Dr Isabelle Sancho

Confucian identity, political ideals and philosophical exegesis: the reception and reappraisal of Neo-Confucianism in the beginnings of Chosŏn Korea

Chosŏn Korea is commonly described as having elevated Neo-Confucianism to the status of state ideology, in contrast to Koryŏ period, which is defined as a Buddhist state. The adjective Confucian is then often used to qualify the institutions, bureaucratic system, examination system, and scholar-officials of Chosŏn period. A major trend in the academic world is to study Confucianism as an ideology, deliberately chosen and used by the specific social groupor even social classof yangban, in order to secure its political and economical predominance, aristocratic status, and social prestige. This type of studies, both in South Korea and Western countries, has allowed a better understanding of the history of Chosŏn period since a few decades, and is still a work in progress that might successfully develop further. However, one might deplore that this approach is massively focused, especially in Western scholarship, on the second half of Chosŏn period. Confucianism or what we call Neo-Confucianism is mostly studied through the single prism of its social and cultural impact, its actual effects and results rather than its nature and features. For instance, the neologism of Confucianization has been used to define the continuous spread and acculturation of Confucian values, practices, rituals and norms in the whole Korean society from the 17 th century on, and which remaining traces can still be found in contemporary South Korea. However, the formation of an ideology that could be defined as Neo-Confucian in the Korean elites, who are the very actors of this process, has been running from the 13 th and 14 th centuries to the very end of the 16 th century. This first stage of the Confucianization of Koreaor

conversely the Koreanization of Confucianismcould be called the Confucianization of the scholar-officials. This rather fascinating phenomenon, which lasted three to four centuries, is crucial to understanding precisely the later Confucianization of the Korean society. Besides, the studies in social history tend to consider Confucianism as a fixed ideology, a body of principles and rules supposed to be known by almost anybody. By doing so, they tend to erase and forget the human and thus shifting dimension of Neo-Confucianism. Confucianism might indeed be defined also as what generations of Confucian scholars identify themselves with, that is to say what explains the worldview as well as the diverse practices and discourses of these Confucians. Confucianism is an historical phenomenon that it is both an ideology and a philosophy. It is related to both collective and individual levels. It concerns a variety of mindsets, discourses, and practices that have been changing in the course of history. This complexity should be also what has to be explained in Korean history, rather than only what explains it. To put in other words, instead of conveying the rather vague notion of influencethe influence of Neo-Confucian ideologyas a master-key explanation, it is worth examining the very making of the Korean Neo-Confucian ideology in itself. Neo-Confucianism is not solely a package of texts, concepts and rules chosen at random one day in the Chinese market of ideas, to be transported and transplanted mechanically in Korea in order to secure the predominance of an elite, crystallized in its own arrogancea morgue based on painfully acquired skills for Byzantine debates. I am deliberately using a provocative image, for I would like to underline the limit, and even the danger of speaking of Neo-Confucianism as a fixed ideology that has no history. Besides its nature of an academic subject studied for two centuries now, Neo-Confucianism is indeed part of the memory and the national identity of contemporary Korean society. It is then an important task to avoid the temptation of either oversimplification or idealization. To illustrate the interest of considering Neo-Confucianism as a progressively built and shifting ideology, and to try to understand the mechanisms that might be at work in its building, I would like to invite you today to follow the tribulations of a text from Song and Yuan China to Korea, the Great Learning, one of the Four Books of the Neo-Confucian orthodox corpus (sishu/sasŏ 四書), as well as one of its most important philosophical notions: chŏngsim 正心, "straightening one's heart".

The reception of Neo-Confucianism in Korea is often traced back to the end of the 13 th century and the beginning of the 14 th century, with An Hyang 安珦 (1243-1306) and Kwŏn Po 權溥 (1262-1346) who introduced the Chinese Neo-Confucian texts, and especially the works of Zhu Xi 朱熹 . But this reception is difficult to date precisely, for it probably started already since the early Song period through diplomatic, commercial and scholarly exchanges between China and Korea. Since the reception of a thought is neither imposed by force nor a sudden event, and since it is the fruit of a convergence of many different causes and shifts in history, the interesting question is: 56.26,Dong Zhongshu zhuan). Besides, this theory is focusing on the well-known paradigm of the Great Learning. Indeed, the programmatic text of the Great Learning, which was exhumed from secularly oblivion and has been considerably rearranged by Zhu Xi, could be summarized in one sentence or one slogan: xiuji zhiren/sugi ch'iin 修己 治人, "cultivating one's self in order to participate in the socio-political ordering". The text is constructed in the shape of a funnel describing the successive steps to follow in order to achieve the Confucian main goal: cultivating one's self to transform the society and the world, and thus "bringing peace (that is to say the proper equilibrium) to everything under heaven" (ping tianxia/p'yŏng ch'ŏnha 平天下). This particular construction of the text not only facilitates the memorization, for it allows mnemonic recitation, but it also emphasizes one core step that plays the role of a pivot or crucial point of an extreme tension, chŏngsim 正心: "Self-cultivation lies in straightening one's heart" (修己在正其心, Great Learning). In the Yuan Neo-Confucianism formalized by Xu Heng, in Zhen Dexiu's wake, "straightening one's heart" is both the final result of self-cultivation and the source from which order, harmony and peace could literally gush out. It is the articulation between the two Confucian imperatives of "self cultivation" (xiuji/sugi 修己) and "ordering the state" (zhiren/ch'iin 治人). It is the One that could control the multiplicity in philosophical terms. In the Yuan orthodox version of Neo-Confucianism, this notion of "straightening one's heart" is mostly interpreted as "straightening the heart of the sovereign", zheng junxin/chŏng kunsim 正君心. This gloss, notably based on two quotations attributed to Mencius, highlights the role of the educators of the sovereign: 1) "Mencius said: regarding the men [who are governing], it is not sufficient to discuss their personal abilities, regarding the way they are governing, it is not sufficient to criticize the dysfunctions: only a great man is able to correct the errors of the Prince's heart." (孟子曰:人不足與適也, 政不足間也, 惟大人為能格君 心之非, Mengzi IV.A.20); 2) "When Mencius came to visit for the third time king Xuan, he did not talk about governmental matters. His disciples asked then him: How is it that you visit three times the king of Qi without talking about government? Mencius answered: I must first fight his lopsided heart." (孟子三見宣王, 不言事. 門人曰: 曷為三遇齊王而 不言事? 孟子曰: 吾先攻其邪心, Xunzi 27). In the original Confucian perspective, the Sovereign should be a Saint, in the sense of accomplished human being. But another ancient Confucian idea reinforced in Neo-Confucianism is that a Sovereign is not Saint by birth. Just like any other man, he has to conquer his own humanity by cultivating himself properly. But, because most of the time he is randomly gifted with the throne, it falls to him, more than any other man, to become a Sage. For this purpose, he must study texts. But, as the Confucian Learning has strongly stressed since the Antiquity and the Analects of Confucius especially, he also must be helped and seconded by wise and sincere men. Neo-Confucian scholars reinforced this idea that a sovereign, who might be a young boy or even a Barbarian, must get educated by skilled tutors and counselors, and must be later advised constantly in his actual practice of power. As one can easily notice, one major aim of such a theory, which has been elaborated by scholar-officials, is to strengthen the role of these men defending their power and their position. But it is also important to understand that they were trying to prevent the pitfalls of despotism and excessive authoritarianism. Firstly, Zhen Dexiu's interpretation of the Great Learning has been used to strengthen the royal authority and support its aura inside and outside the peninsula. The work of Zhen Dexiu and the diverse exegesis that followed were part of the cultural products exchanged between Ming China and Chosŏn Korea through scholarly and diplomatic exchanges. Besides, in Korea, these texts have been especially studied extensively by a few kings with a high sense of royal authority, and who were using this Neo-Confucian ideology to reinforce it: T'aejong 太宗, Sejong 世宗 (r. 1418-1450) and Chungjong 中宗 (r. 1506-1544). For these kings, the texts related to Zhen Dexiu's version of the Great Learning were subject to royal patronage. For example, they ordered several printings and commentaries, and they publicly offered selected extracts to their officials or the royal family. Both the kings and the scholars emphasized that these texts were not only needed for royal learning in the Royal Lessons (kyŏngyŏn 經筵), but that they were also strongly participating in the building of royal authority.

