient times. By the same token, Wang Bi
was privileged as being born in the third century because he was, on
the one hand, not too far removed from the ancient times, and on the
other, fortunate enough to be at the right time to initiate changes to
address the deficiencies of the Han exegetes. For the Northern Song
exegetes, however, their role was limited. With the major questions
about interpreting the classic already settled, what they could do was
to follow the preexisting commentarial styles so that the original
meaning of the Yijing would be accurately conveyed for generations
to come.
Text, Tradition, and Time
As shown in the last three chapters, the Northern Song Yijing exegetes
were far more creative than what the Siku quanshu editors described.
In their differing renditions of the classic, it is clear that there were
three-way interactions between the classic, its commentarial tradi-
tion, and the historical time of its commentators.¹² In the interactions
of text, tradition, and time, the Yijing was given new meaning in a
new historical context. With respect to the text, despite their differ-
ing interpretations, the Northern Song exegetes responded to a set
of core questions raised in the Yijing. The core questions included:
What causes changes to take place in the universe? Are changes in
the universe random or systematic? What role do humans play in the
changes of the universe? What can humans do to come to terms with
flux and uncertainty? Furthermore, these questions of change were
raised in different ways in different parts of the text. In the sixty-four
hexagrams, they were insinuated in the intricate relationships between
hexagrams and hexagram lines, and the ways in which these relation-
ships produced the opportunity for change. In the appendixes to the
Yijing, they were raised as cosmological and ethical issues (as in the
Xici and the Shuogua), or as a sequence of events (as in the Xugua).
As a whole, for the Northern Song exegetes, the Yijing was true to its
title. It was indeed the classic that provided advice to anyone who was
in the midst of change.
With respect to tradition, the profound questions of change in the
Yijing were given additional potency in the eleventh century through
the mediation of Wang Bi, Han Kangbo, and Kong Yingda. As the of-
ficial Northern Song commentary of the Yijing, the Zhouyi zhengyi of
Wang, Han, and Kong transmitted the received commentarial tradi-
tion to the Northern Song exegetes. By presenting changes as various
manifestations of you and wu, the three exegetes transformed the Yijing
questions of change into questions about the sociopolitical order,
particularly questions concerning the relationship between the ruler
and the ruled, the emperor and the officials, and the center and the
periphery. As such, for the Northern Song exegetes, the Yijing’s “call
to attention” was intertwined with their search for a new sociopolitical
order to break from the Tang legacy. In reading the Yijing, they were not
only contemplating the abstract questions of the nature of change, but
also the concrete issues of how to reinvent the Tang system to create a
lasting social and political structure, how to articulate the self-identity
Conclusion 45
of the educated elite in times of civil governance, and how to resolve

the fiscal and administrative problems of the mid-Northern Song.
As we have found, the Northern Song exegetes did respond to the
core questions of the Yijing by reflecting on the sociopolitical changes
of their times. For Hu Yuan, Li Gou, and Ouyang Xiu, the Yijing spoke
directly to civil bureaucrats, who replaced the aristocratic scholar-of-
ficials as the corulers of the Northern Song. In their attempts to render
the Yijing anew for the emboldened civil bureaucrats, they focused
on the sixty-four hexagrams and the Xici to spell out what they con-
sidered the call to human activism in the Yijing. For Zhang Zai, Sima
Guang, and Shao Yong, the Yijing offered answers to the quandaries
of civil bureaucrats when the Song government failed to provide jobs
to successful examinees. They built their moral metaphysics on the
Xici and Shuogua, and encouraged the educated elite to expand their
coruling with the Song emperor by cultivating “a sage inwardly.” For
Cheng Yi and Su Shi, they were impressed by the Yijing’s metanarrative
of human history. They drew insights from the Xugua and Shuogua to
alleviate the civil bureaucrats’ anxiety in times of political rivalry.
Because the Northern Song exegetes brought their existential con-
cerns into the Yijing text, we find that the same Yijing statements—for
example, “Hidden Dragon. Do not Act,” “The Heart of Heaven and
Earth,” and “That which has a yin and a yang is called the Way”—gave
rise to multiple interpretations. In these differing interpretations, we
find the Northern Song exegetes responding to both the past and the
present. First, in rendering the Yijing differently, they challenged the
authority of the Zhouyi zhengyi. In taking up the burdensome task of
reinterpreting the Yijing, the Northern Song exegetes believed that
their commentaries would one day supersede those of Wang Bi, Han
Kangbo, and Kong Yingda. Although none of them claimed that their
commentaries would capture the “true meaning” (zhengyi) of the
Yijing as Kong Yingda had three centuries earlier, they believed their
commentaries were more faithful in responding to the Yijing’s ques-
tions of change. For instance, in the Zhouyi kouyi, Hu Yuan stated
that his understanding of the word yi of Yijing was not only better,
but also more authentic, than Kong Yingda’s. Likewise, Ouyang Xiu
was confident that he made a major breakthrough in the studies of
the Yijing by sorting out the authorship of the Ten Wings. The same
was true of Zhang Zai who, focusing on the dichotomy of you and wu,
blamed previous commentators (particularly Han Kangbo and Kong
Yingda) for failing to present the true spirit of the Yijing. For Cheng
Yi and Su Shi, they believed they had rendered the Yijing questions of
change more directly to the embattled civil bureaucrats than had the
Zhouyi zhengyi.
As much as the Northern Song exegetes responded to the past in
writing their commentaries, they responded to the present as well. As
Daniel Gardner has pointed out, “for all of the variety and interpretative
differences it manifests, the commentarial tradition is subject to and
reflective of a distinctive historical logic.”¹³ The “distinctive historical
logic” of the Northern Song Yijing commentaries is, of course, the
sociopolitical changes of eleventh-century China. In current schol-
arship, historians may disagree on the degree of social mobility and
whether fundamental social changes did take place, but they agree
that the rise of the civil bureaucrats triggered unprecedented mobil-
ity in the Northern Song.¹⁴ In this regard, the Yijing commentaries
of Hu Yuan, Li Gou, and Ouyang Xiu were a testimony to this rise
of the civil bureaucrats. Through the medium of classical exegesis,
the three exegetes attempted to instill a spirit of political activism in
the civil bureaucrats so that they would see their personal interests
intertwine with those of the Song Dynasty. Particularly telling is Hu
Yuan’s exhortation to the civil bureaucrats to treat “the whole world
as one family and the millions of people as having one sentiment.” It
was, of course, an echo of Fan Zhongyan’s famous line, “one should
be first in worrying about the world’s troubles and last in enjoying
its pleasures.” More importantly, it was an eloquent summary of the
self-sacrificing spirit of civil bureaucrats who believed they ruled the
empire with the emperor.
However, as much as the civil service examination system was
a ladder of success contributing to social mobility in the Northern
Song, it was also a ladder of failure that brought tremendous amount
of frustration and disillusionment to members of the educated elite.
The examination system was, as John Chaffee calls it, “the thorny
gates of learning” not merely because of the strenuous process in
passing many levels of examination, but also because of the difficulty
of transferring, through the examination system, the family fortunes
to the next generation.¹⁵ Except for a handful of lucky ones (most
notably Lü Mengzheng, 946–0),¹⁶ after one or two generations the
vast majority of civil bureaucrats could no longer produce successful
candidates for the civil service examinations. Apparently, the families
of Zhang Zai and Cheng Yi suffered from the downward mobility of
the examination system. The two families lost much of their prestige
Conclusion 47
and fortune when their younger generations were not as successful in

examinations. The same is true of Shao Yong. By refusing to take the
civil service examinations and remaining throughout his life a semi-
hermit, he was in practice a skeptic of this myth of upward mobility
through learning. Reflecting the changes of their times, these three
exegetes stressed the importance of moral cultivation, rather than
joining the government as in Hu Yuan’s generation. In hindsight, their
moral metaphysics, which is commonly considered to be the founda-
tion of Song-Ming Daoxue, was a way to alleviate the literati’s pain and
frustration resulting from their downward mobility. Their attempts to
find nonpolitical means to achieve fulfillment demonstrated how the
Daoxue could be, in Peter Bol’s terms, “an alternative culture” of the
literati allowing them to become members of the elite without holding
official position.¹⁷
For this reason, contrary to the conventional picture that groups
Hu Yuan, Zhang Zai, and Cheng Yi together as “the Masters of the
Northern Song,” there were major differences among them in inter-
preting the Yijing. One of the differences was how they rendered the
classic to project an image of the literati. For Hu Yuan, the literati had
no other choice but to become civil bureaucrats. The goal of Confucian
education, according to him, was to train one to rule the empire with
the emperor. While Hu Yuan’s image of the literati fits the general pic-
ture of the transition from the aristocratic scholar-officials to the civil
bureaucrats, Zhang Zai’s and Cheng Yi’s image of the literati is more
complicated. In commenting on the Yijing, the two exegetes stressed
both the political career and the social space of the literati. Expanding
on Zhou Dunyi’s famous line, they urged the literati to continue to
“desire what Yi Yin desired” in trying to become civil bureaucrats, but
they should first “learn what Yanzi learned” to increase their chances
to be socially functional. Zhang Zai and Cheng Yi were very likely not
alone in arguing for the literati’s involvement in shaping social values
and practices. As Patricia Ebrey has shown, many of their contempo-
raries also recognized the importance of ritual as “an alternative to
force” and the role of practice in changing one’s mode of thinking.¹⁸
To be sure, the literati’s demand for an expanded social role was a
response to the Song government’s failure to assign jobs to successful
examinees; however, one should not overlook the broader historical
significance of this change in self-identity. In expanding the social
role of the literati, Zhang Zai and Cheng Yi redefined, in effect, the
nature of Northern Song civil governance. Rather than focusing their
attention on the political arena (as Hu Yuan did), they turned their
attention to society. For them, the literati should capitalize on their
status as educated elite, and should exert their influence in society by
refining the moral code, prescribing a ritual system, and building a
new curriculum in schools. Of course, their roles would be different
under each circumstance, and they had to decide when would be the
best time to shift those roles. Yet, they gained the liberty of choosing
what was best for them in a given situation. This change in self-identity
is vividly shown in Cheng Yi’s commentary on the hexagrams “Jin”
(Progress, #35) and “Mingyi” (Darkening of the Light, #36). In the past
the literati had to depend on having an “enlightened emperor” (ming
jun) to guarantee their success. Now, even if they had the bad luck to
have an “unenlightened emperor” (an jun), they could still find ways
to fulfill their dream of coruling the empire.
Toward a Historical Understanding of

Northern Song Yijing Commentaries
In current scholarship, bureaucratic factionalism is often seen as a

stumbling block to Northern Song political stability. Following the
view of the Southern Song government, many historians see faction-
alism as the major cause of the downfall of the Northern Song.¹⁹ To
be sure, this negative view of bureaucratic factionalism is founded on
facts, such as decades of factional rivalry that destroyed the literati’s
solidarity and incapacitated the Northern Song government. At the
same time, we need to be cautious about reading later historical views
into Northern Song events.²⁰
An anomaly of this negative view on bureaucratic factionalism is
that, during the Northern Song, factionalism was widely considered to
be an integral part of bureaucratic politics. Ouyang Xiu’s oft-quoted “A
Discussion on Factionalism” (Pengdang lun), for instance, was a prime
example of this Northern Song view on bureaucratic factionalism. In the
essay, Ouyang argued that it is natural for the educated elite to group
themselves into factions in accordance with their common interests,
and that it is the ruler’s responsibility to separate the “genuine factions”
built on moral principle from the “fake factions” based on selfish inter-
ests. Perhaps not as articulate as Ouyang, other Northern Song scholar-
officials such as Fan Zhongyan and Yin Zhu also expressed similarly
positive assessments of bureaucratic factionalism. In recognition of
this apparently widespread positive view on bureaucratic factionalism,
Conclusion 49
some Chinese scholars have recently adopted the term “the theory in
support of the great men’s bureaucratic factionalism” (junzi youdang
lun) to describe this particular Northern Song phenomenon.²¹
Like other Northern Song thinkers, we find Cheng Yi and Su
Shi supporting bureaucratic factionalism. At first glance, Cheng Yi’s
view on bureaucratic factionalism seems surprising. Considering the
fact that for years he was engulfed in factional rivalry within his own
antireform group and that he suffered tremendously from Cai Jing’s
revenge because of his opposition to Wang Anshi’s reform, he should
have been adamant in opposing bureaucratic factionalism. But, in
writing the Yichuan yizhuan, he appears to have put aside his painful
experience to address the issue of bureaucratic factionalism from the
perspective of civil governance. Based on the assumption that the
literati ruled the empire with the emperor, he argued that the literati
should have the right to form their own groupings to protect their
interests. In comparison, Su Shi was more moderate than Cheng Yi in
his view on bureaucratic factionalism. He saw dangers in splitting civil
bureaucrats into opposing camps and thereby paralyzing the govern-
ment. Hence, in the Dongpo yizhuan, he suggested compromise to
preserve the unity and integrity of civil governance. But as a moderate,
Su Shi did not rule out bureaucratic factionalism. His goal was not to
eliminate bureaucratic factionalism from the Song government, but
to control the intensity of factional rivalry so that it would not disrupt
the government.
Implicit in Cheng Yi’s and Su Shi’s support for bureaucratic
factionalism was their acknowledgment of the dangers of imperial
autocracy. As the “fellow travelers” of the Song emperors in building
the civil governance, they knew that the literati were in a precarious
situation. On the one hand, they were the Song emperors’ tools to
check the power of the aristocratic families and military generals.
On the other hand, in the name of coruling the empire, they were
given an opportunity to order the world and to put in practice their
political vision. Given this precarious situation, they needed some
mechanisms to make certain that they did not become the puppets
of an autocratic ruler. Bureaucratic factionalism, however unwelcome
to our contemporary taste, was an effective way for them to limit the
emperor’s power and to protect their right to dissent.
This Northern Song view on bureaucratic factionalism, as pre-
sented in the Yichuan yizhuan and Dongpo yizhuan, underscores the
importance of understanding the history of Northern Song China
through a study of Yijing commentaries. For a long time, Yijing com-

mentaries were judged by their effectiveness in clarifying the Yijing
text, rather than their importance in showing historical changes. As
shown in this study, there is much we can learn about the history of
the Northern Song from the Yijing commentaries of the period. As
historical documents, the Northern Song Yijing commentaries provide
us with a unique perspective on how eleventh-century exegetes came
to terms with the drastic changes of their times. Certainly, we should
not overgeneralize the exegetes’ views, because the writings we have
examined in this study represent only a small fraction of the total
number of Yijing commentaries produced in the Northern Song era.
Yet, they reflect accurately and unmistakably the broad parameters,
as well as the specific content, of an extremely important world of
discourse—one that has been distorted by a failure to contextualize it
adequately, leading in turn to persistent misunderstanding. Above all,
the exegetes’ differing views on the literati’s role in civil governance
show us how lively, diverse, and intense Northern Song intellectual
life was, while reminding us of how important it is to understand the
history of the period on its own terms.
APPENDIX I
Names and Images of the Eight Trigrams

(In Fu Xi’s order)
. Qian 乾 2. Dui 兌
1 8
3. Li 離 4. Zhen 震
7 2
5. Xun 巽 6. Kan 坎
6 3
7. Gen 艮 8. Kun 坤
4 5
5
APPENDIX 2
Names and Images of the

Sixty-four Hexagrams
 Qian 乾 2 Kun 坤 3 Tun 屯 4 Meng 蒙

(Difficulty at the
(The Creative) (The Receptive) Beginning) (Youthful Folly)
A B C D
5 Xu 需 6 Song 訟 7 Shi 師 8 Bi 比
(Holding
(Waiting) (Conflict) (The Army) Together)
E F G H
9 Xiaoxu 小畜 0 Lü 履  Tai 泰 2 Pi 否
(Taming Power
of the Small) (Treading) (Peace) (Standstill)
I J K L
3 Tongren 同人 4 Dayou 大有 5 Qian 謙 6 Yu 豫
(Possession in
(Fellowship) Great Measure) (Modesty) (Enthusiasm)
M N O P
7 Sui 隨 8 Gu 蠱 9 Lin 臨 20 Guan 觀
(Following) (Decay) (Approach) (Viewing)
Q R S T
53
2 Shike 噬嗑 22 Bi 賁 23 Bo 剝 24 Fu 復
(Biting Through) (Grace) (Splitting Apart) (Return)
U V W X
25 Wuwang 無妄 26 Daxu 大畜 27 Yi 頤 28 Daguo 大過
(Taming Power (Preponderance
(No Errancy) of the Great) (Nourishment) of the Great)
Y Z [ \
29 Xikan 習坎 30 Li 離 3 Xian 咸 32 Heng 恆
(The Abyss) (Cohesion) (Reciprocity) (Perseverance)
] ^ _ `
33 Dun 遯 34Dazhuang大壯 35 Jin 晉 36 Mingyi 明夷
(Darkening of
(Retreat) (Power of the Great) (Advance) the Light)
a b c d
37 Jiaren 家人 38 Kui 睽 39 Jian 蹇 40 Xie 解
(The Family) (Opposition) (Obstruction) (Release)
e f g h
4 Sun 損 42 Yi 益 43 Guai 夬 44 Gou 姤
(Diminution) (Increase) (Resolution) (Encounter)
i j k l
45 Cui 萃 46 Sheng 升 47 Kun 困 48 Jing 井
(Gathering) (Climbing) (Oppression) (The Well)
m n o p
Appendix II 55
49 Ge 革 50 Ding 鼎 5 Zhen 震 52 Gen 艮

(Revolution) (The Caldron) (The Arousing) (Keeping Still)
q r s t
53 Jian 漸 54 Guimei 歸妹 55 Feng 豐 56 Lü 旅
(Gradual (Marrying
Advance) Maiden) (Abundance) (The Wanderer)
u v w x
57 Xun 巽 58 Dui 兌 59 Huan 渙 60 Jie 節
(The Gentle) (The Joyous) (Dispersion) (Control)
y z { |
6 Zhongfu 中孚 62 Xiaoguo 小過 63 Jiji 既濟 64 Weiji 未濟
(Preponderance (Incompletion)
(Inner Trust) of the Small) (Completion)
} ~ � �
Notes
For full information for the works cited here in short form, see the bibliography. The
following abbreviations are used in the notes:
QSW Quan Song wen

