The lexicology of shi 始
His mischief returns upon his own head, and on his own pate his violence descends. (Psa 7:17)
One of China’s most notorious and consequential historical figures is Ying Zheng 嬴政, the founder of China’s first unified empire. I have mentioned him before in my entry on the character fa 法 ‘law’. A devoted adherent of the Legal School (fajia 法家), he wielded its teachings in order to conquer and unify all of the Zhongguo 中国 ‘Central States’, into the Qinchao 秦朝 ‘Qin Dynasty’: the namesake of ‘China’ in the English language. However, this unification ran up a fairly high bill.
After defeating the State of Chu 楚国, the largest and most formidable of Qin’s rivals, Ying Zheng ruthlessly suppressed the state’s distinctive language, cultural and religious practices. He ordered the confiscation and burning of ancient texts, in some cases erasing regional textual traditions. His Great Wall, built through brutal forced labour, became a monument to suffering—quite literally built with the flesh and blood of the Chinese common people.
The regnal name used by Ying Zheng, the name he is known by most readily today, is Qin Shihuang 秦始皇, the First Emperor of Qin. His legacy remains deeply polarising. To many, particularly in the scholarly class, Qin Shihuang was a monster—a brutal, paranoid tyrant fixated on achieving immortality. He took China by force and ruled it by terror, only for his dynasty collapse after a mere three decades, partly due to Chu-led rebellions. In former Chu territories such as Hubei and Hunan, local memory still honours and takes pride in the legacy of Chu’s resistance against Qin. Early Marxist historians of China, such as the collective authors of the Zhongguo Tongshi 《中国通史》, even framed these Chu-led uprisings against Qin Shihuang as a precursor to peasant class struggle against oppressive elites.
On the other hand, the historiography that emerged in the 1970s and 1980s, touched off by Hong Shidi’s 1972 biography, highlights Qin Shihuang’s considerable accomplishments, and their relation to the development of a unified Chinese national consciousness. Ying Zheng standardised Chinese script, enabling bureaucratic unity and cultural cohesion. His wall project, however sanguinary its construction, did help protect the agrarian Chinese heartland from outside invasion for generations. And Ying Zheng’s attentions to China’s road and canal infrastructure laid the groundwork for the Han Dynasty’s rapid consolidation of power. The discovery of the Bingmayong 兵马俑, or terra-cotta army at his tomb—revealing not live burials but clay substitutes—has further softened historical judgement of the tomb’s owner, and sparked renewed interest in his reign.
Few other figures in Chinese history—perhaps only Wu Zetian 武则天—can evoke both reverence and revulsion in such degree. His role in forging a unified Chinese state is undeniable. But that achievement is weighed against an equally undeniable human and cultural toll. Perhaps his historical legacy—like his quest for immortality—will find no single, definitive verdict until That Day.
The title of Ying Zheng, Qin Shihuang 秦始皇 is of some lexicographical interest. Shi 始 ‘first, head, to begin, beginning’ is the 381st most common written Chinese character; by itself it functions as a verb ‘to begin’, but in modern Mandarin, it’s much more frequently heard as the compound kaishi 开始. It is also used in compound terms like shizhong 始终 ‘all along’ (condensed from the idiom zishi zhizhong 自始至终 ‘from the beginning to the end’, and used also in the idiom shizhong ruyi 始终如一 ‘consistent throughout’; shimo 始末 has a similar functionality); yuanshi 原始 ‘original, prototype, primitive’; chuangshi 创始 ‘to create, to initiate’; chuangshizhe 创始者 ‘creator’; chushi 初始 and yishi 伊始 ‘initial, origin, outset’; qishi 起始 ‘to originate’; shijian 始建 ‘to lay a foundation, to begin construction’; and shizu 始祖 ‘founder, progenitor’.
The character shi 始 is classified by Xu Shen in the Shuowen jiezi as a phono-semantic glyph (xingsheng 形声), with nü 女 ‘woman’ providing the semantic content and yi 台 (later tai) providing the phonetic value. Xu Shen defines the word shi 始 cosmologically, and actually with a degree of influence from Daoism, as nü zhi chu ye 女之初也 ‘the origin of the feminine’. The thinkers of the Matrical School had long held to the feminine analogy that all things originate from a womb (dao 道 as in yindao 阴道 ‘birth canal’): 道生一，一生二，二生三，三生万物 ‘The dao births the one, the one births the two, the two births the three, and the three births the plenitude of things.’ (Daodejing 《道德經》 42). Xu Shen’s reading would seem to make the character not purely phono-semantic, but instead a syssemantograph! His reading places not only phonetic but also some semantic weight on the right-hand character element yi 台, which represents an upside-down child (as it is being born).