Secondly, exegetical practices have participated in the strategy of Korean scholars to defend their own position in this apparently sovereign-centered ideology. In China, Zhen Dexiu's work inspired a 15 th century Ming scholar-official, Qiu Jun 丘/邱濬 (1420-1495), a monumental Supplement: the Daxue yanyibu 大學衍義補. Qiu's work is a gigantic administrative textbook, and has been used in Ming and Qing China and in Chosŏn Korea for a long time. Zhen Dexiu's Daxue yanyi was a general work and it was idealistic, for it considered that concrete administration does not need to be explained in detail, since it will necessarily and naturally follow through the Sovereign's proper selfcultivation. Even when it discussed concrete, and even trivial details by examining precedents in history (like exerting a strict control over the extended imperial family, or even letting the emperor wear the pants in inner apartments), the Daxue yanyi remains in the wake of Zhu Xi's idealism and focuses on the first part of the Great Learning's paradigm: the self-cultivation. On the contrary, the Daxue yanyibu of Qiu Jun is overflowing with concrete and technical details, often accompanied with figures and numbers. It deals with public finances, military organization, transportations, hydraulic control, taxes, etc. Qiu Jun explained that he wanted to supply the shortcomings of Zhen's work concerning the second part of the paradigm: ordering the state. In Korea, these two texts were studied in the first half of Chosŏn. But a controversy took place in the 15 th and 16 th centuries to determine which text should have the priority in the royal curriculum, not to mention the existing Korean revisions of Zhen and Zhu Xi's works on the Great Learning. Today, some Korean scholars are arguing that the Daxue yanyibu of Qiu Jun was preferred by conservative scholar-officials, the so-called representatives of posu seryŏk 保守勢力, whereas the reformist scholars, the sarim 士林, preferred the Daxue yanyi of Zhen. Even if the rigid opposition between these two tendencies usually underlined by Korean historiography (conservatives versus reformist sarim) could be questioned because of its very rigidity, it is nevertheless important to understand that the Korean scholars were profoundly divided on the curriculum that should be studied by kings. This division is interesting, for it gives a possible explanation of the difference between the Chinese and Korean histories of Neo-Confucianism and bureaucracy. preface, Yi Sŏkhyŏng is quite condescending with his royal pupil, and enounces imperatives and strict rules with a doctoral tone. The reason is that he is talking from the viewpoint of a scholar who survived the terrible and successive waves of the 15 th century literati purges, and the reign of six different kings. When he addressed his work to Sŏngjong, he was an old man who occupied one of the most prominent positions in the bureaucracy. Aware of his mission of education and his moral superiority, Yi Sŏkhyŏng expresses himself with all the legitimacy of the tutor and the Neo-Confucian scholar. As for Yulgok, he presented his famous Sŏnghak chipyo 聖學輯要 in 1575 to the king Sŏnjo 宣祖 (r. 1568-1608). Contrary to Yi Sŏkhyŏng, he is elaborating in his voluminous work some new interpretations of the paradigm of the Great Learning and turns back to certain aspects of Zhen Dexiu's ideas by enlarging his explanation to the Four books but also the Ancient Classics, and expressing his own, original ideas. But the peri-texts of the Sŏnghak chipyo are also interesting, and even fascinating. His preface and his address to the throne especially have been written in the specific context of the beginning of the factional strives at court, a phenomenon that worsened so much in the following centuries so that they tended to even discredit the whole Neo-Confucianism of the Chosŏn period.

Yulgok was torn between different streams and ceaselessly pressured by both his excited friends and the high officials above him. However, in this context of serious divisions among the scholar-officials inside and outside the court, he affirms again and again the necessity of a collegial power. He appeals to a strong royal power, but he also defends the prominence of the scholars, by stressing notably that without the scholars, the king is almost nothing. His tone is more deferent and, conversely, much more sharp than his predecessor's. To understand fully this point, the relationship between Yulgok and Sŏnjo should be explained, as well as Yulgok's personality. But I will content myself today to summarize the interest of these two works, when compared to each other and with Chinese texts. Yi Sŏkhyŏng and Yulgok's works are mainly destined to their respective kings: Sŏngjong and Sŏnjo. They are designed for didactic use and are not primarily destined for posterity, contrary to Zhu Xi and Zhen Dexiu's works. They are circumstantial works. Besides, contrary to the Chinese works, they reveal an intimate relationship between the kings and the scholars. They were produced by the actual practice of counseling and educating the prince in daily audiences, and they are expressing the astonishing intimacy between these men, beyond their respective status. These two general features recount one strong particularity of Korean reappraisal of the "Learning for the Sovereign": the focus on the collegiality of power and the interpersonal relationship between a prince and his ministers.

To deepen this general overview, it is now necessary to examine the Korean exegesis of the notion of "straightening one's heart" that was, as we already noticed, the key notion of the Neo-Confucianism centered on the Great Learning received from Yuan China. But first of all, what does chŏngsim mean? Contrary to what one can think at first sight, chŏngsim does not designate any coercive action exerted from outside on the mind/heart. The character zheng/chŏng 正, as shown in its very graphic, refers to an axis, or even the hinge of a door. It bears similar ideas as the character zhong/chung 中 which does not designate a vague "middle", but rather the center of gravity, the concentration of maximum tension and the ultimate point of equilibrium. So "straighten" does not mean forcing to become straight or obeying blindly to fixed rules or principles. It means "putting in its own, proper axis", and the goal is to get the most efficient functioning, or even growingsince the authors are conveying metaphors taken from the observation of nature: a plant, a source, etc. Chŏngsim is a working out, the gongfu/kongbu exerted on the mind/heart to let it function properly, but it is also the result of this work. That is why it is the ultimate point of self-cultivation, and the articulation between this inner training and its outer expression that is supposed to be a natural extension or growing. There is no actual distinction between the inner and the outer sides which are in a relation of continuity. Far from the legalist viewpoint, Confucianism stresses the natural aspect of ethical cultivation, and Neo-Confucianism reinforced the idea of a vital energy at work. The discussions about the Principle and the Vital Energy (LiQi/yiki 理氣), which are sometimes regarded as abstruse and purposeless speculations repeated by goatee elders of past and present, are in fact attempts to explain this vital process through which men become really men. The problem is: how can a human being really become what he is destined to be, that is to say a real man, and then the third agent of the famous cosmic triad (Heaven/Earth/Man) ruling the universe. The meaning of "real" in "real man" is shi/sil 實, that is to say something full, or the pit of a fruit. From this pit, another fruit could be generated in a natural process, at the condition of course to be cultivated properly, that is to say in conformity with its nature. So Neo-Confucian discourse and philosophy is a reflection and an explanation of humanity, and the human "psychophysiological" functioning in order to achieve the ideal society. Highly stimulated by the rebirth of the Yijing studies in Song, Neo-Confucianism is indeed interested in grasping the very seed, source and pit of human potentiality, in order to try to master the growing process. Chŏngsim is then one of the core notions used to explain and find out the secret of ideal governing and ideal society. That is also why Neo-Confucianism elaborated so many theories and debated so passionately on the emotions, feelings, thoughts, etc, that is to say all the aspects and expressions of the functioning of the mind/heart, the seat of the full, concentrated human potential.

