Three Streams: Confucian Reflections

on Learning and the Moral Heart-Mind

in China, Korea, and Japan Philip J
Ivanhoe
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Ivanhoe,

P. J., author.
Title: Three streams : Confucian reflections on learning and the moral heart-mind in China, Korea, and
Japan / Philip J. Ivanhoe.
Description: New York : Oxford University Press, 2016. | Includes
bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016008340 | ISBN 9780190492014 (hardcover : alk. paper) | ISBN
9780190492021 (ebook (updf)) | ISBN 9780190629472 (ebook (epub)) | ISBN
9780190492038 (online content)
Subjects: LCSH: Neo-Confucianism. | Confucianism — China. | Confucianism — Japan. |
Confucianism — Korea. | Confucianists.
Classification: LCC B127.N4 I93 2016 | DDC 299.5/12 — dc23 LC record
available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016008340

987654321
Printed by Sheridan Books, Inc., United States of America
To the memory of my mother —
Dorothy Ann Ivanhoe
CONTENTS

Acknowledgments
Conventions

Introduction

PART I | China

PREFACE Two Schools of Neo-Confucianism

CHAPTER 1 Cheng Hao
CHAPTER 2 Cheng Yi
CHAPTER 3 Dai Zhen
SUMMARY Philology, Psychology, and Anthropology

PART II | Korea

PREFACE The Great Debates of Korean Confucianism

CHAPTER 4 The Four-Seven Debate
CHAPTER 5 The Horak Debate
CHAPTER 6 Jeong Yakyong (Dasan)
SUMMARY Experience, Evidence, and Motivation

PART III | Japan

PREFACE Confucianism, Shintō, and Bushidō

CHAPTER 7 Nakae Tōju
CHAPTER 8 Yamazaki Ansai
CHAPTER 9 Itō Jinsai

SUMMARY Duty, Love, and Heaven

Conclusion

Notes
Bibliography
Index
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I thank Youngsun Back, Erin M. Cline, Owen Flanagan, Eirik

Lang Harris, Eric L. Hutton, Richard T. Kim, Sungmoon Kim, Hagop
Sarkissian, Eric Schwitzgebel, Michael R. Slater, and Justin Tiwald
for providing criticisms, suggestions, and comments on earlier
drafts of this work. Their care and concern greatly improved this
work, and its remaining shortcomings are wholly my responsibility.
I gratefully acknowledge the support of the Department of Public
Policy of City University of Hong Kong, and the remarkable
generosity of the Korean Studies Promotion Service funded by the
Korean Government (MEST) (AKS-2011-AAA-2102), which
supported this work as part of a larger project: Korean Philosophy
in Comparative Perspectives. I acknowledge and thank the editors
of the Taiwan Journal of East Asian Studies for allowing me to use
parts of my essay “New Old Foundations for Confucian Ethical
Philosophy: Itō Jinsai 伊 藤 仁 斎 (1627–1705), Dai Zhen ( 戴 震 )
(1722–1776), and Jeong Yakyong (丁若鏞) (1762–1836),” Taiwan
Journal of East Asian Studies 11.1 (2014): 77–133, and the editors
of Philosophy East and West for allowing me to draw on parts of
my essay “The Historical Significance and Contemporary
Relevance of the Four-Seven Debate,” Philosophy East and West
65:4 (2015): 70–130.
CONVENTIONS

For the first occurrence of citations in the footnotes, the full

reference is given. For subsequent citations an abbreviated reference
to the work is provided. References to well-known classics such as
the Mengzi follow the standard pagination, e.g. Mengzi 3A9.
For the first occurrence of Chinese, Korean, or Japanese names, I
provide the Romanization followed by the Chinese characters: for
example, Wang Yangming 王 陽 明 . Part I focuses on Chinese
philosophers and so for the first occurrence of important terms of
art, phrases, or sentences I provide a translation followed by the
Pinyin Romanization and the original Chinese characters in
parentheses: for example, principle (li 理). Part II focuses on Korean
philosophers, and so for the first occurrence of important terms of
art, phrases, or sentences I provide a translation followed by the
Korean pronunciation in Revised Romanization and the original
Chinese characters in parentheses: for example, Way (do 道 ). The
same approach is followed in Part III; for the first occurrence of
important terms of art, phrases, or sentences I provide a translation
followed by the Japanese pronunciation in Hepburn Romanization
and the original Chinese characters in parentheses: for example,
personal opinion (shiken 私見).
Qi 氣, yin 陰, and yang 陽, which are the names of different kinds
of fundamental constituents of the phenomenal world, are
Romanized in Pinyin and left untranslated since there is no single
English word corresponding to their meaning, and these words, like
Sanskrit karma, are becoming parts of the English lexicon.
Other terms of art such as “principle” (li 理) might well be treated
as qi, yin, and yang, but in this and other cases the English
translation, while in some respects inadequate and potentially
misleading, is helpful for grasping the sense of the term. I have
offered substantial footnotes to the first occurrence of such terms in
which I attempt to steer readers to a proper understanding. It is
hoped that in the light of these notes and by seeing the term used in
a variety of contexts, readers will be able to gain a proper and
nuanced sense of its meaning.
I translate the character 天 as “Heaven” when it refers to a
conscious moral agent acting intentionally in governing the universe
and “heaven” when it refers to the heavens or sky or the natural
realm more generally.
All translations are my own.
 | Introduction

MANY OF THE CENTRAL and defining themes of the Western

philosophical tradition can be found in the writings of Plato (c. 428–
348 BCE); his mentor, Socrates (c. 470–399 BCE); and Plato’s student
Aristotle (384–322 BCE). Plato both conveyed and sought to improve
on his mentor’s teachings while Aristotle sought to reform, emend, and
extend Plato’s system of philosophy, many parts of which he found in
need of such attention. The centrality of Plato’s thought not only to
early Greek but to the entire Western tradition of philosophy led Alfred
North Whitehead (1861–1947) to assert, “The safest general
characterization of the European philosophical tradition is that it
consists of a series of footnotes to Plato.”1
Plato was a realist who sought to distinguish what is real from its
mere appearance; this led him to argue that there is a realm of forms
apart from yet standing behind or above the phenomena of the actual
world. Many and perhaps most people would agree with the basic
Platonic intuition that there is some abstract entity “two” that stands
behind or above all the actual instantiations of two — for example,
“two people,” “two eggs,” “two traditions of philosophy” — and even
perhaps that this entity is universal in scope and more enduring than
any of its real-world correlates. The implications of such a view are
profound and far-reaching; for example, it provides a clear and
absolute foundation and standard for truth and suggests a path or
method for attaining true knowledge. Plato further argued for a view
that far fewer people today are likely to endorse: that it is only
because our souls had prior contact with the forms — an idea first
suggested by his teacher, Socrates — that human beings are able to
know the truths they represent.
Plato’s philosophy addresses a range of vexing philosophical
challenges and inclined the Western tradition to pursue a certain set of
problems and approaches. It centered the tradition on epistemology
and metaphysics, committed it to exploring the relationship between
language and reality, accorded rationality a preeminent place over the
emotions, pledged fidelity to argumentation as its primary method,
and dedicated itself to the search for eternal world-transcending
truths. As a result, the central goal of the tradition became true
knowledge of self and world and its greatest imperative to know.
Contemporary Anglo-American philosophy remains largely defined by
this set of concerns and approaches — though this involves attempts
to refute as well as defend them. These concerns and approaches
deeply inform much of its ethical and political philosophy as well as
“core” areas of the discipline such as philosophy of mind, philosophy
of language, and epistemology.
This is not the path, or Way (dao 道 ), taken by the Confucian
tradition in East Asia. Of this tradition we can take inspiration from
Whitehead and say, “The safest general characterization of the
Confucian philosophical tradition is that it consists of a series of
footnotes to Mengzi.” Mengzi 孟子 (391–308 BCE), or Mencius, was a
follower of Kongzi 孔 子 (551–479 BCE), or Confucius, and an elder
competitor with Xunzi 荀子 (310–219 BCE) for the mantel of Confucian
orthodoxy. While all three thinkers have been and remain immensely
important for the tradition, philosophically speaking, Mengzi’s influence
has been the deepest, broadest, and most enduring.2 Mengzi’s
philosophy contains none of the characteristic features of the Platonic
tradition described earlier. He showed virtually no interest in the
problem of universals, and his philosophy was by no means centered
on epistemology or metaphysics,3 nor was it committed to a systematic
exploration of the relationship between language and reality.4 Mengzi
did not regard rationality as higher or more important than emotions;
he was not fond of or partial to argumentation;5 and he sought to
defend, propagate, and follow a set of practical ethical and political
truths that were parts of an historical, traditional legacy first
preserved, codified, taught, and defended by Kongzi. The central goals
of the tradition were the related aims of perfecting both self and
society; its greatest imperatives were finding and following the Way.
Mengzi’s philosophical approach in general was more therapeutic
than theoretical, and this is why much of the contemporary interest in
and value of his work is found in the areas of moral psychology and
education. Rather than seeking knowledge or working out the
concepts and methods needed to arrive at a true account of self and
world, he sought to develop concepts, ideals, sensibilities, and
practices that would enable him to diagnose ethical and spiritual
maladies in both people and society at large and promote therapies
designed to move people and society to adopt a more natural and
healthy form of life: one more conducive to personal and social
flourishing.6 This is not to say that he was not interested in how the
world really is, did not advance arguments, or did not fashion and rely
on theories; on the contrary, he was keenly aware of the need for all
of these as critical resources for pursuing his larger project of
cultivating people and perfecting society. At the core of Mengzi’s grand
aim and his philosophical system was a normatively infused view about
the nature, function, and role of the moral heart-mind and related
teachings about how best to cultivate it.7 These themes are the central
concerns of this book.
Mengzi is the first thinker in early China to describe and defend a
developed view about the moral heart-mind. Earlier I referred to his
account as “normatively infused” in order to make clear that while he
musters a good deal of evidence, based on what he takes to be
historical facts, common sense, as well as direct observation, or
elicited by posing various hypothetical scenarios and thought
experiments, his view is normative and moreover teleological in the
complex and robust sense that he believes the heart-mind has a
proper function, role, and course of development not only in individual
lives but in societies and in a larger, heavenly sanctioned order. I have
presented my best understanding of Mengzi’s views about the heart-
mind and its role in moral cultivation of the self in a variety of earlier
works.8 Here I only highlight those features of his view that are
needed to understand the later Confucian philosophers whose works
are the main focus of this volume.
Mengzi believed that Heaven (tian 天) has a plan for the world and
acts in the world in order to nudge this plan along to its destined
fruition.9 The moral heart-mind that Heaven endows to every human
being serves as the basis for its grand plan and provides the
motivation needed to fulfill it. Specifically, Mengzi taught that Heaven
bestows on all human beings a nascent moral sensibility composed of
four distinct “sprouts” (duan 端). In one of the most famous passages
from the Mengzi, he describes the four sprouts and offers a thought
experiment designed both to persuade and move his audience to
personally experience (hence combining theoretical and therapeutic
aims) the heart-mind of benevolence.