The connexion with the Daodejing in Xu Shen’s definition is interesting and even to a certain extent revealing, but not definitive. This written character, of course, long predates Laozi in its use, and thus Laozi’s thoughts about it are not directly germane to its origins! In the process of giving birth, normally, the baby emerges head first; that’s why the baby is facing upside down (daozi 倒子) in this character. We must be careful not to indulge an anachronistic conflation of the metaphysical Han Dynasty thought and exegesis with the actual origins of the character itself. Indeed, several early Western Zhou Bronze Age inscriptions of this character do not always have the full character component of the woman present, but the baby is always there and the head is always prominent.
This suggests that the early character was originally much more neutral and narrow in lexical range, and acquired its ‘feminine’ cosmological connotations only through later semantic drift. The analogy was to the birth itself, or more properly or the ‘head-first’ process of birth. The usage of shi 始 in early Shang and Zhou palaeographs in phrases like shinian 始年 ‘first year, inaugural’, lend support to such a reading. Also, one sees in the Odes this early use of the character:
亂之初生，僭始既涵。
亂之又生，君子信諦。
Disorder then comes to the birth,
When the first untruth is received.
Its further increase,
Is from our sovereign’s believing the slanderers.(Book of Odes 《詩經》, Decade of Xiao Min 小閔之什, ‘Artful Words’ 巧言 2)
Other occurrences of shi 始 reinforce its ungendered, temporal connotations. It occurs, for example, in connexion with the dawn: 雝雝鳴雁，旭日始旦。 ‘The wild goose, with its harmonious notes, at sunrise, with the earliest dawn…’ (Odes, Odes of Bei 邶風, ‘The Gourd Has Bitter Leaves’ 匏有苦葉 3). Its most common function is as ‘to begin, to commence, commencement’, as we can see in various places: 爰始爰謨 ‘There he began consulting [his followers]’ (Odes, Decade of Wen Wang 文王之什, ‘Strands’ 緜 3) or: 慎厥終，惟其始。 ‘He who would take care for the end must be attentive to the beginning.’ (Book of Documents 《尚書》, Book of Shang 商書, ‘Announcement of Zhong-hui’ 仲虺之誥 2) It can also, however, be used as a preposition ‘as soon as, from the start’: 其香始升 ‘As soon as the fragrance ascends…’ (Odes, Decade of Sheng Min 生民之什, ‘Birth of Our People’ 生民 8) Or as part of a phrase with an equivalent semantic: 自今以始、歲其有。 ‘From this time forth, may the years be abundant.’ (Odes, Praise-Odes of Lu 魯頌, ‘Fat and Strong’ 有駜 3)
What is also of interest about this character is its reconstructed phonetics. In Old Chinese, the character shi 始 may have been pronounced /*l̥əʔ/ or /*hljɯʔ/. In either event, the consonantals /l̥/ or /hl/ and /ʔ/ (glottal stop) have been proposed as the reconstructed sounds of this character. This bears a resemblance to the Semitic sounds /r/ ר and /ʔ/ א in the same order, as present in the triliteral root r-’-s ר-א-ש ‘head, peak’ (Hebrew rō’š ראש, Arabic ra’s راس, Ge’ez rǝ’s ርእስ, Aramaic rēšā ܪܝܫܐ). The close kinship and even exchangeability between the phonemes /l/ and /r/ even in East Asian languages like Chinese, Tibetan and Japanese is well-attested, making the phonetic and semantic parallels striking, to say the least—but without further archaeological or genetic evidence of a prehistoric link, any direct relationship must remain speculative.
