《通書》

The Tongshu discusses the fundamental role of "sincerity" (cheng) in the cosmos and human nature.

"Sincerity" constitutes the foundation of self-cultivation for sages. This concept refers to the most authentic and undeluded state of being—the primordial principle bestowed by Heaven and received by all things. In truth, every person possesses this innate nature, yet sages become sages precisely because they can perfectly preserve this original authenticity. This notion of "sincerity" resonates with the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) in the Taiji Diagram, both representing the most fundamental truth.

"The great Qian origin, from which all things commence"—this quotation from the Yijing (Book of Changes) illustrates that "sincerity" is the source of all existence. "Qian" symbolizes pure Yang, embodying the vigorous De (Virtue/Power) of Heaven. Just as water has its source, the origin of the Qian principle flows as the fundamental truth into human nature, corresponding to the active Yang state in the Taiji Diagram.

"Through the transformations of the Qian principle, all things obtain the correctness of their nature and destiny"—another Yijing reference. What Heaven bestows is called "destiny" (ming), while what creatures receive is called "nature" (xing). This means that as the Qian principle transforms and operates, all things individually receive Heaven's primordial principle, whereby authentic truth becomes the governing force of each entity. This corresponds to the quiescent Yin state in the Taiji Diagram. As Zhu Xi explained, it resembles how water—though originating from the same source—divides into countless streams while remaining essentially the same water.

This authentic principle is purely and perfectly good. "Pure" indicates absence of adulteration, while "perfect" denotes flawlessness, showing that the principle bestowed by Heaven and received by creatures is intrinsically complete and without deficiency.

Hence the saying: "The alternation of Yin and Yang is called the Dao (Way). What continues it is goodness; what completes it is nature" (also from the Yijing). Yin and Yang represent the formless Qi (vital energy), while what governs their transformations is the formless principle—this principle being the Dao. "Continuing it" refers to the state when Qi first activates before forming concrete phenomena, where the principle begins operating within the Yang domain as the source of "sincerity." "Completing it" describes the state when things have taken form and principles are established within the Yin domain, manifesting the concrete expression of "sincerity."

This passage from Tongshu elucidates the relationship between the concept of "sincerity" (cheng) and the transformations of Yin-Yang. Zhu Xi (Master Zhu) and his disciple Chen Chun discuss:

The fundamental principle of Yin-Yang's alternating operation is the Dao (the Way). The ceaseless unfolding of this principle constitutes "goodness" (referring to the universe’s creative, life-giving force), while its concrete manifestation in all things forms their "nature" (xing). Here, "goodness" denotes the primordial generative power of heaven and earth, belonging to the active Yang phase of Yin-Yang transformation, whereas "nature" refers to the inherent principle received by all beings, corresponding to the receptive Yin phase.

Confucius, in the Yijing (Book of Changes), speaks of "goodness" from the perspective of the cosmic source of creation—it is fundamental. Mencius’ doctrine of "the goodness of human nature," on the other hand, approaches it from the standpoint of the innate nature of things after their formation. Yet the two are inherently connected: Mencius’ theory of innate goodness ultimately stems from Confucius’ concept of creative goodness.

The text also interprets the four virtues of the Qian hexagram in the Yijing (yuan, heng, li, zhen): "Yuan-heng" represents the outward expression of "sincerity," the phase of bestowing and enlivening all things (Yang activity); "Li-zhen" signifies the inward return of "sincerity," the phase of consolidating and fulfilling innate nature (Yin stillness). This already touches upon the qualities of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), as they are, in essence, concrete manifestations of Yin and Yang energies.

Note: Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) refers to the origin of the cosmos; "sincerity" (cheng) in Song-Ming Neo-Confucianism denotes both a state of genuine authenticity and the concrete reality of the Dao’s operation.

This passage primarily discusses two interpretations of the character "复" (return/renewal) in the Book of Changes (Yijing), as well as the pivotal Confucian concept of "诚" (sincerity/integrity).

Regarding the interpretation of "复," Zhou Dunyi (Lianxi) and Cheng Yi (Yichuan) emphasized different aspects. Zhou Dunyi approached it from the perspective of "returning to the origin" — for instance, restoring the innate sincerity of the heart during "favorable perseverance" (li zhen) while eliminating improper thoughts. Cheng Yi, however, interpreted it through the lens of "activation," discussing renewal at the initial stage of "origination" (yuan) within the cycle of yuan-heng-li-zhen. Though their approaches differed, both ultimately conveyed the same underlying principle.

The Book of Changes is regarded as the source of human nature (xing) and destiny (ming). Here’s the explanation: the Yijing elucidates the patterns of alternating Yin and Yang, from which the trigrams and hexagrams are derived. The interplay of Yin and Yang in heaven and earth embodies the "substantive principle" (shili), which endows all things with their inherent nature. The operation of the heavenly Dao (Tiandao) in bestowing life is called "destiny" (ming), while the form it takes when received by beings is called "nature" (xing). This principle originates from the Yijing.

"Sincerity" (cheng) is the fundamental quality of sages. What makes sages sagely lies in their complete embodiment of this substantive principle (i.e., the Supreme Ultimate, Taiji). "Sincerity" is the root of the Five Constant Virtues (wuchang: benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and faithfulness) and the source of all virtuous conduct (such as filial piety, fraternal duty, loyalty, and trustworthiness). By preserving this substantive principle, the Five Constant Virtues remain complete, and all virtuous actions can be practiced.

