Critical Readings on Pure Land Buddhism in Japan [Volume 3] 9004401520, 9789004401525

Table of contents :
Contents
Part 8 Meiji and Modernity: Political Resettlement and Realignment, Moments of Intellectual Hybridization, Emigration, Collaboration, Postwar Progressivism,
Lingering Conservatism
Shin Buddhism in the Meiji Period
Against Buddhist Unity: Murakami Senshō and
His Sectarian Critics
The Honganji: Guardian of the State (1868–1945)
Shinran’s Thought in Present-Day Japan
Propagation, Accommodation and Negotiating Social Capital: Jōdo Shinshū Responses to
Contemporary Crises
Family Temples and Religious Learning in
Contemporary Japanese Buddhism
Shin Buddhist Studies and Secularization
Amida and Pure Land within a Contemporary Worldview: From Shinran’s Literal Symbolism to
Figurative Symbolism
The Medieval and the Modern in Shin Buddhism
Rethinking Acculturation in the Postmodern World
Nenbutsu and Meditation: Problems with the Categories of Contemplation, Devotion,
Meditation, and Faith
Index of Personal Names

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Critical Readings on Pure Land Buddhism in Japan Volume 3

Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

Critical Readings on Pure Land Buddhism in Japan volume 3

Edited by

Galen Amstutz

LEIDEN | BOSTON

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The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at http://catalog.loc.gov LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2020936996

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. isbn 978-90-04-40140-2 (hardback, set) isbn 978-90-04-40137-2 (hardback, vol. 1) isbn 978-90-04-40138-9 (hardback, vol. 2) isbn 978-90-04-40139-6 (hardback, vol. 3) isbn 978-90-04-40150-1 (e-book, vol. 1) isbn 978-90-04-40151-8 (e-book, vol. 2) isbn 978-90-04-40152-5 (e-book, vol. 3) Copyright 2020 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi, Brill Sense, Hotei Publishing, mentis Verlag, Verlag Ferdinand Schöningh and Wilhelm Fink Verlag. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. Brill has made all reasonable efforts to trace all rights holders to any copyrighted material used in this work. In cases where these efforts have not been successful the publisher welcomes communications from copyright holders, so that the appropriate acknowledgements can be made in future editions, and to settle other permission matters. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

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Contents volume 1

Introduction: Brill Critical Readings on Pure Land Buddhism in Japan 1

part 1 Useful Overarching Perspectives 1

Buddhism as a Religion of Hope: Observations on the “Logic” of a Doctrine and Its Foundational Myth 17 Luis O. Gómez

2

Pure Land Buddhism as an Alternative Mārga 36 Mark L. Blum

part 2 Early Presence in Japan 3

The Development of Mappō Thought in Japan (I) 79 Michele Marra

4

The Development of Mappō Thought in Japan (II) 109 Michele Marra

5

The Growth of Pure Land Buddhism in the Heian Period 127 Robert F. Rhodes

6

Ōjōyōshū, Nihon Ōjō Gokuraku-ki, and the Construction of Pure Land Discourse in Heian Japan 159 Robert F. Rhodes

7

With the Help of “Good Friends” Deathbed Ritual Practices in Early Medieval Japan 182 Jacqueline I. Stone

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part 3 Turn to the Nembutsu as the Sole Solution 8

Hōnen on Attaining Pure Land Rebirth: the Selected Nenbutsu of the Original Vow 223 Allan A. Andrews

9

Hōnen and Popular Pure Land Piety: Assimilation and Transformation 241 Allan A. Andrews

10

Socio-Economic Impacts of Hōnen’s Pure Land Doctrines: an Inquiry into the Interplay between Buddhist Teachings and Institutions 255 Martin Repp

part 4 Shinran’s More Radical Turn to the Enlightenment Gift as an Involuntary Emergent Property 11

Faith: Its Arising 305 Alfred Bloom

12

“Rely on the Meaning, Not on the Words” Shinran’s Methodology and Strategy for Reading Scriptures and Writing the Kyōgyōshinshō 322 Eisho Nasu

volume 2 part 5 Formation of a Major Institution: Honganji and Its Negotiations with Popular Consciousness 13

From Inspiration to Institution The Rise of Sectarian Identity in Jōdo Shinshū 349 James C. Dobbins

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14

Shin Buddhist Attitudes towards the Kami From Shinran to Rennyo 363 Robert F. Rhodes

15

Popular Pure Land Teachings of the Zenkōji Nyorai and Shinran 388 Eisho Nasu

16

Stand by Your Founder Honganji’s Struggle with Funeral Orthodoxy 398 Mark L. Blum

17

Steadied Ambiguity: the Afterlife in “Popular” Shin Buddhism 430 Galen Amstutz

18

Ambivalence Regarding Women and Female Gender in Premodern Shin Buddhism 449 Galen Amstutz

part 6 The Alternative Field: Pure Land Striven for in This World 19

Ippen and Pure Land Buddhist Wayfarers in Medieval Japan 483 James H. Foard

20 The Shingon Subordinating Fire Offering for Amitābha, “Amida Kei Ai Goma” 509 Richard K. Payne 21

Breath of Life: the Esoteric Nembutsu 530 James H. Sanford

22

Jōkei and the Rhetoric of “Other-Power” and “Easy Practice” in Medieval Japanese Buddhism 561 James L. Ford

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part 7 Pure Land Fellowships in War and Peace 23

The Life of Rennyo A Struggle for the Transmission of Dharma 603 Yasutomi Shin’ya

24 The Dilemma of Religious Power Honganji and Hosokawa Masamoto 628 Michael Solomon 25

Shin Buddhism and Burakumin in the Edo Period 645 Galen Amstutz

26 Precepts in Japanese Pure Land Buddhism The Jōdoshū 695 James C. Dobbins 27

Exemplary Lives Form and Function in Pure Land Sacred Biography 712 Michael Bathgate

28 Preaching as Performance Notes on a Secretive Shin Buddhist Sermon 746 Clark Chilson 29 The Nianfo in Ōbaku Zen: a Look at the Teachings of the Three Founding Masters 759 James Baskind 30 Extreme Asceticism, Medicine and Pure Land Faith in the Life of Shuichi Munō (1683–1719) 778 Paul Groner

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volume 3 part 8 Meiji and Modernity: Political Resettlement and Realignment, Moments of Intellectual Hybridization, Emigration, Collaboration, Postwar Progressivism, Lingering Conservatism 31

Shin Buddhism in the Meiji Period 805 Mark L. Blum

32

Against Buddhist Unity: Murakami Senshō and His Sectarian Critics 875 Ryan Ward

33

The Honganji: Guardian of the State (1868–1945) 908 Minor L. Rogers and Ann T. Rogers

34 Shinran’s Thought in Present-Day Japan 931 Gerhard Schepers 35

Propagation, Accommodation and Negotiating Social Capital: Jōdo Shinshū Responses to Contemporary Crises 954 Jørn Borup

36 Family Temples and Religious Learning in Contemporary Japanese Buddhism 978 Jessica Starling 37

Shin Buddhist Studies and Secularization 993 Mitsuya Dake

38 Amida and Pure Land within a Contemporary Worldview: From Shinran’s Literal Symbolism to Figurative Symbolism 1005 Kenneth K. Tanaka 39 The Medieval and the Modern in Shin Buddhism 1033 James C. Dobbins

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40 Rethinking Acculturation in the Postmodern World 1082 Michihiro Ama 41

Nenbutsu and Meditation: Problems with the Categories of Contemplation, Devotion, Meditation, and Faith 1089 Lisa Grumbach Index of Personal Names 1103

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part 8 Meiji and Modernity: Political Resettlement and Realignment, Moments of Intellectual Hybridization, Emigration, Collaboration, Postwar Progressivism, Lingering Conservatism

∵

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Shin Buddhism in the Meiji Period Mark L. Blum Discerning changes in religion within a culture tells us as much about that culture as observing its political changes, if not more so, but unlike the latter that manifest in ways usually noticed quickly by public media, knowing how and when shifts in religious thinking occur can be immensely complicated. Although both stand on fundamental beliefs and values and express social realities as much as personal truths, religion is rarely explained by its leaders with the degree of explicitness that one commonly finds in political spokespersons, a fact that drives many to throw up their hands, yet motivates students of religion to probe deeper. In this case, the complexity is deepened by the fact that the religious essays contained in this book also are reflective of Japan’s encounter with “modernism” or “the modern world.” The way in which the onset of “modern sensibility” is viewed today in hindsight differs enormously not only from nation to nation, but from viewer to viewer. Some people begin modern European history with the Spanish Inquisition, others with the American and French revolutions, to name only two perspectives. In the case of Japan, traditional views of history typically use the convenience of the Meiji Restoration in 1867–1868 to demarcate the transition from feudal to modern, but the prevalence of capitalism, the weakening of class distinctions, pervasive forms of public education, and so forth in the Edo period (1600–1867) argues against a facile “feudal” label for that era, which today is more commonly called “pre-modern,” and some argue that Japan never had a true feudal period at all in the European sense of the word. But these arguments generally rest on political and economic grounds, whereas the focus here is on religion, philosophy, or “thought” (shisō 思想) as the Japanese like to call it, which follows a slightly different timetable and where the adjective feudal remains relevant but is used quite differently. Although these essays are exemplary examples of Japanese religion’s encounter with modernity, the authors themselves do not explicitly frame their ideas as addressing the meaning of modernity, although the word for modern

Source: Blum, Mark L, “Shin Buddhism in the Meiji Period,” in Mark L. Blum and Robert F. Rhodes (eds.), Cultivating Spirituality: A Modern Shin Buddhist Anthology. Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 2011, pp. 1–52. © 2011, State University of New York. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2020 | doi:10.1163/9789004401525_035

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(kindai 現代) does occur in the sense of “today’s society.” But the reader will have no trouble discerning anxieties and problematizing that reflect not only modernism but postmodernism as well, such as Kiyozawa Manshi’s reflections on the problem of locating moral authority. I come back to the question of modernity later, but first it is important to make clear that these essays, some of which originated as public lectures, are of a particular type of discourse akin to what we would regard in a biblical context as theology. That is, although there is great depth of historical study of doctrine and philosophy evident in all of them, these authors are not writing as professional scholars but as professional religious. What ties these essays together is an overriding concern within all four authors about the need to clarify not what Buddhism is but what Buddhism means, in their lives, at that moment. Although all were famed teachers associated with Ōtani University in one way or another, there is no pretense to “historical objectivity” here because they are speaking from inside their religious tradition, namely Jōdo Shinshū 浄土真宗 or Shin Buddhism. This does not mean these essays lack critical perspective. Quite the opposite, in fact. A critical stance toward their own tradition is clearly the engine that drives the motivation of all these authors. This orientation finds expression in the felt need to address the ambiguity surrounding nothing less than the biggest questions in Buddhism in the context of this particular tradition in the modern period. Namely, what is the nature of faith, karma, and history? How do we understand the religious symbols that stir us (such as the buddha’s name)? What is the relationship between the authority of the received teachings in my tradition and the authority of my own experience? Are religious ethics and social ethics compatible in Buddhism or inevitably in conflict? What also characterizes these essays is the assumed value of subjective understanding—another factor that removes them from the realm of historical scholarship that was practiced in their own time. Subjectivity is a slippery issue, for although we do not expect leaders of individual religious traditions to view their own denomination “objectively” vis-à-vis other traditions, when addressing their own they are expected to affirm common values and beliefs particular to that tradition, and this fact demands their rhetoric exhibit at least a nod toward objectivity in their own doctrines or dogmas. In the Shin Buddhist tradition, “other-power” (tariki 他力) represents the transcendent power of Amida Buddha to effect spiritual change within the individual, and forms a religious doctrine as central to their religious outlook as sin or grace in Christianity. Thus, when Christian theologians speak of original sin and Shin “theologians” speak of other-power, they must both at least begin from common, received understandings of these concepts that contain a strong

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impersonal dimension by dint of the fact that they represent and therefore belong to their community as a whole. But after launching from this common ground, the speaker may then shift direction in order to express entirely new and different meanings that he or she has unearthed in the investigation of seeking to uncover something like the archaeological creed lying at the base of their institution’s heritage. This is precisely the process found in these essays, and why they often are so provocative. At once traditional in terms of theme and topic, they are strikingly innovative in their interpretations. Often the authors will state that their perceptions are not new but merely corrections of contemporary misunderstandings, a move that allows them to remain orthodox, at least from their own point of view. The tension between normative doctrine and the abundant creativity in these essays was exacerbated by the very nature of the philosophical movement that formed the orientation of all the authors represented here, namely Seishinshugi 精神主義, translated here as “Cultivating Spirituality.” As envisioned by its founder, Kiyozawa Manshi 清沢滿之 (1863–1903), Seishinshugi was the name given to a set of principles that prioritized personal, subjective experience as the basis for religious understanding, as well as the praxis that ideally brought about realization. Although the name Seishinshugi literally means something like “spirituality at the forefront,” putting these principles into practice also was of central importance to Kiyozawa. To understand what Kiyozawa was trying to do and why, we need to consider both the objective and the subjective—Japan in the Meiji period when Kiyozawa lived, and Kiyozawa the individual. 1

Buddhism on the Defensive: the Destabilizing Effects of Modernism on Shin Buddhism

Although the Seishinshugi movement may have been one of the most coherent responses to modernity within Japanese religion, overall Japan’s emergence as a modern nation-state on its religion is dominated by the attacks first on Buddhism and Buddhist institutions from a variety of voices and then on the very value of religion itself. Even State Shinto as a modern creation is, from the Buddhist point of view, just one chapter in a litany of ideological moves designed to wean Japanese spirituality from its Buddhist moorings. But when we move into the late Meiji period, that is after 1895, religion as a whole is dismissed by leading intellectuals such as Inoue Tetsujirō 井上哲次郎 (1855–1944) as decidedly unmodern and thus feudalistic, a rhetoric that carefully does not include State Shinto because of its political implications.

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The modern world’s effect on Buddhist beliefs, values, practices, and institutions came very differently to each nation in Asia with a Buddhist history. In the case of Japan, attacks on institutional Buddhism brought on by the modernization of Japanese society came from three main sources: nativist and Confucian ideology, Western philosophy and religion, and political tensions arising from reform movements inside Buddhist institutions themselves. Seishinshugi grew out of a failed reform movement within the Higashi Honganji, or the Ōtani branch of the Shin tradition, but many of its ideas had an impact beyond that particular institution. Looking back on this movement from the twenty-first century, one cannot overlook the fact that among all sectarian religious forms in Japan in the Meiji period and beyond, no other school has produced so many towering intellectual figures. Beginning in the late Meiji period, Seishinshugi was thus more than a direct response to the unsettled nature of the Higashi Honganji organization in particular: it challenged Japanese Buddhism as a whole. To fully appreciate what Seishinshugi itself propounded in its historical context, we need to look in some detail at the nature of that historical context itself: that is, the external pressures on the Buddhist tradition in Japan and in this case the ways in which Shin Buddhism responded to them, both of which reflected the context within which the vision of Kiyozawa Manshi emerged. The fall of the Tokugawa bakufu or military governing body and the establishment of the Meiji government in 1867 in effect meant the replacement of one group of samurai leaders with another, but this new oligarchy was inspired by an entirely different political ideology that had serious consequences for Japan, its neighbors, and relevant to the present study, for Buddhism and its institutions. Although there was an inherent nationalism in the sakoku 鎖国 policy of national isolation under the Tokugawa bakufu, the internationalization of Japan with the Meiji Restoration resulted in a much more intense and violent form of nationalism. Although somewhat of a simplification, Christianity was the intended victim of the sakoku form of nationalism, and Buddhism was the intended victim of its modern form. But it was one thing to limit and eventually proscribe Christianity in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries when it had only been in Japan for two generations. It was quite another to try to purge Buddhist belief from Japan in 1868 after its religious dominance of Japanese culture for more than a millennium. The first cause of grief for Buddhist culture and institutions in Japan was not only an ancient one, but the most serious as well: xenophobia. I am referring to the rise of nativism throughout the nineteenth century that found nearly everything in Buddhist culture abhorrent. There were a variety of streams of thought in the Edo period that contributed to this sentiment, some emotional to the point of incoherence, some rationally pragmatic, and some so overtly political that there was no attempt to hide their ambition for wealth and Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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power. The successful seizure of power by the Meiji leaders in the name of the emperor convinced those with nativist impulses of the righteousness of their cause like nothing else could. Legitimated by history, as it were, the ideological wing of the new government put Buddhism in the cross-hairs of their initial agenda of social and political reformation, one the one hand because it had been so closely aligned institutionally with the Tokugawa bakufu, and on the other because its foreign origin stigmatized it with an irreparable alterity. Using the Spanish model of modernism alluded to above may be a useful comparison. In Spain at the end of the fifteenth century, the marriage of Ferdinand and Isabella unified enough of the peninsula to empower the court to drive out or force conversion of all Muslims and Jews, thereby defining a new “Spain” in terms of religious purity. “Modern” in this sense means using intimations of violence to define which persons, what social institutions, and most importantly what religious beliefs or affiliations were required for membership in the ethnic identity that defines a nation. The destruction of mosques and synagogues, the torture, and the ultimate exile of so many within a very short period of time was on a scale far worse than the persecution suffered by Buddhism in Meiji Japan. But there is a striking similarity with the impact of anti-Buddhist policies arising in the Mito 水戸 domain beginning in the seventeenth century, for example. To wit, such Spanish notions of the nation-state based on ethnic and religious identity over time spread to the rest of Europe, and these policies of the Mito domain, which aimed at defining Japan as a Shinto nation with Confucian social values, similarly spread to become a national movement in the nineteenth century. Here it is worth remembering that “modern” does not necessarily imply democratic institutions of government or even support for such ideas as sovereignty residing in the populace or laws guaranteeing freedoms and rights. The nativist thinkers who led the ideological fight to “restore the emperor” to power in the Meiji period clearly believed in class divisions and the unassailable authority of kings. Their ethical values were expressly Confucian and, not surprisingly, they demanded more respect for hierarchy in society, equating hierarchy with social harmony and justice. The movements to strengthen Shinto and restore the emperor to power not only deified him in a way unprecedented but the various notions of nationhood (kokutai, kokka, kunigara) from this period also tended to locate national sovereignty in the person of the emperor himself rather than the national populace.1 If these moves represented common ideological themes of what was modern in nineteenth-century 1  There are various studies on the religious role of the emperor in the construction of Japanese nationality in the nineteenth century. Among others, see Maruyama 1974, and Yasumaru 1988. Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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Japan, they also represented the legitimacy of privilege. By contrast, at least on a doctrinal level, the most commonly accepted Buddhist teachings in Japan such as buddha-nature, karma, the availability of a positive vision of the afterlife for everyone, and even access to the power of deities like Fudō or Kannon instead all point unambiguously to themes that are universal.2 By forcing the separation of Buddhism from native Shinto and working to shrink and discredit Buddhism, the nationalists spoke of egalitarian principles and values as part of a previously repressed Shinto culture while simultaneously demanding unquestioned obedience to the male sovereign in whose name they acted. This form of anti-Buddhist rhetoric championed by the radical nativist wing of the late-Edo period imperial restoration movement and implemented in government policy in the early years of the Meiji period expressed a wholesale denunciation of Buddhism that typically was not, aside from the Mito example, a dominant or even viable political voice earlier in Japanese history. Nobunaga’s attacks on Buddhist institutions, for example, had nothing to do with ideology. The one exception is the political turmoil surrounding Buddhism’s formal arrival in Japan in the sixth century, but even that opposition was more about institutional rivalry than Buddhist thought. Unlike China and Korea, until the nineteenth century Japan never experienced periods of mass antipathy toward Buddhism in which Buddhist teachings, the clerical institution or sangha, and its societal practices were condemned out of fundamentalist tendencies within Confucian, Daoist, or nativistic intellectual movements. There was inevitable resentment among certain individuals toward the intimacy between Buddhist and governmental institutions that characterized Japanese political culture so thoroughly, but prior to the Edo period this was typically expressed in terms of personal retreat or reformist movements within Buddhism itself. People like Genshin, Kamo no Chōmei, Hōnen, Myōe, Ippen, Dōgen, Nichiren, and Ikkyū in some sense all represent this. Although undoubtedly well aware of the ideological shift among intellectuals away from Buddhism toward Neo-Confucianism and National Learning (kokugaku 国学)3 from the Genroku 元禄 period (1688–1704) throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the aristocratic elites—emperors, shoguns, daimyos, and their extended families—continued the ancient traditions of having Buddhist funerals and joining the Buddhist sangha when they retired from 2  Is it possible that the shapers of the “modern” policies of the early Meiji government envied the egalitarian, even democratic, values that pervaded Buddhist philosophical rhetoric and were thus looking for a way to usurp those values by recasting them as “Japanese” while denigrating Buddhism as outdated and non-Japanese? 3  The kokugaku or National Learning movement was a nativist study with aesthetic roots that later blossomed into full-blown political ideology. See Nosco 1990, Harootunian 1988, etc.

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political life. This persistence of the old sociopolitical paradigm only made the impact of the early Meiji persecution all the more unsettling for the Buddhist professional community. But of course doctrines are one thing and history is another. And even in the realm of doctrine, ideas are only accessible in specific historical contexts, within which they may emerge in unexpected, even contradictory forms, often contested by believers themselves. Among the many forms of Buddhism in Japan, the Shin tradition has a particularly rich and complex history on this point, if only because it began with the repudiation of monasticism and has developed into a tradition of factionalism, contestation, heresy, and excommunication like no other. The story of the Seishinshugi movement therefore suggests a form of that same individualistic seeking that has characterized Shin from its birth, but in this case it marks a particular type of response to the historical setting of Japanese Buddhism in search of a new identity in the modern era. The topic of Buddhism under siege during the Meiji period has already been discussed in elegant detail by James Ketelaar and Richard Jaffe, among others, and the reader is directed there for a more well-rounded picture.4 Here I only focus on the implications of the historical processes in the middle to late Meiji period that provided both the stimuli and in many cases the materials out of which Seishinshugi was born. 2

Anti-Buddhist Rhetoric and Policy in the Tokugawa and Meiji Periods

As touched on earlier, one theme that runs down the center of Japan’s entry in to the modern age is the prominence of nativist ideology. Although there was a steady growth in intellectual rhetoric attacking Buddhism throughout the Edo period, for the first two centuries it was led by Neo-Confucians of either the Zhu Xi 朱熹 (Jpn. Shuki, 1130–1200) or Wang Yangming 王陽明 (Jpn. Ōyōmei, 1472–1528) schools, mostly the former. As hard as they argued for their philosophy being more appropriate for Japan than that of Buddhism, their source was still non-Japanese in origin and therefore whatever nativistic tendencies the Neo-Confucian writers held remained somewhat restrained. The real sting of nativist polemics begins with Hirata Atsutane 平田篤胤 (1776–1843). Hirata assumed the role of ideological heir to the scholar Motoori Norinaga 本居宣長 (1730–1801), although they never actually met, essentially exploiting Motoori’s authority in pursuit of his own agenda. He urged a reconfiguring of Motoori’s 4  Ketelaar 1990 and Jaffe 2001.

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“school” of National Learning from something academic into a political action platform based on xenophobic religious values. Even though Motoori was passionate about bringing out native Japanese sensibility, famously rejoicing in such things as spontaneous expressions of emotion in ancient literature, he was primarily interested in poetry and philology, and his religious concerns were more about celebrating precontinental sensibilities in society and the natural world. He did not hold any overt antipathy toward Buddhism; in fact Motoori praised the linguistic studies of Buddhist monks like Keichū 契沖 (1640–1701) and Monnō 文雄 (1700–1763), and had a Buddhist funeral. If Motoori did have an ideological axe to grind, it was directed toward the overt stress on emotional self-control coming from the Neo-Confucianists, particularly the people promoting Zhu Xi. Hirata, by contrast, was suspicious toward foreign systems of thought and regarded poetry as “an obstacle to understanding.”5 His project was to promote “Shinto” as the only proper religion for the Japanese people, and endeavored to realize this ideal by creating a model of Shinto that had a transcendent creator deity and a notion of the afterlife offering a positive alternative to the ancient conception of the “land of yomi,”6 which was characterized by degeneration and pain. Hirata rejected both Buddhism and Confucianism, asserting that such external influences should be kept to a minimum; Japan was unique as a nation whose people are descended from the gods and must take care not to bespoil their native gifts. He even asserted that all gods throughout the world were born in Japan. He attacked the tradition of Shinto studies by court scholars, saying they had been corrupted by Confucian and Buddhist doctrines, and asserted his own definition of what Shinto was. There was thus a kind of messianism in Hirata, and as a result his polemics were often cruel, prompting the orthodox line of Motoori followers to reject him as a bona fide National Learning thinker and refuting his scholarship as unsound. But many people found his cause contagious and in the end, Shinto studies were indeed altered by Hirata’s views. Going into the Meiji Restoration, it was the disciples of Hirata who defined the nativist ideology of the new regime. As Hirata’s critique broadened to include the Tokugawa bakufu and grew more popular in the process, his anti-Buddhist remarks grew more vituperative. The nativist attacks on

5  Totman 1993, 462. Totman is following the research of Harootunian (1988), and in his summary of Atsutane’s views and influence, does not even mention his stand against Buddhism. 6  The “land of yomi” or yomi no kuni (黄泉国), also yomotsu kuni were names for the land where the dead reside in pre-Buddhist Japanese religion. It appears in both the Manyōshū and the Kojiki.

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the bakufu also implied an attack on Buddhism because of the cozy relationship the bakufu had with institutional Buddhism for most of the Edo period. Part of Hirata’s appeal in the nineteenth century resulted from a wave of insecurities that created a restless desire for change in society that eventually led to the fall of the central government itself. Inflation and natural disasters led to an unstable economy, and Westerners began to chip away at Japan’s de jure isolation and even at its territory. The latter concern was forcefully presented by Fujita Yūkoku 藤田幽谷 (1774–1826), a central figure of Mitogaku,7 the intellectual movement driving the leadership of the Mito domain that dovetailed with Hirata’s agenda and figured so prominently in much of the ideology of at least the early Meiji regime. While serving as editor of the Mitogaku project of writing a massive history of Japan, Yūkoku decried the fact that Russia was taking control of the Kuril islands in the northeast of Japan in violation of Japanese declarations of sovereignty. He somehow combined an imperative of restoring the emperor to power with immediate action to restore Japan’s rightful claim to the Kurils. By doing so, Yūkoku developed a stance that used strong anti-foreign fears to justify the need for restoring the emperor to power.8 The Confucian thinkers who dominated in the Edo period, unlike those of previous centuries, were generally either unsympathetic to Buddhism or overtly critical of it, especially those inspired by Zhu Xi. This trend can be seen as early as Fujiwara Seika 藤原惺窩 (1561–1619), the father of Zhu Xi studies in Japan (known as shushigaku 朱子学), who is quoted in a 1620 biography as having stated that Buddhism should be regarded as heresy because it eliminated any sense of humanity ( jin 仁) or duty (giri 義理).9 His disciple Hayashi Razan 林羅山 (1583–1657) and others complain that Buddhism disparages ethics in its search for truth, turning its back on not only family but all five of the core Confucian relationships. The other two lines of Confucian scholars in the Edo period—those following Wang Yangming, or yōmeigaku 陽明学, such as Nakae Tōju 中江藤樹 (1608–1648) and Kumazawa Banzan 熊沢蕃山 (1619–1691), and the old-school or kogaku-ha 古学派 people like Itō Jinsai 伊藤仁斎 (1627–1705), 7  Mitogaku refers to the intellectual culture formed in the Mito domain from the time of Tokugawa Mitsukuni (1628–1700). It developed a somewhat materialistic approach to education and social policy that sought to improve society by reducing the presence of Buddhism. In the course of the Tokugawa period, the vast majority of the approximately 2,400 Buddhist temples in the Mito domain in 1666 were destroyed, sold, or converted to private use. See Ketelaar 1990, 46–54, who draws on Koshmann 1987. 8  Discussed in Totman 1993, 457–60. See Fujita Yūkoku’s essays Kannō wakumon 勧農或問 and Chishima ibun 千島遺文. 9  Paraphrased from Fujiwara Seika sensei gyōjō 藤原惺窩先生行状, of unknown authorship, as quoted by Kashiwahara 1995–2000, 3:304–05.

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Ogyū Sorai 荻生徂徠 (1666–1728), and Dazai Shundai 太宰春台 (1680–1740)— did not see things much differently. Without delineating each position, what they shared in their complaints against Buddhism was that it failed society because of the weakness of its ethical imperative. In short, Confucian thinkers in the Edo period no longer accepted the earlier paradigm wherein Buddhism formed Japan’s central religious narrative while accommodating both Confucian principles and native kami cults as ethical, political, and magical supplements. Japanese shushigaku was based on Ming and Qing interpretations of mingfen 名文 meibun, a concept that stressed selfdiscipline, fidelity in one’s social relationships, and the fulfillment of duty and obligation based on one’s station in life. The underlying paradigm is that an individual’s considered choices, if exercised properly, manifest principles of a cosmos naturally constructed as a rational and moral system. Accomplishing one’s social duty was thus moral, ethical, humane, and affirming of life and the natural order all at the same time. Not surprisingly, proponents of these ideas were typically closest to bakufu policymakers. There also had been Buddhist efforts for some time at assimilating these Neo-Confucian feudal ethics into their religious systems: In ōjōden and other miracle texts,10 for example, proper social behavior based on Confucian norms is part of what is karmically rewarded by the marvelous workings of Amida, Kannon, or Fudō, both in this world and the next. But intellectually, Buddhist traditional responses to Confucian presumptions of its own cosmological imperative were not as effective as in the past. Had the Japanese Buddhists any knowledge of Hinduism at that time, they would have noticed the similarity between meibun and the Hindu concept of dharma, and this might have provided them with better rhetorical means to argue the value of religion for a society conceived in Neo-Confucian terms.11

10  Ōjōden 往生伝 are collections of stories of individuals who achieved rebirth in the Pure Land as a result of piety, observances, or disciplined praxis. See Blum 2007. 11  Coming from Mencius’s take on Confucius, Wang Yangming stressed an innate understanding (ryōchi 良知) in mankind and the value of its expression in each individual through spontaneous action (chigyō gōitsu 知行合一). Japanese yōmeigaku, or studies of Wang Yangming, followed the interpretive line taken by Li Zhi 李贄 (Jpn. Rishi; 1527– 1602), who attacked the Zhu Xi thinkers for stifling desire. In Japan, this position blended with the National Learning stance that affirmed the value of emotion that included desire as natural and good, resulting in a doctrine of morality of emotion. Nakae Tōju, for example, resigned his position in Iyo (Ehime Prefecture) on the pretext that he needed to see his mother in Ōmi (Shiga Prefecture), and lost his official rank for it. He then spent the rest of his life studying the Confucian classic on filial piety, and was known for his assertion that “filial piety is illuminated by divine light.” As Buddhist doctrine doubts the validity of any form of knowledge or emotion because it may be tinged with desire for self-aggrandizement, on an intellectual level these differences were significant. Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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A second area of attack prior to Hirata in Confucian and nativistic movements expressed the perception that Buddhism was primarily oriented to the afterlife, whereas these competing ideologies were focused on achieving a reformation of the present world. They portrayed Buddhist thought as negative and world-denying, and their own stances as positive and world-affirming. The legal requirement of the bakufu that all families register with a Buddhist sect produced what is known as a “parishioner system,” or danka seido 檀家制度, and as a byproduct, generations of family dead were now kept at cemeteries on temple grounds. This ensured continual ritual purification of the family dead for the parishioner and continual source of financial support for the temple. This setup, along with the formal legalization of main-branch temple networks (honmatsu seido 本末制度) from at least 163212 institutionalized a hierarchical structure within each Buddhist sect in Japan that is another Edo period legacy, which continues to this day. To make matters worse, many Buddhist institutions in the Edo period were in a close administrative relationship with the bakufu and this also engendered resentment. When the koseki census was revived in the seventeenth century, the bakufu assigned this function to Buddhist institutions, requiring all families to register members’ names and class status with their family temple. This also had the effect of certifying a fixed list of Buddhist schools as orders or sects (eleven in total), who became motivated by the social, political, and doctrinal rectification agendas urged by bakufu leadership. The bakufu also exploited temple networks by rewarding those temples that were geographically convenient for various monitoring functions in society, which in turn resulted in promoting what had been relatively insignificant temples to centers of administrative activities within the sects themselves. Once these “modernization” moves were institutionalized, they grew over time to become entrenched, ossified, and in some cases even reactionary, effects that were to a certain degree the result of bakufu hostility to anything new within the Buddhist world, including temple construction.13 Because these newly configured Buddhist 12  There had been some degree of administrative structure along these same lines for some time, particularly in the Shinshū and Nichrenshū in the medieval period. But this became codified in stages through the use of legal documents beginning from the ninth year of Kan’ei 寛永 (1632), when the Edo bakufu promulgated a decree in which all sects where instructed to list in a record book (matsuji chō) which temples were to be considered administrative centers, or honzan 本山, and which temples were to be considered branch centers, or matsuji 末寺, under their own administrative control. See Ishida 1984, 258. Tamamuro Fumio sees this process beginning within the bakufu as early as the Genna era (1613–1616); see Tamamuro 1987, 40–51, where he gives some detail on the major sects. 13  The exception to this was the Jōdo-shū, which, as the personal faith of Tokugawa Ieyasu, succeeded in skirting the rules and built more than 1,150 new temples in the seventeenth century alone. See Ishida 1984, 258. Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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institutions were used by the bakufu to implement its policies of social control, a tight relationship developed between the two that only served to deepened the animosity toward what outsiders viewed as an institution deeply integrated into the political status quo in society. A third aspect of Buddhist-rejectionist ideology emerged in the second half of the Edo period when an economic argument was added. In language similar to that found in Chinese persecutions of Buddhism, monks, nuns, and their monasteries were decried as drains on societal wealth. It was demanded that the ordination of monks and nuns and the number of temples should be significantly reduced and held in check by a regulatory mechanism similar to the Ritsuryō system of the Nara period.14 Kashiwahara Yūsen, a specialist in early modern Japanese Buddhism, feels a strong sense of individual self-assertion pervaded Japanese society at the end of the Sengoku 戦国 period (1467–1568), pushing Japan toward a modernist condition of human-centered ideologies.15 This tendency only grows throughout the Edo period, resulting in a valorization of pragmatic values that is exploited by the Neo-Confucian and National Learning movements who, by labeling Buddhism “other-worldly,” use this shift to justify their anti-Buddhist attacks. But it is not until the nineteenth century when frustration over bakufu policies seen as unfair and contradictory combine with xenophobic sentiments to produce the toxic mix that ultimately explodes in the form of wholesale persecution of Buddhism in the early Meiji period. Kashiwahara points out that as early as the 1660s the Mito, Okayama, and Aizu domains had to some degree already begun to implement policies of destroying Buddhist temples, but it was not until the middle of the nineteenth century when policies to shrink the number of Buddhist temples by people such as Tokugawa Nariaki 徳川斉昭 (1800–1860), daimyo of the Mito domain, had noticeable effect. The early Meiji period was dominated by social upheaval and the need for all social institutions to transition to a new political ideology, but it was particularly trying for Buddhism. Many people who study Meiji-period religion follow the model devised by Yoshida Kyūichi of dividing the experience of Buddhism in Japan during the Meiji reign into three periods: 1868–1885, 1886– 1899, and 1900–1912.16 But in a description of events written in 1921, Shimaji Daitō 島地大等 (1875–1927) separates off the first five years of the Meiji period as a unique period of “Shinto tyranny” toward Buddhism,17 today referred to 14  Ritsuryō 律令 refers to a legal code borrowed from China that the Japanese government used to regulate, among other things, Buddhist monks and temples. 15  Kashiwahara 1995–2000, 3:306. 16  Yoshida 1992. 17  Shimaji 1969, 387. Shimaji was and still is a respected scholar of Japanese religious history and Jōdo Shinshū in particular. He was ordained in the Nishi Honganji tradition, the son of the progressive thinker Shimaji Mokurai. Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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as haibutsu kishaku 廃仏毀釈, or “drive out Buddhism, destroy Śākyamuni.” It began with the order to force a separation between Buddhism and Shinto known as shinbutsu hanzenrei 神仏判然令, initiated on the twenty-eighth day of the third month of 1868 (Keiō 4). Buddhist rituals were abruptly ended in the imperial palace and the Buddhist statue that had been enshrined there was moved to Sennyūji 泉涌寺 in Kyoto. Begging and cremations were forbidden, legal restrictions forbidding women from monasteries and preventing monks from eating meat, marrying, or wearing regular clothes were eliminated. Temples were forcibly “merged” in a process called haigōji 廃合寺, which actually began in the Mito domain during the Edo period. The regions where the most damage occurred were Toyama, Kagawa, Matsumoto, Kagoshima, and Sado island. It is recorded that in only the first year of Meiji, for example, the number of Buddhist temples on Sado was reduced from more than five hundred to a mere eighty. The extreme nature of this shinbutsu hanzenrei edict can be seen in the fact that the Nichiren sect was forbidden from conducting their traditional ritual prayer to Amaterasu and Hachiman, who are included in their daimandara 大曼荼羅, because they are Shinto deities in origin. Certain governors endeared themselves to the new government by adding yet more oppressive interpretations to the law, giving themselves the power to not only reduce the number of Buddhist temples within their political purview, but destroy texts and images as well. In 1870, the Office (later Ministry) of Shinto created a system called daikyō senpu 大教宣布 to grant official titles to “national teachers” of Shinto empowered by the state in a national campaign to spread the religion. But by 1872, the separation policy was abandoned as too divisive and its jingoist advocates were pushed out of the ruling Meiji clique. It was replaced by a newly conceived fusion policy wherein centers were to be constructed to train priests in one common national religion that would blend Buddhism and Shinto together. Regional centers were established around the country for this purpose, but the main training ground for these new “evangelicals” (kyōdōshoku 教導職) was the Daikyōin 大教院 (Abbey of the Great Teaching), a school built on the grounds of Zōjōji, the regional headquarters for the Jōdoshū in Tokyo and the temple of personal refuge for Tokugawa Ieyasu (1542–1616). This was funded and controlled by the newly formed Ministry of Teaching, which was in effect nothing more than a new moniker for the Ministry of Shinto. In practice the Daikyōin proved immediately insulting to the Buddhists who were forced to participate. It took over most of the space inside the main worship hall at Zōjōji where a new altar was set up that removed the four Buddhist statues that had served as central images (honzon 本尊), for centuries and replaced them with four Shinto deities. The curriculum centered around revering the kami, promoting the ethics of loyalty, and protecting the state, three principles Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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that were entirely devoid of Buddhist doctrine and whose connections to Buddhism reflected only its previous political accommodation with secular authority.18 Defying government requirements, in February 1875 all branches of Jōdo Shinshū—who in combination represented the largest religious population block—walked out on the Daikyōin and later that same year the enterprise itself was abandoned, a dismal failure. Although the promotion of what came to be called State Shinto continued, heavy-handed attempts to force a new relationship between Buddhism and Shinto, be they separation or fusion, were no longer seen. Instead the government found a willingness to negotiate with the major Buddhist institutions and, as calmer heads prevailed, discovered it was more profitable to enlist their support for its policies than to overtly suppress the faith as whole. Buddhist institutions, for their own part, remained happy to see this change because the core values their leadership had forged in the Edo period were essentially intact. In other words, they were only too happy to return to some semblance of the feudalistic king’s law—buddha’s law (ōbō-buppō 王法仏法) paradigm that allowed for mutually supportive public personas for both institutions. The middle years of the Meiji period were thus characterized by a political and ideological rapproachment wherein Buddhist institutional leaders generally endorsed the “enrich the nation and strengthen the military” (fukoku kyōhei 富国強兵) rhetoric that had become such an often heard slogan at the time. Many Buddhist leaders also found their voice again in the 1870s and 1880s by expressing strong anti-Christian feelings that allowed them to side with xenophobic sentiment while simultaneously creating an opportunity to make their case that Japanese culture was inconceivable without Buddhism, so deeply was it engrained in its language and customs. 3

Religion and Philosophy in the Meiji Period

Although it is obvious that the persecution of Buddhism in the first years of the Meiji period was a political act by a new oligarchy demonstrating it power, it also reflected broader changes in the nature of Japanese religion and society. The rhetorical attacks on Buddhism by Neo-Confucianists and nativists always reflected deeply held beliefs about the nature of mankind within larger conceptions of reality that fundamentally differed from the Buddhist view, but even these conceptions were overtaken by the impact of capitalism and materialism on society. Atsutane was perhaps the first nativist to see the 18  See Sekimori 2005.

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possibility of replacing the Buddhist worldview with something more “modern,” but arguably the most coherent fusion of religious and occupational obligations appropriate to the new market economy emerging in the middle Edo period began in the popular Shingaku 心学 movement founded by Ishida Baigan 石田梅岩 (1685–1744).19 A century later as Atsutane and his followers worked to transform the National Learning movement into a Shinto revival ideology that demanded the political rehabilitation of the emperor, new religions that repackaged traditional kami cults into formalized “Shinto” sects also were emerging. Those we know most about from the nineteenth century are noteworthy for being dedicated to saving Japan. They were “universal” in the sense that their gods spoke through their mediums not only for their local communities but for the entire nation. This reflected a new understanding of something called “Shinto” as a national religion whereby local kami develop national profiles, akin to Weber’s term henotheism to describe a similar development in Hinduism. The rise in popularity of shrine pilgrimage, especially to Ise, beginning in the eighteenth century no doubt contributed to this perspective. Best known of these Shinto-derived new religions dating from the end of the Edo period were Kurozumikyō 黒住教, Tenrikyō 天理教, and Konkōkyō 金光教. the former having spread among the samurai class, and the latter two succeeding primarily in rural areas among farmers. After the Meiji Restoration, new religions continue to sprout up and, as is well known, the trend continues to this day. There is much good scholarship on this phenomenon, but there are a couple of points to keep in mind relevant to the specific movement of Seishinshugi under discussion here. First is the development of a national religious consciousness of Shinto mentioned earlier. Here it should be pointed out that although the invention of an institutionalized nativist religion by the Meiji government drew on that emerging consciousness, these efforts were widely seen as more political than religious. Second is that the enduring nature of the syncretic quality of Japanese religion runs very deep and did not suddenly disappear in the nineteenth century. Even the so-called Shinto-based new religions all incorporated some degree of Buddhist religious culture. Local kami cults, even in the context of their instantiation in shrines, were rife with Buddhist language, iconography, and ritual. Buddhists temples typically employed symbolic representation of a protecting kami somewhere on their property, and there were of course a great many 19  In Tokugawa Religion (2nd ed., 1985), Robert Bellah examines the modern dimensions of Ishida Baigan’s thought and compares it with Weber’s study of the role of Protestantism in the modernization of Europe.

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fusion examples such as the various cults surrounding the god Hachiman who, although originating in Korea as a local deity, became transformed in image and name as a bodhisattva by the major temples of the Nara and Heian periods, and then morphed into a Shinto god of war in the Kamakura period. The extreme rhetoric of some of the Atsutane-inspired leaders of the Meiji government reflected in policies that criminalized this kind of centuries-old fusion sewed deep seeds of doubt about religion and its role in society in general. Thus, the overt anti-Buddhist policies of the early Meiji regime were not only profoundly disruptive to an ancient religious paradigm about which the vast majority of Japanese felt comfortable, but to many became symptomatic of the passing of the “old” order of things as well. The success of the new religions also revealed a profound crisis within institutional Buddhism itself which, for at least the first three years of Meiji rule, had to worry about its very survival. Of course there were (and are) Buddhism-dominated new religions as well, and relative to the identity crisis going on within the traditional, sectarian sanghas, it is no accident that the most famous new Buddhist religion, Sōka Gakkai, has always been essentially a lay movement. Japan was fast becoming a society dominated by materialistic values, and the government was quickly trying to fashion a national identity based on a kind of faux religious ideology that affirmed this new outlook as a source of national pride. The Buddhist tradition was ultimately called to redefine its own relevance to this new Japan, and all of the essays contained here may certainly be read as contributions to that collective effort. 4

The Impact of Christianity and Western Philosophies of Religion on Buddhism in the Meiji Period

One important change in Japanese Buddhism in the Meiji period is that its intellectuals could no longer ignore Christian theology and history. Christianity is present explicitly and implicitly to various degrees in these essays, and ideas from Western philosophy are even more prominent. Thus, even while the number of Christians in Japan has remained small, its impact on Japanese religion, especially Buddhism, has been significant since its arrival in the sixteenth century, and there is ample evidence of Buddhist influence on Japanese Christianity as well. Western philosophy first came into Japan within Christianity in the late sixteenth century, but its impact was minimal due to the suppression of Christian and Western learning throughout the Edo period. But in 1862, even before the Meiji Restoration, Tsuda Mamichi 津田真道 (1829–1903) and Nishi Amane 西周 (1829–1897) managed to get on a boat to Holland where they

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studied philosophy at Leiden for four years. It was Nishi who coined the word tetsugaku 哲学 to represent Western philosophy, which became a popular subject in universities in the second half of the Meiji period. But although it fascinated Japanese intellectuals, especially the thought of Hegel, Marx, and Mill, prior to the 1950s tetsugaku did not penetrate into public education and had minimal impact on Japanese society as whole. By contrast, although the number of Japanese converts to Christianity prior to its proscription in 1638 remained relatively small, rhetorical clashes with Christian missionaries did shake up the somewhat complacent Buddhist world just as sectarian institutions were beginning to restructure themselves with the outbreak of peace brought by Tokugawa Ieyasu. Kashiwahara even goes so far as to state that the ensuing institutional changes in Edo-period sectarian Buddhism were the direct result of its encounter with Christianity and the challenges it posed, and points out that the sect most affected was Jōdo Shinshū. Even after the banning of Christian activities, Christian attacks on Buddhist cosmology may have inspired a similar critique by Tominaga Nakamoto 富永仲 基 (1715–1746) in his Shutsujō kōgo 出定後語 (Words Spoken after Meditation), a work used by Hirata Atsutane and his followers in their much more overtly aggressive anti-Buddhist attacks. After the Christians were free to proselytize again in 1875, they immediately began to publish works insisting Buddhist notions of heavens, hells, and pure lands were false. Christian writers and their ideas were in turn attacked in print by such well-respected Buddhist intellectuals as Inoue Enryō 井上円了 (1858–1919) and Shimaji Mokurai 島地黙雷 (1838–1911), to name but a few. But these responses were ultimately tinged with the same defensiveness and smugness that, like the missionaries, assumed the righteousness of their own positions. In short, there was no real dialogue until the mid-1890s when Buddhist intellectuals attained enough understanding of Western philosophy to appreciate its underpinnings within Christian thought. And one of the first persons to realize that his own understanding of Buddhism might be deepened from a study of both philosophy and religion in European history was Kiyozawa Manshi. One could even argue that Seishinshugi thinkers did alter their conception of the ultimate as a result of their study of Western thought. For example, Kiyozawa often employs a writing style that uses Western terms or categories for religious concepts, and by the very nature of that language he poses a new kind of question for Japan. In some contexts he may use traditional Buddhist vocabulary and in others he may use Japanese translations of Western terms. In fact, determining, for example, if he means the same thing by the terms buddha, suchness (shinnyo 真如, Skt. tathatā), or dharma-ness (hosshō 法性, Skt. dharmatā) in one context and the infinite (mugensha 無限者) in another,

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can be difficult. But when Kiyozawa asks how the finite self can know the infinite and comments on the imperative nature of this self-other relationship not as a philosophical but as a religious question, we are in a new form of discourse that presages Nishida Kitarō 西田幾多郎 (1870–1945), who had some personal contact with Kiyozawa. On a purely conceptual level, Soga Ryōjin 曽我量深 (1875–1971) similarly ponders the meaning of history for religion in a way that was never part of traditional Buddhist hermeneutics. It is not that Buddhism had no notion of infinity or history, but the way these questions are asked often reflects Greek or Judaic ways of thinking about religion and philosophy that developed over the course of the Abrahamic religions. Similarly, Kaneko Daiei 金子大栄 (1881–1976) argues that the Pure Land itself is best understood, that is, functions best religiously, when it is understood as something like a Platonic ideal that impacts those who ponder it now, rather than as an actual physically existing place where one aims to be reborn after death. Kaneko further draws from the Avataṃsakasūtra (Huaymi jing 華厳経 Kegonkyō) in using the concept of dharmadhātu20 to explain his Platonic understanding of the Pure Land as nirvana, or as the sacred nature of everything beyond discrimination and description. Such ideas were highly innovative and yet upsetting to many at the time, particularly in the context of their religious institution, Shinshū Ōtani-ha, who expected these men to be furthering the cause of shūgaku 宗学, the academic study of scriptures based on established sectarian interpretation that continued (and continues) as a legacy of Edo-period orthodox doctrine. Kiyozawa, Soga, and Kaneko all had to undergo a period of expulsion from their institution for ideas that, as time passed, grew to gain recognition as some of the most interesting and inspirational of their time. Thus, what distinguishes these Seishinshugi thinkers is their willingness to use European religious and philosophical concepts to deepen their personal understanding of Buddhist truth at a time when the study of Western philosophy and what came to be called “Buddhist philosophy” remained more or less distinct. Notice the commonality with Nishida’s approach of using Western philosophical categories to explain Buddhist experience. Why the use of nonBuddhist ideas would prove so influential particularly in the Ōtani branch of Shin in the Meiji and Taishō periods is one of the enigmas of this history, but it established Ōtani University as arguably the leading intellectual Buddhist institution in Japan during the first half of the twentieth century.21 20  The dharmadhātu refers to all existence, the entire universe, both as a unity and in all its multiplicity. 21  As James Dobbins has pointed out, the concept of “religious studies” in Japan prior to World War II was basically “modern” Buddhist Studies, meaning traditional Buddhist

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It all started with Kiyozwa Manshi, and at least part of the explanation for this freedom of inquiry within what was essentially a modern seminary was the nature of Kiyozawa himself as a religious thinker. A student in the Philosophy Department at Tokyo University in the 1880s when Ernest Fenollosa (1853– 1908) was teaching, Kiyozawa’s core interests seem to have been Kant, Hegel, and Schelling, but he also read John Stuart Mill and Herbert Spencer. Most of Kiyozawa’s personal collection of Western language books are kept at Saihōji 西方寺, his temple in Mikawa. Among his books, there are many by Mill and Spencer, which reflect the interest in Utilitarianism in Meiji-period thought. Kiyozawa’s time at Tokyo University also coincided with the tenure of Katō Hiroyuki 加藤弘之 (1836–1916) as its president. Katō is famous for ceasing the publication of his earlier works that argued for the belief in the inherent rights of man so that he could advocate for the doctrines of Social Darwinism, which is itself a theory of social conflict and resultant hierarchy based on the ideas of Spencer. Katō’s “conversion” became public with his publication in 1882 of Jinken shinsetsu 人権新説 (New Explanation of Human Rights) during Kiyozawa’s time at the university. Kiyozawa is unflinching in his abhorrence at Japan’s general fascination with Spencer and Mill, which he understood as resulting from the popular embrace of the government’s policy goals of increasing materialism and militarism. The worldview of the expansionist Meiji regime, based on the idea that man’s natural state was one of conflict and violence, is echoed in their decision to launch a war with China just before Kiyozawa arrived at his conception of Seishinshugi. One can only wonder what he thought of Katō who, with age, seems to have sacrificed his empathy at the altar of ambition. Katō’s ideological reversal is a reflection of the society’s ambivalence about how it needed to redefine itself and reposition itself within the international community. Obsessed with instilling the value of loyalty, when the Meiji government finally enacted its constitution in 1889, which it called “The Great Japan Imperial Constitution” (Dainihon teikoku kenpō), it made history by explicitly granting freedom of religion for the first time, but it also made it equally clear that the country was to be ruled by the emperor, that he was sacred (shinsei 神聖), and that no one was allowed to act in violation of either principle. The following year, the Imperial Rescript on Education was announced: a short, general aphorism, which implied quite clearly that each citizen’s ethical duties are defined in part by demonstrable loyalty to the sovereign. Here is part of that text: Studies with the addition of using Sanskrit and Tibetan materials to augment the Chinese canon for the first time. See Dobbins 2006.

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Our subjects, ever united in loyalty and filial piety, have from generation to generation illustrated the beauty thereof. This is the glory of the fundamental character of our empire, and herein also lies the source of our education…. Should an emergency arise, you must offer yourselves courageously to the State, and guard and maintain the prosperity of the Imperial Throne.22 As Sueki Fumihiko notes, taken together these two documents liberally guarantee freedom of religion on the one hand but on the other lay down stringent ethical requirements within a clearly defined political context, in effect implying that ethics is much more important than religion.23 Considering the intense concern with religion in the early Meiji period, what we see at this juncture, some twenty years later, is that a compromise has been reached in which the Shinto–Emperor paradigm is still central to government propaganda but it has now been reclassified as an ethical rather than religious concern. The creation of a jingoistic notion of Shinto at this point becomes an ethical ideology for ordering society based on a newly politicized myth of an ancient past when the ancestors lived their lives in perfect sacrifice for the very same goals of prosperity and military strength. Although government and educational leaders used idealistic moral rhetoric in placing high value on ethics and ethics education, their use of the term dōtoku 道徳 to mean correct behavior was filled with a politically charged subtext that implied submission to authority. Ethics was a major focus for a wide variety of writers in the middle and late Meiji periods because the term brought forth one of the central conundrums of the age: for all the modern advances in “individual liberty” such as the legal elimination of classes and freedom of religion, why did it seem that everyone’s sense of duty and obligation had become so heavy that as individuals they felt so constricted? In this context intellectuals used the concept of ethics as the framework to launch their own theories or advocacies. For example, Inoue Tetsujirō, chairman of the Philosophy Department at Tokyo University published a well-read treatise in 1902 entitled Rinri to shūkyō to no kankei 倫理と宗教との関係 (The Relationship of Ethics and Religion) in which he argued that religions had value only insofar as they could be turned into ethical systems.24 And Katō’s agenda promoting

22  K  yōiku chokugo 教育勅語, translation by Dairoku Kikuchi, Japanese Education (London: John Murray Publishers, 1909), reprinted in Earhart 1997, 237. 23  Sueki 2004a, 28. 24  Contained in Inoue 2003, volume 1.

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the natural selection of humans was further elaborated in a 1912 publication entitled Shizen to Rinri 自然と倫理 (Nature and Ethics).25 Another important ideological milestone during Kiyozawa’s student years was the lèse majesté offense that ruined the career of the famous Christian convert Uchimura Kanzō 内村鑑三 (1861–1930). The Imperial Rescript on Education was issued on October 30, 1890, when Uchimura was teaching at the prestigious First Higher School (Daiichi Kōtō Gakkō) in Tokyo, which served as a kind of undergraduate training academy for Tokyo University. At the opening ceremony for the new school year held the following January, the Rescript was read aloud; after which everyone bowed in respect, but Uchimura refused, feeling it violated his Christian beliefs. The press, including Buddhist newspapers, reported the incident as scandalous and Uchimura was put under enormous pressure to recant and apologize. By April, he had resigned his post and two months later his wife died of influenza. The incident made plain the fact that when religious freedom ran up against ethics construed as political loyalty, ethical duty was paramount, even if it meant ruining a respected teacher’s life merely for abstaining from a ritual. But just as Katō’s newfound strength in Darwinian social values led him down the path of ultranationalism, Uchimura’s life-changing event of asserting his right not to express loyalty to a divine authority he did not accept later brought him to embrace pacifism. Today, Uchimura is regarded as one of the great tragic heroes of Japan’s turbulent modernization. 5

Responding to Meiji Policies

In response to this ideologically oppressive climate, a variety of reform movements were initiated within the Buddhist world in hopes of restoring its lost vitality and prestige. All the authors represented here were part of that process. To put their concerns in context, I would like to suggest some general observations about the common motivations behind these activities in the modern period. First of all, it is worth keeping in mind that the internal structure and doctrinal orthodoxy of Buddhist institutions defined and redefined over the course of some two hundred years of Edo-period systematizing had become deeply entrenched when the Meiji period began. Most of the major Buddhist organizations put considerable effort into academic programs to define their sectarian doctrines and create official canons that put limits on which scriptures 25  Contained in Ueda 1990.

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they held authoritative. The official doctrines of sectarian Buddhism became central to each sect’s identity, and in the Meiji, Taishō, and early Shōwa periods those doctrines were not substantially changed from how they had been defined in the Genroku period (1688–1704). Insofar as these models seemed to have satisfied the vast majority of the population, it remains an issue of some debate as to whether Buddhism had thereby degenerated into a moribund social institution under the Tokugawa bakufu. But no one doubts that it had grown conservative. Thus, although it is true that Buddhist institutions were aware of the potential for political trouble even before the Meiji Restoration, they were slow to react both ideationally and institutionally. Two centuries of sectarian academics had created religious conceptions that had become highly rationalized and standardized; some Shin scholars today even say that Shin doctrine had become unassailable dogma. This inherited legacy made it particularly difficult for these large sects to absorb criticism and constructively engage with it in the Meiji period. This is reflected in their often reactionary responses on the one hand to nationalistic and Christian anti-Buddhist rhetoric of the period, and on the other to intellectual challenges to shūgaku doctrine from within the Buddhist denominations themselves. Buddhist rhetoric went through essentially four stages in response to the denigration of its value for Japanese society in these first fifty years of Japan’s opening to the world.26 Early Meiji Buddhist statements reflect the imminent crises of violent government policies against all aspects of Buddhism; they show deep concerns for protecting the political, spiritual, and material capital of the established sects and minimal interest in embracing the changes afoot in society and the nation. Public statements in this first stage are marked by a certain defensiveness, such as asserting the time-honored king’s Law-buddha’s Law doctrine of mutual dependence of government and Buddhist sources of power mentioned previously. Another expression of what I call defensiveness is the frequent reference to the need to keep Christianity from penetrating Japan. Still negotiating its freedom to proselytize in the first decade of the Meiji period, Christianity often is identified by Buddhists in this period as the real foreign danger. This is an attempt to deflect the xenophobic anti-Buddhist ideology of the nativists in the direction of Christianity. Shinshū played a central role in this first anti-Christian effort, and from the first year of Meiji the seminaries of both Higashi and Nishi Honganji taught courses on Christianity so its priests could better refute its doctrines. In the second phase, beginning about 1875, government-sponsored violence against Buddhist temples has ceased. Buddhist understanding of Christianity 26  See Honda 1995, 228–30.

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has deepened considerably, and now Buddhist authors typically trumpeted how philosophically sophisticated Buddhism was by comparison. This is the time when Buddhist scholars were motivated to study the history of Indian Buddhist thought because of the introduction of South Asian Buddhist language materials to Japan. They were especially interested in what they called “primitive Buddhism” (genshi Bukkyō 原始仏教), that is, the time of the founder Śākyamuni and shortly thereafter, hoping it would enable them to produce universal statements of Buddhist doctrine that represented the religion as a whole. This notion of reducing Buddhism to its lowest common doctrinal denominator fit well with the aims of the Theosophist movement, founded by Henry Steele Olcott (1832–1907) and Helena Blavatsky (1831–1891) in New York also in 1875. It is no accident that many Buddhist intellectuals in Japan were initially taken with Theosophy during their own discovery of early Buddhism. From the limited amount the Japanese knew about Theosophy, its embrace of Buddhist esotericism looked like it might become a European form of Buddhism fashioned with a healthy dose of modern scientific rationalism. It thus seemed for a time to provide a possible solution to their political troubles because it was an avenue for them to be both pro-Western and pro-Buddhist. Olcott and Blavatsky moved to India and Ceylon in 1879 where they cultivated Buddhist contacts and eventually settled in Adyar near Madras where they worked to create a pan-Buddhist movement. Based on their search for a common Buddhist creed, Olcott audaciously published his Buddhist Catechism in 1881, which was initially well received around the world. It was first translated into Japanese in 1886 by Imadate Tosui 今立吐酔 (1855–1931), who grew up in a Nishi Honganji temple in Fukui, studied in America, and would later publish the first English translation of the Tannishō together with D. T. Suzuki.27 Thereafter, Theosophy enjoyed a very brief period of fascination for Japanese Buddhists, during which many people connected with Shinshū actively participated. Olcott was first invited to Japan in 1889 by Hirai Kinza 平井金三 (1859–1916), who attended the World Parliament of Religions in Chicago to speak about Rinzai Zen, but whose mother grew up in a Shinshū temple.28 Olcott’s arrangements during this trip to Kyoto were largely sponsored by 27  Imadate Tosui 今立吐醉 was one of the first Japanese to graduate from an American university, in his case the University of Pennsylvania in 1879. His translation of Olcott’s Buddhist Catechism was called Bukkyō mondō (Buddhist Dialogs). In collaboration with D. T. Suzuki, he produced the first translation of the Tannishō in 1928, published by the Eastern Buddhist Society in their journal. 28  Hirai eventually ended up associate with Unitarianism and leading his own meditation seminars. For the most detailed study of Hirai and his role in the attempted globalization of Japanese Buddhism, see Yoshinaga 2007.

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both Honganji, and during his second trip he labored hard, albeit unsuccessfully, to convince Shin leaders to approve his fourteen points of common Buddhist belief. The third stage is characterized by a deep concern with ethics, coming in response to the debate that ensued after the Constitution and Rescript on Education were made public in 1888–1889. As one might expect, this rhetoric was not about debating universal or even Buddhist ethical norms, but was focused on demonstrating how Buddhist values and practices were not subversive (i.e., they showed respect for the imperial institution and held value for society as a whole). It should be mentioned that in the overt political resistance to the Daikyōin event, that is, as early as 1875, there were prominent Buddhists who refused to sacrifice their freedom of thought on the altar of ethical nationalism. Led by Shimaji Mokurai, these voices came to be called the Freedom of Belief (shinkyō jiyū 信教自由) movement.29 In the fourth stage of Buddhist modernity, these politically charged responses finally gave way to a search for genuine spirituality. Beginning around 1894, we see the simultaneous launching of various intellectual Buddhist associations that published journals. The earliest publication was probably the magazine Bukkyō 仏教 (Buddhism), which ran between 1894 and 1899, and was supported by the Kei’i’kai 経緯会, a group led by Furukawa Yū 古河勇 (1871–1899). The journal was famous for stating “we have entered an age of doubt.” Most likely the second Buddhist journal after Bukkyō was Seishinkai 精神界 (Spiritual World), an effort put out by Kiyozawa Manshi and his group of followers known as the Kōkōdō 浩々洞 (Capacious Cave). The disbanded Kei’i’kai then regrouped in 1899 under the name Bukkyō Seito Dōshikai 仏教清徒同志会, and began publishing a new journal Shin Bukkyō 新仏教 (New Buddhism) in 1900.30 From the second half of the 1890s we thus see an abrupt change of attitude whereby the search for public acceptance is abandoned, at times even disdained as an impediment, in what amounts to a private and public search for true religious insight. Internally, the major Buddhist sects had to face the difficulty of reforming institutional models that had served them well for the better part of the Edo period. By the end of the seventeenth century most had established sectarian canons, training centers, and institutional rules that regulated the relationship between main and branch temples, and had put the entire institution

29  Kashiwahara 1995–2000, 3:400–01. 30  The name was changed again in 1903 to Shin Bukkyōto Dōshikai 新仏教徒同志会. See Kashiwahara 1995–2000, 3:416–18.

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on firm financial footing. This was particularly true for the Shin, Jōdo, Sōtō, and Nichiren sects, all of which were very strong at the time of the Meiji Restoration. But this very strength made it even more painful to consider and implement fundamental changes in structure and the way monks were educated. Financially speaking, the income from land holdings was an important part of whatever financial security had been established for many temples, and as noted previously this is precisely what the haigōji policy in late Edo and early Meiji aimed at disrupting. As we saw in the example of the Daikyōin, the group that put up the greatest resistance to these forms of oppression was Jōdo Shinshū. Shin was unusual in that it was not dependent on extensive land holdings but had many temples, and all its clergy were already married,31 so the elimination of large numbers of temples would have meant the collapse and ruination of the sect itself. That is why it did not flinch from opposing the haigōji movement as a matter of institutional policy. Another reason why Shin reacted more intensely than the other sects was that it had very strong support from its rural power base for this kind of action. In this way the resistance of Shinshū opened up an opportunity for Buddhism as a whole to reemerge late in the nineteenth century with its confidence intact.32 Here it is worth remembering that there are ten different branches of Jōdo Shinshū. Each operates independently in its financial operations, educational and doctrinal policies, internal structure, and in its political relations with different levels of government. What unites them under the rubric of Shin is their common linkage to the founder Shinran 親鸞 (1173–1262), their reverence for Shinran’s writings, and government policies that at different times treated the branches as one body. Since one dimension of the Seishinshugi movement involves structural and ideological reform of their religious institution, it is important to clarify that in this case the institution in question is only the Ōtani branch, or Higashi Honganji. But in general all four of the writers represented here have simply been read as Shin thinkers, and in their time they did not represent Higashi Honganji for the most part. From the outset, the Nishi and Higashi branches had different relationships with the new Meiji government. The reasons for this stem from developments that took place within the two branches during the Edo period, a topic beyond the confines of this study. Suffice it to say there was only one Honganji until

31  The Shin sect was unusual in that it publicly recognized married clergy as the norm, except during training, from its inception in the thirteenth century. 32  Kashiwahara 1995–2000, 3:391–92.

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Tokugawa Ieyasu. Conflicts had arisen within the hereditary leadership family of the Honganji during negotiations in 1580 to end Oda Nobunaga’s (1534– 1582) ten-year siege of the Honganji complex in Osaka, a battle known as the Ishiyama gassen 石山合戦. Kennyo 顕如 (1543–1592), the abbot of Honganji during this struggle, decided to accept a negotiated settlement but the son who had been leading the fight to defend the temple, Kyōnyo 教如 (1558–1614), refused to accept the surrender. His father thereupon removed Kyōnyo as his designated heir and appointed his fourth son Junnyo 准如 (1577–1630) in his stead. In 1591, Toyotomi Hideyoshi (1536–1598) awarded Junnyo a site in Kyoto to rebuild the Honganji. But Ieyasu saw an opportunity to divide the most powerful religious institution in the nation and in 1602 he awarded land in Kyoto to Kyōnyo to build another Honganji temple but under Kyōnyo’s own leadership. The result was two rival Honganji institutions who divided the Honganji subtemple network and were subsequently never able to rejoin as a single organization. By the time the Japanese nation entered the international community 260 years later, the two branches had developed somewhat different doctrines and political outlooks. As it turned out, the Higashi branch was much closer to the Tokugawa bakufu, and sided with them in the ensuing military conflicts of the 1860s preceding the Restoration, while the Nishi threw its weight behind the revolutionary “reformers.” The fledgling Meiji government, in dire need to distance itself from everything the bakufu had stood for, was therefore naturally more hostile to Higashi branch. Despite the somewhat hysterical dream of eliminating Buddhism from Japanese culture altogether embraced by the more fervent “fundamentalist” Atsutane believers within the new government, both Honganji institutions (who changed their official names in the Meiji period to Jōdo Shinshū Honganji-ha for Nishi, and Shinshū Ōtani-ha for Higashi) gained some respite when the new government came to them for financial assistance. Having nearly run out of money early in the Meiji period, the government succeeded in securing loans from both, but its ties to the Nishi branch were more extensive. There is little evidence that this produced much in the way of tangible results for either, but at the very least it introduced an element of realpolitik into the circles of power in the Meiji government, and by the fifth year of Meiji the overtly harsh anti-Buddhist policies were no longer being enforced. Internally, Meiji-period Buddhist dialogue concerning its mission reflected four general areas of concern. These issues became crystallized by the 1890s and continued well into the postwar period. First was the identity in the new Japan of the sangha, or religious community. Of the so-called Three Jewels, it is the sangha where the traditions of practice and understanding, where the teachings themselves, and where the

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meaning of buddha are expected to be preserved.33 The sangha is thus the locale where the message of the religion is to be found, where interpretations of that message are contested, and where the flame of truth is kept. But as a social institution, the sangha also has its own political, societal, and economic identity, and in that period of political hostility, self-preservation was its immediate goal. Survival required adaption to the new social realities, and accommodation of demands for change within. For, in addition to demonstrating their ideological acquiescence to the ever rising nationalism within the government, all Buddhist institutions in the first generations after the Meiji Restoration also needed to modernize internally. Shin Buddhism was somewhat of a special case because the religious paradigm that became orthodox in the Edo period stressed, faith at the expense of practice. That is, it was taught that Shinran’s understanding of “other-power” meant that believing in the value of practice too strongly signified a lack of faith in other-power itself. What is important here is that the usual Buddhist model that states that study and practice lead to understanding was replaced by one in which practice is de-emphasized such that study may lead directly to understanding. As such, Shin Buddhism became highly scholastic and highly doctrinal, and both Honganji institutions had colleges for training monks in the seventeenth century that continued into the Meiji period. But the curricula at both schools did not appreciably change despite the enormous advances in scholastic Buddhism at this time. Therefore, both branches of the Honganji internally faced frustration and demands from their own intellectuals for “modernization” of traditional interpretive models of the Buddhist teachings. One response was the creation of colleges open to the public that also served as academic seminaries for future priests, leading to establishment of Shinshū University in Tokyo by Higashi Honganji, which later became Ōtani University in Kyoto, and Ryūkoku University by Nishi Honganji, also in Kyoto. Both absorbed their earlier Edo period gakuryō-style seminaries, but because they combined traditional shūgaku with modern academics, there would always be an inevitable tension regarding curriculum, as seen in the expulsion of Soga and Kaneko from their posts as professors at Ōtani University. This brings us to the second issue faced by Buddhists at this time: the felt need to reassess the content of the teachings themselves. In addition to the external attacks, the modern period also brought a host of new challenges within Buddhist thought itself. Although the philosophical challenge of Western ideas was not insignificant, much more important was the opening up of the 33  The Three Treasures 三宝, or triratna, defined as buddha, dharma, and sangha, or the founder, his teachings, and the religious community, was a common way in which the religion identified itself.

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canon to non-Chinese materials. Until the Meiji period, Japan had only known Buddhist scriptures in their Chinese form; there had been no direct contact with the Indian subcontinent. There was, oddly enough, a significant quantity Sanskrit-language materials that been brought from China in the Nara and Heian periods that was collected in Japan by the Edo period Shingon monk Jiun 慈雲 (1718–1804),34 but no one was able to read them as no tradition of Sanskrit language study ever developed in Japan, or China for that matter. With the opening to the West, Japan learned of the active Sanskrit- and Pāli-based Buddhist studies being carried on in Europe. Scholars such as Nanjō Bun’yū 南条文雄 (1849–1927) journeyed to Oxford to study with F. Max Müller (1823– 1900), famed philologist and editor of the Sacred Books of the East. Until this time, it had been assumed that when the Japanese received “the complete canon of scriptures” (issai kyō 一切経) it had meant just that. Japanese scholars now learned to read Buddhist scriptures in Sanskrit, Pāli, and Tibetan. Although there was no extant Sanskrit canon as only a few individual texts had been discovered at that point, entire canons in Pāli and Tibetan became available. They soon learned that although they had many scriptures in common with those traditions, there were a great many others that appeared only in those canons, and vice versa. The problem of apocryphal or indigenous sutras, something Chinese catalogers had pointed out many centuries earlier, now loomed much larger, as many of the most influential sutras in the standard canons of East Asia were found nowhere else, setting off a long period of textcritical scholarship in the hope of settling the question of which sutras were of Chinese and which of Indian origin. The most immediate impact of the new textcritical scholarship was the unexpected appreciation of pre-Mahāyāna scripture, where a rational, worldly Śākyamuni Buddha was depicted that contrasted sharply with his image in most Mahāyāna literature. A theory first advanced by Tominaga Nakamoto—over a century before any actual reading of Indian materials—that the Mahāyāna sutras could not be the words of Śākyamuni, came under serious consideration in the Meiji period, now stripped of its polemic context. Although the methodology of Japanese Buddhologists closely paralleled their European counterparts, their goals were radically different—no less than a radical reassessment of the Chinese Buddhist canon and its traditional forms of hermeneutic exegesis. In Kiyozawa’s writings, for example, we see an example of one of the most significant influences of the new scholarship: the dropping of traditional bias against the early, so-called Hīnayāna teachings that had deeply colored the Chinese Buddhist tradition by the time it had arrived in Japan. 34  Known as the Bongaku shinryō 梵学津梁, this collection totaled one-thousand fascicles.

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Suddenly the presumed inevitability of the Mahāyāna view of things was no longer a given, lending credibility to Nakamoto’s thesis. This new perspective exploded into the public domain with the publication of Bukkyō seitenshi ron 佛教聖典史論 (Essays on the History of Buddhist Scriptures) in 1899 by Anesaki Masaharu 姉崎正治 (1873–1949), which argued in favor of the Nakamoto thesis, followed by Bukkyō tōitsuron 佛教統一論 (Essays on a Unified Buddhism) in 1901 by Murakami Senshō 村上専精 (1851–1929), which took the same position. These works reflect the strong interest in the beginnings of Buddhism in India mentioned earlier that depict an idealized notion of the religion as a small movement of religiously dedicated men and women before it became a social institution in Indian society. Another influential legacy from this period has been a reassessment of the life of Śākyamuni based on the new sources that became available, including inscriptions and archaelogical finds, producing something akin to the search for the “historical Jesus” in the West. As the Japanese began to study India through Indian rather than Chinese sources, they increasingly gained appreciation of Buddhism as a product of Indian culture. And if Indian religion is rich in anything it is myth, an evaluative category absent in traditional Buddhist or Confucian thought. As scholars began to learn about comparative myth, it raised the question of whether the narratives in the Pure Land sutras or the Lotus Sutra were intended to be read as myth. If the Pure Land is myth, for example, then what does “birth in the Land of Bliss” (gokuraku ōjō 極楽往生) actually mean? If one were to argue these are narratives and not myth, how should that be done? Or, if one accepted the interpretation that the concepts of “Pure Land” and “birth” are myth, how does that change what these notions mean to us? Should it change the practices and rituals done in this context? The question of myth led to the third problem of Buddhist thinkers at this time: how should Buddhism respond to the challenges posed by the flood of new ideas coming from the West and the internal critique of Buddhism as anachronistic? After moving beyond their initial polemic against Christianity, Buddhist thinkers began to compare the implications of monotheism with the nontheism (or for some, pantheism) of Buddhism. Did the scientific advances in the West suggest the religious traditions in Western cultures and societies compared more favorably with those of technologically backward Japan and China? While government persecution of Buddhism may have ended early in the Meiji period, there was no let up in the criticism that Buddhism held the nation back from materially progressing more quickly because it stressed inward reflection rather than outward action. Were the critics correct? What is the Buddhist argument against the overt material bias of Utilitarianism, Social Darwinism, and Communism? Or, should Buddhism position itself in support

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of Japan’s headlong rush to define happiness through materialism? Can the Japanese people excel at science, technology, and trade in a way commensurate to the West without becoming Christians? The final question reflects dialogue within the denominations about the need to redefine sectarian identities and how to teach those identities to future generations of priests and lay believers. To what degree was the Edo-period shūgaku legacy that defined a sect’s beliefs, doctrines, and practices still relevant in the modern world? Given the new perspectives on the history of Buddhism, how should it be taught to future clergy in the colleges and seminaries which had been set up or reconfigured in the Meiji period by most of the traditional Buddhist sects? How much had society actually changed? Were the needs of the lay supporters and the clergy different from what they had been? Could Buddhism be appreciated and serve the spiritual needs of Japan if it were taught and practiced in the same way it had been a century earlier? The fact that the legal ban on Buddhist monks taking wives and eating meat was lifted in the Meiji period was in some sense a major change for the sangha in Japan, with the exception of Shin. Questions still remained as to how far Buddhist institutions should assimilate government policies; to what degree should they resist those policies when they appear morally wrong or intent on harming the sangha itself? It was well known that Shinran had no sympathy for local kami worship, and along with Nichirenshū, Shinshū had a long tradition for distancing itself from state authority in the past. Should all Buddhist monks teach the divinity of the emperor? To what degree should they incorporate the Imperial Rescript on Education into their educational policies? Should they support military expansion by sending chaplains to accompany troops going abroad for such adventures? Among the variety of responses that emerged as answers to the first question of how the sangha should reform itself, one of the most important was the urging of a return to monasticism, also echoed in Seishinshugi. In the early Meiji period, the monk Unshō 雲照 (1827–1909) of the Shingon school felt the sangha could save itself only by returning to its original commitment to monasticism, and he created a school for studying the precepts. Fukuda Gyōkai 福田行誡 (d. 1888) of the Jōdo school also stressed the importance of the precepts, but he chose to work for transsectarian collaboration and better scholarship to create new understandings common to all schools. Unshō took the position that intimacy between the sangha and the government was the norm in Japan and urged a return to that condition, whereas Fukuda saw the sangha as always having been independent and advocated that it should remain that way. One of the more interesting doctrinal shifts that occurred at this time within Shin thought was the ideological strategy of refiguring the Mahāyāna

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doctrine of two truths. Instead of the traditional Mahāyāna notion of worldly and absolute truth as they pertain to the Buddha’s teachings since the time of Nāgārjuna, the two truths were reconceived as social or political truth, and private or religious truth. The religious truth, called shintai 真諦, was accommodated in individual experience as shinjin 信心, the Shin ideal of faith and realization. By contrast, the political or “worldly” truth, called zokutai 俗諦, was now defined as moral and ethical norms based on loyalty to the emperor. As Fukuma Kōchō has shown, this was enshrined in 1871 in a final statement to his successor made by Kōnyo 広如 (1798–1871), head of Nishi Honganji, uttered when bedridden at the end of his life. As people born in the land of the emperor, none of us are not under obligation to the emperor. Particularly now when the rule of the excellent government of the Restoration has taken control, preserving the populace, and aiming to confront foreign nations, applying their intelligence day and night. Whether religious or lay, who would not assist the beneficence of the king and serve to illuminate his imperial prestige? How much more so when it comes to spreading the buddha’s law (buppō 仏法) in the world! It is because of the protection of the sovereign and his ministers that those who believe the buddha’s law are also given to dedicating their humanity and duty to the king’s law (ōbō 王法) at the center [of their lives], to revere the kami, and to protect morality…. Thus our Great Reformer (Rennyo) said, “Touch the king’s law to your forehead and store the buddha’s law in your heart.” What we want is for all priests and lay in our denomination to attain proper understanding of our tradition and not to confuse the teaching of the two truths: to be loyal to the emperor and the state, responding in kind to the unlimited debt we owe to the court, and to achieve birth in the Western [Pure] Land in the next life where you become someone who will escape suffering forever.35 The institutional stand or policy of Nishi Honganji toward the new government is clearly laid out here, and it is worth noting that its recipient, his successor Myōnyo 明如 (1850–1903), decided to print and distribute the statement throughout the country among all their branch temples. Myōnyo added a colophon to the effect that this statement on the two truths was the final message of Kōnyo and should be respected as orthodox doctrine. But Kōnyo’s stance 35  From a document entitled Kōnyo Shōnin goikun gyosho, in SSZ 5:777a. Quoted in Fukuma 1986. Fukuma gives a detailed description of the roots of this idea in Shinshū writings from the first half of the nineteenth century.

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also came to form the underlying position of the Higashi Honganji as well, suggesting that although Nishi Honganji may have been closer to the new regime, on the fundamental question of the government’s demand for overt political loyalty from Buddhist leaders, the two branches of Honganji did not hold views that were appreciably different. To sum up, the Kōnyo statement clarifies the following: 1. The ancient principle of the mutually dependent and mutually supportive relationship between the norms of society and the principles of Buddhist doctrine was still relevant. 2. Shin Buddhists, both lay and clergy, should embrace the new government regardless of its policies toward Buddhism or the outside world. This means they should gladly accede to public expectation that they bow before the emperor and observe all required rituals directed toward the court as the symbol of the state. 3. The two levels of truth that characterize Mahāyāna Buddhism have now been invested with a political dimension wherein the mundane truth has been redefined as sociopolitical normative behavior, or “ethics.” This, then, was the direction that the institutions of Buddhism were headed. But not all Buddhists were in agreement. Let us now tum to the Seishinshugi movement as an example of stern resistance to defining Buddhism in Japan by its social policies. 6

A Return to Practice: Seishinshugi

As mentioned earlier, the name “Seishinshugi” was coined by Kiyozawa Manshi and discussed or alluded to in a series of articles appearing m a journal called Seishinkai published by a splinter group of Ōtani branch Shin priests from 1901 to 1919. Seishinshugi has many faces; that is to say, even today it means different things to different people. As a particularly creative and influential “Buddhist revival movement” (bukkyō fukkō undō 仏教復興運動) or a “new Shinran-ism” (shin Shinran shugi 新親鸞主義) of the Meiji period,36 it is usually studied academically within Japan by students of Japanese thought, Japanese religion, or Buddhism in the modern world. Indeed it would not be difficult to argue that the twentieth-century vogue of interest in Shinran, spurred by the writings of people like Miki Kiyoshi 三木清 (1897–1945), Kurata Hyakuzō 倉田百三 (1891–1943), and Ienaga Saburō 家永三郎 (1913–2002), and which has transcended sectarianism, actually began with the pan-Buddhist 36  Shinshū shinjiten, 312.