SKQS Yingyin wenyuange siku quanshu
SS Song shi
SYXA Song Yuan xue’an
XZZTJCB Xu zizhi tongjian changbian
For the benefit of those who use other versions of these works, in citing them I provide
the juan (chapter) number as well as the page number.
Introduction
. Reference to and partial translation of the Yijing first appeared in Europe in 687
in Confucius Sinarum philsosphus, edited by the Jesuit Philippe Couplet (623–692).
The first full translation of the Yijing in Latin was compiled and edited by the Jesuit
Jean-Baptiste Régis (664–738). But no English translation of the classic appeared
until a century later when Rev. Canon McClathchie (84–885) published, in 876,
A Translation of the Confucius “Classic of Change” in Shanghai. Then, James Legge
(85–897), one of the greatest nineteenth-century translators of Chinese classics,
published his translation of the Yijing, The I Ching, in 882 as part of F. Max Müller’s
“The Sacred Books of the East.” Legge’s translation, for a long time considered to be
the best English translation of the classic, was somewhat eclipsed in the 950s by
Richard Wilhelm’s translation, originally done in German in the 920s and rendered
into English in 950 by Cary F. Baynes. Accompanied by Carl Jung’s preface, the
Wilhelm/Baynes translation has been well received in the English-speaking world.
Hellmut Wilhelm, the son of Richard Wilhelm, worked hard to promote the study
of the Yijing, particularly after he relocated to the United States. Among his works is
Eight Lectures on the I Ching (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 960). For
a critical review of the Western scholarship on the Yijing, see Iulian K. Shchutskii,
Researches on the I Ching (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 980), 3–55; Richard
Rutt, The Book of Changes (Zhouyi): A Bronze Age Document Translated with Intro-
duction and Notes (London: RoutedgeCurzon, 2002), 60–82.
57
58 Notes to pp. 2–4
2. Richard John Lynn, “Review of Sung Dynasty Uses of the I Ching,” Journal of
Sung-Yuan Studies 27 (997): 52.
3. On the importance of the Northern Song period in the history of Yijing com-
mentary, see “Jingbu zongxu: Yi lei” (General preface to the classics: Category of
Yi), Siku Quanshu zongmu tiyao (Shanghai: Commercial Press, 933), 2; Xu Qinting,
“Songdai zhi yixue,” Kongmeng xuebao, 4 (98): 73–207, 44 (982): 79–4.
4. The list of publications of these scholars is long. Among the major ones are: E.
A. Kracke Jr., “Family versus Merit in Chinese Civil Service Examinations under the
Empire,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, 0 (947): 03–23, and “Region, Family,
and Individual in the Chinese Examination System,” in John K. Fairbank, ed., Chinese
Thought and Institutions (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 967), 25–68; John
W. Chaffee, The Thorny Gates of Learning in Sung China (Albany: State University of
New York Press, 995); Robert P. Hymes, Statesmen and Gentlemen: The Elite of Fu-
chou, Chiang-hsi, in Northern and Southern Sung (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 986); Peter K. Bol, “This Culture of Ours”: Intellectual Transitions in T’ang and
Sung China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 992).
5. For a discussion of the original layer of the Yijing, see Qian Jibo, Zhouyi jieti ji
qi dufa (Shanghai: Commercial Press, 933), –5; Edward Shaughnessy, I Ching (The
Classic of Changes): The First English Translation of the Newly Discovered Second-
Century B.C. Mawangdui Texts (New York: Ballantine, 996), –3. For a detailed
discussion of the roles of trigrams and hexgrams in the original layer of the Yijing, see
Hellmut Wilhelm, Eight Lectures on the I Ching, 35–63; Iulian Shchutskii, Researches
on the I Ching, 29–57.
6. For a discussion of the Ten Wings, see Kidder Smith et al., Sung Dynasty Uses
of the I Ching (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 990), 3–25.
7. For a study of the Xici, see Zhang Dainian, “Lun Yi Da Zhuan de zhushu niandai
yu zhexue sixiang,” Zhongguo zhexue,  (979): 2–43; Willard Peterson, “Making
Connections: ‘Commentary on the Attached Verbalization’ of the Book of Change,”
Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, 42. (982): 67–6.
8. For another rendition of this Xici statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching
(New York: Columbia University Press, 950), 287–89.
9. In chapter 2 of Shuogua, there is a discussion of the “Three Realms” similar to
that in the Xici. The Shuogua chapter reads: “The yin and the yang are the foundations
of the Way of Heaven, the soft and hard [of the hexagram lines] are the foundations of
the Way of Earth, and the reciprocity and righteousness [among human beings] are
the foundations of the Way of Humankind.” Cf. Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching, 264.
0. In Divination, Order and the Zhouyi (Lanham, Md.: University Press of America,
999), Richard Gotshalk offers a translation of the Yijing as a divination text of the Zhou
Dynasty. In the introduction of the book Gotshalk discusses how the Yijing provides
the “knowledge of the future,” allowing one to have a sense of order in confronting the
uncertainty of life. In a poetic manner, he describes the “knowledge of the future” of
the Yijing as follows: “Life—personal and collective—is inherently an affair of change.
In its temporality it involves movement into the unknown and the uncertain. Given
Notes to pp. 4–7 59
our natures we develop a capacity to anticipate what that movement is bringing, and
because something is at stake for us in our participation in that movement, we desire
to anticipate well what is coming and aided by that to share effectively in securing
what is at stake as we encounter and interact with what we do” (37).
. Robert M. Hartwell, “Demographic, Political, and Social Transformations
of China, 750–550,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, 42.2 (982): 354–442; Sun
Guodong, “Tang Song zhiji shehui mendi zhi xiaorong,” Xinya xuebao, 4. (959):
2–304; Chen Yiyan, Beisong tongzhi jieceng shehui liudong zhi yanjiu (Taibei: Jiaxin
shuini gongsi wenhua jijin hui, 977).
2. Sun Guodong, “Tang Song zhiji,” 2–304; Chen Yiyan, Beisong tongzhi jieceng,
90–9.
3. “Thorny gate” is John W. Chaffee’s translation of jiwei. See, The Thorny Gates
of Learning, 57.
4. Poems, letters, and essays have long been the main sources of information for
intellectual historians. For an example of how these sources are used, see Peter K.
Bol, “This Culture of Ours.” Recently, in Powerful Relations: Kinship, Status, and the
State in Sung China (960–276) (Cambridge: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard
University, 998), Beverly Bossler uses funerary writings extensively to demonstrate
social and intellectual changes. Based on poetry, Tao Jingsheng demonstrates the
widespread anxiety among the Song civil bureaucrats regarding the future of their
families. See Beisong shizu: Jiating, hunyin, shenghuo (Taibei: Zhongyang yanjiu yuan
lishi yuyan yanjiu shuo zhuankan, no. 02, 200), 27–63.
5. SS, juan 202, 5035–5040. Among the sixty titles, more than thirty of them were
widely circulated among the educated elite during the transition from the Northern
Song to the Southern Song, see Chao Gongwu, Junzhai dushu zhi jiaozheng (Shanghai:
Shanghai guji chubenshi, 990), 27–47. For further discussion of the great number of
Yijing commentaries in the Northern Song, see Zhu Bokun, Yixue zhexue shi volume
2 (Beijing: Beijing daxue chubanshe, 988), –6.
6. For a more detailed list of Song Yijing writings, see Xu Qinting, “Songdai zhi
yixue.” Li Gou’s essays can be found in Li Gou ji (Collected works of Li Gou) (Bei-
jing: Zhonghua shuju, 98), 27–5; Fan Zhongyan’s rhapsodic poems are in QSW, 9:
427–28.
7. “Qingbo zongxu: Yi lei,” Siku Quanshu zongmu tiyao, 2.
8. John B. Henderson, Scripture, Canon, and Commentary: A Comparison of
Confucian and Western Exegesis (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 99).
See particularly 89–99.
9. Steven Van Zoeren, Poetry and Personality: Reading, Exegesis, and Hermeneutics
in Traditional China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 99).
20. Rudolf G. Wagner, The Craft of a Chinese Commentator: Wang Bi on the Laozi
(Albany: State University of New York Press, 2000).
2. Daniel K. Gardner, “Confucian Commentary and Chinese Intellectual History,”
Journal of Asian Studies, 57.2 (May 998): 397–422; On-cho Ng, Cheng-Zhu Confu-
cianism in the Early Qing: Li Guangdi (642–78) and Qing Learning (Albany: State
University of New York Press, 200).
22. Alan T. Wood, Limits to Autocracy: From Sung Neo-Confucianism to a Doctrine
of Political Rights (Honolulu: University of Hawaii, 995), x.
23. In general, Wood frames his book as a comparative study of Chinese and Euro-
pean political philosophy focusing on the issue of autocracy. In the introduction, he
discusses how the two traditions can be compared, and in chapter 6, “Statecraft and
Natural Laws in the West and China,” he uses what he finds in the three Northern Song
Chunqiu commentaries to contrast with European political philosophy. In chapter 7,
“Implications for Modern China and Japan,” Wood extends his comparison to Meiji
Japan and late Qing China.
24. Kidder Smith et al., Sung Dynasty Uses of the I Ching (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton
University Press, 990), vii.
25. For a discussion of the characteristics of “the study of the Yijing in history,” see
Richard John Lynn, “A Review of Sung Dynasty Uses of the I Ching,” 52–67; Tze-ki Hon,
“Songdai yixue” (The Yi learning of the Song), Jiuzhou xuekan, 4. (99): 09–20.
26. To underscore the importance of exegetical tradition, chapter  of Sung Dynasty
Uses of the I Ching is devoted to discussing the xiangshu and yili schools of inter-
pretation. Although it is never explicitly spelled out, the four authors’ stress on the
influence of exegetical tradition is in part an echo of the ongoing discussion among
scholars on the three-way interaction in commentary—the text, the commentarial
tradition, and the historical time of the commentator. For an inspiring discussion
of this three-way interaction in commentary, see Steven D. Fraade From Tradition
to Commentary: Torah and Its Interpretation in the Midrash Sifre to Deuteronomy
(Albany: State University of New York Press, 99).
27. On the relationship between literary creation and moral cultivation, see chapters
2 and 3 of Sung Dynasty Uses of the I Ching; on the relationship between self-cultivation
and learning, see chapters 4, 5, and 6 of the same book.
28. See chapters 4 and 5 of Limits to Autocracy.
29. “The unfolding of Neo-Confucianism” is originally the title of a conference
volume on Ming thought edited by Wm. Theodore de Bary (New York: Columbia
University Press, 970). But the phrase has become the symbol of an approach to
studying the intellectual history of China from the eleventh to seventeenth centuries.
The approach focuses on Zhu Xi as the grand synthesizer of Chinese culture and the
cofounder (along with Cheng Yi) of the Cheng-Zhu school of Daoxue (Learning of
the Way). It also emphasizes the developments of the Cheng-Zhu school of Daoxue
into the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, particularly those scholars related
to Wang Yangming (472–529). In addition to the conference volume mentioned
earlier, other important works of this “unfolding of Neo-Confucianism” include
Carsun Chang, The Development of Neo Confucian Thought, 2 volumes (New York:
Bookman, 962); Wing-tsit Chan, A Source Book in Chinese Philosophy (Princeton,
N.J.: Princeton University Press, 963), particularly 460–69; Tu Wei-ming, Human-
Notes to pp. 9–0 6
ity and Self-Cultivation: Essays in Confucian Thought (Berkeley: Asian Humanities

Press, 979), particularly 7–28; Wm. Theodore de Bary and Irene Bloom, Sources
of Chinese Tradition: From Earliest Times to 600, volume  (New York: Columbia
University Press, 999), particularly 667–924.
30. Kidder Smith et al., Sung Dynasty Uses of the I Ching, 53–55, 222–27.
3. Sung Dynasty Uses of the I Ching, 222. To be fair to the four authors, their picture
of the Song Yijing learning is based on a long history of scholarship on Song-Ming
Neo-Confucianism that centers upon Zhu Xi. And they wrote their pieces before
academia was more aware of the difference between “Song learning” (Songxue) and
the “Learning of the Way” (Daoxue) (more about this distinction later in the chapter).
The picture they present, limited and limiting as it is, reflects their best efforts at the
time. For a study of how Western sinology has been shaped by the Jesuits’ images of
Confucius, Confucianism, and Neo-Confucianism, see Lionel M. Jensen, Manufac-
turing Confucianism: Chinese Traditions and Universal Civilization (Durham, N.C.:
Duke University Press, 997), –50.
32. Some contemporary Yijing scholars argue that the “Zhou” of Zhouyi has mul-
tiple meanings, not necessarily referring to the Zhou Dynasty. For instance, Qian Jibo
suggests that “zhou” means cyclical change as in the idiom “zhou er fu shi” (beginning
anew after a cycle of change has completed). See Zhouyi jieti jiqi dufa, 5–. But for the
Northern Song exegetes, they adopted Kong Yingda’s definition of the Zhouyi, namely,
the transformation of an ancient divination text into a Confucian classic by King Wen
of Zhou, the Duke of Zhou and Confucius. Thus, for Hu Yuan and other Northern
Song exegetes, when they said Zhouyi, they meant the Yi of the Zhou Dynasty.
33. In undertaking a synchronic comparison, I have greatly benefited from the
great number of works on Northern Song Yijing studies published in China since the
980s. There are two kinds of works that are particularly important. First are general
historical accounts of Yijing studies which often include substantial discussion on the
Northern Song. They include Zhu Bokun, Yixue zhexue shi volume 2; Liao Mingchun,
Kang Xuewei, and Liang Weixian, Zhouyi yanjiu shi (History of the studies of Zhouyi
(Changsha: Hunan chubanshe, 99); Xu Zhirui, Song Ming yixue gailun (Shenyang:
Liaoning guji chubanshe, 996). Second are specialized works on Northern Song
Yijing studies. They include Yu Dunkang, Neisheng waiwang de guantong: Beisong
yixue de xiandai chanshi (Shanghai: Xuelin chubanshe, 997); Jin Shengyang, Su shi
yizhuan yanjiu (Chengdu: Bashu shushe, 2002); articles in Zhouyi yanjiu lunwen ji
(Collected essays in the Zhouyi studies), three volumes, edited by Huang Shouqi and
Zhang Shanwen (Beijing: Beijing shifan daxue chubanshe, 987–990); articles in
Guoji yixue yanjiu (International studies of the Yijing), edited by Zhu Bokun (Beijing:
Huaxia chuban she, 995– ).
34. To some Yijing scholars, the xiangshu school of commentary was what character-
ized the Song Yijing learning, and the yili school of commentary played no role at all.
For this view, see Imai Usaburo, Sodai ekigaku no kenkyu (Studies of the Yi learning
of the Song period) (Tokyo: Meiji tosho shuppan kabushiki kaisha, 958). Others see
the two schools of commentary as integral parts of Northern Song Yi learning. But
they view the xiangshu school as playing a more important role than the yili school
62 Notes to pp. 0–3
in shaping the Yi learning of the Northern Song. They make their preference clear in
the ways they present the Yi learning of the Northern Song. In their narrative, they
discuss the xiangshu school first, followed by the yili school. See, for instance, Zhu
Bokun, Yixue zhexue shi volume 2; Liao Mingchun, Kang Xuewei, and Liang Weixian,
Zhouyi yanjiu shi, 98–32. Xu Zhirui, Song Ming yixue gailun.
35. Zhu Xi, Yiluo yuanyuan lu, juan 4–6; SS, juan 427, 278–24.
36. SYXA, : a. Song Yuan xue’an is commonly translated as “Song and Yuan intel-
lectual history.” Here, I adopt James T. C. Liu’s translation, “Song and Yuan schools of
learning,” which is more literal than the usual translation. As James Liu points out, a
more informative translation of SYXA should be “Song and Yuan Confucian schools
of learning.” See James T. C. Liu, China Turning Inward: Intellectual-Political Changes
in the Early Twelfth Century (Cambridge: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard
University Press, 988), 43–44. For a discussion of Quan Zuwang’s biases toward
some Song and Jin scholars, see Hoyt Cleveland Tillman, “Confucianism under the
Chin and the Impact of Sung Confucian Tao-hsüeh,” in China under Jurchen Rule:
Essays on Chin Intellectual and Cultural History, edited by Hoyt Cleveland Tillman
and Stephen H. West (Albany: State University of New York Press, 995), 72.
37. Siku quanshu zongmu tiyao, juan 2, 2.
38. See Hoyt Cleveland Tillman, Confucian Discourse and Chu Hsi’s Ascendency
(Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 992), 2–3; Peter K. Bol, “This Culture of Ours,”
32–75, 300–42; Thomas A. Wilson, Genealogy of the Way: The Construction and Uses
of the Confucian Tradition in Late Imperial China (Stanford: Stanford University
Press, 995), –20; Benjamin A. Elman, A Cultural History of Civil Examinations
in Late Imperial China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), –65. Also,
since the mid-eighties, some Chinese scholars have been calling for a sharp distinc-
tion between “Song Learning” and the “Learning of the Way.” See Deng Guangming,
“Luelun Songxue” (Brief discussion of Song learning) in Deng Guangming zhishi
conggao (Beijing: Beijing daxue chubanshe, 997), 63–76; Qi Xia, “Songxue de fazhan
he yanbian” (The development and changes in Song learning) in Tan zhi ji (Baoding:
Hebei daxue chubanshe, 999), –46; Yang Weisheng, Liang Song wenhua shi yanjiu
(Hangzhou: Hangzhou daxue chubanshe, 998), –25.
39. Tillman, “Reflections on Classifying ‘Confucian’ Lineages: Reinventions of
Tradition in Song China,” in Rethinking Confucianism, 34–35. Representative works of
the retrospective reading of Song Learning include: Fung Yu-lan, A History of Chinese
Philosophy, volume 2, translated by Derk Bodde (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University
Press, 953), 407–533; Wm. Theodore de Bary, “A Reappraisal of Neo-Confucianism,”
in Studies in Chinese Thought, edited by Arthur F. Wright (Chicago: University of Chi-
cago Press, 954), 8–; de Bary, East Asian Civilizations: A Dialogue in Five Stages
(Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 988), 43–67; Wing-tsit Chan, A Source Book
in Chinese Philosophy (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 963), 460–57.
40. See Rethinking Confucianism: Past and Present in China, Japan, and Vietnam,
edited by Benjamin A. Elman, John B. Duncan, and Herman Ooms (Los Angeles: Re-
gents of the University of California for the UCLA Asian Pacific Monograph Series,
2002), 523–24.
Notes to pp. 3–6 63
4. For decades, some Yijing scholars have devoted themselves to reconstructing
the original Yijing text (or the Zhouyi) so that it would more faithfully reflect the time
of its original composition. See, for instance, Edward L. Shaughnessy, “The Composi-
tion of the Zhouyi” (Ph. D. diss., Stanford University, 983), and his Before Confucius:
Studies in the Creation of the Chinese Classic (Albany: State University of New York
Press, 997), 3–30, 97–220; Richard Alan Kunst, “The Original ‘Yijing’: A Text,
Phonetic Transcription, Translation, and Indexes, with Sample Glosses” (Ph.D. diss.,
University of California, Berkeley, 985); Richard Rutt, The Book of Changes (Zhouyi);
Richard Gotshalk, Divination, Order, and Zhouyi (Lanham, Md.: University Press of
America, 999). See also Li Jingchi, Zhouyi tanyuan (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 978),
Gao Heng, Zhouyi gujing jinzhu revised edition (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 984).
The debate about the origins and the textual structure of Yijing has been intensified
since the mid-980s after the publication of archaeological findings in Mawangdui in
Changsha, Hunan, that reveal other ways of arranging hexagrams and the text, and
other traditions in transmitting the Yijing text. For a discussion of the significance of
this discovery and its relation to the debate of the Yijing text, see Deng Qiubo, Boshu
Zhouyi jiaoshi, revised edition (Changsha: Hunan chubanshe, 987), –67; Zhang
Liwen, Zhouyi boshu jinzhu jinshi (Taibei: Taiwan xuesheng shuju, 99), –42; Li
Xueqin, Zhouyi jingzhuan suyuan (Changchun: Changchun chubanshe, 992), 79–237;
Edward L. Shaughnessy, I Ching, 4–29.
. The Northern Song Historical Context
Epigraph: Xin Wudai shi (Beijing, Zhonghua shuju, 974), juan 34, 370.
. The Japanese historian Naitō Konan (Torajiro, 866–934) was the major
force in promoting this concept of “Tang-Song transition.” For a summary of Naitō’s
view, see Hisayuki Miyuakawa, “An Outline of the Naitō Hypothesis and Its Effects
on Japanese Studies of China,” Far Eastern Quarterly 4: 4 (955): 533–52.
2. See Robert M. Hartwell, “Demographic, Political, and Social Transformation
of China”; Robert P. Hymes, Statesmen and Gentlemen; Beverly J. Bossler, Powerful
Relations.
3. For an overview of the technological and economic changes during this period,
see the introduction of Robert P. Hymes and Conrad Schirokauer to Ordering the
World: Approaches to State and Society in Sung Dynasty China (Berkeley: University
of California Press, 993), –5. See also Paul J. Smith, “State Power and Economic
Activism during the New Policies, 068–85: The Tea and Horse Trade and the ‘Green
Sprouts’ Loan Policy,” in Hymes and Schirokauer, Ordering the World, 76–27; Billy
K. L. So, Prosperity, Region, and Institutions in Maritime China: The South Fukien
Pattern, 946–368 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 200).
4. Zheng Xuemeng, Zhongguo gudai jingji zhongxin nianyi he Tang Song jiang-
nan jingji yanjiu (Changsha: Yuelu shushe, 995) –3; 39–292; Paul J. Smith, Taxing
Heaven’s Storehouse: Horses, Bureaucrats, and the Destruction of the Sichuan Tea
Industry, 074–224 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 99), 3–0.
64 Notes to pp. 6–2
5. This argument is given a cohesive articulation in Peter K. Bol, “This Culture of

