Author: Joe Perez

There is something special about the number three. Across cultures and centuries, people have used it to express ideas about wholeness, balance, creation, and the relationship between different aspects of reality. Three is the number that allows a pair of opposites to become something more: a relationship, a process, or a living whole.

Consider how often three appears in religious and philosophical traditions. Christianity speaks of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit as the Trinity. Hindu traditions include the Trimurti of Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva, associated respectively with creation, preservation, and destruction. Buddhism offers the Three Jewels: the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha. In ancient Greek thought, triads also appear in philosophical schemes for understanding reality, even though there was no single universal Greek doctrine of three.

These traditions differ profoundly, and their threes do not all mean the same thing. Yet they share an intriguing possibility: reality might be understood not simply through isolated things or opposing forces, but through relationships among three principles.

This idea has a particularly fascinating expression in an overlooked Chinese classic: the Taixuanjing, or Canon of Supreme Mystery.

From two to three

Around the end of the first century BCE, the Chinese scholar, poet, and philosopher Yang Xiong undertook an ambitious project. He wanted to construct a system of cosmological understanding and divination that engaged with the Yijing (Book of Changes), one of the most influential works in Chinese intellectual history.

The Yijing represents change through broken and unbroken lines, conventionally associated with yin and yang. Six lines combine to produce 64 hexagrams, each accompanied by texts that invite interpretation.

Yang Xiong developed a different system. Instead of two kinds of lines, the Taixuanjing uses three: an unbroken line, a line broken once, and a line broken twice. Arranged in groups of four, these produce 81 possible figures, which are commonly called tetragrams.

The mathematics is straightforward: three possibilities at each of four positions yield (3^4 = 81) combinations.

But the philosophical implications are more interesting than the arithmetic.

Why introduce a third possibility? We cannot know every motive that led Yang Xiong to construct his system, and it would be too simple to say that he merely thought the Yijing was missing something. Nevertheless, the Taixuanjing can be read as an exploration of what becomes possible when we move beyond a world represented through two complementary poles.

Its three line forms are associated with Heaven, Earth, and humanity. These are not simply three objects in the universe. They represent three dimensions of an ordered cosmos: the celestial, the terrestrial, and the human.

Heaven provides patterns and rhythms; Earth gives them a place to take form; humanity inhabits the space between them, responding to the conditions of both. Human life is neither independent of nature nor merely passive before it. It takes place within a larger order and participates in that order through thought and action.

The third term makes the relationship more dynamic. Instead of looking only at opposing forces, we can ask how they are brought together and expressed in lived experience.

A Daoist resonance

This vision also invites comparison with Daoist philosophy, especially its interest in the mysterious source from which the multiplicity of things emerges.

The Daodejing famously describes a generative sequence in which the Dao gives rise to unity, unity to duality, duality to trinity, and trinity to the myriad things. Interpretations of this passage differ, but its broad movement suggests that the world emerges through successive differentiation and interaction.

The Taixuanjing develops its own elaborate account of generation and order. Its supplementary text, often translated as the Announcement of the Supreme Mystery, describes the progression from mystery through successive symbolic structures to threefold patterns and their further elaboration. Heaven, Earth, and humanity emerge as essential dimensions of the resulting order. See the Chinese text and translation at the Chinese Text Project.

This is a useful point of comparison, though we should not simply label Yang Xiong’s system Daoist. His intellectual world drew on traditions that we now classify separately, including Confucian learning, cosmological speculation, and the Yijing. The Taixuanjing belongs to that rich, overlapping landscape.

Its threefold structure can be understood as a way of exploring how unity becomes diversity without losing the relationships that hold things together.

Why 81 figures?

The choice of four positions, each with three possibilities, produces 81 tetragrams. Each figure has its own Head text, followed by nine Appraisals that explore different conditions associated with it.

The result is not merely a larger collection of symbols. It is a system for thinking about patterns, circumstances, and change. The same basic set of possibilities can be recombined into many configurations, each opening a different field of interpretation.

Derek Walters’s English translation helped make this unusual classic accessible to readers interested in Chinese divination. Michael Nylan’s scholarly translation, The Canon of Supreme Mystery (1993), offers another important route into the work. Their approaches differ, reminding us that translating an ancient oracle involves choices about how to convey both its language and its underlying philosophical system.

For modern readers, the Taixuanjing offers an alternative way to think about divination itself. Rather than treating an oracle simply as a device for predicting what will happen, we can approach it as a structured encounter with patterns: a way to reflect on how circumstances arise, interact, develop, and return.

Learning to think in threes

We often organize our thinking around binaries: success or failure, order or disorder, self or other, nature or culture. Such distinctions can be useful, but they can also conceal the relationships that make a situation what it is.

Thinking in threes offers another perspective. What connects two opposing forces? What emerges from their interaction? What larger context allows both to be understood?

These questions do not require us to accept an ancient Chinese cosmology as literal fact. They invite us to explore a different way of organizing experience, one that emphasizes relationship, emergence, and participation.

The Taixuanjing is one of the most interesting classical attempts to explore the spiritual and philosophical significance of the number three. Its 81 tetragrams offer a remarkable experiment in symbolic thought, extending the possibilities of the Yijing while developing a distinctive vision of cosmic order.

Its greatest value may lie not in proving that three is a sacred number, but in showing what becomes visible when we use three as a way of thinking.

There is much we can learn from that experiment.