29. The Abysmal (Water)

This hexa­gram con­sists of a dou­bling of the tri­gram K’an. It is one of the eight hexa­grams in which dou­bling oc­curs. The tri­gram K’an means a plung­ing in. A yang line has plunged in be­tween two yin lines and is closed in by them like water in a ravine. The tri­gram K’an is also the mid­dle son. The Re­cep­tive has ob­tained the mid­dle line of the Cre­ative, and thus K’an de­vel­ops. As an image it rep­re­sents water, the water that comes from above and is in mo­tion on earth in streams and rivers, giv­ing rise to all life on earth.

In man’s world K’an rep­re­sents the heart, the soul locked up with­in the body, the prin­ci­ple of light in­closed in the dark —that is, rea­son. The name of the hexa­gram, be­cause the tri­gram is dou­bled, has the ad­di­tion­al mean­ing, “rep­e­ti­tion of dan­ger.” Thus the hexa­gram is in­tend­ed to des­ig­nate an ob­jec­tive sit­u­a­tion to which one must be­come ac­cus­tomed, not a sub­jec­tive at­ti­tude. For dan­ger due to a sub­jec­tive at­ti­tude means ei­ther fool­har­di­ness or guile. Hence too a ravine is used to sym­bol­ize dan­ger; it is a sit­u­a­tion in which a man is in the same pass as the water in a ravine, and, like the water, he can es­cape if he be­haves cor­rect­ly.

Through rep­e­ti­tion of dan­ger we grow ac­cus­tomed to it. Water sets the ex­am­ple for the right con­duct under such cir­cum­stances. It flows on and on, and mere­ly fills up all the places through which it flows; it does not shrink from any dan­ger­ous spot nor from any plunge, and noth­ing can make it lose its own es­sen­tial na­ture. It re­mains true to it­self under all con­di­tions. Thus like­wise, if one is sin­cere when con­front­ed with dif­fi­cul­ties, the heart can pen­e­trate the mean­ing of the sit­u­a­tion. And once we have gained inner mas­tery of a prob­lem, it will come about nat­u­ral­ly that the ac­tion we take will suc­ceed. In dan­ger all that counts is re­al­ly car­ry­ing out all that has to be done—thor­ough­ness—and going for­ward, in order not to per­ish through tar­ry­ing in the dan­ger.

Prop­er­ly used, dan­ger can have an im­por­tant mean­ing as a pro­tec­tive mea­sure. Thus heav­en has its per­ilous height pro­tect­ing it against every at­tempt at in­va­sion, and earth has its moun­tains and bod­ies of water, sep­a­rat­ing coun­tries by their dan­gers. Thus also rulers make use of dan­ger to pro­tect them­selves against at­tacks from with­out and against tur­moil with­in.

Water reach­es its goal by flow­ing con­tin­u­al­ly. It fills up every de­pres­sion be­fore it flows on. The su­pe­ri­or man fol­lows its ex­am­ple; he is con­cerned that good­ness should be an es­tab­lished at­tribute of char­ac­ter rather than an ac­ci­den­tal and iso­lat­ed oc­cur­rence. So like­wise in teach­ing oth­ers every­thing de­pends on con­sis­ten­cy, for it is only through rep­e­ti­tion that the pupil makes the ma­te­r­i­al his own.