Rage and Ravage: Gods of Medieval Japan, Volume 3 9780824889364

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RAGE AND RAVAGE

GODS OF MEDIEVAL JAPAN Volume 1 The Fluid Pantheon Volume 2 Protectors and Predators Volume 3 Rage and Ravage

GODS of MEDIEVAL JAPAN VOLUME 3

RAGE AND RAVAGE BERNARD FAURE

UNIVERSITY OF HAWAI‘I PRESS HONOLULU

© 2022 University of Hawai‘i Press All rights reserved Printed in Canada 27 26 25 24 23 22   6 5 4 3 2 1 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Faure, Bernard, author.   Gods of medieval Japan / Bernard Faure.   pages cm   Includes bibliographical references and index.   ISBN 978-0-8248-3933-8 volume 1 (cloth : alk. paper)   1. Buddhist gods—Japan. 2. Buddhism—Japan—History—1185–1600. 3. Japan—Religion—1185–1600. I. Title.   BQ4660.J3F38 2015  294.3’42110952—dc23 2014046113 Volume 3, Rage and Ravage ISBN 978-0-8248-8624-0 (cloth : alk. paper) Publication of this book has been assisted by grants from the following: Bukkyō Dendō Kyōkai Frances Wu and Paul Yin, C-BEAR Monographs Publication Subvention, Columbia University University of Hawai‘i Press books are printed on acid-free paper and meet the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Council on Library Resources. Designed by Mardee Melton

For Dominique

CONTENTS Acknowledgments  xi Preamble  1 Buddhism and Its Demons  1 Demon or Daemon?  4 Have We Forgotten Evil?  Synopsis  6

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1. Sympathy for the Devils  13

Theoretical Approaches  13 Heart of Darkness  14 Demons and Outcasts  16 Much-maligned Monsters  17 Buddhist Responses  21 Taxing Taxonomies  21 Demonology and Epidemiology  22 Demon Hordes and Demon Lords  23 Form and Formlessness  24 Protectors and Predators  25 Handling Demons  25 The Māravijaya  26 Ruthless Compassion?  30 Demons of Obstacles  31 Codetta  31

2. The Demonic World  33

Problems of Method  34 Reductionist Approaches  36 The Historical Context(s)  38 The Ritual Scenario  41 The Actors/Agents  42 Shikigami and gohō  42 Spells, Curses, Imprecations  43 The Mechanism of the Exorcism  The Ritual Means  47 Empowerment  49 Codetta  50

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3. Demonologies  51

Esoteric Buddhism and Exorcism  51 Indian Buddhist Demonology  52 Hārītī, the Mother of Demons  56 Chinese Buddhist Demonology  62 Japanese Demonology  64 From onryō to goryō  66 The Case of Michizane  68 The oni  73 The hyakki yagyō  74 The tengu  79 Māra and māras  84 Ryōgen, the Great Horned Master  Malignant Foxes  89 The Hekija-e  94 Codetta  105

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4. Like an Evil Wind—Gozu Tennō  107

The Mythological Persona  111 The Gion Gozu Tennō engi  112 The Hoki naiden  113 The Shintō shū  115 Gozu Tennō in the saimon  115 The Shimawatari saimon  116 Other Sources  117 Iconographic Representations  119 Cultic Sites  123 The Hiromine Tradition  124 The Gion Tradition  125 The Tsushima Tradition  125 A Demon’s Family Romance  127 Gozu Tennō’s Entourage  130 An Arena of Contention  134 From Bull to Ox  136 The Ritual Context  139 Material Aspects of the Cult  140 Codetta  145

5. The Road to Excess—Susanoo  150

The “Ancient” Susanoo  151 The Medieval Susanoo  156 Susanoo in the Urabe Tradition  157 The Sword Motif  159 Susanoo at Izumo and Hinomisaki  160 Susanoo at Atsuta Shrine  163 Susanoo’s Network  165 Susanoo and Shinra Myōjin  169 Allegorical Interpretations  174 Codetta  176

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6. The Little Lords  179

The gohō dōji  188 Kirime Ōji  190 Shuten Dōji  193 Oto Gohō  199 Jūzenji, the Warp and Woof of Tendai  Oracles and Possession  205 Origin Story  206 Iconography  207 Names and honji  212 Jūzenji as Landowner Deity  215 Jūzenji as Divine Youth  215 Jūzenji’s Network  216 Uhō Dōji  218 Codetta  221

7. Furor and Mystery—Kōjin  225

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A Native Deity?  227 Etymology: araburu kami  228 I. The Buddhist Kōjin (Sanbō Kōjin)  230 The Demon of Obstacles  233 The Kōjin engi  234 Local Traditions  235 A Kōjin for All  239 Kōjin Rituals  240 Iconography  241 Kōjin’s Network  250 Shōten  250 Benzaiten and Ugajin  254 Jūzenji  255 Kōjin and the Wish-fulfilling Jewel  256 Nagyō Tosajin  257 From Demon to God  258 Allegorical Interpretations  259 II. Kōjin in Local Religion  262 The Chthonian and Territorial Kōjin  263 Kōjin in the Izanagi-ryū  265 Kōjin and the Stove God  266 The Earth Deity  267 Appearance and Gender  270 Allegorical Interpretations  272 Chthonian Myths  273 Codetta  275

8. The Return of the Native  278

Buddhism and Local Gods  Crossroads Deities  284 Three Types of dōsojin  Myths of Origins  287

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Sarutahiko and Uzume  288 Sexuality and Fertility  291 Fertility Rituals  295 Sarutahiko as jinushi  295 The Sarutahiko Cult  296 An Apotropaic Deity  300 Shirahige Myōjin  301 The jinushi of Mount Hiei  303 Sarutahiko, Daigyōji, and Monkeys  Gozu Tennō as jinushi  306 The Return of Māra  308 Codetta  313

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9. Divine Land, Demonic Seas  315

Sea Deities and Foreign Gods  315 Land and Sea  318 Kyūshū, Marginal Center  319 Japanese Xenophobia  321 Divine and Demonic Invasions  322 Jingū and Jingoism  326 Sumiyoshi  329 Hachiman  333 Taiso Gongen  340 Palaces under the Sea  341 Japan as Penglai  343 The tokoyo  344 Sukunahikona  345 Isora Returns  347 Codetta  349

10. Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea  350

Questioning Sovereignty  350 Another Archipelago  351 From Archipelago to Aquapelago  A Japanese Zomia?  353 A Second Look at Sukunahikona  355 Awashima Myōjin  357 The Dragon Palace Revisited  360 Another Ebisu  363 Dragons and Catfish  366 Sedentary and Nomad  367 Routes and Roots  369 Codetta  371

Coda  372

Abbreviations  Notes  377 Bibliography  Index  523

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS My thanks go to all those—too many to all be mentioned—who have contributed in one way or another to this work, beginning with the graduate students (some of whom are now my colleagues) attending my seminars at Columbia University. Among them, I want to single out Sujung Kim, Andrea Castiglioni, Luke Thompson, Andrew Macomber, Carolyn Pang, Wu Shan, Iris Zhang, Icey Bingjie Lin, and Sakai Komei. I also benefited greatly from the work and friendship of my Columbia colleagues Michael Como, Max Moerman, and Yang Zhaohua, as well as Allan Grapard, Fabio Rambelli, Mark Teeuwen, Lucia Dolce, Mimi Yiengpruksawan, Cynthea Bogel, Kim Youn-mi, and Mark Schumacher. In Japan, I would like to mention Itō Satoshi, Abe Yasurō, Saitō Hideki, Satō Hiroo, Sueki Fumihiko, and Suzuki Masataka. Overall, I feel most indebted to my old friend and senpai, Iyanaga Nobumi. I also want to thank Pat Crosby, Stephanie Chun, and Stuart Kiang at the University of Hawaiʻi Press for their unfailing support and hard work in bringing this third volume of Gods of Medieval Japan to completion. But above all, my gratitude is due to the demon of obstacles Kōjin who, while allowing some of his minions to cause minor obstructions, spared me the major obstacles that would have prevented me from finishing this book. May he continue to provide me with his protection for the companion volume, still in the works.

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THE INVERTED PANTHEON

The main deities discussed in Rage and Ravage appear in red; secondary ones in gray. Those discussed in Protectors and Predators are in green, and those in The Fluid Pantheon, in blue. Deities in transparent boxes appear in all three volumes.

PREAMBLE After us the Savage God. W. B. Yeats

BUDDHISM AND ITS DEMONS The past is a foreign land—and even more so the past of other cultures. The Japanese medieval period (understood here in a broad sense— roughly from the twelfth to the sixteenth century) is both more familiar and strange than we usually realize. It is, furthermore, a devastated landscape. Like paleontologists patiently reconstructing the shape of creatures from the Jurassic age based on scattered bones, historians must reconstruct the intricacies of medieval religiosity with the help of the rare texts and images that have escaped the ravages of time. Yet some of those ruins might still possess the power to come to life again. Like the pre-classical West, according to Michel Foucault, the mental world of medieval Japan is an epistemological continent that was engulfed.1 But Japan is an archipelago, and there are many islands—in its cultural landscape as well—that bear traces of that sunken episteme. It is a site rich in fossils that have not yet told their story (and in many cases have not yet even been collected). But with a brisk new wind, we can sail toward those islands. The discovery of documentary troves in the Kanazawa and Shinpukuji libraries has provided a robust body of evidence that completely alters familiar perceptions of medieval Japanese religion. Among recent Japanese historians, the most significant work has been done by Amino Yoshihiko, whose project of “rethinking Japanese history” has shifted the focus of research from a land-based, agrarian, and dynastic history to a more dynamic view of the Japanese archipelago, inviting a reconsideration of sea routes and waterways and their importance for Japan’s relations with the rest of Asia.2 Amino has been instrumental in showing the crucial roles played by marginal groups such as the hinin 非人 (nonhumans), eta 穢多 (outcasts), and kawaramono 河原者 (riverside denizens), as well as by wandering ritualists, artists, and women. He has also emphasized the contributions of the new schools of 1

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Kamakura Buddhism—Zen, Pure Land, and Nichiren—and in particular their linking of pollution (kegare 穢れ) with sacredness. But in so doing, he seems to have left aside the role of Mikkyō—esoteric Buddhism— even though many of the groups he describes emerged on the margins of esoteric Buddhist institutions, such as the hinin of Kiyomizudera in Kyoto and the Kōfukuji–Kasuga Shrine complex in Nara, or the sarugaku 猿楽 actors of Kasuga Shrine and the Enryakuji–Hie Shrine multiplex on Mount Hiei. There is no doubt that the new schools of Kamakura Buddhism had a significant religious, cultural, and socioeconomic impact, but I propose arguing from a more narrow perspective that the medieval period is also— and perhaps more aptly—characterized by the emergence and development (first within esoteric Buddhism) of a new category of deities: the kōjin 荒神 or “raging gods” that were neither buddhas nor kami, neither gods nor demons (or both). Furthermore, at all levels of the Buddhist and putatively Shintō pantheons, some gods and buddhas were undergoing redefinition and transformation into raging gods. This was particularly the case with the Indian Buddhist deities known as devas.3 As kōjin, these figures opened a new space between buddhas and gods on the one hand, and gods and demons on the other, allowing a rich circulation of symbols and of power. This flow of perceptivity changed significantly under Tokugawa rule, however, and it came to an end—at least officially—with the Meiji Restoration. When people speak of Japanese demons today, what usually springs to mind are somewhat grotesque beings called oni 鬼4 that emanate from a realm perhaps best represented by the spectral “night procession of the hundred demons” (hyakki yagyō 百鬼夜行).5 The demons I have in mind, however, do not seem as visible or grotesque, yet their power was certainly real, at least to the medieval Japanese. They were also, by their very nature, virtual, and they served as symbolic shifters, passing smoothly from one demonic state to another, and from a demon to a god to a buddha. Since Japanese and Western scholars have generally avoided dealing with Buddhist demonology and apotropaic rituals—thereby turning scholarship itself, it could be said, into a form of apotropaic discourse— that very type of discourse is what we now need to question, even if it means occasionally playing the devil’s advocate. Yet a caveat is in order at this juncture. Although I frequently use the term demon(s), we must try to refrain from imposing Western schemas on Asian demonologies too quickly. The moral connotations of the terms gods and demons are misleading in the Asian sphere. In India, for instance, the cosmic battle between the devas and the asuras was not a fight between good and evil (fig. P.1), nor were asuras or other beings of the same kind ever considered demons in the Christian sense. As Wendy Doniger [O’Flaherty] puts it: “By nature gods and demons are alike. . . . They only become distinct

FIGURE P.1  Battle between the devas and asuras. Rokudo-e (Six Realms of Birth). Edo period, 1800– 1880. Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. British National Museum.

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when they are engaged in battle. . . . [There are] numerous Indian texts . . . [about] the ‘consubstantiality’ of gods and demons, the wickedness of gods, the virtue of demons, the brotherhood in actual lineage as well as in behavior. The strife is intensified by the sibling rivalry of the brothers.”6 Commenting on this, Carmel Berkson remarks that Doniger “strips the battle of the gods and demons [ . . . ] of its moral overtones, and [ . . . ] positions demons and gods on equivalent levels, and only in the final analysis as totally distinct.”7 Demon or Daemon?

In the various Asian cultures encountered by Buddhism, demons were feared for their power to cause calamities, yet they were not perceived as intrinsically evil. The word “demon” derives from the Greek daimôn (spirit, genius) and Latin daemon, a term that designated, in archaic Greece, not a category of gods but rather “an occult power, a force that drives man forward.”8 In the late Greco-Roman period, the term daemon (like the Latin genius) commonly referred to lesser spirits and demigods, especially patron or guardian spirits joined to a person at birth that would protect the homestead and family. Only after Plato was the word systematically applied to evil spirits filled with lust for blood and sex.9 What Eugen Fink says of daemons applies, mutatis mutandis, to the deities discussed in this book: “The daemons do not work and struggle against human beings; they have no trouble with them. They effortlessly do what they like with human beings. We could characterize this effortless, arbitrary, and unpredictable association of daemonic powers with human beings most readily as a game. They play with us. We are like marionettes in their hands; we are their powerless play-things.”10 Fink adds: “Daemons are unrelenting, impossible to ward off, but concealed and disguised witnesses of the course of human life. They obviously take pleasure in forcing open every recess of human self-consciousness, in spying into the furthest nook of each soul, in dabbling in every human craft, in thwarting him from attaining any sort of free selfhood.”11 The daemon is what we could call (with Plato, and more recently Jacques Derrida and Bernard Stiegler) a pharmakon, that is, both a poison and a remedy.12 In that sense, medieval Buddhist demonology was a pharmacology. Asian demons are Janus-faced deities since they can often be converted and turned into protectors.13 Yet Buddhism “demonized” many local cults—that is, it turned their gods into morally evil “perverted spirits” (xieshen 邪神, J. jashin). In so doing, the Buddhists may be said to have yielded to their inner demons. Then, to counter the demonic threat they had themselves created or amplified, they attempted to enroll the most powerful among the demons and transform them into allies and protectors—that is, to deify and reify them (returning some of them, ironically, to their earlier divine status). As a result, the nuanced view

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of the daemonic initially presented in esoteric Buddhism was gradually obscured, leading to a dichotomy between “good and evil” deities.14 Have We Forgotten Evil?

Western scholarship presents Buddhism as a rationalizing discourse, a religion without gods (and a fortiori without ghosts and demons). This is a view that has led to the rise of Buddhist modernism in our time. Jacques Derrida points out that scholars usually do not believe in ghosts—or in what he calls the “virtual space of spectrality.”15 Thus, demons have generally been silenced in scholarly discourse.16 But here there is another problem. To speak of demons can be a way of exorcizing them. As Michel de Certeau points out in his study of sorcery and possession, a place is always prepared for the demon in discourse before it begins to speak. The demon is expelled from discourse precisely by being trapped into it; made to speak, it must name itself before silence can be enjoined upon it.17 Scholars may have some excuses for obscuring (or downplaying) the dark side of Buddhist reality. Early Buddhism—in theory at least—paid little attention to the question of evil, the problem fundamental to Western theodicy. In contrast, the foundational myth of Buddhism, the Buddha’s victory over Māra (Māravijaya), was largely erased from the doctrinal discourse of early Buddhism even while it remained important in its mythology, hagiography, and iconography.18 If anything, the legend of the Buddha effectively turned Māra into a laughing stock, such that even when evil returned to the forefront in Tantric or esoteric Buddhism, the bloodthirsty, wrathful deities were once again explained away as mental projections or avatars of peaceful deities (thereby crediting them with a more substantial reality). This emic interpretation ultimately gave free rein to the “psychologizing” tendencies that can now be observed in Western commentators. Buddhism, by rationalizing the cosmos through the law of karma and then emptying it of illusory selves, seemed to deprive it of its evil moral agents. Demons have no real existence according to this view, or, even if they exist, they are merely the products of our karma. In practice, of course, things have a way of being a little different, and perhaps one significant characteristic of demons is that you cannot simply whisk them away. Eventually, the demons rebel, reasserting their existence and their amoral (i.e., neither moral nor immoral) nature. For one thing, epidemics and calamities of all kinds, for which they are often held responsible, are stubbornly real and leave a trail of corpses in their wake, reminding people that evil is out there and that demons are always reborn from their ashes. So the demons returned with a vengeance, and Buddhism had to give them their due. When they loomed large in the new forms of Buddhism known as Mahāyāna and Vajrayāna, a complex demonology developed in esoteric Buddhism that aimed at bringing the demonic troublemakers back into line. At its zenith, this was an attempt to subsume the demonic

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realm into the fabric of its pantheon, and with comprehensive mandalas, to bring every demon under its jurisdiction. But despite its claim to have converted all the demons of the realm, there was always a remainder, and the fight between good and evil continued to rage. SYNOPSIS The present work is a continuation of my two recent books on the gods of medieval Japan, with a slight change in perspective or emphasis. In the first book, The Fluid Pantheon, I argued that the Japanese Buddhist pantheon (including the kami) was never the seamless structure it claimed to be, tending in fact to burst at the seams. Further, the structural method, while efficiently depicting the network that a god and its position within the pantheon constitute, also has its limits and must be supplemented by an awareness of the agency of the gods, their unpredictability and capacity to overflow structures. What is true of the so-called devas must also be true of their demonic counterparts, the demon kings and similar powerful beings. It may even be the case that some demons are not strictly structural even though the shadow they project seems to be part of the structure. I also noted the essential fluidity of the Buddhist pantheon, in which gods and demons can transform into each other. And yet, with perhaps the exception of great demon-gods, the two categories remained distinct. While we find ambivalent deities at the top, the deities below them came to be polarized into good and evil. People desire happiness and revile misfortune, and the deities that cause one or the other ought, therefore, to be distinguished. From that standpoint to the conclusion that they are fundamentally opposed, there is but a single step. Yet the same deities that cause obstacles are often those that can lift them. In Protectors and Predators, I focused on two particular categories of Buddhist deities, the devas and the “bright deities” (myōjin 明神), and emphasized their ambivalence or ambiguity. Even though the devas became part of orthodox Buddhism, they were never fully integrated and, because of that, never lost their footing in the great outside, the demonic realm. A case in point is that of the Janus-faced, elephant-headed Shōten 聖天. Not only is he, in his dual-bodied manifestation as Kangiten 歓喜 天, half god (bodhisattva) and half demon, he also came to be identified with Kōjin, an emblematic demon of obstacles in medieval Japan and a major protagonist of the present work. In these earlier works, I argued against the perception of a polarity (or even dichotomy) between buddhas and kami by pointing to the existence, between them, of deities that did not belong to either category. I also rejected the retrospective (hence anachronistic) notion of “hybridity,” in the same way that Henri Bergson criticized the notion that “orange” is a mixture of red and yellow.19 In the present book, a similar case is made

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about the reified distinction between gods and demons, to show that these terms do not represent stable identities (even though they might still be useful as ideal types) given the fluid nature of the Japanese pantheon: gods can become demons, and demons are sometimes deified. Divine protectors were once fierce predators, and in some cases they retained their predatory features even after being converted. But after drawing out the demonic aspects of the devas as “gods or spirits of obstacles,” I would like now to emphasize the deva-like (not to say “divine”) aspects of deities that have always been described as demonic. The chapters of this book congregate as variations around a few themes, something like musical exercises or studies by an aspiring musician. Listeners with sensitive ears will certainly hear discordant notes, for which I ask their indulgence. The first chapter offers a general discussion of Buddhist demonology. In the first part, I examine theoretical approaches from several points of view: on the psychological plane, fear undeniably played a significant role in collective representations.20 On the sociopolitical plane, demons were often associated with outcasts, a corollary of the tendency to demonize political opponents and local cults. A structural (or structuralist) interpretation, which I favor, also seems to have explanatory value, though like the preceding vantage points it is ultimately reductionist. Demons are part of the Japanese imaginary and thus are imbricated in its social or mental structures. To the extent that they can be domesticated, transformed from predators into protectors, they serve to mediate between formlessness and form, chaos and cosmos. Yet they are also what endangers and inundates those same structures. The second part of this chapter examines the responses to demonic threats—seen in epidemic diseases, moral evil, and spiritual obstacles. Buddhist responses took on a number of mythological and ritual forms, spanning a whole spectrum from the ascetic overcoming of temptation and defilement, as illustrated by the Buddha’s defeat of Māra, to violent rituals of subjugation, following the model of Vajrapāṇi’s subjugation of Maheśvara (the demonized Hindu god Śiva), as well as more or less forceful cases of conversion, as in the case of the Buddha’s conversion of the demoness Hārītī. In the worst cases, the demons are purely and simply destroyed. But on the whole, esoteric Buddhism attempted to give its demons a due regard and organize the pandemonium by folding them into its fluid pantheon. The second chapter focuses on ritual, in its circular entanglement with myth. Not only are demonic presences the main object of many rituals, they are also sometimes “produced”—that is, brought to light, made present—and individualized by ritual. While Buddhist rituals serve different purposes, the main type of ritual discussed here is exorcism, a response to possession, which could be collective or individual. After a brief look at collective exorcisms like the Chinese “great exorcism” (danuo 大儺) and its Japanese counterpart, the tsuina 追儺, I focus on individual cases.

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Possession has been the object of many anthropological studies, which tend to focus on the victim and / or the exorcist, reducing the phenomenon to its psychological or sociological components and, with that foreshortening, downplaying or neglecting the role of the demonic powers at play. After describing a prototypical ritual scenario, I examine more closely some of its invisible agents, spirits known as shikigami 式神 in Onmyōdō and gohō dōji 護法童子 (Dharma-protecting lads) in the Buddhist context. The chapter ends with a discussion of esoteric empowerment (kaji 加 持) and its relation to “mild” or induced possession (āveśa). The third chapter offers a brief survey of the demonic world of medieval Japan. Medieval demonology was a complex system, resulting from the fusion of Indian, Buddhist, and Chinese demonologies with Japanese concepts. In the case of Indian Buddhism, a paradigmatic figure is that of Hārītī, the Mother of Demons, who became an important cult object in Japan, particularly in the Nichiren school. In China, her encounter with the Buddha—who had abducted her last-born son—turned into a replay of the Buddha’s victory over Māra. But Māra’s defeat was never total, and he continued to haunt the Buddhist imaginary, even reappearing, as we see in Chapter 8, as the tutelary god of Japan. Chinese demonology was already a mixture of native demons and ghosts (usually called gui 鬼) and Buddhist demons (mo 魔, a partial transliteration of the Indian name Māra). In Japan the standard demon, called oni, clearly derives from the Chinese gui, while other demonic beings—among them the “resentful spirits” (onryō 怨霊, deified as goryō 御霊) such as that of the former statesman Sugawara no Michizane 菅原道真 (845–903), mountain goblins like the tengu 天狗, and animal spirits like the fox and the snake—are more typically Japanese. Not that foxes and ghosts were not important in China, but they never attained the same power there, in part due to Buddhist influence. The tengu, in particular, became associated with Shugendō 修験道 practitioners and political rebels. Another important category, that of the ma 魔 (stemming yet distinct from the Chinese mo), reveals the evolution of the notion of evil. A particularly interesting case in this connection is that of the Tendai priest Ryōgen 良源 (912–985), who was said to have been reborn as an oni or a tengu—showing how these categories overlapped at times. Toward the end of the medieval period, the development of themes like the night procession of the hundred demons (hyakki yagyō 百鬼夜行), represented in caricatural forms, led to a progressive trivialization of the demonic even while the fear of demons remained strong, as suggested by a fascinating painted scroll known as Hekija-e 辟邪絵, which I discuss at the end of the chapter. The fourth chapter is devoted to a powerful and well individualized pestilence demon named Gozu Tennō 牛頭天王, the Bullheaded Heavenly King, who was eventually deified as a protector against epidemics. The chapter opens with a striking scene, the killing of the Buddha by the raging demon, which can only be comprehended through a consideration

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of the demon’s origin story and emergence during the epidemics of the Heian period. The Gozu Tennō cult developed at a number of sites including Enokuma Shrine 疫隅神社 (on the Inland Sea), Hiromine Shrine 広峰神社 (near present-day Kōbe), Gion Shrine 祇園神社 in Kyoto, and Tsushima Shrine 津島神社 (on the outskirts of present-day Nagoya), suggesting an eastward progression and, to some, the Korean origins of the deity. A striking feature of the cult is the contrast between the violence of the deity and his familial associations (perhaps reflecting his gradual domestication) together with the important roles played by his consort and eight children, the so-called eight princes (hachiōji 八王子, sometimes subsumed into the name of a single deity, Hachiōji). The network around Gozu Tennō extended to figures such as the astral deity Tenkeisei 天刑星, the primordial Chinese gods Shennong 神農 and Pangu 盤古, the violent kami Susanoo 素戔嗚, and a deity of Korean origin, Shinra Myōjin 新 羅明神, the protector of Onjōji 園城寺 (better known by its local name, Miidera 三井寺). Once he was deified, the scope of Gozu Tennō became an arena of contention in which religious movements such as Onmyōdō, esoteric Buddhism, and nascent Shintō vied for his rehabilitation. In Buddhism, he became identified with the Healing Buddha Yakushi 薬師如来 (Bhaiṣajya-guru), while Shintō scholars identified him with Susanoo. The last part of the chapter discusses some of the ritual aspects of his cult—in particular, the annual festival at Tsushima Shrine and the sacrificial killing of his ur-victim, whose dismembered cosmic body becomes the offerings of the five seasonal ceremonies (gosekku 五節供). In the next chapter, the identification of Gozu Tennō with the kami Susanoo leads to a closer look at the latter’s impetuousness, a trait that made him a paradigmatic instance of the kind of “wild god” (araburu kami 荒神, also read kōjin) that surged through the medieval imagination. The two main episodes of his origin myth—his transgressive behavior toward his sister Amaterasu 天照大神, which led her to take refuge in the Heavenly Rock Cave, and his redemptive killing of the eight-headed dragon Yamata no Orochi 八岐大蛇, which led to the discovery of one of the three imperial regalia—form the backdrop to his later development into the “medieval” Susanoo through the exegetical activity of Tendai monks (those at Gakuenji 鰐淵寺, the monastery responsible for administering Izumo Shrine, in particular) and Shintō scholars of the Urabe clan 卜部氏. Through these involvements came the identification of Susanoo with Tendai deities such as Matarajin 摩多羅神 and Shinra Myōjin, ushering in a period of dominance that would end in the seventeenth century when Gakuenji monks lost their hold on Izumo Shrine and Susanoo was replaced by Ōkuninushi 大国主命 as its main deity. During this period, the allegorical reinterpretation of Susanoo was animated by the “innate awakening” (hongaku 本覚) theory of Tendai, which saw in Susanoo an exemplar of primordial ignorance and hence of ultimate reality.

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Chapter 6 focuses on the two categories of demonic or semi-demonic beings represented as young lads (dōji 童子) and princes (ōji 王子). Collectively, they are often represented as the acolytes of Buddhist deities such as Fudō Myōō (Acala vidyārāja), Benzaiten 弁才天 (Sarasvatī), and Dakiniten 茶枳尼天 (ḍākinī), and they symbolize the deities’ dark power and potential violence even though they are normally considered protectors. The paradigm for these sets of figures is the pair formed by Fudō’s acolytes Kongara 矜羯羅 (kiṃkara) and Seitaka 制多迦 (ceṭaka). Other ambivalent protectors of this type are the Dharma-protecting lads (gohō dōji 護法童子), already discussed in the context of exorcism, and the “adamantine lads” (kongō dōji 金剛童子), while the princes usually (but not always) have a more local nature and seem to represent the chthonian powers of specific sites. The second part of the chapter revolves around one of the divine / demonic youths that played a particularly important role in Tendai, Jūzenji 十禅師, who was worshiped at one of the seven shrines of Hie 日吉 (today Hiyoshi Taisha 日吉大社). This figure’s youthful appearance, which links him with figures such as Shōtoku Taishi 聖徳太子, belies his violent nature, which led him to possess children or youth. To shed more light on his character, I examine his relationship with another intriguing local deity, Uhō Dōji 雨宝童子, who became identified with Amaterasu. Chapter 7, centered on the obscure deity called Kōjin, brings together many of the threads running through the previous chapters and can be thought of, in a way, as constituting the kernel of the whole book. Kōjin, whose name designates both an individual deity and a demonic category, is indeed the very definition of an araburu kami, a wild or raging deity, a type also exemplified by Gozu Tennō and Susanoo. Kōjin, through his origin story, was further identified with the demon of obstacles par excellence, Vināyaka, known as the Saintly Deva, or Shōten, whom I discussed in Protectors and Predators. The Kōjin cult brought together Buddhist motifs and ethnographic elements from local religion. On the Buddhist side, the demonic Kōjin became a protector, known as Sanbō Kōjin 三宝荒神, and eventually ascended to a status equivalent to that of the Buddha under the name Nyorai Kōjin, which designated Kōjin as the Tathāgata. Because of his chthonian and territorial characteristics, however, he was understood to be an avatar of the earth deity Jiten 地天 (or Kenrō Jishin 堅牢地神, i.e., Pṛthvī) with intimate links to the cosmic deity Banko 盤古, who operated as the Japanese version of the Chinese cosmic god Pangu. Kōjin, the wild god par excellence, also found a role as a domestic god associated with fire and with the stove god (kamadogami 竈神). The further role of these araburu kami as controllers of human destiny, including, more specifically, the function of Kōjin as a placenta deity (ena kōjin 胞衣荒神), is a subject I take up in the final book in this series, Lords of Life.

PREAMBLE

The territorial interests of Kōjin provide a transition to Chapter 8, on the so-called landowner deities or jinushigami. Sarutahiko 猿田彦, who in classical mythology appears at the eightfold crossroads of heaven to serve as a guide to Amaterasu’s grandchild Ninigi at the time of his descent to earth, became one of the prototypical ancestor or crossroads deities. Yet his coupling with the goddess Ame no Uzume 天鈿女, before they became husband and wife in the popular tradition, was initially the union of a (potential) demon and his exorcist. That is, when Sarutahiko’s threatening aspect had caused fear among the heavenly gods, Uzume was sent by them to tame him (by seducing him). Here, as in other cases, sexual seduction served as an apotropaic device. Ultimately, it was Sarutahiko, however, who became the figure of the exorcist par excellence, transcending the roles of guide and sexual partner that the origin myth assigned to him. To elucidate the concept of landowner deities, the chapter begins with a discussion of the myths related to the conquest (or pacification) of Japan by the heavenly gods and their descendants Jinmu Tennō 神武 天皇 and Yamato Takeru 倭建命. After discussing Sarutahiko’s function as a dōsojin 道祖神 or crossroads deity, together with the procreative and apotropaic aspects of the dōsojin figure, I examine the role Sarutahiko played as a tutelary deity or jinushi 地主 (also jishu) and the expansion of his cult from Ise to Lake Biwa and beyond. That expansion took place through local gods who were perceived as his manifestations, such as Shirahige Myōjin 白鬚明神, at Shirahige Shrine, and Daigyōji 大行事, at Hie Shrine. Daigyōji himself was seen to be closely related to the monkeys of Mount Hiei, who were understood to be manifestations of the mountain god, and to Jūzenji, the violent juvenile god discussed earlier. The chapter ends with a look at two other consequential demons in their role as jinushi: Gozu Tennō and Māra himself, who became the tutelary god of Japan and was even worshiped as a great kōjin 荒神, a wild deity and the father and mother of all beings. Taken together, these examples illustrate the long-standing paradoxical tendency of foreign deities to become protectors of Japan’s territory. Chapter 9 is a continuation of these reflections on the relationships between demonic deities and the sense of territoriality, with a shift in emphasis from the land to the sea. This departure from “terra-centric” studies of Japanese religion is an attempt to reevaluate Japan as an archipelago, paying particular attention to the role played by the southernmost island of Kyūshū as a kind of marginal center and mediator between the archipelago and the continent. Following the Mongol invasions of the thirteenth century, the emphasis placed on territoriality and the notion of Japan as the “land of the gods” (shinkoku 神国) gave rise to a nativist, or rather xenophobic, ideology that in due course led to the vain attempt to “close the country” during the Edo period. But long before sakoku,

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medieval Japan saw itself as the object of both divine and demonic invasions, and the Mongols themselves as demonized. In reaction, it developed an imperialist ideology that found expression in the myths of Yamato Takeru and the conquest of the Korean peninsula by Empress Jingū 神功皇后, albeit with the help of the gods of Sumiyoshi 住吉 and Hachiman 八幡. The maritime imaginaire of the medieval Japanese also formed around the conception of “submarine utopias”—the ancient Japanese myths related to the palace of the sea king, and its Buddhist version, the palace of the nāga king or dragon king. These utopias reinforced the legitimacy of the imperial house and the swelling sense of Japanese territoriality. Japan came to perceive itself as Penglai (Hōrai 蓬莱), the island of the immortals. This notion was developed in particular at Atsuta Shrine 熱田神社 with its dragon cult dedicated to the Kusanagi sword, which had been plucked by Susanoo from the tail of the eight-headed dragon Yamata no Orochi. The chapter concludes with a discussion of two ambivalent sea deities that played roles in this imperialist ideology: Azumi no Isora 阿曇の磯良, a deity of the Azumi, a clan centered on the small island of Shikaumi 志賀海 in Fukuoka Bay, and the dwarf god Sukunahikona 少名 毘古那神. Chapter 10 questions the notion of territorial sovereignty discussed in the preceding chapter. Taking its cue from the Japanese historian Amino Yoshihiko, it emphasizes Japan’s nature as an archipelago (or even an “aquapelago”) and its seashores as a kind of “Zomia”—to use a term coined by James Scott to designate the mountainous regions of Asia as a zone of resistance to central power.21 In this context, demons (as well as Māra himself) came to be perceived as figures of resistance. Some deities mentioned earlier, like Isora and Sukunahikona (and the latter’s transformation into Awashima Myōjin 淡島明神), return to display their elusive and potentially rebellious nature. The same is true of the dragon kings that no longer are limited to providing imperial legitimacy, but are seen to be intimately bound up with the giant earthquake-causing catfish (namazu 鯰). The dragon palace is also said to be the place where Hiruko 蛭子, the abandoned child of the primordial couple Izanami 伊弉冉尊 and Izanagi 伊弉諾尊 transformed into the god Ebisu 恵比寿 / 夷, one of the Seven Gods of Fortune (Shichifukujin 七福神). Ebisu’s origins, like those of his companion Daikoku (a Japanese transformation of the Indian god Mahākāla), turn out to be darker than is usually believed. The chapter closes with a discussion (inspired again by Amino, as well as by Deleuze and Guattari)22 of the dialectics between sedentarism and nomadism, and of the inner nomadism of outcasts and other itinerant groups. I argue that the “wandering deities” worshiped by these groups came to play an increasingly important role in late medieval Japan, eventually merging in the figure of the shukujin 宿神 (god of destiny or stellar deity), whose full elucidation I will take up in the next volume, Lords of Life.

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SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVILS The best-kept secret of Evil is that it is amorphous: to model it is to fall into the first trap that it lays for us. Padre Alvaro1

In this chapter, I explore a strange paradox (verging on amnesia): although the demonic pervades Asian cultures, demons by and large have slipped through the meshes of scholarly discourse. Yet the importance attributed to the question of evil in esoteric Buddhism was a radical departure from the relative indifference of early Buddhism on that matter given the philosophical, ethical, and contemplative bent of the so-called Nikāya schools. In contrast, Japanese esoteric Buddhism was concerned above all with ritual, and it boasted of its ritual arsenal of exorcisms. This fascination took many forms, at times verging on a “celebration of demons”—a preoccupation shared with modern Sinhalese Buddhism.2 Still, even when ritual seems obsessed with demons (their curses, the diseases and psychic disorders they cause, their expulsion), scholars persist as if demons did not exist, or as if one could explain everything without them. THEORETICAL APPROACHES The main theoretical approaches to Japanese religion—whether theological, historical, sociological, or psychological—are all, in one way or another, reductionist. In particular, they fail to do justice to its complex, “polydemonic” nature. The historical approach presupposes that deities (whether gods, buddhas, or demons) constitute a clear object of inquiry, well defined by their names. A structural analysis, however, reveals that they are composed of many strands that have their own dynamics; the attempt to trace a linear evolution therefore seems doomed from the start (if not simply misleading). While a few general trends can be sketched for heuristic purposes, endeavors to go into deeper detail soon run into trouble. 13

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Although I have taken a largely structural approach, I also have reservations about structuralism. Not only does it tend to downplay historical tensions, it also neglects the personal, psychological, and phenomenological dimensions of a cult. Above all, it fails to give agency—even if only a perceived one—to its divine or demonic protagonists. Gods and demons are very real, since they are unpredictable, causing events that human actors did not expect. Thus, they are not just the byproducts of symbolic and social structures. They are resilient and often resist integration into the mythological-ritual system. Even if they are only projections, as scholars usually believe, these projections can be haunting. The uncanniness of demons has to do with their “quasi” or “subjunctive” nature. Perhaps they are not real, but what if—they were? What Madame du Deffand said of ghosts—“I don’t believe in them, but I’m afraid of them”—might also apply to demons. Heart of Darkness

Timor facet deos. Fear also creates demons—and vice-versa. It may indeed be a kind of vicious circle, since, as Pierre Bourdieu puts it, “magic, a product of anxiety and distress, produces anxiety and distress.”3 The belief in demons may express a primeval fear of the unknown, of the invisible, of the swarming night. As Eugen Fink explains, in a different context: “[The] conspicuous thing in archaic existence is indeed precisely the belief in daemons, the paralyzing horror in the face of uncanny, spectral beings, the panic-stricken anxiety before numinous powers.”4 Fear—of death, war, epidemics, famine, and so forth—was rampant in medieval Japan. With its arsenal of exorcisms, medieval Buddhism was (among other things) a response to that widespread feeling. Yet this fear cannot simply be explained by reference to millenarian concerns about the final age of the Dharma (mappō 末法). Many Buddhist rituals of the Nara, Heian, and medieval periods were about “placating the gods and pacifying the populace,” to use Neil McMullin’s expression.5 In spite (but also because) of all these attempts at pacifying deities and people, the end of the Heian period was marked by a recrudescence of cases of spirit-possession. People perceived the darkness as a dangerous realm, in which one might meet wild things that do more than go bump in the night.6 No amount of diurnal rationalization could exorcize the fear of the night—at a time when, unlike the modern age, nights were completely dark. As Jōshin 定深 (1046–1119), the author of a late Heian-period work known as Higashiyama ōrai 東山往来, put it: “In the monastic rules priests are forbidden to wander about outside the gates in the evening and to go near the water or under a bridge or near a butcher’s shop or place of sacrifice. For by so doing they risk meeting ghosts. And if even priests are in danger, how much the more should ordinary people avoid roaming about outside the gates in the evening.”7 Even more, specific personal or collective

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disasters were often attributed to external or internal demons for lack of a full understanding of psychological mechanisms, and of natural and cosmological, let alone karmic, causality. In many instances, the most available explanation was the power of curses. Esoteric Buddhism was essentially apotropaic, and it has understandably been interpreted as a response to the anxiety of a troubled period. Sociological or psychological interpretations do have explanatory value. At the risk of exaggerating the apotropaic aspects at the expense of the soteriological, philosophical, and devotional elements, these approaches provide a useful corrective to the traditional vision of Buddhism as a teaching concerned mainly with the search for awakening or salvation. Toward the tenth century, the fear of demons increased with the growing importance of taboos against defilement—taboos promoted in particular by Yin-Yang masters (onmyōji 陰陽師). According to legend, powers of witchcraft were attributed to one of them, Abe no Seimei 安倍晴明 (921–1005). From the second half of the ninth century onward, a belief in the power of spirits of people who had died a violent death (onryō 怨 霊) and other wild “things” (mono 物 or mononoke 物の怪) had become entrenched, and ceremonies aimed at propitiating these demonic spirits and ghosts were conducted at the beginning of summer at Shinsen-en 神 泉苑 by the close of the century. The aristocracy in the capital believed themselves to be the main target of vengeful spirits, the most famous of them being that of the exiled minister Sugawara no Michizane 菅原道眞 (845–903), and this world is reflected in the Genji monogatari 源氏物語. If the Shoku Nihongi mentions very early on a festival performed in the provinces to honor (and placate) pestilence deities, in 733, it is during the Heian period that lavish ceremonies called goryō-e 御霊会 came to be performed more regularly. During these festivals, people fabricated clay effigies of oxen supposed to drive all misfortune away. Add to this picture the fear of stars and disasters caused by them: this is when the Myōken Bosatsu 妙見菩薩 (pole star deity) and Northern Dipper (Hokuto 北斗) cults took off. Pessimism and fear spread with the belief that the final age of the Dharma had actually started in 1052. With the turmoil that marked the end of the Heian period, people came to feel that their world was coming to its end, and the rise of the warriors may have looked to many like the ascendance of human demons. The cloistered emperor Go-Sanjō Tennō 後 三條天皇 (r. 1068–1073), initiating what came to be called the Insei 院政 (cloistered rule) period (1086–1185), attempted to use the efficacy of Buddhist rituals, but he also was allegedly the prey of demons that had afflicted him with eye disease. At the end of the Insei period, the defeat of the Taira clan led to a new wave of violent deaths (and, perforce, vengeful ghosts). All the same, popular fears had some important benefits for Buddhism. As Michel Strickmann pointed out in the case of China, Buddhist

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monks were not above cultivating fear in the hearts of their followers, to make the latter dependent on them.8 They were not alone in this. YinYang masters and other religious specialists also systematically exploited people’s fears. Yet for all their claims, demonically induced calamities continued to occur. Although esoteric Buddhist claims of total control over the demonic realm were never realized, the hold that Buddhist rituals exercised over imaginations remained unrivaled for a long time. At first glance, the image of serene buddhas forms a striking and almost impossible contrast with the frightening laughter and wild dance of wrathful gods. And yet, as we will see, these two types of images are complementary, or better, they are like the two sides of a Möbius strip, on which one moves seamlessly from one to the other. Scholars often explain (away) demons as a projection of our fears and passions. Strickmann, for instance, argues for projection when he writes: [The] Chinese terminology suggests that man is externalizing his own psycho-sexual processes and imprinting them upon nature. When ill and searching for causes, he takes cognizance of these projections (as if seeing his own image in a cracked mirror) and reincorporates them, intellectually and spiritually, in the form of shock, terror, disease, and debility. Thanks to this “accident” of terminology, we are able to gain a remarkable intimation of a world inhabited by perilous beings personifying breath and semen-phantom panting, demonized gasps, spectral sighs, lurking halitosis, walking nightmares, marauding wet-dreams, galloping nocturnal emissions.9

Strickmann’s interpretation is not without merit, yet it does not quite explain the demonic phenomenon. One could just as well argue that human passions are already a kind of demonic possession and that people, even as they claim to act freely, are the toys of forces beyond them.10 In the final analysis, psychological and functionalist interpretations of medieval Japanese religion cannot account for its complexity and ambivalence. They do not explain in particular its fascination with demonic evil. Because the dominant scholarly approach has been to pass over demons in silence or to sublate them with terms drawn from psychology, what we now need, as Fritz Graf suggested, is to exorcize psychological interpretations.11 What is at stake is the mode of existence of the demons (and of gods in general): the subjunctive realm, as it were, the “quasi”—an existence that is questioned even as it is affirmed, acknowledged even as it is denied. Demons and Outcasts

Another common interpretation, functionalist or sociological in orientation and with roots in Asian cultures, has consisted of assimilating demons

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with outcasts. In India, higher castes were assimilated to the devas, lower castes to the (demonic) asuras. In medieval Japan too, demons and outcasts occupied a structurally similar position, since both were banned from society, divine as well as human. At the same time, owing to their status as carriers of defilement, they came to fulfill an essential function in the social system. As Amino Yoshihiko pointed out, outcasts were seen as possessing a sacred nature until the end of the medieval period.12 Likewise, Japanese demons were perceived both as a source of pollution and as bearers of fortune. Beyond sociological analogies, however, lies a deeper symbolic reality, namely, the affinities between these expressions of defilement and residue.13 Ambivalent behaviors and feelings—hatred and love, gratitude and rejection—were associated with demon kings that could disturb the social and psychological order as well as maintain it.14 One could well say that they embodied “both the abstract greatness of a philosophical principle and the voracious malignity of a destructive demon.”15 Again, paraphrasing Italo Calvino, one could say that gods and demons, like cities and dreams, “are made of desires and fears, even if the thread of their discourse is secret, their rules are absurd, their perspectives deceitful, and everything conceals something else.”16 Significantly, since the term “demon” was often used to designate one’s enemies (spiritual or political), it is necessary to keep in mind that the rhetorical distinction and polarization between gods (or buddhas) and demons covered a political dichotomy as well. Much-maligned Monsters

Who were the demons of medieval Japan? On the ritual and mythological planes, they could be regarded as the objectification of an apotropaic ritual and thereby retain a degree of anonymity; or they could be seen as singular, individualized, quasi-human entities and become the main protagonists of a narrative. Beliefs played on both registers, shifting easily from a collective to an individualized conception of evil. But even when they were well individualized, demonic powers (like divine powers) were characterized by extreme functional versatility. Many deities were both auspicious and nefarious, divine and demonic. A prevalent view among scholars is that demons were the gods of archaic local cults: Omnes dii gentium daemonia. Buddhism provides ample support for that view. It did not create all these demons, however. Even before the introduction of Buddhism in China, the Chinese imagined a motley crowd of “exotic” and domestic demons. The vital essence (ling 霊) of the living and the dead, for instance, could turn into demons— even household objects could, past a certain age.17 Thus, demons were often the ancient gods that predated Buddhism (and Shintō, too, in the case of Japan).

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Although the archetypal Buddhist demon, Māra, did not play a significant role in the Hindu pantheon, in Japan he came to symbolize the resistance of local cults to the Buddhist and Shintō (or imperial) takeover. While in early Buddhism Māra had been cast simply as an exterior demon confronting the future Buddha, either in person or through the people he possessed (such as Devadatta, the Buddha’s cousin), he became interiorized and turned into the inner demon, the Enemy within. Esoteric Buddhism, while populating the outside world with demons, also interiorized them— finding evil in the innermost heart of men and women. Yet at the same time, by ontologizing evil, it also reevaluated it and eventually brought it to a level close (or equal) to that of enlightenment. This paradoxical result opened the door to doctrinal, theological, and mythological innovations. As Wendy Doniger has shown, the distinction between devas and asuras in India was essentially a structural one,18 due to the simple fact that in any hierarchy some groups or individuals are going to be on top while others are at the bottom. In the present case, the lucky ones (the devas) came to be called gods, the unlucky ones (the asuras) demons. This structural characteristic is what we could call an “effet de liste,” and it overlaps with (and in turn generates) a social hierarchy. Other structural features also come into play—for instance, the apparent polarities between individual and collective, invisible and visible, functional and dysfunctional, objective and subjective demons. Most of these polarities are too static, however. The structure I want to delineate is more dynamic—it is what we could call a two-way course, in which the demon does not appear at either end of a list, pantheon, or hierarchy but rather in the middle, as an obliged point of passage—both a parasite and a mediator.19 In a structural interpretation of Chinese demonology, Laurie Cozad examines the demonic as a category embodying transgressive elements of the structure and distinguishes between two demonic functions, or two types of demon: “This locus of transgressive elements will function [. . .] first, to highlight the prescriptive tenets of that particular structure, and, second, to provide the means by which these tenets might be carried out.”20 Cozad further distinguishes three phases or, to borrow her words, three stops on the demon trail: demons can serve the ideological structure, worry it, or subvert it. This distinction corresponds in her view to three classes of demons: endogenous, exogenous, and what I would call “straddlers.”21 Endogenous demons are guardians of the structure, keepers of the Dharma. They are small fry, lesser demons who “constitute the household servants and armies of more important and powerful demons. [. . .] They function to highlight that which is orthodox by indulging in the heterodox. [. . .] They can therefore be wiped-out in good conscience.”22 Such is not the case, however, with the second class of demons, “those demonized others which are depicted as non-derived or exogenous in terms of a particular religious structure. Surely transgressive, for they

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embody the alternative values of an alternative structure, they are either exorcised from the dominant structure or conscripted into that structure as tutelary deities.”23 Thus, the demons that worry the structure are the more powerful demons whose origins predate the structure and have to be “reeled in.” Yet in the end, they also strengthen the structure: “As such, when reeled into the dominant structure, these exogenous mediators can work to reinforce that structure in a variety of ways [. . . ], or they can subvert that structure from the inside as they display the relative nature of the dominant structure along with the individualized merits of a religio / ethical alternative.”24 Such figures, Cozad argues, are fundamentally ambivalent, straddling two spheres of signification: the dominant structure and the structure of origin. The third class of demons, those that subvert the structure, are tricksters who refuse to be assigned a place in the structure—they are “interstitial.” In the medieval Japanese context, they would include demon kings converted to Buddhism as well as wisdom kings (vidyārājas, J. myōō) and Indian devas that were “reeled into” the Buddhist pantheon. Cozad’s interpretation, however appealing, is based on a structural analysis that denies any ontological reality to evil—and therefore to demons. Although she attempts to open the discourse to the “Other,” the structural model she adheres to remains rigid, one in which even the most subversive demons simply provide an alternative structure. Medieval Japanese deities, in contrast, played a wide variety of roles and functions and occupied many different positions in the structure, from the lowest (demonic) to the highest (demiurgic). They served the structure, worried it, and subverted it at the same time—or at different times. And sometimes they simply bypassed it altogether. In the end, structural analysis is fundamentally objectifying and fails to take into account the subjective, phenomenological dimension of the demonic experience. To the “three-stop trekking” on the demon trail described by Cozad—that is, from structure to anti-structure in Victor Turner’s terms—one should add a return movement, not merely from the anti-structural to the structural, but from the objectified to the subjective, from the phenomenological to the ontological or even transcendental. The structural demonic, in this sense, eludes all structure while mobilizing it. If the whole goal of apotropaic rituals was to catch demons in the nets of causality, those rituals often (if not always) remained exercises in wishful thinking. For the only demons that respond to ritual and serve the structure are the already structural ones. As David Bialock explains: “[The] demonic (and by extension defilement) was the hidden other of the Buddhist power structure, at once a danger to and condition of its authority.”25 Here a theoretical point I made in The Fluid Pantheon needs to be reiterated: the structural approach is a necessary step toward the a-structural

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(which is not simply anti-structural). Going beyond Dumézil’s theory of the three functions, I analyzed the devas as symbols of a “fourth function,” including all that does not fit within a trifunctional structure (that is, within the official pantheon). Yet as an idea, the fourth function itself remains too structural. The demon, on the other hand, is a quasi-floating signifier, a paradoxical presence / absence meaning two opposite things, as well as different things depending on places, times, and people. This phenomenological dimension (which is ontological or transcendental as well) is more elusive and harder to discern as it does not always appear explicitly in the texts. Yet it is the very source of the demonic and of its hold on bodies and minds. A negative definition is only the demon’s most visible aspect. What the demonic designates is above all the surplus, the remainder. The demon follows beings “like their shadow”—it is their shadow. Māra is the shadow of the Buddha, a metamorphic being that can occupy all functions and wear all masks, and even in some cases impersonate the Buddha himself. Thus, the demon is not only a structural entity but a type of reality that subverts and overflows the structure. It is a Janus-faced or rather two-headed being—one head with a face, the other faceless. Rather than simply a representative of some “fourth function,” a residual category, it points to that which engulfs any function. As a type, the “exogenous” demon does not stand on the threshold between two alternative ideological systems, as Cozad sees it; it is not even anti-system or anti-structural but more profoundly subversive, purely elusive, hors-jeu—a kind of moving vanishing point (or points, since a single motionless vanishing point remains redolant of structure). Even when one seems to reintroduce it into the discourse, what one reintroduces is in fact only a simulacrum, a pale replica. It cannot be caught in the meshes or pigeonholes of structural analysis, for it is not a pigeon or a dove; if anything, it may be a hawk or a kite. Because it is only passing through, it shuns permanent altars. It is a transitive and transitional power, a pervader of boundaries. In theory, at least, a demon of obstacles stands in the way of totalizing thought, in that it transcends ideology and cannot be categorized as morally evil. In actual practice, however, demons often get domesticated, as if caught in a ritual (or inside a bottle or a book). But the demon originally is situated upstream of the very distinction between gods and demons, purity and defilement, subject and object. It dwells in the interstices, the in-between, the passage, where the interstice itself is also the deep source, the elusive origin of all beings. Demonic negativity is the very source of movement, life, the ex-static subversion of the en-stasis that is sometimes presented as the goal of Buddhist practice. It is therefore not only the shadow but also the vital part of Buddhism. Esoteric Buddhist demonology is both an affirmation and a negation of this uncanny perception of the demonic. It is ultimately an attempt (and

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a temptation) to re-inscribe it in the reassuring meshes of a system—even if that system takes on the airs of a pandemonium. Thus one can say that the Buddha “contains” Māra, in the sense of including and of restraining. The first sense is phenomenological, the second ideological. But the phenomenological sense itself often turns out to be merely ideological. That ideology, however, shows in itself the (so-called demonic) traces of what subverts it. Despite all exorcisms, evil still looms in the dark. Even when they seem to be destroyed, demons are always reborn from their ashes—as in Terminator, their annihilation is always postponed. They constitute a symbolic reservoir, a powerful spur for Buddhist thought, its fertile ground or hinterland. BUDDHIST RESPONSES Just as they had done with their “fluid” pantheon, Buddhists tried to organize the demonic jumble into a relatively stable hierarchy. The first apotropaic texts of Buddhism were long lists of demons’ names.26 A list has the twofold merit of naming and organizing—two complementary ways to get some control over the threatening unknown—and the reassuring notion that “the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t know” underscores the vital importance of getting to know all devils and to recognize them by name. Yet, as Paul Valéry puts it: “Their name is legion; who, in his fondest dreams, could hope to draw up a complete list of man’s familiar demons? Even to undertake the task would mean that one of them possessed you.”27 Taxonomical texts obey a logic that pertains to utilitarian, sectarian, and authorial dictates. A list of demons also has a performative aspect: by establishing a hierarchy, it generates the very phenomenon it is supposed to address; it conflates the moral with the hierarchical, although there is no necessary correlation between the two aspects. The elusive powers that we call gods and demons must always be studied in context—ritual context, in particular. Failing to do so puts at risk the viability of a static and falsely classificatory pantheon.28 From that standpoint, there is no fundamental difference between medieval Japanese gods and demons. Nevertheless, one may provisionally distinguish between “natural” demons, that is, demonic beings that have risen to the status of demons by accumulating power (sometimes through spiritual practice), and “karmic” demons, humans who have fallen into the demonic path through anger, jealousy, and similarly negative states of mind. Taxing Taxonomies

While demons cause havoc and usually (but not always) are on the side of chaos, there is still a method to their madness. One problem that arises is with demons that insist on remaining anonymous and bypassing the

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Buddhist framework. Their pandemonium is not just an inverted pantheon; it is rather a subverted one, something altogether different—and being of a different order means that it is, precisely, not an “order.” In that sense, disorder is not the inversion or mirror image of order; it is its subversion. We thus end up with two images of the pandemonium: just as there was a fluid pantheon alongside (or below) the official, structural one, we can discern a fluid, implicit, a-structural pandemonium behind or below the “official,” quasi-structural one. Taxonomies and typologies (including the chart in the present volume) are useful yet misleading in that they participate in the general rationalizing tendency that characterizes the Buddhist and non-Buddhist pantheons. Far from being purely descriptive, they always have a performative function. Thus, while it may be necessary at times to establish rudimentary typologies for a heuristic purpose, they are intended to remain flexible and should not be confused with stable taxonomic categories. In the case of demon kings, another difficulty arises. Like a single tree growing from countless roots or a river formed from the confluence of many streams, well-distinguished deities or demon kings emerge from a multitude of nameless spirits on whose power they draw, presenting not a static opposition between beneficent and baleful powers (gods and demons) but a great variety of individual trajectories, along a continuum ranging from the collective demonic to the individualized demon. Of course, the more individualized a demonic power, the more controllable or “exorable” it is through ritual.29 There are naturally some noteworthy exceptions and the reverse can be equally true: inasmuch as it refuses to “take form” (and a name), the elusive demon remains “inexorable.” Thus, there is a relation between the degree of anonymity and the amount of ritual handling. Anonymous demons are expelled through exorcism, while strongly individualized demons are the object of ritual propitiation. The exorcism itself eventually contributes to their individualization, and its first step is to reveal (or literally “pro-duce,” bring forward) the identity of the attacking demon.30 Demonology and Epidemiology

Demons constituted an etiological principle, and magical healing was also demonological healing. According to Paul Unschuld, “demonological healing was the most influential system” for most Chinese.31 The same was true for most Japanese. If individual diseases could be attributed either to physiological or demonic causes, then demonic infestation seemed to be the only valid explanation when they were confronted with the sudden and massive calamity of epidemics.32 The pestilence demons deemed to be responsible were generally perceived as obeying the orders of a higher demon king, specialized in a particular type of disease. “My name is legion, for we are many,” says

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the demon king—but the metaphor, referring to Roman legions, implies a well-ordered troop, which was not the case with the Buddhist pandemonium.33 The individual demon king commands his legion. Outside his command, however, anonymous demons proliferate and form bands or hordes—far from a legion (unless we have in mind some variant of the motley outlaws the French dubbed their Foreign Legion), yet with strict discipline. Even after a demon king had been tamed or converted to Buddhism, the attribution of calamities attributed to his incapacity to control his hordes reflected that ambivalence. Demons were usually part of an extended family: Hārītī, called the Mother of Demons, has five hundred or a thousand children who are said to be demon kings each with a large retinue of their own. Vināyaka also has five hundred or a thousand footmen under his command, the vināyakas or the gaṇas (hence his alias, Gaṇapati). The vengeful spirit of Sugawara no Michizane was the leader of a horde of demons, and the same is true of the pestilence demon Gozu Tennō and of the archetypal demon of obstacles, Kōjin. I will return to both. Despite the emergence of a few powerful and well-individualized demon kings, pestilence demons essentially worked en masse, numbering as many, it was sometimes said, as the pores of the human body. Epidemics were thus regarded as the natural by-product of demonic hordes, just as famines were the by-product of locust invasions. Although highly symbolic, there was something hopeless about the huge numbers of invisible pathological agents. There were as many pores or “gates” of the human body as there were Dharma gates in traditional Buddhism, as well as equal numbers of defilements and diseases. In the Gozu tennō engi, for instance, we read: “Human beings have eighty-four thousand pores, in each of which dwells a subaltern deity.”34 According to Amano Sadakage (1663–1733), the so-called subaltern deities (zokushin) turn out to be the “main gods” that control each moment of the three hundred sixty days of the year and dwell in each pore of the skin.35 Not only do these microscopic deities control the human body, they also control the four seasons. Demon Hordes and Demon Lords

“So much for the demonic masses,” writes Strickmann. “Yet there was always room for the gifted individual demon to transcend his class and blossom forth in scripture—and in tangible, real-life institutions—as an independent personality with a domain of his own.”36 As Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari observe: “There is always a pact with a demon; the demon sometimes appears as the head of the band, sometimes as the Loner on the sidelines of the pack, and sometimes as the higher Power (Puissance) of the band. The exceptional individual has many possible positions.”37 Apotropaic rituals provided a transition from the non-individual, elemental, anonymous, and egregious, to the individualized; from demonic

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footmen to spirit commanders to demon kings. Once a demon gets out of the pack, evolving from the amorphous, aniconic to the anthropomorphic (or theriomorphic in many cases), it is on its way to becoming the object of a cult, rising from demonic to divine—or even bodhisattva- or buddha-like–status, in some (admittedly rare) cases. Through these ritual transformations, Buddhist monks were able, if not to eradicate evil, at least to keep it at bay. As Strickmann notes: “Figures originally (and no doubt, marginally, still) functioning as disease-demons have by the early medieval period become homeopathic protectors against the very ailments which previously, in their old, unenlightened, pre-Buddhist days, they had themselves provoked. Thus did Buddhism interpose a cordon sanitaire of converted demon-commanders between the faithful and the seething mass of threatening demons that surrounded them.”38 Form and Formlessness

According to Mary Douglas, “There is a power in the forms and other power in the inarticulate area, margins, confused lines, and beyond the external boundaries.”39 Depending on which aspect of the demonic phenomenon one emphasizes, several lines of evolution can be discerned. One can, for instance, observe a gradual shift from the invisible to the visible, from the mise en scène to the ob-scene and the grotesque. During the Heian period, demons rarely showed themselves, and always in circumstances unfavorable to observation (usually at night). When they took a shape, seeing them constituted a transgression that could have dire consequences. As a result, depicting them in anthropomorphic or in animal form was still inconceivable.40 The same was true of the kami who, with a few exceptions, remained invisible to human eyes—the lack of a body (and therefore of visibility and individuality) being precisely what defined them as divine (or demonic). Yet they were always on the brink of visibility, and when they chose to manifest themselves, it could be in anything—a stone, a tree, or a person.41 Likewise, while demons, essentially mobile and volatile, eluded any specific figuration, their presence and power were never doubted.42 There was indeed a fine line between the demons and low-ranking kami, and the invisibility of the latter also signified their ambiguity, their potentially demonic nature. Where local religion spoke of quasi-invisible manifestations (a spirit that manifests itself simply by taking the form of its “support,” yorishiro 依代), Buddhism revealed real beings, most often anthropomorphic. The great kami of classical mythology—Amaterasu, Susanoo, and Ōkuninushi, for example—were the major exceptions to the general rule, and they assumed anthropomorphic form from the outset. As Jackie Assayag remarks in the Indian context, “To a certain extent . . . , the anthropomorphism of the gods reveals their auspicious nature, whereas their a-morphism signals the demonic.”43

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With esoteric Buddhism, visualization was emphasized as a sine qua non for ritual control, and representations of demon kings followed strict iconographic rules. Thus, esoteric Buddhism promoted the shady world of demons to a higher degree of visibility—and of existence. While some had begun as mere emanations, projections of ritual formulas and implements, these demons, presupposed by religious experiences such as possession, eventually became the virtual sources of possession. Many Buddhist stories about provisional manifestations of deities called gongen 権現 speak of invisible powers appearing to sight (as against simply manifesting through speech, as with divine oracles). Regarding demons of lesser stature, the imagination, once released, ran freely, and it soon led to caricatural representations that perhaps constituted a catharsis—for fear. Protectors and Predators

A broader trend, perhaps reflective of the fundamental ambivalence of demons, was the transformation of predators into protectors.44 This movement represented the consolidation of a process that was repeated time and again in every apotropaic ritual or exorcism. Such rituals aimed essentially at placating a threatening force—or, if need be, crushing it. In kami worship, they also transformed the kami’s violent spirit (aramitama) into a benign spirit (nigimitama). As a result, the Buddhist pantheon, apart from the buddhas and bodhisattvas themselves, came to be essentially composed of protectors. In Indian esoteric Buddhism, such protectors were often depicted with wrathful features recalling their demonic origins. After all, former demons, duly converted, could still quench their thirst for blood and taste for violence at the expense of their old companions—now their enemies. HANDLING DEMONS Buddhist scholars have often described the position of demons in Buddhism as part of a broader phenomenon, the conversion of local gods to Buddhism. From the Buddhist standpoint, Brahmanical or Hindu gods— beginning with Brahmā and Indra—were “heretic”; hence demons to be converted. Phyllis Granoff describes this belief in conversion as a significant difference between Buddhism and Hinduism: whereas the Hindu god Kṛṣṇa kills demons, the Buddha converts them.45 In constantly attempting to convert their demons rather than simply kill or enslave them, Buddhists, in Granoff’s view, had to recognize, even in the ugliest-looking demons, a potential for salvation. This argument, while all embracing, does not seem to fit as neatly the case of esoteric Buddhism, which advocated an approach closer to the Hindu model of subjugation. In Brahmanism and classical Hinduism, truth fuses with the cosmic order: the evil or demonic element does not only oppose the truth,

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it subverts the hierarchical order of things and beings. All beings must follow their individual dharma, and in that sense the conversion of a demon must itself be demonic, since it would go against its dharma.46 On the other hand, the Buddhists did not hesitate to demonize major Indian gods like Śiva (Maheśvara)—which, in some cases, unwittingly returned them to their demonic roots. However, if their ambiguity is what allowed these divine “demons” to be converted in the first place, it also explains why a certain degree of doubt always remained as to the genuineness of their conversion. Their obedience had to be reactivated periodically. Thus, calling them “benevolent deities” (J. zenshin 善神) was hardly more than a propitiatory euphemism, which in some cases amounted to wishful thinking. Conversion is the benign image that the Buddhist tradition wants to bestow on its relations with local gods and demons. The Buddha is celebrated for his skillful methods of converting people.47 For instance, he tricked his half-brother Nanda into becoming a monk, and at Śrāvastī he performed miracles in the presence of King Prasenajit to defeat the six heretic masters. That easy victory, however, led not to the conversion of the heretics but to their death.48 Some demons could be converted, others needed to be subjugated. In the case of demon kings, some were so powerful that they could only be propitiated or placated. Yet the distinctions between conversion, subjugation, and propitiation do not easily align with three distinct groups of demons. We are always dealing with contending stories, and a demon that is easily converted in one tradition turns out to be particularly resilient in another. Yet, despite all the evidence to the contrary, the general idea prevailed that local, chthonian spirits were converted to Buddhism and were generously integrated into its universalistic and abstract framework. Their subjugation was interpreted as a civilizing process, whereby their violence was eventually all but erased. The fine line between conversion and subjugation was easily traversed, however, and the process of conversion could at times be quite violent. The examples usually mentioned are the conversions of Hārītī and Āṭavaka by the Buddha. But although the skillful means employed sometimes verged on cunning and deception, Buddhist conversions still relied on pacific methods. Still, their results were mixed and the conversion was never complete. Worse, certain demons remained forever resistant to Buddhist teaching. For instance, Māra, although forced to acknowledge the Buddha’s superiority, never considered becoming his disciple. The Māravijaya

From a narrative or mythological viewpoint, the climax in the Buddhist legend is not when the Bodhisattva reaches awakening but rather when he confronts and defeats Māra—admittedly with some help from the earth deity (or deities). This episode, known as the Māravijaya (fig. 1.1), has

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served as a paradigm for Buddhist practice throughout Asia, but especially in Southeast Asia. In the narrative, Māra serves mainly as a foil for the Buddha, and his weakness is emphasized even though he is said to be a god “superior to all gods” (devatidevata, an epithet applied to the Buddha as well). Alfred Foucher has already questioned this caricatural image of Māra, arguing in his defense that he was merely acting according to his dharma as ruler of the world.49 Yet this well-known episode is not the only one in which Māra tries to get rid of his rival. Even after the Buddha’s awakening, Māra followed him “like his shadow,” trying to persuade him to go home and fulfill his marital and parental duties. When this argument fails, he also urges him to enter Nirvāna—and in the end, he succeeds, depriving the world of his teacher. After the Buddha’s parinirvāṇa, Māra continues to tempt his disciples, sometimes taking the form of the Buddha himself to deceive them. Thus, although Māra loses one battle, he does not concede the campaign of psychological warfare that opposes him to the Buddha and his disciples. He remains the “arch-enemy” of Buddhism and continues to trap Buddhist practitioners in his nets.50 Yet the Buddha’s victory over Māra became one of the paradigms for the subjugation of local deities and demons. As Robert DeCaroli points out, it allowed Buddhist monks to validate their own practices regarding demonic spirit deities.51 Apart from canonical cases of conversion where the demons’ participation in the Buddha’s assembly transforms them illico presto into docile followers and protectors, the conversion in most difficult cases is entrusted by the Buddha to his yakṣa disciple Vajrapāṇi, or, in the case of the esoteric buddha Mahāvairocana, to one of Vajrapāṇi’s avatars (Trailokyavijaya, Saṃvara, Acala, or Ucchuṣma). Sometimes the Buddha takes on a more active role, however. In the Mahāvairocana-sūtra, when Vajrapāṇi asks Mahāvairocana how to purify all obstructions caused by

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FIGURE 1.1  Māravijaya. Detail of Kako genzai e-inga kyō, Matsunaga Version. Kamakura period, late 13th century. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Mary Griggs Burke Collection, Metropolitan Museum of Art.

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FIGURE 1.2  Gōzanze (Traikokyavijaya) trampling Maheśvara, by Nakabayashi Gennai (d.u.). Late 17th century. Wood with polychromy. Art Institute of Chicago.

FIGURE 1.3  Gōzanze (Traikokyavijaya). Besson zakki, TZ 3: 372, fig. 168.

the vināyakas, the Buddha teaches him a ritual that culminates in trampling them under one’s left foot.52 According to the myth, when Maheśvara (Śiva) refuses to join the new Buddhist order, Vajrapāṇi (or one of his avatars) tramples him and his consort Uma, and the two deities die an infamous (if fleeting) death (figs. 1.2–1.4).53 Buddhist sources justify Maheśvara’s chastising by emphasizing his delusion in continuing to think of himself as the supreme ruler in the Three Worlds. Having let Vajrapāṇi’s wrath run its course, the Buddha now asks him to bring the divine couple back to life. Revived and wizened by the experience, the two deities take refuge in the Buddha and vow to protect the Buddhist Dharma. This happy ending looks conspicuously like an attempt to euphemize Vajrapāṇi’s violence. Did Maheśvara and Uma truly die, or did they simply lose consciousness? The Chinese commentator Yixing (683–727) argues that Maheśvara was not killed: “ ‘His life came to an end’ means that all his mental functions were forever

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FIGURE 1.4  Fudō (Acala) trampling Maheśvara. Besson zakki, TZ 3: 364, fig. 165.

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FIGURE 1.5  Bishamonten trampling demons. Kamakura period. Ink and color on paper. Shoson zuzōshū. Kanazawa Library, Yokohama.

cut”—an expression that signifies awakening (because Maheśvara symbolizes ignorance, and the end of ignorance coincides with awakening). The transformation of the motif of death by trampling into an experience of bliss constitutes one of the summits of Tantric paradox (or disingenuousness), akin to the euphemism that defines the ritual murder of demons as “deliverance.” In Japan, trampling became a favorite trope for demon subjugation (fig. 1.5), with some sources describing an exorcism during which the aggressor’s head is trampled by the epidemic deity Gozu Tennō while the wisdom king Fudō stamps on his belly.54 Trampling was a relatively gentle way to subjugate demons, however. Harsher methods included beheading, stabbing, piercing, enucleating, impaling, and devouring. As the conversions realized by esoteric deities seem particularly harsh, it is tempting to regard the disproportionate use of force in these unequal encounters as a kind of “asymmetric warfare.”

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Ruthless Compassion?

From a theological standpoint, one can distinguish—as Rob Linrothe does in his book Ruthless Compassion—the wrathful deities of esoteric Buddhism, manifestations of buddhas and bodhisattvas, from the protectors, who initially are local deities or spirits of the dead. From the anthropological standpoint, however, the line is not so clear. Thus, one cannot simply take at face value the traditional account of the subjugation of Śiva-­Maheśvara by Saṃvara—as does Linrothe when he argues that “Śiva underfoot is by no means to be thought of as a figure dragged in from another religion to be humiliated. Both Saṃvara and Śiva are to be recognized as enlightened beings.”55 Rolf Stein too argues that the killing of Rudra or Maheśvara by a Buddhist bully should be taken with a grain of salt and read as an expression of Buddhist nonduality: Beyond that first obvious reading, it is rather some of the major themes of Tantrism that are thus illustrated and staged recurrently: the sublimation of evil—which belongs to the realm of relative truth—through its transmutation into the noumenal, a transmutation operated through the twofold movement of the identification of the tamer with the tamed, and the ultimate buddhification of the tamed. On the doctrinal plane, that transmutation is justified by the nonduality of saṃsāra and nirvāṇa, whereas ritual achieves that same transmutation by the identification of the officiant with the deity, owing to the appropriate visualizations and mantras.”56

Granted Stein’s charitable reading, one cannot help wondering about the way in which this transmutation of evil into good, or of the “mundane” into the “supramundane,” was achieved. If the point was just transmutation, why describe with such a wealth of detail, in a Tibetan version of the subjugation myth, how the horse-headed Hayagrīva impales the Hindu god Rudra—in what amounts to an act of rape and sodomy?57 Despite all well-meaning scholastic interpretations, such representations carry with them a definite—and not so subtle—form of sectarian superiority and debasement. Yet it may turn out to be a pyrrhic victory for Buddhism, in the sense that often the tamer became hardly distinguishable from the tamed (at least in the popular imagination). It is is not entirely clear, for instance, whether the image of the two embracing elephant-headed deities (which represents the seduction and subduing of the demon Vināyaka by Avalokiteśvara in her manifestation as the female Senāyaka), constitutes a buddhification of Śivaism or Śivaization of Buddhism. Or, to put it crudely, who ends up on top? Exegetes may choose to emphasize the paradoxical logic and somewhat oxymoronic nature of “ruthless compassion.” Yet the symbolism of the demonic figures continued to work indirectly in the esoteric discourse, and in milieus

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less enlightened than those of the monastic elite, the negative aspect prevailed.58 Esoteric Buddhism achieved a compromise of sorts between taming and conversion, in the sense that powerful demons like Maheśvara are both killed (or, as the euphemism has it, “delivered”) and converted— reborn as protectors of Buddhism. One caveat, duly noted, is that conversion itself has its limits: even when they are ultimately glorified as protectors, the former demons remained demonic. Demons of Obstacles

Linrothe emphasizes that the destruction of obstacles is the main function of the wrathful deities of Indian esoteric Buddhism—which he calls krodha-vighnāntaka, a term referring to both their form (wrathful) and their function (obstacle removal).59 Unfortunately, he does not study the demons that embody obstacles and are often themselves wrathful deities. Indeed, both the obstacle-causing and the obstacle-removing deities are wrathful, they are mirror images of each other, and in some cases they happen to be the same. While some deities were demonized because of their hubris and overflowing power, others required worship precisely to increase their power, even feeding on the vital essence of beings in the worst cases. But usually they were parasites that used their mediating position between the human world and the higher divine spheres to demand, so to speak, a toll fee. In medieval Japan, these demons of obstacles played a particularly large role. The prototypical representative of this type is Vināyaka, the Buddhist version of the Indian god Gaṇeśa. In the Hindu Liṇgapurāṇa, we are told that Gaṇeśa was created to obstruct demons. But in esoteric Buddhism, Vināyaka is himself a demon of obstacles.60 In Japan, under the names Shōten and Kangiten, he continued to cause obstacles and to curse those who did not worship him, and he came to be identified with the “wild god” Kōjin. CODETTA Whereas early Buddhism espoused an ideal of nonviolence, esoteric Buddhism endorsed violence as a means of subduing demons. Yet the resilience of the demonic element in newly converted gods led Buddhists to develop a paradoxical concept that regarded good and evil as being irreducibly bound. According to the Avataṃsaka-sūtra, as quoted by the Tiantai master Zhiyi in his Mohe zhiguan 摩訶止観, “Demons dwell within the Dharma gate of inconceivable liberation.”61 If demons can be enlightened, however, the reverse is equally true. According to the same text, quoted this time in his Weimo jing lueshu 維摩経略疏: “There is a demonic (māra) [aspect of] bodhi-mind (bodhicitta), a demonic [aspect

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of] samādhi, and a demonic [aspect of] the good friend (kalyāṇamitra, spiritual guide).”62 One Buddhist response to the question of theodicy (and to the popular fear of demons) was the Tendai theory of hongaku 本覚 or “innate awakening,” which denied evil in the name of a higher truth or at least considered it to be part of a fundamentally harmonious reality.63 Ironically, as an alternative to other basic approaches or responses to the demonic, this theory had the strange and unwanted result of introducing evil at the very heart of the absolute. In other words, while populating the external world with demons, esoteric Buddhism also installed them in the innermost heart of men and women. Yet at the same time, by “ontologizing” evil, it also reevaluated it and eventually brought it to a level close (or equal) to that of enlightenment. This paradoxical result opened the door to doctrinal, theological, and mythological innovations. Māra and the Buddha were now said to be one (mabutsu ichinyo 魔仏一如). The transcendent buddhas were said to encompass both good and evil. And as we will see, the archetypal god of obstacles, Kōjin, even became the “fundamentally existing Tathāgata” (honnu nyorai 本有如来). One can try to tame demons by objectifying them or even caricaturing them. Actually, to the extent that the demonic designates the unthought, the radically different, it always returns to haunt thought and ritual. It belongs to what Derrida, in a haunting pun, calls a hauntology—a discourse that always overflows or transcends local ontologies.64 It returns not only in practice, for it reveals the ever-present (albeit never totally “present,” always elsewhere) evil, but also in theory. The demonic produces—and transcends—all particular demons: what can be explained in them, reduced to captivity, or to obedience is simply the most external part of their being (or nonbeing), the negativity inherent in the real. In other words, the demonic forced Buddhism to “tarry with the negative.” Unlike individualized demons, the demonic as such remains out of reach of any kind of objectifying ritual or discourse. I will, accordingly, content myself with discussing specific demons and how they have constantly been reduced into more reassuring objects. Yet the disconcerting nature of those demons resurfaces in the many stories that intimate how the demonic, despite all ritual, mythological, and ideological precautions, always leaves a remainder that needs to be attended to. As Derrida and others have shown, the remainder—that is, the excremental, the dirt—is precisely what exceeds the system (the incremental) and subverts it.65 To that extent, the study of demons constitutes in effect a royal way to understand and deconstruct medieval Japanese religion.

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THE DEMONIC WORLD Those who enter the magical world this book attempts to describe must be prepared to encounter lion gods, elephant demons, and many other strange and often frightening creatures. With such a prospect, one might be forgiven for recalling Dorothy’s famous words: “I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.” For medieval Japanese (and their Asian contemporaries), the world was not an enchanted garden but overwhelmingly a dark forest, a dangerous place full of evil entities. Diseases, when their cause could be found, often sprang from a malicious attack or the transgression of uncounted taboos. Every day could become a dies irae. The next several chapters focus on the mythological discourse of medieval Japanese religion, and therefore on relatively individualized deities. Some of the demons named had a clear persona while others were hardly more than the emanations or side effects of ritual. Since many of them became manifest only in possessions and exorcisms, we need to approach them from their ritual side, through the “black mirror” of esoteric Buddhism, as it were, to understand the technologies that produced them. Demons then were only one element in a broad framework encompassing possession, exorcism, magical incantations, talismans, protectors, and predators. At the same time, they were perceived as the source of the structure, its raison d’être. Among the various ways to handle demons, exorcism was the dominant method in esoteric Buddhism even though most Buddhists never abandoned their attempts at conversion, often a euphemism for subjugation. Many esoteric Buddhist rituals imply coercion—but coercion worked best with lower spirits, and in principle higher gods or buddhas could not be arm-twisted. In practice, however, the distinction was never so clear, and the same god or demon might be handled through a whole array of ritual techniques invoking, at various points, praise, persuasion, and brutal force. The networks or semantic and symbolic fields in which demons appeared (and thrived) include—at a first approximation—episodes of magic, possession, and exorcism. From the anthropological and

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phenomenological perspectives, possession and exorcism are cross-­ cultural phenomena onto which properly Buddhist rites and myths of subjugation were grafted in the case of medieval Japan. With the rise of apotropaic rituals during that period, Buddhist monks, who in principle were obliged to cultivate compassion, became the most sought after purveyors of curses, and esoteric Buddhism, in particular, became a kind of “imprecatory” religion.1 PROBLEMS OF METHOD By stepping into a magic circle, we enter something that could be called the “apotropaic sphere.” This realm is constituted of (and by) rituals aimed at responding to the perceived attacks of malevolent powers, whether of demonic, human, animal, or even divine origin. When they were not occasioned by a concrete attack, the rituals also were justified as preemptive strikes, attempts to crush evil in the bud—specifically, in premodern Japan, instances of possession that constituted the most visible (and theatrical) cases of demonic aggression. Just as disease could have three kinds of etiology—physiological, karmic, and demonic (including intermediary figures)—misfortune, in general, could have karmic causes or result from invisible aggressions. Some were of human origin, caused by jealousy and resentment; others were demonic in the strict sense, caused by invisible predators (demons, witch-animals, or even gods). While the aggression of human spirits, whether alive or dead, was frequent, it was by no means the only type, as the examples of possession by mononoke in the Genji monogatari suggest. In many cases, however, the terminology remains vague, because one does not always know which demon(s) were at work. Due to the elusive power or the plurality of the aggressors, the available techniques of divination could be insufficient, making it impossible to know which rituals and protectors would be most effective in countering the aggression. Because earlier Buddhist scholars emphasized the philosophical and/ or religious nature of Buddhism, they were disinclined to look at facets of Buddhism that were deemed “magical” or superstitious. Stemming from an old debate between magic and religion,2 this prejudice against magic was particularly inefficient when it came to esoteric Buddhism. Even then, within notions of magic itself, another—still widely used— distinction was made between “white” and “black” magic. Some rituals were clearly intended to harm, while others aimed at healing. The problem arose when it was recognized that the spiritual agents operating in either case—curse or exorcism—were often the same. For this reason, esoteric Buddhist masters themselves were perceived as ambivalent and potentially dangerous actors. At best, they were respected as specialists in white magic, at worst as practitioners of black magic. But as Jeanne

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Favret-Saada and others have shown, the distinction between black and white magic is often a matter of perspective.3 One problem is that esoteric rituals that were undeniably “black” invoked orthodox Buddhist deities like Fudō.4 As Satō Hiroo has shown, Japanese religion was both familiar with and afraid of “cursing” kami (tararigami 祟り神).5 Upon examination, cases of curses and possession often originated from a plurality of causes. Demons were only one of the points of origin, and frequently they appeared to be actors in a complex network involving dead or living humans as well as witch-animals, nature spirits, “evil breaths,” and the like. In the traditional worldview, misfortune—and disease in particular— did not happen by chance. While physical or karmic causes of disease were recognized as factors, demonic aggression was the main explanation in most cases. What seems to modern minds as two antithetical forms of etiological thought were not perceived as such, and the line between “magical healing” and “experimental medicine” was easily crossed. Consequently, a disease like delirium that could impress observers as a dramatic form of possession was not seen as different in kind from most diseases, which were commonly diagnosed as a kind of mild, latent possession since they too resulted from a curse or spell. As there was no ontological distinction between illness and possession, diseases could be approached from either angle. Spiritual aggression was only one of the possible etiologies, and in certain medical systems it was possible to dispense with supernatural agents and attempt to act directly on the disease. Even when karmic retribution was invoked, it could be taken as automatic or a working out entrusted to demons. Thus, depending on the case, a karmic interpretation could reinforce or weaken the demonic interpretation. In the case of large-scale epidemics threatening cosmic and social order, however, demonic aggression was recognized as the most probable cause. Also recognized was the contagious nature of certain diseases, called “corpse-vector diseases” (denshibyō 伝屍病). The Keiran shūyōshū, however, uses this term for demonic diseases including leprosy, plague, and madness.6 It also describes a therapeutic process in which apotropaic rituals were performed together with moxibustion and the assumption of herbal medications.7 Plague demons in particular were often seen as the vengeful ghosts of people who had died during previous epidemics and now were “roaming the world in large bands in an attempt to find substitutes by infecting people with the very diseases that had claimed their own lives.”8 In recent times, the dominant scholarly approach has been to oppose medical discourse to that of ritual healing. Buddhist monks, however, were both ritualists and medical practitioners.9 In anthropological literature, exorcisms are usually studied in the context of healing with an emphasis

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on the patient and the collectivity, as well as on the ritual itself. In this approach, the supernatural protagonists of the exorcism too often receive a cursory treatment—and not only because, as is often the case, they tend to remain collective, anonymous, or poorly individualized.10 This is true even in a book like Bruce Kapferer’s A Celebration of Demons. Yet Kapferer points out that demons are not simply metaphors for social groups. The social definition of illness as demonic and of exorcism as social reintegration of the patient only works to a certain point, since evil is precisely what cannot be reintegrated. As Favret-Saada argues in her book Deadly Words, evil is in the eye of the beholder—but the evil eye is always that of the other.11 An exorcism intended to protect an alleged victim could, in turn, be seen as demonic aggression by the person who was its target. This is what I call the principle of ambivalence or reversibility. Demons can be purely mental (conscious or not) or they can have a quasi-physical reality—or sometimes both, in the case of mental projections. In esoteric Buddhism, this ambivalence is often described in terms of the theory of two truths (ultimate and conventional).12 But in any case, the traditional opposition between gods and demons seems insufficient to describe the reality of possession. Here we are dealing with elusive “powers” that can, depending on the circumstances, flow into each other and play a positive or negative role. Reductionist Approaches

Possession is well attested, even today, in all Asian cultures and across the world.13 But while anthropologists have studied it extensively in traditional societies, they have given it much less attention in the literate societies of India, China, and Japan. Yet possession plays an important role in Hinduism, Daoism, Buddhism (especially esoteric Buddhism), and other religious movements such as Shintō, Onmyōdō, and Shugendō. Even here there are differences. While there are many studies of possession in the cases of Indian Śivaism and Chinese Daoism, there is very little so far on East Asian Buddhism—with the notable exception of Michel Strickmann’s work.14 As Strickmann has shown, induced possession was a major feature of esoteric Buddhism. This type of possession may be tentatively defined as the invasion of the field of consciousness by a power perceived as alien. In most cases, this power, usually depicted as demonic, remains vaguely identified even though its intrusive presence is strongly experienced. When this is so, the exorcism may require a difficult negotiation. A distinction is often made between induced possession and wild or involuntary (possibly pathological) possession.15 But these two types represent the poles of a broad spectrum, with many instances falling somewhere in between. What initially appears to be a case of involuntary possession, for example, could also be a response to a ritual setting and the expectations of a monastic

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community.16 As Richard Freeman points out, “Possession, exorcism, and the rites of image-worship lie along a continuum of practices and beliefs.”17 Possession is a stage in a process—even if it represents its most violent, dramatic, and to us “exotic” moment. It may look theatrical at times, but it can also end in death.18 In most cases, however, it is likely to remain a relatively benign form of parasitism. But as with all phases of magical ritual, it has two faces: harming and healing, wild and induced. In describing possession anthropologists tend to explain it away, adopting a functionalist stance that reduces the event to the social and cultural effects produced by the possessed. Possession thus becomes a psychocognitive phenomenon (akin to hysteria), a sociological one (leading to social integration or disintegration), or a political one (allowing the negotiation of territorial conflicts). In all these interpretations, the alleged main agent—demon or god—is usually seen as a transparent symbol or cipher standing in for other humans. Because this approach places emphasis on the ritual mechanism, the god or demon involved—together with their “personality”— is often neglected as if they were interchangeable. By the same token, possession is denied ontological reality: it is regarded either as a psychological state or as a tactic used by subaltern subjects (for instance, women) to “get even.” It is clear, however, that such explanations do not exhaust the reality confronted in practice. To understand Buddhist exorcisms, one must question—and perhaps exorcize, or at least placate—the functionalist demons that seem to possess so many scholars. The most influential psychological interpretation, of course, has been that of Freud, who saw demonic possession as a form of hysteria before its interiorization as neurosis. Many anthropologists, like Georges Devereux and other specialists in ethnopsychiatry, have taken Freud’s views further.19 Yet the reduction of an apotropaic ritual to its social functions ignores its dramatic urgency. From a safe distance, shielded from any disturbing affect, the observer can conveniently observe the ritual as a sort of play, and can even see, as Clifford Geertz did in his (not so) “thick description” of the Balinese Barong ritual, some of its protagonists as “comic.”20 What many anthropologists fail to notice is that their claim to objectivity is actually performative and leads naturally to objectification or reification. Ernesto de Martino is one of the rare scholars to question the modern prejudice against magical powers and the efficacy of rituals. For him, the typical scholarly reticence to admit there is a problem reflects a kind of mental laziness that should itself become a problem. When the naturalization envisioned by science removes psychic or “paranormal” phenomena from reality, the reintroduction of such phenomena is perceived as scandalous, a violation of the “grandiose universe of Galileo and Newton.” The strength of de Martino’s argument lies in questioning this “reality” and the scholarly arrogance that underpins it: “When one raises the question of the reality of magical powers, one is

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tempted to hold as evident what we mean by reality, as if it were a concept that the mind possesses in all tranquillity, safe from any aporia.”21 More recently, some anthropologists and sociologists have adopted a “perspectivist” approach. Jeanne Favret-Saada, for instance, insists on the necessity of being “caught” in order to understand. Bruno Latour and Eduardo Viveiros de Castro have tried to dislodge the modern Western observer from his detached standpoint—the “point of view of nowhere.” Perhaps the most thorough critique, once again, has been levied by Ernesto de Martino, who accepts the reality of the magical world and points out the anachronism that makes observers assume that the traditional self has the same stability as the Western self. There is no denying that we have lost familiarity with the reality described in non-Western traditions (and in medieval Japanese texts, in particular). Through possession, some individuals in other cultures claim to gain access to other levels of reality— which a naturalistic view does not recognize. These individuals accept the presence of an invisible world and claim that they can pass into it or communicate with it. Unrecognized by etic explanations, the emic agency resides precisely in those invisible powers, and not in the human “actors.” While rather vague, Étienne Souriau’s emphasis on other “modes of existence” that traverse human agency while making the human agents who (or what) they are seems to be one step in the right direction, and it has been further amplified by Latour.22 But here again, the limits of such an approach are quickly reached. From an epistemological standpoint, agnosticism seems to be a safe approach, in keeping with Hamlet’s admonition, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”23 While there is no denying that ritual establishes a horizontal relationship between the ritualist and a human group, equally important to the ritual is the vertical relationship that the ritualist establishes with gods or demons (above and below). As Fritz Graf points out in the context of ancient Greece, the aim of rituals was always to enter into contact with a superhuman being (deity, demon, or ghost) to harness that being’s power.24 As an act of communication, an address, a prayer, or a petition, such rituals cannot be understood in the absence of its addressees or interlocutors. The Historical Context(s)

Whereas apotropaic rituals loomed large in ancient India, a threshold seems to have been crossed with the rise of Tantra from the sixth century onward. In China, as Strickmann has shown, Buddhist scriptures like the Consecration Sūtra already shared with Daoist scriptures a fascination with demons, but it is with the importation of esoteric Buddhism in the eighth century that apotropaic rituals came to the forefront (figs. 2.1 and 2.2).25 When Kūkai introduced this new form of Buddhism to Japan at the turn of the ninth century, esoteric rituals (such as the Rokujikyō-hō)

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FIGURE 2.1  Rokujikyō ritual. Besson zakki,

TZ 3: 89.

became increasingly popular in the capital. They were initially focused on the protection of the ruler and his family but eventually spread among the aristocracy. Strickmann suggests that “the wave of demonomania that swept over the Japanese aristocracy was to a large extent iatrogenic, produced by the monkish physicians themselves.”26 With the rise of new forms of Buddhism during the Kamakura period, demonic possession was also perceived as the source of heresies. Thus, deceptive demons (junma 順 魔) and antagonistic demons (gyakuma 逆魔) were identified as likely causes in the “possession” of Hōnen’s two disciples Anraku and Jūren, both accused of having seduced court ladies.27 Another high point of ritual (and physical) violence was reached in the Nanbokuchō period. When Go-Daigo Tennō 後醍醐天皇 (1288–1339) had curse rituals performed against the bakufu—under the pretense of ensuring safe childbirth— the shōgun rightly saw them as an act of aggression. He retaliated, not only through ritual means, but also more pragmatically through political action—sending Go-Daigo into exile and arresting the priests in charge of the rituals.28

FIGURE 2.2  Rokujikyō mandara. Besson zakki, TZ 3: 93, fig. 33.

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In Tendai, the use of witchcraft against the bakufu culminated during this period, and the monks’ resistance to the shōgunate gradually weakened afterward. Successive shōguns paid little attention to the monks’ hostility at first, but eventually used it as a pretext to destroy the monasteries. When, some ten years after devastating Mount Hiei, Oda Nobunaga 織田 信長 (1534–1582) suffered a heart attack, the malady was attributed to the monks’ revenge.29 Exorcisms can be of two types, collective or individual. Among the former, the danuo 大儺, dubbed the Great Exorcism, was probably the most famous, due to its long history in China.30 This exorcism, aimed at driving away epidemics, was performed by masked ritualists, the fang­ xiangshi (J. hōsōshi 方相氏). Their uncanny appearance—in particular, their four-eyed mask—was explained by their capacity to see invisible pestilence deities, and in serving as intermediaries between the visible and invisible worlds, they were perceived as inherently ambivalent. In Japan, other collective purification ceremonies, among them the Nakatomi Purification (Nakatomi harae 中臣祓), took place at critical junctures during the year, namely, the second, sixth, and twelfth months.31 The beginning of the year was marked by recitations of apotropaic scriptures like the Renwang jing 仁王経 (J. Ninnō kyō) and the Jinguangming jing 金光明経 (J. Konkōmyō kyō). The Japanese tsuina 追儺, modeled after the Chinese danuo, aimed at expelling pestilence deities outside the territory controlled by the emperor. It is first mentioned in 706, and by 870 it seems to have replaced the da­­ nuo.32 Probably because of their strange appearance, the hōsōshi (masked ritualists) came to be confused with the demons they drove away by around the mid–ninth century (fig. 2.3). Accordingly, the Hiroha jiruishō 伊呂波字類抄 (1144–1181) has it that “Hōsō is the name of a demon.”33 If courtly rituals of Chinese origin or inspiration were celebrations aimed at promoting order and prosperity, Buddhist rituals were aimed essentially at protecting the ruler and the land from calamities of all kinds. Buddhist priests shared that task with Yin-Yang masters, who soon became their rivals. Exorcisms were performed in Buddhist temples during the Shushō-e 修正会 and Shuni-e 修二会 ceremonies at the beginning of the lunar year (setsubun 節分). Buddhist deities, Bishamonten and the nāga king, came to replace the demonized hōsōshi. One of the better-known exorcisms, still popular today, took place during the so-called Water-drawing Ceremony (Omizutori お水取り) at Nigatsudō, a hall in Tōdaiji in Nara.34 At Kōzanji in Kyōto, it is Ganzan Daishi 元三大師, the avatar of the Tendai master Ryōgen 良源 (912–985) in the form of a yellow demon, who drives away two demons (blue and red) at New Year. At Sumiyoshi Shrine in Fukuoka, however, a hōsōshi still plays the main role today, even if most people confuse him with the two demons he is supposed to drive away.

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FIGURE 2.3  Hōsōshi. Edo period. Ink on paper. Petzold Collection, Harvard-Yenching Library.

THE RITUAL SCENARIO To set the magic circle into motion, a curse or spell has to be sent and received. In medieval Japan, whether that curse afflicted a person or a collectivity, its origin—demoniac, animal, human, or divine—had to be found before one could respond to it appropriately. Japanese kami were particularly prone at throwing curses in response to what they perceived as transgressions. In such cases, it was found, white magic did not work, and even placating rituals rarely did.35 In esoteric Buddhism, curses could emanate from the buddhas and bodhisattvas, which seems at first glance contrary to tenets of Buddhist compassion. The primary cursing deities, however, were devas like Daki­ niten and Shōten. Dakiniten, in particular, was associated with the fox, a witch-animal often held responsible for possession.36 Another ambivalent animal, indeed often associated with the fox, was the snake. In the form of the god Ugajin, seen as a human-faced snake or snake-bodied human, it was associated with exorcisms in which evil was sometimes represented by a toad (as in the Suwa rituals) that is devoured by a snake.37 Identifying the cause of the trouble usually took place through divination. Externally, the exorcism typically used a number of incantations and symbols (talismans, mudras, etc.). Internally, it required the help of protecting spirits that acted as the exorcist’s assistants. The usual procedure called for the Buddhist healer (called genja or genza 験者) to transfer the demon away from the medium’s body before compelling it to reveal

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its name or nature, and expelling it for good. Various ritual techniques were available to transfer it into a “substitute body” such as an effigy (hitogata) that could eventually be destroyed by fire or washed away by water toward the Yellow Springs or lower realms. Another common technique consisted of sending the curse back to its presumed sender—or counterattacking by sending another spell. While the distant cause of disease or possession was perceived as the hatred or resentment of human witches, gods, or demons, the proximate cause was a type of spirit known as shikigami (式神 or 識神) in Onmyōdō. The exorcism required the removal of that cause, through the expulsion or reversal of the spells. Because of the reversibility principle mentioned above, the returning of the spell could afflict the sender, resulting sometimes in the latter’s death. Thus, the magic circle continued revolving. The process is reminiscent of the prisoner’s dilemma, the game in which each player, by trying to preempt the other, contributes to the never-ending renewal of the agonistic realm. In this circle, the exorcist’s victory was always a pyrrhic victory. The Actors/Agents

As Favret-Saada has shown, words can kill.38 Exorcism in Japan was a deadly language game in which words circulated between visible and invisible interlocutors. On the front stage were the patient or victim, the exorcist, and sometimes a medium. The medium was often a woman or a child while the exorcist was usually a man, preferably a charismatic Buddhist monk, held to be a repository of magic formulas. (The medium was not needed in cases where the patient could play that role, whereas in Shugendō the exorcist and a female medium typically worked in tandem, often becoming husband and wife.) On the backstage was where the “other scene” of the exorcism occurred—the invisible realm where the battle between the demon(s) and the exorcist’s protector(s) (gohō) took place. The first step of the exorcism aimed at binding (baku 縛) the demon, then revealing its identity—thereby rendering it visible, or at least audible, by giving it a voice and ultimately a name. The battle involved multiple protagonists: on one end were the patient and the exorcist, and on the other was the witch; in between were the medium (when there was one) and the spirit-helpers of both the witch and the exorcist. The patient and the medium, despite their convulsions, were (or seemed to be) passive; the true agents were the witch (the real or alleged sender of the curse), the exorcist, and the possessing spirits who fought through the intermediaries of the patient and the medium. Shikigami and gohō

As noted above, various categories of spiritual beings (including buddhas, devas, and kami) could possess people—even if they were not predators by nature. The lesser deities who played roles in possession and exorcism

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were known as shikigami 式神 in Onmyōdō, and as gohō 護法, Dharma protectors, in esoteric Buddhism. These figures were either demonic entities acting as auxiliaries to a witch or an exorcist (shaman), or the emanations of the latter’s psychic powers. The Yin-Yang master Abe no Seimei 安倍晴明 (921–1005?), for instance, is said to have had twelve such spirits at his command.39 According to Komatsu Kazuhiko, the shikigami personified the power of the spells (suso 呪詛) of the ritual specialist (kitōshi 祈祷師). They could in particular cause the illness of the person against whom they were directed. Although invisible, they manifested themselves through (or descended into) various objects or people. They could also protect Buddhist monks and other religious specialists like the shugenja.40 In an exorcism, the shikigami could represent both the power of the aggressor’s curse and that of the exorcist’s incantations. In the broadest sense, the term gohō refers to deities that acted as protectors or acolytes of the buddhas and bodhisattvas. Their prototype is Vajrapāṇi, the protector of the Buddha. The category includes the four deva kings (J. shitennō, 四天王), the twelve directional devas ( jūniten 十 二天), the five great wisdom kings (godai myōō 五大明王), and the twelve spirit commanders (jūni shinshō 十二神将). In a more technical sense, the gohō are elemental spirits that protected Buddhist priests and ascetics, and in that function they usually manifested as youthful deities known as gohō dōji.41 Among the characteristics they share are their power to fly, their wrathful appearance, and their capacity to possess humans. Thus, depending on the circumstances, gohō and shikigami could act as protectors or aggressors. In many instances, they do not seem highly individualized, and in the modern rituals of the Izanagi-ryū, a branch of Onmyōdō, they are represented by paper dolls made from paper strips placed on top of sticks that symbolize them or constitute their seat (yorishiro 依り代).42 Spells, Curses, Imprecations

The ambiguity of a magical ritual that can both harm and protect is well reflected in the term conjuration, which is sometimes used as a synonym for exorcism but can also mean spell, curse, or bewitchment.43 Dolls found in an ancient well of Heijōkyō with wooden nails stuck in their eyes and heart point to a type of black magic known in the West as defixions (from the Latin defixiones ‘bewitchment’), aimed at submitting another human being to one’s will.44 Spells often involved the use of figurines or effigies, on which the name of the victim was written. While this seems to be a typical case of what James Frazer called “sympathetic magic,” Fritz Graf has argued, in the context of Western antiquity, that representation was not identity. A vague resemblance sufficed, and the figurine simply symbolized the target of the spell; it was not the victim’s substitute. The perforation of

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its limbs with nails or needles was not intended to directly produce the same results in the body of the victim; it was aimed essentially at “tying” it.45 This mechanism was much more complex than the popular modern conception of voodoo would have us believe.46 Spells could also consist of a list of spirits: knowing the name of a spirit meant the power to control it, and enlisted spirits could serve a variety of purposes, good as well as evil. Usually, the lists had to be recited a great number of times—from twenty-one or one hundred eight to several thousand times. In esoteric Buddhism, curses reached a new degree of systematization with demonic vectors becoming increasingly individualized and powerful. Yet at the same time they were accessible to ritual, and curses came to be employed against political enemies.47 As Favret-Saada and others have shown, witchcraft thrives on fear and paranoia. In troubled times, Buddhist monks, Yin-Yang masters, and other ritual specialists capitalized on popular fears. Most of them were not purely cynical, however; they shared the same worldview and often the same fears as their contemporaries, and were probably taking real risks when confronting a powerful demon, whether or not the latter existed outside their mind. Thus, the spells/talismans they used ran the whole gamut from apotropaic or demonifuge functions to the highest spiritual goals—that of becoming a saint or a buddha. There was no perceived contradiction there, and the greatest esoteric Buddhist masters, such as Amoghavajra and Kūkai, used talismans to bring rain and produce other supranormal effects. According to Gilbert Rouget, possession is essentially a behavior of identification through trance with a god, an ancestor, or someone/something else. Thus, it is not always easy, in Hindu or Buddhist Tantra, to distinguish between possession and mystical fusion with the deity.48 The same word, āveśa (translated as bianru 遍入, or “total entering,” in Chinese), was applied in both cases.49 Thus, the union of the priest with the buddha or the wisdom kings in esoteric Buddhist rituals might be seen as a mild form or variant of induced possession, since his field of consciousness is invaded by an alien power. In Shingon, the identification with the deity is defined as mutual penetration of self and deity (nyūga ganyū 入 我我入). In that sense, the so-called Three Mysteries (sanmitsu 三密) that define the identity of the adept with the deity can be seen as a spiritual or philosophical version of possession. But here there is still a distinction, since the priest usually invokes lower spirits for transfer into the body of a medium, from which they will ultimately be expelled, whereas he identifies himself with a powerful god. Āveśa thus designates, in most instances, a type of induced possession in which a Buddhist priest causes a child medium to fall into trance, either to obtain information about the identity of a spirit afflicting a patient or to transfer that spirit from the patient’s body to the child’s body.50

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The goal of uniting with the deity in an exorcism can be seen as a form of white magic. But when a ritual is aimed at getting rid of an enemy, it can no longer be distinguished from black magic. A case in point is a Shōten ritual in which the priest must observe the following procedure: “To send a curse, one writes the name of the hateful person and puts it in the mouth of the male Shōten, and one subjugates [the enemy] with the ‘mudrā of the six tusks.’ One also mixes the eight trigrams of that person’s [fate] with water and earth to interrupt that life, and one writes a formula of sudden death and puts it under the deity’s foot; or one recites seven times Shōten’s seed-letter in front of that person’s door so that the house will burn.”51 An argument often invoked by esoteric Buddhist masters to justify the violence of exorcisms is that demons have a purely mental existence: they are in the last analysis mere symbols of the obstacles produced by our mind, and their ritual massacre is only the visualized purification of our mind through meditation. If so, one may wonder why it is necessary to emphasize that the required violence must be framed by the principles of compassion and emptiness. From a phenomenological standpoint, it seems obvious that the majority of ritualists believe—at least to a certain extent—in the demonic powers that they spend a good part of their time invoking or revoking. Some esoteric Buddhist texts even seem aware of the apparent contradiction between ritual violence and the values established in early Buddhism—compassion in particular. The Gyōrinshō, for example, explains that in exorcisms compassion must come first.52 Still, in its vivid description of exorcisms aimed at crushing demons, one finds limited evidence of anything we might identify as compassion. The Mechanism of the Exorcism

In Freeman’s words, exorcism is a kind of possession-in-reverse.53 It is a dis-possession, or rather a re-possession, since the individual, during his trance, is dispossessed and often has little or no recollection of what happened. By prevailing over the witch and/or the demons, the exorcist is supposed to restore normalcy. Even when the (human or demonic) aggressors have been identified and tamed, however, we have not yet come full circle: the dark power that manifested itself through them can always irrupt again on the human stage. As Bruce Kapferer puts it, “Demon exorcisms are not static and unchanging but are continually being forged anew on the anvil of everyday life. But exorcisms retain elements of their past even while they are re-created or re-formed in the present. A history is sedimented in their symbolic order.”54 The diagnostic regarding the cause of a disease or possession could be established in a variety of ways, including astrological techniques and the use of a divination board. In medieval Japan, divination boards centered on Dakiniten, Shōten, and Nyoirin Kannon were sometimes used.55

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FIGURE 2.4  Abe no Seimei performing an exorcism. Detail of Naki Fudō engi emaki. Nanbokuchō period. Ink and color on paper. Avery Brundage Collection, San Francisco Art Museum.

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However, the transfer of a demonic spirit from the body of the patient to that of a medium required that spirit to name itself. Owing to a quasi-cratylian conception of language in which “the name is the thing,” this naming removed the spirit from anonymity, forcing it into the ritual sphere where it could be handled (and subdued). Exorcisms were quite dramatic at times, as can be seen in the following story, reported in the Soga monogatari.56 When the Miidera priest Chikō 智光 falls seriously ill and his illness is attributed to a demon, his disciple Shōkū 性空 (910–1007) offers himself as a substitute. On this occasion, the ritualist is not a Buddhist priest but the famous Yin-Yang master Abe no Seimei (fig. 2.4). The exorcism does not proceed smoothly, however, and Abe no Seimei proves unable to control the demon. Fortunately, Shōkū is saved in extremis by Fudō Myōō—a Buddhist gohō.57 Despite a few exceptions (like the one just described) and the many variations due to changing historical and geographical settings, Japanese exorcisms usually followed the scenario I outline below.58 After invoking his protecting spirits (gohō or shikigami), the exorcist sends them into the patient’s body to fight the demon (mononoke) and transfer it into the body of a medium (yorimashi). The protecting spirits in turn enter the

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medium’s body and drive the demon out of it. Only then—if all proceeds as expected—does the patient fully recover.59 Here the medium serves as an objectifying mirror: it allows the exorcist to represent or make visible the clash between the two invisible entities, the gohō or shikigami on the one hand, and the mononoke on the other.60 The former are the personification of the incantations (dhāraṇī) of the priest. Their demonic nature is readily apparent in the case of the shikigami, which often become “curse spirits” (susogami or tatarigami). But usually it is the auxiliary spirit of the priest, the gohō, that directly counterattacks. Sometimes, though, instead of using his auxiliary spirit, the priest can “turn” the afflicting shikigami and send them back to their sender. As the embodiment of a curse, the shikigami is a neutral auxiliary that obeys its master. Yet, not unlike the warriors of medieval Japan, it would turn against that master as soon as it found a more powerful one. As is clear from Shōkū’s case, exorcisms did not always work smoothly. While there were cases when the aggression backfired and the curse returned to its sender, there were others where it was the exorcism that backfired and the curse returned to afflict the exorcist (who, in turn, became the aggressor) or the medium. Admittedly, the story just cited aims at demonstrating Shōkū’s willingness to serve as a medium in an exorcism intended to heal his master, Chikō. But it also illustrates the superiority of the Buddhist gohō (in this case Fudō) over the shikigami of the famous Yin-Yang master Abe no Seimei. Still further, it shows that the mediums (if not their handlers) played the game at their own risk. The Ritual Means

A great part of esoteric Buddhist rituals consists of incantations (dhāraṇīs) that could also serve as curses or imprecations (defixiones). These rituals aim at identifying the priest with the deity, which is invoked through its seed-letter (Skt. bīja, J. shuji 種子), mantra (myō 明), or dhāraṇī. The latter are more than symbols of the deity; they also express its very nature and actualize its power. Thus, the term vidyārāja (Ch. mingwang 明王, J. myōō), usually translated as “wisdom king,” literally means vidyā king or “king of incantations,” and the deity in question emerges out of its mantra. The demonic character of the myōō reflects the ambivalence of its myō (vidyā), which can serve as a protective formula as well as a curse, and perform an adorcism as well as an exorcism. Dhāraṇīs invoke protective deities to expel or revoke demons. The invoked deity can be a buddha or a bodhisattva, a myōō, or demonic protectors like the gohō. Elaborating on the etymology of the term (from the root dhr ‘to hold’, ‘to contain’), one could say that dhāraṇīs “contain” in both senses of holding the Buddhist teaching and containing the demons, keeping them at bay. The Dazhidu lun 大智度論 states: “Hating the roots of evil, the dhāraṇī ‘prevents’ it from taking birth. It prevents those who

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want to commit evil to do so. . . . When the bodhisattva possesses the strength of the dhāraṇīs, neither Māra nor his family or his troupes can shatter, destroy or vanquish him.”61 As Strickmann points out, dhāraṇīs are so powerful that they possess, as it were, their holder: “It is as if the bodhisattva was haunted by his dhāraṇīs, possessed as much as possessing, pursued by the echoes of these omnipotent syllables.”62 Dhāraṇīs thus seem to have an agency of their own, and their power is something uncanny, unpredictable, which explains why the Buddha sometimes seems hesitant to accept those that are offered to him by converted demons. Incantations literally go “hand in hand” with mudrās, the ritual hand gestures or “seals” (in 印). The Buddhist ritualist seals his body with mudrās in a technique known as nyāsa (J. fuji 布字; lit. “setting upon,” “placing down,” or “imposing”), a technique that combines simple mudrās with short mantras invoking the names of deities.63 The nyāsa is a spatialized incantation, deposited on the patient’s body to seal it, meaning to heal it (in the case of the patient) as well as protect it (in the case of the ritualist himself). It can also be painted on the body,64 where it is functionally similar to a talisman. The seed-letters were also personalized as auxiliary spirits. According to André Padoux, nyāsa is a kind of empowerment (pratiṣṭhā) or induced possession (āveśa).65 The point is to bring auxiliary spirits into the practitioner’s body and to transform the latter into a kind of mandala, an impregnable fortress and a reservoir of divine energies. Thus, according to the Keiran shūyōshū, the sixteen acolytes of Benzaiten are the emanations of the sixteen vowels of Siddham (Sanskrit), the source of all other sounds.66 With the recent and welcome interest in Buddhist material culture, scholars have begun to pay attention to ritual paraphernalia such as talismans, charms, and amulets.67 Strickmann was again one of the first to emphasize the importance of seals and talismans ( fu 符, originally two-part insignia) in Daoism and in esoteric Buddhism.68 The fu initially served as a contract, but it became a charm empowered by magic powers represented or harnessed in ideograms or images conjuring powerful spirits (fig. 2.5).69 Empowered by the breath of the exorcist and ingested, carried on the body or pasted on the lintel of a house, the fu was said to protect a person or a dwelling. On many Chinese talismans, we find the seven stars of the Northern Dipper and/or the “Dark Warrior” Xuanwu 玄武 (a snake and tortoise intertwined), who were reputed for their apotropaic power. Another common motif was the demon killer Zhong Kui 鍾馗.70 The Japanese equivalent of the fu is the ofuda お札 (amulet or talisman).71 A popular talisman is the so-called Ox king talisman (goō hōin 午玉), which was also used in contracts, as reported by the German naturalist and physician Engelbert Kaempfer.72 The term goō 午黄 is said to derive from ox bezoar, a substance found in the vesicle of bovines and reputed for its medicinal virtues. The ox/bull king is not represented

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on the talisman, which usually shows a wish-fulfilling jewel (cintāmaṇi) in red ink superimposed on black signs (in the form of snakes, crows, or other animal messengers of the deity), combining to form the name Kumano goō 熊野牛王 (var. 牛玉). Empowerment

A significant feature of esoteric Buddhist rituals is adhiṣṭhāna or pratiṣṭhā (J. kaji 加持), a term generally translated as “empowerment.” Pamela Winfield has recently emphasized the importance of kaji in Japanese exorcisms and the cure of illnesses, in particular: “Doctrinally speaking,

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FIGURE 2.5  Daizuigu darani (Mahāpratisāra-dhāraṇī). Hanging scroll, ink on paper. Petzold Collection, Harvard-­ Yenching Library.

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kaji refers to the mutual empowerment between self and Buddha that characterizes tantric deity yoga. Practically applied, however, kaji is said to occur when a trained master concentrates and extends Buddha’s universal energy to a receptive subject for healing purposes.”73 Through kaji, the practitioner is supposed to arouse the powers of his own nature, not of some external deity. The term is said to describe the state in which “the buddha enters the self, the self enters the buddha” (nyūga ganyū). Yamasaki Taikō therefore defines kaji as the “mutual empowerment” or universal energy exchange between self and Mahāvairocana Buddha.74 The formula nyūga ganyū is an attempt to restore a balance between the self and the buddha (or other powers), but it has the effect of exaggerating the subject’s agency. As in some cases of possession, there can be a dis-possession, even if the practitioner’s consciousness remains active. According to Padoux, the shift in Tantric ritual from “wild” possession, often associated with transgressive ritual practices, to a more peaceful, “mystical” form made the identification between the priest and the deity invoked look more like a mild possession than like a mystical fusion with the divine. The term used is āveśa, which usually refers to the entering of a god or demon into a medium—in other words, to possession.75 In the orthodox interpretation echoed by Winfield and Yamasaki, however, the gods and demons are conspicuously absent. CODETTA In Japan, demons were the targets of apotropaic rituals. It could even be said that they existed in and through ritual, since apotropaic functions, while presented as a response to the perceived presence of the deities, arguably also produced it. At any rate, they allowed humans to enter into contact with another dimension and to negotiate with the invisible powers that fascinated and frightened them. In this way, demons eventually spilled from the ritual area into the medieval imaginary. In the most dramatic instances (usually of possession), contact was sought after and denied at the same time. Exorcism (ideally) put the demons back in their place—or at least attempted to prevent (temporarily) the adventitious mixture of genres and species. Yet, while it would be difficult to overestimate the importance of the ritual sphere and of the beings that populate it, demons until now have only been studied as if they were extras in a ritual performance despite their continual insistence on moving to the front stage and claiming the lead roles. In this clamor, demons acquired numerous personalities, and rich and complex demonologies emerged. In medieval Japan, in particular, at the point of contact of Buddhism and Chinese culture, an extremely fertile and multifarious demonology developed—to which we now turn.

3

DEMONOLOGIES There is a complex aggregate: the becoming animal of men, packs of animals, elephants and rats, winds and tempests, bacteria sowing contagion: a single Furor. —Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari1

Japanese demonology is particularly complex, like a river at the convergence of several streams: Indian, Buddhist, Chinese (principally Daoist), and indigenous (mostly folkloric) beliefs and cults. Let us examine a few individualized cases while keeping in mind that they only form the tip of an iceberg whose mass is largely composed of a myriad anonymous, formless, or theriomorphic demons. To enter there is to venture into a realm in which the boundaries between the living and the dead, or between demons of divine, human, animal, or even “objectal” origins, dissolve. Nevertheless, esoteric Buddhism inherited from Indian religion its cohort of demonic beings, which soon merged with local demons and deities. They include not only what one may call, with Michel Strickmann, demons per se, but also brahmanic and Hindu gods such as Śiva, Vināyaka (Gaṇeśa), and Skanda.2 ESOTERIC BUDDHISM AND EXORCISM As noted earlier, whether a deity is labeled demon or god is a matter of perspective. According to the Heike monogatari, when the Tendai abbot Meiun (var. Myōun 明運) was sent into exile in 1177 after being slandered by the priest Saikō 西光 and his two sons, his disciples performed a magic ritual at the Main Hall (Konpon chūdō 根本中堂) of Enryakuji 延 暦寺: “They wrote out the names of the three and placed the paper under the left foot of the Konpira image in the Central Hall group of Twelve Divine Commanders. Then they shouted, yelled, and uttered maledictions. ‘Ye Twelve Divine Commanders and Seven Thousand Yakshas, take the lives of Saikō and his sons without an instant’s delay,’ they implored. It was terrifying merely to hear them.”3

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Konpira 金比羅 (Skt. Kumbhīra) is the first and foremost of the twelve spirit commanders (J. jūni shinshō 十二神将), regarded as acolytes or emanations of the Healing Buddha Yakushi (Skt. Bhaiṣajyaguru). These deities are in fact elemental spirits (shikigami) that can be harnessed in black magic rituals. Konpira, usually invoked as a protector, could also become an aggressor. Whatever the historicity of the story, the cursing ritual in question probably reflected real practices. In this case, it was justified by the belief that its main target was maleficent individuals, “demons” that had to be subjugated to protect the Dharma. Another medieval Japanese chronicle, the Taiheiki, tells the following story about the death of Marshall Yasutada 保忠, one of the courtiers whose calumnies had caused the exile of the famous statesman Sugawara no Michizane 菅原道眞 (845–903). When that courtier fell ill, a priest was asked to perform a healing ritual centered on the buddha Yakushi and his twelve spirit commanders. However, when the priest invoked the name of Konpira, Yasutada heard “kubi kiran” (I will cut off your head!) instead, and he died of fright. Concomitantly, Michizane’s vengeful spirit had been able to “turn” Konpira, thereby annihilating the spiritual protection of the courtier.4 Japanese fire rituals (goma 護摩, Skt. homa) used in exorcisms were performed in front of a triangular hearth, in which paper figurines representing the presumed aggressor were burned. In 1329, Go-Daigo Tennō performed a ritual aimed at “quickly driving away evil men and dissipating evil deeds”—in other words, at getting rid of the bakufu, the military government that ruled over Japan. He thought himself perfectly justified in trying to ritually subdue warriors whom he saw as demons.5 An earlier, equally well known instance is the ritual performed by the priest Son’i 尊 意 (866–940) in 940 at the time of Taira no Masakado’s 平将門 rebellion against the court. The deity worshiped on the main altar during subjugation rituals of this type was often Fudō (Skt. Acala) or Shōten (Vināyaka),6 and in political fights between the court and the warrior government, both sides invoked Fudō and other esoteric Buddhist deities.7 In the thirteenth century, the onslaught of Mongol invasions notably triggered a flurry of subjugation rituals in Japan. INDIAN BUDDHIST DEMONOLOGY Some Buddhist demonologies seem to defy any logic, calling to mind Jorge Luis Borges’ imaginary taxonomy of animals, the Celestial Emporium. Here, for instance, is a long list of demons provided by the Moniluo tan jing: There are demons outside the way, demons within the way, demons outside the hall, demons within the hall, demons within the body,

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demons outside the body; and then demons of mealtimes, demons of the time when one goes to bed. Red demons, black demons, tall demons, short demons, big demons, small demons, demons one encounters, white demons, yellow demons, blue demons, demons of nightmares, demons of getting up in the morning, walking demons, flying demons, demons that interrogate peoples’ ethereal and spermatic souls, and, once more, the demons of living persons, the demons of dead persons.8

Buddhism tried to bring some order to this pandemonium. The most common Buddhist classification of demonic beings was that of the eight groups (Ch. babuzhong 八部衆, J. hachibushū), namely, the devas, nāgas, rākṣasas, asuras, gandharvas, garuḍas, kiṃnaras, and mahoragas.9 Deva section (tenbu 天部), another term used for this grouping, is a misnomer since the other types included are all more or less demonic.10 Only the first cohort, the devas proper, whose name usually translates as “gods,” is in principle nondemonic. In Japan, however, they also came to include rather ambivalent deities like Vināyaka (Shōten) and Dakiniten. The nāgas, another ambivalent group, are typically represented as hooded cobras or as humans (fig. 3.1). In China, they came to be confused with dragons. The rākṣasas (protectors) are so called by euphemism since their main characteristic is that they eat human flesh, particularly the tender flesh of unborn children. The asuras are said to have an aggressive nature, and they are the traditional enemies of the devas (fig. 3.2). While they are less important in Japanese Buddhism than in Hinduism, some continued

FIGURE 3.1  Nāgas. Daihi taizō daimandara, TZ 1: 161, figs. 305–308.

FIGURE 3.2 Asura. Nijūhachibushu narabini jūni shinshō zu, TZ 7: 505, fig. 23.

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FIGURE 3.3  Yakṣas. Besson zakki, TZ 3: 417, figs. 186–190.

to inspire fear—Rāhu, for example, who caused eclipses and other cosmic disorders.11 The yakṣas (fig. 3.3) are spirits guarding doorways, villages, towns, and kingdoms. Their female members, the yakṣinīs, have a more pronounced demonic character, and they are known in particular to devour children. The gandharvas are heavenly musicians, but they are also lustful beings attracted to women. Their name also refers to ethereal beings— former humans—that enter the womb of women at the moment of conception. The garuḍas, bird-headed beings, are patrons of the magical arts (fig. 3.4). The horse-headed kimṇaras rarely appear in Buddhist ritual,

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FIGURE 3.4  Garuḍa. Besson zakki, TZ 3: 540, fig. 268.

although they are often represented in iconography. The mahoragas, or great serpents, are counted as enemies of humans. Many of these deities are represented in the external court of the Womb Realm (Garbhadhātu) mandala, an area that “serves both as guardian zone for the inner parts and represents at the same time the lowest level of reality depicted [in the mandala].”12 It should be noted that many demonic categories are not represented in the above list. The full demonic repertory also includes marauders such as the piśācas, eaters of raw flesh; the vetālas, or vampires; the pot-shaped kumbhāṇḍas, the flesh-eating ḍākinīs, the shameless putānas (whose name, as Strickmann points out, seems related to the French putain ‘whore’),13 and, at the very bottom of the demonic hierarchy (if there is one), the bhūtas or “beings.” Another important category is that of the grāhas (seizers). In non-Buddhist sources such as the Mahābhārata, they provide an etiology for a multitude of diseases.14 Two basic kinds of grāhas were recognized, those who afflict children (up to the age of sixteen) and those who target adults. Another child-attacking group is that of the Seven Mothers (or Eight Mothers). In their domesticated form, the saptamātṛkās (or aṣṭamātṛkās) were said to be manifestations of the Goddess (Devī) and

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FIGURE 3.5  Vināyakas. Dunhuang manuscript, ink and color on paper. Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

to represent the “energies” (śakti) of the gods whose names they wear.15 These demonic “mothers” were thought to control primarily the dangers that may befall the fetus. Chief among them is Cāmuṇḍā, usually represented in India as an emaciated hag next to a corpse, sometimes accompanied by a dog and an owl.16 In Japanese Buddhism, however, she is often represented as a boar-headed deity, in the company of the demon of obstacles, Vināyaka (fig. 3.5). The term grāha was also applied to astral deities. The nine “planets” or luminaries, in particular, were commonly called the navagrāhas (nine seizers), because they were believed to seize and possess humans (fig. 3.6). They include the “regents” of the sun, the moon, the planets Mars, Mercury, Jupiter, Venus, and Saturn, as well as those of eclipses (Rāhu) and comets (Ketu).17 The same belief applied to the nakṣatras, the twenty-eight constellations called the lunar mansions (Ch. xiu 宿) (figs. 3.7–3.14). In addition, there was a host of baleful stars and comets capable of disrupting cosmic order and provoking calamities (fig. 3.15). Hārītī, the Mother of Demons

The most famous case of a demon converted by the Buddha is that of Hārītī (J. Kariteimo 訶梨帝母), better known in China and Japan as the goddess Mother of Demons (Ch. Guizimushen 鬼子母神, J. Kishimojin) (figs. 3.16–3.18).18 Her cult was analogous to that of the mātṛkās and grāhas,19 although initially Hārītī seems to have been associated with both childbirth and child death. She is described as the mother of five hundred

FIGURE 3.6  Descent of the nine luminaries. Detail of Hokuto kuyō Kasuga kōrin zu. Nanbokuchō period (1336–1392). Hanging scroll, ink, color, and cut gold on silk. Cleveland Museum of Art.

FIGURE 3.7  Mars. Detail of Kuyō hiryaku, by Sōkan. Heian period, late 11th–early 12th centuries. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

FIGURE 3.9 Saturn. Kuyō hiryaku,

TZ 7: 771.

FIGURE 3.8  Saturn. 12th century. Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

FIGURE 3.10  Rāhu. Detail of Kuyō hiryaku, by Sōkan. Heian period, late 11th–early 12th centuries. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

FIGURE 3.11  Rāhu. Nijū hasshuku zuzō, TZ 7: 746, fig. 9.

FIGURE 3.13 Ketu. Kuyō tō zuzō, TZ 7: 804. Kanchi-in, Tōji, Kyoto.

FIGURE 3.12  Ketu. Detail of Kuyō hiryaku, by Sōkan. Heian period, late 11th–early 12th centuries. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

FIGURE 3.14  Lunar mansion Zhang (Skt. Pūrvaphālgunī). Nijū hasshuku zuzō, TZ 7: 797, fig. 22. Kanchi-in, Tōji, Kyoto.

FIGURE 3.15  Rat spirit. Nijūhachibushu narabini jūni shinshō zu, TZ 7: 519, fig. 37.

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FIGURE 3.16  Hārītī as a mother. Edo period. Sheet, ink on paper. University Art Museum, Kyoto City University of Arts. BZS 2221.

FIGURE 3.17  Hārītī as a mother. Ink on paper. Petzold Collection, Harvard-­ Yenching Library.

FIGURE 3.18  Hārītī as a mother. Besson zakki, TZ 3: 546, fig. 269.

demonic children, identified as pestilence deities in some versions. In the Vinaya Piṭaka, she is said to have been a protectress of the inhabitants of the city of Rājagṛha. However, “as a result of a spiteful wish in a previous life, she started stealing and killing the children of the city for herself and for her five hundred children,” the name Hārītī meaning “thief.” But the Buddha turned out to be a stronger thief, and he ultimately tamed and converted her by abducting her youngest son, Piṇgala, and hiding him inside his overturned alms bowl. After forcing her in this way to understand the grief of the mothers whom she had deprived of their children, he told her to renounce her diet of human flesh, declaring as a meager compensation that monks would thenceforth make vegetarian offerings to her and her children (figs. 3.19 and 3.20). To this day, Hārītī draws a retirement pension from Buddhist monasteries. In a Chinese version of the legend, things do not go as smoothly, however. The encounter between Hārītī and the Buddha becomes a contest: after the Buddha shows the child to Hārītī, she tries to take him back by force with the help of her demonic troupe, and the episode becomes a replay of the confrontation between the Buddha and Māra’s armies.20 Hārītī does not directly confront the Buddha, however; her efforts are focused on rescuing her child. Significantly, the iconographic representations put the demons on the front stage. As Julia Murray suggests, “The emphasis shifts to the long parade of demons and their outlandish forms somewhat submerge the religious concept.”21

FIGURE 3.19  The conversion of Hārītī to Buddhism. Ming dynasty, 16th century. Ink, color, and gold on silk. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

FIGURE 3.20  Detail of the conversion of Hārītī to Buddhism. Ming dynasty, 16th century. Ink, color, and gold on silk. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

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FIGURE 3.21  Hārītī as Kishimojin. Ofuda. Private collection.

