Ritualized Writing: Buddhist Practice and Scriptural Cultures in Ancient Japan [Hardcover ed.] 0824859405, 9780824859404

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Ritualized Writing

STUDIES IN EAST ASIAN BUDDHISM 27

Ritualized Writing BUDDHIST PRACTICE AND SCRIPTURAL CULTURES IN ANCIENT JAPAN

Bryan D. Lowe

A K uroda I nstitute B ook University of Hawai‘i Press Honolulu

© 2017 Kuroda Institute All rights reserved Printed in the United States of Amer­i­ca 22 ​21 ​ 20 ​ 19 ​18 ​17  6 ​ 5 ​4 ​3 ​2 ​ 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data Names: Lowe, Bryan D., author. Title: Ritualized writing : Buddhist practice and scriptural cultures in ancient Japan / Bryan D. Lowe. Other titles: Studies in East Asian Buddhism ; no. 27. Description: Honolulu : University of Hawai‘i Press, [2017] | Series: Studies in East Asian Buddhism ; 27 | “A Kuroda Institute book.” | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2016047337 | ISBN 9780824859404 (cloth ; alk. paper) Subjects: LCSH: Tripiṭaka—­Copying. | Calligraphy, Japanese—­History. | Buddhism—­Japan—­History—­To 794. | Transmission of texts— ­Japan—­History. Classification: LCC BQ1136.C6 L69 2017 | DDC 294.3/820952—­dc23 LC rec­ord available at https://­lccn​.­loc​.­gov​/­2016047337

This publication is made pos­si­ble in part by the Barr Ferree Foundation Fund for Publications, Department of Art and Archaeology, Prince­ton University.

The Kuroda Institute for the Study of Buddhism and ­Human Values is a nonprofit, educational corporation founded in 1976. One of its primary objectives is to promote scholarship on the historical, philosophical, and cultural ramifications of Buddhism. In association with the University of Hawai‘i Press, the Institute also publishes Classics in East Asian Buddhism, a series devoted to the translation of significant texts in the East Asian Buddhist tradition.

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.

Contents

Acknowl­edgments Abbreviations Conventions Introduction

vii xi xiii 1

Part One  Ritual Practices 1. Merit, Purity, and Ceremony

29

2. Ritual Compositions

57

Part Two  Organ­izations 3.

Writing Socie­ties

4. Instituting Transcription

83 106

Part Three  Microhistories 5. Disciplinary Regimes

149

6. Haunted by Demons, Watched by Kings

171

Epilogue

209

Appendix: Names of the Kōmyōshi/Tōdaiji Scriptorium Bibliography Index

215 217 261

Acknowl­edgments

This book makes a number of arguments about writing. A central one is that writing is an inherently social endeavor. Completing a book has made this lesson all the more tangible. Despite the constant aid and encouragement of more individuals than I can possibly thank, I am sure that many ­mistakes remain; I take full responsibility for all of them. First, I have been fortunate to study with g ­ reat teachers, who challenged me and provided a model for what a scholar should be. More than anyone, Jackie Stone, my gradu­ate advisor, has been a constant source of support and remains the paragon for scholarly rigor that I aspire to. I had the plea­sure to work closely with Buzzy Teiser, whose common interests in manuscript and liturgical cultures, shared methodological sensibilities, and generous nature have led to innumerable stimulating conversations that continue to the pres­ent day. I benefited from formal and informal instruction at Prince­ton by Martin Collcutt, Funayama Toru (during his semester ­t here), John Gager, Jonathan Gold, Tom Hare, Susan Naquin, Keiko Ono, Jeff Stout, and Andrew Watsky. I’m grateful that Bill Waldron first got me started in Buddhist studies. In Japan, I was similarly blessed with caring teachers who patiently taught me how to carefully read Shōsōin documents among other lessons. I would like to especially thank Sakaehara Towao, who graciously allowed me to audit his seminar but has also done so much more than that: inviting me into his home, giving me dozens of volumes, helping me secure permission for some of the images in this book, and introducing me to scholars. Miyazaki Kenji has also been a strong supporter of my work. He sponsored a very productive year at Ōtani University, allowed me to participate in his Shōsōin seminar, and helped me gain access to manuscripts at Ōtani. ­These teachers laid the foundation for d ­ oing research, but this proj­ ect would never have become a book without the generous feedback I received from a number of readers. Robert Campany offered comments on each and e­ very chapter; he has been the most generous se­nior colleague imaginable. My senpai, Asuka Sango, also read the entire manuscript and gave suggestions that helped clarify my thinking and saved me from numerous embarrassments. The two external readers went above and beyond vii

viii

Acknowl­edgments

expectations, providing detailed and erudite feedback. The first, David Lurie, shared characteristically knowledgeable advice on points both big and small from what must have been a remarkably thorough reading. The second reader remains anonymous to me, but I hope that he or she knows how grateful I am for the helpful comments about how to make my book more accessible. It is truly a better book ­because of their advice. Mikael Bauer graciously proofread much of the manuscript. My copy editor, Stuart Kiang, caught countless errors and improved my prose. I’d also like to thank Stephanie Chun, Jodie Sclafani, Robert Buswell, and Peter Gregory for guiding me through the publication pro­cess, and Mary Mortensen for preparing the index. In addition to the aforementioned individuals, a number of o ­ thers have generously read and commented on parts of the manuscript. Heather Blair and Brian Steininger gave particularly thorough comments on chapter drafts. I’ve also had the chance to gain invaluable feedback at lectures and workshops at a number of universities including Duke, Columbia, ­Virginia, Chicago, UCLA, and Leiden. At ­these institutions, I would like to thank Simon Partner, Michael Como, Dorothy Wong, Paul Groner, Matthew Kapstein, Paul Copp, William Bodiford, and Jonathan Silk, who invited me and helped arrange my stays. I have also been fortunate to have a supportive department at Vanderbilt and have benefited particularly from our monthly faculty workshop; I am grateful to all of my colleagues in Religious Studies and Asian Studies for their feedback on the proj­ect and for making Vanderbilt such a pleasant place to do research. O ­ thers who have provided feedback and support at vari­ous stages of this book’s preparation include Ross Bender, Cynthea Bogel, Thomas Carlson, Michael Como, April Hughes, Sarit Kattan Gribetz, Josh Frydman, Gotō Makoto, Hamamichi Takahisa, Inada Natsuko, Iyanaga Nobumi, Mike Jamentz, Kuwabara Yūko, George Laufenberg, Kwi Jeong Lee, Jethro Lit, Levi McLauglin, Nemoto Seiji, Ochiai Toshinori, Ōkusa Hiroshi, Joan Piggott, Jolyon Thomas, Beth Tucker, Watanabe Yōko, and many more. In addition, research is not pos­si­ble without support from libraries, museums, and archives. H ­ ere, I would like to thank the stellar librarians I’ve worked with for the last de­cade: Makino Yasuko, Martin Heijdra, Yuh-­fen Benda, Chris Benda, and the library staff of Ōtani University. In addition, I have accessed manuscripts with generous support from Matsuhara Shigeru at the Nezu Museum, Fumiko Cranston at Harvard University, Nojiri Tadashi at the Nara National Museum, the staff of the Tenri University Central Library, Ōtsuki Makoto at Kyoto University, Kikuchi Hiroki at the Tokyo Historiographical Institute, and the faculty and staff at the Department of Japa­nese Language and Lit­er­a­ture at Tokyo University. I am also grateful to the Kobe City Museum, Waseda University, Tōdaiji, Nara National Museum, the Office of the Shōsōin Trea­sure House, and Herman Ooms for permission to reproduce images and charts. My research has received generous financial support from Fulbright IIE, Vanderbilt University’s College of Arts and Science, and Prince­ton Uni-

Acknowl­edgments ix

versity’s Department of Religion, East Asian Studies Program, Center for the Study of Religion, and PIIRS. An unexpected but much appreciated subvention from the Barr Ferree Foundation Fund for Publications, Department of Art and Archaeology, Prince­ton University, helped enrich the production of the book. I am grateful to the following journals for letting me include materials that have been published elsewhere. Parts of chapters one and five ­were previously published as “The Discipline of Writing: Scribes and Purity in Eighth-­Century Japan” in the Japa­nese Journal of Religious Studies 39 (2012): 201–239. Parts of chapter six first appeared as “The Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life: An Introduction and Translation” in the Jour­ nal of Chinese Buddhist Studies 27 (2014): 1–34. To save the best for last: I have been blessed with the loving support of my f­ amily. I am extremely grateful to my parents, who always encouraged my educational ambitions, even when I now realize it caused significant financial burdens to do so. I cannot imagine writing this book without knowing that my c­ hildren Sam and Alice’s smiling f­ aces awaited me at the end of the day. And to my wife, Michiru: I’ve written a ­whole book about writing, but I ­can’t come close to finding the words to express my feelings. I love you deeply and am eternally grateful to have you in my life. It is to you that I dedicate this book.

Abbreviations

BD Beijing Dunhuang manuscript, National Library of China Ch. Chinese DNK Dai Nihon komonjo F Fangshan stone sutra HM Heijōkyō mokkan HMG Heijōkyū hakkutsu chōsa shutsudo mokkan gaihō J. Japa­nese JK Jinkai KT Shintei zōho, Kokushi taikei N Nakamura Fusetsu manuscript, Shodō hakubutsukan NCS Nara chō shakyō NI Nara ibun NKBT Nihon koten bungaku taikei NST Nihon shisō taikei P Pelliot manuscript, Bibliothèque nationale de France S Stein manuscript, British Library SK Shōgozō kyōkan Skt. Sanskrit SMM Shōsōin monjo mokuroku SNKBT Shin Nihon koten bungaku taikei SS Seishū SSJZS Shisan jing zhushu: fu jiaokan ji T Taishō shinshū daizōkyō Z Shinsan Dai Nihon zoku zōkyō ZS Zokushū ZSBS Zokushū besshū ZSKS Zokushū kōshū ZZS Zokuzokushū xi

Conventions

I have converted all years to approximate western equivalents. I have tried to preserve uniformity within a single reign year. For example, Tenpyō 12 is listed as 740 regardless of the par­t ic­u­lar day and month, even if the exact conversion for certain days in Tenpyō 12 would actually correspond to 741. I have not converted days and months to the Gregorian calendar. For romanization, I have used a modified Hepburn for Japa­nese, pinyin for Mandarin, and McCune-­Reischauer for Korean. Whenever pos­si­ble, terms are romanized following the language of the country in which the texts ­were composed or translated. I follow standard modern romanizations and only provide historical phonology when necessary. In other words, I romanize terms found in texts composed or translated in China in accord with modern Mandarin pronunciation and terms cited from texts composed in Japan in modern Japa­nese. When it is unclear, I provide Sanskrit, Chinese, and Japa­nese as appropriate. I have provided Chinese characters in the body of the text. I have tried to use “old form characters” (kyūjitai 旧字体) in accord with the original manuscript or printed publication whenever pos­si­ble. Similarly, I employ “new form characters” (shinjitai 新字体) when authors employ this script. I have made no effort to follow the rich and diverse use of character variants (itaiji 異体字) found in Nara-­period and Dunhuang manuscripts. All translations are my own u ­ nless other­w ise noted. With regard to Buddhist terms of Sanskrit origin, I have generally tried to translate into En­glish words that rely on the semantic value of Chinese characters and maintain the Sanskrit for ­t hose transliterated into Chinese. ­There are some exceptions, most notably the character 經, which I have translated as “scripture” and “sutra.” I have used sutra for texts such as the Heart Sutra, which are relatively well known in En­glish by ­t hese titles. I have also used sūtra for works that have titles fully transliterated into Chinese, such as the Mahāmāyā Sūtra (Ch. Mohe moye jing 摩訶摩耶經). For other sutras translated to Chinese, I have used “scripture” whenever pos­si­ble. For articles published in multiple places, I have cited the edition I referred to. I have tried to use the most common and recent editions whenever

xiii

xiv Conventions

pos­si­ble. When the original publication date is relevant to the argument, I have provided it in brackets. For citations of Shōsōin documents, I give the published version in Dai Nihon komonjo 大日本古文書 (DNK) followed by the manuscript version in accord with the conventions outlined in Shōsōin monjo mokuroku 正倉院文書目録 (SMM), listing the dankan bangō 断簡番号 rather than the sheet number. For the volumes of Zokuzokushū 続々修 (ZZS) uncata­loged at the time of this writing (namely ­t hose ­a fter ZZS 7), I have simply listed the bundle (chitsu 帙) and scroll number (kan 巻). I have consulted the photographic reproductions of Seishū 正集 (SS), Zokushū 続修 (ZS), Zokushū kōshū 続修後集 (ZSKS), Zokushū besshū 続修別集 (ZSBS), and Jinkai 塵芥 (JK) published in Shōsōin komonjo eiin shūsei 正倉院古文書影印集成. For the Zokuzokushū, I have referred to the bound printed versions of the microfilm edition. In citing Nara-­period colophons, I have used photographic reproductions of manuscripts or consulted the manuscripts in person whenever pos­si­ ble. In most cases, I have drawn from the manuscripts that appear in NCS and provide the relevant plate number in my footnotes. I also provide citations from available print editions, of which Tanaka Kaidō 1973 and NI are the most helpful. Tanaka is more exhaustive than NI but contains frequent transcription errors. I only give the page number in Tanaka for ­t hose colophons not found elsewhere. When significant transcription prob­lems arise, I note how my reading differs from published sources. My research on mokkan has been facilitated largely through the online database created by the Nara National Research Institute for Cultural Properties, although I have cited the print publications that I consulted. For the database, see http://­w ww​.­nabunken​.­go​.­jp​/­japanese​/­database​.­html. In citing mokkan published in Heijōkyō mokkan (HM), I provide the volume number followed by the mokkan number. For t­ hose in Heijōkyū hakkutsu chōsa shutsudo mokkan gaihō (HMG), I give the volume number and page number of the published source. In citing the Taishō canon, I provide the Taishō number followed by the volume, page, and register. In addition to print editions, I also utilized digital texts on CBETA (http://­w ww​.­cbeta​.­org) and SAT (http://­21dzk​.­l​.­u​ -­tokyo​.­ac​.­jp​/­SAT​/­). I have omitted the phrase Foshuo 佛說 in sutra titles in in-­text citations and in the bibliography.

Ritualized Writing

Introduction

But it is not the case that the words are one ­t hing and the rite another. The uttering of the words is itself a ritual. —­Edmund Leach, “Ritualization in Man” Words in ritual settings describe, state, narrate, and even question, but one of their most distinctive functions is that of ­doing ­t hings. —­Ronald Grimes, The Craft of Ritual Studies

Picture two acts of writing in eighth-­century Japan. For the first, a blue-robed official employed at the Bureau of Gardens and Ponds rec­ords quantities of requested rations for laborers and a palace peacock. He writes the relevant quantities of rice and salt with careful attention to legibility and accuracy on a document issued u ­ nder the authority of the seal of the Ministry of the Royal House­hold. When he makes a ­mistake, he crosses it out with a broad stroke of black ink. Satisfied with his work, he sends it to the Ministry of Popu­lar Affairs, where an administrator marks it as having been examined. Within a few years, the document ends up in a recycling bin at the Office of Sutra Transcription, a semi-­official scriptorium. ­Here, a clerk reuses it on the verso. He lists the amount of paper issued to assemblers tasked with constructing scrolls on which twenty sets of the Flower Garland Sutra, an influential Buddhist scripture, w ­ ill be copied.1 ­These decidedly quotidian acts of writing regarding rations for laborers and fowl and the distribution of paper ­were pragmatic: the authors aimed to create an intelligible document that correctly communicated their intentions to a bureaucratic audience. This was their main objective. It is a type of composition familiar to us. Most of our writing ­today serves to communicate meaning, and con­temporary bureaucracies continue to produce copious amounts of paperwork. 1. This description is based on DNK 2:399–400 (SS 3:11) and DNK 9:473–474 (SS 3:11 verso). The blue color of the robes derives from the description in the reconstructed Yōrō ritsuryō 養老律令 and also accords with an earlier pronouncement regarding dress. Although the Yōrō ritsuryō was not enacted u ­ ntil around a de­cade a­ fter the document from the Bureau of Gardens and Ponds was produced, the fact that it accords with references in the earlier source suggests continuity. See Yōrō ritsuryō, “Ifuku ryō,” NST 3:352–353 and Nihon shoki 4/3/690; NKBT 68:502–503.

1

2 Introduction

Now envision another mode of writing, one with a dif­fer­ent aim: the copying of Buddhist scripture. It is carried out alongside the production of documents at the Office of Sutra Transcription, as well as at numerous ­house­holds and ­temples in ancient Japan, a period I define in this study as the late seventh through early ninth centuries.2 In this second form, eighth-­ century lay scribes change into special white clothes known as pure garments before even picking up a brush. ­These men have likely bathed prior to donning their ceremonial gowns, and it is nearly certain that they have assiduously avoided meat and contact with death in recent days. Their brush strokes fill the scrolls of yellow paper—­dyed to prevent hungry insects from nibbling on the pages—­w ith highly legible but efficiently copied strokes, a calligraphic technique cultivated through transcribing thousands of characters a day. ­A fter proofreaders check the manuscript twice, ­mistakes are erased and rewritten by the original scribe whenever pos­si­ble. If the errors are numerous, they are not simply crossed out; the entire page is removed and recopied. ­Mistakes in a sutra could have karmic consequences in this life and the next, a belief reflected in stories that circulated widely in premodern Japan. 3 Upon completion, the sutra is recited and the patron’s prayer, often on behalf of his or her ancestors (female patrons being just as common as male ones), is intoned at a ceremony held on a day when heavenly deities w ­ ere thought to descend to earth to observe ­human conduct. ­A fter the ceremony ends, the pious treat the text as an object of worship. The recycling bin ­w ill never be its fate. The second case differs from the first in that it is an example of ritualized writing. By this I mean that patrons and scribes who engaged in copying sutras or Buddhist scripture4 in ancient Japan strategically differentiated their writing from more mundane modes such as filing reports, drafting poetry, and doodling. They separated the act of transcribing Buddhist scripture from other forms through preparatory purifications, ceremonial dedications, and the belief that transcribing scripture was a morally wholesome practice (Skt. sucarita; J. zengyō 善行). As such, it engendered material and spiritual rewards in this world and the next. To borrow from the definition of ritualization proposed by Catherine Bell (1992, 74), sutra copying 2. The second half of the seventh c­ entury marks the earliest evidence of sutra transcription in Japan and the early ninth marks the start of its decline in prominence (some recent scholarship has suggested that sutra copying continued in the early Heian, though t­ here is decidedly less evidence for it; see Nara kokuritsu hakubutsukan 2015, 23). The period also roughly corresponds to the po­liti­cal continuities discussed by Herman Ooms, whose study treats 650–800 as a “Tenmu dynasty” (2009, 4). Most of the discussion, however, w ­ ill focus on the mid-­eighth ­century (727–776), a period when the scriptorium described in chapter four was active. 3. For some examples, see Eubanks 2011, 142–147. 4. In general, I use the terms sutra and scripture interchangeably in this book with some exceptions. The vast majority of texts copied w ­ ere sutras, though t­ here w ­ ere also many other texts, including vinaya, abhidharma, commentaries, biographies, ­etc., that fall into the broader category of scripture, h ­ ere defined as ­t hose texts included in Nara-­period canons, a topic that w ­ ill be addressed briefly in chapters four and six. I w ­ ill explic­itly state the type of text, if not a sutra, when relevant for the argument.

Introduction 3

constituted a form of ritualized writing in early Japan in that it was a practice “designed and orchestrated to distinguish and privilege what is being done in comparison to other, usually more quotidian, activities.” The goal in this form of writing was not limited to communicating the meaning of the words on the page; its very materiality held ethical and cosmological implications that required practices and attitudes ­toward writing distinct from more common forms. An analy­sis of sutra copying calls attention to the creative and constructive nature of ritualized practices. The focus of this book ­w ill be on what ritualized writing does. I w ­ ill suggest that it ­shaped the ­human and heavenly order. It structured communities and instilled identities. It provided opportunities for individuals to engage in religious practice and achieve this-­and other-­worldly goals. And it did so in ways that cannot be grasped ­under traditional rubrics for understanding early Japa­nese Buddhism, which have focused primarily on the state’s patronage and control of the religion. To this end, the chapters that follow ­w ill address the cosmological, social, institutional, ethical, and po­liti­cal implications of ritualized writing for individuals from diverse backgrounds in ancient Japan. Cosmologically, ritualized writing contributed to the composition of poeticized visions of the universe that blended standard Buddhist notions with East Asian literary tropes. In the social sphere, transcription led to the construction of new forms of communal or­ga­ni­za­t ion based around the bonds of pious friendship, a concept originating in canonical Buddhist texts. With regard to institutions, sutra copying emerged concurrently and dynamically with the rise of sophisticated bureaucratic and aristocratic organ­izations. From an ethical perspective, transcription created opportunities for ­wholesome conduct in accord with Buddhist ideals. And in terms of politics, rulers at once used ­t hese practices to demonstrate their power and w ­ ere si­mul­t a­neously constrained by the visions of the cosmos outlined in the scriptures they copied. The world of ancient Japan was in part created through the ritualized reproduction of Buddhist texts.

The Cult of the Book in Buddhism The par­t ic­u ­lar practices and beliefs at the heart of eighth-­century sutra transcription are part of broader scriptural cultures in the Buddhist tradition that Gregory Schopen has famously termed the “cult of the book.”5 Buddhist texts, particularly but not limited to t­hose originating with the movement known as the ­Great Vehicle or Mahāyāna, are famous for promoting themselves as objects to be venerated and for promising rewards to 5. The following paragraphs draw on more detailed studies and debates on the “cult of the book” in India: namely, Schopen 2005, 25–62 (first published in 1975), 2009, and 2010; Kinnard 2002; Drewes 2007; and Apple 2014. From the perspective of literary studies, Eubanks 2011, 19–61, is a somewhat more theoretical but provocative account that focuses on sutras translated into Chinese.

4 Introduction

t­ hose who do so.6 The authors of Buddhist scripture justified this worship on the grounds that sutras, even in oral form, w ­ ere functionally equivalent7 to the Buddha, as one oft-­quoted passage from the Lotus Sutra demonstrates: Again, if ­there is anyone who ­shall receive and uphold, read and recite, explain and expound, or write and transcribe the Scripture on the Blossom of the Fine Dharma [the Lotus Sutra], even in a single verse, or who s­ hall rev­er­ent­ly gaze upon a scroll of this scripture as if it ­were a buddha, or who ­shall make [to it] sundry offerings of flowery incense, jeweled necklaces, powdered incense, unguent perfumes, burning incense, silk canopies, streamers and banners, clothes and garments, or skilled m ­ usic, or who s­ hall even put their palms together in reverent worship [of it], Medicine King, it s­ hall be known that such p ­ eople have already previously made offerings to hundreds of thousands of multitudes of buddhas, and completed a ­g reat vow in the presence of t­ hese buddhas, [but] ­because of their sympathy for sentient beings they ­shall have been born in this ­human form. Medicine King, if t­ here is anyone who asks what type of sentient being ­shall be able to become a buddha in a ­future age, you should indicate that it is ­these types of p ­ eople who w ­ ill surely be able to become a buddha in a ­f uture age.8

­ hose who performed practices of reverence directed at texts received reT wards such as the positive rebirth cited in the above passage or a variety of other material and soteriological benefits, to be discussed in the chapters to follow. Treating a text as if it ­were a buddha could turn the individual who did so into an awakened being in a f­ uture age. This logic, which equates text and buddha, likely emerged in part out of a larger discourse of relics, in which both text and body relics came to function “as stand-­ins for the buddha” a­ fter he departed this world (Strong 2004, 9).9 As Jinah Kim (2013, 41) has argued, Buddhist books in South Asia functioned as both the reli6. Drewes has questioned the centrality of the cult of the book to the origins of the Mahāyāna tradition, though it remains an open debate. As he writes, “The practice of venerating written texts was thus certainly not peculiar to the Mahāyāna and it seems quite doubtful that it was even original to it” (2007, 137). But even in Drewes’s account, the cult of the book is a part of Indic Buddhism, even if not exclusive to Mahāyāna. 7. This notion of “functional equivalence” with regard to Buddhist scripture comes from Campany 1991, 40. 8. Miaofa lianhua jing, T 262.9.30c. While I have referenced previous and often excellent translations, including Hurvitz 2009 and Kubo and Yuyama 2007, the translation of this passage and all that follow are my own, ­unless other­w ise noted. 9. Ideas about the text as relic informed a number of Japa­nese practices. One famous proj­ect from eighth-­century Japan known as the hyakumantō darani 百万塔陀羅尼 produced one million printed copies of a canonical Buddhist spell and enshrined them in pagodas, objects that traditionally h ­ oused Buddha-­relics; other similar relic-­informed practices, such as sutra burial and jeweled pagoda mandalas in which sutras ­were copied in the shape of a pagoda, emerged in the centuries to follow. For the hyakumantō darani, see Hickman 1975, Yiengpruksawan 1987, and Kornicki 2012. For sutra burial and the connection to relics, see Moerman 2007, esp. 248–250, and 2010, esp. 75–76; and Blair 2015, esp. 184–187. For relics and jeweled pagoda mandalas, see O’Neal 2015, esp. 293–295.

Introduction 5

quary and the relic, embodying the Buddha and housing him in the form of his teachings. Claims such as ­t hese make it clear that Buddhist scripture was not simply read; rather sutras had what Fabio Rambelli has termed a “non-­hermeneutic dimension”: ­people engaged with scripture for reasons beyond only understanding the content of the text.10 The cult of the book emerged with the rise of writing in Indian Buddhism. James Apple (2014, 37) has termed this development “a gradual pro­ cess of bibliofication,” which he defines as “the transvaluation of fixed oral discourse, along with its written repre­sen­t a­t ion of oral meta­phors, ideals, and practices, to include concrete reference to the sacred power of the book as a protective and/or prophylactic object.” Buddhist texts composed a­ fter the advent of writing demanded their own transcription and advocated the veneration of physical manuscripts as sacred objects. They promised rewards to t­ hose who did so. In fact, p ­ eople appear to have taken the texts up on ­these promises. According to Schopen (2009, 198), Buddhist laymen in India likely kept sutra manuscripts in their homes and used “them as objects of worship and power­ful protective and apotropaic devices.” The cult of the book played a strong role in the spread of Buddhism to East Asia.11 In contrast to India, where Buddhist scriptures ­were first transmitted orally and only l­ater written down, sutras in East Asia, once translated into Chinese, circulated as physical objects from early on, first as scrolls and ­later in book format.12 This was true in China, which already had a rich manuscript and literary tradition when monks first arrived and developed methods of paper production in tandem with Buddhism’s rise, as well as in Japan and the Korean peninsula, where writing cultures and literacy developed roughly concurrently with the spread of the religion.13 In ­t hese East Asian cultures, which possessed strong bureaucratic institutions and technological skills in manuscript production, texts w ­ ere transcribed rapidly and in impressive quantities. The number of premodern Buddhist manuscripts in East Asia is significantly larger than that of corresponding manuscripts in South, Central, and Southeast Asian archives. East Asian manuscripts are also generally more ancient with some exceptions, such as Gandhāran materials.14 While climate and available materials surely 10. Rambelli 2007, 88–128. Also see Daniel Veidlinger’s cultic versus discursive model (2006, esp. 4–6). 11. For more on the cult of the book in China, see Kieschnick 2003, 164–185, and Barrett 2008, esp. 46–54, and Chen 2013. 12. For a concise outline of the development of book culture in China both prior to the introduction of Buddhism and afterward, see Kieschnick 2003, 166–167. Also see more detailed studies such as Edgren 2009 and Drège 2014. 13. For the rise of literacy in early Japan and the challenges in defining the term, see Lurie 2011. 14. Comparative research on manuscript cultures in Buddhism has received renewed attention in recent years, but Japa­nese Buddhist manuscripts have been absent from ­t hese publications. For recent collections of essays on Buddhist manuscript cultures across Asia (outside Japan), see Berkwitz, Schober, and Brown 2009 and Harrison and Hartmann 2014. Also see Quenzer, Bondarev, and Sobisch 2014 and McDaniel and Ransom 2015, which

6 Introduction

played a role in producing this disparity, cultural attitudes t­oward writing and institutional structures likely contributed as well. Notably, the Chinese versions of the Golden Light Sutra use locutions that treat the text as a material object and contain more references to transcription than Sanskrit editions that tend to focus on recitation and omit copying as a recommended practice (Gummer 2000, 174–180). This suggests a stronger emphasis on writing in East Asia. Indeed, sutra copying in China, ­Korea, and Japan was commonly accompanied by ritual and material practices, some of which may be unique to the East Asian context and are certainly better documented ­there. ­These include upholding purity while copying Buddhist scripture, offering highly literary prayers at dedication ceremonies, often on specific days relative to cycles of the moon, and using expensive paper and other special materials for transcription. The cult of the book was further facilitated in East Asia by the circulation of numerous tales describing devotional practices ­toward texts, such as recitation and transcription, and the wondrous rewards that devotees’ piety engendered.15 The doctrine of merit underlies ­t hese vari­ous attitudes and practices ­toward scripture. This doctrine, which ­w ill be further examined in chapter one, states that ­wholesome acts generate positive results that can be enjoyed in this life or the next. Sutras often employ agricultural meta­phors to describe the notion of merit, likening w ­ holesome action to a seed that w ­ ill sprout fruits in the f­ uture. The harvests from t­ hese acts could then be shared with ­others. Indeed, it was typical for patrons to assign merit to individuals such as ancestors and the ruler. In this way, one did not even need to be the actor to benefit from good deeds. Accumulating merit—­whether made through one’s own actions or ­others’—­prompted a variety of rewards including birth in realms favorable for Buddhist practice, long lifespans ­free from afflictions, and stability in the realm. To take the agricultural meta­ phor beyond ­t hose used explic­itly in the Buddhist tradition, tales that circulated in East Asia suggest that additional ritual acts such as upholding purity and performing dedication ceremonies functioned as a form of fertilizer, increasing the merit produced through transcription. This book w ­ ill focus in par­tic­u­lar on ritualized writing in Japan, though it w ­ ill make frequent references to continental pre­ce­dents in Chinese and Korean materials, as well as occasional South Asian sources. Many of the contain many essays on ­t hese topics. Region-­specific studies of Buddhist manuscripts have also increased, particularly over the past de­cade. For helpful surveys of South Asian (Gandhāra) Buddhist manuscript cultures, see Salomon et al. 1999 and Baums 2014, as well as Jinah Kim 2013 for ­later manuscript traditions. For Southeast Asia, see McDaniel 2008 and Veidlinger 2006. For Tibet, see Schaeffer 2009. For Central Asia, see Whitfield 2015. Studies of Buddhist manuscript cultures in Dunhuang are numerous, but for two particularly useful ones from the perspective of this study, see Teiser 1994 and Galambos and van Schaik 2011. Also see Copp 2014 on the materiality of dhāraṇī in medieval China. 15. See Campany 1991 for early examples of this lit­er­a­ture and Stevenson 1995 and 2009 for Tang (618–907) period compilations. For tales about sutras in medieval Japan, see Eubanks 2011. I also introduce several tales in chapter one.

Introduction 7

practices transcend national borders, but with a wealth of manuscript evidence, both in the form of a few thousand extant sutra manuscripts from the late seventh through early ninth centuries and in more than ten thousand documents detailing the activities of a scriptorium, to be discussed below, early Japan offers unrivaled sources for studying sutra transcription.16 In other words, sutra copying in ancient Japan serves as a particularly well documented case study of a fundamental Buddhist ritual. Understanding the Japa­nese case can hopefully adumbrate possibilities in Buddhism that are alluded to but not nearly as well documented elsewhere. The chapters that follow advance an approach to Buddhist studies that takes the role of ritual, social, and material aspects of textual production seriously. They pay significant attention to the concrete actions Buddhists engaged in throughout premodern East Asia. But I should stress that this book is not purely a social or cultural history in the sense of a work that primarily concerns itself with practice at the expense of doctrines. Instead, it explores the ways key Buddhist concepts such as merit, ethics, friendship, and cosmology interact with social structures and cultural patterns. T ­ hese teachings represent Buddhist thought in that they derive from passages in canonical Buddhist texts, sources that I w ­ ill frequently cite, and w ­ ere of central concern to a range of Buddhists in eighth-­century Japan. They accord with the broad definition of Buddhist doctrine offered by Jamie Hubbard (1992, 7–8), as tenets taught within a par­t ic­u­lar tradition that include both worldly and otherworldly ideals. In this way, while my study details what Rambelli termed non-­ hermeneutic aspects of texts, it also underscores the limits of this category by highlighting the connection between the content of the texts and the practices directed t­ oward them. The Buddhist canon is vast, and, as we w ­ ill see in chapter six, in par­t ic­u ­lar, patrons carefully selected specific texts for their purposes, often ­because of the contents of the sutra. In other words, their practice was itself hermeneutic. Moreover, in the very act of copying the texts, the patrons and scribes obeyed the commandments of scripture, as the sutras themselves demanded their own reproduction. Fi­ nally, seemingly devotional activities such as copying supported manuscript cultures on the ground and enabled hermeneutic practices to flourish in monasteries by creating a rich collection of texts in ­temple libraries. 16. Subsequent periods witnessed numerous new practices related to sutra transcription and the cult of the book. I ­w ill discuss some of ­t hese, such as nyohō kyō, in chapter one. But for ­others such as sutra burial, decorative and illuminated manuscripts, sutras written as jeweled stupa mandalas, and pictorial sutras, I refer readers to the excellent work by specialists on l­ ater periods. For succinct surveys of vari­ous practices and beliefs that emerged in the Heian period, see O’Neal 2012, 117–126, and Dix 2015, esp. 104–115. For sutra burial, see Blair 2015, 81–84 and 160–189, and Moerman 2007 and 2010. For decorative and illuminated manuscripts, see Komatsu 1976 and Tanabe 1988 and 2009. For sutras as jeweled stupa mandalas, see O’Neal 2011, 2012, and 2015. For pictorial sutras—­rebuses that transliterate the phonetic sounds of scriptures into ­simple images of primarily quotidian objects— in northeastern Japan in the early modern period, see Eubanks 2013.

8 Introduction

Combining doctrinal approaches with social and cultural ones w ­ ill allow some concrete historical questions to be answered, including: how did Buddhist individuals and communities understand notions of merit and ­wholesome conduct? How did Buddhist concepts of friendship shape social organ­izations in Japan? How did ­people envision the heavens and pure lands of the Buddhist universe in relation to broader literary values? How did cosmological and eschatological ideas relate to po­liti­cal proj­ects? By taking Buddhist ideas and canonical texts seriously and not reducing religion to pure politics, I hope that this book can, in the words of Jacqueline Stone (2006, 57), begin to “bridge the two approaches, shedding light on the interrelation of doctrine and social practice.” It is my conviction that the two inform one another.17 At the same time, I hope that my findings and approach ­w ill have appeal beyond the borders of Buddhology. To this end, I w ­ ill also consider ritualized writing in relation to questions in religious studies and with re­ spect to historiographical issues relevant to Japa­nese history. The following sections outline t­ hese questions and issues.

Scriptural Cultures The cult of the book and non-­hermeneutic practices are by no means unique to Buddhism. The veneration of scripture appears in a variety of forms in a range of religious traditions. Among devotional acts, recitation is particularly ubiquitous. As William Graham (1987, 65) has written, “recitation or reading aloud of scripture is a common feature of piety in virtually ­every scriptural tradition.” In some cases, such as Vedic religions and Zoroastrianism, oral practices w ­ ere valued as uniquely power­ful and continued to be esteemed even a­ fter writing became available. In China, some recitation practices followed elaborate ritual procedures. An early medieval Lingbao Daoist scripture outlines preparations for recitation including clacking teeth and swallowing saliva—­sometimes as many as thirty-­six times—­ followed by visualizations.18 Moreover, the practice of recitation often reveals a “non-­hermeneutic” dimension in that semantic meaning is frequently secondary to physically enacting the text. In fact, in many cases, the languages of the texts are e­ ither archaic or entirely foreign, so that t­ hose chanting cannot even understand the meaning of the words. C ­ hildren at Islamic schools in Morocco, for example, memorize the Koran through regular recitation without necessarily understanding the content of the texts. Instead, they do so as a means to embody the scripture through repeated practice.19 Many Japa­nese t­oday do not understand the words of sutras they chant at funerals. 17. Also see Eric Greene’s discussion of Buddhist vegetarianism, where he argues for the need to study not just be­hav­ior but “interaction between be­hav­ior and ideals” (2016, 21). 18. For ­t hese, see Hudson 2014, esp. 620–624. 19. See Boyle 2004, 83–99. I’d like to thank Dianna Bell for this reference. For more on recitation in other Islamic contexts, see Cook 2000, 77–88, and Baker 1993.

Introduction 9

Other non-­hermeneutic practices abound. Scriptures are worshiped, handled with care, and function as a source of authority. In the Jain tradition, the ­fourteenth-­century figure Ratnaśekharasūri likened ceremonial days for the worship of scripture to pilgrimage, a meta­phor equating devotion to texts with a spiritual journey (Balbir 2010, 111). Worship of a book over time could also make it illegible, a feature that by no means detracted from its status as an icon. Tony Stewart (2010, 363) describes how what is reputed to be the oldest copy of the Bengali Vaishnava Caitanya Caritamrta is now smeared with so much vermillion from “centuries of devotional adoration” that it is no longer pos­si­ble to read it, yet it still is treated as a venerable object. In other cases, the failure to h ­ andle texts with appropriate caution risks punishment; many in the Jewish tradition from medieval times to the pres­ent day view the act of dropping a parchment copy of the Torah on the ground as one that may require the entire congregation to fast in penance (Rothkoff and Rabinowitz 2007, 243). Sikhs ­today treat their sacred scripture, Guru Granth Sahib, as a living guru and perform most of their ceremonies in its presence, as the object functions as a deity overseeing the rite (Myrvold 2010, 125–131). A Daoist commentator extends ­these practices to the novel Journey to the West, noting that heavenly deities guard it and readers should burn incense and purify themselves before reading it, in turn transforming the text into a work of scripture (Yu 1990, 299). ­People across cultures and times have taken vows in the presence of sacred books, a practice that t­ oday occurs perhaps most visibly and familiarly when the president of the United States takes the oath of office over a copy of the Bible. In sum, all of the so-­called religions of the book have not just been dedicated to the reading of content; they have emerged through par­tic­u­lar beliefs and practices that treat books as venerable objects worthy of worship. Regarding the reproduction of physical books, the subject of this study, vari­ous religions advance normative ideals for ritualized transcription quite similar to the Japa­nese Buddhist case. A number of traditions emphasize the need to uphold purity while copying, promise rewards for t­hose who transcribe scripture, and connect the practice with ethical concerns. For example, some voices in the medieval Islamic tradition maintained that scribes should copy in a state of ritual purity (taharah) while wearing clean clothes and maintaining pure intentions (niyah) and forbade ritually impure (junub) individuals from transcribing the Koran.20 Hebrew sources from the eighth ­century began outlining rules for the conduct of scribes (sofer) copying scripture. Even ­today it is common for a Jewish scribe to take a ritual bath (mikveh) before copying a Torah scroll and follow other precise regulations regarding the techniques and comportment of the copyist.21 Medieval Daoist monastic rules stress that even the tools used for transcribing scripture should be kept pure and separate from ordinary p ­ eople, who 20. Gacek 2006a, 239, and 2006b, 704–705. For more on purity when h ­ andling the Koran, see Svensson 2010, 36–37. I have benefited greatly from conversations with Richard McGregor about the cult of the book in Islam. 21. Rothkoff and Rabinowitz 2007, 242. Also see Schleicher 2010, 19.

10 Introduction

are said to be marked with worldly defilements.22 Much as in Buddhism, scriptures in other traditions w ­ ere copied so that t­ hose involved could receive benefits in this world and the next. Mackenzie Brown (1986, 77–78) has stressed this instrumental aspect of ritualized writing in the medieval Hindu tradition by demonstrating how some compendia of myth known as purāṇa promised rewards to ­those who copied or had someone ­else transcribe the text. According to Marianne Schleicher (2010, 25), medieval Jewish texts implore followers to bury scripture with the deceased, ­because the scroll could “intercede on behalf of the dead person to influence his fate in the world-­to-­come.” In terms of ethical cultivation, the case of medieval Christian monasteries is informative. H ­ ere, copying scripture was believed to lead to more highly developed spiritual states and served as a means to gain God’s blessings and attain eternal life (Leclercq 1982, 122). As the Benedictine monk Alcuinus wrote: “It is better to copy manuscripts than to look ­a fter vines. The last serves the stomach, the first serves the soul” (quoted in Buringh 2011, 81). How do we understand t­ hese similarities across traditions? In part, they point to a more generalized phenomenon in which ritualized textual practices help define a par­t ic­u­lar work as scripture. Thus, scripture is a ritualized category in the sense proposed by Catherine Bell: the very notion of scripture depends upon strategically separating a body of texts from other more quotidian works. The category is further sustained through repeated ritual actions that reinforce ­t hese separations, including recitation and transcription. This should not be surprising. As numerous scholars such as Wilfred Cantwell Smith (1993), William Graham (1987), Miriam Levering (1989), and Vincent Wimbush (2008) have argued, the very notion of scripture is defined interactively in the relations between a text and a religious community.23 In the words of Smith (1993, 18), “scripture is a h ­ uman activity”; p ­ eople turn an ordinary text into scripture by treating it in a certain way. Ritual practice represents one way that h ­ umans transform a par­tic­u­lar body of texts into scripture—­works set apart as uniquely special, venerable, and power­ful—­for purposes connected to the goals of the community. While the category of scripture, like any category, is clearly a h ­ uman construct, scripture itself also shapes relationships among individuals and communities. This emphasis on the ways that scripture is not simply constructed by but also generative of new relationships recognizes the arguments of Stanley Tambiah, who has suggested “words . . . ​a re in a sense agents in themselves which establish connections and relations between 22. Kohn 2004, 92. In addition to this passage, which appears in a subset of rules about the scriptorium, the text also dedicates a section to copying scripture; for this, see Kohn 2004, 103–105. I am grateful to Susan Huang for this reference. 23. Wimbush distances himself in part from t­hese earlier scholars by stressing the need to consider the ways the relationships between h ­ uman and text are mediated by material products, ritual practices, and expressions of power, topics generally ignored by Smith and o ­ thers. I sympathize with his critique and ­w ill address ­t hese issues of power and materiality in the chapters to follow.

Introduction 11

both man and man, and man and the world, and are capable of ‘acting’ upon them” (1985, 29). Scripture in manuscript form and as a printed book accords with what some phi­los­o­phers and social scientists have called a quasi-­object, the idea that while material goods are dependent on ­human actors, they themselves also modify social relations and individual identities.24 To this end, I ­w ill consider sutras in relation to scriptural cultures— an approach that denotes a series of dynamic relationships and practices involving texts that have been strategically set apart.25 ­These include relations between sutras and ­humans (both individuals and communities) and with other texts (both canonically Buddhist and t­ hose not explic­itly so, including works from Chinese literary and philosophical traditions). I describe the relationships as dynamic b ­ ecause scripture transforms its partners in ­t hese relationships and is transformed by them. ­These more general claims fit the data for the Japa­nese case. With regard to individuals in ancient Japan, scriptures emerged as empowered texts through the ritual acts of the scribe and the patron, but they also constituted ­these individuals as pious members of Buddhist communities. Copying scripture provided them with opportunities to engage in w ­ holesome be­hav­ior. Similarly, while Buddhist sutras represented a class of texts sanctioned by specific ­human organ­izations ranging from fellowships of devoted patrons to heavi­ly bureaucratic institutions, scripture also helped generate and sustain ­t hese collectives. Fellowships and scriptoria would not have existed without a body of texts that brought them together. Fi­nally, intertextual relationships between Buddhist scripture and literary works from outside the Buddhist tradition produced new types of texts and worldviews. This aspect appears most dramatically in the dedicatory prayers inscribed in colophons to sutra manuscripts, a genre unique to East Asia, which make frequent allusions to cosmological ideas and literary tropes from canonical Buddhist texts alongside parallel notions from Chinese poetic and philosophical works to construct new visions of the universe that did not exist in the sutra lit­er­a­ture alone.

Ritual Functions, Ethical Practices Historically, the field of ritual studies has been dominated by approaches that treat ritual as symbolic action that represents deeper social or cultural truths. This is not the view of ritual advanced by the patrons, administrators, and laborers at the center of this study. T ­ hese individuals w ­ ere less concerned with what their ritual practices meant in a semiotic sense than in what ritualized writing accomplished. While I am by no means adopting 24. For quasi-­objects, see Serres 1982, 224–234, and Latour 1993, esp. 51–55. For a more recent assessment, see Schiermer 2011. I would like to thank Jay Geller for introducing me to this concept. 25. Also see the related analy­sis of Buddhist textual culture invoked in Eubanks 2011, 4–6.

12 Introduction

an exclusively emic approach in this study, I do share concerns with ­t hese eighth-­century figures as well as with scholars in ritual studies such as Frits Staal, Talal Asad, and o ­ thers, whose work has started a pro­cess of “shifting the focus of study from meaning to ­doing.”26 In recent years, scholars have described ritual as a practice focused on cultivating apt per­for­mance and ethical development that is sanctioned by ­those in authority, rather than as symbolic expressions aimed at communicating messages.27 The research questions framing this study similarly show l­ittle concern with what ritual means or represents and instead focus on what the participants do and what their “religious ­doing does,” in the words of Andrea Jones (2004). In adopting this approach for this par­t ic­u ­lar study, I am not intending to reject symbolic interpretations of ritual altogether; rather, the sources at my disposal provide few clues to uncover t­ hese symbols and a repre­sen­t a­t ional approach does not help in answering the broader questions that interest me: namely, how does ritual function in the ethical, social, institutional, cosmological, and po­liti­cal realms. It is worth stressing that while I am interested in a variety of ritual functions, I am not proposing a functionalist position that reduces ritual to a single purpose. Ritual does not only serve to maintain the social order. It is not only used for po­liti­cal ends. As Jones explains (2004, 96): One way of understanding the difference between an analy­sis of what the d ­ oing does and functionalism is to distinguish between two uses of the word “function.” ­There is a weak sense in which a question like “How does religious practice function?” can be understood, in which it is essentially equivalent to asking what religious practice does. It asks, in this case, about the effects of religious ­doings. A stronger sense of the question, however, is one in which it is assumed that t­here is a par­t ic­u­lar job or a role that religious practice plays and is intended (usually on an unconscious level) to play, which is then understood to be its function. Functionalist accounts, in which social bodies are often paralleled to organic bodies, posit a totality to which all pro­cesses are related. . . . ​ A functionalist account of a social practice, therefore, explains the activity on the basis of its utility for the enduring social body. . . . ​Functional explanation therefore entails showing that a practice has beneficial consequences, i.e., that

26. I take this phrase from Seligman et al. 2008, 15. For other critiques of symbolic approaches, see Staal 1979 and 1990, esp. 115–190; Asad 1993, esp. 27–79; and Handelman and Lindquist 2005. Many of the essays in Kreinath, Snoek, and Stausberg 2006 address issues of the meaningfulness of rituals, outlining the strengths and weaknesses of the work of Staal as well as a variety of other approaches to ritual. Also see volume one of Michaels 2010, which includes many essays on methodological issues raised by Staal and o ­ thers with par­t ic­ u­lar attention to an Asian context, and Dolce and Matsumoto 2010, which addresses ­t hese issues for the case of medieval Japa­nese religions. 27. The most influential scholar in describing ritual as a practice is surely Catherine Bell. See Bell 1992 and 1997, esp. 76–83. Also see Courtney Bender 2012 for a helpful discussion of “practice” and practice theory.

Introduction 13 it satisfies certain needs or serves to maintain a state of equilibrium. The ­raison d’être of a practice is therefore given in terms of its function.

My interest in the functions of religious practice does not mean that I subscribe to functionalism and all of its pitfalls. Instead, the functions I am concerned with are closer to what Jones describes as the weaker sense of the term: namely, the effects of ritual practice in a variety of social and religious spheres. This study ­w ill show that ­these effects ­were far reaching. Ritualized writing reconfigured local communities. It contributed to the construction of bureaucratic institutions. It s­ haped concepts of the afterlife and of kingship. It provided individuals from diverse walks of life with opportunities for Buddhist practice. As with the concept of scriptural culture, the following chapters ­w ill stress the dynamic quality of ritual practices. Ritual acts w ­ ere at once enabled by and enabling of par­t ic­u­lar h ­ uman and cosmological configurations. The question then becomes one of what some scholars have called the “constitutive power” of ritual.28 In other words, if ritual is not simply a symbolic expression of the world as lived or idealized but rather part of a dialectic pro­cess between bodily practice and the formation of subjects and socie­t ies, we need to ask what types of individuals and communities do ritual practices help create. Saba Mahmood (2005, 128), in her ethnographic study of Egyptian ­women involved in piety movements, argued that ritual practices can potentially constitute individuals and communities as ethical beings: “ritualized be­hav­ior is one among a continuum of practices that serve as the necessary means to the realization of a pious self, and that are regarded as the critical instruments in a teleological program of self-­ formation.”29 Repeated ritual actions function as a practice: they are a ­human activity that individuals utilize to transform themselves to accord with a vision of the good as sanctioned by a par­t ic­u­lar tradition.30 Many of the chapters that follow ­w ill build on Mahmood’s insight to explore the ways that sutra copying constituted individuals and communities as pious in accord with Buddhist norms. In addition to the well-­k nown idea that patrons copied scripture to create merit, individuals also saw sutra copying as a tool through which they could fashion themselves in ways congruent with Buddhist values. This ethical type of ritual instrumentality remains a relatively unexplored aspect of Buddhist ritual. Patrons and scribes considered copying Buddhist texts as morally ­wholesome (Skt. kuśala; Ch. shan; J. zen 善)—­t hat is to say, an act that could lead to higher spiritual states, such as pro­gress on the bodhisattva path. Scribes therefore 28. I take this phrase from Amy Hollywood’s assessment of Asad and Mauss (2004, 57). 29. T ­ hese ideas about ritual practice and cultivating virtue also reference Talal Asad’s work on medieval Christian monastic contexts (1993, 62–65 and 83–167). 30. ­Here, I paraphrase Alasdair MacIntyre’s definition of practice (2007, 187). I have chosen to rely on MacIntyre’s definition ­because of its connection to ethics rather than the more commonly invoked usage by Bourdieu (1977) in practice-­driven theoretical lit­er­a­t ure.

14 Introduction

engaged in bodily practices closely connected to Buddhist notions of spiritual purification. Patrons offered merit to their ancestors and sentient beings as a way to fulfill social obligations and mirror the acts of a bodhisattva. In t­ hese ways, copying scripture enabled the individuals involved to become morally w ­ holesome beings who lived a life in accord with the Buddhist path. Ethical concerns w ­ ere not limited to isolated individuals. Wholesome conduct was developed in communal settings and sanctioned by institutional authorities. In the case of ancient Japan, patrons and copyists alike often joined together to form fellowships and referred to their communities as “­wholesome friends,” a canonical Buddhist term for a “helper on the path.”31 And institutions such as scriptoria regulated the be­hav­ior of their workers to ensure that their lifestyles accorded with Buddhist notions of purity and morality. ­These social aspects are crucial, as communities, institutions, and traditions define any given notion of the good. Sutra copying, therefore, was an ethical practice in the sense that it was a social action directed t­ oward cultivating oneself and one’s community t­ oward a higher shared goal sanctioned by par­t ic­u­lar traditions and institutions.

Rewriting Nara Buddhism It w ­ ill be seen in due course that a multidimensional account of sutra copying contributes to the historiography of Japa­nese religion. In other words, the approach to ritual and the evidence presented in the chapters that follow prompt a rethinking of how we understand Buddhism in the Nara period (710–784), a formative era that has received scant attention in Anglophone scholarship.32 According to eighth-­century court rec­ords, Buddhism officially entered Japan in the sixth ­century and was, ­a fter some debate and skirmishes among power­ful clans, increasingly promoted from the late sixth through seventh centuries by the court. While the first ­century of Buddhism’s history in Japan is shrouded in mystery, it is clear that by the late seventh c­ entury and throughout the eighth, sovereigns actively commis31. Collins 1987, 51. This term w ­ ill be discussed in detail in chapter two. 32. Representative English-­language scholarship on eighth-­century Japa­nese Buddhism includes Marinus Willem de Visser’s 1935 encyclopedic overview of the sutras and ceremonies of seventh-­and eighth-­century Japan, an impressive piece of scholarship at its time but one that lacks a coherent narrative and reference to Shōsōin documents, a collection I discuss below; Joan Piggott’s learned 1987 dissertation and 1997 monograph, both of which focus to some degree on the role of Buddhism as a performative tool for supporting the po­liti­cal position of the ruler, a topic I ­w ill return to in chapter six; Ryūichi Abé’s 1999 groundbreaking study of Kūkai, which provides a helpful overview of Nara Buddhism as background for understanding Kūkai but tends to follow the state versus pop­u ­lar Buddhism paradigm outlined below; Michael Como’s 2008 and 2009 innovative monographs on the cultic practices of Korean immigrant groups, including many outside the spectrum of canonical Buddhism; and Jonathan Augustine’s 2005 compact study of the biography and hagiography of Gyōki, one of the most famous monks of the Nara period.

Introduction 15

sioned statues, constructed ­temples, and sponsored transcription. In addition to promoting Buddhism, the court enacted extensive laws regulating the conduct of monks and nuns. In short, rulers played a significant role in promoting and monitoring Buddhism in ancient Japan. ­These activities have led scholars to describe the Nara period in terms of state Buddhism (kokka Bukkyō 国家仏教), the most commonly advanced framework for interpreting religion at this time. This model continues to be used to the pres­ent day, as a recent, apt depiction of Nara-­period sutra copying suggests: In the Nara period, however, Buddhism was a state religion and was deployed predominantly for protecting the nation (chingo kokka); sutra copying was thus generally performed for the benefit of the state, rather than for personal merit, and throughout the period occurred primarily at state-­supported scriptoria (shakyōjo), where it was executed by bureaucrats selected solely for their calligraphic skills. (Dix 2015, 103–104)

Efforts to classify Nara Buddhism as state Buddhism began as early as the Meiji period (1868–1912), when Buddhist reformers turned to the past as a means to propose normative models—­both in ­favor and critical of state support of Buddhism—to redesign the tradition as a modern religion. 33 ­These narratives continued to develop over the war years, when national historians such as Tsuji Zennosuke 辻善之助 (1877–1955) and Kuroita Ka­ tsumi 黒板勝美 (1874–1946) invoked the state Buddhism model to remind readers of the mutual benefits that can emerge when religion is subservient to imperial interests. And they culminated in the postwar period in the writings of Futaba Kenkō 二葉憲香 (1916–1995) and I­ noue Mitsusada 井上光貞 (1917–1983), who viewed state Buddhism as e­ ither an inauthentic form of the religion or one that had not reached its full potential. ­Inoue, one of the leading historians of the postwar period, advanced what has become the most influential version of the state Buddhism thesis. It was developed, he wrote, a­ fter reading Futaba’s work.34 He defined state Buddhism in terms of the official control of ­temples and clergy, largely through ­legal codes, and the protection and promotion of Buddhism by the sovereign; and he credited Buddhism’s greater appeal not to its philosophical insights but to its magical powers in bringing prosperity to the realm.35 Like ­those writing before him, ­Inoue advanced this model as part of a normative proj­ect tied to his position in the postwar era. For him, the Nara period, with its heavy-­handed involvement of the state, too closely resembled the official policy of the war years, a period that I­ noue viewed with 33. This paragraph and the next draw from the more historiographically detailed discussion in Lowe 2014d. 34. For Futaba’s influence, see I­ noue Mitsusada 2004, 255. 35. For this definition, see ­Inoue Mitsusada 1971, 33.

16 Introduction

retrospective contempt in his published memoirs.36 The excesses of state Buddhism needed to be overcome, and I­noue, like o ­ thers before him, crafted a larger teleological narrative that culminated in the eventual reform of Buddhism in the Kamakura period (1185–1333). It was then, when the schools that grew into the most dominant institutions in modern Japan ­were founded, that Buddhism, as the story goes, was first brought to the populace and liberated from state control. State Buddhism thus played the role of a foil in ­Inoue’s narrative; it symbolized the corruption against which the Kamakura Buddhists reacted. Although the valorization of Kamakura Buddhism at the expense of earlier periods predates ­Inoue, in his hands it provided a poignant critique of what he perceived as inordinate state control of Buddhism during the war years. It served as a normative model for a postwar reformation that aimed to solidify religious freedom and strictly separate church and state. This is the state Buddhism model that we have inherited. It is a framework that treats state Buddhism as an obstacle that needs to be overcome in the name of a liberal proj­ect that valorizes freedom of religion from state control. This book is by no means the first work to challenge ­Inoue’s findings with regard to the Nara period, though, as I w ­ ill outline below, I believe that it ­w ill do so in a new and helpful way. Beginning in the 1990s, the state Buddhism model underwent a sustained critique by Yoshida Kazuhiko 吉田 一彦 (1955–), undoubtedly the most vocal opponent of ­Inoue’s narrative.37 First, Yoshida pointed out that the state failed to implement or enforce many of the rules contained in ­legal codes aimed at regulating the clergy, strictures in which I­ noue found g ­ reat significance. Since regulation was l­ittle more than a fantasy, it should not be considered a defining feature of the Buddhism of the period, as it was for ­Inoue. Perhaps more impor­t ant, Yoshida demonstrated how Buddhism had already penetrated diverse populations by the eighth ­century: in other words, Nara Buddhism was far more diverse than the label “state Buddhism” suggests. To this end, Yoshida distinguished the Buddhism of the state (kokka no Bukkyō 国家の仏教) from the monolithic category of state Buddhism (kokka Bukkyō 国家仏教). The Buddhism of the state was just one form of Buddhism that existed in the eighth c­ entury. Yoshida also identified several other dis36. For example, see his discussion of choosing to study with Watsuji Tetsurō 和辻哲郎 (1889–1960) rather than with the more logical choice of Hiraizumi Kiyoshi 平泉澄 (1895– 1984), whom ­Inoue characterizes as a supporter of imperialist perspectives on history. Also see his reflections on his memories of learning of Japan’s surrender: “The feeling of liberation from militarism was far stronger than any deep sorrow of defeat. . . . ​Delight that ‘from now on, good times ­w ill come’ erupted from the bottom of my heart.” ­Inoue Mitsusada 2004, 38 and 65. 37. Yoshida Kazuhiko 1995, esp. 2–64; 2006a, 25–30 and 32–36; and 2006b, esp. 148– 150 and 152–154. Other recent criticisms of the state Buddhism model include Kamikawa 2007, 20–45; Nakabayashi 2007, esp. 411–418; Mifune 2013, esp. 372–384. Prominent and well-­a rgued works that continue to advance modified versions of a state Buddhism treatise include Hongō 2005, esp. 265–310, and Sone 2010.