Ours.” Bol argues that from the Tang to the Song, the constitution of the literati had
been thrice redefined. Although the term for the literati remained shi throughout the
Tang and Song, Bol points out that the criteria for shi had changed. In early Tang they
were the aristocrats from wealthy families; in Northern Song they were the bureaucrats
armed with reform ideas; and in Southern Song they were the gentry who had a firm
grip on local property. See “This Culture of Ours,” 32–75.
6. See Chen Yinke, Tangdai zhengzhi shi shulun gao (Hong Kong: Zhonghua shuju,
974), –49. See also Edwin G. Pulleyblank, “The An Lu-shan Rebellion and the origins
of chronic militarism in late T’ang China,” in John Curtis Perry and Bardwell L. Smith,
eds., Essays on T’ang Society: The Interplay of Social, Political and Economic Forces
(Leiden: Brill, 979), 32–60; C. A. Peterson, “Court and province in mid- and late
T’ang,” in Dennis Twitchett, ed., The Cambridge History of China volume 3 (London:
Cambridge University Press, 979), 464–560.
7. Zheng Xuemeng, Wudai shiguo shi yanjiu (Shanghai: Shanghai renmin chuban-
she, 99), –7.
8. Zheng Xuemeng, Wudai shiguo, 23–34.
9. For a study of this lord-vassal relationship between the late Tang military gen-
erals and the “Army of the Adopted Son,” see Wang Gungwu, The Structure of Power
in North China during the Five Dynasties (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 963),
47–78.
0. Xue Jucheng, Jiu Wudai shi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 976), juan 35, 49.
. For a study of the historical significance of this imperial dinner, see Peter
Lorge, “The Entrance and Exit of the Song Founders,” Journal of Sung-Yuan Studies,
29 (999): 43–62. Some historians have doubts about the truthfulness of “dissolving
military power over a cup of wine,” regarding it as a story constructed for political
purposes in mid or late Northern Song. For this view, see Xu Gui, Yang su ji (Heng-
zhou: Hengzhou daxue chubanshe, 999), 526–32, 66–33.
2. Zhang Qifan, Wudai jinjun chutan (Guangzhou: Jinian daixue chubanshe,
993), 98–20; Deng Guangming, Deng Guangming zhishi conggao, 449–53; Fang
Hao, Song shi (Taibei: Zhonghua wenhua chuban shiye weiyuan hui, 954), –66.
3. Wang Zengyu, Songchao bingzhi chutan (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 983), 2–4,
327–38.
4. For a review of the current debate on social mobility of the Song, see John W.
Chaffee, The Thorny Gates of Learning, xxi–xxx. In Powerful Relations, Beverly Bossler
offers a thoughtful assessment of the examination system. She argues that although
the examination system was not “the great engine of social mobility,” it facilitated “the
integration of the state and society in China far beyond the level that had existed in
earlier eras” (53).
5. John W. Chaffee, The Thorny Gates of Learning, 48–5.
6. SS, juan 446, 349.
7. Zhu Xi, Yiluo yuanyuan lu, juan –6; and his “Daxue zhangju xu,” (Preface
to an annotated commentary on the Great Learning) Sishu zhangju jizhu (Beijing:
Zhonghua shuju, 983), –2.
8. See chapter 4 for further discussion of Fan Zhongyan’s and Wang Anshi’s
reforms. See chapter 5 for a comparison of Wang Anshi and Sima Guang.
9. For studies of these writers and artists, see Michael A. Fuller, The Road to East
Slope: The Development of Su Shi’s Poetic Voice (Stanford: Stanford University Press,
990); Susan Bush, The Chinese Literati on Painting: Su Shih (037–0) to Tung Ch’i-
ch’ang (555–636) (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 97); Ronald C. Egan, The
Literary Works of Ou-yang Hsiu (007–072) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
986); Peter Charles Sturman, Mi Fu: Style and the Arts of Calligraphy in Northern
Song China (New Haven: Yale University Press, 997); Stanley Murashige, “Rhythm,
Order, Change, and Nature in Guo Xi’s Early Spring,” Monumenta Serica, 43 (995):
337–64.
20. Zhang Qifan argues that beginning with the Renzong’s reign, the political
structure of the Northern Song had changed such that the educated elite felt as
though “they ruled the world with the emperor” (huangdi yu shidaifu gongzhi tianxia).
According to Zhang, there was a delicate balance of power in the political structure
between the emperor, the ministers, and the censors. See Zhang, Songchu zhengzhi
tanyan (Guangzhou: Jinian daxue chubanshe, 995), 62–68. For a study of the change
in the self-identity of the early Northern Song educated elite, see Peter K. Bol, “This
Culture of Ours,” 48–75.
2. For a biography of Feng Dao and an assessment of him as a preserver of culture
in the Five Dynasties, see Wang Gungwu “Feng Tao: An Essay on Confucian Loyalty”
in Arthur F. Wright and Denis Twitchett, Confucian Personalities (Stanford: Stanford
University Press, 962), 23–45; reprinted in Wang Gungwu, The Chineseness of China
(Hong Kong: Oxford University Press, 99), 4–63. See also Zheng Xuemeng, Wudai
shiguo shi yanjiu, 00–3.
22. A portion of Feng Dao’s preface to “A Self-Portrait of an Ever-Happy Old Man”
is preserved in the biography of Feng Dao in Xue Jucheng, Jiu Wudai shi, juan 26,
66–64.
23. Jiu Wudai shi, juan 26, 666.
24. Jiu Wudai shi, juan 64, 860.
25. For a comparison of the differing historical perspectives in the Old History and
the New History, see Tze-ki Hon, “Military Governance versus Civil Governance: A
Comparison of the Old History and the New History of the Five Dynasties,” in Imagin-
ing Boundaries: Changing Confucian Doctrines, Texts, and Hermeneutics, edited by
Kai-Wing Chow, On-cho Ng, and John B. Henderson (Albany: State University of New
York Press, 999), 85–06. For a general comparison of the two historical works, see
Zhao Yi (727–84), Nianer shi daji jiaozheng, annotated by Wang Shumin (Beijing:
Zhonghua chuju, 984) 45–64; Wang Mingsheng (722–797), Shiqi shi shangque
(Shanghai: Commercial Press, 937), 057–32; Wang Gungwu, “Some Comments
on the Later Standard Histories,” in Donald D. Leslie, Collin Mackenas, and Wang
Gungwu, eds., Essays on the Sources for Chinese History (Columbia: University of
South Carolina Press, 973), 53–63, especially 57–58;
26. Xin Wudai shi, juan 42, 6.
27. XZZTJCB, juan , 2583.
28. See XZZTJCB, juan 7, 408. For a study of why Feng Dao was popular among
scholar-officials during his lifetime and a hundred years after his death, see Wang
Gungwu, “Feng Tao: An Essay on Confucian Loyalty,” 23–45; Lin Yongqin, Qiqiang
Kongzi—Feng Dao (Taibei: Qiuda wenhua gufen youxian gongsi, 989), 3–4, 55–63.
29. Fan Zhongyan, “Yueyang lou ji” (A remembrance of [a visit to] Yueyang tower)
in Fan wenzheng gong ji (Taibei: Commercial Press, 986), 95.
30. On Northern Song bureaucratic factionalism, see He Guanhuan, Songchu
pengdang yu taiping xingguo sannian jinshi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 994); Luo
Jiaxiang, Beisong dangzheng yanjiu (Taibei: Wenjing chubanshe, 993); Xiao Qingwei,
Beisong xinjiu dangzheng yu wenxue (Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 200); Shen Songqin,
Beisong wenren yu dangzheng—Zhongguo shi dafu qun yanjiu zhiyi (Beijing: Renmin
chubanshe, 998).
3. Chen Jun, Huangchao biannian gangmu beiyao (Taipei: Chengwen chubanshe,
966 reprint), juan 22–26; Li Zhi, Huang Song shichao gangmu (Taipei: Haiwen chu-
banshe, 967 reprint), juan –8; SS, juan 7, 37–438; Song shi jishi benmu (Beijing:
Zhonghua shuju, 977), juan 43–49, 4–504.
32. In The Logic of Practice (980), Distinction (984), and The Field of Cultural
Production (993), Pierre Bourdieu argues that besides the conventional economic
capital that is measured in number and material form, there is nonmaterial form of
capital understood in terms of the position and interrelationship of the players in the
social field. Known as the “cultural capital,” the nonmaterial form of capital gives the
players in the social field the same degree of autonomy and flexibility as economic
capital does to bankers, industrialists, and corporate CEOs in market economy. For
a succinct summary of Bourdieu’s notion of cultural capital, see Moishe Postone,
Edward LiPuma, and Craig Calhoun, “Introduction: Bourdieu and Social Theory,” in
Craig Calhoun, Edward LiPuma, and Moishe Postone, Bourdieu: Critical Perspectives
(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 993), –3.
33. For a study of the marriage and social life of the Northern Song educated
elite, see Tao Jinsheng, Beisong shizu: Jiating, hunyin, shenghuo. For a study of the
tongnien (examination cohort) network among the literati, see Koon-wan Ho, Politics
and Factionalism: K’ou Chun (962–023) and His T’ung-Nien (Ph.D. Dissertation,
University of Arizona, 990). For a study of how the rise of the educated elite in the
Song helped to reshape women’s role in society, especially their property rights, see
Bettine Birge, Women, Property, and Confucian Reaction in Sung and Yüan China
(960–368) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002).
2. The Northern Song Yijing Text
Epigraph: “Zhouyi zhengyi,” SKQS 7: 304.

. For more information on Kong Yingda and his Wujing zhengyi project, see Liu
Xu, Jiu Tang shu (Old history of Tang) (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 975), 260–2603;
Ouyang Xiu and Song Qi, Xin Tang shu (New History of Tang) (Beijing: Zhonghua
shuju, 975), 5643–44; Pi Xirui, Jingxue lishi with Zhou Yutong’s annotations (Taibei:
Yiwen yinshuguan, 987), 2–2; Howard J. Wechsler, Offerings of Jade and Silk (New
Haven: Yale University Press, 985), 37–54; David McMullen, State and Scholars in
T’ang China (London: Cambridge University Press, 988), 7–76.
2. “Zhouyi zhengyi xu” (Preface to True Meanings of the Yi of the Zhou [Dynasty]),
SKQS 7: 30.
3. For a discussion of the politics in Kong’s decision on the official commentary
of the Yijing and the regional differences in the early Tang Yijing scholarship, see Pi
Xirui, Jingxue lishi, 205–25; Qian Jibo, Zhouyi jieti jiqu dufa, 34–35.
4. See the standard edition of the Zhouyi zhu in Wang Bi, Wang Bi ji jiaoshi, anno-
tated by Lou Yulie (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 980), 2–620. In translating Zhouyi
zhu into English, Richard John Lynn does not follow the standard sequence of the
text. He puts Wang Bi’s essays at the beginning of the commentary. See The Classic
of Changes: A New Translation of the I Ching as Interpreted by Wang Bi (New York:
Columbia University Press, 994), 25–26. For possible misleading connotations of Lynn’s
textual arrangement, see my “Review of Richard John Lynn, The Classic of Changes: A
New Translation of the I Ching as Interpreted by Wang Bi,” Journal of Oriental Studies,
33 (995): 2: 280–82.
5. “Zhouyi zhengyi xu,” SKQS 7: 302.
6. “Yi zhi san ming,” SKQS 7: 304.
7. “Yi zhi san ming,” SKQS 7: 303–304.
8. “Yi zhi san ming,” SKQS 7: 304.
9. For a translation of this hexagram line statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I
Ching, .
0. For a translation of Wang Bi’s comment, see Lynn, The Classic of Changes,
43.
. Andrew H. Plaks, Archetype and Allegory in the Dream of the Red Chamber
(Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 976), 43–53.
2. “Zhouyi zhengyi,” SKQS 7: 329.
3. For a translation of the hexagram line, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching, 40.
4. “Zhouyi zhengyi,” SKQS 7: 432. Except where mentioned otherwise, all the
translations of the Yijing and the Yijing commentaries in this book are mine. Despite
recent interests in the study of the Yijing in history, there is no translation of the Yijing
commentaries of the Tang and the Song. The closest we get to the Tang-Song com-
mentaries are the translations of James Legge and Wilhelm/Baynes, both of which were
based on the Zhouyi zhezhong (An impartial rendition of the Zhouyi) of Li Guangdi
(642–78). Published in 75 when the Song-ming daoxue was heavily influencing
Qing scholarship, the Zhouyi zhezhong did not, as its title claims, offer an impartial
reading of the classic. Instead, it promoted the reading of Zhu Xi and Cheng Yi (as
opposed to Cheng Yi and Zhu Xi in Zhouyi daquan [Complete interpretation of the
Zhouyi] of the Ming). The recent translations of Richard Rutt and Richard Gotshalk
are intended to be reconstructions of the Zhouyi in the Western Zhou. They are not
translations of the Yijing of 35 B.C.E., or of the commentaries since then.
5. See Feng Youlan, “Weijin xuanxue guiwu lun guanyu youwu de lilun,” Beijing
Daxue xuebao, 986.: –8; Tang Yongtong, Tang Yongtong xueshu lunwen ji (Beijing:
Zhonghua shuju, 983), 233–79; Wing-tsit Chan, A Source Book in Chinese Philosophy,
34–24; Alan K. L. Chan, Two Visions of the Way: A Study of the Wang Pi and the
Ho-shang Kung Commentaries on the Lao-Tzu (Albany: State University of New York,
99), –88.
6. Edward L. Shaughnessy, “Commentary, Philosophy, and Translation: Reading
Wang Bi’s Commentary to the Yi Jing in a New Way,” Early China, 22 (997), 22–45.
For a study of how the political environment of the third century may have shaped
Wang Bi’s political views, see Rudolf G. Wagner, The Craft of a Chinese Commentator,
9–26.
7. For a translation of the hexagram line, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching, 82.
8. For a translation of Wang Bi’s comment, see Lynn, The Classic of Changes,
20.
9. “Zhouyi zhengyi,” SKQS 7: 385.
20. For a translation of the line statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching, 02.
2. For a translation of Wang Bi’s comment, see Lynn, The Classic of Changes,
295.
22. “Zhouyi zhengyi,” SKQS 7: 402.
23. Following a longstanding tradition in Yijing exegesis, Wang Bi interpreted the
two hexagrams as the symbols of yin and yang, the two foundational concepts of the
Yijing. See his commentary on the first and sixth lines of “Kun,” Wang Bi ji jiaoshi,
226–28; cf., Lynn, The Classic of Changes, 46–50.
24. Wang Bi read “Tai” and “Pi” as the ebb and flow of the yin force and the yang
force. See his commentary on the top line of “Tai,” Wang Bi ji jiaoshi, 278; cf., Lynn,
Classic of Changes, 209–0.
25. In interpreting “Ge” and “Ding,” Wang Bi read them as a process of politi-
cal transformation. See Wang Bi ji jiaoshi, 464–74; cf., Lynn, Classic of Changes,
444–59.
26. For a translation of the line statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching,
248.
27. Wang Bi ji jiaoshi, 528. For a translation of Wang Bi’s comment, see Lynn, The
Classic of Changes, 542.
28. For a translation of the Tuan statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching,
75.
29. Wang Bi ji jiaoshi, 53. For another translation of these lines, see Lynn, The
Classic of Changes, 64–65.
30. For a study of Wang Bi’s commentary on “Jiji” and “Weiji,” and its relation to
his philosophy, see my article, “Human Agency and Change: A Reading of Wang Bi’s
Yijing Commentary,” Journal of Chinese Philosophy, 30. 2 (June 2003): 223–42.
3. “Zhouyi zhengyi,” SKQS 7: 56.
32. For rendering you and wu into Being and Non-Being, see Wing-tsit Chan, A
Source Book in Chinese Philosophy, 34–24.
33. Feng Youlan, “Weijin xuanxue”; Tang Yongtong, Tang Yongtong xueshu lunwen
ji, 233–44.
505.
35. See Wang Bi ji jiaoshi, 336–37. For a translation of Wang Bi’s comment, see
Lynn, The Classic of Changes, 286.
36. My translation of this Xici statement is different from both Richard Wilhelm’s
and Richard John Lynn’s. Richard Wilhelm translates the statement as “That which
lets now the dark, now the light appear is tao” (The I Ching, 297). As we will see later,
Han Kangbo’s commentary on this Xici statement focuses on what yi yin (a solitary
yin) and yi yang (a solitary yang) mean. For this reason, Wilhelm’s translation misses
a key point that Han would consider as essential to this statement. Nor is Richard
Lynn’s translation entirely accurate. Lynn renders the line as “The reciprocal process
of yin and yang is called the Dao” (The Classic of Changes, 53), without translating the
adjective yi (the solitary).
37. Wang Bi ji jiaoshi, 54. For a translation of Han’s comment, see Lynn, The Classic
of Changes, 53.
38. For a full translation of this Xici statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching,
30.
39. Wang Bi ji jiaoshi, 547–48; cf., Lynn, The Classic of Changes, 60–6.
40. See Feng Youlan, “Weijin xuanxue”; Tang Yongtong, Tang Yongtong xueshu
lunwenji, 245–53.
4. “Zhouyi zhengyi,” SKQS 7: 537.
43. Wang Bi ji jiaoshi, 59. For a translation of “Ming tuan,” see Wing-tsit Chan, A
Source Book in Chinese Philosophy, 38–9; Lynn, The Classic of Changes, 26.
44. “Zhouyi zhengyi,” SKQS 7: 586–87.