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appeal of Seishinshugi thought appearing in Seishinkai. Within the institutional context of Shin Buddhism as well, it is probably not an exaggeration to say that Seishinshugi is the most important new conception of Shin thought since Rennyo reformed Honganji in the fifteenth century. This does not mean Kiyozawa Manshi and his followers were able to transform the hearts, minds, and institutional power structure of the preponderance of Shin believers in the twentieth century. Seishinshugi has been controversial from the start and remains so today. But Kiyozawa and the other thinkers represented in this collection succeeded so thoroughly in jarring the moribund intellectual tradition of Shin (if not Japanese Buddhism in general) awake and opened up so many new conceptual avenues that it is also probably fair to say that no Japanese religious thinker with an interest in Shinran has not been affected by their achievements, even if only to reject them. Additionally, among all centers of Shin Buddhist Studies, as the founder of Ōtani University, Kiyozawa Manshi’s intellectual legacy is naturally most prominent there. As a result, Seishinshugi remains influential in both Shin and Buddhist studies at Ōtani today. Its appeal has been limited by its radical claims, its disinterest in politics, and its often confrontational stance toward traditional Shin dogmatics. It has always engendered controversy, but there are few Buddhist intellectuals in Japan today who are not familiar with Seishinshugi and accord it at least a modicum of respect. At the same time, it has alienated a number of professional Buddhists, especially in Shin culture, and caused considerable consternation even within the Higashi Honganji to the point that, as mentioned previously, three of the writers included here were expelled from the church. Within the pages of Seishinkai, a variety of opinions were presented about the nature of Buddhism in modern Japan, some even critical of Seishinshugi itself. Although it was read by a broad spectrum of people during its brief existence, to the leaders of the Ōtani denomination the journal was often seen as a public challenge to its religious authority and therefore to the identity of the church itself. In setting the pace for what needed to be done to bring back critical thinking about religion regardless of how broadly jingoism, militarism, and materialism were sweeping society, the intellectual currents that sprung from its pages directly attacked long-established orthodoxies of understanding, practice, and education within all forms of Buddhism, but particularly within Shin. This was particularly stinging for the religious institution that had paid for Kiyozawa’s education and entrusted him with the education of its future intellectual leaders in appointing him first as tutor to the future abbot of Higashi Honganji and then as first president of its new university. The anxiety caused by Seishinshugi within the Ōtani branch of Shin was so

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deep that in expelling Kiyozawa, Soga, and Kaneko, they effectively sidelined the most brilliant minds within their own tradition. Kiyozawa had his clerical status restored but he died in poverty, unrepentant. Soga and Kaneko were eventually reinstated as faculty at the university, and Yasuda Rijin, the fourth author here, avoided this problem altogether by living and teaching privately in Kyoto. In this volume, we have gathered representative examples of the writing of all four thinkers, beginning with three essays by Kiyozawa that have messages for Japanese Buddhism as a whole. What follows is a historical outline of the generation of the ideas within Kiyozawa that formed the “skeleton” of Seishinshugi; the reader is directed to Chapter 2 for biographical information on Kiyozawa himself. In 1890, Kiyozawa resigned from his position as principal of a secondary school to devote more time to writing. Beginning in 1895, he and twelve other Shin intellectuals, including Nanjō Bun’yū, began a campaign to obtain the freedom to develop more modern curricula in the teaching of Shin thought that incorporated new perspectives stemming from strides in Buddhology and understanding of Western religion and philosophy. Despite a spirited effort, he was not successful, leading to a deepening of his tuberculosis and his turning from educational and social concerns to religious issues. Seishinshugi is the direct result of this transition within Kiyozawa himself. The major educational struggle had been centered on overturning the entrenched, dominating nature of shūgaku. One studied shūgaku in order to acquire knowledge of the orthodox understanding of relevant scriptures according to founders, patriarchs, and subsequent institutional leaders. Thus, the Jōdo, Shin, and the Ji sects are all Pure Land sects37 who uphold the same three Pure Land sutras as their scriptures of ultimate authority,38 but they all have different shūgaku because they read those sutras differently. With the founding in the seventeenth century of the official seminaries known as gakuryō or gakurin, the infrastructure of both branches of Honganji shifted to a pattern where these intellectual training grounds served as official vehicles for 37  These are three traditions or “schools” of religious practice and study that all stem from Hōnen and for that reason follow his hermeneutic of selecting the three sutras in the subsequent note as the most authoritative. The Jōdo 浄土 school or sect takes Hōnen to be its founder, and dates itself from his “conversion” to the Pure Land religious perspective in 1175. The Shin 真 school or sect takes Shinran as its founder, and the Ji 時 school or sect was founded by Ippen 一遍 (1239–1289). 38  There are hundreds of sutras that mention Amida Buddha, but the three that have held orthodoxy in Japan since they were identified by Hōnen are the Muryōjukyō (Wuliangshou jing; Larger Sukhāvatīvyūhasūtra), the Amidakyō (Amituofo jing; Smaller Sukhāvatīvyūhasūtra), and the Kanmuryōjukyō (Guanwuliangshoujing).

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dispensing the views of sectarian leadership.39 This allowed for unprecedented political control of what was and was not to be considered the orthodox doctrine, and an eventual shift in emphasis on teachings (as opposed to practice) as the defining principle of the sect, a trend seen in nearly all Buddhist sects during the Edo period. The overall result was a rigid curriculum that taught prepared answers to anticipated questions, effecting a stifling of inquiry beyond the defined rubrics and a religious culture that valued scholastic precision over the mysteries of religiosity. Kiyozawa skillfully argued that the central authority of the honzan 本山 (administrative center of the sect) was overreacting to new interpretations of Shin doctrine because it had blurred the traditional distinction in Buddhism between shūgaku 宗学 and shūgi 宗義. As he defined it, shūgi was the core truth of a Buddhist school established by its founder that should be accepted by all its believing adherents; this was non-negotiable and institutional leadership could reasonably expect compliance with it. But shūgaku represented a tradition of critical inquiry; that is, it was the process of how individuals made sense of this creed-like shūgi. Therefore shūgaku should be expected to foster discussion and debate, where opinions need not be uniform. Disagreement was in fact a healthy sign that genuine comprehension was taking place. Kiyozawa observed, however, that young priests were taught to believe in the traditional explanations of shūgaku scholarship about suggestive yet vague Pure Land doctrinal notions rather than encouraged to debate those interpretations and gain respect for their plausibility only after subjecting them to the students’ own critical analyses. Kiyozawa’s rhetoric also included a more subtle but equally stinging critique of the lack of any serious commitment to praxis or training for young monks in the Shin of his day. Over the course of intellectualizing Shinran’s doctrine for two centuries, significant distortions had taken place. For example, Shinran’s notion of other-power was taught in rational dialogue, with students feeling they could grasp it merely by learning what was taught to them in lectures. But Kiyozawa insisted that Shinran’s message on other-power was something existential rather than doctrinal. One has to awaken to tarika, and this only happens when one sees one’s own mental and emotional limitations. To study “objectively” what other-power should mean rather than experience its 39  The gakuryō 学寮 were essentially boarding schools for novices. The gakuryō of the Nishi Honganji was officially disbanded in 1655 by the bakufu who intervened because a serious conflict had developed within the school, and thereafter the Nishi Honganji seminary was instead called a gakurin 学林. In Higashi Honganji, the name gakuryō remained, but the school was renamed Takakura Gakuryō after it moved to a street in Kyoto called Takakura. See Shinshū shinjiten, 72, and 347.

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significance personally in the context of one’s own individual mental makeup stultifies it, reducing it from a dynamic religious concept into a “dead word,” as such things are called in the Zen tradition. In a move that suggests an interesting parallel to Gandhi—born just six years after Kiyozawa—the valorization of practice in Kiyozawa’s thought grew out of a personal plunge into asceticism, and this in turn strengthened the authority of his efforts to reform his denomination and presumably all forms of Shin Buddhism. The principle of personal sacrifice proving political sincerity is universal, but the intentional self-denial of food and physical comfort as a daily routine for the purpose of attaining bodily purity and mental power is particularly characteristic of the Indic/Buddhist religious paradigm. Although the Shin tradition is not without persons who saw rigorous discipline as conducive to deepening their faith and understanding of the Pure Land religion taught by Hōnen 法然 (1133–1212) and Shinran, as mentioned above during the Edo period the religion had moved away from faith based in disciplined practice to faith based on intellectual assent, and this fact made Kiyozawa’s asceticism all the more startling. Through his writing of this period we see the critique that other-power had been so thoroughly reified into dogma that devotion to praxis came to be seen as indicative of a lack of faith. Kiyozawa raged at the normative Shin position that belief in the value of practice was labeled pejoratively as self-power ( jiriki 自力), which itself had been reified in shūgaku as a heretical denial of other-power force and therefore taboo. Kiyozawa’s theological point was that Shinran’s teachings on other-power could only be appreciated in the context of traditional self-power praxis, and subverting this process amounted to not only removing the centrality of Shinran for Shin Buddhism, but weakening the religious import of the Shin tradition as a whole. By March 1898, when his institutional reform journal Kyōkai jigen 教界時言 (Timely Words for the Religious World) had ceased publication, Kiyozawa’s interest returned to the philosophy of religion. Most notably Kiyozawa turned to the study of the early Buddhist Āgama scriptures that give a much more realistic portrayal of Śākyamuni’s experiences and motivations than the Mahāyāna descriptions he was familiar with. Here he found confirmation of the value of his natural inclination toward self-denial and self-discipline and the importance of personal insight through religious experience. He then turned to the writings of the Greek Stoic Epictectus (c. 55–c. 135 CE), a crippled ex-slave who was relentless in his pursuit of insight and an ethical lifestyle through self-discipline and philosophic inquiry. In Epictetus he saw a similar perspective to his own view of self-power and other-power wherein it was believed by the Stoics that in order to attain happiness one must use reason to analyze the limits of one’s power. It was during this period of study that Seishinshugi was

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born. In 1900, Kiyozawa formed a kind of communal study group that came to be called Kōkōdō after someone hung a sign with that name on the house they rented from Chikazumi Jōkan 近角常観 (1870–1941) near Tokyo University and by September of that year there were more than ten people living there. One of them, Akegarasu Haya 暁烏敏 (1877–1954), suggested they publish a journal, and in January 1901 the first volume of Seishinkai was released with an editorial statement by Kiyozawa’s entitled “Seishinshugi,” which explained the philosophy of the group. The journal contained an announcement inviting anyone, regardless of gender or education level, who would be interested in “cultivating the path” (michi o osamemu 道を修めむ) to come to open Sunday study sessions. During this same period, Kiyozawa was formally named founding president of the newly constituted Shinshū University. He insisted the school be located in Tokyo, away from Kyoto’s conservative religious base, but it was moved down to Kyoto after his death in 1911, and renamed Ōtani University in 1922. One of the longest lasting impacts of the Seishinshugi experiment was the attention it brought to the Tannishō 歎異抄 (Tract Lamenting Differences), a small text containing short aphorisms spoken by Shinran that were collected by a disciple named Yuien 唯円 (n.d.). Today, the Tannishō has become one of the most influential Buddhist texts in Japan, and it is largely due to the otherpower perspective in this work that Shinran has emerged as one of the most attractive religious thinkers for educated Japanese regardless of sectarian affiliation, especially in the postwar period. But this was not always the case. Although appreciated by Rennyo, serious study of the Tannishō only began in the latter Edo period with an extensive commentary by the great scholars Kōgatsuin Jinrei 香月院深励 (1749–1817) and Myōon’in Ryōshō 妙音院了祥 (1788–1842), but it remained outside the traditional sectarian curricula of all branches of Shin in the Meiji period. During this Kōkōdō period, Kiyozawa had come to the conclusion that for himself the three most important religious texts were the Āgamas, the Discourses of Epictetus, and the Tannishō, and urged his student Akegarasu to study the Tannishō. From the January 1903 issue to 1911, Akegarasu published a series of articles on the Tannishō in which he quotes a portion of the text and discusses its meaning. Perhaps also inspired by Kiyozawa, his colleague Chikazumi Jōkan began to give public lectures on the Tannishō at this time, leading to his own publications of an annotated text of the Tannishō with exegesis as an appendix in 1905 and again as a separate book in 1906. Turning back to Seishinshugi what did this name mean to Kiyozawa? Kiyozawa states in a general way that it denotes the essential importance of pursuing a spiritual path for oneself that would by extension lead to social

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harmony. In this sense, Seishinshugi reflects a traditional Buddhist approach to defining a particular religious gestalt of values, beliefs, and practices within the conception of what are called mārga, or paths to liberation. These range from the relatively concrete, such as the eightfold path that names professions (such as dealing in weapons) that are deemed counterproductive to spiritual progress, to the relatively abstract, such as the Pure Land path that is only defined as a commitment to seek birth in Amida’s Pure Land. Kiyozawa, Akegarasu, and others discuss Seishinshugi frequently in the opening volumes of Seishinkai. Insofar as the name of the journal mirrors the name of the movement and Kiyozawa discusses the name in the inaugural volume of the journal, we may conclude that the journal was created for the precise purpose of publicly discussing his ideas. Kiyozawa had of course participated in other such specialist journals, but as mentioned previously that the very phenomenon of public Buddhist journals serving as a medium for advancing the religion was something new to this period, reflecting a new awareness of Buddhism not only as an integral part of Japan’s common heritage but as something that can be objectified for purposes of analysis in the public sphere. Here are two excerpts from these early volumes, beginning with Kiyozawa’s explanation of why he coined the term as a way of describing his personal religious perspective. It is imperative that we find one complete place to stand while we are in the world. If we do not, then we will go through life doing things as if we were standing on a cloud giving a performance. One does not need any more explanation to understand that this need is simply to avoid falling over. As such, how do we gain a complete place to stand while going through life? In all probability it can only be through the power of something absolutely infinite. And the road to the mind that will obtain this state is what I am calling “Seishinshugi.” In other words, Seishinshugi is the principle of putting things into practice while coursing through the world, the first of which is the search for a complete sense of fulfillment within one’s own mind.40 Among the variety of themes associated with Seishinshugi, many are contained within this initial statement, such as the importance of working to clarify one’s personal identity, the fact that this can only come from personal, inner experience, and that attaining this reflects a process of “self-fulfillment.” 40   K MZ 6:3.

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The language is inspiring, but there is also some ambiguity in what Kiyozawa means by the term Seishinshugi itself when he speaks of “the road to mind that will attain [the infinite].” The definition of Seishinshugi here is rife with symbolic language, and so we must seek clarification in his reference to it in other contexts. Part of the problem for us today to understand him is that symptomatic of language usage at that time when so many new philosophies and systems of thought came into Japan so quickly, Kiyozawa developed his own personal style of expression that is not always clear today. He uses a great many words that end in shugi 主義, for example, akin to the suffix -ism in Romance languages. Even today the suffix sliugi incorporates a range of meanings, from a formal theoretical system such as marukusu-shugi マルクス 主義 (Marxism) to a set of values or a stylistic approach such as shizen-shugi 自然主義 (naturalism), kokka-shugi 国家主義 (nationalism), or jitsuyō-shugi 実用主義 (utilitarianism). Kiyozawa freely affixes this form to nouns to express abstract principles, such as shukan-shugi 主観主義 (subjectivism), zensekininshugi 全責任主義 (total responsibility-ism), sekinin fubunkatsu-shugi 責任不分 割主義 (undivided responsibility-ism), or a system of thought or philosophy as in tariki-shugi 他力主義 (other-power-ism). The result is a host of abstract word-formations functioning as abstract principles in places where one might otherwise use adjectival forms, and nearly all are used within Kiyozawa’s writing as synonyms of Seishinshugi, standing as representative flags for a variety of his philosophical positions. Included are such terms as anjū-shugi 安住主義 (peaceful resolution-ism), funrei-shugi 奮励主義 (encouragementism), katsudō-shugi 活動主義 (activism) and jissai shugi 実際主義 (realism). One of the most influential Kiyozawa neologisms is the term naikan-shugi 内観主義, which describes the process of finding the source of truth for oneself through introspection and using it as the basis for external action, a key principle in Seishinshugi. This expanded meaning would be much harder to communicate if he had used the available adjectival form naikan-teki 内観 的, for whereas naikan-teki describes an attitude or viewpoint based on selfreflection, naikan-shugi implies a system of philosophical thought and personality development based on the valorization of inner experience. It would appear to be somewhat synonymous with Western notion of subjectivism, and is thus contrasted with gaikan-shugi 外観主義, which represents a value system based on holding empirical evidence as primary. Similarly, tariki-shugi takes the traditional term other-power, otherwise restricted to faith in birth in the Pure Land as the immediate goal of religion, and adds to it a dimension of reasoned understanding that may be applicable to many questions in life. As the father of all these new formations, seishin-shugi was itself coined

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to communicate Kiyozawa’s standpoint wherein religious practice leading to religious experience must be the “first philosophy” of any modern system of values, ethics, or social activism. The implementation of this view is expressed in one of the most intriguing aspects of Kiyozawa’s thought: his emphasis on asceticism. When I look at the way things actually are, I inevitably think that if someone wants to enter into religious faith, the first thing they need to do is abandon all thoughts of appealing to anything outside of religion. You cannot allow yourself to rely on your material wealth, your wife, children, or friends, your parents or siblings, your status, your abilities, your scholarship or knowledge, or your nation…. If you do not pass through the gate of world-rejection wherein you put aside your family and abandon your wealth—and not look back upon these things—it will be extremely difficult to reach a place of true religious faith…. As the saying goes, a loyal minister does not serve two sovereigns, a faithful wife does not look upon two husbands. If you are passionately focused on something, you do not take notice of anything else. And it is true that if you chase two rabbits you will not catch even one…. Therefore the person who is sincere about entering the divine ground of religion should follow what is taught in Śākyamuni’s biography; namely, he must abandon his parents, he must abandon his wife and children, he must abandon his wealth, he must abandon his country, and he must advance to the point he can abandon himself. To put it another way, a person who is sincere about entering the divine ground of religion must abandon such concrete things as filial piety and patriotism. In addition, duty and sympathy, ethics, science, philosophy, all of these become invisible to him…. I am not saying that at least once everyone needs to follow Śākyamuni’s example and run off to live in the mountains. You can be in business, selling fish, teaching school, or serving in the military [and still pursue this]—any work you do is fine. My point is that in your mind you need to stop relying on family, friends, career, nation, scholarship, knowledge, or indeed anything else. Instead you need to turn all your attention to taking refuge in the Buddha.41 Religion for Kiyozawa is thus not simply one concern of many held by adults. If religion is to be meaningful to an individual, it must be pursued as a personal quest. Institutional concerns and personal concerns on the level of what Kiyozawa calls “religion” are inherently mutually exclusive, a stance 41   K MZ 6:76–78.

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reminiscent of Kierkegaard.42 Anyone who truly wants to experience religious faith must be prepared to give up all contingencies in life and devote himself to this special goal, or he will never achieve his goal. This means giving up all that society tells the individual to hold dear: family, country, wealth, knowledge, and religious affiliation as well. This is not a path that seeks negotiated compromise. These are extremely renunciant tones for a Shin Buddhist priest. As I have mentioned, Shin evolved through the Edo period in a way that was rather extreme in its devaluation of practice. As a result, Seishinshugi created and still brings criticism for stressing self-cultivation to the point of ignoring social obligations. But this view ignores the deep roots of Buddhism as a worldrenouncing religion, whose code of behavior did not preclude work in society but tended to focus on teaching and taking care of the spiritual needs of individuals. Here we recall Kiyozawa’s turn to the Āgamas, the earliest of the Buddhist scriptures, in response to his frustrating efforts toward reforming society and his own denomination. Although Japanese Buddhist intellectuals were drawn to this early period of Buddhist history in general, as mentioned earlier, Kiyozawa’s interest was not in history but in the Buddha’s ability to leave behind everything (even his family) in pursuit of enlightened wisdom. What Kiyozawa is doing in the above quote is merely stating in more modern, rational language what the historical Buddha’s life story suggests to all believers: everything an individual knows about himself that normally would be used for personal support and protection must be set aside if he is to go beyond that known identity for a new one grounded in religious truth. Kiyozawa showed his motivation to seek liberation through self-deprivation earlier in life in a period that he called “minimum possible,” discussed in the introduction to the Kiyozawa translations. A variety of scholars have constructed lists of the central tenets or concerns of Seishinshugi by alluding to the different forms of these shugi or -ism word formations used by Kiyozawa to represent principles of the movement. It would take considerable space to compare their lists, so instead I will sum up the research by distinguishing three aspects of Seishinshugi thought that generally covers its core issues: internal–personal, external–religious, and external–social. To address the internal–personal question, we need to first examine the central importance of critical internal reflection and meditative understanding as 42  For a detailed look into the similarities between the thought of Kierkegaard and Kiyozawa, including consideration of evidence to suggest that Kiyozawa may have been influenced by Kierkegaard, see Blum 2003.

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expressed in the word naikan, which we saw previously in the terms naikanshugi and naikan-teki. This notion functions to represent Kiyozawa’s belief that for two basic reasons we must first seek to define who we are through meditation: We can only know the world in terms of how our minds process what we perceive, and most human suffering stems from internal causes. This is basic, traditional Buddhist psychology, but not the kind of rhetoric one normally sees in a Shin thinker. It should be noted that Kiyozawa also takes pains to point out that he rejects the argument that the outside world does not exist as expressed in the extreme interpretations of the Yogācāra school and some of the German idealist thinkers. One important aspect of this naikan-orientation is the value placed on subjectivity; in essence naikan means subjectivity clarified by reflective meditation. Kiyozawa seems to reject the authority of any ethical and political system when it is justified as objective truth without subjective confirmation. This reflective, self-oriented naikan position is also referenced by the terms jiyū-shugi 自由主義 (freedom), shukan-shugi (subjectivism), and kojin-shugi 個人主義 (individualism), all terms that reflect the same values but express changes in perspective from an individual looking inward to an individual standing among other individuals in society. The external–religious dimension is how naikan individualism is balanced by two religious perspectives about the relationship of the individual to the cosmos. One is something very much like the interdependence doctrine of dharmadhātu found in the Huayan or Kegon tradition. Labeled by Kiyozawa as “the truth of the unity of all phenomena” (banbutsu ittai no shinri 万物一体の 真理), he understands this to mean not only that he as an individual is utterly dependent on all sentient beings for his very existence, but also that he has responsibility for all sentient beings as well. In his words, Now, the myriad things in heaven and earth are my wealth, all life forms are my children. I cannot help but maintain and preserve the myriad things, and love and respect life forms…. I cannot allow them to suffer or experience anguish.43 For Kiyozawa, this is the basis of morality and religion, but his personal sense of that responsibility is through the buddha Amida. This conclusion is the outcome of facing the reality that he is incapable of protecting all sentient beings as his children, and manifests as a kind of conversion moment, when he turns to Amida Buddha and asks him to take up that responsibility for him. This, then, is the second religious principle in Kiyozawa, a doctrine that scholars 43   K MZ 6:12.

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have labeled “absolute other-power” (zettai tariki 絶対他力). In Kiyozawa’s explanation, this organic unity of life, what he calls the hontai 本体, allows freedom for the individual to think and act, but it also demands obedience of him at the same time because this hontai is the one and only reality. Hontai is also understood as buddha, another reference to buddha as impersonal dharmadhātu. But at the same time, the personal buddha manifest as Amida is also critical because of his vow to accept everyone, regardless of their karmic record. Liberation or the elimination of personal suffering thus has both a general, impersonal aspect and a particular, personal aspect, if we can refer to a particular buddha as something “personal.” Taking refuge in the buddha and the world as buddhaness is the basis of morality and ethics for Kiyozawa; as such this act must be based on the Buddha’s doctrine of egalitarian acceptance. In Kiyozawa’s words: Spurred on by the sound of virtue coming from the focused thoughts of the one-mind of Amida Buddha, focused thoughts of one-mind begin to move within myself. This is true essence of religion, the fountainhead of morality.44 The third issue of concern is the Seishinshugi position concerning the relationship of the individual to society. Kiyozawa’s statements in this area are utterly religious, generally both idealistic and vague in terms of what actions or even policies they suggest. It is in the area of the individual’s obligations to society that Kiyozawa’s statements have generated the most controversy and the most biting criticism. It appears that Kiyozawa is adamant that truly religious persons must not lose their spiritual balance when society becomes twisted or oppressive to the individual. One salient aspect of this perspective is his deep mistrust of ethical systems. Indeed, Japanese society could hardly have been more oppressive to the individual at this time, and Kiyozawa himself suffered for it. It is worth mentioning a powerful event that happened in May 1903, the last year of Manshi’s life. Fujimura Misao 藤村操 (1886–1903), an eighteen-year-old student at the elite First Higher School in Tokyo (where Uchimura had taught), felt the hopelessness of his situation so acutely that he committed suicide by jumping off the top of Kegon-no-taki, a large waterfall in Nikkō. Fujimura had been an extremely promising student of philosophy and in his suicide note alluded to an insurmountable pessimism he felt toward the world, a mood that so many other young people shared at this time that a number of them followed him in 44   K MZ 6:13–14.

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ending their life. The novelist Natsume Sōseki (1867–1916) had been Fujimura’s English teacher at the school and years later wrote that Fujimura’s suicide had been one of the causes of his own depression. Kiyozawa’s health had already deteriorated significantly by this point, but it is commonly inferred that his physical condition was not the only reason why Kiyozawa’s “discovery” of the power of equanimity by Śākyamuni Buddha and taught to his early disciples is of central importance in Seishinshugi thought, as is the imperative of attaining anjin 安心—deep faith and doubt-resolving awareness of the power of Amida Buddha. For these served as a bulwark against a terribly stressful society, and in discussions about society Kiyozawa often resembles a reclusive arhat more than an engaged bodhisattva. In the essay entitled “Seishinshugi to kyōdō sayō” (“Seishinshugi and Common Action”), he argues against the criticism that Seishinshugi was antisocial in this way: Our Seishinshugi truly centers on introspection (naikan-shugi), but as I have said many times this does not mean that we reject the external, objective viewpoint of things. Thus when we say we do not obsess over things in the external objective world, it means that we do not agonize or get upset over the forms that these objective phenomena take.45 But at the same time, Kiyozawa remained defiant in his priorities. Seishinshugi is not for this or that society; it is not for making the state (kokka) the first priority. Any “system of thought” (shugi) that does not understand the importance of the self cannot possibly bring us the peaceful resolution we seek.46 7

Critiques of Seishinshugi

Let us now move to consider more directly the complaints and criticism of Seishinshugi from Kiyozawa’s contemporaries and voices still heard the present day. Seishinshugi engendered public criticism almost immediately. One of the most consistent came from the pages of the rival journal Shin Bukkyō which, as mentioned earlier, also began publication in the later Meiji period, that is, after the successful conclusion of the Sino-Japanese War in 1895. Between 1895 and 1900 government policy becomes even more supportive of 45  精神主義と共同作用, at KMZ 6:97. 46   K MZ 6:92.

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both capitalism and imperialism, the country grows economically, and the mood of the nation brims with a new sense of faith in materialism and nationalism. The intellectual Buddhists who launched Shin Bukkyō initially envisioned an idealistic journal similar in outlook to Seishinkai in that it called for freedom of religious thought and freely criticized problems with institutional Buddhism. But it developed into a forum that sought to redefine Buddhism as merely an intellectual set of ideas without monks, monasticism, temples, or institutions. In putting its weight into socially and politically liberal causes while riding the wave of nationalism, Shin Bukkyō begins to take on something of a nationalist-Marxist polemic against Buddhist forms of mysticism, such as the naikan-shugi advocated by Kiyozawa. In the same volume of Shin Bukkyō published in 1902, Sakaino Kōyō 境野黄洋 (1871–1933) and Hanada Shuho 花田衆 甫 both have articles attacking Seishinshugi.47 Sakaino somehow links it with the thought of Nietzsche, writing that both are having a negative effect on society. He titles his essay, “Ruijaku shisō no ryūkō [Niitche-shugi to Seishinshugi]” (The Popularity of Weak Thought: Nietzsche-ism and Seishinshugi), complaining that both weakened the nation by urging an emotional faith. Taking an indirect swipe at Kiyozawa who was extremely ill at this time, Sakaino says “the religion that we advocate is not a religion of the sick but a religion of normal people” and “religion that cannot follow along with the general education of the times is religion that is confrontational and unhealthy.” He labels Seishinshugi and Nietsche’s ideas as “religions for the weak and ignorant,” and as “resignationism” (akirame-shugi アキラメ主義), a reference to the fact that Kiyozawa himself used the term akirame-shugi to describe his attitude toward past events. Kiyozawa is allowed to respond in the same journal, and two months later counters that while both Seishinshugi and the Shin Bukkyō movement may state that equality and social discrimination exist simultaneously, Seishinshugi puts their weight on equality and Shin Bukkyō puts theirs on discrimination.

47  S hin Bukkyō 3:2, published in February, 1902. Hanada’s title was “Hai-Seishinshugi: ‘Seishinshugi’ wo nanjite Kōkōdō shoshi no kotae wo nozomu 排精神主義:「精神 主義」を難じて浩々洞諸氏の答を望む” (Disposing of Seishinshugi: Criticizing “Seishinshugi” and seeking answers from the members of Kōkōdō). See Serikawa 1989, 205–11. Kiyozawa uses the term akirame-shugi to mean his group does not cling to the past; see KMZ 6:91. It is also worth noting that Uchimura Kanzō, Takayama Chogyū, and Kimura Takatarō were also categorized with Kiyozawa for advocating “sick religion.” It is also interesting that while Sakaino equates Kiyozawa with Nietzsche, Shimaji Daitō (1969, p. 388) sees an affinity between Nietzsche and Takayama Chogyū, and sees instead something of Tolstoy in Kiyozawa.

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In effect, Kiyozawa was criticizing the Shin Bukkyō group for affirming social inequalities, but the nature of the Seishinshugi movement was such that it repeatedly found itself confronting the same rhetorical outcry. Complaints like those of Sakaino are often reflected in later critical assessments of Seishinshugi, yet one is nevertheless struck by the fact that Kiyozawa’s approach is still debated in Japan today and has thus remained compelling among students of religion and philosophy in today’s very different societal context. While some criticism may be associated with sectarianism, the complaints that Seishinshugi abrogates its social obligations do have weight and are worthy of serious consideration. Indeed some members of the Seishinshugi movement itself have voiced similar concerns. Consider the following passage by Kiyozawa from Seishinkai: When one interacts with things and people outside oneself, he should seek to increase the happiness of both self and others. This is not rejected by Seishinshugi, but rather something we welcome. Seishinshugi thus is not a practice of renunciation and escape. Nor is it a diffident practice. Cooperating to aid the happiness and welfare of society and the nation is encouraged within Seishinshugi…. The sufferings that I endure do not come from the actions of others, but from illusions within me…. [Thus] the first issue in the functionality (jikkō shugi 実行主義) of Seishinshugi is believing in the importance of searching for full satisfaction within one’s own mind. And this begins by not suffering as a result of having to follow things or people outside oneself, and [continues in] the interaction and work done together with people to increase the happiness of mankind. One carries with them both complete freedom and absolute submission; this is how one can sweep away his pain and suffering.48 Although he does not explain what he means when he speaks of “absolute submission” and with this line he ends his statement, elsewhere he uses the same word for submission or obedience, fukujū 服従, to indicate the decision to give in to society’s pressures, as in the case of the Imperial Rescript on Education. For example, the following editorial statement by his staff in the second issue of Seishinkai has often been cited by Kiyozawa’s critics. Recently there have been calls here to recall the Imperial Rescript on Education. These have arisen among one group of educators. But this would truly be inconvenient at the moment.49 48   K MZ 6:5. 49  Seishinkai 1:2, 1901, from the “Tōkyō-dayori” (Report from Tokyo) section. Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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It is Kiyozawa’s acceptance, or more accurately his lack of resistance, to politics and social demands that some see as an abrogation of any social responsibility to take a stand against immoral public policies. But such a reading reflects a misunderstanding about Kiyozawa’s mission. As in his statement above about the need to abandon all known relationships, Kiyozawa is nearly always speaking on the level of what he calls “the first issue in the functionality” of Seishinshugi; that is, to clarify one’s own personal religious stance toward oneself and the world. This is not a plea for Shin Buddhism to turn its own raison d’être on its head and demand all its clergy become lifelong anchorites. He is simply saying that every religious person has an obligation to clarify his or her own spiritual stance before they can expect to be functional in any meaningful capacity in the world. It is the seishin, the mind, that first needs to be put in order; hence the name Seishin-shugi. This same attitude can be seen in his rather extreme inference about the significance of the impossibility of ethical correctness, represented here in the translation in Chapter 4, “Negotiating Religious Morality and Common Morality.”50 It is a radical conclusion similar to that of Kierkegaard that the pursuit of ethics leads to religious awakening, not through success but through failure. But although his argument is compelling for its spiritual honesty, because his concerns remain limited to religious matters, it leaves undone the work of developing ethical values after religious awakening. Freely admitting that one is incapable of fulfilling his obligation to care for other life forms remains a religious statement, but that leaves out the question of how to behave properly in a social sense. Here Kiyozawa is silent, disturbingly silent for many. Even on the question of what ethical guidelines one should use when he has already completed the quest for personal spiritual confirmation, Kiyozawa tends to pull back. Thus, we have also essays with titles such as “Rinri ijō no an’i” 倫理以上の安慰 (“Peace Beyond Ethics”),51 “Rinri ijō no konkyo” 倫理以上の 根拠 (“Authority Beyond Ethics”).52 Among all his writings on ethics, however, it is “Negotiating Religious Morality and Common Morality,” which most often is cited for his ethical viewpoint, for here he takes the remarkable position of accepting our inability to either discern or implement proper moral choice, and therefore the entire purpose of all moral schemes is to lead us to the path of other-power, that is, the acceptance of the power of the infinite. As many have pointed out, it is important to keep in mind that in taking this radical stand and refusing to indulge in any principled discussion of a philosophical basis for ethics or morality, Kiyozawa reflects the intense politicization of ethics and 50   K MZ 6:148–58. 51   K MZ 6:121. 52   K MZ 6:132. Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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religion at the time, as stated above. Sueki has suggested that Kiyozawa was directly (and perhaps adamantly) responding to Inoue Tetsujirō’s ideological campaign to valorize only religions that contributed to proper social ethics as defined by the government.53 Inoue’s position represented both an assertion of the politicization of ethics as natural and therefore normative as well as the denigration of religion into a tool for implementing social policy, even social engineering. In effect, Kiyozawa is saying “I answer to a higher power.” It is true that Kiyozawa did not openly oppose the implementation of the Imperial Rescript on Education. But to read into this any insincerity or lack of concern about proper behavior and its link to education policy is unconvincing. One need only recall the fact that at one point he threw himself so totally into precisely this kind of institutional reform that he ruined his health, his tuberculosis ultimately causing his death at the young age of forty-two. To the complaint that Kiyozawa was too accepting of society’s ethical status quo, one can counter that his refusal to engage in any dialog on this issue was his own way of maintaining a subversive stance toward that very ideology. Reading any of Kiyozawa’s later essays on the subject of morality and ethics, such as the one included here, reveals his consistent refusal to accept the authority of any ethical system, implicating the ethical systems in his own surroundings, both in secular society and in contemporary Buddhism. Sueki correctly identifies this move as anything but escapist, characterizing it instead as a successful reversal of roles for Buddhism that enabled it to go on the offensive after years of oppressive victimization at the hands of the Meiji government. But the resultant lack of formulation of any ethical value system or principle of engagement with society remains a problem for Seishinshugi. In the absence of any concrete critique of inequity and injustice, Seishinshugi could easily be read as an affirmation of those very problems. Indeed Kiyozawa did write that “if something happens to one’s country, one may march to war with a rifle on his shoulder,” expressing a Bhagavadgītā-like acceptance of every aspect of the human condition. This limitation is significant, and calls for a new response from within Shin, if not all of Japanese Buddhism, to face the fact that religious institutions are also political institutions, and that even the model of “king’s law–buddha’s law” never absolved them from political responsibility. It has been just over a century since the death of Kiyozawa, and the legacy of Seishinshugi has produced some breathtaking results directly within Shin thought and indirectly within religious discourse in Japan as a whole over that century. We look forward to the next movement that will stand on the 53  Sueki 2002, 16–18.

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shoulders of the freedom of thought engendered by Kiyozawa’s approach and make a similar contribution in the next century. Writing in 1921, Shimaji Daitō, a scholar associated with the Nishi Honganji branch of Shin, declared that the two most important new movements in Japanese Buddhism in the modern period were Seishinshugi and “Nichirenshugi 日蓮主義” as seen in Takayama Chogyū 高山樗牛 (1871–1902). By the term Nichirenshugi he meant a modern adaptation of the thought of the thirteenth-century monk Nichiren and his interpretations of the Lotus Sutra. Shimaji pointed to this because Nichiren’s religious values influenced the formation of a host of new religious movements in the twentieth century, the most famous being Sōka Gakkai. Both Shin and Nichiren Buddhism are known for their relatively strong sense of sectarianism and their fierce political independence from the state. The leaders of Sōka Gakkai are famous for going to jail to resist government policies during World War II, yet the intensity of its sectarianism is also legendary. Although Seishinshugi has drawn criticism today for not advancing an antigovernment agenda in the face of rising fascism, on the other hand there is ample evidence to suggest that the countersectarian streak in Seishinshugi provided a major impetus for expanding the appreciation of Shinran as a religious thinker outside Shin circles, as well as opening the door to bringing nontraditional religious texts and ideas (geten 外典) not only into sectarian Shin Studies but into Buddhist Studies as well. A recent discovery that the idealistic teacher called simply “K” in the novel Kokoro by Natsume Sōseki, published in 1914, was probably based on Kiyozawa Manshi is yet another confirmation of how wide the impact of this movement was among the educated in Japan just as the country was painfully modernizing.54 Although Japan is now well into its postmodern condition, the host of new writing on Kiyozawa and other Seishinshugi thinkers shows that many of the issues discussed in these essays are still thought-provoking in Japan. It is our hope that this volume will contribute to a consideration of them outside Japan as well. Bibliography Abe, Masao. 1997. Zen and Comparative Studies. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Akamatsu Tesshin 赤松徹真. 1977. “Kindai Nihon shisōshi ni okeru seishinshugi no isō: Kiyozawa Manshi no shinkō to sono kansei 近代日本の思想史における精神主義 の位相―清沢満之の信仰とその陥穽.” In Bukkyō shigaku ronshū 仏教史学論集,

54  “Sōseki no Kokoro: K no moderu” in Mainichi shinbun, August 18, 2006, Osaka edition, p. 7.

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Yasuda Rijin 安田理深. 2000. Yasuda Rijin kōgishū 安田理深講義集. 6 vols. Tokyo: Yayoi shobō. Yasuda Rijin 安田理深 and Motai Kyōkō 茂田井教亨, Fuan ni tatsu: Shinran, Nichiren no sekai to gendai 不安に立つ―親鸞・日蓮の世界と現代. Tokyo: Tokyo shinbun shuppan kyoku. Yasuda Rijin sensei sankaiki hōyō jimukyoku 安田理深先生三回忌法要事務局, ed. 1984. Honji Yasuda Rijin 本師安田理深. Kyoto: Bun’eidō. Yasumaru Yoshio 安丸良夫. 1988. Shūkyō to kokka 宗教と国家. Tokyo: Iwanami shoten. Yasutomi Shin’ya 安富信哉. 1991. “Kiyozawa Manshi no banbutsu ittai ron 清沢満之の 万物一体論.” Shinran kyōgaku 親鸞教学 58:69–91. Yasutomi Shin’ya 安富信哉. 1993. “Meiji chūki no shinzoku nitairon to Kiyozawa Manshi 明治中期の真俗二諦論と清沢満之.” Shinran kyōgaku 親鸞教学 62:1–17. Yasutomi Shin’ya 安富信哉. 1994. “Shinkō to jiritsu: Kiyozawa Manshi ni okeru ‘shūyō’ no ichi 信仰と自律―清沢満之における「修養」の位置.” Ōtani gakuho 大谷学報 73–2:18–30. Yasutomi Shin’ya 安富信哉. 1995. “Nōdōteki jiko 能動的自己.” Shinran kyōgaku 親鸞教 学 65:50–75. Yasutomi Shin’ya 安富信哉. 1997. “Shūkyōteki ‘ko’ no ronri: Kiyozawa Manshi to seishin shugi 宗教的「個」の論理―清沢満之と精神主義.” Ōtani daigaku kenkyū nenpō 大谷大学研究年報 49:71–122. Yasutomi Shin’ya 安富信哉. 1998. “Kiyozawa Manshi to seishin shugi: Sono ‘ko’ no isō 清沢満之と精神主義―その「個」の位相.” Shinran kyōgaku 親鸞教学 72:1–15. Yasutomi Shin’ya 安富信哉. 1999. Kiyozawa Manshi to ko no shisō 清沢満之と個の思 想. Kyoto: Hōzōkan. Yasutomi Shin’ya 安富信哉. 2003. “The Way of Introspection: Kiyozawa Manshi’s Methodology.” The Eastern Buddhist 35–1/2:102–14. Yasutomi Shin’ya 安富信哉. 2004. “Koritsu to kyōdō: Sekisuiki Kiyozawa Manshi o tegakari to shite 個立と協同―石水期清沢満之を手懸かりとして.” Shinran kyōgaku 82/83:97–113. Yokoyama Hisayasu 横山久安. 1983. “Shōshi Yasuda Rijin sensei 正師安田理深先生.” Shinran kyōgaku 親鸞教学 42:53–60. Yokoyama, W. S. 1995. “Two Thinkers on Shin: Selections from the Writings of Soga Ryōjin and Kaneko Daiei.” The Eastern Buddhist 28–1:123–54. Yokoyama, W. S. 1998. “Editing Epictetus: Kiyozawa Manshi’s Rōsenki and Long’s Discourses of Epictetus.” Hanazono daigaku bungakubu kenkyū kiyō 花園大学文学 部研究紀要 30:59–90. Yoshida Kyūichi 吉田久一. 1961. Kiyozawa Manshi 清沢満之. Tokyo: Yoshikawa kōbunkan. Yoshida Kyūichi 吉田久一. 1962. “‘Shinbukkyō,’ ‘Seishinkai,’ ‘Muga no ai’「新仏教」 「精 神界」 「無我の愛」.” Shisō 思想 456:111–12.

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Yoshida Kyūichi 吉田久一. 1975. “Shinkō to fukushi: Kiyozawa Manshi to Uchimura Kanzō 信仰と福祉―清沢満之と内村鑑三.” In Bukkyō no rinri shisō to sono tenkai 仏教の倫理思想とその展開, edited by Mibu Taishun 壬生台舜, 243–69. Tokyo: Daizō shuppan. Yoshida Kyūichi 吉田久一. 1992. Nihon kindai Bukkyōshi kenkyū 日本近代仏教史研 究. Tokyo: Yoshikawa kōbunka; Yoshida Kyūichi chosakushū 4 吉田久一著作集 4. Reprint of 1959 edition. Yoshida Kyūichi 吉田久一. 1996. “Kiyozawa Manshi, Shinkō to shakai: Shinkō keisei 100 nen o kinen shite 清沢満之 信仰と社会―信仰形成 100 年を記念して.” Shinran kyōgaku 親鸞教学 67:65–81. Yoshinaga Shin’ichi 吉永進一, ed. 2007. Hirai Kinza and the globalization of Japanese Buddhism of Meiji era, a cultural and religio-historical study (Hirai Kinza ni okeru meiji bukkyō no kokusaika ni kansuru shūkyōshi—bunkashiteki kenkyū). Japan Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology Report no. 16520060.

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Against Buddhist Unity: Murakami Senshō and His Sectarian Critics Ryan Ward 1 Introduction The study of the intellectual history of modern Japanese Buddhism has focused on those individuals who can loosely be referred to as “doctrinal modernists” (kindai kyōgakusha 近代教学者).1 A typical introduction to the Buddhism of this period will most likely include references to such eminent figures as Shimaji Mokurai 島地黙雷 (1838–1911), Murakami Senshō 村上専 精 (1851–1929), Inoue Enryō 井上円了 (1858–1919), Tanaka Chigaku 田中智学 (1861–1939), Kiyozawa Manshi 清沢満之 (1863–1903), Nishida Kitarō 西田幾多 郎 (1870–1945), and Suzuki Daisetz 鈴木大拙 (1870–1966). Without doubt, the study of these men, as both individual thinkers and figures who represent a certain intellectual milieu, is an important and academically rewarding task. This emphasis, however, has come at the expense of not addressing the other side of the coin: sectarian-minded conservative thinkers. Not surprisingly, Ikeda Eishun, in one of his last works, offered the perspicacious comment that “although the transdenominational thought (tsūbukkyōteki shii 通仏教的思惟) of reform-minded [Buddhist] leaders is definitely illustrative of their response to changes in the historical climate, we still have no idea as to their relationship with the various aspects of conservative sectarian Buddhism.”2 To my knowledge, other than Ikeda’s extemporaneous remark and an informative chapter in Janine Tasca Sawada’s recent book, Practical Pursuits: Religion, Politics, and Personal Cultivation in Nineteenth-Century Japan, there have been few attempts to make conservative Buddhist thinkers of this period a focus of inquiry.3

Source: Ward, Ryan, “Against Buddhist Unity: Murakami Senshō and his Sectarian Critics,” Eastern Buddhist 37(1–2) (2005): 160–194. 1  The term “doctrinal modernist” is commonly used by the Ōtani branch to refer specifically to Kiyozawa Manshi and his disciples. Along with maintaining this meaning here, I also use it to refer to a much broader group of thinkers. Of course, I realize that, other than in a purely heuristic sense, it is problematic to lump all of these figures together. 2  Ikeda 1997. 3  See Sawada 2004, pp. 211–35.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2020 | doi:10.1163/9789004401525_036

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In earlier oral versions of this paper, I attempted to move beyond this onedimensionality by carrying out what seemed to be a straightforward operation. Through examining sectarian responses to Murakami Senshō’s seminally modernist Bukkyō tōitsuron 仏教統一論 (On the Unification of Buddhism), I sought to demonstrate that such works did indeed provide evidence for a growing trend among Meiji Buddhist intellectuals to purportedly go beyond sectarian boundaries and conceive of Buddhism in a normative or global sense.4 At the same time, however, I also argued that it was this very ecumenicalism that provided the foil for many scholars of a more traditional disposition to reconstitute their own sectarian identities. Upon further inquiry, I came across several opinion pieces written by Murakami in the Chūgai nippō and two previously unknown (at least to me) texts penned near the end of his life, Shinshū no shinmenboku wa nahen ni zonsuru ka 真宗の真面目は那辺に存す る乎 (Where is the True Identity of Shinshū?) and Gakan shinshū 我観真宗 (My View of Shinshū).5 To my surprise, in these pieces, which are rebuttals to two works written by Kaneko Daiei 金子大栄 (1881–1976), the doctrinal modernist and student of Kiyozawa, Murakami makes a radical turn: along with doctrinal modernism in general, he disavows his earlier writings (i.e., Bukkyō tōitsuron) and now, ill and facing death, speaks solely from the position of Shin “tradition,” which, in his eyes, has little tolerance or need for pan-Buddhist goodwill, dialogue with Western philosophy, or modern extrapolations from the letter of sacred and timeless texts. Now approaching the end of his life, Murakami argues that all that he had previously written and said—which he laments was similar to what contemporaneous young Ōtani scholars like Kaneko were once again erroneously attempting—was folly. In light of this turn, I will now argue that attempting to move beyond the one-dimensional nature of current studies on modern Japanese Buddhism by taking into account the sectarian-minded conservative is not enough. Along with the need for introducing disruptive counter-narratives into the master tale of Japanese Buddhist modernity, we must also remember that these counter-narratives are themselves subject to being disrupted and displaced as well. I have recently written at some length on how the conflict between doctrinal modernists and sectarian-minded conservatives manifested itself in the Ōtani 4  I have used the most recent version of this work (Murakami 1997). On Murakami, for example, see Sueki Fumihiko’s piece in this issue and also in its original Japanese version (Sueki 2004, pp. 86–109). For other works on Murakami by Japanese scholars, see Tamura 2001, Matsuoka 1991, and Serikawa 1982. 5  I would like to thank Erik Schiketanz for obtaining a copy of Shinshū no shinmenboku wa nahen ni zonsuru ka for me from Ryukoku University.

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branch of the Shin denomination during the Meiji and Taishō eras.6 Although I will not restate my argument here, it is useful to explain certain suppositions behind my approach. Contemporary scholars of Higashi Honganji have often, intentionally or not, presented the modern history of the Ōtani branch as being primarily a narrative about Kiyozawa (and his disciples) and the formation of the aforementioned doctrinal modernism. A more thorough examination provides us with another picture. Despite the undeniable fact that Kiyozawa and those close to him captured the minds of many intellectuals inside and outside of the Ōtani branch (and, judging by the recent spate of books and academic papers on Kiyozawa, many Japanese intellectuals today), Kiyozawa and his associates were also seen by more “traditional” priests (who still held a great deal of power, institutionally and over the members of their own parishes) and laity as being heretics (ianjin 異安心).7 Along with Kiyozawa, this list includes such figures as Urabe Kanjun 占部観順 (1824–1910), Inoue Hōchū 井上豊忠 (n.d.), Murakami, Akegarasu Haya 暁烏敏 (1877–1954), Andō Shūichi 安藤州一 (n.d.), Sasaki (Yamada) Gesshō 佐々木 (山田) 月樵 (1875–1926), Soga Ryōjin 曽我量深 (1875–1971), and, as we will see, Kaneko Daiei. As Soga noted in a rectorship address at Otani University in 1954, this clash between conservative sectarian-minded scholars and Kiyozawa’s disciples continued “almost until the end of World War II.”8 When we take into account the so-called Higashi Honganji Conflict (ohigashi funsō お東紛争) of more recent days, which pitted scholars of the Kiyozawa lineage (among others) against the Ōtani family and certain conservative elements, we can reasonably argue that this struggle has continued well into the postwar period.9 In the case of the Ōtani branch, the 6  See Ward 2005. 7  Obviously, being called or rumored to be a heretic is different from actually being brought up on charges and punished as one. Many of the doctrinal modernists, like Akegarasu Haya and Andō Shūichi, were summoned to the head temple and subjected to interrogation but never actually charged with heresy. Although I have discussed the Shin notion of heresy in Ward 2005, it may be useful to at least cite some of the more representative “scholarly” (most of these works are really thinly veiled heresiographies and not “serious” academic inquiries into the problem—they tell us more about how orthodox Shin scholars think about heresy than they do about the actual nature of the problem) contributions. See, for example, Nakajima 1912, Koreyama 1918–19, Nakai 1930, Mizutani 1934, Ishida 1951, Ōhara 1956, and Kashiwahara 1996. On the broader question of Buddhist heretics in the modern period, see Ikeda 1995 and 1996. There are also a number of specialized papers dealing with individual ianjin incidents (i.e., the Sangō wakuran 三業惑乱, the Tonjō jiken 頓成事件, and so forth) that I have omitted here. For the best (and only) introduction in English to the problem of heresy in the Shin denomination, see Dobbins 1984. 8  Soga 2001, pp. 600–601. 9  For a brief introduction to the ohigashi funsō in English, see Thelle 1976. See also Cooke 1978 and 1988. For more detailed studies (in Japanese), see Tahara 2004 and Ochiai 1995.

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dismissal of sectarian-minded conservatives and their role in the formation of Japanese Buddhist modernity is not simply due to a lack of imagination or careless methodology. Of course, I do not mean to suggest that the inability to examine the role of sectarian-minded Ōtani conservatives in the modern period can entirely be accounted for due to the existence of a certain agenda on the part of contemporary Ōtani scholars. There is also the aforementioned and more pervasive problem of the seemingly intractable and ubiquitous methodology used by scholars of modern Japanese Buddhism that tends to narrowly focus on doctrinal modernists and their representative texts. Against this, and in order to address some of the lived contingencies of the modern period, my work here examines a number of overlooked texts: writings by sectarian-minded scholars, memoirs, the print media, and the last writings of Murakami. Along with such general methodological considerations, for this inquiry it is useful to take into account two broader and mutually related historical trends within the Shin denomination of the late Meiji era: the growth of Westernized educational institutions and, to borrow a neologism coined by the Nishi Honganji scholar Nonomura Naotarō 野々村直太郎 (1871–1946), the demythologization of Pure Land thought (Jōdo shisō no hishinwaka 浄土思想の非 神話化).10 Faced with a growing Western presence and the perceived menace of Christianity, both Nishi and Higashi Honganji were quick, if not always successful, in reforming their academic arms. Already by 1868, Higashi Honganji had constructed the Hall for the Defense of the Dharma (gohōjō 護法場), where traditional Tokugawa Shin scholasticism (shūjō 宗乗) was supplemented with 10  Although one can note a number of other developments that must also be considered when discussing doctrinal changes in modern Shin thought, for our purposes, it is useful to recall that texts written by or attributed to Shinran 親鸞 (i.e., Kyōgyōshinshō 教行 信証, Tannishō 歎異抄) were rarely available for perusal before the Meiji period. In an excellent paper comparing Tokugawa and Meiji Ōtani hermeneutical practices (as seen in Akegarasu’s reading of the Tannishō), Fukushima Eiju (2003) has noted how the Tannishō (the Ōtani doctrinal modernist urtext) was by no means a popular or accessible work in the Edo period; and when it was read, it was done so in a radically different sense. We should also recall how Rennyo held that the Tannishō was a work that should be “hidden” from the eyes of most priests. Thus, for a vast expanse of time, Shinran was neither seen as a religious philosopher (à la Kierkegaard) nor a religious reformer (à la Luther); he was primarily a living Buddha, a Tathāgata, who was worshiped thusly, and certainly not open to broad interpretation. This was not only due to a lack of dissemination of his texts but also due to a general mentality of veneration toward him and his writings. From the Meiji era onward, that Shinran could be read and emulated by almost anyone was a considerable source of contention and consternation for traditionalist scholars, whose long-standing role of authoritative exegesis was accordingly relativized. Why listen to mediators when one could go to the source itself?

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non-sectarian studies (yojō 余乗) and “Western learning” (yōgaku 洋学).11 In time, both Nishi and Higashi Honganji established secondary schools and universities based on a putative “Western” model. The Ōtani branch was also quick to dispatch its most promising young minds to study in the West and at Tokyo Imperial University. Men such as Nanjō Bun’yū 南条文雄 (1849–1927) and Kasahara Kenju 笠原研寿 (1852–83), who trained under Max Müller at Oxford, learned to use modern critical methods in researching Buddhist texts and read these works in their original Indic languages, while also immersing themselves in the burgeoning field of comparative religion.12 Contemporaneously, those who studied at Tokyo Imperial University—Inoue Enryō, Kiyozawa, and Nonomura—were also exposed to Western scientific methods and philosophy. Armed with this new knowledge, a great number of young priests came to find the traditional Shin doctrine that subscribed to the physical reality of the Pure Land and the ontological existence of Amida Tathāgata problematic, if not untenable. For many, the reinterpretation of the Pure Land tradition became a project of utmost importance. Most representative of this new form of reinterpretation is Kiyozawa, known for his famous dictum: “I do not believe in the (Amida) Tathāgata because it exists. The (Amida) Tathāgata exists because I believe.” In a similar vein, let us also consider Nonomura’s view that “Jōdo Shin thought had been held prisoner to the idea of birth in the Pure Land” and that “Amida Tathāgata was not a real historical figure.”13 Amid these educational and intellectual transformations, the role of the traditional seminary and its emphasis on succession from teacher to disciple (shishi sōjō 師資相承) and a static mode of scholastic exegesis—what Murakami pejoratively referred to in his early writings as Kunkoteki kenkyū 訓 詁的研究—came under fire.14 Just what was the need for these “atavists” in the “modern” world? What use were their antiquated methods of pedagogy and naïve and ascientific beliefs in the Pure Land as a posthumous paradise and Amida Tathāgata as its quasi-anthropomorphic caretaker? As we will see, though, despite how they have often been portrayed by postwar academics (when they have been mentioned at all), conservative scholars of both the Higashi Honganji Takakura Seminary (Takakura Gakuryō 高倉学寮) and Nishi Honganji Kangaku Seminary (Kangakuryō 勧学寮) were not content with being dismissed as historical anachronisms. Much like their modernist 11  For the most recent study on the gohōjō, see Miharu 1994. See also Kiba 1989. 12  For a recent study in English on Nanjō and Kasahara, see Hayashidera 2004a. In Japanese, see Hayashidera 2004b. 13  For Nonomura’s controversial Jōdokyō hihan 浄土教批判, see Nonomura 1923. 14  For what is still the only full-length study of the Tokugawa Takakura Seminary, see Takeda 1944.

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counterparts, sectarian-minded conservatives readily made use of such fashionable concepts as religion and faith, the rapidly growing print media, teaching assemblies and lay societies, scholarly journals, and the Western style of public speech (enzetsu 演説) to discredit and dispute their opponents. 2

Criticizing Unification

I begin with a survey of representative criticisms leveled against the Bukkyō tōitsuron by these conservative thinkers. Sources show that Murakami’s critics focused on the earliest published sections of his text. In examining doctrinal criticisms of Murakami’s work, I have made use of two little-known collections that bring together a wide range of responses—from the popular media, scholars of Buddhism and religion, and Jōdo Shin writers—to the Bukkyō tōitsuron: the Bukkyō tōitsuron dai-ippen taikōron hihyō ronshū 仏教統一論大一編大綱論 批評論集 (hereafter Ronshū) and the Murakami hakase Bukkyō tōitsuron hihyō zenshū dai-isshū 村上博士仏教統一論批評全集第一集 (hereafter Zenshū).15 My discussion of these criticisms is followed by a reflection on the broader institutional background against which Murakami and his critics were writing. Despite the variety of responses to the Bukkyō tōitsuron, based on many of the pieces in the two works cited above, we can single out three major charges brought against it and its author on the part of sectarian scholars: (1) the conflation of sectarian doctrine into a normative and ahistorical Nirvanic essence and the subsequent effacing of the Pure Land and Amida’s reward-body (Skt. sambhogakāya; Jp. hōjin 報身) into mere idealizations of this essence; (2) the equally undermining affirmation of the Daijō hibussetsuron 大乗非仏 説論 [the theory that the Mahāyāna sutras were not preached by the Buddha]; and (3) the conflict between Murakami’s dual status as both a Tokyo Imperial University professor and a Higashi Honganji priest. Although my brief comments will not do justice to the scope of the Bukkyō tōitsuron, allow me to say a word or two on several of its premises. The centrality of Nirvana—the “fundamental principle” (konpon genri 根本原理) out of which Buddhism arose and the “ultimate ideal” (saishū risō 最終理想) to which it returned—was at the heart of Murakami’s project of elucidating the unity of Buddhism.16 Over the long history of Buddhism, Nirvana had acquired 15  My copies were obtained from the National Diet Library. 16  Murakami 1997, p. 132. A study of how Murakami used the idea of Nirvana throughout his oeuvre would make a useful study in its own right. I wonder to what degree it can be shown that he was influenced by nineteenth-century European Buddhologists’

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many names and increasingly complex guises (including that of Amitābha Tathāgata), to which Murakami provides us with a bewilderingly exhaustive list.17 In the secondary discourse portion (yoron 余論) of his text, where Murakami first lays out many of the themes that will constitute the ensuing chapters of the Bukkyō tōitsuron, he also argues for the fundamental and complementary importance of another doctrinal undercurrent: the theory of the bodies of the Buddha (busshinron 仏身論). When we examine the historical development of these two doctrines, Murakami states, we see on the one hand that the theory of the bodies of the Buddha began with the concrete and human and slowly “evolved” (shinpo 進歩) into “idealized observations.” This is exemplified in the movement from the straightforward worship of the historical Buddha (i.e., Śākyamuni) to the emergence and development of the vast and complex doctrinal systems concerning the reward-body and the Dharma-body (Skt. dharmakāya; Jp. hosshin 法身) of the Bodhisattva. On the other hand, the theory of Nirvana, which was first highly abstract and idealized, took the exact opposite course and became “pseudo-anthropomorphic” (gijinteki 擬人的). This theory of Nirvana, the theory of the “absolute infinite world of the Ideal” (risō no zettai mugenkai 理想 の絶対無限界), moves from its originary state as a broad, overarching metaphysical abstraction to a rich and colorful Mahāyāna cosmology that, through the concept of the reward-body, posits individual and exemplary Nirvanic embodiments in the form of the Bodhisattva.18 Both the theory of Nirvana and the theory of the bodies of the Buddha, then, are represented in their most evolved form in the Bodhisattva of the Mahāyāna.

fascination with Nirvana. I think, at least, that it is safe to assume that Murakami was familiar with Max Müller’s Nehangi 涅槃義, a brief text on Nirvana translated into Japanese by Nanjō Bun’yū and Katō Shōkaku 加藤正廓 (1852–1903). See Müller 1886. For a discussion of Nirvana and 19th-century European thought, see Collins 1998, pp. 96–101 and Almond 1988. 17  Murakami’s list includes: asamskrta (mui 無為), tathatā (shinnyo 真如), Suchness (ichinyo 一如), Thusness (nyonyo 如如), One-mind (isshin 一心), dharmatā (hosshō 法性), dharmadhātu (hokkai 法界), dharmakāya (hosshin 法身), Ultimate Reality (jissō 実相), True Reality (Jissai 実際), Middle Path (chūdō 中道), Buddha-dhātu (busshō 仏性), Bliss (anraku 安楽), Secret House (himitsuzō 秘密蔵), tathāgata-garbha (nyoraizō 如来蔵), paramārtha-satya (shōgitai 勝義諦), prajñāpāramitā (hannya haramita 般若波羅蜜多), avatamsaka (kegon 華厳), Perfect Enlightenment (engaku 円覚) Śūrangama (shuryōgon 首楞厳), Lotus of the Wonderful Dharma (myōhō renge 妙法蓮華), Mahōvairocana (Dainichi Nyorai 大日如来), and so forth. This list is contained in Murakami 1997, p. 143. 18  Ibid., p. 173. In the same passage, Murakami similarly wrote, “There is only one Buddha: Śākyamuni. The other Bodhisattvas are merely abstract forms of this ideal.”

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Eminent Buddhist scholars such as Yoshida Kenryū 吉田賢龍 (n.d.) and Sakaino Kōyō 境野黄洋 (1871–1933) were quick to criticize Murakami’s use of Nirvana as a kind of catchall or floating signifier that too readily and conveniently covered all of Buddhist thought.19 Others were wary that Murakami’s quest for Buddhist unity was not paying attention to sectarian realities. Kusunoki (Wada 和田) Ryūzō 楠龍造 (1874–1933), a Takakura lecturer, wrote, “Having read the Bukkyō tōitsuron, the first thing that I can’t help but wonder is just what is meant by this phrase ‘unity of Buddhism.’” Although Murakami cited Nirvana, the Four Noble Truths, and other teachings as the fundamental principles of Buddhism, Kusunoki mused that “in regard to Nirvana, the Four Noble Truths, and so on—in terms of how these ideas are explained—the various denominations of Buddhism do not concur.” Further, in wishfully looking for a source of unity, Murakami failed to address the fact that each Buddhist denomination regarded its own teachings to be the ultimate truth and the rest to be merely expedient means. The Tendai denomination, to cite one of Kusunoki’s examples, believed in the ultimacy of the teaching that the “chiliocosm is contained in one thought” (ichinen sanzen 一念三千), whereas the Shin denomination believed in something radically incommensurable: Shinran’s 親鸞 teaching of “Absolute Other Power” (zettai tariki 絶対他力).20 For scholars of a greater sectarian or conservative bent, however, there was more at stake. In light of the growing problem of the tenability of traditional views of the Pure Land and Amida, Murakami’s argument that Nirvana and Amida’s reward-body were simply signifiers for some higher truth was unsettling. Hōjō Ren’e 北条蓮慧 (n.d.), a conservative Nishi Honganji priest, summed the problem up thusly: Murakami says that the Amida Tathāgata, Nirvana, and the Truth (shinri 真理) are all synonyms for the “Ideal.” When one designates Amida Tathāgata as simply a synonym for that which is “Ideal,” then one must classify the Original Vow (hongan 本願) as being only a hypothetical theory. If the Original Vow of Great Compassion is only a hypothetical theory, then the Shin denomination has absolutely no ground on which to stand.21 19  For Yoshida’s comments, see Ronshū pp. 8–34. For Sakaino, see ibid., pp. 77–89. We should note that both were generally positive in their reviews of Murakami’s work. Ronshū also collects papers by such scholars as Tokiwa Daijō 常盤大常 (1870–1945) and Katō Genchi 加藤玄智 (1873–1965). 20  Zenshū, pp. 31–36. 21  Ibid., p. 74.

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If conflating all of Buddhism into a singularity and explaining, or explaining away, Amida Tathāgata as a mere idealization of this singularity was problematic, Murakami’s affirmation of the Daijō hibussetsuron was equally troubling.22 Drawing on his view that the Bodhisattvas of the Mahāyāna were simply pseudoanthropomorphic idealizations and on the fact that the provenance of many Mahāyāna sutras—for example, Nāgārjuna retrieving the Avatamsakasūtra from the Nāga King’s submarine palace and the Mahāvairocanasūtra from within the bowels of the Iron Stūpa—was accounted for through “mythical and supernatural tales” (shinwa kaidan 神話怪談), Murakami conceded that one must “recognize that the Mahāyāna was not taught by the Buddha.”23 An undated and anonymous Mainichi shinbun 毎日新聞 (contained in the Ronshū) article entitled “The Doubts of Buddhist Society” explained the impact of Murakami’s work. When we look at the current state of Buddhism, we see that there are a great number of difficulties and debates that are troubling the minds of Buddhists. Speaking very broadly, we can say that these problems are the same as those in Christian society: how to maintain the fortunes of temples ( Jiin 寺院) and [how to solve] questions concerning doctrine. The question of temples aside, the number of doctrinal issues is vast. Just as the question “Who was Jesus?” is a problem that will determine the fate of Christianity, the question “Who was the Buddha?” is a particularly grave problem for Buddhism. Strange biographies (kaiki no denki 怪奇の伝記) of the Buddha aside, the foremost question now is “What did the Buddha teach?” Originally, it was held that the surras and śāstras of both the Mahāyāna and the Hīnayāna were preached by Śākyamuni. Based on new research findings, however, Western scholars say that only the Hīnayāna represents the true words of Śākyamuni and that he did not preach the Mahāyāna. This research has spread throughout Japan, and, for the most part, is now regarded as fact. With this in mind, in his recent work, the Japanese Buddhist scholar Murakami Senshō has made it known to the general public that the Buddha did not preach the Mahāyāna sutras.

22  For a good introduction in English on the role of the Daijō hibussetsuron in modern Japanese Buddhism, see Ketelaar 1993, pp. 19–42. 23  Murakami 1997, p. 175. In understanding Murakami’s theory, it is vital to consider his treatment of it in his Daijō bussetsuron hihan 大乗仏説論批判 (Murakami 1903). Sueki (2004, pp. 100–109) has briefly discussed the role of this text in Murakami’s body of thought. Here, however, I have limited myself to addressing this theory as it appears in the early parts of the Bukkyō tōitsuron.

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Although this is by no means a new theory for us [i.e., intellectuals], we must admit that it is an almost fatal blow for Japanese Buddhists.24 As this article makes clear, there was nothing particularly new about the theory as such. (Along with arguments being made by “Western scholars,” the author also most likely had in mind anti-Buddhist Japanese intellectuals and Kokugaku scholars [kokugakusha 国学者] like Tominaga Nakamoto 富永 仲基 [1715–46] and Hirata Atsutane 平田篤胤 [1776–1843]. Of course, this was also a problem that had already been addressed by Indian Mahāyānists like Vasubandhu long ago.) What was no doubt eye-opening to many, particularly those in the Shin denomination, was that the latest incarnation of this theory was coming not from outside the saṃgha but from within. Although this is precisely what his sectarian critics passed right over, Murakami’s appropriation of this theory was in direct opposition to those who were using it to undermine the claims to orthodoxy made by the Mahāyāna. Like Tominaga, Murakami realized that the Mahāyāna was indeed different from earlier incarnations of Buddhism. Unlike Tominaga, who viewed the ensuing development of Buddhism as being nothing more than continual doctrinal one-upmanship or “layering” (kajōsetsu 加上説), Murakami held that the Mahāyāna was in fact the logical and ideal extension of early Buddhist thought.25 Influenced by Herbert Spencer, Murakami saw the Mahāyāna as a “developed [i.e., evolved] Buddhism” (kaihatsuteki bukkyō 開発的仏教).26 The Mahāyāna “illuminated the truth of fundamental Buddhism (konpon bukkyō 根本仏教) and further developed its essence (shinzui 真髄),” and it was this complex and diverse evolution that proved both the Mahāyāna’s sophistication over and its essential connection with more “fundamental” or “originary” (genshi bukkyō 原始仏教) forms of Buddhism.27 That the historical development of the Mahāyāna could now be seen in the light of evolutionary theory provided a thoroughly modern response to both traditional critics (namely, Tominaga and Hirata) and contemporary nay-sayers (Müller and other European Buddhologists).28

24  Ronshū (supplemental section, pp. 36–37). 25  I follow Ketelaar in translating kajō as “layering” (Ketelaar 1993, p. 24). 26  Honda Bun’yū 本多文雄 mentions a direct influence between Spencer’s theory of Social Darwinism and Murakami’s idea of Buddhist evolution or “development” (Zenshū, p. 51). 27  Murakami 1997, p. 175. 28  Notably, a short text written by the anti-modernist Kanrenkai cites Müller’s Nehangi as being an anti-Mahāyāna work (Zenshū, pp. 87–90). Many Japanese Buddhists, it seems, were aware of Müller’s disparaging remarks on the authenticity of the Mahāyāna.

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Murakami had turned the Daijō hibussetsuron on its head, and against those who had used it to attack Mahāyāna Buddhism. This, however, seems to have been misunderstood or at least glossed over by his sectarian critics. Tōyō Engetsu 東陽円月 (1818–1902), the renowned Nishi Honganji priest, stated: “Whether from an academic or faith-based standpoint, for a Jōdo Shin priest to preach the Daijō hibussetsuron is something that is unforgivable.”29 Ōtani scholars had even harsher words for Murakami. One anonymous tract held Murakami accountable for the heresy of all heresies: the destruction of Mahāyāna Buddhism. The Doctor [Murakami] is not a heretic of the Shin denomination. A heretic of the Shin denomination is just someone who misunderstands or holds an incorrect set of beliefs regarding Shin Buddhism. What then is the Doctor? He is one who holds an absolutely false understanding of all of Mahāyāna Buddhism. This is not research: this is destruction. Even if, say, one were to present a contrary hypothesis for the sake of research, why would one not wish to illuminate the true spirit of the Shin denomination and further convey the true essence of Buddhism? But has Murakami not already argued against the Mahāyāna being the words of the Buddha and denied the existence of the reward-body?30 The aforementioned Hōjō similarly inquired, “If the Mahāyāna is understood as simply being a developed religion (hatten shūkyō 発展宗教), what does the teaching of hearing the name of Amida (mongo myōgō 聞其名号) become? What does it signify? If this is just ‘doctrine,’ the Bodhisattvas of the ten directions become groundless beings.”31 Along with these criticisms, Murakami’s ambivalent position as both scholar and priest was also one of the central reasons for the attacks against him. For many, it was less a problem of what was being said than who was saying it. Tatsuyama Gakunin 龍山学人 (n.d.), author of a regular column on contemporary religious matters for the magazine Taiyō 太陽, explained the problem as follows. First, one had to recognize that “there was absolutely nothing to criticize about Murakami’s attitude as a scholar” and that “his contributions to academics were great.” Murakami’s “denial of the Bodhisattvas of the Mahāyāna surras” and his “arguing that the Mahāyāna was not taught by the Buddha” 29  Zenshū, 24. Although no date is supplied, the Zenshū notes that this text first appeared in the Kyōgaku hōchi 教学報知 (the forerunner of the Chūgai nippō 中外日報). 30  Ibid., p. 118. 31  Ibid., p. 74.

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were, from the standpoint of historical and comparative research, “to be naturally expected.” The problem, however, was one of institutional allegiance. Murakami is originally a Jōdo Shin follower, a priest of the Ōtani branch. Accordingly, one must ask if the Doctor’s ideas are appropriate for a priest of the Ōtani branch. It goes without saying that Honganji is an authoritative (kyōken 教権) school based on sacred teachings (shōgyō 聖教) and orthodoxy (seitō 正統). The denomination is founded on the three Pure Land sutras, which it holds to be the words of the Buddha. The teachings of the denomination’s founder, Shinran, all come from these works, and even the slightest deviation cannot be tolerated. This is just like Catholicism, which will also not allow heterodoxy. This is also something that the Doctor is well aware of. And yet, as a priest, he continues to depend on this authority while simultaneously attacking it with his theories. This is heresy.32 Hiramatsu Riei 平松理英 (1855–1916), a leading conservative Takakura thinker, leveled similar charges against what he considered to be the Janus-faced members of the “New Buddhism” (shin bukkyō 新仏教) during a polemically charged speech at Kanda’s Kinkikan 錦輝館 (a transcript is included in the Zenshū, which leads me to conclude that Murakami was the central figure of reproach in Hiramatsu’s talk). What infuriates me most is that although these priests still clothe themselves in the three robes, receive protection from their denomination and parent temple, and subsist off offerings from their parish, they secretly espouse heretical views. In front of so-called scholars or students, these priests promote what is known as “high-collarism (haikara shugi ハイ カラ主義).” When it comes time to preach or give a Dharma talk, however, these same men go out of their way to ostentatiously flash the rosary, chant the nembutsu, and appear as if they are members of the “Old Buddhism” (kyū bukkyō 旧仏教) … If they were to leave Buddhism and provide their own livelihood, then they would be free to do whatever they please. This is just like drinking sake with money from your own pocket and then saying all kinds of nonsensical things. As long as people like this don’t harm others, there is no reason to criticize them.33

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Chikuen Gyōsen 竹園行潜 (n.d.), also of the Ōtani branch, offered similar objections: “Obviously, if one can no longer believe in Buddhism, they should remove the three robes, discard the rosary, and return to secular life.” Those like Murakami were “beyond words,” in that they “continued to remain within the Shin denomination and yet tacitly worked to destroy its sacred teachings.”34 Although the above provides only a small sample of the criticism of Murakami, we can discern what made his work so troubling to conservative sectarian intellectuals. We have also seen that these sectarian-minded thinkers were often less interested in dealing with the thorny doctrinal problems that Murakami’s work had broached (What was Buddhism? What was Mahāyāna Buddhism? What was the Jōdo Shin place in it? What was the fate of the Pure Land and Amida Tathāgata in light of philosophy and modern science?) than they were in carrying out the reactionary project of demarcating an inviolable boundary between the sectarian and the academic. 3

Institutional Background to Murakami’s Work

Murakami’s project of Buddhist unification and his conflicting status as both academic and priest were not all that was being questioned: his active support of the burgeoning reform movement within Higashi Honganji was likewise disturbing. Despite rapid institutional changes made by the Ōtani branch from the Meiji era onward, the Shirakawa Reformation Party (Shirakawa tō 白川党), named for its headquarters in Kyoto’s Shirakawa village, demanded an even more radical transformation.35 The nature of the movement’s specific demands aside, these young upstarts, led by the charismatic Kiyozawa, soon gained the cooperation of such luminaries as Inoue Enryō, Nanjō Bun’yū, and Murakami. Much as works like the transdenominational Bukkyō tōitsuron allowed many conservative Shin thinkers to reaffirm the specific sectarian doctrines of their denomination, the Shirakawa reform movement provided a focal point through which these same men, and bureaucrats like Atsumi Kaien 渥美契縁 (1840–1906) and Ishikawa Shundai 石川舜台 (1842–1931), could reinforce their roles within the Ōtani body politic.36 One method by which these conservatives 34  Ibid, p. 68. 35  There has yet to be a comprehensive study of this reform movement. In lieu of this, see Hashida 2003, Ikeda 2002 (pp. 175–214), Terakawa 2001, and Kashiwahara 1967. For the most recent treatment of Kiyozawa’s role in this movement, see Takayama 2006. 36  For the only study on Ishikawa that I have come across, see Taya 1961. Tsujimura Shinobu, however, has informed me that she is in the process of completing a manuscript on Ishikawa. See Tsujimura 2006. Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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marshaled their powers against the reformists was through recourse to the traditional Jōdo Shin concept of heresy. In 1896, as the reform movement was still in its incipient stages, under orders from Atsumi Kaien, three Takakura lecturers—Ishikawa Ryōin 石川了因 (1843–1922), Hosokawa Sengan 細川千巌 (1834–97), and Ikehara Gaju 池原雅寿 (1850–1924)—initiated proceedings to charge Urabe Kanjun 占部観順, the original rector of Shinshū University 真宗大学寮, with heresy.37 The first concrete volley in the counter-reform had been fired. Although the actual charges of heresy revolved around Urabe’s controversial exegetics, it seems that it was his support of the Shirakawa movement that was the main factor behind the charges. Although Murakami never directly equated Urabe’s involvement with the reform party and the heresy charges, I believe we can safely ascertain this connection through the following passage found in his memoirs: Despite having been trained and raised under the former educational system [i.e., Takakura Seminary], it was the old master Urabe Kanjun and myself who were the lamp bearers for the Shirakawa Party. Unfortunately, Urabe was soon involved in charges of heresy, forced to leave the Ōtani branch, and changed (tenpa 転派) to the Kōshōji branch 興正寺派. My case was similar. Because of the Bukkyō tōitsuron, I too was forced to leave the Ōtani branch, although I never received [direct] punishment from Honganji.38 In a separate passage, Murakami, speaking about his own situation, commented that despite his writings (i.e., Bukkyō tōitsuron) being the “proximate cause,” it was his involvement with the reform movement that was the “original cause.”39 With Urabe gone, Atsumi and the Takakura scholars turned their sights on Inoue Hochū 井上豊忠, a young, Waseda-educated member of the reform movement. On December 11, 1896, Inoue was summoned to the Higashi Honganji headquarters and told that he was to be administered “a test to see if you will go to the Pure Land or plunge into hell.”40 A stunned and then suspicious Inoue inquired if the investigation of heresy was based on his doctrinal beliefs or because of his political bedfellows. To this, Yoshitani Kakuju 吉谷覚寿 37  For a study of the Urabe Incident, see Hatabe 1988. Unfortunately, this work does little in the way of examining Urabe’s relationship with the Shirakawa Party or the institutional underpinnings of Urabe’s trial. See also the comments in Ōtani Daigaku Hyakunenshi Henshū Iinkai 2001, p. 128. 38  Murakami 1914, pp. 397–8. 39  Ibid., 398. 40  Collected in Mori 1983, p. 467.

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(1842–1914), the anti-modernist par excellence, replied, in koanlike fashion (or, perhaps, this is the more practical application of the Two Truths?), “Sectarian doctrine and sectarian politics are both separate and the same.” Ishikawa Ryōin added, “The discussion of sectarian politics comes straight from the true heart that seeks to love one’s school and defend the Dharma (aizangohō 愛山護法). The true love of one’s school and wish to defend the Dharma always arise from orthodoxy.”41 It was Murakami who came to Inoue’s aid. The following month (January 1897), Murakami submitted an article to the Kyōkai jigen 教界時言, the Shirakawa Party’s monthly periodical, entitled “A Clarification of the Reform Movement’s Goals and Several Questions for Honganji Bureaucrats and Takakura Lecturers.”42 Murakami began by noting that although protocol demanded that “I subjugate myself to the senior lecturers in the Takakura Seminary, I can no longer bear to allow the greater good to be destroyed because of private affairs and personal emotions.” Murakami rhetorically demanded to know who had ordered Inoue’s heresy trial. Was it, as institutional law required, the branch’s leader, Ōtani Kōen 大谷光演 (1875–1943)? Or was this one more attempt by Atsumi and his cohorts to rid the Ōtani branch of dissenters? Murakami lamented over how some in Honganji were purposely confusing “politics” with “questions of doctrine” in order to silence the reformists. Even more ominously, the anti-reform movement was dispatching agents to the prefectures, where they were spreading damaging rumors about the “heretical” reformists. According to Murakami, the anti-reformist attack centered on projecting a stilted picture of the reformists as having sacrificed religious virtuosity for Western learning: “Our critics say that even if the reformists have academic learning, they have yet to understand the meaning of Namu-Amida-Butsu.” Murakami’s comment can be verified by examining the writings of the Kanrenkai 貫練会, a conservative Higashi Honganji teaching assembly designed to combat the reformist threat.43 Hiramatsu Riei warned that the minds of young priests “were drunk with Western learning;” Tatsuyama Jiei (1837–1921) complained that these reform-minded priests had been “overcome by the trends of the day, and, although in vain, were attempting to reform the tenets of Jōdo Shin;” Yoshitani Kakuju admonished that “academic learning 41  Yamada 1991, pp. 124–5. I have briefly discussed Yoshitani in Ward 2005. 42  Mori 1983, p. 481. 43  I have written on the Kanrenkai in Ward 2005. The term kanren 貫練 comes from the kan-ren-dō 貫練堂, the main lecture hall of the Takakura Seminary. The building, which still exists in Kyoto, is known today as the Takakura Kaikan 高倉会館.

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means that one spends their entire life troubling their spirit [in the search of the truth]. This will never lead to (a religious) peace of mind;” and, although not a member of the Kanrenkai, Nakanishi Ushio 中西牛朗 (1859–1930) cited, among others, the specific example of Inaba Masamaro 稲葉昌丸 (1867–1944), a young Shirakawa priest (who would later go on to become a prominent figure in the Ōtani educational system) interested in biology, who was desecrating Honganji with the blood of animals that he was eagerly dissecting on its grounds.44 Takakura lecturers were not the only force that these young upstarts had to contend with: Honganji bureaucrats were equally displeased. Although Atsumi began the campaign against Kiyozawa and his disciples, it was Ishikawa Shundai who finished it. Ishikawa, whom Murakami referred to as the “old badger (tanuki) of the Shin denomination,” succeeded Atsumi in 1897.45 He first struck a conciliatory tone with the young reformists; this, however, was ultimately nothing more than a ruse. This same year, Kiyozawa and four other reform party members were temporarily excommunicated. Ishikawa did, however, finally accede to some of the reformist demands, allowing Shinshū University to relocate from Kyoto to Tokyo (Sugamo), in the shadow of Tokyo Imperial University, where Kiyozawa and his followers believed a greater deal of intellectual autonomy could be achieved. They were wrong, but this is a story for another time.46 Around this time, Ishikawa turned to settling an old score with Murakami.47 Ishikawa first suggested that Murakami take an all-expense-paid journey to India, where he could further his studies on the history of Buddhism. Murakami, who seems to have seen through Ishikawa’s subterfuge, declined the offer, citing his lack of competence in foreign languages. To this, Ishikawa, now looking to kill two birds with one stone, suggested that Murakami take Tada Kanae 多田鼎 (1875–1937), one of Kiyozawa’s prized disciples and a staunch reformist (and later, in a turn of heart, a fascinatingly nuanced traditionalist thinker), to serve as interpreter. Again, Murakami declined. With his first two 44  See the Kanrenkai hō 貫練会報 1899, no. 1, pp. 10–13; no. 10, pp. 18–20; Nakanishi 1897, p. 67. 45  Murakami 1914, p. 336. 46  See Ward 2005. 47  It appears that Murakami had long been a critic of Ishikawa and on more than one occasion had spoken disparagingly of him in a public forum. Murakami recounted how at a speech, “Bukkyō no kako to mirai” 仏教の過去と未来 (The Past and Future of Buddhism), given at Kanda’s Kinkikan, he had stated: “The unspectacular Atsumi Kaien is gone, and he has been replaced by the unspectacular Ishikawa Shundai.” This comment seems to have further aggravated an already contentious relationship with Ishikawa. See Murakami 1914, p. 368.

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attempts foiled, Ishikawa, along with Takakura scholars, needed other means by which to dispose of Murakami; these they soon found in the publication of the Bukkyō tōitsuron. In his memoirs, Murakami recalls, “Yoshitani Kakuju and Tatsuyama Jiei, as representatives of the Takakura Seminary, took a copy of my Bukkyō tōitsuron to the Honganji offices. There they requested a meeting with Ishikawa. At this meeting, they demanded that something be done immediately about my work. I assume that this was the perfect chance to find the grounds to punish me that Ishikawa had been waiting for.”48 Not letting the chance pass him by, Ishikawa chose to convene a meeting of senior Ōtani priests to discuss the appropriate steps to be taken concerning the Murakami problem.49 The Nippon shinbun comments that it was at this meeting that the Ōtani branch, afraid of repercussions from the academic world if they tried the “Doctor” for heresy, arrived at the solution of having Murakami “voluntarily” tender his resignation.50 Takakura lecturers soon visited Murakami, “suggesting” that he follow in Inoue Enryō’s path and leave the priesthood. Although he first adamantly opposed these suggestions, Murakami began to sense that the situation was placing great pressure on Ōtani Kōen himself.51 On October 26, 1901, Murakami, after publishing a small explanatory tract entitled “Waga Shinshū Ōtani-ha no sōseki o dassuru no kokuhakusho” 我が真宗大谷派 の僧籍を脱するの告白書 (My Confession Concerning Leaving the Priesthood of Shinshū Ōtani-ha), returned to lay life. With this, Murakami’s sectarian critics fell silent.52 Murakami had at last been removed from Higashi Honganji, and the inviolable boundary between scholar and sectarian had (at least in the case of Doctor Murakami) been maintained. Soon, however, others—especially those of the Kiyozawa lineage—further challenged these demarcations. In the early Shōwa era, it was the elderly Murakami, their one-time ally, who now challenged them. Ironically, Murakami’s attacks on the doctrinal modernist position in many ways mirrored earlier criticisms by sectarian scholars against his own work.