Introduction 17

tinct Buddhisms of the Nara period: the Buddhism of aristocrats (kizoku no Bukkyō 貴族の仏教), the Buddhism of provincial magnates (chihō gōzoku no Bukkyō 地方豪族の仏教), and the Buddhism of the masses (minshū no Bukkyō 民衆の仏教). Accordingly, Yoshida indicated the presence of “diverse Buddhisms” (tayōna Bukkyō 多様な 仏教) existing si­mul­t a­neously, rather than focusing on a singular hegemonic entity known as state Buddhism. Yoshida himself has been particularly interested in highlighting the activities of the Buddhism of the masses, arguing that this (vaguely defined) social group was vital to the spread of Buddhism in early Japan.38 Many of the findings of this study w ­ ill support the arguments advanced by Yoshida. As the following chapters w ­ ill show repeatedly, Buddhism did not need to wait u ­ ntil the Kamakura period to spread beyond state control. Sutra copying, as well as a variety of other practices, had already penetrated broad populations across the archipelago by the mid-­eighth ­century and even earlier in many regions. With this fact in mind, the chapters below ­w ill highlight the activities of fellowships, many of which ­were active in the provinces and had a wide range of participants; they w ­ ill also consider copying by nonroyal aristocrats and mid-­level officials alongside that done by the royal f­ amily. Further, they w ­ ill explore sutra copying from the perspective of laborers and administrators who ­either lacked rank or held very low rank, as well as look at prayers sponsored by patrons from diverse geographic and social backgrounds. Although royals appear as one particularly wealthy group of sponsors, they do not take exclusive control of the narrative of this book, just as they did not assume unilateral control of religion in the Nara period. Yet, while I sympathize with Yoshida’s critiques of the state Buddhism model, his proposed alternative raises a number of new prob­lems. Yoshida began his proj­ect by dividing society into vari­ous camps each with its own form of Buddhism. He assumed that religious practices easily map onto ­t hese stable social categories, treating each as self-­evident and preexisting. But ­these are theoretical assumptions, made without proof. Why should religious expressions neatly correspond to social class? Are ­t hese social groups inherent and unchanging? Or are they constructed, in part, through religious practices? To whom do terms such as “the masses” actually refer? ­Were practices and beliefs shared across social groups? Are t­ here other types of h ­ uman communities beyond t­ hose defined by class? Yoshida fails to address ­t hese fundamental questions, appearing instead to take his basic so­cio­log­i­cal profile as a given. In contrast to approaches that begin with stable categories of state or pop­u­lar, this book takes a single practice as its starting point and assesses how it functioned to delineate communities and instill identities in the 38. This is not to say that Yoshida was the first to use this category. Other prominent scholars such as Nakai Shinkō thoughtfully emphasized ­t hese aspects de­cades before Yoshida. See Nakai 1973. For some remarks on the category of “pop­u ­lar Buddhism” that are not limited to the Nara period, see Mori Shinnosuke 2013, 3–41.

18 Introduction

social and religious spheres.39 The types of communities created and reinforced through sutra copying seldom correspond to the social categories used in most past scholarship. Communities on the ground blur the bound­ aries Yoshida relied on. In some cases, fellowships transcended clan divisions to form groups of patrons and scribes from multiple clans that shared religious values. Some of t­hese fellowships, often described as “pop­u­lar,” served the interests of royals and relied on official bureaucratic structures but also included a broad membership. In other cases, ostensible state institutions reveal significant parallels with aristocratic h ­ ouse­holds. Moreover, informal and formal networks connected aristocratic sutra-­copying offices with royal ones. All of t­hese institutions required the ­labor and cooperation of individuals who lacked rank altogether, a feature that points to the need for a broader understanding of the ways elite institutions structured the experiences of nonelites and how t­ hose on the lower rungs of a social ladder s­ haped well-­endowed bureaucratic organ­izations. Fi­nally, both the ritual practices employed by scribes and patrons and the language of prayers inscribed in colophons transcended social bound­aries; individuals from diverse walks of life used similar strategies and meta­phors in the transcription and dedication of texts. At the same time, while it is true that sutra copying was widespread in the Nara period, it cannot simply be defined as “pop­u­lar,” particularly when the term is used to mean e­ ither “common across classes” or “nonelite.”40 Sutra copying could si­mul­ta­neously join p ­ eople together and divide them apart. On the one hand, religious cultures w ­ ere shared; p ­ eople across geographic regions and social strata engaged in similar ritualized acts, employed nearly identical techniques with regard to manuscript production, and sponsored transcription based on common beliefs and worldviews. On the other hand, sutra transcription functioned to demonstrate and reinforce differences in material resources, literary abilities, and social status. H ­ ere, my view differs subtly from that of Mifune Takayuki 三舟隆之 (1959­–), another critic of the state Buddhism model, who has stressed the identical character of the Buddhisms of the state, aristocrats, and the populace—­a move that risks flattening all status differences as inconsequential.41 Sutra copying inscribed social relations as much as it reflected them. “State” and “pop­u­lar” are grossly insufficient for capturing t­ hese complex patterns and pro­cesses. Ritual, when seen as a dynamic activity, provides a new win­dow into ­t hese issues: the methodology of this book, therefore, informs its historiographical contribution. Neither an approach that relies on simplistic class-­ 39. Within Buddhist studies, my approach of studying a single practice across a wide spectrum of society is inspired by Stephen F. Teiser’s classic study on the ghost festival in medieval China (1988). 40. My thinking about pop­u ­lar religion and prob­lems with the category is influenced by an insightful article by Catherine Bell on the subject (1989). Also see Teiser 1988, 214– 217, and 1995, esp. 378–380. 41. For this critique of the state Buddhism model, see Mifune 2013, esp. 17–18.

Introduction 19

based divisions nor one focused solely on the state can provide an accurate repre­sen­t a­t ion of religion in the Nara period. Rather than assuming that stable social organ­izations precede religious practice, this study ­w ill consider how ritual constructs communities while also building upon and sometimes modifying existing social structures. Instead of treating the Buddhism of the state as ontologically distinct from that of the so-­called masses, a study of a single practice reveals how rituals both differentiate and create commonalities among individuals and communities from diverse backgrounds. And in place of models that treat state control as a force consciously exerted by elites and warranting active re­sis­t ance from t­ hose below, I ­w ill suggest that the power of ritual practice structured norms for kings and scribes alike and that agency was a ­matter neither solely of re­sis­t ance nor of control.42 By applying a methodology advanced in the field of ritual studies to the prob­lem of characterizing eighth-­century Japa­nese religion, this book provides an account of Nara Buddhism that moves beyond an exclusive focus on elites in the capital while, at the same time, avoiding the assumptions built into interpretive frameworks that assume religious cultures follow social and economic divisions in their development.

Structure of the Book Six chapters and an epilogue follow this introduction. The book is divided into three parts, each composed of paired chapters that explore related issues. Chapters one and two use tales that circulated throughout East Asia and colophons to manuscript sources from Japan and Dunhuang—­t he site of the discovery of an enormous cache of written materials in western China—to assess the cosmological and ethical under­pinnings of transcribing scripture. They provide a broad overview of the ritual practices at the heart of sutra copying. Chapter one outlines three ways in which writing was ritualized in East Asian Buddhism: the discourse of ­wholesome action and merit, which treated sutra transcription as pious and instrumental; the purification of scribal bodies prior to transcription, through practices such as performing ablutions, wearing special garments, and avoiding defilements including meat, death, and illness; and participation in ceremonies to dedicate merit on calendrically significant days, when it was believed that deities descended from the heavens to observe ­human conduct. Chapter two turns to the prayers inscribed in colophons to sutra manuscripts that ­were vocalized at the dedication ceremonies. It argues that ritual and literary expectations together generated views of the cosmos and moral responsibility derived from diverse repertoires not limited to canonical Buddhist texts. Taken together, ­t hese two chapters offer a description of the ritual 42. My use of the term “agency” as not necessarily tied to re­sis­t ance is in line with recent work in anthropology by scholars such as Saba Mahmood (2001b and 2005) and Talal Asad (1993 and 2003). Also see Sax 2006 for a helpful review of agency with regards to ritual.

20 Introduction

acts involved in sutra transcription and an analy­sis of the ways t­ hese practices related to ethical sensibilities and cosmological understandings. Chapters three and four consider the relationship between ritualized writing and social organ­izations in eighth-­century Japan. Both chapters contend that sutra copying was in part enabled by par­t ic­u­lar social and institutional configurations, while at the same time it was generative of new ones. Chapter three focuses on cases of collective patronage, in which groups of individuals pooled their resources to sponsor transcription, often identifying themselves as ­wholesome friends. It shows how fellowship groups w ­ ere drawn together from a variety of motivations ranging from po­ liti­cal to pious as diverse individuals treated participation in t­ hese groups as an opportunity to engage in Buddhist practice. Chapter four stresses the importance of institutions in enabling the reproduction of large numbers of texts. It surveys the scriptoria that existed in ancient Japan and argues for the close connection between bureaucracy and ritual practice. Both chapters challenge standard narratives that have equated fellowships with pop­u ­lar Buddhism and the Tōdaiji 東大寺 scriptorium with state Buddhism by sketching broad parallels across t­hese groups and institutions and highlighting the de­pen­dency of seemingly in­de­pen­dent scriptoria on state proj­ects. Chapters five and six share a concern with the ways ritualized writing ­shaped individuals’ lives. They move from the broader contexts of institutions and social groups to the microhistories of particulars.43 Chapter five traces the ­career of Karakuni no Hitonari 韓國人成 (721–­?), who worked in a variety of both scribal and administrative roles at the Office of Sutra Transcription before becoming a monk. Through this insider’s view, the chapter argues that the scriptorium offered Hitonari and ­others opportunities to cultivate themselves through religious, calligraphic, and literary pursuits. Chapter six turns to the other end of the social spectrum: the religious practices of the ruling elite of the mid-­eighth c­ entury. It uses a case study of the transcription of three texts sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光明子 (701–760)44 in 748—­the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life ( Jiuhu shenming jing 救護身命經), Yijing’s 義淨 (635–713) translation of the Golden Light Sutra ( Jinguangming zuishengwang jing 金光明最勝王經), and Scrip­ ture on Brahma’s Spirit Tablets (Guanding fantian shence jing 灌頂梵天神策經)— to reevaluate the po­liti­cal nature of ritual in ancient Japan. By understanding that kings and queens lived in a world in which they ­were haunted by ghastly attacks and answered to celestial kings who threatened to punish the impious, I ­w ill suggest that rulers ­were compelled to cultivate virtuous conduct or risk punishment in accord with the cosmological schemes they 43. For a useful state-­of-­t he-­f ield survey of the past and ­f uture of microhistorical studies, see Magnússon and Szíjártó 2013. Also see Ginzburg 1993. 44. I ­w ill refer to her as Kōmyōshi throughout this book. This name appears in a colophon to the 5/1 canon discussed in chapter four, so we know that she used this designation to refer to herself. In the Shoku Nihongi, she is generally referred to by her title alone.

Introduction 21

themselves promoted. Both chapters maintain that ritual was not merely an expressive tool employed to justify po­l iti­cal authority; Buddhist ideas ­were an authoritative force that structured codes of conduct. Rulers and scribes alike ­were subject to disciplinary regimes defined in part by Buddhist norms.

Sources Sutra copying is almost certainly better documented in the Nara period than it is in any other historical context or geographic setting. For sources, this study ­w ill most frequently utilize scriptorium documents and colophons to sutra manuscripts, both discussed below. Quotations from didactic tales and Buddhist scripture that circulated in early Japan also appear regularly. ­These illuminate some of the narratives and cosmologies that informed the worldviews of the Nara period. References to official chronicles, l­egal codes, literary anthologies, and excavated wooden slips containing writing complement the above sources by providing additional context and supporting evidence. The structure of the book can be understood in part by the types of data used. While each chapter, especially the first, is fairly eclectic and combines many of the above sources, chapters two and three focus mostly on colophons to sutra manuscripts, and chapters four through six delve deeply into an archival collection of scriptorium documents that was discovered in a structure commonly known as the Shōsōin 正倉院. The Shōsōin documents are the most significant source for the study of sutra copying in ancient Japan and represent an uncommonly rich archive that deserves more attention.45 As Wayne Farris (2007, 402), in one of the few surveys of the collection in En­glish, has noted, “the size and complexity of this hodgepodge of documents is unique in the world.” Part of ­these documents’ specialness stems from their relatively large number while covering a fairly narrow scope of activity. The Shōsōin corpus contains more than ten thousand handwritten documents from the eighth c­ entury, spanning a period of less than eighty years.46 They primarily relate to a single institution: the Office of Sutra Transcription, the history of which ­w ill be outlined in detail in chapter four.47 In comparison, t­ here are only 45. The best overview of the Shōsōin documents is easily Sakaehara 2011b. Also see Yamaguchi Hideo 2014a for a succinct overview and Nitō 2014 for a recent collection of state-­of-­the-­field, historiographical, and methodological essays. Farris 2007 is the best survey in En­glish. Another helpful En­glish language overview is Inokuchi 2009. 46. Since many of the earliest documents w ­ ere only preserved b ­ ecause they w ­ ere reused at the scriptorium, as discussed below, it should be noted that the sutra-­copying documentation covers an even shorter period of fifty years (727–776). 47. ­T here are a number of documents related to the construction of the t­ emple Ishiyamadera 石山寺 as well, though t­ hose are likely included in the archive b ­ ecause Ato no Otari 安都雄足 (n.d.), who served as an administrator at both the Ishiyamadera Construction Office and the Office of Sutra Transcription, brought the documents with him back to Nara ­a fter the construction of Ishiyamadera. See Okafuji 1985, 22–32.

22 Introduction

about 4,600 au­t hen­t ic manuscripts from France between the years 600 and 1120. The Dunhuang collection from a cave complex in western China has justifiably received a g ­ reat deal of attention, but its forty thousand manuscripts span a period of more than five centuries and cover a wide breadth of types of materials.48 And while some documents from the famous Cairo Genizah may go back as far as the eighth ­century, its contents are primarily from the eleventh c­ entury and l­ater. 49 The fact that the Shōsōin contains more than ten thousand documents mostly from one institution dating to a relatively narrow time period allows scholars to dive into an early premodern archive with unusual depth. The phrase “Shōsōin” originally referred to the grounds on which a number of store­houses once stood, about three hundred meters northwest of the ­Great Buddha Hall at the ­temple Tōdaiji in Nara.50 But it now commonly indicates the primary—­a nd only surviving—­structure originally called the Shōsō, a raised floor, log cabin style building that likely dates to the 750s (see fig. 1). “Shōsō” is a generic term for the main store­house of a large ­temple or government office. At Tōdaiji, the Shōsō stored a collection of trea­sures, including donations by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi and materials used in rituals at Tōdaiji in the eighth ­century, objects that attract hundreds of thousands of visitors annually for an exhibition held at the Nara National Museum each fall. The Shōsōin also contains a collection of documents unrelated to the more famous trea­sures but central to the chapters that follow.51 The Office of Sutra Transcription produced ­these documents while administering a bureaucratic scriptorium. They include items such as ledgers recording the receipt of paper, pay reports, requests for rations and other bud­getary items, rec­ords of the productivity of laborers, workers’ missives for time off, and many other kinds of memoranda. The Shōsōin corpus provides unparalleled insight into the life and culture of a scriptorium. It offers economic historians data on the cost of goods and the pay of staff. Social historians utilize t­ hese materials to learn about the daily lives of unranked laborers. They also provide glimpses into po­liti­cal history through references to court factions and the ideological uses of Buddhism by the rulers. Thus they represent a unique source for scholars of religion, although few in Buddhist Studies in and out of Japan have mined them for information about the structure of the canon, the circulation of texts, and ritual practices related

48. ­T hese two comparisons are both taken from Farris 2007, 402–403. 49. I have learned much about the Cairo Genizah from conversations with Phil ­L ieberman. 50. Research on the Shōsōin trea­sures is voluminous. For a useful and readable history, see Sugimoto 2008. 51. ­T here are a small number of documents directly related to the trea­sures and their upkeep, but ­t hese have a dif­fer­ent origin and are not considered Shōsōin documents in the narrow sense. For an overview of the contents of ­t hese, see Sakaehara 2011b, 21–30, and Farris 2007, 398–403.

Introduction 23

Figure 1. The Shōsō at Tōdaiji. The Shōsōin documents related to sutra copying ­were stored in the central section of the structure. Courtesy of the Imperial House­hold Agency.

to transcription. ­These are just some of the many pos­si­ble uses for this archival collection.52 As promising as the Shōsōin documents may be, their complex history has made their use a nontrivial challenge for con­temporary scholars. A glance at this history ­w ill give some insight into the ways the documents figure in subsequent chapters. The eighth-­century administrators of the scriptorium prepared and disposed of documents as needed. Sometimes they would use clean paper to create a ledger or other rec­ord, writing on ­either a single sheet or a scroll of sheets glued together. Other times they gathered paper from what can perhaps be called the recycling bin (hogo bako 反古箱), taking sheets as needed. 53 This recycling bin included documents produced within the scriptorium, such as old ledgers and requests by scribes for time off, as well as ­t hose composed outside the Office of Sutra Transcription. Some of the latter had a direct connection to the scriptorium. For example, a letter sent by a monk from another t­ emple asking to borrow a text may end up in the recycling bin ­after the request was fulfilled. But other types—­k nown collectively as official documents (kumon 公文), including 52. An early promising and much-­cited work by Ishida Mosaku ([1930] 1966) perhaps best shares the spirit of this book in that it too used Shōsōin documents to conduct research into Buddhist history, whereas most subsequent scholarship on ­t hese sources has been primarily interested in social, economic, and po­liti­cal history. But Ishida’s book was published before Dai Nihon komonjo (discussed below) was completed and at a time when understanding of the Shōsōin was poor, so it must be used with caution. 53. For more on the so-­called hogo bako, see Sakaehara 2011b, 185–187. Although Sakaehara uses the term hako (box or bin), he notes that it could just as easily have been a shelf or a corner.

24 Introduction

tax ledgers, census rec­ords, and ration requests by outside bureaus such as the one that this introduction opened with—­were unrelated to the scriptorium. ­These ­were received as recyclables intended for reuse from the outset. Administrators would take t­hese internal and external documents from the recycling bin, turn them over, and reuse them. Sometimes they would simply recycle an individual sheet. Other times, they would take assorted documents, glue them together into a completely new scroll, and then write on the verso. The documents, therefore, ­were constantly jumbled and reor­ga­nized at the scriptorium. The Office of Sutra Transcription closed its doors in 776. It is unclear how this collection of scrolls comprising the administrative documents of the Office of Sutra Transcription ended up in the Shōsōin alongside the more famous trea­sures. The best hypothesis at pres­ent is that the documents ­were moved to the Shōsōin when a store­house for the Tōdaiji Construction Agency (Zō Tōdaiji shi 造東大寺司), the umbrella or­ga­ni­za­t ion that oversaw the Office of Sutra Transcription, was damaged. In any event, more than ten thousand documents remained in the Shōsōin in the form in which they had been left over a millennium ago, u ­ ntil they w ­ ere rediscovered in the nineteenth ­century. As mentioned, Shōsōin documents had been frequently cut apart and reassembled, altering their “original” state by the time they ­were stored in the eighth ­century. Unfortunately, ­matters became more complex ­a fter their rediscovery. Hoida Tadatomo 穂井田忠友 (1791–1847), an antiquarian scholar and poet, began work on the Shōsōin collection in the 1830s. His interest was in collecting seals and the so-­called official documents (the aforementioned kumon). For this reason, he peeled apart and sometimes cut out sections from the existing scrolls and pasted them into new ones based on his proclivities. To his credit, he often fixed narrow white sheets of paper between individual fragments, which now function as invaluable clues for con­temporary scholars trying to reassemble the collection to its pre-­Hoida configuration. The work of modern scholars starting with Hoida created the current configuration of the archive. Altogether, Hoida completed a collection of forty-­f ive scrolls known as the “collection proper” (seishū 正集), composed of the texts he had peeled or cut and reassembled.54 Subsequent researchers working on the collection at Asakusa Bunko 浅草文庫 in Tokyo between 1875 and 1882 continued his pattern of peeling apart scrolls and pasting them together into new configurations. This resulted in the creation of fifty new scrolls known as the “continued compilation” (zokushū 続修), forty-­three scrolls of the “continued compilation, further collection” (zokushū kōshū 続 修後集), and fifty scrolls of the “continued compilation addenda” (zokushū besshū 続修別集). All of t­ hese ­were composed of sections taken out of the scrolls as they ­were found in the 1830s and pasted together into new scrolls. In 54. I have used the En­glish translations of t­ hese collections provided by Farris 2007, 406 and 409–410.

Introduction 25

addition, the 440 scrolls and two books of “the further continued compilation” (zokuzokushū 続々修) are essentially what was left ­behind ­a fter the documents ­were peeled apart—­t hough since so much was removed, ­t hese are not in their “original” order ­either. Another group of thirty-­nine scrolls and three books, known as “trash” ( jinkai 塵芥), is composed of documents severely damaged due to moisture. Fi­nally, a small number of documents have left the Shōsōin and are scattered in collections around the world.55 ­Because of this complex history, almost all Shōsōin documents are no longer in their original form, and many are often two times removed, since they ­were reor­ga­nized both in the eighth ­century and then again in the nineteenth. It is the job of con­temporary scholars to put this ten-­t housand-­ piece puzzle back together. ­Because of concerns about preservation, access has been limited to very few, consisting of a handful of scholars employed at the Shōsōin Office of the Imperial House­hold Agency, the institution that maintains responsibility for the collection; a small team of researchers at the Tokyo Historiographical Institute, who have conducted annual surveys (chōsa 調査); and employees at the National Museum of Japa­nese History, who are producing replicas. Like the vast majority of Shōsōin scholars in Japan, I have not personally handled a Shōsōin scroll, though I have viewed some at museum exhibitions. Fortunately, publications in recent years have included cata­logs and photographic reproductions that have enabled renewed vigor in Shōsōin studies.56 ­These photographic reproductions are the primary way that I and most other scholars access the documents. This book is the first English-­language monograph to take advantage of t­ hese new materials to engage in research using the Shōsōin corpus. Shōsōin documents, however, are not the only manuscript source available for the study of transcribing scripture. Sutra manuscripts themselves represent a second source that w ­ ill appear frequently on the pages that follow. The difference between the two sources is that Shōsōin documents are administrative texts that rec­ord the workings of a scriptorium, and sutra manuscripts are the scriptures produced by vari­ous scriptoria and other more informal organ­izations. In addition to almost 1,500 Nara-­period scrolls in the Shōgozō 聖語蔵, a sutra repository managed by the Imperial House­hold Agency that is now adjacent to the Shōsōin, vari­ous ­temple, university, and museum collections contain hundreds if not thousands of eighth-­century manuscripts, as well as over ten thousand Heian (794–1185) 55. For ­t hese, see Kokuritsu rekishi minzoku hakubutsukan 1992. 56. The photographic reproductions appear in Shōsōin komonjo eiin shūsei and Shōsōin monjo zokuzokushū (microfilm). For the cata­log, see Tōkyō Daigaku Shiryō Hensanjo 1987–. In addition, most of the documents are published in print editions in Dai Nihon komonjo (vols. 1–25), but this collection is incomplete, further disrupts the order of the original documents, and contains numerous transcription and other errors. It is an invaluable resource, but it is always necessary to consult the photographic reproductions. For an overview of ­t hese sources, see Sakaehara 2011b, 51–79. Also see the webpage edited by Lowe and Mayo, “Guide to Shōsōin Research.”

26 Introduction

and Kamakura-­period sutra manuscripts that derive from lineages based on eighth-­century editions.57 ­These manuscripts originate from assorted geographic regions throughout Japan. Their colophons provide rich information into the beliefs and social organ­izations of patrons and scribes outside courtly circles—­topics to be addressed in chapters two and three. In many cases, colophons to sutra manuscripts are the only reference to a par­tic­u­lar historical figure, and for this reason they represent an invaluable but still underutilized source for social and religious history. Sutra manuscripts extant in Japan also preserve texts that ­were proscribed from the canon but copied in large numbers in premodern East Asia, including one at the center of chapter six. The manuscript sources outlined above, together with additional evidence from tales, official chronicles, ­legal codes, literary anthologies, and excavated sources, provide a more complete picture of Buddhism’s role in ancient Japa­nese society and an intimate portrayal of ritualized writing, a topic to which we are now ready to turn.

57. For an English-­language overview of Buddhist manuscript sources in Japan, see Lowe 2014a, which this paragraph summarizes.

PART ONE Ritual Practices

1

Merit, Purity, and Ceremony

The śrāmaṇera Muro 牟婁 was of the Enomoto clan. He was self-­ordained and had no [clerical] name. Since he was from the Muro district in the Kii province, he was called the Novice of Muro. He lived in Arata village in Ate district. He shaved his head and wore a kaṣāya while following a lay life, maintaining an occupation to support a ­family. He made a vow to purely transcribe one copy of the Lotus Sutra in accord with the [correct] method. Completely by himself, he copied it and each time he urinated or defecated, he washed himself and purified his body. From when he went to his woven mat for transcription, six months passed and at last he finished cleanly copying it. A ­ fter the dedication ceremony, he put it in a lacquered leather chest. . . . ​ —­Rec­ords of the Numinous and Strange from Japan

In this excerpt from the Nihon ryōiki,1 a novice named Muro regularly purifies his body while copying scripture. ­A fter six months of ­labor, he conducts a ceremony to conclude the proj­ect. While this marks the completion of the ritual, the story does not end h ­ ere. A fire erupts in Muro’s home, leaving nothing in its wake except for the sutra and its box. The narrator explains that a guardian deity rescued ­these objects by shielding them from the flames, and the text came to be marveled at throughout the land. The deity saved the object in part b ­ ecause it was a piece of canonical Buddhist lit­er­at­ure thought to generate merit, the benefits and blessings gained through pious acts. Kyōkai 景戒 (late 8th–9th cent.), the compiler of Rec­ords of the Numinous and Strange from Japan, interpreted this occurrence in ­these terms: “How exalted! [This man] of the Enomoto clan with deep faith accumulated merit through copying the scripture of the single vehicle; 1. Nihon ryōiki III.10; SNKBT 30:143. The full title is Rec­ords of the Numinous and Strange from the Realm of Japan [Demonstrating] Retribution in This Life for Wholesome and Evil [Acts] (Nihon koku genpō zen’aku ryōiki 日本國現報善悪靈異記). I ­w ill use the abbreviated title Rec­ords of the Numinous and Strange from Japan throughout this study. For translations of the Nihon ryōiki, I have consulted Kyoko Nakamura 1973 and Watson 2013, although all translations remain my own ­unless other­w ise noted.

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guarded by this deity, a protector of the dharma, from the flames a numinous omen appeared.” But Kyōkai also viewed the ritual practices conducted by Muro as significant to the marvelous results, citing a Chinese case in which a scribe bathed before copying the Lotus Sutra and even breathed through a bamboo pipe to avoid defiling the text with his breath as an analogous phenomenon.2 As we ­w ill see in this chapter, Kyōkai and ­others saw ritual acts related to purity and dedication ceremonies as means to enhance the merit generated through copying scripture. This chapter w ­ ill use the tale of Muro as a springboard to explore three ways that East Asian Buddhists understood and practiced ritualized writing. First, Kyōkai’s tale attributes an instrumental quality to sutra transcription. For pious patrons and prac­t i­t ion­ers, the very act of copying Buddhist scripture created merit capable of evoking numinous response. This merit could be used for purposes such as saving deceased ancestors or protecting the realm. Second, scribes prepared their bodies for transcription through a range of purification practices. Like Muro, sutra copyists throughout East Asia bathed before picking up a brush, but they also often abstained from meat, donned pure garments, and, at least in Japan, avoided contact with defilements stemming from death and illness. Fi­nally, patrons held dedication ceremonies at the conclusion of a sutra-­copying proj­ect, often on calendrically significant days corresponding to periods when heavenly kings ­were thought to descend from the slopes of Mount Sumeru to observe ­human be­hav­ior. It was at ­these ceremonies that patrons would bestow the merit they had created on o ­ thers. ­These features suggest that sutra copying was not mere transcription but ritualized writing, discursively and practically set apart from mundane jotting. As a ritualized practice, sutra copying contained an ethical component. I introduced this observation in the introduction and ­will develop it further in this and subsequent chapters. Rather than treating ritualized writing as a symbolic system that conveys meaning, I ­w ill suggest that copying scripture functioned as a practice that provided a means for subjects to cultivate ­wholesome be­hav­ior in line with normative Buddhist standards of morality as outlined in Buddhist texts. As Stephen Berkwitz (2009, 44) has argued, “writing a text came to be seen as a method by which one could transform oneself into a more virtuous and fortunate being.” Primary sources support this interpretation: sutra transcription was deemed “­wholesome” or “morally good” (Skt. kuśala; Ch. shan; J. zen 善) and producing of merit (Ch. gongde; J. kudoku 功德).

2. The story cited by Kyōkai about a nun from Hedong first appeared in the Mingbao ji and was also included in a number of Chinese collections, as well as in the medieval Japa­ nese Konjaku monogatari shū (7:18; SNKBT 34:120). See Gjertson 1989, 45–46 and 50–52. For a translation of the Mingbao ji version, see Gjertson, 162–163. For the story in Chinese and Korean sources, see Fahua zhuanji (T 2068.51.85b– ­c), Ji shenzhou sanbao gantong lu (T 2106.52.428b–­c), Da Tang neidian lu (T 2149.55.340b), Fayuan zhulin (T 2122.53.486c), Hong­ zan fahua zhuan (T 2067.51.43b), Mingbao ji (T 2082.51:789a), and Pǒp’wagyǒng chip’ǒmgi.

Merit, Purity, and Ceremony 31

Participating in ritualized writing was a chance for scribes and patrons alike to live in accord with Buddhist ideals. It enabled them to spread the teachings of the Buddha, as the scriptures themselves instructed. Sponsoring sutra copying allowed lay Buddhists to fulfill one of their primary moral responsibilities: patronage. While patronage is seldom discussed in terms of ethics, the commissioning of Buddhist works constituted a form of piety, as expressed in the sutra lit­er­a­ture. In the case of sutra copying, even hiring ­others to transcribe a text represented a form of virtuous conduct. Patrons gained merit without lifting a brush. But ethical cultivation through transcription was not limited to patrons. For scribes, sutra copying provided an opportunity to engage in ritual practices with par­tic­u­lar attention to purification of the body and display of devotion. Some of the ethical implications for scribes w ­ ill be further developed in chapter four, but it should be remembered that many individuals responsible for copying texts—­including the novice of Muro, who kept a ­family but also wore robes with a shaved head—­not only demonstrated their devotion to sutras but held monastic aspirations as well. This chapter ­w ill argue that the ritualized practices of sutra copying ­were ways to constitute individuals as pious and pure. The choice to include China, K ­ orea, and Asia more generally in a book centered on Japan is stimulated in part by Kyōkai’s citation of similar, continental cases. Kyōkai, and ­those living in the Nara period, understood their lives as located within a cosmos where wondrous occurrences transcended the national borders scholars now use to delineate subfields in Buddhist studies. This is not to say that the idea of a nation is irrelevant. Kyōkai was explicit that his proj­ect was in part motivated to show that Japan had its own wondrous occurrences. While Kyōkai emphasized the fact that ­t hese events occurred in Japan, as evidenced by the title of the volume, Rec­ords of the Numinous and Strange from Japan, he also continuously and perhaps strategically referenced continental sources to show links with similar tales that appeared in other Buddhist lands. Following Kyōkai, in addition to more recent scholarship encouraging transnational studies, 3 this chapter ­w ill draw on narrative tropes and ritual practices from India to Japan to trace the broad contours of a widely shared religious culture. While most of the case studies in the following chapters focus on Japan, many of the conclusions and methods surely apply to other Asian contexts where ritualized writing was practiced, though the source materials are clearly richest in East Asia. Even so, relevant materials from Gandhara, Gilgit, and other sites suggesting pos­si­ble Indic pre­ce­dents w ­ ill be cited when available, as well as East Asian materials from places such as Dunhuang and the Korean peninsula.

3. For impor­t ant book-­length studies on the need to understand early Japa­nese Buddhism within a broad East Asian context, see Nakai 1995, Kawakami 2011, and Yamaguchi Atsushi 2013.

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Meritorious Writing In the Buddhist tradition, both in texts and in practice, reproducing scriptures constitutes a w ­ holesome or morally good act. Good acts such as copying sutras, according to the scriptures themselves, engender excellent rewards. This is best expressed in the notion of merit, a concept succinctly defined by John Kieschnick (2003, 157) as “the idea that t­ here is an invisible moral order governing the universe, and that ­under this system one is rewarded in this life or the next for good deeds, including the production of certain specified types of objects.” As we ­w ill see, merit created through deliberate actions of one’s own could then in turn be transferred to ­others, most commonly the deceased, an act that itself generated more merit. The precise dating of the origins of this idea of merit transference is subject to debate, but scholars generally agree that examples can be found in texts at least two thousand years old, clearly placing it within the Indic context.4 In East Asia, many Chinese and Japa­nese tales depict bureaucrats of the underworld in the act of recording meritorious and sinful deeds. On occasion, it was even thought that filing errors or cases of bribing the underworld officials could have karmic consequences, sometimes enabling sinners to be freed from a hellish fate. This suggests a shift from a universe governed by a system resembling the operation of natu­r al laws to one in which merit was managed in part by godly agents with decidedly ­human faults. ­These bureaucratic notions of karma ­w ill appear in some of the stories discussed below. Sutras commonly insist that their own reproduction constitutes one of the most meritorious and ­wholesome practices in the Buddhist world. For example, the Lotus Sutra reminds its audience: “If a person is able to hear this Scripture on the Dharma Blossom, if he writes it down himself, or ­causes an­ other person to write it, then the merit he s­ hall obtain w ­ ill be boundless, even if its quantity be mea­sured with buddha-­w isdom.”5 Devotees do not have to write the text themselves, let alone comprehend its meaning, according to this passage; having someone e­ lse write it is sufficient to produce an inconceivable amount of merit, a notion that other sutras mention as well.6 This belief was certainly consequential in ancient Japan, where we w ­ ill see that patrons seldom transcribed texts on their own but instead relied on hired hands. Participants in sutra transcription could expect to receive a number of rewards.7 For example, the blessings produced by copying scripture delineated in the Lotus Sutra include attaining ­great happiness; gaining virtues (Skt. guṇa; Ch. gongde 功徳) of the vari­ous senses; being praised, stroked, 4. For more on the antiquity of this concept, see Malalasekera 1967, Gombrich 1971, McDermott 1974 and 1980, esp. 190–192, Bechert 1992, and Schopen 1997, 36–44. 5. T 262.9.54b. Translation modified from Hurvitz 2009, 274. 6. For example, see the Daoxing bore jing, which also repeatedly promises merits for “having someone copy a sutra” (Ch. taren shi shu 他人使書); T 224.8.436c–437c. 7. For a good overview, see Kieschnick 2003, 164–176.

Merit, Purity, and Ceremony 33

and shielded by the Buddha; and achieving supreme perfect enlightenment (Skt. anuttara-­samyak-­saṃbodhi; Ch. anouduoluo sanmiao sanputi 阿耨多羅三藐 三菩提).8 The Lotus Sutra, as well as a host of other Mahāyāna works, assert that they are superior in part ­because of the types of benefits they bestow upon t­ hose who recite, transcribe, and worship each respective text.9 Tales circulating throughout East Asia among laity and monks, courtiers and commoners, similarly described wondrous occurrences caused by transcribing Buddhist scripture. In ­these stories, sutras emit radiant light, cause boxes to expand to fit them, become fireproof, cure illness, and provide salvation to t­ hose suffering in the underworld. To cite but one example of saving the deceased, John Kieschnick (2003, 169–170) mentions a Chinese story from a collection of tales about the Diamond Sutra in which a ­woman suffering in a hell of blades asks her s­ister to sponsor transcription on her behalf; for each scroll copied, a knife that had been piercing her is removed, and she is fi­nally released from suffering.10 In fact, patrons ­were quick to adopt the language of merit from canonical scriptures and tales, frequently employing t­hese terms in the prayers they affixed to manuscripts. A fairly typical example from a Dunhuang colophon appears in a copy of the Lotus Sutra dated to 688 and sponsored by aw ­ oman identified as the wife of Wang Lin 王琳: “With t­ hese merits (gongde), [the wife of Wang Lin] ­w ill aid and benefit (ziyi 資益) ­t hose endowed with spirits (hanling 含靈).”11 Nara-­period dedications employed almost identical language, as illustrated by a prayer sponsored by the aristocrat Ishikawa no Ason Toshitari 石川朝臣年足 (688–762), a figure we w ­ ill return to in other chapters: “With t­ hese merits (kudoku), [Toshitari] ­w ill aid and benefit (shi­ yaku 資益) the deceased spirit (bōrei 亡靈)” (NCS, plate 19; Tanaka Kaidō 1973, 38). The difference between t­ hese two passages is essentially a single character; Toshitari speaks of deceased spirits, while the wife of Wang Lin offers the merit to sentient beings, referred to as ­those “endowed with spirit.” Similar statements are found in a generic fashion in other dedications from Dunhuang and ancient Japan, as well as in South Asian materials such as Sri Lankan palm leaf manuscripts.12 This points to a broad pan-­A sian understanding of sutra transcription in terms of merit, one recorded repeatedly in colophons. The characters that I have been interpreting as merit—­功德, composed of two graphs (Ch. gongde; J. kudoku) perhaps best rendered “accomplished 8. For happiness, see T 262.9.58b (Hurvitz 2009, 295); for virtues of the senses, see T 262.9.47c–50a (Hurvitz 2009, 242–253); for praised, stroked, and shielded, see T 262.9.61c– 62a (Hurvitz 2009, 308); for supreme perfect enlightenment, see T 262.9.30c (Hurvitz 2009, 160). 9. For more on ­t hese broad strategies in Mahāyāna Buddhist texts with a par­t ic­u ­ lar focus on the Lotus Sutra, see Cole 2005. 10. The original story appears in Jin’gang bore jing jiyan ji 金剛般若經集驗記; Z 87:457b–­c. 11. S 791. The manuscript has Lin Wang 琳王 with an inversion mark indicating the need to reverse the characters. 12. For Sri Lankan materials, see Berkwitz 2009.

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virtue”—­were used to translate a variety of Sanskrit terms,13 all sharing positive connotations associated with virtuous conduct and karmic advantage. Although few Buddhists in East Asia would have read Sanskrit, they would have encountered ­these characters in a range of texts and would have been able to gain some sense of their semantic range within the broader Buddhist scriptural tradition. In some cases gongde was used to translate guṇa, a generic term meaning quality but one often used with a positive connotation of good quality. Gongde also signified kuśalamūla, which means ­wholesome roots, and refers to noble actions that ­w ill grow into fine rewards. Another similar term that was rendered gongde is anuśaṃsa, literally reward or benefit, which fits well with the idea that sutra transcription brought rewards to patrons. Fi­nally, and perhaps most impor­tant, t­hese characters w ­ ere used to translate puṇya, a term often translated as merit.14 The concept of puṇya itself has a broad semantic range, but for our purposes the most relevant notion is the idea that ­wholesome actions evoke good fortune and blessings, which can be transferred to o ­ thers. More concretely, the merit gained from such actions not only brings a variety of this-­worldly benefits such as healing from illness and protection from disasters, but leads to salvation from suffering—­a ll notions that appear in tales and colophons. In addition to “merit,” patrons employed a variety of related terms in their prayers. For example, in dedicatory prayers appended to Dunhuang and early Japa­nese manuscripts, patrons frequently speak of the “­wholesome act” (zengō 善業) or “­wholesome cause” (zen’in 善因) that they in turn “rely on” to bless the beneficiaries of their prayers.15 ­Here, the cause or act refers to transcription. Drawing on karmic theory, the character for act translates karma, a term that literally means volitional action. As used in colophons, t­ hese terms equate sutra copying with morally good volitional actions. This usage is paralleled in a plant meta­phor, commonly seen in Nara-­period prayers, that describes how “­wholesome roots” (zengon 善根)

13. Other meanings of gong include glory, achievement, success, and skillful. The second character of the compound, de, often translated as virtue, moral charisma, or power, represents one of the most impor­tant concepts in Chinese moral philosophy. For a comparison of the meaning of de in Laozi and the Analects, see Ivanhoe 1999. For a useful overview of the Sanskrit words translated as gongde, see Sakurabe 1977. 14. Some recent scholarship has proposed karmic fruitfulness as an alternative translation. Scholars arguing against merit include Barbra Clayton (2006), L. S. Cousins (1996), and Peter Harvey (2000). They claim that merit has unfortunate associations with “deserving” or “being entitled” and point out that ­t hese meanings are absent from the early lit­er­a­t ure and wrongly imply that a ­human agent is needed to determine what should be deserving. While I agree with many of their objections, the awkwardness of phrases such as “dedication of karmic fruitfulness” has led me to adopt the standard and widely understood translation of merit. 15. For ­wholesome acts, see NCS, plate 5; NI, 611. For ­wholesome cause, see NCS, plate 1; SK 1755; S 2791 and 3054.

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planted through copying scripture bear “superior fruit” (shōka 勝果).16 For example, another prayer by Toshitari states that he “hopes to plant the fruit [that comes] from good c­ auses (ryōin 良因)” (NCS, plate 18; NI, 615). In all of ­t hese cases, it is the copying itself that generates merit. ­T hese terms “­wholesome acts,” “­wholesome cause,” and “­wholesome roots” share the common Chinese character of “shan/zen.” The character is frequently rendered simply as good, a translation that is acceptable but suffers from vagueness; it also lacks a clear connection to ethical conduct, a meaning that is central to the term in many Buddhist and pre-­Buddhist sources. I translate it as w ­ holesome to capture both senses of an action that is inherently good and that is conducive to an individual’s moral cultivation. ­These senses appear in both Indic Buddhist and pre-­Buddhist Chinese texts. In the Buddhist tradition, this character was used to translate the Sanskrit kuśala, a term with a range of meanings including intelligent, good, w ­ holesome, and skillful.17 Acts that are described as kuśala are conducive to awakening or positive rebirth and also expressive of superior spiritual states—­those who are enlightened behave in a ­wholesome manner. In other cases, it means something closer to skillful: in the words of Barbra Clayton (2006, 70), “the capacity to do something well.” Moreover, w ­ holesome acts are precisely t­ hose that produce merit, so the concept of “­wholesome” conduct mentioned in ­these cases is closely connected to the notion of merit cited elsewhere.18 Translators of kuśala could have done far worse than choosing shan as an equivalent Chinese term. As Wiebke Denecke (2010, 214–217) has shown, early Chinese texts used shan to refer both to skillfulness and to moral goodness, the two main senses of kuśala. According to Denecke, the former usage as skillfulness appears frequently in the Laozi, while the latter connotation of moral goodness is common in texts such as the Analects and Mencius. In invoking the concept of “shan/zen,” patrons in East Asia drew on explic­itly ethical language linked to a concept of the good, but also with connections to acquired excellence. In calling sutra copying a w ­ holesome act, therefore, Buddhist texts asserted that it was a practice that could be cultivated and one that was in and of itself morally good. Precisely b ­ ecause the transcription of scripture was a w ­ holesome action, it was capable of engendering merit. The nature of ­these practices explains why so many tales attributed wondrous occurrences, such as the salvation from fire cited earlier, to copying scripture. 16. For ­wholesome roots, see NCS, plate 5; NI, 611. In numerous other prayers the term superior fruit, which refers to achieving Buddhahood, is used to express the desired outcome of the prayer. This meta­phor of w ­ holesome roots is also recorded in a fragmentary Gandhāran colophon that appears to be a prayer, where it is rendered kuśalamulena. See Baums 2014, 203. 17. For an overview of the term kuśala, see Cousins 1996 and Clayton 2006, 67–72. 18. Melford Spiro (1982, 98) long ago pointed out that notions of virtue (kuśala) and merit (puṇya) are tautological. Also see the thoughtful discussion in Keown 1992, 122–123, which argues they are dif­fer­ent aspects of the same action.

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As Kyōkai noted in the Muro tale, it was the novice’s accumulation of merit that caused the guardian deity to appear. Buddhist texts, therefore, functioned as the ­causes of apparent miracles and the means of self-­cultivation precisely ­because their transcription was believed to be ­wholesome and meritorious.

Pure Transcription While transcribing a Buddhist text was thought to create merit in and of itself, many patrons took additional precautions to ensure the “pure” (Ch. qingjing; J. shōjō 淸淨 or Ch. jiejing; J. ketsujō 潔淨) reproduction of manuscripts. As I have argued in detail elsewhere, acts related to removing defilement, cleansing the body, and upholding ­wholesome conduct ­were understood in relation to concepts of purity in both China and Japan prior to the introduction of Buddhism. At the same time, Buddhism brought its own notions of purity to bear, shaping the discursive sphere of East Asia. To summarize my findings, purity, in ­ these diverse traditions, generally has both a negative quality—­namely, the absence of bodily defilement and the avoidance of physical acts and ­mental states that hinder spiritual pro­gress—­and a positive one, of engaging in practices conducive to enlightenment and ritual efficacy.19 Purity, as sources to be discussed below w ­ ill show, was closely connected to notions of merit and sin. Purely copied works w ­ ere particularly conducive to producing wondrous responses and offering salvation to the suffering. Impurely copied works not only threatened the empowerment of the manuscript but could also, in extreme cases, bring death to the scribe. The very fact that impurity provoked karmic punishment demonstrates that it was considered a moral transgression. As Kurosu Toshio (2004) has argued in depth, upholding purity was considered a virtuous act in ancient Japan; impure conduct could lead to punishment in this life and the next, while pure conduct brought rewards. Purity and defilement w ­ ere tied to karmic conceptions of virtue and vice and punishment and reward that accorded with the basic logic of the universe. The connection between purity and danger is not simply symbolic, a feature famously emphasized by Mary Douglas (1966), but also part of a broader discourse on practice. Within the Buddhist tradition, texts speak of purity in terms of both ritual efficacy and w ­ holesome conduct. In a canonical Buddhist tale that was known in eighth-­century Japan, a practitioner named Vimala (Ch. Wugou 無垢)—­a name that in Chinese translation literally means without defilement—­proves his purity by levitating in the air (Da baoji jing 大寶積經, T 310.11.596c–597a). He achieved this wondrous feat precisely b ­ ecause of his purity; had he not been pure, he would have lacked spiritual powers. In 19. For a more sustained argument on purity in both Buddhist and pre-­Buddhist contexts and the citation of relevant sources, see Lowe 2012a and 2015. Some of the following draws on ­t hose published pieces.

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addition, many sutras connect upholding purity to the bodhisattva path. For example, in the Mahā-­prajñā-­pāramitā-­sūtra (Ch. Mohe bore boluomi jing 摩訶般若波羅蜜經), the Buddha explains, “Through pure body and mind (Ch. shenxin qingjing 身心清淨), one can transcend the stage of the voice-­ hearers and the pratyeka-­buddhas and enter the rank of the bodhisattvas” (T 223.8.340a). ­Here, purity is not limited to ­wholesome ­mental states but also represents a bodily practice. In other early Mahāyāna texts, lay bodhisattvas are advised to maintain purity (Ch. jingjie 淨潔) by avoiding alcohol and sexual intercourse (e.g. Banzhou sanmei jing 般舟三昧經, T 418.13.910b). The ultimate Mahāyāna goal of becoming a bodhisattva was achieved through the cultivation of pure physical and ­mental states. To borrow the words of Talal Asad, the inability to advance on the bodhisattva path was at least partially “a function of untaught bodies” (1993, 77). As we w ­ ill see, the fact that upholding purity at once ensured ritual efficacy and provided a means of cultivation is central to understanding how scribal practices produced ritually efficacious sutras and helped pious copyists advance on the monastic path. Aside from t­ hese general notions of purity in the Buddhist tradition, Gregory Schopen (2009, 204) has translated evidence that suggests the possibility of Indic pre­ce­dent for the par­t ic­u­lar practice of upholding purity while reciting scripture. The relevant passage appears in a manuscript of the Ratnaketuparivarta from Gilgit: What­ever ­woman would want a son, by her, ­after having bathed, ­after having put on new clothes and being chaste, ­a fter having honored this book with flowers, perfumes, garlands and unguents, ­a fter she herself had mounted a seat perfumed with vari­ous perfumes and covered with vari­ous spices, this Ratnaketudhāranī must be read (vācayitavya). She ­w ill come to be one who obtains a son. (emphasis mine)

The text stresses practices related to bathing, donning new robes, and avoiding sexual conduct prior to recitation. All of t­hese practices w ­ ere valued for sutra copyists in eighth-­century Japan. In the cited passage, the concern is with reading rather than writing, but it seems well within reason to speculate that identical practices may have occurred in preparation for copying texts in South and Central Asia. Matthew Kapstein (1995, esp. 247–252) has identified many similar practices performed in preparation of the manufacturing of cloth paintings known as paṭa in the Buddhism of the Pāla period in India and Tibet, again suggesting pos­si­ble pre­ce­dents west of China and Japan. In East Asia, the evidence for a “purity” discourse regarding transcription appears widely in diverse sources: colophons from Dunhuang suggest that ­whole canons ­were copied “purely,” scriptorium documents from the Shōsōin rec­ord a range of practices related to purity, and tales that circulated in collections compiled in China, Silla, and Japan frequently describe

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sutra copyists “purely” transcribing scripture.20 ­T hese tales are a useful place to start b ­ ecause they established ideal transcription practices, which ­were also carried out on the ground, as is vis­i­ble through manuscript and documentary evidence to be discussed below. In ­these tales, pure transcription refers to some combination of the following: meat and alcohol avoidance, ­water ablutions and bathing, sexual abstinence, wearing white clothes known as pure garments ( jōe 淨衣), upholding precepts, and transcribing scripture in sanctified spaces. Many of ­t hese practices also appeared in the Gilgit Ratnaketuparivarta quoted above. T ­ hese assorted acts, some with more obvious Indic Buddhist pre­ce­dents than ­others, share a concern with ritually cleansing the body and avoiding ­t hings considered defiling prior to copying scripture. Some tales explic­itly connect pure transcription with wondrous occurrences. One story, which was reproduced repeatedly in Chinese collections and also appears in one Silla compilation of tales, dramatically demonstrates the distinction between purely and impurely copied texts. In this story, set in 631 CE, a man named Linghu Yuangui 令狐元軌 deci­ded to copy three sutras: the Lotus, Diamond, and Nirvāṇa. ­A fter securing the sources and copying them while maintaining purity “in accord with the correct method,” he brings them back to his hamlet, where he keeps them with a copy of Laozi: Suddenly b ­ ecause a fire from outside spread, the hall returned to grass [having been burned to the ground] and at once, it was all ashes. At that time, Gui was serving as the magistrate of Fengyi county 馮翊縣令. He ordered his ­house servants to clear away the ashes and search for a gilt bronze roller. When they cleared away the ashes and unrolled the scriptures, they ­were exactly as they had been [before the fire]. The color of the dyed paper had not changed. Only the box and case had turned to ash. Then they searched for Laozi. It had been completely incinerated. They gathered up all the scriptures. At that time, among ­t hose who heard or saw this, ­t here was not a single person—­whether from near or far of the village—­who did not gasp in awe at this unusual ­occurrence. On the single scroll of the Diamond Prajñā Sutra, the title characters had been charred black. Upon inquiring into the reason for this, it was [learned] that when first copying the title of the scripture, ­t here was a provincial official who was skilled at calligraphy, and this person ate vari­ous foods, did it in a hurry, and did not maintain purity. He simply inscribed the title and then left right away. For this reason, it was burned. This person [Gui] is alive and the auspicious scripture is also extant. The head of Ximing ­temple 西明寺 in

20. For colophons on the purely copied canon, see BD 14496, N 069, and P 2056. For Chinese tales, the sutra-­copying chapters of Hongzan fahua zhuan, T 2067.51.42b–47c and Fahua zhuanji, T 2068.51.80a–87c are particularly helpful sources that contain many narratives about upholding purity. For Chinese tales that circulated in Silla, see Pŏp’wagyŏng chip’ŏmgi.

Merit, Purity, and Ceremony 39 the capital looked into this thoroughly and witnesses explained it as such. (emphasis mine)21

In the tale of Linghu, sutras copied purely became fireproof, a common trope that also appeared in the Muro story. On the other hand, the section transcribed by the meat-­eating title copyist burned. Ritual practices changed the very substance of the texts. While the narrator fastidiously pointed out the unique capabilities of Buddhist texts—he could not resist mentioning that the Laozi was completely incinerated—­t he story also suggests that par­tic­u­lar ritual practices related to upholding purity are needed to fully empower the words of the Buddha and create the merit necessary to provoke a wondrous response. The differences, however, are relative: while a non-­Buddhist text is completely destroyed, an impurely inscribed Buddhist one only suffers from charring, and purely transcribed scrolls become fully fire resistant and emerge completely unscathed. The idea that only non-­Buddhist texts burn points to the well-­k nown mythic tale of the origins of Buddhism in China, when the Han emperor Ming is said to have tested Daoists (daoshi 道士) and Buddhists by inviting them to ignite their sacred texts. In this polemical account, the Daoist works w ­ ere reduced to ash, signaling a Buddhist victory.22 ­These stories fit the polemical nature of narrative recently highlighted by Robert Campany (2012, 38) in that they are best understood as “argu­ ments against rival positions, and . . . ​attempts to persuade readers.” In the tale of Linghu Yuangui, the narrator crafted a strong hierarchical argument for the special nature of Buddhist texts vis-­à-­v is other forms of scripture and made additional claims for the unique powers imbued in purely transcribed Buddhist works. It is both the pure copying and the intrinsic quality of Buddhist scripture that create empowered texts. ­There is ample evidence that patrons and scribes throughout East Asia found ­t hese arguments convincing. Dunhuang manuscripts show that sutra copyists in China purified their bodies before copying scripture in ways that closely parallel the narrative lit­er­a­ture, as evidenced by the following colophon to a seventh-­century manuscript of the Vimalakīrti Nirdeśa Sūtra (Weimo jie jing 維摩詰經): A disciple burned incense and summoned the sutra copyist Zhu Lingbian 朱令辯 from afar. [The scribe] diligently upheld the abstinential precepts (Ch.  zhaijie 齋戒), bathed with fragrant ­water, donned pure garments, and stayed in a quiet chamber practicing the path at all times. (N 066)

21. I have relied primarily on the version in the Fayuan zhulin, T 2122.53.421a–­b, and have also consulted Ji shenzhou sanbao gantong lu, T 2106.52.428a–­b, Da Tang neidian lu, T 2149.55.340a, Hongzan fahua zhuan, T 2067.51.45a, Fahua zhuanji, T 2068.51.83b–­c, and Pŏp’wagyŏng chip’ŏmgi. 22. For this narrative, see Da Tang neidian lu, T 2149.55.220b.

40

Ritual Practices

The fact that the patron sought out a scribe “from afar” suggests the copyist may have had a reputation for his abilities both calligraphic and perhaps ritual as well. Of course, the colophon itself may pres­ent an idealized version, and t­ here is no means to tell if the scribe truly upheld the precepts or practiced the path at all times. But acts such as bathing and wearing special robes prior to copying are, as we ­w ill see, well documented for early Japan, and it seems reasonable to conclude that they w ­ ere practiced on the ground in China, particularly in light of how common such accounts are in Chinese texts. At the very least, this colophon provides further evidence that the best scribes w ­ ere idealized as individuals who like Muro w ­ ere interested in and perhaps reputed for upholding exemplary Buddhist conduct. Evidence for similar practices on the Korean peninsula are scant, but one Silla colophon documents ritualized writing in unparalleled detail. This text, inscribed at the end of a copy of the Flower Garland Sutra in the idu 吏讀 transcription method for writing in Korean, dates to 754–755.23 The relevant section reads: The method for making the sutra was as follows: first, fragrant ­water was scattered around the roots of a paper mulberry tree to make it grow. ­A fter that, the bark was peeled and the peeled bark was boiled. The paper-­making specialists, the sutra copyists, the sutra roller artisans, buddha and bodhisattva-­image artists, and attendants all received the bodhisattva precepts and observed abstinence. For the above ­people, a­ fter urinating or defecating, lodging, or eating, they purified by washing in fragrant w ­ ater before returning to their place of work. At the time of copying, ­a fter [the copyists] ­were each adorned with purified items such as new pure garments, trousers, undergarments, arm protectors, caps, and heavenly caps, two azure-­clad youths held up consecrated ­needles.24 Also, when the azure-­clad boys appeared, four musicians together performed m ­ usic. Also, one person scattered fragrant ­water among the pro­cession. Also, one person held up flowers and scattered them among the pro­cession. Also, one dharma master held up a censer and led [the pro­ cession]. Also, one dharma master chanted Buddhist hymns and led [the ­pro­cession]. Each one of the sutra copyists held up incense or flowers and mindfully progressed rightward. Upon reaching the site, they performed the three refuges and three prostrations and made offerings to the buddhas, bodhisattvas, the Flower Garland Sutra, and so on. ­A fter that, they ascended to their seats and copied the scripture. When they made the sutra roller and made the images of buddhas and bodhisattvas [on the frontispiece], the purifica23. An image of the colophon appears in Chin et al. 1991, 176. My translation has substantially benefited from an annotated Japa­nese version by Kimura Makoto, as well as the earlier En­glish translation by Peter Lee, though I depart in places from their interpretations; see Lee 1993, 201, and Kimura 2004, 271–278. Also see Endō 2016, 525–526. 24. This phrase “consecrated ­needles 灌頂針” is obscure. Lee has skipped it altogether in his translation, suggesting instead that the azure-­clad youths consecrated the copyists. Kimura has read it as a single phrase, an interpretation I have followed. If so, it may refer to the needle used to sew the aforementioned garments.

Merit, Purity, and Ceremony 41 tion methods w ­ ere the same as above with the exception of the youths, musicians, and the like. A single śarī [relic] was placed inside the roller.25

This Silla colophon shares much in common with the Chinese sources examined above, as well as Japa­nese ones to follow. It mentions new pure garments and fragrant ­water. It also stresses a variety of purifications, including ­t hose ­a fter urination and defecation as described in the Japa­nese Muro tale at the beginning of this chapter. Moreover, workers upheld precepts, a feature that again suggests some dedication to practice. In this case, the elaborate ritual procedures extend beyond copying to include the preparation of the materials as well. Whereas Dunhuang and Silla manuscripts only provide occasional glimpses into ­these purificatory practices, Shōsōin documents offer a wealth of evidence. For one, regularly produced ration rec­ords at the Office of Sutra Transcription show that scribes and other laborers at this institution observed a vegetarian diet and avoided the five pungent roots forbidden in texts such as the Brahma’s Net Sutra (Ch. Fanwang jing 梵網經).26 As the tale of Linghu showed, eating meat could undermine the efficacy of the ritual. Since avoiding meat had both ritual27 and ethical components 28 related to purity, upholding vegetarianism in the context of scripture copying would have served the patron’s interests in producing purely copied efficacious manuscripts and provided the scribes a chance to train their bodies in accord with monastic ideals. As we w ­ ill see in chapter four, many scribes at the scriptorium aspired to ordination. Upholding a pure lifestyle was a core requirement for official recognition as a monk. Bathing and ablutions represent other ritual components of scribal life that appear regularly in tales. Early rec­ords show that scribes at the Office of Sutra Transcription ­were issued loincloths for bathing (mizufundoshi 水褌). Moreover, the scriptorium contained a bath­house (yuya 湯屋) where 25. Relics w ­ ere found in the crystal caps on the rollers, when the manuscript was discovered. 26. This was first pointed out in Ishida [1930] 1966, 204. For one document that details the diets of scribes, see DNK 13:284–317 (ZZS 8:19). More exhaustive studies can be found in Ishida [1930] 1966, 210–214, and Sekine 1969. Lists of the five pungent roots vary, but a ninth-­century Japa­nese ­legal commentary of the Sōniryō cites a frequently referenced list from the Brahma’s Net Sutra, as well as other texts. See Ryō no shūge, KT 23:221–222 and Fan­ wang jing 梵網經, T 1484.24.1005b. 27. Temporary prohibitions against meat eating w ­ ere often ordered to improve agricultural bounties, cure members of the imperial f­amily suffering from illness, and respond to calamities such as droughts and plagues. For the general connection between agriculture, ritual, and meat avoidance in early Japan, see Taira 1997; Harada 1993, 70–83, and 2000; and Hirabayashi 2007, 168–223. In En­glish, see Grumbach 2005, 72–81. For abstention from meat at par­t ic­u­lar ritually impor­t ant moments in early China, see Sterckx 2011, 30–34. 28. Buddhist discourse on the ethics of consuming meat is complex, but the form of Buddhism that entered Japan lauded vegetarianism as an ideal and strongly associated it with purity. For my thoughts on this issue, see Lowe 2012a, 212–213. Roel Sterckx (2011, 30) also mentions that abstention from meat was connected to morality in early China. For the best treatment of the historical origins of Buddhist vegetarianism in China, see Greene 2016.