45. Although only fragments of Wang Yucheng’s writings on the Yijing exist today,
they are the earliest Northern Song writings on the classic that we have. For a study of
Wang’s Yijing commentary, see Feng Xiaoting, Songchu jingxue fazhan shulun (Taibei:
Wanjuanluo tushu youxian gongsi, 200), 95–98. For a biography of Wang Yucheng,
see Xu Gui, Wang Yucheng shiji zhuzuo biannian (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue
chubanshe, 982). On Cheng Yi’s Yijing interpretation, see chapter 5.
46. In commenting on the Yijing, Su Shi frequently cited Wang Bi in explaining
the reversion to wu. See, for instance, his commentary on hexagrams “Qian” (#),
“Meng”(#4), “Song” (#6), “Shi” (#7), “Bi” (#8), “Tai” (#), and “Bo” (#23), “Dongpo
yizhuan” SKQS 9: 3–45. For more discussion of Su Shi’s Yijing commentary, see chap-
ter 5.
47. For Wang Yucheng’s comments on Wang Bi’s commentary, see his “Ming yi
jiusan yao xiang lun” (A discussion of the image of the third yang line of the hexagram
“Mingyi”) in Xiao xu ji (Collected work from the taming power of the small), juan 9;
QSW 4:445–46. Apparently an incomplete work, Wengong yishuo (Comments on the
Yi by Sima Guang) contains Sima Guang’s critical remarks on Wang Bi. He cited Wang
Bi’s comments and then offered his improvement on them. See, for instance, Sima
Guang’s commentary on the Xici I statement “He is content with his circumstances
and genuine in his kindness, therefore he is able to love others” (an tu dun hu ren gu
neng ai), “Wengong yishuo” SKQS 8: 633. For more discussion of Sima Guang’s Yijing
commentary, see chapter 4.
48. For more discussion of Zhang Zai’s Yijing commentary, see chapter 4.
49. See Sima Guang’s letter to Han Bingguo, QSW, 28: 45–6. In the letter, Sima
Guang accused Wang Bi of adopting the perspectives of Laozi and Zhuangzi in ren-
dering the Yijing irrelevant to social and political affairs.
50. See Li Gou, “Shanding yitu xulun” (Preface to a study of the edited version of
Yijing diagrams), QSW 2: 409–24.
5. See Cheng Yi’s letter to Xie Ti, Er Cheng ji (Collected works of the two Chengs)
(Beijing: Zhonghua shuju: 98), 6.
52. See Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method, second, revised edition, translated
by Joel Wiensheimer and Donald G. Marshall (New York: Crossroad, 990), 265–380.
For an explication of Gadamer’s concept of “hermeneutical circle,” see David Tracy,
Plurality and Ambiguity: Hermeneutics, Religion, Hope (San Francisco: Harper and
Row, 987), –46.
3. Mission of Civil Bureaucrats
Epigraph: Hu Yuan’s commentary on the Tuan statement of hexagram “Tongren”

(Fellowship #3), “Zhouyi kouyi,” SKQS 8: 247.
. SS, juan 432, 2837–38; R. C. Pian, “Hu Yuan,” in Sung Biographies, edited by
Notes to pp. 49–5 7
Herbert Franke (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag Gmbh, 976), 444–45; Wm. Theo-
dore de Bary, East Asian Civilizations: A Dialogue in Five Stages (Cambridge: Harvard
University Press, 988), 47–48.
2. SYXA, : a.
3. See Ouyang Xiu’s epitaph to Hu Yuan in QSW 8: 265–66; Zhong Huimin, Songru
Hu Yuan de xueshu ji qi yingxiang (Taibei: Zhongguo wenhua xueyuan master thesis,
974), 20–30; Ge Rongjin, “Hu Yuan jiqi anding xuepai de mingti dayong zhixue,” Zhong-
guo zhexue, 6 (993): 54–79.
4. To the best of my knowledge, the only historian who treats Hu Yuan as a serious
thinker is Lin Yisheng. In his Hu Yuan de yili yixue (Taibei: Commercial Press, 974), Lin
argues that Hu was a leading scholar in the Northern Song who interpreted the Yijing
based on the Ten Wings.
5. Besides the Zhouyi kouyi, there are three pieces of Hu Yuan’s writings that have
survived. First is Hu’s commentary (in bits and pieces) on the Analects and the Spring
and Autumn Annals collected in SYXA, :2b–3b. Second is a treatise on court musi-
cal instruments that Hu coedited with Ruan Yi entitled Huangyou xinyue tuji (Notes
with diagrams on the new music of the Huangyou Period [of Emperor Renzong]). The
treatise is available in SKQS 2: –22. Third is his commentary on the Great Plan
chapter of the Book of Documents, Hongfan kouyi, which can be found in SKQS, 54:
45–83. For a study of Hu’s commentary on the Great Plan, see Micheal Nylan, The
Shifting Center: The Original “Great Plan” and Later Readings (Netteal: Steyler Verlag,
Monumenta Serica Monograph Series, 992), 63–96.
6. SYXA, : a; Zhong Huimin, Songru Hu Yuan, 20–2.
7. Herbert Franke, Sung Biographies, 444.
8. SYXA, : b; Zhong Huimin, Songru Hu Yuan, 2–22.
9. SS, juan 432, 2835; SYXA, : b; Zhong Huimin, Songru Hu Yuan, 22.
0. SYXA, : b; Zhong Huimin, Songru Hu Yuan, 22.
. SS, juan 432,2835; Song shi jishi benmo, 370; SYXA, :2; Zhong Huimin, Songru
Hu Yuan, 22–24.
2. Qian Mu, Guoshi dagang (Hong Kong: Commercial Press, 989), 45–2. See
also Qian Mu, Song Ming lixue gaishu (Taipei: Xuesheng chubanshe, 977), 30–3.
3. XZZTJCB, 73: 475, 75: 4243; SS, 2837; Song shi jishi benmo, 22; SYXA, :b;
Sung Biographies, 444.
4. XZZTJCB, 92: 4635; SS, 3434; Song shi jishi benmo, 23.
5. SYXA, : 3b; Zhong Huimin, Songru Hu Yuan, 24.
6. Siku Quanshu zongmu tiyao, 2; Zhong Huimin, Songru Hu Yuan, 24–26. For
a biography of Nie Tianyin, see Song shi yi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 99), 245–46.
7. SS, juan 432, 2837; Zhong Huimin, Songru Hu Yuan, 25.
8. Zhu Bokun, Yixue zhexue shi, volume ; Kidder Smith et al., Sung Dynaty Uses
of the I Ching, 5–25.
9. “Zhouyi kouyi,” SKQS 8: 7.
20. Tsuchida Kenjiro makes a similar argument in comparing Hu Yuan with Kong
Yingda. See his “Isen ekiden no shishō,” in Sōdai no shakai to bunka, edited by Sōdai
shi kenyūkai (Tokyo: Kuko shoin, 983), 237–5.
2. For a translation of the statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching, 283.
22. “Zhouyi kouyi,” “Xici shang” (Part one of Xici), SKQS 8: 452.
23. Hu Yuan was part of the Chinese philosophical tradition of concentrating on
the universe being an organic totality, rather than on the creation of the universe.
For further discussion on this characteristic of Chinese philosophy, see Frederic W.
Mote, Intellectual Foundations of China, second edition (New York: McGraw-Hill,
989), 9–25; Tu Wei-ming, “The Continuity of Being: Chinese Visions of Nature,” in
Confucian Thought: Selfhood as Creative Transformation (Albany: State University
of New York Press, 985), 35–50.
24. Richard Wilhelm translates the statement as follows: “As begetter of all beget-
ting, it is called change” (The I Ching, 299.) As will be shown, Wilhelm’s translation
does not fit Hu Yuan’s reading of the Xici statement.
25. “Zhouyi kouyi,” SKQS 8: 53–33.
26. “Zhouyi kouyi,” “Xici shang,” SKQS 8: 469.
27. For a full translation of the Xici I statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching,
323.
29. “Zhouyi kouyi,” SKQS 8: 505.
30. “Zhouyi kouyi,” “Fati” (preface), SKQS 8: 7–72.
3. Lin Yisheng calls Hu Yuan’s humanistic reading of the Yijing “pure Confucian”
(chun ru) (Hu Yuan de yili yixue, 02–53). With all due respect to Lin’s contribution in
offering a thoughtful analysis of the Zhouyi kouyi based on the Confucian categories
of self-cultivation, administering one’s family, serving the people, and ordering the
world, he appears to overlook the changing meaning of “Confucianism” and “Confucian
scholars” over time. In many instances, what was considered as “pure Confucian” at
one time might not be regarded as “pure” at another. For a discussion of the changes in
the meaning of “Confucian scholars” from the seventh century to the twelfth century,
see Peter K. Bol, “This Culture of Ours,” 32–76.
32. “Zhouyi kouyi,” “Xugua” (Sequence of Hexagrams), SKQS 8: 560.
33. XZZTJCB, 30; SS, 49. See also Wang Fuzhi, Song lun (Taibei: Commerical Press,
guoxue jiben zongshu, 968), –3.
34. XZZTJCB, 506–507, 58–30, 560–83; SS, 35–45; Song shi jishi benmo,
62–64. For a biography of Wang Qinruo, see M. Yamauchi, “Wang Ch’in-jo,” in Sung
Notes to pp. 59–6 73
Biographies, 05–09. For a study of the “Heavenly Writings” affair, see Suzanne E.
Cahill, “Taoism at the Sung Court: The Heavenly Text Affair of 008,” Bulletin of Sung
Yuan Studies, 6 (980): 23–44.
35. On Wang Pu’s fatalism and its similarity with Feng Dao’s, see Hong Mai, Rong-
zhai suibi (Shanghai: Guji chubenshe, 978), 56–7. On Xue Juzheng’s fatalism, see
my chapter, “Military Governance versus Civil Governance,” in Kai-wing Chow et al.,
eds., Imagining Boundaries, 89–92.
36. Feng Dao’s poem appears in Wu Chuhou, Qingxiang zaji (Beijing: Zhonghua
shuju, 985), 6. Wu Chuhou reported that until his time (around the 080s) Feng
Dao’s poem remained popular among the scholar-officials. An apologist for Feng
Dao, he argued that Feng was a capable minister with superb skills in administration
(6–7).
37. The Wenyan is one of the Ten Wings of the Yijing. It offers additional com-
mentary to the first two hexagrams, “Qian” and “Kun.” Here Hu Yuan is referring to
the Wenyan of “Qian.”
38. “Zhouyi kouyi,” SKQS 8: 74–75.
39. “Zhouyi kouyi,” SKQS 8: 3.
40. In the Analects, Confucius exhorts withdrawal from human affairs on the fol-
lowing occasions:
. The Master said, “The Way makes no progress. I shall get upon a raft
and float out to sea” (Analects 5:6; Arthur Waley, The Analects of Confucius
[New York: Vintage, 938], 08).
2. The Master said to Yen Hui, “The Maxim ‘when wanted, then go; when
set aside, then hide’ is one that you and I could certainly fulfil” (Analects
7:0; Waley, 24).
3. The Master said, “Be of unwavering good faith, love learning, if attacked
be ready to die for the good Way. Do not enter a state that pursues danger-
ous courses, nor stay in one where the people have rebelled. When the Way
prevails under Heaven, then show yourself; when it does not prevail, then
hide. When the Way prevails in your own land, count it a disgrace to be
needy and obscure; when the Way does not prevail in your land, then count
it a disgrace to be rich and honoured” (Analects 8:3; Waley, 35).
4. Analects 8:3; see Waley, 35.
42. For further discussion of the Confucian justification for reclusion, see Charles
Wing-hoi Chan, “Confucius and Political Loyalism: The Dilemma,” Monumenta Serica,
44 (996): 25–99; Li Chi, “The Changing Concept of the Recluse in Chinese Literature,”
Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, 24 (962/63): 234–47; Frederic W. Mote, “Confu-
cian Eremitism in the Yuan Period,” in The Confucian Persuasions, edited by Arthur
F. Wright (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 960), 202–40. For a comparison of
the concept of eremitism among the Confucians, Daoists, and Chinese Buddhists,
see Wolfgang Bauer, “The Hidden Hero: Creation and Disintegration of the Ideal of
74 Notes to pp. 6–66
Eremitism,” in Individualism and Holism: Studies in Confucian and Taoist Values,

edited by Donald Munro (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 985), 57–98.
43. See SS, juan 432, 2833, and SYXA, 2: 2–3.
44. “Ming yin” is now preserved in full in Shi Jie, Culai Shixiansheng wenji (Col-
lected writings of Mr. Shi from Culai) (Bejing: Zhonghua shuju, 984) 95–96.
45. “Zhouyi kouyi,” SKQS 8: 75–76.
46. SS, juan 457, 3420–26. For the biographies of Chen Tuan and Zhong Fang, see
Shao Bowen, ed., Shaoshi wenjian lu (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 983), 69–70; Zhu Xi,
ed., Wuchao mingchen yanxing lu, 0: a–5a. For a discussion of Chen Tuan and Zhong
Fang, see Don J. Wyatt, The Recluse of Loyang: Shao Yung and the Moral Foundation
of Early Sung Thought (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 996), 47–59.
47. SS, juan 457, 347.
48. Regarding how the Taiping yulan and its sister publication the Taiping guangji
reflected the political vision of Emperor Taizong, see Russell Kirkland, “A World in
Balance: Holistic Synthesis in the Tai-p’ing kuang-chi,” Journal of Sung-Yuan Studies
23 (993): 43–70.
49. Li Fang, Taiping yulan (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 960), 2290–2324.
50. XZZTJCB, 425, 588, 738, 5–52, 273, 394–95, 496, 652; Jiang Shaoyu,
Songchao shishi leiyuan (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 98), 4:533–37; SS, 58,
63, 72–73, 8–2, 28, 30, 40, 48–5, 3420–26.
5. SS, juan 457, 3420–2.
52. Taiping yulan, 2290. Note that the editors of Taiping yulan and the “Biographies
of Hermits” of the Song shi began their preface by quoting the same line statement of
“Gu.” (See SS, 347.) The translation of the line statement of “Gu” is from Wilhelm/
Baynes, The I Ching, 78.
56. Hu Yuan made a similar argument about timeliness in commenting on the
hexagrams “Dun” and “Gen.” See “Zhouyi kouyi,” SKQS 8: 322–25; 396–97.
57. The classic example is the Master’s dialogue with his student Zigong (or Tzu-
Kung) on the concept of Ren (translated by Waley as Goodness).
Tzu-Kung said, “If the ruler not only conferred wide benefits upon the
common people, but also compassed the salvation of the whole state, what
would you say of him? Surely, you would call him Good?” The Master said, “It
would no longer be a matter of ‘Good.’ He would without doubt be a Divine
Sage. Even Yao and Shun could hardly criticize him. As for Goodness—you
yourself desire rank and standing, then help others to get rank and standing.
You want to turn your own merits to account; then help others to turn theirs
to account—in fact, the ability to take one’s own feelings as a guide—that

is the sort of thing that lies in the direction of Goodness.” (Analects, 6:28;
Waley, 22)
58. For a translation of Mencius’s debate with King Wei at Liang, see Wing-tsit
Chan, A Source Book in Chinese Philosophy (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University
Press, 963), 60–6.
59. Richard Wilhelm’s translation on this line is somewhat misleading. It reads:
“One draws from the well without hindrance” (The I Ching, 88). Although accurate
in conveying the general meaning of the line statement, Wilhelm’s translation does
not bring out its main idea—not covering the well (wu mu) when water is drawn from
it (jing shou). In comparison, James Legge’s translation of the line is more accurate.
It says: “The topmost line, undivided, shows (the water from) the well brought to the
top, which is not allowed to be covered.” See James Legge, The I Ching (New York:
Dover, 963, reprint of 899 edition), 66.
6. For another translation of this statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching,
295.
62. “Zhouyi kouyi,” “Xici Shang,” SKQS 8: 464–65.
56.
65. Fan Zhongyan, “Yueyang lou ji” in Fan Wenzheng gong ji, 95. See also the fol-
lowing two articles by James T. C. Liu, “An Early Sung Reformer: Fan Chung-yen,” in
Chinese Thought and Institutions, edited by John King Fairbank (Chicago: University
of Chicago Press, 957), 05–3; “Some Reflections on Fan Chung-yen (989–052),”
in A Festschrift in Honor of Professor Jao Tsung-i on the Occasion of His Seventy-fifth
Anniversary (Hong Kong: Chinese University of Hong Kong Press, 993), 293–300.
66. See Qian Mu, Guoshi dagang, 45–2; and his Song Ming lixue gaishu, 30–3.
67. Bol, “This Culture of Ours,” –5.
68. Bol, “This Culture of Ours,” 32–75.
69. XZZTJCB, 8; SS, 8973–76.
70. XZZTJCB, 306; SS, 893–4.
7. Song shi jishi benmo, 6–76; Wen-hsiung Hsu, “Wang Tan,” in Herbert Franke,
Sung Biographies, 47–53. Although there is no direct discussion of the obsequious
silence of the high officials toward Emperor Zhenzong’s extravagant travels in the
Xu zixhi tongjian chengpian, one can infer that the editor Li Tao was sensitive to the
issue. He reported twice that the court instructor Sun Shi (962–033) protested against
Emperor Zhenzong’s travel (juan 74, 699; juan 82, 850). By registering Sun’s protest
but mentioning no action by other top officials, Li Tao implied that there was a lack
of effort among top officials to oppose Emperor Zhenzong.
72. James T. C. Liu, “An Early Sung Reformer: Fan Chung-yen.”

