39. Robin Wang on Yin-Yang Thinking
An interview on the pervasive use of the yin-yang relational pair in classical Chinese thought generally, and in Daoism in particular.
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Themes:
• R.R. Wang, “Understanding of Yin Yang,” Religion Compass 7 (2013), 214-24.
• R.R. Wang, Yinyang : the Way of Heaven and Earth in Chinese Thought and Culture (Cambridge: 2012).
• R.R. Wang, “Ideal Womanhood in Chinese Thought and Culture,” Philosophy Compass 5 (2010), 635–44.
• R.R. Wang, “The Virtuous Body at Work: The Ethical Life as Qi in Motion,” Dao: Journal of Comparative Philosophy 9 (2010), 339-51.
• R.R. Wang, “Yinyang: The Art of Emergence” in R. Littlejohn (ed.), Riding the Wind with Liezi: New Essays on the Daoist Classic (Albany: 2010), 209-24.
• R.R. Wang, “Can Zhuangzi Make Confucians Laugh? Emotion, Propriety and The Role of Laughter” in H.-G. Moeller and G. Wohlfart (eds), Laughter in Eastern and Western Philosophies (Freiburg: 2009).
• R.R. Wang, “Kundao: A Lived Body in the Female Daoist Text, ” Journal of Chinese Philosophy 36 (2009), 277-92.
• R.R. Wang, “Dong Zhongshu’s Transformation of Yin/Yang Theory and Contesting of Gender Identity,” Philosophy East and West 55 (2005), 209-31.
• R.R. Wang (ed.), Images of Women in Chinese Thought and Culture: Writings from the Pre-Qin Period through the Song Dynasty (Indianapolis: 2003).
Note: this transcription was produced by automatic voice recognition software. It has been corrected by hand, but may still contain errors. We are very grateful to Tim Wittenborg for his production of the automated transcripts and for the efforts of a team of volunteer listeners who corrected the texts.
PA: We’ve been talking about Yin–Yang already in the context of the Laozi, but maybe we can step back from the Laozi for a moment, because this is a concept — or I guess a pair of concepts — that we do find in earlier texts. Do we know where Yin–Yang came from, and what the basic idea was in the period leading up to the Laozi?
RW: Yes. These ideas can really be traced back to the earliest Chinese texts. For example, the Book of Changes (Yijing), and also the Book of Songs (Shijing). In the Shijing, the first appearance of Yin and Yang refers to going to a hill and observing which side is Yang and which side is Yin. That’s the earliest textual evidence we have.
More broadly, the main idea seems to come from human experience with the sun. The sun provides natural light and rhythms for living. In China, sundials were developed as early as around 800 BCE. More importantly, the sun guides agriculture. Historically, China developed the system of the twenty-four solar terms, a traditional calendar that aligns farming practices with the sun’s position throughout the year.
Another source is divination. Human beings constantly face yes-or-no decisions: Should we go to war? Should I get married? Should I act? Through this decision-making framework, the Book of Changes provides a conceptual and spiritual understanding of the world and puts it into practice.
We also find Yin–Yang discussed in the Book of Documents, which records historical narratives. So Yin–Yang appears across many early texts.
When thinking about Yin–Yang, I often call it “Yin–Yang thinking.” It’s a way of understanding reality — the cosmos and human life. One helpful illustration comes from the Huainanzi, which uses the example of a tree. A tree has roots, and it has branches and leaves. Yin–Yang is like the root system of Chinese thought. If you nourish the roots, the branches, trunk, and leaves will flourish.
Some people describe Yin–Yang as the soul of Chinese culture. But what is Yin–Yang really about? On the surface it seems simple — balance and interdependence — but it’s actually quite complex. Yin–Yang emphasizes connectivity, interdependence, and dynamism. It’s a relational framework for understanding reality.
If we go further, I can describe six specific ways in which Yin–Yang relations work.
PA: Just to clarify for listeners: the Book of Changes is the Yijing, and the Shijing is the Classic of Poetry, one of the Confucian classics. That shows that Yin–Yang theory belongs not only to Daoism but also to the Confucian tradition.
RW: Exactly.
So here are the six aspects.
First, contradiction, opposition, and tension. Two things are different, and it is through difference that relations arise.
Second, interdependence. Think of a door: it can be open or closed. If it is only closed, it’s a wall. If it is always open, it’s empty space. A door requires both states.
Third, mutual containment. Each contains the seed of the other. This is why the Yin–Yang symbol has two small dots. If you remove them, it is no longer Yin–Yang.