42

Ritual Practices

wood was provided daily to heat the w ­ ater.29 Other rec­ords show that at a time when repairs and improvements ­were being made to the scriptorium in preparation for a new proj­ect ­after a year’s hiatus from copying, facilities for washing took on urgency; the earliest documents from this period of construction enumerate materials received to complete work on an ablutions fa­cil­i­t y (chōzusho 手水所) and a bath­house (DNK 16:517–520 [ZZS 4:18]). In some cases, the start of a sutra-­copying proj­ect could undergo delays due to inadequate bathing facilities, as was the case with a proj­ect to copy the Mahā-­prajñā-­pāramitā-­sūtra at Ishiyama-­dera in 762, which was put on hold ­until the bath was completed.30 ­These examples highlight the centrality of bathing to ritualized writing. Transcription could not occur without a bath. ­A fter bathing, scribes at the Nara scriptorium put on pure garments (items that frequently appear in tales and ­were mentioned in the Dunhuang and Silla colophons described above; see fig. 2). Sutra copyists received t­ hese when they started their employment at the Office of Sutra Transcription.31 They would wear them for the duration of their time at the scriptorium. In this way, the vestments marked them as individuals engaged in ritualized writing.32 Moreover, some took time off from work to wash garments that had become “defiled” (e’e 穢衣), a reference that does not appear to simply mean soiled in an ordinary sense, as scribes ­were granted leave to wash ­t hese robes, sometimes for as long as five days.33 One reason to read this reference to defiled laundry as having ritual implications stems from the fact that defilement discourse affected scribal life at the scriptorium in other ways. In par­tic­u­lar, defilement stemming from contact with illness and death similarly caused scribes to miss work, a point made explicit in a pair of petitions sent by laborers. The following document, 29. For the bath­house, see DNK 15:66 (ZZS 10:7 verso). Rec­ords show firewood was provided for daily baths; for example, see DNK 2:187–190 (ZSKS 31:6–9) and 18:19 (ZZS 39:1 verso). The frequency of baths is significant, b ­ ecause commoners and elites alike at this time w ­ ere unlikely to have bathed daily. For the loincloths, see Sekine 1974, 158–159. Sekine notes that ­t hese loincloths only appear in documents dating up to 739 and argues that bathing may have been characteristic of the early scriptorium. The other evidence suggests that baths continued ­a fter the loincloths dis­appeared. 30. For the delays related to the construction of the bath, see Lowe 2012a, 214–215, and 2015, 97–98. This and all subsequent references to this text refer to the six-­hundred scroll version entitled Da bore boluomiduo jing 大般若波羅蜜多經. 31. Early discussions of pure garments can be found in Ishida [1930] 1966, and Kishiro [1932] 1982. For the best study, see Watanabe 2016. Pure garments continued to be worn by scribes in the medieval period. For this, see Komatsu 1976, 207. 32. For the rule, see DNK 17:607 (ZZS 20:2 verso). Watanabe (2016, 319–328) has shown that this rule was not always followed, and scribes often took their garments with them ­a fter completing a proj­ect, though they typically returned them if they had to leave in the ­middle of a proj­ect. 33. For the case of a scribe requiring five days to wash defiled robes, see DNK 4:347 (ZS 20:2). For other documents on washing defiled garments, see 6:288 (ZS 20:14), 17:573–574 (ZZS 39:2 verso), 18:542 (ZZS 3:8:2:8 verso), and 20:56–57 (ZZS 39:4 verso). Watanabe (2016, 321–322 and 329–330) interprets the laundry’s requiring a long time as simply due to the time-­consuming nature of the pro­cess, rather than being connected to defilement.

Merit, Purity, and Ceremony 43

Figure 2. Pure garment (jōe 浄衣) of hemp cloth. This upper garment likely ­belonged to an assembler named Kume no Ietari 久米家足. The brown stains are from the dye used in preparing sutra-­copying paper (Watanabe Yōko 2016, 303). The Shōsōin Trea­sures, courtesy of the Imperial House­hold Agency.

authored by a scribe, Ashiura no Tsugute 葦浦繼手, explaining an absence from the scriptorium, shows concerns over impurity stemming from illness: Petition (kei 啓) Humbly [Submitted] by Ashiura no Tsugute. Regarding Why I Have Not Gone to Work for So Long. With regard to the above m ­ atter, starting on the twenty-­f irst day of the seventh month, t­ here was an illness in my h ­ ouse­hold. Every­one, both young and old, was bedridden and t­ here was no one left to go h ­ ere and t­ here. Only with trepidation did I not go [to work]. However, from this month, on the eighth or ninth day, [their illness] appeared to abate a l­ ittle. Now, as is necessary, once I have finished cleaning and ritually purifying (kansen shite, harau 浣洗解 除) my ­house, I ­w ill return to work. So, I have recorded this letter and sent it with my son Otsutsugu 乙繼. Respectfully submitted. On the fifteenth day of the eighth month of the fifth year of Hōki [774]. (DNK 22:589 [ZZS 40:3 verso])

The sutra copyist cited the need to purify his home ­a fter encountering illness as a reason for missing work. The exact means by which he would do this is unclear, but it appears to have involved cleaning or washing (kansen 浣洗) and ritual purification or expulsion (harae or kaijo 解除) in addition to an avoidance period.34 34. The characters 解除, which have a strong sense of expulsion, are frequently glossed as harai/harae. The harae in and of itself is often secondary to the avoidance period. It appears that the harae was often performed at the end of the avoidance period before returning

44

Ritual Practices

A similar petition submitted by a scribe in 770 or 771 shows that contact with death could be used as a reason to request time off from work. This document breaks off mid-­sentence as it was cut to be reused on the other side, but it is obvious from the title, form, and content that it reports death defilement as the reason for an extended respite from work.35 Petition (ge 解) by Ōyake no Warashi 大宅童子. Regarding the Reason for Not ­G oing [to Work] Younger s­ ister of the same last name with the first name of Yamonko (?) 屋門子, Age 51 The above-­mentioned person [the ­sister] had a serious illness since the end of last month and passed away on the thirteenth day of this month. Starting at this time, I am urgently (?) fearful of defilement (kegare wo awatadashiku osore haberu 穢忽恐侍) so for a twelve-­d ay period, I hope to aid/cross/extinguish (?) . . . ​(DNK 17:561 [ZZS 39:1 verso])36

The document cuts off ­here, so it is difficult to fully decipher. But it is clear that death caused the scribe to miss at least twelve days of work out of concerns with defilement. T ­ hese fears w ­ ere not limited to scriptoria; numerous sources including tales, l­ egal codes, and edicts recommended avoiding illness and death in advance of participating in Buddhist rituals and state ceremonies.37 ­These ideas about avoiding contact defilement extended beyond sutra copying to broader notions about ritual in ancient Japan. The petitioner missed work not simply from sorrow but due to ­these ritual concerns. The scribe’s fear of defilement is perhaps justified, given narratives about the dangers of impurely copied scripture circulating at this time. As the following story of Tajihi 丹治此 the scrivener from Rec­ords of the Numi­ nous and Strange from Japan reveals, transcribing a text in a defiled state could trigger punishment of the impure scribe. This tale begins by noting that Tajihi had been invited to copy the Lotus Sutra in 771 at a place called Nonaka Hall 野中堂 and continues by describing the preparations:

to one’s regular duties. For more on this concept, see Yamamoto Kōji 1992, 164–185; Jayne Sun Kim 2004, 180–187; and Kushiki 2014, 149–176. 35. Despite the fragmentary character of the document, it is pos­si­ble to date it, as it was reused on the verso in 3/12/771. We can assume that this document dated originally from 770 or early 771, as the paper for such requests for time off ­were typically reused soon ­a fter being submitted. 36. I have followed the kundoku and annotations of Nara joshi daigaku 2005, 114. ­Because the document is cut off, the character that I translate as “aid/extinguish/cross” is difficult to interpret. Another possibility is that the final character 濟 reflects a transcription error for 齋 ( J. sai), which refers to abstinential practices. 37. For t­ hese sources, see Lowe 2015, 104–106, and Ooms 2009, 253–266. For a helpful recent discussion of the development of defilement discourse in Japan, see Kushiki 2014, 271–303.

Merit, Purity, and Ceremony 45 A group of w ­ omen gathered ­there and added pure ­water ( jōsui 淨水) to the ink for copying the sutra. In midafternoon, clouds gathered and rain fell. All entered the hall to escape the rain. Since the back of the hall was small and narrow, the sutra copyist was in the same place as the ­women. ­Here, the sutra copyist’s lecherous heart kindled and he squatted b ­ ehind the ­woman’s back, lifted up her skirt, and began to fornicate. As soon as his Māra penetrated her vagina, they died together in embrace.38 But the ­woman died foaming from the mouth. (Nihon ryōiki III.18; SNKBT 30:154–155)

The narrator explic­itly connected the source of Tajihi’s demise with impurity: “clearly it is known that this was punishment inflicted by the guardian of the [Buddhist] law. Even if the fires of lust flame up in one’s body and heart, one should not commit a defiled act (egyō 穢行) based on a lustful heart” (Nihon ryōiki III.18; SNKBT 30:155). A l­ ater version of this tale is even more explicit in declaring that such dirty thoughts have no place in copying scripture: To think about this, even if a scribe gives rise to a mind full of lust and feels that it is burning his heart, he should stop thinking ­t hese thoughts while he is copying scripture. . . . ​They truly received punishment for their crimes of defiling a t­ emple and not believing in the scripture. (Konjaku monogatari shū 14:26; SNKBT 35:331)

In another medieval Japa­nese tale, a scribe’s sexual misconduct and meat-­ eating tendencies resulted in the copyist and his patrons being summoned to hell.39 The danger from impurity ­here is quite real; impurely copied scriptures w ­ ere ritually compromised and could exert grave effects on both the patron and the scribe.40 The moral discourse of ­wholesome conduct, therefore, extended to notions of purity. Impurely transcribed sutras did not bring the full benefits of w ­ holesomely copied texts.

Dedication Ceremonies Ritualized writing did not end with transcription. A ­ fter completing a pious act such as commissioning a statue or copying a text, it was de rigueur to hold a dedication ceremony (kuyō 供養), where the merit would be directed to beneficiaries. The dedication was itself considered a meritorious practice, an idea of some antiquity in the Buddhist tradition. The under­ lying logic is that the giving of merit constitutes a positive karmic act, 38. Māra, the infamous demon king, is frequently used as a euphemism for penis in Buddhist texts. 39. See Konjaku monogatari shū 14:29 (SNKBT 35:333–338) and Uji shūi monogatari 8:4 (NKBT 27:244–245). I have discussed this tale in Lowe 2015, 101–102. 40. This also evokes Richard Gombrich’s (1966, 24–25) description of a Sri Lankan craftsman who performed ceremonies and avoided taboos to avert the possibility of encountering evil before painting the eye in a consecration ceremony for a Buddhist image.

46

Ritual Practices

­ ecause it is motivated by a w b ­ holesome m ­ ental state. The ceremony, therefore, functioned as an opportunity to create further merit for the patron; in this way, it too was connected to Buddhist ideas of ­wholesome conduct. ­These rites are cited frequently in a range of tales circulating in China, Silla, and Japan and are further evidenced by colophons from Dunhuang and Nara. Although it is difficult to piece together their exact nature, they likely included an opening address (hyōbyaku 表百), followed by the reading of the prayer and a lecture on the dharma (Tanaka Norisada 2006, 27–28). Many ­were accompanied by abstinential practices, eulogies in cases of memorials for the deceased, and the recitation of scripture, all acts mentioned in Nara-­period colophons.41 Special structures w ­ ere sometimes built on ­temple grounds to hold t­ hese ceremonies, and transcribed sutras w ­ ere usually placed in ­temples following the dedication.42 In one case, a canon was moved to a t­ emple for dedication in a pro­cession with forty-­eight p ­ eople carry­ing chests and other attendants joining with perfumed ­water and incense. Some of the incense was marked explic­ itly for perfuming the sutras.43 Moreover, participants ­were also issued masks, an object that would have protected the sutras from their breath, which was thought to be defiling in the Buddhist tradition.44 This scene is reminiscent of the 754–755 Silla colophon that cited individuals sprinkling perfumed ­water in front of a pro­cession of copyists who carried incense prior to copying the scripture, though in this Japa­nese case the pro­cession occurred ­a fter the transcription was completed. Patrons throughout the Buddhist world carefully selected the dates for dedication ceremonies, as evidenced by striking parallels that emerge when colophons of Dunhuang and Nara scrolls, as well as Gandharan inscriptions, are compared. Paul Magnin (1987, 138–141) examined 677 Dunhuang manuscripts and found that 31 ­percent correspond to the first, eighth, fifteenth, and twenty-­t hird of the month, the four most pop­u­lar days, and ones that accord with cycles of the moon. Of the ninety dates I have found listed in Nara-­period manuscripts (­here defined as 710–794), ­these four days of the month are also the most common, occurring in 36 ­percent of

41. For example, see NCS, plates 22, 71, and 72; NI, 616 and 638. National histories rec­ ord abstinential practices accompanying dedication ceremonies. For example, see Nihon sandai jitsuroku 10/29/886; KT 4:620. For stories, see Nihon ryōiki III.35; SNKBT 30, 183. 42. For this, see Endō 2001. For a colophon that describes depositing a text in a ­temple, see NCS, plate 20; NI, 616. Also see the passage in the Nihon kōki, which rec­ords sutras being copied, recited, and then enshrined in provincial ­temples throughout the realm. Nihon kōki 1/18/809; KT 3:81. 43. Endō 2016, 527–529. 44. For the masks, see Watanabe 2016, 307. As noted above, a Chinese story depicts a scribe breathing through a bamboo pipe to avoid defilement, and the cover image of this book, which is a ­later repre­sen­t a­t ion of a twelfth-­century sutra-­copying proj­ect, portrays a scribe wearing a mask. Masks also appear to have been a part of the nyohō kyō practices to be discussed below; for example, see Nyohō kyō genshu sahō, T 2730.84.892a–896c, and Mon’yōki, “Nyohō kyō,” 11:676a. I would like to thank Mike Jamentz for this final reference.

Merit, Purity, and Ceremony 47

­Table  1 Most frequently occurring days in Nara-­ period and Dunhuang manuscripts

Day

Number and percentage of occurrences in Nara mss.

Number and percentage of ­occurrences in Dunhuang mss.

15

9

10 %

70

10.3%

8

8

8.9%

50

7.4%

23

8

8.9%

41

6.1%

1

7

7.8%

47

6.9%

30

5

5.6%

7

1 %

29

4

4.4%

17

2.5%

14

4

4.4%

19

2.8%

the total corpus.45 Another 14 ­percent of all Nara manuscripts refer to the ­fourteenth, twenty-­ninth, and thirtieth of the month (see ­table 1).46 The full moon would occur on the f­ ourteenth or fifteenth, depending on the month, and months ended on e­ ither the twenty-­ninth or thirtieth. As we w ­ ill see, all of ­these dates that correspond to key points in the lunar cycle have ritual implications. In fact, they represent part of a widespread Buddhist culture with likely Indic roots, as the dates in Nara and Dunhuang colophons parallel ­those found in Kharoṣṭhī dedicatory inscriptions from Gandhara, which also tend to cluster around the first, the eighth, the full moon in the ­middle of the month, and the twenty-­t hird.47 45. I have omitted two canon-­copying proj­ects from my calculations: the Kōkaku proj­ ect and the Zenkō seal proj­ect. For some of ­t hese manuscripts, the dates do appear significant; as Katsuura Noriko has shown, a number of the Kōkaku texts correspond to the Buddha’s birthday, but most of the dates on the manuscripts seem to simply reflect the day that the text was transcribed at a scriptorium that was constantly producing scrolls. For this reason, most of the manuscripts for ­t hese canon-­copying proj­ects contain dif­fer­ent dates, unlike other canons such as the 5/1 canon, which has a single date inscribed on all scrolls. I also excluded dates that explic­itly describe proofreading, as I have found l­ ittle evidence that proofreading practices w ­ ere ritualized. Other­w ise, I have tried to be as inclusive as pos­si­ble by incorporating any dates I found from colophons of sutras listed in NCS, NI, and Tanaka Kaido 1953 and 1973 into a database I created. Manuscripts for which multiple copies exist from a single proj­ect bearing the same date, such as the Ketaji scrolls to be discussed in chapter three, have been only counted once for the entire proj­ect rather than for each individual manuscript. For more on the 5/1 canon and the date in the colophon, see Lowe 2016. For Kōkaku and the Buddha’s birthday, see Katsuura 2000, 353–354. For the best overview of the Zenkō canon, see Yamashita 2001. 46. This total is much higher than that for the Dunhuang manuscripts, only about 6 ­percent of which fall on the f­ ourteenth, twenty-­ninth, and thirtieth. 47. See Brough 1961, 520–522, and Salomon 2012, 187. I would like to thank Richard Salomon for introducing me to t­ hese inscriptions from Gandhara.

48

Ritual Practices

When we look at a smaller and perhaps more significant set of data, the importance of ­t hese days becomes even more apparent. In colophons that contain prayers rather than an isolated date, more than three-­quarters of all dated Nara texts fall on the above-­mentioned days. Since prayers w ­ ere likely read aloud at dedication ceremonies, the dates in ­t hese manuscripts almost certainly mark such an occasion. On the other hand, the dates that appear in colophons without prayers may simply refer to the day a text was copied at a busy scriptorium and do not necessarily hold significance; for this reason, the smaller data set is likely the most useful for our purposes of analyzing the calendrics of dedication ceremonies.48 Both data sets, however, point to a similar pattern of a shared subset of dates. It should be noted that in some cases ­t hese colophons ­were added ­a fter the fact—­ they often rec­ord the date a par­t ic­u­lar ceremony took place rather than revealing any information about the ­actual time of the manuscript’s production. The reason that ­these dates appear more frequently than o ­ thers is that they correspond to abstinential periods (Ch. zhai; J. sai 齋). T ­ hese include both the poṣadha (translated into Chinese as zhai and transliterated as pusa [J. fusatsu] 布薩), which occurred four times a month, as well as the related practice of six abstinential days (Ch. liu zhairi; J. rokusainichi 六齋日).49 Dif­ fer­ent texts list dif­fer­ent days, but all the dates are connected to the aforementioned quarterly lunar cycle. All of the most pop­u­lar days in Dunhuang and Nara sources correspond to some version of ­these abstinential holidays. In fact, it may be that rather than following a par­t ic­u­lar text’s definition of abstinential days, patrons selected dedication ceremonies in accord with phases of the moon, a hypothesis that warrants further research. Beyond individual days, 13 ­percent of Dunhuang manuscripts date to the fifth month, the highest total for any month. For Nara, 16 ­percent date to the fifth month, which is also the most frequently occurring by far. The fifth month is significant b ­ ecause it was one of the three months of pro48. In addition, some dates found in colophons likely correspond to memorial rites performed on behalf of the deceased. For example, Kūkai purportedly authored a ganmon for a forty-­n ine-­d ay rite tied to a sutra-­copying proj­ect; see Seireishū (Shōryōshū), NKBT 71:347–348. Ishikawa no Toshitari also mentions a “taboo day” (kinichi 諱日), a term that refers to the anniversary of someone’s death, in a prayer commissioned for an unidentified beneficiary. For this, see NCS, plate 18; NI, 615. 49. The precise identity of which canonical festival days Buddhist patrons had in mind is unclear. Vari­ous texts give dif­fer­ent dates for sets of four or six days, though they all roughly follow quarterly cycles of the moon. For a detailed study of t­ hese dates in vari­ous Indic texts, see Pu 2013, 151–160. Rec­ords from Tōdaiji note that Mahāyāna poṣadha (daijō fusatsu 大乗布 薩) are to be held on the ­fourteenth and twenty-­ninth of each month and that Hīnayāna poṣadha (shōjō fusatsu 小乗布薩) should be held on the fifteenth and thirtieth of each month. See Tōdaiji yōroku, 122, and 334–337. A ninth-­century commentary on eighth-­century Japa­ nese ­legal codes defines the six abstinential days as the eighth, ­fourteenth, fifteenth, twenty-­ third, twenty-­ninth, and thirtieth. See Ryō no gige, KT 22:333. The connection of dedication ceremonies to poṣadha has been noted by scholars of Kharoṣṭhī inscriptions as well; see Brough 1961, 522, and Salomon 2012, 187.

Merit, Purity, and Ceremony 49

longed abstinence (Ch. changzhai; J. chōsai 長齋 or Ch. san changzhai yue; J. sanchōsaigatsu 三長齋月). 50 During ­t hese days and months, ­people would confess sins, engage in abstinential practices, take on additional precepts, and invite monks to preach.51 It was a time to cultivate oneself through pious practice. ­These dates ­were also chosen for several reasons related to ritual and cosmology. The most impor­tant motivation for holding dedications at ­these times stems from ideas connected to the cult of the four heavenly kings. This cult w ­ ill be discussed in some detail in chapter six, but at pres­ent it is sufficient to note that, in both China and Japan, the Buddhist faithful believed that the four heavenly kings and their messengers would descend to earth to inspect the activities of sentient beings on specific days corresponding to abstinential periods (Hureau 2010a, 1218).52 ­These celestial beings would then file reports to Indra regarding the be­hav­ior of h ­ umans. ­Those who behaved poorly ­under the watchful eyes of the heavenly kings risked punishment including shortened lifespans, numerous hardships, and bad rebirths. The virtuous, on the other hand, w ­ ere rewarded with extended lifespans, divine protection, and fortuitous f­uture lives (Sørensen 1995, 54). The four heavenly kings represented part of the audience of the ritual and further added to the ethical dimension of the practice. 53 Etymological explanations by the Chinese monk Daoxuan 道宣 (596– 667) in his seminal commentary on the Four Part Vinaya, a text that appears to have been read in ancient Japan, point to another set of reasons why patrons may have chosen ­these days to perform merit-­making acts such as dedication ceremonies. Daoxuan provides two definitions of poṣadha: abiding in pure precepts and increasing merit.54 Daoxuan’s first etymology related to purity—­a concept that we have already seen as closely connected to

50. The other prolonged periods of abstinence w ­ ere the first and ninth months, but sutra copying does not seem to have increased in ­t hese months. For an overview of months of abstinence, see Forte and May 1979. For a recent discussion in En­glish, see Ziegler 2001, 163–166. 51. For the practice in China, see Hureau 2010a, esp. 1213–1230, and Campany 2010. For Japan, see Minowa 1999a and 1999b and Ōkusa 2014, 13–22. 52. The locus classicus for this belief appears in the Si tianwang jing 四天王經, T 590.15.118b. ­T here is ­little evidence that the Si tianwang jing was widely read during the Nara period, but the relevant passage is quoted in the Da zhi du lun, which was one of the most commonly copied texts in eighth-­century Japan. See T 1509.25.160a. For more on the Si tianwang jing, see Sørensen 1995. For more on the history of this notion of inspections in China, see Hureau 2006, 93–92. For its appearance in texts of Indic origin, see Pu 2013, 160–164. 53. I would like to thank Rob Campany for helping me to think of the kings in terms of the audience for sutra copying more generally. 54. Sifen lü shanfan buque xingshi chao, T 1804.40.34b. This commentary was likely read in Japan, as we have rec­ords of its being transcribed as an in­de­pen­dent text. See DNK 10:377 (ZZS 16:1). Moreover, this very passage is quoted in a preface to a Nara-­period manuscript entitled Rites of Poṣadha for Laypeople (Ch. Zai jia ren pusa fa 在家人布薩法), which is currently in a private collection. See Ochiai 2014, 395–396.

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sutra transcription—­has been supported by modern philologists as well.55 The second etymology suggests that merit could be multiplied by performing pious acts on auspicious days, a definition that may explain why a variety of other ritual practices took place on poṣadha days, including translation, recitation, image consecration, and preaching.56 This idea that dedications enhanced the merit produced from the initial w ­ holesome act is alluded to in a tale from the Rec­ords of the Numinous and Strange from Japan in which a wealthy loan shark named Osada no Toneri Ebisu 他田舎人蝦夷 suddenly dies and suffers punishment in the underworld for having used differently weighted scales for making loans and collecting debts. A ­ fter six days of torture, three monks appear who reveal that the man transcribed the Lotus Sutra three times while alive. As we w ­ ill see below, it is common in stories for sutras to take the forms of monks who appear in hell to save their patrons. Notably, Ebisu only dedicated two of the three copies. When the merit created through his transcription is weighed on scales, the dedicated sutras appear on gold tablets, and the undedicated one, on iron (Nihon ryōiki III.22; SNKBT 30:159–161). The fact that gold, the heavier and more valuable metal, is used for dedicated sutras indicates that they are worth more in merit than undedicated ones. Although using uneven balances to loan rice brought Ebisu punishment, proper attention to Buddhist ritual tipped the karmic scales in his ­favor. The dedication ceremony affected the outcome of the ritual by altering the amount of merit gained by the sponsor. Just like upholding purity, dedication ceremonies served to augment the production of merit. Without a dedication, the ritual remained incomplete, and one Japa­ nese tale describes an undedicated sutra longing for ceremony.57 This story from the Rec­ords of the Numinous and Strange from Japan centers on a lay ­woman of deep faith who is summoned to the underworld ­because King Yama wishes to hear her melodious recitations. A ­ fter three days of chanting, Yama allows her to return to the h ­ uman realm. On her way home, she happens upon three men in yellow robes who say they are happy that they have encountered her a second time and ­w ill meet her once more in the market in three days. She travels to the market as promised, but the men do not appear. Instead, she finds a peddler hawking three scrolls. Upon un55. For example, see Nishino 1968 and Tatsuguchi 1997. 56. See Hureau 2006 and 2010b. In Japan, numerous Buddhist rituals occurred on ­t hese days. For example, an imperial decree ordered the Golden Light Sutra to be recited at all provincial t­emples on the eighth of each month. See Ruijū sandaikyaku 3; KT 25:108; Shoku nihongi 3/24/741; SNKBT 13:390–391. The eye-­opening ceremony at Tōdaiji was also originally scheduled for 4/8/752 (a day that in addition to being a poṣadha was also the Buddha’s birthday), although it actually took place on 4/9/752. The letter inviting Bodhisena to perform the ceremony notes that a “zhai” would be held to accompany the rite. See Tōdaiji yōroku, 46. Poṣadha ­were also described as being merit-­making practices in their own right; see Da zhi du lun, T 1509.25.159b. 57. The fact that sutras themselves w ­ ere thought to have needs and desires has been discussed in Eubanks 2011, esp. 42–61.

Merit, Purity, and Ceremony 51

rolling the manuscripts, she discovers that they are copies of two scrolls of the Brahma’s Net Sutra and one scroll of the Heart Sutra, which she previously transcribed. She soon realizes the three men she had encountered in the underworld ­were the sutras. As in the story of Ebisu, they appear in ­human form to communicate with her. In this story, the three men’s yellow robes correspond to the color of dyed sutra manuscripts, a feature that explic­itly marks ­these divine beings as manifestations of the texts. The narrator reveals that ­these three scrolls had been stolen before the protagonist could dedicate them, a prob­lem she remedies by purchasing them for five hundred mon 文 and holding a ceremony complete with dharma lectures. This is why the men stated that they had met before when they encountered her in the underworld, as they w ­ ere once her property (Nihon ryōiki II.19; SNKBT 30:90–92). H ­ ere, the sutras seek out their original owner, begging to be provided with a proper dedication. Tales promoted the practice of dedication by suggesting that merit could be enhanced through the ceremony itself and arguing that undedicated sutras desired dedications. Dedication ceremonies ­were also connected to East Asian notions of virtuous conduct as related to the obligatory repayment of debts. At the dedication ceremony, merit would be offered to a beneficiary, often to ­t hose whom the patron owed social debts. In many cases, dedicatory prayers cited “four debts” (Ch. si’en; J. shion 四恩). This term commonly appears in Japa­ nese dedications beginning in the seventh c­ entury.58 The frequency of its appearance and its use in vari­ous genres suggest that it was particularly impor­t ant in early Japa­nese Buddhist practice. Dif­fer­ent canonical texts translated into Chinese provide dif­fer­ent lists of what the four debts comprised, so the term’s precise meaning in the Nara period is difficult to discern.59 But while the makeup of the four debts varies from text to text, one debt common to all extant lists is that to parents. Patrons, in fact, most frequently single out the fulfillment of parental debts as the purpose of their prayers. ­T hese individuals include men and ­women from diverse social backgrounds and provinces as far away as Echizen.60 Debts to ­mothers and 58. For example, see the inscription to a Hōryūji mandorla of a small gilt bronze statue likely dated to 628; reproduced, transcribed, and translated in Walley 2013, 314–316 59. Sources that ­were extant in the Nara period offer two distinct groupings: ­mother, ­father, Tathāgata, and preachers of the dharma; or ruler, parents, monastic teacher, and donor ( J. dan’otsu 檀越). For the first list, see Zhengfa nianchu jing, T 721.17.359b. For the second list, see Sifen lü xingshi chao zichiji, T 1805.40.235b. A list of debts owed to the parents, ruler, sentient beings, and the three jewels came to be the most influential. This grouping is found in the Dasheng bensheng xindi guan jing, a text that dates to the late eighth ­century and did not enter Japan u ­ ntil the Heian period. See T 159.3.297a. For an overview, see Okabe 1979; Katsumata 1981, 209–218; and Kumazawa 1994. Even in the works of Kūkai, the four debts have multiple referents; see Katsumata 1981, 219–235, for an exhaustive study of Kūkai’s use of four debts discourse. In En­glish, Brian Ruppert (2000, 41–42 and 72–73 and 2001) has explored the issue of the four debts in medieval Japa­nese sources. 60. For some Nara examples of the four debts in colophons, see NI, 623 (the manuscripts recording this prayer ­were lost to flooding in 1953; for a study, see Gorai 1956); NI, 620; as well as Kyoto National Museum B kō 63; NCS, plates 30, 50, 52, and 66; NI, 618, 624,

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f­ athers w ­ ere viewed as especially deep; one ninth-­century Japa­nese collection of preaching materials (Tōdaiji fujumon kō, line 85) notes that they are the most difficult to repay of the four. As w ­ ill be discussed in the next chapter, filial piety has often been viewed as a defining feature of East Asian Buddhism, though t­ here is also significant evidence for ritual attention to parents in Indic Buddhist materials as well. Failure to square ­t hese debts with the merit gained from sutra copying and other rituals, much like neglect of purity, could bring punishment in this world and the next. For example, in a memorable tale from Rec­ords of the Numinous and Strange from Japan, a man named Miyasu 瞻保 turns his ­mother into a debtor by loaning her rice and demanding speedy repayment. His friends criticize him, citing Buddhist patronage, including sutra transcription, as an ideal means of displaying filiality t­ oward one’s parents: Good man, why do you disobey filiality? Some p ­ eople build t­emples, erect pagodas, construct [images] of the Buddha, copy sutras, and invite monks to engage in retreats on behalf of their m ­ others and f­ athers. Your h ­ ouse is wealthy and you are fortunate to have much rice to lend. Why do you go against what you have studied to be unfilial to your own ­mother? (emphasis mine)

The son dismisses t­ hese criticisms, but the m ­ other pleads with her son, baring her breast and exclaiming: When I raised you, I did not rest night or day. I see other ­children repaying their debts [to their parents]. I thought I could rely on you like ­t hese ­others, but instead you have shamed me and proven me mistaken. You even try to collect rice payments from me, so I too want to collect on milk debts. From ­today, I cut off our relationship as m ­ other and son. (Nihon ryōiki I.23; SNKBT 30:36–37)

Miyasu’s unwillingness to balance his karmic debts results in his losing all his possessions and fi­nally ­dying of hunger. As the narrator notes at the conclusion of the tale, “Sentient beings who are unfilial surely go to hell. ­Those who are filial are born in the Pure Land.” Part of the appeal of patronage in sponsoring sutra copying and other Buddhist activities stemmed from the desire to repay social debts, a central concern to Buddhists throughout Asia. Daoshi gave a w ­ hole chapter to the topic of debt repayment in his encyclopedic Pearl Grove of the Dharma Garden (Fayuan zhulin 法苑珠林; T 2122.53.663b–667c). The impetus ­toward repayment is perhaps best summarized in a passage from the Scripture on the Correct Dharma of the Foundation of Mindfulness (Zhengfa nianchu jing 正法 念處經): 625, and 637; and Tanaka Kaidō 1973, 79. The term also appears in the Nihon ryōiki; see tales I.35 and II.6; SNKBT 30:52–53 and 68–69. For the four debts in early Japa­nese sources, see Naitō 1954 and Nakabayashi 2007, 40–54.

Merit, Purity, and Ceremony 53 If ­t here is a person who makes offerings to t­ hese four types of person [­mother, ­father, Tathāgata, and preachers of the dharma], then he ­w ill attain immea­ sur­able blessings. In the pres­ent [world], he ­w ill be the object of praise. In the ­f uture world, he ­w ill be able to achieve bodhi. (T 721.17.359b)

Sponsoring sutra copying was meritorious in and of itself, but dedication ceremonies provided additional opportunities for merit making and ethical cultivation for the patron. As the stories discussed above reveal, dedication ceremonies completed and enhanced the ritual; dedicated sutras ­were more meritorious and undedicated ones sometimes sought out the sponsor. Moreover, holding a dedication ceremony following transcription allowed patrons to fulfill their social and moral responsibilities by ritually paying back debts incurred to ­t hose who had supported them. Transcription followed by dedication transformed the patrons into good sons and ­daughters.

Scriptures Copied in Accord with the Correct Method Before concluding, it w ­ ill be useful to meander for a moment to an analy­ sis of the phrase “in accord with the [correct] method” ( J. nyohō 如法) that is central to ­later notions of ritualized writing in Japan. This phrase has already appeared in the epigraph in reference to the manner in which Muro copied the text. In ­later times, the term nyohō would refer to a specific ritual practice that has been studied in detail by Kabutogi Shōkō, Nakano Chieko, and o ­ thers.61 From the late Heian period, the phrase “sutras copied in accord with the correct method” or nyohō kyō 如法經 came to mean the transcription of manuscripts following a basic three-­part ritual structure. In short, sponsors first ensured that the paper and other materials ­were produced in accord with standards of purity, then had the sutra purely transcribed following strict regulations, and concluded with an elaborate dedication ceremony. Although nyohō kyō copying is often credited to the monk Ennin, it actually emerged through a gradual pro­cess over a few centuries. As should be clear by now, many of ­t hese practices that w ­ ere ­later referred to as nyohō kyō ­were already well established in seventh-­century China (if not earlier) and eighth-­century Silla and Japan. But nyohō kyō as an identifiable and clearly demarcated concept only gained traction in the eleventh c­ entury, when the term began to be used with some frequency. Beyond the increased use of the word itself, a key difference between the earlier practices and the l­ ater ones stemmed from codification of the ritual in medieval sources. From the Kamakura period, for example, ritual manuals including the phrase nyohō kyō in the title appeared in Tendai and Pure Land lineages. T ­ hese texts outlined specific ritual procedures (sahō 作法 or shidai 次第) to perform as part of the nyohō kyō

61. See Kabutogi 1983, 3–143, and Nakano 2009, 118–133. Also see Dolce 2003, 225–227.

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copying.62 They represent the earliest extant manuals with specific instructions on how to ritually transcribe texts. This connection between codification and explic­itly sectarian practices is likely part of a broader trend to produce ritual manuals within sectarian lineages that is characteristic of the medieval age in Japan. ­These codes, however, ­were not pres­ent in the eighth ­century, which is why I have not referred to the practices outlined in this chapter u ­ nder the rubric of nyohō kyō, hoping thereby to avoid conflation with ­t hese ­later materials. Despite the relative paucity of the term compared to l­ ater sources, t­ here are some examples of nyohō and nyohō kyō in earlier materials. In fact, the term nyohō (Ch. rufa) in reference to sutra copying and the complete phrase nyohō kyō (Ch. rufa jing) appear in Chinese tales from the seventh and eighth centuries, respectively.63 ­These terms are also found in several Shōsōin documents, but the context of t­ hese references is often unclear or the term is used in a way almost certainly unrelated to a par­tic­u­lar copying procedure.64 ­T here are, however, two elusive but promising sets of Shōsōin documents. Three documents use the phrase nyohō kyō to refer to a set of the Lotus (in eight complete copies), Golden Light (in two copies), and Flower Gar­ land Sutras (one set each of the sixty-­and eighty-­scroll versions) and ornamental items related to ­these scrolls.65 This par­tic­u­lar nyohō kyō set was sent from a site known as the Chinu Palace 珎宮 in Izumi 和泉 in 752. The Office of Sutra Transcription received ­these manuscripts as source texts from which to copy another set of sutras.66 While the fine materials related to ­t hese texts suggest that they w ­ ere of some importance, extant documents say nothing about pos­si­ble ritual procedures. It is unclear if nyohō kyō in this case has the same meaning it would take on in subsequent periods, and ­t here is no reason to assume that it did. The second set of documents from 760 regard a figure known as Oharida no Toshitari 小治田年足 (n.d.).67 ­These documents rec­ord activities he engaged in, including the construction of a nyohō in 如法院, a chapel grounds for nyohō. Oharida no Toshitari would go on to serve as an administrator at the Office of Sutra Transcription, but as Yamashita Yumi has argued, t­ hese documents rec­ord his activities in his previous role as an administrator at the Office of Woodworking (mokkō sho 木工所).68 The 62. For example, see Mon’yōki, “ Nyohō kyō,” 11:626–721, Nyohō kyō genshu sahō, T 2730.84.890a–898a, and Jōdo sanbukyō nyohō kyō shidai, 370–372. 63. For some examples, see Kabutogi 1983, 3. 64. For example, a scribe requested a replacement brush ­because, due to its poor quality, it did not copy in accord with the way it should (fusha nyohō 不寫如法). See DNK 22:389 (ZZS 31:5 verso). 65. For t­ hese three, see DNK 12:287 (ZZS 15:8), DNK 3:601 (ZZS 37:4), and DNK 12:340 (ZZS 37:5). 66. For this proj­ect, see Sakaehara 2011a, 4–12. 67. For this set, see DNK 14:394 and 25:270–271 (both in ZZS 18:6). 68. Yamashita 1999c, 166–167 and 299. This nyohōin as well as a second one appear in ­later Tōdaiji rec­ords as well. See Tōdaiji yōroku, 112–113.

Merit, Purity, and Ceremony 55

documents speak briefly to architectural features of the building, such as the use of cypress bark for the roof, but they say nothing of the structure’s function or connection to nyohō-­style copying. A slightly l­ ater rec­ord, composed by the monk Jicchū 実忠 (726–­?) and preserved in the twelfth-­century Essential Rec­ords of Tōdaiji (Tōdaiji yōroku 東大寺要録), describes a copy of the canon being enshrined in a nyohō dō 如法堂 or Hall in Accord with the Correct Method at Tōdaiji. Sixty monks and nuns would perform rituals of recitation while circumambulating the structure day and night for a period of twenty-­seven days e­ very spring and autumn from 767 through 773 for state protection.69 From this evidence, it is clear that the term was occasionally used in the Nara period in reference to sutra manuscripts, but usage is limited to one set of scriptures and a structure where ritual acts related to sutras ­were performed. Given the substantial evidence for sutra copying in the Nara period and the relative paucity of the term nyohō in eighth-­century materials, it seems reasonable to conclude that the concept of nyohō was not a common one in the Nara period. For this reason, I would suggest that we avoid the “retrospective fallacy” of trying to apply ­later models of nyohō kyō to understand eighth-­century Japa­nese and continental pre­ce­dents.70 At the same time, it is clear that the ­later nyohō tradition emerged out of the beliefs and practices traced in detail in this chapter.

Conclusions The introduction of Buddhist texts to China, K ­ orea, and Japan led to the development of a range of new ideas and practices. Sutras ­were valued not simply ­because they claimed to rec­ord the wisdom of the Buddha, but also ­because they asserted that their own transcription produced merit and engendered wondrous occurrences in this life and beyond. While transcribing a sutra was meritorious in and of itself, pure transcription and dedications augmented the merit produced through sutra copying. According to some authors, t­ hese practices w ­ ere obligatory; tales described punishments for ­those who fail to uphold purity and cited cases of undedicated sutras seeking out their patrons to perform ritual dedications. In ­these ways, sutra copying represents a form of ritualized writing—­more mundane writing practices did not require ­t hese acts. T ­ hese ideas spread in part through narratives promoting the cult of the book and ­were put into practice on the ground throughout Asia, as attested in manuscript sources. Nara-­period Buddhism was part of a wider Buddhist scriptural culture that certainly included China and ­Korea and, in some aspects, reached as far west as Gandhara. The idea that ritualized writing was inseparable from ethical concerns represents a widely shared value throughout much of the Buddhist world. Although ritual practices and patronage seldom enter conversations on ethics, 69. Tōdaiji yōroku, 267–268. For more on ­t hese rituals, see Yamashita 1999c, 451–453. 70. I borrow the term “retrospective fallacy” from Payne 1998, 4.

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this chapter has argued that ­t hese are central values in a Buddhist notion of a well-­lived life. Copying sutras, and even hiring someone e­ lse to transcribe scripture, was considered a “­wholesome act” that produced “glorious virtue,” or merit for the patron. Sutra transcription provided a means for lay Buddhists to fulfill devotional and social obligations. It allowed patrons and scribes to propagate the dharma in accord with the values promoted by scripture through sponsoring works or copying texts by hand. Furthermore, it gave patrons an opportunity to repay debts incurred in the social sphere by dedicating merit to parents, ancestors, and the ruler. T ­ here are few more w ­ holesome paths of conduct for a h ­ ouse­holder than to commission Buddhist works. For the scribe too, properly copying a text involved living a life of purity, a lifestyle that, if upheld diligently, could whisk the pious away to the heavens or enable a motivated copyist to enter the monastic path. For patrons and scribes alike, ritualized writing functioned as a vehicle to virtue.

2

Ritual Compositions

[I] pray (negawaku ha 願)

This expression may represent the most common utterance at Buddhist ceremonies in ancient Japan. Though the phrase is the crux of the dedication rite, its simplicity deceives. For it was typically surrounded by stylized writing characteristic of ganmon (Ch. yuanwen 願文) or prayer texts. This East Asian literary and ritual genre functioned to dedicate merit, most commonly on behalf of the deceased but also to heal the sick, protect the realm, and fulfill any number of other wishes of the patron. Ganmon are ritual texts in the sense that they w ­ ere performed in a ritual setting—­namely, that of the dedication ceremony discussed in chapter one—­but also ­because the writings themselves contain features characteristic of ritual such as formalism, traditionalism, disciplined invariance, rule governance, sacral symbolism, and per­for­mance.1 They are also literary texts, ­because they employ parallel prose, rely on frequent allusions to Chinese classics and belles lettres, and share structural ele­ments across the genre. This chapter w ­ ill argue that t­ hese literary and ritual aspects are inseparable. The ritual setting required a par­t ic­u­lar form of language and the literary qualities heightened the prayer to make it appropriate for the rite. As Torquil Duthie (2014, 414) has argued in his recent study of early Japa­nese poetry, ritual and lit­er­a­ture should “not be seen as mutually exclusive, but rather as ordering each other. . . . ​Literary texts are ritually ordered, and . . . ​ ritual per­for­mances are rhetorically and figuratively or­ga­nized.” I w ­ ill build upon t­ hese arguments to show how prayers drew on distinct cultural repertoires derived from the Buddhist canon and the venerable Chinese textual tradition in response to interrelated literary and ritual expectations. The story of ritualized writing must take poetics into account. Prayer texts ­were not purely personal supplications but socially sanctioned literary compositions. This should not surprise us. Marcel Mauss 1. This list of the characteristics of ritual is derived from Bell 1997, 138–169. Joachim Gentz (2005, 128) has also pointed out the connection between the formal characteristics of literary writing and ritual in the case of early China. Also see Roy Rappaport (1999, 151–152) for the more general tendency of ritual to employ formalized and often ste­reo­t ypical and stylized language.

57

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observed similar features of prayers more generally over a c­ entury ago: “Prayer is beyond doubt a social phenomenon. . . . ​Even when prayer is individual and ­f ree, even when the worshipers choose freely the time and mode of expression, what they say always uses hallowed language and deals with hallowed t­ hings, that is, ones endorsed by social tradition.” 2 Other scholars have stressed the poetic and formalistic nature of prayers composed in a variety of settings ranging from early modern ­Eng­land to the rainforest of Borneo.3 The emphasis by Mauss and o ­ thers on the linguistic qualities of prayer and the social traditions that authorize speech acts informs the approach taken in this chapter. While ­these features follow a general pattern observed globally and contain some similar aspirations and expressions with South Asian materials, the specific generic expectations of ganmon are decidedly East Asian.4 Unlike the dedications authored in Sanskrit or Pali, the prayers studied in this chapter could not have been uttered on South Asian soil, precisely ­because that region’s literary theory valued dif­fer­ent formal features of writing than was the case in classical Chinese. Genre conventions and social practices—­stemming from the hallowed ritual context in which prayers ­were uttered and drawing on a long Sinitic tradition prescribing the formal language to be used on somber occasions such as eulogies—­shaped the par­t ic­u ­lar ways in which patrons expressed their views on scripture, mourning, and cosmology. More concretely, rules from Chinese poetics regarding parallel prose and meta­phorical language governed the specific expressions that could be used in a prayer at a rite.5 Genre, however, did not simply function as a constraint. It did not only serve to limit choices. Instead, generic rules also stimulated the creation of conceptions not bound by depictions in canonical Buddhist texts. While patrons frequently invoked images from sutra lit­er­a­ture, they re­imagined ­these scenes using terms and tropes drawn from their knowledge of literary Chinese. With the aim of focusing on t­ hese constructive possibilities, this chapter treats ganmon not as mere reflections of an existing worldview, but rather as texts that rec­ord active pro­cesses of world creation, in which a version of the cosmos and an understanding of ­human relations come into being through ritual practice, an act whose creativity emerges, not in tension with, but as a result of social norms and generic expectations.

2. This essay, originally from 1909, received l­ittle attention u ­ ntil its recent translation into En­glish; see Mauss 2004, 33. 3. For prayer and poetry in early modern ­Eng­land, see Targoff 2001, esp. 57–130; for the poetics of Berawan prayer in Borneo, see Metcalf 1989, 28–57. 4. For a short overview of the formulaic language used in Sri Lankan prayers, see Berkwitz 2009, 43–47. 5. The importance of style in analyzing ganmon has been pointed out by Yamamoto Shingo (2006, esp. 49–61 and 805–976) in his study of materials from the Heian period. For a brief but helpful overview of the literary qualities of Heian ganmon in En­glish, see Shibayama 2012, 70–79.

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Prayers composed of both Indic Buddhist and Chinese literary ele­ments should not, however, be considered the result of a ­simple blurring of bound­ aries between religious and cultural traditions, though such bound­aries ­were frequently blurred throughout East Asia. Rather, this chapter ­w ill suggest that the prayers in question are ritual compositions that drew on distinct but equally authoritative cultural and religious repertoires, in the sense of imaginative resources or toolkits. As Ann Swidler and Robert Campany have pointed out, ­people have choices and put dif­fer­ent cultural repertoires into play to solve specific prob­lems.6 For example, patrons and authors of prayers frequently draw on language from Buddhist texts when praising sutras, but when mourning parents they turn to the filial language imparted in the Chinese classics, a term I use broadly for works composed in classical Chinese that ­were esteemed for their literary and philosophical value. Prayers combined available resources, but they did so in a way that showed a mastery of several traditions and a recognition of what types of language could be best applied to specific situations. Their composition employed the repertoires appropriate to the ritual setting of a dedication ceremony and accorded with literary values regarding formalistic and stylized language.

The Author Question One of the first challenges in reading ­these highly literary texts stems from the question of authorship. From the Heian period, the identity of the author would take on supreme importance. In the Pillow Book (Makura no sōshi 枕草子), Sei Shōnagon 清少納言 (966?-1017/1025?) writes that professors could receive acclaim for their literary skill in composing prayers despite their low rank (Makura no sōshi no. 84; SNKBT 25:114). Learned poetic luminaries, such as Sugawara no Michizane 菅原道真 (845–903) and Ōe no Masafusa 大江匡房 (1041–1111), composed numerous ganmon on behalf of royals and other aristocratic patrons. In fact, large numbers of prayers authored by ­these two individuals ­were included in their collected works.7 Anthologies of exemplary Chinese-­language lit­er­at­ure composed in Japan such as the Literary Essences of Our Court (Honchō monzui 本朝文粋) and the Continued Literary Essences of Our Court (Honchō zoku monzui 本朝続文粋) similarly anthologized ganmon, often by gradu­ates of the State Acad­emy’s School of Letters (Kidendō 紀傳道) (Steininger 2010, 29). Ganmon outnumber most other genres in ­t hese anthologies. All of this highlights the centrality of authorship of prayer texts from the Heian period onward—­skillfully 6. See Swidler 2001, esp. 24–40; Campany 2003, 317–319, and 2009, 39–87. 7. Over thirty ganmon appear in Michizane’s Kanke bunsō 菅家文草, and over one hundred ganmon are collected in Masafusa’s Gō totoku nagon ganmonshū 江都督納言願文集. For scholarship on Masafusa’s ganmon in En­glish, see Shibayama 2012, esp. 174–178. Kūkai’s ganmon ­were also esteemed for their literary value; thirty-­one examples can be found in his Seireishū [Shōryōshū] 性靈集. For ­t hese, see Gotō 2013, 21–26.

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composing t­hese works earned praise in the pres­ent life and preserved one’s name in posterity. But this chapter w ­ ill not address authorship directly, since we have no information about who the authors of ganmon from the Nara period w ­ ere. Moreover, with few exceptions, it is difficult to decide how much control the author had over the message and how much may have been dictated by the patron. The prob­lem of authorship, while significant for ­later observers, does not seem to have troubled eighth-­century patrons and scribes, however. The fact that they did not rec­ord authors or anthologize them, at least in extant rec­ords, may imply that authors ­were not as impor­t ant in the Nara period as they became in l­ater eras. If so, it would by no means be unusual for a premodern period. As Michel Foucault observed over forty years ago: The “author-­function” is not universal or constant in all discourse. Even within our civilization, the same types of texts have not always required authors; ­there was a time when ­those texts which we now call “literary” . . . ​­were accepted, circulated, and valorized without any question about the identity of their author.8

While the authority afforded to authors of prayers would increase in l­ater periods, the focus of eighth-­century colophons is on the patron, whose name almost always appears in dedicatory prayers. Indeed, while prayers may have been composed by a hired hand, they are typically written as if spoken by the patron. The sponsor of the rite becomes the subject of the prayer regardless of who the author may have been.9 In contrast to Foucault’s author function, h ­ ere it may be useful to think of the patron function. The prayer was publicly uttered u ­ nder the name of the patron, and the worlds constructed in it w ­ ere authorized by his or her position in the rite. In this performative approach, the patron constructed the world, even without necessarily composing the words. Access to a skilled ghostwriter, via personal connection and perhaps a modest amount of disposable income, was more impor­t ant than the capability to compose a text oneself. As such, a range of individuals could and did sponsor prayers.

Defining Prayer Texts I: Ritual Aspects Yuanwen or ganmon is an emic category. It was a recognizable genre in both medieval China and ancient Japan, and prob­ably the Korean peninsula as

8. Foucault 1977, 125. ­T hese remarks w ­ ere first delivered in 1969. 9. Gotō Akio (2008) has argued that in some rare cases, including two ganmon that Kūkai wrote, the author may actually be the subject of the prayers. But as he notes, ­t hese are likely exceptional examples. For more on the complicated relationship between author, patron, and voice in Heian-­period ganmon, see Blair 2016, 16–21.

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well.10 But how was it defined? The following sections w ­ ill show that prayer texts form a distinct genre set apart by its ritual and literary qualities. In terms of ritual, prayers can be identified in part by their function. Huang Zheng (2013, 3), a leading scholar on Chinese prayers, has described Dunhuang yuanwen as “vari­ous texts that have the aim of praying for happiness and warding off misfortune and also express praises.” ­Here, texts that fulfill t­hese par­tic­u ­lar goals constitute the genre. In the Nara period, prayers ­were most commonly performed on behalf of the deceased, asking that they be born in a better place such as a heaven or a pure land. They ­were also composed to protect the realm, to ensure the longevity of the ruler, and to heal an individual tormented with disease. ­These represent the main aspirations expressed in prayers from early Japan. Ganmon, therefore, are t­ hose texts that perform ­t hese diverse functions. Specifically, the term refers to not just any petition but t­ hose authored to be uttered at Buddhist rituals. ­These ­were most commonly ceremonies for the dedication of merit, often celebrating pious acts and memorializing the deceased. ­These ceremonies would include a variety of other practices such as chanting; in some cases, they even included theatrical per­for­mances. Prayer texts, therefore, formed an integral part of what Komine Kazuaki has called the “lit­er­a­ture and performing arts of dharma assemblies” (hōe bungei 法会文芸)—­the broader discursive and performative world at the venue of a rite in premodern Japan.11 The content of prayer texts reveals how they ­were used in such ceremonies. First, we saw in chapter one how the dates of prayers from both Dunhuang and Japan tended to correspond to regular periods of ceremonial abstinence when it was believed that the four heavenly kings and their messengers would descend to observe h ­ uman be­hav­ior. Some eighth-­century prayers also made explicit reference to other ritual actions performed before or a­ fter the prayer, including ­t hose by monks and the patron, providing a glimpse into other features of the ceremony. For example, Empress Kōken 孝謙/Shōtoku 称徳 (718–770)12 noted in a prayer: “the work of ornamentation has been completed, and the dharma master has finished his 10. The earliest purported reference to ganmon in Japa­nese sources appears in the Chronicles of Japan (Nihon shoki 日本書紀), an account that claims to rec­ord the prayer inscribed on a statue from Paekche for the Japa­nese sovereign. See Nihon shoki, 9/545; NKBT 68:93. The term also appears frequently in Shōsōin documents. 11. For a detailed treatment of this concept of the “lit­er­a­t ure and performing arts of dharma assemblies,” see Komine 2009. For an English-­language article that focuses on gan­ mon as an example, see Komine 2013. ­Here, Komine renders the term “ritual arts and lit­er­ a­ture.” ­Others have translated it as “the literary arts of the Dharma assembly” (Bushelle 2015, 1n1) or as “Dharma Assembly lit­er­a­ture” (Ruppert 2013, 370). I have chosen “lit­er­a ­ ture and performing arts,” b ­ ecause Komine stresses not only the texts but also the ways that texts and images w ­ ere performed, preached, sung, explained, e­ tc. See Komine 2009, v–­v i. 12. Empress Kōken/Shōtoku ruled twice: first as Kōken between 749–758 and then again as Shōtoku from 764–770. Throughout this study, I ­w ill refer to her as Empress Kōken/Shōtoku ­a fter her coronation and Princess Abe for the period before she ascended

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recitation.”13 The reference to recitation of scripture points to a common act performed at dedication ceremonies. Moreover, the term ornamentation (Ch. zhuangyan; J. shōgon 莊嚴) was a specific liturgical locution used to meta­phor­ically describe the dedication of merit to the beneficiary.14 Fujiwara Bunin 藤原夫人, a consort of Emperor Shōmu, also used the term in a dedicatory prayer issued on the full moon on behalf of her parents: “The ornamentation has been completed. An abstinential rite has been held and [the deceased] have been rev­er­ent­ly eulogized” (NCS, plate 22; NI, 616). ­Here, the patron pointed to three specific ritual acts: ornamentation, an abstinential rite, and eulogies (keisan 敬讃). Other prayers begin with a reference to the patron performing vandana ( J. wanan 和南) or prostrations to buddhas, bodhisattvas, and other divine beings, again recording a ritual act that likely preceded the prayer.15 Ganmon can, in part, be defined by the par­tic­u­lar ritual context in which they ­were uttered and the functions they performed.

Defining Prayer Texts II: Literary Aspects At the same time, prayer texts are not just ritual supplications. Any adequate definition must also recognize their literary characteristics. Ganmon relied on parallel prose, drew on a common store­house of meta­phors from the Chinese literary and Buddhist canonical traditions, and followed specific structural configurations. Many of t­ hese devices also appear in other Chinese genres lamenting the passing of the deceased, such as offerings (jiwen 祭文) and dirges (lei 誄), which had come into existence by the second or third ­century CE.16 It seems likely, then, that one of the reasons prayers employed stylized forms emphasizing parallelism had to do with the poetic expectations associated with rituals for the dead that predated the emergence of ganmon. Parallel prose played a determining role in defining the genre. This style of writing, dubbed pianwen ( J. benbun 駢文) by ­later Chinese scholars, was composed of couplets with lines of matching meter and syntactic structure. It flourished in medieval China and greatly influenced Japa­

the throne. For a helpful recent study of her life with par­tic­u ­lar focus on Buddhism, see Katsuura 2014. 13. T ­ here are multiple extant manuscripts containing this prayer. T ­ here are minor variations between them, but I have referred to the prayer partially reproduced in NCS, plate 71. Also see NI, 638. 14. For this term in China, see Teiser 2009, Arami 2013, and Huang 2013, 11–13. For Japan, see Lowe 2016, 555–560. 15. For examples in three prayers by Toshitari, see NCS, plates 18–20; NI, 615–616. For an example in a prayer by Kōmyōshi, see NCS, plates 31–32; NI, 618; also see Tokyo National Museum B 3083. 16. For t­ hese genres and the literary characteristics of threnodic writing in medieval China, see Lai 1994, Cutter 2004, and Shields 2015, 265–287.

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nese literary works from the Nara and Heian periods.17 Tonal prosody—­ attention to parallel constructions regarding level and oblique tones (Ch. ping ze; J. hyōsoku 平仄)—­was also valued, though it was by no means requisite to prayer texts.18 A specific example taken from a prayer sponsored by the aristocratic patron Ishikawa no Toshitari clearly illustrates the importance of parallelism. 蓋聞、

Introductory phrase 無色無聲、方廣之功自遠。 常有常淨、圓朗之照不窮。

(adj. + noun, adj. + noun) [Subj.]+ (adv. + adj. + possessive + ​ noun + adv. + adj.) [Pred.] 崇慧業以致真如。 積芳因而成聖果。

verb + (adj. + noun) [obj.] + conjunction + verb + (adj. + noun) [obj.] 引四海於法鏡、則慾海澄氛。 19 導六識於禪門、則邪雲巻翳。

verb + (number + noun)[obj.] + preposition + (adj. + noun) + ​ conjunction + (adj. + noun) [subj.] + verb + noun [obj.]

A translation reads: Verily: Lacking form and lacking sound, the merits of true vastness are naturally far reaching. Constantly existent and constantly pure, the radiance of perfect clarity is inexhaustible. By revering wise action, one reaches true thusness. By accumulating fragrant ­causes, one achieves the fruit of sagehood. When the four seas are guided to the dharma mirror, the seas of desire dissipate their mist. When the six consciousnesses are led to the dhyāna gate, the clouds of falsity roll away their haze.20 17. For helpful overviews of this style of writing, see Nienhauser 1986, 656–660, and High­tower 1959. For parallel prose in Buddhist liturgical genres, see Teiser 2014, 418–419. 18. For tonal prosody in classical Chinese, see Branner 2003. For a brief analy­sis of its reception in Japan, see Steininger 2010, 146, as well as 230–232 for a translation of an eleventh-­century composition manual. For a discussion of tonal prosody in Chinese and Japa­nese prayer texts, see Kim Moonkyong 2013, x–­x ii. 19. I have provided Chinese characters h ­ ere to make my grammatical choices and the parallelism as clear as pos­si­ble. For the remainder of the chapter, however, I do not transcribe entire ganmon due to space constraints. 20. NCS, plate 19; Tanaka Kaidō 1973, 38. For helpful annotated editions of Nara-­ period colophons, see Jōdai bunken wo yomu kai 2016, though I do not always follow their interpretations. Note that in block quotations from prayers, I translate in verse to give a better visual sense of the parallelisms employed in the texts. I also sometimes employ line breaks to make parallel constructions as obvious as pos­si­ble.

