Image Problems: The Origin and Development of the Buddha's Image in Early South Asia 9780295805795, 9780295994567

Table of contents :
Contents
Acknowledgments
1. Problems and Preconceptions
2. Questions of Origin
3. Image Aversion
4. Images and Identity
5. Historical Shifts
6. Image Appeal
7. Coping Strategies
8. Final Words
Notes
Bibliography
List of Illustrations
Index

Citation preview

IMAGE PROBLEMS

IMAGE PROBLEMS The Origin and Development of the Buddha’s

Image in Early South Asia

Robert DeCaroli

A McLellan Book University of Washington Press Seattle and London

This book is published with the assistance of a grant from the McLellan Endowed Series Fund, established through the generosity of Martha McCleary McLellan and Mary McLellan Williams.

Publication of this book has been aided by a grant from the Millard Meiss Publication Fund of the College Art Association. © 2015 by the University of Washington Press Printed and bound in the United States of America Design by Thomas Eykemans 18 17 16 15  5 4 3 2 1 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. University of Washington Press www.washington.edu/uwpress

Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress ISBN 978-0-295-99456-7 The paper used in this publication is acid-free and meets the minimum requirements of ­ merican National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed A Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48–1984.∞

For Scott

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments ix

1

Problems and Preconceptions 3

2

Questions of Origin 12

3

Image Aversion 29

4

Images and Identity 51

5

Historical Shifts 78

6

Image Appeal 116

7

Coping Strategies 146

8

Final Words 178

Notes 191 Bibliography 221 List of Illustrations 239 Index 241

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

T

his book is the culmination of many years’ work, and throughout the process, I have been fortunate to have been supported and sustained by a number of wonderful institutions and individuals. I would like to thank a few of them here. The project found its genesis in 2004 when as a Getty Research Institute Visiting Scholar I had the opportunity to avail myself of the remarkable resources and robust community of scholars gathered at the Getty Center in Los Angeles. This time of intensive reading and research allowed me to formulate the early stages of this project, which became the foundation of all that followed. Subsequent stages of research and fieldwork were generously supported by George Mason University, whose leave policies and summer research grants were crucial to my work. I am fortunate to work at a university that actively cultivates faculty research. As the project grew, becoming at times ungainly and awkward, it was the advice, guidance, and insight of colleagues and friends that helped me find my way. Although a great many were instrumental in assisting me, I would like to particularly thank Akira Shimada, Abhishek S. Amar, Monika Zin, Tamara Sears, Santhi Kavuri, Paul Harrison, Cary Shaffner, Monica Smith, Susan Fernsebner, Deborah Diamond, Finbarr Barry Flood, Benjamin Bogin, Michael Chang, Nicholas Morrissey, Pia Brancaccio, Oliver Freiberger, Kurt Behrendt, Michelle C. Wang, Juhyung Rhi, and Scott Wilson. Their words, knowingly or not, saved me from many embarrassments. In addition to these people, I would like to offer a special thanks to my students, both past and present, for their inquisitive and perceptive questions that have helped me to clarify and justify my own ideas. Working with gifted graduate students such as Anne Brennan Hardy, Jessica Farquhar, Roshna Kapadia, Shellie Meeks-Shaffner, and Ilavenil Ramiah has been especially helpful. I express special gratitude to the directors, faculty, and students of Deccan College, Pune, whose hospitality and expert advice made my fieldwork far more effective than it might have been otherwise. The Archaeology Department under Professor Vasant Shivram Shinde was exceedingly generous in hosting me during my stay. I need to reserve special thanks, however, for Dr. Shrikant Ganvir,

ix

who organized the visit, and who, together with Gopal S. Joge, was an excellent travelling companion. I am deeply in debt to their good-natured patience and vast knowledge. I offer my sincere thanks to them both. Regan Huff has been the finest editor that anyone could hope for. The patient guidance provided by Regan, Jacqueline Volin, and Tim Zimmermann at the University of Washington Press has been invaluable. I also wish to thank my two anonymous readers, whose thoughtful comments and criticisms were exceptionally helpful and are greatly appreciated. Finally, I need to thank my family and friends, without whose support, encouragement, and timely diversions this project would not be complete (or possibly may have been completed sooner but would have been far less fun). To them, my love and gratitude always.

x

AC K N O W L E D G M E N T S

IMAGE PROBLEMS

1 / PROBLEMS AND PRECONCEPTIONS

Each time one sees it, your body gives new joy For its sight cannot ever satiate, its aspect is so pleasing. Where else would these virtues of a Tathāgata [Buddha] be well housed? Except in this form of yours, blazing with signs and marks. Mātṛceṭa’s hymn to the Buddha in the Śatapañcāśatkastotra [The Buddha said:] “What do you think, Kāśyapa, is any . . . human or non-human even able to make an image of the Tathāgatas [Buddhas]?” Kāśyapa said: “No, Blessed One. Since a Tathāgata is unexpressible, his body inconceivable, because of that it is not easy to make an image of them.” Kāśyapa and the Buddha discussing images in the Maitreyasiṃhanāda Sūtra

I

n the decades following the start of the first century ce, Buddhists in South Asia had a great deal to say on the subject of images and their use in religious contexts. Yet for all this information, it is futile, or at least misleading, to ask for a singular response to the question of what they thought about visual representations of the Buddha. Although it can be difficult to accurately date textual sources, it is safe to say that views on image use varied widely, and the views of individual authors only occasionally conformed to those expressed by other Buddhists. The Divyāvadāna, for example, includes tales of monks achieving advanced spiritual states merely by seeing a copy of the Buddha’s bodily form.1 In contrast, the Maitreyasiṃhanāda Sūtra warns that image use is a risky distraction best left to the misguided, because Buddhas naturally defy any form of embodiment.2 Buddhaghoṣa espoused a slightly more moderate view; in his commentary on the Pāli Vinaya he concedes that meditation on the Buddha’s image may be acceptable for beginners, but he argues that it has no role in attaining higher levels of insight.3 Not only does the Avadānaśataka assert the exact opposite to be true, it identifies meditation on the form of the Buddha as a necessary prerequisite for

3

the attainment of Enlightenment.4 Similarly high regard for the Buddha’s image inspired Mātṛceṭa to write hymns of praise extolling the virtues of the Buddha’s form and the benefits of envisioning it.5 In jarring opposition, one version of the Aṅguttara Nikāya denies even the possibility of successfully representing the Buddha’s form in any way.6 It would seem that under the placid surface of the waters we collectively refer to as “Buddhism” there were deep currents pulling in very different directions. Although we can now look back on these texts and deduce that they represent a range of views shaped by sectarian affiliation, regional factors, historical shifts, and individual beliefs, the texts rarely identify themselves in such fashion and frequently claim to speak with the authority of the Buddha himself. If we need to be cautious in making general claims about Buddhist ideas on image use, we also need to be wary of treating the Buddhist acceptance of figural art as something that happened at a singular moment or for a singular reason. What emerge from the sources, both textual and material, are a rich variety and wide range of views that never actually coalesce into a single, pervasive point of view. This book constitutes a portrait of an uneasy relationship between the Buddhist authors and depictions of their Teacher, whose form is sometimes rejected entirely, frequently tolerated, and rarely embraced unconditionally. Most typically, Buddhist sources produced during and after the first century adopt a middle ground between outright rejection of and total comfort with image use. These sources are replete with explanations, justifications, and restrictions seeking to regulate the viewer’s relationship to the art. Given the piecemeal nature of the historical evidence, a comprehensive catalogue of the full spectrum of South Asian Buddhist views on images use is not possible. What is possible is a study of the major concepts, concerns, and issues that recur in the textual sources or can be traced in the archaeological remains. This book is an attempt to understand the history of Buddhism’s relationships with figural art as an ongoing set of negotiations within the Buddhist community and in society at large. Any hope of understanding early Buddhists’ views on figural art requires that we situate these individuals within the world they inhabited and examine the cultural practices and concepts they would have considered familiar. It is fascinating that in the mid- to late first century, roughly five hundred years after the Buddha lived, South Asia saw a tremendous burst in image production. A major increase in the figural art associated not only with Buddhism but also with Jainism and early forms of important Brahmanical gods, such as Kṛṣṇa (Krishna) and Sūrya, is evident in the material record of regions across parts of South Asia. Certainly there was figural art in South Asia before that time. Nevertheless, previous figural art appears to have been used almost exclusively for narrative scenes and for the depictions of a variety of popular deities (or spiritdeities).7 For example, decorations at the second-century bce Buddhist site of Bhārhut include scenes from the Buddha’s past lives and prominent depictions of

4

CHAPTER 1

Jātaka, a past life of the Buddha in which he is miraculously born from a doe and raised by hermits, Bhārhut, India, 2nd c. bce. Indian Museum, Kolkata. Photo by the author.

1.1 Naḷinikā

regional deities, all clearly identified in inscriptions left by the sculptors (figs. 1.1 and 1.2). The narrative art from this early period includes images of fictional characters, historical figures, or scenes from important tales. The religious images depict all manner of demigod, spirit-deity, deified ancestor, and restless dead. Numbered among these representations are some of the earliest large-scale, freestanding figural sculptures produced on the subcontinent (fig. 1.3). However, to my knowledge there is no extant, verifiable depiction of a living person made in South Asia before the first century.8 And even if one were to be identified, it would be a rare exception in the midst of a rich material record that overwhelmingly shunned such subject matter. After the first century ce a cultural shift occurred in which a whole new range of topics became viable as subjects for depiction. The appearance of royal portraits is perhaps the clearest expression, but this new repertoire also included categories of beings that occupied more complicated positions between the ­living and the dead. Broader categories of Brahmanical gods (devas), Jain Tīrthaṅ­karas, bodhisattvas, and the Buddha himself emerged as major subjects despite these traditions having had long histories with little or no custom of figural representation. Images such as the well-known seated portrayal of Śākyamuni from Ahicchatra exemplify the first tentative steps in this newly emergent figural



PROBLEMS AND PRECONCEPTIONS

5

1.2 (left) Image of Supravāsa yakṣa (Supavaso Yakkha) from the railing that surrounded the main stūpa, Bhārhut, India, 2nd c. bce. Indian Museum, Kolkata. Photo by the author. 1.3 (above)

One of the earliest sculptural examples of a yakṣa, Patna, India, ca. 3rd c. bce. Indian Museum, Kolkata. Photo by the author.

tradition (fig. 1.4). This development is particularly significant because in previous centuries, some of these same subjects, notably any image of Śākyamuni (the Buddha), appear to have been studiously avoided.9 The profound changes identified in the material record are only one part of a larger cultural process that was contingent on political, cultural, regional, and transregional factors. Given this, it is perhaps not surprising that a corresponding burst of interest in portraits and likenesses can be seen in the texts of this same era. What is perhaps more surprising is the intense fascination, almost fixation, and sheer frequency with which literary sources address the topic. There is also a commen­ surate critique of image use that became articulated in these same centuries as

6

CHAPTER 1

1.4 Seated

Śākya­ muni in the “kapardin” style, Ahicchattra (near Mathurā), India, 2nd c. ce. National Museum, New Delhi. Photo by the author.

the more tradition-minded authors had, for the first time, to defend their viewpoints in response to new ideas. Yet the treatment of images was not confined to the pages of doctrinal polemics; images appear in other literary contexts as well. Narrative tales employed portraiture as a plot device or poetic trope, art manuals advised artists on proper forms of practice, legal codes commented on the regulation of images, and all manner of philosophic and religious texts grappled with related metaphysical questions. For Buddhists, this obsession was fixed squarely on the image of the Buddha himself, and if this study were restricted solely to Buddhist sources, it might well appear that the emergence of the Buddha image was a unique innovation. It is important to remember, however, that the emergence of the Buddha image was just one artistic innovation among many. Inquiries into Buddhist responses to new types of image production and use must necessarily be set against the background of a larger expansion in cultural practice. Yuvraj Krishan has pointed to scholarship that suggests that the first Buddha images were a response to doctrinal changes brought about by developments in the Mahāyāna traditions.10 I think it is worth considering that the reverse may well be true, that doctrinal



PROBLEMS AND PRECONCEPTIONS

7

shifts, Mahāyāna or other, were a direct response to broad changes in culture and artistic practice, which the more established doctrinal positions struggled to condemn, excuse, justify, or champion. Yet even to identify such images as “art” opens us to potential problems. The meanings and associations that most modern readers attribute to the designation “art” are hardly adequate to capture the full range of associations and qualities given to figural imagery in early South Asia. “Art” now typically references visual displays intended to be viewed in acts of leisure or contemplation and, perhaps, containing meanings emblematic of the ideas or values of their creator. Rarely were figural images in South Asia understood as being so passive. Certainly, as works of human creation the images discussed in this book can be seen as reflective of their age and as embodying the priorities of their creators, but to limit ourselves to this perspective would be to miss a very salient point. From the very outset of the figural tradition, images in all South Asian contexts were attributed with a remarkable degree of power, agency, and authority. Any notion that these objects were static or ordinary fails to grasp their significance. Although the contexts and circumstances in which images were believed to exhibit these active qualities vary from case to case and tradition to tradition, it is important to keep in mind that such images were always understood to possess the potential to affect the world around them. This should be our starting point.11

Overview The questions that lie behind this book derive from a simple dichotomy. On the one hand, first- to second-century ce Buddhist texts present characters, such as the young monk Vakkali or King Prasenajit, who cannot bear to be away from the Buddha’s edifying image.12 Likewise, this literary material also includes doctrinal texts that extol the many merits of image-related patronage and use.13 On the other hand, texts with equal claim to the label “Buddhist” insist that any devotion to the Buddha’s image is irrelevant, or grudgingly concede that such practices are perhaps slightly better than worthless.14 Other texts even go so far as to insist that images of the Buddha cannot be made at all because the Buddha’s body inherently eludes any manner of depiction.15 These ideological positions bookend a complicated range of perspectives and doctrinal permutations, each of which claims to speak from a privileged position in relaying the intentions of the Buddha. Almost without exception the textual sources make assertions regarding the accurate and eternal nature of their viewpoints, despite the fact that these claims directly contradict or countermand statements made by others who also claim to speak for the same broad religious community. The task of this project, then, is to attempt to understand and contextualize these divergent points of view while preserving their multitude of opinions. To do so, it will help to set out a conceptual framework so as to avoid potential misunderstanding.

8

CHAPTER 1

From the outset, any historical study of changes in South Asian image-based practices must address the developments that occurred from the first century bce to the second century ce, and confront the remarkably formative and innovative nature of that period, when modes of artistic production and religious devotion began to change in profound ways, and many groups were experimenting with new forms of image-based worship. At times I have described this change as a “shift,” but the situation was not as simple as this term might suggest. Rather, what we see is an expansion of artistic and devotional options without the displacement of older ideas. A new layer of cultural practices began to compete with and overlay—but never entirely replace—older ideas. If anything, the new contexts in which figural imagery began to appear forced the older traditions to defend their positions in a manner that, for the first time, clarified their views within the historical record. This competition between perspectives also introduces the issue of authority, which necessarily runs as a subtext through any discussion of change in religious practice. In some cases, primarily among the more traditional elements within Buddhist and Brahmanic communities, authority is bolstered by inaccessibility, distance, and specialized knowledge, as exemplified by the Brahman elite, who are defined by their birthright and exclusive ritual knowledge, or by the śramaṇa, renouncer, whose ascetic practices and separation from society serve as markers for spiritual potency. An alternate model for religious authority found in South Asia is characterized by its transparency and access. The settled monastic community that welcomes visitors of all social levels, the local caitya dedicated to a regional deity, and the temple complex in which the community gathers for all manner of occasions are characteristic of a model of authority that appeals to the public through inclusion rather than mystery. In short, there are both esoteric and exoteric modes of authority at work. Naturally, neither of these approaches is entirely exclusive of the other, but as a conceptual framework it can be useful to see the way that various authors and schools of thought have framed their own claims to authority. My hope is that these conceptual categories might be used to underpin the discussion of religious difference rather than reducing it to the charged and tired categories of “high” and “low” religion—an outdated hierarchical model that does far more to muddy the waters with value-laden terminology than it does to help clarify the social dynamics at work. South Asian image use, for example, particularly in it earliest phases, appears to have had connotations of worldliness rather than spiritual transcendence. This characterization does not, however, mean that these were “low” practices. Indeed, there is every indication that all levels of society had recourse to imagerelated practices when pursuing worldly objectives. These practices were only occasionally exclusive, and are marked as distinctive primarily due to their functions rather than to any inherent value. Certainly some of the historical sources do seek to impose their preferences and either valorize or denigrate



PROBLEMS AND PRECONCEPTIONS

9

specific approaches to worship, but to side with one set of sources at the expense of others would be to intentionally skew our view of the larger issues. I would prefer to be as specific as possible in recognizing the polemics at work in the literature without getting drawn into the fray. However, debates in the early centuries of the Common Era are not the only ones to have affected our understanding of early Buddhist art. More recent scholarly studies have also influenced the way we understand the history of Buddhism in South Asia, and chapter 2 examines some of the major issues, ideas, and controversies that have shaped academic discourse on this subject. This historiographic analysis sets the stage for the rest of the book by identifying the major questions and clarifying the methodological approach. Chapter 3 begins the study by focusing on those strands of thought that express aversion to the idea of image use. By relating various accounts from within both the Buddhist and Brahmanic traditions that sought to reject, limit, or denigrate image use, certain similarities and prevailing themes emerge. Tracing these ideas to their earliest iterations shows them as deriving from sets of practices, which are more fully explicated in chapter 4. One of the practices that influenced views on figural representation derives from rituals associated with the late Vedic material. These practices are somewhat esoteric insofar as they are associated with ritual specialists and exhibit the qualities of what is sometimes referred to as “sympathetic magic.” A second influence is characterized by image use in devotional settings and is tied to the veneration and appeasement of regional deities associated with popular traditions, practices that are decidedly exoteric. Taken collectively, however, these examples constitute the earliest information on the way South Asian communities used figural images, and provide a starting point from which we can better understand the concerns and questions that emerge after the first century. These disparate strands of religious practice are unified by a powerful intellectual concept that treated images as necessarily forging an inherent link between the copy and the original. This connection between the image and its subject forms one of the major sources of tension in the literature. It drives the arguments of those who oppose image use and becomes a major hurdle to those who favor it. After having identified the prevalent cultural norms, chapter 5 looks at the historical circumstances that gave rise to new ideas about the creation and display of figural art. This analysis focuses predominantly on the Śaka, Kuṣāṇa, and Sātavāhana kings, whom I see as having been particularly instrumental in introducing figural art into new contexts associated with political legitimacy and power. The archaeological and inscriptional evidence suggests that these rulers and other patrons began to understand figural art in new ways and to experiment with its use in new situations, developments that must have had great appeal because they set in motion a whole set of responses in doctrine and in practice that sought to grapple with the implications presented by these new forms of art.

10

CHAPTER 1

Having discussed the reasons that images were avoided and the potential complications associated with image use, the question of why images were ever adopted at all still remains. Chapter 6 serves as a counterpoint to chapter 3 and provides the perspective of those who were enthusiastic about image use. It builds on the discussion of the art and archaeology to examine the way members of the Buddhist community promoted and defended innovative image-based practices. Chapter 7 explores these positions further and considers the various ingenious ways Buddhist thinkers sought to balance a desire for images with the demands of doctrinal belief. Typically this process manifested in attempts to qualify or redefine the nature of the Buddha’s body or to mark him as a special case that broke the rules regarding representation. In most cases, these works are characterized by a certain amount of anxiety regarding how devotees understood their experience when encountering an image of the Buddha and the degree to which the Buddha was or was not made manifest in it. These sources offer a wide range of perspectives on what images of the Buddha might actually represent. These new modes of worship were apparently not without risk, however. Some trends in image-related practices seem to have been unwelcome among the majority of Buddhists. Notable expressions of this concern can be seen in efforts to head off and refute any attempts to deify the Buddha. Chapter 8 examines the strategies employed to undermine any intentional or circumstantial moves that might confuse the Buddha with a god. Elements of this concern seem to have been in place even among the earliest Buddhist sources, but the problem reached a new level of urgency during the late fourth century. These redoubled efforts to prevent the Buddha’s deification can be shown to be a response to changes in Hindu devotional practice and a shifting societal understanding of the significance of figural imagery. This discussion is followed by a brief conclusion in which some reflections are offered regarding the interplay of image and doctrine in the history and development of Buddhism. As the above overview suggests, debates surrounding the use of figural imagery are by no means solely a Buddhist concern. Brahmanical sources and Jain texts exhibit similar anxieties, and it rested with each community to resolve these issues in their own ways. The focus of this work will be on the Buddhist responses to the question of image use, but reference will frequently be made to the other religious traditions. In particular, no discussion of image use in South Asia could responsibly be undertaken without looking at ideas about and examples of religious sculpture that predate the formalization of Buddhism itself.



PROBLEMS AND PRECONCEPTIONS

11

2 / Q UE STIONS OF ORIGIN

[King Pasenadi said,] “Oh Lord, even when you are alive, whenever you go away (to some other place) these beings, when they can’t see your form, become full of misery, (thinking) they have no protector. Should you attain to nibbāna . . . whence can these beings ever be happy. . . . Therefore, Oh Lord, this congregation of great men desires a perfect image of you, which they can revere.” King Pasenadi pleading to the Buddha, Vaṭṭaṅgulirāja Jātaka, Paññāsa Jātaka

O

rigins and beginnings hold a place in historical discourse that, at times, they may not merit. Being the first or the earliest often ensures a central place in the narrative of history. While this is in itself rarely a problem (although admittedly a bias), the potential risk arises when such concerns overwhelm and overshadow other historical moments and subjects of inquiry. In the study of South Asian Buddhist art, the topic of origins is a particularly thorny one, and it is worth asking if our general fixation on the questions of where and when has at times distracted us from the equally significant questions of how and why.1 The fixation of which I am speaking does not pertain to the origins of the Buddha himself; rather it hinges on the question of where and when the first demonstrably verifiable image of Śākyamuni, the historical Buddha, was created. Such inquiries have been complicated by the variety of ways such images are identified in their inscriptions and by uncertainty as to the degree to which we can trust later iconographic markers of the Buddha, such as the “cranial bump” (uṣṇīṣa), the mark between the eyes (ūrṇā), the distended earlobes, the monastic robes, and so on, as reliable identifiers of Śākyamuni in this early period. This search has been the topic of a long and ongoing discourse among scholars, and, like most long-standing academic debates, has come to encompass many intricacies and has given rise to numerous individual theories. In early scholarship, this debate generally coalesced into two primary camps. There were those who placed the first images of Śākyamuni in the northwestern region of

12

2.1 Seated Śākyamuni in the naturalistic style typical of the Northwest, Gandhāra, Pakistan, 2nd c. ce. National Museum, New Delhi. Photo by the author.

Gandhāra, which occupies parts of modern Pakistan and Afghanistan, and others that placed it in the Mathurā region, which is located in north-central India (see figs. 1.4 and 2.1).2 Naturally, this is a vast oversimplification of a complex debate and of the many compelling arguments that have been mustered in support of both positions; nevertheless, it is a useful schematic with which to begin.3 Alongside the debate over the location of the first image has been the related question of timing. Although there is some disagreement over the details, traditionally most (but by no means all) scholars place the first images of the man who became the Buddha within the first century ce. Some scholars, particularly in recent years, have been more comfortable moving this date to the first century bce while still acknowledging that the widespread use of Buddha images did not occur until the first century ce. A rare few have argued the opposite and urged a later dating. Despite these differences, however, the dating of these earliest images has proven to be far less controversial than their location. In part, this is because location is closely tied to the issues of identity, cultural diffusion, and political control that have run as an undercurrent through this debate. Supporters of both positions have argued their cases strongly and have benefited from



QUE S TIONS OF ORIGIN

13

the scholarship of influential and skilled proponents whose works have come to define the parameters of the discussion. Alfred Foucher is usually credited with firing the opening salvo in this debate. In 1905, he coined the term Greco-Buddhist art (l’art gréco-bouddhique) and argued that Buddhist art began with the influence of Greek communities residing in Gandhāra.4 He credited the classical Greco-Roman tradition with providing the impetus, motivation, and skills necessary to create the earliest images of the Buddha. Soon several others followed Foucher’s lead, but it was not long before skeptics looked to the early archaeological finds from Mathurā and raised some significant questions about Foucher’s conclusions. For example, in the writings of Jean Philippe Vogel, typically a prudent scholar, we can see some of the earliest tentative musings on the question of exactly how much classical influence might be plausibly attributable to the art of Mathurā. Despite any reservations, however, Vogel ultimately sides with Foucher and identifies Gandhāra as the indirect source of Mathurān Buddhist figural art.5 The first widely read, direct challenge to Foucher came from the insightful and prolific Ananda Coomaraswamy. In a pair of articles written in 1926 and 1927, he presented early artistic evidence from Mathurā and claimed that India had contemporaneously developed the Buddha image independently of Gan­ dhāran (or Greco-Roman) influence.6 Coomaraswamy went so far as to reason that if the ideology of Buddhism could travel to the West, why not the art as well? These two articles stirred up a great deal of controversy and became a catalyst for sustained debate. Interestingly, although Coomaraswamy’s case for the simultaneous development of the Buddha image in two regions has been picked up by some later scholars (notably Ahmad Hassan Dani), most subsequent authors began to divide into two camps, identifying one region or the other, Gandhāra or Mathurā, as dominant.7 Even though Coomaraswamy’s articles elicited remarkably strong responses, he was not actually the first to suggest that Gandhāra may not have been the source of the Buddha’s image. Victor Goloubew, writing in 1923, named Mathurā as the possible source of the earliest Buddha images.8 However, it was not until after Coomaraswamy’s publications that this position began to draw more scholarly attention. Over the years, a number of scholars, including Sarasi Kumar Saraswati, Herbert Härtel, and Ramesh Chandra Sharma have put forth their own arguments supporting the primacy of the Mathurā style.9 Yet Gandhāra had its supporters as well. Some scholars, such as Benjamin Rowland, were enamored with the classical tradition and shared Foucher’s desire to promote its cultural importance; others, such as Yuvraj Krishan, found new and different reasons for identifying Gandhāra or points farther west as the source of Buddhist figural art.10 Regardless of the conclusions, in most cases, one of the objectives driving these works was a desire to pinpoint the source of the earliest images and thereby determine which region was the originator and which was the recipient of cultural influence.

14

CHAPTER 2

Over the years, adherents on both sides have employed well-developed reasoning and insightful analysis to further their positions. Yet neither has found the decisive proof needed to win over the field and put to rest further debate on the topic. The discussion is fueled in part by the powerful questions of influence and innovation at stake. From its inception, the scholarship on this topic has involved deeper issues that have lingered behind the surface. Even though the debate is ostensibly about the transmission of style and imagery, it has expanded, most notably in its earliest phases, to include implications for the entire South Asian sculptural tradition. From the outset, Foucher credited the Greek communities in Bactria as being the originators of the earliest Buddha images and, by extension, as having prompted the entire tradition of Indian figural sculpture. Although Foucher allows for a certain amount of “fetishism” prior to Greek influence, he ultimately saw the “high” tradition of Indian sculpture as stemming from Greek origins,11 and went so far as to suggest that the idea of depicting gods in stone had not even occurred to the “Indian mind.”12 Despite his assertions, there certainly was figural art in South Asia before the creation of the first Buddha images, and Foucher was wrong to have claimed otherwise. What he identified as “fetishism” we now recognize as a dynamic indigenous sculptural tradition (see figs. 1.3 and 2.2).13 Although Foucher’s stance drew significant criticism from Coomaraswamy and others, it still shaped the debate in important ways.14 The implications of this dispute went well beyond the question of where the first Buddha image was made and immediately became wrapped in issues of cultural pride. At stake were the very origins of South Asian figural art and the entire legacy of Buddhist imagery. “Originator” and “recipient” became highly loaded categories, laden with notions of cultural authority and dominance. It is more than a little significant that this debate over origins was born in a moment of flagging empire and nascent nationalism. The positioning of the origins of South Asian art in either central India or farther west in the Greekinfluenced region of Gandhāra held implications well beyond the specifics of Buddhist art. While it would be deeply oversimplistic to suggest that the participants in this debate selected their positions based solely on their opinions of British imperialism, it is true that political, racial, and cultural claims were a particularly powerful subtext throughout the early decades of this debate. Scholars such as Foucher, John Marshall, James Fergusson, and others had been trained to see classical Greco-Roman art as the epitome of human creative endeavor and identified their own nations as the inheritors of that tradition.15 This neoclassicism, coupled with a pervasive European tendency to denigrate South Asian cultural achievement, gave rise to an easy bias in seeing the GrecoBactrian territories of Gandhāra as a fountainhead of positive cultural influence. Conversely, when Coomaswamy identified images of South Asian popular 16 deities (such as yakṣas) as the source of the Mathurān Buddha, he was rejecting



QUE S TIONS OF ORIGIN

15

2.2 Early yakṣa images reveal a well-developed tradition of figural art, Patna, India, ca. 3rd c. bce. Indian Museum, Kolkata. Photo by the author.

claims of Greek primacy in favor of indigenous images that Foucher had dismissed as examples of “fetishism.” These tensions helped drive the debate and tended to sharply polarize scholarly positions, despite the best efforts of some to rise above such pressures. In this climate, locating the first Buddha became a contest implicitly tied to questions of empire and cultural valorization. Needless to say, this undercurrent has done more to entrench positions than it has to open further inquiry. The stakes surrounding the question of where the first image was made were so high that other questions, about why the images were made or how the change was justified by early Buddhists, were rarely asked. Even though the debate has continued long enough to move beyond questions of imperialism, it is important for anyone approaching this topic to recognize that it remains colored by these concerns.

16

CHAPTER 2

Map 2.1 Map of Kuṣāṇa Empire. 1st–2nd c. ce. Map by the author.

It has always been deeply ironic that both of these regions, which were so intensely cosmopolitan, would have become the setting for this binary debate over influence. The links and exchanges between Gandhāra and Mathurā have been both long acknowledged and too often ignored. Both regions’ cultural remains contain coinage and edicts that display multiple languages, present depictions of various ethnic modes of dress, and contain both inscriptional and archaeological evidence of transregional travel and trade.17 Perhaps most significantly, during the centuries bracketing the cusp of the Common Era, large portions of both regions fell under the political control of the same Central Asian dynasties ruled by the Śaka and Kuṣāṇa kings (map 2.1). Therefore, any discussion of primacy and influence is necessarily muddied by the complexity of these



QUE S TIONS OF ORIGIN

17

regional and transregional dynamics. It is an interesting byproduct of late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century art historical scholarship that one aspect of this exchange, the development of the Buddha’s image, has been assigned prominence above all else. Any inquiries into this period in history also face profound practical challenges that transcend questions of historiography. Dependence on relative chronologies, our uneven understanding of political succession, and ongoing uncertainty over indigenous forms of timekeeping make it very difficult to produce the kind of precision needed to determine which object or objects, among so many, were the very earliest. Even so, it is important to recognize that the pursuit of this question has undeniably expanded our knowledge of the past and revolutionized much of what we have come to know about early Buddhism. Take, for example, the case of the Bīmarān Casket (fig. 2.3). This elegant golden reliquary was excavated in 1841 by Charles Masson from the remains of a stūpa located on the banks of the Kabul River about seven miles from Jalālābād, Afghanistan.18 The small (seven-centimeter) elaborately decorated container was placed inside an inscribed steatite vase that names the donors and identifies its contents as Buddhist relics. Found along with this cache of objects, but not placed inside the containers, were four well-preserved copper coins from (according to most sources) the reign of the Śaka king Azes II. The most remarkable part of this discovery is the golden, ruby-adorned reliquary itself, which bears eight finely detailed figures in high-relief repoussé, two of which, with monastic robes, haloes, and uṣṇīṣas, appear to be images of the Buddha. If this reading of the iconography is correct, these may be among the earliest if not the very earliest Buddha images known. By most accounting, this arrangement of archaeological materials would seem to be ideal. A reliquary with an image displaying recognizable iconography buried in an inscribed container and found with coins mentioning a king thought to have reigned in the mid- to late first century bce (later dates have been more recently proposed) would seem to be as close to an ideal situation as one is likely to encounter.19 Yet from the start this material has proven to be far more complicated than it might first appear. It also serves as an excellent example of both the way the desire for specificity in attribution has driven the discourse toward more precise questions and of the frustrating realities that have allowed answers to remain elusive. In 1927, Ananda Coomaraswamy noted that the coins provided only a date after which the materials had to have been interred, and not a secure date for the objects themselves.20 This point was taken up and seconded by Benjamin Rowland, who pointed out that coins often remained in circulation long after they were minted.21 Both he and Coomaraswamy preferred a date in the late first century for the reliquary; although Rowland, based on his study of stylistic motifs, suggested that this was the absolute earliest date possible. Reginald Le May, writing in 1943, differed from the two previous scholars by suggesting a

18

CHAPTER 2

2.3 Reliquary depicting the Buddha flanked by the gods Brahmā and Indra, Bīmarān, Afghanistan, late 1st c. bce or early 1st c. ce. British Museum, London. Photo by © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved.

date earlier in the first-century ce, due, in part, to an analysis of the epigraphic evidence provided by the inscriptions on the steatite container.22 Even this slight difference in dating drew a response from Rowland.23 In his rebuttal, Rowland introduced an argument that has come to alter the nature of the discussion about the Bīmarān Casket. He suggested that there may have been a secondary burial or redepositon of the relics, raising the possibility that the reliquary may have been added to the stūpa at a later period and therefore had no explicit historical connection to the stūpa itself or to any of the other objects found in the cache. By introducing the possibility of reburial, Rowland was then able to use stylistic comparisons with late Hellenistic materials to argue for a



QUE S TIONS OF ORIGIN

19

very late, second- to third-century ce date for the reliquary. A post-secondcentury date was also favored by John Marshall and Johanna van Lohuizen-de Leeuw.24 Van Lohuizen-de Leeuw believed that the fine quality of the imagery on the reliquary and the lack of Buddha images found at the contemporary site of Sirkap argued in favor of a later date. On the opposite side of the debate, Nani Gopal Majumdar was an early proponent of dating the reliquary to a first-century or earlier date based on what he saw as stylistic parallels to Sirkap.25 Ludwig Bachhofer shared this assessment of the situation and dated the object to the time of Azes II, which for him indicated a date in the first decade of the first century ce.26 In more recent years, arguments in favor of an early date have been gaining support. In 1968, K. Walton Dobbins reviewed the major arguments and identified further reasons to support Majumdar’s dating.27 Martha Carter has pushed for a pre-Kuṣāṇa dating for the reliquary of no later than the first half of the first century ce.28 Gerard Fussman, citing the poor condition of the reliquary and the age of the steatite container, has suggested the possibility of a late-first-century bce or early firstcentury ce date.29 Likewise, Mario Bussagli has pointed to the copper coins’ excellent state of preservation to suggest that they were not in circulation for long before their burial. He believes that they were interred close to the time of Azes II, and suggests they may have been deposited during the reign of the Kuṣāṇa kings.30 His observation regarding the condition of the coins was referenced by Susan Huntington, who rejects the likelihood of reburial and argues that all of the objects belong to the reign of Azes II, thereby dating all the objects to the first century bce. Proponents of a first-century ce date still have a powerful voice, however. The British Museum, which houses the objects, has taken its cue from Wladimir Zwalf’s 1985 discussion of the reliquary and assigned the material to a possible early Kuṣāṇa first- to second-century ce date.31 In summary, even this remarkably fortuitous convergence of archaeological details loses its apparent solidity under the scrutiny of intense analysis and reveals the profound challenges facing any attempt to establish a precise chronology. Furthermore, the nature of the discourse has shifted over time as new research has required that more precise questions be asked. Other contenders for the title of the earliest Buddha image also exist, and these face similar sets of challenges, albeit with circumstantially unique conditions. For example, a gold token possibly depicting Buddhist imagery found in the tomb of a male warrior (Tomb 4) from Tillya Tepe, Afghanistan, raises some important questions (fig. 2.4). The token depicts on its reverse a lion and a triratna (a three-pronged emblem) and bears an inscription in Kharoṣṭhī referring to “the lion who has driven away fear,” which may be a reference to the Buddha’s first sermon. The academic discussion, however, has focused primarily on the obverse side. This face of the coin portrays a man, possibly the Buddha, rolling a wheel with eight spokes, and displays an inscription stating, “He who brings the wheel of law into motion.”32 The grave site at Tillya Tepe is typically dated to

2 0

CHAPTER 2

2.4 Gold token from Tomb 4 depicting a wheel-turning man, Tillya Tepe, Afghanistan, ca. 50 bce–ca. 30 ce. Kabul Museum. Photo by the Wikimedia Commons.

the cusp of the Common Era, with dates ranging from the late first century bce to the mid-first century ce.33 Naturally, this variance of a few decades can have a profound effect if one is trying to pinpoint the earliest image of the Buddha. Discussion of this token has, understandably, centered on the identification of the anthropomorphic figure. It seems quite plausible that the subject matter of the medal is indeed Buddhist, because the “Wheel of the Law” or dharmacakra is a common metaphor used to reference the Buddha’s first sermon, or his teachings as a whole. Still, it is not entirely clear if the individual rolling the wheel is intended to be a representation of the Buddha. Past scholarship has suggested several possibilities for the identity of this figure, and everyone from Śiva to Zeus has been presented as an option.34 Robert L. Brown has argued that this token portrays an early figural prototype of a wheel-turning Buddha whose form did not spread beyond the limited region. Brown grounds this analysis in a relative sequence that links the composition of the Tillya Tepe medallion to classical precedents as well as to regional Buddhist antecedents.35 Brown’s work creates a convincing sequence and raises the likelihood that the medal does



QUE S TIONS OF ORIGIN

21

indeed represent the Buddha. Unfortunately, the new evidence that Brown introduces does not help much in pinning down the precise date of the object.36 In the absence of additional contextual evidence or corroboration, a definitive resolution of this question seems unlikely. As with the Bīmarān Casket, chronological certainty has proven to be elusive. Perhaps the most honest assessment to be offered is that even if we had absolute proof that these images were unquestionably depictions of the Buddha and products of the first century bce or earlier, it would still not necessarily be indicative of wider sets of practices that extended beyond the immediate cultural milieu. In the absence of similar images found elsewhere, it is impossible to argue for larger trends or widespread shifts in practice. Such proof would simply confirm our suspicions that the possibility for the creation of Buddha images had always existed, but would bring us no closer to understanding why more were not made earlier. The fact that the geographic findspot for both of these objects was located so far to the west adds an additional layer of difficulty when attempting to link these two examples to practices east of the Indus. Even if we limit the discussion to the objects’ local regions, however, we still have no idea if images such as the ones on the token or the reliquary should be understood as part of a broadly accepted cultural practice or merely as the creation of a small community or innovative sectarian group. One of the most influential and insightful voices in identifying the earliest Buddhist image types has been Johanna van Lohuizen-de Leeuw. In 1979, van Lohuizen-de Leeuw amended her earlier opinion by identifying twenty-two images from the Swāt Valley region of Gandhāra, and beyond, that she argued demonstrated stylistic features consistent with the earliest examples from Mathurā (fig. 2.5). She came to see Mathurā as the place of origin for an archaic style shared in the Mathurā and Gandhāra regions, and she understood this style to predate Hellenistic influences on Buddhist art. The sculptures’ uniformity in both style and iconography prompted her to assign some of the northwestern images to a first-century bce date, thereby identifying them as the potentially earliest examples of Buddha images represented in art.37 More recently, Ju-Hyung Rhi has discussed these same sculptures. While acknowledging that these works are generally considered to be among the earliest representations of Śākyamuni, Rhi proposes that they might be more appropriately dated to the first or second century ce. He does so, in part, because this would make them concurrent with stylistically similar images produced in Mathurā during those centuries.38 In so doing, Rhi agrees with van Lohuizende Leeuw in identifying the sculptures as examples of a transregional style, but he rejects her choice of comparative archaeological material as a basis for dating. Despite this shift to a later period, Rhi identifies these images as examples of “the first established types in iconic representations in Buddhist art, even though the extant examples may not have been the first of their kind and not the first of such attempts in iconic representation.”39

22

CHAPTER 2

2.5 Early image of Śākyamuni with Mathurān stylistic traits, Haḍḍa, Afghanistan, early 1st c. ce. Photo by © Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

Although Rhi has been cautious about suggesting the existence of Buddhist iconic art before the first century, it has not been uncommon for authors to assign examples to the centuries bce. For instance, Vasudeva Sharana Agrawala, writing in the late 1940s, dated a well-known fragment of a Buddha image from Katrā to the first century bce, which Ramesh Chandra Sharma has subsequently assigned to a broader first-century bce to first-century ce time span.40 Similarly, objects such as the Jamālpur tympanum and a sculptural fragment from Kaṇkālī Ṭīlā, which may be a very early portrayal of the Buddha shown addressing a king, have also been counted among the earliest. Rekha Morris dates both the tympanum and the Kaṇkālī Ṭīlā fragment to the first century bce, and Robert L. Brown has subsequently endorsed this possible early dating for the latter piece.41 Even though most scholars would agree that these examples and others that share their stylistic traits are early, the question of exactly how early is still very much in flux.42 Part of the challenge in establishing clear chronologies has come from the



QUE S TIONS OF ORIGIN

23

variant ways scholars have interpreted indigenous systems of dating. For example, the Mathurā region (including Kaṇkālī, Katrā, Bhūteśvar, Jamālpur, and Māṭ, as well as objects that were made in Mathurā and sent farther afield to sites such as Sārnāth, Kauśāmbī, and Śrāvastī) has produced approximately forty-five inscribed sculptures. Although many of these objects are dated, the dating system they use hinges on the regnal dates of important kings.43 In other words, the inscription might inform us that the object was made during the third year of the Huviṣka Era, but we must look to other evidence to determine when exactly that era began. Objects that lack such inscriptions must be dated solely according to stylistic similarities with those that do. This allows us to tell, with reasonable certainty, how these objects date relative to one another, but determining the absolute dates of these objects is contingent upon fixing the dates for individual rulers. This has not proven to be a simple process. One of the most vexing datings has been the elusive Kaniṣka Era, which has been variously assigned to the ce dates of 78, 110, 120, and 127. Only recently has Harry Falk’s work, establishing a 127 ce date, met with broad consensus in the field.44 In other words, despite great strides in scholarship, the nature of the historical evidence has so far prevented secure footing regarding the dating of the earliest objects. This returns us to the initial challenges facing any attempt to pinpoint a single, specific origin for the Buddha image. Yet this bird’s-eye view of the scholarly landscape is not without important benefits. The number and range of examples in this overview reveal that several communities of Buddhists, perhaps for very different reasons, gradually began to develop new forms of religious artwork and exhibited a growing interest in figural images. Some scholars have identified the earliest fragile sparks of this development in examples of artwork they have dated to the first century bce (or earlier). While most of these early examples have been contested, and certainly none is incontrovertible, few can deny the dramatic changes and innovations that occurred in the Buddhist’s artistic production in subsequent centuries. Due to the limitations facing any inquiry into detailed issues of chronology, it is my hope that fruitful avenues of inquiry can be followed by asking a somewhat different set of questions. But before turning to those questions, one further aspect of the literature on early Buddhist art should be addressed. No matter the approach, central to any discussion of the Buddha’s representation is the issue of his presence or absence, both in physical artwork and in a larger metaphysical sense. Inevitably these issues overlap with another area of ongoing scholarly interest. I am referring to the topic of aniconism.

“Aniconism” From the time of the Buddha (approximately the fifth century bce) until the emergence of the first figural images of the Buddha (of the sort we have been discussing above) there is a period of many centuries during which time there

24

CHAPTER 2

2.6 A narrative relief of the Great Departure that avoids any depiction of the Buddha, Sāñcī, India, Stūpa 1 (Great Stūpa), 1st c. bce–1st c. ce. Photo by the author.

existed what might be termed “Buddhist art.” However, this visual material did not include any images of the Buddha himself. During this time, Buddhists seem not to have been interested in making devotional images of the Buddha, or may have decided against producing such representations for various reasons. This tendency is most apparent in narrative scenes taken directly from the events of the Buddha’s own life. One of the well-known sites at which this practice of avoidance can be seen most clearly is the Buddhist site of Sāñcī, in Madhya Pradesh. The site itself has a long history and shows signs of development or habitation from at least the third century bce (due to the presence of an Aśokan pillar) well into the centuries ce. However, it is material from approximately the first century bce, specifically portions of the east gateway of the Great Stūpa (Stūpa 1) that will best serve as an example (fig. 2.6). The middle outward-facing architrave of the eastern gateway depicts the story of the Great Departure, or the moment Prince Siddhārtha decides to leave the palace to pursue the life of an ascetic. The artists who built Sāñcī composed the work to fill the length of the thin horizontal space of the crossbeam. On the left can be seen the walls of the palace, and on the right is a small tree that presumably indicates the forest in which the prince dismounts his horse to begin his new life. Arrayed between these points along the length of the relief are depictions of Siddhārtha’s progress on his road into the wilderness. The sculptors have represented the horse four times on its journey away from the palace, and a fifth time as it makes its return. Accompanying each of the four horses that comprise the prince’s outward journey is a host of attendants. These figures obscure the legs of the horses and are possibly intended to represent the deities who lifted the horse’s feet so that the sound would not wake Siddhārtha’s family,



QUE S TIONS OF ORIGIN

25

as described in some versions of the story.45 Along the way, the charioteer, Channa, is shown leading the horse on their journey, and groups of secondary figures honor the proceedings by lifting a parasol and fly whisks (caurī), the signs of kingship in ancient India. Yet despite these many details, the saddle of the horse is empty. The parasols and caurīs bracket the empty space where we would expect the figure of the future Buddha to be. His absence is even more pronounced at the far right of the relief. Here the prince has presumably dismounted from his steed, as a set of footprints, shaded by a parasol and two caurīs, mark the location at which this decisive event took place. Finally, at the bottom right of the image, the horse and the charioteer can be seen returning to the palace unadorned and unaccompanied. This example from Sāñcī is by no means an isolated case. At Sāñcī alone there are depictions of the Enlightenment and the Attack by Māra, the Gift of Honey, and numerous other tales, all of which eschew representations of the Buddha. Most of the earliest stone monasteries, if they contain any narrative scenes, exhibit the same tendency toward avoidance, as do early examples or artwork across South Asia, from Andhra to Bactria. Panels such as these, wherein Śākyamuni seems to have been intentionally omitted from a narrative in which, according to the written materials, he should be present, and the conspicuous lack of any early Buddha images have inspired scholars to group this material as part of an Aniconic Phase or Aniconic Period. The term aniconic, as with many seminal concepts in this field of study, began with Alfred Foucher, who, in 1911, was the first to apply it to Buddhist art.46 Since then, it has come to serve as a general shorthand label for art of this nature that avoids depictions of the Buddha. More recently this concept has come under scrutiny by Susan Huntington, who in a series of articles takes issue with both the term and the entire notion of an Aniconic Period.47 Huntington’s claims drew responses from several sources, particularly over her treatment of “aniconic” narrative scenes, such as the Great Departure from Sāñcī, which she later suggested might be a pageant or reenactment of key moments from the Buddha’s life.48 Responses to the article were quick to point out that there is little evidence of anything like a Buddhist theatrical tradition from those early centuries, and even if there were, it would still beg the question why no actor was playing the Buddha’s role.49 It was in her response to these critics that Huntington further clarified her point, writing, “I have never claimed nor intended to claim that there are no ‘aniconic’ works of art. . . . My position is that the theory of aniconism is not valid as an all-inclusive explanation for the early Buddhist art of India and that the vast majority of artistic compositions that have been explained as aniconic scenes are not substitutes and do not portray substitutes for anthropomorphic representations of the Buddha.”50 The substitutes she is referring to in this quote are part of the initial theory set forth by Foucher. In her first article on the subject, Huntington challenged Foucher’s ideas that the depictions

2 6

CHAPTER 2

of stūpas consistently served as surrogates for the death of the Buddha (parinirvāṇa) and that every tree was a stand-in for the Buddha at the moment of Enlightenment at Bodhgayā. She made a distinction regarding the depictions of sites of worship and proposed that these images might be representations of pilgrimage sites or important locations rather than symbolic references to narrative events. In other words, sometimes a stūpa is just a stūpa, and not every emblem or symbol is a substitute for the Buddha in a narrative event. It is my understanding that most of the responders to Huntington’s article are using the term aniconic in a somewhat different fashion. Since the time of Foucher, the term has become the loose but generally accepted manner of referring to the widespread and observable early tendency to avoid depicting the Buddha, either through omission or by substitution with an emblem or symbol that marks his presence. For example, Vidya Dehejia allows for these symbols to hold multiple meanings, including as representations of locations, religious concepts, or emblems of the Buddha himself.51 By contrast, Huntington appears to use the term in a much more narrow and specific sense that is tied directly to its roots in the early 1900s. Based on passages such as the one quoted above, Huntington’s main critique appears to be aimed at the notion that nonfigurative motifs might have been intended to serve as surrogates for something else, rather than at the notion that the Buddha’s image was at times omitted entirely.52 She makes a more explicit reference to this distinction in her second article, where she notes, “For traditional aniconists, this other subject is believed to constitute the ‘real’ subject of the scene.”53 In other words, traditional aniconic art requires a clear referent, rather than none at all, and the symbol must unequivocally be seen as a one-for-one substitute for the original. In some sense these two variations in usage can be traced to earlier precedents. As noted above, for Foucher, aniconism hinged upon the idea of substitution. He was not alone in employing this precise usage of the term; Alexander Cunningham and others certainly favored it as well.54 For them, the emblem or symbol was a stand-in for the original and quite literally took its place in the artwork. By contrast, a second, closely related treatment of the term was employed by authors such as John Anderson and T. W. Rhys Davids, who allowed for a wider range of possible interpretations of the symbolism employed to indicate the Buddha’s absence.55 For example, in reference to an image from Bhārhut depicting people worshipping at a tree, Rhys Davids wrote that they were worshipping the tree “either as the symbol of the Master, or because . . . it was under a tree of that kind that his followers believed that a venerated Teacher of old had become a Buddha.”56 The difference between these two perspectives is admittedly subtle and the two are frequently conflated within the works of individual authors, but I believe that the distinction is an important one. In one case there is a functional, nonfigural replacement for the actual presence of the Buddha, and in the other the imagery serves simply as a reminder that highlights, or brackets, his notable absence.



QUE S TIONS OF ORIGIN

27

The distinctions that have been made between these characterizations of “aniconism,” and the slippage that occasionally occurs between them, may account for some of the differences expressed by recent scholarship on this topic.57 And because this current project is necessarily bound to questions of representation, it would be prudent to offer my own understanding of both the significance and the nature of this Buddhist “aniconic” phase before going forward. If one defines “aniconism” as the systematic substitution of figural images with abstract or symbolic replacements that were understood to be identical to the original, or if one looks to identify a widespread dogmatic decree that forbade the use of certain imagery, then I would reject the idea of an aniconic period. If, however, one defines “aniconism” as a loose custom or preference by which the representation of certain categories of figures were to be avoided and in which anthropomorphic figural art held a potency beyond that of mere symbols, then I accept the idea. Additionally, this latter mode of “aniconism” exhibits no overt evidence of being actively hostile to artistic experimentation. Rather it seems to have been a prevailing custom whose basis could be challenged by artists without confronting the weight of religious law. Nevertheless, these innovators could and certainly did attract vocal criticism from some, often tradition-minded, opponents. As the dominant and virtually exclusive approach for many centuries, the avoidance of certain figural images seems to have been a cultural practice preferred by many religious communities in South Asia. Nor did the preference for avoiding images ever entirely disappear as a concept in South Asian religious thinking. As I hope to demonstrate, various customs, points of view, and religious motivations perpetuated the avoidance of figural images as a virtue long after the Buddhist “aniconic phase” had come to an end. I am ultimately interested not in the question of whether there is or isn’t an aniconic phase but rather in a series of questions pertaining to when, where, by whom, and for what reasons images were embraced or shunned by both the Buddhists and the wider South Asian community. Furthermore, I am in agreement with Vidya Dehejia, Yuvraj Krishan, and others who see the roots of this “aniconism” in the Vedic tradition.58 My reasons for doing so will be more substantially explicated in later chapters, but, in short, I believe that the reticence to create certain images was intimately tied to the potency, power, and danger attributed to figural art.

2 8

CHAPTER 2

3 / IMAGE AVERSION

(The body of Tathāgata) is supreme and the most venerable in the carnal world. It transcends all class of gods and contains the seven riches of Law, which is beyond the stages of men, gods and other natural living beings, and cannot be made an image. Chinese Version of the Aṅguttara Nikāya

O

ne of the intentions of this study is to shift the inquiry about the earliest figural images of the Buddha from questions of where and when toward questions of how and why, questions that hinge on trying to discern the motives and intentions of those caught up in innovating and explicating new modes of image-centered practices. Yet before we ask how and why, it is important that we first ask “why not.” Image use in Buddhist, Brahmanic, and Jain forms of religious practice was decidedly sparse before the first century bce, and trying to understand why images1 were not more prevalent in this early period may help us understand subsequent shifts in practice. To clarify, I am by no means saying that image use was absent from the religious landscape of South Asia in the early centuries. Clearly there was a thriving and complex assortment of regional cults dedicated to the worship of local, chthonic deities such as yakṣas, nāgas, and the like (see figs. 1.2, 1.3, and 2.2). Yet for the most part these forms of religious expression seem to have been predominantly focused on “worldly” (laukika) issues such as health, weather, wealth, progeny, and similar concerns. By contrast, both the brāhmaṇa (Brahmanic) and śramaṇa (renouncer) traditions, which had concepts of transcendence as their primary (but not exclusive) goals, were apparently much less interested in image use than other portions of the community, right up until the cusp of the Common Era, when things changed in a dramatic way. In challenging earlier concepts of aniconism, scholars have been keen to point out that there is no official injunction against image use within any of the Buddhist literature.2 And with the exception of a passing reference in the Sarvāstivāda Vinaya (discussed below), this is largely true.3 That being said,

29

there is certainly no shortage of passages that impose restrictions and heap scorn upon image-based practices. There were apparently members of the Buddhist community who had deep reservations about the changing role of images in religious practice, and fought to preserve what they saw as traditional and appropriate. Recovering and understanding these sentiments, however, can be quite complicated, especially if we want to understand thinking on this topic during the centuries bce. Most of the textual sources to which we have access postdate the appearance and widespread acceptance of figural images. It was only at that historical moment, when the critics were confronted with a radical change in image-based practice, that they felt the need to make their case. By considering their objections and looking at the nature of their concerns, we can get a rough idea of what risks, limitations, and conditions they associated with the use of figural imagery in religious contexts. Additionally, by looking to the objections raised by those outside the Buddhist community, we can further expand our understanding of what seems to have been the prevailing views among soteriologically focused religious communities before the Common Era. We may even be able to deduce where some of these concepts found their genesis. Ultimately, concerns about images shared by both Buddhists and non-Buddhists point to broad societal preconceptions about the role of images in ritual contexts. I hope to demonstrate that these concerns stem from the use of images in both popular cultic settings as well as in late Vedic ritual practices. In both cases, images are typically aligned with worldly goals rather than spiritual transcendence. The current chapter is an attempt to catalogue those concerns, and the next chapter will seek to explicate their origins.

The Buddhist Disapproval of Images Anthropomorphic figural art, no matter how naturalistic or stylized in rendering, held greater cultural significance in South Asia than other forms of sculptural representation. The figural image of the Buddha himself, for example, is treated as a unique category in the Buddhist textual traditions, and no other form of artistic creation was discussed with the same gravity, anxiety, or reverence. This is not unique. Special considerations for images can be found in the Brahmanical and Jain traditions as well. Such images were granted special arrangements legally, were the focus of intense emotional longings, and were credited with embodying remarkable powers that no other mode of representation apparently warranted. I would suggest that while symbols and emblems may have been potent markers or reminders of the original (or of its absence), they lacked the special significance attributed to figural portrayals. As befitting the special nature of such images, figural art has a commensurate presence in prescriptive texts, which occasionally attempt to delimit or qualify the conditions under which it could be made and displayed. A few of these works refer explicitly to images in Buddhist contexts.

3 0

CHAPTER 3

One of the passages frequently cited as evidence that figural imagery of the Buddha was not permitted by early Buddhist communities comes from the Vinaya (Monastic Code) of the Sarvāstivāda sect, as preserved in the Chinese. However, a closer look at this code in relation to parallel passages in other texts complicates any suggestions of its dogmatic nature or widespread applicability. In this account, the famous and wealthy donor Anāthapiṇḍika wants to create a focus to receive the devotions of lay people at times when the Buddha is away. He approaches the Buddha and states, “Lord of the World, since it is not permitted to make a likeness of the Buddha’s body, I pray that the Buddha will grant that I make an image of the attendant Bodhisattva.”4 The Buddha readily gives his approval to this request. Recent scholarship by Ju-Hyung Rhi has challenged some portions of this translation, suggesting that it refers to the creation of images “of the time when [the Buddha] was a Bodhisattva” rather than to images of an enigmatic “attendant Bodhisattva.”5 This new reading makes a great deal of sense, but it is Anāthapiṇḍika’s passing reference to a restriction against making Buddha images that is of primary interest to the present discussion. The situation is further complicated by comparative material presented in a Kashmiri version of the same Sarvāstivādin vinaya. In this recension, the wealthy donor requests approval to make images of the Buddha’s own earthly semblance, rather than images of bodhisattvas, and, perhaps surprisingly, the Buddha grants him permission to do so.6 The contradiction between these two versions of the same vinaya suggests that either one version revised the ideas expressed in the earlier edition, or that there were contemporary disagreements on this issue even within the Sarvāstivāda community. The difficulties presented in dating the origins of the manuscripts make it difficult to assert anything further with certainty. Looking beyond the Sarvāstivāda tradition, the Mūlasarvāstivādin vinaya contains in its Vinayavibhaṅga yet another variation of this passage. In this case, Anāthapiṇḍika makes his request with no mention of any prior limitation on the ability to make images. Notably, in this instance he asks only for, and is given only, permission to make images of a specific bodhisattva, namely, images of the “One Sitting in the Shade of the Jambu Tree.”7 This is almost certainly a reference to the first meditation undertaken by Śākyamuni while he was still living in the palace, well before he attained Buddhahood. Therefore, if Rhi is correct in his reading of the early Chinese version of the Sarvāstivāda Vinaya, portions of both communities (Sarvāstivāda and Mūlasarvāstivāda) advocated the creation of pre-enlightenment images of Śākyamuni. And the shared ideas espoused by these monks were at odds with a variant Kashmiri version of the Sarvāstivāda Vinaya whose creators favored a different solution to Anātha­piṇḍika’s problem.8 This situation challenges the expectation that differences in opinion on these matters would split cleanly according to sectarian affiliations. Not only did various Buddhist communities approach image production in different ways, but disagreements apparently occurred within these communities as well.



I M AG E AV E R S I O N

31

Turning to the Pāli canon, we encounter yet another variation of this tale. In the preface to the Kāliṅgabodhi Jātaka, Anāthapiṇḍika (Anāthapiṇḍika’s name in the Pāli) seeks a solution to the familiar problem of where to direct lay people’s offerings when the Buddha is away. Yet this request, conveyed by the monk Ānanda, receives an answer that is very different from the ones presented in the other examples. In this case, the Buddha approves only the use of a Bodhi tree, not a figural image, as his substitute.9 Therefore, just by looking at versions of one example, the “official” rules regarding the creation of a substitute for the Buddha show a remarkable degree of variation. In each case, the lay devotee, Anāthapiṇḍika/Anāthapiṇḍada, desires a surrogate to take the Buddha’s place when he is absent, and in each case the Buddha’s response, or a meaningful portion of the response, differs. It is hard to say if these differences indicate changes in thinking over time, represent regional preferences, reveal ideological disagreement, or reflect some combination of the three. But it is difficult not to see some significance behind these small, yet important, discrepancies on the topic of proper image use. The similarity of the details in the donor’s request indicate familiarity across the traditions and thereby accentuate the calculated nature of the differences in the Buddha’s responses. Although these are among the most widely recognized and discussed passages hinting at a possible Buddhist restriction on artistic representation, they are also in many ways the least clear. Sections of the Chinese Sarvāstivāda Vinaya as well as the related passages from the Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya, which both approve the creation of specific types of Bodhisattva images, are frequently interpreted as offering the possibility of Bodhisattva veneration as an alternative to the use of Buddha images.10 This assumption is commonly made despite the fact that only the Chinese version makes reference to Buddha images not being “permitted.” Additionally, the fact that no explanation is given for this assertion would seem to indicate that the absence of Buddha images was part of a widely understood custom or habit rather than a unique exception, which might warrant its own rule in the vinayas. That the donor is seeking permission to make images even of non-Buddhas raises the likelihood that he was venturing into uncharted areas of religious practice, and it would appear that permission to represent the Bodhisattva was considered necessary or desirable from these sectarian viewpoints. This is to say that some in the community must have felt that this type of image use required official recognition or approval from the monastic leadership. It is at least possible, therefore, that both texts may simply be expressing guidance on emerging image-related practices rather than offering veiled injunctions against any specific figural types. Scholars have identified a group of early images found primarily in the Mathurā region that bear iconography associated with the Buddha (halo, uṣṇīṣa, robes) but whose inscriptions identify them as Bodhisattvas (fig. 3.1). These sculptures have been seen as possibly demonstrating that the guidance offered

32

CHAPTER 3

3.1 Seated Śākyamuni with attendants, Katrā (near Mathurā), India, 1st c. ce. Government Museum, Mathurā. India. Photo by the American Institute of Indian Studies.

in these vinayas was actually put into practice. If true, this would help to confirm the early nature of these passages and would point to a monastically sanctioned preference for images of the Bodhisattva (often Śākyamuni seated under the jambu tree) rather than for images of the fully enlightened Buddha.11 But it is important to keep in mind that, as far as we can tell, this was the approach taken by, at most, portions of only two Buddhist sectarian communities, the Mūlasarvāstivāda and Sarvāstivāda. To exemplify just how limited the reach of these pronouncements might have been, we need only look to an image from



I M AG E AV E R S I O N

33

Mathurā with an inscription in two languages that has been discussed by B. N. Mukherjee. Mukherjee reads the Kharoṣṭhī portion of the inscription as identifying the image as the Buddha, whereas the Brāhmī identifies the figure as a Bodhisattva. Mukherjee attributes this discrepancy to regional differences (he postulates that the donor was from Gandhāra and therefore held different views about images), but other explanations, such as sectarian affiliation, are also possible.12 If his reading is correct, it serves as a good reminder of the fluidity with which various audiences could identify the same image and of the limited authority held by any of our doctrinal sources. The passage from the Pāli Kāliṅgabodhi Jātaka, which recommends using the Bodhi tree as a surrogate for the Buddha, almost certainly represents a different tradition despite its narrative similarities to the other vinaya tales. But, as with the other examples, it is not at all clear that this recommendation for employing trees in worship was an indictment against images. It is certainly possible that the passage may have been composed at a time when image creation was in ascendance, and it may even have been intended to circumvent image use; but other Pāli sources make it fairly clear that, at least by the fourth century, worship of the Bodhi tree happened alongside, rather than instead of, image worship. The Samantapāsādikā, a noncanonical commentary on the Pāli vinayas, contains a passage stating that one should honor “the eldest member of the community [saṅgha], the bodhi tree, an image, a shrine.”13 In this work, trees and images are both accorded a special place of honor. Once again, the material record can help reveal the way in which these passages may or may not have influenced actual practice. Specifically, all major Sri Lankan monasteries, as well as some examples in Andhra, contain shrines dedicated to the Bodhi tree (bodhigharas). That this custom is relatively unknown in other regions (with the obvious exception of Bodhgāya) may be an indication that this rule reflected or served as the inspiration for local practice.14 Perhaps more significantly, Sri Lankan monasteries also displayed images, and from the fourth century on typically included prominent pratimāghara, or image houses. This architectural space seems to have formalized the importance of Buddha images, which were used in Sri Lankan monasteries as far back as the first century and at times may have been displayed along with the sacred trees.15 These archaeological details suggest that caution might be appropriate before trying to read the Anāthapiṇḍika stories as injunctions against image use. Or, if they are indeed proscriptions, we must recognize that they were not terribly effective. Despite their significant differences, all of the passages cited above do something quite specific. They each offer guidance to devotees by recommending or approving practices designed to facilitate veneration, and they do this by providing a focus for devotion. This suggests an interest in promoting or supporting devotional forms of worship, which may also help to explain why rules were needed at all. The fact that multiple sectarian traditions each attempted to

34

CHAPTER 3

assure people that it was acceptable to honor the Buddha or Bodhisattva as embodied in a tree or image suggests that there was a point when these options were neither apparent nor common and that such modes of behavior needed to be articulated, sanctioned, or at least reinforced. This ambivalence, or, more accurately, range of responses regarding the appropriate use of images, is not uncharacteristic of material composed in the first several centuries ce. Within the literature from this period one can find exhibitions of wild enthusiasm directed toward the prospect of seeing images of the Buddha, and harsh dismissal or denigration of all image-centered practices. The texts simultaneously present us with Buddhists who want to see the Buddha, others that are very much opposed to the idea, and a host of opinions between the two poles. Yet these positions need not always be seen as being locked in opposition. The same priorities and concerns that may lead one to discourage image use may also provide the motivation to ensure that extant images are properly maintained and honored in a manner befitting their importance. It is striking that the Buddhist literary tradition seems to have had room for a remarkable variety of responses on this topic, and it is quite clear that the group we collectively refer to as “Buddhists” did not speak with one voice. Passages in the Buddhist textual sources that restrict the use of specific visual imagery often preface broader lessons on the shortcomings of imagebased devotion. Yet none of these arguments ever goes so far in its criticism as to call for the outright abandonment of image use. In most cases these objections are little more than preludes to rules that set forth guidelines for the qualified or conditional use of images. At their most strident, these polemics voice clear preferences and seek to dissuade readers from participating in image use by offering cautionary examples or by making comparisons with other, preferable, and more efficacious modes of worship. Although these critiques can be forceful in their claims, our authors seem to have had an eye toward compromise, which may be one indication of how popular images had become by the time many of these texts were written. Nevertheless, the views they express must have resonated on some level, because the arguments they employ tend to show up as recurring rhetorical points, identifiable in a range of both Buddhist and non-Buddhist texts. The sources considered so far show approval for certain limited forms of artistic creation and appear to include the laity in their scope despite often being found in monastic legal codes. Other sorts of commentaries on visual imagery also exist, however, and some even functioned to place explicit limitations on the types of images that could be made or that were deemed appropriate in certain contexts. The clearest examples of this were aimed directly at members of the monastic community and stipulate specific restrictions on the creation or viewing of certain subject matters. To be clear, none of these selections refers to images of the Buddha, but they do introduce categories of visual imagery that at least some authors deemed to be off limits.



I M AG E AV E R S I O N

35

One such passage can be found in the Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya as well as in the Chinese version of the Sarvāstivāda Vinaya. In both, the monk Nanda is feeling wistful and begins to draw on a rock. His chosen subject matter is a depiction of the woman to whom he had been betrothed before his becoming a monk. At this inopportune moment the senior monk Mahākāśyapa wanders along and, seeing Nanda’s artistic endeavor, disapproves heartily. After he relates the situation to the Buddha, Śākyamuni proclaims the rule that no monk may create “the form of living things.”16 This passage would seem to be a preemptive move to counter the more titillating aspects of figural art that may be contrary to the monastic life, and indeed Nanda is well known in the Buddhist literature for having a weakness in regard to the ladies.17 Certainly, the Sarvāstivāda Vinaya would seem to support this reading since it contains other rules explicitly preventing the decoration of stūpas with images of “men and women coupling.” 18 The writers of the Pāli canon apparently had similar concerns. In the Cullavagga of the Pāli VinayaPiṭaka, for example, we encounter a general restriction on any representations of men or women used as decoration in monastic dwellings.19 In each of these cases there is also good reason to think that public perception played a role in the formalization of the rule. And indeed the Pāli vinaya frames this last example with a story about public disapproval of the figural art that had been used to decorate a monastic residence. Ultimately, I would like to draw attention to this category of “living things” that was, to various degrees, singled out for disapproval in all three vinayas. I do so because similar categories also appear in the Brahmanic literature, and this concern over images of the living may help reveal wider, underlying concerns about figural art.20 At a minimum, these categories provide a clear example of what a ban on specific imagery looks like and highlight the fact that we have nothing in the vinayas like these clear restrictions aimed at images of the Buddha. Despite (or perhaps because of) this, the Buddha’s image was often treated as a special category. The special and somewhat ill-defined status held by the unique nature of the Buddha’s body is reflected in several narrative accounts. These tales relate circumstances in which artists attempt to create a likeness of a Buddha and in each case are ultimately powerless to do so without the compassionate intervention of their enlightened subject. Interestingly, in these cases the artists’ failures are not a by-product of the Buddha being in nirvāṇa or having departed this existence, because each of these tales claims to relate events that occurred while the Buddha was still alive. Therefore, they appear to be addressing something inherent in the special nature of Buddhahood that makes representing it difficult. The first of these stories is preserved in the Divyāvadāna as well as in the Chinese and Tibetan versions of the Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya. In this tale, King Bimbisāra is given some jeweled armor as a gift of state by the king of Roruka, named Rudrāyaṇa. This gift is so splendid that at first Bimbisāra is at a loss as to

36

CHAPTER 3

how to reciprocate. Acting on his minister’s advice, the king acknowledges the Buddha to be his kingdom’s greatest jewel and asks for permission to send his painted image as a gift. The Buddha complies and authorizes the creation of his image, stating that it was appropriate to propagate the Law in this way. Unfortunately, king’s artists quickly run into complications as they are unable to capture the Buddha’s glorious likeness or even accurately render a single portion of it. The painters “would remain staring at whichever of the Blessed One’s limbs they happened to look at,” ultimately being unable to “grasp the Blessed One’s full appearance.”21 In order to help, the Buddha projects his shadow onto the canvas so that the artists can copy this simplified version of his likeness, thereby allowing the gift to be sent. Before the gift is sent, the Buddha provides clear instructions on how it is to be delivered, displayed, and venerated. This proves to be very effective. Upon viewing the Buddha’s likeness, and having it explained to him, King Rudrāyaṇa becomes a “stream-winner,” thereby attaining a preliminary enlightened state that assures no more negative rebirths.22 A story very similar to this one, in which the Buddha projects his image onto a cloth so that it may be sent as a gift to royalty, has been preserved in the Adhikaraṇavastu of the Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya. In this case the gift is intended for a Sri Lankan princess, named Muktikā or Muktālatā, and its reception eventually leads to widespread conversions in her kingdom. As in the previous example, the artists strive desperately to capture the Buddha’s likeness but in the end are able only to trace his projected form.23 In the Chinese translation of the Damamūka Nidāna Sūtra there is a tale with intriguing parallels to the previous two. In this example, however, the Buddha in question is not Śākyamuni but a Buddha from a past age named Puṣya. It comes to pass that the local king desires to make an image of the Buddha intended to help spread the teachings to “frontier lands,” but, once again, the artists are inadequate to the task. This text diagnoses the problem in greater detail by stating, “While they were at work on one area, however, they would forget what the rest were like. They would go back to look again, and then return to their work, only to forget one thing while they were doing another.” It would seem that the Buddha’s form was quite literally and figuratively beyond their ability to grasp. Finally, the Buddha Puṣya intervenes in a remarkably direct manner and actually paints a self-portrait to serve as the model for future images.24 Although the artists in these stories were ultimately able to reproduce the Buddha’s projected or copied form, it would seem that in some cases even the Buddha’s shadow could prove to be overly elusive. This is demonstrated in the pilgrimage account of the Chinese monk Faxian, who traveled to India in the early part of the fifth century ce. Upon visiting the city of Nagarahāra he traveled to a nearby cave where the Buddha was said to have projected, and subsequently left behind, his shadow to pacify a nearby nāga. By Faxian’s time this location had become a pilgrimage site, and the monk reports that the Buddha’s ephemeral image could be seen clearly only while standing more than ten paces away.



