《伊川擊壤集》Vol. 18

The Yichuan Jirang Ji is a collection of poems by Northern Song Dynasty Neo-Confucian scholar Shao Yong (courtesy name Yaofu). The selected short verses below contain profound philosophical insights:

The poem on the winter solstice states: The winter solstice represents the fundamental origin (天根) of all life's growth, embodying supremely subtle principles. The year's end simultaneously marks the beginning of what's to come. This moment makes truth easily comprehensible, yet genuine practice remains challenging. Those who grasp this principle will find nothing beyond their capability.

"Ode to Wine Cup and Tray" depicts solitary drinking in the woods: Drinking alone amidst trees intensifies the sense of solitude, yet one prefers eternal preservation of such purity. Observe those obsessed with worldly bustle—once their influence fades, faithful companions prove scarce.

"Song of Joy" discusses interpersonal conduct: Promote virtuous deeds, not misdeeds; remember kindnesses, not grudges. Were everyone to interact thus joyfully, why worry about lacking companionship?

"Ode to the Virtuous" portrays noble character: Their goodness shines like gold and jade, their steadfastness resembles mountains, their grace mirrors phoenixes, and their essence exudes the fragrance of orchids.

"Discourse on Debates" observes: Matters lacking inherent truth naturally invite disagreement, while true principles inevitably achieve consensus.

"Expounding Sincerity" emphasizes heartfelt genuineness: Though Heaven speaks not, the human heart perceives. Human hearts may be temporarily deceived, but the Dao of Heaven ultimately cannot. The distance between Heaven and humanity lies solely in whether the heart comprehends this truth.

"Yaofu's Verse" reveals Shao Yong's personal ethos: By nature I am simple and unadorned, coming and going as I please. Steady as mountain peaks, flowing like rivers, fragrant as orchids everlasting, lingering like the aftertones of Shao music. Capable of appreciating flowers, snow, breeze and moon, I combine tenderness with fortitude, romanticism with passionate intensity.

"On the Unexpected" discusses worldly wisdom: Unforeseen events defy prediction—why fret unnecessarily over uncontrollable matters? Since errors are inevitable, accept them with equanimity. Understanding this principle leaves nothing in the world to worry about.

"On Decisiveness" addresses resolution: Decisions resolve doubts, while delay worsens situations. Hesitation when action is required invites disaster.

"Anxiety and Dreams" speaks of self-cultivation: The well-cultivated person knows neither anxiety nor dreams. Excessive dreams stem from overthinking; excessive worry from desire. Eliminate anxieties, and dreams naturally cease. Comprehending this truth obviates the need for alternative cultivation methods.

"On Human Nature" observes: Those who understand human relationships, whether their connections be broad or narrow, perceive worldly affairs as clearly as reading their own palms.

"On Human Affairs" cautions: In conduct, avoid rashness; in actions, shun procrastination. Delay ruins affairs, rashness harms others. Act with prudent thoroughness—haste approaches frivolity, while caution nears sincerity.

Though the complete text of "Mentorship Discourse" isn't included, its title clearly concerns pedagogical principles, emphasizing education's vital importance.

Selected Passages from Yichuan Jirang Ji in Modern Interpretation:

On Seeking the Dao and Being a Teacher:

When one doesn't understand the Dao (the Way), one should actively seek a teacher; after understanding it, one should help others. Finding a true teacher is difficult, but teaching others is even harder. When guiding people toward the Dao, one must neither interfere excessively nor leave them completely unattended. Some feel ashamed to be teachers, while others take pleasure in it—both attitudes are mistaken. Those who truly attain the Dao do not cling to such distinctions.

The Relationship Between Heaven and Humanity:

Heaven (cosmic law) teaches people to cultivate their minds, while humans must learn to refine their bodies. Only when body and mind are at peace can one realize the unity of heaven and humanity (Tianren Heyi). Heaven and humanity are not far apart, yet few truly grasp this principle. The body is governed by the heart, and the heart follows the Dao of heaven. If the heart is not joyful, how can the body find peace?