The reason I say all human beings possess the heart-mind that cannot bear
to see the suffering of others is the following. Suppose someone were
suddenly to see a child about to fall into an open well. Anyone seeing this
would have a feeling of alarm and concern in her heart-mind. These feelings
are not a way to ingratiate herself to the child’s mother and father, a way to
garner the praise of neighbors and friends, or because she dislikes being
known as someone who would fail to be moved by such a situation. Seen in
this way, it is clear that anyone who [under these circumstances] failed to
experience a feeling of alarm and concern is simply not human. Anyone who
[under appropriate circumstances] failed to experience a feeling of shame
and loathing is simply not human. Anyone who [under appropriate
circumstances] failed to experience a feeling of yielding and deference is
simply not human. Anyone who [under appropriate circumstances] failed to
experience a feeling of approval and disapproval is simply not human. The
feeling of alarm and concern is the sprout of benevolence. The feeling of
shame and loathing is the sprout of righteousness. The feeling of yielding and
deference is the sprout of propriety. The feeling of approval and disapproval is
the sprout of wisdom. Human beings having these four sprouts is like their
having four limbs.10

If, for the moment, we bracket Mengzi’s beliefs about Heaven and
simply read him as a “wise observer of the human condition,” there is
considerable insight and plausibility to be found in his teachings. His
general approach and particular scheme are quite similar to and find
considerable support from contemporary, empirically based theories
about moral modularity.11 Such theories open up the Mengzian
approach to plural realizations of the innate capacities and tendencies
we find in the heart-mind, and yet many of these different possible
ways to instantiate Mengzi’s vision retain some form of his earlier
teleology. By “plural realizations” I mean the idea that there are
numerous, equally viable and valuable ways to tune up or down the
particular set of moral sprouts that human beings actually are found to
possess. Not every sprout needs to be deployed, nor must every one
deployed enjoy equal magnitude or pride of place.12 If the goal is to
attain meaningful and satisfying human lives in humane communities,
this goal, along with certain facts about human nature, will constrain
any such proposal within the ambit of a general teleology. Aside from
this more comprehensive end or goal, a modern advocate of Mengzi’s
view could still defend many of his original, more particular teleological
claims about the heart-mind having certain natural functions and ends.
Irrespective of which particular expression of the good life one
chooses to endorse and work to realize, a number of Mengzi’s
teachings in regard to the heart-mind remain in place. For example,13

1. It is the natural office of the heart-mind to reflect.

2. The heart-mind’s reflections involve a combination of thinking, feelin
desiring, attending, choosing, and intending.
3. Exercising the natural functions of the heart-mind is necessary and can pro
sufficient to finding and following the right way to act and live.

Appropriately fashioned, versions of all three claims remain

eminently defensible. For the purposes of this book, the most
important point to keep in mind from the previous discussion is that
Mengzi’s ethical philosophy was built on a conception of human nature
that took the moral heart-mind as the unique source of and foundation
for morality.14 The nascent sprouts of moral sensibility that he
identified could be detected in spontaneous responses or reactive
attitudes people commonly display in the normal course of their lives.15
Like other kinds of sprouts, such sensibilities need to be protected
from harmful influences, nurtured, and cultivated over a prolonged
period of time in order to mature and take their full form as moral
virtues. An extended course of instruction, coaching, study, practice,
and reflection was thought necessary to develop one’s innate moral
sprouts into fully functioning virtues.
 Mengzi’s broad use of a range of agricultural metaphors is crucial
both for understanding the historical form of his philosophy and for
seeing the contemporary potential of his view. These metaphors make
clear that his claims about the goodness of human nature only
concern the existence and natural trajectory of certain innate
capacities and tendencies and that the process leading to the
maturation of the sprouts is not wholly natural or unreflective but
rather, like agriculture itself, relies on concerted effort, accumulated
insights, and proven practices, as well as innate resources.16 The
mature moral virtues that are the result of successful cultivation of the
self are constitutive of the good life for human beings and an
important source for distinctive and highly valuable forms of meaning,
satisfaction, and happiness.17 Taken together, these features of
Mengzi’s view describe what A. C. Graham first called his
developmental model of self-cultivation.18
The related features of Mengzi’s developmental model described
here are absolutely indispensable for understanding the trajectory of
the tradition through time and across cultures, which is the aim of this
study. As noted in the preface to Part I and as we shall see more
clearly in the course of this work, Confucian thinkers throughout East
Asia, representatives of what came to be known as the Cheng-Zhu and
Lu-Wang Schools of neo-Confucianism,19 while all claiming to be
devout followers and ardent defenders of Mengzi’s expression of
Confucianism, developed quite distinctive interpretations that in
several key respects departed from his original vision; they offered
what has been called discovery or recovery models of moral self-
cultivation.20 This deviation from the early tradition was in turn
detected, described, and denounced independently and almost
simultaneously by later thinkers such as the three textual-critical
Confucians whose works are discussed in this study: Dai Zhen (戴震)
(1724–1777) in China, Jeong Yakyong 丁 若 鏞 (1762–1836) in Korea,
and Itō Jinsai 伊藤 仁斎 (1627–1705) in Japan.21 To help prepare for
the more detailed discussion that follows, we now turn to a brief
description of some of the changes that Cheng-Zhu and Lu-Wang neo-
Confucians wrought on Mengzi’s original conception of the moral
heart-mind.
 One of the most prominent features of neo-Confucian philosophy,
and for our purposes this means roughly philosophy produced during
the period spanning the time between the Song (960–1279) and Ming
(1348–1644) dynasties, is its new and complex metaphysical
foundation.22 While there is considerable variation among the early
founders of neo-Confucianism, by the time the Cheng-Zhu and Lu-
Wang Schools had taken shape, most thinkers shared a metaphysical
view of the world in which “principle” (li 理 )23 combines with an
inherently lively but material element called qi 氣24 to produce, sustain,
and regulate the actual world in which we live. In regard to ethics, the
interplay between li and qi gives shape and direction to neo-Confucian
accounts of the nature of morality, explanations of virtue and human
character, and theories concerning how to cultivate the self; indeed,
such theories about li and qi play a crucial role in conceptions of what
a self is. Most important for the aims of the present study is how these
related ideas contribute to the development of distinctive neo-
Confucian conceptions of the moral heart-mind and learning.
One of the most widely recognized but often poorly understood
features of neo-Confucianism is what we might call its comprehensive
imperative to care for the universe as oneself.25 Largely as a
consequence of having absorbed ideas, values, and styles of reasoning
from Daoism and Buddhism, later Confucians expressed forms of this
ideal that went far beyond anything found in the classical period. Early
Confucians surely did extol the virtue of “benevolence” or “care” (ren
仁), but the primary recipients of care were family members and other
human beings within a larger shared, harmonious society. It is true
that the good Confucian was to “care for nonhuman animals” (aiwu 愛
物), but such care was primarily an imperative to provide support and
avoid cruelty. The care due to nonhuman animals was often invoked as
a definitive contrast with the kinds of love that are proper for human
beings and in particular parents, an issue we return to in the course of
this study.
 The “filial children” of today are those able to provide support [to their parents
but even dogs and horses are able to secure support. If there is no reveren
[toward parents] where is the difference?26

