The name 名
Lí 離 is glossed as lì 麗, to cling or attach. Lí is fire, and fire cannot burn on nothing; it must hold to wood or a candle. The figure, solid outside and hollow within, also resembles a net, and Lí is linked with luó, the net.
The image 象
Fire upon fire: light rising a second time. Both central places are held by soft lines, so this gua prevails through gentleness. Where two fires meet, the middle lines, three and four, are caught between flames, and since fire burns upward, the fourth suffers more than the third.
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
The Shuo Gua makes Lí the middle daughter: one yin line clinging between two yang, a gentle heart wrapped in a bright, firm exterior. Lí means “to cling”: fire burns only when it holds to fuel, and the middle daughter must find people and work worth holding to before her light can shine. Doubled here, the light continues without break, but whether it clings to the right thing decides whether it warms or burns.
The judgment, “raising a cow brings good fortune”: Lí’s middle yin line comes from Kūn, since when heaven and earth produce the six children every yin line comes from the mother, and Kūn is the cow. So cultivate a gentle, load-bearing nature, as one raises a cow. Beneath the brightness lies a docile endurance.
Line 3, “the light of the declining sun: if one does not drum on a pot and sing, there will be the lament of old age; misfortune”: Lí is the sun, and Line 3 is at the end of the lower trigram, the sun past noon; lines 3–5 also form a nuclear Duì, the west, the sun sinking behind the hills. In later life, if one cannot tap a clay pot and sing, accepting it with ease, only the sighs of age remain.
Line 4, “suddenly it comes, it burns, it dies, it is cast away”: the fourth place is the close minister, a firm line in a soft place, bursting from the lower fire into the upper and rushing at the throne like a flare. Too much power pressing on the ruler, coming too fiercely, burns itself out and is thrown aside by all. Between the two fires, Line 4 suffers most.
Line 5, “tears pour down, sighing in sorrow; good fortune”: Lí is the eye, and Line 5 lies in the nuclear Duì (lines 3–5), the marsh: a marsh in the eye is a face streaming with tears. A gentle ruler pressed by a forceful Line 4 is afraid to the extreme; yet being able to weep and worry shows vigilance, and holding the centre, it ends well.
Change all six lines of Lí and you get Kǎn. Lí is bright outside and empty within; Kǎn is dangerous outside and solid within. When the light is dazzling, think of Kǎn: behind a bright surface there must be real substance, or the fiercer the fire, the faster it burns out.
Lines 2–5 of Lí make Dàguò, Great Excess: inside the brightness lies a heavy load. It explains why Lines 3 and 4, caught between two fires, suffer most: the longer something shines, the more heat and weight the middle must bear, so one must know when to rest.
In sequence 序
陷必有所麗，故受之以離；離者麗也。
The Sequence says that what has sunk must cling to something, hence Clinging follows the Abyss. After falling one needs something to hold, or one keeps falling. The first half of the classic, which began with Heaven and Earth, closes here with Water and Fire.
The judgment 辭
離：利貞。亨。畜牝牛，吉。
“Clinging: it is favourable to be steadfast; success. Raising a cow brings good fortune.” Usually success precedes steadfastness; here the order is reversed, because a gua ruled by soft lines must first stand firm on what is right before its way opens. A cow is gentle and docile; to adopt that temper is fortunate.
Commentary on the judgment 彖
彖曰：離，麗也；日月麗乎天，百穀草木麗乎土，重明以麗乎正，乃化成天下。柔麗乎中正，故亨；是以畜牝牛吉也。
The Tuan: sun and moon cling to heaven, grain and grasses to the soil; everything holds to something. Human beings must cling with doubled light to what is right, and so transform the world: it is not enough to live, one must ask how. The soft lines cling to central, correct places, hence success, and hence the fortunate cow.
The great image 象
象曰：明兩作離，大人以繼明照于四方。
“Brightness rises twice: Clinging. The great person continues the light and illumines the four quarters.” Most Images speak of the noble person; only this one names the great person, one who holds office. A light that shines once is not enough; it must be carried on, as virtue takes no holidays.
The six lines 爻
Ruling line The second line, central and correct, “yellow clinging, supreme good fortune,” governs the gua. The fifth holds the throne but is out of place, so the second rules.