Fourth, interaction and resonance. Yin and Yang influence and shape one another, often without words — through gestures, actions, and resonance.
Fifth, complementarity and mutual support. Yin supports Yang and Yang supports Yin, as in a flourishing friendship.
Sixth, exchange and transformation. Yin–Yang is never fixed. Yin becomes Yang and Yang becomes Yin in an endless cycle.
So Yin–Yang is more than a concept. It’s a way of seeing, living, and relating. It’s also a linguistic habit. Many Chinese terms derive from Yin–Yang — for example, a cloudy day is a Yin day, and body parts are described as Yin or Yang. Yin–Yang is both metaphysical and mundane, philosophical and practical. It’s woven into daily life and thought itself.
PA: That’s a great list. Different examples highlight different aspects — day and night show dynamism, while friendship illustrates complementarity.
Let’s turn now to Yin–Yang in Daoism. Is there a distinctive Daoist interpretation?
RW: Daoist philosophy originates mainly in two texts: the Daodejing (Laozi) and the Zhuangzi. Yin–Yang appears explicitly only once in the Daodejing, in chapter 42, but its spirit is present throughout.
In chapter 42, Laozi says that all things “carry Yin and embrace Yang” (fu yin bao yang). Fu means to carry or embody — something hidden and unseen. Bao means to embrace — something visible and present. Yang is what you see in front of you; Yin is what you carry behind you.
Daoist philosophy emphasizes activating this hidden dimension of reality. Yin is not non-existence; it is potentiality, emptiness, what is not yet manifest. Daoism invites sages and ordinary people alike to attend to what is unseen.
Daoists also teach that we can know Yin through the body. The body is a miniature of nature. By knowing the body, we learn how reality works.
PA: That’s fascinating — Yin behind you, Yang in front of you.
RW: Yes, though it’s always complex. Even within the body, there are Yin and Yang organs. What matters is grasping the pattern.
PA: Some readers think Daoism prefers Yin over Yang. Is that fair?
RW: It is a philosophical position, and we can give three arguments.
First, the necessity of Yin. Everything emerges from hidden ground — seeds in soil, nourishment in darkness, pregnancy in the womb.
Second, the transformative power of Yin. Laozi says the soft overcomes the hard. Yin transforms through accumulation and silent change.
Third, epistemological humility. Knowing always implies unknowing. Any knowledge reveals only part of reality. Yin reminds us to remain cautious and attentive to what we do not know.
Daoism thus encourages cultivating Yin — not just practically, but metaphysically and epistemologically.
PA: That connects nicely to your book Yin–Yang: The Way of Heaven and Earth in Chinese Thought and Culture. Why are heaven and earth associated with Yin and Yang?
RW: Chinese cosmology works with a triad: heaven (tian), earth (di), and humanity (ren). Yin–Yang operates across all three. Heaven provides timing, earth provides place, and humans harmonize with both.
Yin–Yang is not a separate layer — it is the connective tissue of reality, the deep logic by which heaven and earth generate and sustain all things.
This also applies to gender. Daoism describes the Dao as mother — not biologically, but cosmically. The world is generated, not created. Femininity represents generative power and potentiality.
Daoism reverses dominant value systems by honoring softness, receptivity, and nurturing rather than aggression or domination.
PA: That makes Yin–Yang feel very contemporary.
RW: Absolutely. Yin–Yang is living philosophy. It helps us navigate complexity, relationships, mental health, ecology, technology, and even AI. It teaches balance, adaptability, and flow.
We probably need more Yin — especially for a good life.
PA: That’s a wonderful note to end on. Next time we’ll explore Daoism and The Art of War. Thanks very much, Robin.
RW: Thank you.
Comments
Endless funding?
This was a beautiful and comprehensive interview, thank you Peter and professor Wang! I especially liked the epistemological discussion. In some ways, what she calls yin/yang thinking reminds me of Husserl, for whom anything given to conscious intentional perception is given complete with its inside/backside etc., as a horizon. Add to this Merleau-Ponty's idea of philosophy as endless limping, rather than a project to complete. Philosophy and painting can only capture reality in the moment it is coming into being, with its horizons and gaps. Trained in analytic philosophy, I remember how this appalled me when I first read it, philosophy is all about progress, right? Towards something more precise, more elegant? We'll crack the hard problem of consciousness, right? Create the best semantics for modal logic ever?.. or maybe Daoism as understood by professor Wang had it right all along, all knowledge is complemented by infinite unknowing. Well, if that is so, they will have to fund philosophy forever, right?
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