The care appropriate for nonhuman animals was not thought in any
way to be inconsistent with eating their meat or using them for ritual
sacrifice.27 In quite stark contrast, neo-Confucians, such as Zhang Zai
張 載 (1020–1077), give voice to the new perspective I seek to draw
attention to in works such as his Western Inscription (Ximing 西 銘 ).
Zhang describes and celebrates a deep metaphysical identity between
himself and all things (i.e. “what fills the universe”), proclaims heaven
and earth, yin and yang to be his parents, regards nonhuman animals
as his “companions,” and claims sages are “the harmonious power of
heaven and earth.”

Qian is my father, Kun my mother and even an insignificant creature such as I

have a place within their midst.28 And so, what fills the universe is my body;
what directs the universe is my nature. All people are my brothers and sisters; a
things my companions. The emperor is the eldest son of my father and mother;
the great ministers are his stewards. … The sage is the harmonious power of
heaven and earth; the worthy its refined expression.29

Expressions of such a deep metaphysical identity between self and

world as the grounds for an all-embracing compassion are the norm
among neo-Confucians. For example, Zhou Dunyi 周敦頤 (1017–1073)
refused to cut the grass in front of his house because he felt one with
it; Zhang Zai (1020–1077) expressed the same sentiment when he
heard the braying of a donkey, feeling deep kinship with the vital
energy of its call; Zhang declined to eat young bamboo shoots
because he could not bear to violate the principle of incipient growth
he felt they manifested.30 Wang Yangming insisted that we are “one
body with heaven, earth, and the myriad creatures” (tian di wan wu
wei yi ti 天地萬物為一體) and so our care should extend not only to all
people and creatures but to plants and even to inanimate objects.31
 As these examples make clear, neo-Confucians developed a robust
and dramatic sense of identity between self and world.32 Rather than
seeing the world simply as an interconnected system, pattern, or web
of principles, they believed each and every thing in the world
contained within itself all the principle in the universe. This idea, which
we might call the claim of “all in each,” came most directly from
certain teachings within Huayan Buddhism.33 The relevant core idea in
Huayan Buddhism is that all things possess pure and perfect Buddha-
nature. Neo-Confucians transformed this into the idea that each and
every thing contains within it a shared “original nature” (benxing 本
性 ), which consists of all the principle in the world. Individual things
and types of things are what they are not because of a difference in
their original natures or stock of principle but because of the varying
quality of their physical endowments.34 All the phenomena of the world
have a complete endowment of principle within them, but their
physical form is composed of qi, the lively material element mentioned
earlier. Qi occurs in different mixtures and various grades and
qualities; some have more yin than yang; some qi is slow, dull, heavy,
turgid, and dark; some is quick, bright, light, lively, and clear.35 The
more imbalanced and impure one’s qi, the less principle is able to be
manifested, and it is only such manifested principle that contributes to
how a thing appears and functions and determines whether and what
it can think or feel. Humans are unique among all things in having the
most perfectly balanced or purest endowment of qi, and hence they
are the most intelligent and sensitive creatures on earth. Moreover,
they alone have the capacity to refine their individual endowment of
qi, what is called their “talent” (cai 才 ), and thereby increase their
understanding and character even to the point where they attain a
form of enlightenment and become sages. Nonhuman animals show
more limited levels of and constricted capacities for intelligence and
feeling, while plants and inanimate things complete a spectrum that
fades into unknowing and unfeeling things.
As noted earlier, Wang Yangming takes up this set of beliefs and
general point of view giving special emphasis to the metaphor of
“being one body with heaven, earth, and the myriad creatures.” As we
shall see when we explore the philosophy of the Cheng brothers, this
imagery is not original with Wang and it readily lends itself to another
aspect of the neo-Confucian view: neo-Confucians do not lose the self
in or wholly merge the self with the world; they maintain the hierarchy
of concern characteristic of Confucians in every age. Wang and others
use the world as body metaphor to emphasize our visceral connection
with the world; at the same time, he explains that the various parts of
one’s own body display a natural hierarchy of concern: we instinctively
use our hands and feet to protect our eyes, not because we do not
value our hands and feet but because we spontaneously recognize and
follow a natural order. As Wang says, “according to the principle of the
Way, there naturally is a hierarchy of importance” (wei shi dao li zi you
hou bo 惟是道理自有厚薄).36 So while we are one with every aspect of
the universe, there is a hierarchy of concern, a core and periphery to
the universal self, modeled on the natural hierarchy among the parts
of our physical bodies.37 The fact that we share more of our qi, an
endowment that differs in type and quality, with other people as
opposed to nonhuman animals or things and with kin as opposed to
people in general, offers another way in which the traditional hierarchy
of care is preserved by neo-Confucians.38
We share the same principle with all people, creatures, and things,
and this establishes our deep metaphysical identity with the universe.
Moreover, we are connected to all things by overlapping, intersecting,
and interacting endowments of qi, but both shared principle and the
similarity between endowments of qi allow greater and more intimate
connections among human beings and between related people. From
the perspective of principle, our oneness with the world is complete, is
universal, and expresses a particular structure and order; shared and
interacting qi also connects us with the rest of the world but in more
or less intimate ways. Practically speaking and from the perspective of
our physical existence, this unity is manifested in terms of being “one
body” with the world. The one body metaphor makes clear that the
relationship sought is more than just being connected with other
people, creatures, and things; that is too simple and morally
ambiguous. At times we find ourselves connected with other parts of
the world, for example, harmful bacteria or malignant tumors, to
which we would strongly prefer not to be connected, or we find
ourselves connected to other people, creatures, and things in improper
and unproductive ways. The connections that neo-Confucians sought
are those that are conducive to the health of both individuals and the
larger wholes of which they are parts.
All of these ideas support and find their sharpest and most
illuminating focus in neo-Confucian teachings about the moral heart-
mind and what in general is called “learning” (xue 學 ), a term that
connotes a complex path of instruction, study, practice, and reflection.
This is true for all three grand traditions in East Asia — Confucianism,
Daoism, and Buddhism — and these topics remain key concerns
throughout the history of the premodern period. What is distinctive
about neo-Confucianism and our other central interests in this study
are the ways in which early Confucian teachings about moral
psychology are transformed into metaphysical doctrines about an
innate, pure, fully formed, and universally present moral heart-mind
and the implications this had for their views on moral learning. While,
as we shall see, there are important disagreements about the precise
nature of the moral heart-mind and, as a consequence, the best way
to cultivate it, every major thinker within the two main schools of neo-
Confucianism shared a similar general conception. Bringing together
and augmenting much of what we have described thus far, what we
might call the standard, generic view holds that the heart-mind is the
repository of all the principles in the world; its “substance” (ti 體), that
is, what it is in itself and on its own,39 is perfectly pure and complete.
This principle and hence the moral heart-mind is universally present,
possessed by each and every thing and particle within the phenomenal
world, although only human beings are able to cultivate their heart-
minds to allow more and more of the principle within to come to
awareness and shine forth in understanding. As noted earlier, while
some nonhuman animals are capable of lower and limited forms of
awareness and ethical behavior, many creatures and all nonsentient
things remain stuck in unknowing facticity; human beings alone have
the potential to fully manifest the moral heart-mind and become
enlightened sages. In fact, perfect sagely wisdom is the “original” (i.e.,
unadulterated) state of their endowed moral heart-mind. Neo-
Confucians express the perennial Confucian faith in the unique ability
of human beings to learn and morally improve themselves in a new
and radical form; they believe we all are endowed with an innate,
perfect moral heart-mind and are capable of complete enlightenment
resulting in sagehood.
Such a view has considerable explanatory power; it can provide an
account of how human beings, when properly cultivated through
learning, ritual practice, meditation, and reflection, can understand the
myriad phenomena of the world. The principle in our heart-minds can
join or meet the principle in things or events and constitute
“understanding” (lihui 理 會 ), literally “principle meeting.”40 It is only
because of the pernicious influence of imbalanced or unrefined qi that
the principle endowed within us is obscured; we cannot “see” our way
to understanding, and we remain either wholly ignorant or lost in
partial or distorted understanding. In order to improve and advance
along the Way, one must cultivate oneself, eliminating the self-
centered desires that generate and sustain imbalanced or unrefined qi
and allowing the principle within the heartmind to gradually come into
play and guide understanding and action.
Given the general picture described here, neo-Confucians have not
only a more metaphysically robust sense of oneness but also a new
and stronger justification for universal care: our shared principle, and
to a lesser extent our shared and mutually interacting qi, supply deep
and pervasive connections with other people, creatures, and things,
connections that envisage the world as natural extensions of the self
and imply the need to care for them as part of one’s own health and
flourishing.41 Along with this came an explanation for why people are
emotionally affected not only by the suffering of other people but by
the suffering of nonhuman animals, the harming of plants, and even
the wanton destruction of inanimate objects. Such phenomena are
familiar to all human beings, even though the explanation for why we
tend to feel this way is not at all obvious or straightforward. Neo-
Confucians had a ready explanation, and moved by the beliefs they
deployed in explanation they felt a profound sense of oneness not only
with other human beings but with the entire universe. The self was in
some deep sense not only connected or intermingled with other
people, creatures, and things but coextensive with the universe; this is
what gave rise to and sustained their characteristic comprehensive
imperative to care for the universe as oneself.
Beginning in the waning years of the Ming dynasty, thinkers in
China, Korea, and Japan, often wholly independently of one another,
began to criticize the teachings of neo-Confucianism and especially the
form these took in the Cheng-Zhu School, which throughout this
period was regarded as orthodox in all three cultures. These criticisms
took many shapes and expressions but all, in one form or another,
included arguments about the original meaning of the early Confucian
classics as well as philosophical criticisms about the plausibility and
coherence of neo-Confucian views.42 The former kinds of criticisms
were most commonly cast in terms of philological arguments, and this
helped give rise to a new movement and style of philosophical writing
commonly referred to as “evidential learning” (kaozhengxue 考證學).43
The latter kinds of criticisms most often involved advocating for a
more psychologically and anthropologically based account of the moral
heart-mind, especially as it is described in the Mengzi; this is our
primary focus when discussing the thought of textual-critical
Confucians and comparing their views to the neo-Confucian philosophy
that preceded them and that served as the object of their criticisms. In
particular, as noted earlier, we will explore three remarkable
