The name 名
Xùn 巽 means to yield and to enter; its image is wind. Heaven, earth, thunder, mountain, water, fire and lake can all be drawn, but wind has no shape or colour; it is air, slipping into every gap. The Miscellany says that the Lake shows itself while the Wind lies hidden: the decisive yin line of Duì is on the outside, that of Xùn at the bottom, turned inward.
The image 象
Wind above wind: gust following gust, reaching everywhere. The ancients took wind as the image of command, a ruler’s decree sweeping across the land until everyone knows it. Yet wind also means wavering, coming and going without result; pushed to the extreme, yielding becomes losing oneself.
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
Xùn above and Xùn below: the eldest daughter twice. The Shuo Gua says Xùn is the daughter gained at “the first seeking,” because its single yin line appears in the first, lowest place; that bottom line is what makes Xùn the eldest daughter, and in this hexagram it is Line 1. The eldest daughter is the one who keeps a family connected, carrying word to every corner like the wind: compliant, hard-working, and often the most burdened. Yet compliance pushed too far makes it easy to lose one’s own mind.
Line 1, “advancing and retreating; the steadiness of a warrior is fitting”: this is the very yin line that makes Xùn the eldest daughter, soft and blown back and forth, unable to decide. Above it, lines 2–4 form a nuclear Duì, the west and the White Tiger, the image of a warrior: a hesitant person needs to borrow some of a soldier’s resolve to stand firm.
Line 2, “humbled beneath the bed; using scribes and shamans in great number”: Xùn is wood and a bed is made of wood; the trigram, broken below and whole above, even looks like one. Lines 2–4 form a nuclear Duì, the mouth, so scribes and shamans speak on every side. Bowed low beneath the bed, it lets many voices carry its sincerity upward, and so it is auspicious and blameless.
Line 4, “in the hunt it takes three kinds of game”: three animals appear around this line. The upper Xùn is the chicken, the nuclear Duì of lines 2–4 the sheep, the nuclear Lí of lines 3–5 the pheasant. One hunt, three kinds of game: Line 4 is yielding, correctly placed and right under the ruler, a close minister whose work brings real results.
Top line, “humbled beneath the bed; it loses its money and its axe”: the same posture that was humility in Line 2 has become retreat at the top. Lines 3–5 form a nuclear Lí, weapons and the axe, and Xùn means “near profit, threefold,” that is, wealth. Compliance at its limit loses both the means to live and the axe of decision.
Turn Xùn upside down and it becomes Duì: the eldest daughter flips into the youngest. Xùn enters with head bowed, seeping in quietly; Duì opens its mouth and lets joy show on its face. When you draw Xùn, think of Duì: a wish you keep complying around without ever saying it may need a little plain speaking.
Change all six lines of Xùn and you get Zhèn: opposite the eldest daughter stands the eldest son. Zhèn moves with a thunderclap, exactly the decisiveness Xùn lacks; Xùn’s fault, “advancing and retreating without result,” is not seeing the thunder on its own hidden side. In turn, Xùn’s patience is what Zhèn is missing.
In sequence 序
旅而無所容，故受之以巽；巽者入也。
The Sequence: travelling with nowhere to be taken in, hence Xùn; Xùn means entering. The traveller’s worst trouble is finding no place that will take him; what comes next is the ability to enter and settle. The wind enters everywhere, so Xùn follows the Traveler.
The judgment 辭
巽：小亨。利有攸往。利見大人。
“Xùn: small success. It is fitting to have somewhere to go. It is fitting to see the great person.” This is the second “small success” in a row, after the Traveler. Getting through at all is enough; never mind how big. Yielding while still moving forward, and seeking out people of virtue and standing, opens the way step by step.
Commentary on the judgment 彖
彖曰：重巽以申命，剛巽乎中正而志行。柔皆順乎剛，是以小亨，利有攸往，利見大人。
The Commentary: “Doubled wind, to reiterate commands.” The firm lines at two and five, central, yield to what is central and correct, so their purpose is carried out. “The yielding all follow the firm”: both yin lines sit beneath yang lines, deferring rather than riding over them. Hence small success, a fitting place to go, and the value of seeing the great person.
The great image 象
象曰：隨風，巽；君子以申命行事。
“Wind following wind: Xùn. The noble person reiterates commands and carries out affairs.” As wind follows wind, the noble person makes instructions clear and repeats them, then actually sees them through. Commands are not about saying more but about saying it clearly and following through; words without action leave no trace, like a passing breeze.
