Aristocratic Buddhism
Mikael S. Adolphson
According to the Nihon shoki, Buddhism was introduced in Japan in the year 552, when the king of the Korean kingdom of Paekche sent Buddhist scriptures (sutras) to the Japanese ruler. The penchant in such texts for assigning distinct beginnings and giving kings sole credit for such accomplishments alone makes it difficult to believe such claims, but there is no doubt that Buddhism did indeed come to Japan around that time, though it was more likely brought over by educated Korean immigrants. That this foreign religion was attractive to many Japanese aristocrats is hardly surprising, since it came with comprehensive rhetoric about an afterlife, and other aspects of the spiritual world, of greater sophistication than previously available in the local cults (Shintō). But it also included a writing system, advanced architecture and art forms, and tools for a centralized state, all associated with the most advanced culture in the known world—China.
Yet there was some resistance as well, and in 587 a war broke out between the pro-Buddhist Soga, of Korean descent, and pro-Shintō families such as the Mononobe. Although the conflict has come down to later generations as a war between the two faiths, it was in reality a conflict between aristocrats who wished to create a centralized state, much with the help of Buddhism, and local clans that wished to maintain greater independence, a stance that could be supported by beliefs in local kami (Shintō deities). The Soga won, and Buddhist complexes were constructed in central Japan, often adjacent to local shrines, which indicates a lack of doctrinal opposition between Buddhism and local deities.
The most famous of these early temples was Hōryūji, just southwest of Nara, the home of Japan’s first national hero, Prince Shōtoku (574–622), who promoted Buddhism and sent several missions to China, and also favored Confucian ideals among aristocrats serving as loyal ministers. By the mid-eighth century, Buddhism had become the main religion of the imperial state, as evidenced by the completion in 749 of Tōdaiji, the centerpiece of the state temple network, just outside the Nara capital. Although smaller than the original, Tōdaiji is still considered one of the largest wooden buildings in the world, and houses a fifty-two-foot statue of the Sun Buddha—a clear reference to the temple’s protective powers over the state and the imperial family.
From the outset, Buddhism was thus both highly political and elitist, and while there were certainly some genuine aristocratic believers, it was also widely used by these elites as a tool for state building. As a result, little if any of Buddhist ideology reached common people in early Japan, despite the evangelizing efforts of mendicants such as Gyōki (668–749) in the mid-eighth century. In part, this elitist approach was conditioned by a form of Buddhism that was in reality closer to the Hinayana (Lesser Vehicle) branch, according to which nirvana could be attained only by improving one’s karma after numerous rebirths, than to the Mahayana (Greater Vehicle) teachings, which taught that all living beings had Buddha potential. Commoners were thus hopelessly removed from any chances of achieving enlightenment after this life, whereas monks and nobles who patronized Buddhist temples and rituals appeared to have a distinct advantage. More important, many of the rituals of early Buddhism focused on the state and its main patrons, which naturally helps explain the elites’ attraction to this foreign ideology.
There were, however, actors in this equation beyond the noble elites. The monks themselves were agents of elitism, as many found it advantageous to cater to the ruling class. This predilection also meant that they could be caught in the factional struggles of the court, as seems to have been the case with the infamous Dōkyō (700–772). Dōkyō became a confidant of Empress Kōken (reigned 749–758) and was even instrumental in her rise to power when she reascended the throne as Empress Shōtoku (reigned 764–770), much to the dismay of her main group of opponents, the Fujiwara. In the end, the Fujiwara came out victorious in this short-lived struggle, as they managed to exile Dōkyō shortly after the empress died in 770.
Dōkyō has frequently been seen as a usurper who attempted to unseat the imperial family and ascend the throne himself, but given that the historical records were sponsored by the Fujiwara, they may not be wholly reliable. The more important point, however, is that Buddhist monks and institutions were becoming more powerful in the Nara state, a development that, whether real or perceived, bothered some courtiers and rulers. Above all, Emperor Kanmu (reigned 781–806) took measures to limit the tax exemptions of temples and enforce more strictly the rules of ordination. Moreover, he decided to move the imperial palace to Nagaoka in 784, only to relocate it farther north to Heiankyō (Kyoto) ten years later, distancing the court from the Nara temples.1
This is not to say that Kanmu or the imperial court in general was anti-Buddhist. On the contrary, few members of the court at this point could have envisioned a state without the spiritual protection and endorsement of the Buddhas. But the court was ripe for new ideas and schools that could broaden the scope of Buddhism itself. Such alternatives were indeed introduced not long after the move to the Heian plain by monks who explored teachings that opened up Buddhism to a larger contingent of believers. Two monks were crucial to this new development: Saichō (767–823) and Kūkai (774–835).