The path of the six lines, bottom to top
Line 1 is the first step, feet criss-crossing; approached with respect, there is no blame. Line 2 is yellow light, central and correct, like the noon sun: supreme good fortune. Line 3 is the setting sun; with an open heart all is well, otherwise only the sighs of age remain. Line 4 rushes from the lower fire into the upper, too fiercely, burns out and is cast aside: the most dangerous moment. Line 5 weeps and worries, and because it stays alert it ends well. The top line goes out on the king’s campaign, punishing only the ringleader and sparing the followers: at the end, light is used to set things right.
初九履錯然，敬之无咎。
In plain words
Footsteps cross in careful order; with reverence, no blame.
Close reading
A yang line correctly placed, it has the drive to advance, but with no partner in the fourth line a rash start invites trouble. Bottom lines often take the image of feet. Cuò here means not error but interlacing: natural materials become culture only when people weave them together, and this line is someone just stepping into that bright world. The Small Image says reverence is how one avoids fault.
If you drew this line
At the outset, hold your strength in check. Follow the forms, stay respectful, and count blamelessness as enough.
六二黃離，元吉。
In plain words
Yellow clinging: supreme good fortune.
Close reading
A yin line central and correct, the ruling line, guarded by yang lines above and below. Yellow is the colour of earth, which sits at the centre of the five phases, and the second line is in earth's place: hence “yellow clinging,” the emblem of a gracious culture, echoing Kun's “yellow skirt, supreme fortune.” The Small Image says it has found the middle way. Its light shines without dazzling.
If you drew this line
Stay centred and correct, and show your gifts with warmth and measure. Brightness need not glare to win trust.
九三日昃之離，不鼓缶而歌，則大耋之嗟，凶。
Variant Shown as 「大耋之嗟」; some editions read 「差」.
In plain words
Clinging at sunset: if one does not drum on a pot and sing, there will be the lament of the very old. Misfortune.
Close reading
Correctly placed but without a partner, it stands at the end of the lower fire, the sun at its close; lines three to five form an inner Lake, the west, so the sun is setting. As light fades there are two paths: accept one's lot cheerfully and sing to the pot, or lament like the very old (dié means one past eighty). The Small Image asks how sunset could last. It cannot; what matters is how one meets it.
One level deeper
Line 3, “the light of the declining sun: if one does not drum on a pot and sing, there will be the lament of old age; misfortune”: Lí is the sun, and Line 3 is at the end of the lower trigram, the sun past noon; lines 3–5 also form a nuclear Duì, the west, the sun sinking behind the hills. In later life, if one cannot tap a clay pot and sing, accepting it with ease, only the sighs of age remain.
If you drew this line
A chapter is closing. Rather than clutch at it resentfully, let it go with good grace and find fresh meaning beyond it.
Zhuangzi Drums on a Basin
The Zhuangzi (Supreme Happiness) tells that when Zhuangzi's wife died, Huizi came to mourn and found him sitting sprawled, drumming on a basin and singing. Huizi reproached him: she lived with you, raised your children and grew old beside you; not weeping would be enough, but singing is too much. Zhuangzi answered that at first he could not help being moved. But looking back to the beginning, there was no form and no breath; amid the vague and elusive came breath, breath became form, form became life, and now life has become death, like the turning of the seasons. She lies at rest in the great chamber of heaven and earth; to wail after her would be to misunderstand fate, so he stopped.
九四突如其來如，焚如，死如，棄如。
In plain words
Bursting in suddenly, as it comes: burning, dying, cast aside.
Close reading
A yang line in a yin place, neither central nor correct, without a partner; it surges straight out of the lower trigram and presses on the gentle ruler in the fifth line, caught between two fires as they burn upward. The word “misfortune” never appears, yet this is often called the grimmest of all 384 lines: death, and then even one's name cast away. The Small Image says there is no place for it anywhere. Contrast Great Excess, where the fourth line was fortunate.
One level deeper
Line 4, “suddenly it comes, it burns, it dies, it is cast away”: the fourth place is the close minister, a firm line in a soft place, bursting from the lower fire into the upper and rushing at the throne like a flare. Too much power pressing on the ruler, coming too fiercely, burns itself out and is thrown aside by all. Between the two fires, Line 4 suffers most.
