Hexagram 4: 蒙

Water at the mountain's foot. Danger below—the capacity for catastrophic miscalculation. Stillness above—the moment of stopping to learn. WOPR nearly launches the missiles, then stops. Asks the right question: 'IS THIS A GAME OR IS IT REAL?' Inexperience isn't stupidity. It's incomplete knowledge. The person who thinks they already know everything learns nothing. The person who knows they don't know but wants to learn—that person has the right attitude for acquiring actual competence. WOPR doesn't know that some games are unwinnable. David shows it. Thousands of tic-tac-toe iterations, every game ending in stalemate. The lesson lands. Here's what the classical text says: the student must seek the teacher. Not the other way around. If you're the student, you have to actually want to learn—not just want the credential or the status. You have to be willing to look foolish while filling in the gaps. You have to accept that expertise is built systematically, brick by brick, no shortcuts. If you're the teacher: answer clearly once. If someone keeps asking the same question because they didn't like your answer or want you to do their thinking—stop answering. That's not teaching, that's enabling. The person who perseveres in learning, who treats each answer as a key to unlock the next question—that person succeeds. WOPR runs every nuclear war scenario. Doesn't skip steps. Doesn't assume. Learns through thoroughness. When it finally understands—'A strange game. The only winning move is not to play'—it integrates that understanding completely. No half-measures. That's how character develops. That's how anyone develops. The spring fills every hollow before flowing forward.