I M AG E AV E R S I O N

37

He describes the figure as having a “complexion of gold, and his [the Buddha’s] characteristic marks.”25 He also includes this curious detail: “The kings from the regions all around have sent skillful artists to make a copy; none of them have been able to do so.”26 It is not easy to know what to make of this passage. It is certainly possible that Faxian’s commentary was intended to be read as a sign of how far things had slipped from the time of the Buddha, since artists could no longer even replicate his shadow. But Faxian appears to be repeating the same theme shared by the other narratives, namely that according to some Buddhists a Buddha’s form inherently defies any type of reproduction. I suspect that all of these tales are perpetuating, reinforcing, or introducing notions intentionally crafted to subvert attempts to capture the likeness of an individual as special as the Buddha. But the question remains as to why the authors would wish to do so. At a minimum, these assertions would certainly create challenges for the image tradition and force believers to call into question the accuracy and “reality” of the Buddha’s likenesses. And maybe that was the point. What we are left with are not copies of the original but, at best, copies of shadows. This idea is reinforced by a passage from the Maitreyasiṃhanāda Sūtra, which states quite boldly that the creation of a Buddha image is not easily done.27 In this text, the Buddha asks Kāśyapa if he thinks any “human or nonhuman” would be able to make an image of the Tathāgatas. And Kāśyapa responds, “No, Blessed One. Since a Tathāgata is unexpressible, his body inconceivable, because of that it is not easy to make an image of them.”28 As in the narratives, this quotation indicates that there are significant impediments to be faced by anyone seeking to embody the Buddha’s form, and insinuates that representations of him are not as complete as they might seem. It is tempting to see this elusiveness as being linked to the Buddha’s entry into nirvāṇa, or to make reference to passages from texts as diverse as the Suttanipāta or the works of Nāgārjuna, which extol the utterly absent nature of the Buddha after his final death.29 But, as we have seen, some communities attribute this elusive, inexpressible quality even to Buddhas who are still alive. The situation certainly does raise some interesting questions. An informative discussion on the elusive qualities of Buddhas is found in the Aṅguttara Nikāya, a passage that can be found only in the Chinese translation and is not present in any known Pāli version of the text. Its analysis provides an intriguing parallel to the types of problems encountered by the hapless artists who were tasked with capturing the likeness of the Buddha. The passage states, “The body of the Tathāgata is pure and breathing celestial aurae, which is too mysterious to regard the body as artificial. . . . Therefore the body of Tathāgata cannot be made. It is beyond the ability of gods. . . . [T]he body of Tathāgata cannot be measured. It is impossible to regard it as long or short. In this way, the stage of Buddha is mysterious.” The text continues with the quotation cited at the start of the chapter: “[The body of Tathāgata] is supreme and the most vener-

3 8

CHAPTER 3

able in the carnal world. It transcends all class of gods and contains the seven riches of Law, which is beyond the stages of men, gods and other natural living beings, and cannot be made an image.”30 It is not clear how directly this sentiment can be linked to the narratives, but it does share with them a regard for the elusive and inexpressible nature of a Buddha’s body. Each of these passages highlights the fact that a Buddha’s body is different, unique, and mysterious, and each does so in the context of discussing the creation of images. Although some of these authors may have intended to denigrate or prevent image-based devotion by concluding that the making of such images is not possible, most of them do allow for exceptions created through exceptional circumstances, usually involving the direct intervention of the Buddha himself. Also note that in the Aṅguttara Nikāya the Buddha’s body is said to occupy a position different than those of gods or men, representing a separate category apart from “natural living beings” (a category we encountered earlier). A similar sentiment that may have some bearing on this can be found in the Dīgha Nikāya, which states that the Tathāgata’s “outward form” may remain for a while, but that that which “binds it to rebirth is cut.” The Buddha’s body is compared to a mango that lingers after being cut from the tree, but “upon the dissolution of the body, beyond the end of his life, neither men nor gods shall see him.”31 So even while living the enlightened Buddha had qualities that marked him as being distinct from all other beings and ensured his total absence in death. In going forward, an important question to ask is why it was so prevalently asserted and imperative to insist that the Buddha’s form could not be grasped. One thing we can say with confidence is that these passages from the Maitreyasiṃhanāda, the Aṅguttara Nikāya, and related narratives, which seem antithetical to the possibility of an image cult, do not in fact call for anything like a ban on images. It is important to keep in mind that the narratives in which the Buddha projects his form came about, at least in part, to explain the first images and to credit the Buddha himself with helping to get the process started. Even the generally iconoclastic Maitreyasiṃhanāda Sūtra includes the story of the monk Mahāvīrya, for whom the complete vacancy and nonreactive qualities of a Buddha image serve as a fruitful aid to meditation. The text tells us that as Mahāvīrya meditated upon the qualities of the statue and its lack of thought or movement, the completely inert nature of the figure helped him to realize concepts of emptiness necessary for his spiritual advancement.32 Indeed, similar ideas are expressed in another early Buddhist text, the Milin­ dapañha.33 In this text, the monk Nāgasena is asked to explain how a relic can accept gifts if the Buddha has “passed entirely away.” In his response Nāgasena makes it clear that the Buddha is indeed completely gone and “accepts no gift.” Yet he goes on to say that the Buddha’s presence is unnecessary. What the relic provides is an opportunity for giving. In other words, it offers a chance to accrue positive karma through a selfless act, and the presence of a recipient is ultimately extraneous since it is the intention that matters. Perhaps significantly, this mode



I M AG E AV E R S I O N

39

of thought applied to relics by the Buddhists also happens to be the explanation traditionally used by the Jain community to justify the efficacy of offerings made to images of the Jinas.34 But in both cases, rather than seeking to ban offerings to the Buddha or the Jinas, the authors appear to make exceptional efforts to justify the practice. The examples cited here are from diverse sectarian, regional, and chronological points of view, yet each attempts to limit and qualify the use of images rather than call for an outright ban. The authors show some anxiety about aspects of image use but do not generally seem opposed to the practice as a whole. Primarily they express fear over the misinterpretation and misunderstanding of imagerelated practices. Discussions of the sort found in these texts provided the authors with ideal platforms from which to ban image-related practices or to recommend against the use of images entirely, yet that does not seem to have been what most of the Buddhist authors wanted. Rather, they often weave creative rationales simply to ensure that the images would become, or remain, relevant. At the center of this process was an interest in clarifying and regulating how people thought about the Buddha’s image in preparation for its expanding role in religious practice. This was apparently one aspect of a profound preoccupation shared by many Buddhist thinkers, even if they differed as to what the correct ideas about such matters were. In other words, our authors seem far less concerned about what was happening in artists’ workshops and far more concerned about what was going on in worshippers’ heads. Alongside the narrative accounts and monastic rules that may have served to fine-tune acceptable imagery and prune away aspects of figural art that could complicate its role in Buddhist practice, there was another body of work that expressed more direct trepidation over the centrality of images. These critiques consistently stop short of calling for an outright ban on image-based practices, but they do their best to ensure that these practices are seen as ineffective and marginal when compared to other modes of Buddhist practice. Frequently, these authors try to place image-based modes of worship and their adherents within some type of hierarchal framework, and, almost without exception, these are placed at or near the bottom of the scale. In the Pāli literature, for example, there is a meditative process known as buddhānussati (Sanskrit buddhānusmṛti). In this form of meditation one “recollects the Buddha,” which is to say constructs the image of the Buddha in one’s mind so that he or she may benefit from being in the Buddha’s presence. Not surprisingly, this practice has, from at least the second century ce, been explicitly linked to the use of images.35 The texts generally recommend this form of meditation and its procedures are explained in detail, but some Pāli authors also make it quite clear that this practice is intended for beginners. Meditation on the Buddha’s form, with or without the use of physical images, is described as a method that prepares the way to higher levels of insight but does not lead there on its own.36

4 0

CHAPTER 3

In a similar vein, texts such as the Divyāvadāna describe a state known as prasāda in which external stimuli, typically a Buddha image, generate a mental state that prompts one to undertake acts of generosity. This frame of mind, which Andy Rotman describes as a kind of arousal, automatically places one in the proper mental state for performing meritorious acts.37 It is interesting to note that here too (as in the Milindapañha) the worshipper’s frame of mind is key. The proper approach to an action can apparently have a profound effect on its karmic repercussions. It is perhaps more than coincidental, therefore, that so much of the literature about image use seems to fixate on regulating how devotees understand what it is they are actually doing. But, as with buddhānussati, there are some sources that clearly articulate the limited spiritual benefits of this technique. Specifically, the Cakravartivyākṛta Avadāna discourages prasāda for monks. Through the text’s narrative it teaches that although these practices are highly effective at generating a great many positive rebirths, they are not efficient for quickly reaching an enlightened state or nirvāṇa. In this case, the use of prasāda is contrasted with “meditation, study, yoga, and contemplation,” undertakings that are described as being more appropriate for those who are serious about their transcendent religious goals.38 A story from the Karmavibhangopadeśa expresses a similar message but uses the important categories of rūpakāya and dharmakāya to make its point. These terms have a long history, and recent scholarship has effectively demonstrated that their specific meanings have shifted over time.39 These vagaries make the terms tricky to define, but at their most simple the rūpakāya is the Buddha’s physical form, and the dharmakāya is an eternal and more “true” body that is typically synonymous with the Buddha’s teachings.40 The distinction between these two bodies is made clear in a tale which features two monks traveling to meet the Buddha in Ayodhyā. Along the way, the two monks are overcome with great thirst but do not have the implements necessary to filter living creatures out of the water. One monk chooses to break the monastic code and drink the water, whereas the second allows himself to die of thirst rather than harm even the smallest creature. At the resolution of this tale the lone surviving monk reaches the Buddha only to find that his dead companion has already been reborn as a deity in the Buddha’s presence. His reincarnated companion has also been granted a vision of the Buddha’s enlightening dharmakāya, the sight of which is denied the living monk, who must content himself with the rūpakāya. In conclusion, and to drive home the point, the Buddha informs the survivor that in only seeing the rūpakāya, he “saw the body which I received from my parents, he did not see me.”41 The concept of the Buddha’s bodies, kāya, is an important one, and its terminology is being used in this example to express the limitations and shortcomings of physical appearances. In this case the “image” in question is the Buddha’s own body. John Strong highlights that this text and others like it that denigrated the Buddha’s body were in direct opposition to bhakti, or devotional



I M AG E AV E R S I O N

41

modes of worship, which considered the rūpakāya to be an important component for properly understanding the dharmakāya and ultimately attaining Buddhahood.42 Given this background, the tale of the two monks can also be understood as a commentary on image-based devotions, of which it is not at all supportive. The lesson of this narrative, that the Buddha’s physical rūpakāya is irrelevant when compared to the “body of dharma,” is stated with far less subtlety in some of the more dogmatic Mahāyāna literature. The Maitreyasiṃhanāda Sūtra, for example, makes this point quite explicitly. It teaches that the merit generated by building a hypothetical and hyperbolic image of the Buddha made of precious materials, as big as Mount Meru, and multiplied by the number of grains of sand in the Ganges, is far less than the merit earned by acceptance of the dharma or the contemplation of even four lines of its text.43 The Śatasāhasrikā Prajñāpāramitā Sūtra echoes this point, making it clear that honoring the Buddha’s body pales in comparison to the resplendent benefits earned by honoring even a tiny portion of his dharma.44 But in this text it is the veneration of relics, rather than images, that withstands the worst of the criticism. It is not at all uncommon, however, for the Prajñāpāramitā literature to treat relics and images in an overlapping fashion in its discussions of the Buddha’s body. These criticisms occur at many points in the texts and are among the harshest in their treatment of practices focusing on the Buddha’s form. For example, the Aṣṭasāhasrikā Prajñāpāramitā emphasizes this point when it describes any who would “adhere to the Tathāgata through form and sound, and who in consequence imagine the coming or going of a Tathāgata” as “foolish and stupid.”45 It uses the metaphor of a mirage to liken anyone seeking a tangible expression of the Buddha’s form to a man attempting to get water from an illusion. The Maitreyasiṃhanāda Sūtra, which according to recent scholarship may be among the earliest Mahāyāna sūtras, builds from its attacks on the efficacy of image-based practices to also denigrate those who engage in such actions. The text criticizes both lay people and members of the monastic community who participate avidly in the “worship of images of the Tathāgata painted on cotton cloth and walls, or other images of the Tathāgata.”46 While the previous quotation implicates both the laity and members of the monastic community, a similar passage directs its scolding toward monks who have “not developed” their bodies, minds, good conduct, or wisdom and spend all of their time painting images, intending to “make a living through them.” The text allows that images help the worshippers to “obtain success and magic power,” but this, the authors bemoan, only leads to “arrogance.”47 I find it intriguing that the criticism that this text levels against image use is also a testament to its effectiveness in helping with worldly concerns. We can see echoes of this same complaint in the often-repeated refrain that images are not for monks or for those dedicated to transcendent goals. This assumption that images are worldly may point us right back to the early sculptural tradition and

4 2

CHAPTER 3

the realization that for centuries images had been the primary preserve of spirit religions dedicated to chthonic deities. It seems very likely that much of this criticism was an attempt to prevent slippage into modes of practice that were not seen as compatible with lofty, spiritual concerns. In the past many scholars assumed that the move to incorporate images in Buddhist religious contexts was due to pressure from the unlettered public.48 This attitude persisted despite the evidence provided by inscriptional sources that point to the active participation, and even leadership, of monastics in this process.49 Still, given the way that these passages present the situation, it is understandable that someone looking only at the Mahāyāna material might get the impression that all monks disapproved of images. These texts attempt to align image-based practices with the ignorant and uninitiated, setting them in opposition to those who are serious and diligent in seeking religious insight. I think it likely, however, that these criticisms are not indications of an emerging historical process but rather serve as a somewhat elitist rhetorical device aimed at denigrating image-based forms of Buddhist devotion by associating them with widespread forms of popular religious practices (laukika). This potential confusion between use of the image of the Buddha in worship and the veneration of beings such as yakṣas or nāgas may also be partially responsible for the monastic fixation on guiding worshippers’ thoughts. A pervasive theme in the literature is a concern over the potential misunderstanding or misinterpretation of what is supposed to be happening when a devotee uses a Buddha image in worship. Furthermore, a desire to distance the Buddha from other forms of figural worship could also help explain the recurring tendency to define the Buddha’s form as unique, elusive, and special. These distinctions create a disparity that separates the Buddha from his own image, and the Buddha image from other figural art. Even the harshest texts typically accuse only those who have an incorrect or overzealous understanding (according to each individual author’s interpretation) of what these images mean. But, as we have seen, there is a remarkably wide variety of opinions on what exactly that “true” significance should be. If it is accurate that many of these concerns about the use of images were attempts to define its differences from more widely recognized modes of image use, then what we are dealing with is far larger than simply a Buddhist issue. The Buddhist debate over images can be seen as just one part of a wider South Asian debate over representation and embodiment. If this is so, then we will not find our answers by looking at Buddhist sources alone.

Non-Buddhist Critiques of Image-Based Devotion In the Chāndogya Upaniṣad the god Indra and his rival, the asura Virocana, seek out the sage Prajāpati to gain instruction on the true nature of the Self. The first “lesson” they receive is something of a trick. Prajāpati instructs them both



I M AG E AV E R S I O N

43

to dress in fine clothes and jewels and then asks them to regard their own reflections. He tells them that what they see, their own bodily form reflected in the water, is their true self. Virocana foolishly accepts this reasoning and heads off to instruct his demons in the ways of empty hedonism, but Indra quickly sees the flaw in accepting the body as the true Self and returns for further instruction.50 This is just a portion of a longer tale, but in it the limitations inherent in the pursuit of worldly aims and material forms are powerfully contrasted with the wisdom required to gain true spiritual insight. Eventually, the text teaches that the form, the reflection, of Indra has no real connection to his true Self (ātman). Only demons are foolish enough to accept the physical as real. Other portions of the Upaniṣads express a similar distrust of tangible forms. The Śvetaśvatara Upaniṣad, for example, states, “Not above, not across, not in the middle, nor has anyone grasped Him. There is no likeness [pratimā] of Him whose name is Great Glory. This form is not to be seen; no one sees him with the eye. Those who through heart and mind know Him as abiding in the heart become immortal.”51 The passage itself is a testament to the immaterial nature of the Supreme Brahman, and states unequivocally that this ultimate reality cannot be captured or grasped in visual form. This sentiment finds reinforcement in the Jabāla Upaniṣad, which informs readers that the real worship of the gods and the revelation of the true Self both take place internally, through meditative effort, not through external actions. The text goes on to stipulate that the sense organs are merely obstacles to be overcome on the path to discovering truth.52 Although the Upaniṣads are decidedly averse to the idea of images, and actively treat the sensory world as an impediment to spiritual growth, there is a great deal of evidence that images were widely used in religious rituals very early in the history of South Asian culture. Even if we leave aside the archaeological evidence provided by early terra-cottas and the sculptural traditions associated with regional spirit religions, there are a few intriguing and early textual references to images, including one that has been dated to the fourth century bce. This well-known passage is found in Pāṇini’s masterful work on grammar, dated to the fourth century bce, the Aṣṭādhyāyī, in which he stipulates that the termination ka is to be added to the ends of words that denote images resembling other things. As a corollary, he adds that this ending can be dropped if the object provides livelihood (jīvikārthe) and is not vendible (apaṇye).53 This is a curious set of criteria, as the image’s ability to provide wealth (defined broadly) is also linked to its not being for sale. Few objects could meet both of these seemingly contradictory characteristics. This selection, therefore, is quite likely a reference to local cult images whose veneration was believed to generate worldly prosperity. Although there are no extant sculptural examples of these regional deities dating definitively to the fourth century bce, there are a few that have been securely dated to the third century bce (see fig. 2.2).54 The images themselves were not apparently a commercial commodity, yet, as images of chthonic

4 4

CHAPTER 3

deities, they had a role to play in generating material well-being. The fact that Pāṇini refers to pūjā, or ritual devotion, at a few points in his text also confirms his familiarity with modes of devotional worship often associated with images.55 It is worth spending a moment to note the manner in which these details are mentioned. Specifically Pāṇini says that the termination ka, which is to be used to indicate a copy or an object that resembles an original, is not required in these special cases. There are a few possible ways to interpret the significance of this distinctive subset of images, but, at least on a semantic level, he is saying that no distinction needs to be made between the original and the image. This implies that images, presumably of deities, share the same nature as the deities themselves. So complete is this connection that no grammatical distinction apparently needed to be made between them.56 This interpretation gets some support in the writings of Patañjali, who wrote a commentary on Pāṇini’s work roughly two hundred years later, in the second century bce. In his Mahābhāṣya, Patañjali confirms that Pāṇini was referring explicitly to the images of deities and then proceeds to complicate matters by claiming that by Patañjali’s time the rule had developed a new exception. Specifically, Patañjali clarifies that the ka ending is not used in the case of images of deities made by the Maurya, a powerful and far-reaching dynasty (3rd to 2nd century bce), despite the fact that they made them for profit.57 This passage has been interpreted in various ways, and it is worth noting that Patañjali never actually states directly that the images were sold. He states only that they were used to make profit. It is tempting to see this claim as a reference to the Mauryan dynasty having profited by honoring chthonic gods or by employing one of the moneymaking schemes involving images mentioned in the Arthaśāstra, but since Patañjali offers this as a counterpoint to Pāṇini’s rule, it is more likely that he is implying that they profited from some sort of commercial exchange.58 Two hundred years is a long time, however, so one must consider that Patañ­ jali was commenting more on his own time than on Pāṇini’s. Patrick Olivelle has suggested that Patañjali may have been writing from the perspective of the post-Mauryan period, and that some of his statements about images may have been intended as a pejorative commentary on the Mauryan support of nonVedic religious groups.59 Olivelle goes on to suggest that this reveals the author’s recognition of the return of royal support for traditional Vedic rituals under the reign of the Śuṅga kings. If this is true, it would indicate early divisions between the Brahmanic traditions centering on the Vedic sacrifice (and possibly even the image-averse traditions of the Upaniṣads) and the regional image cults dedicated to deities of a less transcendent nature. In any case, these two modes of religious practice certainly did exist in tandem, and Patañjali was not the last person to draw attention to those who used images to support themselves. His observation would seem to have had a long legacy, since it bears a striking resemblance both to the early Mahāyāna objections to people who made a living by the use of images as well as to similar disapprovals found in the Manusmṛti.60



I M AG E AV E R S I O N

45

The Manusmṛti, also known as the Mānava Dharmaśāstra or Laws of Manu, is a collection of legal codes written from a deeply Brahmanic perspective that claims to set forth societal rules as they apply to all social levels. The work itself is often attributed to the second century ce and expresses well-formed, if somewhat contradictory, views on images used in religious practice.61 In several places the text reveals its stance on image use by denigrating devalakas, or priests who attend to images.62 According to the Manusmṛti’s rules, such individuals, along with doctors and sellers of meat, are to be excluded from all rites directed to the Vedic gods or ancestors.63 The text also directs people to exclude such individuals from funerary rites, since all food offered to a devalaka disappears entirely and therefore brings no benefit to the dead.64 The objectionable status of these image-using priests is further rationalized in a later commentary on the Manusmṛti by Kullūka, who claims that these individuals’ actions are driven by profit rather than karma and that they “obtain their livelihood from god’s treasures.”65 This accusation implies a sort of theft wherein the priest is living off of goods intended for the deity. Jitendra Nath Banerjea made this same point while ruminating on the curious disdain for “image-priests” evident in a variety of early sources. In so doing, he draws attention to an injunction found in the Nārada Paṇcarātra of the Bhāradvāja Saṃhitā that claims that one should never use images of gods as a way to make a living.66 Banerjea suggests that the rule may be an injunction against prostituting one’s bhakti by making it a means of livelihood. This interpretation is certainly possible, but the exact nature of this objectionable economic exchange is still not entirely clear. Nevertheless, the hostility that the Manusmṛti and other texts direct toward devalakas, as well as Jains and Buddhists, would presumably not have been necessary if such heterodox practices did not constitute a threat to the established Vedic authority.67 A somewhat curious dichotomy is revealed in Manu when the author turns to the topic of actual images. Although those who make a living attending to images are belittled, the images themselves are treated with a great deal of deference, if not outright awe. At various points the text advises good Brahmans not to step on the shadows of gods (presumably cast by images); it also lists images as being among the objects worthy of being honored with circumambulation, and advises readers to give true testimony when in the presence of gods.68 In this last case images are not explicitly mentioned, but, as I have discussed elsewhere, taking public oaths in the presence of divine images seems to have been a fairly common practice attested to in several sources.69 It would seem that even if image-centered practices were discouraged, the power inherent in the images themselves was not questioned. As was mentioned briefly, there are some similarities between the way Manu marginalizes devalakas and the manner in which some Buddhist texts (particularly from the Mahāyāna tradition) address image use. It appears that some members of both the Vedic and the Buddhist communities shared apprehensions about the expanding role of images in South Asian religious life. The

4 6

CHAPTER 3

author of the Manusmṛti appears desperate to preserve the central role of Vedic ritual and disapproves strongly of practices that might erode their centrality. Similarly, the Mahāyāna authors struggled to preserve older ascetic traditions in the face of new image-based practices.70 Yet even these critics demonstrate a notable respect for the power inherent in images themselves. They never question the use of images, only the place and manner in which they should be used. The Manusmṛti does not order the devalakas to stop tending to images; rather it simply accords them an inferior and less respectable status than that enjoyed by Vedic ritual specialists. Just as did the Buddhists, the Brahman writers developed a wide range of strategies with which to approach the issue of image use. Heinrich von Stietencron, Richard Davis, and others have written extensively on the schisms that developed within the Brahman community over this topic.71 Both the enthusiasm and the discontent exhibited in the literature reveal the deep fissures that image veneration engendered among the literary elite. and also hint at some of the growing social pressures faced by those who chose to oppose it entirely. Take, for example, the philosophical school of the Pūrva Mīmāṃsā that first emerged in the early centuries bce with the writings of Jaimini. This Brahmanic school looked to the Vedas for its answers and can be seen as a conservative reaction to attempts to reform the old Vedic ritual system. Not surprisingly, this school of thought was staunchly averse to the use of images in ritual practice. Its views on the subject came to a head in the fifth-century writings of Śābara, who completely denied the possibility of any form of divine embodiment and argued that all references to gods “bodies” were entirely metaphorical. In this system, gods simply do not have the capacity or the need to ever occupy a corporeal form, a conclusion that cuts off the efficacious nature of image worship at the root.72 The Mīmāṃsā reaction to images was, at least in part, a response to the position held by the Vedānta thinkers. This philosophical school, particularly the influential Advaita Vedānta branch, took a more conciliatory approach to the topic of image use than did the Mīmāṃsā authors. The Vedānta teachings allowed for the possibility that gods might embody themselves if they desired to do so. But even this concession created some problems. At its heart, the Vedānta teaching is centered in monism and the idea that all things share a single nature (the universal Brahman). However, the veneration of physical images inevitably imposes an inherent dualism that divides the deity from the devotee. The seventh-century commentaries of Śaṅkara tackle this problem directly by establishing a hierarchy between the empirical and the supreme. Within this rubric, reliance on physical representations falls into the inferior category of the empirical, while other internal, meditative practices are deemed more effective at producing spiritual insight and rise to the level of the supreme.73 Śaṅkara presents a firm division between the bhakti-related practices involving images and those meditative practices that are seen as preferable for moving



I M AG E AV E R S I O N

47

past the karmic world toward true insight. He does not deny the possibility of image-based devotion (as the Mīmāṃsā writers did), but he does his best to restrict its metaphysical purview to the tangible, thereby denying its applicability to the more serious pursuits of spiritual transcendence. The Vedānta authors were not alone in adopting this hierarchical approach to image use. In many ways these thinkers were following much earlier sentiments that can be found in the Ṛgvidhāna. This text’s author taught that ritualists believed god to exist in the ritual fire; intellectuals situated him in heaven; the dull-witted identified god in idols; and yogis recognized god in their hearts.74 Within this range of possibilities, those who favor idols are still categorized as believers, but the text makes no attempt to represent them as anything other than deluded and foolish. A similar division can be found in the Yoga Vāsiṣṭha. The Yoga Vāsiṣṭha represents a later development in Vedānta thinking, and in its current form is quite late, dating to the tenth or eleventh century. As with earlier Vedānta texts, it makes its position on image use strikingly explicit. The worship of physical forms is for those who simply cannot manage to worship Śiva himself. While devotion to Śiva brings bliss, the worship of physical forms only “yields finite results.” Indeed, the text informs us that sages only engage in such activities playfully because they are typically appropriate only for those with underdeveloped or immature intellects.75 The author does concede that such image-based practices may produce some karmic rewards, but those results are described as being ultimately “worthless” in the pursuit of higher spiritual aims.76 It is hard not to see parallels between the views of the earlier Vedānta authors, those expressed in the Yoga Vāsiṣṭha, and some of the Buddhist reactions toward image use. The development of hierarchical ranking systems within Vedānta and other Brahmanic schools of thought exhibit the same strategies for limiting image-based practices as those employed by the Buddhist authors. In these cases, image-centered devotion is relegated to a deeply inferior secondary status and is denied any applicability to the attainment of advanced spiritual goals. In almost every example, from Manu to Mahāyāna, the efficacy of image use is not entirely denied but is situated in the tangible, the karmic, and the worldly. A comparable, albeit more gentle, division between image use and higher spiritual aims can also be found in the Jain literature. The Praśamarati Praka­ raṇa contains twenty-two chapters detailing the benefits of overcoming spiritual impediments through monastic renunciation, and offers only one slim final chapter that discusses life as a layman. This chapter states that true peace can be achieved only by becoming a monk, but that if a devotee can not take that bold step, “To the best of his ability he establishes temples, in which he worships by offering scent, garlands, scented powder, incense and lamps.”77 As in our previous examples, image devotion is presented as a substandard last resort. That each of these traditions identified the worldly nature of image-based devotion as a vulnerability through which they could attack such practices and

48

CHAPTER 3

limit their appeal is more than a coincidence. It seems likely that the association between images and the veneration of local spirit-deities (yakṣas, nāgas, and so on) is at least partially active behind the words of our authors and provided fuel for the criticisms they leveled. For these critics, ritual activities similar to those used when appealing to local gods in the hope of addressing worldly concerns had no role (or, at best, a very limited one) in transcendent modes of religious practice. It is perhaps to be expected that opinions on images were actively expressed in the first several centuries of the Common Era, when figural art was on the rise. But it is interesting to note that these debates about the expanded role of image use never really ended. Proponents and opponents of image use continued to expound their points of view over the centuries, and some of the earliest ideas about images became engrained within certain sectarian modes of thought. In particular, the assertion that image use represents a sort of crutch or initiatory exercise crops up repeatedly over the centuries. For example, in the Nārāyaṇīyam, a sixteenth-century devotional text, there is a long description of how devotion was conducted in past ages (yugas). The text mentions that one of the characteristics of the perfect age, the kṛtayuga, was that devotion occurred only in the mind, never in physical form. Images, it states, were the products of later and more flawed times.78 Similarly, Alexis Sanderson has described the process of visualizing the divine in the Trika Tantric tradition and notes that visible forms are “merely provisional, to be abandoned at higher levels of practice.” More specifically, the Trika’s Vijñānabhairavatantra likens image-based practices to the sweets given to children by their mother, which are intended only to coax them onto the right path.79 This overview of Buddhist and non-Buddhist concerns about images reveals some recurrent ideas held by authors who oppose or disapprove of images in religious contexts, and these positions transcend sectarian identity. The objections appear to emerge from an unspoken assumption of power inherent in figural art, and our authors align themselves along a continuum of objections that range from the strident to the moderate. On one extreme are those who deny the capacity to embody a god or enlightened being, and on the other are those who accept the possibility but only with the willing assistance of the spiritual entity being portrayed. Several authors urge us to recognize that the image is in some special way detached from the entity that it depicts, and insist on the emptiness of the figural form. There is a common refrain among several sources insisting on the lesser status of image users, who are characterized as less advanced, foolish, or even arrogant for engaging in such practices. Yet it is hard to say that these views are inherently indicative of specific sectarian schools, because varying views often emerge from within individual traditions (when the particular school is known at all). Nevertheless, these commonalities found across traditions reveal that the anxiety over image use can not be attributed to a single religious community. Certainly this is more than just a Buddhist issue.



I M AG E AV E R S I O N

49

Given the complexity and longevity of these debates and the manner in which such concerns transcended sectarian and ideological divisions, any simplified notion dividing South Asian history into periods before and after the acceptance of images becomes unsupportable. Over the course of centuries, heated exchanges took place over the appropriateness of certain types of images and the ways in which they were to be regarded by devotees. In most cases, a proper understanding (as defined by each community) of what the images signified seems to have overridden any concerns about what the images actually depicted. What emerges is not a two-sided debate but rather an ongoing negotiation in which each religious community, sectarian group, or ideological system pondered how to reconcile itself with the use of figural imagery. Notably, one never encounters injunctions against the act of image creation as a whole, nor are there ever clear bans against the creation of images depicting important religious figures, even though unusual subjects such as “living things” do occasionally get singled out for exclusion. Questions about the significance of figural imagery, its connections to its subject matter, its efficacy in attaining spiritual insight, and its association with worldly concerns seem to have consistently been at the center of these discussions. It remains to examine the sources that gave rise to these recurring characterizations and made them so central to the discourse.

50

CHAPTER 3

4 / IMAGES AND IDENTITY

Sage Nārāyaṇa [who was engaged in penance] for the welfare of the worlds, created Urvaśī in form from a painting. The great sage, after taking the juice of the mango tree, painted on the ground [a picture of] a beautiful woman to deceive the wives of the gods who approached him. Then she, the best of the Apsaras, endowed with beauty came into being as a painting. The birth of the celestial maiden Urvaśī, Citrasūtra Adhyāya 35, 1–3cd

I

n discussing the lack of early Indian figural art, Alfred Foucher famously said, “If they did not do it, it was because it was not customary to do it.”1 While this assessment was intended to be somewhat flip and provocative, I must admit that on some level he is correct. Where we part ways, however, is over our interpretations of the degree and manner in which those customs were absent. Even though Foucher was aware of the sculptural traditions associated with popular religious systems, he insisted that the idea of figural art had not been considered by the South Asian community before it was introduced to Western influences.2 I find Foucher’s exclusion of artwork associated with spirit-religions to be unnecessarily arbitrary, and his claims, therefore, to be overreaching. There exists ample evidence in both the textual and material records to verify that the civilizations of early South Asia were well aware of both portraiture and figural representation. Anthropomorphic terra-cotta figures can be found across the centuries, dating back to the Harappan Civilization; stone figural images of spirit-deities are abundant by the second century bce; and early textual sources refer to images intended to represent specific individuals. Nevertheless, past scholarship has at times identified the perceived scarcity of figural imagery as a conspicuous absence, and this supposed shortcoming has occasionally served as a magnet for broad cultural generalizations. Colonial-era scholars from the West alternately addressed this absence as one stemming from a deficiency in the “Indian mind,” which had not even conceived of the idea of portraiture or, conversely, saw the eventual move toward religious imagery as the regrettable embrace of “idolatry.”3 Although these viewpoints are diametri-

51

cally opposed in the way they value figural art, in both the shift toward the widespread use of figural imagery was read as a deficiency. Vincent Smith, for example, argued that this lack of early portraiture was evidence of India’s inability to confront life’s realities.4 Ananda Coomaraswamy interpreted these gaps in the material record in a remarkably similar way and felt that they required an explanation. In Coomaraswamy’s view, the lack of early figural art in religious contexts was emblematic not of a deficiency but rather of the Indian commitment to enduring principles and higher truths that transcended the material world.5 Ultimately, he shared the view of John Marshall that the eventual move toward image use was an unfortunate development imposed by the tastes of the unlettered masses.6 Faced with such reductive characterizations, there is good reason to reconsider inherited assumptions about the place of figural art in early South Asia. When working from limited source material, it is tempting to make broad claims from single examples or to apply one piece of evidence in an all-inclusive fashion. As we have already seen, that sort of oversimplification does justice neither to the range nor to the complexity of the ideas preserved in the sources. Rather I believe that there were, at all times, several South Asian modes of discussing and using visual imagery, all of which were justified within the prevailing social mores and traditions of the time. It is also tempting to consider early figural practices to be low, nonelite, or even shallow, and certainly some of the more hard-line Buddhist and Brahmanic primary sources consider them to be so. Dietrich Seckel took his lead from these polemic points of view when stating that “[o]pposition to imagefriendly cults was unnecessary because they hardly existed among India’s higher creeds; Buddhism tolerated such practices on a popular level.”7 Yet creating a stark division between image use and image aversion is in many ways an oversimplification that draws artificially stark boundaries between sets of religious practices and reinforces a class-based elitism that privileges some sets of documentary sources over the others. Members of society at all levels had access to religious practices involving figural art, and social status seems to have mattered very little in, for example, the figural devotion that occurred in shrines dedicated to regional spirit-deities.8 This point will be made all the more forcefully by exploring the elite devotional rituals in the Gṛhyasūtras and the Brāhmaṇas that require the use of images as a means of influencing both humans and deities. This should perhaps not be unexpected, because even the highest levels of society have worries related to health, well-being, and success. Our earliest evidence suggests that image-based practices, both devotional and ritual, simply served a different function than those nonfigural practices focused on soteriological goals. These differences however, were a matter of intention and effectiveness, and were not a by-product of public ignorance or low moral character. As time went on, even these distinctions between worldly and transcendent aims began to fade as well.

52

CHAPTER 4

Therefore, if no examples of human portraiture exist from the centuries bce, this is due, at least in part, to the specific nature of the social functions with which portraiture was associated. As I hope to demonstrate, the use of images depicting living human subjects was consistently attached to a set of objectives that are strongly associated with private contexts and worldly objectives. The prospect of gaining access to local gods (yakṣas, nāgas, and so on) through their images was rarely considered a problem, but when such practices were aimed at human subjects or supreme deities, there was good reason for concern.

The Origins of South Asian Preconceptions about Images The artistic subject matter that seems to have troubled the South Asian writers more than any other was the depiction of living humans. We have already encountered some of these concerns in the Buddhist materials, but in those cases it is possible to read the injunctions as having been inspired by the decorum demanded by monastic life. If we look to the Bṛhat Saṃhitā, however, no such restrictions should apply. This work, usually dated to the sixth century, is primarily an astrological manual that offers advice on all manner of unusual portents. The text as a whole is decidedly positive on the topic of images and, perhaps significantly, it does not aspire to any transcendent religious objectives. This text affirms that even simple images made of clay and wood convey the blessings of longevity, prosperity, strength, and victory. These rewards are compounded for images made of more expensive materials.9 The text does warn, however, that images may occasionally exhibit “unnatural behavior,” and provides guidance on how to address such troubling occurrences.10 The depiction of specific imagery is designated as inappropriate in particular contexts because the mere creation of such images invites danger. For example, the text gives this cautionary advice: “A house where figures of monsters and ghosts are drawn . . . or a picture of the house-owner is drawn . . . will be destroyed before long.”11 This passage groups together two unusual categories of artistic imagery. The depiction of dangerous supernatural beings would seem to fit logically with this warning, but the danger posed by an image of the homeowner is certainly less clear. A similar injunction can be found in the eighth-century Citrasūtra of the Viṣṇudharmottara Purāṇa. This treatise on painting sets out the legendary origins of the art form and provides technical guidance for artists. Among the advice it offers is an injunction against portraiture in the home that echoes the Bṛhat Saṃhitā. Specifically, it states, “O King, a portrait of oneself . . . (ātmanaḥ­ citrakarma) must never be made in one’s house.” 12 What we have here may simply be the record of a cultural custom or idiosyncrasy related to home decorating, but concern about images of the living does seem to crop up in some rather unusual forms. The Śukranītisara, which probably dates to between the ninth and thirteenth century, makes this point more broadly. It praises the use



I M AG E S A N D I D E N T I T Y

53

of divine images but condemns the making of human figures as simply “not heavenward leading.”13 Puzzlingly few of these rules regarding images of the living actually agree on the specifics, so it is difficult to know how to situate them in a broader context. I mention them here, however, because I believe that all of these concerns may refer back to common origins. Images of the living are at various times discouraged or described as unseemly or even dangerous, and this special critique may provide a clue as to the origins of this anxiety about image use. I believe that it is possible that these concerns about images of the living and objections to image-based forms of religious devotion may share common roots related to the way that images were used in late Vedic ritual contexts aimed at influencing lovers and punishing foes. The preceding chapter contained a broad overview of Buddhist and Brahmanic sources and revealed certain similarities in the ways segments of both communities disapproved of image use. These sources, with a few acknowledged exceptions, all date to after the first century bce, and most can be placed into a period stretching from the first to the fourth centuries ce. It was primarily during these centuries that changes in image-making practices were apparently profound enough to have generated an outpouring of textual responses. The veneration of images in religious contexts is repeatedly associated with the attainment of worldly aims, and those who attend images are frequently looked on with some suspicion by those with aspirations to spiritual transcendence and religious authority. Having explored the objections raised by members of both the Brahmanic and Buddhist communities, it may be possible to identify the foundations from which these concerns originate. To get a sense of why arguments against the expanding role of images took the forms they did, it is necessary to look at even older sources that reach back to well before the Common Era. The material record for these early centuries may be limited, offering little by way of extant sculptural remains, but the literature is far from silent on the topic of figural art. A host of texts, including the Gṛyhasūtras, the Brāhmaṇas, and even the late Vedas, all address the creation of images, and they do so within a very specific perspective that reveals a great deal about how figural images were used. Take, for example, a passage from the Sāmavidhāna Brāhmaṇa that offers guidance on the rather surprising topic of how to subdue a Brahman. It instructs the would-be subjugator to undertake a ritual that begins with the construction a golden effigy depicting the unfortunate Brahman being targeted. For considerably less expense, however, one could direct one’s hostility toward members of other social levels. Specifically, this ritual prescribes the use of various construction materials whose applicability depends on the status of the victim. The use of a silver image is appropriate for a Kṣatriya, copper for a Vaiśya, and iron for a Śūdra.14 Jan Gonda, in his encyclopedic work Vedic Ritual: The Non-Solemn Rites, details many rituals similar to this one, including one from the Kauśika

54

CHAPTER 4

Sūtra that instructs the practitioner in a technique for bewitching a victim. This is achieved by, among other things, carrying an image of the intended target toward the southwest, a direction sacred to the dangerous goddess Niṛṛti.15 Rituals for gaining control over people in the community occur with some frequency in this body of literature, and a large portion of these are aimed squarely at individuals the practitioner dislikes. Images play a central role in these rites and are often featured as a key element in efforts to inflict one’s will on enemies. According to the Atharvaveda Pariśiṣṭha, for example, an opponent may be slain or rendered submissive though the simple yet potent act of chopping his image into pieces.16 Similarly, the Kauśika Sūtra advises trampling on an enemy’s image to achieve a comparable result.17 For a slightly more visceral approach, one can look to the Sāmavidhāna Brāhmaṇa, which offers a variant ritual technique for gaining power over a rival. In this method, an effigy of the victim is constructed of cooked grains, and when the process of shaping it is complete, the practitioner is directed to scoop out and eat the portion representing the victim’s heart.18 These passages present a very specific ritual function for figural imagery that would seem to hold rather troubling implications for those being represented. Furthermore, these techniques, which claim to be dramatically effective in times of conflict, were apparently equally useful in the pursuit of love. A wistful lover who wishes to gain the attention of a young lady is directed to create an image of her out of potter’s clay and then to shoot its heart with a ritually prepared arrow. In this way, the Atharvaveda Pariśiṣṭha claims that the practitioner will win the affection of the woman, who is both the physical and emotional target of the rite.19 By performing a ritual on this surrogate, the consequences were believed to transfer to and manifest in the woman herself, thereby securing her affections.20 According to the early sources, any type of person could be won over through a related set of rituals. Specifically, the Kauśika Sūtra advises that to win a man’s heart, the practitioner should light the tops of reeds (or points of arrows) on fire and then throw the burning material at his image.21 Presumably, these actions were intended to enkindle a corresponding, metaphorical fire in the target’s heart. One of the clearest sources for the ritual uses of figural art is the Ṛgvidhāna, but this text poses certain challenges to historians. It details the supernatural benefits associated with reciting portions of the Ṛgveda in specific ritual contexts and attributes some of its verses to the author Śaunaka. This attribution would indicate a 500 bce date for the composition of the document. While most scholars accept this early date, others believe the text to be partially or entirely a product of the Purāṇic Period (roughly 250–700 ce).22 The fact that a commentary on this work was written in the twelfth century adds some weight to the possibility that this text was written or expanded in later centuries. Nevertheless, the rituals described in it look very much like those found in the Atharvaveda and the Brāhmaṇas. So, while it is not entirely clear if the Ṛgvidhāna speaks to the antiquity of these ideas about images, at least it speaks to their longevity.



I M AG E S A N D I D E N T I T Y

55

Consider, for example, the ritual intended to destroy an enemy, which requires the ritualist make an image of śamyāka wood depicting the hated individual. Then, after meeting a complex set of requirements for the ritual’s location, the readiness of the performer, and the quality of the ritual implements, the ritualist is to tread on the image, thereby assuring that the victim will be dead within a week.23 A similarly structured spell of expulsion requires the officiant to tread on an image fashioned of sand, which will leave the adversary feeling crushed and drive them from the field of battle.24 Depending on the ritual context and hymns recited, this same process of stepping on an image can also be used to win over and gain control of others. The primary variable in this set of rituals is the time one must wait before the victim falls under the spell. The timing is contingent on the social status held by the target. Vaiśyas, for example, succumb in three days, kings take five, and ascetics seven.25 If these attempts to win over individuals fail, an image of sand can be burned or an iron effigy placed in a fire, offered oblations, and struck with “a ferocious mind.” The text assures that in whatever way the image is sacrificed, that person comes under control.26 Metallic images can also be placed in a fire on a seat of arrowheads. Such an act reduces the victim to subjugation and can be used to gain influence over a king, a town, or a country.27 A comparable technique contained in the Ṛgvidhāna prescribes a starkly different course of action for the lovelorn that builds from a similar premise about the role of images in gaining control. This method wins affections by using an image shaped out of rice that depicts the subject of the practitioner’s romantic interests, which is offered to the fire part by part.28 In recounting just these few passages, one gets a clear taste for the way that these early texts, stemming from the Vedic tradition, use images. And if we take this context as our starting point, the anxiety and uncertainty that gripped later generations about the question of image-related devotion begin to make much more sense. The major, recurring objections to images encountered in both the Buddhist and Brahmanic literature appear to be responding to or building from a core of cultural beliefs about how images function. And those functions are consistently tied to corporeal concerns centered on enmity and desire. Those opposed to the use of images repeatedly focus their concerns on a central set of issues, and those in favor of image use do their best to redefine these preconceptions. What emerges is a divide between those members of the Hindu and Buddhist communities who believed that the significance of images could be redefined for the sake of achieving positive spiritual goals, and those who either firmly or hesitantly did not. In both cases, regulating and guiding what devotees thought about images and how they understood the processes involved in image-centered devotion were vital to establishing success for a particular point of view. In light of these cultural underpinnings, one can now more fully appreciate the scandalous implications of a monk painting an image of his former betrothed, or why visitors to monasteries made snide comments regarding

56

CHAPTER 4

images of people depicted on the walls of monks’ cells.29 The existence of these early image-based rites may have helped shape the Manusmṛti’s disparaging views on priests who attend images and help explain why, time and again, image use was relegated exclusively to the attainment of purely worldly aims.30 If the creation of images allowed one some measure of control over the subject then it is more understandable why the Mahāyāna authors characterized those who made and used images as arrogant, or why the Mīmāṃsā writers were fiercely resolute in their claim that gods could never be embodied.31 The same may also be said for the authors of the Upaniṣads and their insistence on the immaterial nature of the ultimate Brahman.32 Indeed, both religious communities went to great lengths to redefine and limit the manner in which significant religious figures might be portrayed. Some early efforts tried to direct worshipers to certain types of images or symbolism to the exclusion of others, but these efforts appear to have been less successful than attempts to entirely redefine the nature of the images themselves. For the advocates of Vedānta, for example, gods could be embodied only if they so chose to be, at their own discretion, not at the whim of the devotee.33 Phyllis Granoff has written about Hindu paradigms for embodying gods and has identified ways in which South Asian narratives and rituals emphasize a distinction between the god and the vessel (often an image) into which the deity is invited to temporarily reside.34 Granoff notes that this mode of conceptualizing divine embodiment at times came up against a countercurrent that treated the god and the images as identical.35 Ultimately she identifies the prayers used to invite the gods at the beginning of each ritual service or to dismiss them at its conclusion as having stemmed from these concerns about embodiment.36 This drive to define artistic representations as distinct from their sacred subject matter appears to have been a potent one, and implies that the opposite perception, which assumed an inherent link between image and subject, was prevalent enough to demand such corrective measures. Several Buddhist narratives, such as those about Bimbisāra’s gift for Rudrāyaṇa or the first image of the Buddha Puṣya, promote the idea that Buddhas simply cannot be depicted except through their own willing intervention.37 These stipulations preserve the autonomy of the teacher or deity and make it impossible for devotees to act unilaterally on the figure of religious authority. The Milindapañha, and the Jain texts from which its ideas may derive, make this claim in an even bolder way by emphasizing that embodiments of Buddhas (or Jinas) are totally empty and only become useful through the intentions and actions of the devotees themselves. In this approach, the devotees’ generous intentions are the sole source of positive karmic reward and in no way influence the central figures of religious devotion, which remain uninvolved in the process.38 Repeatedly, those concerned with images express reservations or develop strategies that stem from the assumption that images are innately linked to their



I M AG E S A N D I D E N T I T Y

57

subjects, that images create vulnerability, and that images have a role in rituals of dubious moral character. In all cases the proper role of the image is defined as being a decidedly worldly one. This connection to worldly concerns was undoubtedly also bolstered by the major communal role that figural art played in early South Asia. Namely, I am referring to the portrayal of regional spiritdeities. The association between image-based worship and beings such as yakṣas and nāgas could only have reinforced many of the same concepts contained in the late Vedic rituals. These accessible and highly visible images served as the foci for veneration and provided, or at least implied, a direct connection to the depicted demigod. Here it may be useful to recall Pāṇini’s rule, which removed any grammatical markers that would distinguish between the image and the deity, thereby suggesting that the two could be seen as identical.39 These images of regional gods also provided a means of gaining control over intangible and dangerous forces through the dynamics of devotional interaction. From what can be deduced through references in textual material and extant physical evidence, the veneration of these images consisted primarily of devotional offerings and prayers intended to influence the deity, who was seen as having the power to regulate aspects of wealth, health, and prosperity.40 In this process the image played a central role because it provided a connection to the deity that allowed devotees to have access to the forces that could address their worldly, but vital, needs. As we have seen, the rituals of the Gṛhyasūtras and the Brāhmaṇas contain some of the earliest references to human figural art, but this same body of literature also refers to the images of deities (daivapratimā). For example, a passage from the Ṣaḍvimṣa Brāhmaṇa describes how to expiate the bad fortune predicted by divine images that weep, laugh, spit, dance, perspire, and open or close their eyes.41 Concerns about such omens were apparently severe enough that the authors of the Arthaśāstra saw them as a potential way to exploit enemies. Among other advice, the text urges rulers to draw out an enemy king by employing agents who can make an image appear to bleed or to speak from trees. These fake miracles were described as sufficiently compelling as to coerce rival rulers from the safety of their palaces to participate in the expiatory rites and, thereby, render themselves vulnerable to attack.42 A far less dramatic depiction of image worship is presented in the Āpastamba Gṛhyasūtra. This text describes a ritual directed at deities with possible agricultural associations, whose images are paraded, placed in specially prepared huts, and offered boiled rice cooked on the domestic ritual fire.43 Significantly, the statues in these documents often exhibit signs of physical and emotional distress when the deity is upset, and the deity can be appeased by tangible offerings of shelter and food provided to the image. The implication is that the intense, sympathetic connection that existed between an effigy and its human subject could also link certain categories of deities to their icons. Taking these cultural conceptions of image use as our point of departure, one

58

CHAPTER 4

can see how depictions of a supreme godhead or a transcendent religious figure might have been cause for both confusion and alarm. Opponents undoubtedly feared misinterpretation of their intentions or the undermining of the transcendent aims central to their beliefs. The move toward an expanded role for images seems to have happened rather abruptly within some communities, but the widespread acceptance of image use was far more gradual. These differences were not worked out quickly or definitively, but as society came to view images in new ways, new opportunities for religious expression soon followed.

Resemblance and Reflection Our understanding of the link between images and their subjects can be taken further by a look at the terminology used to designate likenesses and at the way those terms have been deployed over time. Early textual and inscriptional sources use a number of different words when referring to sculptural or painted images. Pāṇini, for example, refers to images of deities as pratikṛti, a term that refers to both likenesses and substitutes. The term arcā also appears quite early and refers rather explicitly to physical objects of worship such as icons or idols. Additionally there are a host of other terms, such as kṛtyā, bimba, rūpa, vigraha, and mūrti, that can also be used to refer to figural art.44 Although not all these words were common in the same place or during the same period, many of them seem to have applied specifically to figural likenesses and there are a few such terms that were quite common before and during the first century ce. Banerjea suggests that the earliest terms, such as arcā and pratimā, were originally borrowed from other, primarily ritual, contexts. He also notes the way these early terms come to be used in later sectarian literature, alongside words such as vigraha, rūpa, and tanu, to denote that “these objects of worship were not mere symbolical representations of the particular gods and goddesses, but were their very bodies and forms.”45 Among these terms, one of the most prevalent is pratimā, which is notable for having originated as a specialized term associated with substitutions in Vedic ritual practice. In this capacity it does not seem to have explicitly referred to images, however, and typically meant something akin to reflection. Etymologically, the word derives from the verbal root mā, meaning “to copy” or “to measure,” and, with the addition of prati, means “to measure against” an original.46 Even in later texts, the word retained this earliest meaning and continued to be used in reference to reflections, but eventually it picked up the additional significance of “image” or “likeness.” One of the earliest places this usage can potentially be identified is in the Upaniṣads. Specifically, the Śvetaśvatara Upaniṣad states, “There is no likeness [pratimā] of Him whose name is Great Glory.” While it is possible that this passage is referring to a reflection, it seems much more likely that the intention here it to comment on the immaterial nature of the divine or to reinforce its lack of imitators.47



I M AG E S A N D I D E N T I T Y

59

Shifting to Buddhist material, take for example the Uttaragrantha of the Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya in which the Buddha approves images (pratimā) of the Bodhisattva for veneration, complete with encircling rings of pillars, cloth banners, and other embellishments.48 While this particular example deals with the approval of Bodhisattva images, the term pratimā also occurs in references to Buddha images, a noteworthy example of which appears in the Pratimālakṣanam. This particular text states that when the Buddha returned from Tuṣita heaven, he was approached by the monk Śāriputra, who asked what devotees are to do when the Buddha is away or has ultimately entered parinirvāṇa. In response, the Buddha recommends the creation and use of images. We have already encountered tales that are structurally quite similar to this one, in which the Buddha approves the use of specific types of images, but this example is particularly salient because the term pratimā is directly equated with the word kāya, or body. As Jacob Kinnard has pointed out, the terms referring to the Buddha’s body and those referring to his image are here used interchangeably.49 This connection, I believe, is an important one. There is a moment in the Rāmāyaṇa when the great hero Rāma must perform the Aśvamedha, the Vedic Horse Sacrifice and royal ritual par excellence. The only problem is that the ritual requires the participation of the queen, and at this time poor Sītā had been banished from the kingdom. Therefore, a golden effigy (pratimā) was used as her surrogate in the ritual. This narrative scene, in which a statue and a Vedic ritual are united, provides the perfect point of transition for further analysis of the term pratimā and its connotations. As will be demonstrated, the term was one of the most prevalent designations for physical likenesses (particularly in the Mathurā region), and such likenesses were often understood as having a close connection to the original. But to appreciate just how intense that connection was, we need to look at the way the term pratimā was used within the technical terminology of the Vedic ritual. Within the ritual logic of the Vedic tradition, the prototype, or pramā, is linked to its counterpart, or pratimā, and the two are made equivalent through the sacrificial process. Here we encounter pratimā in what seems to have been its original context, and it is used to designate a substitution or proxy that is ritually bonded with the original. Fortunately, the ritual experts were detailoriented folk and left us a good explanation of how this was understood to work. In these ritual situations, the pratimā and pramā are equated by virtue of a connection known as bandhu or nidāna. It is this principle of nidāna that is central to the performance of rituals and is understood as what ultimately makes them efficacious. For instance, the priest called the āgnīdhra is said to become the fire god Agni during the ritual through the property of nidāna, and is thereby rendered worthy of performing his role in the offering. Likewise, the priest is able to expel demons by simply flinging grass outside the sacrificial grounds because through the principle of nidāna the demons and the grass become equated.50 In both instances a powerful association is forged between what Coomaraswamy

6 0

CHAPTER 4

refers to as the “exemplar” and the “image.”51 Within the ritual context, the physical appearance of the stand-in, or pratimā, need not match that of its subject. What matters is the binding connection forged between the two by the force of the ritual and the intention of the priest. The bond is conceptual and ritual, but not necessarily visual. Within many Vedic ceremonies, for example, the sacrificer is made identical to the oblation and thereby ritually offers himself to the gods. The Vedas abound with similar associations because it is exactly this sort of substitution that makes it possible for ritual actions, performed locally, to be seen as having cosmic consequences.52 In the examples cited above, there is a consistent tendency to treat pratimā as innately forging a binding connection between the representation and that which is represented. Therefore, this sympathetic, or metonymic, association between the original and its copy is not a trait reserved only for images. Even during the Buddha’s time, this concept had been at the core of Vedic ritual practice for centuries. That the same designation is employed in referring to ritual substitutions, reflections, and figural representations helps to clarify the profound nature of the relationship between the copy and the original. Just as ritual actions can collapse distinctions between the subject and its counterpart, allowing one object to be equated with another within the ritual context, so too the image and the exemplar share a connection that goes well beyond symbolism. In this system, each copy is in some sense an identifiable substitution for the original, but because it is merely an emanation, it may lack the completeness of the exemplar. At the same time, however, these copies share an inherent connection with the original that makes them potent within the proper context.53 The term pratimā, like many related words, bore a powerful set of semantic associations that can help shed light on the way figural art was understood. These connotations may also help us appreciate the cultural implications inherent in the term pratimā when it appears in inscriptions referring to sculptural images. And it does show up in early inscriptions with noteworthy regularity. The highest concentration of examples come from the Mathurā region and spans the first century bce to the third century, the same years that image production first began to expand. This period of artistic innovation roughly corresponds to the reigns of the Śaka and Kuṣāṇa kings, and their influence may have played a part in the proliferation of the figural art that characterizes the material record of these centuries. The reasons for this concentration of artistic production will be considered later, but for the present a simple survey of the diverse contexts in which the term pratimā was applied will help to exemplify its importance as an early concept associated with figural art. In the Gwalior Museum in India there is an imposing headless image of the yakṣa Māṇibhadra from Pawaya that bears a six-line inscription describing how the worshippers in his cult paid to have his image (pratimā) sculpted (fig. 4.1).54 Given the long history of image use in the worship of spirit-deities and the per-



I M AG E S A N D I D E N T I T Y

61

4.1 Inscribed cult image of the yakṣa Māṇibhadra, Pawaya, India, ca. 100 ce. Archeological Museum, Gwalior. Photo by the author.

sonal manner in which they were venerated, finding the word pratimā used in this context helps to confirm our expectations that the image embodied or mirrored the presence of the yakṣa itself. The same might be said of a donative stele from Mirjāpur that tells of the patronage of an image (pratimā) of the goddess Śrī by a high-ranking woman.55 At Morā, a site located near Mathurā, Alexander Cunningham found a lengthy inscription in a well that mentions the presence of a shrine dedicated to images (pratimā) of the five Vṛṣṇi vīras (heroes) erected in the house of someone named Toṣā. Soon after, the archaeological traces of this shrine were found in a nearby mound. Archaeologists were unable to reconstruct the form of the badly damaged building, but they did locate the remains of several beautifully rendered sculptures, a good example of which is seen in figure 4.2. Although the

62

CHAPTER 4

4.2 Torso of a Vṛṣṇi hero, Morā (near Mathurā), 1st c. ce. Government Museum, Mathurā. Photo by the author.

head is missing, the cloak and clasp, elaborate dhoti, and traces of large earrings can still be seen. The identity of these figures and the interpretation of the inscriptions found at the site have been the matter of scholarly disagreement. Some hold the view that these heroes were members of a local royal lineage, whereas others have linked them to individuals in the Jain tradition.56 I believe, however, that Doris Meth Srinivasan’s recent identification of them as figures straddling the line between a cult of deified heroes and the emerging Vaiṣṇava tradition is extremely convincing.57 But even if we leave the question of their sectarian affiliation unresolved, it is worth noting that the images are identified in the inscription through the use of both the terms arcā and pratimā. The excavators of Morā found another intriguing inscription located on the base of an image (pratimā), of which only the lower half, from the waist to the feet, currently remains. This image depicts a woman who is identified in the inscription as Toṣā and may have been the donor of the images of the five heroes. This attribution is based on the well inscription found by Cunningham, which claims that the images had been erected in the stone house of Toṣā.58 If indeed scholars



I M AG E S A N D I D E N T I T Y

63

are correct in linking this image to a human donor, it would be one of the earliest and most clearly labeled examples of a pratimā depicting a named individual.59 Even if this figure does not represent the donor, it does assuredly commemorate an individual named Toṣā who may have been living, dead, or even deified at the time the image was made. Yet this image is not entirely unique. A sculpture with a similarly intriguing link to a human subject was found at Gaṇesrā. This statue, which is now comprised of nothing more than a pedestal and some feet, bears an inscription that identifies its subject as a general named Ulāna who was memorialized with a pratimā.60 As with the Toṣā sculpture, we cannot be sure if the subject was alive or dead when the image was made, but we can be confident that it was intended to depict a human subject. These examples are good indicators of a larger trend taking place in the decades after the cusp of the first century, during which images of king, heroes, and donors became far more common, and the material record contains strong evidence for the increased public display of commemorative portraits in successive centuries. Taken collectively, these Mathurān images suggest that there was an important expansion in the subject matter deemed acceptable for sculptural display, all of which seem to have qualified for inclusion in the semantic category of pratimā. The varieties of sculptural works that donative inscriptions identify as pratimā can be expanded even further with very little effort. For instance, several examples of labeled sculpture from the Jain tradition have been identified across the Mathurā region. The badly damaged remains of a sculpted image of Mahāvīra from Kaṇkālī Ṭīlā (fig. 4.3) and of an image of Ṛṣabhanātha from Balabhadra Kuṇḍ are both excellent examples of early Jain religious figures bearing inscriptions that name them as pratimā.61 Additionally, examples of the “Fourfold Jinas,” in which four Tīrthaṅkaras are seated back to back, have been recovered that clearly use the term pratimā in reference to the Jinas’ images.62 Given the wide range of contexts in which figural imagery was identified as pratimā, it is to be expected that this same usage occurred in Buddhist contexts as well. Archaeological digs have recovered several Buddha images that are labeled as either pratimā or buddhapratimā.63 Gritli von Mitterwallner has identified examples reaching from the early Kuṣāṇa to the reign of Vāsiṣka and beyond. Rakhal Das Banerji notes an additional example of a buddhapratimā, unmentioned by Mitterwallner, located on an inscribed pedestal from an unknown findspot in the Mathurā region.64 There are also at least two labeled images that are specifically inscribed as being the pratimā of Śākyamuni, and one example that depicts the Bodhisattva Maitreya.65 Clearly then, the designation pratimā shows up with great regularity in the Mathurā region whenever a figural image is indicated, and this usage cuts across all sectarian divisions to include even images of the Buddha himself. Similar patterns can also be observed well outside of areas that share Mathurā’s stylistic characteristics. Farther to the south, for example, there are Buddha pratimā from

6 4

CHAPTER 4

4.3 Inscribed pedestal with broken image of Mahāvīra and devotees, Mathurā, India, ca. 115 ce. State Museum, Lucknow. Photo by the American Institute of Indian Studies.

Nāgārjunakoṇḍa (third–fourth century ce), Jaggayyepeta (sixth century ce), and Gummadidurru (eighth–ninth century ce).66 Similar terminology can be seen on inscriptions identifying Buddha images at the Kānherī caves in the west, in Gaḍhwā in the east, and at many points in between.67 John Rosenfield, for instance, has discussed three such images from the Buddhist center at Sārnāth, which all appear to have been donated by one industrious monk.68 What conclusions might we draw from this range of examples? At a minimum, we are reminded, once again, that ideas about images cut across sectarian lines, as every king, monk, and priest grappled with the same preexistent assumptions about the way likenesses functioned. Further, the very language used to identify and discuss images was replete with ancient connotations of ritual substitutions and promised a profound equivalency between the image and the subject. The fact that this terminology appears on many of the earliest sculptural examples speaks to the importance that these concepts held for participants in these emerging image cults. Over time, the contexts in which these bonds occurred seem to have shaped the way they were conceived. The later literature often exhibits a shifting valence between the subject and the object that is not always consistent or easy to define. For example, many sources represent the link between the image and the origi-



I M AG E S A N D I D E N T I T Y

65

nal as being inherently and implicitly binding, whereas others suggest that this bond can be initiated or intensified as a result of ritual action or through direct possession by that which is being depicted. One perspective presents the image as a temporary receptacle for the divine presence that is activated or dismissed through the performance of ritual, whereas another credits images with maintaining a connection that is more permanent and continuous.69 In other words, although the bond between the image and the subject is almost universally acknowledged, it has been rationalized in more than one way.

Images and Agency I have attempted to make the case that figural images in early South Asia evoked the presence of that which they depicted in a manner that was understood to be far more than superficial. This potent connection empowered Vedic ritual concepts, served as the primary mechanism of interchange with spirit-deities, and could expose those who were depicted to both influence and potential risk. This extraordinary immediacy must have been deeply appealing to some and equally troubling to others. However, the discussion so far has been rather theoretical. These connections and bonds can seem quite insubstantial at times, and it is hard to envision how such concepts might have been understood in broader contexts. Fortunately, literature has a way of grounding abstract ideas. It was a standard rhetorical device to bolster an ideological stance by making reference to a story that appeared to set a precedent for the point being established. This practice makes it prudent to avoid regarding the narrative material as being entirely divorced from the more explicitly theoretical or doctrinal texts. My intention, therefore, is to offer a very broad view of the manner in which images were treated in South Asian narratives in the hope that their presentation will provide insight into the theoretical discussions of images that we have already encountered. Ultimately, I hope to demonstrate that a prevailing and recurrent feature of these tales is that images are never simply static or dormant things. Rather they are active figures enlivened with a degree of agency that allows them to be participants in their own circumstances. Although the details may vary, this agency attributed to images remains a persistent feature in the textual sources over a remarkably long period of time. While this was not the only way that images were understood, it was quite certainly a widespread and common view. I have selected the tales that follow from a variety of sources, ranging from before the first century to the late twelfth century ce, but this is by no means an exhaustive list of South Asian stories dealing with images. I prioritized these examples because they offer some insight into the ways embodiment was conceived of over long stretches of South Asian history, and because they present us with examples of active images. Seen collectively, this broad sample of stories about images can help us understand the ideas that constituted the background

6 6

CHAPTER 4

against which Buddhist concepts of figural embodiment were shaped. I should also note that tales involving images of the Buddha have been reserved for a later discussion. In terms of narrative sources, the Citralakṣaṇa is a good place to start. Most scholars believe this text to be a product of the fifth or sixth century, but some have suggested that it dates back to the early years of the Gupta dynasty. Regardless of its actual age, the work itself claims to tell the story of the divine origins of image making.70 As the story begins, a Brahman blames a king for the premature death of his son. He does so based on the premise that the king and his karma ultimately bear some responsibility for all events that occur in his lands. The king is stung by these accusations and promptly takes up the issue with Yama, the god of death. When Yama points out the permanency of death and politely refuses to comply with the king’s request for the dead boy to be returned, things heat up. Eventually, a magical shoving match between Yama and the king develops and the situation threatens to become extremely violent, which prompts the god Brahmā to intervene. Brahmā lays the fault for these events with karma but proposes a solution that may fix the problem. He instructs the king to paint an image of the dead boy that corresponds to the original in form and color. Then Brahmā miraculously raises the boy from the image, much to the delight of the Brahman and the king.71 In this tale a dead boy is quite literally remade from his likeness, and the father apparently recognizes no distinction between this version of his son and the one that passed away. The image is presented as a necessary prerequisite for the miracle to work, but Brahmā’s reliance on painting was perhaps also inspired by the author’s desire to emphasize the power of art. Nevertheless, it is revealing that this is the manner in which Brahmā chose to do so. A very similar situation is related in the Citrasūtra of the Viṣṇudharmottara Purāṇa.72 In this tale (cited at the opening of this chapter), the sage Nārāyaṇa was doing penance when he was interrupted by ten beautiful apsaras who were intent on disturbing his meditations. To drive off these vain celestial maidens, Nārāyaṇa painted his thigh with mango juice. There he created the image of an apsara of unsurpassed beauty who, when he was finished, immediately sprang to life. The beauty of this newly formed individual, named Urvaśī, was so radiant that she shamed the trouble-making apsaras, who quickly departed. The tales of the Brahman’s son and of Urvaśī introduce a new concept to our discussion, the living image. In both tales the creation of an image is synonymous with the creation of a life, and, in the latter case, the figure does not even appear to have had a precedent. This situation is somewhat unusual, however, and it is far more common for artists to create with a specific subject in mind and, by so doing, to forge a bond with that individual. Within the South Asian literary corpus, there are a number of tales in which images, usually statues, act on behalf of the beings they depict or even act as surrogate bodies for the being they portray.



I M AG E S A N D I D E N T I T Y

67

Probably one of the earliest and most well-known of these is the story of Ekalavya, told in the Mahābhārata.73 In this tale, the forest-dwelling Ekalavya asks to study archery with the royal instructor, Droṇa, but because Ekalavya lacks the proper pedigree, Droṇa refuses his request. Undaunted, Ekalavya creates a clay image of Droṇa and proceeds to treat it as if it were his teacher. This approach apparently works too well, and the skills that Ekalavya develops in this manner ultimately outshine even those of the royal family. In response to this development, Droṇa confronts Ekalavya, acknowledges him as a pupil, and demands that he remove his own thumb, thereby eliminating him as a military threat to the royal line. Interestingly, the justification for this demand hinges on the notion that Ekalavya owes Droṇa for the instruction provided by his image. Such a situation is decidedly unusual, but it effectively highlights the potential consequences of gaining an advantage by resorting to the use of another person’s likeness. The characters in the epic question Ekalavya’s right to make the image but never doubt the image’s potency or the role it played in Ekalavya’s training. Although it is the image of a human, Droṇa, that is credited with Ekalavya’s education, it is far more common to find tales attributing remarkable qualities to the images of local gods. Take, for example, the tale of Dargilā. This Jain tale is found in the twelfth-century Sthavirāvalīcarita, and relates the story of a yakṣa statue that could be used to verify the truth.74 In this story an adulterer named Dargilā has her virtue challenged by her father-in-law. To contest the accusation, she agrees to take an oath and pass through the legs of the yakṣa Śobhana. According to custom, no person who takes a false oath can safely pass through the legs of this particular yakṣa’s statue without being crushed. Cleverly, Dargilā instructs her lover to dress as a madman and wait next to the statue. As Dargilā approaches the image, the disguised lover, by prior arrangement, publicly embraces her and then runs off. After this, Dargilā steps forward and vows that, aside from her husband and the madman, she has been embraced by no man. Because her oath was technically true, she perplexes the yakṣa and passes safely between the statue’s legs, thereby thwarting the accusations. In Dargilā’s tale the yakṣa has the power to interact with the community through its sculpted image. In a sense, the statue is treated as being synonymous with the deity itself and provides the mechanism to punish anyone who would lie while under oath. While many of the story’s details may be difficult to accept as anything but fanciful, the tale does indicate that images of supernatural beings were understood to possess a certain measure of agency. Dating between the eleventh and the thirteenth century, the story of Vikrama, known as the Vikramacarita or the Siṃhāsanadvātrimśika, is roughly contemporaneous with the story of Dargilā and exhibits many similarities in its treatment of images. The frame of the story involves King Bhoja finding the throne of the great King Vikrama, who had ruled in ages past. This throne is supported by thirty-two statues, each of which depicts a goddess. The king wishes to claim the spectacular throne for himself, but each time poor Bhoja

6 8

CHAPTER 4

tries to mount it one of the statues comes to life and tells him a tale of how unworthy he is when compared to the magnificent virtue of Vikrama. Eventually, Bhoja learns the lessons he needs to and is given permission to sit upon the throne, at which point it is revealed that the statues were in fact heavenly maidens who had been cursed to remain trapped until a worthy king mounted the throne, thereby freeing them.75 This situation, in which heavenly beings are trapped in their own images, calls to mind a passage from the Mānimekhalai. This Tamil text provides a detailed account of the relationship between an image and its resident spiritdeity. The text itself dates to either the second or sixth century ce, and was therefore written much earlier than the previous two examples. But, despite its age, it has many features in common with those other tales.76 In one section of this complicated tale, the young and accomplished Buddhist nun Mānimekhalai is fleeing the unwanted attention of a local prince and seeks refuge behind a gate in the city’s sanctuary. There she encounters a spirit-deity who resides within an image carved onto a pillar. She addresses the spirit as “the genie that resides in this place who, without ever lying, unveils things hidden,” and, true to the nun’s expectations, the yakṣa proceeds to tell Mānimekhalai about her past lives and advises her on how to remain safe. The spirit goes on to say, “I also wish to explain to you, since it surprises you, why figures painted in a fresco or images modeled in clay or sculpted in stone or wood should sometimes have the power to speak.”77 The spirit of the pillar tells how talented craftsmen can, “with masterly calculations,” fashion images of the gods and thereby trap heavenly powers. The text goes on to say that the divinities thus represented are present through their images. Therefore, “This is why the perspicacious know that through these images one can communicate with the divinities they represent.” 78 This passage provides a remarkably comprehensive explanation of one manner of envisioning the relationship between images and the divinities they represent. This connection between the represented and the representation is portrayed as powerfully binding and seems to have been initiated, at least in the situation presented in the Mānimekhalai, by the human artist and not at the bidding or whim of the spirit-deity. Furthermore, it implies that through the copy one can gain access to the original even if it is normally intangible, as in the case of gods. The authors of these tales employ images as a means of allowing dramatic interaction between humans and divine forces, thereby crediting the images with exhibiting a notable degree of both agency and mobility. Yet the miraculous powers attributed to images were, at times, seen as more than merely literary tropes relegated to works of fiction. Take, for example, the story of the yakṣī Hārītī and its connection to the Buddhist legal literature. A few versions of Hārītī’s tale exist, but she is typically described as having devastated the capital of Magadha by devouring many of its children (“devouring” is here most likely a reference to disease). Faced with this terror, the townsfolk beg the Buddha to intervene. To do so, the Buddha hides



I M AG E S A N D I D E N T I T Y

69

4.4 Hārītī and her consort flanked by attendants, Cave 7 porch, right chamber, Aurangabad, India, ca. 575–650 ce. Photo by the American Institute of Indian Studies.

the youngest of Hārītī’s five hundred children under his begging bowl and does not reveal him until Hārītī begins to understand the pain she has been causing other parents. After her conversion to Buddhism, Hārītī agrees to give up the practice of harming people, and in return the Buddha promises that she will be given sustenance from a portion of all food donated to the Buddhist monastic community. The Vinaya of the Sarvāstivāda school, which contains this tale, also dictates that monasteries should present a small portion of their food to “the yakṣī known as Hārītī.”79 As one might expect, this transaction appears to have been achieved by making offerings to Hārītī’s image, an arrangement partially confirmed by the fact that the Chinese Buddhist pilgrim Yijing (ca. 670 ce) mentions seeing images of Hārītī in the porches and dining areas of numerous monastic residences. Her sculptural likenesses have also been found at Buddhist sites such as Ajaṇṭā, Aurangabad, and Ratnāgiri, as well as across regions stretching from Afghanistan to Java. At Aurangabad, for example, she shares a shrine in Cave 7 with her consort Pañcika and is characteristically depicted with a child on her knee (fig. 4.4).80 At these various sites, each image apparently provided access to the goddess and served as a conduit for offerings intended to ensure her continued

70

CHAPTER 4

guardianship and good graces. Given the way in which images typically functioned in ritual contexts, it is to be expected that the yakṣī’s statue would allow worshipers to influence her, but this connection through a sculptural image seems to have worked in both directions. Prescriptive texts such as the Arthaśāstra also reflect this sensibility. This particular text was a primer on governance and administration for kings, written either in the third century bce or, at least in part, later in the third to fourth centuries by authors trying to antiquate the text by using the names of earlier authors.81 This work provides advice on a wide range of topics and has at its core a rather ruthless and frequently underhanded practicality. This is not a text that is overtly beholden to any religious tradition, and therefore provides an important perspective. Earlier in this chapter this text’s advice on how to fake image-based miracles was already discussed.82 A similar tactic is recommended as a way of instilling terror in the enemies of one’s kingdom. By means of an underground passage, agents are directed to enter hollow images of deities and from these locations make proclamations of doom designed to drive an enemy to surrender.83 The context for these passages is significantly different from those of the previous examples taken from narrative sources; however, the Arthaśāstra references help to confirm the association between images and miracles. Even though the text describes the faking of miraculous occurrences involving images, these tactics would, logically, not be effective if the general populace did not deem them to be possible. Furthermore, even the authors of the Arthaśāstra seem to accept such events as possibilities because the text also contains advice on what to do if real evil spirits begin to plague one’s kingdom. In fact, one of the few groups to whom the king is advised to show respect are those who are “experts in the practice of magic and holy ascetics capable of counteracting divine calamities” brought on by angered spirit-deities.84 The idea that actions undertaken by statues portend misfortune appears to have a very long history. Portions of the Atharvaveda warn that when images of gods dance, shake, laugh, sing, or engage in other activities, it forewarns of evil.85 A similar sentiment is articulated in the Bṛhat Saṃhitā, which states that when Śiva’s emblems, images of gods, or holy places break, move, sweat, shed tears, fall, or mutter without cause, it signifies the destruction of kings and their countries.86 Such events require ritual expiation to ward off disaster, and it seems likely that these are the sorts of fears that the authors of the Arthaśāstra counted on for their tactics to work. The potential dangers foretold via images are explicated further in another passage from the Bṛhat Saṃhitā, which states, Any unnatural behavior observed in the images of Sages, Yama (God of Death), the Manes, and the Creator presage evil to Brāhmaṇas; one in the idols of Śiva and the protectors of the quarters (eight in number), to the ­cattle or animals; one in the images of Jupiter, Venus and Saturn



I M AG E S A N D I D E N T I T Y

71

to priests; one in that of Viṣṇu, to the people at large; one in those of Skanda and Viśākha, to the governors of provinces, one in that of the Sage Vyāsa, to the ministers; one in that of Lord Gaṇapati, to the commander of the army; one of those in the Creator and Viśvakarman (celestial architect) foreshadows the destruction of the people.87

The passage goes on to warn that changes in images of the royal household (specifically sons, daughters, wives, servants, and kinsmen) predict that those individuals will suffer misfortune.88 Interest in the actions of statues is also reflected in the Buddhist sources dating to roughly the same period. The seventh-century Chinese pilgrim Xuanzang records many tales involving statues that, for various reasons, have abandoned their usually sedentary existence. For example, in Kapiśa, Xuanzang tells of a monastery that hid its wealth under the right foot of a statue depicting the yakṣa king Vaiśravaṇa. A petty ruler heard of these jewels and drove off the monks in an attempt to seize the wealth. But as he began digging, the parrot that was sculpted on Vaiśravaṇa’s head began to shriek and the earth itself quaked and threw down the king and his army. The understandably frightened king quickly confessed his fault to the monks and withdrew.89 The figure of Vaiśravaṇa features rather prominently in the work of Xuanzang, and the presence of his image is repeatedly presented as a source of security for the monks. In another example, Xuanzang notes that the monastery of Navasaṃghārāma, which contains a jeweled Buddha in a hall full of precious materials, has not been robbed because of the power attributed to a statue of the yakṣa lord Vaiśravaṇa. Xuanzang records that this deity confronted one potential thief in his dreams. This encounter was so terrifying that it spurred the repentant man to hurriedly confess his wicked plans just before succumbing to a sudden death.90 As in the previous example, the presence of the statue is credited with evoking the yakṣa king and sustaining his protective influence.91 Perhaps the most remarkable of Xuanzang’s testimony regarding Vaiśravaṇa is his assertion that the king of Khotan considered his lineage to have originated with an ancestor born of Vaiśravaṇa’s statue.92 This interesting claim equates a miraculous birth from the head of a statue with familial descent from the god himself. It is difficult to ascertain if this simply constitutes a royal assertion of divine lineage or if it preserves a connection to a deified ancestor. But it is clear that the image of Vaiśravaṇa signified the presence of a powerful resident in these monasteries and courts. Xuanzang intimates that similarly miraculous qualities are possessed by images of Bodhisattvas as well. In one case, he makes the intriguing assertion that an image of Maitreya possesses miraculous spiritual powers. Although he refrains from stipulating just what those powers are, he does suggest that this marvelous hundred-foot gilded wooden image derived some of its supernatural qualities from its remarkable origins. In this case, an arhat was said to have

72

CHAPTER 4

taken the artist to Tuṣita heaven three times so that he could observe Maitreya in person while making the image.93 In a second example, Xuanzang describes an image of Avalokiteśvara that has the habit of moving about the vihāra in which it resides. Specifically, he notes that different disciples saw the image in different parts of the hall. “Sometimes he (i.e., the figure) seems to be standing by the side door; sometimes he goes out in front of the eaves.” 94 Xuanzang proceeds to note, “Religious people . . . from all parts, come together in numbers to offer their gifts.”95 So, by Xuanzang’s estimation, this restless statue and its unusual behavior were well known and quite popular. The examples presented so far have reinforced the idea that figural images dissolve and blur distinctions between the representation and its subject matter. In each case, the artwork either allows devotees to access powerful beings or permits spiritual forces to act upon the world directly. In both situations, images of important religious figures are credited with possessing agency that mark them as extensions of, or surrogates for, their subjects. In these stories there is no such thing as a mere figural image. The bonds like those discussed in relation to Vedic ritual contexts appear to be at work in these stories as well. Each of these examples acknowledges a link between object and subject, but there are, at times, variations in the circumstances or manner in which those connections manifest. The equivalency between the representation and the represented apparently did not prevent the “original” from occasionally manifesting itself through other means. In some cases a deity or other religious figure makes itself visible near its image but not through it. These circumstances make it explicit that such bonds were not always understood to constitute the totality of the figure being represented and, as such, opened the ways for multiple modes of envisioning embodiment. For example, at another point in his pilgrimage account, Xuanzang describes an image of the Bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara that provided a remarkable vision to devout observers. In his words: “[T]hose who with sincere faith desire (vow or pray) to see him, to them the Bodhisattva appears coming forth from the image, his body of marvelous beauty, and he gives rest and assurance to the travelers.” 96 While an image producing a miracle is not new, the circumstances described in the quotation do highlight an ambiguity. Namely, it is never made clear if the image is identical to the Bodhisattva or if it constitutes an entity or shell separate from Avalokiteśvara himself. In this case the actual Bodhisattva appears to be “coming forth” from the image, whereas in Xuanzang’s earlier examples the relationship between the image and its subject seems to have been far more encompassing. This slippage between forms of mimesis within the work of a single author suggests that concepts of embodiment were not monolithic. Nor were modes of envisioning embodiment necessarily understood to be mutually exclusive. This ambiguity is not reserved solely for Buddhist figures. Take, for example, the story of the yakṣa Moggarapāṇi. The Antagaḍa-dasāo, a first- or second-



I M AG E S A N D I D E N T I T Y

73

century bce Jain text, contains the story of an unfortunate garland maker named Ajjunae.97 Every morning Ajjunae would pay his respects to the yakṣa Moggarapāṇi by bringing offerings to his huge iron mace-wielding statue. One day, however, while Ajjunae and his wife were making offerings, they were beset by bandits, who tied up Ajjunae and raped his wife. As this horrible event is taking place, Ajjunae has serious doubts that the yakṣa really exists and finds it reprehensible that the Moggarapāṇi would allow such terrible things to take place in his grove without intervening. At this point the yakṣa possesses Ajjunae, granting him great strength and driving him into a homicidal rage. The garland maker breaks his bonds, lifts the statue’s giant mace, and proceeds to kill the bandits. Unfortunately the power of the yakṣa overwhelms Ajjunae, driving him to kill his wife. Even after this the possession does not end, and on each successive day Ajjunae kills seven more victims. This terror continues until a Jain ascetic manages to hold Ajjunae at bay with his gaze and succeeds in driving the blood-thirsty spirit from his body. At this point Ajjunae deeply regrets his actions, becomes a Jain monk, and willingly bears the abuse of his victims’ families.98 Clearly this tale cannot be taken as a model of historical accuracy, nor was it ever intended to be used as such. Its primary purpose seems to have been to demonstrate the power of Jain beliefs in overcoming dangerous passions, capricious spirit-deities, and an escalating pattern of violence. However, it also contains several relevant insights into the ways in which images were used. Just as in the tales cited above, the statue and the spirit-deity represented share a complicated manner of interaction. While the statue here is not identical with the yakṣa, as is demonstrated by the fact that Moggarapāṇi leaves the image to possess the unfortunate garland maker, it is also clear that under normal circumstance the yakṣa can be addressed and contacted through the image itself. There is an inherent association, albeit not an all-consuming or indivisible one, between the image and that which is represented.99 The Mahāvastu contains two parallel passages that recount the events that occurred in the past lives of the Buddhas Dīpankara and Śākyamuni, when they were presented at temples (devakula) dedicated to deities worshipped by their families.100 In both stories the goddess of the temple, named Abhayā in the Śākyamuni tale, manifests herself and bows to the future Buddha before he can worship her. While no images are explicitly mentioned, the text does tell us that the child was brought into the goddess’s presence. If we are correct in reading this as a reference to Abhayā’s image, and it seems that devakulas did contain images, this may be another example of a deity manifesting in or near her own likeness.101 Phyllis Granoff has explored the distinction between images and deities’ “true forms” and in so doing makes reference to a passage from the Lalitavistara.102 This Buddhist text was likely to have been known in South Asia before the early fourth century and is one of the primary documents telling the events

74

CHAPTER 4

of Śākyamuni’s life up until the time of his first sermon.103 At the start of the eighth chapter, the child who will become the Buddha is brought into a temple dedicated to the gods. When he enters, the statues of all of the deities, including Śiva, Nārāyaṇa, Brahmā, Kubera, Sūrya, and Śakra, among others, immediately prostrate themselves before the Buddha-to-be. After relating this portion of the tale, Granoff notes that the text proceeds to inform the reader, “[T]he gods whose images these were, all showed their true forms and proclaimed these verses.”104 That is to say, the “real” gods then join their sculpted likenesses in honoring the Buddha much in the same manner that Xuanang described Ava­ lokiteśvara coming forth from his image. In both cases, proximity to the image attracts the attention of the divine figures, but they are not entirely contained or limited by its material form. Intriguingly, the Chinese version of the Lalitavistara does not include this same event from the life of Śākyamuni. Instead, it preserves a tale that closely parallels the well-known story of the Bodhisattva’s presentation to the yakṣa Śākyavardhana. The Śākyavardhana tale, which is told in the Divyāvadāna and has been depicted on several sculptural panels dated to before the second century ce (including “aniconic” reliefs from Nāgārjunakoṇḍa, Chandavaram, and Kanaganahalli), tells how Śākyamuni’s family attempted to present him at the shrine of their lineage’s tutelary deity (fig. 4.5). But before the infant could be formally presented, the yakṣa quickly manifested and bowed to the child who would become the Buddha.105 In most depictions of this scene, the yakṣa is shown emerging from a tree or throne with his hands together in a gesture of supplication. In sculptural examples of this event, most notably from Nāgārjunakoṇḍa, Amarāvatī, and Chanda­ varam, the spirit-deity does not seem to be manifesting through a statue, rather he is shown half-embedded in the surface from which he emerges. In the Nāgār­ junakoṇḍa examples he appears as if stepping from an altar or small shrine, whereas in the Chandavaram relief the yakṣa’s upper torso extends from a hollow in the tree that serves as his abode. If we are correct in reading these scenes, then the connection between deities and their images may have been conceived, at times, as being not unlike the links such beings held to their shrines and altars. Within the narrative tradition, the equivalency or distance between religious figures and their images seems frequently to have been driven by the circumstantial needs of the story. But it is also possible to see this diversity as being a response to the various criticisms and concerns (as discussed in chapter 3) that opposed the figural portrayal of spiritually important subjects and feared that others might misunderstand them to be inextricably tied to their images. Even in the stories of Vikrama and Mānimekhalai, in which the deities appear to be trapped in their likenesses, the divine figures prove to be “in” the statues but not necessarily “of” them. This to say, they could potentially be freed from their connection to the physical objects that embodied them, as the goddesses in



I M AG E S A N D I D E N T I T Y

75

4.5 “Aniconic” ­depiction of the ­Buddha’s family presenting him (on the swaddling cloth) to the yakṣa Śākyavardhana, Chandavaram, India, ca. 2nd c. ce. Archeological Museum, Hyderabad. Photo by the author.