73. For a discussion of the reforms during the reign of Emperor Shenzong, see
James T. C. Liu, Reform in Sung China; the chapters by George Hatch, Paul J. Smith,
and Peter K. Bol in Ordering the World, 39–92.
74. XZZTJCB, 3: 2642–45; SS, 97; Song shi jishi benmo, 93–98.
75. Wang Pizhi, Yingshui yangtan lu (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 98), 5; Sima
Guang, Sushui jiwen (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 989), 66; SS, juan 54, 983–9938;
juan 34, 0267–8; juan 320, 0397–04; Song shi jishi benmo, 232.
76. See Shan-yüan Hsieh, The Life and Thought of Li Kou, 009–059 (San Francisco:
Chinese Materials Center, 979), 23–56; Li Gou, Li Gou ji (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju,
98), –8; Jiang Guozhu, Li Gou sixiang yanjiu (Beijing: Zhongguo xuehui kexue
chubanshe, 984), –24. Cf., Xie Shanyuan, Li Gou zhi shengping ji sixiang (Beijing:
Zhonghua shuju, 988), 23–38.
77. Li Gou’s two writings are available in Li Gou ji, 27–66; QSW 2: 382–424.
78. Li Gou ji, 52; QSW 2: 409.
79. Li Gou ji, 52; QSW 2: 409.
80. Li Gou ji, 52; QSW 2: 409.
8. In the “Thirteen essays on the Yijing,” Li Gou divides his essays into three cat-
egories: those that deal with “the Way of the Emperor” (wei jun zhi dao), “the Way
of the officials” (wei chen zhi dao), and “the Way of moral cultivation” (zhi shen zhi
dao). For a discussion of Li Gou’s Yijing studies, see Shan-yüan Hsieh, The Life and
Thought of Li Kou, 24–57; Jiang Guozhu, Li Gou sixiang yanjiu, 4–52; Yu Dunkang,
Neisheng waiwang de guantong, –30.
82. Li Gou ji, 28; QSW 2: 382.
83. Li Gou ji, 33; QSW 2: 386.
84. Li Gou ji, 5; QSW 2: 408.
85. Li Gou ji, 33; QSW 2: 386.
87. “Yi tongzi wen” is available in many collections of Ouyang Xiu’s writings. The
version I use here is from QSW 8: 59–76.
88. For a discussion of the significance of Ouyang Xiu in the history of Yijing
studies, see Zhu Bokun, Yixue zhexue shi, 2: 74–87; Liao Mingchun, Kang Xuewei,
and Liang Weixuan, Zhouyi yanjiu shi, 26–65; Yu Dunkang Neisheng waiwang de
guantong, 3–49; Peter Bol’s chapter, “The Sung Context: From Ou-yang Hsiu to Chu
Hsi,” in Kidder Smith et al., Sung Dynasty Uses of the I Ching, 26–55.
89. For another translation of the Tuan statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes, 636.
90. Ouyang Xiu,“Yi tongzi wen,” QSW 8: 68.
9. For a translation of the Xiang statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes, 468.

92. Ouyang Xiu,“Yi tongzi wen,” QSW 8: 62.
4. Inner Roots of Ordering the World
Epigraph: Zhang Zai, “Zhang zi yu lu,” Zhang Zai ji, 320.

. For a study of early Song military policies, see Zhang Qifan, Wudai jinjun
chutan, 98–7.
2. SS, juan 446, 349.
3. Qian Mu, Zhongguo lidai zhengzhi deshi (Taibei: Sanmin shuju, 974), 63–84;
Qi Xia, Wang Anshi bianfa, 4–27; Shen Songqin, Beisong wenren yu dangzheng, –46;
Ye Tan, Da bianfa: Song Shenzong yu shiyi shiji de gaige yundong (Beijing: Sanlian
shuju, 996), 3–22. For a study of how the examination system helped to increase the
number of officials in the Song government, see He Zhongli’s two articles: “Beisong
kuoda keju qushi de yuanyin jiyu rongguan rongli de guanxi” Songshi yanjiu jikan
(Hangzhou: Jiejiang guji chubanshe, 986), 87–06, and “Kexue zhidu yu Songdai
wenhua,” Lishi yanjiu, 990: 5: 9–35.
4. For a full list of Fan Zhongyan’s “ten-point” reform, see James T. C. Liu, Ou-
yang Hsiu, 43–44; Peter Bol, “This Culture of Ours,” 7–72.
5. James T. C. Liu, Ou-yang Hsiu, 44.
6. For a study of Wang Anshi’s reform, see James T. C. Liu, Reform in Sung China,
–0; Peter Bol, “This Culture of Ours,” 22–53; Deng Guangming, Beisong zhengzhi
gaigejia Wang Anshi, 89–54.
7. Peter K. Bol, “Government, Society, and State,” in Robert P. Hymes and Conrad
Schirokauer, eds., Ordering the World, 28–86.
8. Lü Dalin, “Hengqu xiansheng xingzhuang” (Brief biographical sketch of Master
Hengqu), in Zhang Zai, Zhang Zai ji (Collected works of Zhang Zai) (Beijing: Zhong-
hua shuju, 978), 38–84; SS, 2723–25; Zhu Xi, Yiluo yuanyuan lu, juan 6; Song shi,
2723–25.
9. Lü Dalin, “Hengqu xiansheng xingzhuang,” Zhang Zai ji, 38.
0. For an anthology of writings by the guanxue scholars from the Northern Song
to the Ming, see Feng Congwu (557–627), Guanxue bian (Collection of writings of
Guan learning) Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 987). On the characteristics of Guanxue and
its significance in the development of Chinese thought, see Chen Junmin, Zhang Zai
zhexue sixiang ji guanxue xuepai (Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 986), 4–8, 32–40.
. There is a discrepancy in various accounts of Zhang’s age when he wrote a
letter to Fan Zhongyan. In “Hengqu xiansheng xingzhuang,” Lü Dalin reported that
Zhang was eighteen when he wrote the letter. But in Songshi, we are told that Zhang
was twenty-one. Both accounts stress that Zhang wrote the letter during the Northern
Song expedition against the Xixia in 040, which puts Zhang at the age of twenty-one.
2. Lü Dalin, “Xingzhuang,” Zhang Zai ji, 38; SS, 2723; SYXA 7:a; Wing-tsit Chan,
in Herbert Franke, ed., Sung Biographies, 40; Ira E. Kasoff, The Thought of Cheng Tsai
(020–077) (London: Cambridge University Press, 984), 82; Huang Xiuji, Zhang Zai
(Taibei: Dongda tushu gongsi, 988), –2.
3. In Zhang’s time, it was not unusual for a scholar to spend years in learning
Buddhism and Daoism. In fact, many scholars (including Cheng Hao, the older brother
of Cheng Yi) devoted a considerable amount of time to Buddhism and Daoism. They
regarded Buddhism and Daoism as superior to Confucianism with respect to cosmol-
ogy and to the analysis of the human mind. For a discussion of the widespread interest
in Buddhism and Daoism during the mid-Northern Song, see Chen Zhiè, Beisong
wenhua shi shulun (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 992), 34–96.
4. Lü Dalin, “Xingzhuang,” Zhang Zai ji, 38–82; SS, 2723; SYXA 7:a–b; Wing-tsit
Chan, Sung Biographies, 40; Huang Xiuji, Zhang Zai, 2. Ira E. Kasoff questions, aptly in
my opinion, the validity of such an account. He says: “However, the only information we
have about this meeting are the implausible versions written by the [Chengs’] disciples,
who sought to cast their masters in the role of teacher, and [Zhang Zai] in the role of
pupil” (The Thought of Chang Tsai, 82).
5. SS, 2723; SYXA, 7:b; Wing-tsit Chan, Sung Biographies, 40; Huang Xiuji, Zhang
Zai, 2.
6. Many scholars of later centuries criticized Zhang Zai for his imbalance in com-
menting on the Yijing. See Ma Duanlin, Wenxian tongkao, juan 76, 522. The editors
of Siku qianshu defended Zhang by saying that the brevity of his commentary did not
diminish its value. See SKQS, 8: 659–60.
7. Lü Dalin, “Xingzhuang,” Zhang Zai ji, 38–82; SS, 2723.
8. Lü Dalin, “Xingzhuang,” Zhang Zai ji, 382.
9. Lü Dalin, “Xingzhuang,” Zhang Zai ji, 382–83; SS, 2723. Cf., Chen Jun, Huangchao
biannian gangmu beiyiao, 95–6.
20. For another translation of the Tuan statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes The I Ching,
407. For a discussion of Zhang Zai’s naming of Zheng meng after the Tuan statement
of Hexagram “Meng,” see Liu Ji, “Zhengmeng huigao xu” (Preface to collected writ-
ings on Zheng meng), and Wang Fuzhi, “Zhangzi zhengmeng zhu xulun” (Preface to
a commentary on Master Zhang’s Zheng meng), Zhang Zai ji, 406–407.
2. SYXA, 7:a–5a.
22. “Hengqu yishuo,” SKQS 8: 662; Zhang Zai ji, 72.
23. See Doctrine of the Mean, chapter 7, and Analects chapter 6, lines 2, 5, 9. For
a translation of the Analects lines, see de Bary, Sources of Chinese Tradition, volume
, 50.
25. “Hengqu yishuo,” SKQS 8: 664–5; Zhang Zai ji, 75–76.
27. For a translation of the line statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching, 342.
29. For a discussion of this cult of Yan Hui during the Northern Song, see Ira E.
Kasoff, The Thought of Chang Tsai, 26–28.
30. SYXA, :5a.
3. Cheng Hao and Cheng Yi, Er Cheng ji, 578; SYXA, 6:4b.
32. “Zhouyi zhu,” Wang Bi ji jiaoshi, 464–74.
33. “Zhouyi zhengyi,” SKQS 7: 47–73.
34. For a translation of the line statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching, 92.
35. “The superior man changes like a tiger” (da ren hu bian) is from the fifth line
statement of “Ge.”
36. “Hengqu yishuo,” SKQS 8: 73; Zhang Zai ji, 53.
37. The translation is from Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching, 653.
38. “Hengqu yishuo,” SKQS 8: 73; Zhang Zai ji, 53.
39. For a translation of the hexagram line, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching,
652–53.
40. “Hengqu yishuo,” SKQS 8: 75–6; Zhang Zai ji, 57.
4. “Hengqu yishuo,” SKQS 8: 75–6; Zhang Zai ji, 57.
42. For a translation of the Great Learning, see de Bary, Sources of Chinese Tradi-
tion, volume , 330–3.
43. de Bary, Sources of Chinese Tradition, volume , 330.
44. For a translation of the hexagram line, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching, 55.
See the hexagram image of “Daxu” in the appendix.
45. “Hengqu yishuo,” SKQS 8: 689–90; Zhang Zai ji, 7.
46. For a translation of the Xiang statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching, 557.
See the hexagram image of “Dazhuang” in the appendix.
47. “Hengqu yishuo,” SKQS 8: 699; Zhang Zai ji, 30.
48. The translation of the Analects statement is based on D. C. Lau, Confucius: The
Analects (London: Penguin, 979), 2. For another translation, see de Bary, Sources
of Chinese Tradition, volume , 55.
49. “Yi wen” (Miscellaneous Writings), Zhang Zai ji, 24.
50. “Yi wen,” Zhang Zai ji, 242.
5. “Yi wen,” Zhang Zai ji, 242.
52. Some scholars render qi as matter. But as will be discussed, Zhang Zai does
not see qi as a concrete object, but a force that can take different forms.
53. The translation is from Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching, 342–43.

54. “Hengqu yishuo,” SKQS 8: 750–5; Zhang Zai ji, 224. This commentary also
appears in “Zhengmeng,” Zhang Zai ji, 8. For a different translation of the passage,
see Wing–tsit Chan, Source Book, 503.
55. “Hengqu yishuo,” SKQS 8: 739; Zhang Zai ji, 200. Cf., “Zheng meng,” Zhang
Zaiji, 8. The translation is from Chan, Source Book, 503, with modifications.
56. For a study of the philosophical implications of Zhang Zai’s critique of the
reversion from you to wu, see my article, “Being and Non-Being: A Comparison of
the Yijing Commentaries of Wang Bi, Kong Yingda, Hu Yuan, and Zhang Zai,” in
Hanxue zongheng (Excursions in Sinology), edited by Li Zhuoran et al. (Hong Kong:
Commercial Press, 2002), 95–232.
59. “Zhouyi kouyi,” “Xici shang,” SKQS 8: 505.
6. For another translation of the Xici line, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching,
283.
64. This is a quotation from Xici I, section 5. For a translation of the entire Xici
statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching, 298.
66. On this understanding of moral metaphysics, see Mou Zongsan, Xinti yu xingti
(Taibei: Zhengzhong chubanshe, 968), –9; Tu Wei-ming, Confucian Thought: Self-
hood as Creative Transformation, 35–50.
67. In the Zhang Zai ji, the essay “Ximing” appears as part of chapter 7 “Qianchen”
of Zheng meng. See Zhang Zai ji, 62–63.
68. “Zheng ming,” Zhang Zai ji, 62–63; Wing-tsit Chan’s translation, Source Book,
497–98.
69. Tu Wei-ming, Confucian Thought: Selfhood as Creative Transformation,
43–44.
70. For another translation of the Tuan statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I
Ching, 505.
7. Wang Bi, Wang Bi ji jiaoshi, 336–37; Kong Yingda, Zhouyi zhengyi, 398–99. Cf.,
Richard John Lynn, The Classic of Changes, 286.
73. “Hengqu yishuo,” SKQS 8: 687; Zhang Zai ji, 3.
Notes to pp. 99–06 8
74. “Hengqu yishuo,” SKQS 8: 687–8; Zhang Zai ji, 3.

75. See Mou Zongsan, Xinti yu xingti, 47–557; Ira E. Kasoff, The Thought of Chang
Tsai, –34; Huang Xiuji, Zhang Zai, –27; Yu Dunkang, Neisheng waiwang de guantong,
263–347.
76. Yu Dunkang, Neisheng waiwang de guantong, 335–47.
77. Lü Dalin, “Xingzhuang,” Zhang Zai ji, 384; Sima Guang, “You ai hengqu shi”
(Another poem lamenting Zhang Zai), Zhang Zai ji, 388. For further discussion of
Zhang Zai’s thoughts on rituals, see Kai-wing Chow, “Ritual, Cosmology, and Ontology:
Chang Tsai’s Moral Philosophy and Neo-Confucian Ethics,” Philosophy East and West,
43:2 (April, 993): 20–28; Yu Dunkang, Neisheng waiwang de guantong, 347–63.
78. Zhang Xiqing, “Lun Songdai keju qushi zhiduo yu rongguan wenti,” Beijing Daxue
xuebao (philosophy and social science edition), 987: 5: 05–6; Winston W. Lo, An
Introduction to the Civil Service of Sung China (Honolulu: University of Hawaii, 987),
2–29.
79. For a discussion of the three attempts to reform the examination, Chen Zhiè,
Beisong wenhua shi shulun, 79.
80. Lü Dalin, for one, criticized the Northern Song government for passing too
many unqualified candidates in the civil service examinations (SS, 0848). For a dis-
cussion of the problems of Northern Song examination system, see Thomas H. C.
Lee, Government Education and Examination in Sung China, 63–7; Benjamin A.
Elman, A Cultural History of Civil Examinations in Late Imperial China (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 2000), 2–25.
8 Sima Guang, “You ai hengqu shi” (Another poem lamenting Hengqu), Zhang Zai ji,
388.
82. Chen Jun, Huangchao biannian gangmu beiyao, juan 22, 985–86.
83. Sima Guang’s letter (Lun shi shu) and poem (You ai Hengqu shi) are available
in Zhang Zai ji, 387–88.
84. Sima Guang, “You ai hengqu shi,” Zhang Zai ji, 388.
85. Sima Guang, “Da Han Bingguo shu” (A reply letter to Han Bingguo), QSW 28:
46–7.
86. “Wengong yishuo,” SKQS 8: 604.
390.
88. “Wengong yishuo,” SKQS 8: 574.
89. The phrase appears in Sima Guang’s commentary on “Daguo” (#28), “Wengong
yishuo,” SKQS 8: 60.
90. “Wengong yishuo,” SKQS 8: 60.
9. “Wengong yishuo,” SKQS 8: 608.
82 Notes to pp. 06–0
92. “Wengong yishuo,” SKQS 8: 608–609.