THE TENDAI AND SHINGON SCHOOLS
Saichō was born in the province of Ōmi, but traveled to Nara to become a monk at a young age. There, he became interested in Tendai Buddhism, a Mahayana school that preached that all human beings had the potential for enlightenment and that held a syncretic view of Buddhist practices. After becoming a monk at Tōdaiji in 785, Saichō returned to his home province, building a small temple on Mt. Hiei on the western shore of Lake Biwa. This location was fortuitous beyond what anyone could possibly have imagined, as the mountain overlooked the Heian plain, where Emperor Kanmu moved the capital a few years later, in 794. As if that was not enough, Mt. Hiei was also located to the northeast of the new capital, thus protecting the latter from the evil spirits believed to come from that direction. Because of this coincidence and his focus on teachings seen as an alternative to the established Nara sects, Saichō caught the attention of the court, earning him an appointment as imperial court monk in 797.
Subsequently, Saichō concentrated on collecting texts and lecturing, and after a successful performance in a debate on the Tendai teachings in 802, he began to separate himself from the Nara sects more openly. Saichō maintained that the Buddha’s own words, most explicitly expressed in the Lotus Sutra, needed more attention than the commentaries that many Nara sects relied on, and so he petitioned the emperor to have original texts obtained directly from Buddhist masters in China. In the twelfth month of 802, Emperor Kanmu granted Saichō permission and the funds to go to China.
It was another two years before the pilgrimage took place, but Saichō finally arrived in southern China after an arduous journey, travelling straight to the Chinese center of Tendai teachings, Mt. Tiantai. He stayed for a little more than six months before heading back to the coast. While waiting for a ship to arrive, Saichō decided to study esoteric rites, which had become increasingly popular in Tang China as they were believed to earn benefactors more immediate benefits. Once back in the capital, Saichō set out to promote the Tendai teachings more vigorously, but he soon discovered that the esoteric rites and their magical powers were more in demand at the new court in Kyoto. Unfortunately for Saichō, he had received only limited training on such matters, and even though the Tendai teachings were eclectic, he felt rather inadequate in his knowledge. And so when the monk Kūkai returned from China with more substantial knowledge of these rituals, he, rather than Saichō, eventually became the rage in the capital.
Born on the island of Shikoku to a provincial noble family with central connections, Kūkai was sent to live with a relative in the then-capital of Nagaoka at the age of fourteen to study Confucianism. He was not, however, particularly enamored with the reigning ideology of rule, which was in any case not then as prominent or as promising for his career as the alternative that caught his attention: Buddhism. Kūkai first appears to have taken private Buddhist vows; when the capital was moved to the Heian plain, he set out to spread the word of Buddha by himself. At some point, he must have caught the attention of the court of Kyoto, for he was added to the mission to China in 804 for which Saichō had already been selected. It is unknown exactly why he was chosen, but like Saichō, Kūkai preached Mahayana Buddhism, and he may thus have provided an attractive alternative to the Nara sects for Emperor Kanmu and his supporters.
The circumstances behind the selection of Saichō and Kūkai may thus have been similar, but their agendas in China illustrate fundamental differences in their approaches. Kūkai, who landed first in the southern Chinese province of Fukien, was more politically astute and went straight to the Tang capital of Changan, where he arrived in the twelfth month of 804. After a three-month stay at a residence supplied by the Tang court, Kūkai moved to the famous temple of Ximingsi, where he eventually met the great master Huiguo (746–805), who became his teacher. Huiguo was the transmitter of popular esoteric teachings based on the Mahāvairochana Sutra (J. Dainichi-kyō) that had been introduced in China almost a century earlier. Following his teacher’s death in 805, Kūkai left China with a large number of Buddhist texts, mandalas (cosmic paintings used in esoteric Buddhist meditation), and books of poetry. Arriving on the coast of Kyushu, Kūkai sent a memorandum to the court in Kyoto accounting for his achievements while asking for support to start a new esoteric school. He waited almost three years for a response, but the imperial court eventually allowed him to take up residence at Takaosanji, just northwest of Kyoto, though the reigning emperor (Heizei) showed little interest in the monk’s teachings.