Let us now return to our analysis of the Korean exegesis of chŏngsim. A minute analysis of the meaning and the use of this notion of chŏngsim in the Annals of Chosŏn, but also in the remaining various collected writings of Korean scholars from the end of Koryŏ to the end of the 16 th century has indeed showed interesting, significant results.

Firstly, the notion of heart has been the very bone of contention between Buddhists and Neo-Confucians. The criticisms against Buddhism have allowed the Korean Neo-Confucians to shape their own philosophical specificity around the notion of "straightening one's heart" which became the core notion of the Confucian Way, which combines consubstantially self-cultivation and socio-political ordering. In Korea, the chŏngsim is part of the self-definition of the Neo-Confucians.

Secondly, chŏngsim is treated more in a political perspective than in a strictly philosophical perspective. The notion is found recurrently in official texts presented to the king or to be read at court, but it seldom appears in personal studies and scholarly notes. In the Korean understanding of it, the work of chŏngsim is part of the "Learning of the Sovereign" and has mainly two possible and interdependent applications. These two focuses of interest are the king on the one hand, and the scholar-officials taken as a unitary body on the other hand. The well-known metaphor of the king as the heart, and the bureaucracy the body that moves and controls the whole country is fully exploited.

Thirdly, the whole discussion and exegesis of scholar-officials on chŏngsim in the paradigm of the Great Learning and the "Learning for the Sovereign" is the expression of an acute and complex reflection on the distortion between actual practice of power or deceptive reality, and the Neo-Confucian idealist theory. In their commentaries, Korean scholars are progressively building a theory that seems a first sight contradictory, since it is both monarchical and collegial. These commentaries are worth studying, since they are showing again different strategies at work. To sum up, Korean scholars are emphasizing the chŏngsim applied to the sovereign by using new quotations to support their theory, as for example "If the Prince is straightened, nothing will lack straightness; it is only if we straighten the Prince that the state will be durably stable." 君正莫不正, 一 正君而國定矣 (Mengzi IV.A.20). The recourse to such a quotation carefully selected in the orthodox corpus is participating in a deliberate strategy to only focus on the sovereign responsibility, instead of the sharing of power. Depending on the circumstances, scholars are either emphasizing the collegiality of power, and then their own position, or conversely they are stressing the king's ultimate responsibility. But the imperative of chŏngsim is much stricter regarding the ruler. There are of course philosophical explanations to this, but another explanation is a certain feeling of confusion. Indeed, many writings prove that these scholars were capable of self-affirmation to defend their position, sometimes with surprising vehemence. So the highlight on the monarchical power might be surprising. One possible explanation is that these scholars were in fact deeply puzzled and felt impuissant: in the idealist ideology they have built, they were supposed to be a unitary body, but they were in fact deeply divided.

Lastly, the exegesis of chŏngsim is focusing on the necessary interdependence between the king's heart and his ministers' heart. The interdependence between the two poles of the collegial power stressed in the commentaries of the Great Learning and the "Learning for the Sovereign" is mainly expressed in this ideal of a direct and sincere transparency of feelings and thought. The mutual and common practice of chŏngsim by the kings and the scholar-officials is supposed to unite and associate them in the same unique quest: governing, according to the Confucian ideal. This theory was not only produced in the theoretical discourse, but it was also actually in practice at Chosŏn's court. One striking feature of the history of the whole Chosŏn period is this particular relationship uniting the scholars and the kings. Many stories and accounts that can be found in the Annals and the collected writings of scholars witness this actual practicing of the Confucian ideals, this conjunction of theory and practice.

In conclusion, what must be underlined is that, as this general overview of the reception of Neo-Confucianism in Korea has tried to illustrate, the Yuan version of Song Neo-Confucianism received in Korea was basically political and practice-oriented. The specific features of the historical context from mid-Koryŏ to mid Chosŏn have also reinforced this orientation. However, this ideology of the "Learning for the Sovereign", its focus on the ideal paradigm of the Great Learning, and even the sophisticated exegesis of the notion of chŏngsim have been repeated and reinforced for centuries from the 14 th to the 16 th century partly because it was a dream, a theory based on political ideals. In fact, the very repetition of the same ideas, presented in various and different angles through shifting exegesis and commentaries, is telling about the actual feeling of failure by a few scholars. This feeling of failure was increased by the actual attempts to practice these political ideals in real administration. It was also combined with a deeply contradictory and complex identity that might have notably led to the change in the selfrepresentation of Neo-Confucian scholars in the 16 th century, and then to the later Confucianization of the society.

As the sinologist Pr. de Bary has explained, Song Neo-Confucianism was marked by the stigma of heresy and martyrdom. The energy of its representatives was that of the oppressed people, and this desperate energy might explain their ability to survive the Mongol conquest and access to orthodoxy. In Korea, the history of Neo-Confucianism was also marked at first by martyrdom, but a martyrdom that was paradoxically generated by the accession to orthodoxy in Chosŏn. The idealism of Koryŏ reformists remained intact in the first centuries of the Yi dynasty, and it explains the astonishing energy of the scholars to maintain their power in spite of the real martyrdom they have lived.

  figure is Chŏng Tojŏn 鄭道傳 (1342-1398), the so-called architect or ideologist of Chosŏn. I would like to add that the reception of Neo-Confucianism is more precisely the result of the alchemy between diverse reformist aspirations among a few scholar-officials with a strong sense of mission and the highly formalized ideology of the Yuan version of Cheng/Zhu Neo-Confucianism. The fortune of Neo-Confucianism in East Asia is much indebted to the Mongol conquests and domination. The reception of Neo-Confucianism in Korea is intimately linked to this period, and the specific features of the Yuan version of Song Neo-Confucianism have partly determined the later Korean development and reappraisal. The Yuan Neo-Confucianism could be summed up as been designed and formalized by Xu Heng 許衡 (1209-1281), the teacher of Kubilai (emperor Shizong 世 宗 ; 1260-1294) who played a decisive role to "sinicize" the Mongol dynasty. Xu Heng is the spiritual heir of Zhen Dexiu 真德秀 (1178-1235) of Southern Song (1127-1279), aChinese dynasty that has been forced to flee to the South from Jürchen and Mongol's invasions and attacks. Zhen Dexiu is well known for having systematized the theory of the "Learning for the Sovereign", dixue/chehak 帝學 and centered it on one text and one notion: the Great Learning (Daxue/Taehak 大學), and "straightening one's heart"