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While Hārītī is converted in the end, her demonic retinue does not submit, and her son Piṇgala grows up to become the leader of the yakṣas. Ironically, in another origin story, Hārītī is reborn as a powerful ogress for having in a past life given alms to a pratyeka-buddha. As Jean Filliozat remarks, “It is indeed owing to the virtue of a meritorious deed that Hārītī obtained the privilege to commit crimes, and crimes for which, in brief, she is only rewarded.”22 In this sense, she is the authentic sister of all the great Indian demons, who, like Māra himself, obtained their powers as a reward for past meritorious deeds.23 This paradoxical effect of karma is not often mentioned in Buddhist texts. Yet one may wonder if Hārītī’s conversion was genuine or complete, since Buddhist monks must continue to propitiate her through ritual offerings.24 While she is usually represented as a benign, motherly figure, the belief that the slightest error in performing her ritual could have dire consequences suggests a darker interpretation. In Japan, next to the image of Kishimojin as a loving mother (she has even become the patron deity of kindergärten in modern Japan), that of the demoness was popularized through talismans (ofuda) (figs. 3.21–3.23). She also appears with the ten rākṣasīs who protect the Lotus Sūtra, and this explains her popularity in the Nichiren school.25 Lokesh Chandra reproached Noël Péri for focusing on the negative image of Hārītī as an ogress and neglecting her aspect as a benign young mother with child—an image said to have inspired representations of Guanyin.26 Yet, rather than privileging one representation over the other, one should emphasize Hārītī’s irreducible ambivalence, with feminine gentleness the obverse side of her demonic nature. CHINESE BUDDHIST DEMONOLOGY Buddhist demonology begins with Māra, the paradigmatic demon king (Ch. mowang 魔王, J. maō). Despite his defeat by Śākyamuni, Māra remained obdurate and continued to lead Buddhist monks astray. But since his main jurisdiction was the monastery, he was only indirectly responsible for the evils afflicting the world. In China, the term mowang can refer either to Māra himself or to the demon kings in command of legions.

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Even though early Chinese demonology was not as systematized as its Indian counterpart, the synthesis achieved by esoteric Buddhism in the ninth century made it difficult to distinguish between Indian and Chinese elements. From the outset, the Chinese distinction between ghosts and demons was rather hazy. The Chinese distinguished two broad categories of demons: the native gui 鬼 of Chinese origin, and the Buddhist mo 魔.27 The gui had a lower status, but they were legion, their viral nature making them less responsive to ritual. The term mo was an abbreviated translation of the Sanskrit Māra (Ch. Moluo), but Daoists soon adopted it.28 Like Māra and his minions, the mo were, on the whole, more specialized in the “spiritual” aspect of life, even if the term came to designate pathogenic agents in Daoist texts.29 Demons were not just an external threat, however; they also took up their abode within the individual. Referring to the work of the Daoist master Ge Hong 葛洪 (283–343), Strickmann is again worth quoting at length: There are two sets of potentially harmful indwellers against whom the well-informed must take careful precautions. The first are the seven p’o, the white-souls or spermatic souls with which every mortal is equipped. They are indeed an integral, necessary team in the body’s operations, complementing as they do the three hun (cloud-souls or ethereal souls). But unlike the hun, whose nature (though flighty and inconstant) is entirely benign and whose tendencies are all heavenward, the seven p’o yearn for the earth. Their strongest wish is to rejoin the damp, dank underground springs whose moist, heavy nature they share, and so they seek to undermine and rid themselves of the constraining human body they inhabit. Thus at night, while their host is sleeping . . . , the p’o beckon to passing phantoms and disease-demons and invite them in to take possession of the sleeper’s body and work toward his destruction.30

FIGURE 3.22  Hārītī as Kishimojin. Edo period. Hanging scroll, wood engraving. Petzold Collection, Harvard-­ Yenching Library.

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FIGURE 3.23  Detail of Hārītī as Kishimojin. Edo period. Hanging scroll, wood engraving. Petzold Collection, Harvard-Yenching Library.

FIGURE 3.24  Pathogenic demon. Denshibyō shu no koto. Ink and color on paper. Okayama Prefectural Museum.

Another type of pathogenic demon that was recognized early on in Japan and experienced a revival of sorts during the Edo period was the so-called Three Worms (or Three Corpses)—maleficent spirits trapped in the human body (recalling the etymological equivalence in Greek between soma ‘body’ and sema ‘prison’) and therefore bent on its destruction. One way they could achieve their goal was to periodically report human sins to the heavenly emperor, so that the lifespan of their host would be shortened.31 Ge Hong’s Baopuzi 抱朴子 mentions a chimera-like creature called White Marsh (Ch. Baize 白沢, J. Hakutaku), who reveals to the Yellow Emperor (Huangdi 皇帝) the identity and functions of the myriad demons that crowd the natural and human realms, explaining how to exorcize them by calling out their names.32 Among the entities he describes are the essences of the five elements and various genii loci—the spirits of mountains and valleys, and of roads, battlefields, and ponds; the spirits of animals such as wolves and roosters; of thunder; and of human dwellings, latrines, wells, stoves, and so on (fig. 3.24).33 The essence of the stove, for instance, is called Kui 隗, and it has the form of a handsome woman.34 Many of these demons continued to haunt the Japanese imaginaire, and I will return to Hakutaku in a moment. JAPANESE DEMONOLOGY In mainstream Buddhism, misfortune is generally attributed to the workings of karma. In Heian Japan, the primary and broadest etiological explanation was demonological, having to do with mononoke 物の怪 (or simply mono 物 for “thing”). The two types of explanation coexisted, as can be seen in many stories of the Nihon ryōiki (ca. 822), where a negative karma leaves a person vulnerable to demonic aggression. As the cause of illness, epidemics, and death, mononoke—a broad and essentially vague

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category—included the restless spirits of the deceased (onryō 怨霊, goryō 御霊), spirits associated with natural phenomena (kodama 木霊, etc.), demonic creatures like oni and tengu, and certain animal spirits (foxes and so on). These demons were perceived as living on the margins of the civilized world (in mountainous areas, for instance, or on islands) or in the interstices of society.35 As noted earlier, their place in the Japanese imaginary as the dark powers patrolling the uncontrolled margins of the imperium was essentially the same as that of the “nonhumans” (hinin) in medieval society. But like them, while they may have appeared to be the dregs of society, they were essential to its functioning.36 As in China, demonic entities referred to as ma and oni became the objects of exorcism. Although the character used for oni is the same as that found in kibyō 鬼病, illnesses caused by demonic agents, the nature of those demons is somewhat different from that of the Chinese gui. In the Iroha jiruishō (12th cent.), the term oni points to three meanings: jinshin (human soul); ki (spirit, ghost, or demonic entity of mysterious nature), and ma (malevolent demon, moral evil).37 Epidemics were usually attributed to collective pathogenic agents called yakujin 疫神, although sometimes they were credited to one particularly powerful demon king, such as Gozu Tennō.38 The Keiran shūyōshū, in a section on the Tantric deity Shōmen Kongō (var. Seimen Kongō) 青 面金剛, mentions twenty-five types of epidemic disease caused by five types of “heavenly demon” (tenma 天魔) and their retinues (kenzoku 眷属).39 Two types of demonic illness can thus be distinguished: kibyō, considered physical, or psychosomatic, and mabyō (魔病), deemed more “spiritual.” This distinction points to the functional difference between ki (oni) 鬼 or kijin 鬼神, on the one hand, and ma 魔 on the other— both terms unfortunately rendered by the same word “demon” in English. Thus, at one end of the demonological spectrum, we find low-life demons, hardly individuated, who attack the human body; at the other end, we find powerful, well individualized, and increasingly “buddhicized” demons who attack Buddhist practitioners and try to impede their spiritual progress. The former were responsible for demonic illnesses that confront all beings—human and animal, Buddhist and non-Buddhist; the latter limited their attacks to Buddhist practitioners. While Japanese demonology distinguishes between various categories apart from the oni and ma—for instance, tengu, onryō, and animal spirits—the boundaries between them are fluid, and they often overlap with each other. Any strict typology is therefore bound to fail, as shown by the case of Shinzei 真済 (800–861), a Shingon priest who had allegedly fallen into Māra’s path because of his lust for the Somedono empress. He was also said, depending on the sources, to have become a blue oni, a tengu, or an onryō (vengeful spirit).40 Likewise, the Tendai abbot Ryōgen 良源 (912–985) is described either as an oni or as a tengu.

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From onryō to goryō

The fear of curses found its quintessential expression in the figures of the onryō and goryō— humans who became demons after death, due to resentment.41 In his Gukanshō (1219), the Tendai priest Jien 慈円 (1155–1225) writes: “Since ancient times, there has been the principle that vengeful souls ruin the state and destroy man. The first thing to do about this is to pray to the buddhas and the kami.”42 He adds: The main point about a vengeful soul is that it bears a deep grudge and makes those who caused the grudge objects of its revenge even while the resentful person is still alive. When the vengeful soul is seeking to destroy the objects of its resentment—all the way from small houses to the state as a whole—the state is thrown into disorder by the slanders and lies it generates. The destruction of people is brought about in exactly the same way. And if the vengeful soul is unable to obtain its revenge while in this visible world, it will do so from the realm of the invisible.43

The emergence of goryō cults is easier to contextualize than that of other demonic forces. For heuristic purposes, one may describe the evolution from onryō to goryō in four phases even though the stages of this large-scale drama tended to overlap. The first phase occurred with the cult of the six onryō; the second was marked by the emergence of the cult of the spirit of Sugawara no Michizane; the third was characterized by the cult of dead rulers; and the last phase saw the development of a new type of vengeful spirit, represented mainly by the pestilence god Gozu Tennō. Although victims of malemort had always been feared, it was only due to specific political circumstances that an official cult of “vengeful spirits” emerged during the Heian period. The belief that some powerful people who suffered an injustice would return to take revenge on their enemies had already gained currency in the Nara period. A case in point was that of Prince Nagaya, who killed himself in 729 after being accused of a plot.44 Again, in 746, when the priest Genbō 玄昉 died after having suddenly lost favor at court, people at court said that this was the work of the spirit of Fujiwara no Hirotsugu 藤原広嗣, who had been executed following a rebellion six years earlier. On that occasion the affair remained limited to private discussions among aristocrats, whereas toward the end of Nara and the beginning of Heian, the vengeful spirits of courtiers who had opposed the Fujiwara clan became the objects of a veneration that spread to all social strata, giving rise to lavish ceremonies called goryō-e. The rise to power of the northern branch of that clan during the Heian period was a rather bloody affair, which left a series of vengeful spirits in its wake.45

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The term goryō, used from that time onward, was meant to express respect for those unlucky souls and thus to placate them—in the hope of putting an end to the epidemics for which they were judged responsible. The first onryō, worshiped (that is, placated) collectively, were the spirits of six ill-fated individuals: Sudō Tennō 崇道天皇 (alias Sawara Shinnō 早 良親王, d. 785), Iyo Shinnō (d. 807) and his mother, Fujiwara no Yoshiko (d. 807), Tachibana no Hayanari 橘逸勢 (d. 842), Fun’ya no Miyatamaro 分野の宮田麻呂 (d. 843), and Fujiwara no Hirotsugu 藤原広次 (d. 740). All had been accused of participating in some plot or assassination, and all died in exile. According to the Nihon sandai jitsuroku: “All were people executed for a plot and their vengeful spirits gradually gained more power. Lately, epidemics have been constant in the world, and the number of the dead has become very high; thus the people in the kingdom think that these calamities have been caused by the resentment of these goryō.”46 The emergence of the goryō during the Nara and Heian periods has been interpreted in political terms as a way of settling accounts beyond the grave. Tackling the problem from the standpoint of semantics (by deriving onryō from oni ryō 鬼霊), Yamaguchi Kenji has offered an alternative explanation, proposing that goryō, before becoming powerful demonic individuals, were initially collective spirits that had evolved from Chinese plague deities.47 Whatever the case, it is clear that from the outset goryō ceremonies had political overtones. The ritual expression of popular discontent was one dimension of the popularly organized goryō-e. As Neil McMullin puts it, “There is little doubt . . . that the ruling elite of the midto late-Heian period were trying to take control of the popular goryō cult and to incorporate it into the official cultic structures in order to prevent the populace from having and celebrating their own cult and thus their own ideology.”48 Indeed, by claiming that epidemics arose out of lack of respect for the goryō, aristocratic and clerical opponents to the ruling house could connect the victims of the Fujiwara clan to the popular fear of epidemics and thus kill two birds with one stone: by deploring the tragedy of the goryō, they publicized the cruelty of the rulers.49 Their (not so) subliminal message was that, by causing the resentment of their victims to fall on innocent bystanders, the northern Fujiwara were the enemies of the people. These popular goryō-e became a rather carnivalesque affair, rife with subversive elements. The state attempted to co-opt this popular movement by sponsoring a lavish goryō-e at the Shinsen’en in 863, and by founding Goryō Shrines dedicated to the most powerful goryō.50 By sponsoring recitations of the Golden Light Sūtra (J. Konkōmyōkyō 金光明経) and the Heart Sūtra (Hannya shingyō 般若心経) during this goryō-e, the Fujiwara tried to transmute the opposition into an ideology of state protection. The repeated interdiction of popular goryō-e, however, shows the relative failure of their official counterpart. While the popular goryō-e continued under diverse forms, the official goryō-e gradually disappeared.51

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In the medieval period, several types of vengeful spirits (Buddhist, human, and demonic) were distinguished. The Keiran shūyōshū quotes an ancient oral tradition, according to which: “Among the goryō, one can distinguish between the provisional (gon 権) and the real ( jitsu 実). In the case of a curse from buddhas and bodhisattvas, one feels pain in the head. In the case of goryō from the same group [as the people], one feels pain from the shoulders to the waist. In the case of goryō of an inferior group, one feels pain below the waist.” The text adds that in the case of a curse from buddhas and bodhisattvas, repentance is needed; in that of spirits of the same group, the teaching is needed; in that of spirits of the lower group, exorcism (gōbuku 降伏) is needed.52 The Case of Michizane FIGURE 3.25  Michizane, by Yōgetsu (fl. late 15th– early 16th centuries). Muromachi period. Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. Cleveland Museum of Art.

The cult of the first onryō tended to erase their individuality, submerging them in the collective anonymity of demons or ancestors. But in the tenth century a change took place: instead of being feared as demons that had to be placated, the departed spirits were elevated to quasi-divine status and revered as “august-spirit deities” (goryōjin or goryōshin 御霊神), that is, as “protector spirits” (shugoryō 守護霊) that would ward off diseases instead of causing them.53 This step was taken with the apotheosis of the spirit of Sugawara no Michizane (figs. 3.25 and 3.26).54 From the standpoint of religious history, the case of Michizane shows the amalgamation of a figure representing a vengeful local spirit with Indian, Chinese, and Japanese deities. Nothing had prepared Michizane for his posthumous career. He had just been raised to the position of minister of the right (udaijin 右 大臣) under Daigō Tennō when, due to the opposition of his political enemies, and in particular that of the minister of the left (sadaijin 左大臣), Fujiwara no Tokihira 藤 原時平 (871–909), he was exiled to Dazaifu, where he died two years later, in 903.55 According to a legend emanating from Tendai circles, his vengeful spirit appeared to the Tendai priest Son’i 尊意, with whom he had once studied, and commanded

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him not to perform rites of protection for the emperor. When Son’i, alleging his duty, refused to obey, Michizane reacted violently, revealing his demonic nature: “He took up a pomegranate from before him, crunched it between his teeth, and spat it out against the door of the hall. The seeds turned into a raging fire, engulfing the door.”56 Son’i’s rituals succeeded in extinguishing the flames, yet this little flareup would have repercussions on the subsequent course of events. According to the Fusō ryakki, a text circulated after 1094, the court apologized to the spirit of Michizane and gave him the title of God of Fire and Thunder (Karai Tenjin 火雷天神) in 903. But this story seems dubious since the rumor of Michizane’s revenge did not spread until after the death of the crown prince in 923—twenty years after Michizane’s own death. That same year, his title of udaijin or minister of the right was restored. In due course, the successive deaths of Michizane’s former enemies Fujiwara no Sugane 藤原菅根 (856–908) and Tokihira (d. 909) were retrospectively attributed to his wrathful spirit. The Fusō ryakki, in its biography of the priest Jōzō 浄蔵 (891–964)—the son of another rival of Michizane, Miyoshi no Kiyoyuki 三善 清行 (847–919)— was the first source to credit those deaths to Michizane. The circumstances of Tokihira’s death were particularly gruesome. Having fallen sick, he asked Jōzō to perform an exorcism on his behalf. The ritual was obstructed, however, when Michizane’s wrathful spirit appeared to Jōzō in the form of two green snakes threatening him. Deprived of ritual protection, Tokihira died, soon followed by his daughter and then by his five-yearold grandson, the crown prince.57 In 930, lightning struck the palace, killing several courtiers. This led to the belief that Michizane was a thunder god, and he came to be revered under the name of Tenjin 天神 (Heavenly Deity).

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FIGURE 3.26  Michizane. Edo period. Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. Petzold Collection, Harvard-Yenching Library.

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It was a series of oracular revelations that led to the apotheosis of Michizane’s angry spirit. The most striking revelation was that experienced by the priest Nichizō 日蔵 (a.k.a. Dōken shōnin 道賢上人).58 In 941, after fasting for twenty-one days, Dōken fell into a kind of catalepsy that lasted for thirty days. During that time, he was taken to the invisible world—first to heaven, then to hell. While in heaven, he encountered an awesome deity that claimed to be the spirit of Michizane. This spirit revealed that his wrath had been transmuted since his conversion to esoteric Buddhism and he no longer intended to destroy Japan. While he still meant to punish those who had harmed him, he would also answer the prayers of those who worshiped him. Michizane’s spirit also specified that the deity worshiped as Karai Tenjin, which had caused lightning to strike the palace, was but one of his messengers. Upon visiting hell, Nichizō met the former ruler Daigo, who was being tortured for his sins—in particular, for the transgression of having sent Michizane into exile. What stands out in Nichizō’s reported vision is that, unlike the previous goryō, Michizane appeared to have the support of Buddhist deities like Indra and Brahmā in addition to that of Japanese deities. The esoteric Buddhist fury that now commanded him therefore translated into a violence much greater than that of his predecessors.59 Yet, despite this attempt to reinterpret Michizane as an esoteric Buddhist deity superior to the thunder god and traditional goryō, the legend of Michizane developed in other directions. In 942, a female medium received an oracle from Michizane, who told her that he was now known as Tenjin and that he wanted a shrine to be built for him at Kitano. Another oracle, allegedly delivered by the seven-year-old son of a shrine priest in Ōmi province, stated that Michizane had sent no fewer than one hundred five thousand thunder demons to punish disbelievers. This oracle established Michizane as an official god on a par with the Kamo, Hachiman, and Hie gods. The establishment of Michizane’s shrine at Kitano in 947 accomplished the transformation of Michizane’s wrathful spirit into the more benevolent (if still ambivalent) Tenjin. Over the next decades, Tenjin turned into a more benign god of literature as popular elements were filtered out of his cult. Although he remained one of the eight goryō for whom goryō-e ceremonies were periodically performed, he was considered to be pacified, and his cult was now under the control of the court. Kitano Shrine became an official shrine, and Michizane himself received increasingly higher official titles. During the Kamakura period, his cult grew in popularity among the populace. His image as a literary deity and god of calligraphy, on the other hand, led to his association with the Zen school, which spread the legend of Tenjin’s crossing over to China (To Tō Tenjin 渡唐天神) to become the disciple of a Chan master. By now little remained of the earlier “wrathful spirit” that had inspired the cult. He had become a Confucian paragon and a Shintō

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deity. Oddly, this second apotheosis resulted in time in the inscription of his name on the frontispiece of the Boston Library as a Confucian scholar. While the political crisis caused by Michizane’s spirit had been resolved, new goryō soon appeared, owing to the turmoil that marked the rise and fall of the Taira clan at the end of the Heian period. The new goryō were those of the defeated rulers—Sutoku 崇徳天皇 (d. 1164), Go-Toba 後鳥羽天皇 (who died in exile after the Jōkyū Disturbance 承久の乱 in 1221), and Go-Daigo 後醍醐天皇 (d. 1339)—as well as of warriors like Taira no Kiyomori 平清盛 (1118–1181) and Taira no Sanemori 平 実盛 (1111–1183), and eminent priests. The imperial prince who came be known as Sutoku Tennō is said to have bitten his tongue and written five sūtras with the blood when he was defeated by Go-Shirakawa, declaring: I have completely projected the Five Sūtras of the Greater Vehicle, which I have humbly copied, into the Three Evil Worlds of Hell, Hungry Ghosts, and Beasts. Through the power of the great merit of these works, becoming the Great Devil of Japan, I will bring disorder all under Heaven, I will trouble the Realm. What vow will not come to pass, through the transfer of the profound merit of the Greater Vehicle? May all the buddhas know and confirm this! Akihito [Sutoku] reverently lays bare his heart.60

Although Sutoku had vowed to become a demon king, he was included in the goryō category after being promoted posthumously to the rank of tennō—emperor. Again, what became one of the most important Zen monasteries of the capital, Tenryūji 天龍寺, was built by Musō Soseki 夢 窓疎石 (1275–1351) to appease the departed spirit of Go-Daigo, and its name is said to have come from a dream in which this spirit appeared to the Zen priest in the form of a golden dragon.61 Some onryō were the vengeful spirits of eminent monks. The Heike monogatari can be read as a long account of the rise of the goryō cult at the end of the Heian and beginning of the Kamakura periods. It opens with the deaths in exile of the Tendai abbot Meiun 明雲 and the Hosshōji priest Shunkan 俊寛, and all the later calamities are seen to derive from these initial tragedies.62 That point emerges in relation to the story of another goryō, that of the Onjōji priest Raigō 頼豪 (1004– 1084): “Thus there were frightful angry spirits in earlier days, too. It was cause for anxiety that bishop Shunkan alone suffered exclusion from the amnesty declared at the time of the present auspicious birth.”63 The Heike monogatari vividly describes the attack of vengeful spirits on Taira no Kiyomori’s pregnant daughter Kenreimon’in: A number of stubborn spirits took advantage of the lady’s condition to invade her body. The monks called on Fudō’s help to

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transfer them to mediums, whereupon they revealed themselves as the Sanuki Retired Emperor, the Uji Fearsome Minister of the Left Yorinaga, Major Counselor Narichika, the monk Saikō, the Kikaiga-shima exiles, and others. Kiyomori determined that measures must be taken to placate both those who were living and those who were dead, and in consequence the Sanuki Retired Emperor was hastily granted the posthumous designation Emperor Sutoku, and the Uji Fearsome Minister of the Left became a posthumous Chancellor of the First Rank.64

The text continues: “There had also been terrifying angry spirits in the past. That is why the deposed Crown Prince Sawara was given the official title Emperor Sudō 崇道天皇, and why Princess Igami was restored to the status of Empress. Both actions were intended to calm angry spirits. People say that Emperor Reizei’s madness and Emperor Kazan’s abdication were caused by the spirit of Popular Affairs Minister Motokata. And it was because of Chaplain Kanzan’s spirit that Emperor Sanjō lost his eyesight.”65 The point is reiterated toward the end of the text: “An Emperor had left the capital to drown in the ocean depths; a Minister of State and senior nobles had been paraded through the avenues, and the head of one had been hung at the prison gate. Men of understanding lamented and grieved. ‘From early times until the present, angry spirits have been fearsome things,’ they said. ‘What does the future hold for us all?’ ”66 In the Heike monogatari, goryō are held responsible not only for individual acts of revenge and the ultimate fall of the Taira, but also for calamities affecting the people at large, such as earthquakes. Actually, even in the case of earthquakes, the first victims were often the court and the clergy: “All six of the Shō temples in the Shirakawa area of the capital were destroyed. Six stories fell from the nine-story pagoda at the Hosshōji.”67 And the infernal spiral that had been launched with the exiles of Meiun and Shunkan started a new turn with the death of Taira no Kiyomori, who swears to return with a vengeance. Indeed, the Heike monogatari itself, in a kind of mise en abyme, came to be read as a placatory text.68 Let us return briefly to the case, mentioned above, of the Onjōji priest Raigō.69 Having successfully prayed for the birth of Shirakawa Tennō’s son, he asked the ruler for an ordination platform at Onjōji. Afraid of the retaliation of Hieizan monks, Shirakawa refused to grant him his wish. Enraged, Raigō starved himself to death and soon appeared in people’s dreams as a gray-haired monk with a ringed clerical staff, loitering by the crown prince’s pillow. The prince eventually died in his fourth year, and his death was attributed to Raigō’s curse.70 In the Gukanshō, the death of Shirakawa’s daughter is also attributed to Raigō’s vengeful spirit.71 Raigō’s posthumous revenge was even directed at Mount Hiei. According to legend, he took the form of a huge rat and led a swarm of rodents

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that gnawed the Buddhist scriptures at Enryakuji. In time, Raigō’s spirit also came to be identified with Shinra Myōjin, who was worshiped both as a protector of Onjōji and as a pestilence deity.72 The case of Raigō constitutes a hybrid between an individualized vengeful spirit that takes revenge against personal enemies and the swarming pest that attacks a collectivity. A similar case is that of Taira no Sanemori, whose vengeful spirit was said to cause agricultural calamities. Here the virulent agents were locust-like insects, and the fact that Sanemori was killed in a field after tripping over a rice plant was said to explain why his onryō became a crop-destroying pest. To placate him, villagers performed a ritual called mushi-okuri 虫送り or Sanemori-okuri 実盛送り (dispatching Sanemori), during which a straw man was made to drive away insects.73 The oni

Initially, the character gui 鬼 (J. oni) was read in Japanese as mononoke, a term referring to invisible beings responsible for illnesses caused by possession. As the oni became more visible during the medieval period, they lost some of their otherness, and the increasing weirdness found in their representations cannot hide the fact that they had become increasingly human (fig. 3.27).74 Noriko Reider, who has written about this transformation of the oni, neatly summarizes it in the subtitle of her article: “From the Frightening and the Diabolical to the Cute and Sexy.”75 The image of the oni seems to have developed at first from representations of the hell demons, as can be seen in the painted scroll entitled Gaki zōshi 餓鬼草紙. Another venue was the transformation of the annual exorcism (tsuina, oni yarai) in major temples such as Tōdaiji; notable among them was the famous Omizutori ritual at Nigatsudō at the time of the setsubun, in which two monks impersonated the red (male) and green (female) oni.76 This new image spread through the performing arts (geinō 芸能), especially Nō, which used a type of demon mask paradoxically called hannya 般若 (from Skt. prajñā ‘wisdom’).77 In particular, the so-called Shura Nō 修羅能, deriving its name from the Buddhist asuras, implied a possession by oni.

FIGURE 3.27  Oni no nenbutsu. Edo period. Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. Cleveland Museum of Art.

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It was not uncommon for the exorcists (hōsōshi) of an annual exorcism to eventually become identified with the demons they expelled.78 Even today at Tennenji, a Tendai temple on the Kunisaki peninsula (Kyūshū), two demon-like exorcists perform the setsubun ritual—a red one (the sai harai oni 災払鬼 or demon who eliminates calamities) identified with Aizen Myōō, and a black one (the ara oni 荒鬼 or wild demon) identified with Fudō Myōō. As at Nigatsudō, they expel ordinary demons by running nine times around the temple’s gallery. The hyakki yagyō

The Heian and medieval periods saw the rise of a belief in the night procession of the hundred demons (hyakki yagyō, or yakki yakō 百鬼夜 行), according to which some nights in every month, when one might encounter a demonic horde, were particularly dangerous.79 In the Ōka­ gami, for instance, Fujiwara no Morosuke 藤原師輔 (909–960) is said to have seen the demonic procession while traveling one night through the capital, though it remained invisible to his attendants.80 In the Konjaku monogatarishū, it is Tsuneyuki 常行, the minister of the right Fujiwara no Yoshisuke’s son, who runs into the parade during a nocturnal amorous escapade. Taking refuge with his two attendants at Shinsen’en, he sees the demons coming toward him, but something prevents them from catching him. Later, he finds out that he has been protected by the sonshō darani 尊勝陀羅尼 talisman that his wet nurse had sewn inside the collar of his kimono.81 From the fourteenth century onward, various painted scrolls illustrated that theme, the best-known being the Shinju-an 真珠庵 scroll at Daitokuji 大徳寺 (Kyoto).82 In these enigmatic and caricatural paintings, the theme is treated more lightly, and it seems to have become a kind of exercise in style. By the time these scrolls became an object of scholarly curiosity and aesthetic appreciation, they had already lost much of the parade’s original threatening power. This is even more true of the printed work of Edo-period artists such as Toriyama Sekien 鳥山石燕 (1712–1788), author of the Gazu hyakki yagyō 画図百鬼夜行 (1776).83 However, hyakki yagyō for him no longer meant the frightening nocturnal apparition of a demonic horde; it had become a gallery of caricatures, a taxonomy recalling the Chinese Scripture of Mountains and Seas (Shanhai jing) that attempts to demystify the demonic realm by classifying its inhabitants. The demonic has become picturesque or even grotesque, no longer inspiring the fear that could be felt, for instance, in the stories of the Nihon ryōiki at the turn of the ninth century (fig. 3.28). As Tanaka Takako points out, the Hyakki yagyō scrolls are in no way an illustration of the processions mentioned in earlier textual sources; instead they depict the emergence of a new kind of demon (figs. 3.29– 3.33). Indeed, these new demons, mostly belonging to the category of

FIGURE 3.28  Hyakki yagyō, by Kano Tansui Moritsune. Edo period. Hanging scroll, ink and color on silk. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

FIGURE 3.29  Detail of Hyakki yagyō, by Kawanabe Kyōsai (1831–1899). Ink and color on paper. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

FIGURE 3.30  Detail of Hyakki yagyō, by Kawanabe Kyōsai (1831–1899). Ink and color on paper. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

FIGURE 3.31  Detail of Hyakki yagyō, by Kawanabe Kyōsai (1831–1899). Ink and color on paper. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

FIGURE 3.32  Detail of Hyakki yagyō, by Kawanabe Kyōsai (1831–1899). Ink and color on paper. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

FIGURE 3.33  Detail of Hyakki yagyō, by Kawanabe Kyōsai (1831–1899). Ink and color on paper. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

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FIGURE 3.34  Hakutaku. Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. Petzold Collection, Harvard-Yenching Library

FIGURE 3.35  Hakutaku, by Fukuhara Gogaku (1730–1799). Ink on paper. British National Museum.

“tool spirits” (tsukumogami 付喪神), had little to do with the traditional oni. The tsukumogami were said to be the spirits of used tools that had gone wild after being discarded by their owners, in some cases turning cannibalistic in their anger. In the fourteenth-century Naki Fudō engi emaki, for instance, they appear in the scroll’s depiction of a ritual performed by Abe no Seimei to heal the Onjōji priest Chikō 智興.84 In the Tsukumogami ki 付喪神記 (ca. 1486), they are placated by Shingon ritual and eventually converted.85 This transformation of the medieval theme brings us closer to the manga of Katsushika Hokusai 葛飾北斎 (1760–1849) and the ghosts of Utagawa Kuniyoshi 歌川国芳 (1797–1861), not to mention the modern spectral parades in animated films such as Satoshi Kon’s Paprika (2006) and Hayao Miyazaki’s Spirited Away (2008).86 Indeed, the real demons have been spirited away. Yet, paradoxically, they are no longer invisible and haunting presences because they have become highly visible—and by the same token grotesque. Their visuality has, in a way, exorcized them. As we have seen, one particularly uncanny demonic being was the creature known as Hakutaku (Ch. Baize) or White Marsh (figs. 3.34– 3.36).87 Like that of the masked exorcists (fangxiangshi) he came to replace, his status changed from exorcist to demon, and he eventually became the last addition to the gallery of monsters depicted by Toriyama Sekien. In Edo Japan, talismans of Hakutaku still had a certain apotropaic

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FIGURE 3.36 Hakutaku, by Gusukuma Seihō (1614–1644). Hanging scroll, color on silk. Kamakura 1982, vol. 2.

power, and during the 1858 cholera epidemic, as Donald Harper points out, “people were told to protect themselves by setting the image of Hakutaku on their headrest before retiring at night.”88 By then, however, Hakutaku had become, in artistic circles, yet another “much-maligned monster.”89 The tengu

Mountain goblins or tengu form another important category in Japanese demonology.90 Tengu stories abound in works such as the Taiheiki, which has even been called a “tengu repository.” Tengu were feared above all for their curses. In the Ōkagami, for instance, the blindness of Sanjō Tennō (r. 1011–1016) is attributed to the malediction of a tengu—although, as we have seen, it was also attributed to the malevolence of an onryō.91 The name tengu is traced back to the Chinese tiangou (celestial dog). Originally it was the name of a comet, but in the Shanhai jing the tiangou is also described as a chimera-like animal: “There is a beast here whose form resembles a wildcat but with a white head. It is called Tiangou and makes a sound like a cat. It can repel evil forces.”92 These two meanings were also known in Japan, but the Japanese tengu developed in other directions. In his Jakushōdō kokkyōshū, Unshō (1614–1693) distinguishes between the tengu and the tengu star (tengu-sei 天狗星). Regarding the latter, he explains that it is a comet whose shape resembles that of a dog.

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FIGURE 3.37 Kurama tengu. Ink on paper. Petzold Collection, Harvard-­ Yenching Library

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Regarding the former, he first quotes a “guest” according to whom: “In Japan, from ancient times there was a creature that resembled a demon, a being that concealed its body and eclipsed the sky. . . . Its divine powers were unobstructed. It was called tengu. . . . It is also said in the Bowen lu: ‘In the mountains, there is a beast that looks like a badger (tanuki 狸). Its head is white and it feeds on snakes. It is called tengu.’ ” Unshō, however, disagrees: “From our perspective, [the tengu] belongs to the retinue of Māra Hajun, along with vināyakas (see fig. 3.5) and ḍākinīs. Some become devas, others fall into the path of Māra. . . . The so-called tengu is neither a star nor a beast. It bears the same name [as the Chinese tengu] yet it is different.”93 In Mujū Ichien’s Shōzaishū, we read: “What one calls tengu in Japan does not appear in the scriptures, but in Shingon the name tengu designates foxes and the like.”94 According to the Edo-period encyclopedia Wakan sansai zue 和漢三才図会, the term designates the “badger” (tanuki). Thus, the name tengu may in part derive from that of the heavenly fox (tenko), one of the three types of foxes (heavenly, earthly, and human) that were the object of medieval exorcisms.95 The Tsukimono mimibukuro (originally published in 1922) by Kuramitsu Seiroku (1894–1963) contains a chapter entitled “A Talk on Tengu,” in which the author examines the affinities between tengu and tenko and quotes numerous Chinese and Japanese sources to highlight the highly ambivalent and “messy” nature of the forms and symbols of both the tengu and the fox.96 In the Byakuhō kushō, the heavenly fox is said to have the form of a kite.97 Likewise, Hirata Atsutane, in his Kokon yōmi kō, still explicitly identifies the tengu with the heavenly fox.98 In a scroll known as The Book of Tengu (Tengu zōshi, dated to 1296) and other documents, the tengu is represented as a theriomorphic being with the wings and beak of a kite (figs. 3.37–3.39).99 This image of the tengu merged with that of the fox in the cults of Daki­ niten and Iizuna Gongen 飯綱権現, and in the Dakiniten mandalas two tengu are represented as acolytes of the fox-riding Dakiniten. In the representation of Iizuna Gongen, the deity is represented as a tengu riding a fox (fig. 3.40).100 Yet the image of the tengu that eventually prevailed is that of the long-nosed mountain goblin (fig. 3.41).

FIGURE 3.38  Tengu. Detail of Atago mandara. Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. Petzold Collection, Harvard-Yenching Library.

FIGURE 3.39 Two tengu. Komitake sekison daigongen. Edo period. Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. Petzold Collection, Harvard-Yenching Library

FIGURE 3.40  Akiba Gongen. Ink and color on paper. Petzold Collection, Harvard-Yenching Library.

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FIGURE 3.41  Tengu. Detail of Tateyama mandara. Hanging scroll, ink and color on silk. Tateyama Museum, Toyama prefecture.

Tengu were said to abduct children, and one such abduction supposedly led to a war between the monks of Mount Hiei and those of Onjōji.101 The motif was still alive in the Edo period—in Hirata Atsutane’s Senkyō ibun, for example, whose main protagonist is a youth named Torakichi 寅 吉, who claims to have been abducted and initiated by a tengu.102 Ironically, Hirata uses the secret teaching—thoroughly permeated with Buddhist notions—allegedly transmitted to him by this youth in his criticism of Buddhism. At one point, Torakichi says that his otherworldly teacher dislikes the rituals of Dakiniten, Iizuna, and Shōten “because they use foxes, tengu, and the like.” Yet he admits that this teacher occasionally worships Shōten because Shōten is another name for the god of obstacles, and he only does this “so that the leader of demons will not present him with any obstacle.”103 Hirata Atsutane distinguishes two types of tengu: those of the first type are birds or beasts (eagles, kites, foxes, and the like) transformed over time—several hundreds or thousands of years. Those of the second type are humans (Buddhist priests and ascetics) who have turned into demons because of some evil influence and who live in the mountains, causing people misfortune. Atsutane’s youthful teacher, Torakichi, includes Kōbō

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Daishi (Kūkai) among them, and Atsutane notes that Kūkai was the first to employ heavenly foxes. But Torakichi adds that Dōryō Gongen at Saijōji in Odawara, Sanjakubō of Mount Akiba, and Hōshōbō of Mount Myōgi are real tengu.104 In the medieval period, tengu often served as a political metaphor, as can be seen for instance in the Tengu zōshi, which tells the story of a monk who takes shelter under a large tree at Ninnaji upon returning to the capital and witnesses a meeting of bird-like tengu. All of them turn out to be reincarnations of former priests connected to Go-Daigo and his failed Kenmu Restoration (1223–1336), and they are meeting to plot against the government and create havoc in the world.105 As an anticlerical critique emanating from monastic circles, this text must be placed in the context of the rivalries between Buddhist schools of the so-called kenmitsu taisei 顕密体制 and the new schools that appeared during the Kamakura period (mainly Zen and Pure Land).106 The tengu path is described as a special type of rebirth for arrogant monks. The scroll is also a commentary on the relations between monasteries and imperial power—in particular, the famous and controversial retired emperors Go-Shirakawa and Go-Toba, and Sutoku Tennō.107 It can further be read as a satire on the great monastic institutions of the time—Enryakuji (Mount Hiei), Onjōji (Miidera), Tōji, Daigoji, Kongōbuji (Mount Kōya), and Tōdaiji, whose increasing (lay and monastic) populations were described as a proliferation of tengu. One story in the Tengu zōshi describes how a tengu is badly beaten by Buddhist protecting spirits (gohō).108 In another story, a tengu who has lost his way and wanders in the Shijō Kawara area—the bank of the Kamo river near Kyoto’s fourth ward (under the direct control of Gion Shrine)— is killed by a marginal river dweller (kawaramono). Tengu were not always perceived as purely evil, since they could be converted. Thus, the origin story of Mount Atago tells how Shōtoku Taishi’s preceptor, the Korean general Nichira 日羅, defeated the tengu of the mountain and, in revealing his true form as Shōgun Jizō 勝軍地 蔵, eventually became their leader. The Kegon priest Myōe 明恵 (1173– 1232) is also said to have conferred the Buddhist precepts on a tengu.109 This ambivalence is reflected in the Shasekishū, which distinguishes two kinds of tengu—good and evil.110 The Konjaku monogatarishū also mentions the case of a tengu who converted and was reborn as the son of Uda Tennō, eventually becoming the abbot of Enryakuji on Mount Hiei.111 Along the same lines, the Hirasan kojin reitaku (ca. 1239), by the priest Keisei 慶政 (1189–1268), takes the form of a dialogue with the tengu in which Keisei hopes to obtain oracles from the tengu and to convert them.112 The case of the Sōtō zen master Dōryō 道了 is somewhat special. Although he is said to have become a tengu in 1411 under the name Dōryō Daigongen 道了大権現, it was only to protect his temple, Saijōji 最乗寺 (in Minami Ashigara city, Kanagawa).113

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FIGURE 3.42  Tengu masks. Mount Haguro, Yamagata prefecture. Photo B. Faure.

The tengu played an important role in Shugendō lore, and they are found on all sacred mountains.114 In the previously mentioned origin story of Mount Atago (on the northwestern outskirts of Kyōto), Tarōbō 太郎坊, the local tengu, gives a detailed survey of the mountain to Nichira.115 Like Mount Atago, Kuramadera 鞍馬寺 (on the northern outskirts of the capital) is linked with fire, and its famous long-nosed tengu, named Maō 魔王 (demon king), is said to have initiated the young Minamoto no Yoshitsune 源義経 in martial arts.116 Many Shugendō temples display a pair of large masks, one representing the crow tengu (karasu tengu 烏天狗), the other a long-nosed tengu often identified with the kami Sarutahiko (fig. 3.42). Bird-like tengu were particularly important on Mount Hiko 英彦山 and Mount Kubote 求菩提 山 in Kyūshū, the former being singled out as an important place for tengu and māras in the Shiojiri.117 Although they did not entirely lose their grip on people’s minds, the tengu—like the oni—gradually became folkloric figures, and the term tengu served as a metaphor for wandering yamabushi, ascetics respected for their “powers” and despised for their perceived amorality. MĀRA AND MĀRAS In the Heike monogatari, when the defeated Taira warrior Koremori 維 盛 (1160–ca. 1184) hesitates to end his life because of his love for his wife, the Takiguchi novice admonishes him: “The heretic demon of the Sixth Heaven, who rules as he pleases over all six heavens in the world of

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desire, resents the efforts of that world’s inhabitants to escape the cycle of life and death, and thus he hinders them by assuming the guise of a wife or of a husband.”118 In his Kyakuhai bōki, Myōe writes: “Ma is said more precisely mara and means ‘obstacle’ (shōge).”119 For Nichiren, all those who are not adepts of the Lotus Sūtra—i.e., monks of the Kegon, Sanron, Hossō, Shingon, Jōdo, and Zen schools—are “sages whose body is possessed by King Māra of the Sixth Heaven, men of good duped by him.”120 Māras were sometimes identified with the tengu: “One calls tengu those among the sages of the eight schools who have become māra gods.”121 Thirteenth-century Japan witnessed the emergence of the notion of the “path of Māra” (madō 魔道), also known as the tengu realm, into which arrogant and earthly minded priests fall after death. In his Gukanshō, Jien writes: “According to my understanding of this phenomenon, there are two types of demons: the “deceptive” (junma) and the “antagonistic” (gyakuma). Deceptive demons were responsible for such pathetic teachings as Hōnen’s.”122 In the Heike monogatari, when the retired sovereign Go-Shirakawa meets resistance from Enryakuji monks regarding the possibility of his receiving unction (Skt. abhiṣeka, J. kanjō 灌頂) at Onjōji, an oracle from the Sumiyoshi deity reveals that the obstacles are caused by the māras and Go-Shirakawa’s arrogance. Go-Shirakawa asks to which path the māras belong, and the god replies that they belong neither to hell nor to paradise, but are assimilated to demons and tengu. It is a path reserved for arrogant monks.123 Thereupon the retired sovereign said: “Heavenly demons take human form, animal form, and the form of warriors [asuras]. Through what kind of karmic cause would they try to destroy Buddhist law?” The great bright deity replied: “Those in human form possess, if only a little, supernatural power. There are three types: one is tenma; the second is Hajun [Skt. Papiyas, that is, the god Māra himself]; and the third are men. As for the first called tenma, many wise men and scholars are impious and arrogant. When these impious men die, they without fail become imps [oni] called heavenly demons. In form they are dogs, their bodies are human, and wings sprout from their left and right arms. Their supernatural power of achieving enlightenment is about a hundredfold the average ability. They fly through the air like hawks. Because they are Buddhists they do not fall into hell; because they are impious, they do not achieve rebirth.124

In the Kōfukuji petition (Kōfukuji sōjō, 1205), the scholar-monk Jōkei 貞慶 (a.k.a. Gedatsu Shōnin 解脱上人, 1155–1213) accuses Pure Land followers of turning their back on the gods and warns them that,

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without the gods’ protection, they will surely fall into the demonic path.125 Jōkei is the main protagonist of the Nō play Dairokuten 第六天, whose story proceeds along these lines: on a pilgrimage to Ise, Jōkei arrives at Watarai no miya (the Outer Shrine) and meets two village women, who begin to tell him about the origins of the shrine. Suddenly they disappear, warning Jōkei that something is obstructing the Dharma. A storm breaks out, the earth shakes, and King Māra, the ruler of the Sixth Heaven, appears at the head of his army. Jōkei takes refuge in the Buddha, and the kami Susanoo appears in the sky and strikes Māra with his jeweled staff (a very Buddhist weapon for a kami). Defeated, Māra promises never to return to this world. As this Nō play suggests, the gods of Ise, despite their official anti-Buddhist stance, were perceived in medieval Japan as protectors of Buddhism. Ironically, it is Susanoo, Amaterasu’s brother and former nemesis, who comes to fight Māra. A variant of the story appears in the Taiheiki, where the devas and the asuras replay their eternal battle for the benefit of Jōkei. On his pilgrimage to Ise, Jōkei witnesses a demonic meeting in which Māra explains to other demons his plan to cause a civil war (the Jōkyū Disturbance of 1221) and to make Jōkei fail in his practice. Owing to this warning, which he attributes to Amaterasu’s kindness, Jōkei is able to strengthen his practice.126 The Taiheiki contrasts Jōkei with the Shingon-Ritsu priest Monkan 文観 (1278–1357), emphasizing that Māra had taken possession of Monkan’s mind, whereas Jōkei, a paragon of purity, was able to repel him. In this version, however, Susanoo does not appear. The story presupposes the well-known theme of the pact by which Māra transferred jurisdiction over Japan to Amaterasu.127 While Māra appears as the arch-enemy of Buddhism in these texts, we will soon see that in other circles his image was more nuanced and he remained the rightful ruler of this world. Perhaps this is the reason Oda Nobunaga 織田信長, in the account of the Jesuit missionary Luis Fróis, signed a letter sent to his enemy Takeda Shingen 武田信玄 as “Nobunaga, King Māra of Sixth Heaven.”128 Haruko Wakabayashi suggests that the definition of ma was often politically motivated, reflecting the inner conflicts of the Buddhist community in particular—and especially, in the case of Tendai, the feud between the Sanmon and the Jimon, that is, between Mount Hiei (Enryakuji) and Miidera (Onjōji). Thus, it is not surprising that the Tendai abbot Ryōgen played the double role of a conqueror of evil and a defeated demon, depending on who tells the story.129 Ryōgen, the Great Horned Master

Monks who fell into evil ways became māras or tengu, while the more powerful among them became demon kings (maō). The Hōbutsu shū (ca. 1180) explains that the Tendai priest Ryōgen 良源 (Jie Daishi 慈恵大師, better known as Ganzan Daishi 元三大師; 912–985) turned into a tengu

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FIGURE 3.43  Tsuno Daishi. Ink on paper. Petzold Collection, Harvard-Yenching Library.

FIGURE 3.44  Tsuno Daishi. Edo period. Ofuda. Private collection.

because he continued living on Mount Hiei through his attachment to Enryakuji.130 In the Jimon kōsōki (late Kamakura period), Ryōgen appears as a tengu who possesses a child at Onjōji.131 Of course, this text reflects the perspective of Miidera. The Hirasan kojin reitaku (ca. 1239) mentions Ryōgen as one of many priests and members of the Fujiwara lineage who fell into the tengu realm as a consequence of their “arrogance and attachment.”132 The Taiheiki portrays Ryōgen as the great demon king who, according to the testimony of the yamabushi priest Unkei 雲景, met with other demon kings and tengu to discuss how to bring discord into the world.133 A similar storyline is found in the Tengu zōshi, where Ryōgen is grouped with other figures that have turned into vengeful spirits after dying full of resentment. While Ryōgen was sometimes represented as a tengu by his adversaries, Wakabayashi has shown how, “in another twist, even Tendai institutions eventually embraced the image of Ryōgen as a demon-king, and he even came to be worshiped as a protective deity called Maō.”134 The most popular representation of Ryōgen, however, was the black-­ demon image of Tsuno Daishi 角大師, the Great Horned Master, found even today in countless talismans (figs. 3.43 and 3.44). Ryōgen was the

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first monk to be represented on a talisman, and this ofuda was put to use against epidemics by the thirteenth century. Judgments on Ryōgen were clearly a matter of perspective.135 In general, the destructive dimensions of his power as a demon king remained distinct from those of typical vengeful spirits. He did not die in distress, and his destructive power was aimed against the enemies of Mount Hiei. As Wakabayashi remarks, Hiei priests had no reason to seek to pacify his spirit by worshiping him as a demon king or as King Māra (Maō).136 In the Taiheiki, the Taira general responsible for the destruction of Tōdaiji, a temple seen as symbolic of the corrupted Buddhism of Nara, becomes a manifestation of Ryōgen, the representative of orthodox Buddhism, i.e., the Tendai school. Along the same lines, Taira no Kiyomori is presented as a reincarnation of the demon king Ryōgen. In the Heike monogatari, on the other hand, the event is interpreted as a sacrilegious act that marks the degeneration of the times. In a liturgical text (kōshiki) attributed to Genshin 源信 (942–1017), for instance, we read: His original body is Nyōirin, Emerging from the heroic valor of samādhi, Breaking the cycle of life and death, and the vengeance of delusion, He presents himself as Maō.137

At first, Ryōgen was “grounded” in the sense of being seen as the protective deity of a specific place, Mount Hiei. But soon his popularity spread, and he became a translocal deity worshiped in other Tendai strongholds, like the Kunisaki peninsula in Kyūshū. In some sources he is presented as a manifestation of Kannon, and by the late Kamakura period his demon image began to be posted on the gates and doorways of homes to drive away evil spirits and misfortune.138 To grasp the significance of Ryōgen’s case, a few words about his place in history might be in order.139 By successfully praying for the birth of a son to Murakami Tennō 村上天皇 (r. 946–967), Ryōgen gained the crucial patronage of Fujiwara no Morosuke, the prince’s maternal grandfather. Fujiwara no Kaneie 藤原兼家 (929–990), the third son of Morosuke and also one of Ryōgen’s major patrons, sponsored an elaborate service on the first anniversary of Ryōgen’s death, and thereafter the Fujiwara family held a memorial service each year on that day, the third of the first month. This occasion later came to be known as the Ganzan Assembly (Ganzan-e 元三会).140 The ambivalence of Ryōgen’s spiritual power can be understood as a manifestation of the hongaku theory of Tendai, according to which there is an ontological identity between good and evil: “Māra and the Buddha are one” (mabutsu ichinyo 魔仏一如). The hongaku theory was in a sense a response to anticlerical criticism as well as a means of defending the

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legitimacy of the kenmitsu establishment. What it held out was the possibility of a more positive approach to the demonic (ma), and under its aegis the demon king Ryōgen became an object of worship.141 MALIGNANT FOXES Japanese literature abounds with cases of people who used the power of spirit animals like foxes to succeed in the world: Taira no Kiyomori in the Genpei jōsuiki, Fujiwara no Narichika 藤原成親 (1138–1178) in the Heike monogatari, and Fujiwara no Tadazane 藤原忠実 (1078–1162) in the Kokon chōmonjū all used “heterodox rituals” (gehō 外法).142 The Bikisho (1324) emphasizes the possibly pre-Buddhist origins of the Japanese cult of foxes: “In ancient times, people simply had faith in animals with special powers, and prayed to them to increase their worldly treasures.”143 The slopes of Mount Inari, for example, were occupied by hundred of oratories dedicated to fox spirits, and the image of the fox overlaps with that of the ancestors to this day. In Japan as in China, the fox was perceived as a witch-animal and a shape shifter that could on occasion take human (usually feminine) form to play dirty tricks on humans.144 The effect of the merging of the cults of Inari and Dakiniten during the medieval period was an invasion by foxes into the physical and cultural landscape of Japan. Functionally, the fox was perceived as a mediator between this world and the other world. As Jean Lévi points out, in the case of China: “Between foxes and the dead the relationships are more than metonymical, there is a similarity or even an identity. Like ancestors, foxes have an ambiguous nature—both earthly and heavenly, beneficent and maleficent. The graves where they take up residence were believed to give access to the other world. In this way, the ‘wild fox’ (yehu 野狐) eventually became a ‘heavenly fox’ (Ch. tianhu 天狐, J. tenko).”145 Foxes were said to be inclined to possess humans to feed on their vital energy. The Nakatomi harae includes “evil magic due to heavenly and earthly foxes” on its tally of sins requiring purification.146 The postface to the Edo-period Reflections on Inari Shrine (Inari jinja kō 稲荷神 社考, 1836) reads: “Fearing to openly worship fox spirits, one calls them Dakiniten, Matarajin, Izuna Gongen, Yashajin, or Fuku daijin, and one worships them. All of them, these matarajin and wild foxes, their [true] form is [that of] a three-faced and six-armed [deity].”147 The fox’s thirst for the blood of its prey brought it closer to blood-­ drinking, flesh-eating demons like the ḍākinīs, and this may in part explain the merging of its cult with that of Dakiniten. To be clear, the animal in question was no longer the common red fox (Vulpus Vulpes); it had become a demonic being that could transform into various animal and human forms. A case in point is that of a powerful

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FIGURE 3.45 Three Foxes. Besson zakki, TZ 3: 96.

nine-tailed fox called Tamamo no Mae 玉藻前. According to the legend, it manifested as a beautiful and refined young woman to the retired emperor Toba and seduced him. After having intercourse with her, Toba became gravely ill. The Yin-Yang master Abe no Yasunari 阿部泰成 performed a divination that revealed that Tamamo no Mae was the avatar of an eight-hundred-year-old fox that once lived in China. Once exorcized, the fox spirit entered into a stone in the Nasuno plain (Shimotsuke province), where it continued to afflict people. The stone came to be known as the “killing stone” (sesshōseki 殺生石), and it was eventually exorcized by a charismatic Zen priest, Gennō Shinshō 源翁心昭 (1329–1400).148 As demonic, parasitic beings feeding on the vital principle of humans, foxes were the main target of exorcisms such as the Six-Letter Sūtra ritual (Rokujikyō-hō 六字経法). This exorcism took as its target a demonic trio called the Three Foxes (fig. 3.45).149 In the Kakuzenshō and the Gyōrinshō, these three foxes—called the heavenly fox (tenko天狐), human fox ( jinko 人狐), and earthly fox (chiko 地狐), respectively—are mentioned in relation with the Tantric goma or fire ritual. In spite of their names, however, two of them hardly look like foxes: the heavenly fox looks like a bird (pheasant), the human fox like a woman. According to a different interpretation, the two animals among them are the demons that possess the person on behalf of the third figure, a woman. In the ritual, paper figurines representing them were thrown into a stream, following the model of the Shintō purification rite (harae). In the same way as the ḍākinī turned from a demoness into a goddess (Dakiniten), the Three Foxes, ritually placated, merged into a single deity called the Three-Fox Deity (Sankoshin 三狐神). The latter was in turn identified with the Three Devas (Dakiniten, Benzaiten, and Shōten),

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giving birth to a single, composite deity, known under various names.150 According to the Tamakisan gongen engi (copy of 1350), an account of the origins of the cultic site on Mount Tamaki in the Kii peninsula, this deity, also called “King of heavenly foxes” (tenko-ō 天狐王), was worshiped in the Zaō Hall on Kinpusen 金峰山. It was a three-faced, sixarmed, six-legged deity that was seen as a “trace” or manifestation of Daishō Kangiten and Dakiniten. Its central face was that of Kannon, its right face that of the heavenly fox,” and its left face that of the earthly fox. It is, in fact, the apotheosis of Dakiniten as a supreme deity and master of the animals. Its ritual empowerment (Skt. susiddhi, J. soshitsuji 蘇悉 地) was said to bring the rapid realization of all wishes, yet it was always perceived as “heterodox,” tainted with black magic.151 Accordingly, fox spirits continued to inflict harm on humans even as Dakiniten became an auspicious deity. Interestingly, the rise in cases of fox-possession coincided with the expansion of the Inari cult. Heavenly foxes, in particular, were said to cause “dada affliction” (dada byō 吒吒 病),152 a strangely named disease that was also attributed to one of Dakiniten’s eight youthful attendants (hachi dai dōji 八大童子), the “demon that ravishes vital essence” (dasseiki 奪精鬼, or datsukonpaku ki 奪魂魄 鬼). Exorcism required that a fox skull be placed inside the main deity (honzon) of the ritual. Actually, the nature of that skull was said to vary depending on the range to be covered: the skull of an astral fox (shinko) for a large province (of more than one hundred li), that of a white dog or a racoon (tanuki) for a smaller province.153 Even today, some families are ostracized in Japan because they are believed to entertain relationships with witch-animals and to use them to harm other people. Often these families are said to have ancestors versed in Iizuna magic, a term pointing to the cult of Iizuna Gongen that developed in the medieval period on and around Mount Iizuna 飯綱山 (present-­day Nagano prefecture). In popular culture, the belief in foxes spread through painted handscrolls such as the Ōishi Hyōroku monogatari emaki 大石兵六物語絵 巻, by Mōri Masanao 毛利正直 (1761–1803) (fig. 3.46).154 This scroll tells the story of a young man, Ōishi Hyōroku, who has been given by his companions the mission of ridding the town of Kagoshima of the shape-shifting foxes that are disturbing its citizens. Of course, the foxes transform into a variety of monsters that trick Hyōroku and terrify him. At one point, three of them even turn into statues of the bodhisattva Jizō (fig. 3.47). On another occasion, one of them transforms into Hyōroku’s father, who convinces him to release two foxes he has caught (fig. 3.48). Later, Hyōroku himself is made a prisoner by a group of foxes. Others, taking on the guise of Buddhist priests, tonsure him (fig. 3.49). Yet, after all these humiliations, he finally is able to catch two foxes, and his companions celebrate his deed with a banquet (fig. 3.50).

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FIGURE 3.46  Fox spirits. Detail of Ōishi Hyōroku monogatari emaki. Edo period. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Cleveland Museum of Art.

FIGURE 3.47  Fox spirits appear as Jizō statues. Detail of Ōishi Hyōroku monogatari emaki. Edo period. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Cleveland Museum of Art.

FIGURE 3.48  A fox spirit appears to Ōishi as his father. Detail of Ōishi Hyōroku monogatari emaki. Edo period. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Cleveland Museum of Art.

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FIGURE 3.49  Fox prelate and acolytes. Detail of Ōishi Hyōroku monogatari emaki. Edo period. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Cleveland Museum of Art.

FIGURE 3.50  Ōishi chasing three foxes. Detail of Ōishi Hyōroku monogatari emaki. Edo period. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Cleveland Museum of Art.

Poised on the threshold between the animal, human, and divine realms, the fox was perceived as both a herald of danger and a source of wealth. Japanese fox lore was thus part of a broad mythological constellation, as Iyanaga Nobumi has shown, that included beliefs related to magical “theft” and deities such as Daikokuten (and his Indian prototype Mahākāla, i.e., Śiva).155 As in today’s London, the fox dwelt at the very heart of human society, lurking in the shadows. Medieval Japan sought to integrate this furtive representative of the demonic world up to a point, whereas the cultures of Edo Japan and modern Japan have repressed fox lore by turning it into folklore. Even so, Japanese religion remains in many ways a vulpine religion.

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FIGURE 3.51 Tenkeisei devouring demons. Hekija-e. 12th century. Hanging scroll, ink and colors on paper. Nara National Museum.

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THE HEKIJA-E Japanese demons are furtive, elusive. One way to approach them, paradoxically, is through representations of exorcism (hekija 辟邪), the act of expelling them. A case in point is a set of pictures known as The Illustrated Scroll on Expelling Demons (Hekija-e 辟邪絵), preserved at the Nara National Museum and dated to the reign of Go-Shirakawa (1127–1192, r. 1155–1158).156 Its images were originally part of a long illustrated scroll known as the Hell Scroll of the Masuda family (Masudake-bon Jigoku zōshi 益田家本地獄草紙), which has long been believed to be part of a set depicting the six paths of rebirth (Jigoku-e 地獄絵).157 Kobayashi Taichirō has suggested, however, that the scroll originally existed in the

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form of hekija images, which were popular in China and, from the Song onward, were painted on screens at the beginning and end of the year. These images were transmitted to Japan as so-called images of hell— which explains their inclusion in the Jigoku-e.158 The Hekija-e set consists of five pictures, each representing a deity purchasing and killing demons. The first image shows a wrathful deity named Tenkeisei 天刑星, the Star of Heavenly Punishment, in the act of devouring demons (fig. 3.51).159 Although the name Tenkeisei originally referred to a Chinese astral deity (Tianxing xing),160 he is represented here as a six-armed yakṣa with blood on his fangs, having just snatched the head of a demon whose mutilated body he holds in one of his hands. (The image strikingly recalls Goya’s painting of Cronus devouring his children.) Tenkeisei holds other demons in his remaining hands, and—a nice culinary touch—is dipping one of them in a cup of vinegar.161 In this representation, the fight between gods and demons is no longer equal, unlike the Indian warfare between the devas and the asuras. Although it is a radical departure from earlier scenes showing the Buddha converting demons, there is no doubt that the image represents a fundamental aspect of esoteric Buddhism. Here the asymmetry of power between gods and demons is magnified, while their difference in nature becomes so minor that the Buddhist deity actually looks more demonic and full of hubris than his pitiful enemies. Apart from the sheer ferocity of Tenkeisei’s cannibalistic frenzy, another striking feature is the fact that, according to the accompanying text, the demon he is eating is none other than Gozu Tennō, a major pestilence deity with whom he had come to be identified by the beginning of the Kamakura period. Gozu Tennō was the main deity of Gion (Yasaka) Shrine in Kyoto, a rival of Kōfukuji in Nara.162 Gion Shrine had initially been under the jurisdiction of Kōfukuji before passing over to Tendai— hence the many fights between the monks of Gion and those of Kiyomizudera 清水寺, a nearby temple affiliated with Kōfukuji. It was on one such occasion that the Gion Shrine pagoda was burned in 1179, an event almost contemporary with the creation of the image. This proximity led Miyajima Shin’ichi to argue that Kōfukuji monks produced the picture to disparage the Gion deity. This explanation, however, fails to account for the fact that Gozu Tennō was also worshiped at the Kasuga Shrine– Kōfukuji multiplex. Tenkeisei played an important role in medieval Japan since he was said to be the source of the eighty-four thousand shikigami 式神 (elemental spirits) used in Onmyōdō rituals, as well as a manifestation of the bodhisattva Mañjuśrī. He was apparently the honzon of a ritual of induced possession allegedly transmitted to Japan by the statesman Kibi no Makibi 吉備真備 (695–775) and by the Yin-Yang master Kamo no Yasunori 賀 茂保憲 (fl. 10th cent.). As noted earlier, he was also associated, or even

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FIGURE 3.52 Canda Gandharva. Hekija-e. 12th century. Hanging scroll, ink and colors on paper. Nara National Museum.

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identified, with Gozu Tennō. Judging from talismans on which his name is written, the Tenkeisei exorcism must have been widespread. The second image shows another gruesome scene. It represents the Gandharva king Caṇḍāla (Sendan Kendatsuba-ō 栴檀乾闥婆王, “Who has the fragrance of sandalwood”) wearing armor and a lion headgear reminiscent of that of the wisdom king Aizen (fig. 3.52). He holds in his two hands a trident on which the heads of fifteen demons are impaled, and he is surrounded by their headless bodies still spurting blood.163 In another representation, he holds a wish-fulfilling jewel in his left hand and a halberd or trident with impaled demon heads in his right (fig. 3.53).164 The cartouche (kakekotoba) appended to an image preserved in the Nara National Museum reads: “The demons who harm the child of pregnant women while it dwells in their womb, or who interrupt the child’s [life] after its birth, are of fifteen kinds. Moved by compassion at the sight of the grief of mother and child, the [deity] called Caṇḍāla Gandharva causes these fifteen demons to suffer; he cuts off their heads and impales them on his spear.”165 The image of the Gandharva king is based on the Hu zhutongzi tuoluoni jing (Dhāraṇī-sūtra for the Protection of Children;166 abbreviated in Japanese as Dōjikyō 童子経). This text describes an exorcism aimed at protecting pregnant women and fetuses from yakṣas, rākṣasas, and other such demons that cause miscarriage.167 In this text, the Gandharva king appears surrounded by fifteen demons (kijin 鬼神), twelve of which are

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FIGURE 3.53 Canda Gandharva. Edo period. Sheet, ink on paper. University Art Museum, Kyoto City University of Arts. BZS 2192.

represented in animal form (figs. 3.54 and 3.55).168 He does not kill these demons, however; he is their leader. The text opens with the Buddha explaining to Brahmā that yakṣas and rākṣasas devour embryos—thus making women sterile—or kill children at birth. Their leader must therefore be placated. Once converted by Brahmā, the Gandharva king promises to abandon his evil ways.

FIGURE 3.54  Dōjikyō mandara. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Tōji, Kyoto.

FIGURE 3.55  Dōjikyō mandara. Edo period. Sheet, ink on paper. University Art Museum, Kyoto City University of Arts. BZS 1052.

FIGURE 3.56  Dōjikyō mandara. Edo period. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Ichigami Shrine, Yokaichi, Shiga prefecture.

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According to the Gyōrinshō, “The fifteen demon kings roam through the world, taking pleasure in harming the placenta and entering the body, tormenting pregnant women. As soon as birth has taken place, they steal the essence and the breath. Although months go by, they prevent [the child] from becoming an adult.”169 According to the priest Jōshin 静真 (a.k.a. Amida-bō Ajari 阿弥陀房阿闍梨), these fifteen demons or “lads” (dōji) are the most harmful to children among Hārītī’s five hundred demon children.170 They must receive offerings but outside the monastery. In medieval Japan, the Gandharva king was invoked for the protection of unborn fetuses and children. In mandalas based on the Dōjikyō, he is usually represented as a protector, with fifteen demons on one side, held on a leash, and fifteen naked children (dōji) on the other (figs. 3.56 and 3.57). He is sometimes flanked by Marishiten (Mārici) and Kariteimo (Hārītī).171 These representations showing the impaled demon heads on one hand, the demons on a leash on the other, seem to juxtapose two distinct models for dealing with demons, extermination and subjugation, while the Gandharva king himself, having become a protector, represents a third, supposedly more typically Buddhist model: conversion. Yet the obvious cruelty of these representations leads us once again to question the nature of their appeal.

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FIGURE 3.57  Dōjikyō mandara. Besson zakki, TZ 3: 105, fig. 37.

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FIGURE 3.58  (Top) Insect spirit. Hekija-e. 12th century. Hanging scroll, ink and colors on paper. Nara National Museum. FIGURE 3.59 (Bottom) Bishamonten shooting arrows at demons. Hekija-e. 12th century. Hanging scroll, ink and colors on paper. Nara National Museum.

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The third picture is even more uncanny. It represents the “divine insect” (shinchū 神虫), a monstrous moth-like creature that catches lilliputian demons with its eight legs and devours them (fig. 3.58).172 It is said to devour three thousand tiger demons every morning, and three hundred every evening.173 This representation of the demonifuge monster is much more frightening than that of the “poor devils” with whom the modern spectator feels tempted to empathize. Unfortunately, no other exemplar is known, and its origins and cult remain obscure. The fourth picture represents the deva king Bishamonten 毘沙門天 (Skt. Vaiśravana) aiming his arrows at two winged demons that were disturbing a devotee of the Lotus Sūtra in his hermitage (fig. 3.59).174 This is

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FIGURE 3.60  Zhong Kui (Shōki). Hekija-e. 12th century. Hanging scroll, ink and colors on paper. Nara National Museum.

a rare representation of Bishamonten, who is usually represented holding a halberd in one hand, a miniature pagoda in the other, while seated or standing on two caricatural demons. In the present image, the winged demons are reminiscent of those of the Western Middle Ages, but the influence, as Jurgis Baltrušaitis has shown, runs from China to Europe.175 Bishamonten is initially the leader of yakṣas and the guardian of the north, the direction from which evil influences are believed to come.176 He was at the center of one of the great rituals of Tendai, that of the Chinjō yasha 鎮将夜叉, a powerful exorcism. One of his main cultic sites in Japan is Kuramadera on the northern outskirts of Kyoto. In the Kuramayama mandara 鞍馬山曼荼羅, Bishamon is flanked by his spouse Kichijōten 吉祥天 and his son Zennishi Dōji 善膩師童子, but this familial portrait is made uncanny by the presence of two large centipedes in its lower part. It is not entirely clear why the centipede was chosen as Bishamon’s symbolic creature, but it clearly emphasizes the uncanny nature of this deity. In the background of the picture, Bishamonten’s manifestation, the long-nosed tengu named Maō, is said to be the spirit of a meteorite that once fell on Mount Kurama. The fifth picture is that of a bearded man with bulging and blazing eyes who is catching a little demon with his left hand and stabbing the

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FIGURE 3.61  Zhong Kui (Shōki) riding a tiger. Edo period. Woodblock print, ink and color on paper. Private collection.

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demon’s head with the dagger he holds in his right hand (fig. 3.60). It represents Shōki 鍾馗, the Japanese version of the Chinese demon queller Zhong Kui, and this picture is said to be the oldest Japanese representation of him.177 He is sometimes described as a “great demon that expels small demons.”178 The famous painting of his “nocturnal expedition” calls to mind the night procession of the hundred demons. From the Insei period onward, his image spread through all strata of Japanese society. His talismans were pasted above or on the door of houses, and figurines representing him were used during the festival on the fifth day of the fifth month, known as the Boys’ Festival.179 Because of his functional similarity to Susanoo and Gozu Tennō as demon quellers, Zhong Kui came to be identified with them. In the Genkō shakusho and the Hoki naiden (a work traditionally attributed to Abe no Seimei but now commonly dated to the fourteenth century), Shōki—written 商貴—is depicted as a yakṣa who becomes the king of the Indian city of Rājagṛha. He is a manifestation of the pestilence deity Gozu Tennō.180 The Hoki naiden adds: “The emperor Shōki corresponds to Tenkeisei in heaven and to Gozu Tennō on earth.”181 The fact that Tenkeisei and Gozu Tennō are presented here as two facets of the same deity bluntly contradicts the first picture of the Hekija-e, in which Tenkeisei devours the demon Gozu Tennō with the same cruelty displayed in Shōki’s swallowing the red demon. Another image that has sometimes been regarded as a kind of hekija-e is the representation of the theriomorphic deity Baize (White Marsh). In China, Baize played an apotropaic role similar to that of Zhong Kui, but after the Tang his popularity as a demon queller was eclipsed by that of Zhong Kui. Buddhism seems to have brought Baize to Japan under the name Hakutaku, and he gained new popularity during the Edo period.

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Donald Harper has studied his representations as part of what he calls “ephemera.” The image of Hakutaku as a numinous ox can be traced back to early Daoist texts, but in the Song he came to be represented as a lionlike figure, and it is only in Edo Japan that his bovine image resurfaced. A case in point is the White Marsh Diagram to Repel Ominous Prodigies (Hakutaku hikai zu 白澤避怪圖), a painting by Fukuhara Gogaku 福原五 岳 (1730–1799), with an inscription dated 1785 by the monk Bansen 盤 旋.182 This representation spread in artistic circles but also in popular culture—perhaps owing to the influence of Shugendō, judging from the fact that some of these apotropaic talismans emanated from Togakushi 戸隠, a famous Shugendō center. Hakutaku is sometimes called the ox king 牛 王, a term that links him to major esoteric Buddhist deities such as Daiitoku Myōō, Ishanaten, and King Yama, as well as to the ox-yellow (goō 牛黄 ‘bezoar’) used in some esoteric Buddhist rituals and to the ox-king talisman (goō hōin 牛王宝印) of Shugendō. In one manuscript preserved in St. Petersburg, Hakutaku is also linked to the bodhisatta Mañjuśrī: his birth from the belly of a cow is said to be one of the ten auspicious signs that presage the apparition of the bodhisattva in this world. Hakutaku’s popularity in medieval Japan is also clear from the account given by Tachibana no Narisue 橘成季 in his Kokon chōmonjū (1254). In his discussion of the iconography of the imperial residence Seiryōden 清涼殿, Narisue describes a “demons’ room” (oni no ma 鬼の 間) centered on the image of Hakutaku repelling demons.183 Hakutaku’s bovine nature is also reminiscent of Gozu Tennō, although the latter is represented anthropomorphically with a bull’s head atop his own head whereas Hakutaku has an ox body and a human face, that of a bearded old man (with a third vertical eye on his forehead).184 Other intriguing details are the large horns on his back and the three eyes on his flanks.185 This image has no known equivalent in extant imaginary bestiaries. The pictures described above focus on some powerful deities invoked in exorcisms. The demons themselves are represented generically for the most part, as quasi-comical or pitiful horned figures of various colors. Some art historians have recently reinterpreted this set of images as an attempt to represent a “hell for demons.”186 In this view, the Hekija-e depicts the realm of the asuras and the punishments meted on them rather than various forms of exorcism. The two interpretations, however, are not mutually exclusive. CODETTA It is not possible to do justice to the diversity of the demonic fauna of medieval Japan in a limited space, and here I have only attempted to give a vague idea of a few of its species. For all their bewildering diversity, the demons and other wild deities that haunted the medieval imaginary all

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belong to two basic types: those who feed on the vital spirit of humans and those who simply require oblations in order to become protectors. Yet the line between the two was easily and constantly crossed. Some of these demonic beings are long extinct, others have been more resilient. Modernity, which denies them any existence, has been more devastating in this respect than Buddhist exorcisms—because such rituals still presuppose the existence of their target. Scholars have a share of responsibility here, since they have passed over in silence the reality of the demonic realm. Yet Buddhist demonology itself, paradoxically, is also responsible, because it tended to reify demons by turning them into fossilized symbols. All demonologies begin and end with lists of demons. But perhaps, as Paul Valéry remarked, making lists is in itself a demonic activity. At any rate, the broad spectrum of Japanese demonology took shape in large part in the crucible of esoteric Buddhism. This spectrum ran from the somewhat grotesque oni and tengu to the great demon kings that threatened Buddhism both from within and from outside, but also held the potential of becoming its protectors. Some were born demons by nature while others had human or divine origins. Yet others were able to reclaim the status they had lost because of Buddhism and to merge with another essential category of Japanese religion, that of autochthonous deities that often rebelled against central power and Buddhism. Medieval esoteric Buddhism shifted from a conception of gods as protectors against demonic calamities to another more focused on moral evil. In other words, evil moved from the external world to the heart of human nature. The role of the inner demon, traditionally held by Māra, was now also held by Vināyaka (Shōten) and his Japanese counterpart, Kōjin. This may explain why other more pragmatic conceptions, like those of Onmyōdō, came to pervade the lower sectors of Buddhist practice. Except for the most powerful onryō and some demon kings, Japanese demons tended to remain anonymous, allowing them to avoid scrutiny. Demons were other names for the night, for rampant insecurity and underlying fear, for the furtive presences lurking in the unconscious and on the uncontrolled geographical or social margins, no less than in the interstices of the system. In the Konjaku monogatarishū, demons appear out of nowhere to devour people and disturb the established order. As Noriko Reider and others have shown, their cannibalism expressed the fear of social chaos, of famine and epidemics, of the nonhuman and the return of the repressed. It was the fear that monsters were slouching toward the capital and the imperial palace. The tengu, often represented as kites, are like the falcons in William Butler Yeats’s poem: turning in a widening gyre, they can no longer hear the falconer. Things always risk falling apart—it seems the center cannot hold. And despite the monks’ efforts to keep everything in place through their rituals, wars and epidemics kept breaking out to unleash their cortege of nightmares on society.

4

LIKE AN EVIL WIND— GOZU TENNŌ Buddhist origin stories are replete with encounters between eminent monks and local deities or demons. In most cases, these encounters end with the latter’s defeat. In the long history of Buddhism, however, there is an unprecedented episode in which a demon, more powerful than Māra himself, defeats the Buddha and even kills him. This demon is the pestilence deity Gozu Tennō 牛頭天王, the Bullheaded Heavenly King, and the episode appears in one version of his origin story, the Gozu tennō shimawatari saimon.1 That origin story describes the deity’s journey to the dragon king’s palace in search of a spouse and his encounter with a rich Buddhist householder named Kotan along the way. Upon being denied lodging by Kotan, Gozu Tennō swears to retaliate for that affront on his return. Let us pick up the thread of the story just after he has destroyed Kotan’s house despite the ritual protection provided by the five hundred arhats, who are the Buddha’s disciples. The Buddha now feels obliged to intervene in person: At that time Śakyamuni asked: “What demon king or demon god is this? Making even a disciple of the Buddha suffer—what a suspicious thing to do.” Wearing on his body the robe of compassion and forbearance, The kesa of unrestrained compassion and the sandals of true form and suchness; Holding his rosary of one hundred and eight beads, and his staff of the three worlds, He crossed over to the mansion of the layman To confront Gozu Tennō. When their eyes met, He asked, “What kind of god are you?” The Heavenly King said, “And who is asking?” (The Buddha) replied, “I am the Buddha Śakya[muni], well known in India.”

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The Heavenly King said, “Your father is King Śuddhodana, Your mother Māyā. You were born from a human body. As for me, [I was born] in the kingdom of Hōjō [Fertility] at the foot of [Mount] Sumeru; My father is King Tōmu, my mother Harisaijo. I am a child of the buddhas. I am the mother and father of the buddhas of the three worlds, And my home is among all the living beings of the nine seas. If you dare to call yourself a buddha in my presence, then you must accept dying To save the lives of a thousand laymen.” Sākyamuni, hearing this, replied, “If that is so, May I die to save a thousand laymen.” Thus, on the first day of the second month of the first year of Shōhei, a kinoe-tora year, [The disease] entered (the Buddha’s) left finger. 2

The disease then spread through the Buddha’s entire body, and on the fifteenth day of the second month, at dawn, he passed away and his body was cremated. Seeing this, Gozu Tennō exulted: “I have even taken the life of the Buddha!” And he returned to Japan with his eighty-four thousand retainers. How could this deity, who is elsewhere described as a protector of the Jetavana (J. Gion), the Buddha’s monastery near the town of Vaiśāli, commit with impunity such a horrendous act? To understand this, we need to dwell on his complex nature and his association with other “raging gods” such as Susanoo and Kōjin, for this awe-inspiring figure avenges all the defeated demons, beginning with Māra himself, that have served as a foil for the superior powers of Buddhism. Gozu Tennō is described as an onryō, a vengeful spirit—and perhaps the only one of his kind, since, as we saw, such spirits are usually those of humans who have met an untimely death. Gozu Tennō, however, is a pestilence god from the outset. In discussing the relation between epidemics and urbanization, Yanagita Kunio points to the difference between country dwellers and city dwellers in their perceptions of rain and groundwater:3 “Consequently, while in the country summer monsoons would be happily welcomed, in urban areas they were feared.”4 In the Heian period, while epidemics were perceived as having their immediate origin in the periodic floods of the rainy season, they were also attributed to vengeful spirits and to foreign pestilence gods. For that reason, summer festivals came to be connected with goryō-e ceremonies, becoming in a sense water festivals that were “held near the water during those summer months when it inflicted a great deal of damage.”5

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Gozu Tennō eventually became the most powerful pestilence deity in medieval Japan.6 One of his main cultic centers was Yasaka Shrine (better known as Gion Shrine) in Kyoto, founded in the ninth century after a particularly devastating epidemic. It is hard to imagine that the modern Gion Festival, one of the most famous and lavish tourist events in Kyoto, originated in a placatory ritual centered on a pestilence deity. While the festival in its modern form can be traced back to the fourteenth century,7 its real climax even then was not the morning procession of floats (yamaboko) through the streets of Kyoto, but the late afternoon ritual sequence in which the three palanquins (mikoshi) of Gozu Tennō, his consort Harisaijo (var. Harisainyo, Harisaime), and their children were transferred from Yasaka Shrine to a temporary abode (otabisho) where they would spend seven days and nights before returning. In context, then, the procession of the floats was only a preliminary purification (harae). The cult of Gozu Tennō can be traced back to the eighth century, as shown by the recent discovery of magical wooden slits (mokkan 木簡) on the site of the ancient capital of Nagaoka (Nagaoka-kyō 長岡京, 784– 794). The Shaku Nihongi’s quotation of a passage from the lost Bingo no kuni fudoki on the origin story of Enokuma Shrine (in the eastern part of present-day Hiroshima prefecture) suggests that what became the cult of Gozu Tennō started from shrines on the Inland Sea (Setonaikai) and then spread eastward to Hiromine Shrine (Harima province, present-day Hyōgo prefecture) and further to Gion Shrine in the capital and Tennō Shrine in Tsushima (Owari province, present-day Aichi prefecture).8 To this day, Gozu Tennō’s demonic nature and the placatory nature of his festival have remained more apparent in the festivals held at Hiromine Shrine and at Tsushima. In what seems to be the earliest form of the myth, Gozu Tennō appears under the name Mutō no Kami (Mutōjin) 武答神.9 According to Yamaguchi Kenji, the names Gozu Tennō and Mutōjin originally referred to a group of five pestilence deities, the spirits of the five paths (wudao shen 五道神, J. godō-shin).10 In some medieval sources, Gozu is still written as “five heads” 五頭 rather than “bull’s head” 牛頭, referring to a group rather than a single deity. Although Yamaguchi’s argument, based on scant linguistic evidence, remains speculative, it is not without value. Yanagita Kunio had already suggested that the transcription of Chinese words into Japanese could lead to linguistic-cum-­symbolic /  mythological connections.11 Thus, as his cult spread, Gozu Tennō changed from a ferocious epidemic demon to a deity who protects people from the very same diseases he once inflicted upon them.12 In other words, a cult that had appeared in response to a specific event— in this case, an epidemic—was eventually integrated into preexisting symbolic structures.

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FIGURE 4.1  Gozu Tennō. Edo period. Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. Ichigami Shrine, Yokaichi, Shiga prefecture.

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THE MYTHOLOGICAL PERSONA Although the nature and function of Gozu Tennō as a pestilence god seem well established, the persona attributed to him merged features and functions that may have belonged initially to several distinct deities.13 Even more, the palimpsest of his myth can be appraised as what Prasenjit Duara calls an “arena of contention.”14 Its Buddhist and non-Buddhist variants, in particular, differ considerably. The myth seems to have developed in four main phases: in its earliest form, Mutō no kami (Mutō Tenjin 武答天 神) and Somin Shōrai appear as the main protagonists. In a second phase, Gozu Tennō appears either as an alias of Mutō Tenjin or as his son. In a third phase, he comes to be identified with the kami Susanoo. In the last phase, his children, the eight princes (hachiōji 八王子), move to the front stage, and his nemesis Kotan plays a more important role.15 For all its apparent simplicity, this developmental schema raises several issues. To understand them, we need to take a closer look at the standard versions of the myth, distinguishing between (at least) three levels—narrative, doctrinal, and ritual. Beginning on the narrative level, here is a short outline of the standard myth: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

The royal birth and monstrous appearance of Gozu Tennō. His journey southward in search of a wife. He asks for lodging from a wealthy householder, Kotan, who refuses. He finds shelter at the house of Kotan’s poor brother, Somin Shōrai. He marries Harisaijo, the daughter of the dragon king, and she gives birth to eight children, known as the eight princes. 6. On his return journey, he destroys Kotan’s house after giving Somin Shōrai’s daughter a talisman that will protect her and Somin Shōrai’s descendants.

Although the authenticity of the origin story of Enokuma Shrine in the Bingo no kuni fudoki—as quoted in the Shaku Nihongi (compiled between 1274 and 1301)—has been questioned, the fact that an amulet inscribed with “Somin Shōrai’s descendants” was found in 2001 during excavations of the ancient capital of Nagaoka (end of the 8th cent.) seems to speak in its favor.16 There is, however, one suspicious passage in which the god claims to be called Haya Susanoo: while the identity between Gozu Tennō and Susanoo was well established at the time of the Shaku Nihongi, this was probably not the case at the time of the Bingo no kuni fudoki. At any rate, here is the outline of that story: During his journey southward, the god Mutō no Kami meets two brothers, both called Somin Shōrai.17 Only later does this name become the personal name of the younger brother, while the elder is called Kotan Shōrai (or simply Kotan).18

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When Mutō no Kami is denied hospitality by the elder brother, a rich householder, he vows to avenge this insult.19 The younger brother, despite his poverty, invites him to stay in his house. Later, when Mutō no Kami returns, he wants to reward the younger brother and asks if he has offspring. The latter replies that he has a daughter, who is married to his elder brother. Mutō no Kami tells her to make a wreath with miscanthus reeds (chinowa 茅の輪) and hang it at her waist. On the following night, he kills everyone except the younger brother and his daughter. He tells them afterward that he is the pestilence god Haya Susanoo and that he will spare their descendants from epidemics if they wear the chinowa.

The fact that the pestilence deity in the Bingo no kuni fudoki is called Mutō no Kami rather than Gozu Tennō might mean that Mutō was the original name of Gozu Tennō, or that he was a distinct figure that fused with Gozu Tennō and about whom nothing else is known. In some variants, Mutō is Gozu Tennō’s father; in others, he is just an alias. The merging of Mutō no Kami with Gozu Tennō only occurs in sources from the Nanbokuchō period, such as the Hoki naiden and the Shintō shū. A scripture quoted by the latter text lists Mutō Tenjin and Gozu Tennō among the ten manifestations of a deity also known as Sekizan Daimyōjin 赤山大明 神.20 Mutō no Kami is described as having eleven wrathful faces on his head. All these faces are red, have white fangs, and four of them have eight horns. Above them, however, is a compassionate-looking buddha-head.21 The Gozu Tennō myth was elaborated in several origin stories (engi) and liturgical texts (saimon, kōshiki). Another interesting source, albeit peripheral, is the origin story of the riverbank outcasts or kawaramono 河原者, the Kawara yuraisho.22 In the modern period, many texts of the Izanagi-ryū inherited the medieval and early modern traditions regarding Gozu Tennō. The Gion Gozu Tennō engi

The origin story of Gion Shrine (Yasaka Shrine) played an important role in the development of the Gozu Tennō myth. It is much more detailed than the account in the Bingo no kuni fudoki,23 and it describes Gozu Tennō as the son of Mutō Tennō, the ruler of a kingdom located at the foot of Mount Sumeru. He was born with a bull’s head on top of his head—hence his name—and his father, finding the appearance of this Minotaur-like creature ominous, soon abdicates in his favor. But the young prince is unable to find a wife at first, because of his weird look. When a bird appears to tell him about the daughter of the dragon king, he decides to travel to the dragon palace in the southern sea. He and the dragon king’s daughter eventually marry and have eight children. Although the plot is similar to that of the Bingo no kuni fudoki so far, the main protagonist is now called

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Gozu Tennō, and his wife and children also are named. What the story emphasizes is Gozu Tennō’s desire to revenge himself on Kotan and the failure of the Buddhist rituals to protect him. This section of the narrative, moreover, seems to reflect a clear Buddhist influence, while the section on the eight princes shows the influence of Onmyōdō. The Hoki naiden

The classical form of the myth appears in the Hoki naiden, an Onmyōdō work attributed to the legendary Yin-Yang master Abe no Seimei but dated to the fourteenth century. Despite (or because of) its popularity, it was never considered orthodox by the official Onmyōdō lineage represented by the descendants of the Abe clan, the Tsuchimikado 土御門, who criticized it as a work of esoteric Buddhist monks. It is indeed replete with Buddhist terminology. According to Saitō Hideki, its authors may have been low-ranking Yin-Yang masters or Buddhist priests of Nara.24 Indeed, while being very close to Onmyōdō in its content, it defines Gozu Tennō as a manifestation of the buddha Mahāvairocana (J. Dainichi 大日) born into this world to save sentient beings. The story is set in a grand mythological framework, starting with the creation of the world. It is no longer simply the story of a god, as in the Bingo no kuni fudoki and the Gion engi, but a rewriting of classical Japanese cosmogony—through the myths of King Banko 盤古 (Ch. Pangu) and Gozu Tennō. Its main protagonist is the great king of Rājagṛha in the kingdom of Maghada in northern India. This king was formerly an astral deity named Tenkeisei (var. Tengyō-shō), who appeared in the Sahā world under the name of Gozu Tennō.25 Disgraced with the face of a yellow bull and two sharp horns, he looked like a yakṣa, and because of this, he was unable to find a wife. Then a blue bird sent by the heavenly emperor came to tell him that the younger daughter of the nāga king Sāgara, Harisaijo 波梨采女, would make a lovely consort. On his way to the nāga king’s palace, Gozu Tennō asks for lodging from Kotan, who in this version has become the demon king of the Yakṣa land (yasha-koku 夜 叉國). After Kotan’s refusal, he spends the night in Somin Shōrai’s humble house. Before his departure the next morning, Somin Shōrai tells him that his horses and cart cannot take him across the ocean and gives him a “jeweled boat” that will carry him in no time to the nāga palace. After marrying the dragon princess, Gozu Tennō spends thirty-seven years with her in the dragon palace, during which time eight children are born. On his return journey, he prepares to take his revenge on Kotan. The latter, warned by an oracle, asks the Buddha to protect him, and the Buddha sends one thousand monks to perform an exorcism in Kotan’s house. That exorcism, centered on Taizan Fukun 泰山府君 (Ch. Taishan Fujun), the ruler of the Chinese underworld and a major Onmyōdō deity, proves insufficient. Gozu Tennō and his horde storm through Kotan’s mansion

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killing everyone except a servant girl who had once been kind to him. He then entrusts the Yakṣa kingdom to Somin Shōrai and teaches him how to avoid future epidemics. The Hoki naiden version of the myth marks a turning point in Gozu Tennō’s career, as it transforms him from a disease-causing demon into a god protecting people against epidemics. In an intriguing variant, Gozu Tennō cuts Kotan’s body into five parts, suggesting that the exorcism he teaches to Somin Shōrai and describes as a rite of subjugation of Kotan consists in ritually eating Kotan’s dismembered body—a point I will come back to in a moment. In this version, the important transformation has already occurred in that Kotan assumes the role of a pestilence demon while Gozu Tennō is the protecting deity. But the Hoki naiden goes a step further in the deification of Gozu Tennō, redefining him as the God of the Heavenly Way (Tendōshin 天道神),26 and under the rubric “Directions of Tendōshin” it lists the whereabouts of the god during each of the twelve months, asserting that those are the directions in which all wishes will be fulfilled.27 Gozu Tennō is now an auspicious deity, leaving his nexus with calamities to be reassigned to some of his children or to his enemy Kotan (particularly in his manifestation as the baleful deity Konjin). No longer an epidemic deity, or even a deity that protects against epidemics, Gozu Tennō has become a directional and calendar deity of Onmyōdō. But this elevation translates as a loss of individuality, in a sense, despite the presence of his life story at the beginning of the Hoki naiden. As to his children, they are directional deities from the start and never accede to the level of individuality that would entitle them to a specific cult. As Saitō Hideki points out, the story of Gozu Tennō, placed at the outset of the Hoki naiden—which seems to be a kind of almanac—plays a specific role in legitimizing the various spatiotemporal taboos described in the rest of the text. Under the name Tendōshin, Gozu Tennō is one of those “ambulatory deities” (yugyōjin 遊行神) whose movements are so important to foresee to avoid calamities. Another interesting point emphasized by Saitō is that the failed ritual that led to Kotan’s destruction was centered on Taizan Fukun, a deity traditionally linked with Onmyōdō. Its failure to protect Kotan implies criticism of both Mikkyō and traditional Yin-Yang rituals, as well as the emergence of a radically new form of Onmyōdō symbolized by Gozu Tennō and King Banko. This image of Gozu Tennō spread rapidly. In the Shinzō emaki (1350), a painted scroll preserved at Myōhō-in (Kyoto), the text appended to Gozu Tennō’s image reads: “This heavenly king is a great general who protects our country. He is also an emanation (“trace”) of the Tathāgata Yakushi; a secret buddha who subsumes in one body the triad [formed by] Yakushi [and the bodhisattvas] Nikkō and Gakkō. Now this heavenly king Tennō, together with the eight great princes, the twelve demon kings, and 84,694 [sic!] deities, controls the twelve months of the year and the twelve

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periods of the day; dwelling at the four corners and in the eight directions, they protect the land and pacify the four seas. Because this is recorded in an almanac, one knows the days, hours, and directions.” The text then lists the eight princes and their astral equivalents—a list slightly different from that in the Hoki naiden. All events—whether auspicious or baleful—result from the movements of Gozu Tennō and his retinue, and they are all based on Gozu Tennō’s samādhi (a nice Buddhist touch). At any rate, this painted scroll confirms that Gozu Tennō’s image as a calendar deity was not limited to Onmyōdō but also circulated in esoteric Buddhist circles.28 The Shintō shū

Another version of the myth appears in the Shintō shū (14th cent.), a work that is essentially a Buddhist compilation despite its title.29 Its section on Sekizan Myōjin 赤山明神—a protecting deity of Mount Hiei—identifies him with Gozu Tennō. In another section entitled “Gion Daimyōjin no koto,” Gozu Tennō is called Tenkeisei at times and also Mutō Tenjin. The scene unfolds in the Buddha’s assembly, where Monju (Mañjuśrī) mentions a bodhisattva named Gozu Tennō who has accumulated compassion since time immemorial. The Buddha reveals that the buddha Yakushi is the “original ground” (honji) of that bodhisattva, while Jūichimen Kannon is the honji of his consort (Harisaijo).30 The bull’s head seen over Gozu Tennō’s head is said to symbolize the Lotus Sūtra.31 Somin Shōrai has now gone to Gozu Tennō’s land in order to intercede for future beings, and he has received from him a talisman against epidemics. In this version, the episode of the destruction of Kotan’s house is greatly simplified and very different from that of the Hoki naiden. In a variant known as the Yoshida-bon, Gozu Tennō gives Somin Shōrai a wish-fulfilling ox-king talisman to reward him for his hospitality. Later, when he returns from the nāga palace, he also gives him a chinowa to protect his descendants. Then, upon Somin Shōrai’s intercession, he spares Kotan’s daughter.32 Gozu Tennō in the saimon

As the myth and rituals of Gozu Tennō spread across Japan, other sources became available, including ritual texts called saimon. One of them, the Gozu Tennō saimon, is known through many versions.33 The oldest—or at least the least developed—seems to be a copy, dated 1480, that is preserved in the Ueda Kokubunji (Ueda city, Nagano prefecture).34 In it, Gozu Tennō, after swearing to avenge himself on Kotan, gives Somin Shōrai a willow-wood amulet. He stays in the dragon palace for twelve years and returns with a cohort of ninety-eight thousand retainers. The description of the destruction of Kotan’s house is rather short. Indeed, the narrative appears to function as a preamble for a detailed description of the eight princes and their functions, focused on the diseases they cause (or cure).

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But the Gozu Tennō saimon adds an interesting Zen touch. When Gozu Tennō meets Somin Shōrai for the second time, the latter has become rich enough to build a palace to welcome him. Gozu Tennō asks: “How is it now?” Shōrai does not answer this kōan-like question. The text comments: “Truly this is the meaning of ‘Only between a god and a god’ ” (yuishin yo shin 唯神与神).35 Then Gozu Tennō sends a deity named Jadokkeshin 蛇毒気神, meaning “deity of the poisoned snake breath” (who in other sources is his daughter), to spy on Kotan. After that, the narrative proceeds as usual with the destruction of Kotan’s house. The Shimawatari saimon

The most interesting saimon is probably the Gozu Tennō shimawatari saimon, centered on Tsushima in Owari province. This saimon was recited during the Hana Matsuri in Okumikawa,36 and its title points to an important new motif, that of “crossing over to the islands” (shimawatari). The text opens with the birth of Gozu Tennō as the son of the heavenly king Tōmu, ruler of a kingdom on the slopes of Mount Sumeru. Both his parents are described as buddhas. They are also cosmic deities: his mother first gives birth to five children (symbolizing the five elements), then to twelve (symbolizing the twelve months), before giving birth to him. Gozu Tennō is described here as a manifestation of the Healing Buddha (Yakushi), as he was born with a lapis lazuli vase (Yakushi’s attribute) in his left hand. In virtually his first deed, Gozu Tennō turns into an “evil wind” and goes to the dragon palace. The dragon king Sāgara intends to deny him hospitality (a replica of the Kotan episode), stating that the dragon palace is a Buddhist pure land where only buddhas can dwell. But he relents when Gozu Tennō proves that he is an emanation of Yakushi by displaying his lapis lazuli vase. Gozu Tennō eventually marries Sāgara’s daughter and spends seven years in the dragon palace. Seven children are born during that time. Then Gozu Tennō decides to go to Japan with his family and his eighty-four thousand retainers. He builds a boat of mulberry wood, and they all embark on it. On the way, they encounter a monstrous red snake, Jadokkeshin, who claims to be a daughter they abandoned. After she proves it, they continue their journey together and arrive at Hakozaki in Ise. Gozu Tennō decides to settle in Tsushima and asks the eight princes to visit him every year on the sixteenth day of the fifth month. The text then goes into a description of the diseases that the princes bring him as gifts, each one symbolized by an incomplete homunculus—sans eyes, ears, hands, feet, body, nose, or mouth—which Gozu Tennō heals completely before turning to the next. Then Gozu Tennō decides to transform himself into an evil wind again and go with his retinue to India (Tenjiku). On their way, he meets Kotan and Somin Shōrai. Refused hospitality, he decides to take revenge on Kotan right away, but Kotan, acting on a premonition, has asked for

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the Buddha’s help. Five hundred arhats and other Buddhist deities build an iron wall around Kotan’s house and cast an iron net over it. Eventually, however, an opening in the wall appears when a monk—one of the Buddha’s eight great disciples—dozes off and misses the recitation of one line of the scriptures. Gozu Tennō’s demons break into the house and destroy it, leaving no one alive. Their rampage is vividly described, although no mention is made of the arhats as victims. It is at this point that the Buddha’s fateful encounter with Gozu Tennō occurs. After killing the Buddha, Gozu Tennō decides to return to Japan, but first he ascends to Brahmā heaven, where he gives a willow-wood talisman to Somin Shōrai, who has accompanied him. He instructs his eighty-four thousand retainers never to harm Somin Shōrai’s descendants, unless they have committed evil deeds—among which, strangely enough, is discarding the buddhas and the gods. The text ends with a double-edged apology of karma, since it adds the caveat that Kotan’s descendants will be punished even if they practice virtuous deeds.37 As we can see, the saimon is a strange mixture of Buddhist orthodoxy and anti-Buddhist sentiments. In it, Gozu Tennō has truly become a wandering deity, and his description as an “evil wind” emphasizes that mobility. What is at stake is that he is no longer a native Japanese god: pestilence gods come from the outside and belong to the open sea.38 Other Sources

Liturgical texts (kōshiki) are a related source. The Gozu tennō kōshiki, for instance, has a colophon stating that it was copied in 1540 and was transmitted at Kōzenji, a shrine-temple (jingūji 神宮寺) of Tsushima Shrine 津島神社 (Aichi prefecture).39 The text is strongly influenced by Buddhism, including an account of the original essence or honji of Gozu Tennō and his retinue, and a list of the eight princes and their virtues. It also describes the manifestations of Gozu Tennō in the three countries of India, China, and Japan, relating how an Indian king named Mutō Tennō or Gozu Tennō “manifested his traces” in a kingdom of northern India together with his eight princes and a retinue of 84,654 retainers, becoming a protector of the Jetavana monastery. The episode of his encounter with Kotan and Somin Shōrai also takes place in that kingdom. After a period of 75,580,000 years, Gozu Tennō re-manifests himself in China as Emperor Shennong. Then, at the time of Kōrei Tennō (traditionally 290– 215 BCE), he crosses over to Japan and lands in Taichō province in the western sea, where he stays for another 780 years. Finally, in the first year of the reign of Kinmei Tennō (539), he moves to Tsushima Island. The most interesting innovation in this Buddhist reinterpretation is the scene in which Gozu Tennō appears to the goddess Amaterasu as an old man standing on a reed leaf, which becomes Toyoashihara no kuni (the Land of the Plain of Abundant Reeds, an ancient name for Japan). He introduces

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himself as the jinushi, the ancient landowner deity, and reveals to Ama­ terasu the connection between the “reed floating” (miyoshi-nagashi 御葭 放流) ritual of Tsushima and the myth of the birth of Japan.40 This aspect of Gozu Tennō is examined in Chapter 8. Another document, the Kawara yuraisho, is quite different since it describes the origins of the riverbank outcasts known as the kawaramono.41 It focuses on an Indian prince named Entara (Entara Ōji 縁太羅王 子, var. Entarō 縁太郎), the ancestor of the Japanese outcasts, who is said to have cut off seven of his fingers and thrown them into space. These fingers land at Shigaura 志賀浦 in Ōmi province and take the form of a woman named Awa Shari 粟舎利, the mother of Somin Shōrai. Somin and Awa Shari live in Shiga Bay and become the ancestral deities of the kawaramono. When Gozu Tennō returns from India, Somin offers him a dish of millet, and so is spared Kotan’s fate. The word awa refers to the millet offered to Gozu Tennō, while shari refers to the relics (Skt. śarīra) of the Buddha. Shiga Myōjin, also a foreign (specifically Korean) god, is another ancestor of the kawaramono. The Kawara yuraisho also adds elements borrowed from Taimitsu and Sannō shintō, thus merging the traditions of Mount Hiei and of Gion Shrine.42 While the text may have secondary relevance from a mythological standpoint, it emphasizes the instrumental role played by outcasts in the spread of the cult of Gozu Tennō, a deity whose foreign origin and hybrid nature must have been appealing to them. The myth of Gozu Tennō can be seen as the unfolding of a triangular relationship between Gozu Tennō, Kotan, and Somin Shōrai. The role of Somin Shōrai varies greatly depending on the source. In the Shimawatari saimon, he is hardly mentioned, and the emphasis is on the feud between Gozu Tennō and Kotan. In the Hoki naiden, he is identified with the astral deity Tentoku 天徳, an ambulatory deity whose movements determine auspicious directions free of disease. The text adds that he is the “great patron” (dai danna) of Gozu Tennō, and that none of the eighty-four thousand epidemic deities dare to transgress his directional taboos.43 Kotan and Gozu Tennō form a dual / duel, and without Kotan the myth of Gozu Tennō would make little sense. Depending on the sources, he is a rich and arrogant householder, a Buddhist follower, a great king, or a demon king. When he is presented as a king and a disciple of the Buddha, the story unfolds as a conflict between good and evil (where evil wins). In the Shimawatari saimon, the feud that opposes, on one side, Gozu Tennō and his eighty-four thousand demons, and on the other, Kotan and the five hundred arhats, takes on the allure of a cosmic battle between a demonic horde and Buddhism. Kotan, we are told, is a Buddhist householder who reserved his hospitality for the Buddha and his disciples. His reluctance to offer hospitality to Gozu Tennō was motivated by his fear of defiling his house with

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the demon’s presence. Here it is Kotan’s Buddhist devotion that triggers Gozu Tennō’s fury. When Kotan senses Gozu Tennō’s intent, he turns to the Buddha for help, and the Buddha sends five hundred of his disciples to perform an exorcism. At one point, Gozu Tennō’s spies report to him that a one-eyed monk is dozing off and has skipped half a verse in his recitation of the scriptures. This is the opportunity that Gozu Tennō has been waiting for. Through this breach, his horde of demons storms into Kotan’s mansion and exterminates him and all the members of his family.44 The moral of the story seems to be that being a devout Buddhist may provoke Gozu Tennō’s ire, in which case even the Buddha’s protection is of no avail. However, those who worship Gozu Tennō have nothing to fear: thus Gozu Tennō spares Somin Shōrai’s daughter, who lived in Kotan’s house. On a superficial level, the Gozu Tennō myth can be read as a story of resentment against wealthy (Buddhist) householders—disguised as a moral tale in which the rich and stingy are punished while the poor and generous are rewarded. But this reading comes up against a stubborn fact, namely, that everyone is at risk when it comes to epidemics—rich and poor alike. Of course, the myth attempts to define a chosen people, Somin Shōrai’s descendants, but the reality of matrimonial alliances and intermarriage meant that Kotan’s descendants became those of Somin Shōrai. All must be saved, or none will. The exception becomes the rule. Cosmological and sectarian interpretations form the basis of other possible readings. Yet the element common to all is that the function of the Gozu Tennō myth and rituals remains essentially apotropaic. ICONOGRAPHIC REPRESENTATIONS Gozu Tennō’s iconography is much less developed than his myth. In painted representations, he usually appears as a wrathful figure with a bull’s head on top of his head. These representations, clearly influenced by esoteric Buddhism, are of two types: the first is of a three-faced, twelve-armed Gozu Tennō riding an animal.45 The second shows a threeor six-faced, two-armed god seated alone.46 The image in the Shinzō emaki (Myōhō-in, Kyoto) belongs to the first type. The scroll opens with images of the seven generations of heavenly kami and five generations of earthly kami, followed by images of King Banko and five dragons (his five children). Last but not least, Gozu Tennō is shown riding a bull or buffalo (which looks rather like a tiger), accompanied by the eight princes. He has three faces and twelve arms, a white bull’s head on top of his central face, above which an image of his honji, Yakushi, can be seen. His body is red, the usual color of epidemic deities. Gozu Tennō also appears in the upper left corner of the Yoshino mandara, among the retinue of Zaō Gongen 蔵王権現. This representation, suggesting his importance in Shugendō, is of the second type (fig. 4.2).47

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FIGURE 4.2  Gozu Tennō. Detail of Yoshino mandara. Edo period. Hanging scroll, wood-engraving, hand coloring. Petzold Collection, Harvard-Yenching Library.

Additionally, he has acquired his own mandala (besson mandara 別尊 曼荼羅), attesting to his popularity in esoteric Buddhist circles. In it, he appears at the center, riding a bull, surrounded by a fiery aura—a representation that brings to mind the wisdom king Daiitoku 大威徳 (Skt. Yamāntaka). He has three faces, three eyes, twelve arms, and a bull’s head above his head. The middle court of the mandala contains eight deities, and the external court twelve deities that seem to be the cyclical animals.48 An interesting, albeit somewhat atypical representation is that of the so-called Ita-e Gozu Tennō mandara 板絵牛頭天王曼陀羅.49 This mandala, drawn on a wooden board, is dated 1490, and it belongs to the Hakusan Shrine in Ishibe-chō (Shiga prefecture). It shows Gozu Tennō at the center, with Harisaijo on his left and Yakushi above. He is seated on a lotus, along with the seed-letter āḥm (J. ānku), which is that of the Dainichi of the Womb realm. He has three faces (each with three eyes), six arms, and five bull’s heads above his head (a representation that derives from the alternate reading gozu 五頭 ‘five heads’). Below him are the twelve yakṣa generals that form the retinue of the buddha Yakushi, together with their names and seed-letters.

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FIGURE 4.3  (Left) Gozu Tennō, Toshitoku, and hasshōjin. Edo period. Sheet, ink on paper. University Art Museum, Kyoto City University of Arts. BZS 4073. FIGURE 4.4  (Above) Gozu Tennō, by Ki no Hidenobu. Butsuzō zui (1783), by Ki no Hidenobu. Suzuka bunko, Ehime University, Matsuyama.

The Kakuzenshō explains how to draw the image of Gozu Tennō (here again written 五頭天王, or “five-headed heavenly king”), whom it calls the “immovable pestilence god,” and adds: “With the image of Gozu 五頭, one tramples the head of the malevolent one [i.e., the person who has thrown a spell].” Gozu Tennō was therefore used in a subjugation ritual, and the Kakuzenshō even shows the image of a foot, under which one is supposed to write the name of one’s enemy in order to crush them,50 a ritual indebted to the myth of the subjugation of Maheśvara by Trailokya­ vijaya (Gōzanze Myōō). In the Bukkyō zuzō shūsei, an iconographic collection published by the Kyoto University of Art and Design, Gozu Tennō is represented seated on a rock, holding a long ax in his right hand and a lace in his left hand (fig. 4.3).51 His raised hair looks like that of the wrathful deities of esoteric Buddhism. He has a small bull’s head over his head, which is surrounded

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FIGURE 4.5  Gozu Tennō. Color on wood. Gakuenji, Shimane prefecture.

FIGURE 4.6  Gozu Tennō. Color on wood. Matsuo Shrine, Kyoto prefecture.

by a halo of flames. Below or in front of him are Toshitoku 歳徳 (the year deity) and the eight generals (hasshōjin 八将神) identified with Harisaijo and the eight princes, respectively. In sculpture, Gozu Tennō is represented as a Shintō deity wearing Chinese robes or as a Chinese general (fig. 4.5). He may have one, three, or more faces and from two to twelve arms holding various attributes. The bull’s head is often replaced by a jewel in a lotus in sculpted images of Gozu Tennō in military dress. Sometimes he holds a jewel in a lotus in one hand while the other forms the sword mudrā (ken-in 剣印) with two fingers extended. The oldest mention of a statue of Gozu Tennō is an account in the Fusō ryakki describing how a fire that broke out at Kankeiji 観慶寺 (Kanjin-in 感神院, the Buddhist temple overseeing Gion Shrine) in 1070 destroyed statues of four of the eight princes, Jadokkeshin, and Daishōgun, while the statue of Gozu Tennō, as well as those of some of the members of his retinue, survived.52 One of the few extant statues of the god is a seated image preserved at Matsuo Shrine (formerly Matsunoo Shrine 松尾神社) in Kyoto (fig. 4.6). Curiously, his head is crowned by

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a horse head, but the statue may have originally been paired with another one, crowned by a bull’s head. Another statue, dated to the twelfth century, was transferred during the Meiji period from the Goryō Shrine to the neighboring Matsuo Shrine. This god has four wrathful faces and a bull’s head over his head. He is seated with his right leg hanging, wears armor, and holds a spear in his right hand.53 CULTIC SITES While the Buddhist tradition presents Gozu Tennō as the protecting deity of the Jetavana monastery in India, scholars have argued for his Chinese or Korean origins. Some believe the existence of Korean talismans of Somin Shōrai points toward the Korean peninsula.54 This may also be inferred from the fact that Somin Shōrai was worshiped by the Hata 秦, a clan of Korean immigrants.55 There is indeed a Korean deity, Ch’ŏyong 處容, one of the seven sons of the dragon king of the eastern sea, that seems to resemble Gozu Tennō.56 Unfortunately, Korean sources shed no light on this point, and we are left with speculations. Nagai Hiroshi emphasizes the role of Korean immigrant groups in the rise of the Gozu Tennō cult. He suggests that Gozu Tennō was identified with the deified Korean prince Ame no Hiboko 天日桙 and with another deified Korean prince, Tsunuga Arashito 都怒我阿羅斯等. His argument rests on the fact that in several shrines—namely, the Ara Shrine in Kara­ tsu city (on the eastern bank of Lake Biwa) and the one in Tsuruga city 敦 賀市 (Fukui prefecture)—Gozu Tennō and Tsunuga Arashito were worshiped side by side until the Meiji Restoration.57 According to the Nihon shoki, at the time of Mimaki Tennō, a man wearing horns on his head arrived by boat at Kehi Bay (near Kehi Shrine). His name was Tsunuga Arashito, and he was a prince from Arakaya (i.e., Mimana 任那, a Korean state).58 Tsunuga is also written 角鹿 (horn deer), and the name of Tsuruga city is said to derive from it. Because the deity of Kehi Shrine was Ame no Hiboko, Tsunuga Arashito and Ame no Hiboko came to be identified with each other. According to Nagai, this may explain why Gozu Tennō was eventually identified with Ame no Hiboko. Nagai’s argument, while highly speculative, has the merit of emphasizing an alternative point of entry for Korean cults: the coastline of the Japan Sea, in particular, Izumo and Tsuruga Bay. As Amino Yoshihiko has shown, these areas participated actively in the commercial and cultural exchanges between the Korean peninsula and the Japanese archipelago. Kehi Shrine was also linked with Empress Jingū and her Korean expedition, and with the Hata, a clan that was instrumental in the development of the Gozu Tennō cult. Historically, the main cultic sites of Gozu Tennō are the shrines of Hiromine, Gion (Yasaka), and Tsushima. His cult seems also to have been important at Ise, judging from the popularity of Somin Shōrai’s talismans

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there. By the tenth century, Gozu Tennō, Harisaijo, and the eight princes, having in principle been placated, were increasingly worshiped for their power to save people from the same diseases they initially caused. The starting (or rather landing) point of Gozu Tennō, according to the Bingo no kuni fudoki, is the Enokuma 疫隅 Shrine in Bingo province (present-­ day Hiroshima prefecture). This shrine was located in (or near) what is now Tomonoura 鞆の浦 (formerly Tomonotsu 鞆の津), a little port town at the southern end of Fukuyama city. According to the Engishiki (927), the Nunakuma Shrine 沼名前神社 in Tomonoura, also known as Tomo Gion-gū 鞆祇園宮, is the origin of the Yasaka Shrine (Gion) in Kyoto.59 The name of the town traces back to an archer’s wrist protector (tomo 鞆) that Empress Jingū allegedly offered to the shrine after returning victorious from her Korean expedition.60 The deity of that shrine was Wata­tsumi 海神 (綿津見), a sea deity originally worshiped in northern Kyūshū. Despite its present insignificance, Tomonoura was once an important station on the Inland Sea between Naniwa (present-day Ōsaka), on one side, and Kyūshū and the Korean peninsula on the other. In 1711, a Korean envoy praised it as the most scenic spot in all Japan—excelling even Itsukushima (Miyajima). While not as famous as Itsukushima’s Benzaiten temple, there is also a small Benzaiten Island facing the town. The point is that Gozu Tennō, like the Watatsumi deity, the Itsukushima goddess, Benzaiten, and Jingū, was originally one of the sea deities that are treated in the last two chapters of this book. The Hiromine Tradition

The Gozu Tennō ben by Amano Sadakage lists the Tennō Shrine at Hiromine (present-day Himeji city, Hyōgō prefecture) as one of the four great cultic sites of Gozu Tennō (along with Gion Shrine in the capital, Tsushima Shrine in Owari province, and Daihō Gozu in Ōmi province).61 The Hiromine Shrine, located halfway between the Enokuma Shrine in Bingo province and Gion Shrine in Kyoto, played an important role in the eastward spread of the Gozu Tennō cult. According to the Nijūnisha chūshiki 二十二社詿式 (compiled in 1532–1573 by Yoshida Kanetomo), Gozu Tennō first manifested himself at Akashi 明石 in Harima province before moving to Hiromine. Later, he moved again to Tōkōji (Kitashirakawa, Kyoto), then, during the Gangyō 元慶 era (877–885), to the Kanjin-in 感神院 of Kankeiji (Gion Shrine). The Hiromine tradition emphasizes the role played by the statesman Kibi no Makibi 吉備真備 (695–775), who allegedly was ordered by an imperial edict to build a large shrine on Mount Hiromine and to enshrine within it the Silla deity Gozu Tennō.62 A local legend recorded in the Hōsōki has it that Kibi no Makibi spent one night on Mount Hiromine when he returned from China in 733. That night, he dreamed that a nobleman appeared to him declaring that he had been denied hospitality by Kotan and had found

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shelter in Somin Shōrai’s house. But since then he had been wandering,63 and remembering a pact made with Kibi no Makibi in China, he had now come to see him. The role of Kibi no Makibi is significant in this context because he posthumously became the “ancestor” of Onmyōdō and also played an instrumental role in the development of the legend of Abe no Seimei.64 During the ninth and tenth centuries, onmyōji from Harima province performed rituals centered on pestilence deities.65 Harima was a center for the activities of onmyōji working outside the framework of the YinYang bureau, and one of them, Ashiya Dōman 蘆屋道満, became famous in the capital as a rival of Abe no Seimei.66 In the Genko shakushō, the legendary Indian ascetic Hōdō Sennin 法道仙人 is credited with propagating the cult of Hiromine Shrine and its deity after Gozu Tenjin 牛頭 天神 appeared to him as a protector against calamities during his stay at Ichijōji on Mount Hokke 法華山.67 According to the Saimyōji engi 最明 寺縁起, as quoted in the Harima kagami 播磨鑑, Hōdō Sennin was about to exorcize a disease-causing tree stump by carving a statue of Senju Kannon 千手観音 out of it, when an old man calling himself Gozu Tennō suddenly appeared riding a yellow ox and asked him for the tree stump. Despite (or because of) Hōdō Sennin’s refusal, the old man then gave him land to build a temple and propagate the cult of (Senju) Kannon in Ōmi province.68 In several other sources, Gozu Tennō also appears as an old man—a typical form of the landowner deity—who bequeaths land to a Buddhist monk or ascetic to build a temple. In the Ryōjin hishō 梁塵 秘抄, the deity of Hiromine Shrine is described as a god of war living in western Japan.69 Until the Muromachi period, the prestige of that shrine was so great that it was sometimes compared to Kumano Shrine, yet little remains of its past glory today. The Gion Tradition

The relations between Gozu Tennō and Gion Shrine have been well studied and need not detain us here.70 The Fusō ryakki, in its entry on the fire that ravaged Gion Shrine in 1070, calls the Gion deity “Tenjin” 天神 and not Gozu Tennō. This may indicate that at that time Gozu Tennō had not yet officially become the god of Gion.71 The Honchō seiki (1147), on the other hand, mentions Gozu Tennō, so it was perhaps during the intervening period that he became the Gion deity. Gozu Tennō appears again in the Gyokuzui 玉葉, the diary of Kujō Michiie 九条道家 (1193–1252), in relation to the 1070 fire, but this may simply reflect a general belief of Michiie’s time. The Tsushima Tradition

Until the Meiji Restoration, another thriving cultic center of Gozu Tennō was the Tennō Shrine in Tsushima 津島 (Owari province).72 According to

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the shrine’s chronicle, the Tsushima deity came from Tsushima Island in the first year of the reign of Kinmei Tennō (540). The name Tsushima suggests a route of dissemination—from one Tsushima Island (in the Japan Straits) to another (in Owari province)—slightly different from the one recognized so far, which was from Tomonoura on the Inland Sea coast to Tsushima by way of Hiromine and Kyoto.73 In the late medieval period, Tsushima was a station on the Tōkaidō for pilgrims on their way to Ise. Kawamura Minato argues that a rivalry existed between Tsushima and Ise, and that Gozu Tennō was chosen as an alternative to Amaterasu because he had been identified with her rebellious brother Susanoo.74 Unlike the Ise shrines, Tsushima Shrine was not directly tied to the imperial house, but at the end of the medieval period it received support from the shōguns Oda Nobunaga, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and Tokugawa Ieyasu, perhaps because its fierce deity was more appealing to warriors. In the Tsushima festival, the demonic nature of Gozu Tennō, which has been all but erased from the Gion Festival, appears clearly. According to the Gozu Tennō shimawatari saimon, Gozu Tennō’s boat was pushed by an “evil wind.” After landing briefly at Ise, he settled down at Tsushima and sent the eight princes to Ise, asking them to visit him on the sixteenth day of each first month. When they did, they brought gift boxes containing eight diseases, which Gozu Tennō eventually exorcized with a kind of purification ritual.75 Here the deity’s initial ambivalence has been redefined as a complementarity between him and his children: they tarry with the negative role while he takes on the positive. After the Meiji Restoration, Gozu Tennō’s presence was erased from most shrines, to the profit of the more “orthodox” Susanoo. This was particularly true at Ise where there is now practically no cultic site dedicated to him. Were it not for the display of Somin Shōrai talismans on many doors, one could not imagine that he ever was popular there. Yet toponymy provides some additional clues. Small “Tennō shrines” can be found, for example, in Ise city and the nearby town of Matsusaka.76 There is also a “Somin forest” at Futami-ga-Ura, and the town of Futami is famous for its “Somin Shōrai” talismans.77 According to local tradition, when Gozu Tennō started on his journey, he stayed at Somin Shōrai’s house in Ise and even took a wife there. Later, when he returned to Ise with his family, he found the house empty. It fell to Sōmin’s Shōrai’s daughter to tell him that her father had died the previous year and that Kotan had not taken care of the funerals. Angered at this, Gozu Tennō killed Kotan and gave a talisman to Somin Shōrai’s daughter. Here the myth has moved from a distant land to Ise, and the motif of Gozu Tennō’s anger is no longer prompted by Kotan’s inhospitality, but by his lack of brotherly spirit.78

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A DEMON’S FAMILY ROMANCE The myth of Gozu Tennō also encompasses the constellation of deities that form his immediate entourage (kenzoku) or are linked with him in various ways. Some of them may have been the objects of specific cults before becoming part of Gozu Tennō’s entourage, or they may derive from what was at first just one of his aspects or functions. Some of the most important relationships were defined on the basis of kinship, and they came to form what we might call the “family romance” of Gozu Tennō. Deities with similar functions that could not be merged into a single power could be linked through kinship,79 and the creation of families of gods, as Wakita Haruko points out, is indeed one of the characteristics of medieval Japanese religion.80 This evolution in the myth of Gozu Tennō must also be placed in the context of changes in the matrimonial system between the Insei and Kamakura periods.81 The Tengeshō saimon attributes Kotan’s refusal of hospitality to Gozu Tennō and Harisaijo to the fact that the latter was approaching the term of her pregnancy and posed the danger of polluting Kotan’s house by giving birth in it. Apart from the motif of pollution, this Japanese version of the Nativity makes the fatherly figure of Gozu Tennō into an angry Joseph. Harisaijo’s motherly function, on the other hand, is best expressed in a Japanese version of the “lactation” motif.82 In this story, Harisaijo is understandably skeptical when the female snake demon Jadokkeshin claims to be her last-born child, and she requests proof. When milk suddenly gushes forth from her swollen breasts and falls into the mouths of Jadokukkeshin and her seven brothers, Harisaijo is convinced and asks the snake to show her its true nature. Jadokkeshin then appears as a small Eleven-faced Kannon standing on the waves.83 We recall that Harisaijo herself was the third daughter of the dragon king Sāgara. The Shaku Nihongi reports a belief that there was a dragon hole at Gion communicating with the nāga palace.84 For that reason, during the Gion Festival, when Harisaijo’s palanquin reached the otabisho or temporary abode, it was placed over a spring called Shōshō-i.85 Accordingly, Harisaijo came to be called Shōshōi-dono 少将井殿 and to be linked to miraculous springs. But her cult seems to have declined, together with the role of female religious specialists—and of women in general—in the increasingly patriarchal society of medieval Japan.86 Perhaps not surprisingly, the cult of the eight princes seems to have grown during that same period. In the Hoki naiden and the Shintō shū, Gozu Tennō claims responsibility for epidemics whereas, in the Shimawatari saimon, this function has shifted to his children. They, in turn, evolved into protecting deities, as can be seen in the Hachiōji saimon (Library of Ise Shrine), in which they vow to save all those who invoke them.87 In this way, they came to be identified with the eight dragon kings

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and with the calendar deities known as the eight generals (hasshōjin), who played crucial roles in the formation of the calendar (fig. 4.7). The princes also are called “heavenly kings” (tennō) at other times, and they are listed, together with their honji or essence, in the Hoki naiden. Slightly different lists appear in the Gion Gozu Tennō engi and in the Shintō shū, and while these later texts show Buddhist influences, some of the honji they mention are not buddhas or bodhisattvas and are not even Buddhist. At any rate, these lists introduced the calendar deities of Onmyōdō into the Buddhist framework of the honji suijaku theory, making them manifestations of Buddhist deities. Their names differ from one document to the next, but their functions are fixed and their movements determine specific directional taboos.88 In short, they are the pestilence deities that control the eight periods of the year—namely, the four seasons and the four intercalary periods known as doyō 土用.89 In the Gozu Tennō engi of Tsushima Shrine, when Gozu Tennō and his children request Kotan’s hospitality, the latter at first hesitates and poses his conditions. One after the other, the eight princes vow to help him in specific circumstances, and their vows give a fairly good idea of their functions.90 The vows are very concrete—for instance, protection against headaches, stomach ache, intestinal parasites, or problems with lactation—and give a good sense of the evils that plagued the peasant society of the time.91 According to another Gozu Tennō engi, Gozu Tennō ordered the eight princes to protect the year.92 In this way, the princes themselves were eventually given a positive redefinition as gods of longevity, illustrating Cornelius Ouwehand’s definition of the principle of twofold ambivalence: “Not only is a role played by ‘good and evil as the two sides of one god,’ the ‘division’ of the deity into a zenshin (virtuous god) and an akujin (evil god) as expressions of the two oppositional elements nigimitama (peaceful spirit) and aramitama (rough spirit), but ‘both elements, aramitama and nigimitama, independently developing and manifesting themselves in separate deities, appear to be once more ambivalent.’ ”93 We recall that Kujō Michiie’s diary reports the burning of the statues of four of the eight princes, as well as those of Jadokkeshin and Daishōgun, during the fire that ravaged Gion Shrine in 1070. Here Jadokkeshin is distinct from the hachiōji: she is referred to as the “present” consort of Gozu Tennō while Harisaijo is the “past” consort.94 In later sources, however, she is usually included in the hachiōji group. In the Hoki naiden, for instance, she is listed last (though not least), and she has Sanbō Kōjin as her honji.95 Yet this unruly snake-like deity was difficult to accommodate in a group, and she remained the object of a specific cult at Gion Shrine and at Tennō Shrine (in Tsushima) during the medieval period. In the section on Sekizan Myōjin in the Shintō shū, Jadokkeshin becomes one of the ten manifestations of Gozu Tennō.96 According to

FIGURE 4.7  Eight generals. Toshitoku hasshōjin zō. Hanging scroll, color drawing on paper. Petzold Collection, Harvard-Yenching Library.

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FIGURE 4.8  Pangu (Banko). Detail of Sankō Gotei emaki. Edo period. Ink and color on paper. Petzold Collection, Harvard-­ Yenching Library.