93. See Zhu Bokun, Yixue zhexue shi, volume 2, 7–78. Shao Yong’s most famous
charts include the “Chart of Eight Trigrams from Fu Xi” (Fu Xi bagua tu), the “Chart
of Eight Trigrams from King Wen” (Wen Wang bagua tu), and the “Chart of the Di-
rectional Positions of the Sixty-Four Hexagrams to Rule the World” (Jingshi liushi si
gua fangwei tu).
94. Michael D. Freeman, “From Adept to Worthy: The Philosophical Career of
Shao Young [sic],” Journal of the American Oriental Societies, 02.3 (982): 477–9.
95. Anne D. Birdwhistell, Transition to Neo-Confucianism: Shao Yung on Knowl-
edge and Symbols of Reality (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 989), especially
227–32.
96. See Kidder Smith et al., Sung Dynasty Uses of the I Ching, 00.
97. Don J. Wyatt, The Recluse of Loyang: Shao Yung and the Moral Evolution of
Early Sung Thought (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 996), 39–76.
98. Don J. Wyatt, The Recluse of Loyang, 63–64.
99. There is evidence of Shao Yong exchanging poetry with Zhang Zai, indicat-
ing that he knew Zhang Zai quite intimately. See Shao Yong, “Shi sheng yaofu jian ji
bochun zhengshu” (A poem to Zhang Zai and Cheng Hao), Zhang Zai ji, 370.
00. Shao Yong, “Guan wu nai pian” juan , Huangji jingshi shu (Taibei: Guangwen
shuju, 988 reprint), 26–27. See also Shao Bowen’s preface to Huangji jingshi shu.
0. For a different translation of the paragraph, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching,
262, and James Legge, The I Ching, 422.
02. Shao Yong, “Guan wu nai pian” juan 2, Huangji jingshi shu, 43.
03. Shao Yong, “Guan wu nai pian” juan 2, Huangji jingshi shu, 48.
04. Shao Yong, “Guan wu nai pian” juan 2, Huangji jingshi shu, 275–77. For a
discussion of Shao Yong’s “fan guan,” see Kidder Smith et al., The Sung Dynasty Uses
of the I Ching, 27–35; Ann Birdwhistell, Transition to Neo-Confucianism, 79–96.
Here, I follow Birdwhistell’s translation of fan guan as “reflective perception.”
05. Shao Yong, “Guan wu nai pian” juan 2, Huangji jingshi shu, 63–66.
06. Shao Yong, “Guan wu nai pian,” juan 2, Huangji jingshi shu, 54–59.
07. Shao Yong, “Guan wu nai pian,” juan 2, Huangji jingshi shu, 278–79.
08. Ann Birdwhistell, Transition to Neo-Confucianism, 94.
5. Coming to Terms with Factional Politics
Epigraph: Cheng Yi’s commentary on hexagram “Tai” (Peace, #), “Yichuan

yizhuan,” SKQS, 9: 99.
Notes to pp. 0–3 83
. See Wang Anshi’s discussion of foreign policy with Emperor Shenzong. XZZ-
TJCB, 6022–83, 6095–97.
2. See Wang Anshi’s discussion of domestic policy with Emperor Shenzong,
XZZTJCB, 628–29. See also Paul S. Smith, “State Power and Economic Activism
during the New Policies, 068–085: The Tea and Horse Trade and the ‘Green Sprouts’
Loan Policy,” in Robert P. Hymes and Conrad Schirokauer, eds., Ordering the World,
76–27.
3. See Sima Guang’s 074 memorial on Wang Anshi’s “New Policies.” XZZTJCB,
660–68. See also Qi Xia, Wang Anshi bianfa, 22–69; Ye Tan, Da bianfa, 83–08.
4. James T. C. Liu, Ou-yang Hsiu, 9–0.
5. Chen Jun, Huangchao biannian gangmu beiyao, juan 22, 986; Li Zhi, Huang
Song shichao gangmu, 2: 274–75; SS, 37–37.
6. Chen Jun, Huangchao biannian gangmu beiyao, juan 24, 08–23; Li Zhi,
Huang Song shichao gangmu, juan 3, 297–300; SS, 34.
7. Chen Jun, Huangchao biannian gangmu beiyao, juan 26, 200–259; Li Zhi,
Huang Song shichao gangmu, juan 6, 350–60; SSi, 349–60.
8. Chen Jun, Huangchao biannian gangmu beiyao, juan 26, 25–6; Li Zhi, Huang
Song shichao gangmu, juan 6, 349–60; SS, 365–66.
9. Chen Jun, Huangchao biannian gangmu beiyao, juan 26, 25–6.
0. Chen Jun, Huangchao biannian gangmu beiyao, juan 26, 224–25.
. Chen Jun, Huangchao biannian gangmu beiyao, juan 26, 224–25; Li Zhi, Huang
Song shichao gangmu, juan 6, 356; SS, 366.
2. Cheng Yi finished a first draft of Yichuan yizhuan between 097 and 099
during his banishment in Fuzhou of today’s Sichuan. He continued to improve his
commentary until he died. See Zhu Xi, Yilu yuanyuan lu, 4: 9a–0a, 8a–20a; Song
shi jishi benmu, 456; Siku quanshu zongmu tiyao, 5.
3. For instance, in Zhuzi yulei, Zhu Xi took Cheng Yi to task for “comprehending
the general principle (da daoli) but using the Yijing to suit his [understanding of] the
principle.” See Zhuzi yulei (Beijing: Zhonghua shu ju, 986), 653.
4. Zhuzi yulei, 650.
5. Zhu Bokun, Yixue zhexue shi, volume 2:85. A case in point in this debate was
the doubt that the editors of the Siku quanshu raised regarding the authenticity of the
writings. The editors stated: “Master Cheng did not believe the mathematics of Master
Shao [Yong]. Hence, Master Shao used mathematics to speak about the Book of Changes
and Master Cheng spoke about Principle (li) in transmitting [the text]. The former
explained the Way of Heaven (tiandao) and the latter concerned himself with human
affairs (renshi).” Siku quanshu zongmu tiyao, 5.
6. Lin Yisheng, Yichuan yizhuan de chushi zhexue (Taipei: Commercial Press, 978),
preface: –2.
84 Notes to pp. 3–6
7. Qiu Hansheng, “Yichuan yizhuan de lixue sixiang” in Zhonghua xueshu lunwen
ji (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 98), 597–632. A similar viewpoint appears in Hou Wailu,
Qiu Hansheng, and Zhang Qizhi eds., Song Ming lixue shi (Beijing: Renmin chubanshe,
984), 32–53.
8. Kidder Smith et al., Sung Dynasty Uses of the I Ching, 42–52.
9. Kidder Smith et al., Sung Dynasty Uses of the I Ching, 50.
20. Zhang Liwen, Song Ming lixue yanjiu (Beijing: Zhongguo renmin daxue chuban-
she, 985), 26–62.
2. Cheng Hao and Cheng Yi, Er Cheng ji (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 98), 593–
96.
22. Zhu Xi, Yiluo yuanyuan lu, 4: a; Zhang Liwen, Song Ming lixue yanjiu, 262–63;
Sung Biographies, 74.
23. SYXA, :5a.
24. Zhu Xi, Yiluo yuanyuan lu, 4: a; SS, 278; Zhang Liwen, Song Ming lixue yanjiu,
272–73; Sung Biographies, 74.
25. Er Cheng ji, 577–78.
26. Zhang Liwen, Song Ming lixue yanjiu, 273.
27. SYXA, 7: b; SS, 2723; Sung Biographies, 40, 74.
28. Zhu Xi, Yiluo yuanyuan lu, 4: b–2b; SYXA, 5: a–b; Zhang Liwen, Song Ming
lixue yanjiu, 274.
29. Zhu Xi, Yiluo yuanyuan lu, 4: 3a–7a; SYXA, 5: b–2a; SS, 279–20; Sung Biog-
raphies, 76.
30. Zhu Xi, Yiluo yua yuan lu, 4: 7a–9a; SS, 2720; SYXA, 5: b–2a; Sung Biographies,
76–77.
3. SS, 2720; SYXA, 5: 2a; Sung Biographies, 77–78; Zhang Liwen, Song Ming lixue
yanjiu, 282.
32. Zhu Xi, Yiluo yuanyuan lu, 4: 9a–0a, 8a–20a; Song shi jishi benmu, 456; Siku
quanshu zongmu tiyao, 5.
33. Zhu Bokun, Yixue zhexue shi, volume 2: 87.
34. Zhu Xi, Yiluo yuanyuan lu, 4: 0a, 8a–20a.
35. Chen Jun, Huangchao biannian gangmu beiyao, juan 26, 224–25; Li Zhi, Huang
Song shichao gangmu, juan 6, 356; SS, 366.
36. SS, 2720; Sung Biographies, 78.
37. Zhu Xi, Yiluo yuanyuan lu, 4: 2b–3a.
38. Cheng Yi’s essay appears in Er Cheng ji, 577–78; SYXA, 6:3b–4b. For a transla-
tion of Cheng Yi’s treatise, see Wing-tsit Chan, A Source Book in Chinese Philosophy,
547–50.
Notes to pp. 6–23 85
39. Er Cheng ji, 577; SYXA, 6:4a.

40. Er Cheng ji, 577; SYXA, 6:4a.
4. Er Cheng ji, 578; SYXA, 6:4b.
42. For a translation of the hexagram statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching,
55.
43. “Yichuan yizhuan,” SKQS 9: 253; “Zhouyi Cheng shi zhuan,” Er Cheng ji, 827–
28.
44. “Yichuan yizhuan,” SKQS 9: 285; “Zhouyi Cheng shi zhuan,” Er Cheng ji, 870.
45. Richard Wilhelm, The I Ching, 35.
Cheng Yi expresses similar views regarding “ease” in “Er Cheng yishu” juan 9, Er Cheng
ji, 248. He says: “‘Loses the goat with ease’ means that goats advance in a group and gore
things with their horns. In “Dazhuan” the yang lines advance together. As a yin line in a
[high] position, line five has no other choice but to neutralize the goats in harmony and
ease. ‘Ease’ here does not mean easy, as in difficult and easy (nanyi). Instead, it means
at ease, as in harmony and ease (heyi) or happiness and ease (leyi).”
47. Wang Bi ji jiao shi, 388.
49. “Zhouyi kouyi,” SKQS 8: 328. Hu Yuan argues that the arrogance of line five causes
it to lose “a goat” at a place of no importance.
50. “Yichuan yizhuan,” SKQS 9: 247; “Zhouyi Cheng shi zhuan,” Er Cheng ji, 89.
5. Probably for this reason, in Cheng Yi’s students’ notes, we frequently find Cheng
Yi criticizing Zhang Zai as being too rigid and limited. For instance, in “Henan Cheng
shi yishu” juan 8, Cheng Yi reportedly criticized Zhang Zai in the following manner:
“Zihou [Zhang Zai] is meticulous and strict. Since he is meticulous and strict, he has
an atmosphere of urgency, without any tolerance” (Er Cheng ji, 96).
52. “Yichuan yizhuan,” SKQS 9: 276; “Zhouyi Cheng shi zhuan,” Er Cheng ji, 857–58.
53. Cheng Yi’s essay “Xici” can be found in Er Cheng ji, 027–30.
54. Zhang Zai ji, 240–4.
55. Siku quanshu zongmu tiyao, 5.
56. For another translation of the Xugua statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I
Ching, 398.
57. “Yichuan yizhuan,” SKQS 9: 69–70; “Zhouyi Cheng shi zhuan,” Er Cheng ji,
73–4.
58. “Yichuan yizhuan,” SKQS 9: 73; “Zhouyi Cheng shi zhuan,” Er Cheng ji, 78.
Ching, 406.
86 Notes to pp. 23–32
Ching, 74.
6. “Yichuan yizhuan,” SKQS 9: 397: “Zhouyi Cheng shi zhuan,” Er Cheng ji, 022.
62. “Yichuan yizhuan,” SKQS 9: 397; “Zhouyi Cheng shi zhuan,” Er Cheng ji, 022.
63. Wang Bi ji jiaoshi, 59. Wing-tsit Chan’s translation with modifications, see
Source Book, 38–9. For another translation, see Richard John Lynn, The Classic of
Changes, 26.
64. “Yichuan yizhuan,” SKQS 9: 98; “Zhouyi Cheng shi zhuan,” Er Cheng ji, 753.
65. “Yichuan yizhuan,” SKQS 9: 98: “Zhouyi Cheng shi zhuan,” Er Cheng ji, 753.
67. “Yichuan yizhuan,” SKQS 9: 203: “Zhouyi Cheng shi zhuan,” Er Cheng ji, 759.
68. Jiang Shaoyu, Songchao shishi leiyuan, 3–4.
69. Sima Guang, Sushui jiwen, 24; Jiang Shaoyu, Songchao shishi lieyuan, 27; SS,
982–23.
70. XZZTJCB, 9263–67, 9434–35, 9757–58.
7. “Yichuan yizhuan,” SKQS, 9: 29; “Zhouyi Cheng shi zhuan,” Er Cheng ji, 878.
72. Peter K. Bol, “Government, Society and State,” in Robert Hymes and Conrad
Schirokauer, eds., Ordering the World, 28.
73. For further discussion of the basic differences between Fan Zhongyan’s “ten-
point” reform and Wang Anshi’s “New Policies,” see Deng Guangming, Beisong zhengzhi
gaigejia Wang Anshi, 37–53; Qi Xia, Wang Anshi bianfa, 54–69; Ye Tan, Da bianfa,
27–72.
443.
75. “Yichuan yizhuan,” SKQS 9: 99; “Zhouyi Cheng shi zhuan,” Er Cheng ji, 755.
76. For a translation of the line statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching, 97.
77. “Yichuan yizhuan,” SKQS 9: 246; “Zhouyi Cheng shi zhuan,” Er Cheng ji, 88.
78. In 044, Lan Yuanzheng submitted a memorial to Emperor Renzong accusing
Fan Zhongyan of forming a faction. Lan’s memorial, “Lun Fan Zhongyan jiedang zou”
(Memorial on Fan Zhongyan forming a faction), is available in QSW 4: 605.
79. To defend Fan Zhongyan, Cai Xiang wrote a series of poems, known as “Si
xian yi buxiao shi” (Poems on four virtuous gentlemen and one delinquent). See Cai
Xiangji (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 996), 8–.
80. Sun Fu, “Bian pengdang” QSW 3: 267–70.
8. Yin Zhu, “Lun pengdang shu,” QSW 4: 246–47.
82. Jiang Shaoyu, Songchao shishi leiyuan, 75–76.
Notes to pp. 32–37 87
83. Jiang Shaoyu, Songchao shishi leiyuan, 75–76. The translation of the Xici state-
ment is from Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching, 280.
84. Ouyang Xiu, “Pengdang lun,” QSW 7: 729–30.
85. For a study of various measures that early Northern Song emperors employed
to check the power of civil bureaucrats, see Qian Mu, Guoshi dagang, 393–44; Deng
Guangming, “Songchao de jiafa yu beisong de zhengzhi gaige yundong,” in Beisong
zhengzhi gaigejia Wang Anshi, 347–69.
86. Wm. Theodore de Bary, “A Reapprasial of Neo-Confucianism,” Arthur F. Wright
(ed.), Studies in Chinese Thought (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 954), 05. In
Song Ming lixue gailun, 30–32, Qian Mu also makes a similar argument by distinguish-
ing the early Northern Song intellectual scene from the late Northern Song intellectual
scene.
87. Shao Bowen, Shaoshi wenjian lu, 46. For studies of the factional rivalry among
the “antireform group,” see Xiao Qingwei, Beisong xinjiu dangzheng yu wenxue, 3;
Shen Songqin, Beisong wenren yu dangzheng, 45–55.
88. On page 56 of Sung Dynasty Uses of the I Ching, Peter K. Bol dates Su Shi’s
composition of Dongpo yizhuan to between 079 and 084, during his exile to Huang-
zhou. Recent studies have shown that Su Shi did not complete his commentary until
he returned from his exile to Hainan Island in 00. See Jin Shengyang, Su shi yizhuan
yanjiu (Chengdu: Bashu shushe, 2002), 56–64, 2; San Su quan shu (Beijing: Yuwen
chubenshe, 200) : 29–30.
89. To highlight the fact the Dongpo yizhuan was a group effort of Su Xun, Su
Shi, and Su Zhe, some scholars suggest that it should be called Su shi yizhuan (The
Yi commentary of the Su family). See Zeng Zaozhuan, “Su shi yizhuan yu san Su de
dao jiao xixiang,” San Su yanjiu (Chengdu: Bashu shushe, 999), 9–; Shu Dagang’s
preface to Jin Shengyang, Su shi yizhuan yanjiu, 3–4. See also the preface of Zeng
Zaozhuan and Shu Dagang to San Su quan shu, volume : 23–3. However, despite
the group effort, Su Shi was the editor/compiler who gave the commentary its final
form. It is on this ground that the eighteenth-century editors of Siku quanshu adopted
the title Dongpo yizhuan to honor Su Shi’s contribution (See Siku quanshu zongmu
tiyao, 4). In this chapter, I follow the precedent of Siku quanshu.
90. Because of Su Shi’s opposition to reform, for a period of time after its completion
Dongpo yizhuan was circulated under the title of Piling yizhuan (A commentary on
Yi [by a person] from Piling) to avoid the attention of the censors. See Siku quanshu
zongmu tiyao, 4.
9. Siku quanshu zongmu tiyao, 4.
92. Sung Dynasty Uses of the I Ching, 83.
93. “Dongpo yizhuan,” SKQS 9: 46; cf., “Su shi yizhuan,” San Su quan shu : 392.
94. For a translation of the hexagram line, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching,
53–32.
95. “Dongpo yizhuan,” SKQS 9: 54; cf., “Su shi yizhuan,” San Su quan shu : 236.
88 Notes to pp. 37–42
96. Su Shi discussed this double nature of the river in his discussion of the “heart
and mind of the river” (shui zhi xin) in the second part of his commentary on the
Tuan statement of “Xikan.” See “Dongpo yizhuan,” SKQS 9: 54; cf., “Su shi yizhuan,”
San Su quan shu : 236.
97. See the commentaries of Wang Bi and Kong Yingda on the hexagram “Kun,”
“Zhouyi zhengyi,” SKQS 7: 328–34; see also the commentaries of Han Kangbo and
Kong Yingda on the first paragraph of Xici I, “Zhouyi zhengyi,” SKQS 7: 52–26.
98. For a translation of the hexagram statement, see Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching,
690.
99. “Dongpo yizhuan,” SKQS 9: 09; cf., “Su shi yizhuan,” San Su quan shu : 326.
00. See Su Shi’s commentary on the Tuan statement of hexagram “Tai,” in “Dongpo
yizhuan,” SKQS 9: 24; cf., “Su shi yizhuan,” San Su quan shu : 80.
0. See Su Shi’s commentary on the Xiang statement of hexagram “Tongren,” in
“Dongpo yizhuan,” SKQS 9: 27; cf., “Su shi yizhuan,” San Su quan shu : 85–86.
02. In the Southern Song, factional politics not only appeared in major policy de-
bates but also in the form of evaluating the link between Wang Anshi’s reform and the
loss of the Northern Song. For a general discussion of how Northern Song factional
politics influenced Southern Song politics and learning, see Deng Guangming, Deng
Guangming zhishi conggao, 63–76; Qi Xia, Tan zhi ji, –46. For special studies of how
factional politics influenced Southern Song scholars’ view of the Northern Song, see
Li Huarui, Song shi lun ji (Collected writings on Song history) (Biaoding: Hebei daxue
chubenshe, 200), 35–7.
Conclusion
. Chao Gongwu, Junzhai dushu zhi jiaozheng (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe,
990).
2. See Chao, Junzhai dushu zhi jiaozheng, 7–6.
3. See Chao’s comments on the Yijing commentaries of Shi Jie, Xian Yushen, Lü
Dafeng, and Zhu Zhen. See Junzhai dushu zhi jiaozheng, 35–45.
4. Zhu Zhen, “Han shang yi zhuan biao” (Memorial on a Yijing commentary based
on Han [school]), SKQS : . For a study of Zhu Zhen’s view on Yijing studies, see Imai
Usaburo, Sodai ekigaku no kenykyu, 85–0; Mao Huaixin, “Zhu Zhen de shengping
ji qi han sheng yi zhuan zhong de xiangshu xue,” Zhongguo zhexue, 8 (982): 4–5.
5. Zhu Zhen provided the diagrams in Han shang yi zhuan. See SKQS : 308–.
6. “Yuan ben zhuyi benyi xu” (Original preface to the Zhouyi benyi). See SKQS
2: 625.
7. “Yuan ben zhuyi benyi xu,” SKQS 2: 625. For a study of Zhu Xi’s perspective
on the Yijing, see Joseph Alder’s chapter, “Chu Hsi and Divination,” in Kidder Smith
et al., Sung Dynasties Uses of the I Ching, 69–205.
Notes to pp. 42–48 89
8. See Zhu Xi, “Za xue bian” (Distinguishing the impure learning), Zhuzi yishu
(Taibei: Yiwen yinshu guan, 969 reprint), a–8b.
9. Siku quanshu zongmu tiyao, 2.
0. In their studies of the Northern Song Yijing commentaries, many contempo-
rary Yijing scholars take for granted the view of the Siku quanshu editors. See, for
instance, Qian Jibo, Zhouyi jieti ji qu dufa, 38–44; Xu Qinting, “Songdai zhi yixue,”
Kongmeng xuebao, 42 (98), 73–76; Zhu Bokun, Yixue zhexue shi, volume 2: –7;
Liao Mingchun, Kang Xuewei, and Liang Weixian, Zhouyi yanjiu shi, 98–207; Xu
Zhirui, Song Ming yixue gailun.
. Scripture, Canon, and Commentary, 00–02.
2. My understanding of the three-way interactions of text, commentarial tradi-
tion, and historical time of commentators draws on Steven D. Fraade’s study of the
early interpretations of Torah. See From Tradition to Commentary: Torah and Its
Interpretation in the Midrash Sifre to Deuteronomy, 25–68.
3. Daniel K. Gardner, “Confucian Commentary and Chinese Intellectual History,”
Journal of Asian Studies, 57, 2 (May 998): 47.
4. For a review of the current debate on the social mobility of the Song, see John
W. Chaffee, The Thorny Gates of Learning, xxi–xxx. In Powerful Relations, Beverly
J. Bossler offers a thoughtful assessment of the examination system. She argues that
although the examination system was not “the great engine of social mobility,” it
facilitated “the integration of the state and society in China far beyond the level that
had existed in earlier eras” (53).
5. Ichisada Miyazaki describes the pressure and tension in the Song civil service
examinations as being “hellish.” See China’s Examination Hell: The Civil Service
Examination in Imperial China (New Haven: Yale University Press, 963). Based on
poetry, Tao Jingsheng demonstrates the widespread anxiety among the Song civil
bureaucrats regarding the future of their families. See Beisong shizu, 27–63.
6. From Henan, Lü Mengzheng was the grand councilor of Taizong. Beginning
with him, his family continued to produce scores of successful candidates of the
civil service examinations, many of whom went on to become powerful officials in
the Northern Song government. Among the powerful Lü’s were Yijian (979–044),
the grand councilor of Renzong, and Gongzhu (08–089), the grand councilor of
Zhezong. For biographies of the three Lü’s, see SS, 945–50, 0206–20, 0772–77.
7. Peter K. Bol, “This Culture of Ours,” 327–42.
8. See Patricia Buckley Ebrey, Confucianism and Family Rituals in Imperial China:
A Social History of Writing about Rites, 45–67.
9. Chinese scholars are particularly negative about the Northern Song bureaucratic
factionalism. See Luo Jiaxiang, Beisong dangzheng yanjiu, 20–35; Xiao Qingwei, Beisong
xinjiu dangzheng yu wenxue, 2–43, Shen Songqin, Beisong wenren yu dangzheng,
47–87, 5–80, Zhu Zhiyan and Chen Shengmin, Pengdang zhengzhi yanjiu (Shanghai:
Huadong shifan daxue chubanshe, 992), –32. In Powerful Relations, Beverly Bossler
90 Notes to pp. 48–49
considers bureaucratic factionalism as one of the factors leading to the downfall of

