Conclusion: The Gate of Lichun—The Year's Beginning and the Origination of All Things

I. Looking Back: What Have We Come to Understand$19

Through the layered inquiry and multidimensional elucidation of the eighteen chapters above, we have offered as thorough an interpretation as possible of the solar term "Lichun," from the many angles of astronomy, the calendar, etymology, phenology, mythology, philosophy, politics, ethics, agriculture, health cultivation, musical pitch, literature, and folk custom. Let us now look back and consider what, precisely, we have come to understand through this long journey of inquiry.

We have come to understand: Lichun is by no means an isolated, dispensable temporal marker, but a cosmic, foundational event. It involves the turning of the Dipper's handle in the heavens (the handle pointing east), the position of the sun (315° of ecliptic longitude), the melting of solid ice upon the earth (the east wind melts the ice), the awakening of hibernating creatures within the earth (hibernating insects begin to stir), the rising of swimming fish in the water (fish rise and bear the ice), the adjustment of governmental ordinances in the human world (spreading virtue and dispensing beneficence, forbidding the felling of trees), the transformation of the state of body and mind (retiring late and rising early, letting the will be generated), the succession of musical pitch (the pitch-pipe being Taicu), the observance of rites and customs (welcoming spring, whipping the spring ox, biting spring)—all of these, at this moment of "the year's beginning," undergo a coordinated, unified transformation pointing toward "generation and growth."

We have come to understand: the character "chun" (萅), from its very origin, tells us that the beginning of life is vegetation breaking through the soil to first sprout, spurred on by yang qi (grass, sun, difficulty)—a solemn sprouting that "rises up amid difficulty." We have come to understand: the character "li" (立) proclaims that the season of "spring," the quality of "generation," stands dignified and erect between Heaven and Earth at a certain moment. We have come to understand: Lichun, as "the foremost of the Four Beginnings," "the year's beginning," bears the "originating" responsibility of "all things owing their beginning" and "laying the foundation for the year"—it is that great critical juncture at which yang qi, long confined beneath the earth, finally breaks through the soil and ascends to the surface.

II. The Confluence of Confucianism and Daoism: The Way of Heaven and Humanity That Lichun Proclaims

We have also come to understand: although Confucianism and Daoism each emphasize different aspects in their attitude toward Lichun—Confucianism emphasizing the active responsibility of "welcoming spring," "participating and assisting," "being cautious at the beginning"; Daoism emphasizing the clear-eyed non-action of "naturalness," "returning to the root," "valuing subtlety"—the core concern of both schools is the same: how may humanity remain in harmony with the generative growth of the Way of Heaven$1 How, at this moment of "beginning," the year's beginning, may one properly settle one's own body, mind, and conduct$2

Confucianism reads "ren" (benevolence) out of Lichun—the great virtue of Heaven and Earth is called generation, and Lichun's vital qi is precisely the grand proclamation of Heaven and Earth's "ren"; and so humanity ought to emulate this benevolence of ceaseless generation, setting its resolve, spreading virtue, and not violating the farming season at the year's beginning, thereby "participating in the transformative nurture of Heaven and Earth." Daoism reads "the Dao" out of Lichun—Lichun's sprouting is precisely that mysterious "beginning" and "ji" of "the Dao generates the One" and "the single yang returns"; and so humanity ought to emulate this natural Dao, returning to the root and recovering its destiny, concentrating its qi and attaining softness, seeing the greatest in the smallest, bringing to fulfillment Heaven and Earth's generative growth through "non-action." The Confucian "ren" and the Daoist "Dao," at this node of Lichun, "all things owing their beginning," achieve their deepest confluence—both point together toward a reverence for "generation," a solemn regard for "beginning," a pursuit of "the unity of Heaven and humanity." This is precisely the most fundamental way of Heaven and humanity that Lichun proclaims, at the very core of Chinese culture.

III. The Gate of Lichun: A Metaphor

If we compare Lichun to a gate, then on this side of the gate lies winter—concealment, stillness, slumber, the winter in which all things return to their root and recover their destiny. And on the other side of the gate lies spring—opening, generation and growth, awakening, the spring in which all things owe their beginning and first stir into life.