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the Hoki shō, a commentary on the Hoki naiden, she was born from the discarded placentas of her seven brothers. To many, her uncanny birth and her monstrous appearance evoke the power of the placenta and its negative potential. She may also symbolize the resentful spirits of aborted children, and more precisely those of the girls who were the victims of infanticide (mabiki). In Lords of Life, I examine her role among the placenta deities. As far as I know, there are no extent representations of Jadokkeshin. In the Kuyō hiryaku, the “comet” Ketu is identified with Hyōbi 豹尾 (Leopard Tail), who is Jadokkeshin’s manifestation as an astral deity. He is represented as a wrathful deity with three faces, six arms, snakes coiled around his body, and a necklace of skulls. He rides a dragon and holds the sun and moon in two of his hands (an image reminiscent of that of Myōken), while in two other hands he holds a hare (or goat) by its ears and a human by its hair (a representation that calls to mind that of Mahākāla).97 Yanagita Kunio puts emphasis on the astrological importance of Jadokkeshin and her directional taboos.98 He quotes, in particular, another commentary on the Hoki naiden, the Hoki genkai, according to which: “The god Hyōbi is none other than Jadokkeshin, and his honji is Sanbō Daikōjin. The kōjin mentioned in the commentary [probably the Hoki shō] is the po spirit [of a person], and it is a ‘deity born at the same time’ (kushōjin 倶生神).” Hyōbi is accordingly paired with another deity named Tenkan 典官: “Hyōbi and Tenkan are male and female, respectively, and they are inseparable.” Travelers must observe the directional taboos of these two deities—in particular, it is inauspicious to enter a place facing the direction of Hyōbi, or to exit facing the direction of Tenkan.99 Beyond this, Jadokkeshin appears in other episodes of the Gozu Tennō myth. In the Gozu Tennō no saimon, for instance, Gozu Tennō sends her to spy on Kotan’s house.100 GOZU TENNŌ’S ENTOURAGE Gozu Tennō was explicitly identified or associated with a number of deities: the Chinese astral deity Tianxingxing (J. Tenkeisei, or Star of Heavenly Punishment, var. Tengyōsei or Tengyōshō); the Chinese primordial gods Shennong (J. Shinnō) and Pangu (J. Banko) (fig. 4.8); the kami Susanoo; and the Tendai protectors Sekizan Myōjin and Shinra Myōjin—to name just the main ones.101

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While the Hoki naiden describes Tenkeisei as an alias of Gozu Tennō, the two names have not always referred to the same deity.102 As we have seen, Tenkeisei’s origins are in a baleful star that was also perceived as a deity controlling human destiny, that is, distributing fortune or misfortune to beings in response to their deeds. In Japan, Tenkeisei is first mentioned in esoteric Buddhism, where he was identified with Daiitoku Myōō (Yamāntaka) (fig. 4.9), and his honji was said to be Mañjuśrī.103 Three ritual manuals centered on this deity, dated to the end of the Kamakura period, were found at Kōzanji. The first, entitled Tenkeisei-hō, allegedly transmitted by Kibi no Makibi and Kamo no Yasunori (two founding fathers of Onmyōdō), emphasizes the secret nature of the Tenkeisei cult. The other two texts, the Tenkeisei gyōhō and the Tenkeisei gyōhō shidai, describe secret āveśa (induced possession) rites.104 Despite the secrecy surrounding these rituals, the cult of this deity apparently expanded toward the end of the Kamakura period, as shown by the fact that Tenkeisei talismans have been found all over Japan.105 According to the Tenkeisei gyōhō, Tenkeisei is the origin of eighty-four-thousand shikigami, a number that approximates the size of Gozu Tennō’s legion. We also recall how, in the Hekija-e, Tenkeisei was shown in the act of devouring Gozu Tennō and other demons, a paradoxical representation that has not yet been satisfactorily explained.106 At Gion and elsewhere, Gozu Tennō came to be identified with the kami Susanoo. Urabe no Kanekata, in his Shaku Nihongi, quotes the Nihon shoki’s passage about Susanoo’s exile just before quoting the Bingo no kuni fudoki’s entry about Mutō Tenjin, and then adds: “The old master said: ‘This is the original legend of Gion Shrine.’ ” The “old master” in question is Kanefumi, Kanekata’s father, who first identified Mutō Tenjin with Susanoo. He also pointed out that the god of Gion (Gozu Tennō) is a foreign deity, referring to the passage in the Nihon shoki that says: “At that time, Susanoo no Mikoto, accompanied by his son Isotakeru no Kami 五十猛神, descended to the Land of Silla, where he dwelt at Soshimori.”107

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FIGURE 4.9  Daiitoku Myōō. Edo period. Hanging scroll, ink, color, and gold on silk. Cleveland Museum of Art.

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The link between Gozu Tennō and Susanoo was also established indirectly through their common connection with the Korean peninsula and a Japanese god of Korean ancestry, the protector of Onjōji (Mii­dera), Shinra Myōjin. The Jimon denki horoku, in a section concerning the “expulsion of epidemics,” identifies Somin Shōrai with Susanoo and Shinra Myōjin. During the epidemic of 1184, the court addressed prayers to Shinra Myōjin, and the epidemic soon ended. Based on this, it was declared that Shinra Myōjin was identical to Susanoo and that the Somin Shōrai talisman came from Shinra Myōjin’s shrine.108 Gozu Tennō was similarly linked with Sekizan Myōjin.109 The Shintō shū, for instance, states that Sekizan Myōjin is identical with Gozu Tennō and that his honji is Mutō Tenjin.110 Sekizan Myōjin was the Hieizan counterpart of Shinra Myōjin, and both, apart from their function as monastery protectors, were perceived as pestilence deities. In the tradition of “blind monks” that developed around Mount Hiei, the image of Gozu Tennō came to overlap with that of King Banko.111 According to that tradition, Tengyōshō (Tenkeisei) descended on earth in the form of King Shōki. He then transformed into Gozu Tennō and took Harisaijo as his wife. Becoming the leader of the demons (chimi mōryō 魑 魅魍魎), he built a citadel at the Gate of the Five Demons and defeated an “evil” demon called Kotan, rewarding Somin Shōrai in the act. He went on to pacify the world and give birth to twelve generals (corresponding to the twelve months). He then married five maidens and fathered the five emperors or five dragon kings. All these deities, related to the ten stems and the twelve branches of Chinese cosmology, symbolize the auspicious and inauspicious times of the year.112 In an apocryphal scripture, it is the last-born child of King Bangon (Banko), Gorō, who is identified with Gozu Tennō. The great king Bangon (who is said here to be a Chinese manifestation of the Buddha) gives birth to six children, five male and one female.113 The five princes are described as the five emperors (or dragon kings of the five directions), and the text lists their spatiotemporal correspondences. The last child of King Banko was still in her mother’s womb when her father died, and she is therefore called the “Kōjin of the womb.” When Gorō wants to claim her inheritance, she confronts her brothers, saying: “Although I am the actualized body of the Tathāgata, I first appeared as Gozu Tennō.” The eastern dragon replies: “When I appeared as Amaterasu, you manifested yourself as Susanoo and became my divine enemy. To atone for that crime, you had to kill the great snake and return my sword. Although you were forgiven, your present condition is merely the result of your past karma.” Eventually, Gorō obtains the four intercalary periods (doyō) as her inheritance together with the center among the five directions.114 In the Hoki naiden, the name of King Banko is written Bango—and the use of the ox graph may be an allusion to Gozu Tennō. He manifests

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FIGURE 4.10  Shennong (Jinnō), by Shōryō. Muromachi period. Hanging scroll, ink on paper. Cleveland Museum of Art.

FIGURE 4.11  Shennong (Jinnō). Edo period. Ink and color on paper. Petzold Collection, Harvard-Yenching Library.

himself as Bonten (Brahmā) in the higher world, and as the earth deity Kenrō Jishin in the lower world. His children from his five wives are called the five emperors or dragon kings—corresponding to esoteric Buddhist rubrics such as the five Buddhas, the five myōō, and the five types of knowledge of the Buddha. They in turn give birth to children corresponding to the ten stems, the twelve branches, and so on.115 Another “Chinese” variant of Gozu Tennō, influenced by Onmyōdō, is the mythical ruler Shennong 神農 (figs. 4.10–4.12). Shennong was worshiped in China as a civilizing hero who introduced both agriculture and the use of medicinal plants. He was represented with a human body and an ox head, and this is probably one of the reasons he was assimilated with Gozu Tennō—together with his association with the buddha Yakushi and the origins of medicine.116 As a protector against diseases, Shennong (together with Gozu Tennō) was identified with Yakushi, who eventually was seen as his honji.117 In a section devoted, precisely, to the “Yakushi ritual,” the Kakuzenshō emphasizes Shennong’s identity with Gozu Tennō.118 The identity between Gozu Tennō and Shennong is also emphasized in the Gozu tennō kōshiki, in a passage explaining the deity’s manifestations in the three countries. In this account, Gozu Tennō appears at Jetavana in India to protect the teaching of the Buddha before he reappears in China in the form of Shennong. The episode involving Kotan and Somin Shōrai takes place at Jetavana, but here the narrative is brief, and Gozu Tennō simply gives the “jewel of the ox king” (goō hōju

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FIGURE 4.12  Shennong (Jinnō). Edo period. Ink and color on paper. Petzold Collection, Harvard-­Yenching Library.

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牛王宝珠) to Somin Shōrai’s descendants. Instead of a talisman that can be used in exorcisms, the jewel confers on its possessor the power to obtain the “seven precious things and all treasures,”119 and Gozu Tennō is said to have derived his name from that of the jewel. Thus, Gozu Tennō is no longer an epidemic demon that only needs to be propitiated, and his real nature is now revealed to be the same as Yakushi’s. The logic has changed. This image of Gozu Tennō as a “healing king” seems to have developed in the Jōdo school as well—at Chion-in 知恩院, a temple not far from Gion, for example.120 AN ARENA OF CONTENTION Once the central elements of the myth of Gozu Tennō became generally accepted, the myth began to diffract into sectarian variants with Buddhist, Shintō, Onmyōdō, and Shugendō adherents. In many Buddhist sources, Gozu Tennō is described as a guardian deity of Jetavana monastery.121 But as the deity made its way into the esoteric Buddhist pantheon, Gozu Tennō was redefined as a trace or manifestation of the Healing Buddha—with emphasis on his capacity to cure the diseases he had probably caused.122 In the Gion Gozu tennō engi, he is called the “medicine god who destroys diseases.” Another source, however, emphasizes Gozu Tennō’s ambivalence: The pestilence deities are traces of the Healing Buddha (Yakushi Nyorai) and transformations of Gozu Tennō. It is because [the latter] knows the people’s evil hearts that he afflicts them with diseases. . . . However, those who recite the precious name of the medicine king and chant the secret divine incantation will possess the joy of the dharma of the original ground (honji) and will ornament the majestic light of its traces (suijaku). Then the pestilence deities will wake up from their dream, soften their light to merge with the dust, and return to the capital of the self-received joy of Dharma.123

The conversion of Gozu Tennō to Buddhism may have been fallout from the takeover of Gion Shrine by Enryakuji monks in the late tenth century. These monks saw an identity between the main deity (honzon) of Enryakuji’s Main Hall, Yakushi Nyorai, and the honzon of Kankeiji, the Buddhist temple associated with Gion Shrine, as well as with Gozu Tennō, the god enshrined in Gion’s Tenjindō 天神堂. This led to the reinterpretation of Gozu Tennō through the lens of Tendai scholasticism. His three wrathful faces were said to symbolize Buddhist triads such as the three bodies of the Buddha, the three truths of Tendai, and the mandala’s three sections (Buddha, Vajra, and Lotus); his twelve arms now symbolized the twelve generals of Yakushi’s retinue; and the five horns on his

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head became the five syllables of the title of the Lotus Sūtra (Myō-hōren-ge-kyō).”124 Thus, Gozu Tennō became a guardian of the Lotus Sūtra. Gozu Tennō also acquired a Shintō coloring through his identification with the kami Susanoo, an unruly deity whose hubris caused him to be expelled from heaven as the prototype of the wandering deity (yugyōjin, yukōjin 遊行神) The fragmentary Bingo no kuni fudoki was the first source to link the two deities, but the authenticity of these fragments, quoted in the Shaku Nihongi (14th cent.), has been questioned.125 If so, the Shaku Nihongi may be the earliest occurrence of this theory. At any rate, the identification bears testimony to the popular acceptance of Gozu Tennō at a time when epidemics, fostered by urban concentration, became a major concern in Japanese society. The identity between Susanoo and Gozu Tennō allowed later Shintō nativists to eventually replace Gozu Tennō with Susanoo while attempting to tame or domesticate the latter. This domestication was sometimes achieved through violent means. In one source, Gozu Tennō and his horde travel through India and Japan, causing calamities and disorder on their passage. This leads to a conflict between Amaterasu and Gozu Tennō, who refuses at first to obey the orders of the divine ruler of Japan, but in the end has to yield and is sent into exile—like Susanoo. No longer the triumphant god who killed the Buddha, Gozu Tennō has finally found his master in the person of Amaterasu.126 During the Edo period, the debate over the alien character of Gozu Tennō was continued by nativist scholars such as Amano Sadakage (1663–1733) and Hirata Atsutane (1776–1843). In his Gozu Tennō ben 牛頭天王辨, Amano cites the passages related to Gozu Tennō’s ten avatars in the Nyoizō-ō darani kyō, as well as the Tengyō-shō himitsu giki (allegedly translated by Amoghavajra).127 Hirata Atsutane, in his Gozu Tennō rekishin ben (1825), criticizes Amano and rejects these two works as apocryphal. He argues that the Buddhist image of Gozu Tennō is tainted with the “Chinese mind” (karagokoro 漢心) that contaminated Kibi no Makibi during his trip to Tang China.128 In 1868, Meiji reformers handpicked Gozu Tennō as the very example of the kind of Buddhist deity that had infiltrated Shintō and needed to be expunged. One reason why Gozu Tennō was particularly offensive to them was the “Tennō” in his name, which, although written with different characters, could easily be confused with the imperial title and therefore conflicted with the spread of the new Tennō cult centered on the emperor as a living god (arahitogami). Because of this, Gion Shrine was eventually renamed Yasaka Shrine, while the Tennō Shrine of Tsushima became Tsushima Shrine—both now dedicated to the kami Susanoo.129 While Gozu Tennō also played a role in Shugendō, he remained above all an Onmyōdō god.130 He was one of the new deities launched by popular onmyōji to try to stop the decline of classical Onmyōdō at the end

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of the Heian period. The interpretive fault lines passed not only between Buddhists and onmyōji, but also between official and popular onmyōji. Thus, the myth of Gozu Tennō in the Hoki naiden (a text attributed to Abe no Seimei), as well as the reference to the Taizan Fukun rituals in some versions of the Kotan episode, could be read as a veiled criticism of Seimei (whose system rested precisely on the Taizan Fukun ritual). Despite all attempts at placating and domesticating him, Gozu Tennō remained a threatening deity, not only for the common people but also for the Buddhists who, through the figure of Kotan, had become his main enemies. His antagonism toward Buddhism, as we have seen, culminates in the Kotan episode of the Gozu Tennō shimawatari saimon.131 Not only are Kotan and his relatives massacred, but the Buddha himself becomes a collateral victim of Gozu Tennō’s revenge. And so he dies at dawn, on the fifteenth of the first month. As if the scandal of his death were too great to countenance, however, the myth allows him to resuscitate on the eighth (in the form of twenty-five bodhisattvas) of the fourth month (his traditional birthday). Under normal Buddhist circumstances, the encounter would have given the Buddha a good opportunity to convert Gozu Tennō. He could also have relied on one of his bodyguards to tame the demon or even kill him. But in the Shimawatari saimon, his disciples are of no help, and he himself is no match for Gozu Tennō. Indeed, that same story may have led some people to admire the shrewd tactic of the god who deceived the Buddha by appealing to his compassion.132 The Shimawatari saimon seems unaware of Gozu Tennō’s status as protector of Jetavana—yet it presents Gozu Tennō as a Buddhist deity (albeit a manifestation of the Healing Buddha Yakushi). FROM BULL TO OX Several authors have argued that the origins of the Gozu Tennō cult may be traced back to the cult of the karakami 韓神 (Chinese gods), centered on ox sacrifices, which seem to have been performed at Kitano Shrine in ancient times.133 In the Nihon shoki, sacrifices of oxen and horses are mentioned in 642, under the reign of Kōgyoku Tennō. On several occasions during the Nara period, the government tried to forbid the custom of sacrificing an ox to the karakami,134 but in the early ninth century, ox sacrifices seem to have been performed at Gion Shrine.135 These sacrifices were labeled heresies (inshi jakyō 淫祠邪教) and were contrasted with the Buddhist rites of animal liberation (hōjō-e 放生会).136 The very repetition of these interdictions, however, suggests that such sacrifices were popular. The transformation of Gozu Tennō from an epidemic demon into a protecting deity may have followed the same pattern as the propitiation

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of disease-causing karakami. Judging from the existence of Korean talismans of Somin Shōrai, however, the process may have already taken place on the continent. The image of the bull provided a symbolic nexus between Gozu Tennō and another eminent goryō, that of Sugawara no Michizane (Tenjin). The bull is the symbolic animal of Kitano Shrine, and even today stone representations of this bull (derived from Nandī, Śiva’s mount) on the path to the shrine are believed to have healing functions. In medieval Buddhist iconography, one of the Buddhist forms of Śiva, Īśāna, is shown riding a buffalo. As a directional deity, he represents the northeast (also called ushitora 丑寅, or “ox tiger,” derived from the names of two adjacent zodiacal constellations). Another motif that may have influenced the interpretation of Gozu Tennō is that of the two assistants of King Yama, Horse Face (Mamian 馬面, J. Bamen) and Ox Head (Niutou 牛頭, J. Gozu). As noted earlier, the statue of Gozu Tennō preserved at Matsuo Shrine, which represents the deity with a horse head above his head, seems to have originally been paired with another statue, crowned by an ox head. Gozu Tennō is sometimes identified with King Yama. In esoteric Buddhist iconography, both Yama and his Tantric subduer, the vidyārāja Yamāntaka (J. Daiitoku Myōō 大威徳明王), ride a buffalo. The same is true of Daijizaiten, another Buddhist form of Maheśvara (Śiva).137 Daiitoku is also linked with Tenkeisei (Gozu Tennō) and with one of the eight princes.138 His association with epidemics is also clear from the origin story of Ushidō-zan 牛堂山 (Mount of the Ox Hall) in the Harima ka­gami 播磨鑑.139 In a passage referring to the invasion of the Korean peninsula by Empress Jingū, we are told that a “numinous ox” appeared to the empress among the auspicious signs preceding the invasion, and that it was a manifestation of Daiitoku Myōō.140 Since the Korean peninsula was believed to be the source of epidemics, parents came to call their offspring “children of the ox” to protect them from smallpox and other epidemics.141 Matarajin, another important epidemic deity, was also associated with the ox in the so-called Ox Festival of Kōryūji 広隆寺 (Uzumasa, Kyoto). During the nightly ritual, a priest, riding a black ox, reads a petition to the god. In the Festival of the Ox Riding (Ushinori matsuri) at Yasaka Shrine (in Tennōmachi, Akita prefecture), which is said to reenact Susanoo’s victory over the eight-headed dragon, a drunken medium, holding a bow and an arrow, rides on top of a black ox. His drunken stupor is interpreted by the crowd as the sign that Gozu Tennō has possessed him. Then a demon in the form of a spider starts dancing in front of him, and the medium is guided to shoot an arrow at it.142 The ox constellation was also related to an important Tendai ritual centered on Bishamonten, the ritual of the ox king (figs. 4.13–4.15).143

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FIGURE 4.13 Saturn (Doyō) as ox-headed deity. Detail of Kuyō hiryaku, by Sōkan. Heian period, late 11th–early 12th centuries. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Metropolitan Museum of Art.

FIGURE 4.14  Ox spirit. Daigoji-bon Yakushi jūni shinshō zu, TZ 7: 447,

fig. 60.

FIGURE 4.15  Ox spirit. Nijūhachibushu narabini jūni shinshō zu, TZ 7: 520, fig. 38

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The temptation to equate all the deities that are linked, in one way or another, with a bovine must be resisted, since common animal features are in themselves insufficient to infer a similarity of nature or function. Part of the confusion may stem from terminology. The Sino-Japanese character for “bovine” does not distinguish between cow, ox, bull, and buffalo. This ambiguity facilitates symbolic links between various deities associated with one or more of these animals. Yet the god is in the details, and distinctions between them may be ritually significant when it comes to function. In other words, while the image of a bull fits the wildness of a deity like Gozu Tennō, that of an ox seems appropriate when he has become ritually, mythologically, or doctrinally domesticated. At the same time, the ambiguity is productive, since it allows the figure of Gozu Tennō to function on all these registers and to mediate between them. Thus, their symbolic relations with the bovine both connect and differentiate Yama and Daiitoku (Yamāntaka), Gozu Tennō, the ox king, and other bovine deities.144 All the major religious strains of medieval Japan attempted to tame Gozu Tennō, to transform, as it were, the bull into an ox (that is, to castrate it). Onmyōdō priests, to take one example, relegated Gozu Tennō to the domain of cosmological knowledge and ritual techniques, transforming him and his retinue into spatiotemporal symbols. As a result, the threat that he once represented shifted to other baleful figures such as Konjin 金神.145 THE RITUAL CONTEXT Let us now turn to the ritual aspects of the Gozu Tennō cult. The Gion Festival has been well studied,146 so I will focus here on the Tsushima Festival.147 The first phase of the festival was the welcoming of Gozu Tennō in the so-called “descent of the heavenly king” (tennō-oroshi 天王降ろ し), which took place on the first day of the sixth month. In this phase, Gozu Tennō was worshiped as a water deity with offerings of cucumbers and other summer vegetables. On the twelfth day, reeds were cut by six young men under the supervision of a priest (negi) and tied into two yin and yang bundles. These bundles, symbolizing the deity’s body or its temporary dwelling (yorishiro 依代), were placed in the inner sanctum.148 The word “reed” (ashi, yoshi 葦) is homophonous with both “evil” (ashi 悪し) and “good” (yoshi 良し), and the large number of reeds was also said to symbolize the demonic legions of Gozu Tennō. The crucial phase of the ritual, the dispatching of the god, was an exorcism: an effigy of the pestilence god was carried through the streets and finally set on board a wooden or straw boat. This phase, lasting several days, culminated on the fourteenth and the fifteenth of the month: on the night of the fourteenth, Gozu Tennō was greeted on the northern bank of the pond, his arrival symbolized by the crossing of five boats decorated

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with lanterns. On the morning of the fifteenth, five other boats, filled with dolls, met the deity at his “journey halt” (otabisho 御旅所), with young men, holding bamboo poles with white banners, jumping into the water to reach the bank before the boats. The rite known as the “floating” of the reeds (miyoshi-nagashi 御 葦流し) took place on the night of the sixteenth. Because the rite was a closely held secret, no onlooker was allowed to watch the procession that went from the main shrine to the town shrine. People went to sleep early, and if any light could be seen in a house, white melons were thrown at it, and that house would experience misfortune. Thus, in the silence of the night, the reeds, symbolically charged with every defilement and disease, were set adrift on the Tennō River.149 On the eighteenth, a festival was held on the spot where the reeds had reached the shore, and it lasted until the twenty-fourth. Because it was believed that epidemics would break out at the location where the reeds had landed, further exorcisms were performed at that spot.150 The Tsushima Festival calls to mind the customs followed in Chinese plague festivals, as they are still performed today. The suggestive title of Paul Katz’s book, Demon Hordes and Burning Boats, emphasizes two important points: the collective nature of the demonic forces and the connections between pestilence and water. One of the most important plague-prevention rituals performed in Zhejiang was the Dragon Boat Festival, held on the fifth day of the summer solstice, the 5/5. Katz gives an interesting description of the miniature dragon boats made out of reeds and grass: “By nighttime, a procession carrying the plague boat goes through the city. Lamps are extinguished in all the houses along the route, and no one dares to make a sound or peek through the door. When the procession reaches the river, the boat is placed on a raft covered with fry grass and towed away to sea. Both are set afire as they float away.”151 Similarly, in the “sacrifice of the king” (wangjiao 王醮) as it is performed in modern Taiwan, twelve epidemic deities known as the twelve royal lords (wangye 王爺) come to dwell in the temple of the sea goddess Mazu 媽祖. They are worshiped for five days by Daoist masters and are dispatched during the fourth night on a boat that will be burnt around noon on the fifth day.152 As is always the case in such complex events, the symbolism of the Tsushima Festival is multilayered. Another level of interpretation reveals a cosmogonic myth in which Gozu Tennō is redefined as the primordial deity of Japan, and the reed as the first thing to emerge from chaos. MATERIAL ASPECTS OF THE CULT In the fluid pantheon of medieval Japan, not only are mythological figures connected and mutually enriched by their respective symbols and

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functions, but they are also linked with specific objects and materials. This is particularly the case in the complex network identified as “Gozu Tennō.” In his History of Japan (1727), the German naturalist and physician Engelbert Kaempfer (1651–1716) wrote: “On the doors and houses of ordinary people (for men of quality seldom suffer to have theirs thus disfigur’d) there is commonly pasted a sorry picture of one of their Lares, or House-Gods, printed upon one half sheet of paper. The most common is the black-horn’d Giwon, otherwise call’d Godsu Ten Oo [Gozu Tennō], that is, according to the literal signification of the characters, this word is express’d by, the Ox-Headed Prince of Heaven, whom they believe to have the power of keeping the family from distempers and other unlucky accidents, particularly from the Sekbio [sekibyō], or Smallpox, which proves fatal to a great number of their children.”153 Kaempfer’s work contains an engraving of Gozu Tennō in his hand, based on the amulets that he saw pasted on the doors and pillars of Japanese houses.154 Actually, the image he engraved is that of the Great Horned Master (Tsuno Daishi 角大 師), the demonic form of the Tendai abbot Ryōgen.155 Most of the amulets and talismans Kaempfer observed derived from precursors that can be traced back to the medieval period. Yet the earliest trace of what was to become the Gozu Tennō cult is a small wooden board (2.7 x 1.3 cm) found in 2001 on the site of the ancient capital of Nagaoka (784–794). It is pierced by a small hole, which suggests that it was hung on the body, and it bears the inscription “We are the descendants of Somin Shōrai” (Somin Shōrai no shison nari 蘇民将来之子孫也), demonstrating that Somin Shōrai—if not Gozu Tennō himself—was already popular in the eighth century among the common people, even before the first goryō-e. In the Gion Gozu Tennō engi, Gozu Tennō gives Somin Shōrai a chinowa and a talisman made of willow wood or peach wood—two types of wood known for their therapeutic properties—inscribed with the same words: “We are the descendants of Somin Shōrai.” The chinowa is a wheel made of miscanthus reed, which people hung on their door for protection against epidemics.156 Perhaps it was originally carried on the body, as the myth indicates. While the custom is said to have originated with the Mutō Tenjin story, it probably goes back even further. Objects are more averse to change than myths. Despite the variety of demonifuge essences (peach wood, willow wood, red sandalwood) prescribed for the talisman, the apotropaic formula remains the same—it must say that the bearer of this talisman belongs to the lineage of Somin Shōrai.157 This is why, every year in temples and shrines, hexagonal or octagonal sticks are fabricated with the formula “Descendants of Somin Shōrai” and distributed with wooden and paper talismans (figs. 4.16 and 4.17). Another important aspect of the Gozu Tennō ritual has to do with the disposal of Kotan’s body. In the story, having killed his nemesis, Gozu

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FIGURE 4.16  Gozu Tennō. Ofuda. Private collection.

FIGURE 4.17  Gozu Tennō. Ofuda. Private collection.

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Tennō dismembers Kotan’s body and distributes its parts to be eaten. The Hoki naiden sheds some light on this macabre episode when it tells us that the protection offered by Gozu Tennō to Somin Shōrai and his descendants takes the form of twenty-six secret texts to be recited at specific intervals (the so-called five sekku 五節供, namely, the first day of the first month, the third of the third, the fifth of the fifth, the seventh of the seventh, and the ninth of the ninth). On those days, the food offerings made (and ingested) symbolize the parts of Kotan’s dismembered body.158 In the Gion Gozu Tennō engi, Kotan’s body parts serve as a metaphor for the New Year offerings made on the first and fifteenth days of the first month (known as Ōshōgatsu 大正月 and Koshōgatsu 小正月). Among the offerings, the seasonal wine (sesshu) symbolizes Kotan’s blood, the red rice cakes (mochi) his flesh, and the round container in which one puts the rice cakes, his bones.159 The bonfire of the fifteenth day is also said to symbolize the burning of Kotan’s body, the ritual ropes (shimenawa) his bones, and the ball (kemari) in the game played on that occasion, his eyes or head.160 In other sources, the red and white mirror-shaped rice cakes (kagami-­ mochi) offered at New Year symbolize Kotan’s flesh and bones; the grass (mugwort) rice cakes on 3/3 his ears and tongue (var. his skin); the rice dumplings wrapped in bamboo leaves (chimaki) on 5/5 his hair tufts; the wheat noodles on 7/7 his joints; and the chrysanthemum wine on 9/9 the blood from his liver (var. his veins). This strange list can vary slightly according to the source, but the general idea remains the same. The “joints” of the year (sechibu), perceived as temporal articulations, lend themselves to comparison with the joints of the human body; yet they are also times when cosmic order, threatened by chaos, must be restored— hence occasions when demons must be subjugated. The ritual carving up of Kotan’s body, corresponding to the five sekku, was interpreted as a subjugation of Kotan as well as a reenactment of the actions of Gozu Tennō meant to please him. This primordial brutality brings to mind René Girard’s theory of the scapegoating mechanism as the source of all rituals, since we are told that “all kami and buddha rituals are patterned after it.”161 Thus, in typical scapegoating fashion, the evil Kotan is redeemed by his death—but unfortunately, Japanese ethnologists have tended to neglect this interpretation. According to Miura Shunsuke, the things eaten during the five sekku symbolize the pestilence demons—in other words, the rites are not celebratory but rather exorcisms and rites of purification.162 In this, Kotan recalls the cosmic man of Chinese mythology, Pangu (J. Banko), another important Onmyōdō deity.163 The medieval reinterpretation of Gozu Tennō as a protecting deity added a new layer of meaning to ancient seasonal rituals such as the gosekku. Intriguingly, the fact that these rituals were redesigned as

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exorcisms implies that Kotan himself was considered an epidemic god. This is never stated clearly, however, whereas the perception of Gozu Tennō and his children clearly is. Paradoxically, it is Kotan who becomes the sacrificial victim whose corpse provides the liturgical structure of the yearly cycle, while Gozu Tennō and the eight princes continue their wandering and maleficent existence as pestilence deities. The paradox, such as it is, can perhaps be attributed to the “moralization” of Gozu Tennō—no longer a blind destructive power, he becomes more discerning in meting out punishment and reward, striking those who deserve his wrath and protecting those with a pure heart. The Gion engi describes a rite called okonai, which is performed at New Year and consists in beating the walls of the shrine to expel the 88,654 retainers of Gozu Tennō who crowd Kotan’s house. While the goal is clearly to expel epidemic demons, it is not clear whether the leader of the demons is Kotan or Gozu Tennō, leaving one to speculate that Gozu Tennō and Kotan may be two sides of the same coin. The ambivalence seen in Gozu Tennō is characteristic of pestilence deities, which both spread epidemics and protect against them. In this sense, Somin Shōrai and Kotan can be said to represent the protective and destructive aspects of Gozu Tennō, respectively. But Kotan himself is characterized by a fundamental ambivalence. In classical Girardian fashion, once he is sacrificed as a scapegoat, he becomes a protecting deity. Drawing on a saimon read in the Izanagi-ryū during healing ceremonies, Saitō Hideki offers another interpretation of the “dual / duel” between Gozu Tennō and Kotan. These ceremonies aim to transfer the disease-causing “demon” from the body of the patient into material supports called mitegura, which one then buries during an earth-quelling ritual. That ritual purports to send the spirit off to a place called “Kotan’s village.” The demon, addressed as Gozu Tennō, is told that Kotan’s beautiful daughter, Otohime 乙姫, who is in love with him and waiting for him, lives in that place. Since demons are usually sent off to their original ground, this suggests that Kotan’s village is the original dwelling of Gozu Tennō, and that both he and Kotan share the same nature. Interestingly, this saimon seems to have inverted the meaning of Kotan’s subjugation as it was found in the Gozu Tennō engi.164 Kotan’s lack of hospitality could have another meaning. Another saimon of the Izanagi-ryū describes a funeral rite during which the spirit of a departed person takes the form of a wandering deity wearing a straw coat (mino) and a straw hat (kasa). This spirit is identified with a wandering ascetic, an image that brings to mind not only Gozu Tennō but also Susanoo. The saimon takes the form of a dialogue between the vagrant spirit and the elder of the lineage. The spirit asks: “Give shelter for the night to this itinerant monk who turns from west to east.” The elder replies: “Having sold myself to reimburse my debts, I cannot lend

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my house. Go on turning from west to east!” The spirit replies: “If so, I will realize the passage from west to east.”165 And he shoots an arrow to the roof, exorcizing the threat represented by the spirits of the dead that would force him to take the opposite direction from that of the living, said to be from west to east. In the Tengeshō saimon, another liturgical text of the Izanagi-ryū, Gozu Tennō, after being denied hospitality by Kotan, goes west (lit. “turns from east to west”). In this light, Kotan’s mansion becomes the house where a funeral is taking place, and Gozu Tennō represents the spirit of the dead that is sent away. It is not entirely clear how this version fits the myth, but Kotan’s behavior seems to make perfect sense interpreted in this ritual context. An interesting excursus is Kotan’s role as a phallic trickster in the ceremonial kagura dance known as the “dance of the heavenly king” (tennō-mai 天王舞), said to prevent disease and epidemics. The dance is in fact a mock battle between Kotan and Gozu Tennō. The dancer impersonating Kotan wears a black mask, and he carries strange weapons such as a teacup, a fork, a coat hanger, a ladle, a spoon, and a fly swatter. The dancers fight their mock battle for a while until Kotan finally surrenders. He is then stripped naked, revealing a huge (wooden) penis. Once released, he starts chasing female members of the audience to rub them with his penis, generating waves of embarrassment and laughter among them.166 Kotan thus is enabled to bounce back—outside the ritual area— showing a striking subversive power related to fertility. CODETTA The myth of Gozu Tennō originated in a common folkloric motif, the welcoming of a traveling deity and the hospitality offered by a poor man to a wandering god. Its two protagonists are Mutōjin (the god) and Somin Shōrai (the pauper). The narrative developed with the addition of a villain, Kotan, who gradually moved to the front stage to transform the theme of divine gratitude and reward into a tale of revenge and the destruction of a clan—a story that had deep resonances in medieval Japan. The myth now had a triangular structure, which thereafter remained unchanged despite numerous variants. An important extension of the myth began as the quest for a spouse that led Gozu Tennō to the dragon king’s palace. Through the union of Gozu Tennō and Harisaijo emerged new protagonists, the eight princes, and among them the snake deity Jadokkeshin occupied a special place, akin to that of King Banko’s fifth child, Gorō. Gozu Tennō’s trajectory from Tsushima Island to the shrines of Hiromine in Bingo province (on the Inland Sea), Gion in the Heian capital, and Tsushima in Owari province was part of a broad movement of culture from western to eastern Japan—one that corresponded to the spread

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of maritime cults from the Korean peninsula to Tsushima and northern Kyūshū, then through the Inland Sea (or along the coast of the Japan Sea, through Izumo and Tsuruga) to the capital. As we will see in due course, a similar movement characterized the development of the Watatsumi, Sumi­ yoshi, and Hachiman cults. Bingo province, a region touched by Korean immigration, was also noted for another demon of Korean origins, Onra 温羅. The affinities and contrasts between Gozu Tennō and Onra are striking: while the former moved eastward and became worshiped in the capital, the latter entrenched himself in his “demonic” citadel, from which he was ultimately dislodged by invading forces from Yamato. Thus, whereas Gozu Tennō was co-opted and deified by the imperial regime, Onra was demonized and killed. The eastward progression was also a civilizing movement, as classical Japanese culture progressed from Kyūshū to Yamato and Kansai, then to Kantō. It was during the Kamakura period that a pendulum swing the other way brought a westward expansion of warriors giving birth to the new shōgunal culture of the Muromachi period—but not without a second Chinese wave carrying Zen and Neo-Confucianism to the east. This eastward trend coincided with the perceived spread of epidemics, which had to be countered by striking at their very source—with another legend, that of Empress Jingū’s invasion of the Korean peninsula. In this context, it is all the more surprising that Gozu Tennō, an archetypal pestilence demon and foreign invader, was adopted without a fight by the imperial capital, when the introduction of Buddhism itself, associated with epidemics, had caused bitter political struggles. Gozu Tennō’s transformation into a vengeful spirit was due to his encounter with Kotan. Paradoxically, that act of hubris, which caused him to destroy the entire lineage of a man who had refused him a single night’s hospitality, was justified by an honor-bound moral code, and it marked a profound change in his nature: he was transfigured from an epidemic demon striking blindly, without distinguishing among persons and social classes, into a normatively ethical god like King Yama, with whom he was sometimes identified, who rewards and punishes with equanimity. Admittedly, he still remained a demonic god, whose malignant hordes had to be exorcized: the early Gion Festival and the Tsushima Festival were above all large-scale exorcisms, even if that character eventually disappeared in the case of Gion. From that standpoint, the identification of Gozu Tennō with Susanoo marked an important milestone, and it was part of the domestication process not only of Gozu Tennō but of Susanoo as well. As Gozu Tennō assumed the trappings of a “high god” in medieval Japan, his epidemic function shifted to other deities such as the eight princes and, especially, Konjin. During the Edo period, when he left the front stage and seemed to recede into oblivion, a new type of

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deity—somewhat less threatening but more specialized—came into vogue: the so-called smallpox deity (hōsōgami 疱瘡神). Gozu Tennō’s progress was notable in several respects: he was first individualized through ritual, that is, he was pacified and deified—two faces of the same process. Then he was “familiarized” and properly domesticated, that is, he was integrated into the domus and the oikos, the domestic economy. And finally he was diffused (or defused) by multiple identifications that made him lose his proper face, reducing it to a buddha (Yakushi) or kami (Susanoo) mask. Ultimately, then, his elevation to the rank of a primordial god (successfully) removed him from the gruesome reality of epidemics. For Yamamoto Hiroko, Gozu Tennō is representative of the “strange” or “alien” deities (ijin / ishin 異神) that flourished during the Insei and Kamakura periods but declined at the end of the medieval period.167 He no longer roams the world like an evil wind, for in becoming a beloved protector his dark energy was projected onto figures like Kotan and, to a lesser extent, the eight princes and Konjin. But even this muting proved insufficient, and Gozu Tennō’s lingering wildness condemned him to rejection by the rising Shintō orthodoxy, and he was consigned to the margins of Japanese religion. But the Procrustean bed of honji suijaku thought never made for a proper fit, either, and his transgressive power always threatened to overwhelm systems that tried to incorporate him, making them burst at the seams. In other words, once converted to Buddhism, the demon king Gozu Tennō became a Dharma protector. But was he truly converted? Not if we are to believe Onmyōdō sources, which show him killing the Buddha. But even on the Buddhist side, there is no real account of his conversion: he was directly promoted to the rank of a divine manifestion, a trace (suijaku), probably owing to his functional similarities with gods of medicine—and above all with the Healing Buddha Yakushi. Then, via Yakushi’s cosmic and astral nature, Gozu Tennō came to be linked to the stars, to sidereal time, and to the calendar. This development took place mainly in Onmyōdō, a new religion (at the time) issuing from the divinatory techniques of the Yin-Yang bureau. By becoming a calendar deity under the name Tendōjin, he was identified with the primordial god of Chinese cosmology, Pangu (King Banko), standing at the center and origin of the spatio-temporal grid expressed by almanacs. Through the cult of such gods, the medieval Japanese felt connected to the cosmos, a connection that was lost when they were rejected as “superstitions” in the Meiji period. For all the wishful thinking of ideologues of all sides, Gozu Tennō remained an extremely violent deity, a feature that he shared with Kōjin and other medieval demons of obstacles. Like Vināyaka, he was also a hybrid of human and animal, and his monstrous nature set him apart from

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the normal humans, on the side of the non-humans (hinin)—as can be seen in the origin story of the outcast group known as the kawaramono. He did not become a charming prince under Harisaijo’s kisses; he remained a freak of nature. His ambivalent bovine aspect—bull or ox?—connected him with various other bovine deities. Gozu Tennō was perceived as an alien god not simply because epidemics come from outside. His otherness was more fundamental. It reflected the true nature of a terrible and savage destroyer, a messenger of death who thrives on hecatombs; a deity that remained a fundamentally wrathful character—even when he shows the face of a pater familias, blessed by a matrimonial union and the birth of eight little devils. Gozu Tennō’s decline seems to reflect the shift from the “neuter” (in the sense of a reality beyond good and evil) to the neutered, neutralized realm of religious morality; from the bullheaded demon to the ox-headed god (hence the essential ambiguity of the graphs of his name). It marks a departure from the profound cruelty of inexorable reality—a reality that finds its expression in epidemics that suddenly shatter the basis of society and do not spare anyone, even the ruler—toward a more serene vision of family life. Even when apparently domesticated, Gozu Tennō remained a demon whose maleficent powers, albeit latent, are always threatening. Like Kōjin, he is the image of an elusive reality—of the Real itself, beyond all human ethos and ethical systems. His vengeful aspect is here to remind us of it. Yet, for all his awesome power, Gozu Tennō was eventually all but forgotten. All that remained of his cult after the Meiji period were talismans and a few festivals that no longer mentioned his name or replaced it by that of Somin Shōrai. Things may not be so simple, however. Gozu Tennō was the symptom of a dark power that is still at work in our societies, and whose medicalization, while more efficient in terms of physical treatment, leaves its victims more vulnerable psychologically. Gozu Tennō remains the symbol of the unnamable, a nightmare of mass destruction, the vision and stench of corpses lying across the streets and fields. His name is an attempt to give meaning to that which does not make sense. He is the cursing god par excellence, the personification of blind punishment or anger. Despite his “domestication,” there remains in him something transgressive. Ultimately, he represents or actualizes what cannot ever be neutralized or neutered. He is a bull-king who will never become an ox, a mount for other deities. Thus, while his eclipse was motivated by sectarian reasons (most notably, Shintō ideology), reasons of a deeper order may have led to his transformation into a “hidden god” that belongs neither to the transcendent realm (as the buddhas, at least in theory) nor to the immanent realm (as the “earthly” kami after Amaterasu). Gozu Tennō’s rebellious and marginal nature explains his

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lingering popularity in Northern Japan and other peripheral regions that long resisted the central power symbolized by Amaterasu. If Gozu Tennō’s myth and its interpretations are (almost) infinitely variable, the material element of his cult—in this case, the talismans— proved more stable. They are the oldest witnesses of Gozu Tennō’s cult, and they remained popular long after his image, or even his name, disappeared from official discourse and from the popular imaginaire. Yet what appears to historians as an irreversible decline is perhaps only a long eclipse. While Gozu Tennō is no longer the tutelary deity of Japan, he may still be lurking in the shadows, like any self-respecting demon, biding his time, waiting to strike again. No talisman will insure that we are indeed Somin Shōrai’s descendants and not Kotan’s. At a time when bacteriological war remains a potential threat and new viruses are on the rise, Gozu Tennō’s myth, while dormant, might someday become viral again. And at such an unfortunate time, Somin Shōrai’s talismans may no longer prove efficient (if they ever were).168

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THE ROAD TO EXCESS— SUSANOO Susanoo is arguably the most demonic of the Japanese kami insofar as he represents, through his hubris and the defilements it causes, the very stamp of disorder. In the previous chapter we saw how Susanoo was identified with the pestilence god Gozu Tennō, eventually replacing him during the Meiji Restoration. Unlike Gozu Tennō, Susanoo was a classical or pure-bred kami whose ambivalence was clearly marked from the start. Initially a “heavenly” kami (amatsukami 天神), he was banished from the heavenly realm twice, first by his father Izanagi, then by the assembly of the gods after his aggression against his sister. Transformed by hubris into a chthonian or earthly god (kunitsukami 地 神, 国津神), he was known for his wildness even when saving a young virgin from death (a very old folkloric motif) and subsequently becoming a wise ruler of Izumo. As an emblematic wild god (araburu kami), this trickster-like figure shares many affinities with Kōjin. His status, however, is complicated by his image as an “evil god” (ashiki kami 悪神), a view promoted by Edo-period nativists such as Motoori Norinaga 本居宣長 (1730–1801). Their perception of Amaterasu as the ancestral deity of the imperial lineage and the central figure of the Shintō pantheon led them, by a dialectical form of logic, to see her brother Susanoo as a figure of defilement and death, a ruler of the underworld. This simplistic image displaced a richer and more interesting conception of Susanoo that had developed during the medieval period, a construct largely ignored by scholars until recently. According to Cornelius Ouwehand, writing a half-century ago: “Present-day commentators can roughly be divided into two groups. First are those who ascribe the ambiguous character of the god above all to the fact that an alien god, primarily one of the Izumo agricultural deities, i.e., the god of a vanquished people, became incorporated into the mythological system and entered into a partnership with the god(s) of the conquering people. There are also scholars who, without entirely eliminating the influence of the Yamato clan on the ultimate form of the Susanoo myth, prefer to explain the mythical exploits of the god as expressions of early 150

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religious ritual, some elements of which still survive in present-day religion and folklore.”1 In the following pages, my aim is to unravel the skein formed by the strands composing this figure without dwelling on outdated naturalist views of the Susanoo myth or on sociopolitical interpretations based on the historical opposition between the Izumo and Yamato clans.2 Beginning with the dichotomy between ritual purity and defilement represented by Susanoo and Amaterasu, I will show how the medieval Susanoo gradually outgrew that binary structure to enter into more complex combinations, becoming in the process one of the major figures in the religious system elaborated by (and around) esoteric Buddhism. THE “ANCIENT” SUSANOO Before examining the medieval Susanoo and his network, we must first revisit his classical identity (or identities), as defined in the Kojiki and the Nihon shoki. The accounts given in these two works differ substantially, and there are conflicting variants in the Nihon shoki itself. In the Kojiki, Susanoo is born from the purifying bath his father Izanagi undergoes upon returning from the underworld (Yomi no kuni 黄泉の 国), where his wife Izanami had gone after her death. Following his birth, Susanoo so longed to be reunited with his mother in the underworld that he “did not rule the land entrusted to him. Instead, he wept and howled [even] until his beard eight-hands long extended down over his chest. . . . His weeping was such that it caused the verdant mountains to wither and seas to dry up. At this, the cries of malevolent deities were everywhere abundant like summer flies, and all sorts of calamities arose in all things.”3 In the Nihon shoki, Susanoo is born from the union of Izanagi and Izanami, and the episode revolving around Izanagi’s visit to the underworld is absent (except in one variant). Far from longing after his departed mother, Susanoo is by nature a crying child, his unruly nature explained by the circumstances of his birth. As was the case with his brother Hiruko, the so-called leech child, Susanoo’s birth was the result of a transgression of ritual protocol, namely, the fact that Izanami had shouted with joy at the moment of her union with Izanagi. The outcome of that transgression was the birth of an “evil god” who had to be sent to the underworld, a destiny that is fulfilled when his hubris threatens the order of things and his parents make him the ruler of the underworld.4 But that world is a fertile land

FIGURE 5.1 Susanoo. Carved wood. Ueno Shrine, Shiga prefecture.

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and not the Yomi no kuni described in the Kojiki as a dark place filled with the decaying corpses of the dead. In the Kojiki’s account, the havoc caused by Susanoo leads Izanagi to banish him to the underworld. Before departing, however, Susanoo asks to take leave of his sister Amaterasu. After exchanging vows, they magically produce eight deities as offspring—first three females, then five males. Amaterasu declares that the three female deities are Susanoo’s children whereas the five male deities are hers.5 Susanoo, arguing that he has won, “rages with victory.” From that point on, things get worse and havoc reigns. Now Susanoo’s “heavenly transgressions” involve bizarre acts such as defecating in the sacred hall used by Amaterasu for tasting the first rice, and flaying a live horse.6 Amaterasu gets frightened when one of her servants, a weaver, shocked by the view of the flayed horse that Susanoo has stuffed through an opening in the roof, injures herself at the shuttle and dies. The sun goddess withdraws into the Heavenly Rock Cave, plunging the world into darkness—and adding chaos on top of havoc. When she eventually emerges from the cave, it is a stratagem of the goddess Ame no Uzume that brings her out—an action I will take up below.7 Susanoo is expelled again from heaven, this time by a collective decision of the gods, who sacrifice him symbolically by substituting parts of his body for his person: “Cutting off his beard and the nails of his hands and feet, [they] had him exorcized and expelled him with a divine expulsion.”8 The image of the god on his way to exile is usually represented by the wearing of a straw coat (mino) and a hat made of thatched grass (kasa). According to the Nihon shoki’s account: “Since there was a rainstorm then, Susanoo bound up grass and made a braided hat and straw coat and went around asking for shelter of the various deities, who answered that they would not provide shelter for one who was exiled for his evil doings. From this time on there has been a taboo against entering the house of another wearing a braided hat and streamer coat.”9 According to Orikuchi Shinobu, the image of Susanoo as a wanderer asking for hospitality is the origin of the marebito 稀人 concept, that is, the visitor from the other world (tokoyo 常世) who can be both a defiled ghost and a god bringing wealth.10 The element that predominates here, however, is that of defilement, and any such visitor is prohibited by a strict taboo. In Japanese folklore, the scapegoat, charged with the defilement of the collectivity, was covered with a straw coat (kasa) and expelled from the group. This image also contributed to the identification of Susanoo with Gozu Tennō. Most scholars, focusing on the ramifications of the Susanoo myth during the Nara period, have emphasized its political meaning. Jonathan Stockdale, for instance, writes that the trope of exile “provides the narrative bridge joining the Izumo section to the central Yamato narrative of the court chronicles. Additionally, the theme of exile enables the

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narratives at once to relate Susanoo with Amaterasu by blood, while also establishing him as the ancestor of the chief Izumo deity Ōkuninushi (Ōnamuchi 大己貴). Still further, we can say that banishment provides the narrative element relating Izumo deities (such as Ōkuninushi / Ōnamuchi) to those of the Yamato center even while subordinating them through their descent from the exiled god Susano-o. Narrative connection, genealogical relation, and political subordination of Izumo to Yamato—all are accomplished with the exile of Susano-o.”11 This view may have been prevalent during the eighth century, but when the focus shifts to the medieval period, this political dimension becomes less relevant, and it is other aspects of the Susanoo myth that come to the forefront. In coming to represent the spirits of the dead, Susanoo became the object of the ambivalence felt by the living toward that realm.12 His expulsion was interpreted as an act of purification, and it became the prototype of the expulsion of the wild deities described in the Nakatomi harae kunge at the end of the twelfth century. To briefly recapitulate: at the beginning of the Heian period, the Kogo shūi 古語拾遺 (807) by Inbe no Ironari 斎部広成 reinterpreted the Susanoo myth as an illustration of the type of sin or defilement that required a “great purification” (ōharae), also called Nakatomi harae or Nakatomi Purification. The prayers (norito) of the Nakatomi harae, read at court by members of the Nakatomi clan in the sixth and twelfth months, thus came to be used by esoteric Buddhist priests and Yin-Yang masters. Then, toward the end of the Heian and beginning of the Kamakura periods, a commentary on the Nakatomi harae, the Nakatomi harae kunge, was produced. In that text, the category of “earthly offenses,” patterned after Susanoo’s offenses, includes: “Cutting living flesh, cutting dead flesh, white leprosy, skin excrescences, the sin of violating one’s own mother, the sin of violating one’s own child, the sin of violating a mother and her child, the sin of violating a child and her mother, the sin of transgression with animals, woes from creeping insects, woes from the deities of on high, woes from the birds on high, killing animals, the sin of witchcraft.”13 Because of these defilements, Susanoo came to be associated in the medieval period with social outcasts (eta, kawaramono, hinin)—figures not only of defilement but of sacredness, as Amino Yoshihiko has shown.14 In addition, Susanoo’s chthonian powers, from his rule over the underworld, were seen as energies that could be invoked in divination. This led to the association of that demonic realm with the basement of some shrines (Hie Taisha 日吉大社, for one) where incubation or induced possession was practiced.15 In David Bialock’s estimation: “The outcast preacher thus lies at the center of a converging nexus of meanings that combines the associations of karmic defilement with the destructive energies of the raging deity and the signs of social disorder embodied in a culture of wandering.”16

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FIGURE 5.2 Susanoo killing the eight-headed dragon. Color on wood. Okazaki Shrine, Kyoto. Photo Eric Faure.

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Returning to Susanoo’s wanderings brings us to his exploits in Izumo. Having landed there, he goes upstream on the Hi River and comes upon an old couple lamenting the imminent sacrifice of their young daughter, Kushi­ nadahime 櫛名田比売 (奇稲田姫), to an eight-headed dragon, Yamata no Orochi 八岐の大蛇. Susanoo manages to kill the dragon, not in a normal fight like a Japanese Saint George, but through sheer cunning, after getting it inebriated (figs. 5.2 and 5.3).17 He then retrieves from the dragon’s tail a sacred object, the Kusanagi 草 薙 sword, which later becomes one of the three imperial regalia. Susanoo of course marries the young girl he has saved, and he builds a palace in Suga 須賀 where he will live with her. This apparent change in nature signals that Susanoo has the makings of becoming a culture hero of sorts in Izumo.18 After killing the dragon, he begets children with Kushinada-hime and composes a verse on his “manyfenced palace” that has been praised as the first Japanese poem. Yet, despite the fairy tale setting, Susanoo remains an essentially chthonian deity, a snakeor dragon-like being whose outline smoothly merges with those of the nāgas and dragons in Buddhism. Another powerful chthonian element is the sword motif. By giving the Kusanagi sword to Amaterasu, Susanoo becomes the guarantor of imperial legitimacy: In hoc signo vinces.19 This is the same sword that Yamato Takeru 日本武尊—another hubristic character—forgets on his way to confront the deity of Mount Ibuki 伊吹山. Further, it is the metal element in the sword that identifies Susanoo with Kōjin, who was worshiped as a god of metallurgy, Kanayagogami 金屋子神.20 In Izumo, swords were particularly treasured, as shown by the discovery of several hundred of them buried in Kōjin valley (Kōjin-dani 荒神谷), not far from Izumo Shrine. According to the Kojiki, Ōkuninushi 王国主 (Ōnamuchi) is born a few generations down the line.21 In this part of the narrative, called the Ōkuninushi cycle, the pater familias Susanoo plays only a second

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role.22 Suseri-hime 須勢理比売, Susanoo’s daughter, falls in love with Ōkuninushi and helps him to avoid Susanoo’s traps. When Susanoo finally gives his blessing to the young couple and yields his throne to Ōkuninushi, he descends for good to the underworld, over which he will rule. Later, when Amaterasu sends her grandson Ninigi 瓊瓊杵 to rule the land, the earthly gods led by Ōkuninushi and his sons try to resist, but they are defeated and forced to surrender. Nevertheless, Ōkuninushi retains the right to be worshiped at Izumo Shrine.23 The relationship between Susanoo and Ōkuninushi is an inversion of a widespread folkloric motif of kingship in which a young hero becomes king after overcoming one or several obstacles. Here Susanoo, no longer the young hero who slays the dragon, has turned into an old king who tries to get rid of a young contender to his throne. To do so, he presents Ōkuninushi with a series of ordeals that the prince can only overcome with the help of Susanoo’s daughter. In this tale, Susanoo fulfills several functions of a mythological king by acting as persecutor, dispatcher (who assigns a difficult ordeal), and donor (who gives a spouse).24 Overall, Susanoo becomes a jinushi or landowner deity once settled in Izumo, and by the same token an earthly god— one of the same group that the heavenly gods later lumped together with the wild (meaning demonic) deities that had to be pacified, that is, subdued and dispossessed. In other words, even as a wise ruler bringing prosperity to his people, Susanoo remains a potential rebel. This is probably the reason some medieval authors denied him the status of legitimate ruler and god of Izumo. According to the Reikiki shō: “To say that Susanoo is the god of Izumo is a great lie. He was banished to the underworld.”25 It is curious, however, that the same source has little to say about Susanoo as ruler of the underworld even though that function was an important aspect of his medieval redefinition.

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FIGURE 5.3 Susanoo killing the eight-headed dragon (1748), by Torii Kiyomasu II. Edo period. Color woodblock print. Art Institute of Chicago.

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THE MEDIEVAL SUSANOO During the medieval period, when the image of Susanoo significantly changed, a polyvalence came into play that distinguished him from the kami of classical mythology.26 The earlier view offered two contrasting images of Susanoo: as a perpetual evil god, he was a symbol of rebellion and every political threat; or he was a reformed sinner who had become the ally of central power. In contrast to these, a more positive image emerged in Tendai, a school whose early development was retrospectively attributed to Susanoo’s protection. Yet Susanoo’s negative image remained significant, owing in part to the influence of new theories about innate awakening (hongaku). Indeed, as his name (lit. the “impetuous male”) indicates, Susanoo was perceived as an araburu kami, a wild deity or kōjin—essentially, a dangerous power that causes havoc less out of evil intent than out of sheer hubris. In the second half of the Kamakura period, new commentaries on the Nihon shoki (Nihongi) were produced in the Urabe clan. The first and most important of these is the Shaku Nihongi, a commentary on the Nihon shoki compiled around 1274–1301, just after the Mongol invasions. It reinterprets Susanoo in light of the nonduality of good and evil and identifies him with the god of Gion Shrine, Gozu Tennō.27 During the Muromachi period, this exegetical activity continued in the Urabe clan28 and was matched, on the Buddhist side, with commentaries by the Tendai priests Jihen 慈遍 (fl. 14th cent.) and his contemporary Ryōhen 良遍, as well as the Shingon priest Shun’yu (1401–1459?).29 Susanoo was introduced into Buddhist mythological discourse through the medieval development of the honji suijaku theory. This discourse can be characterized by its emphasis on correlative thinking at the expense of the narrative element. Through the logic of identity, the medieval pantheon became an ever-growing network as it proliferated, and by losing some of its narrativity, it acquired doctrinal, metaphysical, and philosophical dimensions, for which Susanoo and other deities linked to him became convenient ciphers or symbols. In this way, the main motifs of the Susanoo myth were reinterpreted as instances of esoteric symbolism, often numerological. The eight heads of Yamata no Orochi were said to symbolize the eight types of consciousness of Yogācāra, for example, and its eight tails the eight young acolytes of the wisdom king Fudō. Susanoo, like Gozu Tennō, also became a trace (suijaku) or local manifestation of the buddha Yakushi. While the narrative element was not entirely lost in all of this, it was considerably modified. We are told, for instance, that Susanoo attacked Amaterasu with the help of the demon Matarajin and his horde.30 The Ryōbu shintō 両部 神道 ideology that developed at the Ise shrines—largely by making the identity between the buddha Dainichi and Amaterasu the cornerstone of

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its doctrine—transformed Amaterasu’s unruly sibling Susanoo into Buddhism’s enemy, Māra. This new dialectical image of Susanoo, based on the hongaku theory, also linked him with the (in)famous Buddhist scapegoat, Devadatta. Both became symbols of fundamental ignorance. In the Keiran shūyōshū, for instance, Amaterasu symbolizes the Buddha’s dharma body whereas Susanoo symbolizes fundamental ignorance and is identical to Devadatta in this respect.31 But paradoxically, these two figures, owing to the theoretical identity between ignorance and awakening in Mahāyāna, ultimately became symbols of fundamental awakening. Thus, the “evil god” Susanoo was reinterpreted in light of both the Buddhist nonduality of good and evil and the identity between ignorance and the dharmatā (mumyō soku hosshō 無明即法性).32 In other words, not only was Susanoo identified with the god of Gion Shrine, but also he became a protector of the Dharma.33 Susanoo’s image as a wise ruler of Izumo continued, and it probably explains his involvement in the enthronement ritual (sokui kanjō).34 According to a Tendai text, the Sokui hōmon 即位法門, this ritual was transmitted to Susanoo, then to Ōnamuji (Ōkuninushi), and finally to Amaterasu.35 According to a document dated from 1420, under the reign of the legendary Kōrei Tennō 孝霊天皇, an “evil god” from western China came to attack Japan, but the deity of Hinomisaki Shrine (that is, Susanoo) defeated him.36 Susanoo is thus presented as a protector not just of Izumo province, but of the divine land of Japan as a whole. Susanoo in the Urabe Tradition

The Urabe tradition and the Yuiitsu shintō 唯一神道 (Yoshida shintō 吉 田神道) of Kanetomo further developed the nondual aspects of Susanoo. Ichijō Kaneyoshi 一条兼良 (1402–1481) and Yoshida Kanetomo (1435– 1511) inherited from esoteric Buddhism its notion of nonduality, or rather complementarity, of good and evil.37 It is only because Susanoo is evil that Amaterasu can be good. It is because of Susanoo’s violence that the world can eventually find order. Yoshikawa Koretari 吉川惟足 (1616–1694), by way of contrast, rejected this dialectic: good is good, evil is evil, and the two cannot mix or produce each other. For him, the moral ambiguity of medieval theology was dangerous. Susanoo belongs to a number of dual structures, one being the duo that he forms with Ōkuninushi, another the dual / duel between him and Amaterasu. The medieval Amaterasu is actually not so different from Susanoo. As the ancestral deity of the imperial house, she was a prima inter pares. But she was not the primordial deity of classical mythology and only came into being near the end of a series of heavenly deities. From this perspective, the retrospective vision of Amaterasu promoted by Edo and Meiji ideologues, in which she is represented as a gentle maiden subjected to the incestuous attacks of her unruly brother, must be ruled

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out of court. She was neither gentle nor always a maiden. In the classical versions, when she hears about Susanoo’s intention to visit her, she puts on her armor and digs herself firmly into the ground—up to her knees—to wait for him. In medieval texts, the story of Susanoo’s aggression against his sister is told in a radically new way. In one source, Urabe no Kanekazu 卜部 兼員 (d. u.) tells the former imperial counselor (zendainagon 前大納言) Hino Sukeakira 日野俊光 (1297–1353) how Susanoo, leading an army of one thousand demons, raised one thousand swords at a site called Utano in Yamato and erected a citadel. Amaterasu, having come out of her cave, sends eight million gods to dislodge him and destroy his thousand swords. His thousand demons morph into small snakes and disappear. Left alone, Susanoo wanders off and eventually reaches Izumo.38 In a rather different version, it is Amaterasu who retrenches herself at Utano when Susanoo attacks her with the help of Matarajin and his demonic crowd.39 According to a commentary on the Kokin shū, the Heavenly Rock Cave was localized at Katsuragi, and it is there that Amaterasu took refuge with eight hundred gods to avoid a massacre.40 Amaterasu’s own ambivalence is expressed by the relationship between her violent spirit (aramitama) and her benign spirit (nigimitama). Because Amaterasu vanquished the forces of darkness represented by Susanoo, she came to be worshiped as the deity capable of purifying the world. If the defilements purified by the Nakatomi harae have their prototype in Amaterasu’s defilement by Susanoo, it is now Amaterasu’s aramitama, personified by the goddess Seoritsu-hime 瀬織津姫, that performs the purification ritual, evacuating the defilements (and the demonic forces that cause them) into the ocean. In this way, Amaterasu, like Susanoo, came to be identified with King Yama (Enmaten) who, with the help of his assistants, sends evil beings off to the deepest hells, just as Seoritsu-­ hime was perceived to be his “emanation”. The dark side of the medieval Amaterasu is revealed through her relations with the underworld. By withdrawing into a cave, albeit a heavenly one, she acquires—or reveals—a chthonian nature. This nature is particularly evident in her animal features (as a fox, snake, or dragon). By fusing with local cults, the image of Amaterasu became increasingly complex, and its character radically changed. As Teeuwen and Rambelli point out, the medieval Amaterasu was equated with deities “at all levels,” and she was both a saving deity and a wrathful deity.41 In the nascent Shintō theology of late medieval Japan, she even became a “deity of the Dharma nature” (hosshōjin 法性神), meaning a kami of unique status, having no honji or original ground—a transcendent power like the buddha Dainichi himself. In this way, Amaterasu was at the same time atop the Shintō pantheon and outside it. In the Tenshō daijin giki, Amaterasu appears as a male kami who rules both the heavenly and the subterranean realms.

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Other sources downplay or even erase the contrast between Amaterasu and Susanoo. Like her brother, Amaterasu came to be linked to demonic powers, beginning with the lord of obstacles himself, Vināyaka (Shōten). According to the Tenshō daijin kuketsu: The great deity [Amaterasu] corresponds to Bonten [Brahmā] and Taishakuten [Indra], and in Shingon to Shōten. Because she is righteous, when dwelling within people she corresponds to the deities born at the same time [kushōjin]; because she records the two dharmas of good and evil, she corresponds to King Yama in the underworld (meidō 冥道). While we are dealing with the same deity in all cases, it is [Amaterasu’s form as] Taga no Miya that corresponds more specifically to the infernal functionary. When the Great Master [Kūkai] commented on the Nakatomi harae, he interpreted [Ama­ terasu] as the Great deity of the five paths (Godō Daijin 五道大 神) in the underworld. Know that she is the primordial deity [controlling] the two dharmas of our birth and death.”42

Both Amaterasu and Susanoo were araburu kami, raging deities, in some respects. Just as Susanoo was identified with the dragon he had killed, Amaterasu is identical with her brother in the sense that she represents one of his aspects—and vice-versa. This is a good example of the “double ambivalence” of Japanese gods: Amaterasu’s ambivalence, like Susanoo’s, is projected onto the opposition between them; in other words, the opposition is reproduced in the inherent duality of each of them.43 A commentary on the Kōkin shū 古今集 even argues that Susanoo is the adoptive child of Amaterasu (!).44 The alleged adoption turns out to be a way for Amaterasu to take control of (most of) Japan. She tells Susanoo: “If you become my child, I will leave you the tenth month of the year, and you will also be able to take the two provinces of Izumo and Iwami.” This is the reason, we are told, all the kami go to Izumo in the tenth month, called “the month when all gods are absent” (kaminashi tsuki 神無月)—but known in Izumo as “the month when all gods are present” (kamiari tsuki 神在月).45 The Sword Motif

Susanoo’s encounter with the dragon Yamata no Orochi was duly reinterpreted in light of Buddhist conceptions of the nāga palace. According to the Shaku Nihongi, the marriage of Susanoo and Kushinada-hime is a variant of a mythical event in which Susanoo marries the daughter of the dragon king.46 The Nihon shoki sanso (1455–1457) by Ichijō Kaneyoshi mentions a tradition that held this dragon maiden (identified with the nāga maiden of the Lotus Sūtra) to be an avatar of Yamata no Orochi.47 The Kusanagi sword that Susanoo extracted from the dragon’s tail continued its wanderings in the Japanese imaginaire. In the Heike

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monogatari (Kakuichi-bon, 1371), when Susanoo offers the sword to his sister, Amaterasu claims that it is the very sword that she once dropped from the Celestial Plain of Heaven (Takamagahara 高天原) onto Mount Ibuki. Having established her prior ownership, she then gives the sword and other regalia to her grandson Ninigi so that he can rule over Japan.48 The Enkyō-bon variant (1309–1310), however, asserts that the current sword is not the one given to Ninigi but a copy made after the original was lost during the naval battle of Dan-no-ura.49 The interpretation of Susanoo as a dragon of sorts reappears in ritual performances such as the Kōjin kagura.50 The myth of Susanoo is still reenacted today in some kagura, in which the two protagonists are Kōjin and a giant snake. Susanoo is presented as a reincarnation of his mother Izanami and as an eight-headed thunder snake. On his way to the underworld, dressed like a ghost or demon with a straw hat and coat, he arrives in Izumo, a place that is said to be the gate of hell.51 In another variant, recorded in the Taiheiki, a mountain ascetic named Enjō 円成 finds a mysterious sword on the seashore and takes it to Ise. An oracle declares that this is the sword that had been lost in the sea with the child emperor Antoku 安徳 (r. 1180–1183) at Dan-no-ura, and that Amaterasu had ordered to return from the dragon palace. The sword is then brought to the imperial palace.52 This tale is part of a series of legends dealing with Yamata no Orochi’s transformation into a divine dragon (shinryū 神龍) dwelling in the dragon palace. Another legend states that Antoku Tennō was Yamata no Orochi’s child.53 Indeed, in the Gukanshō and other sources, Antoku himself has become a reincarnation of Yamata no Orochi, who has returned to the human world to reclaim his sword.54 Susanoo at Izumo and Hinomisaki

We recall that Susanoo bequeathed the rulership of Izumo to Ōkuninushi, and that Izumo Shrine was founded for Ōkuninushi after the takeover of the land by Ninigi, suggesting that the foundation of the shrine may have been intended to placate Ōkuninushi. Yet, during the medieval period, it was Susanoo who came to be worshiped as the god of Izumo Shrine (and Izumo province).55 A commentary on the Kokin shū states: “Susanoo no Mikoto is the great bright deity of Izumo.”56 A bronze pillar at Izumo Shrine, dated 1666, mentions the three children of Izanami and Izanagi and asserts that the third, Susanoo, is the god of the great shrine of Un’yō 雲陽 (that is, Izumo). Until the eleventh century, that shrine was actually called Kizuki Taisha 杵築大社, and its deity was Ōkuninushi. The name change to Izumo Taisha seems to have taken place at the same time as Susanoo’s eclipse of Ōkuninushi.57 When Emperor Go-Daigo withdrew to Yoshino in 1336, a priest of Izumo Shrine, Izumo Noritoki, wrote to him to argue

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that Susanoo was not an evil god banished to Izumo but rather a warrior deity that had killed a dragon, vanquished Chinese invaders, and brought peace to the land. By founding the Izumo Shrine, he meant to protect the country. Noritoki also described Susanoo as a “god of the earth and cereals” (shashoku no kami 社稷神), a term that had come to designate the country. Susanoo was therefore worshiped as a protecting deity (jinushi), quite the opposite of an exiled god. According to a roughly contemporary text, the Daijingū sankei ki by the Buddhist monk Saka Shibutsu: “Susanoo inherited from Izanami and Izanagi the status of ruler of Japan, but he bequeathed that status to Amaterasu’s heirs and has left a trace in Izumo.”58 A significant element in the rewriting of Susanoo’s myth during the medieval period was the role played by the monks of Gakuenji 鰐淵寺, a Tendai monastery located deep in the mountains behind Izumo Shrine. According to its origin story, Gakuenji was founded in 594 by a monk named Chishun 智春. By the end of the Heian period, it had become a practice center for the mountain ascetics (shugenja) of Mudōji and Yokawa on Mount Hiei, and it became the first branch temple (matsuji) of Enryakuji. During the Kamakura period, it possessed a large domain and became a shrine-temple (bettōji 別当寺) of Izumo Shrine. A Gakuenji document (dated 1254) regarding fundraising for the rebuilding of the Hall of the Seven Yakushi (Shichi Yakushi-dō) and a three-story pagoda that had burnt in 1233, proffers the claims that its mountain is the southeastern corner of Vulture Peak, which had floated all the way to Japan—hence its name, Floating Mountain (Furōsan 浮浪 山).59 Another document, dated 1570–1573, explains that it was Susanoo who had fixed that “floating mountain.”60 Gakuenji had become a flourishing shugen temple centered on the practice of “circling the mountain” (kaihōgyō 回峰行). As such, it had taken Zaō Gongen, a wild deity with close ties to Susanoo, as its main object of worship. Furthermore, from the end of the Heian period onward, images of Gozu Tennō and Matarajin—two deities identified with Susanoo—were also worshiped there, and a separate Matarajin Shrine was established in the monastery’s precincts. Until the beginning of the Edo period, Gakuenji enjoyed a close relationship with Izumo Shrine, providing the shrine-temple functionality of a jingūji, as it were, with its monks in charge of the administration of the shrine.61 Through their offices, Susanoo came to be integrated into Tendai mythology, assuming features quite different from those of the official Susanoo found in the Kojiki and the Nihon shoki, and owing to its links with Gakuenji, Izumo Shrine was promoted to the rank of first sanctuary (ichinomiya) with control over the entire province (an area broadly overlapping present-day Shimane prefecture). Another significant player in the medieval promotion of Susanoo was Hinomisaki 日御碕 Shrine, a dependent shrine (betsugū 別宮) under

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FIGURE 5.4 Susanoo exterminating demons. Edo period. Ink and color on paper. Shimane Museum of Ancient Izumo, Shimane prefecture.

Izumo.62 This shrine was built on a cape on the westernmost end of Shimane peninsula, just opposite Fumishima Island, about eight kilometers from Izumo Shrine. According to local tradition, this was the place where Susanoo stopped on his way to the underworld and performed a divination with the leaf from an oak tree (kashiwa 柏, or Quercus dentata). Both Susanoo and Amaterasu are worshiped at this shrine today, but in earlier times Susanoo was probably the main object of worship.

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Because of the legend attached to it, this small shrine was an important cultic center throughout the medieval period, and it gave birth to a form of medieval shintō, influenced by a Taimitsu branch of Tendai known as the Izumo-ryū 出雲流 or Susanoo-ryū 素戔烏流. According to the Goryū kanjō shiki shoya 御流灌頂私記初夜, that current harked back to Kūkai (Kōbō Daishi); hence its other name, Daishi-ryū 大師流.63 During a visit to Izumo, it was said, Kūkai had received an oracle from Susanoo, and this oracle became the source of that secret tradition.64 Hinomisaki Shrine preserved many documents (kirigami) related to the ritual unctions of the Susanoo-ryū. One of them, the Susanoo taijin sankei sonkei daiji 素戔烏太神三形尊形大事 (dated to the Kanbun era, 1661–1673), describes the conventional (samaya) form in which Susanoo appeared to Kūkai. It also states that Susanoo’s manifestation took place at Izumo Shrine and not at Hinomisaki. The dating of this document is significant, as Saitō Hideki points out, because the Kanbun era is the time when Izumo Shrine was rebuilt and Susanoo was replaced by Ōkuninushi. One can therefore see the document as a reaction on the part of Hinomisaki priests to the revolution underway at Izumo, reasserting the medieval image of Susanoo based on the secret teachings of the Susanoo-ryū.65 The restoration of Izumo Shrine in 1667, which led to the eclipse of Susanoo by Ōkuninushi, also marked the end of the participation of Gakuenji monks in the administration of the shrine. The shōgun Tokugawa Ietsuna 徳川家綱 (1641–1680) was instrumental in that restoration, and he was said to be a mōshigo (child born in response to prayer) of Izumo Shrine: his mother had gone there in 1640 to pray for the birth of a male child, and her wish was granted the following year. The return of Ōkuninushi to Izumo Shrine, after almost five centuries, was also the result of the revival of Kojiki studies by nativist scholars such as Motoori Norinaga and Hirata Atsutane. Thus, Susanoo was exiled once again, and without the bronze torii inscription that acknowledges him as the god of Izumo Shrine, no trace of his medieval prestige would have remained.66 Receding into the darkness—perhaps the appropriate exit for a ruler of the underworld—he still leaves us with the question of how Susanoo had come to the front stage at all during the medieval period. Susanoo at Atsuta Shrine

If we ask how the myth of Susanoo evolved outside Izumo province, we can identify one of its climactic moments, Susanoo’s defeat of the dragon Yamato no Orochi, as the foundation for the development of Atsuta Shrine 熱田神宮 in Owari province. The Kusanagi sword drawn from the dragon’s body and identified with Susanoo was said to have become the “divine body” (shintai 神体) of that shrine; hence the name Tsurugi no Miya 剣宮, or Shrine of the Sword, by which it was also known.67

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The Jindai no maki hiketsu 神代巻秘決, dated 1347, distinguishes between Susanoo’s two swords: the Totsuka sword (totsuka no tsurugi 十拳剣), used to kill the dragon, and the Kusanagi sword (kusanagi no tsurugi 草薙剣), discovered in the dragon’s tail. The Kusanagi sword is said to symbolize the wisdom of Dainichi’s original body and the Diamond realm, whereas the Totsuka sword symbolizes the wisdom of his metamorphosis body and the Womb realm.68 Through the Kusanagi sword, Susanoo was also linked to esoteric Buddhist deities such as the wisdom kings Fudō and Aizen. The sword became the samaya or conventional form of Aizen69 and reappeared, together with the dragon, in the image of Kurikara 倶利伽羅 (a dragon coiled around a sword and swallowing its tip), the symbolic form of Fudō. The presence of the Kusanagi sword made Atsuta Shrine an important cultic center, perceived by some as Penglai, the island of the immortals.70 It was also seen as a kind of omphalos, an unmoving axis like Chikubushima Island, the cultic center of Benzaiten in Lake Biwa.71 According to a document from Atsuta Shrine, “The sword is enshrined in the Doyō-den 土用殿, which gets its name from the fact that its basis does not move even in the event of an earthquake.”72 A local legend even claims that the Tantric master Śubhakarasiṃha (Ch. Shanwuwei 善無畏) visited Atsuta Shrine.73 According to another legend, in 669, during the reign of Tenji Tennō 天智天皇 (r. 661–672), a Korean monk named Dōgyō 道行 was sent by the Silla king to steal the sword. He wrapped it in a monastic robe (kesa) to conceal it, but the robe flew away and returned with the sword to the shrine.74 Angered, the Silla king sent seven Fudō avatars from India to retrieve the sword, but this attempt also failed.75 In a variant of this tale, the sword itself declares: “I am the sacred regalia sword of Atsuta. I was abducted by a bewitching monk who tried to take me to Silla. He wrapped me in seven robes but I slipped out and returned to the shrine. Later, that monk wrapped me in nine robes, and I was unable to escape.” Dōgyō had attempted to throw the sword away to avoid arrest, but the sword refused to leave his side. When he finally gave himself up, the sword was taken to the imperial court. But seventy years later, when an oracle revealed that a curse from the sword had caused the illness of Tenmu Tennō 天武天皇 (r. 672–686), it was finally returned to Atsuta Shrine.76 The story of the sword made its way into literature and the performing arts. In the Nō play Kusanagi, the Tendai priest Genshin arrives at Atsuta Shrine to find a flower merchant (channeling the spirits of Yama­to Takeru and Tachibana-hime 橘姫) who tells him about the shrine’s origin. It is the story of Yamata no Orochi’s revenge: after reincarnating as the child emperor Antoku to reclaim his sword, the dragon reappears to impede Yamato Takeru’s conquest of eastern Japan. Yamato Takeru had received the Kusanagi sword from his aunt Yamato-hime 倭姫,

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the great priestess of Ise, and as a violent hero pursued by the wrath of his father, Keikō Tennō 景行天皇, he shares certain affinities with Susanoo.77 In the Nō play Furu, an exchange takes place between an old woman (actually the deity of Furu Shrine 布留神社) and a monk. The old woman explains that the Totsuka sword is being worshiped as the sword of Furu at Isonokami Shrine 石上神宮. When the monk asks whether he can see it, she replies that the sword, “attracted by Dōgyō’s spiritual accomplishment,” has manifested itself at Atsuta Shrine. When the monk observes that Dōgyō, being a foreign monk, must have had a special power, she replies that there is no distinction between foreigners and Japanese, buddhas and native deities. Whether or not one can see the sword depends entirely on one’s faith. With these words, she vanishes.78 SUSANOO’S NETWORK On the lonely road of exile, a god never walks alone. He is always at a crossroads—eightfold or otherwise—of influences, accompanied by all the beings whose forms he has taken or will take. Saitō Hideki speaks of Susanoo’s seven transformations, by which he means not only his changes in status, roles, and functions in different times and contexts, but also his various companions and avatars: King Yama, Gozu Tennō, King Banko, Shinra Myōjin, Sekizan Myōjin, Matarajin, and Konpira.79 The case of Yamata no Orochi, the dragon that can be seen as a “double” of Susanoo, has already been discussed, so we can now turn to some of Susanoo’s most important fellow travelers—not only his seven transformations but deities like Ōkuninushi, Māra, Devadatta, and Kōjin. The (possibly) incestuous relationship between Susanoo and Ama­ terasu contrasts with his more legitimate coupling with Kushinada-hime. The matrimonial and procreative aspects of Susanoo were highlighted at Yaegaki Shrine 八重垣神社 (Shimane prefecture), where husband and wife became the objects of a thriving cult as marriage (enmusubi 縁結 び) deities. This shrine is still famous today for its efficacy in all matters related to fertility and children. In the nineteenth century, it attracted the interest of the Greek-born writer Lafcadio Hearn (1850–1904), whose Japanese name, Koizumi Yakumo 小泉八雲, alludes to Susanoo’s famous poem. In his Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan (1894), Hearn described the phallic symbols offered as ex-votos. Such symbols can be seen today in the precincts whereas, after Meiji, they all but disappeared from official Shintō shrines. Yaegaki Shrine was also the center of a Kōjin cult, and straw representations of dragons can still be seen coiled around its trees. According to the Shaku Nihongi, the marriage of Susanoo and Kushinada-­ hime was a variant of the union between Gozu Tennō and the nāga princess. According to a later commentary, the Nihon shoki sanso, the

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daughter of the nāga king was herself an avatar of the dragon Yamata no Orochi—in other words, Susanoo had married his nemesis. Another instructive polarity is the one between Susanoo and Ōkuni­ nushi. As we have seen, the formal relationship between them tended to conceal their rivalry and the historical tension characterizing the debate over the main deity of Izumo Shrine. Ōkuninushi (a.k.a. Ōmononushi 大 物主 and Ōnamuchi / Ōnanji 大己貴, 大穴牟遅) is presented in the Kojiki as a smart young god who defeats his evil brothers and manages to avoid the trap set for him by Susanoo; his reward is to marry Susanoo’s daughter and become his heir. Ōkuninushi, assisted by an enigmatic dwarf god named Sukunahikona 少彦名, is credited with the creation of the Japanese archipelago. After some time, he yields his throne to Amaterasu’s grandson Ninigi and contents himself with being worshiped as the god of Izumo Shrine, becoming the ruler of the unseen realm. Like the deva Daikokuten (Mahākāla), with whom he was sometimes merged, Ōkuninushi has a darker side, suggested by his alias, Ōmono­ nushi, meaning the great ruler of mono or demons. Under this name, he was feared and worshiped as a pestilence deity. In the Reikiki shishō, a commentary on the Reikiki, Ōkuninushi is linked with the demon king Māra (Maō): “The so-called heavenly gods are the devas of the realm of form; the earthly gods are the devas of the realm of desire. This is why the so-called Maō of the Sixth Heaven, at the origin of the deities of the land, is the god Ōnamuchi. . . . Susanoo became the lord of Ne no Kuni as the Dharma king Yama. . . . Ōnamuchi received the divine seal from Maō.”80 This ambivalence makes Ōkuninushi a true heir of Susanoo. As symbols of fertility, both also share features with the dōsojin 道祖神 or crossroads deity. At Kasuga Shrine, for instance, Ōkuninushi is still worshiped today as part of the couple formed by Uzume (replacing Sarutahiko) and himself. Moreover, since the term daikoku also had a phallic connotation, Daikokuten is sometimes represented as a phallic symbol—like the dōsojin. The same symbols can still be found today at Yaegaki Shrine. In classical mythology, Susanoo succeeds his mother Izanami as a ruler of the underworld, the function played by King Yama in Buddhist mythology. It was therefore only natural that the two became linked. According to the Jindai no maki hiketsu, Susanoo is none other than the Dharma king Yama.81 The same pairing between Susanoo and Yama is found in Ryōhen’s Nihon shoki maki daiichi kikigaki.82 Yet Amaterasu’s aramitama or “rough spirit,” the goddess Seoritsu-hime 瀬織津姫, was also identified with Yama. The Nakatomi harae kunge identified this goddess, also known as Hayasasura-hime, with Haya-Susanoo.83 The Izumo province symbolized the gate of the underworld, or the Ne no Kuni itself in the symbolic space of medieval Japan. Yet something had changed: it was no longer the sinister realm of death but rather the origin of all things. The priests of Hinomisaki Shrine played an instrumental role

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in spreading that theory. In a document from Hinomisaki Shrine dated to the early Edo period, for instance, we read: “This Hinomisaki Shrine corresponds to the extreme northwest (inu-i 戌亥) of Japan. Likewise, the Izumo province corresponds to the extreme of yin-yang, the origin of all things. This is why Susanoo, who had been born in a yin land, became a yang kami. . . . Furthermore, the Ne no kuni is the “land of the rat” (ne no kuni 子国), that is, the land where all things originate.”84 Jihen explains in his Kuji hongi that the distinction between the realms of life and death and their respective deities is caused by the ignorance that prevails in saṃsāra. From the standpoint of the hongaku theory, however, life and death are nondual. This view implies a rehabilitation of the notion of chaos, as the reality anterior to the separation between heaven and earth. This interpretation was further developed in Ise shintō and in the Yuiitsu shintō of Kanetomo. By the same token, Susanoo, as ruler of hell, became a savior of sorts, like Taizan Fukun (another ruler of hell, a Daoist doppelgänger of Yama), and his area of competence shifted from the other world to this world. But perhaps the most significant association was the link already mentioned between Susanoo and Gozu Tennō, since it provided a bridge between classical mythology and the new teaching of Onmyōdō. The linkage between the two figures is overdetermined, but the main link is provided by the similarity between the Nihon shoki episode in which Susanoo, having been banished from heaven, asks the other gods in vain for shelter, and the episode in the Gozu Tennō myth in which the god, on his way to India, is denied hospitality by the wealthy householder Kotan. Judging from several statues preserved at Gakuenji, worship of Gozu Tennō likely arose at the monastery during the medieval period. Unfortunately, supporting documents are lacking, owing to the “separation of Shintō from Buddhism” (shinbutsu bunri 神仏分離) that took place at Izumo in the mid-seventeenth century. But a link between Susanoo and Gozu Tennō is further suggested by the fact that both deities shared the same essence or original ground in the buddha Yakushi.85 In the Shinsen hiketsu shū, for instance, we read: “The honji of Susanoo is Yakushi Nyorai. The twelve shrines are those of the twelve divine [acolytes of Yakushi]. The so-called Jingūji is the monastery where the great bright deity (daimyōjin) descended from heaven on seven occasions, manifesting himself as the Seven Yakushi.” In the origin story of Enokuma Shrine as it was preserved in the gazeeteer of Bingo province, the Bingo no kuni fudoki, the god Mutō no Kami (or Mutōjin), Gozu Tennō’s prototype, declares that his name is Haya-Susanoo. The present-day Enokuma Shrine is dedicated to Susanoo. Yet this fudoki is considered to be apocryphal, and the identity between Gozu Tennō and Susanoo is not mentioned in the Hoki naiden. Again, Susanoo’s name is conspicuously absent in the record of the fire that

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ravaged Gion Shrine in 1070, which suggests that its main deity at that time was Gozu Tennō. The explicit link between Gozu Tennō and Susanoo first appears in the Shaku Nihongi (second half of the 13th cent.) by Urabe no Kanekata and Urabe no Kanefumi卜部兼文. When the chancellor (dajōdaijin 太政 大臣) Ichijō Sanetsune 一条実経 (1223–1284) asks Kanefumi whether the god of Gion is a foreign deity, in which case he could not be Susanoo, Kanefumi replies that, according to the Nihon shoki, Susanoo had crossed over to Silla before returning to Japan, and that this may explain the theory of his foreign origins. Kanefumi also identifies Mutō Tenjin 武 塔天神, the god of Gion, with Gozu Tennō. Thus, says Kanefumi, when this god declares that he is Susanoo, we know that this is his real name. Sanetsune’s question suggests that the theory was new at the time. Here Kanefumi single-handedly transforms Susanoo into the main god of Gion Shrine, initiating a tradition that would lead to the identification of Susanoo with Gozu Tennō and to the superseding of the pestilence god by the kami. This identification opened the gates of the thriving Gion Shrine to Susanoo, and helped transform the renegade of classical mythology into a powerful god. It was a two-way street, however, and Gozu Tennō also benefited from it—at least until the Meiji period. In the Gionsha ryakki 祇園社略記 (Muromachi period), we read: “The adepts of Shintō call the Gion [deity] Susanoo no Mikoto, the Buddhists call it Gozu Tennō, and the calendar experts call it God of the Heavenly Way (Tendōshin 天 道神).”86 Yoshida Kanetomo extended the theory of the identity between Susanoo and Gozu Tennō. In his Shinsho monjin, he puts these words in Susanoo’s mouth: “At that time I was called Mudō Tenjin 無道天神 of the northern sea. Mudō Tenjin and Gozu Tennō are foreign names. Later on, as epidemics were too widespread, I took a foreign name and became the god of Gion’s Kanjin-in 感神院.”87 According to Kanetomo, Susanoo was an agricultural deity and a protector against illness.88 People, therefore, worshiped him as a god of fortune, and this suggests the broad geographic expansion and deep social penetration of his cult. Wakita Haruko has argued that these changing perceptions of Gozu Tennō as Susanoo reflect social changes in the Muromachi and Sengoku periods that occurred as popular collectivities elevated the status of their communal gods in an attempt to assert their rights and resist feudal power. In this way, many anonymous regional gods were assimilated to the ancestral deities of the imperial lineage.89 Kanetomo, who petitioned the emperor on behalf of the anonymous gods of the provinces and obtained myōjin (bright deity) titles for them, skillfully used this tendency. He also networked village shrines. Taking advantage of the weakening of shogunal power and the relative increase of imperial prestige, Kanetomo used the religious unification achieved

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by local daimyō in their provinces to organize the people. At the heart of Kanetomo’s Yuiitsu shintō, Susanoo, having absorbed the cult of Gozu Tennō—a cult that had initially developed in response to the popular demand for anti-epidemic exorcisms—became a demiurge, the creator of heaven and earth.90 Susanoo and Shinra Myōjin

Through the speculations of the Tendai monks of Onjōji (Miidera) as well as members of the Urabe clan, Susanoo transcended Japanese specificity and extended his network to India, China, and Korea. We may recall that a variant of the Susanoo myth had him sojourning on the Korean peninsula.91 It was precisely that episode that allowed medieval exegetes to identify Susanoo with Gozu Tennō. The same geographical logic also led to the identification of Susanoo with Shinra Myōjin, the bright deity of Silla and protector of Onjōji.92 According to Sujung Kim, the links established between Shinra Myōjin and Susanoo, on the one hand, and Susanoo and Gozu Tennō, on the other, led in almost algebraic fashion to the positing of an identity between Shinra Myōjin and Gozu Tennō.93 Significantly, Shinra Myōjin was perceived as an epidemic deity from early on, probably owing to the negative perception (and symbolism) of the Korean peninsula as a source of epidemics. Shinra Myōjin’s curse was often fatal, and yet, if the affinities (or identity) between Shinra Myōjin and Gozu Tennō reinforced his epidemic aspect, they did not create it.94 The identity between the two gods was initially established at Onjōji, probably to project onto Shinra Myōjin some of Susanoo’s prestige. As Kim puts it, “By connecting its main protective deity, Shinra Myōjin, to one of the most rambunctious and the most powerful deities from traditional Japanese mythology, the Jimon tradition thereby provided Shinra Myōjin with another foothold in the Japanese pantheon as an autochthonous deity. Moreover, they established him as a translocal divinity manifesting itself in all Buddhist kingdoms to exercise its power.”95 In a section entitled “Concerning Shinra Myōjin’s becoming the king of a foreign country to display Japan’s power,” the Onjōji denki (14th cent.) states: “The first human emperor, Jinmu Tennō 神武天皇, transmitted three swords and three mirrors. . . . One thousand years later, Emperor Jinmu was reborn as the great king of Silla. Why is it so? It is because Japan is the land of the gods (shinkoku 神国) and it is superior to other countries.”96 A supplement to the Onjōji denki, the Jimon denki horoku by the monk Shikō 志晃 (fl. early 15th cent.), develops the same idea: “Shinra Myōjin, the son of Izanami 伊弉冊, is none other than Susanoo. Once upon a time, his parents expelled him to the underworld (根の国), but he went to the Celestial Plain of Heaven. After meeting his sister, the sun goddess, he went to Soshimori in Silla with his with his son, the god Isotakeru.”97

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The same source adds that Susanoo, after being exiled, first went down to the dragon palace to become the third son of the dragon king Sāgara before manifesting himself in China on Mount Song.98 According to the same source, while Enchin was in China, he visited the temple of the Zhushan king on Mount Song. In the midst of a storm, a strange-looking being—with a human head and a snake’s body— appeared and threatened him. When Enchin remained unmoved, it eventually transformed into a dignified old man holding a monk’s staff (shakujō 錫杖) and scrolls of scriptures. Later, when Enchin returned to Japan, this god appeared again above the sea in the form of an old man with plain hair who introduced himself as the god of the land of Silla.99 These texts, written after the Mongol invasions, reflect a change in the perception of Shinra Myōjin (and Susanoo). The Onjōji denki’s reference to the mythical ruler Chūai Tennō 仲哀天皇 is significant in this respect. Chūai Tennō, the ill-fated husband of Empress Jingū 神功皇后, died from a divine curse when he refused to obey an oracle telling him to conquer the land beyond the sea. His consort, however, won renown in her conquest of the Korean peninsula. The Onjōji denki states: “Shinra Myōjin became a king of Silla to extend Japanese power over the world.” In this view, Shinra Myōjin is no longer a deity of Silla immigrants. Like Japanese rulers of the past, he is now a god that has conquered Silla. This point gained cogency through the reception accorded to the legend of Empress Jingū and the antagonistic image of Silla in Japan’s historical awareness. It was left to a roughly contemporary text, the Hachiman gudōkin (var. Hachiman gudōkun), to give full expression to anti-Korean prejudice. Through these declarations the nature of Shinra Myōjin changed: he is no longer a deity that came to Japan to protect Tendai monks and their monasteries, but rather a kami (i.e., Susanoo) who—like Empress Jingū herself—extends Japanese power over a foreign land. The Jimon denki horoku further explains that “Susanoo has many traces, among them Matarajin and Gozu Tennō in India, the god of Mount Song in China, and the great Silla deity (Shinra Taijin) in Japan.”100 In this view, Gozu Tennō and Shinra Myōjin have become the skillful means used by Susanoo to expand the scope of Japanese imperial rule, and the various manifestations of Susanoo in the three countries (India, China, and Silla) are under the sway of a transcendental Japanese kami. We have here a forerunner of what became the reverse honji suijaku (han-honji suijaku 反本地垂迹) theory, in which the kami are the honji or original essence of Indian, Chinese, and Korean buddhas and deities.101 This nationalistic drift was taken further in the exegetic tradition of the Urabe clan. According to Kanetomo, all Silla-related deities are Susanoo’s manifestations.102 In his Nihon shoki jindai no maki shō 日本書紀 神代券抄, he explains why Shinra Myōjin has to be regarded as Susanoo. “When Chishō Daishi [Enchin] returned from China, he invited a

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Silla deity to Miidera. Shinra Myōjin is none other than Susanoo. Furthermore, the one who is called King Banko in China is also Susanoo. Thus, Susanoo and Ōnamuchi [Ōkuninushi] are the deities worshiped in the three countries.”103 Kanetomo argues that the names of foreign gods are mere aliases of the Japanese kami, who are the real representatives of a pan-Asian religious world centered on Japan, the “land of the gods” (shinkoku). According to Kanetomo, if Tendai priests such as Saichō, Ennin, and Enchin were able to spread the Dharma eastward, it was owing to Susanoo’s help. If the five cereals do not ripen, diseases spread, and men fight, these too are because of Susanoo, and they are the reason he has to be propitiated (with the talismans of Somin Shōrai). Here Susanoo has explicitly become a pestilence deity—as could be inferred from his identity with Gozu Tennō.104 This image of Susanoo reflects the perspective of the capital. In the peripheral province of Izumo, the iconographic evidence suggests that it was the associations between Susanoo, Gozu Tennō, and Matarajin that came to the forefront. Whereas Shinra Myōjin, the Jimon (Onjōji) deity, is absent from the legends produced at Gakuenji, a branch temple of Enryakuji, in the Sanmon (Mount Hiei), Susanoo merged instead with Matarajin. A document from Hinomisaki—a branch shrine of Izumo Shrine—also identifies Susanoo with Matarajin.105 Matarajin was not only the protector of Mount Hiei, he was also (like Shinra Myōjin and Sekizan Myōjin, two other deities linked or identified with Susanoo) an epidemic deity. All these links with epidemic deities (beginning with Gozu Tennō) make abundantly clear that Susanoo himself was feared as a pestilence deity even as he was also being worshiped as a protector against epidemics. According to the Matarajin ku 摩多羅神供 of Senmyōji, copied by the monk Ryōchō 了登: “The protector of Jōgyōdō 常行堂 has in particular the numinous power of countering epidemic deities.”106 Although Matarajin was originally a protector of Enryakuji, a local legend transmitted at Gakuenji claims that Susanoo, who was buried there, came to be deified as Matarajin.107 In the Izumo Taisha exhibition held at the Kyoto National Museum in 2012, a large number of images from Gakuenji were exhibited, including statues of Matarajin and Gozu Tennō.108 Probably influenced by Onmyōdō (and by Ichijō Kaneyoshi), Kanetomo identified Susanoo with the cosmic king Banko (Ch. Pangu), whose five sons, the five princes or five dragons, rule over the spatiotemporal divisions.109 Yet, if anyone in particular, Susanoo calls to mind the fifth prince, Gorō, who rebels against his brothers. On the other hand, Susanoo (or Tsukiyomi 月読 in a variant) kills the nurturing chthonian deity Ukemochi 保食 in a way that recalls the dismembering of the cosmic man of Vedic mythology, Prajāpati. Ukemochi is etymologically related to Uka no Mitama 宇迦之御魂, a goddess of food that was said to be

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FIGURE 5.5 Konpira. Nijūbushū narabini jūni shinshō, TZ 7: 484, fig. 2.

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Susanoo’s daughter. In the medieval mythological space, Ukemochi and Uka no Mitama merge into the figure of Ugajin, an ophidian deity identified with Benzaiten, and like Ugajin, Susanoo and the heavenly kami are sometimes represented as snakes with a human face (or humans with a snake’s body).110 Kametomo also identified Susanoo with the Indian deity Khumbīra (J. Konpira), the protecting deity of Vulture Peak (Eagle Peak), whom he identified with the Miwa deity.111 The origins of Khumbīra are obscure, and the name, which may refer to several deities, is said to be that of a numinous crocodile of the Ganges River. Konpira became a protector of Buddhism and was invited to Kotohira Shrine, on the Elephant-head Mount (Zōzusan 象頭山) in Shikoku, as a protector of Matsuoji. This place had become an important Shugendō center by the end of the Heian period, and its deity was then renamed Konpira Daigongen 金毘羅大 権現. Linkages with water deities including the dragon or nāga kings allowed this deity to become a protector of sea routes along the Inner Sea.112 In the esoteric Buddhist tradition, Konpira is known as one of the twelve spirit commanders (jūni shinshō 十二神将) that form the retinue of the buddha Yakushi and are associated with the twelve directions and the twelve cyclical animals of Chinese cosmology (fig. 5.5). Depending on the source, Konpira is said to correspond to the boar (northwestern), rat (northern), or tiger (northeastern) directions, though his main association, clearly, is with the north. Konpira is also said to have Ōkuninushi or Shinra Myōjin as his essence or original ground. According to the Sange yōryakki (as quoted by the Shintō scholar Yoshikawa Koretari): “The Buddha, on Eagle Peak, made heaven and earth, and enshrined twelve deities. Among them, the one called Konpira is the great bright deity of Japan. It is the august child of Susanoo no Mikoto. If Dengyō Daishi [Saichō] went to China and returned safely, it is because at Seiryūji [Qinglong si] in China he prayed to the protecting deity. This deity was Susanoo, who is also called Matarajin.”113 With later Yoshida texts such as Koretari’s Jindai no maki kaden kikigaki, however, things changed. “Susanoo did not only go to Silla, he also went to China and

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India.”114 Furthermore, we are told that Matarajin and Konpira, two deities worshiped on Eagle Peak in India no less than in China and Korea, are in fact Susanoo and Ōkuninushi. Ironically, the same theories that had transformed the Indian demon king Māra into the landowner deity (jinushi) of Japan are now being used to transform his Japanese counterpart, Susanoo, into an Indian god. Also worth noting here is the dragon-like nature of Susanoo and the other protagonists in the myth, including Izanami, Amaterasu, Yamata no Orochi, and Kushinada-hime.115 The Susa Shrine, a small shrine that was the abode of Susanoo before he became the deity of Izumo Shrine, is still today the center of a snake cult. The same is true of Hinomisaki Shrine, whose origin story mentions the sea snakes that guided the gods to Izumo during the tenth month. The medieval Susanoo was further linked to other snake or dragon deities such as Benzaiten, Shinra Myōjin, and Kōjin. In the Jimon denki horoku, we are told that Susanoo, on his way to exile, spent time in the dragon palace—like his brother Hiruko, according to a later tradition. The Shaku Nihongi presents the marriage of Susanoo and Kushinada-hime as a variant of a mythical theme in which Susanoo goes down to marry the daughter of the dragon king.116 In his Nihon shoki sanso (1455–1457), Ichijō Kaneyoshi mentions another tradition according to which this dragon princess, who is identified with the nāga maiden of the Lotus Sūtra, is an avatar of Yamata no Orochi.117 As a paradigmatic figure of evil, Susanoo came to be identified with Māra. Since both figures symbolized fundamental ignorance, it was logical to regard them as functionally identical rulers of the underworld. This allowed Susanoo’s exile to Izumo to be read as Śākyamuni’s victory over Māra.118 However, Susanoo sometimes protects people from Māra. In the Nō play Dairokuten, as we saw earlier, it is Susanoo who rescues Jōkei when he is attacked by Māra.119 In the Miwa-ryū, a branch of Shingon shintō centered on Mount Miwa in Yamato, Susanoo is, in essence, identical with Kōjin. Because he symbolizes the fundamental ignorance of beings, the source of their arrogance, he causes obstacles for others. In Shugendō, the name Sanbō Kōjin 三宝荒神 refers to the unholy trinity formed by the kami Susanoo no Mikoto, Haya Susanoo, and Susanoo.120 When the primordial god Izanagi distributes to his three children (Amaterasu, Tsukiyomi, and Susanoo) their inheritance, Susanoo receives the world under heaven. He is therefore the ruler of Japan and must be revered as such. As the demon king, he is also said to prevent beings from producing arrogant thoughts. Susanoo’s banishment constitutes the prototypical expulsion of the araburu kami (raging deities), a motif described in the Nakatomi harae kunge (end of the 12th century).121 Ryōhen’s Jindai no maki shikenmon identifies Susanoo with Māra because both symbolize the “fundamental ignorance of all beings.”122 He is sometimes presented as the ancestral

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deity of the outcasts (kawaramono) because of this.123 In one source, the rivalry between Susanoo and Amaterasu is presented as a replay of the conflict between Gorō, the fifth child of the cosmic king Banko, and one of his four brothers, the eastern dragon. Gorō argues that he is actually an avatar of the buddha Dainichi, who first manifested himself as Gozu Tennō. The eastern dragon replies that Gorō’s present situation is the result of the negative karma he created when, in his past manifestation as Susanoo, he confronted his sister Amaterasu.124 Susanoo was further identified with the wrathful Onmyōdō deity Konjin 金神. According to a commentary on the Kokin shū, dated ca. 1270: “Susanoo no Mikoto is the daimyōjin of Izumo. He is Konjin, because metal cuts all things. Because he has the nature of metal, he has a warrior spirit and is called an evil kami, fighting against Amaterasu.”125 ALLEGORICAL INTERPRETATIONS In medieval theological speculations, Susanoo was no longer simply a mythological actor; he became a symbol of psychological tendencies and, more fundamentally, of epistemological delusion. Through a kind of demythologization, he lost his narrative richness and became increasingly abstract, ending up as a Buddhist symbol of ignorance (mumyō) and therefore of evil—like Māra himself. According to the Tendai monk Ryōhen: “The ‘land of Japan’ is our own body. The thought of good is the deity of the sun, the thought of evil the deity of the moon. Hiruko is undetermined; Susanoo no Mikoto is the thought of evil (akushin 悪心).”126 Susanoo thus became an emblem of deluded human nature. In the Keiran shūyōshū, he symbolizes ignorance.127 In the Jindai no maki hiketsu (1367) as well, he is identified with the snake, another symbol of fundamental ignorance. But he repents and destroys evil, which means that wisdom and ignorance are ultimately one. Here, however, we have already departed from pure hongaku theory in the sense that Susanoo, as an emblem of evil, is not ontologically one with innate awakening (hongaku): he must first repent to reach back to his initial awakening (shikaku 始覚). In the worst case, Susanoo is represented as a type of god that can never be saved—in that he is ontologically evil and not just epistemologically deluded. Like the icchantika of early Buddhism, he belongs to the wrong lineage (gotra) and lacks a buddha-nature. This view agrees with the Kojiki’s version of the myth, whereas in the Nihon shoki, redeemed by his heroic action against the dragon, Susanoo becomes a savior and a wise ruler. The negative view is still found in the Nakatomi harae kunge, which affirms the equivalent of eternal doom for deities, and the deities that can never become enlightened turn out to be Susanoo and his descendants. Here Susanoo is still an evil god, that is, a demon that cannot be

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converted. He is in fact a “real one” (jissha 実者) in opposition to other gods who are gonsha 権者 (provisional manifestations of the buddhas and bodhisattvas) or who can at least be converted and ultimately reach buddhahood. This view, which probably had political underpinnings at first, no longer prevailed in the late medieval period. The Tendai monk Jihen, for instance, rehabilitates the jissha, arguing that the distinction between Amaterasu and Susanoo is no longer relevant and that both must be worshiped. In his Tenchi jingi shinchin yōki (1333), the kami of innate awakening and the kami of non-awakening share the same nature even though, as gonsha and jissha, they may be distinguished depending on circumstances. Classical mythology had turned Susanoo into a scapegoat. Medieval theology associated him with another scapegoat—a Buddhist one this time—namely, Devadatta, the Buddha’s cousin and the villain of early Buddhist mythology.128 Both were eventually interpreted through the lens of hongaku thought as emblems of ignorance.129 Yet, from the standpoint of that theory, ignorance and awakening are two faces of the same reality: one cannot go without the other. In other words, there would have been no Buddha without Devadatta, no Amaterasu without Susanoo. Devadatta’s evil nature serves as a foil to Śākyamuni’s compassion, just as Susanoo’s darkness serves as a foil to Amaterasu’s light. Devadatta becomes, as it were, Śākyamuni’s shadow.130 In this vein, Nichiren writes: “The Buddha and Devadatta have never been separated, they are like the body and its shadow.”131 Susanoo thus came to symbolize the evil thoughts that, once tamed, lead to awakening. In that process he was sometimes identified or contrasted with Benzaiten. In medieval mythological discourse, Susanoo and Benzaiten were already associated by virtue of their dragon-­ like nature, both being identified with the child emperor Antoku, who drowned in the waters of Dan-no-ura. Esoteric Buddhist reinterpretations of Susanoo resurfaced in the nascent Shintō of the Urabe and Yoshida traditions.132 In the Shaku Nihongi, a text influenced by hongaku theology, Susanoo comes to be seen as transcending both good and evil. Yoshida Kanetomo further developed this view, using Susanoo as a symbol of the identity of good and evil. According to him, there can be neither good nor evil in the divine realm. Good and evil are human categories, inappropriate to the divine world.133 One must therefore conclude that Susanoo originally had no evil heart or mind, and that his apparent malice was merely a skillful means. In his Shinsho monjin, Kanetomo explains: “If Susanoo was born as an evil god (akushin), it was in order to bring to beings of later times the teaching of the equality between good and evil. Susanoo does not have an evil mind.”134 Susanoo thus became the fundamental reality that predates the distinction between good and evil, true and false. Yet in his commentary on the Nakatomi harae (1523), Kanemoto seems to loosen his grasp of

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nonduality when he argues that Susanoo, once purified by the exorcism, became a “good deity” and lost his “evil mind.”135 The medieval notion according to which even foreign gods originated as manifestations of Japanese kami became popular in the Edo period. However, it also had its critics. With the rise of nativist thought, the identity of Susanoo with Gozu Tennō was increasingly questioned. Yoshikawa Koretari, for instance, rejects the vision of Susanoo as ruler of the three countries. In his Kūge dansō, the Vinaya master Tainin Myōryū 諦忍妙竜 (1705–1786) describes the Hoki naiden as an “absurd work” and argues that Gozu Tennō is the violent spirit (aramitama) of the kami Ōnamuchi (Ōkuninushi)—in other words, the great deity of Miwa—despite the erroneous yet widespread belief that he is Susanoo: “Worldlings say that he is Susanoo no Mikoto, but this is greatly mistaken.”136 In its discussion of Gozu Tennō’s children, the eight princes, the Nanki jinja roku explains: “In the calendar, they are called the eight generals [hasshōgun]. These are the names of “barbarian gods” 胡神 worshiped by Yin-Yang schools. But recently the term has come to designate Japanese kami, the eight children—three males and five females—engendered by Susanoo in his oath. This is an error, however, caused by a confusion between Gozu Tennō and Susanoo.” 137 With (and after) Kanetomo, Susanoo lost his fundamental ambivalence and became an ethical god more palatable to Confucianist scholars. As a “reformed” god, he came to be praised as the paragon of a purely human, Confucian ethics. Edo scholars now saw as proof of Susanoo’s redemption the fact that he had offered the Kusanagi sword to Amaterasu, like a good brother. The ethical ambivalence of the medieval hongaku theory was no longer tolerated, and Susanoo, like many other gods (beginning with his sister Amaterasu), lost his multidimensionality and versatility. Shintō ideologues privileged the “pure” kami Susanoo over Gozu Tennō (a deity too tainted by Onmyōdō and Buddhism) and finally evicted the latter from his former strongholds at Gion Shrine and Tsushima Shrine. Today Susanoo is the main deity of Gion Shrine. During the Gion Festival (formerly known as Gion goryō-e) in the sixth lunar month, the three main floats (yamaboko) paraded through the streets of Kyoto are those of Susanoo, his wife Inada-hime, and his eight children (Yahashira no mikogami 八柱の御子神). Yet the name Gion itself (evoking the Jetavana park in India), by which Yasaka Shrine and its neighborhood continue to be called, still preserves the memory of Gozu Tennō and his family. CODETTA In his book entitled Araburu Susanoo, shichi henge, Saitō Hideki followed the transformations of Susanoo across time in order to illustrate the re-inscription of certain mythological motifs in different historical

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and geographical circumstances.138 While relying on Saitō’s work, my approach has been slightly different. It focuses on the medieval transformation of Susanoo, the main element of which has to do with the kōjin or wild nature of Susanoo. In other words, placing emphasis on the aspect of kingship, as Saitō does, is already a kind of domestication, an impoverishment of Susanoo’s fundamental wildness and ambivalence. It reflects the same tendency that ultimately produced the emasculated image of Susanoo promoted by Shintō ideology during the Edo period. To understand Susanoo’s ambivalence, the diachronic approach must be supplemented by a synchronic approach that examines Susanoo’s network, beginning with the dual / duel structures that link him with Amaterasu, Yamata no Orochi, and Ōkuninushi. In effect, the historical narrative—by focusing on the evolution of a single figure rather than a network—relies on a methodological individualism and must be deconstructed. But at the same time, because structural polarities remain too static, they in turn must be deconstructed and supplemented by historical analysis. The relationships between Amaterasu, Susanoo, and Ōkuninushi cannot be reduced, as Yoshida Atsuhiko and others have done, to a trifunctional ideology like that of Georges Dumézil in which Amaterasu represents sovereignty, Susanoo war, and Ōkuninushi fecundity. Susanoo may indeed reflect the values of warrior groups.139 However, like some other medieval gods—and perhaps even more so—he is a wild card that can remain a player along a spectrum of functions. Structural polarities do tend to hide historical tensions. Saitō has shown, for instance, how Ōkuninushi, the first god of Izumo (Kizuki) in classical mythology, was displaced by Susanoo in the medieval period, and how Susanoo, in turn, was displaced by him during the Edo period. While the view from Izumo seems to be concentrated on Susanoo as ruler, possibly representing a local re-appropriation of the myth, the fact that Tendai monks promoted this view shows that it transcends locality and stems from a broader cultural model. Another aspect should be added to the mix: the importance of Susanoo as a dragon-like kōjin and the role of the latter in folk rituals (not forgetting Buddhist versions, too, the most famous being the spring bamboo-splitting ritual at Kurama).140 Among the new motifs of the medieval phase, that of the sword took on a kind of primacy, and as one of the three regalia, it also acquired its own dynamics. But there was also a rewriting of the contrast between Susanoo as banished god and as landowner deity. Moreover, as ruler of Izumo and / or the underworld, Susanoo was a chthonian deity identified with King Yama. As a troublemaker, he also became a god of obstacles identified with various demons and pestilence deities—the most virulent of them being Kōjin. Eventually, he ascended in the Japanese pantheon, moving from the lowly status of a rebel or disinherited son to that of a cosmic deity, the ultimate principle transcending good and evil, and ruler of

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all human destinies. In this sense, he became practically identical with his old nemesis, Amaterasu. Although he was not as successful as his sister in the end, Susanoo was still a powerful mythological “attractor.” Yet his symbolic power did not resist the reductionism of Yoshida shintō, which brought him back into the fold of the official Shintō pantheon, causing him to usurp the position of a former fellow traveler, Gozu Tennō. During the medieval period, the character of Susanoo was enlarged by a series of attributes that derived less from a mythological or narrative development than from ritual, symbolic, and metaphysical innovations that were mutually reinforcing. On the ritual plane, he was no longer the object of an exorcism or a purification: he had become a symbol of legitimacy. The Kusanagi sword became one of the three imperial regalia, and Susanoo’s name was invoked in enthronement rituals (kanjō 灌頂). His association or identity with that sword linked him to the thriving medieval discourse on regalia, relics, and the wish-fulfilling jewel (cintāmaṇi). Furthermore, through the symbolism of snake / dragons and a reinterpretation of ancient rituals related to snake sacrifice, he became a symbol of the renewal of vital power. On the symbolic plane, his name was enhanced by the functional or ontological affinities he shared with various deities—Gozu Tennō, Kōjin, and the like. On the doctrinal plane, his identification with fundamental ignorance linked him at first with traditional Buddhism, a teaching that was still dualistic in its focus on defilement and purification; but also, conversely, with the fundamental nondualism of esoteric Buddhism, leading to a radical conception of the deity as transcending good and evil, truth and falsehood. He also benefited from a general trend that led to the rise of devas such as Daikokuten, Shōten, Benzaiten, and Dakiniten, as well as wisdom kings like Aizen and Fudō and “moot” deities like Myōken and Kōjin.141 At the psychological level, he exemplified the darkness of the human soul, but also the wandering through the long night of ignorance that eventually leads to awakening. Because of his relatively well defined mythological profile, however, he proved less protean or metamorphic than deities like Kōjin. Last but not least, even while ascending to the highest rank, Susanoo also remained one of the lowliest spirits in village rituals, a shikigami representing the dark powers of nature that manifest in possession and exorcisms. Despite official Confucian and Shintō attempts, Susanoo, like his demonic twin Gozu Tennō, was never fully domesticated.

6

THE LITTLE LORDS The little lords of the gods’ house: the wakamiya of Hachiman, the nyaoku ōji of Kumano, Komori Gozen, and, on Hieizan, Jūzenji of Sannō. Ryōjin hishō, translated by Kim Yung-Hee

In medieval Japan there was a fluid category of deities (or rather a nebula) consisting of figures characterized by their youthful appearance—that is, by their vitality, their hubris, and their unpredictability. Straddling the supposed divide between gods and demons, they were called dōji (lad), ōji (prince), and wakamiya (young prince).1 Some were integrated into the Shintō, Shugendō, and esoteric Buddhist religious systems, but others remained on the margins or were rejected and consigned to darkness. In the first part of this chapter, after presenting a basic typology, I focus on three demonic or semi-demonic youths—Kirime Ōji, Shuten Dōji, and Oto Gohō; and in the second part, I dwell on one specific case where the positive or godly side seems to have prevailed (though not without difficulty): that of Jūzenji, the deity of Hie Shrine. In Daoism, the tongzi (J. dōji) symbolizes eternal youth, vitality, victory over illness and death, and immortality; he equally stands for a certain immorality, as in the playfulness that precedes adulthood, the license to subvert the seriousness required by the social order. In India, one finds the same figure of the divine youth (Skt. kumāra), the most famous being Krishna and Skanda (a.k.a. Kumāra and Kārttikeya).2 In Buddhism, the violent nature of youths like these stands out despite their conversion to an allegedly nonviolent teaching, and the violence appears in their ruthless treatment of minor demons beneath them.3 Rob Linrothe argued that great Tantric figures such as Trailokyavijaya (J. Gōzanze 降 三世), the so-called vanquisher of the Three Worlds and tamer of Rudra, and Yamāntaka (J. Daiitoku), the tamer of death in the figure of Yama, began their careers as “youths,” acolytes of Avalokiteśvara and other bodhisattvas. A similar scenario applies to all the great deities of esoteric Buddhism. One could almost say that the “Law-protecting youths” (gohō

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FIGURE 6.1  Dōji (Benzaiten’s attendants). Detail of Tenkawa Benzaiten mandara, attr. Takuma Hogen. Muromachi period. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Nōman-in, Sakurai, Nara prefecture.

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dōji 護法童子) of medieval Japan are such deities caught before their transformation could be completed. Among them, the demonic proclivities of youth are particularly evident in those who refused to convert to the new religion. The term dōji designates both the god and the child medium possessed by the god. The dōji are also the child emissaries (shikigami, tsukai, and gohō dōji) used by more powerful deities or by Buddhist and Yin-Yang exorcists. Japanese art historians, who have recently become interested in iconographic representations of these juvenile gods, have focused their attention on those called “heavenly lads” (tendō). Yet, while there seems to have been a bifurcation between heavenly and demonic children at some point, fundamentally all of the lads are ambivalent by

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nature. This can be seen in the case of the so-called lads of good and evil (zen’aku dōji 善悪童子) who, while distinct from each other (one being demonic, the other bodhisattva-like), are twinned aspects of the same function represented by another youth, the bodhisattva Dizang (Jizō). Dōji are often represented as a pair of acolytes, or in groups such as the eight acolytes of Fudō or Dakiniten (fig. 6.2), the fifteen or sixteen acolytes of Benzaiten, and the thirty-six acolytes of Fudō. In all cases, we have a twofold structure: the main deity is usually flanked by two acolytes and / or by a larger number of attendants. In the Dakiniten and Benzaiten mandalas, these young acolytes often ride a fox or other animals.

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FIGURE 6.2  Fudō’s eight attendants. Edo period. Sheet, ink on paper. University Art Museum, Kyoto City University of Arts. BZS 2151.

FIGURE 6.3  (Above) Benzaiten and eight attendants. Detail of Yoshino mandara. Edo period. Hanging scroll, wood-engraving, hand coloring. Petzold Collection, Harvard-Yenching Library. FIGURE 6.4 (Right) Biwa-playing youth. Detail of Kōya Myōjin mandara. Muromachi period. Hanging scroll, ink, color, and cut gold foil on silk. Cleveland Museum of Art. FIGURE 6.5  (Opposite page) Six dōji. Butsuzō zui (1783), by Ki no Hidenobu. Suzuka bunko, Ehime University, Matsuyama.

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The ambivalence of the dōji is well reflected by the polarity of Fudō’s two acolytes, Kongara 矜羯羅 and Seitaka 制咜迦 (figs. 6.6–6.9). While Kongara is represented as a youth that looks relatively benign, his companion Seitaka looks quasi-demonic and much more violent (figs. 6.7 and 6.8). While these two are explicitly depicted as emanations of Fudō, all the children of a major god, as well as its retinue (kenzoku 眷属) more broadly, can generally be seen as personifications of particular aspects of that deity. As a rule, it seems that whenever a particular demon or god ascended in the Tantric pantheon, its demonic functions were displaced or distributed among lesser manifestations, as if its dignity would suffer from admitting its demonic power. FIGURE 6.6  Fudō with two acolytes appearing before priest Mongaku. Edo period. Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. Petzold Collection, Harvard-Yenching Library.

FIGURE 6.7  (Left) Seitaka Dōji. After Ryūshū Shūtaku 龍湫周沢 (1307–1388). Nanbokuchō period. Hanging scroll, hand-colored woodblock print on paper. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. FIGURE 6.8  (Above) Seitaka Dōji. Tōji-bon Fudō Myōō zuzō, TZ 6: 233, fig. 22.

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FIGURE 6.9 (Opposite page) Prince Hachiko with Kongara and Seitaka. Edo period. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Mount Haguro, Yamagata prefecture. Photo B. Faure.

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Another common term, practically synonymous with dōji, is ōji 王 子. These “princes” usually appear in groups such as the eighteen princes of Zaō Gongen, the ten princes of Iizuna Gongen, the twelve princes of Kōya Niutsuhime 高野丹生都比売, the eight princes of Gozu Tennō, and the four princes of Dakiniten. Kumano’s ninety-nine princes were worshiped at oratories along the route of the Kumano pilgrimage. The most famous of these is Kirime Ōji 切り目王子, a much-feared deity, but equally important, and actually the first in the list, is Nyaku (or Nyaku­ ichi) Ōji 若一王子. Like the dōji, the ōji are by no means cherubs even though some of them look relatively benign and chubby. Appearances aside, they are fierce beings, manifesting certain aspects of the god whom they accompany. While they usually have a name, they are often poorly defined even if some may seem to possess already their full demonic powers. Such is the case with the demon king Gozu Tennō’s eight children, known as the eight princes (hachiōji).4 Amaterasu’s eleven princes, described in the Tenshō kōtaijin giki, are identified with King Yama’s attendants in that text and said to each have a retinue numbering four thousand trillion spirits.5 Sometimes the distinction between a prince of human origin and a god or demon is blurred. A case in point is that of the eldest son of Sushun Tennō 崇峻天皇 (r. 587–592), Prince Hachiko (Hachiko no Ōji 蜂子王 子, 542–641), traditionally worshiped as the founder of Haguro Shugendō under the name Nōjō Daishi 能除大師 (fig. 6.9). Local tradition made him the teacher of the eminent ascetic En no Gyōja. Yet his demonic appearance suggests the mien of a resentful spirit (onryō), possibly stemming from the fact that he had to flee from the court after the murder of his father by the Soga clan in 592, and sought refuge on Mount Haguro.6 Another princely type, the wakamiya 若宮 or young prince, often represents the violent aspect of a local deity. For Kageyama Haruki, such a figure is not only the manifestation of the god as a youth, but also the expression of its periodical rebirth (miare). It symbolizes “the renaissance implicit in the yearly festival in which the kami of many shrines are believed to manifest themselves and to renew their spiritual vitality and power.”7 The vogue of wakamiya during the fourteenth to fifteenth centuries coincides with the development of the Shōtoku Taishi cult and his representation as a child (chigo).8 Wakamiya are often former local spirits who have been displaced by a more powerful deity. There is, however, a darker side to these young princes. They are often related to (or originate in) vengeful spirits (onryō), and traces of violence are sometimes preserved in the cults devoted to them. The wakamiya of Kasuga, for instance, once received animal offerings of birds, boars, and deer, while the deity itself is said to have had the body of a snake originally (fig. 6.10). Its image on the frontispiece of

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the Kongō hannya haramitta kyō 金剛般若波 羅蜜多経 (Skt. Vajra-prajñāpāramitā sūtra) is one of the earliest extant wakamiya representations.9 Its function, however, was distinguished from that of another juvenile deity worshiped at Kasuga, Aka Dōji 赤童子, the Red Youth, who acted as a Dharma protector. I will return to Aka Dōji below. THE GOHŌ DŌJI

FIGURE 6.10 Kasuga wakamiya. Edo period. Sheet, ink on paper. University Art Museum, Kyoto City University of Arts. BZS 4005.

Dharma protectors (gohō dōji 護法童子) are often described as lads or youngsters. As noted earlier, the image of the gohō seems to have developed as a Buddhist equivalent of the shikigami (sometimes called shiki ōji), spirits that were central in the exorcisms of Onmyōdō.10 Through a play on words based on homonymy, the word shikigami 式神 came to be read in esoteric Buddhism as 識神 or “consciousness deities” and identified with the kushōjin or “deities born at the same time.” The medieval period was marked by a shift from morally ambivalent dōji to Dharma protectors, the gohō dōji.11 The cult of the gohō dōji, which seems to have begun in Tendai, became quite popular during the Muromachi period. Toward the end of that period, some among them, having become gods of fortune, even ascended to the highest ranks of the Japanese pantheon. In this way, the dōji came to express a reality that predated the dichotomy between good and evil, or between god (or buddha) and demon. In his Keiran shūyōshū, the Tendai priest Kōshū devotes an entire section to the gohō.12 After discussing major protectors such as Vajrapāṇi (Kongōshu), Acala (Fudō), and Vaiśravana (Bishamonten), he moves on to the kushōjin, also calling them “wandering deities” (yugyōjin 遊行神). According to an oral tradition that he reports, these deities are harmful demons when people are deluded, whereas they become good deities when people awaken and constantly follow and protect them. An interesting case mentioned by Kōshū is that of Oto Gohō 乙護法, a local deity on Mount Sefuri in Kyūshū who was identified with Sensha Dōji 船車童子, one of Benzaiten’s fifteen lads, as well as with Fudō’s acolyte Seitaka and with Ton’yugyō 頓遊行, one of Dakiniten’s acolytes. Kōshū then lists various pairs of gohō that protected eminent ascetics such as En no Gyōja, Taichō 泰澄 (the founder of Hakusan shugendō), and

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Saichō. In the case of Saichō, we are told that his first protectors were a child god and an old man, the Ōmiya deity (that is, Sannō Gongen).13 This section of the Keiran shūyōshū draws many links between mythology, ritual, iconography, and embryology. A feature common to many of the acolytes mentioned is the pairing of manifestations and the triad they come to form with their master and protégé. Even when they become the object of a specific cult (as in the case of Vajrapāṇi or Acala / Fudō), their fundamental ambivalence is expressed by the paired manifestations: the Benevolent Kings (Niō 仁 王) in the case of Vajrapāṇi, and Kongara and Seitaka in that of Fudō. In the Konjaku monogatarishū and elsewhere, the gohō dōji are mentioned as manifestations of the ten rākṣasīs (jūrasetsunyo 十羅 刹女) that protect the worshipers of the Lotus Sūtra. The demonic nature of some of them is clear: the tenth one, for instance, is named “Stealer of the vital spirit of all living beings” (Sarvasattvojohārī, J. Datsu-issaishujō-shōge 奪一切 衆生精気).14 That name is also claimed by one of the ten attendants of Dakiniten (herself a powerful demon, duly reformed by Buddhism). From this, it can be seen that the gohō dōji, despite their usually handsome appearance, retain something of their demonic origin. While dōji often grew out of local cults, Kongō Dōji 金剛童子 (Skt. Vajrakumāra) had higher origins in esoteric Buddhism as one of the wrathful deities (krodha) that derive or emanate from the Buddha’s acolyte Vajrapāṇi (figs. 6.11 and 6.12).15 He appears in two main forms, yellow and blue: the yellow, two-armed Kongō Dōji was specifically worshiped at Onjōji, and he was said to be a manifestation of the buddha Amida, while the blue, six-armed Kongō Dōji was worshiped at Tōji as a manifestation of Vajrapāṇi and was invoked as a protector against curses.16 The Kongō Dōji ritual was one of the most important medieval exorcisms, but more than that, its deity could also be invoked in black magic. In the Hōgen monogatari, for instance, Fujiwara no Yorinaga 藤原頼長 (1120–1156) has one such ritual performed against the retired emperor Go-Shirakawa.17 The term kongō dōji also refers to a specific type of deity that protected mountain practitioners (shugenja). They are often represented in groups of eight or fifteen—the eight great kongō dōji of Ōmine, for instance. In the Oto Gohō kōshiki, a group of fifteen kongō dōji is said to be formed of the eight great dōji of Ōmine and the seven dōji of Katsuragi.18 These

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FIGURE 6.11  Kongō Dōji. Daihi taizō daimandara, TZ 1: 696, fig. 82.

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fifteen dōji are clearly reminiscent of Benzaiten’s fifteen acolytes, and Oto Gohō was their leader, the primus inter pares. Indeed, in the Kōkozō tō hishō, someone asks: “As to the fifteen kongō dōji of the great king Tokuzen and the great Benzaiten—are they not the fifteen princes born in the past from Ōnanji 大汝 and Onanji 小汝?”19 Here the questioner manages to lump together the kongō dōji, the fifteen lads of Benzaiten, and the offspring of the two primordial kami Ōnanji 大 汝 (Ōnamuchi, i.e., Ōkuninushi) and Onanji 小 汝 (a name that may be linked to the dwarf god Sukunahikona).20 The elephant-headed deity Shōten is described in some sources as a manifestation of the eight great kongō dōji, but in his demonic form he is tamed by Kongō Dōji or another deity identified with the latter, such as Ucchuṣma (J. Ususama).21 Usually, however, his tamer is said to be Gundari Myōō 軍荼利明王 (Skt. Kuṇḍalin). In one variant of the subjugation myth of Maheśvara, Ucchuṣma transforms excrement and filth through the subjugation of Rudra-Maheśvara and his consort. He is then called Vajrakumāra (Kongō Dōji). The filth that he symbolizes is sublimated into ambrosia (amṛta) or eliminated by his fire. FIGURE 6.12  Kongō Dōji with acolytes. Kongō Dōji zuzō, TZ 6: 302, fig. 5.