In its quiescent state, "sincerity" appears formless (referred to as "non-being," wu), yet it truly exists. In its active state, it manifests visibly (referred to as "being," you). When still, it achieves rectitude; when in motion, it attains clarity and penetration. Without "sincerity," the Five Constant Virtues and all virtuous conduct lose their substance, leading to deviance and obscurity. By maintaining "sincerity," one naturally aligns with heavenly principle (tianli) without forced effort.

Finally, it is noted that the substantive principle itself is simple and straightforward, yet human interference makes its practice difficult. If one resolutely upholds it, however, it is not truly arduous.

This passage elucidates the principles of self-cultivation and nurturing one's nature. "Resolute action" (果) represents the decisive power of Yang, while "steadfast perseverance" (确) embodies the enduring strength of Yin. When a person possesses both the courage to act decisively and the fortitude to remain steadfast, external temptations cannot sway them.

Zhu Xi explains: Virtue (De) may seem as light as a feather, yet few people can truly embody it. Cheng Yi remarked that restraining selfish desires is the most challenging task. When one recognizes what is easy to accomplish, they should act decisively; when facing difficulties, they must persist with unwavering determination. If one can be both resolute and steadfast, what difficulty could remain unconquered?

Thus, Confucius said: Once you can restrain selfish desires and restore the Heavenly Principle (天理), all under heaven will praise your benevolence (仁). Though subduing desires and returning to the Heavenly Principle is the most difficult task in the world, with firm resolve, the effects manifest immediately, ultimately leading to the realm where all under heaven returns to benevolence.

Regarding the discussion of "sincerity, subtlety, and virtue" (诚几德): "Sincerity" (诚) is the state of natural Wuwei (non-action), spontaneous like the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji). "Subtlety" (几) refers to the finest stirrings of thought—the boundary between good and evil lies here. Within the most delicate movements of the human heart, the Heavenly Principle naturally reveals itself, yet human desires also sprout simultaneously, mirroring the interplay of Yin and Yang.

Virtue manifests concretely in five forms: benevolence (仁), righteousness (义), propriety (礼), wisdom (智), and faithfulness (信). These five virtues originate from the natures of the Five Phases (五行).

Those born with a complete and contented nature, abiding in their inherent state, are sages—they need no deliberate study to attain perfect sincerity, clarity, and virtue. Those who continuously refine themselves to restore their original nature and uphold the correct path are the worthy.

This passage from Tongshu primarily discusses the moral cultivation and conduct of sages, expounding through three core concepts: "sincerity" (诚), "spiritual potency" (神), and "subtle incipience" (几).

"Return" (复) refers to reverting to one's original heart-mind, "upholding" (执) means maintaining moral integrity, and "excellence" (贤) denotes surpassing ordinary people in both talent and virtue. By contemplating sincerity and investigating subtle manifestations, one perfects virtue and becomes capable of steadfastly preserving it. The so-called "spiritual potency" (神) describes a state so subtle it cannot be seen, so vast it has no boundaries—this is the wondrous function of sages, which ordinary people find difficult to comprehend. Zhu Xi explains that spiritual potency refers to the sage's unfathomably refined virtue, not some divine being existing above the sage.

The state of "quiescent and unmoving" is "sincerity" (one's authentic nature), while "responsive and thereby penetrating" is "spiritual potency" (numinous resonance). The subtle condition between movement and stillness, presence and absence, is "subtle incipience" (几). Because authentic nature is clear and bright, it brings wisdom; because spiritual resonance is responsive, it manifests wondrous efficacy; because incipient signs are subtle, they appear profound. One who can grasp sincerity, spiritual potency, and subtle incipience is a sage.

Regarding principles of conduct: Action aligned with the right path is called "the Dao" (道), while its harmonious application is called "virtue" (德). The Five Constants—humaneness (仁), righteousness (义), ritual propriety (礼), wisdom (智), and trustworthiness (信)—constitute the right path; actions deviating from these are heterodox. Improper conduct invites disgrace, and severe cases bring calamity.

Huang Gan supplements that this passage can be understood through the lens of "substance and function" (体用): Sincerity is the substance, subtle incipience is the function; humaneness, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness are the substance, while love, appropriateness, order, penetration, and steadfastness are their functional expressions. At the level of sincerity lies humaneness; at the level of incipience, it manifests as love. Sincerity is righteousness; incipience manifests as appropriateness (宜).

This passage from Tongshu primarily elucidates the core principles of self-cultivation and the way of teaching.

On the Dao: The Dao followed by sages fundamentally consists of two essential principles—humaneness/righteousness and the Mean (zhongzheng, the perfectly balanced state). Maintaining this equilibrium resembles observing ritual propriety, while upholding integrity resembles applying wisdom. These moral principles are most precious because they originate from human nature itself; practicing them ensures smooth progress in all matters; expanding them allows one to stand equal with heaven and earth. The Great Dao is inherently simple and comprehensible—it's simply that people often fail to uphold, practice, or develop it.

On human nature: Human nature encompasses qualities of strength, gentleness, good and evil, and the Mean. When strength inclines toward goodness, it manifests as righteousness, integrity, decisiveness, rigor, and fortitude; when tending toward evil, it appears as ferocity, narrow-mindedness, and tyranny. When gentleness inclines toward goodness, it shows as kindness, docility, and humility; when tending toward evil, it becomes cowardice, indecisiveness, and wickedness. The most crucial state is the "Mean"—the perfectly harmonious equilibrium that constitutes the universal Dao and the sage's attainment.

