The name 名
Kuí 睽 is glossed by the Sequence as 乖, “to diverge.” The character has the eye radical and first meant eyes not looking the same way, hence intentions that do not meet. One still says 睽違已久, “long separated.”
The image 象
Above is Lí 離, fire, which flames upward; below is Duì 兌, the marsh, whose water settles downward. They move in opposite directions and drift ever further apart. Lí is the middle daughter and Duì the youngest: “two women living together whose wills do not travel the same road,” sisters under one roof who will marry into different houses. It is The Family turned upside down.
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 middle and youngest daughters sharing a house are already in the imagery; what deserves notice is who is missing. Compared with Jiā Rén, the eldest daughter is gone: no older sister with a household of her own to hold the sisters together, and no parent present. Two young women each have their own plans, nobody mediates, and they drift further apart. When a family loses the person willing to keep everyone in touch, ties easily come undone.
Line 1, “the horse is lost; do not chase it, it returns of itself; meeting a bad man, no blame”: Kuí comes from Zhōng Fú. There, Line 4 sat in a nuclear Zhèn, the horse that neighs well; when lines 4 and 5 trade places that Zhèn disappears and the horse is lost. But a new nuclear Kǎn appears in lines 3–5, the horse with a fine back: one horse goes, another comes, so there is no need to chase. Line 4 sits in that Kǎn, the robber, the “bad man”; meeting him does no harm.
Line 2, “meeting the lord in a lane; no blame”: lines 2–4 form a nuclear Lí and the upper trigram is Lí too; Lí is light, so both sides can see each other and a meeting is possible. But the pattern of Kuí is separation, so they cannot meet on the main street, only in a side lane. When relations are strained, informal contact is often what works.
Line 3, “the cart is dragged, the ox held back, the driver branded and his nose cut; no good beginning but a good end”: Line 3 sits in the nuclear Kǎn, the dray horse and the cart of many mishaps, pulling forward, and in the nuclear Lí, which can be the ox, pulling back. Through the change from Zhōng Fú, the driver loses the nose of its nuclear Gèn and the hair of its Xùn, as if punished. It starts blocked on every side but ends well because it corresponds with the top line.
Top line, “he sees a pig covered in mud, a cart full of ghosts; first he draws his bow, then lays it down; not a raider but a suitor; going on, he meets rain, and it is auspicious”: the top line is in Lí, the eye, looking down at the nuclear Kǎn: Kǎn is the pig and the hidden, and as the north where all things return it also gives the image of ghosts; it is also the bow. A suspicious mind sees filthy pigs and carts of ghosts everywhere, draws the bow, then lowers it. When rain comes, the lake of Duì rising into Kǎn, Lí’s fire is put out and the misunderstanding melts away.
Turn Kuí over and you get Jiā Rén. The same middle daughter lives with the eldest sister in one and the youngest in the other: add an elder sister who can run a household and you have a family; remove her and you have estrangement. To mend a rift, go back to where Jiā Rén begins and rebuild trust and shared rules first.
Change all six lines of Kuí and you get Jiǎn, Obstruction. The hidden side of estrangement is being unable to move: as soon as people drift apart, things get stuck. Conversely, the trouble in Jiǎn, traced to its root, is often a broken relationship. Both hexagrams ask us to make peace in small matters first and untangle the rest slowly.
In sequence 序
家道窮必乖，故受之以睽；睽者乖也。
The Sequence says: “When the way of the family is exhausted there must be divergence; hence Estrangement follows.” “Exhausted” does not mean poor; it means The Family has run through its six lines. Children grow up and households divide, branching out on their own.
The judgment 辭
睽：小事吉。
Three characters: “In small matters, good fortune.” This is no ill omen; it simply says that when people are apart or at odds, it is not the time for grand undertakings. “Small” also points to the yin fifth line on the throne. Separation is not necessarily bad: keeping some distance while cooperating on small things and moving in small steps goes well.
Commentary on the judgment 彖
彖曰：睽，火動而上，澤動而下；二女同居，其志不同行；說而麗乎明，柔進而上行，得中而應乎剛；是以小事吉。天地睽，而其事同也；男女睽，而其志通也；萬物睽，而其事類也；睽之時用大矣哉！
The commentary draws out the positive side: “Heaven and earth are apart, yet their work is one; man and woman are apart, yet their wills meet; the myriad things are apart, yet their doings are alike.” If everything merged into one there would be no change at all, hence the exclamation: “Great indeed is the timely use of Estrangement!”
The great image 象
象曰：上火下澤，睽；君子以同而異。
“Fire above, marsh below: Estrangement. The noble person seeks what is shared while keeping what differs.” The “great” in “great harmony” (大同) is generosity: agreement on the large direction, not uniformity in everything. Kept differences make the world rich; enforced sameness makes it dull.
The six lines 爻
Ruling line The fifth line rules. “The soft advances upward, attains the centre and answers the firm”: a yin line rising from the fourth place of Zhōngfú 中孚 to the fifth, central and answering the second. The “small” of the judgment is this yin line.