48  An article in the Nippon shinbun 日本新聞 (collected in the Ronshū, p. 41) also confirms Yoshitani’s involvement, citing that “the head lecturer of the Takakura Seminary, Yoshitani Kakuju, and thirty-seven other lecturers submitted a petition to Honganji demanding that Murakami be punished.” 49  In his memoirs, Murakami remarked that his punishment “had been decided before the meeting was held.” See Murakami 1914, p. 376. 50  Ronshū, p. 41. 51  Ibid., pp. 336–71. 52  Murakami 1901.

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The True Identity of Shinshū

In 1911, ten years after leaving the priesthood, Murakami was reinstated. In 1926 he succeeded Sasaki Gesshō as president of Ōtani University. Wracked by illness, his tenure lasted a mere two years. It was around this time that two young scholars, and kindred disciples of Kiyozawa, Kaneko Daiei and Soga Ryōjin (both major figures in the postwar Ōtani branch), became the newest targets in the long-running campaign against the doctrinal modernists. On February 15, 1925, Kaneko, a professor of Shin Buddhist Studies (Shinshūgaku 真宗学) at Otani, published a controversial text based on lectures he had given at Bukkyō University entitled Jōdo no kannen 浄土の観念 (The Idea of the Pure Land).53 This was followed by the publication of the equally controversial Shinshū ni okeru nyorai oyobi jōdo no kannen 真宗に於け る如来及浄土の観念 (The Idea of the Tathāgata and the Pure Land in Shinshū) on November 11th of the following year (1926).54 In June of 1928 he was forced out of the Ōtani branch; Soga’s dismissal followed in March of 1930. Kaneko, like many modernist Shin thinkers before (and after) him, was struggling with how to reinterpret Amida and the Pure Land in an age when such beliefs seemed no longer possible.55 In Shinshū ni okeru nyorai oyobi jōdo no kannen, Kaneko noted three possible interpretations of the Pure Land: (1) the Pure Land as an idea or idée (kannenkai toshite no jōdo 観念界とし ての浄土); (2) the Pure Land as a social ideal which must be realized in this world (risō toshite no jōdo 理想としての浄土); and (3) the Pure Land as an actual place (jitsuzai toshite no jōdo 実在としての浄土). Kaneko rejected the latter two interpretations and, through some liberal and experimental borrowings from Platonic thought and Neo-Kantian Idealism, argued that the Pure Land appeared to us as a “regulative idea” (kannen 観念).56 In a July 11, 1928 Chūgai nippō article, Kaneko explained that although many of his detractors erroneously believed that his “idea of the Pure Land” was a “psychological” (shinrigakuteki ni kaishaku shiteiru 心理学的に解釈している) construct—and, accordingly, a theory arguing for the Pure Land as a fiction or a figment of the imagination—his use of the term kannen was of a purely “philosophical” nature. Kaneko’s critics, however, had little time (or the training) for noting 53  Literally, Shinshūgaku translates as “Shin Studies.” However, in deference to the contemporary English translation favored by Ōtani scholars, I have translated it here as “Shin Buddhist Studies.” 54  Kaneko 1925 and Kaneko 1926. 55  For a useful (although rather sentimental) biography of Kaneko, see Kikumura 1975. See also Hataya 1993. 56  For a critical take on Jōdo no kannen, see Tatsudani 1983.

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philosophical subtleties; the heart of the matter was that Kaneko seemed to be arguing that the Pure Land and Amida were nothing more than mental constructs. In his own criticisms Murakami repeatedly cited the following from Shinshū ni okeru nyorai oyobi jōdo no kannen as a pithy summation of Kaneko’s problematic work. The problem is with the words “existence” and “nothingness.” Generally, what do we mean when we say [Amida] “exists”? We imagine the appearance of a great human-like being who looks at us—the suffering—and feels compassion for us. From this, we take refuge in Amida. Obviously, this is not a pure way of thinking. This is an attitude in which one believes in Amida if he exists, but holds it silly to believe if he does not. One has impure thoughts in their mind if they first need to confirm the existence [of Amida] before believing. When we learn of our true self, perform gasshō, and take refuge, Amida that appears before us is not, in the daily sense in which we think of such things, bound by words like “existence.” This is something that has gone beyond both nothingness and existence … [Many hold that] Amida is totally separate from us, and yet somehow kindly leads us to the Pure Land. [Traditionally,] many believed that this was salvation … [But] this is superstitious belief and not true faith.57 As this passage illustrates, Kaneko was trying to navigate a path through which he could still argue for a certain kind of existence for Amida without being trapped in the standard (what Kaneko referred to as “common-sensical” [ jōshikiteki 常識的]) ontological framework of being and nothingness.58 By the early Shōwa, opinion pieces both for and against what was now being referred to as the “Kaneko Problem” deluged the pages of the Chūgai nippō. Murakami himself submitted “An Open Letter to Otani University Professor Kaneko (and a Warning to this Same School)” and a series of articles under the title “The Higashi Honganji Heresy Problem.”59 In the third installment of his series on the problem of heresy, Murakami addressed Kaneko directly, citing 57  Kaneko 1925, pp. 17–18. 58  One should note how Kaneko equated traditional belief in the actual existence of Amida and his salvific powers as being “superstitious.” Shin doctrinal modernists often espoused such a position in criticizing a variety of orthopraxies (the popular practice of reciting Rennyo’s Ofumi 御文章, etc.) and orthodoxies (as we have seen). 59  Murakami Senshō, “Higashi Honganji no anjin mondai (3): Kaneko kyōju wa jiketsu shite kanari” 東本願寺の安心問題 (三): 金子教授は自決して可なり, Chūgai nippō, June 15,1929; “Ōtani Daigaku kyōju Kaneko-kun ni atauru kōkaijō tsukeri chinami ni

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an article written by the young professor that had been published in the magazine Butsuza 仏座.60 In the Butsuza article, despite the long-standing tradition of referring to Shinran as “Shinran Shōnin” 親鸞聖人, Kaneko had “disrespectfully” (yobisute 呼び捨て) omitted the honorific “Shōnin.”61 This was “impiety in extremis” and, according to Murakami’s logic, meant that Kaneko “was not a proper candidate for teaching at Otani University.” In his own defense, Kaneko argued that referring to “Shinran Shōnin” as “Shinran” was in no way disrespectful. When one was speaking in a sectarian sense, indeed, the honorific should be attached; but it was enough to refer to a religious figure like Shinran without such titles of respect when one was speaking in terms of personal “religious states of mind” (shūkyōteki shinkyō 宗教的 心境) or in an academic sense. Although this dispute may seem tangential, it is in fact indicative of the more fundamental disagreement between Murakami and Kaneko concerning the role of traditional sectarian studies and a broader, more existential form of religious inquiry. Kaneko’s position on this question can be illuminated by the opening passages of his Shinshū ni okeru nyorai oyobi jōdo no kannen: Today, when we see the term “Shin Buddhist Studies,” there are at least two possible meanings it can have. First, there is the sense in which we address the terms and nuances of Shin doctrine (kaigaku 解学). In other words, one inquires as to what kind of doctrine the Shin denomination teaches. This is the standard sense of the term. In this case, Shin Buddhist Studies has limited application … Another meaning of Shin Buddhist Studies, however, is that which deals with true Religious Studies (shin no shūkyōgaku 真の宗教学) and that which should be held as the true teachings (makoto no shū まことの宗) … When one inquires as to what kind of application this form of scholarship has, we can say that this is a form of learning that clarifies the teachings of the real self (hontō no jiko 本当の自己) … Recently, it is often said that philosophers do not study philosophy but philosophize. [Similarly, in the latter sense of this term,]

dōdaigaku ni keikoku su” 大谷大学教授金子君に與ふる公開状附り、因みに同大 学に警告す, Chūgai nippō, June 16, 1929. 60  Butsuza was a periodical self-published by Kaneko. I have yet to see the article in question. 61  Murakami’s reactionary tone did not go unnoticed. The Chūgai nippō was soon printing letters from readers who found his hypercritical tone inappropriate for a scholar of such eminence; he had attacked a work that he had yet to read and was basing much of his criticism on the trite fact that Kaneko had failed to attach the honorific “Shōnin” to Shinran.

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one does not study Shin thought but one does it (Shinshūgaku shiteyuku 真宗学してゆく).62 Kaneko offered a similar point of view in his Kantian-sounding Shinshūgaku josetsu 真宗学序説 (Prolegomena to Shin Buddhist Studies).63 Kaneko argued that Shin Buddhist Studies should not be consigned to “studying the writings of Shinran” through a purely sectarian form of exegesis but should strive to emulate “Shinran’s [own] method of inquiry.”64 From both of these passages we can note how the doctrinal modernist position differed from more traditional sectarian views in that it held that the goal of Shin Buddhist Studies was not merely to defend and respect the sacred past—the letter of the text and the denomination’s founders—but to think in the spirit of Shinran in order to address the present. The elderly Murakami disagreed. Returning to the “The Higashi Honganji Heresy Problem,” he remarked that although Kaneko was a scholar, “he had yet to fully understand the teachings of Shin Buddhism.” It may seem odd that Murakami, a former professor of Tokyo Imperial University and someone who had been on the receiving end of sectarian intellectual censure, was now arguing that Kaneko was unsuited for teaching because of his unconventional ideas concerning Shin doctrine. For the elderly Murakami, it was not “philosophy, science, English, and German [i.e., what was being taught at Otani]” that maintained the Shin tradition: it was the faithful who assembled at Honganji. But what then was the goal of the sectarian university, if not a place where scholars advanced doctrine and challenged their students? In this article, we read that Murakami once visited a Tenrikyō 天理教 school (shihan gakkō 師範学校) and was deeply moved when informed that this was a place “designed not to create scholars, but to raise devout followers who could spread” the Tenri message. Unfortunately, Otani’s mission was “not to create devout followers” but rather was designed to “destroy the teachings” of the Shin denomination, which had been “maintained for the last 700-some years,” and to employ “dangerous” men as professors.65 62  Kaneko 1926, pp. 2–3. 63  This and the following passage are also cited in Miharu 1990. Although Miharu discusses the question of Shin Buddhist Studies as it applied to Kaneko, he does not address Murakami’s criticisms in detail. 64  Miharu 1990 cites a reprinted version of this text. The original can be found in Kaneko 1923, p. 22. 65  Murakami’s use of language such as “dangerous” men coincides with a broader suspicion and crackdown in Japanese society on Marxist, Anarchist, and Leftist intellectuals who were deemed to be espousing “dangerous ideas” (kiken shisō 危険思想). Specifically, I am

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On June 16, 1928, Murakami, while recuperating from illness at Shizuoka’s Shuzen-ji 修善寺 hot springs, submitted the aforementioned “Open Letter” to the Chūgai nippō. Kaneko, I have yet to openly discuss your theories that are now in question. You have written the Jōdo no kannen, which I have yet to read. All that I have in front of me is a pen and paper. Thus, in observing your ideas, I can only go by what has been printed in recent newspapers, which indicates that you have denied the existence of the Pure Land … When I was president of Otani University, I had the chance to read a paper you wrote in the magazine Butsuza. Comparing this paper with what is being printed in the newspapers, I’m afraid that this must be … If this is the case, you are no longer a Shin priest. That someone who is no longer a Shin priest teaches Shin Buddhist Studies as a professor of Otani University is not appropriate … Although you are part of the Shin denomination, just why do you deny the existence of the Pure Land? Where did such ideas come from? I assume that you have read a little of the Zongjing lu 真鏡録 of Yongming Yanshou 永明延寿, his Wanshan tonggui ji 万善同 帰集, and his Weijin xue 唯心訣. Or perhaps you came up with these ideas after reading the Jingtu huowen 浄土或問 of old master Tienru 天如 and Kiyozawa Manshi’s Shūkyō tetsugaku gaikotsu 宗教哲学骸骨 (Skeleton of a Philosophy of Religion). You have just taken the cream of those of antiquity and mixed things around a bit to make it taste new and interesting, so that it appeals to the youth of today! What you are teaching is nothing but a rehash of what was written more than a thousand years ago. From my point of view, there is nothing unique about what you are doing at all! Kiyozawa was indeed a philosophical genius, but he was not a Shin scholar … Zen master Zhijue 智学 (Yongming Yanshou) and old master Tienru were members of the Zen denomination and, hence, they are not suitable as sources for promoting Shin doctrine. Along with decrying the contaminating influence of philosophy, Shin conservative or traditionalist lines of argument against the modernist position often reverted to accusations that their opponents had fallen into the error of the belief in the Pure Land as a mere state of mind. In this line of argument, the conservative Shin critic used a long-standing scheme by which heretics were thinking of the Morito 森戸 (Tokyo Imperial University, 1920), Kawakami 河上 (Kyoto Imperial University, 1928), and Takikawa Incidents 滝川事件 (Kyoto Imperial University, 1933).

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equated with the Tendai and Zen tradition of seeing the Pure Land and Amida as being products of the mind-only doctrine (i.e., the well-known yuishin jōdo koshin mida 唯心浄土己心弥陀 coupling).66 Kaneko admitted that some of his writings contained passages that could be construed as having a “self-nature and mind-only-like flair” ( jishōteki yuishinteki shikisai 自性的唯心的色彩) to them; but, in fact, if the reader grasped what he was really saying, this would lead to actually being “emancipated from self-nature and mind-only”67 fallacies. Again, though, conservatives were less interested in entering into debate concerning the finer points of their opponent’s texts; instead, what we find is an attempt to delimit discourse through subsuming heterogeneity and complexity into formulae based on traditional classifications of heresy. The epitome of this school of heretical thought for conservatives was Kiyozawa. In his argument, Murakami followed a similar tack: Kiyozawa was indeed a noteworthy “philosopher,” but his project had little to do with Shin Buddhism.68 As we will see, this same line of attack was used against Kaneko. Having finally gotten around to actually reading Kaneko’s two works, Murakami published two of his own: Shinshū no shinmenboku wa nahen ni zonsuru ka and Gakan shinshū. Both are similar in that they provided a broad outline of what Murakami held to be the true teachings of Shin Buddhism and, vis-à-vis, the problem with Kaneko’s work. As it lays out Murakami’s argument in the most clear and complete fashion, I will begin with his final work, Gakan shinshū. Murakami began by prefacing what he held to be the proper role of the Shin thinker and Shin Buddhist Studies. 66  The locus classicus for this criticism is the following passage from the Kyōgyōshinshō.    “As I reflect, I find that our attainment of shinjin arises from the heart and mind with which Amida Tathāgata selected the Vow, and that the clarification of true mind has been taught for us through the skillful works of compassion of the Great Sage, Sakyamuni. But the monks and laity of this latter age and the religious teachers of these times are floundering in concepts of “self-nature” and “mind-only,” and they disparage the true realization of enlightenment in the Pure Land Way. Or lost in the self-power attitude of meditative and non-meditative practices, they are ignorant of true shinjin, which is diamondlike.”   I have used Hirota’s translation. (14 January 2006). 67  Kaneko Daiei, “Koshin no jōdo to saihō no jōdo” 己心の浄土と西方の浄土, Chūgai nippō, June 23, 1929. 68  Tada Kanae made a similar argument when he noted that Kiyozawa’s Tathāgata was “the God of modern Western philosophy and also the Christian God—but not Amida Buddha” (Seiyō no kinsei tetsugakusha no kami de ari, mata tenmei de atte, Amida butsu dewa nai 西洋の近世哲学者の神であり、又天命であって、阿弥陀仏ではない). See Tada 1991, p. 167.

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I have heard that the term “contemporary Shin Buddhist research” (Shinshū no gendaiteki kenkyū 真宗の現代的研究) is recently popular in Kyoto academic circles. But I have a hard time figuring out just what this means. If this is an attempt to make old Shin Buddhism anew, then Gakan shinshū must be called “antiquated research” (kodai kenkyū 古代 研究). By “antiquated” research, however, I do not mean that we should be forcibly held prisoner to antiquated methods. [What I mean] is that we must not forget the long historical precedence [of Shin Buddhism].69 The next section of this work is straightforwardly entitled “‘Gakan shinshū’ wa Kaneko-kun no shosetsu to aiirezu” 「我観真宗」は金子君の所説と相容 れず (My View of Shinshū is not Compatible with Kaneko’s Theories). This incompatibility was based on the fact that Kaneko’s work failed to take into account (1) historical thought and (2) the teachings of Shin Buddhism.70 By citing the need to consider “historical thought,” Murakami appears to be arguing that one must understand the varying temporal conditions through which religious ideas and doctrine are formed. In fact, however, what I believe he is really saying is that one should respect the weight and authority of the past, and the great men who inhabit it. In the case of Japanese Buddhism, for example, we are told: “In antiquity, the rise of Buddhism was made possible by the charismatic power of Shōtoku Taishi 聖徳太子. The four-hundred-yearlong Buddhism of the Heian period was maintained by the charismatic power of Saichō 最澄 and Kūkai 空海.” Further, Kamakura Buddhism was founded on the “charismatic powers of the various masters like Eisai 栄西, Dōgen 道元, Genkū 源空 (Hōnen 法然), Shinran, and Nichiren 日蓮.” Finally, he states: “The great Shin denomination was formed (and became a great Japanese religion) through the power of one person … This was the holy sage Shinran. Those who study Shin Buddhism must realize this, and that there is no need to foolishly take up philosophical thought and contaminate these teachings.”71 Accordingly, Kaneko’s second mistake was that he confused philosophy with these teachings. He also confused “free inquiry” with “doctrinal research.” Murakami explained, “In particular, free inquiry should be welcomed at such places as the imperial universities. At the private sectarian universities, however, I believe that we must put special emphasis on doctrinal research.”72

69  Murakami 1929, pp. 1–2. 70  Ibid., p. 7. 71  Ibid., p. 17. 72  Ibid., p. 18.

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But Kaneko failed to understand this. Instead of being versed in and teaching orthodox doctrine (the “fundamental teachings of Shinran”), Kaneko was like a man attempting to “construct a house who has no ground upon which to build it—and no lumber either.” What, then, were these teachings that Kaneko had yet to grasp? Simply put, he had failed to see that “in terms of Shin doctrine, the Western Pure Land and the Amida Tathāgata exist.”73 In another passage, Murakami again emphasized the need for “recognizing that the existence of the Western Pure Land and Amida Tathāgata are the teachings of Shin Buddhism, and the fundamental principles upon which Shin Buddhism is based.”74 How, one may wonder, did Murakami now account for this existence? Murakami’s answer to the question was simple: one doesn’t account, one believes. Science is based on the principle of the indestructibility of matter. Physics is based on the principle of the existence of atoms. Chemistry is based on the principle of the existence of the elements. Even if we cannot understand [the ultimate nature of] atoms and the elements, this is not something [that science] attempts to question. As long as one works within the realm of physics and chemistry, one has no responsibility to question this. To give another example, Christianity is based on the existence of God and the existence of Heaven. Just as questioning the existence of atoms and the elements is not the responsibility of science, but for philosophers to ask, the problem of the existence of Heaven and God is also something to be left up to the philosophers. That we say that Amida Tathāgata exists in the Western Pure Land is the principle upon which the Pure Land teachings are founded. From the beginning, Amida, like the Christian God, is not a historical figure. Like the Christian Heaven, the Pure Land is not an actual place on Earth. Hence, we do not need to hold that we are responsible for exploring the question of [the Pure Land and Amida’s] existence.75 The simplistic and self-serving take on science and Christianity aside, at least three points are worth noting. Firstly, much like his former conservative critics, Murakami was now arguing for the autonomous and inviolable existence of two discrete spheres of discourse: intellectual or academic inquiry and

73  Ibid., pp. 19–20. 74  Ibid., p. 52. 75  Ibid., pp. 52–53.

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religious belief. Philosophers and scholars had every right to do what they did, but such pushing and probing was not amiable to the Shin tradition. Secondly, there is nothing here to suggest that the elderly Murakami had finally decided that the Pure Land and Amida Tathāgata existed, at least not in the standard sense of the word. As I read him, Murakami’s final take on this question was that if one were a Shin follower and truly believed in Shin teachings, then they would know that Shin doctrine held that the Pure Land and Amida existed. Push this question further and one misses the point. Thirdly, the argument that such fruitless ontological questioning leads us nowhere is in many ways similar to what Kaneko was arguing as well. The two parted ways—as we have seen, however—on the issue of what kind of methodology and language was appropriate for overcoming this misdirected inquiry. For Kaneko, the question of how these beliefs could make sense in light of philosophy and science was of increasing import; for Murakami, at least in his final writings, it was not. We encounter this same divergence of opinion in Shinshū no shinmenboku wa nahen ni zonsuru ka. In his introduction, Murakami conceded that, like Kiyozawa’s elaborations, there was a certain validity to Kaneko’s writings: they were philosophically engaging. The problem, though, was that they were not “religious” in nature. Rhetorically, Murakami asked, “On one hand, if we regard these works as being an espousal of Kaneko’s philosophical views in regard to Buddhism, then these are not bad works at all; they are excellent writings. Why would I go out of my way to oppose something like this?” It is only when these books were “seen as being expositions of Shin Buddhist Studies” that Murakami had “a great many objections.” Notably, “they confuse philosophy with religion.”76 As in Gakan shinshū, the septuagenarian Murakami had no problem with philosophy—just as, thirty-some years prior, his critics had had no quarrel with his own writings (in that they were restricted to their proper academic place)—but, again, this was not what Shin priests engaged in. Murakami further explained his quarrel with Kaneko’s works by citing five main transgressions found therein: (1) Discrepancies between Kaneko’s personal beliefs and the school’s teachings ( jikyō sōi no ayamachi 自教相違の過) (2) Destruction of these teachings (kyōsō hakai no ayamachi 教相破壊の過) (3) Confusing philosophy and religion (tetsugaku shūkyō kondō no ayamachi 哲学宗教混同の過) (4) Not considering the sacred teachings (shōgyōryō o kaeriminu ayamachi 聖教量を顧みぬ過) 76  Murakami 1928, pp. 4–5.

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(5) Denying the unique characteristics of Shinshū (Shinshū no tokushoku o namisuru ayamachi 真宗の特色を無みする過)77 Although I will not belabor these criticisms in depth, it suffices to say that we again encounter the argument that Kaneko had fallen into the theory of “mindonly” and held an unhealthy obsession with modernizing Shin thought at the expense of tradition. Kaneko, according to Murakami, considered traditional Shin doctrine to be “nonsense,” “insufficient [for the modern world],” and that it “did not have currency with today’s youth.” But Murakami warned that “even if such thought does not have currency,” changing the teachings of the individual Buddhist denominations to suit the contemporary world and modern youth would lead to the “destruction of the denominations.”78 Murakami ended one attack on Kaneko in the following manner. As long as the Shin teachings are maintained and exist, one should never speak of Amida and the Pure Land as being of this very mind. Accordingly, works like Jōdo no kannen and Shinshū ni okeru nyorai oyobijōdo no kannen are the same as those theories that promote the theory of “selfnature” and “mind-only.” One should have no doubt as to whether or not such teachings work with our Shin Buddhism [i.e., they do not].79 Having disparaged Kaneko and defended the centrality of traditional doctrine, Murakami’s work then took a meander through what he held to be the doctrinal crux of these teachings. It is the conclusion to his work, however, that concerns us here. Looking back on my life, I was born in a Shin temple and, thus, from a young age was infused with Shin faith by my family. When I was older, I entered the Takakura Seminary and, more or less, mastered Shin Buddhist Studies … When I reached middle age, I lived in the metropolis of Tokyo, where I absorbed the social milieu of the day, learned from contemporary scholars, and had intellectual exchange with young people. To put it another way, I was taken in by the beliefs of middle-class society (chūryū shakai 中流社会) and sought to identify myself with these ideas. Hence, I thought much like Kaneko does now. I believed that everything was pointless unless it agreed with contemporary thought … To be honest, I myself held that there was something lacking in Shin Buddhism … When I recall 77  Ibid., pp. 16–17. 78  Ibid., pp. 21–22. 79  Ibid., p. 22.

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this now, I am terribly ashamed. It was from this way of thinking that I wrote the first part (dai ippen 第一篇) of the Bukkyō tōitsuron.80 In a separate passage, Murakami argued that philosophy was something done for the sake of “the elite” (kōkyū no hito 高級の人) and “modern youth” (gendai no seinenhai 現代の青年輩).81 In contradistinction, it was the teachings of Shinran—who “sacrificed his entire being” and lived among the “dregs of society” (saiteikyū no rōnyakunannyo 最低級の老若男女)—and Rennyo that were meant for the lowest classes (saikakyū no mono 最下級の者) and the depraved (iyashiki 卑き). And it is here, Murakami wrote, that we encounter “the true identity of Shin Buddhism.”82 The elderly Murakami’s Shin Buddhism was a religion for the weak, the marginalized, and those who had been washed aside by the tides of modernity. Shin Buddhism was, in many ways, also a teaching for those on the verge of death. The question as to whether or not Shin teachings led to a kind of existential path of awakening in the here-and-now (what doctrinal modernists often called genzai anjin 現在安心) or to postmortem salvation in the next (what more traditional-minded Shin thinkers referred to as mirai anjin 未来安心) was one of the central points of contention in the doctrinal debates of the modern period.83 The elderly Murakami was situated somewhere in the middle. Although he scoffed at what he saw as the philosophical excesses of young priests and their misguided attempts to turn Shin Buddhism into an existential movement, he never committed himself to arguing for the physical existence of the Pure Land and the possibility of posthumous Buddhahood. Still, though, near the end, he argued that Shin teachings would make little sense to those who had yet to “experience death” (shi no jikken ga nai hito 死の実験がない人). He, however, had. I became gravely ill in September of last year. At one point the doctor told me that I was going to die. It was so grave that even the newspapers reported I had reached the end. So to speak, I was a man who had entered the gates of death and [yet] returned. Thus, I was able to know what it is like when a person dies. When I reached this point, I was, for the first time, able to understand the value of the teaching of the Other Power; 80  Ibid., pp. 90–91. 81  Ibid., pp. 28–29. 82  Ibid. In this same section, Murakami did qualify his argument by recalling that “someone” once told him that you either had to be “really wise” or one of “the unintelligent of the lowest classes” to understand the Shin teachings. I assume that Murakami included himself in the former group. 83  I have written on this problem in some detail in Ward 2005.

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I now understood that faith in Shin Buddhism is gained in just such a case; I was now aware that when one is faced with such a situation that zazen is useless, ideas (kannen) are useless, and the belief in birth in the Pure Land through the correct thought at the moment of death and the ensuing arrival of the Pure Land saints is useless.84 With age, and the looming specter of his own death (whose clutches he had narrowly avoided only months prior), Murakami turned his back on earlier attempts at reworking Shin doctrine so that it was compatible with “contemporary thought” and so that the idea of the Pure Land and Amida Tathāgata somehow made sense in the master narrative of Buddhist unity. All of this had become mere apologetics made in a moment of youthful folly (or middleaged folly, perhaps). The teachings of Shin Buddhism were the teachings of Shin Buddhism; nothing else was needed—not zazen, philosophy, or Buddhist unity—nor could these teachings help those who had arrived at the gates of death. 5

Concluding Thoughts

As many of the articles in this issue have touched upon, Murakami Senshō— along with Inoue Enryō and others—was at the forefront of the late-Meiji attempt to forge a discourse on the unity of Buddhism. I, however, have been less concerned with this emergent discourse and Murakami’s place in it per se. Instead, it is the reactions to works like the Bukkyō tōitsuron that I first turned to. Murakami’s writings did indeed open up a new horizon by which to view Buddhism; but, along with his political allegiances in mid-life, these writings also provided a point of attack through which sectarian consciousness could be redefined and deepened. By complicating matters with the writings and reactions of these sectarianminded thinkers, and with often overlooked institutional realities (where traditional deployments of power often still held sway), we can begin to imagine how future attempts at understanding this period and its intellectual currents will have to take into account a great deal of material which has hitherto been, consciously or not, avoided. We may find it difficult to offer our sympathies to the reactionary nature of many of these thinkers, but this does not absolve us of the task of understanding their place in the history of modern Japanese Buddhism. 84  Murakami 1928, p. 95.

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As the writings of the elderly Murakami make clear, however, my wellintentioned introduction of these conveniently binary heuristics are problematic in their own right. It was not the sectarian-minded opponents of the Bukkyō tōitsuron who offered the final condemnation of it: it was Murakami himself. We may indeed find it fruitful to view the struggle between doctrinal modernists and their sectarian-minded conservative rivals as a dialectic interaction through which a broader and more complicated notion of Japanese Buddhist modernity was being formed. The points where these dialectical distinctions become muddled or fall apart should be of interest as well. References

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Kashiwahara Yūsen 柏原祐泉. 1996. “Shinshū ni okeru ianjin no mondai” 真宗におけ る異安心の問題. In Shinshūshi bukkyōshi no kenkyū: Kinsei hen 真宗史仏教史の研 究:近世篇. Kyoto: Heirakuji Shoten. Ketelaar, James. 1993. Of Heretics and Martyrs in Meiji Japan. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Kiba Akeshi 木場明. 1989. “Higashi Honganji gohōjō ni tsuite” 東本願寺護法場につい て. Shinshū kyōgaku kenkyū 真宗教学研究 13, pp. 75–84. Kikumura Norihiko 菊村紀彦. 1975. Kaneko Daiei: Hito to shisō 金子大栄: 人と思想. Tokyo: Yomiuri Shinbunsha. Koreyama Ekaku 是山恵覚. 1918–19. “Jōdo Shinshū ianjin ryakushi” 浄土真宗異安心 略史. In Fukyō kenkyūkai kōenshū dai-hachi-jukkai 布教研究会講演集第 8–10 回. Kyoto: Honganji. Matsuoka Gyōshu 松岡暁洲. 1991. “Bukkyō ikkanron no keifu” 仏教一貫論の系譜. Indogaku bukkyōgaku kenkyū 印度学仏教学研究 79, pp. 298–301. Miharu Toshiaki 三明智彰. 1990. “Shōwa shonen Soga Ryōjin/Kaneko Daiei Ōtani Daigaku tsuihō jiken” 昭和初年曽我量深・金子大栄大谷大学追放事件. Shinshū Sōgō Kenkyūjo kiyō 真宗総合研究所研究所紀要 8, pp. 1–28. Miharu Toshiaki 三明智彰. 1994. “Meiji shoki no Shinshū Ōtani-ha ni okeru kenkyū kyōiku to sono taisei: gohōjō/gakkō soshiki o chūshin ni” 明治初期の真宗大谷派に おける研究教育とその体制:護法城・学校組織を中心に. Shinshū Sōgō Kenkyūjo kiyō 11, pp. 65–117. Mizutani Hisashi 水谷壽. 1934. Ianjinshi no kenkyū: Ōtani-ha bunretsu ikō ni itaru 異安 心史の研究:大谷派分裂以降に至る. Tokyo: Daiyūkaku. Mori Ryūkichi ed. 森龍吉. 1983. Shinshū shiryō shūsei dai-jūnikan: Shinshū kyōdan no kindaika 真宗史料集成第十二巻:真宗教団の近代化. Kyoto: Dōbōsha. Müller, Max. 1886. Nehangi 涅槃義. Translated by Nanjō Bun’yū 南条文雄 and Katō Shōkaku 加藤正廓. Tokyo: Mugai Shobō. Nakai Gendō 中井玄道. 1930. Ianjin no shujusō 異安心の種々相. Kyoto: Shinshū Kenkyūjo. Nakajima Kakuryō 中島覚亮. 1912. Ianjin shi 異安心史. Tokyo: Mugazanbō. Nonomura Naotarō 野々村直太郎. 1923. Jōdokyō hihan 浄土教批判. Kyoto: Chūgai Shuppan. Ochiai Seiko 落合誓子. 1995. Kizoku no shimetsu suru hi: Higashi Honganji jūnen sensō no shinsō 貴族の死滅する日:東本願寺十年戦争の真相. Tokyo: Banseisha. Ohara Shōjitsu 小原性実. 1956. Shinshū igi ianjin no kenkyū 真宗異義異安心の研究. Tokyo: Nagata Bunshōdō. Ōtani Daigaku Hyakunenshi Henshū Iinkai 大谷大学百年史編集委員会, ed. 2001. Ōtani Daigaku hyakunenshi: Tsūshihen. 大谷大学百年史:通史編. Kyoto: Ōtani Daigaku.

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Sawada, Janine Tasca. 2004. Practical Pursuits: Religion, Politics, and Personal Cultivation in Nineteenth-Century Japan. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Serikawa Hiromichi 芹川博道. 1982. “Murakami Senshō: Sono bukkyō tōitsuron” 村上 専精:その仏教統一論. In Kindai Nihon no shisō to bukkyō 近代日本の思想と仏教. Edited by Mineshima Hideo 峰島旭雄. Tokyo: Tokyo Shoseki. Soga Ryōjin 曽我量深. 2001. “Ōtani Daigaku no ayumi” 大谷大学の歩み. In Ōtani Daigaku hyakunenshi: shiryōhen 大谷大学百年史:史料編. Kyoto: Ōtani Daigaku. Sueki Fumihiko 末木文美士. 2004. Meiji shisōka ron: Kindai Nihon no shisōshi saikō 1 明治思想家論:近代日本の思想史再考 I. Tokyo: Toransubyū. Tahara Yukio 田原由紀雄. 2004. Higashi Honganji sanjūnen funsō 東本願寺三十年 紛争. Kyoto: Hakubasha. Takayama Hidetsugu 高山秀嗣. 2006. “Kiyozawa Manshi ni totte no Shinshū Ōtani-ha” 清沢満之にとっての真宗大谷派. Kyūshū Ryūkoku Tanki Daigaku bukkyō bunka 九州龍谷短期大学仏教文化 15, pp. 31–19. Takeda Tōitsu 武田統一. 1944. Shinshū kyōgakushi 真宗教学史. Kyoto: Heiraku Shoten. Tamura Kōyū 田村晃祐. 2001. “Inoue Enryō to Murakami Senshō: Tōitsuteki bukkyō rikai e no doryoku” 井上円了と村上専精:統一的仏教理解への努力. Indogaku bukkyōgaku kenkyū 98, pp. 1–11. Tatsudani Akio 竜渓章雄. 1983. “Kaneko Daiei-cho ‘Jōdo no kannen’ no ichikōsatsu” 金子大栄著『浄土の観念』の一考察. Indogaku bukkyōgaku kenkyū 32, no. 1, pp. 152–3. Taya Raishun 多屋頼俊. 1961. “Ishikawa Shundai to Higashi Honganji” 石川舜台と 東本願寺. In Kōza kindai bukkyō 2: Rekishihen 講座近代仏教 2: 歴史編. Edited by Hōzōkan Henshūbu 法蔵間編集部. Kyoto: Hōzōkan. Terakawa Shunshō 寺川俊昭. 2001. Nenbutsu no sanga o motomete: Kindai ni okeru Shinshū Ōtani-ha no kyōdan to kyōgaku no ayumi 念仏の僧伽を求めて:近代におけ る真宗大谷派の教団と教学の歩み. Kyoto: Hōzōkan. Thelle, Notto R. 1976. “Power Struggle in Shin Buddhism: Between Feudalism and Democracy.” Japanese Religions 9, no. 3, pp. 64–75. Tsujimura Shinobu 辻村志のぶ. 2006. “Ishikawa Shundai to Shinshū Ōtani-ha no Higashi Ajia fukyō: Bukkyō Ajiashugi no keisei.” 石川舜台と真宗大谷派の東アジア 布教:仏教アジア主義の形成. Kindai bukkyō 金田仏教 (forthcoming). Ward, Ryan. 2005. Meiji/Taishō-ki Ōtani-ha ni okeru ianjin mondai 明治・大正期大谷 派における異安心問題. Tokyo Daigaku Shūkyōgaku Kenkyūshitsu nenpō 東京大学 宗教学研究室年報 22, pp. 129–56.

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The Honganji: Guardian of the State (1868–1945) Minor L. Rogers and Ann T. Rogers On your brow, wear imperial law; within the depths of your heart, treasure Buddha-dharma. Rennyo 蓮如 (1415–1499)1 Eighth head priest of the Honganji

∵ In* 1868, the leaders of the Meiji restoration revived the Jingikan 神祇官 (Department of Kami Affairs) as part of a move to pattern the government on that of the first (legendary) emperor, Jinmu, and to restore the nation to a polity unifying religious and political affairs (saisei itchi 祭政一致).2 In the same year, a government edict separated “Shinto” affairs from Buddhist (shinbutsu bunri 神仏分離). In effect, Buddhism was disestablished in favor of a newly-created State Shinto: Buddhist rituals at Shinto shrines and at official state functions were banned, Buddhist images were burned, temples stood empty, and perhaps most far-reaching, temple estates were confiscated, resulting in the loss of an economic base. Such a discriminatory policy directed at Buddhists was Source: Rogers, Minor and Ann T. “The Honganji: Guardian of the State (1868-1945),” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 17(1) (1990): 3–28. * The original draft of this essay was prepared in 1982 under the auspices of a group research grant provided by the National Endowment for the Humanities, “Buddhism in Japanese Civilization: Humanistic Inquiries.” It is part of a longer study on Rennyo, forthcoming as a volume in the Nanzan Studies in Asian Religions series from Asian Humanities Press.    In this study, “Honganji” refers to the sectarian movement as a religious order, the Honganji branch of the Jōdo Shinshū, in contrast to “Hongan-ji,” the headquarters temple of the movement. 1  Jitsugo kyōki, in Rennyo Shōnin gyōjitsu (hereafter cited as RSG), Inaba 1948, p. 88. Also in Rennyo Shōnin go-ichidaiki kikigaki, in Shinshū shōgyō zensho (hereafter cited as SSZ), Shinshū Shōgyō Zensho Hensanjo 1969–1970, vol. 3, p. 566. 2  For a comprehensive survey of historical developments in Japanese religion in the Meiji period, see Kishimoto 1969, parts 1 and 2. Also see Muraoka 1964, chaps. 6 and 7. Particularly helpful in analyzing Shinto as religion and ideology in relation to Japan’s cultural tradition is Kitagawa 1988, pp. 227–45. Kitagawa traces the meaning of the term saisei-itchi in the history of Japanese thought in 1987, pp. 117–26.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2020 | doi:10.1163/9789004401525_037

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virtually unprecedented in Japanese history; it ran counter to the ancient tradition of mutual tolerance of religious entities enunciated theoretically in terms of the local kami as manifestations of an underlying Buddhist reality (honji suijaku 本地垂迹). Compounding the shock to Buddhists in early Meiji was the fact that their institutions had served the state diligently and to great effect throughout the Tokugawa period (1600–1868); far from harboring ill-will towards those who ruled, Buddhist officials had sought vigorously to guard against all external threats, including that of the foreign religion introduced by Europeans in the sixteenth century—Christianity. But now, suddenly, Buddhists found themselves abandoned by the state and subject to severe persecution by a popular and militant but unofficial movement for eradication of the influence of Buddhist institutions (haibutsu kishaku 廃仏毀釈). A further threat was the reappearance of Christianity as the spiritual base for the advanced learning and military power of modern Western nation-states (Kishimoto 1969; Murakami 1980, pp. 33–40). The Buddhists’ initial response, as might be expected, was to seek at all costs to reestablish firm ties to the state by attesting to their loyalty to the newly-restored imperial system and by underscoring the practical benefits Buddhist thought and practice might provide the nation in meeting the renewed challenges—martial, political, technological, spiritual—from the West. And, secondly, with the ending of the active persecution of Christians in early Meiji, Buddhists set about elaborating an apologetic designed to point up the inadequacies of Christian teachings for a modern Japan. Outstanding in this regard were the philosophical writings of Inoue Enryō (1858–1919) in defense of Buddha-dharma. In due course, vigorous efforts at Buddhist reform were also to unfold: advocacy by Shimaji Mokurai (1838–1911) of a separation of religion and state; approaches by Fukuda Gyōkai (1806–1888), Shaku Unshō (1827– 1909), Murakami Senshō (1851–1929), and Kiyozawa Manshi (1863–1903) to the cultivation of a deeper spiritual life; the social criticism of the “New Buddhism” movement; and extraordinary achievements in the field of Buddhist scholarship. A balanced evaluation of the degree of success of efforts at Buddhist reform is not possible here; Ienaga Saburō has, however, offered a challenging analysis of the difficulty for Buddhist institutions in carrying through deep structural changes in patterns of thought and practice during Japan’s modern period (1961). In creating State Shinto to be the spiritual foundation and source of legitimization for imperial rule, leaders of the Meiji restoration were, in effect, initiating a major reconceptualization of Japanese religious life. In response to Western concepts of religious freedom and separation of church and state,

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Buddhism, Christianity, and eventually sectarian Shinto came to be designated as “religions,” while State Shinto—not so designated—was to become an essential constituent of the government administration of a modern nationstate. This unique position of State Shinto was to be maintained for some seventy years until 1945, when the end of the Second World War brought the disestablishment of State Shinto and the realization of guarantees of religious freedom under a new constitution.3 Granted the complexities of interpreting the Western concept of “religion” within the Japanese tradition, the precise relationship between religious institutions and state continues to be an issue of extreme sensitivity in contemporary Japan.4 The post-war constitution and official government policies do not appear to fully reflect certain deeply-held Japanese notions of what that relationship ought to be. This essay presents a study of the Jōdo Shinshū, especially the Nishi Honganji branch, as it sought to define its relationship to the state at two critical moments in modern Japanese history. First, we examine the contents of a major Shinshū document, Kōnyo’s “Testament” (Kōnyo Shōnin go-ikun go-shōsoku 広如上人御遺訓御消息), the final message of the twentieth head priest, Kōnyo (d. 1871), to members of the Honganji, as recorded by his son, Myōnyo (d. 1903), the twenty-first head priest. The document, issued at a moment of institutional and national crisis in early Meiji, introduced the concept of the transcendent and the mundane as two truths (shinzoku nitai 真俗二諦) as the dharma-principle defining the proper relationship of members of the Honganji to the state. Second, in examining an incident in 1940, when significant phrases in the Shinshū scriptures were censored for public use and even erased from the texts in question, we consider how the concept shinzoku nitai 3  Kitagawa notes that since State Shinto was not considered a religion, “[it] had great latitude in utilizing the national and local governments, the public educational system, and the army and navy to propagate the Shintō version of ancestor-worship, the emperor cult, and patriotic morality” (1988, p. 241). 4  McMullin (1989) identifies four issues he sees in dire need of redress. At least two of these issues, the relation between Buddhism and Shinto and the relation between religion and politics, pertain directly to this study. As to the latter relationship, he argues that “there was no politics-versus-religion dichotomy in pre-modern Japanese societies: all notions about authority were politico-religious. Indeed, in these societies, religion and politics were so commingled that the very use of the terms ‘religion’ and ‘politics’ in reference to them causes an interpretive splitting of them” (p. 15). McMullin’s point is well taken, as is his discussion of historiographical issues, including the propriety of using the Western concept of “religion” in the Japanese instance (pp. 24–25). It was Wilfred Cantwell Smith who alerted many in the academic community to the inadequacy of the concept “religion” for the study of the religious life of humankind (1962). Certainly, as Smith has argued, the adjectival forms may be more helpful than the nominal, and this may well hold in the Japanese instance for that reality generally designated by the terms “religion” or “politics.”

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may have served as a religious symbol to sacralize the Honganji’s participation as a Buddhist institution in modern Japanese history.5 The focus on religious and ideological concepts and on exegesis of key Shinshū documents and texts illuminates a pervasive theme in Japanese civilization—that of the intrinsic difficulty for Japanese society in general and the Shinshū in particular in developing categories for differentiating between the state and religious authority. The concept of the transcendent and the mundane as two truths appears to have served the Honganji in modern times in ways analogous to those in which concepts such as the unity of religious and political affairs and the mutual tolerance of the kami and buddhas have served Japanese civilization since the very formation of a state and the early encounter with the Buddhist tradition. 1

Meiji Restoration

Kōnyo, the twentieth head priest of the Honganji in direct succession to Shinran (1172–1263) according to the Nishi Honganji lineage, died on Meiji 4 (1871).8.19, at age seventy-seven. His parting message, referred to here as his “Testament,” was officially promulgated in the same year, at the peak of the anti-Buddhist movement noted above. In this document, he seeks to define the proper response of members of his community to the crisis facing them as obedient members of the Honganji and as loyal citizens of a nation seeking to maintain its autonomy in the face of pressures from the Western powers. Kōnyo’s “Testament,” in fewer than one thousand ideographs in Japanese, formally introduced to the Nishi Honganji order the dharma-principle of the transcendent and the mundane as two truths, a principle held to have antecedents in Buddhist tradition in general and in the Shinshū in particular. In explaining and legitimizing this carefully-wrought religious symbol, Kōnyo 5  It is easy to overlook the dynamic quality of another person’s religious symbols; this is particularly the case when the symbols are those of a tradition other than one’s own. The notion of symbol implicit here is close to the personalist sense discussed in Smith 1974, vol. 1, pp. 498–500. Smith sees as virtually a universal phenomenon people’s ability “to designate some item from within the visible world and to sacralize it in such a way that it becomes then for them the symbol or locus of the invisible, the transcendent” (p. 498). He notes that different groups choose a great variety of different things, including concepts, to serve as religious symbols, some of which are more successful than others.    Smith develops his thinking further in identifying symbols, not only at the first and second levels, but also at zero level—“higher than the first level, and, indeed, not recognized by the devout as a ‘symbol’ at all” (1981, p. 95). Religious symbols such as “Jōdo Shinshū” and “Honganji,” at work in the lives of devout Shinshū adherents, may be examples of symbols at zero level for some participants in certain contexts.

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quotes passages from the Larger Sūtra (Daimuryōjukyō 大無量寿経); from a collection of Shinran’s letters, Goshōsokushū 御消息集; from Rennyo’s letters, Ofumi 御文 or Gobunshō 御文章; and from the memoir, Rennyo Shōnin go-ichidaiki kikigaki 蓮如上人御一代記聞書. The document rings with nearparental concern for the members of his community; it draws on elements of Buddhist and neo-Confucian thought as well as on Shinshū doctrine in directing them to be loyal and obedient subjects of the emperor, who is recognized as the ultimate head of a familial state. The complete text follows: From the spring of Bunsei 10 [1827], when I became custodian of the Ryūkoku temple [Hongan-ji], until now, I have taught for over forty years, deviating in no way from our sect’s dharma-principles inherited from the previous master, and following the way of teaching of generation after generation of incumbents. Having already passed seventy, I have been unwell since last year and am unable to move about as I would like. Morning and evening I am grieved that, as a matter of course, it will become difficult for me to guide others in the way. Also, the heat this summer was unusually intense. An old man, I am becoming weaker day by day and think that within the year I will have accomplished my long-cherished desire to be born in the Pure Land. Feeling that, at the least, the well-being of like-minded followers should be the hallmark of my longevity, I have had my successor [Myōnyo] take his brush in hand and write down what I say; you should listen very carefully. Of all those born in this imperial land, there is no one who has not received the emperor’s benevolence. These days especially, he labors from morning to night in his deliberations in administering the just government of the restoration, maintaining order among the many people within [the country], and standing firm against all foreign countries; is there then anyone, priest or lay, who would not support the imperial reign and enhance its power? Moreover, as the spread of Buddha-dharma is wholly dependent on the patronage of the emperor and his ministers, how can those who trust in Buddha-dharma disregard the decrees of imperial law? Accordingly, it has been long-since established in our sect that one should “take imperial law as fundamental; take humanity and justice as foremost,”6 revere the kami, and uphold morality. In other words, if, through the [thirty-third] Vow’s benefit of touching beings with light and 6  The phrase is Rennyo’s; it is rendered in slightly variant readings in several of his letters. See Rennyo Shōnin ibun, hereafter cited as RSI (Inaba 1983), p. 256 (#86, dated Bunmei 9 [1477].3); 259 (#86/3:12, dated Bunmei 8 [1476].1.27).

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making them gentle-hearted,7 a person becomes one who “reveres the virtues, cultivates compassion, and endeavors in courtesy and humility, then surely he conforms to the [Buddha’s] golden words, “There is harmony everywhere, and the sun and moon are pure and bright” (Larger Sūtra, SSZ 1:41), and return a small part of the emperor’s benevolence. Hence our founding master taught that “we should desire peace in the world and the spread of Buddha-dharma” (Shinran Shōnin go-shōsokushu, SSZ 2:697). Given that, it is deplorable that [some people] are confused and think that if they just believe in Buddhist teachings, they can let mundane teachings be as they may. [Rennyo], the restorer of the tradition (chūkō shōnin 中興上人)8 taught in regard to this, “On your brow, wear imperial law (ōbō 王法); within the depths of your heart, treasure Buddha-dharma (buppō 仏法).”9 Buddha-dharma is the single truth of the Other Power of the Primal Vow (hongan 本願). As you have heard in the past, a person must first of all realize deeply that he is an evil, worthless being and discard the sundry practices and disciplines and the doubting mind of self-power; and in the single thought-moment in which he single-heartedly and steadfastly entrusts himself to Amida Tathāgata to save him, [bringing him to buddhahood] in the afterlife,10 Amida unfailingly embraces that follower and will not discard him, and it is settled that he will be born in the Pure Land. In the recollection of this joy, even in hurried moments or in time of danger, rejoice in the Buddha’s benevolence. Whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, say the nenbutsu, and you will truly continue in the dharma-principle. My hope is that our sect’s priests and lay people will firmly grasp the correct meaning of what has been transmitted, as stated above; that they will not err in regard to the dharma-principle of the transcendent and the mundane as two truths; that in this life they will be loyal subjects of the empire and reciprocate the unlimited imperial benevolence; and that in 7  The thirty-third Vow is one of the forty-eight enumerated in the Larger Sūtra; SSZ 1:11. 8  Literally, “restorer [of the tradition] midway in its course.” The first instance of the use of this epithet to come to our notice is in a Shinshū document dated Kansei 11 (1799).11.25, written by Honnyo, the nineteenth head priest in the Nishi Honganji lineage. See SSZ 5:766–67. 9  Jitsugo kyōki, RSG, 88; SSZ 2:566. Neil McMullin, in his studies of pre-modern Japanese Buddhism, discusses the changing relationship between ōbō and buppō in medieval Japanese history (1989, pp. 14–15; also see 1984). 10  A phrase which in slightly variant readings occurs frequently in Rennyo’s letters; see RSI, 380 (#127); 436 (#151); 455 (#162); 464 (#168).

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the life to come, they will attain birth in the [Pure Land in the] west and escape eternal suffering.11 If, to this end, one makes harmony fundamental, observes one’s own discipline, and guides others, there is finally no better way to be bathed in the founder’s dharma-stream. Truly, because the well-being of [our sect’s] devotees is my longcherished desire, it is my request that you regard this letter as my legacy and take careful note [of its contents]. With respect. The fourth year of Meiji [1871], the end of early autumn. The preceding letter is the final message of the former head priest; it states the sectarian doctrine, inherited from our founder, of the excellent principle of the transcendent and the mundane as two truths. Those who belong to this sect should take these instructions as fundamental; outwardly they should carefully follow the government’s ordinances, and inwardly they must bear in mind what is necessary for salvation. This is what is essential. Myōnyo, disciple of Śākyamuni, Ryūkoku Temple Affairs.12 This document, following Kōnyo’s forty years of service as head priest of the Honganji, is, in effect, his last will and testament. He speaks as the twentieth in lineal descent, in terms of both dharma-lineage (hōmyaku 法脈) and blood lineage (ketchimyaku 血脈), from Shinran, the founder. Failing in health, weakened after a summer’s heat, and grieving over the crises facing his community, he urges members of the Honganji to be attentive to the dharma-principle relating the transcendent and the mundane.13 Kōnyo begins the body of the letter by noting that early Meiji Japan is a land under benevolent imperial rule. Implicitly, he endorses the restoration leaders’ aim of unifying religious and political affairs, returning to a pattern characteristic of the ancient Japanese state as a means of promoting harmony among the populace in face of pressures from abroad. He urges a personal response to the emperor’s efforts: “He labors from morning to night in his 11  A dualist pattern sharply contrasting this life and the afterlife may be seen in the structure of Rennyo’s thought. 12  For text, see SSZ 5:777–78. See also Futaba 1971, pp. 352–54. 13  This document resonates in style and tone with letters written by Rennyo during his last summer, when he was in failing health. See RSI, 427–435 (#147, #148, #149, and #150).

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deliberations; is there then anyone, clerical or lay, who would not support the imperial reign and enhance its power?” Such support is tantamount to support of Buddha-dharma, which is itself dependent on the patronage of the emperor and his ministers. Kōnyo turns next to the fundamental issue for Honganji members subject to the anti-Buddhist movement, which enjoyed the unofficial support, or, at the least, the passive acquiescence of the governing administration. That issue concerned the proper relationship of the Honganji to the state in modern Japan. Drawing on a series of quotations from the Shinshū scriptures, Kōnyo seeks to legitimize and buttress his presentation of the dharmaprinciple of the transcendent and the mundane as two truths, giving it the patina of inheritance and tradition. In quoting Rennyo’s injunction to “take imperial law as fundamental; take humanity and justice as foremost,” Kōnyo strengthens his own directive that those who trust in Buddha-dharma are to support the wishes of the emperor and his ministers. Reverence for the kami and respect for morality appear to be identified with taking imperial law as fundamental. … if, through the [thirty-third] Vow’s benefit of touching beings with light and making them gentle-hearted, a person becomes one who “reveres the virtues, cultivates compassion, and endeavors in courtesy and humility,” then he will surely conform to the [Buddha’s] golden words, “There is harmony in the world, and the sun and moon are pure and bright,” and return a small part of the emperor’s benevolence. Here, Rennyo’s advocacy of imperial law—or, as he understood the matter, the laws of the state—as fundamental and humanity and justice as foremost is, in turn, supported by phrases from the Larger Sūtra. In short, those touched by Amida’s light will be people of virtue and compassion, both respectful of others and humble themselves—surely loyal and obedient members of the Honganji, responsive to the emperor’s benevolence. Gratitude for the blessings of Amida’s Primal Vow is translated into gratitude to the emperor. The harmony of such an imperial state reflects the purity and brightness of the natural order. We should desire peace in the world and the spread of Buddha-dharma. This passage, from Shinran’s Goshōsokushō, appears in a letter to Shōshinbō, a follower living in the Kantō at a time in which the nascent Shinshū community appeared to be in conflict with the governing administration in Kamakura. The

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citation is a rebuke to those who are “confused” or who espouse antinomian tendencies by disregarding social norms; Kōnyo implies that there should be no conflict or tension between religious community and state authority. Indeed, Shinran’s injunction to say the nenbutsu for the good of the imperial court (Goshōsokushō, SSZ 2:697) and for the nation is taken to mean that Honganji members are to assent positively to existing social norms. Kōnyo underscores this crucial point in quoting a sentence attributed to Rennyo: On your brow, wear imperial law; within the depths of your heart, treasure Buddha-dharma. Rennyo here identifies two truths. First is the mundane, the outer or public realm affirmative of imperial law and existing social norms. Second is the transcendent, the inwardly-known truth of Buddha-dharma. Kōnyo’s interpretation is that these two truths are complementary: Honganji members fulfill their obligations to imperial law through loyalty and obedience to the emperor, and to Buddha-dharma through inner piety and devotion to Amida. Outer and inner truths, the mundane and the transcendent, mutually support one another. … In the single thought-moment in which [a person] single-heartedly and steadfastly entrusts himself to Amida Tathāgata to save him, [bringing him to buddhahood] in the afterlife, Amida unfailingly embraces that follower and will not discard him, and it is settled that he will be born in the Pure Land. Kōnyo continues by explicating Buddha-dharma in terms of orthodox Shinshū thought as set forth in Rennyo’s letters, focussing finally on the saying of Amida’s Name. People are recognized as utterly helpless to effect their own salvation; they are absolutely dependent on Amida for escape from suffering and birth in the Pure Land in the afterlife. Given this incapacity for good through self-effort, Shinshū adherents are to say the nenbutsu solely in thanksgiving for Amida’s benevolence. Secure in the assurance of birth in the Pure Land in the afterlife, it is then the positive duty of Honganji members to be loyal citizens and to gratefully repay the emperor’s benevolence. To inherit the founder’s dharma-stream, it is essential to make no mistake as to the correct meaning of the dharma-principle of the transcendent and the mundane as complementary truths. In Kōnyo’s “Testament,” we witness the birth of a powerful religious symbol which, in large measure, was to shape the Honganji’s responses to the crises of modern Japanese history. Shinzoku nitai as dharma-principle touches on the

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most fundamental issue for religious institutions in modern Japan until the end of the Second World War—the proper relation between that institution and the state, and, more specifically in the Shinshū, the proper response of Honganji members to Amida in relation to the emperor. 2

Imperial Japan

As noted in the opening section of this essay, the Jingikan in the Meiji era had sought to create and establish a state-centered Shinto as the source of spiritual authority for an imperial state. It soon became evident that such an exclusivist policy would not work for a modern nation-state; the policy was offensive not only to Japanese Buddhists and to traditional syncretistic attitudes characteristic of a majority of Japanese, but also to foreign nations pressing for the opening of Japan. In 1871, the Jingishō 神祇省 (Ministry of Shinto Affairs), which had replaced the Jingikan, was abolished, and the government quickly established the Kyōbushō 教部省 (Ministry of Religion and Education). In 1872, the new Department promulgated three guiding principles: (1) respect for the kami and love of country; (2) propagation of heavenly reason and the way of humanity; and (3) reverence for the emperor and obedience to his authority (Shigaraki 1977, p. 227; Kishimoto 1969, pp. 69–70). We examine now several developments relating to the Nishi Honganji’s handling of scripture, culminating in the issuance on April 5, 1940, of a document entitled Shōgyō no haidoku narabi ni inyō no kokoroe 聖教の拝読ならびに引用 の心得, which gives detailed instructions on the use of scriptural readings and quotations by members of the Honganji. As early as the summer of 1871, Shimaji Mokurai, representing the Nishi Honganji, had petitioned the government to establish a Department of Religion and Education. The Honganji, armed with the dharma-principle of the transcendent and mundane as two truths, was in a most favorable position to forge a partnership with the imperial state in promoting the three guiding principles listed above. At about that time, in an effort to underscore the Honganji’s depth of commitment to such a partnership, a Shinshū scholar, Mizuhara Kōen, proposed that a phrase of four ideographs judged to be a disrespectful reference to the emperor and his retainers in the epilogue of Shinran’s major systematic treatise, Kyōgyōshinshō, be replaced by asterisks. He recommended that the same apply to a sentence in a biography of Shinran, Godenshō 御伝鈔, by his great-grandson Kakunyo (1270–1351), which described a commoner’s indifference to ceremonial rules and disrespect to the kami as he made his way to the Kumano Shrine (Shigaraki 1977, p. 228).

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The epilogue to Kyōgyōshinshō, in which the four ideographs appear, is a rare autobiographical statement in which Shinran notes the historical reasons for his exile as a disciple of Hōnen (1133–1212). He points out that the emperor (shujō 主上) and his retainers (shinka 臣下), in opposing nenbutsu teachings, were responsible for improprieties in their investigation of charges against Hōnen and his disciples: for indiscriminate death sentences for some of them; for the deprivation of priesthood for others, including Shinran, and for their exile under criminal names. The controversial passage reads: The emperor (shujō) and his retainers (shinka) opposed the dharma and were at variance with [principles of] justice; they harbored anger and resentment [against the nenbutsu teachings]. Because of this Master Genkū [Hōnen], the great promulgator of the true teachings, and his followers were, without consideration of their crimes, arbitrarily condemned to death or deprived of their priesthood, given [secular] names, and sentenced to distant banishment. I am one of those. Hence I am neither a monk nor of the world. For this reason I took the name “Toku” 禿. Master Genkū and his disciples were banished [separately] to various remote provinces and spent five years in exile.14 Shinran’s statement is substantiated later in the text by an indication that during the reign (1210–1221) of the succeeding emperor, Sado-no-In (Juntoku), Hōnen was pardoned by imperial order. In 1886, Nishi Honganji promulgated a new set of sectarian principles. The office of abbot (monshu 門主) was established at the head of a highly centralized Honganji order. The second principle in the statement, clearly shaped by Rennyo’s thought, reads as follows: According to the teaching of our sect, “transcendent truth” [shintai] is to hear and entrust ourselves to the Buddha’s name and to say the name in gratitude for the working of great compassion; “mundane truth” [zokutai] is “to live humanely and to obey the imperial law.” Thus, if we are people who dwell in a state of Other-Power faith [anjin 安心] and strive to return the benevolence [shown us by society], then we manifest the excellent principle of the mutual support of the two truths.15 14  K  yōgyōshinskō, SSZ 2:201–202. For an English translation which renders the four controversial ideographs “lords and vassals,” see Ryukoku Translation Center 1966, p. 206. “Distant banishment” was the most severe banishment possible under the ritsuryō code. 15  Quoted in Shigaraki 1981, p. 44. This statement is the basis for a theory of shinzoku nitai found in Ryūkoku Daigaku 1978, pp. 169–70. Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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Threads of a partnership between the Honganji and the imperial state were woven into the very fabric of a modern religious institution; the concept of the transcendent and the mundane as two truths was the loom essential to that process. In June 1933, that continuing partnership was tested by an incident in Osaka. An article entitled Shinkō ōfuku no sho 信仰往復の書 appeared in a Nishi Honganji-related publication, Ichimi 一味, containing the phrase “the great compassion of Amida’s command” (chokumei 勅命). The editor was called before the Osaka special police and ordered to make written apology for the disrespect to the emperor evidenced by the use of the word “command” in relation to Amida. Subsequently, a representative of the Honganji made a request to the Ministry of Education for an explanation of the police action; the government official listened without offering any explanation for such a severe act of censorship (Shigaraki 1977, p. 228). By 1933, Japan was well along the road towards becoming a totalitarian state: the Manchurian incident took place in 1931 and the Shanghai incident in 1932; in the following year the proletarian novelist Kobayashi Takiji (1903–1933) was beaten to death by secret police in Tokyo, and Takigawa Yukitoki (1891–1962) was forced to give up his academic post at Kyoto Imperial University. In 1936, against a background of increasing repression, the Honganji published a revised version of the scriptures, Kaitei shinshū seiten 改訂真宗聖典. Among the revisions is the insertion of the genitive particle の (no) in that most sensitive phrase, shujō shinka, used by Shinran in Kyōgyōshinshō. The revised version reads “retainers of the emperor” (shujō no shinka 主上の臣下) rather than “the emperor and his retainers” (Shigaraki 1977, p. 228). Censorship in the name of absolutizing the role of the emperor reached a new level of intensity in 1939. The minister of education, Araki Sadao (1877– 1966), charged that Shinshū yōgi 真宗要義, a text used in the department of Shinshū studies at Ryūkoku University, included materials disrespectful to the imperial office. The terms chokumei, kyōchoku 教勅, and butchoku 仏勅, significant scriptural concepts in Shinshū thought, were prohibited from use in such a context. After the appropriate revisions were made, the university was allowed to continue to use the text for instruction (Shigaraki 1977, pp. 229–30). The above events strengthened even further the partnership between the Honganji and the state. The two existed side by side as separate entities representing two truths, the former as a religious body symbolic of the transcendent, the latter as a political (in theory at least, not a religious) entity representing the mundane. Working together as partners in mutual harmony, however, they increasingly constituted an organic whole. Thus the concept shinzoku nitai as a religious symbol, at least in theory, allowed for a differentiation between the Honganji and the state, yet seeing them as complementary truths. It would Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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appear that, in practice, the national polity (kokutai 国体) was to subsume, eventually, categories for both the transcendent and the mundane. On April 5, 1940, officials of the Nishi Honganji issued a comprehensive document instructing its members as to what was proper in reading and quoting scripture (Shigaraki 1977, p. 217). This set of instructions called attention to passages in Shinran’s Kyōgyōshinshō, Kōsō wasan, Shōzōmatsu wasan, and other writings; Kakunyo’s Godenshō; and Rennyo’s letters. In all, some fiftythree items were identified which might be construed as lacking in respect or reverence for the emperor and the imperial state. Detailed instructions were given as to the proper reading of scripture and its quotation or citation in sermons and writings. In addition, a number of phrases were to be deleted from the texts and, in effect, ruled out of the Shinshū scriptural canon. A Shinshū scholar, writing in the 1970’s, comments that the reason for the officials’ action was “to express loyalty to the imperial state, recognizing that Shinshū scriptures contradicted the principle of the emperor’s divinity [tennō shinsei 天皇 神聖] and that portions of scripture were incompatible with the Japanese concept of national polity” (Shigaraki 1977, p. 217). The charges Shinran made in the epilogue of Kyōgyōshinshō against imperial authority in thirteenth-century Japan became an intolerable burden and source of embarrassment for the Honganji amidst the hysteria of thoughtcontrol in 1940. Officials of the Nishi Honganji decided to proscribe even more drastically portions of scripture which even hinted at offense to the imperial system. For example, the entire sentence, “The emperor and his retainers opposed the dharma and were at variance with [principles of justice]; they became angry and hardened their resentment [against the nenbutsu teaching],” was forbidden to be used in services or in quotation in sermons or writings. Blank spaces were to be left in whatever text was involved.16 A legacy of this prohibition carried over even in postwar editions of the Shinshū scriptures. In a 1967 edition of the volume of scriptures containing Shinran’s works, there are blank spaces for the two ideographs 主上 (shu-jō); in a 1977 edition, the ideographs are back in place.17 There are further examples of scriptural items in conflict with the imperial state ideology in 1940: – In Kyōgyōshinshō, when the term chokumei appears in the text, as in “to take refuge is the command (chokumei) of the Primal Vow calling to and summoning us” (Shigaraki 1977, pp. 218–19; see SSZ 2:22), the reading specified for the term was onmei 恩命 rather than chokumei. Chokumei was reserved for exclusive use in reference to imperial commands symbolic of 16  Shigaraki 1977, p. 218. 17  Compare 1967 edition, SSZ 2:201, and 1977 edition, SSZ 2:201. Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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the emperor’s divinity. In another of Shinran’s texts, Jōdo monrui jushō, the Tathāgata’s kyōchoku was to be read kyōmei 教命. – A passage from the Mahāyāna text, Bosatsu kaikyō, quoted in the sixth chapter of Kyōgyōshinshō, was proscribed; the text enjoins monks not to bow before kings or parents (Shigaraki 1977, p. 218; see SSZ 2:191–92). What could possibly be more offensive to State Shinto or Confucian sensibilities? – When reference is made to an emperor in Kyōgyōshinshō or Godenshō, a special honorific was to be used. The reading “go-Sado-no-in” became “goshitatematsuru-Sado-no-in” (Shigaraki 1977, p. 218; see SSZ 2:202). In Kyōgyōshinshō and Godenshō, Shinran’s phrase, “without proper consideration of their crimes,” was proscribed (Shigaraki 1977, p. 218; see SSZ 2:201). – The chapters in Godenshō relating Shinran’s vision in the Rokkaku-dō and sequences which portray the kami of shrines at Hakone and Kumano in anything less than the absolutist terms of State Shinto were proscribed (Shigaraki 1977, p. 219; see SSZ 3:640–41; 650–53). A passage in Godenshō, in which Shōtoku Taishi prostrates himself before Shinran, was deleted (Shigaraki 1977, p. 219; see SSZ 3:641–42). – Certain of Shinran’s hymns were not to be read. Two from his Kōsō wasan: Genkū was manifested as [the bodhisattva] Seishi; at times he was revealed to be Amida. Emperors and many ministers revered him; people of the capital and of the countryside paid him honor. A retired emperor during Jōkyū took refuge in Master Genkū; monks and scholars alike entered equally into the true teaching.18 – One from Shōzōmatsu wasan: World-savior Kannon, the great bodhisattva, manifested himself as Prince Shōtoku; like a father, he never abandons us; like a mother, he is always with us.19

18  Shigaraki, 1977, p. 219; see SSZ 2:513. Also see English translations in Ryukoku Translation Center 1974, pp. 131–32. 19  Shigaraki 1977, p. 219; see SSZ 2:526. Also see English translation in Ryukoku Translation Center 1980, p. 84. Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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The message was clear: emperors do not bow down to sages appearing as bodhisattvas or even as Amida; retired emperors do not go for refuge to a teacher; and even a great bodhisattva does not appear as an imperial prince. A final clause enjoins those who read the scriptures at public functions or at services to show their respect for the imperial household by bowing at each reference. The instructions were distributed to Nishi Honganji temples with a reminder from the Honganji staff director that at the core of Shinran’s spiritual vision was belief in imperial law as fundamental and devotion to the notion of an imperial state (Shigaraki 1977, pp. 219–20). Participants in the tradition were informed that, by observing these instructions, they were being true to the founder’s spirit as understood both in Japanese history and in Shinshū tradition. These demands for radical accommodation to an imperial state in the use of the Shinshū scriptures did not emerge in a vacuum. They were the culmination of developments in the medieval and early-modern history of the Honganji, and also the result of a series of responses by the Nishi Honganji at critical moments in modern Japanese history. To some extent, it was also a response to internal pressures within the Honganji itself. 3

Amida and Emperor

In late 1941, with Japan’s direct involvement in the Second World War imminent, the final step was taken in absolutizing the emperor’s authority. As partners with the imperial state, both Nishi and Higashi Honganji scholars developed wartime or battleground theologies. Among the many titles published were: Bukkyō no chūgi tetsugaku 仏教の忠義哲学 [A Buddhist philosophy of loyalty] (1940); Kannagara no michi to jōdo shinshū 神ながらの道と浄土真宗 [The way of the kami and Jōdo Shinshū] (1941); and On ichigenron: kōdō bukkyō no shinzui 恩一元論–皇道仏教の心髄 [A theory of the oneness of benevolence: The essence of imperial-way Buddhism] (1942).20 On ichigenron, which presents a theory of the oneness of the emperor’s and Amida’s benevolence, was the work of a Shinshū scholar, with a foreword contributed by the president of Ryūkoku University. The author’s theory brought into play a logic which had served his tradition repeatedly at moments of crisis over the centuries, allowing the Honganji not only to survive as a religious order,

20  Shigaraki 1977, pp. 237–38. For documents relating to these works, see Senji Kyōgaku Kenkyōkai 1988.

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but to prosper. In broader scope, it is a logic which goes back to the founding myths of land and people and the notion of the unity of religious and political affairs, and again to the encounter with an alien religious tradition—the Buddhist—and the theory of the native kami as manifestations of an underlying Buddhist reality. The Shinshū as a Japanese Buddhist tradition appears to have inherited from Shinran’s teaching few resources, conceptual or other, to question, much less to resist, the demands of the state. The absolute authority of the emperor’s command in prewar Japan may be seen as an extreme instance within this pattern. Religious symbols for the transcendent, such as Amida, faith (shinjin 信心), and nenbutsu, in theory are differentiated from the mundane and thereby have a capacity for criticism of all temporal authority, including that of the state. Instead, these religious symbols were subsumed by symbols for the national polity and imperial system. At one point in On ichigenron, the author speculates that if the Buddha were to appear in Japan at that moment, there is no question but that he would expound upon the absoluteness of the emperor and clarify the meaning of the national polity (Shigaraki 1977, p. 238). The origins and developments of a theory of the oneness of benevolence (on), including treatments of the great Kamakura Buddhists, are worked out in detail; a lengthy section discusses the imperial national polity and the Shinshū: The Shinshū teaches as basic to Amida’s intent that, in living as citizens in the mundane world, we are to take imperial law as fundamental and submit absolutely to the [emperor’s] command. People who oppose [this] are, consequently, excluded from Amida’s salvation. Hence it cannot be true that the Shinshū’s dharma-principle is incompatible with the imperial national polity. In other words, we can be good citizens of the empire because we dwell firmly in Amida’s saving power; it is the Shinshū that is the very best religion (shūkyō 宗教) in terms of compatibility with the imperial national polity. Shigaraki 1977, p. 238; Sasaki 1942, p. 298

Numerous other examples might be cited from Shinshū writings which illustrate how both the Nishi and Higashi Honganji supported—virtually demanded—full participation of their members in the war effort, with an elaborately worked-out battleground theology. Indeed, Shinshū thought appears to have become the handmaiden of imperial absolutism. The identification of Amida’s benevolence with that of the emperor made it possible to sacralize every sacrifice, including the giving of one’s life itself for the imperial state, as an act of piety.

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For Shinran, nenbutsu alone—faith alone—is true and real (Tannishō, SSZ 2:793.). He stands firmly in the Mahāyāna tradition in his orientation to this world as Amida’s world and in his conviction that the only possibility for people in the last dharma-age is to live naturally (jinen 自然), through the Other Power of Amida’s Primal Vow. Living naturally is by definition living free of calculation (hakarai はからい), the delusion that we have any power of our own to effect good for ourselves or for others. Shinran’s declaration that he is “neither a monk nor of the world” symbolizes his experience of self-negation that makes possible, naturally, the underlying unity of the transcendent and the mundane. He never elaborates on concepts such as “the transcendent and the mundane as two truths,” although they were readily available to him in the Mahāyāna Buddhist texts. For him, reality is the transcendent truth of Amida’s Vow, or Buddha-dharma, manifesting itself as the mundane truth in the teaching of Śākyamuni and in the commentaries of the seven Pure Land masters, including the words of his own master, Hōnen. On the basis of his own experience of exile, there are times when conflict is to be anticipated between the truth of the nenbutsu and the social order. Kakunyo, third head priest of the Honganji, and his son Zonkaku (1290– 1373) are the two figures following Shinran who contribute decisively to shaping the tradition before Rennyo’s tenure as eighth head priest. Living in a social and historical setting quite different from that of Shinran, they interpreted the tradition in ways which led to an elaboration of pairs of concepts such as the transcendent and the mundane, Buddha-dharma and imperial law. For Kakunyo, the transcendent relates to spiritual matters, specifically to birth in the Pure Land after death; the mundane is crucial for providing an ethical basis for those living this life in the assurance of birth in the Pure Land in the afterlife. Zonkaku also stresses the mundane in his attempt to reconcile Shinshū teaching with Japan’s indigenous tradition by setting the transcendent and the mundane side by side. For him, the relationship is as closely-balanced as a bird’s wings or a cart’s two wheels. A final implication of his position is that Buddha-dharma is to serve imperial law, in that the latter is the basis for the provision of food and shelter in this life. Rennyo’s thought is both continuous and discontinuous with each of his predecessors, Shinran, Kakunyo, and Zonkaku. From Shinran, Rennyo inherited an emphasis on faith or the nenbutsu alone as true and real; from Kakunyo, a deep commitment to preserve the transcendent through the vehicle of the Honganji as a religious institution; and from Zonkaku, honji suijaku thought, which provided a theoretical basis for accommodating the transcendent to the mundane by emphasizing the observance of existing social norms. Rennyo’s approach, in an entirely different historical context, reflects his perception of

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the transient quality (mujō 無常) of the age in which he lived. His position has been described as dualist in that he emphasizes the afterlife (the transcendent) as the most important matter (goshō ichidaiji 後生一大事) in contrast with this life (the mundane)—the Pure Land in contrast to this defiled world. During the Tokugawa period, the Honganji, in large measure dedicated to the service of those who governed, politicized and thereby dissipated much of its spiritual energy in a rigorously controlled scholasticism. At the same time, however, a tradition of myōkōnin 妙好人 piety prospered.21 Kōnyo, who lived virtually all of his life in the Tokugawa period, speaks out in his final message as the heir to Shinran, Kakunyo, Zonkaku, and especially Rennyo, at a moment of extreme crisis for the Nishi Honganji in early Meiji. The Honganji’s modern history has carried forward much of his pattern of thought. What is perhaps new in the modern period is a disintegration of the capacity for religious symbols in all traditions to be effective in differentiating between the transcendent and the mundane. In that respect, Japan’s imperial absolutism in the 1930’s cannot be understood apart from influences derived from the encounter with modern Western secular and religious thought. In conclusion, several tentative observations as to the relevance of the Honganji’s pattern of response to what Western political theorists would, for a clearer understanding of Japanese civilization as a whole, see as a religious and political dilemma: First, a pervasive theme in the materials we have presented is the preservation of the Honganji as a religious order. The point is complex, for the Honganji not only represents a line of dharma-transmission, it is also representative of a familial line of blood kinship (in respect to which significant parallels with Japan’s imperial institution might be drawn). The preservation of both dharma and familial lineages appears to have been a guiding impulse for over six hundred years—from the time of Kakunyo’s founding of a temple, Hongan-ji, at Shinran’s burial site in the Ōtani Higashiyama district of Kyoto, to Rennyo’s dramatic institutional expansion in late medieval Japan, and up through Kōnyo’s response to the anti-Buddhist movement in early Meiji and the writing of wartime theologies in the 1940’s. Second is that a dual standard of attitudes exists—one among members of the community, and another directed at those deemed to be outsiders. At different points in the history of the Honganji, outsiders have variously been defined as rival Buddhist groups—whether other branches of the Shinshū, branches of Hōnen’s Jōdoshū, or the pre-Kamakura sects—as well as, in the 21  D. T. Suzuki popularized the term myōkōnin in reference to the goodness and spontaneous expressions of piety reflected in the lives of unlettered Shinshū adherents.

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modern period, enemies of imperial Japan. It is important to note that internal controversy, including sharp differences on matters of doctrine, has been tolerated as long as the disputes have not posed a serious threat to political life and the prosperity of the institution. For example, in the modern period, even as late as 1942, despite the extreme pressures of imperial absolutism, groups of Shinshū priests voiced sharp opposition to changing even a single ideograph in the Shinshū scriptures. Third, participants in Shinshū tradition—including Shinran himself—saw no need to develop categories for sharp differentiation of religion and state. Indeed, at moments of crisis, highly ambiguous religious symbols such as shinzoku nitai, which blur distinctions in the interest of preserving unity and solidarity in the community, have emerged. At the affective level, it would appear that shinzoku nitai as a religious symbol has served the Honganji in ways similar to that in which honji suijaku theory has served Japanese Buddhists in general over the centuries, and also similar to that in which the notion of saisei itchi has served Japanese tradition as a whole. An historian of religion, in writing of the “seamlessness” of the early Japanese world of meaning in relation to the lasting imprint of Chinese script and the Buddha’s image on Japanese culture and society, discusses the connectedness of government, religion, and art: Indeed, the fact that political administration (matsuri-goto), religious cults (matsuri), and cultural activities, especially art, came to be thought of as interrelated but nonetheless separate dimensions of life indicates the extent to which the seamlessness of the early Japanese world of meaning was transformed under the influence of foreign perspectives on life and the world. Nevertheless, we also find the persistent impulse of the Japanese to re-homologize and to maintain the connection between various dimensions of life, especially that between political administration and religion, as well as that between religion and art. Kitagawa 1976, p. 14

In the case of the Shinshū, we have observed the emergence of a symbol which lends itself to non-differentiation between political administration and a religious institution rather than differentiation. As to the close relation between religion and art, or between religious value and aesthetic value, the issue is more complex. For Japanese tradition in general, this means that religious value is related immediately to specific concrete phenomena rather than to a theoretical or abstract absolute. For Shinran, however, might we not interpret the nenbutsu response to Amida’s command—or, more specifically, the

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experience of faith in its purity, adamantine hardness, and absence of doubt— as having aesthetic value? The question may be raised as to whether the aesthetic dimension of Shinran’s religious experience as set forth in his writings is something other than simply non-differentiation between religion and art.22 In our inquiry into the history of a major Shinshū concept, shinzoku nitai, and its relationship to Japanese civilization, we have seen that, while this concept denotes differentiation—the transcendent and the mundane—this pair of entities has been viewed primarily in terms of a merging of separate identities. So, too, is the case with the oneness of religious and political affairs (saisei itchi) and with the kami as manifestations of Buddhist reality (honji suijaku). How are we to understand this pattern of response to religious symbols? One possible interpretive approach, perhaps especially congenial to those primarily familiar with symbols of radical transcendence in Western religious traditions, is to evaluate responses to such symbols using categories of separateness and oneness, dynamism and passivity. From this perspective, the symbols tend to be seen as successful insofar as they elicit dynamic responses: (1) the oneness of political and religious affairs means that religious symbols are not ruled out as a source of criticism of temporal authority; (2) the kami as manifestations of Buddhist reality means that the universality of Buddha-dharma may challenge the particularity of the Japanese kami; and (3) the transcendent and the mundane as two truths means that there is resistance to the merging of separate entities into one. On the other hand, these same symbols are seen as unsuccessful insofar as they elicit passive responses: (1) the oneness of religious and political affairs are interpreted to mean that worship is ancillary to government; (2) the kami as manifestations of Buddhist reality are interpreted to mean that buddhas passively serve the kami, or vice versa; and (3) the transcendent and the mundane as two truths are interpreted to mean that Amida merges with the figure of the emperor. The eye (mind and heart) of the observer, nurtured on religious symbols of radical transcendence, is drawn first to the separateness of the pair of entities with its potential for dynamic interaction and mutual criticism. In stressing the dynamic potential of that separateness, 22  This matter requires considerable clarification, perhaps starting doctrinally with Shinran’s view of “dharmakaya as suchness (formlessness)” in relation to “dharmakaya as compassion (form).” A related issue is addressed in Rogers 1982, contrasting Shinran’s shinjin with Rennyo’s anjin. It is largely with Rennyo, drawing on some of Kakunyo’s writings, that more traditional Japanese Buddhist aesthetic sensibilities, such as liturgical chanting and an emphasis on the calligraphic expression of nenbutsu in six ideographs, are institutionalized within the Shinshū. Shinran’s shinjin aesthetic appears to be of a somewhat different order; in a sense, it is an aesthetic distrustful of form, or, at the least, involving a continuing dialectic of form and formlessness.

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the harmonious passivity of their oneness may be entirely overlooked. In sum, to interpret Japanese religious symbols from such a perspective may be to miss their point entirely. Where are we to turn for clarification? We look again to Shinran’s view of reality as expressed in his writings and, in particular, to Rennyo’s extraordinary success in attempting to institutionalize that vision in Shinshū history. We note that Shinran avoids the use of the kind of religious symbols, such as shinzoku nitai, that we have been discussing. Through his experience of Tendai’s teaching of original enlightenment (hongaku 本覚), he was alert to the danger in Japanese society of too much oneness, too soon; he knew quite simply that what surpasses conceptual understanding—a simultaneity of sameness and opposition—is irreducible to any single concept. However, without such concepts, how could the profundity of Shinran’s vision be conveyed to successive generations? Kakunyo, Zonkaku, Rennyo, Kōnyo, and modern Shinshū theologians were dependent on such concepts to serve as religious symbols. Noteworthy is Rennyo’s innovative appropriation of the concept of the oneness of the person to be saved and Amida who saves (ki-hō ittai 機法一体) to designate the salvific process at work in saying Amida’s Name. The question presses again: what is the alternative to such symbolization? The answer is surely that, finally, there is no single satisfactory solution. There is always the risk with religious symbols of missing their point entirely, of missing the sublimity of a founder’s vision. This risk was all the greater for the Honganji in modern Japan at a moment when reality for the national community was defined in terms of an empire founded for eternity by imperial ancestors. In such a context, who would have been disposed to hear Amida’s command apart from the imperial command to submit passively to the state’s authority in the service of the nation? There were, however, those members of the Honganji and sectarian scholars who heard another command: they heard the command that Shinran had heard, that of Amida’s compassionate summons to each of them to participate freely, without calculation, in this world as Amida’s world, and not without strong reservations about the uncritical partnership of emperor and Amida. Indeed, there may have been some who discovered, through their engagement with the concept shinzoku nitai as a religious symbol, that their accommodation and submissiveness to the governing authority of their cherished land and people had been sacralized. Nevertheless, given the uniqueness of Shinran’s teaching for Japan’s cultural tradition, the Honganji’s claim to be his authentic heir was severely tested in its assumed role as guardian of the state.