Kirime Ōji

The case of Kirime Ōji shows us how a prince (ōji)—in other words, a territorial deity—became a gohō dōji, a translocal protector of the Dharma. This deity was one of the most powerful (and feared) of the ninety-nine ōji worshiped at stations on the Kumano pilgrimage route along the western shore of the Kii peninsula. The oldest source for his story is probably the Shozan engi (ca. 1192). In this origin story from Shugendō, an old man of Korean origin warns En no Gyōja about the demonic beings called soranshin that are threatening pilgrims returning from Kumano and stealing their vital spirit, the energy they have accumulated during their practice.22 The term soranshin (lit. “deity that revives disorder”) was sometimes used as an equivalent of araburu kami and kōjin. In both the Kojiki and the Nihon shoki, the region of Kumano is mentioned in connection with Jinmu Tennō’s conquest of Yamato as the dwelling place of araburu kami serving as landowner deities (jinushi). In one version of the legend, Kirime Ōji is the local jinushi who is expelled from the place by

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a foreign deity, the future Kumano Gongen, and Kiribe (Kirime) is one of the three places where the foreign deity stopped before settling down at Kumano. The term kiribe 切部 (cut section) seems to indicate a geographical cut, or the borderline between Kumano and the rest of the Kii peninsula; located on the western shore, it is also the boundary between the sea and the mountains. Here we have what Max Moerman calls a “localization of the sacred”—only, in this case, it is of the demonic.23 According to some versions of the Dōjōji legend, the Kirime River is also the place where a young girl, enraged by the lie of the monk who had promised to see her upon returning from Kumano, morphed into a huge snake that pursued the monk and eventually killed him. A monk is also killed in some versions of the Kirime legend, but the context and protagonists are different.24 According to the Hōzō ekotoba 宝蔵絵詞, Kumano Gongen had entrusted Kirime Ōji with the protection of this monk, but angered by the monk’s insolent behavior, Kirime Ōji eventually kills him by cutting off his nose—a detail that perhaps relates to the “cutting” expressed in the place name.25 This also seems to be the case with the punishment that Kumano Gongen subsequently metes out to Kirime Ōji—cutting off his leg, a type of punishment rarely encountered in divine chronicles—before exiling him to Kiribe.26 At any rate, it is a one-legged Kirime, leaning on a staff, who is represented in the Kumano mandala. Depending on the sources, Kirime is either a resentful jinushi or a protecting spirit who has gone wrong. His case calls to mind that of Shuten Dōji, which I will consider shortly. But whereas Shuten Dōji kidnaps young women and kills travelers, Kirime is content with stealing the energy that Kumano pilgrims have accumulated through their religious practice. It is perhaps because his sins are of lesser weight than those of Shuten Dōji that he only gets his leg cut off, rather than his head (like Shuten Dōji). The second version of Kirime Ōji’s origin story explains that it was his exile that caused him to become a soranshin or violent deity and to take his revenge on pilgrims. To pacify him, Kumano Gongen is obliged to ask for the help of the Inari deity, who sends an attendant, a female fox spirit named Akomachi. Seducing Kirime Ōji, Akomachi tells him that pilgrims who wear makeup made of soybean paste are her followers and they should be spared. This is said to be the origin of the custom of applying soybean paste to one’s face and imitating the cry of the fox while passing by Kirime Shrine.27 Another method of protecting oneself from Kirime Ōji was to insert nagi leaves in one’s headdress, for it was said that when a pilgrim throws nagi powder into Kirime Ōji’s eyes, the demon stays away.28 The nagi tree (Podocarpus) was the sacred tree of Kumano as well as the divine body (shintai 神体) of Kirime Ōji and the symbolic (samaya) form of Kongō Dōji—here Kirime Ōji and Kongō Dōji are the two sides of the same coin.29 At any rate, when the pilgrims,

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FIGURE 6.13 Kirime Ōji. Detail of Yoshino mandara. Edo period. Hanging scroll, wood-­ engraving, hand coloring. Petzold Collection, Harvard-Yenching Library.

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having passed Kirime Ōji’s shrine unscathed, arrived in sight of the capital, they first stopped at Fushimi on its southern outskirts to thank the Inari deity. Then they exchanged their nagi leaves for leaves of sugi, the sacred tree of Inari, and they performed a ritual called gohō okuri 護法送り (sending off the gohō) to dispatch the kongō dōji (or gohō) who had accompanied and protected them. Once placated, Kirime Ōji was worshiped at Kirime Ōji (var. Kirime no-ōji) Shrine and became a protector of pilgrims. In the Taiheiki, when the son of Go-Daigo Tennō stops to pray at the shrine, a boy with his hair bound up in rolls appears to him in a dream, saying that he has been sent by the gods of Kumano to guide him (fig. 6.13).30 Kirime Ōji was also said to be a manifestation of the Eleven-faced Kannon, but this Buddhist reinterpretation emphasizes his translocal nature at the expense of his local character. Toward the end of the medieval period, after his shrine has been destroyed by fire and rebuilt, Kirime Ōji was replaced by a group of five deities—the so-called five ōji (gotai ōji 五体王子), which, through wordplay, were identified with the five generations (godai 五代) of kami (starting with Amaterasu) represented by animal emissaries, namely, the dragon, rooster, eagle, tortoise, and cormorant.31 Furthermore, using the cosmological symbolism of Onmyōdō, these five deities were reinterpreted and identified with the dragon kings of the five directions. The five ōji appear, for instance, in the Flower Festival (Hana Matsuri 花祭) of Kumano to protect the five directions: Tarō (east), Jirō (south), Saburō (west), Shirō (north), and Gorō (center). Although they are actually four princes and one princess, they still form an impressive quintet of earth deities (dokkūjin 土公神). After the medieval period, the image of Kirime Ōji survived, albeit much transformed, in kagura performances.32 In these rituals, Kirime (whose name was now read Kirume) was associated with another character called Mirume 見目 (Seeing Eye), who, as we have seen, also appears with Kaguhana 嗅鼻 (Smelling Nose) in some versions of the Gozu Tennō myth. Kirume and Mirume represent two complementary functions of the

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ritual, which allows participants to “cut off” evil influences and “see” reality. Kirume is invoked together with seventy-five deities representing the wild powers of nature that the ritual aims to pacify. In the Hana Matsuri of Okumikawa, he is asked to escort the spirits of the dead to the Pure Land of Flowers (Hana no Jōdo 花の浄土). In this role, he calls to mind Matarajin, the demon of obstacles who threatened to obstruct people’s rebirth in the Pure Land if not worshiped properly, and who eventually became a protector of Pure Land believers in Tendai and a manifestation of the buddha Amida himself. Kirime was geographically too peripheral to ascend to such a high function, which was reserved for another ambivalent youthful deity, soon to be discussed: Jūzenji. But before doing so, let us consider the case of another (in)famous demonic lad, Shuten Dōji. Shuten Dōji

Shuten Doji 酒呑童子, the “wine-loving youth,” is known for having abducted, enslaved, and devoured young maidens before being killed by the warrior Minamoto no Yorimitsu 源頼光 (better known as Raikō 頼 光, 948–1021) and his companions. The tale is known in two versions, centered on Ōeyama and Ibukiyama.33 The Ibukiyama version presents Shuten Dōji as a local manifestation of Māra, the ruler of the Sixth Heaven, and Raikō as a manifestation of Bishamonten. This makes Shuten Dōji a deity of sorts. Māra, as we will see, represented certain local groups that resisted central power and its Buddhist representatives. Baba Akiko may thus be right to argue that demons were often used as a literary device to represent marginals and social outcasts, but when she limits the latter to “people who were not part of the Fujiwara regency,” her scope seems too narrow.34 Clearly, the impact of the Shuten Dōji tale extended beyond the end of the Heian period. The demon’s marginal nature was further reflected in his twofold function of epidemic demon and protector of boundaries. What we are dealing with here is a demon king who, by day, takes the form of a youth. His main characteristics are his love of rice wine (sake) and his excessive, cannibalistic love for young boys and girls. At first, it seems as if this might be little more than a classical and particularly gruesome tale, an Asian variant of the Bluebeard motif. It even starts, in the Ōeyama version, like a tabloid story: at the time of Ichijō Tennō 一 条天皇 (980–1011), young men and women were abducted during violent storms. But all Buddhist exorcisms failed, and the Yin-Yang master Abe no Seimei finally discovered that the culprit was the demon king of Ōeyama (fig. 6.14). But even he could not put an end to the demon’s rampage. The emperor then sent Raikō and his four most valiant retainers to kill Shuten Dōji.35 To prepare for this mission, Raikō went to pray to the deities of the Sumiyoshi, Kasuga, and Kumano shrines.36 In response, Raikō received the help of four people—an old man, a mountain ascetic,

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an old monk, and a young monk, the manifestations of these deities— before entering the demon’s fortress. They told him that he and his men should disguise themselves as mountain ascetics, and they gave him a particularly efficacious wine that only affected demons. Precious information was also received from an old woman, a servant of Shuten Dōji whom they encountered at the river, where she was washing the bloody clothes of the demon’s victims.37 Invited by Shuten Dōji to drink with him, Raikō and his men put the demon’s suspicions to rest when they do not hesitate to partake in sampling the blood and flesh of his victims (fig. 6.15). At length, they are able to put him to sleep with the magic wine, and in the middle of the night, with the four divine helpers by their side, they secure the sleeping demon and Raikō beheads him. The severed head flies off and (in a strange detail) bites Raikō’s helmet (fig. 6.16), but it is finally subdued and brought back to the capital (fig. 6.17). Some scholars have wanted to see in this tale a recollection of the brigands who attacked travelers and abducted young women at the pass of Ōeyama.38 Yet the tale cannot be reduced to a piece of ephemera. Some of its details point to an older myth. At first, it seems to resemble a traditional fairytale in which a shining knight comes to rescue a captive princess. But some sources, dipping into the well of Buddhism, suggest a deeper meaning. The demon is a manifestation of Māra, whereas the knight is identified with the deva king Vaiśravana—this transforms the story into a classical Buddhist tale of demon subjugation. Another, perhaps more intriguing clue is that Shuten Dōji is said to have been raised as a child in a monastery. A Nara picture book entitled Ōeyama reveals that Shuten Dōji’s father was the mountain god Ibuki Daimyōjin 伊吹大明神.39 In local tradition, this god was originally the dragon Yamata no Orochi, who took refuge on Mount Ibuki after escaping from Susanoo.40 When the mountain god began to visit the daughter of Lord Sugawa (Sugawa-dono 須川殿) at night, she soon became pregnant, and Lord Sugawa, upset by the news, tried to discover the identity of her nocturnal visitor. When he failed, he suspected that a malevolent spirit must be involved and asked men of religion to perform an exorcism. Angered, the mountain god cursed Lord Sugawa, causing him to fall ill. The monks and Yin-Yang masters who were subsequently summoned to perform healing rites and placate the deity’s anger began to worship him as Ibuki Daimyōjin. The child born from that unholy union began to drink wine when he turned three; hence he became known as the wine-loving youth, Shuten Dōji. When he was ten, his grandfather sent him to Mount Hiei to curb his turbulent nature. There he became a child novice (chigo) but continued to drink a lot.41 One day, he convinced the three thousand monks of Mount Hiei to put

FIGURE 6.14  Shuten Dōji and his retinue. Detail of Ōeyama Shuten Dōji emaki. Edo period, ca. 1650–1699. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Spencer Collection, New York Public Library.

FIGURE 6.15  Shuten Dōji offers a banquet to Raikō and his men. Detail of Ōeyama Shuten Dōji emaki. Edo period, ca. 1650–1699. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Spencer Collection, New York Public Library.

FIGURE 6.16 Shuten Dōji’s head attacks Raikō. Detail of Ōeyama Shuten Dōji emaki. Edo period, ca. 1650–1699. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Spencer Collection, New York Public Library.

FIGURE 6.17  Shuten Dōji’s head is brought back to the capital. Detail of Ōeyama Shuten Dōji emaki. Edo period, ca. 1650–1699. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Spencer Collection, New York Public Library.

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on demon masks and join him in a demon dance (oni odori), which lasted for seven days. During that time, the ban against alcohol was lifted, and Shuten Dōji is said to have drunk over one thousand cups of wine without removing his demon mask. When he woke up from his drunken stupor, the mask had melded together with his face, and all those who saw him fled in fear. Saichō then asked the buddha Yakushi and the protector of Mount Hiei, Sannō Gongen, to chase him off the mountain. Shuten Dōji returned to his grandfather’s mansion but was turned away, since he was now recognized as a demon child (onigo 鬼子). Rejected by all, he took his abode in a cave on Mount Ibuki before moving to Ōeyama, where he came to be feared as the local demon king. In a variant found in a prose narrative (otogizōshi 御伽草子), Shuten Dōji recounts his past to Raikō and says that he was born in Echigo province and grew up as a young acolyte in a mountain temple.42 In a fight with one of the monks there, he stabbed the monk to death and then took shelter on Mount Hiei until Saichō arrived there and chased him out. After that, he wandered from place to place before eventually settling at Ōeyama. An important motif in the Shuten Dōji legend is his severed head, which seems to have continued an independent existence once separated from his body.43 We are told that Raikō intended to take it to the capital as evidence of his victory, as was customary for warriors who had killed an enemy. Here, however, versions differ. According to one, before Raikō and his companions entered the capital to present the head to the ruler, it was floated down the river and purified by the Yin-Yang master Abe no Seimei. It was then deposited in the Uji Repository (Uji no hōzō 宇治宝 蔵), the treasure house of the Fujiwara at Byōdō-in, together with other powerful objects (including relics of the Buddha and a famous image of Aizen Myōō).44 According to another version, the bodhisattva Jizō (in the form of Koyasu Jizō, the Jizō of easy childbirth) told Raikō that the head was too impure to be shown to the emperor. As if to make his point, the head became so heavy that no one could move it. It was therefore buried at the northwestern limit of the capital, in a place called the “slope of the old man” (oi no saka 老ノ坂). This place, also known as the Head Tumulus (Kubizuka 首塚), later became a cultic site for Shuten Dōji once he was deified under the name Kubizuka Daimyōjin 首塚大明神—a deity specialized in curing ailments of the head (and a god of learning). The Kubizuka Shrine, located at a pass northwest of the capital, is the counterpart of the Semimaru Shrine at Ausaka (Slope of encounter), to the northeast. Ausaka is the place where another abandoned youth, the blind minstrel Semimaru 蝉丸, was reunited with his sister Sakagami 逆髪, the two siblings then coming to be worshiped as crossroads deities.45 Although Shuten Dōji remained single, he too exhibited dōsojin characteristics.

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Together, this suggests a relationship between Shuten Dōji, the crossroads deity, and pestilence deities. Shuten Dōji’s red coloring and his love for wine—two characteristics of another popular epidemic deity, the orang-utan (shōjō 猩々)—suggest his inner nature as a pestilence god.46 He is actually described as having a five-colored body (a red head and trunk, a black left foot, a yellow right hand, a white right foot, and a blue left arm). This description fits the cosmic symbolism of the dragon kings of Onmyōdō, representing the five sectors of space and the five elements of Chinese cosmology. It also brings to mind Gorō, the violent god of Onmyōdō—except that Shuten Dōji came out defeated. The mixture of Shugendō and Onmyōdō elements in the tale of Shuten Dōji suggests that it was disseminated by shugenja and Yin-Yang masters. Yet the Buddhist (and particularly Tendai) elements in the tale prevailed, even though Shuten Dōji was not converted or tamed by Buddhist rituals and was killed by warriors protected by kami. His conversion may have been out of the question due to the belief that he was a divine child who had been raised in a Buddhist monastery and rejected by the monks. Expelled from Mount Hiei by Saichō and again by Kūkai from Ōeyama (where he returned after the latter’s death), he became a goryō or vengeful spirit. As noted earlier, the place where Shuten Dōji’s head was allegedly buried, Kubizuka, is the western counterpart of Ausaka. But in the tradition of the blind monks, Ausaka also had an intimate relationship with the cult of Jūzenji—and various clues point to the affinities between Shuten Dōji and Jūzenji. The tale also mentions Shuten Dōji’s affinities with white monkeys, linking him to the monkeys of Mount Hiei (and therefore, again, to Jūzenji). This link is reinforced by the relation between Shuten Dōji and the monkey deity Hayao, one of the protectors of Hie Shrine. When Raikō and his men enter Shuten Dōji’s citadel, they see a child guarded by a monkey. The deity of Sumiyoshi Shrine tells Raikō that the monkey is the Hieizan deity Hayao Gongen 早尾 権現, and among the gods protecting Raikō, the fourth one, the Sannō deity, appears in the form of a young monk, like Jūzenji. According to a variant, although one of Shuten Dōji’s captives was a child novice from Mount Hiei, the demon could not devour the boy because he was a disciple of the Tendai abbot Jien and was protected by heavenly deities. As if to prevent questions about the nature of the boy’s relationship with Jien, the text adds that he received this divine protection because he constantly recited the Lotus Sūtra. It would not be surprising, however, if one of the protecting deities was Jūzenji, the child god with whom Jien is said to have had an enduring love affair.47 The Sannō deity who helped Saichō drive Shuten Dōji away from Mount Hiei manifested himself to Saichō as a divine youth named Jūzenji,48 giving us the strange case of a divine youth overpowering a demonic youth. I will return to Jūzenji shortly, but

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the point here is that the divine and demonic juvenile protagonists—like Susanoo and the dragon Yamata no Orochi—may be two sides of the same coin. Oto Gohō

Another semi-demonic youth that played an important role in Tendai is Oto Gohō. A local deity of Kyūshū, he is described as the gohō dōji who appeared to the priest Shōkū 性空 (910–1007) on Mount Sefuri 脊振山 in 954.49 Not far from the actively volcanic Mount Aso 阿蘇山, Mount Sefuri is also in a seismic area, as its name, Trembling Back, suggests, referring to the back of the telluric dragon (perhaps a double of Oto Gohō) on which the local shrine is perched.50 Oto Gohō’s appearance to Shōkū is described in a biography of the priest compiled soon after his death.51 It says that Shōkū was attended by two divine lads, Otomaru and Wakamaru 若丸. Then, in the Tani Ajari den (1109)—a biography of Shōkū’s nephew, the Tendai priest Kōgei 皇慶 (also Kōkei 977–1049)—we read that Otomaru, sent away by the dying Shōkū, came to serve Kōgei on Mount Hiei.52 There were apparently traditions related to Oto Gohō on both Mount Shosha 書写山 in Harima province, where Shōkū’s temple Engyōji was founded, and Mount Sefuri. While the two places are linked, the legend on Mount Shosha involves a pair of gohō dōji, Otomaru and Wakamaru, whereas just one of them, Oto Gohō, is found on Sefuri. In the Keiran shūyōshū, Oto Gohō is paired with another dōji named Waka Gohō 若 護法 (Young Dharma Protector). Koyama Satoko points out the resemblance between Otomaru and Wakamaru, the protectors of Shōkū, and Fudō’s acolytes Kongara and Seitaka. Whereas Otomaru, like Kongara, obeys the practitioner, Wakamaru, like Seitaka, disobeys him.53 In Kōgei’s biography, Otomaru first appears as a demon offering his services to the priest after meting out punishment to thieves. He is described as a plump youth, like Fudō, and he has a short temper, like Seitaka. Yet, in the Hieizan tradition, Wakamaru seems to have been dropped in favor of Otomaru, to whom the violent characteristics of Seitaka (Wakamaru) are attributed. As a result, Oto Gohō was worshiped independently on Mount Hiei, and the Keiran shūyōshū links him with a major Tendai deity, Benzaiten. In Kyūshū, the Oto Gohō cult was influenced by that of Fudō, the image of Oto Gohō at the foot of Mount Aso resembling that of Seitaka, and Fudō became Oto Gohō’s original ground.54 Mount Sefuri was a shugen center of Tendai, and Mount Aso was near the Kunisaki peninsula, another stronghold of Tendai. Tendai influence may thus explain why Oto Gohō is worshiped alone on Sefuri, without the Waka Gohō (Wakamaru) with whom he was paired on Mount Shosha. Shōkū, long regarded as the saint of Mount Shosha, clearly played an important role in the popularity of Oto Gohō. But this does not mean, as

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Koyama argues, that the Oto Gohō cult started on Mount Shosha. If such were the case, why would the author of Shōkū’s biography feel the need to send him (and later Kōgei) to Kyūshū so that he would experience a vision of Oto Gohō there? It is more likely that Shōku first encountered Oto Gohō (Otomaru Dōji 乙丸童子) on Mount Sefuri, where he spent seven years before moving to Mount Shosha. At any rate, when Oto Gohō became a protector of Tendai, his relationship with that school was retrospectively traced back to Saichō, who, even before Shōkū, is said to have met him on Mount Sefuri before embarking for China. This account must have sounded plausible since Mount Sefuri is not far from Dazaifu 太 宰府, the government station where Japanese monks had to stay before leaving for China (and after returning from it). Oto Gohō appeared again to Saichō on the boat, followed him to China, and protected him on his return trip. Saichō then allegedly built a temple for him on Mount Sefuri. The story follows the same pattern as for the other protectors of Tendai monks—Matarajin, Shinra Myōjin, and Sekizan Myōjin—the only difference being that they appeared in the form of old men and revealed to the monks their identity as gods of obstacles. Establishment of the Oto Gohō cult in Tendai was the work of Kōgei, who was also instrumental in the development of the cults of Jūzenji and Benzaiten. He is credited in particular with the authorship of the Enoshima engi 江ノ島縁起, the origin story of the cultic center of Benzaiten on Enoshima Island near Kamakura. Unable to travel to China, Kōgei had left Mount Hiei to build a hermitage at Ikegami in the Tanba region, north of the capital—hence his alias, Ikegami Ajari 池上阿闍梨, the “master of Ikegami.” He is revered as the founder of one of the main branches of Tendai, the Tani-ryū 谷流, and his influence cannot be overstated. Many Tendai rituals bear his signature,55 and their efficacy can be inferred from a legend in which, as he was practicing on Mount Sefuri under the protection of Oto Gohō, his mantras aroused the earth deity, causing an earthquake. Kōgei then told his disciple: “The earthquake on Mount Sefuri was the stirring of the earth deity, Kenrō Jishin. Those who earnestly serve the Dharma have nothing to fear.”56 Yet he admonished the disciple not to reveal to anyone the efficacy of the mantras. In his Ikegami gyoki 池上御記, Kōgei links Ugajin (Benzaiten), Jūzenji, and Kōjin—thereby revealing the profound affinities between the three deities. Kōgei was also a devotee of Shōten, a deity identified with Kōjin, but he warned people about the two-edged nature of the Shōten ritual.57 It is in this context that we must place his interest in Oto Gohō. The expansion of Oto Gohō’s cult during the Kamakura period reflected the influence of the Myōō-in 明王院 of Kazuragawa, a subtemple of Shōren-in dedicated to Fudō. This Myōō-in, like Gakuenji in Izumo, was dedicated to the circumambulation practice (kaihōgyō) started by Sōō (831–919) at Mudōji on Mount Hiei.58 The Keiran shūyōshū mentions Oto

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Gohō and Waka Gohō as protectors of Sōō, but it places emphasis on Oto Gohō, probably because he was worshiped independently on Mount Hiei.59 The link established (probably) by Kōgei between Oto Gohō and Benzaiten was projected retrospectively onto the Sefurisan tradition. According to the origin story Sefurisan engi 背振山縁起, there was a sovereign known as King Tokuzen 徳善王 in southern India. This king had fifteen sons. But seven days after the last one was born, the baby disappeared and no one knew its whereabouts. The great king lamented endlessly over the loss of his beloved son. He summoned a monk of great virtue, the bodhisattva Nāgārjuna (Ryūju Bosatsu 龍樹菩薩), who looked everywhere throughout the three thousand worlds with his divine eye and eventually found the child on Mount Sefuri, at the western edge of the small country of Japan. Delighted, the king immediately left for Mount Sefuri, taking his fourteen children (and presumably his wife) with him.60 The Keiran shūyōshū, after tracing the parentage of Oto Gohō to the Indian king Tokuzen, links them both to Benzaiten: “The present Sefuri Gongen is none other than the great king Tokuzen. He is Benzaiten, and the fifteen princes are Benzaiten’s fifteen lads. Having vowed to protect the Dharma, they manifested themselves in various places. The fifteenth prince, being the last, was called Oto Gohō.” Again: “The king became Benzaiten, one of the sixteen benevolent deities and sixteen great bodhisattvas. The fifteen princes are his acolytes (dōji). The youngest prince is Sensha Dōji, and he is also known as Oto Gohō. He is also Seitaka, one of Fudō’s gohō dōji. . . . Among the five hundred eighty thousand lads of the Golden Light Sūtra, these fifteen lads are the most exalted; and among them, the fifteenth, Sensha Dōji, is the foremost.”61 These fifteen lads are further described as protective deities that follow people day and night like their shadow. As noted earlier, the fifteen lads are identified in the Keiran shūyōshū 뺭 with the fifteen Sanskrit vowels or seed-syllables used in the rite of bodily protection, and they are said to be the fountainhead of the highest and most secret yoga.62 Thus, drawing on the Sefurisan engi, the Keiran shūyōshū merged the Benzaiten cult with the pre-existing cult of Oto Gohō on Mount Sefuri. By the late fourteenth century, Oto Gohō had become an acolyte of Benzaiten—and, more particularly, of her ophidian manifestation as Uga Benzaiten.63 Another monk who may have played an important role in this connection is Kōshū’s master Kenchū 鎌忠. In the Keiran shūyōshū, Kōshū reports that the shōgun Hōjō Tokiyori once dreamed that Kenchū was the foremost of Benzaiten’s fifteen lads, Sensha (whom Kōshū identified with Oto Gohō).64 Kenchū thus became a manifestation of Oto Gohō, who is described here as a water deity dwelling in a pond.65

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FIGURE 6.18  (Above) Aka Dōji. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Mika Gallery, New York. FIGURE 6.19  (Right) Aka Dōji. Edo period. Sheet, ink on paper. University Art Museum, Kyoto City University of Arts. BZS 4007.

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Kōshū makes another, rather ambitious point based on the oral tradition of Kōgei, namely, that all dōji (including Seitaka in the Fudō ritual and the two tengu acolytes of Dakiniten in the Dakiniten ritual) are identical with Oto Gohō, about whom he adds: “This lad is a shikigami that follows us like the shadow follows the body. Day or night, he never withdraws; he is the shikigami that protects us.”66 Here Oto Gohō is defined exactly in the same terms as the demon of obstacles Vināyaka, but the signs are inverted: instead of inviting the people to commit evil, he protects them. Again, in the Bikisho (1324), we are told that the Benzaiten worshiped at the Sakadono of Ise Shrine is none other than the white snake dwelling under the heart pillar (shin no mihashira), and that Oto Gohō is Benzaiten in her “live body.” Because she is a nāga deity, Benzaiten is also identified with Nāgārjuna (Ryūju) and King Tokuzen of the Sefurisan engi. In the end, Benzaiten, Tokuzen, Oto Gohō, and Ryūju are different names for the same reality. A development within Tendai initially, the image of Oto Gohō also made its way into Zen, particularly through the legend of the Chinese Zen master Rankei Dōryū 蘭渓道隆 (Ch. Lanxi Daolong, 1213–1278). In this legend, Oto Gohō becomes a young girl sent by the Enoshima Benzaiten to serve Dōryū and to help him with the administration of Kenchōji 建 長寺 in Kamakura. Unfortunately, her presence in the temple becomes the talk of the town, and the rumor reaches the Midaidokoro 御台所, the official wife of the shōgun Tokimune, who feels compelled to check on Dōryū.67 At this point, Oto Gohō reveals his (or her) true nature and appears as a frightening dragon—putting an end to all rumors of monastic misbehavior.68 This tale also worked itself into a monogatari entitled Kenchōji 建長 寺,69 perhaps influenced by the perception of Oto Gohō promulgated by Kōgei and his disciples, who were instrumental in the development of the Enoshima tradition. The image of Oto Gohō was also influential in the depiction of a deity known as Aka Dōji 赤童子, the Red Lad, who became popular during the Muromachi period (figs. 6.18 and 6.19). A protector of the Hossō monks of Kōfukuji in Nara, this dōji was said to be a trace or manifestation of the Kasuga Wakamiya Shrine even though his appearance seems closer to that of Fudō’s acolyte Seitaka (fig. 6.7) than to Kasuga’s wakamiya (fig. 6.10).70 In fact, he was linked to the second Kasuga deity, Katori Myōjin 香取明神, a manifestation of the bodhisattva Miroku, and one source describes him as an emissary of Miroku.71 The notion that the image of a protector of the Kasuga-Kōfukuji multiplex would derive from that of Oto Gohō, a protecting deity of Enryakuji, the long-time rival of Kōfukuji, may seem paradoxical, but that is precisely how influences work. Another Aka Dōji, in the Shingon tradition this time, has been confused with the deity of Kasuga, although he looks quite different. It is

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FIGURE 6.20  Aka Dōji. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Rinnōji, Nikkō, Tochigi prefecture.

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said to represent Kūkai as a youth, and it is also identified with the bodhi­ sattva Kokūzō 虚空蔵 (fig. 6.20). It appears in the iconography of a ritual elaborated by the Ritsu priest Monkan 文観 (1278–1357), known as the Joint Ritual of the Three Worthies (Sanzon gōgyō-hō 三尊合行法)—the three worthies being Nyoirin Kannon, Aizen, and Fudō.72 Representations of Kūkai as a child may also be found outside Monkan’s work, one

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well-known example being the representation of [Kōbō] Daishi as a Child Novice (Chigo Daishi 稚児大師). This painting was probably influenced by similar depictions of Shōtoku Taishi as a child. Monkan himself explicitly associates Kūkai the “divine youth” (shindō 神童) with Amaterasu. Representations of Shōtoku Taishi influenced those of another child deity, Jūzenji, to which we now turn.73 JŪZENJI, THE WARP AND WOOF OF TENDAI The intrinsic ambivalence of the gohō dōji is particularly marked in the case of the Hie deity Jūzenji, a child deity prone to cursing and possessing people, especially children. Yet a number of sources also depict him as a deity that “softens his light and mingles with the dusty world” (wakō dōjin 和光同塵)—an expression borrowed from Laozi that makes him a local and culturally sensitive manifestation of a higher power actively hiding its radiance.74 With perceptions akin to this observation, Tendai chroniclers (kike 記家) like Kōshū, owing to their encyclopedic bent, preserved the symbolic richness and fundamental ambivalence of figures like Jūzenji despite their scholastic tendency to reduce deities to doctrinal symbols. As a local deity and gohō dōji, Jūzenji represented the dark power of nature. Oracles and Possession

Jūzenji is initially an oracular god given to communicating his oracles through incubatory dreams as well as possession.75 The use of children as mouthpieces for his oracles reveals Jūzenji’s unruly, demonic nature while also recalling the Tantric ritual of induced possession discussed earlier.76 Despite their often dramatic context, his oracles were sometimes treated with skepticism. In the Heike monogatari, for instance, when a group of monks stopped to confer in front of the Jūzenji shrine, an eighteen-yearold youth named Tsurumaru fell into trance, writhing and perspiring, and eventually delivering Jūzenji’s oracle. “The monks felt skeptical. ‘If this is really an oracle from the Jūzenji god, we will give you the means to prove it,’ they said. ‘Return each of these objects to its rightful owner.’ Four or five hundred monks tossed their prayer beads onto the shrine’s broad veranda. The possessed youth raced here and there to pick them up, assembled them in a group, and returned each to its owner without a mistake. The monks joined their palms and shed tears of gratitude, awed by the god’s wonder-working powers.”77 Often, possession was caused by a curse (tatari) from Jūzenji.78 In one story, the mother of a prefect (or governor) of Ōmi province is struck by an illness allegedly caused by Jūzenji, and is eventually cured by a ritual performed by the Tendai monk Jōyō. Here it was a kind of demonic possession that required an exorcism—a predicament normally caused by malevolent spirits (goryō) or demons.

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The recent discovery of Buddhist statues under the floorboards of what was formerly the Jūzenji shrine suggests that this area was once used as a secret cultic space called geden or shitadono 下殿 where mediums and other low-status people retreated to experience incubation or induced possession. Female and male mediums, known as yorikidono 寄氣殿 and rō no miko 廊御子, respectively,79 were sometimes used as subjects for this type of possession, and their existence is known to us by a strange document, the Rō no miko ki (1603), which traces their lineage back to the Tendai abbot Jien.80 Another type of ritual specialist that would frequent places like the Jūzenji shrine was the wandering minstrel known as biwa hōshi, who would serve as a mouthpiece for the vengeful spirits (goryō) of the Taira warriors, whose saga he sang. As the figure of Jūzenji gradually became domesticated, auspicious dreams replaced possession in the monastic setting, and he began to be known for the dreams and visions he induced. On the other hand, induced possession continued to occur in the context of the shrine, and in those visions Jūzenji often appeared as an avatar of Jizō—a phenomenon reflecting the parallel development of the Jizō cult.81 Of the many revelations made by Jūzenji in a dream, one that stands out is the experience of the abbot Ingen (951–1028), who received from Jūzenji a dhāraṇī scripture centered on the deity Ugajin.82 Sometimes he would admonish one monk for failing to follow the Dharma, while at other times he would compliment another monk for his observance of monastic discipline. In his Collection of Sand and Pebbles (Shasekishū), Mujū Ichien reported how Jūzenji appeared in a dream to the monk Shōshin. When Shōshin tendered a request on behalf of his aged mother, Jūzenji did not seem pleased, but he lighted up when Shōshin finally asked him to help his mother reach awakening in her next life.83 Despite these positive reports, incubatory dreams did not entirely lose their subversive oracular power. In the Heike monogatari, a fire that ravaged the imperial palace is explained as a divine punishment: “That fire was no ordinary occurrence. Someone had a dream in which two or three thousand big monkeys, each carrying a lighted pine torch, came down from Mount Hiei to burn the city as a punishment from the Sannō god.”84 Here the monkey symbolism points to Jūzenji.85 And in the Taiheiki, when the Tendai monk Enkan is arrested on the charge of plotting against the bakufu, he only escapes torture because the shōgun Takatoki dreams that he sees several thousand monkeys coming out from the eastern base of Mount Hiei to line up in seeming protection of Enkan.86 Origin Story

In his Sange yōryakki, written at the end of the Kamakura period, the chronicler Gigen relates that on Saichō’s first climb atop Mount Hiei in 785, he met a divine youth who told him: ‘I am the divine child of the

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warp and woof of heaven and earth. I am the god Dōshōjin who controls the fundamental destiny of beings.”87 According to an oral teaching harking back to the monachal rector Eshin (Eshin sōzu 恵心僧都, i.e., Genshin 源信, 942–1017 ): “Jūzenji is the deity of the warp and woof of heaven and earth, the dark path of the life-breath of beings.”88 The Sannō mitsuki quotes a slightly different version of Genshin’s teaching: “In heaven, he is Kokūzō, on earth, Jizō; this is why he is called the deity of the warp and woof of heaven and earth.” This passage became the keyword of the Jūzenji tradition.89 In the Sange Sairyakki, the “numinous youth” who appears to Saichō claims to have three names: “The first one is Dōshōten 同生天 because I am the deva born as the same time as all beings; the second is Yugyōjin 遊行神 because I am the wandering deity who oversees the fundamental destiny of beings; the third is Jūzenji 十禅師 because I share the bliss of dhyāna (zen 禅) with the beings of the ten (jū 十) directions, and I am the master (shi 師) that makes them establish [good karmic] ties.” Jūzenji concludes: “If you recite my name even once, your merits will fill space. I make the inexhaustible vow to grant all your wishes.”90 The Sefurisan engi, on the other hand, has it that the divine youth who manifested himself to Saichō on his ascent of Mount Hiei was none other than Oto Gohō, who then followed and protected him during his trip to China.91 Iconography

Jūzenji, it seems, was not often represented—and only rarely as a youth— despite his importance for the Tendai tradition. The appearance of Jūzenji has long been known only through the Sannō mandalas in which he appears, among other deities, as a young or middle-­aged monk.92 The Hie Sannō Gongen chishinki describes him as seated monk of over twenty, holding a sūtra scroll in his right hand and a fan in his left (fig. 6.21).93 The Sange yōryakki explains that Jūzenji appears in incubatory dreams as an “eminent monk.” One such painted representation shows Jūzenji seated on a platform with a small monkey climbing the stairs toward him, Jizō in a golden circle above him, a landscape of rocks and trees in the background, and the seven stars of the Northern Dipper above a mountain scene symbolizing the seven upper Hie shrines (fig. 6.22).94 In all likelihood, it was essentially Hieizan monks who worshiped this form of Jūzenji. The Jūzenji shrine, better known as Juge-gū 樹下宮 (Shrine under the Tree) was managed by shrine priests (shasō 社僧) known as the monks under the tree (juge-sō 樹下僧). Only recently has another type of representation of the deity, as a youth (dōji or chigo), come to light. While only a few exemplars are known, they are significant for their cultic and symbolic resonances.95 Currently, five painted scrolls have been identified as representing Jūzenji.96 His attributes in these paintings are similar to those of Indian-looking

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FIGURE 6.21  (Above) Jūzenji as a monk. Butsuzō zui (1783), by Ki no Hidenobu. Suzuka bunko, Ehime University, Matsuyama. FIGURE 6.22  (Right) Jūzenji as a monk. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Enryakuji, Shiga prefecture.

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representations of Kṣitigarbha (J. Jizō 地蔵): a wish-fulfilling jewel (cintāmaṇi) and a rather strange ritual implement consisting of a banner hanger surmounted by a jewel, standing on a lotus stalk (fig. 6.23).97 The most atypical image, dated to the sixteenth century, is that of the Enryakuji scroll (preserved at the Mount Hiei Library, Eizan bunko). It is the only one painted in the yamato-e style (fig. 6.24). Jūzenji appears seated on a platform, with two monkeys in the foreground. He looks like an aristocratic youth whose long hair is tied by the side of his ears. He holds a long ceremonial flywhisk (hossu 払子). Above his head, a four-line eulogy reads: “Homage to Jūzenji. / This land is the Pure Land of Eternal Quiet Light. / In all four majestic deportments—going, standing, sitting, and lying down— / Cut off and remove all the flames of defilements.”98 In another contemporary painted scroll from Sōgon-in 双厳院, Jūzenji appears lightly turned toward the left (fig. 6.25). His eyebrows are not shaved, and his hair is cropped at the ears. He wears a green long-sleeved robe with floral motifs. He holds the same attributes. There is no background. A figure in two painted scrolls from Jōbodai-in (14th to 15th cent.) that had traditionally been identified as Shōtoku Taishi is now recognized as Jūzenji.99 In the first scroll, Jūzenji’s posture is relatively close to that of the Sōgon-in figure (fig. 6.26). He stands, turned toward the left, under a raised curtain with floral motifs. The pattern of his long-sleeved robe is fairly characteristic with its large circles, while flowers ornament the trousers. He holds the same attributes as above. Unlike the Sōgon-in painting, the background is constituted by a sliding panel ( fusuma) with richly decorated blinds (sudare) on each side. The second Jōbodai-in scroll is quite different (fig. 6.27). Jūzenji now stands facing to the right. On one side of his body, his hair hangs down to his knees. He wears a plain, light brown robe decorated with phoenix motifs and characteristic shoes with an upturned pointed end. He holds the same attributes, and a Dharma wheel is visible above his head. This painting has a text on its verso that identifies him as “Jūzenji, chigo of Sannō”; but someone added: “The image is not Jūzenji Gongen, but Shōtoku Taishi.”100 An annex tradition mentions that it was a secret image shown only on the “first monkey day of the first month”—the day when the monkeys of Hie were worshiped.101

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FIGURE 6.23  Jizō (Kṣitigarbha). Daihi taizō daimandara, TZ 1: 112, fig. 159.

FIGURE 6.24  Jūzenji as a youth. Muromachi period, 16th century. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Enryakuji, Shiga prefecture.

FIGURE 6.25  Juzenji as a youth. Muromachi period, 16th century. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Sōgon-in, Shiga prefecture.

FIGURE 6.26  Jūzenji as a youth. Muromachi period, 14th–15th centuries. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Jōbodai-in, Shiga prefecture.

FIGURE 6.27  Juzenji as a youth. Muromachi period, 14th–15th centuries. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Jōbodai-in, Shiga prefecture.

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FIGURE 6.28  Jūzenji. Seed-letter mandala. Momoyama period. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Kannonji, Shiga prefecture.

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The last painted scroll is from Kannonji (Kizu, Shiga prefecture), and it is dated to the end of the sixteenth century (fig. 6. 28). It represents Jūzenji in a standing posture, turned toward the left, as in the Sōgon-in scroll. The main difference is that he is surrounded by twenty-three Sanskrit seed-letters. The six letters above symbolize the six upper shrines of Hie (Jūzenji’s shrine being the seventh), the seven on the left the seven middle shrines, and the seven on the right the seven lower shrines. The last three letters may symbolize the ternary nature of the Sannō deity. In other words, the painting is a Sannō mandara centered on Jūzenji.102 Yamamoto Yōko points out that the same corporeal attitude can be found in other dōji images—for instance, those of the wakamiya of Hachiman and Kasuga shrines, and those of Shōtoku Taishi and of the monk Gyōki as youth.103 But the lotus stalk that Jūzenji holds in his right hand in four of the paintings is absent from all the representations of Shōtoku Taishi and similar juvenile figures.104 The former existence of a sculpted-­child representation at the Jūzenji shrine can be inferred from a passage of the Keiran shūyōshū, after the episode of Jūzenji’s encounter with Saichō: “This is what the seated representation of Jūzenji as dōji inside the shrine means.”105 Likewise, according to the Sannō yurai: “In front of his main representation [lit. “main face,” i.e., as a monk] one prays for the supreme bodhi; [whereas] in front of his child [manifestation] in the southeastern corner one must pray for [benefits in] this life.”106 Thus, the objects of the prayers (Jūzenji as a monk and as a youth) and their content (transcendent awakening versus this-worldly benefits) differ. Names and honji

The name Jūzenji points toward a Buddhist monastic institution, that of the “ten dhyāna masters” (jūzenji). This institution was important during the Nara and Heian periods, but it had already declined by the time that Jūzenji’s cult arose, toward the eleventh century.107 Nevertheless, the

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Yōtenki traces Jūzenji’s cult back to one of these dhyāna masters, a Hieizan priest who allegedly built the Jūzenji shrine after receiving an auspicious dream from the god. It also tells how this priest became a mouthpiece (arahitogami 荒人神, or living god) for the Sannō god and came to be called Jūzenji because of his institutional affiliation.108 This image of a monk cum medium possessed by the god and eventually becoming identified with it led Yamamoto Hiroko to argue that the source of the Jūzenji cult lay in the magnetic field formed, in the complex margins between sacred and profane, by the institution of the ten dhyāna masters, the shrine priests, and popular mediums.109 Although Jūzenji may have been interpreted allegorically within the Tendai doctrinal framework, he was also perceived as belonging to the demonic category of the “real ones” (jissha), owing in large part to his habit of possessing people. We have already encountered on several occasions the distinction between gonsha (provisional manifestations of a buddha or bodhisattva) and jissha. The Shinsen hiketsu shū gives as examples of the “real” category (jitsurui 実類) two names: Kitano Tenjin (the deified spirit of Sugawara no Michizane) and Jūzenji of Hie.110 Things began to change, however, when Jūzenji was identified with several of the most popular Buddhist deities. At various times, Jūzenji was considered to be a trace or manifestation of Buddhist figures such as the bodhisattvas Kokūzō, Miroku, and Nyoirin Kannon, as well as some less orthodox ones like Ugajin, Benzaiten, and Shōten.111 His principal honji, however, was Jizō, and this may explain Jūzenji’s representation as a young monk. It may also justify his identification with King Yama.112 There was, however, a debate about the number and identity of his other honji. This hesitation is significant, as it may reflect an attempt in Tendai to control a most elusive deity and to transform him into a “god of great compassion” who “softens his light.”113 Another important honji was Benzaiten, whose relationship with Jūzenji seems to rest on a passage of the apocryphal Ugajin daranikyō in which Ugajin (a deity closely associated or identified with Benzaiten) protects the southeastern direction—like Jūzenji. Like a kami, Jūzenji is said to have manifested himself on a rock, which was known for that reason as the “stone of manifestation” (yōgōseki 影向石). As the “Shintō” identity of the Hie tradition came to the foreground, shrine priests attempted to trace Jūzenji’s origins back to a god of classical mythology. He thus came to be identified with the child god Ninigi no Mikoto, the grandson of the sun goddess Amaterasu.114 In the Sange yōryakki (Jingū-bon), this identification of Jūzenji with Ninigi is attributed to the Jingi senryō by Ōe no Masafusa 大江匡房 (1041– 1111). It may reflect the attempt made by the latter to link the Hie and Ise shrines by identifying Miwa Myōjin (Ōmiya) with Amaterasu. Jūzenji is also said to be one of the names given to the spirit or unborn essence

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of Amaterasu.115 Apart from his shrine at Hie, he was also present at Ise in two “separate sanctuaries” (betsugū) at the Inner and Outer Shrines. According to the Jindai no maki shikenmon, Jūzenji was enshrined in a “subsidiary shrine” (betsugū) of the Outer Ise Shrine, and he was called the “ruler of Japan.”116 As the grandchild and representative of Amaterasu on earth, he was said to be “peerless among the gods of Japan,” and the “first bright deity (myōjin) under heaven.”117 A less widespread belief connects Jūzenji to the kami Ame no Ko­yane 天児屋根—the ancestor of the Kamatari and Fujiwara lineages—in his manifestation as a divine child.118 According to Yamamoto Hiroko, this link reflects the fusion, from the Insei period onward, of the gods of Hie and other gods that were popular in the capital—those of Kasuga Shrine, for example.119 However, that tradition was criticized in other sources that were not content with Ame no Koyane and aimed instead to lend Jūzenji the prestige of the imperial lineage.120 The Shintō narrative claims that Jūzenji descended from heaven in 782 or 783—two or three years before appearing to Saichō.121 The sources all emphasize that his descent is anterior to that of Ōyamakui, the god of Ninomiya Shrine—let alone the arrival of Ōkuninushi, the god of Ōmiya Shrine. In this view, Jūzenji is a kind of ur-landowner. The identification of Jūzenji with Ninigi became prominent at the end of the medieval period with the rise of the new Shintō ideology. In the Kojiki and the Nihon shoki, Ninigi’s descent was described as the pacification of the araburu kami.122 As a child ruler, however, Ninigi had to be helped by powerful kami to defeat earthly gods like Ōkuninushi and take possession of Japan. The pacification was accomplished by the kami Futsunushi 経津主 and Takemikazuchi 建御雷 (武甕槌), who became the gods of Katori 鹿取 and Kashima 鹿島 shrines. Ninigi was reinterpreted within the framework of Buddhist esotericism: he became known as the “king with the pestle” (kidoku-ō 杵独王), and that pestle was identified with the vajra or thunderbolt of Vajrapaṇī.123 Jūzenji’s importance rests on several symbolic underpinnings. First, he is the only god explicitly identified with Sannō Gongen (Ōmiya), the tutelary god of Mount Hiei.124 The Hie Sannō Gongen chishinki points out that most of the Sannō shrines in Japan were dedicated to Jūzenji.125 He was even called “Sannō’s whole body” (Sannō sōtai 山王總體) at times, suggesting that he subsumed all the gods of Mount Hiei in his divine orbit. Significantly, the first deity that Saichō is said to have met when he climbed Mount Hiei was not Sannō Gongen but Jūzenji. The topos of the encounter between the monk and the mountain god is here split into two parallel episodes. The belief that Jūzenji first revealed himself under the form of a divine child (chigo 稚児) is said to be the meaning of the saying, “First, the chigo; second, Sannō” 一兒二山王.126 The point of the story is that Jūzenji is not only a local protector but also a primordial god that

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controls human lives. In this respect, he seems to take precedence over Sannō Gongen. At any rate, relations between these two deities are complex: sometimes they are identical, sometimes distinct. As Yamamoto Hiroko points out, Mount Hiei at the time of Saichō was a wild and mysterious place, traversed by all kinds of violent energies and filled with all sorts of demonic entities. In other words, it was very different from the later Mount Hiei that Tendai monks transformed (and domesticated) into a variant of Vulture Peak, the dwelling place of Śākya­ muni. After Sannō Gongen became a manifestation of Śākyamuni, his wildness and sacredness were channeled into Jūzenji, and when his wellknown “oracle under the tree” was delivered, Jūzenji himself became a reincarnation of Śākyamuni—with the said tree becoming a replica of the bodhi tree under which the Buddha had obtained awakening. For that reason, the Jūzenji shrine came to be known as the Shrine under the Tree (Juge-gū 樹下宮).127 Mount Hiei, already identified with Vulture (or Eagle) Peak, now became a copy of Bodh-Gaya.128 Jūzenji as Landowner Deity

Until recently, some scholars have argued that the original deity of Juge-gū was Tamayori-hime 玉依姫, the goddess of Kamo Shrine. For the same reason, Tamayori-hime replaced Jūzenji at the time of the Meiji Restoration, when the Buddhist icons of Juge-gū—sad irony—were destroyed by a shrine priest of the Juge family. This theory—and the reason for Tamayori-hime’s reinstitution—was based on the Hie-sha negi kudenshō 日吉社禰宜口伝抄, a text allegedly dated to 1047.129 This text has recently been proved to be apocryphal, however, and its date of compilation was moved to the end of the Edo period. Jūzenji shares characteristic features with the wakamiya, a term that usually designates a former jinushi or landowner deity that was displaced by a more powerful god and moved to the margins of the shrine’s precincts. In his Gonjin shō (1414), the Tendai priest Enshun tries to revert the order of precedence by distinguishing between two forms of the Sannō deity: the primordial Sannō that dwells on the top of the mountain, and his suijaku or trace that dwells at the mountain’s foot.130 Jūzenji as Divine Youth

Jūzenji’s most characteristic feature is probably his youth, which links him, not only with the more or less demonic gohō dōji, but also with the child representation of Shōtoku Taishi. The latter was perceived as a manifestation of the bodhisattva Kannon, and it is significant that, during a ritual performed at Hōryūji in 1069, his representation as a seven-yearold child was chosen as the main deity of worship instead of the more traditional Guze Kannon. The emphasis on this image of Shōtoku, who ruled Japan as a crown prince and not as an emperor, seems to reflect the

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changes that led, during the Insei period, to the infantilization of puppet emperors under the control of cloistered emperors (insei). It is also toward the same time that one sees the emergence of the cult of the wakamiya deities.131 Shōtoku Taishi and Jūzenji were both objects of the poet Jien’s devotion, and he seems to have held them as practically identical. Jien made numerous offerings to the Jūzenji shrine, and in 1216, after seeing Shōtoku Taishi in a dream, he dedicated a vow, the Shōtoku Taishi ganmon, to the Jūzenji shrine and Shōtoku’s mausoleum.132 Although this may have contributed to the iconographic confusion between Jūzenji and Shōtoku Taishi, deeper affinities did exist between the two cults. In particular, as I argue in Lords of Life, both figures were identified with Shukujin 宿神, the god of destiny. We recall that Jūzenji was linked to Oto Gohō (and thus, indirectly, with Benzaiten and her fifteen dōji).133 The chigo representation also links him to other juvenile representations of figures such as Monju 文珠 (Skt. Mañjuśrī) and Gyōki 行基. As a protector of children, however, he was probably more efficacious in his monk form. That is, while Jūzenji may have been a protecting deity, he was also perceived as a child that needs protection. Such was the function of the simian god Daigyōji, who was said to be his paternal uncle (bofu 伯父).134 Daigyōji is also called an “evil god” (akushin 悪神), a term that generally defines the araburu kami, the earthly gods that were Japan’s original landowner deities. By the thirteenth century, he was already represented as a zoomorphic figure, and in the Sannō mandara he is shown wearing an official’s dress, but his head is that of a monkey. He was said to be an avatar of Sarutahiko, the god who came to greet Ninigi at the eightfold crossroads of heaven,135 but some medieval sources, in their retelling of the episode, replace Ninigi’s name by that of Jūzenji. The link between Jūzenji and Daigyōji is emphasized in the Rō no miko ki, the origin story of the Jūzenji shrine mediums known as the rō no miko. Jūzenji’s Network

The official image of Jūzenji hides other, less orthodox aspects, as well as the true position of that deity within an implicit structure that was much more fluid than the official pantheons of Buddhism and Shintō. The relationships that come to light—surfacing in texts, oral traditions, and rituals—between Jūzenji and other deities that look at first glance quite different tell us a lot about his real nature. Let us examine some of these relationships. I have already mentioned Jūzenji’s relationship with Daigyōji, a simian god identified with Sarutahiko. Jūzenji’s image is linked in many ways to monkeys. According to one source, a wandering ascetic (hijiri) who visited Mount Hiei marveled at seeing so many monkeys at the Jūzenji

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shrine, and he declared: “Apart from the monkeys, there is no true divine body. This is because, when one adds 示 (“to show”) to 申 (“monkey”, one obtains 神 (“god”).”136 Thus, monkeys became the traces and messengers of Sannō Gongen, who was himself a trace of Śākyamuni. Although monkeys had an auspicious character and were respected as protectors, they were also perceived as aggressive animals.137 In this respect, the ambivalent and at times threatening power of Jūzenji is revealed in the nature of his simian companions. In some accounts, he even transforms himself into a white-handed monkey. Again, during his two-year love affair with Jien, he is said to have come every night, perched on the shoulder of a monkey. Jūzenji was also identified with Ugajin—a name, in this case, that seems to refer to Benzaiten rather than the male ophidian deity of that name—in his function as placenta deity (ena kōjin) and protector of children. In the Keiran shūyōshū, Benzaiten is defined exactly in the same terms as Jūzenji: in heaven, she is the bodhisattva Kokūzō, on earth, the bodhisattva Jizō.138 Like Ugajin, Jūzenji was described as a “deity of the warp and woof of heaven and earth,” ruling over the destiny of humans. In a section explaining why Jūzenji’s shrine is oriented toward the southeast, the Sange yōryakki quotes the words of Ugajin in the apocryphal Fukutoku enman darani kyō: “I am constantly facing southeast to prevent obstacles from arising.”139 Yet certain features also distinguish Jūzenji from Ugajin. Jūzenji possesses people and delivers oracles—actions that Ugajin does not seem to engage in. Under Jūzenji’s rather innocent and innocuous appearance, he is initially an aramitama, perhaps one of the oracular deities who exist only through speech. Protean deities must constantly assert themselves through speech. As kōjin, Jūzenji displays a typical ambivalence. Following a topos that we will find again in the case of Kōjin and others, we are told that he appears as Jūzenji to good people, bringing them good fortune, and as a violent deity (soranshin) to evil people, bringing them misfortune.140 Likewise, in the Shichisha ryakki, we read: “Because he benefits those who are compassionate and by nature straight, he is called Jūzenji; because he punishes those who are defiled and evil, with perverse desires, he is called Soranshin [that is, Kōjin]. The Sange yōryakki, quoting the Tendai monk Kōgei, states that Juzenji is called Ugajin, the deity that constantly protects individuals from the moment of their conception (the first of the “five stages within the womb,” tainai goi 体内五 位) to their death (“the last thought at the end of life”).141 In this function, Jūzenji is a placenta deity that brings “longevity and happiness” while still remaining potentially dangerous as kōjin. From this standpoint, misfortune is no longer simply the result of a ritual transgression; it becomes a kind of karmic retribution. The Jindai no maki hiketsu explicitly associates Jūzenji with the elephant-­headed Shōten, and therefore with the paradigmatic god of

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obstacles Kōjin: “It is said in the Sange yōshūki: ‘Jūzenji is Daishō Kan­ giten.’ . . . Personal commentary: ‘This is another name for Shōten.’ Furthermore, one calls Kōjin the Dharma king Yama. This must remain secret.”142 While not attested elsewhere, this identity is not surprising in the context of Jūzenji’s affinities with Kōjin, Ugajin, Benzaiten, and Yama. Uhō Dōji

To further contextualize Jūzenji, it may be useful to briefly examine the figure of Uhō Dōji, a deity worshiped at Kongōshōji 金剛證寺 on Mount Asama in Ise.143 Their appearance differs somewhat: while Jūzenji’s hair is cropped at the ears, Uhō Dōji’s hair falls on his shoulders, and he wears a small stūpa on the top of his head while holding a staff in his right hand, and a wish-fulfilling jewel in his left hand (figs. 6.29–6.31). In some sources, this dōji is said to be a female deity grounded in the bodhisattva Kokūzō as well as an emanation of Amaterasu. Jūzenji has both Jizō and Kokūzō as his honji, and he is identified with Ninigi, Amaterasu’s grandson. While shared, the solar symbolism seems more important for Uhō Dōji (fig. 6.32), who is known in certain sources as the Lad of Red Essence (Sekisei Dōji 赤精童子) and seems linked to the Red Lad (Aka Dōji 赤童子) of Kasuga.144 At any rate, Uhō Dōji is also linked symbolically to the wish-fulfilling jewel and the notion of vital essence. As the source of all beings, Uhō Dōji was said to manifest in several triads: first in heaven, as the sun, moon, and stars; and then in the three countries, as the buddhas Vairocana, Amida, and Shaka in India, as the primordial gods Fu Xi, Shennong, and Huang Di in China, and as the kami Amaterasu, Tsukiyomi, and Ninigi in Japan.145 It was this last set of manifestations that was undoubtedly the last straw for Ise priests, who eventually sued Kongōshōji.146 But perhaps the only real mistake that the Kongōshōji monks made in trying to cash in on the prestige of Ise Shrine was to present Uhō Dōji as an “Amaterasu before Amaterasu”—that is, Amaterasu at the tender age of sixteen—instead of simply connecting their patron deity to the great goddess of Ise indirectly, as did the priests of the Hie shrines when they cast Jūzenji as “Amaterasu’s grandchild.” Like Jūzenji, Uhō Dōji eventually became a god that bestows fortune and happiness on all beings,147 and in that function he often appears together with the fifteen dōji in Benzaiten mandalas. His popularity may be explained in part by the fact that he was, together with Benzaiten, one of the main objects of worship of the nuns of Keikō-in, a Rinzai Zen monastery in Ise that was probably linked with Kongōshōji, which had become a Zen monastery at the end of the fourteenth century. These nuns, known as Ise shōnin, were active in fundraising for the Ise shrines from the fifteenth to the seventeenth century, receiving donations from the Tokugawa shōgunate for distribution to the shrines. For that reason, they

FIGURE 6.29  Uhō Dōji. Ink and color on paper. Edo period. Petzold Collection, Harvard-­ Yenching Library.

FIGURE 6.30  Uhō Dōji as acolyte of Kannon. Edo period. Sheet, ink on paper. University Art Museum, Kyoto City University of Arts. BZS 2009.

FIGURE 6.31  Uhō Dōji and acolytes. Edo period. Sheet, ink on paper. University Art Museum, Kyoto City University of Arts. BZS 4022.

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were the only Buddhist clerics officially allowed within the shrine precincts. (Even though the Ise priests petitioned against them at one point and were able to temporarily exclude them from the shrine, they remained a powerful presence at Ise until the Meiji Restoration.148) Their devotion to Uhō Dōji is nicely illustrated by a recently discovered painted scroll, which shows the god standing over the praying hands of a nun (fig. 6.33). Jūzenji and Uhō Dōji were originally local mountain gods, but the demonic nature of Juzenji seems more marked.149 Both rose to the rank of a primordial deity, Jūzenji becoming the “warp and woof of heaven and earth,” and Uhō Dōji the vital spirit or essence of all beings. It was Jūzenji’s role as a master of destinies that led to his identification with King Yama, and by extension with the solar wisdom king Aizen, two deities closely linked to Amaterasu. CODETTA Originally a mere jissha, a violent demonic spirit, Jūzenji was redefined as a gonsha, a manifestation of bodhisattvas, in the Taimitsu line of Tendai, and as a manifestation of the kami Ninigi, Amaterasu’s grandchild, in early Shintō. Through the symbolic circulation of figures in the network he joined, his charisma constantly increased—to the point that he eventually became one of the great gods of the medieval pantheon, on a par with (or identical to) deities like Yama and Kōjin. However, the career

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FIGURE 6.32  Uho Dōji. Edo period. Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. Ichigami Shrine, Yokaichi, Shiga prefecture.

FIGURE 6.33  Uhō Dōji appears to a nun. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Private collection.

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of Jūzenji did not end there. I have left in the background so far certain aspects of that god—his function as a placenta deity, for example, and as master of human destinies—which are best discussed in connection with the enigmatic figure designated by the name Shukujin, a topic I take up in Lords of Life. Still, the impressive trajectory of Jūzenji’s career makes one wonder what relationship there can be between a demonic spirit that possesses children and a god that is the metaphysical source of all things. The local origin of Jūzenji was glossed over by esoteric and imperial (rather than Shintō) exegetes, but his infantile and demonic nature continued to influence his image—even as he became a kind of ultimate hidden god. Since he remained a living deity (and not a mere sign), he continued to draw energy from the symbolic soil from which he had emerged—being himself a chthonian deity. His relations with Jizō and Yama, but also with Ugajin, Fudō, and Daigyōji, were overdetermined rather than simply circumstantial (via his representation as a youth or monk). Why was Jūzenji’s path so different from that of Shuten Dōji, with whom he shared affinities at the outset? There is no easy answer to that question. Jūzenji’s popularity did wane after the medieval period, unlike that of Uhō Dōji, who appears in many Edo-period painted scrolls. Because there was a growing tendency to polarize deities into one-sided gods or demons at that time, figures like Jūzenji, which represented a Janus-faced ambiguity, gradually faded or were redefined in polar terms. Even the pole star deity Myōken, a typical kōjin, was affected by that bipolar tendency. In effect, the little lords had to grow up and lose their juvenile ambivalence. Although he apparently was never called a dōji, Jūzenji is typical of that semi-demonic, semi-divine category constituted by the dōji, ōji, and wakamiya. He shares clear affinities with the Kasuga Wakamiya and with Uhō Dōji, the tutelary deity of Mount Asama in Ise, for example. The cult of these deities is inscribed in the broader context of medieval Japanese conceptions regarding childhood— particularly in relation to the role played by young novices (chigo) in monasteries and shrines. But it also strikes deeper roots in the prolific ground of Japanese religion. The various figures discussed here (Kongara and Seitaka, Kirime Ōji, Shuten Dōji, Oto Gohō, Uhō Dōji, and Jūzenji) represent facets of a religious imagination that spans the entire spectrum from the most elemental demonic entities (genii loci and aggressing / protecting spiririts) to the most exalted representations of cosmic power. Often several aspects coexist within (or indicate the evolution of) the same figure, as can be seen in the case of Jūzenji. In Oto Gohō’s case, one can still see the coexistence of the autochthonous deity and the protecting power. But as the local deity detaches itself from its place of origin and becomes a protecting deity, its ambivalence tends to evolve into figures that are

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polar opposites (well represented by Kongara and Seitaka, or Oto Gohō and Wakamaru). This tendency has been studied, in Indian and Chinese Buddhism, by Rolf Stein in his seminal essay “The Guardian of the Gate” (1991b). It is also well illustrated in a section of the Keiran shūyōshū dealing with Dharma protectors (gohō), which unravels further tendencies of the gohō dōji to fuse with twin devas (kushōjin) as well as with rulers of human life such as King Yama and the bodhisattva Jizō.150 In the worstcase scenario, however, the dōji’s ambivalence may result in his outright demonization, as with Kirime Ōji and Shuten Dōji. But even when that ambivalence remains latent, the dark aspect of the dōji’s nature is never entirely forgotten. Even as he becomes a demiurge, Jūzenji remains a turbulent deity (soranshin), identified with the demon of obstacles Kōjin. As such, he is to a great extent representive of that class of youths called dōji and princes known as ōji and wakamiya.

7

FUROR AND MYSTERY—KŌJIN We saw that demonic deities as different as Gozu Tennō and Susanoo were defined in medieval Japan as wild deities through a bundle of features subsumed under the term araburu kami 荒神 (also read kōjin). Yet there was also a divine power that furnished the template for these wild deities and that bore, precisely, the name of Kōjin. Actually, as was often the case in Japan, the name refers both to an individual deity and to a category, the kōjin. As Simone Mauclaire puts it, “The personification of an attribute becomes the name of a unique being, whereas the other deities, considered as his subordinates (kenzoku 眷属, tsukai 使い), are not treated as if they possessed a proper name and must be content to be an emanation of the main deity.”1 Whenever possible, I capitalize this name when it refers to the individual deity (Kōjin) and use the lower case when dealing with functional deities. When the term is ambiguous, I sometimes use the doublet Kōjin / kōjin despite its obvious inelegance. On the other hand, as Naoe Hiroji warns us, the identity of names may at times hide a concrete specificity of beliefs and practices, giving the false impression that everything is more or less the same because every feature is linked to all others. While an expansive chain of identification may look like a good description of co-dependent origination, it rapidly loses its heuristic value when it comes to the understanding of a particular figure like Kōjin. In this case, it seems that the term kōjin was loosely attached to numerous preexisting cults, moving Naoe to point out: “If one is merely bound by the name kōjin, one risks losing sight of the essence of those cults.”2 At the same time, however, assuming as he does that there is such an “essence” is also problematic. In his Tōjō garan shodō anzōki 洞上伽藍諸堂安像記, the Sōtō Zen master Menzan Zuihō 面山瑞方 (1683–1789) explains: “One collects in one bundle the gods in charge of earthly matters, comprising two categories, the myōjin and the kōjin.” But then he adds: “The kōjin, when one worships them, cause damage and give bad omens.”3 In other words, the kōjin are to be contrasted with the orthodox Japanese gods integrated

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FIGURE 7.1  Sanbō Kōjin (Yokoyama Daimyōjin). Heian period, 12th century. Carved wood. Keisokuji, Shiga prefecture.

into the Buddhist pantheon, and reduced to the rank of oracular—and demonic—spirits.4 One might object that what we have here is mere homophony, further complicated by the twofold reading of the Chinese characters—as araburu kami and kōjin. Perhaps these readings refer to different deities, but the homonymy—if such is the case—is in itself significant. It serves as an “identity operator,” and the hesitation as to its referents is essential. Kōjin is an elusive power (and perhaps a slippery concept too). Its name designates what might be called, in French, a spectre—in both senses of the term, “spectrum” and “ghost.” In covering a broad spectrum from a horde of anonymous spirits to an individualized deity, from the demon(s) to the god, it might be characterized best by the title of one of René Char’s poetic collections, “Furor and Mystery.”

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Kōjin appears in medieval Buddhism as a paradigmatic demon of obstacles, a kind of Japanese version of Māra. Therefore, we should not be surprised when he obstructs our binary logic. His case is also symptomatic, because it shows where traditional Buddhist studies and ethnographic approaches have diverged. Since scholars seem generally unwilling or unable to cross these disciplinary boundaries,5 Kōjin has been studied for the most part from two different angles, and the resulting studies have yielded two images that do not overlap. This duality is not simply due to disciplinary compartmentalization, however. It also reflects the emic distinction between a Buddhist Kōjin perceived essentially as a demon of obstacles and a symbol of fundamental ignorance; and a deity whose hubris and ambivalence represent the overwhelming forces of nature. In light of this duality, it is relevant that Kōjin also played an important role in performing arts, including kagura and sarugaku, that provide a link between the high culture of Buddhism and popular culture.6 A NATIVE DEITY? The recurrent debate launched by Edo scholars such as Amano Sadakage as to whether Kōjin is a native or foreign deity came to overlap with the question as to whether he is a Buddhist or “Shintō” deity. In his Shiojiri 塩 尻, Amano points out that the name of Kōjin does not appear in Chinese texts. Partisans of the Japanese-origins theory argue from the etymology (araburu kami) and the non-Buddhist forms of kōjin, deeply embedded in Japanese folk traditions. Yet the Shiojiri also mentions the relation or identity between Kōjin and the stove god (kamadogami), a deity of Chinese origin, and it is clear that Kōjin is not simply a kami, or even an araburu kami as his name suggests. Most authors emphasize that Kōjin is a specifically Japanese deity, like Zaō Gongen.7 Indeed, Sanbō Kōjin, the protector of the Three Jewels, does not appear in canonical Buddhist scriptures. But isn’t this true of many Japanese gods, Buddhist or otherwise? Is Uga Benzaiten 宇賀弁財 天, who derives from the Indian goddess Sarasvatī, not specifically Japanese? Zaō Gongen, a local god of Kinpusen who became a major deity of Shugendō, is another case in point. Kōjin’s iconography, on the other hand, points to Tantric influence, as does Zaō Gongen’s. The image of the wrathful deity has roots in Indian Tantra, and the Buddhist representation of Sanbō Kōjin calls to mind Vajrapāṇi and Vajrasattva (a specific form of Vajrapāṇi). Partisans of the Buddhist-origins theory emphasize the demonic nature and wrathful appearance of Sanbō Kōjin, whereas advocates of the translocal, nonsectarian identity of Kōjin emphasize allegorical (and largely Buddhist) readings. However, the Kōjin / kōjin of local folk religion, insofar as it survives in the modern rituals of the Izanagi-ryū, is no longer the same,

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having been forever transformed by medieval encounters with esoteric Buddhism and other religious trends such as Onmyōdō, Shugendō, and Shintō. Thus, it would be naive to think that it reflects a purely native form of religiosity, a kind of “shamanic substrate” that predates the introduction of Buddhism. The roughness and wildness of aramitama and araburu kami, notions that were instrumental in the medieval emergence of Kōjin, are indeed specific to Japanese kami worship. Yet the name of a deity is only one element in its identity, and other elements may diverge in their origins, native or foreign. Kōjin allowed the Japanese to recognize their own local gods in the wrathful appearance of foreign deities, thus creating a bridge between indigenous cults and immigrant gods. Kōjin is often identified with alien gods such as Matarajin (Mahākāla, that is, Śiva). Yet Matarajin merged with the old-man figure of Okina 翁, the very emblem of what is often hailed as a quintessentially Japanese art form, Nō. This shows that, before deciding about the indigenous or imported nature of such figures, a closer look at Buddhist demonology is needed.8 A list of the various types of kōjin invoked in the ritual setting is substantial, and it does not seem to follow clear typological or sectarian patterns. As noted above, it is often difficult to differentiate between collective and individualized forms.9 The breadth of the semantic field encompassing terms like araburu kami, aramitama, soranshin, kōjin, and Kōjin reflects the protean nature of the god and its cult as much as the diversity of its adherents, consisting of Buddhist and shintō priests as well as religious technicians and virtuosos such as the onmyōji, the shugenja, and an assortment of spirit-mediums. ETYMOLOGY: ARABURU KAMI It will be useful to briefly return to the etymology of the term kōjin, as a genus from which the individualized Kōjin sprang forth. As Cornelius Ouwehand points out: “With respect to the kōjin, Yanagita has put forward arguments indicating that this deity not only ‘keeps at distance’ or ‘separates,’ ‘sets apart’ (people, villages from) evil influences, but also that he was himself originally ‘separated’ and ‘kept apart’ as a rough god to be feared and to be pacified by worship.”10 The name Kōjin serves as both a reminder and a remainder in allowing the articulation of different levels of reality. It is therefore imperative that its semantic connotations be understood from the very start. The Sino-­ Japanese reading kōjin is a generic term that more or less overlaps with autochthonous terms such as araburu kami 荒ぶる神 and ara-­mitama 荒 御魂.11 According to Michael Kelsey, the territorial aspect of the araburu kami is illustrated by the fact that, in ancient records such as the Fudoki, they are essentially violent or unruly deities that prey on travelers and

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need to be “pacified.” During his conquest of Yamato, Jinmu Tennō is said to have tamed the araburu kami (here a euphemism for the natives). In the Nihon shoki, Yamato Takeru killed a few araburu kami, but was finally killed by one of them, the deity of Mount Ibuki (on the northern shore of Lake Biwa). Many origin stories of Kōjin mention that episode.12 Araburu kami is also synonymous with oni or kijin 鬼神 (demons). According to the Kokon shingaku ruihen (1717) by Mano Tokitsuna (1648–1717), “The ritual meaning of kijin is none other than that of a being that manifests itself (arawareru) in the ritual.”13 Likewise, araburu kami / kōjin is the personification of the brutal force characteristic of “real presence.”14 The term ara 荒 in araburu kami (aragami)—and by extension kōjin—covers two distinct meanings. On the one hand, it means “fallow” (as in fallow field) and refers to a fearsome, ambiguous power that is marginalized, yet at the same time recognized as the power of margins. On the other hand, it is related to the root ara / ari ‘to be’, ‘to exist’, as in arawareru ‘to appear’, ‘to become manifest’—hence the notion of “real presence.”15 According to Kageyama Haruki, the term mi-are in the Miare ritual of Kamo Shrine refers to the “august apparition,” the divine birth (or rebirth) of the god.16 More generally, ara seems related to a “potential of being,” and it marks the transcendence of the wilderness—mountain or forest—in relation to town and village, not to say of nature in relation to culture.17 The demonization of the araburu kami already takes place in the Kojiki and the Nihon shoki, yet it is in Buddhism that Kōjin acquired his demonic credentials, so to speak, as a Japanese equivalent of Māra. In Onmyōdō, Kōjin is more often called Dokō or Dokku, and he is linked with the figure of King Banko. Folklorists, in a somewhat simplistic manner, distinguish three types of kōjin: the inner or “domestic” kōjin, the external kōjin, and the kōjin that protect cattle. These distinctions correspond to spatial separations between the house, the woods and forests, and the fields. It raises various problems, however, the main one being that it ignores the Buddhist Kōjin.18 The domestic Kōjin is often described as a fire deity, and more specifically as the stove god (kamadogami). It is usually represented by a mask placed on a shelf near the hearth (irori) or the stove (kamado).19 The notion of an inner or domestic kōjin sounds like an oxymoron, since Kōjin represents a power that by definition resists domestication. In that sense, perhaps it is the terrible power of the mountains and forests that receives a place of honor at the heart of the house, an uncanny power dormant in a few embers and on which the whole life of the household depends. But it is the same Kōjin, rising from its ashes, that can burn a house to ashes. As Suzuki Masataka points out, the name kōjin covers a vast array of aspects and functions, designating the spirits of the dead and the ancestors in particular, as well as animal spirits. In premodern Japan, its worship took place in the context of the old administrative and fiscal unit called

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myō, which were formed of several families.20 Kōjin was often perceived as the ancestor of the myō, and in some cases its oratories—often in the form of old tombs, five-wheel stūpas, and stones piled up as pyramids— were located in the local graveyard. The custom was to bury umbilical cords of the newborn under them.21 Even more than the deities normally inserted in lineages, these wild deities reveal the importance of the places of birth and death,22 and their wrathful nature makes them akin to the malevolent spirits of the untimely dead. In order to placate them, one had to make offerings to them, for instance, a straw rope in the shape of a snake or dragon that symbolized Kōjin’s nature and provided him with a body.23 The outdoor kōjin (spirits of woods and forests, dragons, mountain spirits, water and earth spirits) were worshiped at small oratories established on the margins of fields or woods, in groves, or by large sacred trees marked off by a straw rope (shimenawa). The worship of Kōjin (singular or plural) still takes place during the Kōjin kagura, a type of festival particularly frequent in western Japan (Hōki, Izumo, Bingo, Bitchū, and Mimasaka provinces). In this way, the figure of Kōjin overlaps with or articulates the two spheres of wild and domesticated nature that in other cultures tend to remain distinct and are represented by different deities.24 In all cases, it designates an ambivalent power that rituals aim at controlling and transforming into a positive one.25 I. THE BUDDHIST KŌJIN (SANBŌ KŌJIN) Let us move on to the Buddhist Sanbō Kōjin before coming back to the “folkloric” Kōjin as a chthonian and territorial deity. The three-headed representation of Kōjin was introduced to Western audiences under the name of Cogi by the French linguist, astronomer and kabbalist Guillaume Postel (1510–1581), who interpreted it as an idolatric reference to the mystery of the Holy Trinity.26 This Kōjin, perceived as a personification of the power of fire, was worshiped in Buddhism as the protector of the Three Jewels (Dharma, Buddha, and Sangha) under the name Sanbō Kōjin (fig. 7.2). The Buddhist cult of Kōjin seems to go back to the late Heian period. His name appears in the Suisaki 水左記 (1080) by Minamoto no Toshifusa 源俊房 (1035–1121), which records the performance of a “Kōjin exorcism” (kōjin-barae 荒神祓) by an abbot of Katsuoji named Raimyō 瀬命.27 This exorcism, performed by the riverside, calls to mind the Nakatomi Purification Ritual (Nakatomi harae) and the esoteric Six-letter waterside ritual (Rokuji Karin-hō).28 Thus, even as it derived from the araburu kami of classical Japanese mythology, Kōjin was very early on redefined in terms borrowed from Onmyōdō, kami worship, and esoteric Buddhism.

FIGURE 7.2  Sanbō Kōjin with two acolytes. Kamakura period. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Tokyo National Museum.

FIGURE 7.3  Sanbō Kōjin. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Mika Gallery, New York.

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The Buddhist Kōjin seems to have reached its mature form toward the beginning of the fourteenth century.29 His development seems linked to that of the images of Benzaiten (Ugajin, Uga Benzaiten) and Daikokuten in the Tendai tradition. As already mentioned, Tendai sources link Kōjin with Jūzenji and Ugajin (Benzaiten). On the other hand, the Keiran shūyōshū, a kind of Tendai Summa theologica in matters of medieval mythology, is prolix about Benzaiten and Jūzenji, yet remains conspicuously silent with regard to Kōjin. It describes Benzaiten (or Ugajin) as the tamer of three kōjin-like demons named Greed, Famine, and Obstacle. These demons are the emissaries of a demon king named Taba Tennō 多 婆天王 (var. Tabaten or Tabaku Tennō 多縛天王), and their purpose in life is to steal the happiness and wisdom of beings.30 They symbolize (or produce) the three poisons (ignorance, greed, and hatred), i.e., the cause of all suffering, yet their names point to a slightly different understanding of these poisons. In an apocryphal scripture centered on Ugajin (Benzaiten), the Ugaya tontoku enman darani kyō 宇賀耶頓得円満陀羅尼経 (hereafter Ugajin daranikyō), Ugajin is a particular form of Kōjin that manifests itself as a snake to swallow the toad of ignorance. Here the snake plays an apotropaic role, but often it symbolizes in itself the poison of ignorance.31 As such, he is identified with the demon of obstacles Vināyaka (Kōjin). At a deeper level, however, Ugajin embodies the ultimate identity between ignorance and awakening. As we will see, the same was said of Kōjin. The Demon of Obstacles

Kōjin’s nature as a demon of obstacles is emphasized in the different versions of his reference myth, in which his interlocutor is the arhat Śāriputra (or sometimes the Buddha himself).32 Here is an outline of the account provided by the Kakuzenshō.33 To spread the Dharma, Śāriputra wants to build a temple and fabricate Buddhist images. However, his efforts are thwarted time and again as various calamities destroy the temple and its images during the night. A monstrous eightfaced being appears in front of him (fig. 7.3) claiming to be the “Raging King of the Three Jewels” (Sanbō kōō 三宝荒王, a variant of Sanbō

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FIGURE 7.4  Kōjin talisman. Ofuda. Private collection.

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Kōjin). He explains that he is also called Vināyaka and Nagyō Tosajin 那 行都佐神 and that those who do not worship him suffer all kinds of calamities. To avoid the same fate, Śāriputra should fabricate his image and present offerings to it.34 The text comments: “He is Kōjin, or Vināyaka.” Confused, Śāriputra avers that he has ignored Kōjin’s existence and, without even consulting the Buddha, accepts Kōjin’s request. The description given in the Shintō zōzōshū, a fourteenth-century text preserved in the Tenri Library, is a little more specific.35 It emphasizes Kōjin’s gigantic size and his retinue. The god is flanked by eight acolytes and followed by a fabulous number of henchmen (also called kōjin)—nine billion forty-­ three thousand four hundred ninety, to be exact. Last but not least, he claims to be “the elder brother of the Buddha.” 36 Śāriputra’s readiness to please such a demon is somewhat surprising when we recall that the disciples of the Buddha usually adopt a rather superior attitude toward demonic beings. It suggests that Buddhists, while claiming a transcendent status for the Dharma, were aware of the necessity to achieve compromises with mundane reality. It seems, in the case of Kōjin, that no subjugation was deemed possible (as was done with Śiva-Maheśvara), and another approach was needed. To be clear, however, the worship of Kōjin did not yet turn him into a Dharma protector— his protection was still limited and conditional. The Kōjin engi

The most developed account of Kōjin’s origins is found in the Kōjin engi (copied around 1315), a text known through several variants.37 But while the details may vary, the storyline remains the same. Kōjin is described as a primordial deity that appeared at the time of the genesis of the world, an anteriority that allows him to call himself the elder brother of the Buddha. Over the centuries, he has manifested in different places around the world, dispensing his numinous powers in the three kingdoms of India, China, and Japan. In India, he appeared to Śāriputra, as well as to a holy man named Kinki (Kinki Daitoku 金貴大徳).38 In China, at the time of the mythical ruler Fu Xi, a woman’s offerings to Kōjin allowed her to become a royal consort and to beget a male son. Later, at the time of the introduction of Buddhism, Kōjin appeared to the monks Kāśyapa Mātaṅga (Jiashe Moteng 迦葉摩騰) and Zhu Falan 竺法蘭 (Dharmarakṣa or Dharmaratna) at the White Horse Monastery (Baimasi 白馬寺).39 In Japan, the narrative revolves around the vow made by two monks of Katsuoji 勝尾寺, Zenchū 善仲 and Zensan 善算, to copy the Prajñā­ pāramitā-sūtra. They are eventually joined by the crown prince Kaijō 開 成 (724–781), who becomes their disciple and continues their pious work after they have passed away. One night, Kaijō dreams that Kōjin comes to him to explain—as he did to Śāriputra—that he puts obstacles before those who do not worship him. Kaijō then performs a Kōjin service for

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seven days and nights, receiving help from the gods Hachiman and Suwa Daimyōjin,40 and Kōjin is finally placated by Kaijō’s offerings. In the Kōjin himitsu ju kyō 荒神秘密頌経, Kōjin tells those who fail to worship him that their pious Buddhist works will be in vain—he will cause them to suffer all manner of calamities and diseases and will present obstructions at the time of their death. But to those who worship him properly, he will bring happiness and longevity. Other sources tell the story of how the founder of the Miwa-ryū branch of esoteric Buddhism, Kyōen 慶円 (or Keien, a.k.a. Zenkan 禅観, 1140–1223), obtained a ritual text centered on Kōjin when he was practicing at Katsuragi (in present-day Nara prefecture).41 One day, a divine lad (dōji) manifested in front of Kyōen to declare that he will transmit a ritual text to him. The next day, when a bird drops from its beak a text entitled Kōjin nenju hōsoku 荒神念 誦法則, Kyōen realizes that the youth was a trace or emanation of Kōjin. In the Miwa-san Byōdōji Kyōen [Zen]kan shōnin betsuden 三輪流平等寺 慶円観上人別伝, the youth claims to be King Māra of the Sixth Heaven (or, more precisely, Ma-a-ra-ō 魔阿羅王), who has obstructed Kyōen’s impending rebirth for the past three years and, adding insult to injury, defiled Kyōen’s bowl by peeing into it a moment before. Yet he confesses that his actions have been fruitless and, therefore, he will now take his leave. When Kyōen asks for a seal that will prevent him from being disturbed at the time of death and that he can transmit to future generations, the youth teaches him a secret ritual to perform at that hour.42 LOCAL TRADITIONS According to the Kangishō 歓喜抄, a text centered on Kangiten (that is, Shōten, or Vināyaka)—and one of the first sources identifying this deity with Kōjin—the Kōjin ritual originated at Katsuoji, a Tendai monastery on the northern outskirts of Osaka that developed into an important shugendō center.43 One of the earliest references to Kōjin is found in a text included in the Shoji engishū 諸寺緣起集 (preserved at Daigoji). According to this text, an imperial prince who took the name of Kaijō and became a monk at Mirokuji 弥勒寺 in Sesshū (Settsu province), dreamed in 772 that a demon with eight faces and eight arms, followed by a retinue of several thousand demons, scattered the leaves of the Prajñāpāramitā-sūtra that Kaijō had vowed to copy. Upon waking up, Kaijō performed a pacification ritual dedicated to Kōjin, and all troubles ended.44 The story of Kaijō, with variants reflecting the different settings of other temples and shrines, represents one of the early strata of local traditions related to Kōjin. If we are to judge from a Kōjin wasan copied in 1224, the Kōjin cult was thriving by the beginning of the thirteenth century.45 In the Katsuoji ruki 勝尾寺流記 (1243) as well, Kōjin appears in a dream to

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Kaijō with a retinue of several thousand demons. His voice resounds in the sky, saying that he must be worshiped, and a liturgical text (saimon) falls from the sky. When Kaijō wakes up, two birds actually bring him a text. A significant variant appears in the origin story of Minoo-dera 箕面 寺 (Minoo-dera himitsu engi 箕面寺秘密縁起, 16th–17th cent.), a temple located on the northern outskirts of present-day Osaka, not very far from Katsuoji. In this text, Kōjin tells Kaijō that he dwells on a sacred mountain to the south, and Kaijō understands that by this he means Mount Minoo. When Kaijō performs his offering to Kōjin, a crow comes from Mount Minoo carrying a text that it drops at Kaijō’s feet. It is the Kōjin saimon, also known for that reason as the crow’s saimon. Clearly, the author’s intention here was to appropriate the origin story of Katsuoji while substituting Mount Minō for Mount Katsuo as the sacred place of Kōjin.46 The Minoo-dera himitsu engi also connects Kōjin with Benzaiten. It tells us that images of Ryūju 龍樹 (Nāgārjuna), King Tokuzen 徳善 王, Benzaiten and her fifteen children were enshrined in the northeast corner of the Main Hall of Minoo-dera. Their presence is explained by a local legend involving En no Gyōja 役行者 (a.k.a. En no Ozunu 役小角), the legendary founder of Shugendō. Having come to Minoo in 650, En no Gyōja was performing ascesis in a dragon cave when King Tokuzen appeared to him in a dream, inviting him to a metamorphic city where he sees Ryūju and Benzaiten seated side by side, guarded by Ugajin and fifteen attendants. He then receives the esoteric unction (abhiṣeka, J. kanjō 灌頂) from King Tokuzen together with the esoteric teachings from Ryūju, whereupon he wakes up. Subsequently, he set himself to carving an image of Kōjin, as well as of Benzaiten and the fifteen kongō dōji 金剛童子.47 Although Kōjin only plays a marginal role in this story, Minoo-dera is described as a “sacred place of Shōten and a miraculous place of Kōjin.” Other Buddhist monks recorded significant encounters with Kōjin. According to the tradition of the Kōjin shrine on Mount Kasa, the monacal rector Rōben 良弁 (689–773) once met a white-haired old man who, after showing him where to build a temple for Fudō, asked to be worshiped as Sanbō Kōjin.48 According to the origin story of Chikurinji, many workers were injured during the construction of the Great Buddha of Tōdaiji. Then a voice was heard in the sky requesting the erection of a shrine. First, however, someone had to go to the Peak of the Seven Valleys and worship Sanbō Kōjin. An imperial edict sent Rōben to Mount Kasa. After spending seven days and nights there, Rōben had an auspicious vision of Kōjin and managed to draw his form on a board. This image, known as the Board Kōjin (Ita Kōjin 板荒神) of Chikurinji, was preserved in the village of Kasa, not too far from Tōdaiji. After that, all the obstacles ended. Later, in the southeast corner of Tōdaiji, a Kōjin shrine was erected that came to be known as Katsuoka Kōjin.49

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Kōjin also appeared to the Kōfukuji priest Shinkō 真興 (935–1004) while he was residing at Kojima-dera 子嶋寺 (in present-day Nara prefecture). Shinkō’s vision is important because it gave birth to a new image of Kōjin known as Kojima Kōjin 小島荒神, which I will discuss in a moment. Shinkō is also known, among other things, for his visions of Shōten, recorded in his Record of Dreams (Shinkō musōki 真興夢想記).50 By all accounts, the most famous apparition of Kōjin is found in the legend of En no Gyōja. This legend seems to have developed both at Katsuragi and at Minoodera, as we have seen. According to the Shugen sanshō ryūgi, En no Gyōja was practicing on Mount Katsuragi (Kongōzan 金剛山) when he saw auspicious signs, purple clouds gathering in the northeast. Finally, a deity appeared, saying: “Because I have the power to punish evil people, I am called Soranshin 麁乱神. Yet because I can also protect the Three Jewels, I am called Sanbō Kōjin.”51 In the origin story of Chikurinji, Sanbō Kōjin (Soran Kōjin) appears to En no Gyōja on Mount Katsuragi in multiple forms—as Vajrasattva with one face and six arms, or as a wrathful form with three faces, three eyes, and six arms (fig. 7.5).52 Kōjin is also linked, in the legend of En no Gyōja, with Hitokotonushi 一言主, an ancient araburu kami (possibly of Korean origin) that he coerces into his service,53 as well as with esoteric Buddhist deities that appear to the legendary ascetic, such as Benzaiten and Zaō Gongen (fig. 7.6).54 One of the most famous cultic centers of Kōjin—after Katsuoji and Chikurinji—is Seichōji 清澄寺, popularly known as Kiyoshi Kōjin 清荒 神 (near Takarazuka city in Hyōgō prefecture). It was allegedly founded in 896 in response to a vow by Uda Tennō 宇多天皇. An Enryakuji priest named Jōkan 靜觀 was appointed as its first abbot. The head priest of Tōji, Yakushin 益信 (827–906), was also invited, and a Dainichi statue was installed as the temple’s main deity. When Yakushin prayed to Kōjin, the

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FIGURE 7.5  Sanbō Kōjin. Edo period. Sheet, ink on paper. University Art Museum, Kyoto City University of Arts. BZS 4090.

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FIGURE 7.6  Zaō Gongen flanked by two dogs. Edo period. Hanging scroll, ink on paper. Petzold Collection, Harvard-­Yenching Library.

FIGURE 7.7  Kiyoshi Kōjin. Edo period. Sheet, ink on paper. University Art Museum, Kyoto City University of Arts. BZS 4089.

god manifested on a sacred sakaki tree (Cleyera japonica) in front of the temple (fig. 7.7). Hearing of this, Uda Tennō granted the temple the title of First Kiyoshi Kōjin of Japan. Damaged by fire during the Genpei war (1180–1185), the temple was restored by Minamoto no Yoritomo. When it was damaged again four centuries later, the fact that the Kōjin shrine was spared by the fire was seen as a proof of Kōjin’s power.55

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A KŌJIN FOR ALL In the Nichiren school, Kōjin (or the kōjin) was identified with the ten rākṣasīs (jūrasetsunyo 十羅刹女), female demons that protect the Lotus Sūtra: “The name Kōjin refers to the ten rakṣasīs. They are the deities called Famine, Greed, and Obstacles. In the current Lotus Sūtra practice, the three poisons turn into the three virtues. This is why they do not differ from Sanbō Kōjin. Their kōjin [form] is reserved for faithless people, whereas they appear as protecting to the devotees of the Lotus Sūtra.”56 The rākṣasīs are identified here with the three emissaries of Kōjin that are tamed by Ugajin in the Keiran shūyōshū. The Zen school also attempted to appropriate Sanbō Kōjin.57 The god is said to have appeared in a pond of Sōjiji 総持寺 (in Noto peninsula) to the Zen master Taigen Sōshin 太源宗真 (d. 1370) and to have vowed to protect the Zen teaching. Despite this, the Edo reformers of Sōtō Zen did not always appreciate the Sanbō Kōjin cult. Menzan Zuihō 面山瑞方 (1683–1769), for instance, points out that the name Kōjin is not found in canonical Buddhist texts, and he complains about the addition of the two characters 三宝 (Sanbō, or Three Treasures) in front of it.58 In Shintō, Kōjin is sometimes identified with the divine couple Oki­ tsuhiko 興津彦 and Okitsu-hime 興津姫. These two kami were worshiped as protectors of the stove (which is located in the oku 奥, or inner part of the house).59 In the Kōjin kyō 荒神経, Kōjin is expressly identified with Susanoo. We recall that Susanoo, after killing the eight-headed dragon Yamata no Orochi (a kind of araburu kami), became the ruler of the Izumo region—where straw representations of the (folkloric) Kōjin as a dragon are particularly numerous, even today (figs. 7.8 and 7.9).

FIGURES 7.8, 7.9  Kōjin as a straw dragon. Yaegaki Shrine, Shimane prefecture. Photo B. Faure.

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As both an araburu kami and the ruler of Japan, Susanoo was at times identified with Kōjin in his jinushi function as landowner or land master of Japan. In some texts, his three aspects—personified as a triad—are collectively called Sanbō Kōjin.60 In Tendai hongaku commentaries, Susanoo symbolizes ignorance and false thinking, while Benzaiten symbolizes pacified thought. In one source, when asked why Susanoo is compared to Kōjin, the master answers: “Kōjin is the fundamental ignorance of all beings, which congeals and manifests its form. One also calls him Takejizaiten 他化自在 天 or Vināyaka. This is why it is said in the biography of the Kojima [priest Shinkō ] that ‘Kōjin and Shōten are in essence the same.’ ”61 Significantly, Kōjin appears here in a discussion of the Three Regalia apropos of Susanoo’s exalted role in the Miwa-ryū, a paradoxical role given his evil nature. But, says the text, there are exoteric and esoteric interpretations of this. KŌJIN RITUALS By the Nanbokuchō period, Kōjin was identified with Vināyaka (Shōten), a fact that gave him a prominent place in esoteric rituals. Scholars have distinguished two types of Kōjin ritual: exorcisms (Kōjin-barae 荒神祓) and offerings (Kōjin-ku). Yet one should not infer from this distinction the existence of two types of Kōjin (a demon and a protector), insofar as Kōjin by nature is fundamentally ambivalent.62 Several medieval authors argue that the Kōjin offering is an “external” ritual performed by Yin-Yang masters and that the corresponding Buddhist ritual, centered on Vināyaka, is to be preferred for performance in Shingon. As the Kangishō puts it, “If one omits that ritual, other rituals will fail. Thus, when one performs a great ritual, one must perform the Shōten ritual on a side altar. . . . It is because Shōten is identical with Kōjin.”63 Kōjin exorcisms were aimed at transforming Kōjin and his horde into protectors. The intended result was the transformation of eighty-four thousand kōjin into eighty-four thousand vajrasattvas (kongōsatta 金剛薩埵).64 In other words, the Kōjin ritual was said to transform ignorance and defilement into awakening.65 This ritual structure reveals in itself the Janus-faced nature of the god.66 According to the Kangiten himitsu yōshū (copy of 1802), the reverend Jii 慈威 (Echin 恵鎮, a.k.a. Enkan 円観,1281–1356) and Dōkō Shōnin 道 光上人 (i.e., Kōshū, compiler of the Keiran shūyōshū), two members of the Kurodani 黒谷 branch of Taimitsu, replaced the Kōjin offering with a “Shōten offering following the Dharma” (nyohō Shōten-ku 如法聖天 供).67 The expression nyōhō 如法 (following the Dharma), which was often used as an abbreviation of nyoi hōjū 如意宝珠, Skt. cintāmaṇi), implies that the ritual was centered on the relics of the Buddha and / or the wish-fulfilling jewel.

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The Chikurinji engi traces the origins of the fire ritual (saitō goma 柴灯護摩) of Shugendō to a ritual performed by En no Gyōja for Sanbō Kōjin at the time of the foundation of Tōdaiji. If we compare this text with Kaijō’s biography, we can see that the point of view has altered. Kōjin is no longer a mere demon of obstacles, and the ritual aims at worshiping him rather than placating him. In this, one sees evidence of gradual shift from exorcisms in which Kōjin (singular or plural) was clearly perceived as demonic, to offerings in which Kōjin was perceived as a protector.68 ICONOGRAPHY The iconographic representations of Kōjin differ from those of the engi in interesting ways.69 Art historians usually distinguish three types of Kōjin: (1) the demonic or Yakṣa Kōjin (Yasha Kōjin 夜叉荒神, a.k.a. Sanbō Kōjin); (2) Kōjin as Tathāgata (Nyorai Kōjin 如来荒神), a buddhaor bodhisattva-like figure; and (3) Kojima Kōjin 小島荒神, who appears in official dress.70 In the popular tradition, we also find Kōjin masks and statues, including a female “easy childbirth” Kōjin (Koyasu Kōjin 子安荒神).71 Art historians have tended to ignore these representations, however. In statuary, the demonic Kōjin is often shown as a red-bodied, threeheaded, six-armed wrathful deity, standing or seated, sometimes on an inverted lotus leaf (fig. 7.10). He holds a miniature stūpa and a cross-vajra (katsuma) in his upper hands, a lotus and jewel(s) in his medium hands, and a one-pronged vajra and a vajra bell in his lower hands.72 In paintings, Sanbō Kōjin is usually represented with three faces and eight arms (fig. 7.11).73 The wisdom-fist mudrā that he forms with two of his hands and the ritual implements that he holds in his other hands call to mind representations of Vajrasattva (J. Kongōsatta), a manifestation of Mahāvairocana cutting off defilements.74 His eight faces symbolize his role as guardian of the eight directions, and the eight types of consciousness. The oldest extant representation is an engraving on metal, probably a door ornament, found in a sūtra tumulus on Kinpusen and dated to the end of the Heian period. While some images can be traced back to the Kamakura period, most of them date from the Muromachi period.75 The so-called Nyorai Kōjin looks like a typical bodhisattva. This dignified (one could say buddhified) Kōjin, reportedly based on the vision that En no Gyōja obtained on Mount Katsuragi, is an iconographic hybrid between Vajrasattva and Aizen Myōō.76 It shows Kōjin as a six-armed deity seated on a lotus or on a jewel vase (like Aizen Myōō).77 He wears a five-buddha diadem (likeVajrasattva) and holds the same attributes as the Yakṣa Kōjin. In a painted scroll in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, dated to the Muromachi period, Nyorai Kōjin is flanked by two acolytes that are reminiscent of Aizen and Fudō.

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FIGURE 7.10  (Above) Sanbō Kōjin. Muromachi period. Carved wood. Gaya-in, Hyōgo prefecture. FIGURE 7.11  (Right) Sanbō Kōjin. Muromachi period. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Eifukuji, Osaka.

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Nyorai Kōjin is often shown with a retinue of eight demons called the eight great kōjin (hachi daikōjin 八 大荒神). In a painting preserved at Kisshōsōji 吉祥草寺 (in Nara prefecture), Kōjin wears a diadem or tiara and he is seated on a vase. He is flanked by two demons, an elephant-headed vināyaka holding a halberd on his left and a boar-headed vināyaka holding a forked radish on his right (fig. 7.12). In another painting, preserved at Taisan­ji 太山寺 (Hyōgō prefecture) and dated to the Muromachi period, he is seated on a lotus and flanked by two eight-faced, red-bodied, wrathful acolytes, one with eight arms, the other with two arms (fig. 7.13).78 His red body and his seated posture are evocative of Aizen Myōō. An interesting line drawing in the Bukkyō zuzō shūsei 仏教図像聚成 shows him surrounded by acolytes who are riding flying lions and holding jewels in the palm of their hands (fig. 7.14).79 The existence of representations like these suggests that Nyorai Kōjin was the object of a widespread cult, but little is known about it. The third type, known as Kojima Kōjin, is also clearly influenced by representations of Vajrasattva. As noted earlier, it allegedly harks back to a vision obtained by the Kojimadera priest Shinkō.80 This form of Kōjin is usually represented as seated on a rock emerging from the sea, his body and head surrounded by a double halo (figs. 7.15 and 7.16). He has four arms and he holds a wheel and a jewel in his two upper hands, a five-pronged vajra and vajra bell in his lower hands. He also wears official dress and a peculiar three-pronged diadem or crown, with jewels at its tips.81 Kojima Kōjin

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FIGURE 7.12  Nyorai Kōjin and acolytes. Muromachi period. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Kisshōsōji, Nara prefecture.

FIGURE 7.13  Nyorai Kōjin with two acolytes. Muromachi period. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Taisanji, Hyōgo prefecture. FIGURE 7.14  Nyorai Kōjin and lion-riding acolytes. Edo period. Sheet, ink on paper. University Art Museum, Kyoto City University of Arts. BZS 4088.

FIGURE 7.16  Kojima Kōjin. Edo period. Sheet, ink on paper. University Art Museum, Kyoto City University of Arts. BZS 4091.

FIGURE 7.15  Kojima Kōjin. Muromachi period. Hanging scroll, ink and colors on silk. Nara National Museum.

FIGURE 7.17  Kōjin mandara. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Private collection

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further appears among the retinue of Benzaiten in several Benzaiten mandalas, where he is usually paired with deities such as Aizen and Kangiten.82 In a recently published Kōjin mandara belonging to a private collec­ tion, Kōjin is represented as a red-bodied wrathful deity standing on a pedestal in a dynamic posture reminiscent of Zaō Gongen (fig. 7.17).83 He has eight heads (the central one largest, with the others arrayed in a half-circle around it), eight arms, and two legs (fig. 7.18). His two acolytes, identified by cartouches, are Nagyō Tosajin, on the left, and Taba Tennō, on the

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FIGURE 7.18  Kōjin. Detail of Kōjin mandara. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Private collection.

FIGURE 7.19  Nagyō Tosajin. Detail of Kōjin mandara. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Private

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right. Nagyō Tosajin is a kind of Siamese figure with two heads and two torsos (fig. 7.19), while Taba Tennō looks like a Buddhist monk.84 Below them is a group of five deities (fig. 7.20). The central one is a female figure identified as the jade woman. She is flanked by two hybrid deities, one with a rooster head, the other with a fox (or rat) head, called Heavenly Yakṣa (Ten Yashajin 天夜叉神) and Earthly Yakṣa (Chi Yashajin 地夜叉 神), respectively; and by two theriomorphic deities with human heads and snake bodies, the one on the far left formed by two intertwined snakes, recalling the dual-bodied Nagyō Tosajin just above him. These enigmatic deities are identified as Kaze Kukuri-o no Mikoto 風潜尾命 and Kuni Kukuri-o no Mikoto 國潜尾命.85 On the lower left of the mandala, a deity standing on a cliff holds on his raised hands another war-like deity;

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FIGURE 7.20  Kōjin’s retinue. Detail of Kōjin mandara. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Private collection.

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on the lower right, a black-bodied wrathful deity surrounded by an aura of flames stands in a lunging posture on two demons. Here the members of Kōjin’s entourage are no longer the traditional demons found in other Kōjin mandara, but even more nightmarish creatures reminiscent of those found in some Dakiniten mandara and in the Tenkawa Benzaiten mandara.86 The fact that one of them is called the jade woman (gyokujo 玉女) suggests an Onmyōdō influence, but this painting remains for now (and perhaps for a long time to come) “a riddle, wrapped in a mystery.”87 One last type of Kōjin mandara worth mentioning consists of those preserved at the Iwate Prefectural Museum and said to represent the ironsmith deity Kanayagogami (figs. 7.21 and 7.22).88 In some of them, Kōjin is an eight-armed deity holding a vajra-hilted sword and a curved sword (the so-called samurai sword) with his two front hands, and four additional curved swords as well as a bow and arrow with the remaining six hands (fig. 7.23). In most of these images, iron makers with a burning furnace and swordsmiths forging a blade are depicted beneath the deity, sometimes assisted by demons. The swordsmith in the center is a man dressed in a white court robe, the formal uniform for swordsmiths, and he appears to be following instructions given by the demon seated in front of him. The two apprentices who assist the forging process are also demons, and the finished blades are being polished and inspected by two more demons. This representation of Kōjin seems relatively late (Edo period), dating from a time when the identification of Kōjin with the fire god was firmly established.89 KŌJIN’S NETWORK At various times, Kōjin was identified with a number of Buddhist and non-Buddhist deities. Perhaps the most important link, although one that is not emphasized in the sources, is between Kōjin and Māra. It may derive from the myth of the pact between Amaterasu and Māra, in which Amaterasu promises Māra, the ruler of the world of desire, that if he lets her rule over Japan, people will worship him as Kōjin and as the earth deity, Kenrō Jishin.90 This myth was widely accepted during the medieval period, as we are about to see. Shōten

We recall that in the origin story of Kōjin, the demon appears to Śāriputra and declares that he is also called Vināyaka. In Tendai commentaries on the Yuqi jing, Kōjin is understood to be another name for the god of obstacles Vināyaka (Shōten), and his honji or essence is said to be Vajrasattva (Kongōsatta). This identity is already mentioned in the Besson zakki of Shinkaku and in the Daishō Kangi shō, citing Shinkaku’s master Ken’i 兼 意 (1072–1145).91 According to the latter text, “Shōten is one of Kōjin’s

FIGURE 7.21 Kanayago­ gami. Edo period. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Iwate Museum, Iwate prefecture.

FIGURE 7.22 (Opposite page) Kanayagogami. Edo period. Hanging scroll, color on silk. Iwate Museum, Iwate prefecture.

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FIGURE 7.23 Kanayago­ gami. Edo period. Sheet, ink on paper. University Art Museum, Kyoto City University of Arts. BZS 4097.

bodies. The mention of Kōjin first appears at Katsuoji.” Or again, it is said that “this deva is called Kōjin, Shimei-shin 司命神, Kushōjin, and the like,” because Shōten, among the various devas, is the “earth-dwelling deva” (chikyoten 地居天).92 Kōjin’s identification with Vināyaka allowed him to integrate most of the symbolic valences of Shōten, and it linked him in particular with

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Maheśvara (Śiva) and Māra. In the Hishō mondō by Raiyu (1226–1304), when asked whether the Kōjin offering of the non-Buddhists and the Shōten offering of the Buddhists are the same or different, Raiyu answers that Kōjin and Shōten are identical in substance, and he quotes the story of the encounter between Kōjin and Śāriputra.93 In his Shinzoku zōki mondōshō, Raiyu also mentions an oral tradition according to which the Shōten offering is the equivalent of the Kōjin offering of the Yin-Yang masters.94 It seems that, in Shingon at least, the Kōjin ritual had not yet been integrated as an orthodox Buddhist ritual at the time of Raiyu, and, while monks perceived the functional equivalence between Kōjin and Shōten, they were still somewhat reluctant to accept their identity. Benzaiten and Ugajin

FIGURE 7.24  Ugajin. Ink on paper. Petzold Collection, Harvard-­ Yenching Library.

Another important deity to consider in relation to Kōjin is Benzaiten—or more specifically the composite form known as Uga Benzaiten, in which Benzaiten is paired with the snake deity Ugajin.95 Ugajin was perceived as a kōjin or a kōjin tamer (fig. 7.24). Sometimes Benzaiten tames Kōjin’s emissaries; at other times she appears as a positive counterpart of Kōjin, or even as his consort. There is a close structural resemblance between the Kōjin daranikyō and the Ugajin daranikyō, two apocryphal scriptures in which a goddess resembling Benzaiten offers to the Buddha an incantation to use against the demonic kōjin that embody the three poisons.96 These demons then appear and submit, vowing to protect Buddhism. In the Kōjin daranikyō, the Buddha praises them: “Compassion and anger are like the wheels of a cart. When one wheel is missing, [the cart] cannot carry people.” He goes on to declare that kōjin are the provisional bodies of the Buddha, and they are called myōjin when they protect the Dharma. The three demons turn out to be manifestations of Dainichi, Monjushiri (Mañjuśrī), and Fudō. “When their mind is agitated, they manifest as Sanbō Kōjin; when it is calm, they manifest as the primordial Tathāgata (honnu nyorai).”97 Thus, demons seem to be a necessary evil. They are, as it were, the aramitama of the cosmic buddha Vairocana.98 In the Kōjin engi, Kōjin is identified with Vināyaka, the ruler of the Sixth Heaven (that is, Māra): “[Vināyaka’s] consort is called Ugajin. Both forms [represent] the happiness and wisdom of all beings. Again, it is said in the Ugajin

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daranikyō: ‘He who is called Taba Makeishura-ten [Maheśvara] is the king of the primordial, beginningless ignorance of all beings. This innate obstacle, born at the same time as the beings, becomes a god of obstacles when [they are] deluded, and a protecting bodhisattva before [they reach] awakening.”99 Here Vināyaka’s consort Senāyaka, who is usually perceived as a manifestation of Avalokiteśvara, is called (or replaced by) Ugajin (Benzaiten). Jūzenji

Because Jūzenji was identified with Ugajin (Benzaiten), we find the same kind of opposition (and / or identity) between him and Kōjin as in Ugajin’s case. According to the Sannō mitsuki: “To those endowed with compassion and a straightforward nature, [Kōjin] dispenses his blessings; therefore, he is called Jūzenji. To those who are defiled and evil, full of perverse desires, he becomes a monster [yōkai]; therefore, he is called Soranshin.”100 Another deity identified with Kōjin was Daikokuten, a deity derived from the Indian god Mahākāla (Śiva). Daikokuten was intimately related with Vināyaka and the demonic ḍākinīs, on the one hand, and with Benzaiten on the other.101 According to the Keiran shūyōshū, his fundamental nature consists in the three poisons (like that of Kōjin).102 In the Daikokuten ritual, he is described as an emanation of the earth deity.103 He was also worshiped as a kitchen god, linking him to the stove god and to the “ethnographic” Kōjin. In Tosa province (present-day Kōchi prefecture), the Kōjin pillar in the household’s kitchen was also called the Daikoku pillar (daikoku-bashira 大黒柱). In medieval Japan, Mahākāla also took the form of Matarajin, a demon of obstacles that shows certain affinities with Kōjin.104 According to the Kōjin saimon (var. Kōjin anchin saimon), Kōjin is the “fundamentally existing, born-at-the-same-time Matarajin” (honnu kushō Matarajin 本有 倶生摩多羅神). Because he protects the Three Jewels, he is called Sanbō Kōjin, but because he is attached to beings, he is called araburu kami.105 Matatajin also became the patron deity of the performing arts (geinō) in the form of Okina, the cosmic old man playing the drum while his two young acolytes dance. According to the Genshidan hishō: “Matarajin is the essence of the three ways and of the three poisons. His young acolytes symbolize the defilement of karma and the afflictions of concupiscence and anger, while he himself symbolizes the path of suffering and the affliction of ignorance. Symbolizing the mad dance of transmigration in the saṃsāra of the three ways and the three poisons, they sing their song and dance their dance.”106 Like Kōjin, Matarajin expresses the hongaku notion of nonduality: “The central deity beats his drum and dances the identity of the way of suffering with the dharma body.”107 If Matarajin is explicitly compared

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to Sanbō Kōjin in the Genshidan hishō, it is because he symbolizes the Three Truths of Tendai and the identity of ignorance and absolute reality (Skt. dharmatā, J. hosshō 法性).108 The Keiran shūyōshū also states that the name Matarajin designates the obstacle-causing Kōjin, whose fundamental body is Vināyaka, the “demon that constantly follows [beings]” (jōzuima 常随魔).109 Like Matarajin, Kōjin played an important role in the origin story of sarugaku, and the Nō playwright Konparu Zenchiku 金春禅竹 identified him with Okina.110 Zenchiku owned two masks, one of a demon, the other of Kōjin, which he worshiped on the twenty-eighth of each month (the same day as Fudō). Fudō is sometimes presented as Kōjin’s original ground. Like Kōjin, he is a chthonian deity, often invoked to tame Kōjin-like demons. Significantly, as we just saw in the case of Zenchiku, both deities are worshiped on the twenty-eighth of each month. In the present-day Chūgoku region, it is the day when one placates the spirits of the dead and evil spirits by performing a kōjin kagura. In Shugendō, practitioners ritually identify with Fudō and Kōjin, who control the demonic kōjin and transform them into a source of benefits. Kōjin’s ambivalence is now expressed by the polarity between Kōjin and Fudō.111 According to an oral tradition: “When the Dharma dwells in the principle of emptiness, it is called Fudō; when it moves back and forth [between past and present], it is called Kōjin. This Kōjin is the global body of Fudō Myōō. When our spiritual nature is immobile and quiet, it is Fudō; when it moves back and forth, it is Kōjin.” According to the Tendai interpretation: “When the Dharma dwells in quietude, it is Fudō Myōō; when it is quiet yet compassionate, it is Kōjin. Or again, the two faces of Kōjin are said to represent ignorance and dharmatā. Thus, Fudō and Kōjin are not, in essence, distinct, because ignorance and the dharmatā are not different.”112 Here, Fudō represents the ultimate reality (dharmatā, J. hosshō), whereas Kōjin represents the conventional reality, the defiled world of passions. Kōjin and the Wish-fulfilling Jewel

As a supreme deity, source and fountainhead of all beings, Kōjin came to be identified with the pole star deity Myōken, with the solar deity Aizen Myōō, and with the wish-fulfilling jewel (cintāmaṇi), the paradigmatic symbol of ultimate reality and its boundless creativity. Following a widespread medieval topos allegedly stemming from the Hikekyō, the Buddha, after his nirvāna, was said to have remained in the world in the form of his relics. In the Kōjin engi (written at the end of the Kamakura period), we read: “After the destruction of the Buddha Dharma, the relics of the Buddha become wish-fulfilling jewels that rain benefits on beings, and the like. Although differing by name, the jewel, the relics, and Kōjin are in essence one.” Another almost similar passage explains that Kōjin,

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the Buddha’s relics, and the wish-fulfilling jewel differ in name but are identical in essence, because their function is to protect and save deluded beings during the final age of the Dharma.113 Kōjin was also linked to Hokushin 北辰, the northern asterism—that is, to Myōken Bosatsu. In a late source, the Chintaku reifu engi shūsetsu 鎮宅霊符縁起集説 (Edo period), we read that when people worship Hokushin, it manifests itself as a dragon god and protects them. If they fail to worship it, it becomes a great Kōjin that causes all kinds of obstacles. In the Daikōjin saimon, the heavenly Kōjin (Tenjō Kōjin) is said to be the trace or manifestation of the threefold Myōken of the Three Jewels (Sanbō santai Myōken 三宝三体妙見). He is one of three types of Kōjin, the other two being the Tenben (Heaven-pervading) Kōjin 天遍荒神 and Ishigami (var. Shakujin) Kōjin 石神荒神.114 To my knowledge, these names do not appear elsewhere. In Zenchiku’s Meishuku shū, Kōjin is identified with the primordial astral deity Shukujin and with the birth star (lit. “star of fundamental destiny,” honmyōshō 本命星) of beings. Other sources state that the birth star of a person, when not worshiped properly, becomes Kōjin, whereas when it is worshiped properly, it becomes Ugajin. Nagyō Tosajin

The name Nagyō Tosajin that Kōjin / Vināyaka uses to introduce himself to Śāriputra seems in certain contexts to refer to a pair of distinct deities or even to two categories of elemental spirits.115 In the Shimawatari saimon, they are described as the emissaries of Gozu Tennō, bent on destroying his nemesis Kotan. While the text reflects the Onmyōdō tradition, the name Nagyō Tosa also appears in the Taimitsu and Shugendō traditions. The Kōjin-ku shidai, for instance, identifies the “divine king” (jinnō 神 王) Nagyō Tosa (or Nagyō and Tosa) as the “obstacles born at the same time.”116 During the ritual, the priest, recognizing the ontological nature of demonic obstacles, asks these deities for “realization (siddhi) in the two worlds”—present and future.117 In the apocryphal Daikōjin daranikyō 大荒神陀羅尼経, after revealing that the three obstacle-causing demons are manifestations of the primordial Tathāgata, the Buddha adds that the same is true for Nagyō Tosajin, Taba Tennō, Binayaka, Shōryōchi and all the Dharma protectors. The Atsuta kōshiki lists Nagyō and Tosa (or Nagyo Tosajin) among the heavenly deities, together with astral deities and Indian devas such as Benzaiten, Kichijōten, Karitei (Hārītī), Kangiten (Vināyaka), Uga Shinshō (Ugajin), the fifteen dōji, the ten rākṣasīs, the deities of obstacles (shōgejin 障礙神), and their innumerable retinue.118 Nagyō Tosajin (or Nagyō and Tosajin; or the nagyō tosajin) made its (their) way into medieval Shintō as well. In the Reikiki, for instance, under the name ama no kami no aramisaki (wild emissaries of the heavenly

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kami), Nagyō Tosajin is / are identified with the buddha Yakushi (like Gozu Tennō); whereas Vināyaka or the vināyakas (Binayaka-jin) is / are identified with the buddha Dainichi, and another group of deities called tosajin are identified with Kongōsatta (Vajrasattva or the vajrasattvas) and with Kannon.119 A recently discovered painted scroll known as the Kōjin mandara has revealed what seems to be the first extant image of Nagyō Tosajin (fig. 7.19).120 The deity appears among other members of Kōjin’s retinue as a man with two torsos and two heads facing each other (or two men with a single lower body). This split image brings to mind the dual-bodied Bishamon, although the deity here is not clad in armor but bare-chested.121 Its twin nature also points toward the “twin devas” or “deities born at the same time” (kushōjin), which I discuss in Lords of Life.122 FROM DEMON TO GOD Kōjin initially belonged to a class often described as soranshin, “turbulent deities.” In the fictional biography of Lady Nyoi 如意 in the Genkō shakusho, we are told that, after becoming a nun and secluding herself on a mountain, this former royal consort—whose name evokes both the wish-fulfilling jewel (J. nyoi hōju) and Nyoirin Kannon—was repeatedly threatened by a deity called Soranshin (or by a soranshin), a wrathful deity that came from the west riding on a dark cloud. Owing to advice Nyoi receives from Kūkai, she eventually placates the deity by performing a cintāmaṇi ritual and asking for Benzaiten’s protection.123 The Shozan engi, in describing En no Gyōja’s journey to Kumano, relates his encounters with various monsters and apparitions along the way. Once entering the sacred land of Kumano, he still had to confront a soranshin, a wrathful demon that harmed and terrified pilgrims.124 The demon is reminiscent of the local deities that tried to impede Jinmu Tennō’s conquest of Yamato when he landed at Kumano. Eventually, it turns out to be the “fundamental lord” (honshū 本主) Kumano Gongen, himself a manifestation of Amida.125 There is a triadic structure implicit in the name Sanbō Daikōjin, which the Shugen sanshō ryūgi kyō analyzes as a reference to the aramitama of heaven, earth, and man. It adds that the Kōjin festivals were developed in Shugendō precisely to worship these rough spirits.126 Kōjin manifests in different forms depending on circumstances. According to the Kōjin shiki 荒 神式: “When [he] laughs, he is the worthy of the central eight-petaled terrace [of the Womb Realm mandala]; when he is angry, he becomes the great deity [that rules over] the eight great kōjin; among the buddhas he is called the worthy Dainichi; among bodhisattvas, he is Kanzeon (Avalokiteśvara); among devas, Benzaiten; among gods, Soranshin; among demon kings, Jōzuima (the demon who always follows [beings]); among demonic spirits

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(kijin), Kikatsujin 飢渇神 (starvation); among defilements, fundamental ignorance.”127 Other sources emphasize Kōjin’s Janus-faced nature: when angry, he appears as the wrathful Sanbō Kōjin; when pleased, he manifests as the “fundamentally existing Tathāgata” (honnu nyorai). According to the Sanbō Kōjin saimon attributed to Kūkai, this duality is reflected in the fact that he has two honji—Monju and Fudō Myōō. Originally a demon of obstacles, Sanbō Kōjin became the highest expression of medieval Buddhist theology, a manifestation of the cosmic buddha Dainichi. By the same token, his three demonic emissaries, the spirits of the three poisons, were reinterpreted as Dainichi’s Three Mysteries (of body, speech, and mind), incorporating the manifestations of Dainichi, Monju, and Fudō, respectively, as well as the “three-foard river” (Sanzugawa or Sōzugawa 三途川) separating this world from the other.128 The Kōjin wasan (1223) found at Gangōji in Nara is the oldest hymn dedicated to Kōjin, and it suggests that the former demon had already become the object of popular devotion by the beginning of the Kamakura period. Its content is reminiscent of similar texts found in the Pure Land tradition.129 The Kōjin engi quotes an apocryphal biography of the Tendai priest Ennin (a.k.a. Jikaku Daishi), according to which all divine couples in India (Maheśvara and Sarasvatī), China (Fuxi and Nüwa), and Japan (Izanami and Izanagi) are manifestations of Kōjin: “[Thus,] the birth of all sentient and nonsentient beings is due to Kōjin’s action.”130 According to the Chōseiden by Ikū Shōnin (d. 1670): “Sometimes [Kōjin] transforms into the god Shimei 司命 (Ch. Siming, the lifespan-­ controlling spirit) and records the good and evil acts of the beings of Jambudvīpa. This is why one must pay special respect to that deva. Because his transformations are innumerable, one cannot mention them all. Because this Akitsukuni 秋津国 [Japan] is a divine land, he manifested as the great deity Amaterasu. He drives all demons and calamities very far away, and brings happiness and wisdom into the house.”131 Here Kōjin is no longer another name for Māra, the dupe of Amaterasu, he has become the honji or true nature of Amaterasu herself. ALLEGORICAL INTERPRETATIONS In the northeast corner of the Main Hall of Enryakuji (on Mount Hiei), dedicated to the buddha Yakushi, there is a small tumulus called Kōjin Mound (Kōjin-zuka). The monks generally ignore its origin and meaning, yet it was allegedly into that tumulus that Saichō, when he “opened” the mountain, drove all the local spirits that might otherwise have caused trouble.132 Kyōkai’s Shokoku ikken hijiri monogatari (1387) provides an esoteric interpretation of Kōjin’s mound, namely that it symbolizes the innate obstructions resulting from the three poisons. Thus, when practitioners cut off primordial ignorance, that is, when they tame Kōjin, they

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reach awakening. “Accordingly, sweeping the dust of ignorance and manifesting the spiritual nature of dharmatā, one sweeps the dust of that hall’s precinct and deposits it into that mound. Hence its name, ‘Dust Mound.’ This is why one does not pull its weeds or cut its trees.”133 Note that this interpretation still emphasizes Kōjin’s demonic nature. In other sources too, he is interpreted as a figure of “primordial ignorance” and of the “innate obstructions” (kushō shō 倶生障).134 The Buddhist image of Kōjin is indebted to the notion of innate obstacles found in the Yuqi jing (J. Yugikyō). These “beginningless” obstacles are identified with fundamental ignorance, and they are part of the polar structure formed by ignorance and the dharmatā. One source states that “the entire body of primordial ignorance is none other than Kōjin.”135 The last section of the Kōjin engi also describes Kōjin as the obstacle of one’s own nature. After describing the transformation of Kōjin from demon to demiurge and buddha (Nyorai Kōjin), it interprets that evolution from a psychological or epistemological viewpoint, from primordial obstacle (ignorance) to innate awakening (hongaku) or to the “storehouse consciousness” (Skt. ālaya-vijñāna, J. arayashiki 阿頼耶 識). In Yogācāra terminology, the esoteric Buddhist logic of reversal also implies a “revolution of the basis of consciousness” (āśraya-parāvṛtti). In some apocryphal scriptures, Kōjin becomes the protector of all beings from even before their birth—in other words, a placenta deity, a type of god that performed an important function in medieval Japan, as I show in Lords of Life. In the Benzaiten shugi, a section dealing with the visualization of the ritual area (bodhimaṇḍa, J. dōjōkan) reveals that the kōjin do not dwell outside but within ourselves: “Ignorance dwells in the dharmatā. Those who do not know that truth are themselves kōjin.”136 In the nondual logic of hongaku, failing to understand that defilements are identical to awakening opens the way to all kinds of obstacles, and the ignorance that undermines the efficacy of the ritual is precisely Kōjin.137 While remaining a god of obstacles that threatens the Dharma, Kōjin came to express the esoteric Buddhist structure of reversal that transforms ignorance into the realization of ultimate reality. In texts influenced by the hongaku theory, fundamental ignorance itself is explained (away) as a skillful means (upāya) akin to the “ruthless compassion” of wrathful esoteric deities such as Fudō and Aizen. Commentaries on the Yuqi jing, by linking Kōjin to Vajrasattva, provided a textual foundation for the allegorical interpretations that developed in medieval esoteric Buddhism around the identity between ignorance and the dharmatā. In one such commentary, for instance, we read: “This innate obstacle [affects] all beings since beginningless time, because they do not know their own mind as it is in reality. One calls it the ‘obstacle of one’s own nature.’ When it appears

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gradually and roughly, it manifests itself in a six-armed form with eight wrathful faces. . . . It is called Soran Kōjin.”138 Once identified with Vajrasattva, Kōjin could be reinterpreted in allegorical or psychological fashion: no longer a demonic jissha or “real one,” he became a symbol for the innate obstacles encountered in life. In the Miwa-ryū tradition, Sanbō Kōjin was redefined as a “commanding-wheel body” (tōrūjin 等流身) of Dainichi who manifests a wrathful form outwardly to give beings the retribution they deserve, while hiding his compassionate form inwardly.139 This topos (when angry . . . , when serene . . .) eventually took precedence over the concrete aspects of Kōjin, and it led to his apotheosis as an emblem of the highest reality. Some apocryphal scriptures went further, identifying Kōjin with the primordial buddha, the “ancestral god of all gods,” and the protecting deity of all beings. While still potentially a threat, his ambivalence was now seen as a perfect expression of the hongaku theory of the nonduality of good and evil, as well as a reflection of the ritual process that channels and transmutes the raw powers of nature, the aramitama, into nigimitama for the benefit of human beings. The figure of Kōjin thus came to symbolize the structure of hongaku, in which one of the elements of a polarity becomes the expression of a higher nonduality. In the mythological register, these polarities are usually expressed as follows (the list is not exhaustive): ignorance | dharmatā (awakening) Māra | Buddha Devadatta | Buddha Susanoo | Amaterasu Kōjin | Benzaiten Kōjin | Fudō Fudō | Aizen Soranshin (Kōjin) | Ugajin Soranshin | Jūzenji Moriya | Shōtoku Taishi

All these polarities were set up only to be transcended. This is precisely the function of Kōjin: while representing one side of the polarity at the conventional level, he encompasses all polarities at the ultimate level. He is in a sense just an empty slot for the absolute: his transcendent aspect can in turn be applied to any deity that has kōjin characteristics (beginning with Vināyaka, but also Fudō, Myōken, Benzaiten, Ugajin, and Jūzenji). The career of the Buddhist Kōjin could be described as that of a powerful demon of obstacles who required a cult to become a Dharma protector. But Kōjin is not simply a protector, a subduer of the demonic kōjin in

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the same sense as Bishamonten’s subduing of the yakṣas. While he appears as a demon to evil people, he manifests as the Tathāgata to virtuous ones. He is either good or evil, depending on the nature of his interlocutors— yet always both. His Janus-faced nature, reiterpreted through hongaku’s logic of nonduality, allowed him to transcend good and evil. In esoteric Buddhism, evil is not (or at least not always) a foreign principle that must be fought and destroyed, as in early Buddhism; as the very source of our being, it has to be (conceptually and ritually) integrated and transmuted. Such are the two faces of Kōjin: ignorance and awakening. The insight of medieval esoteric Buddhism lay in its emphasis on the idea that the goal is not simply to “become” a buddha in this very body (sokushin jōbutsu 即身成仏), as Kūkai argued, but to become (or to realize that one already is) Kōjin in the present life. Eventually, during the Edo period, doctrinal speculations like these gave way to a growing moralism. The chiaroscuro of medieval hongaku theory was replaced by a sharpened contrast between light and darkness, a return to the age-old antagonism between good and evil. The boundary-straddling, nondual Kōjin became once again a boundary-affirming deity. Of course, things are never so simple, and this observation, made for heuristic purposes, itself needs to be nuanced. But Kōjin’s transcendence was also his fundamental immanence. Above all, he was a chthonian god, a manifestation of the earth deity. This, in turn, explains his central role in the “nameless religion” of Japan, in contrast to the well-established traditions of Buddhism, Shintō, Shugendō, and Onmyōdō. The transitional (and transitive) deity known as the kōjin of the placenta (ena kōjin 胞衣荒神) provides a bridge between the folkloric Kōjin and these religious currents. Indeed, both the “great” and the “little” traditions of Japanese religion were concerned with the processes of procreation and gestation. Yet Kōjin’s latent dualism, inherited from and reinforced by Mikkyō polarities, the yin-yang ideology, and Confucian manicheism, led to the gradual loss of his fundamental ambivalence and a partial domestication of his wild and nomadic nature. At the same time, some of his wildness was brought into the very heart and hearth of villages and houses. Furthermore, his cult continued to proliferate on the margins of Japanese society, particularly through the discourse and practices of marginal groups such as blind monks (mōsō), mountain ascetics (shugenja), and sarugaku actors. II. KŌJIN IN LOCAL RELIGION We cannot understand this protean god by remaining safely within the Buddhist sphere as if we were monks inside a cordoned-off ritual area (kekkai). We need to go outside and wander through the hinterland of Japanese religion—taking, as it were, a walk on the wild side. There

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the name Kōjin points to what looks at first glance like a different deity (or type of deity), something that usually has been the preserve of folklorists and ethnographers.140 The latter, following the lead of Yanagita Kunio and Orikuchi Shinobu, have studied this deity as if the Buddhist Kōjin never existed. Thus, not only do we have two discourses on Kōjin—the buddhological and the ethnographic (or folkloric), to use common yet ultimately inappropriate terms—but the ethnographic discourse also refers to two types of Kōjin, the domestic Kōjin and the outdoor Kōjin. Although convenient, these binary distinctions are largely beside the point, since it is Kōjin that precisely undermines them. I mention them here in order to deconstruct the binary structure and to show that in reality Kōjin spanned the whole spectrum between these polarities. To fully grasp the complexity of Kōjin, we need to keep in mind the vast cohort of spirits, also named kōjin, looming in the background, a choir of anonymous voices sustaining the solo of the individualized god. One cannot jump from the araburu kami of ancient Japan to the universal Kōjin of modern (albeit archaic) Izanagi-ryū rituals, as folklorists have often done, without taking into account the pervasive Buddhist influence. The individual Kōjin may have progressively emerged, like other demon kings, from the cohort of anonymous spirits known as kōjin. But in return, the Buddhist image of Sanbō Kōjin significantly modified popular conceptions regarding these kōjin, and in many cases contributed to demonizing them. Or perhaps the Buddhist Kōjin always was inherently plural, but only when the name could no longer hold or contain its swarming identities did it yield to a multiplicity of kōjin. Ultimately, as a liminal deity, Kōjin constantly transgresses boundaries and dichotomies, including those between the one and the multiple. THE CHTHONIAN AND TERRITORIAL KŌJIN Kōjin was usually perceived as an outsider, a liminal entity or borderline phenomenon. His well-attested secrecy may have been due to the quasi-invisibility of the modal reality he inhabits—he is everywhere around and inside us, down to the eighty-four thousand kōjin dwelling in the human body. To borrow an expression from Stephen Jay Gould, he represents what one could call the “full house” of Japanese religion. The Kōjin dances in the kagura that are performed every seven, thirteen, and thirty-three years (numbers that suggest their funerary aspect) reveal another important aspect of Kōjin.141 In the great kagura of the eleventh month, as it is still performed today over four days and nights in western Japan, three kinds of deities—the ujigami, Kōjin, and Dokkujin— appear and give oracles. At the end, Kōjin—who represents the world of humans—confronts a dragon symbolized by a straw rope. This dragon

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FIGURE 7.25  Kōjin’s tree. Iwakuni, Yamaguchi prefecture. Photo Andrea Castiglioni.