The Story of Yue Yi:

When Yue Yi served the state of Yan, he carried great ambitions, conquering seventy cities of Qi with unstoppable momentum. He deliberately spared Jimo and Ju, intending for Yan to gradually unify the realm. Unfortunately, before his grand vision could be realized, King Zhao of Yan passed away. The new ruler failed to understand his deeper strategy, replacing him and causing Yan's decline from prosperity. Throughout history, true mutual understanding between rulers and ministers has been rare—this historical episode has made later heroes sigh in regret.

The Standard of a Perfect Person:

A truly perfect individual must be consistent in both inner virtue and outer conduct. It is not about literary skill or outward appearance, but about first perfecting one's own cultivation. Serve parents with devotion, treat siblings with sincerity, be loyal to one's ruler, and uphold righteousness in honoring teachers and the Dao. Life spans barely a century, yet there is much to accomplish—if one cannot even cultivate oneself, how can one spare energy for others?

Autobiographical Note on Birth:

Born in the year of Xinhai, month of Xinchou, day of Jiazi, and hour of Jiaxu—with both year and month marked by "Xin," and day and hour by "Jia"—this was the moment I entered the world as a human.

Admonitions for Raising Children:

Roosters herald the dawn, horses bear burdens, dogs guard homes, oxen plow fields. Humans, as the most spiritual of beings, if they only know how to envy the worthy—better not to have been born at all.

The Principle of Constant Dao:

Heaven and earth move by fixed laws; the sun and moon alternate by set patterns; the four seasons cycle in order; spirits and deities manifest according to rules. Sages maintain constant virtue (De), while petty people are ever changeable.

(Note: "Heaven" here refers to natural law or cosmic principles; "unity of heaven and humanity" (Tianren Heyi) is a key Daoist concept of harmony between humans and nature; "Yue Yi" was a famous general of the Warring States period; "Xin" and "Jia" are terms from the Heavenly Stems and Earthly Branches calendrical system.)

Plain Interpretation of the Yichuan Jirang Collection

Reflections at Year's End

Having grown indifferent to worldly splendor, I now hold reading as life's highest pursuit. Countless trials were weathered with trepidation, especially before thirty. In youth, I only grasped life's hardships; in old age, I’ve come to cherish peace. Fortunately, descendants inherit the family legacy, leaving me free to wander with the white clouds.

Spring Sentiments

Before me unfolds spring’s beauty—one must learn to appreciate such moments. The cycle of seasons holds no inherent distress; wind, flowers, snow, and moon are all interconnected. If one faces the world with an unspoiled heart, how could external things mar this joy? How fortunate I’ve been in life, never burdened by idle sorrows.

The Art of Living

Holding others to sage-like standards is unrealistic, but judging them by ordinary measures leaves room for understanding. Criticizing others is easy; accepting criticism is hard. To master this is to approach the virtue of Yan Hui (Confucius’ most exemplary disciple).

The Truth of Life and Death

All people experience rise and fall; all things must live and die. Observing the past reveals what follows after. Ancestors initiate, descendants carry forward—such is the natural rhythm. Only by understanding human nature can one speak of the Dao of Heaven and Earth.

The Impermanence of Life

Yesterday’s blazing influence becomes today’s desperate struggle. Why be shocked or sigh over the ways of the world?

On Governing a Nation

Since ancient times, no perfect strategy has existed against foreign threats—only benevolence and righteousness can safeguard the heartland. Though imperial campaigns may be justified, who dares speak much when the Son of Heaven suffers? The chaos of Western and Eastern Jin lingers in history; the humiliation of three rulers is recorded. Men like Wang Yan and Wang Dao understood that a single word could determine a nation’s fate.