some Grand Councilor families (62–67).
20. A prime example is the partisan treatment of Wang Anshi’s “New Policy” in
Song shi. Written in the Yuan period, the editors of Song shi presented Wang Anshi’s
reforms in a negative light and gave the “Yuanyou transformation” a positive assess-
ment. See, for instance, the “historian’s comments” (zan) on Emperors Shenzong and
Zhezong (SS, 34, 354); see also the “Biographies of Wicked Officials” (Jianchen zhuan)
(SS, juan 47–72, 3697–3742) in which all the supporters of Wang Anshi’s reforms
(but not Wang Anshi himself ) were put. For a summary of how this partisan view of
Wang Anshi’s reforms has shaped the historical interpretation of the Northern Song
from the thirteenth century to the present time, see Qi Xia, “Guan yu Wang Anshi
bianfa yanjiu zhong di jige wenti,” in Wang Anshi bianfa (Shijiazhuang: Hebei renmin
chubanshe, 200), 39–47.
2. Xiao Qingwei, Beisong xinjiu dangzheng yu wenxue, 35–37; Shen Songqin,
Beisong wenren yu dangzheng, 47–57; Zhu Zhiyan and Chen Shengmin, Pengdang
zhengzhi yanjiu, 46–54.
Glossary of Chinese Terms and Names
An Lushan 安祿山 Chunqiu 春秋

an jun 暗君
an tu dun hu ren gu neng ai 安土敦乎 Da yi 大易
仁故能愛 dang 黨
dang ren 黨人
beijiu shi bingquan 杯酒釋兵權 dao 道
beisong wuzi 北宋五子 daoxue 道學
ben 本 daren 大人
benmo 本末 Daxiang 大象
bianyi 變易 Daxue 大學
bianyi er buqiong 變易而不窮 de 德
biji 筆記 di 地
buji 不濟 dian shi 殿試
buyi 不易 Dongpo yizhuan 東坡易傳
Cai Jing 蔡京 fa ti 發題
Cai Que 蔡確 fa zhi 法治
Cai Xiang 蔡襄 fan 反
Can liang 參兩 Fan Chunren 范純仁
Changluluo zixu 長樂老自序 fan guan 反觀
Chao Gongwu 晁公武 Fan Zhen 范鎮
chen 臣 Fan Zhi 范質
chen dao 臣道 Fan Zhongyan 范仲淹
Chen Tuan 陳摶 Feng Dao 馮道
Chen Yinke 陳寅恪 Feng Yuan 馮元
Cheng Hao 程顥 fu (rhapsodic poem) 賦
Cheng Xiang 程A fu (return) 復
Cheng Yi 程頤 fuli 復禮
Cheng-Zhu 程朱
Chudi 出帝 gang rou xiang mo 剛柔相摩
Chun ru 純儒 gaomen dazu 高門大族
9
92 Glossary of Chinese Terms and Names
guan 關 junzi 君子
guan wu 觀物 junzi youdang lun 君子有黨論
guanxue 關學
guanzhong 關中 Kaifeng 開封
Guo Xi 郭熙 Kaiping 開平
guwen 古文 keji 可濟
Kong Daofu 孔道輔
Han Bingguo 韓秉國 Kong Yingda 孔穎達
Han Kangbo 韓康伯
Han Qi 韓琦 Lan Yuanzhen 藍元震
Han Yu 韓愈 Laozi 老子
Hangzhou 杭州 Laozi zhu 老子注
He tu 河圖 le tian zhi ming 樂天知命
Hengqu xiansheng 橫渠先生 leyi 樂易
Hengqu yishuo 橫渠易說 li 理
Hongfan kouyi 洪範口義 Li Cunxu 李存勗
houtian 後天 Li Dingzuo 李鼎祚
Hu Anguo 胡安國 Li Gou 李覯
Hu Yuan 胡瑗 Li Guang 李光
Huang Chao 黃巢 Li Guangdi 李光地
Huang Tingjian 黃庭堅 Li Keyong 李克用
huangdi yu shidafu gongzhi tianxia Li Siyuan 李嗣遠
皇帝與士大夫共治天下 Li Tao 李燾
Huangji jingshi shu 皇極經世書 li yi fen shu 理一分殊
Huangyou xinyue tuji 皇祐新樂圖記 liangpai liuzong 兩派六宗
Liji 禮記
ji hu tianxia guojia zhiyong 急乎天下 Liu Mu 劉牧
國家之用 Liu Zhi 劉摯
jia peng 假朋 Lu Deming 陸德明
Jia ren zhuan 家人傳 Lü Dafang 呂大防
Jianchen zhuan 姦臣傳 Lü Dalin 呂大臨
Jiao Yanshou 焦延壽 Lü Gongzhu 呂公著
jie du shi 節度使 Lü Huiqing 呂惠卿
jin shi 進士 Lü Mengzheng 呂蒙正
jin xing 盡性 Lü Yijian 呂夷簡
jing 經 Luo dang 洛黨
Jing Feng 京房 Luo shu 洛書
jing zhong zhi dong 靜中之動 Luoyang 洛陽
jingyi zhai 經義齋
jiu dang 舊黨 Mi Fu 米芾
Jiu Wudai shi 舊五代史 ming 命
jun 君 ming jing 明經
junxue 郡學 ming jun 明君
Glossary of Chinese Terms and Names 93
ming tuan 明彖 san ji zhi dao 三極之道

ming yin 明隱 San jing xin yi 三經新義
mo 末 san rong 三冗
Mu Xiu 穆修 shan 善
Shanding yitu xulun 刪定易圖序論
nanyi 難易 Shangxia pianyi 上下篇義
neisheng 內聖 Shao Yong 邵雍
Ni Tianyin 倪天隱 shaoshu 邵述
sheng 生
Ouyang Xiu 歐陽修 sheng sheng zhi wei yi 生生之謂易
shengren 聖人
pang xing er bu liu 旁行而不流 shi 士
Pengdang lun 朋黨論 Shi Chonggui 石重貴
Piling yizhuan 毘陵易傳 Shi Jie 石介
pingyi zhishi 平易之時 Shi Jingtang 石敬瑭
Pu Anyi 濮安懿 shicheng liulong 時乘六龍
Pu yi 濮議 Shijing 詩經
shiyi 十翼
qi 氣 shizhi yu renshi 施之于人事
qi yu guo ye 其于國也 shu 疏
Qian chen 乾稱 Shu dang 蜀黨
Qian long wu yong 乾龍勿用 shui zhi xin 水之性
qihuo tianxia houshi 欺惑天下後世 Shujing 書經
Qin Guan 秦觀 shun hu tian er ying hu ren 順乎天而
qing 情應乎人
qing qi xing 情其性 Shuogua 說卦
qing xu zhi shi 清虛之事 si zhi yu ren shi 斯之于人事
Qingli 慶曆 sihai 四海
qiong li 窮理 Siku quanshu 四庫全書
Quan Song wen 全宋文 Sima Guang 司馬光
Quan Zuwang 全祖望 Sima Qian 司馬遷
Song 宋
Ren 仁 Song Qi 宋琪
renshi xiu 人事修 Song shi 宋史
renzhi 人治 Song Yuan xue’an 宋元學案
rongbin 冗兵 Songxue 宋學
rongfei 冗費 Su Shi 蘇軾
rongguan 冗官 Su Xun 蘇洵
rongyi zhidi 容易之地 Su Zhe 蘇轍
Ruan Yi 阮逸 Sun Fu (992–057) 孫復
Sun Fu (998–057) 孫甫
san dai zhi li 三代之禮 Sun Sheng 孫升
san gang 三綱 Sun Shi 孫奭
94 Glossary of Chinese Terms and Names
Sushui jiwen 涑水記聞 wulun 五倫

Suzhou 蘇州 wuming 無名
wuwei 無為
Tai he 太和 wuxing 無形
Taiji tu 太極圖 wuyang 無陽
Taiji tushuo 太極圖說 wuyin 無陰
Taiping guangji 太平廣記 wuyou 無有
Taiping yulan 太平御覽
taixue 太學 xiande 顯德
Taizhou 泰州 xiang 象
Tang Jie 唐介 xiangshu 象數
tian 天 xiantian 先天
Tian dao 天道 Xiantian tu 先天圖
Tian Xi 田錫 Xianzu 獻祖
tiandi zhixin 天地之心 xiao 效
tianming 天命 xiaoren 小人
tianshu 天書 Xiaoxiang 小象
tianxia wu banguo zhidao 天下無邦 Xici 系辭
國之道 Ximing 西銘
tongnian 同年 xin dang 新黨
Tuan 彖 Xin Wudai shi 新五代史
Tuo Tuo 脫脫 xin zheng 新政
xing 性
waiwang 外王 xing er shang 形而上
Wang Anshi 王安石 xing er xia 形而下
Wang Bi 王弼 xing ming 性命
wang chen jian jian 王臣蹇蹇 xing qi qing 性其情
Wang Dan 王旦 Xing Shu 邢B
wang dao 王道 Xixia 西夏
Wang Di 王覿 xixing yi jie qixin 錫姓以結其心
Wang Pu 王溥 xu 序
Wang Qinruo 王欽若 xuanxue 玄學
Wang Yucheng 王禹偁 xue 學
wangdao ming 王道明 Xue Juzheng 薛居正
wei chen zhi dao 為臣之道 Xugua 序卦
wei jun zhi dao 為君之道
Wen Yanbo 文彥博 ya sheng 亞聖
Wengong yishuo 溫公易說 Yan Hui 顏回
Wenyan 文言 yang 陽
wu 無 yang qi xing 養其性
wuchang 五常 Yang Wanli 楊萬里
Wuhuang 武皇 Yanzi suohao hexue lun 顏子所好何
Wujing 五經學論
Wujing zhengyi 五經正義 Yi huo wen 易或問
Glossary of Chinese Terms and Names 95
yi ren shi yan zhi 以人事言之 Zhang Dun 章惇

Yi tong shu 易通書 Zhang Zai 張載
Yi tongzi wen 易童子問 Zhao Pu 趙普
yi wo guan wu 以我觀物 zhen peng 真朋
yi wu guan wu 以物觀物 Zheng meng 正蒙
yi yin yi yang zhi wei dao 一陰一陽 zheng qi xin 正其心
之謂道 Zheng Xuan 鄭玄
Yi zhi san ming 易之三名 zhengyi 正義
yichao liangguo 一朝兩國 zhi guo 治國
Yichuan yizhuan 伊川易傳 zhi ming 至命
yier jun 義兒軍 zhi shen zhi dao 治身之道
yijian 易簡 zhishi zhai 治事齋
Yijing 易經 Zhong Fang 种放
yili 義理 Zhongyi zhuan 忠義傳
Yilun shisan pian 易論十三篇 Zhongyong 中庸
Yiluo yuanyuan lu 伊洛淵源錄 Zhou Dunyi 周敦頤
yin (cosmic force) 陰 zhou er fu shi 周而復始
yin (patronage) 蔭 Zhou Guan 周官
Yin yi zhuan 隱逸傳 Zhouyi 周易
Yin Zhu 尹洙 Zhouyi daquan 周易大全
Yiwei qianzaodu 易緯乾鑿度 Zhouyi kouyi 周易口義
Yiwen zhi 藝文志 Zhouyi lüeli 周易略例
Yixu 易序 Zhouyi zhengyi 周易正義
Yizhuan xu 易傳序 Zhouyi zhezhong 周易折中
you 有 Zhouyi zhu 周易注
you huan 憂患 zhu 注
youxing 有形 Zhu Wen 朱溫
Yu Jing 余靖 Zhu Xi 朱熹
yuan 元 Zhu Zhen 朱震
Zhuangzi 莊子
Zagua 雜卦 zunwang rangyi 尊王攘夷
zan 贊 zuzong zhi fa 祖宗之法
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Index
“a king outwardly” (waiwang), 0, 05 Daoxue scholar, –2, 22; on fac-
“a sage inwardly” (neisheng), 0, 05 tions, 24–27, 30–34, 49–50;
Adler, Joseph, 7–9, 60n26, 6n3 on good government, 27–30; Hu
Analects (Lunyu): on overcoming Yuan and, 9, 2; Kong Yingda and,
oneself, 8; on Ren, 66, 74n57; on 9, 20; as member of new party,
withdrawal from human affairs, 6, 25–26; as “Northern Song master,”
73n40; Yan Hui and, 82–84, 9 –2, 47; Ouyang Xiu and, 33; as
Army of the Adopted Sons (yier jun), 8 scholar–gentleman, 27; Sima Guang
and, 27, 2, 5; Su Shi and, 34–40;
Baynes, Cary F., 2, 57n use of Xugua, 2–24; as victim of
Birdwhistell, Ann, 09 factional politics, 2; Wang Bi and,
Bol, Peter: on civil bureaucrats, 68–69; 47, 9–20; on Yan Hui, 85, 4,
on shi (men of letters), 64n5; on 6–7; as Yijing exegete, 5, 9, 46, 47,
Song learning, 2, 47; on Song 80, 78n4, 42–43, 45–46, 83n2,
society, 2, 5; on Song Yijing studies, 83n5; Yin Zhu and, 32–34; Zhang
7–9, 60n26, 6n3; on Su Shi, 35, Zai and, 80, 78n4, 5, 7–22,
87n88; on Wang Anshi’s reform, 78, 85n5; Zhou Dunyi and, 4–5; Zhu
28–29; on Zhu Xi’s synthesis, 8–9 Xi and, –2, 2, 6
“book of wisdom approach,” –2, 6 civil bureaucrats: as corulers, 22, 77–78,
Bossler, Beverly, 5, 64n4 65n20; factional politics of, 25–26;
Bourdieu, Pierre, 27, 66n32 mission of, 68–69; types of, 26–27;
Cai Jing (047–26), , 3, 49 Zhang Zai and, 79
Cai Xiang (02–067), 3 civil governance: characteristics of,
Chaffee, John, 2, 5, 46, 59n3 3, 7; factionalism and, 3–34;
Chao Gongwu (ca. 02–87), 4 reconstruction of, 20–2, 47–48;
Chen Tuan (?–989), 5, 0, 63–64, 67, redefinition of, 47–48; two pillars
4–42 of, 77–78; Zhang Zai and, 00–02
Chen Yinke (890–969), 7 complimentary bipolarity, 33
Cheng Hao (032–85), 22, 80, 4, Couplet, Philippe, 57n
78n4 Daoxue (Learning of the Way), –3, 22
Cheng Xiang (005–090), 4 de Bary, Wm. Theodore, 88, 60n29
Cheng Yi (033–07): biography of, diachronic approach to the Yijing, 9–0
8, –2, 27, 2, 4–6, 46; as Doctrine of the Mean (Zhongyong),
Chunqiu exegete, 7–8; controversy 79–80, 82–83, 9, 00, 8
on Yichuan yizhuan, 2–3; as
23
24 Index
Ebrey, Patricia, 47 Hexagram “Guan” (#20), 36–37