  For the Korean scholar-officials studying at Beijing from the middle of Koryŏ, the example of what han scholars like Xu Heng have done with the Mongol emperors might have been a good stimulation. It is not surprising that the Korean scholar-officials, whose power has been progressively growing throughout the whole Koryŏ dynasty, could have been seduced by this theory of the necessary collegiality of power. But to understand fully the attraction of Neo-Confucianism on Korean scholars, a few features of the late Yuan and Koryŏ period should be recalled. The late Mongol rule was characterized by a rather innovative mindset in a context of cosmopolitanism resembling much that of Tang times. In this context, the transformation of the multi-faced Song Neo-Confucianism into a simplified and unique version paradoxically enlarged the prospects of what Confucianism could be, and above all what it could do. Neo-Confucianism has reached one of its first major peeks when it became a worldview that can be universalized to anyone, even a barbarian ruler. The Yuan version of Neo-Confucianism transcended the supposed limits of the Confucianism of preceding periods.It ceased to be an ensemble of rather meaningless political recipes based on erudite quotations and exegesis recited either for examinations, or for frivolous and aristocratic pastime. The zeal, energy and creativity of Yuan Chinese scholars to produce in a rather short period of time an efficient ideology to build a strong state under a foreign rule might have exerted a huge attraction on their Korean counterparts. The Neo-Confucian revolution has been understood and theorized as an ideology capable of civilizing any country, and as a practical learning, a shixue/sirhak 實學. This name has been given to Neo-Confucianism by the first Neo-Confucian scholars themselves, but it is of course different from the so-called sirhak of the second part of Chosŏn period, for the "practice" here must be understood as ethical praxis. By the way, it is misleading to picture Neo-Confucianism only as metaphysics, by applying too hastily this Western category to an extremely diversified body of theories mainly elaborated by the authors to discuss ethics and politics in an epoch marked by highly technical philosophical discussions. One main feature of the Neo-Confucianism received and developed in the beginnings of Chosŏn Korea is indeed its practical and political orientation. In this perspective, we could even say that Neo-Confucianism kept being mainly a political thought at this period in Korea. Another point worth noting in the explanation of the reception of Neo-Confucianism in Korea is Buddhism. Indeed, Koryŏ scholars have been trained by several centuries of development of Buddhism to use and even excel at manipulating highly elaborated conceptual tools. It is well known that the reception of Neo-Confucianism in Korea went along with criticisms against Buddhism, first at the socioeconomical level, and then at the philosophical level. Beyond the apparent but undeniable aspect of intolerance, what should be understood is that these criticisms have certainly been one of the most evident ways to implement and develop Neo-Confucianism for the scholars of that time. Indeed, criticizing a philosophy and an ideology widely known and mastered by any scholar of the time was certainly the best and fastest way to present and even talk about Neo-Confucianism. When reflecting on the theories of Neo-Confucianism that were introduced by polemical reformists, Korean scholars had already the tools to understand and discuss them easily. Moreover, the orthodox Neo-Confucian focus on the heart, and "straightening one's heart" sounded familiar to the Korean scholars studying Buddhist texts and commentaries that were also dealing with the notion of heart. Neo-Confucian texts conveyed terms that all scholars were familiar with, for Neo-Confucianism shares many terms with Buddhism. But because their meanings are different, Neo-Confucian prose and rhetoric sound paradoxically both familiar and new. The attraction exerted by a new perspective, a new theory on cultivated scholars used to erudite exegetical practices and philosophical discussions have been decisive. The fevered, passionate and sharp debate between Confucians and Buddhists, and especially the Confucian criticisms have played a significant role in the making of one of the most striking and interesting features of the Korean reappraisal of Neo-Confucianism: the shaping of a Confucian identity. The reception of Neo-Confucianism in Korea engendered the birth of a new phenomenon of great importance in Korean history: the self-consciousness of Korean scholars as Confucians, or what I would tentatively call a proper Korean Confucian identity. This phenomenon can notably be examined through the Korean exegesis of the Great Learning and the notion of chŏngsim in the framework of the "Learning for emperors and kings", the chehak 帝學. In my PhD dissertation, I have analyzed the fortune of the Great Learning and its diverse exegesis in Korea from the end of Koryŏ to the end of the 16 th century. One preliminary remark is that the Korean scholars were far more reading and studying Zhen Dexiu's exegesis of the Great learning, the Daxue yanyi 大學衍義, rather than the canonical text itself or even Zhu Xi's orthodox commentary, the Daxue zhangju 大學章句. Although Zhen Dexiu's work was not part of the syllabus for the examinations, it became in fact one of the most important texts read, in Mongol translations, by Mongol emperors, their counselors and part of the bureaucracy since the 1320's in Yuan China. It enjoyed the status of a canonical text, even if it was not part of the orthodox curriculum. This text was most probably introduced in Koryŏ court at the middle of the 14 th century, under the reign of king Kongmin 恭愍 (r. 1352-1374). It was notably read by the so-called sinjin sadaebu, or reformist scholar-officials, but also by two of the first Chosŏn kings, who got their education in Koryŏ: T'aejo 太租 (r.1392-1398) and his son T'aejong 太宗 (r. 1400-1418). After that, his success grew in the first half of Chosŏn and inspired new exegesis by Korean scholars that tell much about the Koreanization of Neo-Confucianism. A study that I conducted in the Annals of Chosŏn shows the two following results.

  Just for a reminder: Chŏng Mongju 鄭夢周 (1337-1392), Yi Sung'in 李崇仁 (1349-1392), and Kim Koengp'il 金宏弼 (1454-1504) have been assassinated; Chŏng Tojŏn executed; Yi Saek 李穡 (1328-1396), Kwŏn Kŭn 權近 (1352-1409), and Chŏng Inji 鄭麟趾 (1396-1478) imprisoned; Hong Kuidal 洪貴達 (1438-1504) strangled; Ha Wiji 河緯地 (1387-1456) quartered; Cho Kwangjo 趙光祖 (1482-1519) ordered to commit suicide, Chŏng Pon 鄭笨 (?-1454) reduced to slavery and finally assassinated; and the corpses of Sŏng Hyŏn 成俔 (1439-1504), Sim Hoe 沈澮 (1418-1493) , Hong Han 洪瀚 (1451-1498) and Kim Chongjik 金宗直 (1431-1492) have been decapitated posthumously after that their tombs have been violated. So, a common identity has been progressively created by this common history of martyrdom in the first centuries of Chosŏn period. However, this identity became also more and more complex. Contrary to the image they were conveying in their philosophical exegesis (that of the unitary body of scholar-officials), the world of scholar-officials was in fact deeply divided. This division can be traced back to the very beginning of the Yi dynasty, and the dynastic transition. By becoming a hereditary social elite and getting more and more stuck to their political duty, which was their very raison d'être, the scholars developed a multi-faced, and even contradictory identity. Their aspirations of being the intellectual and moral aristocracy entered in conflict with the concrete struggles among them, the partisan interests. At the end of the 16 th century, after the trauma of the successive literati purges (sahwa 士禍 1489-1504-1519-1545), the self-representation of the Neo-Confucian scholars might have achieved a deep transformation starting from the very beginning of the reception of Neo-Confucianism. Notably, their self-representation as a group expressed itself in a huge variety of terms to designate the Scholar, the Confucian, or the Minister. Especially, the growing distinction between the scholar on the one hand and the official on the other hand has been increasing. So the Korean Neo-Confucians of the 16 th century tended to transfer and replace their mission from the political and governmental level to the local and social level. The Confucianization of the society could then have started, and the idealism of the first Korean Neo-Confucians found a second birth, a second vitality. Yulgok Yi I and T'oegye Yi Hwang 退溪 李滉 (1501-1570), the two iconic figures of Chosŏn Neo-Confucianism who have paved the way for the Confucianization of Korean society, were living at this transitory period of the history of Korean Confucianism: the 16 th century. Heirs of the first Neo-Confucian scholars of Koryŏ, they have been molded by the progressive and seminal transformation and development of Neo-Confucianism among the ruling elites for three to four centuries. This transformation may have been produced by the rather interesting conjunction of political ideals, philosophical exegesis, and also tormented identity.