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The patron took ­great care to ensure syntactic and semantic parallels for couplet pairs throughout. Structures of equivalence are set up by linking meta­phors of awakening such as “the seas of desire dissipate their mist” and “the clouds of falsity roll away their haze.” Parallel phrases can also be set in contrast with one another, as in “without form” and “constantly existent.”21 A playful exploitation of similarity and difference runs throughout. For example, the phrases I have rendered “true vastness” and “perfect clarity” use characters that could alternatively mean “square” and “circle” for true and perfect, thus adding an aesthetically parallel geometric contrast between phrases.22 The second couplet employs uniform tonal prosody by reversing each of the tones in the parallel position, though the other lines are not nearly as perfect. In this example, the language of prayer is a product of parallel prose. Intertextual allusion, a common occurrence in literary Chinese, represents a second generic feature. The section of the prayer devoted to praise, as w ­ ill be outlined below, typically drew on Buddhist imagery. As we have seen, the passage from Toshitari’s prayer translated above, which is from the praise section, is conspicuously Buddhist in its imagery. But in other sections patrons employed references from both Chinese literary classics and Buddhist canonical texts. I have identified language in prayers that originates from texts as diverse as the Rites of Zhou (Zhou li 周禮), Outward Commentary on the Han Odes (Hanshi waizhuan 漢詩外傳), Literary Se­l ections (Wen xuan 文選), Classic of Poetry (Shi jing 詩經), and the Book of History (Shu jing 書經 / Shang shu 尚書). Yet, while the language often originated in ­t hese classic texts, it should be noted that many phrases had become common coin in the Chinese poetic tradition more generally. Thus, it is not always clear to which text a prayer alludes, although some, especially the anthology Literary Se­lections, appear to have been used widely in ancient Japan as compositional models.23 Moreover, prayer texts from Dunhuang and Japan often invoke identical images, suggesting that patrons and writers drew on a common repertoire appropriate for the genre. Prayers from Dunhuang and Nara also share structural ele­ments, which closely connect to their style and ritual function. Stephen F. Teiser has described a seven-­part structure that commonly appears in Dunhuang healing liturgies.24 Teiser’s analy­sis is advantageous in that he adopts many of 21. This feature of parallel prose using both semantic similarity and difference has been highlighted in Plaks 1988. 22. I would like to thank Brian Steininger for pointing out the geometric aspects of this parallelism. 23. Tōno Haruyuki (1977, 189–224) argues that use of the Wen xuan became widespread in the Nara period among power­f ul families in the provinces as well as low-­r anking officials in the capital. For Wen xuan references in an eighth-­century Japa­nese ganmon, see Endō 2008, 35–36. For the Wen xuan in ­later periods, see Steininger 2010, 35–83. 24. In discussing Teiser’s model, I have mostly drawn on an unpublished pre­sen­t a­t ion delivered at the Collège de France in 2010. For a published Chinese-­language description of the structure of prayer texts, see Teiser 2007b, 299–306. This account subdivides the patient

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his categories from emic labels found in Dunhuang manuscripts and justifies his use of etic categories based on linguistic evidence. According to Teiser, prayers usually begin by “praising [the Buddha’s] virtue” (Ch. tande 嘆德). As the title suggests, patrons lauded the wondrous abilities of the Buddha in this section. This is followed by a statement of ritual intent (Ch. zhaiyi 齋意). The third section, which Teiser calls “patient” (Ch. huanzhe 患者) in the context of the healing liturgies he has focused on, describes the person for whom the rite is commissioned. Next, a section, “the site of awakening” (Ch. daochang 道場), a translation of the Sanskrit Bodhi-­maṇda, the place the Buddha achieved enlightenment, rec­ords the acts performed during the ritual, such as the burning of incense or the chanting of scripture. In the fifth section, known as “ornamentation” (Ch. zhuangyan 莊嚴) in some sources, merit is transferred to the beneficiary. The formal prayer (Ch. yuan­ wen 願文) follows the ornamentation and describes the par­t ic­u­lar ways in which the merit should be used. As is common throughout Buddhist liturgical texts, the prayer concludes with a general benediction. T ­ hese structural features are tied to the style and ritual function of the prayer. The parts of the prayer that Teiser calls illocutionary—­t he dedication of merit and the description of ritual actions—­are considerably more prosaic than the flowery sections of praise, mourning, and prayer, which all employ parallel prose and frequent allusions. This point is worth emphasizing. The structure is in part defined by the presence or absence of parallel prose and by its intended function in the rite. At the same time, the structure itself required par­t ic­u ­lar forms of language, which made certain parts of the prayer more open to poetic experimentation than ­others. The most famous structural scheme for understanding Japa­nese gan­ mon is undoubtedly the ten-­part model introduced for memorial prayers in the thirteenth-­century writing manual Excerpts on the Inexhaustible Royal Grace (Ōtakufukatsu shō 王澤不渇鈔).25 According to this model, the first part, known as “proceedings of four kinds” (shishu no shidai 四種之次第), contains four expressions of the princi­ple of impermanence, the standard of filial practice, praise of the Buddha-­d harma, and lamentation of misfortune. The next three parts, which describe the life, illness, and passing of the deceased, are followed by more lamentations. In the sixth section, the timing of the rite appears, placing it within the forty-­nine-day, one-­year, or l­ater memorial rites. ­A fter this, the text describes merit-­making acts such as constructing an image or transcribing scripture. From h ­ ere, fond seasonal memories of the deceased are shared, and Buddhist tales, with the passing of the Buddha as a typical example, are cited and often compared favoror beneficiary section into two parts, so t­ here are eight ele­ments altogether. Also see Teiser 2007a. For a brief English-­language summary of his thoughts on structure and language, see Teiser 2014, esp. 418–421. 25. The title of this text, and my translation of it, alludes to a line in Wen xuan: “When the royal grace was exhausted, the Songs no longer flourished.” See Knechtges 1982, 93, for a translation of the Wen xuan passage.

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ably with that of the deceased. In the final section, merit is transferred both to the deceased and to sentient beings more generally, usually with a prayer for the departed to travel to the Pure Land. It should be noted that t­ hese ­were idealized guidelines; in concrete situations, authors frequently omitted and reworked sections for their own purposes.26 The prayers attached to Nara manuscripts do not perfectly follow Teiser’s model or the ten-­part scheme, but they share enough features to be recognizable as belonging to the same genre. Sections resembling Teiser’s praise passage, or the Buddha-­dharma ele­ment of the “proceedings of four kinds,” are common in Nara manuscripts, where they are written in parallel prose. A prosaic section usually appears early in the prayer describing the precise texts transcribed, the circumstances of their transcription, and other ritual acts from the dedication ceremony; this account mirrors similar sections from Dunhuang and the Excerpts on the Inexhaustible Royal Grace. What I ­w ill call the mourning or eulogy section roughly corresponds in style and content to Teiser’s “patient” category, where lamentations for the deceased substitute for remarks on behalf of the ill. Although ­these initial sections are malleable in Nara examples and are occasionally omitted completely, the latter half of early Japa­nese prayers follows a fairly fixed structure that accords with both the Dunhuang and the ­later Japa­nese examples. ­There is typically a dedication to a specific individual or individuals written in nonparallel prose, which simply states to whom the merit ­w ill be transferred. Next comes the prayer proper beginning with the phrase “I pray” and often—­but not always—­employing parallel structures. This is followed by a concluding benediction extending the blessings to all sentient beings. This typically short section in nonparallel phrasing asks for ­people “together” or “equally” to achieve awakening. ­These final sections represent the crux of the genre; without them, it would be hard to call the text a prayer. In sum, prayer texts are defined by a combination of ritual and literary aspects. They ­were uttered at dedication ceremonies to transfer merit; they necessarily contain a dedication, prayer, and benediction; and they employ parallel prose in par­t ic­u­lar sections.

An Example: The Gyōshin Prayer The following translation and analy­sis of an entire prayer by the disciples of the eminent monk Gyōshin ­w ill highlight the interconnected nature of the ritual and literary aspects of the genre. As the only full translation in this chapter, it ­w ill also provide an opportunity to examine a ganmon as a complete text: 26. This paragraph on the ten-­part structure has drawn heavi­ly on the work of Watanabe Hideo 1991, esp. 548–585, and Yamamoto Shingo 2006, 875–922. For other similar though less complex structural schemes for China and Japan, see Huang 2013 and Katsumata 1981, 286–287.

Ritual Compositions 67 [Section A: Praise, parallel] Truly, the dharma sea is deep and vast and [this scripture] can be likened to the blue waves. The wise sun is high and bright and [this scripture] can be equated with numinous radiance. By upholding and raising [this scripture] above one’s head, the blessings and profits are without bound. By reciting and copying [this scripture], the superior karma is beyond mea­sure. [Section B: Ritual intent, prosaic] With this in mind, the ­Great Dharma Master, now deceased, Gyōshin, one day while he was alive, issued a vow with utmost mind to respectfully copy the Lotus, the doctrine of the one vehicle; the Golden Drum, the prose of extinguishing sin; the Prajñā, the teaching of true emptiness; and the Yoga, the dharma of five parts 27 for a total of two thousand seven hundred scrolls of scriptures and treatises to submissively aid ______ 28 the sagely court _____, humbly repay the four debts, and also save all kinds of sentient beings. [Section C: Mourning, parallel] But a provisional body is like a floating cloud. Grasslike life resembles a flash of lightning. [Section D: Ritual acts (?), prosaic] [Gyōshin] did not complete this ­matter [of copying the scripture], as he swallowed jade and followed transformation. His disciples, Kyōnin 孝仁 and ­others, [with grief that is] not even surpassed by the scar of a windblown tree, respectfully took on the vow he made previously. [Section E1: Prayer I, parallel] We rev­er­ent­ly pray with due re­spect to the sagely court: May the transformation of the golden wheel [turning king] not move with heaven and earth. May her life span of g ­ reat distance compete with a kalpa stone in its length. [Section E2: Prayer II, parallel] We humbly pray, with sincere humility for the four debts: May they lay down at the Nirvāṇa Mountain 27. T ­ hese poetic renderings of sutra titles correspond to the Lotus Sutra, the Golden Light Sutra, Mahā-­prajñā-­pāramitā-­sūtra, and the Yogācārabhūmi-­śāstra. 28. The blank spaces, which are typical in manuscripts, designate re­spect. They are commonly used for the ruler or the deceased. In the first example of “sagely court,” spaces appear both before and ­a fter the poetic rendering of the ruler. This is aty­pi­cal, as spaces usually only precede the object of re­spect. The reason for this usage requires further research.

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Ritual Practices and may they sit at the Bodhi Tree. May their rank reach that of consecration and may their powers arouse to that of subjugating demons. [Section F: Benediction, prosaic] Extending broadly into the dharma realm to all sentient beings in the six paths, may they be released from suffering and attain happiness. May they universally ascend to the awakened path. [Section G: Date, prosaic] Respectfully copied on the fifth day of the ninth month of Jingo Keiun 1. (NCS, plate 66; NI, 637)

The prayer begins with a section of praise. While this section in the texts studied by Teiser and o ­ thers typically directs praise to the Buddha, it is perhaps unsurprising that t­ hose inscribed in colophons to sutras focus on the ability of scripture to manifest wisdom. Key terms that suggest the praise was intended for scripture rather than the Buddha include uphold ( juji 受持),29 carry on one’s head (chōsai 頂戴),30 recite (dokuju 讀誦), and copy (shosha 書寫), all verbs that commonly take sutra as their object. The common implication in prayers in colophons is that scripture makes the truths of Buddhism accessible, an idea captured in the parallel expressions of waves and radiance—­t hings ­humans can actually experience, likened to scripture in contrast to inconceivable vast seas and a distant sun representing ultimate truth. In other words, scripture makes pres­ent what would other­w ise be beyond ordinary ­human understanding. Although written in parallel prose with highly poetic language, the meta­phors ­here generally derive from the Buddhist canon, suggesting a strategic use of language to laud the sutras. The next three sections alternate between parallel and nonparallel prose, the alternation helping the audience identify the transitions between sections. Section B, which is prosaic and lacks the strict parallelism of the praise section, has similarities with what Teiser has called ritual intent in that it explains Gyōshin’s vow to copy a number of texts on behalf of the sovereign, as well as to repay the four debts and save sentient beings. This is followed by a brief section of mourning, where the prayer laments the rapid passing of life. The language h ­ ere though compact can be described as poetic, in that it uses imagery to liken life to floating clouds and flashes of lightning and preserves strict parallel constructions. Section D reverts to nonparallel prose with some figurative language such as the “windblown tree” (fūju 風樹), a frequently invoked image in the genre of prayers.31 In 29. For this term, see Teiser 1994, 139–141, and Eubanks 2011, 46–48. 30. For placing sutras on one’s head, see Campany 1991, 37–40. 31. The windblown tree was a common meta­phor in Chinese literary texts. For the source text, see Hanshi waizhuan 9.3; High­tower 1952, 292. Komine Kazuaki (2013, 43–44)

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this way, the text draws on a common Chinese literary pool to describe the ritual actions and emotive states of the disciples. Sections E1 and E2 mark two separate prayers, beginning with the phrases “rev­er­ent­ly pray” (aogi negawaku wa 仰願) and “humbly pray” (shi­ rizokite negawaku wa 退願).32 It was not uncommon to include multiple prayers in a single text. The first, for the sovereign, and the second, for the four debts—­a term explored in chapter one—­though short, are written in parallel prose a­ fter brief introductory phrases. They draw particularly on Buddhist meta­phors of kingship, cosmology, and soteriology alongside traditionally Chinese allusions such as “heaven and earth” ( J. kenkon 乾坤), a reference to the first two hexagrams of the Classic of Changes (Yi jing 易經). This phrase is placed in parallel to a common Buddhist meta­phor of longevity, the kalpa stone. The final sections are prosaic, first offering blessings to all beings and concluding with the date of transcription.

Praising the Virtues of Scripture The prayers uttered at dedication rituals completing works of sutra transcription often began with a praise section, and, as noted above, the praise in sutra colophons typically focused on the merits of scripture, drawing on Buddhist language to do so. Many prayers emphasized the material and spiritual benefits to be gained. A prayer sponsored by Emperor 33 Shōmu 聖武 (701–756; r. 724–749) asserted the superiority of Buddhist texts in this re­spect: “When I have a break from my myriad tasks, I unroll and examine texts. For perfecting one’s body, extending one’s life, putting the p ­ eople at ease, and maintaining their livelihoods, Śākya’s teachings are the greatest among all the classics and histories” (NCS, plate 14; NI, 614). The majesty of Buddhist teachings, for Shōmu, lay in their efficacy: sutras are superior to non-­Buddhist texts precisely ­because they promise material benefits. Similar language was a­ dopted by nonroyals, such as the f­ amily of the military upstart Sakanoue no Imiki Iwatate 坂上忌寸石楯, in a prayer dated to 5/1/779 and appended to a manuscript of the Mahā-­prajñā-­pāramitā-­sūtra: Now, the ­G reat Vehicle of Prajñā is precisely points out that this meta­phor frequently appears in the ganmon of Ōe no Masafusa and in Dunhuang prayers as well. Kūkai also used the term in a prayer for deceased parents; see Seireishū [Shōryōshū], NKBT 71:330–331. For swallowing jade, see the Zhou li zhushu, “Tianguan zhongzai”; SSJZS 1:651. 32. I have followed the kundoku of Inagi in Jōdai bunken wo yomu kai 2016, 404. 33. In this study, I use the term emperor when giving a personal name, such as “Emperor Shōmu” or “Emperor Tenmu.” I have ­adopted this practice to help readers unfamiliar with Japa­nese po­liti­cal history to identify the ruler. When referring to the same position without connection to a personal name, I use terms such as sovereign and ruler to acknowledge that the En­glish word “emperor” is not perfectly equivalent to the Japa­nese tennō. For two representative positions in the debate over the appropriateness of “emperor” for tennō, see Piggott 1997, 9, and Batten 2006, 147–148n78.

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Ritual Practices the heart and entrails of the vari­ous buddhas in the three times and the trea­sure repository of bodhisattvas of the tenth stage. So, of t­ hose who take refuge in it, who ­w ill not eradicate disaster and obtain blessings? Of t­ hose who follow it, how could they not cut off delusion and bear witness to truth? (NCS, plate 75; NI, 639)

The under­lying logic ­here is the discourse of merit, widely accepted in early Japan and explored in detail in chapter one. According to this discourse, copying texts represented a good deed that could be rewarded in this life and the next. The ­family of Iwatate expressed this belief using strict parallel constructions, but they did so through decidedly Buddhist allusions to stages of bodhisattva practices, notions of the three times, and the value of cutting off delusion. Notably, Iwatate was a relatively unknown military figure who gained a rapid increase in rank, to that of a mid-­level official, ­a fter his success in bringing back the head of the ­enemy of the empress, Fujiwara no Nakamaro 藤原仲麻呂 (706–764). Iwatate’s f­amily likely hired someone to compose this prayer, perhaps through connections gained from his ser­v ice to the throne. Patrons also praised scripture for making religious truth accessible, using meta­phors that understood sutras as manifesting skillful means (Skt. upāyakauśalya; J. hōben 方便), the techniques used by buddhas and bodhisattvas to lead the unenlightened to liberation.34 In a colophon to a manuscript of Profound Praise of the Lotus Sutra (Ch. Fahua jing xuanzan 法華經玄賛) dated 8/8/731 and sponsored by a minor official named Kurahashibe no Miya­ tsuko Maro 倉橋部造麻呂 (for whom we have no other rec­ords), the praise begins: “I say: The dharma sea is deep and vast—­how could one ever cross it without preparing a boat and scull? The other shore is tall and steep, how could one dare climb it without a walking stick and ladder?” (NCS, plate 10; NI, 612–613). This language draws on canonical Buddhist texts such as the Treatise on the ­G reat Perfection of Wisdom (Ch. Da zhi du lun 大智度論), a work that circulated widely in Japan during the Nara period. The skillful means of the buddhas and bodhisattvas are the ladders needed for ascending precipitous cliffs and the boats necessary for crossing deep seas (Da zhi du lun, T 1509.25.196a). Images of steep cliffs and vast oceans describe impossible goals: the dharma sea represents the true nature of real­ity, and the other shore is the Buddhist meta­phor for liberation. It is only through scripture—­depicted in this prayer as tangible tools—­that true liberation and understanding can be achieved. By invoking ­t hese meta­phors, the patron Maro, a scrivener (shishō 史生) at the Board of Censors (danjōdai 彈正台), extolled the instrumentality of sutras and their capability for helping ­humans achieve goals they could never undertake alone. Like the radiance 34. The hallmark of skillful means is using methods tailored to the capabilities of the audience. For helpful introductions to the concept, see Pye 1978 and Bielefeldt 2009, 62–64.

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and waves of the Gyōshin prayer, implements for seafaring and climbing make the incomprehensible accessible. While the vast majority of prayers written for sutra transcription employed Buddhist meta­phors in the praise section, ­t here ­were occasional exceptions. One prayer, dated to 4/15/750 and sponsored on behalf of Hozumi no Ason Oyu 穂積朝臣老, a deceased mid-­level official, relied on the decidedly Chinese cosmological notions of qi 氣 and yin yang 陰陽 to explicate Buddhist teachings: “Verily, yin and yang are without form, so they can become myriad objects. Harmonious qi is transformation, so it can line up at the gate of singular emptiness. In this way, provisional means ( jahō 借方) display no means. True means themselves use no means” (SK 1755; NI, 621). Provisional means are an equivalent of the skillful means that are adapted to the capabilities of the audience and then discarded when no longer needed; in this prayer they are viewed through the lens of Chinese cosmology, which maintains that formless t­ hings such as yin and yang can become myriad objects. ­Here, the inconceivable truths, which are themselves empty, are manifest in digestible form through skillful means, which in turn function to communicate emptiness. While prayers tended t­ oward Buddhist language to praise scripture, ­there was always a tension between poetic expression and generic expectations that writers exploited to generate diverse new expressions of Buddhist doctrine.

Mourning the Dead In contrast to the Buddhist language used to praise sutras, sections of mourning made more frequent reference to Chinese classics and belles ­lettres. For example, Queen Consort Kōmyōshi mourned her parents’ passing with language from ancient Chinese poetry: “In filial piety and sincerity, I failed frequently, [and] ­those whom I depended and relied on fell quickly. For the four seasons, we had had the expectation that their steps would alternate, [but now] for a thousand years, ­t here is no hope of solemnly serving them” (NCS, plates 31–32; NI, 618). Kōmyōshi employs metonymy to refer to her parents as “­t hose whom I relied and depended on” (koji 怙恃), a term that can be traced back to a verse from the Classic of Poetry reflecting on the loss of parents: “Fatherless, who is ­t here to rely on? Motherless, who is ­t here to depend on?”35 Moreover, the phrase “fell quickly” (tsuto ni katabukeri 夙傾) likely derives from the anthology Literary Se­lections.36 ­Others embraced similar strategies: the aforementioned minor official Kurahashibe no Miyatsuko Maro used phrases such as “pound one’s chest and stomp the earth” (hekiyō 擗踊) and “fixed and inquired” (teisei 定省), common expressions of lament 35. Shi jing, “Liao e”; SSJZS 1:459. I have a­ dopted Legge’s apt rendering of this verse (1871, 351). 36. Wen xuan, juan 50, 705. T ­ hese allusions ­were observed by I­ noue in Jōdai bunken wo yomu kai 2016, 235. I have followed the kundoku reading tsuto ni katabukeri 夙傾 provided by ­Inoue.

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derived from the Classic of Filial Piety and the Classic of Rites, respectively, to mourn his ­father.37 While Buddhism as a religion had developed sophisticated ritual techniques and scriptural justification for filial practices and memorial rituals by the time it entered Japan, 38 the poetic language of prayers used to mourn deceased parents drew heavi­ly from the Chinese poetic tradition. This repertoire had a broader appeal to Nara patrons lamenting the passing of their parents, despite their reliance on a ritual structured by Buddhist notions of merit making. The Chinese-­leaning tendency of eulogies for parents was also true in the mourning of deceased sovereigns. For example, Prince Nagaya 長屋王 (684–729) eulogized Emperor Monmu 文武天皇 with appropriately imperial allusions: “The three radiances [sun, moon, and stars] seemed wretched and the four seas w ­ ere stopped and hushed” (NCS, plate 4; NI, 610).39 ­Here, the patron alludes to a scene in the Book of History describing the death of the legendary Emperor Yao: “Within the four seas all the eight kinds of instruments of m ­ usic w ­ ere stopped and hushed” (Shang shu, “Shun dian”; SSJZS 1:29). In other words, the entire universe—­from the seas to the skies—­ joined the prince in mourning the loss of the sovereign, a figure equated with a Chinese sage king. This is not to say that patrons never used meta­phors from canonical Buddhist texts to describe the relationship between child and parent or subject and ruler. But when they did, they often combined them with other allusions as well. One prayer, by the ­family of the deceased military upstart Sakanoue no Imiki Iwatate, used Buddhist tropes to mourn their ­father and 37. For “pound their chests and stomp the earth,” see Xiao jing, “Sang qin”; SSJZS 2:2561. For “fixed and inquired,” see Li ji, “Qu li shang”; SSJZS 1:1233. 38. For Chinese Buddhist strategies in response to concerns about a lack of filial piety in Buddhism, see Ch’en 1968; Teiser 1988; Cole 1998; and Ng 2007, 109–115 and 203–209. Indic sources also reveal that Buddhists frequently made offerings on behalf of their parents and wrote scriptures on filial themes in India. For this, see Strong 1983; Schopen 1997, 56–71; and Xing 2005. 39. Inagi 2007 and Kuwabara in Jōdai bunken wo yomu kai 2016, 27–28, have suggested that this eulogy was r­ eally on behalf of Genmei, the pres­ent reigning empress rather than the recently deceased Monmu. T ­ hose supporting this position note that the text does not mention rebirth in a Pure Land or heaven; the date does not correspond to an anniversary of Monmu’s death; and the Mahā-­prajñā-­pāramitā-­sūtra was not ordinarily copied for deceased sovereigns. I see no reason to support t­ hese claims. We have already seen that days of abstinence ­were likely more significant than memorial days, so it is not unexpected that the date of the colophon corresponds to a period of the full moon rather than an anniversary of Monmu’s death. The argument that the Mahā-­prajñā-­pāramitā-­sūtra was never copied for deceased sovereigns is simply mistaken; Nagaya himself sponsored a copy of the Mahā-­ prajñā-­pāramitā-­sūtra that included prayers for the deceased sovereign’s birth in the Pure Land in 728. Fi­nally, while it is true that the colophon does not contain a prayer explic­itly mentioning rebirth in the Pure Land, it also does not refer to state protection. The poetic allusion is clearly connected to mourning. In fact, other parts of the Nagaya colophon ­were quoted almost directly by Kurahashibe no Miyatsuko Maro in a prayer explic­itly offered on behalf of his deceased f­ ather. The fact that eighth-­century patrons themselves quoted Nagaya’s colophon in mortuary prayers supports the view that it was authored on behalf of Monmu and not Genmei.

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husband: “The mercy of his tender upbringing is of a height that exceeds Sumeru. The compassion of his steadfast protection is of a depth that surpasses the G ­ reat Sea. Passing through births for heaps of kalpas,40 pulverizing his body, and sacrificing his life, how could we ever repay him?”41 ­Here, the f­ ather’s mercy and compassion are likened to some of the defining features of the Buddhist cosmos—­a towering mountain in the center of the universe surrounded by vast seas. The prayer also uses images of pulverizing and sacrificing the body to evoke scenes from the past lives of the Buddha, who was said to have given up his body countless times as part of his practice on the path to buddhahood. Yet, in addition to t­ hese allusions, Iwatate’s ­family also cited continental deities associated with longevity, such as the Queen M ­ other of the West and the King F ­ ather of the East,42 and made explicit reference to Confucius (Zhong Ni 仲尼) and his student Zeng Shen 曽参 in their prayer. Combinatory strategies ­were not unique to this example. Buddhist monks used similar language in eulogizing their deceased teachers, as seen in a prayer by Shanyi 善意 (n.d.), a Chinese monk residing in Japan, who used the traditional filial terms of “dependence and reliance” to commemorate his teacher Genbō, alongside the Buddhist trope of pulverizing one’s body (NCS, plate 40; NI, 620). Although the salvation of the deceased occurred through a ritual based on the Buddhist discourse of merit, mourners monastic and lay, elite and more h ­ umble, expressed their lamentations through meta­phors derived from the Buddhist canonical and Chinese textual traditions, heavi­ly favoring the latter. Meta­phors from early Chinese texts remained an appropriate, and perhaps requisite, way to describe the sorrow at the severance of a relationship between parent and child, ruler and subject, and even monk and disciple at a dedication rite. Moreover, the patrons of prayers followed continental pre­ce­dent in using this type of language in Buddhist memorial ritual settings. It seems likely that the long tradition of filial piety in Chinese poems and prayers offered patrons a richer and more appropriate toolkit to help them voice the burdens of mourning and prayer.43

40. Reading 累却 as 累劫. 41. NCS, plate 75; NI, 639. In calling this a Buddhist trope, I by no means intend to suggest that ­these terms ­were never used in secular texts. Searches of databases of both the Buddhist canon and Chinese classics, however, suggest that “pulverize one’s body” appears with far greater frequency in the Buddhist canon, where it is a relatively common term. 42. For a discussion of this prayer that focuses on the image of the Queen ­Mother to the West, see Masuo 1995, 211–228. Masuo sees this reference as Daoistic, but I follow Como in seeing it as a part of the continental cultic tradition connected to spirit pacification. See Como 2009, 93–107. The Queen ­Mother would continue to appear in prayers from the Heian period; see Yamamoto Shingo 2006, 935. For more on prob­lems with interpreting prayers as examples of Daoism, see note 50 below. 43. It should be noted that other ritual settings—­namely, ­t hose outside Buddhist memorial rites—­required dif­fer­ent poetic forms such as banka or poems of lament. For this see Ebersole 1989, 171–215. At the same time, ­t here are serious questions as to ­whether it is pos­

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The Prayer Proper: Composing the Realms of the Departed A study of the prayer proper—­t he section that begins with the set expression “[I] pray”—­shows that patrons similarly depicted the land inhabited by the departed in language that borrowed from diverse textual sources. Even when they cited proper nouns taken directly from Buddhist cosmology, they filled in the outlines of heavens and pure lands with allusions drawn from Chinese classics and belles lettres. They did so, however, in ways that showed a conscious differentiation between the two vocabularies, sometimes pairing allusions in parallel structures or separating them through breaks in phrasing. The two worlds w ­ ere not simply blurred. References to Chinese postmortem realms w ­ ill be explored in detail below. ­Here, it must be noted that in most cases the patrons did invoke specific Buddhist lands by name. By the Nara period, patrons ­were readily conversant in the terminology of pure lands and heavens that had only recently been introduced to Japan, as evidenced by the frequent appearance of Buddhist proper names in prayers. While some patrons ­were content with more general concepts such as the “Pure Lands of the Ten Directions” (i.e., the eight cardinal and ordinal directions as well as the zenith and nadir),44 ­others referenced the lands of par­t ic­u­lar deities, such as Amitābha’s realm, using a variety of names including Realm of Tranquility and Nourishment (An’yōkai 安養界), Land of Tranquility and Bliss (Anraku kokudo 安樂國土), or simply Supreme Bliss (Gokuraku 極樂).45 Perhaps most common ­were invocations of the ­future buddha Maitreya’s Tuṣita heaven (tosotsuten 兜率天 or toshitaten 覩史多天) and allusions to his palace of maṇi jewels (maniden 摩尼 殿),46 where patrons hoped that the dead could “hear the true dharma, ascend to the path of awakening, and fi­nally achieve bodhi (awakening)” (NI, 612). From the evidence in prayers, we can conclude that ­these new cosmological ideas spread widely and rapidly in Japan and ­were well known by the mid-­Nara period, if not earlier. But even in seemingly straightforward canonical accounts, patrons creatively ­imagined the heavens and pure lands they invoked. The final section of a prayer by the monk Dōgyō 道行 (n.d.), an ascetic practitioner who led a fellowship group to be discussed in detail in chapter three, displays some of ­t hese original conceptualizations:

si­ble to truly reconstruct t­ hese settings; for a trenchant critique of Ebersole’s efforts to set ­t hese poems at the sites of temporary burial, see Duthie 2014, 191–192. 44. For an example of this phrase, see NCS, plate 33; NI, 618. 45. For example, NCS, plates 31–32 and 38, and SK 1755; NI, 618, 619, and 621. The term “Land of Tranquility and Bliss” appears in the Wuliang shou jing, T 360.12.278a, one of the three central scriptures for Pure Land thought. Although the exact phrase An’yōkai (Ch. Anyang jie) or “Realm of Tranquility and Nourishment” does not appear in translated sutras, it can be found in several commentaries. The similar phrase An’yōkoku (Ch. Anyang guo 安養國) appears in the Wuliang shou jing, T 360.12.273a. 46. For example, see NCS, plates 31–32 and 75; NI, 618 and 639. The canonical description of Maitreya’s maṇi palace can be found in T 452.14.419a-­c.

Ritual Compositions 75 Next, [we] pray for our parents and relatives: may ten thousand blessed days be renewed and one thousand happy months come. At the time a­ fter one hundred years, on the eve of their withdrawal from the world, may their spirits journey to [Tu]ṣita Heaven and rise up to Maitreya’s fragrant dais. May their thoughts roost in the [Land of] Supreme Bliss and step ­toward Sound Observer[Avalokiteśvara]’s flowered throne. (NCS, plate 56; Tanaka Kaidō 1973, 63–64)

The prayer begins by asking for long and happy lives. Upon death, Dōgyō envisions his ancestors dividing into “spirits” (kami or perhaps kokoro 神)47 and “thoughts” (omoi 想), using the two terms in parallel positions. The former journey to Tuṣita heaven to gaze upon Maitreya. The latter venture to the Land of Ultimate Bliss to encounter Avalokiteśvara. Not only is this notion of a single individual traveling to two separate realms somewhat ­unorthodox by canonical standards, though common in prayers,48 Dōgyō chooses to make Avalokiteśvara—­a bodhisattva typically portrayed as an attendant of Amitābha—­t he central deity of the Land of Bliss.49 The prayer also envisions the throne in Tuṣita as a “fragrant dais,” a term that does not appear in Maitreya texts but was likely selected as a poetic parallel for Avalokiteśvara’s “flowered throne.” The notion that one ascends to Maitreya’s heaven, as seen in this prayer, is natu­ral, considering its position above Mount Sumeru. But Hou Xudong (1998, 160–162) has argued that the discourse of ascent in dedications composed in China may derive from continental conceptions of transcendents (xian 仙).50 While it is unclear w ­ hether Japa­nese patrons would have 47. For the reading as kokoro, see Endō in Jōdai bunken wo yomu kai 2016, 371. 48. For the idea that ­people could visit both realms in Japa­nese prayers, see Kudō 2008, 137–147. For evidence of this in statue inscriptions from fifth-­and sixth-­century China, see Hou 1998, 182–185, 202. The monk Kyōkai similarly believed it was pos­si­ble to visit both realms, as he concludes his third and final preface to the Nihon ryōiki with the sentence “I hope that we can all leave ­behind this earth to be born in Supreme Bliss in the west and that we may together abandon our abodes to reside together in the Jeweled Hall of the heaven above,” references to Amitābha and Maitreya’s realms, respectively. See Nihon ryōiki III.jo (preface); SNKBT 30:129. 49. For Avalokiteśvara’s presence in Amitābha’s Pure Land, see Wuliang shou jing, T 360.12.273b. 50. As with the reference to the Queen ­Mother of the West, I do not see “transcendents” as evidence of Daoism in Japan but rather as part of a common store of continental ideas that predate the emergence of Daoism. This is also true for Zhuangzi, which w ­ ill appear below. Daoists and o ­ thers drew on t­ hese sources beginning in the second c­ entury CE when the Celestial Masters and other Daoist movements began. ­T hose using the term “transcendent” in Japan and elsewhere did not necessarily see themselves as Daoists. My caution about using Daoism as an all-­encompassing term for disparate traditions draws from the work of Sinologists over the past forty years; for the best overview, see Kleeman 2016, esp. 1–10. For more on the prob­lems with equating transcendents with Daoism, see Campany

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understood ascent the same way, they did draw on poetic language from Chinese classics and belles lettres and Buddhist canonical lit­er­a­ture to describe t­ hese journeys upward. For example, the aristocrat Ishikawa no Toshitari envisions a splendid ascent for his deceased son: “May golden flowers support his steps as he ascends into the heavens of five pure [abodes] high above. May jade leaves spread out before his appearance as he unites with the fruit of the three illuminations in the distance” (NCS, plate 19; Tanaka Kaidō 1973, 38). The terms “heavens of five pure [abodes]” (gojō no ten 五浄之天) and “fruit of the three illuminations” (Ch. sanmyō no ka 三明之果) derive from canonical Buddhist sources. The five pure heavens are the nonafflicted heaven, the not-­hot heaven, the skillful manifestation heaven, the skillful seeing heaven, and the heaven of ultimate form. The three kinds of wisdom are three of the six super­natu­ral powers: namely, the power to see past lives, the power of divine vision, and the power of uncontaminated awareness. Other images, however, such as the ascent on golden flowers and a carpet of jade leaves, are foreign to traditional Buddhist cosmology but resonate with court culture and poetics. In fact, the phrase “ jade leaves” (gyokuyō 玉葉) was a commonly employed poetic trope often used as a meta­ phor for descendants of the royal ­family.51 Toshitari poetically transforms his son into royalty in the afterlife by portraying the journey to heaven in courtly language. No prayer reveals this tendency more than one sponsored by Kōken/ Shōtoku, likely for her ­father, Emperor Shōmu: May the phoenix carriage of Mount Qiaoshan approach the place of the lotus while sounding its imperial bells. May the team of dragons of the Fen River float atop the fragrant seas, while letting their reflections flow. May [the deceased] forever uncover the immea­sur­able complete meaning May [he] eternally bear witness to the pervasively soaring dharma body. (NCS, plate 71; NI, 638)

Kōken/Shōtoku seamlessly combines imagery derived from Chinese classics with Buddhist allusions while at the same time using parallel structures to distinguish the two spheres. First are the paired phrases “phoenix carriage of Mount Qiaoshan” and “team of dragons of the Fen River” (lines 1 and 4) in identical positions in parallel phrases. Mount Qiaoshan 橋山 is 2009, esp. 33–36. For a useful recent discussion of the history of early Daoist communities and their use of this concept, see Raz 2012, esp. 1–90. Several excellent studies have used ­t hese beliefs and practices as evidence of “Daoism” in Japan; see Masuo 2000; Bialock 2007, 65–110; Ooms 2009, esp. 132–153; and Richey 2015, though many of the essays in Richey are ambivalent on the question of ­whether Japa­nese religious practices should be labeled as “Daoist” despite the volume’s title Daoism in Japan. 51. For but one relevant example, see Seireishū [Shōryōshū], NKBT 71:289.

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the supposed site of the tomb of China’s first sovereign, the mythical Yellow Emperor, as described in the Rec­ords of the ­G reat Historian.52 ­Here, the deceased Japa­nese emperor is linked with the mythic rulers of China. The allusion to the Fen River 汾水 likely points to a story in the Zhuangzi. In this episode, Emperor Yao visits four masters north of the Fen River and is so taken by what he witnesses that he can no longer think about governance when he returns to his capital. This image, used frequently to refer to past sovereigns in prayers, suggests that Kōken/Shōtoku viewed Shōmu’s death as taking him to a land more captivating than anything he could witness on earth.53 The paired vehicles in t­ hese lines also deploy imperial associations. The phrases “phoenix carriage” (hōro 鳳輅) and “team of dragons” (ryūsan 龍驂) both point to vehicles used by emperors in Chinese accounts.54 Sounding imperial bells (meiran 鳴鑾) is another traditional Chinese poetic term, often used as a noun, associated with the ruler—as my translation implies. (The term “imperial bells” also appears in a separate prayer on behalf of the deceased Emperor Shōmu sponsored by Kōmyōshi.55) ­These courtly poetic allusions represent a specific cultural repertoire that patrons frequently drew on in composing prayers, namely one derived from Sinitic literary traditions of sage rulers. Other paired lines such as seven and eight are Buddhist allusions. To start with the latter, “complete meaning” is a translation of the technical Sanskrit term nītārtha, which refers to unambiguous and definitive teachings that do not require interpretation. The dharma body points to the form of the Buddha equated with the cosmos, representing ultimate real­ ity. It is often equated with the cosmic buddha Vairocana, who is significant to this prayer. T ­ hese paired terms stand for the absolute truths that Shōmu w ­ ill encounter in the splendor of the postmortem realm. But what realm is it? In a line-­by-­line analy­sis first published in 1939, Kanda Kiichirō, who identified many of the above Chinese allusions, convincingly argued that the pairings in lines two and five of “place of the lotus” (renjō 蓮場) and “fragrant seas” (kōkai 香海) provide clues to determining the i­magined destination of the deceased as a Buddhist land (1987, 64–67). First, the term fragrant sea is relatively uncommon in the Buddhist 52. Some of t­ hese allusions w ­ ere first pointed out in Kanda [1939] 1987, 62. For Mount Qiaoshan as the site of the tomb of the Yellow Emperor, see Shi ji 1, 10. 53. Zhuangzi jishi 1, 31. For other early Japa­nese references to this scene in the context of the death of the ruler, see Seireishū [Shōryōshū], NKBT 71:288–289; Honchō monzui 2, SNKBT 27:139; Nihon sandai jitsuroku 4/18/859; KT 4:25. 54. I take the phoenix carriage to refer to the sovereign’s palanquin, as similar terms such as hōsha 鳳車 have that meaning. The latter can also refer to the vehicle of transcendents as well, which fits with the broader images of lands of transcendents in this prayer. For ­t hese terms, see Morohashi 1984–1986, 12:793. A similar phrase for phoenix carriage, ran’yo 鸞輿, appears in another prayer for Shōmu; see Shoku Nihongi 12/30/756; SNKBT 14:170–171. 55. For this, see “Kokka chinpō chō” reproduced in Shōsōin jimusho 1994–1997, 3:75, and DNK 4:171.

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canon, but it appears repeatedly in detailed cosmological descriptions of Vairocana’s Realm of the Flower Trea­sury (Ch. huazang shijie 華藏世界) in the Flower Garland Sutra. This scripture, which received significant attention at the Nara court, contains an extended chapter describing the world system of Vairocana sitting atop a sea of fragrant ­water (T 279.10.39b). The land masses within this world themselves contain fragrant seas whose floors and shores are adorned with jewels, lotus blossoms, and sandalwood powder preaching the dharma (T 279.10.40b–­c). The chapter outlines numerous seas of fragrant w ­ ater, each with a name and its own world system (T 279.10.42b–51b). The phrase “the place of the lotus” does not appear in the Buddhist canon but likely refers to the Realm of the Flower Trea­sury, which is contained within a ­giant lotus blossom amid the fragrant seas of the Flower Garland Sutra. This reading, which views the phrases “fragrant seas” and “place of the lotus” as references to Vairocana’s Realm of the Flower Trea­ sury, is strengthened by the fact that other prayers on behalf of Shōmu from roughly the same time explic­itly asked for his birth in this land.56 Moreover, as is well known, Shōmu himself showed ­great interest in the Flower Garland Sutra and the worlds described in it while alive. The prayer, therefore, not only utilizes both Buddhist and Chinese allusions but also clearly divides them with parallel expressions. This suggests that they w ­ ere intentionally distinguished and implies an awareness that ­these w ­ ere indeed dif­fer­ent though equally power­ful ritual and literary repertoires. How far did ­these differentiations extend? Or to put it another way, in what postmortem realm did Kōken/Shōtoku intend this to take place? Is it a Chinese land of transcendents? Or does the prayer point to an identifiable Buddhist realm as argued by Kanda? Despite the fact that Kanda convincingly identified the postmortem destination as that of Vairocana’s Realm of the Flower Trea­sury in the Flower Garland Sutra, the version of this land in Kōken/Shōtoku’s prayer does not match its description in the text. In addition to the canonical Buddhist ele­ ments, the realm in the prayer also contains courtly sights and sacred geographies from the Chinese classics. This was not outlandish given the parallel form of the prayer and the context of a memorial ritual on behalf of the ruler. In this literary genre and ritual setting, the realm of the Flower Gar­ land Sutra ­ought to be filled with mountains, rivers, and carriages from the Chinese poetic tradition. While the land depicted may be based loosely on ideas from an impor­t ant scripture, a strictly Buddhist pure land was not fit for a king. The land, therefore, represented a poetic version of a canonical 56. For other prayers on behalf of Shōmu that ask for him to travel to the Realm of the Flower Trea­sury, see “Kokka chinpō chō,” reproduced in Shōsōin jimusho 1994–1997, 3:10, and DNK 4:122, Shoku Nihongi 12/30/756; SNKBT 14:170–173, and the reference to a prayer in the Shoku Nihongi to the “Trea­sured Land of the Lotus Flower” (renge no hōsetsu 蓮華之寶刹), which in the context of ­t hese other prayers can also be taken to refer to the Realm of the Flower Trea­sury. For this, see Shoku Nihongi 11/28/757; SNKBT 14:236–237.

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Buddhist realm, a place with an identifiable position in the Buddhist canon, but one colored with classical Chinese imagery.

Conclusions This chapter has explored the meaning of prayer in early Japan through close readings of ganmon sponsored by individuals from diverse backgrounds. T ­ hese texts suggest that although sutra copying followed a ritual structure based on Buddhist notions of karma and the repayment of debt— as outlined in chapter one—­t he expressions uttered in prayers ­were never bound to a single canonical tradition. Patrons employed diverse religious frameworks and poetic allusions to creatively express their understandings of scripture, ­human relations, and the cosmos. My point is not that the borders between Buddhist and non-­Buddhist texts w ­ ere ­either unclear or unimportant in early Japan—­t hough that was surely true in some cases. Rather, this chapter has highlighted how genre and ritual expectations ­shaped expressions in prayers. Prayers utilized some corpora, such as the Chinese literary and Buddhist canonical traditions, but not o ­ thers, such as the kami my­thol­ogy of the Kojiki. Patrons deliberately combined distinct repertoires based on situational, ritual, and generic expectations, while excluding ­others. This led to poeticized cosmological blendings in which the River Fen flowed into the fragrant seas of the Realm of the Flower Trea ­sury. This was true not only for proj­ects sponsored by kings and queens but also for t­hose of more modest background, including sutras commissioned by minor officials, fellowships of unnamed lay patrons, and obscure monks. ­These individuals shared common concerns with the efficacy of scripture, the proper expressions of mourning, and a desire for their loved ones to be born in magnificent postmortem realms. State and pop­u­lar Buddhism remain inadequate categories for understanding ­these texts and the actors who produced them. This is not to say that class-­based distinctions are irrelevant; clearly, composing prayers required some access to educated individuals. But the divisions of state and pop­u­lar are far too neat for understanding the relationship between patrons and their texts, and the categories say nothing about the ­actual content of the patrons’ expressed beliefs. More generally, the conclusions of this chapter suggest the need for careful attention to the interrelated nature of lit­er­a­ture and ritual, a connection that Martin Kern (2005, xiii–­xiv) has suggested can be traced back to early China, where the very idea of the literary emerged out of conceptions of ritual order. Much of East Asian ritual cannot be understood without attention to poetics; and interpretation of lit­er­a­ture often requires awareness of ritual context. Words uttered in hallowed settings required elevated diction. And the flowery language itself made the setting that of a ritual—­namely, one set apart from other more quotidian concerns.

PART TWO Organ­izations

3

Writing Socie­ties

In the fifth month of the year when the star lodged in the position of elder fire dog (hinoeinu 丙戌; 686 CE), a fellowship from Shiki district in Kawachi province rev­er­ent­ly made a single copy of the Scripture on the Dhāraṇī of the Diamond Place on behalf of the seven generations of their f­ athers and m ­ others and all sentient beings. Relying on ­t hese ­wholesome ­c auses, may they be born into a pure land and at last achieve true awakening. —­Monk Hōrin, the proselytizer

The epigraph for this chapter is taken from the colophon of Japan’s earliest datable sutra manuscript, a copy of the Scripture on the Dhāraṇī of the Diamond Place (Ch. Jingang chang tuoluoni jing 金剛場陀羅尼經).1 Compared to the stylized literary prayers examined in the previous chapter, the meaning of this inscription is relatively straightforward. A group of patrons from Kawachi province, an area known as a ganglion of Buddhist activities, gathered together to sponsor the transcription of a short dhāraṇī text in 686. They commissioned it on behalf of their ancestors and all sentient beings, who they hoped would be born in a pure land and reach enlightenment. While the sentiment ­behind the prayer is unambiguous, it raises a host of so­cio­log­i­cal questions. What type of an or­ga­ni­za­tion is a fellowship (chi­ shiki 知識)? Why do the patrons identify themselves by the district they reside in rather than recording their individual names? What role did the monk Hōrin play in this group? Was this fellowship a unique case or was it part of a broader social movement? What is the connection between the ­wholesome acts alluded to in the prayer and the community that sponsored its transcription? Do ritualized practices reinforce existing communal identities? Can they create new ones? This chapter ­w ill turn to the issues raised by the 686 manuscript in an attempt to explore the communities connected to ritualized writing in ancient Japan. 1. For the colophon, see NCS, plate 1. I have made some minor alterations to the En­ glish translation by Lurie 2011, 135. The manuscript, currently owned by the Agency of Cultural Affairs, only rec­ords the cyclical year, so the 686 dating is not definitive. Scholarly consensus suggests this manuscript does date to 686.

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To ask t­ hese questions requires an approach that treats texts not simply as a collection of signs communicating meaning, but also as objects whose very existence depends on and is generative of social organ­izations. In the renowned bibliography of D. F. Mc­Ken­zie (1999, 62), texts as physical objects exist as “social products,” and as Andrew Taylor (1999, 358), a specialist in medieval En­glish lit­er­a­ture, has remarked, a manuscript functioned as a “ ‘carrier of relationships’ . . . ​a nd circulated along lines of patronage, friendship, or kinship that it in turn reinforced.” In this way, textual production was inherently social. Access to a manuscript depended on a personal connection with someone who owned a copy that could be borrowed, and the borrower would then typically need to employ a team of laborers including assemblers, scribes, and proofreaders to transcribe the text. Large-­scale proj­ects w ­ ere enabled e­ ither by multiple patrons joining together and pooling their resources—as is the case in this chapter— or through sophisticated institutions capable of supervising ­labor and material goods, as ­w ill be seen in the next. In some cases, patronage collectives drew on existing social structures such as kinship groups or village and district organ­izations. In other cases, patrons or­ga­nized themselves in accord with new conceptions of religious friendship, introduced in the sutras themselves. To borrow the meta­phors of the practice, ritualized writing was at once an act of transcription and inscription—it reinforced existing social organ­izations through reproduction and enabled new configurations to appear for the first time. This chapter ­w ill focus on a par­t ic­u ­lar way of imagining communal bonds in ancient Japan, often referred to as fellowship groups (chishiki yui 知識結). Fellowships of the Buddhist faithful emerged in the seventh and eighth centuries and played a prominent role in spreading Buddhism across the archipelago by commissioning statues, erecting stele, building bridges, constructing t­ emples, copying sutras, and holding rites.2 They w ­ ere typically led by charismatic monks, but t­ hese collectives also drew on power­ful kinship groups, provincial officials, and faithful devotees. The role of t­ hese groups in sponsoring sutra transcription cannot be overstated. Sonoda Kōyū (1972, 244–245) has found extant manuscripts commissioned by nineteen distinct fellowship groups from the Nara period alone. This represents a significant sum, surpassing the combined number of identifiable individual proj­ects for which we have extant sutra manuscripts commissioned by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi, Prince Nagaya, Ishikawa no Toshitari, Emperor Shōmu, and Empress Kōken/Shōtoku, royal and aristocratic figures who operated their own scriptoria, the subject of chapter four.3 2. See Takeuchi Rizō [1931] 1998, an article that introduced many of the epigraphic sources scholars still use ­today. For an excellent survey of data on chishiki from roof tiles, see Kondō 2014. 3. The total number of extant scrolls is much larger for the individuals mentioned above, mainly ­b ecause multiple manuscripts are extant from single proj­ects such as the

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Prob­lems remain, however, about how to classify ­t hese groups. In a groundbreaking article first published in 1974, Nakai Shinkō focused on what he called communities or collectives (kyōdōtai 共同体) to argue for the need to create a distinct category of “fellowship Buddhism” to be used alongside more commonly applied designations such as “state Buddhism” and “clan Buddhism” (1991, 383–406). While I agree with Nakai’s assessment of the importance of t­hese groups to the study of ancient Japa­nese religions, I reject the broader schema he employs for understanding them. Scholars, and Nakai is one of many, have typically understood fellowship Buddhism as representative of a “pop­u­lar” or “folk” tradition defined in distinction to “state Buddhism,” a form characterized by bureaucratic control and the use of the religion for ideological and apotropaic support.4 A careful study of fellowship groups, however, blurs ­t hese bound­aries. Since they drew on and reinforced state institutions in many cases, fellowships cannot be divorced entirely from the broader ritsuryō 律令 proj­ect, a designation that refers to both the administrative and penal codes authored in the seventh and eighth centuries and the larger system of governance centered on the heavenly sovereign. Rather than defining ­these groups in terms of a “state” versus “pop­u­lar” binary, this chapter ­w ill consider the ways the members of collectives creatively conceived their own communities in geographic, kin-­based, and religious terms. It w ­ ill see them in part as what the po­liti­cal scientist Benjamin Read (2009, 1) has called “straddlers,” defined as “groups that have extensive presence at the grassroots and engage widespread participation, yet are institutionally linked to the state rather than in­de­pen­dent of it.” Straddlers can take a number of forms along a continuum of varying degrees of intimacy with official institutions. The relationships formed in t­ hese communities performed a range of functions: social, po­liti­cal, and religious. On the social level, they promoted solidarity among villa­gers and forged new bonds across traditional kinship groups. In some cases, fellowships served the interests of power­ful figures and institutions, including local chieftains and the emerging state bureaucracy. At the same time, they provided individual participants a chance to collectively engage in pious practice with like-­minded ­people, who could encourage one another in their journeys along the Buddhist path. Communal bonds contributed to the cultivation of ­wholesome be­hav­ior and the creation of merit, features cited in the 686 prayer and common to ­these groups more generally. 5/1 canon, the Imakō ichibu 今更一部 canon, and Prince Nagaya’s Wadō-­kyō. Considering the fact that for many canon proj­ects for which we have extant sutra manuscripts, less than one thousand of the total copied texts exist, and that many entire canons of thousands of scrolls each mentioned in Shōsōin documents have dis­appeared altogether, it would not be surprising if thousands if not tens of thousands of such groups ­were active in early Japan. Surely ­t here ­were many more that sponsored sutras than the nineteen groups recorded in extant colophons. 4. In addition to Nakai 1991, 403, see Yoshida Kazuhiko 2006a, 36, and 2010, 79–81.

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Continental Pre­ce­dents The 686 manuscript was commissioned by a group of patrons who referred to themselves as a fellowship. This group joined a long tradition of collective Buddhist patronage dating back to ancient India, where individuals from diverse social backgrounds including fishermen, gardeners, and ­house­w ives contributed materials such as beams and paving slabs to Buddhist construction proj­ects, inscribing their names on the objects as a rec­ord of their donations.5 In China, extant fifth-­century stele from the Yungang and Longmen cave ­temples provide some of the earliest evidence of collective patronage in East Asia.6 The practice flourished in the following centuries with lay followers and monastics alike joining together to commission a range of Buddhist proj­ects including ­temples, sutras, and statues. Japa­nese individuals, in some of their earliest encounters with Buddhism, would have likely observed pre­ce­dents of collective patronage through interactions with monks, nuns, and lay devotees both on the continent and within immigrant communities from the Korean peninsula in Japan. As we w ­ ill see, ­t here are numerous structural similarities shared by the Japa­nese and continental groups. Devotional socie­ties in China frequently identified themselves with a cluster of related terms such as yi 邑, yiyi 邑義, and yishe 邑社. Yi, the character shared among ­t hese terms, refers to a Chinese administrative unit corresponding to a village or small town.7 ­T hese geo­g raph­i­cally localized groups emerged, in part, out of administrative categories defined in Chinese ­legal codes. Stanley Abe (2002, 214) has shown that some groups ­were endorsed and supervised by the state. Yi groups also had strong ties to lineage; as Jacques Gernet (1995, 268) has written, they w ­ ere “hereditary institutions.” At the same time, yi groups transcended familial bound­aries. Although one lineage group often played an unequally dominant role in sponsoring a proj­ect, most yi included a number of patrons of differing surnames. Lay organizers known as yizhu 邑主, often members of a power­ful local lineage group, commonly worked together with village preceptors (yishi 邑師) to or­ga­nize patrons and laborers to commission pious proj­ects. Membership in such collectives could range from a dozen individuals to a few hundred. Fellowships regularly gathered together to conduct rituals and engage in periodic abstinential practices.8 Groups on the continent also or­ga­nized themselves around canonical Buddhist conceptions of friendship to be discussed below. ­There is some evidence of this language in Dunhuang, where the term “­wholesome friends 5. For collective patronage in India, see Dehejia 1992 and Shimada 2013, esp. 163–168. 6. For an English-­language overview of t­ hese stele, see Wong 2004. 7. Most studies have focused on the appearance of ­t hese terms in epigraphic evidence, but they also appear in Dunhuang colophons. For example, see P 2086. 8. The classic study of ­these groups remains Gernet 1995, 259–277. The above paragraph also draws on more recent research; see Abe 2002, 210–214 and 274–279; Wong 2004, esp. 15–19 and 52–60; and Lingley 2010.

Writing Socie­ties 87

and acquaintances” (Ch. shan zhishi 善知識)—­zhishi being the Chinese pronunciation of chishiki—­appears in colophons to transcribed sutras (e.g., P 2056, BD 14496, N 069). Takeuchi Ryō (2016, 268–309) has used statue inscriptions from Silla and Koguryŏ to demonstrate that this language of Buddhist friendship was the most common way collectives envisioned their identity on the Korean peninsula. He has suggested that t­hese Korean groups may have provided the primary model for Japa­nese fellowships rather than Chinese yi, an argument strengthened by the strong presence of Korean immigrants in early fellowships such as the 686 colophon from Kawachi, an area known as the home of many immigrant groups. The earliest evidence for collective patronage in Japan appears in epigraphic sources such as statue inscriptions and excavated roof tiles. From this evidence, it is clear that collaborative patronage in the seventh c­ entury usually followed a par­t ic­u­lar social structure with a proselytizing monk as the leader, a chief patron who helped or­ga­nize the group through local po­liti­cal structures, and a fellowship of other patrons who contributed financial resources to sponsor a given proj­ect, a pattern also observed in the Chinese yi groups (Takeuchi 2016, 206–207). In seventh-­century Japan, ­t hese groups supported the commissioning of images and t­ emples both in the capital, as evidenced by the first recorded use of the term fellowship (chishiki) in a 623 inscription9 on an image of Śākyamuni at Hōryūji, and in the provinces, as seen from inscriptions on a Maitreya image and roof tiles originally from the Kaya ­temple site in Bitchū province (modern-day Okayama prefecture).10 Fellowship groups played a decisive but still underappreciated role in expanding the Buddhist tradition across the Japa­nese archipelago in the seventh c­ entury.

Village and District Organ­izations Sutra colophons, as well as other epigraphic sources, show that the emergence of ­these groups in seventh-­century Japan drew on legally defined administrative structures and institutions. Takeuchi Ryō (2016, 223–252) has suggested that the sudden increase in the number of t­ hese groups active across the archipelago in the latter half of the seventh ­century stemmed in part from the introduction of official geographic designations at a national level. In par­tic­u­lar, the drawing of units such as villages (sato or ri 里) and districts (kōri 郡) in seventh-­century ­legal reforms ­shaped the identities of religious communities and provided administrative channels through which they could or­ga­nize.11 In fact, the fellowship members who 9. The dating remains contested and may never be resolved. For a critical perspective, see McCallum 2004, 23–25; for a supporting opinion, see Tōno 2000, 27–37. For balanced overviews of the debate, see Lurie 2011, 398 (endnote 5.1) and Walley 2013, 306–311. 10. On ­t hese objects from the Kaya ­temple site, see Takeuchi Ryō 2016, 187–202. For other seventh-­century examples of the term chishiki, see Kondō 2014, 234–235. 11. For more on the creation of townships and districts in seventh-­century Japan, see Batten 1986, 203–204, and Piggott 1997, 114–115 and 206–207.