On the way of teaching: When sages established education, their purpose was to help people correct their own faults and ultimately reach the balanced state of the Mean. Here it's particularly noted that the so-called "Mean" doesn't refer to the original state before manifestation, but rather to the appropriate condition after manifestation—neither excessive nor deficient—as expressed in the Book of Documents' phrase "Hold fast to the Mean" (yun zhi jue zhong, perfectly maintaining equilibrium).

(Note: The phrase "Hold fast to the Mean" originates from the Book of Documents, being the governing principle Emperor Shun transmitted to Yu the Great, later interpreted by Neo-Confucians as an essential formula for self-cultivation. The Doctrine of the Mean, a key Confucian classic, advocates the philosophy of the Middle Way that avoids all extremes.)

This passage primarily expounds on the principles of self-cultivation and the way of being human.

Regarding self-correction and moral improvement, it states that transforming one's shortcomings—whether in strong or gentle dispositions—leads to perfection. One should cultivate both dignified fortitude (De) and benevolent gentleness, avoiding the extremes of tyrannical arrogance or spineless weakness. By achieving perfect balance, one maintains proper measure between sternness and mildness.

On the teacher's role, those awakened earlier must guide those awakened later, just as those in darkness need illumination—thus establishing the teacher's Dao. A teacher's responsibility lies in correcting faults and guiding proper conduct. When the teacher's Dao is upheld, virtuous people multiply, court customs rectify, and the world naturally becomes well-governed.

Concerning the sense of shame, humanity's greatest misfortune isn't hearing others point out one's faults—it's lacking all sense of shame. Only with shame can one accept instruction; only by heeding criticism can one become virtuous. Those fundamentally unreceptive to teaching may hear reproof yet remain unchanged.

On contemplation, the Book of Documents' "Hongfan" chapter states that reflection leads to comprehension, and comprehension makes sages. Non-reflection is the root, while reflection penetrates all principles. When subtle movements of phenomena resonate with inner sincerity, one comprehends all without forced deliberation—this is the sage's state. Without reflection, one cannot perceive subtleties; without comprehension, one cannot grasp universals. Thus reflection is both the fundamental practice for attaining sagehood and the key to discerning fortune and misfortune. As the Yijing says: "The superior person perceives omens and acts immediately, never waiting all day."

This passage from Tongshu primarily discusses the principles of self-cultivation and state governance, which can be understood at several levels:

Regarding the phrase "knowing the subtle signs approaches the divine (zhi ji qi shen)," it means that those who can perceive the subtle omens of events come close to spiritual enlightenment. The commentary adds that this represents the realm of sages.

It describes different people's aspirations: sages yearn for the Dao of Heaven, virtuous men aspire to the way of sages, and scholars seek the path of virtuous men. "Xi" here means aspiration. Two exemplary figures are cited: Yi Yin, the renowned minister of the Shang dynasty, considered it his duty to assist rulers in achieving the virtuous governance of Yao and Shun—he would feel as ashamed by people's displacement as if being publicly flogged; Yan Hui, Confucius' disciple, could avoid transferring anger to others, refrain from repeating mistakes, and maintain benevolence over time. The commentary notes these as model behaviors of virtuous men.

The author Zhou Dunyi worried that people might mistake imperial examinations and official positions for life's ultimate goal, hence he emphasized aspiring like Yi Yin; he also feared people might merely pursue extensive knowledge and literary embellishment, thus advocating learning like Yan Hui. By achieving these, one can comprehend Tongshu's profound wisdom.

In state governance, Heaven and Earth generate all things through yang qi and perfect them through yin qi, corresponding to the virtues of benevolence (ren) and righteousness (yi). Sages govern by nurturing people with benevolence and regulating them with righteousness. When cosmic principles operate smoothly and sagely virtue manifests fully, all things flourish naturally and people are spontaneously transformed—this formless transformation represents the divine (shen) realm. The commentary stresses the fundamental unity between cosmic and sagely principles.

Finally, it points out that governance fundamentally depends on the ruler alone, with the key lying in maintaining pure and focused intention. The commentary explains "purifying the heart (chun qi xin)" means the ruler's mind remains undisturbed by distractions. Even hands-on guidance in small communities proves challenging, let alone governing millions across the realm. Only cultivating pure benevolence constitutes the true foundation.

The four virtues of benevolence (ren), righteousness (yi), propriety (li), and wisdom (zhi), when manifested in one's speech, actions, seeing, hearing, movement, and stillness without deviation, are called "purity" (unadulterated integrity). To elaborate: benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom are the expressions of Dao (the Way) in its operation, while movement and stillness represent the interplay of Yin-Yang. Speech, action, seeing, and hearing involve the workings of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). The reason "sincerity" (xin) and "deliberation" (si) are not mentioned here is because adherence to the right path inherently requires deliberation as its guide—these four virtues must be genuinely embodied.

A pure heart attracts virtuous assistance. This means when a ruler leads by example in selecting talent, ministers will naturally follow the right path in cooperation. With virtuous assistance, the world can be well-governed. When numerous talents fulfill their respective roles, there is no need for constant personal instruction. Thus, cultivating a pure mind is essential, and employing the virtuous is of utmost urgency. Without inner purity, one cannot employ the virtuous; without virtuous assistance, the people cannot be enlightened.

Regarding ritual and music: the essence of ritual (li) is order, while the essence of music (yue) is harmony. Ritual belongs to Yin, music to Yang. Only when Yin and Yang are properly aligned can harmony be achieved—when ruler and subject, father and son, elder and younger brothers, husband and wife each fulfill their duties, and all things find their rightful place, then harmony follows. Therefore, ritual must be established before music can flourish. This emphasizes the principle of centering on uprightness and benevolence, with stillness as the foundation. Master Cheng Yi's saying, "Maintaining reverence naturally leads to harmony and joy," expresses the same truth. Scholars who do not understand reverent discipline but blindly pursue harmony and joy will rarely avoid becoming frivolous.