Chosŏn Korea and Ming China shared a common ground of Neo-Confucianism, the orthodox Yuan version of it, which stressed the authority of the sovereign. But the Chinese Ming and Qing dynasties became more and more authoritarian states with strong emperors. Then, the bureaucracy tended to become an anonymous body of technicians, who must study in priority practical administrative textbooks like the Daxue yanyibu in order to be good administrators at both central and local levels. On the contrary, prominent Korean scholar-officials whose name are cited in Korean history as great Confucian scholars tended to stress the ideal of a collegial power, shared by the king and his wise counselors. Of course, the features of Chinese and Korean bureaucracies, social organizations and political structures are radically different, and any comparison should be done carefully. However, this tentative and general comparison is interesting for our purpose here. Indeed, the exegetical practices on the Great Learning and the notion of "straightening one's heart" have provided Korean scholar-officials an opportunity to develop their own political ideals and their own identity.

Whereas Chinese official exegesis of the "Learning of the Sovereign" is expressed in a highly technical work like the Daxue yanyibu that bears a strong legal and formalist aspect, Korean exegesis is rather expressed in idealist works that resemble much Zhen Dexiu and even Zhu Xi's models. From the beginning of Chosŏn until the end of the 16 th century, nine scholars are known as having written at least one commentary specifically dedicated to the Great Learning. However only two texts pertain to our discussion: the Taehak yŏnŭi chimnyak 大學衍義輯略 of Yi Sŏkhyŏng 李 石亨(1415-1477) and the Sŏnghak chipyo of Yulgok Yi I 栗谷 李珥 (1536-1584).

Contrary to the other commentaries, these two works have been written in the framework of the "Learning for Sovereign" and are both royal commands. So they not only illustrate the evolving Korean understanding of Zhen's work, but they also reveal the strategy at work in the philosophical exegesis of the scholar-officials. Yi Sŏkhyŏng presented his revision of Zhen's work at the young king Sŏngjong 成宗 (r. 1470-1494), who was fifteen years old in 1472. The main interest of this summary of Zhen's work lies in the appeal to use examples taken from Korean history (the Koryŏsa has been achieved a few years before) rather than Chinese history. Yi Sŏkhyŏng was also more rigorist than Zhen Dexiu regarding the rules that the king must follow in both his attitude and thought. In his


Isabelle Sancho

A glimpse of Confucian scholar's intimacy.

The correspondence of Yulgok Yi I (1536-1584)

like to go against the angelic vision of Confucian scholars as great men, that is to say monolithic men without personal depth and intimate complexity. Beyond the anecdotic and biographical interests, it is worth noticing that this approach is really needed in order to fully understand the Confucian project and worldview from the inside. On the other hand, I would like to take a critical distance from the well-spread utilitarian and cynical vision of Confucianism regarded only as an ideological tool for social reproduction and social control. These two visions, the angelic one and the cynical one, used to be useful to tackle the role and place of Confucianism in history, but they can't avoid the pitfalls of caricature when they are not contrasted and further questioned.

So in this general perspective, letters are of the highest interest for this kind of project. As the latest book directed by Pr Kim Haboush from the University of Columbia, Epistolary Korea, has recently underlined for instance, the very epistolary genre stands between private and public space but also between collective norms and individual freedom. It is thus allowing some insightful glimpses of the intimacy, or the inner world of Confucian scholars. However, such insights are only insights, and, as such, they tend to be largely tentative. Generally speaking, the epistolary corpus can indeed be characterized by: 1) its fragmentary nature, because of both the material and ideological conditions of its transmission; 2) its polymorphous writing, going from self-staging, later censure by disciples and descendants, to the social codes of writing of a specific time. So, as historical sources, letters have to be studied with high caution. In spite of this inherent and undeniable limitation, something interesting can still be found in those stimulating and even sometimes entertaining texts that portray Confucian scholars in some unknown and surprising aspects of their characters.

One attempt to overcome the limitations of the epistolary genre is to combine and contrast multiple case studies with a general analysis. As for now, I have chosen one specific case study, which is part of a long-term research project on the 16 th century Confucian scholars' correspondence. I have chosen Yulgok Yi I, for I have a special empathy for him since I have done my PhD on him (and this kind of strong relationship is, I guess, needed in order to hold a detailed investigation in a voluminous amount of texts written in Classical Chinese), but also because he is a pretty good choice for my project. Indeed, Yulgok is basically a cliché. He is one of the few great men Korean people like to put front and center as icons and symbols of their national pride. Let me remind that Yulgok is printed, as well as his contemporary and elder T'oegye Yi Hwang, on bank notes in South Korea. He is the paragon of the Korean Confucian man, since he was an important state man as well as the supposed founder of one Korean Neo-Confucian school, the Kiho hakp'a 畿湖學派. Lastly, his special aura is also due to his mother, Sin Saimdang, who is, as for her, the paragon of the ideal Confucian woman, that is to say the perfect daughter, mother and wife, but also a decent female painter. So, precisely because of his memorial stature in contemporary Korea as well as his own fame in his lifetime, many of Yulgok's writings have been retained and compiled in spite of the losses due to the foreign invasions of the 17 th century. His collected writings, the Yulgok Chŏnsŏ, are thus providing a sizeable amount of texts, especially private, or to be more precise semiprivate texts.

It is worth noticing, indeed, that defining the intimacy and the privacy of many writings resembles sometimes an intellectual challenge for pre-modern Korea. What we call a letter is not that easy to identify in scholars' collected works. Epistolarity, that is to say, etymologically, "addressing to others with letters", implies a few basic characteristics of the very epistolary genre. Among them, let's cite the indications of time and space, an opening with the mention of the addressee, and the ending with a set phrase and the signature. In most cases, scholars' letters don't include all these elements and, sometimes, it even happens that none of these elements is present. So letters are usually identified and located in the Collected writings, the munjip, thanks to their classification under the category "letters" (mainly sŏ 書; but also pyŏlji 別紙 or kandok 簡牘). But, it often happens too that some fragments of letter, full letters as well as little notes that are not classified in this category can be found elsewhere in the munjip. As for example, official year-by-year biography (yŏnbo 年譜) usually quotes parts of letters regarded as representative of something substantial and telling about the life and work of a scholar, with the precision "to be found in this edition". This very practice is interesting, for it reminds us that there is always a selection process that is going on in the compilation of one specific scholar's writings. Besides, the official biography and the classification of the texts inside the Collected writings are certainly implementing a sort of reading convention that gives shape to our understanding of one scholar's life and work.