The six lines 爻
Ruling line Xùn is defined by its yin lines: line one governs the lower wind, line four the upper; both views exist, and the lectures lean towards line four. Line five, central and correct, holds the seat of authority.
The path of the six lines, bottom to top
Line 1 starts out blowing back and forth like the wind and needs a soldier’s resolve to settle. Line 2 bows as low as it can and lets many voices carry its sincerity upward, and that turns out well; Line 3 bends again and again until compliance becomes humiliation. Line 4, entering the upper trigram right below the ruler, finally brings in real results: three kinds of game in one hunt. Line 5, central and upright, weighs its orders before and after issuing them; the start is rough, but the end is good. At the top, compliance has gone too far: hiding beneath the bed, it loses its means and its decisiveness, and holding on there is ominous.
初六進退，利武人之貞。
In plain words
Advancing, retreating. A warrior’s steadfastness is fitting.
Close reading
Yin in a yang place, not correct, at the very bottom of the lower wind, with wind above and below and nothing to hold: hence the wavering. Unanswered by the yin fourth line, it can only lean on line two. The Small Image unusually mentions “will” twice: advancing and retreating, “the will is in doubt”; a warrior’s steadfastness, “the will is ordered.” Looking up, lines two to four form Duì, the west, the white tiger: the warrior. Take a warrior’s resolve and the mind steadies.
One level deeper
Line 1, “advancing and retreating; the steadiness of a warrior is fitting”: this is the very yin line that makes Xùn the eldest daughter, soft and blown back and forth, unable to decide. Above it, lines 2–4 form a nuclear Duì, the west and the White Tiger, the image of a warrior: a hesitant person needs to borrow some of a soldier’s resolve to stand firm.
If you drew this line
When you are wavering, settle your direction first, then act on it with a soldier’s decisiveness; stop swinging back and forth.
九二巽在牀下，用史巫紛若，吉无咎。
In plain words
Yielding, down beneath the bed; diviners and ritualists are called in great number. Good fortune, no blame.
Close reading
Xùn is wood, and a bed is made of wood; the trigram even looks like a bed with the yin line as its legs. Line two came down from line four of Dùn 遯 into the lower wind: “beneath the bed,” humble in the extreme. Yang in a yin place, not correct but central, unanswered by line five and far from Heaven’s will, yet obliged to decide, it consults the scribes who divine and the shamans who exorcise; the nuclear Duì (mouth) makes their voices many. “It holds the centre”: fortune lies in not acting on its own, while keeping its own balanced judgment amid the chorus.
One level deeper
Line 2, “humbled beneath the bed; using scribes and shamans in great number”: Xùn is wood and a bed is made of wood; the trigram, broken below and whole above, even looks like one. Lines 2–4 form a nuclear Duì, the mouth, so scribes and shamans speak on every side. Bowed low beneath the bed, it lets many voices carry its sincerity upward, and so it is auspicious and blameless.
If you drew this line
While things are unclear, stay humble and seek expert advice; but when opinions multiply, keep to the middle and make the final call yourself.
九三頻巽，吝。
In plain words
Repeated yielding, orders issued again and again: regret.
Close reading
Yang in a yang place, correct but not central, wedged between two winds: hence “repeated.” In a doubled trigram no lines correspond, so it has no partner at the top, and the yin fourth line rides over it. Its firm nature wants to take charge, its setting demands compliance; caught between, it keeps reissuing orders without the drive to carry them out. “The will is exhausted.”
If you drew this line
Stop restating your position and repeating instructions; decide whether you will act or not, and then actually do it.
六四悔亡，田獲三品。
In plain words
Regret vanishes. In the hunt, three kinds of game are taken.
Close reading
Yin in a yin place, correct, unanswered by line one, squeezed between the yang lines three and five and riding over line three: there is cause for regret. But it defers upward to line five and has found its place, so regret vanishes. It was the second line of Dùn, the place of earth, of the field; rising from the field suggests a hunt. Above, it brings out three images: the upper Xùn (fowl), the nuclear Duì (sheep), the nuclear Lí (pheasant): three kinds of game. “There is merit.”
One level deeper
Line 4, “in the hunt it takes three kinds of game”: three animals appear around this line. The upper Xùn is the chicken, the nuclear Duì of lines 2–4 the sheep, the nuclear Lí of lines 3–5 the pheasant. One hunt, three kinds of game: Line 4 is yielding, correctly placed and right under the ruler, a close minister whose work brings real results.