The path of the six lines, bottom to top
Line 1, at the start of estrangement, loses its horse; no need to chase it, it comes back on its own, and even meeting a bad man need not be avoided. Line 2 meets its lord not on the main street but in a lane, keeping the tie alive informally. Line 3, at the top of the lower trigram, has its cart dragged, ox held and driver punished: a mess at first, yet a good end. Line 4 enters the upper trigram isolated, meets a trustworthy “good man,” and through sincerity comes through danger without fault. Line 5’s regret vanishes, and reconciliation comes as easily as kin biting through soft skin; the top line is the most suspicious, seeing filthy pigs and ghost carts everywhere, until it lays down its bow and a rain washes the misunderstanding away.
初九悔亡，喪馬勿逐，自復；見惡人无咎。
In plain words
Regret vanishes. A lost horse need not be chased; it comes back by itself. Meeting a bad man: no blame.
Close reading
Yang in a yang place, correctly placed, but with no correspondence, since the fourth line is also yang. The second and third lines both have partners; this one alone does not, hence regret. Yet in a time of Estrangement having no partner fits the times, so regret vanishes. By hexagram change, the inner Zhèn 震 of Zhōngfú (the neighing horse) disappears: the horse is lost. An inner Kǎn 坎 appears (lines 3–5), the horse with a fine back: it returns. The fourth line, in Kǎn the robber, is the “bad man”; the Small Image says meeting him is “to avoid blame.”
One level deeper
Line 1, “the horse is lost; do not chase it, it returns of itself; meeting a bad man, no blame”: Kuí comes from Zhōng Fú. There, Line 4 sat in a nuclear Zhèn, the horse that neighs well; when lines 4 and 5 trade places that Zhèn disappears and the horse is lost. But a new nuclear Kǎn appears in lines 3–5, the horse with a fine back: one horse goes, another comes, so there is no need to chase. Line 4 sits in that Kǎn, the robber, the “bad man”; meeting him does no harm.
If you drew this line
Don’t chase what you have lost; it may come back in another form. With people you find disagreeable, keep courteous contact; it heads off conflict.
九二遇主于巷，无咎。
In plain words
Meeting one’s lord in a narrow lane: no blame.
Close reading
Yang in a yin place, central but not correct; its partner, the fifth line, is likewise central but not correct. To this line the fifth is its lord. Both lie within Lí images (the inner Lí and the upper Lí), so they can see each other; but in a time of Estrangement they cannot unite openly, only meet in a lane. The Small Image: “it has not lost the way”: still on the middle path, though the road has narrowed from avenue to alley.
One level deeper
Line 2, “meeting the lord in a lane; no blame”: lines 2–4 form a nuclear Lí and the upper trigram is Lí too; Lí is light, so both sides can see each other and a meeting is possible. But the pattern of Kuí is separation, so they cannot meet on the main street, only in a side lane. When relations are strained, informal contact is often what works.
If you drew this line
You can meet the person you need and broach the matter, but do it quietly and informally, not with public fanfare.
六三見輿曳，其牛掣，其人天且劓，无初有終。
Variant Shown as 「其牛掣」; some editions read 「𧤊」.
In plain words
One sees the cart dragged forward and the ox pulling back; its driver has been shaved and had his nose cut off. No good beginning, but a good end.
Close reading
Yin in a yang place, not correctly placed, pinned between the yang lines above and below, unable to move either way. It sits in the inner Kǎn, the dragging horse and the accident-prone cart, and in the inner Lí, which can stand for the ox: one pulls forward, the other back, and the cart is stuck. 天 is the punishment of shaving the head, 劓 of cutting off the nose: Zhōngfú’s inner Gèn (the nose) and Xùn (sparse hair) both vanish in the change to Kuí. The Small Image: “the position is not right,” but also “it meets the firm”: it corresponds with the top line and is at last received by a strong partner, hence a good end.
One level deeper
Line 3, “the cart is dragged, the ox held back, the driver branded and his nose cut; no good beginning but a good end”: Line 3 sits in the nuclear Kǎn, the dray horse and the cart of many mishaps, pulling forward, and in the nuclear Lí, which can be the ox, pulling back. Through the change from Zhōng Fú, the driver loses the nose of its nuclear Gèn and the hair of its Xùn, as if punished. It starts blocked on every side but ends well because it corresponds with the top line.
If you drew this line
The start is blocked and even humiliating, but that is no reason to quit. Bear the awkwardness for now; a resolution and strong support will come.
九四睽孤，遇元夫，交孚，厲无咎。
In plain words
Isolated in estrangement, one meets a worthy man; they trust each other. Danger, but no blame.
Close reading
Yang in a yin place, not correctly placed, caught where the marsh below and fire above part ways, and cut off by the yin lines on either side: isolated. It does not correspond with the first line, which in this hexagram is fitting. 元 means “first” and “great”; the “worthy man” is the first line, a capable ally. Two who lack partners come to trust each other, and the Small Image says “their purpose is carried out.”
