East Wind Melts the Ice: The Way of the New Year's Beginning and the Origination of All Things in Lichun
This article offers an in-depth interpretation of Lichun (the Beginning of Spring), the first of the Twenty-Four Solar Terms, through the multiple lenses of pre-Qin Confucian and Daoist philosophy, philology, and astronomical phenomenology. By tracing the origin of the character "chun" (萅), the image of the three yang lines ascending in the Tai hexagram, and the mythic archetype of the wood spirit Goumang, it reveals the profound significance of Lichun as the node of the year's beginning and the origination of all things, returning readers to the ancient world of the ancestors' communion between Heaven and humanity.
Chapter 8: The Phenological World of Lichun (Part Two): Hibernating Insects Begin to Stir
I. "Hibernating Insects Begin to Stir": The First Awakening of Sleeping Life
The second pentad of Lichun is "hibernating insects begin to stir." The Yi Zhou Shu's "Explanation of the Seasonal Instructions" records: "Five days after Lichun, hibernating insects begin to stir" ((立春)又五日，蛰虫始振). Creatures that have lain dormant through winter's hibernation begin to awaken, begin to stir. This is the second phenological signal of Lichun, following upon "the east wind melts the ice."
The Shuowen Jiezi glosses the character "zhe" (蛰) as: "Zhe means to conceal, to hide" (蛰，藏也). Zhe means to lie hidden, to lie in concealment. "Hibernating creatures" (蛰虫) are those creatures which, in winter, conceal themselves, cease eating and moving, and enter a state of dormancy. Throughout the entire winter, these creatures lie hidden beneath the earth, in burrows, within tree bark, as if dead, having ceased all activity. And at the time of Lichun, as the east wind melts the ice, as yang qi rises, and as the ground temperature warms, these sleeping lives begin to "stir"—begin to awaken, begin to move, begin to stir their bodies.
The two characters "shi zhen" (始振, "begin to stir") deserve especially careful consideration. "Shi" means to begin; "zhen" means to stir, to rouse, to shake into motion. Note that the second pentad speaks of "beginning to stir," not "emerging"—at this point the hibernating creatures merely "begin to awaken and stir," not yet truly crawling above ground (true "emergence" awaits the solar term Jingzhe, "Awakening of Insects," when it is said that "hibernating creatures all stir"). This "beginning to stir" precisely and fittingly depicts the "first sprouting" state of life's revival at Lichun—not yet active, but just awakened; not yet in motion, but just stirring. This accords entirely with Lichun's overall quality as "beginning," as "first sprouting." Everything at Lichun is "beginning," is "first sprouting," is at that critical threshold "about to move yet not yet moved, about to emerge yet not yet emerged."
II. Why Does the "Stirring" of Insects Correspond to Yang Qi$1
Here lies a question worth pursuing in depth: why do hibernating creatures "begin to stir" at Lichun$2 How did the ancients understand this$3
In the ancients' cosmology, the hibernation and awakening of insects was not a choice made by the creatures "themselves," but a direct response to the waxing and waning of Heaven and Earth's yang qi. In winter, yang qi lies hidden deep beneath the earth, and the vitality of all things correspondingly withdraws inward and lies concealed, and thus hibernating creatures enter their dormancy and sleep; at Lichun, yang qi begins to rise from beneath the earth, and this rising yang qi awakens the dormant life, and thus hibernating creatures "begin to stir." In other words, the "stirring" of hibernating creatures is the direct reflection, within the animal world, of the revival of Heaven and Earth's yang qi—insects are like the most sensitive of "qi gauges"; the stirring of their bodies marks that yang qi has risen to a degree sufficient to awaken life.
The meaning of the Zhouyi's Fu hexagram accords entirely with this. The Fu hexagram (䷗) has a single yang line returning beneath the utmost yin; the "Image Commentary" on the Fu hexagram states: "Thunder within the earth: this is Fu (Return). The ancient kings, on this day of the Winter Solstice, closed the passes, so that merchants and travelers did not journey, and the ruler did not inspect the regions" (雷在地中，复。先王以至日闭关，商旅不行，后不省方). At the time of the Winter Solstice (the Fu hexagram), that single yang line lies hidden within the earth like "thunder," not yet stirred into action, and so the ancient kings would "close the passes" in order to nurture and protect it. And from the Fu hexagram's "single yang" lying hidden within the earth, to Lichun's Tai hexagram's "three yang lines" ascending to the earth's surface, is precisely the process by which this hidden "thunder" (yang qi) moves from faint to manifest, from latent to stirred. The "beginning to stir" of hibernating creatures is precisely the phenological evidence that this thunder hidden within the earth is beginning to sprout, that yang qi is beginning to ascend. The ancients' linking of the insects' stirring with the Fu hexagram's return, with the ascent of yang qi, once again displays that grand cosmology in which "Heaven, Earth, living creatures, and hexagram images are all threaded through by one."
III. The "Hibernation" and "Stirring" of Life: The Daoist Wisdom of Rest and Nurture
The process by which hibernating creatures move from "hibernation" to "stirring" contains within it a profound wisdom concerning the rhythm of life—especially the wisdom of "concealment," "nurture," and "dormancy" that Daoism so highly esteems.
Why must hibernating creatures pass through an entire winter's "hibernation" before they can "stir" at Lichun$4 Because "stirring" requires strength, and strength comes from the rest and accumulation of the period of "hibernation." Winter's hibernation, though it appears to be a stagnation of life, a passive "doing nothing," is in fact the deepest and most important period of rest and accumulation. It is precisely this winter of hidden nurture that gives the insects sufficient vitality to "stir," to awaken, to re-engage in the activity of life at Lichun.
This accords profoundly with the Most High's dialectical wisdom, "if you wish to contract something, you must first deliberately expand it; if you wish to weaken something, you must first deliberately strengthen it" (将欲歙之，必固张之；将欲弱之，必固强之) (Laozi, chapter 36), and with the cultivational practice of "attaining the utmost emptiness, guarding steadfast stillness" (致虚极，守静笃) (Laozi, chapter 16). Life cannot remain forever in the state of "stirring" (activity, outward expression)—that would exhaust it; it must have a period of "hibernation" (concealment, rest) in which to accumulate energy. Winter's "hibernation" and spring's "stirring" together constitute life's alternation of tension and release, of concealment and expression—this is precisely the most fundamental rhythm between Heaven and Earth.
This insight offers direct instruction for human cultivation. A person, too, ought to emulate the hibernating creature, understanding the rhythm of "hibernation" and "stirring"—at times when one ought to rest, to conceal oneself, to accumulate (such as winter), one should peacefully "hibernate," without anxiety over a temporary state of "doing nothing"; and at times when one ought to stir, to grow, to act (such as at Lichun), one should vigorously "stir," releasing the vitality long accumulated. Only by understanding "hibernation" can one be skilled at "stirring"; without knowing how to conceal and nurture, one cannot speak of vigorous growth. Lichun's "hibernating insects begin to stir" is precisely the great life wisdom of "concealment" and "expression," "nurture" and "use," that Heaven and Earth demonstrate for us through a single small insect.