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represents the elemental forces of nature as well as the spirits of the dead. It exchanges words with Kōjin, who in the end tames it. When the two become one, a medium (hosa 法者) falls into trance and becomes their mouthpiece.142 After three years, the dragon is sent back to the natural world, and the straw rope is burnt. Another ritual worth mentioning in this connection is the Jōdo kagura of Iwakuni (in Kyūshū). While its name betrays a Pure Land influence, the beliefs that form its background seem to predate the emergence of the Pure Land school in the thirteenth century. The ritual area is made up of two parts linked by a rope (kichi no nawa): a place with a hearth and a threelegged cauldron and the god’s altar in one; and a long pole, made of two superposed pinetree trunks in the other. At the top of the pole, among the branches of the pine tree, three paper wheels, in red, white, and yellow, symbolize the sun, the moon, and the stars, respectively (fig. 7.25). The three-legged cauldron is identified with the stove god or the earth deity, and a yudate (boiling water) ritual is performed with it to placate the souls of the dead. Once these souls have been pacified, a priest clad in white, impersonating Kōjin, ascends the tree trunk, carrying the souls with him to heaven. Upon reaching the treetop, he smashes the three paper wheels, then comes down the rope all the way to the god’s altar, bringing with him the souls of beings yet to be born. The ceremony ends with an earth-quelling rite, after which Kōjin is sent off. This life-renewal ritual, despite its post-Meiji Shintō reinterpretation, preserves many traces of Shugendō influence, and it shows Kōjin (called here Arahira 荒平) as a stove god and as a psychopomp that guides souls between this world and the other. While it is called Sanbō Kōjin, this deity has little to do with the deity once envisioned by En no Gyōja and worshiped in medieval Mikkyō and Shugendō. This kagura Nō has greatly changed over time. Fortunately, we have two booklets (Kagura-nō-bon) that probably reflect the medieval rituals—­a collection of fourteen plays copied in 1664 and preserved by the Tochigi family in Hiba, and another of fifteen plays copied in 1680.143 The actors in the Sanbō Kōjin Nō (Kanbun-bon) are five: the ritual specialist (hosa), the main deity called Sanbō Kōjin, a six-faced kōjin from China, an eight-faced kōjin from India, and a demon king (Maō, perhaps Māra himself). The hosa first asks the name of the main deity, and the latter replies that he is called Sanbō Kōjin and that he protects all the beings of

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Japan. Knowing that foreign enemies threaten the land, he has come to repel them. The first enemy to appear is the six-faced kōjin from China, who is quickly driven away. The two others soon meet the same fate. The texts emphasize the shared nature of the good Kōjin (Sanbō Kōjin) and the three evil ones, contrary to other stories where the protector of Japan is a “god” like Kashima Myōjin. Sanbō Kōjin is also a foreign deity, but, by driving away the other kōjin away, he has become the Sanbō Kōjin of Japan.144 Another Nō play centered on Kōjin was performed during the Kōjin kagura of Tōjō-chō 東城町 (Hiroshima prefecture). Inserting classical mythology into kōjin lore (or vice-versa), it includes three kami (Taji­ karao 手刀男, Ame no Uzume, and Ninigi) and three demons (Okitsu-­ hiko, Okitsu-hime, and Ōtoshi 大歳) among its protagonists.145 The scene takes place during the descent of Ninigi, the grandson of the sun goddess Amaterasu. Tajikarao and Ame no Uzume have been sent ahead to pacify the araburu kami. They explain that they have come as Ninigi’s vanguard to subdue the evil and wild deities of the land. When they begin to dance and wield their swords, three kōjin representing the demons of India, China, and Japan enter the stage. Because they constantly see the evil deeds of people, they have become demons of obstacles. Once subdued, however, they vow to protect the land. To appease their raging heart (araburu kokoro), Ninigi appoints them to positions as deities of Ōhara Shrine in Hatsusegawa (Yamato province), where they will be worshiped collectively as Sanbō Kōjin.146 In this way, they mutate from demons to myō, territorial deities protecting families. KŌJIN IN THE IZANAGI-RYŪ To better understand the nature of Kōjin—while risking the historian’s cardinal sin of anachronism—we need to leap forward in time to the modern period and focus on a religious trend that has preserved many medieval features, the Izanagi-ryū.147 The medieval Kōjin mediated between the ancient araburu kami and the later Kōjin of modern folklore. As such, he was not a syncretistic deity but rather a vanishing mediator that allowed ritual, cosmological, and mythological translations (in both senses of translation and transfer) to occur between the religious traditions of Mikkyō, Onmyōdō, and Shintō. In her study of the rituals of the Izanagi-ryū as they are still performed in Shikoku, Simone Mauclaire has shown that Kōjin occupied a central position in certain local politico-religious structures. According to her, “the notion of Kōjin belongs to a theoretical problem of a general order, that of the dynamics of the formation of initiatory or professional bodies through the mediation of particular genii who know how to (re) translate in practice and thought collective aspirations and preoccupations

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whose finality contradicts an expression reduced to its conscious motivations.”148 In other words, this notion served as a smokescreen, hiding the ontological identity between the foundations of official power in medieval politico-religious theory and the magical powers used in heterodox rituals (gehō). It obscured, in particular, the fact that the imperial house always ruled with the agreement of the chthonian deities (araburu kami / kōjin) incarnated in local chiefs. Thus, the rise of the kōjin reflects a change in the structure of the state from the eighth century onward to accommodate the growing importance of local structures—for instance, the transformation of territorial units into estates (shōen) affiliated with the court and the clergy. According to Kuroda Toshio, this alliance between the court, Buddhist institutions, and local communities was itself a way to respond to the rise of the warriors. This local resistance explains the growing prestige of Kōjin (and the kōjin) as chthonian power(s) in scholastic works such as the Yamato Katsuragi hōzanki (ca. 1300), in which Kōjin is defined as an araburu kami equal to the heavenly gods of classical mythology, who are now reinterpreted as manifestations of Indian gods and buddhas.149 The rite of demonic pacification known as kōjin-shizume 荒神鎮め, as it is performed in the Izanagi-ryū today, aims at sending the kōjin back to the bottom of the earth, to put them to sleep and reduce them to a state of latency.150 During this ritual, the wild spirits of nature and those of the dead of the community are transferred from a straw rope symbolizing a snake into a spirit medium, then from the latter into a paper strip (gohei) that is eventually buried. In some instances, the demon that is thus placated and “grounded” (or pushed into the ground; both are senses of shizume) is called Kōjin of the tumulus (tsuka kōjin 塚荒神). Plunged in a state of deep slumber, it no longer has any real power and is unable to actualize itself.151 In this way, the Izanagi-ryū projected Kōjin’s demonic nature and demiurgic features into another deity named Izanagi (different from the Izanagi of classical mythology). KŌJIN AND THE STOVE GOD The domestic Sanbō Kōjin, different from the Buddhist deity of the same name, was identified with the fire deity (hi no kami) and / or the stove god (kamadogami).152 Not everyone accepted this identification, however.153 According to the Edo scholar Amano Sadakage, “Because [Kōjin] is the god who causes all obstacles, when performing a ritual one must first propitiate him. Such is the great affair of Tōmitsu. He is not the stove god. His honji is Kongōsatta [Vajrasattva].”154 Despite Amano’s denial, the belief that Kōjin is the stove god seems to have been widespread—even in Buddhist circles. In the Shinzoku butsuji hen, for instance, we read: “In the oral traditions of the past, Kōjin particularly abhors impurity. Thus, because the fire is, in essence, pure and it eliminates impurity, it is put in

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a pure place in the house. This is why Kōjin, in the houses of people, has come to dwell in the stove. Based on this, Kōjin is commonly called the stove god.” The same text adds: “All calamities are caused by the curses of Kōjin and his ninety-eight thousand henchmen. This is why one worships him in every house.”155 Why did Kōjin become identified with the stove god? A number of symbolic reasons may have played a role. One of them is the fact that the two deities share affinities with fire. The stove is the most secret and important place in the house. Komatsu Kazuhiko has compared it to a womb and this suggests that the stove god, as a god of destiny, shared some features with the placenta deity (ena kōjin). As I argue elsewhere, the stove god is also close to the “spirits born at the same time” (kushōjin) in that he reports the deeds of humans to heaven.156 The paradox of a domestic wild god is that it dwells inside the house without belonging to it—without being “domesticated.” It exists in between, between the inside and outside, on the innermost threshold of the house (as opposed to its outer threshold), at the deepest core of an interior that opens onto another world, a liminal space where all values get inverted. This Möbius-like logic of reversal, which is at the same time a logic of mediation, is what explains Kōjin’s ambivalence.157 THE EARTH DEITY To understand the chthonian nature of Kōjin requires a detour through the mythological and ritual constellation formed by the earth deity (or deities). The difference between the earth deity and Kōjin is often blurred, although at times the two deities can seem antagonistic.158 Indeed, while the earth deity, under the name Dokōjin 土公神 (var. Dokkujin or Dokku), seems to be the Onmyōdō equivalent of Kōjin, the Buddhists named their earth deity Jiten, Jishin, or Kenrō Jishin (var. Kenrō Chijin) because of its capacity to “hold the earth and make it solid (kenrō 堅牢).”159 In both Theravāda and Mahāyāna Buddhism, the importance of the earth goddess stems from her brief but crucial role as a witness to the merits of the bodhisattva Śākyamuni in his encounter with Māra. The so-called Māravijaya episode, however, does not always mention the earth deity, and when it does, the deity’s appearance, attributes, number, and even gender may vary.160 In some accounts, she is much more aggressive toward Māra. According to Jien’s Yonjō hiketsu, for instance, when the bodhisattva invokes the earth goddess, she appears and presents him with a swastika before transforming into the wisdom king Fudō to tame Māra.161 The Māravijaya thus became the prototype for all subjugation rituals. In earlier Mahāyāna scriptures, the earth goddess kept a low profile—a humility befitting her etymology (humus). The Golden Light Sūtra

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(Suvarṇaprabhāsa Sūtra is a significant exception. In that scripture, she declares to the Buddha and his disciples that she will appear wherever the scripture is preached and that its predication will make her and her retinue grow stronger, thus allowing her to benefit all beings. Perhaps as important as the content of her vow to help all beings were the metonymic relations the scripture established between herself and major female deities such as Lakṣmī (Kichijōten), Sarasvatī (Benzaiten), and Hārītī (Kariteimo or Kishimojin). These were deities of equal rank, practically interchangeable. Among them, the earth deity proper emerged, paradoxically, as the less valorized (or at least the least individualized). Yet she may be the most important since she constitutes, literally, the fundamental ground or honji of the others. As Iyanaga Nobumi points out, rather than simply listing Śrī, Sarasvatī, and the earth goddess as protagonists of the Golden Light Sūtra, one should speak of Śrī-like and Sarasvatī-like earth deities, since all are manifestations of the earth deity proper. In the Byakuhō kushō, after describing the various attributes that Jiten holds in her four hands, the author comments: “The image of Benzaiten looks quite similar.”162 Other Buddhist deities associated with the earth deity include the nāga kings (fig. 7.26), Fudō, King Yama, Bishamonten (fig. 7.33), Jizō, the “earth store” bodhisattva—and, last but not least, Kōjin.163 The geotopic nature of Shugendō practices (waterfall ascesis, etc.) is well known, and the main deity of Shugendō, Fudō, is a

FIGURE 7.26  Jiten (samaya form) with nāgas. Daihi taizō daimandara, TZ 1: 160, figs. 299–302.

FIGURE 7.27 Jiten. Kakuzenshō, DNBZ 50: 226.

FIGURE 7.28 Jiten. Besson zakki, TZ 3: 601, fig. 300.

FIGURE 7.30  Kenrō Jishin. Kamakura period. Ink and color on paper. Shoson zuzōshū. Kanazawa Library, Yokohama.

FIGURE 7.29 Jiten. Besson zakki, TZ 3: 560, fig. 278.

FIGURE 7.31  Kenrō Jishin. Besson zakki, TZ 3: 602, fig. 301.

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FIGURE 7.32  Kenrō Jishin. Besson zakki, TZ 3: 559,

fig. 277.

FIGURE 7.33  (Right) Tobatsu Bishamon. Kamakura period. Ink and color on paper. Shoson zuzōshū. Kanazawa Library, Yokohama.

manifestation of the earth-deity 㗐. The firmness of Fudō the Immovable was thus comparable to that of Kenrō Jishin; as the Yonjō hiketsu puts it: “[The deity] called Kenrō Jishin [on earth] is called the earth star [i.e., Saturn] in heaven. Furthermore, the earth deity is the worthy Fudō.”164 At Nachi, a cultic center in the Kii peninsula renowned for its waterfall, legend has it that the Nyoirin Hall was erected on the head of a chthonian dragon whose body is, precisely, that waterfall.165 Appearance and Gender

The Buddhist earth deity was initially perceived as a female deity, a nurturing mother that symbolized the prolific aspect of nature. This conception was still prevalent in medieval Japan, as shown in the Yonjō hiketsu:

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“The earth deity is a female deva (nyoten 女天). But the text adds: “  ‘Female’ means ‘samādhi.’ It is the samādhi through which the World-honored Dainichi protects and supports the mind-ground of all beings.”166 In apotropaic rituals, however, the earth deity often lost her female aspect and appeared in the form of a fierce warrior.167 At any rate, scholarly debates regarding the gender of this deity, by essentializing it, reflect a misunderstanding of the essentially metamorphic nature of the gods. Many human activities such as construction involve a violation of the earth, and the earth deity was feared for its curses (tatari). This dark, chthonian aspect was usually represented in Onmyōdō by Tugong 土公 (J. Dokō) and by a group of five dragon deities also known as the five emperors. Tugong was often identified with Kōjin, and in esoteric Buddhism he was also associated with Fudō. To avoid his curses, appropriate earth-placating rituals (anchin-hō 安鎮法) had to be performed before the erection of houses or monastic buildings (altars, shrines, halls, refectory, library, stūpas, shrines).168 These rituals consisted essentially in burying offerings in the four cardinal directions to stabilize the ground. Earth-placating rituals combined Buddhist and Onmyōdō elements. The first mention of a ritual of this kind occurs in the Nihon shoki under the reign of Kōtoku Tennō (r. 645–654), when the capital was moved from Ajifu Palace in Settsu to Nagara Toyosaki Palace in Naniwa on the last day of the year, 651. It was a grand affair in which more than twenty-­ one hundred monks and nuns recited, among other texts, the Antaku sūtra 安宅経 and the Dosoku sūtra 土側経.169 Such rituals became increasingly important with the development of esoteric Buddhism in the Heian period. The Keiran shūyōshū records an earth-placating ritual performed after several construction workers had fallen ill during the digging performed on a hill behind Jufukuji in Kamakura. A casket filled with golden powder was buried on that occasion. Later, it was found that the sandy powder had turned into the image of an ox, symbol of the earth deity.170 The Yōson dōjōkan by Shunnyū (890–953) also describes a rite of offerings to Dokō, at the end of which offerings were buried.171 In such earth-placating rituals, vases filled with the five kinds of cereals and other ritual implements were buried as offerings to the earth deity (or deities) under the central altar and in the four or eight directions. In the earth deity festival (Doshinsai 土神祭), for instance, twenty-five round stones, dyed and distributed in five groups (according to the color symbolism of the five phases), were buried under the altar and in the four directions. In foundation rites, the earth deity was associated with Fudō, and the recitation of the Earth Deity Sūtra (Jishin kyō) was preceded by the visualization of the seed-letter A and the mantras of the earth deity. A late medieval liturgical text entitled Gogyō no saimon 五行の祭文 offers a good

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example of the fusion of esoteric Buddhist notions (the five buddhas) with Onmyōdō elements such as the five phases (gogyō) and the five dragon kings. Here the five dragon kings have become the five princes—a term referring to the children of the cosmic king Banko. In esoteric Buddhism, the five dragon kings were initially perceived as lower demonic beings, and they are described in some sources as the emissaries (misaki) of the five great wisdom kings (godai myōō). Gradually, however, as they came to be called “princes” (ōji 王子), their demonic nature was downplayed and they rose in the heavenly hierarchy, eventually becoming identified with the five wisdom kings. In a slightly ulterior saimon, the five princes are invoked side by side with the five wisdom kings, while keeping precedence in the incantatory sequence.172 Allegorical Interpretations

The earth deity is an ambivalent power that regenerates men and demons alike. In the five-phase theory of Chinese cosmology, the earth symbolizes the center, and by extension the original ground, the inner sanctum. It is seen as the origin of all things and is thus linked with the mind and with the wish-fulfilling jewel. In Buddhism, it came to serve as a metaphor for the storehouse consciousness (ālaya-vijñāna) and the mind-ground (xindi 心地, a term often used in Chan / Zen): not only does it provide earthly benefits, it also, more importantly, leads to awakening. As such, it is indeed the honji or original ground of all other deities and deserves to be identified with the primordial buddha Dainichi. On the other hand, the earth also contains dark chthonian forces, and it is the realm of the underworld. Thus, the earth deity gets easily offended by human transgressions, and its wrath may be terrible. It had to be ritually placated, time and again—the task of itinerant ritual specialists such as Onmyōdō and Shugendō practitioners, but above all the blind monks (mōsō) that went from door to door, particularly during the intercalary periods of the four seasons (doyō) that symbolically corresponded to the earth element. Their most important ritual was the recitation of the apocryphal Earth Deity Sūtra (Jishin kyō) and its commentaries (shakumon 釈文).173 This short scripture tells how, at the time of the Buddha’s pari­ nirvāṇa, his disciples were unable to light his funerary pyre. The Buddha then sat up in his coffin to tell them that the earth deities, which had not been properly worshiped, were causing the obstruction. One should recite this scripture twenty-five times, he went on, when undertaking activities such as the building of stūpas, temples, and houses, or when burying one’s parent, digging into a mountain or a cliff, damming a river, restoring walls, erecting pillars or beams, or renovating a stove; or again, when performing agricultural activities, cutting or planting trees; and more generally in cases of sickness, pain, and nightmares. Those who do so will avoid irritating the deities of the earth and they will obtain peace.

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Another apocryphal scripture used by the blind monks was the Bussetsu jishin daranikyō. The setting is the same. When his funerary pyre refuses to light up, the Buddha rises up from his coffin and explains in detail the structure of the universe, ruled by the five dragons and the twelve cyclical spirits / demons, which correspond to the buddhas, wisdom kings, and bodhisattvas.174 He recalls that, when Māra challenged him, these deities came forth from the earth and served as his witnesses. He then teaches Ānanda the incantations that will allow his disciples to placate the nāga kings and other chthonian deities. These incantations describe month by month the symbolic associations between stars, cyclical signs, elements, buddhas, bodhisattvas, wisdom kings, and so on. The Buddha concludes that one must recite this scripture twenty-five times during all works of construction—whether a stupā, a monastery, or a house—as well as work in the fields. After finishing his sermon, he lies down in his coffin again, fire gushes forth from his chest, and his cremation can at long last take place.175 Perhaps to blunt what might look like a critique of the Buddhists’ past neglect of the earth deities, the text ends with this comment: “Finally, the troubles caused by Kenrō Jishin were not caused by an enemy of the Buddha; they were skillful means to make people understand that all the beings on earth, down to the grasses, trees, and the entire land, rely on the earth deity’s kindness.”176 But the point remains that the earth deity and its retinue were perceived as dangerous deities that had to be propitiated. In this sense, they do not differ from demons of obstacles such as Vināyaka and Matarajin. Even if the whole episode becomes a skillful means in the end, and the earth deity is presented as an ally of the Buddha, it does look at times like a rival. Admittedly, it is the earth goddess who served as the bodhisattva Śākyamuni’s witness and, by defeating Māra, prepared the ground for his awakening. In this sense, she constitutes a source of legitimacy for the Buddha and his disciples. Yet by nature she remains closer to Māra. We need only recall that Kōjin, a paradigmatic chthonian deity, claimed to be the “elder brother” of the Buddha and that he was sometimes identified with Māra. Chthonian Myths

Diagrams of Tu Gong’s yearly “transfers” have been found in Dunhuang manuscripts. They show him seated inside a dynamic nine-square structure that resembles the imperial mingtang. Like the Chinese emperor, he circulates through this symbolic space during the twelve months, before returning to the center.177 In Japan, under the name Dokō or (var. Dokku), Tu Gong was perceived as a deity that protects the house. According to the Hoki naiden: “Dokō transforms during the four periods. Thus, he is the lord of the three thousand worlds, the great deity of the firm earth (Kenrō Jishin).178

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In market almanacs, Dokō appears with the following explanation: “Because he is a god that protects the earth, one should not violate the earth; in the house, the place that he controls varies depending on the seasons. In spring, he dwells in the stove; therefore, one should not build or repair the stove [at that time]. In summer, he dwells at the gate; thus, one should not rebuild or repair the gate [at that time]. In autumn, he dwells in the well; it is thus dangerous to dig a well [then]. In winter, he dwells in the yard; it is therefore dangerous to build a yard, to remove the earth, or to plant trees [then].”179 In other words, Dokō was the functional equivalent of Kōjin. Like him, he moved around human dwellings, and his movements entailed various temporal taboos. When these taboos were transgressed, his curses could be very harsh, and rituals aimed at placating him were held in case such taboos may have been transgressed. The cosmological symbolism of the earth deity developed with the myth of King Banko (var. Bangon) and his five children, the five princes or five dragons. According to the Hoki naiden, when Banko died, he left his realm (the spatiotemporal cosmos) to them. While his brothers obtained the four quarters of space and the four seasons, the last-born child, Gorō 五郎, had to fight with them to obtain his share of the inheritance. He finally obtained the center of space and the four intercalary periods. A more developed version of the myth appears in the Bussetsu jishin dai darani ōji kyō, according to which the Buddha manifested himself in China as the great king Bangon (Banko). He had six children: five boys, known as the five emperors (the dragon kings of the five directions) and one girl (despite her name, Gorō, “Fifth Male”). The last child, yet unborn at the time of her father’s death, was for that reason called “Kōjin in the womb.” When she asked about her father, her mother told her that he is the buddha Dainichi of the Vajra realm, while she is the earth deity of the Womb realm. When Gorō confronts her elder brother, the Eastern Dragon, she tells him that she is a manifestation of the buddha Dainichi and that she first manifested in this world as Gozu Tennō. The brother replies that their antagonism goes a long way back: when he manifested in this world as the sun goddess Amaterasu, Gorō appeared as Susanoo and became his enemy. To expiate this offense, she had to kill a dragon (Yamata no Orochi) and give Amaterasu the sword that she had found in the dragon’s tail. Although she was forgiven then, her present situation is the result of her past karma. But Gorō is not one to take a karmic explanation as an answer. The two siblings fight a battle in which each assumes different forms. The same scenario is repeated with the other brothers, and the fight turns into a cosmic battle where Gorō appears as the Great Kōjin, a wrathful deity with three faces, leading the ninety-eight thousand spirits of calamity. The battle ends owing to the mediation of the bodhisattva Monju (Mañjuśrī), who allocates to Gorō the four intercalary periods and the center of space, while her brothers receive the four seasons and the four directions. Gorō

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eventually manifests as the earth deity (Kenrō Jishin), the Yellow Dragon at the center of space. The text elaborates: “The Yellow Dragon of the center is Dainichi. Because it protects the land, the villages, and the houses, he is called Sanbō Kōjin, and he manifests as the stove god, the earth duke (Dokō), and the earth king (Doō).” The text then describes the periodical “transfers” of Kōjin (three months in each of the following sections of the house: the stove, the gate, the well, and the yard).180 The Kōjin no saimon tells a similar story about the cosmic king Bangon and his five children. The younger child, Gorō, born after the death of Bangon, fights his four brothers when they refuse to recognize him as a legitimate heir. The restoration of cosmic order is eventually achieved by the arbitration of their uncle, the hermit of Mount Kōya (a probable allusion to Kūkai).181 The narrative describes the ritual pacification (shizume) of Kōjin. King Bangon is none other than the demonic (and cosmic) Kōjin, whose original form is that of a snake-dragon: the pupil of his right eye gives birth to the heavenly buddha; that of his left eye, to the buddha ruling the Middle Country; his right hand, to the Tathāgata Fugen (Samantabhadra); his left hand, to the Tathāgata Shaka (Śākyamuni); his right foot, to Fudō in his dragon form as Kurikara; and his left foot, to Bishamonten and the Kannon of Hayawara Shrine.182 The text then lists the innumerable kōjin that form his retinue: the kōjin of the various parts of the house, of the yard, of the gate, of the way (dōroku), of the mountains, rivers, trees, and bamboos (kodama), of stones, of creeping vegetation, and so on. Kōjin is also identified with Gozu Tennō, and he is said to be the master of the ground below eight feet (that is, below the surface belonging to humans).183 The importance of the myth of the five princes (and of Kōjin) in popular culture is clear from the fact that it was one of the central features of many kagura performances. Some of these kagura have become part of the Flower Festival (Hana Matsuri 花祭), still performed today in various places. King Banko and his five chidren also appear in the rituals of the Izanagi-ryū in Tosa (present-day Kōchi prefecture, Shikoku). CODETTA The deities subsumed under the name Kōjin present what Wittgenstein called a family resemblance—although some of them seem dissimilar. Perhaps there is no need to posit a single deity, some primordial Kōjin, as their “original ground.” When it was formulated, such a conception was essentially a theological one. The name (or the homonymy) must not hide the fact that the realities or powers it designated were at times quite different. But it provided a framework for correlative thinking and defined a common semantic field where all these powers could articulate with one another.

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The demonic figure of Kōjin represented in a sense the hidden face of the dynamics that transformed medieval Japanese society. It reflected the fears and hopes of the people in a world that had changed rapidly, and in which new forces constantly emerged—a world fraught with danger but also full of possibilities that had to be harnessed by competing religious specialists. When Kōjin declares that he is the Buddha’s elder brother, his claim can be dismissed as proof of hubris. Yet it also points to a kind of paradox: the elder brother represents a higher consciousness that encompasses the younger brother’s consciousness. But does not the Buddha’s consciousness supposedly encompass the totality of knowledge, the perfect transparency (or opacity) of supreme awakening? Kōjin’s move here is similar to the one by which Mahāvairocana dethroned Maheśvara, the lord of the Three Worlds. Kōjin, then, represents the secret at the very heart of reality, the inner demon, the darkness from which light emerges. He is the buddha before the Buddha, the “fundamentally existing Tathāgata,” as he describes himself. Here is a “strange loop” that points to the paradoxical nature of reality. While Kōjin emerged as a central (and decentering) figure of the Buddhist pantheon, kōjin (plural) and the like continued to exert their demonic activity on the margins of the human world. As such, they came to fuse with another category of semi-autochthonous deities that were also gods of obstacles, namely, the crossroads deities or dōsojin. In the Buddhist tradition, we encountered two different Kōjin: the Kōjin of orthodox doctrinal discourse, and the heterodox Kōjin who claims to be the elder brother of the Buddha. Consequently, Nyorai Kōjin himself may be read in two different ways: as a representative of esoteric Buddhist orthodoxy or as an interloper that usurps the Buddha’s status while using Buddhist symbolism. He thus became the mythological expression of the Tendai notion that the buddha-nature contains evil (in both senses of the word “contains”), or that “Buddha and Māra are one.” While, on the one hand, he moved to the front stage as Tathāgata Kōjin, on the other hand (or on the backstage) he also symbolized the ultimate resistance to the symbolic order, the “real gods” that refused to be identified as part of a scheme or reduced to a Buddhist or “Shintō” identity. Buddhism’s disparaging of the demonic kōjin does not change the fact that they resisted Buddhist power, and by becoming the very figure of resilience they acquired ontological precedence. Buddhas and kami were the divine powers recuperated by clerical institutions, whereas Kōjin and his troupe passed through the meshes of the symbolic system. Even when they were redefined as domestic deities, they could not be placed under house arrest. For that very reason, they mediated between the elemental and the divine, the infinitesimal and the cosmic. The immanent nature of Kōjin, a power that dwells in all beings, reveals that stupidity and cruelty are fundamental aspects of our being in

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the world, drawing our attention to what could be called the inhuman core of human nature. The three poisons are not just external realities; they dwell within our hearts, they contaminate our blood at each heartbeat, they pollute each of our thoughts. But the presence of Kōjin inside us also means that ignorance can be transmuted into awakening, just as the wrathful Kōjin turns into the serene Nyorai Kōjin. The case of Kōjin allows us to bring back to light what the tradition has forgotten and to valorize the polytheistic, pluralist aspect of Japanese religion before it became polarized into “Buddhism” and “Shintō.” It provides us with a way to write a counterhistory of medieval Japanese religion by unsettling the ideological discourse of sectarian Buddhism and Shintō, bent as it has been on establishing a dichotomy between orthodoxy and heterodoxy, truth and error. In the last analysis, Kōjin was perceived as both a highly concrete deity and a symbolic operator. His Janus-faced nature allowed him to become the paradigm for the kind of medieval gods that I have labeled Lords of Life.

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THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE In the previous chapter, we saw that one characteristic of Kōjin was that he served an important function as jinushi or landowner deity of Japan. In this chapter, I want to examine that jinushi function more closely because it is essential to an understanding of Japanese religion, perhaps more so than even the customary distinction between buddhas and kami. As a descriptive term, jinushi comprehends deities that seem very different at first glance, so it will be instructive to focus here on a few significant cases, including the gods of the land (kunitsukami) of classical mythology, the dual crossroads deities (dōsojin), the kami Sarutahiko, Shirahige Myōjin, and—more surprisingly—two old acquaintances: Gozu Tennō and Māra. Japan has known a multitude of great and small jinushi, as many as there have been territorial units (or more), nested in each other. These deities represent concrete local powers (human and divine) that stand in contrast to the more abstract official kami and buddhas. Who are these landowner deities? Is a deity a jinushi by virtue of birth, by some inalienable right of nobility, or can it become one? Can it receive such a rank and title, and if so, how? The jinushi notion is difficult to circumscribe, because of its layered nature and its constant evolution. A local deity can extend its area of activity or be “invited” to another place, where it may displace another local deity. What it gains in power by becoming translocal, it may lose in concreteness. The term jinushi evokes a society in which some feudal lords increased their domain at the expense of others. It can take several meanings, sometimes contradictory, depending on the extension of the landowner’s jurisdiction—from purely local to regional or even national. A successful landowner deity, like the god of Mount Hiei, moves from a local level to the national level to become landowner of all Japan. Occasionally, as in the case of Gozu Tennō, it even becomes possible to transcend all localizations and become a translocal or crosscultural deity. To be clear, the term jinushi can be a source of confusion since it designates two different things: (1) an autochthonous deity that is an emanation of a specific place, a genius loci; and (2) a deity who happens to be the oldest occupant of the site.1 Often the jinushi were simply the first occupants of a place, as was the case with the earthly gods of classical 278

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FIGURE 8.1 Stone dōsojin. Suwa, Nagano prefecture. Photo B. Faure.

mythology that occupied a territory allegedly created by the heavenly deities Izanami and Izanagi—or, in another version, by the earthly gods Ōkuninushi and Sukunahikona. Yet even in those cases, earlier occupants could almost always be found (or invented if necessary). Jinushi were usually identified as native gods or “gods of the land” (kunitsukami, as opposed to amatsukami, the “heavenly gods”). To what extent do the two notions of an autochthonous deity and the oldest occupant of the site overlap with that of the kunitsukami—and, by extension, the araburu kami (reflecting a demonization of the latter)? The jinushi are said to have occupied the land first—if not, as is sometimes the case, from the time of the creation of the land; and they either willingly relinquished their domain to heavenly gods and buddhas or reluctantly lost it, though sometimes not without fighting an unequal fight. In most cases, the original

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local gods continued to receive a cult, albeit at a subaltern rank and in a subshrine (often as wakamiya). An interesting case illustrating the displacement of a local god by a powerful earthly god is that of Takeminakata, one of Ōkuninushi’s sons, who replaced the local god after being exiled to Suwa, becoming the official jinushi of the place.2 As the Suwa deity, he later helped the legendary Empress Jingū in her conquest of the Korean peninsula. The extension of the jinushi function occurred in part through identification with the earth deity. The latter term connotes a broad semantic and symbolic field since it can designate the earthly deities (kunitsukami) as opposed to the heavenly deities (amatsukami) in classical mythology, as well as the earth deities of Onmyōdō, the Indian and Buddhist earth goddess (Jiten), and the multitude of local deities of Japan. The distinction between these various types or functions was not always clear, and they often overlap. The overlap in function between the jinushi as earth deities and the kunitsukami as land deities created an ambiguity between the notion of limited territoriality and the boundless fertility of the earth, or between territorial ties and blood ties. Thus, it was less than clear whether Japan was created by the heavenly gods (usually Izanami and Izanagi), or simply discovered by them and more anciently inhabited by a jinushi that was “born from the earth.” Many gods of the land were eventually demonized and pushed toward the margins of the land—or even to the underworld. In the best cases, they became ancestors; in others, they were demonized to some extent, like Kenrō Jishin, the earth deity who became master of the gods and demons existing above or inside the earth. The jinushi category lent itself to a strange reversal of perspective: while Japan, identified with the imperial house, became a divine land (shinkoku), it also had to face demonized foreign aggressors. On the other hand, the history of the imperial house was that of territorial expansion. That expansion took place in two main episodes, in a kind of imperial double-take: a divine invasion—and eviction of the earthly gods—by the heavenly gods; and the invasion of Yamato by Jinmu Tennō and his successors, an eastward movement starting from Kyūshū (Hyūga 日向 and Takachiho 高千穂).3 These annexations were followed by expeditions against the Emishi 蝦夷 in the north, described in a narrative centered on Yamato Takeru.4 Like all colonial endeavors, this conquest presented itself as a civilizing mission. In reality, as Walter Benjamin noted, “There is no document of civilization that is not at the same time a document of barbarism.”5 Yamato Takeru’s untimely death, however, suggests that there were strongholds of resistance. We are told that he died because he failed to recognize the god of Mount Ibuki, a typical araburu kami, when the god appeared to him in the form of a boar. But his death was not a swift warrior-like death, like the violent ones he was skilled at giving

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(going so far as to slice an enemy into pieces); it was an infamous, gradual death caused by the loss of his vital energy. The conquest did not end there, and it continued even after Japan was unified under imperial rule from the tenth to eleventh centuries. As Amino Yoshihiko puts it, “In the strictest sense, then, the history of ‘Japanese’ invasion is not limited to Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s sixteenth-century invasion of Korea or the modern invasions of Korea and China. The ancient Japanese state invaded the lands of northern Honshū and southern Kyūshū as well.”6 Whereas the early Japanese mythical space, as defined in the Fudoki, for example, was eminently concrete before the Nara period, by the ninth century it had given way to the abstract spaces of Chinese and Buddhist cosmologies. The ancient Japanese seem to have had a more concrete and complex conception of spatiality: for instance, they recognized, apart from the Celestial Plain (Takamagahara), at least four different types of other worlds, with connotations spanning from negative to positive: the underworlds of the Yomi no kuni 黄泉の国 and Ne no kuni 根の国, and the watery worlds of the nāga or dragon palace (ryūgū 竜宮) and the tokoyo 常世 or realm beyond the sea. The imperial ideology attempted to impose a dualistic schema, based on the Chinese heaven / earth polarity, that paired and opposed heavenly and earthly kami.7 In practice, however, that dualism was undermined by matrimonial alliances leading to various degrees of consanguinity and kinship between the two types of deities and the “acculturation” of heavenly gods. Ninigi became an earthly god by marriage, and Amaterasu herself did not always retain her pristine heavenly nature. On the other hand, Buddhism initially amplified that dualistic tendency by attempting to force all buddhas, kami, and other deities into its hierarchical framework. Yet the two-tiered honji suijaku model soon saw its vertical hierarchy subverted by a proliferation of lateral relationships between various divine entities. In the Nihon shoki, the two heavenly kami Futsunushi and Takemikazuchi are sent to “level the ground” before Ninigi’s descent, and they obtain the surrender of Ōkuninushi (Ōnamuchi). The violence of their ultimatum is euphemized in Ōkuninushi’s declaration of allegiance: “The instructions of the Heavenly Deity are so courteous that I may not presume to disobey his command.” Although Ōkuninushi declares that all the earthly gods will follow his example, such does not seem to have been the case since the two heavenly kami have to put rebel deities to death. His abdication is far from total, however, since he declares: “Let the august grandchild direct the public affairs of which I have charge. I will retire and direct secret matters.”8 This strategy prefigures that of the retired emperors of the Insei period; indeed, secrecy is also the main feature of esoteric Buddhism. It is therefore not surprising that Ōkuninushi returned with a vengeance in the medieval Japanese imaginary.9

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The duality between the heavenly and earthly kami ignores another category that played the role of a tertium quid, the araburu kami. Likened to flies and fireflies in the Kojiki, the wild gods are “evil deities” that must be silenced by the heavenly gods. Yet the sources sometimes confuse the araburu kami and the earthly deities, describing the takeover of Japan by the heavenly deities as a subjugation of the latter even though the earthly god Ōkuninushi had claimed to have pacified the land by taming the speaking rocks, trees, and grasses.10 The earthly gods, though allied with the heavenly gods at times, usually transformed (or were transformed) into wild or evil gods when they rebelled against them. Buddhism, followed by late medieval Shintō, elevated some local deities to the rank of protectors while demonizing the others. Several medieval texts thus distinguish between kami that could reach awakening (thus becoming gonsha) and others that were condemned to remain in delusion (as jissha).11 Are the araburu kami then more indigenous than the kunitsukami (and a fortiori the heavenly gods, the buddhas, and other worthies)? One should keep in mind that indigenousness is a relative notion and that there is no absolute or fundamental autochthony—even apparently chthonian and local deities often turn out to have come from elsewhere.12 In medieval Japan, autochthonous gods—if they had ever existed— had lost all power or been replaced by newcomers. The landowner deities of the time all had come from elsewhere in a more or less distant past. We thus have an interesting paradox—namely, that the imperial lineage that later took up the flame of nativism and made the Yamato region its original cradle was also an alien rule; and that, when it founded its successive capitals, Nara and Heian-kyō, it was on land that often belonged to Korean “immigrants.” As is well-known, the regent Shōtoku Taishi was closely related to Korean clans like the Hata, which had established themselves in Uzumasa 太秦 (on the western outskirts of the capital), where Kōryūji 広隆寺 was founded. In other words, the further paradox is that “autochthonous” deities—or at least those that were already settled in and around Heian-kyō and able to pass as native—were often themselves translocal deities of Korean (and sometimes Chinese) origin. The same was true along the shores of Lake Biwa, where other Korean and Chinese deities had come to settle on and around Mount Hiei and claimed jinushi status despite their foreign origins. BUDDHISM AND LOCAL GODS As Sujung Kim has shown, Shinra Myōjin, the protector of Onjōji (or Miidera, its local and localizing name) is a typical case of a god that “transcends locality.”13 Indeed, he did so perhaps twice—first as a naturalized god of Korean origin, then as a local god of Ōmi province that became,

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through his association with the Izumo god Susanoo and the pestilence deity Gozu Tennō, a translocal god who manifested himself in India, China, and Japan. His translocal nature is also clearly reflected in his function as a pestilence god. In the origin stories of Buddhist temples, it is not uncommon for a jinushi (usually a mountain god) to appear to an eminent monk. They manifest taking various forms: usually as an old man, sometimes as a woman (Mikumari of Yoshino, Niu Myōjin of Kōya), or as a child or youth (Jūzenji, Oto Gohō, Uhō Dōji). We recall that Saichō encountered the god of Mount Hiei first in the form of a youth (Jūzenji) and then as an old man. On Mount Kōya, Kūkai encountered two deities who appeared in the forms of a hunter and a woman. Local gods also could appear as animals: as a boar (the god of Mount Ibuki), a monkey (Sannō on Mount Hiei), a snake, or a fox (Inari). The deities that volunteer as guides and protectors are most often the ones that appear in liminal spaces, especially in the mountains or at sea. When they appear on the sea (like Matarajin, Shinra Myōjin, and Sekizan Myōjin), they may not be linked originally to a specific place, but they eventually become jinushi. As noted earlier, indigenousness is a matter of perspective: there are no original jinushi, and over the long run any deity can identify with a specific territory. Yet, once it has taken charge of the interests of the inhabitants of its territory, the jinushi can present a stubborn and more or less efficacious resistance to central power. In the worst cases, it ends up being demonized, together with the local people who worship it, at the cost sometimes of being reduced to the status of “bandits.” Eventually, the local inhabitants and their deities are defeated or “pacified”—and local particularisms are absorbed into a greater collectivity, the state. At a higher level, great local jinushi like Hachiman and Sumiyoshi, who often were of foreign origin themselves, could become protectors of the Japanese territory as a whole in the face of foreign aggression. In what we might call, with Gilles Deleuze, a “double capture,” the Buddhists imposed their symbolism on the mountains and their physical features (streams, rocks, cliffs, caves). In return, local deities infiltrated Buddhist discourse and transformed its transcendant buddhas and bodhisattvas into earthly powers. This allowed them to don the mask of an official Buddhist deity, becoming double agents of a kind.14 The distinction between local and translocal, while heuristically useful, always risks being reified and becoming an obstacle to comprehension. A local god, as its cult thrived, could extend its domain beyond its place of origin and end up becoming translocal—in some cases, even national or transnational. On the other hand, a clearly supramundane, translocal power—for instance, a buddha or a bodhisattva in Mahāyāna Buddhism—became increasingly grounded and localized as it touched “down to earth” in a cult, where it was perceived as the deity of such and

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such temple or place. In other words, buddhas and bodhisattvas were still seen as supramundane or translocal whereas their manifestations were identified as mundane or local. CROSSROADS DEITIES An interesting case of a double agent is presented by the dōsojin 道祖 神, who stood at the crossroads between Buddhism and local religion. Like Kōjin, these crossroad deities represented local collectivities, which they protected against external aggression. They also were known under various names, such as sae no kami 障の神, sai no kami 塞の神, kunado /  funado no kami 岐の神, and chimata no kami 巷神, 衢神. The generic term dōsojin seems to have covered distinct deities that were often lumped together because they possessed a family resemblance or were seen as functionally similar.15 I outline here some of their common features to give a better idea of their nature. Most important was a spatial function: they were deities of margins and limits, protectors and mediators that blocked or allowed passage. They were also called road-blocking deities (sae no kami or sai no kami) because they were believed to block the road to external threats such as epidemics.16 They were usually worshiped on the boundaries of the village community,17 sometimes with only an erected stone marking the village limit as their representation. The apotropaic symbolism of phallic stones, in particular, was widespread. Lithic cults (and the existence of yin-yang stones) can be traced back to paleo- or neolithic times, and it was only at a later stage that the dōsojin became increasingly anthropomorphic and realistic. Often, two figures were carved on the stone: a man and a woman standing side by side or facing each other (fig. 8.2). In many cases, they were shown holding each other’s hand, embracing, kissing, touching the breast or sexual organ, or sometimes unabashedly copulating. The sexual symbolism of the dōsojin has attracted scholarly attention from very early on—a fact that perhaps tells us something about scholars. Most of the many books on the subject are hardly more than photo albums, however, and the ethnographic descriptions have little to offer by way of analytic interpretation.18 The dōsojin cult includes many different beliefs related to limits, as well as to roads and travel. Paradoxically, a deity that was initially the god of sedentary village dwellers became the protector of travelers—people who were perceived by villagers, precisely, as a potential danger. If the sexual aspect of the dōsojin expressed the latent energy inherent in the territorial unit and the group inhabiting it, the apotropaic function it fulfilled was the reversal or channeling away of harmful demonic energies coming from outside. As a liminal deity, straddling the borderline, the deity of limits stands in both worlds: it is Janus-faced, with one face turned inward, the other outward. The dōsojin were only one of the many

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FIGURE 8.2 Stone dōsojin. Fukui prefecture. Photo B. Faure.

ambivalent expressions of this reality. As protectors of the boundaries, they were also, like the Greek god Hermes, deities of the passage. While they protected the integrity of the community, they nevertheless subverted some of its well-established values (Buddhist or Confucianist) at the same time. While affirming life, they also served to demarcate the existence of a darker side—a function they shared with Kōjin and the numerous kōjin. Three Types of dōsojin

Dōsojin representations come in three kinds of medium: stone, straw, and wood. By far the most common are the lithic ones.19 Stone has its own symbolic valence, which links deities of distinct origins and functions.20

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FIGURE 8.3 Straw dōsojin. Tono Folklore Museum, Iwate prefecture.

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Yanagita Kunio provides a preliminary list of deities that could be included in the stone deity (ishigami) category, all of them loosely linked with the dōsojin by virtue of that affiliation.21 Individualized stone dōsojin became increasingly popular during the Edo period. The materiality of the stone allowed a symbolic play between ishigami, sekijin, shakujin (all variant readings of the characters meaning “stone gods”), and shaguji (the name of another type of deity). The stone works as both a horizontal obstacle against demons, and a vertical channel for gods emerging from the ground or descending from above. Dōsojin made of straw were another type of representation. Temporary straw dolls were used during the “small New Year” (Koshōgatsu 小正月) to personify visitors from the beyond (marebito), while permanent straw or wooden dōsojin (ningyō dōsojin 人形道祖神) guarded the crossroads. Although the straw dōsojin often present a frightening appearance that is usually absent from the stone dōsojin, the sexual symbolism is marked in both cases (fig. 8.3). The large straw effigies erected permanently at the limits of a village were sometimes paired, but usually they stood alone. Apart from their size (usually around four meters), a prominent erect phallus (which did not seem to carry any erotic or ribald implication) was their other chief characteristic. These fierce-looking, warrior-like deities were called by various names, one of them being Shōki (Ch. Zhong Kui 鍾馗), the Chinese demon killer. Smaller dōsojin also made of straw symbolized the pestilence deities that the villagers expelled by burning them up or floating them downstream.22 Wooden dōsojin also played an important role. By the eighth century, we find evidence of an apotropaic cult of sae no kami in the form of male and female wooden figurines disposed on each side of a crossroads—similar to a pair still found today in Tōhoku. Given the perishable nature of wood when exposed to the elements, no ancient specimens have survived, unlike in the case of the stone dōsojin, but we do have early modern ethnographic descriptions to resort to. While the medium itself is not the entire message, it remains quite significant in this case. Smaller versions—called kado nyūdō—were formed by a couple of staffs, and they were sometimes placed near the stone dōsojin to increase the latter’s

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efficacy. In Tōhoku, two wooden effigies called Oshiragami オシラ神 or Oshirasama オシラ様 (or again, kaikogami 蚕神, silkworm deities) are carved in mulberry wood to represent a young woman and a man with a horse’s head.23 Their name, meaning white deities, links them to the cult of Hakusan 白山 (White Mountain), and they are worshiped on the 16–17th of the month (like the dual-bodied Kangiten, another fertility symbol).24 In his Hokuetsu seppu 北越雪譜, Suzuki Bokushi 鈴木牧之 (1770–1842) describes the festival of the Sai no kami: two dolls, male and female, were carried from house to house by young boys asking for offerings to the dōsojin, and eventually burnt for divination. These anthropomorphic equivalents of the Chinese “straw dogs” were believed to take away the pollution (kegare) of the community and thus to revitalize it.25 Myths of Origins

The cult of the paired dōsojin is usually traced back to two divine couples, Izanagi and Izanagi on the one hand, and Sarutahiko and Ame no Uzume 天鈿女 on the other. Japanese myths often have a clear sexual component—indeed, the founding myth of Japanese mythology (and of Japan itself) is the incestuous lovemaking of the two primordial deities Izanami and Izanagi.26 The two siblings are often presented in Chinese terms as if they were Yin-Yang deities. This interpretation irritated the nativist scholar Hirata Atsutane, and not without reason, since much of medieval theology—Buddhist as well as nascent Shintō—actually constituted a rewriting of ancient myths along the lines of the Yin-Yang theory.27 Myths of origin are rarely original. Another term referring to the crossroads deity, funadogami, designates more specifically the staff thrown by Izanagi in an apotropaic gesture against the demons sent after him by his sister Izanami. The reason for Izanami’s wrath was that Izanagi had transgressed a taboo by looking at her decaying corpse. When she vowed to avenge her brother’s affront by killing one thousand beings every day, Izanagi responded that he would daily give birth to one thousand five hundred living beings. Although procreation is what had caused Izanami’s untimely death (giving birth to the fire god), fecundity is presented here as life’s best way to overcome death. Reiterating Izanagi’s gesture, Amaterasu responds to the threat of her brother Susanoo by withdrawing into the Heavenly rock-cave and blocking its entrance with a boulder. Here, however, the signs are inverted, since she is the one who plunges the world into darkness and confusion. It is the goddess Ame no Uzume who restores the cosmic balance. Here is how the Kojiki describes the scene: “Ame no Uzume no Mikoto bound up her sleeves with a cord of heavenly hi-kage vine, tied around her head a head-band of the heavenly masaki vine, bound together bundles of sasa leaves to hold in her hands, and overturning a bucket before the gate of the Heavenly rock-cave, stamped resoundingly upon it. Then she

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became divinely possessed, exposed her breasts, and pushed her skirtband down to her genitals.”28 The myth of the Heavenly rock-cave and the episode of Uzume’s dance have received many interpretations, none of them entirely satisfying. Several apotropaic elements appear in this mythical episode: first, there is Uzume’s lewd dance to lure Amaterasu out of the cave. This moment of apparent ecstasy, characterized by transgression (nakedness) and roaring laughter, should not mislead us, however: all this is deadly serious. Amaterasu’s reclusion in the cave is often interpreted as a metaphor for death, and in that view Uzume’s dance becomes the metaphoric expression of a rite for recalling the soul (chinkonsai 鎮魂 祭), another symbolic way of overcoming death.29 Furthermore, Uzume is said to have undressed while she was possessed by a kami, whose nature remains obscure, while the possession itself has a clear sexual connotation. While standing on an upturned bucket (ukibune), she strikes it with a spear.30 Her performance, mimicking sexual union, is said to have been necessary to bring about the rebirth of Amaterasu. Uzume thus succeeds where Izanagi had failed: she reasserts life and order in the midst of death and chaos. Sarutahiko and Uzume

Uzume reappears at another critical juncture: the moment when Ninigi descends to earth, an event often presented as the origin story of the dōsojin. As the story goes, when Ninigi, the grandson of Amaterasu, was about to descend from Takamagahara, it was reported that a frightening being was standing at the eightfold heavenly crossroads. The Kojiki is silent about its appearance, but the Nihon shoki gives a vivid description: “There is a deity in the myriad heavenly crossroads, whose nose is seven hands long and who is over seven feet tall. . . . Also the corners of his mouth are brightly lit up, and his eyes resemble huge mirrors, shining brilliantly like red ground-cherries.”31 As W. G. Aston points out, Sarutahiko is clearly presented as a hostile figure that intends to thwart Ninigi’s descent.32 Uzume is sent as a vanguard to sound out his intentions. The agonistic nature of their encounter is suggested by the remark that only Uzume, the “dread female,” could defy Sarutahiko. The latter’s “blazing eyes” (katsu­me) are seen as threatening, his eminently phallic nose—unlike Cyrano’s—is no laughing matter either. In order to disarm him, Uzume repeats one of the gestures she had made in front of Amaterasu’s cave— baring her breast (fig. 8.4). But it is no longer a gesture intended to make the gods laugh (if it ever was), but rather a powerful apotropaic gesture.33 Yet against all expectations, Sarutahiko declares that he has come to offer his service to Ninigi. (This version of the myth is likely to have been written for the benefit of an imperial lineage that issued from Ninigi.) The initial reaction of the heavenly gods is telling: Sarutahiko’s threatening appearance expresses the hostile behavior expected from earthly gods

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FIGURE 8.4 Sarutahiko and Uzume. Edo period. Sheet, ink on paper. University Art Museum, Kyoto City University of Arts. BZS 4012.

confronted with heavenly invaders. From the native resident’s standpoint, Sarutahiko was supposed to play the role of a road-blocking deity, but that view was erased from the official chronicles, and Sarutahiko was enrolled as a local guide for Ninigi—despite the fact that Ōkuninushi, according to the Nihon shoki, had already appointed another crossroads deity, the Kunado no kami (the real ancestor of the dōsojin), to act as guide. The ambivalence of the dōsojin couple formed by Sarutahiko and Uzume appears clearly in the following norito, recited at the beginning of the tenth century during the michiae no matsuri: “O god of the eightfold crossroads, O goddess of the eightfold crossroads, I pronounce your name meaning ‘Do not come,’ and I tell your praise and I celebrate your rites so that, if from the distant land of the dead a raging deity [araburu kami] comes, you do not unite with it, you do not unite with it by exchanging words.”34

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FIGURE 8.5 Sarutahiko and Uzume. Edo period. Sheet, ink on paper. University Art Museum, Kyoto City University of Arts. BZS 4033 (1).

At any rate, Sarutahiko is seduced (or tamed) by Uzume, and in the popular belief they eventually become husband and wife. The official mythology says nothing of the sort, however. It simply says that Ninigi ordered Uzume to accompany Sarutahiko to his dwelling place in Ise. Notably, the sudden and undistinguished death that soon befalls Sarutahiko is described in one variant in such a conspicuously casual way as to suggest that the death may not have been entirely accidental: “When Sarutahiko was in Azaka, he went fishing; his hand got caught in the shell of a hirabu 比良夫, and he sank into the sea.”35 Significantly, Uzume’s subsequent taming of the same sea creatures that had brought Sarutahiko to his doom is described in detail: “Then, after accompanying Sarutahiko . . . , [Ame no Uzume] returned; and, chasing together all the wide-finned and the narrow-finned fish, she inquired: “Are you willing to serve the offspring of the heavenly deities?” Then all the fish said as one: “We will serve.” Among [them, only] the sea-slug did not say anything. Then Ame no Uzume said to the sea-slug: “This mouth, a mouth which does not reply!” Using a dagger, she slit its mouth. For this reason, even today the mouth of the sea-slug is slit.”36 Thus, Uzume,

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representing the heavenly deities, emerges victorious while Sarutahiko, the local god and potential rebel, disappears. The name sarume no kimi, reserved to Uzume’s female priestesses, evokes that of Sarutahiko. Yet it was given to them in recognition of Uzume’s achievement, which suggests that she has defeated Sarutahiko—although the point is glossed over in the Kojiki and the Nihon shoki. However, a god such as Sarutahiko does not die so easily, and he soon returned to the front stage of medieval ritual as a powerful exorcist. Iida Michio, for one, thinks that the encounter between Sarutahiko and Uzume makes little sense in the mythical narrative, and Sarutahiko is indeed no longer mentioned in the rest of it. Nothing is ever said of his encounter with Ninigi or their journey to Hyūga.37 Neither is Sarutahiko’s relation with Uzume described. All we are told is that the child god Ninigi tells Uzume to accompany Sarutahiko back to Ise, where he dies soon after their arrival. Having accomplished her mission (we are not told what the mission exactly was that ended with Sarutahiko’s death), Uzume is rewarded with the name Sarume, which will be transmitted to her descendants. Later, as popular accounts transformed Uzume from a mere travel companion into a companion in the sense of a consort, the couple, as we have seen, came to represent the dual dōsojin in their sexual and procreative function (fig. 8.5). Sexuality and Fertility

The dōsojin were perceived as ancestral deities of the clan (and the village) and as boundary protectors. They were also believed to restore male potency and female fecundity. In premodern Japan, the sexual symbolism of the dōsojin was expressed in a very realistic manner, either in the form of a couple in sexual embrace or as two erect penises, or two stones, one cylindrical, the other concave or ring-shaped, whose fit suggested the sexual act (figs. 8.6–8.8 ). In Edo Japan, the dōsojin were said to grant children to couples who came to make love before their outdoor effigies at night. In any event, with sexual power the focus, the orgiastic rites of folk culture connected sexuality with merrymaking and ribaldry, in a kind of Rabelaisian, carnivalesque atmosphere of sex and laughter. Thus, Uzume eventually became the chubby Okame お亀, while Sarutahiko, probably deemed too dark a character, was replaced in this scene by a country-bumpkin type named Hyottoko.38

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FIGURE 8.6  Phallic stone dōsojin. Fukushima prefecture. Photo B. Faure.

FIGURE 8.7  Yin-Yang stone. Private collection.

FIGURE 8.8  Yin stone. Fukushima prefecture. Photo B. Faure.

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Although sexual dances of the type initiated by Uzume were originally aimed at calling back the spirits from the grave, they were gradually excluded from court rituals (a fact that may explain the decline of the sarume no kimi) only to find their way in popular festivals, where Sarutahiko and Uzume played as comic characters.39 Even today, comic village rituals show two male dancers, impersonating Uzume and Sarutahiko, engaged in mimicry of copulation. Confucian ideologues always abhorred phallic cults, and they did not wait for the Meiji Restoration to declare them illicit. However, the cults had a propensity for returning, at times with a vengeance, as in caricatures of penis-headed officials. With phallic symbols growing like mushrooms all over Japan, there was, in particular, a profusion of erected stones symbolizing Konseijin 金精神, the “god of the golden essence” (i.e., semen). This god, who was sometimes represented by a wooden phallus, was prayed to, variously, for fertility, easy delivery, marital harmony, forming relationships (enmusubi), illness of the “lower part” (shimo no byō 下の 病), good crops, and prosperity in business.40 This sexual symbolism invaded the natural landscape as well: every protruding rock, every crevice in a cliff, was seen as a yang or yin stone. And of course, mushrooms themselves, as well as radishes (daikon), were eminent sexual symbols.41 In folk art, we find statues of Sarutahiko and Uzume in which the faces have been replaced by sexual organs.42 In the Edo period, Sarutahiko is sometimes crudely represented as a comic bearded figure with a phallus for a nose, a physiognomy that led to his identification with a type of tengu that also was depicted with a long, red, eminently phallic nose.43 In popular parlance, the male sex began to be called “tengu nose” (tengu no hana 天狗の鼻) as a result. As to Buddhist statues, as soon as the figures were represented wearing a hat, they turned into phallic symbols (at least when seen from behind). Examples include images of En no Gyōja, Daikokuten, and Jizō. During the Edo period, this wave of phallic symbolism faced the growing censorship of staunch Confucian-minded officials and took increasingly sublimated and esoteric forms to avoid their moralizing stance. But the puritan trend culminated in the Meiji period, when Japanese authorities prohibited and often destroyed the most explicit of these representations, now judged obscene and “harmful to public morality.” This prohibition remained active until after the Second World War. One ploy used by Buddhists was to replace the dōsojin with another protector of the crossroads and keeper of limits, the bodhisattva Jizō.44 As is well known, Jizō’s main function is to guide the spirits of the newly dead when they arrive at the crossroads of the six paths of rebirth in the underworld, and this function was naturally adaptable to the crossroads of this world. But the symbolic drift initiated by this substitution had unforeseen consequences. Instead of simply replacing the dōsojin at the

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FIGURE 8.9  Phallic Jizō. Suwa, Nagano prefecture. Photo B. Faure.

crossroads, Jizō inherited their apotropaic functions and their sexual features. In many cases, statues of Jizō were sculpted on phalloid stones, and their piously Buddhistic appearance fooled no passer-by. Often, the image of Jizō carved on stones at crossroads was duplicated, and the pair formed by these twin bodhisattvas was clearly a replica of the dōsojin couple. Some representations, called “Jizō in search of pleasure” (Dō­raku Jizō, an expression homophonous with Dōrokujin, another name of the dōsojin), show two Jizō figures in sexual embrace. Conversely, the dōsojin themselves were sometimes represented as a couple formed by a nun and a monk, and the monk’s pilgrim’s staff had a clear phallic shape. The phallic symbolism that may go unnoticed when one faces some Jizō statues becomes obvious when one looks at them from behind: the rangy silhouette’s cap or nimbus suggests the penis and its glans (fig. 8.9).45 In the popular cult, Jizō often received offerings of small phalluses, and one slang term for penis was “Jizō bosatsu.” Jizō’s popularity among women is attested by numerous examples, and the practice of dressing naked statues was already popular among women in Kamakura Japan.46

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Fertility Rituals

Sexual organs and the sexual act have an apotropaic function in many cultures. In a number of Japanese agrarian festivals, massive wooden phalloi are carried about on a palanquin. Witnessing one such festival in Kōbe at the end of the last century, foreign residents “were surprised to see a giant model in gilt, forty or fifty feet high, being drawn through the streets by many men and surrounded by many young, brightly dressed girls.”47 These cults bring together agricultural fertility, biological fecundity, and social reproduction. The sexual metaphor was at times quite literal: in Tōhoku, for instance, husband and wife would traditionally have sex in the fields while the seed was being sown in the earth. In the planting festivals, pregnant women and small children were sent into the rice fields to insure a good harvest. In Akita prefecture, after the silkworms were set to spin in their attic rooms, a couple spent the night there. Expressions such as “Agata matsuri no tane morai” (getting the seed at Agata Festival) were thus meant in both the agricultural and biological senses.48 At the Jogi Nyorai (Ozawa, Miyagi prefecture), a Kannon temple, the festival was a time of ritual sex. During this yami matsuri (festival of darkness), women went to the temple with the declared intention of meeting men who were waiting for them in the dark, wearing straw hats (kasa 笠)—both as a disguise and to imply that they are possessed by the deity.49 Another of these festivals, held at the Rokusho Myōjin 六所明神, the “bright deity of the six places,” an epithet of the six-bodied Jizō in his function as crossroads deity, was banned (not for the first time) in 1953.50 The noise and effervescence of the festival were also believed to have an apotropaic function. SARUTAHIKO AS JINUSHI While Sarutahiko is often coupled with Ame no Uzume in popular culture, he was above all a jinushi and an apotropaic deity. In these functions, he stands alone while Uzume recedes backstage. Sarutahiko is also identified at times with the mountain god (yama no kami), a deity said to descend in spring from the mountains to the human world, where it becomes the field god (ta no kami). It remains there till autumn, when it returns to the mountains. Another type of yama no kami identified with Sarutahiko was worshiped at mountain passes in the form of a natural stone or a forked tree. As such, it might represent another “god of the limits” called shakuji, a deity that, according to Yanagita, was originally distinct from the dual dōsojin but came to be assimilated with it because of an etymological drift between shakujin and sekijin (also read ishigami, or stone god). What is (and always was) most striking about Sarutahiko is his appearance. When most kami were fundamentally invisible or hidden from view, he was one of the first to have been endowed with a face

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FIGURE 8.10 Sarutahiko. Edo period. Sheet, ink on paper. University Art Museum, Kyoto City University of Arts. BZS 4100.

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(and what a face!). The Nihon shoki emphasizes his frightening look, his terrible eyes, his disproportionately long nose, his red eyes and mouth (fig. 8.10).51 He is a god that inspired awe—at least until the Edo period, when his nose became a source of ridicule and of ribald jokes. Sarutahiko’s identification with monkeys came about through his name, and his nasal appendix, as we saw, caused him to be assimilated to the long-nosed tengu in common parlance. But it is still unclear whether Sarutahiko’s image influenced that of the tengu, or the other way around; or perhaps the images of both were influenced by a third source, as Sarutahiko’s function as a vanguard of ritual processions might suggest. In some sources, this vanguard is called the “king’s nose” (Ō no Hana).52 Indeed, in the bugaku tradition there is an apotropaic mask called the “long-nosed king,” also known as Raryō-ō 羅陵王 (or simply Ryō-ō 陵 王).53 Bugaku dances, imported to Japan from Champa (today’s Vietnam), were quite popular at court.54 During the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the King’s Dance (Ō no Mai 王の舞) was performed at festivals in the main temples and shrines. It took place at the beginning of the festival, before a performance of dengaku 田楽 and a lion dance (shishimai 獅子舞) The performer wore a red mask with a long nose, a torikabuto 鳥兜 (headpiece shaped like a bird), and a long overgarment; he held a halberd with which he exorcized the evil spirits that might have hindered the procession. Judging from the large number of versions found even today in the Wakasa region (Fukui prefecture) on the Japan Sea, this dance seems to have been popular. The Sarutahiko Cult

While the common interpretation of the encounter between Ame no Uzume and Sarutahiko transformed the two kami into a dōsojin couple, it may not reveal their real nature or function. Significantly, Sarutahiko himself was explicitly designated as dōsojin. The question of his own name has given rise to all kinds of exegeses. According to Yanagita Kunio, it derives from sada, a synonym of misaki (cape, promontory); thus, Sarutahiko may have originally been Sadahiko 狹田彦, the god of Sada. Yet at

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some point the association of Sarutahiko with monkeys (saru) came to the fore and definitively changed his name (and his nature). All the same, the personality of a god cannot be reduced to the dimensions of a particular name. On the contrary, it is the diversity of the names under which it has been worshiped over the centuries that is striking. This may explain why the Sarutahiko cult has been relatively ignored by Japanese scholars until recently. Although Sarutahiko was worshiped in many places, only a few shrines bear his name, and they tend to be recent.55 To begin with, the elusive Sarutahiko was linked to the earth deity (Dokōjin)—from whom the Tsuchigimi 土公 clan derived its name. He was successively identified with the primordial deity Kunitokotachi, with the breath spirit (kishin 氣神), with the demon god (kijin), with Ōta no Kami 大田神, and with Okitama no kami 興玉神.56 According to the Yamatohime no mikoto seiki, “Okitama no kami has no shrine (hōden 宝 殿). The chimata no kami 衢神 is the great god Sarutahiko. One source says that the descendent of the crossroads deity, Ōta no Mikoto 大田命, is the distant ancestral deity of the Tsuchigimi clan.”57 Because the Yamato­ hime no mikoto seiki 倭姫命世紀 was compiled at the beginning of the Kamakura period by priests (negi 禰宜) of the Outer Ise Shrine, this view may represent the official view that Sarutahiko was the jinushi of Ise. Yet the stone platform (ishizumi) used for the Okitama cult at Ise was not a shrine, but only an oratory to worship from afar, because Okitama was in reality the god of Futami. According to the Sangoku chishi 三國地 誌 (1763), Okitama means the spirit (mitama) of the high sea (oki 沖).58 Thus, the name seems to designate a sea deity whose shintai, or physical form, is composed of the famous yin and yang rocks of Futami-ga-ura 二 見ヶ浦. Emerging at a short distance from the shore, such rocks were often perceived as a kind of “landing strip” for the gods that come from the sea or from the realm beyond the sea, the tokoyo, at the time of the annual festivals.59 In his Gengenshū, Kitabatake Chikafusa also notes that Okitama has no shrine because he is a water deity. He also links him with the dragon palace.60 This remark calls to mind the fact that the torii of Shirahige Shrine—a shrine dedicated to an avatar of Sarutahiko—is standing in the shallow waters of Lake Biwa, like the famous torii of Watatsumi Shrine 海神神社 (on Tsushima Island) and of Itsukushima Shrine 厳島神社 (on Itsukushima Island in the Inland Sea)—both dedicated to water deities. Okitama was depicted as the god who “returns the hun and po souls”—in other words, a kind of rector of destinies, belonging to a category I call the lords of life. According to the Ise nisho daijingū shinmei hisho, Okitama was the jinushi of the upper part of Isuzu River 五十 鈴川—that is, the site of the future Ise Shrine—which he bequeathed to Yamato-hime (Amaterasu’s priestess and her emanation). Here again the imperial ideology attempted to downplay this “fact” by affirming that it

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was Amaterasu, and not Sarutahiko, who had thrown the spear found by Yamato-hime on that spot, as a marker of what was to become the site of Ise Shrine (and a proof of Amaterasu’s claim on it).61 Another such attempt involves a former agreement regarding the transmission of the land. Here Amaterasu is supposed to have made a pact with Sarutahiko in a distant past, by which he bequeathed the land to her and her descendants (the imperial line). According to a less orthodox version of the encounter between Yamato-hime (Amaterasu) and Sarutahiko, there was in Ise a kind of crossroads deity called Ajaka Ōkami, who killed passers-by before being pacified by Yamato-hime.62 The Kuji hongi gengi offers the following self-description of Shi­ otsuchi no Oji 鹵土老翁, another variant of Sarutahiko: “I am the master of the earth under heaven, and this is why one calls me the deity who ensures the continuity of the root of the earth. Depending on circumstances, I transform into different forms: one therefore [also] calls me kijin (気神, deity of the cosmic breath). Because I follow the hostile beings of the land of the dead to protect [humans], one calls me kijin (鬼 神, demon god). But because I am reborn as the vital breath giving wealth and life, one also calls me the great master of the rice field; and because I am the one who can make the spirit revive, one calls me the tama-manifesting deity.”63 The difficulty in identifying Sarutahiko behind his many aliases or pseudonyms is fortunately alleviated by the existence of a few sources providing us with a list—probably not exhaustive—of these names. Among them is a work by Urabe no Kanekuni 卜部兼邦, in which we read: “[Sarutahiko] is called Okitama no kami 興玉神 at [Ise] Daijingū, Hayao 早尾 at Sannō [Hie Shrine], Gendayū 源太夫 at Atsuta [Shrine]. . . . He is also called Funadama 船霊 on boats.”64 Sarutahiko’s ties with Ise can be traced back to the Nihon shoki, which tells us that, after guiding Amaterasu’s grandson Ninigi to Takachiho in Hyūga (Kyūshū), he went with Ame no Uzume to a site located upstream of the Isuzu River in Ise. From there, we lose his trace for a few centuries, until his name reappears in the Yamatohime no mikoto seiki. According to this text, Suinin Tennō entrusted the priestess Yamato-hime with the divine mirror (that is, the spirit of Amaterasu), and she traveled through the provinces in search of an appropriate site where she could erect a shrine for it. Having received directions from Amaterasu, she eventually arrived at Ise, where she met an old man who revealed to her a particularly auspicious site that was to become the site of the Inner Shrine. This old man, who claimed to be a descendent of Sarutahiko (and is presented in some sources as Sarutahiko himself), came to be worshiped in the precinct of Ise Shrine as Ōta no Kami. He does not have a shrine, however, and his cult was centered on a sacred stone. At any rate, it seems that Ōta no Kami (Sarutahiko) was perceived to be the jinushi of Ise.

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According to Iida Michio, the Sarutahiko cult initially spread from Ise and eventually reached Ōmi province and the capital.65 The main stations on this itinerary were the Great Shrine of Tsubaki (Tsubaki daijinja 椿神大神社) on the eastern bank of Lake Biwa, Shirahige Shrine (a.k.a. Hira Myōjin) on the opposite bank, and, further south, Hie Shrine, Onjōji (Miidera), Ishiyama-dera, and Inari Shrine.66 In all these sites, Sarutahiko was perceived as a jinushi and an apotropaic deity. The jinushi aspect is particularly evident at Shirahige Shrine 白髭神社, where a symbolic element with a different origin—the image of the old man with white hair (shirahige 白髭)—super­ imposed itself on the prevailing tengu image (fig. 8.11). The apotropaic aspect is shown is the fact that Sarutahiko was worshiped at the gates or the limits of the capital, and opened the way during religious processions. At Hie Shrine, Hayao and Daigyōji, two simian deities, were perceived as manifestations of Sarutahiko (although Kanekuni only mentions the former). According to the Keiran shūyōshū: “Hayao of Hie is the great god Sarutahiko.”67 Iida argues that Hayao was the original honji of Hie.68 Hayao’s shrine is located on a promontory on the left side of the gate of Hie Shrine, near the path that leads to Enryakuji on top of Mount Hiei. Hayao is often paired with Daigyōji (the two images hung on the halberd symbolizing Sarutahiko, for example) during the procession of the Sannō Festival. In this case they are called Hayao Daigyōji. In the illustrations of Hiesha shintō himitsuki, we read, on each side of the seven upper Hie shrines: “Daigyōji Bishamon Tennō” and “Hayao Fudō Myōō,” respectively, which seems to identify Daigyōji and Hayao with the Dharma protectors Bishamonten and Fudō.69 A caption states: “In their majesty the two deities are one.”70 Again, according to Jihen’s Tenchi jingi shinchin yōki, “Daigyōji is Sarutahiko no Mikoto. Because he attended to the imperial grandchild at the crossroads, he is called Great Deity of the Crossroad. His honji is Tamonten [Bishamonten]. Having vowed to eliminate obstacles, he has received a thousand names and manifests himself according to circumstances.” And further on: “Hayao is Fudō. . . . He is in essence identical with the jinushi.”71

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FIGURE 8.11 Sarutahiko. Edo period. Sheet, ink on paper. University Art Museum, Kyoto City University of Arts. BZS 4101.

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An Apotropaic Deity

Rather than a crossroads deity, Sarutahiko is a god of the road, a god that opens the road by eliminating demonic obstacles. Perhaps more than his role as jinushi, it is Sarutahiko’s apotropaic function that explains his enduring popularity. Iida emphasizes the importance of Sarutahiko’s halberd. Sometimes, instead of being impersonated by a shrine officiant, he is only represented by a mask placed atop a halberd. He is, in other words, identified with the halberd. According to Iida, the halberd derived from Izanagi’s staff (which had become the crossroads deity Kunado no kami), onto which was grafted a sword (sai 幸). Thus, Sarutahiko’s description as sai no kami 幸神 would be a reference, not to his image as a crossroads deity, but instead to his being a sword deity.72 The halberd, Iida argues, was perceived as a yorimashi, a sacred object into which the deity descends and dwells.73 At any rate, this weapon (which calls to mind Śiva’s trident, imported to Japan through esoteric Buddhism) was perceived as a powerful demonifuge that was also used by the hōsōshi, the demonic exorcists of the New Year ritual.74 In the Gonjinshō, Sarutahiko is identified with the heavenly kami Takamimusubi, who descended to earth to protect his great grandson Ni­nigi, assuming a particularly frightening apotropaic form.75 This is somewhat ironic, considering that Sarutahiko himself was one of these earthly deities pacified by the heavenly newcomers. One of the reasons for Sarutahiko’s enduring vitality, despite the premature announcement of his death in classical mythology, is perhaps the fact that, as a jinushi and an exorcist deity, he shared some features with Kōjin.76 We have followed the early dissemination of the Sarutahiko cult from Ise to Lake Biwa and Hie Shrine. According to Iida, the Wani 和邇, a clan of Korean descent established around Lake Biwa, played an important role during this initial phase. In addition, the Tendai school was likely instrumental in the spread of the cult throughout medieval Japan. The cult of Daigyōji, for instance, can be found in Tendai domains from Kyūshū to eastern Japan. Starting as we did from the image of Sarutahiko as a crossroads deity, we followed an approach that seemed to make sense at first, since it is precisely how he is presented in the Nihon shoki. But to rest content with the Sarutahiko of official mythology would prevent us from understanding the complex nature of that deity and the different roles that he played in the implicit pantheon of medieval Japan. To understand his full scope, it was necessary to move away from the classical myth and to follow his transformations in the ever-changing context of the Sarutahiko cult. After observing his medieval metamorphoses, albeit briefly, we still have to discuss his fusion with Kōshin, another deity closely related to Kōjin, during the Edo period. This will be done in Lords of Life. For the moment, let us turn once again toward two demonic jinushi that we have already encountered in different contexts, Gozu Tennō and Māra.

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SHIRAHIGE MYŌJIN As noted earlier, Sarutahiko was identified with Shirahige Myōjin, the god of Shirahige Shrine on the western bank of Lake Biwa.77 The Fusō kogo ryōishū 扶桑古語霊異集, by the Tendai priest Kenshin 顯真 (1130– 1192), speaks of a white-haired old man (shirahige no okina) evidently related to the sarugaku tradition that developed at Hie Shrine, who appears in various places around Lake Biwa. According to this account, during the spring of the seventh year of the Jōgan era (865), an official from the capital named Torōkō 都良香 (var. Torokyō, Miyako no Yoshika), during an excursion along Lake Biwa, met a strange old man at the foot of a waterfall near the village of Hira.78 The old man claimed to have lived so long in this place that he had seen the lake turn seven times into a plain. He then related to Torōkō several major events related to the Ise deities (Amaterasu and Toyouke) and to the three deities of Hie. Because of this encounter, the figure of Torōkō eventually seems to merge with that of the old man, as we are told that he became an immortal who exchanged a poem with Benzaiten at Chikubushima.79 The place of the encounter implies that the old man was the god of Mount Hira (Hira Myōjin, or Shirahige Myōjin), worshiped at Shirahige Shrine.80 The shrine deity was perhaps originally worshiped by Korean immigrants, and it is probably not a coincidence that another old-man deity, worshiped not too far south of Hira, is the protector of Onjōji, namely, Shinra (or Shiragi) Myōjin, a Silla deity identified with Susanoo.81 However, the official jinushi of Miidera, worshiped conjointly with the Korean god Shinra Myōjin, was a deity called Mio Myōjin. According to a closely held tradition, the name Mio 三尾 (Three Tails) is an alias for Izanagi, the former jinushi of the place. It is also said to derive from the three long belts (red, white, and black) hanging from Amaterasu’s waist, which eventually became three distinct deities called Akao Myōjin 赤尾 明神, Shiroo Myōjin 白尾明神, and Kuroo Myōjin 黒尾明神.82 In the Konjaku monogatari-shū, it is said that when the Tendai priest Enchin arrived at Miidera, he met an old man who was eating fish and claimed to have lived there for several hundred years. That jinushi turns out to have been Mio Myōjin.83 A related figure is Kyōtai 教待, a Buddhist monk who also was fond of fishing. This monk, said to be an avatar of Maitreya, disappeared soon after Enchin’s arrival.84 In the thoroughly Buddhist version of the Genkō shakusho, Kyōtai is said to have lived there for little more than a century, and he is not dislodged by the new protector Shinra Myōjin, but—albeit unknowingly—by Enchin himself.85 The story suggests that Kyōtai, after the arrival of Enchin, no longer has any reason to stay in the temple, since he has now received the teaching that he had been longing for, as his name, Waiting for the Teaching, indicates. This account is a rather

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different version of the theme, but a significant detail remains: the old man spent his time fishing by Lake Biwa. According to the Shirahige jinja engi, Shirahige Myōjin was appointed as a vanguard by Amaterasu at the time of Ninigi’s descent.86 After escorting Ninigi to Takachiho in Hyūga (Kyūshū), he returned alone to his place in Ise. This is when he met Yamato-hime, who had just arrived at Ise with Amaterasu’s mirror. The scroll describes their encounter in the same way as his encounter with Uzume.87 He told her that he had lived there for more than two million years, and he revealed his various names: Kunisokotachi 国底立, Kishin 気神, Kijin 鬼神, Ōta no kami 大 田神, and Okitama no kami 興玉神.88 He then went on a journey and arrived in Ōmi, where he settled down, spending his time fishing. He saw Lake Biwa dry up three times (and intimates the fourth time may be just around the corner). Local people erected a shrine to him and worshiped him under the names Shirahige Myōjin and Hira Myōjin.89 According to the same source, to build the Great Buddha of Tōdaiji, Shōmu Tennō sent the priest Rōben 良弁 to Kinpusen (Gold Mountain) to ask the mountain god Zaō Gongen for gold. Zaō, however, told him that the gold of Kinpusen was reserved for the coming of Maitreya, and advised him to go to Seta, at the southern end of Lake Biwa. When Rōben arrived there, he met an old fisherman sitting on a rock, who introduced himself as the local jinushi, named Hira Myōjin. He told Rōben that the place he had come to was a sacred site of Nyoirin Kannon, who would help him if worshiped properly. Rōben built a hermitage on the left bank of the Ujigawa, on the southern end of Lake Biwa, to enshrine an image of Nyoirin. Soon afterward, gold was discovered, allowing the Great Buddha to be erected. Rōben’s hermitage eventually became a famous cultic center for Nyoirin under the name Ishiyama-dera.90 The foundation legend of Ishiyama-dera is also mentioned in the Sanbō ekotoba (984) and in the Genkō shakusho.91 The old man of Fushimi (Fushimi no Okina 伏見翁) mentioned in these sources is even more leisurely than that of the previous legends, but he too seems, like Kyōtai, to be waiting for something. He is also said to be of foreign origin and seems related to the origins of the traditional bugaku dance.92 The name Fushimi itself seems to indicate a place, but it is not the Fushimi Inari Shrine of Kyoto, and it could perhaps, judging from the context, simply be read as the old man who “lies down and looks.” The Shirahige Myōjin engi also mentions the existence, near Yokawa on Mount Hiei (thus not far from Mount Hira), of a great rock on which the myōjin is said to have fished. Again, at the time of the Tendai abbot Gishin 義真 (781–833), his disciple Hōsei happened to pass through a village at the foot of Mount Hira and asked hospitality from a village woman. The woman suddenly became possessed by Hira Myōjin, who declared that during his long existence he had never been able to go

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to India and meet the Buddha, and that therefore he longed to hear the Dharma from Hōsei. According to the Soga monogatari, when Śākyamuni visited that place, he met an old man and asked him to give it to him to make it a Buddhist sanctuary. The old man refused, saying that he had lived there from the time when the human life span was sixty thousand years, and if it became a Buddhist sanctuary, he would no longer have a place to fish. As Śākyamuni was about to take his leave, the Healing Buddha (Yakushi) appeared and told him: “Spread the Buddhist Law. I have lived on this land from the time when the human life was eighty thousand years, yet this old man does not know me. Why should he be reluctant to part with this mountain? Propagate the Dharma at once. I shall become the guardian king of this mountain, and you and I together can propagate the Dharma until the latter days of Buddhism.” The text explains that the old man was Shirahige Myōjin, and that Yakushi is the guardian of the Inner Temple (Konpon chūdō) on Mount Hiei.93 The Shintō zōzōshū contains an interesting variant according to which an old man called Hōshi 宝誌 refused to bequeath his territory to Śākyamuni. The name of Hōshi appears in several Ise shintō texts, which is rather surprising when one considers that it designates the Chinese monk Baozhi 宝誌 (418–524), renowned for his supranormal powers and perceived as a manifestation of the bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara (Ch. Guanyin, J. Kannon).94 The figure of the white-haired old man evokes the gods of Sumiyoshi, Kasuga, and Inari. Among other white-haired deities, one could mention Ugajin, Shinra Myōjin, Sekizan Myōjin, Matarajin—and of course Okina, the generic Old Man of the sarugaku and Nō traditions. The case of Shirahige Myōjin brings to the forefront the ambiguous relationship between the demonic and the autochthonous: the jinushi that goes back to a time before any continental influence—and not just before Buddhism. This old man is the ancient territorial god who, depending on the case, quietly steps down in favor of a newcomer (kami or buddha) or resists the intrusion.95 In the Nō play Hakurakuten, for instance, the god prevents the Chinese poet Bai Juyi 白居易 (772–846) from coming to Japan.96 THE JINUSHI OF MOUNT HIEI One of medieval Japan’s most important jinushi is the titulary deity of Hie Shrine, but the question of its identity is extremely complex. The tutelary god of Mount Hiei is Sannō Gongen, who is worshiped at Ōmiya, the main sanctuary of Hie Shrine. This god is officially an invited deity, the Miwa god Ōkuninushi, who in classical mythology is presented as the ruler of Izumo. However, most scholars agree that the real jinushi of Hie is Ōyamakui 大山咋, better known as Ninomiya 二宮, after the name of his medieval sanctuary.97

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Ninomiya himself is said to have come from elsewhere—indeed, from beyond the sea. According to the myth, he arrived on top of a wondrous wave that had taken birth in the southern seas (i.e., off the shore of India) at the time of the buddha Kuruson 拘留孫仏. Hearing the sound of the wave echoing a passage from the Nirvāṇa Sūtra, he had decided to follow it wherever it might take him—since that land would have to be a place where Buddhism would prosper. The wave broke at Obie—or rather, it created the peaks of Obie when its upper waters crystallized, and the valleys of Obie when its lower waters dug the ground. The god settled on the mountain under a great cryptomeria (sugi) and lived there for several kalpas.98 The stature (and status) of Ninomiya was developed further in Ōe no Masafusa’s Jingi senryō 神祇宣令, which assimilated him to the primordial kami Kunitokotachi 国常立: “In the distant past, at the time of the separation of heaven and earth, the first heavenly god Kunitokotachi descended to earth, as the five-colored flowers of a great sugi tree blossomed on a high peak. This is why he is called Jinushi Gongen, and his Dharma name is Kedai Bosatsu 華台菩薩 [Bodhisattva of the Flowery Terrace].”99 Here the wave of the southern sea has disappeared and Ninomiya, having become Jinushi Gongen, is elevated to the rank of a primordial deity that descends at the time of the creation of the world to a sacred site called Obie. Whether Ninomiya came from the mountains or from the sea, he dislodged the first jinushi of Hie before being himself dislodged by a more powerful god, Ōkuninushi. The most ancient jinushi, however, may have been Hayao Myōjin or Daigyōji—two deities closely related with the monkeys of Mount Hiei and with Sarutahiko. Sarutahiko, Daigyōji, and Monkeys

As noted earlier, the child deity Jūzenji was linked to Daigyōji.100 The link between the two was explained by the fact that Jūzenji was a manifestation of Ninigi, and Daigyōji a manifestation of Sarutahiko.101 A late medieval text, the Gonjinshō, conflates Ninigi and Jūzenji, on the one hand, and Sarutahiko and Daigyōji on the other: “Daigyōji Gongen is the god Sarutahiko. He is also called the numinous deity of the crossroads. . . . When Jūzenji Gongen descended from heaven, he stood in front of him on the path. When asked who he was, [he replied:] ‘I am called Sarutahiko. In reality I am [the kami] Takamimusubi no Mikoto 高皇産命. I guard the way for the descent of the imperial grandson. With this halberd, I exorcize perverted spirits. By forming the seal (mudrā) of the paths, I pacify the road.” The text continues: “The form of that road-pacifying deity has been transmitted through the King’s Dance and the Lion’s Dance. . . . [When those dances are performed,] the divine procession is safe, and Daigyōji protects Jūzenji.”102 Various sources link Daigyōji / Sarutahiko with the King’s Dance performed during the Hie Shrine festival. Ryōhen, in his Jindai no maki shikenmon, writes for instance: “During Ninigi’s descent,

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a long-nosed god stood on the road. It was Sarutahiko. This is why Jūzenji Gongen is Ninigi, and the procession is preceded by this dance of the king.”103 The simian appearance of Daigyōji establishes him as a jinushi. As noted earlier, monkeys were said to be the messengers of the mountain god. They were intimately related not only to Daigyōji but also to Jūzenji.104 The fact that Daigyōji is referred to as an “evil god” (akushin 悪神) in various sources also fits with the wild nature of the jinushi deity.105 His jinushi status was downplayed after the medieval period. As Amino Satoru points out, the Daigyōji shrine was still listed among the seven upper shrines of Hie in the thirteenth century, but it was later excluded from that group.106 Yet Daigyōji eventually transcended his local status. The Sange yōryakki has him stating: “I do not appear only in Japan, but in the three thousand worlds. That is why I am called the Master of Great Practice.”107 Daigyōji’s name suggests a Buddhist influence, but his origins seem to go further back than the establishment of Tendai Buddhism on Mount Hiei. While the relation between Daigyōji and Jūzenji seems to overlap with that between Sarutahiko and Ninigi, it was probably anchored in local beliefs about monkeys. Before they became experimental subjects for the laboratories of Kyoto University, monkeys were perceived as emissaries or manifestations of the mountain god; hence as both sacred and dangerous (figs. 8.12 and 8.13). In a sense, they were probably the first jinushi of Mount Hiei, and they were called true monkeys (ma-saru 真猿) because they were said to be “superior” (masaru 勝る) to all things and to have the power to drive away demons (ma-saru 魔去). Eventually their leaders, Hayao and Daigyōji, came to be perceived as an emanation of a more powerful jinushi, Sarutahiko.

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FIGURE 8.12  Monkey spirit. Nijūhachibushu narabini jūni shinshō zu. TZ 7: 515, fig. 33.

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FIGURE 8.13  Monkey spirit. Daigoji-bon Yakushi jūni shinshō zu. TZ 7: 38, fig. 55.

GOZU TENNŌ AS JINUSHI The Yōtenki’s narrative of the coming of Ninomiya to Hie is interrupted by a subplot in which the sun goddess Amaterasu, as she comes out of the Heavenly rock-cave and plunges her spear into the sea below, sees an old man standing on a reed leaf. The shape of the leaf is said to symbolize Japan, the “plain of the flourishing reeds,” and also to indicate the jinushi status of the old man. This motif does not evoke a foreign god who reached Japan by sea, but rather the primordial deity floating on the liquid chaos anterior to the creation of the world. Surprisingly, later versions identify the old man as Gozu Tennō. In a commentary on the Hoki naiden entitled Hokishō, dating from the Edo period, the old man declares that he will become a pestilence god to heal the three poisons, and the text suggests that he is a manifestation of the buddha Yakushi.108 Thus, even before being discovered by Amaterasu, the land that would become Japan had a tutelary god named Gozu Tennō. By an interesting reversal, the myth is linked to the Tsushima ritual during which Gozu Tennō is sent off on a reed boat.109 In other words, the ritual dispatching of the pestilence god has turned into an evocation of the cosmogonic myth. This myth now seems essentially aimed at explaining the ritual of floating the reeds (miyoshi-nagashi) as expounded in the Gozu Tennō kōshiki. In another version, the jinushi is no longer Gozu Tennō (or his honji Yakushi), but the “golden wheel king,” Ichiji Kinrin. Yet the basic scenario remains the same. When Amaterasu plunges her spear into the ocean

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below, she discovers an island, on which stands a wrathful-looking being that claims to be the land master. The difference, however, is that he gives Amaterasu the seal of Dainichi as proof of his legitimacy. The motif of Dainichi’s seal leads us to the theme of the pact between Amaterasu and Māra. But before turning to it, let us consider a few more sources in which Gozu Tennō appears as a jinushi. One of them is the origin story of Kannōji 感應寺 (Temple of Divine Response), as told in the Asabashō. During the reign of Emperor Yōjō 陽 成, when the priest Jizai 慈濟 entered the mountains in search of a place to build a hermitage, auspicious signs appeared by a stream in response (kannō 感應) to his prayers. Accordingly, he vowed to call his hermitage Kannōji and to dedicate it to the bodhisattva Kannon. Then an old man appeared over the rapids and introduced himself as the original lord of the province. He vowed to protect the future monastery on condition that his descendants would serve as its intendants (bettō 別当). He added that he woud protect them and respond to their wishes, in particular by binding husband and wife and giving them children. Instead of a talisman, he gave Jizai a song to protect people against calamities, and only then told him his name: Gozu Tennō.110 Another origin story, quoted in the Harima kagami, involves the Indian ascetic Hōdō Sennin 法道仙人, who was said to have been one of the Buddha’s five hundred disciples on Vulture Peak. When Hōdō Sennin, after traveling through China and Korea, landed at Nanba Bay in Settsu province, an old man with a fishing rod appeared on a boat and told him that he had long been waiting for him. He invited him on board and took him to Akashi Bay in Harima. He showed him Mount Okko 雄岡山 in the north and declared that it was a peerless site for establishing Buddhism. Finally, taking the shape of Gozu Tennō, he revealed to him that he was the jinushi of that place. With these words he left, riding a yellow ox. Hōdō Sennin reported the matter to the court, which ordered the foundation of a Buddhist temple on that mountain to enshrine Yakushi and Gozu Tennō with their retinue.111 It is notable here that while this story presents Gozu Tennō as a jinushi, it also shows him explaining to Hōdō how to control pestilence deities and put an end to epidemics. A variant of that legend appears in the origin story of Kinkōji 近江寺 (a.k.a. Ōmi-dera 近江寺, Hyōgo prefecture). According to it, when Hōdō Sennin arrived in Japan, he lived in reclusion in the mountains and founded Ichijōji on Mount Hokke in Harima province. In the second year of the Taika era (646), he heard that there was a strange thing on Lake Biwa emitting a light that frightened the fishermen. Going there to inquire, he found that the source of the light was a numinous cherry tree. He decided to carve a statue of Senju Kannon out of it, but the tree flew away to Kizu (northern district of Kōbe). Then an old man appeared, riding a yellow ox, and introduced himself as Gozu Tennō,

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the jinushi of that place. After bequeathing the land to Hōdō, he disappeared. In 653, the Indian ascetic is said to have made offerings to Gozu Tennō at Hokkezanji to pray for the recovery of Kōtoku Tennō 孝徳天皇 (r. 645–654).112 Like the old man of Fushimi, Hōdō Sennin was of Indian origin, and so in theory was Gozu Tennō, the protector of the Jetavana monastery. It seems paradoxical that this god, the very type of the alien deity, became a local jinushi. However, the contradiction is perhaps less flagrant than it appears to be. Indeed, such deities, despite their foreign origins, were also perceived as somehow pagan, a feature they shared with the local deities, with which they often merged. As Sujung Kim points out, “A key concept in the transformation of seemingly foreign deities (J. ikoku no kami 異国 の神) into native ones was the notion of the ‘landlord deity’ ( jinushigami 地主神).”113 In this ideological twist, gods of foreign origin became landowner deities who have existed in Japan from time immemorial, although they may have traveled or temporarily manifested themselves in other foreign countries, like Silla. According to this logic, Shinra Myōjin becomes a legitimate Japanese deity who traveled to Silla, just as Susanoo went there to “wield Japanese power all over the world.”114 THE RETURN OF MĀRA Amaterasu’s encounter with Gozu Tennō resonates with that of her famous (or infamous, depending on the viewpoint) pact with Māra, who was also perceived as the primordial jinushi of Japan in his ex officio quality as ruler of this world. By identifying local deities (that can and will be converted) with Māra and his minions, Buddhism facilitated the demon king’s transformation into a powerful emblem of autochthony and legitimacy. Early Buddhism had little use for Māra after the Māravijaya, but medieval Japanese Buddhism was able to capitalize on Māra’s prestige as ruler of the Sixth Heaven.115 The medieval Māra presents a complex figure, one that includes not only his negative image as a demon king (Maō) but also elements borrowed from the figures of Indra (J. Taishakuten), Śiva-Maheśvara (Daijizaiten), Īśāna (Ishanaten), and Vināyaka (Shōten)—to name just a few. Māra was even identified with the primordial kami Izanagi. In the record of his visit to Ise (Tsūkai sankei ki), the Buddhist monk Tsūkai 通 海 (1234–1305) reports a discussion that he had with a shrine attendant. According to the attendant, Izanagi and Izanami had to ask for Māra’s authorization before they could create Japan. To accomplish this, Iza­ nagi made a pact with Māra, promising that Buddhism would be forbidden at Ise. When Tsūkai points out that this story does not appear in the Nihon shoki, he is told that Māra is none other than Ishana 伊舎那 (Skt. Īśāna, that is, Śiva-Maheśvara) and that the name Ishana itself is a variant

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reading of Izanagi.116 Ishana rules over the northeastern quarter, which happens to be Japan’s direction in relation to India.117 Tsūkai objects that Izanagi, being the primordial god of Japan, did not need any authorization, because this would amount to asking for authorization from oneself. Furthermore, since Ishana is one of the twelve devas protecting Buddhism, he had no reason to expel Buddhist monks from Ise. Tsūkai has a point here, but unfortunately he did not record the shrine attendant’s response to his objections. At any rate, this exchange confirms that the theory of Izanagi’s pact with Māra was already well known. Indeed, it already appears in the work of the Tendai scholar Annen in the ninth century.118 Consequently, in Ise shintō, Ishana and his consort were readily identified with Izanagi and Izanami. In other variants of the myth, Izanagi is replaced by Amaterasu in the role of Māra’s interlocutor. In the Sanshu no jingi, a collection of esoteric documents (kirigami 切紙) copied in 1542 by a priest named Rōkei, Māra’s name appears in a discussion of the Divine Seal, one of the Three Regalia of Japan.119 In the Nakatomi harae kunge, it is the buddha Dainichi who manifests as Amaterasu to ask for the Divine Seal (the blueprint of Japan) from Māra. In the Taiheiki, Māra signs an oath (kishōmon) with his own blood to affirm that he will come with his retinue of eighteen thousand demons to steal the vital essence of anyone who threatens the sovereignty of Amaterasu and her descendants.120 While these variants all assert the supremacy of Ise Shrine, it remains the case that the legitimacy of the Japanese rulers descending from Amaterasu, as promoted by the priests of Ise, was based on a Buddhist esoteric theory illustrating Māra’s animus towards Buddhism.121 That story, based on Amaterasu’s pledge to Māra that Buddhist priests would never be allowed to enter Ise, meant different things to Buddhist priests like Tsūkai and to Ise shintō priests. The latter did not use the story simply to explain the genesis of anti-Buddhist sentiment at Ise. On the contrary, they wanted to reconceive the position held by Amaterasu in the Buddhist framework. From their standpoint, it was precisely because Amaterasu had defeated (or simply duped) Māra that she was able to play a more prominent role vis-à-vis Buddhism, and in particular to arbitrate between orthodox kenmitsu Buddhism and the new Zen and Pure Land schools that were considered “heterodox.” Thus, during a pilgrimage to Ise in 1268, the Vinaya priest Eizon 叡尊 (var. Eison, 1201–1290) received an oracle from Amaterasu, telling him that the new teaching of Zen is the work of the heavenly Māra.122 As might be expected, the figure of Māra as the ancient jinushi of Japan tended to merge with that of Kōjin. In this respect, both Amaterasu and the Buddha were latecomers on Japanese land, and both initially lacked legitimacy. Much of medieval Buddhist theology was aimed at proving that Japan was originally Buddhist (taking on the shape of a onepronged vajra, for instance), just as medieval Shintō theology aimed at

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establishing the right of the heavenly deities to rule over Japan. Because of their shared concern, theologians on both sides welcomed the convenient crosswalk between Dainichi and Amaterasu provided by the honji suijaku theory. In the end, Māra and related figures merged into the figure of Kōjin, as shown in the Shishū Bina[ya]ka kyō: “The one called Daikōjin dwells in the four dhyāna of the realm of form and his name is Maheśvara (another name for Brahmā). In the Sixth Heaven of the world of desire, he is called Binayaka-jin (Vināyaka), or again Ugajin.”123 Various sources indicate that Māra was perceived as an “earthly” deity as opposed to “heavenly” deities like Amaterasu. We recall how Ōkuninushi was forced to hand Izumo over to Amaterasu’s grandson Nini­gi. Māra ends up doing the same with respect to Amaterasu, although in his case he does not yield to a divine ultimatum and is deceived by Amaterasu’s false pledge. The Reikiki shishō emphasizes the functional identity between Māra and Ōkuninushi: “The heavenly gods are the devas of the realm of form; whereas the earthly gods are the devas of the realm of desire. This is why the god called Māra of the Sixth Heaven, first among the earthly gods, is the god Ōnamuchi.”124 Thus, Māra took the place of Ōkuninushi in the classical role of the ancient king who relinquishes his rights to a newcomer. As Itō Satoshi points out, even if the image of Ōkuninushi is superimposed onto that of Māra, one still cannot explain the development of the theme as simply the redefinition of Māra as an earthly deity. Other elements had to come into play. The appearance of that story in the documents circulating at the end of the Kamakura period reflects the emphasis placed on the legitimacy of Amaterasu’s descendants following the Mongol invasions. The theme of Māra as ruler of the Sixth Heaven therefore constituted a rewriting of the myth of the transmission of the land as told in the Kojiki and Nihon shoki, and the Divine Seal became the proof of the transmission from Māra to Amaterasu. Still, many texts, beginning with the Shasekishū, made Amaterasu (or Izanagi and Izanami) the true creators of Japan, while Māra (Maō) continued as the interloper who wants to cause trouble and prevent the propagation of Buddhism. Under the name Maō, Māra also played an important role in popular cults that saw him as an ally, a protector, and a demon subduer, contrary to the views held in Buddhism and nascent Shintō. Thus, he was identified with one of the eight princes (hachiōji) in the retinue of Gozu Tennō, a group identified with the eight directional dragons in Onmyōdō.125 And at Maō Tenjin-sha in Nakizawa village (Yamanashi prefecture), he was sometimes called Tenjin or “heavenly deity” and linked to Sarutahiko. His rebellious nature further led to his identification with Taira no Masakado 平将門 (ca. 903–940), another figure of resistance to central power. In fact, secret prayers to Maō were believed to be efficacious against conscription until the Second World War.

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According to Itō Satoshi, the two contrasting images of Māra as a demon king and as a ruler of Japan reflect two different perceptions of Japan that coexisted between the eleventh and the fourteenth centuries. On the one hand, there was a negative view in which Japan was seen as a small peripheral country under the domination of the Lord of Darkness in the final age of the Dharma; this view seemed amply confirmed by the social upheaval and natural catastrophes that marked the end of the Heian period. On the other hand, the positive view—in which Japan was seen as a divine land (shinkoku) ruled by Amaterasu or her honji Dainichi—was confirmed by the failure of the demonic invasion of Japan at the hands of the Mongols. Yet, besides changing perceptions regarding the pre-Buddhist (and largely pre-“Shintō”) jinushi as both a source of sacredness and a reservoir of local, demonic resistance, medieval representations of Māra also reflected a more fundamental ambivalence. Māra had followers among the warriors, some of which even identified themselves with him. Such was the case with Oda Nobunaga, who, according to the Jesuit missionary Luis Fróis, signed a letter to Takeda Shingen “Nobunaga, King Māra of the Sixth Heaven.” His precedent in this had been provided by Prince Sutoku, who, on being sent into exile by Go-Shirakawa, swore to take his revenge and wrote with his own blood his vow to become Māra. But there also were other cases of warriors or monks that vowed to become Māra to take revenge on their enemies. The old notion of the vengeful spirits or onryō merged here with the image of Māra. Although Māra’s name was gradually expurgated from the imperial records, the people of eastern Japan did not readily accept the imperial ideology and its Buddhist formulation, and they sometimes went so far as to identify themselves with Māra. What they retained from Amaterasu’s pact with Māra was that the sun goddess, the emblem of imperial power, was a liar. That was the reason, according to some sources, why Amaterasu’s name should not be invoked in oaths. This seems to have remained a minority view, however, and Amaterasu otherwise remained the divine warrant of oaths.126 In the Taiheiki, for instance, an imperial emissary receives immediate divine punishment for reading a false oath in front of the shōgun Takatoki in 1324: “When Toshiyuki read where it was written, ‘Let the Sun Goddess be the witness that the imperial heart is not false,’ suddenly his eyes were blinded, blood dripped from his nose, and he withdrew without reading the rest. From that day forth a swelling came out at the base of Toshiyuki’s throat, so that within seven days he died, spitting up blood.”127 While serving the interests of the imperial house, the motif of Amaterasu’s pact with Māra (and her secret protection of Buddhism) also contained a potential for opposition. In Kantō, Māra retained his prestige as the ancient ruler of Japan. The resistance to imperial rule found one

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of its expressions in the legend of a local hero of Tsugaru 津軽 peninsula (Aomori prefecture). Toward the middle of the fourteenth century, Tsugaru Andō 津軽安藤, known as the daimyō of the sea, was an intendant (jitō) in charge of the Hōjō domains in Tsugaru, and he controlled the coast of the Japan Sea. Rebelling against the shōgunate and imperial rule, he called himself “Hi-no-moto Shōgun” (Hinomoto 日本, “source of the sun,” being an alternative reading of “Nihon,” Japan). Defeated by the shōgunal armies, Andō took refuge in Hokkaidō but preserved a base near Akita. The members of the Andō lineage in Tsugaru had no qualms about calling their ancestor a vassal of Māra, and the various families that claimed descent from him tried to trace their origins back to the period of the gods (and the reign of Jinmu Tennō). What we have here is the example of a “heretical” lineage founded on a rebel to central power and claiming his rights. The myth of Māra the ruler of the Sixth Heaven also impacted village liturgical performances such as the kagura. In the Tenshō Daijin no yama­ torikoe 天照大神の山取り越, for instance, when a priest (hosa) meets a god and asks his identity, the god replies that he is Izanagi. He adds that, while standing on Mount Sumeru, he lowered his spear in the sea below to see if there was any land there. He did discover one place, in the northeastern (ushitora) corner of which dwelled the demon king (Maō) of the Sixth Heaven. Izanagi then recounts how he managed to cheat Maō and take from him the map (sashizu) of Japan (that is, the Divine Seal).128 The story is a variant of the parent theme dealing with the pact between Amaterasu and Māra. But here, instead of Izanagi and Izanami standing on the floating bridge of heaven, as in classical mythology, Izanagi stands alone on Mount Sumeru, and the island he discovers is already occupied by Maō, the Japanese version of Māra and a prototype (zenshin) of Kōjin. It is somewhat ironical that Māra, an archetypal Indian deity, became—at least for a time—the tutelary god of Japan, but his status as the ruler of this world had prepared him for this. His negative aspects, which were in part the result of an earlier demonization of local Indian deities by Buddhism, allowed him to merge with Kōjin. In the process, he regained an ambivalence that put him on par, or even above, the buddhas. Whereas the latter were obliged to mix their transcendental wine with the water of immanence, Māra—qua Kōjin—was already at ease in both the immanent and the transcendent realms. Thus, while the transcendent buddhas (with a few exceptions) were perceived as more distant from the fears and desires of ordinary people, Māra stood precisely at the juncture of both realms. Significantly, the ideological shift that placed a new emphasis on local deities (jinushi) over the buddhas and reinterpreted the supposedly transcendent Buddha as a chthonian power was not simply the product of people who had an axe to grind against Japanese rulers and their Buddhist

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and “Shintō” allies. Esoteric Buddhist monks echoed popular feelings, which they saw as resonating with the Buddhist logic of innate awakening (hongaku). Indeed, the most fervent advocates of the gods were Buddhist priests like Kōshū and Jihen. By demonizing autochthonous deities, medieval Buddhism turned Māra into a representative of indigenousness and a figure of legitimacy. In so doing, it was only drawing out the theological consequences of Māra’s cosmological status. As a manifestation of fundamental ignorance, Māra belonged to an altogether different dimension than ordinary gods or demons. As the ruler of the Sixth Heaven, he and his realm, not unlike the nāga palace, became the source of all legitimacy.129 He was the guarantor of cosmic order, and his antagonism toward the Buddha’s teaching arose essentially from the perception that the Buddha, bent on reaching transcendance, was set on destroying immanent reality—or the belief in it, which may be the same thing. Medieval Buddhism, nascent Shintō, and the political centers of power (the imperial court and the shōgunate) were bent on separating orthodoxy from heterodoxy, good from evil, gods and buddhas from demons, and the Buddha from Māra. In response—and at odds with—that official doctrine, marginal groups attempted to capitalize on the potential for resistance offered by the image of Māra and similar demonic (or rather, demonized) figures) and to claim them as their own. In this, they were helped by Buddhist thinkers who took the nondual logic of hongaku to its furthest end and were ready to assert that there was as much—if not more—truth in the demonic hordes than in the impassive, otherworldly buddhas. By reintroducing Māra at the heart of Japanese religion, they infused it with a new power. CODETTA One can understand why the pestilence demon Gozu Tennō became a protector (to his followers) while finding it difficult to comprehend how he— and a fortiori the demon king Māra—became the tutelary god of Japan, preceding even Izanami and Izanagi. The fact that the most terrible (and alien) demons came to be worshiped as autochthonous powers shows that they were inextricably linked with the ambivalence of the earth, and represented, in a sense, the late protestation of the earthly gods against its takeover by heavenly deities and transcendent buddhas. But what was at stake in the perceptual shift that comprehended the demonic as the resistance of autochthonous powers against aggression— whether from foreign demons or buddhas, from heavenly gods, or from other, displaced local deities? One is always someone’s alien, and alienness is in the eye of the (previously landed) beholder. Indigenousness, then, is relative: even the autochthonous land deities are not “sprung from

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the earth” despite the etymology and the myth. Origin stories illustrate an infinite regression: one can always go further back in the past and find deities that are more native without ever reaching an archaic rock bottom. Some deities are indeed more ancient than others, but even those turn out to be allo-chthonous, earlier immigrants jealous of their rights vis-à-vis the newcomers. In spite of the renewal of the elites, there is nothing new under the sun. If not the sun itself, at least the deities that represented it in medieval Japan, Amaterasu and Dainichi, were latecomers. In my discussion of Kōjin and Kōjin-like deities, I attempted to describe how the status of a jinushi allowed some local groups to resist—at least by proxy, through symbolic deities—the encroachments of a central power represented by official kami and buddhas. Yet, the jinushi notion, whether we are dealing with a national deity like Amaterasu or small local deities, still reflects a sedentary logic; it leaves out other important, albeit harder to see, forms of resistance—those of the nomadic groups and their deities. Medieval gods are on both sides of the divide between sedentary and nomadic. Kōjin, for instance, was often perceived as a territorial and sedentary deity, yet he was also worshiped by semi-marginal groups. Like the gypsies of Europe, Japanese nomadic people and deities were easily demonized while proving resilient and continuing to exist in the outer and inner margins of Japanese society. For obvious reasons, they were and are difficult to track down, either on the ground or in textual sources. But living on in the interstices of official discourse and ideologies, they periodically poached on the preserves of the official gods and subverted their pantheon. They haunt the pages of this book (and my imagination). I would have liked to dedicate a chapter to them, but this would have been another attempt to sedentarize these nomads. Yet they can be found traversing the chapters on Gozu Tennō, Susanoo, and Kōjin, and they will return in the next two chapters. In the end, the return of the native is also a return of the repressed.

9

DIVINE LAND, DEMONIC SEAS The previous chapter discussed the process through which demonic deities became territorial deities, and vice versa. Some of these landed deities resisted invaders, which often were other—more powerful—territorial deities. Despite their proliferation, all of these deities—a point easily missed—were essentially terrestrial. Another type of territorial deity existed, however, that was essentially maritime. The most important of these were the deities of Watatsumi, Munakata, and Sumiyoshi, as well as Empress Jingū (a divinized legendary ruler) and her son, Ōjin Tennō, who was divinized under the name Hachiman. The sea in essence is translocal, and island deities like Azumi no Isora, the god of Shikanoshima 志賀島 in northern Kyūshū, followed similar paths to those taken by continental deities that had crossed the sea, like Myōken Bosatsu, coasting along the Japanese shoreline from Kyūshū, via the Inland Sea, to the Bōsō peninsula and Hitachi province on the eastern side of Honshū, or to the Noto peninsula and Tōhoku on the western side. SEA DEITIES AND FOREIGN GODS The consciousness of Japan’s territorial identity and its uniqueness as the land of the gods (shinkoku) developed hand in hand with a maritime imaginary in which mountains and the sea were often intimately linked. This imaginary developed around several poles, as has been highlighted in a recent book edited by Fabio Rambelli, The Sea and the Sacred.1 One of these poles was the mythological complex centered on the myths of the palace of the sea king and its Buddhist and Daoist variants—the nāga or dragon palace and the island of the immortals, Penglai—as a source of legitimacy, immortality, and knowledge. The Japanese saw their country not only as the land of the gods but also as a land where dragons live—a much more ambivalent place.2At another pole was the sea as a source of danger, and in particular, of human or demonic invasions. The Mongol invasions of the thirteenth century confirmed and amplified those fears, encouraging nativist and imperialist ideologies.

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Perhaps one should speak of a nebula of collective representations regarding the sea instead of a single maritime imaginary, for a vast expense of water appears differently to people who live on it and to people who live inland—not to mention those who live in between, on the shoreline and on islands. In this nebula, a specifically Buddhist imaginary linked to travels to and from China developed, emphasizing the dangers encountered at sea. The liminal space of the sea often became the theater of encounters between Buddhist monks and maritime deities of obstacles, and although such meetings were not as frequent as those between monks and mountain gods, in both cases the encounter usually led to the foundation of landed monasteries.3 Sometimes a foreign water deity like Sarasvatī became a (quasi-) indigenous chthonian deity while still preserving its aquatic features: thus, Uga Benzaiten continues to be worshiped on islands, whether natural ones, like Enoshima and Kinkazan in eastern Japan, Aojima off southern Kyūshū, Itsukushima on the Inland Sea, and Chikubushima on Lake Biwa, or artificial ones created inland, in lakes and ponds (Shinobazu Pond in Tokyo). The case of Benzaiten draws our attention to the strange dialectic that sometimes turned sea deities into earthly, land-based, landowner deities (jinushigami)—in other words, into representatives of indigenousness.4 Some of them—the Watatsumi, Sumiyoshi, and Munakata deities, or Ebisu, Konpira, and Gozu Tennō—rose to prominence in medieval Japan. On the sociopolitical plane, this evolution reflected the naturalization of immigrant groups like the Hata and the Urabe.5 The latter, whose specialization as diviners derived from their insular origins (Tsushima), moved to the capital during the Nara period. Other groups, like the Ōuchi, retained stronger local roots.6 Japanese sea deities often manifested as a triad—for instance, at Shikaumi 志賀海, Sumiyoshi 住吉, and Itsukushima 厳島 shrines in Chikuzen (Kyūshū)—although in some cases the triad eventually merged into a single deity. The three goddesses of Munakata 宗像 Shrine, for instance, also became the deities of Itsukushima (present-day Miyajima) and eventually merged into one deity, Itsukushima Daimyōjin. This goddess, who came to be identified with Benzaiten, was worshiped as a protector of navigation—in particular, by Taira no Kiyomori.7 In the Hachiman gudōkin (var. Hachiman gudōkun), when Empress Jingū considers attacking the Korean kingdoms, both the Munakata and the Itsukushima deities predict the success of the expedition and contribute to its success.8 During the Heian period, many shrines worshiped the deities of the Azumi and Munakata clans. The three deities of Watatsumi 綿津見 (海神) Shrine in Tsushima were found, for instance, on Iki Island, on Shikano­ shima (in Fukuoka Bay, Kyūshū), on the Kii peninsula, and in Harima province; the Munakata deities of northern Kyūshū, on Itsukushima (Aki province) and in Owari, Iyo, and Shinano provinces; and the Sumiyoshi

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deities, in northern Kyūshū, Iki, Tsushima, Settsu, Yamato, and Harima and Mutsu provinces. Among them, the Watatsumi shrines were the most numerous.9 Paradoxically, grouped with the sea deities were mountain deities such as the Hōmanzan deity in Kyūshū, Ōyamatsumi (with three shrines on the Inland Sea), and Kotohira 金刀比羅 (or Konpira Gongen 金毘羅 権現) in Shikoku,10 as well as the Sengen / Asama 浅間 deity on the Kii peninsula.11 This was because mountains served as landmarks for navigation, and their deities were seen as protectors of navigation. Shinra Myōjin, although not strictly a mountain deity, was another inland protector of sea routes.12 Sea deities and their shrines disseminated along the coasts and also inland, most notably in the region of the capital. Kyōto had become increasingly dependent on its waterways, to the point of becoming a “water capital.”13 The perfect mandala or cosmogram that had served as the original template for the capital was thus subverted and “mobilized” by its waterways, principally the Kamo and Uji rivers. A new map or grid, based on concrete routes and itineraries, overlaid a static, concentric world­view based on the model of the cosmogram. But “the map is not the territory,” and the territory itself leaked through all its openings despite the gods and soldiers posted at its key points. As Amino Yoshihiko argued, the medieval period is characterized by increasing mobility and decentering. This was already the case with the shift of state power to Kamakura, but the shogunate was itself soon threatened by centrifugal forces. Kantō had vanquished Kansai, but western Japan returned with a vengeance, at least on the religious plane. By the end of the Heian period, during the last days of the Ritsuryō 律令制 state, the archipelago had been set into motion with the establishment of a network of waterways and increasing demand for foreign goods that led to the initiation of private trade with the continent. Chinese and Korean merchants played important roles in that environment. A case in point is that of the Korean merchant Chang Pogo 張保皐, (Jang Bogo, 790?–846) who established a thriving commercial network linking the archipelago with the continent in the ninth century. On the Japanese side, clans like the Ōuchi in western Japan and the Andō on the Tsugaru peninsula also played important roles. As Amino has shown, the Tosa harbor in Tsugaru became the counterpart (and rival) of Hakata in northern Kyūshū. In both places, Tendai Buddhism and maritime cults prevailed. Among sea deities as well, we find a contrast between an official, land-based pantheon consisting of insular deities that had become protectors of the state and a fluid pantheon formed of nomadic, “liquid” deities like Myōken and Benzaiten. But the overall process, from the Ritsuryō state to the Tokugawa rule—with a long medieval parenthesis—was one of gradual freezing or congealing. The Tokugawa shogunate tried to do

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away with the fluid pantheon without entirely succeeding, as shown by the flourishing catfish (namazu 鯰) cult and the carnivalesque yonaoshi movements. Land and Sea

Everyone knows that Japan is an archipelago, but few realize what this implies. Some may be surprised to hear that this archipelago is composed of between 3,700 and 6,900 islands of all sizes, with a littoral of about 28,000 kilometers.14 In other words, no place is very far from the sea. Historically, the center of that archipelago corresponds to the three main islands of Honshū, Kyūshū, and Shikoku—a grouping to which Hokkaidō was belatedly added in the nineteenth century. As a result, the multitude of smaller islands was downplayed or even forgotten in official documents. Some of them, such as Sado and Kikaijima in the Amami Islands, resurfaced in history as places of exile and antechambers of death—always from the standpoint of the mainland, of course, not from that of the islanders themselves. Some islands were perceived as sacred places, off limits to ordinary traffic (like Okinoshima and Itsukushima), or as the land of the dead (like Matsushima, which before becoming a tourist site was essentially a graveyard). Until Amino Yoshihiko, most of the histories of Japan have been land centered. By emphasizing sea lanes, circuits, and non-agricultural production, Amino reminded historians of the archipelagic nature of the Japanese territory. This maritime view of Japan is just beginning to change our ways of thinking about Japanese religion.15 For instance, we now understand that what the central government called pirates (kaizoku 海賊) were more properly “sea lords” (umi no ryōshu 海の領主).16 Piracy on the Japan Sea seems to have started around the ninth century, and from the twelfth century on, Japanese pirates (wakō 倭寇) based on the Hirado and Gotō islands controlled the straits between Japan and Jeju (then known as the Tamra 耽羅 kingdom), Tsushima, and Korea while also extending their reach through the Ryūkyū Islands to Okinawa, Taiwan, and the Yangze River estuary.17 Paradoxically, sea deities became the protectors and symbols of a land-based state during this expansion, assuming the function of “land lords” rather than sea lords. As Tom Conlan points out, landed or terracentric lords like the Ōuchi clan 大内氏 were integrally linked to the seas. These landed elites did not depend on the sea lords (the pirates) but rather commanded them. They dominated the Shimonoseki straits from 1392 to 1551, and they possessed the largest ships. The Inland Sea constituted an Ōuchi domain. Thus, the Ōuchi were both landed lords and sea lords, providing, in Conlan’s words, a “thalassocentric overcorrection to terracentrism.”18 On the religious plane, they proved instrumental in promoting the cult of deities such as Myōken.