The Duty of Teaching

How dare I compare myself to sages? Yet even discussing principles consoles a lifetime. Teach through common sense, ensuring descendants uphold virtue. The depth of today’s legacy may seem faint, but future generations will recognize its worth. May such intentions spread under heaven—how could peace not follow?

The Harm of Ill Will

Pitiable are those with crooked hearts, born with cruel natures. They ruin not only families but nations.

Admonitions for Life

More affairs bring more sorrow; more suspicion breeds distress. Excessive giving invites resentment; insatiable greed ensures loss.

The Way of the Noble

A noble person would rather be wronged than wrong others; a petty person acts only for themselves, fearing betrayal.

Observing Inner Nature

For millennia, human affairs, emotions, and truths have repeated in the river of history.

These verses from The Collection of Striking Earthen Vessels in Yichuan reveal Shao Yong's profound reflections on life, virtue (De), and the laws of nature. With concise language, he expresses numerous philosophical insights about existence.

Regarding learning and observation, he states: Understanding the principles of time requires study, while quiet sitting enables clear perception. Observe light from darkness, movement from stillness, complexity from simplicity, and weight from lightness—though few practice such observation, its rewards are abundant. Without observation, what use is quantity?

In Reply to Wu Chuanzheng's Praise, he humorously calls himself "the fool of Luoyang"—a man who hasn't read books for over a decade. The sentiments of old age, he confesses, are as ineffable as sparse pines reflected in pale mist and cold moonlight. Loving tranquility doesn't mean being free from pain; cherishing leisure still implies worldly concerns. Neither compares to those truly self-possessed, who float and sink with life's currents.

On judgment, he notes: Praising some, condemning others; favoring red, despising white—such preferences inevitably fill a busy life. Without relinquishing these biases, how can one discern right from wrong? Yet once released, what meaning remains in such distinctions?

Regarding self-cultivation, he emphasizes: People often wash their bodies but seldom purify their hearts. While water cleanses the flesh, no shower can rinse away mental defilements. To cleanse the heart's impurities, one must play the "stringless zither" (referring to spiritual refinement).

He describes his creative process: Composing poetry upon encountering things, never forcing it. In leisure, reviewing old verses from his chest; in stillness, contemplating life's myriad scenes.

The Song of Farming depicts agricultural rhythms: plowing in spring, weeding in summer, harvesting in autumn, storing in winter. Crops flourish with timely rain, yet disasters like floods or droughts still bring calamity.

At sixty-six, he writes: Raising my cup freely—though achieving little in youth, old age brings such unburdened joy. Inspiration often surges, yielding fine lines; collecting three hundred poems, I deem them jade-worthy.

On governance: Excessive leniency breeds negligence; extreme severity causes harm. Balanced measures bring natural stability.

Even minor skills, when mastered deeply, attain transcendent artistry. On gain and loss: Hard to acquire, easy to forfeit. Good and evil resemble fragrant herbs and foul weeds—one becomes crimson near vermilion, black near ink.

Human nature universally seeks life and avoids death, pursues benefit and shuns harm—none under heaven are exempt. Year-end reflections: These feelings others cannot grasp. Though lamenting age, what alternative remains?

This passage from the Yichuan Jirang Collection explores the essential functions of poetry and history through multiple dimensions:

Wisdom for navigating life:

Things easily obtained in life are just as easily lost, while excessive scheming often leads to failure. True virtue (De) isn't found in chasing profit, nor should good deeds be performed for fame. Just as trusting others blindly makes one vulnerable to deception, we must learn to discern truth from falsehood.

The mystery of poetic creation:

Painting excels at depicting forms through pigments (danqing), while poetry captures the spiritual essence of all things through sincere emotion (dancheng). Poetry expresses the heart's aspirations, just as speech reveals inner thoughts. Through the Book of Songs' genres of "Airs," "Odes," and "Hymns," we perceive societal rise and decline; using the techniques of "narrative," "comparison," and "evocation," we discern historical transformations. True masterpieces can both celebrate flourishing eras and warn against misgovernment.

