The name 名
The character 剝 contains the knife radical: to pare or peel away. By extension it means erosion layer by layer. The very name is a warning that something of value is being shaved off, piece by piece.
The image 象
Mountain (Gèn) rests upon Earth (Kūn). Five yin lines press upward from below, and a single yang line clings to the summit; one more step and it will be pushed off, leaving pure yin. Among the seasonal hexagrams, Bō is the ninth lunar month: autumn's last days, with winter at the door.
Layers of images 層
A gua can be read on several levels at once: the trigrams as members of a family (father, mother, eldest to youngest sons and daughters), the six lines as ranks in an organisation (from newcomer to ruler), and as forces of nature and animals. Each extra level adds meaning to the line texts.
Read as a family
Below is Kūn, the mother; above is Gèn, the youngest son. Five yin lines push upward from below until only the youngest son stands alone at the top. The yielding power of the mother keeps piling up, and the household’s yang has dwindled to a single line. This is a time of decline: the noble person should not force himself forward but go along and stop, like Kūn’s compliance and Gèn’s stillness, keeping safe the last fruit on the tree.
Line 1, “the bed is split at its legs”; Line 2, “at its frame”; Line 4, “at the skin”: the hexagram looks like a bed, and the stripping climbs from the legs to the frame and then to the skin of the person lying on it. The order from bottom to top is the way trouble approaches, from far to near, from outside to inside: first the parts no one notices, and only at the end the body itself.
Line 5, “a string of fish: favour through the palace ladies; nothing unfavourable”: lines 2–4 and 3–5 are both nuclear Kūn, and with the lower trigram Line 5 sits among three Kūn as leader of all the yin. Like a queen leading the palace women in order, strung like fish, to serve the top line rather than strip it away. When the head of the yin turns to serve the yang, the decline finds a turning point.
Top line, “the great fruit is not eaten; the noble person gains a carriage, the petty man strips his own roof”: the Shuo Gua makes Gèn fruit, and the top line is the last large fruit on the tree; uneaten, its seed can grow again. Kūn is the great carriage: with the noble person on top, the many are willing to carry him; the petty man tears off even the roof over his own head. The last bit of yang is the seed of future renewal.
Bō inverted is Fù, Return: the top yang of Bō, pushed to the very top, turns over to become the bottom yang of Fù. When stripping reaches its end, a single yang returns; the Xu Gua says that when stripping is exhausted at the top, it comes back at the bottom. The last moment of decline and the first moment of new life are the same yang line.
Change every line of Bō and you get Guài, Breakthrough: in Bō five yin press one yang; in Guài five yang drive out one yin. The noble person surrounded by petty people today will, when the times turn, be on the side that joins together to remove them. Bō’s hidden side says: the situation will reverse; for now, just keep yourself whole.
In sequence 序
致飾然後亨，則盡矣，故受之以剝；剝者剝也。
The Sequence says that when adornment brings success, that success is spent, so Bō follows. After Bì, the hexagram of ornament, refinement and courtesy make every path smooth. But when polish outruns substance, the smoothness has reached its end, and stripping begins: what goes to an extreme turns back.
The judgment 辭
剝：不利。有攸往。
The Judgment is brief: it is not favourable to go anywhere. The situation has turned against what is firm and upright, and bold action now would only lead into a trap. The wise course is to hold steady, refrain from forcing anything, and watch how the tide moves.
Commentary on the judgment 彖
彖曰：剝，剝也，柔變剛也。不利有攸往，小人長也。順而止之，觀象也。君子尚消息盈虛，天行也。
The Commentary calls this the soft changing the firm, because the petty are on the rise. Below is compliance (Kūn), above is stillness (Gèn), so the counsel is to go along with the time and stop. Waning and waxing, fullness and emptiness are the motion of Heaven; the noble person honours this rhythm and knows when to step forward and when to stand back.
The great image 象
象曰：山附地上，剝；上以厚下，安宅。
The Image: a mountain resting on the earth. Those above strengthen those below and so make the house secure. A peak that rises too far from its ground is unstable; leaders must care generously for the people beneath them, for, as the Shàngshū says, the people are the root of the state, and when the root is firm the state is at peace.
The six lines 爻
Ruling line Line 6 is the only yang among five yin, and the rarest line governs. It is also the defining line of the upper trigram Gèn. The whole hexagram turns on this last great fruit.
The path of the six lines, bottom to top
Line 1 begins stripping at the bed’s legs: the danger is still far off, but the right way is already being eaten away. Line 2 strips the frame; it draws closer, and still no one helps. Line 3, though among the yin, corresponds with the top line and breaks away from the petty crowd alone, so there is no blame. Line 4 strips to the skin: the disaster has reached the body. Line 5, leader of the yin, turns and leads them to serve the top line, and the situation finds a turning point. The top line is the last great fruit; keep it safe and you keep the seed of renewal for the days to come.
初六剝牀以足，蔑貞凶。
In plain words
The bed is stripped at its legs; uprightness is swept aside. Misfortune.
Close reading
A yin line in a yang place, not in its proper position, and with no partner in Line 4. As the lowest line it is the bed's legs. 蔑 means to discard: yin driving out yang, the crooked overcoming the straight. The Small Image says the base is being destroyed; erosion always starts at the foundation.
One level deeper
Line 1, “the bed is split at its legs”; Line 2, “at its frame”; Line 4, “at the skin”: the hexagram looks like a bed, and the stripping climbs from the legs to the frame and then to the skin of the person lying on it. The order from bottom to top is the way trouble approaches, from far to near, from outside to inside: first the parts no one notices, and only at the end the body itself.