The way of practical cultivation: When genuine virtue surpasses empty reputation, it is good; when reputation exceeds actual virtue, it brings shame. Thus, the noble person diligently cultivates virtue and studies without respite, seeking to ensure that substance outweighs appearance. When virtue and learning are not yet evident, they remain watchful, fearing premature recognition—this is how one avoids disgrace. Petty people, by contrast, only pretend. Therefore, the noble person enjoys daily peace, while the petty person suffers constant anxiety. Steadfast cultivation without chasing fame prevents humiliation, hence peace; pursuing reputation without true cultivation leads to anxiety.

On love and reverence: Someone asked, "What should I do when others demonstrate goodness I cannot match?" The reply: "If you cannot match it, you should learn from it." They asked further, "How should one respond to wrongdoing?" The answer: "When encountering wrongdoing, point out its error and admonish, saying, 'I hope you will correct this.' Only one who acts thus is a noble person."

When others do something wrong, clearly point out their mistake and encourage them to correct it. We tell them because we fear they might not realize it's wrong, and we urge them to change because we worry they might not know mistakes can be amended.

If a person has both virtues and flaws, we should learn from their strengths while admonishing them to correct their shortcomings.

Some may argue that a person’s flaws are minor and not truly evil. To this, one might respond: Who doesn’t make mistakes? How can we be certain they won’t change? Those who correct themselves become noble, while those who persist in wrongdoing only deepen their faults. Even Heaven despises the wicked—shouldn’t they fear this? How can we assume they are incapable of change? This means that even if we cannot admonish them directly, we should still hope they might reflect and reform upon hearing these words. Deliberate violations of natural principle are called "evil" (恶), while unintentional errors are called "faults" (过).

Thus, the noble person learns from all that is good and treats everyone with compassion and respect. Through diligent learning, they cultivate all virtues; through unwavering encouragement of goodness, they refuse to let anyone fall into depravity. By abandoning no one, they naturally extend love and reverence to all.

On the principle of movement and stillness: If one only moves without stillness, or only remains still without movement, they are like ordinary objects (bound by form and limitations). True "spirit" (神, the mysterious function of the Dao) appears to move yet does not, seems still yet is not. It is neither simple motion nor simple stillness, but movement within stillness and stillness within movement.

Ordinary things are rigid, but "spirit" wondrously transforms and generates all things. Just as water’s nature is Yin yet originates from Yang (the central Yang line in the Kan trigram of the Bagua), and fire’s nature is Yang yet stems from Yin (the central Yin line in the Li trigram). The Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) arise from Yin-Yang, and Yin-Yang arises from the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate, the cosmic origin). This is the essence of how "spirit" nurtures all creation. The cycle of seasons, the birth and death of all things—these are the marvelous manifestations of the Taiji, Yin-Yang, and the Five Phases working in perfect harmony.

(Note: The terms "Taiji," "Yin-Yang," and "Five Phases" are key Daoist concepts. Taiji refers to the primordial source of the cosmos, Yin-Yang represents the dynamic interplay of opposites, and the Five Phases denote the five fundamental elements—Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water. Together, they form Daoism’s framework for understanding the laws of cosmic operation.)

The Tongshu passage primarily discusses the principles by which ancient sage-kings established rites and music, as well as the detrimental effects of their subsequent decline.

The opening line, "Chaotic yet distinct, infinite without end," illustrates the workings of the cosmos: its essence is unified ("chaotic"), while its manifestations are endlessly varied ("distinct"), in an eternal cycle of movement and stillness. This dual perspective—essence and function—expounds the cosmic law.

The ancient sage-kings established ritual systems and perfected frameworks of moral instruction, ensuring the rectification of the Three Bonds (ethical relationships between ruler and subject, father and son, husband and wife) and the proper ordering of the Nine Divisions (the nine great principles of governance). The people lived in harmony, and all things flourished accordingly. Thus, they composed music to harmonize the energies of the eight directions and regulate human sentiments. The characteristics of this ancient music were: melodies refined yet not mournful, harmonious yet not indulgent, leaving listeners with tranquil hearts, diminished desires, and settled restlessness. Such music embodied the highest state of Dao and De (Virtue/Power), capable of transforming the world and achieving the pinnacle of governance—a sublime art worthy of matching the Dao of Heaven and Earth.

Yet in later ages, ritual systems collapsed, governance became harsh and chaotic, rulers indulged their desires, and the people suffered in hardship. Finding ancient music insufficiently entertaining, people continuously composed new music. These new tunes were seductive and excessive, filled with sorrow and resentment, fueling desires and deepening grief, making self-restraint impossible. Ultimately, this led to rampant evils—regicide, patricide, reckless disregard for life, and moral chaos—that could no longer be restrained.

The author laments: In antiquity, music served to pacify the human heart, but now it has become a tool for inflaming desires; in antiquity, it propagated moral instruction, but now it has become a medium for breeding resentment.

The Tongshu passage primarily discusses essential perspectives on ritual and music, the cultivation of sagehood, and the illumination of principle.

Regarding the differences between ancient and contemporary rituals and music, the author emphasizes that the key lies in whether they embody simplicity and harmony. The text asserts that achieving an era of great peace is impossible without either restoring ancient rituals or reforming modern music. The restoration of ancient rituals must precede the transformation of contemporary music.