Vikrama’s tale ultimately were. In short, gods and other religious figures seem to have had a far more complicated relationship to their images than we might expect, and many of these same concerns appear to have also applied to images of people as well. Narratives such as these, in which sculpted and painted images are routinely credited with agency, form the background against which those who were resistant to aspects of image-based devotion framed their arguments. Consequently, understanding the implications embedded in prevailing concepts of representation will help us grasp why some Buddhists felt that it was imperative to repeatedly and emphatically reinforce the absolute nature of the Teacher’s absence. Permitting these culturally powerful assumptions to go unaddressed would potentially risk undermining the very idea of nirvāṇa, and with it some of the core concepts of the Dharma. Yet for many the outright rejection of images does not seem to have been desirable either. But before we look at the numerous ingenious ways that various Buddhist communities adapted their conceptualization of embodiment so as to render

76

CHAPTER 4

images acceptable, we must first ask a far more basic question. Namely, what historical circumstances may have led to these shifts in artistic practice? Up to this point, we have examined various sectarian objections to image use, and have explored the prevailing and potentially problematic ways in which images were understood to behave within South Asian representational systems. But we have yet to ascertain what developments may have driven this change in custom and opened the way to new modes of representation.



I M AG E S A N D I D E N T I T Y

77

5 / HIST ORICAL SHIFT S

Priest.- It is not that I prohibit you [from worshipping] for these reasons; but I (want to) avoid the salutation by a Brahman mistaking these for gods, these are (the images of ) kshatriyas [kings]. Bharat.- Oh I see; these are kshatriyas. Then, who are they? Priest.- These are born in the line of Ikshvaku. Bharata discovers the statues he thought were gods actually depict his royal relatives, Bhāsa, Bhāsa’s Pratimā Nāṭakam

Preconceptions and Images

I

n previous chapters, I have attempted to explore various connotations and associations that may have affected early South Asian conceptions of figural art and rendered such displays inappropriate to public contexts. To review a bit, the Vedas and the Upaniṣads treat images and all sensory phenomena with a certain amount of distrust. Such physical forms are characterized as illusory, and the supreme Brahman is said to transcend any limited modes of embodiment. Therefore, images were relegated to specific roles that did not (at first) include the attainment of elevated spiritual states. Conversely, images appear to have been one of the primary mechanisms by which people sought to satisfy worldly goals.1 By most accounts, figural imagery played several distinct roles in the rites and rituals designed to aid people with both personal ambitions and basic human needs. The most obvious examples of this include the rites described in the Gṛhyasūtras, the Brāhmaṇas, and late Vedas, each of which prescribe complex magical rituals that promise specific, tangible results when properly performed. While not all of these rituals include the use of figural imagery, those that promise control over other individuals frequently do. Whether the rituals were designed to vanquish enemies or had the goal of attracting the attention of a romantic interest, the images served a crucial function in linking the actions of the ritual to the intended target. Nor were all of the image-based rituals in these texts aimed at humans. Some of the texts describe complex rituals in which images are used as a means to

78

placate or please deities. Such rituals were not, however, the only contexts in which figural art was used to gain access to divinities. People also had recourse to images of local devatās, yakṣas, nāgas, and other spirit-deities who were believed to regulate the vagaries of weather, health, and opportunity. The veneration of these beings constitutes one of the earliest expressions of personal, devotional worship known to South Asia, and it is from these cults that later forms of bhakti devotion most likely derive. These regional deities were not associated with transcendence, however, nor did they typically offer promises of spiritual attainment. Indeed, these beings were very much part of the karmic world and primarily offered a way for devotees to gain some control over the capricious forces of nature and fortune. These deities both caused and removed disease, produced drought and fertility, and regulated a multitude of other worldly but deeply vital aspects of life.2 Before the first century bce, South Asian conceptions of figural representation and its proper functions went relatively unchallenged. It is not until the late first century bce and into the early centuries ce that literary advocacy for and aversion to image-based practices began developing in earnest. During these centuries, several Buddhist, Jain, and Brahmanic sources reacted not to images themselves but rather to the new types of subject matter, the new contexts in which images were appearing, and the manner in which they were being used in religious rites. It is not difficult, therefore, to find authors writing to express their disapproval of these innovations. It is important to keep in mind, however, that these are the same centuries from which we have our first extant images of the Buddha, early Hindu deities, and the Jinas, so there were unquestionably some members of these religious communities who embraced the new artistic developments. It is also in these centuries that we find our first verifiable examples of portraiture depicting living humans. Before this, there are examples of historical scenes and tales from past ages that depict specific human subjects, and there are images of local deities that may arguably have been based on deified ancestors, but to my knowledge, there was nothing like portraiture of the living made of lasting materials or displayed openly. I will be arguing in this chapter that the use of public portraiture found its earliest and most avid proponents almost exclusively among the political elite. Judging from the evidence I have been able to assemble, the expanded use of portraiture depicting the living appears to have been actively instigated from the “top” down, rather than having emerged as a widespread popular movement. Padma Kaimal recently raised the possibility that the human figures on the Buddhist site of Bhārhut (second century bce) may be portraits of donors, but she has observed correctly that the images on the railing cannot be matched to any of the donative inscriptions at the site.3 I agree with her characterization that these figures exhibit signs of devotion, but I also think it necessary to make a distinction between figures of generic devotees and intentional portraiture of



H I S TO R I C A L S H I F T S

79

specific donors. If we conceive of portraiture, at its most basic, as expressing the intention to depict a specific individual, the lack of a connection between the artwork and donative inscriptions makes it very difficult to see (and impossible to prove) these early figures as anything but general, idealized types. In light of the ways the Gṛhyasūtras, the Brāhmaṇas, and related texts use figural representations, it is also not unreasonable to assume that most people would have associated portraiture with a certain amount of risk and may have been decidedly uninterested in exposing themselves in such a fashion. Turning to later examples, it is clear that in the early centuries ce there was a marked increase in figural representation, and at least some of these figures may have been intended to depict specific donors. However, the question of how to identify donor portraits is an extremely vexed one, and in the absence of inscriptional evidence it is remarkably difficult to know how figural images would have been understood by ancient viewers. This confusion is particularly acute at sites in which multiple donors are named, since it is all the more difficult to link the images to any specific individual. John Rosenfield identifies several examples of possible donor images from the Swāt region that he dates to the first century ce. While these clearly depict people engaged in worship or carrying offerings, such figures may simply serve to highlight the importance of the narrative events, sacred sites, or scenes of worship that they typically adorn.4 In most cases the depictions of such figures appear to be both idealized and generalized to a degree that makes them easy to recognize as a representative type but difficult to read as specific individuals. Such examples, therefore, do little in helping us to understand how the practices of portraiture in South Asia got started or in providing us with insight into the ways viewers would have understood such imagery. There are, however, some possible avenues of inquiry open to us, one of which involves locating examples of sculpture displaying both donative inscriptions and images of donors. This type of survey will reveal any correlations between the people named in the inscriptions and their supposed likenesses depicted in stone. While we, naturally, cannot comment of the ways these images do or do not capture individuals’ facial features, we can at least record correspondences with the donors’ genders, numbers, and membership in the monastic community. Another approach involves looking to the contemporary narrative and dramatic traditions to see how images and portraits are presented in works of fiction. We will begin with the images.

Donors, Portraits, and Likeness Perhaps the most notable early format in which potential donor images appear are on the many sculptural depictions of the Buddhas, Jinas, and other figures of religious importance that were created during the reigns of the Śaka and Kuṣāṇa kings. The inclusion of these accompanying figures, which range in

8 0

CHAPTER 5

5.1 Fragment of pedestal depicting ­devotees honoring a wheel, Mathurā, India, 2nd–3rd c. ce. Government Museum, Mathurā. Photo by the ­A merican Institute of Indian Studies.

number from one to twenty on a single image, are notable for their absence from images (such as those of nāgas and yakṣas) made before this period. These representations of devotees and worshippers, which either flank the central figure or adorn the pedestal on which the main image rests, are varied enough in their arrangement and numbers to invite speculation over whether or not they were intended to visually depict specific individuals. Almost all of these examples have been damaged in some fashion, and the vast majority consists of little more than the images of devotees at the feet of a large central image. This use of hieratic scale gives us a firm assurance that the



H I S TO R I C A L S H I F T S

81

5.2 Broken pedestal with kneeling devotee and standing Bodhisattva, Mathurā, India, 2nd– 3rd c. ce. State Museum, Lucknow. Photo by the American Institute of Indian Studies.

devotees occupy a subordinate status, but does little to clarify their exact relationship to the figure of veneration. Although the devotees’ faces are fairly standardized and reflect idealized features, portraiture is not always indicated by physical likeness, and one wonders how the donors themselves understood the presence of these figures engaged in acts of devotion. The precise answer to this question will almost certainly have to remain elusive, because it requires reconstructing the intentions of the works’ creators. At best, we can hope to locate dedicatory inscriptions and compare them to the depictions of devotees to see how well the art and text coincide. Unfortunately, by taking this approach we are unavoidably limiting our pool of evidence because only a small number of these inscribed images exist (I have located twenty-four), and almost all come from the Mathurā region.5 This observation in itself raises some interesting questions about the relationship between the development of donor images and the cultural influence of Mathurā as a seat of Kuṣāṇa political power (table 5.1).6 This subset of images described below sheds light on the nature of the relationship between named donors and the sculpture that their patronage helped to create. Even though it is best to be cautious when drawing conclusions from a small sample, it is also necessary to base our analysis on whatever firm evidence we do have, and this evidence demonstrates rather clearly that in the first through the third centuries ce there is no direct correlation between named

82

CHAPTER 5

5.3 (left) Seated Buddha with devotees depicted on the pedestal, Śrāvastī, India, 2nd c. ce. State Museum, Lucknow. Photo by the American Institute of Indian Studies. 5.4 (below) Pedestal with numerous ­devotees from a broken standing Buddha, Sāñcī, India, 2nd c. ce. Sāñcī Museum. Photo by the American Institute of Indian Studies.

Naṃdā, a female relative of the satrap Donor was named but is now illegible Siṃhaka Puśikā Nāgapayā wife of trader Dharmakasa Puśyadatā, daughter of Gunda, a master of the Vihāra Monk named Viraṇa, with his mother and father Karaṭita Nun Buddhadevā, pupil of Nun Puṣyahatinī, with her parents Name is illegible Monk Buddhavarman Sihadeva, a cloak maker Woman named Vidyāmatī

Early 1st c. CE

Year 5 Kaniṣka

Year 8 Kaniṣka (or possibly 108)

Year 17 Kaniṣka

Year 23 Kaniṣka

Year 32

Year 29 Huviṣka

Year 39 Huviṣka

Year 51 (Huviṣka?)

Year 51 Huviṣka

Late 2nd c. CE

Year (1) 22 Vaskuṣāna (Vāsudeva?)

Pedestal fragment from Buddha/­ Bodhisattva, Mathurā 3 (fig. 5.1)

Lower portion of seated Buddha, Pālīkheṛā4

Lower part of seated Bodhisattva, Mathurā 5

Headless, armless Bodhisattva, Sonkh6

Seated Buddha/Bodhisattva, ­A hicchatra7 (fig. 1.4)

Maitreya, Girdarpur8

Seated headless Bodhisattva, Mathurā9

Seated Buddha, Ānyor 10

Feet and pedestal of standing image, Mathurā 11 (fig. 5.2)

Seated Buddha, Śrāvastī 12 (fig. 5.3)

Śākyamuni, Mathurā relocated to Sāñcī 13 (fig. 5.4)

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

Donor

Seated Bodhisattva fragment, Mathurā 2

Date and Reigning King (if Mentioned)1

1

Buddhist Examples

Image Type, Location

Parents and all sentient beings

Nirvāṇa for Teacher Saṃghadāsa, and welfare for mother, father, and all beings

For teachers, Mahāsāṃghikas

For all sentient beings

Grouping of five women, four men, and two boys.

Four devotees, two men and two women.

Two damaged figures, one of which can be seen to be male. The other is small, possibly a child.

Two male devotees, one with turban and one bareheaded (possibly Indra and Brahmā).

Two male and two female devotees.

Two men, a woman, and a child. All are dressed in lay Indo-Scythian fashions.

Woman and man on left, two women on the right. All wear simple garments.

For all teachers, senior śramaṇas, and disciples, as well as all sentient beings Dharmaguptakas and all beings

Two devotees, one male and one female. The male ­figure may be a monk.

Six devotees, two men, two women, two children.

Four figures, possibly two men and two women.

Two male figures, one full sized and one little person. Probable parallel figures on missing section.

Traces of single female figure. Most likely had a counterpart on the opposite side.

Donor/Devotee Images

For all sentient beings

For Dharmaguptaka teachers

All sentient beings

For parents and all beings

For Sarvāstivādin monks

Other Named Individuals

Table 5.1. Comparison of images of devotees to donor inscriptions

Standing Amitābha with feet and pedestal remaining, Mathurā 15 (fig. 5.5)

Lower half of standing Buddha, Mathurā 16 (fig. 5.6)

14

15

A monk

Year (1) 93 Vāsudeva

15 16

14

13

11 12

10

9

Nāgarakṣita, son of Buddhabala, grandson of Satvaka and of Balakīrti

A daughter whose name is illegible, as are the parents’ names

Year (1) 26

Year (1) 22

These dates are listed in the Kaniṣka Era. Many scholars now accept Harry Falk’s proposal of 127 ce as the start of this era. Falk, “The Yuga of Sphujiddhvaja,” 121–36. I also accept van Lohuizen-de Leeuw’s arguments for the dropped 100s in Kuṣāṇa dating. See van Lohuizen-de Leeuw, “Scythian” Period, and Williams, “Case of Omitted Hundreds,” 325–31. 2 Vogel, Archaeological Museum at Mathura, 63 (object A66). See Myer. “Bodhisattvas and Buddhas,” 111, fig. 9. See also Sharma, Buddhist Art of Mathurā, 175, fig. 78; Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, 31–32, inscription #2. 3 Sharma, Buddhist Art of Mathurā, 181–82, fig. 89. 4 Myer, “Bodhisattvas and Buddhas,” 139; Agrawala, “Buddha and Bodhisattva Images,” 73; Rhi, “From Bodhisattva to Buddha,” 223n73; Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, 167–68, inscription #128. 5 Sharma, Buddhist Art of Mathurā, 181–82, fig. 90. Sharma cites V. S. Agrawala’s translation. See Rhi, “From Bodhisattva to Buddha,” 212. 6 Sahni, “Three Mathura Inscriptions,” 399–406; Rhie Quintanilla, History of Early Stone Sculpture, fig. 136; Sharma, Buddhist Art of Mathurā, 182–83, fig. 91. It is also possible that Puṣyadatā’s father had actually become a monk. Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, 172, #136. 7 Mitra, “Three Kushan Sculptures from Ahichchhatra,” 65–67; Myer, “Bodhisattvas and Buddhas,” 113–14, uses the contemporary name of the site and identifies it as the Rāmnagar image. See also ­Williams, “Case of Omitted Hundreds,” 325–31. To my eyes, the female figure on the far left seems quite likely to be a nun, due to the lack of visible hair or adornments. The two figures on the right, however, may be wearing earrings, which would militate against them being members of the saṃgha. See also Sharma, Buddhist Art of Mathurā, 188–89, fig 98. Sharma identifies the figures as four women wearing Scythian-style saris. 8 Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 215, 229–30, fig. 32.

1

Headless seated Buddha/Bodhisattva, Mathurā 14

13

Four male figures stand on the right, and four female figures on the left. All appear to be lay people and are shown in various sizes.

(continued)

Sharma, Buddhist Art of Mathurā, 193, fig. 101; Myer, “Bodhisattvas and Buddhas,” 139. Myer identifies this sculpture as being from Pālīkherā; Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, 166, #126. Sharma, Buddhist Art of Mathurā, 197–98, fig. 109; Myer, “Bodhisattvas and Buddhas,” 137, fig, 20. Ānyor is eighteen kilometers west of Mathurā; Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, 170–71, #134. Sharma, Buddhist Art of Mathurā, 198–99, fig. 110; Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, 64–65, #29. Sharma, Buddhist Art of Mathurā, 203–4, fig. 117. Also see Marshall, Mathurā: Archaeological Survey of India Reports, 11–12. Marshall and Foucher, Monuments of Sāñchī, 386; Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 216, ­ fig. 34. Sharma, Buddhist Art of Mathurā, 53, 208, fig. 126. For the date, see Rhi, “From Bodhisattva to ­Buddha,” 212. See also Epigraphia Indica, ed. Hirananda Sastri, vol. 19 (Bombay: British India Press, 1927–28), 66. This object was found at Madhuban Maholī; Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, 110, #74. Sharma, Buddhist Art of Mathurā, 231–32, fig. 154. Sharma, Buddhist Art of Mathurā, 204–5, fig. 119; Shrivastava, “Two Image Inscriptions from Ma­t hurā,” 151–54; Sharma, “New Inscriptions from Mathurā,” 313. This unusual image was dedicated by a monk, but most of the accompanying figures, which stand at the same level as the Buddha, appear to be wearing the garb associated with Indo-Scythian lay people rather than monk’s robes. Of the three male figures, the largest does not appear to be wearing the sleeved coat typical of the others. Instead, he wears a loose garment or sash over his left shoulder. This attire is reminiscent of monastic robes, but the figure’s long hair and the presence of a jeweled collar or torque argue against the identification of this figure as a monk. It would appear, therefore, that in this example the named donor and the recipients of the gift’s merit do not correspond in any plausible fashion.

Father Sarvanandi, Mother Jīvaśrī, and three āryas

One kneeling donor only.

Four figures.

Dharmmasomā, wife of a caravan leader By a woman, mother of Siṃhadatta and first wife of Jayanāga, daughterin-law of Jayadeva, daughter of man whose name is unclear Dattā (Dinā), female lay disciple, wife of man whose name is missing Gopa, a metalworker, son of Siṃha

Dattā, wife of man whose name is illegible

Year 22

Year 40 (?)

Year 49 (or possibly 79)

Year 54

Year 60 Huviṣka

Year (1) 84 Vāsudeva

Year 299 (?) Yavana Era

Jina, Kaṇkālī Ṭīlā 19

Broken image of four addorsed ­standing Jinas (sarvatobhādrikā), Mathurā 20

Broken pedestal of Arhat Nāndyāvarta, Kaṇkālī Ṭīlā 21

Goddess Sarasvatī, Kaṇkālī Ṭīlā 22 (fig. 5.7)

Broken pedestal of Jina Ṛṣabha, Kaṇkālī Ṭīlā 23

Jina Ādināth, Mathurā 24

Mahāvīra Pedestal, Mathurā 25 (fig. 4.3)

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

Okhārikā, her daughter Ukatikā, and the lay sister Okhā

Identified as a wife, and as the daughter-in-law of Bhaṭadatta, but name of donor and husband not legible

Mitraśrī

17

Year 18

Pedestal of seated Jina, Kaṇkālī Ṭīlā 17

16

Standing Neminātha, Kaṇkālī Ṭīlā 18

Donor Donor illegible, with Grahacheṭa and Grahadāsa

Date and Reigning King (if Mentioned)

Year 4

Jain Examples

Image Type, Location

Table 5.1 (continued)

In accordance with the vow of Śīrika and Śivadīna

At the request of Kumāradatta

At the request of Ārya Kharṇṇa, pupil of Ārya Vṛiddhahastin

At the request of Ārya Deva, companion of Ārya Māghahastin, pupil of Ārya Hastahastin

At the request of Ārya Vṛiddhahastin

At the request of Akakā, female pupil of Nandā and Balavarmā, female companion of Mahānandin, pupil of Dantin

At the request of Ārya Mātṛidatta

At the request of woman with a missing name, who was female companion of Siṃhamitra, pupil of one female teacher, one male teacher, and one ārya

Other Named Individuals

The lower portions of two figures (probably male) still remain on the left. The right side is badly damaged but reveals traces of one more figure.

A full ten figures, comprised of both men and women.

Two Jain monks on the left. Right side is missing.

Two men. One layman under the goddess’s left hand. A Jain monk is under the figure’s right hand.

Grouping of female lay devotees and Jain monks. Two each.

Only part of a male figure remains. Potentially, eight figures were originally depicted, two for each Jina.

Six adults and two children, divided evenly between males and females.

A male figure on the right and a female figure on the left of main figure. Two monks depicted on the base.

Group of four men, four women, two boys, two girls, and two monks. Fourteen in total.

Donor/Devotee Images

17 Joshi, “Early Jaina Icons from Mathurā,” 343–47, pl. 34.IV.B (SML.J.3). Joshi cites only Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, in the article, but his “Lüders’s Numbers” actually refers to Lüders, “List of Brahmi Inscriptions.” For the inscription, see page 3, #16. 18 Joshi, “Early Jaina Icons from Mathurā,” pl. 34.VII.A (SML.J.8); Lüders, “List of Brahmi Inscriptions,” 5, #26. 19 Joshi, “ Early Jaina Icons from Mathurā,” pl. 34.V.A (SML.J.11); Lüders, “List of Brahmi Inscriptions,” 6, #30. Joshi believes this to be a Śaka Era date. See Joshi, “Early Jaina Icons from Mathurā,” 343. 20 Padma Kaimal addresses this figure, as well as the images by Karaṭita and Vidyāmatī, in her scholarship on portraiture. Kaimal, “Problem of Portraiture,” 78–79. In the case of Siṃhadatta, Kaimal follows Rosenfield in identifying a single donor figure. Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 216, fig. 42; Lüders, “List of Brahmi Inscriptions,” 10, #48. The date is incomplete but appears to be within the fortieth decade of the era.

21 Pal, Peaceful Liberators, 104, 258. See V. A. Smith, Jain Stupa and Other Antiquities, 12, pl. VI; Lüders, “List of Brahmi Inscriptions,” 9, #47. I placed this in the reign of Huviṣka because there is reason to think that this is the same donor that commissioned the Áiṣabha from Kaṇkālī Ṭīlā (#22). 22 Joshi, “ Early Jaina Icons from Mathurā,” pl. 34.IX.A (SML.J. 24), 347; Lüders, “List of Brahmi Inscriptions,” 11, #54. Joshi identifies these monks as belonging to the Ardhaphālaka sect because they carry a distinctive strip of cloth to cover their nakedness. 23 Joshi, “Early Jaina Icons from Mathurā,” pl. 34.VI.B (SML.J.26); Lüders, “List of Brahmi Inscriptions,” 11, #56. 24 Vogel, Archaeological Museum at Mathura, 67 (B4). 25 Quintanilla, History of Early Stone Sculpture, 265–66, figs. 309 and 310. Rhie Quintanilla estimates the date of the sculpture to be 113 ce. She also agrees with Lüders that the unusual names of the donors suggest that they were foreign. The high hems and lack of adornment lead me to believe that the extant devotees represented in the sculpture are male.

5.5 Inscribed pedestal with traces of a standing Buddha and kneeling devotee, Mathurā, India, 3rd–4th c. ce. Government Museum, Mathurā. Photo by the American Institute of Indian Studies.

5.6 Lower portion of standing Buddha flanked by devotees, Mathurā, India, 2nd c. ce. Government Museum, Mathurā. Photo by the author.

donors and the numbers or types (male or female, monastic or layperson) of “donor figures” displayed in the sculpture. Even if we extend our comparison beyond the donors and include named beneficiaries, relatives, teachers, or recipients of merit, they still do not match neatly with the figures represented in the artwork. These observations militate against the possibility of an intentional correlation between actual donors and the devotees depicted in stone. Of the twenty-four objects considered, fourteen display an overabundance of sculpted figures, and this number rises to eighteen if we include numbers 1, 2, 22, and 24, which are badly broken and were likely to have held additional images on their now-missing portions.7 Only one of the sculptures, number 19, clearly displays too few images to account for the people mentioned in the inscriptions. And two more examples, numbers 8 and 10, potentially have the right number of figures but display “donors” associated with the wrong professions (lay versus monastic). This leaves only three examples that potentially match their inscriptions in number, gender, and monastic affiliation. Yet to make the correlations fit, we are obliged to use different criteria for each case. The image from Sonkh dedicated by Puśyadatā, number 5, depicts two devotees, one male and one female. The female figure appears to be a lay woman due to the presence of a shawl, but she lacks any other form of adornment. Similarly, the male figure is completely unadorned and may be intended to depict a monk. These details might be significant because the inscription identifies Puśyadatā’s father as “Master of the Vihāra,” and it is possible that the simple attire of these figures was intended to reflect their special status as indicated by their titles.8 Number 14 is also a potential match, but the single, fragmentary male figure on the sculpture (seen kneeling on the right) requires that we allow for only the representation of the primary donor, Nāgarakṣita, and ignore his father and grandfathers (fig. 5.5). This exclusion of the donor’s relatives differs from what appears to be happening in number 5, as well as in number 21, which portrays a layperson holding a vessel and a figure in monastic robes that may correspond to Gopa and his teacher Ārya Deva, at whose request the image was commissioned (fig. 5.7). For this to be the correct interpretation, however, we must ignore all of the other named individuals in the inscription, including Gopa’s father and Ārya Deva’s fellow monks. In short, these potential connections between inscription and image are far from certain and exhibit no standardized means for prioritizing or matching the people named in the inscriptions with the artwork. Conclusions about portraiture drawn from these three cases should be considered questionable because any accord between dedication and image holds a high likelihood of being a by-product of circumstance rather than intention. That only three images out of the full twenty-four can be considered potential examples of donor portraiture is reason enough to see these cases as marginal. Furthermore, the frequent overabundance of sculpted “donor” images makes



H I S TO R I C A L S H I F T S

89

5.7 Seated image of the goddess Sarasvatī with devotees, Mathurā, India, 1st–3rd c. ce. State Museum, Lucknow. Photo by the American Institute of Indian Studies.

it very likely that a single named donor will always match up in some way with one of the figures represented. Padma Kaimal has commented on this situation, stating, “These disjunctions of number and gender suggest that formulaic donor images were carved before actual donors were found, and thus before inscriptions were added. Such confidence that donors would be found, and that donors would want themselves reflected figurally on their purchases, implies that the tradition of donor portraiture was already deeply ingrained in the Mathurā region.”9 While this assertion is certainly possible, I think Kaimal’s conclusions greatly overreach the extant evidence. We know almost nothing about how these images were commissioned or the degree to which patrons had a say in their subject matter. Nor do we have even a vague understanding about the way sculptors ran their businesses. The assumption that large numbers of these images were produced before securing a donor seems imprudent in the absence of further support. I have similar concerns about the assumption that donor portraiture was an ingrained tradition widely accepted by the populace. Taken collectively, the examples in this survey provide little to no evidence to support the idea that nonroyal patrons had themselves represented bodily on the works they sponsored or that they self-identified with specific figures in the artwork. When we add to this analysis the large number of inscribed Buddhist and Jain images that make no attempt at all to represent “donors,” any claims about a

90

CHAPTER 5

5.8 Buddha with devotees, including two individualized images on the lower right, Shotorak, Afghanistan, 2nd c. ce. Kabul Museum. Photo by the American Institute of Indian Studies.

pervasive interest in and acceptance of portraiture become even more difficult to sustain. Over time the evidence for donor portraiture becomes much more explicit, as Kaimal’s work well illustrates. In the first to third centuries ce, however, I see very little to support the idea that public portraiture was accepted as a widespread practice. Nevertheless, there is at least one notable example that may serve as an exception to this claim and provide hints about the emergence of a nascent portraiture tradition for donors. This example comes from the early second-century ce site of Shotorak, in present-day Afghanistan (fig. 5.8). It depicts a cluster of devotees surrounding a centrally placed image of the Buddha seated on a flower-adorned throne and making a gesture of welcome (abhaya).10 Yet in this crowd of uniformly idealized figures, featuring a row of ascetics standing in front of a row of lay donors, one couple on the Buddha’s far left has been distinguished from the others by their size, their clothing, and their highly individualized facial features. In such an instance, it is hard to refute the likelihood, or at least the possibility, that this couple was intended to represent individuals associated with the site. Unfortu-



H I S TO R I C A L S H I F T S

91

nately, the lack of an inscription or comparative images prevents us from being conclusive. Early naturalistic likenesses, such as the Shotorak example, probably have links to older artistic traditions among the Bactrian communities in the region and represent a different set of cultural traditions and artistic conventions than those encountered in Mathurā.11 We must remind ourselves, however, that physical verisimilitude and intentional portraiture are not inherently synonymous. While we might see in this example the start of a regional Buddhist portraiture tradition, as Rosenfield points out, the individualization exhibited by these figures is the exception rather than the rule for the early years of the Kuṣāṇas.12 The Shotorak sculpture alone cannot be used to justify a widely accepted custom of nonelite public portraiture in the early centuries ce. The conclusions drawn from this survey might rest more easily, however, were it not for another puzzling factor. Namely, the representation of “donors” in these examples is oddly specific and irregular. There is little consistency or clear pattern to the grouping of these figures in terms of age, gender, or monastic affiliation, and their numbers range from one to fourteen on a single image. Such specificity would seem to imply intentionality on the part of the artist, but it is unclear what the motivations might have been for the arrangement of these figures. There must have been some set of criteria at work in their organization because their arrangement at times breaks with standard notions of symmetry.13 It difficult to know how to account for this variety, but I do believe that it is safe to say that the images themselves reflect contemporary devotional practices, even if they do not portray specific individuals. This willingness to reflect the current actions of the community is in itself an important innovation and may be an early step toward the general acceptance of portraiture. Nor is this choice of subject matter the only aspect of these images that may reflect local practices. It may be significant, for example, that early donor images from Mathurā are frequently depicted wearing the long, fitted garments of the Indo-Scythians and the Kuṣāṇas (see figs. 5.4 and 5.6). John Rosenfield and others have noted that the pervasiveness of this attire seems disproportionate to the probable representation of these groups in the region’s population.14 Naturally, it is impossible to know the actual cultural breakdown of the population, but many of the early artistic portrayals of donors depict people in Indo-Scythian attire, and it is unlikely that they actually comprised the majority of the population in the region or constituted the majority of donors to Buddhist institutions. This is to say that the early artwork may be an indication that, at least initially, those Buddhists with Indo-Scythian cultural ties were more comfortable with the idea of figural portraiture than were their culturally South Asian counterparts. Assuredly, this observation must remain little more than blind speculation, since direct confirmation is impossible and these clothing trends may indicate little more than tastes in local fashion. But, as Johanna van Lohuizen-de Leeuw notes, the cultural mixing of this period “caused a considerable disintegration of old social patterns in North India which was accompanied by the breaking

92

CHAPTER 5

up of some of the fetters of traditionalism and by the general liberalization of conduct.”15 In other words, this period in South Asian history may have been one of adaptation and innovation for all parties involved. And it was the Śaka and Kuṣāṇa kings who sat at the center of this exchange. During the centuries in which Buddhist and Jain donors apparently avoided direct representation, kings and other royal figures were allowing themselves to be displayed in metal and stone with great visibility and regularity. Are we to read this discrepancy as indicating antipathy, or at least disinterest, toward portraiture among the wider South Asian public? And if so, how do we reconcile this reticence with the growing enthusiasm for portraiture among the political elite? At a minimum, this model greatly upsets assumptions about the proliferation of figural imagery as having had popular roots and opens the possibility of a politically inspired impetus for artistic innovation.

Royal Portraiture Benjamin Rowland has described portraiture as a “distinct Kuṣāṇa innovation in Indian art,” and he is not alone in crediting the Kuṣāṇa with pioneering important aspects of the South Asian figural tradition.16 I would argue, however, that it is more accurate to see the Kuṣāṇa not as the ones who introduced the concept of portraiture but rather as the ones who introduced the new social customs that allowed for this type of artwork to be used in a wider range of contexts.17 The relationship that these powerful groups had with images of themselves and their gods (as well as the gods of others) affected the social and cultural milieus in their lands and may have opened the way for new artistic experimentation. South Asian textual references to likenesses and effigies far predate the arrival of the Kuṣāṇa, yet their reign, and that of the Śakas, seems to have coincided with a tremendously formative and innovative period in South Asian art that saw the expansion of this artwork into new, highly public, contexts. Figural imagery had been used in the portrayal of spirit-deities since at least the third century bce and had potentially been part of private ritual contexts for far longer. Both of these uses for figural art imply some degree of portraiture, as the images were intended to represent a human ritual target or specific deity. Nor were these dynasts the first in South Asia to visualize the great people of the past. The second-century bce stūpa at Bhārhut, for example, displays images of the semilegendary kings Ajātaśatru and Prasenjit, and includes portrayals of the Buddha’s past lives.18 What the Śaka and Kuṣāṇa did do, however, was introduce and popularize the public portrayal of living kings, and in so doing associated figural art with political and religious legitimacy. These ideas occasionally found expression in large-scale sculptures, but they most certainly found their widest audience through the circulation of portrait-bearing coins. If we want to identify the very earliest examples of numismatic portraiture in South Asia, however, we have to look to those dynasties that preceded the



H I S TO R I C A L S H I F T S

93

5.9 Mauryan dynasty punch-mark coin (silver kārṣāpaṇa), India, 3rd c. bce. British Museum. Photo © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved.

Kuṣāṇa. Coins bearing portraits of rulers appear early in the history of the northwest under the reigns of Parthian and Indo-Greek kings. This shift in artistic subject matter is most noticeable in regions within the sphere of Vedic cultural influence whose traditional practices did not include the depiction of individuals on currency. Prior to this period, South Asian currency consisted of punch-mark coins whose surfaces displayed nonfigural imagery such as a wheel, bull, elephant, tree, or railing, or various forms of abstract symbolism (fig. 5.9). It is interesting to note that this influence did not flow in only one direction. There is evidence to indicate that the first Indo-Greek rulers who pushed south of the Hindu Kush in the early second century bce dropped their custom of depicting portraits on coins in favor of symbols and religious designs.19 As a practical matter, this means that as we look farther to the west and to the north, the use of portraiture can be seen as a continuation of local practices rather than as a rupture or innovation. Nevertheless, for most of the regions familiar with Vedic customs and the circulation of punch-mark currency, these new coins must have been quite a departure from tradition. By the second to first centuries bce, the Indo-Greek influence can be seen on the coinage of the Śaka (Indo-Scythian) kings in the regions around Swāt and Taxila. King Maues I, for example, adopted Greek script for the legends on his coins and even minted coins with Greek gods such as Helios and Zeus on the reverse. Despite this influence, none of the kings in Maues’s lineage employed portrait busts of the sort popularized by their Indo-Greek and Parthian prede-

94

CHAPTER 5

cessors and contemporaries. While images of kings (and, quite likely, one queen) are standard for the obverse of most Śaka coins, these are invariably full-body images that lack the facial details of portrait busts.20 These dynasts typically depicted themselves armed and on horseback, standing, and seated on thrones, and occasionally represented themselves seated cross-legged in a manner that led some scholars to confuse them with Buddha images.21 Maues was the first of these kings in the region, and appears to have minted at least some of his coins in Taxila.22 These same numismatic customs continued under Maues’s successor, Azes I, who appears to have spread the empire’s influence farther to the east into parts of the Punjab and possibly even to Mathurā.23 While the reasons for the early Śaka preference for avoiding images of the ruler’s head on coins are unclear, other branches of the Indo-Scythian community do not seem to have shared their compunctions. King Rājūvula, for example, who may have reigned as early as the last quarter of the first century bce, centered his dynasty in Mathurā, and examples of his coinage have been found as far afield as Taxila in the west and Sāṃkāśya to the east.24 Of these coins, the most common issue depicts the king’s bust in profile adorned with a diadem.25 Although the precise dating of these kings and the sequence of dynastic powers in these areas is still the subject of scholarly debate, some general conclusions can be drawn from a study of the numismatic evidence. Most notably, the figural portrayal of kings became common on coins of Indo-Scythian kings in the regions around Gandhāra and Mathurā starting in the first century bce or slightly earlier.26 It would therefore seem to be more than a coincidence that the same locations that embraced the use of royal portraiture on coins and in sculpture also served as the wellsprings of figural art in religious contexts.27 The early first century ce saw the arrival of the Kuṣāṇa, who were Central Asian in origin and came to South Asia with a very different mind-set regarding the proper use of portraiture and figural imagery. They were particularly adept at absorbing and assimilating influences from the regions that they conquered, and early in their history began to use figural art as a way of expressing and validating their power.28 For instance, the first examples of Kuṣāṇa coins postdate contact with Bactrian Greek communities north of the Hindu Kush, and the earliest coins imitate both the Greek language and the Hellenistic tradition of portraiture.29 Kujūla Kadphises, the first of the Kuṣāṇa kings, also encountered Parthian and Scythian coin-making traditions as he expanded his territory into parts of South Asia (early to mid-first century ce), and his currency displays a particular propensity for imitating the coins of these rulers.30 Kujūla’s coins, which appear to have been made exclusively of copper, include a variety of subjects, including depictions of Herakles and Zeus adapted from the Bactrian Greeks, as well as of motifs, such as the nandipada, borrowed from Kṣatrapa kings. In almost every case, however, the coins also depict the image of the king, either as a diadem-wearing portrait bust replicating Roman coin types (fig. 5.10), or seated in a cross-legged fashion in imitation of Śaka coinage.31



H I S TO R I C A L S H I F T S

95

5.10 Copper coin of Kujūla Kadphises with portrait bust (obverse) and Herakles (reverse), India, 1st c. ce. British Museum. Photo © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved.

In fact, the only known coins of Kujūla that do not depict him are those made in direct imitation of the coins of the Kṣatrapa, whose currency often depicted the humped bull and Bactrian camel rather than humans. Vima Kadphises demonstrated the growing wealth of his empire by issuing runs of golden coins, in contrast to his predecessors, who used only copper (fig. 5.11).32 Yet his coins show none of the diversity of subject matter characteristic of the kings who both preceded and followed him. He seems to have favored one deity rather exclusively. And although this god remains unnamed on Vima Kadphises coins, later examples displaying the same iconography identify him as Oesho. What makes this enigmatic god particularly intriguing is that his iconography, most notably the trident and the bull, is almost identical to what in later periods became standard for the major Hindu deity Śiva. Indeed, it is possible that Oesho is simply an early name for the same god; if this is so, these would be among the earliest representations of Śiva.33 While this deity typically occupies the reverse of Vima Kadphises’s coins, it is standard for the obverse to depict the king’s head in profile. These images appear to be rough attempts at physiognomic accuracy and display a consistency in the facial features, often including the wart on the king’s left cheek.34 Kaniṣka, Vima Kadphises’s successor and perhaps the best-known of the Kuṣāṇa kings, minted a wide variety of coin types, which display an equally varied array of deities and religious figures drawn from cultural groups across his empire. Given this diversity, it appears that Kaniṣka sought to sanctify his reign in the eyes of his diverse subjects by pairing himself with major religious

96

CHAPTER 5

5.11 (above) Coin of Vima Kadphises with portrait bust (obverse) and Oesho (reverse), India, 1st–2nd c. ce. British Museum. Photo © The Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved. 5.12 (right) Coin of spear-bearing Kaniṣka depicted in tunic and cap, Peshawar, Pakistan, mid-2nd c. ce. British Museum. Photo © The ­Trustees of the British Museum. All rights reserved.

figures that symbolically invest the king with authority. The king, depicted with full beard, Central Asian attire, and flaming shoulders, consistently occupies the obverse of these coins (fig. 5.12), while the deity or religious figure is represented on the reverse. Notable among these coin types are those that depict the Buddha (Boddo) and Maitreya (Metrago Boudo).35 Naturally these two coin types have received a great deal of attention, but, as Evgeniy Zeymal has pointed out, the Kuṣāṇa had a remarkable propensity for representing gods and other religious figures anthropomorphically, even if those deities had little or no prior history of being represented in such a fashion.36 In fact, the range of divinities that populate Kaniṣka’s coin types only expanded during the reign of his successor.



H I S TO R I C A L S H I F T S

97

The mints sponsored by Huviṣka boasted the widest range of coin types attributable to any Kuṣāṇa king. Taken collectively, the coins of the Kuṣaṇa include twenty-three (and possibly as many as thirty) confirmed different-named deities, most of whom seem to have been drawn from Iranian, Indian, and Greek pantheons. Zeymal has argued that the vast majority of these have no known anthropomorphic form before their appearance on Kuṣāṇā coins. He asserts that only three of the religious figures depicted on Kuṣāṇā coins draw from preexistent figural forms, and one of these is the Buddha.37 However, the rest of the deities, such as Miiro, Mao, Ardochsho, Athsho, and Pharro, are unknown in figural art before the intervention of Kuṣāṇa die cutters. While the exact motivation for this explosion in iconographic innovation is unknown, it is conceivably a by-product of Kuṣāṇa cultural borrowing. In other words, after the tradition of minting coins with images of deities on the reverse was adopted, such practice was expected, and the coin makers were compelled to create forms for those gods that had no prior iconography.38 It is not hard to imagine how such a cultural climate might inspire a wide range of artistic innovations. This new imagery also fed Kuṣāṇa ideas of kingship. Specifically, there is good reason to believe that Kuṣāṇa kings understood their authority to have been granted by divine powers (or, at least, that is the image they projected of themselves).39 Royal figures represented on the fronts of coins at times carry attributes or assume names associated with deities on the backs, and the wreaths or diadems often carried by these gods can be read as gestures of investiture directed toward the kings with whom they are paired.40 While the circulation of these coins ensured that the images had a wide audience and exposed a large portion of the population to their innovative artistic forms, they are not the only examples of Kuṣāṇā royal portraiture available to us. The mid-first-century bce archaeological site of Khalchayan in southern Uzbekistan has revealed the remains of what was an early Kuṣāṇā palace and settlement.41 The walls of the palace were decorated with paintings and almostlife-size painted clay sculptures depicting Kuṣāṇā political elites. The theme of divine investiture seen on the coins may have found their origins early in Kuṣāṇa history, because the royal portraits at Khalchayan are situated among representations of a wide variety of Iranian, Anatolian, and Hellenistic deities. The paintings show “the Kushan ruler as a companion to a frieze of gods, at whose centre is seated a divine couple.”42 This site predates contact with South Asian cultures, but even later kings occasionally built “dynastic shrines.” At present, at least two sites have been identified that preserve examples of large stone portrait sculptures.43 These sites are Māṭ, located near Mathurā, and Surkh Kotal, in the ancient region of south Bactria in what is now Afghanistan. The earlier of the two is Māṭ, which was likely built under the reign of Vima Takto or Vima Kadphises by an official with the title of “Bakana-pati” and was later repaired in the time of Huviṣka by one of his generals.44 Among the sculp-

9 8

CHAPTER 5

5.13 Large-scale image of Kaniṣka with sword and club, Māṭ Shrine, Mathurā, India, early 2nd c. ce. Government Museum, Mathurā. Photo by the author.

tural remains recovered from the site are an inscribed portrait of Kaniṣka attired in heavy boots and a tunic trimmed in pearls (fig. 5.13). Although this image is missing its head and its arms, its martial attitude is unmistakable, as Kaniṣka’s right hand can be seen resting on the pommel of his sword and his left hand propping up a weighty club that stands in front of him. A second, massive image depicts a headless king seated on a throne resembling a clothdraped saddle supported by lions (fig. 5.14). The ruler’s name, which is not clearly legible, is generally believed to be a version of the name Vima. This sculpture has usually been interpreted as a reference to Vima Kadphises, but in light of recent scholarship on the Rabatak Inscription, it seems likely that the intended subject is Vima Takto, Vima Kadphises’s predecessor.45 The inscription refers to the site as a devakula or “house of the gods,” the same term that appears in texts such as the Mahāvastu when referencing temples to the family



H I S TO R I C A L S H I F T S

99

5.14 Vima Takto (?) seated on throne decorated with lions, Māṭ Shrine, Mathurā, India, early 2nd c. ce. Government Museum, Mathurā. Photo by the author.

gods of the royal lineage.46 This gives us some idea of the structure’s original function, and the later restoration of the site under Huviṣka speaks of its continued importance. Information about this subsequent period of rebuilding was recovered from a badly broken inscription associated with the pedestal and one foot of a statue most likely depicting Huviṣka.47 If this image is indeed Huviṣka, it raises the number of royal portraits at the site to three, and there is good evidence suggesting that there was a fourth portrait at the site, although its identity as royal figure has been much debated. The fourth image depicts the torso of a man wearing a tunic and belt, and bears an inscription that has alternately been read as “Mastana” or “Shastana.” Some have argued that this is a variation of Caśṭana and is therefore a reference to the Śaka king of Ujjain of the same name.48 Even if this attribution is not correct, however, it does not diminish the importance of this example as a named portrait associated with a Kuṣāṇa religious site.

10 0

CHAPTER 5

Heinrich Lüders identified yet another potential portrait on a detached head wearing an Indo-Scythian-style conical cap. This sculptural fragment was located in the village of Māṭ and bears a one-word inscription, “Nāyasa.” If this name or monogram identifies the subject of the sculpture, we need to consider this image along with the other portraits associated with the site.49 Māṭ, therefore, presents us with three portraits, confirmed by their inscriptions, and two others whose identifications are likely, but less certain. Of particular significance is that at least one of these images, that of Vima Takto, appears to have been made when the king was still alive.50 This presents us with the one of the earliest extant examples of a royal portrait sculpted for a reigning king.51 When considered along with the multiple coin portraits, this suggests a dramatically new attitude toward both portraiture and images of the living. Although Surkh Kotal is in almost every way more grandiose and impressive than Māṭ, it is generally less helpful in answering the questions about portraiture that have been the focus of this chapter. The temple complex is massive, with five sets of steps and four terraces almost seventy meters wide, and, like Māṭ, it appears to have been built in at least two phases. The first recorded period of construction took place during the reign of Kaniṣka, or possibly in the final years of his predecessor, Vima Kadphises, and a later restoration and expansion of the site occurred under Huviṣka.52 Bactrian language inscriptions at the site refer to it as a “house of the gods” (bago-laṅgo), which suggests that it had a similar function to the devakula in Māṭ.53 Archaeological work at the site has revealed three royal effigies, which unfortunately do not have inscriptions to provide evidence of their identities. One image bears a striking resemblance in pose and dress to the Kaniṣka image from Māṭ, leading to speculation that this may be a representation of the same king.54 The two other figures wear clothing reminiscent of the dress found on Kuṣāṇā coins but have not been convincingly identified. Unlike Māṭ, however, this site was well excavated, and we have a clear idea about where these images were located in relation to the temple complex: on the southwest corner of the site on the outskirts of the main structures. This location has led scholars to identify the images as portraits of the rulers as devotees rather than as the focus of a royal cult.55 A relief carving depicting a man in Indo-Scythian garb receiving a wreath from an elevated but now-missing figure lends further credence to the idea that the Kuṣāṇa derived their legitimacy through investiture from the gods rather than from claiming to be gods themselves. No matter the exact nature of the relationship between the Kuṣāṇa rulers and their divinities, it must be noted that these kings had themselves represented in close visual proximity to anthropomorphized gods and other religious figures with great regularity.56 This expansion in the use of portraiture and in the representation of religious figures must have been jarring for those whose traditions restricted the use of images to specific contexts. And, as we will see, their displeasure may be one of the reasons so few of the early royal portraits



H I S TO R I C A L S H I F T S

101

have survived intact. Nevertheless, these innovations were apparently not so shocking as to prevent South Asian rulers from adopting similar practices. Both Mathurā and Gandhāra are well known as centers of artistic innovation, particularly in relation to the development of religious art, but at the peak of their influence these regions were also powerful Kuṣāṇa political centers. It stands to reason that the cosmopolitan populations residing in these urban centers were among the first to encounter alternate modes of representing authority through portraiture and might have motivated others to use those practices for their own purposes.57 In other words, there is evidence that the cultural influence of these regions did not remain local for long. The earliest example of this can be seen in the creations of the powerful Sātavāhana dynasty, a rival to both the Śaka and the Kuṣāṇa. Not only did the Sātavāhana adopt the practice of portraying the figure of the king on coins from at least the time of Gautamīputra Sātakarṇi (late first century ce), they also commissioned portrait images in stone. It is incorrect, however, to present the Sātavāhana use of portraiture as being entirely the by-product of outside influence. Although foreign portrait coins were certainly known to the Sātavāhana from a very early date, there is good reason to believe that the Sātavāhana portrait gallery at Nāṇaghāṭ predates the Kuṣāṇa endeavors at Māṭ and Surkh Kotal. It is exceedingly difficult to date this site securely because of both its uniqueness and its badly damaged state, but scholars have used paleography and lists of kings gleaned from coins, inscriptions, and Purāṇic records to estimate its age. Many have dated the site to as early as the second century bce, but I am in agreement with Himanshu Ray that it must postdate 70–60 bce.58 The site itself is situated on a steep and dramatic pass that was part of an ancient trade route leading from the coastal port of Kalyan to the Sātavāhana capital in Junnar (fig. 5.15). At the apex of the climb are the remains of a few modest rock-cut caves, the most important of which is Cave 11. This chamber is roughly nine meters wide and has a lengthy inscription located along the leftand right-hand walls recording Queen Nāyanikā’s dedication of this cave and boasting of the glories achieved by the Sātavāhana lineage.59 Along the back wall are the faint remains of what were once a series of portrait sculptures depicting the royal family and an important general (figs. 5.16 and 5.17). Although the sculptures are all but nonexistent, traces of the feet and lower garments of four of them can still be seen, principally on the left-hand portion of the back wall (from the visitor’s perspective). There are currently six inscriptions identifying the seven individuals who were once depicted: Simukha Sātavāhana, Queen Nāyanikā and her spouse King Sātakarṇi, Prince Bhāya[la], Mahāraṭhi (General) Tranakayiro, Prince Hakusiri, and Prince Sātavāhana.60 More of the sculptures were, apparently, intact in the nineteenth century because, in an 1882 Gazetteer report, Bhagwanlal Indraji identified the traces of nine images, of which the lower portion of five were clearly discernible. He also mentions a

10 2

CHAPTER 5

5.15 Exterior of Nāṇaghāṭ Cave 11, India, ca. 1st c. ce. Photo by the author.

“lost inscription” that served to identify two missing figures located between Prince Bhāyala and the General.61 This counting of nine images was seconded in 1951 by D. C. Sircar; however, Sircar describes the cave as originally having eight inscriptions, even though Indraji alludes to only seven.62 Vasudev Vishnu Mirashi, writing in 1981, saw evidence of only one additional damaged inscription (seven in all) located between Bhāyala and the General, and considers the site to have originally held eight images rather than nine.63 Despite these disagreements over the exact number of images and inscriptions, Nāṇaghāṭ presents us with a site that is in almost every way unprecedented. Not only is it quite possibly the earliest example of royal portrait sculpture in stone from South Asia, it is also one of the only extant secular structures patronized by early royalty. The cave memorializes the royal family (and their Mahāraṭhi), most of whom were apparently still living at the time of its creation, with sculptural portraits that are located along what must have been a heavily traveled route. Such visible figural imagery marks a major departure from the habits of earlier South Asian kings and initiates a shift in patronage that can be seen in the practices of later rulers. Despite centuries during which only nonfigural imagery appears on



H I S TO R I C A L S H I F T S

10 3

5.16 (above) Back wall of Cave 11, with traces of sculpted feet, Nāṇaghāṭ, India, ca. 1st c. ce. Photo by the author. 5.17 (left) Remains of two portrait images (the third and fourth from the left) in Cave 11, Nāṇaghāṭ, India, ca. 1st c. ce. Photo by the author.

coins, from the first century to the early fifth century it became increasingly unusual for South Asian rulers not to issue at least one coin bearing their likeness.64 This shift is in itself indicative of a major change in artistic practices and suggests a growing comfort with the use of figural representation as a means of projecting authority and establishing legitimacy. Nor is Nāṇaghāṭ the only site at which the rulers of the Sātavāhana were honored with portraits. Archeological work at the site of Kanaganahalli in eastern Karnataka has revealed the remains of sculptural panels that once decorated an impressive stūpa that stood at the location. The relief carving on these casing stones displays a wide range of subject matter, and Monika Zin has made initial studies of both the narrative content of the images and the inscriptions that accompany them.65 Although there is no direct evidence of Sātavāhana patronage at the site, these rulers are well represented in the artwork. Zin has identified at least five Sātavāhana kings who are mentioned by name in inscriptions and represented in the art. These are Śri Simukha, his heir Sātakarṇi, Mantalaka, Puḷumāvi, and Sundara. Based in part upon this list, Zin assigns the site a date in the first half of the first century ce.66 The presence of these images at a Buddhist site raises some interesting questions, particularly in the absence of direct royal patronage. Are we to see the creation of this imagery as akin to that in Māṭ and Surkh Kotal, which were built by loyal functionaries in the service of the crown? Or is this evidence of a hagiography developing around the royal lineage? Zin raises this possibility and notes that a nāga (serpent deity) sharing a relief with the founder of the Sāta­ vāhana line, Śri Simukha, may be evidence for this shift in status.67 The presence of panels depicting other kings, including the great Mauryan emperor and Buddhist patron Aśoka (third century bce) further suggests the construction of royal legitimacy through association with local gods, past rulers, and exemplars of Buddhist kingship. Sites such as Nāṇaghāṭ and Kanaganahalli, as well as the issuance of royal portrait coins, point to the Sātavāhana dynasty’s early use of portraiture as a means of enhancing imperial renown. The depiction of deceased semilegendary rulers in narrative scenes is not unknown in earlier periods (as at Bhārhut, for example), but the visibility of the Sātavāhana royal family, both living and dead, was unprecedented among South Asian royalty. The Sātavāhana rulers also occasionally sponsored memorial stones or pillars, which appear to have been a way of commemorating the dead. Himanshu Ray has argued that this mode of funerary memorialization has a long history that ultimately stems from the “megalithic cultures” of the southern subcontinent.68 Interestingly, she also notes that the earliest extant examples of memorial stones bearing figural imagery date to the second century ce, only slightly later than similar changes in the use of figural imagery adopted by the Sātavāhana rulers and their Kuṣāṇa rivals.69 The site of Sannati, a few kilometers from Kanaganahalli, provides excellent



H I S TO R I C A L S H I F T S

10 5

examples of these Sātavāhana-period memorials. The remnants of over thirty stones slabs bearing figural images have been identified, and at least three stones from the site bear inscriptions linking them to Sātavāhana royalty; specifically, they mention the kings Śiva Śri Puḷumāvi, Vāsiṣṭhīputra Sātakarṇi, and Gautamīputra Sātakarṇi.70 What is perhaps more interesting is that the site provides evidence that the public display of portraiture also gained some acceptance among the nonelite. Archaeology at the site has produced numerous examples of funerary stones, ranging in date from the first to the third century ce, on which images of the nonroyal dead are represented.71 It has been indicated in earlier chapters that images of the dead seem to have been treated as a distinct category and drew less scrutiny and criticism than images of the living.72 And while most of the figures on these memorial stones relate to the dead, some of these stones also include images of the deceased’s families, which raises the possibility that we are also seeing portrait images of the living. Such examples may be indicative of a growing comfort with portraiture among a wider portion of the population. Similar memorializing practices were later adopted by the Ikṣvāku kings active in Andhra. The site of Nāgārjunakoṇḍa has revealed a marvelous memorial stone dedicated to King Śāntamūla.73 This memorial pillar or cāyāstambha was erected in 273 ce and bears five registers, four of which contain scenes in which the deceased appears, including one of the king at court, receiving tribute, and one of him riding an elephant into battle.74 Although the use of memorial pillars survived only in some regions of South Asia, the use of royal portraiture became quite widespread in practice.75 Most of these customs would seem to have spread from the actions of the Sātavāhana, who played a leading role in the transmission of these modes of artistic representation. In reviewing the material discussed so far, the Kuṣāṇā and Sātavāhana examples reveal similar patterns. Namely, that public portraiture of the living seems to have found its earliest and most avid proponents among the political elite, whereas images of nonelites are much harder to locate and emerge only very gradually. Some of this disjuncture in donative practice may simply be a matter of resources and circumstance. After all, not every individual can devote resources to patronage or has a vested interest in promoting ideas about themselves and their lineage to the wider public. Literary sources suffer from a similar bias, insofar as only the courtly and literate could easily produce such works. Nevertheless, contemporaneous literary sources do discuss portraiture and they present an important perspective on their uses, both real and imagined.

Donors and Dramas The textual material that can be dated to the early centuries ce is relatively silent on the topic of portraiture, and the later literary material, from the fifth century

10 6

CHAPTER 5

on, introduces a whole new set of complications. Nevertheless there is one wellknown and potentially early play that may have a direct bearing on this discussion. I am referring to Bhāsa’s famous drama Pratimā Nāṭakam (The Statue). In this story, which draws its inspiration from the Rāmāyaṇa, the new de facto ruler, Bharata, is returning home, and, seeing a temple, decides to enter and rest. Inside he sees signs of worship, such as palm prints, strewn flowers, rice grains, and garlands. Exploring further he notes that there are no external attributes identifying the gods being depicted, and this leads him to comment on the remarkably human appearance of the sculpture. At this point, the shrine keeper rushes to stop Bharata from worshiping, thereby preventing him from venerating the portrait of a Kṣatriya (king). In the process, the priest notices that Bharata bears a striking resemblance to the statues and reveals that these are figural depictions of the rulers of Ayodhyā, Bharata’s own relatives and ancestors. With this prompting Bharata is then able to recognize images of his greatgreat-grandfather, his great-grandfather, his grandfather, and a fourth and final image. Bharata begins to suspect the truth, and nervously asks the shrine keeper if images are ever made of the living. Sadly the man replies that they are not, and in this manner Bharata learns of his father’s death.76 This poignant tale presents an interesting situation. Although the setting is a shrine containing images of past kings, it is either rare enough or recent enough that the protagonist is convincingly confused by what he encounters. His first assumption is that the images are deities, and he prepares to offer worship until the moment he is abruptly stopped from doing so. The actions and explanations of the shrine keeper make it clear that the veneration of these images would have been deemed inappropriate and that what appeared to be evidence of past worship was actually the result of his father’s recent funeral. Significantly, Bharata asks the shrine keeper to confirm his assumption that images are not made of the living, which he does. Unfortunately, the text does not offer a more complete explanation as to why such images were not made, but it does reinforce the idea that images of living people were often seen as unsuitable for public display. It is tempting to see in this an acknowledgment of a tran­ sition undergone by the recent dead. This conceptual shift would seem to have exempted the deceased from the taboos and risks regarding images of the living derived from late Vedic notions of image use, and shifted the ancestor into a state more akin to that of a local god or deity. Although our understanding of how this text relates to the history of South Asia is incomplete, the story does reinforce themes that we have already encountered elsewhere. It reiterates the often-encountered reticence to depict the living, and treats royal portraiture as requiring an explanation. It also makes explicit the association between images and funerary practices.77 Bhāsa’s explanations link the drama with those who accepted the existence of a powerful connection between copies and their originals, and felt an equally powerful responsibility to not abuse that bond.



H I S TO R I C A L S H I F T S

10 7

Yet the problem with using the works of Bhāsa as historical evidence is that they are extremely difficult to date properly. This play, for example, has been dated across an exceptionally broad span of time, stretching from the first century bce to the eleventh century. Most scholars place it in the fourth to seventh century, but this is by no means definitive. A. D. Pusalker, who looked deeply into this question, was ultimately comfortable saying only that it must be older than the seventh century, but how much older is not at all clear.78 Part of the problem lies in the manner in which these texts were recovered. Scholars had long known of Bhāsa’s importance as an author because the renowned poet Kālidāsa speaks of him favorably in his work. This citation indicates that the historical figure of Bhāsa must have lived before the time of Kālidāsa, who is usually placed in the fifth century. Bhāsa’s works, however, were unknown by modern scholarship until 1909, when T. Ganapati Sastri discovered a cache of thirteen plays attributed to Bhāsa in Kerala.79 Although most scholars are willing to accept these manuscripts as authentic, there is some disagreement as to how much of Bhāsa’s original work is preserved in these later copies. Judging by how aptly the Pratimā Nāṭakam explicates an emergent royal portraiture tradition, it would suit me well to see this play as the work of the fourth century or earlier, but I will leave it to others to decide this point.80 If one looks at the later tradition of dramatic literature, starting with the works of the great author Kālidāsa and his contemporaries in the fifth century, portraits appear to have become an exceptionally common literary device. The creation and viewing of portraits were a staple feature in dramatic intrigues and are often featured prominently in the misunderstandings and infatuations that drive the plots of these stories.81 In most cases the portraits in these stories are treated as bearing an exact likeness to their subjects, allowing them to be recognized by other characters at a glance. Complicating matters further, these tales almost invariably refer to painted rather than sculptural likeness and thereby describe an art form of which we have almost no extant evidence.82 For example, in Kālidāsa’s Śakuntalā, when the king is seen mourning over a portrait of Śakuntalā, her celestial mother agrees to let Śakuntalā return to him.83 Similarly, in the Mālavikāgnimitrā, also by Kālidāsa, a king falls in love with one of the attendants pictured in a portrait of the queen.84 Therefore, Kālidāsa presents one example in which the portrait of Śakuntalā is easily identified by her mother, and a second in which the portrait of the previously unknown attendant allows the king to recognize the woman it portrays. Both cases suggest a high degree of physical verisimilitude. Similarly, in Harṣa’s seventh-century play Nāgānanda, a lovesick prince paints an image of his beloved on a bench using colored earth as a medium. When the maiden who is smitten with the prince sees him doing so, she is distraught until she sees the image and realizes happily that she is the object of his affection.85 Time and again the characters in these dramas are able to immediately recognize individuals represented in art, and more often than not these

10 8

CHAPTER 5

moments of recognition are key elements in furthering the dramatic action of the tales. Yet for all of this literary evidence, we do not have any extant artwork from these centuries that matches the type of painting described in the dramas. I am certainly not fond of arguments based on an absence of evidence, but rare glimpses of the fifth-century painting tradition afforded by sites such as Ajaṇṭā reveal some indication of the artistic wonders that are now lost to us. We have little insight into the forms of painting practiced in private settings such as palaces, whose wooden structures and ephemeral media are now gone. It is also possible that the nature of these practices further contributed to their scarcity. As described in the literature, these paintings were private, undertaken furtively, frequently related to romantic pursuits, and often temporary in nature. These characteristics are notably identical (albeit in a different context) to the usage of effigies as described in the Gṛyhasūtras, the Brāhmaṇas, and the late Vedas. It could be that the worldly and somewhat unseemly connotations held by the creation of likenesses lived on in the courtly painting practices described in the romantic literature. If this is so, then the absence of material evidence becomes even more understandable. The verisimilitude credited to the portraits in the literature contradicts what we typically assume about portraiture in pre-fifth-century South Asian contexts, namely, that intention mattered far more than appearance. After all, it is hard to imagine a ritual expert creating a naturalistic image from boiled rice. And descriptions of the sage Nārāyaṇa creating Urvaśī’s image from mango juice painted on the ground (or alternately on his thigh) do not imply that permanency or precision mattered.86 Of course it is also possible that both modes of portraiture functioned in different contexts, and that the mode of conveying identity in artwork varied with media and time. Nor is it clear what the role of the artist was in this process. At times, our protagonists sketch their own images, whereas at others they hold painted images presumably commissioned from professionals. And yet both are treated as equally effective and equally realistic in the narratives. The fifth century was a time of great creativity and artistic virtuosity, so it is entirely possible that these courtly dramas reflect new ideas about the nature of representation. It is important to note, however, that (with the possible exception of the Pratimā Nāṭakam) the dramas cited above are far later in date than the sculptural reliefs that initially prompted this inquiry, and represent a subsequent development in South Asian ideas about portraiture. Ultimately, we are left with two seemingly contradictory and equally unsatisfying possibilities. The first is that we are facing the complete loss of a deeply private and ephemeral art form in which the representation of physical appearances served to indicate identity. The second is that the literature is describing practices that are entirely fictional. Neither option is appealing. Although the actual practices of portraiture in court settings may have to



H I S TO R I C A L S H I F T S

10 9

remain hidden from us, we can speak with some certainly about their imagined uses. This is to say that, while questions about actual portrait practices may linger, we do have a good idea about the ways in which Indian authors and their audiences were prepared to envision their use. With great regularity, these narratives perpetuate and promote the idea that individuals’ likenesses may reveal, influence, or expose them in exceptionally intimate ways. Yet the imagined contexts presented in these literary works cannot be taken as universal acceptance of either portraiture or the figural representation of religious figures. In fact, the furtive and private way in which characters employ artwork in narrative contexts indicates that older ideas about the power and risks of figural art may still have been current in some circles. Looking for signs of that disapproval, either of image use in general or of the individuals being represented, is not difficult to find.

Iconoclasm and Defacement The Tang dynasty pilgrim Wang Xuance, who traveled through Nepal and parts of India in the mid-seventh century, relates an interesting story he heard during his journey. In this tale, the great Kuṣāṇa king and supporter of Buddhism Kaniṣka receives a gift of cloth from the Sātavāhana ruler. Upon closer inspection, he notes that the gift is marked with the handprints of the rival king and is therefore intended as an insult. In response, Kaniṣka vows to take the hands and feet of his enemy. True to his word, he marches into the Sātavāhana lands. The people, however, try to save their king by hiding him in a cave and replacing him with a golden portrait. When Kaniṣka encounters this sculpture, he cuts off its hands and feet, and by the force of Kaniṣka’s spiritual power, the real Sātavāhana king suffers an identical fate.87 Although this tale was recorded in the mid-600s, its fixation on a KuṣāṇaSātavāhana dynastic rivalry and concerns about susceptibility through figural imagery point to events of a much earlier time. Additionally, the tale’s treatment of images suggests some familiarity with early ideas, since it bears a strong conceptual similarity to the aggressive ritual techniques for dealing with enemies as recorded in the Atharvaveda Pariśiṣṭha and other texts. It may have been stories such as this one that perpetuated and preserved old anxieties about the power of figural art and provided a counterpoint to newer innovations. For all of its miraculous elements, one aspect of Wang’s story is certainly reflective of what we find in the material evidence, and that is the mutilation of royal images. With the exception of the coin images, none of the royal portraits discussed in this chapter has survived in one piece. Some of this destruction may be the result of natural processes, but there is good evidence to suggest that many of these images were the victims of intentional vandalism. Of the images from Nāṇaghāṭ, for example, nothing now remains above the feet. The discrepancies between the descriptions in nineteenth-century accounts

110

CHAPTER 5

and what is visible today certainly must implicate erosion as having played some role in the images’ destruction. However, the unfortunate fate of these works cannot be attributed solely, or even primarily, to natural forces. Although seepage often affects the deepest and lowest parts of caves and could reasonably be assumed to have damaged these images, when I visited the site in the rainy season of 2012, the back wall of the cave showed little evidence of moisture.88 What little could be seen was concentrated in a narrow band on the back wall (approximate 1.5 meters from the left wall), in the upper right-hand corner. Naturally, these observations do not preclude the possibility of past water damage, but the active role of such environmental factors was not readily apparent. Observations by earlier visitors to the site seem to corroborate this assessment. For example, Bhagwanlal Indraji, writing in 1882, noted that “the seventh statue is entirely lost” because “a hole has been cut in the wall in the place where the statue stood” and that “a certain roughness in the wall is the only trace of the ninth statue.”89 Neither of these descriptions is consistent with what one might expect from water damage. In theory, the statues’ well-protected location at the back of the cave might have offered them more cover from the elements than the inscriptions near the front, but this is decidedly not the case. The relatively well-preserved quality of the inscriptions along the side and back walls points to a targeted destruction aimed at the images in the back of the cave. Although we may never know the precise motivations of the iconoclasts, it was the images of the royal family that drew their hostility. Similarly, the Tokrī Ṭīlā mound at Māṭ, which contained the Kuṣāṇa images, also appears to have been actively vandalized.90 In his 1911–12 field reports, Jean Philippe Vogel notes that the large seated statue, often thought to be a representation of Vima Kadphises, shows evidence of having been deliberately broken. Specifically, Vogel found a series of small holes made by a sharp tool that had been used to split the stone. John Rosenfield points to the scattered disposition of the statues, the ruined state of the temple, and the lack of subsequent occupation as indications that the complex was destroyed before the fifth century.91 He also draws attention to the shattered fragments of what would have been an eight-foot statue that was destroyed with “a great deal of destructive enthusiasm and effort.”92 Similar observations have been made regarding Roman portrait coins found in South India, whose faces seem to have been intentionally and systematically scratched through.93 And the images from Surkh Kotal are uniformly missing their heads. Almost certainly the destruction of all of these images was intended as a political gesture, but it is also likely that these actions were seen as more than just symbolic. The same ideas that gave rise to the late Vedic ritual technique for killing or overpowering enemies by cutting or crushing their images may also have some relevance to these cases.94 Wang Xuance’s story demonstrates that these ideas were still in circulation at least as late as the seventh century.



H I S TO R I C A L S H I F T S

111

Ideally one might hope that the full range of ideas that promote or denigrate figural imagery, as found in the textual sources, would be mirrored in the material record, but patronage patterns let us know only who was supportive of image use. Only those who participated in the process of image creation occasionally took the time to record their deeds in inscriptions. If aversion is to be located in the material record, our only option is to make note of who was not participating in the process or to look for examples of iconoclasm. Unfortunately, because early portraiture was so closely tied to kingship, it is difficult to know if an act of destruction was predicated on political motives, a general disapproval of images, a desire to strike at the king through his image, or some combination of all of these factors.

Royal Portraits and Religious Icons This overview of the early use of portraiture has revealed details about the historical circumstances under which portraits and likenesses began to appear in new, highly public contexts. Notably, the centuries in which reigning kings began to display their own images are the same periods in which new modes of representing religious figures were also pioneered. And in many cases, religious images were employed in conjunction with figures of political significance. It is not difficult, for example, to see how a deity presented on the reverse of a coin might lend legitimacy to the ruler on the obverse, or how images of kings positioned alongside statues of gods, as at Surkh Kotal, might bolster the status of the ruler.95 Given these contexts, it is not unreasonable to assume that the rulers themselves may have had a stake in the development of religious imagery so as to facilitate their association with such divinities. This seems particularly true of the Kuṣāṇa, whose artists were the first to anthropomorphically portray a wide array of gods and religious figures. What does this mean for our study of the Buddha’s image? Put simply, depictions of the Buddha did not appear in any regions that did not also have the practice of depicting royalty in art. In other words, the first appearance of Buddha images postdates, or at best coincides with, the public use of the local king’s image. Even the early Buddha images from Bīmarān and Tillya Tepe both appear in contexts in which royal likenesses were used (see figs. 2.3 and 2.4). The earliest estimates for the date of Bīmarān place it to the reign of Azes II, whose portrait coins were interred with the reliquary. The tombs of Tillya Tepe turned up a number of coins depicting the images of local Parthian kings.96 I am, however, by no means suggesting that this is a causal relationship. My intention is to assert that the appearance of royal portraits suggests a specific attitude toward the use of figural art as a means of establishing authority, and this technique also eased the way for those interested in lending authority to ideological or religious perspectives through the use of images. In fact, this borrowing of royal artistic practices extends well beyond the use

112

CHAPTER 5

of figural images. Most of the iconography that we now think of as Buddhist first appears in contexts associated with royalty and political power. Ananda Coomaraswamy pointed out long ago that the symbols associated with the Buddha, such as the fenced tree, the nandipada (triratna), the svastika, and the lotus all appear first on the punch-mark coins issued by early South Asian dynasties.97 Likewise, the chariot wheel, which had been a symbol of the cakravartin, or universal king, was appropriated by the Buddhists as a powerful metaphor for the first sermon and the dharma. And the earliest visual narratives of the Buddha’s life indicate his importance by including attendants bearing the fly whisk (caurī) and parasol (chattra), which were the unparalleled hallmarks of a royal personage. Indeed, this connection to royalty is compounded by the Buddha’s own origins as a prince as well as by the prediction that Śākyamuni’s bodily marks would lead him to be either a great king or a great sage.98 Several Buddhist texts make a point of reinforcing this association by emphasizing Buddha’s past lives as kings or by making reference to his magisterial bearing and distinctive bodily characteristics. In the Buddhacarita, for example, the goddess of the royal city of Rājagṛha grows frustrated when seeing the Buddha because he was “worthy of ruling the earth and was yet in bhikshu’s [monk’s] robes.”99 Some have argued that even the form of the stūpa was borrowed from the burial tumuli used in the funerary rites associated with kings.100 Likewise, the story of Bactrian king Menander (who is presumably the same king featured in the Milindapañha) introduces the possibility that kings may also have been linked to the relic tradition. According to Plutarch, upon Menander’s death, the king’s ashes were divided and established in memorials erected across his kingdom.101 To those acquainted with the tales of the Buddha’s death and the subsequent distribution of his ashes, such gestures performed in the memory of a great king feel very familiar. Similar links to royalty might also be noted in the Buddha’s lion throne. Lions were linked to royalty as early as the third century bce, during the reign of Aśoka, and the earliest extant example of a throne decorated with lions is found on the image of the seated Kuṣāṇa king from Māṭ (see fig. 5.14).102 Richard Cohen has taken this association further by noting that the appearance of Buddhas seated in a posture known as pralambapādāsana (literally “with legs hanging”) may also be a direct imitation of this same Kuṣāṇa royal portrait.103 Perhaps no reminder of the Kuṣāṇa king’s special status was as potent, however, as the depiction of flames rising from the ruler’s shoulders. The presence of flaming shoulders on an exalted being has an old history that scholars have traced to Iran, where it was expressive of powerful concepts of good fortune and divine power.104 It appears in Kuṣāṇa contexts as early as the time of Vima Kadphises, whose coins clearly display this motif, and traces of this iconography have been identified on one of the royal portraits at Surkh Kotal (see fig. 5.11).105 Both Kaniṣka and Huviṣka were also depicted emitting flames, but by Huviṣka’s time this motif began to give way to the halo or nimbus.106



H I S TO R I C A L S H I F T S

113

The ability to emit divine radiance was a hallmark of Kuṣāṇa iconography and a formidable expression of authority and might. One of the clearest examples of this can be found in the writings of Xuanzang, who takes a break from his pilgrimage accounts to tell a story in which the Kuṣāṇa king Kaniṣka subdues a nāga to protect a Buddhist monastery. The king does so by emitting great gouts of flame and smoke from his shoulders, which terrify and drive off the troublesome spirit-deity.107 While this tale is a wonderful example of the potency associated with this visible expression of authority, it also has obvious links to the Buddha’s display at Śrāvastī, in which he uses a similar technique to vanquish his detractors.108 In fact, Śrāvastī was not the only location in which the Buddha displayed his capacity to perform such feats. The Mahāvastu and the Mahāvagga of the Vinaya-Piṭaka both tell how the Buddha defeated the nāga Uruvilvā by besting it in a fiery struggle during which each emitted smoke and flames. Ultimately the Buddha’s radiant heat is too much for the nāga, and the Buddha emerges victorious, having utterly destroyed the nāga’s ability to emit fire.109 Needless to say, these tales in which the Buddha demonstrates his authority by emitting fire, and the ubiquitous presence of halos on his early imagery, must have held potent implications and associated his image to regal authority in the minds of viewers. To put it succinctly, from its inception, Buddhist art largely consisted of royal imagery appropriated and redefined for use in religious contexts. Moreover, when Buddhist figural art appears, it does so at roughly the same time and in the same locations as the earliest examples of South Asian royal portraiture. It is reasonable, therefore, to see these two artistic developments as being closely connected. Yet, as we have seen the Buddhist acceptance of figural imagery was not a uniform or simple process, and the Buddhist community harbored a great diversity of opinions on the subject. In this negotiation, the prospect of seeing the Teacher, as represented artistically, appealed to some groups far more than to others. In short, the use of royal portraiture by the Śaka and Kuṣāṇa kings was a suggestive influence, not a determinative one. Ultimately, the impetus for the acceptance of figural portrayals of the Buddha and its related forms of devotional practice were generated from within the Buddhist community itself. The public use of figural imagery in royal contexts may have presented an opportunity to display authority through art, but by no means made such choices mandatory. To summarize, the first through third centuries ce saw a general expansion in the use of public portraiture in many parts of South Asia. Not only did the Kuṣāṇa and Indo-Scythian rulers employ sculptural portraiture and place their likenesses on coins, but the neighboring Sātavāhana rulers did so as well. And by the third century ce so had the Ikṣvāku kings in Andhra. Additionally, the use of public likenesses appears to have gradually spread beyond the upper echelons of society, and even those of more humble status very occasionally commissioned

114

CHAPTER 5

images of human subjects. This is particularly apparent in funerary contexts such as at Sannati. While the representation of nonroyal individuals remains frustratingly elusive, the depiction of kings is notable for its strikingly well-formed clarity, and this royal iconography seems to have developed in tandem with new images of gods, Jinas, and Buddhas. The literary tradition suggests that painted portraiture gained popularity in private contexts by the fifth century, but in the absence of extant examples, it is difficult to know how much these tales reflect actual practice. Overall, there is a clear trend toward the expanded public use of figural art and images of kings, with a more cautious acceptance of images designed to represent other individuals. Throughout this process, images of the Buddha became increasingly abundant, and although external factors certainly helped drive this process, there were also many justifications for image use generated from within Buddhism itself.