Poetry's social function:

Exceptional poems record magnificent landscapes and celestial wonders, serving both to educate common people and become governance classics. When inscribed on ritual bronzes and stone steles, or performed in solemn temple ceremonies, they move human hearts while communicating with divine spirits. Like the ancient songs from Emperor Shun's era or Confucius' edited Book of Songs, they transform customs and strengthen ethical relationships.

Distinction between poetry and history:

Historical records often prioritize literary embellishment at the cost of accuracy, while poetic history values essential truth. Though worldly affairs are complex, authentic poetry immortalizes emperors' legacies across generations. Such works assist governance, instruct descendants, admonish rulers, and even discipline armies.

(Note: "Danqing" refers to painting pigments, representing visual art; "dancheng" means sincere heart; "Airs/Odes/Hymns" and "narrative/comparison/evocation" are creative techniques from the Book of Songs; "Emperor Shun," "Gaoyao," "Confucius," and "Jizha" are historical figures.)

Selected Passages from The Yichuan Jirang Collection Interpreted in Modern Terms:

On the Dao of Harmonious Living:

Harmony dissolves estrangement, rectifies marital bonds, clarifies sovereign-subject relations, aids the operations of Heaven and Earth, and can even move spirits and deities. Admonish others with sincerity, instruct with patience, part with lingering affection, and give gifts with genuine intent. Each season brings its festivals, every month its auspicious days; beauty reveals itself constantly, and honored guests arrive daily. Cups overflow with fine wine yet no base energy lingers at the feast; the body harbors De (Virtue) while the heart remains untainted. Why need we write characters large as cartwheels? These three thousand poems exist solely to sow spring's warmth throughout the human world.

On Profound Reflection and True Knowledge:

The "Deductive Chant" teaches: Confronting all phenomena demands deep contemplation, for true meaning often dwells in hidden depths. Though something may have been witnessed, it still requires heartfelt comprehension. Mere observation cannot yield full understanding—only through devoted exploration does truth emerge, revealing what we call "true gold." This "true gold" represents principles tempered through endless refinement, truths that penetrate to the marrow. Once grasped, their validity becomes self-evident; when practiced, they bring peace of mind. Only with this inner resolution can one find kindred spirits under Heaven. Such spiritual resonance needs no external validation. If one penetrates the essence of all things, what need is there for zithers to convey meaning? Divine communion requires no phoenix's arrival, for authentic feeling naturally permeates the human heart.

On the Ideal of Governance:

The true golden age manifests when: All beings dwell in contentment, the myriad things exist in harmony. The state functions as an organic whole, its four directions moving like limbs. The peace of Yao and Shun's era transcends all description.

On Artistic Creation:

The "Historical Painting Chant" discusses creation: The historian's brush excels at recording events, the painter's at capturing forms. Poetry and history both master conveying concepts, while verse and painting specialize in expressing emotion. True art achieves both exquisite lyricism and precise meaning. Through artistic imagination, it recreates Heaven-and-Earth's transformations, distinguishes substance from function—achieving what even spirits dare not contradict. Poetry's realm far surpasses historical documentation or pictorial representation.

On Self-Cultivation:

The "Competitive Spirit Chant" warns: Those who avoid contentiousness escape self-inflicted humiliation; by not overreaching, they lessen anxiety. Where worry and shame coexist, De (Virtue) cannot shine. Unless these faults are checked, they become the body-mind's sworn enemies.

The "Heart Governance Chant" emphasizes cultivation's sequence: The heart governs the body, the body influences others. If one cannot subdue the heart-mind, how cultivate the self? Without self-cultivation, how teach others?

The "My Humble Abode Chant" expresses life's attitude: I cherish my thatched hut—it renders me a countryside recluse. My nature grows serene as the wilds, body and mind merging with the myriad things.