On the subject of music, its essence reflects governance. When governance is enlightened and the people are content, human hearts naturally harmonize. Thus, the sages composed music to channel this harmony, which connects with Heaven and Earth, allowing their Qi (vital energy) to resonate and achieve profound unity. When Heaven and Earth are in harmony, all things follow order, even spirits respond, and birds and beasts become tame. The music of the sages is not forcibly contrived but arises from a genuine grasp of the root of sound and breath.

If music is serene and refined, listeners attain a peaceful mind; if its lyrics are virtuous, singers develop reverence. In this way, customs and morals can be transformed. Conversely, seductive music and lyrics exert a corrupting influence.

Concerning the cultivation of sagehood, the state of a sage is attainable through learning, with the crucial factor being the realization of "oneness"—that is, desirelessness. Desirelessness leads to stillness in emptiness and movement in rectitude: stillness in emptiness brings clarity and insight, while movement in rectitude ensures impartiality and selflessness. With clarity, insight, impartiality, and selflessness, one approaches sagehood. This principle is paramount and demands deep contemplation and practice from learners.

On justice, only those who are just toward themselves can be just toward others. It is unrealistic to impose laws on others while failing to restrain one’s own selfish desires.

Regarding the illumination of principle, insufficient understanding gives rise to doubt. True wisdom is free from doubt. To mistake doubt for wisdom is a grave error.

Finally, the text addresses the relationship between principle and the Mandate of Heaven: whether things are manifest or subtle, without luminous wisdom, they cannot be discerned. Just as yang is bright and yin is obscure, if the human mind did not possess the supreme spiritual nature of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), how could it comprehend these truths?

This passage primarily discusses the manifestation of "principle" (the fundamental cosmic order) at different levels and the relationship between the generation of all things and their underlying unity.

Regarding the manifestation of principle: Zhu Xi stated that principles can be either evident or subtle. Ethical relationships like benevolence between ruler and subject or filial piety between father and son demonstrate obvious principles, while profound truths such as the transformations of Yin-Yang, the origins of human nature and life force, or the interactions between spirits and ghosts appear subtle and difficult to comprehend. Human temperaments also vary between firmness and gentleness—firmness may manifest as either virtue or vice, as can gentleness, with the key lying in maintaining the Middle Way (moderate balance).

Concerning the generation of all things: The two energies of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) transform to produce all beings. Though concrete things appear vastly different (five variations), their essence remains the two energies of Yin-Yang (two realities); these in turn unify within the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji). Like a plant progressing from seed to sprout, to flower, to fruit, ultimately returning to seed form—each stage completely contains the entire principle. All things, though assuming diverse forms, originate from the same fundamental order.

The passage specifically cites the example of Yan Hui (Confucius' disciple) finding joy in poverty: Though living in a dilapidated alley with coarse food that others found unbearable, he maintained contentment. This illustrates how those who grasp fundamental principles remain unshaken by external circumstances.

This content resonates with the Book of Changes' (Yijing) concept of "exhausting principles, penetrating nature, and comprehending destiny," emphasizing the realization of unified origins through concrete phenomena. Whether evident manifestations or subtle patterns, firm expressions or gentle qualities, all ultimately return to the Middle Way. Just as day alternates with night and life cycles with death, seemingly opposing phenomena are in fact unified within the profound law of "change" (Yi).

This passage from General Principles examines the true values of human life and the importance of teachers and companions.

On wealth versus moral pursuit: While most people crave riches and status, Yan Hui (Confucius' most accomplished disciple) found contentment in poverty while delighting in the Dao. This reveals something more precious than worldly success exists between heaven and earth—the cultivation of De (Virtue). Those who truly comprehend the Dao maintain inner fulfillment and serenity, undisturbed by poverty or privilege. Yan Hui attained the status of "Second Sage" precisely because he saw through these worldly illusions.

On the value of teachers and companions: Between heaven and earth, the most noble things are the Dao and De, yet the rarest treasure is the moral cultivation inherent in human nature. To attain this cultivation, one must rely on worthy teachers and like-minded friends. Moral refinement confers true nobility, yet this refinement can only be achieved through the guidance of mentors and peers. Gathering with teachers and companions who share one's aspirations to discuss righteousness constitutes life's greatest joy.

On addressing faults: Zilu (another disciple of Confucius) earned eternal renown for his eagerness to accept criticism. Nowadays, some cling stubbornly to their errors, rejecting admonishment like patients refusing treatment for fear of diagnosis—they would rather court ruin than awaken to their faults.

The conclusion underscores that the pivotal factor in worldly affairs lies in discerning what truly matters. The entire passage emphasizes that moral cultivation surpasses material success, and that the guidance of teachers and companions remains essential for self-cultivation.

This passage elucidates the principles governing the development of phenomena and the relationship between literary expression and the Dao. When light and heavy forces coexist, the inevitable tendency is for the balance to tilt toward the heavier side—the light becomes lighter while the heavy grows heavier.

When any trend develops to an extreme degree of heaviness, it often becomes irreversible. Yet if one can perceive the problem before it reaches its limit, there remains room for correction. The key to timely reversal lies in human awareness and capacity for action—the later the recognition comes, the more difficult the adjustment becomes.

When exhaustive efforts still prove futile, we may attribute this to Heaven's will; but when there's neither awareness nor attempt, the fault lies with humanity itself. Given this truth, what grounds remain for blaming Heaven or others?