representatives of this type and style of Confucianism, one each from
China, Korea, and Japan. An important element in both the philological
and philosophical arguments that these and other textual-critical
Confucians made is that neo-Confucian philosophy had become
adulterated by uncritically incorporating Daoist and Buddhist ideas and
styles of reasoning, thereby corrupting the original message and vision
of the sages. This point is important for understanding a vital
characteristic of this group of thinkers: they were and saw themselves
as engaged in a project of radical philosophical criticism but saw this
work in terms of defending and restoring not revolutionizing the
tradition.44 Moreover, they understood their criticisms of Daoism and
Buddhism and advocacy of Confucianism as reenacting, in a new age
and form, the same kind of defense that earlier Mengzi had been
“forced” to undertake in response to the challenges of Mozi 墨子 (470–
391 BCE) and Yang Zhu 楊 朱 (370–319 BCE).45 This perceived
similarity in mission and stance further reinforced their commitment to
Mengzi and his philosophical legacy.
While all three of our textual-critical Confucians saw themselves as
modeling Mengzi in this respect, it is also important to appreciate one
way in which their project differed from this early exemplar: Mengzi
had defended the tradition from external challenges, but Dai, Dasan,
and Jinsai saw themselves as defending Confucianism not only from
external challengers, such as Daoists and Buddhists, but also from
enemies within: degenerate forms of Confucianism. In this respect
their criticisms are more like what one finds in Xunzi 荀 子 (313–238
BCE), who criticized not only other philosophical schools but fellow
Confucians as well, most notably Mengzi. This comparison highlights
yet another nuance of difference, for unlike our three 18th-century
thinkers, Xunzi never accused Mengzi of uncritically absorbing and
incorporating ideas and arguments from opposing schools of thought
and thereby corrupting the Confucian tradition. As we shall see, this
was precisely the tenor of many of the criticisms leveled by Dai,
Dasan, and Jinsai; philosophical purity was a common and important
feature of textual-critical Confucian criticism of neo-Confucian thinkers
as it was for neo-Confucians themselves.
True to the general aim of the evidential learning movement, Dai,
Dasan, and Jinsai explicitly rejected the metaphysical foundations of all
neo-Confucians but especially focused on the orthodox Cheng-Zhu
School. They regarded the metaphysical turn characteristic of neo-
Confucianism as a manifestation of invasive and debilitating influences
that had insinuated themselves into the Confucian tradition from
without and fundamentally corrupted its essence, meaning, and
purpose. Rooting out these foreign elements and restoring what they
saw as the true and original foundations and forms of the tradition
was one of their key objectives. Nevertheless, the elimination of this
metaphysical foundation deprived them of the basis for their core
ethical imperative, described earlier: to care for the world as oneself.
This left them with the challenge of explaining the nature, shape,
practice, and foundation of Confucian ethics. They met this challenge
by turning to what they saw, correctly in my view, as the more
naturalistic foundation of Mengzi’s moral philosophy.46 While all made
this turn, they did so in different ways; they took different routes
down the naturalizing path and followed it in some cases farther and
more faithfully than in others.
Jinsai retained a good deal of neo-Confucianism’s comprehensive
imperative to care for the universe as in some sense connected with
the self,47 but, drawing on views from some of the founding figures of
neo-Confucianism, he offered an alternative and less complex
metaphysical foundation on which to ground this dramatic and
impressive call for compassion. In different ways, Dai and Dasan held
onto much but less of the demanding neo-Confucian ethical ideal. Both
argued for strong obligations to care not only for other people but all
other living things as well; however, for Dai but not Dasan this moral
obligation was analogous to our obligation to care for one another and
grounded in our ability to imaginatively identify in at least a general
way with the welfare of other living things. Neither Dai nor Dasan
argued that we must or should extend our concern to inanimate
things, and, as we shall see, this is connected to the central role of
“sympathetic consideration” (shu 恕 ) — a classical term that was
reinterpreted in new and productive ways by a range of later
Confucian thinkers — which came to play in shaping their respective
ethical philosophies; neither believed we have a general moral
obligation to care for things we cannot to some degree empathetically
understand.48 In any case, exploring the different ways each of these
thinkers tried to fill in the moral gap left by the elimination of orthodox
neo-Confucian metaphysics is one of our central concerns, for this
requires us to explore, understand, and analyze their respective views
about the moral heart-mind and the proper path of learning. This issue
might also offer more general insights about both the strengths and
the limitations of psychologically based ethical theory.
As noted earlier, largely as a result of the new set of challenges
these three thinkers faced, they, and other Confucians of their age,
developed a distinctive and fascinating approach to philosophy that set
them apart from earlier practitioners. Because they sought to ferret
out and expel foreign elements that had crept into and corrupted the
Confucian tradition, overturn mistaken interpretations of the classics,
and return to what they saw as the original message of the ancients,
they developed and deployed a more sophisticated, comprehensive,
and ambitious philologically based approach to philosophy. This
method focused on the task of tracing back and uncovering the
original meanings of central terms of art used by classical Confucian
thinkers. The thought was that through systematic philological
investigation, one could reconstruct the philosophy of the original
sages.49 Such a method also addressed another shared worry these
thinkers had with ungrounded speculative philosophy. Echoing Kongzi’s
孔 子 (551–479 BCE) warning that “reflection without learning is
dangerous,”50 Jinsai, Dai, and Dasan were deeply concerned with and
wary about relying on mere personal opinion — what today are called
“intuition” (whether emotional or rational) — as the basis of their
philosophical efforts. The philologically based approach they embraced
had the advantage of grounding reflection in a more objective process
of learning: they set out to find the Way by retracing the steps and
following the guidance of the ancients. Similarly, the psychological and
anthropological arguments they advanced to describe and justify
Confucian ethics rely on empirical claims about shared human
behavior and values. In other words, both their philological as well as
their psychological and anthropological arguments were designed to
avoid mere opinion or personal intuition and establish Confucian
morality on solid, universally shared foundations. This is one reason it
is helpful to refer to this group of thinkers as textual-critical
Confucians.
Part I of this work focuses on three thinkers from China. It begins
with a short preface and ends with a brief summary between which
appear three chapters. Chapter 1 describes the thought of the Song
dynasty Confucian Cheng Hao 程顥 (Mingdao 明道) (1032–1085), the
elder of two brothers who had a staggering, unprecedented, and
unparalleled influence on the shape and course of the Confucian
tradition. I follow and defend a line of traditional Chinese scholarship
that holds that these two brothers are the progenitors of what
eventually became the so-called Cheng-Zhu and Lu-Wang Schools of
neoneo-ConfucianConfucian thought.51 The elder, Cheng Hao, laid the
foundation for the LuWang School, which tended to have much greater
confidence in the untutored responses of the moral heart-mind and
therefore advocated a less regimented style of learning and focused
more on developing a critical attentiveness concerning the actions and
events of daily life. His younger brother Cheng Yi 程頤(Yichuan伊川)
(1033–1107), whose thought serves as the focus of chapter 2, shared
his belief in the existence of a pure and perfect innate moral heart-
mind but thought it was neither evident nor accessible and often
proved difficult to bring into full play in one’s life. This less sanguine
perspective was the result of his conviction that the influence of qi and
self-centered desires posed great impediments to the natural operation
of the moral heart-mind and were difficult to overcome. As a
consequence, Cheng Yi advocated a more stringent, prolonged, and
intellectual regimen of study, reflection, and practice.52
As we shall see, while both brothers claimed to embrace and defend
Mengzi’s core teachings about the moral heart-mind, they disagreed
about how to interpret Mengzi, and their disagreements had profound
implications for their related views about the moral heart-mind and the
proper method for cultivating the self. After presenting their competing
views, we, in chapter 3, jump ahead in time to explore the thought of
the Qing dynasty critic of neo-Confucianism, the textual-critical
Confucian Dai Zhen. This structure of presenting two neo-Confucian
thinkers followed by one textual-critical Confucian sets a general
pattern that for the most part will be repeated in subsequent chapters
covering Confucian thinkers in Korea and Japan.53 The main point of
this organizing structure is to show how in each of these three cultures
critics arose in the 18th century who independently challenged the
dominant metaphysical modes of neo-Confucian discourse and in
varying ways and to different degrees argued for the restoration of
more naturalized interpretations of the tradition.
Part II concerns Confucian thinkers from Korea. Like Part I, it too
begins with a short preface and concludes with a brief summary
between which appear three chapters, but since Korean Confucians
firmly rejected the LuWang School and focused almost exclusively on
the Cheng-Zhu orthodoxy, the first two chapters of this part are
dedicated to the two most famous controversies within the orthodox
school in Korea. Chapter 4 is dedicated to the Four-Seven Debate
(Sach’illun 四 七 論 ),54 which began in 16th-century Korea between Yi
Hwang 李 滉 (Toegye 退 溪 ) (1501–1570) and Gobong 高 峰 (Gi
Daeseung 奇 大 升 ) (1527–1572) and was later extended, developed,
and enriched by thinkers such as Ugye 牛溪 (Seong Hon 成渾) (1535–
1598) and Yi I 李珥(Yulgok 栗谷) (1536–1584). An important issue at
the heart of the Four-Seven Debate and the theme from which the
controversy takes its name was how to conceive of the proper
relationship between Mengzi’s four moral sprouts (sadan 四端) and the
seven traditional emotions (ch’iljóng 七 情 ) of happiness, anger, grief,
fear, approval, disapproval, and desire. As we shall see, at stake were
questions such as: What role, if any, do emotions play in moral
understanding? Is the ideal Confucian life centered on or can it even
accommodate our everyday emotions, or does it require a more
ascetic and dispassionate existence? Underlying this and other aspects
of the Four-Seven Debate was the more basic and general question of
the relationship between principle and qi, which included the
relationship between the imperatives of morality and everyday
feelings, thoughts, desires, intentions, and actions. On the one hand,
Korean neo-Confucians sought to maintain the purity and perfection of
principle, which was thought to be synonymous with our original
nature and heartmind; on the other hand, they needed to explain how
such principle could be manifest in the world in ways that confirmed
the goodness of human nature and opened a path for moral
cultivation. This general set of problems was also the primary focus of
and fundamental motivation for the Horak Debate (Horaklun 湖落論),55
which we turn to in chapter 5. Participants in the Horak Debate took
problems such as the relationship between principle and qi and related
topics such as the character of human nature, the nature of the moral
heart-mind, and the proper method of learning in new directions by
exploring these issues in terms of questions such as whether
commoners share the same heart-mind as sages and whether
nonhuman animals share the same nature as human beings. Their
inquiries, disagreements, and arguments are among some of the most
sophisticated, rigorous, and insightful philosophical exchanges in
human history.
The Four-Seven and Horak Debates are the most famous and
influential controversies in Korean Confucianism, and we shall see that
Another random document with
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 — No ku-un te-er-va-san-ko putosi p-äähäni, parkui Paavo.