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Yet the notion of sea lords still harbors a sense of territory, and in that way the dichotomy between landed or terracentric lords and sea lords is misleading: it transforms the sea into a “territory” or at best into a network of routes. The crossing of the Japan Sea, however, was no simple matter but rather an adventurous journey across the (largely) unknown. Furthermore, the symmetric notions of land(ed) lord and sea lord contrasted with the view of itinerants who, according to Amino himself, saw the world as “ownerless.”19 In her study of Japanese trade with China and Korea before the Edo period, Charlotte von Verschuer distinguishes four main periods: the period of tributary exchanges (seventh to ninth centuries), the rush for foreign goods (ninth to twelfth centuries), the period of free trade (twelfth to fourteenth centuries), and the period of growing exports (fourteenth to sixteenth centuries). She provides ample information about the concrete content of the trade but does not discuss the real and imaginary dangers of the sea (despite the title of her book, Crossing the Perilous Sea).20 During the Nara period, relations with the continent were reduced to a minimum, and all visitors were placed under strict supervision. Except for diplomatic missions, Japanese were prohibited from leaving the archipelago.21 During the early Heian period, merchants from Silla and China took the place of diplomats, and private trade moved into the void created by the interruption of diplomatic missions. This change was made possible by the trade network established by the Korean merchant Chang Pogo. After Chang’s assassination in 841, Korean pirates began to dominate the Tsushima strait, leading to diplomatic tensions between Silla and the archipelago.22 Consequently, Silla merchants were no longer welcome, while Chinese merchants were allowed to stay. The situation grew worse with the rebellion of Fujiwara no Sumitomo in the 940s.23 Only by abandoning the Ritsuryō system was the Heian court able to regain control. The lure of foreign lands, which had led diplomats, monks, and merchants to risk their lives on the sea during the eighth and ninth centuries, was felt vividly again at the beginning of the Kamakura period. Around this time, new deities appeared in Japan, brought by foreign merchants and Japanese monks. Kyūshū, Marginal Center

The complex relationships between Japan and its continental neighbors— together with the Japanese perception of the latter—evolved with time.24 Historians, focusing on the political center(s), have tended to neglect the intense activity that took place on the periphery, in places like Tsushima, Hakata, Yamaguchi, Tsuruga, and the Tosa harbor in Tsugaru—or rather, they have often failed to see that these peripheral places constituted political, economic, cultural, and religious centers on their own. For the same reason, Buddhist historians have emphasized textual traditions while

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neglecting the aspects related to material culture in Buddhism’s transmission to Japan. In these relations, northern Kyūshū played an important role as an intermediary between the continent and central Japan. As a kind of buffer zone, it was an area of intense symbolic creation. Long before the sun goddess Amaterasu moved to Ise, Takachiho (Hyūga in central Kyūshū) claimed to be the original site of the Heavenly rock-cave and the landing place of Ninigi. Furthermore, the islands off the Kyūshū coast (Gotō, Iki, and Tsushima) offered convenient havens for pirates. The harbor of Hakata in northern Kyūshū was the required starting point for Japanese diplomats, monks, and merchants bound for the continent—and the entry port for continental traders and immigrants. In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, Hakata was what Amino calls a kugai 公界, a commons where broad contacts were taking place in an eclectic milieu and trade flourished after the ninth century. Chinese merchants doing business there were relatively well integrated in Japanese society, “holding positions, owning property, or producing offspring,”25 and lived in a thriving district that still exists today, Tōjinmachi 唐人町. In the Kamakura period, China was a privileged destination for Japanese monks like Eisai, Dōgen, and Enni Ben’en 円爾弁円. While Dōgen was proud to have returned to Japan “empty-handed” (in keeping with the notion of a “pure Zen”), Eisai is credited with the introduction of tea, and Enni with that of noodles (soba). The privileged relation of Zen monks with China further developed in the Muromachi period with the Tenryūji ships (Tenryūji-bune 天龍寺船) and the spread of continental culture through Zen monasteries. Koreans, on the other hand, were always treated with suspicion. Hakata, before the Mongol invasions, may have been an exception, but it was by no means the only active harbor in medieval Japan.26 As Amino has shown, other harbors along the coast of the Japan Sea, like Obama and Tosa Harbor, were also engaged in trade with the continent and even with the Indochinese peninsula and the Malay archipelago.27 The Munakata Shrine 宗像神社 in northern Kyūshū played a key role in the economic and diplomatic relations between the archipelago and the Korean peninsula. The island of Okinoshima, some sixty kilometers off the coast, played as it were the role of “inner sanctum” (Okuno-miya) for Munakata Shrine and became a place where “connections were forged, treasures deposited, and secrets embedded” (yet at some point seemingly forgotten until their relatively recent rediscovery).28 Like Tsushima farther offshore, this small island played a strategic role in the relations between Japan and the mainland. Owing in large part to the strategic location of the shrine, the three Munakata goddesses were believed to protect Japan against external threats. Yet they could also, on occasion, threaten the Yamato court with their curses.29

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The Ryūkyū (Amami 奄美) Islands off the coast of southern Kyūshū, together with Tsushima 対馬, Iki 壱岐, Gotō 五島, and Jeju 済州, played the same intermediary role between the continent and Kyūshū that Kyūshū played with the rest of the Japanese archipelago.30 Like the Korean island of Jeju, Tsushima bore witness to a turbulent geological, mythological, and historical past.31 It was and remains a strategic Japanese outpost, much closer to the Korean seashore than to Kyūshū.32 It is also a point of origin of Japanese culture, as attested by recent archeological findings and suggested by Watatsumi Shrine, which boasts of being the oldest shrine in Japan and seems to be the prototype of Itsukushima Shrine.33 The political void created on the continent by the demise of the Yuan and Koryǒ (Goryeo) dynasties in the fourteenth century left the field open to Japanese pirates (wakō) who established an important base in Tsushima.34 The Sō 宗 clan that subsequently ruled over that island throughout the late medieval period proved itself capable of negotiating almost on an equal basis with Korean and Japanese rulers. Tsushima Island was (and still is) a bone of contention between Korea and Japan, as shown recently by the theft of a Buddhist statue by Koreans who claim that it was originally Korean.35 Centered on Watatsumi Shrine, the island served as a kind of buffer zone, filtering the relations between the continent and the archipelago. Its fate has varied with the vicissitudes of history: the first island to be attacked at the time of foreign invasions, a strategic outpost at the time of the Japanese invasions of the continent, and a den of pirates during the entire medieval period. Tsushima was also a natural stopover for all travelers—diplomats, monks, and traders. Although little remains of its past grandeur today, its cultural role cannot be overestimated. JAPANESE XENOPHOBIA In her study on Shinra Myōjin, the bright god of Silla, Sujung Kim has found ample evidence of anti-Korean feelings in medieval Japan.36 This xenophobic attitude is particularly evident in a story reported in the Hachiman gudōkin and Shikaumi jinja engi, according to which the deity of Kashii Shrine (Kashii-gū 香椎宮) in Hakata, one of Empress Jingū’s divine protectors, engraved the following words (in what is arguably the earliest, and perhaps a unique, example of divine graffiti) on a rock on the Korean shore: “The king of Koryŏ is Japan’s dog.”37 In the Jingū myth, the Korean peninsula is described as a land of treasures, a kind of eternal land (tokoyo 常世) beyond the sea. Yet all that her conquest achieved was the promise of a regular tribute that never amounted to much and was the source of endless recriminations on both sides. The Korean peninsula was also perceived as a land of death, a source of epidemics, and the native place of the great demonic deities that

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periodically devastated the Japanese archipelago. Significantly, the Mongol threat that originated with the Yuan emperor Kublai Khan was displaced in the Japanese imagination by the perils emanating from Korea, and the resentment toward Koreans proved long-lasting. Apart from the perceived Korean threat across the Tsushima strait, a Korean archipelago of sorts existed within Japan itself. It was formed by Korean immigrant groups like the Hata, who moved from Kyūshū to Ōmi, and the Wani 和邇, who settled on the San-in coast and in Tsuruga, and by temples with characteristic names (e.g., Shiragi, after the name of Silla) spread all over Japan. Everywhere, it seemed, white-haired deities of Korean origin, like Sumiyoshi Myōjin and Shirahige Myōjin, were worshiped.38 These gods were liminal deities, gods of the in-between—even when they became Japanese, they always retained an alien aura. With time, however, some of them became, as the French would say, “more royalist than the king”—or in this case, more imperialist than the tennō— and certainly more xenophobic than native gods. Such was perhaps the case with the gods Hachiman and Sumiyoshi, who aided Empress Jingū in her legendary conquest of the Korean peninsula. Xenophobic feelings in Japan constituted the reverse side of a rising nativist self-consciousness. They were always present to some degree, but they experienced a remarkable upsurge during the Mongol invasions and its aftermath. The Japanese of this period felt threatened by disease-carrying demons and sea deities like Gozu Tennō. Their reaction—akin to a kind of collective immune response—was to attempt to close the gates of the archipelago, or even better, to launch a preemptive strike at the source of the threat, perceived, in this case, as Silla. As a result, a conquering discourse appeared, centered on Empress Jingū, Hachiman, and Sumi­ yoshi, and until the Edo period, Sumiyoshi and Hachiman were perceived as anti-epidemic deities.39 Yet the west and the southwest were the directions from which various forms of culture—Indian, Chinese, and Korean—had come to Japan. The legends regarding the introduction of Buddhism are well known. A less well known but significant example is the legend of the Korean prince Ame no Hiboko 天日槍, who was said to have landed in Tsuruga, bringing treasures to the archipelago. This prince was considered the founder of Jingū’s distaff lineage.40 DIVINE AND DEMONIC INVASIONS Early mythological chronicles reveal that the formation of regal power in Yamato was the result of two successive “divine” invasions—the first was by the heavenly gods led by Ninigi; the second was Jinmu Tennō’s conquest of Yamato. Jinmu is usually presented as the first human ruler, and with him the age of the gods comes to an end. But a humanization

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of Amaterasu’s descendants had already occurred with Ninigi, who, by refusing to accept as his second wife Iwanaga-hime 石長比売, the ugly sister of Konohanasakuya-hime 木花咲耶 (木花之佐久夜), lost the immortality that would have come as her dowry— implying that he was not immortal in the first place.41 Hikohohodemi 彦火火出見, the son born from Ninigi’s union with Konohanasakuya-hime, temporarily regained immortality (or at least longevity) when he visited the palace of the sea king and married the princess Toyotama-hime 豊玉姫. But he lost it again when, after a stay of three years in the palace, he decided to return to the human world. Toyotama-hime followed him and asked him not to look at her when she gave birth. Once again, as in the case of Izanagi’s stealing a glimpse of Izanami’s decaying corpse, curiosity proved fatal. Ashamed of having been surprised in her reptilian form, Toyotama-hime returned to the submarine world. However, she did not cast a spell on her transgressing husband; rather, she sent her sister Tamayori-hime to take care of her child. At any rate, access to the submarine world, that is, to wealth and immortality, was once more barred. As the Nihon shoki puts it: “This is why there is no communication between land and sea.”42 The two tide-controlling jewels received by Hikohohodemi as a parting gift were a meager consolation, although they did provide mediation between sea and land. At some point they were returned to the palace of the sea king, since Jingū had to request them again to conquer the Korean kingdoms. Thus, on three occasions—with Izanagi, Ninigi, and Hikohohodemi (and in the context of a childbirth in the two latter instances)—the new rulers of Japan interrupted communications with the other (subterranean or submarine) world by introducing or reintroducing mortality. (Izanami had already died but by accident.) The age of the gods had ended, now came the age of the human—all too human, and mortal—rulers. Yet the conquest of the Japanese islands continued, with its trail of violence and death. Classical mythology is a long sequel of bloody conquests: Kyūshū, Yamato, and Korea. Until Hikohohodemi, all Japanese kami were deities of Kyūshū (and Izumo), and many had a close relationship with the sea. It is after Hikohohodemi, with Jinmu, that the link with the sea (and the sea palace) was stretched and the narrative center of gravity shifted to Yamato. For his conquest of Kumano, Jinmu received another divine sword from Takemikazuchi 建御雷 (武甕槌). His conquest was like a reenactment of the pacification of the earthly deities, even if some of them—having no other choice—allegedly welcomed him. He was, for instance, guided in his progress by a giant crow, the symbol and tutelary spirit of Kumano. Local gods did not entirely give up resistance, however. Thus, the Nihon shoki reports that Ōkuninushi (Ōmononushi 大物主) caused a series of epidemics and disturbances under the reign of Sūjin Tennō, a ruler credited with having finally pacified the kingdom.43 But Ōkuninushi struck again, casting on the prince a spell that made him mute—fit

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revenge for the araburu kami that had been reduced to silence by Sūjin’s ancestors. The prince had to travel to Izumo and worship Ōkuninushi to break the spell. Later military expeditions, like those of Yamato Takeru and Empress Jingū, are described as the pacification of the barbarians further east and north (the Emishi), or back in Kyūshū (the Hayato 隼人 and the Kumaso 熊襲), or as preemptive strikes against the three Korean kingdoms.44 Yamato Takeru is presented as the symbol of that pacification, but he became a victim of local resistance—and perhaps also of bad karma. He began his violent career by killing his brother.45 This act prompted his father, Keikō Tennō, to exile him from the court under the pretext of sending him to conquer barbarians. The help of his aunt, the Ise priestess Yamato-hime, did not suffice to save him from his hubris. He showed no mercy for his enemy Kumaso Takeru despite the latter’s praising him and conferring on him his glorious name, Yamato Takeru. He not only slew him but “sliced him up like a ripe melon.”46 But he, in turn, died a miserable death, unworthy of a warrior, in his confrontation with the god of Mount Ibuki. The myth of Yamato Takeru contains two actants: the prince himself and the Kusanagi sword. Isomae Jun’ichi has shown how the emphasis fell on Yamato Takeru’s relations with his father and the conquest of barbarians during the Ritsuryō period; then, in the medieval period, it shifted to the sword and the imperial regalia; finally, with and after Yoshida Kane­tomo, a romantic spin was given to Yamato Takeru’s life, shifting the focus again to his tragic love story.47 The next phase in the conquest narrative was the subjugation of the three Korean kingdoms by Jingū, which many historians believe never actually occurred.48 Eventually, the tide turned, and it was the archipelago’s turn to have to defend itself against continental aggressors—in the form of the two Mongol invasions (Genkō 元寇) of 1274 and 1281. The naval expeditions launched by Kublai Khan were aimed at Kyūshū and both ended in defeat for the Mongols. The Japanese attributed their victory to timely typhoons, interpreted as divine winds (kamikaze 神風).49 In the event, these meteorological events were seen as the gods’ response to the many rituals performed in temples and shrines, including Hakozaki, Munakata, and Tsurugaoka Hachiman. It may be that the typhoons were only strong winds, of course, and their role, like everything else in the official and nonofficial accounts of the events, has been greatly exaggerated. The specter of foreign invaders had long been in Japanese minds, in part because of pirate raids on Tsushima and Kyūshū in the tenth century, but also because it overlapped with the fear of epidemic demons.50 Already in the Engishiki (927), a proclamation (norito) made during a major exorcism defined the boundaries (kekkai) of Japan as follows: “You plague demons, you must stay outside the towns and villages, you must

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establish your abodes a thousand leagues beyond the boundaries in the four directions, which are Sado in the north, Mutsu (present-day Tōhoku) to the east, Tosa (present-day Kōchi prefecture in Shikoku) to the south, and Tōtsuchika (present-day Gotō Islands) to the west.”51 Some diagrams that were probably used as talismans envisioned Japan as a mandala, or a well-circumscribed ritual area (kekkai), in the adamantine shape of a one-pronged vajra with shrines as protectors in the four directions: Suwa in the north, Ise in the south, Sumiyoshi in the west (probably Osaka Bay, rather than Shimonoseki or Hakata, the two other major Sumiyoshi shrines), Kehi in the north (Tsuruga Bay), and Sannō (Lake Biwa) at the center. 52 While the Mongol defeat increased the prestige of the ruling house as well as that of the Ise and Hachiman deities, on the political plane they temporarily reinforced the power of the shōgunate. Yet they also caused resentment among the shōgun’s vassals, since there was no land to distribute among them as spoils after the victory. The psychological seism provoked by the Mongol invasions was followed by many aftershocks, which in turn paved the way to real Japanese invasions of the continent, beginning with the attack launched by Toyotomi Hideyoshi against the Korean kingdom (Choseon). This military expedition, known as the Jinshin War (Jinshin waran 壬辰倭乱, 1593–1578), ended in Japanese defeat—although no Korean divine wind intervened.53 Facing external—real and imaginary—threats, imperial Japan developed an imperialist discourse based on the myth of Jingū, the empress who conquered the Korean peninsula with the help of the kami—and without bloodshed, according to some accounts.54 In real life, unfortunately, conquests are less innocent. In one version of the myth, Jingū reveals herself to be a pitiless conqueror. Her true nature is revealed in particular by how she deals with the surrendering Silla prince. According to the Nihon shoki: “She took the prince of Silla prisoner, and going to the seaside, plucked out his kneecaps, and causing him to crawl on the rocks, suddenly slew him and buried him in the sand.” The same barbarism is echoed by the popular account of the “ear tumulus” (mimizuka 耳塚) near Hideyoshi’s mausoleum in Kyoto, which is said to contain the ears of thousands of Koreans, sent to Hideyoshi by his generals.55 Whatever historical truths may underlie this story, the belief itself is significant, and it does not seem incredible when the accounts of the Mongol invasions are replete with stories of beheaded enemies.56 In his Ise daijingū jin’i ki (1666), the Ise priest Deguchi Nobu­ yoshi (1615–1690) claimed that “tens of millions of soldiers of the Great Khan boarded 108,804 warships and came with the purpose of subduing Japan.” But the “wind kami” (kamikaze) of the two Ise shrines “sent all the marauding ships to the bottom of the sea.” He added, perhaps tonguein-cheek: “The Hachiman gudōki [sic] speaks as though the manifestation

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were entirely a miraculous effect of the deity Hachiman, but however that may be, there is no question that the sinking of the ships of the foreign marauders was the result of the power of the wind kami.”57 If on this ledger the largely imaginary invasion of Japan justified the real expansionism of the modern period, that expansionism in turn can only have led to a real invasion of Japan by a great foreign demon named MacArthur. The image of native resistance to foreign aggression is double-edged: the defense of the archipelago rested on a strong central power, represented by the imperial house and its Buddhist allies. Yet in peripheral regions, that power could be perceived as oppressive, and the myths of rebellious earthly gods (Susanoo, Ōkuninushi, Gorō, even Māra) and humans (Taira no Masakado) resurfaced. JINGŪ AND JINGOISM The medieval perception of foreign threats led to a rewriting of the Empress Jingū myth.58 That rewriting took place in a number of texts, most notably in the shorter Hachiman gudōkin and the Rokugō kaizan Ninmon daibosatsu hongi, where Japan is shown successfully resisting several imaginary invasions.59 The most significant of these took place under the reign of the semi-legendary Chūai Tennō 仲哀天皇, and it served as a pretext to Jingū’s conquest of the Korean peninsula. While early sources indicated that Chūai’s untimely death had been caused by a divine curse (presumably from the Sumiyoshi deities, whose oracle he had refused to believe), the story found at the beginning of the Hachiman gudōkin presents him in a favorable light.60 It also illustrates the assimilation of foreigners to demons in its description of how a monstrous eightheaded red demon named Dust Wheel (Jinrin 塵輪) came from a “foreign land” riding on a black cloud and killing people. In the frenzy, Chūai unleashes an arrow that beheads the demon, but he in turn is wounded by a stray arrow. Before dying, he asks his consort Jingū to conquer the land that spawned the monster.61 Chūai’s death on the battleground and other details transform the subsequent Japanese attack on the Korean peninsula into a legitimate act of self-defense against an invading enemy, as was the case with the Mongol invasions. In later representations and in Japan’s cultural memory, the two events, albeit supposedly separated by some ten centuries, collapse into one, setting the mold for Japanese perceptions of foreign powers. The three scrolls of the Shikaumi jinja engi, offered by the priest of Shikaumi Shrine to Toyotomi Hideyoshi on the eve of the Japanese invasion of Chosŏn Korea, represent Empress Jingū’s swift conquest of the three Korean kingdoms. It closely follows Kyūshū legends related to Jingū, adding local colors to the accounts of the Kojiki and Nihon shoki and amalgamating Jingū’s invasion of Korea with the Mongol invasions

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of Japan. In particular, the fact that the Korean soldiers represented in the scroll look very much like Mongol soldiers seems to indicate that this representation reflected actual observations of the latter. The early myth of Jingū presents several variants, and the exfoliation became even more complex with time. I concentrate here on versions that have a bearing on the present topic, and in particular, on those found in the two different works entitled Hachiman gudōkin (compiled at the turn of the fourteenth century).62 Let us first step back to consider the classical myth and its variants in the Kojiki and the Nihon shoki. After the sudden death of her husband the emperor, allegedly caused by a curse from the Sumiyoshi deities, Jingū hastens to raise an army. She first asks the gods’ advice, and they tell her to send her young sister Toyotama-hime to the dragon palace to obtain two tide-controlling jewels that will allow her to subjugate her enemies without having to fight.63 According to the Nihon shoki, the pregnant empress then inserts a stone in her loins to delay childbirth until her return to Japan.64 Beneath a strong wind, the waves carry her ship swiftly to the Korean kingdom of Silla. The Silla king, having witnessed the efficacy of the tide-controlling jewels, quickly surrenders, and the kings of Paekche (Baekje) and Koguryŏ (Goguryeo) soon follow his example (figs. 9.1 and 9.2). Upon returning to Japan, Jingū gives birth to the crown prince Ōmuda, the future Ōjin Tennō, who is believed to be an incarnation of the god Hachiman. Wakabayashi points out the differences between the narratives of the Kojiki and the Nihon shoki, on the one hand, and those of the Hachiman gudōkin and the Shikaumi jinja engi, on the other. The Kojiki and the

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FIGURE 9.1 Empress Jingū’s expedition against the Korean kingdoms. Detail of Hachiman no honji emaki. Edo period. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

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FIGURE 9.2  The surrender of the Korean kings. Detail of Hachiman no honji emaki. Edo period. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

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Nihon shoki do not mention local Kyūshū gods such as Kōra Daimyōjin 高良大明神 and Kashii Daimyōjin, or any of the battle scenes that play a great role in the Shikaumi jinja engi. They make no connection between Ōjin Tennō and Hachiman; and they attribute Chūai Tennō’s death to a divine curse rather than to a foreign attack.65 Consequently, they do not mention the attack of the monstrous demon Jinrin. The medieval sources emphasize the protecting role played by the Sumiyoshi deity (singular), who manifests in the form of a strong old man during Jingū’s sea journey toward the Korean peninsula. When a bull emerges from the sea threatening Jingū’s boat, for example, Sumiyoshi grabs the bull by its horns and throws it back into the water.66 According to most accounts, Jingū performed several types of divination before embarking on her naval expedition. As represented on painted scrolls, the first divination consisted of fishing by the riverside: right away, she caught an ayu (sweetfish), which was considered auspicious. Another, according to the Nihon shoki, consisted in immersing herself and letting her hair float on the surface of the water. The fact that her hair then parted neatly into two halves was interpreted as a portent of victory. In a different strand, the Hachiman gudōkin recounts that two deities intervened, Itsukushima Daimyōjin and Munakata Daimyōjin. Itsukushima Myōjin (Ichikishima-hime) is one of the three Munakata sisters born from Susanoo’s sword. The two deities mentioned are therefore sisters and protectors of navigation. In the Heike monogatari, Jingū herself is presented as their sister.67

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Following her water divination, Jingū consulted the gods again about the way forward. The Sumiyoshi deities advise her to ask the god Azumi no Isora 磯良 to guide her to the dragon palace.68 Jingū appeals to Isora, but the god initially does not respond to her invitation. When she wonders about this, she is told that the god hides on the seabed in constant sorrow; his face has become covered with barnacles as a result, and he is ashamed to be seen.69 The gods then assemble at Kashima in Hitachi province and begin to dance.70 Enticed by the music, Isora eventually joins in. The Shikaumi jinja engi and Hachiman engi scrolls both depict Isora riding a tortoise toward the shore where Jingū and her retinue are waiting—a representation reminiscent of other water deities like Myōken, Suiten 水天, and Urashima Tarō 浦島太郎. The main difference is that he is wearing a courtier’s dress, carrying a tambourine on one shoulder and hiding his face with his sleeve.71 Inebriated and emboldened, Isora now seeks sexual favors from Jingū. She tries to refuse politely, arguing that she is pregnant.72 All at once, the future emperor Ōjin, in other words, Hachiman, intervenes from within his mother’s womb, declaring in essence that the end justifies the means: “Grant him his desire, for it causes me no discomfort. This is not a personal affair; it is for the good of my reign.” Left with no choice, Jingū yields to Isora’s desire, and the god agrees to guide her sister Toyotama-hime to the dragon palace. To obtain the jewels that control the tides, Jingū promises the dragon king that her child will marry the king’s daughter.73 This whole episode is absent from the Hachiman gudōkin, and its conspicuous silence on the affair may reflect the fact that the text was produced at Iwashimizu Hachiman, a shrine close to the imperial family and therefore not one inclined to report any extramarital dalliance on the part of Jingū.74 According to the version in the Rokugō kaizan Ninmon daibosatsu hongi, it is Isora himself who comes to dwell inside Jingū’s womb as Prince Jūzen 十善皇子.75 The prince later marries the nāga princess as promised and obtains from her the two jewels that will ensure Jingū’s swift conquest of the Korean kingdoms. The nāga princess further gives birth to four children (one male and three female) who reveal their divine nature at Usa Hachiman Shrine and are worshiped as the deities of the Four Sanctuaries.76 Sumiyoshi

The Jingū myth is intimately linked to the gods Hachiman (Ōjin Tennō) and Sumiyoshi.77 Regarding the latter, the sources hesitate as to whether the name Sumiyoshi refers to an individual or to a triad. In the Nihon shoki, Jingū is possessed by three Suminoe (Sumiyoshi) deities, who deliver the fateful oracle that will cause Chūai Tennō’s death. From a narrative standpoint, however, it often is more convenient to treat Sumiyoshi as an individual. In painted scrolls, he is depicted as a powerful old man,

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FIGURE 9.3 Sumiyoshi repels a demonic bull. Detail of Hachiman no honji emaki. Edo period. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

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and some textual sources allude to his sexual intercourse with Jingū. In the Sumiyoshi taisha jindaiki, for instance, we read: “That night the emperor fell ill and died. Then the empress and the Great God [Sumiyoshi] had a sacred doing”—an expression that implies a sexual encounter.78 Sexual possession and spirit possession are, after all, closely related. Mishina Shōei concludes from this passage that Sumiyoshi is the real father of the future Ōjin Tennō (Hachiman).79 The close relationship between Jingū and Sumiyoshi is further reflected in the fact that, just as she was included as queen mother among the three deities of Usa Hachiman Shrine, she was added to the three Sumiyoshi deities at the Sumiyoshi Shrine in Naniwa (present-day Osaka). The Hachiman no honji emaki gives a rather different account. The Sumiyoshi god appears to Empress Jingū in the form of a white-haired old man as she is on her way to Kyūshū and offers to help her in her conquest of the Korean kingdoms. He reveals his supernatural powers by piercing with an arrow a boulder that blocks the way, and throwing back into the sea a huge bull (no fewer than 30 meters in size) that threatens Jingū’s boat (fig. 9.3). He tells her she must enlist the god Isora’s help to obtain the tide-controlling jewels, and he performs a dance to lure Isora out of hiding (fig. 9.4). Isora then materializes on a dragon boat bearing the two jewels to them (fig. 9.5). The Sumiyoshi cult developed along three main axes of worship: as a sea god and protector of navigation, as a god of poetry popular among courtiers, and as a god of battles (ikusagami) favored by warriors, particularly at the time of the Mongol invasions. The Kojiki and Nihon shoki trace his origins to the three Suminoe / Sumiyoshi deities born from Izanagi’s ablution. The names of these deities (Sokotsutsu-no-o

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FIGURE 9.4 (Above) Sumiyoshi’s dance for Isora. Detail of Hachiman no honji emaki. Edo period. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Bibliothèque Nationale de France. FIGURES 9.5  (Left) Isora brings the tide-controlling jewels. Detail of Hachiman no honji emaki. Edo period. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

底筒男, Nakatsutsu-no-o 中筒男, and Uwatsutsu-no-o 表筒男) are said to refer to the three depths of water (bottom, middle, and surface) or the height of three stars (perhaps those of Orion’s shield) above the sea.80 Very early on, however, these three gods seem to have fused into one. They were eventually integrated into the official pantheon, and their shrines figure prominently in the list of the twenty-two great shrines.81 The Suminoe / Sumiyoshi triad and the individual Sumiyoshi Daimyōjin were originally worshiped by immigrant Korean groups. Shrine records state that Sumiyoshi Daimyōjin’s daughter was Akaru-hime 阿加流比売,

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who is explicitly depicted as a deity from Silla.82 According to Michael Como, Yamato rulers, even as they extended their control over Kyūshū, felt vulnerable to the wrath of deities such as Sumiyoshi Daijin, Ame no Hiboko, and Akaru-hime.83 Como points out that “the very same deities who were said to have granted Yamato rulers dominion over Silla were closely associated with Silla immigrant groups, Silla immigrant deities and rituals of state associated with the arrival of envoys from Silla.”84 These connections with the Korean peninsula explain why the Sumiyoshi Shrine in Naniwa (Osaka) became known as Shiragi-dera (Silla temple) at the end of the eighth century.85 The old man form in which Sumiyoshi appeared was shared with other deities worshiped by Korean immigrants—in particular, those of the Hata clan: Inari, Matarajin, and Shirahige Myōjin. In medieval Japan, Sumiyoshi became the patron god of poetry. His effect on the domain of waka poetry was largely a gentrification, yet it also had certain xenophobic accents. We saw earlier, in the play Hakurakuten 白楽天, how the Nō tradition recorded his aggressiveness toward Chinese poetry and its representative, Bai Juyi.86 Above all, his poetic function was linked to his nature as an oracular god. Apart from the fateful oracle delivered to Chūai Tennō, he was known for the oracle he gave to the retired emperor Go-Shirakawa in which he described the types of demons that live in Japan and intervene in its history.87 As a sea god, Sumiyoshi was associated with dragons and nāgas. According to the Jindai no maki hiketsu, he was a manifestation of the dragon king Sāgara, who abandoned his reptilian body after hearing a sermon of the Buddha Śākyamuni.88 One source depicted Sumiyoshi in the act of flying over the provinces of Yamato and Kawachi on a dragon—an image that recalls the medieval representations of Myōken as Sonjōō 尊 星王, the “king of worthy stars.” By all accounts, it was owing to Sumiyoshi (and to Isora) that Jingū was able to obtain the two tide-controlling jewels from the dragon king, and his symbol or divine body (shintai) was accordingly said to be a jewel. As a god of battles, Sumiyoshi is usually paired with Hachiman and with Takeminakata, a son of Ōkuninushi, who withdrew to Suwa after his defeat by the heavenly gods and was worshiped there as Suwa Daimyōjin. On Jingū’s expedition to Korea, the deity protecting the expedition was Sumiyoshi’s aramitama or violent spirit, while his nigimitama or benign spirit protected Jingū herself. Sumiyoshi is regarded as facing toward the west, not because of a desire to be reborn in Amida’s Pure Land, but because that is the direction from which—at least in western Japan—aggressors are likely to come. In eastern Japan, danger came from the north and the northeast, the so-called demon gate or kimon 鬼門. Sumiyoshi also protected those directions, as shown by the fact that he helped the court to defeat the rebellion of Taira no Masakado in 940.

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During the Muromachi period, Sumiyoshi experienced an apotheosis of sorts in the form of Shukujin 宿神—a primordial god of destiny. This image found its full expression in the Meishuku shū, a work that Zenchiku is said to have written after receiving from Sumiyoshi the revelation that “Okina is Shukujin.” In that work, Okina takes the form of a primordial god and Sumiyoshi becomes his first and foremost manifestation—owing to his representation as an old man (okina 翁), the very prototype of the jinushi or landowner deity. The okina role (and mask) became one of the standard features of Nō drama, but according to Zenchiku, the okina mask only represents one side of this Janus-faced god, the other side being represented by a demon mask.89 Sumiyoshi’s significant role in the conquest of the Korean peninsula was reinterpreted symbolically as a victory over the epidemics coming from that land. In the Edo period, he thus became, together with Hachiman, a protector against smallpox. It was also these two gods that helped Raikō to kill Shuten Dōji, who was probably an epidemic demon. But Sumiyoshi’s role as an anti-smallpox deity suggests that he was originally himself a pestilence god. His resemblance to the gods of obstacles Matarajin, Sekizan Myōjin, and Shinra Myōjin points in the same direction. Just as Shinra Myōjin appeared to Ennin and Enchin, Sumiyoshi and Hachiman appeared to Ennin and Enni Ben’en on their trip back from China, Sumiyoshi in the form of an old man, Hachiman as a woman.90 The evolution of the Sumiyoshi and Hachiman cults are a prime illustration of the process by which ambivalent local Kyūshū deities worshiped by immigrant clans like the Hata became linked to the imperial lineage and associated with the protection of Japanese land from demonic aggression—whether biological or military. Yet the contribution of the Hata to imperial ideology was eventually erased from the official records, allowing Sumiyoshi and Hachiman to lose their local identities as jinushi and become universal gods, like Amaterasu. The Korean ancestry of Jingū—a descendent of the Silla prince Ame no Hiboko—was also conveniently erased as she became permanently associated with anti-Korean xenophobia.91 Hachiman

Hachiman was originally a local Kyūshū deity that was worshiped at the Usa Shrine and several nearby locations, including on the Kunisaki peninsula and Mount Hiko. His name was interpreted as Yahata (Eight Banners) because, or so we are told, his mother transformed into an eightfoot altar banner after giving birth to eight children.92 The Hachiman cult first developed during the seventh and eighth centuries in response to the fear experienced by the court in the face of threatening Chikuzen (Kyūshū) deities. Taken up by the court, the cult’s center of gravity moved to Iwashimizu Shrine in Kyoto after a Daianji 大安寺 monk claimed that

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Hachiman had appeared to him in a dream claiming to be the protector of the emperor. At the time of the Dōkyō incident, when the supposedly demonic priest Dōkyō 道鏡 (700–772) attempted to usurp the throne, it was an oracle from the Usa Hachiman Shrine that brought his demise. From that time on, Hachiman became a powerful ally of the ruling house and Amaterasu’s principal partner in official mythological discourse. Later, his cult extended to Tsurugaoka Shrine in Kamakura, and there was a radical upsurge in his prestige during the Mongol invasions, which were perceived as demonic aggressions. Exorcisms were performed in all the Hachiman shrines, particularly at Tsurugaoka, where the Ritsu priest Eizon 叡尊 (1201–1290), leading an assembly of some five hundred monks, performed a week-long ritual that summoned the most fearsome protecting deities—Fudō and Aizen, in particular. Tradition has it that at the end of the week an Aizen statue shot a demonifuge arrow to the west, the direction from which the aggressors had come. Among the people, Hachiman came to be perceived as a god of war. Although he had played a relatively passive role during the Korean expedition—being still in utero—his military prowess now came to the forefront, and he is credited with destroying the Mongol armada and its Japanese allies, the Hayato 隼人 rebels: Although the Mongol fleet numbered more than ten thousand ships, both the foreign brigands and the Hayato tribes were crushed to pieces and perished in no time as Hachiman brandished the Heaven-granted halberd throughout the four quarters, using his supernatural powers, the protection granted him by the buddhas and divinities, and the protection given him by his mother’s supreme devotion. The ships of the seven demons were seen adrift in the chaotic waves. When the pirate ships capsized, each and every one of the foreign enemies perished.93

Transcending his local origins, Hachiman joined Amaterasu and the Inari deity as one of the great gods of Japan.94 He was sometimes called the “sovereign within the womb” because the future Ōjin Tennō had received the prediction of his bright future from the three Sumiyoshi deities when he was not yet born. Like Ninigi, he was both a child god and a ruler, and he was worshiped together with Jingū, the Saintly Mother. But who was his father? The standard version of the myth claims that Jingū was already pregnant when she obtained the oracle ordering the conquest of the Korean peninsula. Later versions imply that Ōjin’s real father was a god, either Isora or Sumiyoshi. The Rokugō kaizan Ninmon daibosatsu hongi focuses on Hachiman’s second incarnation as a Chinese prince born some four centuries after his first incarnation as Ōjin Tennō, at the time of the Liang dynasty (502–557)

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in China and of Kinmei Tennō (r. 539–571) in Japan. In this legend, Hachiman is said to have come to Japan with his mother at the age of four.95 Once grown up, he performed religious practices on the Kunisaki peninsula and on Mount Hiko (fig. 9.6). Upon reaching awakening, he was ordained, late in life, under the religious name of Ninmon. He then taught four disciples and died at the canonic age of 232 (sic). Ninmon’s legend contains several striking features. First, there is the fact that his mother is of noble Chinese origin. Ninmon later returns to China and becomes the disciple of a certain Hokushin 北辰 (Northern Asterism, another name of Myōken, the pole star deity).96 Hokushin sends him back to Japan, telling him to return only when he has obtained the wish-fulfilling jewel. Back in Kyūshū, Ninmon becomes a disciple of the holy man Hōren 法蓮, who has received such a jewel from a dragon. Ninmon eventually steals the jewel from him. When Hōren uses his magical power to try to get it back, Ninmon reveals his true nature and declares that he needs that jewel to save living beings. Hōren begrudgingly relinquishes his cherished possession, and Ninmon returns to China after vowing to continue protecting Japan from Mongol aggressors.97 Having reached awakening, he is filled with compassion and expresses regret for having taken so many lives in his fight against the Mongol invaders: In ancient times, when a military expedition was made to Sankan [the three Korean kingdoms], my form in a previous existence threw the two pearls controlling the tides into the sea. These pearls smashed seashells and conches to pieces and burned innumerable fish to death. At the same time a horde of barbarians also perished. Now it seems that each and everyone of the Hayato tribes of Ōsumi and Hyūga drowned in the ocean. In order to thwart the Mongol invasion, Divinities of Heaven and Earth assembled and built an island named Mukojima in the middle of the sea off Ōsumi province. This island is made of seashells. Countless fish also lost their lives.98

It is to amend for all these deaths that Ninmon institutes the rite of releasing living beings (hōjō-e) at Usa Shrine.99 He eventually enters samādhi in a cave on Mount Maki, “never to emerge again”—in other words, he

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FIGURE 9.6 Hachiman’s manifestation as a monk. Heian period, ca. 899–999. Wood with traces of white pigment. Art Institute of Chicago.

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FIGURE 9.7  Suiten. Edo period. Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. Petzold Collection, Harvard-Yenching Library.

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is mummified, like Kūkai on Mount Kōya. He is said to have reached the Pure Land without entering nirvāṇa.100 Apart from the role played in this biography by the wish-fulfilling jewel, another important element is the reference to the lord of the pole star.101 As is well known, this Daoist deity was worshiped in Japan as the bodhisattva Myōken 妙見菩薩 (although there is no record of his conversion and awakening).102 Myōken’s cult, imported from Korea, initially developed in Kyūshū and western Honshū before spreading to the rest of Japan. It was closely linked to the Hachiman cult, to the point that the two deities sometimes merged into one. In some sources, Hachiman has Myōken as his honji, while conversely Myōken was invited to the Tsurugaoka Hachiman Shrine in Kamakura on the basis of an oracle from Hachiman. The eight star deities of Daishōgun Hachi Shrine 大将軍 八神社 in Kyoto (representing Myōken and the seven stars of the Northern Dipper) were in turn invited to Tsurugaoka. Myōken was said to have landed on the Japanese shore on the back of a tortoise, like the god Isora. He was also worshiped in Kyūshū as a water deity whose symbol is formed by an intertwined snake and tortoise. As such, he is iconographically very close to Suiten (Skt. Varuṇa), one of the directional devas of esoteric Buddhism (fig. 9.7). He was also linked to the dragons / nāgas, and in the Jimon branch of the Tendai school, he was often represented riding a dragon (fig. 9.8). Like Myōken and the Sumiyoshi god, Hachiman is sometimes depicted as an astral deity. In the imperial tradition, he was also linked to the sun, judging from his famous representation as a monk with a solar disk above his head.103 This may also explain the link between Hachiman and Aizen, the red (solar) wisdom king identified with Amaterasu. Significantly, Ninmon sent one of his disciples named Myōken to offer to the emperor a painting of Fudō Myōō he had drawn, together with selected scriptures.104 The fact that this human Myōken was an emanation of Hachiman is revealed by an event that encapsulates the Mongol invasion and its demonic nature: on his way to the capital, Myōken sees the corpse of the great Mongol general floating on the waves. Through the power of his incantations, he draws it to the shore and discovers that it has

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FIGURE 9.8 Suiten. Zuzō shō, TZ 3: 201, fig. 115.

seven heads (perhaps an allusion to the seven stars). He then beheads it, thereby putting an end to the Mongol episode.105 The affinities (or identity) between Myōken and Hachiman reveal another significant point that the imperial tradition glossed over, although it is implied in the official definition of Hachiman as a god of war: namely, that Hachiman—like Sumiyoshi—was initially an irascible deity, prone to cursing. This god, who in the Nakatomi harae kunge is defined by contrast with the araburu kami, turns out to have affinities with the wild deities and with Kōjin himself.106 Yet, in the Rokugō Ninmon daibosatsu hongi, Hachiman himself manifests as an eight-headed, old blacksmith (the text plays on the kaji homonyms meaning “smith” 鍛治 and “empowerment” 加持) who causes the death of several people. It is only when an elder suspects his true identity that he reveals himself, taking first the form of a falcon, then that of a dove, and eventually that of a youth who vows to protect the Dharma. The story suggests that the elder has domesticated his violent energy. His eight heads were usually interpreted doctrinally in light of the eight paths of Buddhism, but they also evoke other images, like those of the demonic Korean general mentioned above, or Yamata no Orochi, or again Kōjin.

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FIGURE 9.9 Hachiman’s manifestation as a golden falcon. Detail of Hachiman no honji emaki. Edo period. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

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In the Hachiman no honji emaki, Ōjin Tennō (Hachiman) withdraws to a mountain and becomes a monk. Obtaining awakening, he manifests in the form of three stones at the top of the mountain. Because the stones emit a strange light, Nintoku Tennō sends a messenger to investigate the matter. Hachiman then manifests in the form of a golden falcon (fig. 9.9). Later, eight banners descend from the sky—hence his name, Yahata, read Hachiman—as a portent. Hachiman also appears in the form of an old blacksmith (fig. 9.10). When the elder Ōga no Higi, suspecting that he is no ordinary being, asks him to reveal his true nature, he manifests as a three-year-old child on bamboo leaves (fig. 9.11). The handscroll ends with the origin stories of various shrines dedicated to Hachiman. Another feature linking Hachiman to Kōjin and the stove god is his function as a fire god. In the Rokugō kaizan Ninmon bosatsu hongi, Hachiman manifests in the form of three mysterious stones facing east to protect the imperial capital.107 In the Usa Hachiman engi 宇佐八幡縁起,

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FIGURE 9.10 Hachiman’s manifestation as a blacksmith. Detail of Hachiman no honji emaki. Edo period. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

FIGURE 9.11 Hachiman’s manifestation as a child. Detail of Hachiman no honji emaki. Edo period. Handscroll, ink and color on paper. Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

the three stones of Hachiman are said to represent the stove, but also the Three Regalia. Mount Hōman 宝満山 (in Dazaifu)—a cultic center of Hachiman in northern Kyūshū that became part of a Shugendō network centered on Mount Hiko—is also known as Stove Mountain (Kamado-­ yama 竈山). In one origin story, that name is said to have originated with the three vertical rocks near its summit that served as a stand for the cauldron used to boil water for the first bath of the newborn god.108

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Taiso Gongen

Toward the end of the Kamakura period, another myth related to the Mongol invasions developed on Mount Wakasugi 若杉山 in northern Kyūshū. Mount Wakasugi is part of a mountain range whose southern extension reaches to Mount Hōman. Its origin stories present two different accounts of the identity of its main deity, Taiso Gongen 太祖権現 (Great Ancestor): in the Chikuzen Kasuya-gun Wakasugi-yama Taiso jinja engi (Taiso jinja engi for short), Taiso Gongen is identified with the primordial god Izanagi; in the Chiku no saki no kuni Kasuya-gun Taiso daigongen gūki 筑 之前州粕屋郡太祖大権現宮記, he is identified with the Indian esoteric Buddhist master Zenmui 善無畏 (Skt. Śubhakarasiṃha), who allegedly crossed over from China in 728. The latter tradition is attributed to Kūkai, who climbed the mountain in 808 after returning from China and was the first to worship Śubhakarasiṃha as its patriarchal deity. At the time of the Mongol invasion, this foreign master allied himself with the protecting god of Japan, Hachiman, and in one version of the myth transformed into the god Izanagi under the name of Taiso Gongen. This narrative shows how intertwined the notions of “inside” and “outside,” “native” and foreign,” could become at times.109 According to the Taiso jinja engi, Jingū came to the mountain to ask for Izanagi’s protection before leaving for the Korean peninsula, and she inserted a branch of cryptomeria (sugi 杉) in the sleeve of her armor. Upon returning victorious, she planted that branch in the precinct of Kashii Shrine in Hakata, and the mountain took the name of Wake-sugi 分杉 or “mountain of the divided sugi,” which later became Wakasugi. Jingū built on its summit a shrine facing west to ward off foreign aggressors. Again, we read in the Munakata daibosatsu go-engi: “Taiso Gongen came from China in the fifth year of the Jinki era [728]. He first arrived in Nogita 野北浦 Bay in Ito-gun 怡土郡 and entered Kashii Shrine right away. At that time, Kōra Tamatare 高良玉垂 delivered the following oracle to the great bodhisattva Shōmo (Holy Mother, i.e., Jingū): “This Taiso Gongen is the ancestor (sofu) of all the deities of the roughly three thousand six hundred shrines of Japan. He is, in particular, the ancestor of the ninth generation in the lineage of the Holy Mother and of Hachiman, and he is their master.” In an oracle, Taiso Gongen then said: “I am Ōjō-gokuraku Bosatsu 往生極楽菩薩 (the Bodhisattva of Rebirth into the Pure Land), who founded the Shingon school, and my original ground (honji) is the Shingon patriarch [Zenmui]. Appearing as a provisional manifestation (gongen) of the great deity, I took the firm decision to spread the Buddhist teaching among all beings and to make it right.”110 In the Hachiman Usa-gū gotakusen shū, Taiso Gongen is further identified with the cosmic buddha Vairocana, whose disciples are the deities of the three great shrines of northern Kyūshū (Usa-gū 宇佐宮, Daibu-gū 大分宮 (in Ōita), and Hakozaki-gū 筥崎宮), which are in turn

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identified with the three buddhas Shaka (Śākyamuni), Tahō 多宝 (Prabhūtaratna), and Amida (Amitābha).111 In 1128, the administrator (bettō) of Iwashimizu Hachiman took control of the Mirokuji of Usa Hachiman, and in 1193, of Kashii Shrine. All Kyūshū shrines passed under the control of Iwashimizu Hachiman Shrine. Thus, the deity of Kamado-yama was renamed Great Bodhisattva Hachiman and linked to the imperial lineage through Jingū Kōgō (her younger sister) and Ōjin Tennō (Hachiman).112 The development of Shugendō in Kyūshū brought a shift from sea cults (centered on shrines on the shoreline and islands, like Kashii and Munakata) to mountain cults (Mount Hōman, Mount Wakasugi).113 Even the location of the dragon palace was in some cases moved from the sea to the mountains—to the bottom of lakes and ponds or behind waterfalls. PALACES UNDER THE SEA The image of the dragon king’s palace as an alien world, and of its king as ruler of the ocean, has played a central role in the East Asian imaginary—and particularly in Japan, with tales such as that of Urashima Tarō. The dragon palace, which merged with the Buddhist nāga palace, was a utopian world of immortals, a place of rebirth, a repository of Buddhist scriptures and jewels. The image first appears in the Kojiki and the Nihon shoki. In the episode known as “Umisachi Yamasachi,” Hikohohodemi (alias Yamasachi-hiko 山幸彦 or “luck of the mountain”) has borrowed the hook of his brother Hikohohoderi (Umisachi-hiko 海幸彦, “luck of the sea”) to go fishing, and he has lost it. Hooks were more important then, and the angry brother threatens Hikohohodemi. Not knowing what to do, Hikohohodemi wanders on the seashore when he meets an old man (actually a sea god) named Shiotsuchi no Kami 塩椎神, who guides him to the palace of the sea king to inquire about his hook. There Hikohohodemi meets the king’s daughter Toyotama-hime and eventually marries her.114 After spending three years in the palace, he feels nostalgic and wants to return home. As a parting gift, the king gives him two jewels that control the ebb and flow of tides—called kanju 干珠 and manju 満珠—the same jewels later obtained by Jingū. These jewels allow him to defeat his brother and to become the king.115 All could have ended well if Hikohohodemi’s curiosity had not incited him to observe the real nature of his wife while she was giving birth. Ashamed of her reptilian shape, she returned to her father’s palace. The son born from that union, Ugayafukiaezu, became the father of the first emperor, Jinmū Tennō. In the medieval period, the myth of Hikohohodemi further developed in illustrated scrolls such as the Hikohohodemi no Mikoto emaki 彦火 々出見尊絵巻, the Tawara Tōda emaki 俵藤太絵巻, and the Urashima Myōjin engi emaki 浦嶋明神縁起絵巻.116 It eventually merged in Japanese folklore with that of Urashima Tarō 浦島太郎 (known in earlier

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sources as Urashima[no]ko 浦島之子).117 Urashimako’s story ends tragically when curiosity leads him to disregard the injunction of the sea king not to open the mysterious box that he received as a parting gift.118 The Hikohohodemi no Mikoto emaki is a departure from classical mythology in the sense that it is not concerned with the imperial mythical narrative but purports to present the origin story of Wakasa Shrine, and it contains probably the earliest description of the dragon palace. The Tawara Tōda emaki 俵藤太絵巻 describes how, toward the end of the Heian period, the general Fujiwara no Hidesato was invited to the dragon king’s palace after rescuing the dragon snake of Lake Biwa from the centipede-like deity of Mount Mikami.119 As a reward, he received a temple bell that he donated to Miidera. Likewise, the Urashima Myōjin emaki relates the origin story of Urashima Shrine in Tanba province, and it significantly differs from the standard Urashima Tarō legend. The sea god has now become a nāga king, and his two daughters are the sisters of the nāga princess of the Lotus Sūtra and other water deities like Benzaiten.120 The Buddhist nāga or dragon palace figures prominently in the medieval rewriting of classical mythology. It shares many common features with the palace of the sea king but also shows significant differences.121 With the Chinese translation of nāga as long 龍 (dragon), the nāga inherited the rich connotations of the dragon, a divine being related to water but also to the earth. Dragons were known to bring rain and therefore were worshiped as agricultural deities.122 While the palace of the sea king or dragon king was the equivalent of Penglai (J. Hōrai), the Daoist island of the immortals, the nāgas were still subject to karma, that is, to suffering the unceasing cycle of life and death. Furthermore, they were not always friendly to humans and had the power to cause floods (therefore epidemics) and earthquakes. The dragon palace, as a result, became more deeply ambivalent than the sea god’s palace. Among the sea king’s many treasures were jewels, in particular the two tide-controlling jewels that he gave first to Hikohohodemi, then to Jingū Kōgō. In Buddhist lore, the nāga palace was mainly a repository for the Buddha’s relics, Buddhist scriptures, and wish-fulfilling jewels (cintāmaṇi). Indeed, the belief in the nāga palace developed together with the cult of the Buddha’s relics, which were said to have “entered the sea and become wish-fulfilling jewels.”123 Yet the most valuable treasures of the dragon king were his daughters, some of whom he gave in marriage to visitors from the terrestrial world. The same is true of the nāga king Sāgara, who counted among his daughters not only the Itsukushima deity, but also the eight-year-old nāga princess of the Lotus Sūtra.124 We recall, for instance, how he gave his third daughter to the pestilence god Gozu Tennō.125 Despite its magnificence, the nāga palace was not a place devoid of suffering, as suggested by Kenreimon-in’s dream in the Heike

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monogatari.126 Yet it was a repository of the Dharma as well as a locus of fundamental ignorance (mumyō 無明). According to the nondual theory of hongaku, ignorance is the ultimate source of awakening. Therefore, the nāga realm did not simply belong to one of the six paths of rebirth (rokudō 六道): it became, as it were, the source and fountainhead of the entire Buddhist cosmos. The nāga palace also played an important role in the promotion of “local” knowledge and the elevation of Japan to the status of a sacred Buddhist land, as well as the land of the gods (shinkoku 神国). To this end, it came to be perceived as a kind of underworld that was not located exclusively in (or below) India but existed in (or below) Japan as well. It was no longer necessary to undertake a long journey to India to bring back Buddhist scriptures or relics of the Buddha: the dragon palace could be reached from the bottom of any waterfall or any of the numerous “dragon holes” (ryūketsu 龍穴) scattered all over Japan. Like the grotto-heavens that led to the Daoist empyrean, the dragon holes were interconnected, producing a vast underground network traversing the whole of Japan.127 Some Japanese islands, like Itsukushima, Chikubushima, and Enoshima, were perceived as earthly versions of the nāga palace and as abodes or “pure lands” of the dragon goddess Benzaiten. JAPAN AS PENGLAI The image of the nāga palace merged with that of Penglai (J. Hōrai), the island of the immortals. The connection between them appears in a number of texts and legends. Benzaiten, for instance, is said to dwell both in the nāga palace and in Penglai. A late text, the Jakushōdō kokkyōshū quotes the passage of the Nihongi (i.e., Nihon shoki) about Urashimako’s visit to Penglai (the Sino-Japanese characters are read here tokoyo no kuni) in the capital of the sea god. And the author comments: “This was probably the nāga palace.”128 In the medieval period, the discourse about Penglai was often tied to attempts to elevate the status of the archipelago by connecting Japan to famous foreign or mythical places.129 Two principal methods were deployed to that end: first, by telling how the famous places and people of India and China had come (by sea or by air) to Japan; or second, by linking Japan to India and the nāga palace.130 As Japan became established as the land of the gods (shinkoku), its geography was redefined in terms drawn from Buddhist cosmology. Thus, Japan’s sacred mountains, like Mount Hiei or Kinpusen, were identified with the Vulture Peak, which had allegedly come (pars or toto) through the air from India to be renamed Eagle Peak in becoming Śākyamuni’s Pure Land—probably because of the negative associations of vultures as symbols of death.131

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Another significant element was presented by Gakuenji, the Buddhist temple linked during the medieval period to Izumo Taisha and its deity, Susanoo: “Our temple was originally the northwestern corner of Vulture Peak in western India, which broke off and floated over the sea all the way here, where the god Susanoo set it firmly in place. For this reason, its mountain name is Furōzan (Floating Mountain). Then, the Great Shrine [of Izumo] was built at its feet and a kami altar on its peak, as the place where all kami would gather. Thus the area became a sacred place where buddhas and kami appear.”132 According to the Jinteki mondō 塵 滴問答, Japan as a whole was originally the northeastern corner of Vulture (Eagle) Peak, a mountain called Mitsudara (密陀羅). After a major earthquake, it broke off and fell into the sea. Then the two gods Izanagi and Izanami pulled the mountain to its current location.133 In the Heike monogatari, when the warrior Taira no Tsunemasa discovers the island of Chikubushima, Benzaiten’s abode in Lake Biwa, he exclaims: “Such must have been the appearance of Mount Hōrai, the goal never reached by the young men and women sent by [the Chinese emperors] Shi Huangdi and Wudi in search of the elixir of immortality!”134 As noted above, Atsuta Shrine was also identified with Penglai. This shrine, today located inland in the suburbs of Nagoya, was once located by the seashore. The Atsuta-gū hishaku kenmon states that the shrine lies on Penglai Island, built atop a large golden turtle.135 The same idea is found in the Keiran shūyōshū, which also says that Yang Guifei 楊貴妃 (719–756), the concubine of the Chinese emperor Xuanzong, came to that shrine and eventually became its deity.136 The theme was further developed in documents from the Sengoku period (1467–1600). According to the Utaishō 謡抄 (late 16th cent.), to prevent Xuanzong from invading Japan, the Atsuta deity manifested as a beautiful woman—Yang Guifei— and stole his heart; having accomplished her mission, she returned to Japan.137 Furthermore, the Chōgonka zushō 長恨歌図抄 (1677) states that the god of Sumiyoshi as well manifested as the rebel general An Lushan 安祿山 (703–757) to bring about Xuanzong’s demise.138 For all the attempts at identifying Japan with the island of the immortals, medieval Japanese lived in constant fear of the swift death brought by continental epidemics and were preoccupied with foreign demons— whose invasions were relatively rare—more than with the native demons that divided and devastated their land in bloody civil wars. The tokoyo

The Buddhist and Daoist beliefs in the nāga palace and in Penglai, respectively, also overlapped with the Japanese belief in the tokoyo, a mysterious “other world” located beyond the sea.139 The water that arrived in the first wave of the New Year, the tokoyo wave (tokoyo-nami 常世波), was deemed the “first water,” symbolizing youth and renewal. In certain parts

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of Japan, such as Okinawa and Suruga Bay, the first three stones found on the seashore or a river bank at that time were called tokoyo stones because they were believed to have come riding the tokoyo wave, and they were selected for building a new stove. In some cases, they were also believed to have come from the nāga palace and were called ebisu, after the name of an important tokoyo deity. The otherworldly tokoyo is closely related to the marebito (稀人 or 賓) or visiting deity, a term coined by Orikuchi Shinobu (1887–1953), who saw in these visitors from the beyond one of the characteristic figures of Japanese religion.140 Orikuchi writes: “From beyond the sea they visited the ancient villages from time to time; those spirit entities (reibutsu) brought good fortune to the lives of the villagers and then returned from whence they came.”141 The Nihon shoki mentions a popular cult devoted to the “god of tokoyo” that suddenly took off in the seventh century. This god was worshiped in the form of an insect resembling a silkworm. Hata no Kōkatsu 秦河勝, who himself would come to be worshiped as a Kōjin deity much later, put an end to the cult. As one song of the time put it: Uzumasa [Kōkatsu] Has executed the god of the everlasting world [tokoyo] Who we were told Was the very god of gods.142

Some places in the Japanese archipelago were identified with the tokoyo, or at least were perceived as having a privileged relation to it. The coast of Shima near Ise, for instance, was described as a sacred, wild, and dangerous promontory facing the tokoyo. According to the Nihon shoki, the goddess Amaterasu instructed her priestess Yamato-hime: “The province of Ise, in the land whither repair the waves of the eternal world [tokoyo], the successive waves. It is a secluded and pleasant land. In this land I wish to dwell.”143 SUKUNAHIKONA The first mention of a tokoyo deity in the Kojiki and the Nihon shoki is of Sukunahikona 少彦名, the dwarf god credited, together with Ōkuninushi (Ōnamuchi), with creating the land (fig. 9.12).144 According to the version of the story in the Nihon shoki, Ōnamuchi was enjoying food and drink by the sea on a beach in Obama (Izumo province) when he heard a voice rising above the waves. “After a while a dwarf appeared, who had made a boat of the rind of a kagami [fruit] and clothing of the feathers of a wren. He came floating towards him on the tide, and Ōnamuchi no Mikoto taking him up, placed him on the palm of his hand. He was playing with him, when the dwarf leaped up, and bit him on the cheek.”145 Despite

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FIGURE 9.12 Sukunahikona and Ōkuninushi. Hanging scroll, ink on paper. Petzold Collection, Harvard-Yenching Library.

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this, Ōkuninushi and Sukunahikona, according to the standard version of the narrative, “with united strength and one heart, constructed the subcelestial world.” This sentence is a little puzzling since that world already had to have been in existence for Ōkuninushi to be standing on one of its beaches. At any rate, the two companions are depicted as civilizing deities: “Then, for the sake of the visible race of man as well as for beasts, they determined the method of healing diseases. They also, in order to do away with the calamities of birds, beasts, and creeping things”—which they had just created—“established means for their prevention and control.”146 Yet when Sukunahikona decides to return to the tokoyo before their demiurgic work is completed, Ōkuninushi declares that he will rule this new world alone. Then an unnamed spirit appears from the sea and seems to criticize him, saying that without his help Ōkuninushi’s achievement would never have been possible. This spirit requires that he be enshrined on Mount Mimuro (Miwa).147 While the spirit is usually not identified with Sukunahikona, the parallelism between the two suggests that we are witnessing a return of the dwarf god. With (the unnamed) Sukunahikona’s moving to Miwa, his image undergoes a transformation, and he becomes, as it were, the benign spirit (nigimitama) of Ōkuninushi, now worshiped as the territorial deity of Mont Mimuro, that is, Miwa.148 In light of this, we may interpret differently the episode in which Empress Jingū tried to raise troops in northern Kyūshū—with little success at first—for her Korean expedition: “The various provinces were ordered to collect ships and to practise the use of weapons. But an army could not be assembled. The empress said: ‘This is surely the will of a god.’ So she erected the shrine of Ōmiwa, and offered there a sword and a spear. Then the troops assembled freely.”149 While Sukunahikona is not explicitly named in this account, the fact that Jingū, after her victory, thanks him profusely for his blessings suggests that she felt he had protected her. She refers to the dwarf god as the prince of liquors, He that dwells in the Eternal Land [tokoyo] Firm as a rock— The august god Sukuna, With words of plenteous blessings . . .”150

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Significantly, not a word is said of the other deities that initially protected her during her journey across the Japan Sea, yet obstructed her path on the Inland Sea when she returned to face a court rebellion. At any rate, based on these accounts, and in spite (or because) of his elusive nature, Sukunahikona apparently became popular as a tokoyo deity, a god of medicine and a “prince of liquors,” specifically rice wine. ISORA RETURNS Azumi no Isora was the ancestor of the Azumi clan. Shika-no-umi (Shikaumi), the clan’s ancestral shrine, was and still is located on Shika­ noshima (Deer Island), a small island in Hakata Bay (Fukuoka) that today is connected to the coastal headlands by a narrow causeway.151 The Azumi formed a major seafaring clan spread over northern Kyūshū, from which it traded with the continent. The clan’s emblem was the deer, and they named many of their locations after it (e.g., Kagoshima and Kashima). Isora was said to be the wakamiya or young prince of Kasuga Shrine, whose symbol is the deer. Visitors to Shika-no-umi Shrine today can see at its entrance a rather ugly cement storehouse containing thousands of deer antlers.152 The prevalent deer symbolism in this area recalls the mysterious deer head placed atop the headgear of Myōken, the pole star deity who was linked to Hachiman, in the Myōken mandala. The monk Taichū, in his Ryūkyū shintōki, has the following entry on Isora (Kashima Myōjin): The Myōjin of Kashima was originally the kami Takemikazuchi. He has a human face and a snake’s body. He dwells at the ocean bottom in Kashima Bay in Jōshū [Hitachi province]. Because his sleep lasts ten days, oysters grow on his face, just like on the shore (iso); hence his name, Isora. When Empress Jingū launched her expedition against the three Korean kingdoms, he came to Kyūshū riding a nine-tailed tortoise. [Obeying] the imperial order, he served as her pilot.

A personal gloss adds: After the conquest of the three Korean kingdoms, he returned to Jōshū and lived in the village of Fushimi. He is the current shatō, whose pavilion faces north to tame evil demons and kings. His honji are Shaka, Yakushi, Kannon, and Monju. Because Shaka taught the doctrine of the Lesser Vehicle in the Deer Park, he loves deer. Thus, there are many deer in that place. Common people say: “Because the deer-eye stone (kaname-ishi 要石) emerges from the Golden Wheel (konrinzai 金輪際), it does not move even during earthquakes.”153

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The original dwelling place of Isora is given here as Kashima Shrine in Hitachi rather than Shika-no-umi Shrine in northern Kyūshū. Historically speaking, the reverse seems more plausible. Admittedly, Kashima Shrine and Katori Shrine were both established very early on during the Ya­mato conquest of the coastal region of eastern Japan—even before Kasuga Shrine in Nara; Shika-no-umi Shrine seems to be even anterior. Shikanoshima nowadays has little economic importance in the thriving maritime economy of the Hakata harbor. During the Yamato period, however, it was part of a complex ritual system related to the sea and divination, and the Azumi clan served as a naval force for the Yamato court.154 It was on that island that the famous gold seal of the Na king of Wa (Wa no Na no kokuō kin’in 委奴國王金印) was found, an archeological discovery that shed new light on the early diplomatic relationships between China and Japan. The island’s importance seems to have diminished by the end of the medieval period, which may explain the transfer of Isora to Hitachi province. But prior to that, it was a major strategic, diplomatic, and commercial station on the route linking northern Kyūshū and the continent. The fact that Isora’s name is practically ubiquitous on Tsushima shows the close ties between the two islands. At any rate, to understand the spread of the Isora cult, one only has to follow the track of the deer— not from the Buddhist Deer Park in India, but from northern Kyūshū (Chikuzen) to the Inland Sea (Itsukushima) and Yamato (Kasuga), all the way to Hitachi (Kashima) and probably beyond. All these sacred places were named after the deer, and in all these shrines deer were worshiped as divine messengers. Another point to consider in Taichū’s account is his identification of Isora with the Kasuga deity Takemikazuchi, one of the two heavenly kami who descended on Izumo to take possession of the land in the name of Ninigi. In one version, the two gods appeared over the ocean seated on the tip of their swords, the waves rolling beneath them (an image reminiscent of Sukunahikona’s apparition to Ōkuninushi); in another version, their swords were thrust into the ground.155 Eventually the two gods were invited to Kasuga Shrine, relegating the previous deities Ame no Koyane and Himegami to the third and fourth ranks.156 Although Takemikazuchi first appears coming from beyond the sea, he is usually represented as a thunder god born in violence from fire (after the birth of the fire god caused Izanami’s death). He was also a god of war who took part in the pacification of the archipelago on behalf of the court and in its defense against foreign invaders.157 When Jinmu was set on conquering Kumano, a man named Takarakuji had a dream in which Takemikazuchi, asked to descend once again from Takamagahara 高天原 to help Jinmu, replied that he would send his sword instead: “My sword . . . I will now place in your storehouse. Take it and present it to the heavenly grandchild.”158

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Armed with the sword and guided by the Yatagarasu 八咫烏 crow, an emissary of the Kumano deity, Jinmu proceeded to conquer the Kii peninsula and Yamato. While Takemikazuchi, with his fiery birth, seems different from Isora at first glance, he too was related to the watery world and navigation through it.159 Kashima Shrine, especially, is known for its boat festivals, which originally took place on the seventh to the eleventh days of the seventh month—the same dates, incidentally (or not), as the Gozu Tennō boat festival at Tsushima Shrine. Significantly, a chinowa made of reeds was thrown into the sea at Kashima, while a reed boat containing the spirit of the epidemic deity was set adrift on the sea at Tsushima. Apart from being a pestilence deity, Gozu Tennō was also regarded as a sea god, a harmful visitant or marebito coming from overseas bearing a cargo of calamities. Orikuchi and other folklorists seem to have downplayed this aspect of the marebito. CODETTA In this chapter, I wanted to show how deities that were initially linked to the sea, such as Empress Jingū, Sumiyoshi, and Hachiman, became intent on preserving the integrity of the Japanese land against all invasions, whether demonic or human. Similarly, the importance given to idealized notions of other worlds to be found in the sea, such as the sea king’s palace or its Buddhist counterpart, the dragon or nāga palace, or the dwelling place of the immortals, whether it be on the island of Penglai (Hōrai) or in the tokoyo beyond the sea—masked, in one way or another, assertions of Japanese sovereignty. This chapter may have given the reader the impression of drifting at sea—perhaps even more so than the preceding ones. This seemingly periphrastic approach was a necessary counter to the prevailing discourse of Buddhist and Shintō ideologies that have long attempted to ground social hierarchies in a firm religious worldview, a stable official pantheon. There was in Japan, however, an alternative model that stepped around landlocked notions of sovereignty as a central or unquestioned authority to present a more liquid understanding of the metaphors and deities bred by the sea. It is to that emerging model, which promises to take us even further out to sea, that we now turn.

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BETWEEN THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP BLUE SEA The tornados come, up the coast they run Hurricanes rip the sky forever Though the weather changes, the sea remains the same The coal black sea waits forever. Lou Reed, “Cremation”

QUESTIONING SOVEREIGNTY The previous chapters examined how the notion of jinushi, territorial deities that initially expressed the resistance of local gods to central power, came to express Japan’s resistance against demonic aggression from abroad and ultimately its imperialist expansion. The primary symbols of Japanese sovereignty were Empress Jingū and the sun goddess Amaterasu. The latter, as the ancestral deity of the Yamato clan worshiped at Ise Shrine, was initially the first among divine peers, but she eventually became a “peerless” deity, a symbol of national unity (the imperium) and an expression of the Buddhist vision of ultimate reality (dharmatā). Her dark side—expressed as her aramitama or “rough spirit,” which was still evident in texts such as the Nakatotomi harae kunge—was silenced and ultimately erased when she became the great goddess of Japan, the national jinushi, even though her authority would still be questioned in some corners. Her emblem, the sun, eventually became the symbol of Japan’s imperialist rule throughout modern Asia. Or perhaps it was her aramitama that was unleashed again during that period—offering the image of a sun goddess gone wild. “History is always written from the sedentary point of view,” Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari suggest, “even when the topic is nomads. What is lacking is a Nomadology, the opposite of a history.”1 The jinushi category we have examined is the quintessential product of sedentary thought, and small jinushi, for all their opposition to imperial and 350

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shogunal power, remained in ideological alignment with greater ones. Therefore, a further step—outside or beyond—is needed to reintroduce nomadic thought. Territory is by definition a land-centered notion—in other words, it is land biased. Even when so-called maritime territories come into dispute, the word “territory” may be a misnomer in that respect. In the case of Japan, its use fundamentally misrepresents the perceptions of the people living on the periphery (if indeed there is one) of the three main Japanese islands, viewed as the mainland. Another Archipelago

Amino Yoshihiko has described late medieval Japanese history as a conflict between two worldviews, the “agrarian fundamentalism” of the warlords, based on land taxes, and the mercantilism of merchants and financiers. “The attempt to reunify and stabilize Japan on the basis of agricultural land came into direct conflict with those who sought to build networks of commercial circulation on the sea and who aimed to build trade networks that extended beyond the Japanese islands,” he writes. “This conflict ended with the victory of the ‘agrarian fundamentalists’ in a great bloodletting. The network of the seafarers was shattered. The unified country of Japan, for which the ocean was now a border, was revived.”2 Amino has shown how, by the end of the ninth century, a network of inland waterways and sea routes had developed and replaced land routes, from Bōnotsu and Hakata in the south to Tosa Harbor on the Tsugaru peninsula in the north, as well as along the San’in coast with the harbors of Tsunoga (Tsuruga), Obama, and so on. Commercial activity of substantial proportions was underway, linking the various regions of the Japanese archipelago with each other, and with the Korean peninsula and China on the continent, and extending, by the fifteenth century, to the distant island of Sumatra and the Indochinese peninsula. These waterways and sea routes were organized by groups that were labeled “bandits” or “pirates” by the state—admittedly, the methods they used resembled those of pirates in some cases, but often they were merely merchants and seafarers that constituted a mercantile economy ahead of its time, while the state clung—and would for a long time hold—to its agrarian ideology. Amino’s perspective led him to criticize the dominant historiographical view of Japan as a culture based on rice and to emphasize instead its archipelagic nature. He even questions the relevance of the term “Japan” for the premodern period, arguing that, at least until the end of the medieval period, it did not refer to a unified political entity. He sees the archipelago instead as still composed of several conflicting political entities (kuni, a term that should perhaps be translated as “state”).3

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Amino’s approach, for all his contributions to the rethinking of Japanese history, remains centered on the main islands of the Japanese archipelago. A further shortcoming is that, while he discusses the new urban sects (Jōdo shinshū and Jishū 時宗) of medieval Japan, he tends to neglect the traditional schools of Buddhism that were established owners of domains (shōen 荘園). The dichotomy he sees between agricultural and financial economies naturally predisposes him to align—with exceptions and carefully framed nuances, admittedly—the great monastic institutions with conservative interests. Yet, as he points out, Mount Hiei and Mount Kōya were considered kugai 公界 (public spaces) or muen 無 縁 (unattached)—in other words, places where all kinds of people could coexist.4 The blind monks (mōsō), to take one instance, depended on Tendai monasteries for the most part, while troupes of itinerant sarugaku actors emerged from the margins of Mount Hiei and Kasuga Shrine. From Archipelago to Aquapelago

The Japanese living on the mainland of the archipelago perceived the sea as a vast empty space—an alien world. Of course, any space can turn into a designated “place” when it comes to be better known, and historians are inclined to study seas as places, not as space.5 “In fact the sea is just an alternative known world,” says Jonathan Raban. “Its topography is as intricate as that of land, its place names as particular and evocative, its maps and signposts rather more reliable.”6 While there is some truth in this, historians like Raban who focus on the development of sea routes crisscrossing the seas and on coasting along the shores tend to reduce the unknown to the known. In so doing, they neglect the fact that the sea was initially perceived as a “smooth space,” as Deleuze and Guattari point out, and they replace it too quickly with the “striated space” of a territory.7 Admittedly, in the demythologized world of today, the seas have become a maritime territory fiercely disputed by neighboring states, but such was not always the case. The medieval period perhaps marks the shift from “smooth” to “striated” space. Yet at the time of the first crossings to Tang China, when navigation techniques were still rudimentary, embarking meant entering an utterly alien and threatening space, “an emptiness haunted by mythological hazards.”8 Even as the Japan Sea lost some of its frightening power, along with its mysteries, as voyagers crossed and recrossed it, that power always lay dormant and reasserted itself quickly with every storm (let alone tsunami). The deep blue sea can turn into coal black waters in an instant. The sea between Japan and China was known to be particularly dangerous, and there are many stories of shipwrecks, together with tales of storms suddenly appeased by prayers or offerings to an angry sea god. The case of the Chinese Vinaya monk Jianzhen 鑑真 (J. Ganjin), who reached Japan in 754 on his sixth attempt after surviving several shipwrecks, is noteworthy in this regard.9

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If the Inland Sea and by extension the Japan Sea can be described as an East Asian Mediterranean of sorts, it became so not only as a locus of commercial exchanges; this Mediterranean held in store the same terrors feared by the ancient Greeks. The sea was not just the enchanted land of the dragon kings, it was also a place swarming with monstrous creatures, some of them so powerful they could shake the archipelago. Rituals aimed at transforming monsters into protectors were believed to assuage such terrors to some extent. Thus, the Indian sea monster known as the makara, once placated, became the god Konpira, worshiped as a god of navigation on Shikoku Island.10 Even when it is peaceful, the sea looks different to sedentary observers than it does to travelers and traders, seafarers and fishermen. Mytho­ logical discourse, however, usually reflects the ideology of landed powers. Despite the sea’s overwhelming presence, it is conspicuously absent from the official discourse of premodern Japan—except for legends regarding the dragon palace. Indeed, in view of the massively land-­centered nature of our written sources, it has become the (sea) elephant in the room. In this sense, the lip service paid to the Japanese “archipelago” may not be sufficient. As scholars of island studies have recently argued, that notion itself is still too terracentric.11 Thus, we need a new approach that can avoid the “grounding” of Japanese sea deities that has been the norm so far; or as Godfrey Baldacchino puts it, “We really need to get wet.”12 As an alternative to the land-centered view of territory, island scholars have begun to employ the term aquapelago to deconstruct the concept of an archipelago consisting essentially of “discrete parcels of land dotted with marine environments.”13 A Japanese Zomia?

East Asian traditions are largely terracentric, in the sense that they see islands above all as mountains, although the latter were sometimes imagined as floating mountains.14 Admittedly, Japanese islands are often mountainous. But for the medieval Japanese, the mountains and the sea constituted distinctly other worlds that mirrored each other. Mountains served as landmarks for seafarers and were worshiped as protectors. Furthermore, because mountains close to the coastline offered a unique view onto the sea, the mountain deity was often perceived as having jurisdiction over the sea. Villages on these coastlines were in a sense hedged in between the mountains and the sea, yet at the same time were mediating between them. In an agricultural economy, mountains also played a crucial role as a source of water for rice fields, and mountain deities therefore were also agricultural deities—as shown by the widespread belief that the mountain god (yama no kami) becomes the field god (ta no kami) during the agricultural season.

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Another neologism, Zomia, may help us grasp the parallelism between mountains and seas (and their respective deities).15 Coined by James Scott, the term designates the highlands extending from the Himalayas into Southeast Asia where populations remain outside the immediate control of rulers dwelling in the lowlands. Scott argues that such mountains were “shatter zones” that served as a refuge for people who wanted to (or had to) evade state power. According to Philippe Pelletier, “One could say that the sea—maritime and insular space—is to Japanese society what the mountain is to the rebel peoples of Zomia so well described by James Scott with regard to Southeast Asia.”16 Scott’s vision has been criticized as somewhat idealized, since people do not always choose to migrate to upland areas but often are forced to do so. Furthermore, upland areas are not entirely beyond the reach of the state. The same criticism applies to Amino when he describes those who embarked on an itinerant lifestyle in medieval Japan while others, “resisting the pressures imposed by their rulers, took it upon themselves to abscond either individually or en masse” and “mingle with the mountain and forests.”17 It can be pointed out, however, that Hokkaidō long served as Japan’s Zomia, offering a refuge to the Ezo (today’s Ainu). According to a medieval legend, Minamoto no Yoshitsune, pursued by the soldiers of his brother Yoritomo, flew on a heavenly horse (tenma 天 馬) from the Tsugaru peninsula to Hokkaidō.18 Shikoku too (and particularly its mountains) served as a place of refuge for a long time. During the Meiji Restoration, many Buddhist statues escaped destruction by being secretly taken to mountain temples. Yet, as Amino himself indicates, medieval markets in the mountains sold marine products and therefore participated in commercial networks, showing that “a shopping route around the archipelago was in place by the fifteenth century.”19 But mountain environments and the sea were not perfectly symmetrical, and with time the asymmetry became more pronounced—in particular, with the development of Shugendō. The “space” of the mountain was always easier to turn into a sacred “place” than the open sea. As Anne Bouchy points out, the other world of the mountain is a replica of the other world of the sea, but “multiplied, localized, and materialized through its fixation on summits.”20 The feelings of awe and sublimity inspired by the mountains do not offer a counterpart to the oceanic feeling inspired by the sea. A case in point is the cult of the deity Sengen on the coastline of the Kii peninsula. Bouchy has highlighted the process by which this cult, originally that of an anonymous sea deity, shifted from the shoreline to Kongōshōji 金剛證寺 on Mount Asama, and eventually merged with that of Sengen Daibosatsu (also read Asama, a Buddhist reinterpretation of the goddess Konohanasakuya-hime), the deity of Mount Fuji21—the homophony between the two names (written with different ideographs) making

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the transition easier. Asama seems to have been a general name for sacred mountains. The Mount Fuji cult, started by an ascetic named Matsuda Shōnin in the twelfth century, spread to western Japan in the fourteenth century. Mount Asama on the Ise peninsula, towering above Ise city and its shrines, was perceived as the land of the dead.22 In one of the origin stories of the Sengen cult, the link—or rather the path—between the sea and the mountain was established by a legend stating that a small Kannon statue was once found on the back of a beached whale. It was first enshrined in an oratory by the shore, but it flew to Mount Asama one day and was henceforward worshiped there. Things brought forth by the sea (whales, but also tree stumps, stones, even corpses) were often called ebisu and were seen as symbols or manifestations of the sea deities. They were usually worshiped in small oratories built on a rock overlooking the sea. These oratories, sometimes called ōji (princes), could also be built on a rock out in the water, in which case open sea ōji (oki no ōji) were distinguished from land ōji. These rocks constituted landing strips, as it were, for sea gods emerging from the sea or coming from beyond it at the time of festivals. They were also seen as the dwelling place of the spirits of the dead. Thus, in the same way that the ōji served as relays between the sea deity and the local mountain deity worshiped on Mount Asama (Sengen), Mount Asama itself came to mediate between sea deities on the coastline and the deity of Mount Fuji, Sengen Bosatsu. In return, the sea deity known as Sengen was no longer identified with the dragon god and became a mountain god identified with the Mount Fuji deity. The point, however, is that the spread of Shugendō on Mount Fuji enabled the cult of the mountain deity to be linked to the cult of the sea deities, which it eventually superseded. Even among fishermen, the marine other world lost its supremacy to the other world of the mountain, and the sedentary and territorial worldview prevailed over the semi-nomadic and maritime vision. The sea nomads—the people who lived on the sea, on the so-called houseboats (ebune 家船)—resisted that evolution, but they eventually disappeared and with them, their maritime worldview and their sea gods.23 But these gods did not disappear overnight, and some of them, under a different guise, continued to haunt the Japanese imagination. A SECOND LOOK AT SUKUNAHIKONA As noted above, one of these nomadic deities and vanishing mediators was the dwarf god Sukunahikona. This deity usually arrived as a visitor from beyond the sea—a denizen of the tokoyo—but he was by no means a typical visitor or marebito. Hirata Atsutane, followed by Orikuchi Shinobu, identified him with Hiruko, the abandoned child of Izanami and Izanagi, on the somewhat flimsy ground that both came from the tokoyo.24 Incidentally (or not), both were characterized by some kind of infirmity. In one

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variant in the Nihon shoki, Sukunahikona is a dwarf god who appears on a frail skiff. When Ōnamuchi (Ōkuninushi) lifts him up on the palm of his hand and plays with him, Sukunahikona suddenly leaps up and bites his cheek. Puzzled by this strange behavior, Ōkuninushi asks him who he is. The primordial kami Kamimusubi replies for him that he is one of his children, the one who disobeyed his orders and slipped through his fingers.25 Sukunahikona was also perceived as a lithic god who “manifests himself through stones” (ishi tatasu kami).26 The Montoku jitsuroku for the year 857 reports how two new kami appeared at Ōarai Isozaki (Kashima-gun): From early times there were many people from the district who boiled water to get salt. [On this occasion] when they looked out at the ocean in the middle of the night, light was reaching up to the sky. On the next day two strange rocks were discovered near the shoreline. They were both about one shaku in diameter. Their forms had been made by the kami, not by humans. The old salt makers who secretly [looked at the stones] were frightened by them and fled. A day later, more than twenty smaller rocks had appeared. They were arrayed to the left and the right of the other rocks in a [regular pattern] like a dais. Their color was not usual. The two stones looked like monks without either eyes or ears. In time the kami spoke to the people to say, “We are [the gods] Ōnamuchi no Mikoto and Sukunahikona no Mikoto. In the past it was we who made this land, but then we left it to live in the Tōkai region. Now we have left the Tōkai region and have returned to save the people.”27

As Michael Como points out, the Montoku jitsuroku passage has a millenarian ring that forms a contrast with the banquet passages of the Nihon shoki and Kojiki in which Sukunahikona appears. In this passage, Sukunahikona and Ōnamuchi (Ōkuninushi) do not return from beyond the sea to pledge their allegiance to the ruler in Yamato, but rather to save the people. Thus, Como argues, the cult of Sukunahikona “appears to have developed in two divergent directions—one leading to the exaltation of the royal line, the other pointing toward festival and the hope for earthly abundance and corporate salvation.”28 Sukunahikona and Ōkuninushi, who in the above passage return from Tōkai (a medieval name for Korea), were perceived as Korean deities (karakami).29 The Karakami Festival, during which oxen were sacrificed, was an exorcism against epidemic diseases. During such festivals, Sukunahikona and Ōkuninushi were invoked as protectors against epidemics and other calamities originating on the Korean peninsula. These festivals were eventually forbidden because they were perceived by the ruling class as a potential source of social unrest.

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As a god of medicine, Sukunahikona was sometimes identified with the Chinese god Shennong and with the Healing Buddha Yakushi.30 Yet neither Yakushi nor Sukunahikona were exclusively associated with medicine and healing. Evidence suggesting that Sukunahikona was linked to the nāga palace can also be found in the name of his shrine, Sakatsura Isozaki Shrine.31 The name “Sakatsura” sounds like a reference to the dragon king Shakatsura (Sāgara). In a legend from the Iyo no kuni fudoki 伊予国風土記, Ōnamuchi is brought back from the dead by Sukunahikona at the Arima hot spring. Sukunahikona’s image as a healer seems to have led to his association with healing waters and, eventually, with a submarine paradise.32 Ōnamuchi (Ōkuninushi) and Sukunahikona are paired in many medieval texts, sometimes under the names Ōnanji 大汝 and Konanji 小汝. In the Keiran shūyōshū, we read that Ōnanji is the god of Miwa who ruled over the world with the god Sukunahikona. In the Kōkozō tō hishō (late 13th cent.), an Ise Shintō text, Ōnanji and Konanji form a couple that gives birth to the fifteen kongō dōji, and they are identified with King Tokuzen and Benzaiten, respectively.33 The Ototari shinku saimon 乙足 神供祭文 explains that they are two of the eight children of Dakiniten that were swallowed by a giant catfish (namazu) as they crossed over from China to Japan, and were rescued by an old fisherman named Ototari 乙足.34 In other saimon texts, the two gods seem to be fox spirits invoked in exorcisms. In Onmyōdo liturgical texts such as the Dokō saimon and the Taizan Fukun saimon, they are born from the body of the cosmic deity King Banko (Ch. Pangu).35 While they thrived in the binary thinking of medieval theorizing, Ōkuninushi and Sukunahikona were also worshiped independently. Ōkuninushi became the main deity of Miwa and of Hie Taisha (under the name Ōmiya), while Sukunahikona became identified with Awashima Myōjin. Since Ōkuninushi also evolved into Daikokuten, and Sukunahikona shared affinities with Hiruko / Ebisu as a god of the tokoyo, one could perhaps argue that their pairing was reconstituted (or superseded) in the Edo period by the popular duo formed by Daikoku and Ebisu. But this —while highly plausible—has to remain speculative for the time being. Awashima Myōjin

Another deity linked (or identified) with Sukunahikona in the late medieval period is Awashima Myōjin, the “bright deity of Awa Island.” The cult emerged during the Muromachi period and developed during the Edo period, and was centered on Kada Awashima Shrine (in present-­day Wakayama city).36 It was primarily fostered by itinerant ritual specialists known as Awashima gannin, who performed rituals to heal female ailments.

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Awashima Myōjin was said to be a goddess who specialized in female diseases below the waist.37 According to the Awashima saimon, she was the sixth daughter of Amaterasu, and she was married at the age of sixteen to Sumiyoshi Myōjin. When she was afflicted by a female ailment (read: venereal disease) and became unable to bear children, her motherin-law expelled her. Set adrift with her “treasures” on a raft, she eventually landed at Kada (in present-day Wakayama prefecture). Vowing to become a deity that would prevent such a cruel fate from befalling other women, she was subsequently worshiped as Awashima Myōjin, a deity whose true nature (honji) was the bodhisattva Kokūzō.38 Her cult came to be centered around the performance of memorial services for needles (hari kuyō), a type of ritual still performed today on February 8 at Hōrinji 法輪寺, Kokūzō’s cultic center in Arashiyama (on the western outskirts of Kyoto). On that day, housewives and representatives of various professions related to sewing bring their needles to the shrine. The image of Awashima Myōjin as a protecting deity of women developed during the Edo period, coexisting with an earlier image in which Awashima Myōjin was essentially a maritime deity. On the day of the memorial services for needles, for example, a tradition apparently inspired by the Hikohohodemi myth reports that local fishermen in the Wakayama region used to refrain from fishing and tried to appease the sea deity by throwing broken fish hooks into the sea. This detail suggests that the Awashima Myōjin cult was literally domesticated, shifting from the sea to the domestic realm. And yet, it is not a female Awashima Myōjin who is worshiped at Kada Shrine, but a triad formed by the pairing of Sukunahikona and Ōkuninushi joined by Empress Jingū. The Chirizuka monogatari 塵塚物語, a collection of Buddhist tales compiled in 1552, reports: Some people were recently walking around the town preaching the origin and efficacy of the Awashima deity. They emphasized the special efficacy for curing women’s diseases and illnesses. They sounded rather peculiar but must surely have had a reason. The Awashima deity was identified with Sukunahikona, an ancient god of medicine, and also related to Yuki Daimyōjin of Kurama, and Gojō Tenjin.39 Praying to these deities would cure not only women but also men who were suffering from all kinds of illnesses. So those who were preaching Awashima deity had a reason, and anyone wishing to learn about medicine should worship these deities.”40

The author, probably a Fujiwara courtier, contrasts the itinerant specialists performing kadozuke rituals centered on Awashima Myōjin as a healer of feminine ailments with another tradition identifying that deity with

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Sukunahikona in his function as a god of medicine curing all illnesses. This passage suggests that the identity of the Awashima deity was open to debate and that two very different deities were known under that name: a female one, the unfortunate consort of Sumiyoshi Daimyōjin and sister (or daughter) of Amaterasu; and a male one, the dwarf god Sukunahikona. While the former prevailed in Edo popular culture, Sukunahikona seems to have been more important in the medieval period. Yet the link between him and the Awashima deity is tenuous, based on a passage in the Nihon shoki that says when Sukunahikona returned to the tokoyo, he departed from Awa Island. The link between Awashima Myōjin and Empress Jingū seems to derive naturally from the widespread image of Jingū as a deity connected to childbirth.41 Indeed, the story of Jingū’s going to war against the Korean demons while pregnant lent itself to an embryological reinterpretation: whereas women and the children they bore were usually easy prey for demons, Jingū’s story offered the image of a militant and victorious pregnancy.42 Yet it is not that link that the origin story of Kada Shrine chose to emphasize, but Jingū’s relation with the sea. According to the Awashima saimon, when Jingū returned triumphant from her Korean expedition, she had to face a coup by two princes. On her way to Naniwa, she was stopped on the Inland Sea by a storm and found shelter on a small sacred island, Tomogashima.43 There she discovered an oratory dedicated to Sukunahikona, who she realized had just saved her life. After defeating her enemies and being reunited with her son (who had in the meantime become—in no time—an adult), she sang a song in praise of Sukunahikona.44 Later, during the reign of her grandson Nintoku, Jingū herself was deified and worshiped next to Sukunahikona and Ōkuninushi.45 Here, the Awashima deity, identified with Sukunahikona, is not a healer of specifically feminine diseases but a protector of sea travel and fishing. This seems to have been one of its main functions until the Edo period. Ariyasu Mika describes the Awashima cult as a cult of seashore dwellers concerned with death and rebirth.46 Awashima was the name given to small islands that served as graveyards. The Awashima deity was from the outset identified with two different characters: Sukunahikona and the goddess Wakahirume. The myth of the creation of the land in the Nihon shoki, in which Sukunahikona takes off (literally) from Awa Island to return to the tokoyo, led to his identification with the Awashima deity, while his image as a culture deity that taught humans how to use medicinal plants, to grow cereals, and to brew rice wine allowed his identification with the Healing Buddha. It was that image of a deity healing epidemic diseases in particular that the shugenja of Mount Katsuragi who were closely connected to Kada-ji 加太寺 (the Buddhist monastery or jingūji associated with Kada Shrine) contributed to spreading.

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In the earliest documents on Shima province preserved at Shōsoin, as well as in the Kojiki and the Nihon shoki, the Awashima deity is identified with the goddess Wakahirume. At the end of the Kamakura period, that deity was reinterpreted as an ancestral deity of the Watarai, the priestly lineage of the Outer Ise Shrine. Around the same time, at the other end of the Kii peninsula, the dual identity of the Wakashima deity (as Sukunahikona and Wakahirume) was being emphasized at Kada Shrine. During the Sengoku period, with the diffusion of syphilis (baidoku), the nature of the Awashima deity radically changed. It became a female deity working for the salvation of prostitutes, and more broadly, of all women afflicted by female ailments. The cult was no longer centered on the protection of fishing and navigation. Sukunahikona had returned to the tokoyo, for good this time. THE DRAGON PALACE REVISITED The image of the nāga or dragon palace, like those of the tokoyo and Peng­ lai, is of that a land-based heterotopia—or rather a utopia in the etymological sense: although this palace appears to be located at the bottom of (or beyond) the sea, it is in reality not just elsewhere, but nowhere.47 Like Samuel Butler’s Erewhon, it is a mere inversion (and idealization) of the human realm— more specifically, of the imperial palace, in this case. It reflects the desire of a terrestrial ruler to magically control the sea through the tide-controlling jewels given to Hikohohodemi and Jingū. The myths of the sea king’s palace in the Kojiki and Nihon shoki reflect a nostalgia for the terrestrial homeland—reminiscent in a way of Ulysses stranded on Circe’s island and yearning for Ithaca. The palace of the sea king was described as the ultimate source of imperial legitimacy and as one of the points of origin of the imperial lineage. It reflected an imperial dream, a delusion of grandeur that easily led to imperialist yearnings. Its Buddhist version, the nāga palace, while still largely utopian, expressed a somewhat more realistic, less optimistic vision. It took into account the notion of the six paths of rebirth, according to which rebirth in the nāga realm was a lower animal rebirth still subject to suffering. In the last chapter of the Heike monogatari, when Kenrei­ mon’in 建礼門院 visits the nāga palace in a dream and asks her Taira relatives reborn there what this wonderful place is, she is told that, despite appearances, it is a place of suffering. Nāgas were ambivalent creatures, full of craving. The treasures of the nāga palace were sometimes ill-gotten ones. Like humans, the nāgas coveted relics and jewels and were not always ready to part with them (unlike the sea king). Various legends recount how a jewel was stolen and stored away in the dragon palace, only to be retrieved owing to the self-sacrifice of a woman.48

FIGURE 10.1  Nāgas. Shōugyō mandara. Ink on paper. Petzold Collection, Harvard-­ Yenching Library.

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In the “Tsurugi no maki” chapter of the Taiheiki, we are told that the dragon Yamato no Orochi was reincarnated as the child emperor Antoku 安徳 to recuperate the Kusanagi sword that Susanoo had found in its tail. Yet the subsequent drowning of Antoku is not interpreted as a return of the dragon king to his submarine palace: “He who once was a dragon among the clouds now had become a fish in the depths of the sea. Dwelling once on terraces lofty as those of the god Brahmā, in palaces like the Joyful Sight Citadel of the god Indra, surrounded by great lords and ministers of state, a throng of kin and clansmen in his following, now in an instant ended his life beneath this boat, under these billows—sad, sad indeed!”49 In his Gukanshō, Jien takes a different view: “It has been reported to us that the deity of Itsukushima Shrine was the daughter of the dragon king. In response to Kiyomori’s faith, this dragon reincarnated in the form of Antoku. People who knew about this said: ‘He has finally returned to the sea!’ ”50 At any rate, the nāga palace that served as a major source of Buddhist and imperial legitimacy could also signify the loss of that legitimacy. Often, throwing precious things into the sea during a storm allegedly caused by a dragon was seen as the only way to save one’s life. According to the Ikkō shōnin denki 一向上人伝記 (1328), when the priest Ikkō 一向 was practicing the dancing nenbutsu (odori nenbutsu 踊念仏) at Usa Hachiman Shrine, Hachiman appeared and gave him a gong (waniguchi 鰐口). On his way to Shikoku, the dragon king requested the gong, and since the sea was getting rough, Ikkō threw it into the waves. As he reached Sanuki province, a blue-robed youth emerged from the water and told Ikkō that, owing to the merit of his nenbutsu, he had finally become free from suffering. To repay his debt, he now intended to return the gong. Then a tortoise appeared holding the musical instrument in its mouth and returned it to Ikkō. The waniguchi thus became a symbol of the sacred power of the hijiri’s nenbutsu.51 While this story is unusual, it reflects the common belief that dragon kings often threatened (and possibly killed) seafarers to get their treasures. This belief inspired real practices. Thus, the temple bell of Enshōji (in present-day Kanagawa prefecture) was offered to the dragon king by a monk at the end of the Kamakura period— and retrieved by fishermen in the Edo period. It contained an exemplar of the Lotus Sūtra, with a colophon dated to 1320 by the novice (shami 沙 弥) Ryōshō 了性. The Azuma kagami also records that the third shōgun, Minamoto no Sanetomo, offered sutras copied in his own hand to the nāga palace.52 In contrast to the land-based view of the dragon palace promoted by the imperial ideology, an insular text, the Shintō saimon (1695), shows dragon kings rebelling against imperial power. According to its narrative, when the earthly deities met to create the Japanese land, Amaterasu proposed destroying Mount Sumeru to create islands. The dragon kings

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were resolutely opposed to this plan, on the ground that it would make the ocean too narrow. The dragon king Sāgara asked a great serpent-like demon king to coil itself three times around Mount Sumeru to protect it. Using the kanju jewel, Amaterasu dried up the ocean, causing a fire that destroyed the dragon palace. Then, causing a great wind, she made an island onto which she magically moved Mount Sumeru. But the northeast corner of the mountain was missing, having fallen into the sea to become islands scattered like “grains of millet.”53 In this text, we see that the image of the dragon palace constituted an arena of contention between different worldviews. Another Ebisu

The most important tokoyo deity is undeniably Ebisu 恵比寿. This deity is well known as one of the Seven Gods of Fortune (Shichifukujin 七福 神) who often appear on the Treasure Boat (Takarabune 宝船) that rides the tokoyo wave on New Year. Ebisu is frequently paired with Daikoku, and these two have maintained their popularity from the Edo period to the present (figs. 10.2 and 10.3).54 Ebisu’s name, also written 夷, not only suggests his status as an “indigenous” deity but actually points toward the Emishi 夷 or “barbarians” of eastern Japan, who were figures of alterity for the premodern Japanese: in the medieval period, the Emishi still inhabited the region of Sendai before being gradually pushed further north—the Ainu of Hokkaido being their only descendants. Several theories can be found concerning the “classical” origins of Ebisu. One of them links him to Kotoshironushi 事代主, the son of Ōkuni­ nushi. His attributes, a sea bream (tai 鯛) and a fishing rod, were said to derive from the image of Kotoshironushi fishing by the shore of Izumo. Other, less widespread traditions link Ebisu to Ōkuninushi himself and to Sukunahikona. The Shintō mondō, for instance, argues that Sukunahikona and Ebisu are the same: “Because Sukunahikona no Mikoto has crossed over to the Eternal Land (Tokoyo no Kuni), one calls him Ebisu.”55 The prevalent tradition, however, identifies Ebisu with Hiruko, the first child of Izanagi and Izanami, who according to the Kojiki was born without limbs (hence the usual interpretation of his name as “leech child”).56 Ebisu is usually said to be the form taken by Hiruko when he arrives at the dragon palace, after being set adrift at sea on a reed raft or hollowed log, and is reborn. As Ebisu, he returns to the human world—not with a vengeance but with blessings. While the ancient myth ends with the banishment (and the implicit death) of Hiruko, the medieval myth prefers a comic ending. In one source at least, Hiruko is called “rector of the seas,” and this appellation links him to the roiling ocean of lives and deaths—a metaphor for the Buddhist notion of samsāra.57 In a Ryūkyū variant of the myth, Hiruko is said to have entered the dragon palace and to have been made whole there.58 The same point is

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FIGURE 10.2  Ebisu. Edo period. Sheet, ink on paper. University Art Museum, Kyoto City University of Arts. BZS 4107.

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made in an early commentary on the Kokinshū, which states that Hiruko is Izanami and Izanagi’s third child, who drifted at sea and found shelter in the dragon palace. When he turned three, his feet, hands, eyes, and nose appeared all at once. Going to see Amaterasu, he is told that he will become a protecting deity sent to Nishinomiya, where he is worshiped as Ebisu Saburō 恵比寿三郎.59 According to another version, Ebisu was initially a god of the high sea who merged with a local god of fishing, Saburō (third son), and came to be known as Ebisu Saburō. Some scholars have thought to look for his origin in a cult of whales. Coming from beyond the sea, whales were called ebisu, and they brought great prosperity whenever they washed up on Japanese shores, the villagers believing that a god was offering itself in sacrifice for the good of the community.60 In early modern Japan, reflecting the growing urbanization of the areas around Sakai and Osaka particularly, Ebisu became a god of merchants and was integrated into the group called the Seven Gods of Fortune. Despite his maritime origins, Ebisu also came to be identified with the mountain god (yama no kami) that descends in spring to become the god of rice fields (ta no kami) and returns to the heights after the harvest and autumn festival. He is thus a visiting god (raihōjin)—a marebito or “rare guest”—whose coming is greeted with some uneasiness although he brings wealth. This feeling is reflected in the strangeness he exhibits and his infirmity: he limps and / or is deaf.61 A local tradition records that Myōan Eisai 明菴栄西, the founder of Kenninji in Kyoto, was saved by Ebisu during his return trip from China, a motif that links Ebisu to gods of obstacles like Shinra Myōjin, Sekizan Myōjin, and Matarajin. This same Eisai, incidentally, is linked in the Chikubushima tradition to the giant catfish (namazu)—a sea monster closely related to Ebisu.62

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FIGURE 10.3  Ebisu and Daikoku. Edo period. Sheet, ink on paper. University Art Museum, Kyoto City University of Arts. BZS 4108.

During the Edo period, as mentioned, Ebisu became a popular god of fortune among merchants. As this aspect of Ebisu began to supersede his identity as a sea deity, the emphasis shifted to the connotations of his symbol, the enormous sea bream or tai (with a pun on omedetai ‘auspicious’). However, we should not be misled by Ebisu’s smile, or rather grin. He can be as unpredictable as Sukunahikona. As Cornelius Ouwehand reminds us, he is not merely the “jolly old fellow” of popular imagery.63 Because his companion in merriment Daikoku had rather dark origins—as Mahākāla in his Tantric form—one might pause to consider the question: who is, after all, that Ebisu fellow? One clue is the less friendly aspect of Ebisu that appears in depictions of him as a martial deity holding a halberd (naginata).64 Another clue is the fact that his name, as we have seen, was given to objects rejected by the sea—and in particular, to corpses. His uncanniness, together with his outlandish nature, is also suggested by his infirmities. We are told that, because of his ugliness, Ebisu must remain invisible during his transfer to Hirota Shrine on the ninth day of the New Year, giving it the name “cloistered festival” (igomori), meaning that people must remain cloistered at home till the next day, the tenth, when Tōka Ebisu (Ebisu of the tenth day) is properly celebrated. The penalty for those who see him before that day is to receive his curse—a rather extreme reaction even for an ugly person, which suggests that the traditional taboo had deeper reasons. Yet the same pattern can be seen in the case of the Gozu Tennō festival at Tsushima Shrine. Ebisu was

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also linked to earthquakes and the giant catfish that caused them. In Edo Japan, he served as a protector (rusugami) when the gods left for Izumo in the tenth month and the namazu could strike. But, following a now familiar pattern, the deities who protected against calamities were also the same ones that could cause them.The curse-prone Ebisu (tataru Ebisu) or rough Ebisu (ara Ebisu) was thus a Janus-faced, kōjin-like deity, and his ambivalence resonates with that of the tokoyo, which can bring riches but is also full of dangers.65 The origin story of the itinerant puppeteers known as kugutsu tells how their ancestor, a fisherman called Hyakudayū 百大夫, once found a small child floating in the sea during a storm. It was Hiruko, looking about twelve years old—although he had been drifting on the waves since primordial times—who declared: “I am the leech child of long ago.”66 Hiruko asked Hyakudayū to build him a shrine by the seashore. This shrine, later known as Nishinomiya (western shrine), gave its name to the city of Nishinomiya. In it, a medium called Dōkunbō 道薫坊 delivered the god’s oracles. After Dōkunbō’s death, however, a number of calamities were traced to Hiruko, causing an imperial edict to be issued ordering Hyakudayū to make a puppet in the likeness of Dōkunbō. By manipulating this puppet in front of Hiruko’s shrine, Hyakudayū was able to appease him. After his death, Hyakudayū was in turn deified and worshiped at Nishinomiya, and dōkunbō dolls became his divine body (shintai). His name—and by extension those of Hiruko and Ebisu—most probably referred to a deity who both caused and prevented plagues in children.67 Hiruko, Ebisu, Isora, and Sukunahikona were all characterized by some physical flaw or infirmity—ugliness, deformity, deafness, limping, dwarfism.68 In the Buddhist framework, infirmity derived from bad karma, suggesting some moral flaw. This notion may have made some of these deities unfit to be associated with the imperial ideology. Yet it did not prevent them from becoming deities of good fortune through the accustomed inversion of signs that transformed demonic deities into good ones. Dragons and Catfish

On the whole, the twin images of the sea king’s palace and the nāga palace reflect a positive view of the sea. Yet the sea was perceived as an ambivalent space that could both serve as a channel for and protect against them. Moreover, the world under the sea, and therefore beneath the Japanese archipelago conceived as floating islands, also hid monsters. One of them was a giant namazu 鯰 or catfish that was said to sleep in the watery depths and to cause earthquakes when it moved. At the end of the Edo period, belief in the namazu came to the forefront in a dramatic way with the great earthquake of 1855, but that belief was already present in the Kamakura period. An old map of Japan, preserved at Kanazawa Library, shows Japan surrounded by a dragon biting its tail.69 A sword is visible

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above the dragon’s head, and a caption explains that it is the kana­meishi of Kashima Shrine in Hitachi province, used to pin the dragon down. This dragon must therefore be a prototype of the namazu since it is the same kaname-ishi that was supposedly used to pin down the earthquake-­ causing giant catfish. Thus, the dragon surrounding Japan was not only, as Kuroda Hideo argues, a protector: it could also cause earthquakes. This same dragon fused with or gave way to the namazu in or around the seventeenth century. The Buddhist prototype of the kaname-ishi seems to be the rock or pillar emerging from the Golden Wheel (konrinzai) below the Earth. The kaname-ishi of Kashima was therefore perceived as a kind of axis mundi. The same is true of Chikubushima Island, the abode of the dragon deity Benzaiten in Lake Biwa. A local tradition reported in the Keiran shūyōshū mentions a giant catfish that turned seven or eight times around the island, “enclosing” it by biting its tail (like the dragon in the ancient maps of Japan attributed to Gyōki 行基). Yet Chikubushima was believed to never move during earthquakes. At Ise Shrine too, there was a “pillar of the heart” (shin no mihashira 心の御柱) that was said to be the axis of Japan, under which was coiled a snake, identified again with Benzaiten. This pillar was also perceived as a miniature replica of Mount Sumeru, the axis of the Jambudvīpa, around which two giant nāgas, Nanda and Upananda, are coiled.70 The multiplication of such allegedly immovable centers, together with the perception of Japan as a vajra or a mandala protected by a Japanese version of the Ourouboros, was perhaps another way to deny Japan’s archipelagic (and telluric) nature. SEDENTARY AND NOMAD As noted earlier, Deleuze and Guattari called for a nomadology that would correct or undermine the traditional bias of historians in favor of sedentarism. The nomad, for them, is a “vector of deterritorialization.”71 While they focus on continental nomads, they also mention “archipelago nomads”: “A complex and empirical nomadic system of navigation [existed] based on the wind and noise, the colors and sounds of the seas.”72 The sea was the nomads’ element, and the medieval sea still defied both land-based imperialism and thalassocracy.73 Amino has made a similar—albeit less theoretical—case for Japan. He has argued that the so-called pirates (wakō) and bandits (akutō) were in facts lords of the sea and the mountains—places outside the jurisdiction of state power.74 Pirates, originally known as “wanderers,” also controlled Lake Biwa.75 The shōgunate tried to eliminate them during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, although one faction of the shōgunate, the Tokusō Hōjo, inheriting the vision of the Taira and in particular

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of Kiyomori, tried on the contrary to co-opt them and to control certain harbors—in Tsugaru, for instance.76 In this way, they were able to monopolize trade and diplomacy at the beginning of the fourteenth century, but not for long. While Amino and others have spoken of thalassocracy in the case of Japan, the term may misrepresent the nature of the relationships between the Japanese and the sea. The imperial and the shogunal ideologies, and the control they tried to establish, were land-centered—lowland-centered, more precisely—as well as sedentary. They were estranged from the mountains and the marine expanses bordering the lowlands. They had lost contact with the sea—while remaining vaguely aware of the extent to which they were indebted to it—whereas clans that sought to exploit maritime traffic, like the Ōuchi, were oriented toward the sea, whose secrets, channels, and dangers they made it their business to know. Even if they had littoral bases, they were still drawn to nomadism, and their control stopped short of being thalassocratic in any sense. Indeed, the unruly sea never lent itself to any kind of thalassocracy—unless one understands that word to mean “rule by the sea.” People whose power derived from the sea were always nomads and pirates to a degree, albeit merchants in their spare time. Even if they knew its paths, the sea never turned into a striated space of maps and mandalas. They relied on signs and itineraries, read in the wind or skies above, not on abstract charts or maps. Yet some initially sea-based clans like the Urabe and Usa eventually turned their backs on their origins when they settled in centers of territorial power. The distance separating the insular clans of Tsushima from Yoshida (Urabe) Kanetomo is akin to that which separates margins from the center, nomads from sedentary groups. Nomads—whether human, divine or demonic—did not frontally oppose central power except on rare occasions, as when the Hayato rebelled in Kyūshū or the Kumano “pirates” opposed the Hōjō.77 Yet, along with outer nomads living on the margins of the imperial territory, there were always “internal” nomads living in the margins or interstices of Japanese society. Some of them followed trades or vocations that called for wandering, like iron casters and shugenja. Ironcasters could travel freely, and they roamed the archipelago, casting and selling the ironwork they produced.78 Shugenja, while they sometimes played into the hands of state power, opposed a stubborn resistance to it at the same time. Their role was usually dual, to the extent that they subverted established religious structures (temples and shrines) while also reinforcing them at times by extending their networks to the remotest mountain areas. En no Gyōja was canonized as the reputed founder of Shugendō, but he was an ambivalent and somewhat uncanny intermediary between the remote world of the mountains and imperial power. Yet, despite the symmetry described earlier between the other worlds of the seas and mountains, the

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mountains proved less independent of the authority represented by state power than the islands. Routes and Roots

Amino’s distinction between sedentary people and nomadic groups can also be described as one between those who strike roots and those who explore new routes.79 Land routes and sea routes—with their stations (shuku 宿) and harbors—were the domain of itinerant groups that lived to a large extent outside the law—or at least obeyed their own laws rather than those of the state. According to Amino, the second half of the Kamakura period saw an increasing tension develop between agrarian and mercantile ideologies.80 The mercantile worldview was taken up not only by those who pursued profit and interest, but also by the so-called lower-caste people (senmin), nonhumans (hinin), river dwellers (kawara­ mono), evil types (akutō 悪党), and pirates (kaizoku). Like them, itinerants such as blind monks and sarugaku actors often lived on the margins of (while poaching on) the domains of great religious institutions like the Kōfukuji / Kasuga and Enryakuji / Hie complexes. Amino has argued that the hinin were not actually outcasts and that they were by no means as lowly (financially and morally) or debased as their name indicates.81 They were neither inside nor outside the system; consequently, they were not constrained by its boundaries, and perhaps for this reason, played a major role in religious innovations. In his attempt to topple the shogunate, Go-Daigo Tennō allied himself with some of these “strange” (igyō 異形) groups. According to Amino, “His policies were thus founded on commercial and financial interests rather than agrarian fundamentalist principles. They were also ultimately despotic.”82 Go-Daigo’s failure dealt a severe blow to the groups that assisted him, and in the seventeenth century the advent of Tokugawa rule marked a return to a reactionary agrarian ideology. The contrast drawn by Amino between agrarian and financial ideologies, for all its explanatory value, seems slightly Manichean and should be supplemented with a more nuanced analysis of the religious environment. For one thing, Amino’s lumping together of merchants and artists undervalues the fact that the two types belonged to two different mental worlds. The places defined by Amino as muen 無縁, kugai 公界, and raku 楽 formed another archipelago within Japan itself. Itō Masatoshi has argued that all Buddhist monasteries were muen (nonrelated or non-attached) places.83 This is true in the sense that a monastery constitutes a kind of utopia in theory, but in practice many of them were closely related to the ruling classes: such was the case of the provincial temples (kokubunji 国 分寺) under the Ritsuryō system 律令制, but it was also true of the monasteries of the so-called exoteric-esoteric system (kenmitsu taisei 顕密体制) in the late Heian and Kamakura periods, and of the Gozan 五山 system

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of Zen in the late medieval period. Major shrines like Atsuta Shrine and cities like Hakata were kugai or open places where a certain utopian atmosphere prevailed—in spite (or because) of the fact that Atsuta Shrine was one of the central bulwarks of imperial and shōgunal ideology. Thus, in contemplating the contours of the medieval world, one shifts almost seamlessly from an archipelagic nomadism—characterized by traders coasting from island to island and along the great inner axes formed by the Inner Sea and Lake Biwa—to the inner nomadism, in a social, individual, or psychological sense, of those who perdured on the margins or in the folds of an increasingly rigid social system, yet without any frontal break with society. These elusive inner nomads worshiped deities of their own whose cults are difficult to document because they usually lacked established shrines or temples. As a class, these nomadic deities or “divine gypsies” hardly fit in what I have called the fluid pantheon. They remain mobile, translocal deities quite different in nature from territorial deities preoccupied with boundaries. Yet some of them illustrate the dialectical relationship between “territorializing” and “deterritorializing,” to borrow Deleuze and Guattari’s terminology.84 Such deities were sometimes designated by the term kōjin, which, paradoxically, could also be used to designate deities given to territoriality. In other words, the same deities could be sedentary and nomadic by turn. Kōjin, for instance, was a territorial deity, but he was also the patron of semi-nomadic blacksmiths. Another form of inner nomadism was enacted by sarugaku actors and blind monks on the margins of monastic institutions such as Shitennōji, Hie Taisha, and Kasuga Taisha 春日大社. When Zenchiku attempted to inventory the medieval gods in his Meishuku shū, he reduced many of them to manifestations of an obscure demiurge he referred to as Shukujin 宿神. Although his attempt to “fix” the gods failed, it remains precious because it gives us a good sense of who the deities worshiped by performing artists and other itinerant groups were. With Zenchiku and Zeami, Nō theater became institutionalized, frozen as it were in the amber of official Japanese culture. Yet many of the ideas and cults that emerged among these itinerant groups continued to thrive well into the Edo period. As we saw, the sea deities of Tsushima and Kyūshū gave birth to an extensive network of shrines along the Inner Sea and the eastern coastline, extending from Kasuga to Kashima. The same was true of Hachiman and Sumiyoshi. Paradoxically, after the medieval period, the same gods paved the way to the formation of a state shintō, becoming increasingly sedentary in the process. A defining moment occurs in the myth of Empress Jingū when the sea gods who had protected her throughout the Korean expedition request that a shrine or “palace” be consecrated to them, thus behaving in the same way as former gods of obstacles such as Shinra Myōjin, Matarajin, and Sekizan Myōjin. All the same, some of these sea

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gods contributed to mobilizing or perhaps liquefying the imperial ideology. In so doing, they exhibit the same Janus-faced nature exemplified by Kōjin in the sense that, depending on circumstances, they can reinforce or threaten social order and the roots of political power. CODETTA Throughout the medieval period, two worldviews that have been characterized as sedentary and nomadic opposed each other while still continuing to be intertwined. The Edo period saw the general decline of that dialectic even though, in the outer reaches of the aquapelagic world represented by Kyūshū, Tsushima, and the Ryūkyūs, nomadic life continued to a certain extent, together with commercial exchanges with the continent. One cannot “close” an aquapelago so easily—and the expression “closure of the country” (sakoku 鎖国), of late coinage, does not describe the real situation of Japan under Tokugawa rule. Yet, even though that closure was not as complete as has long been believed, it still brought an abrupt end to maritime influences and, more generally, to an attitude of receptivity to others, with far-ranging cultural and religious consequences. More than a political measure, it was also an attempt to seal the Japanese imaginary— which continued to macerate in a vacuum, in (semi-)isolation, occasionally bursting at the seams. One deleterious result was the rise of Japanese nativism and a return of the repressed in the form of yōkai 妖怪 and other morbid forms of imagery. The sleep of the imagination, and not only that of reason, engenders monsters. The Edo period was marked by the rise of “deities in vogue” (hayarigami 流行神) that appeared and disappeared in a short time, without being able to “take root” (to use another sedentary metaphor).85 The great creative momentum that had led to the doctrinal, mythological and ritual creations of medieval Buddhism was lost—with a few significant exceptions. After a long transitional period of creativity during the seventeenth century—in particular, with the Tendai abbot Tenkai 天海 (1536–1643) and the development of the “eastern Mount Hiei,” the temple complex near Ueno in Edo—Buddhism eventually gave ground to a so-called Neo-Confucianism and nativist Shintō. A turning point was reached when the “secrecy ended,” to use William Bodiford’s expression—that is, when the reforms initiated by the Tendai monk Reikō Kōken (1652–1739) with his Hekija-hen (Repudiation of Heresies) effectively put an end to the long history of secret transmissions (kuden) that had led, from the late Heian period through the entirety of the medieval period, to a proliferation of new myths and cults.86 What was called “Tokugawa religion” no longer stemmed from Buddhist monasteries but from popular devotion, and only in marginal regions and traditions—such as Shikoku and the Izanagi-ryū— did the medieval conception of ambivalent demonic powers survive.

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CODA The main argument of this book complements the discussion of medieval Japanese religion found in Protectors and Predators. The opposition between Buddhist deities—particularly the devas, who were seen to have a predatory aspect in that volume—and demons, shown here to have the potential to become protectors, is largely a question of degree or vantage point. The gods turn out to be demonic and the demons divine; or rather, both types are akin to what the ancient Greeks called daemons. Those who may find this conclusion somewhat underwhelming should recall that most current studies of Japanese religion still rest content with the tired dichotomy between buddhas and kami. The reality of medieval Japan is much more fluid: it undermines or deconstructs such oppositions while continually reconstructing them, albeit differently. With a few significant exceptions, the familiar distinctions remain, if only for heuristic purposes, since oppositions cannot simply be declared null and void, as a superficial understanding of Buddhist nonduality might have it. If they are to be deconstructed, it must happen in a more subtle (and occasionally tedious) manner that leaves preexisting structures in place while showing how they constantly morph into each other. This fluidity, if it be such, is the other face of seeming rigidity, and reality lies somewhere between the crystalline structures of the official and apparently static pantheon (as the crystal itself grows and evolves) and the evanescent, ever-changing, smoke-like swirls of popular beliefs and practices.1 These changes do not simply reflect the social upheavals of the late medieval period, a time characterized by those living through it as gekokujō 下 克上, when the inferior outshone the superior.2 They express something more fundamental: the properly daemonic nature of religious reality. Perhaps the notion of plasticity, if it were not coming into vogue at present, would serve better to provide the flexibility and level of detail needed to approach a reality found between the stillness of the deep sea and the turbulence of the waves (to borrow a well-worn Buddhist metaphor), or in the crevices between Blaise Pascal’s esprit de finesse and esprit de

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géométrie. The figure that may best illustrate or personify that plasticity is Kōjin, a protean deity above all else: both individual and collective, wrathful and compassionate, a predator and a protector, a giver of life and of death—sustained like Proteus by the power of the earth. Paradoxically, despite its omnipresence, the earth itself never became the object of an extensive mythological discourse, remaining a minor deity throughout. Yet it was the power in the earth that manifested itself, not only through Kōjin, but also through snake and dragon deities and many other figures that haunt the Japanese imaginary, Buddhist and non-Buddhist alike. Like Kōjin, the earth in all its forms remains a deeply ambivalent power that gives abundantly and punishes easily, in ways that can seem random at times, or at least hard to understand for a human mind. Hence its gifts cannot always be perceived as rewards, nor its curses as punishment. The Buddhist notion of a supramundane reality detached from earthly values, a purely compassionate and saving power, was undoubtedly appealing as a counterpoint to such an unpredictable power. It explains in large part the successes of bodhisattvas like Kannon and Jizō, whose earthly elements were conveniently downplayed, and the supposedly demythologizing teachings of Zen and Amidism. Yet earthly realities are not so easily denied—even the heavenly kami, once they took over this world, became increasingly mundane, just as the buddhas and bodhisattvas, as they became the objects of popular cults, were themselves brought down to earth. What’s bred in the bone . . . So leopards do not change their spots, yet white horses may become spotted. What is expressed in the cults of deities like Kōjin is this return of the repressed, conveying the mainstream of Japanese religion and the deep nature of Japanese religiosity. The figure of the medieval demon offers an operative concept of a sort, one that allows us to think anew the realities of phenomenological and cosmological gleanings. More than a mere concept, the fact of the demon is perhaps the very source of the concepts and doctrines we know as esoteric Buddhism. Its radical ambivalence stems from its existence on the fringes, outside all systems. The figure called Kōjin could be a mediator and a parasite, an obstetrician and an abortionist, a maieutic device and an ideological instrument. His role was both constructive and destructive, or simply, to borrow Robert Musil’s neologism, “structive.”3 But after the medieval period, the fragile balance that Kōjin epitomized and expressed slipped away, and demons were confined to an outer darkness. In losing their credibility, they lost their fearsome—or desirable, depending on the circumstances—efficacy. Henceforth, Buddhist demonology, incapable of being both a poison and a remedy—in other words, a pharmakon—was no longer what Bernard Stiegler calls a “pharmacology,” and it perforce gave way to parody.

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Perhaps, recalling the serialized novels of nineteenth-century newspapers, I could have ended this book with the promise: “To be continued and concluded in the next issue.” But there can be no conclusion in mythological matters, and each ending is always a new beginning. While the true demons have been “spirited away,” evil is still alive and well. Since I do not want this to be the book’s last sentence, let me add this: while this book has no claim to becoming a classic, it would nicely fit Italo Calvino’s definition of the classic as “a book that has never finished saying what it has to say.”4

ABBREVIATIONS BEFEO Bulletin de l’École française d’Extrême-Orient BZS Bukkyō zuzō shūsei CEA Cahiers d’Extrême-Asie DNBZ Dai Nihon bukkyō zensho DZ Daozang GR Gunsho ruijū JJRS Japanese Journal of Religious Studies KST Shintei zōho kokushi taikei KT Kokushi taikei MN Monumenta Nipponica NKBT Nihon koten bungaku taikei NKBZ Nihon koten bungaku zenshū NSBS Nihon shomin bunka shiryō shūsei NSSS Nihon shomin seikatsu shiryō shūsei NST Nihon shisō taikei SNKBT Shin Nihon koten bungaku taikei SNKBZ Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū ST Shintō taikei SZ Shingonshū zensho T. Taishō shinshū daizōkyō TSZ Tendaishū zensho TZ Taishō shinshū daizōkyō zuzōbu ZGR Zoku gunsho ruijū ZST Zoku shintō taikei ZTZ Zoku Tendaishū zensho ZZGR Zokuzoku gunsho ruijū Ch. Chinese J. Japanese K. Korean Skt. Sanskrit

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1.  See Foucault 2002. 2. See in particular his translated work, especially Amino Yoshihiko 2012. In Japanese, see also Amino Yoshihiko 1995. 3.  See B. Faure 2015b. 4.  For a general discussion of the oni motif, see Reider 2010; and Li 2009. 5.  See Foster 2008. On the procession of the hundred demons, see Tokiyama Sekien 2005; Takada 1992; Tanaka Takako 1994a, 1994b, and 1999; Inada and Tanaka 1992; Komatsu Shigemi 1993; Nakano Yoshihito 1998; Komatsu Kazuhiko 2008; Lillehoj 1995; and Nicolae 2015. 6.  See O’Flaherty (Doniger) 1976: 58–59 and 62. 7.  Berkson 1995: 8. 8.  In the Pythagorean Commentaries, we read: “The whole air is full of souls. We call them daemones and heroes, and it is they who send dreams, signs, and illnesses to men; and not only men, but also to sheep and other domestic animals. It is towards these daemones that we direct purifications and apotropaic rites, all kinds of divination, the art of reading chance utterances, and so on.” See also Cassin 2014. This conception of the daemon as a “force that drives man forward” finds a distant echo in Stephan Zweig’s notion of the “fight with the demon,” with case studies on Kleist, Hölderlin, and Nietzsche. See Zweig 2012. 9.  Von Glahn 2004: 16. 10.  Fink 2016: 141. 11.  Fink 2016: 147. 12.  See “Plato’s Pharmacy” in Derrida 1972; and Stiegler 2019. 13.  Certain Buddhist deities—in particular, the wisdom kings and the devas—were characterized by a marked ambivalence or ambiguity, and they retained from their dark origins a demonic aspect. Such was the case with the four deva kings (Shitennō) and with “devas” like Daikokuten, Shōten, and Dakiniten. See Faure 2015a and 2015b. 14.  Fink describes a similar shift from ambivalence to a dichotomy in the Western context. See Fink 2016: 148. 15.  Derrida 1994: 12. 16. There are, of course, significant exceptions. See, for instance, de Nebesky-Vojkowitz 1956; and Kapferer 1983. 17.  De Certeau 1988: 244–268.

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18.  On this question, see B. Faure 2018. 19.  Bergson 1946: 25–26. 20.  Concerning the role of fear in the West, see Dodds 1991; and Delumeau 1990. 21.  See Amino 2012 and Scott 2009. 22.  See Deleuze and Guattari 1987. CHAPTER 1. SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVILS

1.  Quoted in Bouvier 1996: 142. 2.  See Kapferer 1983. 3.  Bourdieu 1990: 316. 4.  Fink 2016: 133 5.  See McMullin 1988. 6.  See Hayami 1987; and Tanaka Takako 1994a. 7.  Translation in Waley 1932: 532. 8.  Strickmann 1996: 63. 9.  Strickmann 2002: 73. 10.  In his Bad Thoughts and Not So Bad (Mauvaises pensées et autres), Paul Valéry writes under the rubric of “Demonology”: “The undeniable existence of all these imps of Satan—Contradiction, Obstinacy, Imitation, Slip-o’-the-Tongue, and Rigmarole—is a threat to every idea that feels well founded and sure of itself” (Valéry 1970: 525). One might contrast these inner demons, which seem at times to merge with our consciousness (not to say our conscience), with the demonic multitude following its demon king, perceived as existing outside the individual. 11.  See Graf 1999. 12.  See Amino Yoshihiko 1993. 13.  See Douglas 1996. 14.  See Mauclaire 1992: 308–309. 15.  Panofsky 1967: 117. 16.  Calvino 2013: 45. 17.  See the case of the tsukumogami in medieval Japan (Lillehoj 1995); even today, funerary services are performed for old dolls and needles in Japanese temples, such as the hari kuyō at Hōrinji in Kyoto. In modern Tokyo, there is even a temple dedicated to old bras. 18.  See Doniger 1981. 19.  See Serres 2013. 20.  Cozad 1998: 120. 21. Ibid. 22.  Cozad 1998: 121–122. Esoteric Buddhism added to the canonical three bodies of the Buddha a fourth one, called “assimilation body” (Ch. tengliushen 等流身, J. tōrūjin) that represents the wrathful, “demonic” form taken by a buddha to tame bloodthirsty demons. 23.  Cozad 1998: 120. 24. Ibid. 25.  Bialock 2002: 249. 26.  See Strickmann 2002: 109–119.

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27.  “Demonology,” in Valéry 1970: 523. 28.  See Tarabout 1992: 68. 29.  “Exorable,” from the Latin ex-oro, means amenable to prayer. The antonym is “inexorable.” This is a nod to the French Indianist Paul Mus, who once wrote: “The inexorable takes form and becomes exorable” (L’inexorable prend corps et devient exorable). Mus 1933: 375. The English translation by I. W. Mabbett (“The impalpable assumes a body and becomes accessible”) loses the double-entendre. See Mus 2011: 27. 30.  Bouchy 2001: 214. 31.  Unschuld 1986: 216. 32.  On the influence of epidemics on medieval Japanese society and Buddhist culture, see Yiengpruksawan 1995; Goble 2011; Warren 2014; and Macomber 2018. 33.  In the biblical story of the possessed man, the demon’s famous reply to the exorcist Jesus seems to be a reference not to the Roman legion but to the multitude: “My name is Legion, for we are many” (Mark 5:9, Luke 8:30). 34.  Quoted in Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 614. 35.  Ibid.: 613. 36.  Strickmann 2002: 67. 37.  Deleuze and Guattari 1987: 43. 38.  Strickmann 2002: 67–68. 39.  Douglas 1996: 99. 40.  See Tubielewicz 1980. 41.  See Assayag 1993: 78–81. 42. Ibid. 43.  Assayag 1993: 78. 44.  See B. Faure 2015b. 45.  See Granoff 2016. 46.  One could argue that Māra was intent on preserving the Brahmanic order of things that the Bodhisattva (Śākyamuni) threatened—and in that sense he was justified to confront the troublemaker. But history (as well as legend) is written by the winners. 47.  See for instance Foucher 1949: 82–83; and Lamotte 1949–1981, 1: 546–548. See also B. Faure 2018. 48.  See Foucher 1963: 207–211. 49.  Foucher 1949: 151–152; and B. Faure 2018: 224–228. 50.  It is only with one of the Buddha’s later disciples, Upagupta, that Māra was forcefully converted. See Strong 1992. 51.  DeCaroli 2004. 52.  See Iyanaga 1985: 684. In Japanese mikkyō, the motif of stabbing the demon personified by a doll did not develop as it did in Himalayan Tantra— for instance, the cham dances of Bhutan where the deity Vajrakīla stabs the liṇga (an effigy symbolizing the demon) at the climactic point of the ritual. See de Nebesky-Wojkovitz 2007. 53. See Kakuzenshō, in DNBZ 49: 117b. On this myth and its variants, see Iyanaga 1985; Davidson 1991 and 1995; and Stein 1995. On the evolution of the Vajrapāṇi cult, see also Lamotte 1966.

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54. See Kakuzenshō, in DNBZ 49: 114a; and Yamaguchi 2016: 214. 55.  Linrothe 1999: 303. 56.  Stein 1995: 159. 57.  See Stein 1995; and Davidson 1991 and 1995. In one variant, Haya­ grīva, having reduced his size to microscopic dimensions, enters Rudra’s body through his anus and explodes inside him, forcing him to submit. 58.  The symbolic reversal that transforms Maheśvara’s trampling into a source of bliss can be seen as a summit of Tantric paradox, but also as a dubious euphemism, depending on one’s viewpoint. This kind of euphemism is unfortunately too common. Not so long ago, the Khmer Rouge used the term deliverance for “execution.” 59.  See Linrothe 1999: 25–26. 60.  Martin-Dubost 1997: 158. 61. See T. 46, 1911: 39b. 62.  T. 38, 1778: 575b. 63.  On this question, see Stone 1995 and 1999. 64.  According to Derrida: “To haunt does not mean to be present, and it is necessary to introduce haunting into the very construction of a concept. Of every concept, beginning with the concepts of being and time. That is what we would be calling here a hauntology. Ontology opposes it only in a movement of exorcism. Ontology is a conjuration.” Derrida 1994: 202. See also Gordon 1997. 65.  See Derrida 2002; and Malamoud 2002. Leftovers and excrement characterize in particular the hungry ghosts (preta). They often also constitute the food of deities of demonic origins, like Rudra and Hārītī. In India and Japan, they fall under the purview of outcasts, the societal equivalent of demons. CHAPTER 2. THE DEMONIC WORLD

1.  In the wake of the ethnic conflicts in Sri Lanka and now in Myanmar, the relations between Buddhism and violence are being reconsidered. See, for example, Murphy 2011. But most authors tend to neglect the demonic metaphor or the role played by the gods in these conflicts. On this question, see B. Faure 2010. 2.  Much ink has been spilled on the distinction or dichotomy between magic and religion, which became standard since the work of Tylor, Frazer, Durkheim, Mauss, Malinowski, Evans-Pritchard, and Stanley Tambiah. This distinction is not particularly relevant in the case of medieval Japan. 3.  See Favret-Saada 1980. 4.  See for instance T. 21, 1202: 24b. 5.  See Satō Hiroo 2003. 6.  T. 76, 2410: 617c–618a. For more on this question, see Macomber 2018. 7.  T. 76, 2410: 765c–767c. 8.  Katz 1995a: 58. 9.  A case in point is the Shingon master and Zen patriarch Yōsai 栄西 (var. Eisai, 1141–1215), who advocated both ritual (kaji kitō) and physical medicine (herbal medicine, moxibustion). In his Kissa yōjinki 喫茶用心記,

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for instance, he advocated the beneficial effects of tea. Another example is that of the tradition that developed at Onjōji. See Macomber 2018. 10.  See Kapferer 1983. 11.  See Favret-Saada 1980. 12.  In the case of devas like Benzaiten and Daikokuten, for instance, the ritual can treat them either as “real” (demonic) deities or as “provisional manifestations” (gongen) of some buddha or bodhisattva. 13.  See for instance de Heusch 1971; Rouget 1985; Lewis 1989; Leiris 1996; and de Certeau 2000. 14. For Hinduism, see Smith 2006; Assayag and Tarabout 1999; for Daoism and esoteric Buddhism, see Strickmann 2002: 194–227; for Japan, see Kida 1975; Komatsu Kazuhiko 1994 and 2000; Blacker 1975; W. McCullough 1973; Bargen 1997, Bouchy 2000; and Iyanaga 2012. 15.  Drawing on the Tale of Genji, William McCullough differentiates between etiological and hysterical possession. In the former case, there are no symptoms visible other than those of an ordinary illness; the spirits do not show themselves. In hysterical possession, however, the afflicting spirits are forced to identify themselves, before being ritually expelled. See W. McCullough 1973: 27; and Bargen 1997. 16.  See Tinsley 2019: 169; and de Certeau 2000. 17.  Freeman 1999: 151. 18.  On the theatrical element in possession, see Leiris 1996. 19.  See Freud 1962; and Devereux 1970. 20.  Geertz 1973: 114–118. 21.  De Martino 1999: 14. Additionally, scholars such as Bruno Latour (1993, 2010, 2018), Philippe Descola (2013), Eduardo Viveiros de Castro (2017), and Eduardo Kohn (2013) have recently questioned the naturalist “ontology” underlying a good deal of anthropological discourse. 22.  See Souriau 2015; and Latour 2018. 23.  Hamlet 1.5.167–168. 24.  See Graf 1997. 25.  See Strickmann 1996 and 2002; and Lomi 2014. 26. Strickmann 2002: 198. The tem “iatrogenic” refers to an illness caused by medical treatment. 27.  See B. Faure 1998a: 159–160. 28.  See Amino Yoshihiko 1993; and Hosokawa 1993. 29.  See Murayama 1990: 375. 30.  On the danuo, see Eliasberg 1984. 31.  See Watabe 1991: 49–95; and Teeuwen and van der Veere 1998. 32.  See Gras 1999 and 2004. 33.  Quoted in Gras 2004. 34.  See Caillet 1977. 35. The kami were powerful spell casters. So were the devas, and sometimes even the buddhas and the bodhisattvas. Vying with them was a host of demons of various origins, native or foreign. 36.  See B. Faure 2015b. See also Smits 1996; Smyers 1999; Bathgate 2004; Bouchy 1984; and Iyanaga 2012.

