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 14: Spring in the Book of Songs and the Chuci: The Poetic Presentation of the Image of Life
I. Spring in the Book of Songs: Phenology, Agriculture, and the Sprouting of Life
The Book of Songs (Shijing) is the wellspring of Chinese literature, preserving within it a great abundance of vivid images of spring. These images are precisely the poetic crystallization, within literature, of the ancients' apprehension of spring.
The Shijing, "Bin Airs," "Seventh Month" (七月), is a long poem depicting the agricultural labor and phenology of the four seasons across the year; of spring it says: "In the spring days, warmth prevails, and the oriole sings" (春日载阳，有鸣仓庚). "Cang geng" refers to the oriole. In spring days, the yang qi grows mild and warm, and the oriole begins to sing—this is precisely the manifestation of spring's vital qi in the song of birds, continuing unbroken from the theme of awakening in Lichun's "hibernating insects begin to stir." The poem also says: "The spring days lengthen slowly; they gather southernwood in great numbers" (春日迟迟，采蘩祁祁). Spring's daylight gradually lengthens ("chi chi"), and crowds gather to pick southernwood ("qi qi"). The four characters "chun ri chi chi" (spring days lengthening slowly) subtly capture spring's characteristic of gradually lengthening days, gradually warming weather, and unhurried rhythm—this is precisely the phenological depiction of yang qi gradually growing, and day and night waxing and waning, after Lichun.
The Shijing, "Minor Odes," "Setting Out the Chariots" (出车), in the lines "the spring days lengthen slowly, the plants and trees flourish luxuriantly; the orioles call to one another, they gather southernwood in great numbers" (春日迟迟，卉木萋萋。仓庚喈喈，采蘩祁祁), weaves together spring's slow warmth, the luxuriance of vegetation ("qi qi"), and the harmonious calling of orioles ("jie jie") into a scene brimming with vitality. What is precious about these verses is this: the ancients did not praise spring in the abstract, but presented the life of spring through the most concrete, most subtle phenological observation—the calling of the oriole, the luxuriance of vegetation, the lengthening of the day. This accords entirely with the spirit of the Twenty-Four Solar Terms, which "fix the season by phenological signs"—in the ancients' world, the spring of literature and the spring of the calendar were one and the same spring, both founded upon the same subtle, minute observation of, and deep affection for, the myriad things of Heaven and Earth.
II. "Generation" in the Book of Songs: From "The Leaves Flourish Luxuriantly" to a Celebration of Life
Images of luxuriant vegetation and sprouting life abound throughout the Book of Songs, together forming a deeply affectionate ode to "generation." "Zhou Nan," "The Peach Tree Young and Tender" (桃夭), states: "The peach tree, young and tender, its blossoms blazing bright" (桃之夭夭，灼灼其华). How young and lush is the peach tree, how radiant and vivid its blossoms—this is the most resplendent burst of springtime vitality. "Yao yao" describes the youthful, vigorous appearance of vegetation; "zhuo zhuo" describes the bright, dazzling color of the blossoms. Using the flourishing splendor of the peach blossom as an evocative image for the youthful beauty of the new bride is precisely a way of connecting spring's "generation" with human "generation" (marriage, procreation).
This technique of connecting the generation of vegetation with the generation of human affairs is extremely common throughout the Book of Songs, and it reveals a fundamental view of life held by the ancients: human life and the life of vegetation are, at root, different manifestations of the very same vital qi of Heaven and Earth. The sprouting and flourishing of vegetation in spring, and the marriage, procreation, and nurturing of life among humankind, follow the very same Way of Heaven, "ceaselessly generating and regenerating." What Lichun opens is precisely such a season of "generation"—not only must vegetation generate, and birds and beasts generate, but human life too must procreate and flourish within this generative qi. Through its plain yet deeply affectionate brushwork, the Book of Songs has forever fixed this universal joy of "generation" between Heaven and Earth within verses such as "its blossoms blazing bright" and "the leaves flourish luxuriantly." This achieves, by a different path, the same effect as the Confucian thought of "spring correlated with ren" and "the great virtue of Heaven and Earth is called generation"—literature celebrates life through imagery, while philosophy elucidates the virtue of generation through speculative thought; both together point toward the deepest reverence for "generation."