If you drew this line
Though hemmed in, if you serve those above with good grace and put in the effort, there will be real results and real merit.
九五貞吉悔亡，无不利。无初有終，先庚三日，後庚三日，吉。
In plain words
Steadfastness brings good fortune; regret vanishes; nothing is unfavourable. No beginning, but an end. Three days before geng, three days after geng: good fortune.
Close reading
Yang in a yang place, central and correct: “its position is correct and central.” Yet it has no partner at two, and “regret vanishes” is rare for a fifth line. Of the ten stems, the three before geng are ding, wu, ji; the three after are xin, ren, gui. Ding suggests 叮嚀, careful warning beforehand; gui suggests 揆, weighing afterwards. Running from ding to gui skips the opening stem jia but reaches the last: no beginning, but an end. Cheng Yi explained that jia is the start of affairs and geng the start of change; past the middle pair wu–ji comes alteration. To change a command, trace its origin and see it through to its end.
If you drew this line
When changing a decision or issuing a new directive, explain carefully beforehand and review carefully afterwards; never reverse yourself on a whim. A rough start can still end well.
上九巽在牀下，喪其資斧，貞凶。
In plain words
Yielding, down beneath the bed; he loses his money and his axe. Persisting is ominous.
Close reading
Yang in a yin place, not correct, without a partner at three, at the extreme of yielding. Sitting at the top of the bed, it has no literal “beneath”; the phrase now means compliance carried to total self-effacement. The market profits of Xùn have passed to those below, and the axe of the nuclear Lí lies beneath it, out of reach: “he loses his money and his axe.” The Small Image: “at the top, exhausted,” and “rightly ominous.” The same words were fortunate at line two and are ominous here; time and position make the difference.
One level deeper
Top line, “humbled beneath the bed; it loses its money and its axe”: the same posture that was humility in Line 2 has become retreat at the top. Lines 3–5 form a nuclear Lí, weapons and the axe, and Xùn means “near profit, threefold,” that is, wealth. Compliance at its limit loses both the means to live and the axe of decision.
If you drew this line
When it is time to step back, the best humility is to let go gracefully and leave the seat to others; clinging on will cost both your resources and your dignity.
Knowing When to Leave
Someone reaching retirement age, reluctant to go, hoped to stay on at the company as an adviser and, unsure, drew this line. At line two “beneath the bed” is a young person’s modesty, a sign of ambition; at the top, the only modesty left is to step down and hand over to a successor. Losing money and axe meant that even by bending low, the old privileges would not be kept; “persisting is ominous” warned that hanging on would leave one exposed if old matters were ever reopened. The point of consulting the Changes is to know when to advance and when to withdraw.
Stories 典
Stern Words and Gentle Words
In the Analects Confucius says: “Can one fail to accept words of stern correction? What counts is reforming. Can one fail to be pleased by gentle, deferential words? What counts is drawing out their meaning.” Everyone nods at a stern rebuke; what matters is actually changing. Everyone enjoys praise; what matters is hearing what lies beneath it. A teacher demands harder work, the student agrees and then says “later”; a teacher offers a few kind words, and the student is merely pleased, missing the higher hope behind them. Gentle words enter the ear like wind; to reach the heart, they must be thought through.
Wind and the Art of Weighing
The Great Commentary calls Xùn “the regulation of virtue,” adding that it “weighs things while staying hidden” and that “by Xùn one exercises discretion.” Wind adapts to time and place and works its way into hearts. Confucius said that, unlike the famous recluses, he had nothing he must always do and nothing he must never do. Yet he also said one might study with someone, even walk the Way and stand firm with him, and still not be able to weigh circumstances with him. Discretion is the hardest thing: keep the principle constant and the method flexible. Yielding without that core becomes the self-abasement of the top line.
Insight 悟
The wind enters everywhere because it yields, but yielding must be anchored in what is central and correct; the soft should support the firm, not ride over it. When wavering, find a warrior’s resolve; when taking advice, keep your own balanced judgment; when giving orders, do not merely repeat them; when changing them, warn beforehand and review afterwards. The same words mean modesty at the bottom and loss of self at the top: time and position change everything. Going with the tide is wisdom; going so far that you forget yourself is where misfortune begins.