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37.  See B. Faure 2015b: 286–292. 38.  See Favret-Saada 1980; and Siegel 2006. 39.  The term shikigami sometimes designates the twelve divine generals (and foremost among them, Kumbhira/Konpira) who form the retinue of the Healing Buddha Yakushi. The shikigami could also be animals like the kuda-gitsune used by shugenja in the Iizuna rituals. These animals were not real foxes (kitsune); in some cases, they remained invisible, in others they were smaller animals kept in a bamboo pipe (kuda 管). They were believed to reveal past, present, and future events, to fulfill the ritualist’s wishes, to attach themselves to his body, and in certain cases to kill an enemy who had cast a spell on him. 40.  Komatsu Kazuhiko 1994: 222. 41. See Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 783. 42.  While the term yorishiro has passed into common usage, it was actually coined by Orikuchi Shinobu. 43.  The OED gives the following meanings: banding together by oath, conspiracy; constraining by oath, invoking of spirits, conjuring; the effecting of something supernatural by the invocation of a sacred name or by the use of some spell; orig. the compelling of spirits or demons, by such means, to appear and to do one’s bidding; and: a magical form of words in conjuring; a magic spell, incantation, charm. See also Derrida 1994: 49–50 and 61–63. 44.  Graf 1999: 141. For Japan, see Komatsu Kazuhiko 1994: 207. 45.  Graf 1999: 162–163. 46.  Graf 1999: 169. 47. This political use of spells goes back at least to the Nara period. Prince Nagaya 長屋 and Tachibana Naramaro 橘奈良麻呂, for instance, were accused of resorting to such spells. See Murayama 1990: 373; and Gras 2011. 48.  On this point, see Padoux 1999: 141–142. 49.  In Shingon, for instance, it is used as a synonym for “empowering” (kaji 加持) or animating the ritual area, its implements, and its offerings. Strickmann 2002: 207–208. 50.  Strickmann discusses the case of one such āveśa ritual performed by the esoteric Buddhist master Vajrabodhi (671–741); see Strickmann 2002: 207–208. See also Amoghavajra on āveśa, in Strickmann 2002: 228–238, describing an āveśa ritual explained by Maheśvara, T. 21, 1277. 51.  Murayama 1990: 364. 52.  T. 76, 2410: 164b. 53.  Freeman 1999: 163. The word “exorcism” comes from the Greek horkos, meaning oath or conjuration. When a demon proves “in-exorable” (literally, not exorable, responding to prayers), it has to be “ex-orcized.” 54.  Kapferer 1983: 12. 55.  See B. Faure 2015a. 56.  See Cogan 1987: 189–193. 57.  It is not said clearly that the cause of the disease was a mononoke, but in the Fudō riyaku engi emaki, one sees, in front of Abe no Seimei reading the saimon, several yakubyō-gami 疫病神 (i.e., the mononoke) responsible for the illness: five pot-bellied and somewhat comical beings, half-human

N O T E S T O PAG E S 4 6 – 50

half-animal; and, next to Shōkū, two beings, also hybrid, of demonic appearance, who are perhaps the onmyōji’s shikigami assistants. There was an exorcism called “Sending back the live spirits of King Fudō” (Fudō-ō ikiryō gaeshi 不動王生霊帰し) that was used when someone was possessed by animal spirits. It required the use of shikigami protector spirits. 58.  I follow here Komatsu Kazuhiko1994. 59.  Komatsu Kazuhiko 1994: 268–269. 60.  Komatsu Kazuhiko 1994: 272. 61.  Lamotte 1949–1981, vol. 1: 317–318. 62.  Strickmann 1996: 66. 63.  Smith 2006: 376. The bīja can also be deposited on the body of an image of a deity. 64.  A good illustration is the tale “Miminashi Hōichi,” in Hearn 2006: 3–14. See also the movie derived from Hearn’s novel, Kwaidan 怪談 (Masaki Kobayashi, 1964). 65.  See Padoux 1980. 66.  T. 76, 2410: 621a–b. 67.  A charm (from the Latin carmen) is, properly speaking, a magical formula that is sung or recited to confer magical efficacy on an amulet, to cure a disease. It is therefore functionally similar to a mantra. An amulet (amuletum) is an object that preserves people from diseases. The word talisman has an obscure etymology (Persian tilism, perhaps borrowed from the Greek telesma ‘consecrated object’ or Hebrew tselem ‘image.’ A talisman does not simply protect, like an amulet, it also irradiates a positive power. If the charm (magical song or word, incantation) is an object or act supposed to exert a magical action, then the amulet and talisman represent in principle the two complementary functions of the exorcism: the amulet allegedly drives away malefic powers, while the talisman attracts beneficent powers. In practice, however, the two functions are intertwined. There were also purely demonifuge talismans. 68.  On the symbolism of the fu, see Kaltenmark 1960. 69.  This use of the fu can be found, for instance, in the work of the Daoist master Ge Hong 葛洪 (283–343). 70.  See Thierry 1987: 65–66. Strickmann has studied several important texts centered on seals and talismans (2002: 143–151). See also Copp 2014. 71.  There were already wooden tablets (mokkan) that served as a support for written incantations during the Nara period. 72. See Machida shiritsu hakubutsukan 1991; and Strickmann 2002: 184–185. See also Kaempfer 1906 and 1999. According to one Shugendō source: “The talisman of the Dharma seal of the ox king in Japan is formed by the combination of the two characters 生 ‘born’ and 土 ‘earth’, because one reads these two characters ubusuna 生土. One sticks that seal 印璽 of the ubusuna god on doors to ward off obstacles.” See “The matter of the ox king,” in Shugen seiten: 676. 73.  Winfield 2005: 108. 74.  According to Kūkai’s Sokushin jōbutsu gi 即身成仏義: “The sun of the Buddha reflected in the water of the mind of all beings is called ka (adding

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or increasing). The water of the practitioner’s mind experiencing the sun of the Buddha is called ji (holding or grasping).” Yamasaki 1988: 110–111. 75.  Padoux 1999: 134. For āveśa, see the Suji liyan Moheshouluotian aweishe fa 速疾立驗魔醯首羅天阿尾奢法, translated by Amoghavajra, T. 21, 1277. Quoted in Hōbōgirin 1: 7. See also the description of an āveśa ritual performed by Vajrabodhi in Strickmann 2002: 207–208. CHAPTER 3. DEMONOLOGIES

1.  Deleuze and Guattari 1987: 243. 2.  On Indian demonology, see Bhattacharya 2000; Berkson 1995; Biardeau 1991a and 1991c. 3.  Heike monogatari, Kakuichi-bon, ed. Kajihara and Yamashita, vol. 1: 134–135; translated in H. McCullough 1988: 59. 4.  Taiheiki, in NKBT 34, vol. 1: 408; translated in H. McCullough 1979: 360. 5.  See Amino Yoshihiko 1993. 6.  The Chinese monk Yixing 一行 (673–727) already describes such a ritual, during which the priest draws an image of the trouble-making demon inside a triangular altar. He visualizes Acala on the altar and identifies with him, imagining that his own foot tramples the head of the demon, which runs away to avoid being killed. 7.  See B. Faure 2015a: 139–141 and 167–169. 8.  Moniluo tan jing (T. 21, 1393), quoted in Strickmann 2002: 109–113. 9.  See Strickmann 2002: 63–67. 10.  Jainism has a slightly different list of these beings, called, interestingly enough, “interstitial deities,” because they are wedged in the crevices of mountains and forests: devas, asuras, nāgas, and garudas being replaced by piśacas, bhūtas, yakṣas, and kiṃpuruṣas. 11. See TZ 7, fig. 23, p. 505. In Japan, the name ashura usually evokes the famous statue of the six-armed, three-headed exemplar of Kōfukuji. 12.  Mammitzsch 1991: 353. 13.  Strickmann 1996. 14.  Mahābhārata 3. 219; see Van Buitenen 1975: 657–659; and Biardeau 2002: 644–653. 15.  Their list includes Brahmāṇī, Rudrāṇi, Vaiṣṇavī, Kaumarī, Indrāṇī, Vārāhī, and Cāmuṇḍā (with sometimes an eighth one added, Mahālakṣmī, identified with Viṣṇu’s consort). See White 2006; and Wujastyk 1999. 16. In Japanese esoteric Buddhism, she belongs, together with the ḍākinīs and similar dark figures, to the retinue of King Yama. See B. Faure 2015b. 17.  Categories sometimes overlap, as in the case of Rāhu, who is also described as an asura. 18.  See Peri 1917; Kobayashi Taichirō 1938; Murray 1981; and Lesbre 2000. 19.  Filliozat 1937: 83. On Hārītī in Japan, see Kakuzenshō, TZ 9: 438, TZ 5: 461; and Asabashō, TZ 3: 51a, 597b, 599b. See also Miyazaki 1985; Tada 1985; and Asai 1985.

N O T E S T O PAG E S 6 0 – 6 6

20.  See Murray 1981: 257–259. 21.  Murray 1981: 267. The scene calls to mind Chinese and Japanese processions of demons—a theme to which we will return shortly. 22.  Filliozat 1937: 150 23.  Filliozat 1937: 149. 24.  Filliozat 1937: 152. 25.  See Miyazaki Eishū 1985; and Asai 1985. 26.  Lokesh Chandra 2003. 27.  See Kamitsuka 1996. Pathological influences were also called xie 邪 (or xieqi 邪氣, perverse or malignant breaths), which soon took on a moral connotation (designating heretical, demonic agents). There was thus a semantic shift from the pathological to the demonic. A significant example can be seen in the Sankyō hiroku 三教秘録 (1800), in which the graphic depiction of pathological agents shifts gradually from realistic worms and insects to anthropomorphic, nasty, sneering critters. Another term for such pathological agents was chimi mōryō 魑魅魍魎. 28.  Kamitsuka 1996. 29.  On Chinese pestilence deities, see Katz 1987, 1995a, and 1995b. 30.  Strickmann 2002: 77. 31.  On this cult, see also Kubo 1961 and 1996; and L. Kohn 1993 and 1995. I discuss this question in more detail in Lords of Life. 32.  See Harper 2007 and Harper, forthcoming; and Sasaki 2017. 33.  See Sasaki 2017: 45–104. A somewhat similar list is found in a text preserved in the Taiwan National Library, the Liwei hanwenjia 礼緯含文嘉, edited in Sasaki 2017: 144–160. 34.  Sasaki 2017: 88. As we will see, the stove deity (kamadogami 竈神) is usually male, but sometimes it is female. 35.  See for instance Moerman 2009. There are many legends about the “island of the demons” (Oni-ga-shima 鬼ヶ島, or Kikai-ga-shima 鬼界ヶ島). The latter name designates a real island in Satsuma Bay (Kyushu). See Frank 2011: 45–52. 36.  See Reider 2003. 37.  See Frank 2011: 19. 38. Significantly, oni were often described as wearing a straw coat (mino) and hat (kasa), which were the attributes of the seasonal visiting gods (marōdo 客人). These attributes were supposed to render invisible those who wear them. See Frank 2011: 21–25. 39.  T. 76, 2410: 765c–768a. 40.  See Tubielewicz 1980: 69–71; B. Faure 1998: 28, 135–136, 167– 168; and É. Faure 2017: 63–82. 41.  See Plutschow 1990: 203–228. See also Sakurai 1984; Kuroda Toshio 1996; and Gras 2013. 42.  Gukanshō, NKBT 86: 337; translation in Brown and Ishida 1979: 218. 43.  NKBT 86: 339; translation in Brown and Ishida 1979: 220–221. 44. See Nihon ryōiki, translated in Kyoko Nakamura 1973: 158–160. 45.  On the political background of the goryō cult, see McMullin 1988:

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288; Kuroda Toshio 1996; Yoshie 1995 and 1996. On the shift from onryō to goryō, see Sakurai 1984. 46.  Nihon sandai jitsuroku’s entry for Chōgan 5 (863)/5/20, quoted in Yoshie 1996: 93. The first of these onryō, Sawara Shinnō 早良親王, starved himself to death after being exiled to Awaji for the alleged murder of Fujiwara no Tanetsugu in 785. It seems that his death served as a rallying sign to protest movements throughout Japan. In 797, Kanmu Tennō sent two monks to perform a service over his grave in Awaji, and in 800 he was promoted posthumously with the title of Sudō Tennō. Soon, memorial services were performed on his behalf in all the provincial temples (kokubunji 国分寺). In 810, Saga Tennō ordained that a group of one hundred monks should perform funerary services for him. It was in that context that the deaths of Iyo Shinnō (executed for conspiracy in a plot in 807) and his mother, Fujiwara Yoshiko, took place, followed by those of Fujiwara no Nakanari, executed as a plotter after the Kusuko Incident (Kusuko no Hen), aimed at the retired emperor Heijō. Likewise, Tachibana no Hayanari died in exile after being accused of a plot during the Jōwa no Hen in 842, and Fun’ya no Miyatamarō died in exile the following year for the same reason. See Plutschow 1990: 207–209. 47.  Yamaguchi Kenji 2016: 161–162. 48.  McMullin 1988: 290–291. 49.  Yoshie 1996: 89–95. 50.  The Kami and Shimo Goryō Shrines in Kyoto were dedicated to eight vengeful spirits, among which were those of Sawara Shinnō (Sudō Tennō, d. 785), Kibi no Makibi (d. 775), and Tachibana no Hayanari (d. 842). See Plutschow 1990: 207–209. 51.  Yoshie 1996: 98–100. 52.  T. 76, 2410: 731c. 53.  McMullin 1988: 291. 54.  There is extensive literature on the subject. See in particular Shibata 1984a; Borgen 1986; McMullin 1988; Yoshie 1996: 89–114; and É. Faure 2009. 55.  This episode is not mentioned in Son’i’s older biographies. The first mention of it seems to be found in the Kitano tenjin engi, the earliest version of which is before 1194. (Iyanaga Nobumi, personal communication). See Kasai 1973: 163. See also Kaminishi 2014. 56.  Taiheiki, NKBT 34, vol. 1: 407–410; translated in H. McCullough 1979: 356–362; and Yoshie 1996: 89–91. 57.  Taiheiki, NKBT 34, vol. 1: 408–409; translated in H. McCullough 1979: 360. 58.  See Borgen 1886: 315–318; Kasai 1973: 87–91; and Nanri 1980a: 53–76. According to one version of the Kitano tenjin engi, Dōken was the younger brother of Jōzō; see Nanri 1980a: 38. 59.  Yoshie 1996: 89–91. 60.  Wilson 2010: 158. See also Plutschow 1990: 211–212; and É. Faure 2017: 91–106. 61.  See Plutschow 1990: 213–214. 62. About Shunkan and the “Shishigatani Affaire” (1177), see Plutschow 1990: 223–224.

N O T E S T O PAG E S 7 1 –74

63.  Heike monogatari, Kakuichi-bon, ed. Kajihara and Yamashita, vol. 1: 296–300; translated in H. McCullough 1988: 106. 64.  Heike monogatari, Kakuichi-bon, ed. Kajihara and Yamashita, vol. 1: 268–269; translated in H. McCullough 1988: 97. 65. Ibid. 66.  Heike monogatari, Kakuichi-bon, ed. Kajihara and Yamashita, vol. 4: 292–294; translated in H. McCullough 1988: 402. 67.  Heike monogatari, Kakuichi-bon, ed. Kajihara and Yamashita, vol. 4: 290; translated in H. McCullough 1988: 401. 68.  On this question, see Plutschow 1990: 217–228; Plutschow 1997; and Oyler 2006b. 69. See Heike monogatari, Kakuichi-bon, ed. Kajihara and Yamashita, vol. 4: 296–300; translated in H. McCullough 1988: 105–106. 70.  Fortunately, owing to prayers of Hieizan priests, a new prince was soon born—and lived on to become Horikawa Tennō 堀河天皇 (1079–1107). However, according to other documents, the death of that prince was caused by smallpox, and it was interpreted as resulting from a curse (tatari) from the deities of Gion Shrine and Kibune Shrine. 71.  See Brown and Ishida, 1979: 87. 72.  In the Jimon denki horoku, Shinra Myōjin is also held responsible for the death of Go-Sanjō Tennō, who had refused to authorize the erection of an ordination platform at Onjōji. DNBZ (Suzuki gakujutsu zaidan ed.) 86: 142b. On this question, see also Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 19–25; and Sujung Kim 2020: 51–52. 73.  See Yanagita 1969, vol. 9 (1962): 357. The story of Sanemori is retold by Zeami Motokiyo (ca. 1363–1443) in his Nō play “Sanemori.” See Plutschow 1990: 235–237. 74.  See Reider 2005 and 2009; Yamaguchi Kenji 2016; Kondō Yorishiro 1996; and Caillet 1980. 75.  Reider 2003. 76.  See Caillet 1977. 77.  On this question, see Matsuoka Shinpei 2000b. Matsuoka points out that oni were sometimes called vināyakas, and thus linked with a specific category of Buddhist demons. 78.  See Gras 1999 and 2004. 79. See Tanaka Takako 1994a and 1994b; Baba 1971: 72–81; and Nakano Yoshihito 1998. 80.  Kokubun taikan, Rekishi-bu 1: 72; translated in H. McCullough 2014: 136. 81.  Konkaku monogatarishū 14.42; translated in Dykstra 1998–2003, 1: 296–298. The sonshō darani was said to be particularly powerful to repel demons. 82.  Other exemplars are found in the Spencer and Boone collections, as well as in the Tokyo National Museum. Among them, only the Spencer exemplar is accompanied by a text. The Shinju-an exemplar has been the most studied because of its aesthetic qualities, and it has consequently been considered to be the model of the others. Tanaka Takako (1999) argues that

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the original scroll is most likely one of the Tokyo National Museum exemplars. This search for originals, however, does little to explain what led to the emergence of such representations, and why objects, in particular, moved to the front of the stage. 83.  See Toriyama 2005; and Takada 1992. 84.  This scroll is also known as the Naki Fudō engi-e 泣不動縁起絵 (Illustrated origins of the crying Fudō) or Shōkū ekotoba 証空絵詞 (Illustrated tale of Shōkū). See Takasaki 1980. See also Lillehoj 1995; and É. Faure 2017: 167–186. 85.  The text seems to have been authored by a Shingon priest. On that question, see Reider 2009; Tubielewicz 1980: 82–84; and Rambelli 2007: 237–248. For Rambelli, the Tsukumogami ki presents a sophisticated doctrine about the buddhahood of nonsentient beings, and as such it constitutes a response of the religious institutions to the development of a consumer society during the Muromachi and Edo periods. It introduces “a ritual dimension in the disposal of used, exhausted objects” (p. 246). This belief led to needle offerings (hari kuyō 針供養), some of which are still performed today. 86.  Paprika (2006) is based on Tsutsui Yasutaka’s novel of the same title (2009). It describes a dream parade that runs amok, invading reality. 87.  On this deity, see Harper 2007 and Harper, forthcoming, as well as Sasaki 2017; and Briot 2013: 92–95. 88.  See Harper 2007. 89.  I borrow this expression from Mitter 1992. 90.  For a general introduction, see De Visser 1908. See also Chigiri 1973 and 1975; Kurushima 2015; and Rotermund 1991b. 91.  Ōkagami: 49–53; translated in H. McCullough 2014: 83. 92. Strassberg 2002: 111. Note that the Chinese character used for “wildcat” is read in Japanese as tanuki. Thus, the association between tengu, fox, and tanuki seems to derive from a misinterpretation of the Shanhai jing. On the etymology of tengu, see also Shiojiri 9: 73. 93.  DNBZ (Bussho kankōkai edition) 149: 33a. 94.  See Abe Yasurō 2014: 432b. 95. See Kakuzenshō, in DNBZ 46: 330. On this question, see Strickmann 2002; and B. Faure 2015b. 96.  See Kuramitsu 2008. 97. See Byakuhō kushō 6: 266–273. 98.  Shinshū Hirata Atsutane zenshū, vol. 9. I am indebted to Andrew Macomber, Carol Pang, and Or Porath for these references. 99. See Tengu zōshi emaki in Zoku Nihon emaki taisei 19 (1984); and Wakabayashi 2012. 100.  On this question, see B. Faure 2015b: 157–161. 101.  See B. Faure 1998; and Blacker 1967. 102.  See Hansen 2008 103.  Hirata Atsutane zenshū, vol. 3: 179–180; see also Hansen 2009: 150. 104.  Hirata Atsutane zenshū, vol. 3: 83; and Hansen 2009: 156–157. 105.  See Abe Yasurō 2003; and Wakabayashi 2012.

N O T E S T O PAG E S 83 – 8 6

106.  The expression kenmitsu taisei was first used by Kuroda Toshio to refer collectively to the seven schools of Nara Buddhism and the two new schools of Heian Buddhism—Tendai and Shingon. 107.  Abe Yasurō has shown that this text has close relations with another painted scroll, the Zegaibō emaki 是害坊絵巻, centered on an Indian tengu named Zegaibō 是害坊 who takes a severe beating by the gohō dōji. See Umezu 1978. This story may imply criticism of Shugendō since tengu were seen as the assistants of the shugenja. Along the same lines, we find Jien’s criticism of Hōnen’s “demoniac” heresy, and his denunciation of the “false goryō” of Go-Shirakawa Tennō. See Abe Yasurō 2003. 108.  The story first appears in Konjaku monogatarishū 20: 2; translated in Dykstra 1998–2003, vol. 2: 160–164. 109. See Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 730c–731a. 110.  Shasekishū, NKBT 85: 318–319. See also Bouchy 1979. 111. See Konjaku monogatari shū 20:1, translated in in Dykstra 1998– 2003, vol. 2: 159–160. See also Tubielewicz 1980: 69. 112.  See Abe Yasurō 2003; Wakabayashi 1999: 491–492. 113.  See Williams 2009: 62–68. 114.  See Miyamoto Kesao 1989. 115.  See Bouchy 1979. 116.  Maō is a “hidden buddha” (hibutsu 秘仏), whose image is shown only once every sixty years. 117.  Shiojiri 10: 285. On Mount Hiko, see Grapard 2016. 118. See Heike monogatari, Kakuichi-bon, ed. Kajihara and Yamashita, vol. 4: 98; translated in H. McCullough 1988: 349–350. Māra is also said to have sexual relationships with men and women and to be reborn into a female womb. Because he makes the pleasure of humans his own, he is called Takejizaiten, the “deva who freely transforms into others.” On the crossing to Fudaraku, see Moerman 2007a. 119.  Kyakuhai bōki, in Kamata and Tanaka 1971:121. See also Iyanaga 1996–1997: 372. 120.  Nichiren, letter dated 4/16, 1275, in Kamakura ibun, Komonjo-hen, no. 11871; quoted in Iyanaga 1996–1997: 373. 121.  Quoted in Hosokawa 1993: 95–96. 122. See Gukanshō, NKBT 86: 295; translated in Brown and Ishida 1979: 173. 123. See Heike monogatari, Enkyō-bon, jō, 223; quoted in Bialock 2002: 248. 124.  Enkyō-bon, jō, 223, quoted in Bialock 2002: 248. 125.  On the Kōfukuji petition, see Morrell 1987. The same criticism was directed toward Hieizan monks in a petition dated 1224, and toward Zen monks in the Nomori no kagami 野守鏡. See GR 27: 506. 126.  Taiheiki, NKBT 34, vol. 1: 413–417; translated in H. McCullough, 368–371. The motif is the same as in the Tengu zōshi emaki, although in the latter documents the demons are tengu. 127.  Several scholars have studied this motif: see in particular Hosokawa 1993: 87–112; and Iyanaga 1996–1997.

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128.  Letter dated April 20, 1576; quoted in Iyanaga, 1996–97: 376–378. See also Fujimaki 1991: 192–193. 129.  Wakabayashi 1999: 503. 130.  See Koizumi and Yamada 1993: 308; and Wakabayashi 1999: 491. 131. See Dai Nihon shiryō 122: 111–112. 132.  Wakabayashi 1999: 491–492. 133.  Wakabayashi 1999: 493. 134.  Wakabayashi 1999: 483–484. 135.  See Bialock 2007: 300; and Wakabayashi 1999. 136.  Wakabayashi 1999: 500. 137.  Wakabayashi 1999: 495. 138. See Genkō shakusho, DNBZ 62, 470: 89b-c. 139.  For more on this question, see McMullin 1988. 140.  Wakabayashi 1999: 484–485. 141.  On this question, see Wakabayashi 1995 and 1999. 142.  See Komatsu Kazuhiko 1994: 91–92; and Tanaka Takako 1993. 143. See Bikisho: 511; translated in Teeuwen and van der Veere 1998. 144.  Japanese foxes have been the subjects of numerous studies. See above all Nakamura Teiri 2001: 12–38. See also Gorai 1985; Bouchy 1984; Iyanaga 2012; Smyers 1999; and Bathgate 2004. 145.  Lévi 1984. 146.  See Teeuwen and van der Veere 1998: 37. 147.  Quoted in Kawaguchi Kenji 1999: 240. 148.  In one variant of the legend, it was eventually moved to Shinnyodō 真如堂 in Kyoto. This temple also has a Dakiniten Hall, and the cult of Daki­ niten there is said to go back to the Kamakura period. See Kobayashi Gesshi 1978. On Tamamo no Mae, see also Nakamura Teiri 2001: 230–259. 149.  On this ritual, see Lomi 2014, and Fowler 2016: 150–182. 150.  For more on this question, see Faure 2015b: 117–150. 151.  The same is true of the so-called lizuna magic, whose main deity, lizuna Gongen, is represented as a tengu standing on a flying fox. It required, in particular, the use of “pipe-foxes” (kuda-gitsune 管狐, probably a kind of weasel) as animal-spirits. Even today, some families are said to use that type of magic and to own foxes or weasels. They are feared and despised because they are believed to magically acquire their neighbors’ riches. This belief has given rise to rampant social discrimination. See Iyanaga 2012. 152. See Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 732b; and Macomber 2018: 364. The term dada might derive from Daten 吒天 (Dakiniten). It is also said to come from dada-fumi [trampling] or dada-oshi, a rite performed at the beginning of the year to awaken the forces of the earth and to push the forces of evil into the ground. On dada-oshi, see Caillet 1980: 445–448; and Caillet 1981: 107. 153. See Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 732b-c. See also Iyanaga 2015: 375–380. The recent discovery of a fox skull inside a Buddhist statue suggests that such exorcisms were actually performed. 154.  This handscroll is known through several variants. The one used here is from the Cleveland Museum of Art. Another version is available online at the Waseda University Library.

N O T E S T O PAG E S 93 –10 1

155.  See Iyanaga 2012. 156.  See Kobayashi 1944 and 1946; and Miyajima Shin’ichi 1985. 157. See Jigoku zōshi, in Ienaga 1976. 158.  Kobayashi Taichirō 1974. 159. Although this deity was already known in the Han dynasty as a baleful star, it does not seem to have been the object of a cult. According to the Jin shu tianwen zhi 晉書天文志, compiled by Li Chunfeng 李淳風 (618–649), it was one of the seven stars produced by Suixing 歳星 (Muxing 木星, Jupiter). The belief that he devours demons appears in the Tianxing xing bimi yigui, a ritual text allegedly translated by Amoghavajra. 160.  On the astral nature of this deity, see Shiojiri 9: 145. 161.  The caption reads: “Among gods it is an astral [deity] called Tenkeisei. He takes Gozu Tennō and his retinue, as well as all the pestilence demons, dips them into vinegar, and makes them his lunch.” 162.  See Miyajima 1985. 163. See Kakuzenshō, in DNBZ (Bussho kankōkai ed.) 46: 350–353. The textual basis is the Hu zhutongzi tuoluoni jing 護諸童子陀羅尼経 (Dhāraṇīsūtra for the Protection of Children, T. 19, 1028A, translated by Bodhiruci (between 508 and 535). See also the Tongzi jing niansong fa 童子経念誦法 (T. 19, 1028b), a developed version translated by Śubhakarasiṃha; and Luofunu shuo jiuliao xiaoer jiping jing 囉嚩拏説救療小兒疾病経 (T. 19, 1330), supposedly taught by the demon king Rāvana and translated by Dharmabhadra (between 989 and 999). For a detailed study, see Filliozat 1935 and 1937. 164.  In Kakujō’s Takushō, the Gandharva king is said to wear an ox head on the top of his head, and he seems therefore related to the pestilence god Gozu Tennō. See T. 78, 2488: 464c; see also Misaki 1992: 205. In India, the gandharvas are usually described as heavenly musicians, but, like their Western counterparts, the centaurs, they have an ambivalent nature. Thus, the Vedic god Indra was celebrated because “he has smitten the [singular] Gandharva into the bottomless darkness.” In Buddhism, the name gandharva also designates both the demon that destroys fetuses and the “intermediary being” (Skt. antarabhāva, J. chūū) that, following the death of a person, is reincarnated in an embryo before being reborn to a new life. 165. See Jigoku zōshi, in Ienaga 1976. See also Gyōrinshō, T. 76, 2409: 155c. 166.  T. 20, 1028A, translated by Bodhiruci between 508 and 535. This text is quoted in extenso in T. 21, 1336 and T. 53, 2122. See also T. 19, 999. 167. See Asabashō, TZ 9: 471a. This text was hung with a five-color thread to the neck of a parturient for protection against the fifteen demons. See T. 75: 891b; and Gyōrinshō, T. 76, 2409: 156c–157a. 168. See Asabashō: see TZ 9: 471b; and the Dōji mandara (p. 472) and fig. 79. 169.  Gyōrinshō, T. 76, 2409: 155c–156b. 170.  Asabashō, TZ 9: 471b–c. 171. See Kakuzenshō, TZ. 4: 759c. See also the variant in She wuai dabei yigui 攝無礙大悲儀軌, T. 20, 1067: 137a. On the Gandharva king, see T. 20, 1067: 219b–c; for the mandala with bīja, see p. 220b. On the fifteen

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demons, see Byakuhō kushō, TZ 7: 219. The Buddha gives a dhāraṇī to protect children against these fifteen demons; one must recite the list of their names, and they have to obey lest their head blows up. The Gandharva king is sometimes presented as the husband of Hārītī. See DNBZ 127: 11b. The Dōjikyō mandara of Mimurotoji offers an interesting variant, in which the Gandharva king holds a child in his arms and is flanked by six figures in official dress (one of them a woman). A buddha is seated above the scene, while three children stand on each side below, around a group of small animals. See Kyōto kokuritsu hakubutsukan 1998: 137. 172.  The name “divine insect” is also used to designate the silkworm. 173.  The same thing is said of the chi, a figure whose name is written on Chinese talismans, and perhaps the two demon eaters are related. See Thierry 1987. 174.  On this representation, see Umezawa 2014. 175.  See Baltrušaitis 1981. 176.  See B. Faure 2015b: 17–45. 177.  According to the origin story, once when Emperor Xuanzong was ill, a small red demon appeared in his dream and attempted to steal his favorite flute. When he called for help, a giant appeared, enucleated the demon’s eye, and swallowed him. He later said that his name was Zhong Kui and that he was a literatus of Nanshan province who had killed himself after being refused entrance to the imperial palace. Instead of becoming a vengeful spirit, however, he had died swearing to protect the emperor and his country. Upon waking and feeling no longer ill, Xuanzong had an image of Zhong Kui drawn by the famous artist Wu Daozi (680–740) as a talisman against nefarious influences. Zhong Kui’s reputation rapidly increased, and his image appeared on the doors of all houses. He even became the hero of popular novels and of opera. See Eliasberg 1976; and Tsai 2015. 178.  See Eliasberg 1976. 179. See Kiyū shōran, vol. 2: 300. 180. See Shugen seiten: 679–680; and Kobayashi 1946: 235–236. 181.  This identification is rejected as spurious by the Shuren hiyōgi 修 練秘要義, a later Shugendō text. See Shugen seiten: 679–680. 182.  I am indebted in what follows to Donald Harper 2007; and forthcoming. 183.  See Brisset 2015: 366–367. 184.  The oldest extant drawing of Baize / Hakutaku is found in the Tiandi ruixiang zhi 天地瑞祥志, a treatise on auspicious signs that was apparently known in ninth-century Japan. See Harper 2007: 215. 185.  See for instance Kyūshū kokuritsu hakubutsukan 2006a. The Hakutaku hikai zu scroll also shows a wish-fulfilling jewel (a clear Buddhist influence) between Hakutaku’s two horns (on its head, not its back). The White Marsh Diagrams combined drawings of spirits, demons, and marvels encountered in everyday life with text to identify them and provide the magical method to control them. For the different representations of Baize / Hakutaku, see Sasaki 2007: 120–132. 186.  See for instance Umezawa Megumi 2014: 383–403.

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CHAPTER 4. LIKE AN EVIL WIND—GOZU TENNŌ

1  On this text, see Yamamoto Hiroko 1998: 513–559. 2. See Yamamoto Hiroko 1998: 546–548. I am indebted to Andrew Macumber for this translation. 3.  Nāgas (which came to be confused with dragons in East Asia) represent the positive aspect of rain and water, and this aspect of Gozu Tennō is perhaps represented by his consort, Harisaijo, a daughter of the dragon king. On dragon kings and rain rituals, see Ruppert 2002. 4.  See Yanagita 1985. 5.  See Yanagita 1985: 200–201. Yanagita thought that Gozu Tennō was originally a god that controlled rain and water. See Yanagita 1969, vol. 10: 191–192; and vol. 11: 425–427. Links existed between Gozu Tennō and Toyo­ uke, the deity of Ise’s Outer Shrine, since both were gods of water seen as constituting a source of fertility. On the relationship between Gozu Tennō and cucumbers, see Koschmann 1985: 198–202. Many epidemics, like that of the years 735–737, are described as smallpox epidemics. Yet smallpox is most virulent in the cold months, and summer epidemics are more likely to be diarrhea-type diseases such as dysentery. On this question, see Janetta 1987: 74. See also Rotermund 1991a and 2001. 6.  On the development of Gozu Tennō’s cult, see Misaki 1986; Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 503–644; Hatta 2003; Kawamura Minato 2007; Saitō 2007; and Nagai 2011. 7.  See Wakita Haruko 1997 and 1999b; and Kubota 1993. In this way, the epidemic gods dwelling “at the east of the [Kamo] river” paid a yearly visit to the imperial palace. The festival came to symbolize the autonomous quarters in the southern part of the capital [Shimogyō], whose inhabitants vied with each other in the decoration of the yamaboko. 8.  Shaku Nihongi: 172–173. 9. Ibid. Hirata Atsutane argues that the true pronunciation should be Take-araki no kami, and emphasizes that araki points to the wild nature of the god (as aragami or araburu kami). See Gozu Tennō rekishin ben, in Hirata Atsutane zenshū 2: 2. 10.  See Yamaguchi 2016. 11.  See for instance Yanagita 1990h. 12.  On the early development of the cult, see Imahori 1999 and Fujisawa 2002. 13.  One can think for instance of the Great God of the Five Paths (Godō Daijin), the Chinese demon-tamer Zhong Kui, Mutō no kami, Tenkeisei, and Susanoo. 14.  Duara 1988. 15.  Saitō 2007. See also Suzuki Kōtarō 2019. 16.  See Oka 2002. 17.  Somin Shōrai might be a collective name, which Kobayashi interprets as the “leader” (shōrai) of the “So people” (So min), a term referring to Koreans. 18.  Kawamura 2007: 10. 19. A similar motif is found in the myth of Mioya no Mikoto 御祖命

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(Kamimusubi 神産巣日). On her way to visit her children, the goddess is surprised by the night near Mount Fuji. She asks for hospitality to the mountain god, who refuses on the pretext that he is observing the fast for the harvest festival and cannot entertain a guest. Mioya then goes to Mount Tsukuba, where the Tsukuba deity welcomes her. This is supposedly the reason why Mount Fuji’s summit is always cold, while Mount Tsukuba is always flourishing. See Hitachi no kuni fudoki 常陸国風土記, in Yoshino Yutaka 2000: 19–22. See also Satō Hiroo 2016: 27–28; and Ponsonby-Fane 2014: 462. 20. See ST, Bungaku-hen, Shintō shū: 71. The scripture in question is the Bussetsu Mutō Tenjin-ō himitsu shinten nyoizō daranikyō 仏説武答天神 王秘密心點如意蔵陀羅尼經, supposedly translated into Chinese by Yijing 義淨 (635–713). Hirata Atsutane was the first to denounce the apocryphal nature of that scripture. See his Gozu Tennō rekishin ben in Hirata Atsutane zenshū 2. See also Nakamura Akira 1984. 21. The Shintō shū offers a strange variant, stating that Gozu Tennō has 342 heads. Shintō shū: 69. 22.  See Kawamura Minato 2007: 239; and Wakita Osamu 1991: 2–30. 23. See ZGR, Zoku jingi-bu 55. See also Kawamura 2007: 48–52. 24.  See Saitō 2007: 140–149. 25.  In the Hekija-e, Tenkeisei devours Gozu Tennō. The merging of the two figures may reflect the Tantric identity between the tamer and tamed, and the “conversion” through absorption. On these motifs, see Stein 1995. 26.  In the Gion-sha ryakki 祇園社略記, a text compiled during the Muro­ machi period, we read: “Among the partisans of the gods (shinke 神家), the Gion [deity] is called Susanoo no Mikoto; among the Buddhists, Gozu Tennō; and among the calendar experts (rekike 暦家), Tendōshin 天道神 (God of the Heavenly Way).” The “calendar experts” in question are the members of the Kamo clan, who specialized in calendar questions in the old Yin-Yang bureau. The term tendō designates an auspicious direction, for instance, the direction appropriate to bury the placenta. The name Tendōshin refers therefore to the deity who dwells in that direction. See Saitō 2007: 135–136. 27.  Saitō 2007: 135. 28.  See Saitō 2007: 125–137. 29. See ST, Bungaku-hen, Shintō shū: 66–71; and Kawamura 2007: 78–84. 30.  See Wakita Haruko 1999: 79–80; and Kawamura 2007: 78. 31.  Several sources mention that Gozu Tennō has a lotus flower on his head and that his five horns symbolize the five characters in the title of the Lotus Sūtra (Myōhōrenge-kyō 妙法蓮華経). 32.  Depending on the version, the spared maiden is either Somin’s daughter (Shintō shū), Kotan’s daughter (Yoshida-bon), or a slave girl belonging to Kotan (Hoki naiden). See Wakita Haruko 1999: 87. The Yoshida-bon also inserts a legend according to which Gozu Tennō, rejoicing after hearing a sermon by Hōnen at Gion Shrine, composed two poems. 33.  See, for instance, ST, Jinja-hen 15, Owari, Mikawa, Ōmi no kuni: 290–294. 34.  Kawamura 2007: 165; and Yamamoto Hiroko 1998: 554.

N O T E S T O PAG E S 116 –12 3

35.  This is a parody of the Zen expression, “Only between a buddha and a buddha” (yuibutsu yo butsu). See Ōmiwa jinja shiryō, vol. 10: 313–314. 36.  See Takei 2010. 37.  See Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a; see also the Gozu Tennō saimon, in ST, Jinja-hen 24, Mino, Hida, Shinano no kuni: 447–450. 38.  Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 556; and Kawamura 2007: 216. 39.  Kawamura 2007: 209. See also Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 570–581. See also the Tsushima Gozu Tennō kōshiki, mentioned in Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 561–562. On the development of Gozu Tennō’s origin stories (engi), see also Nishida Nagao 2002. 40.  See Kawamura 2007: 212–213. 41.  Kawamura 2007: 239. See also Wakita Osamu 1991: 2–22 and 244– 246; and Morita 1978: 22–26. 42.  See also Kawaramono emaki, in Wakita Osamu 1991: 23, 30. 43.  See Saitō 2007: 160. 44.  See Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 542. 45.  The oldest example of this kind is a painting of Kasuga Shrine (dated to the beginning of the Kamakura period). The representations in which Gozu Tennō sits on a bull are clearly reminiscent of Daiitoku Myōō, a wisdom king with whom he is explicitly identified in the Tenkeisei gyōhō shidai of Kōzanji. In the Gozu Tennō mandara zu tsuitate, for instance, Gozu Tennō has three faces and twelve arms, and he is riding a tiger. This text is found in the Kasuga Taisha collection and dates from the beginning of the Kamakura period. 46.  A case in point is a printed image (dated 1286) of a six-faced Gozu Tennō preserved at Hōseki-ji. See also the Yoshino mandara of Saidaiji, and the Zaō Gongen fushi-e of Nyoirin-ji (where Gozu has three faces). The Hie Sannō suijaku mandara of Myōhō-in belongs to the same type (although Gozu has only one face). Here Gozu Tennō has the look of a kami rather than that of a Tantric deity. But these images date from the beginning of the Muromachi period. In modern talismans (ofuda), he is shown seated or standing alone, holding an ax and a lace in his two hands. 47.  On the role of Gozu Tennō in Shugendō, see Miyake 2007: 244–248. 48.  See Nara kokuritsu hakubutsukan 1964: 77, fig. 99. 49.  See Shiga kenritsu Biwako bunkakan 2000, fig. 31. 50.  DNBZ 49: 312b. 51.  As can be seen in the case of Fudō, the lace is usually an apotropaic weapon, symbolizing the subjugation of demons. 52. See Fusō ryakki; and Kawamura 2007: 342. 53.  See Kyōto kokuritsu hakubutsukan 2004, fig. 6. 54.  See Murayama Chijun 1929 on the question of talismans of Somin Shōrai used against diseases; quoted in Kawamura 2007: 58. 55.  On this clan, see Ōwa 1993. 56.  Kawamura 2007: 58–59. The story of Ch’ŏyong is found in the Samguk yusa 三國遺事. 57.  Nagai 2011: 303–338. According to local tradition, Gozu Tennō landed in Ara Shrine in 704. The region is said to have been populated by immigrants from Karakaya (Mimana, an ancient Korean state supposedly allied with Japan).

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58.  See Como 2008: 39–40. 59.  This shrine is also linked with Kibitsu-hiko 吉備津彦, a deified warrior who is said to have put an end to a severe epidemic under the reign of Sujin Tennō, and who also killed the Korean “demon” Ura (on whom more later). As the place where Gozu Tennō is said to have met Kotan, Tomonoura is worthy of being the setting of the detective novel Tomonoura satsujin jiken 鞆の浦殺人事件 (A Murder in Tomonoura, 1988) by Uchida Yasuo 内田 康夫. It is also the setting of Miyazaki Hayao’s anime movie Ponyo (2008), whose main protagonist is another sea deity. 60.  See Nagai 2011: 65–71. Empress Jingū is also said to have asked the well-named deity of Watasumori jinja 渡守神社 (Crossing-Protecting Shrine) for its protection before her Korean expedition. 61.  See annex to Gozu Tennō rekishin ben, in Hirata Atsutane zenshū 2; and Kawamura 2007: 19–21. 62. See Harima kagami, Akashi-gun section, 4. 63.  ZGR 816 (Shake-bu 101): 240; see also Kawamura Minato 2007: 25. 64.  Kibi no Makibi’s influence on the evolution of the Gozu Tennō myth is precisely what Hirata Atsutane, intent on returning to the “original” myth, deplores. See Hirata Atsutane zenshū 2. 65.  See for example the Sakyōki, s.v. Kannin 4 (1020) 6/17; and Shoku Nihongi 33, s.v. Hōgan 1 (770) 6/23. The first example of an anti-epidemic ritual performed by onmyōji appears in the Sandai jitsuroku, s.v. Jōgan 9 (867) 1/26. Quoted in Tanaka Hisao 1981: 411. On anti-epidemic exorcisms in mikkyō, see also Konjaku monogatarishū 14.44. 66.  Dōman is portrayed in the film Onmyōji as the mortal enemy of Abe no Seimei at court. 67. See Genkō shakusho 18, DNBZ (Bussho kankōkai ed.), 357. See also Harima kagami, 410; Sanbō ekotoba, translated in Kamens 1988: 320; and Tanaka Hisao 1981 and 1993. 68.  Harima kagami, section Akashi-gun 明石郡, 39. A similar story, in which an old man who remains anonymous offers his protection to Hōdō Sennin on the condition that he carves a statue of Jūichimen Kannon, is found in Harima kagami, ibid., section Kasai-gun 加西郡, 9. 69.  Ryōjin hishō 249, in Kobayashi Yoshinori 1993: 72; translated in Kim Yung-Hee 1994: 149. 70. See Chapin 1934; and Embree 1939. More recently, see Wakita Haruko 1997 and 1999. 71.  Initially, the triad worshiped at Kanjin-in was apparently composed of three pestilence deities: Tenjin (then distinct from Gozu Tennō), Jadokkeshin, and Daishōgun. 72.  See Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a; and Kojima Hiroji 1992. 73.  Incidentally, old maps show that Tsushima Shrine, now located in a suburb of Nagoya, was also initially located on an island. 74.  See Kawamura 2007: 203–205. 75.  Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 527–539. 76.  The fact that the Tennō shrine and Yakushi temple in Matsusaka share the same precincts makes it obvious that this was formerly a multiplex

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dedicated to Gozu Tennō and his honji. The relations between their respective priests today are more cordial than those of the Tsushima priests with the Yakushi temple located just outside the shrine (as reported to me by the nun-abbess of the latter). 77.  Sometimes Somin Shōrai was read as Shōmon, which could also be read Masakado, and is therefore written Shōmon 笑門 (Gate of laughter)— because happiness is said to enter through that gate. 78.  Kawamura Minato 2007: 188. 79.  See McMullin 1988. 80.  See Wakita 1999a and 1999b. 81.  This domestication is obvious in the reversal found in the two versions of Gozu Tennō’s relations with Kotan. In one version, he is a pestilence god and Kotan is a Buddhist householder; in the other, he is a pater familias, and Kotan is a demon king. In a saimon of the Izanagi-ryū, the family romance motif is pushed one step further, and Kotan refuses hospitality to Gozu Tennō and his wife (called here Gion Daimyōjin), because the latter is pregnant and about to give birth. In this Japanese version of the Nazareth story, Kotan is understandably concerned about the blood pollution that the imminent childbirth would bring to his house. See Saitō 2002: 70–76. 82.  The motif of the motherly milk flowing into the mouth of a long lost child is found in a number of other Buddhist stories. It also appears in Jacobus de Voragine’s Golden Legend and in the “lactatio” representations in Christian art. 83.  See Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 519. This section is absent from the Gion engi. 84.  The name Harisaijo calls to mind a Korean shamanistic deity, Princess Pari, but there is no clear link between the two deities. On Pari, see Pettid 2000. 85.  Shōshō was said to be the name of a famous nun, the author of the Goshūi wakashū, who had lived in the vicinity of that spring. 86.  On Shōshōi’s cult, see Kawara Masahiko 2002. 87.  See Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 359. Thus, in the Ise taijingu shin’i ki (1666), we find a story in which, during an epidemic, a peasant is seized by fever. In his delirium, he sees weird epidemic demons arriving on a boat, and they tell him to get on board. At that moment, eight men clad in white appear and repel the strange demons. The eight epidemic demons are none other than the eight princes, pestilence gods, whereas the eight white figures that repel them are their doubles, the gods of healing. Quoted in Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 536. 88.  The first one of them in the Hoki naiden, Sōkō Tennō, is assimilated to the stellar deity Daisaijin 大歳神 (Ōtoshigami 大年神, Great Year Deity), an ambulatory deity whose transfer corresponds to the directions of the twelve cyclical signs; the directions of the seven other deities derive from it in various manners. Thus, the second prince, Maō Tennō, corresponds to the stellar deity Daishōgun, which has a twelve-year cycle, moving from one quadrant to another every three years. The last one, Jadokkeshin, corresponds to the stellar deity Hyōbi. The latter two, Daishōgun and Jadokkeshin, seem to have also been worshiped separately, outside the group formed by the eight princes.

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89.  They also correspond to the five planets, Rāhu, and Ketu (in order to make these two lists of seven and eight deities correspond, Saturn is counted twice). 90.  The first one promises that those who invoke him will become the strongest, the second that he will destroy mononoke such as wild animals that appear around the houses, the third that he will protect crops against insects (a plague which he was in all likelihood causing), the fourth that he will increase the lactation of women, the fifth that he will ensure the safety of those who walk on the roads at night, the sixth that he will heal the headaches and bellyaches of people, the seventh that he will heal the diseases of domestic animals, and the eighth that he will destroy intestinal worms. 91.  Kawamura Minato 2007: 269. 92. See ST, Jinja-hen 15, Owari, Mikawa, Ōmi no kuni: 318–320. 93.  See Ouwehand 1964: 113. 94.  See Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 525. 95.  Hoki naiden, in GR 96: 38; and ST, Ronsetsu-hen 18, Onmyōdō: 37. 96.  Shintō shū: 71. 97.  Kuyō hiryaku, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. See also Kotyk 2017, Appendix 4: 283. 98.  See Yanagita 1990h: 101. See also Severini 1874: 15, à-propos the lunar mansion “Leopard’s Tail” (Coda di leopardo, “Il demone dal veneno di serpente”): “Da questa parte non si deve acquistare o tener bestiame di nessuna specie, piccolo o grande” (“From that quarter one must not acquire or keep animals from any species, great or small.”). Hyōbi is also identified with the planetary deity Ketu, and opposed to the mansion Ōban (Yellow Banner), identified with Ketu’s counterpart, the demon of eclipses Rāhu. 99.  Yanagita 1990h: 101. 100.  Gozu Tennō no saimon, in Mayumi 2002: 313–314. In other sources, that role is played by Nagyō and Tosajin or by Mirume見目 and Kaguhana 嗅鼻. Again, the apocryphal Bussetsu jishin dai daranikyō explains that the Buddha, at the time of his Parinirvāṇa, encountered obstruction from various chthonian deities, including the Five Nāga-kings and the Divine King Jadokke (Jadokke Shinnō). He then rose in his coffin and explained to his disciples that, when Māra challenged him in the past, he had received help from these “lords of the earth” and that they must, therefore, be duly worshiped. See NSSS 17: 119–121. See also Bussetsu jishin kyō in Shugen seiten: 53–54. 101.  Other implicit, latent associations can be found with Matarajin, dragonor nāga-kings, the pole star deity Myōken and the deva-king Bishamonten. 102.  See Kobayashi Taichirō 1944 and 1946. 103.  See Mayumi 2002: 44. 104.  In the Tenkeisei gyōhō shidai, Gozu Tennō appears as an acolyte of Tenkeisei, whereas in other sources he is himself called Tenkeisei. See Miyajima 1985. 105.  See Miyajima 1985. 106.  As noted earlier, Miyajima wants to interpret it as an attempt by Kōfukuji monks to debase the Gion deity, which was a protector of the rival Tendai school. See Miyajima 1985.

N O T E S T O PAG E S 131 –135

107. Aston 1972: 57. The Jimon denki horoku quotes this passage, replacing Susanoo by Shinra Myōjin. See DNBZ 86: 108c. On Susanoo in Korea, see Shiojiri, in Nihon zuihitsu shūsei, vol. 9: 214. 108.  On these two gods, See B. Faure, 2015b: 312–318; and Sujung Kim 2020. 109.  See Murayama 1981: 329. Sekizan Myōjin was enshrined at the Sekizan Zen’in, a small shrine at the western foot of Mount Hiei. He was originally a Chinese mountain god, the tutelary deity of Chishan in Shandong province. In 838, the Japanese monk Ennin (Jikaku Daishi, 794–864) visited that mountain and prayed to its deity, pledging that if he realized his goal of promoting the Dharma, he would enshrine it in a temple upon his return to Japan. In 888, two decades after Ennin’s death, his disciples were eventually able to fulfill their master’s pledge by building the Sekizan Zen’in. See McMullin 1988: 282. 110.  On Sekizan Daimyōjin, see Shintō shū 3, ST, Bungaku-hen, Shintō shū: 71–72. Shinra Myōjin too was linked with Mutō Tenjin (Mutō no Kami) and Gozu Tennō. Thus, the two protectors of Jimon and Sanmon, while looking very similar, came to be violently opposed as Jimon and Sanmon started fighting. The same source mentions that Sekizan Myōjin’s honji is Jizō, and mentions yet another name for Gozu Tennō: Yakuhōken. In the Genpei jōsuiki (mid. thirteenth century), Sekizan Myōjin has Jizō for his honji, and he is identified with Taizan Fukun. 111. See Jishin mōsō shiryō shū, in Araki and Nishioka 1997: 140. 112. See Jishin mōsō shiryōshū, in Araki and Nishioka 1997: 141–142 113. See Bussetsu jishin dai darani ōji kyō, in NSSS 17: 124–127. 114.  Ibid. See also Yamamoto Hiroko 2002: 34–37. 115.  Saitō 2007: 170. 116.  Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 576. 117.  Gozu Tennō engi (Jingū Collection). 118. See Kakuzenshō, DNBZ 45 (Bussho kankōkai edition): 99a. The same idea is found in the Shintō shū, ST, Bungaku-hen, Shintō shū: 66. See also Murayama 2000: 329; and Gozu Tennō saimon in Murayama 1997:156–160. 119.  Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 578; and Shiojiri 10: 112. 120.  See Saitō 2007: 120–122; and Misaki 1986. 121.  See for instance, for the Zen tradition, Matsuura 1976; and Shoeko shingi 諸回向清規, T. 81: 628c. 122.  On Gozu Tennō and Yakushi, see Misaki 1986: 202–210; Nishio 2000: 141–171; and Nishida 2002. 123. See Shugen shin higyōhō fuju zokushū 修験深秘行法符呪続集, quoted in Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 538. 124.  Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 574. 125.  Murayama 1981. 126.  Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 623. 127.  Shiojiri, vol. 9: 218, 226, 238–239, 288; and ibid., vol. 10: 112. 128.  See Hirata, Gozu Tennō rekishin ben 牛頭天王暦神辨 and Amano, Gozu Tennō ben 牛頭天王辨, in Hirata Atsutane zenshū, vol. 7: 339–360. See also Kawamura 2007: 39–42, and Nakamura Akira 1984.

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129.  On Tsushima Shrine, see Shiojiri 9: 739–40; on the Tsushima Festival, see ibid., vol 10: 157. On the reed-floating ritual, see ibid., vol. 10: 118, and the Tsushima Tennō miyoshi ki 津島天王御葦記, in ST, Jinja-hen 15, Owari, Miwa, Ōmi no kuni: 296–300.; and Nagoya-shi hakubutsukan 1999: 7–27. 130.  See Iwasa 1968 and 1974; and Murayama 1997: 153–160. 131.  See Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 513. Paradoxically, Gozu Tennō is still presented in that saimon as a manifestation of Yakushi. 132. The underworld goddess Izanami used the same tactic, but her brother and husband Izanagi, rather than sacrificing himself, vows to gives birth to more beings than Izanami can kill. 133.  See for instance Kawamura Minato 2007: 137; and Wakita Haruko 1999b: 96–100. 134. See Shoku Nihongi, s.v. Enryaku 10 [791], 9th month. 135.  Wakita 1999: 99. 136.  See for instance Nihon ryōiki, in Kyoko Nakamura 1973: 164–166. See also Law 1994. 137.  The directional gods Fūten (Vasu) and Katen (Agni) are also represented as old men riding a buffalo. 138.  See for instance the Tenkeisei gyōhō shidai of Kōzanji (Kamakura period), which describes how to visualize a star that transforms into Daiitoku Myōō, who in turn transforms into Tenkeisei. 139.  Harima kagami, Shikitō-gun飾東郡 section, 23–24. 140.  In another version, however, the ox is a demonic being that the Sumiyoshi god rejects into the sea. See Chap. 9. 141.  This motif recalls the formula “We are the descendants of Somin Shōrai” on the anti-epidemic talismans. 142.  See Martzel 1993: 213. 143.  Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 779a. The author of that text, Kōshū, consecrates a whole chapter on the Ox-king. T. 76, 2410: 777–779. He also compares the Ox-king ritual to the Deer-king ritual and relates them to space and earth and to their respective bodhisattvas, Kokūzō and Jizō. See ibid., 779b. 144.  King Yama is often represented riding a buffalo. The same is true of Daiitoku Myōō (Yamāntaka, the Subduer of Yama), who is also sometimes represented dancing on a wild running buffalo. See, for instance, Kakuzenshō, DNBZ (Bussho kankōkai edition) 49: 312b. Gozu Tennō not only has a bullhead over his head, he is sometimes described as an old man riding a yellow “ox”—for instance in the Hiromine tradition. Bishamonten, on the other hand, is described as having an ox-headed manifestation. 145.  According to the Hoki naiden, Konjin is the “essential soul” (seikon 精魂) of the great king Kotan. As his name indicates, he is associated with the element Metal, and therefore with the Western direction corresponding to that element in the five phases theory. He is an ambulatory god who achieves a complete spatiotemporal cycle in sixty years and severely punishes those who transgress his directional taboos. His seven “souls” wander through the Jambudvīpa, killing the unfortunate beings that happen to cross their path.

N O T E S T O PAG E S 139 –141

The expression “Konjin’s seven killers,” however, refers more specifically to the belief that, when someone transgresses Konjin’s directional taboo, seven persons—among his family or neighbors—will die. See GR 96:381b. 146.  See Nagoya-shi hakubutsukan 1999. Unlike the Gion ritual, which became a mere occasion for merchants to display their wealth, the Tsushima ritual preserved features of a ritual of expulsion. 147.  See Nagoya-shi hakubutsukan 1999; and Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 560–570. 148.  Kawamura Minato 2007: 213. 149.  In the Japanese tradition, reeds also have a positive connotation, owing to a passage in the Nihon shoki that describes the primordial thing produced between Heaven and Earth as having the form of a reed-shoot. See Aston 1972: 2. See also Tsushima Tennō minagashi engi, in ST, Jinja-hen 15, Owari, Mikawa, Ōmi no kuni: 299–301. 150.  Caillet 1981: 248–250; Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 606–608. The pestilence deity is perceived as a water-god, and it is related in various ways to ambivalent water-creatures like the kappa 河童. Both receive for instance similar offerings of cucumbers. Yanagita Kunio pointed out the associations between goryō and water-deities. See Yanagita 1985. 151.  Katz 1995: 66–67 and 206. This description is of a festival in Wenzhou. Another boat ritual that bears some resemblance to the Tsushima Festival is the Benzaiten Festival at Chikubushima; see Nagoya-shi hakubutsukan 1999. 152.  See Schipper 1985c: 31–40. 153.  Kaempfer 1906, vol. 2: 313–315. 154. See table 21, fig. 10. A similar gravure is found in Athanasius Kircher’s China monumentis, 1657. See also Embree 1939: 67–70; and Chapin 1934. 155.  See Kyburz 2008; and Kyburz 2014: 72. 156.  This apotropaic symbol seems to originate in Korea. At shrine or temple festivals, it is also sometimes a large wheel through which people pass to purify themselves. In the Bingo no kuni fudoki and the Gozu Tennō saimon of Ise, only the chinowa appears. But in the Gozu Tennō saimon of Sagano (dated 1480, Ueda kokubunji), people are told to write on a willow-wood talisman (ofuda) “We are the descendants of Somin Shōrai.” See Ueda shiritsu Shinano kokubunji shiryōkan 1989. In the Shintō shū as well, it is a willow-wood talisman. In a variant of the myth, Gozu Tennō gives Somin Shōrai a wish-fulfilling Ox-king Jewel (goō hōju 牛王宝珠)—from which the god’s name (Ox- or Bullhead Heavenly King) is said to derive. Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 576. See also Machida shiritsu hakubutsukan 1991. 157.  Willow wood was known for its therapeutic virtues, and the willow tree 柳 symbolically related to the buddha Yakushi (Gozu Tennō’s honji)— owing to its being written with the radical “tree” and the phonetic element meaning “Est” (u 卯 = usagi = hare, one of the twelve signs corresponding to the eastern direction of Yakushi’s buddha-land. See Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 562. The use of sandalwood also calls our attention to the sense of smell, which was an important phenomenological aspect in the perception of epidemic diseases. On this question, see also Oka 2002.

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158.  See Mitsuhashi 1991; and Aramata 2002: 90–120. 159.  A red body is a characteristic of epidemic deities, usually symbolized by red paper strips (gohei). A case in point is Sekizan Daimyōjin, one of the protecting gods of Mount Hiei, who is identified in the Shintō shū with Gozu Tennō, and usually represented wearing a red dress, and flanked by monkeys holding red gohei. See Mitsuhashi 1991: 411. On the scapegoat theory, see Girard 1979. 160.  In the Hoki naiden and in various saimon, however, Kotan’s bodily parts symbolize the rites and offerings of the five seasonal festivals (gosekku): New Year, the Momo no sekku on the 3/3, the Tango no sekku on the 5/5, the Tanabata or Star Festival (Hoshi matsuri) of the 7/7, and the Double Yang (chōyō) or Chrysantemum sekku of the 9/9. On this question, see Mitsuhashi 1991. 161.  See, for instance, Girard 1989. 162.  See Miura Shunsuke 1998. 163.  Kotan’s ritual dismemberment also brings to mind the sacrifice of the cosmic man Prajāpati in Vedic India and the killing of the food goddess Ukemochi by Susanoo. In a more Buddhist reading, because Kotan symbolizes the so-called three poisons (greed, hatred, and delusion), his subjugation refers to overcoming human passions. 164.  Saitō 2007: 84–88. 165.  Izanagi-ryū saimon, quoted in Mauclaire 1992: 380–385. 166.  See Averbuch 1996. 167.  Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 503–644. 168.  This was written before the COVID-19 outbreak. CHAPTER 5. THE ROAD TO EXCESS—SUSANOO

1.  Ouwehand 1958–1959: 386–387. Ouwehand also discusses the structural ambivalence of Susanoo as a trickster. On the incorporation of an alien god into a conquering mythological system, see Stockdale 2013. 2.  See for instance Piggott 1989; and Zhong Yijiang 2016. A more nuanced analysis can be found in Como 2009: xiv, 162, who shows that the process of integrating deities and cults between center and periphery was not only a top-down process initiated by the state, but also flowed upward as immigrant lineages from the Asian mainland brought with them newly popular deities, cults, and innovative technologies that spread widely through grassroots channels. See also Stockdale 2013: 251. 3.  Kojiki 1.13; translated in Philippi 1968: 72. According to LéviStrauss’s structural analysis: “It will be easy to recognize, behind the figure of the crying child, that of the asocial hero (in the sense that he refuses to get socialized), tenaciously attached to nature and the feminine world.” See LéviStrauss 1973. 4.  The affinities between the “malevolent deities” (araburu kami) and Susanoo already suggest that he is one of them, as will be later confirmed in texts like the Nakatomi harae kunge. The Nakatomi chūshaku 中臣注釈, for instance, states: “Araburu refers to Susanoo, Ōnanji, Kotoshironushi, and the like. They are all aragami.” See ST, Koten chūshaku-hen 8, Nakatomi

N O T E S T O PAG E S 152 –15 4

harae chūshaku: 188. Kanetomo distinguishes between Hiruko’s “soft evil” and Susanoo’s “hard evil.” See Nihon shoki jindai no maki shō: 175. Yet the Nihongi Miwaryū 日本紀三輪流, identifying Susanoo with King Yama, declares that he records the good and evil deeds of beings. See Chūsei Nihongi shū, 479a; and Watabe 1991: 49–95. And in the Jingi hishō, it is Susanoo who defeats the araburu kami. See ST, Ronsetsu-hen 1, Shingon shintō 1: 198. 5.  In the Nihon shoki, it is the other way around. These eight deities were later identified with (and in some cases replaced) Gozu Tennō’s children, the eight princes. 6.  Philippi 1968: 79. In the Hita yuraisho 皮多由来書, an origin story of the outcasts (eta), Susanoo’s flaying of the horse is said to be the reason his descendants kill living beings. The kami Kotoshironushi (later identified with Ebisu) fishes, while others hunt. This myth is also used to explain the origins of meat offerings at the Suwa and Kasuga Shrines. See Wakita Osamu 1991: 296–297. 7.  On this myth, see Matsumae 1978 and 1980; and Haguenauer 1977. 8.  Philippi 1968: 85–86. 9. See Nihon shoki 1.7; and Aston 1972: 50. 10.  Orikuchi put forth several influential theories, including that of the kishu ryūritan 貴種流離譚—an ancient genre of stories (tan) that narrated the exile or wandering (ryūri) of persons or beings of high birth (kishu) to lowly and marginal places. See Stockdale 2013: 239. 11.  Stockdale 2013: 254. 12. See Nakatomi harae kunge, ST, Koten chūshaku-hen 8: Nakatomi harae chūshaku. See also the kagura in NSBS 1: 210–211. 13.  Teeuwen and Van der Veere 1998: 28; see also the list of sins in ritual prayers (norito), in Philippi 1990: 45–48. 14.  See Amino Yoshihiko 1978. 15.  See Bialock 2002: 255, 258. 16.  Bialock 2002: 259. 17.  The motif of a hero killing a monster through cunning has of course many variants in world mythology, beginning with Odysseus and the Cyclops. Like Odysseus, Susanoo may be reduced to the status of the wanderer, but he is endowed with cunning intelligence (what the Greeks called mètis). In Japanese mythology, another example is that of the warrior Raikō 頼光, who, as we will see, kills Shuten Dōji 酒呑童子 (a demon that was also said to have had a dragon nature). The episode can also be read according to an ethnographic or psychological code as describing the subjugation of Susanoo’s own demonic powers, the transformation of his rough spirit (aramitama) into a begnign spirit (nigimitama). According to that interpretation, the dragon and Susanoo share the same nature, and the killing of the dragon, like the sacrifice of the snake in spring rituals, means the renewal of the god’s energies (and of nature generally). See Kondō Yoshihiro 1966: 171–181; and Baba 1971: 140–169. 18.  See for instance Ouwehand 1958–1959: 138–161, and more recently Gadeleva (2000). Most studies, however, limit themselves to “classical” sources (Kojiki, Nihon shoki, and Fudoki), and fail to take into account medieval mythology.

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19. This motif brings to mind the Itsukushima deity (another dragon deity, actually one of Susanoo’s three daughters) who, in the Heike monogatari, gives a dagger to Kiyomori while warning that his good fortune will not extend to his progeny if he commits evil deeds. See Heike monogatari, Kakuichi-bon, ed. Kajihara and Yamashita,, vol. 1: 292–296; translated in H. McCullough 1988: 105. 20.  On this deity, see Sakai 2017; and Moyer 1991. Kanayagogami is also represented as a court lady or as a female deity riding a white fox, like Dakiniten. On this deity, see also infra, 250–253. 21.  Philippi 1968: 92. 22.  Ōkuninushi is usually said to be the sixth-generation descendant of Susanoo (in the Nihon shoki, he is the son of Susanoo; but the Nihon shoki also gives the account of the Kojiki, in which Ōkuninushi marries two of Susanoo’s daughters). In Izumo mythology, it is Ōnamuchi (Ōkuninushi) and Sukunahikona who create the land together, not Izanami and Izanagi. 23.  Philippi 1968: 134–135. 24.  See Goux 1993: 6–7. 25.  Reikiki shō: 309. 26.  On this question, see Miyai 1964; Inoue 1998; Ōbayashi 2004; Tajiri 2004; Saitō 2012a; and Kwon 2013. 27.  Shaku Nihongi: 172–173. 28.  The main Shintō-leaning commentaries are the Nihon shoki sanso by Ichijō Kaneyoshi (var. Kanera, 1402–1481), the Shinsho monjin and the Nihon shoki jindai no maki shō by Yoshida Kanetomo (1435–1511); and the Nihon shoki kikigaki by Yoshida Kanemigi 吉田兼右 (1516–1573). In the Edo period, Susanoo was also discussed extensively by Yoshikawa Koretari 吉川惟足, author of commentaries such as the Jindai no maki Koretari kōsetsu 神代巻惟足講説 (1671) and the Jindai no maki kaden kikigaki 神代 巻家伝聞書 (d.u.). See ST, Ronsetsu-hen 10, Yoshikawa shintō. 29.  See Jihen’s Kuji hongi gengi; Ryōhen’s Nihon shoki maki daiichi kikigaki and Jindai no maki shikenmon; and Shun’yu’s Nihon shoki shikenmon. 30.  See Itō Masayoshi 1972: 39. 31.  T. 76, 2410: 865c. 32.  See, for instance, Ichijō Kaneyoshi’s Nihon shoki sanso: 203; and Kiyohara Nobutaka’s Nihon shoki jindai no maki shō: 175, 202. 33.  In the Nō play entitled “Dairokuten,” when Gedatsu Shōnin (Jōkei) goes to Ise, the Ise Shrine deity (Amaterasu) appears to him and warns him that he will soon encounter obstacles to his practice. Thereupon, Māra of the Sixth Heaven appears with his army, but he is soon defeated by Susanoo. 34.  See Saitō 2012a: 65. 35.  Ibid. On this ritual, see Abe 1984. 36. See Hinomisaki-sha shuzo kanjinchō 日御碕社修造勧進帳, quoted in Saitō 2012a: 110. 37. See Nihon shoki sanso: 203; and Nihon shoki jindai no maki shō: 199. 38.  Taiheiki, vol. 2, NKBT 35: 457. See also Saitō 2012a: 70–71. 39.  See Itō Masayoshi 1972: 39.

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40. See Kokin wakashū jo kikigaki (sanryūshō) 古今和歌集序聞書三 流抄 (herafter Sanryūshō), in Katagiri 1973: 235–236 and 242. This story, apparently based on Shugendō traditions centered on Katsuragi, implicitly equated this Shugendō center with Takamagahara. Katsuragi was also called Kongōzan 金剛山, and it is described as a Jewel Mountain (Hōzan 宝山), and the first place produced by the heavenly spear of the primordial deities. See Itō Masayoshi 1972: 41. 41.  Teeuwen and Rambelli 2003: 50. 42.  Tenshō daijin kuketsu: 502. Shōten is in turn identified in the Bikisho 鼻帰書 (1324) with Yama and Susanoo, as well as with the kushōjin and the Buddha’s cousin and nemesis, Devadatta. Teeuwen and Rambelli 2003: 50. 43.  On this notion, see Ouwehand 1964: 113. 44. See Sanryūshō, in Katagiri 1973: 244. 45. See Sanryūshō, in Katagiri 1973: 245. 46.  Shaku Nihongi: 173. 47.  Nihon shoki sanso: 262. 48. See Heike monogatari, ed. Takagi and Osawa 1960: 348–349; and Bialock 2002: 277–278. In this variant, Yamata no Orochi is identified with Ibuki Daimyōjin, and the scene has moved from Izumo to Ōmi. As we recall, it is also on that mountain that Yamato Takeru lost his life after his fateful encounter with the god. Since Yamato Takeru is in many ways the double of Susanoo, the revenge of Orochi seems complete. This tradition developed in the Muromachi period into the legend of Shuten Dōji. Orochi, pursued by Susanoo, takes refuge on Mount Ibuki, where he is worshipped as Ibuki Daimyōjin. Having taken a wife, he begets a son who becomes Shuten Dōji. See also Saitō 2012a: 67–69. 49. See Enkyō-bon, ed. Kitahara and Ogawa 1990, vol. 2:414; quoted in Bialock 2002: 278. 50.  On the Kōjin kagura, see Miura Shūyū 1963, 1979, and 1981; Ushio 1981; Suzuki Kōta 2018; and Tōjō-chō kyōiku iinkai 1982. On the dragon cult in Izumo, see Kamita 1972. 51.  See Mauclaire 1989: 89. 52.  Taiheiki, quoted in Saitō 2012a: 57. 53. See Genpei jōsuiki, vol. 2: 633–639; quoted in Bialock 2002: 279–281. 54.  NKBT 86: 264–265; translated in Brown and Ishida 1979: 143–144b. 55.  On that point, see Inoue 2000. 56. See Sanryūshō, in Katagiri 1973: 235. In the Shinsho monjin, Kane­ tomo explains that it is Ōkuninushi who invited his father to Izumo Taisha. Shinsho monjin: 114. See also Nihon shoki kikigaki: 316. 57.  Saitō 2012a: 82–91. 58. See Daijingū sankei ki, GR 2, Jingi-bu 27; translated in Sadler 1940. 59. See Gakuenji shūto kanjin chōan, in Sone 1963; quoted in Saitō 2012a: 103. A similar tradition existed for Mount Hiei and various other sacred places in Japan. See also Sone 1963. 60. See Gakuenji sō bō shojō dankan 鰐淵寺僧某書状断簡, quoted in Saitō 2012a: 104. This legend is related to another Izumo legend, that of the “land drawing” (kuni-biki); see Saitō, ibid.

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61.  See Inoue 1991; and Saitō 2012a: 101. 62.  As it lies in the west, Hinomisaki Shrine was established as a shrine to protect the country. Hinomisaki is known today for its lighthouse, said to be the tallest one in Asia. The island is a sacred space, and nobody is allowed to land on it except a Shintō priest. It is well known as the breeding site of a black-tailed gull and has been designated a natural monument. 63.  Goryū kanjō shiki shoya 御流灌私記初夜, in Shingon shintō shūsei 真言神道集成, Tokyo: Seizansha; quoted in Saitō 2012a: 111. 64.  Saitō 2012a: 111. 65.  See Saitō 2012a: 112. 66.  See Saitō 2012a: 82–91. 67. See Atsuta hishaku kenmon, in Chūsei Nihongi shū: 358. 68.  Mauclaire 1989: 98. 69. See Shinsen hiketsu shū, in Atsuta jingū shiryō 2002: 107. Aizen was the honzon of the Oku-no-in, Fudō that of the Hakken-gū (Eight-sword Shrine). See pp. 332–334. 70. See Shinsen hiketsu shū: 108. The Penglai motif merges with the dragon palace motif as a repository of Buddhist and imperial regalia. 71.  On Chikubushima, see B. Faure 2015b: 210–212; and Watsky 2003. 72.  Atsuta jingū shiryō 2002: 220. 73.  Nihon shoki maki daiichi kikigaki. See Ryōhen, 576–577. 74.  Shinsen hiketsu shū: 108. 75.  This aspect of the legend is reminiscent of the origin story of Mount Atago, centered on the Korean general Nichira. See Bouchy 1979. 76.  See Gerbert 2011: 58–59. 77.  See Saitō 2012a: 66–68. 78.  See Tyler 1994: 51–52. 79.  See Saitō 2012a. 80.  Itō Satoshi 1995. 81.  Jindai no maki hiketsu: 56. See also the Tenchi reikaku hishō: 384– 385, 388. 82.  Nihon shoki maki daiichi kikigaki: 533, 539. 83.  Nakatomi harae kunge, in Chūsei shintōron: 50–51; translated in Teeuwen and van der Veere 1998: 43–44. See also Nakatomi harae shō: 327. 84.  Hinomisaki ryōhonsha narabini shaji onso no koto: 9; quoted in Saitō 2012a: 115. The rat, being the first of the twelve cyclical signs, was also perceived as the origin of the spatio-temporal structure. 85.  At Atsuta Shrine, for instance, Susanoo has Yakushi as his honji. 86.  Saitō 2007: 123. 87.  Shinsho monjin: 81. 88.  Shinsho monjin: 81–82. 89.  See Wakita Haruko 1999. 90.  See Wakita Haruko 1999: 112. 91.  On this question, see Miyai 1964. 92.  Of course, the name “deity of Silla” is a misnomer, since the Silla kingdom had disappeared by the tenth century, but even afterward, the name continued to be used by the Japanese to designate the Korean peninsula.

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According to Kanetomo, Silla is a generic term for foreign lands, but it designates more specifically the kingdom of Silla. See Nihon shoki jindai no maki shō: 209. 93.  Sujung Kim 2020: 98–99. 94.  In the Jimon denki horoku, a section concerning the “expulsion of epidemics” mentions for the first time Somin Shōrai and suggests that Susanoo and Shinra Myōjin are identical with [him]. During an epidemic in 1184, the court asked help from the shrine of Shinra Myōjin, and the epidemic soon stopped. Subsequently, it was declared that Shinra Myōjin was identical to Susanoo and that the talisman “Somin Shōrai’s descendants” came from Shinra Myōjin’s shrine. 95.  Sujung Kim 2014. 96.  Onjōji denki (Suzuki gakujutsu zaidan edition): 65c, quoted in Sujung Kim 2020: 94. 97.  Jimon denki horoku (Bussho kankōkai edition): 117a; (Suzuki gakujutsu zaidan edition): 108c; translation (slightly revised) from Sujung Kim 2020: 98. 98. The Shinra Myōjin ki also states that Shinra Myōjin is the third son of King Sāgara. See Kuroda Satoshi 2001: 84, and Sujung Kim 2014: 131. 99.  Jimon denki horoku (Bussho kankōkai edition): 117b; (Suzuki gakujutsu zaidan edition): 109b). In the latter, the god appears as an old man with white hair.” 100.  Jimon denki horoku (Bussho kankōkai edition): 128; (Suzuki gakujutsu zaidan edition): 113c. See also Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 151. 101. The Jingi hishō, for instance, argues that the kami are the honji, and the buddhas the suijaku or traces. See ST, Ronsetsu-hen 1, Shingon shintō 1: 189. On this theory, see also Yoshida Kanetomo 1992. 102.  See for instance Nihon shoki jindai no maki shō: 172 and 201–202. 103.  Shinsho monjin: 87; see also Nihon shoki jindai no maki shō: 209. 104. In his Nihon shoki kikigaki, apart from Shinra Myōjin, Yoshida Kanemigi identifies Susanoo with Matarajin, King Banko, Yama, and Kōjin. While the list of these deities may look surprising at first glance, it obeys a certain logic. See Nihon shoki kikigaki: 316. 105. See Hinomisaki ryōhonsha narabini shagi onso no koto; quoted in Saitō 2012a. 106.  Yamamoto Hiroko 2010: 153. 107.  According to Yamamoto Hiroko, there are several places nominated as possible sites for the burial ground of Susanoo. See Yamamoto Hiroko 2010; and Saitō 2012a: 107, 120. 108. See Izumo Taisha ten (The Grand Izumo Exhibition: On the Occasion of the Renovation of Izumo Taisha Shrine and 1300 Years of the Kojiki Chronicle) (Kyoto: Kyoto National Museum 2012): 153. As for Matarajin, the oldest known exemplar is the one preserved at Kiyomizudera 清水寺 (Shimane prefecture). 109.  See, for instance, the Jindai no maki hiketsu: 150 and 172. 110.  See Gangōji bunkazai kenkyūjo 1999: 21. 111.  On the Miwa deity, see Andreeva 2010 and 2017.

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112.  On the Kotohira Shrine, see Thal 2005. 113.  Quoted in Tajiri 2004: 349. 114.  Jindai no maki kaden kikigaki: 241. 115. Amaterasu was also apparently perceived as a dragon deity. This is suggested for instance by Yoshisada’s prayer at Imamura, in the Taiheiki: “I have heard that the sun goddess of Ise, the founder of the land of Japan, conceals her true being in the august image of Vairocana Buddha, and that she has appeared in this world in the guise of a dragon god of the blue ocean.” Taiheiki, NKBT 34, vol. 1: 336; translated in H. McCullough 1979: 290. 116.  See Mauclaire 1989: 172–174. 117.  Mauclaire 1989: 94. 118. See Nihongi jindai origami ki: 259. 119.  The same story can be found in the Taiheiki, but in that version, Susanoo does not appear. During his pilgrimage to Ise, Jōkei witnesses a demonic meeting during which Māra explains his plan to make Jōkei fail in his practice, and the latter is thus able to overcome the obstacle. See Hosokawa 1993: 85–117. 120. See Shugen shogaku bendan: 108. 121.  The motif of the identity between Susanoo and the “raging deities” can still be found in contemporary kagura. See for instance NSBS 1: 210–211. 122.  Jindai no maki shikenmon: 566. 123. See Kawaramono emaki, 23–30. 124. See Shugen shogaku bendan: 125. 125.  See Saitō 2007: 164–165; and Saitō 2012a: 75. 126. See Jindai no maki shikenmon: 566; and Nihon shoki maki daiichi kikigaki: 532. 127.  T. 76, 2410: 865b–c. 128.  On Devadatta, see Keiran shūyōshū, T76: 600c. Because of the darkness of his heart, Devadatta is also identified with the black-colored Fudō. 129.  See for instance Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410, 516a, 865b. 130.  See Kanetomo, Nihon shoki jindai no maki shō: 199, 202. 131.  Renondeau 1953: 189. 132.  Whereas in the Kojiki Susanoo is perceived essentially in terms of defilement (kegare), in the Nihon shoki he is the object of a more nuanced moral judgment: while he has committed evil actions toward Amaterasu, he also put an end to the greater evil committed by Yamata no Orochi. 133.  Saitō 2012a: 190. 134.  Shinsho monjin: 38. 135.  Nakatomi harae shō, ST, Koten chūshaku-hen 8: Nakatomi harae chūshaku. Kanetomo adds a strange explanation as to how Susanoo became the god of Izumo. As a foreign deity, he could not be invited to Japan. It is therefore his son Ōkuninushi who became the god of Izumo. However, as Ōkuninushi later invited Susanoo, the current god of Izumo is actually Susanoo. Here, Susanoo’s becoming the god of Izumo Taisha during the medieval period is explained by his purification and by Ōkuninushi’s filial piety. 136. See Kūge dansō (Bussho kankōkai edition): 50 137.  Nanki jinja roku: 19.

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138.  Saitō 2012a. 139.  See Yoshida Atsuhiko 1961; Dumézil 1968 and 1988. 140.  On this ritual, see Higo 1942: 1–31; and Ouwehand 1958–1959: 150–155. 141.  The term “moot,” as used in Rambelli and Teeuwen 2003: 24–25, seems to me a misnomer. CHAPTER 6. THE LITTLE LORDS

1.  For a general discussion, see Blacker 1963. See also Kageyama 1973a: 211–219; Hikone-jō hakubutsukan 2000; Sekiguchi 2001; Tsuda 2003; and Koyama 2003. 2.  While Krishna did not play an important in Buddhism, the opposite is true of Skanda, who came to play a major role in China, Korea, and Japan. On this question, see Peri 1916; Strickmann 2002: 218–227; and Sujung Kim 2021. 3.  As we have seen, a popular medieval story, illustrated in the Tengu zōshi emaki, is that of the beating of Zegaibō, an Indian tengu who had the ill-fated desire to create havoc in a Japanese Buddhist community and was severely beaten by its protecting gohō dōji. See Umezu 1978. It is the same Zegaibō who, having become the leader of the tengu of Mount Atago, is defeated by the Korean general Nichira and reveals to him the sacred geography of Japan. 4.  Sometimes, however, Hachiōji seems to be the name of one single deity. 5. See Tenshō kōtaijin giki: 357. 6. See ST, Jinja-hen 32, Dewa Sanzan: 7; and Nagafuji 2011. 7.  Kageyama 1973b: 92. See also the Kasuga painting (dōji) of the Fogg Museum (attributed to Myōe). 8.  On this question, see Guth 1987: 9–13. 9.  The colophon of that text, dated 1273, states that the sūtra was placed together with a relic inside a statue of Monju commissioned by a monk of Kōfukuji, Kyōgen 経玄. Kyōgen regularly visited Kasuga Shrine to pray for the completion of the Monju statue. When the statue was nearly finished, the Kasuga deity appeared in his dream as a youth among blossoming cherry trees in the fields of Kasuga. See Arichi 2002: 152. 10.  On Abe no Seimei’s shikigami, see Uji shūi monogatari; translated in Mills 1970: 175–176. 11.  On this question, see Koyama 2003. 12.  T. 76, 2410: 782–784. 13.  Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 783c. The name of the youth is not mentioned, but it is clearly the Hie Shrine deity Jūzenji. Kōshū also mentions the role of monkeys as protectors, and Hieizan monkeys were closely related to Jūzenji. Jūzenji was also known under the names Dōshōten 同生天—like one of the kushōjin—and Yugyōjin 遊行神. 14.  Hurvitz 1976: 322. 15.  On this deity, see Kakuzenshō, in DNBZ 49: 315–358. 16. See Jikkishō, T. 78, 2497: 703c. See also T. 20: 133a, 122a–b. 17.  Hogen monogatari, quoted in Murayama 1990: 368.

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18.  Oto Gohō kōshiki: 258–263. 19.  Kōko zōtō hishō, in Ryōbu shintō shū: 372. 20.  In the Keiran shūyōshū, Ōnanji and Konanji are linked with Benzaiten and King Tokuzen, and identified with Benzaiten’s first two dōji and with the deities of Ōmiya (Hie Shrine) and Kasuga. See T. 76, 2410: 625a. 21.  On this deity, see Yang Zhaohua 2013. 22. See Jisha engi: 108–109. On Kirime Ōji, see Suzuki Masataka 2018: 63–91. 23.  See Moerman 2006. 24.  Abe Yasurō links the two legends. The young woman is said to have passed in front of the Kirime Ōji Shrine, and her metamorphosis begins when she crosses the Kirime River. The monk, who has become aware of the imminent danger, asks Kongō Dōji for help, but obtains no response. See Abe Yasurō 1991:121; and Yamamoto Hiroko 1993: 63–112. 25.  Hōzō ekotoba, quoted in Suzuki Masataka 2018: 69–72. 26.  The motif recalls Susanoo’s punishment. In some variants, Susanoo has his feet cut by the other gods, although in the Kojiki it is only his “nails.” See also Abe, 331. 27.  See Abe Yasurō 1995: 144–151; and Suzuki Masataka, 2018: 63–88. The fact that Kirime Ōji accepts so readily Akomachi’s request suggests that he shares affinities with demonic animals. The same point is suggested by his habit of possessing pilgrims to steal their vital spirits—behavior typical of fox spirits, and in particular Dakiniten’s acolytes, also known as “princes.” 28.  Jisha engi: 103. The powder is mentioned in another source, the Ryōbu mondō hishō 2: 58, in Shugendō shōsho 2. A third means of protection, which pilgrims received upon departing from Kumano, was the goō hōin 牛 王宝印, a talisman written with signs in the form of animals, usually crows, emblems of Kumano. 29.  This theory regarding Kongō Dōji is specific to the Kumano tradition. 30.  Taiheiki, NKBT 34, vol. 1: 168 and 178; translated in H. McCullough 1979: 137–138, and 148. 31.  See Yamamoto Hiroko 1993b: 100 ff. 32.  On this question, see Suzuki Masataka 2018: 79–100. 33.  See Reider 2010: 30–51. 34.  See Reider 2005. 35.  These four “musketeers” were popularly known as the Four Deva Kings, Shitennō. They are Usui no Sadamitsu 碓井貞光, Urabe no Suetake 卜部末武, Watanabe no Tsuna 渡辺綱, and Sakata no Kintoki 坂田公時. 36.  In some variants, Hachiman replaces Kasuga, and a fourth shrine, Sannō, i.e., Hie Shrine, is added. 37.  As a threshold figure, this old woman calls to mind Datsueba, the old hag standing at the boundary between this world and the other world. 38.  See, for instance, Takahashi Masaaki 1992: 48; and Baba 1971. 39.  See Komatsu Kazuhiko 1995: 32–35. See also Nara ehon emaki shū, vol. 10: 1–97. 40.  Incidentally, this dragon also abducted young girls. In a sense, then, Raikō, slaying the dragon’s child, is a second Susanoo.

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41.  On the social status of the chigo, see Lin 2001 and 2003; and Porath 2017 and 2019. 42.  See “Shuten Dōji” in Fukunaga 1995: 176–202. 43.  See Komatsu Kazuhiko 1997. 44.  Takahashi Masaaki argues that Shuten Dōji’s head may be interpreted as a dragon’s head since the Uji Repository was protected by a dragon deity said to be a reincarnation of Ujidono (Lord Uji, that is, Fujiwara no Michinaga, 966–1027.) See Takahashi Masaaki 1992: 123. In the Keiran shūyōshū, we are told that Lord Uji became a dragon deity who lived in the Uji River to guard his precious repository. See Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 799b-c. The Treasury House of Uji was also identified with the dragon palace in medieval legends. On this subject see, for example, Tanaka Takako 1993; Abe Yasurō 1989; and B, Faure 2003. 45.  On Semimaru, see Matisoff 1973; and Hattori 2009: 121–236. 46.  See Takahashi Masaaki 1992: 96–97. In Chinese lore, the orangutan was a mythical animal living in the sea. The shōjō doll was eventually superseded as engimono (lucky charm) and as epidemic deity by Daruma, the popular tumbling-doll version of the Chan master Bodhidharma. On this question, see B. Faure 2011b. 47.  On this question, see B. Faure 1998: 255–258. See also Abe Yasurō 1993: 301–302; Yamamoto Hiroko 1995: 29–30; and Yamaguchi Takeshi 2008. 48. According to Amano Fumio (1979: 16–27), the local deity that Saichō encountered when he first climbed Mount Hiei was Shuten Dōji. In the Hieizan tradition, as we will see shortly, it was Jūzenji. In the Sefurisan tradition, it was Oto Gohō. See Gorai 2000, vol. 2: 551–552. 49.  Koyama Satoko has recently questioned the theory according to which Oto Gohō was originally a tutelary god of Mount Sefuri who came to be adopted by Tendai monks. Koyama argues for the other way around: she thinks that his cult began with (or around) Shōkū on Mount Shosha before being transmitted to Mount Hiei, and only later being spread from there by Tendai monks to Kyūshū and Mount Sefuri. See also Hie Sannō Gongen chishinki: 593–594; and Suzuya 1987. 50.  On the Sefurisan cult, see Yoshida Fukiko 2014. 51. See Ichijō myōgyō shitsuji bosatsu Shōkū shōnin den 一乗妙行悉地 菩薩性空上人伝; quoted in Tsuda 2003: 91. 52.  The episode in which Oto Gohō asks the dying Shōkū whom he should serve after his death and is directed to Kōgei finds its counterpart in the account of Kōgei receiving from his uncle an image of Oto Gohō (Otomaru) that he deposited under a stove (kamado). The form of the image was that of a “burning deity” (moegami), a demon-like shikigami. See Suzuya Masao 1987: 71–72. 53. In the Konjaku monogatarishū, Otomaru is an acolyte of Bishamonten. In the Shōshazan tradition, Wakamaru is Bishamonten’s acolyte, whereas Otomaru is a “trace” of Fudō. 54.  See Koyama 2003: 129; and Suzuya 1987: 75–76. 55.  Kōgei was interested in life-prolonging rituals such as the Blazing

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Light ritual (Shijōkō-hō 熾盛光法) and the Life-extending Fugen ritual (Enmei Fugen 延命普賢法), aimed at ensuring the longevity of the emperor. He was also instrumental in the development of a powerful exorcism, the Six-Letter Sūtra Ritual (Rokujikyō-hō 六字経法). On this ritual, see Kakuzenshō, in DNBZ 46: 314–349. See also Watabe 1991: 49–95; Nakamura Teiri 2001: 40–62; and Lomi 2014. 56. See Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 786c, 716a; and Itō 2007: 47. 57. See Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 783c. 58.  See Koyama 2003: 132–134; and Kageyama 1973: 427–458. 59. See T. 76, 2410: 784a. 60.  Sefurisan engi, in Gorai 2000, vol. 2: 551–553. 61.  T. 76, 2410: 783ab. 62.  The seed-letter placed on top of the practitioner’s head corresponds to the first lad, Inkan Dōji, while the seed-letter put on the two feet corresponds to the last one, Sensha 船車 (a.k.a. Kisshōmyōzō Dōji 吉祥妙蔵童子), i.e., Oto Gohō. See Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 783b. On this technique, called nyāsa in Indian tantra, see Padoux 1987 and Padoux 2011: 54–80. 63.  Today, he is all but forgotten on Mount Sefuri, which has become a cultic center for Benzaiten (and Fudō). 64.  Quoted in Koyama 2003: 176. On Sensha 船車, see also Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 621a. 65.  T. 76, 2410: 628b. The historical Kenchū resided on Mount Hiei till 1235, before going to Kamakura, where the Hie Sannō was developing. He was himself a disciple of Chūkai (d. 1227), a “protecting monk” (gojisō 護 持僧) of the shōgun Minamoto no Sanetomo 源実朝 (r. 1203–1219). The legend of Oto Gohō seems linked to the fact that these Tendai monks had close relationships with Kamakura and the Hōjō clan. It may be Kenchū who brought this legend to Kamakura. 66.  T. 76, 2410: 783b. 67.  T. 76, 2410: 180. See also the Nō play “Enoshima Dōji,” and its variant, “Oto Gohō.” 68. Another famous episode in the Taiheiki is the revelation made by Benzaiten to the shōgun Hōjō Tokimasa 北条時政 (1138–1215) at Enoshima: “If you are not righteous, your descendants will rule over Japan for seven generations only.” She then turns into a 200-foot snake and enters the sea. See Taiheiki, NKBT 34, vol. 1: 164–165; translated in H. McCullough 1979: 134; and B. Faure 2015b: 183–184. 69.  In that version, the Midaidokoro comes to Kenchōji with three thousand female servants. When Rankei’s attendant is asked to reveal her true form, she turns into a huge snake—about sixty meters long—and scares everyone. When she resumes her gentle female form, Rankei asks her to feed the three thousand unexpected guests, which she does right away. Reassured, the Midaidokoro returns to Kamakura, while the girl ascends to heaven. See Itō Satoshi 2007: 51. 70.  Indeed, the image of Aka Dōji looks strikingly similar to the statue of Oto Waka Dōji at Ikegami-in 池上院 (a temple linked to Kōgei) in Tanba

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province. This statue, dated to the sixteenth century, is itself clearly derived from the image of Seitaka. Kasuga’s wakamiya is usually represented as a noble child riding a deer, Kasuga’s symbolic animal. See Koyama 2003: 184; and Tyler 1990a: 122–123. 71.  Yamamoto Yōkō 2003: 188. 72.  The ritual, also known as “ritual of the white snake” (byakuja 白 蛇), brings to mind Susanoo’s killing of Yamata no Orochi, since it is conceived as an exorcism aimed at “driving away the snake” (byakuja), that is, an evil dragon that tried to steal the wish-fulfilling jewel transmitted by Kūkai and buried near the Dragon Pond on Mount Murō. See Kanazawa bunko, Shōmyōji-bon, box 343, 319. On this ritual, see B. Faure 2015a: 215–218; and Rappo 2018. 73.  On representations of Shōtoku Taishi, see Carr 2012. 74.  On the gods that “soften their light,” see Shasekishū, translated in Morrell 1985. 75.  On this question, see Satō Masato 1984. 76.  Yamamoto speaks of Jūzenji’s “love” for children, but this love could also take a violent form, and its victims had little choice in the matter: either they became Jūzenji’s mouthpieces or they died. See Yamamoto Hiroko 1984. 77.  Helen McCullough 1988: 60. 78. See Shōyūki; see also Gyokuyō, s.v. Kenkyū 2 [1191] 7/3. 79.  See the Rō no miko ki, ST, Ronsetsu-hen 4, Tendai shintō 2: 619–622. 80.  See Satō Masato 1984: 47–48. 81.  See the Rō no miko ki. 82.  See Itō Satoshi 2007: 40. 83.  Shasekishū 1:8, in Morrell 1973: 477 and Morrell 1982: 91. 84.  Heike monogatari, Kakuichi-bon, ed. Kajihara and Yamashita, vol. 1: 122; translated in H. McCullough 1988: 56. 85.  Like Jūzenji, the monkey was said to symbolize the sixth consciousness (or mental consciousness, Skt. mano-vijñāna). 86.  H. McCullough 1979: 35–36. 87. See Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76: Note the phonetic resemblance with the Dōsojin. 88.  Genshin is well known as the author of the Ōjō yōshū (Record of the Essentials for rebirth [into the Pure Land), a text that paradoxically gives vivid descriptions of the Buddhist Hells. The Sange yōryakki also traces back to him the tradition that Jūzenji symbolizes the sixth consciousness (vijñāna 敄), which corresponds to the buddha Amida (Skt. Amitābha). See ST, Ronsetsu-hen 4, Tendai shintō 2: 127; and ZTZ, Shintō 1, Sannō shintō: 78a. 89.  Sannō mitsuki: 255a. In the Keiran shūyōshū, the same topos is applied to Benzaiten. See T. 76, 2410: 620a. 90. See TZ 12: 21. See also Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 515b. Yugyōjin is also the name of one of Dakiniten’s acolytes (Ton’yugyōjin); Dōshōten is the name of one of the “gods born at the same time” (kushōjin). In the Keiran shūyōshū, Kōshū links the three figures in his discussion of Dharma protectors.

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91.  Sefurisan engi, in Gorai 2000, vol. 2: 552. 92.  See Ōtsu-shi rekishi hakubutsukan 2006. 93.  Hie Sannō gongen chishinki: 475 and 482. 94.  See Shinbutsu imasu Ōmi jikkō iinkai 2011, fig. 64. 95.  Today, only five such paintings have been listed—a few of which were still, until recently, mistaken as representations of Shōtoku Taishi as a youth. See Yamamoto Yōko 2003. 96.  These scrolls belong to Enryakuji, Sōgon-in, Jōbodai-in (two), and Kannonji. See Tsuda 2003; Kageyama 1962; and Yamamoto Yōko 2003. No sculpted representations have been found yet. Only one wooden statue of a monk, recently exhibited, is said to represent Jūzenji, seated on a green lotus flower. 97.  See Yamamoto Yōko 2003. 98.  See Yamamoto Yōko 2003: 46. 99.  For a comparison of representations of Jūzenji and Shōtoku Taishi, see Ōsaka shiritsu bijutsukan 1992, figs. 153–155. 100.  The text also mentions the image’s history. It was given by the fourteenth abbot Jōshun and restored at the time of the seventeenth abbot Shin’yu in 1589; then again at the time of the thirty-fifth abbot Jishū in 1788. 101.  See Yamamoto Yōko 2003: 55. See also Arichi 2002: 154–155. 102.  See Shiga kenritsu biwako bunkakan 2000, fig. 29. See also Tsuda 2003, figs. 12–13. 103.  At Kasuga, however, Jūzenji was identified with the kami Ame no Koyane, because both had Jizō as honji. 104.  See for instance the Shosetsu fudōki (TZ 1: 66b–67a). But in that text, the “banner on a lotus” is said to be the samaya form of Kṣitigarbha in the Kongōkai mandara. See also the section “Jizō” in Asabashō, TZ 9: “He holds a wish-fulfilling jewel in his left hand and a banner on a lotus in his right hand.” These are indeed the attributes held by Jūzenji in the four painted scrolls. 105.  See Yamamoto Yōko 2003. 106.  Sannō yurai: 610. 107. This institution is first mentioned in the Shoku Nihongi, s.v. Hōki 3 (772), and the name of Enshū does appear among those of the ten priests. 108.  Yōtenki: 48, quoting a commentary by the priest Jōchū (1099– 1191), one of the priests who administered Hie Shrine during the Insei period. 109.  See Yamamoto Hiroko 1984. Yanagita Kunio proposed a different and somewhat idiosyncratic etymology for Jūzenji, which he derived from jūren 注連, an alternate reading for shimenawa, the rope used to cordon off an area and protect against demonic intrusions. This name would thus mark Jūzenji as a god of the limits. See Yanagita 1990h: 50. Although this etymology remains speculative, it perhaps brings us closer to Jūzenji’s real nature than the scholarly Tendai interpretations of his name. 110. See Shinsen hiketsu shū, in Atsuta jingū chō 2006: 110. 111.  On Nyoirin as honji of Jūzenji, see Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76: 515c, 865a.

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112.  In the Kongō himitsu Sannō senju daiji, for instance, Jizō is said to become King Yama in the underworld. This text is attributed to the Tendai abbot Chūjin 忠尋 (1065–1138), but seems to be ulterior. See Yamamoto Hiroko 1984: 35. 113.  See for instance Yōtenki, in ZGR 2, 2, Jingi-bu: 624; and ST, Jinja-­ hen 29, Hiyoshi: 91–92. 114. See for instance Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 519c; Sange yōryakki, in ST, Ronsetsu-hen 4, Tendai shintō 2: 184; and in ZTZ, Shintō 1, Sannō shintō: 75, 81a and 131b. Note that Ninigi is said to rule over invisible things, and is therefore seldom represented. The same is true of Jūzenji, who is essentially an oracular god. 115. See Jindai no maki hiketsu: 316. 116.  Jindai no maki shikenmon: 587. 117.  ZGR 2, 2: Jingi-bu: 642; and ST, Jinja-hen 29, Hiyoshi: 104. 118. See Tenchi jingi shinchin yōki: 456. 119.  Yamamoto Hiroko 1984: 32. 120.  See for instance Jihen’s Tenchi jingi shinchin yōki: 456. 121.  This date, based on the Fusō meigetsushō, is repeated in all later Tendai texts. 122.  See for instance a “Kōjin Nō” in which all the demons of obstacles are converted at the time of Ninigi’s descent and become protecting deities. NSBS 1: 194–195. 123.  The symbolism of the vajra, overlapping with that of Susanoo’s sword, came to play an important role in the medieval period. Japan was said to have the form of a one-pronged vajra and of a mandala, and the so-called Heart Pillar of Ise Shrine was also conceptualized as a vajra. In the Hakusan ōkagami, Ninigi is paradoxically described as “Kōjin, the great general of the seven deities of the shrine of the golden sword” 金剣宮七神大将荒神也, and his honji is Fudō. He is the leader of the seventy-two stars of heaven and one of the seven stars of the Northern Dipper. He rules the land of Japan and transforms over 318,542 years. See Uemura 2000: 18–51, 94. Like the seven shrines of Hie, the seven upper and lower shrines of Hakusan are said to be the manifestation of the seven stars. 124.  During his stay in China, Saichō had already encountered on Mount Tiantai another divine child who claimed to be the mountain god and vowed to follow him to Japan and become his protector. See Wakō dōjin riyaku kanjō: 180b. In a variant, a divine youth appears in front of Saichō’s boat during a storm (like Matarajin appearing to Ennin), and, when asked his name, replies with an ideographic enigma—above, three vertical strokes and one horizontal; below, three horizontal strokes and one vertical—pointing to the name Sannō, “Mountain King.” See Sange yōryakki: 7. 125.  Hie Sannō gongen chishinki: 513. 126.  See, for instance, the Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 518b. I have discussed elsewhere the sexual connotations of that expression. See B. Faure 1998a: 254–258. See also Abe Yasurō 1984: 304–311; and Porath 2019: 258–271. 127.  See for instance Jindai no maki hiketsu: 316.

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128.  Several legends mention the coming of Śākyamuni to Mount Hiei. One of most poetical ones tells how Śākyamuni’s spirit, while it hovered over the sea, heard a wave whose sound was that of a passage of the Lotus Sūtra. Śākyamuni followed the wave until it broke at the foot of Mount Hiei, then by the seashore. 129.  Hie-sha negi kudenshō: 4; and Yamamoto Hiroko 1984. 130. See Gonjinshō, in ST, Jinja-hen 29, Hiyoshi: 101; and ZGR 2, Zoku jingi-bu 49: 642a. 131.  B. Faure 1998a: 256. 132.  Satō Masato, quoted in B. Faure 1998a: 256. 133.  On Mount Sefuri, Oto Gohō was also identified with Daigyōji, Jūzenji’s protector. See Suzuya 1987: 76. 134. See Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 519c, 867a. In the Shokoku ikken hijiri monogatari, however, it is Ōmiya Gongen [Sannō] who protects him: “Because Jūzenji has neither father nor mother, I am his father and mother. Because he has neither master nor lord, I am his master and lord.” ST, Tendai Shintō: 33–34. See also Gonjinshō: “Daigyōji is the protector of Jūzenji. [Therefore] the platform of his present shrine is turned toward Jūzenji.” ST, Jinja-hen 29, Hiyoshi: 105–106. 135.  Tenchi jingi shinchin yōki: 424, 450. In the same source, the mythical couple formed by Sarutahiko and Uzume is linked with Daigyōji and Benzaiten (466). 136. See Shokoku ikken hijiri monogatari: 288. 137. According to the Heike monogatari, when Hie palanquins were taken to the capital in 1177 in a sign of protest against the imperial policy, Jūzenji’s palanquin was hit by arrows. Someone then dreamed that 3,000 monkeys came from Mount Hiei, carrying torches with which they put the fire to the capital. This fire was interpreted as a curse of the Sannō deity (i.e., Jūzenji). See Heike monogatari, Kakuichi-bon, ed. Kajihara and Yamashita,vol. 1: 118–124; translated in H. McCullough 1988: 52–56. See also Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 525c–526a; and Murayama 1990: 357. 138.  T. 76, 2410: 863a. 139.  ST, Ronsetsu-hen, Tendai shintō 2: 127; and ZTZ, Shintō 1, Sannō shintō: 77b. See also Yamamoto Hiroko 1984: 349. 140. See Sange yōryakki: 127, 186. The Sange yōryakki quotes an oral tradition, according to which: “In Shingon, Kōjin is called Soranshin. The Goyuigō says: ‘To those endowed with compassion and a straightforward nature, he dispenses his blessings; therefore, he is called Jūzenji. To those who are defiled and evil, full of perverse desires, he becomes a monster [yōkai 妖怪]; therefore, he is called Soranshin” (127). 141.  Sange yōryakki: 186. 142. See ZST, Ronsetsu-hen, Shūgō shintō 習合神道: 60–61. See also Tenchi jingi shinchin yōki: 456. 143.  On this deity, see Bocking 2013: 108. Kongōshōji was initially a Shingon monastery, allegedly founded by Kūkai. After a period of decline, however, it was restored in 1392 by a monk of the Rinzai school of Zen, Tōgaku Bun’iku 東岳文昱 (Bucchi Zenji 仏地禅師).

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144.  Uhō Dōji and Aka Dōji are paired in Aizen’s zushi at Saidaiji. Sekisei Dōji was one of the eight great dōji (hachi daidōji 八大童子), and he may have been originally a water deity. His name appears in an origin story of Hasedera dated to 733, but it is only much later, in 1316, that he came to be coupled with the dragon king Nanda 難陀竜王 as one the acolytes of the Eleven-faced Kannon of Hasedera. See Yase 2015. 145.  Tanaka Takako 2000: 133. 146.  See Kubota Osamu 1985. 147.  Kubota Osamu 1985: 211–212. 148.  On this question, see Andrei 2018. 149.  The existence of a perfectly preserved wooden statue of Uhō Dōji dating from the end of the Heian period suggests that this deity already played an important role in the Ise region early on. See Nara kokuritsu hakubutsukan 1964, figs. 107–108. 150.  Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 723. CHAPTER 7. FUROR AND MYSTERY—KŌJIN

1.  Mauclaire 1992: 308. 2.  Naoe Hiroji, quoted in Miura Shūyū 1989: 50. 3. See Tōjō garan shodō anzōki. 4.  In that sense, the distinction between myōjin and kōjin overlaps with another that we have already encountered, the distinction between gonsha 権 者 (provisional manifestations) and jissha 実者 (real ones). 5.  Suzuki Masataka (2001a) and Yamamoto Hiroko (1998 and 2000) are among the few scholars who have tried to address both sides of the issue. 6.  An important source in this respect is Meishuku shū 明宿集 by the Nō playwright Konparu Zenchiku 金春禅竹. See Omote and Katō 1974. On the shamanistic origins of performing arts, see Ortolani 1984. 7.  Although the name Zōō 蔵王 (written with the same characters) appears in Buddhist scriptures, it is the name of a bodhisattva who seems unrelated to Zaō Gongen. See Suzuki Shōhei 2009. According to the Shintō shū, the name Zaō derives from that of the white elephant (elephant king, zōō 象王) that appeared in Queen Māya’s famous dream. Zaō is therefore said to have as his honji Shōten, i.e., Kōjin. See Shintō shū: 159–161. 8.  Suzuki Masataka 2001b: 232. 9.  The diversity of the functional kōjin is reflected in their names. Among the many, here are just a few: ubusuna kōjin (kōjin protector of the locality), chi kōjin (earth Kōjin), heso kōjin (kōjin of the umbilical cord), ena kōjin (kōjin of the placenta), yabu kōjin 藪荒神 (kōjin of the grove), and garan kōjin 伽藍荒神 (kōjin of the temple). 10.  Yanagita 1990d: 30, 31, 58–60; Ouwehand 1964: 200. 11.  Other terms include arahitogami 荒人神, or are / miare. Often these araburu kami were reptilian or chthonian deities, associated with fertility and the world of the dead. The notion of araburu kami is also related to that of aramitama. The aramitama symbolizes the raw power of a god before it is tamed by ritual. A case in point is the aramitama of Amaterasu. See Kelsey 1981: 225–229.

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12.  See for instance the legend about the Kōjin tumulus of Mount Inari, as reported in the Inari kokkyōki and similar sources in ST, Jinja-hen 9: Inari. A later development is the legend of Ibuki Dōji, related to the demon king Shuten Dōji. See also Palmer 2001: 3–31. 13.  Kokon shingaku ruihen 2: 364. 14.  Mauclaire 1992: 310. 15.  See Yanagita 1990d: 73–75. In that sense, all provisional manifestations (gongen) of the buddhas and bodhisatvas can be said to be kōjin. 16.  This idea is also expressed by the notion of wakamiya. See Kageyama 1971: 213–216. 17.  Likewise, in aramitama, the term mitama is said to refer to the actualization of certain aspects of the power of a god, a power personified as a kami. According to the Izanagi-ryū, an aragami / kōjin is present in a latent state in all things and beings, humans, gods, or animals. See Mauclaire 1992: 325. The goryō, also interpreted as arahitogami 現人神 (deities manifesting themselves as humans), are in this sense related to kōjin. On this notion, see Yanagita 1990h; and Mauclaire 1992. 18.  One of the rare exceptions is Suzuki Masataka, who brings together the Buddhist and non-Buddhist Kōjin, historical research and ethnographic fieldwork. 19.  Suzuki Masataka 2001a: 66. 20.  On the myō, see Keirstead 1992: 46–71. 21.  During the “great kagura” that took place every thirty-three years until recently, participants invoked the Kōjin / kōjin of the umbilical cords (that is, heso-no-o kōjin) as the spirits of the dead. See Suzuki Masataka 2001a: 9. 22.  A similar affinity with death characterizes the representations of the earth deity. Often figured by a stone, its presence can be symbolized by a five-wheel stūpa or a mere piling of stones, sometimes a stele carved with the name of Kōjin, placed on a tumulus facing northeast (the demon gate). See Caillet 1996: 81. 23.  Caillet 1996: 83. 24.  In Roman religion, for instance, the Luperques represented wildness whereas the vestals represented domesticity. According to Philippe Descola, however, this Roman paradigm, which is the source of the Western opposition between nature and culture, cannot be applied so easily to Asian contexts. See Descola 2013. 25.  See Suzuki Masataka 2001a: 68. I discuss the stove god, together with the kōjin of the placenta (ena kōjin), more extensively in Lords of Life. The link between the two derives from the analogy between the house and the body (both as microcosms). 26.  Postel writes: “The Japanese know only one God, whom they call in their language Deniche [Dainichi], and describe as having three heads on one single body. Then they call him Cogi [Kōjin], and they say that Cogi and Deniche are a single virtue and a single God.” See Frank 2000a: 38–39. 27.  Suisaki, s.v. 1080/6/30. 28. See ZGR 216, Shake-bu 19: 734. On the six-letter ritual, see Lomi 2014.

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29.  The principal sources are the Kōjin engi, the Kōjin daranikyō, and various liturgical texts such as the Kōjin kōshiki and the Kōjin saimon. On the Kōjin saimon, see Takagi Hiroo 1995a and 1995b. 30.  Tabaten appears in the Gyōrinshō, together with Daijizaiten (Maheśvara) and Bishamonten (Vaiśravana), and in the Asabashō. See T. 76, 2409: 434b; and Takahashi Yūsuke 2014: 75. Taba Tennō also appears in the form of a Buddhist monk in a Kōjin mandala recently discussed by Takahashi Yūsuke (2017). 31.  See B. Faure 2015b: 283–285. 32. In the Kōjin ku saimon, for instance, the interlocutor of Kōjin is the Buddha himself, and Kōjin tells him that, when he is appropriately worshiped, he becomes the fundamentally existing Tathāgata (honnu nyorai) and increases the destiny of the family and fulfills all wishes. 33.  Kakuzenshō, TZ 5: 452a, quoting the Shibu-hō 四部法. The same quotation appears in the Byakuhō kushō (TZ 7: 174a). In the Shintō zōzōshū, a similar and longer passage appears, in which Kōjin tells Śāriputra that he is the “elder brother of the Buddha.” See also Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 345 and 462–463. 34.  If we recall that the protector of Jetavana was Gozu Tennō, this text seems thus to connect Kōjin and Gozu Tennō. See Miyake 2007. As we will see, the cult of Kōjin merged with that of the eight princes (hachiōji), that is, the eight children or emissaries of Gozu Tennō. 35.  See Takahashi Yūsuke 2014: 73. 36.  See also “Sanbō Kōjin,” a text of the Miwa-ryū tradition, according to which Kōjin commands an army of 98,572 demons and has a retinue of nine billion and 43,419 demons (variant: nine billion and 3,400). See Ōmiwa jinja shiryō, vol. 10: 572. 37.  See Takahashi Yūsuke 2006: 5. 38.  In one source, the story is more detailed: In the country of Wu lived a virtuous householder called Kinki Daitoku. When a severe illness struck his town, Kinki prayed fervently to heaven and earth, not knowing what else to do. Then the Buddha Śākyamuni [sic] became manifest as a monk standing in the south who told him that all his pious works were of no avail because he had not worshiped the many emissaries of Kōjin. Kinki Daitoku now faced east and prostrated himself to Taba Tennō 多婆天王, offering prayers on long banners. Thereafter, the members of his house were able to avoid illness and to live a long life. In another source, Kinki and Daitoku seem to be two different characters. Mizuno Masayoshi explains that people would bury talismans inscribed with the name Kinki Daitoku when they filled an old well. In the Hoki naiden, Kinki and Daitoku are the names of two of the five children of a great king of northern India, worshiped as guardians of the house. In other words, Kinki Daitoku, as a guardian of the house and of its well, plays a role rather similar to that of Kōjin. See Takahashi Yūsuke 2014: 75. 39.  This is a reference to the apocryphal dream of a “golden man” (the Buddha) by Emperor Ming (58–75 CE) and the establishment of the first Buddhist community in Luoyang.

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40. See also the Shōtoku Taishi-den shōbōrin, quoted in Takahashi Yūsuke 2014: 11–12. Likewise, in the Suwa Daimyōjin ekotoba (Nanbokuchō period), two crows bring the ritual procedure of the Kōjin offering. ST, Jinja-hen 30, Suwa. The theme of the crow(s) bringing the Kōjin saimon and / or the Kōjin ritual (Kōjin-ku shidai) recurs in several variants. 41.  See Murayama 1987b: 343–344; see also ST, Ronsetsu-hen, Shingon shintō 2: 490. 42.  ST, Ronsetsu-hen, Shingon shintō 2: 490. See also Murayama 1987b: 344. 43. See Kangishō narabini kōshiki, Kōyasan Library. 44. See Shoji engishū, DNBZ 118: 35a. See also Takashi Yūsuke 2006: 2; and Genkō shakusho, in DNBZ 470: 147b. 45. See Suzuki Sanai 1978. See also Kōjin wasan, in Shibata 1964: 189–194. 46.  Minoo-dera himitsu engi, in Gorai 2000, vol. 2: 285a. Minoo-dera, located in a valley below Mount Katsuo, was an important cultic center for Benzaiten and Shōten. Minoo-dera was linked to Benzaiten in other ways as well. In the Benzaiten wasan (probably dated to the beginning of the Muro­ machi period), Minoo was added to the three sacred places of Benzaiten (Enoshima, Chikubushima, Miyajima). Minoo was also included among the six sacred sites of Benzaiten, with Tenkawa, Itsukushima, Chikubushima, Enoshima, and Sefurisan (Kyūshū). See for instance the “Minoo-san Benzai­ tennyo no koto,” in Shugendō yōten, 33–35. 47.  The text also emphasizes that Benzaiten’s honji is Nyoirin Kannon. See Gorai 2000, vol. 2: 277–279. See also Earhart 1965: 297–317. 48. See Daizanji engi, in Shugendō shiryō 1: 305; and Daizanji engi emaki, in Shugendō shiryō 1: 367. See also Tsutsui Eishun 1973: 225–237. 49. See Takamine-san Chikurinji engi, s.v. “Shōmu Tennō.” According to a variant, after returning to Nara, Rōben collected hair from women of all Japan, and with their hair he made a great rope, which is perhaps a symbol of Kōjin in his reptilian form. Afterward the construction of the Great Buddha proceeded without accidents. On the basis of the image made by Rōben, Kūkai fabricated a wooden statue that was enshrined at Chikurinji (in Yamato province), one of the three great cultic centers—with Kojimadera and Katsu­oji. The image attributed to Rōben became popular in Edo as talismans (ofuda) of Chikurinji. One exemplar of it was found at the Gokurakubō of Gangōji (Nara). This is not, however, the demonic form of Kōjin, but the form known as Nyorai Kōjin. See Tsutsui Eishun 1973: 234. 50.  See Kanagawa kenritsu Kanazawa bunko 1991, no. 155: The Shinkō musōki, a record of dreams attributed to the Kojima monk Shinkō, contains the image of a couple formed by a man and an elephant-headed figure standing on elephant skin. 51. See Shugen sanshō ryūgi kyō, in Shugendō shōsho 3: 58. 52. Quoted in the Shinzoku butsujihen. The Sanbō Kōjin of Kaya-in (Miki-shi), a Shungendō center in Harima province, belongs to the latter form—standing on one leg on a rock, a rare representation. A similar figure, also seen by En no Gyōja on Mount Katsuragi, is Hōki Bosatsu 法起菩薩,

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a wrathful deity with five eyes and six arms. One tradition claims that he is a manifestation of Hōdō Sennin 法道仙人, a foreign monk closely related to the cult of Gozu Tennō. 53.  Hitokotonushi was the tutelary god (jinushigami) of Katsuragi. He also appeared to Yūryaku Tennō as an autochthonous deity, and as a double of the ruler. On this deity, see also Yanagita 1969, vol. 9: 309–317. In the tradition of Kasuga Shrine, Hitokotonushi is represented as a female figure that looks like Kichijōten, although she hides her face behind a round fan (uchiwa). See Kasuga mandara (bottom right). 54.  On Zaō Gongen, see Shasekishū 1:4, translated in Morrell 1985: 81: “The significance of this fearsome aspect is that as his period of influence is exhausted Śākyamuni comes as a demon to devour the unconverted and to encourage men to strive for enlightenment.” 55.  The temple was restored during the Edo period. One of its halls (known as Yakuyoke hibachi nōsho, the “Fire-tong Hall to Exorcize Calamities”) is filled with the fire-tongs that people have returned after using them as talismans against bad luck. This belief seems to reflect the late identification of Kōjin with the fire god. There is also a cave where En no Gyōja allegedly practiced. Another small hall, the Gogyūshin-dō, is dedicated to Gozu Tennō. According to the origin story of the Kiyoshi Kōjin temple in Kyōto, the statue of Sanbō Kōjin worshiped there is the original statue of Katsuoji carved by Kaijō. In 1390, because he judged Mount Katsuo too remote to send imperial messengers, Go-Komatsu Tennō 後小松天皇 ordered that the temple be transferred to Kyoto and called Kiyoshi Kōjin. During the reign of Go-Yōzei Tennō (r. 1586–1611), the temple was transferred to its present site to the southeast of the imperial palace in order to protect it. 56. These goddesses are also sometimes represented as acolytes (and therefore, perhaps also as emanations) of the bodhisattva Samantabhadra (Fugen). See for instance Nichiren, Ongi kuden 御義口伝, quoted in Tsutsui Eishun 1973: 227. 57.  See Matsuura 1976: 441–445. 58.  Matsuura 1976: 444. Motoori Norinaga, relying on Amano, argues that the Tantric Kōjin has nothing to do with the Japanese fire god and the stove god. See Koji ruien, Jingibu 5: 895. 59. See Shugen shōgaku bendan, in Shugendō shōsho 3: 108. 60.  See for instance Shugen Shōgaku bendan. 61.  Miwaryū shintō kanjō shodaiji kuketsu, in ST, Ronsetsu-hen, Shingon Shintō 2:405. Takejizaiten (Skt. Paranirmita-vaśavartin) is an epithet of Māra as ruler of the Sixth Heaven. 62.  On this point, see Takahashi Yūsuke 2006; Iwata 1983; Yamamoto Hiroko 1993b; and Suzuki Masataka 2001a. 63.  Kangishō narabini kōshiki, Kōyasan daigaku toshōkan, colophon dated Seiwa 3. Quoted in Takahashi 2006: 9. 64.  This number is significant since it is often mentioned as the total number of yakṣas under the command of Yakushi’s twelve spirit generals (7,000 each). See Takahashi Yūsuke 2014: 51. Likewise, the earth deity (Kenrō Jishin) is said to be the mother of 84,000 demons. According to the

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Sange yōryakki, for instance: “Kenrō Jishin’s 84,000 demons (kijin) are the fathers and mothers [of all beings], the nine hundred million and 7,000 deities form her retinue. Her body is 1,000 jō (over 3,000 meters) high, and has eight arms that hold the five cereals.” ST, Ronsetsu-hen 4, Tendai shintō 2: 245. 65.  See Takahashi Yūsuke 2014: 51–52. According to Miyake Hitoshi, Shugendō practitioners performed three types of ritual (or perhaps three phases of the same ritual) centered on Kōjin. In the first one, Kōjin is perceived as a god of obstacles (shōgejin), and the officiating priest tries to placate him with offerings. The second one is just a variant of the first, aimed at curing an illness by placating Kōjin (still perceived as a god of obstacles). The third one, however, symbolizes the union of the officiating priest with the Kōjin of the future, who is no longer perceived as a demon of obstacles but as a god of fortune. Thus, the priest first eliminates the kōjin of the past and present—seen as a source of obstacles—before inviting the Kōjin of the future—as a source of happiness—with whom he identifies ritually. See Miyake 1971: 227–228. 66. See for instance the Shugen sanshō ryūgi kyō: “If one worships Sanbō Kōjin, all good things come fast; if one turns one’s back from him, all ills quickly happen.” Miyake 1971: 232. 67.  See Tanaka Takako 2003; and Takahashi Yūsuke 2006. 68. See Iwata 1983; Yamamoto Hiroko 1993b; and Suzuki Masataka 2001a. According to the Enkai jūrokujō 円戒十六帖 (1316) by the Tendai monk Kōen 興円, the Kōjin ritual performed during the construction of a monastery was centered on the demon of famine (kikatsujin 飢渇神), one of Kojin’s three emissaries. Kōjin himself was invoked after a series of calamities during the erection of the Great Buddha of Tōdaiji. The Kōjin ritual was performed in all temples and shrines during the Muromachi period, and it was often linked with sarugaku performances. See Takahashi Yūsuke 2014: 54. 69.  The Kōjin who appears in the origin stories (engi) and liturgical texts (saimon) is the wrathful Yakṣa. These texts always mention his vast retinue, which of course cannot be represented. In some cases, however, he is shown with eight red demons, which seem to be related to Fudō’s eight acolytes. 70.  Perhaps an exception is the wooden statue of Yuna Kōjin at Sennyūji, which seems to be a representation—or a variant—of the Kojima Kōjin, although the Kōjin ryaku engi of that temple seems to fuse it with the demonic Kōjin. 71.  One case in point is a wooden statue dated 1543, preserved at the Kōjindō 荒神堂 of Sanbōji 三宝寺 in Murayama, Nagano Prefecture. See Shiga kenritsu Azuchi-jō kōko hakubutsukan 2004, fig. 27; and http://www. sanbouji.com. 72. The katsuma is a ritual instrument whose four ends, corresponding to the four corners of the altar, are said to protect the ritual area. Some of these attributes are those of Kongōō (vajra king), a figure derived from Kongōsatta (Vajrasattva) and Aizen. Like Kongōsatta, he is associated with Fugen in the Nichiren sect: he is then called Fugen Sanbō Kōjin. One of the oldest specimens is a Sanbō Kōjin statue (tenth century) from Tōdaiji. It is very tall, and has snakes coiled around its waist, neck, arms, and legs.

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73.  See Ishikawa 2014. Three pairs of hands hold a jewel-staff and a trident, a wheel and katsuma, an arrow and a bow, respectively, while his last right hand forms a mudrā and his left hand holds a lotus stem. See for instance Ōsaka shiritsu bijutsukan 1999, figs. 117 and 118. In the latter scroll, he is surrounded by eight red-bodied demons. 74.  Kōjin’s resemblance to Vajrasattva is underscored by the Kōjin engi, which states: “Kongōsatta [Vajrasattva] has a five-pronged vajra as his samaya form, and the same is true for Kōjin.” 75.  On this question, see Ishikawa 2014. 76.  This image was afterward worshiped at Chikurinji (Nara prefecture). See Ōsaka shiritsu bijutsukan 1999, fig. 119. 77.  He holds a lotus and a katsuma in his two upper hands, a stūpa and jewel(s) in his medium hands, a five-pronged vajra and a vajra bell in his lower hands. 78.  See also Ōsaka shiritsu bijutsukan 1999, fig. 120. This painting is reminiscent of similar works found at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts and at the Rietberg Museum in Zürich. 79.  Kyōto shiritsu geijutsu daigaku geijutsu shiryōkan 2004, fig. 4088. 80.  Shinkō (935–1004) was a native of Kōchi and a monk of Kōfukuji. He is the founder of the Kojima-ryū, one of the thirty-six currents of Tōmitsu. 81.  See for instance “Tōji no tenbuzō,” fig. 32. 82.  See the scroll from a private collection, fig. 184 in Nara kokuritsu hakubutsukan 2007; and the exemplar from Tokyo National Museum. 83.  See Takahashi Yūsuke 2017. See also Ishikawa 2014. 84.  A similar pair appears in a painted scroll originally belonging to the Amyō-in 阿名 院, a shrine-temple (bettōji) of the Hakusan Nagataki Shrine (Gifu prefecture), and currently preserved in the Hakusan bunka hakubutsukan. See Takahashi Yūsuke 2017. 85.  In Shintō sources, the term kukuri-o no mikoto 潜尾命 seems to designate elemental spirits akin to the tosajin or the ugajin, invoked against natural calamities caused by the wind, water, etc. See Takahashi Yūsuke 2017: 42–44. The fact that they are represented with a snake body and a human face links them in particular to Ugajin—but also to the representations of primordial Chinese and Japanese deities (like Fu Xi and Nü Gua, or the first generations of kami). 86.  On these mandalas, see B, Faure 2015b. 87.  Takahashi 2017: 42–44. 88.  I am indebted to Sakai Komei for bringing my attention to these images and helping me to obtain them. 89.  Another tradition represents Kanayagogami as a female deity riding a fox—strikingly similar to Dakiniten. 90.  See, for instance, the Sanshu jingi, in Chūsei Nihongi shū, 444. 91.  Takahashi Yūsuke 2014: 46–47. 92.  Seki 1987: 300, 313. 93. See Hishō mondō, T. 79, 2536: 562c. 94.  SZ 37, quoted in Takahashi Yūsuke 2006. 95.  See Takahashi Yūsuke 2014: 51. On Uga Benzaiten, see B. Faure 2015b: 191–234.