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References Futaba Kenkō 双葉憲香, ed., 1971. Shiryō: Nihon bukkyōshi 資料—日本仏教史 [Documents on Japanese Buddhist history]. Kyoto: Yamazaki Hōbundō. Ienaga Saburō 家永三郎, 1961. Nihon no kindaika to bukkyō 日本の近代化と仏教. In Kōza: kindai bukkyō 2: Rekishi-hen 講座–近代仏教 2 歴史篇 [Lectures on modern Buddhism 2: History], Hōzōkan Henshū-bu, ed. Kyoto: Hōzōkan, pp. 7–35. In English translation: Japan’s modernization and Buddhism. Contemporary Religions in Japan, 6/1 (1965): 1–41. Inaba Masamaru 稲葉昌丸, ed., 1948. Rennyo Shōnin gyōjitsu 蓮如上人行実 (RSG) [A record of Master Rennyo’s deeds]. Kyoto: Hōzōkan (reprint). Inaba Masamaru 稲葉昌丸, 1983. Rennyo Shōnin ibun 蓮如上人遺文 [The letters of Master Rennyo]. Kyoto: Hōzōkan (reprint). Kishimoto Hideo, ed., 1969. Japanese Culture in the Meiji Era: Religion. Translated by John F. Howes. Centenary Cultural Council Series, vol. 2. Tokyo: The Toyo Bunko. Kitagawa, Joseph M., 1976. Reality and illusion: Some characteristics of the early Japanese “world of meaning.” Oriental Society of Australia Journal 2:14. Kitagawa, Joseph M., 1987. Matsuri and matsuri-goto: Religion and state in early Japan. In On Understanding Japanese Religion. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Kitagawa, Joseph M., 1988. Some remarks on Shinto. History of Religions 27/3: 227–45. McMullin, Neil, 1984. Buddhism and the State in Sixteenth-Century Japan. Princeton: Princeton University Press. McMullin, Neil, 1989. Historical and historiographical issues in the study of premodern Japanese religions. Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 16/1: 3–40. Murakami, Shigeyoshi, 1980. Japanese Religion in the Modern Century. H. Byron Earhart, transl. Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press. Muraoka Tsunetsugu, 1964. Studies in Shinto Thought. Delmer M. Brown and James T. Araki, transl. Tokyo: Ministry of Education. Rogers, Minor L., 1982. The Shin Faith of Rennyo. The Eastern Buddhist, n.s. 15/1: 56–73. Ryūkoku Daigaku 龍谷大学, ed., 1978. Shinshū yōron 真宗要論 [Essentials of Shinshū]. Kyoto: Hyakkaen. Ryukoku Translation Center, transl., 1966. The Kyō Gyō Shin Shō (Ken Jōdo Shinjitsu Kyōgyōshō Monrui): The Teaching, Practice, Faith, and Enlightenment (abridged). Ryukoku Translation Series, vol. 5. Kyoto: Ryūkoku University. Ryukoku Translation Center, 1974. The Kōsō Wasan: The Hymns on the Patriarchs. Ryukoku Translation Series, vol. 6. Kyoto: Ryūkoku University. Ryukoku Translation Center, 1980. Shōzōmatsu Wasan: Shinran’s Hymns on the Last Age. Ryukoku Translation Series, vol. 7. Kyoto: Ryūkoku University.

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Sasaki Kentoku 佐々木憲徳, 1942. On ichigenron: kōdo bukkyō no shinzui 恩一元論–高 度仏教の心髄 [A theory of the oneness of benevolence: The essence of imperialway Buddhism]. Kyoto: Kōkyō Shoin. Senji Kyōgaku Kenkyūkai 戦時教学研究会, ed., 1988. Senjigaku to Shinshū 戦時学と真 宗 [Wartime studies and Shinshū], vol. 1. Kyoto: Nagata Bunshōdō. Shigaraki Takamarō 信楽峻麿, 1977. Shinshū ni okeru seiten sakujo mondai 真宗に おける聖典削除問題 [The problem of scripture deletions in Shinshū]. In Senjika no bukkyō. Kōza: Nihon kindai to bukkyō 戦時下の仏教．講座–日本近代と仏教 [Wartime Buddhism. Lectures on modern Japan and Buddhism], no. 6, 217–48. Tokyo: Kokusho Kankōkai. Shigaraki Takamarō 信楽峻麿, 1981. Shinshū ni okeru shinzoku nitairon no kenkyū: sono ichi 真宗における真俗ニ諦の研究 (その一) [A study of the theory of shinzoku nitai in Shinshū: Part I]. Ryūkoku daigaku ronshū 龍谷大学論集 418: 44–67. Shinshū Shōgyō Zensho Hensanjo 真宗聖教全書編纂所, ed., 1969–1970. Shinshū shōgyō zensho 真宗聖教全書 (SSZ) [A complete collection of Shinshū scriptures]. 5 vols. Kyoto: Ōyagi Kōbundō (reprint). Smith, Wilfred Cantwell, 1962. The Meaning and End of Religion. New York: Macmillan. Smith, Wilfred Cantwell, 1974. Introduction to Part Eight: Religion as Symbolism. In “Introduction to Propaedia.” Encyclopaedia Brittanica, 15th ed. 1: 498–500. Chicago: Encyclopaedia Britannica. Smith, Wilfred Cantwell, 1981. Towards a World Theology: Faith and the Comparative History of Religion. Philadelphia: Westminster Press.

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Shinran’s Thought in Present-Day Japan Gerhard Schepers 1

Some Aspects of Contemporary Japanese Religiosity1

The role of religions in present-day Japanese society is a problem that has puzzled many Western observers. Even a tourist on a brief visit to Japan may notice the contrast between the innumerable and often very impressive shrines and temples everywhere coupled with the great variety of festivals and rituals with a religious background, on the one hand, and the apparent lack of interest in religion among the majority of the Japanese, on the other. Scholars of religion, too, have found it difficult to evaluate and classify the various, often apparently contradictory, phenomena of Japanese religion and this has led to widely disparate interpretations. There are those who regard Japan as one of the most irreligious countries and see this as the result of a continuing process of secularization. Others are especially impressed by the growth and the frequent emergence of so-called “New Religions” (shinkō-shūkyō) or recently even “new New Religions” (shin-shinshūkyō; cf. Kamstra 1990: 181–182; Reader 1988: 235–236). They regard this as an expression of the dynamism and potential of Japanese religiosity and even as an indication of a possible “re-sacralization of Japanese thought” (Köpping 1990: 2). One problem involved in these evaluations of Japanese religion is the question of the adequacy of Western terminology, which cannot be avoided when using a Western language. The term “secularization”, for instance, has a specific historical and religious context in the West and, therefore, cannot be applied without further qualifications to the situation in Japan. The same applies, of course, to the central term “religion” and its derivatives, which are already difficult to define in the European context. To illustrate the problems arising from the use of Western terminology and, at the same time, to point out a major distinctive feature of Japanese religiosity, which is also important for a critical evaluation of Shinran’s thought, I would like briefly to discuss the concept of bun (“share”, “part”, or “fraction”) as it is used by Jan Swyngedouw (1986: 10–11) in his attempt to characterize Japanese Source: Schepers, Gerhard, “Shinran’s Thought in Present-Day Japan,” in Josef Kreiner (ed.), The Impact of Traditional Thought on Present Day Japan, München: Iudicium-Verlag, 1996, pp. 85–107. 1  First published in Humanities (ICU) 25, 1993: 93–120.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2020 | doi:10.1163/9789004401525_038

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religiosity. He has taken this concept from Takie Sugiyama Lebra (1976: 67–69) who applies it to the position of individuals in Japanese society. She stresses three implications of this concept, “which all derive from the image of society as an organic whole, individuals being parts of that organism” (Lebra 1976: 67). These implications are: 1) with regard to his bun the individual “does not count as an integer but only as a part or fraction of the whole,” (2) “bun-holders are interdependent” and (3) “every member of society is a bun-holder,” which makes his life meaningful (Lebra 1976: 67–68). With regard to Japanese ethical and religious values Swyngedouw emphasizes that (t)he concept of bun […] implies that each value, put into its compartment, is to be considered not as integral in itself but only as a part or fraction of the whole […] The concept further implies that all the different bun or values are interdependent and contribute to the overarching value which keeps the whole together by acknowledging each other’s (limited) role and claims and by not overstepping their own assigned boundaries. This overarching value is nothing else than musubi2 […] Swyngedouw 1986: 10

This concept and the underlying mentality are difficult to grasp from the point of view of Western thought.3 Lebra’s description probably comes as close to the phenomenon as is possible in English. But Swyngedouw’s description, though he seems to shift the meaning only slightly, is no longer adequate. It presupposes the individual existence of the parts which then form the whole, whereas in an organism there is no need “to hold together” what is a natural unity from the beginning and there is also no “overstepping of boundaries” because the single parts only exist as they do in their function within the whole.4 One could add to this another characteristic element of Japanese religions (and society in general) that is also important in connection with Shinran’s 2  Swyngedouw (1986: 10) describes musubi as “the life-power of harmonious communities on all levels of society”. 3  There is, however, one example in the context of Old Testament thought that is very similar and can help to understand the Japanese phenomenon. It is the so-called ‘corporate’ or ‘collective’ thinking of the Ancient East, more appropriately called Ganzheitsdenken by Rolf Knierim (Die Hauptbegriffe für Sünde im Alten Testament. Gütersloh: Mohn 1965: 98–99, cf. 97–112). 4  The underlying mentality is even more misunderstood and distorted by Köpping, who refers to both Lebra and Swyngedouw, when he uses terms like “Zersplitterung” (splitting) or “Segregierung” (segregation) of the various life-spheres or speaks of the coordination of each segment to a whole (“wobei jedes Segment einem Ganzen zugeordnet wird”, Köpping 1990: 3, 4).

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thought, namely the significance of personal “vertical” human relationships in religious organizations, like those between master and disciple or between the head of a group or organization and his followers or believers. Charismatic leaders play a decisive role in the establishment of religious organizations (especially noticeable in the case of the New Religions), and family lineage seems to guarantee the continuity of this relationship to the founder through his successors. Even in the Christian churches in Japan many believers appear to be more attached to one particular priest or pastor, especially a charismatic one, than to the organization as such and accordingly may discontinue their commitment to the church when this person is transferred or dies. Having to confine ourselves to those aspects of Japanese religiosity that are important for the understanding of Shinran’s thought today, the above brief considerations must suffice here. 2

Statistical Data on Japanese Religions

Before entering into a discussion on the influence of Shinran’s thought in present-day Japan it seems advisable to consider some of the statistical and other data available on Japanese religions. This should allow us to estimate more effectively the impact of religious thought on Japanese society in general and within it the specific influence of Shinran’s thought. Unfortunately, the data available is scarce and difficult to evaluate. The most comprehensive figures are published every year by the Agency for Cultural Affairs, Ministry of Education, in its Shūkyō Nenkan. But even the Agency admits “that it is next to impossible to make order out of the chaos that lurks behind the neat rows of figures” ( Japanese Religions 1972: 237). The information collected there is provided voluntarily,5 it is incomplete6 and the classification used by the different organizations is disparate and sometimes quite arbitrary. Traditional religions usually count all the households in the community or parish and multiply them by the median family size to compute the number of “adherents”, and some organizations include among their members all those

5  The Agency seems to regret that because of the post-war occupation and “due to the change in the relationship between religious organizations and the state since the end of World War II, it is now more difficult to obtain reliable figures. Before the war, the government could easily gather information and statistics by requiring reports from religious bodies in accordance with legal enactments […]” (Japanese Religions 1972: 233). 6  Only those religious groups that have corporate status according to the Religious Juridical Persons Law are listed (cf. Shūkyō Nenkan 1990: 1).

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who subscribe to their journal or just buy a talisman from them.7 This suggests that the actual number of adherents, even if understood in its widest sense, is in many cases only a fraction of the figure given in the Shūkyō Nenkan.8 Thus we can gain only a rough idea of the strength and possible influence in contemporary Japanese society of the Jōdo Shinshū (usually called simply Shinshū, i.e. Shin School), the “true Pure Land School”, which regards Shinran as its founder, though we can estimate to some extent at least its relative importance within traditional Buddhism. The Shūkyō Nenkan lists the various branches of the Jōdo tradition in one group, two thirds of which, in terms of adherents, belong to the Shinshū. For 1988, the number of temples (which should be a fairly reliable figure) is given as 29,768, compared to 74,725 for all Buddhist organizations, the number of the clergy as 58,421 out of 198,299, and the number of adherents as 19,702,132 out of 86,476,301 (Shūkyō Nenkan 1990: 46–47, cf. 68–71). More reliable data can be gained from surveys of Japanese religiosity. A recent one, conducted by the Japan Broadcasting Corporation (NHK),9 shows that 33 percent of the Japanese consider themselves “believers”, a figure that has been fairly constant over the past decades.10 The percentage of those who believe that supernatural beings (kami or hotoke) exist, corresponds to this approximately.11 About 80 percent of the “believers” are Buddhists (27 percent of the population as against 3.4 percent for Shintō, 1.5 percent for Christianity and 1.1 percent for others) and empathy (shitashimi) towards Buddhism is shown by 63 percent of the Japanese (Shintō only 18 percent, Christianity 12 percent).12 Other figures that refer to religious activities in a wider sense are mostly considerably higher than the percentage of “believers”. This is true of, for instance, occasional prayers in time of distress, the use of charms and 7  Japanese Religions 1972: 236–237. For more details see ibid., 233–237, also “Statistics on Religious Organizations in Japan, 1947–1972”, in: Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 2, 1975: 46–47. 8  A fact which is often not realized, even in more recent publications on Japanese religions. Cf. e.g. Charles Wei-hsun Fu: “Japanese Spiritual Resources and their Contemporary Relevance”, in: Journal of Dharma 10, 1985: 82; Kamstra 1990: 177 (where the figure given for the “membership” of Risshō Kōseikai is even higher than in the Shūkyō Nenkan [1990: 77]). 9  Nihonjin no shūkyō-ishiki (Religious consciousness of the Japanese), Tōkyō: Nippon Hōsō Shuppan Kyōkai, 1985. A detailed analysis with charts is given in Swyngedouw 1986: 2–5, to which I refer in the following. Cf. also Eto 1986: 34–35. 10  A chart in Swyngedouw 1986: 2, shows a decrease from 35 percent in 1958 to a low of 25 percent in 1973, but then an increase to the previous level (34 percent and 33 percent). 11  For those who believe that these beings certainly exist the percentage is slightly lower, if one includes those who think they may perhaps exist, it is somewhat higher (see Swyngedouw 1986: 3). 12  See Swyngedouw 1986: 2–3, who also notes that the figures for Shintō are “relatively low when we take religious observances connected with Shintō into account.”

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oracle lots, caring about lucky and unlucky days, having a Shintō altar shelf or Buddhist altar, visiting family graves or shrines and temples on certain days, particularly on New Year’s Day (hatsumōde); even “buying a Christmas cake” is included in the NHK survey and scores higher than the hatsumōde (Swyngedouw 1986: 3–5). But the last example indicates what seems to be true also of many other of these activities, namely that they can hardly be regarded as signs of a deeper religious commitment. An evaluation of Japanese religiosity depends largely on the concept of religion that one applies. If one understands religion to be what is of ultimate concern or what one can rely on with complete trust, as in Christianity, the number of religious people in Japan is probably very low. This is indicated by a survey published in the Asahi Shinbun in 1978 (July 22). Asked what one can rely on in this present age of uncertainty (fukakujitsusei no jidai to iwareru ima no yo no naka de, tayoreru mono wa), 41 percent answered “family”, 30 percent “money”, and only 4 percent “religion”.13 Among men in their thirties “religion” was as low as 1 percent, and it was highest among men and women over 60 with 9 percent. The above data is so scarce that it is difficult to draw definite conclusions from it concerning the role of Buddhism in present-day Japan. The one thing it clearly reveals, however, is that for the Japanese today Buddhism is by far the most important religion. The number of those who show a firm commitment to its values and activities is probably comparatively small, and the majority of the Japanese will think of Buddhism rather in terms of funerals and tourism in the first instance (sōshiki-Bukkyō and kankō-Bukkyō). Yet, as the high percentage of those who feel empathy towards Buddhism indicates, most Japanese apparently sense that Buddhism is an integral part of their tradition that even today deserves, if not their commitment, then at least their interest (Shūkyō wo gendai ni tou 1976: 104). 3

Interest in Shinran in Present-Day Japan: Data Collected from Newspapers

The data discussed in the previous section refers to Buddhism in general. This includes not only the traditional schools of Buddhism but also a number of New Religions. In the following, data for Shinran and the Shinshū will 13  They could choose among eight answers. The others were: “friends” 5 percent, “associations or unions (kumiai)” 1 percent, “company” 5 percent, “education” 4 percent, “politics” 6 percent.

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be compared with that for other Buddhist traditions in order to estimate the extent to which an interest in Shinran can be found in present-day Japan and what aspects of his thought are drawing the most attention. For this purpose, I have checked the databases of Japan’s four leading newspapers (Asahi Shinbun, Yomiuri Shinbun, Mainichi Shinbun, Nikkei Shinbun) for references to Shinran and other related items during the past five years.14 The latter two could, however, be used only partly because of limitations in their system of classification. They will be mentioned in the following only when they deviate significantly. For the said period, the Asahi has 87 articles referring to Shinran and the Yomiuri 38 (since September 1986), an average of 62.5. Comparable average figures are: for Hōnen 34, Dogen 37.5, Nichiren 3215 (to gain an idea of the relative value of these figures: for Shōtoku Taishi 84, Fukuzawa Yukichi 79.5). This seems to indicate that Shinran receives considerable attention by the general public in Japan, comparatively more than the other representatives of Kamakura Buddhism do. The difference from the other traditions is particularly conspicuous if we look at the data for the different schools of Kamakura Buddhism. Limited to articles that refer to religion-related problems (otherwise the figures would be 50–100 percent higher) the average figures for Asahi and Yomiuri are: Jōdo Shinshū or Shinshū 101.5, Jōdo School 33.5, Zen School 43, Nichiren School 24.16 In the case of the Zen School one finds considerably more references if one searches for “Zen” (90.5) but, unfortunately, there is no corresponding word in the other traditions that would allow for a direct comparison. From these figures, however, we can see that among the four traditions of Kamakura Buddhism, which according to the official statistics represent about two thirds of all Buddhists (Shūkyō Nenkan 1990: 64–77), the Zen and even more the Shinshū tradition clearly attract the most attention in Japan today. Besides the number of references in these newspapers, it is also interesting to investigate the topics of the respective articles. For this purpose, I have checked articles that appeared in the Asahi Shinbun during 1990. Among the 30 articles on Shinran, 17 refer to Shinran’s religious thought or related religious 14  The exact period is from January 1, 1985 for the Asahi Shinbun and the Nikkei Shinbun, from September 1, 1986 for the Yomiuri Shinbun, and from January 1987 for the Mainichi Shinbun, until the middle of January 1991. Some data from the Asahi Shinbun depends upon a system of classification introduced from August 4, 1985. 15  In the case of the Yomiuri and the Mainichi the figures for Nichiren are higher than for Shinran (44/30 against 38/26), whereas in the Asahi those for Shinran are more than five times as high (87 against 20). 16  Even if the references to the Nichiren Shōshū are added the figure does not increase significantly.

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practices, the other references occur in different contexts, for instance tourism, or are not specifically relevant. Among the former, five refer to lectures on Shinran (two of them by Asahi Cultural Centers), five to rituals and other religious practices and two to a doctrinal controversy involving Iwanami as the publisher of a new Buddhist dictionary. The other five articles are especially interesting: one is about a modern young woman who administers a temple and fights for the equality of women against the authorities of the Ōtani Branch of the Shinshū,17 another presents self-criticism and an appeal by the same branch to repent for the cooperation with the militarists during the war, a third is about a leading figure of the power struggle in the Ōtani Branch, a fourth presents criticism of the Great Thanksgiving Ceremony (daijōsai) and a fifth one discusses modern musical compositions depicting the life and thought of Shinran and other Buddhist personalities.18 For a comparison of the four schools of Kamakura Buddhism I have checked all religion-related articles on “Nichirenshū”, “Zen”, “Jōdoshū” and “Shinshū” or “Jōdo Shinshū” in the Asahi Shinbun during 1990, the numbers in each group being 15, 56, 30 and 61 respectively. Among the articles on the Nichiren School there are none of a specific religious or related social relevance, the majority are on local news, only one is on a ritual, and three are on personalities. The number of references to Zen is considerably higher (as mentioned above there are considerably fewer if one searches for “Zenshū”). Of 56 articles 25 are on topics not directly related to Zen or on aspects of Japanese cultural history, 13 are on religious experience (two on teaching, three on za-zen, three on rituals), and 12 on other religion-related activities, particularly welfare (6). In the case of the Jōdo School 11 out of 30 articles deal with news about personalities, only five are on religious education and experience, and just two are on activities concerning social problems. The number of articles on the Jōdo Shinshū is again the highest (61).19 But what is more important is the difference in their content. Only five deal with topics not directly related to the Shinshū, four with its cultural or historical background, six refer to rituals and twenty contain news about personalities. The astonishing fact now is that almost half of the articles (26) belong to a category that is virtually non-existent in the case of the 17  Since the beginning of the 17th century the Shinshū has consisted mainly of two large branches, the Honganji Branch and the Ōtani Branch, which were split primarily for political reasons. They both call their head temple Honganji, usually referred to as Nishi (Western) and Higashi (Eastern) Honganji, names which are popularly also used to denote the two branches. 18  Jan. 5 (evening, Ōsaka ed., p. 3), April 3 (p. 30), Sept. 5 (evening, Ōsaka ed., p. 5), Oct. 17 (evening, Ōsaka ed., p. 2), Dec. 8 (Kyōto). 19  Twelve of these are identical with articles mentioned above that refer to Shinran in 1990.

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other schools, namely problems of inner reforms, self-criticism, discussion of current social problems or criticism and protest with regard to social, political and other issues.20 Some of these have already been mentioned above in connection with references to Shinran. Among these 26 articles ten refer to problems of inner reform in the Ōtani Branch, of the Shinshū: four concern the continuing struggle for reform of the power structure in this branch, another four deal with reforms aimed at abolishing discrimination against women and two concern a confession of responsibility for the war.21 One article reports a survey by the Honganji Branch that reveals the often very serious financial, personnel and other problems of many temples.22 Three articles refer to protests by the latter branch against a misrepresentation of Shinran’s thought in a new Buddhist dictionary (as mentioned above) and against a TV drama in which a Buddhist priest commits a murder.23 More important are a number of protests that concern social and political problems. In 1990, this means, in particular, criticism of the daijōsai and protest movements against it, referred to by seven articles, but there is also one article on the problem of the Yasukuni Shrine and one on a movement against a nuclear power plant.24 Given the specific interest of newspapers and their readers, these articles cannot be expected to be representative of all the various activities and forms of influence of the Shinshū in present-day Japan. But they do indicate the presence of a considerable potential for criticism and reforms in the Shinshū tradition, which is all the more conspicuous and draws the attention of a wider public because not only the traditional schools of Buddhism but also the socalled New Religions25 tend to be quite conservative.

20  In the case of the Jōdoshū there is only one article concerning problems of discrimination and human rights (Dec. 7, Kyōto) and among those on Zen one refers to a protest against the daijōsai (Nov. 22, Nagoya ed., p. 14). As to the Shinshū, some of the news on personalities relate to the struggle for reforms in the Ōtani branch and thus could also be added to this category. 21  March 30 (p. 30), May 11 (p. 30), May 11 (Ōsaka ed., p. 30), Oct. 3 (Ōsaka ed., p. 30); Jan. 5 (evening, Ōsaka ed., p. 3), June 2 (p. 30), July 2 (evening, Ōsaka ed., p. 3), Oct. 8 (evening, Seibu ed., p. 7); March 31 (Ōsaka ed., p. 3), April 3 (p. 30). 22  Aug. 8 (evening, p. 10). 23  July 21 (Kyōto ed., p. 26), Aug. 28 (Ōsaka ed., p. 26); Feb. 11 (Ōsaka ed., p. 30). 24  Jan. 28 (p. 30), May 24 (p. 30), June 7 (p. 30), Oct. 17 (evening, Ōsaka ed., p. 2), Nov. 1 (evening, Ōsaka ed., p. 18), Nov. 7 (Ōsaka ed., p. 3), Nov. 8 (p. 30); Aug. 5 (p. 3); Feb. 8 (Ōsaka ed., p. 26). The rest (3) of the said 26 articles are on less relevant issues. 25  Politically, they mostly support the conservatives and play an important role in elections (cf. Asahi Shinbun, Jan. 8, 1980, p 4).

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Contemporary Literature on Shinran

A clearer picture of the influence of Shinran’s thought in Japan can be gained by looking at the extensive literature on him, ranging from popular works to highly specialized scholarly investigations. Almost 700 books on Shinran have been published since 1969, more than on any other personality of the Buddhist tradition in Japan,26 and over 3,100 on the Shinshū.27 The latter figure is several times as high as those for the Jōdo School (about 550) and the Nichiren School (about 850), and almost as high as that for the Zen School (over 3,200). In addition to this there are several thousand articles on Shinran or the Shinshū published during the same period.28 This testifies, on the one hand, to the extent not only of the educational and research activities in the Shinshū but also of their financial resources. Yet, on the other hand, it also seems to indicate widespread interest in Shinran and the Shinshū tradition, which is by no means limited to Shinshū adherents alone, as the large number of publications outside the Shinshū context can testify. Even in popular magazines, Shinran’s personality and thought are frequently examined.29 A considerable number of works on Shinran that have drawn wide attention were written by non-Shinshū scholars many of whom were, at least to some degree, opposed to the interpretation of Shinran within the Shinshū tradition, such as, for example, the well-known historian Ienaga Saburō (Ienaga 1955) and the Marxist historian Hattori Shisō (Hattori 1970a and 1970b). Besides, there are many Japanese artists and intellectuals who have written about Shinran, such as Endō Shūsaku, Yoshimoto Takaaki and Noma Hiroshi.30 The case of the philosopher Miki Kiyoshi—who was arrested 26  Cf. the introductory remark to the appended bibliography in Matsuno Junkō et al.: Zoku-Shinran wo kataru, Tōkyō: Sanseidō, 1980. 27  These and the following figures are taken from the bibliography of books published in Japan issued on CD-ROM by the National Diet Library (1969–1990). 28  The Classified Catalogue of Theses and Papers Related to Buddhist Studies (Bukkyōgaku kankei zasshi ronbun bunrui mokuroku IV, ed. by Ryūkoku Daigaku Bukkyōgaku Kenkyūshitsu, Kyōto: Nagata Bunshōdō 1986: 796–906) lists more than 2,000 for the years 1970–1984. 29  A magazine for managers, the President (Purejidento), for instance, has since 1984 issued four special editions on Shinran: Tokushū Shinran (Dec. 1984); Bessatsu Purejidento: Shinran (Oct. 1988); Tokushū Shinran to Rennyo (Dec. 1989); Tokushū Shinran no kokoro (Jan. 1993). 30  Cf. Masutani and Endō 1979 (the book contains lectures by Masutani, with questions and comments by Endō); Yoshimoto Takaaki: Zōho saigo no Shinran, Tōkyō-Shunjūsha, 1981; Noma 1973. Cf. also Lee 1977: 30–31, who emphasizes: “[…] all have found in very different ways the life and faith of Shinran paradigmatic in their own search for meaning in modern Japan” (Lee 1977: 31).

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as a Communist sympathizer and died in custody immediately after the war, and who wrote his last essay in prison on Shinran—is also well remembered.31 What these and other Japanese intellectuals stress is the singular importance of Shinran in the Japanese history of thought, and the relevance of his ideas today. Hattori emphasizes the revolutionary significance of Shinran’s thought and the fact that he stood on the side of the people and rejected the idea of the “preservation of the nation” (gokoku), which plays such a significant role as a central function of Japanese Buddhism and which has also been stressed in the Shinshū tradition (Hattori 1970a: passim). Ienaga regards Shinran as climax of the history of thought in Japan (Ienaga 1980: 9) and points to its emphasis on the individual and on the precedence of faith over secular power, which relativizes the state and other worldly authorities (Ienaga 1980: passim). Noma maintains that Shinran has brought about a decisive turn in Buddhism, away from a “Buddhism of dominance” (shihai no Bukkyō) to a lay Buddhism of the masses that destroys all dominance; this he regards as a return to original Buddhism (Noma 1973: 2). Shinshū scholars had no reason to question the significance thus attributed to Shinran within the Japanese history of thought. In many cases, however, they were unable to accept some of the new interpretations of Shinran’s thought. Their criticism ranges from rejection to a careful study and critical evaluation of these approaches that has led to a new and historically founded view of Shinran and his place in the history of thought. Most Shinshū scholars rightly point out that the critical and even revolutionary elements in Shinran cannot be understood correctly, if they are not seen in the context of his basic religious experience, his absolute faith in Amida Buddha’s vow as the only way to salvation. In view of the above-mentioned elements of Shinran’s thought it is astonishing (or perhaps not, given the structure of traditional Japanese society) to see how Shinran’s original religious impulse and its social and political implications resulted in the establishment of a Buddhist school that, with its feudal structure, its conservatism and close cooperation with the secular authorities, resembled those traditional Buddhist schools that Shinran had rejected. But it is even more astonishing that, in spite of this, so much of the spirit of Shinran has survived in the Shinshū tradition that it has been able to become the basis of criticism and reforms within this tradition as well as in various 31  The Asahi Shinbun (Feb. 17, 1989, evening, p. 1), under the heading “The History of Suppression is Sad”, reports that a ship with Miki and others on board, who were drafted into a kind of penal service, left the port in 1942, on the same day (February 18) on which Shinran, in 1207, arrived in his exile in Echigo.

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social and political contexts. In this respect the Shinshū seems to be the only major Buddhist tradition that could play a critical and positive role in modern Japanese society. This is corroborated by the attention given to this aspect of the Shinshū in Japanese newspapers, as shown above. The struggle for reforms in the Ōtani Branch of the Shinshū referred to in that context typically shows both sides, a traditional authoritarian and conservative structure on the one hand and the struggle of the reformers against it on the other. In order to understand this problem better, a brief survey of the historical development since Shinran will be helpful. 5

From Shinran to the Dominance of the Honganji

Hōnen (1133–1212), Shinran’s teacher, believed that in this age of decline (mappō) nobody could achieve enlightenment by his own efforts ( jiriki) and all had to rely completely on the other power (tariki) of Amida. He, therefore, rejected all religious practices except the calling of the name of Amida (nenbutsu) as the only way to salvation. Shinran (1173–1262), based on his own religious experiences on Mt. Hiei, as Hōnen’s disciple and particularly during his exile in Echigo (now Niigata prefecture), went one decisive step beyond his teacher. He realized that even the nenbutsu could be an attempt to achieve salvation through one’s own efforts and calculations. But human beings are utterly incapable of freeing themselves from evil, passions and blindness in this way. If, however, they abandon all their own efforts, the faith given by Amida arises in them naturally ( jinen ni) and assures them of their salvation. Since this is the working of Amida’s vow and not their own effort, it can be trusted absolutely.32 The certainty of this salvation by the other power, which he personally experienced, had a number of consequences, partly radical ones, for Shinran’s thought. He could now accept himself in spite of all his deficiencies,33 because he knew he was personally accepted by Amida. So he could even say, as the Tannishō reports in the epilogue, that Amida’s vow “was solely for me, Shinran, alone” (Ryukoku Translation Center 1963; 79; TSSZ 4: 37).34 The confidence he thus gained can be felt in many of his utterances, especially in his criticism of 32  For a more detailed discussion of the above see Schepers 1988: esp. 7–17. 33  Since his exile he calls himself gutoku, literally “bald-headed (toku) fool (gu)”. The sense in which Shinran uses this term is partly controversial; cf. e.g. Furuta 1975: 167–172; Ryukoku Translation Center 1983: 25, Katō 1987: 88–92, Dobbins 1989: 26–27. 34  Bellah 1974: 8, seems to completely overlook this point when he maintains that with Shinran “there is no end to be gained and no self to gain it”.

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traditional values, and in the enthusiasm with which, after his exile, he began his extensive missionary activities in the Kantō region. Knowing that there was nothing he could achieve on his own, Shinran emphasized that he did not have a single disciple and he regarded himself as equal to even the lowest, for Amida’s vow does not discriminate between good or evil persons (TSSZ 4: 4, 9). He even goes as far as saying: “Even a good person is born in the Pure Land, how much more so is an evil person!” (Ryukoku Translation Center 1963: 22; TSSZ 4: 6). These teachings could be understood as a challenge not only to the established Buddhist schools but also to the traditional values of a hierarchically structured society. The way to salvation shown by Hōnen and Shinran was accessible to everyone without the need to become a monk or even to change one’s way of life. It also meant a rejection of all rituals and traditional religious practices on which the power of the established religions was based. No wonder, therefore, that they had already tried to suppress Hōnen’s movement, which meant for Shinran that he was exiled to Echigo. That Shinran lived among common people for almost thirty years both during his exile and later, in the Kantō region, is one of the outstanding features of his life. Hattori claims that during this time he stood on the side of the farmers against those who were suppressing them (Hattori 1970a). This has caused a debate among scholars of various disciplines concerning the social background of Shinran’s followers and the extent to which a criticism of social and political structures can be found in his writings. Because of the scarcity of the relevant material this debate, to which we have to return below, produced very few historical facts, but it demonstrated the relevance of Shinran’s thought today and established his reputation as one of the few radical and critical thinkers in the Japanese history of thought. When Shinran died, the majority of his numerous followers lived in the Kantō region. They were mostly organized around dōjō, meeting places, where they met regularly for worship services and where adherents from the lower classes could participate in the religious practices far more than in the traditional temples. “This fuller religious life, centering around the dōjō, was the reason for its popularity among peasants, and was the key to Shinshū growth during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries” (Dobbins 1989: 66). The congregations that thus emerged were mostly lay communities. Unlike the temples, they were not hierarchically structured and made decisions by consensus. Some scholars have characterized them as a new, revolutionary form of anti-establishment Buddhism.35 They often became the center of the village community and a basis for its autonomy. In some regions this resulted in the powerful movement 35  Cf. especially Futaba 1962: 76–122, 257–277; see Dobbins 1989: 69.

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of the Ikkō ikki, Shinshū leagues that played an important political role during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.36 But these religious and social movements on the grass-roots level did not continue for long. There were more powerful forces of traditional society and culture that led the development of Shinshū in a different direction and eventually resulted in a religious organization with temples, a hierarchical structure, a powerful hereditary leadership and a strict control of the believers that, in many ways, surpassed even the traditional Buddhist schools. One of these forces, evident in many religious and other groups in Japan, was the personal devotion to the founder and his descendants. Kakunyo, Rennyo and others, as descendants of Shinran, succeeded in gradually uniting almost all of the various Shinshū groups and even other Buddhist believers under the leadership of their temple, the Honganji in Kyōto, and in shaping these into the most powerful religious organization in Japanese history. Another important factor in the development of the Shinshū was the ability of its leaders, especially Rennyo, to present the tenets of their school in a way that appealed to the masses and corresponded to their religious and social needs. While largely preserving the religious impact of Shinran’s thought, they tried to limit some of its radical, particularly political, consequences and to accommodate them to the feudalistic society of their times. In this they were so successful that, after the war, the head priest of the Higashi Honganji came to be regarded as one of the last remnants of feudal society in modern Japan, as demonstrated in the power struggle associated with his name. Many elements introduced into the Shinshū tradition and organization under the dominance of the Honganji are clearly incongruous with Shinran’s attitude and teachings, for instance, the establishment of a system of temples under the control of the Honganji, the claim to religious authority based on lineage, the cooperation with and support of the religious and the political establishment, the strict control over the believers through a “network of authority” (Dobbins 1989: 152) as well as the granting of salvation and the use of excommunication and even execution as a means of upholding their authority.37 But Rennyo and others preserved and propagated the essential elements of Shinran’s religious thought and these would hardly be so widely known and appreciated today, if they had not been handed on within the powerful organization these Honganji leaders created.

36  See the comprehensive treatise on this subject by Pauly 1985 and the numerous bibliographical references there. 37  Cf. Dobbins 1989: 80, 151–153; Pauly 1985: esp. 337–415; Solomon 1978: 54, 59.

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Reform Movements and Critical Attitudes Inspired by Shinran’s Thought

In the centuries after Rennyo, the Shinshū became more or less an integral part of feudal society, like all the other Buddhist schools, a “guardian of the state” (Rogers and Rogers 1990: 3) and an “ideology for feudal control” (Ienaga 1965: 4). Accordingly, it suffered the same shock as the other Buddhist groups when they lost the support of the state and even had to face persecution by a militant anti-Buddhist movement at the beginning of the Meiji period. The reaction of the Buddhists was twofold. On the one hand, they made every possible effort to re-establish close ties with the state but, on the other, the blow dealt to Buddhism also offered them an opportunity to awaken, and it gradually led to various attempts at Buddhist reform.38 Typical of the former tendency are the works of the Shinshū priest and philosopher Inoue Enryō (1858–1919). In his numerous writings he first tried to defend Buddhism against Christianity and modern Western thought, then, in line with a more conservative tendency in the government, he began to emphasize the moral obligation of absolute loyalty to the emperor39 and obedience to the landlords, and finally, when the Sino-Japanese War broke out, he even advocated a warlike spirit and a militaristic education for children (cf. Ienaga 1965: 17– 20). The extent to which the Shinshū leaders cooperated with the state during wartime can be seen in the words of thanks which the emperor addressed to Ōtani Kōzui of the Nishi Honganji after the Russo-Japanese War and in which he praises the latter’s support of the war (cf. Ienaga 1965: 15). The climax of this development was reached during the Second World War when the authority of the emperor was absolutized in the Shinshū, and the sacrifice of one’s life for the imperial state was regarded as an act of piety towards Amida (Rogers and Rogers 1990: 18–20). It was difficult, of course, to find supporting arguments for such tendencies in Shinran’s thought. On the contrary, a number of passages in his writings appeared so offensive at that time that they were deleted or changed. The best known example is a passage at the end of Shinran’s major work, the Kyōgyōshinshō, where he severely criticizes “the emperor and his retainers” for “going against the dharma and justice” in their attempt to suppress Honen’s teachings, imposing “indiscriminate” death sentences on several of his 38  See Ienaga 1965: esp. 11–31. 39   This is also, though somewhat more carefully worded, expressed already in the “Testament” of Kōnyo, the head priest of the Nishi Honganji, who died in 1871 (cf. Rogers and Rogers 1990: 7–12).

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disciples and exiling others, including Shinran (TSSZ 1: 380). Already in early Meiji a proposal was made to leave out the most offensive terms in this passage, “the emperor and his retainers” (shujō shinka), and in 1936, in a revised edition issued by the Nishi Honganji, the text was arbitrarily changed to “the retainers of the emperor” (shujō no shinka) through the insertion of the particle no (Shigaraki 1977: 228–229). Finally, in 1940 the entire sentence was forbidden by the Nishi Honganji for use in services or for quotation,40 and similar steps were taken by the Higashi Honganji (Shigaraki 1977: 229). Even in a fairly recent English translation, the word “emperor” is avoided and the term “lords” is used instead to render shujō.41 Such conservative tendencies can still partly be seen in the post-war Shinshū. However, more important for an understanding of the present situation of this school and of Shinran’s thought in present-day Japan are the efforts at reform that began with the Meiji period. Ienaga emphasizes that most of the Buddhist attempts at reform “ended in a revival of a Buddhism tied up with the old system, and did not succeed in producing a Buddhism of the new age freed from the pre-modern restrictions,” but that a “rare example of success in achieving a new development of the Buddhist faith” can be found in the idealism of Kiyozawa Manshi around the turn of the century (Ienaga 1965: 23–24). According to a recent book by Katō Chiken, Kiyozawa shows the Japanese a way towards modernization and internationalization of religion (Katō 1990: esp. 191–257). Kiyozawa (1863–1903), the most important reformer in the Ōtani Branch of the Shinshū, was influenced by the stoicism of Epictetus and the philosophy of Hegel, but most of all by the thought of Shinran, especially as he found it in the Tannishō, which had been “a sort of forbidden book” (Thelle 1976: 74) for centuries.42 His interpretation of Shinran and the spirit of reform he created are still alive in the Shinshū today, mainly through the works and activities of his disciples Soga Ryōjin (1875–1970) and Kaneko Daiei (1881–1976) and this “has recently led to a more active concern for social and political problems” (Thelle 1976: 74). His thought was especially attractive to Japanese intellectuals at the beginning of this century, and it marks the beginning of a widespread new interest in Shinran. 40  Shigaraki 1977: 217–218. Many other passages were deleted or changed; cf. Shigaraki 1977: 217–219, Rogers and Rogers 1990: 15–18. 41  Ryukoku Translation Center 1983: 206. The text is also quoted in this form in several English publications, e.g. Bloom 1978: 96; Takahatake 1987: 78 (cf. however 81). 42  Rennyo, in his colophon to the Tannishō, had already warned that those “who lack the matured goodness sown in past lives should not be allowed to read it indiscriminately” (Ryukoku Translation Center 1963: 88).

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Kiyozawa’s efforts at democratic reforms43 in the Ōtani Branch of the Shinshū were met with stiff resistance and suppression by its conservative leaders. A petition signed by 20,000 persons was rejected and Kiyozawa and five others were expelled from the branch. In 1897 an assembly of sixty representatives was created, half of them appointed by the Honganji. Only in 1927, finally, were all members of this assembly elected as representatives of the various regional groups. In contrast to this, within the Honganji Branch the head of the branch had himself already presented a radical reform plan in 1879, which was, however, rejected by the temple hierarchy and even caused the emperor to intervene. Nevertheless, two years later the Honganji Branch had a representative assembly, well before the first Japanese national assembly convened. After the war the struggle for reform in the Ōtani Branch was renewed. The head priest and his conservative supporters claimed that they were defending the traditional doctrine, but on the other hand, the reformers around Minefuji Ryō and other representatives of the executive power of the branch criticized them for their efforts to retain the old power structures, emphasizing the need to face the problems of the modern world based on Shinran’s spirit of radicalism. It is quite impressive to see what the reform movement achieved in spite of a strong continuing opposition. Not only did it succeed in realizing a more democratic structure of the Ōtani Branch by decisively limiting the traditional power of the head of the branch, it could also show that the spirit of Shinran was still alive in the Shinshū (Ama 1991:12). Most important in this context is the Dōbōkai Undō (“Companions in Faith Movement”) founded in 1961.44 Its aim is a return to Shinran’s thought and religious experience as the basis for a new religious awareness of the believers in modern society, emphasizing especially the role of the individual believer (Thelle 1976: 66; Cooke 1978: 19–25). This movement has led to an active concern for social and political issues among many members of the school, while others regard these new tendencies with reservation or even suspicion.45 Concrete examples of the former are the involvement in movements against the discrimination of the buraku people,

43  For the following cf. Thelle 1976: 73–74. 44  The word dōbō literally means “from the same womb” and was used by Shinran to express the fact that all believers are brothers in faith. In the Honganji Branch a similar movement, the Mon Shintokai-Zukuri Undō (“Movement to Form Associations of the Faithful”) was founded in the same year 1961, the seven hundredth anniversary of Shinran’s death (cf. Japanese Religions 1972: 199). 45  For the following cf. Cooke 1989: 70–71, and the references in newspapers mentioned in section 3 above.

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most of whom traditionally belong to the Shinshū,46 or against political use of the Yasukuni Shrine or the daijōsai. Other activities stress the need for global concern with problems of war and the arms race and the responsibility of the individual in this context. There is also a growing awareness of the necessity to reconsider the role of women in Shinshū as well as in present-day society. Besides such attempts at reform, mostly limited to Shinshū, there is another movement that also began after the crisis of Buddhism in early Meiji. It is what has been called “the scientific modernization of Buddhist studies” (Ienaga 1965: 27), a movement which has generally been more successful and more widespread and also involved many intellectuals outside Buddhist circles. Under the influence of Western science, the historical development of Buddhism from its origin in India became the object of intensive investigations. Progress in Buddhist studies is less conspicuous when doctrinal matters are involved. According to Ienaga “it cannot be overlooked that the fact that most Buddhist scholars are priests of the Buddhist sects and that the free progress of research is difficult without the cooperation of the sects considerably hampers the growth of Buddhist studies as a modern science” (Ienaga 1965: 30). In the case of studies on Shinran and the Shinshū, however, the overall picture is not that gloomy, it seems to me, because of the influence of the reform movement within the school and also because of the challenge posed by nonsectarian studies, including those by Ienaga himself. This is amply demonstrated by the post-war discussion on Shinran, which has produced a considerable number of important scholarly works. They have opened the way for a reappraisal of Shinran’s thought, by confirming facts of his biography and separating them from later legendary elements, by creating an objective basis for the interpretation of Shinran’s work through extensive philological and historical studies, and by trying to understand Shinran within the social and historical context of his time. As mentioned above, the debate was initiated immediately after the war by Hattori Shisō, who strongly criticized the Shinshū tradition for having distorted Shinran’s original teaching, thereby (Hattori 1970a: 4) causing a boom in Shinran research by showing the relevance of Shinran’s thought for modern Japan (Ienaga 1980: 11). Hattori, and also Ienaga, emphasized two points in particular: that Shinran stood on the side of the common people and that from this point of view he was critical of those in power and of the collaboration of Buddhism with them (Hattori 1970a: passim; Ienaga 1980: 12). In this context, the discussion focussed especially on the social status of Shinran’s followers as well as on his attitude towards the authorities and the state with regard, among others, to the 46  Cf. e.g. Shūkyō o gendai ni tou 1976: 118–125.

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problems of gokoku (preservation of the nation) and ōbō/buppō (imperial law/ Buddhist teaching).47 While Ienaga had already modified Hattori’s interpretation (Ienaga 1955: 201–209), other scholars criticized Hattori’s ideological presuppositions and his methodology (see Futaba 1962: 3–36). But few went as far as Kashiwabara Yūsen who maintains that it is impossible to find any spirit of criticism with regard to secular power expressed in Shinran’s letters, the same letters which Hattori had used for his argumentation (cf. Furuta 1975: 235–252), and that to expect such criticism of Shinran would mean destroying the essentially trans-historical religious dimension of his thought (Furuta 1975: 132). Yasutomi Shinya, on the other hand, emphasizes the importance of Shinran’s spirit of criticism for modern Japan and the need to see it in the context of Shinran’s faith and teaching (Yasutomi 1982: esp. 271–273; also Yasutomi 1986). Most Shinran scholars who have made a relevant contribution to the discussion emphasize the need to interpret the issues raised by Hattori in relation to Shinran’s central religious experience and they try to mediate between a position that sees Shinran as a radical social reformer on the one hand, and one that adheres to the traditional interpretation of his thought on the other. Kasahara Kazuo, for instance, maintains that the idea of gokoku can be found in Shinran, but that he emphasized it only as a hōben, as a “means” to protect the nenbutsu faith (Kasahara 1957: 399). Futaba Kenkō points out that the discussion after the war has concentrated too heavily on the social background of Shinran’s followers, whereas it would be more important to study the social implications of Shinran’s faith itself; he also argues that the numerous studies of the Ikkō ikki, too, did not sufficiently investigate the role the Shinshū faith played in these and in the social history of Japanese religion in general (Futaba 1985: 3). According to Futaba, a society based on Shinran’s faith in Amida’s vow is radically different from the traditional structure where native religion and society, secular and religious power, ōbō and buppō are one; Shinran’s faith implies a social system based on universal religion, but the history of the Shinshū shows a tendency back to traditional society and thus the social implications of Shinran’s faith remain an important issue today (Futaba 1985: 10–11, 16). 7

Conclusion: Shinran and His Thought in Present-Day Japan

As we have seen, the relevance of Shinran’s thought for present-day Japan is pointed out by many scholars and intellectuals both inside and outside the 47  For a brief survey of the discussion on these points see Bloom 1968: 26–30, 56–60; cf. also Fugen 1987. Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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Shinshū tradition. To what extent this is also felt and experienced by the Shinshū adherents at large in their everyday life or even by those outside the school is another question, closely related to the general problem of the relevance of religious values and attitudes in Japanese society. The material discussed at the beginning of this paper indicates at least that there is a relatively widespread interest in Shinran, especially when compared to other religious thinkers or traditions. One could say that many Japanese seem to sense the relevance of Shinran’s thought for modern society and the modern individual, a relevance that extends both to the religious and the secular spheres. A major reason for this popularity of Shinran in Japan today can be found in his personality. This is related to the fact, noted in section I above, that personal relations to a leader or teacher, especially in the case of charismatic religious leaders, play a very important role in Japan, usually more than institutional affiliation or teaching. It is quite remarkable to see the extent to which Shinran in this sense is still alive in modern Japan. In the Shinshū, neither Rennyo nor any other of his successors could replace him as spiritual leader,48 and outside the school his popularity is demonstrated by, for instance, the overwhelming success of Kurata Hyakuzō’s reading drama “The Priest and His Disciples” (Shukke to sono deshi, 1918), loosely based on Shinran’s life, which caused a flood of Shinran biographies. Shinran’s personality, his humbleness and strength, his compassion and critical determination, his life as a pious priest and, at the same time, as a layman with a family, the strength of his faith and his dedicated service even to the lowest members of society, all this has deeply impressed his contemporaries and many others since his day.49 Without this attractiveness of Shinran’s personality, the influence of his thought, however relevant it may be, would probably be much more limited.

48  This may also be the reason why, as far as I know, no New Religion has originated from the Shinshū tradition. 49  Cf. Bloom 1978: 97: “[…] when we observe Shinran, his life, his personality and his teachings, we see that he was a person of strength […] Shinran was mild, but not weak; he was not self-assertive but also not ineffective. Shinran was a true person at one with himself and also a person for others. He lived a long time ago, but his qualities are timeless, making him a fitting model for our time.” Bloom’s interpretation of Shinran’s relevance for modern society, in the same article, tends, however, to read elements into his thought that are often regarded as typical of “Eastern” in contrast to “Western” thought, e.g. an attitude “which will not allow structures, distinctions, concepts, or theory to obstruct the deeper inner reality of experience” (Bloom 1978: 88), “Shinran’s perception of the ineradicable egoism that distorts our every activity” (Bloom 1978: 89), or “Jinen hōni, the naturalness of life, which is perceived beyond or within all the conditions of life” (Bloom 1978: 91); concerning the latter cf. Gerhard Schepers: ‘Naturalness’ in Japanese Religion: Shinran’s Concept of Jinen-Hōni, in: Humanities (ICU) 20, 1986: 59–81. Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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The discussion of Shinran’s thought after the war was characterized by an emphasis on instances of social and political criticism in his works and by a sometimes sharp criticism of the Honganji tradition. This has caused a reevaluation of Shinran’s thought and has demonstrated his relevance in modern Japan. Subsequent research has led to a more balanced view of Shinran, particularly by pointing out the central importance of his experience of faith. It seems to me, however, that the emancipatory potential of his thought for Japanese society is not yet fully realized, particularly with regard to the bunmentality discussed above in the first section. This is especially true of his emphasis on the individual, which is quite unique in the history of Japanese thought, and which is based on his own experience of being unconditionally accepted by Amida as the individual being he is in spite of all imperfections. His absolute faith and trust in Amida also made him realize the relativity of all ethical, social, or political values and institutions. This is the basis for Shinran’s spirit of criticism, which is also always self-criticism. The realization of his own vanity leads to solidarity with even the lowest members of society and to an emphasis on the equality of all, men and women, high and low, as expressed in the term dōbō. This also implies the discovery of something universally human that transcends national and cultural boundaries (Ienaga 1980: 17–21). It may well be that Shinran’s thought will prove to be one of the few traditional religious beliefs in Japan, if not the only one, that, while preserving the continuity of the tradition, can provide a basis for the individual for facing the challenges of modern society. References Cited Ama, Toshimaro. 1991. Japanese Religiosity and Kamakura Buddhism. The Japan Foundation Newsletter 18, no. 3: 8–13. Bellah, Robert N. 1974. The contemporary meaning of Kamakura Buddhism. Journal of the American Academy of Religion 42, no. 1: 3–17. Bloom, Alfred. 1968. The life of Shinran Shonin; The journey to self-acceptance. Numen 15: 1–62. Bloom, Alfred. 1978. Shinran’s way in modern society. The Eastern Buddhist 11, no. 1: 85–97. Cooke, Gerald. 1978. The struggle for reform in Ōtani Shin Buddhism. Japanese Religions 10, no. 2: 16–41. Cooke, Gerald. 1989. A new life-stage in the Ōtani denomination. Japanese Religions 15, no. 3: 69–73.

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Dobbins, James C. 1989. Jōdo Shinshū: Shin Buddhism in Medieval Japan. Bloomington: Indiana Univ. Press. Eto, Naozumi. 1986. Japanese civil religion and the Yasukuni Shrine. Japanese Religions 14, no. 2: 33–45. Fugen Kōju. 1987. Shinran Shōnin ni okeru ōbō to buppō: “Kekan” wo chūshin to shite. (The Law of the Country and the Law of the Buddha in Shinran Shōnin: Focussing on the “Kekan”) In Shinran-kyōgaku no sho-mondai, ed. Ryūkoku Daigaku Shinshū Gakkai, 67–98. Kyōto: Nagata Bunshōdō. Furuta Takehiko. 1975. Shinran shisō: Sono shiryō hihan (Shinran’s thought: a philological criticism). Tōkyō: Fuzanbō. Futaba Kenkō. 1962, 19895. Shinran no kenkyū: Shinran ni okeru shin to rekishi (Research in Shinran: Faith and history in Shinran). Kyōto: Hyakkaen. Futaba Kenkō. 1985. Shinshū-shinkō no henka to shakaiteki seikaku no henka (Changes in Shinshū faith and changes in the character of society). In Chūsei Bukkyō to Shinshū (Medieval Buddhism and Shinshū), ed. Kitanishi Hiromu Sensei Kanreki Kinenkai. Tōkyō: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan. Hattori Shisō. 1970a. Shinran nōto (Notes on Shinran). 1948. Reprint, Tōkyō: Fukumura Shuppan. Hattori Shisō. 1970b. Zoku Shinran nōto (Supplementary notes on Shinran). 1950. Reprint, Tōkyō: Fukumura Shuppan. Ienaga Saburō. 1955. Chūsei Bukkyō shisōshi kenkyū (Research in the history of medieval Buddhist thought). 1947. Reprint, Kyōto: Hōzōkan. Ienaga Saburō. 1965. Japan’s modernization and Buddhism. Contemporary Religions in Japan 6: 1–41 (edited translation of: Nihon no kindaika to Bukkyō. In Kōza: Kindai Bukkyō. Vol. 2, Rekishi-hen, 7–35. Kyōto: Hōzōkan, 1961). Ienaga Saburō. 1980. Watakushi ni totte no Shinran (What Shinran means to me). In Zoku-Shinran wo kataru (Supplement—Telling about Shinran), 1–35. Tōkyō: Sanseidō. Japanese Religions: A Survey by the Agency for Cultural Affairs. 1972. Tokyo, Palo Alto: Kodansha International. Kamstra, Jacques H. 1990. Religion in the era of environmental pollution: The new new-religions in Japan. Zeitschrift für Missionswissenschaft und Religionswissenschaft 74: 176–192. Kasahara Kazuo. 1957. Shinran to tōgoku nōmin (Shinran and the farmers in the east). Tōkyō: Yamakawa Shuppansha (reprint 1983). Kashiwabara Yūsen. 1983. Shinran ni okeru shakaikan no kōzō (The structure of Shinran’s view of society). In Nihon meisō ronshū. Vol. 7, Shinran, ed. Chiba Jōryū and Hosokawa Gyōshin, 101–134. Tōkyō: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan (first published 1962 in Ōtani gakuhō 42, no. 1).

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Katō Chiken. 1987. Shinran to Rutā: Shinkō no shūkyōgakuteki kōsatsu (Shinran and Luther. Faith studied from the point of view of science of religion). Tōkyō: Waseda Daigaku Shuppanbu. Katō Chiken. 1990. Ika ni shite shin wo eru ka: Uchimura Kanzō to Kiyozawa Manshi (How to become a believer: Uchimura Kanzō and Kiyozawa Manshi). Kyōto: Hōzōkan. Köpping, Klaus-Peter. 1990. Die neuen Religionen Japans. OAG aktuell, no. 44 Tōkyō: OAG. Lebra, Takie Sugiyama. 1976. Japanese patterns of behavior. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Lee, Robert. 1977. The individuation of the self in Japanese history. Japanese Journal of Religious Studies no. 4: 5–39. Masutani Fumio and Endō Shūsaku. 1979. Shinran: Shinran kōgi (Shinran: Lecture on Shinran). Tōkyō: Asahi Shuppansha. Noma Hiroshi. 1973. Shinran. Tōkyō: Iwanami Shoten. Pauly, Karl Ulrich Wolfgang. 1985. Ikkō-Ikki: Die Ikkō-Aufstände und ihre Entwicklung aus den Aufständen der bündischen Bauern und Provinzialen des japanischen Mittelalters. Phil. Diss., Univ. Bonn. Reader, Ian. 1988. The rise of a Japanese “New New Religion”: Themes in the development of Agonshū. Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 15: 235–261. Rogers, Minor L. and Ann T. Rogers. 1990. The Honganji: Guardian of the State, 1868– 1945. Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 17: 3–28. Ryukoku Translation Center, trans. and annotated. 19632. The Tanni Shō. Ryukoku Translation Series 2, Kyōto: Ryukoku University. Ryukoku Translation Center 19832. The Kyō Gyō Shin Shō (abridged). Ryukoku Translation Series 5, Kyōto: Ryukoku University. Schepers, Gerhard. 1988. Shinran’s view of the human predicament and the Christian concept of sin. Japanese Religions 15, no. 1: 1–17. Shigaraki Takamarō. 1977. Shinshū ni okeru Seiten sakujo mondai (The problem of deletions of scripture passages in Shinshū). In Senjika no Bukkyō. Kōza: Nihon kindai to Bukkyō. Vol. 6 (Buddhism during the war. Lecture: Modern Japan and Buddhism 6), 217–248. Tōkyō: Kokusho Kankōkai. Shūkyō Nenkan: Heisei-gannendo-ban (Yearbook on Religions: Edition 1989), 1990, ed. Bunkachō. Tōkyō: Gyōsei (data submitted at the end of 1988). Shūkyō o gendai ni tou (1) (Questioning the relevance of religion today). 1976, ed. Mainichi Shinbun-sha Tokubetsu Hōdōbu Shūkyō Shuzaihan. Tōkyō: Mainichi Shinbun-sha. Solomon, Michael. 1978. The dilemma of religious power: Honganji and Hosokawa Masamoto. Monumenta Nipponica 33, no. 1: 51–65.

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Swyngedouw, Jan. 1986. Religion in contemporary Japanese society. The Japan Foundation Newsletter 13, no. 4: 1–14. Takahatake, Takamichi. 1987. Young man Shinran: A reappraisal of Shinran’s life. Waterloo, Ontario: Wilfrid Laurier University Press. TSSZ = Teihon Shinran Shōnin Zenshū. 1969–70. Ed. Shinran Shōnin Zenshū Kankōkai 9 + 1 vols. Kyōto: Hōzōkan. Thelle, Notto R. 1976. Power struggle in Shin Buddhism: Between feudalism and democracy. Japanese Religions 9, no. 3: 64–75. Yasutomi Shinya. 1982 Shinran ni okeru hihan-seishin (The spirit of criticism in Shinran). Nihon Bukkyō Gakkai Nenpō 48: 271–283. Yasutomi Shinya. 1986. Shinran to kiki-ishiki: Shūkyōteki shutai no keisei (Shinran and the consciousness of crisis: The formation of the religious subject). Ōtani gakuhō 65, no. 4: 66–78.

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Propagation, Accommodation and Negotiating Social Capital: Jōdo Shinshū Responses to Contemporary Crises Jørn Borup 1

Jōdo Shinshū and Contemporary Challenges1

With 31 districts, 523 sub-districts, 10,248 temples, 32,421 ordained ministers and 100 missionaries serving the four overseas districts and 137 temples,2 Jōdo Shinshū Honganjiha (浄土真宗本願寺派 hereafter JSH) is one of the largest Japanese Buddhist denominations with up to 8 million affiliates (門徒 monto). While the headquarters in Kyoto is the main administrative and symbolically powerful center, 17% of the Japanese temples are situated in urban areas (市街地 shigaichi), 28% in residential areas (住宅地 jūtakushi), and 55% in rural areas (農山漁村 nōsangyōson) (Jōdo shinshū honganjiha dai 9 kai shūsei kihon chōsa jissen sentā: 13 (hereafter JSH dai 9 2011). JSH is a large and significant denomination, but it has also experienced crisis related to general global changes (e.g. individualization, secularization, marketization), as well as crisis rooted more concretely in local Japanese contexts (depopulation, temple succession, ‘funeral Buddhism’). One illustrative example reflecting these crises was a seminar in autumn 2015 at a temple in Osaka mainly for invited Shinshū ministers, where some of these topics were discussed in the light of the future of the institution. The overall catchphrase and rhetorical headline was ‘the extinction of temples?’ (寺院消滅 jiin shōmetsu), the same title as a recent book published by a JSH minister, suggesting that 30–40% of all Japanese Buddhist temples may have been closed by 2040 (Ukai 2015, 266). Another recent illustrative example is the book Minister, What are you Doing in Society? (お坊さんは社会で何をするのか Kobayashi and Fujimaru 2015), which deals with contemporary dilemmas regarding the roles of ministers in public discourse and practice, concluding that in a culture of individualized modernity some kind of constructive participation is necessary to turn Buddhism’s dark image into a brighter one (Kikugawa 2015: 207–208). Source: Borup, Jørn, “Propagation, Accommodation and Negotiating Social Capital: Jōdo Shinshū Responses to Contemporary Crises,” Japanese Religions 40(1–2) (2015): 85–107. 1  Jørn Borup: Associate Professor, Department of the Study of Religion, Aarhus University, Denmark. 2  http://www.hongwanji.or.jp/english/info/. © Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2020 | doi:10.1163/9789004401525_039

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Buddhism’s dark image is a major problem and recognized concern for all Buddhist institutions in Japan, not least because of connotations to ‘funeral Buddhism.’ Ever since the term ‘funeral Buddhism’ (葬式仏教 sōshiki bukkyō) was first coined, the concept has been used by critics of an alleged ritualized death industry to call for renovation and efforts to contribute to a more positive public image. In this connection, half of the ministers in a survey conducted by the Japan Young Buddhist Association criticized funeral Buddhism, many of them feeling that their office as ministers is more focused on death than on life, and is not “actively concerned with living people” (Taniyama n.d.). On the one hand, funerals and memorial services are still the foundation stone in contemporary Japanese Buddhism, both as an important ritual practice and as a necessary source of income with a funeral boom peaking at 1.6 million deaths in 2020 (Tanabe 2012: 177). At the same time, the accumulated efforts to generate income for such services are also one of the main causes of a bubble which will burst in the near future. Not only are Buddhist temples challenged by funeral companies, but the demographic situation of Japan in general has a significant impact on the religion. The ageing population (高齢化 kōreika), declining birth rates (少子化 shōkoka), and general depopulation (過疎 kaso) constitute a real challenge to society. In addition, the village temples have experienced urbanization since the 1970s, with young people leaving to study and find jobs in the cities and never returning. As a result, more than half of the JSH temples have experienced a decrease of monto (JSH dai 9 2011: 68), and two thirds have felt the effect on their financial situation (89% of funerals are conducted for monto). This is mainly a problem for the rural and smaller temples, several of which close down each year. Larger and richer temples have a stronger basis for survival, whereas small temples experiencing sudden depopulation are in deep trouble. Some of them need assistance from the central organization (Nagaoka 2013: 150), and several of these only survive through voluntary help from the village community (ibid.: 149). While the average annual income for temples throughout the country is 5,640,000 Yen, for the depopulated regions it is 3,970,000 Yen (Inose 2013: 20). So the fact that more than a fifth of all temples only have two funerals a year or less constitutes a real financial challenge (JSH dai 9 2011: 114). Depopulation also has an effect on the situation of families that live in temples. While the average number of people living in temples was 4.6 in 1970, it was only 3.8 in 2009, and more than a third of the village temples had only two or less residents (ibid.: 135).3 Even though the obvious option for temples 3  The survey questions were sent to Honganji temples with a response rate of 60%. Ministers, spouses and monto representatives were asked to respond to 57 questions related to temple life and practice. 90% of the respondents were men and 80% were more than 65 years old. Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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without a successor is to attract newcomers, the temple succession system in Japan is still mono-lineage. 76% of the JSH ministers were born in the same temple, while the same was true of 16% of the spouses (ibid.: 41). 87% of the ministers who have already decided who is to succeed them have chosen their own son (ibid.: 207), and the temple succession tradition has not changed much in recent years (ibid.: 208). More than a fifth of all ministers and spouses regard the challenge of finding a temple successor as a problem (ibid.: 226). To accommodate this, ‘temple entrance courses’ have been designed for temples searching for a successor, or for successors searching for a temple. Even a ‘marriage course’ is provided online for ministers searching for a wife, or women searching for a temple spouse, with potential meetings through the temple and the prospects of arranging a Buddhist marriage ceremony.4 The biggest problem, however, is identified as the ageing population of the monto, followed by the decreasing numbers of monto, financial problems, and the fact that people do not gather at temples (ibid.). It is acknowledged that demographic developments are not the only reason for these problems. A general modernization context involving urbanization, individualization and secularization is recognized as a framework which also calls for a response. Overall in Japan, the professionalization of social institutions and the loss of social roles for priests means that the automatic authority and role of the minister have to be re-negotiated, since tradition is no longer a guarantee of authority. For the laity, individualization also means the option of choosing not to be automatically related to a temple. The problem of having fewer people gathering at temples (including visiting the graves of ancestors5) is addressed as an expression of general secularization with no-religion (無宗教 mushūkyō) being a parallel to or even a consequence of the tendency toward a ‘society without relations’ (無縁社会 muenshakai) in the era of the individual. But less traditional temple-based religion is also recognized as a consequence of modernity’s pluralization (多様化 tayōka) of values and life possibilities. Or, in other words, although Japan has always been more religiously pluralistic than most Western countries, increasing economic liberalization has also meant an increasing ‘marketization’ of religion. A 2014 JSH seminar focused on how to deal with the demand for individualized happiness (shiawase), an editorial comment in the JSH magazine Shūhō even talking of an The report and analysis is published in JSH dai 9 2011, and the questions and data in the magazine Shūhō 7, 2010. In 2016 a new report will be published by JSH. 4  http://johobako.hongwanji.or.jp/enishi/wedding.html. 5  While 94% of respondents in 1983 said that visiting the graves of ancestors (hakamairi) was part of everyday religious practice (nichijō shukyō gyōdō), 84% said the same thing in 2009 (JSH dai 9 2011, 150).

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“inflation of happiness” (Shūhō 2015, 5: 25). Several ministers have talked about how they have to ‘sell themselves’ in a different and more conscious way, as exemplified by a minister from Osaka who admitted during a funeral service that he had strategically considered how to charm the guests in order to attract potential customers. Shopping for specific ministers and temples has become much more part of the game, especially in cities, where there is also an increasing tendency for monto to have personalized wishes to participate in designing the funeral service, for instance by shortening the time and limiting the events of the rituals (one minister told me that 9 out of 10 funerals were shortened to only three services in the 49-day postmortem period). Another expression of the individualization and marketization of religion is revealed in the way the providers of family altars (butsudan) have started to sell neutral designer altars to fit the living room. Even the master symbol of traditional Buddhism has thus been increasingly individualized, domesticated and neutralized. 2

Responses to Contemporary Challenges

Such contemporary challenges are neither new nor unique to JSH, and other Buddhist countries face them as well. However, the problems of Japanese Buddhism seem in many ways to be more critical than before, as is also recognized by the Buddhist institutions. Responses to such challenges are naturally varied and complex. Religions cannot do much about demographic changes, but they can strive to secure or strengthen relations between the institutional and the local temples as well as between ministers and monto. The three types below are suggested as possible response domains within contemporary JSH. 2.1 Official Jōdoshinshū; ‘Protestant Buddhism’ from Top-Down JSH is not a monastic Buddhist denomination such as Zen, Shingon or Tendai, and ideals of ‘leaving the home’ (出家 shukke) or ascetic practices (修行 shugyō) are not part of institutionalized practice. With a focus on Amida Buddha’s ‘other power’ (他力 tariki) as opposed to self-transformative ‘self power’ (自力 jiriki), the religion is thus not challenged by discrepancies between ascetic ideals and realities. As JSH sees itself as a life philosophy (生命主義 seimeishugi), funerals are not seen as being for the sake of the deceased, since there is no soul to transfer, and those having butsudan for the sake of ancestors or their own fortune are victims of superstition and folk belief (Jōdo shinshū hikkei henshū iinkai 2014: 336). This means that there are no kaimyō or individual status names to be endowed upon death, either. ‘Funeral Buddhism’ in the official teaching is typically condemned as wrong if it has connotations of being

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‘mere business without religious engagement,’ but it is also accepted and even honored. One priest said in an interview that “funeral Buddhism is good … Buddha’s teaching is in another world. It is the aim to transmit Buddha’s wisdom”; and another added: “I would like to facilitate funerals at temples.” (Inose 2012: 29). As such, ‘funeral Buddhism’ is part of the institutional set up, with the ritual being understood as a way of propagating the teaching and serving the laity. JSH sees itself as distinct from other religions such as Shinto or other Buddhist denominations, both because it does not accept this-worldly benefits (genze riyaku), alleged magical effects of amulets and charms, or the idea that impurity can be ritually washed away. JSH is against kami worship and contemporary ideas of miraculous ‘power spots’, but also against the mystical rituals and symbolic decoding that esoteric Buddhist traditions offer in particular; and basically it does not accept the premises of other Buddhist teachings, since Amida Buddha transcends all alleged challenges of suffering (Jōdo shinshū hikkei henshū iinkai 2014: 148). The three requirements necessary in Japan for being a religious corporation (宗教法人 shūkyō hōjin) are also stated in the constitution of JSH, with the aims being to spread such teaching (教義を広め kyōgi wo hirome), to conduct ritual services (法要儀式を行い hōyō gishiki wo okonai), and to propagate the teaching for the followers (信者を教化育成する shinja wo kyōka kyōsei sum). ‘Propagation’ can be understood in a broad sense as dendō (from making newsletters to arranging events), as fukyō (布教 mainly propagation of the teaching), as kyōka (教化 mainly social and religious activities), or as kaikyō (開教 mission to non-monto), all of which are represented at administrative offices at the headquarters in Kyoto. Each individual temple and minister is seen as an important focus point for propagating the JSH religion. Although there are doctrinal arguments that the minister (住職 jūshoku) should be regarded as being on the same level as the laity, he/she is the representative of the religious institution as both a ‘monk’ (僧侶 sōryo) and a teacher (教師 kyōshi), as well as being the chief responsible officer of the temple, thus being both the religious and the secular head. Almost all ministers are educated at university from the same lineage (JSH dai 9 2014: 44–45), and since a majority also inherit their father’s temple, there is a preserved basis for sectarian consciousness (教団 意識 kyōdan ishiki) and motivation for continuing the propagation from topdown perspective. Even extra jobs, which a fifth of all JSH ministers have, are considered part of the overall propagation duties of the minister (ibid: 47–48). Apart from textual propagation, monto are offered different kinds of ritual activities, all of which also take place at the main temple in Kyoto. Sanpai (‘visiting the temple’), lectures (hōwa), yearly celebrations (e.g. the memorial day of Shinran), memorial rites (hōyō), and a variety of rites of passage are offered

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alongside activities such as study groups or gatherings for children, young people or women, all of which are regarded as contexts for propagating the teaching from an institutional perspective. JSH might have been successful in stimulating their monto in a way that make them have high levels of social ethics. For instance, Ugo Dessi claims that there is indeed a close relationship between the teachings and their appropriation by the monto. Belief in rebirth in the Pure Land as immanent in this world and experience of shinjin “generate the frames for later social activities, movements and discussions of humanism, equality and social ethics” (Dessi 2010b: 243). “There is, at the general level, a positive correlation between a deeper involvement in Shin Buddhist practice and religious exclusivism” (Dessi 2010a: 358), perhaps because “the only wisdom available to solve the problems of contemporary society generated by western humanism” (hyūmanizumu) and “anthropocentrism” (ningen-hūshin-shugi) is that offered by Buddhism (Dessi 2010b: 258). Analyzing the results from a survey among monto, Kuchiba and Funahashi similarly typologize the religious practices according to parameters of “this worldly,” “otherworldly,” “material” and “mind/heart” (心 kokoro) aims. Compared to Japanese people in general, more JSH monto participate in ‘otherworldly’ practices (visiting graveyards, participating in services, reading scriptures) and mind/heart related practices (belief, mission), while fewer focus on material and ‘this worldly’ aspects (carrying amulets, praying or using fortunetelling) (Kuchiba and Funahashi 2004: 4–6), and in general the level of religious consciousness of monto is rather high (ibid., 13). “Many people say that JSH has a good brand” was the observance of one minister at a local temple (Inose 2012: 12), and the idea of a “Shinshū mind” (ibid., 17) connecting ministers and laity, headquarters and local regions is a slogan which apparently finds some resonance in the experience of the users. However, the general participation level of monto is not very high, as both talks with ministers and surveys demonstrate. “There are 200 monto related to our temple, but it is mainly on paper; they hardly ever show up,” as one minister at a temple close to Honganji told me. Affiliation is seen by many ministers and monto themselves as a means of belonging to a tradition in which active religiosity is conducted by the minister on behalf of a laity who are often passive. This structure is typical of ‘vicarious religion,’ with religion being “performed by an active minority but on behalf of a much larger number, who (implicitly at least) not only understand, but, quite clearly, approve of what the minority is doing” (Davie 2007: 22). This kind of ‘culture religiosity’ is typical in most Buddhist cultures, where a de facto ‘two-layer system’ of clergy and laity is maintained in practice. The minister has acquired skills through study, inheritance and institutional commitment, rather than through personal or

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experiential charisma. Shinran’s teaching and the subsequent institutionalization has to a certain extent transgressed dichotomic differences, and this kind of religion is very much parallel to an inner-worldly ascetism as found in Protestant Christianity. ‘Protestant Buddhism,’ as Obeyesekere and Gombrich described reform Buddhism in 19th century Sri Lanka, is thus a fitting term for JSH Buddhism especially since the Meiji restoration being characterized by purification, textualisation, rationalization, de-ritualization, de-mythologization, and democratization. Such a religion needs no ‘high arousal rituals’ or magic or mystics; this is the domain of esoteric Buddhism, folk religion and new religious movements all of which JSH orthodoxy speaks against. A modern JSH way of responding to contemporary challenges involves continued emphasis on strengthening the organization and propagating the teaching, making adherents (monto) into believers (門信徒 monshinto). 2.2 Accommodating Non-official Folk Religion and Individualized Spirituality ‘From Below’ 2.2.1 Challenges of Lived Folk Religion In books, magazines and newspapers the ‘Protestant Buddhist’ version of JSH is confirmed again and again. However, this does not mean that these media are describing the realities of the religion. On the contrary, it could be argued that these are prescriptive rather than descriptive, the necessity of which also points to limitations or negotiations of the official narratives. Ian Reader and George Tanabe describe Japanese religion in general as being primarily oriented towards ‘this-worldly benefits’ (現世利益 genze riyaku), characterizing it as the ‘common religion’ of Japan, being “the matrix within which much of Japanese religion thrives and must therefore be understood” (Reader and Tanabe 1998: 257). Although there is a strong doctrinal emphasis on guarding against folk religion, and although many JSH monto seem to generally follow orthodox teachings in practice, it is also commonly recognized that folk religiosity exists: nearly a third of all JSH respondents have this-worldly aims (Sakurai 2003, 164), with a strong sense of folk belief among those people who have these ritual preferences (ibid., 167),6 and only 40% practice with a denominational consciousness (宗団意識 shūdan ishiki) (ibid.). All the ministers I talked to admit this, not least in connection with ideas and practices related to death. While such rituals and memorial services have their doctrinal basis in a symbolic understanding of the ritual and as a means of propagation, many priests 6  Almost a third worship the soul of ancestors, 40% pray in front of a kamidana, and 16% use omamori or ofuda (Kuchiba and Funahashi 2004, 5).

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believe that among the monto there is a widespread belief in an afterlife existence of an ancestral soul, and that rituals are effective in influencing this. In general, “Shinshū leaders have long been concerned by the findings of surveys showing widespread acceptance of practices for gaining health, wealth, academic success, and a host of other practical benefits. Many Shinshū believers ignore their denominations orthodox rejection of magic and superstition” (Tanabe 2004: 290). To overcome this discrepancy between institutional ideals and realities of the laity’s practiced religion, in the 1980 s Sasaki Shōten advocated a more balanced way of accepting what he termed ‘Shinshū C’ (‘C’ for ‘Catholicism’) in the dominant form of Shin Buddhism, namely ‘Shinshu P’ (‘P’ for ‘Puritanism’). The puritanism of Shinshū P, he argued, must be softened so as to accommodate the actual wishes and realities of the monto. What he called a ‘postmodern’ version of Jōdō Shinshū should thus accept and integrate ‘Catholic ritualism’ and folk religion, but in a broader perspective to get people interested in Shinshū P as well.7 As such, it is both a model welcoming plurality and a strategic model for continued propagation, although in a more ‘democratic’ way. Ministers familiar with these ideas recognize them as important alternative means of propagating ‘from C to P’, or from ‘folk religion’ to ‘true teaching’. It is, however, an academic model that cannot always be transferred to the living reality. According to Tanabe, the impact of such postmodern Buddhism has also been very limited, only “detected in a handful of scholars while the majority of Japanese Buddhists, including the rest of the Buddhist academic world, remain unaffected by these localized disturbances” (Tanabe 2004, 291). According to an Osaka-based minister, the postmodern theories were more suitable for the 1980’s, which, according to him, were less conservative than contemporary times. Today, he claims, there is a larger distance between ‘Shinshū P’ and ‘Shinshū C,’ and building a bridge to join the two seems less realistic. When a local minister in Kyoto was asked what he would do if monto obviously expressed ‘wrong views’ (e.g. about ancestors, rituals, folk religion), he responded that this really is a problem that he would deal with by answering in ‘a soft way,’ hinting at the correct teaching without condemning the ideas as false (e.g. “sono kangaekata mo arimasu”). While ministers and teachers may be scolded for having excessively unorthodox views, it is a delicate matter to deal with a laity whose decreasing numbers and engagement are notable, and the local minister often has to negotiate his own ways of balancing between orthodox religion and acceptance of non-orthodox religion. One of the successes of 7  On Sasaki Shōten and postmodern Shinshū theology, see Van Bragt 1999, Reader and Tanabe 1998: 94–100 and Tanabe 2004.

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Buddhism in becoming a world religion has been its cultural adaptability. The acceptance of popular practices at individual level while insisting on the correct official doctrinal religion enables a ‘twofold truth’ or ‘expedient means’ to maintain the hierarchy and the balance between otherwise incommensurable positions. What individual ministers might do to accommodate ‘folk religion’ from a ‘bottom-up’ perspective is thus not a concern for the denomination, and as such, the orthodox teaching and conservative preservation of tradition is kept within the narrative of the institution. 2.2.2 Challenges of Individualized Spirituality Increased individualization in the West has meant not only secularization, but also what some scholars have described as a spiritual search for an authentic and autonomous Self, transferring the sacred ‘out there’ to the sacred ‘within.’ Both ‘push factors’ (urbanization, individualization, dissatisfaction with traditional religion) and ‘pull factors’ (new ideas and practices catering to a modern individual) are often the same as those in post-war Japan, helping the new religions (and later in the 1980s ‘new new religions’) to succeed in competing with the traditional religions. Contemporary ‘new spirituality,’ however, is often described as being different from these new religions because it is outside of institutionalized religion, consisting instead of networks, where individual providers of for instance spiritual healing, alternative therapy or self-transformative practices through books, the internet, courses and consultations sell their products on a more open market. While the contemporary use of the imported word supirichuaritei (‘spirituality’) is often limited to individual and non-institutionalized religiosity, other concepts such as seishin 精神 or reisei 霊性 have also been part of the vocabulary of traditional religious groups in Japan.8 The fact that contemporary ideas and demands for spirituality require a response might be one of the reasons why Kashio Naoki from Keiō University was invited to write an article about the subject in Bukkyō Kenkyū. As a spirituality propagator himself, he advocated integrating spirituality as 8  D. T. Suzuki became famous in both the West and Japan owing to his attempts to rationalize and spiritualize (mainly Zen, but also Shin) Buddhism. His focus on the religious experience was both influenced by and had an impact on religious thinking in the East and West, where spirituality (reisei and seishin) was seen as a mental faculty and a cultural core behind much of Japanese identity. Another Meiji religious thinker, Kiyozawa Manshi (1863–1903), also advocated a spiritual reform based on religious experience, using mainly the concept seishin as a tool for his ‘spiritualist movement’ (精神主義 seishin shugi), which when combined with his position as a university dean and JSH minister made him known as one of the early modern ‘spiritual’ Shin Buddhists. For a general introduction to spirituality in Japan, see Graf and Shimazono 2012.

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a relevant JSH practice which is easily adoptable according to Shin Buddhist doctrine and tradition (Kashio 2006). While not being part of orthodox Shin Buddhism, in recent years meditation has been discussed and accepted at official levels like Jōdō Shinshū practice (Dessi 2013: 74–75), helping to “rethink the general meaning of Jōdō Shinshū in contemporary society” (ibid., 75). In addition, individual ministers do integrate what could be conceptualized as ‘spiritual practices’ aiming at ‘inner experiences’ at their own temples. One minister said that he saw offering incense as a kind of meditative experience, while another said that he wanted monto to get a deeper understanding of the teaching by creating a good, quiet atmosphere in the temple. Inviting teachers and instructors to provide zazen and yoga at the temple has also been on the increase, at least in city temples. In one temple, a Zen priest came to instruct in zazen, and the invited yoga teacher was herself a JSH minister. In another Kyoto temple, the minister himself is engaged alongside priests and ministers from other Buddhist denominations in meditation for interested lay people, each practicing their own individual style. As a JSH minister, he thought there was a need to revive nembutsu sanmai (念仏 三昧) as a kind of inner practice, which, however, should not be called either ascetic (修行 shugyō), or meditation (瞑想 meisō, 座禅 zazen), or spirituality (精神 seishin/スピリチュアリティ supirichuaritei), because of connotations to jiriki Buddhism, New Age and esotericism.9 People joining such practices are typically not danka, but interested lay seekers (在家修行者 zaike shugyōsha) of all ages. Individualized spirituality is thus typically parallel to, rather than integrated in, institutionalized religion. While including meditation as a secular technique for relaxing body and mind, others attempt to ‘boost Buddhism’ by accommodating it more to individualized (and often Western-inspired) spirituality, also in other Buddhist denominations. This is also the case with the Bozu Bar in Kyoto, where a JSH minister is behind the bar counter six days a week to share his thoughts and ideas with customers, some of whom are other priests from various Buddhist denominations. He himself is interested in spirituality, and reads books about mindfulness, yoga, C. G. Jung and some of the more ‘progressive’ Japanese Buddhists. His ambition of bringing more practice ( jissen) rather than merely teaching (kyō) into contemporary Buddhism is shared by many other ministers of the younger generation. Another attempt to do this was made by a 9  One minister at a JSH temple in a blog invites people to such yoga-zazen events, explaining that if done with a proper approach it can be wholesome for body and mind (http://blog .livedoor.jp/sakurasakukoutakuji/) without being improper Shin Buddhist practice. On JSH integration of zazen in America, see Dessi 2013 70ff.