Concerning the relationship between writing and principle: literary works resemble carts carrying cargo, while ornate rhetoric is like decorating wheels and shafts. When exquisite adornments find no practical use, they become mere empty display—how much more so for carts carrying no cargo, or writings conveying no Dao!

Literary craft constitutes technique, while Dao and De (Virtue/Power) represent substance. Only when rooted in the substance of Dao-De and supplemented with literary embellishment can writings become cherished and transmitted. The virtuous, through study, may attain this state—this constitutes the meaning of cultivation. Hence the saying: "Words without literary grace will not travel far"—just as well-adorned carts better transport goods over distance.

Yet the unvirtuous, even under strict supervision from fathers, elder brothers or teachers, remain unwilling to learn or comply. This resembles decorated carts finding no one to use them. Worse still are those who neglect moral cultivation while treating literary skill as true ability—they merely play with technique. Alas! This malady has persisted far too long!

(Some may question: Doesn't a virtuous person naturally produce fine writing? Why emphasize literary craft specifically? The explanation: Human talents vary—some comprehend profound ideas yet struggle with expression, making their thoughts difficult to disseminate. Thus Confucius said: "In language, it is simply required that it convey the meaning.")

Cheng Yi (Master Cheng) once remarked that while he grasped the profound meaning of Zhang Zai's (Zihou) "Western Inscription," he lacked the literary talent to compose such a work himself. This highlights a key principle: words may be concise, but the cultivation of virtue (De) is indispensable. Many possess both virtue and eloquence, while few have virtue without polished speech. For seekers of wisdom, the primary task is diligent cultivation of moral character.

Regarding the essence of sage wisdom (saintly profundity), Confucius taught according to timely opportunity: he would not enlighten students until they had struggled with a problem, nor prompt them until they reached the point of wanting to speak but being unable to articulate. If teaching one corner failed to make students deduce the other three, he would not proceed further (as recorded in the Analects, illustrating how sage instruction requires perfect timing and should not be given lightly). Confucius said, "I wish to speak no more," for do heaven and earth speak? Yet the four seasons proceed and all things naturally grow (demonstrating how the Dao of sages manifests without words).

The sage's wisdom remains profoundly concealed—even Yan Hui (Master Yan) could not fully comprehend it. Yet it was precisely disciples like Yan Hui who could elucidate sage wisdom and teach countless generations. When sages commune with heavenly principles, is this not the most profound state? (Annotations explain "profundity" as accumulated inner meaning. Confucius left no traces, while Yan Hui showed slight traces. Confucius neither taught lightly nor boasted of his Dao—only Yan Hui truly inherited it. Through Yan Hui's cultivation path, we glimpse Confucius' thought, just as heaven speaks not yet the seasons revolve and all things flourish.)

Ordinary people, upon gaining slight insight, fear others won't recognize it, anxiously seeking validation to gain fame—such shallowness is truly excessive. (The sage-commoner contrast highlights the gap: sage wisdom runs deep, while common behavior remains superficial. "Profound" corresponds to "substantial," "shallow" to "insubstantial," forming parallel constructions that illuminate each other.)

The essential subtlety (Jing) of sage wisdom manifests through the drawing of hexagrams, while its profound meaning (Yun) unfolds through hexagram imagery. Without drawn hexagrams, the sage's subtle wisdom would remain invisible; without hexagram symbols, his profound principles would be inaudible. (Annotations clarify: "Jing" refers to the supremely simple principles existing before hexagrams—Fu Xi drew them precisely to reveal this; "Yun" encompasses all hexagram contents—patterns of fortune/misfortune, waxing/waning, and principles of advance/retreat, survival/perishing—which only become concrete through hexagram imagery.)

The Tongshu primarily elucidates the profound meaning of the Yijing (Book of Changes) and the principles of self-cultivation and state governance.

The Yijing is not merely the source of the Five Classics, but a scripture that reveals the mysteries of heaven, earth, and spiritual beings. The transformations of Yin-Yang follow their own patterns, while the hexagrams manifest the laws of nature—thus the Yijing can be considered the origin of both written language and philosophical principles. Yet its significance extends further: all phenomena involving Yin-Yang transformations, whether the vastness of cosmic forces or the subtle workings of the spiritual realm, find their principles embodied in the hexagrams. Herein lies the distilled wisdom of the sages.

Regarding the path of self-cultivation: The noble person should emulate the Qian hexagram (symbolizing heaven) by ceaselessly strengthening oneself with sincerity. The essential practice involves restraining anger, curbing desires, and correcting faults to cultivate virtue—only then can one attain the realm of Qian. The eight-character formula "chastising wrath, stifling desires, advancing toward goodness, and reforming faults" captures the essence of the Sun (Decrease) and Yi (Increase) hexagrams, demonstrating the profound intention behind the sages' teachings.

A crucial observation: Auspiciousness (ji), inauspiciousness (xiong), regret (hui), and distress (lin)—these four life circumstances all stem from one's actions. Among them, only "auspicious" represents favorable outcomes, while the other three indicate misfortune, illustrating how human life contains more adversity than fortune. Hence one must act with utmost caution. As Zhu Xi explained, the aforementioned cultivation practices essentially represent prudence applied before actions generate faults.

Concerning state governance: The foundation of ruling the world lies in self-cultivation, while its methodology resides in household regulation (qijia). The foundation must be upright, and uprightness derives from sincerity; the methodology must be perfected, and perfection comes through harmonious kinship. Families prove harder to govern than the state precisely because intimate relationships present greater challenges. Yet without first resolving difficult matters, simpler tasks cannot be properly accomplished. Just as household management serves as the training ground for state governance, one must first reconcile conflicts in close relationships before effectively administering distant social bonds.