If you drew this line
Avoid any abrupt, aggressive move. Step back, let tempers cool, and give the matter time before acting.
A Betrothal Full of Quarrels
At a public lecture, someone formed a question silently, gave numbers for a casting, and drew this line. The reader suggested discussing it privately, but she insisted on hearing it then. She had asked whether she would marry her boyfriend that year. Fire above and fire below, with the fourth line caught between, pointed to constant conflict. So the reader asked gently: you two quarrel every day; do you really want to marry now? She exclaimed that it was exactly right. Faced with such a line, don't count on luck; let things slow down first.
六五出涕沱若，戚嗟若，吉。
In plain words
Tears flow in streams, sighing in sorrow: good fortune.
Close reading
A yin line in a yang place, out of place but central and in the seat of honour, with no partner in the second line. The fierce fourth line presses from below, a subordinate overshadowing the ruler, so anxiety runs deep. Fire is the eye; lines three to five form an inner Lake: water in the eyes, a flood of tears. Because it stays humble and wary and can lean on the line above, the outcome is fortunate. The Small Image says its fortune lies in clinging to the royal seat.
One level deeper
Line 5, “tears pour down, sighing in sorrow; good fortune”: Lí is the eye, and Line 5 lies in the nuclear Duì (lines 3–5), the marsh: a marsh in the eye is a face streaming with tears. A gentle ruler pressed by a forceful Line 4 is afraid to the extreme; yet being able to weep and worry shows vigilance, and holding the centre, it ends well.
If you drew this line
Worry is not a failure here. Face the pressure honestly, stay humble and careful, and the danger can pass.
上九王用出征，有嘉折首，獲匪其醜，无咎。
In plain words
The king sends him forth to campaign; there is merit. He takes the chief, not the common followers: no blame.
Close reading
A yang line in a yin place, out of place, opposed rather than paired with the third line. “The king” is the fifth; it is he who sends the top line out. At the summit of Fire, its clarity is at its height and sees through wrongdoing; Fire is also armour and weapons. “Taking the chief” means striking the hostile leader, like the third line, not the rank and file. The Small Image says this is to set the state right: force in the service of order, not conquest for its own sake.
If you drew this line
Act decisively when you must, but aim at the root of the problem and spare those merely caught up in it. The goal is to set things right, not to show force.
Seize the King First
Du Fu's sixth poem in “Before the Frontier” runs: shoot the horse before the rider, seize the king before the rebels; but killing too has its limits, and every state has its borders. If invasion can be checked, the poem asks, why count success in slaughter? To strike the leader and hold back from needless killing is just what this line means by taking the chief rather than the followers, in order to set the state right.
Stories 典
Knotting Nets, Taken from Lí
When the Great Commentary recounts how the ancient sages made implements from the images, the first is this: they knotted cords into nets for hunting and fishing, taking the idea from Lí. Solid outside and hollow within, the figure is a net that catches game and fish. Lí is also fire, and with fire wood and metal could be worked into fine tools, and civilisation unfolded. In Greek myth, too, human culture begins when Prometheus steals fire from heaven for mankind. East and West alike saw such inventions as fire and the net as humanity's first step out of darkness.
Renewed Each Day
The Great Learning opens: the way of great learning lies in making bright one's bright virtue. If virtue is bright already, why brighten it? Because its native light has been dimmed and must be polished again. The same text quotes the inscription on King Tang's bathing basin: if you can renew yourself one day, renew yourself day by day, and again renew. One “renew” would do, yet it repeats, to stress that cultivation must be daily. This is the same intent as the Image's light rising twice and being continued: a lamp once lit does not burn forever; it must be tended day after day, generation after generation.
Insight 悟
Clinging reminds us that people, like fire, must hold to something, and the thing most worth holding is the right way. Within one gua the centred second line wins supreme fortune while the headlong fourth finds no place anywhere: the difference lies not in outside forces but in bearing, gentle and centred or impatient and pushing. Light must be continued and virtue takes no holiday; once one sees that human nature tends toward the good, steady goodness becomes a joy rather than a burden. And when the sun is setting, one learns to let go, drum on the pot and sing.