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JSH priest (Akira Fujimoto), who advocated the integration of more vipassana meditation and Theravada influence into Japanese Buddhism. While he did have some influence through his authorship, the fact that he was later excommunicated and now runs his temple as an individual religious organization is perhaps illustrative of the official JSH stand on attempts to integrate alternative versions of spirituality. In the same way, the spiritual therapy naikan is not considered Shin Buddhist practice, and there are no official relations between naikan practitioners and the JSH organization.10 One naikan instructor who is also a JSH minister says that there is a general skepticism among psychologists and psychiatrists that naikan is too spiritual, and among ministers that naikan is not sufficiently Buddhist. Although she finds the practice to be the best way of learning tariki and a spiritual side of Pure Land Buddhism, and although she has been contacted by many psychiatrists and Buddhist priests from other denominations wanting to learn more about relations between self therapy and Buddhism, she has experienced a generally negative attitude towards her integrating the practice into JSH Buddhism. One way of actively including ‘spirituality’ is by using it in a sense equivalent to religion, with ‘spiritual’ taking on the connotation of being truly ‘religious’ in a social rather than individual sense.11 ‘Spiritual’ (精神的 seishinteki) in the sense of ‘mental’ healing is a Christian-inspired concept, including psychological aspects of curing ‘spiritual pain,’ as is the case when ‘spiritual care’ is used as a means of suicide prevention.12 As one teacher at the Chaplaincy program (see below) at Ryūkoku University explained, spiritual care is about supporting others in spiritual pain, and helping them re-find meaning in life so they can take care of themselves. One of the concrete practices accompanying the

10  Naikan (内観 “introspection”) was invented by JSH minister Yoshimoto Ishin (1916–1988), who developed the therapy as a structured method of self-reflection to make Buddhist self-cultivation more accessible to the laity by secularizing it. Today, there are about 40 Naikan centers in Japan and Naikan is used in mental health counseling, addiction treatment, the rehabilitation of prisoners, and in schools and business. 11  ‘Spirituality’ (スピリチュアリティ supirichuaritei identified as 霊性 reisei) in one academic presentation was thus described as being one of the foundations of all Buddhism, having lost its significance in modernity (Fuji 2015). Buddhist spirituality (bukkyō seishin) in official documents is also presented as the only viable alternative to solve contemporary crises (Dessi 2013, 34). 12  “Spiritual care” was first used by Kashiwagi Tetsuo after having experienced treatment at American hospitals and medical treatment centers. The Japanese Association for Clinical Studies on Death and Dying was established in 1977, and six years later 500 health-care specialists attended the annual assembly (Shimazono & Graf 2012, 471).

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social help activities of this program is ‘walking meditation,’13 conducted in combination with memorial services at the disaster site of 3/11, in the chapel of a hospice, and at the memorial monument of the Hiroshima atomic bomb. According to one of the organizers of the program, this kind of meditation is done to “learn about suffering and realize compassion. We can re-find our roles as Buddhist ministers and realize the limit of our activities and how not to be arrogant.” As such, it is related to grief care, which is about learning how to help and support others who have lost people. Both kinds of care have naturally been ascribed more attention and importance since 3/11. In the same way, the concept of ‘counseling’ has been used by JSH teachers and ministers. The psychological value of “knowing one’s true Self” is thus recognized as a powerful means of doing spiritual care, but with the qualitative difference that counseling is a this-worldly means of spiritual help, while (Jōdō Shin) Buddhism is based on Buddha’s ‘finding of the Self’ as a more deeply based ‘otherworldly’ practice (Tomohisa 2003: 152, 154). One minister explained spirituality to me as the challenges of helping people with no relations (muen) to get relations, for instance with spiritual care and grief care. Another minister talked about the necessity of fostering personal, spiritual qualities as a minister in order to develop the ability to talk and listen attentively to monto. ‘Spiritual’ and ‘spirituality’ understood and ‘filtered’ in this way are not rejected by the institution but welcomed, since they are similar to the type of response that has attracted most positive attention in recent years with a view to coping with contemporary crises, namely a kind of humanism (as Kiyozawa’s Meiji time seishinshūgi has often been interpreted, see note 9) and a socially engaged kind of Buddhism. 2.3 Responses to Public Demands; Socially Engaged Buddhism 2.3.1 Shin Buddhist Lay and Public Religion As the temple is a “public place,” its role is to “contribute to the public welfare” (Jōdo shinshū hikkei henshū iinkai 2014: 281). Ever since the Meiji era and particularly in the post-war period, responses to such demands have been necessary in Buddhist Japan. Thus, in 1950 Honganji established the Dōbō Undō (同朋運動 Fellow Companions Movement), and in 1961 the Monshintokai Undō (門信徒会運動 Lay Followers Movement, mainly focusing on discrimination issues) was established; they merged in 1986 to form the Kikan Undō (基幹運動 Core Program Movement). The purpose is “aiming towards a

13  The word used for this is angya, which is also the concept used to describe the monks walking from home to the monastery.

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society of Ondōbō,”14 which is why the name changed in 2012 to ‘Into Practice Movement’ (実践運動 Jissen Undō) (or Ondōbō no Shakai wo mezasu Undō, which literally translated means ‘Movement of Fellow Companions aimed at Society’) with the slogan “From Tying Bonds to Great Encounters.”15 It has also been within the framework of these dōbō movements that a more progressive response to the organization’s engagement in the nationalism of the 1930s and World War II has taken place, thus showing a new and more proactive role of the laity in post-war Shin Buddhism. This has also involved a more progressive stance in both discrimination and gender issues (Heidegger 2010). By including such critical voices in organizational frames, the ‘top-down’ approach is counter-balanced by a more democratic form of communication (on the surface, at least).16 But it is also a means of domesticating alternative voices and initiatives by subsuming them in the overall institutional frame. Just as the local religious confraternities (講社 kōsha) in premodern times were lay assemblies typically focusing on concrete (‘folk’) ritual practices, they are today part of Jōdoshinshū’s string of activities (活動 katsudō, Jōdo shinshū hikkei henshū iinkai 2014: 274), being regulated and streamlined according to institutional aims. Religious activities, shūkyō katsudō, are regarded as the cornerstone of temple activities involving the monto apart from yearly rituals, funerals and memorial services. Although the majority of monto have been inspired to their faith (shinkō) through their family and parents (Kuchiba 2003: 169), these activities are also considered to be important means of spreading the teachings to the monto (ibid.: 171). There is also a general satisfaction about the katsudō among the monto, perhaps leading to the current situation in which almost three out of four ministers feel that change in such temple activities is not necessary (JSH dai 9 2011, 224). Although there are many such activities, with their number even increasing in some regions, not all are equally widespread. For instance, only half of the temples have active women’s clubs ( fujinkai) (ibid.: 122). Financial contexts also frame the quantity and quality of such religious activities, and there is a clear tendency for temples with a higher income

14  Ondobo 御同朋 originally means “comrade” or “associate”, although Shinran Shonin used the term to refer to those with whom he shared the Nembutsu teaching. 15  http://www.hongwanji.or.jp/english/activity/index.html. 16  In an ‘exercise book for the staff’ (of Jōdoshinshū, i.e. the ministers), principles for interacting with the monto are described, one of the important points being that teaching should involve not one-way communication from the clergy to the laity, but a mutual discussion in which anything can be said and heard in a trustful relation during dharma gatherings (hōza) (Monshinto kyōkabu 2015: 13).

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to have more and more varied activities (ibid.: 125), just as they are more engaged in distributing temple information in general (ibid.: 129). Apart from religious gatherings, social activities have become an important part of Jōdō Shinshū in recent years in particular. This is seen in the organizational structure, where the Social Affairs department has sub-departments of Human Rights, Social Programs and Disaster Management. It is also seen in the attention devoted to social activities in publications, in the Honganji newspaper, in reports and research seminars. And it is seen at local level, where social initiatives and events occur on a regular basis. Buddhist non-governmental organizations (NGOs) emerged mainly from the 1980s “to revitalize the identity and social roles of priests” (Watts and Okano 2012: 349). With the emergence in the late 1990s of Buddhist non-profit organizations (NPOs), the same agenda has been important for a new young generation of Buddhist priests, especially with “marked increase of engagement since roughly 2004” (ibid.). Since 3/11 this has naturally been on the increase with more focused voluntary work. One example of this is the NPO called JIPPO, which arranges peace lectures, discusses poverty and environment issues, and takes part in disaster relief. Another example is the Kyoto Jishi Jisatsu Sōdan Sentā, which was established to help people feeling suicidal through a suicide hotline, while Honganji no mori is engaged in the protection of trees and the environment. In April 2008 JSH founded a terminal care clinic, the Asoka Vihara Clinic, and an adjacent nursing home, the Vihara Hongwanji, close to Kyoto. The Vihara is a kind of Buddhist hospice altar to Amida Buddha, where ‘Vihara ministers’ conduct morning and evening services, monthly dharma services, and special major Buddhist services for patients, residents, and their families. The movement was “a response by some priests to the criticism from society” and serves also as “reformation and the re-activation of Japanese Buddhism” (Taniyama n.d.). Both Nishi and Higashi Honganji and later Nichiren and other volunteer movements have taken up the Vihara initiative, which is often described as a successful example of Honganji’s social engagement.17

17  On JIPPO, see http://jippo.or.jp, on the Vihara movement, see http://www.jsri.jp/English/ ojo/2011/sengokuexcerpt.html. Individual examples of concrete local initiatives are numerous, but several of these are described on Honganji’s homepage, one being a temple in Kanagawa Prefecture providing daycare services for the elderly, opening its temple doors, and providing the warmth of a welcoming home http://www.hongwanji.or.jp/ english/activity/pr_000984.html; while another is ‘Sharing the Dharma through soba making’ http://www.hongwanji.or.jp/english/activity/pr_000978.html. Jōdo Shinshū Honganjiha Sōgō Kenkyūsho 2013 lists several such projects as inspiration for other ministers.

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Such social activities have also gained influence at university level. Apart from the secular topics and the classical Buddhist text studies, since 2009 there has been a Department of Practical Religious Studies (実践真宗学研究科 Jissen Shinshūgakukenkyūka) at Ryūkoku University, where more concrete practical aspects of the challenges and work area of Buddhism as a lived religion in a contemporary society are introduced at the graduate level. The department itself is divided into two major fields of specialization. The Religious Practice department consists of aspects directly related to the practical dissemination of Buddhist teachings, such as missionary practice (布教 fukyō) for different age groups (e.g. kodornokai). The Social Practice department focuses on aspects which have a base in Buddhist ethics, but with relevance outside of the temple world as well. An important part of the Social Practice department is the Buddhism Chaplaincy Training Program (臨床宗教師研修プログラム). This was initiated in 2014 in cooperation with Tohoku University, which saw the necessity of having such a program after 3/11. Inspired by Christian initiatives in the West, the aim is to teach students about theoretical and practical sides of clinical (rinshō), religious and social aspects, in order to give the training of ministers a broader perspective. This also opens prospects for alternative career opportunities in hospitals, kindergartens, homes for the elderly or social welfare institutions, also locations where some of the ‘clinical training’ (臨床実習 rinshō jisshu) takes place, when the students are not engaged in classes on topics such as spiritual care, grief care, counseling, social welfare or the environment. In 2015 there were 50 students, some of whom were also nurses or the spouses of ministers, while others were from other Buddhist denominations. According to one of the teachers in the program, the initiative has also been launched to show that rather than only being an institution of funeral services, Buddhism is a ‘real religion’ providing religious care (shūkyōteki kea).18 Although they are not appreciated by all ministers, secular events have also been initiated as part of the overall domain of contemporary (Jōdoshinshū) Buddhism. Buddhist bars (Bōzu bā), ‘ministers’ nights’ (sōshoku naito),19 fashion shows, cafes, courses in yoga, ikebana or song, or sport, entertainment and various leisure activities are seen either as modern examples of Buddhist mission ( fukyō/kaikyō), or as secular activities which nonetheless are legitimate in temples. They may even be regarded as legitimating the continued existence 18  On the chaplaincy program, see http://www.ryukoku.ac.jp/faculty/graduate/practical_ shin/curriculum/summary.html [accessed 2015] and Nabeshima 2015. 19  Sōshoku can mean ‘priest’/‘minister’ and ‘shy,’ thus playing with the words of relating people not otherways ‘going out’ (or to religious meetings) with Buddhist clergy. Typically such nightly events will include food, social talk, a small Buddhist lecture and maybe music and dance.

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of temples. Such activities often occur at local temples, but they are also institutionally sanctioned as examples of how to ‘open up temples’ as a means of showing their public relevance (e.g. Kōga 2013, 175 ff). Some of these secular activities are popular, attracting far more people (and typically non-monto) than religious gatherings. If a success criterion for such initiatives is, as one minister voiced it, having some of these participants come to religious gatherings as well, investment is not positively related to outcome. According to one viceminister at a famous Tokyo temple otherwise known for arranging many such events, the problem is that few visitors continue from these secular activities to religious activities and engagement, a problem thus being similar to aligning the spiritually interested with institutional affiliation. 2.3.2 Post 3/11 and Negotiating Social Capital In recent years the vocabulary of the world of business has also influenced (research on) Japanese religion, not least through the concept of social capital (社会関係資本 shakaikankei shihon). This concept is mainly taken from political scientist Robert Putnam, who claims that human relations in and of themselves are valuable as resources to bind together groups or societies. A key word such as ‘trust’ is itself a value-creating capital that affects the reciprocal relations having potential social and economic power. Several surveys have shown that Japan in general has low levels of trust, especially in religious organizations. The concept of social capital has thus also been discussed as a possible tool to generate more bonding between people, and not least to cope with an increasingly individualized society with ‘lack of bonds’ (無縁化 muenka), loneliness (孤立 koritsu), and ‘lack of relations’ (関係の希薄 kankei no kihaku). Within the Buddhist denominations these ideas have also been analyzed and discussed as a means of generally coping with societal change, including the challenges of depopulation and secularization. In depopulated areas with no shops, post offices, drug stores, or other social community centers, the temple is often the only remaining unit, and the minister has the role of being the leader and key person (Sakurai 2012: 150–151). By arranging religious and social activities, by caring and keeping an eye on the local area, by visiting homes, by talking and listening to people, the minister and the temple become the focal point of the local area (ibid., 151). This kind of bonding people together by such activities is what constitutes and creates social capital (ibid.), and it cannot be provided by funeral companies (ibid.: 152). Apart from bonding (結合型 ketsugogata) already existing relations with people from the same faith through religious gatherings, bridge building (橋渡し型 hashiwatashigata) is another of Putnam’s key concepts. Such relations can be used to explain and prescribe social capital in Buddhist settings, where new bonds are made by reaching out

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to other people through religious and social activities such as voluntary work, NPOs, children’s clubs, or bonodori (Kikugawa 2013; 2015). Referring to an interview survey,20 it is concluded that “one of the sources of social capital is the temples’ social activities (社会活動 shakai katsudō)” (Inose 2013: 95), and that the ministers’ and the temples’ roles and social activities constitute important contributions in meeting the challenges faced by contemporary Japanese Buddhism (ibid.). Such activities are not only legitimated by doctrinal foundations in the teachings of Shinran. They are also envisioned as strengthening the necessary reciprocity (互酬性 goshūsei) and producing new outcomes. In the terminology of economics, such networks involve both investment and return (‘gains’) at different levels. At individual level, the return for investment of working time and costs of membership and ritual services, there are both material gains (financial stability) and spiritual gains (cultural and spiritual stability), and at group level the investment of time, energy and money is returned by general growth, a guarantee of stability and a generally fair society (Inose 2015: 97). Participating in such social activities increases the minister’s acceptance of his/her role, and develops the minds of participants as well as increasing the value of the temple, thereby generating social capital (Yokoi 2012: 45). In other words, such ‘open Shin Buddhism’ (開かれた浄土真宗 hirakareta jōdo shinshū) and ‘engaged Shin Buddhism’ (engeijido shin budizumu) (Tokunaga 2015: 89) can strengthen already existing social bonds and build new ones through social activities, thereby helping not only to meet the challenges of a society of non-relations and increased individualization, but also the religious institution gains by indirectly propagating their own religion, with the potential return effect of increased recognition, engagement and perhaps even numbers of monto. Whether such ambitions are realistic or not might not in itself be the key issue, since the branding value of JSH undoubtedly is worth the effort. The positive contribution to social, national and human needs in transforming help to disaster victims into institutionalized programs of general care constitutes a mutually beneficial situation. Relations to other individuals, the extended family (including ancestors), the ‘social family’ (temple, local culture), and the nation are all kept alive and reinvented not only by new methods (e.g. voluntary help), but also by ‘old’ practices like traditional katsudō. In other words,

20  The interviews were conducted by sociologist Inose Yuri and a group of students. Ministers and monto at temples in Hiroshima and Fukui regions were interviewed as part of a general analysis of the circumstances and effects of depopulation. See Inose 2013.

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the same practice is attributed new capital through a new narrative by “turning the binding power into visible culture” (Kikukawa 2015: 195). It seems that there is a correlation between religious identity and social activism. Commenting on a former survey of JSH, Dessi showed that “more than 20% of the practitioners declared that they are or have been active in helping disabled or terminally ill patients,” and that “this kind of social engagement is shown to be correlated with a high level of religious consciousness among lay followers” (Dessi 2010a: 339). Dessi’s own survey also testifies to this, because it shows that 10% of lay followers and more than 20% of ordained priests have been engaged in assisting with terminal care (ibid. 343). These rates “tend to increase in correspondence with a deeper involvement in Shin Buddhist religious practice,” and the number of those who are inclined to a more active participation in society is not marginal (ibid.). Similarly, Kuchiba concludes his analysis of the same survey by suggesting that people who have done volunteer work also have a high sense of belief and religious consciousness, whereas those characterized as having a ‘folk religious’ practice have not done voluntary work (Kuchiba 2003, 172, 173). “There are many people carrying the wonderful religious consciousness of JSH who spontaneously do social practice (shakai jissen) […] but unfortunately these are less than 40% of all (monto)” (ibid.: 174). Thus, neither ideals nor practices of accumulating social capital are equally shared by or representative of all JSH. Where the rural temples are challenged by depopulation, but have better contexts to keep traditional relations with the existing local community, the opposite is true of the city temples. They might not be affected by depopulation and financial hardship to the same extent, but they are affected by individualization and marketization in competing for ‘customers.’ Thus, concern for the continued support of monto is much higher in city and wealthier temples than in rural and poorer temples (JSH dai 9 2011: 234–236). Social capital might thus be easier to recreate in the villages, but the effects of losing monto are much more severe in villages than in cities. Perhaps this is one reason why only 11% of the ministers21 want to do missionary work in the cities. Not least with concern of finding temple successors such city mission needs, according to one of the Honganji survey conductors, to be taken more seriously (Nagaoka 2013: 153). Potential conflicts of interest between headquarters and local temples are also part of the problem. The former will propagate the ‘correct’ teaching and version of religion, whereas the social capital earned at local temples might be of a different nature, including close relations to other religions, acceptance of 21   J SH dai 9 2011: 126–128. There were no significant differences in age group or geographical area.

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folk religiosity etc. For individual ministers, keeping sectarian identity while reaching out to society can also be a potential dilemma. Asked whether they regarded voluntary work as a religious activity, and whether they would do such work in Buddhist robes, whether they would conduct funerals, deal with spiritual problems or build temples in a style not corresponding to orthodoxy, responses were varied, pointing to both the necessity of keeping institutional bonding while also opening up for a more ‘bridge building’ approach in which the cause is more important than the denominational package (Kobayashi and Yatsuhashi 2015). Apart from geographical differences, institutional structures themselves might limit actual gains of broader social capital fields. In analyzing the backgrounds for contemporary challenges, Hoshino encourages a general discussion of internal, structural changes of the management of the temples (Hoshino 2013), where the system of inheriting priesthood (clergy) and temple affiliation (laity) are part of a long Japanese tradition helping to give the institution its brand of tradition and stability, but the system is also one of the possible hindrances of renewal. Ministers might be deeply involved in Buddhist teachings without being involved in the management of a temple (ibid., 138). In addition, the widespread practice of priests having extra jobs might be positive for the temple’s financial situation and for ‘spreading the teachings,’ but an extra job may also take up most of the minister’s time, leaving less time and energy to manage and be engaged in the temple. Hence, there is a need to renew the system internally. This, however, seems not to be recognized by all ministers. 43% think there is no need for changes in temple management (JSH dai 9 2011: 236). Tanabe is more direct in his critique, saying “Contemporary Buddhist thought in Japan is remarkable for its lack of innovative formulations” (Tanabe 2004: 290), and Watts and Okano add: “The vast majority of traditional priests, temples and denominations have yet to develop a substantive response to modernization’s challenges” (Watts and Okano 2012: 369). 3 Conclusion There is no doubt that the orthodox ‘Shinshū P’ version of JSH is still the prevailing narrative. This is the official teaching propagated by teachers and ministers and taught to the laity. Phenomenologically, this type of religion is typical of a textual religion based on a two-layer system of clergy and laity, the former ‘performing’ as the institutional representative and ritual specialist for and on behalf of the mainly passive audience, whose main religious activity is belief and engagement in cultural and symbolic activities. Although very

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exclusive in its doctrinal foundations, such ‘culture religiosity’ is also accepted as part of a broad institutional outlook. Catering for sectarian consciousness is thus an official concern which may have some relevance for village temples, but less relevance for city temples, where (as one minister explained), there are more ‘postmodern’ ministers who are less inclined to adopt institutional JSH frames, looking more towards a global, individualized ‘Buddhism.’ Also the laity can keep adhering to this official type of religion, whose teaching seems to correlate to many adherents’ social engagement. ‘No requirements’ (as was the expression of one minister) is a strength for encompassing a broad spectred culture religiosity. But it can also be a burden of tradition. If the narrative cannot offer meaning for an increasing number of non-engaged and non-believing danka, or if the exclusivity is a barrier for those who actually want personal engagement and experience, ‘Shinshū P’ is challenged in an increasingly individualized culture. This was addressed already in the 1980s by scholars suggesting a shift towards ‘Shinshū C,’ accepting the kind of religiosity that is also widespread among JSH adherents, namely ‘folkish’ rituals, ancestor belief, benefits in this world, and more creative ways of applying an orthodox teaching to local, ‘small traditions.’ While this model prescribes a certain democratic acceptance of ‘parallel’ religiosity, the ‘Shinshū C’ approach (whether this term is actually used or not) is still understood as a legitimate model for propagating the true teaching, i.e. through initial acceptance and later transformation of alternatives. However, ‘Shinshū C’ seems most often to be a cover-up for an officially sanctioned ‘Shinshū P.’ If lived folk religiosity is a challenge to orthodox religion ‘from below,’ the demand from individuals for personal requirements or experiences is another type of challenge from ‘the sideline.’ Quests for self-transformation or spiritual experiences are doctrinally problematic in a JSH perspective. But in recent years meditation has been officially recognized as a JSH practice too, and individual ministers have opened up to both yoga and zazen (and a few to naikan as well), providing opportunities for practices that on the same level as cultural events or entertainment (ikebana, song, play) are within the same semantic and functional domain as folk religion: they can be accommodated as part of an overall propagatory strategy, or accepted as parallel activities to accommodate wishes ‘from below.’ Typically, the laity engaging in these activities are not danka, but individual new ‘consumers’ on the market. Such marketization also prescribes new demands for individual ministers, whose traditional authority (‘part of the tradition’) and rational-legal authority (manager of temple, ritual specialist, identified with institution) are also increasingly challenged (mainly in the cities) by criteria relating to personal charisma. JSH ministers also have

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to be engaged and ‘authentic,’ negotiating positions on a market on which both non-religion and plurality of religion are main challenges. The focus of recent years on a more socially engaged Buddhism, what could be termed a ‘Shin E,’ can be seen as a proactive response including both Shin ‘P’ and ‘C’ while also responding to concrete post 3/11 challenges. Spiritual care, grief care, hospice and voluntary work, and a general attitude prescribing public and social relevance are being institutionalized ‘from above’ to accommodate demands ‘from below’ in an interactive process which is sanctioned by JSH doctrines and ideals. The negative images of funeral Buddhism and a rigid institution are reversed in narratives serving the religion in a different, positive direction. Socially engaged Buddhism might not be relevant or practiced by the majority, but it is a good institutional brand, relating not least to the concept of social capital, which in itself is both a mechanism bonding internally (amongst members, ministers and institution) and bridging externally towards society. And at the same time it has the instrumental value of being financially rational as an investment in future relations, guaranteeing income and rationale for temples. Social capital in this sense can itself become ‘religious capital.’ Some JSH ministers and scholars envision socially engaged Buddhism and the relevance of strengthening activities generating social capital as a possible ‘turning point’ in the sea of crises. Undoubtedly the many post 3/11 projects have had a positive influence on the image and self-understanding of the organization, on the individual ministers, and on religion in Japan as such. As ‘Shin C,’ individual spirituality and general market demands can be integrated at individual level and accommodated through narratives of propagation at institutional level, ‘Shin E’ seems to be a mutually beneficial model at both levels, aligning public demands with organizational needs. From a more critical point of view, it could be argued that the activities and institutionalization of ‘Shin E’ are also a strategic device, the rhetorics of which serve to legitimate the status quo of conservative Buddhism. While ‘Shin E’ could be an expression of renewal, it also serves as a blueprint for orthodox Buddhism and the continuation of a traditional temple system, whose structural implications will not meet the challenges of depopulation, secularization or individualization. ‘Social capital’ can thus be a catchword for progressive reformulations, as well as a rhetorical device for honoring and keeping traditional temple life with its religious and social narratives, symbols, status and activities (or lack thereof). Paradoxically, a ‘Shin E’ thus at the same time transcends the importance and challenges of ‘Shin C’ and individualized spirituality while also legitimating orthodox ‘Shin P.’ The impact of 3/11 is still ongoing, and no conclusions can yet be drawn about the actual implications of a more socially engaged Buddhism. There is, however, no doubt that this is an area deserving future research, both

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http://blog.livedoor.jp/sakurasakukoutakuji/ http://jippo.or.jp http://johobako.hongwanji.or.jp/enishi/wedding.html http://www.hongwanji.or.jp/english/activity/index.html http://www.hongwanji.or.jp/english/activity/pr_000978.html http://www.hongwanji.or.jp/english/activity/pr_000984.html http://www.hongwanji.or.jp/english/info/ http://www.ryukoku.ac.jp/faculty/graduate/practical_shin/curriculum/summary.html [accessed 2015]

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Family Temples and Religious Learning in Contemporary Japanese Buddhism Jessica Starling A recent flurry of scholarship (for instance, Clarke, 2014; Sasson, 2013; and Wilson, 2013) has brought long overdue scholarly appreciation to the centrality of family relationships in the Buddhist tradition. Quite often such studies highlight the persistence of the Buddhist monk’s identity as son to his parents despite the putative casting off of family ties that comes with ordination. In modern-day Japan, of course, the presence of family in and around Buddhist temples is more visible than in most other countries. It is one of the few places in the Buddhist world where monks may not only have a mother, father, sisters, and brothers, but also a wife and children who live in the temple. At least this is what is usually presumed: in fact, Shayne Clarke’s recently published work suggests that in Indian monasteries at the turn of the Common Era, husbands and wives sometimes renounced as a couple, even bringing their children with them to the monastery. Clarke finds in the pages of various Vinaya editions a “family-friendly monasticism” that, while long invisible to scholars, may have been just as well accepted as the solitary ascetic ideal described in the Rhinoceros Horn Sūtra (Clarke, 2014: 152–3). The revelation that Japan may not be as unique as is commonly thought in this respect represents a moment of opportunity to revisit the scholarship on contemporary Japanese Buddhism, this time viewing it through the lens of family. This article will explore one particular component of Japan’s family temple system: the education and training of young Buddhist priests (primarily temple sons) within the clerical family.1 Drawing on research by Stephen G. Covell Source: Starling, Jessica, “Family Temples and Religious Learning in Contemporary Japanese Buddhism,” Journal of Global Buddhism 16 (2015): 144–156. 1  A few notes on translation and word choice are necessary here. First, because of the shift to a married clergy in Japan, I will for the remainder of the article use the English translation “priest” to translate the Japanese sōryo (often rendered “monk”). I use the phrase “resident priest” for the administrative position of jūshoku, which a sōryo who has obtained certain additional credentials may inhabit. Finally, although I refer to temple sons as the presumed successors to family temples in Japan, is also possible for a jūshoku’s daughter to inherit the temple in all of the schools of Japanese Buddhism. Certainly, the dynamics of succession and training in the case of those roughly 3 percent of jūshoku in the Tendai, Rinzai, and Jōdo Shinshū who are female call for their own book-length study (statistics from Covell,

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2020 | doi:10.1163/9789004401525_040

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and Jørn Borup on life in contemporary Tendai and Rinzai temples, respectively, and my own fieldwork among Jōdo Shinshū temple families,2 I analyze the process by which a temple son becomes a temple’s resident priest or jūshoku in these three schools of Buddhism, which collectively possess somewhere around 26,000 parish temples across Japan. While scholars tend to assume that religious training takes place at a central location such as a monastery or another educational facility, by shifting our focus to the family as the context in which religious professionals are produced in contemporary Japanese Buddhism, a very different kind of learning process comes into view. 1

Background: the Normalization of Clerical Marriage in Japan

While Buddhist monasticism in ancient India may not have been exactly the family trade it eventually became in Japan, Shayne Clarke has shown that family ties were often not perfectly severed when a monk entered a monastery. Indeed, an entire chapter of his book is devoted to the analysis of Vinaya passages concerning “monastic motherhood,” highlighting evidence that nuns were sometimes permitted to raise their biological children in the monastery (2014: 120). We can say with some certainty, then, that there were families of various sorts inhabiting Indian monasteries at the time the Vinayas were compiled.3 In Japan, as in India, family has never been completely out of the picture of Buddhist monasticism. Although there is a tendency to view the temple inheritance system as if it were a uniquely modern development, in fact the Buddhist priesthood was in many cases conceived of as a “family trade” in premodern Japan. As Nishiguchi Junko (1987) has shown, examples of the transmission of temples and teaching lineages along hereditary lines can readily be found in 2005: 130). However, because the transmission of the jūshoku position to a son or son-in-law remains the preferred model of inheritance, I will for simplicity’s sake use only the male pronoun and male examples in my discussion here of temple succession. 2  I conducted ethnographic fieldwork in Japan from March 2009 to July 2011. During this time I interviewed members of sixty different temple families, primarily temple women (the wives, daughters, mothers and mothers-in-law of resident priests), and conducted participant observation at temples in Kyoto, Osaka, Shiga Prefecture, Mie Prefecture, Niigata Prefecture, and various parts of Kyushu. 3  While the dating of the composition of the Vinayas is problematic, Clarke draws from all six extant monastic codes (Dharmaguptaka, Mahāsāṅghika, Mahīśāsaka, Sarvāstivāda, Mūlasarvāstivāda and Theravāda) and supposes that they most likely came into existence “in the first few centuries of the Common Era,” give or take a few centuries (2014: 18–21). This is, at present, the oldest reliable vision of Buddhist monasticism that scholars can access.

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the Nara period (710–794). Lori Meeks has concluded that in medieval Japan, what distinguished a respected priest was not the observance of celibacy, but rather the “accumulation and exercise of technical knowledge associated with the work of the priesthood—technical knowledge that, like other forms of knowledge in premodern Japan, was typically passed down within the family” (2013: 271). Although Meeks is describing the situation of scholar-priests in the medieval and early modern periods, her observation might well apply to the family trade of the contemporary Japanese priesthood. The complete normalization of clerical marriage and temple inheritance in Japan took place in the Meiji period (1868–1912). Richard Jaffe (2001) and Pham Thi Thu Giang (2011) have detailed the course of the public debate on priestly marriage during this period. In the wake of the Meiji state’s 1872 elimination of the law penalizing the transgression of Buddhist precepts, Buddhist leaders variously responded with conservative zeal to return to stricter observation of the precepts, despair at the lax clerical behavior that would inevitably result from such deregulation, and positive justifications on various grounds for the adoption of a married clergy. By the turn of the twentieth century, all the Buddhist schools had resigned to officially permitting priests to marry. However, in all but the Jōdo Shinshū, the fact of monks marrying, eating meat, and sometimes not maintaining a clean-shaved head has proven an inconvenient truth for Buddhist officials and resulted in a bifurcation of the standards for priestly authenticity. In his 2005 study of contemporary Tendai temples, Stephen G. Covell identified two competing models for priestly authenticity in Japanese Buddhism today. The first is that of the world-renouncing religious virtuoso. This standard requires that priests be free of political and economic entanglements, devoting themselves full time to the pursuit of enlightenment and the practice of “true Buddhism” through meditation and precept observance (Covell, 2005: 89). This ideal type is most vividly embodied by those few ascetics in Japan who, for instance, successfully complete the grueling kaigyōhō walking circuit around Mt. Hiei in Kyoto (Covell, 2004; and 2005: 78). Performing funerals and memorial services, which is in fact the major occupation of parish temple priests in Japan, tends to be seen as a degradation of the ideal vocation of the Buddhist monk. The second model of priestly authenticity that Covell discusses is that of the family man and ritual specialist. This type is embodied by the resident priest or jūshoku of the local parish temple (dankadera), who ritually cares for parishioners’ deceased ancestors and passes on the leadership of the temple to his son. While in reality priests who conform to this image are far more numerous than the elite monks noted above, married temple priests are still haunted

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by the persistence of the ascetic ideal. Covell notes that contemporary Tendai priests are confronted with the negative and widespread “image of a funeral Buddhism whose priests are seen as funeral ritual specialists. The ritual specialist image is not easily overcome, for even as the mass media and scholars portrayed it negatively, it is in demand by those who support the temple—the [parishioners]” (2005: 89). As we shall see, temple parishioners not only demand ritual services such as funerals, but they also expect the resident priest’s son to succeed him as priest. At the same time, laypeople often view contemporary priests with some cynicism because of their non-monastic lifestyles. In this they are joined by much of the scholarly world and monks in many other Buddhist countries. One Japanese Buddhist tradition, however, long ago abandoned the rhetoric of “home-leaving” (in Japanese, shukke). Clerical marriage in the Jōdo Shinshū dates back to the founder Shinran (1173–1263), and as a result temple inheritance along patrilineal lines has been the norm in this tradition for several centuries. The competing ideals for clerics as both world-renouncers and family men is less pronounced, and the sense of hypocrisy or illegitimacy that haunts priests in the monastic schools is felt less keenly by priests in the Jōdo Shinshū.4 While Covell excludes the Jōdo Shinshū from his analysis because of his focus on the conflict between Buddhism as a world-renouncing religion and the very worldly lives of its priests (2005: 7–8), I would like to reintegrate the Jōdo Shinshū into the discussion of so-called “Temple Buddhism.” This very useful category was introduced by Covell in his 2005 book to address the form of Buddhism found at the vast majority of parish temples in Japan, which share a similar operational framework and a common set of concerns despite differences in doctrinal teachings and sectarian affiliation. In particular, by unthreading the various elements of the transmission of priestly knowledge and authority in Japan in fact rather than in theory, we will be able to see important similarities between the Jōdo Shinshū and the non-Shin sects. Phenomena such as mentoring within the family may occur off the radar of most studies of Buddhism, particularly those that take a top-down approach by focusing

4  Certainly, clerics from the non-Shin schools were known to level charges of hypocrisy and illegitimacy at priests of the Jōdo Shinshū before they themselves abandoned the practice of celibacy. On criticisms of Shin priests by non-Shin clerics during the Tokugawa period, see Jaffe (2001). Even today, it has been pointed out that many laypeople in Japan do not know which Buddhist sect their family belongs to, so it is likely that Shin Buddhist priests may still be measured against popular media images of the “ideal” monk as solitary ascetic, no less than priests in the traditionally monastic sects. I would like to thank Daniel Friedrich for this insight.

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on centralized institutions and prescriptive texts; it nonetheless represents an important medium for transmitting religious authority in Japanese temples. 2

A Young Successor in the Jōdo Shinshū

In the Jōdo Shinshū, as in the other Japanese Buddhist schools, local custom is for the abbacy of small temples to pass from father to son or some other (preferably male) family member. A 2009 survey by the Hongan’i branch of the Jōdo Shinshū found that 86.7 percent of current jūshoku were related either by blood, marriage, or adoption to the previous jūshoku.5 In fact, patrilineal inheritance is the normative model for succession in the Jōdo Shinshū: the headquarters of most branches of the Jōdo Shinshū recommend temple bylaws that require the jūshoku to have the same surname as his predecessor.6 Even in the Shinshū, however, in order to register as the jūshoku of one’s temple with the sect’s headquarters, an official licensure is required. Unlike the relatively strenuous initiations required by the Rinzai Zen and Tendai schools, discussed below, the Shinshū requires neither the taking of monastic precepts (kai) nor the completion of monastic training (shugyō) in order to become a resident priest of a temple. The process varies slightly according to the branch (ha) to which one’s parish temple belongs. Basic ordination (tokudo) is required to register with the sect as a priest (sōryo) and marks the ritualized start of one’s path to becoming a professional cleric. In the Ōtani branch, the basic ordination may be taken by temple children as young as nine years old after completing a one-day study session and exam at their local district office followed by a ceremony at the head temple in Kyoto. This brief instruction is rather perfunctory, and is certainly not enough training to fully prepare one to be a religious professional. I attended two ordination ceremonies at Higashi Honganji during my fieldwork, and I was told by one official who was my guide that if a boy were in line to inherit his family’s temple, he would “not be allowed to fail” the exam—in other words, he would be pushed through. The second step in the process of becoming a qualified jūshoku is to attain one’s kyōshi or religious instructor degree. This can be done by taking an exam while attending a sectarian university, or by taking a one- to three-year 5  These were primarily first-born sons but also included a daughter (2.2 percent), a second- or third-born son (11.3 percent), and an adopted son or the spouse of one of his children (collectively, 14.9 percent). Dai kyū kai shūsei kihon chōsa jisshi sentā, 2010: 15. 6  Each individual temple has the ability to amend their own bylaws with the majority vote of the sekinin yakuin or responsible officers of the temple.

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commuter or correspondence course at one of the sect’s administrative offices (betsuin) or seminaries (gakuin). Finally, when the successor is ready to take over the post of resident priest from his father, his home temple holds a small ceremony through which he is officially installed as the new jūshoku. In the other major branch of the Jōdo Shinshū, the Honganji-ha, the process is very similar, although the training retreat for the tokudo ordination is slightly longer (ten days) and initiates have to be somewhat older to take it (fifteen years old, rather than nine). The relative unimportance of centralized training and credentials in the case of recognized temple successors, who have learned the ropes of the temple somewhat unconsciously throughout their childhood, is evident in the story of one of my informants, whom I shall call Ryūichi. Ryūichi is a thirty-three-year-old civil servant and an ordained Shinshū priest in line to inherit his family’s temple. Although my research at that time focused on the role of temple wives, I was introduced to Ryūichi in 2010 through his wife Mari, whom I interviewed a number of times over the course of my fieldwork, and who invited me to dinner with her and husband so that I could hear about his upbringing in more detail. Over sake and appetizers at a cavernous Kyoto pub, Ryūichi filled me in on his path to the Buddhist priesthood. He and Mari had met at university in Tokyo and had moved to Kyoto shortly after getting married in their late twenties. When I knew them in Kyoto, they were both working at secular jobs and enjoying their distance from Ryūichi’s family’s temple until it came time for him to take over as jūshoku. Ryūichi’s mother had been one of three girls born into a temple family in Shikoku; they had no brothers. Their father, Ryūichi’s grandfather, was extraordinarily fervent in his faith and strict, if idiosyncratic, in his running of the temple. His mother developed a distaste for the harsh temple lifestyle of early rising, endless cleaning, and a public existence that was under constant scrutiny by parishioners. She married someone outside of the temple world (a “salaryman” or company worker), and had no plans to become a temple wife. However, her father eventually began to look ahead to his retirement, and started pressing his three daughters, who all had children, to provide him with a successor for the temple. A conversation was held among Ryūichi’s mother and his aunts and uncles, and Ryūichi himself decided he would volunteer to take responsibility for the temple. He was eleven years old. In high school, Ryūichi traveled to Kyoto for what he called a summer “field trip” (shūgaku ryokō) for young temple successors. This administration of the initial ordination or tokudo training retreat was scheduled in August, during school vacation, specifically for boys who were in line to inherit their family’s temple. This was Ryūichi’s first time studying doctrine or ritual outside of his home, and it lasted for ten hot days. He was instructed in proper chanting

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techniques and the basics of Jōdo Shinshū beliefs and history. His primary memory of that training, however, is of being bussed around along with the other fifteen-year-old temple sons to the major landmarks of Jōdo Shinshū history: Mt. Hiei, where the founder Shinran trained as a young monk; the temple in southeast Kyoto where Shinran’s remains are said to be housed; and Rokkakudō Temple, where Shinran received his legendary dream revelation from Prince Shōtoku/Kannon (Avalokiteśvara). During the ten days of training at Nishi Honganji’s retreat temple southwest of Kyoto, Ryūichi and his classmates complained to each other about the excruciatingly hot weather and the extended periods of seiza (sitting on one’s knees) during their ritual practice. When it came time for Ryūichi to pick a college, he decided he wanted to explore the world beyond the Shinshū by attending a college that was not affiliated with his sect. His grandfather strongly wished for him to go to Ryūkoku University, as he had done. Instead, Ryūichi opted to go to an elite Tokyo university and study Buddhism there. Ryūichi went on to obtain his master’s degree in Buddhist Studies. It is noteworthy that in Japan Buddhist Studies is distinct from Shin Buddhist Studies, which focuses on sectarian doctrine and history, and would be a more common major for temple successors in this sect. Ryūichi is theoretically minded, interested in Buddhist logic and doctrine, and detests performing rituals. Nonetheless, destined for the priesthood, he made an effort to attend evening classes at his sect’s branch seminary in Tokyo (Tokyo Bukkyō Gakuin). Ultimately it was too much to juggle with his graduate work, and he quit. He nonetheless took the exam to receive his kyōshi (religious instructor) degree, which he needed in order to be installed as his family temple’s resident priest (jūshoku) after his grandfather retired. Ryūichi remained in Tokyo throughout his 20s, flying back to his family temple once a month to assist with rituals. This middle period of a successor-priest’s career usually resembles an internship, and sometimes the handover of temple duties is carried out gradually depending on the father’s health and the son’s availability. Ryūichi recalls that much of his on-the-job training took place when he was living in the temple as a teenager, a time that he agrees functioned much like an internship. He learned about the basic Buddhist teachings, the execution of rituals, and the daily running of the temple. Assessing the knowledge he gained from his time at the training retreat, Ryūichi believes that he learned more there about priestly comportment (how to wear his robes, the correct posture to assume when performing rituals), chanting technique, and bureaucratic issues like temple bylaws and the legal status of Buddhist temples in Japan. Everything else he learned from his grandfather and mother at his home temple.

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In the meantime, Ryūichi’s father, despite having no background in temple work, volunteered to take ordination so that he could assist his father-in-law, who was beginning to show signs of infirmity. He spent one intense year at Chūō Bukkyō Gakuin, the Honganji branch’s main seminary in Kyoto, to catch up on the religious learning he missed by not having grown up in a temple. Ryūichi says that his father was a much more serious student at seminary, and is a much more skilled ritual performer, than he himself is. Ryūichi’s mother also has her initial ordination (tokudo), which allows her to help with daily temple work and performing omairi, the monthly service performed at each parishioner’s home altar. Ryūichi continues to visit Shikoku one weekend a month to help as well; as long as his father and mother are still healthy and available to help, however, he is free to continue to live in Kyoto, where he has a full-time job as a civil servant. Of his family’s cooperation in managing temple duties, Ryūichi explains that “it’s like team baseball.” To understand the true degree to which running a temple is a family affair, we must also include Ryūichi’s wife in the picture. Mari is, like Ryūichi’s father, from a lay family, and never had personal aspirations to the priesthood. Nonetheless, she has become ordained because she felt she needed some kind of formal preparation to be qualified to perform the role of a temple wife, and potentially serve as a back-up priest for her husband. Even after a year of study at the Kyoto seminary, however, Mari remains nervous about potentially having to fill in for her husband. She has not had to perform a ritual on her own yet, and has always been accompanied by her husband when she visits his family temple in Shikoku. When she expresses this concern to me at dinner, her husband assures her: “It’s okay, you can just look it up if you don’t know something [about how to perform the liturgy].” His words are spoken with the easy confidence of someone with the inherited authority of the male successor’s body. He clearly also does not sweat too much over the performance quality himself: Mari volunteers the opinion—and her husband quickly agrees with her—that she is actually superior to her husband at Buddhist chanting (shōmyō). A young successor in the Jōdo Shinshū thus in some respects possesses the credentials of a jūshoku just by virtue of being the eldest son, regardless of whether he has received centralized training. If the current jūshoku passes away or becomes unable to perform his duties before the successor (or the temple wife) can complete their training, it is not uncommon for one of these family members to take over right away and attend to the matter of their ordination when time allows. Ryūichi witnessed this first-hand at his own tokudo training in 1995: it was not long after the Great Hanshin earthquake, so there were a number of younger successors from temples in the Kobe area whose

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fathers had died in the disaster. These young boys had to be prepared to quickly take over their family’s temple. In theory, an initiate must be fifteen years old to receive tokudo, but an exception is written into the sect’s bylaws for successors whose fathers pass away before they have reached this age. Ryūichi observed that the requirements for the younger boys at the retreat were considerably lighter than those for the older boys; this is consistent with the information I have received from Honganji officials who are in charge of administering training for young temple successors. The continuity of local temple operations is clearly prioritized over formal learning. Ryūichi’s story reveals, among other things, that the training provided by the sect operates differently for presumed temple successors than for those who come from lay families. Training is a much more significant source of knowledge and technical skills for those who come from lay families (zaike shusshin) than it is for temple successors. The implicit importance of a temple upbringing as the foundation of a priestly education becomes apparent when viewed from the perspective of these outsiders. Ryūichi’s wife, for instance, despite having equal credentials and more formal training than her husband, feels unprepared and uncertain about acting as a priest. Her husband has no concern about his ritual performance, even though he knows it is lacking. Another laywoman I interviewed who had married a temple successor complained that her own husband was unable to explain anything to her about Buddhism: “It is so natural to him, he cannot understand what a layperson might not already know.” It is, in a word, ingrained. In a follow-up email to me about his experience of learning to become a priest, Ryūichi reflected on how one becomes a jūshoku: There are numerous paths to receiving the training and kyōshi degree that allow you to become a jūshoku in my sect. Some of these paths are easier than others, and I imagine the quality of the priests who take these paths are all over the map, as well. However, it isn’t the case that getting your credentials to be a priest is the end of the path. It’s actually just the starting point. Ryūichi goes on to emphasize that the will to improve and learn from experience is what is necessary to become a “good” jūshoku; in his view, this all depends on a person’s character. Presumably Ryūichi focuses on internal qualifications like character and devotion to the job because the external qualifications are, for him, already in the bag. For temple successors, there is no possibility of being unqualified—rather, the choice is between trying to be a good priest, or not.

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It may be difficult for Ryūichi to see what is more evident to his father and wife, who both come from lay families. These married-in members of the temple family have experienced acutely the need to obtain the recognition of the temple’s lay parishioners in order for them to embody priestly authority. This means having personal familiarity with the lay community, visually conforming to their expectations of who their successor-priest should be, and having expertise regarding how things are done at that particular temple. These things are all handed down within the temple family and can sometimes be obtained through hard work by newcomers who join the temple family through marriage. They are difficult, if not impossible, to acquire by attending a central training facility like a seminary. 3

Religious Learning and Priestly Authenticity in the Traditionally Monastic Schools

Because clerical marriage and temple inheritance is now universal at parish temples in Japan, the local definition of an authentic jūshoku is bound to be very similar across all of the different sects: parishioners simply expect their local temple to be passed from father to son. So as not to overwhelm the reader with data from the myriad Buddhist denominations that exist in Japan today, I focus here on the two traditions that feature in book-length English studies: the Myōshinji branch of the Rinzai Zen school (Borup, 2008), and the Tendai school (Covell, 2005). My examination of these two schools will necessarily be somewhat skeletal, but I wish to include them in order to pave the way for further studies that analyze the Jōdo Shinshū alongside the traditionally monastic schools of Temple Buddhism. Jørn Borup notes that in the Myōshinji branch of Rinzai Zen, 73 percent of parishioners expect their resident priest to marry, and that most problems in the transmission and assertion of authority occur when someone outside of the temple family assumes the resident priest position (2012: 119–121). In his study of the Tendai, Covell finds that roughly “74 percent of male priests are from temple households … [and] virtually all economically viable temples are passed on from father to son and are not open to competition” (2005: 82). Although the Tendai administration has made rigorous efforts to recruit “fresh blood” in the form of priests who were not born into a temple, Covell notes the difficulties these lay-born priests face in finding a religious teacher and, ultimately, a professional post. All of these indicators point to the momentum of the family temple system in transmitting authority from one generation of priests to the next.

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Nonetheless, there are several centralized measures of clerical authority that function alongside the local identity of young priests as successors to their fathers. These include two levels of ordination, taking the bodhisattva precepts, and undergoing shugyō, or religious training at the monastery. In the Zen tradition, receiving the dharma transmission from one’s teacher is also stressed. To understand how these elements of religious authority operate in the context of the family temple system, it is helpful to ask how young priests acquire, in Bourdieuian terms, the “disposition”—the “knowledge, abilities, tastes, and credentials” (Bourdieu, cited in Verter, 2003)—of a religious professional. Precepts are not a part of the Jōdo Shinshū ordination ceremony that my informant Ryūichi underwent, but monks in the Rinzai Zen and Tendai receive the bodhisattva precepts. These were introduced to Japan in the ninth century by the Tendai school’s founder Saichō (767–822) and have their origins in the Brahmā Net Sūtra (Groner, 2000; 2014). After Saichō, influential Japanese Buddhists have continued to interpret the precepts in innovative ways (Groner, 1990; Bodiford, 2005). William Bodiford summarizes this hermeneutic as follows: As a result of the establishment of separate Tendai ordinations based on these lay-oriented precepts, most ordained members of the Buddhist order in Japan were freed from having to observe the vinaya rules previously associated with monks and nuns … On the other hand, while precepts declined in status as codes governing moral behavior, their importance as an abstract concept grew to an almost absolute degree … Each of the individual bodhisattva precepts was (and is) conceived of as expressing a singular Buddha precept that transcends all distinctions … Recast in these terms, this precept embodies awakening realized in one’s own present body, in one’s own present circumstances. This view of the precept is summed up in the phrase “Precept is the vehicle of salvation.” Bodiford, 2005: 186–8

Japanese Buddhist institutions today continue to embrace this meaning of precepts as soteriologically instrumental—as “vehicles of salvation.” Far from being seen as vows meant to literally govern monks’ behavior, ordination and the bestowal of the bodhisattva precepts are depicted as being a spiritual “starting point” for initiates’ continued deepening Buddhist awareness (Covell, 2005: 77; Borup, 2012: 118). After taking the tonsure, new priests in the traditionally monastic schools must undergo varying degrees of shugyō, depending on what priestly rank is

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being sought or what rank of temple one is seeking to take over.7 Borup sees the jūshoku as being defined as a religious professional because “he reads, understands and controls the sacred texts to which only academics and the educated clergy have access, and in conducting the correct performances of rituals, his power of being an orthodox mediator to the other world makes him a living signifier of institutional power” (2008: 65–66). In this sense, the doctrinal knowledge and liturgical skills a temple son acquires at the monastery endorse his authority as a conveyor of the Buddhist teachings and performer of its rituals upon his return to his home temple. Borup also suggests that young monks’ time in a monastery fulfills the characteristics of Victor Turner’s notion of “liminality,” changing their status from novice to professional priest as they reintegrate into the local temple community. However, he stops short of providing ethnographic detail as to the quality of this change in status, and how important, in practical terms, the young monk’s time at the monastery really is. Taking a more local view would help to highlight the continuity of the young priest’s identity as successor as well as the instrumentality of his family in his lifelong process of learning about Buddhist teachings and ritual procedures, both before and after he takes initial ordination and completes training at the monastery. The de facto clerical identity of a temple son from the time he is young is manifest in many ways. The eldest son of a temple family is often referred to by parishioners as “successor” (atotsugi) or “little priest” (kozō), regardless of his ordination status. Jørn Borup notes that along with kozō and hinasō (another term for “little monk”) the term gakuto is often used in Rinzai Zen to refer to temple sons. Technically the term in the Rinzai Zen context denotes “a person who has received the robe and bowl and a Buddhist name from his preceptor, having the rank below shuzashoku,” but in the social context of family temples the boy’s identity as a likely successor seems to serve the same function as the transferring of the robes and bowl: Borup explains that “in practice the status is often used as a designation for the temple son in general” (2008: 123–4). In official terms, temple sons frequently become their fathers’ “disciples” (deshi)—this is true of at least half of Myōshinji priests and roughly two-thirds of priests in the Tendai (Borup, 2012: 59–60; Covell, 2005: 91). Unofficially, the tendency for fathers to mentor sons is even more universal. Covell notes that in Tendai temples “training starts young,” with sons shadowing their fathers from late elementary school (2005: 83). Standards for ritual performance are often quite localized, and the instruction he receives from his father would 7  For more detail, see Borup 2008.

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likely be almost as important as that which he receives at the monastery or in his university classes. It would be useful to have more details about family mentoring in the local temples of these traditionally monastic sects. What religious knowledge is transmitted from father to son, or from mother to son? How is it transmitted? Further ethnographic fieldwork in these traditionally monastic Buddhist traditions would certainly yield fascinating insights, and Mark Rowe’s forthcoming work on the non-eminent monks and nuns of Temple Buddhism should illuminate some of these issues. It is likely that a young priest acquires the “knowledge, abilities, tastes, and credentials” of a Buddhist cleric as much by virtue of growing up as his father’s son as he does by studying in college or at the monastery. 4

Conclusion: Family Connections as Innen

The image of the idealized journey of a young man from layman to monk is easy to conjure: experiencing the transitory quality of worldly life, he awakens to the truth of the Buddhist teachings and “leaves home,” taking the tonsure and devoting himself to a life of full-time Buddhist practice. Shayne Clarke notes that scholars have long been dazzled by the image of the solitary ascetic (wandering lonely as the proverbial rhinoceros horn) and have tended to look no further than this for the ideal type of Buddhist monastic. As Covell has shown, today’s Japanese clerics are haunted by the uncomfortable dissonance between their own lifestyle and that of the idealized ascetic. And yet, scholars of earlier periods in Japanese—and even Indian— Buddhist history are beginning to highlight the presence and importance of family in the life of a Buddhist priest. Among the many things that must be rethought in light of Japan’s family-friendly monasticism is the process by which the individual practitioners attain Buddhist faith and the will to enlightenment (bodaishin). Surely, in Buddhism of all traditions we should look to karmic causes and conditions (innen) as the explanation for such attainment. Based on the above evidence, it would appear that the karmic conditions that give rise to Buddhist faith for most contemporary priests is the fact of their growing up in a temple family. With 74 percent of male priests in the Tendai having been born into temple families, it seems inconceivable that the idealized sense of the Buddhist priesthood as a calling “beginning with the will to enlightenment (bodaishin)” could exist apart from the connection to Buddhism that a temple son has from the day he is born (Covell, 2005: 78, 82).

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Most young priests in all of the Buddhist schools initially undertake ordination out of a sense of duty they feel to their family and to the temple’s parishioners, and the obligation to “protect the temple” (otera o mamoru). Covell summarizes his informants’ journeys as follows: “They entered the priesthood out of duty to their parents. However, after serving as a priest for a time, and much reflection, they found faith (shinkō)” (ibid.: 83). In terms of occasioning the attainment of Buddhist faith, it seems clear that a monk’s familial connection to the temple is as efficacious as the ordination ceremony, the taking of precepts, or time spent in the monastery. In Japan, priestly ideals in the twentieth century have largely taken two forms: that of the renunciant religious virtuoso and that of the funeral performer and family man, the jūshoku of the local parish temple. As I have shown, the tension between these two ideals is in some ways a conflict between more universal concepts of clerical authenticity (“Who should be called a Buddhist monk?”) and the localized definitions of who ought to be the priest of the temple in that community (“Who should be our jūshoku?”). The answer to the first question would likely require the observance of the Buddhist precepts, or at the very least the completion of a regimen of meditation, austerity, and study at a monastery. The answer to the second question, on the other hand, is almost sure to be, “The son of the previous jūshoku.” For these and other reasons, the case of family-transmitted temples in Japanese Buddhism calls for us to reconsider at what moment an individual actually becomes a religious professional, and by what means he acquires the necessary knowledge, skills, and authority. It may well be that the position most crucial to endowing the priest with religious authority and faith is not his position vis-à-vis the central institution, but rather his position as a member of the temple family. To understand the dynamics of religious learning and the transfer of authority from father to son in the local context of the parish temple community, a more deliberate focus on the importance of family relationships is clearly needed. References Bodiford, William M., 2005. “Bodhidharma’s Precepts in Japan.” In William M. Bodiford, ed. Going Forth: Visions of Buddhist Vinaya. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, pp. 210–235. Borup, Jørn, 2008. Japanese Rinzai Zen Buddhism Myōshinji, A Living Religion. Brill: Leiden.

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Borup, Jørn, 2012. “Contemporary Buddhist Priests and Clergy.” In Inken Prohl and John Nelson, eds. Handbook of Contemporary Japanese Religions. Brill: Boston, pp. 107–123. Bourdieu, Pierre, 1993. The Field of Cultural Production: Essays on Art and Literature. New York: Columbia University Press. Clarke, Shayne, 2014. Family Matters in Indian Buddhist Monasticisms. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Covell, Stephen G., 2005. Japanese Temple Buddhism: Worldliness in a Religion of Renunciation. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Dai kyū kai shūsei kihon chōsa jisshi sentā, 2010. “Dai kyū kai shūsei kihon chōsa.” Shūhō 521, July Issue, pp. 1–80. Giang, Pham Thi Thu, 2011. “The Clerical Marriage Problem in Early Meiji Buddhism.” Eastern Buddhist (n.s.) 45(2), pp. 115–142. Groner, Paul, 1990. “The Fan-wang Ching and Monastic Discipline in Japanese Tendai: A Study of Annen’s Futsū Jubosatsukai Kōshaku.” In Robert Buswell, ed. Studies in Chinese Buddhist Apocrypha. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Groner, Paul, 2000 [1984]. Saichō: The Establishment of the Japanese Tendai School. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Groner, Paul, 2014. “The Lotus Sutra and the Perfect-Sudden Precepts.” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 41(1), pp. 103–131. Jaffe, Richard, 2001. Neither Monk Nor Layman: Clerical Marriage in Modern Japanese Buddhism. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Meeks, Lori, 2013. “The Priesthood as Family Trade: Reconsidering Monastic Marriage in Premodern Japan.” In Liz Wilson, ed. Family in Buddhism. Albany: State University of New York Press, pp. 253–274. Nishiguchi, Junko, 1987. Onna no chikara: kodai no josei to Bukkyō. Tokyo: Heibonsha. Sasson, Vanessa R., ed., 2013. Little Buddhas: Children and Childhoods in Buddhist Texts and Traditions. New York: Oxford University Press. Verter, Bradford, 2003. “Spiritual Capital: Theorizing Religion with Bourdieu Against Bourdieu.” Sociological Theory 21(2), pp. 150–174. Wilson, Liz, ed., 2013. Family in Buddhism. Albany: State University of New York Press.

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Shin Buddhist Studies and Secularization Mitsuya Dake The year 1989 marked the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the founding of Ryūkoku University in Kyoto, Japan. Among the various activities and events that were held at Ryūkoku to celebrate that occasion was an international symposium on Shin Buddhist studies entitled, “Shinran and the Contemporary World.” Three scholars from Harvard University, which also has a history spanning one hundred and fifty years, were invited to be the guest speakers at the symposium. Masatoshi Nagatomi, one of the three Harvard representatives, presented a keynote lecture on the “Internationalization of Shin Buddhist Studies.” At that time, Nagatomi was also the president of the International Association of Shin Buddhist Scholars. Nagatomi’s address contained many important suggestions. In particular, he raised questions regarding the very foundation of Shin Buddhist studies (Shinshūgaku) itself—questions that must be raised in this contemporary world. He said: Is shinshūgaku a “theological” enterprise intent on unfolding the significance of Shinran’s religious insight not only within the context of its roots in Buddhist and cultural history hut also from the perspective of the religiously plural world of today? Or is shinshūgaku primarily an exegetical discipline within the boundaries of sectarian dogmatic orthodoxy? If it happens to be both, then how are they reconciled and mutually integrated? The tasks that challenge Shin Buddhist studies today lie not only in its methodological procedures but also in its perspectives on religious insight. Traditional Shin Buddhist studies have to some extent incorporated into their methodological procedures certain objective and pragmatic approaches, such as those found in modern historical science and philology. However, it must be said that the study of Shin Buddhism is more than a mere objective

Source: Dake Mitsuya, “Shin Buddhist Studies and Secularization” in Richard K. Payne (ed.), Shin Buddhism: Historical, Textual and Interpretive Studies, Berkeley, CA: Institute of Buddhist Studies and Numata Center for Buddhist Translation and Research, 2009, pp. 291–302.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2020 | doi:10.1163/9789004401525_041

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or pragmatic investigation. The main purpose of Shin Buddhist Studies is to manifest Shinran’s original experience; that is, it is to delve into the essential meaning of the Shin Buddhist teachings that gave rise to various historical occurrences, as well as to textual compositions. Moreover, it is necessary for those who are engaged in such research to approach the teaching subjectively and also participate in that basic religious experience themselves, in the midst of today’s religiously plural world. In this sense, I believe that Shin Buddhist studies should not be limited to dogmatic sectarian orthodoxy. Thus I take the stance of integrating positions one and two as set forth by Nagatomi. But his question remains: How are they to be reconciled and mutually integrated? 1 will attempt to address that question now in the context of the issue of secularization. First, 1 will look at the secularization of contemporary society and the meaning it holds for Shin Buddhist studies. Next, I will examine the present condition of Shin Buddhist studies and make a few methodological suggestions. 1

Secularization: Its Meaning for Shin Buddhist Studies

Secularization is a common problem faced by all religions in the world today. There is, however, no agreement among them as to how it should be defined. In other words, it is a term used with various implications and no precise definitions. The term “secular” itself first appeared in the Agreement of Westphalia in 1648, where it was used in reference to the transfer of church property to the government. Its initial usage, therefore, was in the context of the political relationship between church and state. Traditionally, religion in the West interpreted this relationship as that existing between the sacred and the secular. In the eighteenth century, under the influence of the philosophy of the enlightenment, the term “secular” came to refer to nonreligious authority. By the nineteenth century, it had expanded beyond the political sphere to include both culture and philosophy. What this signaled was the end of the religious dominance of the church and theology over human affairs—a trend of thought often referred to as “secularism.” In the twentieth century, “secularization” became a convenient term for sociologists, who focused on the relationship between religion and society when analyzing changes in social structure. Here, secularization became a key concept in explaining those changes that had taken place. That is, the implication of contemporary sociocultural changes on humankind’s religious aspirations

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and expressions were formulated in terms of secularization.1 At this point, religion was no longer viewed as the force shaping society but rather as one of many forces in society. Furthermore, the territorial sphere of religion was seen as being limited to an individual’s inner spiritual life. Thomas Luckmann, an American sociologist, labeled this phenomenon “invisible religion.” While sociologists looked upon secularization as being indicative of the progress of society, traditional religious institutions, on the other hand, tended to view it negatively. The Christian church regarded it as a crisis, equating it with the decline of religion (i.e., Christianity) and the advent of an atheistic world. Rudolph Bultmann, a German Protestant theologian, approached the issue of secularization from a different (theological) perspective. According to Bultmann, secularization is a result of humanity’s objectification of the world through reason and rational thinking. He called secularization humanity’s rational interpretation and control of the world by means of modern technology and the accumulation of historical knowledge. Through secularization, humanity has been liberated from superstitions and fatalistic views of life. But at the same time it has given rise to arrogance, that is, to humanity’s attempt to control the world as it wishes. The former is a positive aspect of secularization, whereas the latter is negative. Based on such an understanding, Bultmann examined Christian faith in modern contemporary society. God, in Bultmann’s eyes, remained a transcendental existence. However, he stressed that God’s transcendental quality is not found in another world, as was the usual, traditional Christian understanding, but in this world. He saw this as an inevitable consequence of a Christian faith centered on the Bible in a time of secularization. It is not the Bible, according to Bultmann, that provides us with answers; rather, the Bible constantly asks us to raise questions. The answers, he said, come from none other than ourselves. Christian faith, centered on the Bible, was seen as being based on a continuous dialogue between the Bible and its reader. Here, Bultmann advocated the demythologization of the Bible. Mythlike expressions found in the Bible do not represent tact, he said, but rather manifest humanity’s understanding of the world. Thus, these expressions ask each person in every period to reinterpret existentially their meaning. However, as Bultmann pointed out, the hermeneutical ground does not lie within human reason, for such reasoning would lead to nihilism. In other words, the hermeneutical ground extends beyond mere human reason and lies in the dialectical 1  Jan Swyngedouw, “Secularization in a Japanese Context,” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies, vol. 3/4.

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relationship between human reason and the Bible. Bultmann’s theory caused a sensation in the Christian world, for it shook the core of traditional Christian faith. The above is just a brief summary of the various, and at times conflicting, meanings given to the term “secularization” in the West. We have seen that Bultmann viewed secularization positively, compared to the negative view held by traditional Christians. Also, in contrast to sociologists who tended to view secularization in the context of changes in social structure, he understood it in terms of the relationship between the ultimate and the secular, or that is, the relationship between religious and mundane life. But, regardless of whether secularization is judged positively or negatively, it is a crucial problem for all religions in civilized society, including Shin Buddhism. The question remains: How will Shin Buddhist studies deal with this issue? Before I give some suggestions on the matter, I will examine the issue of secularization as it applies to Japan. Careful attention must be given to the fact that in medieval Japan, religion never developed to the point where it held any authority that transcended that of the state, as was the case with Christianity in the West. Instead, we find in Japan a situation in which religion was made subordinate to the state. Accordingly, religious ultimacy and the secular realm never stood in the same sharp, mutual opposition that they did in the West. In particular, under the feudal system of the Edo period (1603–1868), religion was subject to strict controls and, in many cases, the ultimate realm of religion was limited to the inner sphere of individual spiritual life. It did not impart any decisive influence upon the secular realm. One can note, for instance, that the Shin Buddhist notion of the two truths of the ultimate and the worldly (shinzoku nitai) was also formulated from these circumstances. We can see, therefore, that the limitation of religion to the realm of the individual’s inner spiritual life occurred quite early in Japan. Yet, although this bears superficial similarity to a characteristic of secularization in the West, it is of clearly different origin. That is to say, the essential reason why this arose in Japan was not because of any change in the structure of society. Rather, the essential reason why it arose was because the role of religion there was to support and maintain the prevailing social structure. Thus, there is some question as to whether the Western concept of secularization can be applied, just as it is, to the case of Japan. However, it can also be said that when Western culture and thought were introduced to Japan after the Meiji Restoration (1867), the social structure of Japan underwent change, which created a condition similar to that of secularization in the West. Thus, in effect, the Westernization of Japan played an

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essential role in bringing about a condition that can be called “secularization.” A detailed analysis of this issue is beyond the scope of this paper and so I point it out now only in passing. I would like to note, however, that changes in the structure of Japanese society that were brought about by the Westernization process also gave rise to great changes in the bases upon which the Shin Buddhist sectarian organizations had been established. In particular, during the Edo period, the social basis supporting Shin Buddhist orders was the family system. However, with Westernization, the family itself gradually lost its previously assigned meaning or role. Furthermore, the relationship between the Shin Buddhist sect and the general populace centered on rituals, such as services for ancestor worship and funerals. The process of Westernization brought about the formalization of this relationship and gradually it became impossible to find any religious significance in it. It can be said that such “secularization” of Japanese society shook the foundations upon which traditional Buddhist sects, including Shin Buddhism, had been built. Thus, we can see the unique character of secularization in Japan. At the same time, however, aspects of it can be said to be universal and common to all secular societies. For instance, due to Westernization, many Japanese have come to hold views of the world or humanity based in natural science. However, such worldviews conflict on various points with religious views of those matters. This poses a huge problem for the question of religious truth, which is explained on the basis of such religious views. In other words, the fundamental question for religion is “What meaning does religion hold for us, who are living in secularized society?” In one sense, Bultmann can be understood as having tried to tie the two together theologically. For Shin Buddhism as well, this remains a great task. That is to say, the problem of secularization demands a thoroughgoing examination of the operation of orthodox religious organizations, including that of Shin Buddhism. At the same time, it asks us the essential question, “Just what is religion for a human being?” How will Shin Buddhist studies be able to answer this question? 2

Methodological Suggestions for Shin Buddhist Studies

As I have stated, religion, particularly traditional religions, are squarely facing a host of problems with regard to the issue of secularization. When secularization is interpreted literally, as representing a change in the structure of society, then the role that religion traditionally carried out in society—that is, the function of religion, as well as the operation of the religious organization—both

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become problematic. Concretely, the relationship between religion and such things as secular authority the state, ethics, and civil society all become problems. Moreover, secularization involves more than just a change of social structure. It has in fact been deeply tied to modern rationalistic and positivist thinking. Secularization, in other words, has brought into question the meaning of the religious worldview and, ultimately, it raises the question of the very meaning of religious truth itself. How has Shin Buddhism responded to these kinds of questions? I would like to suggest that two levels of attitudes exist in orthodox Shin Buddhist studies. That is to say, the problem in the relationship between Shin Buddhist studies and modern humanity has been apprehended as existing at either 1) a linguistic or 2) an existential level. According to the linguistic approach, the reason why modern humanity has difficulty in understanding Shinran’s teaching lies not so much in the teachings themselves as in the manner in which they are explained. Thus, it is said, the problem can be solved with the use of words and expressions that are more understandable to modern people. On the other hand, the existential standpoint places great importance upon the existential question of how I, an individual in the modern world, receive the teachings of Shinran. That is to say, it attempts to understand those teachings in one’s present existence. These two levels are tied together and are very difficult to separate in the condition of secularization. Yet, it can be said that the more “conservative” traditions of doctrinal studies have tended to emphasize the former level, while the latter can be more often seen within the more “liberal” viewpoints, as well as those who approach Shin Buddhist studies from the standpoints of philosophy or other “outside” schools of thought. The traditional view has been that the teachings of Shinran or the Shin Buddhist teachings as presented in doctrinal studies are already complete and perfected. That being the case, the modern doctrinal task is considered to be a matter of determining how to transmit the content of doctrinal studies to people using modern language. In other words, the issue for us is not the doctrine itself; rather, it becomes the way in which that doctrine should be explained. In contrast, the position that considers the problem of secularization from an existential standpoint focuses in upon the existential question that the self apprehends, as well as the various problems of society. It might be said that Bultmann’s idea of demythologization represented a compromise that attempts to solve the problem of secularization by taking it to be this kind of existential problem.

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Needless to say, the problems facing Shin Buddhism are more than mere problems of linguistics. The reason is that, as I have indicated previously, religious truth, which religious language is trying to transmit, is based upon certain religious views of the world or humanity. Within the condition of secularization, however, people come to find these views difficult to accept. This is not simply a question of language or method of explanation. Rather, it is a problem of the transmission of religious truth—a question of what is truly meaningful for modern people today. Moreover, it is characteristic of secularization that the significance of Shin Buddhist studies itself is no longer as self-evident as it once was. For instance, in actuality, Shin doctrinal studies are in no way perfect or complete. They always exist within history and possess their own history; they can exist apart from neither the history of the religious organization nor the history of doctrinal development. Even the more dogmatic approaches that consider doctrinal studies to be complete in themselves have a side to them that is historical in origin and relative in meaning. Thus, by apprehending the problems that Shin Buddhist studies face today as simply questions of linguistics or methods of explanation, one will overlook the essence of those problems. What about the standpoint that considers those problems to be existential in nature? I have mentioned previously that the background out of which the condition of secularization arose was that of a change in modern humanity’s perception of the world. However, it cannot be said that religious concern in the modern era has been lost, as it had been before. The reach of the secular realm has expanded within human life, with the diminution of the ultimate realm. However, human life itself has not become completely secularized as a result. Rather, religious concern continues to exist, as the inner spiritual reality of each individual. The question has become how this concern can be fulfilled; and the answer reveals the kind of life that can be realized by that individual. In this sense, the point of view that understands secularization to be an existential problem is important. Further, it allows us to gain a positive understanding of secularization, which, as an existential problem, refers to an era defined by a perception that “One must become a truly religious person in order to be a full member of society.” However, lying in wait here is the great danger of deviating from the fundamental, religious viewpoint. That is, when the ultimate realm, within the condition of secularization, does not give rise to an intense confrontation with the secular realm, the ultimate becomes totally dissolved into the secular. This means that here lies the danger that the doctrine itself will be dragged down into the situation and lose its fundamental significance. In particular,

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this must be given careful attention when one seeks to study the relationship between Shin Buddhism and secular society, the state, ethics, or civil society. Traditionally, in doctrinal studies, this issue had been taken up as the problem of the two truths of the ultimate and the worldly. I will not go deeply into the content of that issue here other than to say that it contains many problem areas. In that sense, the standpoint that apprehends secularization as an existential problem must hold within itself a critical moment. That is to say, more than anything else, doctrinal studies must be critical of doctrinal studies themselves; and at the same time, they must engage in an epochal criticism of present-day society. In terms of the framework set forth by Nagatomi, this could be said to be the entry into a third standpoint that integrates and critically utilizes the positions of both traditional orthodoxy and doctrinal studies which seek to respond to modern-day questions. It can be asserted that this attitude was an important and essential element in the formation of Shinran’s teachings. In particular, it can be observed in his fundamental doctrinal standpoint, which is captured by his phrase, “neither a monk nor one in worldly life (hiso hizoku).” 3

“Neither a Monk Nor One in Worldly Life”

We find the phrase, “neither a monk nor one in worldly life” in the postscript of the Collection of Passages Revealing the True Teaching, Practice, and Realization of the Pure Land Way (Kyōgyōshinshō), where Shinran records the Jogen religious persecution. He says, The emperor and his ministers, acting against the dharma and violating human rectitude, become enraged and embittered. As a result, Master Genku (Hōnen)—the eminent founder who had enabled the true essence of the Pure Land Way to spread vigorously (in Japan)—and a number of his followers, without receiving any deliberation of their (alleged) crimes, were summarily sentenced to death or were dispossessed of the monkhood, given (secular) names, and consigned to distant banishment. I was among the latter.2

2  The True Teaching, Practice and Realization of the Pure Land Way: A Translation of Shinran’s Kyōgyōshinshō, 4 vols., Yoshifumi Ueda, gen. ed., Shin Buddhist Translation Series (Kyoto: Hongwanji International Center, 1990), vol. IV, pp. 613–14.

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Then he declares: Hence, I am now neither monk nor one in worldly life. For this reason, I have taken the term “Toku” (“stubble-haired”) as my name.3 Usually, Shinran’s declaration that he was “neither a monk …” is said to refer to his protest against the persecution of the buddhadharma by secular authorities and imperial law. At the same time, it is also said to be an expression of his intention to part from the conventional Buddhist religious orders that were being protected by those secular authorities. “Nor one in worldly life” can be understood to be his declaration that, even while existing within worldly life, his life was based in the buddhadharma. However, it is not enough simply to interpret these words as being a mere statement of opposition to the historical event of governmental suppression. It has also been said that they point to a backdrop of problems that Shinran faced existentially, such as his inability to uphold the precepts, failure to abstain from eating meat, or taking a wife. Yet, these words also speak of something beyond even this kind of introspective viewpoint. In other words, they do not simply point to the life of a priest who was “neither a monk” since he ate meat and had a wife, “nor one in worldly life” because he performed religious rituals while living in a temple. Rather, what we find expressed in these words is none other than Shinran’s own way of life, chosen by himself as he descended Hieizan and settled upon the nenbutsu, which he learned from his teacher, Hōnen. This was a way of life supported by a profound realization of himself as a person who was without repentance or shame, as well as by the joy over having encountered the true and real teaching. In this way, Shinran’s phrase is a reference to Shandao’s “two kinds of deep entrusting.” The first is “deep entrusting as to the self,” which is stated as: [B]elieve deeply and decidedly that you are a foolish being of karmic evil caught in birth-and-death, ever sinking and ever wandering in transmigration from innumerable kalpas in the past, with never a condition that would lead to emancipation.4 The second, “deep entrusting as to the Buddha’s Vow,” is set out as follows:

3  Ibid., p. 614. 4  Ibid., vol. II, p. 213.

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[B]elieve deeply and decidedly that Amida Buddha’s Forty-eight Vows grasp sentient beings, and that, allowing yourself to be carried by the power of the Vow without any doubt or apprehension, you will attain birth.5 Shinran gave concrete expression to this very profound religious spirit of the Pure Land way in the sphere of actual life. This can also be seen in his understanding that the governmental oppression of the nenbutsu teaching was not a simple intervention of politics into religion but also constituted the problem of religion compromising itself with secular authorities. Reflecting within myself, I see that in the various teachings of the Path of Sages, practice and enlightenment died out long ago, and that the true essence of the Pure Land way is the path to realization now vital and flourishing. Monks of Śākyamuni’s tradition in the various temples, however, lack clear insight into the teaching and are ignorant of the distinction between true and provisional; and scholars of the Confucian academies in the capital are confused about practices and wholly unable to differentiate right and wrong paths. Thus, scholar-monks of Kōfukuji presented a petition to the retired emperor in the first part of the second month, 1207.6 Furthermore, in the passage following the statement of his standpoint of being “neither a monk nor one in worldly life,” Shinran continues, I, Gutoku Shinran. disciple of [Śākyamuni], discarded sundry practice and took refuge in the Primal Vow in 1201.7 Here Shinran appends the character “Gu” onto the name “Toku,” which he had said was an expression of “neither a monk nor one in worldly life,” thereby calling himself “Gutoku.” He also refers to himself as a “true disciple of the Buddha” and relates his own “turning of the mind” in 1201. In addition, he speaks of having been able to receive the transmission of Hōnen’s work. Passages on the Nembutsu Selected in the Primal Vow (Senjaku Hongan Nenbutsu Shū):

5  Ibid. 6  Ibid., vol. IV, p. 613. 7  Ibid., p. 614.

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I was in fact able to copy it and to paint his portrait. This was the virtue of practicing the right act alone, and the manifestation of the decisive settlement of birth.8 We can begin to see in these passages the religious content of Shinran’s declaration that he was “neither a monk nor one in worldly life.” The words originated in a profound religious attainment that he expressed as “Gutoku” and which takes the form of a “true disciple of the Buddha” who dwells in the decisive settlement of birth even in the midst of the secular world. This way of life—being “neither a monk nor one in worldly life”—is founded upon the realization that “only the nenbutsu is true and real”—a realization that Shinran called the awakening of shinjin. However, we must take note of an important point here. For Shinran, the human character in all of this was found in the self-realization that one is “foolish, stubble-headed.” That is to say, the position of being “neither a monk nor one in worldly life” in the midst of the secular world is not based in the side of human beings, nor in human reason. Rather, it arises from the reality of living thoroughly within the ultimate world while being in the very midst of the secular world. Thus, being “neither a monk nor one in worldly life” is to live a life in which the ultimate and the secular arise in tension, within the midst of the actual world. The Epilogue to the Tannishō states: I do not know what the two, good and evil, really mean. I could say that I know what good is, if I knew good as thoroughly and completely as the Tathāgata; and I could say I know what evil is, if I knew evil thoroughly and completely as the Tathāgata. But, in this foolish being lull of blind passion, and in this world that is a flaming house of impermanence, all matters without exception are lies and vanities, totally without truth and sincerity: the nenbutsu alone is true and real.9 According to this passage, the negation of secular values takes place in relation to Amitābha Tathāgata. That is, it arises from the realization that “the nenbutsu alone is true and real” in the midst of this present reality. This is no transcendental conception of the tension between the ultimate and the secular. 8  Ibid., p. 616. 9  Shinshū Shogyo Zensho, vol. II, pp. 792–93. This translation is based on those found in Tannishō, A Shin Buddhist Classic, T. Unno, trans. (Honolulu: Buddhist Study Center Press, 1984), p. 36; and Tannishō, A Primer, D. Hirota, trans. (Kyoto: Ryūkoku University, 1982), p. 44. Emphasis added.

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Rather, the basis for that tension is said to lie in the nenbutsu within this actual world—in that religious way of life, having the “two kinds of deep entrusting” as its inner reality and finding expression in the phrase “neither a monk nor one in worldly life.” That being the case, within the condition of secularization, the mission of Shin Buddhist practitioners lies in clarifying the content of Shinran’s words, “neither a monk nor one in worldly life,” as a living reality. It is constantly to ask oneself what it means to be a “true disciple of the Buddha” in the midst of this secular world. If, in the future, Shin Buddhist doctrinal studies should be conducted in the absence of this kind of tension between the ultimate and the secular, then our religious organization will gradually come to lose the dynamism of the religious life in which Shinran discovered the ultimate in the midst of the secular.