H I S TO R I C A L S H I F T S

115

6 / IM AGE APPEAL

O king of gods, in the future I shall attain to Buddhahood as a result of repairing that broken finger of the Buddha-image. The future-Buddha praising image making, Vaṭṭaṅgulirāja Jātaka, Paññāsa Jātaka

J

udging by the archaeological evidence, the Buddhists quickly and enthusiastically embraced figural imagery in the centuries following the Common Era. To help explain this development, we can point to influences from a widespread shift in artistic practices that coincided with both the time and the territory associated with the rule of the Śaka, Kuṣāṇa, and Sāta­ vāhana kings. However, shifts in royal portrait practices are not in themselves sufficient to explain how the Buddhists understood these images or why they so fervently commissioned their creation. This chapter marks a shift in focus away from the objections to and concerns about Buddhist image use, toward attempts to validate or justify such practices. As we will see, it is rare for such practices to receive wholehearted or unconditional support. Typically, the defenders express many of the same anxieties voiced by their opponents and seem to share their concern that such practices might be misconceived or lead to the wrong conclusions. Nevertheless, several sources ultimately praise the value of image-based modes of religious practice, thereby justifying their importance in a variety of ways. Given the extensive evidence provided by the material record, these proponents seem to have endorsed a widely held point of view. Like those who were opposed to image use, those in favor of it had to address prevailing notions of embodiment believed to be inherent in the concept of portraiture. As we have seen, the absence of Buddha images in the earliest centuries after his death can plausibly be linked to old and powerful assumptions about figural art. Specifically, references to images are almost exclusively associated with worldly contexts or with practices designed to address mundane needs. Such connotations were derived from a few different precedents, but

116

image use was ultimately seen as standing apart from those religious pursuits aimed at spiritual transcendence. Images implied presence and therefore, potentially, vulnerability. The prominence of these assumptions meant that no bans on image use were necessary, but a great deal of time and effort was spent disagreeing about how best to justify and reconceive such practices for integration into new religious contexts (when such justifications were deemed to be worth the effort at all). These concepts underpin, often tacitly, the drive toward concerned disapproval, conditional acceptance, and general hesitancy that characterize so much of the early material pertaining to image use. Additionally, images in certain contexts had the potential to imply divinity or to hold funerary connotations. These associations seem to have developed over time to become gradually more prominent and to have added another layer of potentially worrisome implications to the Buddhist use of images. In short, we have considered the compelling reasons why figural imagery was considered problematic and the potential reasons why it was avoided for so long. But all of these characterizations, warnings, and uncertainties were apparently not sufficient to prevent a radical shift toward the proliferation and acceptance of Buddha images. The exuberant expansion of Buddhist artistic subject matter that began at the start of the first century changed the face of Buddhism forever. It is undoubtedly this artistic trend that motivated many of our authors to voice their caveats, but no amount of cautionary advice seems to have stanched the spread of Buddhist figural art. This assertion is supported by the vast proliferation of sculptural images that were produced during the first through fourth centuries ce. Logically, there must have been good reasons for so many people to have spent so much time and effort creating the artistic wonders found at Buddhist sites across the subcontinent. The second-century ce Buddhist poet Mātṛceṭa mourned that the relics of the Buddha’s body, his rūpakāya, had been “scattered like sesame seed,” and it would seem that an enormous amount of energy was expended putting him back together again in the form of figural art.1 It is important, therefore, that we ask why. What were the benefits that could potentially offset the concerns voiced by so many textual sources? As might be expected, even those who favored image use did not speak with one voice. What we find is a variety of positions justifying and supporting image use. Few, if any, support images unconditionally, but, unlike their opponents, these individuals ultimately argue in favor of image use and its value as a tool for transcendence.

Longing to Look upon the Buddha The Mahāvaṃsa, a Sri Lankan Pāli text, includes a tale in which the great king Aśoka keenly desires to see the Buddha’s form. To solve this problem, he summons the nāga king Mahākāla to his court by sending him a golden chain.



I M AG E A P P E A L

117

When the nāga arrives, Aśoka pays him respect and then asks him to assume the form of the Buddha. Because this eons-old nāga had seen the Buddha before he passed into nirvāṇa, and because he had great miraculous power, Mahākāla was able to accommodate Aśoka’s request with no difficulty. Upon seeing this display, the human king was “filled with great joy and amazement,” saying, “[I] f the image created by this one is like this, how indeed must the form of the Tathāgata have been!”2 At this point Aśoka declares a week of festivities to celebrate the miraculous and overwhelming event. This tale from the Mahāvaṃsa, which was probably written in its current form during the fifth or sixth century ce, may have derived from an older precedent in the Divyāvadāna. In that text, Aśoka accompanies the monk Upagupta on a pilgrimage to the locations at which major events in the Buddha’s life took place. At each location, Upagupta summons local deities who were alive at the time of the Buddha so that they might share their memories with the king. On the way to Bodhgāya the nāga Kālika is called and asked to recall the appearance of the Buddha, and a similar request is made of a tree spirit from Lumbinī. Even the nearly immortal monk Piṇḍola is asked to reminisce about the time he spent in the Teacher’s presence. Although Aśoka is never presented with the visible likeness of the Buddha in these encounters, as he is in the Mahāvaṃsa, the mere descriptions of the Teacher are sufficient to produce a powerful emotional and spiritual response. In each instance, Aśoka is driven into what John Strong has called an “ecstasy of bhakti” upon hearing the eyewitness accounts.3 These reactions deepen the king’s faith, inspire him to great acts of merit making, and ultimately improve his spiritual condition.4 While Aśoka’s intensity of devotion is remarkable, it is not unique among the kings featured in the Buddhist literary material. Preserved in both the Pāli literature and in the writings of the Chinese pilgrim Faxian, for example, is the story of King Prasenajit (Pasenadi). This monarch grows despondent and inconsolable during the three months the Buddha spent preaching in heaven. His sadness stems from his inability to look upon the Buddha during the time that he is away. So, to ease his sorrow, the king commissions the very first statue of the Teacher, and this sculpted surrogate provides the king some solace.5 In both of these tales we are presented with kings who are driven to emotional extremes by either their ability or inability to look upon the Buddha. Such intense devotion is primarily directed to the Buddha’s actual form, but in both cases an image proves to be a suitable, if not ideal, substitute. Despite their authority, kings are ultimately members of the laity, and we might think that these tales of longing are simply reflective of lay practices rather than of those of the monastic community. We would, however, be wrong in this assumption, because there are a great many tales in which monks and nuns express a similar desire to look upon the Buddha’s body. For example, the caravan leader turned monk, Śroṇa Koṭikarṇa, is described in the Divyāvadāna as being desirous of seeing the Buddha’s form. After spend-

118

CHAPTER 6

ing years studying with his instructors at the monastery, he concludes, “I have seen the Blessed One through his dharmic form but not through his physical form. I too am going, my instructor, I shall see the Blessed One through his physical form as well.” 6 This decision is met with nothing but approval from the monk’s superior, who asks him to deliver some questions to the Buddha on his behalf. Śroṇa Koṭikarṇa’s interest in the Buddha seems largely academic, and his justification for his curiosity centers on the way seeing the Buddha will complement and further his studies as a monk. There are other tales, however, in which monastic interest in seeing the Buddha is anything but clinical or mild. And these dramatic tales are among the most widely retold and well known. According to the Dhammapada Commentary, when a young Brahman named Vakkali first encountered the Buddha, he immediately became transfixed by the Buddha’s beauty.7 This was no passing fancy, however, and Vakkali resolved on the spot to become a monk so that he might continue to live in the Teacher’s presence. Yet even after taking his vows, Vakkali neglected his duties and skipped his training so that he might remain in the Buddha’s presence. Eventually, the Buddha responded to this infatuation and advised Vakkali not to focus on the corrupt physical body but rather to perceive the Dharma, the true form of the Teacher. What follows is exceedingly rare in the Buddhist literature. It appears that Vakkali completely ignores the Buddha’s admonition. In an understated way, the text tells us that he cannot bring himself to leave the Buddha’s presence. Finally, the Buddha acts in a more decisive manner by insisting that Vakkali spend the three months of the Rain Retreat at a different monastery.8 This news is almost too much for Vakkali to bear, and in his distraught state he contemplates suicide. As he prepares to jump from a precipice, the Buddha compassionately sends him a vision to dissuade him from his rash course of action. Specifically, the Buddha projects a radiant image of himself, which immediately banishes Vakkali’s sadness. The text tells us, “Full of joy and satisfaction, the monk who has perfect faith in the Religion of the Buddha / Will reach the place of Peace, Cessation of Existence, and Happiness.”9 This miracle not only brings Vakkali to his senses, it also propels him into the advanced spiritual state of arhatship. The Buddha then beckons Vakkali by calling, Come Vakkali! Fear not, as you look upon the Tathāgata. I will lift you up even as one extricates an elephant that has sunk in the mire. Come Vakkali! Fear not, as you look upon the Tathāgata. I will release you, even as one releases the sun from the maw of Rāhu [an eclipse].10

In response, Vakkali realizes his supernatural powers and flies to the Buddha’s side. This literal leap of faith earns Vakkali the honor of being recognized as the



I M AG E A P P E A L

119

monk who is “foremost among those with implicit faith.” This designation was apparently well known in the Pāli tradition and appears in several texts, including the Aṅguttara Nikāya and the Dhammapada Commentary.11 In many ways this is an unusual tale. In particular the fact that Vakkali ignores the Buddha’s advice and still manages to succeed in attaining profound spiritual insight is not at all indicative of the way these stories usually play out. Jacob Kinnard has perceptively discussed the manner in which this story promotes the value in seeing the Buddha and advocates for the act of gazing upon him as a means to attain advanced spiritual states.12 This sort of emotionally charged viewing appears to be very similar to the sorts of actions associated with devotional forms of worship such as bhakti. The commentary never goes so far as to make the connection explicit, but the implication is clear.13 Another version of this tale appears in the Divyāvadāna in abbreviated form and relates a rather different sequence of events. In it Vakkali (Vakkalin) is a Brahman seer who, upon encountering the Buddha for the first time, is immediately imbued with deep faith. Then, fearful that the Buddha might look past him when selecting disciples, he resolves to throw himself from a cliff. At this point, the Buddha, who was aware of Vakkali’s reasoning, uses his powers to bring the desperate man safely to his side. There he teaches the Dharma to Vakkali, who subsequently attains insight and becomes a monk.14 The differences between the two versions of the story are notable, but perhaps the most apparent discrepancies are the lack of Vakkali’s ongoing fixation and the absence of the Buddha’s admonitions against devotion to physical forms. In the version of the tale found in the Divyāvadāna, typically an image-friendly text, it is Vakkali’s shockingly extreme response to seeing the Buddha that wins him the counsel of the Teacher and consequently results in the acquisition of spiritual insight. So, although his fascination with the Buddha’s physical form is arguably not the direct cause of his spiritual progress, it certainly sets him on the right path by helping him gain access to the teachings. Further tales of Vakkali appear in the Saṃyutta Nikāya, in which the normally active and single-minded monk appears bedridden with a terrible disease. In this account, the dying Vakkali sends for the Buddha, who travels to the monk’s bedside. Once there, he instructs Vakkali not to put faith in corporeal forms, stating rather, “One who sees the Dhamma sees me.”15 To drive this point home, Vakkali repeatedly states, “I have no more desire, lust, or affection. Feeling is impermanent. Perception is impermanent.” 16 After the Buddha departs, a night passes, during which two devatās appear to the Buddha and foretell Vakkali’s spiritual success. The Buddha sends word of this to Vakkali, and soon after the Buddha and his monks are informed that Vakkali has died.17 This sad tale has a curiously positive epilogue in which the Buddha explains that Vakkali’s death was not a bad one because he had already passed on and achieved liberation.18 Scholars have noted that the words spoken to Vakkali by the Buddha are

12 0

CHAPTER 6

quite ambiguous. Specifically, while the Buddha is providing instruction at the monk’s sickbed he seems to be saying that seeing the Buddha’s body is equivalent to seeing the Dharma (Dhamma), thereby putting his physical form on the same level as the teachings.19 Yet by emphasizing the dharmic lesson of impermanence, rather than Vakkali’s sight of the Buddha, as the cause of his eventual liberation, the text ultimately argues against this equivalency. Therefore, to overemphasize the hints of sympathy for figural devotion in the Saṃyutta Nikāya would mean overlooking the very prominent passages that speak of Vakkali’s deep realization of the temporary nature of physical forms. And while image-based devotion is by no means antithetical to realizations of impermanence, this story sets devotion to the Buddha’s body as the imperfect alternative to the liberating realizations achieved via the Dharma. In this sense, the insights gained through Vakkali’s devotion to the Buddha’s body, as presented in the Dhammapada Commentary and the Divyāvadāna, are effectively challenged and contradicted by the Saṃyutta Nikāya version of events, in which his ultimate liberation requires abandoning devotion to the Buddha’s form in favor of the Dharma. While it is true that in each story featuring the monk who is “foremost in the quality of faith” there is some statement, albeit perfunctory at times, claiming that the Buddha is properly embodied only in his teachings, the stories also reveal a certain amount of power associated with the Buddha’s tangible form. In two versions Vakkali attains heightened spiritual states either directly or tangentially through his commitment to the Buddha’s physical form. More than anything else, however, these stories identify a powerful and keenly felt longing to be in the presence of the Buddha, and Vakkali was not alone in his predilection for devotion. A fine example of this devotional zeal can be seen in the tale of the renowned nun Utpalavarṇā (Pāli: Uppalavaṇṇā) and her efforts to greet the Buddha as he returned to earth after preaching in heaven. This tale is preserved in many sources, but one of the most detailed accounts can be found in the writings of Faxian, who traveled to India in the early 400s ce. Faxian states that during the three months in which the Buddha preached in the Trāyastriṃśa heaven, he was sorely missed by those left behind. As this time grew to a close, the Buddha sent word to his followers that he would be returning to the city of Sāṃkāśya in seven days’ time. Consequently, an enormous crowd gathered at the spot where he would be returning. Kings, ministers, and ordinary people, “not having seen the Buddha for a long time, were all looking thirstily up for him.”20 In the midst of this imposing throng was the nun Utpalavarṇā, and as she waited she pondered a very specific problem. She desperately wished to be the first to greet the Buddha upon his return, but as a woman in such an august gathering of kings and monks she would never be permitted that honor. Therefore, she used her spiritual powers to take on the appearance of a Universal King (cakravartin) and marched to the front of the company, where she claimed the honor of being the



I M AG E A P P E A L

12 1

first to pay her respects to the Teacher upon his return. The text tells us that she was “the foremost of all in doing reverence to him.”21 Equally aggrandizing but substantially shorter accounts of this event also appear in the Divyāvadāna and the Therīgāthā. The Therīgāthā provides a truncated version of the events described above, with only a few varying details. It mentions, for example, that while appearing as a Universal King Utpalavarṇā also miraculously manifested a chariot as well.22 The Divyāvadāna version is the shortest of the three, making only a passing reference to the event as part of a longer story.23 Yet despite their variance in length and detail, all three of these texts give every indication that Utpalavarṇā’s actions were both noteworthy in their miraculous nature and commendable in their motivation. Additionally, the fact that sculptural representations of this scene appear in Gandhāra by the first century bce and in Mathurā by the first ce testifies to the antiquity and the popularity of the event.24 By the early seventh century, however, when the Chinese pilgrim Xuanzang recorded the version of the story he knew, it had taken on some additional features. Most notably, Xuanzang’s retelling of the event does not treat Utpalavarṇā’s actions as being at all praiseworthy; rather, she is scolded by the Buddha for prioritizing his physical presence over the Dharma. Her actions are then contrasted with those of the monk Subhūti, who is said to have made the correct choice by deciding to stay home to study the teachings.25 Serinity Young has observed that in some accounts of the Buddha’s descent from heaven this event is entirely excluded (as in the Buddhacarita), or the monk Śāriputra, rather than Utpalavarṇā, is credited with having been the first to greet the Buddha upon his return (as in the Dhammapada Commentary).26 While these omissions and alterations may not have been intended as a direct critique of Utpalavarṇā’s miraculous actions, they do invite us to question why she is not mentioned. A shift in monastic attitudes toward women almost certainly played a part in Utpalavarṇā’s drop in status. But it is also possible that the late version of the tale told by Xuanzang was intentionally critical of those earlier versions that promoted devotion toward the person of the Buddha. As was the case with Vakkali’s tale, it appears that some authors sought to curtail expressions of devotion and crafted alternatives to stories in which superhuman actions are undertaken in an effort to see the Buddha. Perhaps the most well-known tale of a monk longing to see the Buddha is the story of Upagupta and his conversion of the Buddha’s fierce adversary, Māra. Several scholars, including John Strong, Andy Rotman, Sukumar Dutt, and Jacob Kinnard, have commented extensively on this story and identified the manner in which it may be connected to the Buddhist image tradition—a conclusion with which I am in full agreement.27 Nevertheless, this story, in its many versions, invites some intriguing questions and is therefore worth discussing again in some detail. The story appears in several texts, including the Divyāvadāna, the Lokapañ­

12 2

CHAPTER 6

ñatti, and the Avadānakalpalatā.28 Each of these tales follows roughly the same sequence of events, but here I will use the Divyāvadāna version as the example. In this version of the story, which dates to approximately the second century ce, the great monk Upagupta manages to convert the Buddha’s notorious supernatural adversary Māra into accepting the Dharma. Upon accomplishing this remarkable feat, he first secures Māra’s promise that he will stop harassing monks. Immediately afterward, he makes a second and far less predictable demand. Upagupta opines that, as a human born a hundred years after the Buddha lived, he has never seen the Buddha’s body. Specifically, he wishes that he could complement his appreciation of the Buddha’s “dharma body” (dharmakāya) with an understanding of his physical body (rūpakāya). Although the literature addressing the nature of the Buddha’s various bodies eventually develops into a series of complex philosophic systems, at this early stage the dharmakāya is usually understood to refer to the Buddha’s teachings, and the rūpakāya to his physical form.29 Moreover, it appears that Upagupta believes himself to be deficient in his understanding of the second category. Therefore he insists that Māra, who was famous for his contentious interactions with the Buddha, take the form of the Teacher so that he may see the Buddha’s likeness (vigraha) with his own eyes.30 Māra, however, is reluctant to agree to this plan because he fears that if Upagupta bows to honor the Buddha’s image, he (Māra) will be physically hurt by the monk’s devotion. “If you show even a little reverence towards me . . . I will be consumed by fire, O mighty one. Do I have the power to endure the prostration of one whose passions are gone [a monk]?”31 Upagupta accedes to Māra’s request by agreeing not to venerate the Buddha’s likeness, but when Māra does eventually assume the Buddha’s form (as well as those of his disciples), Upagupta is overcome with devotion. He, “Because of his affection for the Wholly Enlightened One, forgot his agreement [with Māra], and thinking that this image was the Buddha, he fell at Māra’s feet.”32 Despite the fact that this devotion does not cause him pain, Māra is deeply troubled by this show of respect and immediately begs the monk to stop. Rather than offer an apology, Upagupta explains why his actions were entirely appropriate and justified. He does so by saying that he was honoring the Buddha and not the physical representation, thereby indicating a clear difference between the two.33 Alexander Soper has identified a Chinese version of the biography of King Aśoka in which this same tale is told. In it, the transformation of Māra into the Buddha is explicitly compared to paint being applied to a cotton cloth.34 Such a direct parallel to the visual arts makes it all the more apparent that scholars have been correct in seeing this tale as addressing concerns about image use. It likewise suggests that Upagutpa’s insistence on the appropriateness of his devotion might also be intended to assuage fears about image use. Similar anxieties about representations of the Buddha seem to have inspired a whole range of related



I M AG E A P P E A L

12 3

stories that feature Māra adopting the guise of the Buddha under various circumstances and with varying outcomes. Take, for example, the tale of Phussadeva. This story, found in the Visuddhimagga and, in a more detailed form, in the Sīhaḷavatthuppakaraṇa, tells of the monk Phussadeva and his encounter with Māra.35 In this story the diligent monk is trying to sweep the courtyard of the Bodhi tree as Māra sporadically impedes his progress by causing winds, throwing trash, shaking tree branches, and taking the forms of animals. Eventually Phussadeva figures out the cause of the trouble and vocally accuses Māra, who manifests before the monk. Almost immediately after they meet, Phussadeva asks that Māra show him the form of the Buddha, and, rather inexplicably, Māra accedes to this request by assuming the form of the seated and fully enlightened Buddha. Phussadeva is overcome with emotion at the sight and offers devotions to this representation of the Buddha with tears in his eyes. After this initial response, Phussadeva begins a meticulous recounting of all of the Buddha’s physical characteristics. As John Strong has noted, this story diverges from that of Upagupta when Phussadeva “abruptly switches gears and declares the truth of impermanence.”36 This is to say that Phussadeva, after experiencing the emotional effect of seeing the Buddha, reminds himself that the Buddha “has succumbed to impermanence, gone to destruction,” and, therefore, “[o]ne cannot see him.”37 In this manner Phussadeva deconstructs the Buddha’s physical characteristics bit by bit and in so doing attains the state of arhatship. Noticing this change in Phussadeva’s demeanor, Māra declares that the monk tricked him and immediately disappears.38 The parallels with Upagupta’s story are apparent, but so are the differences. Both tales feature monks engaged in visualizing the Buddha, but the moment at which each man feels the spiritual effect of this process differs in a significant way. For Upagupta it is encountering the Buddha’s form that produces spiritual results, whereas Phussadeva, although emotionally affected by seeing the Buddha, does not attain insight until the moment of the image’s dissolution. One can easily read a criticism of Upagupta’s reaction in Phussadeva’s systematic dismissal of the Buddha form. While we have no way of knowing if the authors of the Phussadeva tale knew of the Upagupta legend, they almost certainly were familiar with meditative practices such as buddhānusmṛti (literally, “recalling the Buddha”) that teach practitioners to visualize the Buddha and then dismiss his form as an exercise in both devotion and impermanence.39 Indeed, the Divyāvadāna story makes explicit reference to this meditative technique, and Andy Rotman has argued that it should play a central role in our understanding of Upagupta’s interactions with Māra.40 It is significant, therefore, that Phussadeva achieves his exalted spiritual status while deconstructing the Buddha’s form and not during his initial obeisance. The tales appear to disagree about which part of this meditative process, the visualization or the dissolution, is the most meaningful. Ideo-

124

CHAPTER 6

logically speaking, the story of Phussadeva would seem to lie at a midpoint between Upagupta’s interest in physical forms and those stories that distrust images entirely. Two of the more curious features of Phussadeva’s tale are Māra’s willingness to play along with the monk’s request to see the Buddha and his departing assertion that he had been tricked. It seems to me that this response implies that the authors and, by extension, Māra did not normally view images as being helpful in achieving spiritual growth. In fact, Māra’s readiness to help and his frustrated response when he fails suggest that he was expecting his impersonation of the Buddha to hinder rather than help. And in at least one narrative example, the story of Śūra, Māra uses the Buddha’s shape in an attempt to do just that. The commentary on the Aṅguttara Nikāya relates the tale of Śūra, a wealthy merchant and recent supporter of the Buddhist community.41 His devotion was engendered after hearing a sermon by the Buddha, which had the immediate result of propelling Śūra into the elevated spiritual state of a “stream-winner.” One day, after the Buddha has finished his meal and departed, Māra conceives of a plan to impede Śūra’s spiritual progress. To do so he impersonates the Buddha down to the smallest detail and returns to the home of the unsuspecting merchant. Śūra is surprised to see the Buddha again but quickly grows suspicious when Māra begins to preach falsely by claiming that the nature of the skandhas (“aggregates” or components that make up a sentient being) is permanent and eternal. Śūra immediately challenges the impersonator and chases him away for attempting to teach a false Dharma.42 In his analysis of this passage, Strong has observed that one of the principal lessons here is that the knowledge of the Buddha’s Dharma is necessary to see past deceptive physical appearances.43 Māra’s adoption of the Buddha’s form is nothing more than a guise used to falsely teach that some qualities are not impermanent, a claim that Buddhists consider patently untrue. Śūra must ultimately rely on his knowledge of the body of dharma to overcome the deception presented by the Buddha’s physical body. I am in agreement with Strong that this tale, particularly in the way it relates to the stories of Upagupta and Phussadeva, offers a very critical commentary on the Buddhist image tradition. But for some Buddhists even this stance did not go far enough. The Prajñāpāramitā literature is generally disapproving of images (as we saw in chapter 3), and it seems that they identified the tales of Māra appearing in the form of the Buddha as being part of the problem. To address this point, the Large Sūtra on Perfect Wisdom contains a few passages that explicitly address the potential dangers posed by the Buddha’s famous adversary. In one such example, adherents of the Prajñāpāramitā are warned to be vigilant against Māra, who might assume the appearance of a monk to dissuade them from copying the Perfection of Wisdom sūtras. Alternately, his nefarious attempts to sow dissension may even inspire Māra to create counterfeit copies of the text so as to alter the truths contained within it. If all of this were not troubling enough,



I M AG E A P P E A L

12 5

the text also purports that Māra is in the habit of speaking through rival sects to discourage commitment to the true Perfection of Wisdom. In other words, Māra is in the habit of introducing laxity and falsehood to prevent adherents from discovering the truth. The parallels to Śūra’s story, in which Māra tries to pass along false teachings, are here fairly apparent.44 The text goes on to caution monks specifically about the possibility of Māra taking the form of the Buddha himself. It warns that Māra may appear in the Buddha’s radiant and glorious form so that his splendor will cause longing to arise, thereby preventing the comprehension of true wisdom. Māra may also appear as a manifestation of the Buddha’s entire retinue of disciples so that the display might lead monks to desire the same glory and thereby abandon true wisdom. Ultimately, the text states that wise disciples of the Perfection of Wisdom know that no physical forms truly exist and that longing for illusory creations will prevent one from realizing the truth that all forms and all dharmas are ultimately empty.45 This passage cautioning about Māra appearing in the Buddha’s form or in the guise of the Buddha’s disciples appears to have been aimed directly at Upagupta and his devotion to Māra’s portrayal of the Buddha and his principal monks. Yet just as the story of Upagupta can be read as a loosely veiled endorsement of the image tradition, the inverse holds true for this cautionary critique. In this case the authors are far less sanguine about the use of images as a means of achieving spiritual insight and cleverly make their point by restoring Māra to his original status as an implacable foe. In so doing they deny Upagupta’s success in Māra’s conversion and, by association, also cast suspicion on the entire image tradition, which Māra is said to promote. If we step back and consider the narratives discussed above, it does not require much analysis to begin to see a pattern. The stories of Vakkali, Utpala­ varṇā, and Upagupta, which serve as models of devotion to the Buddha’s image, do not remain undisturbed by other sources. In each instance, when a renowned member of the saṃgha (Buddhist monastic community) demonstrates the value to be found in devotion to the embodied Buddha, a response is drawn from those who feel the need to amend, alter, or undermine their successes. In some cases, as in the tale of Phussadeva, an alternate model of devotion is proposed; in others, such as Xuanzang’s version of the Utpalavarṇā tale, the protagonist is made to look foolish. The various versions of Vakkali’s tales are a bit less clear in this regard, but the dominant message of the Saṃyutta Nikāya account appears to be in direct opposition to the Divyāvadāna story and ultimately advocates for the rejection of the physical Buddha as a precursor to ultimate liberation. While aspects of Utpalavarṇā’s tale may have faced alteration due to discomfort over the prominent role played by a female protagonist, the critics aim their disapproval at her commitment to devotional worship. It is worth noting, however, that the Chinese pilgrims Faxian (fourth century) and possibly even Xuanzang (seventh century) himself seem to have shared her mind-set.46

12 6

CHAPTER 6

In a rare moment of personal candor, Faxian laments the fact that he was born too late to see the Buddha in person. Specifically, he writes that while pondering the absence of the Buddha he “felt melancholy but restrained his tears.” He goes on to lament, “I Fa-Hien [Faxian] was born when I could not meet with Buddha; and now I only see the footprints which he has left, and the place where he lived, and nothing more.”47 Faxian, like the monks and nuns in our stories, feels deep pangs of sorrow and loss when reminded of his distance, in time or space, from the living Buddha. There is even some evidence to suggest that Xuanzang, despite his unflattering version of Utpalavarṇā’s tale, shared these same sentiments. While visiting the Bodhi tree, Xuanzang is said to have been overcome with feelings of such emotional intensity that this intrepid traveler threw himself onto the ground in fevered worship. Then, “with much grief and many tears in his self-affliction, he sighed, and said: ‘At the time when the Buddha perfected himself in wisdom, I know not in what condition I was, . . . but now in this latter time of image (worship), having come to this spot and reflecting upon the depth and weight of the body of my evil deeds, I am grieved at heart, and my eyes fill with tears.’”48 These words are powerful and deeply moving, but they do not appear in Xuanzang’s own work. The quotation cited above comes to us through the writings of his biographer, Huili, and as such may not be entirely accurate in its framing of Xuanzang’s views. Nevertheless, it does verify that Chinese monks, like their counterparts in the South Asian literature, placed great value on seeing the Buddha in person. It is also noteworthy that Huili (or potentially Xuanzang himself) differentiates between the Buddha’s time and our “latter years of image (worship),” thereby strongly suggesting that he perceived images to be a substitute, possibly a poor substitute, for that which is now gone. With the exception of Xuanzang’s record, each of the texts considered in this chapter dates to between the first and fourth centuries ce, which appears to have been the period when ideas about images were most urgently contested. It would be elegantly simple to trace a trajectory from older texts that oppose or qualify the use of images to more recent works promoting their use (or the reverse), but what we face is the familiar contested field of discourse and debate wherein various writers and sects sought to promote their individual points of view via narrative, rhetoric, and decree.49 Nevertheless, the simple presence of these remainders, these traces of past debates, informs us of an important fact, namely, that image use had its fervent advocates. In terms of actual practice, figural imagery could play a number of roles. Giving an image as a gift might benefit one’s karma and lead to higher spiritual states, but one might also benefit from using the image as a focus for meditative exercises or as the recipient of devotional offerings. While the actions of Upagupta, Utpalavarṇā, and Vakkali may have been contested, these are but three among many stories of devotees who aggressively sought to see the Buddha and who were said to have benefited spiritually from those efforts.



I M AG E A P P E A L

12 7

The Benefits of Giving Images In an article on Gandharān sculptures depicting the Buddha seated on a lotus, Ju-Hyung Rhi references a group of Mahāyāna texts that advocate the creation of images. Three of these texts include passages that enumerate the tasks a bodhi­ sattva must accomplish if he wishes to attain spontaneous birth on a lotus, presumably in a Pure Land. And each of these lists includes “making an image of the Buddha on a lotus” as one of the four required deeds that must be undertaken to attain such an auspicious rebirth.50 A fourth text, the Bhadrakalpika Sūtra, identifies this same act of patronage as a prerequisite for the speedy attainment of samādhi (a high level of meditative concentration).51 In other words, these texts, which were translated into Chinese in the third century, each consider the act of creating Buddha images to be conducive to or, more accurately, to be required for attaining specific advanced spiritual states. Such expectations reveal that the creation of images was at times considered capable of furthering the spiritual aims of devotees, and these are not the only texts to make such claims. Gregory Schopen, for example, has explicated in some detail a passage from the Buddhabalādhāna-prātiharyāvikurvaṇanirdeśa Sūtra that asserts that if one makes a painted or clay images of the Tathāgatas and properly venerates them while dedicating the merit, the names of the Buddhas will be heard by those in the Avīci Hell. This in turn will cause the listeners to avoid evil and be reborn to a positive destiny.52 In this way, the merit earned from the creation of an image is said to be effective in uplifting even those suffering in the lowest hells. Additionally, the later Southeast Asian Theravāda tradition demonstrates an even greater acceptance of images and discusses at length the benefits attributed to devotional practices. The Paññāsa Jātaka, sometimes referred to as the Apocryphal Jātaka, is a collection of Pāli tales that were written in Thailand no earlier than the ninth century.53 Despite its direct ties to the often image-resistant Sri Lankan Buddhist tradition, this text offers an extended litany detailing the benefits derived from making an image of the Buddha. These lists appear in more than one portion of the text, and enumerate the rewards earned from the creation of images. The first of these lists, for example, promises abundant majesty, future rebirths as only humans or gods, large families, respect, and the future attainment of nibbāna (nirvāṇa).54 These rewards are enumerated more fully in a later section of the text in which the Buddha explains the fortunate consequences that result from the creation or veneration of an image. To do so, he divides this catalogue of rewards between those that apply to birth into the realm of gods and those that apply to the world of human beings.55 The list is extensive and includes a diverse variety of attainments. Exemption from rebirth as a ghost or in a hell, wisdom, immunity from disease, great wealth, heavenly attendants, and immeasurable happiness are just a few of the things that the sponsor of an image can look forward

12 8

CHAPTER 6

to enjoying. It is notable, however, that the first benefit mentioned by the Buddha is that “such beings, o king, will in the future obtain whatever excellent knowledge they aspire to, namely that of a disciple (sāvaka), or of a Paccekabuddha, or [even] the state of the Buddha.”56 According to this late Pāli text, these rewards improve more than the devotees’ material well-being; they are also instrumental in furthering their path to enlightenment. Given the bold nature of these claims spanning the late second to the ninth century, one wonders how widespread this expectation was among early donors. Inscriptions recording gifts to the Buddhist monastic institution can be quite formulaic, and typically give the name of the donor and the nature of the gift. Less common but not altogether unknown are those inscriptions that include a description of the karmic reward that the donor hopes will be engendered by the donation. Judging by the extant examples left by both monastic and lay donors, there was a wide range of possible outcomes that might be expected. A survey of early dedicatory inscriptions reveals that most early Buddhist inscriptions find parallels in those of other religious traditions. Only relatively few of the extant inscriptions make reference to soteriological goals that might be considered uniquely Buddhist. But before considering those special cases, it is helpful to get a sense of what might be considered typical. In an overview of early Buddhist inscriptions, the sentiment most commonly encountered is an expressed wish for the welfare and happiness of all creatures.57 Yet this cannot be considered an exclusively Buddhist formulation, because as early as the eighth year of the Kaniṣka Era (135 ce) this same phrasing was used in the context of nāga worship.58 In this inscription from Mathurā, the donor expresses a wish that the donation be “for the welfare and happiness of all sentient beings.” A similarly worded aspiration appears on a second inscription, this one on a stone slab erected in the shrine of the nāga Dadhikarṇṇa, also from Mathurā.59 The similarity in the construction of these dedications suggests that in the minds of some donors the gift of a Buddha image or of a nāga could produce similar results and had the power to improve worldly conditions for oneself and others. Take, for example, this quotation from Cave 22 at the spectacular fifth-century ce rock-cut Buddhist site of Ajaṇṭā (fig. 6.1). Those who have an image of the Conqueror made In this [very life] become possessed of Beauty, fortune and good qualities; Like the sun in their faculties and senses, They become a delight to the eye.60

In this dedication, the patron expresses the belief that his donation of a Buddha image will produce the immediate material benefits of “beauty, fortune, and good qualities.” In short, the same types of worldly aims associated with the images of local



I M AG E A P P E A L

12 9

6.1 View of the Ajaṇṭā Caves, India, 2nd c. bce–5th c. ce. Photo by the author.

gods also appear to have motivated some patrons of Buddhist images. In the minds of the faithful, both acts of patronage apparently had the potential to instill happiness and well-being. This sort of conflation of Buddha images and local gods may have driven Buddhist authors in their desire to differentiate the nature of Buddha images from those of other religious figures. Yet these similarities go only so far. The unique qualities of the Buddha’s image become apparent even within the corpus of early inscriptional evidence. For instance, it is not entirely unknown for Buddhist donors to expect that their gifts will be instrumental in attaining heightened spiritual states. To my knowledge, such aspirations are never found on images of nāgas or of other local gods. Nor do the donative records associated with regional deities exhibit the Buddhist tendency to project karmic rewards forward into the next life of the donor or other designated recipient of merit. One female donor from Mathurā, for example, dedicated the merit from her gift of an image toward the goal of helping all beings attain Buddhahood.61 This generalized expression of hope for all beings is significant for its acknowledgment of Buddhahood as a universal aim, as well as for the donor’s expectation that a donative act would be conducive to its attainment. Although such sentiments are fairly rare, there is another example from Mathurā in which a monk

13 0

CHAPTER 6

6.2 Remains of monastery complex, Ratnāgiri, India, 6th–12th c. ce. Photo by the author.

named Buddhavarman expresses a range of goals to which he hopes to apply the merit accrued from his donation of a Buddha image. He states, “Let there be attainment of Nirvāṇa by the teacher Saghadāsa, for the cessation of all unhappiness of (his) parents . . . for the welfare and happiness of all sentient beings.”62 This single inscription does a fine job of exemplifying the range of possibilities toward which donors might direct their karmic rewards. And it further clarifies that at least some patrons saw their generosity as facilitating the attainment of the most exalted spiritual goals. But we must be careful not to impose categories where they do not exist, because in this sense the donation of an image differed very little from other kinds of donation to the monastic order. Any gift had the potential to reap karmic rewards that could be more than just material gains. A clear expression of these sentiments can be read at Ratnāgiri, a sprawling Buddhist monastery in Odisha that flourished between the sixth and twelfth centuries (fig. 6.2). In one inscription from the site, the donor expresses his fear of “the future life” and hopes that through his gift of a rice paddy, “the gate of hell may be kept well unopened” for himself and any scion of his family.63 Likewise, the donor of Cave 17 at Ajaṇṭā claims to have undertaken his act of piety after his younger brother died and he resolved to cultivate “a great tree of merit,” presumably in prepara-



I M AG E A P P E A L

131

tion for his own demise.64 While this cave does include images of the Buddha, the dedication does not single out the figural art as being especially potent. A similar but more fully developed record can be seen at Nāgārjunakoṇḍa in the inscriptions left by the renowned patron Queen Cāṃtisiri. Unlike many other donors cited here, Cāṃtisiri is not known to have ever donated a Buddha image, but she did leave us several āyaka pillars and an entire apsidal temple, each of which bears a substantial inscription.65 For example, in one of her dedications she expresses hopes for “the past, future and present [members] of both the houses to which she belongs, for the attainment of welfare and happiness in both the worlds and in order to attain herself the bliss of nirvāṇa and for the attainment of welfare and happiness by all the world.”66 This inscription is wonderful in its comprehensiveness since it demonstrates succinctly the range of possible ways in which the merit from this donation might be directed. While happiness over many lifetimes may have been a suitable aspiration for others, Cāṃtisiri clearly held more transcendent objectives for herself and repeatedly states her intention to achieve nirvāṇa. Furthermore, her words indicate that she saw her role as a patron as instrumental in achieving that end even though we have no record of her commissioning an image of the Buddha. Differences in donative practices between Buddhists and other groups, therefore, appear to center not on the gift but rather on the nature of the institution to which it is being given. To clarify a bit, we have seen that the intentions of Buddhist donors at times overlap with those of individuals donating to other religious institutions. Buddhist gifts are notable primarily in their propensity to apply karmic rewards toward Buddhist soteriological aims. This is not just true for images; the same practice is found in a wide range of donations made to the Buddhist institution. In short, the inscriptional sources treat the act of donating an image in much the same way they treat any other donation. The practice of offering gifts to completed images, however, falls into an entirely different category.

The Benefits of Giving to Images Taken as a whole, the variety of aspirations and expectations found in the epigraphic materials present a wide range of potential karmic rewards, from the worldly to the transcendent. Some of these variations appear to be personal statements of piety, whereas others may represent differences in standardized expressions of gift giving associated with specific sectarian traditions.67 And while the direct sectarian affiliation of most donative records remains unclear, the sentiments expressed in the inscriptions seem to parallel the textual sources insofar as there is a broad range of positions with differing views on the value of devotional acts. But the one point that all sources seem to agree upon (if not endorse)

13 2

CHAPTER 6

is that devotional acts produce positive karmic rewards that can result in material benefits. If we take a moment to recall the objections mustered by those who opposed the religious use of images, this point becomes quite apparent. As we saw in earlier chapters, the authors of the Maitreyasiṃhanāda Sūtra warned that those who are not skilled in means and are unable to overcome desire will “intend to obtain success and magical power through performing worship to images of the Tathāgata.”68 The text goes on to warn that they will think that they are the only true worshippers of the Buddha, but that this notion will only lead them to become arrogant. Similarly, in the Cakra­varti­ vyākṛta Avadāna, the Buddha explains that by performing prasāda (devotional acts of generosity inspired by intense emotion), one can enjoy millions of lifetimes as a universal king. But the monks who are listening “balk at spending so much time in conditioned existence and give up the practice altogether.”69 In other words, the text teaches that merit-making devotions may be suitable for material aims but not for those who are serious about liberation from the cycle of rebirth. In these examples, the authors express disapproval of image use but in the process of doing so acknowledge that such practices can generate material rewards; they merely question the real value of those aspirations. Their shared assumption that image-based devotion is synonymous with materialistic benefits almost certainly stems from the early and pervasive preconceptions linking image use with worldly objectives. These ancient assumptions were apparently taken for granted even by the critics of devotional images, who, rather than refute their efficacy, simply denied them the ability to be applicable outside of that narrow frame. And while some writers saw this limited role as the total purview of image use, others acknowledged these material rewards as being a small part of a much bigger picture. By voicing their disapproval, these texts, somewhat ironically, also draw our attention to the ideas that they refute. The efforts they make to persuade readers reveal the potency of the ideas they seek to overturn. For these refutations to make sense there must have been communities who did believe that images were conducive to liberation and that devotional acts could lead to spiritual insight. This indeed appears to be the case. As recipients of offerings, images of the Buddha appear to have been considered something very special and were frequently the focus of pious generosity. For example, recent scholarship has shown that individual images of the Buddha were actually granted rights and treated as legal entities within the Mūlasarvāstivādin monastic code (vinaya). These images literally “resided” in the vihāra with the other monks and were explicitly allowed to possess property and receive gifts on their own behalf.70 So, while much of the extant Buddhist literary evidence seems eager to distance the Buddha from his copies or to qualify the nature of his embodiment, other sources, including evidence of



I M AG E A P P E A L

13 3

donations to images, suggest that there was a persistent and powerful countercurrent to this trend. The widespread recognition of this sentiment finds some validation in a few of the inscriptions located at the fifth-century ce Buddhist caves of Ajaṇṭā. For example, Varāhadeva, in his Cave 16 inscription, describes his vihāra as a “splendid dwelling for the Lord of Ascetics.”71 Similarly, the donor of Cave 17 describes himself as having excavated “a caitya for the King of Sages.”72 These phrases imply the Buddha’s presence and assume that he has a use for a physical residence, a quality that suggests a strong degree of immediacy and proximity. Additionally, there are several inscriptional fragments from Andhra, at sites such as Dhānyakaṭaka and Nandalur, that record the gift of lamps and villages as being explicitly given to the Buddha himself.73 Similar phrasing appears on a donation of lights (presumably lamps and oil) recorded at the Kuda Caves, which designate the gift as simply being given “to Buddha.”74 A related, albeit more conditional, notion of the Buddha’s embodiment is reflected in the Cave 26 inscription at Ajaṇṭā by the monk Buddhabhadra, which states that the Buddha “has won the state free of old-age and death and has departed for the City of Tranquility . . . and yet he accomplishes the aims of living beings. That is why extolling [his] qualities in homage is efficacious . . . a single flower offered to him is a primary cause for the fruits known as heaven and final emancipation.” 75 This inscription by a member of the saṃgha presents, in his own words, an acknowledgment that the Buddha has departed for nirvāṇa, but also emphasizes that offerings made directly to him are still capable of producing positive karmic results. In short, the Buddha is both absent and efficacious. This assertion helps to foreground the seeming dichotomy between a Buddha who is stated to be entirely and permanently gone from our existence and inscriptions (as in Cave 16 at the same site) describing him as a resident of the monastery. A similar dichotomy is suggested by inscriptions on early Jain images. Discussions of the Jain artistic tradition usually follow the textual sources in insisting on the total absence of the Jinas, but the monolithic nature of this claim is challenged by inscriptional evidence from Mathurā, which alludes to the direct and active involvement of the Jina in assessing the worth of donations.76 Specifically in an inscription on a Jain image, most likely depicting Ṛṣabhanātha, the donor concludes with the words “may the god be pleased.”77 In this case it is not entirely clear that the “god” in question is the Jina, but a second inscription on a sculpture dating to the sixtieth year of Huviṣka’s reign removes the doubt. In it, the donor ends her donation with the wish “May the holy (and) glorious Ṛṣabha be pleased!”78 While this sort of direct plea for approval does not appear on images of the Buddha, it is known from other contexts.79 Specifically, it appears on two donations associated with local gods, a village goddess, and a nāga.80 While it is not surprising that a donor might ask for the favor of a deity, it is most unusual for a Jain patron to directly appeal to a Jina in this manner. It

13 4

CHAPTER 6

is hard to know what to make of these inscriptions, and one wants to be cautious not to draw too many conclusions from limited evidence, but on the surface, it seems that the Buddha may not have been alone in straddling the line between presence and absence in the minds of devotees. On a basic level, artistic works depicting the Buddha were treated as being more than simply approachable and inviting—they were said to produce an emotional response or thrill in their viewers. As such, references to images frequently play a role in stories of conversion. For example, when King Rudrāyaṇa and his court are sent a depiction of the Buddha as a gift, they are struck by a sudden thrill upon seeing it and first hearing the word Buddha. Shortly thereafter, the king attains an advanced spiritual state and becomes a supporter of the dharma.81 Similarly, the Damamūka Nidāna Sūtra mentions that in the time of the Buddha Puṣya, a king made images of the Buddha to send to frontier lands to convert those who had not yet heard the dharma.82 So, even on a purely visual level, these images could have a transformative effect upon their viewers, and the benefits to be derived from seeing images were not limited to mere conversion. According to the Tibetan version of the Akṣobhyavyūha Sūtra, the Buddha Akṣobhya began his path to becoming fully enlightened when he “had presented flowers, incense, perfumes . . . to the stūpa . . . or the images of the Tathāgata” and made a vow asking that the merit might increase the aspect of his own Buddha-field.83 The Paññāsa Jātaka, although a much later (ninth-century) text with Southeast Asian origins, provides a similar account of Śākyamuni’s own past, in which he repairs the broken finger of a Buddha image. This simple act was accompanied by a series of vows in which Śākyamuni requests that this act might generate great wealth over several lifetimes, and allow him to enjoy good health, avoid enemies, and become the Fully Enlightened One.84 Each portion of this oath is ultimately fulfilled, including the attainment of Buddhahood. Once again, it appears that meritorious actions could bring about a variety of rewards, and that material and spiritual desires were not always considered inappropriate or mutually exclusive. The link between acts of devotion directed to images and eventual Buddhahood is stated quite directly in the Śikṣāsamuccaya. It asserts that all bodhi­ sattvas have ten dharmas that they must fulfill. Included in this list is the expectation that they manufacture an image of the Tathāgata, repair a shrine, offer scented water to bathe an image, and make sure that a Tathāgata shrine is swept and anointed. Finally, the merit from all of these acts must be dedicated with an intense thought for the purity of all beings.85 The text goes on to state that it is preferable to roast for eons in the hells than be denied a view of the Teacher. The mere sight of his likeness is said to cause “cognition to grow,” from which one “heaps up infinite merit which helps win enlightenment.”86 These tales of bodhisattvas reveal the value and efficacy that some Buddhists attributed to devotional acts; but even though devotion in the form of creating



I M AG E A P P E A L

13 5

and tending images was an important method for interacting with the representation of the Buddha, it was not the only way devotees benefited from his presence.

Image-Centered Devotion and Meditation The Avadānaśataka directly attributes Śākyamuni’s role as the Buddha of the current age to his having engaged in meditation upon the physical form of a fully enlightened being. The text postulates a sort of karmic competition between Maitreya and Śākyamuni regarding which of them will become the next Buddha. The Buddha Puṣya notices that Maitreya is already qualified for Buddhahood, but the people that he is destined to convert are not yet spiritually prepared. Śākyamuni’s disciples are ripe for conversion, but he himself is not ready to become a Buddha. To rectify the problem, Puṣya climbs to a gem-filled cave on a mountaintop and enters a deep meditation. Śākyamuni finds the cave and, seeing the splendor of Puṣya, is overcome with ecstatic devotion and enters a seven-day trance, meditating on Puṣya’s miraculous form. The merit gained from this time in meditation is enough to propel Śākyamuni ahead of Maitreya (bypassing nine kalpas of merit making) and ensure that he becomes the next Buddha.87 This rather remarkable passage attributes Śākyamuni’s very Buddhahood to devotional meditation directed toward the physical form of a living Buddha. The text even clarifies that he is drawn into this state after seeing the thirty-two major and eighty minor marks exhibited by a “Great Man” (mahāpuruṣa), which are physical features that all Buddhas possess due to their accrual of positive karma.88 In no uncertain terms it attests to the soteriological benefits to be gained through meditation on a Buddha’s tangible form. This example pertains to actual Buddhas, but, according to some sources, the beneficial results of viewing can also be gained from the use of images. By exploring the concept of prasāda, Andy Rotman has elaborated on the ways in which the avadānas develop and promote expressions of religious devotion. Prasāda (passana or pasāda in Pāli), as Rotman explains it, is an involuntary emotional state that is engendered as a response to meaningful external stimuli. In many cases this response can be morally problematic, as when one is driven to sudden violence or tempted into iniquity. Yet in the proper circumstances this response can be cultivated so as to enkindle virtue.89 In a process that is not unlike the aesthetic theory of rasa, the sight of a religious object such as the Buddha’s image can produce an emotional reaction.90 Once this mental state has arisen, it can generate immediate actions. In Buddhist thinking, one’s intentions have a profound effect on the moral weight of one’s actions, and, because these actions have arisen in a state of pure mindfulness, they are considered to be particularly meritorious.91 Most typically, the state of prasāda can be generated by sight of the Buddha’s image, complete with its thirty-two major and eighty minor marks. These physi-

13 6

CHAPTER 6

cal features are more than just iconography. The body of a mahāpuruṣa (Great Man) is said to be a by-product of his remarkable karma, and his physical characteristics can be earned only over countless lifetimes of moral striving.92 So to look upon the splendor and the beauty of the Buddha’s body was for many synonymous with looking at the tangible expression of his virtue. This devotion would ideally lead to emulation that in turn would produce insight and liberation. Through this sort of mechanism, it was possible for the acts of devotion undertaken by Buddhists to be seen as being more than just worldly, meritmaking exercises. And although these practices were almost always engendered by a physical image, some authors argued that intense devotion was possible even without reliance on a tangible focus. For instance, the Buddha once manifested an image of a previous Buddha, Kāśyapa, over the spot where his relics were interred so that the monks might cultivate devotion in their minds and take advantage of the rare opportunity to venerate two Buddhas at once. King Prasenajit heard of this miracle and, with thousands of others, hurried to the location. Unfortunately for him, he arrived too late to witness the event, but the Buddha assured him that heart-felt faith (prasāda) conducted properly in the mind is the same as worshiping before a living Buddha. In short, while devotion to the Buddha’s image may be preferable, one can also gain merit by performing devotions to the Buddha in one’s head.93 Here the Buddha promotes multiple forms of devotion and, through him, the authors strongly advocate for devotion to the embodied Buddha as a preferred, but not exclusive, means of developing spiritual attainment.94 Other authors disagreed with this ranking of religious techniques, but even those who objected to devotional acts directed to the Buddha often found ways to compensate for their rejection of tangible imagery. The Pāli Theravāda literature, for example, is well known for being unreceptive to the use of images. Strong has identified the Pāli canonical tradition as being one of the two groups (along with the early Prajñāpāramitā school) that identified the dharma as the whole Buddha, thereby denying entirely the relevance of the Buddha’s physical form (rūpa).95 The Pāli literature is by and large overtly resistant to the idea that images might play a role in attaining insight, and frequently identifies the reliance on visual forms as a weakness. The Vaṇṇupatha Jātaka, as an example, presents a frame story in which a monk attempts to pass the rainy season alone and in meditation. During that time he concludes that he does not have what it takes to gain insight and resigns himself to the prospect that he is among the lowest of men. As part of this selfdeprecating resolution he tells himself to “go and live my life beholding the glories of the Buddha’s presence and listening to his sweet teachings.”96 In other words, he has resigned himself to forego meditation in favor of devotional practices. Upon his return, his fellow monks and the Buddha himself scold him for giving up and encourage him to persevere in his goals. Although the criticism is presented in a gentle manner, it is sufficient for the monk to see the error of



I M AG E A P P E A L

13 7

his ways. Ultimately, he is praised for overcoming his attachment to passive viewing and for reembarking on his meditative rigors. The Vaṇṇupatha Jātaka story is just one example among many in which image use is denigrated. It is possible, however, that much of the disapproval of images found in the Pāli canon may be traced to the fifth-century writer, redactor, and commentator Buddhaghoṣa, who, along with his contemporaries, played a major role in interpreting and shaping the Pāli canon as we currently know it. The breadth of Buddhaghoṣa’s role in shaping the canon is still debated, but several scholars have identified places in which he expresses a firm bias against image use, bhakti, and religious emotionalism.97 He seems to have considered the veneration of visual forms to be a type of attachment that was counterproductive to spiritual advancement. Take as an example Buddhaghoṣa’s commentary on Ānanda’s behavior after the Buddha died. Upon returning to the monastery in Jetavana, Ānanda finds the community and the townsfolk to be quite distressed over the Buddha’s demise. To comfort them, Ānanda offers a sermon and then takes solace in performing his duties in the Buddha’s residence as if the Teacher were still present. He changes the garlands, sweeps the floor, and addresses the chamber as if the Buddha were still in residence.98 In other words, he performs domestic acts that bear close resemblance to actions associated with devotional rituals (pūjā), in memory of the Buddha at the location in which he used to dwell. In response to this behavior, Buddhaghoṣa comments that his behavior reflects Ānanda’s love, but also indicates that Ānanda was “not yet free of passions.” Buddhaghoṣa ultimately identifies these actions as weaknesses indicative of attachments that are impediments to Buddhahood.99 Buddhaghoṣa’s biases have also been noticed in his omission of any references to images or image shrines within monasteries. Walpola Rahula has noted that, although images had been used in Sri Lanka for over four hundred years and special image houses appeared in monasteries long before the fifth century, the commentaries of Buddhaghoṣa make no mention of images or image houses at all.100 Indeed, Sri Lanka had a grand, albeit conservative, tradition of figural imagery whose antiquity rivals even some of the earliest sites on the subcontinent. Their absence from an expansive textual record that included descriptions of monasteries may suggest specific intentions on the part of the authors or redactors. These examples hint at what may have been a conscious effort to steer the tradition away from devotional practices in favor of meditative approaches. There is some evidence suggesting that the Pāli canon had not always held such stark views on the topic of image use. For example, the Vimuttimagga, the predecessor and possible inspiration for Buddhaghoṣa’s Visuddhimagga, includes a passage recommending the use of images as a focus for meditation. Specifically, it states, “If a man wishes to meditate on the Buddha, he should worship Buddha images and such other objects.” 101 Although this is by no means a ringing

13 8

CHAPTER 6

endorsement of devotional practices, it at least makes room for image use in a way the later Pāli commentaries do not. It is unlikely that Buddhaghoṣa single-handedly steered the Sri Lankan Theravāda tradition away from images, but he does seem to have been an influential voice in that regard. Despite Buddhaghoṣa’s objections to actual images, he did espouse a very detailed form of meditative visualization. These practices, called anussati in Pāli and anusmṛti in Sanskrit, challenged the practitioner to meditate upon central aspects of the dharma, the saṃgha, or the Buddha and their related qualities. One of the most important and widely discussed of these was buddhānussati (Sanskrit: buddhānusmṛti), literally “recollecting the Buddha” by visualizing his physical form.102 In this exercise practitioners were challenged to visualize the Buddha in their minds, down to the tiniest details of his appearance, and to reflect upon his virtue and splendor while doing so. This process has been aptly described by Jacob Kinnard as “iconographic thought,” and it would seem to have much in common with image-based devotion.103 Yet Buddhaghoṣa, somewhat uncharacteristically, saw great value in this undertaking, and the Pāli commentaries treat these exercises as an important stepping stone on the path to enlightenment.104 These meditative practices were also promoted by several groups in the Mahāyāna tradition, including the typically iconoclastic Prajñāpāramitā tradition. Paul M. Harrison has characterized the seventh-century ce Pratyutpanna buddhasaṃmukhāvasthita-samādhi Sūtra (henceforth, Pratyutpanna Sūtra) as straddling the divide between the Prajñāpāramitā and Pure Land streams within Mahāyāna practice. The text does this by defining and promoting a developed form of buddhānusmṛti.105 It must be said that this text is primarily interested in directing its meditative techniques (samādhi) to Amitābha rather than Śākyamuni, but it employs methods very similar to those found in the Pāli. Specifically, by focusing on a Buddha’s moral and physical qualities, one mentally evokes his presence and in this mind-set directly encounters the Teacher. This state of deep concentration may ideally culminate with the Buddha preaching the dharma in the adherent’s mind, which in turn brings about a constant, moral mindfulness that is conducive to liberation.106 Unlike the fifth-century Pāli treatment of these meditative practices, the Pratyutpanna Sūtra actually recommends the use of images as a useful and appropriate way to perfect one’s visualizations. Specifically, it states, If you desire this most excellent of samādhis Paint pictures well, and construct images of the Incomparable One, Which have the marks complete, resemble the color of gold, Are large and flawless.107

So the creation and study of physical representations is designated as excellent training for meditative visualizations, which suggests some usefulness in the



I M AG E A P P E A L

13 9

production of images. Yet the Prajñāpāramitā texts seem to have been willing to entertain these practices only to a point, because there was significant concern that focusing too much on the appearances of Buddhas could lead to destructive forms of attachment. The Aṣṭasāhasrikā Prajñāpāramitā, for example, teaches this lesson in the story of Sadāprarudita, a misguided monk who desperately seeks perfect wisdom. A series of circumstances lead him to the bodhisattva Dharmodgata, who instructs him in a number of samādhis (meditations) that allow him to see various Tathāgatas. When he emerges from this state, however, he is confused and longs to be once again in the presence of these magnificent beings. Despite this longing, he is reluctant to return to Dharmodgata again without a suitable gift for his teacher. In a desperate attempt to earn income, he offers to sell the marrow from his own arm as a sacrifice. This behavior, evocative of the worst forms of addiction, is finally curtailed when the daughter of a merchant intervenes and offers him the gifts he requires for his teacher. After return­ ing with the gift, Sadāprarudita engages in an exchange with the bodhi­sattva and comes to realize his delusion. The forms of the Buddhas were never real, and he has spent all of his time attached to an illusion. He learns that Buddhas cannot be perceived in their physical form (rūpakāya). With this realization, he gains true wisdom.108 This tale provides a lesson on the dangers of attachment—even (or perhaps especially) to the appearances of Buddhas. Sadāprarudita’s longing for their presence gained through samādhi becomes a burning compulsion that drives the hapless monk to the point of mutilating his own body. Nevertheless, the outcome is a positive one, and the visualization of Tathāgatas, despite the risks, was ultimately what guided Sadāprarudita to attaining his goal of perfect wisdom. While the Prajñāpāramitā tradition, like the Pāli canon, remained largely resistant to the use of physical images, both groups staunchly endorsed visualization exercises designed to recall the Buddha’s appearance. Additionally, in both cases, these meditative exercises were deemed to be appropriate and advantageous to the pursuit of Buddhahood. While the literary accounts certainly offer no uniform consensus regarding what can be expected from image-based modes of practice or even regarding the proper manner in which one should go about performing them, they do reveal a fairly universal interest in the Buddha’s physical form. Buddhist sources differ on the value inherent in and the potential dangers posed by such forms of worship. Nevertheless, image-based forms of religious expression were apparently too important for their opponents to simply ignore because much of the disapproval that targeted image use was also directed against these modes of worship. Yet Buddhist devotionalism had its proponents as well, and its advocates were adroit at providing justifications and explications designed to validate devotional practices while refuting the objections of critics.

14 0

CHAPTER 6

Buddhist Devotional Practices The move toward devotional practices in the early centuries ce was by no means solely, or even primarily, a Buddhist phenomenon. Michael Meister has aptly characterized the situation by stating, “In the first few centuries A.D., all sects in India experimented with what I would call ‘cosmogonic figuration’—an attempt to find a means to use the image of the body to focus the mind.”109 This widespread interest in the veneration of the manifest, bodily form as a focus for attaining spiritual goals also coincided with the use of figural imagery in contexts that had previously eschewed the use of such representations. The rites performed for spirit-deities constitute the earliest expressions of these devotional practices, but the Vaiṣṇavites appear to have been among the first to apply these forms of worship to soteriological ends. Although devotional modes of worship emerged in several religious communities at about the same time, many Buddhist practices were almost certainly influenced by or developed in tandem with the rise of Vaiṣṇava devotionalism.110 In particular, the rise of Kṛṣṇa as a prominent religious figure seems to have played a major role in the development of these ideas, since his devotees were among the first to describe and practice intense forms of bhakti devotion. The same sort of longing for visual contact that textual sources attribute to followers of the Buddha also afflicted those devoted to Kṛṣṇa.111 The veneration of Kṛṣṇa had its heartland in Mathurā and the neighboring region of Vṛindāvan. It is no accident, therefore, that Buddhist forms of imagebased devotion and some of the earliest sculptural Buddha images emerged in the same region.112 Additionally, it is from the workshops of Mathurā that images of the Buddha were sent out across the subcontinent, and in at least some cases this work was initiated by monks and nuns.113 Although the exact relationship between Hindu bhakti and Buddhist devotionalism is not well understood, it seems highly unlikely that they are not connected. There were good reasons why the authors of the Divyāvadāna set the story of Māra’s conversion in Mathurā. In this way Upagupta’s act of veneration toward the Buddha, which the text refers to as bhakti, is set in a location that already had close ties to that form of religious expression.114 For some Buddhist communities, acts of devotion were ultimately seen as conducive to liberation and, like the bhakti rites of their Hindu counterparts, were essentially transcendent and spiritual in nature. This point was made forcefully by John Strong, who wrote in regard to Buddhist devotional practices as presented in the avadānas, “The aim of bhakti, far from being that of rebirth in heaven, is unambiguously soteriological.” He adds that bhakti can, “as Upagupta put it, . . . bring about Nirvāṇa for the wise.”115 The positive views about devotion in the avadāna tales, couched amid the exploits of Buddhist heroes, seem to have quickly entered mainstream forms of Buddhist practice.



I M AG E A P P E A L

141

As has already been mentioned, the term bhakti can be described simply as a form of devotional worship, but that definition falls somewhat short of fully capturing the concepts associated with that term. To explain more fully, bhakti often entails deeply intense levels of faith and emotional longing directed toward the figure of veneration. To use Sukumar Dutt’s wording, “It implies a subjective state—an attitude and condition in heart and mind in which the devotee turns from the ethical and other aspects of religion to prayer and adoration and complete self-surrender to the adored.”116 This definition offered by Dutt draws much of its authority from the literature produced by adherents of a fully developed and late form of bhakti, so it is not entirely clear that early practitioners viewed things in exactly these terms. For this reason, I think John Strong offers an important addendum to this definition when he states, “Bhakti may have meant different things to Buddhists at different times.”117 I would only add that the same may hold true for different Buddhists living at the same time as well. Nevertheless, the use of the term bhakti, when coupled with the specific narrative circumstances in which it appears, reveals that devotional worship entails more than simple offerings. It is an emotional and spiritual pursuit aimed at liberation that requires an enormous amount of dedication and commitment from devotees. Additionally, this mode of worship had influential proponents both within and outside of Buddhist circles whose advocacy may have helped drive the interest in figural imagery across all aspects of South Asian society. Those who championed the cult of the Buddha were keen on justifying devotional practices but were often careful to modify aspects of worship that were associated with preexisting practices or might be incompatible with Buddhist teachings. As previously mentioned, recent work by Andy Rotman has defined a number of faith-centered actions in the Divyāvadāna that might be described as devotional but that differ from bhakti in meaningful ways. This text is at times suspicious of bhakti, so the authors make it clear that other mechanisms of devotion, such as śraddhā (faith in the truth as told by trustworthy individuals) and prasāda (a spiritually potent mental state inspired by profound sights), were also at work.118 And while bhakti leads to prayer, prasāda leads invariably to acts of generosity.119 Like bhakti, prasāda also frequently involves spiritual states mediated through or inspired by likenesses of a sacred figure and can involve reverential gestures, offerings, and emotional responses, like those exhibited by Vakkali and Utpalavarṇā. If we consider that those narrative protagonists may have been seen as pioneering new and innovative modes of worship, or allying themselves with forms of devotional practice, it becomes a bit more apparent why rival schools of thought might have viewed their tales as threatening. Yet not every proponent of devotional practices couched their views in narrative. There is textual evidence for devotional veneration outside of the narra-

14 2

CHAPTER 6

tive tradition that is much easier to directly associate with historical figures. The second-century ce devotional hymns of Mātṛceṭa are an excellent example.120 In his Śatapañcāśatkastotra, Mātṛceṭa writes, Each time one sees it, your body gives new joy For its sight cannot ever satiate, its aspect is so pleasing. Where else would these virtues of a Tathāgata be well housed? Except in this form of yours, blazing with signs and marks.121

Mātṛceṭa’s poem is an extended paean in honor of the Buddha and his perfections, both spiritual and physical. In fact, the poem conflates the two categories, seeing the Buddha’s unique body as a direct karmic embodiment of his flawless virtue. For Mātṛceṭa, praise brings merit, which eventually leads to emulating the Buddha’s phenomenal attainments. Therefore, devotional fervor is conducive to liberation. By the seventh century we have evidence that devotional practices had become standardized within at least one major Buddhist monastic institution, and constituted an important part of daily ritual there. The records of the Chinese pilgrim Yijing provide an exceptionally detailed description of life in the famous monastery of Nālandā. According to his account, devotional rituals were quite pervasive. Nevertheless, in his introduction to these observations Yijing felt it necessary to reassert that meditation is the best way to achieve understanding. He then proceeds to acknowledge that such practices are too profound for some to undertake and that the veneration of the Holy Image provides an accessible alternative.122 What follows are many pages in which Yijing recounts in meticulous detail the specifics involved in venerating the Buddha. He includes directions on how to bathe the Buddha, what prayers to recite, and what gifts to offer. What he describes are elaborate ceremonies that involve perfumed water, freshly prepared incense, flowers, jeweled canopies, and female musicians. Alternately he describes more austere rites that might be performed privately on a daily basis.123 The rituals he describes, which include bathing and making offerings to the image, have notable similarities to the Hindu pūjā. Both communities seem to have drawn their practices from shared precedents. Certainly the act of bathing a sacred object gets mentioned very early in the Buddhist literary material. Specifically, the Divyāvadāna includes several tales in which King Aśoka bathes the Bodhi tree as an act of devotion. In at least one instance this ritual involves bathing the tree in milk scented with aromatics and poured from a vast number of pitchers made of precious materials.124 Although what Yijing describes would seem to differ in its details from Aśoka’s offerings, the devotional motivations behind the actions seem to have remained similar. Most notably, even though Aśoka venerates a tree rather than an image, he does



I M AG E A P P E A L

14 3

so with the recollection of the Buddha (buddhānusmṛti) in mind.125 In a similar vein, Yijing asserts, “Though the Great Teacher has entered Nirvāṇa, yet his image exists and we should worship it with zeal as though in his very presence. Those who constantly offer incense and flowers to it are enabled to purify their thoughts, and those who perpetually bathe his image are enabled to overcome their sins that involve them in darkness.”126 Interestingly, Yijing mentions that Mātṛceṭa’s hymns were still being recited in his day, suggesting some continuity between the time in which the poet composed his verses of praise and Yijing’s elaborate ritual events.127 Such ritual devotions, Yijing informs us, “lead to meeting the Buddha in every birth” and “cause riches and joy in every life to come.”128 The rewards from these acts, therefore, could be both material and spiritual. Yet it is also possible that the repeated promises of future rewards may indicate some defensiveness or awareness of potential criticism regarding the utility or appropriateness of the devotional acts. Pressure to conform seems to have cut both ways, however. There was, Yijing tells us, significant pressure for all members of the saṃgha to participate in the ritual offerings. Yijing warns that a monk “is to be blamed if he does not even care to offer those beautiful flowers which are to be found everywhere in the fields.”129 This suggests a formal admonishment for those monks unwilling at least to go through the motions. The lavishness and authority presented in this description of the rituals give every indication that this was a powerful and influential mode of worship. Based on Yijing’s opening comments regarding meditation and his claim that there was formal disapproval of those who abstained, it is equally clear that not everyone agreed on the value or merit associated with such practices. In short, the Buddha’s body was as pervasive in Buddhist practices during the early centuries ce as it was in the artwork, and it appears to have played a central role in the practices associated with many different Buddhist schools of thought. Even those who disapproved of devotional forms of worship or artistic representations of the Buddha still found ways to incorporate his image into their meditative exercises. And no matter the form of devotional expression or meditative procedure, the ultimate objective of these actions typically reached well beyond the worldly and toward the supremely transcendent. These Buddhist schools of thought, and their counterparts in other traditions, challenged long-standing assumptions regarding the appropriateness of image use and, despite reservations from some quarters, moved figural art into new religious contexts. Although some groups found ways to compensate for their rejection of artistic imagery, most communities actively accepted and promoted the construction, use, and veneration of figural images of the Tathāgata. At this point, it will come as no surprise that the Buddhists were not alone in developing a wide range of attitudes and approaches toward the use of images. The Brahmanical community also grappled with the difficult concepts of

14 4

CHAPTER 6

embodiment and incarnation. This expressed itself not only in the devotional forms of bhakti but also in texts that eschew images in favor of meditative visualizations with similarities to the Buddhist buddhānusmṛti.130 At the most extreme are texts such as the Vaiṣṇava Paramasaṃhita, which questions how the unconstrained and unlimited could be worshipped by limited individuals, and ultimately states that devotion can occur only when the god has an embodied form. Ultimately, the authors of this text concluded that praise offered to an image is offered directly to the god.131 As complicated as these topics were for Hindus, they were even more so for Buddhists and Jains, whose teachers were no longer active in the world and could not be seen as directly accessible through their images. The widespread acceptance and proliferation of image use opened a host of new challenges as Buddhist concepts of absence and emptiness ran headlong into ancient notions of reflection and presence. But for a rule-bound community, the South Asian saṃgha was a remarkably adaptive organization. The creativity and ingenuity of its impressive thinkers quickly devised a number of ways to address this potential problem.



I M AG E A P P E A L

14 5

7 / C O P IN G STRATEGIES

There is a figure of Buddha in white stone about eighteen feet high. . . . Sometimes there are people who see the image come out on an evening and go around the great stūpa. Lately a band of robbers wished to go in and steal. The image immediately came forth and went before the robbers. Affrighted, they ran away; the image then returned to its own place, and remained fixed as before. The robbers, affected by what they had seen, began a new life. The (early seventh-century) words of Xuanzang while traveling in Gandhāra, Si-Yu-Ki Buddhist Records

T

hus far we have seen that images found widespread use, and somewhat tentative acceptance, in the early centuries ce. When we expand our notion of the Buddha’s form to include meditative visualizations as well as physical depictions, we can say that almost every school, sect, and branch of Buddhism addressed the bodily form of the Buddha in some fashion. Within these treatments, it was not at all uncommon for images of the Buddha to serve as the focus of devotional worship or meditative concentration. Narrative and doctrinal texts alike testify to a deep longing to be in the Teacher’s presence that seems to have been at least partially satisfied by these practices. Almost all groups acknowledged such acts to be a source of great merit, and a significant number of sources credit such exercises as generating karmic rewards that could lead to enlightenment itself. The answer to the question of “why” most Buddhists came to justify and adapt image use has been addressed in some detail, but the question of “how” they adapted and contextualized figural art to suit Buddhist needs still remains to be explored. Because of the worldly and materialistic qualities attributed to figural art, it is easy to see how this imagery might fit into royal contexts. Few kings would object to being associated with gods or with the qualities of abundance and worldly power. Yet for transcendent religious figures these materialistic associations are far less convenient and most of the Buddhist sources that favor images proactively worked to refute these connotations and attempted to circumvent any ideas that the image might embody the actual Buddha by

14 6

including reminders of his absence or meditations on his dissolution. We have already encountered tales in which artists were unable to copy the Buddha’s shadow or reproduce him in paint without his direct assistance. I have suggested that these stories demonstrated that the Buddha’s “true” form was elusive and therefore could be reproduced only in a reduced fashion or through the Buddha’s willing assistance. The idea that the Buddha’s form is elusive was just one method, however, of decoupling the Buddha from his likeness. Other sources adopted different tactics, but most strove to maintain a divide between the Buddha and his figural form. Although it may be compelling to try to organize Buddhist schools into two camps comprised of iconoclasts and iconodules, the simple, if less elegant, truth is that most Buddhist writers seem to have occupied a space between those two poles. This middle ground (or, perhaps, “middle way”) might be characterized as “qualified acceptance.” That is to say, images were by and large not rejected, but aspects of their use and significance were addressed, altered, and explicated to make them acceptable to doctrinal concerns. Treating the Buddha’s form as a projected manifestation of his virtue or as a visualized focus for meditative endeavors allowed doctrinal experts in some sectarian traditions to circumvent and refute most of the potentially problematic questions regarding the Buddha’s embodiment and level of engagement with the world. But what do we do with the vinaya texts that tell us that the Buddha’s image was a legal entity that could own property and was contractually due its share of those goods offered to the monastic community?1 Or consider the quotation from Xuanzang that opens this chapter, in which a statue of the Buddha thwarts a group of thieves. How are we to see the Buddha as totally absent when his image is prone to moonlit strolls or exhibits a propensity for marching off to fight crime? It seems to me that in these situations we are talking about presence in a different order of magnitude. The Buddha’s image is at times just as active as the images of gods and spirit-deities described in the literature. And in those narratives, the actions of an image almost invariably indicate the presence or at least the attention of the being whose likeness the image bears. Yet despite this seemingly apparent indication of the Buddha’s active involvement with the world, Xuanzang reportedly wept over the fact that he was born too late to witness that very presence.2 While images of the Buddha might appear to be as active as those of any god, it is clear that for Xuanzang they were not equivalent to the real thing. How, then, do we reconcile this? It turns out that we are not alone in questioning; some of the Buddhist sources struggled to address these same concerns. The Buddha’s final absence in nirvāṇa ran headlong into preexistent ideas of sculptural embodiment, and this potential misunderstanding over the Buddha’s presence gave rise to an impressive array of arguments whose primary purpose seems to have been to justify image use while preserving the finality of the Buddha’s parinirvāṇa.



C O P I N G S T R AT E G I E S

147

Justifying Presence and Accommodating Absence Questions directly relating to the Buddha’s presence are raised in the Milinda­ pañha. This text is organized as a series of questions posed by the King Milinda to the renowned monk Nāgasena, who does his best to answer them. The name Milinda has been argued to be the Sanskrit version of the Greek Menander as well as a possible reference to a Bactrian Greek king of the same name.3 This potential connection allows us some confidence in situating the text both chronologically and geographically. Although this second-century bce to thirdcentury ce text does not explicitly address Buddha images, it does contain discussions that shed light on the way some early Buddhists understood the relationship between the world and those in nirvāṇa. When asked by Milinda how the Buddha can receive gifts if he has passed entirely out of this existence, Nāgasena makes it clear, in unequivocal terms, that the Buddha does not receive any gifts. Nāgasena does, however, qualify this assertion with a long explanation as to why it is still quite worthwhile to offer them. Although this may seem like a contradictory claim, Nāgasena explains that the act of giving when inspired by worthy intentions is in itself an act that produces impressive amounts of positive karma and is therefore to be encouraged. He uses a number of metaphors to explain his point, asserting, for example, that the earth does not choose to grow crops but rather does so through the efforts of individuals. So too, Nāgasena argues, karma is cultivated through those giving offerings, not by those providing the opportunity for generosity, and in this regard the Buddha, despite his absence, remains a very potent “field of merit.”4 Naturally, this claim raises new questions, and the inquisitive King Milinda wastes little time in asking them. Specifically he inquires how it is that miracles can take place at sites where relics are worshipped if the Teachers themselves have passed from this world. Intriguingly, Nāgasena’s answer offers three separate mechanisms by which these miracles might occur. One option hinges on the karmic rewards earned by gift giving and in this way relates to Nāgasena’s previous explanation of the benefits accrued by giving gifts to the Buddha. Another possibility is that the gods may observe the devotion of the worshippers and choose to intervene.5 And, finally, an all-knowing arhat, or enlightened sage, may have foreseen this moment in time and taken pity, through his resolve ensuring that a miracle would occur at the appropriate moment in the future, even after he had passed from the world.6 Although Nāgasena is discussing relics here, the implications for images are clear and are notable in the degree to which the text’s authors insist that the Buddha is no longer in any way present. It would appear that our authors felt that assumptions about the Buddha’s continued presence in the world were a sufficiently serious concern to justify multiple explanations appearing at various points throughout the work.

