The year is Dingmao (丁卯), and the month corresponds to Wushe (无射, the ninth lunar month). The weather is cold, the nights are long, and the wind is bleak and desolate. The wild geese are migrating, and the grass and trees have turned yellow and shed their leaves. I, Master Tao, am about to bid farewell to this inn of the mortal world, and return forever to my true, eternal home. My old friends grieve and mourn for me; tonight, they perform the ancestral farewell rites for me. They offer fine vegetables and present clear wine. But my face has already faded into darkness, and my hearing grows ever more numb. Alas, what sorrow!
Vast is the boundless earth; endless is the high, blue sky. They give birth to the myriad things, and I was granted the fortune to be human. Since becoming human, I have encountered the poverty of fate. My bamboo basket and gourd were often empty, and in winter, I wore only thin linen. Yet, carrying joy, I drew water from the valley; singing as I walked, I carried firewood on my back. My humble brushwood gate, shaded by trees, served me from dusk till dawn. As spring and autumn alternated, I attended to the tasks in my garden; I hoed and planted, nurturing the crops as they grew and flourished. I rejoiced in plain books and found harmony in the seven-stringed zither. In winter, I basked in the sun; in summer, I washed in the cool springs. I labored diligently, leaving no spare energy, yet my heart was constantly at leisure. Embracing heaven and accepting my lot, I lived out my hundred years.
Everyone cherishes this span of a hundred years, fearing that their lives will end without achievement, thus anxiously cherishing every passing day. They wish to be valued by the world while alive, and remembered after death. Alas, I alone have taken a different path; in this, I am entirely different from them. Favor is not my glory; how could the black mud ever dye my pure white silk? In my humble, impoverished cottage, I stand tall and aloof, drinking deeply and composing poetry. Knowing the workings of fate and understanding my destiny, who could say I have been without purpose? Now that I am undergoing this transformation, I can depart without regret. Having lived past sixty, and admiring the great recluses, I have grown old and reached my natural end. What more could I possibly yearn for?
Cold and heat continue their relentless march; death is fundamentally different from life. My distant relatives arrive at dawn; my dear friends rush here in the night. I am buried in the wild, open fields, that my soul may rest in peace. Deep and dark is my journey; bleak and desolate are the gates of my tomb. I am ashamed of the extravagance of the Song minister, and I would laugh at the extreme frugality of Wang Sun. All is vast and extinguished; my sighs have faded into the distant past. I shall have no burial mound and no trees planted by my grave. As the sun and moon pass by, who values the praises of the past, or the songs of the future? Human life is indeed arduous; what, then, is death? Alas, what sorrow!
Note
Historical Background: A Poet’s Final Words
ThisSelf-Elegy was written in September 427 CE (the fourth year of the Yuanjia era under Emperor Wen of the Liu Song Dynasty). Tao Yuanming was 63 years old. Sensing his declining health, he composed this piece to summarize his life, express his unwavering moral integrity, and bid farewell to the world. Just three months later, the great poet passed away. It serves as his ultimate philosophical testament.
Embracing Heaven and Accepting Fate
This is the core of Tao’s life philosophy. “Embracing heaven” means aligning oneself with the natural order of the universe, while “accepting fate” means peacefully accepting one’s personal lot in life, whether it be wealth or poverty. By adopting this mindset, a person can maintain inner peace, untroubled by external rewards or punishments, and free from material desires. This Daoist-inspired philosophy allowed him to find profound joy in his simple, impoverished farming life.
Echoing Yan Hui: Joy in Poverty
When Tao writes that “my bamboo basket and gourd were often empty”, he is directly invoking the most famous symbol of moral purity in Confucian history: his disciple Yan Hui. Confucius praised Yan Hui by saying, “Virtuous indeed was Yan Hui! Living in a humble alleyway, with a single bamboo basket of rice and a single gourd of water, others could not bear such distress, but Yan Hui never altered his joyful disposition.”