Especially, only a few texts are highlighted and pointed out to the reader in the biography of a munjip. As for Yulgok's letters, what is underlined as meaningful markers of his life is mainly his philosophical correspondence -with T'oegye and Sŏng Hon as for example.

Since most of the manuscripts are now lost, the authenticity and the very textual integrity of the collected writings can't be checked. So what can be investigated nowadays is only a very fragmentary corpus that is, moreover, heavily tributary to the strategies that have been involved in the building of both familial and scholarly lineages.

Another reason why it is difficult to identify and even locate what we would like to call today a letter is due to a certain amount of notes and little texts addressed to others for specific occasions and that are not properly labeled as letters. There are, as for the Yulgok Chŏnsŏ: 1) the official letters and memos addressed to the king or colleagues, the sŏ 疏, kye 啓, ŭi 議 (131 texts from 1565 to 1583), 2) the sŏ 序, which are not prefaces but short notes given as presents to friends after a meeting or for special occasions (8 texts), 3) and even some poems also offered as presents to friends who are taking leave after a visit or who are leaving for a diplomatic mission to China. I would also like to mention two other important difficulties when locating and studying scholars' letters. Firstly, some letters sent by one scholar have to be found out in another scholar' collected works. Secondly, it is the lack or simply the loss of most of the answers. We are then left with only one side of a correspondence and we are reduced to listen only to one side of a fragmentary dialogue. Yulgok's case is pretty representative, for only one exchange of letters with his friend Sŏng Hon can be identified in their respective Collected works. And, among the seven letters supposed to be addressed to Yulgok in Sŏng Hon's works (all consisting in philosophical discussions), only one letter is, in fact, written by Sŏng Hon. The six other letters are Yulgok's answers. Worst, in one letter compiled in Sŏng Hon's collected works, no visual mark has been made between Sŏng Hon's letter and Yulgok's one, and it is just a puzzle to define who is talking.

Besides, a letter listed as one single letter is actually a juxtaposition of fragments of sent and received letters. So, all these material difficulties to study pre-modern scholars' letters tend to argue that this kind of study mainly consists in studying biography and that it is only an anecdotic research. Let's now see how it is in practice.

As for now, I have chosen to limit my research to Yulgok's letters/sŏ in order to have at my disposal a manageable group of texts that are coherent and consistent in both style and content. The main difference between sŏ and other types of letter-like texts lies indeed in the themes and writing codes that are expected from each type of text. Just to recall the cases of the homophone sŏ (the notes offered as gifts to friends and acquaintances) and the circumstantial poems or songs given to friends, they are all referring to conventional topics, notably friendship. They are explaining the relationship between the two protagonists, by giving details about how they met, what interests and ideals they are sharing, and to sum up, how much they like each other. So, even if these texts do illustrate one main function of correspondence taken in a broad sense, that is to say the expressive function (the expression of feelings and the relationship to others), they however heavily rely on the rules of polite society and the literary codes of the time.

In the Collected works of Yulgok, there are 139 letters/ sŏ that have been sent to 24 people over 30 years, from 1554 (Yulgok is then 19 years old) to 1584 (Yulgok dictated a letter to a nephew a few days before his death, at age 49).

When we look at the distribution of these letters, three main addressees who received more than the half of the total letters can be noticed: Song Ikp'il (38 letters), Sŏng Hon (33 letters) and Chŏng Ch'ŏl (25 letters). The three of them are famous Confucian scholars of the 16 th century Korea, so they have had the privilege of having got some of their writings collected and transmitted to posterity through munjip. What is however striking is that, when we are reading the letters that Yulgok send to them, we got the impression that they are really close friends, playing an important role in Yulgok's life. But when we are looking for their own letters to Yulgok in their Collected works, we cannot help but feel disappointed, since we can find no letter sent to Yulgok in Song Ikp'il and Chŏng Ch'ŏl's munjip and, as I already said, there is only one real letter sent to Yulgok in Sŏng Hon's munjip. So we have no choice than limit ourselves to what Yulgok is writing.

Let's then see more precisely the reasons why Yulgok is writing letters, in order to have a general picturing of the epistolary practice at his time. Here are, without order, the main reasons of writing a letter for Yulgok. You will see that this is not far from what we are doing today by e-mails, phone calls and, still sometimes, by letters: 1) inquiring after someone, with a strong emphasis on either health or Confucian Learning 2) asking after someone because he randomly heard about him by another person or a common acquaintance who came to visit him 3) giving the latest news at court, about common friends or about himself (his projects, decisions, etc) 4) protesting about something he heard about himself or others 5) desiring confirmation about important second-hand information or news 6) giving and asking for an advice about a text, a ritual matter or an on-going political or philosophical polemic 7) starting a philosophical discussion about a specific problem 8) thanking for a visit, a letter, a poem 9) continuing a discussion started at a recent meeting 10) asking for an appointment (especially when communicating by letters is not enough to solve a problem or a misunderstanding) 11) delaying a visit or making excuses for not being able to pay a visit 12) (one case) wishing a happy new year 13) asking whether or not the last letter has been received 14) introducing oneself in order to get in touch with someone 15) expressing feelings of friendship and the desire to meet someone again

16) writing on behalf of someone else

To sum up, we can notice here the three traditional functions of a letter: 1) the informative function, 2) the expressive function and 3) the argumentative function.

Yulgok's letters are also providing some interesting information about the practical dimension of the epistolary exchange, notably thanks to a few references made to the very situation of utterance.

As for example, we can see that letters are circulating by the means of a slave or a servant, a friend or a family member. When the servant is sick, as it happened twice to Yulgok, the letter cannot be delivered. Generally speaking, depending on the messenger and the distance between two people, the delivery of a letter can take only a few minutes, or it can be delayed for a couple of months, with the risks of physical damage and loss but also the risk of lacking confidentiality, which is paradoxically one of the main demands for a private letter.

Besides, letters refer to a kind of specific "economy" in terms of writing and reading practices. Letters can be written in bed, dictated, when sick, at night, between two appointments or courtesy visits, in a rush when meeting a potential messenger, in one go or, conversely, with a discontinuation. Letters are also read and read again, detailed, shown to an outsider for a comment, circulated among common friends, copied out, cut up, supplemented with comments and replies, shed tears over, partly recited. So, writing and reading letters are taking an important part of life, and even the most important part of the intimate and private life of a scholar. It is a time-consuming activity as well as a pleasure and a necessity. To sum up, it can be said that it is a sort of art of living or a way of life.

Lastly, letters are going with presents of all kinds: poems, philosophical diagrams, notes, books, inkwell and brush, but also food, grain and medicine. They are parts of the multiple and repetitive proofs of consideration and affection. In their very circulation, one can fully sense the Confucian friendship and sociability on the go, on the making.