Even so, these terms do have remarkably close parallel trajectories. As a title in Amharic, Ras ራስ, derived from the Ge’ez, accords a high nobility, a plenipotentiary office equivalent to the German Fürst (literally ‘first’, but functionally a ‘prince’): it was by this title Ras that Tafari Makonnen, later the famous Emperor Haile Selassie I, was first known in the West, giving rise to the ‘Prince Tafari’ or Rastafarian movement. It functions similarly here to the way that the title of the First Emperor of Qin, Qin Shihuang 秦始皇, does. The same function applies in Arabic, where Ra’īs رئيس ‘First’ is an honourific title. This was the title of PLO Chairman (Ra’īs) Yasser Arafat, for example. From Arabic, this title hopped to other languages like Turkish and Persian—so, for example, Rustam Minnikhanov, the Head of the Republic of Tatarstan in Russia, is called the Räise. Note how this functionality is mirrored in the Greek New Testament. To give one modest example: in Paul’s letter to the Romans, the ὁ προϊστάμενος ‘he who leads’ or ‘he who presides’, literally ‘he who stands in the front’ of the ecclesia (Romans 12:8) is translated in the Syriac Pǝšiṭta as rēšā ܪܝܫܐ, the ‘head’ or ‘chief’.
The ‘head-first’ connotation of shi 始 in its original context of birth-giving, develops readings of ‘to begin, to commence, as soon as, first, inaugural, commencement’. This functionality also has mirrors in the Semitic languages. The Jewish New Year, for example, is called ראש השנה ‘the first (day) of the year’, the familiar Rosh Hashanah (see also Exodus 12:2). The first book of the Penteteuch—and indeed, the first word of the first book of the Penteteuch—is bǝrēšīt בראשית: בראשית ברא אלהים ‘In the beginning, God made…’ (Gen 1:1)—note in the narration of that act of creation, the same root is used for the ‘head’-waters of the four rivers (Gen 2:10)! And the prepositional sense is also attested in Scripture: טוב אחרית דּבר מראשׁיתו ‘Better is the end of a thing than its beginning…’ (Ecc 7:8).
But being at the ‘head’ or the ‘top’ or the ‘beginning’ can be a dangerous proposition for a human being. That is where the Most High sits wreathed in fire (Exo 24:17), and it is not to the people’s benefit to build themselves up to the ‘top’ (Gen 11:4) where the Most High comes down… even though what happened to that particular tower was more merciful than what happened to the ‘sons of God’ (and their sons after them!) who tried to make a name for themselves in Genesis 6. It is our command to be fruitful and multiply, yes, but not to gather in power-verticals and build up rivals to God’s holy mountain. Rather, our nature as human beings is made to be scattered over the face of the earth.
Consider also, for example, Psalm 43. תּשׂימנוּ משׁל בּגּוים מנוד־ראשׁ בּל־אמּים ‘Thou hast made us a byword among the nations, a laughingstock among the peoples.’ (Psalm 43:15) Same root at work here: r-’-š. However, in this example, to be at the ‘head’ is to be singled out for ridicule. The word mǝnôd-rō’š מנוד־ראשׁ denotes a shake of the head, still used today as a gesture of reproof. Why? The same Psalm gives us the reason why. They pushed down their foes and trod down their assailants—and even though they said they did so in God’s name, the na-prefix ‘we’ (43:6) makes it clear that God was no longer their reference, their ‘beginning’, their ‘prime’ consideration. Later the Psalm refers back to this, almost with a tone of irony. ‘If we had forgotten the name of our God… would not God discover this?’ (43:21-2)
A similar tone of warning is present in the Chinese Documents as well as in (the received-texts traditions of) the Spring and Autumn Annals. Both an unnamed king’s (likely Qi of Xia’s) speech prior to the battle of Kan against Lord Hu in the Book of Xia, and the Grand-Master’s urging Ziqi, the Count of Wei, to flee the capital in the Book of Shang, warn explicitly against the evils of human hubris and greed: 有扈氏威侮五行，怠棄三正，天用剿絕其命 ‘The lord of Hu wildly wastes and despises the five elements (that regulate the seasons), and has idly abandoned the three acknowledged commencements of the year. On this account Heaven is about to destroy him.’ (Documents, Book of Xia 夏書, ‘Speech at Gan’ 甘誓 2) The connotation here is that the one human being is placing himself (as clan leader, shi 氏) over the three rectifying festivals (sanzheng 三正[1]) and the five elements (wuxing 五行). Lord Hu’s crimes are both political and ecological. In defying the set festivals of the calendar, he not only commits lèse-majesté but also puts the crops and the people’s livelihoods at risk. And in appointing tasks out of season, he threatens common-pool resources like timber and fish stocks, doing harm to animal populations and impacting future generations’ survival.