Miehet selittivät, että Paavo oli hyökännyt sankoa hakemaan,

ennen kuin he ehtivät kieltääkään.

— Menkää nyt, Heikki ja Niilo, siitä nauramasta, komensi Laila. —

Muuten Paavo parka suuttuu piloille.

Mutta Paavopa ei suuttunutkaan.

— Nyt minun pääni kestää sata vuotta, kun se tuli näin hyvään
tervaan, sanoi hän.

— Haenko minä peilin, että näet, miten kauhean hassun näköinen

olet, sanoi Laila kaapien tervaa Paavon päästä.

— Älä hae. Pahemmin vain suututtaa, kun näen. Nyt sinun

kätesikin on jo tervassa. Sinä Laila olet sitten hyvä, kun puhdistat.

— Suuteletkos silti minua joskus, vaikka minä tulin nyt rumaksi?

kysyi Paavo hiljaa. Hän ei sitä uskonut itsekään, mutta päätti
kuitenkin kysyä. Kun serkku oli kerran niin hyvä, niin ehkä sekin olisi
mahdollista ja kun tervakin saattaisi pysyä hänen päässään koko
kesän.

Paavon nenän aluskin oli jo tervassa, mutta Laila suuteli kuitenkin

vastaukseksi Paavon kysymykseen.

Paavo kietasi kätensä serkun kaulaan ja oli vähällä tahria tervaan

koko tytön.

— Älä veikkonen, kun olen jo ilmankin tervassa!

 — Kyllä ei mitenkään voi olla paha, kun sinä olet noin hyvä, sanoi
Paavo pyhän innostuksen vallassa. — Jos kaikki tytöt olisivat niin
hyviä, ei pahoja poikia olisi koko maailmassa, päätti hän.

Illalla kuitenkin tuli onnettomuus. Satuttiin suuttumaan leikissä ja

Paavo sanoi poikkipuolisen sanan pojille ja nämä Paavolle vastaan:

— Tervakallo!

Silloin Paavo läjäytti Heikkiä korvalle ja tämä huutamaan. Mutta

Paavolle tuli hätä ja hän juoksi heti Lailan luokse sisään.

— Minä löin Heikkiä korvalle…

— No mutta Paavo! Mitä varten sinä löit?

— Mitäs kun sanoi tervakalloksi, kuohahti Paavo.

Eihän Laila tytti taaskaan voinut pysyä äidillisen vakavana. Nauru

helisi kuin hopeakello tehden hyvää Paavolle.

— Annan tämän kerran, mutta jos vasta olet tuhma, niin en

annakaan, sanoi tyttö.

Paavo meni takaisin poikien luokse.

— Kyllä minä sen vielä sinulle maksan, uhkasi Heikki.

— Minä rupean rauhanvälittäjäksi, teristyi hiljainen Niilo. —

Paavon pitää seistä suorana ja Heikki saa livauttaa hieman korvalle,
mutta ei kovasti. Sovitaanko niin?

— Sovitaan, lupasivat pojat.

 Niilo seisoi todistajana kantapäät yhdessä.

Heikin kämmen hieman hipaisi Paavon korvaa. Pääasia, että hän

oli saanut hyvityksen.

14.

Oli lauantai-ilta. Heinänkorjuu oli loppunut ja kuivuvan heinän

tuoksu tulvahteli Hernemaan pelloilla ja pihamaalla. Pojat olivat
puuhanneet päivällä muurainretkeä järven toisella puolella olevalle
suolle. Laila oli piloillaan kieltäytynyt lähtemästä heidän kanssaan.

Pojat jurottelivat rannassa eikä lähdöstä näyttänyt tulevan mitään.

— Minä en viitsi lähteä, sanoi Paavo. — Menkää kahden.

Mieliala oli kovin painostava. Mikä sen tytön turilaan päähän nyt oli
pistänyt.

— Emmekö saisi tovereita muualta, jostain naapurista

mukaamme, sanoi
Heikki ja molskautteli kiviä veteen.

Paavo teristyi.

— Ja sinä olisit suostuvainen lähtemään, kunhan tovereita

saataisiin, olivatpa ketä tahansa, kuohahti hän. — Minä toki luulin,
että pitäisit serkusta enemmän.

— Vähät minä hänestä, kun kerran kiusaa tekee, sanoi Heikki.