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authored the 686 colophon that this chapter began with describe themselves solely in terms of an official geographic designation: the Shiki district in Kawachi province (pres­ent-­day Ōsaka prefecture). Other than the monastic or­ga­nizer, no individual names appear in the colophon. The very notion of a district (kōri, ­here using an older transcription of 評) was only established a few de­cades earlier.12 From soon ­a fter the introduction of this term, therefore, individuals began seeing and assembling themselves as a community in accord with legally defined administrative codes. This manuscript, so frequently highlighted as an early example of “pop­u ­lar Buddhism,” cannot be divorced from state structures. Rather, it was produced by a group that can be profitably classified as a straddler: an or­ga­ni­za­t ion neither entirely in­de­pen­dent of state structures nor synonymous with the ritsuryō proj­ect, as it also served more personal functions such as merit making and memorializing the dead. Although the 686 colophon is the only extant source for collective patronage of sutra transcription in the seventh ­century (it is, ­after all, the only extant Japa­nese sutra manuscript from the entire seventh ­century), eighth-­ century collectives also or­ga­nized themselves in accord with official geographic designations. For example, colophons of two scrolls of an Abhi­ dharmic treatise dating to 1/749 rec­ ord two patrons with dif­ fer­ ent surnames who identify themselves as residents of the Mugi district 武義郡 in Mino 美濃 province (modern-day Gifu), an area far removed from the capital.13 Even t­ hose residing in remote regions, therefore, had already begun imagining themselves as parts of communities defined by official district lines by the mid-­Nara period. Other fellowships ­were delineated according to villages, as was the case with a group from Iehara village in Kawachi province. A monk named Manpuku 萬福 led this group, which sponsored two bundles of scrolls of the Mahā-­prajñā-­pāramitā-­sūtra.14 Colophons from ­these manuscripts reveal two dif­fer­ent notations that the group used to refer to their village. The first set utilized the same character for village (Ch. yi; likely pronounced sato in Japa­nese) found frequently in the Chinese examples discussed above. From other colophons from this proj­ect, we can see that they used this character interchangeably with sato/ri, the officially sanctioned administrative category for village. The colophon states that the ­whole village was involved irrespective of gender or age. It is impossible to know ­whether this is an exaggeration, ­whether participation was compulsory, or if perhaps all of 12. For the origins of this designation, see Kamada 2001, 145–179. 13. Nara ibun, 621. The citation from Nara ibun does not appear to draw on an extant manuscript, but instead relies on rec­ords of colophons collected in the 1919 Kokyō daibatsu zuikenroku 古經題跋随見録 compiled by Tanaka Mitsuaki 田中光顕 (1843–1939). 14. The manuscripts themselves ­were lost in a flood in 1953. Fortunately, Gorai Shigeru was able to rec­ord all of the colophons before this incident. Scrolls 421, 425, and 430 contain identical prayers with the character yi ( J. yu or sato), while scrolls 426 and 429 employ ri. For more on this proj­ect, see Gorai 1956; Yoshie 2007, 68–71; Nakai 1973, 159–171 and 1991, 391–394; and Takeuchi Ryō 2009, 35–38. In En­glish, see Augustine 2005, 90–91.

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the members of the village sincerely participated in the proj­ect. Regardless of the motivation, this example provides further evidence of the power of ­these administrative categories for imagining communities and organ­ izing ­labor in ancient Japan. The author of the colophon, at the very least, chose to depict the fellowship as not simply a collection of individuals but as a village united in patronage.

State Officials as Community Organizers Fellowships ­were often led by local leaders in the community, many of whom held official posts in the provincial government. For example, the district magistrate (dairyō 大領) Kusakabe no Obito Maro 日下部首麻呂 served as one of the main patrons (dai dan’otsu 大檀越) who led a group from Kusakabe township 日下部郷 in the Ōtori district 大鳥郡 of Izumi province 和泉監 (pres­ent-day Ōsaka prefecture) in sponsoring the Yogācāra-­bhūmi-­śāstra (Ch. Yuqie shidi lun 瑜伽師地論).15 Altogether 709 individuals participated in this proj­ect, a number that would have surely included the vast majority, if not all, of the villa­gers. The fact that Maro could get the entire village ­behind the proj­ect shows his authority in the local community. His efforts would have been aided by his position as district magistrate, a legally sanctioned post in charge of district offices as defined in the ritsuryō system of provincial administration.16 Maro, who came from one of the most power­f ul kinship groups from the area, would have also been able to draw on his traditional power base in addition to t­ hese relatively new administrative structures to encourage the villa­gers to join.17 The case of Maro shows that fellowship groups cannot be divorced from state structures, but his example also highlights the continued influence of traditionally power­ful lineage groups outside the capital. Provincial patronage si­mul­t a­neously supported state and local interests. District magistrates ­were not the only officials involved in organ­izing collective patronage groups. A colophon appended to a manuscript of the Rec­ord of the Inner Scriptures from the ­G reat Tang (Ch. Da Tang neidian lu 大唐 内典錄) rec­ords that a man named Mutobe no Azumabito 六人部東人 led a fellowship group to transcribe the Buddhist canon.18 He held the rank of ju­nior eighth upper, which marked him as a minor figure in the hierarchy of the state bureaucracy. Azumabito worked as a provincial doctor ( J. kuniishi 國医師), an official position outlined in reconstructed eighth-­century ­legal codes. This title would have given him state-­sanctioned authority to work in local communities as a healer and also provided him with close con15. Nara ibun, 612. 16. For more on the position of dairyō in district administration, see Piggott 1997, ­199–205. 17. For more on the Kusakabe lineage group’s prominence in early Japan, see Como 2008, 95–97 and 118, and 2009, 70–71. 18. For a useful overview of this proj­ect, see Sakuma 1983, 282–300. The manuscript is currently in the Nezu Museum. For the colophon, see NCS, plate 52 and Nara ibun, 625.

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nections to officials. Provincial doctors w ­ ere generally selected from the province in which they served, although they could also be appointed from neighboring regions or the capital.19 The Mutobe clan was based in Mino, which bordered Echizen 越前 (pres­ent-­day Fukui prefecture), and also had a presence in Echizen proper, so Azumabito likely had roots near his area of proselytization.20 His charisma as a specialist in healing techniques would have further helped him build a grassroots network of devoted supporters to sponsor his canon proj­ect, an undertaking on a scale that would have surely been beyond the means of a provincial doctor of relatively low rank. Much like the district magistrate Maro, Azumabito would have been able to straddle personal, local, and state-­sanctioned networks. Azumabito’s dual roles as a locally based charismatic healer and a legally sanctioned official enabled him to craft a network of workers in the capital and the provinces, as is clear from the names listed in the colophon. The copyist and assembler w ­ ere both from the capital. Mutobe no Azuma­bito prob­ably needed to have the texts copied in the capital, b ­ ecause Echizen lacked the ­human and material resources for a large-­scale proj­ect such as transcribing the entire Buddhist canon.21 However, the proofreading, which was performed twice, likely took place in Echizen. It was certainly done by ­people from the area. The colophon identifies a man from the Niu district 丹生郡 as the first proofreader and a monk at Kokudaiji 國大寺 ­temple (likely in the Niu district) as the second.22 The ­temple may have been the official provincial ­temple (kokubunji 國分寺) of Echizen, a fact that would further illuminate the close connections between this fellowship group and state institutions. ­These dual loyalties between state and local interests also appear in the dedicatory prayer: Azumabito dedicates the merit from the transcription on behalf of the sovereign as well as his kinship group and the members of his fellowship. Similarly, a prayer by the monk Dōgyō, a figure cited in the previous chapter, supports the po­liti­cal order by invoking his love of the state and asking that the court itself may be ­free from prob­lems. ­These leaders shared much in common with better known figures such as Gyōki 行基 (668–749), who worked with local communities but also supported the larger imperial proj­ect.23 They did not see their activities in terms of the 19. For more on the position of provincial doctors in general, see Sakuma 1983, 285–290. 20. Although the Mutobe lineage was mostly based in Mino, they had a presence in Echizen as well. Some members of the Mutobe f­ amily resided in the same district in Echizen that the first proofreader hailed from. Saeki Arikiyo has argued that Azumabito himself was from Echizen. See Saeki 1981–1983, 3:347. 21. T ­ hese shortcomings occurred despite the fact Buddhism was a large part of Echizen’s religious life from quite early on. For example, in the Niu district, where the proofreader was from, ­there are remains from a late seventh-­century structure known as the Ōmushi 大虫­temple site. See Sakuma 1983, 299. 22. For the t­ emple, see Tateno 2006, 39–40. 23. For Gyōki’s role in connecting with the populace through organ­izing chishiki groups to help raise funds for Tōdaiji construction, see Wakai 1994 and 2004, 124–131.

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popu­lar-­state binary frequently employed by scholars of Nara Buddhism. It was not an e­ ither/or for leaders of fellowships; collective patronage served multiple interests si­mul­t a­neously. Fellowships w ­ ere by no means limited to the provinces. Officials in the capital also or­ga­nized themselves into collectives and referred to themselves as chishiki. Shōsōin documents show that Fujiwara no Toyonari 藤原豊成 (704–765), who came from one of the most power­ful families in the capital, joined a group of officials to commission a series of images and texts in response to a devastating epidemic that struck down many aristocrats, including prominent members of the Fujiwara clan (Suhara 1999; Sugimoto 2001a). Other employees of the Office of Sutra Transcription formed a fellowship and pooled their resources to sponsor a penance rite related to Amitābha (Ōkusa 2014, 46–83). Another fellowship of officials copied the Mahā-­prajñā-­pāramitā-­sūtra on behalf of Kōmyōshi when she fell ill in 758, a proj­ect led by Fujiwara no Nakamaro as part of his efforts to solidify power in the wake of the Tachibana no Naramaro incident of the previous year.24 Aristocratic h ­ ouse­hold scriptoria, which ­w ill be studied in depth in the next chapter, also relied on fellowships, as evidenced by an extant manuscript in the National Museum of Japa­nese History transcribed by a group through the Southern Fujiwara h ­ ouse­hold’s scriptorium (NCS, plate 86). The evidence presented from colophons in this chapter supports the broad conclusions of scholars such as Wakai Toshiaki (2004, 113–114) and Furuoya Tomohiro (2010, 209–231), who have argued that fellowships w ­ ere active at all levels of society and w ­ ere often or­ga­nized through structures created by the state. If Nakai Shinkō is correct that we need to account for a form of early Buddhism called “fellowship Buddhism,” ­great care must be taken to avoid conflating this category with “folk Buddhism” or “pop­u­ lar Buddhism” as an entity distinct from “state Buddhism.” Rather, the very act of collective patronage often functioned to bridge ­these divides and connect individuals with state structures.

Forging New Bonds While the examples above have focused on individual leaders with official roles, a proj­ect sponsored by a group tied to Ketaji (also read as Kitaji or Kitadera; usually transcribed as 既多寺 but also as 気多寺) ­temple 25 in Harima province (pres­ent-­d ay Hyōgo prefecture) shows a complex lineage-­based leadership structure that functioned to create new social bonds transcending both traditional power arrangements and ritsuryō-­initiated institutions. 24. For more on this proj­ect, see Ichikawa 2015, 9–49; Miyazaki 2006, 113–130; and Yamamoto Yukio 1986 and 2002, esp. 87–96 and 228–231. For the Tachibana no Naramaro incident, see Ross Bender 2010. 25. Imazu Katsunori (2010, 490–491) suggests that the correct reading of the ­temple’s name may have been Ketaji. I view this as the most likely possibility.

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Figure 3. Ketaji copy of the Treatise on the G ­ reat Perfection of Wisdom (Da zhi du lun 大智度論), scroll 91. Sponsored by a female patron named Harima no Kuni-­no-­ Miyatsuko Aka toji 針間國造赤刀自​.­Courtesy of the Kobe City Museum/DNPartcom.

The evidence from most cases of collective patronage in ancient Japan is limited to one or two extant manuscripts per group, yet from this proj­ect ­there are more than seventy scrolls of the Treatise on the ­G reat Perfection of Wisdom (Ch. Da zhi du lun 大智度論) scattered in vari­ous t­ emple, university, and museum collections in Japan and the United States.26 The colophons of ­these manuscripts all bear the date 11/23/734 and provide the names of the patrons who sponsored each individual scroll (see fig. 3).27 Of the surnames recorded in colophons, the Harima no Kuni-­no-­Miyatsuko 針間國造 lineage group appears twenty-­eight times, more than three times as many 26. Several scholars have studied this proj­ect. I have benefited from the past work of Satō Makoto 1999, 209–224; Sakaehara 1999; Takemoto 2008; Imazu 2010; Yoshikawa Satoshi 2010; and Takeuchi Ryō 2016, 255–258. I have personally viewed nine extant manuscripts: Shimane Museum of Ancient Izumo (scroll 37), Kyoto University Library (scroll 40), Tenri Central Library (scrolls 53, 96, and 97), Nara National Museum (scroll 66), Tokyo University Kokugo kokubun kenkyūshitsu 国語・国文研究室 (scroll 81), Tokyo University Historiographical Institute (scroll 87), and Harvard University (scroll 90). Of the Ishiyamadera manuscripts, scrolls 1 and 3–10 lack colophons, but likely date to the Nara period. It is unclear if they originally had colophons that ­were removed during restoration or if they perhaps never had colophons to begin with. 27. For the best published cata­log of colophons and locations of extant manuscripts from this proj­ect, see Kasai-­shi shi hensan iinkai 2006, 74–77. For photo­g raphs of the colophons currently at Ishiyamadera, see Ishiyamadera bunkazai sōgō chōsadan 1996–2010, 3:237–245.

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as the next highest, Yama no Atai 山直. This fact suggests that the Harima no Kuni-­no-­Miyatsuko group led the proj­ect. Other patrons include ­those from Harima no Atai 針間直 (appearing in six scrolls), Saeki no Atai 佐伯直 (four scrolls), Ishitsukuri no Muraji 石作連, and Mononobe no Muraji 物部連 (twice each) lineages, as well as a variety of other names that appear once. While t­here was a clearly defined clan-­based leader for this proj­ect, the Ketaji transcription transcended lineage divisions. The title Kuni-­no-­Miyatsuko marks this group as local chieftains of the Harima area. Kuni-­no-­Miyatsuko is an ancient designation granted by the court to local notables who held military, po­liti­cal, and religious authority in their locales. In fact, the very site of Ketaji t­ emple likely highlighted the Harima no Kuni-­no-­Miyatsuko’s traditional power base. Imazu Katsunori (2010, 490–491) and Takeuchi Ryō (2016, 257–258) have argued that Ke­ taji ­temple would have been located near a burial mound (kofun 古墳) for the Harima no Kuni-­no-­Miyatsuko clan. If correct, the Harima would have been able to display the strength of their ancestors while also establishing their own position as leaders in embracing the relatively new religious movement, Buddhism, that was being increasingly patronized by elites in the capital in the eighth ­century. At the same time, this proj­ect marks an expansion of Harima no Kuni-­ no-­Miyatsuko’s authority beyond the Kamo district, their familial center, where Ketaji ­temple was located. The proj­ect united diverse kinship groups from multiple regions, including ­t hose whose power bases spanned other districts in Harima province such as the Yama no Atai of Taka 多可, Kako 加古, and Innami 印南郡; and the Saeki no Atai of Kanzaki 神崎, Ibo 揖保, and Shikama 飾磨.28 ­These districts cover a geographic range spanning the majority of central Harima province, so the proj­ect would have served to unite a large swath of provincial leaders ­toward a common goal. Not all clans participated in the transcription; some prominent lineages that lived in this area do not appear in any colophons from this proj­ect. This suggests that groups ­were ­either intentionally excluded by the Harima clan or chose not to join a Harima-­led proj­ect. A fellowship in early Japan could bring ­people together across clan lines, but it also functioned to augment the local po­liti­cal power of certain groups at the expense of o ­ thers. The power relationships among kinship groups, together with the assertion of Harima authority, w ­ ere reflected in the way the Ketaji scrolls w ­ ere or­ga­nized into bundles. It was typical for scrolls of longer sutras, such as the Treatise on the ­G reat Perfection of Wisdom, to be divided into wrapped bundles (chitsu 帙) of ten scrolls per wrapper. In this par­t ic­u­lar case, the groupings w ­ ere an expression of the patronage structure of the Ketaji sponsors. According to Sakaehara Towao (1999, esp. 63–76) and Imazu Katsunori 28. For ­t hese groups, see Imazu 2010, 489. As Takeuchi Ryō (2016, 256–257) has pointed out, some of ­t hese individuals could have been living in the Kamo district, though at least two explic­itly identify their residence as Kanzaki.

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(2010, esp. 482–491), the scrolls from the latter half of this proj­ect can be divided into four subgroups: (1) bundles five and six, (2) bundle seven, (3) bundles eight and nine, and (4) bundle ten. We ­w ill return to the earlier scrolls ­later in this chapter, but, beginning with the fifth bundle, the subgroups reflect a hierarchical ordering of the leaders of the Harima clan, whose names appear at the start of each bundle. Scroll forty-­one, which would have marked the start of the fifth bundle, is no longer extant, but the next thirteen scrolls w ­ ere all sponsored by the Harima no Kuni-­ no-­Miyatsuko and Harima no Atai lineages. This is followed by a variety of other clan names through scroll sixty. Scrolls sixty-­one through seventy, which made up bundle seven, start again with the names of five p ­ eople from the Harima no Kuni-­no-­Miyatsuko lineage, followed by two from Harima no Atai, and ends with t­hose sponsored by individuals from non-­Harima clans. The next bundle returns to the Harima no Kuni-­no-­Miyatsuko with the names of seven patrons from this group followed by other clan names continuing through the next bundle ending with scroll ninety. The final bundle likewise starts with six Harima no Kuni-­no-­Miyatsuko names before transitioning to other lineage groups (see fig. 3). Although the Harima (including ­t hose with the kabane or hereditary title of Atai) clan members appear in multiple bundles, no other familial name straddles ­t hese subdivisions.29 In other words, each clan is placed within a Harima-­led subgroup. Kate Lingley (2010) has similarly shown that the arrangement of members’ names in cave inscriptions in medieval China functioned as a physical repre­sen­ta­tion of the relations and hierarchical status of individual members, so this appears to be a more broadly employed strategy found in collective patronage in East Asia. This structure at once reflected the existing strength of this lineage group in the Kamo district and provided them with a chance to visually demonstrate their power through ­these hierarchical colophons. The social or­ga­ni­za­t ion revealed the continued dominance of ancient lineages at the provincial level, while also showing how new social organ­izations could emerge to transcend traditional kinship-­based structures. As Nakai (1991, 387) has argued, one function of fellowships was to raise solidarity within a kinship group. At the same time, Nakai suggested that clans ­were attracted to Buddhism b ­ ecause of its universality, which allowed them to expand beyond their traditional lineage-­based deities, an explanation that fits the Ketaji scrolls.30 ­There is not enough evidence to know ­whether this or­ga­ni­ za­t ion would have served imperial interests or not, but at the very least we must remember that Buddhism and sutra copying had an effect on local politics. If sutra copying was connected to ideology, it was surely not only a ­matter of state power but also tied to regional hierarchies as well. 29. The above discussion on the relationship between the structure of the bundles and the social or­g a­ni­za­tion of the group draws heavi­ly from Imazu 2010, esp. 482–491 and Sakaehara 1999, esp. 63–76. 30. Nakai 1991, 400. Also see Kitō 1977, 148.

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Gender and Fellowship Groups The extant Ketaji scrolls include a handful of female sponsors, but the majority of the patrons listed appear to have been men. From other groups, it is clear that w ­ omen ­were often just as active as men and sometimes even more so. Extant manuscripts from a fellowship led by the monk Kōkaku 光覺 (n.d.) show that 49 ­percent of all participants w ­ ere ­women (Katsuura 2000, 364). A group known as the Fellowship of Intimate Servants of Yoga Practice included twelve w ­ omen and nine men (NI, 621). Roughly 60 ­percent of the fellowship from Izumi province discussed above ­were female devotees (NI, 612). For a group from Kawachi province, t­ here may have been as many as three ­women for ­every man (­Inoue Shōichi 1964, 53). Katsuura Noriko (2000, 364) has argued that the strong presence of ­women in ­t hese organ­izations was likely the norm for eighth-­century Buddhist patronage in Japan.31 ­Women also took on leadership roles in fellowship groups. As Yoshie Akiko has shown, colophons from the Iehara village–­based proj­ect mentioned above rec­ord the participation of figures known as toji 刀自 (Yoshie 2007, 68–71). The term toji refers to ­women who held positions of responsibility in familial estates and villages. At the village level, t­ hese ­women supervised ­labor and managed agricultural proj­ects (Yoshie 2005, 451–465 and 2007, 51–77). The Ketaji scrolls best illustrate the prominence of toji in sutra-­copying fellowships. W ­ omen described as such appear on four extant scrolls (54, 73, 74, and 91); in one of t­ hese (see fig. 3), Harima no Kuni-­no-­ Miyatsuko Aka toji is listed as the first individual of the final bundle (scroll 91). In accord with the orga­nizational structure outlined above, Aka’s position at the head of a bundle would mark her as the leader of this subgroup of patrons. Interestingly, several other Harima males follow her name, suggesting that she had sufficient authority to or­ga­nize men of her own kinship group beneath her authority. In addition to their role as patrons and leaders, ­women also likely performed vari­ous forms of gendered l­abor within fellowship groups. The story of Tajihi the scrivener discussed in chapter one depicts w ­ omen preparing ink for a fellowship-­sponsored sutra transcription proj­ect (Nihon ryōiki III.18; SNKBT 30:154–155). Beyond the realm of tales, Shōsōin documents rec­ord female lay prac­t i­t ion­ers and laborers carry­ing out a range of tasks, including cooking, making strings used on sutra covers, washing robes, and sewing (Nemoto 1976, 73). It is likely that w ­ omen in fellowships engaged in similar activities. ­Women who participated in many of t­hese practices would have seen themselves as performing pious tasks rather than mere ­labor (Katsuura 1995, 197–200; Meeks 2010, 140–141; Nishiguchi 1987, 137–139).

31. In India, w ­ omen played a leading role as patrons of the Buddhist book cult as well. See Jinah Kim 2013, 227–231.

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In fact, we have ample evidence that many of the w ­ omen who joined t­ hese groups had religious aspirations. The Ketaji scrolls are again illuminating ­here. The fourth bundle, which is the first subgroup that has extant colophons, begins with the name of a novice nun (Skt. śrāmaṇerī; J. shamini 沙彌尼).32 As we have seen, the person listed in the first position of a bundle likely led a par­t ic­u­lar subgroup. The other names in this subgroup are all female and include other novice nuns and female lay prac­t i­t ion­ers, as well as ­women lacking religious titles.33 The presence of lay prac­t i­t ion­ers, who as we ­w ill see l­ ater in this chapter differed from ordinary h ­ ouse­holders, suggests some engagement with Buddhist practice. While members of the Harima clan led the subgroups for other extant bundles, it is likely that a community of prac­ti­tion­ers following the novice nun sponsored this subset. Since earlier scrolls from this proj­ect are not extant or lack colophons, it is unclear if other nuns and female lay prac­t i­t ion­ers sponsored the preceding manuscripts, but it seems pos­si­ble to at least speculate that the first four bundles would have been composed of communities of prac­t i­t ion­ers led by monks and nuns and the latter six bundles would have been or­ga­ nized by lay members of the Harima clan. ­Here, we can see a pos­si­ble dual orga­nizational structure with a kinship-­based leadership group and an ecclesiastical one. This would reflect the twofold role of fellowships as both social organ­izations connected to local and national politics and religious communities of practice and conversion. As the remainder of the chapter ­w ill demonstrate, fellowship groups w ­ ere frequently led by members of the clergy and composed of individuals who viewed their participation as a means to support one another in religious practice.

Masters of Prayer and Conversion From at least the seventh ­century, it was common for members of the clergy to travel the country and or­ga­nize fellowships. In this role, they used their religious authority and charisma to supervise proj­ects ranging from memorial rituals to feats of engineering, and to create new social organ­izations and communities of practice. In the seventh ­century, the monk Dōshō 道昭 (629–700) is said to have ventured around the realm for ten years building bridges and digging wells (Shoku Nihongi 3/10/700; SNKBT 12:24–25). Other clerics assembled groups of willing individuals and led them to commission a variety of pious works, including ­temples, statues, and sutra transcription. Although we know very ­little about the ­careers of the clerics who or­ga­ nized sutra-­copying activities, a colophon from a manuscript of the Mahā-­ 32. Tanaka Kaidō 1973, 34. ­Here, it is rendered as ama 尼 followed by the w ­ oman’s name and then shami 沙彌. As Paul Groner has noted, t­ here is a fair amount of flexibility in how t­ hese terms are used. It is impossible to know which ordination the individuals in colophons would have received by their title alone. See Groner 2002, 247–251. 33. Sakaehara 1999, 69–70 and Imazu 2010, 484–486. The gender of Mutobe no Nashisa (?) 六人部奈支佐, who appears in the colophon to scroll 37, is uncertain, but the fact that all the other patrons listed in this bundle are female suggests that she was likely a w ­ oman.

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prajñā-­pāramitā-­sūtra provides a tantalizing glimpse into the background of one such figure, a monk named Dōgyō, whom we first encountered in chapter two. The manuscripts copied by the group he led have primarily received attention as an early example of kami/Buddhist relations, as extant colophons identify the beneficiary as the kami of Ise and the group’s aspiration as helping it to achieve awakening.34 For the purpose of this chapter, however, the manuscripts provide an unparalleled win­dow into the background of a leader of a fellowship group: The śrāmaṇera Dōgyō cherishes the steadfast integrity of the wise men of the past and follows the age-­old manners of the g ­ reat sages. He abandons and forgets the worldly dust, which is more vulgar than a cicada shell. He does not attach himself to bodily life, which is lighter than a goose feather. He leaves the village in solitude and enters the mountains in the distance, restraining himself from indulgent amusement in defiled bonds and suppressing the distractions due to libertine indulgence. Solemnly he shut himself away and took refuge in the three jewels. Alas, at that time, clouds ­rose above the mountains and thunder roared within the valley. It echoed around and around in [all] four directions and struck violently with a bang. T ­ here was no way of knowing where one’s hands and feet lay, and it was even a strug­gle to preserve life itself. [Dōgyō’s] remaining thoughts ­were on what sin he must have committed to encounter this divine punishment. Thus, he vowed, “This trifling and lowly fool, dispirited and fearing death, not to mention cherishing the life of the sovereign (kokka 國家), 35 rev­er­ent­ly vows that the shrine may be peaceful and quiet and that thunder and lightning never jolt it. May the court be without incident and may the ­people be tranquil and stable.36 For this reason, [I] ­w ill copy the ­G reat Prajña Scripture in six hundred scrolls.” A ­ fter finishing this vow, the thunder and lightning stopped rumbling. Dōgyō suddenly received powers and achieved his original mind. (NCS, plate 56)

In short, the prayer portrays Dōgyō as a recluse monk. Such figures would have likely gained charisma with local communities through the practice of austerities believed to foster spiritual powers. 37 This appears 34. For overviews of this text as an early example of kami/Buddhist relations, see Tanaka Kaidō 1952; Ōnishi 1956, esp. 37–38; Takatori 1982, 186–197; Tanaka Takashi 1995, 137– 144; and Endō 2008, esp. 34. In En­glish, see Lowe 2012b, 272–273. 35. The characters 國家, which in modern Japa­nese refer to the “state,” ­were frequently used metonymically to refer to the sovereign in Chinese sources. This usage is attested in Japa­nese ­legal codes as well; see Yōrō ritsuryō, “Myōrei ritsu,” NST 3:16. 36. Modern editions transcribe this character as 之, but I have chosen to read it as a variant of 定. My choice is based on paleographic and semantic criteria. With regard to the former, the character 之 appears in the previous line and looks quite dif­fer­ent from the character I have chosen to read as 定. Moreover, 之 is grammatically and semantically unintelligible ­here. 寧定 is an attested compound that corresponds to the meaning of the passage and fits with the four-­character phrasing of this section. 37. For more on ascetic practice in mountains and its relation to thaumaturgic powers, see Sonoda 1981, 27–52.

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concretely in the powers (iriki 威力) gained from his time spent shut away (heikyo 閉居) in remote mountains far removed from worldly defilements (zokujin 俗塵). More subtle poetic language further supports this image of reclusion. For example, the turning away from “defiled bonds” (erui 穢累) points to a rhapsody by Zhang Heng 張衡 (78–139) collected in Literary Se­l ections (Wen xuan) that is alluded to repeatedly in this prayer.38 The rhapsody describes an imaginary journey away from the corruptions of the ­human world to the realm of sages and transcendents.39 This escape from worldly concerns is ultimately rejected, however, and the poem embraces the necessity of returning to h ­ uman affairs.40 Of course, one needs to first leave to be able to return—­a path followed by Dōgyō, who, like the narrator of the rhapsody, traveled to remote mountain peaks far from worldly temptations only to reenter ­human society, where he led a fellowship group. Indeed, it was likely the journey into the wilderness and the powers accrued from it that gained Dōgyō his following among the populace. Dōgyō was not alone in organ­izing large-­scale proj­ects undertaken by fellowship groups. Another monk, Kōkaku, mentioned briefly above, led an effort to collaboratively copy the canon. Kōkaku, whose group was based in the Kinai region around the capital, shared the title of prayer master (ganshu 願主) with Dōgyō, a term designating not only the person who initiates a pious proj­ect generally but the leader of a fellowship group, in par­tic­u­lar.41 Kōkaku’s name appears first in the colophon for each of the twenty-­nine extant scrolls from this proj­ect, a position befitting his role as leader. For as the cases of both Dōgyō and Kōkaku indicate, an impor­t ant part of the role of certain monks in ancient Japan was orga­nizational. ­These individuals did not limit their activities to cloistered study in monasteries; they actively engaged the community and or­g a­nized its members into ­wholesome socie­t ies of patrons. In addition to organ­izing groups of patrons, monks active in fellowships also supervised their religious practice. Kōkaku, for example, is listed in the colophon to some scrolls as a preceptor or master (shi 師). This designation only appears in scrolls sponsored by a single patron rather than a group, suggesting that the named individuals had a direct, unmediated connection to Kōkaku, who likely bestowed some form of the precepts and perhaps supervised their keeping of them. Since ­these individuals had the means to undertake sole sponsorship of a scroll, their wealth and status may well have gained them a close relationship with the monk overseeing the proj­ect. Or perhaps they stood out ­because of their dedication and devotion. 38. Endō Keita (2008, 35–36) has shown how Dōgyō made numerous allusions to Zhang Heng’s “Rhapsody on Contemplating the Mystery.” Endō, however, dismisses ­t hese allusions as superficial and divorced from the content of the prayer; I see them as poignant given the characterization of Dōgyō in the text. 39. Wen xuan, juan 15, p. 216. For a complete translation, see Knechtges 1996, 105–136. 40. ­Here, I largely follow the interpretation in Knechtges 1982a, 171–182. 41. My research on Kōkaku has benefited significantly from Katsuura 2000, 347–377.

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The monks leading t­ hese groups saw themselves as proselytizers responsible for transforming the conduct of individual members of the group. Beyond the aforementioned prayer master, the vari­ous designations used to describe their activities indicate the roles they played. The monk named Manpuku 萬福 who or­ga­nized a group in Iehara village, as discussed above, is called a master of conversion (keshu 化主) in one colophon. Hōrin, the leader of the group that sponsored the 686 manuscript, is referred to in the colophon as a monk of kyōke 教化, a compound composed of characters meaning to teach and convert or transform. T ­ hese same characters w ­ ere used to describe the well-­k nown monk Gyōki in his obituary in the Contin­ ued Chronicles of Japan, which praises him for traveling around to “teach and convert sentient beings” (Shoku Nihongi 2/2/749; SNKBT 14:60–61). In Rec­ ords of the Numinous and Strange from Japan, the objects of the compound “teach and convert” are generally unethical individuals such as traitorous sailors, greedy fishermen, or jealous husbands (e.g. Nihon ryōiki I.7, II.11, 16; SNKBT 30:19, 78, 86). In t­ hese examples, the term “conversion” does not imply the exclusive adoption of one religion at the expense of another; ­there was no such concept of religious affiliation in ancient Japan. Nor does it refer to internal notions of faith or belief. Rather, conversion meant abandoning a lifestyle antithetical to Buddhist values and embracing ­wholesome conduct in support of the religious community. Proselytizers in early Japan worked to transform the practices of individuals to encourage them to uphold precepts, sponsor Buddhist works, and participate in regular ritual activities. To convert the communities, therefore, meant to transform their be­hav­ior from vice to virtue.

Wholesome Friends While the monks leading t­ hese groups often saw themselves as proselytizers, the members of the groups viewed their own roles as t­ hose of friends who could support one another in practice. The word I have translated as fellowship in this chapter is part of a broader discourse of friendship central to early Japa­ nese Buddhism. Fellowships commonly referred to themselves with terms rendered literally as “­wholesome friends” (zen’u 善友), “[­wholesome] friends and acquaintances” ([zen] chishiki [善]知識), and “friends in dharma” (hō’u 法友), using the same character, zen 善, that I rendered as “­wholesome” in chapter one, where it appears as a Japa­nese translation of the Sanskrit kuśala. In this context, the character was used as part of a compound (zen chishiki) representing a dif­fer­ent Sanskrit term, kalyāṇa-­ mitra, or w ­ holesome friend, the meaning of which w ­ ill emerge in a moment. T ­ hese designations appear frequently in a variety of Chinese sources including canonical translations, tales, and colophons. In Japan, they can be found in epigraphic and paratextual sources from the seventh century, including the 686 colophon, and increase significantly in number in eighth-­ century sources related to the production of statues, manuscripts, and

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t­ emples.42 It is no exaggeration to say that groups identifying themselves as friends ­were a driving force ­behind Buddhist patronage in ancient Japan. In considering the concept of kalyāṇa-­mitra, we should be careful to distinguish modern notions of friendship from Buddhist ones. The latter are concerned with collective pious practice and encouragement t­ oward shared goals. In fact, this orientation may be typical of attitudes t­ oward friendship found in a number of premodern socie­t ies. Aristotle famously defined the highest form of friendship as that between “men who are good, and alike in virtue” (Nicomachean Ethics VIII.3; Ross 2009, 145). T ­ hese friends, according to Aristotle, join together not b ­ ecause of utility or s­imple plea­sure but ­because of a shared concern with the good. The com­pany of ­these friends provides “a certain training in virtue” (Nicomachean Ethics IX.9; Ross 2009, 177). Similar ideas appear in the Chinese tradition of friendship. Mencius, in par­tic­u­lar, saw friends as individuals who encourage one another in cultivating ­wholesome be­hav­ior. For example, he defines the “way of friends” as one “demanding moral ­wholesomeness” (Ch. ze shan 責善), a characteristic that not only distinguishes friendship from parent-­child relations but employs the same character pronounced “zen” above.43 ­These Greek and Chinese ideas bring us closer to the Buddhist concept of friendship. Sutras generally describe kalyāṇa-­mitra as ­those who help ­others cultivate ­wholesome conduct.44 According to Steve Collins’s (1987, 51) meticulous philological research, the Pali equivalent, kalyana mitta, is often used as “a technical term for someone who acts in more or less specific ways as a ‘helper on the Path.’ ” Although “­wholesome friends” are commonly understood to refer to monks and nuns, Pali texts in fact outline roles of friendship for both lay h ­ ouse­holders and monastics. According to Pali sources, lay friends help to inculcate habits in accord with right conduct. Monastic friends do this as well and also provide guidance and instruction, a role we have already encountered with the “masters of conversion” active throughout Japan. Similarly, Har Dayal (1932, 63) has used Sanskrit sources to conclude that a ­wholesome friend

42. Inagi Masami has suggested that the term chishiki is used less frequently in colophons and prayers from the latter half of the eighth ­century, though it continues to be used in other Heian sources. As he notes, other terms such as kechien 結縁 and kanjin 勧進 found in ­later sources point to the continued importance of collectives in subsequent periods. More work remains on delineating ­t hese historical developments post-­Nara. See Inagi in Jōdai bunken wo yomu kai 2016, 589. 43. See Mengzi 4B.30 (Mengzi zhengyi, 2:599). My understanding of friendship in China has benefited greatly from Anna Shields’s monumental work on the topic; see esp. Shields 2015, 25–60. It should be noted that Shields correctly highlights impor­t ant differences between Aristotelian and Chinese notions of friendship, including the fact that friends could si­mul­t a­neously provide virtue, utility, and plea­sure in China. For an overview of the relative paucity of discussions of friendship in early Japa­nese poetic and mythological sources, see Naoki 1994. 44. For example, see the chapter on ­wholesome friends in the Zengyi ahan jing, esp. T 125.2.596c–599c.

Writing Socie­ties 101 is regarded as an indispensable f­ actor in the attainment of the bodhi-­citta. . . . ​ The possession of such a helper is indeed a blessing (kalyāṇa-­mitra-­parigraha-­ sampad). He should be intelligent, and he should not hold wrong views. He should not lead the would-be bodhisattva to negligence or evil actions. He should aspire to the highest ideals and be a man of deep faith. Not only is a kalyāṇa-­mitra necessary for this first step in a bodhisattva’s c­ areer, but he is useful and valuable at all times. Only a lucky person, who has been very charitable to the poor in a previous existence, can find such a friend. A kalyāṇa-­mitra helps a bodhisattva to remain fearless and courageous at all times, and always exhorts him to follow the precepts and ideals of the Mahāyāna. . . . ​W hen a bodhisattva has found a good friend, he should never desert him, but try to keep him by all means in his power. He should hold that friend as dear as his own life.

Clearly, choosing one’s friends wisely was a ­matter of ­great concern within the Buddhist tradition dating back to India.45 In Japan, communities of friends encompassed a range of individuals who aspired to encourage one another in practice. In addition to fully ordained monks, fellowships included individuals whose status was somewhere between that of monk and layman. Scrolls from the Dōgyō manuscripts identify members of the fellowship as male lay prac­t i­t ion­ers (Skt. upāsaka; J. ubasoku 優婆塞), novice monks (Skt. śrāmaṇera; J. shami 沙彌), novice nuns, as well as lay patrons (NCS, plates 56–57). Many of the Kōkaku scrolls appear to have drawn on a pyramid structure with individuals described in some manuscripts as a “head” ( J. kashira 頭) functioning as an intermediary between smaller groups of patrons and Kōkaku. The heads all have some degree of religious affiliation, as designated with titles including bodhisattva, monk, upāsikā 優婆夷 (female lay prac­ti­tion­ers), and upāsaka. The Ketaji scrolls contain the names of two upāsikā, other members of the clergy, and a meditation master (zenji 禪師), a title which, according to Ryūichi Abé (1999, 80), points to t­ hose who had “attained super­natu­ral powers through their austerities.” 46 The presence of meditation masters and novice monks would have provided exemplars for the lay prac­t i­t ion­ers to aspire to while also, of course, giving the novices and meditation masters opportunities to further cultivate themselves within a nurturing community. T ­ hese communities ­were composed of individuals committed to a lifestyle in accord with Buddhist values. The upāsaka and upāsikā active in t­ hese groups represent another level of Buddhist practice distinct from novices, meditation masters, and fully ordained clergy. The terms upāsaka and the related upāsikā are frequently 45. The relationship between friendship and cultivating religious sensibilities is a topic gaining attention in the field of religious studies. See Moore 2015. 46. For example, see scrolls 31–34, 83, and 86. Photographic reproductions of the colophons from scrolls 33, 34, 83, and 86 can be found in Ishiyamadera bunkazai sōgō chōsadan 1996–2010.

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translated as “lay man” and “lay w ­ oman,” but Paul Harrison (1995, 59–60) has stressed that they actually mean something closer to a lay practitioner, “hovering just below ordained status, t­hose who are, as it w ­ ere, semi-­ ordained.” In a detailed study of the term in Indic sources, Giulio Agostini (2002) has shown how upāsaka had a range of meanings in India but always required taking refuge in the three jewels and often implied upholding at least some of the five lay precepts: namely, not killing, not stealing, not speaking falsely, not participating in improper sexual conduct, and not consuming alcohol. Ryūichi Abé (1999, 76–83) has outlined three overlapping usages of the term in Japan: novices at t­emples preparing for ordination, ­those who have declared themselves as members of the clergy but have not received official ordination, and ascetics practicing in the mountains and forests. Extant evidence does not provide enough information to determine the exact meaning of upāsaka and upāsikā for the individuals appearing in sutra colophons, but the lay prac­ti­tion­ers, novices, and fully ordained clergy who formed fellowships would have collectively participated in a range of Buddhist practices such as upholding some precepts and celebrating regular periodic rituals. The percentage of lay prac­ti­tion­ers in a group varied, but in some cases nearly half of the members can be identified as such. This is the case for the aforementioned group Fellowship of Intimate Servants of Yoga Practice, which sponsored the transcription of the Scripture on Understanding the Pro­ found and Esoteric (Skt. Saṃdhinirmocana-­sūtra; Ch. Jie shenmi jing 解深密經), a key Yogācāra text, in 749 (NI, 621). The term I have translated as intimate servants ( J. gonji 近事) is a Chinese translation of the Sanskrit upāsaka, or lay practitioner. Past scholarship has suggested that the first nine members out of the twenty-­one in the group called servants w ­ ere men; the other twelve listed as “na 那” ­were female lay prac­ti­tion­ers.47 All twenty-­one members recorded their dharma names in the colophon, a fact that suggests that even the non-­upāsaka had taken enough of an interest in Buddhism to have under­gone some type of initiation. It is noteworthy that many of the members employed characters from the sutra’s title in their dharma names, including understanding/liberation (twice) and profound (eight times) (NI, 621; Nakai 1991, 389).48 Although we have no way of knowing how familiar the members of the group would have been with the text, one passage that may have been influential to them describes practices related to transmitting scripture such as sutra copying as foundational for the bodhisattva path (T 676.16.703b; Keenan 2000, 77–78). The fact that t­ hese intimate servants had dharma names suggests that they approached their 47. See Matsumoto Nobumichi 1979, 28, and Takeuchi Ryō 2016, 273. 48. Members of groups frequently chose characters in their names that express communal bonds and are connected to Buddhist concepts. In Chinese stele, we also see individuals employing shared characters in their names, such as the character hui 慧 for wisdom. See Gernet 1995, 267. In Japan, another colophon rec­ords an example of a patron and scribe involved with copying the Yogācāra-­bhūmi using the character “Yu” 瑜, the transliteration of the first sound of Yogācāra, in their names. See NCS, plate 39; Nara ibun, 619.

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practice with some degree of seriousness and very well may have aspired to becoming bodhisattvas through transcription as outlined in the text. Many lay prac­ti­tion­ers upheld at least some number of precepts. Numerous stories in the Rec­ords of the Numinous and Strange from Japan describe the benefits lay p ­ eople can gain through observing the precepts, and we can imagine that some members hoped to similarly acquire good fortune through disciplined religious practice. While the most commonly upheld rules w ­ ere the five lay precepts, which ­were often observed during regular periods of abstinence, one case suggests that a group may have taken on additional rules known as the bodhisattva precepts, consisting of ten major and forty-­eight minor rules that ­were followed by monks and laity alike in medieval China and ancient Japan. Pos­si­ble evidence for this is found in a manuscript commissioned by a group led by the monk Ryōshun 靈春 (n.d.) and composed of a novice monk as well as ordinary lay members (not listed ­here as upāsaka). This group chose to transcribe the Brahma’s Net Sutra, the locus classicus for the Bodhisattva precepts (NCS, plate 53; NI, 626), suggesting that the community may have been interested in upholding the rules of conduct described in the sutra. In addition to upholding precepts, groups also shared cultic values. One fellowship, containing several upāsaka and calling itself Disciples of Maitreya ( Jishi deshi 慈氏弟子), copied the Yogācāra-­bhūmi in 735. The members all took on dharma names containing the character ji 慈 (compassion), which they listed above their “original name” (honmyō 本名) (NCS, plates 15– 16; Sonoda 1972, 249–253). ­Here, the character ji likely referred to Maitreya, whose name is translated into Chinese as the “Compassionate One” (Ch. Cishi 慈氏). Although the Yogācāra-­bhūmi is now considered a classic of the Yogācāra school, patrons in ancient Japan frequently copied and valued the text for its connection to Maitreya.49 As numerous scholars have observed, the cult of Maitreya likely surpassed that of Amitābha in the eighth ­century.50 But worshipers did not limit their devotion to ­t hese two deities. To give just one example, a group of nine colophons from the Kōkaku proj­ect, which share the date of the Buddha’s birthday, point to cele­brations of Śākyamuni as well (Katsuura 2000, 353). Cele­brations of the Buddha’s birthday often included pro­cessions and ritual bathing of images of the Buddha; the Kōkaku case shows that sutras would have likely been dedicated in cele­ bration as well.51 Thus, ritualized writing played a key role in spreading cultic practices related to Maitreya and Śākyamuni in ancient Japan.

49. For the popularity of the Yogācāra-­bhūmi, see Kitō 1977, 144–146. For the Maitreya connection, see Sonoda 1972. 50. For the importance of Maitreya in early Japa­nese Pure Land thought and the l­ ater transition to the dominance of Amitābha, see Hiraoka 1977; Hayami 1971; ­Inoue Mitsusada 1956, 6–9; Ōno 1972, 105; Nara Hiromoto 2002, 14–21; and Kudō 2008, 136–159. For an En­ glish overview of the Maitreya cult in Japan, see Goodwin 1977, 26–73. 51. For background on cele­brations of the Buddha’s birthday in early medieval China, see Chapman 2007, 255–314.

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Conclusions Transcribing scripture was an inherently social endeavor. In addition to networks of scribes, proofreaders, assemblers, and the broader economies that supported all sutra-­copying proj­ects, patronage itself often occurred through collective organ­izations. Writing socie­t ies played a key role in the initial spread of Buddhism in ancient Japan. A variety of bonds joined ­these individuals together, including kinship ties, provincial administrative structures, and w ­ holesome friendship. What they perhaps shared more than anything, however, w ­ ere connections to Buddhist scripture. In the words of Anne Blackburn (2012, 164), they ­were “textual communities . . . ​­those who participate in shared practices of reading, writing, listening, interpretation, and per­for­mance, with reference to the same body of texts.” Or perhaps it would be more accurate to call them “scriptural communities” in that ­t hese types of organ­izations only emerged around Buddhist texts and had a decidedly religious character centered on worship and practice. Scriptural cultures are forged by and generative of scriptural communities. While the dominant mode for understanding t­hese groups has been through the lens of “pop­u­lar Buddhism,” this model has proven insufficient insofar as it entails or implies opposition to the state. The evidence for t­ hese groups examined in this chapter has shown that patrons often relied on state structures and never described themselves in language implying re­ sis­t ance to imperial authority. The groups more closely resemble straddlers with links to the state as well as grassroots presence. ­Because of this, ritualized writing could si­mul­ta­neously fulfill multiple po­liti­cal roles. For leaders of power­f ul lineage groups, collective patronage offered a chance to visually demonstrate their position of authority in the community, reinforce bonds with other members of their clan, and connect them to practices of increasing cultural value among elites in the capital. Provincial officials could lead prayers for the well-­being of the sovereign and join individuals together to reinforce concepts of community in accord with legally sanctioned administrative categories. Rather than representing a distinct form of Buddhism to be analyzed alongside “clan Buddhism” or “state Buddhism,” fellowships are a key component of ­t hese interrelated so­cio­log­i­cal categories. At the same time, the fact that individuals participated in fellowships through state structures does not mean their acts can be viewed as somehow less pious. H ­ ere, I depart from scholars such as Uehara Mahito (2002, 84–86) who have argued that ­these proj­ects cannot be considered religious ­because fellowship groups w ­ ere sometimes compulsory and coercive and intended solely for securing secular honors. T ­ hese claims contain an implicit philosophical judgment that defines religion as a sphere distinct from politics and assesses agency in terms of individual autonomy. Patrons living in the Nara period did not view politics and religion as separate and certainly did not share liberal assumptions about agency that valorize ­free ­w ill. They had no trou­ble in finding religious meaning in po­liti­cally significant

Writing Socie­ties 105

events, even if power structures helped encourage their participation. In short, ­there is ­little evidence to suggest that eighth-­century Japa­nese viewed participation in state-­sanctioned endeavors as any less religious than in­de­pen­dent activity. Rather, such participation si­mul­t a­neously served multiple functions, not only for the state but also on the level of Buddhist practice in the community. In contrast to approaches that rely on static categories of state, clan, and pop­u­lar, this chapter has focused on the dynamic ways ritual practice both reinforced and reconfigured social and religious organ­izations in ancient Japan. Ritualized writing structured communities in a variety of ways. In some cases, the brush strokes in colophons transcribed existing power arrangements, perhaps magnifying the importance of a lineage group or po­liti­cal figure through the repeated copying of patrons’ names. In ­others, they inscribed new notions of community and friendship, visually manifesting freshly formed bonds and commitments to collective religious practice.

4

Instituting Transcription

 . . . ​of the 119,027 sheets of paper for the Transcribed Beginning Two Sets, 5,477 scrolls worth of materials are lacking; 185,179 sheets of paper as materials for 9,286 scrolls of the Transcribed Further Two Sets; 23,294 rollers 223 as materials to be attached to the 223 scrolls of the annotated scriptures of the A-­level Set; 4,585 as materials to be attached to the 4,585 scrolls of the Transcribed Initial Single Set; 9,200 as materials to be attached to the 9,200 scrolls of the Transcribed Beginning Two Sets; 9,286 as materials to be attached to the 9,286 scrolls of the Transcribed Further Two Sets

This fragmentary document lists supplies for the transcription of six canons sponsored by royals in the 770s, a task that required material, administrative, and h ­ uman resources dwarfing t­hose available to the fellowships described in the last chapter.1 The proj­ects w ­ ere carried out at a scriptorium that had been active for more than forty years at this time. Workers’ responsibilities w ­ ere divided into clearly defined roles as assemblers, copyists, and proofreaders. Administrators supervised the proj­ ects, assigning tasks to workers, tallying their production, and ordering paper, ink, brushes, and other goods, while recording all of this on thousands of documents now preserved in the Shōsōin. They ran an efficient operation. ­These institutions often copied close to four hundred scrolls a month, an impressive total considering a single scroll might take an individual scribe two to three days to complete. Transcribing entire canons at this speed required trained laborers, ready access to texts, and institutional and admin1. DNK 21:121 (ZZS 39:4 verso). The document is cut off at the beginning and end, so it is unclear exactly what preceded and followed this fragment. But from the structure of the document, it appears to be or­g a­nized by material (first paper, then rollers) for four distinct canon-­copying proj­ects. For more on this document and ­t hese proj­ects, see Sakaehara 2003, 406–437.

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istrative structures to efficiently or­ga­nize vast quantities of h ­ uman and material resources. This chapter ­w ill focus on the institutional developments that enabled efficient and prodigious production of ritualized writing to emerge in the eighth ­century. It builds on the approach of the last chapter in that it focuses on texts as products of par­tic­u­lar social and institutional organ­izations, rather than simply as collections of meaningful signifiers to be interpreted for their narrative or doctrinal significance. A full understanding of scriptural cultures in ancient Japan demands careful attention to the par­tic­u­lar institutional configurations in which transcription occurred. To this end, I ­will chart the emergence of scriptoria, a term I use to refer to primarily layadministered bureaucratic organ­izations with ready access to library collections and skilled laborers who copied sutras commissioned by patrons on demand. This chapter w ­ ill highlight a number of t­ hese institutions, but it ­will focus in par­tic­u­lar on the scriptorium that eventually became a canon-­ copying bureau at Tōdaiji, prob­ably the largest sutra-­copying office for much of the Nara period and surely the best documented, thanks to the remarkable richness of the Shōsōin collection. The world of scriptoria was decidedly bureaucratic: it contained hierarchical structures, with each worker given a clearly defined administrative or technical role. Scriptoria produced mountains of paperwork on a variety of minutiae ranging from requests for time off to carefully produced cata­logs documenting the precise way each and e­ very sheet of paper was put to use—­rec­ords that now fill the Shōsōin archives. ­These developments in bureaucratic institutionalization enabled ritualized writing to flourish in early Japan. While bureaucracy and ritual practice are seldom uttered in the same sentence, this chapter ­w ill argue that bureaucratic structures enhanced the capabilities for large-­scale ritual action. In considering the importance of bureaucracy for the emergence of ritualized writing, it w ­ ill also be necessary to reflect on the relationship between Buddhism and the state. On the one hand, it is indisputable that the rise of scriptoria depended on structures closely connected to the court’s efforts at establishing a ritsuryō system of ­legal and administrative codes. On the other hand, ­t hese institutions’ origins and effects transcend any analy­sis that equates bureaucratic scriptoria with “state Buddhism,” meaning the control of Buddhism by the state and the court’s use of it for ideological and apotropaic support. While the earliest institution we examine is connected to the throne, this chapter ­w ill argue that the most impor­t ant scriptorium active in the Nara period emerged not from ­t hese early imperial proj­ects but rather from the households—in real­ity, extensive organ­ izations—of aristocrats. House­hold scriptoria served a blend of doctrinal and devotional purposes that met a range of needs transcending facile divisions between private and official concerns. Moreover, the creation of a royally sanctioned sutra-­copying office did not replace other forms of Buddhist practice that took place outside the purview of state institutions. Instead, it enabled ritualized writing to flourish as part of the activity of Nara

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officials and aristocrats. Official institutions helped spread Buddhism beyond state structures. Rather than treating “state Buddhism” as an isolated phenomenon, this chapter recognizes the multifarious nature of bureaucracies. It treats them as a particularly active node within broad scriptorial networks that facilitated sutra copying for a variety of residents of the capital. Like the last chapter, it aims to overcome the binary of state versus pop­ u­lar to highlight institutions that straddle the two camps and the networks that connect them.

How Bureaucratic Institutions Copied Scripture in East Asia To understand the bureaucratic nature of official scriptoria and to illustrate why they may have been more capable of producing large quantities of texts than more informal groups, it is useful to know the pro­cess through which scripture was copied. ­Here, I ­w ill start with a well-­documented proj­ ect from the Office of Sutra Transcription to transcribe one hundred copies of the Brahma’s Net Sutra.2 This case is of interest b ­ ecause it details the types of workers involved as well as the pro­cesses through which scriptures ­were copied almost universally in East Asia around this time. The proj­ect began, as many did, with a death. Fujiwara no Miyako (alternatively Kyūshi 藤原宮子), the ­mother of Emperor Shōmu, died on 7/19/754.3 A few days ­later, on 7/24, Ītaka no Kasame 飯高笠目(698–777?), a female court attendant at the palace who served Empress Kōken/Shōtoku, issued an order to begin transcribing one hundred copies of the Brahma’s Net Sutra, a text well known as the source of the bodhisattva precepts but one also closely connected to funerary ritual in East Asia, a likely ­factor in its se­lection ­here.4 Upon receiving the order, a clerk (anzu 案主) at the Office of Sutra Transcription prepared a bud­get.5 Unfortunately, the bud­get from this proj­ect is not extant. From other examples, we know that they typically included the number of brushes, ink, and sheets of paper, as well as foodstuffs and garments, needed for the proj­ect. The ability to anticipate and calculate ­t hese totals surely depended on bureaucratic knowhow 2. This proj­ect was first studied by Sakaehara Towao, and my discussion largely follows Sakaehara 2002 with some of my own additional comments. For a similar discussion in En­ glish of a dif­fer­ent manuscript, see Lowe 2011, 25–30, from which I’ve also drawn. For a helpful overview of the sutra-­copying pro­cess, see Kurihara 1983. 3. Shoku Nihongi 7/19/754; SNKBT 14:144–145. For a con­ve­nient En­glish translation of the passages from the Shoku Nihongi surrounding her illness and death, see Ross Bender 2015b, esp. 151–154. 4. For citations of the order in Shōsōin documents, see DNK 13:101 (ZZS 10:10) and DNK 13:73 (ZZS 10:27). For a helpful English-­language overview of Brahma’s Net Sutra, see Groner 1990, 252–257. As Stephen F. Teiser (1994, 24) has pointed out, this sutra also represents one of the earliest texts to describe the practice of conducting seven memorial rituals ­every seven days. 5. Anzu was an official designation for the individual charged with drafting out­going documents. For more on the anzu system and its development over time, see Yamashita 1999c, 147–187 and 207–289.

Instituting Transcription 109

and deep familiarity with sutra copying. The bud­get would have then been sent to the Tōdaiji Construction Agency, the parent or­ga­ni­za­t ion of the Office of Sutra Transcription. The Tōdaiji Construction Agency in turn requested supplies from the patron, who procured the necessary materials, or in other cases forwarded cash to purchase them. Paper shipments reached the Office of Sutra Transcription on 7/25. This fast turnaround—­a single day ­a fter the order to begin copying was received and less than a week ­a fter Miyako’s death—­shows how efficiently ­t hese bureaucratic institutions could or­ga­nize a proj­ect and attests to the ready supply of paper available by the 750s. Paper was never produced on site; it was usually allotted from other governmental agencies and was occasionally bought at city markets.6 The precise origins of paper in Japan are a murky subject, though rec­ords in the Chronicles of Japan cite the arrival of monks from Koguryŏ who could make paper in 610 (Nihon shoki 3/18/610; NKBT 68:194–195). By the eighth c­ entury, however, paper was manufactured not only through the central government offices at the Bureau of Books and Drawings but also throughout the provinces. In fact, Japa­nese papermaking capabilities developed so rapidly that their quality was the subject of envy by Chinese commentators in 780.7 This sutra-­copying proj­ect incorporated some particularly beautiful materials. The paper, which was supplied by the palace, included 336 sheets of colored paper and 3,905 sheets of white paper mulberry (kajigami/kokushi 穀紙, another name for kōzo 楮) for copying scripture, as well as 309 sheets of “ordinary paper” (bonshi 凡紙), a lower grade used for rec­ord keeping and other activities. The colored paper was particularly ornate: 236 sheets ­were azure (hanada 縹). Of t­ hose, 229 had gold-­leaf flakes and 7 had silver-­leaf flakes. The other 100 sheets ­were all dark indigo (aokachi 青褐) without any gold-­or silver-­leaf flakes. While colored paper was occasionally used in Nara-­period sutra transcription, scribes typically copied sutras on paper mulberry sheets dyed a plain yellow to stave off insects, a technique widely used in East Asia.8 Even the white paper, therefore, made for a distinct material. Still, it was the use of fine colored sheets that reflected the importance of the proj­ect for the patron, Kōken/Shōtoku. Additional supplies followed. Two days ­later, on 7/27, the scriptorium received thirteen sticks of ink and fifty rabbit-­hair brushes, the relatively soft hair of the rabbit being the preferred tool for copying Buddhist sutras in the Nara period. Presumably, vegetarian food and pure garments, as discussed in chapter one, would also have been supplied by the patron as needed, but rec­ords related to ­t hese items are no longer extant. 6. For the sources of paper at the scriptorium, see Naka 1980. 7. For Chinese praise of Japa­nese paper, see von Verschuer 2006, 15. 8. The dye is produced from the bark of the Amur cork tree (Phellodendron amurense). See Belard 2010, 95–96. Also see Gibbs and Seddon 1997. Scientific analy­sis by Agnieszka Helman-­Ważny (2016, 13) also indicates that paper mulberry became the dominant material in Turfan and Dunhuang from around the eighth c­ entury.