III. Spring in the Chuci: Fragrant Herbs, the Beautiful One, and the Anxiety of Life That Time Waits for No One
If the spring of the Book of Songs is mostly a plain and bright joy in life, the spring of the Chuci (Songs of Chu) is steeped in a deeper, more complex emotion regarding life—not only an attachment to spring's fragrant beauty, but even more, a profound anxiety over the passage of time and the years that will not wait.
Master Qu (Qu Yuan), in "Encountering Sorrow" (离骚), writes: "The days and months hasten on, never lingering; spring and autumn succeed each other in turn. I think of the falling and scattering of plants and trees, and fear that the Beautiful One's twilight years draw near" (日月忽其不淹兮，春与秋其代序。惟草木之零落兮，恐美人之迟暮). The sun and moon hasten on without pause; spring departs and autumn arrives, succeeding one another in turn. Thinking of the withering and scattering of plants and trees, one comes to fear the aging of the Beautiful One (a figure for the ruler, or for the poet himself). Here, "spring and autumn succeed each other in turn" expresses the cosmic rhythm by which the four seasons alternate and the years do not stand still; and the fear of "twilight years" provoked by the "withering and scattering" of plants and trees internalizes this cosmic rhythm into a profound anxiety over life—time, as fleeting as spring, passes, while one's achievements remain unaccomplished and one's ideals unrealized; how could this not trouble the heart$1
This anxiety over life, born from spring's transience, endows Lichun's "beginning" with a further, profound layer of meaning. Lichun is the year's beginning, a commencement, full of hope—but precisely because it is a "beginning," it also most sharply reminds a person: the train of time has already departed, the journey of the year has already begun, and one ought to cherish this precious beginning, setting one's resolve promptly, striving promptly, achieving promptly, lest one squander this good season of "the plan for the year." Master Qu's anxiety over spring resonates, in spirit, with the Confucian awareness of time, "that which passes is like this, never ceasing day or night" (逝者如斯夫，不舍昼夜) (Analects, "Zi Han"), and with the admonition that "the plan for the year is made in spring"—both caution the world that, faced with spring's beginning, the year's commencement, a person ought to feel an urgency that "time will not wait" and a vigor of "timely self-exhortation."
IV. The Spring of the Chuci and the Living World of the South
The Chuci arose in the southern land of Chu, and the spring depicted in its pages carries the rich coloring of the southern realm—fragrant herbs in abundance, their perfume thick and heady. Master Qu, in "Nine Songs" and "Encountering Sorrow," lays out a fragrant world composed of countless aromatic plants—river-thoroughwort, mountain angelica, autumn orchid, pollia, and melilotus, among others. "I drape river-thoroughwort and mountain angelica about me; I string autumn orchids together to wear as a pendant" (扈江离与辟芷兮，纫秋兰以为佩) (Li Sao). These fragrant herbs are, for the most part, plants that sprout and flourish in spring, and their fragrance is precisely the fragrance of the southern land's abundant springtime vitality.
Why did Master Qu construct his spiritual world with such dense imagery of fragrant herbs$2 Because, for him, fragrant herbs were not merely natural objects, but symbols of noble virtue and beautiful ideals. The sprouting, flourishing, and fragrance of herbs in spring follow the very same logic of "generation and growth," "cultivation," and "accomplishment" as the growth, fullness, and fragrant reputation of the noble person's virtue. This resonates profoundly with the Confucian thought of "spring correlated with ren," of "the sprout of ren," and with Master Meng's theory of cultivation, "if it receives its proper nourishment, there is nothing that will not grow" (苟得其养，无物不长) (Mencius, "Gaozi I")—virtue, like a fragrant herb, requires careful cultivation amid a spring-like generative growth before it can move from "sprout" to "fullness," from budding to flourishing. Through its resplendent imagery of fragrant herbs, the Chuci elevates Lichun's "generative growth" from the natural level to the moral and spiritual level—spring is not merely the season in which vegetation sprouts and grows, but also the season in which the noble person cultivates virtue and gives rise to ideals. This is precisely one of the deepest roots of the Chinese literary tradition of "comparing to virtue" (比德).