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Amida and Pure Land within a Contemporary Worldview: From Shinran’s Literal Symbolism to Figurative Symbolism Kenneth K. Tanaka 1 Preface One of the major challenges facing contemporary Shin Buddhists is to find more meaningful ways of understanding Amida and Pure Land, which are difficult to grasp on account of their “transcendent” nature. Of course, this has been an ongoing challenge faced by numerous Shin scholars and writers before me, but I would like to offer my views building on what others have proposed and what I have previously published.1 It is my hope that my endeavor will be a way of honoring Roger Corless, who, as will be seen below, has also offered some valuable perspectives on this topic. I realize that Amida and Pure Land have separate doctrinal origins in early Indian Buddhist development, but we are treating them as a set, for they appear together as integral components of the narrative that makes up the core teaching as articulated in the Pure Land sutras. Further, they continued to serve that function for subsequent Pure Land Buddhists in East Asia, including Shinran and Shin Buddhists up to the present. The “challenge” we are about to tackle has been well articulated in the following set of questions posed by Gordon Kaufman, a noted Christian theologian and former professor at the Divinity School at Harvard University. As someone outside the Shin tradition, he is, perhaps, afforded a vantage point for a more objective evaluation of Shin Buddhist claims. Speaking at a symposium at Ryūkoku University in 1989, he asked: Source: Tanaka, Kenneth K, “Amida and Pure Land within a Contemporary Worldview: From Shinran’s Literal Symbolism to Figurative Symbolism,” in Richard K. Payne (ed.), Path of No Path: Contemporary Studies in Pure Land Buddhism Honoring Roger Corless, Berkeley, CA: Institute of Buddhist Studies and Numata Center for Buddhist Translation and Research, 2009, pp. 215–242. 1  “Where is the Pure Land? Controversy in Chinese Pure Land Buddhism on the Nature of Pure Land,” Pacific World, n.s., 3 (Fall 1987): pp. 36–87 (reprinted in Shin Buddhism: Historical, Textual, and Interpretive Studies, ed. Richard K. Payne [Berkeley, CA: Institute of Buddhist Studies and Numata Center for Buddhist Translation and Research, 2007], pp. 99–113); “Symbolism of Amida and Pure Land in the American Context,” The Pure Land, n.s., 8 & 9 (December 1992): pp. 64–88.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2020 | doi:10.1163/9789004401525_042

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How now are we today to understand this Pure Land? Is there really some special place other than this world to which we may go after death, a Pure Land of joy and peace? Many religious mythologies have spoken this way; but, in the light of modern scientific cosmology and our modern knowledge of the grounding of human existence in the evolution of life and the earth’s ecology, it is difficult to make much sense of this kind of thinking…. Perhaps sophisticated Buddhists, following the lead of Shinran, understand that the Pure Land is not a real place at all, but basically a symbol for a different state of mind; but would such notion be attractive and acceptable to ordinary practicers of Shin Buddhism? … My second set of questions has to do with Amida’s Vow. First, of course, one wonders who—or what—is Amida Buddha? Is Amida some sort of “cosmic person,” a kind of god? If so, how are we to conceive this sort of being today?2 Here Kaufman distinguishes two types of understanding with regard to Pure Land, the first of which he refers to as “some special place other than this world to which we may go after death” and the second as “a symbol for a different state of mind.” Perhaps we can thus refer to these two kinds of understanding as substantialist and symbolic, respectively. The same can be applied to Amida, since a substantialist understanding would make Amida “some sort of ‘cosmic person,’” while a symbolic understanding would render Amida a representation or personification of a deeper reality. Kaufman suggests that while sophisticated Shin Buddhists might find the symbolic understanding attractive, “ordinary” Shin Buddhists would find the substantialist understanding more acceptable. It is difficult to determine who would qualify as “ordinary,” but the survey that I conducted of American Shin Buddhists revealed that virtually all embraced a symbolic understanding.3 2  Gordon Kaufman, “Religious Diversity and Religious Truth,” in Shinran and the Contemporary World: Internationalization and the Encounter with World Religions (Kyoto: Ryūkoku University, 1989). 3  Tanaka, “Symbolism of Amida and Pure Land in the American Context,” pp. 68–72. An informal survey was designed to ascertain the nature of some beliefs and values held by selected members of the Buddhist Churches of America concerning Amida and the Pure Land. The respondents filled out the questionnaire in June 1990. The questionnaires were sent to twenty lay members associated with the Institute of Buddhist Studies (Berkeley, California) and to twenty randomly selected ministers who were asked to find any four to five lay members from their temples. A total of thirty-eight responded (eighteen females, eighteen males, two unknown gender), including thirteen “converts” (those who were not raised a Buddhist). Their ages were as follows:

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Conversely, the substantialist understanding was discernibly weak. While this group cannot be representative of all Shin Buddhists today, I believe they represent a cohort that is seriously attempting to incorporate the Shin teachings into their spiritual lives. Moreover, it is my evaluation that most Shin Buddhists today, whether in Japan or in the United States, would not take a substantialist view of a Pure Land of bejeweled trees located billions of buddha lands to the west and presided over by Amida and bodhisattvas. Thus, contrary to Kaufman’s perception, most “ordinary” Shin Buddhists would subscribe to a symbolic understanding. 2

Shinran’s Understanding

Now, let’s move on to Shinran’s understanding, which Kaufman saw as being symbolic, based on his comment, “… following the lead of Shinran, [sophisticated Buddhists would] understand that the Pure Land is not a real place at all, but basically a symbol for a different state of mind.” As we attempt to determine the accuracy of Kaufman’s portrayal, I have decided to focus on Shinran’s understanding of Amida and Pure Land as expressed in his Notes on “Essentials of Faith Alone,” which constitutes Shinran’s clearest and most succinct explanation on this subject. The land of bliss is the realm of nirvana, the uncreated. The land of bliss is that Pure Land of happiness, where there are always countless joys and never any suffering mingled with them. It is known as the land of peace. It was Master [Tanluan] who praised and called it “Land of Peace.” Also, the Treatise on the Pure Land describes it as “the lotus repository world” and as the uncreated…. Since it is with this heart and mind of all sentient beings that they entrust themselves to the Vow of the dharma-body as compassion, this shinjin is none other than Buddha-nature. This Buddha-nature is dharmanature. Dharma-nature is the dharma-body. For this reason there are two   Age (in years) No. of respondents    0–19  7   20–29  4   30–39  6   40–49  6   50–59 10   60–69  9   70+  1

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kinds of dharma-body in regard to the Buddha. The first is called dharmabody as suchness and the second, dharma-body as compassionate means. Dharma-body as suchness has neither color nor form; thus, the mind cannot grasp it nor words describe it. From this oneness was manifested form, called dharma-body as compassionate means. Taking form, the Buddha proclaimed his name as Bhikṣu Dharmākara and established the Forty-eight great Vows that surpass conceptual understanding. Among these Vows are the Primal Vow of immeasurable light and the universal Vow of immeasurable life, and to the form manifesting these two vows Bodhisattva Vasubandhu gave the title, “Tathāgata of unhindered light filling the ten quarters.” This Tathāgata has fulfilled the Vows, which are the cause of that Buddhahood, and thus is called “Tathāgata of the fulfilled body.” This is none other than Amida Tathāgata.4 3

The Two Traditions Forming Shinran’s Understanding

Based on Tanluan’s Commentary on the Pure Land Treatise, Shinran recognizes two kinds of dharma bodies. We are drawn to the line, “For this reason there are two kinds of dharma-body in regard to the Buddha.” One is the dharma body as suchness, and the other is the dharma body as compassionate means. The former “has neither color nor form; thus, the mind cannot grasp it nor words describe it.” And the latter is Amida, which took form out of oneness. This set of two bodies is quite well known and can be said to be drawing from the doctrine of the two levels of body, one of dharma and one of form (rūpa), that originated hundreds of years earlier in Indian Buddhism. However, what I wish to emphasize is that these two kinds of dharma body actually represent two “developments” within pre-Mahayana and Pure Land Buddhist thought. The dharma body as compassionate means—that is, Amida—is found in the Pure Land sutras (both the so-called Larger and Smaller Sukhāvatīvyūha-sūtras), which are estimated to have been compiled in the first century CE. In the Larger Sutra, we find the narrative of Bhikṣu Dharmākara making the vows and eventually becoming Buddha Amitābha (i.e., Amida), which comes to serve as the foundation on which the Pure Land teachings and practices developed. On the other hand, the dharma body as suchness is not explicitly found in the Pure Land sutras but was introduced into Pure Land discussion by Tanluan 4  Dennis Hirota, et al., trans., The Collected Works of Shinran (hereafter CWS), vol. 1 (Jōdo Shinshū Hongwanji-ha, 1997), pp. 460–462. Emphases added.

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in his Commentary on the Pure Land Treatise completed in the sixth century. Tanluan must have acquired this concept while he was involved in the study of Indian Mahayana texts centered on the Yogācāra tradition prior to his legendary conversion to the Pure Land way. As alluded to above, Buddhist texts have long articulated a two-bodies theory of the form body (rūpakāya) and dharma body (dharmakāya) in its various meanings and connotations. And Tanluan knew about one version of the two-bodies theory, dharma body as suchness and dharma body as compassionate means. Soon after, in the latter half of the sixth century, Zhingying Huiyuan (523–591) applied the prevailing three-bodies theory (dharmakāya, sambhogakāya, and nirmāṇakāya) to explain Amitābha, thus furthering the doctrinal move to reconcile Amitābha of the Pure Land sutras with the buddha-body theory in Mahayana Buddhism current at the time. However, Tanluan, by means of his two-bodies theory, is the earliest known writer to reconcile the two traditions. What needs to be borne in mind in this discussion is that the Pure Land sutras present a clearly substantialist portrayal of Amida and the Pure Land. This tradition goes back, in part, to the doctrine of past and future buddhas that began as early as the third century BCE. Within a hundred years after that, we see the emergence of the concept of transcendent contemporary buddhas of the other world-realms within the Mahāsaṃghika and Lokottaravādin schools. The proponents of this view actually thought of these buddhas as “beings” who resided in “actual objectively existent realms” in ways similar, if not the same, to how we today look at the planets and stars. Then when the Pure Land sutras appeared in the first century CE, they identified one of the numerous contemporary buddhas as Amitābha dwelling in one of the buddha lands called Sukhāvatī.5 It is vital that we acknowledge this substantialist stream within the Pure Land tradition that existed in sixth-century China and right up to the time of Shinran and even today. We cannot, therefore, quickly dismiss this element based on our understanding that Shinran, following Tanluan’s lead, “demythologized” the Pure Land narrative. Tanluan did not eliminate the narrative, as we shall now see below.

5  See Kenneth K. Tanaka, The Dawn of Chinese Pure Land Buddhist Doctrine: Ching-ying Hui-yüan’s Commentary on the Visualization Sutra (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990), pp. 3–9.

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Tanluan’s Reconciliation of the Two Traditions

In this respect, Tanluan is clearly a pivotal figure in Pure Land Buddhist development, for he sought to reconcile the two streams of thought. For this reason, he is often described as the “demythologizer” of the Dharmākara-Amitābha narrative. However, I feel it is more correct to see Tanluan as “reconciler” of two discrete developments, for he did not eliminate the narrative but set it within the framework of Mahayana doctrine of the two bodies, informed by the truth of emptiness as well as the two truths of the ultimate and the conventional. For example, he characterizes the mode of existence of the Pure Land as “subtle” (wei) and explained, “Though it is extra-phenomenal, it exists.”6 So, it does exist but not in the ordinary way. I believe the same message is found in his well-known description, “That [Pure] Land is the Realm of Non-birth.”7 Tanluan’s attempt to reconcile the two can further be seen in his idea of the “interpenetration of the expanded and the essential” (guanglüe xiangru; Jpn. kōryaku sōnyū). The “essential” refers to “one dharma phrase” (ifazhu; Jpn. ichihokku), which constitutes another term for the ultimate truth. The “expanded” refers to the seventeen decorated forms of the Pure Land, Amitābha, and the two bodhisattvas described in the Treatise on the Pure Land attributed to Vasubandhu. The decorated forms of Pure Land (expanded) and the ultimate truth (essential) are mutually dependent. The former emerges based on the latter, while the latter is expressed through the former.8 The decorated forms must be rooted in ultimate truth, but the ultimate truth cannot be understood by ordinary beings. Hence, ultimate truth expresses itself through the decorated forms, which are in accord with the emotional and intellectual capacity of the unenlightened. Here we see Tanluan’s recognition that the form is necessary to fulfill the needs of ordinary beings. It is in connection with this relationship between ultimate truth and decorated forms that Tanluan discusses the two kinds of dharma bodies, which, as we saw above, Shinran quoted in articulating his own understanding. Between the two dharma bodies, the dharma body as compassionate means serves as “representation” or “symbol” for the dharma body as suchness, as noted in Shinran’s passage, “From this oneness (i.e., the dharma body as suchness) was manifested form, called dharma body as compassionate means.” Since dharma body as compassionate means is Amida, this passage has come to serve as one

6  T. 1819: 40.830a. 7  T. 1819: 40.839b. 8  T. 1819: 40.841b.

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of the bases for Amida being regarded as “symbol,” evidenced in Kaufuman’s understanding as well. There are other doctrinal bases for Shinran’s understanding. The most wellknown is found in Shinran’s short tract On Jinen Hōni, written at the age of eighty-eight: As the essential purport of the Vow, [Amida] vowed to bring us all to become supreme Buddha. Supreme Buddha is formless, and because of being formless is called jinen. Buddha, when appearing with form, is not called supreme nirvana. In order to make it known that supreme Buddha is formless, the name of Amida Buddha is expressly used; so I have been taught. Amida Buddha fulfills the purpose of making us know the significance of jinen.9 Here, too, we find a clear expression of Shinran’s understanding of Amida as representation or symbol in the last line, “Amida Buddha fulfills the purpose of making us know the significance of jinen.” So, it appears safe to regard Shinran as having understood Amida as representation or symbol of the dharma body of suchness (Notes on “Essentials of Faith Alone”) or of supreme buddha (On Jinen Hōni).10 5

Applying Paul Tillich’s Definitions of Religious Symbols

In examining Shinran’s understanding of Amida and Pure Land from a contemporary perspective, I propose to apply a rudimentary definition of religious symbols as put forth by the noted Protestant theologian Paul Tillich. He saw four characteristics that comprise a religious symbol, which can be summarized as 1) acceptability, 2) innate power, 3) perceptibility, and 4) figurative. These characteristics are by and large accepted by other writers of religious symbols and myth. Allow me to apply each of the four characteristics to Shinran’s description cited above. The first characteristic of “acceptability” points to the social nature of a symbol, as Tillich explains:

9  C WS I, p. 428. 10  I realize that “symbol” is a complex issue that deserves much fuller discussion, but due to space limitations of this essay I wish to proceed to the next section, where my usage of the term “symbol” will be made clearer, particularly in relation to Shinran’s understanding.

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This implies that the symbol is socially rooted and socially supported. Hence it is not correct to say that a thing is first a symbol and then gains acceptance; the process of becoming a symbol and the acceptance of it as a symbol belong together…. The individual can devise signs for his own private needs; he cannot make symbols. If something becomes a symbol for him, it is always so in relation to the community which in turn can recognize itself in it.11 Shinran in this regard had inherited a rich and long Pure Land tradition that went as far back as the early as the first century CE, when the Pure Land sutras were compiled. His selection of the lineage of seven masters headed by the eminent Mahayana proponent Nāgārjuna reveals Shinran’s respect for the authenticity of the Pure Land lineage. The seven masters were in fact part of a greater lineage, whose origins went back to Amida Buddha, wherein even the historical Buddha Śākyamuni was relegated to the role of a messenger. For Shinran, the Amida narrative was an unquestionable component of the tradition and informed his historical outlook and worldview. His doctrinal formulation is embedded in the Pure Land tradition and reveals no hint of questioning the basic paradigm that he inherited. The second characteristic points to the “innate power” that the symbol contains, particularly in contrast to a mere sign: It gives to the symbol the reality, which it has almost lost in ordinary usage, as the phrase “only a symbol” shows. This characteristic is decisive for the distinction between a sign and a symbol. The sign is interchangeable at will. It does not arise from necessity, for it has no inner power. The symbol, however, does possess a necessary character.12 Tillich maintains that symbols, unlike signs, possess an ability to convey meaning with an inherent power of their own. But through time, with the gradual shift from a mystical to a technical view of the world, they have lost that power—though not completely. For Shinran, the name (myōgō) “Namu Amida Butsu” and its cognates was more than a name designating Amida Buddha but constituted Amida itself. There is no buddha independent of the name, for Amida Buddha is none other than the name. Further, the name also possessed all the necessary virtues to 11  Paul Tillich, “The Religious Symbol,” in Symbolism in Religion and Literature, ed. Rollo May (New York: George Braziller, 1960), pp. 76–77. 12  Ibid., p. 76.

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enable the person of shinjin to be assured of eventual full and complete enlightenment. However, the seeker must engage the name by reciting the name. In this way, the name would exhibit the “inner power” (Tillich’s term) for actualizing the soteriological needs of the seeker. Tillich describes the third quality of symbol “perceptibility” as follows: This implies that something which is intrinsically invisible, ideal, or transcendent is made perceptible in the symbol and is in this way given objectivity.13 The same point is made by Mircea Eliade, who saw that without the symbol ultimate reality would remain elusive, since it is by nature imperceptible.14 The Pure Land tradition, as discussed earlier, has long made it its hallmark to make the profundity of dharma accessible to seekers of ordinary abilities or circumstances. As early as the seventh century, Daochuo explained the soteriological process by means of an ingenious metaphor of fire and ice: “It is like lighting fire on top of ice. As the fire intensifies, the ice melts. When the ice melts, then the fire goes out.”15 The fire and ice refer to the ignorant, passion-ridden people who aspire to be born in an existent, objective Pure Land. The melting of the ice refers to the soteriological process of their singleminded resolve to be born in a substantialist Pure Land, which eventually leads them to the attainment of wisdom. This attainment automatically extinguishes the fire of the false notion that the aspirant actually is born in a substantialist Pure Land. Shinran does not deviate from this basic understanding of the tradition, for he states: Know, then, that although they neither seek nor know the indescribable, inexplicable, and inconceivable virtues of the Pure Land of happiness, those who entrust themselves to the Primal Vow are made to acquire them.16 It’s important to bear in mind that a person of shinjin would not directly perceive Amida or the Pure Land in this life but would undergo a life-transforming experience, in which one feels assured of birth in the Pure Land upon death.

13  Ibid., p. 75. 14  Mircea Eliade, ed., The Encyclopedia of Religion (New York: Macmillan, 1987), p. 206. 15  T. 47: 11c27. 16   C WS I, p. 477.

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The fourth characteristic of a symbol is its “figurative” quality. The symbol itself denotes an intrinsic reality, for the symbol is merely a representation. It, therefore, should not be taken literally. This implies that the inner attitude which is oriented to the symbol does not have the symbol itself in view but rather that which is symbolized in it.17 It is with this last point that Shinran’s interpretation, in my view, fails to adhere to Tillich’s definition. How is this so? As we saw above, Shinran certainly understood Amida (and Pure Land) as a representation of oneness, which was expressed, “From this oneness was manifested form, called dharma-body as compassionate means.” However, this manifestation was realized when the narrative took place innumerable kalpas ago, at which time dharma body as compassionate means entered “history.” For Shinran, the narrative actually took place in this sahā world in an extremely distant past. Hence, for Shinran the narrative was not figurative, because when he thought about Amida or the Pure Land, he did not see them as merely a symbol but as carrying reality in and of itself. Yes, they were the manifested forms of oneness, but that manifestation had taken place kalpas earlier, and he saw them to be true historically. Having thus applied Tillich’s four characteristics of symbol to Shinran’s understanding, we found that all but the fourth characteristic applied. Hence, we will have to qualify Shinran’s understanding and refer to it in this paper as “literal symbolism.” In contrast, an understanding that fulfills all four will be referred to as “figurative symbolism.” I contend that most of us living in the twenty-first century would adhere to figurative symbolism. We can understand the difference by considering that Shinran lived in a different worldview, one that no longer exists today. 6

The Inevitable Gap between the Worldviews of Shinran and the Contemporary World

Shinran’s worldview is in concert with those of pre-modern people who generally did not make any distinction between mythic narrative and historical fact. John Yokota makes this same point when he states: 17  Tillich, “The Religious Symbol,” p. 75.

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For Shinran, however, the Amida story is historically true, and it was important for him to anchor Amida in the historicity of [Śākyamuni]…. This story of Amida, in particular the establishing of the Vows, has historicity for Shinran.18 For Shinran, the Amida narrative was real in the sense that “it actually took place” in the incalculably distant past, which included Bodhisattva Dharmākara becoming Amida ten kalpas ago and currently residing in Sukhāvatī Pure Land. Thus, that Amida took form out of oneness (“From this oneness was manifested form, called dharma-body as compassionate means”) does not negate its “historicity” for Shinran, so that for him the Bodhisattva Dharmākara actually lived in this sahā world in the distant past. The next logical question to be asked would be, “When did Shinran think that the dharma body as compassionate means took form out of oneness?” It would have to be in the innumerable distant kalpas ago, at which time the king (the future Bodhisattva Dharmākara/Amida) was inspired by Buddha Lokeśvararāja. It was then that the formless took form or entered history. The great distance in time probably did not concern Shinran as much as it has concerned us (for it can no longer be reconciled with our knowledge of history, which of course was not available to Shinran). What was important for Shinran was not the actual length of time but that the narrative refers to what actually happened as described in the sutras. As Shinran’s writings discussed above have shown, Shinran knew conceptually of the provisional nature of Dharmākara and Amida. But regarding this, I wish to stress the point that this form or dharma body as compassionate means was provisional in relation to the formless oneness or dharma body as suchness, but not provisional in relation to Shinran himself or the human side. This is a subtle but an important point, one that I rarely see other contemporary writers make. As a passion-filled foolish being (bonnō guzoku no bonbu), Shinran saw himself as capable only of accepting the teachings of Amida and Pure Land as presented to him by Hōnen. Shinran’s attitude can be seen in the well-known passage in the Tannishō: But I am incapable of any other practice, so hell is decidedly my abode whatever I do. 18  J ohn S. Yokota, “Understanding Amida Buddha and the Pure Land: A Process Approach,” in Toward a Contemporary Understanding of Pure Land Buddhism, ed. Dennis Hirota (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2000), p. 82.

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If Amida’s Primal Vow is true, [Śākyamuni’s] teaching cannot be false. If the Buddha’ teaching is true, [Shandao’s] commentaries cannot be false. If [Shandao’s] commentaries are true, can Hōnen’s words be lies? If Hōnen’s words are true, then surely what I say cannot be empty. Such, in the end, is how this foolish person entrusts himself [to the Vow].19 Shinran saw no other way but to humbly accept the teachings. This, I argue, led him not to be so presumptuous as to regard Amida or Pure Land only figuratively. He does not claim to comprehend “oneness” or the “mechanism” by which oneness manifested as form provisionally. Shinran saw himself simply affirming the teachings as presented. In fact, he did not claim even to experience Amida (let alone, oneness) directly, for, as we saw above, it was in the name “Namu Amida Butsu” itself that Amida manifested directly in his life. Thus, Amida and the Pure Land were not provisional for him. Further evidence for this can be found in Shinran’s letters, where he makes the statement: My life has now reached the fullness of its years. It is certain that I will go to birth in the Buddha Land before you, so without fail I will await you there.20 One may argue that Shinran in these letters was carrying out a more pastoral function, in which he resorted to provisional and skillful means to speak to those whose abilities could only grasp a more literal and substantialist Pure Land. In other words, he personally did not believe in such a literal Pure Land but taught it to his disciples simply as an appeasement. However, I have found no compelling evidence to think that he took such an approach. Now, I realize that there can be a way of understanding this issue in which history is “collapsed” or “transcended” in the moment of shinjin. Yokota also recognizes this point, as he explains: That is, it is not totally impossible that Shinran thought of the Amida myth and of Dharmākara raising the Vows in the existentialist-like manner of the collapsing of time in the now-moment of faith, and in his writings there are suggestive passages that lend themselves to such an understanding: “Pondering the mind of true entrusting of oneself to

19   C WS I, p. 662. 20   C WS I, p. 539.

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Amida, this mind of entrusting has one-moment. One moment expresses the moment of entrusting as being the ultimate point of time.”21 I realize that this “one-moment as ultimate point of time” way of understanding Shinran’s view of history is in vogue among Shin thinkers. For example, Furusawa Katsuhiko writes about “absolute time” (zettaiteki jikan) based on a “synchronic” (enkan teki) perspective, which differs from “linear time” (chokusen teki). The moment of shinjin is regarded as an absolute, synchronic time, in which one experiences a different order of time. Furusawa sees three qualities in this order of time: “severance of time” (toki no danzetsu-sei), “simultaneity with the eternal” (ei’en to no dōji-sei), and “reversibility of time” (jikan no kagyaku-sei). Specifically in regards to the narrative, he writes: In the one moment when one rides on the power of the Vow, he transcends both the past of innumerable kalpas of transmigration as well as the future that afforded no possibility of escaping [transmigration based on self-power].22 7

Reconciling the Difference

I believe these two seemingly conflicting understandings of time and history can be reconciled, for I see them to be the two modes of engagement operating at two distinct “stages” respectively on the Shin spiritual path, which I shall refer to as “pre-shinjin” and “past-shinjin.” These two correspond, in many ways, to the two modes of conception of and engagement with the transcendent proposed by Dennis Hirota, “teleological” and “interpersonal.”23 In the pre-shinjin stage, Shinran found himself in the literal symbolic understanding of the narrative. The narrative is understood literally as referring to actual events. The substantialist Pure Land lies in the distant western direction, where Amida presides. Thus, Shinran finds himself relating to Amida 21  Yokota, “Understanding Amida Buddha and the Pure Land,” pp. 82–83. Shinran’s passage is found in CWS I, pp. 110–111. 22  Furusawa Katsuhiro, “Kedo-kan no kenkyū” (A Study on the “Chapter on Transformed Land”), Shūgakuin ronshū 65 (March, 1996): p. 55. This journal is published by one of the institutes for traditional learning in Kyoto. 23  Dennis Hirota, “Images of Reality,” in Toward a Contemporary Understanding of Pure Land Buddhism, pp. 42–53. Hirota delves into greater detail regarding the features of these stages or modes, which cannot be discussed here due to space limitations; it is highly recommended for readers interested in this area.

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and Pure Land in a dualistic manner. He is here and Amida and Pure Land are out there. However, in the post-shinjin stage, Shinran found himself no longer relying only on the narrative, for he now rested in the true reality that has emerged in the experience of shinjin. The dualistic outlook has given way to the nondual. He came to realize the relative nature of linear historical time, which has been superseded by the absolute nature of synchronic time experienced in the moment of shinjin. And in this mode, he comes to regard Amida and Pure Land in a figurative manner, which is why he was able to speak of Amida in more deliteralized expressions as “Buddha of Infinite Light” and Pure Land as the “Realm of Immeasurable Light.” However, this does not mean that the narrative of Amida and Pure Land disappeared; it took on new meaning for him. I believe that in his post-shinjin stage, he maintained both modes of understanding, though his nondual, figurative understanding probably became more fundamental than the dualistic, literal understanding. But the latter continued to function in his mind, especially since the common people with whom he worked were steeped in the worldview that was more consistent with the literal understanding of the narrative. Plus, even in a post-shinjin mode for such a spiritually gifted person as Shinran, it is my belief that he probably shifted from one mode to the other in the course of a day or even an hour. When “we are in control” we find ourselves better able to be more conceptual and theoretical within our figurative outlook, but in moments of mental weakness we tend to seek the more personal or literal expressions. That is in the character of ordinary, foolish beings (bonbu). And Shinran, by his own admission, was a bonbu. In concluding this segment, I want to reiterate the point that Shinran maintained a literal symbolic understanding (especially in his pre-shinjin mode) to a greater degree than is generally acknowledged by contemporary writers. This poses a dilemma for contemporary Shin Buddhists, who live in a world very different from Shinran’s. 8

Our Inevitable Departure from Shinran

As argued already, our knowledge of history and worldview have changed drastically even in just the past century and a half, making it difficult for most of us to understand the narrative as referring to a historical event or to accept it as literal symbolism. This constitutes a dilemma for Shin Buddhists today, for on this point we find ourselves deviating from Shinran, who as founder should be

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our primary reference point. We are thus called to clarify the role that Shinran plays in our understanding of Shin teachings. Speaking personally, the centrality of Shinran is clear as the primary reference point for me, but there are different ways in which I can regard him. One way is to regard Shinran’s views as absolute “gospel.” From this perspective, there would be no leeway for reinterpretation. Another way is to regard Shinran as one among many luminaries in the wider Pure Land path, albeit the most important one for Shin adherents. In other words, he becomes for me the “eighth patriarch” in the Pure Land lineage that ultimately goes back to Śākyamuni. In the former approach, I would, metaphorically speaking, be facing Shinran, who is facing toward me as object of my unquestioned reverence. In contrast, in the latter approach I face Shinran, who is facing the other way. We are both facing the same direction toward Śākyamuni, although Shinran is much farther ahead than me. I follow Shinran as my exemplar but not as object of worship. This approach probably would not sit well with those who stress that element of the Shin tradition, which I believe is partly rooted in the “cult of Shinran veneration,” from the earliest period of the Shin institution. I, too, revere the Shin tradition, but there can and should be various approaches to tradition. If tradition means, as some undoubtedly would have it, accepting Shinran’s views exactly without any room for interpretation, then I cannot with any honesty remain part of that tradition. 9

Another Dilemma

There have been many contemporary writers on Shin teachings before me who have argued in the same vein and then proposed their interpretation for their audience. And I contend that many among them sought to present Amida and the Pure Land, whether consciously or not, in a figurative symbolic mode. This has been made possible by the efforts of contemporary scholars such as Paul Tillich and Joseph Campbell, who helped many people today appreciate the nature of ancient mythic narratives. Many now understand the mythic narratives as not true “factually” but true in conveying a deeper meaning about reality and human existence. However, herein lies another dilemma. In the Shin Buddhist context, the figurative symbolic understanding of the narrative is not of the same order as that of Shinran in his post-shinjin stage. On account of his spiritual transformation, Shinran came to regard Amida and Pure Land in a nondualistic manner.

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On the other hand, for contemporaries in the pre-shinjin stage, their figurative symbolic understanding is still dualistic in nature, where they regard the narrative primarily in a conceptual mode. Hence, we have two kinds of figurative symbolic understanding, nondualistic (Shinran in his post-shinjin mode) and dualistic (contemporary seekers in their pre-shinjin mode). With this in mind, I would now like to summarize some of the representative interpretations as resources in formulating a contemporary understanding. 10

Interpretations by Contemporary Writers

In order to gain a better handle on the wide range of interpretation, I have chosen to categorize them into nine different types. Typologies have their limitations, but I believe they help us gain a bird’s-eye view of the range of available interpretations. 10.1 Rationalist: Nonomura Naotarō From a rationalist perspective informed by the humanist movement of the 1920s, this controversial Ryūkoku University professor (later to be relieved from the faculty) rejected the idea of birth in an otherworldly and mythological Pure Land as an anachronism and a deviation from the true intent of Buddhism. In his view, the bejeweled, paradise-like Pure Land was an unfortunate Indian accretion, which in Japan was perpetuated in order to serve the needs of a feudalistic society. He, however, applauds Shinran’s this-worldly orientation for its spirit of humanism in its capacity for spiritual transformation—shinjin—in this very life. This view rejects the substantialist, other-power dimension, while extolling human capability.24 In my view, his effort to “modernize” is commendable, but he went too far when he eliminated elements such as other-power and the Pure Land, which appealed to religious sentiment and provided the distinctive quality of Pure Land Buddhism. 10.2 Mental: D. T. Suzuki D. T. Suzuki, perhaps the most effective transmitter of Zen Buddhism in the West during the twentieth century, spoke of the Pure Land in the following manner: 24  Nonomura Naotarō, Jōdokyo hihan (Critique of Pure Land Buddhism) (Kyoto: Chugai Shuppansha, 1923), referenced throughout the book.

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The Pure Land is not many millions and millions of miles away to the west. According to my explanation, the Pure Land is right here, even in this very hall (New York Buddhist Academy in the spring of 1958). Amida is not presiding over a Pure Land beyond our reach. His Pure Land is this dirty earth itself.25 This kind of understanding about the Pure Land is often maintained within the Zen tradition, along with what can be referred to as the “Pure Land as nothing but the pure mind” perspective. A Chan protagonist from eighth-century China expressed this latter understanding: There is a group of monks and nuns and laymen and laywomen who truly believe that the Pure Land really exists. [However,] the Pure Land is none other than the time when the mind is pure. Where does the Western Pure Land exist separate [from the mind]?26 While this kind of portrayal appeals to the modern mind, particularly in the West, Shin orthodox tradition has consistently rejected this view, labeling it as “mind-only Pure Land.” In doing so, the tradition has pointed to Shinran’s writing, which refuted this type of understanding primarily in order to discourage any vestige of religious self-righteousness that can incorrectly inflate the ego. Shinran says: However, priests and laymen of the Declining Age and masters of these days, sunken in the idea “that one’s true nature is Buddha” and “that the Buddha’s Pure Land exists in one’s mind,” degrade [belief in] the True Enlightenment in the Pure Land.27 10.3 Comparative: John Cobb, Jr. and Masao Abe The two leading scholars in the Buddhist-Christian interreligious dialogue have shown a keen interest in Shin doctrine. Both writers identify the role of Amida Buddha in Shin doctrine with that of Jesus in Christianity. Cobb remarks:

25  D. T. Suzuki, “Shin Buddhism: Part I,” Eastern Buddhist, n.s., 17, no. 1 (Spring 1985): p. 2. 26  T. 85: 1236–1242. 27  Ryūkoku University, trans., Kyō gyō shin shō: Teaching, Practice, Faith, and Enlightenment (Kyoto: Ryūkoku University Translation Center, 1966), p. 84.

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The feature of the totality to which Pure Land Buddhists refer when they speak of Amida is the same as that to which Christians refer when we speak of Christ.28 Masao Abe also sees Amida and Christ on a similar level, as he writes: Amida is the mediator between Dharma and human self as the fulfillment of vow in the trans-historical realm. Amida is personal with invisible form and color…. Christ is the mediator between God and the human self as the incarnation of the Son of God in history. Godhead is impersonal without any form and will.29 In my view, the juxtaposition of Jesus and Amida is problematic, since Amida is not historical in the modern sense. Śākyamuni would be the more appropriate equal to Jesus than Amida, since Śākyamuni and Jesus are both clearly historical figures. This exemplifies the inherent limitations of the comparative approach, for one is often left wanting when a doctrinal element from one tradition is applied to explicate an element in another tradition. Mahayana Philosophy: Ishida Mitsuyuki, Ueda Yoshifumi and Dennis Hirota, Hoshino Genpō, Alfred Bloom, Taitetsu Unno, John Ishihara Yokota, David Eckel, and Others30 The authors grouped together here constitute only a small percentage of a large number of writers who have attempted to place Shin teaching within broader Mahayana doctrine, for example, the bodhisattva spirit exemplified in Dharmākara’s career, the triple-body (trikāya) concept that provides an undergirding for the nature of Amida, and the two-truths theory. In so doing, they have helped to dispel the unwarranted but common perception of Pure Land 10.4

28  John Cobb, Beyond Dialogue: Toward a Mutual Transformation of Christianity and Buddhism (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1982), p. 128. 29  Abe Masao, “The State of Buddhist-Christian Dialogue,” lecture given at the Third International Buddhist-Christian Conference (Berkeley, CA: August 10–15, 1987). 30  Ishida Mitsuyuki, Shinran kyōgaku no kisoteki kenkyū (A Fundamental Study of Shinran’s Thought) (Kyoto: Nagata Bunshōdō, 1970); John Ishihara (Yokota), “Shakyamuni Within the Shin Tradition,” Pacific World, n.s., 2 (Fall 1986): pp. 31–35; Ueda Yoshifumi and Dennis Hirota, eds., Shinran: An Introduction to His Thought (Kyoto: Hongwanji International Center, 1989); Hoshino Genpō, Jōdo (Pure Land) (Kyoto: Hōzōkan, 1957); Taitetsu Unno, River of Fire, River of Water: An Introduction to the Pure Land Tradition of Shin Buddhism (New York: Doubleday, 1998); Alfred Bloom, The Promise of Boundless Compassion (Honolulu: Buddhist Study Center Press, 2002); David Eckel, “Defining a Usable Past: Indian Sources for Shin Buddhist Theology,” Pacific World, 3rd series, 5 (2003): pp. 55–84.

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Buddhism as simply a folk religion or even a Buddhist aberration. Their approach is indispensable for contemporary Shin thinkers who are concerned about the broader framework from which to interpret and present the Shin teachings, particularly of Amida and Pure Land. We will discuss two of these authors as examples of this approach. The most recent within this group of writings is the one by David Eckel, who, as a well-recognized scholar of Indian Mahayana tradition, has provided an immensely valuable set of materials for Shin thinkers to utilize for rethinking their tradition. Another important resource, containing a wealth of valuable views, was compiled by Alfred Bloom in a collection of essays by notable modern and contemporary writers.31 Many of the essays address the very issues that I have raised in this paper. My regret is that I was not able to incorporate them in this paper as fully as I would have wished, but it will be certain to be part of my project in the immediate future. 10.5 Affirmation of Form: Roger Corless Roger Corless recognizes two forms of experiencing dharma: a mysticism of darkness and a mysticism of light. The former is adopted by the Mādhyamika school, where the realized true reality (śūnyatā) is not expressed in words. Corless, in his creative way, calls this mode “apohic” from the Sanskrit word apoha, meaning “taking away.” The Mādhyamika proponents “take away” words and philosophical positions, for they are deemed ultimately inconsistent with and inadequate for expressing the true reality. The mysticism of light, on the other hand, is represented by the Yogācāra and Pure Land schools and found expressed in the Avataṃsaka-sūtra and the Pure Land sutras. Corless refers to this mode of expression as “alamkaric,” from the Sanskrit word alaṃkāra, meaning “ornament.” Here, śūnyatā is described “as full, brilliant, and sparkling.” Concerning the Pure Land tradition, Corless cites Tanluan, who helped to affirm the ornaments or the arrays of Pure Land as an alamkaric expression. Thus, Corless argues effectively on behalf of the oftenmaligned expressions of form and posits form (alamkaric, or “with form”) on an equal footing with that of the formless (apohic, or “without words”).32

31  Alfred Bloom, ed., Living in Amida’s Universal Vow: Essays in Shin Buddhism (Bloomington, IN: World Wisdom, 2004). 32  Roger Corless, “The Brilliance of Emptiness: T’an-luan as a Mystic of Light,” Pacific World, n.s., 5 (1989): pp. 13–16 (reprinted under the title “The Brilliance of Emptiness: Tanluan as a Mystic of Light,” in Shin Buddhism: Historical, Textual, and Interpretive Studies, ed. Payne, pp. 275–284).

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10.6 Religious Meaning: Ōhara Shōjitsu Ōhara recognizes three modes of existence: physical existence (butsuriteki jitsuzai), conceptual existence (kannenteki jitsuzai), and religious existence (shūkyoteki jitsuzai). Pure Land exists in the third mode of existence, but not in the first two. The sutra passages from the Larger and Smaller Sutras describe, in Ōhara’s view, the Pure Land’s transcendence of the physical realm as indicated by the fact that it “surpasses” or “distances this [world]” by millions of buddha lands to the west. The Pure Land cannot be subject to the limitations and impermanence of conditioned existence. Secondly, what he calls “conceptual existence” lacks clarity, in my view, but appears to mean the symbol for an ideal human world that Ōhara rejects on account of what he sees as extreme subjectivism and privatization at the expense of losing the universal and objective quality of Pure Land. Ōhara’s advocacy of the Pure Land as a religious meaning rests on the fundamental Buddhist position of viewing the world as the result of one’s karma or mind. This being the case, the anguish and impermanence experienced by humans in this sahā realm is due to their karmic evil. However, the very realization of the relative, anguish-laden nature of the sahā realm constitutes a religious awakening, which paves the way for a greater appreciation of the opposite qualities of permanence and happiness established as the result of the purified karmic activities of Amida.33 This interpretation perhaps represents the most common type of explanation by Shinshū teachers in Japan. Its strength lies in avoiding the pitfalls of the prior two “extremist” positions, and in showing that the Pure Land and Amida are of a reality that differs, in its nature, from the scientific and idealistic/ethical modes of existence. However, it falls short in presenting a palatable and sensible explanation for ordinary seekers with little or no Buddhist or, more specifically, Shinshū background. It offers little in terms of motivating them to inquire further into the teachings. This type of interpretation requires a whole set of “aftercare service” for motivating and nurturing seekers in their religious aspirations. 10.7 Poetic Language: Ōnline Akira Here, the Dharmākara-Amida narrative is not taken as historical fact but as a mythopoetic expression of true reality that defies grasping by everyday or conceptual language. The mythopoetic language opens up a channel through 33  Ōhara Shōjitsu, Shinshu kyōgaku no dentō to koshō (Tradition and Realization of Shinshū Doctrinal Studies), Shinshū-kyōgaku-shi kenkyū 5 (Kyoto: Nagata Bunshōdō, 1965), pp. 202–206.

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which a seeker is allowed to come in touch with the reality that otherwise would elude him. According to Ōmine, this mythopoetic language differs from mysticism: All forms of mysticism are characterized by the continual negation of linguistic expression with regard to reality…. But such literature is the linguistic expression of an experience which has already been attained; the experience itself is not attained by means of words…. In contrast myth and poetry (the mythopoetic) plumb the interior depths of language itself, and is created through the purification of the horizon of language…. Mysticism, which is based on the extrication of words, is an experience in letting go. Contrary to this, myth grasps the bottom of the depth by following words as they are born from that place where there are no words.34 Then later, at the level of internalizing the mythopoetic language, one experiences, in its quintessential form, a profoundly deepened appreciation of the name “Namu Amida Butsu.” As attested by Shinran, the name is none other than Amida itself. Ōmine speaks of this name as the pure language that arose from ultimate reality: The Name, Namu Amida Butsu, as conceived by Shinran, can be thought of as the horizon of pure language. Pure language is that which it expresses. In this standpoint everything exists within the words and nothing exists without. There is no Buddha apart from the Name, Namu Amida Butsu. The formless remains itself in the very midst of form while taking on form.35 The core of Shinran’s Pure Land thought lies in the dharma body as compassionate means, in other words, in the inconceivability of the name. This is the standpoint that does not see the mystery over yonder, beyond words, but is that which intuitively feels the mystery of the words that manifest themselves in the present, in the here and now. The inconceivable lies not over there but right here; this is truly the inconceivable nature of words. They are not signs or concepts, but light that embraces us.

34  Ōmine Akira, “Language and Transcendence,” The Pure Land, n.s., 3 (December 1986): pp. 144–147. 35  Ibid., pp. 150–151.

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10.8 Outer World: Yuichi Kajiyama and Oka Ryōji In response to a question at a 1992 symposium entitled “The Cosmology of Pure Land” sponsored by the Hongwanji Doctrinal Research Institute, Yuichi Kajiyama expressed a view based on science that was rather unexpected coming from a noted Buddhist scholar of the Indian philosophical tradition. He was asked what would be the contemporary equivalent of shihō-rissō (giving direction and establishing form), a concept attributed to Shandao (613–681), which served as an appropriate teaching in keeping with the needs of the worldview of that period. Kajiyama answered: Simply put, it (an appropriate teaching for the contemporary world) would be space (shinkū) [as] talked about in physics. We ordinarily think of space as void or being totally empty, but it certainly is not like that. In fact space is filled with moving particles in their motion mode, and they are all wavering. And that wavering was the source that produced the universe. The Buddhist śūnyatā also does not mean void. It’s my view that the non-substantiality of śūnyatā becomes a form of energy that produced Amida Buddha as well as the Pure Land. This means that there are the wavering particles within emptiness. This śūnyatā is the wisdom of [pāramitā]. It is also the wisdom of Amida Buddha and wisdom of dharma-body. That wisdom of dharmabody is not simply an empty space. There are the wavering particles, which constitute Amida’s compassion. Thus, I believe that śūnyatā is always accompanied by compassion, and that is the very energy that makes up the world as well as the Buddhist teachings.36 Kajiyama saw space as the most appropriate framework through which contemporary people could understand the Buddhist teachings. By drawing on current findings in physics, he found a parallel between space and the Buddhist teaching of śūnyatā, which produced the universe, and Amida and the Pure Land, respectively. Kajiyama does not go so far as to say that śūnyatā produced the physical universe (his clarification of the relationship between space and śūnyatā would have been even more provocative) but does feel that compassion produced by śūnyatā makes the world and the Buddhist teachings possible. Oka Ryōji, a Shin Buddhist scholar and priest, similarly turns to the outer world. In his case, he finds that the outer world serves as an active participant in his Shin spirituality. Oka explains that when one listens and awakens to the 36  Kajiyama Yuichi, Jōdo no kosumoroji (Kyoto: Jōdo-Shinshū Kyōgaku Kenkyūjo, 1993), p. 67.

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deeper meaning of the sacred story and Amida’s vow, one feels a profound sense of gratitude for the reasons he explains: The entire universe has been working solely on my behalf…. In order to liberate me, the entire universe has been working to become [Namu Amida Butsu] itself. And as I hear this truth, I am made to realize the truth that I am supported and embraced within the great compassion itself of [Namu Amida Butsu].37 So for Oka, the workings of the entire universe become Namu Amida Butsu. He does not elaborate much further on what he means by “the entire universe,” but I understand it to be referring to the totality of the nurturing causes and conditions that ultimately involves the entire universe. While I realize that Oka is not necessarily thinking about the “universe” in the sense of physics, I find it significant that a noted Shin scholar and former professor at Ryūkoku University, a Shin-based institution affiliated with the Nishi Honganji branch, would identify Amida with a nontraditional referent such as “the totality of universe” in such an unambiguous manner. 10.9 Unseen Life Force: Hase Shōtō This identification of Amida with the universe is also found in the writings of Hase Shōtō, formerly a professor at Kyoto University and now teaching at Ōtani University, a Shin-based institution associated with the Higashi Honganji branch. Hase Shōtō delves deeper into this issue as he makes a distinction between “creative nature” (nōsanteki shizen) and “created nature” (shosanteki shizen), a distinction derived from classical Western thought. He explains creative nature as follows: Creative nature is said to be [God’s] nature. This creative nature takes place at a much deeper level than the creation of creatures and the natural world. Creative nature refers to the “life force” (inochi) of the Buddha of Immeasurable Life. Amida Buddha is called “Immeasurable Life” or “Amitāyus,” and refers to life force that transcends the life force of ordinary life or of biological life. In other words, it is none other than the boundless life force that dwells as the foundation of ordinary lite.38 37  Oka Ryōji, “Shinran no jūnen shisō,” Shinshūgaku 107 (January 2003): p. 71. 38  Hase Shōtō, “Jōi no sekai to shiteno shūkyō—eigen suru hōzōbosatsu,” Shinshūgaku 107 (January 2003): p. 104.

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Hase also clarifies the role of the “sacred story” of Bodhisattva Dharmākara and Amida in relationship to his understanding. For Hase, the sacred story is treated as “image” through which a seeker awakens to the boundless life force that transcends the self but also courses deep within oneself. Hase stresses the importance of relating to the story-image on an “emotive-intentional” ( jō’i) level, not on a rational (risei) level. Amida is not something that exists objectively somewhere out there, but must be realized as the boundless life force found deep within. And this life force is none other than “creative nature,” as different from “created nature” that can be perceived and felt. And this life force is realized as “inner manifestation” (eigen) as opposed to “outer manifestation” (ōgen). Inner manifestation transcends history, while outer manifestation is within history, which is why Hase sees the former as Amida and the latter as Gautama Buddha. His distinction has basis in Shinran’s poem: Tathāgata [Śākyamuni] appeared (“outer manifestation”) in Kapilavastu Castle, while Tathāgata Amida appeared (“inner manifestation”) in the Realm of Ease and Nurturance (i.e., the Pure Land).39 11

A Practical Engagement with the Narrative as Figurative Symbol

As seen above, the circumstances of contemporary society call for nontraditional approaches to understanding and engaging the teachings of Amida and Pure Land. This became more urgent with the fundamental discrepancy between Shinran’s literal symbolic orientation and the figurative symbolic perspective of most contemporary people. I would now like to propose some practical guidelines for engaging the teachings. As indicated by the “affirmation of form” approach of Corless, we should not reject outright the narrative, for it helps us to be moved spiritually. To reject it and even eliminate it, as Nonomura did in his rationalistic approach, would effectively make it no longer a Shin teaching. Nonomura rejected it, unnecessarily in my view, because he understood the narrative in the substantialist manner. It would also be problematic to regard the Pure Land (and Amida) as “this dirty world” or the “purified mind” as advocated by Suzuki, for that would deviate too far from the core Shin position. Instead, in taking the cues from Ōhara’s “religious existence” and Ōmine’s “poetic language” approaches, we should understand the narrative to be 39   C WS I, p. 349. This passage actually appears over two poems (nos. 87 and 88) in Hymns to Amida Based on Various Sutras. Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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pointing to the reality of a different order from the ordinary. The narrative does not call for us to reject the ordinary but calls for us to approach and see the ordinary differently. The narrative should serve to provide us with the “image” for cultivating our spiritual life, as encouraged by Hase. In his “unseen life force” proposal, Hase encourages us to relate to the narrative on an “emotive-intentional” level, not on a rational level, thus enabling us to perceive and feel this unseen life force that dwells as the foundation of ordinary life. So, this life force needs to be realized as “inner manifestation.” Hence, while the narrative seems to be “out there,” it needs to be approached primarily to transform the emotive-intentional aspect of our inner selves. In other words, the concern is with our spiritual dimension. This spiritual dimension is often best expressed and nurtured by narratives or myth. As Joseph Campbell so aptly explained, myth does not mean false or untrue, but helps explain a deeper meaning that cannot effectively be explained by rational or other modes of expression. This manner of approaching the narratives or myths has been supported by the writings in the “Mahayana philosophy” approach (Ueda, et al.) mentioned above. Many of them refer to the Mahayana concept of the two levels of truths, conventional (samvṛtti-satya) and ultimate truth (paramārtha-satya), which serve as a generalized framework for supporting the figurative symbolic understanding of Amida and the Pure Land. The conventional or the forms are to be cherished, and the seekers are, thus, encouraged to find the spiritual meaning symbolized by the particulars of the forms in the narrative. For example, from my personal perspective, Bodhisattva Dharmākara’s forty-eight vows symbolize for me the fundamental compassionate nature of my existence. Despite all the unfortunate events in this world from wars, natural disasters, and interpersonal conflicts, compassion and love suffuse our existence. There courses a caring force that lies at the basis of our very existence, which I see symbolized in Bodhisattva Dharmākara’s subsequent selfcultivation for innumerable kalpas in order to make our enlightenment and existence possible. Findings in physics have revealed that enormous amounts of energy are consumed to sustain life and its activities, which becomes apparent as we note how much water, energy, food, and plastic wrappings we consume to sustain our daily lives. This is the basis for the “outer world” approach we saw above by Kajiyama and Oka, who call for us to awaken to the sense of indebtedness we should have toward the supportive world and universe. The narrative also tells us that Bodhisattva Dharmākara became Amida Buddha and since then has resided in the Pure Land billions of buddha lands to the west. What is the meaning that we are to derive from this? The fact that Bodhisattva Dharmākara has attained buddhahood as Amida symbolizes the potential liberation of all living beings as noted in his vows, in which Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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his becoming a buddha was contingent on all beings having the conditions in place for their birth in the Pure Land. Thus, since he has become Amida, all beings will be assured of birth if they fulfill the conditions as stipulated in the vows. This, in my view, offers a reason for us to face life now and in the future with a greater sense of optimism and gratitude, since the basic conditions for our spiritual emancipation have already been met. As a third example, the narrative states that those who vow to help others will upon birth in the Pure Land return to this sahā realm and to other worlds to lead others to attain buddhahood. This returning, referred to doctrinally as “the phase of returning” (gensō), need not be taken literally but can be seen to symbolize the seeker’s participating in the workings of a deeper spiritual reality. When a person realizes shinjin in this life, one “joins” in the dynamic compassionate workings called “Amida.” In that capacity, a person participates in the life force, which can be “accessed” by those who have yet to realize shinjin by reciting the name, “Namu Amida Butsu.” And as they recite and attain shinjin in their lives, they also join this immeasurable light and life called “Amida” in an ongoing, cyclic working to lead as many beings to buddhahood as possible. Because this working of Amida ultimately transcends the dichotomy of this life and life after death, as well as that of post-shinjin and pre-shinjin, everyone who seeks earnestly by uttering the name is already embraced by this life force. The specific element in the narrative helps to open us up to an existence that is magnanimous, inviting, and assuring. 12

Importance of Concerted Effort with the Name and the Light

As stated above, in this process of engaging the narrative, the name is the principal tangible representation of Amida (and indirectly of the Pure Land). In this life, the name “Namu Amida Butsu” is the manifestation of Amida. For that reason as well, to effectively engage the narrative we must cultivate the practice of reciting the name (nenbutsu) in our daily life. Shinran talks about the importance of the name: Truly we know that without the virtuous name, our compassionate father, we would lack the direct cause of birth. Without the light, our compassionate mother, we would stand apart from the indirect cause of birth.40

40   C WS I, p. 54.

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Here, I cannot emphasize enough the importance of making the effort, particularly in voicing and saying, “Namu Amida Butsu.” I am not alone among the growing number of people who feel that Shin Buddhists have become too cerebral and rationalistic with an overemphasis on shinjin. While shinjin certainly deserves our attention, it has come at the expense of effort, which should involve our personal engagement with the name “Namu Amida Butsu.” Its importance is the reason for Shinran regarding the name as “father” in the passage given above. In that passage, Shinran also makes mention of the importance of light. Hence, I wish to focus on light as a process of spiritual maturation, since light has played a central role in the soteriological experiences of Pure Land Buddhists, and Shinran was no exception. In our ordinary daily context, light can be tangibly understood as insight or understanding that was planted in us and nurtured by our families, and by countless teachers, friends, and even strangers. This insight enabled me, for example, to feel uplifted by the exquisite beauty of fluttering maple leaves in the autumn breeze or to appreciate the reassuring aroma of my favorite French roast coffee. It is also this insight that allows me to acknowledge the shortcomings in my character and conduct without a great deal of resistance (at least, with less resistance than if I had I not received this endowed insight) and turmoil on my part. And more importantly, the insight helps me realize that the shortcomings of which I am aware are actually only the tip of the iceberg. Others who do not experience this “light of nurturance” (chōjuku no kōmyō) may not be able to feel the same level of appreciation and acceptance even when experiencing the same tree, coffee, or personal shortcomings. A famous Buddhist parable of “one water, four perceptions” demonstrates that the same water is seen as jewels by heavenly beings, as drinking water by humans, as an abode by fish, and as mucus or phlegm by hungry ghosts. Hence, the quality of insight or understanding determines one’s reality. I believe the light as endowed wisdom as described above will help to serve as the means within our ordinary daily lives by which Shin seekers can come to feel more closely connected to Amida in its figurative symbolic sense. This departs from the more substantialist portrayal of Amida as a divine being residing in a distant buddha land. It also fosters more concrete ways of understanding the meaning of “wisdom and compassion,” the most common epithet by which Amida is expressed. In reality, wisdom and compassion are not attributes of Amida but are Amida itself, just as the name “Namu Amida Butsu,” as experienced in a profoundly spiritual manner, is none other than Amida. In its purest experience,

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a person is embraced completely by this light and name and not forsaken (sesshu fusha). 13

Some Concluding Remarks

We have covered quite a great deal of territory in responding to Gordon Kaufman’s questions, which are the same questions that many contemporary Shin Buddhists themselves have been asking. If I were to summarize my arguments made in this paper, they are as follows. First, the two dharma bodies concept first advocated by Tanluan (and affirmed by Shinran) actually represents two distinct developments within Mahayana, with roots in earlier Indian Buddhism. This constitutes more than a process of “demythologizing” by Tanluan, but rather a “synthesis of two discrete traditions,” a point that previously has not been, at best, strongly emphasized. Second, Shinran held a much more literal understanding of Amida and Pure Land than heretofore thought, particularly in the so-called pre-shinjin mode. I refer to his position as that of “literal symbolism,” and as different from that of “figurative symbolism,” which he embraced in the post-shinjin mode. And it is this latter mode to which many contemporary Shin Buddhists subscribe. Third, a discrepancy—that between Shinran’s literal symbolic understanding and the contemporary figurative symbolic understanding—forces us to deviate from Shinran on this point, encouraging us to reevaluate our relationship to the “founder.” Fourth, some of the representative kinds of approaches proposed by contemporary scholars on Amida and Pure Land were summarized, most of which, in my view, were carried out from the figurative symbolic perspective. Fifth, based on these approaches, I proposed some practical approaches to understanding and engaging the teachings concerning Amida and Pure Land. Having made these points, my hope is that I have addressed at least some of the questions posed by Kaufman. However, the nature of spiritual reality forces us to acknowledge that ultimately his questions cannot be answered conceptually but must be experienced personally, which prompted me to close this paper with sections devoted to effort and practical engagement.

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The Medieval and the Modern in Shin Buddhism James C. Dobbins Jōdo Shinshū, more commonly known in the West as Shin Buddhism, has been portrayed in contemporary times as a religion that eschewed medieval superstitions and pioneered a modern religious outlook. Its acknowledged founder, Shinran, Eshinni’s husband, is looked upon as a visionary transcending the presuppositions of his own age and anticipating a modern religious worldview. This worldview can be described, in brief, as the rejection of a vast and varied spirit world and the consignment of religion to the inner personal experiences of humans as they search for meaning in a religiously neutral world. The discovery of Eshinni’s letters in 1921 helped reinforce this image of Shin Buddhism. Of the various episodes described in the letters, one that drew particular attention was the account in letter 5 of the illness Shinran had in 1231 and of the realization he arrived at during it. Specifically, he discerned how deeply ingrained people’s inclination is to control their own religious destiny and to assert themselves in an endless procession of religious acts, and yet how futile such efforts are. Religious fulfillment, he concluded, lies not in people’s strivings but in faith alone, awakened in them by Amida’s nembutsu. Eshinni recorded this because, unassuming though the event may have been, his realization made a strong impression on her. It reflects well the process of personal introspection and awakening emphasized in modern Shin Buddhist thought. This inner realization has clearly been an essential component of Shin Buddhism from the beginning, but the modern rendition of it may not accurately portray how medieval believers, or even Shinran himself, contextualized it. Many aspects of Shin Buddhism from its medieval setting are in fact filtered out of its present-day depiction. It is not that modern interpreters present a false picture of Shin Buddhism; it is just that they present a selective picture, one in which certain elements from earlier times are highlighted—sometimes more than they may have been originally—and other elements are left in the shadows. There is, of course, nothing pernicious about this process of selection and rejection, or highlighting and shading, for it is the natural mechanism by which any religion rearticulates and invigorates itself in a changing world.

Source: Dobbins, James C., “The Medieval and the Modern in Shin Buddhism,” in James C. Dobbins, Letters of the Nun Eshinni: Images of Pure Land Buddhism in Medieval Japan, Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2004, pp. 107–151.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2020 | doi:10.1163/9789004401525_043

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But it would be a mistake to take this modernist vision, purged of its medieval assumptions, as a complete picture of Shin Buddhism in its earliest period. These medieval assumptions, which in fact incubated and constantly swathed the inner realizations Shinran is now famous for, are readily apparent in Eshinni’s letters. Shinran’s firm conviction, cited in letter 3, that his teacher Hōnen was none other than a manifestation of the bodhisattva Seishi and Eshinni’s parallel conviction that Shinran himself was the bodhisattva Kannon—both of whom were considered companions and agents of Amida Buddha—exemplify the pervasive medieval sense that the world is populated with hidden or disguised spirits. Faith arises in a person, it was thought, not simply as the culmination of an individual search, but because of the influence of unseen forces active all around. The medieval world was thus fraught with miraculous and unfathomable agents, and inner religious awakenings were attributed as much to their workings as to the dynamics of introspection. This worldview was, of course, destabilized by the advent of scientific consciousness. No longer was it plausible to attribute events and experiences to mysterious interventions or unseen agents. Amid these developments, a revised explanation of the awakening of faith had to be formulated, one that no longer presupposed the rich spiritual environment that Shinran and Eshinni took for granted. Shin Buddhist Modernism, to coin a phrase, was the product of this credibility crisis. Its new articulation of Shinran’s thought succeeded in making his vision of faith an acceptable and compelling alternative in the modern marketplace of ideas. But in doing so it extricated his teachings from their original medieval circumstances. Shin Modernism thus represents an idealized form of religion tailored to modern sensibilities, but it offers only a partial image of the practiced religion of Shinran’s day. 1

Shin Buddhist Modernism

The modernization of Buddhist thought was a momentous and heroic achievement attained through the creative efforts of countless Buddhists in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. It arose in response to Haibutsu kishaku, the discrediting and outright persecution of Buddhism, early in the Meiji period (1868–1912). Before that time, anti-Buddhist sentiment had bubbled to the surface in Japanese society primarily within Confucian and Restoration Shinto circles. Their critique included accusations of decadence among Buddhist clergy and the charge that Buddhism was a foreign interloper that corrupted Japan’s native beliefs and practices. When Shinto nationalists in the new Meiji government gave credence to these views and tacit sanction to Buddhism’s

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disestablishment, local authorities in various parts of the country launched devastating assaults on Buddhist institutions, clergy, icons, community support systems, and public symbols. Because the persecution provoked peasant protests on the one hand and urgent, backdoor appeals by sectarian representatives to Meiji officials on the other, the attacks were finally halted in the 1870s, but only after Buddhism had sustained profound losses in tangible assets and ideological credibility. Sobered by this unprecedented blow, the Buddhist leadership set about rehabilitating Buddhism in the public eye and structuring it into a modern, universal religion.1 It is impossible to relate all the changes wrought on Buddhism by these inspired reformers, but suffice it to say that by the end of the Meiji period Buddhism was restored to a position of social respectability—though not political privilege—and that it triumphed over its previous reputation as a backward and superstitious religion. By the early twentieth century, it was recognized as a subtle and profound philosophy consistent with modern thinking. One way this was accomplished was through the construction of new styles of Buddhist learning based on Western principles of criticism and analysis. The field of Buddhist Studies (Bukkyōgaku) itself was born out of this endeavor. Building on a strong scholastic tradition developed in sectarian academies during the Tokugawa period (1600–1867),2 the new Buddhist universities of Meiji sought to define a universal Buddhist canon, to undergird its texts with philological and linguistic exactitude, and to identify a set of analytical categories of doctrine that would transcend sectarian dogmatics.3 It is testimony to the success of this enterprise that Buddhist Studies subsequently spread to Japan’s national universities as a legitimate scholarly discipline. The field of Buddhist Studies was not the only sphere in which things Buddhist were pondered. As Japanese began to master Western philosophy, Buddhist ideas quickly spread to that arena also. Sometimes they were prized for their parallels to Western thought, other times for their departures from it. In addition, Buddhist history emerged as a subdiscipline in the field of history. 1  For a detailed study of these events in Buddhist history, see James Edward Ketelaar, Of Heretics and Martyrs in Meiji Japan: Buddhism and Its Persecution (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1990), pp. 3–86. 2  Two examples of Shinshū scholar priests from the Tokugawa period who have had an impact of modern Shinshū textual studies are Jinrei (1749–1817) and Ryōshō (1788–1842). 3  For a description of the early stages in the formulation of this field of study, see James Edward Ketelaar, Of Heretics and Martyrs in Meiji Japan, pp. 177–184, 207–212. Also, see Jacqueline Stone, “A Vast and Grave Task: Interwar Buddhist Studies as an Expression of Japan’s Envisioned Global Role,” in Culture and Identity: Japanese Intellectuals During the Interwar Years, ed. Thomas Rimer (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1990), pp. 217–233.

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Influenced indirectly by Tokugawa harbingers of critical historical thought4 and driven heavily by a new Western-style historiography, this scholarly movement sought to assess historical documents and sources systematically and to define the limits of validity in statements about the great figures and events of Buddhist history. In short, it attempted to strip away the layers of myth that characterized most sectarian hagiographies and legendary narratives (engi) of religious institutions. The integration of Buddhist issues into philosophy, history and other fields added credibility to the creation of Buddhist Studies as a formal discipline and reinforced the impression that Buddhism was a legitimate topic of inquiry. This recognition ultimately extended to the popular modern mind as well. Shin Buddhism stood squarely at the vortex of these events of the Meiji period. One of its native sons, Shimaji Mokurai (1838–1911), was the most eloquent defender of Buddhism during the darkest days of the persecution and was instrumental in persuading the government to moderate its policy toward Buddhism. He subsequently campaigned for the independence of Buddhism from the government’s new propaganda operation and in later years collaborated in the publication of a five-volume Essentials of Buddhist Sects (Bukkyō kakushū kōyō), an early compendium of Buddhist conceptual themes and traditions.5 Nanjō Bun’yū (1849–1927) and later Takakusu Junjirō (1866–1945) were likewise products of the Shinshū’s educational system and both, after extended training in Sanskrit and comparative religion under Max Müller (1823–1900) in England, became pioneers in the critical study of Buddhist texts using Indic languages. Nanjō became professor of Buddhist Studies at Tokyo Imperial University; he was succeeded by Takakusu, who spearheaded the compilation of the Taishō shinshū daizōkyō, the modern scholarly edition of the Buddhist canon.6 The number of nationally recognized Buddhist scholars born in the Shinshū has been substantial in modern times. The portentous events reconfiguring Buddhism broadly also provoked changes in Shin sectarian issues as well. Specifically, there was a subtle shift in how Shinran and Shin Buddhism were conceived. For one thing, a pronounced 4  A good example of a Buddhist scholar of the Tokugawa period whose historiographical judgments on the Shinshū are widely respected today is Genchi (1734–1794). His major historical work is the Ōtani Honganji tsūki, in Shinshū zensho, 74 vols., ed. Tsumaki Jikiryō (Kyoto: Zōkyō Shoin, 1913–1916), 68:1–332. 5  James Edward Ketelaar, Of Heretics and Martyrs in Meiji Japan, pp. 74, 12–30, 197–207. 6  Kumoi Shōzen, “Nanjō Bun’yū,” in Nihon Bukkyō shisō no tenkai: Hito to sono shisō, ed. Ienaga Saburō (Kyoto: Heirakuji Shoten, 1956), pp. 294–315; and Takagai Shunshi, Takakusu Junjirō Sensei den, Denki sōsho, no. 133 (Tokyo: Daikūsha, 1993). Nanjō came out of the Higashi Honganji branch of the Shinshū, and Takakusu out of the Nishi Honganji branch.

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Shinran-centricity came to dominate Shin discourse. Whereas earlier Shinran’s descendants and spiritual heirs—particularly, Kakunyo (1270–1351), the major architect of the Honganji organization, and Rennyo (1415–1499), the Shinshū’s foremost popularizer—were treated with near equal authority as faithful interpreters of Shinran’s teachings, at this point an ardent “back-to-Shinran” movement pushed them aside. In fact, some Shinran enthusiasts regarded them as diverging from Shinran’s original vision, or even distorting it. The urge to rediscover Shinran and his unmediated, unmodified teachings became the motive force of the modern period. Second, there was a shift in how Shinran himself was perceived. Throughout Shinshū history Shinran was revered as an exalted teacher cum earthly incarnation of Amida Buddha. But such a supernatural characterization was at odds with the reductionistic impulses of modern thought. Consequently, there was a reassessment and reconceptualization of Shinran’s identity in the light of modern assumptions. Specifically, a new image of the “human” Shinran came to displace the old notion of the “sacred” Shinran. This humanized representation bore the features of an archetypal religious searcher or seeker (gudōsha)— an individual seeking resolution to personal or spiritual turmoil and finding meaning through an inner awakening or realization of some type. As a result, there was a paradigm shift in Shinran’s portrayal over the course of the nineteenth century—from a figure of veneration to a figure of emulation. No longer was he seen as the mysterious presence of Amida in the world, but as the ideal religious searcher on whom one could model oneself. The plethora of books in the twentieth century on Ningen Shinran—“Shinran, the Human”—compared to Ōgen Shinran—“Shinran, the Miraculous Appearance”—is evidence of the pervasiveness of this characterization.7 These two features, Shinran-centricity and the humanization of Shinran, are hallmarks of Shin Buddhist Modernism. Admittedly, such features existed in varying degrees throughout Shinshū history, but never were they proclaimed as stridently and uncompromisingly as in this period. What is particularly noteworthy about this modern viewpoint is the tacit discrediting of Shinran’s medieval successors—Kakunyo, Rennyo, and the Honganji temple in general—that lies below the surface. Generally speaking, this new conception of Shinran is ubiquitous in all schools and factions of Shin Buddhism today, no matter what their internecine disagreements may be.

7  A recent example of this humanized presentation of Shinran is found in Yamazaki Ryūmyō, Tannishō no ningenzō (Tokyo: Daizō Shuppan, 1993). The idea of Shinran as a miraculous appearance of Amida is found, for instance, in Kakunyo’s Hōonkō shiki, SSZ, 3:659.

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It is difficult to say when Shin Modernism began,8 but many people would point to the late-nineteenth-century thinker and reformer Kiyozawa Manshi (1863–1903) as its starting point. Though it is beyond the scope of this study to relate all the ways he influenced Shin Buddhism, it is important to mention at least a few. Kiyozawa can be described as a nonconformist visionary who inspired a generation of Buddhist scholars and reformers with his modern religious vision and his fiercely ascetic example. Recognized from youth for his intelligence and talent, he seemed destined for greatness, but the greatness he achieved was forged more outside the corridors of power and influence than inside them. He was a top student in Western philosophy at Tokyo Imperial University and later became the founding president of the Shinshū’s Ōtani University. But these public accomplishments were punctuated by intervals of isolation and intense reflection at his adoptive temple in Aichi prefecture. It was during these periods of withdrawal as much as those of public engagement that Kiyozawa formulated his religious philosophy, cultivated a life of extreme austerity, and envisioned a new sectarian order. Kiyozawa’s life was short, only forty-one years, but in that time he attracted a band of young zealots who propagated his ideals across the twentieth century.9 In some ways, Kiyozawa was an unlikely champion of Shin Buddhism. His religious language and views were shaped as much by Western philosophy as by Buddhism. His lifestyle was more akin to an ascetic’s than to the worldly ways of Shinshū adherents. And his sectarian reforms, instead of perfecting the Shinshū organization, provoked institutional tensions that continue in one form or another to the present. But each of these elements had a rationale and function in Kiyozawa’s larger picture of Shin Buddhism. To convey Amida Buddha’s significance in modern parlance, Kiyozawa borrowed from Hegelian idealism—describing Amida as absolute spirit and as the single great principle underlying the universe.10 Such philosophical renderings pervade Kiyozawa’s writings and stand in contrast to the Buddhist doctrinal terminology and 8  There is some evidence that a discernible back-to-Shinran sentiment arose out of the great doctrinal controversy known as the Sangō upheaval (Sangō waku ran) that ended in 1806. Concerning the Sangō wakuran, see Honganji Shiryō Kenkyūjo, ed., Honganjishi, 2:355–396. 9  The primary sources on Kiyozawa Manshi’s life and thought are Akegarasu Haya and Nishimura Kengyō, eds., Kiyozawa Manshi zenshū, 8 vols. (Kyoto: Hōzōkan, 1953–1956); and Nishimura Kengyō, Kiyozawa Manshi Sensei (Kyoto: Hōzōkan, 1951). Other works I have found helpful are Tamura Enchō, “Kiyozawa Manshi,” in Nihon Bukkyō shisō no tenkai: Hito to sono shisō, ed. Ienaga Saburō (Kyoto: Heirakuji Shoten, 1956), pp. 316–337; and Mark L. Blum, “Kiyozawa Manshi and the Meaning of Buddhist Ethics,” The Eastern Buddhist (n.s.), 21.1 (Spring 1988): 61–81. 10  Tamura Enchō, “Kiyozawa Manshi,” p. 320.

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mythic symbolism that dominated earlier Shin teachings. Kiyozawa’s personal asceticism—his midcareer adoption of priestly robes and a clerical hairstyle; his refusal to eat meat, drink alcohol or tea, take medicine, or ride in rickshaws; and his resolve to live with the barest of essentials, much of which hastened his premature death from tuberculosis—arose ostensibly in indignation over clerical decadence.11 But it was also fueled no doubt by his own introspective intensity and his subconscious drive for self-perfection. Kiyozawa’s austerity invested him with the aura of an archetypal religious searcher, determined to arrive at truth no matter what the costs.12 It also imbued him with moral authority in the eyes of his contemporaries and evoked extreme dedication from his followers. Kiyozawa trained this authority on the Shinshū sectarian structure at several points in his career in a campaign to reform and democratize it. Though he did not succeed in doing so and was officially ostracized for a time by the sectarian authorities, he ignited a movement for change that continues today. Kiyozawa’s religious vision is well reflected in three texts that he reputedly treasured above all others: the Āgama sutras of Hinayana Buddhism, the writings of the Greek Stoic philosopher Epictetus, and Shinran’s Tannishō (Notes lamenting deviations). The first two no doubt inspired self-discipline and spartan simplicity and taught Kiyozawa forbearance in adversity, especially during the anguish of his illness and his ostracism from the Shinshū. This side of Kiyozawa—his inner strength and superhuman determination—made a lasting impression on those around him. But it also set him apart from the perceived ideal of Shin Buddhism. The Tannishō, however, returned Kiyozawa to a Shin idiom. It reminded him of his own limitations and the necessity of looking to an absolute beyond himself.13 Self-consciousness of wrongdoings and shortcomings, a theme that pervades the Tannishō, was for Kiyozawa the impetus for an examined life and ultimately for self-abnegation in the face of a greater reality. His most celebrated religious essay, Waga shinnen (My faith), echoes the Tannishō loosely on this point: “No matter how great my evildoings may be, before the Tathāgata [Amida] they constitute no impediment whatsoever.”14 11  Ibid., pp. 320–322. 12  Ibid., pp. 331–332, specifically uses the motif of gudōsha, or religious searcher, in analyzing Kiyozawa. 13  For a discussion of the significance of these three texts to Kiyozawa, see Mark L. Blum, “Kiyozawa Manshi and the Meaning of Buddhist Ethics,” pp. 62–64; and Tamura Enchō, “Kiyozawa Manshi,” pp. 324–325, 328–329, 333–337. 14  Waga shinnen, in Kiyozawa Manshi zenshū, 6:233. Compare this to the statement in the Tannishō, SSZ, 2:773: “There is nothing so evil that it can obstruct Amida’s vows.” For an English translation of Waga shinnen, see Bandō Shōjun, trans. and intro., “Kiyozawa

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Hence, Kiyozawa coupled an existential consciousness of human failings with a Hegelian understanding of Amida to form the core of a modern Shin worldview. He looked upon Shinran as a predecessor in this religious search and as a spiritual companion in discerning the inadequacy of human knowledge.15 Besides Kiyozawa’s influence, another dimension of Shin Buddhism’s modernization was the popularization of Shinran’s identity beyond sectarian boundaries. Many factors contributed to this, but perhaps the most significant was the publication in 1917 of a play, Shukke to sono deshi (The priest and his disciples), by Kurata Hyakuzō (1891–1943).16 It is a romanticized and fictionalized account of Shinran’s life written largely from an early-twentieth-century point of view. The work was an immediate hit and was subsequently performed on stage in Tokyo and other major cities.17 In published form, the play was selected for the prestigious Iwanami Bunko paperback classics series and has gone through more than eighty-five printings in that format.18 For many Japanese of the 1920s and 1930s, this was their introduction to Shinran and their primary image of him. From a historical and doctrinal standpoint, there are numerous problems with Kurata’s depiction of Shinran, many of which Kurata himself acknowledged.19 For one thing, the play errs in its biographical details of Shinran’s life. It was written before the discovery of Eshinni’s letters and before the most critical wave of Shinshū historiography was published.20 Eshinni Manshi’s The Great Path of Absolute Other Power and My Faith,” The Eastern Buddhist (n.s.), 5.2 (October 1972): 141–152. 15  Kiyozawa indicates in Waga shinnen, in Kiyozawa Manshi zenshū, 6:232, that he could now appreciate references to “Hōnen, the Stupid (Guchi)” and “Shinran, the Bald-headed Fool (Gutoku),” and had likewise come to terms with his own ignorance. 16  Kurata Hyakuzō, Shukke to sono deshi, Iwanami bunko, no. 63–64 (Tokyo: Iwanami, 1962). For an English translation of the play, which appeared only five years after it was first published, see Kurata Hyakuzō, The Priest and His Disciples, trans. Glenn W. Shaw (Tokyo: Hokuseido, 1922). 17  Tanikawa Tetsuzō indicates in his “Kaisetsu” to the play that the maiden performance was in Tokyo at the Yūrakuza in July 1919. See Kurata Hyakuzō, Shukke to sono deshi, p. 226. Concerning various productions of the play, see Fukushima Kazuto, Kindai Nihon no Shinran: Sono shisōshi (Kyoto: Hōzōkan, 1973). pp. 268–276. 18  The 1994 Iwanami bunko edition indicates that the work was in its eighty-fifth printing. 19  For Kurata’s response to criticisms of inaccuracies in his play, see Tanikawa Tetsuzō, “Kaisetsu,” in Kurata Hyakuzō, Shukke to sono deshi, pp. 226–228. 20  In 1936 Kurata wrote another work about Shinran, a novel titled Shinran Shōnin (Tokyo: Daitō Shuppansha, 1936). Historically, it is more accurate than his play for benefited from the numerous scholarly studies that came out after his play. But it never received the same acclaim that Shukke to sono deshi did. For an English translation of the novel, see Kurata Hyakuzo, Shinran, trans. Umeyo Hirano, ed. Tsumika Maneki (Tokyo: Cultural Interchange Institute for Buddhists, Honganji Temple, Tsukiji, 1964).

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does not figure in the play at all, and the characters that do are either fictive or, if historical, cast in historically dubious roles. The most important character besides Shinran is his disciple Yuien, commonly acknowledged as the compiler of the Tannishō. His agonizing love affair with a young prostitute—a literary fabrication—constitutes the primary subplot of the play. One longstanding criticism of the work has been that it distorts Shinran’s ideas. In it, for instance, praying for personal happiness comes across as a valid dimension of religious life, though it is not a prominent theme in Shinran’s own writings.21 What is most disturbing to Shinshū purists is the interpolation of Christian motifs—for example, prayer and forgiveness—into the play.22 Kurata, though reared in a Shinshū household, read widely and eclectically as a young man, including the Bible, as did many intellectuals of his day. Hence, his Shinran functions as a mouthpiece for a syncretic philosophy that Kurata derived from diverse sources.23 Notwithstanding such interpolations, one of the works that influenced Kurata heavily was the Tannishō. Paraphrases of its lines appear here and there in the play, and act 2 is actually structured around section 2 of the Tannishō.24 Hence, the play operated as a potent device for introducing the Tannishō’s ideas to the broader reading public. The depiction of Shinran that emerges in Shukke to sono deshi is that of a gentle, wise, and long-suffering sage. But his sageliness comes not from identification of him with the sacred but from his humanity. This human-oriented focus is established in the opening scene of the play where the primary characters are “Human Being” (Ningen) and “Figure with Concealed Face” (Kao ōiseru mono), who personifies contingent existence and worldly mortality. Their dialogue—the human claiming personal fulfillment in one sphere of life after another and the concealed figure successively refuting each—symbolizes 21  For an outline of the criticisms leveled against the play, see Fukushima Kazuto, Kindai Nihon no Shinran: Sono shisōshi, pp. 256–266, particularly p. 260. 22  Ibid., pp. 261–262. 23  Evidence of Kurata’s eclectic religious views is found in his ties to Ittōen, a quasi-religious association he affiliated with around the time he was writing Shukke to sono deshi. See ibid., pp. 231–232. Ittōen, established by Nishida Tenkō (1872–1968), was a communal organization structured religiously around a “light prayer” (kōmyō kigan) and dedicated to spiritual cultivation through volunteer service, begging, and repentance. It drew its ideas primarily from Buddhism, but was also influenced by Christianity and other religions. See Kokushi daijiten, 1:685, s.v. “Ittōen,” by Mori Ryūkichi. An Ittōen drama company was one of the earliest groups to stage Shukke to sono deshi, according to Tanikawa Tetsuzō, “Kaisetsu,” in Kurata Hyakuzō, Shukke to sono deshi, p. 226; and Fukushima Kazuto, Kindai Nihon no Shinran: Sono shisōshi, p. 272. 24  Compare Kurata Hyakuzō, Shukke to sono deshi, pp. 77–86, and Tannishō, SSZ, 2:773–775; also compare Shukke to sono deshi, pp. 70, 75–77, and Tannishō, SSZ, 2:777–778.

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the perennial search for meaning in a world fraught with misfortune.25 With this scene Kurata reveals Shinran’s story to be the story of all humanity. As the drama unfolds, the elations and agonies of Shinran and those around him become apparent: the cruelty and cynicism of Yuien’s father Saemon and his change of heart upon encountering Shinran;26 Yuien’s unrestrained love for the hapless prostitute Kaede and his determination to marry her whatever the consequences;27 and Shinran’s disownment of his son Zenran and their reconciliation in the end.28 A recurrent theme throughout these events is the deepseated evil impulses of humans and their inability to overcome them. Shinran’s greatness in the play comes not only from his understanding of this universal human plight but also from his awareness that committing evil presents no barrier to Amida Buddha, a message drawn from the Tannishō.29 This image of Shinran became emblazoned in the minds of Kurata’s contemporaries. In the wake of this play, “an epidemic of Shinran flu” (Shinran kaze no dairyūkō) is said to have swept Japan, with one work after another about him appearing.30 These liberated Shinran from the confines of Shin sectarian concerns and made him a symbol for modern times. While Kurata’s play was spellbinding audiences throughout the country, a new brand of historiography was also coalescing around Shinran, spawning a search for the historical personage. Though this scholarly endeavor was governed by strict standards of documentary evidence and critical analysis—just the opposite of the literary license permitted in Kurata’s world—it likewise helped forge a compelling image of Shinran for the modern age. Numerous historians were involved in this quest for the historical Shinran, but a few notable trailblazers were Tsuji Zennosuke (1877–1955), Washio Kyōdō (1875– 1928), and Nakazawa Kenmyō (1885–1946).31 Tsuji’s work, published in 1920 and titled Shinran Shōnin hisseki no kenkyū (A study of the handwritten manuscripts of Master Shinran), was provoked largely by the debate over Shinran’s historicity and controversial hypothesis that Shinran never existed (Shinran massatsuron). He felt that such claims went beyond credible argumentation, 25  Kurata Hyakuzō, Shukke to sono deshi, pp. 7–16. 26  Ibid., pp. 17–57, 111–112. 27  Ibid., pp. 88, 123–191. 28  Ibid., pp. 61–62, 87–122, 213–219. 29  For examples of passages dealing with the theme of evil and human failings, see ibid., pp. 30–31, 46–53, 72–73, 76, 99–102, 128–129, 137, 177–182, 217–219, inter alia. Also see Tannishō, SSZ, 2:773–775, 777–778, 782–785. 30  Fukushima Kazuto, Kindai Nihon no Shinran: Sono shisōshi, p. 257. 31  A clear summary of the contributions of these three historians and many others is found in ibid., pp. 86–220.