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Administrators carefully filed all of this information in documents that eventually became part of the Shōsōin collection. The shipment of paper was accompanied by a letter describing the contents, which Kami no Umakai 上馬養 (718–­?), a clerk at the scriptorium, glued into a larger scroll collecting similar documents (DNK 13:10–11 [ZZS 37:7]). He and his fellow administrator Kurehara no Ikuhito 呉原生人 then recorded an entry for this proj­ect in a long internally produced ledger covering the receipt of paper at the scriptorium over a period of several years (DNK 3:605–606 [ZZS 37:4]). They made a similar entry in a separate ledger to document the receipt of brushes, ink, and cash for supplies (DNK 12:283 [ZZS 34:7]). As soon as the paper arrived, the administrators supplied it to assemblers (sō’ō or sōkō 装潢), who prepared the scrolls. T ­ hese individuals followed a three-­part task known as joining (tsugi 継), pounding (uchi 打), and lining (kai 界). Assemblers first glued the individual sheets together lengthwise into a scroll using a soy-­based starch glue. They then pounded the paper, a pro­cess that is still poorly understood, but one that prepared a manuscript for transcription, perhaps to give the paper a luster and enable it to better receive ink.9 Next, assemblers lined the paper using a deer-­hair brush. ­These ­were stiffer than rabbit-­hair brushes, enabling the assemblers to write particularly fine margin lines. An assembler first drew horizontal lines from left to right across the top and bottom r­ unning the length of the scroll. He followed ­these with vertical lines about e­ very 2 centimeters from the top margin to the bottom one.10 Scribes would copy the text between ­these lines. Fi­nally, the assembler added a half-­sized sheet of paper and temporary roller to the right-­hand side of the scroll, the paper functioning as a provisional cover during the copying pro­cess. ­These covers ­were removed when the transcription was complete and ­were sometimes reused as administrative documents.11 Three assemblers worked on this proj­ect, completing the joining, pounding, and lining at a rate of a few hundred sheets per assembler each day. The clerks then recorded the day and number of sheets completed next to each of the three individuals’ names as part of a larger ledger documenting assemblers’ output (DNK 9:528–530 [ZZS 28:9]). One of the assemblers switched to a dif­fer­ent proj­ect about halfway through, and another appears to have started late; they only worked together as a team of three for a few days of the proj­ect. Altogether, it took them about ten days to finish assembling the scrolls, returning the last set to the clerks on 8/5.

9. For some tentative discussions on the topic of pounding, see Sugimoto 2001b, 73– 79; Sakaehara 2009, 128–130; and Watanabe Yōko 2010. 10. This number is based on my mea­sure­ments of Shōgozō scrolls using the mea­sur­ ing software provided in Shōgozō kyōkan, as well as ­t hose of other Nara-period scrolls I viewed in university and museum collections. For Shōgozō scrolls, I used a random number generator to select manuscripts and the mea­sur­ing software that is part of the Maruzen digital editions of Shōgozō kyōkan. For other scrolls, I mea­sured the paper sizes in person. 11. For ­t hese half-­sized sheets, see Sugimoto 2001b, 141–149.

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While the assemblers prepared the blank scrolls, the clerks tried to secure enough source texts or exemplars (honkyō 本経) from which to transcribe. A document sent from an office at the Hokkeji 法華寺 convent to the Office of Sutra Transcription shows that this ­temple contributed nine scrolls on 7/28 to be used as exemplars, constituting four full copies of the two-­ scroll text as well as one copy of the second scroll (DNK 4:14 [ZS 42:13]). The rest of the exemplars presumably came from the Office of Sutra Transcription’s collection or from other ­temple libraries. ­A fter all the materials ­were secured and prepared, the clerks distributed the blank scrolls, exemplars, ink, and brushes to a team of fifty-­one sutra copyists or scribes (kyōshi 經師).12 The clerk, Kami no Umakai, dutifully marked the date that he gave each scribe a scroll on a ledger recording the distribution of supplies to copyists (DNK 13:73–77 [ZZS 10:27]). At the end of the document, Umakai noted that each scribe was given one brush and one-­quarter of a stick of ink. A representative entry for a scribe reads: “Takebe no Hirotari 建部廣足: Second [scroll], 1 and brush, 1; [7/]30, first [scroll]; 8/2, first [scroll], 1; [8]/3, second [scroll]; [8]/5, second [scroll]. Used 98 sheets of paper; returned brush.” This rec­ord shows the pace of transcription to be a scroll roughly e­ very two days. We also learn from a related entry that Hirotari helped another copyist transcribe at least one scroll. In addition to this document recording the dates that supplies ­were distributed, Umakai also kept a separate but similar ledger to keep track of the total number of exemplars deployed (see fig. 4). This would have likely been used to quickly tally the total number of sheets copied, as the format utilized a simpler notation compared to the other document: “Takebe no Hirotari: first scroll, 2 [scrolls completed]; second scroll, 3 [scrolls completed]. Used 98 sheets of paper” (DNK 13:101–105 [ZZS 10:10]). In fact, circular check marks over each scribe’s name suggest that Umakai did l­ater use this document to calculate and confirm totals copied, making marks perhaps in preparation of a request for salary. Upon receiving their exemplars, scribes sat on the floor to copy the text on a low t­ able. Beyond brush and ink, they had two more tools to assist them. They typically placed a sheet of paper known as a shiki 敷 beneath the scroll ­under the section they w ­ ere copying to protect it. In addition, they frequently used a ruling sheet (also pronounced shiki but with the logograph 式), typically with eigh­teen lines on it to mark the spacing needed for the common format of seventeen characters per line. This tool was used as a guide and not followed exactly, as character spacing is frequently uneven in extant sutra manuscripts. As Watanabe Yōko (2011, 78–80) has pointed out, the ruling sheet was placed to the left of the line the scribes ­were copying—­ that is, on the blank side of a scroll, as copyists worked from right to left—­ and therefore it also protected the blank sheet from dripping ink and

12. ­T here ­were initially fifty scribes, a total that accords with the number of brushes received, but another scribe joined ­later.

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Figure 4. Ledger for the allotment of exemplars, as well as paper, brushes, and ink for the hundred copies of the Brahma’s Net Sutra ( Jū hyakubu bonmōkyō hon narabi ni shihitsuboku chō 充百部梵網經本幷紙 筆墨帳). The Shōsōin Trea­sures, courtesy of the Imperial House­hold Agency.

sweat. Scribes occasionally used this tool as blotting paper as well.13 At the end of the day, a copyist wrapped up his supplies—­t he ink, brush, and two dif­fer­ent shiki—in a paper wrapper called a shitamaki 下纏.14 Hirotari’s production of just u ­ nder one hundred sheets in approximately one week was slightly above average, but almost all of the scribes copied between 78 and 108 sheets for this proj­ect in the same time span. A wider sample of sutra copying reveals that scribes completed an average of 8.6 sheets a day.15 Since each sheet typically contained around 24 lines consisting of 17 characters per line, scribes averaged more than 3,500 characters a day, with the fastest writing close to 6,000. Notably, from the ledger recording Hirotari’s pro­gress, we can see that they did not necessarily copy in order from the first scroll to the second or simply transcribe the

13. See Sugimoto 2001b, 149–157, and Watanabe Yōko 2011; when Sugimoto and Watanabe differ, I have followed Watanabe. 14. For shitamaki, see Watanabe Yōko 2011, 70–77. They ­were sometimes woven rush instead of paper. 15. I take this data from Sakaehara 1987, 203. It is notable that monks who w ­ ere forced to copy sutras for punishment ­were only required to copy five sheets a day. This was first pointed out by Yamada Hideo 1965, 4–5. For ­legal commentaries that outline sutra copying as punishment, see Ryō no gige 令義解, KT 2:85. The number of five sheets a day appears in the late-­ninth-­century Ryō no shūge 令集解, KT 23:235. For ­later periods, Nomoto Kakujō (2015, 9 and 12–13n2) has estimated an average of seven sheets a day based on his study of a large- ­scale Heian-­period Lotus Sutra proj­ect. I am grateful to Mike Jamentz for this final reference.

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same scroll repeatedly. Hirotari started with the second, before copying the first twice, and then the second again twice. Upon completion, the copyist returned his manuscript to the clerks, who gave it to proofreaders (kōsei 校生) to be checked twice for errors. For the Brahma’s Net Sutra proj­ect, as was typical, this pro­cess started almost immediately, as a proofreading ledger rec­ords that the seven proofreaders began work on 8/4 and finished by 8/8 (DNK 11:25–27 [ZZS 26:7]). They compared the copied text with the exemplar to check for discrepancies and recorded all ­mistakes. Whenever pos­si­ble, proofreaders returned the manuscript to the scribe who originally copied it for corrections.16 The tool most commonly used to erase errors was a blade. The first ledger detailing Takebe no Hirotari’s work contains a notation that sheets w ­ ere removed. This occurred when the scribe made too many ­mistakes so that the sheet was no longer salvageable. T ­ here is evidence of this in manuscript cultures as well, as Nara-­period sutras contain individual sheets where the horizontal margins do not align. This is ­because the lined page of the scroll was removed and replaced. This small gap in the top or bottom margin on subsequent sheets also appears in many fellowship sutras that I have studied in archival collections, suggesting a shared practice among official and less formal organ­izations of initially lining the paper and then removing sheets with too many errors.17 Preparation of manuscripts did not end with proofreading. As soon as a proofreader finished his scroll, he returned it to the clerk, who gave it back to the assemblers (DNK 12:325 [ZZS 28:16]). They removed the temporary roller and cover sheet and replaced them with a permanent roller and cover. For the Brahma’s Net Sutra proj­ect, manuscripts composed of colored paper had colored cover sheets with decorated rollers. Once complete, the scrolls ­were returned to the clerk for tasking to a particularly skilled calligrapher who would inscribe the sutra title on the outside of the covers. We know that at least some of the scrolls on colored paper w ­ ere then enclosed in ornate wrappers (chitsu 帙) with colorful silk fronts, red silk twill backing, brocade edging, and braided fastening bands.18 Wrappers such as ­these ­were custom-made for specific proj­ects and ­were almost always crafted outside the Office of Sutra Transcription.19 ­A fter the completion of manuscript production, only administrative work remained. For accounting purposes, the clerks recorded the number of sheets left over to track how each and ­every sheet of paper had been used (DNK 13:28 [ZZS 26:7 verso]). They prepared a salary request for the laborers and submitted it to the Tōdaiji Construction Agency, which in turn solicited 16. For a more detailed account of proofreading practices, see Yamashita 2013. 17. We also have extensive evidence of problematic sheets being removed from sutras made for the Tibetan emperor in the 820s–840s during the period of Tibetan rule of Dunhuang. For this, see Dotson 2013–2014. 18. For documents that rec­ord information about the wrappers, see DNK 4:27–28 (ZSBS 10:3–4) and 13:100 (ZZS 16:7). 19. For an exhaustive study of wrappers in general, see Watanabe Yōko 2013.

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the patron, an aspect of this proj­ect no longer vis­i­ble in extant rec­ords. As ­w ill be discussed in the next chapter, workers ­were all paid per sheet, providing incentive for efficient work. When the accounting was complete, it was on to the next proj­ect, if it had not started already. The afterlives of texts are an impor­tant topic that this book ­w ill not fully address, but Shōsōin documents reveal that the manuscripts this proj­ect produced w ­ ere distributed to ­temples. We only know the fate of three complete sets, which ­were delivered to Daianji 大安寺, Yakushiji 薬師寺, and Shimotsukedera 下野寺. Notably, t­hese ­were sent almost immediately upon completion, as receipts from each t­ emple date to 8/9.20 Surely other t­ emples received the remaining scrolls as well. Monks and possibly nuns at vari­ous ­temples would use them in memorial rituals, likely through recitation, praying for the salvation of Fujiwara no Miyako. More generally, we know that the Buddhist faithful continued to treat scripture as an object of veneration in worship even a­ fter it was put in storage.21 The preceding description of how sutras w ­ ere copied at the highest level is admittedly complex and detailed. But that is precisely the point. Scriptures did not copy themselves. Clerks, copyists, proofreaders, and assemblers worked through a complex and bureaucratic pro­cess to secure materials, transcribe texts, and keep detailed accounting rec­ords. Copying scripture in large numbers required ­t hese bureaucratic structures and skilled laborers. This was surely a dif­fer­ent world than that of the majority of fellowships examined in chapter three.

Continental Pre­ce­dents The bureaucratic structure and pro­cess described above did not originate in Japan. Fujieda Akira has examined evidence from Dunhuang to show that Chinese sutra-­copying offices likely existed from the late fifth c­ entury, if not earlier.22 Preserved in early manuscripts from Dunhuang is fragmentary evidence for the existence of both provincial copying offices at Dunhuang and central offices in the capital of Chang’an. In addition, a series of Lotus Sutra and Diamond Sutra manuscripts from the 670s reveals significant parallels between the or­ga­ni­za­t ion of the copying office in Chang’an and the Nara-­period scriptorium responsible for the hundred copies of the Brahma’s Net Sutra.23 As in the Office of Sutra Transcription, the main laborers at the Chang’an scriptorium included scribes, proofreaders, and assemblers. Two administrators oversaw their work. ­These individuals ­were both laity. The colophons to t­ hese Dunhuang manuscripts also rec­ord the 20. For the three documents from each ­temple, see DNK 4:27–28 (ZSBS 10:3–4) and 13:100 (ZZS 16:7). 21. For some helpful examples of the worship of the storage structures housing canons in East Asia, see Wu 2016b, 50–58. 22. The following paragraph summarizes Fujieda 1969. 23. For a con­ve­nient transcription of the relevant colophons, see Ikeda 1990, 211–232.

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names of four monks, who served as what Fujieda translates as examiners (xiang yue 詳閲). While monks w ­ ere mostly absent from copying activities in Japan, colophons and Shōsōin documents reveal that monks sometimes collated texts with alternate editions, a role that may parallel t­ hose of the examiners appearing in Dunhuang manuscripts. Yet, while Dunhuang sources lack the richness of the Shōsōin documents, the basic orga­nizational structure of the Chinese scriptorium seems to closely mirror the Japa­nese case.24 ­There is also extremely fragmentary evidence from Silla that suggests the presence of an official scriptorium in the mid-­seventh c­ entury that may have parallels with Japa­nese counter­parts. The evidence appears in a single wooden slip excavated from Wŏlsŏng 月城, the site of the royal palace in Silla. The wooden slip, recently studied by Kwon Inhan (2013), rec­ords an order by a figure whom Kwon identifies as a potential administrator of an official scriptorium. The order asks for paper to be purchased. It also refers to paper that had not yet been stomped on. Kwon proposes that a figure like a Japa­nese or Chinese assembler would have joined the individual sheets of paper at the scriptorium and then stomped on them to make the paper smooth and lustrous in a pro­cess that resembled pounding in the Japa­nese case. While ­there are no specifics, the assembling of a scroll prob­ ably followed procedures similar to the pro­cess at the scriptorium in Japan; the paper arrived unbound and was then assembled into scrolls on site. Kwon concludes from this single wooden slip, which only rec­ords the order of a small amount of unpounded paper, that the scriptorium may have been a small-­scale operation of a scribe, assembler, and administrator. It seems extremely unlikely, however, that the scale of the scriptorium can be accurately projected on the basis of a single wooden slip related to purchasing and pounding paper. Moreover, Kwon bases many of his interpretations of the excavated wooden slip on Japa­nese sources, so the likelihood of backreading Japa­nese institutions onto Silla materials seems high. But it is at least pos­si­ble that the Silla court could have operated a larger scriptorium as was the case in China and Japan, although the evidence is still slight. The 754–755 Silla colophon to a copy of the Flower Garland Sutra, as discussed in chapter one, outlines the division of ­labor of another Korean sutra-­copying proj­ect: it included sutra copyists, title copyists, paper makers, roller artisans, who may have assembled the manuscript, and artists responsible for the images on the frontispiece. The colophon does not mention proofreaders, but w ­ hether this means that the manuscripts w ­ ere not proofread or that the names of the proofreaders ­were simply not recorded is unclear.25 At bottom, t­here is simply not enough evidence to make 24. More richly documented rec­ords are extant for scriptoria from Dunhuang and surrounding areas in the ninth c­entury, which produced both Chinese and Tibetan-­ language sutras. For this, see Dotson 2013–2014. 25. For a reproduction, see Chin et al. 1991, 176.

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definitive statements about institutional pre­ce­dents on the Korean peninsula. Yet, while the extant sources for early Japan are far more numerous and detailed, it is extremely likely that the early Japa­nese court borrowed basic forms of bureaucratic or­ga­ni­za­t ion, divisions of ­labor, and technical skills from the continent, ­either from China directly or perhaps via immigrants from Paekche, Silla, or Koguryŏ, as well as direct contact with the Korean peninsula.

Copying the Canon in Seventh-­Century Japan Large-­scale sutra copying likely began in the late seventh c­ entury in Japan. While the 686 dedicatory prayer used as the epigraph of the last chapter represents the oldest extant sutra manuscript copied in Japan, historical rec­ ords in the form of chronicles point to an even earlier proj­ect dating to the reign of Emperor Tenmu 天武 (r. 673–686). In contrast to the manuscript made in 686, which was sponsored by a fellowship copying a single scroll, the Tenmu proj­ect, like many of the ­others discussed in this chapter, was far more ambitious. Large-­scale proj­ects sponsored by wealthy patrons sometimes involved the copying of thousands of scrolls over multiple years. While the patrons of ­these proj­ects shared similar religious objectives with the fellowship responsible for the 686 manuscript, they w ­ ere capable of sponsoring significantly larger proj­ects b ­ ecause their wealth gave them the ability to or­ga­nize and support bureaucratic institutions. Altogether, the Chronicles of Japan contains three entries concerning a large-­scale proj­ect commissioned by Tenmu in 673 that likely required the support of a bureaucratic institution; t­ hese are the first references to sutra copying of any kind on the Japa­nese archipelago:26 3/673: In this month, [Tenmu] gathered scribes and began transcribing all the scriptures (issaikyō 一切經, i.e., the canon) at Kawaradera 川原寺. (Nihon shoki 3/673; NKBT 68:410–411) Winter, 10/3/675: [Tenmu] sent envoys out in the four directions in search of all the scriptures. (Nihon shoki 10/3/675; NKBT 68:420–421) 8/15/677. [Tenmu] held a ­g reat abstinential rite at Asukadera 飛鳥寺 to recite all the scriptures. The heavenly sovereign progressed to the south gate and worshiped the three jewels. At this time, he summoned the imperial princes, all the

26. This is not to say that this was the first act of sutra transcription in Japan; it is simply the earliest recorded instance. It is significant, however, that the second half of the seventh c­ entury, the period ­t hese entries date to, corresponds closely to the beginning of the rapid emergence of writing on the Japa­nese archipelago. See Lurie 2011, 115–166. It should also be noted that ­t here are numerous other plausible references to both writing and Buddhist texts from earlier periods that suggest some copying may have occurred earlier, though this is the first explicit reference to sutra transcription. For a summary of all of the relevant entries on writing in the Nihon shoki, see Lurie 2001, 348–398.

Instituting Transcription 117 other princes, and ministers and ordered each one of them to furnish a person to leave the h ­ ouse­hold (i.e., become a monk). It did not m ­ atter w ­ hether the person leaving the h ­ ouse­hold was male or female or old or young. All accorded with ­these wishes and [he] sent them [into the priesthood]. In this manner, the ­great abstinential rite was held. (Nihon shoki 8/15/677; NKBT 68:428–429)

In the following ­century, rulers would repeatedly sponsor canon-­ copying proj­ects, but ­t hese entries from the Chronicles of Japan point to the only recorded case from the seventh ­century. They connect closely to Tenmu’s po­liti­cal ambitions and the emergence of a state bureaucracy. The canon-­copying proj­ect, which began almost immediately a­ fter Tenmu’s coronation, represented one of his first acts as a ruler, a position he achieved only ­a fter vicious ­battles with his nephew Prince Ōtomo 大友 (648–672), the designated heir.27 It was surely the most ambitious sutra-­copying proj­ ect of its time. Transcribing the canon strengthened Tenmu’s nascent reign by visually demonstrating his power, and perhaps also provided penance for the blood spilled on his way to the throne. Moreover, Tenmu held the dedication ceremony at Asukadera, which he classified as a G ­ reat ­Temple, thereby eclipsing its origins with the rival Soga clan and associating the ­temple with his court.28 Fi­nally, it followed the Chinese pre­ce­dent of royal sponsorship of canon transcription, and thus helped establish Tenmu as a po­liti­cal and religious leader of equal status to that of his continental counter­parts.29 The ritual of sutra transcription and canon copying ­adopted by ­later royals was therefore initiated by Tenmu even before the Nara period, and it functioned as a strategy of symbolic legitimation both within and without the Buddhist sphere.30 While Tenmu’s unique resources as the ruler enabled such an ambitious endeavor, his canon-­copying proj­ect ran into numerous prob­lems from early on. For one, while it is uncertain what the term “canon” meant in this context, it is clear that Tenmu had trou­ble securing the desired texts. An earlier rec­ord regarding the recitation of the canon (again using the term issaikyō 一切經) in 651 notes the presence of more than 2,100 monks and nuns, a number that likely referred to the total number of Buddhist scrolls extant at the court at this time (Nihon shoki 12/651; NKBT 68:316– 317). Yet this number does not accord with contemporaneous Chinese cata­ logs that helped define canonicity. Moreover, it pales quantitatively in comparison with continental pre­ce­dents. 31 In 673, Tenmu did, however, 27. For the best English-­language overview of the Jinshin War in which Tenmu defeated Prince Ōtomo, see Duthie 2014, 123–159. 28. For more on the history of Asukadera, see McCallum 2009, 23–82 and 237–238. 29. For Chinese imperial patronage of the canon, see Wu 2016b, 47–48. 30. Tenmu’s symbolic strategies have been ably studied by scholars such as Herman Ooms (2009) and Joan Piggott (1997, 131–166). 31. For the best study of Chinese cata­logs, see Storch 2014. For a recent collection of essays on the canon in China with many useful articles on issues related to canon definition, see Wu and Chia 2016.

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seem to have a practical definition of a canon in mind; the fact that he sent out envoys in search of additional texts suggests the existence of some standardized list of scrolls that the administrators consulted only to realize that they lacked requisite works. This deficiency was in spite of significant recent gains in the number of available manuscripts. The efforts of a 653 diplomatic mission that returned in 654 with “many books,” and of the monk Dōshō, who left on the same mission and returned in 661 with a large number of Buddhist texts, surely added to the number of available scrolls in a way that facilitated the large-­scale sutra copying that emerged in the late seventh ­century. Dōshō may have even introduced continental cata­logs defining canonicity, although ­t here is no firm evidence for this.32 Despite ­t hese efforts, Tenmu still confronted a lack of manuscripts, and he was unable to fill his canon with the desired texts in accord with what­ever definition of canonicity he may have been using at the time. Beyond t­hese textual shortcomings, Tenmu strug­ gled with orga­ nizational and ­labor prob­lems that made it even more difficult to complete the proj­ect. Given the absence of any evidence of large-­scale sutra copying before 673, Tenmu likely had to start his scriptorium from scratch, an interpretation supported by his need to “gather scribes” at the beginning of the proj­ect. This suggests that ­t here was not a ready supply of such individuals in the fledgling state bureaucracy. Tenmu needed to seek them out. The scribes and administrators he recruited would have had to learn on the job; few if any would have had experience copying a canon. Thus, nascent institutional structures and deficient manuscript resources created hindrances that would not be fully resolved for several de­cades. As we w ­ ill see below, the institutional developments that enabled frequent canon copying emerged not only through the appearance of a more fully functioning state bureaucracy in the eighth ­century, but also out of the h ­ ouse­hold scriptoria that flourished throughout the Nara period.

A Prince’s Scriptorium The rise of h ­ ouse­hold scriptoria marked a key development in the history of sutra transcription in early Japan. Colophons of manuscripts, archaeological finds, and Shōsōin documents show that aristocrats frequently operated scriptoria on their estates, altogether copying tens of thousands of scrolls of sutras during the eighth ­century alone.33 Tales from China also make reference to h ­ ouse­hold scriptoria, a fact that again suggests the possibility that Japa­nese aristocrats modeled their patronage on Chinese pre­ 32. For the importation of “many books” by a diplomatic mission in 654, see Nihon shoki 7/654; NKBT 68:322–323. It is unclear if this would have included Buddhist texts. For Dōshō’s importation of Buddhist works, see Shoku Nihongi 3/10/700; SNKBT 12:22–27. 33. This number is a rough and extremely conservative estimate. Accounting for recorded canon-­copying proj­ects by aristocrats alone, however, puts the number in the tens of thousands, not to mention the numerous smaller proj­ects as well as t­hose that have been lost in the historical rec­ord. The number could very well be in the hundreds of thousands.

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ce­dents.34 Fujieda (1969, 27–29) again has found examples of princely scriptoria in Dunhuang materials. One of the earliest and best documented of the Japa­nese h ­ ouse­hold institutions belonged to Prince Nagaya, the grand­son of Tenmu and a leading po­liti­cal figure in the early eighth ­century.35 Over two hundred extant manuscripts from two proj­ects to copy the six-­hundred-­scroll Mahā-­prajñā-­ pāramitā-­sūtra (Ch. Da bore boluomiduo jing 大般若波羅蜜多經), together with excavated wooden tally slips known as mokkan 木簡, document the prince’s commitment to ritualized writing.36 Dedicatory inscriptions from Nagaya’s first proj­ect to transcribe the Mahā-­prajñā-­pāramitā-­sūtra, dated to 712, note that transcription was carried out through the Northern Palace, a staffed ­house­hold or­ga­ni­za­tion that Nagaya likely inherited from his f­ ather, Prince Takechi 高市皇子 (654–696).37 In addition to the administrative assistance Nagaya gained from his f­ ather’s offices, he also benefited from legally sanctioned support, as officials from this period ­were granted a staff of administrators from the central government to manage h ­ ouse­hold affairs. Nagaya drew on his f­ amily’s wealth and official privilege to construct a sprawling estate that included large gardens and ponds as well as numerous offices ranging from ­saddle makers to doctors.38 Among ­t hese offices was an institution known as the Office of Writing Methods (shohōsho 書法所), a bureau that managed sutra transcription and image production (HM 1:326; 2:1969–1971). 39 Scribes, assemblers, and proofreaders labored at the Office of Writing Methods preparing scrolls 34. For example, see the story of Yan Gong 嚴恭, repeated in several collections. Mingbao ji, T 2082.51.790b; Fayuan zhulin, T 2122.53.419c; Hongzan fahua zhuan, T 2067.51.43c; Fahua zhuanji, T 2068.51.85c. 35. For a general overview of Nagaya’s life, see Terasaki 1999. 36. For an overview of the 712 manuscripts, see Kawase 1943, 100–110, and Tanaka Kaidō 1953, 158–162. I have relied on digital editions and photographic reprints of the manuscripts of scrolls in the Nezu Museum, Jōmyōji, and the Kyoto National Museum. Five manuscripts are extant from a second proj­ect known as the Jinkikyō. For an overview of ­t hese manuscripts, see Kawase 1943, 110–116, and Tanaka Kaidō 1953, 164–166. The most wellknown manuscript, scroll 267, is currently in the Nezu Museum. In addition, I have consulted Tanaka Kaidō 1973, who transcribes the colophon to scroll 513, currently in a private collection. 37. On the meaning of the Northern Palace, I have followed Mori Kimiyuki (2009, esp. 51–83), who suggests that it refers to Nagaya’s ­father’s ­house­hold or­g a­ni­za­tion. Earlier scholarship had proposed numerous alternatives; for an En­glish summary, see Piggott 1990, 461–462, and Farris 1998, 226–227. The Japa­nese scholarship is too abundant to cite in full, but some of the key studies include Ōyama Seiichi 1998, 2–54; Mori Kimiyuki 2000, 46–66; Mo­rita 1994, 37–67; Terasaki 1999, 136–147; and Yagi 2009, 151–156. Although Prince Nagaya was the sponsor and relied on resources from the Northern Palace, it is also likely that his wife Princess Kibi was involved in sponsoring the proj­ect, particularly since it memorialized her b ­ rother Emperor Monmu. For Princess Kibi’s role, see Mori Kimiyuki 2009, 131. Also see Katsuura 1991, 29–30 and 35–36. 38. For an outline of the vari­ous offices on his estate, see Nara kokuritsu bunkazai kenkyūjo 1991, 100. In En­glish, see Farris 1998, 225–226. 39. For key studies on t­ hese mokkan that have helped me frame this section, see Katsuura 1991; Terasaki 1999, 227–230; and Kaneko 2001, 51–54.

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and transcribing manuscripts for Nagaya.40 As discussed above, ­these three categories of workers ­were standard at many scriptoria, including the Tōdaiji institution as well as ­t hose on the continent. For the 712 manuscripts, the largest number of workers was scribes (in this case, prob­ably six or seven). The scrolls w ­ ere proofread multiple times, as indicated by one mokkan (HM 1:25) that cites an initial proofreading, implying that additional rounds occurred. This method of proofreading was standard practice in Japan and on the continent. The workers w ­ ere managed by administrators, who dutifully recorded the rationing of rice and other supplies on mokkan and generally facilitated work at what appears to have been a busy institution. Overall, it was Nagaya’s wealth and institutional capabilities, as well as the increased literacy and availability of paper at this time, that enabled him to employ the numbers of administrators and laborers needed to carry out large-­scale proj­ects such as the six-­hundred-­scroll Mahā-­ prajñā-­pāramitā-­sūtra. In addition, Nagaya used his po­liti­cal privilege to ensure that he employed the most skilled workers in the land. For example, the colophon to a manuscript from a 728 proj­ect to again transcribe the Mahā-­prajñā-­ pāramitā-­sūtra shows that most of the workers involved held official state posts. The scribes and proofreaders w ­ ere seconded from the Ministry of Ceremonials (Shikibushō 式部省), a bureau where they would have likely gained experience copying and reviewing documents. The assembler, who would go on to work at the Tōdaiji scriptorium, was based at the Bureau of Books and Drawings (Zushoryō 図書寮), an institution where he would have acquired familiarity with manuscript production and preservation. The colophon then identifies two laypersons with a term that can be translated as “acting commissioner,” “supervising commissioner,” or “inspector commissioner” (kengyōshi 檢校使).41 One of the lay inspectors held the position of secretary ( jō or hōgan 判官) of the Saho Palace, a private residence Nagaya kept near the Saho River northeast of the capital. The other lay inspector was the se­nior clerk (daizoku 大屬) of the Yin-­yang Bureau (Onmyōryō 陰陽寮), a state institution tasked with divination, astronomy, calendrics, and timekeeping. With this background, it seems likely that he functioned as a clerk at the scriptorium, just as he had done at the Yin-­yang Bureau. In sum, the revolving-­door connections between lay workers and the official state bureaucracy show how Nagaya’s h ­ ouse­hold scriptorium benefited from the rise of ritsuryō institutions in early Japan. The lay names given so far are followed by ­those of two monks, who are again e­ ither “inspectors,” “supervisors,” or “acting monks [from their respective ­temples].” Yamashita Yumi (2001, 80) suggests they may have assisted with collating the manuscripts (kangyō 勘經). Mokkan refer to scripto40. ­These titles all appear in colophons to the Jinkikyō. In addition, identical and similar titles have been found in mokkan. See HM 1:159, 329, and 783, and HMG 21:19 and 26, 28:8, and 25:13. 41. For usage of this term in medieval Chinese sources, see Hucker 1985, 146.

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rium monks (shohōsho no sō 書法所曾 [僧] and shohō no sō 書法僧) (HM 1:326; HMG 28:8), who could be identical figures. The monks listed in the Jinki colophon include Kiben 基弁, who is other­w ise unknown but came from Yakushiji, and the eminent monk Dōji 道慈 (?–744), who was based at Kōfukuji 興福寺 (­here called Fujiwaradera 藤原寺) at this time. Both of t­ hese ­temples ­were impor­t ant monastic centers closely associated with the state, again showing how Prince Nagaya used state resources for his h ­ ouse­hold scriptorium. Interestingly, Nagaya’s estate employed a number of other workers to support transcription activities that may not have existed at the Tōdaiji scriptorium. Excavated mokkan mention paper and wrapper masters (shishi 紙師 and chitsushi 帙師, respectively).42 If ­these terms refer to individuals who made paper and wrappers, ­these would be unique in-­house skills; l­ ater imperially sanctioned scriptoria did not employ ­t hese classes of workers.43 As ­w ill be discussed below, scrolls produced by Nagaya have several distinct codicological features, which may be the result of having an in-­house specialist in paper production. The presence of a wrapper master, too, suggests that Nagaya’s scriptorium was fairly active. A single wrapper could hold ten or more scrolls; having a designated wrapper maker would only be necessary if the scriptorium was producing a significant number of manuscripts (Sekine 2001, 176). Nevertheless, the evidence for what precisely t­ hese in-­ house specialists did is inconclusive (Watanabe Yōko 2013, 99–100). Nagaya’s institutional resources and access to skilled laborers enabled him to create visually distinct manuscripts. The paper for the 728 scroll mea­sures 176 centimeters per sheet, more than three times longer than the average length found in other Nara manuscripts.44 The use of rare and difficult to produce materials demonstrated Nagaya’s unique sutra-­copying capabilities. Moreover, all extant scrolls from Nagaya’s scriptorium are unlined, a characteristic that sets them apart from most other manuscripts produced in the Nara period.45 This may reflect an in-­house style infused 42. For the paper makers, see HMG 21:6 and HM 2:1708; for the wrapper makers, see HMG 21:26, 27:11, and 28:8. 43. For more on this prob­lem, see Katsuura 1991, 29–30. In addition, workers known as shohō sakunin 書法作人 and shohō monin 書法模人 appear frequently in mokkan from the Nagaya estate, but the meaning of ­these terms is unclear. For some dif­fer­ent interpretations, see Katsuura 1991, 24; Horiike 2001, 206–207; Tōno 1994, 94–95; and Sekine 2001, 175. 44. Nara-­period manuscripts employ a wide range of paper sizes. In the 5/1 canon, which w ­ ill be assessed below, most sheets mea­sure between 45 and 47 cm, although I have found some scrolls where individual sheets are as long as 54 cm. Other non-5/1 Nara-­period manuscripts are often slightly longer with most sheets mea­sur­ing between 54 and 57 cm. (My methodology for mea­sur­ing is the same as that outlined in note 10.) In eighth-­century sutra manuscripts from Dunhuang, paper generally ranged between 42 and 52 cm. See Drège 2002, esp. 124–126. Also see Akao 2002. Long paper (chōshi 長紙) occasionally ­appears in Shōsōin rec­ords as well. It is unclear what the precise length of ­t hese sheets would be. 45. A copy of a manuscript produced by a fellowship group of the Southern Fujiwara ­house also appears to be unlined. This scroll is kept in the National Museum of Japa­nese

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with influence from the Korean peninsula, since one of the few other extant unlined manuscripts from this period appears to have been produced in Silla.46 Calligraphically, scrolls from the 728 Mahā-­prajñā-­pāramitā-­sūtra proj­ect take on a more con­temporary Tang style than the 712 scrolls, a feature that demonstrates Nagaya’s ability to adopt new techniques (Tōno 1994, 98–99). Nagaya’s connections and privilege gave him nearly unparalleled resources for recruiting skilled and knowledgeable workers and administrators to meet his ambitious goals. The transcription, however, was not a purely “public” endeavor; the dedicatory prayer appended to the 728 manuscript shows that Prince Nagaya sponsored it on behalf of his parents, as well as the sovereign. His transcription in 728, therefore, should be understood as part of a memorial rite for parents and an apotropaic rite for state protection. In this way, it had the dual role of displaying filiality as well as support of the ruler, two motivations that Nagaya shared with some of the fellowship groups discussed in the last chapter and with the prayers sponsored by the individuals highlighted in chapter two. While his devotion to the ruler cannot be overlooked, it must also be emphasized that state officials worked in part to help Nagaya mourn and memorialize loved ones. As we w ­ ill see, the use of state employees and institutional structures for an ostensibly private affair was a common occurrence in the Nara period.

Kōmyōshi’s Scriptorium (727–738) Manuscript evidence shows that members of the Fujiwara ­family, Nagaya’s ­great rivals at court, operated a number of h ­ ouse­hold sutra-­copying offices to transcribe scriptures for their ritual needs. In fact, the institution that became the Tōdaiji scriptorium, likely the most prolific sutra-­copying bureau in the Nara period, emerged out of a h ­ ouse­hold office connected to a ­woman named Fujiwara no Asukabehime 藤原安宿媛, better known as Kōmyōshi.47 Scholars speculate that Kōmyōshi’s grand­father, Fujiwara no Kamatari 藤原鎌足 (614–669), and f­ather, Fujiwara no Fuhito 藤原不比等 (659–720)—­both power­f ul figures in their own right—­l ikely played a major role in establishing Buddhism as the religion of the Fujiwara clan and integrating it into state institutions. Kōmyōshi also inherited a dedication to Buddhism from her ­mother, who is reputed to have been a ­woman of deep Buddhist faith (Mikoshiba 2002, 22–30). Kōmyōshi would go on to become a prominent po­liti­cal figure in the eighth ­century and one of the greatest patrons of Buddhism in the history of Japan.

History (H-194) and a partial reproduction appears in NCS, plate 86. 46. For an unlined scroll in the Shōgozō collection likely imported from Silla, see ­Yamamoto Nobuyoshi 2006. 47. Much of the following discussion about ­t hese scriptoria draws on Yamashita 1999c, as well as Sakaehara 2000 and 2003 and Yamamoto Yukio 2002.

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The earliest extant source related to Kōmyōshi’s ­house­hold scriptorium is a document that rec­ords the receipt of paper in 3/727 to copy the Mahā-­ prajñā-­pāramitā-­sūtra—­the same text Nagaya transcribed twice—in addition to a number of other proj­ects (DNK 1:381–383 [ZZS 4:20:12]). As Sakaehara Towao (2000, 263–278) has shown, Kōmyōshi likely commissioned this 727 Mahā-­prajñā-­pāramitā-­sūtra as a means of praying for the safe birth of the child she was carry­ing. At the time, the twenty-­seven-­year-­old aristocrat could command significant resources; she used well over ten thousand sheets of paper for transcribing this proj­ect. She also likely received material support from the ­father of the child, Emperor Shōmu, who clearly had much at stake in the birth of a potential heir to the throne. For this reason, scholars such as Yamashita Yumi have argued that the scriptorium had a state character from the start.48 But the fact that this early proj­ect was connected to preserving Shōmu’s line does not mean that the entire institution can be understood u ­ nder the rubric of state Buddhism. The state Buddhism model of ­Inoue Mitsusada, for example, stresses Buddhism’s magical powers in bringing prosperity to the realm as its primary appeal, but the range of texts referenced in this 727 document point to an office responsible for h ­ andling proj­ects on a variety of themes unrelated or only loosely related to apotropaic promise. For example, the document also lists Yogācāra philosophical writings such as Vasubandhu’s Treatise on Consciousness Only (Skt. Viṃśatikā-­śāstra; Ch. Wei­ shi lun 唯識論), Sthiramati’s Treatise on the Assorted [Abhidarma] Collections (Skt. Abhidharma-­samuccaya-­vyākhyā; Ch. Za ji lun 雜集論), and Xuanzang’s three-­scroll translation of the Treatise on Distinguishing the ­Middle and the Ex­ treme (Skt. Madhyāntavibhāga; Ch. Bian zhong bian lun 辯中邊論; transcribed in this document as J. Ben chū ron 辯仲論). In addition, t­ here are a number of influential sutras including the Lotus Sutra, arguably the most impor­t ant scripture in East Asia, which was used for diverse ritual purposes; the Extensive Scripture (Ch. Fangguang jing 方廣經), an apocryphal sutra for confession rites based on reciting names of buddhas; the Amitābha Sutra (Ch. Amituo jing 阿彌陀經), a fundamental Pure Land text; and the Scripture on the One Who Observes the Sounds of the World (Ch. Guan shi yin jing 觀世音經), an influential work dealing with Avalokiteśvara, one of the most impor­tant bodhisattvas in East Asia. The document also rec­ords the receipt of paper to copy Biographies of Exemplary Females (Ch. Lienü zhuan, ­here transcribed as 烈女傳 but more commonly written 列女傳), a non-­Buddhist Chinese text that outlines the ideals of female virtue. Taken as a w ­ hole, the transcription activities cited in this document do not suggest that the scriptorium’s primary role centered on state protection or asserting an official ideology. The Buddhist texts include a number 48. See Yamashita 1999c, 17–18. The prince died soon a­ fter childbirth and a second proj­ect to copy the Mahā-­prajñā-­pāramitā-­sūtra was initiated as a memorial offering to the deceased prince. We ­w ill return to the po­liti­cal significance of the death of this prince in chapter six.

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of philosophical and cultic works that have no obvious connection to the state and w ­ ere likely used for scholastic and ritual purposes. With regard to the non-­Buddhist work, Biographies of Female Exemplars, we can speculate that Kōmyōshi would have been interested in learning about ­t hese female Chinese paragons as models for her own ethical development. It is best to think of the earliest incarnation of this institution as a ­house­hold or­ga­ni­ za­tion that met the needs of its patron, which sometimes but not always overlapped with the interests of the state. As we ­w ill see, aristocrats in the Nara period frequently operated ­house­hold scriptoria, a useful context in which to situate Kōmyōshi’s 727 office. Over time, however, Kōmyōshi’s scriptorium would gradually develop unique capabilities for copying scripture through connections with official institutions that set it apart from other ­house­holds engaged in ritualized writing. One key change occurred in 729, when Kōmyōshi received the title of queen consort (kōgō 皇后), elevating her to the role of Shōmu’s chief spouse and prioritizing her ­children as heirs to the throne. From this time, the scriptorium became a subsidiary of the Queen Consort’s Palace Agency, an officially staffed bureau for managing Kōmyōshi’s affairs. Initially, the scale and or­ga­ni­za­t ion of the scriptorium u ­ nder the Queen Consort’s Palace Agency did not differ from that of the 727 h ­ ouse­hold institution. In the 730s, however, it increased its staff to rival that of other large government bureaus.49 Although the scriptorium’s size expanded, it still centered on Kōmyōshi. She continued to sponsor the majority, if not all, of the proj­ects initiated through this institution. Its location at Sumidera 角寺 (also Sumi-in 隅院) on the grounds of the queen consort’s palace further highlights the close geo­graph­i­cal and administrative connection with Kōmyōshi.50 As before, the texts she sponsored covered a wide range of doctrinal orientations including Pure Land sutras, dhāraṇī collections, Perfection of Wisdom lit­ er­a­ture, texts on the bodhisattva path, and many o ­ thers; t­ here is l­ittle evidence that the scriptorium was exclusively concerned with apotropaic state protection.51 Rather, it functioned as a vehicle for Kōmyōshi’s patronage of Buddhism as she saw fit, just as it had in its origins. What changed was that the association with state structures allowed Kōmyōshi to express her ­w ill on a scale without parallel in the Nara court. Soon ­a fter the creation of the Queen Consort’s Palace Agency, the scriptorium initiated an unpre­ce­dented proj­ect that would continue for the next 49. For more on the development of the Queen Consort’s Palace Agency and its relationship to the former ­house­hold or­ga­ni­za­t ion, see Sagimori 1996, 8–11; Nakabayashi 1993a and 1994; and Yamashita 1999c, 17–28 and 193–194. The first rec­ord of scriptorium activities ­under the Queen Consort’s Palace Agency dates to 730, but Yamashita speculates that the earlier ­house­hold scriptorium may have been absorbed into the Queen Consort’s Palace Agency from the time of its founding. 50. For Sumidera, see Yamashita 1999c, 30–32, and Sakaehara 2000, 134–140. 51. For a document that details the proj­ects being performed at this time, see DNK 7:5–32 (ZZS 12:3). Also see Sakaehara 2000, 170n3, and Yamashita 1999c, 18.

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twenty-­four years: a herculean effort to copy an authoritative canon. This proj­ect, sponsored by Kōmyōshi, is known as the 5/1 canon (gogatsu tsuita­ chi issaikyō 五月一日一切經) ­after the date of its dedicatory prayer.52 The copying of the canon, which had coalesced around the 5,048 scrolls listed in the Chinese Kaiyuan Cata­log 53 and eventually expanded to around 6,500 scrolls, was administered u ­ nder the Office of Sutra Transcription (Shakyōjo 寫經所). 54 Takaya no Akamaro 高屋赤麻呂, who had begun working at the scriptorium when it was still part of Kōmyōshi’s ­house­hold or­ga­ni­za­t ion, supervised the canon copying, a fact that highlights the office’s continuity with its earlier incarnations. From 737, much of the copying took place at Naka no shima-in 中嶋院, a chapel on the grounds of Kōmyōshi’s palace, while some facilities remained at Sumidera as well (Yamashita 1999c, 30–33). In addition, a separate division at Naka no shima-in known as the Office of Sutra Copyists (Kyōshijo 經師所), managed by Ono no Kunikata 小野 國堅, handled noncanon or so-­called interval proj­ects between the years 737 and 738. 55 The En­glish phrase “interval proj­ects” translates the term kansha[kyō] 間寫[經], where kan “interval” replaces the first logograph in jōsha[kyō] 常寫[經] or constant sutra copying, the term for canon-­copying proj­ects. The term “interval” was used to describe individual proj­ects consisting of a single text or group of texts copied in between or alongside the larger and more time-consuming canon-­copying endeavors.56 A few examples ­w ill give a sense of their scope: one proj­ect supervised by the Office of Sutra Copyists involved the transcription of 110 scrolls comprising a series of sutras dedicated to Avalokiteśvara together with Yijing’s 義淨 (635–713) translation of the Diamond Sutra. Other proj­ects included the copying of Asaṅga’s Treaties on the Summary of the ­G reat Vehicle (She dasheng lun 攝大乘論); the Lotus Sutra; and the Mahāmāyā Sūtra (Ch. Mohe moye jing 摩訶摩耶經), a scripture about the Buddha’s preaching to his deceased ­mother in the Trāyastriṃśa heaven. The administration of multiple sutra-­copying halls and offices required institutional capabilities made pos­si­ble by Kōmyōshi’s increasingly prominent status in the 730s. A proj­ect as large and complex as the 5/1 canon, which gradually expanded to become the most comprehensive collection 52. For the two best overviews of the 5/1 canon, see Minagawa 2012, 84–165, and ­ amashita 1999c, 402–463. Yamashita suggests that some copying activities had already beY gun in 733. 53. The full title is Kaiyuan shijiao lu 開元釋教録. It played a key role in shaping notions of canonicity in East Asia. For a useful overview of the Kaiyuan Cata­l og, see Tokuno 1990, 52–58, and Wu 2016a, 25–27 and 36–37. 54. ­Here I follow the reading given in standard reference sources such as Kokushi dai­ jiten. Other scholars, however, commonly gloss it as shakyōsho; for instance, see Yamaguchi Hideo 2014b. 55. For more on the administration of t­ hese institutions, see Yamashita 1999c, 20–28 and 193–198. For an overview of the c­ areer of Takaya no Akamaro, see Kitō 1977, 63–92. 56. For the distinction between kan and jō, see Sonoda 1974.

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of Buddhist texts of its time, together with a number of smaller proj­ects, amounted to a bureaucratic challenge that would have been impossible to administer through an ordinary ­house­hold institution. The new capacities for canon copying that developed in the capital reflect the growing strength of both Kōmyōshi and the state bureaucracy. At the same time, the scriptorium remained an office that responded to the ­w ill of the queen consort and was based at sites geo­graph­i­cally and institutionally linked to her for most of the 730s. The scriptorium existed primarily to meet her ritual needs.

Canon Copying and the Birth of the Tōdaiji Scriptorium (738–757) While Kōmyōshi was the sole engine for the early history of the scriptorium, Shōsōin documents rec­ord the emergence of an imperial prince or princess (miko/ōji 皇子) who joined the queen consort as an active sponsor of transcription through her sutra-­copying office in the latter half of the 730s.57 Although the early documents do not cite this individual by name, the designation by title almost certainly refers to Princess Abe 阿倍内親王, who had been named kōtaishi 皇太子 (crown princess) in 738 and would go on to rule as Empress Kōken/Shōtoku.58 Abe’s participation in scriptorium proj­ects represents her growing power and efforts by her parents to provide material, ritual, and spiritual support for their ­daughter, the newly appointed heir. It also reflects the expansion of the institution beyond Kōmyōshi’s sole authority. In fact, the scriptorium would go through a series of institutional changes aimed at strengthening the fairly precarious po­liti­cal position of Princess Abe, who was Japan’s first appointed female royal successor. First, the Office of Sutra Copyists merged with the canon-copying section known as the Office of Sutra Transcription to become a single centralized unit designated the Bureau of Sutra Transcription (Shakyōshi 寫經司).59 As Yamashita Yumi has argued, the transition from an office to a bureau gave the scrip57. For a document from this period that mentions an imperial prince or princess, see DNK 7:91 (ZZS 43:1 verso). The alignment and small size of the phrase prince or princess in the original document of ZZS 43:1 verso makes it appear that a 110-­scroll proj­ect to copy vari­ous scrolls was sponsored by a prince or princess, but it may have been the Mahāmāyā Sūtra, which is the impression given by the printed version in DNK. For documents related to ­these proj­ects, also see DNK 7:125–126 (ZZS 17:3), and 7:181 (ZZS 46:8). I have found evidence that an imperial princess (naishinnō 内親王), likely to be Princess Abe, began copying scripture through the scriptorium as early as 735 with a proj­ect to transcribe the Golden Light Sutra. See DNK 7:22 (ZZS 12:3). As we w ­ ill see, Princess Abe became increasingly involved in sutra-­copying activities from this time. 58. For Abe/Kōken/Shōtoku, I ­w ill henceforth use the titles crown princess and empress when rendering kōtaishi and tennō in En­glish. It should be noted, however, that the Japa­nese terms do not denote female gender. Kōtaishi in par­tic­u ­lar seems to signify male gender, as Crown Princess Abe was the only w ­ oman to receive the title in the history of Japan. 59. The first appearance of this term can be found in DNK 7:167 (ZZS 17:1). For more on this transition, see Sakaehara 2000, 130–143, and Yamashita 1999c, 19–32 and 195–204.

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torium a more permanent and unified status at a time when Shōmu’s line was being challenged by threats regarding succession (Yamashita 1999c, 29–30). In fact, the very first mention of the Bureau of Sutra Transcription rec­ords a request for payment for a proj­ect sponsored by Princess Abe (DNK 7:167–168 [ZZS 17:1]). The connection between the scriptorium and the princess was reinforced through the creation of an additional subsidiary branch called the Office for Transcribing the Canon at Tōin (Tōin Sha Issaikyōjo 東院寫一切經所) in 739 (DNK 7:263–270 [ZZS 3:1]).60 The institution was likely located on Princess Abe’s estate and staffed by attendants from the Secretariat of the Palace of the Crown Princess (Tōgūbō 春宮坊) (Yamashita 1999c, 36–38). In addition to helping with canon-copying proj­ ects, the Office for Transcribing the Canon at Tōin transcribed a range of texts sponsored by Princess Abe, including Perfection of Wisdom lit­er­at­ ure, dhāraṇī, and sutras on Avalokiteśvara (DNK 24:109 [ZZS 37:9]). In this way, the scriptorium began to grow into a permanent institution with greater in­de­pen­dence from Kōmyōshi and a deeper connection to the princess, roughly from the time of Abe’s appointment as the heir to the throne. As we ­w ill continue to see, institutional structures changed in accord with po­ liti­cal realities—­t hese transitions would shape the types of proj­ects sponsored and the capabilities of the scriptorium over the next few de­cades. The scriptorium became further removed from Kōmyōshi’s offices in the 740s. ­A fter a one-­year break from copying the 5/1 canon that began in 740, the headquarters was moved to Fukujuji 福寿寺, a ­temple that would ­later develop into Tōdaiji, where canon transcription resumed in 741.61 The transition to the Fukujuji site moved the scriptorium off the grounds of Kōmyōshi’s palace, a move likely connected to Princess Abe’s becoming the crown princess and one that helped establish its in­de­pen­dence from the queen consort (Yamashita 1999c, 39). With the move, it became known as the Office of Canon Transcription at Fukujuji (Fukujuji Sha Issaikyōjo 福寿 寺寫一切經所). A year l­ater, the title was changed to the Office of Canon Transcription at Konkōmyōji 金光明寺, reflecting the new name of the ­temple.62 From this time, the scriptorium ceased to be a part of the Queen Consort’s Palace Agency altogether and instead became a subsidiary of the vari­ous construction offices affiliated with each of the t­ emple incarnations that fi­nally became Tōdaiji.63 Although Kōmyōshi would continue to sponsor proj­ects through the scriptorium and played a major role in shaping its character, it was no longer directly ­under her authority. In 747, the scriptorium 60. For a detailed discussion of this institution, see Yamashita 1999c, 33–38, and Sakaehara 2000, 144–152. 61. ZZS 7:1 verso. This document is not included in DNK. For more on this institution, see Yamashita 1999c, 38–42, and Sakaehara 2000, 152–164, and 2003, 19–51. I have argued elsewhere that the reason for the temporary break in copying the 5/1 canon is connected to a large dedication ceremony performed on 5/1/740. See Lowe 2016, 560–568. 62. For a detailed overview of this period, see Yamashita 1999c, 54–93. 63. It is likely that the scriptorium was still ­under the broad umbrella of the Queen Consort’s Palace Agency while it was at Fukujuji. See Yamashita 1999c, 42.

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became the Office of Sutra Transcription at Tōdaiji in accord with the final name given to the ­temple. The scriptorium at Tōdaiji was a relatively large compound composed of several buildings surrounded by a brushwood fence (shibagaki 柴垣). ­These included sutra-­copying halls (kyōdō 經堂), an office (zōshi 曹司), a shed for pounding paper (kamiya 紙屋), dormitories for the workers (shukusho 宿所 or sokujo 息所), a kitchen called the Office of Cooked Offerings (Ryōri Kuyōjo 料理供養所), a bath­house (yuya 湯屋), and a store­house (hiwadafuki den 檜皮葺殿) (Yamashita 2006, 15–19). ­T hese institutional changes led to exceptional productivity in the Konkōmyōji and early Tōdaiji years, as the scriptorium si­mul­t a­neously copied three canons. One was the aforementioned 5/1 canon, and the other two ­were sponsored by Emperor Shōmu. The latter contained between 3,481 and 4,000 scrolls. For t­ hese proj­ects, each canon was copied in a separate hall overseen by its own clerk, as well as other administrative workers.64 Copying three canons at once together with simultaneous interval proj­ects required significant ­human resources and administrative capabilities. The success of t­ hese proj­ects is a testament to the strength of the eighth-­century Japa­nese bureaucracy. Of the three canons, the 5/1 proj­ect represents the crown jewel of mid-­ Nara ritualized writing. This is not just the view of pres­ent-­day scholars: it also reflects the esteem the canon gained in 743 when the office supervising it became recognized as an imperially sanctioned scriptorium for copying the canon (chokushi sha issaikyōjo 勅旨寫一切經所).65 The reasons for granting the office this status are easily grasped: the 5/1 canon aspired to and succeeded in becoming the largest and most authoritative canon of its time. The inclusion of commentaries and other texts caused it to swell to a total of approximately 6,500 scrolls. This number far surpassed the 5,048 canonical scrolls listed in the Kaiyuan Cata­log, a significant authority at the time. Yet, while the 5/1 canon included many texts not in the Kaiyuan Cata­ log, especially commentaries, it still relied heavi­ly on the orga­nizational princi­ples of this Chinese text, and t­here is evidence that administrators frequently referred to it. The number of scrolls in the 5/1 canon reflected the increasing size of the scriptural corpus at hand; beyond the earlier scrolls imported by the monk Dōshō, the 5/1 canon benefited greatly from the thousands of manuscripts brought back by Genbō in 735. Indeed, Genbō likely imported the largest number of manuscripts obtained by any figure in the Nara period.66 In addition, the 5/1 canon’s accuracy was unparalleled, since it used many recently imported texts as exemplars and was col64. For t­hese administrative structures, see Yamashita 1999c, 244–249. The three names for offices that appear in documents are Office of Initial [Canon] Sutra [Transcription] (Senkyōjo 先經所), Office of Latter [Canon] Sutra [Transcription] (Kōkyōjo 後經所), and Office of Commentary Transcription (Shashojo 寫疏所). 65. For the significance and history of this designation, see Yamashita 1999c, 393–401 and 453–455. 66. For the texts imported by Genbō, see Yamamoto Yukio 2015, 384–471, and Enomoto 2013, 7–17. While Genbō’s role is the most impor­t ant, particularly for the 5/1 canon,

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lated against additional manuscripts of dif­fer­ent lineages as a further mea­ sure of textual criticism aimed at producing accurate copies.67 Moreover, as an imperially sanctioned canon, it had a profound influence on ­later editions, which used 5/1 manuscripts as exemplars and as alternate editions for collation ­because they ­were known to have been transcribed from the latest and most authoritative imported sources. Ritualized writing, therefore, reached new quantitative and qualitative heights with this proj­ect due in part to institutional changes to the scriptorium that brought it into close connection with state institutions and helped administrators secure and accurately transcribe texts at an unpre­ ce­dented scale. At the same time, the canon fulfilled both the needs of the state and Kōmyōshi’s personal desires; the dedication she affixed to the manuscript included a prayer on behalf of her deceased parents, a plea for stability in the realm, and a vow stating Kōmyōshi’s intention to become a bodhisattva.68 ­A fter the completion of the 5/1 canon, sutra-­copying activities slowed down considerably and the staff of the scriptorium was drastically reduced. No canons ­were copied and very few interval proj­ects appeared between the completion of the 5/1 canon in 756 and the end of 757. Instead, the scriptorium prepared cata­logs for the Bureau of Books and Drawings (Zushoryō 圖書寮) and even employed artists (gashi 画師) to produce picture scrolls and other Buddhist images.69 This represents a marked change from earlier periods, when copying was relatively constant. For the time being, the responsibilities of the scriptorium had ended with the completion of its flagship proj­ect.

Still the Queen’s Scriptorium (757–761) In the latter half of 757, sutra-­copying activities resumed at the Tōdaiji scriptorium in response to Kōmyōshi’s declining health. As she endured a life-­ threatening illness, ritual activities at the court increased, and by early 760 they included sutra copying, recitation, and a hastily or­ga­nized Assembly for Humane Kings (Ninnō’e 仁王會), an apotropaic ceremony usually reserved for state protection (Sakaehara 2003, 219–222). Sutra copying on behalf of Kōmyōshi was managed ­under a new or­ga­ni­za­t ion, the Office of Sutra Transcription (Shakyōjo 寫經所), a subsection distinct from the parent scriptorium, which was now referred to as the Office of Book Transcription (Shashojo 寫書所). It was overseen by Ato no Otari, who held the position of secretary (bettō 別当), a se­nior-­level supervisor.70 In contrast to the other monks also imported texts, including from Silla. For one such text, see Miyazaki 2006, 33–53. 67. For more on the structure of the 5/1 canon, see Yamashita 1999a, 1999b, and 2000. 68. For the prayer, see Lowe 2011, 18–22, and 2016. 69. For this period, see Yamashita 1999c, 108–109, and Sakaehara 1994, 362. 70. For the best overview, see Yamamoto Yukio 2002, esp. 138–147 and 575–579. For more on the bettō system of administration, see Yamashita 1999c, 292–336. For Ato no Otari,

130

Organ­izations

years of active canon copying when laborers had constant work at the scriptorium, the interval proj­ects sponsored between 757 and 760 seconded workers from other government bureaus to complete a given task and sent them back to their host institutions a­ fter their work was done (Yamashita 1999c, 108–113). The Office of Sutra Transcription in ­t hese years functioned much like an ad hoc institution used for proj­ects intended to heal Kōmyōshi. Proj­ects from this period included a series of texts sponsored by Kōmyōshi’s nephew, Fujiwara no Nakamaro, aimed at extending life­ spans and curing illness71 and a group of diverse texts initiated by the abdicated empress Kōken/Shōtoku.72 While numerous individuals sponsored transcription between 757 and 760, each proj­ect was copied on behalf of Kōmyōshi, a fact that highlights her continued centrality to the scriptorium. In fact, the strength of the Nara bureaucracy enabled the efficient completion of ritual proj­ects at a rapid rate in response to the pressing need to heal the queen consort. Despite ­t hese successes, the transcription efforts ­were to ­little avail. Kōmyōshi died on 6/7/760. Her death brought additional ritual responsibilities to the scriptorium, which now supervised a series of memorial proj­ects. T ­ hese proj­ects reveal how her influence over the scriptorium continued from beyond the grave and give further proof of the improvements in efficiency compared to the previous de­cades. On the very day she died, Fujiwara no Nakamaro and the monk Jikun 慈訓 (also read Jikin, 691–777) led an effort to transcribe 1,800 copies of the Scripture in Praise of the Pure Land (Ch. Chengzan jingtu jing 稱讚淨土經), Xuanzang’s translation of the Smaller Sukhāvati Sūtra, to be used in conjunction with her forty-­nine-­day memorial rites.73 This proj­ ect, which had to be accomplished at a rapid pace to be completed in time for the rite, included 133 workers at its peak and used 18,000 sheets of paper.74 The completed sutras ­were then distributed to provincial ­temples for recitation by monks and nuns throughout the country (Shoku Nihongi 7/26/760; SNKBT 14:358–361). The most impressive memorial proj­ect was undoubtedly the One Year Memorial Canon (shūkisai issaikyō 周忌斎一切經), also initiated by Fujiwara no Nakamaro.75 This proj­ect began immediately ­after the forty-­nine-­day rite for Kōmyōshi ended and aimed to copy in one year the entire canon—­now 5,330 scrolls of sutras, vinaya, abhidharma, and extracts and biographies see Piggott 1987, 150–153, in En­glish, and Yamashita 2005 and Ichikawa 2015, 55–72, in Japa­nese. 71. For t­ hese proj­ects, see Yamamoto Yukio 2002, 8–196, and 2015, 179–207. 72. ­T hese include Yijing’s translation of the Golden Light Sutra (Ch. Jin guangming zui­ sheng wang jing 金光明最勝王經), the Scripture on the Dhāraṇī of the Jeweled Star (Ch. Baoxing tuolu­ oni jing 寶星陀羅尼經), the Lotus Sutra, the Brahma’s Net Sutra, and the Consecration Sutra (Ch. Guanding jing 灌頂經). See Sakaehara 2003, 205–218. 73. Using Xuanzang’s translation was an unusual choice and may have reflected Ji­ kun’s influence and connections to the Hossō school. See Miyazaki 2006, 329–344. 74. For ­t hese numbers, see DNK 14:407 and 409 (ZZS 18:6). 75. For a detailed study, see Yamamoto Yukio 2002, 268–354. Also see Inada 2005.