This passage from Tongshu elucidates the principles of self-cultivation and household management, using several classical allusions to emphasize the importance of inner refinement.

Regarding familial relationships, it cites the Kuí hexagram from the Yijing (symbolizing separation) to illustrate: When two women live together with divergent intentions—like the Dui trigram (representing the youngest daughter) below and the Li trigram (representing the middle daughter) above—the hexagram appears harmonious superficially but harbors mutual suspicion. This implies that family discord often stems from disharmony in innate dispositions.

The text then employs the legendary account of Emperor Yao marrying his two daughters to Shun, who dwelled north of the Gui River. This act was essentially a test of Shun's capability to govern the realm by observing his household management. It demonstrates that to govern the world, one must first examine how a person manages their family; to manage a family, one must first assess personal cultivation. The crux lies in rectifying body and mind while maintaining sincerity (cheng)—when unwholesome thoughts subside, the heart naturally overflows with genuine goodness.

The passage stresses that "movements of unwholesomeness" are delusory; eliminating delusion leads to the state of "no delusion" (wuwang, authentic truthfulness), which constitutes the essence of sincerity. Master Cheng Yi once explained "no delusion" as synonymous with "sincere." Through the sequential arrangement of the Fu and Wuwang hexagrams in the Yijing, the text reveals how ancient sage-kings used this utmost sincerity to accord with celestial timing and nurture all beings.

Concerning perspectives on wealth and status, true noble-minded individuals regard attaining the Dao as true nobility and peace of mind as genuine wealth. Such people remain perpetually fulfilled, viewing official positions (xuānmiǎn) as light as a grain and treasures (jīnyù) as worthless as dust—for nothing compares to the value of virtue (De). The author reiterates this point, urging readers to genuinely comprehend the worth of Daoist ethics.

Finally, it criticizes those preoccupied with superficial rhetoric: The Dao of sages must enter one's ears, be engraved in the heart, transformed into virtuous conduct, and manifested as practical undertakings. Those who merely toy with ornate phrases are truly shallow.

These chapters of Tongshu primarily discuss the core principles of governance and moral cultivation.

The chapter on "Deliberation" explains how utmost sincerity (至诚) generates action, action brings about change, and change leads to transformation. Therefore, one must first contemplate deeply before speaking and deliberate thoroughly before acting—only through such careful processes can genuine transformation be achieved. Here, "utmost sincerity" refers to the principle of authenticity and naturalness, while "deliberation" serves as the method to realize this sincerity.

The chapter on "Punishment" uses natural laws as metaphors for governance: just as spring facilitates the growth of all things while autumn halts it, everything that reaches maturity will become excessive if left unchecked. The sages emulate the Dao of Heaven (天道), nurturing the people with benevolent governance while maintaining order through punishment. When people's desires expand and interests conflict, failure to restrain them will disrupt human relations—hence the need for punishment in governance. However, the application of punishment must be upright, clear-sighted, and decisive, as illustrated in the "Conflict" and "Biting Through" hexagrams of the Yijing (易经), which emphasize resoluteness and impartiality in adjudication. Those who wield punishment hold the lives of the people in their hands and must exercise extreme caution in their appointments.

The chapter on "Impartiality" underscores that the sage's way is one of selfless fairness, treating all things with the impartiality of Heaven and Earth.

The final two chapters highly praise Confucius: through composing the Spring and Autumn Annals (春秋), he rectified the kingly way and illuminated its great laws, ensuring that rebellious ministers and wicked men faced retribution both in life and after death. His virtue was as lofty as Heaven and as profound as Earth, his teachings as enduring as the cycles of the four seasons—truly achieving a state of standing with Heaven and Earth and shining alongside the seasons. The commentary employs Yin-Yang (阴阳) and the Five Phases (五行) to explain this: his exalted virtue corresponds to Heaven (Yang), his profound character to Earth (Yin), and his inexhaustible teachings to the operation of the seasons (Five Phases). Confucius is likened to the Supreme Ultimate (太极), encompassing all things.

This passage explains the principles of elementary education and divination for resolving doubts. When young children (童蒙) come to me (the teacher) seeking instruction, I should guide them with the right path to make decisions, just as one consults the divine through yarrow stalk divination (筮, shi). However, it’s important to note that divination should not be overused—repeatedly asking the same question is disrespectful (渎, du) to the divine, and the spirits will no longer reveal auspicious or inauspicious signs.

The text uses the metaphor of a spring emerging at the foot of a mountain (山下出泉). When calm, the water is clear and can be used for decisive judgment. But if the spring is stirred and muddied, it becomes unfit for making decisions. This symbolizes the human mind—when tranquil, it preserves its innate goodness and enables resolute action; when disturbed, it breeds confusion, making it better to withhold advice.

The key lies in grasping the right timing (时中, shizhong). The first inquiry may be answered, but repeated questioning should not be indulged; decisions may be given when the mind is still, but withheld when it is agitated. This aligns with the Gen hexagram (艮卦), which speaks of "stopping in the unseen realm"—true stillness is the complete pacification of the mind, free from deluded thoughts. The moment one entertains the idea of deliberate action, they have already strayed from the Dao of stillness.

(Note: "筮" refers to the ancient method of divination using yarrow stalks; the Gen hexagram in the I Ching symbolizes stopping and stillness; "时中" denotes the wisdom of the Middle Way in seizing the opportune moment.)

This passage primarily documents the dialogues and intellectual exchanges between the Song Dynasty Neo-Confucian scholar Zhou Dunyi (courtesy name Maoshu) and his disciples, revealing Confucian methods of cultivating one's mind and nature.