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and he set about to show that a reliable corpus of Shinran’s writings did indeed exist.32 Tsuji did so by comparing the calligraphy of a variety of works attributed to Shinran housed at different temples throughout Japan. By showing that these widely dispersed writings were produced by a single hand, Tsuji argued that it is more plausible to think that Shinran existed than to believe that one surreptitious fabricator of Shinran could produce such a corpus and disseminate it so widely.33 The net effect of Tsuji’s study was to discredit the contention that Shinran never existed and to identify the documentary basis for a historically valid study of Shinran. It was in this highly charged, scholarly environment that Washio Kyōdō discovered Eshinni’s letters in 1921, the year after Tsuji’s work came out. Because of the controversies seething at the time, it was inevitable that the letters would be deployed in the search for the historical Shinran. Their discovery laid to rest any suspicions about Shinran’s historicity. Washio published the letters in 1923 under the title Eshinni monjo no kenkyū (A study of Eshinni’s letters), along with a critical analysis of their contents. On the opening page of the book, Washio admitted that he considered naming the work Eshinni monjo kara mitaru Shinran Shōnin den (The biography of Master Shinran from the perspective of Eshinni’s letters), in effect acknowledging Shinran to be the ultimate focus of his research.34 Though it would be wrong to characterize the study as an examination of Shinran’s life rather than Eshinni’s, throughout the book Shinran is never far from the center of inquiry. Washio, for instance, dedicated one short chapter to Eshinni’s comment that Shinran had been a dōsō, or “hall priest,” on Mt. Hiei. Based on her remark, he concluded that the information presented in sectarian biographies about this stage in Shinran’s life was unreliable and inflated.35 This chapter subsequently ignited a search among scholars for Shinran’s religious roots prior to his encounter with Hōnen.36 In 1922, in the wake of Tsuji’s work and on the heels of Washio’s discovery, Nakazawa Kenmyō published his classic study of Shinran’s life, Shijō no Shinran (The historical Shinran). Though it is only one of several such studies 32  Tsuji Zennosuke, Shinran Shōnin hisseki no kenkyū (Tokyo: Kinkōdō Shoseki, 1920), pp. 2–7. Tsuji summarized the basic premises of the Shinran massatsuron as follows: (1) that Shinran was not mentioned in historical records of his period; (2) that Shinran’s biographies were all later creations, produced with Shinshū sectarian interests in mind; and (3) that the handwritten works attributed to Shinran cannot be authenticated. It is this last premise that Tsuji sought to disprove. 33  Ibid., pp. 70–73. 34  Washio Kyodo, Eshinni monjo no kenkyū, p. 1. 35  Ibid., pp. 36–43. 36  For an overview of this scholarship, see Matsuno Junkō, Shinran: Sono shōgai to shisō no tenkai katei, pp. 2–3, 16–19.

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from that period and though it has long been superseded, it typifies the leading edge of scholarship at the time Eshinni’s letters appeared on the scene. In fact, Nakazawa’s was the first study on Shinran to draw evidence from the letters, even before Washio formally published them.37 In many ways Nakazawa’s work was not only a rigorous attempt to identify the historically credible events of Shinran’s life, but also a sustained critique of traditional sectarian biographies. The longest and most detailed one, the Shinran Shōnin shōtōden (Orthodox biography of Master Shinran), was a massive compilation of stories and legends surrounding Shinran produced in the early 1700s. Even in pre-Meiji times it was deemed historically problematic.38 But Nakazawa reserved his harshest criticism for Kakunyo’s Godenshō.39 Written around 1295, it was the oldest and most authoritative account of Shinran’s life and provided the basis for many later biographies. Nakazawa’s assessment of this work was that it contained little of historical substance and was filled instead with “accounts of dreams” (yume monogatari). He believed that the true agenda of the Godenshō was not to present biographical facts, but to promote the veneration of Shinran (Shōnin no shinkō) and to spread Shin teachings.40 The Shinran that Nakazawa discovered was, as he summarized it, a person who lived his entire life interested only in spiritual matters, who never had any desire to establish a Buddhist school, who sought out Hōnen because of the “ardent searching of his heart” (netsuretsu naru gudōshin), who found salvation in Amida’s compassion, and who lived his life in contrition (zangishin) of self and in joy of the dharma.41 Nakazawa attempted to document this profile at each stage in Shinran’s life: his departure from Mt. Hiei and attraction to Hōnen, his banishment to Echigo and family life with Eshinni, his religious activities and burgeoning following in the Kantō region, and his old age in Kyoto. Nakazawa relied primarily on sources traceable directly to Shinran, following Tsuji’s example; second, on Eshinni’s letters; and third, on a variety of later texts, including the Tannishō, which Nakazawa deemed historically reliable. His confirmation and acceptance of the Tannishō was one feature linking him 37  Nakazawa Kenmyō, Shijō no Shinran, pp. 3, 58, 62–65, 98, 105–111, 136–141, 174, 181, 182–185, 209, 215. Nakazawa’s book came out a year before Washio’s Eshinni monjo no kenkyū did, but he had access to the letters through his association with Washio, who wrote one of the prefaces to his book. Tsuji Zennosuke wrote another preface. 38  Shinran Shōnin shōtōden, GSZ, 4:221–356. It was criticized by Genchi, author of the Ōtani Honganji tsūki, in another work of his titled Hi Shōtōden, in Shinshū zensho, ed. Tsumaki Jikiryō, 67:416–455. 39  Godenshō, SSZ, 3:639–654. 40  Nakazawa Kenmyō, Shijō no Shinran, pp. 1–2. 41  Ibid., p. 2.

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to other Shin modernists of the twentieth century.42 Nakazawa’s work set a new standard for scholarship on Shinran. With it, the corpus of authoritative sources, the periodization of Shinran’s life, and the limits of pietistic aggrandizement were defined. Virtually all biographies of Shinran today emulate its approach. Nakazawa’s efforts converged with those of other historians—and with the literary achievements of Kurata, the philosophical reflections of Kiyozawa, and the manifold endeavors of countless other Shin Buddhists—to dismantle the mythic image of Shinran, leaving only a humanized one. The process by which this was accomplished was to question sources that portrayed him as sacred and to rely on those that treated him as human. These developments ultimately made Shinran and Shin Buddhism as a whole compatible with the humanism and rationalism of modern thought. The sectarian establishment often resisted these trends, for its traditional authority rested on the sacred identity of Shinran. Hence, it censured or expelled numerous Shin reformers and modernists for their views.43 But in the long run this new articulation of Shin Buddhism was in the best interest of the sectarian organization. It provided a persuasive and compelling version of Shin teachings to replace one that no longer held credibility. Though this new worldview was substantively different from the old one, it was nonetheless religious, thereby making religion possible in the modern world. If there is one text that exemplifies the spirit of Shin Buddhist Modernism, it is the Tannishō (Notes lamenting deviations). It was the most widely read and frequently cited Shin work of the twentieth century Though Kiyozawa Manshi is usually credited with popularizing the Tannishō in modern times, it was well known in clerical circles a century before him.44 If Kiyozawa had not become its champion, no doubt some other Shin progressive would have. The work has

42  For his critical assessment of the Tannishō, see ibid., pp. 89–97. 43  Shinshū authorities leveled a variety of ianjin (heresy) charges against various reformers and modernist thinkers. The most notable ones in the Higashi Honganji branch were against Kiyozawa Manshi and later against his disciples Akegarasu Haya (1877–1954), Kaneko Daiei (1881–1976), and Soga Ryōjin (1875–1971). The most notable one in the Nishi Honganji branch was against Nonomura Naotarō (1871–1946). See Ikeda Eishun, “Kindai shakai ni okeru Bukkyō no jittai,” in Ajia Bukkyōshi, Nihon-hen, ed. Nakamura Hajime, Kasahara Kazuo, and Kanaoka Shūyū (Tokyo: Kōsei Shuppansha, 1972–1976), 8:288–289. 44  The Tannishō was included in the standard collections of religious texts distributed throughout the Shinshū in Tokugawa times. In the Nishi Honganji branch, it was contained in the Shinshū hōyō (published in 1765), vol. 8. In the Higashi Honganji branch, it was found in the Shinshū kana shōgyō (published in 1811), vol. 2.

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emerged as a kind of manifesto of modern Shin thought because of its powerful and engaging message.45 The Tannishō stands out for its provocative declarations about good and evil. There is nothing so good, it asserts, that it can surpass the nembutsu. Nor is there anything so evil that it can obstruct Amida’s vow.46 In short, Amida’s saving power extends to all situations and circumstances, and it reaches out to people whatever their failings may be. This idea is proclaimed most resoundingly in the famous dictum attributed to Shinran: “Even the good person can be born in the Pure Land. How much more so the evil person!”47 The flawed and unenlightened individual is thereby identified as the primary target of Amida’s vow. This notion, known as the akunin shōki doctrine, has given Shinran’s teachings perennial appeal over the centuries. Explicated in a modern idiom, it indicates that human contingencies and inadequacies do not undermine the possibility of transcendence or fulfillment. On the contrary, they link one to forces that make transcendence possible. Human shortcomings—or, in present-day parlance, the human predicament—have always been a subliminal anxiety in the modern mind, despite the humanism and progressivism of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. It is this nerve that the Tannishō touches with its akunin shōki teaching. Nowhere in Shinran’s corpus of writings does that idea come across as succinctly and powerfully as in the Tannishō. Another theme of the Tannishō is that religious experience occurs at an individual and personal level. This dimension is reflected in another well-known and much loved quotation from the text: “When I reflect deeply on the vow [generated] by Amida through five eons of meditative thought, [I realize that] it was aimed exclusively at one person: [me,] Shinran. And considering my present state burdened with such karma, I feel especially grateful for the principal vow which was established with my salvation in mind.”48 The implication of this passage is that for Shinran the Pure Land teachings carry a very personal significance. It suggests that the proper response to the teachings occurs at a private and interior level, rather than a public and external one. Another passage in the Tannishō describes an occasion when Shinran explained a similar 45  For English translations of the Tannishō, see Dennis Hirota, trans., Tannishō: A Primer (Kyoto: Ryūkoku University, 1982): Bandō Shōjun and Harold Stewart, trans., “Tannishō: Passages Deploring Deviations of Faith,” The Eastern Buddhist (n.s.), 13.1 (Spring 1980): 57–78: and Taitetsu Unno, trans., Tannisho: A Shin Buddhist Classic (Honolulu: Buddhist Study Center Press, 1984). 46  Tannishō, SSZ, 2:773. 47  Ibid., 2:775. Virtually the same words are attributed to Hōnen in the Hōnen Shōnin denki, in Hōnen Shōnin den zenshū, ed. Ikawa Jōkei, p. 787. 48  Tannishō, SSZ, 2:792.

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perspective to his followers. Several of them had made the long and arduous journey to Kyoto to ask him about the innermost truth of the Pure Land teachings. Shinran replied that he knew nothing but the nembutsu taught him by his master Hōnen. At the end of this exchange Shinran made it clear that these beliefs were nothing more than his own simple conviction. Whether they accepted them or not was an individual decision each would have to make.49 Both of these passages imply two things. One is that religious experience is primarily a private event transpiring directly between a person and the Buddha. That is, one’s bond with the Buddha is not mediated through other people or agents. The second is that the ideal mode or mind-set of the religious person is that of a seeker or searcher. Shinran in the Tannishō personifies this ideal and offers a model for others to follow. Both of these assumptions merged easily and felicitously with the outlook of Shin Modernism. Still another aspect of the Tannishō is its seeming repudiation of the trappings of medieval religion. One example of this is reflected in the celebrated line “I, Shinran, do not have a single disciple.”50 The context for this assertion was Shinran’s refusal to join in intramural disputes over disciples or religious cliques. Much of medieval religion was structured around master-disciple lineages, as well as the texts, icons, and other sacred objects bestowed to acknowledge such relationships. Shinran, it Would seem, was a dissident from this religious culture. The rationale given in the Tannishō for Shinran’s statement is that Amida Buddha, not a particular teacher or master, is ultimately responsible for awakening a person to the nembutsu. Hence, it is petty and shortsighted to claim a certain person to be one’s own disciple. This quotation, like the others, suggests that the true locus of religion lies in a private and individual bond between oneself and the Buddha. Master-disciple ties are thus viewed as circumstantial. Though they can act as a religious stimulus, they should not intrude into one’s direct relationship with Amida. Another example of the Tannishō’s rejection of medieval values is Shinran’s remark that he had never invoked the nembutsu once out of filial devotion to his parents.51 Most religions of East Asia have woven into them a strong family orientation, drawn heavily from the Confucian tradition but also found in Buddhist social philosophy. Shinran’s declaration seems to distance him from such sentiments. The Tannishō’s argument for this position is that it is better to practice the nembutsu in a way that leads all people to Buddhahood, not just one’s parents. Shinran’s apparent disavowal of prevailing social 49  Ibid., 2:773–775. 50  Ibid., 2:776. 51  Ibid.

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norms—specifically, indebtedness to parents—gives his teachings an iconoclastic air, but it also infuses them with a universal quality. They seem to transcend the family-based structure that undergirded the medieval social order and East Asian civilization as a whole. In this light Shin Buddhism takes on the character of a universal path superseding the particularistic concerns of thirteenth-century Japan. These aspects of the Tannishō combined harmoniously with twentiethcentury sensibilities and fueled the modern Shin imagination. It was in this frame of mind that letter 5 was read with such interest when Eshinni’s collection was discovered. The account of Shinran—bedridden and feverishly chanting the Larger Pure Land Sutra to himself, then suddenly realizing the futility of such exertions—exemplifies the Tannishō’s themes of human insecurity and personal realization. The only hope for inner peace and assurance, it is concluded, is found in coalescence with the Buddha, lodged in the personal experience of faith. This image of Shinran and his teachings lies at the heart of Shin Buddhist Modernism. The question to raise here is not whether this is an accurate depiction of Shinran’s religious worldview but whether it is a sufficient and balanced one. Certainly these ideas were present in Shinran’s time, but the way they were comprehended and contextualized was presumably different. That is, the realization of human failings and the awakening of faith occurred within a framework of medieval values, giving them somewhat different nuances and meanings from those proclaimed today Shin Buddhist Modernism is, in a sense, Shinran’s ideas with their medieval assumptions and experiences peeled away. For that reason, the Tannishō should actually be seen as an unusual, or even anomalous, document. It unwittingly highlighted those aspects of Shinran’s teachings that carry the greatest significance for modern readers. As a result, the text is held in high esteem nowadays, but during earlier centuries it languished mostly in the background. It is no secret that the Tannishō was virtually unknown in medieval times. The modernist explanation for its obscurity is that the text was suppressed because of its powerful and subversive message—that is, it provided an introspective understanding of Shinran’s teachings running counter to the Honganji’s mythic depiction of him.52 There is, however, another possible reason: the Tannishō may not have struck a resonant chord with most medieval adherents. They may have looked upon it as a bizarre work or a religiously unsatisfying one inasmuch as the medieval assumptions that had always 52  For speculations of this type, see Fukushima Kazuto, Kindai Nihon no Shin ran: Sono shisōshi, p. 13.

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framed Shinran’s teachings were inexplicably missing. This does not mean that the ideas of the Tannishō are dubious. Nor does it mean that medieval readers were unable to comprehend and appreciate it. It simply means that the Tannishō was not a mainstream or representative depiction of Shin Buddhism for medieval believers. The two medieval figures who stand out as most supportive of the Tannishō’s ideas were, curiously enough, those commonly criticized by Shin modernists: Kakunyo and Rennyo. Rennyo was responsible for producing the earliest known copy of the Tannishō, made some two centuries after its putative compilation. There is no other known surviving copy prior to the sixteenth century.53 To it Rennyo appended a postscript indicating that he considered the work an important text of the Shin tradition but that it should not be circulated indiscriminately to people without the karmic maturity to grasp its meaning.54 This final caveat, of course, has prompted charges that the text was suppressed. Kakunyo, for his part, though not mentioning the Tannishō by name, cited several sayings from Shinran almost identical to those found in the text. Kakunyo’s works were clearly an attempt to promote Shinran’s teachings, and today they stand as the best corroborating evidence of the Tannishō’s historical authenticity.55 What is striking about these two figures is that, though they both treasured the Tannishō’s ideas, their comprehension of Shinran was largely medieval. For this, they have fallen out of favor with Shin modernists. Nonetheless, their perception of Shinran’s teachings may in fact preserve something of his medieval worldview, which present-day interpreters have long since abandoned. 2

The World of Medieval Religion

In Shinran’s writings there are ample passages indicating that birth in the Pure Land is not contingent on the sublimity of one’s death. Specifically, he argued that the traditional deathbed nembutsu ceremony—a ritual that helps the dying person to maintain pure and undistracted thoughts and to behold in a glorious vision of Amida Buddha and his retinue coming to usher the person into the Pure Land—is not necessary. Rather, faith alone decides one’s birth 53  Concerning problems in the Tannishō’s origins, see James C. Dobbins, Jōdo Shinshū: Shin Buddhism in Medieval Japan, pp. 69–70. 54  Tannishō, SSZ, 2:795. 55  For a direct comparison of passages in the Tannishō and parallel ones in Kakunyo’s Kudenshō, Shūjishō, and Gaijashō, see Inagi Sen’e, Tannishō no kenkyū (Kyoto: Tankyūsha, 1985), pp. 67–87.

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in the Pure Land.56 Eshinni no doubt knew of these ideas. What is surprising, however, is that she did not invoke them in letter 3. That letter was a reply to Kakushinni, who had written informing her of Shinran’s death and expressing misgivings about his birth in the Pure Land. The information in Eshinni’s letter, sketchy though it may be, suggests that Shinran may not have died the peaceful and dignified death that traditional biographies describe,57 and hence Kakushinni took his inelegant demise as an ominous sign. In this context, Shinran’s affirmation of a life of faith over a death of sublimity would appear to be the perfect reassurance to those troubled over his fate. In this letter, however, instead of proclaiming the primacy of faith, Eshinni disclosed to Kakushinni the dream she had had several decades earlier, one that she had secretly cherished in her heart all those years. In the dream she noticed two Buddhist icons suspended from the overhead beam of a torii gate in front of a temple. One image had only light where the face would be, and the other had a fully visible face. An unidentified person in the dream revealed to her that the one radiating light was the bodhisattva Seishi incarnated as Hōnen, and the other with the face was the bodhisattva Kannon manifested as Shinran. This revelation stunned Eshinni, and from that moment on she never looked upon Shinran as an ordinary human. For her, the dream provided ample proof that Shinran now resided in the Pure Land, no matter what kind of death he had, and so she divulged it to Kakushinni to dispel any doubts.58 Eshinni’s decision to describe the dream in her letter instead of discussing faith can be characterized generally as a medieval response, one that would not be the typical choice today. But for her the dream carried greater persuasive power. It demonstrated in palpable form a religious truth that in modern times could not be accepted based on such evidence or testimony. This example illustrates the medieval sensibilities that gave birth to, surrounded, and sustained Shinran’s teachings. Notwithstanding the popular perception of them as modern in spirit, they arose and flourished in an unmistakably medieval setting. Although it is difficult to pinpoint any one feature that epitomizes medieval religion, suffice it to say that it abounded with revelatory dreams, with human relationships considered karmicly linked, with unseen spirits inhabiting the landscape, and, from a Pure Land point of view, with miraculous manifestations of Amida Buddha. Everywhere one might 56  For instance, see Mattōshō, SSZ, 2:656–657, 684–685. 57  The standard depiction of Shinran’s death is found in the Godenshō, SSZ, 3:653, translated into English in James C. Dobbins, Jōdo Shinshū: Shin Buddhism in Medieval Japan, p. 46. 58  This point was first drawn to my attention by Endō Hajime, “Bōmori izen no koto: Otto to tsuma, Shinshūshi ni okeru josei no zokusei,” pp. 65–67.

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turn, there was the possibility of an encounter with the unseen and the mysterious. Religious meaning, even when articulated as universal truths, merged with these encounters and reinforced people’s sensitivity to them. Medieval humans thus tended to perceive their surroundings with a heightened awareness of the particular—that is, of specific places, times, individuals, events, and objects—because any of them could be the focal point of an eye-opening or miraculous event. The modern observer, by contrast, tends to approach the world with detachment or suspicion. Dreams are just dreams, not revelations. Human relationships are merely coincidental or circumstantial. The spirit world is a figment of the imagination. And encounters with Amida, if they occur at all, are interior and private. Though it is impossible to say for sure, it is likely that the historical Shinran, if forced to choose between a modern and a medieval mode of seeing the world, would probably opt for the medieval. It is a bit challenging to identify with precision Shinran’s medieval worldview because his surviving writings are devoted overwhelmingly to one type of religious activity: the explication of scripture. Shinran’s magnum opus, the Kyōgyōshinshō, is an exercise in scriptural exposition from start to finish.59 Even those works in which one would least expect textual exegesis—Shinran’s letters and wasan hymns, for instance—frequently lapse into paraphrasing scripture or analyzing its wording.60 Because explication of scripture is by nature an abstract enterprise, resulting principally in universal assertions of doctrine, Shinran’s writings have lent themselves to a modernist reading. His profuse outpouring of erudite Buddhist texts, occurring primarily in the last third of his life, imbues him with the image of a careful and uncompromising textual scholar. If Shinran’s doctrinal works were the sole basis for assessing his religious experience, one might be prone to overlook the revelatory dreams and momentous encounters that also shaped his worldview. The basic contention offered here is that standing behind this abundance of scriptural and doctrinal interpretation were religious sensibilities that were fundamentally medieval. To detect them, however, one must look specifically for hints of them in Shinran’s writings and also draw on other evidence, including Eshinni’s letters, that is sometimes disregarded or deemphasized by Shin modernists.

59  Kyōgyōshinshō, SSZ, 2:1–203. 60  Virtually all of the hymns in the Jōdo wasan, SSZ, 2:485–500, are paraphrases of passages from sutras and other religious texts. For examples of scriptural and doctrinal explications in Shinran’s letters, see Mattōshō, SSZ, 2:661–663, 674–679, 693–694. In addition, there is one genre of Shinran’s writings consisting of straightforward commentaries on Chinese citations in treatises written by other Pure Land Buddhists: e.g., Ichinen tanen mon’i, SSZ, 2:604–620; and Yuishinshō mon’i, SSZ, 2:621–638.

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The starting point for discovering Shinran’s medieval worldview is to identify the larger religious landscape in which he operated. One scholar, Kuroda Toshio, has postulated that the entire medieval period—extending roughly from the tenth to the sixteenth century—was dominated by what he calls kenmitsu Buddhism. It stood as the orthodoxy of the age and provided a framework for the multiplicity of religious expressions and the variety of institutions that appeared then. The term kenmitsu refers to the systems of exoteric doctrine (ken) and esoteric practice (mitsu) promoted chiefly by Tendai, Shingon, and Nara temples. There were in fact various doctrinal schools to choose from—the so-called eight schools (hasshū) of Buddhism—but they were seen less as rival sects than as diverse philosophies, many of which medieval clerics would study in alternation. Underlying these sophisticated philosophies were programs of religious activity, training, and cultivation—meditation, rituals, chants, prayers, invocations, use of sacred texts, physical austerities, and so forth—that were considered potent and efficacious. Usually, one would be initiated into these practices by people already spiritually advanced in them and would master them under their guidance. Today the philosophical systems tend to evoke more interest when looking back at the period, but in medieval times the elaborate practices, constituting the substance and content of practiced religion, were considered the core. This diverse and complex world of esoteric practice, which virtually all medieval Japanese recognized and functioned within, exerted a greater cohesive force on religion than exoteric doctrines did.61 Kenmitsu Buddhism, though representing a single unifying orthodoxy, spanned a vast and sometimes bewildering array of activities, perspectives, and religious settings. Foremost among them was the practice of mikkyō, or esoteric Buddhism. It consisted of intricate rituals and ritualized lifestyles, all aimed at actualizing Buddhahood in the mental, vocal, and physical dimensions of the person (sokushin jōbutsu). Kūkai (774–835) is credited with introducing esoteric ritual into Japan, so it is commonly attributed to his Shingon school. But even in his time, the major temples of Nara and the Tendai monastic complex on Mt. Hiei, established by Saichō (767–822), were esotericized. Subsequent Tendai masters such as Ennin (794–864), Enchin (814–891), and Annen (841–889?) built up esoteric Buddhism’s doctrinal rationale and system 61  For important works on kenmitsu Buddhism, see Kuroda Toshio, “Chūsei ni okeru kenmitsu taisei no tenkai,” in Nihon chūsei no kokka to shūkyō, particularly pp. 415–421, 428– 436; and his Jisha seiryoku: Mō hitotsu no chūsei shakai (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1980), pp. 6–10, 17–22. An English overview of the work of Kuroda, including translations of selected essays, can be found in James C. Dobbins, ed., The Legacy of Kuroda Toshio, special issue of The Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 23.3–4 (Fall 1996).

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of practice to such an extent that Mt. Hiei easily matched or surpassed the Shingon and Nara temples.62 Integrated into this system was a rich and varied spirit world, populated by buddhas, bodhisattvas, kami or Shinto deities, vengeful spirits, and others, any of which could be manifested in human form. Engagement with this spirit world through ritual and spiritual means comprised a large part of medieval religious practice. Subsumed under kenmitsu Buddhism was both the immense store of beliefs and practices typically associated with Buddhism today, including Pure Land ones, and also many not commonly regarded as Buddhist. The most prominent of these latter ones was Shinto. The present-day treatment of Shinto as a separate religion paralleling Buddhism is primarily a modern construction projected back onto earlier times. In the medieval period, awareness of and interaction with Shinto kami occurred largely within a kenmitsu framework. They were part of its religious pantheon and were engaged through ritual and propitiatory activities just as other spirits were.63 In addition, kenmitsu Buddhism contained a plethora of beliefs and practices that today are regarded as superstitious. There were, for instance numerous prayers (kitō) and invocations (kaji) for safe childbirth, curing of disease, rainfall in drought, protection of the country, and subjugation of enemies. Baleful stars or constellations, malevolent spirits (goryō or onryō), and inauspicious days, times, and directions were also recognized and negotiated by means of ritual acts, great and small. Finally, elements from religious Taoism—for example, yin-yang dynamics and immortality techniques—as well as Confucian etiquette and social values were also incorporated into the kenmitsu system.64 What bound together this 62  Kuroda Toshio, Nihon chūsei no kokka to shūkyō, pp. 428–432; and Jisha seiryoku: Mō hitotsu no chūsei shakai, pp. 17–21. For detailed discussion of mikkyō’s history and doctrines in Shingon and Tendai Buddhism, see Ōyama Kōjun, Mikkyōshi gaisetsu to kyōri (Kōyasan: Ōyama Kyōju Hōin Shōshin Kinen Shuppankai, 1961); and Shimizudani Kyōjun, Tendai no mikkyō: Taimitsu gaiyō (Tokyo: Sankibō, 1929). For a comprehensive study in English of Kūkai, founder of Shingon in Japan, see Ryuichi Abé, The Weaving of Mantra: Kukai and the Construction of Esoteric Buddhist Discourse (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999). Abé, while recognizing the general validity of Kuroda’s theory on the kenmitsu orthodoxy, challenges parts of it to highlight Kūkai’s substantial contributions in helping define that orthodoxy. 63  For a discussion of Shinto in the context of kenmitsu Buddhism, see Kuroda Toshio, “Shinto in the History of Japanese Religion,” The Journal of Japanese Studies 7.1 (Winter 1981): 1–21. 64  Kuroda Toshio, Nihon chūsei no kokka to shūkyō, pp. 434–435; and Jisha seiryoku: Mō hitotsu no chūsei shakai, p. 20. For an in-depth presentation of these beliefs and practices, see Hayami Tasuku, Jujutsu shūkyō no sekai: Mikkyō shuhō no rekishi (Tokyo: Hanawa Shobō, 1987); and Nakamura Yoshio, Mayoke to majinai: Koten bungaku no shūhen (Tokyo: Hanawa Shobō, 1978).

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teeming ocean of religious phenomena was the pervasive view that specific practices endowed one with beneficial states and linked one to the spiritual. Hence, it was the miraculous efficacy of religious practice, an inexplicable portal into the spirit world, that lay at the heart of medieval religion. This understanding of religion seems curiously at odds with the current perception of Buddhism as a process of transcending all forms, weaning oneself of attachments, and attaining a realization that is both inexpressible and liberating. That model of religion, lodged squarely in Buddhism’s searcher motif, was likewise at work in medieval times. The hermeneutics of emptiness and nonduality, which has dominated the modern reading of Mahayana Buddhism, was clearly one strand of thought in Tendai, Shingon, Zen, Pure Land, and virtually all other brands of medieval Buddhism. But to describe it as the highest or the predominant strand would be to ignore the pervasiveness of practice directed at specific buddhas, kami, or spirits. In the medieval context, religious realization was conceived primarily in terms of actualization, and the key to actualization was practice. Whether one’s practice consisted of meditation on nothingness (mu), chanting of Amida’s name, or praying to a kami, the important thing was for the act to connect one to the mysterious and to unite one with its transformative powers. The lines between the transcendent and the magical were inevitably blurred, and the goals of ultimate liberation and immediate benefit were constantly overlapping. Since the medieval mind was largely unencumbered with the modernist’s skepticism of the spirit world, there was no automatic preference for an internal, inexpressible, formless realization over a miraculous encounter with mysterious or unseen forces. Both experiences were available to the medieval person, and they tended to reinforce, rather than contradict, each other. Of the two, however, miraculous encounters were more the stock-in-trade of medieval religion, though they were perceived as compatible with and integral to universal Mahayana ideals such as the enlightenment and liberation of all sentient beings. The institutional structuring of this profusion of medieval religiosity did not result in sectarian organizations as they exist today, but in charismatic circles or cultic centers. The popular image of Buddhist schools as pyramidic organizations championing a defined body of teachings, overseen by a central religious authority, and arranged in a hierarchy of affiliated temples is largely a development of the Tokugawa period with only tenuous antecedents in medieval times.65 The more common unit of medieval religion can be described instead as a cultic center. This was an institution, community, or locale that exerted an influence on society primarily because of its religious identity. 65  Kuroda Toshio, Nihon chūsei no kokka to shūkyō, pp. 478–479.

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What made a particular place a cultic center differed from case to case. The great concentration of Tendai priests engaged in ritual, meditation, ascetic practices, and mastery of scripture imbued Mt. Hiei, for instance, with cultic status. Kumano Shrine in Kii province, on the other hand, was recognized as the abode of an eminent kami who was commonly identified as a manifestation (gongen) of Amida Buddha. The Tōdaiji temple in Nara with its Great Buddha image and the Zenkōji temple in Shinano province with its famous Amida triad both derived stature from their widely revered icons. The Chion’in temple in Kyoto, for its part, was distinguished as the grave site and enshrinement spot of the charismatic Pure Land master Hōnen. In each case, what gave these places their religious character was their reputed access to or revelation of mysterious, inspiring, and powerful forces. They were treated as epicenters of spiritual activity—mesmerizing, but also forbidding. As such, they constituted ideal locations for miraculous encounters and efficacious practices. Each of these institutions in its own way radiated its mysterious power outward into society at large. For some, this power was massive and far-reaching. For others, it was modest and circumscribed. Religion in medieval Japan thus generated a sacral geography wherein certain places stood out as spiritually charged and qualitatively different.66 Among cultic centers were some, exemplified by Mt. Hiei or the Nara temples such as Kōfukuji and Tōdaiji, that emerged as major forces in medieval society, amassing wealth and power on a grand scale. According to Kuroda Toshio, such religious complexes, known as jike, constituted one of the three ruling elites (kenmon) in the medieval context The other two were the kuge (imperial court) and the buke (samurai government).67 These centers, like the other ruling elites, asserted their authority through the control of economic resources, as well as through legal jurisdiction and even military might. But unlike the others, jike also derived power from their religious character. To the extent that religion was recognized as a potent source of both material benefits and personal liberation, the major temples occupied a special place in the power grid of medieval Japan.68 The vast majority of cultic centers, however, 66  For more discussion of cultic centers, see James C. Dobbins, “Envisioning Kamakura Buddhism,” in Re-Visioning “Kamakura” Buddhism, ed. Richard Payne (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1998), pp. 28–38. 67  Kuroda Toshio, Nihon chūsei no kokka to shūkyō, pp. 16–22. 68  Concerning the emergence of religious centers as ruling elites, see ibid., pp. 452–456; and Jisha seiryoku, pp. 34–38. For a comprehensive study in English based on Kuroda’s theory and elucidating the role of religious institutions in the power politics of medieval Japan, see Mikael S. Adolphson, The Gates of Power: Monks Courtiers, and Warriors in Premodern Japan (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press 2000).

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did not rise to such elite status. They were diminutive landmarks on the religious landscape, though their spiritual character did endow them with certain kinds of influence. The Honganji is a case in point. During most of the medieval period it was little more than a wayside Buddhist chapel dedicated to Shinran. Only in the late fifteenth century did it emerge as a formidable religious institution, even overshadowing Mt. Hiei. Pure Land Buddhism was one component in the extensive and multi-faceted repertoire of kenmitsu religion. If esoteric practice defined the basic contours and fundamental character of the kenmitsu order, Pure Land Buddhism became a prominent stream within it from the tenth century on. There is a tendency to look back on early Pure Land as an alternative to esoteric Buddhism, emerging alongside it and in competition with it. Esoteric elements, after all, did not play a conspicuous role in Hōnen’s and Shinran’s subsequent teachings. But to conceive of early Pure Land in this way is to ignore the incubation, development, and popularization of Pure Land motifs by kenmitsu groups and individuals. The primary site for Pure Land’s emergence in Japan was Mt. Hiei, the bastion of Tendai and kenmitsu orthodoxy. Pure Land rituals—specifically, the “constant practice” meditation on Amida (jōgyō zammai) and the continuous nembutsu chant (fudan nembutsu)—were established there by Ennin, the mikkyō master who incorporated Chinese esoteric practices into Tendai. Aristocratic believers influenced by Tendai found it easy to shift from esoteric mantra (shingon) to the nembutsu, and no doubt comprehended them similarly as potent and mysterious practices. Success in propagating the nembutsu among the common people by Kōya (903–972) and other hijiri—itinerant or apostate priests who distanced themselves from Mt. Hiei and who are commonly considered the forerunners of Hōnen and Shinran—has to be understood in the context of the nembutsu’s widespread use as a practice to calm the unsettled spirits of the dead (goryō). Moreover, the writings and activities of the great Pure Land advocate Genshin (942–1017), who influenced Hōnen and Shinran profoundly, can be explained completely within the framework of Tendai doctrines, meditations, and practices prevalent on Mt. Hiei.69 The efflorescence of Pure Land teachings within the kenmitsu structure is further substantiated by the amalgamation of Pure Land themes and practices into Shingon Buddhism. Although Mt. Kōya, the Shingon counterpart to 69  Kuroda Toshio, Nihon chūsei no kokka to shūkyō, pp. 436–441. For an extended discussion of the nembutsu as used in both elite and popular circles, including those of Kōya and Genshin, see Hayami Tasuku, Jujutsu shūkyō no sekai: Mikkyō shuhō no rekishi, pp. 107–124. Concerning Genshin’s teachings on Mt. Hiei, see Sarah Johanna Horton, “The Role of Genshin and Religious Associations in the Mid-Heian Spread of Pure Land Buddhism” (Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 2001).

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Mt. Hiei, was not at the forefront of Pure Land’s early development in Japan, it quickly appropriated its teachings during the twelfth century under the leadership of Kakuban (1095–1145) and a zealous band of Kōya hijiri devoted to the nembutsu. Kakuban laid down the doctrinal foundation for the identification of Amida with Dainichi, the ineffable cosmic Buddha recognized in mikkyō as the source and substance of all reality. Furthermore, he classified the nembutsu as the dhāraṇī, or esoteric incantation, associated with Amida. By practicing the nembutsu, it is possible to actualize Amida’s Pure Land, and by extension Dainichi’s realm of mysterious splendor (mitsugon), in this world and in oneself.70 Though Shingon was late in adopting these Pure Land motifs, it became active in spreading the nembutsu widely in Japan through its peripatetic Kōya hijiri. There is even strong evidence that many of them blended into the Jishū school of Ippen (1239–1289), one of the emerging Pure Land movements of the Kamakura period, which are typically portrayed as reactions against the kenmitsu worldview.71 Their absorption by the Jishū suggests that the boundaries between kenmitsu Buddhism and the so-called new Kamakura schools were more permeable than is sometimes assumed. The entire kenmitsu system produced a certain complementariness and reciprocal buttressing among the ruling elites of Japan, spawning the view that Buddhist truth (Buppō) and worldly authority (ōbō) are intertwined and mutually sustaining. But the system was so far-flung and many-sided that competing or contradictory tendencies inevitably arose within it.72 One significant development was the appearance of the so-called Kamakura schools of Buddhism: Zen, Nichiren, and Pure Land, including Hōnen’s and Shinran’s movements. The prevailing view through much of the twentieth century was that the Kamakura schools were a repudiation of the existing religious order and offered a new model of medieval religion that eclipsed Tendai, Shingon, and the Nara schools. Kuroda Toshio, while acknowledging their departures from kenmitsu orthodoxy, describes the Kamakura schools as heterodox (itan) impulses within the medieval context that triumphed over the kenmitsu superstructure only at the end of the medieval period. He does not, however view the old schools as incorrigibly resistant to Kamakura reforms, nor the new schools as totally at odds with kenmitsu assumptions.73 70  Inoue Mitsusada, Shintei Nihon Jōdokyō seiritsushi no kenkyū (Tokyo: Yamakawa Shuppansha, 1975), pp. 351–352. 71  For a discussion of links between the Kōya hijiri and the Jishū, see Gorai Shigeru, Kōya hijiri (Tokyo: Kadokawa Shoten, 1965), pp. 240–246. 72  Kuroda Toshio, Nihon chūsei no kokka to shūkyō, pp. 447–448, 475–477. 73  Ibid., pp. 477–479. Concerning various interpretations of Kamakura Buddhism in the twentieth century, see James C. Dobbins, “Envisioning Kamakura Buddhism,” pp. 25–28.

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If Kuroda is right about the place of the new schools amid the sweep of medieval events, it should be possible to analyze them not simply as revolutionary movements that rejected the old and anticipated the modern, but as reconfigurations of medieval premises yielding different perspectives or conclusions. Kenmitsu Buddhism was too vast and varied for any one person or movement to comprehend or express it all. Every medieval individual had to pick and choose from among its store. The teachings of the Kamakura reformers represent, in a sense, particular combinations or permutations of medieval options, some of which happen to ring true today, but others of which now seem strangely foreign. To situate Shinran in this medieval religious world, several modernist assumptions about him must be modified. There is a tendency to portray him as presenting a universal message transcending the particularities and choices of medieval Japan. To demonstrate this, sayings of Shinran that lend themselves to a modern viewpoint are frequently cited from the Tannishō and other works. But however visionary these quotations may seem, Shinran took for granted medieval conditions and circumstances, operating comfortably within them and making his religious assertions out of them. One stereotype today is that Shinran rejected the medieval spirit world in favor of total devotion to Amida Buddha. Some scholars have gone so far as to describe his teachings as monotheistic (isshinkyō).74 But there is abundant evidence that Shinran acknowledged other spirits and deities75 and looked favorably on good kami who constantly watch over nembutsu adherents.76 Even the Tannishō, in a passage virtually ignored by Shin modernists, makes this point: “Kami of heaven For an example of reformist thinking in the old schools, see Taira Masayuki, “Gedatsu Jōkei to akunin shōki setsu,” in Nihon chūsei no shakai to Bukkyō (Tokyo: Hanawa Shobō, 1992), pp. 266–279. Jōkei, though critical of Hōnen’s movement, formulated an akunin shōki doctrine that has some parallels to Shinran’s. 74  Kasahara Kazuo, Shinran to Rennyo: Sono kōdō to shisō, Nihonjin no kōdō to shisō, no. 40 (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1978), p. 19. 75  Acknowledgment of the medieval spirit world appears in Shinran’s letter to his disciple Shōshin concerning the disownment of his son Zenran, Kechimyaku monjū, SSZ, 2:718, in which Shinran made the following oath:    If I said these things to Jishin [i.e., Zenran] and deceived people with lies when I taught them, then may I, Shinran, suffer all the punishments of the heavenly deities (shoten), the good kami (zenjin), the eight creatures of the four seas—including dragons and kami— [who defend the dharma] (shikai no ryūjin hachibu), and the spirits and demons ( jingi myōdō) of King Yama’s [under]world (Enma-ō kai), with the three [Buddhist] treasures as their foundation. 76  Goshōsokushū, SSZ, 2:700. See also James C. Dobbins, Jōdo Shinshū: Shin Buddhism Medieval Japan, p. 59. Similar points can be found in Kyōgyōshinshō, SSZ, 2:72; and Jōdo wasan, SSZ, 2:498, v. 106.

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and spirits of earth show obeisance to practitioners of faith, and neither demons nor heretics can stand in their way.”77 Shinran’s medieval successors— Kakunyo, Zonkaku (1290–1373), and Rennyo—also interpreted the kami in a positive light, though unlike Shinran they adopted the widely circulating doctrine of honji suijaku—that kami are manifested forms (suijaku) whose fundamental identity (honji) is the Buddha.78 Because of these interpretative differences, Kakunyo, Zonkaku, and Rennyo sometimes criticized for deviating from Shinran’s teachings.79 But their views may be closer in spirit to Shinran’s medieval thinking than is the modernist skepticism toward the kami.80 There is also a tendency to see Shinran as rising above the family bonds and the master-disciple relationships that gave medieval society cohesion. His famous pronouncement from the Tannishō reverberates throughout modern Shin Buddhism: “I, Shinran, have never uttered a single nembutsu out of filial devotion to my mother and father.”81 And yet in real life Shinran placed great weight on the parent-child bond, just as Eshinni did. Just before his death he fretted over the financial welfare of his daughter Kakushinni and implored his followers in Hitachi province to provide for her needs.82 He also conceived of his estrangement from his son Zenran in classical filial terms.83 One of the accusations Shinran made in his disownment letter to Zenran was that he had “murdered his father” (chichi o korosu), one of the five heinous deeds (gogyaku) in Buddhist doctrine, by spreading falsehoods (soragoto) about him.84 Likewise, in master-disciple relationships there was a disjunction between Shinran’s words and deeds. The Tannishō quotes him as saying, “I, Shinran, do not have a 77  Tannishō, SSZ, 2:777. 78  See Kakunyo’s Godenshō, SSZ, 3:651–652; Zonkaku’s Shojin hongaishū, SSS, 1:697–712; and Rennyo’s Gobunshō, SSZ, 3:429–430. 79  Fugen Kōju, “Chūsei Shinshū no jingi shisō,” Ryūkoku Daigaku Bukkyō bunka kenkyūjo kiyō 17 (1978): 31–52. 80  This conclusion is at odds with the basic themes presented in Robert F. Rhodes, “Shin Buddhist Attitudes towards the Kami: From Shinran to Rennyo,” The Eastern Buddhist (n.s.), 27.2 (Autumn 1994): 53–80, and also in my own work, James C. Dobbins, Jōdo Shinshū: Shin Buddhism in Medieval Japan, pp. 39–40, 57–60, 92–93, 142–143. The interpretations offered there lend themselves to a modernist reading if not qualified with some of the points made here. 81  Tannishō, SSZ, 2:776. 82  This is the import of the so-called Imagozen no haha letter, in Shūi shinseki goshōsoku, SSZ, 2:726. Akamatsu Toshihide, Kamakura Bukkyō no kenkyū, pp. 9–15, interprets Imagozen no haha as referring to Kakushinni. For a fuller description, see James C. Dobbins, Jōdo Shinshū: Shin Buddhism in Medieval Japan, pp. 45–46. 83  Concerning this event, see James C. Dobbins, Jōdo Shinshū: Shin Buddhism in Medieval Japan, pp. 40–42. 84  Shūi shinseki goshōsoku, SSZ, 2:728.

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single disciple.”85 And yet his interactions with actual disciples followed standard master-disciple patterns: he imparted religious objects to them as tokens of their relationship and received reverence and adulation from them. These disjunctions suggest that Shinran made such statements for their rhetorical value—to drive home a particular religious insight—rather than as a rejection of the social and religious conventions of his day. Another famous quotation of Shinran’s from the Tannishō is, “For the practitioner, the nembutsu is neither a practice (higyō) nor a beneficial act (hizen).”86 This saying seems to run counter to the logic of medieval Buddhism, which emphasized practice as the content of religious life, and benefit as its outcome, whether spiritual or concrete. Shinran used this extraordinary statement to make the point that the nembutsu’s potency derives from the “other power” (tariki) of Amida and his vow, not from personal effort ( jiriki). Both practice and good works, conventionally conceived, lie in the realm of human deeds, whereas the nembutsu, in Shinran’s view, is Amida’s creation, activity, and very identity. This conceptualization of the nembutsu is clearly antithetical to its use for manipulative or magical purposes. The most obvious would be chanting the nembutsu to pacify ominous or unsettled spirits, a widespread practice in medieval times. There is no evidence that Shinran or Eshinni employed the nembutsu in this way.87 In that respect, Shinran’s understanding of religious practice seems to diverge from medieval assumptions. But the hallmark of medieval practice was not necessarily its manipulative character, but rather its potency and mysteriousness. Both of these dimensions are identifiable in Shinran’s nembutsu. His writings repeatedly describe Amida’s vow and the nembutsu as unfathomable ( fukashigi), ineffable ( fukashō), and inexpressible ( fukasetsu).88 From the perspective of the practitioner, the nembutsu is miraculous in its workings and impossible to conceive. And yet it is more potent and efficacious than any other act. The reason is that it embodies the virtues (kudoku) of Amida himself.89 Hence, the nembutsu links people in a 85  Tannishō, SSZ, 2:776. 86  Ibid., 2:777. 87  Ibid., 2:785–786, indicates that some Shinshū adherents saw the nembutsu as a means of eradicating the karmic effects of their wrongdoings, but it denounces this as a misguided notion. It proposes instead that chanting the nembutsu throughout one’s life with one’s wrongdoings in mind is actually an expression of gratitude that the Buddha would save such an evildoer. 88  For example, see Kyōgyōshinshō, SSZ, 2:41; Kōsō wasan, SSZ, 2:515, v. 118; Yuishinshō mon’i, SSZ, 2:621–622; and Mida Nyorai myōgō toku, SSZ, 2:373. 89  The identification of the nembutsu as the embodiment of virtue (kudoku) can be found in various places in Shinran’s writings: e.g., Ichinen tanen mon’i, SSZ, 2:615; Songō shinzō meimon, SSZ, 2:585; Jōdo wasan, SSZ, 2:497, v. 98.

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powerful and mysterious way to Amida, so that intoning it is none other than Amida’s practice performed through them. Shinran’s nembutsu, viewed in this light, seems less divergent from medieval standards than it might appear to the modern observer. Other discrepancies between Shinran’s sayings and his circumstances likewise suggest that his words must be understood in a broader context. For instance, Shinran is famous for declaring, “When I close my eyes [for the last time], cast me into the Kamo River to [feed] the fish.”90 This statement seems at odds with the medieval belief that grave sites can function as mysterious and awe-inspiring cultic centers in miniature.91 If Shinran truly disavowed such medieval practices, he would be in disagreement with his descendants and followers who erected the Honganji at his grave site—including Kakunyo, who preserved this provocative quotation in the first place. He would also be at odds with Eshinni, who expressed in letters 7 and 8 an intense desire to have a five-tier stone monument erected before she died. Such monuments were typically dedicated to deceased persons, often at their grave site. Eshinni probably intended it to be her own long-life monument ( jutō)—a grave stone erected while she was still living—or possibly a memorial to Shinran.92 It is hard to believe, however, that Eshinni was oblivious to Shinran’s views or that she felt her actions went against them. It is also difficult to imagine that Shinran rejected the sanctity of graves and the mysterious nature of death. Even his own death, as described in the Godenshō biography, sounds remarkably like the solemn deathbed nembutsu ritual, which in his writings Shinran declared, paradoxically, as unessential and unimportant.93 Thus, in all likelihood Shinran made this shocking statement to cast his body in the Kamo River as a rhetorical flourish to remind people of another important religious point—that they should never lose sight of faith even amid the awe of death and the ritual of remembrance.94 One other disjunction between Shinran’s declarations and the actual practices of those closest to him is found in Eshinni’s letter 10, which indicates 90  Gaijashō, SSZ, 3:81. 91  For in-depth studies of medieval mortuary practices, see Suitō Makoto, Chūsei no sōsō bosei: Sekitō o zōritsu suru koto (Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 1991); and Shintani Takanori, Sei to shi no minzokushi (Tokyo: Kikuragesha, 1986). 92  Hayashima Kyōshō, Shinran Shōnin to Eshinni Kō monjo, pp. 28–30, proposes the second possibility as Eshinni’s intent. 93  Godenshō, SSZ, 3:653. Shinran’s views of the deathbed nembutsu ritual (raigō rinjū) are found in various places in his writings, such as Mattōshō, SSZ, 2:656–657. 94  That, at least, is the point that Kakunyo sought to make in citing these words of Shinran. See Gaijashō, SSZ, 3:80–81.

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that their son Kurizawa went to a mountain temple at Nozumi to practice the so-called continuous nembutsu. This religious practice, which originated on Mt. Hiei, typically consisted of secluding oneself for a number of days to chant the nembutsu in long, uninterrupted sessions. On the surface, it would seem that such an activity was at odds with Shinran’s ideal of abandoning strenuous practices and residing in faith alone. Certainly, Shinran’s decision, described in letter 5, to cease midway in his recitation of the Larger Pure Land Sutra reflects such a preference. And yet Eshinni, author of both letters, did not treat Kurizawa’s practice as misguided.95 If Eshinni and Kurizawa understood Shinran’s teachings accurately, this episode suggests that Shinran’s ideas during this embryonic period of Shin Buddhism were woven into the accepted activities and rhythms of medieval religion, though the inner meaning of them may have been conceived differently. Only in later times as the Shinshū evolved its own rituals were those followed by these first-generation adherents replaced. These examples suggest that Shinran did not make his most radical statements with the categorical and uncompromising significance often given to them today. Rather, they were understood in a medieval context and operated as part of its diverse and sometimes discordant message. By taking Shinran’s statements out of this context, modernists run the risk of mistaking his rhetoric for reality. Hence, to discover the content of Shinran’s practiced religion, in contrast to his body of ideas, it is important to explore his engagement with the cults and culture of medieval Japan. This is not to suggest that Shinran exemplified mainstream medieval religion. On the contrary, he was at odds with many aspects of the kenmitsu orthodoxy. That is the reason Kuroda Toshio describes him as heterodox. It is also the reason he suffered banishment from Kyoto at the instigation of Japan’s leading Buddhist temples.96 But even in this world of competing discourses and dissent from orthodoxy, it is possible to interpret Shinran in a medieval religious framework. And only in doing so can one discern the medieval image of Shinran, over and against the modern depiction of him.

95  For a more extensive analysis of this apparent discrepancy, see Matsuno Junkō, “Shinran monka no ichikyōgaku,” pp. 206–209. 96  A brief account of this suppression of 1207 is found in Kyōgyōshinshō, SSZ 2:201–202. For further discussion of it, see James C. Dobbins, Jōdo Shinshū: Shin Buddhism in Medieval Japan, pp. 14–18.

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A Cultic Profile of Shinran

The key to understanding Shinran’s teachings as medieval religion, rather than as modern, is to identify the sources of his beliefs and practices in the context of medieval religious options. Considerable work has already been done on the sources of Shinran’s doctrinal thought. He himself declared his indebtedness to the so-called seven Pure Land patriarchs: Nāgārjuna (ca. 150–250) and Vasubandhu (ca. 4th cent.) of India; T’an-luan (476–542?), Tao-ch’o (562–645), and Shan-tao (613–681) of China; and Genshin (942–1017) and Hōnen (1133– 1212) of Japan.97 Clearly their writings were in circulation during Shinran’s day and made a strong impression on him and other Pure Land thinkers. A major part of the Shin exegetical tradition, both in modern and premodern times, has been to analyze these figures in the light of Shinran’s ideas.98 Apart from these sectarian efforts, there have also been attempts in recent decades to identify motifs in Shinran’s thought that derive from, say, medieval Tendai premises. The examination of his teachings from the perspective of hongaku (original enlightenment) doctrine, for example, has done much to integrate Shinran into the philosophical trends prevalent on Mt. Hiei, and by extension into the fabric of kenmitsu Buddhism.99 Without a doubt Mt. Hiei was the site of Shinran’s intellectual incubation, and it was probably the strongest single influence, outside of Hōnen, on his religious concepts. What has been less explored in the study of Shinran has been his cultic profile and identity. Traditionally, Japan was thought to be teeming with sacred spots and miraculous spirits. The content of most medieval religion was not the rarified ideas preserved in doctrinal treatises, but the beliefs and practices that surrounded these phenomena. The depiction of Shinran as exclusivistic, even monotheistic, has fostered the impression that he swept aside these multifarious religious options and focused single-mindedly on a transcendent, universal, and all-embracing Buddha. It is accurate to say that Shinran recognized Amida as the ultimate and boundless source of all reality and that he rejected certain religious alternatives as a result. But it would be wrong to assume that he repudiated cultic religiosity categorically. On the contrary, from among the various popular beliefs in circulation, he found some to be quite meaningful. 97  These seven are singled out specifically in Shinran’s Shōshin nembutsuge, in Kyōgyōshinshō, SSZ, 2:44–46; and Kōsō wasan, SSZ, 2:501–515. 98  For a summary of views in such doctrinal studies, see James C. Dobbins, Jōdo Shinshū: Shin Buddhism in Medieval Japan, pp. 2–7; and Alfred Bloom, Shinran’s Gospel of Pure Grace (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1965), pp. 7–25. 99  The work of Tamura Yoshirō, Kamakura shin Bukkyō shisō no kenkyū (Kyoto: Heirakuji Shoten, 1965), pp. 525–548, is a classic in this scholarship.

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These he embraced. Others he considered peripheral or spurious, and therefore rejected. Unfortunately, it is difficult to retrieve a full picture of Shinran’s cultic preferences because his doctrinal writings do not dwell on them and because his teachings have been reconstituted over the centuries, particularly in the modern period, to filter them out or interpret them away. Nonetheless, from fragmentary and circumstantial evidence it is possible to postulate a cultic profile of Shinran, partial though it may be, that reveals his rootedness in the content and texture of medieval religion. The first component of Shinran’s cultic identity was, of course, his veneration of Amida Buddha. Admittedly, there has been a debate over whether Pure Land Buddhism should be considered a cultic branch of Mahayana or a generalized trend within it.100 Certainly, Pure Land beliefs and practices on Mt. Hiei can be analyzed using either model. Shinran himself also generalized—or, rather, universalized—the character and nature of Amida Buddha. But such universalizing tendencies can be found in virtually every cultic circle without denying its cultic identity. Even amid his impulse to universalize Amida, Shinran never lost his sense of Amida as a particular buddha, residing in a particular realm (the western Pure Land), revealed in particular texts (the Pure Land sutras), and embodied in particular practices (especially the nembutsu). Mt. Hiei, the site that thoroughly inculcated Pure Land beliefs in Shinran, functioned as one cultic center of Pure Land Buddhism in medieval Japan. In his early training, Shinran was exposed to the doctrines and practices that pervaded Pure Land culture there. Letter 3 in Eshinni’s collection indicates specifically that he served as a dōsō, or hall priest, while on Mt. Hiei. What this meant concretely is that he was a priestly functionary attached to a jōgyōdō (hall of constant practice), the primary ritual sites for the constant practice meditation on Amida (jōgyō zammai)—a ninety-day meditation retreat—and the continuous nembutsu chant (fudan nembutsu), which were imported from China by Ennin in the ninth century. The particular hall at which Shinran served was Probably the Shuryōgon’in in the remote Yokawa section of Mt. Hiei, Where Genshin had popularized Pure Land Buddhism in the late tenth century. The type of practices Shinran undertook there included chorus chanting of the nembutsu and visualization meditations of Amida and his Pure Land.101 It was in this setting no doubt that Shinran amassed his prodigious knowledge of 100  For the pathbreaking article initiating this debate, see Gregory Schopen, “Sukhavati as Generalized Religious Goal in Sanskrit Mahayana Sutra Literature,” Indo-Iranian Journal 19.3–4 (August–September 1977): 177–210. 101  For an overview of Pure Land developments on Mt. Hiei up to Shinran’s time, see Satō Tetsuei, “Eizan Jōdokyō no tenkai to Shinran Shōnin,” in Shinran taikei, Rekishihen, vol. 2, ed. Kashiwahara Yūsen, Kuroda Toshio, and Hiramatsu Reizō (Kyoto: Hōzōkan, 1988),

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Buddhist texts and doctrines. That erudition, more than the ritual dimensions of Mt. Hiei culture, was the most prominent link between Shinran’s early years as a Tendai priest and his later career. Over and above the high religion of doctrine and monastic practice imparted to Shinran on Mt. Hiei, there were other elements of religion to which he was drawn. These elements, largely cultic, were apparently a strong undercurrent in his religious experience, particularly during the middle period of his life: from the time he left Mt. Hiei in 1201, through his discipleship with Hōnen, while in banishment in Echigo province, during his twenty-year residency in the Kantō region, until his return to Kyoto in the 1230s. Though there are only hints and glimmers of these in Shinran’s writings, they clearly made a strong enough impression that he did not disavow them once he entered the more cerebral phase of his life devoted to doctrinal scholarship during his retirement in Kyoto. The particular cultic figures to whom Shinran felt the greatest affinity were Shōtoku Taishi, Kannon Bodhisattva, and Amida Buddha as manifested in the Zenkōji temple icon and other forms. What makes these figures cultic is that, in addition to any universal identity ascribed to them, they were associated with specific religious sites, legends, and iconographic depictions. Hence, they were perceived in the medieval context as local and indigenized figures, not just transcendent ones. This tendency to venerate a specific manifestation of a Buddha or revered figure, rather than a generalized and abstracted one, was pervasive in medieval religion102 and must have been at work in Shinran’s religious choices also. What is interesting about these three figures is that they apparently belonged to a slightly different cultic filiation and pedigree from Mt. Hiei. The institutions most commonly associated with them included the Rokkakudō in Kyoto and the Shitennōji in modern-day Osaka (i.e., temples linked to Shōtoku Taishi); various temples enshrining Kannon icons, many of which were incorporated into the Kannon pilgrimage route of western Japan (saigoku sanjūsankasho); and the Zenkōji temple of Shinano province, site of the renowned Amida triad. Each of these had its own corpus of legends and claim to eminence. And each flourished from the devotion of ordinary believers and, in some cases, from the activities of hijiri, or itinerant Buddhist preachers proselytizing in their behalf. In some of these institutions Shōtoku Taishi was the central figure; in others, Kannon; and in still others, Amida. But there was a tendency among them to borrow from each other’s legends and pp. 262–278. Concerning Shinran’s life as a dōsō, see Umehara Ryūshō, “Hiei no Shinran,” in Shinran taikei, Rekishihen, vol. 2, pp. 254–261. 102  Nishiguchi Junko, Onna no chikara: Kodai no josei to Bukkyō, pp. 213–214.

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to work all three figures into their sacred narratives. Hence, there was a blurring of identities among the three. Shinran developed his Pure Land vision as much from this religious culture as from Mt. Hiei’s. To that extent, his religion was grounded not just in the abstractions of Buddhist doctrine but also in the particulars of medieval cults. Shinran’s devotion to Shōtoku Taishi is perhaps the most pronounced cultic component of his teachings. This is an element not widely explored in modern Shin thought.103 Letter 3 of Eshinni’s collection makes it clear that Shinran’s devotion to Shōtoku arose very early in his career. The revelation he received from Shōtoku at the Rokkakudō temple inspired Shinran to abandon monastic life on Mt. Hiei and seek out Hōnen as his religious teacher.104 Apparently Shinran’s veneration of Shōtoku never waned throughout his life, for in his last seven or eight years he compiled three series of wasan hymns in praise of him and also transcribed a well-known account of Shōtoku’s life.105 The historical Shōtoku Taishi (574–622) was the celebrated prince regent of Japan who oversaw the massive appropriation of Chinese culture, including Buddhism, from the continent during the late sixth and early seventh centuries. Legendary accounts that arose later—for example, ones in the Nihon ryōiki (A record of miraculous events in Japan), the Shōtoku Taishi denryaku (A chronological account of Shōtoku Taishi),106 and the Sanbōe (An illustrated account on the three treasures)—portrayed Shōtoku not simply as a visionary political 103  Kenneth Doo Young Lee, “Shinran’s Dream: The Importance of Shotoku Worship in Shinran’s Amida Buddhism” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 2001), seeks to correct this oversight. I became aware of this dissertation only after I had written this section on Shinran and Shōtoku Taishi. Lee’s study explores this subject in greater depth, and some of his conclusions are similar to my own. I take issue, though, with his claim that later Honganji leaders betrayed Shinran’s teachings. 104  There is evidence that Shinran had been attracted to Shōtoku Taishi while still a young priest on Mt. Hiei. One version of the Shinran muki (Record of Shinran’s dreams) indicates that he had a revelatory vision of Shōtoku in 1191, when he was only nineteen years old. See Furuta Takehiko, Shinran shisō: Sono shiryō hihan (Tokyo: Fuzanbō, 1975), pp. 3–5. Unfortunately, there are questions about the authenticity and reliability of this version of the Shinran muki. 105  For the wasan collections, see Kōtaishi Shōtoku hōsan, SSZ, 2:532–541; Dai Nihon koku zokusan ō Shōtoku Taishi hōsan, SSZ, 4:23–42; and the section entitled “Kōtaishi Shōtoku hōsan,” in Shōzōmatsu wasan, SSZ, 2:526–527. Shinran’s Jōgū Taishi gyoki, SSZ, 4:5–21, which is dated 1257, is a transcription of the Shōtoku Taishi legend from Minamoto Tamenori’s tenth-century Sanhōe. For Tamenori’s original text, see Izumoji Osamu, ed., Sanhōe, pp. 61–74. 106  For a study of the religious dimensions of this text, see Hayashi Nobuyasu, “Shōtoku Taishi denryaku ni arawareta shinkō to rinri no mondai,” Shūgakuin ronshū 52 (October 1981): 57–70.

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leader but also as a sage or bodhisattva in disguise, responsible for establishing Buddhism firmly in Japan and spreading it widely. Many legends typically identified Shōtoku as a Japanese manifestation of the bodhisattva Kannon and also as a reincarnation of the pious Buddhist queen Śrī Mālā of India and the eminent Tendai priest Hui-ssu (515–577) of China. Mt. Hiei, as a Tendai institution, felt an affinity to Shōtoku because of the Hui-ssu legend and developed institutional ties to the Shitennōji, a hub of the Shōtoku cult.107 Shinran was no doubt influenced by these, but he seemed to go beyond Mt. Hiei’s assumptions to incorporate a wide range of stories and images of Shōtoku into his hymns of praise.108 The Shōtoku Taishi cult encompassed not only literary accounts of his life and accomplishments but also ritualized practices and sacred iconography.109 Shinran’s wasan collections, for example, were produced not as literary compositions to be read but as hymnic sequences to be sung. That is, they were intended as one component of worship centering on Shōtoku. To this day annual observances are conducted at the Honganji temple to Shōtoku, though presentday ones are no doubt modified from those of Shinran’s time.110 It seems clear also that in the medieval period iconographic depictions of Shōtoku were the focal point of ritual, for a variety of images survive from then. Shinran may have owned one himself, for in a work explaining scriptural passages that appear on iconic paintings of revered figures he included two inscriptions frequently used for images of Shōtoku.111 Among the icons of Shōtoku in circulation were depictions of him as a two-year-old boy reverently invoking the Buddha’s name;112 as a sixteen-year-old filial youth with long hair, dressed in robes, and carrying a censer, supposedly consoling his ailing father Emperor 107  I am grateful to Kevin Gray Carr for pointing out to me these connections between Mt. Hiei and the Shōtoku cult. 108  For a comprehensive study of the Shōtoku Taishi tradition, see Nihon Bukkyō Gakkai, ed., Shōtoku Taishi kenkyū (Kyoto: Heirakuji Shoten, 1964); and Hayashi Mikiya, Taishi shinkō: Sono hassei to hatten, Nihonjin no kōdō to shisō, no. 13 (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1972). 109  For a study of Shōtoku iconography and its ritual use, see Kevin Gray Carr, “The Lives of Shōtoku: Narrative Art and Ritual in Medieval Japan” (Ph.D. diss., Princeton University, forthcoming). 110  The annual ceremony to Shōtoku at the Nishi Honganji, known as the Taishie (or Taishiki), is performed each year on April 11 (equivalent to the 2d month, 22d day, in the premodern calendar). See Tsunetani Hōryū, Honganji fūbutsushi (Kyoto: Nagata Bunshōdō, 1978), pp. 76–80 (also pp. 70–76). 111  Songō shinzō meimon, SSZ, 2:591–592. 112  For a study of the popular depiction of Shōtoku as a pious two-year-old child, see Tatsuguchi Myōsei, “Namu Butsu Taishi-zō kō,” Shūgakuin ronshū 52 (October 1981): 71–100.

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Yōmei (d. 587) with Buddhist invocations; as a young man riding a horse into battle against his anti-Buddhist adversary Mononobe no Moriya (d. 587); and as the wise prince regent, establishing the Shitennōji temple or lecturing on the Śri Mālā and other sutras.113 Of these iconographic options, the most popular one in Shinshū circles was the image of Shōtoku as a filial youth. One of his appeals, especially in the context of Shinran’s own religious example, was his lay identity. Shōtoku symbolized commitment to Buddhism without forsaking family or worldly involvements. Thus, as a sacred figure he perhaps came across to ordinary people as more accessible and approachable than did Amida in his transcendent and unfathomable nature. Shin scroll paintings of this filial Shōtoku, dating from the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, commonly show him standing erect, facing straight forward or at a quarter turn, with a censer in hand. At his feet are four to six figures, ordinarily personages from his legends, kneeling in reverence to him.114 Such depictions of Shōtoku were sometimes displayed within more complex icons known as kōmyō honzon (sacred light inscriptions), in which the nembutsu, written down the middle, is shown radiating light outward onto a host of revered figures, including Shōtoku Taishi and his entourage, arrayed all around.115 In such formats Shōtoku was clearly subordinated to Amida and his symbols. At other times Shōtoku and his group occupied an iconic scroll of their own. This could be displayed alongside an Amida image or a nembutsu inscription or installed as an independent icon in its own right.116 There is evidence that some of the Shinshū’s earliest and strongest congregations in the Kashima area of Kantō set up images of Shōtoku Taishi as their one and only object of worship.117 Apparently, they felt no contradiction in structuring their 113  For a summary of the various iconographic depictions of Shōtoku, see Mitsumori Masashi, “Sōsetsu Shōtoku Taishi mokuzō,” in Shinshū jūhō shūei, 10 vols., gen. ed. Chiba Jōryū (Kyoto: Dōbōsha, 1987–1989), 7:265–277. Hereafter, Shinshū jūhō shūei is cited as SJS. 114  For examples of such scroll paintings, see SJS, 7:6–27. 115  For the oldest known example of such an image (in triptych scroll format), see SJS, 2:4–13. This work dates from Shinran’s lifetime. 116  For a study of the earliest Shōtoku images in the Shinshū, see Miyazaki Enjun, “Shoki Shinshū no Shōtoku Taishi-zō,” in Shōtoku Taishi kenkyū, ed. Nihon Bukkyō Gakkai (Kyoto: Heirakuji Shoten), pp. 251–264. 117  This conclusion arises from the Haja kenshōgi (also known as Kashima mondō), in Jōdoshū zensho, 20 vols., ed. Jōdoshū Shūten Kankōkai (Tokyo: Jōdoshū Shūten Kankōkai, 1908– 1914), 12:821–824. It was written by Shōgei (1341–1420), a prominent proselytizer of the Jōdoshū branch of Pure Land Buddhism, in criticism of beliefs and practices he observed at Kashima. Though he did not identify Shinshū adherents by name, it is assumed that he was referring to them, since they are known to have been numerous and influential at Kashima.

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ritual activities around a depiction of Shōtoku even though they conceived of themselves as Pure Land adherents. This iconic blurring of Shōtoku’s and Amida’s identity may be one dimension of medieval Shin Buddhism that has been lost in modern times. Though it is difficult to say conclusively, Shinran himself might have been an active proponent of such a religious outlook. He clearly held Shōtoku Taishi in reverence and subscribed to the wide-ranging mythic traditions surrounding his cult. Shinran’s two longest wasan collections to Shōtoku are largely hymnic renderings of his exploits and sacred character: his chanting of the Buddha’s name at the tender age of two; the Korean priest Ilra and the Korean prince Achwa recognizing Shōtoku as a manifestation of the bodhisattva Kannon, appearing in Japan to spread Buddhism; Shōtoku’s past incarnations, including as Queen Śrī Mālā in India and the priest Hui-ssu in China; his successful campaign against Moriya and the Mononobe clan, who sought to eradicate Buddhism and dispose of its icons; Shōtoku’s establishment of the Rokkakudō and Shitennōji temples, where images of Kannon were installed; his composition of commentaries on the Lotus, Śrī Mālā, and Vimalakīrti sutras; Shōtoku’s promulgation of the seventeen-article constitution, which brought peace and prosperity to the land; and finally his death and enshrinement.118 Over and above his retelling of the standard Shōtoku Taishi legend, Shinran linked him explicitly to Amida and Pure Land Buddhism in his shortest wasan collection to Shōtoku. Specifically, he identified the teachings that Shōtoku propagated in Japan as the message of Amida’s benevolent vow to save all living beings. Shōtoku was likened to a mother or father constantly looking after sentient beings to bring them to safety.119 Within this set of wasan are some that, without identification and context, could easily be mistaken for hymns to Amida: For innumerable rebirths over vast eons down to the present world, We ourselves have been showered by his compassion. We should never tire in taking refuge with singleness of heart, And should find joy in praising him without ceasing.120

118  This is a sampling of the episodes and attributions about Shōtoku Taishi appearing in Shinran’s Kōtaishi Shōtoku hōsan, SSZ, 2:532–541; and Dai Nihon koku zokusan ō Shōtoku Taishi hōsan, SSZ, 4:23–42. For a succinct outline of the contents of these two collections, see Kawazoe Taishin, “Shinran to rekidai Taishi-kan,” Shūgakuin ronshū 52 (October 1981): 38–40. 119  Shōzōmatsu wasan, SSZ, 2:526, vv. 83–86, 88. 120  Ibid., 2:527, v. 92.

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To Prince Shōtoku, the master of the teachings in the country of Japan, It is difficult to repay our tremendous debt of gratitude. Let us take refuge with singleness of heart, And never fall back in our praises of him.121 With a mere change of name or context, both of these wasan could function as hymns to Amida Buddha. This easy interchangeability might suggest that the identities of Amida and Shōtoku were not sharply divided or compartmentalized in Shinran’s mind. There was a cultic confluence of the two, so that praises and gratitude to one were tantamount to praises and gratitude to the other. If such interchangeability did exist, it would mean that in religious practice Shōtoku could act as a functional equivalent or ritual double of Amida. To the extent that such an understanding of Shōtoku was at work in Shinran’s religion, the modern characterization of it as exclusivistic seems problematic. Shinran’s affinity to the bodhisattva Kannon is another dimension of his cultic profile, though it is less clearly delineated than his devotion to Shōtoku Taishi. The Kannon cult has had a long and complex history in Japan and has produced a plethora of expressions, both inside and outside the Pure Land tradition. In Shinran’s case, the fact that Kannon, rather than Amida, was the sacred figure appearing in his Nyobonge (Verse on making love to a woman), which Eshinni apparently copied for Kakushinni and enclosed in letter 4, as well as the fact that Eshinni herself dreamed Shinran to be an incarnation of Kannon, described in letter 3, indicates the great significance Kannon played in their lives. The actual experience of salvation for them arose in a sense from Kannon’s appearance to them in one guise or another. Because of their encounter with Kannon, they felt a special bond to the bodhisattva. Hence, the place of Kannon in their religion extended beyond the amorphous role ascribed to the bodhisattva in the Pure Land sutra literature. Shinran was, of course, well versed in Pure Land doctrine and incorporated its image of Kannon into his own writings. Kannon is recognized in Pure Land texts, alongside Seishi, as one of Amida Buddha’s attendant bodhisattvas working to bring sentient beings to the Pure Land.122 Typically, Kannon is identified as the bodhisattva of compassion, and Seishi as the bodhisattva of wisdom. Pure Land tradition includes Kannon among the many bodhisattvas of Amida’s retinue coming to greet believers on their deathbeds and usher them into the

121  Ibid., 2:526, v. 90. 122  For sutra passages describing the two bodhisattvas, see Muryōjukyō, TD, 12:273, or SSZ, 1:27; and Kanmuryōjukyō, TD, 12:344–346, or SSZ, 1:59–66.

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Pure Land.123 Another characterization of Kannon, which Shinran inherited from this literature, is as a hidden protector of Pure Land adherents, guarding them as closely as their shadow—similar to Shinran’s depiction of the Shinto kami. This characterization can be found in scriptural passages cited in his Kyōgyōshinshō and also in one of his wasan hymns.124 Such images situated Kannon within the Pure Land tradition, but merged him somewhat anonymously into a host of other sacred figures who were likewise protective emissaries and agents of Amida. Shinran’s understanding of Kannon, however, did not stop at these standard Pure Land representations but went on to ascribe a more elevated role to the bodhisattva. One telling sign that Shinran perceived Kannon as special was his occasional use of the euphemism guze, “world-saving,” in reference to the bodhisattva.125 This term is of a different textual lineage from the Pure Land sutras. Specifically, it came from the Lotus Sutra, the locus classicus of another popular characterization of the bodhisattva.126 Kannon is depicted there as a savior bodhisattva who comes to the aid of sentient beings in any adversity, whether spiritual or worldly. People seeking deliverance from fire, flood, demons, attackers, imprisonment, bandits, or their own inward obstructions to enlightenment— attachment, anger, ignorance—as well as people seeking blessings such as a son or daughter can all appeal to Kannon. The bodhisattva adopts whatever guise is necessary to assist them, thirty-three of which are enumerated in the sutra—as a buddha, a hearer of the dharma (shōmon), a principal deity such as Brahmā, a heavenly being, a great general, a wealthy man, a householder, a priest, a nun, a wife, a boy, a girl, a dragon, and so on.127 This image of a boundlessly beneficent Kannon manifested in countless forms to aid sentient beings gave rise to a powerful and pervasive cult in Japan. Many prayers made to Kannon, reflected in passages of the Nihon ryōiki (A record of miraculous events in Japan), were for material gain, but the Japanese also looked to the bodhisattva as an auspicious guide to paradise,

123  For example, see Kanmuryōjukyō, TD, 12:345, or SSZ, 1:62. 124  Kyōgyōshinshō, SSZ, 2:20, 78; and Jōdo wasan, SSZ, 2:498, v. 108. For a summary of the depictions of Kannon found in Shinran’s writings, see Kiyomoto Hidenori, “Shinshū no dochaku (4): Shinran ni okeru Kannon to shūkyō taiken,” Indogaku Bukkyōgaku kenkyū 40.2 (March 1992): 192–195. Concerning this point see especially p. 193. 125  For example, see Shōzōmatsu wasan, SSZ, 2:526, vv. 84, 88; Kōtaishi Shōtoku hōsan, SSZ, 2:532, v. 4; 2:533, v. 8; 2:540; and Songō shinzō meimon, SSZ, 2:591, 592. 126  Mochizuki Shinkō, ed., Bukkyō daijiten, 1:677–678, s.v. “Kuze Kannon.” For the original passage in the Lotus Sutra, see Myōhō rengekyō, TD, 9:58a. 127  Myōhō rengekyō, TD, 9:56c–57b.

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especially after Pure Land beliefs spread widely in the Heian period (794– 1185).128 The popularity of Kannon ultimately led to the proliferation of sacred sites and icons proclaiming manifestations or worldly appearances of the bodhisattva. In its most developed form, the cult produced a pilgrimage circuit of thirty-three temples in western Japan. This route began to take shape a century or so before Shinran’s time, but many of its temples had existed before then as individual cultic centers to Kannon.129 There people would seek the intercession of the bodhisattva for their most pressing needs. The Rokkakudō temple where Shinran secluded himself in 1201 was one of these sites. Letter 3 in Eshinni’s collection indicates that Shinran secluded himself for a hundred days at the Rokkakudō “to pray concerning his next life” (gose o inorasetamaikeru ni). Considering the character and reputation of this temple, it would be difficult to interpret Shinran’s actions outside the assumptions of the Kannon cult. He approached the bodhisattva with an urgent concern and received a response in the form of a revelatory dream. In this dream Shōtoku Taishi, himself an incarnation of Kannon, revealed the famous Nyobonge verse indicating that Kannon would become Shinran’s intimate female partner and would ultimately lead him to the paradise. This verse reflects Kannon’s dual identity as a guide to the Pure Land and a fulfiller of worldly desires. These were commonly recognized dimensions of Kannon and were probably regarded as inextricably bound together. This revelation provided the impulse for Shinran to seek out Hōnen’s Pure Land teachings on the one hand and to take a wife on the other. Shinran’s Rokkakudō experience fits the pattern of religious activity in the Kannon cult, but it would be wrong to think that he subscribed to all the cult’s views and practices. Notwithstanding Shinran’s gain of a conjugal partner in the wake of his experience, Shin Buddhism from its earliest period did not emphasize prayers for material benefits, a major component of the Kannon cult. Moreover, Shinran’s attraction to the cult seems to have been limited to the Rokkakudō. Kyoto and its environs were filled with cultic centers to Kannon—for example, the Kiyomizudera, the Rokuharamitsuji, the Kōdō, and the Ishiyamadera temples. Among them, the Yokawa section of Mt. Hiei, where 128  Kiyomoto Hidenori, “Shinshū no dochaku (4): Shinran ni okeru Kannon to shūkyō taiken,” pp. 192–193; and Katō Totsudō, Kannon shinkōshi, Kannon zenshū, no. 7 (1940; rpt. Tokyo: Rekishi Toshosha, 1976), pp. 143–149. 129  Estimates are that the Kannon pilgrimage route of western Japan dates from the eleventh or twelfth century, though some accounts place its origins as early as the eighth century. See Shimizudani Zenshō, Kannon no fudasho to densetsu, Kannon zenshū, no. 6 (1940; rpt. Tokyo: Rekishi Toshosha, 1976), pp. 9–17. For an in-depth study, see Hayami Tasuku, Kannon shinkō (1970; rpt. Tokyo: Hanawa Shobō, 1989), pp. 221–336.

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Shinran was a priest, had closer ties to the Kōdō than to the Rokkakudō, so one might expect him to be drawn to that site instead.130 But Shinran apparently showed no interest in these other temples. It may be that he was attracted to Kannon as manifested in Shōtoku Taishi specifically, and not to other manifestations of the bodhisattva. Shōtoku’s reputation as the founder of the Rokkakudō would perhaps explain the temple’s appeal to Shinran. If that is the case, Shinran’s devotion to Kannon should be seen as an extension of his reverence for Shōtoku. In some sense, these two figures were merged together in Shinran’s mind. This propensity to conflate sacred identities, common in medieval religion as a whole, is one of the things linking Shinran to the religious worldview of his times. A third dimension of Shinran’s cultic profile is his affinity to the Zenkōji temple in Shinano province. It seems certain that he visited the temple at least once when he and his family made the long journey from Echigo province to the Kantō region in 1214, for the route connecting the two areas passed by the temple.131 It was near the end of this journey at a place called Sanuki, mentioned in Eshinni’s letter 5, that Shinran attempted to chant the three Pure Land sutras a thousand times for the benefit of all sentient beings. When Shinran visited the Zenkōji—and in the next two decades while living in the Kantō region, during which according to legend, he made additional journeys there132—the temple enjoyed national prestige as a center for Amida worship and as the repository of the famed iconic triad of Amida and his companion bodhisattvas, Kannon and Seishi. As a historical site, the Zenkōji probably rose to national prominence sometime in the eleventh or twelfth century, and it became vastly popular during the Kamakura period (1185–1333), precisely when Shinran and Eshinni lived. During that period replicas of its revered icon were produced in abundance and distributed throughout Japan, and a corps of itinerant preachers (kanjin hijiri) spread its sacred story far and wide, traveling the country to solicit donations in its behalf. The temple’s fortunes rose even further under the patronage of the military government in Kamakura.133 Shinran 130  Hiramatsu Reizō, “Sōsetsu Shōtoku Taishi ezō,” SJS, 7:247–248. Hiramatsu points out, however, that the Rokkakudō also apparently had an affiliation with Mt. Hiei. 131  For a simple map outlining this journey, see Hiramatsu Reizō, ed., Takada Honzan no hōgi to rekishi (Kyoto: Dōbōsha, 1992), p. 166. 132  For one such legend, see Hiramatsu Reizō, “Takada Senjuji no sōsō to nembutsu hijiri,” in Shinran Shōnin to Shinshū, ed. Chiba Jōryū and Hataya Akira (Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 1985), p. 182. 133  For an in-depth description of the Zenkōji cult during this period, see Donald F. McCallum, Zenkōji and Its Icon: A Study in Medieval Japanese Religious Art (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1994), pp. 34–37, 63–99.

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was apparently caught up in the excitement and religious fervor surrounding the Zenkōji and became one of its devotees. The Zenkōji that captivated Shinran was the one described in mythic accounts of its origins and momentous events. According to them, the celebrated Amida triad was of venerable and auspicious provenance, inspired by a glorious vision of Amida and his flanking bodhisattvas and produced in India during the time of Śākyamuni Buddha. Later it was miraculously transported to Paekche (Korea), where it remained for more than a thousand years. Finally, the triad made its way to Japan, arriving on the shores of Naniwa (Osaka), supposedly as the first icon of Amida in the country. There arose, however, a dispute over whether to accept it or not. The Mononobe clan in particular rejected the image and twice cast it into the Naniwa canal. Shōtoku Taishi subsequently opposed the Mononobe and defeated its clan leader, Moriya.134 Shōtoku then sought to retrieve the image from the canal, but Amida inhabiting the icon declined, saying that another person was destined to do so. That person was Honda Yoshimitsu, who, after a miraculous encounter with the image, carried it back to his native province of Shinano and enshrined it in his home, the forerunner of the Zenkōji temple. From that time the Zenkōji Amida became a source of salvation and miracles for those venerating it and appealing to it for aid.135 This legendary account, typical of cultic centers in the medieval period, reveals the Amida icon not simply as a representation of a transcendent Buddha but as a miraculous living presence. In fact, the icon was referred to as the living body (shōjin) of Amida, with whom the faithful could interact, though ironically it was hidden from view at the Zenkōji. This idea of the physical and manifested presence of the Buddha, as opposed to a remote and ethereal absolute, underlay the organization of medieval Buddhism into cults and cultic centers. Their appeal was that they offered palpable and immediate access to the Buddha. The efficacy and power of the icon subsequently inspired a movement to replicate and disseminate it to affiliated sacred sites throughout Japan. 134  This story of the Mononobe’s disposal of the Buddhist icon and the clan’s defeat by Shōtoku Taishi is a conflation and literary embellishment of passages found in the Nihon shoki. See Sakamoto Tarō et al., eds., Nihon shoki, Nihon koten bungaku taikei, no. 68 (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1965), pp. 100–103 (Kinmei 13th year, 5th–10th months); pp. 150– 151 (Bidatsu 14th year, 3d month); and pp. 160–167 (Sushun 2d year, 5th–7th months). For an English translation, see W. G. Aston, Nihongi: Chronicles of Japan from the Earliest Times to A.D. 697 (1924; rpt. Rutlan Vt., and Tokyo: Charles E. Tuttle, 1972), 2:65–66, 102– 104, 112–117. 135  For a more detailed summation of this core Zenkōji myth, see Donald F. McCallum, Zenkōji and Its Icon, pp. 39–54; and Yoshihara Hiroto, “Sōsetsu Zenkōji Nyorai eden,” SJS, 3:197–199.