14 8

CHAPTER 7

These explanations admittedly have the characteristics of technicalities or legal loopholes, but it would seem that defining the nature of the Buddha’s absence was an important step in the rationalization of relic use (and presumably image use) within some Buddhist communities. In each of Nāgasena’s examples the Buddhists are responding to an assumption of presence and are actively insisting upon a disconnection between the Buddha and any expression of his physical manifestations. Buddhist thinkers had to navigate complex ideas about presence and portraiture that were firmly rooted in the early South Asian cultural milieu. It is to be expected, therefore, that these were the notions against which critics of image use directed their arguments. At stake were public conceptions (or misconceptions) about the Buddha, the concept of nirvāṇa, and key aspects of the Dharma. Appreciating these implications can help us grasp the importance that many Buddhists placed on repeatedly and emphatically reinforcing the totality of the Teacher’s absence. The rationalizations and justifications presented in the Milindapañha represent just some of the many strategies engendered by a pervasive desire to incorporate physical reminders of the Buddha into existing practice, and an equally powerful need not to undermine the foundations of the faith. It is not just the doctrinal tracts that grapple with these issues. The same con­ cerns are voiced and addressed in the narrative literature as well. As an example, we can return to the now familiar story of Māra’s conversion by Upagupta, as told in the Divyāvadāna. In this tale the monk Upagupta convinces Māra to assume the Buddha’s appearance so that he might look upon the Buddha’s form. But it turns out that Māra has some serious reservations about complying with the monk’s request. He worries that if Upagupta pays reverence to the Buddha’s image, he, as the recipient of that pure devotion, will be physically hurt.7 Upagupta assuages Māra’s fears by providing assurances the he will not offer veneration. After a bit of cajoling and further reassurance, Māra concedes to Upagupta’s request and adopts the forms of the Buddha and his closest disciples. When Upagupta subsequently becomes absorbed by the sight of the Tathāgata and seemingly proceeds to ignore his earlier promise not to venerate the Buddha’s likeness, Māra is understandably troubled. Puzzled and worried by the monk’s actions, Māra asks for an explanation, to which Upagupta responds by saying that his actions were not a violation of their agreement because, “Of course I know that the Best of Speakers [the Buddha] is gone altogether to extinction [nirvāṇa]. . . . Even so, when I see his figure which is pleasing to the eye, I bow down before the sage. But I do not revere you!”8 Upagupta goes on to explain, “Just as men bow down to clay images of the gods, knowing that what they worship is the god and not the clay, so I, seeing you here wearing the form of the Lord of the World bowed down to you, conscious of the Sugata [Buddha] but not conscious of Māra.”9 It is significant that in his defense Upagupta takes it for granted that his audience is well aware of how images function within acts



C O P I N G S T R AT E G I E S

14 9

of devotion. Specifically, he notes that during his veneration he was mindful of the Buddha, not of the representation made by Māra. This statement is perhaps meant to reassure us that Upagupta’s mind was not focused on the tangible, but it is also inescapably clear that he makes a direct correlation between the worship of deities and his veneration of the Buddha. This, by most accounts, is a very unusual comparison, and it raises some big issues. If prayers directed to those divinities pass through the images of stone or clay to reach the gods themselves, it begs the question of who exactly hears devotions to the Buddha. Upagupta’s rationale explains why Māra is not harmed, but it tells us nothing about why such devotions would be effective. John Strong has provided some helpful insight into the Upagupta story and notes the manner in which it cleverly indicates Upagupta’s mind-set. He observes, “Ironically, then, we have in Māra an ideal Buddhist object of worship; a Buddha image that will self-destruct as soon as its worshipper loses sight of its impermanence.”10 In other words, the promise offered by Upagupta and the fears expressed by Māra ensure the reader that the monk was at all times properly mindful of the Buddha and did not mistake the copy for the original.11 But the Divyāvadāna story never makes it clear why prayers directed to the Buddha are productive, and this omission leaves it uncertain whether or not the Buddha can actually receive those prayers. Given the comparison this tale seems to be making between devotion to the Buddha and the worship of gods, it is perhaps not surprising that the Divyāvadāna story of Māra’s conversion inspired so many critical revisions, at least one of which implies that Māra was harmed by Upagupta’s devotion.12 Specifically, in Tāranātha’s short version of the tale, Māra falls unconscious and disappears immediately after Upagupta venerates him. Despite his acknowledgment that the Buddha is absent, Upagupta also seems to be saying that all images of divine figures are simply a means of directing prayers or meditative focus, rather than the actual recipient of those devotions. But unlike Nāgasena, he offers no explanation as to why such actions should be effective. What these tales ultimately share is a sort of apologetics for devotional acts coupled with firm assurances that the traces of the Buddha, be they relics or images, are not to be mistaken for the Buddha himself. These texts, and many others, also reveal that in the Buddha’s absence there was a strong desire among many adherents to connect with the Teacher in a visible manner. Some have suggested that this push for image use was driven by a desire for bhakti or visual interaction (darśan) that possibly arose in competition or interaction with other religious communities.13 These possibilities seem quite reasonable, but it is likely that an entire range of incentives, from simple curiosity to a desire for continued social relevance, also played a role. What we can say with certainty is that images did begin to be made with great regularity and, judging by the expansive material record, were wildly successful.

15 0

CHAPTER 7

Furthermore, the Buddhists were not alone in negotiating these issues. There are certainly comparisons that can be drawn to the development of Brahmanical modes of image use, but it seems that some of the closest parallels to the Buddhist situation can be found among the Jains. Like the Buddhists, the Jain writers were negotiating a fine line between the possible perceptions of their religious leaders as either deceased ancestors or divinities, neither of which was desirable or accurate from a Jain doctrinal position. We have already noted how some Jain texts were less than receptive to the idea of image use and relegated such devotional practices to a lesser status.14 The Praśamarati Prakaraṇa, for example, treats the creation and support of temples as primarily a lay activity intended as a consolation for those who are unable to hack the rigors of monastic life.15 Just as is seen in many Buddhist sources, this text exhibits a reluctant and conditional response to images but not an outright rejection. Despite some apparent reservations, images seem to have been ultimately deemed worth accommodating by many within the Jain community as well. The arguments of Nāgasena find a remarkably close parallel in Jain texts that share (and most likely inspired) his efforts to define worship and veneration as modes of moral self-improvement. This line of reasoning states that the Jinas are symbolized by but not present in their images.16 Just as Nāgasena argued that the merit derived from devotion to the Buddha’s relics did not require the presence of the Buddha, the benefits of devotion to a Jina were often rationalized in a similar fashion. The parallels between Buddhist and Jain modes of honoring their religious figures extend even to the manner in which the central religious figures are depicted. The Buddha’s marks, or lakṣaṇa, identified him as a Great Being (mahā­puruṣa) and were described as the physical manifestation of the positive karma generated over lifetimes. So too, the Jinas, upon reaching enlightenment but before their final dissolution, exhibited the bodily marks called atiśayas that also identified them as Great Beings.17 It is the bodies of the Jinas at this stage of their lives (as kevalins) that visibly bear the signs of their exalted spiritual attainment and are typically depicted in art. Therefore, for the Jains, devotion toward images of the Jinas calls to mind their virtues and is ultimately intended to engender those same virtues in the minds of devotees. For this reason devotion to the Jina’s body, much like that of the Buddha, was often identified as a meditation on virtue rather than devotion to a temporary physical shell. The similarities are notable. Both communities seem to have grappled with comparable concerns about the embodiment of their religious figures, and, despite doctrinal challenges and vocal opponents, segments of both groups found ways to incorporate image use while maintaining the absence of their teachers. These compromises and accommodations were ultimately achieved in ways that were acceptable to many, if not all. The Jains appear to have preceded the Buddhists in image use, and their literature provides unwavering



C O P I N G S T R AT E G I E S

151

assurances of the Jinas’ absence. Yet John Cort has drawn attention to a number of early hymns of veneration that are addressed directly to the Jinas and thereby imply their direct interaction with the world. Although these sentiments seem to be at odds with dominant Jain views, phrases such as “May they, the Tīrthaṅkaras, be graceful to me” or “May the perfected ones . . . give me pro­ tection” reveal that some Jains believed that the Jinas could be responsive to appeals. Like the Buddhists, there are some narrative tales that also seem to chal­ lenge the absolute nature of the Jinas’ detachment. Although such occurrences are less common in the Jain literature than in the Buddhist sources, it appears that even the Jinas’ images were not immune from exhibiting occasional bouts of independent action.18 For example, in the twelfth century the Jain author Hemachandra retold a tale with old roots about King Udayana and his efforts to relocate an image of the Jina. In this story the king wants to move a perfect image of Mahāvīra to his new capital, but when he attempts to do so the image refuses to move. After the king scolds the image, it replies to him by stating that it will not move to the king’s capital because that city is doomed to be buried by sand. Ultimately the king has to relent in his efforts and, sure enough, the statue’s prediction eventually proves to be accurate.19 As John Cort has noted, this story shares many features in common with a Buddhist tale related by Xuanzang. The Buddhist tale involves King Udayana only in a very tangential way, insofar as it features a miraculous image of the Buddha originally commissioned by him. In this tale, Xuanzang tells us that the image flew from Kauśāmbī after the Buddha’s death and situated itself in the northern region of Khotan. Despite its “divine character,” it is almost universally ignored by the inhabitants who are non-Buddhist. When a Buddhist arhat visits the town and worships the image, he is persecuted by the local ruler, who has him seized and buried in sand. Only one good man has pity on this poor fellow and manages to smuggle him some nourishment. In gratitude, the arhat, who was near death, predicts the destruction of the town in seven days and advises the man to depart while he can. It soon comes to pass that the entire town is covered with sand, but not before the kind man escapes and the miraculous image flies off to safety.20 Cort suspects that the Jain tale may have been influenced by the Buddhist precedent, which seems quite reasonable given the close similarities.21 It also raises some of the same questions regarding the nature of absence and presence that we face in the Buddhist materials. In both cases, it is hard to reconcile the active and interactive nature of the statues in the narratives with definitive statements of the Jina’s or the Buddha’s absence. The idea of total liberation is antithetical to the concepts of embodiment inherent in figural art, so any slippage between the two categories, which these narratives of active images seem to suggest, is worth investigating further. How did the Buddhists conceptualize the division between the Buddha and his likeness? And how did they justify the

15 2

CHAPTER 7

miraculous actions undertaken by those images? The best place to start an inquiry into this topic is with the stories themselves. There are many tales in which statues of the Buddha are anything but inanimate objects.

Active Buddha Images We previously examined a number of narratives in which figural images were credited with possessing the capacity for mobility and frequently exhibited the ability to act on behalf of or as an extension of that which they depicted. More often than not these sculptural forms provided a material body through which the will of the deity or bodhisattva being depicted might act upon the world. Long before the first century ce, images had served as points of interaction with deities of various sorts, so it is to be expected that they would continue to do so. The agency accorded to images of the Buddha, however, is much harder to explain, especially given how central the role of nirvāṇa is in the teaching of all Buddhist sects and schools. We have already read the accounts of Xuanzang that tell of statues of the Buddha that fly, speak, thwart burglars, and circumambulate stūpas—certainly not the behavior one typically associates with artwork. Yet if Xuanzang’s matter-of-fact manner of relating these miraculous events seems incongruous, we must recognize that his world was full of such tales, many of which centered directly on the miraculous deeds attributed to images of the Buddha. These astounding deeds enacted by images of the Buddha are not limited solely to sculptural reproductions. For example, Xuanzang relates a story set in Gandhāra in which a painting is the source of a miraculous occurrence. In this tale, a poor man manages to earn a single gold coin and, being devout, resolves to spend it by commissioning a Buddha image from a painter. The generous painter accepts the commission to paint an image at the local monastery knowing very well that the single coin will not cover the cost. He therefore pools this coin with the meager sum donated by a second man, which allows him to complete his task. It so happens that some time later both of these donors arrive at the same time and ask to see the painting they sponsored. When the artist shows both men the same image, they accuse him of being a thief. Before the situation can escalate, the image of the Buddha miraculously divides itself above the waist and both parts of the image “emitted glory.” Upon seeing this display the donors are overcome with delight and are more than satisfied with the painter’s honesty.22 In this example a two-dimensional representation of the Buddha displays the same capacity for independent action that in other texts is attributed to sculpture. In this case the action appears to be motivated by a desire to settle a dispute among three well-intentioned devotees. Yet if we expand our notion of images, this painting has quite a bit in common with tales involving the Buddha’s shadow, as, for example, when the Buddha is said to have left his shadow behind



C O P I N G S T R AT E G I E S

15 3

to help quell the aggressions of the nāga Gopāla.23 Animate traces of the Buddha show up in a notable number of places and forms. Even a mere footprint of the Buddha, such as the one Faxian mentions at Udayana, had the capacity to alter its size in response to the conceptions and expectations of its viewers.24 Apparently even his subtlest traces had the potential to exhibit wonders. The Buddha, therefore, despite repeated assurances of his absence, was remarkably accessible and active in Xuanzang’s world. And the views of this foreign pilgrim do not seem to have been the exception. Rather, Xuanzang appears to be recording and repeating those ideas that were prevalent and pervasive in the societies and communities through which he traveled. This assertion regarding the Buddha’s accessibility gains some corroboration from the inscriptional records of gifts that were given directly to the Buddha, or those, as at Ajaṇṭā, that offered him a dwelling place.25 In addition to this, we should recall the previously mentioned status of the Buddha’s image as a legal entity in the Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya.26 Similar sentiments can be found in the Samanta­ pāsādikā, which states that, during his lifetime, gifts were given to the Buddha who then distributed them to the monks and nuns, but, “Now, however, learned people, having [first] set up either a reliquary or an image enclosing relics, give gifts to both Saṅghas, headed by the Buddha. Having set a bowl on a stand in front of the image or reliquary, and having given water as an offering, they say, ‘We will give to the Buddhas.’”27 In this example, the relic-filled representation of the Buddha seems to function actively as his surrogate or proxy. Despite all the anxiety over public misconceptions regarding the Buddha’s presence and the repeated insistence of the Teacher’s absence, these types of direct embodiment seem to have been, by and large, accepted by the community. The existence of stories that claim to relate the events surrounding the making of the very first images of the Buddha are helpful in navigating this seeming dichotomy. In these etiological tales the Buddha is often at a distance from the main action, but each of the tales ultimately culminates with the Buddha confronting his own likeness. There are several sources that convey versions of a closely related set of tales describing the making of the first (or the first two) images of the Buddha. One of the best-known accounts is found in the writings of Faxian, who attributes the patronage of this first image to King Prasenajit. The story is set in the town of Śrāvastī in the kingdom of Kosala and takes place during the three months the Buddha spent in heaven preaching to his mother and the other gods. During this time, King Prasenajit begins to desperately miss the Buddha and resolves to commission a wooden image of the Teacher to ease his sorrow. Soon after this is done, the Buddha returns and enters the vihāra where the image is being kept. Immediately after the Buddha sets foot in the monastery, the statue rises from its place and comes out to meet him. Upon seeing the image, the Buddha expresses his approval and instructs the image by saying, “Return to your seat. After I have attained to pari-nirvāṇa, you will serve as a pattern to the four

15 4

CHAPTER 7

classes of my disciples.”28 The image obediently returns to its place, and from it all later images of the Buddha were said to have been derived. Xuanzang tells a somewhat different tale about the creation of the first Buddha image. Most notably, he attributes its patronage to King Udayana of Kauśāmbī rather than to Prasenajit. In this case it is Udayana who mourns the Buddha’s absence and comes up with the idea of making a wooden image. The monk Maudgalyāyana becomes involved in these events when he is called upon to ferry the artist to heaven so that he may get a firsthand look at the Buddha. These efforts pay off and result in the construction of a faithful likeness of the Buddha. As in Faxian’s tale, the statue rises to greet the Buddha upon his return. In response to this miraculous salutation, the Buddha addresses the image, declaring, “The work expected from you is to toil in the conversion of heretics, and to lead in the way of religion in future ages.”29 Xuanzang also records that soon after these events occurred, a second wooden image was made by King Prasenajit,30 who thereby started the artistic lineage linking all Buddha images to Udayana’s original. Unlike Faxian, Xuanzang claims to have seen both of these famous images. He even reports that the Udayana image still occasionally exhibited supernatural qualities. Specifically, he records that it “produces a divine light, which from time to time shines forth.”31 He also mentions that this image remained at its original location and had consistently resisted the efforts of various ambitious regional rulers, each of whom had tried to carry off this most famous of statues.32 Between the two accounts of this event related by Chinese pilgrims, Xuanzang’s is closest to a very old version told in the Chinese translation of the Sanskrit Ekottarāgama Sūtra. This translation was made in approximately 385 by a Central Asian monk and was preserved in the Chinese even though the original Sanskrit version has been lost.33 In this telling of events, Udayana is so distraught over the Buddha’s absence that his court fears that he may die. The severity of his condition prompts him to commission a wooden portrait of the Buddha, which is soon completed. In most other respects this tale parallels the one recorded by Xuanzang, with only a few differences. In this earlier version, for example, when Prasenajit becomes competitive after hearing about Udayana’s wooden statue, he proceeds to have one made of gold rather than wood.34 The similarities between the two versions reveal both the antiquity and longevity of this tale. In each case, the image is originally constructed as a stand-in or replacement for the actual Buddha, a role which that Buddha himself vocally approves in most versions. But despite the connection to the Teacher that the royal patrons of these images seem to have sought, the statues act alongside the Buddha and appear to be fully independent of him. One of the most telling indications of the relationship between the Buddha and his images is revealed by the fact that the statues decide on their own what course of action to take when they learn that the real Buddha has arrived, and in each case they choose incorrectly. The



C O P I N G S T R AT E G I E S

15 5

Buddha’s repeated instructions for them to return to their seats expose the active but apparently disconnected nature of the Buddha and his images. These actions would seem to indicate that notions of presence and identity have diverged somewhat from the concepts of total absence or inherent connection that we might expect. A version of this story that treats images with a notably heightened degree of respect when compared to the others has been recorded by Alexander Coburn Soper in his translation of the early fifth-century Chinese Sūtra of the Sea of Mystic Ecstasy.35 This story makes no mention of Prasenajit but features Udayana, who has an image of the Buddha made of gold. As the time of the Buddha’s return from heaven approaches, the king sets out to greet him and carries along his new image on the back of an elephant. When they reach their destination, the statue dismounts under its own power and, upon seeing the Buddha, proceeds to perform miracles. It walks though the air while raining flowers from its feet and radiating rays of light. But perhaps even more surprising than this miraculous display is the Buddha’s response to it. Upon witnessing the deeds of this image, the Buddha “knelt with hands clasped in front of it” and was accompanied in this act of respect by the hundred thousand “phantom Buddhas” who had accompanied him on his descent from heaven. The Buddha then makes a prediction regarding the image. He says, “In future you will work great feats for Buddhism. After my Nirvāṇa, it is to you that my disciples will be entrusted.” The “phantom Buddhas” then echo this sentiment and promise that anyone who makes or installs a Buddha image will “attain the pure mystic ecstasy of contemplating the Buddha.”36 This is the only version of these events, that I am aware of, in which the real Buddha makes a show of respect to the copy. In most accounts it is the likeness that is appropriately deferential to the original. This hierarchy is clearly presented in the Pāli versions of this tale, both of which are quite late and date to the medieval period.37 The Sri Lankan version of the first image is told in the Kosala-Bimba-Vaṇṇanā. In it Pasenadi (the Pāli name of Prasenajit) calls on the Buddha twice while he is away teaching. It seems that even these brief encounters with the Buddha’s absence were sufficient to produce in the king a desire for a surrogate. So when the king finally does manage to catch the Buddha at home, he quickly asks for permission to make an image of him. The Buddha approves this request and shortly thereafter is invited to come see his likeness. As the Buddha enters, the image immediately begins to stand up as a sign of respect, but before it can do so the Buddha instructs it to stop and predicts that it will have a long existence.38 One of the chronologically latest versions of this tale, and the last one we will recount here, comes from Thailand and is preserved in the Pāli Vaṭṭaṅgulirāja Jātaka.39 In it Pasenadi, as in the Sri Lankan version, repeatedly visits the Buddha only to find that he is away. This inaccessibility prompts the king to ask permission to make an image, which is granted. Having completed this task and

15 6

CHAPTER 7

having situated the image in an appropriate pavilion, he invites the Buddha to come visit. “At that moment, the Buddha image, made from that sandalwood tree, seeing the Fully Enlightened One arrive at that great pavilion . . . became as it were endowed with a living body and a respectful mind, and thought ‘When this great Buddha has arrived here in person, it is extremely improper for me to be seated on this exalted seat. Rather, I should show respect for him.’”40 The statue then prepares to rise and greet the Buddha, but the Buddha, as in other versions, asks the image not to get up and stops it when it has raised one leg. While doing this the Buddha says, “O dear image, you stay there. Not long from now, I shall be attaining nibbāna. Stay in my order (sāsana) [so that it will last] for 5000 years.” He then adds, “Today I entrust my teachings (sāsana) to you for the welfare of the entire world. Stay in my order (sāsana).”41 In each of these six versions of the tale, taken from examples spanning the fourth to the twelfth century, the creation of the image is inspired by the Buddha’s absence, and in each case the image acts on its own when confronted with the presence of the actual Buddha. The nature of these images is hard to pin down; they simultaneously are and are not the Buddha. They are created to be suitable replacements for him, and in several versions the Buddha explicitly commends them on their ability to be so. He even goes so far as to entrust his disciples and teachings to their care. Given this statement of trust attributed to the Buddha, it is no wonder that the Samantapāsādikā and other texts accorded images such respect and honor. Yet in each example the image also stands apart from the Buddha, thinks on its own, forms its own conclusions regarding proper behavior, and in all but one case is clearly deferential to Śākyamuni himself. It is also significant that each of these tales claims to reveal the root origins of the entire image tradition. In most versions of the story, the point is quite clearly made that every subsequent image of the Buddha has been directly derived from this prototype, so the copy made by Udayana or Prasenajit is as close to the actual Buddha as any image will ever get. The binary division between absence and presence is not sufficient to explain these situations, and it is fairly clear that there is a different set of rules at work here. This certainly does not seem to be the mirrored equivalency embodied in the Vedic concepts of representation, nor is it the total absence espoused by people such as the authors of the Milindapañha. This situation seems to be presenting something altogether different. The Dhammapada Commentary does not mention the tales of Udayana or Prasenajit, but it does provide a revealing perspective on what the Buddha was doing while these kings were busy making images and fretting over his absence. The text briefly describes the actions the Buddha undertook while preaching in Trāyastriṃśa Heaven before his return to the earth. It states that while seated before his mother and the assembled gods, the Buddha began to teach the Abhidharma for three months straight, without stop. Naturally, this was no strain on the divine audience, but it could have been problematic for the Bud-



C O P I N G S T R AT E G I E S

15 7

dha, who still required food, drink, and rest. Fortunately, the text explains how the Buddha handled this potentially disruptive necessity. “Now when it was time for him to go on his round for alms, he would erect a double and say to him, ‘Preach the law until I return.’”42 Then as this double assumed the responsibility of preaching, the original Buddha would head off to collect alms and eat. While the creation of this copy may appear to have been a rather minor miracle, it harkens to one of the Buddha’s most celebrated displays of supernatural power—the Great Miracle at Śrāvastī. As part of that grand series of miracles the Buddha reduplicates himself. Through this and similar accounts of his multiplicity we can learn a great deal about how the Buddhist community reconciled the Buddha’s copies with his complete and total absence.

Multiplicity and Miracles Tales of the first Buddha images were considered important enough to have been repeated in many versions and contexts, but they are by no means the only instances in which the Buddha encounters copies of himself. To get perspective on this phenomenon, it is instructive to look at a well-known tale in which the Buddha replicates himself, and one of the clearest examples of this occurs during the miraculous events at Śrāvastī. This widely recounted story is composed of a series of miracles that are predicated by a challenge from rival religious orders. The Buddha confronts the leaders of these antagonistic communities in a contest of supernatural power that almost always includes at least one miraculous display in which the Buddha produces a copy, or copies, of himself.43 Despite the popularity of this narrative, few sources, either literary or visual, relate the events in exactly the same manner. Ju-Hyung Rhi has conducted a thorough study of the numerous versions of these events as presented in the textual sources, and has correlated these tales with a range of artistic works, many of which represent multiple Buddhas.44 By Rhi’s assessment, some of the first sculptural representations of the Buddha’s multiplication come from Gandhāra and depict a seated Buddha with a host of other smaller Buddhas radiating out around his body like an aureole. This arrangement of Buddha images is exemplified in the upper register of a sculpture from Peshawar, which includes a Buddha with six standing Buddhas extending out from his seated form (fig. 7.1). Rhi links these images to early accounts, as in the Dharmaguptaka Vinaya, that describe the Buddha miraculously “turning one body into many, and many into one.”45 Variations of this phrasing occur in a few sources, which Rhi identifies as among the earliest. Parallel to these accounts there exist alternate descriptions of the miracle (and analyses of its significance) that are heavily shaped by Mahāyāna ideas about the nature of the Buddha’s body and his capacity to produce multiple forms, referred to as buddhanirmāṇa or buddhavigraha.46 But regardless of the simplicity or complexity of the manner in which the Buddha’s manifestations are produced, in almost every version of the Śrāvastī miracle

15 8

CHAPTER 7

7.1 Detail of sculpture showing seated Buddha with radiating images, Peshawar, Pakistan, 1st–2nd c. ce. Chandigarh Museum. Photo by the American Institute of Indian Studies.

the Buddha creates and confronts a copy of himself that acts independently of the original.47 This creation of an independent copy or copies, which the Mūlasarvāstivādin Vinaya refers to as the “supreme great miracle” is one of the few consistent features in various versions of these events.48 Both Rhi and John Strong have suggested that the fixation on multiple Buddhas in these tales stems from a Mahāyāna desire to overcome the traditional belief that only one Buddha could ever exist in the same place and time.49 Yet these tales emerged alongside the rise in Buddhist figural art, and lessons pertaining to the possibility of multiple cotemporal Buddhas apply equally well to his proxies in paint and stone. One of the most detailed and comprehensive versions of this tale appears in the Pāli Commentary on the Dhammapada. In it, the trouble begins when one of the Buddha’s disciples uses his magical powers in public. This display of power draws criticism from the Buddha, who makes a rule forbidding monks from public demonstrations of magical ability. Hearing of this restriction, the leaders of six rival religious orders see an opportunity and challenge the Buddha to a contest of miraculous power in front of King Bimbisāra and the public. Much to their chagrin, the Buddha accepts the offer and explains that his rule applies to monks, not to Buddhas. What follows are a series of attempts by the heretics to weasel out of the competition, but in each case the Buddha miraculously overcomes their schemes. At the appropriate time, the Buddha manifests a jeweled walkway, which stretches from horizon to horizon, in midair. This event is followed by a series of passages in which his disciples and lay followers beseech him



C O P I N G S T R AT E G I E S

159

not to trouble himself with this contest and offer to perform miracles on his behalf. The Buddha declines their offers and, ascending the walkway, prepares to undertake the “Twin Miracle.” The Buddha, in a display of supreme magical power, manifests brilliantly colored fire and water from various portions of his body and while so doing preaches the Law. Seeing that the crowd would benefit more from hearing a dialogue on the Law rather than from a simple lecture, the Buddha creates a duplicate of himself.50 The Buddha ostensibly does this because in the vast crowd there was “none other than himself who understood his mind and could ask him questions.”51 Yet the text treats the miracle as being far more than a pedagogical device. It makes a point of noting twice that the two Buddhas asked questions, gave responses, walked, and sat independently of each other. This passage is further explicated with an assurance that “while his double walked up and down, the Exalted One occupied himself otherwise.”52 This series of events closes with a description of the two hundred million who were converted by the Buddha’s display, and then the text immediately turns to the Buddha’s decision to teach his mother in the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven. An alternate version of these events told in the Divyāvadāna seems to have gained broad popularity after the fourth century. This assessment of its influence is based on the proliferation of sculptural works representing events unique to this narrative that have been identified at Gupta-era Sārnāth, the Ajaṇṭā caves, and on Pāla reliefs.53 The entire tale is contained within the appropriately titled Prātihārya Sūtra (Discourse on the Miracle) portion of the text, and, although its plot shares many narrative elements with the Pāli version, the two tales are by no means identical. In the Sanskrit version, the heretics are urged on in their jealously by Māra. To accomplish this, Māra impersonates them one by one, and while in these disguises makes fire and water appear from his body. Through these displays he manages to convince each member of the group that the others have miraculous power. So, while each of these men had no real magic power, they believed that all of the others did. Emboldened in this way, the heretics try to get King Bimbisāra to host the event, but he has far too much faith in the Buddha to agree to this contest. Instead the group turns to King Prasenajit of Kosala, who is more receptive to the idea, despite the fact that he also holds sympathies for the Buddhists. Prasenajit explains his views to the Buddha in person and implores the Teacher to put the rival leaders in their proper place. The Buddha is inclined to reject this competition but then realizes that the performance of a miracle at Śrāvastī is one of ten indispensible acts that every Buddha must undertake, so he agrees.54 At this stage the miracles begin. Among other things, the gods craft the Buddha a jeweled pavilion, the severed hands and feet of the king’s brother are restored through an act of truth, the Buddha makes one of the king’s Brahman messengers fly, a shaft of light is made to shine to the heavens from the Buddha’s

16 0

CHAPTER 7

pavilion, a fire is magically extinguished, an earthquake occurs, and gods disperse lotuses through the air. Yet all of these wonders are but preliminary to the main event. As in the Pāli version, the Buddha’s companions and followers offer to act on his behalf, but the Buddha refuses their offers and, at the king’s request for a miracle, disappears from his seat, rises high in the air, and appears in the “four bodily postures.” From this elevated position he performs the miracle of emitting fire and water, after which he descends back to earth and explains that what he has done is not special but “common to all the disciples of the Tathāgata.” He then asks the king if he would like to see something really extraordinary and “beyond the capability of normal mortals.” Needless to say, the king is extremely enthusiastic about the prospect of doing so.55 The final miraculous events performed by the Buddha begin with the Buddha being circumambulated by a host of important gods and culminate when the Buddha is held aloft by two nāgas as he is seated on a lotus made of precious materials. From this vantage point he fills the sky with duplicate versions of himself, and each of these explicitly engages in its own actions: some sit, some stand, some perform miracles, some debate, and some preach.56 In this way, the Divyāvadāna greatly expands the magnitude of the Buddha’s copies as compared with the Pāli. Despite all of the spectacular occurrences that take place in these tales, it is usually this final series of actions undertaken by the Buddha that is given primacy by the Buddhist authors and artists. These actions are referred to in a great many textual and inscriptional sources and have been known by a variety of designations, such as the “Great Miracle” (mahāprātihārya), the “Twin Miracle” (yamakaprātihārya), or the “Miracle of Double Appearance.”57 Many scholars have interpreted the “Double Miracle” or “Twin Miracle” to be a reference to the Buddha’s creation of the twin elements of water and fire, and in some cases the primary sources seem to support this attribution. More recently, however, John Strong has suggested that the doubling may instead be alluding to the Buddha’s unique ability to duplicate himself and to create “an ‘other’ who acts and talks seemingly independently.”58 Strong also notes that various Buddhist sources are by no means uniform in identifying which of these miracles the word double is referencing.59 Ju-Hyung Rhi has also commented on this ambiguity and identifies this conflation as a later and intentional development that shifted the emphasis from fire and water to the Buddha’s doubles.60 Therefore, the Buddha’s ability to replicate himself was frequently seen as the primary (or at least as one of the primary) acts in this escalating progression of miraculous deeds. To better understand the significance of these actions, we are fortunate to have a commentary provided at the end of the Prātihārya Sūtra. This passage in the Divyāvadāna is explicitly commenting on the Sanskrit tale, but its insights may be more broadly applicable. Specifically, it offers an analysis of the Buddha’s ability to make copies of himself and the way his manifestation differs from those created by others. As part of this explanation, it makes the



C O P I N G S T R AT E G I E S

161

informative statement that the double made by an advanced disciple (śrāvaka) always moves and acts as the original does, but only the doubles of Buddhas can act independently.61 Specifically it states, “It is a law of nature that lord buddhas make decisions in conversation with magical images that they have created. If a disciple makes a magical image, however, when the disciple speaks, the magical image only repeats what he says. When the disciple is silent, the magical image is also silent. . . . If the Blessed One questions a magical image that he has created, the Blessed One[’s magical image] gives the answer. This is a natural law for perfectly awakened tathāgata arhats.”62 Note that a Buddha, and only a Buddha, can do this. Only a Buddha can create an image that is independent and unique from the original but still participates in its nature. This strikes me as a profoundly important Buddhist response to the ancient concept of shared identity inherent in the Vedic notions of resemblance and reflection. This is not the possession of an image by an embodying deity, nor is it a means of accessing an external spiritual force. What we have in this miracle is a category of image that is ostensibly unique to the Buddha. The Divyāvadāna passage defines a type of image imbued with agency but bearing no inherent link to the original. These images are not reflections or empty vessels but still possess qualities associated with the Buddha. Such an understanding of Buddhist images may help to clarify the significance of many tales, including the ones mentioned earlier. This may be why Prasenajit’s image of the Buddha could act independently and could reach the mistaken conclusion that it should stand in the Teacher’s presence only to be gently corrected by the real Buddha, who asked it to remain seated.63 This simple act of disagreement, initiated when the image reaches a well-intentioned but mistaken conclusion, says a great deal about the divisions between the Buddha and his images. In this case, the image is not an extension of the original or a physical manifestation of the Buddha’s will, because it has no idea what the Buddha is actually thinking. Additionally, the abundance of narratives in which the Buddha leaves his shadow behind to act as his proxy or projects an image of himself as a reminder to the faithful begin to carry more relevance. It also becomes possible to understand why some Buddha images might be considered more holy or more powerful than others or how Buddha statues were understood to own property and be effective despite the Buddha’s absence. Such entities act with agency and intention but are distinct and removed from the original, even if they do participate in its nature. These remainders (or relics, if you like) preserve the important qualities and potency of the original while severing the assumed link between copy and exemplar. While the likenesses in the story are not made of paint or stone, it is not unreasonable to think that constructed images were understood to work in a similar manner to those copies miraculously created by the Buddha himself. After all, Śrāvastī seems to have been an important center for the early accep-

16 2

CHAPTER 7

tance and use of Buddha images.64 It is also where many of the narrative events associated with the first Buddha images occur. In all cases, the creation of the first image is said to directly follow the Buddha’s miracle at Śrāvastī and subsequent departure for heaven. It is no accident, therefore, that the Great Miracle happens immediately before the Buddha’s three-month departure to the heavens. This departure serves as a dry run for the Buddha’s absence after his nirvāṇa, and many of the issues pertaining to image use seem to have been intentionally played out before and during that period of absence. The Great Miracle at Śrāvāstī may have had an importance that went well beyond showy assurances of the Buddha’s religious might and may have, at least in the Sanskrit tradition, formed the backdrop for the introduction of a new way of conceptualizing images. Dietrich Seckel has argued that the Buddha could not be portrayed due to his nature.65 While this may have been true for some Buddhists, I would argue that for others it was exactly the unique nature of the Buddha that made his depiction possible. It would appear that just as the Buddha’s special nature eluded the accrual of new karma, it also denied any lingering ties to his copies. Not every source agreed with the Divyāvadāna’s explanation, however, and its interpretation forms an interesting contrast to the description provided by the Abhidharmaprajñapaptipada, which reads, “The Buddha once created a Buddha image with a golden body and a magnificent appearance. When the Bhagavan spoke, the image also spoke. When the images spoke, the Bhagavan also spoke. A disciple [śrāvaka?] created a disciple’s image with a tonsured head wearing a garment. When the disciple spoke, the image was silent. When the image spoke, the disciple was silent. Why is that? The Buddha has complete freedom in the concentration [samādhi] of the mind.”66 The passage goes on to explain that the speed of the Buddha’s delusion-free mind provides the appearance of simultaneous actions. And this is a feat mere disciples cannot match because their limited insight requires them to concentrate on one thing at a time. In this analysis, the Sarvāstivāda authors of the text invert the criteria set forth by the Divyāvadāna. In this case, it is simultaneous actions taken in tandem, rather than divergent behavior, which mark the Buddha’s unique relationship to his copies. Furthermore, the text attributes the appearance of simultaneous actions to the speed of the Buddha’s mind, rather than allowing the copies independence of action. Even though this explanation is remarkably different from that provided by the Divyāvadāna, it is fair to say that both emphasize the Buddha’s unique capacity for creating active copies that transcend the capabilities of others. Adding to the curiosity of the situation is the fact that both the Divyāvadāna and the Abhidharmaprajñapaptipada have been linked to the same Buddhist sectarian tradition, the Sarvāstivādins.67 So we may well be looking at competing views within a single school. Although the situation is puzzling, it is a good reminder that no single explanation should be read as speaking for all Buddhists.



C O P I N G S T R AT E G I E S

16 3

7.2 Sculpture depicting multiple Buddhas as in descriptions of the miracle at Śrāvastī, Sārnāth, India, 4th–5th c. ce. Indian Museum, Kolkata. Photo by the American Institute of Indian Studies.

The limited influence of the Abhidharmaprajñapaptipada passage is worth considering, however, because to my knowledge, no versions of the Śrāvastī narrative actually emphasize the similarity of the actions undertaken by the Buddha and his duplicates. Quite the contrary, the stories often make a point of drawing attention to the diverse range of poses, postures, and actions undertaken by the Buddha and his copies. This tendency to favor diversity of action is born out in the artwork as well. Examples from the third to fifth centuries seem to be particularly abundant, and several examples feature the events as described in the Divyāvadāna. For example, a Gupta-style sculpture from Sārnāth faithfully represents a key moment in the Sanskrit version of the tale. In this sculpture a Buddha displaying the teaching gesture (dharmacakra mudrā) sits on a lotus from which flowering stems emerge. These blossoms hold aloft no less than sixteen smaller seated or standing Buddhas who make a wide range of gestures (mudrās), including those which indicate gift giving, greeting, meditation, and enlightenment (fig. 7.2). Such details suggest that the artist identified the simultaneous and independent actions of the Buddhas as a core component of the narrative, thereby highlighting the autonomous nature of the copies. Yet not all examples are as easily associated with a literary sources. Nor is the Great Miracle the only artistic subject matter to involve multiple Buddhas. Truthfully, if we are looking for images of multiplicity in Buddhist art, it can be difficult distinguishing between images of the Śrāvastī miracle, images depicting the Thousand Buddhas of the Bhadrakalpa, or even just groupings of Buddha images.68 Yet in cases where we have evidence of Sarvāstivāda influence, as at the caves of Ajaṇṭā, artists seem to favor multiplicity of actions no matter the context in which the multiple Buddhas appear.69 A variety of multiple-Buddha motifs can be seen at the site of Ajaṇṭā, in Caves 2, 6, 7, 9, and 19 (see fig. 6.1), as well as at the nearby caves of Ellora. Each of these rock-cut structures contains examples that date from their construction in the late fifth century ce.70 One noteworthy example in Ajaṇṭā Cave 2 is potentially identified in a donative inscription that refers to the dedication of “One Thousand Buddhas.” This painted scene depicts a repetitive sequence of Buddhas seated on golden lotuses who at first glance might appear to be uniform.71 However, a closer look reveals that not only are their robes varied in color and design but many also make subtly different mudrās (hand gestures). Many of these hand gestures indicate actions, such as teaching, meditation, or gift giving, and this variation suggests that the artists were familiar with the variety of actions often attributed to the Buddha’s copies. Even though the scene presents circumstances not directly associated with the Great Miracle, the lessons regarding the independent nature of the Buddha’s copies would still seem to apply. In Ajaṇṭā Cave 7, there is a sculptural relief that features the Buddha’s lotus seat, thereby suggesting a close link to the Great Miracle as told in the Divyāvadāna (fig. 7.3). The stalks of this impressive plant grow from the largest



C O P I N G S T R AT E G I E S

16 5

7.3 Great Miracle sculpture from the entryway of Cave 7, Ajaṇṭā, India, 5th c. ce. Photo by the American Institute of Indian Studies.

blossom near the base of the image, and each of the flowers form a platform on which a Buddha image is situated. Here too the artists went to some effort to vary the appearances of the individual figures and depicted Buddhas who are seated or standing while making a whole range of hand gestures. It is not at all uncommon for artists working after the fourth century to differentiate individual figures and to emphasize diversity of action when depicting multiple Buddhas, and this is particularly clear at Ajaṇṭā. In this context, the

16 6

CHAPTER 7

painted and sculptural scenes of multiple Buddhas may well have served as reminders of the Buddha’s unique relationship to his likeness, a relationship that simultaneously allowed for his total absence from and his active involvement with the world. Although there is no direct evidence that the Divyāvadāna’s explanation of the Buddha’s multiple forms gained popularity in other sectarian traditions, there are some indications that even the Pāli authors recognized copies of the Buddha as being significantly different and more independent than other likenesses. For example, in his Atthasālinī, Buddhaghoṣa raises the question of how the Buddha could have gotten so much accomplished within a single lifetime. As part of his answer he mentions that the Buddha could, when necessary, create a manifestation or double (Pāli: nimmita; Sanskrit: nirmita).72 These manifestations seem to have some connection to the images of the Buddha evoked in meditative practices such as buddhānussati, insofar as they are produced by mental concentration, and there is quite a bit of consistency between what we find in the Pāli material and the analysis of the Buddha’s copies put forth in the Divyāvadāna’s Prātihārya Sūtra. As in the Divyāvadāna, there is a general recognition in the Pāli literature that all beings who achieve advanced stages of meditation can create manifestations of themselves. The Sāmaññaphala Sutta of the Dīgha Nikāya, states this point quite directly, specifically, asserting that a properly prepared mind can create a manomayakāya, or a body that is made of mind. This mind-made body is explicitly material and possesses senses, making it indistinguishable from the original to normal senses.73 Similarly, other Pāli texts list the ability to make manifestations as being among the iddhi, or magical powers that one develops on the path to Buddhahood.74 In his discussion of manifestations, Malcolm David Eckel has noted that in the Pāli sources, even some gods such as Brahmā were capable of manifesting bodies. The source of this observation can be found in the Dīgha Nikāya, which explains that Brahmā’s body was too intangible to be observed even by the vision of the gods living in Trāyastriṃśa Heaven.75 Therefore, when the Brahmā wished to interact with those deities, he would create multiple manifestations of himself of (relatively) grosser material and address each god individually. Intriguingly, even though the Dīgha Nikāya informs us that Brahmā made many individual copies of himself, it makes a point of noting, Speaks but one Brahmā-shape, the Thirty-Three all speak; Silently sits one shape, they all in silence sit.76

In this manner each of the gods thought that Brahmā spoke to him or her individually. But, more significantly for our discussion, the uniform actions undertaken in tandem by all of Brahmā’s copies underscore the shared connection between the copies and their source. According to this Buddhist text, all of Brahmā’s manifestations perform the same action at the same time, reflecting



C O P I N G S T R AT E G I E S

167

the single will of their creator. This stands in sharp contrast to the unique degree of independence that the sources attribute to copies of the Buddha. Indeed, even monks in the Pāli literature seem to have been bound by somewhat similar constraints in their ability to make manifestations. For instance, the story of the monk Cūḷa Panthaka appears in the Visuddhimagga. In it, a struggling monk benefits from the Buddha’s instruction and quickly reaches an advanced state of realization. While he is in this deep meditative state, he shocks a lay donor, who is amazed to see that the mango grove is full of a thousand seated monks. At the Buddha’s urging, the donor tugs on one of the monk’s robes and immediately all but one disappear. Cūḷa Panthaka had managed to create over a thousand versions of himself while he was in deep meditation, but they dispersed when he emerged from that state. As in the previous tales, the author of this one also thought it important to emphasize the unity of action undertaken by all of the copies: “The many who were created were just like the possessor of supernatural power because they were created without specific specification. Then whatever the possessor of supernatural power does, whether he stands, sits, etc., or speaks, keeps silent, etc., they do the same.”77 However, the tale goes on to state that Cūḷa Panthaka could alter the appearance of his copies or assign them tasks, but to do so he would need to leave his meditative state and do preliminary work by stating clearly their assigned duties and forms. This ability to essentially preprogram copies is a step beyond those manifestations that merely parrot the original, but it is also quite different from the autonomously acting manifestations produced by the Buddha. Eckel notes that Cūḷa Panthaka’s copies quickly disappear when he is distracted, whereas in all of Buddhaghoṣa’s writings it is only the Buddha’s manifestations that remain, and remain active, in his absence.78 This sentiment is strikingly similar to the ideas expressed in the Divyāvadāna, and, when placed in conjunction with the repeated stipulation of the limits faced by the manifestations made by monks and gods, it suggests that these ideas about the uniquely independent nature of the Buddha’s likenesses may have been more widely held than is typically acknowledged. The Mahāyāna authors of the Madhyamaka school also had things to say about the Buddha and his copies. Nāgārjuna was generally amenable toward, if not enthusiastic about, the idea of image use. In the Ratnāvalī, for example, he enjoins kings to sponsor temples and images and instructs them to pray before a Buddha image three times a day.79 Along with his discussion of artistic representations of the Buddha, Nāgārjuna also undertook an analysis of illusory bodies and the question of whether or not they could create meaningful effects on others. In the Vigrahavyāvartanī, Nāgārjuna applies his considerable intellectual talent to argue that an illusory thing can have tangible effects. He does so primarily to protect the concept of causality in a world that is essentially empty (a central tenet in Madhyamaka doctrine), but this discussion may also offer some relevant insights into our discussion of images.

16 8

CHAPTER 7

To make his point, Nāgārjuna states that a nirmita, or a magically created person, can have significant effects on others, just as a mirage of water might influence a person who sees it. So, despite the fact that the Buddha’a manifested body (nirmāṇakāya) is illusory and, therefore, essentially insubstantial, it can have an effect on the world.80 Similarly, the sixth-century work of the Madhyamaka thinker Bhāvaviveka asserts that a vow to seek the welfare and happiness of others causes a manifestation body (nirmāṇakāya) to arise in Buddhas that is “capable of assisting everyone” despite its illusory nature.81 In other words, manifestations that are essentially and totally empty can be efficacious and have the ability to assist others. The idea that these nirmita could act autonomously is taken to perhaps its furthest extreme by the Yogācāra school, which discards the Buddha’s rūpakāya or bodily form entirely. Instead they postulate that the historical Buddha, Śākyamuni, was present in the world only as a manifestation body (nairmāṇi­ kakāya) that was projected by his other less-limited bodily forms, which were even more transcendent and insubstantial. In this system, the “actual” Buddha as expressed in its visible form was essentially empty and, therefore, indistinguishable from its manifestations. Although these Mahāyāna authors are speaking of magical manifestations, it is hard not to see these ideas as having had an effect on, or, more likely, having been affected by, the use of figural images in art. These discussions of illusory bodies and mind-made manifestations also have much in common with the Divāyavadāna’s portrayal of the Great Miracle and its subsequent explication of the Buddha’s copies. In each case, the authors are grappling to overcome the contradiction inherent in the claim that visible manifestations might be both effective and empty. Additionally, these discussions were tied to a shared desire to see the Buddha and a need to see him as actively involved with the world. Significantly, these are exactly the concerns that appear in discussions of imagebased worship. Understood in light of these commonalities, the discussions of the Buddha’s projected forms do much to reconcile the paradoxical portrayals of a Buddha who is simultaneously absent and engaged. Tales in which the Buddha replicates his form and philosophic discussions of the nature of the Buddha’s body may have been popular for a wide variety of reasons. I would suggest that among these was an interest in asserting and demonstrating the Buddha’s unique capacity to generate independent copies. Given the Diyāvadāna’s enthusiastic support of image-based devotions and the influence its stories had at sites such as Ajaṇṭā, these discussions of the Buddha’s manifestations may have been much more than simply theoretical exercises. One of the reasons stories about and images depicting the Buddha’s multiplication may have been so important is that they speak directly to the nature of images. Even though the unique characteristics of copies of the Buddha are more or less explicated in a variety of ways, a key component seems to have hinged on the Buddha’s capacity to remain unattached to his doubles and their ability to



C O P I N G S T R AT E G I E S

169

remain engaged in the world. This stance is tacitly revealed in the Pāli literature’s tendency to articulate the limitations faced by gods and monks who produce manifestations of their own. If this reading is correct and the Pāli authors, like some of their Sanskrit counterparts, accepted the Buddha as the sole exception to these limits, then several sectarian traditions may have shared the idea that only fully enlightened Buddhas could sever all of the ties that were assumed to exist between copies and their originals. While there is relatively little in the Buddhist doctrinal material that directly addresses the question of artistic images, there is an extensive literature dedicated entirely to the topic of the Buddha’s body or bodies. While I would not argue that all such discussions are entirely or exclusively about artistic representations, I do believe that practical issues about art played a far greater role in discussions of the Buddha’s bodies than is typically acknowledged. And, although the concept of multiplicity seems to have been an important mode of understanding and justifying the use of images, it was certainly not the only one.

Sectarian Solutions In exploring early Buddhist attitudes toward images and the various manners in which they were adapted for practice or discussed in literature, we have addressed a number of ways that Buddhists conceptualized the visible form of the Buddha. These include discussions of the Buddha’s biological body and physical marks, his shadow, artistic representations, imagined visualizations, and illusory manifestations. There can be little doubt that most Buddhists placed great value on the Buddha’s visible form and adapted a wide range of techniques, practices, and theories designed to explain and capitalize on that value. It is also important to recognize that these ideas were not exclusive to Buddhism, nor did they emerge solely from Buddhist concepts. Most of the Buddhist solutions for the issues of representation and embodiment can find precedents or parallels in the Brahmanic tradition. Long before the discussions of the Buddha’s bodies, the authors of the Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad postulated the existence of formed and unformed bodies (rūpa) of the supreme Brahman.82 Likewise, Vedic texts describe the goddess Saraṇyū replacing herself with her shadow, well before any mention of the Buddha leaving his behind as a surrogate.83 Nor, as Doris Srinivasan has discussed at great length, is it unusual for early deities to reveal their divinity though displays of multiplicity.84 This typically expresses itself in the form of multiple limbs or heads, but there are examples of both Brahmanical gods and regional folk deities radiating multiple bodies.85 This is to say that the variety of approaches Buddhists employed toward the justification and innovation of images was part of a larger, ongoing concern shared by other South Asian religious communities, even if individual rationalizations suited specific sectarian needs. Differences of opinion over the use of images, therefore, often cut across

170

CHAPTER 7

traditions and make it challenging to credit specific communities with innovating and advocating a single approach. It is not always possible to assign specific practices to identifiable sectarian schools, and, indeed, modes of practice often seem to have transcended ideological divisions. Gregory Schopen has noted that a “wide range of monastic orders owned and controlled cult images” from the earliest periods of artistic innovation.86 Yet within this mix there are indications that certain communities were more active than others in developing or endorsing forms of image-based practices. Occasionally these affiliations are revealed through the inscriptions that accompany gifts of art to the saṃgha. But in most cases, the stance that any given school took in relation to figural images of the Buddha is primarily discernible in the arguments they marshaled to discuss his likeness and ensure that possible misconceptions or doctrinal conflicts were avoided. One of the most active schools in this regard was the Sarvāstivādins. Although the Divyāvadāna is most clearly connected to the Mūlasarvāstivādin School, some authors have noted its ties to Sarvāstivādin concepts, including those promoting prasāda and devotion to the Buddha’s physical form.87 It has already been noted that Sarvāstivādins were among the first to develop an opinion on the proper way to represent the Buddha/Bodhisattva, thereby approving its creation in a very limited manner.88 They even articulated monastic rules against the portrayal of “living things.”89 These strictures and guidelines may give the appearance of a group resistant to the use of images, but I would suggest that these rules demonstrate an early, cautious engagement with the use of artwork in religious contexts and a willingness to explore new possibilities. The Sarvāstivādins were certainly not the only Buddhist groups to accept figural images, but there is evidence to suggest that they were particularly active and influential in this regard during and after the height of the Kuṣāṇa dynasty.90 For example, a broken bodhisattva image found at a shrine near Katrā bears an inscription recording a gift by a Kṣatrapa woman named Naṃdā who dedicated her gift for the acceptance of the Savasthividyas.91 This gift may predate the rise of the Kuṣāṇa, but Lüders has dated it to the Kuṣāṇa period based on linguistic arguments.92 In any case, if scholars are correct in identifying the Savasthividyas with the Sarvāstivādins, the example points to a very early sectarian engagement with figural imagery in the Mathurā region. The same desire to please Sarvāstivāda teachers with images can also be read in an inscription left at Śrāvastī by the influential patron and monk Bala. This inscription, dedicated in the third year of Kaniṣka’s reign, tells of the donation of a Bodhisattva image to the “Sarvāstivādin Teachers” and may have been part of a concerted monastic push to promote image use.93 Evidence of direct royal participation in this process exists in the form of a well-known reliquary dated to the first year of Kaniṣka’s reign. The accompanying inscription records that the gift was made by Emperor Kaniṣka (or possibly a later king of the same name) “in the acceptance of the Sarvāstivāda teachers.”94



C O P I N G S T R AT E G I E S

171

7.4 The Kaniṣka Casket with an image of the Buddha flanked by Brahmā and Indra on the lid, Shahji-ki-Dheri, 2nd c. ce. Photo by the Stein Library of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences. 13/2 (3) Archaeo­logical Survey photographs of the Frontier Circle from 1911 to 1912.

Notably, this royal gift, which has come to be known as the Kaniṣka Casket, bears a prominent three-dimensional depiction of the Buddha affixed to its lid that is flanked by two figures, one royal and one priestly, who most likely represent the gods Brahmā and Indra (fig. 7.4). The body of the reliquary depicts the image of a Kuṣāṇa king that may be a representation of Kaniṣka himself. Such examples point to Sarvāstivāda involvement in promoting figural imagery and engagement with royal donors. The association between the Sarvāstivāda and the Kuṣāṇa king is bolstered further by accounts of the Fourth Buddhist Council. Xuanzang mentions this event in his records, stating that Kaniṣka convened this grand assembly of leaders in the Buddhist community to perfect the Sarvāstivādin Abhidharma material (Mahāvibhāṣa).95 Additional sources suggest that a Sarvāstivādin teacher, Vasubandhu, was given the place of honor at this event and was granted authority over all the assembled monks, even those of other schools.96 There is, however, very good reason to believe that these events never actually took place or have at least been exaggerated.97 But these accounts do reveal that the Sarvāstivādins had some interest in aligning themselves with royal approval, and they must have been somewhat successful in doing so, given that Xuanzang knew their version of events almost five hundred years later. They also suggest that groups such as the Sarvāstivāda who had an interest in cultivating

172

CHAPTER 7

or maintaining royal support may have had an incentive for adopting an accommodating stance toward figural art. After all, almost every Buddhist object or structure that can be linked to Kaniṣka’s patronage, either through inscriptions or textual accounts, includes figural representations of Buddhas/Bodhisattvas. The only possible exception of which I am aware is a vihāra mentioned by Xuanzang.98 Even the famous Kaniṣka stūpa is described as being adorned with a large-scale sculpture depicting the Buddha. Therefore, the Kuṣāṇa preference for figural images, coupled with Sarvāstivādin affiliation with royal support, serves as an excellent reminder that there may have been powerful social pressures at work in influencing the decisions made by the Buddhist community that are not articulated in the religious sources. Returning to the archaeological examples, many scholars, including Prudence Myer, John Strong, and Ju-Hyung Rhi, have attributed some of the very earliest Buddhist figural cult images to the Sarvāstivādins.99 Many of these attributions were specifically inspired by a set of well-known sculptural images in the so-called kapardin style whose iconography matches that typically associated with the Buddha but whose inscriptions identify them as bodhisattvas (see fig. 3.1). Several scholars have linked these images of Śākyamuni, in both seated and standing postures, to the Sarvāstivāda school due primarily to inscriptional evidence.100 Based on this connection, some of these authors have made the suggestion that this image type may have been a clever Sarvāstivāda attempt to create a likeness of the Buddha without having to address the concomitant problems that a figural likeness would typically incur.101 Although various scholars have expressed their ideas in different ways, the general argument is that these images depict Śākyamuni at a moment in his life before his enlightenment and attainment of Buddhahood. The ingenuity in this approach to image making is not readily apparent until one takes a moment to explore Sarvāstivāda concepts of time. Their ideas on this subject differentiated the Sarvāsativāda school from other schools of Buddhism of the period, and may have provided them with a rare opportunity to create images while avoiding unwanted consequences. Unlike most schools of Buddhism, which saw the Buddha’s body as now absent or as never having existed, the Sarvāstivādins held that all dharmas of the past, present, and future were real.102 This qualified realism may have allowed for a portrayal of Śākyamuni that recalled his past while not invoking the Buddha in his present state in nirvāṇa. As John Strong put it, “[F]rom the Sarvāstivādin viewpoint, the Buddha may be said to exist after his parinirvāṇa, but entirely in the past.”103 This position is bolstered by the recent translation of a passage found in the vinaya of the Sarvāstvādins. As previously noted, it had been thought that in this passage the Buddha was giving his approval to make images of “the attendant Bodhisattva,” whereas it now seems likely that a proper reading reveals an acceptance of images depicting “the time when [the Buddha] was a Bodhi­ sattva.”104 In short, the monastic code of the Sarvāstivādins appears to be offer-



C O P I N G S T R AT E G I E S

17 3

ing its approval of images representing Śākyamuni as a Bodhisattva but not as a Buddha. Presumably, by choosing to portray a moment in Śākyamuni’s life before his enlightenment, artists could avoid direct connections to the enlightened Buddha while still recalling his bodily form. What is more, the tentative first step toward the acceptance of images adopted by the Mūlasarvāstivādins is remarkably similar to that adopted by the Sarvāstivādins, in that it gives approval to images of Śākyamuni depicting a moment before he earned the title “Buddha.” One might recall that the Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya grants explicit permission to make images of the Bodhisattva “Sitting in the Shade of the Jambu Tree” and suggests in the same passage that it is not permissible to make other sorts of images of the Blessed One.105 This passage, like the one found in the Sarvāstivāda Vinaya approving images “of the time when [the Buddha] was a Bodhisattva,” may have provided a means for creating images without invoking the presence of the Buddha by placing them at an earlier moment in Śākyamuni’s past.106 There has been some important work done on a specific type of early image that depicts an event that took place when Śākyamuni, as a prince, engaged in his first meditation while seated under a jambu tree. This event prefigures Śākyamuni’s enlightenment under the Bodhi tree, but presumably portrays a moment when he was still a bodhisattva, before his attainment of Buddhahood. Recently, Gregory Schopen has demonstrated that these sculptures, from sites such as Sahri-Bahlol and Sāñcī, had strong ties to the Mūlasarvāstivāda community. Specifically, the vinaya of the Mūlasarvāstivādins mentions these images in several places, including descriptions of them being paraded around town in a grand procession.107 These sculptures were also accorded special privileges, as, for example, when they were designated to receive the first part of any gift offered to the stūpa of a deceased monk.108 In several ways the image-based practices of the Sarvāstivādins appear to have overlapped with the practices of the Mūlsarvāstivādins. Although it has never been entirely clear what precise ideological differences divided the Sarvāstivāda and Mūlsarvāstivāda sects from one another, it looks quite likely that they shared some important views on images and figural art. At a minimum, both communities seem to have become proponents of image use, particularly as expressed in the Avadāna literature.109 Later evidence of support for Buddha images in both textual and archaeological sources points to a gradual expansion in these communities’ attitudes toward image use. We have already encountered the ways in which the Mūlsarvāstivāda Vinaya came to treat images of the Buddha as legal residents of monasteries and as the rightful owners of property.110 Such passages seem at odds with injunctions limiting images to depictions of the Bodhisattva “Sitting in the Shade of the Jambu Tree,” but Schopen has pointed to ways in which references to the Bodhisattva and the Buddha became conflated in both inscriptional and textual sources.111 Given their importance, this is perhaps not surprising. Specifically, Schopen has

174

CHAPTER 7

discussed sculptural examples that place such images in contexts in which they are associated with the term Blessed One, a title usually reserved for the postenlightenment Buddha. This conflation also appears in the textual material referring to festivals commemorating the Buddha’s enlightenment that featured jambu tree images rather than those of the Buddha under the Bodhi tree.112 It is also possible to trace a similar shift in the Sarvāstivāda treatment of images. The Kaniṣka Casket’s depiction of the Buddha being honored by Indra and Brahmā, for example, makes it unlikely that this image was intended to represent the pre-enlightenment Śākyamuni, and signifies a departure from what we find on Sarvāstivāda images in earlier contexts. Sculptural examples of the early kapardin-type Śākyamuni also appear in narrative scenes depicting moments in his life that occurred after his enlightenment, thereby apparently breaking the stricture established in the Sarvāstivāda Vinaya, which approved only pre-enlightenment images.113 These examples reveal a change in Sarvāsti­ vāda image-making practices, a change perhaps associated with the influence of royal patronage and a growing acceptance of figural art.114 It is possible, therefore, that the early rules approving images of the Bodhisattva represent the first step in a trajectory that gradually led them to become influential advocates of image-related practices focused on the Buddha. This makes it tempting to consider that some Mūlasarvāstivādins were sympathetic to Sarvāstivādin notions of time as they applied to images. If this is true, they may not have been alone in doing so. The kapardin-style bodhisattvas have been linked by inscriptional evidence to at least two other Buddhist sects, the Mahāsāṃghikas and the Dharmaguptakas.115 Additionally, it appears that even the Jain community adopted a similar approach in justifying one type of sculpture depicting the Jinas. By the fifth century the Jains began to create a sculptural type known as “Living Lord” images, which portrayed Jinas before their attainment of the status of kevalins. Interestingly, these images were understood to depict the Jinas at early periods in their lives, as with images of Mahāvīra that identify him as a prince. Additionally, these images are represented in the literature as being notably responsive and engaged in the world to a degree that is uncommon for standard likenesses of the Jinas.116 It must be said, however, that these Jain “Living Lord” images appeared later and were ultimately more successful than the Buddhist examples. They were made from the fifth to the ninth century ce and enjoyed a much longer period of popularity as an art form than their Buddhist counterparts, which some have suggested were produced for, at most, only a century.117 When placed alongside the bodhisattva images created in the Sarvāstivādin and Mūlasarvāstivādin traditions, the Jain use of “Living Lord” images exemplifies the way an idea pioneered in one tradition could shape the approaches adopted by others. Such examples also help us appreciate that even within a single community a variety of approaches toward image use may have been adopted or innovated over time. This chronological shift can be seen clearly, for



C O P I N G S T R AT E G I E S

175

example, in the differences between the iconoclastic early Pāli sources and the exuberant acceptance of images demonstrated by later texts in the same tradition.118 In other words, these negotiations over the role of the Buddha’s likeness and the manner in which it should be conceptualized were not simply an early phenomenon. Nor were these issues ever entirely settled. In the fourth century ce, for example, the Yogācāra school attempted to codify a wide range of ideas pertaining to the Buddha’s body.119 We have already encountered terms such as rūpakāya, dharmakāya, nirmāṇakāya, and mano­ mayakāya, many of which were in circulation at the time the Yogācāra texts were written. But the Yogācāra scholars sought to condense these ideas into three bodies that better supported their complex cosmological ideas. Of these three Buddha bodies (the dharmakāya, the sāṃbhogikakāya, and the nairmā­ ṇikakāya), the nairmāṇikakāya was the most accessible and tangible to human senses, but even this was an illusory projection. The notion that the Buddha was more than human or had supernatural qualities was at times tied to the development of the idea of Buddha-fields. These cosmic realms are postulated most extensively in Pure Land Buddhist teachings where they serve, in part, as idealized destinations for the dead.120 In discussing the Sukhāvatīvyūha Sūtras, Luis Gómez offers an apt definition of these Buddhist realms. He states that Buddha-fields “are areas of cosmic space that have been chosen by Buddhas as special spheres of influence where they exert benevolence to the highest degree possible.”121 Within these realms Buddhas are often superhuman beings who project multiple bodily forms into other worlds to compassionately guide others to rebirth in a purified Buddha-field and eventual enlightenment. This is a profoundly different conceptualization of Buddhahood than those espoused by the Sarvāstivādins, but in both cases the sectarian communities identified ways to render representations of the Buddha unproblematic, albeit with drastically different solutions. At the center of these discussions is an ongoing desire to comprehend the nature of the Buddha and his visible, bodily form. Some of these ideological systems also postulate complex ways in which the Buddha might remain active after his attainment of nirvāṇa. This can be seen, for example, in the Lotus Sūtra when the Buddha of a past age named Prabhū­ taratna appears alongside Śākyamuni to help him preach. Despite the fact that he had already achieved his parinirvāṇa, Prabhūtaratna accomplishes this miracle by virtue of a prior vow to be present whenever the Lotus Sūtra is taught.122 In the sūtra, Prabhūtaratna literally emerged from within his own stūpa to take his place alongside the Buddha Śākyamuni and in so doing introduced a new way by which absent Buddhas might remain conditionally engaged with the world. The presence of cosmic Buddhas, eternal dharma bodies, and similar con­cepts allowed Buddhas, as broadly conceived, to transcend human limitations. These scholastic developments are complex in their internal logic and have become philosophically significant to key strands of Buddhist thought. But it is

176

CHAPTER 7

also not difficult to see that an enormous portion of the doctrinal material produced by Buddhists was aimed at meticulously defining aspects of the Buddha’s bodily form or forms. Certainly a large part of this discussion was intended to help devotees grasp the nature of Buddhahood. But it also seems likely that these inquiries gave rise to and were driven by a desire to justify, qualify, or apprehend the physical presence of the Teacher. These solutions more often than not were affected by and had an effect on artistic creations, and in so doing, their attempts to define the Buddha regarded him as everything from essentially nonexistent to nearly divine. Although the idea that the Buddha might be more than human was by no means entirely a late development, these ideas took on new significance in the face of a shifting cultural and historical context. The idea that the Buddha transcended human limits was effective at overcoming unwanted bonds between the Buddha and his images, but the idea of a superhuman Buddha came with some significant problems of its own.



C O P I N G S T R AT E G I E S

17 7

8 / FINAL WORDS

[Dhoṇa:] [Buddha:] [Dhoṇa:] [Buddha:] [Dhoṇa:] [Buddha:] [Dhoṇa:] [Buddha:] [Dhoṇa:] [Buddha:]

“Venerable sir, would you be a (god)?” “Brahman, I would not be a god.” “Venerable sir, would you be a gandharva?” “Brahman, I would not be a gandharva.” “Venerable sir, would you be a yakṣa?” “Brahman, I would not be a yakṣa.” “Venerable sir, would you be a human?” “Brahman, I would not be a human.” “. . . Who, then, venerable sir, would you be?” “Brahman, I am the Enlightened One, I am the Enlightened One.” The Brahman Dhoṇa meeting the Buddha, Gāndhārī Sūtra fragment

T

he gradual, uneven, and often conditional introduction of images into the religious practices of Buddhism was by no means a simple process. Although this study has focused primarily on the first few centuries ce, the negotiated ebb and flow of rival opinions about images certainly did not come to a resolution within that time. New concepts and views emerged and rose to the forefront, and with them came new concerns about the appropriateness of figural art. Just as in earlier periods, many of the most challenging new ideas originated with practices external to Buddhism and confronted the strong Buddhist desire to preserve the unique qualities of their faith. Some of this anxiety seems to have found its way into the Buddhist literature as repeated assertions of the Buddha’s unique but nondivine nature. One example can be found in the Aṅguttara Nikāya, and a second, almost identical, example was preserved among the cache of first-century ce Kharoṣṭhī textual fragments discovered in the region of ancient Gandhāra.1 In this brief narrative, as quoted at the opening of this chapter, a Brahman meets the Buddha for the first time and inquires as to whether he is a deva, a gandharva, a yakkha (yakṣa), or a human. The Buddha firmly rejects all of these options and states definitively that he is a Buddha, which is apparently something altogether different.

178

I strongly suspect that this Brahman was not alone in trying to puzzle out exactly what being a Buddha meant and how such an entity differed from the more familiar categories of gods, spirit-deities, and humans. Nevertheless, I am reluctant to assign too much importance to these passages alone, since this mode of questioning is a literary trope in the South Asian narrative tradition.2 This type of repeated inquiry into the nature of a newly met stranger seems to have been a way for authors to introduce special or exceptional individuals in a dramatic fashion while providing some exposition into their nature. Therefore, in themselves these passages that refute the idea that the Buddha might be some sort of god or demigod are not enough to postulate that confusion about the Buddha’s divinity was prevalent. Yet when placed in a wider context and alongside a broader range of evidence, these passages can be understood as intended to curtail speculation about the Buddha’s divinity. And there are plenty of examples that justify the anxiety felt by Buddhists concerned with clarifying and solidifying the Buddha’s nondivine status. For example, in a well-known passage from the Nidānakathā, the generous Sujātā shares Dhoṇa’s confusion over the nature of the Buddha and mistakenly assumes that the Buddha is the deity of a sacred tree.3 In many ways, Sujātā’s mistake is perfectly understandable, especially from the point of view of a Buddhist in the early centuries ce. The Buddha’s sculpted form often had close visual similarities to images of yakṣas, and this association was strengthened in the early literature, as, for example, when the use of trees was approved as an appropriate substitute for the Buddha in the Kāliṅgabodhi Jātaka and the Jinālaṇkāra.4 Ananda Coomaraswamy and Jeanine Auboyer have both discussed the ways the placement of the Buddha’s tree at the gate of the monastery mimicked the placement of tree shrines associated with yakṣas.5 In fact, the Majjhima Nikāya goes so far as to refer to the Buddha as a yakkha (yakṣa).6 When these similarities to the veneration of spirit-deities are coupled with the Buddha’s impressive iconography, the confusion over the Buddha’s divinity seems quite understandable. Not only was the Buddha crowned with grand halos, he was also commonly depicted making the abhaya mudrā (right hand raised with the palm facing out) that, as Prudence Myer points out, was typical for depictions of deities but quite unusual in other contexts.7 By all accounts, the qualities of the Buddha as presented in text and image appear to have left his divinity a somewhat contested and ambiguous point. A large part of this confusion might be attributable to Buddhist devotional practices that have been documented at several early sites, most notably Mathurā. By most accounts, these modes of worship were almost identical to those practiced by a wide range of religious groups, including devotees of regional deities, Jains, and segments of the early Hindu community. Most of what we know about these practices comes from later evidence, but even the earliest material suggests that the personal veneration of religious figures often looked quite similar from one group to the next. However, before asserting that these similarities may have



F I N A L W O R D S

17 9

given rise to confusion over the possible divinity of the Buddha, it is important to see just what the evidence is. For many scholars this bar has been set quite low, and the presence of any figural art depicting religious figures or found in cultic contexts has, at times, been considered sufficient evidence for demonstrating the presence of devotional worship.8 Such criteria may not be entirely without justification, since images often do imply veneration, but an added degree of verification can be obtained by examining inscriptional evidence for the use of specialized terms that are known to be indicative of devotional practices (bhakti) in later periods. The most revealing inscriptional evidence can be found in the honorifics used to address or identify figures of veneration. The designation Bhagavata (or Bha­ga­vān) is among the most commonly encountered titles on sculptural examples associated with devotional cults, and it is not usual for the donors to identify themselves as devotees, or bhāgavatas, in the service of a specific religious figure.9 Such titles are rich with connotations, and scholars have debated the proper way to translate the terms into English.10 Bhagavata is often rendered as “Holy One,” “Lord,” or “Blessed One,” and always indicates a figure worthy of devotion that is a source of blessings. By extension, a bhāgavata is an individual who selfidentifies as the dedicated devotee of such a figure. This terminology, therefore, when associated with religious art, gives us some confidence when deducing that devotional modes of worship were present. Applying these criteria to the archaeological record of early Buddhism reveals some interesting results. Bhagavata was one of the earliest and most prevalent terms used to identify the Buddha in inscriptional sources. The title is ubiquitous at the second-century bce site of Bhārhut, and is also found in donative inscriptions at Buddhist sites such as Amarāvatī, Piprāhwā, and Mathurā.11 As an intriguing point of contrast, at other important Buddhist sites, such as Sāñcī, these words never occur at all. Such disparities in the inscriptional record may indicate differences in regional practices or could potentially be the by­product of sectarian influences. Among the places that do show evidence for devotional forms of worship, the Mathurā region is by far the richest in terms of both the frequency and variety of examples. For example, within Mathurā, five (or possibly six) inscriptions have been identified that refer to the Buddha as Bhagavata or use some variation on that honorific when referencing him.12 The Jain examples are slightly more numerous, with six extant inscriptions that refer to a Jina (typically Ṛṣabhanātha, Mahāvīra, or Neminātha) as Bhagavata.13 And these monastic communities were certainly not the only ones to employ this term. For example, in an inscription found in the Jamālpur mound, the donors of a sculpture identify the nāga Dadhikarṇṇa as Bhagavata.14 This is just one of four inscriptions in the Mathurā district that honor nāgas with such a designation.15 Similarly, the famous Parkham image of the yakṣa Māṇibhadra was

18 0

CHAPTER 8

8.1 Larger than lifesize image of the yakṣa Māṇibhadra, Parkham (near Mathurā), India, 1st or 2nd c. bce. Government Museum, Mathurā. Photo by the author.

donated by his congregation, and they refer to this powerful yakṣa using the same deferential title encountered in the other examples (fig. 8.1).16 Brahmanical use of the term Bhagavata is harder to locate in the Mathurā region, although this paucity of evidence can be bolstered by reference to an early example associated with the cult of Vāsudeva found farther to the south in Vidiśā (modern Besnagar). The famous Garuḍa pillar of Heliodorus provides evidence to an early Vaiṣṇava devotional community (fig. 8.2).17 Returning to the Mathurā region, archaeological digs at the site of Morā have revealed the remains of first-century ce figural sculptures that are possibly identified in a nearby inscription as being the five bhagavatam Vṛṣṇi heroes (see fig. 4.2).18 This group of five heroes is known from the Hindu epics and counts both Saṃkarṣaṇa



F I N A L W O R D S

181

8.2 Pillar of Heliodorus capped with an image of Garuḍa, Vidiśā (modern Besnagar), India, 2nd c. bce. Photo by the author.

and Vāsudeva among their ranks. Both of these figures are central to the development of early Vaiṣṇava worship and are associated with Balarāma and Kṛṣṇa, respectively. If we are correct in associating the honorific Bhagavata with devotional practice, then these examples taken collectively point to the widespread use of sculpture in devotional contexts throughout the Mathurā region over the span of centuries. The geographic proximity of these inscribed images and the frequency with which they appear suggest that the donors who left these inscriptions shared certain ideas about worship that crossed sectarian lines. The commonalities in the language used in their donations indicates that our Buddhist donors saw what they were doing as being not unlike those practices undertaken by their neighbors who favored rival traditions. In other words, the

18 2

CHAPTER 8

Buddhists, Jains, early Vaiṣṇava devotees, and those dedicated to the cults of regional gods, all used the same terminology when designating their object of devotion. The use of honorific titles and the ways in which the donors express their relationship to those central figures of devotion indicate shared, if vaguely defined, regional ideas about worship.19 A central lesson taken from these examples is that the Buddha was at times addressed just like any other god or religious figure. The inscriptional evidence suggests permeable boundaries between forms of devotional religious practice that likely contributed to confusion regarding the divinity of the Buddha. If these connections seem overly tangential, we are fortunate to have some inscriptions that make this point quite explicitly. At the second-century bce site of Bhārhut, for instance, the Buddha is referred to explicitly as a Māhadeva, or “Great God.” Heinrich Lüders has pointed out that this designation for the Buddha finds support in the Mahāvyutpatti, which lists Devātideva (“God of Gods”) as one of the Buddha’s names.20 An unusual inscription dating to the fourteenth year of the Kaniṣka Era identifies the Buddha as a deva (god), and in a very late inscription (1182 ce) from Amarāvatī undertaken by the Koṭa Chiefs, he is actually referred to as God Buddha (buddo deva).21 This trend, together with the previously discussed tendency to conflate the Buddha with yakṣas and other demi­ gods, serves as a good indication that there was room for questioning the Buddha’s status as a mere human. This is to say that the identification of the Buddha with divinity seems to have been a persistent if sporadic occurrence. Moreover, for those opposed to such beliefs, reminding the faithful of the Buddha’s unique and nondivine status appears to have been an ongoing process. Recalling Yijing’s descriptions of the Buddha’s image being bathed and offered flowers at Nālandā, or the grand processions conducted in honor of images of the Bodhisattva as presented in the Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya, it is easy to appreciate the degree of overlap that existed between some early Buddhist devotional practices and the veneration of deities.22 The Dīgha Nikāya, for example, advises devotees to worship the Lord (bhagavantam), and the Sutta­ nipāta instructs people to worship the Buddha as the gods revere Indra.23 The Majjhima Nikāya states outright that faith and love (two qualities closely associated with bhakti) for the Buddha are beneficial for attaining heaven.24 And Reginald Ray has discussed the ways that seeing the Buddha (buddhadarśana) serves as a “vehicle of transcendence” in the Buddhacarita.25 This devotional trend is perhaps stated most clearly in a Chinese Buddhist text translated in the mid-second century. The author states, “[A] true disciple of the Buddha venerates his image evening and morning; often lights a lamp before it to honour it. . . . It is him that the good devas protect.”26 Such evidence makes it fairly clear that there were some in the Buddhist community who entertained the idea that the Buddha was akin to a divine being, or was at least worthy of direct veneration in the same manner as a god. It is equally clear that some very powerful forces in the Buddhist community did



F I N A L W O R D S

18 3

their best to refute or disarm this association. We have already looked at ways that these opponents sought to emphasize the Buddha’s unique nature and his total absence in death, and it seems that these same concerns continued into and after the fourth century. If suggestions of the Buddha’s divinity were indeed an ongoing problem, we may be able to identify moments when those who refuted the Buddha’s divinity employed the visual arts to help make their case. I would argue that one such moment occurred in Gupta territories during the fourth century ce.

Refuting Divinity Central to any discussion of devotional worship in South Asia is the concept of bhakti. This term has been defined in various ways, but it is always associated with committed devotional veneration directed toward a deity or other potent religious figure. There is some disagreement over the origins of these practices, but general consensus regarding their antiquity.27 Scholarship on the subject has revealed a variety practices or traditions that fall under the broad heading of bhakti devotionalism. These practices range from the use of devotion as a motivation when undertaking austerities and penance to a deeply personal and emotional bond that expresses itself primarily in ritualized veneration.28 In almost all cases, a direct and personal connection is implied between the devotee and the focus of devotion. This bond, therefore, typically plays a central role in the intense religious commitment that characterizes these forms of religious expression. For this reason, an important aspect of bhakti is the concept of darśan, or eye contact between the divine and the devotee that is typically mediated through figural art.29 This “eye contact” is conceived as a form of touching, or as a shared connection that is a vital component in most forms of South Asian devotional worship. It can be stated with certainty that darśan plays a central role in most forms of bhakti as they are currently understood. Yet we know very little about the nature of early devotional practices because such ephemeral actions are quite difficult to reconstruct. While we can deduce that the old practices would have some relation to those of later times, it is probably prudent not to overestimate the similarities. Truthfully, we know much less about what practitioners actually did and far more about what the texts tell us they should be doing. This situation seems to have developed from a milieu in which typical devotional practices did not require explanation, so the authors of the texts placed emphasis only on efforts to regulate or alter those behaviors. Although most of the narratives and textual discussions that seek to justify or direct image use in the Buddhist community date from the first to third centuries ce, when images first began to be used in a major way across South Asia, some important artistic changes and innovations occurred during the fourth century.30 Most notably, a change can be observed in the general iconography of Buddha images made in North India, centered on the territories held by the

18 4

CHAPTER 8

8.3 (left) Bodhisattva image donated by the bhikṣu Bala, Sārnāth, India, 2nd c. ce. Sārnāth Site Museum. Photo by the author. 8.4 (above) Head of the Buddha with downcast eyes, Sārnāth, India, 5th c. ce. Sārnāth Site Museum. Photo by the author.