And at the end of the Shang Dynasty, the Grand-Master has this to say to the half-brother of the soon-to-fall King Dixin of Shang: 天毒降災荒殷邦，方興沈酗于酒，乃罔畏畏，咈其耇長舊有位人。 ‘Heaven in anger is sending down calamities, and wasting the country of Yin. Hence has arisen that mad indulgence in spirits. (The king) has no reverence for things which he ought to reverenced but does despite to the venerable aged, the men who have long been in office.’ (Documents, Book of Shang, ‘Count of Wei’ 微子 3) The Count of Wei had just upbraided his brother for drunkenness. The Grand-Master doesn’t contradict him, but adds that the more significant of Dixin’s crimes was to alienate the Shang temple-bureaucracy by belittling the prior generation’s experience and talent. That is to say, Dixin was setting himself up as judge over his elders!
However, in criticising past dynasties, the authors of the Documents do not spare the sensibilities of their own. Indeed, the elevation of the Count of Wei’s voice stands as a witness from the fallen Shang Dynasty against the warlordist present! But also we have the Marquis of Qin (Ying Renhao, the paternal ancestor of the aforementioned Ying Zheng!) speaking from the text’s ‘present day’:
「惟古之謀人，則曰未就予忌；惟今之謀人，姑將以為親。雖則云然，尚猷詢茲黃髮，則罔所愆。番番良士，旅力既愆，我尚有之；仡仡勇夫，射御不違，我尚不欲。惟截截善諞言，俾君子易辭，我皇多有之！」
‘There were my old counsellors. I said, “They will not accommodate themselves to me,” and I hated them. There were my new counsellors, and I would for the time give my confidence to them. So indeed it was with me; but hereafter I will take advice from the men of yellow hair, and then I shall be free from error. That good old officer! - his strength is exhausted, but I would rather have him (as my counsellor). That dashing brave officer! - his shooting and charioteering are faultless, but I would rather not wish to have him. As to men of quibbles, skilful at cunning words, and able to make the good man change his purposes, what have I to do to make much use of them?’
(Book of Documents, Book of Zhou 周書, ‘Speech of the Marquis of Qin’ 秦誓 2)
Note that in this passage, the Marquis begins with a note of relentless self-criticism, stemming from his military defeat at the Battle of Yao in 627 BC. This kind of self-critique and reflection is all the more striking because it was a rarity among rulers of the Warring States. The text is promoting his self-abasing attitude, and his hard-learned preference for trusting the wisdom of old age (and, it may be inferred, prior ages!), as a witness against the habit of landed nobles and feudal warlords to surround themselves at court, either with ambitious and unscrupulous young hotheads possessed of physical prowess or intellectual cleverness, or (worse) with sycophants and ‘yes-men’ with their pianyan 諞言 ‘cunning words’. This is a tendency which the literary Marquis drops the proverbial mic on at the end.
It’s worth remembering, though, that the text is not a military strategy manual, nor is it a treatise on government. There were plenty of those kicking around in the Warring States era: the Sunzi bingfa 《孫子兵法》 and the Guanzi 《官子》, to name just a couple. What use would military strategists and legal reformers have for (what appeared to be) a bunch of dusty old poems, speeches, etiquette books and divination manuals? Rather, the overarching purpose of the Five Classics is to serve as wisdom literature, in a sense which parallels the Semitic Psalms, Proverbs and Ecclesiastes.
The substance of the Marquis’s self-critique at the end of the Documents is that he had made himself the reference-point. He chose his advisors based on how they would accommodate him. That turned out to be an error which he subsequently was given the grace to correct. The key correction that the Documents wants us to observe, is that the Marquis of Qin demoted himself from being the ‘head’. He put his trust in the ‘heads’ that have yellow hair—symbolising not just old age but ancestral wisdom, the wisdom of the ‘yellow earth’. Do you see the shift?
And then his descendant Ying Zheng goes out and conquers China by the sword… only to lose it again after his death. You can only shake your head.
Hey, that’s what the Psalmist did.
[1] Legge interprets this as three cardinal festivals setting out seasonal observances for the timing of agricultural tasks. This is a valid reading, but it is likely also a cosmological reference to the triad Heaven-earth-people 天地人.