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Hence, the Zenkōji triad became one archetype of Buddhist iconography in the Kamakura period, even though it was derived from an archaic style of sculpture. These copies were perceived not merely as facsimiles of the original icon but rather as sacred extensions of it. In a sense, the Zenkōji projected spiritual tethers out from itself to create cultic satellites throughout the country, each revolving around its own sacred replica. Hence, a network of Zenkōji-related temples emerged in Japan enshrining duplicates of the triad, and some even adopted the temple name Zenkōji.136 Shinran’s exposure to the Zenkōji occurred just at the time that the cult began to flourish. The clearest evidence that he embraced the Zenkōji legend is a series of five hymns dedicated to the Zenkōji Buddha contained in one of his wasan collections. The first hymn praises the Buddha for coming to Naniwa in Japan out of compassion for the people there; the other four deal with a denigrating epithet that Mononobe no Moriya used to refer to the Buddha and its detrimental effects in later times.137 Considering there are only five wasan to the Zenkōji, it would appear that Shinran was not as devoted to this cult as to Shōtoku Taishi, for whom he composed almost two hundred hymns. It may be that Shinran saw the Zenkōji myth as a submotif of the Shōtoku legend, for the segment of the Zenkōji story he dwelt on in his wasan was the anti-Buddhist deeds of Moriya, a topic recounted in the Shōtoku legend. In all likelihood he did not view the two sacred narratives as separate and discrete any more than he considered the sacred identities of Shōtoku, Kannon and even the Zenkōji icon to be disconnected. In that sense, Zenkōji beliefs and devotions appear woven together with Shinran’s other religious sensibilities into a broad cultic tapestry all under the rubric of Pure Land Buddhism. Despite Shinran’s apparent assimilation of the Zenkōji story into the Shōtoku Taishi legend, there is other evidence that he had a greater allegiance to the Zenkōji than his few wasan might indicate. For instance, in the Godenshō, Shinran’s biography written by Kakunyo, Shinran is portrayed in one passage as a reincarnation of the Zenkōji’s founder and by extension as a manifestation of Amida Buddha inasmuch as the founder himself was regarded 136  Concerning the duplication of the Amida triad and the development of the Zenkōji temple network, see Donald F. McCallum, Zenkōji and Its Icon, pp. 83–154; and Shimodaira Masaki, “Zenkōji Nyorai ni tsuite,” in Zenkōji—Kokoro to katachi, ed. Itō Nobuo et al. (Tokyo: Daiichi Hōki, 1991), pp. 178–188. McCallum, pp. 192–193, points out that the entire Zenkōji cult was built on the curious and seemingly contradictory practice of proclaiming a physical and material manifestation of the Buddha in the world, the so-called living body of the Buddha in the form of the Zenkōji icon, but never allowing anyone to view it. Only replicas could be displayed. 137  Shōzōmatsu wasan, SSZ, 2:529, vv. 110–114.

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as one.138 Kakunyo had sufficient testimony from other sources to portray Shinran as a manifestation of Amida and would not unnecessarily link him to the Zenkōji without compelling reasons to do so. Additional evidence is that one of the earliest and most important Shinshū temples, the Senjuji of Takada, dating back to Shinran’s years in the Kantō region, had intimate ties to the Zenkōji from its inception. According to legend, the Senjuji was established when Shinran brought a replica of the revered Amida triad from the Zenkōji and installed it in a simple chapel at Takada. To this day, one of the oldest objects preserved at the Takada temple is a Zenkōji triad, probably dating from the first half of the 1200s and hence a remarkably early example of a Zenkōji replica. Moreover, the original leaders of the Senjuji congregation, Shinbutsu (1209–1258) and Kenchi (1226–1310), adopted a lifestyle similar to that of the proselytizers of the Zenkōji, who spread the cult throughout Japan.139 Such evidence suggests that the original Senjuji and probably Shinran himself were significantly influenced by the religious symbols and cultic activities of the Zenkōji. This connection is corroborated by the fact that both the Senjuji and several affiliated temples have preserved scroll paintings of the Zenkōji legend that they apparently displayed when reciting the story to their congregations.140 All this evidence has prompted one scholar, Gorai Shigeru, to make the dramatic claim that Shinran was originally a Zenkōji hijiri, or a peripatetic proselytizer of the cult.141 This characterization would place Shinran squarely in the mainstream of medieval religion. It is conceivable that Shinran was involved in such activities during his twenty-year residency in the Kantō region, though it is impossible to say conclusively since no textual sources survive from that time. Such a characterization, though, stands in contrast to Shinran’s life in 138  Godenshō, SSZ, 3:646–647. Specifically, Shinran is identified in the dream as Zenkōji no Hongan no onbō (the priest Hongan [principal vow] of the Zenkōji), a name associated with Honda Yoshimitsu, founder of the Zenkōji, and also as a shōjin no Mida Nyorai, “Amida Buddha in a living body” (a term commonly used for the Zenkōji Amida). Concerning the meaning of Zenkōji no Hongan (or alternatively Hōgan) no onbō, see Gorai Shigeru, “Zenkōji—Shomin to shinkō: Shinran” (serialized article), Shinano Mainichi Shinbun (November 27, 1984–March 19, 1985), pt. 1. I am grateful to Donald McCallum for providing me with a copy of this article series. 139  For the most important article outlining the connections between the Senjuji at Takada and the Zenkōji, see Hiramatsu Reizō, “Takada Senjuji no sōsō to nembutsu hijiri,” pp. 180–190. For a reproduction of the Zenkōji triad preserved at the Takada temple, see SJS, 3:110, 112. Also see Hiramatsu’s Shinran, pp. 165–171. 140  Yoshihara Hiroto, “Sōsetsu Zenkōji Nyorai eden,” SJS, 3:207–212. 141  Gorai Shigeru, “Zenkōji: Shomin to shinkō: Shinran.” See also Gorai Shigeru, “Zenkōji shinkō to hijiri,” in Zenkōji—Kokoro to katachi, ed. Itō Nobuo et al. (Tokyo: Daiichi Hōki, 1991), pp. 189–192.

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Kyoto after returning in the 1230s. That period was marked by textual studies, doctrinal exploration, and writing. The prevailing perception of Shinran today is derived primarily from his writings of this last period. What is noteworthy, however, is that even during this burst of intellection late in life Shinran never completely outgrew his cultic affinities from earlier years. His wasan to the Zenkōji Buddha were recorded during the final few years of his life, as were his hymns to Shōtoku Taishi. These do not represent mere cultic embellishments of his doctrinal abstractions. Rather, they reflect the particular beliefs and practices that moved Shinran the most out of the various cultic options available to him in medieval Japan.142 One last aspect of Shinran’s medieval profile is his belief that specific human beings could be manifestations of the Buddha or other sacred beings. The most noteworthy example is Hōnen. Letter 3 in Eshinni’s collection makes it clear that both she and Shinran considered Hōnen to be a manifestation of the bodhisattva Seishi. This view is corroborated in Shinran’s own wasan, where Hōnen is identified explicitly as a manifestation of Seishi and also of Amida Buddha himself.143 Shinran thus recognized not only legendary figures such as Shōtoku Taishi but also flesh-and-blood contemporaries as sacred entities. To describe Hōnen as an incarnation of Amida would not indicate that he was the only human manifestation of the Buddha. It was widely understood by Shinran and his contemporaries that the Buddha reveals himself countless times and in manifold ways, human and otherwise, as part of his compassionate efforts to bring all living beings to enlightenment. This was a fundamental principle of Mahayana Buddhism that underlay Shinran’s thought and kenmitsu Buddhism as a whole. Hence, from a medieval perspective there was nothing startling about Shinran’s view of Hōnen. This recognition, however, would not imply that he considered all individuals to be appearances of the Buddha. At an idealized or doctrinal level, especially based on the logic of nonduality, one might argue that all sentient beings are extensions of the Buddha, or vessels of Buddha-nature. But at the level of practiced religion it seems clear 142  It is striking that Shinran never mentioned Kumano Shrine in his writings (even though it appears in Kakunyo’s biography of him, Godenshō, SSZ, 3:650–653). He must have been aware of the Kumano cult, for it was a flourishing movement during his lifetime. The reputation of the Kumano kami as a manifestation of Amida would seem appealing to Pure Land proponents such as Shinran. Certainly, it was to his contemporary Ippen (1239–1289), the renowned propagator of the nembutsu who was likewise attracted to the Zenkōji. The absence of a Kumano component in Shinran’s cultic profile demonstrates that he was not an indiscriminate syncretist in his religious worldview. Some cultic figures clearly captured his imagination, and others did not. 143  Jōdo wasan, SSZ, 2:500; and Kōsō wasan, SSZ, 2:513, v. 106.

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that Shinran treated only certain individuals as incarnate forms of Amida. Hōnen was one of them. The widespread recognition of human manifestations of the Buddha, especially in the form of one’s religious teacher, led to the medieval practice of reverencing Buddhist masters. That is, the master-disciple relationship was often characterized not simply by religious instruction but also by the veneration of the master by the disciple. This has been described by one scholar, for lack of a better term, as ninji shinkō, “master worship.”144 There is a modern tendency to assume that the primary response of a disciple to the master was respect and indebtedness. Certainly, these were essential dimensions of medieval relationships. But when one’s master was also perceived as an appearance of the Buddha reverence was likewise a natural response. One palpable means of formalizing such relationships was for the master to bestow sacred objects on the disciple—icons, religious texts, or portraits of himself. Shinran for instance, received a copy of Hōnen’s magnum opus, the Senjakushū (Collection on the specially selected [Practice]), and also his portrait. Shinran treasured these items and had Hōnen write a personal inscription on them, thereby authenticating the objects and confirming the relationship between himself and Hōnen.145 From the disciple’s perspective, such objects were not mere mementos but veritable extensions of the master, representing both what he taught and the sacredness he embodied. This was particularly true of portraits. They were treated reverently as more than visual depictions of the master. Often they functioned as icons in their own right, to the extent that they captured and conveyed the physical appearance and spiritual qualities of the master. In many situations, portraits therefore constituted ritual substitutes for the master, a religious double for him, so to speak.146 It is not surprising, then, that Shinran included portraits of Hōnen among the iconic scrolls to which scriptural passages could be affixed.147 Nor is it hard to imagine Shinran sitting in front of an enshrined portrait of Hōnen and chanting the nembutsu—just as he might before an image of Shōtoku Taishi, the Rokkakudō Kannon, the Zenkōji Amida, or a simple nembutsu inscription, the iconic object for which he is best known. All apparently revealed to him the same sacred reality, though their individual form, expression, and cultic pedigree were different. 144  Ikemi Chōryū, Chūsei no seishin sekai—Shi to kyūsai (Kyoto: Jinbun Shoin, 1985), p. 239. 145  Kyōgyōshinshō, SSZ, 2:202. 146  On the ritual significance of masters’ portraits, see James C. Dobbins, “Portraits of Shinran in Medieval Pure Land Buddhism,” in Living Images: Japanese Buddhist Icons in Context, ed. Robert H. Sharf and Elizabeth Horton Sharf (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2001), pp. 19–48. Also see Bernard Faure, The Rhetoric of Immediacy—A Cultural Critique of Chan/Zen Buddhism (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1991), pp. 169–174. 147  Songō shinzō meimon, SSZ, 2:593–597. Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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Shinran, like Hōnen, was another Pure Land master considered to be a sacred manifestation. Eshinni’s dream of him as the bodhisattva Kannon, described in letter 3, is evidence of this. The classic portrayal of Shinran as miraculous and extraordinary appears in Kakunyo’s Godenshō. Four passages in the work reveal Shinran to be a sacred figure—two of them, Amida Buddha himself.148 This biography, written three decades after Shinran’s death, apparently chronicles views of him that were circulating among his followers both before and after his death. Shinran’s sacred identity, exemplified in these accounts, constituted the basic rationale for his enshrinement, commemoration, and veneration at the Honganji temple.149 Modernists have sometimes criticized Kakunyo and the Honganji for portraying Shinran in this way. Such an exalted view of him runs counter to the humanized perception of Shinran that dominates contemporary Shin discourse. It is also at odds with some of Shinran’s own self-characterizations. Specifically, he chided himself for “languishing in a vast ocean of attachments and desires, and wandering vainly after mountains of fame and fortune.”150 And he considered his own motivation for teaching Buddhism to be riddled with self-serving impulses: “For fame and fortune, I seek to be a teacher of others.”151 Such declarations convey clearly a self-image of human weakness, and absolutely no presumption of personal sacredness. It would seem, then, that Shinran was willing to recognize the sacred identity of others, but not of himself. Notwithstanding these declarations, Shinran in some ways apparently acceded to the adulation of others. Specifically, he participated in a variety of activities that fit medieval patterns of master-disciple interaction. The Tannishō presents Shinran as not having a single disciple and as treating other Pure Land adherents as equals or religious companions (dōbō).152 Such statements are invaluable for revealing important aspects of Shinran’s character and teachings. But historically it would be difficult to dispute the fact that he had numerous disciples.153 He imparted copies of religious texts to some, and allowed others to make his portrait.154 If later accounts are correct, Shinran was not as rigid about the distribution and circulation of these religious objects as were some 148  Godenshō, SSZ, 3:641–642, 646–647, 650, 652. 149  For a discussion of the religious content and institutional ramifications of the Godenshō, see James C. Dobbins, “The Biography of Shinran: Apotheosis of a Japanese Buddhist Visionary,” History of Religions 30.2 (November 1990): 179–196. 150  Kyōgyōshinshō, SSZ, 2:80. 151  Shōzōmatsu wasan, SSZ, 2:531, v. 116. 152  Tannishō, SSZ, 2:776, 790. 153  For early lists of his disciples, see Shinran Shōnin monryo kyōmyōchō, SSS, 1:982–1007. 154  Godenshō, SSZ, 3:646–647, presents one episode of Shinran’s having his portrait made. The two most famous portraits of Shinran dating from his lifetime are the Kagami no Miei, SJS, 4:2–3, and the Anjō no Miei, SJS, 4:6–13. Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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Buddhist masters of his day.155 But like the others, he transmitted them specifically in the context of master-disciple relationships. In the case of religious portraits, Shinran must have realized that they would be treated as revered objects in the hands of his disciples and in many instances set up as objects of worship. He was aware of the significance attached to portraits, for he himself sought one from Hōnen, whom he revered as Seishi and Amida. Likewise, Eshinni, upon hearing of Shinran’s death, mentioned in letter 4 that she would like a portrait of him, whom she considered Kannon. It is noteworthy that Shinran did not retreat from bestowing portraits, knowing full well how they would be used. In that respect, he was a conscious and willing participant in the master-disciple culture of his day. What is most telling is that in some cases Shinran personally inscribed his portrait with the same scriptural verses that he affixed to scroll-hanging icons of the nembutsu.156 Since such nembutsu scrolls were used ubiquitously as objects of worship, he in effect conceded that his own portrait, occupying the same iconographic space in the scroll as the nembutsu, could also function as an icon. It therefore seems unlikely that he was oblivious to, or would have been puzzled by, the enshrinement of his portrait. This is essentially what occurred at his grave site chapel after his death, and subsequently at the Honganji temple. It is difficult to say exactly how Shinran perceived this flurry of adulation surrounding him. On the one hand, he felt unworthy of it and personally flawed. On the other, he did not withdraw from master-disciple relationships, nor did he withhold the various religious objects conferred in them. Admittedly, it is hard to reconcile these two dimensions of Shinran’s religion. But what he may have felt was that, though imperfect and corrupt himself, his faith was none other than Amida at work in him. If others could see Amida’s presence revealed in him, then it was not a matter of his own identity inspiring them but Amida’s. Thus, he allowed himself to be treated as a master, and implicitly as a palpable manifestation of Amida. If this interpretation is right, then Shinran’s enshrinement at the Honganji temple over the centuries has been consistent with his own perception of who and what he was. Shinran’s cultic profile, in the end, extends across a broad spectrum of medieval phenomena—from the high religion of Mt. Hiei’s Pure Land retreats, to visionary encounters with Shōtoku Taishi and Kannon, to popular devotions 155  Gaijashō, SSZ, 3:70. 156  Five of the six scriptural verses affixed to the Anjō no miei portrait of Shinran (SJS, 4:6–9) are the same as those attached to a ten-character nembutsu scroll preserved at the Senjuji temple (SJS, 1:12–15). The only difference is that Shinran’s portrait contains one additional verse from his Shōshinge (Verses on true faith). All these inscriptions are in Shinran’s handwriting.

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of the Zenkōji’s icon, down to the recognition of specific humans as manifestations of the Buddha. All of these had their own cultic provenance and integrity, but they were bound together in Shinran’s mind as multifaceted expressions of the Buddha’s miraculous workings. Hence, the subtle and inspiring truths of the Tannishō, which were unquestionably part of Shinran’s religious outlook, were situated in a rich, complex, and magical world of medieval perceptions. The medieval apprehension of these truths was experientially different (though perhaps not existentially so) from the modern understanding of them. Whereas the modern individual comprehends Shin Buddhism as a personal realization transforming one inwardly, the medieval believer saw it as a miraculous encounter that binds one in a compelling relationship to unseen but immediately present powers. Amida was thus experienced in revelatory moments—in specific places, events, objects, and people. The purpose of this chapter has been to show that there is a medieval Shinran standing behind the modern one. The perception of Shinran as an introspective and solitary searcher has become so pervasive in present-day accounts of him that vestiges of his medieval outlook have been virtually lost. He is portrayed as relating to Amida individually and without mediation; as emphasizing inner reflection and self-examination as the key to religion; as being skeptical and dismissive of the spirit world; as promoting a universalist vision in repudiation of particular social, cultural, and parochial concerns; and hence as anticipating a modern religious worldview. All these characterizations of Shinran have some basis in fact and can be supported with selective passages from his writings. The preponderance of research on Shinran today focuses on these dimensions. This work, by contrast, largely ignores that side of Shinran. It is an attempt to swing the pendulum in the opposite direction so that, for once, Shinran’s medieval character becomes visible. Its claim is that Shinran’s primary religious impulses came from mysterious events and supernatural encounters, that his nembutsu was comprehended in a medieval vein as a potent and miraculous act linking one to inexplicable powers, that he was immersed in the spirit world of his day and had enduring affinities to certain cultic figures, that he recognized specific human beings as sacred and worthy of veneration, and hence that his beliefs and practices can be explained in terms of medieval concepts and options. In the end, this medieval Shinran is neither truer nor more significant than the modern one. But this side of Shinran cannot be dismissed, for his medieval sensibilities, though commonly overlooked, shaped his religious vision as much as his modern predilections did.

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Rethinking Acculturation in the Postmodern World Michihiro Ama In the Passages on the Land of Happiness, Shinran writes: I have collected true words to aid others in their practice for attaining birth, in order that the process be made continuous, without end and without interruption, by which those who have been born first guide those who come later, and those who are born later join those who were born before. This is so that the boundless ocean of birth-and-death be exhausted.1 During the first half of the twentieth century, Japanese Buddhism established religious frontiers in three places. The present work is intended to contribute to the study of the religious frontier that emerged in North America, where Shin Buddhism became an interstitial religion despite its clergy’s efforts to promote the buddhadharma eastward (bukkyō tōzen), and discusses how the modernization of Shin Buddhism impacted and paralleled the acculturation of its counterpart in the United States. Prior to the eastward progression, religious frontiers had appeared within Japan. Both the Nishi Honganji and the Higashi Honganji sought domestic expansion by propagating in Hokkaidō, Kagoshima, Okinoshima (Shimane prefecture), Okinawa, and elsewhere. Japanese Buddhism also encountered Chinese and Korean Buddhism on the Asian continent through participation in Japan’s territorial acquisition. The two branches of the Honganji were the major denominations in Manchuria, Korea, and Taiwan. As its dominance in East Asia suggests, Shin Buddhism also had the largest membership of all forms of Japanese ethnic Buddhism in North America. Immigrants to the Pure Land situates acculturation in two settings. First, it has investigated acculturation as a complex process of the Japanization and Americanization of Shin Buddhist organizations, rituals, and doctrine, inquiring about their relationships with modernity, immigration, and ethnic subculture. Acculturation must be perceived as an extension of the Source: Ama, Michihiro, “Rethinking Acculturation in the Postmodern World,” in Michihiro Ama, Immigrants to the Pure Land: The Modernization, Acculturation, and Globalization of Shin Buddhism, 1898–1941, Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2011, pp. 189–194. 1  Shinran, Kyōgyōshinshō, in CWS, vol. 1, p. 291.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2020 | doi:10.1163/9789004401525_044

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modern development of Japanese Buddhism, but this process simultaneously intersects with the activities and concerns of Shin immigrants as well as of Euro-American sympathizers, in this way diverging from tradition and emerging as a new form of Buddhism in North America. Second, acculturation appears to be part of the localization, regionalization, nationalization, and globalization of Shin Buddhism. Shin immigrants often built local Buddhist missions or churches with the support of prefectural associations. At the same time, they tried to internalize two incompatible discourses of their host nation-states, while Shin Buddhist priests traveled around the Pacific Rim connecting the overseas operations of both branches of the Honganji. Therefore, the transnational activity of Shin Buddhism was linked to the globalization of polity (i.e., the politics of both Japan and the United States), economy (the plantation economy in the case of Hawaii, the resources of the Honganjis and their overseas allocations, Shin immigrants’ remittances to Japan, and so on), and communication (between the homeland and Japanese living in the diaspora, and among the latter themselves). The organizational amendments, ritual alterations, and doctrinal interpretations of the BMNA and the HHMH are deeply rooted in the forces of globalization. Each mission or church was under the authority of local state law, though the governor of Hawaii initially opposed the incorporation of the HHMH, while the board of the Seattle Bukkyōkai and the Buddhist group in Raymond, Canada, first registered their organizations as nonreligious associations in conformity with local state regulations. At the same time, Shin clergy—in particular, the heads of the BMNA and the HHMH—maintained close relations with their regional Japanese consuls, who often helped them mediate the breakup of a local bukkyōkai. Shin Buddhist members not only bore the expenses of their local mission or church, including the minister’s stipend, but also contributed financially to the two organizations. Members’ incomes were affected by local markets (plantations, agriculture, fisheries, or small businesses), the national economy (the fluctuation of sugar and wholesale prices), and global financial factors such as the Great Depression. Shin clergy included imperial ideologies in the liturgy. In the period of early propagation, Shin ministers read the Imperial Rescript on Education at Japanese language schools, performed rituals honoring Japanese emperors (as was the practice in Japan), and observed imperial holidays. After the antiJapanese movement began to intensify, they ceased these practices. In the case of the HHMH, Imamura recommended that Nisei members study the major speeches of former U.S. presidents and documents such as the Declaration of Independence. However, as late as the 1930s, Shin Buddhists observed memorial services for Japanese soldiers who had died in battle.

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The resemblance of Shin rituals to Christianity needs to be reevaluated, as it represents the Shin clergy’s arbitrary adaptive strategy. Christianity, being the dominant religion of America and connected to Western colonial power, certainly affected the liturgy of ethnic Buddhism. However, since all rituals provided revenue for missions and churches, it was important for Shin ministers to cater to attendees’ requests to some degree. They simplified worship, as requested by Nisei members who did not comprehend ceremonies conducted in Japanese, and, to meet Euro-American sympathizers’ interest in basic Buddhism, encouraged Shin clergy to endorse Theravadin teachings and ceremonies. As Chapter 4 suggests, the interior and exterior design of worship halls reflected the financial resources and practicality of Issei immigrants and the modernization of Buddhist architecture that had taken place in Japan, in addition to pressure from non-Buddhist communities. The case study of three Shin thinkers has demonstrated different types of reactions to state ideologies. Despite his pragmatic interpretation of Shin Buddhism, Takeichi Takahashi avoided critiquing the political structures of the two nations. For Ituzō Kyōgoku, one’s Buddhist faith was to be kept to oneself. By keeping religious beliefs and practices private, Shin followers avoided resisting anti-Japanese activists and state authority, which discriminated against the Nikkei population. On the other hand, Emyō Imamura attempted to relativize the autocratic system of Japan and the democratic system of the United States from a Buddhist viewpoint. But his efforts appeared to be contradictory, reflecting his roles as both an influential leader of the Nikkei community in Hawaii and head of the HHMH and as an independent liberal thinker. None of these men, however, taught Issei, Nisei, and Caucasians that Shin Buddhism was a religion of worldly benefit, with prayers for gaining good luck and dispelling bad luck. Kyōgoku and Imamura rejected the commercialization of Buddhist faith and religious consumerism. Rather, a type of Shin ethos—namely, striving to repay one’s indebtedness to Amida—appears to have persisted among Issei Jōdo Shinshū members, taking the form of devotion to local missions and churches and support for their growths.2 Transformation of organizational structure, ritual practice, and hermeneutics occurred through multiple channels of communication. The HHMH and BMNA offices received various types of information from the Kyoto headquarters (transnational), other Buddhist denominations and religious organizations (territorial or national), and local missions and churches (interisland or intercontinental). Some information must have overlapped and/or conflicted, 2  For the discussion of the economic ethics of Shin Buddhist merchants, see Robert N. Bellah, Tokugawa Religion: The Cultural Roots of Modern Japan (1957) (New York: The Free Press, 1985, reprint), pp. 117–26. Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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making it difficult for Imamura, Uchida, and Masuyama to decide on the proper action to take. As Niklas Luhmann suggests, social systems, including institutions, construct themselves by communicating binary concepts, such as ownership against nonownership (economy), true versus false (science), and legal as opposed to non-legal (law). The course of communication progresses from selecting information to imparting it and understanding it; thus communication also includes a process of exclusion.3 At the crossroads of the discourses of the two nation-states, the theory of the two truths, the habits and requests of Shin immigrants, and the motivations of local missions and churches, which were not always harmonious, Shin leaders made choices concerning the adaptation of Jōdo Shinshū in North America at the beginning of the global era. The local and translocal activities of Shin Buddhists, discussed in Chapter 7, thus demonstrate different adaptive strategies. Shin Buddhism today continues to be an international religion, albeit with different levels of relationships to the aforementioned forces of globalization. After World War II, the position of Nikkei Buddhists in the United States changed dramatically. According to Michael Masatsugu, they made “significant modifications to Buddhist institutions and to the external practice of Buddhism in response to shifting forms of racialization.”4 Their status altered mainly due to the creation of a politico-economic partnership between the United States and Japan and the disappearance of anti-Japanese activism in North America. Although purportedly positive, for Shin Buddhists in the United States these changes conceal one serious concern. The acceptance of Shin Buddhism in the United States ironically suggests that it is becoming part of world hegemony. In this situation, unlike during the prewar and internment periods, the followers of American Shin Buddhism can easily conform to the singular secular authority. With the decline of the Issei generation, so-called complex loyalties are no longer an issue. The bilateral relationship between the two countries seems to secure the basis for the future growth of Shin Buddhism in the United States. There is no need for third- and fourth-generation Japanese American Shin Buddhists to worry about a confrontation between their homeland and 3  Cited and discussed by John H. Simpson, “Religion as Identity and Contestation,” in Religion, Globalization, and Culture, ed. Peter Beyer and Lori Beaman (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill, 2007), pp. 122, 135. Simpson does not quote from Luhmann. He writes:    “But communication according to Luhmann is not simply the transmission and receipt of a message, a gesture or linguistic event that evokes a response. Communication is a process of selection and, thereby, a process of rejection or leaving something (known or unknown) aside.”   In the footnote, Simpson refers to Niklas Luhmann’s Social Systems (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1995), pp. 137–75. 4  Michael Masatsugu, “Reorienting the Pure Land,” p. 1. Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

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the country to which their ancestors had immigrated. While existing in something of a “comfort zone,” given that the United States is the most powerful nation-state in the world, it is easier for twenty-first-century America Shin Buddhists to turn inward and avoid looking beyond (or beneath) the immediate problems that personally concern them. Separating the public and private spheres is, however, only one aspect of Shin Buddhist discourse. As Chapters 5 and 7 suggest, Shinran’s teaching can be made to serve as a basis for its adherents to relativize mundane rules. This analytical attitude may correspond to postmodern critics. Mark Unno argues that when a religion is subsumed under the dominant ideology, it can trigger two reactions. The sacredness manifested in the texts of any religion can be commodified, or a certain amount of detachment can be maintained within its particular cultural discourse. American Shin Buddhists are able to redefine the sacred quality of their texts and provide a spiritual alternative in today’s society, where problems of modernization still linger and prevail, because they are in a unique position, sharing the prewar experiences of their ancestors. Unno further proposes that Shin Buddhists in the United States should regain spiritual insight as a form of “resistance against the negative aspects of the global economy.”5 In a hegemonic system, those at the bottom of the oppressive hierarchy are often the ones who most clearly see and feel the depths of the hegemonic structure. They are therefore in an advantageous position to catalyze resistance against the commodification of all life, including that of religion. Shin Buddhist religious thought and the experience of Japanese American Shin Buddhists offer possible venues for the articulation of this hegemony, of reading into the depths of the global economy and of evoking the voices of the sacred that originate beyond this world. Yet, while this potentiality may exist within the sacred texts of Shin Buddhism, and may be inscribed in the bodies of Japanese American Shin Buddhists through such experiences as internment, many Shin Buddhists have turned away from this dimension of their religious lives in order to seek assimilation into the dominant mainstream American culture, the culture that is most deeply implicated in the problematic aspects of the global economy. Japanese Americans inherit the legacy of the two most powerful, and thus potentially most oppressive, economies in the world.6 5  Mark T. Unno, “The Voice of Sacred Texts in the Ocean of Compassion: The Case of Shin Buddhism in America,” Pacific World, 3rd ser., no. 5 (2003): pp. 301, 303. 6  Unno, “The Voice of Sacred Texts in the Ocean of Compassion,” pp. 304–305.

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The Issei Shin Buddhist experience is now a thing of the past, but the cultural heritage that their descendants have received can possibly awaken them to the various kinds of contradictions that the United States has created in the era of global economy. For American Shin Buddhists today, the process of Japanization is no longer an issue. They have sought more independence from the head temples in Japan and have abandoned cultural elements unfit for the religious landscape of the United States. And over time, the Kyoto headquarters of the two branches of the Honganji have become less involved with the operations of their affiliated organizations in North America. The language barrier and differences between the two cultures have separated them. As a result, Shin Buddhism in the United States has a chance to develop a distinctive character, though it may be simultaneously isolated from other Shin communities in the world and may fail to provide spiritual insights into the crises of the global economy. As a concluding remark, this book makes two suggestions regarding the future development of a vital Shin Buddhism in the twenty-first century. First, concerning how to recover the critical ethos as found in the tradition, the efforts of Imamura and Kyōgoku will be worth retracing. The combination of a critical spirit and the circular movement of self-power and other-power offers the possibility of searching for a postmodern interpretation of Shin Buddhist doctrine, although it is beyond the objectives of this present study to examine such implications. Second, as an attempt to relativize secular authority, Shin Buddhism could provide an alternative perspective that goes beyond the national interests of a single nation. Instead of supporting either side of an argument, Buddhist nonattachment can offer a third way. Such an example is found in one Japanese Shin Buddhist’s response to the use of the atomic bomb. In his soteriology, Shigenobu Kōji, a Jōdo Shinshū priest in Hiroshima, himself a victim of the bombing, proposes a middle path transcending the polarities of either blaming the United States for using the atomic bomb to attain victory or of criticizing Japan for making the mistake of initiating the Pacific War. For him, the disaster of the atomic bomb represents collective human karma and the weakness of man’s moral capacity.7 In the Tannishō, Shinran points out the uncertainty of an individual’s actions depending on his or her causes and conditions: “If the karmic cause so prompts us, we will commit any kind of act.” Kōji speculates

7  Yuki Miyamoto, “Rebirth in the Pure Land or God’s Sacrificial Lambs? Religious Interpretations of the Atomic Bombings in Hiroshima and Nagasaki,” Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 32, no. 1 (2005): pp. 153–54.

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along this line of Shinran’s thought. Yuki Miyamoto, in the introduction to Kōji, writes: Kōji hypothesizes that he might have been born in the United States during the war, [and] he might have been the pilot in charge of pressing the button [to release] the bomb. He was born into the Kōji family by mere chance, but the same “chance” could have [caused] him [to be] born as an American pilot. If he [had been] a pilot at the time, confesses Kōji, he would, for sure, have pressed the button.8 For Kōji, the invention of the atomic bomb does not show scientific superiority but relates to the wonder of birth, the unpredictability of human behavior, and the limitation of individual choices.9 Understanding the vulnerability of human life, therefore, may lead to the discovery of the importance of spiritual principles over mundane rules. Certainly, as Miyamoto points out, religious ideas alone do not provide any solution to complex political conflicts.10 However, since Shin Buddhism has become a global religion, it needs to be equipped with a vision that can evaluate “pro” or “con” sociopolitical debates from a different standpoint.

8  Tannishō, in CWS, vol. 1, p. 671. In the thirteenth chapter of the Tannishō (pp. 670–71), Shinran and Yuien, one of his closest followers, have the following exchange:    Further, the Master once asked, “Yuien-bō, do you accept all that I say?”    “Yes, I do,” I answered.    “Then will you not deviate from whatever I tell you?” he repeated. I humbly affirmed this.    Thereupon he said, “Now, I want you to kill a thousand people. If you do, you will definitely attain birth.”    I responded, “Though you instruct me thus, I’m afraid it is not in my power to kill even one person.”    “Then why did you say that you would follow whatever I told you?”    He continued, “By this you should realize that if we could always act as we wished, then when I told you to kill a thousand people in order to attain birth, you should have immediately done so. But since you lack the karmic cause inducing you to kill even a single person, you do not kill. It is not that you do not kill because your heart is good. In the same way, a person may wish not to harm anyone and yet end up killing a hundred or a thousand people.” 9  Miyamoto, “Rebirth in the Pure Land or God’s Sacrificial Lambs?”, p. 153. 10  Miyamoto, “Rebirth in the Pure Land or God’s Sacrificial Lambs?”, p. 153.

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Nenbutsu and Meditation: Problems with the Categories of Contemplation, Devotion, Meditation, and Faith Lisa Grumbach A discussion of nenbutsu and meditation serves to remind us of something that is very strange: that nenbutsu and meditation, or devotion and contemplation, are usually thought of as exclusionary activities by Jōdo Shinshū Buddhists on the one hand, as well as by Western followers of “meditative” forms of Buddhism such as Zen, Tibetan sects, and vipassanā traditions on the other hand. While this state of affairs may seem quite normal in the modernday versions of these traditions, in fact it is quite a peculiar way of thinking about Buddhist practice. For most of the history of Buddhism, “devotional” practices like prayer, invocation, and offerings have not been at odds or even very distinctly separated from “contemplative” practices such as meditation, sutra copying, and sutra recitation. Often it is even difficult to determine whether a practice is devotional or contemplative.1 The standard view that such practices are exclusionary is in part related to the history of Buddhism in Japan, especially sectarian formation that occurred in the Edo period, forcing Pure Land and Zen sects in particular to define their practices by excluding what seemed to belong to the other.2 The idea that Buddhism “naturally” has sects with distinct doctrines, practices, and congregations also fits neatly with Western Christian views of religious formation (based on schisms and sectarian formations) that dominates the general view

Source: Grumbach, Lisa, “Nenbutsu and Meditation: Problems with the Categories of Contemplation, Devotion, Meditation, and Faith,” Pacific World (3d ser., 7) (2005): 91–105. 1  On the issue of defining meditative and devotional practices, see Daniel B. Stevenson, “Pure Land Buddhist Worship and Meditation in China,” in Buddhism in Practice, ed. Donald S. Lopez, Jr. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), pp. 359–379. 2  In the early Edo period, Jōdo Shinshū had an inclusive attitude toward various Buddhist practices; see Eisho Nasu, “Ecumenical Understandings of Jōdo Shinshū and Possibilities for the Development of a Practical Theory of Practice,” Pacific World, forthcoming. On Zen inclusion and then rejection of nenbutsu practices, see Richard Jaffe, “Ungo Kiyō’s Ōjōyōka and Rinzai Zen Orthodoxy,” in Approaching the Land of Bliss: Religious Praxis in the Cult of Amitābha, ed. Richard K. Payne and Kenneth K. Tanaka (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, Kuroda Institute, 2004), pp. 202–235.

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of “what religion is” among the general populace as well as in the academic study of religion. In this respect, Japanese Buddhism is “easy to understand” in contrast to Chinese, Korean, and other continental forms of Buddhism in which a variety of practices are performed regardless of sectarian monikers. In the Japanese sects, any attempt to bridge the sectarian divide is viewed with extreme suspicion. This attitude seems to have translated into American forms of these sects as well. Many temple members do not seem inclined to consider meditation and have expressed a number of valid concerns: Why should Jōdo Shinshū temples now offer meditation sessions when they have never done so before? Does seeking to perform meditation run counter to Shinran’s teaching, which stresses the inadequacy of self-power ( jiriki) and therefore seems to reject meditation and other ritual practices? These questions deserve serious consideration. A discussion of the possible role of meditation in Shin Buddhism provides us with an opportunity to address these questions and to rethink many longheld ideas and assumptions about what Shin Buddhism is. This paper seeks to open discussion on the above questions while also considering whether shinjin has any correspondence with zazen. Bringing Shinran’s teaching of nenbutsu and shinjin together with Dōgen’s teaching of zazen (or shikan taza, “just sitting”) will in fact force us into a larger consideration of what Buddhism is, both for these Kamakura-period thinkers and for people today. Is Buddhism about meditation and enlightenment, or is it about something else? Must the individual actively seek the goal, or is it already attained? Below the paper first addresses the issue of nenbutsu in the context of early medieval Japan, looking at the roots of nenbutsu as a meditative practice and questioning whether the categories of “contemplation” and “devotion” are necessarily exclusive. Next, I will use this questioning of dichotomies as a basis for reexamining Shinran’s ideas about nenbutsu and shinjin to argue that Shinran not only rejected the meditation practices of his day but also rejected nenbutsu. To understand how this is so, I examine the idea of shinjin, often translated as “faith” but more literally “entrusting-mind,” in terms of how Shinran understood this term in connection with then current ideas about enlightenment, buddha-nature, and practice, briefly discussing how Shinran’s teachings about nenbutsu and shinjin might be compatible with Dōgen’s zazen. Finally, I would like to bring all of this history into the present, to consider what might be the benefits to Jōdo Shinshū temples and members of doing meditation, what might be some problems, and what might be the benefits of not doing meditation.

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The Nenbutsu’s Roots in Meditative Practices: Meditation or Devotion?

Because of the sectarian nature of Buddhism in modern Japan, people who focus on Japanese Buddhism sometimes forget that the nenbutsu is not the sole province of the Japanese Pure Land schools. Reciting the nenbutsu is a practice commonly performed even today by all Buddhists, both lay and monastic, in other East Asian (Mahayana) nations such as China, Korea, and Vietnam. In medieval Japan, these practices had been brought from China and were popular at all levels of society. Although these practices are typically called meditative or “contemplative nenbutsu” (kan nenbutsu, 観念仏; ukan nenbutsu, 有観 念仏), here I would like to overview the range of meditative nenbutsu practices found in medieval Japan and consider whether discreet categories such as contemplation and devotion accurately characterize them. The practice of nenbutsu has since its beginnings been a meditative practice. In ancient and medieval India, the practice of buddhānusmrti, “recollecting the buddha,” involved a range of activities, mostly centered on meditative techniques for visualizing a buddha.3 These techniques could be used to visualize any buddha, but even in India Amitābha (Amitāyus) already seems to have been an important focus. In medieval China, with the popularity of the Contemplation Sutra (Guan wuliangshou jing, 観無量寿経; Jpn. Kanmuryōjukyō) and the teaching that Amitou was the most compassionate of buddhas and most receptive of people’s supplications, this buddha became the main figure associated with “recollecting the buddha,” to the point that the term nianfo came almost exclusively to mean recollecting the Buddha Amitou. Scholarship on the practices of nianfo as developed in China has tended to investigate nianfo as a meditative endeavor performed by monastics and recorded in monastic texts, like sutras, commentaries, and the biographies of monks. However, we should also remember that nianfo was advocated as a practice for laypeople and had a devotional aspect. But nor should we too quickly make a hard distinction, that meditative practice is for monks and 3  On the development of buddhānusmrti in India, see Paul Harrison, “Commemoration and Identification in Buddhānusmrti,” in In the Mirror of Memory: Reflections on Mindfulness and Remembrance in Indian and Tibetan Buddhism, ed. Janet Gyatso (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1992), pp. 215–238. However, recent work by Harrison also points out that these meditative techniques should not be seen as distinct from other aspects of Buddhist practice and teaching, such as the development of text and the practice of chanting. See Harrison, “Mediums and Messages: Reflections on the Production of Mahāyāna Sūtras,” The Eastern Buddhist, n.s. 35, nos. 1 & 2 (2003): pp. 115–151.

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devotional practice for laypeople. As Daniel Stevenson has shown in his work on Chinese Pure Land practices and ritual manuals, laypeople too performed meditative nianfo practices, such as seven-day mindfulness retreats, typically held at monasteries, involving rigorous schedules of practice and strict observance of precepts and monastic norms while in the monastery.4 Nor should we assume that monastic practice and lay practice were necessarily distinct: monks and nuns might call on the buddha as an act of faith in the same way that laypeople might. Indeed, even distinguishing between meditative practice and devotional practice may be a mistake. As Stevenson notes, “In nearly every case, recollection of the Buddha is integrated seamlessly within an extended framework of ritual worship and purificatory restraint, rendering it difficult to make any absolute distinction between meditative, devotional, or ritualistic aspects.”5 During the first few centuries of Buddhist history in Japan, meditative, devotional, and ritualistic practices focusing on Amida were popularized by monks (from the continent and native Japanese) and by lay immigrants from the continent (although we know little about this latter group). By the mid-Heian period, Japanese monks were beginning to create their own forms of practice. The following offers a brief overview of the different kinds of nenbutsu practice known in Japan in the early medieval period when figures such as Hōnen, Shinran, and Dōgen were at Mt. Hiei. In looking at these practices, I would like to consider the question of whether they should be categorized as monastic or lay, devotional or contemplative. 1.1 Jōgyō zanmai and Other Visualization Practices The jōgyō zanmai, or “constantly walking samādhi,” was a form of meditative nenbutsu that was created in Japan within the Tendai school. The monk Ennin (794–864) had brought back from China the popular practice of reciting the Name of Amida Buddha, and at Mt. Hiei this became combined with a walking meditation practice to create this new nenbutsu form. In this practice, the monk recites the Name of Amida Buddha while circumambulating an Amida statue with the intent of achieving a visualization of the buddha and therein realizing the nonduality of buddha and the practitioner.6 This practice is a monastic one and is typically considered to be contemplative. 4  Stevenson, “Pure Land Buddhist Worship,” p. 366. 5  Ibid., p. 368. 6  On the development of the jōgyō zanmai, see Honen’s Senchakushū: Passages on the Selection of the Nembutsu in the Original Vow (Senchaku hongan nembutsu shū), trans. and ed. with an introduction by Senchakushū English Translation Project (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i

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Another popular monastic nenbutsu practice was the “contemplative nenbutsu” (kan nenbutsu) popularized by Genshin (942–1017). Genshin taught the contemplation of Amida Buddha through the visualization of the Buddha and his Pure Land. This method, like the above, was a type of meditative or samādhi practice, the goal being to achieve a vision of Amida rather than emphasis on the nenbutsu as chanting or oral practice.7 As the name “contemplative nenbutsu” implies, this practice is considered to be contemplative and monastic. However, both of these practices entail a large devotional component as the practitioner recites the Name and ardently focuses on the image of Amida. The devotional or emotive aspects of samādhi practice cannot be separated out from the contemplative. 1.2 Death-Bed Practices Death-bed practices focusing on Amida Buddha and birth in the Pure Land were first introduced to Japan by Genshin for use by monks. However, these practices quickly gained popularity among laypeople as well, including aristocrats, warriors of all ranks, provincial officials, and commoners. Here it is not easy—or even necessary—to distinguish whether this was a lay or monastic practice: it was simply “Buddhist practice.” Death-bed practices are generally described as visualization practice. The dying person recites the nenbutsu while visualizing Amida’s physical marks, his radiant light, and his descent to welcome the dying person to the Pure Land. The person might also look upon a statue of Amida and hold on to five-colored cords tied to that statue, to help the person visualize following Amida.8 Later in the medieval period, other physical practices were also encouraged, such as forming mudrās, holding ritual implements (vajras or incense burners), or holding a written statement of the person’s vow to be born in the Pure Land.9 Death-bed practices involving visualization are often considered contemplative practices. However, just as these practices cannot be categorized as either simply monastic or lay, they should also not be forced into a description that emphasizes contemplation and ignores devotion—or vice versa. Death-bed practices might be considered both entirely contemplative and entirely devotional. Press, 1998), p. 3; see also Jacqueline Stone, Original Enlightenment and the Transformation of Medieval Japanese Buddhism (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1999), p. 33. 7  Honen’s Senchakushū, pp. 3–4. 8  Jacqueline Stone, “By the Power of One’s Last Nenbutsu: Deathbed Practices in Early Medieval Japan,” in Approaching the Land of Bliss (see note 2), p. 80. 9  Ibid., p. 91.

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It should also be noted that the above practices influenced the creation of some of the most famous artistic and architectural treasures of Japan, such as paintings of Amida’s descent (raigōzu), depictions of the Pure Land like the Taima Mandara, and the creation of temples such as the Byōdoin at Uji. 1.3 Dancing Nenbutsu Although the dancing nenbutsu (odori nenbutsu) is most associated with the medieval figure Ippen (1239–1289), the practice originates with the Heian-period Tendai monk Kūya (903–972). Kūya is credited with moving the nenbutsu from the confines of the monastery out to the people. He became a wandering monk (hijiri), teaching the recitation of the nenbutsu that became combined with spontaneous ecstatic dancing.10 The dancing nenbutsu gained its greatest popularity in the medieval period with the teachings of Ippen and the Ji sect of Buddhism. The illustrated biography of Ippen’s life, the Ippen hijiri-e, depicts scenes of monks in marketplaces erupting into spontaneous dance and recitation of the nenbutsu. The dancing nenbutsu is typically thought of as a non-contemplative, devotional practice, and it is often assumed to be a practice for laypeople. However, both the text and the images of the Ippen hijiri-e indicate that monks were the central participants and practitioners.11 The practice became “popular” because of the strong monastic interest and the work of monks in spreading the Jishū teachings. Thus, here we have an example of a practice that is usually thought of as lay and devotional but in fact has a strong monastic base and is related to monastic practice.

10  Richard Bowring, The Religious Traditions of Japan, 500–1600 (Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press, 2005), pp. 203–204. 11  On Ippen’s nenbutsu and the Jishū, see Dennis Hirota, No Abode: The Record of Ippen (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1986). The Ippen hijiri-e records that, the first time Ippen spontaneously broke into his dancing nenbutsu, “… Ippen began dancing, and many monks and laypeople gathered, all making their bonds with the Dharma by joining in the dance” (Hirota, p. xxxix). Monks were also the main dancing nenbutsu performers in the marketplace. Stage-like covered platforms were built in areas frequented by Ippen and his followers; but, as depicted in the pictures of the Hijiri-e, the performance of the dancing nenbutsu on these platforms seems to have been limited to the monks of the Jishū, not laypeople (see for example illustration 8 in Hirota, p. 128; for explanation, see Hirota, pp. xix and xl). Ippen was certainly concerned with spreading his nenbutsu teaching to the common people, but there was also a strong monastic component to his activities, as evidenced by the growth of the Jishū as a monastic institution after Ippen’s death.

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1.4 Esoteric Nenbutsu Practices The Shingon school also had its distinctive uses and interpretations of the nenbutsu and Amida. Shingon doctrines are based in the esoteric teaching of the “nondual” ( funi), that everything in the world is in no way distinct from Dainichi, the primary buddha of the Shingon system. Thus any sound is the voice of Dainichi, and any location or any physical thing is co-existent with the buddha’s body, the dharmakāya or dharmadhātu. Realization of this teaching results in the Shingon goal of sokushin jōbutsu, “buddhahood in this very body.” Based on these doctrines, we see examples like the monk Kakukai (1142– 1223) who taught that the Pure Land is not different from this very world we live in.12 Kakuban (1095–1143) also saw in the chanting of the Name Amida a gateway into limitless wisdom and virtue, explaining in his Amida hishaku (Esoteric Explication of Amida) that “‘A’ stands for the One Mind’s equanimity in primordial non-arising; ‘mi’ stands for the One Mind’s equanimity as the selfless Great Self; ‘da’ stands for the multitudinous dharmas of the One Mind, which are both absolute and tranquil.”13 More generally, in the “secret nenbutsu” (himitsu nenbutsu) practices of the Shingon school, the recitation of the nenbutsu is not considered an invocation but is thought of as a “constituent element of the human body, innate, perfect, inherently pure.”14 The nenbutsu was identified with the breath, or life force, so that the simple act of breathing itself becomes a never-ending inhalation and exhalation of nenbutsu. Esoteric Shingon practices such as these are often thought of as meditative and ritual practices devoid of aspects of faith and devotion. However, as Mark Unno has shown in his study of the Shingon-Kegon monk Myōe (1173–1232), contemplation and devotion, ritual practice and faith are intimately connected in these practices. Myōe was a famed meditator, but his major teaching was faith in the Mantra of Light. Although such things as mantra and mudrā are certainly part of practices the esoteric practitioner uses to understand identity with the buddhas, this understanding is not separate from faith. For Myōe in particular, salvation in this mappō age could only come through “[f]aith in the cosmic buddhas, and the embodiment of this faith through the mantra.”15 Myōe understood faith and enlightenment as interrelated, that “faith and 12  Robert Morrell, Early Kamakura Buddhism: A Minority Report (Berkeley: Asian Humanities Press, 1987), pp. 89–90. 13  James Sanford, “Amida’s Secret Life: Kakuban’s Amida Hishaku,” in Approaching the Land of Bliss (see note 2), p. 132. 14  Ibid., p. 121. 15  Mark Unno, Shingon Refractions: Myōe and the Mantra of Light (Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2004), p. 67.

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enlightenment were always one, mutually sustaining.”16 Esoteric meditative practice was simultaneously the equivalent of faith and enlightenment. In sum, the demarcation between contemplative practice (meditation) and devotion (faith) is not clear in these many examples of Buddhist practice from the Heian and Kamakura periods Japan. It is beyond the scope of this paper to demonstrate it, but practice, devotion, and even doctrinal study have never been distinct in the history of Buddhism throughout Asia. It is rather our modern affliction to make categories and posit them as exclusive that has skewed our perceptions of meditation and devotion. Equating practice, faith, and enlightenment was the general standard in Buddhist doctrine. And it is in this context that Shinran too creates his doctrine of faith and practice. It is often simply stated that Shinran rejected the meditative practices. However, given the interrelation between contemplation and devotion, meditation and faith, if Shinran rejected one then we must also infer that he rejected the other. That is, Shinran rejected the entire Buddhist system of the day. Others—notably Dōgen—were involved in similar projects of rejecting past practices in order to formulate something new. Because these reformulations were so radical, I think it is helpful to think of Shinran as rejecting nenbutsu, and Dōgen as rejecting meditation, in order to understand how they then reconstructed these categories. 2

Shinran’s Rejection of Nenbutsu Practice

Shinran’s teaching is not usually referred to as the rejection of nenbutsu. Nor is Dōgen’s teaching usually referred to as the rejection of meditation. Rather, typically Shinran is said to have taught faith and nenbutsu practice, and Dōgen is said to have taught meditation. Although Shinran and Dōgen used the terms “faith” and “meditation,” both were involved in an enterprise that completely rewrote the meanings of these terms so that their usage of these words must be understood rather as a code for something entirely new at this time when faith, practice, and enlightenment had become radically equated. Dōgen’s new “meditation” and Shinran’s new “nenbutsu” were formulated in thirteenth-century Japan as part of what we might call the final resolution of the issues of buddha-nature and mappō that had plagued East Asian Buddhism since at least the seventh century. In short, the teachings of buddha-nature and mappō had resulted in a crisis of practice: given the “fact” of buddhanature (that every being has the potential for buddhahood—often combined 16  Ibid., p. 81.

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or elided with the idea of original enlightenment [hongaku], that every being is actually already enlightened), as well as the issue of mappō (that in the age of the decline of the Dharma no being can attain buddhahood because there is no access to a buddha or the true teaching), then what is the meaning of practice? If all beings are already bound for buddhahood (or are already enlightened), why practice? Or, from the contradictory viewpoint of mappō, if there is no hope for enlightenment, why practice? This crisis of practice had already begun to be addressed in China with the development of the Chan school. Although Chan is called the “meditation” school, the Chan traditions have systematically rejected all traditional practices of meditation and created an entirely new doctrine, vocabulary, and ritual of practice, such as the use of kung-an (Jpn. kōan) to induce an “initial enlightenment” experience. Such “meditative practices” would hardly have been recognized as meditation at all by those who practiced dhyāna and samādhi in India. For the Chan schools, practice was not about progressing in increasingly difficult levels of meditation to attain a goal (enlightenment). It was instead a sudden moment of insight into one’s true nature as already a buddha. In medieval Japan, the redefinition of practice was elaborated further. Hōnen was the first to intimate the radical nature of what a new practice should be with his complete rejection of the necessity of the monastic lifestyle. Perhaps inspired by Hōnen’s example, others took up the challenge to reformulate Buddhist doctrine and practice. The most extreme of these reformulations were those created by Dōgen and Shinran. Each of these thinkers rejected prior Buddhist practices to create practices that were “no practice”— that is, practices that did not require the traditional Buddhist practices of the monk’s life and meditation—and that answered the challenges of both doctrines of buddha-nature and mappō.17 Shinran’s ideas are perhaps today not often discussed in terms of buddhanature. The issue of mappō seems to dominate modern discourse on Shin Buddhism: that we are evil persons unfortunate to have been born in the age of the decline of the Dharma, without the possibility to escape samsara and attain enlightenment. However, Shinran’s teaching of the nenbutsu and shinjin—which I will translate as “entrusting-mind”—was an approach based 17  The reformulation of Buddhist practice and doctrine, however, should not necessarily be understood as a radical break with previous forms of Japanese Buddhism, such as the Tendai and Shingon, but as continuations of problems that had already been addressed to some degree within these other schools—and continued to be addressed by them as well. On the issues addressed by these reformulations, and how to conceive of the new Kamakura teachings in relation to Tendai et al., see Stone, Original Enlightenment, pp. 228–236.

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in understanding of both mappō and buddha-nature, as I shall attempt to show briefly. Shinran’s teaching is often characterized as a rejection of the monastic practices of the Tendai institution, particularly meditative practices. This is certainly true. But we should also remember that he rejected the practice of nenbutsu as well. That is to say, every one of the nenbutsu-related practices described in the preceding section of this paper Shinran rejected. He rejected the old nenbutsu practices in order to create a new “nenbutsu,” a new definition of what practice means that in its details is hardly recognizable as practice at all. Shinran’s nenbutsu removes the nenbutsu from the realm of human practice and reformulates it as the expression of tathatā, suchness itself. One does not say the nenbutsu as a practice for achieving a vision of Amida. One does not say it to achieve a boon in this life, nor even to achieve salvation. One says it because one has already attained liberation, in other words, birth in the Pure Land and enlightenment. The nenbutsu is an expression of the One Mind or Suchness (shinnyo) that is Amida Tathāgata. The nenbutsu is the mental, verbal, and even physical expression through the person of Amida’s working. Thus saying the nenbutsu is not a practice but simply how Amida is expressed through the person. It is also the rejoicing of shinjin, which Shinran describes in this way: Shinjin is the aspiration to bring all beings to the attainment of supreme nirvana; it is the heart of great love and great compassion. This shinjin is Buddha-nature and Buddha-nature is Tathagata. To realize this shinjin is to rejoice and be glad. People who rejoice and are glad are called “people equal to the Buddhas.” Notes on “Essentials of Faith Alone” (Yuishinshō mon’i)18

In this statement, Shinran’s definition of shinjin collapses the categories of faith, mind, practice, and enlightenment, thus completely changing the discussion about practice. Following the general Mahayana teachings of his time, Shinran’s discussion is based on the assumption that the mind of the sentient being is already the mind of the Buddha or Tathāgata.19 One’s own mind is the mind of Amida; there is an inherent identity of the person and the Buddha.

18  The Collected Works of Shinran, vol. 1 (Kyoto: Jōdo Shinshū Hongwanjiha, 1997), p. 463. 19  On the state of this doctrine (that the mind of sentient beings are equal to the mind of the Buddha) in the late Heian and Kamakura periods, see Stone, Original Enlightenment, pp. 190–99.

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Thus, Shinran says, without controversy, that shinjin, the entrusting-mind of the individual, is equivalent to buddha-nature, which is to say that it is equivalent to the Tathāgata itself, and thus such people are already “equal to the Buddhas.” The question for Shinran, and other thinkers of the day, was not how to attain enlightenment. Enlightenment was already a given. The problem was how to recognize one’s enlightenment, and how to practice it. Thus the issue of practice comes to constitute two aspects: (1) a recognition of one’s enlightenment, and (2) the functioning of that enlightenment in the person’s everyday life. Strictly speaking, these two are not Buddhist “practices” at all. One is oneself not doing anything to achieve enlightenment. For Shinran, the moment of recognition is called shinjin, when one realizes that “shinjin is Buddha-nature and Buddha-nature is Tathagata.” Again, the person does not perform any traditional Buddhist practice to achieve this recognition. For Shinran, the functioning of enlightenment in the person’s life is the nenbutsu. The person does not say the nenbutsu to achieve any goal but simply because this is how a person expresses and lives in joy and gladness and being “equal to the Buddhas.” Shinran has taken what was once a Buddhist practice—the recitation of the nenbutsu—and turned it into something that is no longer a practice but a recognition and then state of being. Although there is not space here to explore Dōgen’s zazen in depth, it develops out of the same ideas of buddha-nature and original enlightenment.20 Just as Shinran rejected the nenbutsu as a practice for getting something, Dōgen too stripped any implications of traditional Buddhist practice out of his conception of “just sitting.” Compare, for example, Dōgen’s statement in his Fukan zazen gi that “Fundamentally speaking, the basis of the way is perfectly pervasive; how could it be contingent on practice and verification? The vehicle of the ancestors is naturally unrestricted; why should we expend sustained effort?”21 One does not use meditation as a practice or means to achieve enlightenment. One sits in order to express—or acknowledge or fulfill—the fact that one is already identical to the buddhas, just as for Shinran the nenbutsu is an expression of the fact that one is “equal to the Buddhas.”

20  Ibid., pp. 88–90. 21  Carl Bielefeldt, Dōgen’s Manuals of Zen Meditation (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1988), p. 175. Bielefeldt also points out how this rhetoric of universal enlightenment has its roots in China (from which the medieval Tendai discourse in Japan was developed). See Bielefeldt’s comments on this passage, pp. 125–126.

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Implications for Jodo Shinshu Today

In terms of basic doctrines and premises, Shinran’s teaching of the nenbutsu shares much in common with Dōgen’s teaching of “just sitting.” Indeed, at this foundational level, their ideas are very much the same. The issue was not the theory of enlightenment but the nature of practice. Shinran and Dōgen took the premises of the Mahayana teachings of buddha-nature and the mind of Tathāgata to their logical extremes: new formulations of practice as “no practice.” The difference between these two thinkers lies then only in their choice of a method for expressing or fulfilling what is already there. The extreme closeness of the ideas of Shinran and Dōgen leads one to conclude that a nenbutsu practitioner and a zazen practitioner should feel free to use both methods. However, a doctrinal basis is not necessarily the main concern of an individual who seeks to practice both nenbutsu and meditation, nor is doctrinal agreement sufficient to form the basis for a movement that might seek to put these two together. The real issue for Jōdo Shinshū is not the doctrinal compatibility of the nenbutsu and Sōtō-style meditation but rather sociological issues regarding the identity of the sangha and general perceptions of Buddhism in American culture. People from outside of the Jōdo Shinshū tradition often come to a temple looking for meditative practice. People who are long-time members of BCA temples, on the other hand, have been reluctant to incorporate meditative practice into Jōdo Shinshū services. The issue is in large part one of the perception in modern America of the role of meditation in Buddhism. There is a tendency to assume that the central Buddhist practice is meditation, despite the fact that most Buddhists do not meditate. A noted scholar of Zen has remarked on this misapprehension of the nature of Buddhist practice: Such a view of Buddhist practice has been widespread not only in our academic literature but in the contemporary popular understanding of the religion, where the question, do you practice? is very often almost synonymous with do you meditate? Put this way, needless to say, the question is an awkward one not only for most Buddhist scholars but for most Buddhists. Put this way, the great majority of Buddhists throughout history have never practiced their religion.22

22  Carl Bielefeldt, “Practice,” in Critical Terms for the Study of Buddhism, ed. Donald S. Lopez, Jr. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005), pp. 230–231.

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Jōdo Shinshū, as a form of Buddhism that has historically minimalized the importance of meditation, has sometimes been viewed by those outside of the tradition as not “real” Buddhism. However, in the greater context of the history of Buddhism as indicated in the preceding quotation, Jōdo Shinshū is clearly a normative form of Buddhism, and in fact has a great deal to offer toward the popular understanding of Buddhism. Practice in Jōdo Shinshū as in most (if not all) of the forms of Buddhism brought by Asian immigrants is based in community and family as opposed to the “heroic quest” model of the individual searching for a profound experience of enlightenment. Although the aim of this paper has been to show the compatibility—even identity—of practices labeled meditative versus devotional, or contemplative versus faith, and that Shinran’s ideas of nenbutsu actually line up quite well with Dōgen’s ideas of meditation, it is not my intention to conclude that Shin temples in America should therefore freely adopt the practice of meditation. There may be benefits to incorporating a “no practice” form of meditation into Jōdo Shinshū, especially if it were combined with nenbutsu. This might provide insight into the meditative or contemplative aspects of entrustingmind in Shinran’s “no practice” nenbutsu, which is otherwise perceived to be “only” devotional, even by many Jōdo Shinshū members. But Shinran’s idea of entrusting-mind (shinjin) is after all not simply a devotional faith in Amida but a recognition of Amida as suchness (tathatā) working in the world and the individual. In this respect, shinjin is not devoid of the contemplative and wisdom aspects of Buddhism. While I certainly agree that Sōtō-style meditation is not incompatible with Jōdo Shinshū at a doctrinal level, simply putting Sōtō meditation into a Jōdo Shinshū service may be problematic, or even counterproductive, to both Jōdo Shinshū specifically and to the maturation of Buddhism in America generally. The problem is not whether meditation and nenbutsu can be practiced together, but why we should buy into the idea that meditation is the quintessential Buddhist practice, when, as the scholar of Zen noted above, the “great majority of Buddhists throughout history” have never practiced meditation. The juncture that presents itself to American Shin Buddhism is, I think, an opportunity to provide a correction to the general assumption that Buddhism is primarily about meditation. As forms of Buddhism from other Asian nations— Vietnam, Thailand, Taiwan—gain in numbers and visibility in America, the fact that most Buddhists do not take meditation as their primary practice becomes more apparent. As these new immigrant communities become “Americanized,” the general American populace will also become more aware of the family and community aspects of Buddhism. We are perhaps on the brink of a new period of Buddhism in America in which a greater understanding or maturity

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is occurring. There is also the literal maturing of the people who have until now been interested in Buddhism as meditation. As they “grow up,” marry, and have children, they seem to be realizing that individual meditative practice may be inappropriate or less manageable in a family setting. For those looking to move beyond an individual meditative practice to a Buddhism that can be shared with a family, Jōdo Shinshū stands ready. Those who call or come to a temple asking only about meditation are already a self-selected population. There may be many looking for another kind of Buddhism who do not think to call. I suspect that an advertising campaign in local newspapers, introducing Jōdo Shinshū as a family-based Buddhism, including Dharma School for kids, would draw quite a number of interested people. This is not to say that there is nothing that Jōdo Shinshū temples need to do. Both for their current members and potential converts, temples remain faced with the perennial problem of making the nenbutsu and the teaching of shinjin relevant to people today. This might mean more experimentation with the inherently meditative aspects of nenbutsu (such as encouraging more nenbutsu retreats, or incorporating extended nenbutsu chanting into weekly services). Additionally, Shinshū concepts may need to be explained in relation to their greater Mahayana context, balancing traditional interpretation with aspects that appeal to modern concerns. Shinjin, for example, typically explained as “faith” or “entrusting,” could also be explained in terms of the idea of “mind” (shin-jin: “entrusting-mind”) that is an equal part of the concept. Discussing mind from a Jōdo Shinshū point of view would both appeal to modern interests in this Buddhist concept and help to deepen understanding of the Shin teachings on the relationship between the individual and Amida. Discussing the issues, both doctrinal and sociological, that surround nenbutsu and meditative practices brings forward the tasks facing Shin temples in terms of growth and dealing with new members. While suggestions for change may remain controversial, they also spur thoughtful reflections on the teachings, practices, and roles of Jōdo Shinshū and Buddhism in America.

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Index of Personal Names Ācārya Yuanzheng 132 Adolphson, Mikael 257, 270 Akamatsu Mitsusuke 603 Akegarasu Haya 841–842, 877 Akira Fujimoto 964 Amida Nyorai (Amida Tathāgata) 268, 284, 311, 338, 344–345, 355, 358, 360, 388, 393, 395, 879, 882–883, 887, 899–900, 903, 913, 916, 1008, 1028, 1039, 1098 Andachi Itsuo 682 Andō Shūichi 877 Andreasen, Ebsen 440, 757 Andrews, Allan 8, 161, 567 Anesaki Masaharu 833 Ankokuin Nichikō 217 Arakawa Sōuemon 726 Araki Mataroku 726 Araki Sadao 919 Asahara Saichi 724 Asakura Motokage 639 Asakura Sadakage 639 Asakura Takakage 616 Ashikaga Yoshimasa (Shōgun) 615, 625, 637 Ashikaga Yoshimitsu (Shōgun) 606 Ashikaga Yoshinori 603 Ashō-bō Inzei (Insai) 212 Atsumi Kaien 887–888 Bacon, Francis 509 Bakhtin, Mikhail 398, 739–740 Barthes, Roland 730 Blavatsky, Helena 827 Bloom, Alfred 9, 118–119, 455, 461, 464–466, 468, 569, 724, 1022–1023 Bodiford, William 698, 988 Borup, Jørn 13, 979, 987–989 Brown, Jonathan Todd 214 Brown, Peter 712 Bruner, Jerome 159–160 Buijnsters, Marc 514–515 Bultmann, Rudolph 995–998 Burlingame, Eugene W. 31 Calvin, John 305, 624 Campbell, Joseph 1019, 1029 Cannon, Dale 572

Capps, Donald 160, 712 Chi Lu 332, 342, 371 Chiba Jōryū 648, 658, 661–662, 669–670, 757 Chikazumi Jōkan 841 Chikō Mandala 172 Chikō (Hōki) 172 Chikuen Gyōsen 887 Chilson, Clark 11, 153, 758 Chingai 537 Chishō Daishi 136 Clarke, Shayne 978–979, 990 Cobb, John Jr. 1021 Corless, Roger 1005, 1023, 1028 Covell, Stephen G. 978, 980–981, 987–991 Crites, Stephen 159 Daigo (Emperor) 141–142, 152 Dazai Shundai 814 Deegalle, Mahinda 757 Dessi, Ugo 298, 687, 959, 963, 971 Dobbins, James 1, 4, 9, 11, 14, 267, 297, 454, 458, 461, 590–591, 687, 699, 723, 732, 757, 942–943 Dōhan 194, 538–539, 545–553 Doi Jun’ichi 738 Dokushō Shōen 390, 766 Eckel, David 1022–1023 Eisho Nasu 9, 458, 639, 642 Eliade, Mircea 89, 160, 1013 Emyō Imamura 1084 Enchin 136, 1052 Endō Shūsaku 939 Ennin 127–132, 134–137, 152, 169, 174, 177, 186–187, 733, 1052, 1056, 1064, 1092 Enshō 136–137, 146, 152, 177, 187, 733 Enyū (Emperor) 132 Epictetus 840, 945, 1039 Faure, Bernard 454, 713 Fei Tchang-fang 94 Feiyin Tongrong 764 Fenollosa, Ernest 823 Foard, James 10, 240, 589, 757 Fudō Myōō 138, 178, 193, 205, 211, 493, 527–528, 782 Galen Amstutz - 978-90-04-40152-5 Downloaded from Brill.com11/09/2020 10:14:16AM via free access

1104 Fugen Kōju 192, 374, 379, 520 Fujimura Misao 847–848 Fujita Yūkoku 813 Fujiwara Michinaga 105, 189–190, 278, 290–291, 401 Fujiwara Seika 813 Fukuda Gyōkai 706, 834, 909 Fukuhara Ryūzen 455–456 Fukuma Kōchō 835 Funaoka Makoto 213 Furukawa Yū 828 Furusawa Katsuhiko 1017 Furuta Takehiko 607, 948 Futaba Kenkō 948 Geertz, Clifford 160 Genshin 8, 54, 59, 95–97, 99–106, 114, 118, 125, 137–138, 154, 158, 161–166, 177, 182–193, 195–199, 202, 210, 219, 277, 280–281, 283–284, 401, 557, 565–567, 608, 618, 718, 733, 799, 810, 1056, 1063–1064, 1093 Glassman, Hank 216, 454 Gokashiwabara (Emperor) 634–635 Goldberg, Michael 159–160 Gómez, Luis O. 7 Gonda, Jan 526 Gorai Shigeru 389, 1076 Go-Toba (Emperor) 267, 351–352, 490, 536, 571 Groemer, Gerald 649–650, 655, 686, 790 Grumbach, Lisa 14 Hadot, Pierre 713 Hakuin Ekaku 762 Hanada Shuho 849, 956–957 Hanayama Shinshō 96, 99–100, 102, 162 Hanshan Deqing 761 Harrison, Elizabeth 726, 757 Hase Shōtō 1027–1029 Hasegawa Masatoshi 780–781, 787, 793–795 Hatakeyama Masanaga 614, 634 Hatakeyama Shōjun 637, 639 Hatakeyama Yoshinari 614, 634 Hattori Shisō 939–940, 942, 947–948 Hayami Tasuku 151–152, 162 Hayashi Razan 813

Index of Personal Names Hayashiya Tatsusaburō 487 Heidegger, Simone 450, 454, 966 Heiroku Mon’ya 217 Heizei (Emperor) 135 Higashi Honganji 414, 419, 431, 628, 645, 662–663, 670, 674, 808, 822, 826, 829, 830, 831, 836–837, 877–880, 887–889, 891, 895, 922–923, 943, 945, 967, 982, 1027, 1082 Higashidate Shōken 156–158 Higashiyama Otani 267, 606, 925 Hino Tomiko 625 Hirai Kinza 827 Hiramatsu Riei 886, 889 Hirata Atsutane 811–813, 815, 821, 884 Hirota, Dennis 439, 1017, 1022 Hiroyuki Itsuki 561–563 Hisano Yoshiko 373 Hōhombō Gyōkū 229 Hōjō Masako 271, 275, 291–292, 294 Hōjō Ren 882 Hōjō Tokimasa 490 Hōjō Tokimune 502 Honda Yoshimitsu 390, 395, 1074 Hōnen 8, 10–11, 44–46, 48–49, 54, 58–59, 61–62, 65, 68, 71–73, 75–76, 109, 111–112, 116, 138, 195, 209–210, 223–240, 241–243, 245–251, 255–281, 283–287, 289–298, 316, 321, 324–330, 333, 335–336, 339–340, 342, 349–355, 361, 364–370, 372–374, 376, 418, 455–456, 459, 462, 464, 468, 483, 491, 512, 514, 516, 530, 534–535, 538, 546, 558, 561–569, 572, 577, 581, 588, 590–591, 593, 606, 608, 619, 695–696, 698–708, 714, 722, 763, 769, 779–780, 788, 793, 799, 810, 840, 898, 918, 924–925, 936, 941–942, 944, 1000–1002, 1015, 1034, 1043–1044, 1047, 1050, 1055–1057, 1063, 1065–1066, 1072, 1077–1080, 1092, 1097 Hōnen Shōnin 210, 260, 763 Hōnen-bō Genkū 241, 254, 265, 695, 898, 918, 921, 1000 Honjō-bō Tankyō (Honshō-bō Tang) 211 Hori Daiji 156 Hori Ichirō 150, 241, 484 Horton, Sarah 182–183, 187, 189

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Index of Personal Names Hoshino Genpō 1022 Hosokawa Harumoto 641 Hosokawa Kunimoto 640 Hosokawa Masamoto 632–644 Hosokawa Sengan 888 Hyers, Conrad 436 Ienaga Saburō 97, 112–113, 115, 118, 121, 241, 243, 661, 836, 909, 939–940, 944–945, 947–948, 950 Ikeda Daisaku 758 Ikeda Eishun 875 Ikehara Gaju 888 Ikkyū Sōjun 553, 615, 738, 740 Imadate Tosui 123, 827 Imai Masaharu 214 Inaba Masamaro 890 Inoue Enryō 821, 875, 879, 887, 891, 903, 909, 944 Inoue Hochū 877, 888 Inoue Mitsusada 155, 697 Inoue Takami 461 Inoue Tetsujirō 807, 824, 852 Ippen 10, 214, 483–484, 487–508, 695, 699, 714, 810, 1057, 1094 Ishibashi Jukan 736, 738 Ishida Baigan 819 Ishida Mitsuyuki 697, 1022 Ishikawa Ryōin 796, 888–889 Ishikawa Shundai 887, 890 Ishimoda Shō 163 Ishimoda Tadashi 139 Itō Jinsai 813 Ituzō Kyōgoku 1084 Iwanami Bunko 1040 Jaffe, Richard 811, 980 Jameson, Fredric 2 Jifei Ruyi 759, 763, 768, 771–773, 775 Jikaku Daishi 128, 131, 133, 186 Jikaku Daishiden 128, 131, 134–135 Jinen Hōni 1011 Jōfuku Masanobu 582 Jōkei Gedatsu-bō 259 Kai Masamori 639 Kakuban (Kōgyō Daishi) 534, 550 Kammu (Emperor) 127

1105 Kanchū (Major Bishop) 138, 175, 177–178 Kaneko Daiei 822, 876–877, 892, 945 Kanmu (Emperor) 86, 109 Karuraen Fudō 793 Kasahara Kazuo 455, 462–464, 468–470, 658, 721, 948 Kasahara Kenju 879 Kashio Naoki 962 Kashiwahara Yūsen 816 Katō Chiken 945 Katō Hiroyuki 823 Kaufman, Gordon 1005–1007, 1032 Kazan (Emperor) 154, 166 Ketelaar, James 811 Kevin Trainor 241 n. * Kikuchi Takeshi 558 Kimmei (Emperor) 382 King Aśoka 32 King Cakravartin 123 King Śibi (Sivi) 31 King Yāma 86, 88, 91–92 Kinmei (Emperor) 85, 390 Kinsley, David 573 Kitabatake Chikafusa 125, 614 Kitanishi Hiromu 377 Kiyozawa Manshi 12, 807–808, 821, 828, 836–837, 853, 875, 909, 945, 1038, 1045 Kleine, Christoph 151, 714–715, 717 Knecht, Peter 758 Kobayashi Issa 724 Kobayashi Takiji 919 Kobayashi Yasuji 170 Kodama Shiki 648 Kōgatsuin Jinrei 841 Kōkō (Emperor) 170, 178 Kondō Tesshō 707 Konggu Jinglong 761 Kōnin (Emperor) 86 Kōno Michihiro 490 Kōno Michinobu 490, 502 Kōsai 76, 229, 326–327, 336 Kujō Kanezane (Chancellor) 211, 325, 566, 571, 701 Kumagai Naozane 271 Kumazawa Banzan 813 Kurata Hyakuzō 836, 1040 Kurihara 462

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1106 Kurikara Fudō 793 Kuroda Toshio 257, 363, 562, 1052, 1055, 1057, 1062 Kyōgō of Bukkōji 356, 624 Kyorei Ryōkaku 767, 775 LaCapra, Dominick 713 Long, Charles H. 444 Luckmann, Thomas 995 Luhmann, Niklas 1085 MacIntyre, Alasdair 159, 712, 741 Mappō Tōmyōki 109–110 Marra, Michele 7, 79, 109 Masao Abe 1022 Masatoshi Nagatomi 993 Masatsugu, Michael 1085 Matsuo Kenji 462 McMullin, Neil 141 Meeks, Lori 980 Meiho (Abbot) 527 Miki Kiyoshi 836, 939 Mill, John Stuart 821, 823 Minamoto Junko 462, 468 Minamoto Yoritomo 235 Miyazaki Enjun 370 Mizuhara Kōen 917 Mōri Suemitsu 327 Morioka Kiyomi 468 Motoori Norinaga 811 Muan Xingtao 759, 768 Mujū Ichien 369 Müller, Max 832, 879, 884, 1036 Murakami Senshō 12, 833, 875, 883, 903, 909 Murakoshi Sueo 685 Mus, Paul 24 Myōe Kōben 326, 524 Myōyū 177 Nakae Tōju 813 Nakanishi Ushio 890 Nakazawa Kenmyō 1042–1045 Nanjō Bun’yū 832, 838, 879, 887, 1036 Nara Hiromoto 156 Natsume Sōseki 848, 853 Neary, Ian 656, 679 Nishi Amane 820

Index of Personal Names Nishi Honganji 422, 629, 645, 667, 670–673, 715, 826–827, 831, 835–836, 853, 878–879, 882, 885, 910–911, 917–920, 922, 925, 944–945, 984, 1027, 1082 Nishida Kitarō 822, 875 Nishiguchi Junko 216, 979 Noma Hiroshi 939–940 Nonomura Naotarō 878–879, 1028 Nussbaum, Martha 713 Obara Hitoshi 158 Oda Nobunaga 652 Oguri Junko 462, 469–471 Ogyū Sorai 814 Ōhara Shōjitsu 1024 Oka Ryōji 1026 Okamoto Gyōren 327 Ōkuwa Hitoshi 648 Olcott, Henry Steele 827 Ooms, Herman 654, 656, 673, 680 Ōtani Kōen 889, 891 Ōtani Kōzui 944 Ōtomo Yoriyasu 499 Paul, Diana 449 Payne, Richard 10, 757 Pham Thi Thu Giang 980 Putnam, Robert 969 Reader, Ian 580, 931, 960 Rennyo 10, 298, 359–362, 364, 383–384, 415–416, 418, 424–425, 433, 463–469, 471, 555–557, 559, 603–627, 629–633, 635–638, 641–642, 644, 651, 658, 666–667, 678, 684–686, 723, 736, 835, 837, 841, 902, 912–913, 916, 924–925, 928, 943–944, 949, 1037, 1049, 1059 Renzen, Shami 243 Reynolds, Frank 160, 712 Rhodes, Robert F. 7, 9, 109–111, 277, 288 Ricoeur, Paul 159, 713 Rogers, Ann T. 383, 734–735, 944 Rogers, Minor L. 383, 734–735, 944 Rowe, Mark 990 Ruch, Barbara 450 Ryōō Dōkaku 778 Ryūichi Abé 583 Ryūjun Tajima 520

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1107

Index of Personal Names Saigen 137, 178, 718 Sakaino Kōyō 849, 882 Sasaki Gesshō 892 Sasaki Shōten 961 Sauda Masayuki 668, 670, 673, 681 Sawada, Janine Tasca 875 Schechner, Richard 757 Seiwa (Emperor) 186 Shaku Unshō 909 Sharf, Robert 760, 763, 775 Shi Guangyi 784 Shibata Minoru 140 Shibutani Rizaemon 799 Shigeakira Shinnō 152 Shigenobu Kōji 1087 Shigeshirō 793 Shimaji Daitō 816, 853 Shimaji Mokurai 821, 828, 875, 909, 917, 1036 Shingyō Norikazu 639–640 Shinkyō Taamidabutsu 214, 488 Shinran 555, 603, 607, 610, 624, 894, 1002–1003, 1008, 1028, 1039, 1042–1044, 1098 Shinryū Umehara 311 Shinshū Ōtani-ha see Higashi Honganji Shōe of Kinshokuji 625 Shōmu (Emperor) 484 Shōtoku Taishi (Emperor) 84–86, 167, 355, 504, 898, 921, 936, 1065–1070, 1072–1075, 1077–1078, 1080 Shuichi Munō 12, 778–786, 788–800 Soga Ryōjin 822, 877, 892, 945 Soho Machida 568 Solomon, Michael 11, 757 Sonoda Kōyū 129–132, 137, 156–157 Spencer, Herbert 823, 884 Śrī Mālā/ Śrīmālā (Queen) 84, 449, 1067–1069 Stevenson, Daniel 567, 1092 Stone, Jacqueline 10, 331, 450, 454, 458, 714, 722–723, 733–734, 740 Suiko (Emperor) 390 Suinin (Emperor) 382 Sukehito (Prince) 189 Sumimoto 637 Sumiyuki 637, 640 Suzuki Daisetz 875

Swanson, Paul 758 Swyngedouw, Jan 931–932, 935 Syöng-myöng (Korean King) 85 Tachibana Kyōdō 148 Tada Kanae 890 Taira Masayuki 335, 453 Taitetsu Unno 1022 Takakusu Junjirō 1036 Takamure Itsue 468 Takatori Masao 140 Takayama Chogyū 853 Takeichi Takahashi 1084 Takigawa Yukitoki 919 Tamamuro Fumio 426 Tanabe, George 567, 580, 955, 960–961, 972 Tanaka Chigaku 875 Tango Risshi 214 Tatsuyama Gakunin 885 Tatsuyama Jiei 889, 891 Tillich, Paul 1011–1013, 1019 Toba (Emperor) 536 Toba Sōjō Kakuyü 293 Togashi Kōchiyo 621 Togashi Masachika (Governor) 621, 626, 635 Tokugawa Nariaki 816 Tominaga Nakamoto 821, 832, 884 Tōyō Engetsu 885 Toyotomi Hideyoshi 830 Tsuda Mamichi 820 Tsunoda Sansaemon 798–799 Turner, Victor 989 Uchimura Kanzō 825, 847 Ueda Yoshifumi 124, 723, 1022, 1029 Unno, Mark 1022, 1086, 1095 Unshō 834 Urabe Kanjun 877, 888 Urabe Kenkō 125 Vaidehī (Queen) 69–70, 464, 564 Wakita Osamu 679 Wang Yangming (Jpn. Ōyōmei) 811, 813 Washio Kyōdō 1042–1043 Weber, Max 256, 819 Welch, Holmes 761

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1108 White, Hayden 715 Woloch, Alex 731 Yamaguchi Susumu 34 Yamamoto Genpachi 798 Yamamoto Naotomo 665 Yamana Sōzen 633 Yasuda Rijin 838 Yasutomi Shinya 948 Yinyuan Longqi (Ingen Ryūki) 706, 759 Yokota, John 1014, 1016, 1022 Yōmei (Emperor) 1068 Yongming Yanshou 699, 760, 896 Yoshida Kenryū 882

Index of Personal Names Yoshida Kyūichi 816 Yoshimichi 570 Yoshimoto Takaaki 939 Yoshishige Yasutane 401 Yoshitane 634, 637, 639 Yoshitani Kakuju 888–889, 891 Yuichi Kajiyama 1026 Yuki Miyamoto 1088 Yunqi Zhuhong 761–762, 764–765 Zenchin 624 Zhingying Huiyuan 1009 Zhongfeng Mingben 761 Zhu Xi (Jpn. Shuki) 811–813

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