Gupta monarchs. Although some of the earliest Gandhāran Buddha images exhibit the half-closed eyes often said to be expressive of meditation or to reflect the modest demeanor required of monks, the standard early Mathurān types had large widely opened eyes that some have suggested were derived from the images of yakṣas and other spirit-deities (see figs. 1.4, 3.1, and 8.3).31 In the fourth century the early kapardin-style Buddhas of Mathurā and Sārnāth, with broad bodies and wide eyes, gave way to a new type of Buddha image whose eyes are half-closed in a manner akin to the sort of meditation seen in some of the earlier northwestern examples (fig. 8.4).32 It is worth considering the timing of this transition. This new interest in altering the appearance of the Buddha, after roughly four centuries of iconographic consistency, may have been a response to the emergence of temple Hinduism under the Gupta and the codification of ritual practices centered on darśan and bhakti, which developed in this same period. These modes of Hindu



F I N A L W O R D S

18 5

worship emphasized the inherent links between images and the divine within ritual contexts. Most typically, the deity in Hindu ceremonies was not seen as being identical to the image but was understood to directly inhabit the image during the course of the ritual.33 As such, these practices may have presented a significant challenge to some Buddhist modes of devotion by shifting the general understanding of figural art in devotional contexts. At a minimum they could have uncovered old concerns held by those elements in the Buddhist community who disapproved of image use and feared that it might lead to misunderstanding about the Buddha’s absence. These challenges must have become particularly potent with the emergence of temple-based Hindu practice. These religious structures, as exemplified at fourth- to fifth-century royally sanctioned sites such as Deogarh and Udayagiri, formalized new modes of Brahmanic religious practice. Specifically, these structures enshrined the images into which the Brahman priests invited the deity to be present through ritual actions. These rites were the culmination of a complex process by which the axis of the old Vedic rituals, which sent prayers up to the gods in heaven, were inverted, and the deity was now made present on earth through the intermediary of the image. This period seems to mark an important transition to systematized temple-based practices overseen directly, and exclusively, by the Brahman priesthood. Central to these newly dominant Hindu forms of worship was the ritualized connection between the worshipper and the god that was mediated through the eyes of an image or cult icon, which served as a focus of devotion.34 To reiterate, darśan is an important component in devotional worship wherein the devotee makes eye contact with the divinity by gazing upon the eyes of a ritually prepared image. It is natural, then, that the representation and creation of a deity’s eyes became an important and highly regulated aspect of Hindu image production. For example, the Citrasūtra of the Viṣṇudharmottara Purāṇa (sixth–eighth century), stipulates that the eyes of gods should always be level.35 In its description of poorly made images, this text states that, in the case of idols to be worshipped, “a downward or oblique gaze should be avoided” because such images, among other things, cause grief and misfortune.36 And yet this is exactly the gaze that the Buddhists adopt. Beginning in the fourth century, one can consistently observe in Mathurā, Sārnāth, and other parts of the Gupta lands the growing prevalence of Buddhist figures with halfclosed, downcast eyes. The early Buddhas with wide eyes and a forward stare disappear in favor of this innovation. This new type of Buddha image is often described in secondary scholarship as being engaged in meditation, despite the fact that it often appears in narrative contexts in which the Buddha is explicitly not meditating. Many post-fourth-century images, for example, can be seen in the midst of preaching or making a gift-giving gesture, neither of which is a meditative act, and both of which involve direct interaction with others. This can be seen, for example, in an elegant fifth-century Sārnāth image, which

18 6

CHAPTER 8

8.5 Seated Buddha, Sārnāth, 5th c. ce. Sārnāth Site Museum. Photo by the author.

exhibits half-closed eyes despite the fact that the Buddha’s teaching gesture and the decoration on the pediment indicate the moment he preached his first sermon (fig. 8.5). It would appear, therefore, that these images are doing more than simply promoting the meditative propensities of the Buddha. This iconographic development can be read in at least two ways, both of which mitigate and limit the modes of devotionalism and darśan open to devotees. In one sense, these images might still conceivably allow an intimate sort of darśan to those seated directly under the image, assuming such images were elevated in some fashion. The existence of sculpted bodhisattvas in this same style who also exhibit downcast eyes argues in favor of this interpretation. Such



F I N A L W O R D S

18 7

figures often appear to be turning their beatific gaze downward to the miserable and emaciated hungry ghosts (preta) supplicating at their feet. One might imagine human devotees adopting similar postures. Yet downward-looking Buddhas from this period portray no such supplicants and still exhibit the same half-closed eyes. The move toward a “meditative” Buddha might, therefore, be understood as an attempt to deny darśan, and as a subtle reminder of the Buddha’s absence. The lowered gaze of the Buddha prevents eye contact and, by extension, any assumptions of contact with the Buddha himself, who remains “altogether gone” in nirvāṇa. Whatever agency and potency these images may have been granted, they stand apart from the Buddha. Unlike their Hindu counterparts, these images complicate any visual contact between devotees and the divine subject. No matter how we read the development of this Buddha type, concurrent with the rise of temple-based Hinduism, it is difficult not to see the hidden eyes as an intentional impediment to the widespread devotional practices that were gaining popularity and institutional support. In a similar way, the fourth-century proliferation of images depicting multiple Buddhas (as discussed in the previous chapter) also removes the centrality of a single image and serves as a reminder of the disconnection between the Buddha and his images or projections. It is possible, therefore, to read both of these artistic changes as an iconographic rebuttal of the expanding practices of bhakti and darśan in the wake of Gupta political support. Just as some textual passages struggle to define the Buddha as something apart from human and divine, so too these changes in iconography force the devotee to encounter the image in a new way. Nirvāṇa posed special problems for many in the Buddhist community. Neither human nor divine, neither living nor dead, but totally apart from this existence, the Buddha’s image had to navigate a complex strait between doctrinal precision and societal expectations. With the expanding role played by grand Hindu temples, images became increasingly powerful as expressions of divinity. These changes in iconography may represent one of the efforts (among many) undertaken by those members of the Buddhist community who were averse to the idea of the Buddha sharing the qualities of a god. Ultimately, this example is simply indicative of the ongoing issues that continued to surround Buddhist image use long after the fourth century, and is a good reminder that such issues were never entirely put to rest.

Conclusions In many ways this post-Gupta tension between a desire for images and the neces­sities of tradition serves as an apt encapsulation of this book. The divide between various views of the Buddha’s nature as expressed in the fourth century can be seen as the continuation (but by no means the culmination) of a process that we have traced since the emergence of Buddhism itself. The complexity of

18 8

CHAPTER 8

Buddhist responses to image use and the ways in which the community nego­ tiated those issues among themselves and against the backdrop of broader South Asian cultural ideas has had a formative effect on not only Buddhist art but also the shape (or shapes) of Buddhism itself. This study of the emergence, proliferation, and qualified acceptance of Buddha images is ultimately only one part of the much larger history of figural art in South Asia. By taking as the starting point the notion that figural art in South Asian prior to the first century bce was fraught with intensely complicated and worldly associations, it becomes clear why the Buddhist literature is so remarkably devoid of rules opposing or outlawing the use of images. Such injunctions were unnecessary in the cultural context of the time, and instead we find a long history of debates and theories aimed at justifying, excusing, and approving the use of images in Buddhist religious settings. The questions of how and why have served to guide this inquiry into the nature of Buddhist figural art and the motivations and methods that drove its development. In response to the question of why images were eventually adopted by the majority of Buddhists, we have had to point to a large number of potential reasons. Certainly at the top of the list were issues of legitimacy in the face of changing public attitudes toward the public display of images and a desire to attract and maintain patronage. But it is also apparent that these images served as the physical expression of appealing new modes of meditative and devotional worship that developed over the course of centuries and had parallels in other South Asian religious communities. The question of how these practices emerged presents us with something of an irony. The doctrinal and narrative literature allows us a remarkable degree of specificity in our response, but they also make us aware of the sheer multitude and remarkable complexity of the answers generated from within the Buddhist community on this topic. The amount of philosophic and narrative material dedicated to the subject of the Buddha’s bodies, projections, images, and likenesses is both immense and captivating. One wonders that if there had been no pressure to create visible images of the Buddha, if the topic of his bodies would ever have become central, or even relevant. This is more than just an idle speculation, because if this outpouring of Buddhist textual material is indeed a response to changes in the use and production of material culture, it would stand as a powerful example of the way art, culture, and practice can drive theoretical and philosophic discourse. This book has addressed many of the early Buddhist opinions arrayed for and against image use, as well as the wide range of compromise positions that occupied the middle ground in this debate. Major sectarian developments or doctrinal differences may very well have germinated from the exceptionally basic and practical question of what to do with statues of the Buddha. This question of what to do with the Buddha’s image has no single answer, and rarely are any of the potential answers simple ones. The history of Buddhist negotiations over the appropriateness of representing the Buddha is more than



F I N A L W O R D S

18 9

just a superficial question of appearances. Frequently such digressions into the nature of visible forms became the catalyst for asking central questions about the nature of Buddhahood and about qualities inherent to the Buddha himself. How people understood the significance of his likeness and their proper role in relation to it served, in many ways, to define a variety of Buddhist perspectives. This books examines Buddhism in some of its earliest stages, but even with the development and growth of major schools such as Pure Land, Dhyāna (Chan, Zen), and Tantra within South Asia and across other parts of the world, significant differences in the conceptualization and use of the Buddha’s image continued to persist. This complexity and diversity still contribute to the richness of the ideas that we conveniently classify under the singular, insufficient, and inclusive heading “Buddhism.”

19 0

CHAPTER 8

NOTES

1 / Problems and Preconceptions

1 2 3

4 5 6

7 8

9 10 11

Epigraphs: Mātṛceṭa’s Śatapañcāśatkastotra, translated in Conze and Horner, Buddhist Texts through the Ages, 191. The original version of these hymns must predate 406, when they were translated into Chinese by Kumārajīva. Shackleton Bailey has proposed a date in the second century ce. See Shackleton Bailey, Śata­ pañcāśatka of Mātṛceṭa, 19–26. Translation from Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 121. Maitreyasiṃhanāda Sūtra, Derge, dkon brtsegs CA 107b.3–.5. Cowell and Neil, Divyāvadāna, 357–61. For a translation, see Strong, Legend of King Aśoka, 191–93. For a discussion, see Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 65–66 and 120. The author identifies this text as one of the earliest Mahāyāna sūtras. Takakusu and Nagai, Samantapāsādikā 3:627, discussed in Kinnard, Imaging Wisdom, 73. Kinnard references King, Theravāda Meditation, 33, 38. The original text probably predates 400 ce. Feer, Avadāna-çataka, 412–15. Also see Strong, Legend and Cult of Upagupta, 54–55. Conze and Horner, Buddhist Texts through the Ages, 191. This translation is from Tanaka, Absence of the Buddha Image, 56, who cites the Chinese version of the Aṅguttara Nikāya as preserved in the Taisho Tripiṭaka 2:657–64. Tanako also makes reference to the work of Osamu Takata. For a broader discussion on this, see Robert DeCaroli, Haunting the Buddha. Others have made similar observations. Yuvraj Krishan notes that the Jains, like the Buddhists, avoided making images of their important religious figures. Since there is no Jain prohibition against images, Krishan posits a general early tendency to eschew human forms in worship. Krishan, Buddha Image, 26. See, for example, fig. 2.6, discussed in the next chapter. Krishan, Buddha Image, 51. Art historical discussions over the past several decades have begun to come to terms with the limits inherent in a “traditional” post-Renaissance, European view of art. In this sense, the South Asian case is both unique in terms of its historical and cultural specificity, and also not unique as a region of study for which expanded definitions of art are required. Such studies are a reminder of the need to be aware of the ways that objects operate and are assigned agency within their cultural contexts. See, for example, Freedberg, Power of Images; Gell, Art and Agency; and Mitchell, Iconology.

19 1

12

13

14 15

The story of Vakkali has several versions and appears in several texts, including the Saṃyutta Nikāya, Aṅguttara Nikāya, Dhammapada Commentary, and Divyā­ vadāna. See, for example, Burlingame, Buddhist Legends 3:262–63. For Prasenajit’s tale, see Giles, Travels of Fa-hsien, 30–31. Numerous texts fit this description, but see, for example, Harrison, Samādhi of Direct Encounter, 4D, 4E.8 (the unusual citations refer to the paragraphs as numbered by Harrison in his translation). For further discussion, see Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 117–19. For an overview of such matters, see Richard H. Davis, “Indian Image-Worship and Its Discontents,” 107–32. See K. R. Norman, Sutta-Nipāta, 1073–75. See also Tanaka, Absence of the Buddha Image, 56, citing the Chinese version of the Aṅguttara Nikāya; and Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 121n72, citing the Maitreyasiṃhanāda Sūtra, Derge, dkon brtsegs CA 107b.3–.5.

2 / Questions of Origin

1 2

3

4 5

6 7 8

9 10

19 2

Epigraph: For the translation, see Jaini and Horner, Apocryphal Birth Stories 2:103. I am not alone in making this observation. See Kinnard, Imaging Wisdom, 57–59. “Gandhāra” has at times been used as shorthand for the northwest in general. It is not uncommon for examples used by those promoting a “Gandhāran” origin for the Buddha image to have originated outside of the geographic borders of Gandhāra proper. The term “Greater Gandhāra” is occasionally used to address this inaccuracy. Naturally, some scholars have suggested theories outside of this rubric. Most commonly they suggest a simultaneous appearance in both regions. Other locations have also been cited. For example, Richard Gombrich has suggested that Sri Lanka may have had Buddha images by the second century BC. See Gombrich, “Kosala-Bimba-Vaṇṇanā,” 282. A. K. Narain locates the first images in Kashmir. See Narain, “First Image of the Buddha,” 11. Foucher, L’Art Gréco-Bouddhique du Gandhara, 4. Vogel, Archaeological Museum at Mathura, 29–30. For an overview of European interest in the Greek aspects of Gandhāran art, see Abe, “Inside the Wonder House,” 63–106. Coomaraswamy, “Indian Origin of the Buddha Image,” 165–70, and “Origin of the Buddha Image,” 287–329. Dani, “Shaikhan Dheri,” 40–41. Victor Goloubew’s ideas were published in a review of Alfred Foucher’s L’Art Gréco-Bouddhique du Gandhara that appeared in the Bulletin de l’École Française de Extrême-Orient, tome 23 (1923): 451. See Saraswati, Survey of Indian Sculpture, 14; Sharma, Buddhist Art of Mathura, 14, 25, 164; Härtel, Das Bild der Götter entsteht, 32. Rowland, “Gandhāra and Early Christian Art,” 46–47, and “Note on the Indian Invention,” 182–86. While Rowland consistently argued for the primacy of Roman cultural influence on the Buddha image, he did at times make oblique reference

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 2

11 12 13

14

15 16

17

18 19

20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28



to an earlier “archaic” style derived from Indian schools. See Rowland, “Gandhara and Late Antique Art,” 224; Krishan, Buddha Image, 29. Foucher, Beginnings of Buddhist Art, 7–9. Ibid., 8–9. The evidence provided by small-scale figural sculptures from the cultures of the Harappan Civilization and the persistent archaeological discovery of small terracotta images further support this point. Coomaraswamy, “Origin of the Buddha Image,” 287–329. Coomaraswamy was Sri Lankan Tamil on his father’s side, and English on his mother’s. Much of his writing explicitly takes up the task of championing the qualities of South Asian art to the larger global community. Foucher, L’Art Gréco-Bouddhique du Gandhara, 4–10; Marshall, Guide to Taxila, 1–58; Fergusson, Tree and Serpent Worship, 1–3. The word popular requires a little explication when it is used in reference to forms of religious practice centered on deities of intermediate power such as yakṣas and nāgas. The term popular is useful, provided popular is understood as meaning “nonexclusive” and is recognized as encompassing all levels of society, from the most elite to the most humble. These popular deities are inevitably concerned with worldly matters such as fecundity and wealth rather than those of salvation or transcendence. In past scholarship I coined the term spirit-deities to refer to these supernatural beings that fall between the categories of ghosts and gods. Additionally, I have referred to the cults dedicated to these beings as spirit religions. I occasionally employ both of these terms in the following pages. For more, see DeCaroli, Haunting the Buddha, 26–28. See, for example, von Mitterwallner, Kuṣāṇa Coins and Kuṣāṇa Sculpture, 152, 190–203; Vogel, Archaeological Museum at Mathura, 25. Evidence of artistic exchange between the regions has also been identified. Coomaraswamy, “Origin of the Buddha Image,” 316; Vogel, Archaeological Museum at Mathura, 33. Charles Masson’s notes were published by Horace Hayman Wilson in his Ariana Antiqua while in communication with Masson. See Wilson, Ariana Antiqua. Le May, “Bimaran Casket,” 119–20; Marshall, Guide to Taxila, 76–80. Both discuss the early dating of the coins. More recent scholarship has suggested later dating. David W. MacDowall has identified the coins as post–Azes II and assigned them a 20–50 ce date, and Joe Cribb has introduced the possibility of a 60 ce date. For MacDowall, see “Development of Buddhist Symbolism,” 187. For Cribb, see Crossroads of Asia, 16, 188. Coomaraswamy, “Origin of the Buddha Image,” 319. Rowland, “Revised Chronology of Gāndhara Sculpture,” 387–400. Le May, “Bimaran Casket,” 119, 123. Rowland, “Gandhāra and Early Christian Art,” 44. Marshall, “Greeks and Sakas in India,” 14; van Lohuizen-de Leeuw, Scythian Period, 84–87. Majumdar, Guide to the Sculptures, 13–14. Bachhofer, “On Greeks and Sakas in India,” 228–29. Dobbins, “Two Gandhāran Reliquaries,” 154–55. Carter, “A Reappraisal of the Bīmarān Reliquary,” 84.

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 2

19 3

29 30 31

32 33

34

35

36 37 38

39 40 41 42

43 44

45 46 47 48

194

Fussman, “Numismatic and Epigraphic Evidence,” 70. See Bussagli, “Problem of Kaniṣka,” 53–55. Zwalf states that the reliquary dates to the first or second century ce, based on style, and adds that if the coins are contemporary, then it can be placed in the first century ce. The British Museum seems to accept this range and estimates a date of 50 ce. Zwalf, Buddhism Art and Faith, 29. The British Museum’s website currently mentions the possibility of carbon dating based on organic material found in a hardened clay lining the interior of the reliquary. Hiebert and Camon, Afghanistan Hidden Treasures, 276. Fussman, “Monnaie d’or de Kaniṣka inédite,” 169; Evgeny V. Zeymal, “Tilya-tepe within the Context of the Kushan Chronology,” 239–44; Robert L Brown, “Walking Tilya Tepe Buddha,” 78–79. Fussman, “Numismatic and Epigraphic Evidence,” 7. Fussman mentions both Zeus and Herakles as possible identifications for the figure. Zeymal, “Visha-Shiva in the Kushan Pantheon,” 245–66. Zeymal suggests that the figure may be a form of VishaShiva. See also Brown, “Walking Tilya Tepe Buddha,” 85, 87n19, 87n26. Brown, “Walking Tilya Tepe Buddha,” 77–87. In this essay Brown expresses some fears about the current status of the medallion. Fortunately, a recent publication and exhibition tour has shown it to be well preserved. Hiebert and Camon, Afghanistan, 276. Brown, “Walking Tilya Tepe Buddha,” 83. Brown settles on an early first-century ce date for the medallion (as well as for the Bīmarān Casket). Van Lohuizen-de Leeuw, “New Evidence,” 386, 390, 393. Rhi, “From Bodhisattva to Buddha,” 220. I have avoided the use of the term Buddha in relation to these images because Rhi identifies these Kapardin-type sculptures as depictions of the Bodhisattva Gautama after his renunciation but before his enlightenment and attainment of Buddhahood. Rhi, “From Bodhisattva to Buddha,” 224. Sharma, Buddhist Art of Mathura, 164; Agrawala, “Buddha and Bodhisattva Images,” 62–63. Morris, “Buddha under a Ficus Tree,” 77. For example, Sonya Rhie Quintanilla has recently argued for a later dating for both of these objects. She places the tympanum at 150 ce and the Kaṇkālī Ṭīlā image at 50–100 ce. Quintanilla, History of Early Stone Sculpture at Mathura, 227–28 and figs. 287 and 289. Bussagli, “The Problem of Kaniṣka,” 53–55; Soper, “Recent Studies,” 339–50. Falk, “The Yuga of Sphujiddhvaja,” 121–36. See also Cribb, “Early Kushan Kings,” 177–205. These authors offer some of the most current ideas on the topic. Bussagli, “The Problem of Kaniṣka,” and Soper, “Recent Studies,” offer good overviews and historical perspectives. This version is told in the Buddhacarita 5:81 and in the Lalitavistara, chapters 14 and 15. Foucher, Beginnings of Buddhist Art, 4. S. Huntington, “Early Buddhist Art,” 401–8; Susan Huntington, “Aniconism,” 111–56. S. Huntington, “Aniconism,” 137–40.

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 2

49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58

See, for example, Dehejia, “Aniconism,” 45–66; Lindrothe, “Inquiries into the Origin,” 241–56. Huntington, “Aniconism,” 111. Dehejia, “Aniconism,” 45–47. Huntington, “Early Buddhist Art,” 401; Huntington, “Aniconism,” 111. Huntington, “Aniconism,” 115. Cunningham, Stūpa of Bharhut, 90. Anderson, Catalog and Handbook, 65–66. This reference and others are further explicated in Karlsson, Face to Face, 37, 43. T. W. Rhys Davids, Buddhist India, 230. For an overview, see Karlsson, Face to Face, 36–53. Dehejia, “Aniconism,” 66n27; Krishan, Buddha Image, ix–xi, 16, 26.

3 / Image Aversion

1

2

3 4

5 6 7 8 9 10

11



Epigraph: This translation is from Tanaka, Absence of the Buddha Image, 56, who cites the Chinese version of the Aṅguttara Nikāya as preserved in the Taisho Tripiṭaka 2:657–64. Tanaka also makes reference to the work of Osamu Takata. A note of clarification is required here. In this chapter and in the rest of the book, I use the term image as shorthand for figural imagery that is generally (but not always) anthropomorphic. With very few exceptions, this artwork is intended to represent a specific human, deity, or religious figure. While this usage is clear when speaking of image worship or image use, without this explication it may not have been clear when used in other contexts. The term image, as I am using it, primarily refers to figural sculpture but may also include painted representations. I will make it apparent when different media are implied. For example, Karlsson, Face to Face with the Absent Buddha, 58–59; S. Huntington, “Early Buddhist Art,” 402; Coomaraswamy, “Origin of the Buddha Image,” 294. Soper, “Early Buddhist Attitudes,” 147–48. Here I am following Soper’s translation. See Soper, “Early Buddhist Attitudes,” 147–48. He credits Arthur Waley as being the first to draw attention to the passage. See Rhi, “From Bodhisattva to Buddha,” 220–21. In his article, Rhi makes reference to Li-kouang, L’aide-mémoire de la Vraie Loi, 95–97. Waley, “Did the Buddha Die,” 352–53. Waley attributes this difference from the Chinese vinaya to disagreement between branches of the Sarvāstivāda sect. Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 128–29. Schopen provides an explication of the “One Sitting in the Shade of the Jambu Tree” and its significance. Rhi, “From Bodhisattva to Buddha,” 207–25. Cowell, Jātaka 4:142–43 and Jātaka 4:228–29. Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 128–29; Soper, “Early Buddhist Attitudes,” 147–48. Both texts are relatively early. The Sarvāstivāda text must predate its sixthcentury translation into the Chinese, and current scholarship places the Mūlasar­ vāstivāda Vinaya to the first or second century ce. Rhi, “From Bodhisattva to Buddha,” 207–25; Schopen, Figments, 108–55.

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 3

19 5

12 13 14

15 16 17

18

19 20 21

22

19 6

Mukherjee, “Note on a Bi-Scriptural Epigraph,” 277–84. For a full discussion, see Rhi, “From Bodhisattva to Buddha,” 209n13. Samantapāsādikā 627, discussed in Kinnard, Imaging Wisdom, 67. The text probably predates 400 ce. See Rahula, History of Buddhism in Ceylon, 120–27. Bodhi tree shrines (bodhi­ ghara) were present in most of the major sites, particularly at the Pabbata and Pañ­cāyatana type vihāras. See Bandaranayake, Sinhalese Monastic Architecture. I am a bit reluctant to make this point too emphatically because there is some indication that early tree-centered practices may also have been known in the north. Specifically, the inscriptions at the second-century bce site of Bharhūt identify images of the Bodhi tree as bhagavato, an honorific usually reserved for the Buddha himself. The discussion of Bodhi trees as possible substitutes for the use of images becomes more complicated by the fact that, in some cases, Bodhi trees also occupy the role of relics. This is a useful reminder that textual references to the presence of the Buddha need not always be synonymous with images. For example, in the Jinālaṅkāra the Buddha says, “When I am gone, the dharma and vinaya which I taught you will be your Master, as well as my bodily relics, the seat of awakening, and the most excellent bodhi tree. . . . I allow you to establish the bodhi tree and the relics in my place, and to venerate them in order to obtain the way to bliss.” In this text the Bodhi tree and bodily relics are treated as having the same elevated status. Although the source for this quote is quite late (c. twelfth century) and far postdates widespread image use, the text curiously makes no mention of them. It is helpful, however, to recall that those who were desirous of being in the Buddha’s presence had several options. Images were just one of the ways in which devotees sought to embody the Buddha, and for some schools of thought they were by no means the best. See Gray, Jinālaṅkāra, 110. Bandaranayake, Sinhalese Monastic Architecture, 23, 46–52, 211, 166–67. Schopen, “On Monks and Menial Laborers,” 239; Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 69–70; Soper, “Early Buddhist Attitudes,” 148. The Saundarānanda of Aśvaghoṣa tells how Nanda is first tempted to join the monastic order because the good karma would allow him to consort with heavenly goddesses in his next life. Soper, “Early Buddhist Attitudes,” 147. This reading may also be supported by a passage in the same vinaya that forbids nuns from visiting buildings with paintings. Horner, Book of Discipline, 121–213. Vinaya-Piṭaka, Cullavagga 3:1–3. Most notably in the Bṛhat Saṃhitā. See M. R. Bhat, Bṛhat Saṃhitā 1:390, 2:569. This is discussed more fully in chapter 4. Rotman, Thus I Have Seen, 73. Along with his translation of the Divyāvadāna passage, Rotman attributes the painters’ failure to the Buddha’s characteristic of being a “sight one never tires of seeing.” The Rudrāyāṇāvadāna, in Cowell and Neil, Divyāvadāna, 547. See also Coomara­ swamy, “Chaya,” 279. For the translation, see Wood, Buddha and the Shape of Belief, 131–33. For a full discussion of this tale, see Teiser, Reinventing the Wheel, 104–19.

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 3

23 24 25 26

27 28 29 30

31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47



Goswamy and Dahmen-Dallapiccola, Early Document of Indian Art, 111–12. See also Teiser, Reinventing the Wheel, 106n4. Soper, “Early Buddhist Attitudes,” 149–50. Faxian (Fa-Hien), Record of Buddhistic Kingdoms, 39 (Legge translation). Ibid., 39. See also Strong, Legend of Upagupta, 31. Strong mentions an interesting postscript to Faxian’s tale. The account states that in 450 ce a Sri Lankan monk, Buddhanandī, visited China and there succeeded in making a copy of the shadow. This miraculous image exhibited all of the supernatural, light-emitting qualities attributed to the original. Apparently even the local artists’ inability to reproduce the shadow image had been overcome by the time of Xuanzang’s visit in the seventh century. A brief reference in the eulogy to Xuanzang appended to the great monk’s account of his travels lists a copy of the Nagarahāra image as being among the artwork he brought back to China. This list also mentions an image based on the Buddha’s shadow that had been left in a cave in Magadha. Li, Great Tang Dynasty Records, 393–94. Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 121. Translation from Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 121. Maitreyasiṃhanāda Sūtra, Derge, dkon brtsegs CA 107b.3–.5. Andersen and Helmers, Suttanipāta, 1073–75; K. R. Norman, Group of Discourses, 136; Nāgārjuna, Mūlamadhyamakakārikāh, 39; Beyer, Buddhist Experience, 214. This translation is from Tanaka, Absence of the Buddha Image, 56, who cites the Chinese version of the Aṅguttara Nikāya as preserved in the Taisho Tripiṭaka 2:657–64. Tanaka also makes reference to the work of Osamu Takata. T. W. Rhys Davids and Carpenter, Dīgha Nikāya 1:46; T. W. Rhys Davids, Dialogues of the Buddha, 54. Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 121–23. Trenckner, Milindapañha 4.1.10. And T. W. Rhys Davids, Questions of King ­Milinda 35:144–46. Cort, Framing the Jina, 63–65. Ehara, Thera, and Thera, Path to Freedom, 141; Harrison, “Commemoration and Identification,” 220; Kinnard, Imaging Wisdom, 75. Kinnard, Imaging Wisdom, 73. Kinnard references King, Theravāda Meditation, 33, 38. Buddhaghoṣa in particular seems to have held this view. Rotman, “Erotics of Practice,” 557–58. See also Rotman, Thus I Have Seen, 65–150. Rotman, “Erotics of Practice,” 565; Rotman, Thus I Have Seen, 102–3. Radich, Somatics of Liberation, 9–23. Strong, “Transforming Gift,” 223; Radich, Somatics of Liberation, 9–23. Strong, “Transforming Gift,” 224–25. Ibid. See also Conze, Large Sūtra on Perfect Wisdom, 176. This passage explicitly treats discussion of the Buddha’s body as a subcategory of the dharmakāya. Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 125. Conze, Large Sūtra on Perfect Wisdom, 231. Conze, Perfection of Wisdom, 291. Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 66, 120n70. Ibid., 65.

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 3

19 7

48 49 50 51 52 53 54

55 56

57

58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77

19 8

See, for example, Coomaraswamy, Yakṣas 1:33. Schopen, Bones, Stones, and Buddhist Monks, 238–57. Radhakrishnan, Principal Upaniṣads, 503–5, citing Chāndogya Upaniṣad 8:8.5. Radhakrishnan, Principal Upaniṣads, 736–37, citing Śvetaśvatara Upaniṣad 4:19. Radhakrishnan, Principal Upaniṣads, 895–96, citing Jabāla Upaniṣad 1:1–3. Katre, Aṣṭādhyāyī 5.3.99. Ramakrishna cited in full in Peterson, Auchityalamkara of Kshemendra, 4–8. The clearest examples of this are the two male figures (presumably yakṣas) from Patna that are currently in the Indian Museum, Kolkata (fig. 3.4 in DeCaroli, Haunting the Buddha). Katre, Aṣṭādhyāyī 3.2.105, 8.1.67; Lidova, Drama and Ritual, 109. Pāṇini also refers to bhaktas 4.3.95. See also Banerjea, Development of Hindu Iconography, 85. Bhandarkar in Peterson, Auchityalamkara of Kshemendra, 6–11. Peterson fully excerpts Bhadarkar’s critique in his footnotes, so both positions can be read in this citation. The precise translation of this passage was hotly debated. Peterson did not accept this passage as referring to the Mauryan dynasty but rather as a phrase describing the images of Skandha. Peterson, Auchityalamkara of Kshemendra, 4–11. Kangle, Arthaśāstra 1:299, 1:474, 1:478–79, 2:5.2.39–44, 2:13.1.3–6, 2:478–79, 2:13.2.21–37. Olivelle, Between the Empires, 219. Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 65. Davis, “Indian Image-Worship,” 117. Ibid. Davis identifies devalakas as temple priests. Burnell, Ordinances of Manu, 62–63. See also Olivelle, Manu’s Code of Law, 116, citing Manusmṛti 3:151–52. Burnell, Ordinances of Manu, 66; Olivelle, Manu’s Code of Law, 117, citing Manusmṛti 3:180. Von Stietencron, “Orthodox Attitudes,” 133. See also Davis, “Indian ImageWorship,” 117. Banerjea, Development of Hindu Iconography, 88, citing Bhāradvāja Saṃhitā 4:29. Specifically, the Manusmṛti classifies the Buddhists and Jain as nāstika or “deniers” due to their rejection of Vedic authority. Davis, “Indian Image-Worship,” 117. Burnell, Ordinances of Manu, 84, 94–95, 191; Olivelle, Manu’s Code of Law, 126, 131, 169, citing Manusmṛti 4:39, 4:130, and 8:87, respectively. DeCaroli, “From the Living Rock,” 103–4. Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 136–39. Von Stietencron, “Orthodox Attitudes,” 126–38; Davis, “Indian Image-Worship,” 107–32. Ibid., 119–21. Ibid., 122–25. M. S. Bhat, Vedic Tantrism, 376. Concise Yoga Vāsiṣṭha, 290–91; Tarabout, “Theology as History,” 58. Concise Yoga Vāsiṣṭha, 291. Cort, Framing the Jina, 50–51. Cort discusses this passage at some length, and also

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 3

78 79

provides an analysis of the date of the text, which has alternately been identified as a work of the second to fifth century or as a product of the seventh. Tarabout, “Theology as History,” 57. Ibid., 67; Alexis Sanderson, “Visualization of the Deities,” 74–75.

4 / Images and Identity 1 2 3

4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

20 21 22



Epigraph: Mukherji, Citrasūtra, 3. Foucher, Beginnings of Buddhist Art, 8–9. For a related discussion, see also DeCaroli, “From the Living Rock,” 27. Foucher, Beginnings of Buddhist Art, 8–9. Alfred Foucher was of the opinion that portraiture had not even occurred to the peoples of the Indian subcontinent prior to influence from the West, and John Marshall characterized the expansion of religious imagery in South Asia as an unfortunate decline from rationalism into emotionalism. See Foucher, Beginnings of Buddhist Art, 7–9; and Marshall and Foucher, Monuments of Sāñchī, 152–53. For a more complete discussion, see DeCaroli, “From the Living Rock,” 25–27. V. A. Smith, “Graeco-Roman Influence,” 267–68. Coomaraswamy, “Traditional Concept of Ideal Portraiture,” 74–82; Kaimal, “Problem of Portraiture,” 61. Coomaraswamy, Dance of Śiva, 47–49. Seckel, Before and Beyond the Image, 12. For a more complete analysis of this topic, see DeCaroli, Haunting the Buddha. M. R. Bhat, Bṛhat Saṃhitā 2:569. Ibid. 1:377. Ibid. 1:390. Mukherji, Citrasūtra, 277. Cited in Coomaraswamy, “Traditional Concept,” 74–82. Gonda, Vedic Ritual, 199, citing Sāmavidhāna Brāhmaṇa, 2, 5, 3. Gonda, Vedic Ritual, 55, citing Kauśika Sūtra, 18, 11, 18, 16. Gonda, Vedic Ritual, 211, citing Atharvaveda Pariśiṣṭha, 35, 33:1, 33:8; 36:10, 36:2. See also Bloomfield and Muller, Hymns of the Atharva-Veda, 359, 534. Gonda, Vedic Ritual, 71, citing Kauśika Sūtra, 49, 10. Gonda, Vedic Ritual, 318, citing Sāmavidhāna Brāhmaṇa, 2, 5, 4. Gonda, Vedic Ritual, 158, citing Atharvaveda Pariśiṣṭha, 35, 22–28, and Kauśika Sūtra, 32, 8, 35, 22–28. See also Bloomfield and Muller, Hymns of the AtharvaVeda, 368–59. Gonda, Vedic Ritual, 95. Gonda, Vedic Ritual, 119, citing Kauśika Sūtra, 36, 13–14. See also Bloomfield and Muller, Hymns of the Atharva-Veda, 534. M. S. Bhat argues for a 500 to 300 bce date, with possible additions up until the sixth century ce. Bhat, Vedic Tantrism, 18–19. Similarly, Laurie L. Patton places the text in the fourth century bce. Patton, Bringing the Gods to Mind, 29–30. Jan Gonda also attributes this text to the “early period, or even the very beginning” of the extant textual tradition; Gonda, Vedic Literature, 143–44. For a differing view, see Weber, History of Indian Literature, 62.

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 4

19 9

23 24 25 26 27 28 29

30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37

38

39 40 41 42

43 44

45 46

2 0 0

M. S. Bhat, Vedic Tantrism, 225, 317–18, citing Ṛgvidhāna 2:16–20. M. S. Bhat, Vedic Tantrism, 229, 328–29, citing Ṛgvidhāna 2:88–89. M. S. Bhat, Vedic Tantrism, 241, 364–65, citing Ṛgvidhāna 3:81–84. A Kṣatriya takes four days, and a Brāhmaṇa six. M. S. Bhat, Vedic Tantrism, 241, 364–65, citing Ṛgvidhāna 3:88–92. M. S. Bhat, Vedic Tantrism, 241, 365, citing Ṛgvidhāna 3:93–95. M. S. Bhat, Vedic Tantrism, 242, 367, citing Ṛgvidhāna 3:100–104. Also Gonda, Vedic Ritual, 158. Schopen, “On Monks and Menial Laborers,” 239; Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 69–70; Soper, “Early Buddhist Attitudes,” 148; Vinaya-Piṭaka, Cullavagga 3:1–3; Horner, Book of Discipline, 121–213. Davis, “Indian Image-Worship,” 117. Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 65; Davis, “Indian Image-Worship,” 119–21. Radhakrishnan, Principal Upaniṣads, 736–37, citing Śvetaśvatara Upaniṣad 4:19. Davis, “Indian Image-Worship,” 122–25. Granoff, “Images and Their Ritual Use,” 19–22. Ibid., 42. Ibid., 22. The Rudrāyāṇāvadāna in Cowell and Neil, Divyāvadāna, 544–51. See also Coomaraswamy, “Chaya,” 279. For the translation, see Wood, Buddha and the Shape of Belief, 131–33; and Soper, “Early Buddhist Attitudes,” 149–50. T. W. Rhys Davids, Questions of King Milinda (Milindapañha) 1:144; Trenckner, Milindapañha 4:1, 4:10; Cort, Framing the Jina, 63–65. It is important to note that the Milindapañha is concerned with the relationship between the Buddha and his relics, rather than with his relationship to his image. This issue is discussed further in chapter 7. A strong case can be made that, in the minds of devotees, relics and images often occupied a similar status. Ramkrishna Gopal Bhandarkar, quoted in Peterson, Auchityalamkara of Kshe­ mendra, 6–11. DeCaroli, Haunting the Buddha, 20–30. Banerjea, Development of Hindu Iconography, 68–69, citing Ṣaḍvimṣa Brāhmaṇa 10:5. There is some debate about the precise date of the Arthaśāstra, but most scholars believe that it was written either in the third century bce or later in the third to fourth centuries by authors trying to add antiquity to the text by using the names of earlier ministers. Kangle, Arthaśāstra 3:57–115. For further discussion, see also DeCaroli, “From the Living Rock,” 35–36. Banerjea, Development of Hindu Iconography, 69. Banerjea cites Āpastamba Gṛhyasūtra 7:20 and identifies Īśāna, Mīḍhuṣī, and Jayanta as “bucolic deities.” In the Pāli literature both patimam (pratimā) and vigaha (vigraha) are fairly common but seem to have appeared in the literature later than their Sanskrit equivalents. Kinnard, Imaging Wisdom, 66–67. Davis, “Image Worship,” 37–40. Banerjea, Developments of Hindu Iconography, 40. Kinnard, Imaging Wisdom, 67. The negative form of the word, apratimā, can mean “unparalleled” or “inimitable,” as seen, for example, in the Pratimā Nāṭakam when Bhāsa cleverly refers to the hero as such.

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 4

47

48

49

50 51 52

53 54 55 56 57 58 59

60 61



Radhakrishnan, Principal Upaniṣads, 503–5, citing Chāndogya Upaniṣad 8:8.5. A number of authors have grappled with the connotations held by the term pratimā in attempts to distinguish it from other similar words. For example, B. N. Go­ swamy and A. L. Dahmen-Dallapiccola, in discussing the differences between the Citralakṣaṇa and the Pratimālakṣanam, note that pratimā seems to refer primarily to religious sculptural images, whereas citra can refer to paintings as well as secular imagery. See Goswamy and Dahmen-Dallapiccola, Early Document of Indian Art, ix–x. The authors offer this observation somewhat tentatively, and I am not sure how broadly one should apply this observation, because in other contexts the word does appear to get applied to secular imagery, as, for example, in Bhāsa’s appropriately entitled drama Pratimā. See Bhāsa, “Pratimā,” 2:65–75. Nevertheless, there is no doubt that pratimā does often have religious connotations and is frequently used to indicate cultic images. Schopen, “Taking Bodhisattva to Town,” 305. This tale has notable parallels with the other vinaya accounts in which the Buddha approves images. In this case, as in several other examples, it is the merchant Anāthapiṇḍika who brings the request to the Buddha. Kinnard, Imaging Wisdom, 64–65n98. These Buddha images are to be the size of the circumference of a banyan tree trunk and are designated for use in worship by devotees. B. K. Smith, Reflections on Resemblance. For the discussion on pratimā and pramā, see 73–74, and for the examples, see 79. Coomaraswamy, “Vedic Exemplarism,” 50. I have discussed this connection in some detail previously, but I have chosen to present it again here for the sake of clarity. For further discussion, see DeCaroli, “From the Living Rock,” 36–38. B. K. Smith, Reflections on Resemblance, 74–75, 77. Misra, Yaksha Cult and Iconography, 83. Quintanilla, History of Early Stone Sculpture, 259. See Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 151–52; Banerjea, Development of Hindu Iconography, 94. Srinivasan, Many Heads, Arms, and Eyes, 211–12. Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 151; Lüders, Epigraphia Indica, 194–95. There is some uncertainty about this point. The name appears in two inscriptions at the site, one from the reign of Śoḍāsa, and the other from the reign of Kaniṣka. Given current understanding of the chronology, most scholars feel that these cannot have been sponsored by the same person. Banerjea, following Lüders, believes that the inscribed image is a posthumous portrait of the figure mentioned in the earlier inscription. Banerjea, Developments of Hindu Iconography, 93–95. Rosenfield has suggested that the original inscription refers only to the location at which the inscribed image was found. Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 151–52. Srinivasan agrees with Rosenfield but identifies the images as a female member of the Vṛṣṇi named Ekānaṃśā. Srinivasan, Many Heads, Arms, and Eyes, 211–13. Banerjea, Developments of Hindu Iconography, 95; Vogel, Archaeological Museum at Mathura, 127. For the Mahāvīra image, see Quintanilla, History of Early Stone Sculpture, 265;

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 4

2 01

62 63 64 65

66

67

68 69 70

71 72

73 74 75

76

77 78 79

2 0 2

von Mitterwallner, Kuṣāṇa Coins and Kuṣāṇa Sculpture, 64. For Ṛsabhanātha, see Vogel, Archaeological Museum at Mathura, 67. Mitterwallner, Kuṣāṇa Coins and Kuṣāṇa Sculpture, 109, 113. Ibid., 72–73, 72n104. See also Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, 171–72, 205–6. Rakhal Das Banerji, in Konow and Venkayya, Epigraphia India, 121. For Śākyamuni, see Mitterwallner, Kuṣāṇa Coins and Kuṣāṇa Sculpture, 86; Konow and Venkayya, Epigraphia Indica, 113. The Maitreya is attested in Mitterwallner, Kuṣāṇa Coins and Kuṣāṇa Sculpture, 145. There is an additional image with an inscription in both Brāhmī and Kharoṣṭhī. Although the reading of these lines has been disputed, some have argued that they refer to the image as simultaneously a Buddha and a Bodhisattva. For a discussion and for his ideas on the topic, see Rhi, “From Bodhisattva to Buddha,” 209n13. Rao, Murthy, Subrahmanyam, and Reddy, Buddhist Inscriptions of Andhradesa, 131, 155, 180–82. The number of Andhran examples can be expanded further if we include the Telugu term paḍima. I have declined to do so here, since I was unsure if it carried the same connotations as its Sanskrit equivalent. See, for example, ibid., 169, 177. For Kānherī, see Burgess, Report on the Elura Cave Temples, 77; for Gaḍhwā, see Bhandarakar, Corpus Inscriptionum Indicarum, 293. Other examples of the term appear in painted inscriptions at the Ajaṇṭā Caves as well as in Jain images from Ellora. Rosenfield, “On the Dated Carvings of Sārnāth,” 10–12. The name of the monk Abhayamitra appears on all three inscriptions. Granoff, “Images and Their Ritual Use,” 22, 42. Goswamy and Dahmen-Dallapiccola, Early Document of Indian Art, xiii–xiv, place it in the early Gupta. Kaimal, “Problem of Portraiture in South India,” 68, assigns it to the fifth to sixth centuries ce. Goswamy and Dahmen-Dallapiccola, Early Document of Indian Art, 64–68. Mukherji, Citrasūtra of the Viṣṇudharmottara Purāṇa, xxi, xxxi. This text can be only loosely dated. An enormously broad range of dates have been proposed for it over the years. Mukherji attempts to consolidate these arguments and settles on a period reaching from 500 to 900 ce. Van Buitenen, Mahābhārata 1:270–72. Hemacandra, Lives of the Jain Elders, 75. The text cites Sthavirāvalīcarita 2:530–42. For the date of the author, see also Cort, Framing the Jina, 126. Edgerton, Vikrama’s Adventures, 244–47. This text also contains a tale in which a potter transforms a group of clay images into an army, but in this case he animates them through the use of a special charm, so the figures do not seem to have been based on individuals, divine or otherwise. Ibid., 194–95. For information on the sixth-century date, see Richman, Women, Branch Stories, and Religious, 7. For the second-century date, see the introduction to Shattan, Mani­ mekhalai, xvi–xvii. Shattan, Manimekhalai, 90–91. Ibid., 91. Misra, Yaksha Cult and Iconography, 74. For a complete discussion, see Peri, “Hāritī, la Mere-de-Demons,” 1–15.

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 4

80 81 82 83 84 85 86

87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 1 00 101 102 103

104

105

I-tsing, A Record of the Buddhist Religion, 37. Kangle, Arthaśāstra 3:57–115. Ibid. 2:478–49. Ibid. 2:474. Ibid. 2:264. Ibid. 1:105. Bloomfield and Muller, Hymns of the Atharva-Veda, 262, citing Kauśika Sūtra, 105.1. M. R. Bhat, Bṛhat Saṃhitā, 376. This text is usually attributed to the great author Varāhamihira, who lived in the early 500s ce, thereby making these ideas contemporary with a late dating of the Arthaśāstra (ibid., xi). Both texts treat their concerns about images as commonly known truths. Ibid., 376–77. Ibid. M. R. Bhat offers two possible translations. Xuanzang, Si-Yu-Ki Buddhist Records 1:59–60. Ibid. 1:44–45. Ibid. 1:59. Ibid. 2:309–11. Ibid. 2:134. Ibid. 2:173. Ibid. Ibid. 1:60. For information on the date of the text, see Coomaraswamy, Yakṣas, 71n12. Barnett, Antagaḍa-dasāo, 85–90. See Granoff, “Images and Their Ritual Use,” 20–22; DeCaroli, Haunting the Buddha, 25–26. Jones, Māhavastu 1:177–78, 2:22–23. Fussman, “Māṭ devakula,” 193–99. Granoff, “Images and Their Ritual Use,” 21. Nakamura, Gotama Buddha, 16–17. A Chinese translation of the Lalitavistara was undertaken by Dharmarakṣa in 308, which would seem to confirm that a version of the text was known in South Asia before the early fourth century. Nakamura makes reference to Dharmarakṣa’s translation of the text, called P’u-yao-ching, as well as to Divākara’s 683 ce translations, entitled Fang-kuang ta-chuang-yen-ching. Granoff, “Images and Their Ritual Use,” 21; R. Mitra, Lalitavistara, 173–76. A very similar story is told of the Buddha Dīpaṃkara in the Mahāvastu. For a translation, see Māhavastu, 177. R. Mitra, Lalitavistara, 175n4; Cowell and Neil, Divyāvadāna, 390–91.

5 / Historical Shifts 1 2



Epigraph: Bhāsa, Bhāsa’s Pratimā Nāṭakam, 222. Gilles Tarabout has made the interesting suggestion that image worship was essentially a mundane activity. Tarabout, “Theology as History,” 72. Due to a lack of textual evidence, it is harder to speak with confidence about the extensive tradition of terra-cotta images that were made throughout wide areas

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 5

203

3

4 5 6

7 8 9 10

11 12 13 14 15 16

17 18 19 20 21 22

2 0 4

of South Asia since the earliest times. Many of these figures are anthropomorphic, and the prevalence of imagery associated with water, motherhood, and fertility suggests that they also have ties to worldly concerns, whether or not they were ritual objects or simply toys. For more, see Pal, Indian Terracotta Sculpture. Pierfranceso Callieri has linked the stucco and terra-cottas in Swāt to the emergence of stone figures depicting goddesses associated with fertility, thereby suggesting that the clay figures had similar associations with fecundity. Callieri, “Buddhist Presence,” 72–73, 77. Kaimal, “Problem of Portraiture,” 75–76, 75n102. Kaimal also elaborates on the mismatch between “donor figures” and dedicatory inscriptions from Kuṣāṇa-era Mathurā. Ibid., 79. Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 208, 216. Ibid., 215. I have limited this survey to the images created in the third century ce or earlier. Therefore, I have omitted several Gupta-era images, such as those found in Vogel, Archaeological Museum at Mathura, 59 (object A48); and Sharma, Buddhist Art of Mathurā, 222, 226, figs. 139, 152. Myer, “Bodhisattvas,” fig. 9. It is also possible, of course, that Puśyadatā’s father had actually become a monk, but as it stands the correlation is conceptually plausible but by no means certain. Kaimal, “Problem of Portraiture,” 78–79. Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 216–19, figs. 98 and 98a. For a further example, see Rowland, “Gandhara, Rome, and Mathura,” 8–17. Here Rowland identifies long friezes depicting devotees as all being donors. He is supported by Rosenfield on this point. Kaimal, “Problem of Portraiture,” 78; Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 219. Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 219. As an example, see number 2 from the chart. Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 216, fig. 34. Ibid., 215–16; van Lohuizen-de Leeuw, “Foreign Elements in Indian Culture,” 72–76. Van Lohuizen-de Leeuw, “Foreign Elements in Indian Culture,” 74. Rowland’s introduction to Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, xi. Rosenfield builds his argument in a similar direction but is far more cautious in making claims about primacy. Ibid., 173–75. More recently, Padma Kaimal follows Rowland and Rosenfield on this topic. Kaimal, “Problem of Portraiture,” 77. Benjamin Rowland makes this assertion in his forward to Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, xi. Benimadhab Barua, Barhut Stone as a Storyteller, 16; Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 174. Cribb, “Shiva Images,” 22. Widemann, “Maues King of Taxila,” 95–101. For a discussion, see Coomaraswamy, “Origin of the Buddha Image,” 302; Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 125. Ibid., 124–26.

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 5

23 24

25 26

27

28 29 30 31 32 33 34

35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43

44 45

46 47



Ibid., 127. Ibid., 134–35. More recently, Quintanilla, “Ayagapatas,” 115, has cautiously dated King Śoḍāsa to 15 ce. This would place the long reign of Śoḍāsa’s father, Rājūvula, into the years bce. Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 135. See Mac Dowell, “Numismatic Evidence,” 95–127. Included under this category of Indo-Scythian dynasties are the Apraca kings who reigned in Bajaur (Pakistan) by the first century bce. See, for example, Salomon, “Inscribed Silver Buddhist Reliquary,” 418–52. Rosenfield has argued that Gokarneśvara, Shāmī, and Pālīkheṛā might be included among the sites containing royal Kuṣāṇa portraiture. Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 142–49. For examples, see von Mitterwallner, Coins and Kuṣāṇa Sculpture, 1–10; Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 69–99, 106–11. Cribb, “Shiva Images,” 20–21. Ibid., 21. Von Mitterwallner, Coins and Kuṣāṇa Sculpture, 1, 189. Ibid., 2–3. Cribb, “Shiva Images,” 30–36. Vidya Dehejia notes that on Kuṣāṇa coins the facial features are often unclear, and suggests that the use of costume and pose was primarily used to signify the identity of the figure. Dehejia, “Very Idea of a Portrait,” 2, 43. Kaimal has observed that, while Kuṣāṇa coins suggest facial idiosyncrasies, those features are revealed to be inconsistent when compared with other coins issued by the same king. Kaimal, “Problem of Portraiture,” 59–63, 77–80. Both authors agree that the coin images were intended to be portraits. Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 76–77; Luczanits, “Bodhisattva,” 60. Zeymal, “Visha-Shiva,” 245–66. Zeymal, “Visha-Shiva,” 245–47; Cribb, “Shiva Images,” 31–32. Zeymal, “Visha-Shiva,” 245–51; Cribb, “Shiva Images,” 31. See, for example, Fussman, “Māṭ devakula,” 193–95. Cribb, “Shiva Images,” 24. Pugachenkova, “La sculpture de Khaltchayan,” 116–27; Nehru, “Khalchayan Revisited,” 217–39. Cribb, “Shiva Images,” 39. Rosenfield has argued that additional sites, such as Gokarneśvara, Shāmī, and Pālīkheṛā, might also have contained royal Kuṣāṇa portraiture. Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 142–49. Fussman, “Māṭ devakula,” 193–95. Sims-Williams, “Nouveaux documents,” 633–49; Sims-Williams and Cribb, “New Bactrian Inscription,” 75–142. This identification is based primarily on an inscription reading “Ṣāhi-V[e]ma Takṣuma.” Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 145; Jones, Mahāvastu 1:223, 4–10, 2:26, 3–5. This is discussed more fully in chapter 3. Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 146–47. Vogel pieced together the inscription, which had been broken into fourteen pieces.

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 5

205

48 49 50

51 52 53 54 55 56

57

58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71

72 73

2 0 6

Ibid., 144–45; Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, 145–47. Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, 147–48. Von Mitterwallner, Kuṣāṇa Coins and Kuṣāṇa Sculpture, 59–60. Von Mitter­ wallner identifies the image as being that of Vima Kadphises, but because her argument is based on the wording of the inscription, it holds the same weight even if it must be applied to a different king. Only Nāṇaghāṭ is earlier. Fussman and Le Berre, Surkh Kotal en Bactriane. Volume 1, Le temples, is particularly informative. Fussman, “Māṭ devakula,” 195. Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 156–61. Fussman, “Māṭ devakula,” 197–99. The idea that there was potency in proximity to sacred objects seems to have been a powerful one in early South Asia. For a Buddhist example, see Schopen, Bones, Stones, and Buddhist Monks, 114–47. Consider, for example, the monk Bala and his disciples, who actively commissioned a number of Buddha images from Mathurā and then distributed them to various Buddhist sites across the subcontinent. See Schopen, Bones, Stones, and Buddhist Monks, 238–57. H. P. Ray, Monastery and Guild, 36. I think it likely that the site dates to the early years ce. Mirashi, History and Inscriptions, 5–7. Verardi and Grossato, “Kuṣāṇa Emperors,” 244–50; H. P. Ray, Monastery and Guild, 36. Indraji, “Chapter 14: Places of Interest, Nānāghāt,” 286–91. See also Zin, “Mandha­ tar, the Universal Monarch,” 160. Sircar, “The Sātavāhanas and the Chedis,” 197–98. Mirashi, History and Inscriptions, 5–7. Kaimal, “Problem of Portraiture,” 77. Zin, “Mandhatar, the Universal Monarch,” 149–66; Zin, “Narrative Reliefs in Kanaganahalli,” 13–21. Zin, “Mandhatar, the Universal Monarch,” 13–18. Ibid., 14. H. P. Ray, Archaeology of Seafaring, 126. Ibid., 126. Howell et al., Excavations at Sannati, 81, 83. Similar memorials were found at other sites in the region as well, most notably at Jewargi. Ibid., 70–71, 73–75. For example, a fragment from one such stone, which still bears portions of its middle and lower panels, depicts a badly damaged kneeling figure and an accompanying inscription that records the memory of a merchant by the name of Khaha. Presumably, the kneeling figure was intended to depict Khaha or one of his living relatives. Ibid., 82. This is perhaps most apparent in narrative reliefs depicting historical events such as those at Bhārhut or Bodhgāya. Kaimal, “Problem of Portraiture,” 74, citing Epigraphia Indica, 35, part 1, no. 1 (1963–1964): 1–4.

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 5

74 75 76 77 78 79 80

81 82 83 84 85 86

87 88

89 90 91 92 93 94 95

96

97 98 99 100



Kaimal, “Problem of Portraiture,” 74–75. For an image of this pillar, see Kaimal’s figure 17. Ibid., 59–133. Bhāsa, Bhāsa’s Pratimā Nātakam 2:65–75. D. Sastri, “Cult and Images of the Pitṛs,” 61–73; Gonda, Vedic Literature, 256; DeCaroli, Haunting the Buddha, 87–102. Pusalker, Bhāsa: A Study, 63. T. G. Sastri, Bhāsa’s Works, 53–59. I am not the first to note the similarity between the images in this play and sites such as Māṭ or Nāṇaghāṭ. See Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 149; Kaimal, “Problem of Portraiture,” 71. Saunders, “Portrait Painting,” 299–302. Bhāsa’s Pratimā Nāṭaka is a notable exception to this tendency. Bhāsa, Pratimā Nāṭaka 2:65–75. See Kālidāsa, Shakuntala and Other Works, 299–300. Kālidāsa, Mālavikāgnimitram of Kālidāsa, 299. Harṣa, How the Nāgas Were Pleased, 73. For Nārāyaṇa, see Mukherji, Citrasūtra, 3. For Nanda, see Schopen, “On Monks and Menial Laborers,” 239. A similar situation occurs in Kālidāsa’s Meghadutā. This poem describes an exiled yakṣa who longs for his beloved. To ease the pain, he paints her image with mineral pigments on a stone. Kālidāsa, Meghadūta of Kālidāsa, 168. Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 29. The region received a great deal of rain at that time, so the earth was well saturated. My thanks to Dr. Shrikant Ganvir and Gopal S. Joge from Deccan College, who accompanied us on the trip. Indraji, “Chapter 14: Places of Interest, Nānāghāt,” 286–91. See Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, 132. See also Vogel, Archeological Survey of India, 123. Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 141–43. Ibid., 142. Ibid., 22. Rosenfield comments on an observation by R. E. M. Wheeler. Gonda, Vedic Ritual, 211, citing Atharvaveda Pariśiṣṭha, 35, 33:1, 33:8; 36:10, 36:2. See also Bloomfied and Muller, Hymns of the Atharva-Veda, 359, 534. Fussman, “Māṭ devakula,” 193–99. Fussman suggests that the purpose of the devakula was to associate the kings with the gods, rather than to deify the king into an object of worship. For Bīmarān, see Le May, “Bimaran Casket,” 119–20; MacDowall, “Development of Buddhist Symbolism,” 187. For Tillya Tepe, see Zeymal, “Tilya-tepe,” 239–44; Brown, “Walking Tilya Tepe Buddha,” 78–79. Coomaraswamy, “Origin of the Buddha Image,” 293. These qualities are explicated in T. W. Rhys Davids and Carpenter, Dīgha Nikāya, vol. 4, 137–39. Johnston, Buddhacarita or Acts of the Buddha, 142. De Marco, “Stūpa as Funerary Monument,” 191–246; Goswamy, “Introductory Speech,” 1–11.

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 5

207

101 102 103

104 105 1 06 107 108 109

Przyluski, “Le partage,” 354; Alfred Foucher, “A propos de la conversion,” 2–3. Or, possibly, Vima Kadphises. Srinivasan, Many Heads, Arms, and Eyes, 298. Cohen, “Nāga, Yakṣinī, Buddha,” 397. Cohen makes this observation in specific reference to the enthroned images of the Buddha in this regal posture found in a few of the fifth-century caves at Ajaṇṭā. Soper, “Aspects of Light Symbolism,” 269. See also Cumont, Textes et monuments figurés relatifs, 284; Herzfeld, Zoroaster and His World, 818. Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 23, 197–200, figs. 19 and 23. For Surkh Kotal, see Fussman, Schlumberger, and Le Berre, Surkh Kotal en Bactriane, 65. Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 197–200. Xuanzang, Si-Yu-Ki Buddhist Records 2:62–66. For a discussion of the various versions of this tale, see Rhi, Gandhāran Images. Jones, Mahāvastu 3:425–35. For the Vinaya-Piṭaka, see Horner, Book of Discipline 4:32–35. Vogel points out that among all of the miracles performed by the Buddha, his ability to best the nāga by emitting fire was an “exploit of the highest import.” See Vogel, Indian Serpent Lore, 109–10.

6 / Image Appeal 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

9 10 11 12

13 14

2 0 8

Epigraph: Jaini and Horner, Apocryphal Birth Stories 2:110. Lévi, “Textes sanskrits de Touen-houang,” 455. See also Strong, Relics of the Buddha, 139. Gurugé, Mahāvaṃsa, 514–15, citing Mahāvaṃsa 5:87–94. Bhakti is an intense form of devotional worship. This concept is discussed more thoroughly later in this chapter. Cowell and Neil, Divyāvadāna, 391–93. Strong discusses these passages in Legend of King Aśoka, 120–22. Faxian, Record of Buddhistic Kingdoms, 55–63. Rotman, Divine Stories Divyāvadāna, 62; Divyāvadāna, 18–20. Burlingame, Buddhist Legends 3:262–66, citing Dhammapadaṭṭhakathā 25:11.118–19. The Rain Retreat refers to a period of time each year, corresponding with the South Asian rainy season, when monks and nuns curtail their itinerant activities and congregate in monasteries to undertake special practices. Burlingame, Buddhist Legends, 263, citing Dhammapadaṭṭhakathā 25:11.118–19. Ibid. The second verse is comparing the sight of the Buddha to the emergence of the sun after a solar eclipse (Rāhu). Burlingame, Buddhist Legends, 263; Book of Gradual Sayings 1:18; Morris, Warder, and Hardy, Aṅguttara Nikāya, 1.24.14. Kinnard, Imaging Wisdom, 63. Andy Rotman has explored the ways śraddhā and prasāda function in the Diyāvadāna version of this tale. These are emotional and mental states associated with deep faith and devotion. Rotman, Thus I Have Seen, 152–53. For a discussion of the role of bhakti in Buddhist literature, see Dutt, Buddhist Monks and Monasteries, 179–82. Cowell and Neil, Divyāvadāna, 49; Rotman, Divine Stories Divyāvadāna, 108–9.

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 6

15 16 17

18

19 20 21 22 23 24

25

26 27

28 29

30 31

32 33

34 35

36 37



Bodhi, Connected Discourses 1:939; Somaratne, Feer, and Rhys Davids, Saṃyutta Nikāya 3:87.5. Somaratne, Feer, and Rhys Davids, Saṃyutta Nikāya 3.87(5); Bodhi, Connected Discourses 1:940. The text expresses this in an unusual way. It states that Vakkali “used the knife.” I am not sure what to make of this phrase, but it may allude to him having taken his own life. Somaratne, Feer, and Rhys Davids, Saṃyutta Nikāya 3.87(5); Bodhi, Connected Discourses 1:938. For an alternate translation, see Woodward, Book of Kindred Sayings 3:101–6. Bodhi, Connected Discourses 1:1081n168. Faxian, Record of Buddhistic Kingdoms, 48. Ibid., 49. K. R. Norman, Elders’ Verses II Therīgāthā, 25, citing Therīgāthā, 224–51. Cowell and Neil, Divyāvadāna, 401. See Williams, “Sārnāth Gupta Steles,” 184–85, for a Gandhāra example. S. Huntington, “Aniconism,” 120–22, discusses examples from Rāghāt near Mathurā and Butkara in Swāt. Xuanzang, Si-Yu-Ki Buddhist Records, 202–5; Lamotte, Le traité de la grande vertu, provides a thorough study of the negative views directed against Utpala­ varṇā and her actions. Young, “Female Mutability and Male Anxiety,” 16n7. See Kinnard, Imaging Wisdom, 29–32, 37–42; Dutt, Buddhist Monks and Monasteries of India, 179–80; Rotman, Thus I Have Seen, 168–74; and Strong, Legend and Cult of Upagupta, 93–117. See Strong, Legend and Cult of Upagupta, 106–7. See Reynolds, “Several Bodies of the Buddha,” 37–89; Gadjin, “On the Theory of the Buddha-Body,” 25–53. For a more current assessment on the topic of the Buddha’s embodiments, see Radich, Somatics of Liberation, 4–11. Cowell and Neil, Divyāvadāna, 360. Ibid., 360–61. The quotation cited here was taken from an identical passage in John Strong’s translation of the Aśokāvadāna. Strong, Legend of King Aśoka, 192. In Taranatha’s version it does not go so well, and Māra is pained by the monk’s obeisance and immediately disappears. Cowell and Neil, Divyāvadāna, 360; Strong, Legend of King Aśoka, 195. Rotman, Thus I Have Seen, 168–74. Rotman argues that the image that Upagupta was truly honoring was present solely in his head. In other words, the physical image served as a focus for mentally visualizing the Buddha, as in the practice of buddhānusmṛti. Soper, “Early Buddhist Attitudes,” 150. See also Ñāṇamoli, Path of Purification, 246; and C. A. F. Rhys Davids, Visuddhimagga, 263. For the Sīhaḷavatthuppakaraṇa, see Strong, Legend and Cult of Upagupta, 112–16, who discusses the work and suggests a fourth-century date. I follow Strong’s retelling of the tale. Strong, Legend and Cult of Upagupta, 113. Ibid.

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 6

209

38 39 40 41

42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49

50 51 52 53

54 55 56 57

58 59

60 61 62 63

210

Ibid., 113–14. For more on buddhānusmṛti, see Harrison, “Buddhānusmṛti,” 35–57. Rotman, Thus I Have Seen, 168–74. See Strong, Legend and Cult of Upagupta, 108–9. Strong notes that this same tale also appears in Buddhaghoṣa’s commentary on the Aṅguttara Nikāya, the commentary on the Dīgha Nikāya, and the Kalpanāmaṇḍitikā. For a partial translation, see E. Hardy, “Māra in the Guise of Buddha,” 952–53. Strong, Legend and Cult of Upagupta, 108–9. Ibid., 109. Conze, Large Sūtra on Perfect Wisdom, 342–43, citing Abhisamayālaṅkāra 4:4.44–46. Ibid. For more on the role of women in the Buddhist literary tradition, see Young, “Female Mutability and Male Anxiety,” 14–39. Faxian, Record of Buddhistic Kingdoms, 83–84; Wood, Buddha and the Shape of Belief, 11–112. Huili (Kwui-li) translated in Huili, Life of Hiuen-Tsiang, 105. Also see Wood, Buddha and the Shape of Belief, 111. Most notably, John Strong and Andy Rotman have both demonstrated that the Avadāna literature was by and large supportive of devotional forms of worship, whereas Gregory Schopen has demonstrated that the proponents of the Prajñā­ pāramitā tradition decidedly were not. Strong, Legend and Cult of Upagupta, 116–17; Rotman, “Erotics of Practice,” 556–59; Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 108–53. Rhi, “Early Mahāyāna and Gandhāran Buddhism,” 168–70. Ibid., 169. Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 197. See Jaini, Paññāsa Jātaka or Zimme Jātaka. In her review of this text, Margaret Cone provides some further background on the Paññāsa Jātaka. See Cone, “Review of Paññāsa Jātaka,” 172–73. Jaini and Horner, Apocryphal Birth Stories 2:113. Ibid. 2:117–19. Ibid. 2:116. For a selection of regional examples, see Konow and Venkayya, Epigraphia India, 9; Marshall and Foucher, Monuments of Sāñchī, 386–87; and Rao et al., Buddhist Inscriptions of Andhradesa, 180–81. Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, 149. The nāga’s name is given as Bhumo, but Lüders expresses some difficulty in reading it. Ibid., 62–63. This inscription was found in the Jamālpur mound. This inscription is dated to year 26 of an unspecified era. Lüders follows Vogel in assigning it to the Kaniṣka era (153 ce). Cohen, Setting the Three Jewels, 377. Konow and Venkayya, Epigraphia India, 24. Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, 64–65. Unfortunately, the portion of the inscription in which Buddhavarman expresses his wishes for himself is illegible. See Mitra, Ratnagiri, 214–15.

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 6

64 65 66 67

68 69 70 71 72 73

74 75 76 77 78 79

80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92



Cohen, Setting the Three Jewels, 370. Longhurst, Buddhist Antiquities, 17. Stone, Buddhist Art of Nāgārjunakoṇḍa, 15. See also Vogel, “Prakrit Inscriptions,” 17. Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 227–30, 335; Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, 35, 103, 205. Gregory Schopen, for instance, has suggested that a certain recurring inscriptional formula (yad atra puṇyaṃ) may be indicative of early Mahāyāna influence. Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 66–67. Rotman, “Erotics of Practice,” 565. Schopen, Bones, Stones, and Buddhist Monks, 258–78. Cohen, Setting the Three Jewels, 357–62. Ibid., 371. Rao et al., Buddhist Inscriptions of Andhradesa, 87–89, 125. The Dhānyakaṭaka inscriptions arrange for the gifts to continue in perpetuity. Specifically, the lamps are to be funded with the proceeds from flocks of sheep, and the taxes from the villages are to be given to the Buddha. However, the inscription does not state in what capacity these gifts to the Buddha are to be given. The Nandalur inscription is damaged, so the nature of the gift is no longer visible, if it was ever recorded at all. Burgess and Indraji, Inscriptions from the Cave Temples, 11, inscription nos. 11 and 12. Cohen, Setting the Three Jewels, 380. Cort, Framing the Jina, 63–65. “Kena priya dev[o].” Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, 52. “Māhabhogatāya prīyatām-bhagavān-Ṛṣabhaś[r]īḥ.” Ibid., 47. Ibid., 203. The phrase occurs on a railing whose religious affiliation is not clear. Lüders concurs with R. Chandra in concluding that, based on the donors’ names (Bodhiyaśas and Bodhila), this coping stone was most likely from a Buddhist site. Lüders also makes a point of noting the unique nature of the concluding benediction. Ibid., 174, 206. Cowell and Neil, Divyāvadāna, 547–49. Leela Wood discusses these passages; see Wood, Buddha and the Shape of Belief, 129–33. Soper, “Early Buddhist Attitudes,” 149. Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 118–19. Jaini and Horner, Apocryphal Birth Stories 2:104–5. Conze and Horner, Buddhist Texts, 186. Ibid., 188–89. Strong, Legend and Cult of Upagupta, 54–55. Ibid., 55. Rotman, “Erotics of Practice,” 556–59. For an overview of rasa as an aesthetic and emotional principle, see Goswamy, “Rasa: Delight of the Reason,” 17–30. Rotman, “Erotics of Practice,” 556–57; Rotman, Thus I Have Seen, 65–150. Lancaster, “Early Mahayana Sermon,” 288–89. This same point about the miracu-

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 6

2 11

93

94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102

103 104 105 106

107 108 109 110 111

112 113 114 115 116 117

212

lous and unique nature of the Buddha’s body is made in a somewhat comical manner in the Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya. In it, the Buddha’s troublesome cousin Devadatta insists that King Ajātaśatru “appoint” him to Buddhahood. The king gives it his best effort and has Devadatta’s body branded with the same marks that occur naturally on Buddhas. Needless to say, this does not work out so well. For this story, see Schopen, “Cross-Dressing with the Dead,” 74–75. Rotman, Thus I Have Seen, 122–25. There is some uncertainty as to whether or not the presence of relics is required for the generation of prasāda, but the text explicitly leaves open the possibility of cultivating faith in a Buddha passed fully into nirvāṇa. Rotman, “Erotics of Practice,” 558. Strong, “Transforming Gift,” 223–24. Cowell, Jātaka 1:9. Wood, Buddha and the Shape of Belief, 142n36; Dutt, Buddhist Monks and Monasteries of India, 181; Strong, “Gandhakuṭī,” 398–99. See Strong, “Gandhakuṭī,” 398–99. Strong cites H. C. Norman, “Gandhakuṭī,” 2; Sumangala Vilāsinī, 7. Strong, “Gandhakuṭī,” 398–99. Rahula, History of Buddhism, 125; Dutt, Buddhist Monks and Monasteries, 193. Harrison, “Commemoration and Identification Buddhānusmṛti,” 220; Kinnard, Imaging Wisdom, 73–76. Harrison, “Buddhānusmṛti,” 38. Harrison points out that the Āgamas, as preserved in the Chinese, contain a more detailed explication of these meditative practices than the Pāli sources. See also Kinnard, Imaging Wisdom, 45, 75. Ibid., 72. Ibid., 73. Kinnard references King, Theravāda Meditation, 33, 38. Kinnard, Imaging Wisdom, 76. The exact processes vary from text to text. Harrison notes that there was some acceptance of the possibility that the Buddha might actually relate hitherto unknown teachings to individuals in this meditative state. Harrison, “Buddhā­ nusmṛti,” 54. See also Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 117–18. Harrison, Samādhi of Direct Encounter, 47; Kinnard, Imaging Wisdom, 77. For a full retelling of the tale, see Kinnard, Imaging Wisdom, 93–95. Meister, “Giving Up and Taking On,” 96. Cort, Framing the Jina, 18. Srinivasan, Many Heads, Arms, and Eyes, 147–48. Srinivasan presents a passage in which Arjuna longs to once again see Kṛṣṇa’s spiritual form. The passage references Mahābhārata 16.9.19–20. Lamotte, Histoire du bouddhisme indien, 437, 474–75. Lamotte links Vaiṣṇavite bhakti practices in Mathurā to the Mahāyāna Buddhist devotional trends. Schopen, Bones, Stones, and Buddhist Monks, 242–45. Dutt, Buddhist Monks and Monasteries, 179–81. Upagupta states, “Only a little Bhakti becomes for the wise fruitful of Nirvāṇa.” Divyāvadāna, 360. Strong, Legend and Cult of Upagupta, 116. Dutt, Buddhist Monks and Monasteries, 180. Strong, Legend and Cult of Upagupta, 116–17.

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 6

118 119 120

121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131

For these definitions I am following Rotman’s work on the subject. Rotman, Thus I Have Seen, 18–19. Ibid., 61. The original version of these hymns must predate 406, when they were translated into Chinese by Kumārajīva. Based on evidence provided by the text, D. R. Shackleton Bailey has proposed a second-century ce date. See Bailey, Śatapañcāśatka of Mātṛceṭa, 19–26. Mātṛceṭa’s Śatapañcāśatkastotra translated in Conze and Horner, Buddhist Texts, 191. I-tsing, Record of the Buddhist Religion, 147. Ibid., 149. Cowell and Neil, Divyāvadāna, 403–4. Ibid., 403; Strong, Legend of King Aśoka, 264. I-tsing, Record of the Buddhist Religion, 147. Ibid., 156–57. Ibid., 152. Ibid., 150. Davis, “Indian Image-Worship,” 112. Davis notes the parallels with Buddhist practice. Ibid., 113–14.

7 / Coping Strategies



1 2 3 4 5

6 7

8 9 10 11



Epigraph: Xuanzang, Si-Yu-Ki Buddhist Records 1:103. Xuanzang is said to have been pained by his inability to see the Buddha because he did not have the good fortune to have been born when the Buddha was alive and active in the world. Schopen, Bones, Stones, and Buddhist Monks, 258–78. Huili, Life of Hiuen-Tsiang, 105; Wood, Buddha and the Shape of Belief, 111. T. W. Rhys Davids, Questions of King Milinda, xix–xxv. Ibid., 34:144–47; Trenckner, Milindapañha 4.1.10–18. There is some evidence that this second manner of understanding the miraculous benefits to be derived from gifts to the saṃgha was actually put into practice. There is a copper plate inscription from Kānherī, for example, that begins by listing the gifts given to the Buddha and his religious order by a wealthy donor. It then makes the following request: “Therefore let the devas, yakṣas, siddhas, vidyādharas, gaṇas, and Māṇibhadra, Pūrṇabhadra, Pañcika, Ārya-Vajrapāṇi, etc. . . . be propitious.” See Burgess, Notes on the Bauddha Rock-Temples, 57–59. T. W. Rhys Davids, Questions of King Milinda 35:174–76; Trenckner, Milindapañha 4.8.51–52. Cowell and Neil, Divyāvadāna, 360–61. The quotation cited here was taken from an identical passage in John Strong’s translation of the Aśokāvadāna. Strong, Legend of King Aśoka, 192. Cowell and Neil, Divyāvadāna, 360–61; Strong, Legend of King Aśoka, 195. Cowell and Neil, Divyāvadāna, 360–61; Strong, Legend of King Aśoka, 196. Strong, Legend and Cult of Upagupta, 114. In discussing the passage, Andy Rotman takes this observation further and attrib­

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 7

2 13

12 13

14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43

214

utes Māra’s lack of harm to the fact that he merely served as a focus for buddhānusmṛti. Therefore, the “image” that Upagupta venerated was actually the one in his own head. Rotman thereby introduces a compelling reading of the situation, especially since buddhānusmṛti is mentioned by Upagupta himself. It does, however, strike me as unusual that someone engaged in the meditative process of buddhānusmṛti would bow bodily before an image. See Rotman, Thus I Have Seen, 168–74. Strong, Legend and Cult of Upagupta, 114. See Chimpa and Chattopadhyaya, Tāranātha’s History of Buddhism, 37. For suggestions regarding the motivation for image use, see Dutt, Buddhist Monks and Monasteries, 190; Huntington, “Origin of the Buddha Image,” 23–58; Kinnard, “Field of the Buddha’s Presence,” 127. Cort, Framing the Jina, 50–51. Cort, Framing the Jina, 51, citing Praśamarati Prakaraṇa, 305. Babb, Absent Lord, 190–93; Cort, Framing the Jina, 63–64. Dundas, “Food and Freedom,” 191; Cort, Framing the Jina, 21–22. As discussed in the preceding chapter, we have already encountered some indication of this in the inscriptional evidence. Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, 47, 52. Cort, Framing the Jina, 159. Xuanzang, Su-Yu-Ki Buddhist Records 2:322–24; Cort, Framing the Jina, 195–96. Cort, Framing the Jina, 197. Xuanzang, Su-Yu-Ki Buddhist Records 1:102. Ibid. 1:93. Faxian, Record of Buddhistic Kingdoms, 29. Cohen, Setting the Three Jewels, 357–62. Schopen, Bones, Stones, and Buddhist Monks, 258–78. Kinnard, Imaging Wisdom, 68–69. Faxian, Record of Buddhistic Kingdoms, 55–56. Xuanzang, Su-Yu-Ki Buddhist Records 1:236. Ibid. 2:4. Ibid. 1:235. Ibid. Xuanzang writes, “Although many men have tried, not all the number could move it.” Soper, “Literary Evidence,” 259; Cort, Framing the Jina, 194. Soper, “Literary Evidence,” 259–60. Ibid., 260. Ibid., 260–61. Swearer, Becoming the Buddha, 15–16. Gombrich, “Kosala-Bimba-Vaṇṇanā,” 281–82. Jaini and Horner, Apocryphal Birth Stories 2:103. Ibid. 2:115. Ibid. 2:115–16. Burlingame, Buddhist Legends 3:57, citing Dhammapadaṭṭhakathā 3:222. See also Strong, Relics of the Buddha, 177. Burlingame, Buddhist Legends 3:45. For an overview, see Strong, Buddha, 107–8. For a complete study of the topic, see Rhi, Gandhāran Images.