The accession of Emperor Saga in 810 changed Kūkai’s fortunes dramatically. Saga appreciated artworks, which were an integral part of Kūkai’s teachings, as well as the poetry skills of the erudite monk. With the new emperor’s support, Kūkai was allowed to gather a group of students and disciples to study esoteric Buddhism at Takaosanji, and he was appointed head abbot of Tōdaiji, a position that eventually enabled him to incorporate esoteric rites in Nara by establishing a subcloister called the Shingon’in (822) within the imperial temple.
Kūkai’s knowledge of esoteric rites and his artistic skills won him a favorable reputation and a network of supporters among the court elites. Saichō, on the other hand, continued to have incomplete knowledge of esoteric rituals; when his relationship with Kūkai broke down after the Tōdaiji abbot refused to lend him important scriptures, the future looked bleak for the Tendai temple on Mt. Hiei. In fact, Saichō had serious difficulties retaining his own monks, and he encountered resistance from the Nara schools in his attempt to persuade them to acknowledge Tendai as a separate school. Saichō died on the 4th day of the sixth month of 822 without having achieved full recognition for Tendai’s independence, but only seven days later his requests were granted posthumously.
Tendai’s independence was thus recognized, and the temple on Mt. Hiei was officially named Enryakuji in 823. This concession was an important step toward independence from the Office of Monastic Affairs, which was dominated by Kōfukuji monks, and other temples soon followed suit. It was thus now possible for temples in general to manage their own affairs and to establish more direct ties with their patrons, marking the beginning of independent monasteries and eventually leading to the development of religious institutions as powerful elites (see chapter 12).
Although Kūkai encountered less resistance from other temples than Saichō, he wished to separate his school from the influence of the monastic office, and he eventually received permission to build a temple on Mt. Kōya (Kōyasan), located several days’ walk from Kyoto south on the Kii peninsula. Given Kūkai’s success in the capital, one might wonder why he chose such a remote location. He may have been concerned with keeping his own doctrines separate from other schools and ideas in the capital, where monks often became multisectarian. Kūkai named the temple Kongōbuji (Diamond Peak Temple), thereby using the surrounding peaks to evoke a worldly map of the Buddhist cosmos with his monastery at its center.
In 823, the same year that Saichō died and Tendai was recognized, Kūkai’s own school, Shingon (True Word), received official recognition as well. Kūkai seems to have outdone his rival again, for he also received an imperial decree stating that only Shingon monks could reside at Tōji (one of the two temples marking the southern entrance to Kyoto), where he had been abbot. This was undoubtedly an important moment for Kūkai. It not only marked the official recognition of the Shingon School but also gave it the unusual distinction of exclusivity from other schools, contrary to the general practice then current of studying several different doctrines within one and the same monastery. To those who became his disciples, Kūkai offered a unique three-pronged approach: the secret transmission of specific mantras (prayers), meditative hand postures (mudras), and cosmic diagrams (mandalas).
By the time of his death on Mt. Kōya in 835, Kūkai had managed to gain further privileges for his school. First, he established a Buddhist hall within the imperial palace where annual Shingon rituals would be performed for one week in the first month of every year. This series of rituals, known as the Mishiho, became one of the prestigious services performed annually for the welfare of the imperial court and the state in the Heian era. Second, Kūkai was granted the ordination of three new state-supported Shingon monks every year. As in the case of Saichō and the ordination of Tendai monks, this meant important recognition of Shingon as one of the state-sponsored Buddhist schools.
Shingon Buddhism was now, just like Tendai and Hossō, a recognized part of the Buddhist establishment, marking the early form of a multidoctrinal system that incorporated competing schools within the framework of the imperial state. What the addition of two new schools did not accomplish, despite the founders’ intentions, was a general proliferation of Buddhist beliefs among the general population. Rather, Buddhism remained an aristocratic affair, albeit with an expanded presence in the economic and political arenas of society.
Justin I
3 minutes ago
RISTOCRATIC BUDDHISM
Saichō and Kūkai were undoubtedly central figures in their own age, but their importance increased posthumously as their schools became more and more successful. Yet despite the founders’ accomplishments, Tendai and Shingon were at some point in the early Heian age in real danger of decline with diminishing funding, while Hossō monks and Kōfukuji, the Fujiwara temple in Nara, continued to dominate and control many of the most important rituals well into the twelfth century. Moreover, because of the new schools’ independence, Tendai and Shingon both had to rely on direct ties with and patronage from the capital elites, which in turn meant that they needed to ensure demand for their religious services from the nobles. It was here that the esoteric rituals—believed to carry benefits both in this and the next life—became the crucial bond between court society and the Tendai and Shingon institutions.