This passage from Yichuan Jirang Ji contains several philosophical poems exploring human nature, the art of living, and natural laws. Here is a section-by-section interpretation in modern language:

The first poem depicts a leisurely life: worldly affairs are viewed with detachment, the courtyard overgrown with fragrant grass, and books scattered across the bed. Since abandoning mundane concerns, there’s no longer any need to labor over trivial matters.

Ode to Human Spirit discusses the essence of human nature: Heaven and Earth nurture all things, yet humans are the most spiritually endowed. Possessing this spiritual nature, one ought to embody genuine human feeling. Without such emotion, what use is the human form?

Ephemera reflects on seeing through worldly illusions: there’s no need to panic over fleeting disturbances, as gains and losses ultimately balance out. No amount of clever schemes prove effective—so-called wisdom often amounts to empty reputation. The changing seasons and the bittersweet flavors of life are all part of nature’s rhythm. Beyond the awakened mind, everything else is external—the only fear is that the heart remains not fully enlightened.

Ode to Calamity examines the roots of misfortune: external disasters can be overcome, but inner turmoil is far harder to withstand. The Dao of Heaven and human affairs must be observed from both internal and external perspectives.

Inner and Outer speaks of cultivation: the ears, eyes, mouth, and nose are the gates of the body, while the heart, gall, spleen, and kidneys are its foundation. When inner cultivation is perfected, external disturbances cannot intrude; without inner refinement, how can externals endure?

Fame and Gain weighs priorities: valuing reputation reveals the depth of human connection, while prioritizing profit exposes the inclinations of the heart. Emotion is internal—when the inner is valued, the outer is light; fame and gain are external—when the inner is disregarded, the outer becomes heavy.

Name and Substance distinguishes appearance from reality: lacking true substance within yet bearing reputation without is the way of petty people; having no empty fame externally but genuine substance internally—why should the noble person fear loss?

Nature and Emotion contrasts cultivation approaches: noble persons follow their inherent nature, while petty ones indulge their emotions. Following nature aligns with the Dao; indulging emotion strays from the path.

Admonition advises conduct: in life, avoid carelessness—what’s precious lies in thoroughness. Carelessness borders on frivolity, thoroughness approaches sincerity.

Doubt and Trust discusses interpersonal dealings: neither trust others lightly nor suspect them excessively. Blind trust invites disaster, while excessive suspicion breeds alienation.

Order and Chaos observes worldly patterns: noble and petty people often exist in equal measure—advance and retreat, order and chaos are all part of nature’s rhythm.

Timeliness speaks of opportunity: dragons don’t leap in winter, yet fireflies glow in night’s darkness. Both petty and noble individuals have their appropriate moments.

Loyalty and Integrity contrasts virtues: petty people endure but momentarily, noble ones persist enduringly. The momentary is deceitful; the enduring is loyal and genuine.

Deep Winter depicts year’s end: as the twelfth month wanes, one startles at time’s passage. The north still hoards its ice, the east wind yet withholds the thaw. Forced searches for greenery and blossoms prove futile—spring resides not without, but within the heart.

Knowing Wrong summarizes life’s realizations: only now do I understand past mistakes, recognizing former foolishness. With each passing year, past errors grow clearer. Were one to live a century, ninety-nine years’ delusions would surely be unveiled.

Excerpts from the Yichuan Jirang Collection in Modern Interpretation:

What I did in the past I now know was wrong, and I understand that empty words are useless—only real action matters. Why bother boasting? There’s no medicine to cure aging, but there are poems to praise the sage’s wisdom. Even if I drink occasionally, I won’t indulge like Liu Ling (the notorious drunkard of the Wei-Jin period).

At the winter solstice, Yang Qi (vital energy) begins to stir, just as the midnight hour marks the shift between Yin and Yang—the Dao’s patterns never change. At this time, all things are still dormant, like the plain taste of ceremonial water or the faintest whisper of nature’s music. If you doubt this truth, go ask Paoxi (the ancient sage who invented writing).