Tao uses this exact imagery not to complain about his poverty, but to proudly align himself with the ancient sage. For both Yan Hui and Tao, true happiness is not derived from material abundance, but from the spiritual fulfillment of adhering to one’s moral principles (the Dao). Their poverty is a testament to their unyielding character.
The Unyielding White Silk
This line uses a beautiful metaphor from the Analects to express his moral purity. “How could the black mud ever dye my pure white silk?” The white silk represents his uncorrupted character and noble spirit, while the black mud symbolizes the corrupt, treacherous political environment of his era. Despite living in a highly oppressive and autocratic time where intellectuals were constantly persecuted, Tao maintained his integrity and refused to compromise his principles for worldly success.
Extravagance vs. Extreme Frugality in Burial
Tao advocates for a moderate, natural approach to death, rejecting both extremes.
- The Song Minister: This refers to Huan Tui (桓魋), a high official of the State of Song during the Spring and Autumn period. He was the one who once wanted to kill Confucius. He spent three years building an extravagant stone outer coffin, exhausting the craftsmen. Confucius heavily criticized this as overly luxurious and a waste of human life. Tao feels ashamed of such vanity.
- Wang Sun: This refers to Yang Wangsun (杨王孙) of the Han Dynasty, who instructed his children to bury him naked in a simple cloth sack, directly touching the earth. Tao finds this extreme asceticism equally absurd.
By rejecting both, Tao establishes his own ideal: a natural, unpretentious return to the earth.
No Mound, No Trees
In ancient China, high-ranking officials often had large burial mounds and rows of trees planted around their tombs to display their status. Tao explicitly rejects this, stating he will have neither. This aligns with the Book of Rites, which dictates that commoners should not build mounds or plant trees. By identifying as a commoner, Tao makes a final, defiant statement against social hierarchy and posthumous vanity.
The Ultimate Sigh: “Human Life is Indeed Arduous”
Throughout his life, Tao projected an image of serene detachment. However, in this final farewell, the suppressed sorrow of a brilliant scholar whose ideals were crushed by a dark era finally surfaces. “Human life is indeed arduous; what, then, is death?” This concluding question is not a fear of death, but a profound, lingering sigh over the immense difficulty of living a meaningful life in a flawed world. It strips away the romanticized veil of the “happy hermit,” leaving behind a deeply human and universally resonant truth.
自祭文
陶渊明 〔魏晋〕
岁惟丁卯，律中无射。天寒夜长，风气萧索，鸿雁于征，草木黄落。陶子将辞逆旅之馆，永归于本宅。故人凄其相悲，同祖行于今夕。羞以嘉蔬，荐以清酌。候颜已冥，聆音愈漠。呜呼哀哉！
茫茫大块，悠悠高旻，是生万物，余得为人。自余为人，逢运之贫，箪瓢屡罄，絺绤冬陈。含欢谷汲，行歌负薪，翳翳柴门，事我宵晨，春秋代谢，有务中园，载耘载籽，乃育乃繁。欣以素牍，和以七弦。冬曝其日，夏濯其泉。勤靡余劳，心有常闲。乐天委分，以至百年。
惟此百年，夫人爱之，惧彼无成，愒日惜时。存为世珍，殁亦见思。嗟我独迈，曾是异兹。宠非己荣，涅岂吾缁？捽兀穷庐，酣饮赋诗。识运知命，畴能罔眷。余今斯化，可以无恨。寿涉百龄，身慕肥遁，从老得终，奚所复恋！
寒暑愈迈，亡既异存，外姻晨来，良友宵奔，葬之中野，以安其魂。窅窅我行，萧萧墓门，奢耻宋臣，俭笑王孙，廓兮已灭，慨焉已遐，不封不树，日月遂过。匪贵前誉，孰重后歌？人生实难，死如之何？呜呼哀哉！
Leave a Reply