Elman, Benjamin, 2–3 Hexagram “Huan” (#59), 37–38
Empress Gao (032–093),  Hexagram “Jian” (#39), 73–74
Hexagram “Jiaren” (#37), 06
Fan Chunren (027–0), 2, 27 Hexagram “Jiji” (#63), 38–4, 57–58, 73,
Fan Zhi (9–965), 69 82, 23–24
Fan Zhongyan (989–052): as civil Hexagram “Jin” (#35), 28–29, 48
bureaucrat, 2; Hu Yuan and, 50–5; Hexagram “Jing” (#48), 66–67, 75n59
involvement in Empress Guo dispute, Hexagram “Kun” (#2), 33–34, 38, 75–76,
70–7; involvement in factional poli- 05–06, 23
tics, 7, 3; on factions, 32, 48–49; Hexagram “Meng” (#4), 8, 23
Li Gou and, 72; on political activism, Hexagram “Mingyi” (#36), 34–35, 06,
25, 46; reform of, , 22, 26, 78, 29; 28–29, 48
as Yijing exegete, 5; Zhang Zai and, Hexagram “Pi” (#2), 38, 24–28
79–80, 00–0, 77n Hexagram “Qian” (#), 38, 60–63, 75–
Feng Dao (882–954), 22–25, 59–60 76, 82–86, 23
Feng Yuan, 26–27 Hexagram “Tai” (#), 24–28, 30, 39
Five Masters of the Northern Song, , Hexagram “Tongren” (#3), 68, 82, 39
47 Hexagram “Tun” (#3), 22–23
Gadamer, Hans-Georg, 48 Hexagram “Weiji” (#64), 38–4, 57–58,
Gardner, Daniel, 7, 46 82, 23–24
Gotshalk, Richard, 4, 58n0 Hexagram “Wuwang” (#25), 37–38,
Great Learning (Daxue), 88–9 Hexagram “Xian” (#3), 82, 04–05, 2
“great man” (junzi), 24–28, 30–34 Hexagram “Xikan” (#29), 37
guanxue, 79, 77n0 Hexagram “Yi” (#42), 73
Guo Xi (ca. 020–after 090), 22 Hexagram “Yu” (#6), 76, 82
Hu Anguo (074–38), 7–8
Han Bingguo, 03–04 Hu Yuan (993–059): biography of, 0,
Han Kangbo (d. ca. 385), 29–30, 42–44, 49–5; Cheng Yi and, 9, 22; on
93–97 eremitism, 63–66; extant writings
Han Qi (008–075), 5 of, 7n5; Fan Zhongyin and, 50–5;
Han Yu (768–824), 6 on human activism, 56–60, 7; Kong
Henderson, John, 6–7, 43 Yinda and, 52–56, 58–59, 6, 64–65,
Hexagram “Bi” (#8), 39 45; Li Gou and, 72–74; meaning of
Hexagram “Bo” (#23), 30–3 yi, 52; as “Northern Song master,”
Hexagram “Daguo” (#28), 06 –2, 49, 47; as “pure” Confucian,
Hexagram “Daxu” (#26), 89–90, 7–8 72n3; on sagehood, 60–63, 66–68,
Hexagram “Dazhuang” (#34), 82, 90–9, 7; Sima Guang and, 05–06; Wang
8–9, 39 Bi and, 58; as Yijing exegete, 5, 2, 43,
Hexagram ”Ding” (#50), 38, 86 45, 46; on yin and yang, 54; Zhang
Hexagram “Fu” (#24), 4–42, 82, 84, Zai and, 82–83, 90, 94
97–00, 04, 20, 30–3 Huang Tingjian (045–05), 2
Hexagram “Ge” (#49), 38, 75, 86–87 Hymes, Robert, 2
Hexagram “Gen” (#52), 87–88
Hexagram “Gu” (#8), 64–66 Jiao Yanshou, 42–43
Hexagram “Guai” (#43), 39 Jing Fang (77–37 BCE), 42–43
Index 25
Kingly Way, 32–35 Ng, On-cho, 7

Kong Daofu (986–039), 70 Ni Tianyin, 5
Kong Yingda (574–648): Cheng Yi and, Northern Song: characteristics of
9, 20; as compiler of Wujing zhengyi, early, 9, 77; characteristics of mid-,
29; as compiler of Zhouyi zhengyi, 9, 77–79, 0–; characteristics of
30; Hu Yuan and, 52–56, 58–59, 6, late, 9, 0–; Five Masters of, ;
64–65, 45; on Kingly Way, 32–45; on general characteristics of, 3; longue
meanings of yi, 30–32; on political durée approach to studying, 2; as
revolution, 86; Su Shi and, 35; treat- part of Tang-Song transition, 6–7;
ment of Xugua, 22; Wang Bi and, three excesses of, 78
33–43; on Yan Hui, 84; Zhang Zai
and, 86, 90, 93–00. See also Zhouyi Ouyang Xiu (007–070): Cheng Yi
zhengyi and, 33; as civil bureaucrat, 2; as
Kracke, Edward, 2 essayist, 22; on factions, 32, 48–49;
on Feng Dao, 24–25; involvement
Lan Yuanzhen, 3 in factional politics, 7, 3; as Yijing
Legge, James, , 57n, 75n59 exegete, 5, 9–0, 74–76, 86, 45, 46;
Li Cunxu (r. 923–926), 8–9 Zhang Zai and, 86, 90
Li Dingzuo, 22
Li Gou (009–059): Fan Zhongyan Period of the Five Dynasties, 7–9
and, 72; Hu Yuan and, 72–74; Wang “petty people” (xiaoren), 24–28,
Bi and, 47, 72–73; as Yijing exegete, 5, 30–34
9, 72, 45, 46; Zhang Zai and, 90 Plaks, Andrew, 33
Li Guang (076–59), 43
Li Siyuan (r. 926–933), 8–9 qi (cosmic vital force), 9–97, 05
Liu Mu, 5, 0, 42 Qin Guan (049–00), 2
Liu Zhi (030–098), 26 Qingli reforms (043–044), 70, 78
“longue durée” approach, 2 Quan Zuwang (705–755), 2
Lu Deming (550–630), 30 Régis, Jean-Baptiste (664–738), 57n
Lü Dafang (027–097), 2
Lü Dalin (046–082?), 5, 0, 8n80 Shao Bowen (057–34), 08–09
Lü Gongzhu (08–089), 2, 5 Shao Yong (0–077): biography of,
Lü Mengzheng (946–0), 46, 89n6 06–07, 47; as Daoxue scholar, 22;
Lü Yijian (997–044), 70 discussion of Shuogua, 07–09; Su
Lynn, Richard John, 2 Shi and, 35–36; as Yijing exegete 5,
9–0, 42, 45; Zhang Zai and, 07,
Mandate of Heaven (tianming), 59–60 82n99
McClatchie, Rev. Canon (94–885), , Shaughnessy, Edward, 35
57n Shi (men of letters), 26–27, 64n5
Mencius, 66 Shi Jie (005–045), 5, 50, 6–63
Mi Fu (05–07), 22 Shuogua, 07–09, 35–36, 58n9
military governance, 7–20 Siku quanshu: on history of Yijing
moral metaphysics, 94–00 studies, 5, 42–43; in marking
Mu Xiu (979–032), 42 Zhouyi zhengyi, 32; in relating Cheng
Naitō Konan, 63n Yi with Li Dingzuo, 22; on Song-
neishang. See “a sage inwardly” Ming Daoxue, 2; on Su Shi and
Wang Bi, 35
26 Index
Sima Guang (09–086): Cheng Yi Wagner, Rudolf, 7

and, 27, 2, 5; Han Bingguo and, Wang Anshi (02–086): reforms of,
03–04; Hu Yuan and, 05–06; as , 22, 26, 78, 0–, 90n20; Sima
reformer, 22, 26, ; Shao Yong and, Guang and, 03, 29; as Yijing ex-
07; Wang Anshi and, 03, 29; Wang egete, 5, 44; Zhang Zai and, 8
Bi and, 47, 03–04, 70n47; as Yijing Wang Bi (226–249): author of Laozi
exegete, 5, 0, 46, 47, 45; Zhang Zai zhu, 7, 35; author of Zhouyi lüeli, 29;
and, 02–06 on change of government, 86; Cheng
sixty-four hexagrams, 2–3. See also Yi and, 47, 9, 20; on hexagrams
Yijing “Jiji” and “Weiji,” 38–40; on images
Smith, Kidder, 7–9, 07, 60n26, 6n3 and diagrams, 42–43; on Kingly
Song learning, 2–3 Way, 36; Kong Yingda and, 33–43; Li
Song Qi (998–06), 26–27 Gou and, 47, 73; “Ming Tuan,” 44–45,
Song shi (History of Song): Daoxue 24; Northern Song views of, 45–48;
chapters, ; on Wang Anshi, 90n20; Sima Guang and, 47, 70n47; Su Shi
Yinyi zhuan, 63; Yiwen zhi, 5; Zhon- and, 46–47, 35; on submissiveness of
gyi zhuan, 2 officials, 37; on yin-yang correspon-
Song Yuan xue’an, 2, 62n36 dence, 33, on you and wu, 4–43;
Study of the Dark (xuanxue), 35, 4 Zhang Zai and, 46, 86, 97–00
Su Shi (037–0): Cheng Yi and, Wang Dan (947–07), 70
34–40; on factional politics, Wang Di, 27
36–40, 49–50; Kong Yingda Wang Pu (922–982), 59
and, 35; as member of new party, Wang Qinruo (960–025), 59
26, 2; as poet, 22; Shao Yong and, Wang Yucheng (954–00), 46, 70n45,
35–36; Wang Bi and, 46–47, 35; as 70n47
Yijing exegete, 5, 9–0, 46, 45–46, Way of the Ministers, 35–38
87n88–n90 weiwang. See “a king outwardly”
Su Xun (009–066), 35 Wen Yanbo (005–097), 2, 5
Su Zhe (039–2), 26, 2, 35 Western Inscription (Ximing), 97
Sun Fu (992–057), 7–8, 50, 6–63 Wilhelm, Hellmut, 57n
Sun Fu (998–057), 3 Wilhelm, Richard, –2, 57n, 75n59
Sun Sheng, 27 Wilson, Thomas, 2
synchronic approach to the Yijing, 8–9, Wood, Alan, 7, 60n23
6n33 wu (Non-Being), 4–45,
wuwei (unmediated action), 44–45
Taiping yulan, 63–64 wuxing (formlessness), 55–56
Tang-Song transition, 5–7 Wyatt, Don, 7–9, 07, 60n26, 6n3
Tao Jingsheng, 5
Ten Wings, 3–4. See also Yijing Xiangshu (image and number) school, 5,
Thorny gates, 5, 59n3 43, 63n34. See also Yijing
three excesses, 78 Xici: da yan zhi shu, 43; gang rou xiang
“Three Realms,” 4, 58n9 mo, 95; Heaven and Earth come
Tillman, Hoyt, 2 together in a mist, 92–94; justifica-
Trigrams, 3. See also Yijing tion for forming factions, 32; le tian
Tu, Wei-ming, 97 zhi ming, 67–68; peng xing er bu liu,
67–68; san ji zhi dao, 4; sheng sheng
“unfolding of Neo-Confucianism,” 9, zhi wei yi, 54–55; succession of eight
60n29 trigrams, 53–54; xing er shang xing er
Index 27
xia, 55–56, 94; on Yan Hui, 84; yi yin 93–97; Hu Yuan and, 82–83, 90, 94;
yi yang zhi wei dao, 42–43, 95–96; Kong Yingda and, 86, 90, 93–00;
Zhang Zai’s preference for, 80, 9–92, Li Gou and, 90; linking Yijing with
00. See also Yijing Analects, 82–84; linking Yijing with
Ximing. See Western Inscription Doctrine of the Mean, 82–83; linking
Xing Shu, 30, 44–45 Yijing with Great Learning, 88–9; as
Xuanxue. See Study of the Dark member of Daoxue, 2, 22; on moral
Xue Juzheng (92–98), 23–24, 59 metaphysics, 94–00; as “Northern
Xugua, 22–24. See also Yijing Song master,” –2, 47; as North-
ern Song Yijing exegete, 9–0, 42,
Yan Hui: in Analects, 82–84, 9; Cheng 45; Ouyang Xiu and, 86, 90; on qi,
Yi’s view of, 85, 6–7; in Doctrine 9–97; preference for Xici, 80, 9–92;
of the Mean, 82–83; Kong Yingda’s on rituals, 0; Shao Yong and, 07,
view of, 84; in Xici, 84; Zhang Zai’s 82n99; Sima Guang and, 02–06; in
view of, 82–86; Zhou Dunyi’s view Song shi, 5; treatment of Xugua, 22;
of, 84–85 Wang Anshi and, 8; Wang Bi and,
Yang Wanli (2–204), 43 46, 86, 97–00; Ximing (Western
Yijing: diachronic approach to, 9–0; Inscription), 97; Zheng Meng, 8–82
hexagrams of, 2–3; Northern Song Zhao Pu (922–992), 69
studies of, 5–6; synchronic approach
to, 8–9, 6n33; Ten Wings of, 3–4; Zheng Meng, 8–82. See also Zhang Zai
translation of, 57n, 67n4; tri- Zheng Xuan (27–200), 29, 3
grams of, 3; xiangshu school of, 5, Zhong Fang (955–04), 63, 67, 42
43, 63n34; yili school of, 5, 0, 43, Zhongyong. See Doctrine of the Mean
6n34; Zhouyi and, 3, 6n32, 63n4 Zhou Dunyi (07–073): Cheng Yi and,
Yili (meaning and principle) school, 5, 4; as Daoxue scholar, 22; on Yan
0, 43, 6n34. See also Yijing Hui, 84–86; as Yijing exegete, 42
Yiluo yuanyuan lu,  Zhouyi, 3, 6n32, 63n4. See also
Yin Zhu (00–046), 7, 3–34, 38 Yijing
Yiwei qianzaodu, 3 Zhouyi lüeli, 29. See also Wang Bi
You (Being), 4–45 Zhouyi zhengyi: authors of, 30; North-
Yu Jing (000–064), 7, 3 ern Song reading of, 3–4, 45–48;
Yuanyou transformation (032–093), textual arrangement of, 29–30, 32.
, 5, 27 See also Kong Yingda
Zhu Xi (30–200): Cheng Yi and,
Zhang Zai (020–077): biography of, 2, 6; on Northern Song learn-
0–, 78–82, 46; Cheng Yi and, 80, ing, –2; on Northern Song Yijing
5, 7–22, 85n5; civil governance studies, 42; as synthesizer of Song
and, 00–02; on civil service exami- learning, 8–9
nations, 8; on controlling the mind, Zhu Zhen (072–38), 4–42
86–88; Fan Zhongyan and, 79–80, Zoeren, Steven Van, 7
00–0, 77n; Han Kanbo and,

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Yijing and

State University of New York Press,

© 2005 State University of New York

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

For information, address the State University of New York Press,

Production by Marilyn P. Semerad

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Hon, Tze-Ki, 958–

. The Northern Song Historical Context 5

2. The Northern Song Yijing Text 28

3. Mission of Civil Bureaucrats: The Yijing of Hu Yuan,

4. Inner Roots of Ordering the World: The Yijing of

5. Coming to Terms with Factional Politics: The Yijing of

Appendix I: Names and Images of the Eight Trigrams 5

manner. In his long marginal notes on pages of my dissertation, Stanley

versus Civil Governance: A Comparison of the Old History and the

Taizu 太祖, 960–76

audiences, and the popularity of the Richard Wilhelm and Cary F.

Coming to Terms with Change

I Ching) literally means “the classic of change.” It is a text of multiple

of comparing changes in the human world with those in the natural

In recent years, we have witnessed a tremendous increase in interest in

commentators in interpreting the Confucian classics.¹⁸ Based on a

in reinventing the classic, and that stresses the historicity of Yijing

twelfth-century intellectual life was considered to be part of the “un-

mature life, he witnessed two drastic reforms of the mid-Northern

Song Learning versus the Learning of the Way

What we are going to ﬁnd in this synchronic and historically based

Yi, who is taken to be more pure in transmitting the true Confucian

of Southern Song literati classifying themselves as orthodox an object

In the chaotic period of the Five Dynasties, an emperor was not

I n the study of Song China (960–279), experts in the ﬁeld tend to

the creation of movable-type printing, the development of new

of the Northern Song, it is imperative to keep in mind its particular

Two Centuries of Military Governance

Later Zhou. The ten southern kingdoms, clustered around or south

I had served Xianzu [the father of Li Keyong, the founder of Later

There is no doubt that Li Siyuan’s announcement, elegant and majestic,

Reconstruction of Civil Governance

Concomitant to the destruction of military governance was

Characteristics of the Mid-Northern Song

Although, due to the concerted eﬀorts from above, military governance

Having read Feng Dao’s self-glorifying account in his Preface to an

by regularly granting oﬃcial titles to his descendents.²⁷ This policy

Factionalism in the Late Northern Song

As leaders of Northern Song civil governance, there were two sides of

Scholar-Oﬃcial and Scholar-Gentleman

In the following chapters, we will examine this momentous trans-

scholar-oﬃcial who mastered the Confucian classics, passed the civil

The Yijing was written to teach a lesson . . . to decipher [the func-

Unifying the Yijing Interpretation

division in China, Emperor Taizong appointed Kong Yingda (574–648)

Thus, in assigning three meanings to yi, Kong interpreted the

Explaining the Kingly Way

In the Zhouyi zhengyi, its three interlocking parts—the Yijing, the

transitional marker, the phrase “speaking in terms of human aﬀairs”

statement into a description of nature. Then, he draws a parallel be-

Subjects’ Obedience to the King