Laila seisoi saunan seinän takana ja kuunteli hymyillen. Niilo kuuli

hänen naurun hihityksensä ja juttu selvisi onnellisesti.
 Järvi oli tyven ja laskevan auringon hehkuvat värit heijastelivat sen
pinnalla. Lämpimän auerta oli ilman rannoilla ja se vaimensi
lukemattomat luonnon ja ihmisäänet hiljaisiksi ja tuskin kuuluviksi.

Pojat olivat ennen Hernemaahan tuloaan kulkeneet ummessa

silmin suuren luonnon keskellä. Setä oli opettanut heitä
luonnontunnoillaan näkemään joka hetki jotain ihmeellistä ja
varteenotettavaa luonnossa. Nyt ei pienin hyttynenkään lentänyt
heidän ohitseen huomaamatta.

Nytkin pojat katselivat poutapilviä taivaan rannalla. Siellä oli

lumihuippuisia alppeja, kaupunkeja ja kummallisia eläimiä. Niitä
katsellen vaelteli kuin satujen mailla.

Laila hyräili jotain laulua ja pojatkin tulivat laulutuulelle. Koulussa

laulettiin, mutta milloinkaan ei kehdannut yksin laulaa. Aina oli joku
ilkeämielinen poikaviikari irvistelemässä, jos yrittikin laulamaan, ja
niin se jäi kokonaan. Tuntui nyt kovin hyvältä laulaa sellaisia vanhoja
lauluja kuin "Kultaisessa kartanossa" ja "On tyyni nyt". Tämän
heinäkuun illan he varmasti muistaisivat aina.

Suo oli keltaisenaan lakkoja. Syötiin hyvällä halulla, ja sitten astiat

täyteen.

— Mitäs nyt tehdään, kun ei ole astioita? sanoi Laila.

— Jo me oltiin sitten houheloita, kun ei muistettu ottaa puukkoa

mukaan, sanoi Paavo. — Minä noukin hattuuni.

Keksittiin parempi keino. Terävällä kivellä hangattiin koivusta kuori

rikki. Siten saatiin tuohta. Astioista ei ollut puutetta.
 Vähitellen tuli keskiyö, ja taivaan rannalla äsken niin kauniilta
näyttänyt ukkospilvi alkoi jymähdellä.

— Nyt kai meidän on parasta lähteä kotiin, sanoi Heikki.

— Pelkäätkö sinä ukkosta? kysyi Laila naurahtaen.

Pelkäsihän Heikki, mutta ei kehdannut tunnustaa sitä. Pelkäsipä

Paavokin. Kun jyrähti uudelleen, sanoi hän hätäisesti:

— Nyt on parasta suoriutua suoraa päätä kotiin. Saattaa nousta

myrsky emmekä me jaksa soutaa.

— Se on pahempikin pulma, virkkoi Laila.

Kun oli päästy vähän matkaa rannasta, alkoi tuulla. Se oli toki
peräntakaista purjetta. Pojat soutivat minkä jaksoivat.

Salamat leimahtelivat pimenneessä yössä. Se oli kaunista. Tuuli

vinkui ja ryskähteli, ja venhe lenteli kuin kaarna kohisevilla laineilla.
Laila istui vakavana perässä ja hän oli poikien mielestä kuin
kaunistunut siinä luonnonvoimien keskellä.

Oltiin lähellä kotirantaa, kun rupesi satamaan. Vettä tuli kuin

kaatamalla ja meni heti ohuiden vaatteiden läpi.

— Nyt sinä olet sitten vasta herttainen, sanoi Paavo Lailalle, kun
saatiin venhe maalle.

— Niin sinäkin, ihan kuin uitettu kissa, hihitti Laila.

Olipa sauna lähellä ja se oli lämmin. Laila juoksi hakemassa

pihasta jokaiselle kuivat vaatteet, ja kun kiukaassa oli löylyä,
kylvettiin uudelleen ja jututen kuunneltiin sateen ropinata kattoon.
 15.

Paavo palasi postia noutamasta ja heilutti kirjettä iloisesti

kädessään,

— Äiti tulee, äiti tulee, ja jo tänään! Eikö ole hauskaa, Heikki?

— On, on, sehän on selvä. Anna tänne kirje!

Heikki oli viime aikoina jo kirjoittanut tiheämmin ja muutenkin

kaivannut äitiä joskus. Olo Hernemaassa ja sedän koulu oli kai
senkin aiheuttanut. Hän ymmärsi nyt paljon paremmin äitiä kuin
ennen. Hän olikin kovin usein pahoittanut äidin mieltä. Olipa
mukavaa, kun sai näyttää äidille, mitä oli täällä oppinut, ja kertoa
kaikesta.

— Illalla mennään laivarantaan äitiä vastaan, sanoi Paavo. — Mitä

sanot, jos poimisimme marjoja ja veisimme mukanamme hänelle?

— Saahan hän niitä täälläkin, sanoi Heikki.

— Mutta äiti tulisi siitä varmaan hyvin iloiseksi, arveli Paavo.

— Poimitaan vain, myöntyi Heikki. — Saamme niitä kyllä laivalle

mennessä.

Laivarantaan oli matkaa muutamia kilometrejä; ensin vettä ja sitten

maata. Laiva tuli myöhään, ja vasta auringon laskun jälkeen lähtivät
pojat Lailan kanssa mielestään hyvin hauskalle matkalle.

Marjatuohinen pistettiin venheen kokkaan ja uistin perään. Eikös

tarttunutkin iso hauen vonkale uistimeen.

— Siitä saadaan tädille illallinen, sanoi Laila.

 Tuli vielä toinen ja kolmaskin ja matka meni huomaamatta.

— Mihin kalat, ettei kettu vie? kysyi Paavo. Setähän oli kertonut,
että kettu oli perso kaloille.

— Viedään puuhun, sanoi Heikki.

Hauet pujotettiin lankaan kidusaukoista ja Heikki kiipesi isoon

näreeseen ja ripusti ne oksalle.

— Mitähän äiti sanoo, kun me puusta pudotamme hauet? arveli

Paavo.

— Luulee tulleensa satujen maille, lisäsi Heikki.

— Satujen maita nämä ovatkin, arveli Paavo. — Jos olisi minulla

maata, niin rupeisin maanviljelijäksi. Miten minä saatankaan täältä
erota syksyllä?

Paavo silmäsi Lailaan. Kyllähän muuten, mutta hänestä olisi

vaikea luopua.

Tyttö hymyili ja räppäsi poikaa olalle.

— Ensi kesänä tulet takaisin, sanoi hän.

— Enkö minä saakaan tulla? kysyi Heikki.

— Tietysti, velikulta.

Pojat miettivät itsekseen. Laila oli niin kovin hyvä tyttö, mutta
pitiköhän hän toisesta enemmän kuin toisesta.

Se tuli arkana Heikin huulillekin:

 — Sinä kuitenkin pidät Paavosta enemmän kuin minusta.

— Mutta sinä olet vasta höperö, Heikki! Pitäisikö minun sitten pitää
toisesta enemmän kuin toisesta? Se olisi väärin, sanoi Laila, vaikka
tunsikin pitävänsä Paavosta enemmän, ehkä senkin vuoksi, kun
Paavo oli kiltimpi ja sitten sellainen herttainen nallikka.

— Isä sanoo aina, että kaikista ihmisistä täytyy pitää yhtä paljon,
sanoi Laila. — Eikö hän ole teille siitä puhunut?

— On kyllä, myönsi Heikki..

Metsässä oli hiljainen hämärä. Sammakot hyppivät tien yli ja

pensaissa loisteli kiiltomatoja. Kaste oli jo kohonnut ruohoon ja
puitten lehdetkin kiiltelivät kosteana.

Lapset olivat avojaloin. Laila astui sammakon päälle ja kirkaisi.

— Huu, miten ilkeälle tuntui!

Heikki otti sammakon käteensä. Se oli nyt rampa, ja pojat

neuvottelivat, mitä sille tehtäisiin.

— Se pitäisi tappaa, mutta tappaminen on niin kauhean rumaa,

arveli
Heikki.

— Mutta jos puhuttaisiin lopettamisesta, niin eiköhän se muuttaisi

asiaa, arveli Paavo.

— No lopettakaa se sitten pian, sanoi Laila sipristäen somasti

suutaan, ja nostaen helmojaan. Jalassa tuntui vielä ilkeältä
sammakon kylmyys.
 Laiva huusi laiturissa, ja Heikki heitti sammakon metsään, lähtien
juoksemaan Lailan kanssa rantaan. Paavo etsi sammakon
heinikosta ja virkkoi itsekseen:

— Eihän tinua niin heitetä, pittunen raukka. Tapetaan poit

kärtimättä.