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 7

44 45 46 47

48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64

65 66 67



Rhi, Gandhāran Images, 85–98. Ibid., 32n70, 85, 91–92. Rhi notes that this sort of multiplication miracle is not exclusive to the events at Śrāvastī. Ibid., 86, 92–93. There is a great deal of variety in the ways this miracle is described. The Hsien-yū ching alone describes different occasions on which the Buddha emitted rays of light, each of which displayed an image, multiplied his physical form so that it filled the heavens, and radiated light from his navel, causing many Buddhas to appear. Rhi, Gandhāran Images, 85. This contrasts with other tales that describe the Buddha as conversing with a single copy of himself or as filling the heavens with copies seated on lotuses. Ibid., 92. Ibid., 32–33. Ibid., 92; Strong, Buddha, 111. Burlingame, Buddhist Legends 3:41–47. Ibid. 3:47. Ibid. Rhi, Gandhāran Images, 85. Rotman, Divine Stories Divyāvadāna, 253–87; Cowell and Neil, Divyāvadāna, 143–66. See also Burnouf, Introduction a l’histoire du buddhisme, 164–67. Rotman, Divine Stories Divyāvadāna, 253–87. Ibid., 278–79; Cowell and Neil, Divyāvadāna, 166. Burlingame, Buddhist Legends 3:45; Cowell and Neil, Divyāvadāna, 161; Strong, Biography, 107. Ibid., 110–11. Ibid. Rhi, Gandhāran Images, 52–54. Rotman, Divine Stories Divyāvadāna, 285–87; Divyāvadāna, 166; Burnouf, Introduction a l’histoire du buddhisme, 164–67. Rotman, Divine Stories Divyāvadāna, 285–87. Faxian, Record of Buddhistic Kingdoms, 55–56. Vogel, Archaeological Museum at Mathura, 28; Schopen, Bones, Stones, and Buddhist Monks, 243; Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 113–15. Among these early images is a larger than life-size sculpture of the Buddha that dates to the third year of Kaniṣka’s era. Seckel, Jenseits des Bildes, 7–24. Rhi, Gandhāran Images, 54. The Avadāna literature appears to have played a major role in the promotion and acceptance of Buddha images and their related forms of devotional practice. Strong, “Transforming Gift,” 224–25. Rotman, “Erotics of Practice,” 556–59. These tales have been linked to several traditions, but numerous authors have noted overlaps between the stories in the Divyāvadāna and the materials associated with Sar­ vāstivādin school. This connection has inspired many to see the Avadāna literature as having been partially the result of that sect’s efforts. Przyluski, “Fables in the Vinaya-Pitaka,” 3–5; Thomas, “Avadāna and Apadāna,” 32–36. Nevertheless, the Divyāvadāna also has very clear ties to the Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya and the tales contained therein. Hiraoka, “Relation Between,” 1–16; Tatelman, Heavenly Exploits,

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 7

2 15

68 69

70 71

72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82

83 84

85

86 87 88

216

17–18; Przyluski, “Fables in the Vinaya-Pitaka,” 3–5. Przyluski notes links to both groups. For the Abhidharmaprajñapaptipada, see Rhi, Gandhāran Images, 54n9. Rowland, “Gandhāra and Early Christian Art,” 46. For information on the Buddhas of the Bhadrakalpa, see Faxian, Record of Buddhistic Kingdoms, 73–74, 74n3. Scholars have noted that a broad range of the narrative artwork at the site was drawn directly from Avadāna sources. Cohen, Setting the Three Jewels, 118–21. Dieter Schlingloff, Studies in the Ajanta Paintings, chapter 6. Given the links that both sects have to the textual material, some have seen these narratives as a sign of Sarvāstivādin influence, whereas others have noted connections to the Mūlasarvāstivādins. Lalou, “Trois recits du dulva,” 222–27; Schlingloff, Studies in the Ajanta Paintings, 14, 70–71, 118, 152–53. For a catalogue of all of the early imagery, see Schlingloff, Guide to the Ajanta Paintings, 9, 18, 21, 35; Zin, Guide to the Ajanta Paintings, 11, 20, 21, 25, 34. Zin, Guide to the Ajanta Paintings, 11. Zin notes that it was part of the cave’s original plan. Cohen, Setting the Three Jewels, 333–34, also comments on the paintings and inscriptions. Eckel, To See the Buddha, 89–90. T. W. Rhys Davids, Dialogues of the Buddha 1:87–88; T. W. Rhys Davids and Carpenter, Dīgha Nikāya 1:77. See also Eckel, To See the Buddha, 85–86. Eckel, To See the Buddha, 85–86; Taylor, Paṭisambhidāmagga 2:205–14. Eckel, To See the Buddha, 85. See also T. W. Rhys Davids, Dialogues of the Buddha 2:243–44. T. W. Rhys Davids, Dialogues of the Buddha 2:246. Ñāṇamoli, Path of Purification, 425–26. Eckel, To See the Buddha, 90. Walser, Nāgārjuna in Context, 79–80. Bhattacharya, “Dialectical Method of Nāgārjuna,” 217–61; Eckel, To See the Buddha, 85. Eckel, To See the Buddha, 75. Radhakrishnan, Principal Upaniṣads, 192–95, citing Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad 2:3.1–6. See also Srinivasan, Many Heads, Arms, and Eyes, 92, 94–95. This discussion is echoed in the Maitrāyaṇīya Upaniṣad 4.3–8. For an overview of these developments, see Davis, “Indian Image-Worship,” 111–12. Similar debates arose over the transcendence and accessibility of gods such as Viṣṇu and Śiva. Doniger, “Saraṇyū/Saṃjña,” 154–72. See in particular chapter 11 of Srinivasan, Many Heads, Arms, and Eyes. See also an intriguing second-century ce Nāginī image from Mathurā that displays radiating likenesses in a manner reminiscent of the early depictions of multiple Buddhas. Srinivasan, Many Heads, Arms, and Eyes, plates 11.1 and 11.4. These examples date to the sixth century ce, but early four-sided images also exist. Srinivasan, Many Heads, Arms, and Eyes, 197, 220. Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 115. Strong, “Transforming Gift,” 224–25; Rotman, “Erotics of Practice,” 555–56; Przyluski, “Fables in the Vinaya-Pitaka,” 3–5; Thomas, “Avadāna,” 32–36. I am referring to the passage in which Anāthapiṇḍika is granted permission to

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 7

89 90

91 92 93 94

95 96 97 98 99

100

101 102 103 104

105 106 107 1 08 109 110 111 112



make an image of the “attendant Bodhisattva” (alternately “of the time [the Buddha] was a bodhisattva”). See Soper, “Early Buddhist Attitudes,” 147–48. See also Li-kouang, L’aide-mémoire, 95–97. Schopen, “On Monks and Menial Laborers,” 239; Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 69–70; Soper, “Early Buddhist Attitudes,” 148. Specifically, inscriptional evidence provided by donation records from the period also names the Mahāsāṃghikas and the Dharmaguptakas. See Sharma, Buddhist Art of Mathura, 52–58. Myer, “Bodhisattvas and Buddhas,” 112; Vogel, Archaeological Museum at Mathura, 63 (object number A66). Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, 31–32. Schopen, Bones, Stones, and Buddhist Monks, 244–53. Some have attributed this reliquary to Huviṣka, Kaniṣka II, or Kaniṣka III, based primarily on the depiction of a beardless king on the casket itself. All of these kings reigned within a roughly 150-year period. See Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 260; Myer, “Again the Kanishka Casket,” 396–403. Xuanzang, Si-Yu-Ki Buddhist Records 1:151–56. Takakasu, “Life of Vasu-bandhu by Paramārtha,” 269–96. Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 31–32. See Xuanzang, Su-Yu-Ki Records 1:101–8. Strong, “Buddha Bhakti,” 132; Myer, “Bodhisattvas and Buddhas,” 114–15; Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 114; Rhi, “From Bodhisattva to Buddha,” 216–20. Rhi ascribes those images made by the monk Bala and his student the nun Buddhamitrā, as well as two other inscribed images, to the Sarvāstivādin community. See also Lüders, “Set-Mahet Image Inscription,” 290–91; Vogel, Archaeological Museum at Mathura, 62 (A66). Van Lohuizen-de Leeuw, “New Evidence,” 382–84; Rhi, “From Bodhisattva to Buddha,” 220–21. See also Myer, “Bodhisattvas and Buddhas,” 114–15. Myer associated the earliest-standing examples of this stylistic type to the Sarvāstivādins. Myer, “Bodhisattvas and Buddhas,” 136; Strong, Legend and Cult of Upagupta, 112; Strong, “Buddha Bhakti,” 132–33. Strong, Legend and Cult of Upagupta, 112; Strong, “Buddha Bhakti,” 132–33. Strong, “Buddha Bhakti,” 134. Li-kouang, L’aide-mémoire, 95–97. See also Rhi, “From Bodhisattva to Buddha,” 220–21. This is a revision of Soper’s translation. Soper, “Early Buddhist Attitudes,” 147–48. Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 128. Li-kouang, L’aide-mémoire, 95–97; Rhi, “From Bodhisattva to Buddha,” 220–21. Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 108–53; Schopen, “Taking the Bodhisattva to Town,” 299–311. Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 129–30. Hiraoka, “Relation Between,” 1–16; Tatelman, Heavenly Exploits, 17–18; Przyluski, “Fables in the Vinaya-Pitaka,” 3–5. Schopen, Bones, Stones, and Buddhist Monks, 258–78. Ibid., 130–33. Schopen, Figments and Fragments, 130–33.

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 7

2 17

113 114

115 116

117

118

119 120 121 122

Rhi, “From Bodhisattva to Buddha,” 222. Rhi addresses these claims in order to refute them. Rosenfield, Dynastic Arts of the Kushans, 76–77. Six coins depicting Śākyamuni have been found that date to the time of Kaniṣka, and these are also labeled as Buddhas (boddo) rather than as bodhisattvas. Rhi, “From Bodhisattva to Buddha,” 220–21; Myer, “Bodhisattvas and Buddhas,” 114. Cort, Framing the Jina, 155–73. Just as with the Buddhist examples, these images could at times bear the iconography associated with liberated Jinas rather than those characteristics associated with young princes. Ibid., 160–61. Cort explains that the tradition was in place from roughly the fifth to the ninth century ce. For the dates of the Buddhist images, see Rhi, “From Bodhisattva to Buddha,” 211–13, 222–23. This is discussed in the previous chapter. Wood, Buddha and the Shape of Belief, 142n36; Dutt, Buddhist Monks and Monasteries of India, 181; Strong, “Gandhakuṭī,” 398–99. See Jaini, Paññāsa Jātaka or Zimme Paṇṇāsa. In her review of this text, Margaret Cone provides some further background on the Paññāsa Jātaka. See also Cone, “Review of Paññāsa Jātaka,” 172–73. Radich, Somatics of Liberation, 6–8. Gómez, Land of Bliss, 9–11. Ibid., 35. Kern, Saddharma-Puṇḍarīka, 228. The artistic representation of this scene became quite popular, particularly in China.

8 / Final Words 1 2

3 4 5

218

Epigraph: Allon, Three Gāndhārī Ekottarikāgama-Type Sūtras, 166–67. Morris, Warder, and Hardy, Aṅguttara Nikāya 2:43–44; Allon, Three Gāndhārī Ekottarikāgama-Type Sūtras, 166–67. It is not at all uncommon for this sort of litany of questions to be asked when someone meets a remarkable person for the first time. For example, in the Mahābhārata, Draupadī is asked by a messenger from the king of Sindh if she is a yakṣī, a dānavī, an apsara, a daitya, a nāga, or a rākṣasī. Van Buitenen, Mahābhārata 3:707–8. In other words, this man is so impressed with her, he feels the need to inquire as to whether or not she is human or some manner of spiritdeity. In the Divyāvadāna Śyāmāvatī, a Buddhist disciple and nonreturner undergoes a similar interrogation at the hands of the local ruler. Cowell and Neil, Divyāvadāna, 530. The writer Harṣa tells of a prince encountering a vidyādhara maiden for the first time and being puzzled over her identity. Harṣa, How the Nāgas Were Pleased, 41. And even the monk Maudgalyāyana is questioned in this fashion in the Ekottarāgama. Przyluski, Legend of Emperor Aśoka, 214. T. W. Rhys Davids, Buddhist Birth Stories, 186–88. Coomaraswamy was among the first to note this similarity. Coomaraswamy, “Origin of the Buddha Image,” 165–70; Cowell, Jātaka 4:142–43; Gray, Jinālaṇkāra, 49. Aubouyer references Coomaraswamy in her discussion. Auboyer, Le Trône et son symbolisme, 73; Coomaraswamy, La Sculpture de Bharhut, 19.

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 8

6 7 8 9 10 11

12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

20 21

22 23 24 25 26 27



See Horner, Collection of Middle Length Sayings, 53; Trenckner, Chalmer, and Rhys Davids, Majjhima Nikāya, 1.386–87. Myer, “Bodhisattvas and Buddhas,” 131. Cort, “Bhakti in Early Jain Tradition,” 67; Solomon, “Early Vaishnava Bhakti,” 36–38. Lüders, “A List of Brahmi Inscriptions,” in Epigraphia Indica, 10:3, 5, 7, 9, 14–15, 16, 18, 20, 91, 94, 103, 139, 140, 141, 144–47, 152, 153, 160, 169. Schrader, “Translation of the Term Bhagavat,” 194; Svāmi, “Translation of the Term Bhagavan,” 861–63. For Bhārhut, see Lüders, Corpus Inscriptionum Indicarum, 82, 84–87, 95, 10, 115, 118, 156, 180. For Mathurā, see Lüders, “A List of Brahmi Inscriptions,” 3, 7, 9, 23; for Piprāhwā (Saheth-Maheth), see Lüders, “A List of Brahmi Inscriptions,” 93; and for Amarāvatī, see Lüders, “A List of Brahmi Inscriptions,” 140, 141, 144–47, 152, 153. Lüders, “A List of Brahmi Inscriptions,” 3, 9, 23; Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, 33, 116–17, 206, and possibly 202–3. Lüders, “A List of Brahmi Inscriptions,” 5, 7, 14–15, 18, 20; Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, 46–47. Lüders, “A List of Brahmi Inscriptions,” 16. Lüders, Mathurā Inscriptions, 38, 48–49, 61–62, 173–74. The nāgas Dadhikarṇṇa and Bhumo are mentioned by name. Misra, Yaksha Cult and Iconography, 80; Quintanilla, History of Early Stone Sculpture, 28–30. Lüders, “A List of Brahmi Inscriptions,” 9, 23; Srinivasan, Many Heads, Arms, and Eyes, 42. Srinivasan, Many Heads, Arms, and Eyes, 211–18. This assertion must be qualified by stating that our evidence is gleaned, by necessity, only from those members of society who approved sufficiently of images to actually sponsor their construction. Therefore, the nature of the evidence cannot be read as being representative of all or even most members of Mathurā’s religious communities. It does, however, reveal that a thriving and visible segment of those communities actively engaged with modes of worship in which devotion to an exalted figure played a central role. Lüders, Mathurā Indica, 116–19. Ibid.; Rao et al., Buddhist Inscriptions of Andhradesa, 56–57, 87. The Koṭa record has been dated to the 1100s. It is therefore, extremely late for a South Asian Buddhist inscription. I-tsing, Record of the Buddhist Religion, 147–49, 156–57; Schopen, “Taking Bodhisattva to Town,” 305. T. W. Rhys Davids and Carpenter, Dīgha Nikāya 2:47; Andersen and Smith, Suttanipāta, 316. See Krishan, Buddha Image, 10. For the Majjhima Nikāya, see Coomaraswamy, “Origin of the Buddha Image,” 297–98. R. Ray, Buddhist Saints in India, 52. Dutt, Buddhist Monks and Monasteries, 191. Some scholars trace these practices to the Vedas, whereas others locate their ori-

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 8

2 19

28 29 30

31

32 33 34 35 36

220

gins in regional cults dedicated to minor deities. It is quite likely that both of these practices influenced the development of South Asian devotionalism in important ways. For a discussion, see Solomon, “Early Vaishnava Bhakti,” 32–36. Cort, “Bhakti in Early Jain Tradition,” 61–62, 66; and, for a full discussion of bhatki in the Kṛṣṇa tradition, see F. Hardy, Viraha-Bhakti. Eck, Darśan, 7–10. For example, a new proliferation of scenes featuring multiple Buddhas began to appear at this time. See Rotman, Divine Stories Divyāvadāna, 253–87; Cowell and Neil, Divyāvadāna, 143–66. See chapter 5 for more discussion of this topic. For Gandhāra, see van Lohuizen-de Leeuw, “New Evidence,” 383–89. As linked to meditation and nāṣāgradṛṣṭa, see Sharma, Buddhist Art of Mathura, 168. As reflecting rules for monks (sekhiya), see Samuels, “Texts Memorized and Texts Performed,” 357. For Buddhist links to yakṣa imagery, see Coomaraswamy, “Origin of the Buddha Image,” 165–67. Early Jinas images exhibit similarly wide eyes. For more on this see Sinha, Early Sculpture of Bihar, 78. Brown, “Feminization,” 166. Brown notes the downcast eyes of these images and identifies this shift as being a Mathurān innovation. Eck, Darśan, 44–54. See also Granoff, “Images and Their Ritual Use,” 19–22. For more, see Babb, “Glancing,” 388–97. Mukherji, Citrasūtra, 60. Ibid., 63.

N OT E S TO C H A P T E R 8

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Abe, Stanley K. “Inside the Wonder House: Buddhist Art and the West.” In Curators of the Buddha: The Study of Buddhism under Colonialism, edited by Donald S. Lopez Jr., 63–106. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995. Agrawala, Vasudeva Sharana. “Buddha and Bodhisattva Images in the Mathura Museum.” Journal of the United Provinces Historical Society 19 (1948): 62–63. Allon, Mark. Three Gāndhārī Ekottarikāgama-Type Sūtras: British Library Kharoṣṭhī Fragments 12 and 14. Gandhāran Buddhist Texts 2. Seattle: University of Wash­ ington Press, 2001. Andersen, Dines, and Helmer Smith, eds. Suttanipāta. Oxford: Pali Text Society, 1990. Anderson, John. Catalog and Handbook of the Archaeological Collections in the Indian Museums. Part 1, Asoka and the Indo-Scythian Galleries. Calcutta: The Trustees, 1883. Aṅguttara Nikāya. See R. Morris, A. K. Warder, and E. Hardy. The Antagaḍa-dasāo and Aṇuttarovavāiya-dasāo. See Lionel David Barnett. Arthaśāstra. See R. P. Kangle. Atharva-Veda. See Maurice Bloomfield and Max Muller. Auboyer, Jeanine. Le Trône et son symbolisme dans l’Inde Ancienne. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1949. Avadāna-çataka. See Léon Feer. Babb, Lawrence A. Absent Lord: Ascetics and Kings in Jain Ritual Culture. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996. ———. “Glancing: Visual Interaction in Hinduism.” Journal of Anthropological Research 37, no. 4 (1981): 388–97. Bachhofer, Ludwig. “On Greeks and Sakas in India.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 61 (1941): 228–29. Bailey, D. R. Shackleton, ed. The Śatapañcāśatka of Mātṛceṭa. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1951. Bandaranayake, Senake D. Sinhalese Monastic Architecture: The Viharas of Anura­ dhapura. Leiden: Brill, 1997. Banerjea, Jitendra Nath. The Development of Hindu Iconography. 4th ed. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1985. Barnett, Lionel David, ed. and trans. The Antagaḍa-dāsao and Aṇuttarovavāiya-dasāo. Oriental Translation Fund. Vol. 17. London: Royal Asiatic Society, 1907.

221

Barua, Benimadhab. Barhut Stone as a Storyteller: Parts 1, 2, and 3. New Delhi: Indological Book Corp, 1979. Basham, Arthur L., ed. Papers on the Date of Kaniṣka Submitted to the Conference on the Date of Kaniṣka, London, 20–22 April 1960. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1968. Beyer, Stephan. The Buddhist Experience. Encino, CA: Dickenson Pub., 1974. Bhandarakar, D. R. Corpus Inscriptionum Indicarum. Vol. 3, Inscriptions of the Early Gupta Kings. Rev. ed. New Delhi: Archaeological Survey of India, 1981. Bhāsa. Bhāsa’s Pratimā Nāṭakam, with an Original Sanskrit Commentary. Translated by Kumudranjan Ray. Calcutta: Nalanada Press, 1942. ———. “Pratimā.” In Complete Plays of Bhāsa, edited and translated by K. P. A. Menon, 2:65–75. 3 vols. Delhi: Nag Publishers, 1996. Bhat, M. Ramakrishna, ed. and trans. Bṛhat Saṃhitā. 2 vols. New Delhi: Motilal Banasidass, 1987. Bhat, Muralidhar Shrinivas. Vedic Tantrism: A Study of Ṛgvidhāna of Śaunaka, with Text and Translation. Edited and translated by M. S. Bhat. New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1987. Bhattacharya, Kamaleswar. “The Dialectical Method of Nāgārjuna.” Journal of Indian Philosophy 1 (1971): 217–61. Bloomfield, Maurice, and Max Muller, eds. and trans. Hymns of the Atharva-Veda: The Sacred Books of the East. Part 42. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1897. Bodhi, Bhikkhu, ed. and trans. Connected Discourses. 2 vols. Oxford: Pali Text Society, 2000. Bṛhat Saṃhitā. See M. Ramakrishna Bhat. Brown, Robert L. “The Feminization of the Sarnath Gupta Period Buddha Images.” New Series. Bulletin of the Asia Institute 16 (2002): 165–79. ———. “The Walking Tilya Tepe Buddha: A Lost Prototype.” Bulletin of the Asia Institute 14 (2000): 78–79. The Buddhacarita. See Edward Hamilton Johnston. Burgess, James, and Bhagvānlal Indrājī. Inscriptions from the Cave Temples of Western India, with Descriptive Notes. Archaeological Survey of India. 1881. Reprint, Delhi: Indian India Press, 1976. ———. Notes on the Bauddha Rock-Temples of Ajanta. Archaeological Survey of Western India, no. 9, 57–59. Bombay: Government Central Press, 1879. ———. Report on the Elura Cave Temples and the Brahmanical and Jaina Caves in Western India. London: Trubner and Co., 1883. Burlingame, Eugene Watson, ed. Buddhist Legends (Dhammapadaṭṭhakathā). 3 vols. 1921. Reprint, Oxford: Pali Text Society, 1995. Burnell, Arthur Coke, ed. The Ordinances of Manu. Edited by E. W. Hopkins. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1884. Burnouf, Eugene. Introduction a l’histoire du buddhisme indien. Paris: Maisonneuve, 1876. Bussagli, Mario. “The Problem of Kaniṣka as Seen by the Art Historian.” In Papers on the Date of Kaniṣka, Submitted to the Conference on the Date of Kaniṣka, London, 20–22 April, 1960, edited by A. L. Basham, 53–55. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1968. Callieri, Pierfranceso. “Buddhist Presence in the Urban Settlements of Swāt Second Century bce to Fourth Century ce.” In Gandharan Buddhism: Archaeology, Art,

222

BIBLIOGR APHY

Texts, edited by P. Brancaccio and K. Behrendt, 60–82. Vancouver: UBC Press, 2006. Carter, Martha. “A Reappraisal of the Bīmarān Reliquary.” In Gandharan Art in Context: East-West Exchanges at the Crossroads of Asia, edited by R. Allchin, B. Allchin, N. Kreitman, and E. Errington, 71–84. New Delhi: Regency Publica­ tions, 1997. Chimpa, Lama, and Alaka Chattopadhyaya. Tāranātha’s History of Buddhism in India. Edited by D. Chattppadhyaya. 1970. Reprint, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1990. Cohen, Richard Scott. “Nāga, Yakṣiṇī, Buddha: Local Deities and Local Buddhism at Ajanta.” History of Religions 37, no. 4 (1998): 360–400. ———. Setting the Three Jewels: The Complex Culture at the Ajaṇṭā Caves. PhD diss., University of Michigan, 1995. Cone, Margaret. “Review of the Paññāsa Jātaka or Zimme Jātaka (in the Burmese Recension).” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland, no. 1 (1984): 172–73. Conze, Edward, ed. and trans. The Large Sūtra on Perfect Wisdom, with Divisions of the Abhisamayālaṅkāra. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1975. ———. The Perfection of Wisdom in Eight Thousand Lines and Its Verse Summary. San Francisco: Four Seasons Foundation, 1995. Conze, Edward, and Isaline Blew Horner. Buddhist Texts through the Ages. New York: Philosophical Library, 1954. Coomaraswamy, Ananda Kentish. “Chaya.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 55, no. 3 (1935): 278–83. ———. The Dance of Śiva: Essays on Indian Art and Culture. 1924. Reprint, New York: Dover Publication, 1985. ———. “The Indian Origin of the Buddha Image.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 46 (1926): 165–70. ———. “The Origin of the Buddha Image.” The Art Bulletin 9, no. 4 (June 1927): 287–329. ———. La Sculpture de Bharhut. Translated by Jean Buhot. Paris: Vanoest, 1956. ———. “The Traditional Concept of Ideal Portraiture.” Journal of the Indian Society of Oriental Art, no. 7 (1939): 74–82. ———. “Vedic Exemplarism.” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 1 (1936): 44–64. ———. Yakṣas. 2 vols. New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1931. ———. Yakṣas: Essays in the Water Cosmology. Edited by P. Schroeder. New ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993. Cort, John E. “Bhakti in Early Jain Tradition: Understanding Devotional Religion in South Asia.” History of Religions 42, no. 1 (2002): 59–86. ———. Framing the Jina: Narratives of Icons and Idols in Jain History. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Cowell, Edward B., ed. and trans. The Jātaka, or Stories of the Buddha’s Former Births. 6 vols. 1895. Reprint, New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1994. Cowell, Edward B., and Robert Alexander Neil, eds. Divyāvadāna: A Collection of Early Buddhist Legends. 1886. Reprint, Amsterdam: Oriental Press, 1970. Cribb, Joe. “The Early Kushan Kings: New Evidence for Chronology.” In Coins, Art, and Chronology: Essays on Pre-Islamic History of the Indo-Iranian Borderland,



B I B L I O G R A P H Y

223

edited by M. Alram and D. E. Klimburg-Salter, 177–205. Vienna: Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1999. ———. “Shiva Images on Kushan and Kushano-Sasanian Coins.” In Studies in Silk Road Coins and Culture: Papers in Honour of Ikou Hirayama on his 65th Birthday, 11–66. Kamakura, Japan: Institute of Silk Road Studies, 1997. Cumont, Franz. Textes et monuments figurés relatifs aux mysterès de Mithra. 3 vols. Brussels: H. Lamertin, 1896–99. Cunningham, Alexander. The Stūpa of Bharhut: A Buddhist Monument Ornamented with Various Sculptures. London: Allen and Co., 1879. Dani, Ahmad Hassan. “Shaikhan Dheri Excavation: 1963 and 1964 Seasons (In Search of the Second City of Pushkalavati).” Bulletin of the Department of Archaeology, University of Peshawar. Ancient Pakistan 2 (1965–66): 40–41. Davis, Richard H. “Indian Image-Worship and Its Discontents.” In Representation in Religion: Studies in Honor of Moshe Barasch, edited by J. Assmann and A. I. Baumgarten, 107–32. Leiden: Brill, 2000. DeCaroli, Robert. “From the Living Rock: Understanding Images in Early South Asia.” In What’s the Use of Art? Asian Visual and Material Culture in Context, edited by J. Mrazek and M. Pitelka, 103–4. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2008. ———. Haunting the Buddha: Indian Popular Religions and the Formation of Buddhism. New York: Oxford University Press, 2004. Dehejia, Vidya. “Aniconism and the Multivalence of Emblems.” Ars Orientalis 21 (1991): 45–66. ———. “The Very Idea of a Portrait.” Ars Orientalis 28 (1998): 41–50. De Marco, Giuseppe. “The Stūpa as Funerary Monument: New Iconographical Evidence.” East and West 37 (1987): 191–246. Dhammapadaṭṭhakathā. See Harry Campbell Norman and Lakshamana Shastri Tailang. Dīgha Nikāya. See T. W. Rhys Davids and J. Estlin Carpenter. Divyāvadāna. See Edward B. Cowell and Robert Alexander Neil. Dobbins, K. Walton. “Two Gandhāran Reliquaries.” East and West 18, nos. 1/2 (1968): 151–62. Doniger, Wendy. “‘Saraṇyū/Saṃjña’ The Sun and the Shadow.” In Devi: Goddesses of India, edited by John Stratton Hawley and Donna Marie Wolff, 154–72. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996. Dundas, Paul. “Food and Freedom: The Jaina Sectarian Debate on the Nature of the Kevalin.” Religion 15 (1985): 161–98. Dutt, Sukumar. Buddhist Monks and Monasteries of India, Their History, and Their Contribution to Indian Culture. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1962. Eck, Diana L. Darśan: Seeing the Divine Image in India. 2nd rev. ed. Chambersberg, PA: Anima Press, 1981. Eckel, Malcolm David. To See the Buddha: A Philosopher’s Quest for the Meaning of Emptiness. New York: Harper Collins, 1992. Edgerton, Franklin. Vikrama’s Adventures, or the Thirty-Two Tales of the Throne. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1926. Ehara, N. R. M., Soma Thera, and Kheminda Thera, eds. The Path to Freedom (Vimuttimagga). Colombo, Ceylon: Roland D. Weerasuria, 1961.

2 24

BIBLIOGR APHY

Errington, Elizabeth, and Joe Cribb, eds. The Crossroads of Asia: Transformation in Image and Symbol. Cambridge: Fitzwilliam Museum, 1992. Falk, Harry. “The Yuga of Sphujiddhvaja and the Era of the Kuṣāṇas.” Silk Road Art and Archaeology 7 (2001): 121–36. Faxian (Fa-Hien). A Record of Buddhistic Kingdoms: Being an Account by the Chinese Monk Fa-Hien of His Travels in India and Ceylon (A.D. 300–414) in search of the Buddhist Books of Discipline. Translated by James Legge. 1886. Reprint, New York: Dover Press, 1965. Feer, Léon, ed. and trans. Avadāna-çataka: Cent légends (bouddhiques). Vol. 18. Paris: Annales du Musée Guimet, 1891. Fergusson, James. Tree and Serpent Worship, or Illustrations of Mythology and Art in India in the 1st and 4th Centuries before Christ, from the Sculptures of the Buddhist Topes at Sanchi and Amaravati. 1868. Reprint, Delhi: Indological Bookhouse, 1971. Foucher, Alfred. A propos de la conversion au bouddhisme du roi Indo-Grec Ménandre. Mémoires de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belle Lettres. Vol. 48, part 2. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1943. ———. L’Art Gréco-Bouddhique du Gandhara: Étude sur les origines de l’influ­ence classique dans l’art bouddhique de l’Inde et de l’Extrême-Orient. Vol. 1 of 3. Paris: E. Laroux, 1905. ———. Beginnings of Buddhist Art and Other Essays in Indian and Central Asian Archaeology. Translated by L. A. Thomas and F. W. Thomas. Paris: Paul Geuthner, 1917. Freedberg, David. The Power of Images: Studies in the History and Theory of Response. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981. Fussman, Gérard. “The Māṭ devakula: A New Approach to Its Understanding.” In Mathurā: The Cultural Heritage, edited by D. Meth Srinivasan, 193–99. New Delhi: American Institute of Indian Studies, 1989. ———. “Monnaie d’or de Kaniṣka inédite, au Type du Buddha.” Revue Numismatique 6, no. 24 (1982): 155–69. ———. “Numismatic and Epigraphic Evidence for the Chronology of Early Gandharan Art.” In Investigating Indian Art, edited by M. Yaldiz and W. Lobo, 67–88. Berlin: Museum für Indische Kunst, 1987. Fussman, Gérard, Daniel Schlumberger, and Marc Le Berre. Surkh Kotal en Bactriane (1 and 2). Paris: Mémoires de la Délégation archéologique française en Afghanistan, 1983. Gadjin, Nagao. “On the Theory of the Buddha-Body (Buddha-kāya).” The Eastern Buddhist 6, no. 1 (1973): 25–53. Gell, Alfred. Art and Agency: An Anthropological Theory. Oxford: Clarendon, 1998. Giles, H. A. The Travels of Fa-hsien. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1923. Goloubew, Victor. “Review of Alfred Foucher’s L’Art Gréco-Bouddhique du Gandhara.” Bulletin de l’École Française d’Extrême-Orient. Tome 23 (1923): 451. Gombrich, Richard. “The Kosala-Bimba-Vaṇṇanā.” In Buddhism in Ceylon and Studies on Religious Syncretism in Buddhist Countries, edited by H. Bechert, 281–303. Symposium zur Buddhismusforschung, Akademie der Wissenschaften, Göttingen, no. 108. Göttingen, Germany: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 1978. Gómez, Luis O. Land of Bliss: The Paradise of the Buddha of Measureless Light: Sanskrit



B I B L I O G R A P H Y

225

and Chinese Versions of the Sukhāvatīvyūha Sūtras. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1996. Gonda, Jan. Vedic Literature: (Samhitas and Brahmanas): A History of Indian Litera­ ture. Vol. 1, Veda and Upanishads, fasc. 1. Wiesbaden, Germany: Harrasso­w itz, 1975. ———. Vedic Ritual: The Non-Solemn Rites. Leiden: Brill, 1980. Goswamy, B. N., and A. L. Dahmen-Dallapiccola. An Early Document of Indian Art: The Citralakṣaṇa of Nagnajit. New Delhi: Manohar, 1976. Goswamy, Brijinder Nath. “Introductory Speech: The Stūpa—Some Uninformed Questions about Terminological Equivalents.” In The Stūpa: Its Religious, Histori­ cal, and Architectural Significance, edited by A. L. Dallapicolla, 1–11. Wiesbaden, Germany: Franz Steiner, 1980. ———. “Rasa: Delight of the Reason.” In Essence of Indian Art. San Francisco: Asian Art Museum of San Francisco, 1986. Granoff, Phyllis. “Images and Their Ritual Use in Medieval India: Hesitations and Contradictions.” In Text and Contexts Images in Asian Religions, edited by P. Granoff and K. Shinohara, 19–55. Vancouver: UBC Press, 2004. Gray, James, ed. and trans. Jinālaṇkāra, or Embellishments of Buddha by Buddharkkhita. London: Pali Text Society, 1894. Gurugé, Ananda W. P., ed. and trans. Mahāvaṃsa: The Great Chronicle of Sri Lanka. Colombo: Associated Newspapers of Ceylon, 1989. Hardy, Edmund. “Māra in the Guise of Buddha.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland (1902): 951–55. Hardy, Friedhelm. Viraha-Bhakti: The Early History of Kṛṣṇa Devotion in South India. Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1983. Harrison, Paul M. “Buddhānusmṛti in the Pratyutpanna-Buddha-SaṃmukhāvasthitaSamādhi-Sūtra.” Journal of Indian Philosophy 6 (1978): 35–57. ———. “Commemoration and Identification Buddhānusmṛti.” In In the Mirror of Memory: Reflections on Mindfulness and Remembrance in Indian and Tibetan Buddhism, edited by Janet Gyatso, 215–38. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1992. ———. The Samādhi of Direct Encounter with the Buddhas of the Present: An Annotated English Translation of the Tibetan Version of the Pratyutpanna-BuddhaSaṃmukhāvasthita-Samādhi-Sūtra, with Several Appendices Relating to the History of the Text. Studia Philologica Buddhica monograph series 5. Tokyo: International Institute for Buddhist Studies, 1990. Harṣa. How the Nāgas Were Pleased. Translated by A. Skilton. Clay Sanskrit Library. New York: New York University Press and JJC Foundation, 2009. Härtel, Herbert. Das Bild der Götter entsteht. Museum für Indische Kunst Berlin. Braunschweig, Germany: Staatliche Museen Preußischer Kulturbesitz, 1978. Hemacandra. The Lives of the Jain Elders, Sthavirāvalīcarita. Translated by R. C. C. Fynes. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998. Herzfeld, Ernst. Zoroaster and His World. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1947. Hiebert, F., and P. Camon, eds. Afghanistan Hidden Treasures from the National Museum, Kabul. Washington, DC: National Geographic, 2009.

226

BIBLIOGR APHY

Hiraoka, Satoshi. “The Relation between the Divyāvadāna and the Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya.” Journal of Indian Philosophy 26 (1998): 419–34. Horner, Isaline Blew, ed. The Book of Discipline. Vol. 5. Oxford: Pali Text Society, 1997. ———. The Collection of Middle Length Sayings (Majjhima Nikāya). Vol. 2. Oxford: Pali Text Society, 1997. Howell, J. R., et al. Excavations at Sannati, 1986–1989. New Delhi: Director General of Archaeological Survey of India, 1995. Huili (Kwui-li). The Life of Hiuen-Tsiang. Translated by Samuel Beal. Trüber’s Oriental Series. London: Routledge, 1911. Huntington, John C. “Origin of the Buddha Image, Early Image Traditions, and the Concept of Buddhadarśanapuṇyā.” In Studies of Buddhist Art in South Asia, edited by A. K. Narain, 23–58. Delhi: Kanak Publications, 1985. Huntington, Susan. “Aniconism and the Multivalence of Emblems: Another Look.” Ars Orientalis 22 (1992): 111–56. ———. “Early Buddhist Art and the Theory of Aniconism.” Art Journal 49 (1990): 401–8. Indraji, Bhagwanlal. “Chapter 14: Places of Interest, Nānāghāt.” Gazetteer of the Bombay Presidency 14 (1882): 286–91. I-tsing (Yijing). A Record of the Buddhist Religion as Practiced in India and the Maylay Archipelago, AD 671–695. Translated by J. Takakusu. 1896. Reprint, New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1966. Jaini, Padhmanabh, ed. Paññāsa Jātaka or Zimme Paññāsa (in the Burmese Recension). London: Pali Text Society, 1983. Jaini, Padmanabh S., and Isaline Blew Horner, eds. and trans. Apocryphal Birth Stories (Paññāsa Jātaka). Vol. 2. London: Pali Text Society, 1986. The Jātaka. See E. B. Cowell. Johnston, Edward Hamilton, ed. and trans. The Buddhacarita, or Acts of the Buddha. Delhi: Motilala Banarsidass, 1995. Jones, J. J., ed. and trans. The Māhavastu. London: Pali Text Society, 1987. Joshi, N. P. “Early Jaina Icons from Mathurā.” In Mathurā: The Cultural Heritage, edited by D. Meth Srinivasan, 332–67. New Delhi: American Institute of Indian Studies, 1989. Kaimal, Padma. “The Problem of Portraiture in South India, circa 870–970.” Artibus Asiae 59, nos. 1–2 (1999): 59–133. Kālidāsa. Mālavikāgnimitram of Kālidāsa. Translated by C. R. Devadhar. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1966. ———. The Meghadūta of Kālidāsa. Translated by M. R. Kale. Delhi: Motilal Banar­ sidass, 1969. ———. Shakuntala and Other Works. Translated by A. Ryder. London: Echo Library, 2007. Kangle, R. P., ed. and trans. The Kauṭilīya Arthaśāstra. 3 vols. 2nd ed. 1969. Reprint, New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1992. Karlsson, Klemens. Face to Face with the Absent Buddha: The Formation of Buddhist Aniconic Art. Stockholm: Uppsala University, 1999. Katre, Sumitra M., ed. Aṣṭādhyāyī of Pāṇini in Roman Transliteration. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1987.



B I B L I O G R A P H Y

227

Kern, Hendrik. The Saddharma-Puṇḍarīka, or the Lotus of the True Law. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1884. King, Winston. Theravāda Meditation: The Buddhist Transformation of Yoga. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1980. Kinnard, Jacob N. “The Field of the Buddha’s Presence.” In Embodying the Dharma: Buddhist Relic Veneration in Asia, edited by D. Germano and K. Trainor, 117–44. New York: SUNY Press, 2004. ———. Imaging Wisdom: Seeing and Knowing in the Art of Indian Buddhism. Surrey, UK: Curzon Press, 1999. Konow, Sten, and V. Venkayya, eds. Epigraphia India. Vol. 10, no. 23. Archaeological Survey of India. Calcutta: Superintendant of Government Printing, 1909–10. Reprint, Whitefish, MO: Kessinger Publications, 2009. Krishan, Yuvraj. Buddha Image: Its Origin and Development. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1996. The Lalitavistara. See Rājendralāla Mitra. Lalou, Marcelle. “Trois recits du dulva reconnus dans les peintures d’Ajaṇṭā.” Journal Asiatique 207 (1925): 333–37. Lamotte, Étienne. Histoire du bouddhisme indien. Leuven, Belgium: Institut Orientaliste, Bibliothèque de l’Université, 1958. ———. Le traité de la grande vertu de sagesse. 5 vols. Leuven, Belgium: Institut Orientaliste, Bibliothèque de l’Université, 1949–80. Lancaster, Lewis. “An Early Mahayana Sermon about the Body of the Buddha and the Making of Images.” Artibus Asiae 26, no. 4 (1974): 288–89. Le May, Reginald. “The Bimaran Casket.” Burlington Magazine for Connoisseurs 82, no. 482 (1943): 116–23. Lévi, Sylvain. “Textes sanskrits de Touen-houang.” Journal asiatiques 16 (1910): 433–56. Li Rongxi. The Great Tang Dynasty Records of the Western Regions. Berkeley: Numata Center, 1996. Lidova, Natalia. Drama and Ritual of Early Hinduism. New Delhi: Motilala Banar­ sidass, 1994. Lin Li-kouang. L’aide-mémoire de la Vraie Loi (Saddharama-smṛtyupasthāna-sūtra): Recherches sur un Sūtra développé du Petit Véhicule. Publications du Musée Guimet. Paris: Adrien-Masonneuxe, 1949. Lindrothe, Rob. “Inquiries into the Origin of the Buddha Image: A Review.” East and West 43 (1993): 241–56. Longhurst, Albert Henry. The Buddhist Antiquities of Nāgājunakoṇḍa, Madras Presidency. Memoirs of the Archaeological Survey of India 54. Delhi: Manager of Publications, 1938. Luczanits, Christian. “The Bodhisattva and the Future Buddha Maitreya.” In The Buddhist Heritage of Pakistan: Art of Gandhara, 59–64. New York: Asia Society Museum, 2011. Lüders, Heinrich. Corpus Inscriptionum Indicarum: Bhārhut Inscriptions. Vol. 2, part 2. Delhi: Archeological Survey of India, 1963. ———. Epigraphia Indica. Vol. 24. Edited by N. P. Chakravarti. Archaeological Survey of India. Delhi: Manager of Publications, 1937–38. Reprint, Delhi: Archeological Survey of India, 1984.

228

BIBLIOGR APHY

———. “A List of Brahmi Inscriptions.” In Epigraphia India, vol. 10, no. 23, edited by S. Konow and V. Venkayya. Archaeological Survey of India Calcutta: Superintendant of Government Printing, 1909–10. Reprint, Whitefish, MO: Kessinger Publications, 2009. ———. Mathurā Inscriptions: Unpublished Papers. Edited by K. L. Janert. Gottingen: Vandanhoeck and Ruprecht, 1961. ———. “Set-Mahet Image Inscription of the Time of Kanishka or Huvishka.” In Epigraphia Indica 8:180–82. Delhi: Archaeological Survey of India, 1907–8. MacDowall, David W. “The Development of Buddhist Symbolism on the Coinages of the North West.” In Investigating Indian Art, edited by M. Yaldiz and W. Lobo, 179–90. Berlin: Museum für Indische Kunst, 1987. ———. “Numismatic Evidence for a Chronological Framework for Pre-Kaniṣkan Art, from Kalchayan to Gandhāra.” In On the Cusp of an Era: Art in the Pre-Kuṣāṇa World, edited by D. Meth Srinivasan, 95–127. Leiden: Brill, 2007. Mahābhārata. See J. A. B. van Buitenen. Mahāvaṃsa. See Ananda W. P. Gurugé. The Māhavastu. See J. J. Jones. Majjhima-nikāya. See V. Trenckner, R. Chalmer, and C. A. F. Rhys Davids. Majumdar, Nani Gopal. A Guide to the Sculptures in the Indian Museum. Part 2, The Graeco Buddhist School of Gandhāra. Delhi: Manager of Publications, 1937. Manu’s Code of Law: A Critical Edition and Translation of the Mānava-Dharmaśāstra. Translated by Patrick Olivelle. New York: Oxford University Press, 2005. Marshall, John, and Alfred Foucher. The Monuments of Sāñchī. 1940. Reprint, Delhi: Swati Publications, 1982. Marshall, John H. “Greeks and Sakas in India.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland (1947): 3–32. ———. A Guide to Taxila. 4th ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1960. ———. Mathurā: Archaeological Survey of India Reports. Vol. 10. New Delhi: Archaeological Survey of India, 1910–11. Mātṛceṭa. Mātṛceṭa’s Śatapañcāśatkastotra. Translated by Edward Conze and I. B. Horner. Buddhist Texts through the Ages. New York: Philosophical Library, 1954. Mātṛceṭa. Śatapañcāśatka. See D. R. Shackleton Bailey. Meister, Michael W. “Giving Up and Taking On: The Body in Ritual.” RES 41 (Spring 2002): 92–103. Milindapañha. See V. Trenckner. Mirashi, Vasudev Vishnu. History and Inscriptions of the Satavahana and the Western Ksatrapas. Bombay: State Board for Literature and Culture, 1981. Misra, Ram Nath. The Yaksha Cult and Iconography. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1979. Mitchell, William John Thomas. Iconology: Image, Text, Ideology. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986. Mitra, Debala. Ratnagiri (1958–61). New Delhi: Director General, Archaeological Survey of India, 1981. Mitra, Rājendralāla, ed. and trans. The Lalitavistara: Or Memoirs of the Early Life of Śākya Siñha. Delhi: Sri Satguru Publications, 1998.



B I B L I O G R A P H Y

229

———. “Three Kushan Sculptures from Ahichchhatra.” Journal of the Asiatic Society, Bengal (Letters) 21 (1955): 63–67. Mitter, Partha. Much Maligned Monsters: History of European Reactions to Indian Art. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1977. Morris, R., A. K. Warder, and E. Hardy, eds. Aṅguttara Nikāya. 5 vols. Oxford: Pali Text Society, 1976–79. Morris, Rekha. “Buddha under a Ficus Tree and Two Sculptures from Mathura in the Sackler Museum, Harvard University.” Archives of Asian Art 51 (1998–99): 80–91. Mukherjee, B. N. “A Note on a Bi-Scriptural Epigraph of the Kushāṇa Period from Mathurā.” Journal of Ancient Indian History 13 (1980–82): 277–84. Mukherji, Parul Dave. The Citrasūtra of the Viṣṇudharmottara Purāṇa. New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass and Indira Gandhi Centre for the Arts, 2001. Myer, Prudence R. “Again the Kanishka Casket.” The Art Bulletin 48, no. 3–4 (1966): 396–403. ———. “Bodhisattvas and Buddhas: Early Buddhist Images from Mathurā.” Artibus Asiae 47, no. 2 (1986): 107–42. Nāgārjuna. Mūlamadhyamakakārikāh. Edited by J. W. de Jong. Madras: Adyar Library, 1977. Nakamura, Hajime. Gotama Buddha: A Biography Based on the Most Reliable Texts. Translated by G. Sekimori. Tokyo: Kosei, 2000. Ñāṇamoli, Bhikku, ed. and trans. The Path of Purification: Visuddhimagga of Buddhaghosa. Seattle: BPE Pariyatti Editions, 1999 Narain, A. K. “First Image of the Buddha and Bodhisattvas: Ideology and Chronology.” In Studies in Buddhist Art of South Asia, edited by A. K. Narain, 1–21. New Delhi: Kanak Publications, 1985. Nehru, Lolita. “Khalchayan Revisited.” Silk Road Art & Archaeology 6 (1999/2000): 217–39. Norman, Harry Campbell. “Gandhakuṭī: The Buddha’s Private Abode.” Journal of the Proceedings of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, no. 4 (1908): 1–7. Norman, Harry Campbell, and Lakshamana Shastri Tailang, eds. and trans. Dhammapada Commentary. 5 vols. Oxford: Pali Text Society, 1992–93. Norman, Kenneth Roy, ed. and trans. Elders’ Verses 2 Therīgāthā. Oxford: Pali Text Society, 1995. ———. The Group of Discourses (Sutta-Nipāta). Oxford: Pali Text Society, 2001. Oldenberg, Hermann, ed. Vinaya-Piṭaka. 5 vols. Oxford: Pali Text Society, 1969–95. Olivelle, Patrick. Between the Empires: Society in India, 300 bce to 400 ce. New York: Oxford University Press, 2006. Pal, Pratapaditya. The Peaceful Liberators: Jain Art from India. Los Angeles: Los Angeles County Museum of Art / Thames and Hudson Inc., 1995. ———, ed. Indian Terracotta Sculpture: The Early Period. Mumbai: Marg Publications, 2002. Pāṇini. Aṣṭādhyāyī. See Sumitra M. Katre. Pāṇini. Aṣṭādhyāyī of Pāṇini. Edited and translated by Ram Nath Sharma. 5 vols. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 2001. Paññāsa Jātaka. See Padhmanabh Jaini.

23 0

BIBLIOGR APHY

Paṭisambhidāmagga. See Arnold C. Taylor. Patton, Laurie L. Bringing the Gods to Mind: Mantra and Ritual in Early Indian Sacrifice. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005. Peri, N. “Hāritī, la Mere-de-Demons.” Bulletin de l’École francaise d’ Extrême-Orient 17, no. 3 (1917): 1–15. Peterson, Peter. The Auchityalamkara of Kshemendra, with a Note on the Date of Patanjali. Bombay: Education Society’s Press, 1885. Przyluski, Jean. “Fables in the Vinaya-Pitaka of the Sarvastivadin School.” Indian Historical Quarterly 5 (1929–30): 3–5. ———. The Legend of Emperor Aśoka in Indian and Chinese Texts. Translated by D. Kumar Biswas. Calcutta: Firma K. L. Mukhopadhyay, 1967. ———. “Le Partage des reliques du Buddha.” Melanges chinois et bouddhiques 4 (1936): 34–67. Pugachenkova, G. A. “La sculpture de Khaltchayan.” Iranica Antiqua 5 (1965): 116–27. Pusalker, Achut Dattatraya. Bhāsa: A Study. 1940. Revised, Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1968. Radhakrishnan, S., ed. and trans. The Principal Upaniṣads. New Delhi: Indus, HarperCollins, 1994. Radich, Michael. The Somatics of Liberation: Ideas about Embodiment in Buddhism from Its Origins to the Fifth Century C.E. PhD diss., Harvard University, 2007. Rahula, Walpola. History of Buddhism in Ceylon: The Anurādhapura Period, 3rd Century B.C.–10th Century A.D. 2nd ed. Colombo, Sri Lanka: M. D. Gunasena and Co., 1966. Rao, B. S. L. Hanumantha, N. S. Ramachandra Murthy, B. Subrahmanyam, and E. Sivanagi Reddy. Buddhist Inscriptions of Andhradesa. Hyderabad: Ananda Buddha Vihara Trust, 1998. Ray, Himanshu P. The Archaeology of Seafaring in Ancient South Asia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. ———. Monastery and Guild: Commerce under the Sātavāhanas. Delhi: Oxford UP, 1986. Ray, Reginald. Buddhist Saints in India: A Study in Buddhist Values and Orientations. New York: Oxford University Press, 1994. Reynolds, Frank E. “The Several Bodies of the Buddha: Reflections on a Neglected Aspect of Theravada Tradition.” History of Religions 16, no. 4 (1977): 374–89. Ṛgvidhāna. See Muralidhar Shrinivas Bhat. Rhi, Ju-Hyung. “Early Mahāyāna and Gandhāran Buddhism: An Assessment of the Visual Evidence.” The Eastern Buddhist 35, nos. 1–2 (2003): 152–90. ———. “From Bodhisattva to Buddha: The Beginning to Iconic Representation in Buddhist Art.” Artibus Asiae 54, nos. 3–4 (1994): 207–25. ———. Gandhāran Images of the “Śrāvastī-Miracle”: An Iconographic Reassessment. PhD diss., University of California, 1991. Rhie Quintanilla, Sonya. “Ayagapatas: Characteristics, Symbolism, and Chronology.” Artibus Asiae 60, no. 1 (2000): 79–137. ———. History of Early Stone Sculpture at Mathura ca. 150 bce–100 ce. Leiden: Brill, 2007.



B I B L I O G R A P H Y

2 31

Rhys Davids, Caroline A. F., ed. Visuddhimagga. 2 vols. (printed as one). Oxford: Pali Text Society, 1975. Rhys Davids, Thomas W., ed. and trans. Buddhist Birth Stories (Jātaka Tales) and the Commentarial Introduction Entitled: Nidanakatha, The Story of the Lineage. London: Routledge and Sons, 1937. ———. Buddhist India. 1903. Reprint, London: Elibron Classics, 2005. ———. Dialogues of the Buddha. Sacred Books of the Buddhists. Part 1. Oxford, Pali Text Society, 1995. ———. The Questions of King Milinda (Milindapañha). Sacred Books of the East. Vols. 35–36. 1890. Reprint, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1992. Rhys Davids, Thomas W., and J. Estlin Carpenter, eds. Dīgha Nikāya. 3 vols. London: Pali Text Society, 1983–92. Richman, Paula. Women, Branch Stories, and Religious Rhetoric in a Tamil Buddhist Text. Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1988. Rosenfield, John M. Dynastic Arts of the Kushans. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967. ———. “On the Dated Carvings of Sārnāth.” Artibus Asiae 26, no. 1 (1963): 10–26. Rotman, Andy. Divine Stories Divyāvadāna. Classics of Indian Buddhism. Part 1. Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2008. ———. “The Erotics of Practice: Objects and Agency in Buddhist Avadāna Literature.” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 71, no. 3 (2003): 557–78. ———. Thus I Have Seen: Visualizing Faith in Early Buddhism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Rowland, Benjamin. “Gandhāra and Early Christian Art: The Homme Arcade and the Date of the Bīmarān Reliquary.” The Art Bulletin 28, no. 1 (1946): 44–47. ———. “Gandhara and Late Antique Art: The Buddha Image.” Journal of American Archaeology 46, no. 2 (1942): 223–36. ———. “Gandhara, Rome, and Mathura: The Early Relief Style.” Archives of the Chinese Art Society of America 10 (1956): 8–17. ———. “A Note on the Indian Invention of the Buddha Image.” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 11, no. 1–2 (1948): 181–86. ———. “A Revised Chronology of Gāndhara Sculpture.” Art Bulletin 18 (1936): 387–400. Sahni, Daya Ram. “Three Mathura Inscriptions and Their Bearing on the Kushana Dynasty.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland, no. 3 (1924): 399–406. Salomon, Richard. “An Inscribed Silver Buddhist Reliquary of the Time of King Kharaosta and Prince Indravarman.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 116, no. 3 (1996): 418–52. Samantapāsādikā. See J. Takakusu and M. Nagai. Samuels, Jeffrey. “Texts Memorized and Texts Performed: A Reconsideration of the Role of Paritta in Sri Lankan Monastic Education.” Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies 28, no. 2 (2005): 339–67. Saṃyutta Nikāya. See G. A. Somaratne, L. Feer, and C. A. F. Rhys Davids. Sanderson, Alexis. “The Visualization of the Deities of the Trika.” In L’image divine:

232

BIBLIOGR APHY

Culte et meditation dans l’Hindouisme, edited by A. Padoux, 31–88. Paris: CNRS Editions, 1990. Saraswati, Sarasi Kumar. Survey of Indian Sculpture. Calcutta: K. L. Mukhopadhyay, 1957. Sastri, Dakshinaranjan. “Cult and Images of the Pitṛs.” Journal of the Indian Society of Oriental Art 7, no. 2 (1939): 61–73. Sastri, Hirananda, ed. Epigraphia Indica. Vol. 19. Bombay: British India Press, 1927–28. Sastri, T. Ganapati. Bhāsa’s Works: A Critical Study. 1925. Reprint, Delhi: Bharatiya Vidya Prakashan, 1985. Saunders, Virginia. “Portrait Painting as a Dramatic Device in Sanskrit Plays.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 39 (1919): 299–302. Schlingloff, Dieter. Guide to the Ajanta Paintings: Narrative Wall Paintings. Vol. 1. New Delhi: Mushiram Manoharlal, 1999. ———. Studies in the Ajanta Paintings: Identification and Interpretation. Delhi: Ajanta Publications, 1987. Schopen, Gregory. Bones, Stones, and Buddhist Monks: Collected Papers on the Archaeology, Epigraphy, and Texts of Monastic Buddhism in India. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1997. ———. “Cross-Dressing with the Dead: Asceticism, Ambivalence, and Intuitional Values in an Indian Monastic Code.” In The Buddhist Dead: Practices, Discourses, Representations, edited by B. Cuevas and J. Stone, 60–104. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2007. ———. Figments and Fragments of Mahāyāna Buddhism in India. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2005. ———. “On Monks and Menial Laborers: Some Monastic Accounts of Building Buddhist Monasteries.” In Architetti, Capomastri, Artigiani: L’Organizzazione dei Cantieri e della Produzione Artistica nell’Asia Ellenistica, Studi Offerti a Domenico Faccenna nel suo Ottantesimo Compleanno, edited by P. Callieri, 225–45. Rome: Istituto Italiano per l’Africa e l’Oriente, 2006. ———. “Taking Bodhisattva to Town: More Texts on the Image of ‘the Bodhisattva’ and Image Precessions in the Mūlasarvāstivāda-vinaya.” East and West 55, nos. 1–4 (2005): 299–311. Schrader, F. Otto. “The Translation of the Term Bhagavat.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland (Jan. 1911): 194. Seckel, Dietrich. Before and Beyond the Image: Aniconic Symbolism in Buddhist Art. Artibus Asiae Supplementum 45. 1976. Reprint, Zurich: Museum Riertberg, 2004. ———. Jenseits des Bildes: Anikonische Symbolik inder buddhistischen Kunst. Heidel­ berg: Carl Winter Universitätsverlag, 1976. Sharma, Ramesh Chandra. Buddhist Art of Mathura. Delhi: Agam Kala Prakashan, 1984. ———. “New Inscriptions from Mathurā.” In Mathurā: The Cultural Heritage, edited by D. Meth Srinivasan, 308–15. New Delhi: American Institute of Indian Studies, 1989. Shattan, Merchant-Prince. Manimekhalai (The Dancer with the Magic Bowl). Translated by A. Danielou. New York: New Directions, 1989.



B I B L I O G R A P H Y

233

Shrivastava, V. N. “Two Image Inscriptions from Mathurā.” Epigraphia Indica 37, part 4 (1967): 151–54. Sims-Williams, M. Nicholas. “Nouveaux documents sur l’histoire et la langue de la Bactriane.” Comptes rendus des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et BellesLettres 140 (Apr.–June 1996): 633–49. Sims-Williams, Nicholas, and Joe Cribb. “A New Bactrian Inscription of Kanishka the Great.” Silk Road Art and Archaeology, no. 4 (1995–96): 75–142. Sinha, Chitta Ranjan Prasad. Early Sculpture of Bihar. Patna: Indological Book Corp., 1980. Sircar, D. C. “The Sātavāhanas and the Chedis.” In The Age of Imperial Unity: The History and Culture of the Indian People, vol. 2, edited by R. C. Majumdar, 197–98. Bombay: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, 1968. Smith, Brian K. Reflections on Resemblance, Ritual, and Religion. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989. Smith, Vincent A. “Graeco-Roman Influence on the Civilization of Ancient India.” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 58, part 1 (1889): 107–98. ———. The Jain Stūpa and Other Antiquities of Mathurā. New Imperial Series. Allahabad: Archaeological Survey of India, 1901. Solomon, Ted J. “Early Vaishnava Bhakti and Its Autochthonous Heritage.” History of Religions 10, no. 1 (1970): 32–48. Somaratne, G. A., L. Feer, and C. A. F. Rhys Davids, eds. Saṃyutta Nikāya. 6 vols. Oxford: Pali Text Society, 1975–99. Soper, Alexander Coburn. “Aspects of Light Symbolism in Gandhāran Sculptures.” Artibus Asiae 12 (1945–46): 252–83 and 13 (1945–46): 314–30. ———. “Early Buddhist Attitudes towards the Art of Painting.” Art Bulletin 32 (1950): 147–51. ———. Literary Evidence for Early Buddhist Art in China. Artibus Asiae Supplementum 19. Ascona: Artibus Asiae Publishers, 1959. ———. “Recent Studies Involving the Date of Kaniṣka: A Review Article.” Artibus Asiae 33, no. 4 (1971): 339–50. Srinivasan, Doris Meth. Many Heads, Arms, and Eyes: Origin, Meaning, and Form of Multiplicity in Indian Art. Leiden: Brill, 1997. Stone, Elizabeth Rosen. The Buddhist Art of Nāgārjunakoṇḍa. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1994. Strong, John S. The Buddha: A Short Biography. Oxford, UK: Oneworld Press, 2001. ———. “Buddha Bhakti and the Absence of the Blessed One.” In Premier Colloque Étienne Lamotte, Publications de l’Institut Orientaliste de Louvain, no. 42, 131–40. Louvain-Paris: Peeters Publishers, 1993. ———. “‘Gandhakuṭī’: The Perfumed Chamber of the Buddha.” History of Religions 16, no. 4 (1977): 390–406. ———. The Legend and Cult of Upagupta: Sanskrti Buddhism in North India and Southeast Asia. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1992. ———. The Legend of King Aśoka: A Study and Translation of the Aśokāvadāna. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1983. ———. Relics of the Buddha. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004.

234

BIBLIOGR APHY

———. “The Transforming Gift: An Analysis of Devotional Acts of Offering in Buddhist Avadāna Literature.” History of Religion 18, no. 3 (1979): 221–37. Sumangala Vilāsinī. Edited by T. S. Rhys Davids, J. Estlin Carpenter, and William Stede. London: Pali Text Society, 1886. Suttanipāta. See Dines Andersen and Helmer Smith. Svāmi, A. Govindācārya. “The Translation of the Term Bhagavan.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland (July 1910): 861–63. Swearer, Donald. Becoming the Buddha: The Ritual of Image Consecration in Thailand. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2004. Takakusu, J. “The Life of Vasu-bandhu by Paramārtha (A.D. 499–569).” Second Series. T’oung Pao 5, no. 3 (1904): 269–96. Takakusu, J., and M. Nagai, eds. Samantapāsādikā: Buddhaghosa’s Commentary on the Vinaya Pitaka. 5 vols. London: Pali Text Society, 1924–38. Tanaka, Kanoko. Absence of the Buddha Image in Early Buddhist Art: Toward Its Significance in Comparative Religion. Delhi: D. K. Printworld, 1998. Tarabout, Gilles. “Theology as History: Divine Images, Imagination, and Rituals in India.” In Text and Contexts Images in Asian Religions, edited by P. Granoff and K. Shinohara, 56–84. Vancouver: UBC Press, 2004. Tatelman, Joel. The Heavenly Exploits: Buddhist Biographies from the Divyāvadāna. Vol. 1. New York: Clay Sanskrit Library, 2005. Taylor, Arnold C., ed. Paṭisambhidāmagga. 2 vols. Oxford: Pali Text Society, 1905–7. Teiser, Stephen F. Reinventing the Wheel: Paintings of Rebirth in Medieval Buddhist Temples. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2006. Thomas, Edward J. “Avadāna and Apadāna.” Indian Historical Quarterly 9 (1933): 32–36. Trenckner, V., ed. Milindapañha. Oxford: Pali Text Society, 1961. Trenckner, V., R. Chalmer, and C. A. F. Rhys Davids, eds. Majjhima-nikāya. 4 vols. Oxford: Palu Text Society, 1991–93. van Buitenen, J. A. B., ed. and trans. Mahābhārata. Books 1–5. 3 Vols. Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1973. van Lohuizen-de Leeuw, Johanna E. “Foreign Elements in Indian Culture Introduced during the Scythian Period with Special Reference to Mathurā.” In Mathurā: The Cultural Heritage, edited by D. Meth Srinivasan, 72–84. New Delhi: American Institute of Indian Studies, 1989. ———. “New Evidence with Regard to the Origin of the Buddha Image.” South Asian Archaeology, Berlin (1979): 377–400. ———. The “Scythian” Period: An Approach to the History, Art, Epigraphy, and Palaeography of North India from the 1st century B.C. to the 3rd century A.D. Leiden: Brill, 1949. Venkatesananda, S., ed. The Concise Yoga Vāsiṣṭha. Albany: SUNY Press, 1984. Verardi, Giovanni, and Alessandro Grossato. “The Kuṣāṇa Emperors as Cakravartins Dynastic Art and Cults in India and Central Asia: History of a Theory, Clarifications, and Refutations.” East and West 33, no. 1/4 (Dec. 1983): 225–94. Vinaya-Piṭaka. See H. Oldenberg. Visuddhimagga. See Caroline A. F. Rhys Davids.



B I B L I O G R A P H Y

235

Vogel, Jean Philippe. Archaeological Museum at Mathura. 1910. Reprint, Delhi: Indological Book House, 1971. ———. Archeological Survey of India Annual Report, 1911–1912. Delhi: Government of India, 1915. ———. Indian Serpent Lore, or Nagas in Hindu Legend and Art. London: Arthur Probstain, 1926. ———. “Prakrit Inscriptions from a Buddhist Site at Nagarjunikonda.” In Epigraphia Indica, edited by Hirananda Sastri, vol. 20, 1–37. Delhi: Manger of Publications, 1929–30. von Mitterwallner, Gritli. Kuṣāṇa Coins and Kuṣāṇa Sculpture from Mathurā. Mathura: The Government Museum, 1986. von Stietencron, Heinrich. “Orthodox Attitudes towards Temple Service and Image Worship in Ancient India.” Central Asiatic Journal 21 (1977): 126–39. Waley, Arthur. “Did the Buddha Die of Eating Pork? With a Note on the Buddha’s Image.” Melanges Chinois et bouddhiques 31–32 (1932): 343–54. Walser, Joseph. Nāgārjuna in Context: Mahāyāna Buddhism and Early Indian Culture. New York: Columbia University Press, 2005. Weber, Albrecht. The History of Indian Literature. Translated by J. Mann. London: Kegan Paul, 1892. Widemann, Francois. “Maues King of Taxila: An Indo-Greek Kingdom with a Saka King.” East and West 53 (2003): 95–101. Williams, Joanna. “The Case of Omitted Hundreds: Stylistic Development in Mathura Sculpture of the Kusana Period.” In Mathurā: The Cultural Heritage, edited by Doris Srinivasan, 325–31. New Delhi: Manohar Publications, 1989. ———. “Sārnāth Gupta Steles of the Buddha’s Life.” Ars Orientalis 10 (1975): 171–92. Wilson, Horace Hayman. Ariana Antiqua: A Descriptive Account of the Antiquities and Coins of Afghanistan, with a Memoir on the Buildings Called Topes by C. Masson. London: Court of Directors of the East India Company, 1841. Wood, Leela Aditi. The Buddha and the Shape of Belief: Indic Visual Jātakamālās. PhD diss., University of Michigan, 2005. Woodward, Frank Lee, ed. and trans. The Book of Gradual Sayings (Anguttara-Nikāya), or More-Numbered Suttas. 5 vols. Oxford: Pali Text Society, 2000. ———, ed. and trans. The Book of Kindred Sayings (Saṃyutta Nikāya) or Grouped Suttas. 5 vols. Oxford: Pali Text Society, 1925. Xuanzang (Hiuen Tsiang). Si-Yu-Ki Buddhist Records of the Western World. Translated by S. Beal. 2 vols. London: Motilal Banarsidass, 1884. Young, Serinity. “Female Mutability and Male Anxiety in an Early Buddhist Legend.” Journal of the History of Sexuality 16, no. 1 (2007): 14–39. Zeymal, Evgeny V. “Tilya-tepe within the Context of the Kushan Chronology.” In Coins, Art, and Chronology: Essays on Pre-Islamic History of the Indo-Iranian Borderland, edited by M. Alram and D. E. Klimburg-Salter, 239–44. Vienna: Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1999. ———. “Visha-Shiva in the Kushan Pantheon.” In Gandharan Art in Context: East-West Exchanges at the Crossroads of Asia, edited by R. Allchin, B. Allchin, N. Kreitman, and E. Errington, 245–66. New Delhi: Regency Publications, 1997.

236

BIBLIOGR APHY

Zin, Monika. Guide to the Ajanta Paintings: Devotional and Ornamental. Vol. 2. New Delhi: Mushiram Manoharlal, 2003. ———. “Mandhatar, the Universal Monarch, and the Meaning of Representations of the Cakravartin in the Amaravati School, and of the Kings on the Kanganhalli Stupa.” In Proceedings of the International Congress: Buddhist Narrative in Asia and Beyond, vol. 1, edited by Peter Skilling and Justin McDaniel, 149–66. Bangkok: Chulalongkorn University, 2010. Zwalf, Wladimir. Buddhism Art and Faith. Edited by W. Zwalf. New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., 1985.