To cross this gate is to move from "storage" toward "generation"—the vitality that winter concealed and nurtured begins, at Lichun, to break through the soil, to sprout, to stir. To cross this gate is to move from "closure" toward "communion"—the sealed Heaven and Earth of winter (Pi), at Lichun, become the interacting, freely flowing Heaven and Earth (Tai). To cross this gate is to move from "stillness" toward "movement"—the stillness of all things in winter (like the sleep of hibernating creatures), at Lichun, becomes the renewed movement of all things (like hibernating insects beginning to stir, swimming fish rising). To cross this gate, further, is to move from "the old year" toward "the new year"—everything is about to begin anew, everything is about to be renewed.

And what a distinctive gate this is—upon its threshold still lingers winter's chill (the lingering chill of early spring, warmth mixed with cold), and the vitality within the gate remains so soft, so newly sprouted (the east wind melts the ice, yet the ice has not fully disappeared; hibernating insects begin to stir, yet have not yet fully emerged). To cross this gate does not mean stepping immediately into a spring resplendent with blossoms, but rather entering a great beginning that is "about to sprout, not yet flourishing," that "rises up amid difficulty." This is precisely the deepest quality of the gate of Lichun—it does not lead to a scene of comfortable ease, but to a new starting point brimming with hope, yet also requiring vigorous struggle to break through.

IV. A Final Inquiry: Are We Still Welcoming Spring$3

At the close of this article, let us return to that original spirit: why did the ancients "welcome spring" with such solemnity$4 Why would even the exalted Son of Heaven personally lead the hundred officials out to the eastern suburbs, to welcome a spring that would arrive "naturally" regardless$5

Because the ancients understood: humanity is not a bystander to Heaven and Earth, but a participant in Heaven and Earth; the beginning of the new year, the sprouting of life, is worthy of being welcomed, celebrated, and brought to fulfillment with the greatest human fervor. Yet in modern life, we have often become severely disconnected from this rhythm of Heaven and Earth, from the solemnity of this "beginning"—we no longer look up to watch the turning of the Dipper's handle, no longer listen for the melting of the east wind's ice, no longer take notice of the awakening of hibernating creatures; when the new year arrives, we perhaps merely flip a page of the calendar amid the clamor, and then hurry on in our busyness, entirely forgetting that solemnity which "the year's beginning" ought to carry, that celebration of "generation," that setting of resolve and awakening of intent that "the plan for the year is made in spring."

To understand Lichun anew is not to call us back to the ancients' way of life (which is neither possible nor necessary), but to call us to recover once more that solemn regard for "beginnings," that reverence for "life," that apprehension of "the rhythm of Heaven and humanity." When Lichun arrives, why not try stepping outside, to sense whether the wind has already turned toward the southeast, to notice whether the ice and snow have already begun to melt, to listen for whether the calls of early-spring insects and birds have already begun$6 In these simplest of sensations, you may perhaps once again touch that solemnity and joy which the ancients experienced, of generating and growing together with Heaven and Earth, sprouting and stirring together with them—you will come to realize anew: you are not an isolated individual, but share, together with that shoot breaking through the soil, that newly awakened hibernating creature, that rising swimming fish, the very same ceaselessly generative and regenerative cosmic vitality, that rises up amid difficulty.

The Zhouyi states: "Great indeed is the originating power of Qian! All things owe to it their beginning" (大哉乾元，万物资始). Lichun is precisely this solemn moment of "all things owing their beginning"—it is the first breath, after Heaven and Earth have slumbered through an entire winter, of their renewed ceaselessly generative movement; it is the most original beginning, within the year, of all hope, all vitality, all endeavor.

Heaven does not speak, and yet the four seasons proceed, and the hundred creatures are born and grow. Lichun is precisely that first, deepest, and most hope-filled dawn bell that Heaven, after a winter's silence, sounds for the new year to come.