Let's now move on to the content of Yulgok's letters. What is he talking about, what is he telling his friends, colleagues, acquaintances but also the king Sŏnjo? Four So, family is certainly not the main topic of Yulgok's letters. Generally speaking, even in Western traditions, the same can be said about the minor presence of intimacy, taken in the narrow sense of family and love life, in real correspondence (I mean in a non literary correspondence) until the 18 th century.

The intimate dimension of Yulgok's correspondence is rather to be found elsewhere. This leads us to tackle now the delicate question of the nature and uses of intimacy in a pre-modern Confucian scholar's letters. Indeed, intimacy is very difficult to define as a universal notion. It might be safer to try to understand it as the sphere of the expression of the self as well as of interpersonal resonance that is created within the specific framework of the mindsets and social practices of a specific time and space. One good possible means to try to understand what was the intimacy of a pre-modern Confucian scholar like Yulgok is thus to study his multi-layered discourse, both theoretical and practical, that can be found in the very specific discursive space created by a letter.

Among the four general topics of Yulgok's letters that I have mentioned earlier, the first two ones are concerning Confucianism in a broad sense. This is not surprising since Yulgok's philosophical debates, notably through letters, are already well-known features of Korean intellectual history. However, no study has underlined yet the common and prosaic use of what is usually thought to be only a philosophical terminology. The obsessive focus on the philosophical content of his discourse tends, indeed, to shade the underlying polyphony of the discourse itself.

Even if it sounds like a truism when we are thinking about it properly, it is worth reminding that when Yulgok is talking about political matters, his health, his progress in the study of Confucian Classics, but also about his feelings and state of mind, he is actually using the same vocabulary as in his most famous philosophical writings. The reason is that, as it is said in the Confucian texts, the Confucian Learning precisely lies in daily life (hakmun chae ŏ iryong 學問在於日用). Besides, there is a continuum between human world and cosmic world (which is summed up in the well know sentence: ch'ŏnin hapil 天人合一). So, terms like yi 理, ki 氣, chŏng 情, sŏng 性, myŏng 命, sim 心, sŏng 誠, kam 感, pal 發, pon 本, chŏng 正 as for instance, that are all significant examples of the linguistic arsenal used in the very technical philosophical discussions are also used, in a pretty pedestrian way, to describe the weather, Yulgok's numerous little diseases and his generally anxious feelings.

You may all already know that one major, essential topic of Korean Neo-Confucianism is, in a nutshell, the control of emotions and how to strengthen human perfectibility -a topic that is usually illustrated by the so-called "four-seven debate" (sadan ch'iljŏngnon) or the controversy about the supremacy of the Yi or that of the Ki, notably between Yulgok and T'oegye. In Yulgok's letters, we can actually sense that this problem is the paradigm or, conversely, the product of his way of seeing and living things in his real, daily life. Even if it is really tricky to demonstrate it, there must have been an interaction, a certain dynamic at play between how Yulgok was seeing things in his own life and what he wrote as a thinker.

To play with words, the control of emotions is precisely what Yulgok, apparently, never achieved in his own life. To summarize in one statement the topics of his letters, and to say it in a bit provocative way, Yulgok's major concern is: himself. The dilemma of his serving or retiring, and the obsessive, invasive topic of his mental and physical weaknesses are the major problems of his life. This is really different from others scholars' letters. Sŏng Hon, for instance, is having a very different character and writing style. So the main autobiographical conclusion we could draw from Yulgok's correspondence is that he was a depressed and maybe a bit hypochondriac man. There is indeed a real sense of melancholy and even a touch of tragedy in his letters. This is precisely providing us an opportunity to further investigate into the relationship between intimacy and epistolarity for a Confucian scholar.

The epistolary writing is often, in its very nature, a hyperbole. It is alternately lyrical, pathetic or polemical. This is due to the fact that expressing oneself is always a self-staging process, especially when the letter is semi-private, semi-public as it was in pre-modern Korea. But this is also due to the specific temporality of the writing of a letter.

Even if a letter is primarily intended to communicate something to someone else, there is an inherent ambiguity and a paradox in this writing, which is in fact a "mono-managed" communication. To say it in other words, the communication by letters is not like a direct dialogue, face to face. It is a monologue, a well controlled monologue. Because of the solemnity of written words, a letter is always written with care, which requires time and often rewriting. In such a process, the hyperbole in both style and content is one of the rhetorical strategies that are commonly used in order to give the illusion of sincerity, transparency and spontaneity to the expression of feelings and thoughts. Yulgok's letters are, in this regard, very illustrative. His letters are literally invaded by sighs, laughs, tears, exclamations of all kinds. As for example, he is using a lot of repetitions and expressions of exclamation like: yŏha yŏha 如何如何, ch'eang ch'eang 切仰切仰, naeha naeha 奈何奈何 (all meaning "What can I do! What can I say! Alas! ), kagwoe kagwoe 可愧 可愧 (What a shame! What a shame!), haengsim haengsim 幸甚幸甚 (What a chance! What a chance!), ch'a kat'an ya 此可嘆也! (This is really pathetic!) ch'a kaso ya 此 可笑也 (This is really laughable!). We could even say that his letters are just full of an "overflowing Ki" (a hoyŏn chi ki 浩然之氣), as Mencius said, but in a different meaning.

Anyway, this hyperbole in both style and content is at the very opposite of the usual writing style of the serious, philosophical and official writings that constitute the main writing production of Yulgok as a high official but also as a respectable Confucian scholar. So, letters are the only one possible space for a free expression of the self, even if this expression does obey some social codes and writing rules. Letters might then have been the main realm of intimacy for Yulgok. In any case, they are the only remains of his intimate life, understood as an expression of his soul-searching.

I would like to evoke here briefly one last characteristic of Yulgok's letters and intimate world. As for any other scholar, most of the remaining letters in his Collected writings are all addressed to his friends: his male, Confucian friends, in a word to his soul-mates in Learning if I may say this. In the Confucian Weltanschauung, friendship is the only one human egalitarian relationship. Indeed, among the oryun, that is to say the Five social relationships metonymical of all human relationships (sovereign/minister, father/son, husband/wife, elder brother/younger brother and friend/friend), the last relationship, that of friendship is the only one egalitarian relationship. Moreover, this relationship is precisely what makes the other vertical relationships possible and even bearable, for it plays the role of the main driving force. Friendship is indeed the only true source of happiness and of the transparency of hearts. So, for a Confucian scholar, friendship is the only refuge, the only support he can get in order to live as a true Confucian. In all his letters, Yulgok is missing his friends, and most of them are conveying the usual message of intimate letters: I think of you. Yulgok is recurrently evoking his loneliness, his constant need to keep in contact and to recall himself to his friends. His incessant laments about himself, his failure as a true Confucian scholar as well as a good official, his life-long sickness and his disillusions are all screams and groans of feelings of despair and loneliness. This point may be worth noticing in order to fully understand another function of letters in Confucian scholar's real life. They are consolation, they are hope. Yulgok is portraying himself as a weak person, as a child who needs care, as an old man who lost all his vital energy, as an empty shell, as dead wood bearing the weight of an entire house, as a mosquito carrying a mountain on his shoulders.

