Within the beauty of the I Ching, the sixth point concerns the Yi Zhuan (Commentaries on the I Ching) and its relation to literature. Throughout history, literary masters and theorists have touched upon this connection. For example, Yang Xiong of the Han Dynasty wrote in Tai Xuan*(The Supreme Mystery) and Fa Yan (Exemplary Sayings):
“Speech is the voice of the heart; writing is the painting of the heart.”
Those of us here involved in calligraphy, do you see? Speech is the voice of the heart—the words we utter are sounds emerging from within. Music involves three ascending levels: sheng (sound), yin (tone), and yue (music). Any plant or animal can produce sheng (sounds) under certain conditions, but that doesn’t mean they possess yin (musical tone). If you have yin, and its quality is good, that is innate—but does it rise to the level of yue (music)? Only yue progressively approaches human culture.
Writing is the painting of the heart. True calligraphy, true writing, is the trace left by our inner self—an imprint of the heart. Ink and brush are merely tools. To reach that state, your heart must be sincere and your vision clear—it’s all the same principle. This at least constitutes one key aspect.
Wang Chong’s Lunheng (Balanced Discourses) explicitly draws on the I Ching’s concepts of celestial and human patterns. Liu Xie, of the Northern and Southern Dynasties, in the “Yuandao” (Origins of the Way) chapter of his Wenxin Diaolong (The Literary Mind and the Carving of Dragons), articulates the relationship between celestial patterns (tianwen) and human culture (renwen). Back when I was pursuing my doctorate, our professor required each of us to recite this chapter in front of him. I did memorize it—even though I was among the older students in my class, I put in the effort. Though I no longer remember it word for word now, the essence remains with me.
Yao Nai of the Qing Dynasty spoke of the beauty of vigor (yanggang) and the beauty of grace (yinrou), which later crystallized into aesthetic principles. Wang Guowei’s Renjian Cihua (Poetic Remarks in the Human World) embodies elegance, while Lu Xun’s Moluo Shili Shuo (On the Power of Mara Poetry) discusses strength—all these ideas trace back to the philosophy embedded within the I Ching. Indeed, the I Ching is truly the mother of all humanities.
Aren’t we talking about binary code in computing today? When Leibniz discovered binary arithmetic, he was inspired by China’s I Ching. But we shouldn’t overstate the case—claiming binary was “invented” by us or that computers were “created” by us. To me, such claims don’t reflect true cultural confidence; they feel forced. I’m wary of such strained narratives.
Now, let me share a passage I once memorized. I’ll briefly revisit it here for everyone:
“The virtue of wen (pattern/culture) is vast indeed; it coexists with Heaven and Earth. How so? The mingling of dark and light hues, the distinction between square and round forms; the sun and moon like overlapping jade disks, casting images of celestial splendor; mountains and rivers ablaze with splendor, spreading patterns across the earth—this is the wen of the Dao. Looking up, we observe radiant phenomena; looking down, we discern latent beauty. High and low find their places, thus the Two Forms (yin and yang) are born. Humanity partakes in this, gathering spiritual essence—this is called the Three Powers (Heaven, Earth, Humanity). Humanity is the flower of the Five Phases, the very heart of Heaven and Earth. When the heart is born, speech is established; when speech is established, wen (culture/civilization) shines forth—this is the Dao of nature.”
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