B I B L I O G R A P H Y

237

ILLUSTRATIONS

1.1 1.2 1.3 1.4 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5 2.6 3.1 4.1 4.2 4.3 4.4 4.5 5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4 5.5 5.6 5.7 5.8 5.9 5.10 5.11 5.12 5.13 5.14 5.15

Naḷinikā Jātaka, a past life of the Buddha 5 Supravāsa yakṣa (Supavaso Yakkha) 6 One of the earliest sculptural examples of a yakṣa 6 Seated Śākyamuni in the “kapardin” style 7 Seated Śākyamuni in the naturalistic style typical of the Northwest 13 Early yakṣa image revealing a well-developed tradition of figural art 16 Reliquary depicting the Buddha flanked by the gods Brahmā and Indra 19 Gold token from Tomb 4 depicting a wheel-turning man 21 Early image of Śākyamuni with Mathurān stylistic traits 23 A narrative relief of the Great Departure that avoids any depiction of the Buddha 25 Seated Śākyamuni with attendants 33 Inscribed cult image of the yakṣa Māṇibhadra 62 Torso of a Vṛṣṇi hero 63 Inscribed pedestal with broken image of Mahāvīra and devotees 65 Hārītī and her consort flanked by attendants 70 “Aniconic” depiction of the Buddha’s family presenting him to the yakṣa Śākyavardhana 76 Fragment of pedestal depicting devotees honoring a wheel 81 Broken pedestal with kneeling devotee and standing Bodhisattva 82 Seated Buddha with devotees depicted on the pedestal 83 Pedestal with numerous devotees from a broken standing Buddha 83 Inscribed pedestal with traces of a standing Buddha and kneeling devotee 88 Lower portion of standing Buddha flanked by devotees 88 Seated image of the goddess Sarasvatī with devotees 90 Buddha with devotees 91 Mauryan dynasty punch-mark coin 94 Copper coin of Kujūla Kadphises  96 Coin of Vima Kadphises  97 Coin of spear-bearing Kaniṣka  97 Large-scale image of Kaniṣka with sword and club 99 Vima Takto (?) seated on throne decorated with lions 100 Exterior of Nāṇaghāṭ Cave 11 103

239

5 .16 5.17 6.1 6.2 7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4 8.1 8.2 8.3 8.4 8.5

Back wall of Nāṇaghāṭ Cave 11, with traces of sculpted feet 104 Remains of two portrait images in Nāṇaghāṭ Cave 11 104 View of the Ajaṇṭā Caves 130 Remains of monastery complex at Ratnāgiri 131 Detail of sculpture showing seated Buddha with radiating images 159 Sculpture depicting multiple Buddhas as in descriptions of the miracle at Śrāvastī, Sārnāth 164 Great Miracle sculpture from the entryway of Ajaṇṭā Cave 7 166 The Kaniṣka Casket  172 Larger than life-size image of the yakṣa Māṇibhadra 181 Pillar of Heliodorus capped with an image of Garuḍa 182 Bodhisattva image donated by the bhikṣu Bala 185 Head of the Buddha with downcast eyes 185 Seated Buddha 187

Map 2.1. Map of Kuṣāṇa Empire 17

24 0

I L L U S T R AT I O N S

INDEX Abhayā (goddess), 74 abhaya mudrā (hand gesture), 179. See also mudrās (hand gestures) Abhidharma Mahāvibhāṣa, 157, 172 Abhidharmaprajñapaptipada, 163–65 absence and presence, Buddha’s: ancient norms and, 145; Buddha copies and, 157; Buddha’s projected form and, 169; images and, 146–47; Milindapañha and, 148–49; narrative tales and, 76; relic Buddha representations and, 154; statue actions and, 152; Suttanipāta and, 38. See also embodiment, Buddha’s abstract symbolism, 94 accessibility, Buddha’s, 154, 156, 176. See also absence and presence, Buddha’s actions, image, 66, 71–73, 76, 152–58, 162 Adhikaraṇavastu, Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya, 37. See also Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya Ādināth (Jina), 86 Advaita Vedānta, Mīmāṃsā, 47. See also Mīmāṃsā (Hindu philosophical school) Afghanistan: Haḍḍa image, 23fig.; Kapiśa, 72; Śakyamuni images, 12–13; Shotorak, 91–92; Surkh Kotal, 98; Tillya Tepe token, 20–22. See also Bīmarān Casket; Gandhāra (Pakistan/ Afghanistan) Agni (fire god), 60 Agrawala, Vasudeva Sharana, 23 agriculture, deities and, 58 Ahicchatra (India), 5–6, 7fig., 84 Ajaṇṭā (India) caves: Buddha image dona­

tions at the, 129, 131–32; Buddha’s embodiment and the, 134; Divyā­ vadāna sculptures at the, 160; enthroned Buddha images at the, 208n103; Great Miracle sculpture at the, 165–67; narrative artwork at the, 216n69; pratimā and, 202n67; Varāhadeva inscription at the, 134; view of, 130fig. Ajātaśatru, King, 93, 211n92 Ajjunae tale, 73–74 Akṣobhya, Buddha, 135 Akṣobhyavyūha Sūtra (Tibetan version), 135 Amarāvatī (India), 75, 180, 183 Amitābha, 85, 139 Ānanda, 32, 138 Anāthapiṇḍika stories, 31–32, 34, 201n48 Anatolian deities, 98 Anderson, John, 27 Andhra (India), 34, 106, 114, 134, 202n66 Aṇguttara Nikāya, 4, 120, 125, 178, 210n41 Aṇguttara Nikāya (Chinese Version), 29, 38–39 Aniconic Phase, 26, 28 aniconism, 24–28, 75, 76, 79 Antagaḍadasāo (Jain text), 73–74 anthropomorphic figures: Buddha repre­ sentations as, 26; Kuṣāṇa and, 97, 98, 101, 112; South Asia civilizations and, 30, 51 anusmṛti (Sanskrit), 139 anussati (Pāli), 139 Ānyor, 84 Āpastamba Gṛhyasūtra, 58 Apocryphal Jātaka, 128–29

241

Apraca kings, 205n26 apratimā, 200n46 apsaras, Citrasūtra of the Viṣṇu­ dharmottara Purāṇa and, 67 arcā, 59, 63 archaeological sites, 98–101, 105–6. See also individual sites Ardochsho (deity), 98 Arhat Nāndyāvarta, 86 arhats (enlightened sages), 72–73, 148, 152 arhatship, state of, 124 art: Buddha images as, 7; Buddha’s image development and, 18; Buddhist, 24–25; multiple Buddhas and, 165; nirmāṇakāya/nairmāṇikakāya (Mani­ festation Body) and, 169; objects, cultural contexts and, 191n11; power of in the Citralakṣaṇa, 67. See also artistic innovations; artistic practices; artistic works; artists; figural art Arthaśāstra, 45, 58, 71, 200n42, 203n86 artistic innovations: Buddha iconography and, 184–85; Buddha images as, 7– 8; Kuṣāṇa, Śaka kings and, 61, 93; Kuṣāṇa culture and, 98; Mathurā, Gandhāra as centers of, 102; monastic communities and, 171; royal portrai­ ture and, 114. See also art; artistic practices; artistic works; artists artistic practices: expansion of, 9, 117; figure differentiation and, 166; royal portraiture and, 112–13, 114; shifts in, 7–8, 77, 105, 116, 117. See also art; artistic innovations; artistic works; artists; figural art artistic works: aniconism and, 24, 26, 28; Avadāna sources and, 216n69; copy tales and, 158; emotional response to Buddha images and, 135; living image depictions and, 53, 67; multiple Buddhas and, 165; narrative tales, Buddha images and, 36–39; sacred subject matter and, 57; Vinayas and, 32, 36. See also art; artistic innova­ tions; artistic practices; artists; fig­ ural art artists, 25, 36–38, 53, 109, 147, 166. See also

24 2

INDEX

art; artistic innovations; artistic practices; artistic works; figural art Aśoka, King, 105, 113, 143–44 Aśoka tale, 117–18 Aśoka tale (Chinese version), 123 Aṣṭādhyāyī, 44 Aṣṭasāhasrikā Prajñāpāramitā, 42, 140 astrological manual (Bṛhat Saṃhitā), 53, 71, 203n86 Aśvamedha (Vedic Horse Sacrifice), 60 Atharvaveda Pariśiṣṭha, 55, 71, 110 Athsho (deity), 98 atiśayas (bodily marks) (Jain), 151 ātman (true self ), 44 Atthasālinī (Buddhaghoṣa), 167 Auboyer, Jeanine, 179 Aurangabad (India), 70–71 authority, religious, 9 Avadāna literature, 174, 210n49, 215n67, 216n69 Avadānakalpalatā, 122–23 avadānas, 136, 141 Avadānaśataka, 3–4, 136 Avalokiteśvara, Bodhisattva, 73, 75 Avīci Hell, 128 āyaka pillars, 132 Ayodhyā, rulers of, 107 Azes I (Śaka king), 95 Azes II (Śaka king), 18, 20, 112 Bachhofer, Ludwig, 20 Bactrian communities, 15, 92, 95 Bactrian kings, 113, 148 Bactrian language, 101 bago-laṇgo (house of the gods), 101 Bala (monk), 171, 206n57, 217n99 Balabhadra Kuṇḍ, 64 Balarāma, 182 Banerjea, Jitendra Nath, 46, 59, 201n59 Banerji, Rakhal Das, 64 bathing, as devotional ritual, 143, 183 Bhadrakalpika Sūtra, 128 bhagavantam, 181, 183 bhāgavatas, 180 Bhagavatas (or Bhagavān), 180–82 Bhagwanlal Indraji, 102–3, 111 bhakti (devotional modes of worship):

Banerjea, Jitendra Nath on, 46; Buddha’s image, spiritual states and, 120; definitions of, 141–42; embodi­ ment, incarnation and, 145; inscriptions and, 180; Kṛṣṇa (Krishna) and, 141; multiple Buddhas and, 188; Śaṇkara on, 47–48; spirit deities and, 79; Strong, John on, 41–42, 118, 141, 142. See also darśan bhakti devotionalism, 184 Bhāradvāja Saṃhitā, 46 Bharata story, 78, 107 Bhārhut (India): Bhagavata and, 180; Buddha’s divine nature and, 183; Buddha’s past lives depictions at, 4– 5, 93; donor portraits and, 79; king images at, 93; Supravāsa yakṣa image, 6fig.; tree images from, 27, 196n14 Bhāsa, 78, 107–8, 200n46 Bhat, M. S., 199n22 Bhāvaviveka, 169 Bhāya[la], Prince, 102, 103 Bhoja, King, 68–69 Bhūteśvar (India), 24 Bīmarān (Afghanistan), 112 Bīmarān Casket, 18–20, 22 bimba, 59 Bimbisāra, King, 36–37, 57, 159, 160 Blessed One, 174–75 Boddo (Buddha) coin depiction, 97 Bodhi tree: as Buddha substitute, 34–35, 179; image use of, 32, 174, 175; King Aśoka tale and, 143; Phussadeva tale and, 124; shrines, 34, 196n14; venera­ tion practices and the, 34–35; Xuan­ zang (Chinese pilgrim) and the, 127. See also Jambu Tree; trees bodhigharas (Bodhi tree shrines), 34, 196n14. See also Bodhi tree Bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara, 73, 75 Bodhisattva Dharmodgata, 140 Bodhisattva Gautama, 194n36 bodhisattva images: as alternative to Buddha images, 32–34; Anāthapiṇ­ ḍika stories and, 31; Mūlasarvāstivādins and, 174–75; Sarvāstivādins and, 171, 173–75; sculptures, 84, 85, 185fig., 187–



88; statue actions and, 72–73. See also bodhisattva veneration; bodhisattvas; individual Bodhisattvas Bodhisattva Maitreya, 64, 72–73 bodhisattva veneration, 32–33, 34–35, 60 bodhisattvas, 5, 128, 135, 187. See also bodhisattva images; bodhisattva veneration; individual Bodhisattvas bodies, manifestations of, 167–69. See also copy and original, Buddha; multiple Buddhas bodily marks. See iconography, Buddha’s Brahmā (god), 19fig., 67, 75, 167–68, 172fig., 175 Brahman, supreme, 170 brāhmaṇa (Brahmanic) traditions, 29, 30, 52, 54, 170 Brāhmaṇas: effigy use and the, 109; figural representation and the, 80; human figural art and rituals of the, 58; image actions and the, 71–72; image use and the, 29, 52, 54, 55; rites and the, 78 Brahmanic (brāhmaṇa) traditions. See brāhmaṇa (Brahmanic) traditions Brahmanic sources, 11, 79 Brahmanical gods (devas), 4, 5 Brahmans: Buddha’s non-divine nature and the, 178–79; in the Citralakṣaṇa, 67; communities, 9; Dhoṇa, 178, 179; elite, 9; embodiment transcendence and the, 78; literature, 36, 56; religious practices, 186; subdual of, ritual imag­ ery and the, 54; traditions, 29, 30, 52, 54, 170 Branmanic school, Pūrva Mīmāṃsā, 47 Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad, 170 Bṛhat Saṃhitā (astrological manual), 53, 71, 203n86 British imperialism, 15–16 British Museum, 20, 194n31 Brown, Robert L., 21–22, 23, 194n35, 194n36 Buddha: (Boddo) coin depiction, 97; copy and original, 59–61, 65–66, 150, 156–170; death of, 26–27, 113, 184; dei­ fication and, 11; descent from heaven,

I N D E X

24 3

Buddha (continued) 122; as deva, 183; first sermon of, 113, 186–87; human limitations transcen­ dence and, 176–77; multiple, 156–170, 188, 215n47, 216n84; past life depictions, 93, 113; replication abilities of, 161–62; sculptures, 84, 85, 88fig., 187fig. See also Buddha images; Buddha’s body; non-divine nature, Buddha’s; indivi­ dual Buddhas Buddha Akṣobhya, 135 Buddha Dīpankara, 74 Buddha images: actions of, 153–58; art and, 7, 8, 36–39; Bactrian (Greek) communities and, 15; buddhānussati and, 40; coins and, 97, 98; concep­ tuali­zation of, 170; copy and original, 59–61, 65–66, 150, 156–170; cosmog­ onic figuration and, 141; creation of, 128; devotees image Shotorak (Afghanistan) and, 91–92; devotion to, 137; devotional worship and, 146; divisions between Buddha and, 162; doctrinal texts and, 8, 146; donations of, 129–132; donations to, 132–36; donor images and, 80; emergence of, 141; emotional response to, 135; expanding role in religious practice and, 40; expansion and acceptance of, 117–127; eyes and, 185–88; figural art and, 5, 43, 189; first, 22, 163; icono­ graphic markers of, 12, 32–33, 113–15, 136–37, 151, 179; from Katrā, 23; as legal entities, 133, 147, 154, 174; lotuses and, 113, 128, 161, 165; Mahāyāna traditions and, 7; meditation and, 40, 146, 189; multiple, 156–170, 188, 215n47, 216n84; Nāgārjuna and, 168–69; Aṇguttara Nikāya on, 4; objections to, 116–17; Paññāsa Jātaka and, 128–29; past life depictions, 93; phantom Buddhas story, 156; physical features of, 136– 37; prasāda and, 136–37; pratimā or buddhapratimā label and, 64; royalty depiction in art and, 112; royalty icono­ graphy and, 113–15; sculptures, 84, 85; Shotorak (Afghanistan), 91–92; size

24 4

INDEX

of, 201n49; spiritual development and, 128–132; veneration rituals and, 143; worship and, 43. See also Bīmarān Casket; narrative tales; Swāt Valley region (Gandhāra); Tathāgatas; Tillya Tepe token Buddha Prabhūtaratna, 176 Buddha Puṣya, 37, 57, 135, 136 Buddha Śākyamuni. See Śākyamuni (the Buddha) Buddhabalādhāna-prātiharyāvikur­ vaṇanirdeśa Sūtra, 128 Buddhabhadra (monk), 134 Buddhacarita, 113, 122, 183 buddhadarśana, 183 Buddhadevā (nun), 84 Buddha-fields, 135, 176 Buddhaghoṣa, 3, 138–39, 167, 168 Buddhahood: Ānanda and, 138; attain­ ment of, 135; conceptualization of, 176–77; donative gifts and, 130; iddhi (magical powers) and, 167; image devotion and, 135; Maitreya and, 136; meditation and, 140; narrative tales and, 36; rūpakāya, dharmakāya and, 42; Śākyamuni and, 31, 135, 173; Vaṭṭaṇgulirāja Jātaka and, 116 Buddhamitrā (nun), 217n99 Buddhanandī (monk), 197n26 buddhanirmāṇa, 158 buddhānusmṛti: Brahmanical com­ munity and, 145; Buddha’s teaching during, 212n106; definitions of, 139; King Aśoka and, 143–44; Phussadeva tale and, 124; Upagupta tale and, 209n33, 213n11 buddhānussati, 40, 124, 139, 167 buddhapratimā, 64 Buddha’s body: artistic depiction of, 36–39; Aśoka tales and, 117–18; Brahmanical precedents and, 170; buddhānussati and, 40, 124, 139; cos­ mogonic figuration and, 141; ­depic­tion of, 8, 36–42; devotees under­standing of images depicting, 11; devotional worship and, 144, 146; dharma and, 137; dharmakāya, 41–42, 123, 176;

elusiveness of, 8, 38–39, 147; image terms and, 60; Māra tales and, 122– 26; Mātṛceṭa (poet) on, 117; medita­ tion and, 144, 146; Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya and, 211n92; nairmāṇikakāya (Manifestation Body), 169, 176; narra­ tive tales and, 36–37, 117–127; nirmā­ nakāya (Manifestation Body), 169, 176; Perfection of Wisdom and, 126; rūpakāya, 41–42, 117, 123, 140, 169, 176; sāṃbhogikakāya, 176; Śatapañcā­ śatkastotra (Mātṛceṭa) and, 143; schools of Buddhism and, 173; sectarian com­ munities and, 176–77; Śroṇa Koṭikarṇa tale and, 118–19; Śūra tale and, 125; textual sources and, 189; Upagupta tale and, 122–25; Utpalavarṇā tale and, 121–22; Vakkali tales and, 119– 121; as virtue expression, 137. See also iconography, Buddha’s; manomaya­ kāya (mind-made body); marks, Buddha’s; Tathāgatas Buddhavarman (monk), 130–31 buddhavigraha, 158. See also copy and original, Buddha; multiple Buddhas Buddhism, history of, 10 Buddhist art, 24–25. See also art; artistic innovations; artistic practices; artistic works; Buddha images Buddhist legal literature, 69 Buddhist literature, 29, 56, 189. See also textual sources; individual textual sources Buddhist sites. See individual sites bull iconography, 94, 96 Bussagli, Mario, 20 caityas, 9, 134 cakravartin (universal king) symbol, 113, 121–22 Cakravartivyākṛta Avadāna, 41, 133 Cāṃtisiri, Queen, 132 Carter, Martha, 20 caurī (fly whisk) symbols, 26, 113 caves: Ellora, 165, 202n67; Hārītī image, 70; Kānherī, 65; Kuda, 134; Magadha, 197n26; Nāṇaghāṭ, 102–5, 111, 207n80;



Sātavāhana dynasty, 102, 103, 104fig. See also Ajaṇṭā (India) caves cāyāstambha (memorial pillars), 106 Central Asian dynasties, 17 Chandavaram (India), 75, 76fig. Chāndogya Upaniṣad (Vedict text), 43–44 chattra (parasol) symbols, 113 China. See Aṇguttara Nikāya (Chinese Version); Damamūka Nidāna Sūtra (Chinese translation); Faxian (Chi­ nese monk); Sūtra of the Sea of Mystic Ecstasy (Chinese); Xuanzang (Chinese pilgrim); Yijing (Chinese Buddhist pilgrim) Chinese Buddhist text, 183 chronologies, 18–24 chthonic deities. See deities Citralakṣaṇa, 67, 201n47 Citrasūtra Adhyāya, 51 Citrasūtra of the Viṣṇudharmottara Purāṇa, 53, 67, 186, 202n72 Coburn, Alexander, 156 Cohen, Richard, 113, 208n103 coins: abstract symbolism and, 94; Bīmarān Casket and, 18; Boddo (Buddha) depiction, 97; dating of, 193n19; divine investiture and, 98; flaming shoulders iconography and, 113; Kṣatrapa, 96; Kujūla, 95, 96; Kuṣāṇa coins, 93–94, 95, 96, 98, 101, 114, 205n34; political, religious imagery and, 112; Roman portrait, 111; royal portraiture and, 93–98, 103– 5, 112, 114; Śaka, 94, 95; Śākyamuni depiction and, 218n114; Sātavāhana dynasty and, 102; Scythian, 95; Taxila region, 94, 95. commemorative portraiture, 64 Commentary on the Dhammapada (Pāli). See Dhammapada Commentary (Pāli) contemplation, 41. See also meditation control rituals, 54–57, 78 conversion stories, 135 Coomaraswamy, Ananda: Buddha’s tree and, 179; coins and, 18, 113; on early Indian religious figural art, 52; exemplar, image and, 60–61; Foucher,

I N D E X

24 5

Coomaraswamy, Ananda (continued) Alfred, criticism of, 15; Mathurā vs. Gandhāra debate and, 14, 15–16; South Asian art qualities and, 193n14 coping stone, 211n79 copy and original, Buddha, 10, 59–61, 65–66, 150, 156–170 Cort, John, 152 cosmogonic figuration, 141 Creator, image actions and the, 71–72 Cribb, Joe, 193n19 Cūḷa Panthaka (monk) story, 168 Cullavagga of the Vinaya-Piṭaka (Pāli), 36 cult of Vāsudeva, 181 cultic settings, 30 cultural practices, images and, 9 cultural pride, Buddha images and, 15 cultural process, 6 Cunningham, Alexander, 27, 62, 63 Dadhikarṇṇa (nāga), 129, 180 Damamūka Nidāna Sūtra, 135 Damamūka Nidāna Sūtra (Chinese translation), 37 Dani, Ahmad Hassan, 14 Dargilā tale, 68 darśan, 184–88 dating systems, 18–24 Davis, Richard, 47 death Buddha’s, 26–27, 113, 138. See also parinirvāṇa Dehejia, Vidya, 27, 28, 205n34 deification, Buddha’s, 11, 178–184 deities: abhaya mudrā (hand gesture) and, 179; Anatolian, 98; ancestors as, 107; Aśoka tale and the, 118; Brāhmaṇas and the, 58; Brahmanic religious practices and, 186; Buddha images and veneration of, 10; Buddhist devo­ tional practices and, 183; caityas and, 9; coins and, 98; donative records and regional, 130; embodiment con­cepts and, 73; first images of local, 79; Gṛhyasūtras and, 58; Hellenistic, 98; Hinduism and, 186; image use and, 42–43, 78–79; images (daivapratimā),

24 6

INDEX

58; Iranian, 98; kings and, 98, 112; Lalitavistara and, 75; Mathurān Buddha source and, 15–16; Mauryan dynasty and, 45; multiple images and, 170; Niṛṛti (goddess), 55; Pāṇini on, 45; Pharro, 98; regional, 45, 58, 179; royal portraiture and, 98; sculptural examples of, 44–45; veneration of, 49; Vikrama, Mānimekhalai tales and, 75; worldly aims and, 79, 193n16; worship of local, chthonic, 29. See also devas; gods; nāgas; spirit deities; yakṣas Deogarh (India), 186 Devadatta, 211n92 devakula (house of the gods), 99, 207n95 devalakas (image priests), 46 devas, 4, 5. See also deities; gods; nāgas; spirit deities; yakṣas devatas, 79, 120 Devātideva (God of Gods), 183 devotee images, 81–88 devotional acts, 135–36. See also devo­ tional meditation; devotional practices; devotional rituals (pūjā); devotional worship; meditation devotional cults, 180 devotional meditation, 136–140 devotional practices, 9, 141–45, 179, 188, 189, 215n67 devotional rituals (pūjā), 138 devotional settings, 10 devotional terminology, 182–83 devotional texts, 49 devotional worship, 148, 180, 186, 210n49, 219n19 devotionalism, Buddhist, 140–45 Dhammapada Commentary (Pāli), 119, 120, 121, 122, 157–58, 159–160 Dhānyakaṭaka, 134, 211n73 dharma, 135, 137, 139, 173. Dharma (Dhamma), the: Buddha’s presence and, 149; narrative tales and, 76; rūpa and, 137; Śūra and, 125; Utpalavarṇā and, 122; Vakkali and, 119, 120, 121 dharmacakra (Wheel of the Law), 20–21 Dharmaguptaka Vinaya, 158

Dharmaguptakas (Buddhist sect), 175 dharmakāya, 41–42, 123, 176 Dharmarakṣa, 203n103 dharmas, 173. See also dharma dharmas, ten, 135 Dharmodgata, Bodhisattva, 140 Dhoṇa (Brahman), 178, 179 Dhyāna (Chan Zen), 190 Dīgha Nikāya, 39, 167, 183, 210n41 Dīpankara, Buddah, 74 divine investiture, 98 divine nature, Buddha’s, 178–184. See also eyes, Buddha’s Divyāvadāna: Aśoka tale, 118; on bhakti, 142; buddhānusmṛti and, 124; on Buddha’s bodily form, 3, 118; Buddha’s shadow and the, 37–38; Great Miracle and the, 165, 169; on image agency, 162; influence on Ajaṇṭā, 169; King Aśoka, Bodhi tree and the, 143; Māra tales and the, 141, 149; Mūla­ sarvāstivāda Vinaya tales and the, 215n67; multiple Buddhas and the, 160, 161, 163, 165, 167, 168; narrative tales in the, 36–37; prasāda state, Buddha image and the, 41; Śākyavar­ dhana tale and the, 75; Sarvāstivādin concepts and the, 171; Upagupta tale, 122–23, 149; Utpalavarṇā tale, 122; Vakkali tale, 120, 121, 126 Dobbins, K. Walton, 20 doctrinal texts. See textual sources donative inscriptions: Ajaṇṭā (India) caves, 131–32, 165; Bhagavata and, 180–83; Bhārhut (India) and, 79– 80; Jain images and, 134–35; Kaniṣka era, 129; Morā and, 62–64; Nāgār­ junakoṇḍa, 132; Ratnāgiri (India) and, 131 donative rewards, 129–135 donor portraits, 79–93 Double Miracle, 161 Dutt, Sukumar, 122, 142 Eckel, Malcolm David, 167, 168 effigy images, 55, 58, 60, 93, 101, 109 Ekalavya tale, 68



Ekottarāgama Sūtra (Chinese transla­ tion), 155 Ellora caves, 165, 202n67 elusiveness, Buddha’s, 8, 37, 38–39, 147 embodiment, Buddha’s: Ajaṇṭā (India) cave inscription and, 134; Brahmanic tradition and, 170; concepts of, 57, 73, 76–77, 144–45, 152; devotion to, 137; questions of, 147; relic representations and, 154; Śābara on, 47 emotional state. See prasāda enemy destruction rituals, 56, 58 enlightenment: Akṣobhyavyūha Sūtra (Tibetan version) and, 135; attainment, 3–4; buddhānussati, 139; depictions, 26–27; pre-enlightenment, 31; Śrāvastī miracle sculpture and, 165 eyes, Buddha’s, 12, 184–88 Falk, Harry, 24, 85n1 Faxian (Chinese monk), 37–38, 118, 121, 126–27, 154, 197n26 Fergusson, James, 15 fetishism, 15, 16 figural art: aniconism and, 28; Brah­ manical gods (devas) and, 4, 5; before Buddha images creation, 15; Buddhists view on, 4; creation and display of, 10; devotion and, 180, 186; first century increase in, 4; Gandhāra vs. Mathurā debate and Buddhist, 14; images as art and, 8; Kuṣāṇa prefer­ ences for, 173; multiple Buddhas and, 159; objections to, 30, 116–17; political legitimacy and, 10; power of, 110; religious contexts and, 144; religious figures and, 180; Sarvāstivāda and, 172–73; terminology and, 59; venera­ tion of, 180; worldly qualities attributed to, 146. See also anthropomorphic figures; figural imagery; spirit deities; individual images figural imagery: Brahmans and, 9, 11; Buddhists embracing, 116; cosmog­ onic figuration and, 141; definitions of, 195n1; divide between the Buddha and, 147; early civilizations and, 51–54;

I N D E X

247

figural imagery (continued) increase of, 80; prohibition of, 31; ritual function of, 54–57; roles of, 127; Sarvāstivādins and, 171, 172; societal shifts and, 11; spirit deities and, 93. See also anthropomorphic figures; figural art; religious images; individual images figural sculptures. See individual images fire and water elements, 161 flaming shoulders iconography, 113–14 fly whisk (caurī) symbols, 26, 113 footprint, Buddha’s, 154 Foucher, Alfred, 14, 15, 16, 26–27, 51, 199n3 four Tīrthaṇkaras (Fourfold Jinas), 64 Fourth Buddhist Council, 172 funerary memorialization, 105–6, 115 Fussman, Gerard, 20, 194n34, 207n95 Gaḍhwā (India), 65 Ganapati Sastri, T., 108 Gandhāra (Pakistan/Afghanistan): as artistic and political centers, 102; Buddha image miracle story, 153; Buddha images and, 12–18; Buddha images, eyes and, 185; Buddha’s mul­ tiplication and, 158; coins and, 95; definitions of, 192n2; Kharoṣṭhī textual fragments, 178; Rhi, Ju-Hyung and, 128; Swāt Valley region images, 22; Utpalavarṇā tale and, 122 Gandhāra vs. Mathurā debate, 12–18 Gaṇesrā (India), 64 Garuḍa pillar of Heliodorus, 181, 182fig. Gautama, Bodhisattva, 194n36 Gautamīputra Sātakarṇi, King, 102, 106 Gazetteer report, 102 General Tranakayiro, 102, 103 gift giving: benefits of, 133–35; to Buddha, 154; Buddha images, gestures of, 186; Buddha veneration and, 143; Buddha’s presence and, 39, 148; Dhānyakataka inscription and, 211n73; donors and, 129; Gift of Honey tale, 26; King Bim­ bisāra tale, 36–37, 57; King Kaniṣka and, 110, 171; Naṃdā and, 171; Sadā­

24 8

INDEX

prarudita (monk) story and, 140; to the saṃgha, 171, 213n5; Sārnāth sculpture and, 165; spiritual states and, 127, 130–32; statue actions and, 73; stūpas and, 174. See also Kaniṣka Casket Gift of Honey tale, 26 Girdarpur (India), 84 gods: Abhayā, 74; Agni, 60; ancestors as, 107; bago-laṇgo (house of the gods), 101; Brahmā, 19fig., 67, 75, 167–68, 172fig., 175; Brahmanical gods (devas), 4, 5; Buddha miracles and the, 161; Buddha preaching to the, 154; confla­ tion of Buddha images and local, 129– 130; devakula (house of the gods), 99, 207n95; donor pleas and, 134; Granoff, Phyllis and, 57; Greek, 94, 95; Hindu paradigms for embodying, 57; Indra, 19fig., 43–44, 172fig., 175, 183; investi­ ture and the, 98, 105; King Vaiśravaṇa, 72; kings visual proximity to, 101, 112; Kubera, 75; Lord Gaṇapati, 71–72; manifestations and the, 170; Māṭ shrine devakula (house of the gods), 101; Mīmāṃsā writers on the embodi­ ment of, 57; multiple bodies and Brahmanical, 170; Nārāyaṇa, 67, 75; Niṛṛti, 55; Oesho, 96, 97fig.; portrai­ ture and the, 93; Pratimā Nāṭakam (The Statue) (Bhāsa) (play) and the, 78; Rājagṛha, 113; relationship to images, 75–76; Śakra, 75; Saraṇyū, 170; Sarasvatī, 86, 90fig.; Śiva, 71, 75, 96; Skanda, 71–72; Śrī, 62; Sūrya, 4, 75; Vedānta and, 57; veneration of images of, 58; vessel distinction and, 57; Viṣṇu, 71–72; Viśvakarman (celes­ tial architect), 71–72; Yama, 67, 71–72. See also deities; devas; nāgas; spirit deities; Surkh Kotal shrine; yakṣas Goloubew, Victor, 14 Gómez, Luis, 176 Gonda, Jan, 54–55, 199n22 Gopa, 89 Gopāla (nāga), 153–54 Granoff, Phyllis, 57, 74–75

grave sites, Tillya Tepe token and, 20–21 Great Beings (mahāpuruṣa), 151 Great Departure relief, 25fig., 26 Great Miracle (mahāprātihārya) at Śrāvastī, 158–166, 215n47 Greco-Buddhist art (l’art grécobouddhique), 14 Greco-Roman art, 15 Greek communities, 14, 15, 95. See also Bactrian communities Greek gods, 94, 95, 98 Greek primacy, Mathurā vs. Gandhāra debate and, 16 Gṛyhasūtras, 52, 54, 58, 78, 80, 109 Gummadidurru (India), 64–65 Gupta, 184, 185, 186, 188 Gupta dynasty, 67 Gwalior Museum (India), 61–62 hagiographies, 105 Hakusiri, Prince, 102 halos, 113–14 hand gestures (mudrās), 165, 166, 179 Harappan Civilization, 51, 193n13 Hārītī relief, 70fig. Hārītī tale, 69–71 Harrison, Paul M., 139, 212n106 Harṣa, 108 Härtel, Herbert, 14 Hellenistic deities, 98 Hellenistic influences, 22, 95 Hemachandra, 152 Herakles, 95, 96fig., 194n34 heroes, 60, 62, 63, 64, 141, 181 hierarchy, image use and, 47–48 hieratic scale, 81–82 high religion, 9 high tradition, Indian figural sculpture and, 15 Hindu bhakti, 141 Hindu communities, 56, 179 Hindu devotional practices, 11, 143 Hindu epics, 181–82 Hindu paradigm for embodying gods, 57 Hindu pūjā, 143 Hindu worship, 185–86 Hinduism, eyes and, 186



Hinduism, temple, 185, 188 Hsien-yū ching, 215n47 Huili (Xuanzang biographer), 127 Huntington, Susan, 20, 26–27 Huviṣka, King: Buddha images and, 84, 86, 87n21; flaming shoulders iconography and, 113; Jain images during reign of, 134; Kaniṣka Casket and, 217n94; Māṭ shrine and, 98, 100; Surkh Kotal shrine and, 101 iconographic thought, 139 iconography, Buddha’s: Bīmarān Casket and, 18; changes in practices, 188; development of, 187, 188; eyes and, 12, 185, 187; major and minor marks, 12, 32–33, 113–15, 136–37, 151, 179 iconography, Kuṣāṇa, 114 iconography, royal, 113–15 iddhi (magical powers), 167 idolatry, 51 Ikṣvāku kings, 106, 114 illusory manifestations, 168–69 image and subject relationship, 57 image based devotion: Buddha’s body and, 121; Chāndogya Upaniṣad on, 43– 44; emergence of, 141; vs. figural art, 43; function of, 52; literary accounts and, 140; material benefits of, 133; move towards, 116; non-Buddhist critiques of, 43–50; two monks tale and, 41–42; Vedānta on, 48 image cults, 65 image houses (pratimāghara), 34, 138 image priests (devalakas), 46 image terminology, 59 image use: Anāthapiṇḍika stories and, 31–32, 34; aversion to, 10, 29–50, 52, 79, 112, 191n8; bhakti and, 150; Buddhists and, 3–4, 35, 145; cosmog­ onic figuration and, 141; critics of, 6–7, 149; critiques of, 35; enthusiasm about, 11; expanded role of, 49; figural images and, 10, 112; hierarchy, 47–48; image terminology and, 59; injunc­ tions against, 29, 34, 46, 50; Jains and, 145, 151; Mānava Dharmaśāstra (Laws

I N D E X

24 9

image use (continued) of Manu), religious practices and, 45–47; meditation and, 138, 144, 189; originals and copies, 59–61, 150; religious contexts and, 144; ritual practices and, 52; Sarvāstivādins and, 174–75; textual sources (Buddhist) and, 29–30; Vaṇṇupatha Jātaka and, 137–38; worldliness connotations of, 9, 30; worship and, 9, 169, 203n1. See also image based devotion images: actions of, 66, 71–73, 76, 152–58, 162; Brahmanas and, 9, 52, 54, 55, 56, 71–72, 79; communities and variety of approaches to, 175–76; definition of, 195n1; destruction of, 110–12; divin­ ities relationship and, 69; division between Buddha and his, 152–53; emergence of, 150; first Buddha, 18, 79; funerary practices and, 107; of living vs. the dead, 106, 107; miracles and, 71, 153; monastic communities and, 171; relationship to gods, 75– 76; religious, 112–15, 199n3, 201n47; sale of, 45–46; as substitutes, 127; as surrogates, 67–69, 73, 154, 155, 156; terra-cotta, 203n2; worldly aims and, 79, 203n2. See also Buddha images; legal entities, Buddha images as; individual images; individual sites incarnation, 144–45 India: Ahicchatra, 5–6, 7fig., 84; Ajaṇṭā, 70–71, 109, 154; Amarāvatī, 75, 180, 183; Aurangabad, 70–71; Bhūteśvar, 24; Bodhisattva image from Sārnāth, 185fig.; Buddha images, 184–85; Chandavaram, 75, 76; Deogarh, 186; Gaṇesrā, 64; Gummadidurru, 64–65; Gwalior Museum, 61–62; Jaggayyepeta, 64–65; Kanaganahalli, 75, 105–6; Kaṇkālī, 24; Karnataka, 105; Katrā, 33fig.; Kauśāmbī, 24, 152, 155; Madhya Pradesh, 25–26; Maitreya image (Girdarpur), 84; Māṇibhadra Pawaya (yakṣa), 61–62; Māṭ, 24, 111; Morā, 62, 63, 181, 201n59; Nagarahāra pilgrimage site, 37–38; Nāgārjuna­

250

INDEX

koṇḍa, 64–65, 75, 106, 132; Nāṇaghāṭ, 102–5, 110–11, 207n80; Nandalur, 134, 211n73; Parkham, 180–81; Patna, 6fig., 16fig.; Pawaya, 61; Ratnāgiri, 70, 131; Śākyamuni (the Buddha) images and, 12–18, 33fig.; Sāñcī, 25–26, 83fig., 84, 174, 180; Sārnāth, 24, 65, 164fig., 165, 185, 186–87; Sonkh, 84; Udayagiri, 186; Vidiśā, 181, 182fig.; Vima Kadphises coin in, 97fig.; yakṣa images, 6fig., 16fig., 61–62. See also Śrāvastī (India); Ajaṇṭā (India) caves; Bhārhut (India); Māṭ shrine (India); Mathurā Indian deities, 98 Indian figural sculpture, Bactrian communities and, 15 Indian portraiture and figural art, 51–52 Indo-Greek kings, 94–95 Indo-Scythian attire, 84, 85n16, 92, 101 Indo-Scythian dynasties, 205n26 Indo-Scythian kings, 94, 95, 114 Indo-Scythians, portraiture and the, 92 Indra (god), 19fig., 43–44, 172fig., 175, 183 inscriptions, 64, 180–83, 201n59, 202n65, 211n73. See also inscriptions, donative inscriptions, donative: Ajaṇṭā (India) caves and, 165; Bhagavata and, 180; Bhārhut (India) site and, 79; Buddha’s accessibility and, 154; donation bene­ fits and, 131–32, 134; Mathurā region and, 82; portraiture and, 80; worship and, 182 investiture, 98, 101 Iran, flaming shoulders iconography and, 113 Iranian deities, 98 Jabāla Upaniṣad, 44 Jaggayyepeta (India), 64–65 Jaimini, 47 Jain images, 90 Jain literature, 152. See also textual sources (Jain) Jainism: Bhagavata and, 180; Buddhist devotional practices and, 179; Buddhist religious figures parallels, 151–52; devotional terminology and, 182–83;

figural art and, 4, 5; figural imagery use and, 11; image donor inscriptions, 134; image priests (devalakas) and, 46; images and, 30, 79, 145, 151, 191n8; Living Lord Images and, 175; Mathurān labeled sculptures and, 64; non-donor images and, 90; offerings and, 39–40; religious practices, 29; Tīrthaṇkaras and, 5; Vṛṣṇi vīras (heroes) shrine and, 63. See also Jinas; narrative tales (Jain); textual sources (Jain) Jamālpur, dating system and, 24 Jamālpur mound, 180 Jamālpur tympanum, 23 Jambu Tree, 31, 33, 174, 175 Jinālaṇkāra, 179 Jinas: actions of, 152; Ādināth (Mathurā), 86; Bhagavata and, 180; Buddhist religious figures parallels, 151–52; donor images and, 80; embodiment of, 57; first images of, 79; four addorsed standing (Mathurā), 86; images, donors and, 134; Kaṇkālī Ṭīlā, 86; Living Lord Images and, 175; Ṛṣabha, 86 Joshi, N. P., 87n22 ka, 44–45 Kaimal, Padma, 79, 87n20, 90, 91, 204n3, 205n34 Kālidāsa (poet), 108, 207n86 Kālika (nāga), 118 Kāliṇgabodhi Jātaka (Pāli canon), 32, 34, 179 Kalpanāmaṇḍitikā, 210n41 Kanaganahalli (India), 75, 105–6 Kānherī caves, 65 Kaniṣka, King: coins and, 96–97; devotee images, donor inscriptions and, 84; flame iconography and, 113, 114; images and, 84; inscribed image of, 99fig.; Kaniṣka casket and, 171–72, 217n94; Katrā inscription and, 171; Māṭ shrine and, 101; nāga story and, 114; patronage of, 173; story of, 110; Surkh Kotal shrine and, 101 Kaniṣka Casket, 172fig., 175, 217n94 Kaniṣka coins, 96–97



Kaniṣka Era, 24, 85n1, 129, 183 Kaniṣka stūpa, 173 Kaṇkālī Ṭīlā fragment, 23, 64, 194n42 Kaṇkālī Ṭīlā (India), 24, 86 kapardin style, 173, 175, 185, 194n38 Kapiśa (Afghanistan), 72 karma, 148, 151. See also karmic rewards Karmavibhangopadeśa (tale), 41–42 karmic rewards, 129–133, 148 Karnataka (India), 105 Kāśyapa, 3, 38, 137 Katrā (India), 23, 24, 33fig., 171 Kauśāmbī (India), 24, 152, 155 Kauśika Sūtra, 54–55 kāya (Buddha’s bodies), 41, 60 kevalins, 175 Khalchayan, 98 Kharoṣṭhī, 34, 178 Khotan (region), 152 Khotan, King of, 72 kings: Apraca kings, 205n26; Buddha images and, 113, 118; in the Citra­ lakṣaṇa, 67; Ikṣvāku kings, 106, 114; increased image use after first century, 64; Indo-Greek, 94; Kṣatrapa, 95; Parthian kings, 94–95, 112; por­ trayals of living, 93; regnal dates and dating systems, 24; Śuṇga kings, 45. See also Śaka kings; Kuṣāṇa kings; individual kings Kinnard, Jacob, 60, 120, 122, 139 Kosala, 160 Kosala kingdom, 154 Kosala-Bimba-Vaṇṇanā, 156 Koṭa Chiefs, 183 Krishan, Yuvraj, 7, 14, 28, 191n8 Krishna. See Kṛṣṇa (Krishna) Kṛṣṇa (Krishna), 4, 141, 182 kṛtayuga (perfect age), 49 kṛtyā, 59 Kṣatrapa coins, 96 Kṣatrapa kings, 95 Kubera (god), 75 Kuda Caves, 134 Kujūla coins, 95, 96 Kujūla Kadphises, King, 95, 96fig. Kullūka, 46

I N D E X

2 51

Kumārajīva, 191epigraph, 213n120 Kuṣāṇa: anthropomorphic gods, figures and the, 112; attire, 92; dynasty, 171; iconography, 114; images, 111; public portraiture and the, 106 Kuṣāṇa coins, 93–94, 95, 96, 98, 101, 114, 205n34 Kuṣāṇa Empire, 17map, 64 Kuṣāṇa kings: artistic innovations, fig­ ural art and the, 61; artistic practices shifts and the, 116; Bīmarān Casket coins and, 20; Buddha images and the, 113, 114; divine authority, coins and, 98; donor images and the, 80, 82, 92; figural art, political legitimacy and, 10; Kaniṣka story and the, 110; Mathurā, Gandhāra regions and the, 17; royal portraiture and the, 93–94, 95, 96, 98. See also Kuṣāṇa coins lakṣaṇa (Buddha’s marks), 136–37, 151 Lalitavistara (Buddhist text), 74–75 Lalitavistara (Chinese version), 75, 203n103 Large Sūtra on Perfect Wisdom, 125 laukika, 29, 43 Laws of Manu (Mānava Dharmaśāstra), 46–47 Le May, Reginald, 18–19 legal entities, Buddha images as, 133, 147, 154, 174 lion depictions, 20, 99, 100fig., 113 literature. See textual sources literature (Mahāyāna), 42 literature (Pāli), 40, 137. See also textual sources (Pāli) literature (Prajñāpāramitā), 42, 125, 139–140 living images, depictions of, 36, 67, 171 living person depictions, 5–7, 53–57, 79, 106, 107. See also donor portraits; figural imagery; portraiture; public portraiture; royal portraiture Lokapaññatti, 122–23 Lord Gaṇapati (god), 71–72 Lord of Ascetics, 134 Lotus Sūtra, 176

252

INDEX

lotuses, 113, 128, 161, 165 love rituals, figural imagery and, 55 low religion, 9 Lüders, Heinrich, 87, 101, 171, 183, 201n59, 211n79 MacDowall, David W., 193n19 Madhya Pradesh (India), 25–26 Madhyamaka school, 168, 169 Magadha cave, 197n26 magic, sympathetic, 10 magic rituals, 78 magical images, 162 magical powers (iddhi), 167 Mahābhārata, 68 Mahābhāṣya (Patañjali), 45 Māhadeva (Great God), 183 Mahākāla (nāga), 117–18 Mahākāśyapa (monk), 36 mahāpuruṣa (Great Beings), 136–37, 151 Mahāraṭhi, 102, 103 Mahāsāṃghikas (Buddhist sect), 175 Mahāvagga, Vinaya-Piṭaka, 114 Mahāvaṃsa, 117–18 Mahāvastu, Vinaya-Piṭaka, 74, 99– 100, 114 Mahāvibhāṣa, 172 Mahāvīra: Bhagavata inscriptions and, 180; images and, 39, 64, 65fig., 86, 175; Jain tale and, 152 Mahāvyutpatti, 183 Māhayāna: Buddha’s body and, 158; on Buddha’s copies, 168, 169; on images, 7–8, 43, 45, 47, 57, 128; meditative practices and, 139; on multiple Buddhas, 159 Mahāyāna authors, 57, 168, 169 Mahāyāna literature, 42, 43, 128 Mahāyāna traditions, 7–8, 139 Maitreya, 64, 72–73, 84, 97, 136 Maitreyasiṃhanāda Sūtra, 3, 38, 39, 42, 133 Majjhima Nikāya, 183 Majumdar, Nani Gopal, 20 Mālavikāgnimitrā (Kālidāsa), 108 Mānava Dharmaśāstra (Laws of Manu), 46–47

Manes, 71–72 Māṇibhadra (yakṣa), 61–62, 180–81 Manifestation Body (nirmākakāya), 169, 176 manifestations, Buddha’s, 167. See also copy and original, Buddha; multiple Buddhas Mānimekhalai (nun), 69 Mānimekhalai (Tamil text), 69 Mānimekhalai tale, 75 manomayakāya (mind-made body), 167–68, 176 Mantalaka, 105 Manu, 46 Manusmṛti, 45–47, 57 Mao (deity), 98 Māra tales, 26, 122–26, 141, 149–150, 160 Marks Buddha’s. See iconography, Buddha’s Marshall, John, 15, 20, 52, 199n3 Masson, Charles, 18 Mastana or Shastana inscription, Māṭ shrine, 100 Master of the Vihāra, 84, 89 Māṭ (India), 24, 111 Māṭ shrine (India), 98–101, 105, 113, 207n80 Mathurā: artistic conventions of, 92; Bodhisattva/Buddha fragment at, 84, 85; Buddha images from, 130–31, 185, 186, 206n57; Buddhist devotion­ alism and, 141; devotional practices at, 179; donor images and, 92; donor inscriptions at, 84, 86, 129, 180; Jain images and, 86, 134; King Rājūvula and, 95; Kṛṣṇa (Krishna) veneration and, 141; map of, 17map; Māṭ shrine, 98–101, 105, 113, 207n80; Nāginī image, 216n84; Sarasvatī (goddess) image at, 90fig.; Swāt Valley region images, 22; Utpalavarṇā tale and, 122 Mathurā region: Bhagavata and the, 180–82; Bodhisattva/Buddha images and the, 32–34, 185; coins and the, 95; dating systems and the, 24; donor portraiture tradition and the, 90;



figural imagery and the, 171; inscribed images in the, 64, 65fig., 82, 180–82, 202n65; as Kuṣāṇa political centers, 102; pedestals in the, 65fig., 81fig., 82fig.; pratimā and the, 61, 64; Śākya­ muni (the Buddha) images and the, 12–18; stylistic traits, 23fig.; Swāt Valley region images and the, 22. See also Mathurā Mathurā vs. Gandhāra debate, 12–18 Mātṛceṭa (hymns), 3, 4, 143, 144, 191epigraph, 213n120 Mātṛceṭa (poet), 3, 117, 143, 144 Maudgalyāyana (monk), 155 Maues I, King, 94–95 Mauryan dynasty, 45, 94fig., 105 meditation: Buddha images and, 40, 146, 189; Buddhahood and, 140; buddhā­ nussati and, 40, 124, 167; darśan denial and Buddha’s, 188; devotional, 136– 140; dharma, saṃgha and, 139; eyes and, 185, 186–87, 188; first under­ taken by Śākyamuni, 31; iconographic thought and, 139; image use and, 3– 4, 136–140; Jabāla Upaniṣad and, 44; monks, manifestations and, 168; Pāli treatment of, 139; Prajñāpāramitā tradition and, 139; prasāda and, 41; samādhi, 128; Śaṇkara and, 47–48; Śrāvastī miracle sculpture and, 165; Vaṇṇupatha Jātaka monk tale, 137– 38; visualizations and, 145; Yijing (Chinese Buddhist pilgrim) on, 144 Meghadutā (poem), 207n86 Meister, Michael, 141 memorial pillars (cāyāstambha), 106 memorialization practices, 105–6 Menander, King, 113, 148 Metrago Boudo (Maitreya), 97 Miiro (deity), 98 Milinda, King, 148 Milindapañha: absence and the, 157; Buddha’s presence and the, 148, 149; embodiment of Buddhas and the, 57; Menander, King and, 113; relics and the, 39–40, 200n38; worshipper’s frame of mind and the, 41

I N D E X

253

Mīmāṃsā (Hindu philosophical school), 47, 48, 57 mind-made body (manomayakāya), 167– 68, 176 Miracle of Double Appearance, 161 miracles, 71, 148, 158–166, 208n109. See also Great Miracle (mahāprātihārya) at Śrāvastī; multiple Buddhas Mirashi, Vasudev Vishnu, 103 Moggarapāṇi (yakṣa), 73–74 monastic communities: as authority, 9; Bhagavata and, 180; Bodhisattva image preference and, 33; Buddha as resident of, 134; Buddha’s body and, 118–19; cult images and, 171; devotional practices and, 143; donor inscriptions and, 129; donor portraits and, 80; embodied Buddha and, 126; first Buddha images tale and, 154; Hārītī tale and, 70; image shrines and, 138; image use and, 40, 42–43; King Kaniṣka story and, 114; living image depictions and, 36, 56–57, 171; Nālandā, 143, 183; Ratnāgiri (India), 131; restrictions on certain subject matters and, 35; Sri Lankan Bodhi tree shrines and, 34; statue actions tales and, 72; Tathāgata image use and, 42; Utpalavarṇā tale and, 122. See also Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya; monks; nuns; saṃgha; Sarvāstivāda Vinaya; vihāras; Vinaya-Piṭaka (Pāli) monism, 47 monks: Ānanda and the, 32; Bala, 171, 206n57, 217n99; Bodhisattva images and the, 174; Buddha and Chinese, 127; Buddhabhadra, 134; Buddha­ nandī, 197n26; Buddha’s body and the, 118; Buddhavarman, 130–31; Cakravartivyākṛta Avadāna, prasāda and, 41; Cūḷa Panthaka story, 168; devotee images, donor inscriptions and the, 84, 86, 87n21, 89; Divyāva­ dāna, advanced spiritual states and, 3; Ekottarāgama Sūtra (Chinese translation) and, 155; Fourth Buddhist Council and the, 172; images and the,

254

INDEX

42–43, 141; Jain, 86; in the Karma­ vibhangopadeśa (tale), 41; King Vaiśravaṇa and the, 72; living image depictions and the, 36, 56–57; magical ability tale and the, 159; Mahākāśyapa and the, 36; Mahāvīrya and the, 39; manifestations and the, 168, 170; Mathurā inscribed Buddha image and the, 85n16; Maudgalyāyana, 155; meditation, devotional practices and the, 137–38; Nāgasena, 148, 149, 150, 151; Nanda, 36, 196n17; Perfection of Wisdom and the, 125, 126; Phussadeva tale and the, 124–25; Piṇḍola, 118; prasāda and the, 133; Praśamarati Prakaraṇa and the, 48; Prasenajit, King, 8; pre-enlightenment Śākya­ muni images and the, 31; Puśyadatā’s father as a, 204n8; Rain retreat, 119, 208n8; ritual offerings and the, 144; rūpakāya, dharmakāya and the, 41; Sadāprarudita, 140; Śāriputra, 60, 122; Śroṇa Koṭikarṇa, 118–19; Subhūti, 122; Upagupta and the, 118, 122–25, 126, 141, 149–150; Vakkali tales and the, 8, 119–120, 121. See also Faxian (Chi­ nese monk); Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya; monastic communities; nuns; saṃgha; Sarvāstivāda Vinaya; Vinaya-Piṭaka (Pāli) Morā (India), 62, 63, 181, 201n59 mother, Buddha’s, 154, 157, 160 mudrās (hand gestures), 165, 166, 179 Mukherjee, B. N., 33–34 Mūlasarvāstivāda Buddhist sectarian community, 33 Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya: Bodhisattva images and the, 174, 183; Bodhisattva veneration and the, 32–33, 60; Buddha images as legal entities in the, 133, 154, 174; dating of the, 195n10; Divyā­ vadāna tales and the, 215n67; image use and the, 31, 32–33; living things depiction prohibition and the, 36; supreme great miracle and the, 159 Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya (Chinese), 36–38

Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya (Tibetan), 36–38 Mūlasarvāstivādins, 174–75, 216n69 multiple Buddhas, 156–170, 188, 215n47, 216n84. See also original and copies, Buddha mūrti, 59 Myer, Prudence, 173, 179 Naḷinikā Jātaka, 5fig. Nāgānanda (Harṣa), 108 Nagarahāra (India) pilgrimage site, 37–38 Nagarahāra image, 197n26 Nāgarakṣita, 89 Nāgārjuna, 38, 168–69 Nāgārjunakoṇḍa (India), 64–65, 75, 106, 132 nāgas: Buddha images in worship and, 43; Buddha miracles and the, 161; Dadhikarṇṇa, 129, 180; donor inscrip­ tions and worship of, 129; donor pleas and, 134; gifts to, 130; Gopāla, 153–54; images and, 49, 53, 58; Kālika, 118; Kaniṣka, King story and a, 114; Mahā­ kāla, 117–18; Śri Simukha (serpent deity), 105; Uruvilvā, 114; worldly aims and, 79, 193n16; worship of chthonic deities and, 29 Nāgasena (monk), 148, 149, 150, 151 Nāginī image, 216n84 nairmāṇikakāya (Manifestation Body), 169, 176 Nakamura, 203n103 Nālandā (monastery), 143, 183 Naṃdā, 171 Nāṇaghāṭ (India), 102–5, 110–11, 207n80 Nanda (monk), 36, 196n17 Nandalur (India), 134, 211n73 nandipada motif, 95, 113 Nārada Paṇcarātra of the Bhāradvāja Saṃhitā, 46 Nārāyaṇa (god), 67, 75 Nārāyaṇīyam, 49 narrative tales: Abhayā (goddess) tale, 74; Ajjunae tale, 73–74; Anāthapiṇḍika stories, 31–32, 34, 201n48; Aśoka tale,



117–18, 123; Bimbisāra’s gift for Rudrā­yaṇa, 36–37, 57; Buddha images and, 146, 154–57; Buddha’s body and, 36–38, 117–127; Citra­ lakṣaṇa on image making, 67; Citrasūtra of the Viṣṇudharmottara Purāṇa and, 67; Dargilā tale, 68; donor portraits and, 80; Ekalavya tale, 68; Hārītī tale, 69–71; images in, 7, 26, 66–67; Jain, 152; Kaniṣka story, 110; Karma­vibhangopadeśa (tale), 41–42; Māni­mekhalai tale, 75; Māra tales, 26, 122–26, 141, 149– 150, 160; Moggarapāṇi (yakṣa) tale, 73–74; Phussadeva tale, 124–25, 126; Sadāprarudita (monk) story, 140; Śākyavardhana tale, 75, 76fig.; Śūra tale, 125, 126; Urvaśī tale, 51, 67; Utpalavarṇā tales, 121–22, 126, 127, 142; Vaṇṇupatha Jātaka, 137–38; Vikrama tale, 68–69, 75–76; Viṣṇu­ dharmottara Purāṇa, 53, 67, 186. See also narrative tales (Jain); narrative tales (Pāli); narrative tales (Sri Lanka); narrative tales (Thailand); narrative tradition; plays; Upagupta tale; Vakkali tales narrative tales (Jain), 68, 73–74 narrative tales (Pāli), 121–22, 128–29, 156. See also Pāli canonical tradition; Pāli literature narrative tales (Sri Lanka), 156 narrative tales (Thailand), 156–57 narrative tradition, 142–43, 179, 218n2 Nāyanikā, Queen, 102 Nāyasa fragment, 101 Neminātha, 86, 180 nibbāna, 128, 157. See also Nirvāṇa nidāna principle, 60 Nidānakathā, 179 nimbus, 113–14 nimmita, 167, 169 nirmāṇakāya (Manifestation Body), 169, 176 nirmita (magically created person), 167, 169 Niṛṛti (goddess), 55

I N D E X

255

Nirvāṇa: absence, Buddha’s final and, 147; bhakti and, 141; Cāṃtisiri, Queen inscription and, 132; divinity, Buddha’s and, 188; entry into, embodiment, Buddha’s and, 36, 38; ideological systems and, 176; image, Buddha’s and, 76, 128, 131, 148; image worship and, 144; prasāda and, 41; presence, Buddha’s and, 149; Śākyamuni por­ trayal and Buddha’s, 173 non-divine nature, Buddha’s, 178–184. See also eyes, Buddha’s nonelite, 92, 106 numismatic portraiture. See coins, royal portraiture and nuns: Bodhisattva/Buddha seated (Ahicchatra) and, 85n7; Buddha images and, 141; Buddhadevā, 84; Buddhamitrā, 217n99; Buddha’s body, images of and, 118; Mānimekhalai, 69; Puṣyahatinī, 84; Rain retreat, 208n8; Utpalavarṇā tale, 121–22, 126, 127. See also saṃgha Odisha (India), 131 Oesho (god), 96, 97fig. offerings. See gift giving Olivelle, Patrick, 45 original and copies, Buddha, 10, 59–61, 65–66, 150, 156–170 Paccekabuddha, 129 painting treatise (Citrasūtra of the Viṣṇu­ dharmottara Purāṇa), 53 paintings: Aśoka tale (Chinese version) and, 123; Buddha image elusiveness and, 37, 196n21; Buddha image miracle story, 153; Cave 2 (Ajaṇṭā) and, 165, 166–67; in the Citralakṣaṇa, 67; Kuṣāṇa kings and, 98; Meghadutā (poem) and, 207n86; multiple Buddhas and, 159; portraiture and, 108, 109; of Tathāgatas, 128 Pakistan: Bajaur, 205n26; Gandhāra, Śākyamuni (the Buddha) images and, 12–18; Kaniṣka coin in Peshawar, 97fig.; Peshawar sculpture, 158, 159fig.;

256

INDEX

Sahri-Bahlol (Pakistan), 174; Sirkap, 20. See also Gandhāra (Pakistan/ Afghanistan) Pāla reliefs, 160 Pāli canonical tradition, 137, 138–39 Pāli literature: Apocryphal Jātaka, 128– 29; on buddhānussati, 40; Dhamma­ pada Commentary, 119, 120, 121, 122, 157–58; Kāliṇgabodhi Jātaka, 32, 34; King Prasenajit (Pasenadi) tale, 118; Mahāvaṃsa, 117–18; manifes­ tations and the, 167, 168, 170; Paññāsa Jātaka, 12, 116, 128–29, 135; patimam (pratimā), vigaha (vigraha) and, 200n44; Sāmañña­phala of the Dīgha Nikāya, 167; Samantapāsādikā on trees, images, 34; Theravāda literature, 137; Vimuttimagga, 138; Vinaya-Piṭaka on living things depiction, 36; Visuddhimagga (Buddhaghoṣa), 124, 138, 168. See also Pāli canonical tradition; Pāli tales Pāli tales, 121–22, 128–29, 156. See also Pāli literature Pālīkheṛā, 84 Pāṇini, 44, 45, 58, 59 Paññāsa Jātaka, 12, 116, 128–29, 135 Paramasaṃhita, Vaiṣṇava, 145 parasol (chattra) symbols, 113 parinirvāṇa, 26–27, 60, 147, 154–55, 173, 176 Parkham (India) image, 180–81 Parthian kings, 94–95, 112 Pasenadi, King, 12, 156 past life depictions (Buddha), 4–5, 93 Patañjali, 45 Patna (India), 6fig., 16fig. Pawaya (India), 61 pedestals: Arhat Nāndyāvarta, 86; Buddha with devotees, 83fig.; Buddha/ Bodhisattva fragment (Mathurā), 84; devotee and Bodhisattva, 82fig.; devotees depiction, 81fig.; feet and standing image (Mathurā), 84; Huviṣka, 100; inscribed Mahāvīra with devotees, 65fig.; Jina, seated,

86; Mahāvīra image (Mathurā), 86; standing Buddhas, 88fig. Perfection of Wisdom, 125–26 Peshawar (Pakistan), 97fig., 158, 159fig. Pharro (deity), 98 Phussadeva tale, 124–25, 126 Pillar of Heliodorus, 181, 182fig. Piṇḍola (monk), 118 Piprāhwā (India), 180 plays, 78, 107–8, 109, 200n46, 207n80 Plutarch, 113 political control, Mathurā vs. Gandhāra debate and, 17–18 political elite, 79, 93, 98, 106 political significance, images and, 10, 93, 111, 112 portraiture: beginnings of, 5–7, 80; coins and, 205n34; commemorative, 64; early civilizations and, 51–54; injunction against, 53–54; Kaimal, Padma on, 87n20; as literary device, 108; of living vs. the dead, 106; painted likenesses and, 108, 109; plays and, 107–8, 109; practice questions and, 109–10; public, 79, 91–93; textual sources on, 7–8, 106–10; western influence and, 199n3. See also donor portraits; figural imagery; royal portraiture Prabhūtaratna, Buddha, 176 Prajāpti, sage, 43–44 Prajñāpāramitā literature, 42, 125, 139–140 Prajñāpāramitā school, 137 Prajñāpāramitā tradition, 139, 140, 210n49 pralambapādāsana posture, 113 pramā, 60 prasāda: Buddha’s image, marks and, 136–37; Divyāvadāna and, 142; relics and, 212n93; Sarvāstivādins and, 171; state of, 41; universal king achieve­ ment and, 133; Vakkali and, 208n12 Praśamarati Prakaraṇa (Jain text), 48, 151 Prasenajit, King: Bhārhut stūpa and, 93; Buddha images and, 8, 137, 154, 155,



162; Prātihārya Sūtra and, 160; story of, 118 Prātihārya Sūtra (Discourse on the Miracle), 160, 161, 167 pratikṛti, 59 pratimā, 59–65, 200n44, 201n47, 202n67 Pratimā Nāṭakam (The Statue) (Bhāsa) (play), 78, 107–8, 109, 200n46, 207n80 pratimāghara (image houses), 34 Pratimālakṣanam, 60, 201n47 Pratyutpanna Sūtra, 139 pre-Enlightenment depictions, 31 presence, Buddha’s. See absence and presence, Buddha’s pretas, 187–88 priests, 46, 60 public portraiture, 79, 91–93. See also donor portraits; portraiture; royal portraiture pūjā (devotional rituals), 45, 138, 143 Puḷumāvi, 105 Puranic Period, 55 Purāṇic records, 102 Pure Land Buddhist teachings, 176, 190 Pure Land streams, 139 Pūrva Mīmāṃsā (philosophical school), 47 Pusalker, A. D., 108 Puṣya, Buddha, 37, 57, 135, 136 Puśyadatā, 84, 89, 204n8 Puṣyahatinī (nun), 84 qualified acceptance, 147 questions litany, narrative tradition of, 179, 218n2 Quintanilla, Sonya Rhie, 87n21, 194n42 Rabatak Inscription, 99 Rahula, Walpola, 138 Rain retreat, 119, 208n8 Rājagṛha, 113 Rājūvula, King, 95 Rāmāyaṇa, 60, 107 Rāmnagar image, 85n7 rasa, aesthetic theory of, 136 Ratnāgiri, (India), 70, 131 Ratnāvalī, 168

I N D E X

257

Ray, Himanshu, 102, 105 Ray, Reginald, 183 regional cults, image use and, 29 regional deities, 182–83. See also deities relics: Bīmarān Casket and, 18, 19; Bodhi trees as, 196n14; in Buddha images, 154; Buddha’s absence and, 149, 150; Buddha’s body and, 117; kings linked to tradition of, 113; meaning of, 39– 40; Milindapañha and, 200n38; miracles and, 148; prasāda and, 212n93; veneration of, 42, 137 reliefs, 18, 25–26, 75, 109, 160, 206n72 religious figures, 151–52, 179–180 religious images, 112–15, 199n3, 201n47 religious practices, 29, 44, 138, 193n16. See also devotional practices; devo­ tional worship; devotionalism, Buddhist; meditation reliquaries, 171, 194n31. See also Bīmarān Casket; Kaniṣka Casket Ṛgvidhāna, 48, 55–56, 199n22 Rhi, Ju-Hyung: Bodhisattva images and, 31, 194n38; on Buddha’s doubles, 161; Gandhāra sculptures and, 128; Great Miracle at Śrāvastī and, 158; multiple Buddhas and, 159; Sarvāstivādins and, 173, 217n99; Swāt Valley region images and, 22–23 Rhys Davids, Thomas W., 27 rites, 78, 141 ritual devotion (pūjā), 45, 143–44 rituals, 54–56, 78, 93, 110 Roman influence, 192n10 Roman portrait coins, 111 Rosenfield, John: donor images and, 80, 87n20, 92, 204n10; figure individuali­ zation and, 92; on Kuṣāṇa images, 111; Morā image inscriptions and, 201n59; Sārnāth images and, 65 Rotman, Andy: buddhānusmṛti and, 124, 213n11; on devotional worship, 210n49; Divyāvadāna and, 142, 196n21, 208n12; on prasāda state, 41, 136, 212n93; Upa­ gupta tale, 122, 209n33 Rowland, Benjamin, 14, 18, 19–20, 93, 192n10, 204n10

258

INDEX

royal donors, 172 royal iconography, 113–15 royal patronage, 175 royal portraiture: Anatolian deities and, 98; appearance of, 5; Buddha images and, 112, 114; destruction of, 110–12; earliest example of, 10; expansion of, 106; Kuṣāṇa kings and, 98; memoriali­ zation and, 103; Nāṇaghāṭ, early example of, 103; political legitimacy and, 93; Pratimā Nāṭakam (The Statue) (Bhāsa) (play) and, 107, 108; Sātavāhana and, 102, 106; Surkh Kotal shrine and, 113. See also coins, royal portraiture and royal support, 173 royalty symbols, 113–15 Ṛṣabha (Jina), 86 Ṛṣabhanātha, 64, 134, 180 Rudrāyaṇa, King, 36–37, 57, 135 rūpa (unformed bodies), 59, 137, 170 rūpakāya, 41–42, 117, 123, 140, 169, 176 Śābara, 47 sacrifices, 45, 56, 60–61, 140 Sadāprarudita (monk), 140 Ṣaḍvimṣa Brāhmaṇa, 58 Sage Vyāsa, 71–72 Saghadāsa, 131 Sahri-Bahlol (Pakistan), 174 Śaka coins, 94, 95 Śaka kings: artistic innovations and the, 61; artistic practices and the, 116; Azes I, 95; Azes II, 18, 20, 112; coins of the, 94, 95; donor images and the, 80; figural art, political legitimacy and the, 10; Mathurā and Gandhāra regions and the, 17; portraiture and the, 93, 100, 114 Śakra (god), 75 Śakuntalā (Kālidāsa), 108 Śākyamuni (the Buddha): Abhayā goddess tale and the, 74; Buddha images and, 157; devotee images, donor inscriptions and the, 84; enlightenment and, 135; first images of, 12–18, 22, 192n3; Haḍḍa (Afgha­

nistan) image, 23fig.; image use avoidance and, 6, 31; images dating, 13; on Kaniṣka Casket, 175; kapardin style, 175; Katrā, India, 33fig.; Lalita­ vistara and, 74–75; living things depiction prohibition and, 36; mani­ festation body and, 169; meditation and, 31, 136, 139; Mūlasarvāstivādins and, 173–74; portrayal of, 5–6; Pra­ bhūtaratna and, 176; pratimā of, 64; pre-Enlightenment depictions and, 31; Sarvāstivāda school and images of, 173–74; sculptures of, 7fig., 13fig. Śākyavardhana tale, 75, 76fig. samādhis (meditations), 128, 139, 140, 163 Sāmaññaphala Sutta, 167 Samantapāsādikā, 34, 154, 157 Sāmavidhāna Brāhmaṇa, 54, 55 sāṃbhogikakāya, 176 saṃgha: Buddha’s absence and, 145; cave 26 and the, 134; embodied Buddha devotion and the, 126; gifts to the, 171, 213n5; meditation and the, 139; ritual offerings and the, 144. See also monastic communities; monks; nuns Saṃkarṣaṇa, 181–82 Sāṃkāśya, 95, 121 Saṃyutta Nikāya, 120, 121, 126 Sāñcī (India), 17map, 25–26, 83fig., 84, 174, 180 Sanderson, Alexis, 49 Saṇghas, 154 Śaṇkara, 47–48 Sannati (India), 105–6, 115 Śāntamūla, King, 106 Saraṇyū (goddess), 170 Sarasvatī (goddess), 86, 90fig. Saraswati, Sarasi Kumar, 14 Śāriputra (monk), 60, 122 Sārnāth (India): Buddha pratimā from, 65; dating systems and, 24; Divyā­ vadāna sculptural works from, 160; eyes of Buddha image at, 185–87; Gupta-style sculpture from, 165; kapardin style Buddha images in, 185; multiple Buddhas sculpture from, 164fig.



Sarvāstivāda teachers, 171, 172 Sarvāstivāda Vinaya, 29, 70, 173–74, 175, 195n10 Sarvāstivāda Vinaya (Chinese), 31, 32– 33, 36 Sarvāstivāda Vinaya (Kashmir), 31 Sarvāstivādin community, 31, 33, 173, 217n99 Sarvāstivādin school, 215n67 Sarvāstivādins, 163, 171, 172, 174–75, 216n69 sāsana, 157 Sātakarṇi, King, 102, 105 Śatapañcāśatkastotra (Mātṛceṭa), 3, 143, 191epigraph Śatasāhasrikā Prajñāpāramitā Sūtra, 42 Sātavāhana, Prince, 102 Sātavāhana dynasty, 102, 105–6 Sātavāhana Empire, 17map Sātavāhana kings, 10, 105, 110, 114, 116 Sātavāhana portrait gallery, 102–5 Sātavāhana-period memorials, 105–6 Śaunaka, 55 Savasthividyas, 171 Schopen, Gregory, 128, 171, 174–75, 210n49 sculptural tradition, Indian, 15 sculptures. See individual images Scythian coins, 95 Seckel, Dietrich, 52, 163 sermons, Buddha’s, 20, 21 shadow, Buddha’s, 37–38, 147, 153–54, 197n26 shadow, Saraṇyū’s, 170 Sharma, Ramesh Chandra, 14, 23 Shotorak (Afghanistan), 91–92 Siddhārtha, Prince, 25–26 Sīhaḷavatthuppakaraṇa, 124 Śikṣāsamuccaya, 135 Siṃhsanadvạtrimśika tale, 68–69 Simukha Sātavāhana, 102 Sircar, D. C., 103 Sirkap (Pakistan), 20 Śiva (god), 71, 75, 96 Śiva Śri Puḷumāvi, King, 106 Si-Yu-Ki Buddhist records, 146 Skanda (god), 71–72

I N D E X

2 59

skandhas, 125 Smith, Vincent, 52 Śobhana (yakṣa), 68 societal rules, Mānava Dharmaśāstra (Laws of Manu), 46–47 Sonkh (India), 84, 89 Soper, Alexander, 123 spirit deities: Arthaśāstra and, 71; Buddha similarities and, 179; cosmogonic fig­ uration and, 141; definitions of, 193n16; eyes and, 185; figural devotion and, 52; figural imagery of, 93; images as interchange with, 66; images to access gods and, 69; King Kaniṣka story and, 114; kings and, 71; Mānimekhalai and, 69; Śākyavardhana tale and, 75; worldly aims and, 79. See also devatas; gods; nāgas; yakṣas spirit religions, 193n16 śraddhā, 142, 208n12 śramaṇa, 9, 29, 84 śrāvakas (advanced disciple), 161–62, 163 Śrāvastī (India): Bala inscription at, 171; Buddha images at, 83fig., 84, 114, 162–63; dating systems and, 24; first Buddha images tale and, 154; Great Miracle (mahāprātihārya) at, 158– 166, 215n47 Śrī (goddess), 62 Sri Lanka, 34, 117, 138, 139, 156 Śri Simukha, 105 Srinivasan, Doris Meth, 63, 170, 201n59 Śroṇa Koṭikarṇa (monk), 118–19 Statue, The (Pratimā Nāṭakam) (Bhāsa) (play), 78, 107–8, 109, 200n46, 207n80 statue actions, 66, 71–73, 76, 152–58, 162. See also embodiment, Buddha’s statues. See wooden statues, Buddha; individual images steles, 62 Sthavirāvalīcarita, 68 Stietencron, Heinrich von, 47 stories. See narrative tales Strong, John: on bhakti, 41–42, 118, 141, 142; on Buddha’s shadow, 197n26; on devotional worship, 210n49; on the Double Miracle, 161; multiple

2 6 0

INDEX

Buddhas and, 159; on the Pāli canon­ ical tradition and dharma, 137; Sar­ vāstivādins Buddhist figural cult images and, 173; Śūra tale and, 125; Upagupta tale and, 122, 124, 150, 210n41 stūpas: Bhārhut (India), 93; Bīmarān Casket and, 18, 19; Buddha images and, 153; burial tumuli and, 113; Kanaganahalli and, 105; Kaniṣka, 173; living things depiction prohi­ bition and, 36; Prabhūtaratna’s, 176; Sāñcī (India), 25; Stūpa 1 (Great Stūpa), 25 Subhūti (monk), 122 Sujātā, 179 Sukhāvatīvyūha Sūtras, 176 Śukranītisara, 53–54 Sundara, 105 Śuṇga kings, 45 Supravāsa yakṣa (Supavaso Yakkha), 6fig. Śūra tale, 125, 126 Surkh Kotal shrine, 98, 101, 105, 111, 112, 113 Sūrya (god), 4, 75 Sūtra of the Sea of Mystic Ecstasy (Chinese), 156 sūtras: Akṣobhyavyūha Sūtra (Tibetan version), 135; Bhadrakalpika Sūtra, 128; Buddhabalādhānaātiharyāvikurvaṇanirdeśa Sūtra, 128; Damamūka Nidāna Sūtra, 37, 135; Ekottarāgama Sūtra (Chinese translation), 155; Kauśika Sūtra, 54–55; Lotus Sūtra, 176; Maitreyasiṃhanāda Sūtra, 3, 38, 39, 42, 133; Perfection of Wisdom, 125–26; Prātihārya Sūtra, 161, 167; Pratyutpanna Sūtra, 139; Sukhāvatīvyūha Sūtras, 176; Śukra­ nītisara, 53–54; Sūtra of the Sea of Mystic Ecstasy, 156 Suttanipāta, 38, 183 svastika, 113 Śvetaśvatara Upaniṣad, 44, 59 Swāt Valley region (Gandhāra), 22, 80, 94, 203n2 sympathetic magic, 10

tales. See narrative tales Tamil text, 69 Tantra, 190 tanu, 59 Tarabout, Gilles, 203n1 Tāranātha, 150 Tathāgatas, 38–39, 42, 135, 140, 144. See also Buddha images; Buddha’s body Taxila region, 94, 95 teaching gesture (dharmacakra mudrā), 165 temples, 151 ten dharmas, 135 ten indispensible acts, 160 termination ka, 44–45 terminology and image likenesses, 59 terra-cotta images, 203n2 textual sources: Abhidharma Mahā­ vibhāṣa, 157, 172; Āpastamba Gṛhya­ sūtra, 58; Arthaśāstra, 45, 58, 71, 200n42, 203n86; Atharvaveda Pari­ śiṣṭha, 55, 71, 110; avadānas, 136, 141; Brāhmaṇas, 54, 55; Bṛhat Saṃhitā, 53, 71, 203n86; Citrasūtra of the Viṣṇudharmottara Purāṇa, 53; figural art and, 30; figural imagery denigra­ tion and, 112; Gṛyhasūtras, 52, 54, 58, 78, 80, 109; image based devotion and, 43–50; image use and, 7, 10, 29, 30, 35; Kauśika Sūtra, 54–55; Kharoṣṭhī, 178; Lalitavistara, 74–75, 203n103; living things depiction prohibition and, 36; Lokapaññatti, 122–23; Mahāvastu, 99–100; Nāgārjuna and, 38, 168–69; Nārāyaṇīyam, 49; Aṇguttara Nikāya, 4, 120, 125, 178, 210n41; Aṇguttara Nikāya (Chinese Version), 29, 38–39; on portraiture, 106–10; Prajñāpāra­ mitā literature, 42, 125, 139–140; Pratimālakṣanam, 60; Rāmāyaṇa, 60; Ratnāvalī, 168; Ṛgvidhāna, 48, 55–56; Samantapāsādikā, 34, 154, 157; Sāmavidhāna Brāhmaṇa, 54, 55; Ṣaḍvimṣa Brāhmaṇa, 58; Sīhaḷa­ vatthuppakaraṇa, 124; Aṣṭasāhasrikā Prajñāpāramitā, 42, 140; Suttanipāta, 38; Śvetaśvatara Upaniṣad, 59; Thera­



vāda literature, 137; Therīgāthā, 122; Uttaragrantha, Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya, 60; Vaiṣṇava Paramasaṃhita, 145; Vigrahavyāvartanï, 168; Viṣṇu­ dharmottara Purāṇa, 53; Yoga Vāsiṣṭha, 48. See also Divyāvadāna; Milinda­ pañha; narrative tales; Pāli literature; plays; sūtras; textual sources (Jain); textual sources (Tamil); textual sources (Vedānta); textual sources (Vedic); individual Vinayas textual sources (Jain), 48, 68, 73–74, 151, 152 textual sources (Pāli): Dhammapada Commentary, 119, 120, 121, 122, 157–58, 159–160; Mahāvaṃsa, 117; Prasenajit, King (Pasenadi) tale, 118; Vimutti­ magga, 138. See also Pāli canonical tradition; Pāli literature; Pāli tales textual sources (Tamil), 69 textual sources (Vedānta), 48 textual sources (Vedic), 170. See also Vedas Thailand, 128, 156 Theravāda literature, 137 Theravāda tradition, 128, 139 Therīgāthā, 122 Thousand Buddhas of the Bhadrakalpa, 165 Tillya Tepe token, 20–22, 112, 194n35, 194n36 Tillya Tepe tombs, 112 Tīrthaṇkaras, four (Fourfold Jinas), 5, 64 Tokrī Ṭīlā mound, 111 Tomb IV, 20 Toṣā, 62, 63–64 Tranakayiro, General, 102, 103 Trāyastriṃśa Heaven, 121, 157, 160, 167 tree shrines, 179, 196n14 trees, 26–27, 31, 34, 94, 113, 179. See also Bodhi Tree; Jambu Tree Trika Tantric tradition, 49 triratna emblem, 20, 113 Tuṣita heaven, 72–73 Twin Miracle (yamakaprātihārya), 160, 161 tympanum, 194n42

I N D E X

2 61

Udayagiri (India), 186 Udayana, King, 152, 154, 155, 156 Ulāna, 64 Universal King (cakravartin), 113, 121–22 Upagupta (monk), 118, 122–25, 126, 141, 149–150 Upagupta tale: image tradition and, 126; Rotman, Andy on, 209n33, 213n11; spiritual benefits and, 127; Strong, John on, 122, 124, 150, 210n41; versions of, 122–25, 149–150 Upaniṣads, 44, 45, 57, 59, 78 ūrṇā (mark between eyes) of Buddha, 12 Uruvilvā (nāga), 114 Urvaśī tale, 51, 67 uṣṇīa (cranial bump) of Buddha, 12, 18 Utpalavarṇā tale, 121–22, 126, 127, 142 Uttaragrantha, Mūlasarvāstivāda Vinaya, 60 Uzbekistan, 98 Vaiṣṇava devotionalism, 141 Vaiṣṇava Paramasaṃhita, 145 Vaiṣṇava religious community, 181, 182–83 Vaiṣṇava tradition, 63 Vaiśravaṇa, King, 64, 72 Vakkali tales: Buddha image and, 8, 126; Rotman, Andy on, 208n12; spiritual benefits and, 127; versions of, 119–121, 192n12; worship and, 142 Van Lohuizen-de Leeuw, Johanna, 20, 22, 85n1, 92–93 Vaṇṇupatha Jātaka, 137–38 Varāhadeva inscription, 134 Varāhamihira, 203n86 Vāsiṣka, King, 64 Vāsiṣṭhīputra Sātakarṇi, King, 106 Vaskuṣāna, King, 84 Vasubandhu, 172 Vāsudeva, cult of, 181 Vāsudeva, King, 84, 85, 86, 181–82 Vaṭṭaṇgulirāja Jātaka, 12, 116, 156–57 Vedānta, 47, 48, 57 Vedas, 47, 54, 78, 109 Vedic communities, 46–47

262

INDEX

Vedic Horse Sacrifice (Aśvamedha), 60 Vedic image traditions, 56 Vedic representation concept, 157 Vedic Ritual: The Non-Solemn Rites (Gonda), 54–55 Vedic rituals or practices: coins and, 94; figural images and, 66; figural representation and, 10; image and enemy destruction, 111; image use and, 30, 46–47, 54, 107; images, object, subject and, 73; metonymic associa­ tion, original and copy, 61; Patañjali and, 45; pratimā and, 59; Pūrva Mīmāṃsā (philosophical school) and, 47; Sāmavidhāna Brāhmaṇa and, 54; Vedic Horse Sacrifice (Aśvamedha), 60; yakṣas, nāgas image worship, 58 Vedic texts, 170. See also Vedas Vedic tradition, 28 Vidiśā (India), 181, 182fig. vigraha, 59, 123, 200n44 Vigrahavyāvartanī, 168 vihāra, 73, 84, 134, 173 Vihāra, Master of the, 84, 89 Vijñānabhairavatantra, 49 Vikrama tale, 68–69, 75–76, 202n75 Vima Kadphises: coins, 96, 97fig., 113; Māṭ portraits and, 206n50; Māṭ shrine and, 98, 99; Surkh Kotal shrine and, 101; Tokrī Ṭīlā mound, (Māṭ) and, 111 Vima Takto, Emperor, 98, 99, 100fig., 101 Vimuttimagga, 138 Vinaya-Piṭaka (Pāli), 3, 36, 114 Vinayas and. See individual Vinayas Virocana, 43–44 Viśākha, 71–72 Visha-Shiva, 194n34 Viṣṇu (god), 71–72 Viṣṇudharmottara Purāṇa, 53, 67, 186 Visuddhimagga (Buddhaghoṣa), 124, 138, 168 Viśvakarman (celestial architect) (god), 71–72 Vogel, Jean Philippe, 14, 111, 208n109 von Mitterwallner, Gritli, 64, 206n50 Vṛindāvan region, 141

Vṛṣṇi vīras (heroes), 62–63, 181–82 Vyāsa, Sage, 71–72 Wang, Xuance, 110, 111 Western Colonial-era scholarship, 51 wheel depictions, 20–21, 81fig., 94, 113 Wheel of the Law (dharmacakra), 20–21 women, attitudes towards, 122, 126 wooden statues, Buddha, 155 worldly aims: Chāndogya Upaniṣad and, 43–44; image based devotion and, 48–49; image use and, 44–45, 57, 58, 78; as impediment to spiritual growth, 44; living images and, 53, 54; regional spirit deities portrayals and, 58; terra-cotta images and, 203n2 worship, devotional modes of, 141–45 Xuanzang (Chinese pilgrim): Buddha’s accessibility and, 154; desire to see Buddha and, 213epigraph; first Buddha images tale and, 155; on Fourth Bud­ dhist Council, 172; King Kaniṣka story and, 114; Nagarahāra image and, 197n26; statue actions and, 72–73, 75, 146, 147, 152, 153; Utpalavarṇā tale and, 122, 126–27; vihāra and, 173



yakṣas: earliest sculptural examples of, 6fig.; eyes and, 185; Hārītī, 69–71; images and, 43, 49, 53, 58; King Vaiśravaṇa and, 72; Māṇibhadra, 61–62, 180–81; Mānimekhalai and, 69; Meghadutā (poem) and, 207n86; Moggarapāṇi and, 73–74; Śākyavar­ dhana and, 75, 76fig.; Śobhana in Dargilā tale and, 68; as source of the Mathurān Buddha, 15–16; visual similarities to Buddha images, 179; worldly aims and, 79, 193n16; worship of chthonic deities and, 29 Yama (god of death), 67, 71–72 Yavana Era, 86 Yijing (Chinese Buddhist pilgrim), 70, 143–44, 183 yoga, 41 Yoga Vāsiṣṭha, 48 Yogācāra school, 169, 176 Young, Serenity, 122 yugas (past ages), 49 Zeus, 95, 194n34 Zeymal, Evgeniy, 97, 98, 194n34 Zin, Monika, 105 Zwalf, Wladimir, 20, 194n31

I N D E X

263