Instituting Transcription 131

but not commentaries—­for another memorial rite on her behalf. For this purpose, the scriptorium at times had 140 scribes, 10 assemblers, and 20 proofreaders on the payroll at once, although it was usually staffed at only 50 to 60 ­percent of t­ hese numbers. In addition to the scribes and other workers, new administrators ­were brought in to help supervise what was undoubtedly an extremely complex and fast-­paced proj­ect. The fact that Nakamaro could accomplish this feat points to the po­liti­cal power he had accrued and the institutional capabilities of the late Nara bureaucracy. By the early 760s, Nakamaro had proved that a canon surpassing the scale of the Kaiyuan Cata­log through the inclusion of extracts and biographies could be copied in a single year. This canon fittingly used 5/1 canon scrolls as its exemplars, a proj­ect that had taken Kōmyōshi nearly twenty years to complete.76

A Post-­Kōmyōshi Age (761–776) The Tōdaiji scriptorium’s period of tumult began within a few years of Kōmyōshi’s passing. In 762, the scriptorium was moved to Ishiyamadera to copy the Mahā-­prajñā-­pāramitā-­sūtra for the new t­ emple, but it returned to Tōdaiji at the end of the year.77 Soon thereafter, it became the object of fierce contest between two factions battling for power. Nakamaro and Emperor Junnin headed the first, and the monk Dōkyō 道鏡 (?–772) and the abdicated sovereign Kōken/Shōtoku led the second.78 The power strug­ gle divided the scriptorium into two sublevel administrative structures—­ one loyal to Nakamaro and Junnin and the other to Kōken/Shōtoku and Dōkyō, with each sponsoring the transcription of a variety of texts, many related to state protection such as the Consecration Sutra, the Commentary of the Scripture for Humane Kings (Ch. Renwang jing shu 仁王經疏), the Golden Light Sutra, and the Mahā-­prajñā-­pāramitā-­sūtra, as well as assorted dhāraṇī. In this arena, the two camps fought over ritual resources, but it was not long before the sword replaced the pen. Nakamaro instigated an armed insurrection against Kōken/Shōtoku in 764. The vast majority of scriptorium employees favored Kōken/Shōtoku; indeed, sixteen of them reported to the palace and helped guard the Tōdaiji Construction Agency during the rebellion. But Shōsōin documents rec­ord one scribe fleeing in support of Nakamaro.79 Kōken/Shōtoku’s faction squashed the rebellion, killed Nakamaro, exiled Junnin, and returned Kōken to the throne as Empress Shōtoku. 76. For the use of the 5/1 canon as an exemplar for this proj­ect, see Yamashita 1999c, 450. 77. The move was intended to be temporary from the start, as evidenced by the building’s shingled roof (itaya 板屋); see DNK 15:236 (ZS 37:1). For more on this period, see Yamashita 1999c, 117–118 and 304–308, and Yokota 1978, 1054–1058. 78. ­T here have been a number of studies of ­t hese proj­ects. I have drawn mostly from Ichikawa 2015, 79–111; Sakaehara 2003, 257–347; and Yamamoto Yukio 2002, 375–559. 79. For the relevant documents, see DNK 17:1–7 (ZSBS 1:9–11 and 11 verso) as well as 5:505–507 (ZZS 18:7:5). For a summary, see Sakaehara 2003, 337–343.

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Organ­izations

Perhaps ­because Kōmyōshi had been the glue that held the scriptorium together, sutra copying at the Tōdaiji office basically shut down within four years of her death. In the period immediately following Nakamaro’s demise, activities at the Tōdaiji scriptorium ­were largely limited to tracking down sutras that he had borrowed. Rec­ords also document its lending of texts to support an impressive canon-­copying proj­ect sponsored by Empress Kōken/Shōtoku with the help of Dōkyō. This proj­ect was administered by the Palace Scriptorium, an institution that primarily handled proj­ects sponsored by the sovereign from at least as early as the 730s.80 During the mid-760s, the Palace Scriptorium eclipsed the Tōdaiji office in importance, as evidenced by the status of the Jingo Keiun canon sponsored by Kōken/Shōtoku.81 The 5/1 canon and the Jingo Keiun canon w ­ ere the only two imperially sanctioned canons of the Nara period, but the latter proj­ect surpassed the former in scale (again exceeding the number of scrolls in the Kaiyuan Cata­log) and authority.82 In terms of scale, it incorporated texts that ­were not a part of the 5/1 canon, including many manuscripts that had not yet been imported at the time of the earlier proj­ect’s transcription. Again, this demonstrates the ever growing scriptural corpus during the eighth ­century. By this time, Ganjin (Ch. Jianzhen 鑑眞, 688– 763) had imported even more Buddhist works, further developing the corpus established by Dōshō, Genbō, and ­others.83 The Jingo Keiun canon used the 5/1 manuscripts for collation and an alternate set of manuscripts for exemplars as a means to improve accuracy. Unlike the 5/1 canon, commentaries ­were also collated against other manuscripts, adding another layer of editorial scrutiny to create trustworthy texts (Yamashita 2001, 84–85). By the mid to late 760s, bureaucratic capabilities outside the Tōdaiji scriptorium favored by Kōmyōshi had been strengthened to enable the copying of canons exceeding earlier versions in scale, authority, and efficiency. From 770, however, the Tōdaiji scriptorium, now called the Office of Reverent Transcription of the Canon (Hōsha Issaikyōjo 奉寫一切經所), regained its status as a canon-­copying bureau with a series of new proj­ects that it supervised with cooperation from the Palace Scriptorium. Again, 80. For the early years of the Palace Scriptorium, see Sakaehara 2000, 37–53, and ­Yamashita 1999c, 463–470. For a manuscript from Shōmu’s canon, see NCS, plate 14. 81. During the late 760s, Kōken/Shōtoku also initiated an impressive and well-­k nown effort to print one million dhāraṇī, though it is unclear in what type of institution this would have been carried out. For this, see Hickman 1975, Yiengpruksawan 1987, and Kornicki 2012. 82. The Jingo Keiun canon is the name given to it based on the date of its prayer, a text examined in chapter two. For the classic study from an institutional history perspective, see Sakaehara 2000, 83–124. The best recent study is Uchida 2012, which revises some of Sakaehara’s conclusions about the timing and po­liti­cal significance of this proj­ect. 83. The Tōdai wajō tōsei den 唐大和上東征傳 lists forty-­eight works brought by Ganjin. Some of ­t hese ­were already pres­ent in Japan, but ­others ­were introduced by Ganjin for the first time. See T 2089.51.993a; in En­glish, Bingenheimer 2004, 22–25. The final destination of ­t hese imported texts remains unclear; for two recent views, see Sakaehara 2000, 233–256, and Wakai 2002.

Instituting Transcription 133

strong bureaucratic structures enabled the rapid production of canons at a pace of one proj­ect e­ very one to two years. T ­ hese canons, which w ­ ere closely connected to the throne, w ­ ere cited in the document introduced at the start of this chapter. Each, however, contained fewer scrolls than the 5/1 and Jingo Keiun proj­ects, as ­t hese canons did not include commentaries, and even fewer than the Kaiyuan Cata­log, as some texts remained unimported. The first, known as the Initial Single Set (sen ichibu 先一部), was likely vowed by Kōken/Shōtoku and was intended to be used in a dharma assembly (hōe 法会) held by the monk Jitchū 實忠 (726–­?).84 It took about a year and a half to complete the 4,585 scrolls that comprised this canon, and the proj­ect incorporated material support from the Palace Scriptorium (Sakaehara 2003, 448–473).85 But while canon copying was still under way, Kōken/Shōtoku died in 770. The next sovereign, Emperor Kōnin 光仁 (709– 781; r. 770–781), took over the proj­ect and saw it to completion. ­A fter Kōken/Shōtoku’s death, Kōnin oversaw other proj­ects started by Kōken/Shōtoku to transcribe two additional canons called the Beginning Two Sets of the Canon (shi nibu issaikyō 始二部一切經). Prior to Kōnin’s involvement, 3,723 scrolls had already been copied at Saidaiji 西大寺, a ­temple intimately connected to Kōken/Shōtoku. Kōnin moved ­t hese scrolls to Tōdaiji, restarted the proj­ect ­there, and affixed his own—no longer extant—­ prayer to the manuscripts.86 ­These acts marked the canons as Kōnin’s own and separated them from Kōken/Shōtoku’s authority and power base. Unlike Saidaiji, Tōdaiji represented a neutral ground that Kōnin could employ for his own ritual purposes. As soon as ­these canons ­were completed, scribes began work on another set called Further Single Set of the Canon (kō ichi­bu issaikyō 更一部一切經) and then another called the Still Further Single Set of the Canon (imakō ichibu issaikyō 今更一部一切經) (Sakaehara 2003, 425– 432), each containing 4,609 scrolls. While the first of ­these took only a year to complete, the second required more than two years, a marked decline in efficiency (Sakaehara 2003, 436), though still faster than canon-­copying efforts from the seventh and first half of the eighth centuries. The reasons for this decrease in output are unclear, but the fact that a slowly produced canon at this time still outpaced earlier canons speaks to the importance of bureaucratic institutions for meeting ritual needs. We have no other documents from the scriptorium ­a fter the last canon was fi­nally completed in 776 (Sakaehara 2003, 430–432). At this point, the Tōdaiji scriptorium likely closed its doors ­after a half ­century of activity, ending the near constant

84. For this canon, see Sakaehara 2003, 398–408, and Mori Akihiko 2001, esp. 105– 108. Nojiri Tadashi has recently identified manuscripts from the Fujita museum as belonging to this canon; see Nojiri 2011. 85. Although monks ­were frequently involved in borrowing texts and collating manuscripts, this was the only time they served as the primary administrators at the Tōdaiji scriptorium. For Jitchū’s role, see Yamashita 1999c, 315–316, and Mori Akihiko 2001. 86. For the canons copied in the 770s, I have mostly relied on Mori Akihiko 2001. Also see Sakaehara 2003, 395–437, and Yamashita 1999c, 473–485.

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Organ­izations

production of canons that had consumed the material resources and ritual attention of the court for most of the Nara period.

On the Issue of Private Copying The augmentation of bureaucratic capability did not simply benefit the triumvirate of Shōmu, Kōken/Shōtoku, and Kōmyōshi, who have been at the center of the chapter so far. As we have seen, ambitious ministers such as Fujiwara no Nakamaro used the scriptorium for their own proj­ects, while monks such as Rōben 良弁 (689–773) and Genbō similarly had access to its resources.87 Even more intriguing are a number of proj­ects labeled as “private” (watakushi/shi 私) in sutra-­copying documents. T ­ hese private copying proj­ects show that midlevel officials relied on bureaucratic networks for assistance in ritual practices, and that dependence is vital to understanding the porous relationship between “state” and “pop­u­lar” in early Japan.88 One of the key sources for understanding private proj­ects is a scroll in the Shōsōin with a wooden tag labeling it a “draft of ­those that arrived privately.” This document gives insight into the individuals who ­were able to sponsor ritualized writing through the scriptorium, the resources they had available, and the texts they chose to copy. It pastes together a variety of individual sheets, each related to a private sutra-­copying proj­ect and likely functioned as a file for ­t hese activities. As perhaps the best single source for the study of private copying, it warrants close attention.89 The first sheet reveals some traits common to private copying: a patron with a connection to the scriptorium sends supplies and payment and depends on the h ­ uman resources of the scriptorium to provide administrative knowhow and l­ abor. This sheet, which dates to 5/7/747, rec­ords a proj­ ect related to the transcription of the Lotus Sutra vowed by Kawachi no Oyatari 河内祖足, referred to as Master Kawachi (Kawachi senjō 河内先生) by virtue of his position as chief guard of the crown princess (tachihaki no to­ neri 授刀舎人). At this time, Oyatari also served as an administrator at the Konkōmyōji Construction Agency, a role that would have facilitated his use of the scriptorium for private transcription.90 The document lists the paper and other copying supplies, such as brushes and ink, to be used for the proj­ect. It also rec­ords rations of rice, seaweed, and seasonings, and payment in the form of coin issued to the workers. Other documents from the Shōsōin show that Oyatari sent supplies and money for what may or may not have been a separate proj­ect to copy the Lotus Sutra, as well as for the 87. For a proj­ect related to Genbō, see Sakaehara 2003, 87–143. For Rōben, see DNK 3:471–472 (ZSBS 15:2) and 10:269–270 (ZZS 37:4). 88. For the best study of private copying in Japa­nese to date, see Hamamichi 2013. 89. The scroll is currently broken up, but the original configuration was likely DNK 9:191–193 (ZZS 11:5:4), DNK 2:559–560 (ZSKS 1:1–2), DNK 2:526 (ZSKS 1:3), DNK 9:194–199 (ZZS 11:5:5). For a brief overview, see Hamamichi 2013, 142–144. 90. His exact role at the construction agency is unclear, though he certainly held an administrative position; see Yamashita 1999c, 75–77.

Instituting Transcription 135

transcription of the Scripture on the One Who Observes the Sounds of the World (DNK 8:580 [ZZS 44:10]; 24:558 [ZZS 24:6 verso]). The next sheet rec­ords the receipt of paper mulberry (kōzo 楮) from the palace (miya 宮)—­a term that in this context refers to the Queen Consort’s Palace Agency—to copy the Scripture on the Medicine Master (Ch. Yaoshi jing 藥師經) as well as two other obscure works whose titles do not appear elsewhere: the Scripture on the Subtle Eye (Ch. Miao yan jing 妙眼經) and the Scrip­ ture on the Northern Spirit (Ch. Bei shen jing 北神經). At the beginning of the sheet, a dif­fer­ent hand, perhaps that of an administrator at the scriptorium, labeled the proj­ect “private writing” (shibun 私文). This proj­ect differs from other private transcriptions in that the paper was sent from the Queen Consort’s Palace Agency; in ­others, less exalted patrons donated the paper directly. It is pos­si­ble that someone close to Kōmyōshi vowed this proj­ect and that the queen consort herself helped supply the raw materials.91 A scribe from the Office of Sutra Transcription named Yamabe no Chitari 山部千足 copied the texts. A memo at the end of this sheet in vermillion rec­ords that the transcription was completed and the payment allotted. This proj­ect is somewhat opaque, but the fact that it is labeled private suggests Kōmyōshi did not sponsor it, although someone close to her likely commissioned it. The next sheets show how some patrons relied on the scriptorium only for certain aspects of manuscript preparation, such as pounding sheets. Sheet 3 rec­ords a request to pound 102 sheets of paper for private writing (shisho 私書). ­Here, the sponsor is unclear, but it may have been Kadono no Furumaro 葛野古麻呂, an administrator at the office for Konkōmyōji’s affairs. Furumaro’s name also appears in the final sheet of this scroll in another rec­ord related to pounding. Sheet 4 lists unpounded paper (arashigami 荒 紙) received for a private sutra-­copying proj­ect by Saeki no Imaemishi 佐伯今 毛人 (719–790; h ­ ere using his original name Saeki no Wakugo 佐伯若子), an administrator at the Konkōmyōji scriptorium. Although pounding paper was a relatively ­simple pro­cess that required ­little training, ­these documents suggest that some patrons outsourced the ­labor to the scriptorium. Again, it appears that personal connections helped patrons secure permission to use the ­human resources of the scriptorium for private proj­ects. What would have been the fifth and sixth sheets now appear in a separate scroll due to the modern reconfiguration of Shōsōin documents ­a fter their discovery in the nineteenth ­century; ­these documents relate to a proj­ ect by Prince Ichihara 市原王 to transcribe the Lotus Sutra and the Scripture on the Medicine Master.92 They rec­ord Ichihara as paying 480 mon for paper at a rate of 3 mon per sheet, providing cloth for strings, and ­later sending coin payment for copyists, assemblers, proofreaders, and title copyists. 91. This sheet is unique from the ­others in that the verso also contains writing. This topic deserves further consideration, although its significance is unclear at pres­ent. The verso text can be found in DNK 9:199. 92. DNK 2:559–560 (ZSKS 1:1–2). This proj­ect is also referenced l­ ater in the same scroll and I draw from this data as well; see DNK 9:196 (ZZS 11:5).

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Organ­izations

Again, the sponsor is relying on the ­human resources of the scriptorium but providing the wages and materials (­here paying for some in cash). Ichi­ hara was a former employee of the Queen Consort’s Palace Agency and a high-­level administrator at Konkōmyōji.93 Although we do not know the precise purpose he had for copying ­t hese texts, a poem of his preserved in the Collection of Ten Thousand Leaves (Man’yōshū 萬葉集) shows that he had an interest in the Lotus Sutra and even composed poetry based on its parables (Yamada 1989, 97). The subsequent sheet in the original scroll rec­ords the receipt of paper for another proj­ect by Ichihara, to transcribe a text known as the Book of Yin-­yang (Yinyang shu 陰陽書), a text impor­t ant for divination and calendrics—­here we have a document showing that non-­Buddhist texts ­were transcribed privately as well.94 Additional sheets from ­later in the scroll rec­ord proj­ects by Ichihara to transcribe Buddhist commentarial lit­er­at­ ure, again relying on scriptorium ­labor for pounding and copying. The next sheet relates to the transcription of the Lotus Sutra by two sponsors. The first is Ishikawa no Okumaro 石川奥麿, a figure for whom we have no other rec­ords. The second is listed simply as Wakugo 若子, a name that again likely refers to Saeki no Imaemishi, an administrator at the Konkōmyōji scriptorium.95 It is notable that “Wakugo” lacks a surname and that his name is written in slightly smaller characters than Okumaro. This suggests that the transcription was primarily sponsored by Okumaro, but Imaemishi used his authority to help or­ga­nize the proj­ect commissioned by an acquaintance—­his first name on the document perhaps represents his signing off in support. Payment was issued to two scribes, a title copyist, an assembler, and two proofreaders from the Office of Sutra Transcription. In this case, it appears that an indirect connection to the scriptorium enabled the proj­ect, as we have no rec­ords pointing to Okumaro’s relationship with the scriptorium. The next proj­ect shows that monks could use the scriptorium’s resources privately as well. This effort can be examined in some detail, since several other sources provide corroborating evidence. The relevant sheet requests payment for transcribing 250 sheets of a text known as the Three Scroll Digest (Ch. San juan chao 三卷鈔). From other sources, we can tell that the Three Scroll Digest likely refers to Searching for the Essentials of the Vinaya (Ch. Pini taoyao 毘尼討要) by Daoshi 道世 (?–683).96 An administrator labeled the document as “private writing,” using identical language to that found 93. For his c­ areer at the scriptorium, see Yamashita 1999c, 74–83. 94. This may refer to the no longer extant text by Lü Cai 呂才(600–655), though judging from the small number of sheets of paper used, it would only have been a small section of this much longer work. For Lü Cai’s text, see Morgan 1990–1991, esp. 46–52, and Choo 2015, esp. 5 and 12–28. 95. The Nihon kodai jinmei jiten speculates that Ishikawa no Okumaro is the same figure named Ishikawa secretary in another private proj­ect we w ­ ill return to below. I argue that the Ishikawa secretary was likely Ishikawa no Toyohito. See Takeuchi et al. 1958, 1:167. 96. Other Shōsōin documents attribute the three-­scroll commentary to Daoshi (using his style Xuanyun 玄惲), and the length of the text cited in Shōsōin documents roughly cor-

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on sheet 2. The original request would have been sent from the scriptorium, and this document appears to be a copy (utsushi 寫) made for internal rec­ ords. This is further supported by a memo at the end in vermillion noting that payment had not been received; this was l­ ater crossed out and replaced with an annotation recording receipt of payment. The request for payment dates to 6/10/746, but when we look at the activities of Manda no Emaro 茨田兄麻呂 (n.d.), the scribe who copied the text, it seems likely that the ­actual transcription took place during the period between 4/16 and 5/17. Emaro stopped receiving paper for copying official proj­ects during this span, suggesting that he put his usual duties on hold to work on the Three Scroll Digest (DNK 9:15 [ZZS 35:6]; 9:205 [ZS 10:1 verso]).97 The length of his absence from other activities also corresponds to the approximate time it would take a single scribe to copy 250 sheets of paper. In fact, other rec­ords document scribes requesting time off from work for participating in private proj­ects, so it seems that copyists could leave their duties at the scriptorium for such activities.98 During this period, a rec­ord of Emaro receiving an “old brush,” suggests that the scriptorium issued leftover supplies to support this private copying proj­ect (DNK 9:53 [ZS 12:1 verso]).99 It is uncertain who the patron was, but t­ here is reason to suspect it may have been a monk known as Zenki 善基 (n.d.), as an undated document rec­ ords his sending 170 sheets of paper to copy the Three Scroll Digest and a second fragment from the scroll that we have been examining cites 180 sheets of paper being pounded for the three-scroll commentary on 4/17/746 (DNK 9:197 [ZZS 11:5] and 13:63 [ZZS 37:9]).100 This date marks the beginning of the time when Emaro would have been freed from other obligations, so it seems likely that the paper was pounded and then given to him for transcription. If the above analy­sis is accurate, this proj­ect provides an example of a monk’s relying on lay laborers employed at the Office of Sutra Transcription to assem­ble and copy a text, likely to be used for scholastic purposes. The remaining entries similarly demonstrate how ­those with personal connections could utilize the h ­ uman and institutional resources of the scriptorium upon providing supplies, and they further show the diverse responds to the modern edition in Z 44, n. 743. Moreover, a report of activities by the scribe who copied this text uses both titles. See DNK 9:234 (ZZS 23:4). 97. From ­these documents, we can see that Emaro was issued paper and performed proofreading for other proj­ects regularly in the period before and ­a fter the interval of 4/16 through 5/17, when he did not copy anything ­else as part of his official duties. 98. For example, see DNK 20:54 (ZZS 39:4 verso). 99. This seems to have been a somewhat common practice for private copying; see Hamamichi 2013, 139–142. 100. Another rec­ord (DNK 13:62 [ZZS 16:7]) shows that Zenki borrowed a copy of the Scripture on Immea­sur­able Meanings (Ch. Wuliang yi jing 無量義經). In this request, Zenki wrote that he is unable to access the text but had heard that Tōdaiji had many copies. Other than this fragment ­there is no other rec­ord of Zenki, but he was surely interested in studying monastic codes to have borrowed Daoshi’s lengthy digest on the vinaya.

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doctrinal content of private copying. One sheet rec­ords the transcription of twenty-­six scrolls of the Amitābha Sutra (Ch. Amituo jing 阿彌陀經), one of the most impor­t ant Pure Land texts, sponsored by an individual described as the Ishikawa secretary (daishin 大進). This likely refers to Ishikawa no Toyohito 石川豊人, who served as the secretary of the Palace of the Crown Princess at this time.101 This proj­ect to copy twenty-­six scrolls amounting to 320 sheets of paper used five scribes and two proofreaders. A second document rec­ords a request by Ishikawa to have 319 pages glued together, pounded, and lined, evidence that suggests the w ­ hole pro­cess from the assembling through proofreading was subcontracted to the Office of Sutra Transcription (DNK 9:208 [ZZS 37:1]). The final entry to be discussed cites a proj­ect in which a consort to Shōmu sent paper to transcribe Bodhiruci’s ten-­scroll translation of the Sutra on (the Buddha’s) Entering (the Country of ) Lanka (Skt. Laṅkāvatāra-­sūtra; Ch. Ru lengqie jing 入楞伽經), a key Mahāyāna text, particularly for its contributions to Yogâcāra and tathāgatagarbha doctrines. The extant evidence does not provide enough grounds for an exhaustive definition of private copying, but some broad patterns emerge from this scroll. First, participation in official networks was crucial for gaining access to the central scriptorium. For the most part, only individuals with personal connections to the office w ­ ere able to use its resources; the scriptorium’s doors would not have been open to any pious commoner. Although con­temporary sensibilities may view this reliance on personal connections as intrinsically corrupt, ­there does not seem to be any discussion of the impropriety of private copying in documents from the scriptorium or elsewhere. Bound­aries between private and official copying ­were asserted in the sources, but the divisions appear to denote the origins of resources rather than reflecting any conception of appropriateness. Second, all of the patrons ­were midlevel officials lacking the officially staffed ­house­holds and other resources for transcription possessed by figures such as Prince Nagaya.102 As such, the sponsors ­were part of the state bureaucracy, but they ­were not members of the uppermost echelon of Nara society. This midlevel bureaucratic class is typically lost in narratives of “state” and “pop­u­lar” Buddhism despite their significant contributions to the spread of the religion in Japan. Third, proj­ects w ­ ere typically, though not always, small scale; patrons generally provided the material supplies and wages but relied on the Office of Sutra Transcription for ­human resources and perhaps some leftover materials such as old brushes. Fourth, private patrons copied a range of texts through the scriptorium including fundamental Mahāyāna works, commentaries on monastic rules, texts about pop­u­lar buddhas and bodhisattvas, and a variety of other topics. ­There is not enough documentation to determine the precise intentions of the patrons, but the nature of the 101. For Ishikawa no Toyohito, see Yamashita 1999c, 97n38. 102. Imaemishi would eventually reach third rank, but likely only held seventh rank at the time of his involvement in ­t hese private proj­ects.

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texts transcribed privately does not suggest that they had ideological motivations connected to the imperial proj­ect.103 Instead, the evidence examined h ­ ere implies that bureaucratic structures enabled individuals to express devotional commitments and further their own doctrinal study. In this way, the Office of Sutra Transcription, a nominally official institution, played a central role in facilitating the “privatization” of Buddhism; that is to say, it provided certain individuals outside the imperial clan with opportunities to practice ritualized writing.

House­hold Scriptoria of Nara Officials Private individuals also sponsored sutra copying through their own ­house­hold scriptoria throughout the eighth ­century, a phenomenon that likely had continental roots and points to the importance of the ­house­hold as a site of Buddhist practice. Gregory Schopen (2009, 196–198, and 2010) has suggested that rituals dedicated to manuscripts may have occurred in the ­house­hold in India. We have seen above that ­house­hold scriptoria may have existed in China as well. We also know that Buddhist activities in the home extended beyond sutra copying, a point that Katsuura Noriko (2000, 68–93) has argued in detail. According to her meticulous research, aristocratic estates from early Japan commonly contained places of worship where monks and nuns performed healing rituals and conducted dharma assemblies (hōe 法会), sometimes for extended periods of time. Anthropologists have long argued for the importance of the ­house­hold as a meaningful social category,104 and it is one that can help illuminate new aspects of Japa­ nese religiosity beyond the state/folk binary as well. Some ­house­hold scriptoria predated the Tōdaiji office, but many benefited from its unique resources. Some of t­ hose who enjoyed ­t hese connections belonged to the Fujiwara clan from which Kōmyōshi hailed. For example, the Northern Fujiwara ­house­hold operated a scriptorium that supervised a canon-­copying proj­ect commissioned by Fujiwara Bunin, another consort of Emperor Shōmu.105 This proj­ect relied heavi­ly on support from Kōmyōshi and the scriptorium tied to her Queen Consort’s Palace Agency, a dependence that shows the cooperation between two consorts to the throne. The Southern Fujiwara ­house­hold also operated a scriptorium from which ­ t here are extant sutra manuscripts.106 The best-­ documented proj­ect from this institution is a canon copied through a pair of ­house­hold offices sponsored by Nakamaro, an undertaking distinct 103. Yamashita Yumi approaches this position of equating private and state but does not provide any sustained analy­sis to support it. See Yamashita 1999c, 497 and 501n3. 104. This concept is indebted to the work of Claude Lévi-­Strauss. For a useful collection of essays on the ­house as a social unit in comparative contexts, see Joyce and Gillespie 2000. 105. For more on this, see Nakai 1981; Sakaehara 2000, 281–316; and Kawasaki 2012, 283–300. 106. See NCS, plates 85–86. A Shōsōin document also rec­ords the request of a scribe for a “private” proj­ect sponsored by the Southern Fujiwara h ­ ouse. See DNK 2:662 (ZS 31:15).

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from his sponsorship of the One Year Memorial Canon.107 The first office, located at Maeyamadera 前山寺, a t­emple on Nakamaro’s Tamura estate 田村家, handled the commentaries (sho 疏) and treatises (ron 論). A separate institution supervised the copying of scripture (kyō 經).108 This second scriptorium was based at Nakamaro’s son Kuzumaro’s 久須麻呂 (?–764) residence and was known as the Scriptorium at the Estate of the Chief of the Capital Offices (Kyōshiki no In no Taku no Shakyōjo 京職尹宅寫經所), a reference to Kuzumaro’s official title. While Nakamaro used his own institutional and administrative resources to copy the canon, he likely could not have completed it without the aid of his aunt Kōmyōshi’s officially sanctioned 5/1 canon, as he relied on exemplars from this proj­ect. In other words, aristocrats from the Fujiwara ­family could transcribe large numbers of sutras through their own ­house­hold scriptoria, but the officially sanctioned canons produced through the Tōdaiji office facilitated their efforts. The aristocrat Ishikawa no Ason Toshitari, a figure first encountered in chapters one and two, commissioned a number of proj­ects through ­house­hold institutions.109 Toshitari came from a noble ­family descended from the Soga clan and played a prominent role in the Nara court, eventually reaching third rank in 758 and serving as gyoshi daibu 御史大夫, the equivalent of major counselor (dainagon 大納言), from 760. Altogether, four extant manuscripts sponsored by Toshitari remain, including two Maitreya texts, a chapter from the Consecration Sutra on birth in the Pure Land, and one scroll of the Mahā-­prajñā-­pāramitā-­sūtra. ­There are more manuscripts from distinct proj­ects with colophons sponsored by Toshitari than any other figure from the Nara period.110 The colophons, however, provide no information about the institutional context in which they w ­ ere copied. Many of the extant manuscripts w ­ ere transcribed when Toshitari was posted as governor of Izumo. It is unclear, however, if t­ hese would have been copied locally through a ­house­hold institution he brought with him or through his scriptorium in the capital. Notably, he was only ju­nior fifth rank at this time and would not have qualified for an official staff for his ­house­hold. Shōsōin documents dating to a period ­later than the extant manuscripts, however, supply some evidence as to his activities. ­These documents rec­ord the removal of sutras from storage chests at the Office of Sutra Transcription at Tōdaiji. According to ­these sources, the mansion of Ishikawa no Ason, a reference to Toshitari, borrowed a series of short texts translated by Xuanzang on 10/7/748 (DNK 10:381–383 [ZZS 15:1]; 24:168–169 107. This paragraph draws heavi­ly from Sakaehara 2000, 355–397. 108. It is not clear from extant documentary evidence if he copied the vinaya or not, but Sakaehara speculates this was likely the case. Ibid., 399n19. 109. For an overview of his faith in Buddhism, see Yonezawa 1992, 264–278. For an overview of his life and politics, see Kimoto 2004, 25–62. 110. For the colophons, see NI, 612, and NCS, plates 18–20.

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[ZZS 15:2]).111 ­These ­were to be used as exemplars. ­There are no rec­ords of Toshitari borrowing laborers and material supplies as was the case for some private proj­ects, which suggests he had some sort of in­de­pen­dent staff. At this time, he would have been ju­nior fourth rank lower, and still not eligible for a state-­sanctioned ­house­hold staff like the one employed by Nagaya. His scriptorium, therefore, was likely financed and staffed in­de­pen­ dently. The fact that he had the capability to repeatedly transcribe scriptures, including longer texts such as the six-­hundred-­scroll Mahā-­prajñā-­ pāramitā-­sūtra, shows that his scriptorium had significant h ­ uman and material resources at its disposal. Still, like the Fujiwaras, Toshitari relied on the central offices for access to some texts, particularly the relatively obscure Xuanzang translations that he commissioned in the late 740s. As was the case with private copying, some individuals could use the resources of the Office of Sutra Transcription to copy texts that they would other­w ise have been unable to access on their own. Manda no Sukune Hiramaro 茨田宿袮枚万呂, a figure from a slightly less exalted background, kept a ­house­hold scriptorium at his estate near the Saho River 佐保川 in the northeastern part of the capital.112 Early in his ­career, Hiramaro worked at the Queen Consort’s Palace Agency. H ­ ere, he would have gained knowledge of sutra-­copying practices and access to networks that would have helped him acquire the material resources necessary for copying texts. His title of counselor (daibu 大夫) suggests that he was male and of fifth rank or above but unlikely to be high enough to have his own state-­sanctioned ­house­hold staff. Shōsōin documents show that Hiramaro’s scriptorium borrowed manuscripts for copying sutras such as the Scripture on the Eleven-­faced [Bodhisattva; i.e., Avalokiteśvara] (Ch. Shiyi­ mian jing 十一面經) and the Maricī-­deva Sūtra (Ch. Molizhi tian jing 摩利支天經); both texts center on dhāraṇī that promise protection by power­ful deities.113 His scriptorium employed a śrāmaṇera or novice monk who served as a messenger and also an administrator named Hida no Kunikatsu 斐太國勝. For the most part, however, Hiramaro’s h ­ ouse­hold scriptorium seems to have been a relatively small institution. The Saho scriptorium did initiate some large proj­ects, however, such as a thousand copies of the Heart Sutra, twelve 111. For more on this, see Kuranaka 2001. 112. Sakaehara Towao has studied this scriptorium in depth; see Sakaehara 2005a. I have largely followed his findings h ­ ere. 113. For the Scripture on the Eleven-­faced [Bodhisattva], see DNK 9:339–340 (ZZS 32:5 verso); for the Maricī-­deva Sūtra, see DNK 10:629–630 (ZZS 16:6), 11:13 (ZZS 15:2), 11:225 (ZSKS 25), and 11:357 (ZZS 2:11:2). ­T here are several versions of dhāraṇī related to the eleven-­faced form of Avalokiteśvara; pop­u ­lar versions that ­were extant in the Nara period include the fourth scroll of the Collected Dhāraṇī Sutra and the versions translated by Yaśogupta and Xuanzang. See T 901.18.812b–817a, T 1070.20.149a–152a, and T 1071.20.152a– 154c. The Maricī-­deva Sūtra likely refers to the version of this text translated by Atikūṭa as part of the Collected Dhāraṇī Sutra (Ch. Tuoluoni ji jing 陀羅尼集經), T 901.18.869b–874b. Sakaehara argues that another dozen texts listed above the Maricī Sutra in ZZS 15:2 ­were also likely borrowed by the Saho scriptorium as well. See Sakaehara 2005a, 41.

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copies of the Scripture on the Medicine Master, and one hundred copies of the Lotus Sutra, but had to enlist scribes contracted from the Office of Sutra Transcription.114 ­These proj­ects employed twelve scribes at a time, so the Saho scriptorium likely had far fewer employees, assuming it had a permanent scribal staff at all. While lower level aristocrats such as Hiramaro had some ability to copy texts, they ­were largely dependent on the libraries and ­human resources of state institutions, much like the patrons involved in private copying. Some aristocrats operated scriptoria only in response to specific situations requiring ritual attention. For example, the h ­ ouse­hold of the recently deceased Bunya no Mahito Kiyomi (文屋真人浄三, also known as Prince Chinu 智努王; 693–10/9/770), a grand­son of Emperor Tenmu, requested the ser­v ices of a scribe from the Office of Sutra Transcription named Nakatomi no Takatori 中臣鷹取 for ten days (DNK 6:109 [ZS 31:7]).115 The timing of the proj­ect, which was shortly ­a fter the death of Kiyomi, suggests that the f­ amily established a temporary scriptorium to complete a memorial proj­ect for their deceased patriarch. Houses that lacked permanent scriptoria could still carry out sutra copying at times of need such as ­a fter the death of a ­family member. In ­these cases, the scriptoria ­were likely closer to the fellowships described in the last chapter; they w ­ ere ad hoc institutions created for specific purposes rather than standing bodies with long-­term staffs and trained specialists. The only difference is that aristocratic patrons had the resources to sponsor ­t hese texts in­de­pen­dently; they did not depend on the collaborative efforts of fellowships. In addition to the institutions listed above, t­ here is evidence of several other h ­ ouse­hold scriptoria: Okamato Mansion (Okamoto no Taku 岡本宅), Western Mansion Scriptorium (Nishi no Taku Shakyōjo 西宅寫經所), the Scriptorium of the Vice Director of the Palace Construction Agency (Zōgū no Suke no Taku Shakyōjo 造宮輔宅寫經所), and a h ­ ouse­hold scriptorium for Tachibana no Moroe 橘諸兄 (684–757). From the proj­ects t­ hese scriptoria ­were involved in, some appear to have been rather large, but the documentary rec­ord is sparse. The ubiquity of the h ­ ouse­hold sutra-­copying offices outlined above indicates that it was common for aristocrats in the Nara period to maintain a scriptorium on their estates. ­These institutions ranged in size and structure, but aristocrats could rely on them to express their own personal piety and respond to specific ritual needs. While some scholars have spoken of aristocratic Buddhism as a distinct form of Nara religiosity separate from “state Buddhism,” an analy­sis of ­t hese proj­ects suggests that aristocrats of 114. For the Heart Sutra and the Sutra of the Medicine Master, see DNK 25:9–11 (ZZS 38:1 verso). For the Lotus Sutra, see DNK 12:172–173 (ZZS 27:3) and the memo scribbled on the bottom of DNK 25:16–17 (ZZS 27:4). For more on ­t hese proj­ects, see Sakaehara 2005a, 47–52. 115. This document is from the House­hold of the Former [Deceased] G ­ reat Commander (Ko Dachin no Ke 故大鎮家). For the identification of this h ­ ouse­hold with that of Bunya no Kiyomi, see Shoku Nihongi, SNKBT 15:53n22.

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vari­ous ranks relied on state structures and resources to practice Buddhist patronage and actively networked with the officially sanctioned canon-­ copying office. Without the growth of the ritsuryō state in eighth-­century Japan, copying by Nara officials would have likely been limited. Thus, state and aristocratic Buddhism are not easily disentangled; instead, aristocrats relied in part on networks forged by the state.

Provincial Scriptoria? Beyond the walls of the capital, wealthy individuals in the provinces also sponsored sutra transcription. Evidence of such practices is scant compared to the fellowships examined in the last chapter, but extant manuscripts of the Yogācāra-­bhūmi-­śāstra, sponsored by a man named Toneri no Kunitari 舎 人國足 from Yamada district 山田郡 of Sanuki province 讃岐國 (near pres­ ent-­day Takamatsu city in Kagawa prefecture), offer one provocative example. Careful research into the colophons and codicological features of the manuscripts bearing Kunitari’s name suggests that the proj­ect was accomplished by a single institution.116 First, the paper size is consistent from scroll to scroll; each sheet of paper is about 56 centimeters long.117 Since vari­ous paper sizes ­were used in sutra-­copying proj­ects during the Nara period, consistency across multiple scrolls suggests that the manuscripts ­were assembled in the same location. Second, although the colophons have some divergence in style—­t he column beginning with Sanuki appears next to any of the four characters “ jūroku nensai 十六年歳” marking the date—­the overall consistency of the structure of the colophon further supports the notion that the texts ­were copied in a central location.118 Fi­ nally, the text proper is in several dif­fer­ent hands, which implies the presence of multiple scribes working on behalf of Kunitari; the proj­ect was not copied by the patron himself. Judging from the regularity of the paper 116. In addition to photo­g raphs of colophons from twenty-­one scrolls presently in the Ishiyamadera 石山寺 collection, I have examined seven Kunitari manuscripts in university and museum collections—­namely, two scrolls at the Tenri University Library (scrolls 42 and 85), three scrolls at Kyoto University (scrolls 76, 81, and 97), one scroll at Ōtani University (scroll 44), and one scroll at the Nara National Museum (scroll 89). I have also referred to the partial digital reproduction and data from the Kagawa Prefectural Museum scroll (scroll 61). NCS contains photo­g raphs of the colophons and a brief description of one scroll from Ishiyamadera (scroll 14) and one scroll in the Kyoto National Museum (scroll 65); see plates 35 and 36. I refer to them as scrolls b ­ ecause they w ­ ere originally in scroll format. They ­were converted to accordion-­style books (orihon 折本) in 1787, although some have been returned to scroll format. See Yoshikawa Satoshi 2010, 388. 117. I mea­sured each sheet in the seven scrolls I viewed. The average sheet lengths are as follows: scroll 42, 55.9 cm; scroll 44, 56 cm; scroll 76, 55.9 cm; scroll 81, 56.2 cm; scroll 85, 56.1 cm; scroll 89, 55.9 cm; and scroll 97, 55.2 cm. 118. One major exception is scroll 84, presently in Ishiyamadera. This colophon is unusual in that the “ki” from Sanuki is written with a variant 吉 as opposed to 岐 and begins much further down the sheet. See Ishiyamadera bunkazai sōgō chōsadan 1996–2010, 3, plate 481. This discrepancy warrants further research.

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size, the structure of the colophons, and the appearance of multiple hands, it is reasonable to conclude that Kunitari had the text transcribed through some sort of centralized scriptorium with a steady supply of ­labor. The fact that a provincial patron could sponsor a proj­ect of a hundred scrolls shows that he was capable of managing significant material and h ­ uman resources.119 In this re­spect, individual patrons in the provinces can be seen to have played a role alongside that of fellowship groups in promoting the expansion of Buddhism beyond the capital.

Conclusions This chapter has shown how the emergence of large-­scale ritualized writing in the Nara period required the development of institutions capable of securing and administering h ­ uman and material resources on a significant scale. Bureaucracy seldom enters discourse on ritual, but this chapter has highlighted its centrality. The rise of sophisticated administrative structures on both aristocratic estates and in government bureaus in the eighth ­century enabled the frequent reproduction of the Buddhist canon and marked a rapid transition in the history of Buddhism in Japan. T ­ hese canon-­ copying bureaus transformed Japa­nese Buddhism into a textual tradition for the first time. While texts left only a negligible footprint in seventh-­ century Japan, hundreds of thousands of scrolls filled t­ emple libraries by the end of the Nara period, enabling numerous rites involving the recitation and explication of texts and a dramatic increase in scholastic productivity by monastic commentators. The ­factors that prompted ­t hese changes ­were numerous: diplomatic missions brought new manuscripts and conceptions of canonicity to Japan, with particularly impor­t ant early contributions by Dōshō and Genbō; technological changes facilitated the widespread production of paper; functional literacy increased, creating a class of workers capable of copying texts; power­ful figures at the court took interest in producing exhaustive compilations of scripture; and new administrative structures emerged for coordinating ­labor and supplies. That the lofty truths of Buddhist texts spread as rapidly as they did in Japan was due in part to administrators’ abilities to manage complex networks of ­human and material resources. A study of the institutions and social organ­izations ­behind sutra transcription challenges narratives that neatly divide Buddhist practice into categories labeled state, aristocratic, and pop­u­lar. This chapter and the last have shown that from the earliest periods of written rec­ords in Japan, a broad range of individuals sponsored Buddhist proj­ects ranging from ­temple construction to sutra transcription. Aristocrats and midlevel officials 119. Other fragmentary examples from Kyūshū suggest that officials in Higo province 肥後國 (around pres­ent-­d ay Kōshi city in Kumamoto prefecture) also sponsored sutra tran-

scription, but the documentary rec­ord is relatively barren. See NCS, plates 34 and 48; NI, 619 and 623.

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represented a key source of patronage in early Japan, with the h ­ ouse­holds of high-­ranking elites playing a particularly prominent role in the copying of large numbers of texts. At the same time, they relied heavi­ly on the resources of the official sutra-­copying bureaus for access to both manuscripts and skilled laborers in a way that makes it difficult to completely separate the operation of ­house­hold institutions from that of state structures. The Tōdaiji bureau, studied in detail in this chapter, is often seen as a hallmark of state Buddhism. In some ways it was: much of its staff was employed by the state; it oversaw the transcription of imperially sanctioned canons; it often supervised proj­ects for reasons related to protecting the imperial line; and perhaps most impor­tant, it had access to material and ­human resources that w ­ ere beyond the means of even the wealthiest aristocrats. But the institutional history outlined in this chapter suggests a more complex picture. The Tōdaiji office emerged organically out of Kōmyōshi’s ­house­hold scriptorium and remained closely connected to her for much of its history, transcribing a range of texts for a variety of purposes. A ­ fter Kōmyōshi’s death, it became a site of contestation, a fact that highlights the fractured nature of the state in the Nara period. Fi­nally, it played a central role in facilitating the privatization of Buddhism in early Japan by allowing its skilled laborers and library collections to be used by residents in the capital to copy texts. The Office of Sutra Transcription served as a key node on a broader scriptural network. T ­ hose with access to the network could use its resources for their own purposes. In the end, the so­ cio­log­i­cal categories scholars have used for narrating the religious history of early Japan are inadequate for understanding the emergence of sutra copying and the spread of Buddhism more generally. In place of rigid and distinct categories of state, aristocratic, and pop­ u­lar, this chapter and the last have focused on a broad spectrum of social and institutional organ­izations. This approach allows for comparison across social groups by considering gradations related to a number of variables, including access to manuscripts and skilled laborers, administrative capabilities to oversee workers and keep complex rec­ords, and the collective or individual wealth of patrons to support such endeavors. In the capital, some individuals such as prominent figures in the Fujiwara f­ amily could keep pace with the Tōdaiji scriptorium. Even ­these wealthy patrons, however, depended on the foundation built by Kōmyōshi’s scriptorium, as her institution compiled and copied nearly exhaustive collections of texts that ­later patrons would employ as exemplars. While a variety of individuals instituted sutra transcription in early Japan, their capabilities for copying depended on the networks they had access to and the types of institutions they ­were able to build, staff, and administer. For ritualized writing to reach the level of productivity it achieved in the Nara period, it had to first be institutionalized.

PART THREE Microhistories

5

Disciplinary Regimes

Although we may consider Life to be composed Of hardship and shame, We cannot fly away. Alas, we are not birds. —­Yamanoue no Okura

In this short song (tanka 短歌), the renowned poet Yamanoue no Okura 山上憶良 (660–733) at once laments the difficulties of the h ­ uman condition while recognizing that one still must find a way to live within an often cruel world.1 The tanka itself concludes a longer “Dialogue on Poverty” describing numerous miseries and tribulations that plagued much of eighth-­century society. Many employees at the Office of Sutra Transcription would have sympathized with the destitution and anguish to which Okura refers; they worked exhausting jobs for meager salaries, suffered from countless illnesses resulting from poor nutrition, and had ­little opportunity for social advancement. They lodged complaints about the quality of the food and asked for medicinal wine to ease the pain that accompanied long hours seated on the floor at their desks.2 But just as the poem by Yamanoue no Okura recognizes the need to go on living despite adversity, officials and laborers at the scriptorium found ways to lead meaningful lives amid social and economic restrictions. While the previous chapter addressed bureaucratic institutions, this one turns to the individuals who staffed t­ hese offices. This chapter and the next employ an approach that scholars have termed microhistory, one that by “reducing the scale of observation” offers “a completely dif­fer­ent picture of the past from the investigations about nations, states, or social groupings, stretching over de­cades, centuries, or what­ever longue durée,” while remembering “­people who lived in the past are not merely puppets on the hands of ­great under­lying forces of history, but . . . ​active individuals, conscious

1. Man’yōshū 5.892–893; SNKBT 1:502–504. For two representative En­glish translations of the entire “Dialogue on Poverty,” see Car­ter 1991, 46–48, and Cranston 1993, 361–363. 2. For a petition listing several complaints from scribes, see DNK 24:116–118 (ZZS 46:8).

149

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actors.”3 ­Here, the microscopic analy­sis turns to a single scriptorium employee named Karakuni no Muraji Hitonari 韓國連人成 (also frequently 辛國連人成; 721–­?), who labored for eight years as a scribe, proofreader, and administrator before becoming a monk. Employees such as Hitonari performed demanding work with l­ ittle chance for economic or social advancement. Yet the ritualized world of the Office of Sutra Transcription offered an ideal setting for personal cultivation. Hitonari engaged in literary pursuits, practiced calligraphy, and participated in a variety of Buddhist activities. His case as well as that of several other workers to be discussed ­w ill show how the cultural and ritual activities open to them at once met the demands of patrons and gave them an opportunity to pursue their chosen paths, including monastic ordination. The macro-­level state Buddhism model has emphasized the far-­reaching control (tōsei 統制) of Buddhism by the state. In contrast, this chapter w ­ ill view activities at the Office of Sutra Transcription as disciplinary regimes. This practice-­based approach draws on Talal Asad’s work on medieval Christian monasteries, as well as recent scholarship that explores how specific bodily skills and dispositions are cultivated through pedagogical practices.4 This interpretive framework can help us move beyond binary models that reduce the relationship between the state and the scribe to ­simple exploitation. Terms such as practice, discipline, and regime allow us to consider regulation from the perspectives of both the regulators and the regulated. Max Weber’s (1968, 221) statement that officials in bureaucracies are “subject to strict and systematic discipline” is surely true, but I w ­ ill argue the necessity of paying attention to the other side of discipline as well. In one sense, discipline can be imposed from above, as in being disciplined by one’s teacher. However, through repeated practice, one becomes self-­ disciplined and is able to do what is required in­de­pen­dent of external force. The word regime similarly balances both state and individual ethical interests. In twenty-­first-­century parlance, regime commonly implies an unjust system of government, but it originally referred to dietary and meditative practices intended to improve a person’s welfare—­a meaning preserved in the modern En­glish word regimen. Through this balanced approach, I hope to insert a sense of agency into our understanding of the lives of lowand midlevel officials responsible for supervising and carry­ing out ritualized writing by considering the ethical implications of scribal and bureaucratic practices, while at the same time recognizing that agency does not necessarily imply a subversion of norms or a re­sis­t ance to authority but is instead situated within specific social structures and institutions.5 3. For “reducing the scale,” see Ginzburg 1993, 22. The remainder of the quotation is taken from Szíjártó in Magnússon and Szíjártó 2013, 5. 4. T ­ here is a g ­ reat deal of this scholarship in recent de­cades, but I have particularly benefited from reading Foucault 1995; Asad 1993, 83–167, and 1997; and Mahmood 2001a and 2005. 5. See especially Mahmood 2001b and 2005 for ways to think about agency without reducing it to liberal values of subversion and re­sis­t ance.

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From Scrivener to Monk Karakuni no Hitonari’s time at the scriptorium is best understood by starting at the end. ­A fter an eight-­year ­career at the Office of Sutra Transcription, he voluntarily left, submitting a request for ordination on 8/1/745 (DNK 24:297–298 [ZZS 37:9 verso]). The request appears to have been granted, as he dis­appears from subsequent rec­ords.6 He was not the only employee to leave the ­house­hold, the traditional term for entering the clergy: a coworker, Nan no Makimi 難万君, appears alongside Hitonari in his request. A separate document rec­ords over thirty employees petitioning for ordination in 748.7 Another lists the dharma name of a novice monk, Jishu 慈數, who is then identified as the former Mononobe no Tanō 物部多能, an individual who had worked as an attendant at the Office of Sutra Transcription (DNK 6:568 [ZS 47:6]). It is quite pos­si­ble that many other names of candidates from the scriptorium have vanished from the historical rec­ord; the document listing more than thirty employees requesting ordination was only preserved ­because it was reused on the verso of the original, and this secondary document was kept in the files. It is easily conceivable that similar documents ­were not preserved in the Shōsōin archives. Regardless of the exact number of employees requesting ordination, the very existence of such documents raises a number of questions. Was the fact that some scriptorium workers aspired to the monastic path coincidental? Or did life at the scriptorium prepare Hitonari and ­others for becoming a monk? What was the historical relationship between clerk and cleric? Solving t­ hese prob­lems requires an evaluation of what it meant to be a monk in the mid-­eighth ­century. One clue for assessing monastic standards appears in an 11/734 edict, which sets the following criteria: the ability to recite the Lotus and Golden Light Sutra, knowledge of the proper means for performing Buddhist ritual ser­v ices (raibutsu 禮佛), and a minimum of three years of pure conduct ( jōgyō 淨行), a term that can be defined as sexual abstinence or upholding the precepts.8 ­These standards reveal a far greater 6. T ­ here are a few documents listed in standard reference sources such as Takeuchi et al. 1958 that rec­ord his name for dates a­ fter he was recommended for ordination. DNK 24:132 ( JK 4:4) is simply misdated in Takeuchi and 24:368 ( JK 33:18) is dated incorrectly in DNK. The correct dating for ­these documents appears in SMM. The other post–8/1/745 documents, namely, DNK 9:382 (SS 41:2 verso), 24:341 (ZZS 26:6), simply rec­ord activities that Hitonari had performed in 744 and early 745. Hitonari’s request contains one unusual feature that requires further research: his name has been completely blotted out. This may indicate the approval of his application. T ­ here is one other example of a request where a significant portion of the document is blotted out, but the character pass (gō 合) appears at the end. See DNK 24:299–300 (ZZS 34:1 verso). 7. Of ­t hese, close to half had their recommendations approved. See DNK 3:78–81 (ZS 28:8). For studies of this document, see ­Inoue Kaoru 1966, 417–420; Sakuma 1971; Kitō 1977, 115; and Horiike 1980, 1:573–575. 8. Shoku Nihongi 11/20/734; SNKBT 13:283; Ruijū sandaikyaku 2; KT 25:75–76. The general meaning of the term pure conduct (Skt. brahma-­caryā) as upholding the precepts is common in early Buddhist lit­er­a­ture. See for example the Zengyi ahan jing 增一阿含經, T 125.2.714c. In other texts, it is closely associated with cutting off desire and sexual abstinence

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emphasis on ritual capabilities than on scholastic mastery of the Buddhist canon. In addition to edicts and other prescriptive texts, a large number of petitions for ordination, having been pro­cessed at the Queen Consort’s Palace Agency and Tōdaiji Construction Agency, remain preserved in the Shōsōin, and they provide a description of how candidates ­were assessed on the ground. In many cases, the petitions suggest that applicants ­were aware of the standards established in the edicts or at least ­were familiar with the spirit of the law. They commonly rec­ord titles of sutras that candidates could recite, often citing the Lotus and Golden Light Sutras but including a variety of other texts as well. Hitonari’s application lists several works such as the Scrip­ ture on the Guiding Princi­ple (Liqu jing 理趣經), Scripture on the Medicine Mas­ ter, and the Scripture on the One Who Observes the Sounds of the World (Guan shi yin jing 觀世音經), revealing devotional commitments and learning that he likely developed during his time at the scriptorium.9 In addition, Hitonari’s petition cites his ability to chant ritual ser­v ices (shōrai 唱礼), another skill that appears to respond to the standards outlined in the 11/734 edict. In a similar way, petitions by applicants outside the scriptorium often rec­ord the number of years they upheld pure conduct, presumably for use in assessing ­whether they had completed the required three years and could, therefore, effectively carry out their ritual responsibilities. In contrast, applications by employees of the Office of Sutra Transcription, including Hitonari’s, replace the term “pure conduct” with “­labor” followed by the number of years logged at the scriptorium. The fact that scribal life required purity, as outlined in detail in chapter one, perhaps explains this substitution: l­ abor itself was a form of pure conduct, and it occupied the same space structurally in the petition. The ritualized lifestyle at the Office of Sutra Transcription represented the equivalent of monastic training. It allowed pious workers to cultivate virtues in line with Buddhist normative ideas about monkhood. Petitions for ordination also reveal additional qualifications that assessors valued, such as calligraphic and literary talent. T ­ hese criteria can be gleaned through memos assessing the skill levels of candidates as recorded in par­tic­u ­lar. Commentaries suggest that the term continued to have both meanings in medieval China. See Jizang’s 吉藏 (549–623) Fahua yishu 法華義疏, T 1721.33.557b, for an example. Other meanings of the term are well summarized and cited in Mochizuki and Tsukamoto 1954–1963, 5:4678–4679. 9. H ­ ere, the Liqu jing most likely refers to chapter ten of the Da bore boluomiduo jing, T 220.7.986a–991b. See Kaiyuan shijiao lu, T 2154.55.651a, 662c. For the vari­ous translations of this text, their transmission to Japan, and their importance in the development of Japa­ nese esotericism, see Abé 1999, 247–260, and Astley-­K ristensen 1991, 13–19. I have followed Astley-­K ristensen in translating liqu as “guiding princi­ple” (1991, 27). The Yaoshi jing likely refers to the single-­scroll version, whose full title is Yaoshi liuliguang rulai benyuan gongde jing, T 450.14.404–409. Guanshiyin jing refers to the Guanyin ( J. Kannon) chapter of the Lotus Sutra, which often circulated in­de­pen­dently; see Miaofa lianhua jing, T 262.9.56c–58b. All of ­these sutras are common in applications by lay prac­t i­t ion­ers for monastic ordination (ubasoku kōshin bun 優婆塞頁進文). See Horiike 1980, 2:406–413, and Yoshida 1988, 177–187.