If you drew this line
Your footing is being worn away; this is no time to act. Check what supports you at the base, and hold rather than advance.
六二剝牀以辨，蔑貞凶。
In plain words
The bed is stripped at its frame; uprightness is swept aside. Misfortune.
Close reading
Yin in a yin place, correct and central; yet in a time of stripping, being ‘correct’ only makes it a fitting agent of the erosion. 辨 is the dividing point between upper and lower, the frame between legs and bed, one level higher than before. Line 5 is also yin, so there is no response; the Small Image says it has no one to stand with.
If you drew this line
The danger has climbed a step and you stand alone. Don't put on a show of strength; protect yourself first and look for support you can genuinely trust.
六三剝之，无咎。
In plain words
Amid the stripping, no blame.
Close reading
Yin in a yang place, not correct; yet of the five yin lines it alone answers the yang at the top. ‘It parts from those above and below,’ says the Small Image: it leaves the yin lines on either side and refuses to join in the stripping. Here an imperfect position is a blessing; the lower your profile, the safer you are.
If you drew this line
When everyone else is pushing the tide along, you can choose to side with what is right. Keep your distance from the crowd and stay close to the one person worth trusting.
六四剝牀以膚，凶。
In plain words
The bed is stripped down to the mat. Misfortune.
Close reading
Yin in a yin place, correct, with no response from Line 1. 膚 is the mat on the bed's surface, the layer that touches the sleeper; the line has entered Gèn, whose image of hard-shelled fruit also suggests a skin. ‘Calamity is close at hand,’ says the Small Image. Lines 1, 2 and 4 are all ominous, and the bed image climbs ever nearer the body.
If you drew this line
The trouble is now at your skin. If you must withdraw, do it decisively; a small loss now is better than being dragged further in.
Walking Away from a Partnership
A man who had retired from banking went into business with partners. A year later nothing was going right, and one partner's accounts were murky. He cast Bō with this line moving: the mat already stripped, the body next. He chose to take a loss and leave rather than stay entangled, and began something new elsewhere. ‘Misfortune’ here was not a verdict but a prompt to step out early and save the strength to begin again.
六五貫魚，以宮人寵，无不利。
In plain words
Fish strung together: favour as the palace women enjoy it. Nothing is unfavourable.
Close reading
Yin in a yang place, but central and in the place of honour, and directly beneath the yang at the top. Looking down, the yin lines form a string, and the Yì often uses fish for yin. Because this is the ruler's seat, the image is of the palace: the yin lines file in order like court attendants, content to serve. The stripping halts here, in keeping with ‘comply and stop’. The Small Image: in the end, no one finds fault.
One level deeper
Line 5, “a string of fish: favour through the palace ladies; nothing unfavourable”: lines 2–4 and 3–5 are both nuclear Kūn, and with the lower trigram Line 5 sits among three Kūn as leader of all the yin. Like a queen leading the palace women in order, strung like fish, to serve the top line rather than strip it away. When the head of the yin turns to serve the yang, the decline finds a turning point.
If you drew this line
However strong the current, if everyone keeps to their role and respects the order, danger can turn to safety. Know your part and be content in it.
上九碩果不食，君子得輿，小人剝廬。
Variant Shown as 「君子得輿」; some editions read 「德車」.
In plain words
A great fruit remains uneaten. The noble person gains a carriage; the petty person has his roof stripped away.
Close reading
Yang in a yin place, not correct, answering Line 3; this is the ruling line. Gèn is fruit, hence the one great fruit left; Kūn below is the great cart, and the five yin beneath are like a people who bear their leader up, hence the noble person gains a carriage, ‘borne by the people’. For the petty, this line is the roof over their own heads: push it off and they lose their shelter, and ‘in the end they cannot be used’. One line, two outcomes; which applies depends on who you are.
One level deeper
Top line, “the great fruit is not eaten; the noble person gains a carriage, the petty man strips his own roof”: the Shuo Gua makes Gèn fruit, and the top line is the last large fruit on the tree; uneaten, its seed can grow again. Kūn is the great carriage: with the noble person on top, the many are willing to carry him; the petty man tears off even the roof over his own head. The last bit of yang is the seed of future renewal.
If you drew this line
Ask yourself honestly which role you are playing here. Those who hold to virtue and restraint will find support; those who join in tearing things down end up tearing off their own roof.
Stories 典
The Song of the Five Sons
The Shàngshū's ‘Song of the Five Sons’ tells of Tàikāng, a Xià ruler who neglected government for the hunt. He went too far afield, was blocked by Hòuyì of Yǒuqióng, and lost his capital. His five younger brothers waited by the Luò River and sang the warnings of their ancestor Yǔ, among them: the people are the root of the state; when the root is firm, the state is at peace. A ruler aloof from his people is a mountain that has drifted from its ground. That is exactly the Image of Bō: strengthen those below, and the house stands secure.
People as the Root Is Not Democracy
Mencius said the people matter most, the altars of the state come next, and the ruler least. It is ancient China's strongest statement that the people come first. Yet regard for the people is an ideal, and democracy is an institution; to claim that the ancients already had democracy erases centuries of hard institutional growth. Turning an ideal into a system takes a long history. Reading the Image of Bō, we can honour the ancients' concern for the people while seeing clearly the gap between principle and practice.
Insight 悟
Bō teaches us to read the larger tide. Waning and waxing are simply the way of Heaven, neither good nor bad. When the times turn against you, yielding and stopping is wisdom, not cowardice. Even at the worst, the great fruit remains, and those who keep their integrity will see stripping give way to return. Fortune lies not in the hexagram but in whether you choose to act as the noble or the petty.