Why do we always talk about death in spring?

Two holidays, two worlds, one question

In April, Europe woke up to Easter - the feast of resurrection, of renewal, of life restored where death had seemingly triumphed. Spring is coming and with it hope. At the same time, on the other side of the world, the Chinese celebrate 清明 (Qīngmíng - literally „pure clarity“), one of the twenty-four traditional nodes of the Chinese lunar calendar and a national holiday. Also, China is emerging into blooming nature. But her thoughts go elsewhere - to the dead. At first glance, a paradox. In fact, a profound philosophy.

How the holiday was born from three traditions

Before the Tang Dynasty, Qīngmíng was merely a meteorological landmark, a signal to farmers. But it gradually absorbed two older festivals. From 寒食节 (Hánshí jié - „cold food festival“), the custom of visiting ancestral graves, cleaning tombstones and making offerings took over. From 上巳节 (Shàngsì jié - a spring festival in which people went out into the countryside together, bathed in rivers and celebrated the arrival of warmth) he inherited the joy of walking and being outdoors. And so today a Chinese family can kneel by the grave of a grandparent in the morning, sweep the dust from the tombstone, burn paper money and stack bowls of food for the dead - and in the afternoon head up the hill, spread a blanket in the park and breathe in the scent of cherry blossoms. Death and spring, memory and presence, in one day.

Towards the light - but through death

The French writer Albert Camus wrote that death is the only truly serious philosophical question. The Chinese might agree with him - but they would answer differently. In Chinese thought, the phrase 向死而生 (xiàng sǐ ér shēng - „to live facing death“, that is, to live consciously precisely because death exists) lives on. Qīngmíng proclaims this attitude not in word but in gesture: at the moment when nature is most alive, we stop at graves. Death here is not an enemy waiting around the corner. It is part of the cycle - and that is why we are not so afraid of it. The more we appreciate life, the more naturally we accept its end. The more we love the living, the more we ache for loss - and the more carefully we cherish the memories of the dead.

Pure clarity as an inner challenge

Let's go back to the name of the holiday. The Chinese character 清 (qīng) means pure, clear, untainted. The character 明 (míng) means bright, clear, obvious. Together: the moment when everything is seen. In Tibetan Buddhism, death is described as a gradual dissolution of body and consciousness - and at the last moment, the texts say, sudden light comes. Like a door opening after a long stay in darkness. In that glimpse, everything we have carried inside is revealed: fear, greed, regret, love. Death here is a mirror - and what we see in it depends on how we have lived. Qīngmíng may be telling us the same thing. Live lucidly. Live so that in that last light you can look yourself in the eye - and not die with a debt to your own conscience. Death then does not come as defeat. It comes cleanly. It comes clearly. Perhaps that is why we speak of it in the spring - when it is best seen.

NNela.Ni