Regarding the core perspective of mind-nature cultivation: Mencius stated that the best method for cultivating mind-nature is to reduce desires. If a person has few desires, even occasional lapses in composure will be rare; if desires are numerous, maintaining one's original mind becomes difficult. I believe mind-nature cultivation isn't merely about reducing desires—the crucial point is to attain the state of "desirelessness" (wu yu). Achieving desirelessness allows one to establish sincere original nature (cheng li) and attain penetrating wisdom (ming tong). Sincerity forms the foundation for becoming a virtuous person, while penetrating wisdom is the prerequisite for sagehood. Sages and worthies aren't born as such—they must cultivate their mind-nature to reach such heights.

Cheng Hao (Master Mingdao) recalled his experience studying under Zhou Dunyi: Zhou often asked students to contemplate why Confucius and Yan Hui found joy. Cheng Hao said that since studying with Zhou, he had become like Zeng Dian (described in the Analects as enjoying the carefree state of "bathing in the Yi River and enjoying the breeze at the Rain Dance Altar"), able to experience true happiness while appreciating natural scenery.

Cheng Hao shared another anecdote: At sixteen or seventeen, he enjoyed hunting. After meeting Zhou Dunyi, he thought he'd abandoned this hobby. But Zhou cautioned: "Don't speak too lightly—this inclination merely lies dormant and will resurface when triggered." Twelve years later, when Cheng Hao saw hunters, he still felt excitement, realizing his teacher had been right.

Another revealing detail: Zhou Dunyi refused to remove the wild grass outside his window, explaining its natural growth mirrored his mental state. This exemplified his cultivation approach of following nature's flow while preserving authenticity.

A dialogue between Cheng Yi (Master Yichuan) and Shao Yong (Master Kangjie): Cheng Yi pointed to a dining table and asked, "The table rests on the ground, but what supports heaven and earth?" Shao Yong elaborated on cosmic principles, even discussing the mysteries beyond the six directions (up, down, and four cardinal directions). Cheng Yi sighed that only Zhou Dunyi in his lifetime could explain such truths so thoroughly.

These records collectively demonstrate Zhou Dunyi's "quietude-centered" cultivation method, emphasizing the attainment of mental clarity through desire reduction and nature observation.

This passage records the evaluations and philosophical discussions of two scholars regarding Zhou Dunyi (courtesy name Maoshu).

Shao Yong (style name Kangjie)'s son Shao Bowen documented a discourse on the relationship between heaven and earth: When someone asked what heaven relies upon, the answer was earth; when asked what earth depends on, the reply was heaven. Further questioned about the basis of their mutual dependence, the explanation stated that heaven relies on tangible form (xing), while earth depends on intangible Qi (vital energy). The tangible has boundaries, whereas intangible Qi is limitless. The editor speculates this might represent the teachings Shao Yong and Cheng Yi (style name Yichuan) received from Zhou Dunyi.

Huang Tingjian (style name Taishi) praised Zhou Dunyi's exceptionally noble character, describing his magnanimous spirit as luminous and transparent—like the clarity of wind and moon after rain. Zhu Xi (style name Yanping Xiansheng) frequently cited this appraisal, considering it an exquisite depiction of the spiritual realm attained by one who has realized the Dao.

(Note: Here "xing" refers to material form, while "Qi" in Daoist thought denotes the fundamental energy constituting all things; "luminous wind and clear moon" metaphorically describes a person's upright, transparent character.)

The Tongshu (Penetrating the Book of Changes) is the work of Zhou Dunyi (courtesy name Maoshu, posthumously known as Master Lianxi), the great Confucian scholar of the Song dynasty, with commentary added by Zhu Xi (Master Zhu). From his youth, Zhou was renowned for his scholarship and moral conduct, though none knew the origins of his teachings. It is recorded only that the two great scholars Cheng Hao and Cheng Yi studied under him, inheriting the orthodox Confucianism that had been lost since the time of Confucius and Mencius—thus revealing the profound lineage of his learning.

Originally titled Yitong (Comprehending the Changes), this text was transmitted alongside the Taijitu Shuo (Explanation of the Supreme Ultimate Diagram) by disciples of the Cheng brothers. The two works complement each other in content. The Tongshu primarily expounds a cosmological view of "principle, Qi (vital energy), and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water)" to reveal the subtle essence of the Dao (the Way). By distinguishing between moral principles, literary embellishment, and the pursuit of fame and wealth, it sought to rectify the shallow scholarly trends of the time. Its discussions on self-cultivation methods and governance are concise yet penetrating.

No Confucian scholar since the Qin and Han dynasties had reached such intellectual heights, and its rigorous logic and profound implications were beyond the grasp of most contemporary scholars. After the passing of the Cheng brothers, few truly understood it—most merely admired its lofty ideals. Zhu Xi encountered this text in his youth but initially found it utterly incomprehensible, even struggling with basic punctuation. Only after studying under Li Tong (Master Yanping) did he begin to grasp fragments of its meaning. After decades of devoted study, he attained a modest understanding.

Though he dared not claim full mastery of its essence, Zhu Xi gradually discerned increasingly rigorous logic and profound implications between the lines. Thirty years had passed since his first reading, and with the sages receding further into the past, he feared their subtle wisdom might be lost. Thus, despite feeling unworthy, he composed this commentary. Aware that his annotations remained superficial and inadequate to fully elucidate Zhou's profound thought, he nevertheless hoped to provide later scholars with a gateway to understanding.