Two Enryakuji monks, Ennin (793/794–864) and Enchin (814–891), were particularly successful in this regard. Both embarked on protracted travels to China, in 838–847 and 853–858, respectively, to learn about the latest currents from the Chinese esoteric schools. By the tenth century, Tendai monks had not only caught up with those from Shingon in terms of popularity, but had perhaps even eclipsed them as the main competitors to the Hossō School, which still benefited from the patronage of the Fujiwara.
Accordingly, by the mid-Heian period, Buddhism was integral to the Japanese state, to the imperial court in general, and to its individual members. The relationship between the various Buddhist schools and the secular leaders was complex, but a certain grasp of it is essential in understanding both Heian rulership and society. First, as noted by Neil McMullin, the patrons and sponsors of Buddhism were more pragmatic than dogmatic. In fact, their main interest lay in the ceremonies and the benefits that these offered patrons, as evidenced by the innumerable esoteric and other Buddhist rituals performed for individual nobles and their families, for the imperial family, and for the Heian state. The underlying doctrines were less important in the selection of ceremonies than the rituals themselves and the monks performing them.
The second consideration in choosing rituals and monks was that of the institution. Because direct links were established between the secular elites and specific temples or cloisters, the choice of master of ceremonies naturally fell on an ally within the monastic complexes that were close to the patron. Doctrine, according to McMullin, ranked as the third consideration for the secular leaders—a notion supported by evidence of a tendency to include in the training of novices a variety of schools of thought.2 Perhaps the best evidence of these priorities and of the development of close ties between the noble elites and the monastic leaders is provided by the monk credited with making Enryakuji into the most powerful complex in premodern Japan: Ryōgen (912–985).
After having received training on Mt. Hiei in various doctrines of the Tendai tradition, Ryōgen was appointed to serve at Kōfukuji’s central ceremony, the Yuima’e, in 937. That the court thus appointed an Enryakuji monk to this Fujiwara-controlled ceremony indicates its preference for ceremony, institution, and doctrine in that order, and even the protest raised by Kōfukuji monks was based on institutional rather than doctrinal grounds. Ryōgen also distinguished himself at a debate held between Hossō and Tendai monks in 963, which gained him enough attention to become head abbot of Tendai shortly thereafter. Prior to Ryōgen’s tenure, the monastic complex on Mt. Hiei had experienced a decline as some buildings had been destroyed by fire and others suffered from lack of maintenance. Now Enryakuji was revived and soon expanded, so that by the late tenth century, the Mt. Hiei monastery is said to have reached a population of 3,000 monks, acolytes, and clerical staff.
The key to Ryōgen’s success lay in his connection to the Fujiwara chieftain Morosuke (908–960), who saw in the monk a vehicle for promoting his own line against other members of the Fujiwara. Ryōgen not only received financial support but was also entrusted with one of Morosuke’s sons, who came to succeed Ryōgen as the Tendai head abbot in 985. Besides confirming the close ties between Ryōgen and Morosuke’s line, the chieftain’s act also marked the beginning of a new trend of sons of ranking nobles entering monasteries as privileged monks on a fast track to abbotships, which in the following century became attractive careers for young nobles as well as a means to controlling religious ceremonies and resources for noble factions.
Justin I
2 minutes ago
HEIAN MONASTERIES AND HIERARCHIES
In theory, the monastic world was open to anyone, and with the proper training and seniority, a monk of humble origins could also become abbot. With the influx of nobles, however, a dual hierarchy was established in which key posts were monopolized by sons of ranking nobles, who frequently lived in separate cloisters, called monzeki, at some distance from the monastery. The religious order thus became an integral part of court factionalism, resulting in an aristocratization of the temple hierarchies. Noble monks competed with the help of their court relatives against monastics associated with other noble factions. Religious training became a less relevant qualification for monastic appointments, and while noble monks were certainly highly educated, their knowledge of Buddhist tenets was not as advanced as one might expect from religious leaders.
The monastic complexes of Heian Japan were accordingly worlds of men ordered by hereditary rank. Women were rarely, if ever, allowed to visit, much less take vows at these temples—in sharp contrast to the Nara period, when hundreds of nuns participated in ceremonies alongside monks. From the late eighth century, the number of ordained women declined (disappearing completely in 828), as did the number of provincial nunneries that had been established the previous century. At the same time, the most prestigious monastic complexes, such as Enryakuji, Kōyasan, and Tōdaiji, even prohibited women from their precincts. It is not clear exactly why these changes occurred, but it is worth noting that women lost most of the public functions at the imperial court at the same time, in favor of more informal, supporting roles behind their male counterparts.