If you drew this line
You feel isolated and uneasy, but you will meet someone you can trust. Deal with each other sincerely and you can come through the risk together.
六五悔亡，厥宗噬膚，往何咎。
In plain words
Regret vanishes. His kinsman bites through the tender meat. Going forward, what blame could there be?
Close reading
Yin in a yang place, central but not correct, ruler of the figure, answering the second line. In Estrangement a correspondence sits awkwardly with the times, hence regret; but having risen from Zhōngfú’s fourth place to the central throne, the regret vanishes. Zhōngfú’s inner Gèn is the skin; when lines four and five swap, the yang comes down into the fourth place as if biting into the flesh, and that fourth line is the “kinsman.” The Small Image: “going brings blessing.”
If you drew this line
Let the worry go; you have people of one mind beside you. If you are weighing whether to go or take a step, this is the moment.
上九睽孤，見豕負塗，載鬼一車，先張之弧，後說之弧，匪寇婚媾，往遇雨則吉。
Variant Shown as 「負塗」; some editions read 「涂」.
In plain words
Isolated in estrangement, one sees a pig covered in mud and a cart full of ghosts. First he draws his bow, then lays it down: it is no robber, but a suitor. Going on, if one meets rain, good fortune.
Close reading
Yang in a yin place, not correctly placed, at the very end of Estrangement: so isolated that suspicion takes over. From within Lí (the eye) it looks down on the inner Kǎn lying between: Kǎn is the pig and the ditch, so a pig caked in mud; Kǎn is the north, where all things return, and what humans return to is ghosts, while Kǎn is also the ill-fated cart, so a cartload of ghosts; Kǎn is the bow and the robber, so the bow is drawn. In fact the top line corresponds with the third, and the other has come to make a match. As the third rises, marsh water enters Kǎn and becomes rain, quenching Lí’s fire. The Small Image: “all doubts vanish.”
One level deeper
Top line, “he sees a pig covered in mud, a cart full of ghosts; first he draws his bow, then lays it down; not a raider but a suitor; going on, he meets rain, and it is auspicious”: the top line is in Lí, the eye, looking down at the nuclear Kǎn: Kǎn is the pig and the hidden, and as the north where all things return it also gives the image of ghosts; it is also the bow. A suspicious mind sees filthy pigs and carts of ghosts everywhere, draws the bow, then lowers it. When rain comes, the lake of Duì rising into Kǎn, Lí’s fire is put out and the misunderstanding melts away.
If you drew this line
You may be thinking far worse of the other side than is warranted. Set suspicion aside and speak openly; once the misunderstanding clears, things turn for the better.
Suspicion Breeds Ghosts
Cheng Yi’s commentary on this line lays bare the psychology of suspicion. The top line and the third are true partners, yet at the extreme of estrangement the top line doubts everything. First it sees the other as a mud-caked pig, utterly repellent; once repelled, it imagines worse and worse, as if seeing a cart full of ghosts. Ghosts have no form, yet it sees a whole cartload: something conjured from nothing, delusion at its peak. But estrangement at its extreme must turn back; the other was upright all along, and when the doubts dissolve the two are united. Friends living apart who only speculate often read malice into innocent acts; one candid meeting is often the rain that clears the air.
Stories 典
Zhang Gongyi’s Hundred “Endures”
The Old Book of Tang records that the family of Zhang Gongyi of Shouzhang lived together for nine generations, honoured by the Northern Qi, the Sui and the Tang. When Emperor Gaozong travelled to perform the rites at Mount Tai, he visited the house in person and asked how such a family held together. Zhang asked for brush and paper and wrote only one character, “endure” (忍), more than a hundred times. The character shows a blade over the heart: a family that stays together for long does so through countless concessions. It explains the Sequence’s “when the way of the family is exhausted there must be divergence”: kinship does not sustain itself, parting and joining are normal, and holding together has a price.
The Bow and Arrow, Taken from Kuí
The Great Commentary, recounting how the ancient sages devised implements, says: “They strung wood to make the bow and sharpened wood to make the arrow. The benefit of bow and arrow was to awe the world; this they took, it seems, from Kuí.” Why from Estrangement? When people diverge and go their own ways, order must be upheld by strength. And the figure itself carries weapons: Lí above is spear and armour, the inner Kǎn is the bow. Kuí is separation, but in separation the ancients also saw the need to maintain order.
Insight 悟
Gathering and parting are the ordinary rhythm of life, even within a family. Kuí does not treat separation as disaster: heaven and earth, man and woman, the myriad things all function because they differ. It teaches two things: when the time is wrong, do small things, not grand ones; and the greatest danger in separation is the imagination, since suspicion at its height turns goodwill into enmity. Even a perfect correspondence is not always good; it depends on the time. What heals estrangement is seldom argument; it is candour and patience.