He is calling for attention, friendship and even, in a certain extant, love. So, writing letters is certainly taking an important part in strengthening the will of becoming a true Confucian scholar, that is to say the famous ipchi 立志 , a main notion in Yulgok's life and thought. Thus, writing letters could be regarded as a significant part of the Confucian Learning, taken as a vivid and lively process. Yulgok's well-known philosophical debates through letters are, of course, an illustration of this idea. Speaking of philosophical correspondence, I would just like to remind briefly that this is precisely the main reason why one scholar's letters have been retained, transmitted and collected in munjip. And significant scholars-officials were well-aware of this. As for instance, in one letter to Sŏng Hon, we can see an interesting literary mise en abyme: Yulgok and Sŏng Hon are writing to each other about the great Chinese Neo-Confucian scholar Zhu Xi's philosophical correspondence.

So, by way of conclusion, I would just like to underline again the paradoxical nature of letters. Indeed, they are the only one window giving access to a pre-modern scholar's intimacy. But since they are, basically, a narrative and a discourse (a self-staging discourse as well as a reconstructed discourse in the compilation process of a munjip), they are a double-edged source for historians. However, maybe because of its paradox, the study of letters, at the crossroad between history and literature, is both stimulating and interesting.

To end this long talk, I would like to read a few extracts of Yulgok's correspondence, in order to let you hear Yulgok's own voice, unfortunately in my bad English translation.

To Sŏng Hon: 答成浩原 (1554; Yulgok is 19 years old) "Dear Sŏng Hon, in the last letter you sent me, the words used in your repeated efforts to explain to me your viewpoint are so honest and sincere that they could make a deaf person hear and a blind person see. Even if I am below average, how could I not be sensitive to this or be moved. Ah! What I mean could be understood by nobody but you.

How fortunate I am! How fortunate! Your doubts about me are really well-founded. However, since there is a sort of misunderstanding between us, I would not like to leave something unclear in the knowledge we have of each other, by avoiding telling you my real state of mind. Since my childhood, I have been lazy regarding Learning.

Before age fifteen or sixteen, I did not read that many books. It is only at age seventeen that I started directing my heart towards Learning. After not getting any effective results, I caught in addition a bowel disease and since then, I have not been capable of studying anymore and had to limit myself to silently recollecting some previously read books. One day, I suddenly remembered Confucian masters saying that extensive recitation of books is harmful to the mind/heart and I never recited texts again. I then fully realised that I was not wasting energy anymore and it has now been a few years that I have felt good in my mind. Even if I were not lazy, because of the weakness coming from my disease, I could not show any substantial achievement. What could be said then, since my share at birth has been laziness and I am suffering from this disease. Even if I were whipped everyday to be exhorted to make efforts, I could not do it. What could be said then, since doubts about my zeal… (missing part) and that there is certainly much to be said about it! My character predisposed me to not enjoy bustle and agitation, and I would be happy to spend my time in sitting meditation. That is why those who do not know me are suspicious about my understanding texts. And only those who used to share a common room with me can know my laziness."

To Chŏng Ch'ŏl: 答鄭季涵 (after 1572; Yulgok is more than 37) "Thank you very much for your reply, which I received yesterday. Knowing that you have not recovered yet just makes me feel unhappy. As for me, flu still remains the same with no sign of recovery yet. Although I would like to pay you a visit, I am not capable to do so as for now. What a trouble! I have fully got the meaning of what you have told me.

Besides, if I have been talking about transferring you away, it was precisely in order to show you my consideration, in the name of the duty of giving friends advice. Don't you think that it would not be reasonable if we ever crossed swords without taking account of this? Without meeting and speaking face to face, how could we talk in details? Generally speaking, to sort out any kind of problem, weighing is better than hurrying. Since I cannot do it myself, could you please, elder-brother, come tomorrow for a discussion?" To Song Ikp'il : 答宋雲長 (? 1583; Yulgok is 48 years old) "Receiving several letters from you has been such a good consolation. I wrote an answer a couple of days ago that I gave to your elder brother. I do not know whether you have already read it. Sŏng Hon has been given once more an unusual opportunity to take a position, but although there is no way for him not to face up to his responsibilities, he still has plans in mind to refuse it. That is a pity. But in the end, he will certainly not succeed in retiring. I could not help but feel very concerned once I fully realised that you were declining in health. For me too, the hundreds of worldly flavours have just become tasteless. This is certainly not a sign of my vigour for study, but rather of my getting old.

What can I do, except trusting to luck and leaving all this to destiny! Since I am currently correcting my commentaries of the Elementary Learning, I cannot send them to you. I am sorry I do not have any copy. I will send them to you in a separate note. The story

main topics, which are very closely related to each other, can be roughly noticed: 1) Confucianism (Confucian Learning, texts, rituals, worldview, identity, etc.), 2) the very Confucian dilemma of "serving or retiring" (that is to say, the dilemma between passing the civil service examination and taking a position on the one hand, and staying out of the court and governmental affairs as a retired scholar on the other hand),

3) Yulgok's feelings, state of mind and mood, 4) his bad health.

One of you might ask, for good reasons since the title of this talk is focusing on the idea of "intimacy": How about Yulgok's family? How about his love life?

Unfortunately, you will certainly be as disappointed as I have been when I first looked at his letters. There is no room for spicy details in these letters, only a few vague allusions to his family.

More seriously, Yulgok is mentioning from time to time a few members of his family circle. He is alluding to his father and mother. He is notably stressing his father's will to see him becoming a high official for economical reasons, and he is also mentioning the trauma of his mother's death when he was a teenager. His grand-mother, on his mother's side, is often cited in his letters to the king, showing us his deep attachment to her. As for his wife and concubine, he is only mentioning them two times, when he is talking about his moving house, or when he is concerned that they are threatened by epidemic disease or dangerous vagrants in their countryside house while he is living alone in the capital city. In one interesting letter to Song Ikp'il however, he is protesting against a criticism that Sŏng Hon made about him when they were young men, that is to say that he loves his wife too much. By the way, this is the only one mention to his "love life" in his whole correspondence. Besides, he alludes only one time to one of his children, when he announces, also to Song Ikp'il, half happy and half ashamed that he is the father of a baby girl. To Song Ikp'il, he is also asking about his nephew, who is studying with him. As for his brothers and sisters, he only mentions in a very few letter his concerns about one of his brothers, as well as his sister-in-law. Lastly, he is talking about the old concubine of his father, whose sickness is worrying him. portraying me as attracting many people and teaching disciples exceeds reality. When I first came to the capital city, many people did come to see me, but now there are less and less people coming. My vital energy is usually so unbalanced that when I come back from my day's work, I feel so bad that I have to go to bed. Even when I need to throw up, I do not have enough strength to do so. How pathetic. What kind of person is referred to when the selection of fit people is talked about? Even if someone is expected to get selected, how could they dare shout it in advance from the rooftops? My numerous inabilities, Chŏng Ch'ŏl's uncontrolled taste for alcohol, and Sŏng Hon's stubbornness to remain retired: these are the real concerns. The necessity to restrict the influence one can have on another should always be kept in mind."

Thank you very much!