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96.  See Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a. In another apocryphal text, the Saishō gokoku Ugaya tontoku nyoi hōju ō shugi, Ugajin and Kōjin are paired as symbols of dharmata and ignorance. 97. The same passage appears in various texts. See Kōjin kyō, in ST, Ronsetsu-hen, Tendai shintō 1:464. 98.  As noted earlier, the apparition of Kōjin, as reported in the Shintō zōzōshū, is reminiscent of the legend about the origins of sarugaku. On the widespread motif of the two brothers, one good, the other evil, see Iyanaga 2002b: 216–217. 99.  Uga shinnō fukutoku enman daranikyō, quoted in Kōjin engi. See Takahashi Yūsuke 2006: 4. 100.  ZTZ, Shintō 1, Sannō shintō: 235–269 101.  See B. Faure 2015b: 49–56. 102. See Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 637c. 103.  Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 434a–b. 104.  See B. Faure 2015b: 303–312, 324–328. 105. See Jisōbō naiden sōan, in ST, Ronsetsu-hen 9, Urabe shintō 2: 237. 106.  Hayakawa 2000: 103. See also B. Faure 2015a: 321–324. 107.  Hayakawa 2000: 103. 108.  Hayakawa 2000: 104. 109. See Keiran shūyōshū 39, T. 76, 2410: 574a. On the jōzuima, see also Raiyu’s Usuzōshi kuketsu, T. 79, 2535: 288b; and Hishō mondō, T. 79, 2536: 558c. See also Takahashi Yūsuke 2014: 52–53. 110. See Meishuku shū, NST 24: 404–408. See also Takahashi 2014: 27–31, 43–45; and Matsuoka Shinpei 2016. 111.  Kenmitsu zōdan shō, quoted in Takahashi Yūsuke 2014: 333. 112.  Kenmitsu zōdan shō, quoted in Takahashi Yūsuke 2014: 332–333. 113.  Quoted in Takahashi 2014: 147–151. 114.  See Takagi 1995a: 234–238. 115.  In the Kōjin ku hihō 荒神供秘法 of Eizan bunko (Ikeda Nagata-shi collection), dated 1811 (Bunka 8), the “source and fountainhead” (kongen) of Kōjin is said to be the “innate, born together obstacles” (honnu kushō no wakushō) of all beings.” The name Nagyō Tosajin, in this case, is that of an emanation of Kōjin, and not that of two distinct spirits. That name also appears in the Daikōjin daranikyō, where Nagyō and Tosa are distinct. See Shugen seiten: 51b–54a; and Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 347–348. 116.  Shugen seiten: 484–487. 117. See Shugen seiten, and Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 485, 544. 118.  The earthly deities include Kenrō Jishin 堅牢地神 and the Dharma king Yama and his retinue—including Taizan Fukun and his acolytes, Shimei and Shiroku. Most of these deities control human destiny to some degree. 119.  Nagyō Tosajin could perhaps be read as “a tosajin named Nagyō.” Some sources do mention deities called tosajin. Thus, tosajin could be used as a generic term, like ugajin and kōjin. In one version of the Reikiki, the Kōrin shidai reikiki, among the thirty-two deities who accompany the kami Toyouke during her descent to earth, the thirteenth, Ame no Wakatate, is called Nagyō

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Tosajin, and the next five are described as tosajin, while the fourteenth is called Binayaka-jin. In other words, these tosajin were deities of obstacles. See Takahashi Yūsuke 2017. 120.  See Takahashi Yūsuke 2017. 121.  On the dual-body Bishamon, see B. Faure 2015b: 39–42. 122.  On the kushōshin, see Jakushōdō kokkyōshū, 127. 123.  See B. Faure 2003; and Takahashi Yūsuke 2006. 124. See Jisha engi: 102–103. 125.  Shozan engi, in Jisha engi. As Arnaud Brotons remarks, the interest of this passage is that the Shozan engi puts more emphasis on the soranshin than on Kumano Gongen. See Brotons 2015: 100 and 2003: 274–282. On the Shozan engi, see also Roth 2014. 126. See Shugen sanshōryū gikyō, in Shugendō shōsho 3: 58. 127. See Bukkyō daijiten 2: 1654c. 128.  DNBZ 127: 32a. On this question, see Nakamura Ikuo 1994; and Yamamoto Hiroko 1993a. In Shintō, the name Sanbō Kōjin came to refer to the three deities Wakumusubi 稚産霊, Ukemochi 保食, and Uka no Mitama 倉稲魂. See Yōsan hiroku 養蚕秘録, NSBS 1: 57. 129.  See Gorai 1964: 105–109. 130.  Kōjin engi, quoted in Takahashi 2014a: 94–95. 131.  Chōseiden 窕誓伝, in Seki 1987: 324. 132.  According to the origin story of the “blind monks” (mōsō 盲僧), Saichō also invited some blind monks to perform rituals aimed at getting rid of the snakes that infested the mountain. As we will see, kōjin deities were represented as snakes or dragons. There is another Kōjin-zuka on Mount Inari, whose deity is said to be the dragon deity Ryūtōta 竜頭太. See Inari kokkyō ki: 202; and Inari-sha jijitsu kōshōki 稲荷社事実考證記, ST, Jinja-hen 9, Inari: 320–321. 133.  Kyōto daigaku kokugo kokubun shiryō soshō, Coll. Manju-in, Rinsen shoten; quoted in Takahashi Yūsuke 2006: 3. 134.  For a discussion of this point, see Takahashi Yūsuke 2014. 135.  Shokoku ikkken shō monogatari (dated 1387), quoted in Takahashi Yūsuke 2006: 3b. 136.  See Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 391. 137.  Benzaiten shugi, quoted in Yamamoto Hiroko 1988a: 499–502. 138.  Yugikyō kuketsu nukigaki, quoted in Takahashi Yūsuke 2006: 16. 139. See Ōmiwa jinja shiryō, vol. 10: 572. 140.  Among the research on the Kōjin festival in folklore, see for instance Takami Hirotaka 2006; on the Kōjin saimon and kagura, see Demura Katsuaki 1997; Itō Satoshi 1996 and 1998; and Iwata 1983: 390–407. 141.  This oracular function is still present in modern Japan, but it tends to disappear. 142.  See Suzuki Masataka 2001a: 32. 143.  See Yamamoto Hiroko 2000: 79–82. 144.  Yamamoto Hiroko 2000 (468): 79–91. 145.  Yamamoto Hiroko 2000 (472): 55–56. We are told that these kōjin, whose retinue numbers nine billions and 43,490 deities, descended on great

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trees and on cliffs and that, in response to the evil desires of humans, they became demons of obstacles. However, on the occasion of Ninigi’s descent, they experience a change of heart and become protecting deities. See NSBS 1: 194–195; Dokōjin saimon, NSBS 1: 230. 146.  Yamamoto Hiroko 2000 (472): 54–57. Okitsu-hiko and Okitsu-­ hime have the function of stove deities in Shintō, and they are the children of the Great Year Deity (Ōtoshigami). 147.  Beginning with the work of Komatsu Kazuhiko (1981, 1984, 1985), the Izanagi-ryū has attracted the attention of Japanese and Western scholars, and several significant studies have already been published on the topic. See Takagi 1995b; Kōchi kenritsu rekishi minzoku shiryōkan 1997; Mauclaire 1992, 1994, and 2012; Saitō 2002 and 2010; Pang 2015. 148.  Mauclaire 1992: 313. 149.  Mauclaire 1992: 314. 150.  See for instance the description of the oriage kagura, in Mauclaire 1992: 359–376; and Mauclaire 1989. 151.  Not to be confused with the kōjin-zuka 荒神塚 (Kōjin Mound), whose meaning and function are different. 152.  On the kamadogami, see Minzokugaku jiten: 117–119; and Kojiruien 17, Jingibu 5: 894–906. 153.  See for instance Shugendō yōten: 296–301. 154.  Shiojiri 10: 51. 155.  Shinzoku butsuji hen 1, Kitō-bu, Kasai Sanbō Kōjin; quoted in Kubo 2000: 15. 156.  See B. Faure, forthcoming. 157.  On this point, see Iijima 1988. 158.  See Miyake 1971: 238. 159.  In early Buddhism, this deity, known as Pṛthivī, Bhūmi Devī, or Bhū Devī, is perceived as female. She plays a minor role, despite her important place in the biography of the Buddha. In Southeast Asia, she is usually called Mae (or Nang) Torani (a name that seems derived from the Sanskrit dhāraṇī ‘she who bears’). 160.  Guthrie 2004: 22. 161. See Yonjō hiketsu: 352–353. In esoteric Buddhism, the earth deity was identified with the planetary deity Saturn (Doyōsei, the earth star, represented as an old man riding an ox), which corresponds to the earth element in the five elements (wuxing) cosmology. 162. See TZ 7: 169c. 163.  As his name indicates, Jizō also represents the earth and the subterranean world. On the identity between Kenrō Jishin and Jizō, see Onjōji denki, DNBZ (Bussho kankōkai edition) 127: 20b. 164. See Yonjō hiketsu: 352–353. 165.  See Suzuki Masataka 2009: 204. 166.  Yonjō hiketsu: 353 167. In the Jianlao ditian yigui 堅牢地天儀軌 (T. 21, 1286; translated by Śubhakarasiṃha), the deity is described as male, and in the outer court of the Womb Realm mandala, it appears with his female consort.

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A commentary emphasizes that it is a common feature to represent devas with their consorts. 168. See T. 14: 246; T. 20: 484; T. 21: 27; T. 78: 278, 345. 169.  See Murayama 1997: 108; and Aston 1972: 240–241. The full title of the Antaku Sūtra is Bussetsu antaku shinjukyō (Ch. Foshuo anzhai shenzhou jing 仏説安宅神呪経, T. 21, 1394). The other text is not known. On these scriptures, see Masuo 2013: 29–30. 170.  T. 76, 2410: 627c. 171. See T. 78: 58bc. On the Dokū saimon, see Suzuki Masataka 2001b: 240–243; and Mauclaire 1994. 172.  See Iwata 1993; see also Nihon shomin bunka shiryō shūsei, vol. 1. 173.  The apocryphal nature of that text is revealed by the fact that it contains many cosmologic elements such as the five agents theory, the ten stems and twelve branches, the seven luminaries, the five planets, and the twenty-eight lunar lodgings. 174.  Bussetsu jishin dai darani ōji kyō: 119–120. 175. The Higashiyama ōrai mentions a text entitled Earth-heart sūtra (probably the same text), but only to reject it as apocryphal: “[This] book says that [the Buddha’s] coffin was placed on the northern terrace of Mount Sumeru. This was because the earth-spirit would not receive it. Buddha rose again from his coffin and addressed the sutra to the Earth Spirit who was in the Deer Park, speaking for a whole day and night. He also spoke the Nirvāṇa Sutra, and so on.” See Waley 1932: 540–541. 176.  See “Nehan,” in NSSS 17: 129. 177.  These diagrams call to mind the symbolic moves of the Chinese emperor through the rooms of the “Bright Hall” (mingtang 明堂). 178. See Hoki naiden: 59. 179.  Kawaguchi 1999: 421b. 180.  Bussetsu jishin dai darani ōji kyō: 124–126. See also Mauclaire 2002: 85–86. 181. The saimon describes as follows the positions of the five brothers, as rectified by the Kōya hermit: the elder brother lies with his head in the east and his feet in the west; the second brother with his head in the south and his feet in the north; the third with his head in the west and his feet in the east; the fourth with his head in the north and his feet in the south. The fifth one, Gorō, occupies an axial (vertical) position, with his head in Middle Heaven and his feet on the earth. See Mauclaire 1997: 130–133. 182.  Mauclaire 1997: 131. 183.  Mauclaire 1997: 134. See also B. Faure 2005. CHAPTER 8. THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE

1.  The word jinushi is often translated as “tutelary deity,” a term that only means “protecting deity” and does not refer to the god’s territorial basis. Other terms sometimes used are “landlord deity” and “resident deity.” The former translates accurately but seems too “feudal” and somewhat narrow. “Resident deity” implies that the deity is not indigenous, which is often true. In most cases, I use “landowner deity” for lack of a better term.

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2.  See Yamashita 2006. 3.  Susanoo’s case is special: he is a divine god who has become a jinushi through a marital alliance with local dragon-deities. Yet Ninigi too marries the daughter of a dragon king. 4.  On this question, see Friday 1997. 5.  See “On the Concept of History,” in Benjamin 2003: 392. 6.  Amino Yoshihiko 2012: 50. 7.  See Caillet 1996. 8.  On that point, see Scheid 2006. 9.  Another interesting point is that Ōnamuchi appoints the crossroads deity Kunado no kami as his successor and orders him to assist Ninigi. As is well known, it is another crossroads deity, Sarutahiko, who served as a guide to Ninigi when the latter descended from heaven. 10.  Aston 1972: 60–61. 11.  The notion of araburu kami often overlaps with that of aramitama. In that structural sense, all kami (even Amaterasu), having an aramitama, could at times—or in some respects—be perceived as araburu kami. Insofar as Buddhism inherited that distinction between aramitama and nigimitama, the araburu kami could reintegrate the dualistic framework of medieval Buddhism and present themselves as the dark side of all deities (heavenly or earthly). The result was a crossover between various types of deities, Buddhist and non-Buddhist. 12.  A case in point is that nine-headed dragon that became the tutelary deity of Mount Togakushi 戸隠 under the (personalized) name of Kuzuryū 九 頭龍 (Nine-headed dragon). On this figure, see Carter 2014. 13.  See Kim Sujung 2014 and 2020. 14.  To give just one example, the famous Gohōzen 御宝善, a boulder that is the honzon of Yudono-san 湯殿山 shrine, becomes the body of the Womb Realm Dainichi, but in return, Dainichi was assimilated to a female divine body (covered with warm water) and to Kōjin (whose oratory is located just above the boulder). 15.  One could also perhaps include deities of the limits like the shaguji (shakujin, sekijin, ishigami), and specific deities like Daishōgun, Kōshin, Batō Kannon, etc. On Batō Kannon as Dōsojin, see Van Gulik 1935: 80; and Lomi 2011. 16. Initially, the “ancestral deities of the way” 道祖神 seem to have been in fact deities of “obstacles of the way,” referring to the earth mounds that constituted an obstacle and marked the boundary (sae no kami) at a crossroads or a bifurcation (funado). The term funado no kami, referring to a deity of the “place from which one does not return” (funado), is the name given to the stick planted by Izanagi to block the way of the malevolent spirits that his sister and wife Izanami launched in his pursuit after he saw her decaying body. See Holtom 1941. 17.  The dual Dōsojin came to be identified with the “dual-body” Kangiten (Skt. Nandikeśvara, i.e., Vināyaka). While this identification may be justified by the fact that in both cases we are dealing with gods of obstacles, Yanagita Kunio claims that it derives from the phonetic association between

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zōzu 象頭 (elephant head), shōji (obstacle), shakujin (a god of limits), and sekijin (stone god). This perhaps explains the number of places in Japan called “mountain of the elephant head.” See Yanagita 1990h. See also Duquenne 1994. 18.  The most interesting work in that respect remains an exchange of letters between Yanagita Kunio and Yamanaka Shō around 1909–1910, published under the title Ishigami mondō 石神問答 (also read Shakujin mondō). See Yanagita 1990b. 19.  See Richie and Itō 1967; Itō Kenkichi 1969; Czaja 1974; Daigo 1977; and Turnbull 2015. 20.  See Gorai 2007. 21.  See Yanagita 1990h; and Gorai 2007. 22. Today, these effigies are usually burnt by the side of the stone dōsojin on the occasion of the “small New Year” (Koshōgatsu) during a rite called dondo-yaki. They are the objects of ribald jokes from the bystanders, but they were clearly perceived as pestilence deities. In some instances, the stone dōsojin are burnt too. In that case, fire means purification rather than mere destruction: it is the process that transforms them into protectors and increases the deity’s efficacy. 23.  On the Oshirasama cult, see Tōno shiritsu hakubutsukan 2000. 24.  On the relation between Oshiragami and Kangiten, see Gakkō 1965. 25.  Suzuki Bokushi also describes how in some cases this ritual turned into a bawdier event. It becomes even more reminiscent of the European charivari when the children, coming to a house of recently wed, tap on the gate with their sumac sticks, calling, “Send out the bride! Send out the groom!” Suzuki traces the ritual back to the medieval New Year tradition of beating the buttocks of childless women with a “rice-gruel” stick (a stick made of the firewood used to cook rice gruel) so that they would conceive a male child. See Suzuki Bokushi 1986: 229–231. Similar rites, some of which derive from the Roman Lupercalia, were found all over Europe. In one such rite performed until recently in Moravia, women lent themselves to a parodic beating. 26.  The areas in which the “dual-body dōsojin” have been found in the majority overlap with the regions in which the theme of the incest between brother and sister (often clearly identified as Izanagi and Izanami) is the most widespread. See Butel 1999, and Fukuda Akira 1985: 197–224. 27.  This approach is still characteristic of some recent scholarship, the most extreme example being the work of Yoshino Hiroko (1975, 1980, and 1999). 28.  Philippi 1969: 84–86. 29.  See Matsumoto Nobuhiro 1928: 89. See also Haguenauer 1977; and Matsumae Takeshi 1980. 30.  According to Matsumoto Nobuhiro, the spear is an obvious symbol for the phallus, and the recipient itself could symbolize the vagina (or, more appropriately, the womb). This symbolism recalls that of the creation myth performed by Amaterasu’s parents, Izanami and Izanagi, when they plunged a spear into the ocean. 31.  Philippi 1968: 138; see also Aston 1972: 77.

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32.  Aston 1972: 77–78. 33.  One could also argue that, in the episode of the cave too, both Uzume’s gesture and the gods’ laughter had an apotropaic meaning, because Amaterasu’s withdrawal into the cave symbolizes her death. 34.  Mauclaire 1992: 372. The mention of the god and goddess of the eightfold crossroads is a clear reference to Sarutahiko and Uzume. Ironically, uniting with an araburu kami is precisely what Uzume did with Sarutahiko. 35.  Philippi 1968: 142 (slightly modified). 36.  Philippi 1968: 143 (slightly modified). 37.  See Iida 1998: 17–24, 161–167. One could have expected that Sarutahiko, in typical jinushi fashion, would have led Ninigi to his domain in Ise, rather than in the opposite direction to Hyūga (in Kyūshū). It is only much later that Amaterasu (and with her Ninigi) finally found her way to Ise and made it the site of her shrine (which eventually superseded Takachiho Shrine in Hyūga). See also Zhang Lishan 2012. 38.  The name Hyottoko is said to derive from hi-otoko 火男 (the fireman), and to be related to the stove god Kōjin. See Komatsu Kazuhiko 1985: 162–163. 39.  In shrines, during the spring or summer festival (in particular during the Jizō-bon), Otafuku (Uzume) and a tengu perform a graphic parody of lovemaking on the stage. 40.  In 1873, in the wake of the official policy of “separation of the kami and the buddhas” (shinbutsu bunri 神仏分離), the cult of Konseijin found itself at the center of passionate journalistic debate. For more on this deity, see Turnbull 2015: 189–230. 41.  These couple of radishes are found for instance on ema (“horse-pictures”) inscribed with prayers for meeting the proper mate. See Richie and Itō 1967: 204–205. 42.  See Richie and Itō 1967: 220–221. 43.  See Baba 1971: 227–230. 44.  The Confucian scholar Yamazaki Ansai 山崎闇斎 (1619–1682), for instance, tried to turn Sarutahiko into a Confucian moralist. He was criticized on that point (and many others) by Hirata Atsutane, who saw this as another example of the deleterious effects of the “Chinese mind” (karagokoro) on authentic Japanese culture. See Ooms 1985. 45.  The Kasa Jizō at Kōshōji, for instance, was the object of prayers for safe childbirth and longevity. The ethnographer Yamanaka Kyoko (1850– 1928) describes it as a “folded umbrella” standing on a lotus dais, but judging from his drawing it clearly looks like an erected phallus. This small stone image (1,8 shaku, about 55 cm) was found inside the wooden Jizō statue (tainai)—and it was called a tainai butsu (buddha inside the womb). See Yamanaka 1995: 280–281. On the symbolic value of that length, see Butel 1999. 46.  See Glassman 2002. 47.  See Richie and Itō 1967. The most popular festival today is that of the Tagata shrine (near Nagoya), still celebrated every year for a plentiful harvest. Although its origins cannot be traced further back than the late Edo

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period and it is not focused on the traditional dosojin, it has become a media event. It consists mainly in a phallic offering to a goddess in the hope of a good harvest—and more generally of good luck and prosperity. The goddess has her own shrine nearby, whose main image is a shell, symbol of female genitalia. The procession is led by Sarutahiko in his apotropaic role. The size of the wooden phallus, carried on a portable shrine, has increased with time and it is now 2,5 meter long, weighing about 280 kg. It protrudes on both ends of the shrine, and is carried by twelve 42-year-old men (an inauspicious age). After the procession, people take home a small phallus that will insure their good fortune for the current year. 48.  Richie and Itō 1967: 103. 49.  The idea that the god would come wearing such attire can be traced back to the story of Susanoo’s exile. According to the Nihon shoki, for instance: “Since there was a rainstorm then, Susanoo bound up grass and made a braided hat and straw coat and went around asking for shelter of the various deities.” See Philippi 1968: 86; translation slightly modified). In the medieval period, the straw coat became the characteristic of the outcasts (hinin). 50.  Richie and Itō 1967: 104. 51.  Starting from the assumption that Sarutahiko must be the deification of a macaque monkey, many scholars read this as “mouth and buttocks.” Emiko Ohnuki-Tierney goes one step further, giving the ludicrous interpretation “from whose mouth and anus a light shines.” See Ohnuki-Tierney 1987: 42. 52.  See Iida 1998: 128. 53.  The Ra(n)ryō has been traced back to the story of Zhang Gong 張恭, prince of Lanling 蘭陵 (J. Ranryō) during the Northern Qi (550–577), but the name is more likely an abbreviation of Shagara Rryūō, the dragon king Sāgara. See Hōbōgirin 1: 155. 54.  A figure related to Sarutahiko, the old man of Fushimi (Fushimi-ō, Fushimi no okina 臥見翁), is also associated with the foreigners who brought bugaku to Japan. Since bugaku masks were originally part of an apotropaic ritual, there would be nothing surprising if the figure of Sarutahiko absorbed some of their attributes. See Matsuoka Shinpei 1999. 55.  The Sarutahiko Shrine of Ise, for instance, was founded in the Meiji period by a family, the Uji no Tsuchigimi 宇治土公, which worshiped him as their ancestral deity. Indeed, it is significant that Sarutahiko’s cult, unlike that of deities such as Inari or Hachiman, remained by and large deprived of specific shrines bearing his name. 56.  A rather similar definition is given, this time for Amaterasu, in the “biography” of the Reverend Hōshi, a Japanese avatar of the Chinese monk Baozhi (418–524). Through a strange inversion of signs, it is now Amaterasu herself (or himself, as this deity is sometimes represented as male) who has become a Dōsojin. But this is perhaps not so surprising when we recall the affinities between Amaterasu and the fox (Dakiniten) or the snake / dragon (Benzaiten), and, more generally, the reptilian nature of the primordial deities in Ise shintō. See Nihongi Miwaryū, in Chūsei Nihongi shū: 461–464.

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57.  Quoted in Iida 1998: 34. See also Jihen’s Tenchi jingi shinchin yōki: 457. 58.  Quoted in Iida 1998: 35–37. 59.  Like the Asama Gongen cult studied by Anne Bouchy, the Okitama cult and the Futami rocks that constitute a kind of Oku-no-miya (Inner Shrine) of Ise seem closely related to Kongōshōji on Mount Asama and its main deity, Uhō Dōji. Thus, the medieval Kongōshōji seems to have been the Oku-no-in (Inner Temple) of Ise Shrine (in the same way as Gakuenji was the Oku-no-in of Izumo Shrine). See Iida 1998: 36; and Bouchy 1996–1997. 60.  Gengenshū: 232. 61. See Ise shintō shū: 574. Likewise, on the Buddhist side, we find a claim according to which the agate stone discovered by Yamato-hime owing to the indications given by Ōta no Kami (i.e., Sarutahiko) was actually “Dainichi’s Seal,” indicating that the “great country of Japan” was the original land of Dainichi. 62.  Shibata 1984b. 63.  See Mauclaire 1992: 372. 64. See Jingi hyakushu kashō, quoted in Iida 1998: 5.See also Kumagun jinja ki: 287. Gendayū 源太夫 is perhaps an alias of Hyakudayū 百太夫, a deity linked to the Ebisu cult. Funadama is said to be the “spirit of the boat” that protects sailors at sea. On this deity, see Iida 1998: 66–82. 65.  See Iida 1998: 29–84. 66.  At Inari, Sarutahiko is still worshiped today next to the deity of cereals Uka no Mitama. However, according to Iida, the original deity of Inari was not agrarian. Mount Inari was since a distant past perceived as a dangerous place connected to death. Thus, it is more likely that the main deities worshiped there were apotropaic gods like Sarutahiko and Daishōgun. The lower shrine, Fujio, was dedicated to a goryō cult, and his deity seems to have been Sarutahiko. Only after its transfer to the nearby Fujimori no Miya, in the precincts of the Goryō Shrine, did the nature of the Inari cult change. Due to his apotropaic nature, Sarutahiko was also the main deity of the northern Goryō Shrine and Imamiya Shrine (another goryō shrine), and probably that of the southern Goryō Shrine as well. See Iida 1998: 59–65. 67.  T. 76, 2410. 68.  For a different view, see Yatsuzuka 1999: 25–45. 69.  In Tendai, Bishamon and Fudō were often paired, like Daigyōji and Hayao. 70.  The current deity of Hayao Shrine is Susanoo, not Sarutahiko. Hayao also appears in the Taiheiki, together with the monkeys of Mount Hiei. 71.  Tenchi jingi shinchin yōki: 450 and 424. 72.  Iida argues that there was an amalgam between sai no kami (sword deity) and sae no kami (road-blocking or crossroads deity). The sai no kami is a “road-opening,” not a road-blocking deity. While the sai no kami sometimes acts as a sae no kami, the reverse is not true. See Iida 1998: 139–157. 73.  Iida 1998: 117–132. 74.  In contemporary Japan, it is Sarutahiko, in the form of a tengu, who plays the role of the tutelary god that leads a procession of adults and children across the neighborhood each spring. During this procession, small children

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are presented to him and they make their first encounter with the frightening yet protective power that governs their life. 75.  Gonjinshō: 105. 76.  In the “Kōjin Nō,” for instance, we find a replay of Ninigi’s descent, in which Sarutahiko is replaced by (or identified with) Kōjin. See NSBS 1: 194–195. 77. See Shirahige jinja engi: 529–545. See also Asakura 1952. 78.  See Yamamoto Hiroko 1991: 289–291. 79. In some sources, his Sino-Japanese name is read in Japanese as Miyako no Yoshika, a person otherwise unknown. 80.  The Hira (Shirahige) Shrine on the western bank of Lake Biwa was allegedly founded by Yamato-hime herself under the reign of her father, Suinin Tennō, and renamed Hira Myōjin Shrine under the reign of Tenji Tennō (r. 661–672). According to the Edo meisho zue 江戸名所図会, however, it was founded by Ennin in 951. According to another tradition, the god enshrined there is Shinra Myōjin (Shiragi-gami). At any rate, this god seems to have been initially worshiped by Korean immigrants. His antiquity is reflected in the belief that he had seen Lake Biwa turn seven times into a plain covered with reeds. His shrine is known for its torii standing in the water, like those of Watatsumi Shrine on Tsushima Island and of Itsukushima Shrine on the Inland Sea. This shrine has many branch shrines (massha) throughout Japan. See Tanigawa 2000, vol. 5: 349–351. 81.  According to one theory, Shirahige (read Hakushu) refers to Kudara 百済, which points to the god’s Korean origins. See Nihon no kamigami 5, Yamashiro, Ōmi: 348, in Tanigawa 2000. 82. See Onjōji denki, DNBZ 86 (Suzuki gakujutsu zaidan edition): 60. 83. See Konjaku monogatarishū 11.28. On that god, see also Sanbō ekotoba, translated in Kamens 1988: 328. In the Kuramadera engi, Kibune Myōjin, the “protector of the imperial capital,” also appears as an old man; see Yamaori 1991: 187–189. 84.  The end of the passage is not clear. See Honchō jinja kō: 146–148. 85.  DNBZ 101: 187b; and DNBZ 470: 147c. 86.  Shirahige jinja engi: 531. 87.  Shirahige jinja engi: 532. 88.  Shirahige jinja engi: 533. 89.  Shirahige jinja engi: 534–536. 90.  Shirahige jinja engi: 536. 91. See Sanbō ekotoba, translated in Kamens 1988: 328–329; and Genkō shakusho 15.8, DNBZ (Suzuki gakujutsu zaidan edition) 470: 146c. 92.  He is mentioned in relation with two foreign musicians, Buttetsu 仏 哲 and Bodhisena (from Champā and Southern India, respectively) and their meeting with Gyōki at the time of the construction of the Great Buddha of Tōdaiji. It is again Rōben who conducted the eye-opening ceremony for that statue. On this question, see Hōbōgirin 2: 152; and B. Faure 2017. 93.  Cogan 1987: 168–170. 94.  On this monk, see Bruneton 2012. Baozhi reappears in several medieval Shintō texts.

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95.  In a genealogical document retracing the origins of the outcasts (eta, kawaramono), Shirahige Myōjin is described as one of the six children of Izanagi and Izanami, who had been in a distant past a man-eating demon. See Wakita Osamu 1991. The motif of the old man who has seen it all and is ready to talk about it receives a comic twist in the popular rituals of Kurokawa, strongly influenced by Haguro Shugendō, and centered on the figure of Okina. Here Okina dialogues with the village’s representative (tōya) and boasts about his knowledge. On Kurokawa Nō, see Martzel 1982. 96.  See Waley 1976: 205–213. 97.  On this deity, see Yamamoto Hiroko 1991: 275–288. 98.  See Bialock 2002: 268. The Soga monogatari gives a slightly different version, in which Ninomiya is replaced by the Buddha Śākyamuni. See Cogan 1987: 168–171. 99.  Quoted in Sange yōryakki: 31; and Yamamoto Hiroko 1991: 277. The Jingi senryō is no longer extant, and its attribution to Ōe no Masafusa was rejected by the author of the Keiran shūyōshū; see T. 76, 2410: 529b. 100.  On this question, see Amino Yoshihiko 1997: 23–39; and Yatsuzuka 1999. 101. See Tenchi jingi shinchin yōki: 424. See also p. 457. 102.  Gonjinshō: 105. 103.  Jindai no maki shikenmon: 580–581. 104.  See for instance Taiheiki, NKBT 35, vol. 2: 185–187. 105.  The reference to the “evil god” may simply be an allusion to his araburukami (that is, jinushi) nature and his animal manifestation. The question remains whether this “evil god” was first, and was later associated with Sarutahiko, or the other way around. In other words, was Sarutahiko the original jinushi, or was Daigyōji, because of his association with monkeys, later connected with Sarutahiko (whose name suggests his simian nature)? The latter seems more likely, but the documentation does not allow us to decide. The fact remains that, at least from the thirteenth century onward, the monkeys, Daigyōji, and Sarutahiko were intimately associated. 106.  See Amino Satoru 1997. 107.  ZTZ, Shintō 1, Sannō shintō: 81b. 108.  The same theme appears in the origin story of Hachijō-shima, whose jinushi, Tametomo (who was also initially a goryō, a warrior who died in exile on this island, before becoming the tutelary god of that island and turning into a protector against epidemics). Tametomo also meets Gozu Tennō, who appears to him in the form of an old man, coming from the sea on a reed mat. See Rotermund 1991a: 143–144. 109.  Yamamoto Hiroko 1998a: 589. While Gozu Tennō is presented here as the tutelary deity of Japan, it is another deity named Yagorō who claims to be the jinushi of Tsushima proper. Significantly, the name Gorō and the suffix derived from it (-gorō) often derive from goryō (malevolent spirit). 110. See Asabashō, DNBZ 41: 374b (Bussho kankōkai edition); and Genkō shakusho, DNBZ 101: 484b–485a (DNBZ 62, 470: 219c–220a in the Suzuki gakujutsu zaidan edition). In the Genkō shakushō, Gozu Tennō’s interlocutor is a Dharma master named Ichien 一演, but the storyline is more or

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less the same. The text adds an intriguing detail, however, that brings to mind the image of the primordial god Pangu: Gozu Tennō declares that he likes to sleep and stays asleep throughout the year, waking up only on the fifth of the fifth month, at which time he emits his breath toward heaven; this breath becomes clouds, mist, and rain, and it can be both a remedy and a poison for beings—even causing epidemics at times. 111.  Tanaka Hisao 1981: 407. See also Tanaka Hisao 1993. 112.  On this question, see Tanaka Hisao 1981: 397–417. 113.  Sujung Kim 2019: 91. 114.  Onjōji denki, DNBZ 86: 65; quoted in Sujung Kim 2019: 90. 115.  On this question, see Hosokawa 1993; Itō Satoshi 2011; and Iyanaga 1996–1997. 116.  Various Japanese scholars have discussed the relation between Māra and the Hindu god Śiva (Maheśvara). See in particular Iyanaga 1985; Hosokawa 1993; Itō Satoshi 1998; and Abe Yasurō 2006. Initially, Maheśvara rules over the sphere of the fourth dhyāna, in the realm of form, whereas Māra is only the lord of the Sixth Heaven in the realm of desire. The confusion between the two figures seems due to their common epithet, Jizaiten 自在 天. The Keiran shūyōshū distinguishes between two gods called Maheśvara: the former, Vairocana Maheśvara, is the lord of the fourth dhyāna realm; the latter, Īśāna Maheśvara, is the lord of the Sixth Heaven (that is, Māra). 117. See Shiertian gu yigui, T. 21: 386a. 118.  See Iyanaga 1996–1997: 340–343. 119. See Chūsei Nihongi shū, 444–445. Several other texts state that the “divine jewel” is a map of Japan that has the shape of the seed-letter ban (Skt. vaṃ) of Dainichi or a one-pronged vajra. 120.  Taiheiki, NKBT 35, vol. 2: 166–169. 121.  Hosokawa 1993: 106. 122.  See Hosokawa 1993: 178. 123.  Kōjin engi no koto 荒神縁起事; quoted in Itō Satoshi 2011: 154. 124.  Reikiki shishō, quoted in Itō Satoshi 1995: 71. 125.  See Sawa 1984. 126.  On this question, see Hérail 1992. 127.  NKBT 34, vol. 1: 55; translated in H. McCullough 1979: 26. 128.  Tōjō-chō kyōiku iinkai 1982; quoted in Yamamoto Hiroko 2000 (468): 82. 129.  It is worth pointing out the affinities between Māra and the nāgaking (although one wants to destroy the Buddha Dharma and the other to preserve it): both are expressions of fundamental ignorance. But the hongaku logic produced an inversion of signs: despite its association with darkness and ignorance, the nāga-palace was seen as the essence of the universal, enlightened mind. The same thing became true of Māra. It is therefore no wonder that Māra, as a source of chaos and confusion, would stand at the origin of the world. CHAPTER 9. DIVINE LAND, DEMONIC SEAS

1.  Rambelli 2018a; see also Grapard 2018. 2.  I borrow the expression from the title of Kuroda Hideo 2003.

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3.  Among the most eminent foreign sea-travelers to China, let us mention Kang Senghui (d. 280), Guṇavarman (367–431), Guṇabhadra (arrived in Guangzhou in 435), the semi-legendary Bodhidharma (arrived in Guangzhou at the turn of the sixth century), Vajrabodhi (arrived in 719) and Amoghavajra (705–774). Among foreign monks who came to Japan in the eighth century, Daoxuan 道璿 (J. Dōsen, 702–760), Jianzhen 鑑真 (J. Ganjin, 688–763) and Bodhisena (704–760) are noteworthy. The crossing between China and Japan was famously difficult. As one of Ganjin’s disciples, reluctant to follow his master overseas, explains: “That country is too far. It is difficult to preserve one’s life—not one in a hundred arrives across the vast waves and boundless waters.” Granted some exaggeration, the dangers were real, and it took, for instance, several attempts for Ganjin to reach Japan. See Holcombe 1999: 292; and Bingenheimer 2003 and 2004. 4.  The same is true of deities that are simply “foreign” without being sea deities (apart from the fact that, practically, they usually had to come to Japan by sea). 5.  Grapard 1992a offers a good introduction to the history of the divinatory lineage of the Urabe, originating from Watatsumi Shrine on Tsushima Island. On Tsushima shintō, see Suzuki Tōzō 1972. 6.  Perhaps the Hata and Urabe, as true nomads at heart, were “traveling with their roots,” implanting their cults in the new surroundings (in particular around Lake Biwa). In the process, however, the nature of their cults significantly changed. 7.  See Tanaka Takako 1993: 29. 8.  The three deities of Munakata are: Ichikishima-hime 市杵島, Tagitsu-­ hime 湍津姫, and Tagori-hime 田心姫, worshiped today at Hetsu-gū 辺津 宮 (Munakata Shrine proper), Nakatsu-gū (Oshima), and Okitsu-gū 沖津 宮 (on Okinoshima 沖ノ島, sixty kilometers offshore), respectively. This sequence has changed over time, however. Ichikishima-hime also became the main deity of Itsukushima (Ichikishima) Shrine. The same structure (Hetsu, Nakatsu, Okitsu), can be found at the three Ōmiwa Shrines, corresponding to Sukunahikona, Ōnamuchi, and Ōmononushi, respectively. See Ōmiwa no kami sansha chinza shidai 大三輪神三社鎮座次第, in ST, Jinja-hen, 12: 3–13; and Andreeva 2010: 248. Before becoming the famous tourist spot of today (Miyajima), Itsukushima had long been a forbidden island (like Okinoshima in northern Kyūshū). It began to be inhabited after the medieval period, but no hunting or agriculture was allowed, and deer could proliferate freely. The Ichikishima shrine is said to have been built in 593, and it was renovated by Taira no Kiyo­ mori in 1146. A Buddhist temple dedicated to Benzaiten was built next to it in 1587 on Hideyoshi’s order. It became a center for the biwa hōshi reciting the Tale of the Heike. 9.  The Watatsumi deity was said to be a white snake. On Watatsumi Shrine, see Tanigawa Ken’ichi 2000, vol. 1: 13–19. 10.  Kotohira Shrine was erected on Zōzusen 象頭山 (Mount Elephant Head, a toponym that may have some relation to Shōten, the elephant-headed god, who is worshiped in a temple not too distant). While located inland, this

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mountain served as a landmark for seafarers. Kuṃbhīra (Konpira), its original deity, seems to have been perceived in Japan as a deification of a mythical aquatic animal known as wani. A donation letter from the Sanuki governor, Ikoma Masatoshi, made Konpira Gongen 金比羅権現 the center of a vast pilgrimage network. The Konpira temple was transformed into a Shintō shrine and renamed Kotohira in 1889, during the Meiji Restoration. 11.  On this deity, see Bouchy 1996–1997. 12.  The same maritime function is one facet of protectors such as Sekizan Myōjin and Matarajin, or Benzaiten and Kōjin on Mount Kōjin (on the western shore of Lake Biwa). 13.  See Amino Yoshihiko 2012: 56. 14.  6,852 to be exact, according to a recent census. 15.  See for instance Grapard 2018; Rambelli 2018a; Conlan 2017; and Sujung Kim 2018. 16.  The use of the term ryōshu, as we will see, is problematic as it translates as “ruler of a territory,” which is still a land-based concept. On the notion of sea lords, see Shapinsky 2014. 17.  Jeju’s wakō saw themselves as Japanese, and the island returned to the Korean orbit only after the Mongol invasions. See Tanaka Takeo 2012. 18.  See Conlan 2017. 19.  Amino Yoshihiko 2007c: 16. 20.  Von Verschuer 2006. See also Batten 2003 and 2007. 21.  See Batten 2007: 360. 22. Several pirate raids took place in the second half of the ninth century: one on Hakata in 869, a series of others on Tsushima and Iki in the following years, and on Kyūshū in the early 890s. See Batten 2007: 366–371. 23. This rebellion occurred at the same time as Taira no Masakado’s rebellion in Eastern Japan. A former civil servant, Sumitomo opted for a new career as the leader of a federation of pirates operating throughout the Inland Sea. See Batten 2007: 372—373. These two rebellions were not, as Kibatake Chikafusa asserts in his Jinnō shōtōki, “merely fortuitous disasters.” See Varley 1980: 183. 24.  See Amino Yoshihiko 1995 and 2012; and von Verschuer 2006. 25.  Gobble, Robinson, and Wakabayashi 2009: 4–10. 26.  On Hakata’s monopole in the Heian period, see Batten 2003: 115– 116, and 189–190. 27.  See Amino Yoshihiko 2012: 93. An elephant was even brought from Palembang at the time of the Ashikaga shōgun Yoshimitsu 義満 (1358–1408). This elephant is probably the same that was offered by the shogunate to the Korean king a little later. The fate of that poor animal brings to mind that of his Western cousin, whose almost contemporary inland journey from Spain to Austria (following probably a long sea journey from India to Spain) Jose Saramago humorously describes in his last novel, The Journey of the Elephant. On Tosa Harbor, see Amino Yoshihiko 2012: 79. 28.  DeWitt 2018: 86. 29.  See Como 2009: 13.

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30.  Jeju Island did not enter the Korean orbit until the Mongol invasions in the thirteenth century. Scholars like Yanagita Kunio and Orikuchi Shinobu (and more recently Kubo Noritada), perhaps in an attempt to downplay Korean influence, have emphasized the impact of southern islands (including Okinawa) on the origins of Japanese culture. 31. According to a variant in the Nihon shoki, Tsushima was counted among the “eight great islands” produced by Izanagi and Izanami. A Chinese source, the Sanguo zhi (third century CE), which contains the earliest Chinese reports on the “Eastern Barbarians” (dongyi), mentions Tsushima as an island of the Wo (i.e., the Japanese). Korean sources such as the Samguk sagi, on the other hand, claim that Tsushima (K. Taemado) originally belonged to the Korean kingdom of Silla. See Seoh 1969: 28; quoted in Scheid 2018: 166. On the history of Tsushima, see also Robinson 2006. 32.  Its northern tip is 50 kilometers from modern Busan, while its southern tip is 120 kilometers from Fukuoka. 33.  The shrine is said to have been built in mythical time by the god Toyotama-­hiko, who had three children: one boy, Hotakami, and two daughters: Toyotama-hime and Tamayori-hime. Hikohohodemi, searching for his lost hook, is also said to have come to this place, dwelling for three years in Watatsumi Palace, and marrying Toyotama-hime. Near the shrine’s main hall, two natural rocks are said to be Toyotamahiko’s mausoleum and Toyotamahime’s grave. In front of it, there is also a stone called Isora Ebisu, which probably was the shrine’s first shintai. 34.  See Amino Yoshihiko 1995: 252. During WW II, Tsushima was also a strategic place. Little remains of that past on the island today, and the belated Korean revenge has come in the form of aggressive tourism. 35.  On this question, see Morse 2013. 36.  Sujung Kim 2020: 90–97. 37.  Wakabayashi 2009: 115. 38.  See Dewa Hiroaki 2004, Sujung Kim 2020, and Drott 2016. White hair was seen as a symbol of wisdom and Daoist immortality. The elders (for instance Higi in the Hachiman engi) and Japan’s jinushi, the first occupant of the land, are white-haired. In one medieval myth, the jinushi is Gozu Tennō, a Korean deity, whereas Izanagi and Izanami are naive young deities who discover the world and sexuality. 39.  See Rotermund 1991a: 125, 240, and 258. 40.  See Como 2008: 169–170. As we have seen above, some scholars think that Ame no Hiboko merged at some point with Gozu Tennō. 41.  See Aston 1972: 84–85. 42.  Aston 1972: 107. 43.  Aston 1972: 151–153. 44. As Allan Grapard points out, many shrines (Usa, Izumo, Atsuta, Kehi, Suwa, Kashima, Katori, etc.) were related to these campaigns, and the kami worshiped there were often sword spirits, or they received weapons as offerings. Grapard 2002: 219. It is perhaps in this context that one should interpret the famous archeological discovery made in 1983 of 358 swords, buried at Kōjindani 荒神谷 (Kōjin Valley) not far from Izumo Taisha (and

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one may also wonder if the name Kōjin appearing here is a mere coincidence). The fact that such a large number of swords were buried at one location suggests the existence of a burial rite. See Kōjindani Hakubutsukan 2006. 45. The Nihon shoki gives a less violent image and does not mention his killing his twin. Aston 1972: 202–211. 46.  Philippi 1968: 235. 47. Isomae considers this myth only from the viewpoint of his Shintō-leaning sources, however, and he overlooks the medieval identification of the Kusanagi sword preserved at Atsuta Shrine with Fudō Myōō and other esoteric Buddhist deities. See Isomae 1999. On that sword, see also Oyler 2006a: 115–136. 48.  See Ledyard 1975; and Allen 1993. 49.  Conlan (2001) has argued that there were no such typhoons. At any rate, the “divine winds” were not able to prevent later barbarian invasions in 1853 and 1945. 50.  A harbinger of the Mongol invasions could have been the Toi invasion of 1019. The Toi (from a Korean word for barbarian, doe) were probably the Jurchen, a Manchurian people that conquered northern China and founded the Jin dynasty in the twelfth century. As Batten points out, for unclear reasons a large fleet of Jurchen marauders attacked the Korean kingdom of Koryŏ, then the Japanese islands of Iki and Tsushima, and eventually Kyūshū, before returning home by the same route. Batten 2007: 374–377. 51.  See “Tsuina no sai no norito,” in Engishiki 8; quoted in Alaszewska 2018. See also Bock 1985: 45. Bock’s translation is slightly different; it gives Mutsu (east), Chiga (west), Tosa (wouth), and Sado (north). Bock 1985: 19. 52. See Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 626b; and B. Faure 2015b: 208. The same reaction prevailed at the time of the Western threat with the sakoku 鎖国 policy. 53.  See Kitajima 1995: 56–61. 54.  Aston 1972: 234. 55.  Yanagita Kunio criticized this tradition, arguing that it would have been difficult to bring so many ears from so far to bury them. He thought that they must have been the ears of animals like deer. See Ishigami [Shakujin] mondō, in Yanagita 1990a, vol. 15: 552. 56.  Heads were important proof of battle service. They were also considered to have an otherworldly power. Prisoners might be decapitated as “offerings to the gods of war.” Taking a head constituted a standard motif of the victorious warrior. On this question, see Conlan 2000: 17. 57.  See Deguchi 1994: 95, 155. 58.  On Empress Jingū, see Tsukaguchi 1980; Akima 1993; and Simpson 2014. 59. See Hachiman gudōkin: 170. See also Itō Satoshi 2018: 210–211. This title refers to two different texts. While the shorter one (version A) is focused on the Mongol invasions and Jingū’s legend, the second ignores them. The title (“Lessons of Hachiman for Ignorant Children”) implies that the ideology expressed in them is somewhat simplistic, but the irony was probably lost on its readers—and on its author(s). The shorter Hachiman gudōkin (A)

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was written at the turn of the fourteenth century by someone who was close to the Iwashimizu Hachiman shrine. See Jisha engi: 170–205; and Wakabayashi 2009. It gives the following details about the size of the invasions: under the reigns of Kaika Tennō, the invading armada consisted of 203,000 men; of Chūai, 203,000 men; of Jingū, 38,000 men; of Ōjin, 25,000 men; of Kinmei, more than 340,000 men; of Suiko, 430,000 men; of Tenji, 23,000 men; and of Kanmu, 400,000 men. Things seem to have come to rest after Kanmu, until the Mongol Invasions. See Conlan 2001; and Wakabayashi 2009: 124. 60.  In another version, the arrow that kills Chūai Tennō was shot by a Kumaso rebel. 61. See Hachiman gudōkin A, in Jisha engi: 170. See also Wakabayashi 2009: 115. 62.  This myth has been the object of several Japanese studies, among them Tsukaguchi 1980, Akima 1993, and Yoshida Shūsaku 2005. In Western languages, see Simpson 2014, 2018, and 2019. Another important iconographic source is the Hachiman no honji emaki 八幡の本地絵巻. It is known in many different illuminated versions, five of which, ranging from the fourteenth to the nineteenth century, have been digitized under the direction of Melanie Trede in her Hachiman Digital Handscrolls Project at Heidelberg University. Another digital version—the one that I have used here—has been presented by the Bibliothèque Nationale de France through its digital library Gallica. These handscrolls depict the invasion of the Korean peninsula by Jingū Kōgō with the help of the gods Isora and Sumiyoshi, and the prodigies related to the god Hachiman. 63.  These jewels are the same jewels that allowed Hikohohodemi to subdue his resentful brother. One cannot overestimate the importance of jewels (in their apotropaic role) in Jingū’s (and Hachiman’s) myth. Jingū’s two tide-controlling jewels reappear in the legend of the nun Nyoi 如意 (Wish Fulfilling). In Kokan Shiren’s Genkō shakusho, Nyoi is depicted as a young female immortal and an imperial consort who left the palace to live as a recluse on Mount Nyoi. Threatened by a demonic deity (soranshin), she asked the help of the Shingon master Kūkai, who taught her how to perform a Benzaiten ritual to placate the deity. In a long footnote, Shiren explains that Kūkai possessed a purple cloud box strongly reminiscent of the box offered by the sea king to Urashimagako—but now the ritual power of the esoteric master outshines the magic power of the box. Genkō shakushō, in DNBZ 62, 470: 160–161 (Suzuki gakujutsu zaidan edition); and DNBZ 101: 347b–350a (Kokusho kankōkai edition); see also B. Faure 2003: 180–183. 64.  The original text has: “ishi o totte mikoshi ni sashihasamite.” Koshi (pelvic region) is a rather vague term that seems to be a polite way to say “vagina.” See Sakamoto Tarō et al. 2003, vol. 2: 146. See also the note on p. 400. 65.  Wakabayashi 2009: 112–115. 66. The origin story of the kokubunji of Ushidō-zan in the Harima ka­gami contains an interesting variant of this episode. Before the invasion of the Korean kingdoms, a numinous bull (reigyū 霊牛) appears to the Empress, then a “metamorphic man” (kenin 化人). The former is identified with the

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wisdom king Daiitoku 大威徳明王, the latter with the Healing Buddha Yakushi, two deities worshiped in that temple. The Harima kagami provides the following commentary: “Worship of the numinous bull. People who have a wish must consult it. In particular, by calling children ‘children of the bull’ one avoids smallpox and other painful diseases and one obtains longevity for the child.” This temple was thus perceived as a place of protection against smallpox and epidemics. Daiitoku Myōō is usually represented standing on a bull or buffalo that gallops wildly over the waves and shooting arrows at demons. Here again, the invasion of the Korean peninsula is symbolically linked with the anti-epidemic fight. See Harima kagami, Shikitō-gun 飾東郡 section, 24b–26a. See also Wakabayashi 2009; and Tanaka Hisao 1981: 409. On Daiitoku, see Kakuzenshō, in DNBZ 49: 276b–315a; and Duquenne 1983b. 67. Tanaka Takako 1993: 33. According to local tradition, the Itsukushima deity is the youngest daughter of the dragon king Sāgara, in other words, the nāga princess of the Lotus Sūtra; and in some sources, she is the younger sister of Jingū herself. The Nihon shoki maki daiichi kikigaki by Ryōhen, compiled during the Ōei era (1394–1428), mentions five sisters—the second being Shinra Myōjin (!), the third the Itsukushima deity, the fourth Jingū, and the fifth Seiryū (Kiyotaki) Gongen 清瀧権現; the identity of the first one is not clear. See Nihon shoki maki daiichi kikigaki: 543. 68.  On Jingū and Isora, see Mori 2001: 56–59. On the Azumi clan and its cults, see Tsugita 1966 and 1968. 69. Another reason invoked by the Ryūkyū shintōki is Isora’s unusual sleep pattern: because he sleeps during ten days on end at the bottom of the sea, his face gets covered with shells. Isora brings to mind the Greek god Glaucos, who is covered with mud, seaweeds, and shells because he lives hidden in the depths of the sea. 70.  In the Hachiman scrolls, it is Sumiyoshi alone who performs the dance; see the Hachiman Digital Handscrolls Project, https://www.zo.uni-­ heidelberg.de/iko/hdh/index.html. 71.  In the Hachiman no honji handscrolls, Isora appears riding a dragon-boat; he does not hide his face, and he holds the two tide-controlling jewels (fig. 9.5). The iconography thus diverges significantly from the written tradition and it conflates several mythical motifs. See Wakabayashi 2009: 110–111. See also Hachiman engi emaki, in Nakano Hatayoshi 2002: 133; and Grapard 1986: 29. In his Fushikaden 風姿花伝, Zeami argues that the Sei-no-ō dance performed at Kasuga Shrine was based on Isora’s performance and that it was one of the precursors of Nō. 72.  See Grapard 1986: 30. 73. See Jisha engi: 307–308. See also Grapard 1986: 30; and Simpson 2018: 126. 74.  Simpson 2018: 121–122, 130. 75.  Jisha engi: 308. This name brings to mind Jūzenji, the child god of Hie Shrine, but the tantalizing connection remains speculative at this point. 76.  Jisha engi: 308–309. 77.  See Nanami 1993; Mayumi 2003; Shinma 2007; and Kim Hyǒn-uk 2005.

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78. See Sumiyoshi taisha jindaiki, in NSSS 26. See also Mori 2001: 56; and Simpson 2018. 79.  Mishina 1972: 70; see also Simpson 2019: 121–123. 80. The Engishiki mention three great Sumiyoshi shrines: in Hakata, Shimonoseki, and Naniwa (Osaka). The Sumiyoshi Shrine at Naniwa had and still has four major sanctuaries. The first three enshrine the three Suminoe deities. The fourth, according to the Jindaiki as well as to shrine literature today, enshrines Jingū Kōgō. It is absent from the two other Sumiyoshi shrines. 81.  See Grapard 2002. 82.  Akaru-hime came to Japan from Silla, fleeing her husband Ame no Hiboko. While she settled in Chikuzen (Kyūshū), he landed on the western coast of Honshū. See Como 2008: 41–42, 47; and Como 2009: 44. 83.  Como 2008: 61. 84.  Como 2008: 63. 85.  Como 2008: 63. 86.  See Waley 1976. 87. See Heike monogatari, Enkyō-bon jō, 226–227; and Bialock 2007: 309. 88.  Jindai no maki hiketsu: 60. 89. See Meishuku shū, in Omote and Katō 1974: 406–407. 90.  This woman can also be seen as a reference to Jingū. See von Verschuer 2002: 415; and Scheid 2018: 164. 91.  See Como 2008: 74. As noted earlier, Ame no Hiboko came to be later worshiped in several shrines in Kyūshū and along the Eastern Sea coast of Japan. 92.  See Tyler 2017. Wakabayashi, relying on a local informant, speaks of the “umbilical cord.” The same theory is mentioned in Rambelli 2018a: 29–30. But the sources clearly state that it is the placenta that was deposited in a box (hako) and buried. 93.  Grapard 1986: 43; and Law 1994. The date raises some question since it falls between those of the two actual Mongol invasions. 94. The wakō flew banners with the names of Amaterasu and Hachiman on them (the same names that appear above Emperor Go-Daigo’s famous representation as an esoteric Buddhist priest). 95.  The same motif appears in the legend of Kūkai and his mother, a Chinese imperial consort who was banished because of her ugliness. 96.  On the identity between Myōken and Hachiman, see Marui 2013. Myōken riding a tortoise calls to mind Suiten (Varuṇa), but also Urashimako, and the representation of god Isora in the Hachiman engi emaki (exemplar of Usa Prefectural Museum). 97.  Grapard 1986: 42. 98.  See Grapard 1986: 45. 99.  On this rite, see Law 1994. 100. See Grapard 1986: 48. Hachiman’s spiritual career as Ninmon, crowned by his awakening, explains why he was one of the rare gods to receive the title of “bodhisattva.” Two other important cases are those of the Kyūshū deities Myōken Bosatsu—who tends to fuse with Hachiman or at

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any rate has close relations with him—and of Kōra Daibosatsu, the deity of Kōra Shrine (in present-day Kurume City). The “Great Bodhisattva Kōra” is the deified form of Takeuchi no Sukune 武内宿禰, the minister of Jingū and Ōjin Tennō. 101. I have discussed elsewhere the relation of Hachiman to the wish-fulfilling jewel (B. Faure 2015a). On Hachiman and the pole star, see Nakano Hatayoshi 2002: 38–42, 74–76; and Marui 2013. 102.  See B. Faure 2015a: 51–114. 103.  See B. Faure 2015a. 104.  Note the circular relationship: Hachiman is himself presented as the disciple of the lord of the pole star (Myōken). 105.  This episode is reminiscent of the Jinrin motif, of Susanoo’s confrontation with Yamata no Orochi, and of Raikō’s with Shuten Dōji. It also brings to mind the fact that the corpses of drowned people were called ebisu. Furthermore, as we have seen, in one version of the Jingū myth Hachiman is a child of the god Isora, who is also identified with the god Ebisu. 106.  In the Hachiman gudōkin, for instance, Hachiman explains that, while he is himself a compassionate deity, he cannot control his attendant (who is also his emanation), the wrathful god Matsudō Myōjin 松童明神. See Tokuda Kazuo 1990: 148; and Bialock 2002: 255. 107.  See Tyler 2017: 146–147. These stones are rather small: one foot and 4–5 inches high, one foot wide—like the shaguji of Suwa, which are said to symbolize the fetus. They are also linked with the white stone as Okita Shrine in Kyūshū, allegedly the stone that Jingū kept in her skirt (or put in her womb according to one version) to delay childbirth. See also Ishida 1964: 39. In one origin story of the kawaramono, an outcast fabricates a belt to protect the pregant Jingū’s belly, but in that version she leaves for the Korean peninsula only after delivering. See Wakita Osamu 1991: 269–272. On Jingū and childbirth deities, see Wakita Haruko 1999: 70–76. 108.  Today the main deity (saijin) of Kamado Shrine at the foot of the mountain is Tamayori-hime, the daughter of the dragon king Sāgara and one of Empress Jingū’s sisters. She is said to have inherited the mountain from its former jinushi, Ōta Myōjin. In this way, the stove god was inserted into the lineage of Hachiman. On Hōmanzan, see Tanigawa Ken’ichi 2000, vol. 1: 175–181. 109.  On the above traditions, see Mori 2013. 110.  Hachiman Usa-gū gotakusen shū, quoted in Mori 2013: 213. 111. The Itsukushima daimyōjin nikki further identifies the deity of Kamado-yama (Mount Hōman), Tamayori-hime (alias Hime-ōkami), with Myōri Gongen, the deity of Hakusan. She is said to be the daughter of the nāga king Sāgara, and her sisters are the nāga princess of the Lotus Sūtra, Empress Jingū, and Yodo-hime 淀姫. 112.  Mori 2013: 222–223. 113.  On this question, see Bouchy 1996–1997. 114. In the Tsushima tradition, Watatsumi Shrine was said to be the place where Hikohohodemi arrived and married Toyotamahime, and it was therefore identified as the sea god’s palace. See Tanigawa 2000, vol. 1: 14.

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115.  The link between Hikohohoderi (who calls himself a “dog” and is said to be the ancestor of the Hayato) and the Silla king, derided by Jingū’s divine lieutenant as the “dog of Japan” also brings together the Hayato rebels and the Korean / Mongol invaders. 116.  Abe Yasurō 2018: 203–204. 117.  The Urashimako tradition and the Umisachi-Yamasachi myth are only classic variants of a ryūgū-iri 竜宮いり(entering the dragon palace) complex with many local parallels in folk tales from the Ryūkyū archipelago as well as Japan. See also Yanagita 1990a, vol. 10; and Komatsu Kazuhiko 1987: 31–39. 118.  The legend of Urashimako—and in particular the motif of the box as a “soul-container”—is also mentioned in relation to Kūkai and Benzaiten in the legend of the nun Nyoi. See B. Faure 2003. In the otogizōshi, the dragon palace is identified with Penglai. On the evolution of the dragon palace, see Komine 2013. 119. Here the dragon palace lies at the bottom of Lake Biwa. See Komatsu Kazuhiko 2003. 120. See for instance Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 622b, 863c.The nāga princess was also identified with Nyoirin Kannon: T. 76, 2410: 622c. The nāga palace was also the source of myths and legends found for instance in the Heike monogatari and in the Taiheiki. On the relations between the imperial court and dragons, see Bialock 2002. 121.  Nāgas played a significant role in the birth of the child Buddha. They also played an important cosmological role—two of them, the nāga kings Nanda and Upananda, are coiled around the cosmic axis, Mount Sumeru. Another important theme was that of the nāga princess’s attainment of buddhahood in the Lotus Sūtra. 122.  Such is the case of the dragon of Murōzan, who was said to live in a dragon cave and was closely related to the wish-fulfilling jewel. 123.  Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 590a; see also p. 600a. An interesting example is the magnificent dragon jewel box (ryūju-bako 竜珠筥) of Kasuga Shrine preserved at the Nara National Museum; see Kageyama 1973a: 538–556. 124. The nāga palace’s importance in the Japanese imaginaire derives from a famous passage of the Lotus Sūtra, in which this eight-year-old nāga princess reaches awakening upon hearing Mañjusrī’s teaching and then offers to the Buddha a wish-fulfilling jewel that is her vital principle, the source of her power. This nāga princess is also sometimes identified with Benzaiten. Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 863c. The only known son of King Sāgara is, surprisingly, Shinra Myōjin. In the Jingi hishō, Benzaiten becomes the ruler of the dragon palace. See ST, Ronsetsu-hen 1, Shingon shintō 1: 206. 125.  Gozu Tennō’s daughter, the serpent deity Jadokukkeshin, is also listed among the daughters of King Sāgara. See Yamamoto Hiroko 1993b: 204. 126. See Heike monogatari, Kakuichi-bon, ed. Kajihara and Yamashita, vol. 4: 412; translated in H. McCullough 1988: 436. 127.  See for instance Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76: 625b.

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128.  DNBZ 149: 37 (Bussho kankōkai edition). On Urashimako reaching Penglai in the Nihon shoki, see Aston 1972: 368. 129.  See, for example, Von Verschuer 1995. 130.  See Kuroda Hideo 2003. 131.  See Horton 2007: 33–36. 132.  Gakuenji sō bō shojō dankan (1570–1573), Taisha chō-shi, vol. 1: 432; quoted in Itō Satoshi 2018: 206–207. For more on the medieval myths of Izumo, see Inoue 1998: 365–384; and Inoue 2000. 133.  Jinteki mondō, ZGR 32, 1: 203. See also Itō Satoshi 2018: 207–208. 134.  Heike monogatari, Kakuichi-bon, ed. Kajihara and Yamashita, vol. 3: 16–20; translated in H. McCullough 1988: 226. See also Bialock 2002: 307–308. 135.  Atsuta-gū hishaku kenmon: 358. 136.  Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 518 and 866c. Yang Guifei’s grave is also said to be located in the back of the shrine. The esoteric Buddhist master Śubhakarasiṃha is also said to have visited Atsuta Shrine. As noted above, a similar legend transformed him into a local deity of Mount Wakasugi in Kyūshū. On this question, see Mori 2013. 137.  Utaishō, quoted in Itō Satoshi 2018: 205, 215. In the Jindai no maki hiketsu, Yang Guifei is identified with Amaterasu; see ZST, Ronsetsu-­ hen, Shūgō shintō: 323–324. 138.  Chōgonka zushō 長恨歌図抄 (1677), quoted in Itō Satoshi 2018: 215–216. 139.  On the tokoyo, see Tanigawa Ken’ichi 1983. 140.  See Orikuchi 1995, vol. 3: 9–26. See also Yoshida Teigo 1964; Ikeda 1978; Komatsu Kazuhiko 1985; Shiina 1994: 175–192; and Saitō Hideki 2018. 141.  Orikuchi 1995, vol. 1: 13. 142.  See Aston 1972: 188; and Como 2008: 48. 143.  Aston 1972: 176 144.  Aston 1972: 59–60. 145.  Aston 1972: 62. 146.  Aston 1972: 59. 147.  Aston 1972: 60–61. 148.  Aston 1972: 60. On the Miwa tradition, see Andreeva 2006–2007 and 2017. 149.  Nihon shoki 9.6, translated in Aston 1972: 228. 150.  Nihon shoki 9, 25; translated in Aston 1972: 244. 151.  During the Eikyō era (1429–1441), the administration of the shrine was taken over by a Zen temple, the Kongōsan Kisshōji (a branch temple of Jōtenji in Hakata), but the latter was destroyed in the “cultural revolution” of Meiji. The god Isora was known as Shika Daimyōjin on Shika-no-shima, Kasuga Daimyōjin in Yamato, and Kashima Daimyōjin in Hitachi. On Isora, see Suzuka 1991. 152. The sources claim that the number of antlers reaches ten thousand—which is clearly an exaggeration—and a purely symbolic number. See Grapard 2018: 28–29. On Kashima, Kasuga, and related shrines, see Ouwehand 1964. See also Tanigawa Ken’ichi 2000, vol. 1: 118–127.

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153.  Ryūkyū shintōki 5: 103. See also Tanigawa Shin’ichi, Nihon no kamigami, vol. 1: Kyūshū, s.v. Shika-no-umi jinja, 120–121. The konrinzai 金輪際, metal or gold wheel, is, among the three layers that exist beneath the ground (the other two being the water and wind wheels), the one that supports the earth. 154.  Grapard 1992: 154. 155.  That sword, later on, became the famous kaname-ishi of Kashima Shrine. See Aston 1972: 68. See also Ouwehand 1964: 58–59. 156.  See Grapard 1992: 31–48. 157.  Ouwehand 1964: 61. 158.  See Aston 1972; 115 (slightly modified). 159.  Ouwehand 1964: 63. CHAPTER 10. BETWEEN THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP BLUE SEA

1.  See Deleuze and Guattari 1987: 23. 2.  Amino Yoshihiko 2012: 102. 3.  A case in point is that of Hinomoto 日本 (Origin of the Sun, written with the same Sino-Japanese glyphs as Japan), a name used by the Andō clan to designate the territory they ruled in Tōhoku, which included the Tsugaru peninsula and its thriving port, Tosa Harbor. The Andō, allied with Hokkaidō’s Ainu, rebelled on several occasions (in what is known as the “Ezo disturbances”) against the Hōjō family’s incursions into their territory. See Amino Yoshihiko 2014: 85–86. 4.  See Amino Yoshihiko 2007a and 2007b. 5.  See Maxwell 2012. 6.  Raban 1987: 220; quoted in Rambelli 2018a. 7.  Deleuze and Guattari 1987: 363. 8.  Raban 1987: 220. 9.  See Takakusu 1928; Bingenheimer 2003 and 2004. 10.  On this cultic site, see Moriya Takeshi 1987; and Thal 2005. 11.  See for instance Fleury 2013. 12.  Baldacchino 2012. 13.  Philip Hayward coined the term to refer to “the integrated marine or terrestrial assemblages generated by human habitation and activity in particular island locales”; see Hayward 2012 and 2015: 84. See also Baldacchino 2012; Suwa 2007 and 2012: 12–16; Fleury, 2013: 1–13; and Maxwell 2012. Another recent neologism aimed at enriching the notion of the Japanese archipelago is “Japonesia” (based on the name of archipelagos or aquapelagos like Micronesia and Indonesia). The term Japonesia was coined by Shimao Toshio, and it has recently been used by Island Studies scholars like Philippe Pelletier; see Pelletier 1997. Japonesia designates a world in itself, where insularity is perceived as a mode of life and culture. It includes, in particular, all the islands of what is today called the San’in or Japan’s “reverse” (ura). Actually, this “reverse” was rather formerly Japan’s “front” (omote), bathed by the ao-shio current (from Tsushima and Oki to Izumo, the Wakasa Bay, the Noto peninsula, Sado, and the Hokuriku coastline). Without going back to the last Würm glacial period (20,000 years ago) when the Japanese archipelago was

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linked to the Asian continent through the Korean peninsula, archeological and historical evidence reveals that contacts between Japan and its neighbors have been rich, despite the strong changing winds and high waves that made crossings perilous. Ships had to wait for July to sail toward Japan, November to sail toward Korea, and the safest course was coasting from island to island. The external islands played the role of a buffer zone or sluice, but also of a link with the external world (even during the Edo period, with Tsushima and the Ryūkyū). On the island as a cultural landscape, a notion expressed by the term shima, “embodying a double meaning of island as geographical feature and as small-scale social groups,” a work of “territorial imagination,” see Suwa 2007; and Asami and Yamamoto 2010. 14.  The paradigmatic example is that of Luofushan 羅浮山 (in Guandong province), studied by Michel Soymié (1956). 15.  See Scott 2009: 20. See also Michaud 2013. 16.  Pelletier 2016: 134–135. 17.  Amino Yoshihiko 2007c: 14. Munakata Kumagusu ridiculed Yana­ gita Kunio’s belief that the fabled yamabito and tengu referred to the descendants of aboriginal people who were long ago forced into the mountains by the land-dwelling rulers. See Figal 2012: 139. 18.  Another, less idyllic version of that story (and of Hokkaidō) is found in an illustrated scroll, the Onzōshi shimawatari 御曹子島渡り (Island crossing of the great majordome”). The “great majordome” (onzōshi) in question is Minamoto no Yoshitsune, who, in that version, simply leaves from Tosa Harbor on a boat and goes through several mysterious islands before eventually reaching Ezo (Hokkaidō). Ezo’s king, Kanehira, is a monstrous demon six fathoms high, with eight arms and legs, thirty horns, a stentorian voice, and a radiance like that of the rising sun. But he has a handsome daughter, whom Yoshitsune eventually seduces. When he tells her that he wants a secret scroll owned by the king, she brings it to him. But when he asks her to flee with him, she declines. After Yoshitsune has escaped from the island alone, she appears to him in a dream and tells him that the king has killed her. She then reveals her true nature as a manifestation of the Enoshima Benzaiten. Here Hokkaidō looks like an inverted image of the nāga palace, and Yoshitsune like the opposite of Hikohohodemi. Thus, in contrast to the enchanting heterotopia represented by the nāga palace, there were repulsive heterotopias like Ezo or Shuten Dōji’s demon castle. 19.  Amino Yoshihiko 2012: 77–78. 20.  Bouchy 1996–1997: 285 21.  Bouchy 1996–1997. As we may recall, Konohanasakuya-hime was also the consort of Ninigi. 22.  This is still true today, where hundreds of wooden toba (abbreviation of sotoba 卒塔婆, a transcription of stūpa, commemorative markers) line the path toward Kongōshōji’s Inner Sanctum (Oku-no-in). Kongōshōji was allegedly founded by Kūkai, after the star deity Myōjō 明星 (Venus), the bodhisattva Kokūzō, and Uhō Dōji manifested themselves to him as a ball of light that transformed into a golden bear. 23.  See Bouchy 1996–1997: 286.

447

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N O T E S T O PAG E S 356 –359

24.  The Hiruko Shrine of Kenninji, nowadays known as Ebisu Shrine, enshrines both Ōkuninushi and Sukunahikona, but this may be a post-Meiji “restoration” based on the legend that Ebisu saved Eisai, Kenninji’s founder, during his return trip from China. 25.  Aston 1972: 62–63. In the Kojiki, it is a toad that tells Ōkuninushi to ask the god Kuebiko about the identity of Sukunahikona. Kuebiko tells him that he is the child of the ancestral god Kamimusubi, and the latter confirms it. See Philippi 1968: 116. 26.  See Ouwehand 1964: 136. 27. See Montoku jitsuroku, s.v. Saikō 3.12.29. 28.  Como 2008: 48. 29.  Ariyasu 2015: 74. 30.  Significantly, the same is true of the epidemic god Gozu Tennō, another maritime deity—who might be seen as Sukunahikona’s inverted image. On the identification of Sukunahikona with Yakushi, see Ariyasu 2015. 31.  Como 2013: 6–8. 32.  Como 2013: 6–7. 33. See Ryōbu shintō shū: 372. 34.  See Kanagawa kenritsu Kanazawa bunko 2007: 51. 35.  Murayama 1997: 137–139. 36.  Kada Shrine had been famous since the Heian period for its purification rituals inspired by the Nakatomi harae, consisting of floating dolls into the sea (hina-nagashi). It was then affiliated with a Buddhist temple, the Nōman-dō, and the cult came to be influenced by Shugendō beliefs. See Tanigawa Ken’ichi 2000, vol. 6: 325–329. 37.  On this goddess and her cult, see Ariyasu 2015; and Simpson 2019: 194–222. 38.  Among her treasures were dolls, which became the origin of the hina ningyō used as substitutes for young girls in the so-called floating dolls ritual (hina nagashi). 39.  Gōjō Tenjin 五条天神, the protecting deity of Fifth Avenue in Kyoto, was a dōsojin, and he was also identified with Sukunahikona. He was worshiped during the setsubun to eliminate diseases 40.  Translation (slightly modified) from Dykstra 2008, bk. 4, sec. 9. 41.  On that image, see Wakita Haruko 1999a: 70–76; and Simpson 2019: 194–249. 42.  The birth symbolism is obvious at Awashima 粟島 Shrine (in Kumamoto prefecture, Kyūshū), whose symbols are three small torii (about 30 cm high) through which one has to crawl and that represent the yin gate (vagina). 43.  In the Nihon shoki the storm is caused by the same gods that helped Jingū to conquer the Korean kingdoms, namely, Amaterasu, the Awashima deity, Kotoshironushi, and the three Sumiyoshi deities. The Awashima deity is here identified as Wakahirume, the younger sister of Amaterasu. This tradition developed in the Awashima cult of Shima, near Ise; but because Wakahirume was transformed into an ancestral deity of the Watarai clan during the medieval period, she did not play an important role in the later Awashima cult. See Ariyasu 2015; and Simpson 2019: 194–221.

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44.  See Ariyasu 2015; and Nihon shoki, in Aston 1972: 244. 45.  Apart from his relation with Ōkuninushi, Sukunahikona only appears in relation with Jingū in the Nihon shoki, which suggests the close relationship between the empress and the dwarf god. 46.  Ariyasu 2015: 22–23. 47.  On the notion of the archipelago as heterotopia, see Ueno Toshiya 2010. 48.  Abe Yasurō 2018:193. 49.  See Watson and Shirane 2006: 143. 50.  Brown and Ishida 1979. 51.  Abe Yasurō 2018: 202. 52.  See Kyūshū kokuritsu hakubutsukan 2006b: 120–121. 53.  See Yamamoto Hiroko 2010: 152–153. 54.  See the volumes in the Minshū shūkyōshi sōsho series edited by Minamoto Kesao (1987); Kitami Toshio (1991); and Ōshima Tatehiko (1990). See also Yoshii 1999; Mayumi 1987; and Yoneyama 2002. 55.  Shintō mondō 神道問答, quoted in Koji ruien, Jingi-bu, 89. Hirata Atsutane also identified Hiruko with Sukunahikona, but, in Aston’s view, “he is not convincing.” See Aston 1972: 15. On Sukunahikona, see Ouwehand 1964. 56.  See Ouwehand 1964: 84–85; and Nakamura Kazuki 1991. This is the version of the Kojiki and of two variants of the Nihon shoki. In the main version of the Nihon shoki, however, Hiruko is the third child, born after Amaterasu (deity of the sun) and Tsukiyomi (deity of the moon). Thus he comes before (or replaces) Susanoo, with whom he shares several features. See Duquenne 1997. In another version, he is simply unable to walk at the age of three. 57.  Jindai no maki shikenmon: 566. Hiruko was also said to be the ancestor of the outcasts (eta). See Hiruko matsuryū yuishokan, in Wakita Osamu 1991: 286–288. 58.  Ouwehand 1964: 83. 59. See Sanryūshō, in Katagiri 1973: 234, quoted in Itō Masayoshi 1972: 38. Interestingly, the text presents Amaterasu as Hiruko’s elder brother to justify the latter’s name (“Third Son”). 60.  On Ebisu and the whale, see Naumann 1974. 61.  Duquenne 1997: 11. 62. See Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76, 2410: 627c. 63.  Ouwehand 1964: 82. 64.  See Frank 1991: 277. 65.  See Ouwehand 1964. 66.  The origin story of Nishinomiya shrine simply tells of a fisherman who one day found a statue in his fishing net and threw it back into the sea, but fished it again at a different location; he then had a revelatory dream in which the god Hiruko appeared and told him to build a shrine for him; that shrine later became Nishinomiya Shrine. See Law 1992: 91. 67.  See Law 1992: 91–92. Ebisu is also said to protect from earthquakes, even though his Nishinomiya Shrine was badly hit by the Kōbe earthquake in 1995. This feature links him with the namazu.

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68.  On the relation between Ebisu and Isora, see Yoshida Shūsaku 2004. 69.  See Kuroda Hideo 2003: 173, fig. 9. 70. See Keiran shūyōshū, T. 76: 518 and 866c–867a. This is why Japan, in principle, does not fear invasions. See Kuroda Hideo 2003: 40 and 204. According to the Yamato Katsuragi hōzanki, the pillar has the shape of a vajra that is said to represent the nāga-king Kurikara, a manifestation of Fudō Myōō. See Chūsei shintōron, NST 19: 64. 71.  Deleuze and Guattari 1987: 473. 72.  Deleuze and Guattari 1987: 479. 73.  Gari Ledyard was the first scholar to use the word thalassocracy in the case of Japan, but, as Grapard points out, the word is misleading. See Grapard 1992: 28. 74.  Amino Yoshihiko 2012: 82. 75.  Amino Yoshihiko 2012: 94. 76.  Amino Yoshihiko 2012: 84. 77.  Significantly, the Hayato are defeated by Hachiman and Empress Jingū in the Ninmon bosatsu hongi. 78.  Amino Yoshihiko 2012: 56. 79.  See, for example, the description of the wholesale trader in the Shin sarugaku ki: 277–279. 80.  Amino Yoshihiko 2012: 86. 81.  Amino Yoshihiko 2007c: 26. See also Nagahara 1979; and Tanigawa Ken’ichi 2009. 82.  Amino Yoshihiko 2012: 86. 83.  Itō Masatoshi 2008. 84.  Deleuze and Guattari 1987. 85.  On this type of deities, see Miyata 2000. 86.  See Bodiford 2006. CODA

1.  I borrow the image from the title of Atlan 1979. 2.  On gekokujō, see Souyri 2001. 3.  See Musil 1996: 493. 4.  Italo Calvino, “Why Read the Classics,” New York Review of Books, October 9, 1986.

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521

INDEX Abe no Seimei, 15, 43, 46–47, 78, 104, 113, 125, 136, 193, 197 abhiṣeka, (J. kanjō), 85, 236 adhiṣṭhāna, 49 Aizen (Myōō), 74, 96, 164, 197, 221, 241, 243, 247, 257, 260, 334, 336 Aka Dōji, 218 Amano Sadakage, 23, 124, 135, 227, 266 Amaterasu: and Susanoo, 152–154, 157–159, 287; and Aizen, 336; ambivalence of, 158–159; and Ame no Uzume, 288; and Dainichi, 56–57; destroys the dragon palace, 363; Gozu Tennō and, 117–118, 126, 135, 148–149, 306–307; Kūkai and, 205; and the Kusanagi sword, 159–160; pact with Māra, 86, 250, 309–310; Ninigi grandchild of, 11, 155, 213; Uhō Dōji and, 10, 218–221; identified with Yama, 186; and Yamato– hime, 288 Ame no Hiboko, 123, 322, 332–333 Ame no Koyane, 214, 348 Ame no Uzume, 11, 152, 166, 265, 287–288, 302

Ame no Uzume and Sarutahiko, 288–291, 293, 295–296, 298 Amino Yoshihiko, 1, 12, 17, 123, 153, 281, 313, 318–320, 351–352, 354, 367–369 Amino Satoru, 305 araburu kami: and aramitama, 428n11; Hitokotonushi as, 237; Ibuki Myōjin as, 280–281; Jinmu Tennō tames, 229; Kirime Ōji as, 190–191; Kōjin and, 10, 230, 263; and kunitsukami, 282; Ninigi pacifies, 214, 265–266; Susanoo as, 150, 156, 159, 173, 240; Yamata no Orochi as, 239 aramitama, 25, 158, 166, 217, 228, 258, 261, 332, 350 Ariyasu Mika, 359 Asama (Mount), 218, 223, 354–355; (Gongen), 317 asura, 2–3, 17–18, 53, 73, 85–86, 95, 105 aveśa, 8, 44, 48, 50, 131 Awashima (Myōjin), 12, 357–360 Azuma kagami, 362 Azumi (clan), 12, 316, 347–348. See also Isora Bai Juyi, 303, 332 Banko (King): and dragon-kings, 272;

and Earth-deity, 10; and Gozu Tennō, 113–114, 130, 132–134; and Kōjin, 229; and Kotan, 143; and Susanoo, 171; cosmological symbolism of, 274–275, 357. See also Pangu Baopuzi, 64 Baozhi (J. Hōshi), 303, 431n56 Benzaiten: and Chikubushima, 164, 301, 344, 367; and Earth-deity, 268; and the Fifteen Lads, 181–182, 188, 190; and Jūzenji, 213, 216–217, 255; and Kōjin, 233, 236, 254; and the nun Nyoi, 258; and Oto Gohō, 199–201, 203; and Penglai, 343–444; and Susanoo, 173, 175, 240 Besson zakki, 28–29, 39, 54–55, 60, 90, 101, 250, 269–270 Bialock (David), 19, 153 Bikisho, 89, 203 Bingo no kuni fudoki, 109, 111–113, 131, 135, 167 Bishamonten, 29, 102–103, 137, 188, 193, 262, 270, 299 Biwa (Lake), 11, 123, 164, 229, 282, 297, 299–302, 307, 325, 342, 344, 367, 370 biwa hōshi, 206. See also mōsō

523

524

INDE X

Brahmā, 97, 117, 133; and Indra, 25, 70, 159, 310, 362 Bukkyō zuzō shūsei, 121, 243, et passim Byakuhō kushō, 80, 268 Cāmuṇḍa, 56 Chandra (Lokesh), 62 Chang Pogo, 317, 319 Chikō, 46–47, 78 Chikubushima, 164, 301, 316, 343–344, 364, 367 Chikurinji, 236–237 chinowa, 112, 115, 141, 349, 401n156 Chintaku reifu engi shūsetsu, 257 Chirizuka monogatari, 358–359 Chōseiden, 259 Ch’oyŏng, 123 Chūai Tennō, 170, 326, 332 cintāmani, 49, 96, 178, 209, 218 Como (Michael), 332, 356 Cozad (Laurie), 18–20 dadabyō, 91 daemon, 4–5, 14, 372, 377, 377n8 Daigo Tennō, 68 Daigyōji, 11, 216, 223, 299–300, 304–305, 434n105 Daiitoku (Myōō; Yamāntaka), 120, 131, 137, 179, 440–441n66 Daijingū sankeiki, 161. See also Tsūkai Daikokuten, 12, 93, 166, 293, 355, 357, 363, 365 Dainichi (Mahāvairocana), 113, 156, 158, 164, 237, 254, 258–259, 261, 272, 274–275, 307, 310–311 Dairokuten, 86, 173 Daishō kangishō, 250

Daishō Kangiten, 91. See also Shōten, Vināyaka ḍākinī, 10, 55, 89–90, 255 Dakiniten, 10, 41, 53, 82, 89–91, 181, 188–189, 203, 357. See also ḍākinī danuo, 40. See also exorcism, tsuina daranikyō: Bussetsu jinshin, 278; Daikōjin, 258; Kōjin, 254; Ugajin, 213, 233, 254–255 Dazhidu lun, 47 DeCaroli (Robert), 27 Deleuze (Gilles), 283; and Guattari (Félix), 12, 23, 51, 350–352, 367, 370 De Martino (Ernesto), 37–38 Demons of obstacles: Kōjin, 6–7, 171, 227, 233–234, 257, 260–261, 266; Matarajin, 193, 255, 333; Sekizan Myōjin, 333, 364; Shinra Myōjin, 364, 370; Susanoo, 177; Vināyaka, 10 denshibyō (corpse–vector disease), 49, 77 Derrida (Jacques), 4, 5, 32, 380 Devadatta, 18, 157, 175 devas: and asuras, 2–4, 18, 86; born together, 207, 224, 258; deva–king (devarāja), 102–103, 137, 194; Three Devas, 41, 90–91; section (tenbu), 53–55; Shōten, Saintly Deva, 10, 253; twelve directional, 43, 137, 309, 336 Devereux (Georges), 37 dhāraṇī, 47–49, 206 Dōjikyō, 97, 101

Dokō (Ch. Tugong), 229, 267, 271, 273–275, 297 Dōkō saimon, 357 Dōkō Shōnin (Kōshū), 240 Dōkunbō, 366. See also Ebisu Dōkyō (700–772), 334 Doniger (Wendy), 2, 4, 18 Dōryō, 83 Dōsojin/dōsojin, 11, 166, 276, 278–279, 284–287, 289, 291, 294, 296–297, 428–429 Douglas (Mary), 24 Dragon palace: Amaterasu destroys, 363; Gozu Tennō goes to, 112–113, 115; as heterotopia, 281, 341–343, 360–362; Hiruko enters, 363; Okitama and, 297; Susanoo goes to, 170, 173; sword returned to, 160; Toyotama-hime goes to, 327, 329 Dumézil (Georges), 20, 177 Ebisu, 12, 316, 345, 357, 363–366 Eisai (Myōan, 1141–1215), 320, 364 Eizon (1201–1290), 309, 334 Emaki: Hachiman no honji, 327–328, 330–331, 338–339; Ōishi hyōroku monogatari, 91–93; Shinzō, 114–119; Tawara Tōda, 341; Urashima Myōjin, 342 Emishi, 280, 324, 363 ena kōjin, 10, 217, 262, 267, 418 Enchin (Chishō Daishi, 814–891), 170–171, 301, 333

INDE X

Engishiki, 124, 324 Enkan, 206 Enni Ben’en (1202– 1280), 320, 333 Ennin (Jikaku Daishi, 794–864), 171, 259, 333 En no Gyōja (En no Ozunu), 186, 188, 190, 236–237, 241, 258, 264, 368 Enokuma (Shrine), 9, 109, 111, 124, 167 Enoshima, 200, 203, 316, 343 Enryakuji, 2, 51, 73, 83, 85–87, 134, 161, 171, 203, 209, 237, 259, 299, 369 Entara, 118 Exorcism, 41–42; agents of, 42–43, 188–193; Kōjin, 230–233, 240–241; mechanism of, 45–47; against Mongol invaders, 334; Onmyōdō, 188; structure of, 41–42 Fangxiangshi (exorcists), 40. See also hōsōshi Favret–Saada (Jeanne), 34–36, 38, 42, 44 Filliozat (Jean), 62 Fink (Eugen), 4, 14, 377 Foucher (Alfred), 27 Frazer (James), 43 Freeman (Richard), 37, 45 Freud (on possession), 37 Fróis (Luis), 86, 311 Fudō (Myōō): eight acolytes of, 156, 181; two acolytes of, 184–185, 189; and Aizen, 74, 204, 241, 334; and Bishamonten, 299; and Earth–deity, 270–271; exorcism of, 52, 71, 74; and Kōjin, 256; as Kurikara, 164, 275; as tamer of

Māra, 267; rescues Shōkū, 46–47 Fudō riyaku engi (Naki Fudō engi), 46, 78 Fujiwara clan: Fujiwara no Hidesato, 342; Fujiwara no Sugane, 69; Hirotsugu, 66–67; Kaneie, 88; Morosuke, 74, 88; Narichika, 72, 89; Sumitomo, 319; Tadatsune, 89; Tokihira, 68–69; Tsuneyuki, 74; Yorinaga, 189 funado (no kami), 284, 288, 428n16 Fushimi (Inari), 192, 302, 308, 347 Fusō ryakki, 69, 122, 125 Gakuenji, 9, 161–163, 167, 171, 200, 344 Gandharva–king, 96–97, 101, 391n164 gandharvas, 54 Ganzan Daishi (Ryōgen, 912–985), 86–87 Ganzan–e, 88 garuḍas, 53–55 Geertz (Clifford), 37 Genbō, 66 Genji monogatari, 15, 34 Genkō shakusho (Kokan Shiren), 104, 125, 258, 301–302, 440n63 Genshidan hishō, 255–256 Genshin (Eshin sōzu), 88, 164, 207 Gion (Festival), 109, 126, 139 Gion (Shrine), 9, 83, 95, 108–109, 112, 118, 122–125, 131, 134–136, 139, 145 Gion Gozu Tennō engi, 113 Gionsha ryakki, 168 Gishin (781–833), 302, 128, 134, 141, 143–144

Go–Daigo Tennō, 39, 52, 192, 369 Godō Daijin, 109, 159 Gohō dōji, 8, 10, 43, 179–180, 188–190, 199, 201, 205, 215, 224, 389, 409 Golden Light Sūtra, 40, 67, 201, 267–268. See also Konkōmyōkyō Gonjin shō, 215, 300, 304 goō (bezoar), 49, 105, 133 goō hōin (talisman), 48, 105 Gorō, 132, 145, 171, 192, 198, 274–275 goryō, 8, 65–73, 137, 198, 205–206, 386, 418, 432–434. See also onryō goryō–e, 15, 67, 108, 141 Goryō Shrine, 123 Go–Sanjō Tennō, 15, 387 gosekku, 9, 143, 402n160 Go–Shirakawa Tennō, 311 Gōzanze (Myōō; Trailokyavijaya), 121, 179 Gozu Tennō, 107–149; and King Banko, 132–133; and the Buddha, 107–108; and the Hachiōji, 127–128, 186; and Jadokkeshin, 129–130; as jinushi, 306–308; and Kotan, 113–119, 126, 141–145; and Shennong, 133–134; and Somin Shōrai, 113, 119, 123, 126, 133–134, 141, 143; and Susanoo, 131–132; and Tenkeisei, 131 Gozu Tennō engi, 23, 112–113, 128 Gozu Tennō shimawatari saimon, 107,

525

526

INDE X

116–118, 126, 136, 257 Graf (Fritz), 16, 38, 43 grāha, 55–56 Granoff (Phyllis), 25 Gukanshō (Jien), 66, 72, 85, 160, 362 Gundari Myōō (Kuṇḍalin), 190 Gyōki, 212, 216, 367 Gyōrinshō, 45, 101 Hachibushū, 53–56 Hachiman, 235, 283, 315–316, 325–327, 341, 347, 370 Hachiman gudōkin, 170, 316, 321, 325–329, 439–440n59 Hachiman no honji emaki, 440n62 Hachiōji/hachiōji, 9, 111, 127–128, 186, 310 Hakurakuten, 303, 332 Hakusan, 189, 287 Hakutaku (Baize), 64, 78–79, 104–105 Hana Matsuri, 116, 192–193, 275 Harima kagami, 125, 137, 307 Harisaijo, 108, 111, 113, 115, 120, 122, 124, 127–128, 132, 145 Hārītī (Kishimojin, Kariteimo), 7–8, 23, 26, 56, 62–64, 101, 268, 380 Hasshōjin/hasshōjin, 122, 128. See also Gozu Tennō Hata (clan), 123, 282, 316, 322, 332–333 Hata no Kōkatsu (Kawakatsu), 345 hauntology, 32, 380n64 Hayagrīva, 380 Hayato, 324, 334–335, 368 Hayao (Gongen), 198, 298–299, 304–305 Hearn (Lafcadio), 165

Heike monogatari, 88–89, 159–160, 205–206, 342–344 Hekija–e, 8, 94–105, 131 Hekija–hen, 371 Hie (Shrine), 2, 10–11, 205–207, 209, 212– 214, 218, 298–299, 301, 357, 369 Hiei (Mount), 85–88, 197–201, 215–217, 303–306 Hie Sannō gongen chishinki, 207, 214 Hie–sha negi kudenshō, 215 Higashiyama ōrai, 14, 427 Hiko (Mount), 333, 335, 339 Hikohohodemi (no Mi­ koto), 323, 341, 360 Hikohohodemi no Mikoto emaki, 341–342 hinin, 1–2, 65, 148, 153, 369, 431. See also kawaramono Hinomisaki (Shrine), 107, 160–163, 167, 171, 173, 406n62 Hino Sukeakira, 158 Hira Myōjin (Shrine), 433n80. See Shirahige Hirasan kojin reitaku, 83, 87 Hirata Atsutane, 80, 82, 135, 163, 287, 355 Hiromine (Shrine), 9, 109, 123–126 Hiruko, 12, 151, 173–174, 355, 357, 363–364, 366. See also Ebisu Hishō mondō (Raiyu), 254 Hitokotonushi, 421n53 Hōdō Sennin, 125, 307–308 hōjō–e, 136, 335 Hoki naiden, 104, 112– 115, 118, 127–128, 130–132, 136, 143, 176, 273–274, 306 Hoki shō, 130, 306

Hokuetsu seppu, 287. See also Suzuki Bokusan Hokusai (Katsushika), 78 Hokuto (Northern Dipper), 15, 48, 336. See also Myōken Hōman (Mount), 317, 339–341 Hōnen (1133–1212), 40, 85 hongaku (Innate Awakening), 156–157, 175–176, 260–264, 313, 343, 435n129 honmyōshō, 257 Hōren, 335 hōsōshi, 74, 300 Hyakki yagyō, 2, 74–77 Hyakudayū, 366 Hyōbi, 130. See also Jadokkeshin Ibuki (Mount), 154, 160, 193, 197, 229, 280, 283, 324 Ibuki Daimyōjin, 194, 280, 283, 324 Ichijō Kaneyoshi (1402–1481), 157, 159, 171, 173 Ichijō Sanetsune (1223–1284), 168 Ichijō Tennō, 193 Iida Michio, 291, 299 Iizuna (Izuna), 82, 89, 151, 390n151 Iizuna Gongen, 80, 91, 186 Ikkō Shōnin, 362 Inari (Shrine), 89, 91, 191–192, 334, 432n66 Ingen (951–1028), 206 Ise Shrine(s), 218, 223, 290–291, 299, 302, 345, 355 Ishanaten, 105, 308–309. See also Maheśvara ishigami, 257, 286, 295 Ishiyama–dera, 299, 302 Isora (Azumi no–), 12, 315, 329–330, 332, 334, 336, 347–349, 366

INDE X

Itō Masatoshi, 369 Itō Satoshi, 310–311 Itsukushima, 124, 298, 316, 318, 321, 328, 342–343, 362, 436n8 Itsukushima Myōjin, 441n67 Iwanaga–hime, 323 Iwashimizu Hachiman (Shrine), 329, 333, 341 Izanagi, 300, 302, 308–309, 312, 330, 340 Izanagi and Izanami, 150–152, 279–280, 287–288, 309–310, 363–364 Izanagi–ryū, 43, 112, 144–145, 227, 263, 265–266, 275 Izumo, 51–54, 157–163 Izumo Noritoki, 160–161 Izumo–ryū, 163 Izumo Shrine, 9, 155, 166, 171, 173, 344, 432 Jadokkeshin, 116, 122, 127–128, 130, 145, 397n88. See also Gozu Tennō Jakushōdō kokkyōshū, 79, 343 Japonesia, 446n13 Jetavana (J. Gion), 108, 117, 123, 133–134, 136, 176, 308 Jewels, 440n63. See also cintāmani Jien (1155–1225), 66, 85, 198, 206, 216–217, 267, 362 Jihen (fl. 14th cent.), 156, 167, 174–175, 299, 313 Jimon denki horoku, 132, 169–170, 173 Jindai no maki hiketsu (Jindaikan hiketsu), 164, 166, 174, 214, 217, 332 Jindai no maki kaden kikigaki, 172

Jindai no maki shikenmon (Ryōhen), 173, 214, 304–305 Jingū Kōgō: and Awashima Myōjin, 358–359; and Hachiman, 327–330, 334; and Isora, 329, 347; and Kehi Shrine, 123; and anti–Korean prejudice, 170, 322; military expedition of, 321, 326–332; and the numinous ox, 137, 330; and Sumiyoshi, 329–332 Jinmu (Tennō), 169, 229, 258, 280, 322–323, 348–349 Jinushi: 278–313; Gozu Tennō as, 117–118, 306–307; Māra as, 308–313; of Mount Hiei, 303–304; Kirime Ōji as, 190–191; Sarutahiko as, 295–296; Shirahige Myōjin as, 301–302; Susanoo as, 155, 161 Jishin kyō, 271–272 jissha, 174–175, 213, 221, 261, 282 Jizō, 91, 181, 197, 206–207, 209, 213, 217–218, 223–224, 268, 293–295. See also Shōgun Jizō Jōdo kagura, 264 Jōkei (Gedatsu Shōnin), 85–86, 173 Jōshin (1046–1119), 14 Jōshin (Amida–bō, d.u.), 101 Jōzō (891–964), 200, 205–218, 221, 224, 233, 255, 261, 283, 304–305 Jūni shinshō, 43, 51–52, 172. See also Yakushi Jūrasetsunyo, 62, 189, 239, 257 Jūzen (Prince), 329

Jūzenji, 205–220; and Ame no Koyane, 214; and Jizō, 206–207; and Kōjin, 200, 217–218; and Ninigi, 213–214, 216, 304; and oracles, 205–206; and Shōtoku Taishi, 209, 212, 215–216; and Shuten Dōji, 198–199; and Ugajin, 200, 217–218, 255; and Yama, 213 Kada (Shrine), 357–360, 448n36 Kaempfer (Engelbert), 48, 141 Kageyama Haruki, 186, 229 kagura, 145, 192, 263, 275 Kaijō, 234–236, 241 kaji, 8, 49–50, 337, 382 Kakuzenshō, 90, 121, 133, 233 Kamadogami, 10, 227, 229, 266 Kamo (Shrine), 70, 215, 229 Kamo no Yasunori, 95, 131 Kanayagogami, 154, 250, 253 Kangishō, 235, 240 Kangiten, 6, 31, 91, 235, 240–247, 287. See also Shōten Kanjin–in, 122, 168 kanjō, 85, 157, 178, 236. See also abhiṣeka Kankeiji, 122, 124, 134 Kapferer (Bruce), 36, 45 karakami, 136–137, 356 Kariteimo, 56, 101, 268. See also Hārītī, Kishimojin Kasa Jizō, 430n45 Kashii (Shrine), 321, 340–341 Kashii Daimyōjin, 328 Kashima (Shrine), 214, 329, 347–349, 367 Kashima Myōjin, 265

527

528

INDE X

Kasuga Shrine, 95, 166, 348. See also Kōfukuji Kasuga wakamiya, 186, 188, 203, 347 Katsuoji, 230, 234–237, 253 Katsuragi, 158, 189, 235, 237, 241, 359 Katz (Paul), 140 kawaramono, 1, 83, 112, 118, 148, 153, 174 Kawara yuraisho, 112, 118 Kehi (Shrine), 123, 325 Keiran shūyōshū: on Benzaiten, 217; on Benzaiten’s fifteen acolytes, 48, 208; on Chikubushima, 367; on Daikokuten, 255; on Dharma–protectors (gohō), 188–189, 199–201, 224; on epidemics, 35, 65; on Hayao, 299; on Kōjin’s emissaries, 239; on Kōjin offerings, 240; on Matarajin, 256; on earth–placating rituals, 271; on Susanoo, 157, 174; on Yang Guifei, 344. See also Kōshū Kelsey (Michael), 228 Kenchū (d.u.), 201, 412n65 Kenreimon’in, 71, 342 Kenrō Jishin, 10, 133, 200, 250, 267, 270, 273, 275, 280 Kenshin (1130–1192), 301 Kibi no Makibi, 95–96, 124–125, 131, 135 Kibitsu–hiko, 396n59 Kichijōten (Lakṣmī), 103, 268 Kim (Sujung), 169, 282, 308, 321 Kinmei Tennō, 126, 335 Kinpusen, 91, 227, 241, 302, 343 Kirime Ōji, 186, 190–193

Kishimojin, 56, 62, 268. See also Hārītī, Kariteimo Kitabatake Chikafusa (1293–1354), 297 Kōfukuji, 2, 85, 95, 203, 237, 369. See also Kasuga Kōgei (977–1049), 199–201, 203, 217 Kojiki: on Ame no Uzume, 287–88; on araburu kami, 282; on Hiruko, 363; on Ōkuninushi. 154–155; on Susanoo, 151–152 Kojima Kōjin, 237, 241, 243, 247 Kojima Shinkō, 237, 240, 243 kōjin (araburu kami), 2, 9, 130, 156, 177, 190, 225, 230 Kōjin. See Sanbō Kōjin Kiyoshi Kōjin, 237–238, 421n55 Kojima Kōjin, 237, 241, 243 Kōjin as Myōken, 223 Kōjin–barae, 230 Kōjin kagura, 160, 230, 265 Kōjin ritual, 422n65, 422n68 Kōjin–shizume, 266 Kōjin wasan, 235, 259 Kokin shū, 158, 159–160, 174, 364 Kokon chōmonjū, 89, 105 Kōkozō tō hishō, 190, 357 Kokūzō (Ākāśagarbha), 204, 207, 213, 217, 218, 358 Konkōmyōkyō (Suvarṇaprabhāsa– sūtra), 40, 67, 268. See also Golden Light Sūtra Komatsu Kazuhiko, 43, 267 Kon Satoshi, 78 Kongara (and Seitaka), 10, 184, 189, 199, 224

Kongō Dōji (Vajrakumāra), 10, 190–191 kongō dōji, 10, 189–190, 192, 236, 357 Kongōsatta, 266, 422. See also Vajrasattva Kongōshōji, 218, 354 Konjaku monogatarishū, 74, 83, 106, 202, 301 Konjin, 114, 139, 146–147, 174, 400n145 Konohanasakuya–hime, 323, 354 Konpira, 51–52, 165, 172–173, 317, 353, 437 Konseijin, 293 Kōra Daimyōjin, 328, 340 Kōshū, 188, 201, 203, 205, 240, 313. See also Keiran shūyōshū Kotan, 107, 111–119, 124–128, 130–134, 136, 141–147, 167, 257 Kotohira (Shrine), 436–437n10 Kōya (Mount), 275, 283, 336, 352 Koyama Satoko, 199, 411n49 Kōya Niu Myōjin, 283 Kōya Niutsuhime, 186 Kubizuka, 197–198 Kūge dansō, 176 Kuji hongi (Jihen), 167 Kuji hongi gengi, 298 Kujō Michiie, 125, 128 Kūkai (Kōbō Daishi), 38, 44; and Amaterasu, 159; as chigo, 204–205; and Kōjin, 259, 262; and Kōyasan deities, 283; at Mount Wakasugi, 340; mummy of, 336; and the nun Nyoi, 258; and Shuten Dōji, 198; and Susanoo, 163 Kumano, 186, 190–192, 258, 323, 348–349, 368

INDE X

Kumano Gongen, 191, 258 Kumano goō, 49 Kumaso, 324 Kumbhīra, 52. See also Konpira Kunado no kami. See funado (no kami) kunitsukami/amatsu­ kami, 150, 279, 280–282 Kurama, 84, 103, 177, 358 Kurikara, 164, 275 Kuroda Hideo, 367 Kuroda Toshio, 266 Kusanagi (sword), 12, 154, 159, 163–164, 176, 178, 324, 362 Kushōjin/kushōjin, 130, 159, 188, 224, 253, 258, 267 Kyōen (1140–1223), 235 Kyōtai (d.u.), 301–302 Latour (Bruno), 38 Linrothe (Rob), 30–31, 179 Lotus Sūtra, 62, 85, 102, 115, 135, 159, 173, 189, 198, 239, 342, 362 Mahākāla, 12, 93, 130, 166, 228, 255, 365 Mahāvairocana, 27, 113, 241, 271. See also Dainichi Mahāvairocana–sūtra, 27–28 Maheśvara (Śiva), subjugation of: by Trailokyavijaya, 121, 130; by Ucchusma, 190; by Vajrapāṇi, 7, 28–31 Maheśvara demonized, 26 Maheśvara and Kōjin, 253–254, 310 Maheśvara as Daijizaiten, 137; as Ishana–ten, 308; as Taba–ten, 255

Maheśvara, and Māra, 435n116; and Sarasvatī, 209 maō (mowang), 62, 264, 308, 310, 312; Ryōgen as, 86–88 Maō, tengu of Kurama, 84, 103 Māra (J. Maō): and Amaterasu, 250, 259, 307; as one with the Buddha (mabutsu ichinyo), 20–21, 32, 88, 276; as inner demon, 166; and Hāritī, 60; and Izanagi/Ishanaten, 308–313; as jinushi, 12, 173; and Kōjin, 227, 229, 253–254, 264; King Māra (Maō) ruler of Sixth Heaven, 85–86, 88, 166, 235; and māras, 31, 84–85, 89; and Ōkuninushi, 166; path of (madō), 65, 80, 85; and Shuten Dōji, 193–194; and Śiva–Maheśvara, 308–313, 435n11 Māravijaya, 5, 7–8, 26–27, 267, 308 marebito, 152, 286, 345, 349, 355, 364 Matarajin: at Kōryūji, 137; and Kōjin, 255–256, 283; and Okina, 228; and Susanoo, 9, 156–158, 170–173 matarajin, 89 mātṛkā (“Mother”), 55–56 Matsuo (Shrine), 122–123, 137 Mauclaire (Simone), 225, 265 Mazu, 140 McMullin (Neil), 14, 17 Meiun (d.u.), 51, 71–72 Menzan Zuihō (1683– 1789), 225, 239 Mimizuka, 325

Minamoto no Sanetomo, 362 Minoo–dera, 236–237, 420n46 Miwa Myōjin, 172, 176, 213, 303, 357 Miwa–ryū, 173, 235, 240, 261 Miyazaki Hayao, 78 Miyoshi Kiyoyuki, 69 miyoshi–nagashi, 118, 140 Mongol invasions, 324; as demonic, 311, 314, 336; Hachiman and, 334; Jingū and, 326– 327; Nimon and, 335; Śubhakarasiṃha and, 340; and subjugation rituals, 52; Sumiyoshi and, 330; and territoriality, 11–12; and Toi invasions, 439n50; as trauma, 325; and xenophobia, 322 Moniluo tan jing, 52–53 mononoke, 15, 34, 46–47, 64, 73, 382, 398 Montoku jitsuroku, 356 Mōri Masano, 91 mōsō (“blind monks”), 262, 272, 352, 425n132 Motoori Norinaga, 150, 163 Mudōji, 161, 200 Mujū Ichien, 80, 206 Munakata (Shrine), 315–316, 320, 324 Munakata deities, 328, 340, 436n8 Murakami Tennō, 88 Murray (Julia), 60 Musō Soseki, 71 Mutōjin. See Gozu Tennō Myōe (1173–1232), 83, 85 Myōken, 15, 315; and the deer, 347; and Hachiman, 337; and Kōjin, 223, 256–257; and Ninmon, 335–336; and the

529

530

INDE X

Ōuchi clan, 318; as Sonjōō, 332; as water deity, 317, 329 nāga king, 12, 16. See also dragon–king nāga palace: and dragon palace, 341–343; and Gozu Tennō, 113, 115; and Harisaijo, 127; as heterotopia, 281, 315, 360; as source of legitimacy, 362; and Sukunahikona, 357 nāga–princess, 159; Benzaiten as, 203, 444n124; and Gozu, 165–166; Itsukushima deity as 362; and Prince Jūzen, 329; as Yamata no Orochi, 173 Nāgārjuna (J. Ryūju), 201, 203, 236 nāgas, 336, 341–343, 345, 349, 357, 360–363, 366–367 Nagyō Tosajin, 234, 247–249, 257–258 Nakatomi harae, 40, 89, 153, 158–159, 175, 230 Nakatomi harae kunge, 166, 173–174, 309, 337 namazu, 12, 318, 357, 364, 366–367 Nanda and Upananda (dragons), 367, 417, 444 Naoe Hiroji, 225 Nichira (Korean general), 83–84 Nichiren (1222–1282), 85, 175 Nichiren school, 8, 239 Nigatsudō, 40, 73–74 Nihon ryōiki, 64, 74 Nihon sandai jitsuroku, 67, 399 Nihon shoki (Nihongi): on Hikohohodemi, 323; on Jingū kōgō,

325, 327–329; on Ninigi, 214, 281; on ox–sacrifices, 136; on Earth–placating rituals, 271; on Sarutahiko, 288–289, 296, 298; on Sukunahikona, 345–346, 356; on Susanoo, 131, 151–152, 167; on Yamato Takeru, 229 Nihon shoki jindai no maki shō, 170 Nihon shoki maki daiichi kikigaki (Ryōhen), 166 Nihon shoki sanso (Ichijō Kaneyoshi), 159, 165–166, 173 Nijūnisha chūshinki (Yoshida Kanetomo), 124 Ninigi (no Mikoto): sent by Amaterasu to rule the earth, 195; and Jūzenji, 213–214; in kagura, 265; and Sarutahiko, 288–289, 291, 302, 305 Ninmon (Bosatsu), 335–336 Ninomiya, 214, 303–304, 306 nyāsa, 48 Nyoi (nun), 440n63 Nyoirin Kannon, 204, 302 Nyorai Kōjin, 10, 241, 243–244, 260, 276–277 nyūga ganyū, 44, 50 Oda Nobunaga, 40, 86, 126, 311 Ōe no Masafusa, 213, 304 Ōeyama, 193–194, 197, 198 Ōishi hyōroku monogatari emaki, 91–93 Ōjin Tennō, 315, 327–329, 334, 341 Okina, 228, 255–256, 303, 333

Okinoshima, 318, 320 Okitama (no Kami), 297–299, 302 Okitsuhiko/Okitsuhime, 239, 265. See also Kamadogami Ōkuninushi (no Kami): as Izumo deity, 153, 177; as jinushi of Mount Hiei, 303–304; in the Kojiki, 154–155; and Konpira, 172; as kunitsukami, 214, 281–282, 323–324; and Māra, 310; as Miwa Myōjin, 176; as deity of Ōmiya (Hie Shrine), 214; and Sukunahikona, 166, 280, 345–348, 356–359; and Susanoo, 150, 153–155, 163. See also Izumo Shrine, Miwa Myōjin, Ōmiya Ōmiya (Myōjin), 189, 213–214, 303, 357 Ōnanji (Ōnamuchi), 166, 190, 357. See also Ōkuninushi oni, 2, 8, 65, 67, 73–74, 84, 105–106, 229 Onjōji (Miidera), 9, 71–73, 82, 86, 132, 169, 189, 282, 301 Onra/Ura (Korean demon), 146, 396n59 onryō, 8, 15, 65–68, 71–73, 79, 106, 108, 186, 311. See also goryō Orikuchi Shinobu, 152, 263, 345, 349 Oshiragami, 287 Ōta (no Kami), 297–298, 302 Oto Gohō, 190, 199–205, 207, 216, 223–224 Otohime, 144 Otomaru (and Wakamaru), 199–200 Ototari shinku saimon, 357

INDE X

Ōuchi (clan), 316–318, 368 Ouwehand (Cornelius), 128, 150, 228 Ōyamakui (no Kami), 214, 303–304, 306. See also Ninomiya Padoux (André), 48, 50 Pangu, 9–10, 113, 130, 143, 147, 171, 357, 435. See also Banko Penglai (J. Hōrai), 12, 164, 315, 342–345, 349 Péri (Noël), 62 Piṇgala, 60, 62. See also Hārītī Pirates, 318–321, 351, 367–369 Possession: anthropological approaches to, 34–38; fox, 91; induced, 44–45; and Jūzenji, 205–206; spirit, 14, 39. See also aveśa, exorcism pratiṣṭhā, 48–49 Rabben (Jonathan), 352 Raigō (1004–1084), 71–73 Raikō (Minamoto no Yorimitsu), 193–194, 197–198, 333 Raiyu (1226–1304), 254 rākṣasas, 53, 96–97 rākṣasīs. See Jūrasetsunyo Rambelli (Fabio), 159, 315 Rankei Dōryū (Lanxi Daolong, 1213–1278), 203, 412n69 Reider (Noriko), 73, 106 Reikiki, 257 Reikiki shishō, 166, 310 Reikiki shō, 155 Reikō Kōken (1652–1739), 371 Rōben (689–773), 236, 302, 420n49 Rokugō kaizan Ninmon daibosatsu hongi,

326, 329, 334, 337–338 Rokuji karin–hō, 230 Rokujikyō–hō, 38–39, 90 Rō no miko, 206, 216 Rō no miko ki, 206, 216 Rouget (Gilbert), 44 Rudra, 30, 179, 190 Ryōgen (Ganzan Daishi), 8, 40, 65, 86–89, 141 Ryōhen, 156, 166, 173–174, 304 Ryōjin hishō, 125 ryūgū, 281. See also dragon palace, Nāga palace Ryūkyū, 321, 363, 371 Ryūkyū shintōki, 347–348 Sāgara (dragon king), 113, 127 Saichō (Dengyō Daishi): and Jūzenji, 206–207, 214–15; and Kōjin, 259–260; and Oto Gohō, 200; and Sannō Gongen, 189; and Shuten Dōji, 197–198; and Susanoo, 171–172 Saikō (d.u.), 51, 72 saimon, 107, 115–117, 127, 130, 144–145, 236, 255, 257, 259, 272, 275, 357–359, 362 Saitō Hideki, 113–114, 144, 163, 165, 176–177 Śākyamuni: and Devadatta, 175; and Earth–goddess, 267–268, 273; and old jinushi, 303; reincarnated as Jūzenji, 215; and victory over Māra, 62, 173; and Sannō Gongen, 215, 217; and Yakushi, 303 Saṃvara, 27, 30

Sanbō Kōjin, 10, 128, 130, 173, 226–227, 230–242, 254–256, 258–259, 261–266, 275, 421 Sange sairyakki, 207 Sange yōryakki, 172, 206, 213, 217, 305 Sanjō Tennō, 79 Sankoshin (“Three–Fox deity”), 90 Sannō, 283, 299, 325 Sannō Gongen, 189, 197–198, 206, 212–215, 217, 283 Sannō mandara, 216, 303 Sannō shintō, 118 Sannō shrines, 214, 298–299 Sannō mitsuki, 207, 255 Śāriputra, 233–234, 250, 254, 257 Saritahiko and Goryō Shrines, 432n66 Sarugaku, 2, 227, 256, 301, 303, 352, 369–370, 422 Sarutahiko, 11, 84, 216, 287–291, 293, 295–300, 304–305, 310, 431–432, 434 Sarutahiko at Inari, 432n66 Sawara (Shinnō), 67, 72, 386n86 Scott (James), 12, 354 Sefuri (Mount), 188, 199–201 Sefurisan engi, 203, 207 Seitaka, 10, 184–185, 188, 199, 201, 224, 413. See also Fudō, Kongara Sekizan Myōjin, 112, 115, 132, 399n109 Semimaru, 197 Senāyaka, 30, 255. See also Vināyaka Sengen (Asama), 317, 354–355 Seoritsu–hime, 158, 166 sesshō seki (“Killing stone”), 90

531

532

INDE X

shaguji, 286 Shaku Nihongi, 109, 111, 127, 131, 135, 156, 165, 168, 173, 175 Shanhai jing, 74, 79 Shennong, 9, 117, 133, 218, 357 Shichifukujin, 12, 363 shikigami, 42–43, 46–47, 188, 203, 382–383 Shimei, 253, 259 shinbutsu bunri, 167 Shinchū (“Divine Insect”), 102 Shikanoshima, 315, 348 Shikaumi (Shika–no– umi) Shrine, 12, 347–348 Shikaumi jinja engi, 321, 326–328 Shinra Myōjin: as sea deity, 317; as trans­ local deity, 282–283; as demon of obstacles, 333, 364, 370; as Japanese god, 308; and Raigō, 73; and Susanoo, 169–170 Shinsho monjin (Yoshida Kanetomo), 168, 175 Shintōshū, 112, 115, 127–128, 132 Shintō zōzō shū, 234, 303 Shinzō emaki, 114, 119 Shiojiri, 84, 227 Shiotsuchi (no Oji), 341 Shirahige (Myōjin), 11, 278, 297, 299, 301–303, 322, 332, 434n95 Shirahige (Shrine), 11, 297, 299, 433n80 Shirakawa Tennō, 72 Shōki, 104, 132, 286. See also Zhong Kui Shōkū (910–1007), 46–47, 199–200 Shoku Nihongi, 15 Shōmu Tennō, 302 Shōshin (d.u.), 206 Shōten, 253–254. See also Daishō Kangiten, Vināyaka

Shōtoku Taishi, 10, 83, 186, 205, 209, 212, 215–216, 261, 282 Shuten Dōji, 191, 193–198, 223–224, 333 Śiva, 21, 40, 42, 107, 151, 228, 234, 254–255, 300, 308. See also Ishanaten, Mahākāla, Maheśvara Sō (clan), 321 Soga monogatari, 46, 303 Sokui hōmon, 157 sokui kanjō, 157 Somin Shōrai: and Gozu Tennō, 111–118; as Korean deity, 123; and Shinra Myōjin, 132; and Susanoo, 132; talisman of, 117, 126, 133–134, 141–142 Son’i (d. 940), 52, 68–69 Sonjōō, 332. See also Myōken Soranshin, 217, 237, 255, 258. See also Kōjin soranshin, 190–191, 217, 224, 228, 258 Souriau (Étienne), 38 Stein (Rolf A.), 30, 224 Stiegler (Bernard), 4, 373 Strickmann (Michel), 15–16, 23–24, 36, 38–39, 48, 51, 55, 63 Sudo Tennō, 67 Sugawara Michizane, 8, 15, 23, 52, 66, 68–71, 137, 213 Suinin Tennō, 298 Suisaki, 230 Suiten (Varuṇa), 329, 336–337 Sujin Tennō, 323 Sukunahikona, 12, 166, 190, 279, 345–347, 355–557, 358–360, 363, 366 Suminoe (deities), 329–331. See also Sumiyoshi Myōjin

Sumiyoshi (Myōjin), 12, 85, 198, 283, 316, 322, 326, 334, 344, 358–359, 370 Sumiyoshi (Shrine), 40, 325, 442n80 Sumiyoshi taisha jindaiki, 330 Susanoo (no Mikoto), 150–178; at Atsuta, 163–165; and Gozu Tennō, 126, 130–132, 135, 146; at Izumo, 160–163, 344; and Konpira, 172; and the Kusanagi sword, 159–160, 164; and Kushinada–hime, 154, 165–166; and Māra, 86, 173; and Matarajin, 171; and Munakata deities, 328; and Ōkuninushi, 154–155, 163, 166; and Shinra Myōjin, 301, 308; and Yamata no Orochi, 9, 154, 160, 274 Sushun Tennō, 186 susogami, 47 Sutoku Tennō, 71, 83 Suzuki Bokushi, 287, 429n25 Suzuki Masataka, 229 Taba Tennō (Tabaku), 233, 247, 249, 255, 257 Tachibana no Narisue, 105 Tagata Festival, 430–431n47 Taichū, 348 Taigen Sōshin, 239 Taiheiki, 52, 79, 86–88, 160, 192, 206, 309, 311, 362 Tainin Myōryū, 176 Taira no Kiyomori, 71–72, 88–89, 316, 362, 367–368 Taira no Koremori, 84 Taira no Masakado, 52, 310, 326, 332

INDE X

Taira no Sanemori, 71, 73 Taishakuten (Indra), 159, 308 Taiso Gongen, 340–341 Taiso jinja engi, 340 Taizan Fukun, 113–114, 136, 167 Taizan Fukun saimon, 357 Talismans, 49, 87–88, 105, 115, 126, 141, 383n67 Takachiho, 280, 298, 302, 320 Takatoki (Hōjō), 206, 311 Takeda Shingen, 86, 311 Takejizaiten, 240 Takemikazuchi (no Kami), 214, 281, 323, 348–349 Takeminakata, 280, 332 Tamakisan gongen engi, 91 Tamamo no Mae, 90 Tanaka Takako, 74 tatari (curse), 60, 218, 284 Tendōshin, 114, 147 Tengeshō saimon, 127, 145 tengu, 79–83, 86, 103, 203, 293, 296, 299 tengu star, 79 Tengu zōshi, 80, 83, 87 Tenjin (Sugawara no Michizane), 69–70, 213 Tenkai (1536–1643), 371 Tenkeisei, 9, 94, 96, 104, 113, 115, 130–131, 137, 394, 398 tenko (“heavenly fox”), 80, 89–91 Tennenji, 74 Tenryūji, 71, 320 Tenshō daijin giki, 158 Tenshō daijin kuketsu, 159 Tenshō kōtaijin giki, 186 Tokiyori (Hōjō), 201

tokoyo, 152, 281, 297, 321, 343, 344–347, 355–357, 359, 363, 366 Ton’yugyō, 188 Toriyama Sekien, 74, 78 Toyotama–hime, 323, 327, 341 Tsugaru, 312, 317, 319, 351, 354, 368 Tsugaru Andō, 312 tsuina, 7, 40, 73 Tsūkai (1234–1305), 308–309 Tsūkai sankeiki, 308 Tsukimono mimibukuro, 80 tsukumogami, 77–78 Tsukumogami ki, 78, 388n85 Tsuruga, 123, 146, 322, 325 Tsurugaoka Hachiman (Shrine), 324, 334, 336 Tsushima Festival, 139–140, 306 Tsushima (Island), 319–322, 324, 348, 368, 370–371 Tsushima (Shrine), 116–118, 126–128, 135, 145–146, 152–153 Uda Tennō, 83, 237–238 Ugajin, 41, 172, 200, 206, 213, 217, 233, 236, 239, 254–255, 257 Uhō Dōji, 10, 218, 221, 342, 344 Uka no Mitama, 171–172 Ukemochi (no Kami), 171–172 Unshō (1614–1693), 79–80 Urabe (clan), 9, 156–158, 169–170, 175, 368 Urabe no Kanefumi, 131, 168 Urabe no Kanekata, 131, 168

Urabe no Kanekazu, 158 Urabe no Kanekuni, 298–299 Urashima (Tarō), 329, 341–342, 344 Usa Hachiman (Shrine), 334, 341, 362 Ususama Myōō (Ucchuṣ­ma), 190 Valéry (Paul), 21, 106, 378n10 Vajrapāṇi, 7, 27–28, 43, 188–189, 227 Vajrasattva, 227, 237, 241, 243, 250, 258, 260, 266 Vidyārāja (J. myōō), 10, 19, 47 Vināyaka: and Amater­ asu, 159; tamed by Avalokiteśvara, 30; demon of obstacles, 31, 56, 106; Kōjin as, 233–234, 240, 250–251, 253–254, 256, 310; as Nagyō Tosajin, 257; retinue of, 23, 27–28; and Ugajin, 233, 254–255, 310 vināyakas, 23, 28, 56, 80, 243, 258 Viveiros de Castro (Eduardo), 38 von Verschuer (Charlotte), 319 Wakabayashi (Haruko), 86–88, 327 Wakahirume, 359–360 Wakamiya, 179, 186–187, 203, 212, 215–216, 223, 280, 347 Wakan sansai zue, 80 wakō (pirates), 318, 321, 367 Wani (clan), 300, 322 waniguchi, 362 Watatsumi, 124, 146, 297, 317, 321 Winfield (Pamela), 49–50

533

534

INDE X

Xuanwu, 48. See also Myōken Xuanzong (Emperor), 344, 392n177 Yaegaki (Shrine), 165–166 yakṣas, 54, 62, 95–97, 103, 104, 113–114, 120, 241, 249, 262 Yakṣa Kōjin, 241 Yakushi (Nyorai): Daiitoku as manifestation of, 441n66; and Gozu Tennō, 114–116, 119–120, 134, 306–307; protector of Mount Hiei, 197, 259; and Nagyō Tosajin, 257–258; twelve spirit–commanders of, 52, 172; and Sukunahikona, 357; and Susanoo, 156–157; the Seven Yakushi, 167 Yakushin (827–906), 237 Yama (King), 137, 139, 159, 179, 186, 218, 221, 223–224 Yamaguchi Kenji, 67, 109 Yamamoto Hiroko, 147, 213–215

Yamamoto Yōko, 212 Yamata no Orochi: and eight heads of, 156; as Ibuki Myōjin, 194, 405n48; reborn as Antoku Tennō, 160, 164–165; reborn as the nāga–princess, 159, 165–166, 173; Susanoo as double of, 160, 165–166; killed by Susanoo, 154 Yamato–hime, 165, 297–298, 302, 324, 345 Yamato–hime no mikoto seiki, 297, 299 Yamato Takeru, 12, 154, 164–165, 229, 280, 324, 405 Yanagita Kunio, 108–109, 130, 228, 263, 286, 295–296 Yanagita on Jūzenji, 414n109 Yang Guifei, 344 Yasaka (Shrine; Gion), 109, 112, 135, 177 Yixing (683–727), 28 Yogācāra, 156, 26 Yomi no Kuni, 151–152, 281 Yoshida Atsushiko, 177

Yoshida Kanetomo, 124, 168, 175, 324, 368 Yoshitsune (Minamoto no), 84, 354, 447n18 Yoshikawa Koretari (1616–1694), 157, 172, 175 Yōtenki, 213, 306 Yugikyō, see Yuqi jing Yugyōjin/yugyōjin, 114, 135, 188, 207 Yuiitsu shintō (Yoshida shintō), 157, 167, 169, 178 Yuqi jing (Yugikyō), 250, 260 Zaō Gongen, 91, 119, 161, 186, 227, 237, 247, 302 Zenchiku (Konparu), 256–257, 333, 370. See also Meishuku shū Zenmui (Śubhakarasiṃha, 637–735), 340 Zentoku (King), 201 Zhiyi (Tiantai Zhiyi, 538–597), 31 Zhong Kui (J. Shōki), 48, 104, 286, 392n177 Zomia, 353–355

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Bernard Faure, who received his PhD (Doctorat d’Etat) from Paris University, is interested in various aspects of East Asian Buddhism, with an emphasis on Chan/Zen and Tantric or esoteric Buddhism. His work, influenced by anthropological history and cultural theory, has focused on topics such as the construction of orthodoxy and heterodoxy, the Buddhist cult of relics, iconography, sexuality, and gender. He has published a number of books in French and English. His English-language publications include: The Rhetoric of Immediacy: A Cultural Critique of Chan/ Zen Buddhism (1991), Chan Insights and Oversights: An Epistemological Critique of the Chan Tradition (1993), Visions of Power: Imagining Medieval Japanese Buddhism (1996), The Red Thread: Buddhist Approaches to Sexuality (1998), The Power of Denial: Buddhism, Purity, and Gender (2003), and Double Exposure (2004). Rage and Ravage is the third in a planned four-volume work that explores the mythico-ritual system of esoteric Buddhism and its relationships with medieval Japanese religion. Faure has taught at Cornell University and Stanford University and is presently Kao Professor in Japanese Religion at Columbia University.