Kylmä sammakko tuntui ilkeälle kourassa ja Paavon naama oli

punainen, mutta se ei kieltänyt ystävällisesti eläinparalle
puhelemasta.

— Noin, ittu tiinä kivellä, minä lyön kalikalla päähäti.

Ja Paavo tähtäsi ja poksautti, mutta isku ei sattunutkaan ja

sammakko hyppäsi virkeänä metsään.

Paavo hämmästyi. Elukka oli ollut tarkkana. Ja nyt olivat toiset

jättäneet hänet.

Paavo lähti juosta kipaisemaan toisten perään. He tulivatkin jo

vastaan, äiti kolmantena.

— Se sammakko oli jo ihan terve ja hyppäsi metsään, sanoi

Paavo ja riensi syleilemään äitikultaa.

— Miten sinä sen paransit? kysyi Heikki tosissaan. Hän luuli

Paavon tehneen jotain sammakolle, että se virkoisi.

— Minä kun aioin napauttaa sitä kalikalla päähän, niin se säikähti.

Istuttiin kivelle ja otettiin kaupunkituliaiset esille. Ja äidille sateli

niin paljon kysymyksiä, ettei hän puoliinkaan ehtinyt vastata.
 Mutta rannalla oli iso lokki haistanut puusta poikien kalat ja
ihastunut niihin. Kun Heikki kiipesi kuuseen, ei hän löytänyt muuta
kuin muutamia suomuja.

— Täällä on käynyt varkaita, kuului itkunsekaisesti puusta. —

Kuka kehtasi olla niin kelvoton?

Lokki lenteli rannikolla vainuten mahdollisesti lisää. Pojat

aavistelivat lokkia varkaaksi.

— Sinäkö ne veit? hikkasi Paavo.

Lokin nokasta kuului nirskuva vastaus. Se halusi vielä lisää

haukea.

16.

Setä istui poikien kanssa rantakalliolla ja keitti kalaa. Padassa

porisivat äsken ongitut ahvenet ja setä kertoi hauskasti kalojen
elämästä ja tavoista pojille.

— Mistä sinä setä olet saanut tietoja niin paljon, kysyi Paavo.

— Olen tutkinut ja tarkastellut kaikkea. Kun käyttää joka hetken

ajastaan hyödyllisesti, saa oppia paljon. Työtä tehdessään ja
lepohetkinään voi kyllä hyvin tarkastella luontoa ja sillä on aina jotain
uutta näytettävänä.

Pojista oli ollut luonnontiede koulussa vastenmielistä ja läksyt oli

luettu hosimalla. Nyt olivat pojat päättäneet syventyä luontoa
koskeviin oppikirjoihinsa tarmolla. Varmaankin "luonnonmaisteri"
tulisi olemaan mielissään.
 Setä pisti pataan voita ja kohta oli ahvenkeitto valmis.

— En ole milloinkaan syönyt näin hyvältä maistuvaa kalaa, sanoi

Paavo.

Päivä oli poutainen ja heikko tuulen henkäily veteli viivoja selän

vesiin. Aamulla aikaisin oli lähdetty ja saatu runsas saalis koukuista.
Ne olivat rantalouhussa vasuun hyvin peitettynä. Kun ei hennottu
isoja kaloja keittää rannalla, riipaistiin ongella kyrmyniskaisia selän
ahvenia pataan.

— Elä syö kourillasi, Niilo!

Kun kalat loppuivat, hörpittiin liemi tuohilipeillä suihin.

Se oli erämiesten ateria.

— Keitto loppui kesken, julisti Paavo ja katseli pitkin ripsin toisia.

— Peratkaa vakasta lisää ja pankaa pataan, sanoi setä.

— Kaikkien pitää saada kyllikseen.

— Perkaisit, Heikki, kalat, pyyteli Paavo.

— Peratkoon se, joka syökin. Minun maaruni on täynnä.

Paavo ja Niilo päättivät valmistaa omintakeisesti keiton itselleen.

Setä oli laskeutunut pehmeälle sammalelle lepäämään. Heikkikin

valikoi itselleen loikomispaikkaa ja setä kutsui hänet luokseen.

Setä näytti harkitsevan, miten alettaisi, mutta kysyi sitten suoraan

Heikiltä:
 — Vieläkö sinua pahat ajatukset joskus kiusaavat?

— Ei enää. Mutta minä pelkään, että ne taas tulevat, kun koulu

alkaa, ja…

Heikki keskeytti. Hänestä näytti olevan vaikeata sanoa mitä

ajatteli.

— Ja mitä sitten? kysyi setä ystävällisesti.

— Kun ei ole tätä kesäistä elämää ja sitten Lailakaan ei ole siellä.

— Eikö sinulla sitten ole siellä niin hyvää toveria kuin Laila? kysyi
setä.

— Ei.

— Mutta kaikki pienet tytöthän ovat hyviä tyttöjä, ja onhan kai

sinullakin siellä joku tyttö, josta hiukan pidät, sanoi setä.

Heikki ei sanonut siihen mitään. Olihan tosin yksi

samanluokkalainen, maalarin Aili, josta hän hieman piti. Tosin hän ei
ollutkaan missään suhteessa niinkuin Laila, mutta hänellä oli kauniit
silmät ja hän nauroi oikein kauniisti. Ja sitten hän oli oikein hyvä.
Kyllä hänet kannatti toverinaan pitää.

— Eikö olekin? uudisti setä kysymyksensä.

— On kyllä, sanoi Heikki arvellen.

— No niin, hänen tähtensä sinun täytyy oppia pitämään kurissa

kiusaavat ajatukset ja ruumiisi puhtaana. Ja myöskin oman itsesi
tähden. Olenhan sinulle jo tästä puhunut paljon ja sinä ymmärrät,
miten onnelliseksi tulee, kun voittaa pajat ajatukset. Eikö sinun ole
nyt hyvä olla, kun tiedät olevasi sellaisesta vapaa?

— On kyllä. Olen tullut niin iloiseksi.

— Siinä sen näet, setäsi ei ole puhunut sinulle turhaa.

— Minä olen siitä niin kiitollinen sedälle, sanoi Heikki.

Pojat puuhasivat kalapatoinensa hieman alempana kalliolla.

— Joko olet maistanut suolaa? kysyi Niilo.

— En, mutta minä luulen olevan siinä sitäkin tarpeeksi. Ei muuta

kuin nostetaan pata kepin nenässä tuonne syvennykseen ja syödään
siellä piilossa, muuten sedän ja Heikin rupeaa myöskin mieli
tekemään.

— Tehdään niin.

Paavo otti kepin ja nosti pataa varovasti tulelta. Mutta keppi

katkesi ja pata vieri kaloineen järveen.

— Voi ihme! Nyt meni keitto!

Kumpainenkin ryntäsi tavoittamaan pataa ja sysäsi toisensa

järveen. Vettä valuvina, surkeasti irvistellen noustiin sieltä ja Paavo
harasi kaloja pataan.

Niilolta pääsi itku.

— Minkä tähden sinä no-ostit se-emmoisella ke-epillä?

 — Elä itke iso poika. Hyviä nämä kalat ovat, vaikka vähän
huuhtiintuivatkin. Ollaan hissuksiin koko asiasta, etteivät pääse
nauramaan, toimitteli Paavo ja laitteli Niilon eteen parhaimpia
kaloista. Kuitenkin hänenkin suupieltään nyki pahasti ja kurkkua
kaivoi vahinko, joka oli varomattomuudessa tullut.

Heikki oli nukkunut, mutta setä nauroi pitkää naurua kalliolla ja

pyyhkieli vesiä silmistään. Pojat olivat huomanneet sedän naurun ja
Paavo sanoi:

— No nyt setä jo nauraa, mutta ei olla tietävinämmekään. Pitää kai

pyytää setää, ettei kerro Lailalle eikä Heikille.

Kohta kuitenkin pojat nauroivat itsekin keitolleen, jonka liemi kellui

siinä veden pinnalla monivärisenä läikkänä.

17.

Viljaa korjattiin Hernemaan pelloilla. Tuleentunut, kullankeltainen

ruis huojahteli viljavuuttaan täyteläisenä hiljaisessa tuulessa.
Pojatkin saivat olla lyhteitä sitomassa ja se olikin heistä hauskaa
työtä. Sormet tuntuivat ensin kovin aroilta, mutta setä sanoi, että ne
kyllä pian tottuvat tähänkin työhön, koskapa olivat tottuneet
kasvitarhan hoitoonkin.

Leikkuuväki hääri iloisena työssään. Iltapäivällä tuli Heikin ja

Paavon äitikin mukaan ja pojat ihmettelivät, kun hän osasi leikata
ruista.