My hair has been white for years, and my beard is nearly all white. Still, I’m fortunate my body hasn’t fully aged. Though my family isn’t wealthy, my sons will carry on the household. I dare call myself poor yet noble—few are like me.

Writing poetry expresses the heart’s intent; without it, thoughts are hard to convey. Character and temperament shine through verse, aligning with Heaven’s will. Discussing things brings fresh phrases, critiquing literature demands elegance. Inspiration arrives as if preordained—no need for forced refinement.

Water levels but doesn’t straighten; a plumb line straightens but doesn’t level. If one could combine their virtues in conduct, the world would know no strife.

Noble men seek reputation; petty men court punishment. Good and evil differ in essence, yet both stem from indulging one’s nature.

Yang Qi moves as one; Yin Qi moves as two. One governs Heaven, two governs Earth. Heaven has six Qi (energies); Earth has four manifestations. The four shape form; the six direct Qi’s flow.

People come and go; events have no hierarchy. Traces may be sparse or dense, but human hearts defy measure. Understand these four points, and you’ll endure naturally.

Neat attire reflects outer cultivation; pure De (Virtue) reflects inner cultivation. Those who master both earn universal respect. Sloppy dress shows outer neglect; lacking benevolence shows inner neglect. Those who neglect both earn universal scorn.

Worthy descendants uplift a family; unworthy ones ruin its legacy. Oh, descendants—truly the root of a clan’s rise and fall.

Studying immortality seeks no death; studying Buddhism seeks rebirth. Deathlessness and rebirth—can humans truly achieve them? Even if possible, they’d still be trapped in worldly perception. Recluses in the wilds go unappreciated—how tragic that nobles chase hollow fame instead.

Shao Yong (courtesy name Yaofu) expresses profound reflections on life, the currents of time, and human nature in his Yichuan Jirang Ji. He laments the brevity of life's thirty-five thousand days (approximately 96 years)—from initially existing as mere "matter" to ultimately becoming "human"—yet throughout this journey, one remains subject to the forces of Yin-Yang, never fully able to repay the nurturing kindness of parents. The sight of descendants gathered at a longevity banquet further underscores the profound significance of life's continuity.

Regarding the trends of the times, he notes that when opportunity arises, one must seize it, for once missed, it may never return. Prolonged delays breed hidden troubles; protracted matters invite flaws—both unsettling to the spirit. He mocks himself, saying that if one lacks even a basic understanding of Yin-Yang, heaven and earth, human sentiments, and the principles of things, yet presumptuously poses as a teacher, it is truly shameful.

Shao Yong employs the metaphor of water and fire: when harnessed, they complement each other (as in the Yi Jing's "Ji Ji hexagram"); when uncontrolled, they bring disaster. He believes all things follow this principle—one must not merely exploit them without grasping their essence. In governance, he emphasizes benevolence and righteousness as the foundation; without them, foreign invasions become inevitable.

On drinking, he favors mild inebriation—a state akin to the hazy beauty of early spring when heaven and earth first awaken, allowing one to forget both self and external things, merging with the cosmos. Life is full of unpredictability, especially during the uncertainties of official life, where caution is paramount. Only after enduring hardship does one truly cherish peace; a man's aspirations become clear only through suffering.

He advocates aligning with the times: stopping when one should stop, advancing when one should advance, never forcing matters. In peaceful years, whether in gardens or villages, an air of leisure pervades. When spring arrives, the misty hues of grass and faint fragrance of blossoms create an intoxicating sensation that can only be inwardly understood. Even when harsh winters or scorching summers make travel difficult, encountering fine scenery within a small radius—walking two hundred paces west to Tianjie, three hundred paces north to Tianjin Bridge, or four hundred paces east to Tiangong—allows one to perceive the beauty of heaven and earth. These poems reveal Shao Yong’s unique synthesis of Daoist natural philosophy and Confucian ethics.