As in court society, noble women were active members in the Buddhist world, though in less public roles than previously. Their devotion and religious practices became instead matters of personal choice based on their particular circumstances, irrespective of how the imperial court viewed their status. Thus women, especially of the nobility, could become “private nuns,” without official vows or recognition, by simply cutting their hair—and in some cases receiving precepts from individual monks. These acts were most commonly precipitated by events—such as the death of a husband, personal misfortune, or severe illness—that affected the woman’s social standing. The act of becoming a lay nun, then, was the act of removing oneself from the political, social, and sexual worlds of the Heian court.
Since there were no ordained nuns, men necessarily served as the spiritual teachers of women seeking to retreat from this society. The aforementioned Ryōgen, for example, helped his own mother by establishing a Buddhist hall close to the capital that she was allowed to visit, and by also moving off Mt. Hiei an important relic festival believed to accrue merit for attendees. Other high-ranking court ladies established their own cloisters for their retirement, marking a distinct boundary between the courtly world and their renunciation of it. Another well-known expression of male guidance is the Sanbōe (Illustrations of the Three Jewels), written in 984 by the courtier Minamoto Tamenori for the nineteen-year-old Princess Sonshi for her retirement from the court. Tamenori offered the princess advice on her path to enlightenment through good deeds by providing stories and examples from other texts along with images. The reasons for Sonshi’s retirement are unclear, but it is worth noting that Tamenori would have accrued merit for himself as well by providing this service for a young court lady.
Not only was the monastic world aristocratized during the Heian period, but, as the above account suggests, this process was preceded by genderization as well, a trend paralleled within the imperial court. The removal of public roles for women in court and religious ceremonies was, in other words, another expression of the privatization that characterized the Heian age. Playing a less important public role did not necessarily mean a loss of power for women, as influence in politics became increasingly based on private assets; but women undeniably became less prominent in the Buddhist world. Whatever engagement they had with that world resulted from their status as nobles, since temples, monks, and Buddhist rituals were absolutely integral to the courtly state, where women did play a significant role throughout the Heian period.
In fact, the distance between secular and religious leaders narrowed so much that by the second half of the era, the persons in charge in the two spheres were more often than not relatives. For example, Jien (1155–1225), the author of the well-known chronicle Gukanshō (“A Miscellany of Ignorant Views,” or “Foolish Comments”), was the head abbot of Tendai and also the brother of the Fujiwara chieftain Kanezane (1149–1207). The secular and Buddhist worlds were codependent, and indeed it was so conceived in the Heian state as well.
The main ideology driving this coexistence appears in various documents as ōbō buppō sōi, or “the mutual dependence of the Imperial and Buddhist Laws.” One appeal from 1053 makes an explicit allusion to this codependence: “the Buddhist and the Imperial laws are like the two wings of a bird or the two wheels of a cart.”3 Such ideas were based on and supported by the Buddhist notion of historical cycles of religious consciousness, according to which 1052 was the final year of the final age of the Buddhist Law. While the world did not, in fact, decline into complete chaos that year, it was common rhetoric among monks and courtiers to refer to this notion of decline whenever they encountered changes in or threats to their own worlds.
THE BEGINNINGS OF POPULIST BUDDHISM
Because Buddhist rituals and institutions were controlled by and catered to the elites during the Heian and Kamakura eras, Buddhist ideas did not reach many members of the lower classes or outside the capital area. Nevertheless, some trickling down took place via kami worship, as most shrines served as affiliates of temples, and their deities served as protectors of their Buddhist counterparts. More important, regardless of the elitism of Buddhism in the Heian period, ideas that opened the path to enlightenment to a broader segment of society began to gain ground as well. Central to these beliefs was the idea Saichō and Kūkai had emphasized that anyone with the right training or guidance could achieve enlightenment after this life.
As an extension of these ideas, faith in the savior Amida began to spread among noble patrons from the mid-Heian age. According to this belief, simply proclaiming one’s faith in Amida would ensure one’s rebirth in the Western Paradise. Since no temptations existed in this paradise, no sins would be committed, and a continuation to nirvana would thus be guaranteed. Early evidence of such beliefs can be seen at the Phoenix Hall at the Byōdōin, a temple devoted to Amida with numerous wall paintings depicting scenes from the Western Paradise. Constructed in Uji just south of Kyoto by the Fujiwara chieftain in the mid-eleventh century, the temple is today a UNESCO World Heritage Site and the most visited tourist attraction in the area.
While the Amida faith was originally supported l
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