— Tämä se, poikakullat, kaikkein kauneinta ja hupaisalta työtä

onkin, sanoi äiti ja tätä pitäisi osata tehdä jokaisen. Ilman näitä
maamiesten lainehtivia viljapeltoja oltaisiin pian hukassa.
 — Se on hyvä, että sinä sen käsität, sanoi setä äidille.

— Kuulehan äiti, minä aion ruveta maanviljelijäksi, sanoi Paavo.

— Setä kyllä opettaa minut oikein hyväksi maamieheksi.

— Hyvähän olisi, jos sinusta kunnollinen maanviljelijä tulisi, virkkoi

äiti. — Se on vain pahinta, ettei ole meillä maata.

— Mutta setäpä sanoo, että pian tulee sellainen aika, että maata
saa jokainen, joka haluaa. Mekin otamme sitten maata, äiti.

— Mutta ensin me kasvamme miehiksi ja lopetamme koulumme,

sanoi äiti. — Setä kyllä on niin hyvä, että joka kesä opettaa sinua
maamiehen tehtäviin.

Setä lupasi sen puolestaan varmasti tehdä.

— Ja ensi kesänä minä jo jaksan kyntääkin, kun tulen tänne

Hernemaahan, päätteli Paavo urheasti.

— Eikö Heikkikin halua maamieheksi? kysyi setä.

Heikki näytti miettivän. Hänestä olisi kyllä ollut hauskaa olla

maamiehenäkin, mutta mukavalta tuntui myöskin ajatella jonakin
virkamiehenä oloa. Se olisi kuitenkin helpompaa.

Senpähän näkee, kun eletään, arveli hän pikkumiehekkäästi.

Ehkäpä hänkin valitseisi maamiehen vapaan ammatin ja ottaisi
itselleen sitten semmoisen soman tytön emännäksi, kuin Laila oli.

Sitä Paavokin mietiskeli.

— Kun minä saan sitten talon itselleni, niin tuletkos sitten minulle
emännäksi, supatti hän hiljaa Lailan korvaan. — Mutta et saa tästä
puhua kellekään. Mitäs arvelet, eikö se olisi kovin hauskaa?

Laila nauroi.

— Voi sinua pikku nallikkaa. Kyllä se varmaan olisi.

— Joko taas sanot nallikaksi, kivahti Paavo. — Saat uskoa, että

mies minusta tulee! Ylioppilaaksi kun pääsen, niin silloin ostan talon,
se on varma!

Paavo istui lyhdeläjälle levähtämään. Pientä maamiestä alkoi jo

väsyttää.

— Ja kyllä sinä äiti nyt saat olla meihin tyytyväinen, sanoi hän
hetken kuluttua. — Meistä on tullut viisaita miehiä tänä kesänä.

Suvituuli leyhytteli ja pelloilla oli kaikki niin kaunista.

18.

Äiti ei joutanut kauan olemaan Hernemaassa. Kun saatiin

talvimarjat kerätyksi, lähti hän kaupunkiin. Siellä oli äidin
juurikasvimaa ja sekin kaipasi vielä hoitoa ja Ynnikkiä lypsi siellä
vieras, eikä Ynnikki siitä pitänyt.

Pojat näkivät tuskaisena päivien luisuvan käsistään. Kohta pitäisi

heidänkin lähteä ja se oli kovin vaikeata ajatellakin.

— Ikävä minullekin tulee, kun te menette, sanoi Laila pojille.

— Niinpä lähde sinäkin kaupunkiin, pyysivät pojat — Lähde vaikka

soppakouluun.
 — En minä vielä… sitten muutaman vuoden perästä.

— Ja sitten saat asua meillä ja onpa oikein mukavaa silloin.

Olihan se lähenevän eron katkeruudessa pieni lohdutuksen pisara,

että
Laila tulisi joskus kaupunkiin ja asuisi heillä.

*****

Käytiin joka päivä marjaretkillä ja kalassa. Rannalla paistettiin

kalaa ja äidin laittamat päivälliset Hernemaassa jäivät heiltä
koskematta.

Se oli onnen aikaa. Setäkin tuli joskus mukaan ja silloin oli yhä
hauskempaa.

Mutta pian tulivat elokuun loppupäivät, ja äitikin oli jo kiirehtänyt

tulemaan kotiin.

Täällähän heidän kotinsa oikeastaan olisi ollutkin, äiti kun vain olisi
ollut täällä.

Alakuloinen päivä se oli, jolloin matkatavaroita laitettiin kokoon.

Laila järjesti heidän matka-arkkunsa ja pojat katsoivat hänen
puuhailuaan. Hän lauleli ja oli reippaalla tuulella, kuten tavallisesti.

— Sinä varmaankin iloitset meidän lähdöstämme, sanoi Heikki.

— Pitäisikö minun itkemään ruveta? Eihän isot pojat saa tulla

hentomielisiksi.

— Ei saakaan, sanoi Paavo. — Me olemme ihan suuria vätyksiä.

Pianhan talvi kuluu ja silloinhan päästään jälleen Hernemaahan.
Hauskaahan on koulussakin. Varsinkin nyt, kun Heikkikin on siellä
ahkera.

Heikki muljautti epäluuloisesti veljeensä, mutta huomasi hänen

hyvää tarkoittavan.

Aamulla piti jo lähteä ja illalla kuljettiin vielä kertaan tutut paikat, ja

koko kesän valoisat muistot saivat mielen kaikesta huolimatta
surunsuloiseksi.

— Eikö ajeta vielä kerran selkähevosella? ehdotti Laila.

Renki oli juuri tuonut hevoset pihaan, johon he sattuivat tulemaan

kävelyretkeltään.

— Ajetaan vain.

Tuimaa ravia lasketeltiin hakatietä ja pojat pysyivät nyt jo hyvin

Lailan kintereillä.

— No nyt on sekin hauskuus lopussa, sanoi Heikki, kun hevoset

laskettiin veräjästä hakaan.

— Niin, tämän kesän hauskuus loppuu, mutta syksyn ilot ja talven

riemut on edessä, puheli Laila järkevästi, — Minun mielestäni on
ihmisellä aina riittävästi iloa, olipa missä tahansa, kun täyttää
velvollisuutensa. Eikö niin pojat?

— No se on vissi, tokasi Paavo, ja se nauratti jokaista.

Täti hymähteli ja naureskelikin:

— Taitaapa kesätovereista tuntua ero vaikealta. Pianhan tästä

jouluun päästään ja sitten saatte tulla tänne joululoman ajaksi, koska
niin hyvin täällä viihdytte.

Sekös riemun synnytti.

— Kuuletko Laila, mitä täti sanoo. Me pääsemme tänne jouluksi!

Kyllä sinä täti olet sitten mainio!

Paavo meni kuiskailemaan tädille:

— Saako äitikin tulla tänne jouluksi?

— Saahan toki, lapsikulta!

— Muuten minä en olisi tullutkaan. Kyllä jouluna täytyy olla äidin

mukana.

— Hyvä lapsi olet, kun äitiä muistat, sanoi täti.

— Niin, ja minä tulen aina vain paremmaksi, sanoi Paavo. — Setä

on sanonut, että kun kasvattaa itseään joka päivä, niin tulee oikein
hyväksi.

Täti hymyili pikku Paavolle.

*****

Setäkin puhui vielä illalla pojille hyvin paljon samoista asioista,

joista oli ennenkin puhunut ja lupasi tulla pian käymään
kaupungissa. Eivät milloinkaan sanoneet pojat unohtavansa sedän
neuvoja.

Elokuun yö oli lämmin ja kaunis, ja pojat eivät hennoneet mennä

nukkumaan. Ikkunassa seisten katseltiin kirkasta siltaa, jonka kuu
veti salmen yli.
 Pojat keskustelivat tulevaisuudesta. Heikkikin arveli rupeavansa
maamieheksi.

— Ja kun ensin koulussa sivistää itseään, niin sitten tuleekin

oikein kunnon maamies, arveli Paavo.

Heikki hahatti.

— Sivistää… sinä olet semmoinen…

— Mikä? kivahti Paavo.

— Semmoinen nallikka, niinkuin Laila sanoo.

— Älä sinä aina minua nakertele. Olen minä yhtä älykäs kuin
sinäkin ja kyllä Laila pitää minusta yhtä paljon kuin sinustakin.

Paavo oli kasvoiltaan ihan punainen. Mitäs kun Heikki aina

ärsytteli häntä.

Laila pisti päänsä ovesta.

— Riitelettekö te täällä? kysyi hän.

— Mitäs kun Heikki aina… tuhahti Paavo.

— Tulkaa sieltä pian kahvipöytään, minulla on kaakku

paistumassa. Ja sitten pitääkin jo pian lähteä laivalle. Tavarat vietiin
sinne jo illalla.

Pojat ihailivat serkun käytännöllisyyttä. Että ihan kakunkin

pyöräytti keskellä yötä.

— Olet sinä verraton.