Disciplinary Regimes 153

by evaluators of monastic applications. One document lists the names of thirteen candidates followed by the text they recited and a graded assessment of their vocal skills (DNK 24:554–556 [ZZS 26:5 verso]). For one candidate, ­t here is also a grade for writing skill. Another memo inscribed on an application form notes the petitioner’s “good voice and writing” above his name (DNK 8:133 [ZZS 23:5 verso]).10 In addition to vocal skill and capabilities with a brush, a familiarity with the Chinese literary tradition also represented a marketable skill for applicants. One candidate’s letter lists the anthology Literary Se­lections (DNK 2:314–315 [ZSBS 47:3]) as a work he could recite. As we have seen, this text was influential in early Japan, particularly as a sourcebook of classical allusions and literary refinement. In the context of monastic appointment, the value placed on literary and calligraphic aptitude is perhaps unsurprising; famous monks of the early Heian period who came of age during Nara, such as Kūkai, ­were commonly lauded for their literary and calligraphic abilities. Moreover, the Office of Sutra Transcription, as we ­w ill see, provided an ave­nue for literary and calligraphic practice, so applicants for ordination, such as Hitonari, ­were able to benefit from the opportunity to develop ­t hose skills at the scriptorium. A final expectation for successful monastic life—­and one that could also be cultivated at the scriptorium—­was bureaucratic skill. According to the Regulations of Monks and Nuns, appointees to the Office of Monastic Affairs should not only possess virtuous conduct but also show promise in administrative capability (Yōrō ritsuryō, NST 3:219–220). Similarly, t­ hese same regulations outlined the requirement that the Three Deans (sangō 三綱), a board of ­temple supervisors, frequently submit reports to other government bureaus.11 While l­ittle is known in detail about the lives of monastic leaders in eighth-­century Japan, one rich set of rec­ords related to the monk Jitchū demonstrates that a large portion of his ­career involved organ­izing ­labor and material goods.12 Even lower-­level clerics would have likely played a role in managing a complex ­temple institution: monks needed to be fed, monasteries required upkeep, and communications had to flow between departments and with the court. While we seldom associate monkhood with bureaucratic ability, it is clear that the managerial skills acquired at the scriptorium by Hitonari and other employees would have been transferrable to monastic life. All of the qualifications necessary for flourishing as a monk, including the obviously religious ones of knowledge of Buddhist scripture, per­for­ mance of ritual ser­v ices, and purity of conduct, would have been cultivated at the Office of Sutra Transcription by figures such as Hitonari. As Joan Piggott (1987, 169) noted of monks and scriptorium officials more than two de­cades ago: “Both ­career paths had the same fundamental requirements: 10. For more on the evaluative notes written by administrators, see Nakabayashi 1993b, 67–68. 11. See especially regulations 3, 5, 7, 13, 20, and 21 in Yōrō ritsuryō, NST 3:216–220. 12. For Jitchū, see Piggott 1987, 166–182.

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literacy, apprenticeship in the official world of the capital, and continuing support from a patron of status.” The c­ areer of Hitonari demonstrates how this was indeed the case.

A Bureaucratic C ­ areer Hitonari began working at the scriptorium in 737, right around the time when the Office of Sutra Transcription was being established as part of the Queen Consort’s Palace Agency. At this early stage, the Office of Sutra Transcription was primarily staffed with workers who had served as attendants (toneri 舎人) at the agency, so it is likely that Hitonari entered the scriptorium through a connection with this bureau. When he started, he was probably unranked and surely unordained. This relatively low status would have been typical as employees at this lay institution ­were generally low ranked or lacked rank altogether, as was also the case for lay workers at Dunhuang.13 Hitonari was sixteen years old at the time he started, and this was relatively young, since the majority of employees began in their twenties or early thirties.14 So he spent his formative years learning the workings of the state bureaucracy at the Office of Sutra Transcription. Many scriptorium employees, particularly in ­later years, had transferred from other state bureaus, including the Council of State (Daijō kan 太政官), the Ministry of Central Affairs (Chūmu shō 中務省), and the Ministry of Ceremonials (Shikibu shō 式部省) (Yamashita 1999c, 28n18; ­Inoue 1966, 131–132), and their presence must have helped the Office of Sutra Transcription to function as a part of the larger bureaucracy. Scriptorium employees frequently came from lineage groups with connections to writing and statecraft, and most received education and training before starting their c­ areers. Such skills would have facilitated their hiring by the scriptorium and would have allowed them to flourish t­ here. Many came from Korean immigrant groups, who had played a strong role in the introduction of writing to Japan.15 While the characters used to form Hitonari’s surname would seem to imply Korean heritage, genealogical rec­ ords in Continued Chronicles of Japan and the ninth-­century Rec­ord of Kinship Titles, Newly Compiled (Shinsen shōji roku 新撰姓氏錄) contend that the name Karakuni (with the lineage group’s title or kabane 姓 Muraji 連) originated 13. For Dunhuang, see Wang 1995, 128–136, and McNair 1999, 230. 14. His age is based on a document from 745, which lists him as twenty-­four years old and having labored at the scriptorium for eight years. Unfortunately, since the original document has been blotted out, it is unclear if the number in the published photostatic images reads twenty-­four or thirty-­four. I have followed the reading given by the editors of DNK and NI. ­T here is evidence of other teen­agers being employed at the Office of Sutra Transcription, so we have no reason to doubt the younger age. See DNK 24:298 (ZZS 37:9 verso). 15. The immigrant origins of scribes ­were first pointed out by Kishiro Shūichi (1982, 78). This article was first published in 1932. For the importance of such immigrant groups in the cultural, religious, and po­liti­cal spheres of early Japan, see Como 2008 and 2009, as well as Ooms 2009, esp. 86–104.

Disciplinary Regimes 155

in the reign of Buretsu 武烈 (late sixth ­century) and was bestowed on a branch of the Mononobe clan who had been sent as envoys to K ­ orea.16 Any rec­ord claiming to cite sixth-­century accounts should be viewed suspiciously, but it seems quite pos­si­ble from his kabane and purported lineage that Hitonari’s ­family had connections to the bureaucracy and continent that would have helped his c­ areer, even if he himself was not from a Korean immigrant kinship group. The presence of a kabane further suggests that his ­family had once enjoyed some degree of prominence.17 Once employed, Hitonari performed a range of paid tasks as part of his work responsibilities. A document dated to 2/737 (DNK 7:102 [ZZS 43:1]) marks his first appearance as a proofreader. He continued to proofread texts for the next few years, often proofing over one hundred sheets a day.18 Proofreaders earned one mon 文 for ­every five sheets or one unit (tan 端) of cloth per one thousand sheets. Accordingly, a document from 4/15/739 rec­ords Hitonari’s earning six hundred mon for proofreading a total of three thousand sheets (DNK 2:165 [JK 6:2]). In 739, six hundred mon would purchase twenty writing brushes or 120 bundles of firewood.19 Hitonari also worked occasionally as a copyist and transcribed sutras for the 5/1 canon. Scribes ­were given one unit of cloth for ­every forty sheets copied or an equivalent coin payment of five mon per sheet.20 This rate holds for Hitonari, who was paid 1,655 mon on 7/10/742 for transcribing 331 sheets (DNK 8:110 [ZSBS 49]).21 Hitonari started his workday at sunrise and completed daytime and eve­ ning shifts. Most employees worked over twenty days and nights per month at the scriptorium. Rec­ords indicate that Hitonari was particularly disciplined 16. Shinsen shōji roku, 1:270, and Shoku Nihongi 11/10/790; SNKBT, 16:480–481. It is of note that many ­people from the Karakuni lineage group appear to have been engaged in vari­ous ritual activities. For more on Karakuni, see Saeki 1981–1983, 4:290–292. Despite the official account of the Karakuni name, Saeki suggests that it is pos­si­ble that the clan originated from ­K orea. Regardless, the strong presence of scribes with ancestors from the ­K orean peninsula in the Office of Sutra Transcription is undeniable. 17. The most detailed English-­language treatment of the kabane system can be found in Miller 1974. Miller’s work, however, was dated even at the time of publication and must be used cautiously. For a trenchant review, see Kiley 1977. For a succinct recent overview of kabane in Japa­nese, see Yoshie 2003. 18. For example, see DNK 7:101 (ZZS 43:1), 119 (ZZS 43:1 verso), and 143 (ZZS 19:1). 19. For the brushes, see DNK 7:267 (ZZS 3:1:1). For the firewood, see DNK 2:187 (ZSKS 31:6). For assessing purchasing power in premodern sources, the “Kodai, chūsei toshi seikatsu shi (bukka) 古代・中世都市生活史(物価)” database on the home page of the National Museum of Japa­nese History is particularly useful: http://­w ww​.­rekihaku​.­ac​.­jp​/­doc​/­t​- ­db ​-­index​ .­html. 20. One tan of cloth was worth 200 mon of coin. Hitonari never worked as an assembler, but they ­were paid at a rate of one tan of cloth per 400 sheets. For a useful summary of pay rates and calculations, see Sakaehara 2011b, 153–158. 21. The pay for his 302 sheets on 12/17/742 is a bit more complicated. He was paid 1,495 mon for this work. Of the sheets he copied, 297 ­were full and 5 ­were prayers appended to the end of sutras (kechigan 結願). The total payment is reached through a calculation of 5 mon per full sheet and 2 mon per prayer added. See DNK 8:158–159 (ZZS 3:2:3).

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in his work and labored around twenty-­eight days and nights a month, sometimes working ­every day (DNK 7:411–418 [ZZS 24:5 recto and verso]). Workers slept at the scriptorium and w ­ ere only able to return home for vacation once ­every two or three months. Although they w ­ ere granted a holiday around the New Year, they w ­ ere not afforded the privilege of ­going home during planting and harvest times, which was a benefit traditionally granted to other state employees.22 Life at the scriptorium, therefore, was all consuming. Over time, Hitonari’s administrative duties increased, and he took on the position of clerk from around 743, when the Office of Sutra Transcription became divorced from the Queen Consort’s Palace Agency. In this role, Hitonari compiled and prepared administrative documents related to canon copying and interval proj­ects. T ­ hese included diverse rec­ords such as receipts of supplies ranging from desks to robes, documents recording the distribution of exemplars and lined paper to copyists, and ledgers citing the disbursement of ink and brushes. Hundreds of documents, if not more, crossed his desk. Part of the skill he learned at the scriptorium, therefore, was bureaucratic. As noted above, his general familiarity with the state bureaucracy and his more specific skills in rec­ord keeping would have been of use for Hitonari in his ­career as a monk. While bureaucratic abilities would have likely aided Hitonari in his monastic ­career, some former scribes ­were able to use the skills they developed at the scriptorium to advance in other spheres as well. For example, one scribe from the Office of Sutra Transcription named Heki no Miyatsuko Minomaro 日置造蓑麻呂 requested ordination but was denied his request. Despite this setback, he eventually achieved se­nior fifth rank lower and gained prominent positions including governor of Tanba (Tanba no kami 丹波守), head of the Bureau of Books and Drawings (Zusho no kami 圖書頭), head of the university (Daigaku no kami 大学頭), tutor [to the crown prince] at the Eastern Palace (Tōgū gakushi 東宮学士), chief of the Hokkeji Construction Agency (Zō Hokkeji no kami 造法華寺長官), and head of the Yin-­ yang Bureau (On’yō no kami 陰陽頭).23 Clearly, his exposure to official life through the scriptorium served him well, and he received appointments connected to learning and religious practice throughout his ­career. At the same time, it must be noted that Minomaro’s case was exceptional; few workers at the Office of Sutra Transcription could expect to go on to such an illustrious ­career. Most, in fact, gained few promotions, but ­labor and connections could provide promise of upward mobility to a lucky few. 22. For more on the social and economic history of scribes, see Kishiro 1982; Maruyama 2010, 177–221; Ōi 1982; and Sakaehara 1985, 80–97; 1987, 196–209; and 1991, 233–242. The best overview in En­glish can be found in Farris 2007, 428–430. 23. For Minomaro’s monastic application, see DNK 3:79 (ZS 28:8). For select documents that trace some of the milestones in Minomaro’s c­ areer, see SK 261 (NI 2:616); DNK 15:130 (ZZS 46:5); DNK 4:395; Shoku Nihongi 1/9/762, SNKBT, 14:403; 11/18/768, 15:223; 8/22/770, 15:301; 3/5/774, 15:425; 2/7/782, 16:233; 9/9/782, 16:251; and 1/4/783, 16:255. In post-777 sources, he appears as Sakai no Sukune Minomaro 榮井宿祢蓑麻呂, a name he was granted on 4/3/777.

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Literary Production Minomaro’s positions in roles related to education and learning, such as university head and tutor to the crown prince, suggest that he possessed a command of the Chinese literary tradition, an accomplishment that o ­ thers at the scriptorium shared. Sakaehara Towao (2011b, 175–188) has recently noted that a number of documents that ­were reused for ledgers at the scriptorium reveal the possession of literary and musical skills on the part of at least some employees. This is unsurprising as workers like Minomaro and Hitonari would have had access not only to Buddhist scriptures but also to classical literary texts such as Literary Se­l ections and the Analects (Lunyu 論語), both of which ­were copied at the scriptorium by scribes.24 In fact, Hamamichi Takahisa (2010, 33–35) has used Shōsōin documents to propose that low-­r anking officials at the scriptorium circulated Liter­ ary Se­l ections among themselves and may even have made copies for their own perusal. ­There is no doubt that a familiarity with this sourcebook of the Chinese literary tradition would have proven beneficial for Hitonari and ­others interested in pursuing a monastic c­ areer. As we have seen, Literary Se­lections occasionally appeared on monastic applications, attesting to its value as an indicator in assessing potential clerics. Indeed, famous Heian-­period monks such as Kūkai ­were known for their deep knowledge of the Chinese literary canon, often referencing ­t hese works in their writings. The fruits of Hitonari’s literary learning are preserved in a poem and preface dating to 745 that appear to be in his hand (see fig. 5).25 Personal sources are uncommon among Shōsōin materials; this one was written over the text of a document from an office for producing Buddha images connected to the construction of Kōfukuji’s Western Golden Hall (Kōfukuji Saikondō 興福寺西金堂) that had been recycled at the Office of Sutra Transcription into a ledger recording the distribution of exemplars to scribes. In other words, Hitonari reused an already recycled document. It seems likely that he was the author rather than the transcriber of the poem given his literacy, the general familiarity with Literary Se­lections at the scriptorium, and the occasional presence of poems by other employees in Shōsōin documents.26 But even if he copied it, the fact that it was in his hand demonstrates his familiarity with East Asian literary traditions.

24. Tōno Haruyuki points to numerous cases of low-­r anking employees at the scriptorium copying the Wen xuan and notes that other literary texts ­were also available at the Office of Sutra Transcription. See Tōno 1977, 189–224. For a brief overview of the way low-ranking officials at the scriptorium learned the Chinese classics through their employment at the Office of Sutra Transcription, see Hamamichi 2010. For the Wen xuan in l­ater periods, see Steininger 2010, 35–83. 25. For the dating of the preface and poem, see Minagawa 2012, 387. 26. For discussion on the possibility of Hitonari’s authorship versus transcription, see Minagawa 2012, 388, and Watanabe Kango 2009, 139–141.

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Figure 5. Eve of Sevens (tanabata 七夕) poem in the hand of Karakuni no Hitonari. The Shōsōin Trea­sures, courtesy of the Imperial House­hold Agency.

The preface to his poem reads: ’Tis the fine days of early autumn and the refreshing season of the Eve of Sevens. The cool air begins to rise, as singing cicadas clamor in the willows of the courtyard. White dewdrops start to form, as golden fireflies flit about the grass of the stone steps. At such a time, the learned gentlemen pour one another unfiltered wine (moromi 醪)27 on this auspicious day. The fair maidens thread the needle on this fine night. How can I take up a brush at this moment? Each person selects their rhymes and composes two verses.28

The preface identifies the occasion as the Eve of Sevens or tanabata, celebrating the seventh night of the seventh month. It is connected to a well-­known tale that recounts how the two lovers, the Weaving Maiden and Cowherd, who are identified with the stars Vega and Altair, respectively, ­were punished for neglecting their duties and only permitted to meet once a year, on the seventh day of the seventh month. For writers, this festival’s arrival at a particularly delightful time of year was a frequent topic of composition in classical Chinese and Japa­nese, with tanabata poems forming a distinct subgenre in East Asian poetics.29 In the Nara period, ­people enjoyed the custom of gathering together to exchange poems to celebrate the holiday, as the concluding line of Hitonari’s preface, which asks each participant to pres­ent two verses, implies. Although no other tanabata poems authored by 27. ­Here I follow Kojima (1962–1965, 3:1319) in substituting this character for 滲. 28. ZS 32:6. I have found Watanabe Kango 2009 to be particularly helpful in sorting out transcription and translation prob­lems in this preface. 29. For the classic overview of tanabata poetry in early Japan, see Kojima 1962–1965, 2:1120–1153.

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scriptorium workers have survived, other Chinese compositions extant in the Shōsōin collection demonstrate that some ­were competent in writing verse. 30 This leaves open the possibility that laborers and administrators may have gathered for a tanabata poetry session to celebrate the arrival of autumn, a scenario that does not seem at all implausible in light of a document that mentions workers being supplied with the seven types of food to celebrate the festival.31 Hitonari’s preface reveals a deep familiarity with the Chinese poetic tradition. Seasonal words such as cool air (ryōki 涼気), singing cicadas (meisen 鳴蟬), golden fireflies (kinkei 金螢), and grass on stone steps (seisō 砌草)32 draw on pre­ce­dents in Chinese poetry and express the feeling of an early autumn night. Among other meanings, tanabata traditionally marked the passing from summer to autumn, so the preface’s usage of ­these terms immediately alerts the reader to the tanabata season, as well as the author’s own mastery of the tradition. Other phrases such as threading the needle (senshin 穿針) draw on specific Tang dynasty tropes related to the weaving cults associated with the Eve of Sevens and one of its protagonists, the Weaving Maiden.33 The overall structure of the preface, which establishes the banquet setting that gives rise to the poet’s desire to compose verse, follows patterns found in similar prefaces to medieval Chinese poems and is particularly influenced by the famous rhapsody on the Eve of Sevens composed by Wang Bo 王勃 (649–746).34 Fi­nally, although the tonal structure of Hitonari’s poem is by no means perfect, it compares favorably with that of the elite poetry found in Fond Recollections of Poetry (Kaifūsō 懷風藻), compiled in the Nara period.35 The text of Hitonari’s two verses further demonstrates a familiarity with the classical traditions of East Asian poetry. The first verse reads: Shining w ­ oman east of the heavenly river Exalted herdsman west of the celestial stream. Holding back bitterness and waiting for the Eve of Sevens. Smiling finely and yearning for the three months of autumn. 30. For one such poem, see DNK 17:486 (ZZS 39:2 verso). A brief overview can be found in Maruyama 2010, 230–231. Also see Kojima 1962–1965, 3:1320. 31. See DNK 6:239 (ZSBS 12 verso). Maruyama has argued that scribes joined together to celebrate seasonal festivities throughout the year. See Maruyama 2010, 236–238. 32. The image of golden fireflies comes from an autumn poem by Luo Binwang 駱賓王 (?–684); see Quan Tang shi 全唐詩, juan 78, p. 851. The term “grass on the stone steps” was taken up by Tang poets as well; see Quan Tang shi, juan 747, p. 8505. The other phrases are common in literary texts such as the Li ji, Wen xuan, and medieval Chinese poetry; see Watanabe Kango 2009, 125–129. 33. For two prominent examples of “threading the needle” predating Hitonari’s preface, see Wang Bo’s 王勃 (649–676) “Rhapsody on the Eve of Sevens” in Quan Tang wen, juan 177, p. 1802; and the Eve of Sevens poem by Meng Haoran 孟浩然 (689–740) in Quan Tang shi, juan 160, p. 1653. 34. For t­hese structural issues, see Kojima 1962–1965, 3:1320, and Watanabe Kango 2009. For the importance of the Wang Bo ji in the Nara period, see Tōno 1977, 154–161. 35. For an analy­sis of tonal patterns, see Watanabe Kango 2009, 124.

160 Microhistories Anticipating the brief joy of seeing you face to face, But lamenting the long anguish a­ fter we part. Who can understand how with passions unfulfilled, We still gaze at one another in lament? (ZS 32:6)

The first two lines, “Shining ­woman east of the heavenly river / Exalted herdsman west of the celestial stream,” are almost direct quotations from Literary Se­lections (Wen xuan, juan 29, p. 411a) that invoke the story of the Weaving Maiden and Cowherd. The couplet “Anticipating the brief joy of seeing you face to face / But lamenting the long anguish ­a fter we part” is taken directly from Kōmyōshi’s ­father, Fujiwara no Fuhito’s tanabata poem, ­later included in Fond Recollections of Poetry (Kaifūsō 33; NKBT 69:101–102). The fact that this collection was not completed ­until 751 suggests that Hitonari became aware of Fuhito’s poem through another source, perhaps related to the Fujiwara connection to the scriptorium. Fi­nally, the last two lines subtly reference a tanabata poem by the sixth-­century Chinese poet Wang Yun 王筠 (481–549) (Yi wen lei ju, 144).36 The second verse continues to draw on the same literary stockpile: The passing moon shines on the back of the mountain. The old spirits frolic in the celestial river. Fortunately, although we three may part from one another, None ­w ill go home without getting drunk (ZS 32:6)

Many of the phrases used ­here are common in Literary Se­lections and early Tang poetry. The final line also hints at a poem by Fujiwara no Umakai 藤 原宇合 (694–737) that appears in Fond Recollections of Poetry and ends in a similar fashion (Wen xuan, juan 20, p. 283a; Kaifūsō 88; NKBT 69:148–149).37 Although it is impossible to know if Hitonari was aware of Umakai’s poem, he was at the very least emulating a literary tradition in a way similar to that of power­ful aristocrats. While the constant references to Chinese and domestic sources may appear derivative to the modern eye, such imitation was a respected practice in the Chinese literary tradition and may have been a strategic one for Hitonari. For one, his references to Chinese classics and domestic poems show that he was a participant in the literary ambience enjoyed by social elites in the capital.38 Second, his blending of a quotation from Fujiwara 36. Kojima and Maruyama point out ­these allusions. See Kojima 1962–1962, 2:1135, and Maruyama 2010, 226–229. 37. Statements about not leaving without getting drunk have a long history in the Chinese poetic tradition that can be traced back to the Shi jing. See Shi jing, “Zhan lu”; SSJZS 1:421. Hitonari made other allusions to the Shi jing in the preface. For ­t hese, see Watanabe Kango 2009, 130 and 138. 38. In discussing Hitonari’s skill, I do not intend to give the impression that his poems by any means reflect perfect classical Chinese. Kojima has pointed out several Japanese-­ influenced errors in his poem. See Kojima 1962–1965, 3:1322–1323. At the same time, such errors are not limited to low-­r anking scribes but also appear in works by aristocrats ­later anthologized in lofty compilations such as the Fond Recollections of Poetry.

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no Fuhito with allusions drawn from Literary Se­lections places Fuhito’s poetry on par with the g ­ reat Chinese masters. As an employee of the Office of Sutra Transcription who had most likely gained his appointment through a connection with the Queen Consort’s Palace Agency, t­ hese references would have reflected Hitonari’s gratitude and allegiance to Kōmyōshi, who was Fuhito’s ­d aughter. Thus, the Office of Sutra Transcription, with its wealth of literary resources, could have functioned as a place of learning and culture for a low-­r anking but highly literate employee, who might have other­w ise had difficulty gaining access to texts. The skills learned at the scriptorium could have very well aided Hitonari as a monk engaged in reading Buddhist scriptures and other works written in Chinese and composing liturgical texts, such as ganmon, that drew on the same literary traditions.

Calligraphic Practice It may be unsurprising that scribes and other workers at the scriptorium took pride in their calligraphic prowess. In fact, it was skill with a brush that had enabled some to gain employment ­t here. As we can see from extant calligraphy exams, a number of scribal applicants w ­ ere explic­itly tested on their calligraphic skill. Some ­were successful, as names first appearing on tests occasionally reappear in l­ater scriptorium documents, while the rejections of ­others have been preserved in memos written by the administrators charged with evaluating scribal hands.39 Beyond ­t hese exams, letters recommending candidates for work at the Office of Sutra Transcription sometimes mention the candidate’s ability to write as a principal qualification (e.g., DNK 22:40 [ZZS 26:5 verso]).40 Once employed, scribes and other workers, including Hitonari, constantly wrote characters, ­whether it was to transcribe scripture, fill out paperwork, compose poetry, or even just to practice their hand on scrap paper—­all forms of writing preserved in the Shōsōin. Although some earlier scholarship dismissed the calligraphy of sutra copyists for its lack of creativity, recent research argues that scribes in East Asia are best understood not as artists but as artisans: skilled laborers whose work was valued more for mastery of traditional techniques than for creativity.41 In the case of sutra copyists, attributes such as personal expression, 39. Many of the scribes who took t­ hese exams w ­ ere likely only hired as temporary workers, though some copyists gained permanent positions and spent many years at the scriptorium a­ fter passing the test. The exams themselves are now scattered in several collection, mostly in Chion-in but also in the Tenri Central Library, Shōsōin, and private collections. For the most detailed study, see Hamamichi 2016, 266–274. Also see Minagawa 2012, 392–393, and Tōno 1989. 40. For recommendation letters, see Sasaki 2011 and Hamamichi 2016, 275–295. 41. For a representative view of the older positions, see Shimizu and Rosenfield 1984, 34. Recent scholarship on Chinese sutra copyists has shown that scribal calligraphy is a worthy subject of study. For example, see Wang 1995 and McNair 1999. Also, John Carpenter, in

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individuality, and inspiration are secondary to legibility, precision, and formality.42 ­These traits exemplify what modern scholars call a sutra-­copying script (shakyōtai 写経体), a mode of writing used for transcribing scripture.43 For the most part, this mode follows standard script (kaisho 楷書) and uses relatively few variant characters (itaiji 異体字), making it highly legible in a way that facilitates recitation.44 At the same time, sutra-­copying script employs slightly simplified forms with more connections between ligatures than standard script (McNair 1999, 232), enabling scribes to write at a fast pace while preserving the legibility and reverence expected for calligraphy used in Buddhist scripture. Fortunately for our purposes, manuscripts and documents from a variety of genres preserve the hand of Hitonari. Shōsōin documents verify that Hitonari transcribed a set of manuscripts currently in the Shōgozō collection in Nara and in the Prince­ton University East Asian Library and Gest Collection.45 ­These copies of the Abhi­ dharma Treatise of Discerning Myriad ­Things (Skt. Abhidharma prakaraṇapāda śāstra; Ch. Zhong shifen apitan lun 衆事分阿毘曇論) reveal many of the attributes characteristic of sutra-­copying script (see fig. 6). His characters are highly regular but have a distinct rhythm. He sometimes used slightly abbreviated form, and ligatures occasionally flow together to a greater degree than is common in standard script. As the example illustrates, Hitonari’s hand was well adapted for the speed and efficiency needed for sutra copying, while preserving legibility and formalism. This is not to say that all scribes wrote in identical hands. To make but one comparison, the unique character of Hitonari’s style stands out when placed alongside that of another copyist, Takebe no Hirotari, whose calhis examination of Heian calligraphy (1997, 2006, and 2008), has similarly deemphasized individuality and pointed out the importance of mastery of past styles and “anti-­innovative techniques.” 42. McNair 1999, 232. Also see Wang 1995, 136–138. 43. For more on this style of script, see Rosenfield et al. 1973, 16–19. Also see McNair 1999. 44. ­T here are some exceptions to this on the continent and possibly even in Japan. For example, a sutra currently ­housed in the Ōtani museum, which was owned at one point by Kōmyōshi, is written in a cursive grass script (sōsho 草書). Miyazaki, however, convincingly demonstrates that this sutra was imported from Silla (2006, 33–58). Harrist and Wen note that in China some sutras ­were copied in a cursive script, but this practice was discouraged and even criticized (1999, 11). Sutra commentaries, on the other hand, ­were sometimes copied in cursive scripts. For example, see the monk Kōken’s 興顕 transcription of a commentary by Fazang from 765. The manuscript is located in Chion-in, but I have relied on the partial reproduction in NCS, plate 67. 45. ­T here are several sources that allow us to connect this manuscript with Hitonari. First are pay rec­ords that cite Hitonari as the scribe responsible for copying this text. See DNK 8:94 (ZZS 1:2:6), DNK 8:112 (ZZS 28:3), and DNK 8:158 (ZZS 3:2:3). Second is the appearance of his surname on the verso of some manuscripts in the Shōgozō collection. Fi­ nally, Hitonari has a fairly idiosyncratic hand that is easily identifiable. See SK 752–761 and GM 220. For a detailed study of the Prince­ton manuscript (GM 220), see Lowe 2011. For an assessment of Hitonari’s hand in diverse contexts, see Shōsōin jimusho 1964, 27–48. Also see Matsushima 1975, 44–63, and Matsumoto Kaneo 1964, 32.

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Figure 6. Abhidharma Treatise of Discerning Myriad T ­ hings (Zhong shifen apitan lun 衆事分阿毘曇論) in the hand of Karakuni no Hitonari. The Shōgozō Scrolls, courtesy of the Imperial House­hold Agency.

ligraphy may be described with adjectives such as neat, clean, and even, all features that would facilitate chanting (see fig. 7).46 Karakuni no Hitonari’s calligraphy, on the other hand, has a more rhythmic and unrestrained character with occasional bold strokes standing out and balancing nicely with softer brushwork in other places. He shows a ­great control over the brush with a freer feel. To me, Hitonari’s hand evokes the “solemn grace” (kingen tansei 謹厳端整) and “supple strength” (shinayakana chikara しなやかな力) that are said to represent Japa­nese sutra copying at this time, though t­ hese are admittedly subjective descriptions.47 Since ­these sutras ­were copied at roughly the same time, the differences between hands cannot be explained by stylistic shifts over time. Thus, while each scribe displayed his own idiosyncrasies, both wrote in a script that reveals ­great attention to legibility, precision, and formality. It is also telling that Hitonari and other scribes a­ dopted dif­fer­ent hands for dif­fer­ent purposes. As the numerous examples of Hitonari’s calligraphy contained in the Shōsōin collection (Shōsōin jimusho 1964, plates 9 and pp. 59–65) show, Hitonari’s sutra-­copying hand is fairly consistent and steady, while the varying characters he used for administrative reports incorporate more cursive ele­ments (SS 9:11 verso; ZZS 1:2:6 and 14:3). In contrast, his poem, 46. For Takebe no Hirotari’s calligraphy, see the sutras in SK 462–464. For the document linking him to ­t hese par­t ic­u ­lar manuscripts, see DNK 8:92–93 (ZZS 1:2:6). 47. I borrow this descriptive vocabulary from Akao 1989, 37–39.

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Figure 7. Scripture on the Rain of Jewels (Baoyu jing 寶雨經) in the hand of Takebe no Hirotari. The Shōgozō Scrolls, courtesy of the Imperial House­hold Agency.

as illustrated in figure 5, reveals a bold and expressive cursive hand (ZS 32:6). It may be that other scribes, such as Furu no Kamitoko 古神徳, similarly employed dif­fer­ent styles of writing for dif­fer­ent purposes.48 The hand used for copying sutras displays a more careful and reverential quality than the relatively relaxed brushstrokes used in preparing documents or authoring poetry. Some evidence exists that shows that scribes actively promoted themselves as masters of dif­fer­ent hands. In one case, a sutra copyist named Ya­ mato no Oyumi 和雄弓 used two dif­fer­ent styles in a letter he wrote to the scriptorium asking for employment. The letter begins with a standard script for the heading but then uses an elegant cursive hand for the body, suggesting that he saw the letter as a way to display his skill (DNK 5:332 [ZS 47:5]). In fact, Sasaki Keisuke (2011, 47–48) has argued that it was common for recommendees for scribal employment to write out their own recommendation letter, with the recommender simply signing off. In such cases, the section of the recommendation letter authored by the scribe was intended to be used in place of a calligraphy exam. The controlled calligraphy of a sutra copyist required constant training. Hitonari worked diligently to cultivate his hand over time. One scrap in the Shōsōin collection reveals that he practiced calligraphy by copying the Thousand Character Essay (qianzi wen 千字文) (ZSBS 48:4).49 This text, consisting of four-­character couplets totaling one thousand characters, was 48. Furu no Kamitoko’s hand is discussed briefly in Minagawa 2012, 373–375. 49. Naitō attributes this fragment to Hitonari based on the character of his hand. Although judging hands can be a notoriously problematic endeavor, I find Naitō’s assessment convincing. See Naitō in Shōsōin jimusho 1964, 45.

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frequently used as a primer for teaching basic literacy and for practicing calligraphy in ancient Japan.50 In using it, Hitonari and other scribes emulated past masters such as Wang Xizhi 王羲之 (303?–361?), the so-­called “sage of calligraphy” (Ch. shu sheng 書聖).51 Hitonari and ­others had good reason to diligently cultivate their craft. Throughout East Asia, a calligrapher’s skill was thought to reflect his moral uprightness and cultural pedigree.52 Improving one’s calligraphy by imitating past masters was not only a means to a paycheck (which it surely was) but also a form of ethical cultivation based on repeated practice. For sutra copyists at the scriptorium, the physical practice of writing was a form of cultural and personal enrichment.53 For Hitonari, the hours spent copying texts such as the Thousand Character Classic would have been a way to further discipline himself and to participate in a cultural pursuit that was prized among social elites. In the end, Hitonari’s calligraphic skill would also have been seen as an intrinsically valuable part of his calling as a monk, as it was also one of the skills that assessors of monastic applications commented on.

Religious Commitments As a scriptorium employee, Hitonari held the position of a quasi-­religious figure who was neither monk nor layman. For example, stipends given to secular officials w ­ ere known as a salary (roku 禄) in accord with reconstructed ritsuryō codes, but the pay given to Hitonari and other employees at the scriptorium was referred to as alms (fuse 布施), as evidenced by

50. Scribes frequently copied sections of the Thousand Character Essay for calligraphy practice. See Maruyama 2010, 221–224. Numerous copies have also been unearthed on mok­ kan throughout the Japa­nese archipelago. See Tōno 1977, 125–148. For an example, see HM 3:5100. The Thousand Character Essay was frequently used as a primer and for calligraphy practice in Dunhuang as well. See Tōno 1992, 239–254. For an overview of the reception of the text in En­glish, see Guest 2013, 67–97. 51. Naitō in Shōsōin jimusho 1964, 45. The copies of the Thousand Character Essay follow the forms used by Zhi Yong 智永, a seventh-­generation descendant of Wang Xizhi, who is said to have copied eight hundred scrolls of the Thousand Character Essay in the hand of his famous ancestor. For the broad importance of Wang Xizhi as a calligraphic model, see Tōno 1977, 225–236. 52. For this idea in China, see Harrist and Wen 1999, 4. For Japan, see Carpenter 1997, 9–15. For the importance of Tang masters as models for Nara scribes, see Kurihara 1983, 15–17. For an excellent description of the par­t ic­u ­lar types of pedagogical practices used to master the Wang style, see Carpenter 2008. Robert Orsi (2016, 135) has observed that penmanship in a modern Catholic setting was similarly viewed as “an effective way of disciplining ­children’s imaginations and bodies.” 53. In considering calligraphy as a bodily practice, it is worth pointing out that the critical vocabulary used to describe calligraphy in medieval China relied on bodily meta­ phors such as “bony,” “fleshy,” and “sinewy.” See Hay 1983. T ­ hese meta­phors continue to be used ­today. For example, what I have translated as sutra-­copying script could quite literally be translated as the sutra-­copying “body” (shakyōtai 写経体).

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Shōsōin documents.54 The term fuse is a translation of a Buddhist term used to describe the offerings given to monks (Skt. dāna). Similarly, the rations prepared for Hitonari and his colleagues w ­ ere called food offerings (ryōri kuyō 料理供養) in Shōsōin documents. The term kuyō (Skt. pūjā) again implies an offering given to the Buddha or clergy. Notably, upāsikā, as opposed to regular cooks, played a strong role in preparing the scribes’ food, further suggesting the religious character of their occupation.55 Even when working as temporary employees transferred from another office, workers at the Office of Sutra Transcription held a position in the interstice between laity and fully ordained.56 Many workers also engaged in explic­itly religious practices at the scriptorium. As might be expected, many of ­t hese ­were textual in nature. Some workers took advantage of the vast library of scripture at the Office of Sutra Transcription. Hitonari, for example, listed texts that he could recite on his application for ordination, expertise he likely gained through his own diligence while employed at the scriptorium. A note Hitonari wrote in the margin of the first two couplets of the Thousand Character Essay he transcribed as calligraphy practice further demonstrates his commitment to Buddhist teachings: “One hears the three treatises (sanron 三論) and other [teachings] and surely believes” (ZSBS 48:4). The term “three treatises” likely refers to texts associated with the Madhyamaka or Three Treatise School (Ch. sanlun zong; J. sanron shū 三論宗), as it was known in China and Japan.57 Another possibility is that he is paraphrasing a similar quote in a commentary on the Lotus Sutra that lists three Yogācāra treatises.58 On this evidence, Hitonari went beyond simply transcribing sutras to become involved in studying and memorizing them. In addition to t­ hese textual practices, workers also participated in conducting worship ser­v ices, an ability that Hitonari included on his monastic application. While we have no rec­ords of Hitonari’s ­doing this as an official duty, other employees did spend a portion of their day performing such ser­ vices (DNK 3:497 [SS 6:7]).59 For example, a report recording the work activities of the proofreader Murayama no Muraji Obitomaro 村山連首麻呂, 54. For the l­egal codes, see Yōrō ritsuryō, NST 3:304–307. For pay rec­ords issued to ­Hitonari that use the term fuse, see DNK 8:152–153 (ZZS 7:4:3–4) and 8:158–159 (ZZS 3:2:3). 55. Upāsikā also engaged in other tasks such as sewing for scriptorium employees, laundering the robes of monks, and making the cords used on sutra wrappers. See DNK 6:422 (ZSBS 13:1) and 6:484 (ZSBS 12:2). 56. For other figures on this spectrum, particularly ­t hose occupying the space between ­t hose who “left the ­house” and received full ordination in early Japan and medieval China, see Satō Fumiko 2014. 57. The three treatises are the Treatise on the ­Middle (Zhong lun 中論), the Treatise on the Twelve Gates (Shier men lun 十二門論), and the Treatise in a Hundred [Verses] (Bai lun 百論). 58. ­Here, the treatises are Treatise on Consciousness Only, Treatise on the Summary from the ­G reat Vehicle, and the Treatise on the Lotus (法華論). See Fahua xuan lun, T 1720.34.391b. 59. Ōkusa Hiroshi, who has looked at the term kubu raibutsu in depth, speculates that such worship may have occurred at official state rites. For his views on this topic, see Ōkusa 2014, 171–219.

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who applied for monastic ordination in 748, notes that he performed “ser­ vices of worship of the Buddha” (kubu raibutsu 共[供]奉禮佛) (DNK 3:286 [ZSBS 40 verso]), a role he likely took on from his own initiative (Sakaehara 2008, 217–218). Several other employees requesting ordination, including Haruta no Muraji Iwamaro 治田連石麻呂, Manda no Muraji Emaro 茨田連兄 麻呂, Yamato no Fuhito Hitotari 倭史人足, Kume no Atai Kumataka 久米直 熊鷹, and Nan no Makimi—­whom we encountered on the same application as Hitonari—­also performed ­t hese ser­v ices at the scriptorium, as recorded in Shōsōin documents. So how did Hitonari, Obitomaro, and o ­ thers become interested in Buddhist practice to begin with? Sakaehara, who has studied Obitomaro in depth, points out that he came from Sayama 狭山郷 village in the Tajihi district of Kawachi province, a hamlet where the eminent monk Gyōki was known to have been active. Sakaehara speculates that Gyōki and his disciples’ activities may have planted the seeds of faith in a young Obitomaro. Another employee who requested ordination, named Kasuga no Mushimaro 春日虫麻呂, was from the Nishinari district 西成郡 in Settsu province 摂津國 (pres­ent-day Hyōgo and Ōsaka prefecture), another area where Gyōki was active.60 We have no rec­ords that directly speak to where Hitonari came from, but his lineage group was most likely based in Izumi province 和泉 (Saeki 1981–1983, 4:290–292), an area with a strong Buddhist presence. While Buddhism appears to have spread widely in Japan by this period, it is noteworthy that individuals with monastic aspirations tended to come from areas with particularly developed Buddhist communities. ­Others had more direct contact with Buddhism. Hata no Yanushi 秦家 主 and Iware no Kumataka 石村熊鷹 spent time working at the ­temple Nakatomidera 中臣寺 as attendants (toneri 舎人) (DNK 9:325–326 [ZZS 23:5 verso]). Still o ­ thers gained entrance to the scriptorium through recommendation letters authored by monks, a connection that indicates a personal relationship with clergy.61 As Ōkusa Hiroshi (2014, 84–134) has shown, interactions with monks would continue a­ fter entering the scriptorium as well. Since many employees came from regions with strong ties to Buddhism and enjoyed connections with monks, it seems likely that at least some would have sought work at the Office of Sutra Transcription b ­ ecause of an interest in Buddhism that had developed prior to employment. In fact, many workers continued to actively participate in Buddhist practice outside their official duties.62 Employees commonly requested time off from work to engage in Buddhist rites such as presenting oil to bodhisattvas, 60. I have used the relatively strict criteria established by ­Inoue Mitsusada and Sakaehara Towao for determining areas where Gyōki was active. See Sakaehara 2006, 94–98. At least two other employees come from areas where he may have been active, but t­ hese sites cannot be connected to Gyōki through comparison with more reliable sources. 61. For example, see DNK 6:126 (ZSBS 47:11), DNK 13:331 (ZZS 8:19 verso), DNK 17:174 (ZZS 39:1 verso), and DNK 22:39 (ZZS 40:4 verso). 62. Employees also participated in private (watakushi 私) rites for local spirits, including clan deities (ujigami 氏神) and regional gods such as Kamo Ōkami (a name that is tran-

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making offerings to the three jewels, performing penance rituals, and observing the six monthly days of abstinence.63 For t­ hese employees, Buddhist ritual activities formed a central part of their social lives. Another document rec­ords the fact that a group of workers joined together as a fellowship to raise funds for a penance ritual (keka 悔過) dedicated to Amitābha (DNK 17:111–115 [ZZS 46:5]).64 In another case, a scribe named Nishikori no Kimi Maro 錦織君麻呂 sponsored a still-­extant scroll of the Mahā-­prajñā-­ pāramitā-­sūtra on behalf of his m ­ other and f­ ather (NCS, plate 49; NI, 623).65 ­These examples all show an individual commitment to Buddhist practice. Far from being simply a job for ­t hese workers, working and living at the scriptorium formed an essential part of the religious and social dimensions of their lives. ­Because of this, Hitonari would have been surrounded by like-minded individuals dedicated to Buddhist worship and practice. Like the fellowship groups discussed in chapter three, the Office of Sutra Transcription provided interested individuals an opportunity to support one another in practice. Hitonari would have likely felt right at home in this environment, and his time at the scriptorium surely strengthened his resolve to become a monk. Copyists outside the Office of Sutra Transcription similarly demonstrated a commitment to practice that mirrors that of Hitonari and some of his more dedicated colleagues. In colophons to extant manuscripts, scribes in the communal organ­izations discussed in chapter three occasionally identified themselves as upāsaka (lay practitioner) and śrāmaṇera (novice monk), conveying a devotion to the Buddhist way of life that was shared with other members of the fellowship.66 In addition, a single scroll from a proj­ect to copy the Yogācāra-­bhūmi, currently ­housed at Tōshōdaiji 唐招提 寺, gives the names of both patron and scribe (NCS, plate 39; NI, 619). Both individuals used the character Yu 瑜, the transliteration for the first sound of Yogācāra, in their name and identified themselves as “bodhisattvas,” a designation expressing a clear aspiration for a pious lifestyle and likely implying that the fellowship group they belonged to upheld the bodhisattva precepts. This scribe was not simply a copyist, then, but also a practitioner. scribed in the relevant document as 鴨大神) (DNK 6:171 [ZS 20:11 and 22]; 6:407 [ZS 20:20]; 17:572–573 [ZZS 39:2 verso]). 63. For offering oil to bodhisattvas, see DNK 17:557–558 (ZZS 39:1 verso) and 14:178 (ZZS 45:2 verso). For offerings to the three jewels, see DNK 17:598 (ZZS 39:2 verso). For penance rites, see DNK 17:588 (ZZS 39:2 verso). For abstinential rites, see DNK 15:90 (ZZS 3:4:3:12 verso) and 17:595 (ZZS 39:2 verso) and Ōkusa 2014, 13–16. 64. For a detailed study of this document, see Ōkusa 2014, 46–83. 65. His name appears on the back of manuscripts in the Shōgozō collection that ­were copied for the 5/1 canon. This is the primary source that identifies him as an employee of the Office of Sutra Transcription. See scroll 69 of the Yogācāra-­bhūmi (Ch. Yuqie shidi lun 瑜伽師地論), SK 540. His name also appears partially in scroll 65 of the same text; see SK 539. 66. For example, see NCS, plates 56–57.

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While the evidence for copyists outside the Office of Sutra Transcription is far more fragmentary than that found in Shōsōin documents, both data sets point to a widely shared scriptural culture that saw the very act of copying scripture, even when hired to do so, as an opportunity for religious practice. For individuals committed to Buddhism, participation in the l­ abor and administration of sutra copying provided a means to cultivate themselves in accord with their religious aspirations. This is true both for ­t hose working for the fellowship groups described in chapter three and for at least some individuals within bureaucratic organ­izations like the Office of Sutra Transcription.

Conclusions This chapter has looked at the scriptorium through the eyes of Karakuni no Muraji Hitonari. In taking the perspective of an individual employee, I have aimed to humanize the bureaucratic institution detailed in the last chapter by considering the opportunities it presented for its workers, while also recognizing its regimented quality of life. In accord with the approach of the famed microhistorian Carlo Ginzburg (1980, xxviii), I have considered the culture of the scriptorium as a “horizon of latent possibilities,” which functioned for our protagonist as “a flexible and invisible cage in which he can exercise his own conditional liberty.” Hitonari toiled at the Office of Sutra Transcription poring over documents with a meticulous eye and engaging in scribal and proofreading work that caused ­others to grumble about the aches and pains resulting from long hours of sitting b ­ ehind a low ­t able. But life at the scriptorium also provided him with chances to share poems, practice calligraphy, and perform pious acts with like-­minded ­people. Many of the skills Hitonari learned paved the way for him to embark on a monastic path, an aspiration that other employees shared. Ritualized writing would never have spread across the Japa­nese archipelago without ­people like Hitonari transcribing sutras, proofreading texts, and managing resources. Despite their centrality to the emergence of Buddhism in early Japan, laborers and midlevel administrators have played a negligible role in scholarly narratives, which tend to focus on monks, nuns, and elite courtiers, u ­ nder the common narratives of state Buddhism or the so-­called six Nara schools. Laborers and midlevel administrators shouldered the rise of Buddhism in early Japan, and likely continued to do so in centuries to come. They occupy a space in between “state Buddhism” and that of the so-­called masses. I hope that this chapter has begun to bring the stories of ­these low-­ranking and unranked individuals into our broader historical understanding. But to study t­ hese figures responsibly requires more than simply asking how they contributed to the dissemination of Buddhism; we must also inquire into the role religion played in their lives. They ­were not simply tools of a larger imperial proj­ect. The approach of this chapter, which has focused

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on disciplinary regimes and ethical practices instead of bureaucratic control, contrasts with that of traditional top-­down narratives centered on the strict regulatory mea­sures imposed on Buddhism by the state. Proponents of the state Buddhism model often assume that power is consciously instituted by elites above and passively consumed by t­hose below. In place of this two-­tiered model, this chapter has considered the ways laborers and administrators could utilize state-­sanctioned institutions for their own purposes. On the one hand, workers at the scriptorium ­were disciplined through rules regarding accurate transcription and pure conduct to ensure ritual efficacy, but t­ hese same disciplinary practices enabled par­t ic­u ­lar modes of secular and religious practice for ­t hose employed at the Office of Sutra Transcription, ones that corresponded with many of ­t hese workers’ values. Hitonari and at least some of his colleagues w ­ ere able to develop habits and dispositions that allowed them to pursue a monastic path, as well as other pos­si­ble c­ areers, as demonstrated by the case of Heki no Miyatsuko Minomaro. They lived in accord with ideals of piety and purity and cultivated literary and calligraphic talents in a communal setting. To return to the birds in the poem with which this chapter began, though Hitonari and similar figures ­were by no means f­ ree from institutional structures, some at least ­were content to perfect their chirping within the confines of a cage.

6

Haunted by Demons, Watched by Kings

­ fter I [the Buddha] pass away, with regard to all sentient beA ings in the evil age of the five corruptions, if ­t here are evil dev­ils and myriad malefic prac­ti­tion­ers of venomous arts that rob ­people of their vitality, seek to shorten their lives, or violently come to kill them, Ānanda, you must ­wholeheartedly propagate this scripture and make the sentient beings in this evil age be without illness, suffering, and untimely death and make the myriad malefic prac­ti­tion­ers of venomous arts all completely dis­appear. —­Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life 1

In the final days of the summer of 748, shipments of colored paper began to reach the Office of Sutra Transcription at Tōdaiji. Scriptorium officials dutifully recorded the receipt of each and ­every one of the 554 sheets of paper, most of which had been sent from the Queen Consort’s Palace Agency. Scribes would transcribe one hundred copies of the Scripture on Sav­ ing and Protecting Body and Life on ­t hese sheets. This sutra, which circulated widely in East Asia despite the fact that many medieval Chinese bibliographers considered it to be of dubious authenticity, depicts a bleak ­future for humankind. It describes a corrupt age haunted by murderous demons that ­w ill follow the Buddha’s passing. Sorcerers ­w ill abound, banditry ­w ill flourish, and disasters ­w ill erupt with unusual frequency. Fortunately, and likely by design, the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life provides not only a diagnosis but also a prescription. A host of deities pledge that t­ hose who propagate the sutra ­will be spared sufferings at the hands of malefic demons 1. Jiuhu shenming jing, Nanatsudera, lines 4–8 (T 2865.85.1325a). All translations are based on the Nanatsudera manuscript (late Heian) u ­ nless other­w ise noted. In referring to this text, I give both the Taishō reference and the line number in the Nanatsudera manuscript. I have also referred to two Dunhuang editions: P 2340 (mid-10th cent.?), BD 646 (7th or 8th cent.), as well as the Fangshan stone sutras (F 248). The Taishō edition is based on P 2340. For more on the vari­ous manuscripts, see Lowe 2014c, 19; Masuo 1996, 822–824; and Suwa 1996.

171

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and ­w ill be saved from disasters such as floods and fires. T ­ hese promises surely attracted Kōmyōshi, the patron of the proj­ect, who, at this moment, confronted a world filled with demonic and po­liti­cal threats rivaling ­t hose depicted in the sutra. This chapter w ­ ill take up the transcription of this text as well as two other related proj­ects (the Golden Light Sutra and Scripture on Brahma’s Spirit Tablets) from the ­middle months of 748 to reassess the relationship between ritual practice and statecraft in eighth-­century Japan. In recent years, scholars of Japa­nese history and religion have frequently borrowed theatrical meta­phors, derived from anthropologists schooled in symbolic and performative theories, to describe the way rulers used Buddhist ritual as a stage from which they could display their po­liti­cal authority. The po­liti­cal function of Buddhism, according to ­t hese scholars, was the “demonstration” of power and the “authentication” of the social order through religious practice.2 This interpretation, known as the theater-­state model, has become the paradigmatic way of understanding the relationship between religion and state in premodern Japan. 3 According to Joan Piggott, theatrical approaches to ritual and kingship reached a pinnacle in the Nara period ­under Emperor Shōmu, the very figure who served as the sovereign in 748 when the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life was transcribed in one hundred copies. The purpose of this chapter is to examine Buddhist ritual and state patronage from an alternative perspective. I should emphasize that it is not my intention to reject the idea that Buddhism was used to justify po­liti­cal power. I take this fact as a ­matter of course. To eighth-­century Japa­nese Buddhists, ­t here was nothing unnatural about religion appearing in the “secular” sphere. In fact, the concept of “secular” as completely divorced from “religion” did not even exist.4 Although Buddhism surely functioned in part to demonstrate the strength of the ruler in ancient Japan, a feature I have highlighted in earlier chapters, my goal is to show that the discursive effects of sutra copying did not merely provide theatrical justification of po­liti­cal authority. This chapter ­w ill argue that Buddhist patronage placed rulers within a cosmological framework in which they ­were constantly haunted by ghosts and demons and observed by warrior gods capable of unleashing punishment on ­those lacking virtues gained through Buddhist practice. Ritual could also function to display the fragility of the earthly order and demand pious conduct from ­human kings. 2. For example, Joan Piggott uses ­t hese terms; see Piggott 1997, esp. 277–278. 3. In addition to Joan Piggott’s work, also see Moerman 2005, 139–180, and Bauer 2010 and 2011. The term theater state was most famously developed by Geertz (1980 and 1983, 121–146). Stanley Tambiah (1985, 316–338) has criticized and expanded on this model. Moerman and Piggott both cite Tambiah as an influence in addition to Geertz, and their model seems to draw primarily from Tambiah’s concept of the theater state. 4. For the best treatment of the relatively recent invention of categories such as religion and secular in Japan, see Josephson 2012.

Haunted by Demons, Watched by Kings 173

­These sutra-­copying proj­ects limned a cosmology that was by no means a ­simple expression of authority. For one, the transcription of ­t hese texts served as a reminder that the rulers w ­ ere haunted by demons of their own making. The world of the eighth-­century court in many ways mirrors the “age of wild ghosts” described in Erik Mueggler’s (2001, 3) vivid ethnography of a minority community in twentieth-­century China: “Life in this era was inflected by eruptions into the pres­ent of unreconciled fragments of the past, often personified as the ghosts of p ­ eople (or spirits) who had met bad ends and who frequently possessed or killed their descendants.” Mueggler attributes ­t hese eruptions to the vio­lence of the modern Chinese state, which had forcibly sterilized the w ­ omen of the community and robbed them of their traditional forms of social or­ga­ni­za­tion. What we ­w ill see in this chapter, however, is a dif­fer­ent type of haunting. The rulers themselves w ­ ere pursued by demons, created as a result of their own past misdeeds and pres­ ent inadequacies. Since demons w ­ ere thought to arise from a lack of imperial virtue, the tacit ac­cep­t ance of ­these beings’ existence by the rulers served as a public acknowledgment of their own vices and fragility. Members of the court would have been just as likely to understand the transcription of the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life as a demonstration of fault than as a justification of authority. If Buddhist patronage had a theatrical effect, the patron was seldom able to fully control the message. Parts of this chapter, therefore, rethink per­for­mance rather than reject ­t hese models altogether. But moving beyond an exclusively performative framework, it is perhaps even more impor­t ant to recognize what might be called the ethical cosmology of patronage. The same heavenly beings that promised protection from demons also enacted regular surveillance and could punish sinners at any time. This system of regular observation and the constant threat of discipline described in scripture established a set of norms that Buddhists, including royals, ­were obliged to follow to avoid punishment. ­These norms included activities such as the commissioning of t­ emples, statues, and sutras; vows to follow the bodhisattva path; and regular per­for­mance of penance rites, periodic abstinence from meat eating and other vices, and the ceremonial release of living animals. Eighth-­century rulers engaged in all of ­these practices, which ­were viewed as w ­ holesome in the Buddhist tradition. The constant threat of punishment by divine beings—­a part of the broader cosmology in which the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life was understood—­shaped the be­hav­ior of the rulers. Earthly kings, therefore, lived ­under a divinely authored penal code that required pious adherence and ethical practices such as patronage lest they face retribution from heavenly forces. ­T hese concerns would have surely been on the mind of Kōmyōshi, the patron, in the ­middle months of 748, when she and Shōmu debated turning to untested means to preserve the f­ uture of their royal lineage ­a fter de­cades of ­battles with po­liti­cal rivals and a string of calamitous events.

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Ritualized writing supported a vision of a world in which h ­ uman rulers ­ ere subject to constant demonic hauntings and kingly observation. Budw dhism was not merely an expressive tool used to justify po­liti­cal authority. Buddhist ideas w ­ ere themselves an authoritative force that structured codes of conduct in early Japan. Kings and queens, much like Karakuni no Hitonari in the last chapter, disciplined themselves in accord with norms defined by Buddhist scripture. Ritualized writing, therefore, was as much a disciplinary practice as a performative one. I have chosen to start with the 748 proj­ect to transcribe one hundred copies of the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life for several reasons. First, it has received no attention in any language.5 Second, a number of Shōsōin documents from the Tōdaiji scriptorium make it pos­si­ble to trace the pro­cess of the transcription in detail. We can date the copying, assess the urgency with which it was ordered, and identify the patron and beneficiary—­information that is often lacking in our understanding of textual practices for much of the Buddhist world. Third, the Scripture on Sav­ ing and Protecting Body and Life stands out among the sutras copied in the eighth ­century ­because it was never transcribed in large numbers again; suspected of being a forgery, it was stricken from most eighth-­century Japa­ nese Buddhist canons.6 The fact that the patron chose this par­t ic­u­lar text as opposed to some better known and less dubious sutras implies that she and her advisers carefully selected it as uniquely appropriate to their par­ tic­u­lar historical moment. Fi­nally, the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life shares relatively narrow doctrinal foci with the other two texts copied alongside it. Shared ele­ments include narratives of decline, concerns with spectral attacks, and promises of heavenly protection. This coherence among the three texts provides further evidence that they ­were chosen as a set to address common prob­lems. Taken together, t­hese qualities make it pos­si­ble to construct a reception history—­a term I use to refer to an active pro­cess of interpretation and appropriation—­w ith unusual precision. Perhaps more so than in any of the previous chapters, this history shows that despite the utility of frameworks 5. The reception of the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life in early Japan has been studied by Masuo 1996, esp. 824–833 and 840–846. While Masuo’s analy­sis is helpful for some issues such as sorcery, his use of Shōsōin documents is problematic, as he does not appear to appreciate the nature of the collection as a set of fragments that ­were reconfigured in the Edo (1600–1868) and Meiji periods and instead seems to have simply used Kimoto’s 1989 index of sutra titles found in the Shōsōin corpus to list all of the documents containing the title of our text. This chapter ­will trace the documents related to the 748 proj­ect and connect them to that par­t ic­u ­lar historical moment, an analy­sis absent from Masuo’s research. 6. I have found one other instance of this sutra’s transcription outside of canon-­copying proj­ects. This was likely a “private” proj­ect dated to 751 and sponsored by Tanabe no Mabito 田邊真人, an administrator at the Tōdaiji Construction Agency. It has yet to be studied in any language, but I have identified five relevant documents: DNK 3:528 (ZSBS 50 verso) and 11:46 (ZZS 14:8), 258 ( JK 21:4:1 verso), 330–331 (ZZS 37:9), and 426 (ZZS 28:13). For more on private proj­ects in general, see chapter four.

Haunted by Demons, Watched by Kings 175

such as Rambelli’s “non-­hermeneutic” approach for highlighting alternative attitudes ­toward texts, sutra copying was always an interpretative act in the sense that specific doctrines ­were put to use for par­t ic­u­lar purposes. Texts ­were not selected at random. An understanding of why a patron copied certain scriptures or sets of texts as opposed to o ­ thers requires a close and highly contextualized reading to uncover the logic of the practice and the pos­si­ble interpretive moves made by the patron and his or her advisers. This chapter proposes a localized method for interpreting Buddhist scripture, one that examines how a text may have been understood and enacted by individuals at a specific time and place by looking at both the historical context and intertextual relationships between scriptures that a given patron treated as a coherent set. Like the last chapter, this one aims to “reduce the scale of observation” and adopt a microhistorical approach to textual reception. In this hermeneutic, a Buddhist scripture does not have an absolute meaning. It can only be interpreted relative to specific individuals, times, and clusters of other texts.

Background and Contents of the Scripture The Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life, a short work consisting of one scroll of about five sheets of paper, was likely composed in China in ­either the late Six Dynasties (220–589) or the very early Sui period (581– 618).7 It is an indigenous Chinese Buddhist scripture claiming Indic origins. The earliest reference to this text appears in the Chinese monk Fajing’s 法經 (n.d.) 594 CE Cata­log of Scriptures (Zhongjing mulu 衆経目録), where it is classified as dubious (yihuo 疑惑). In contrast, Fei Changfang 費長房 (n.d.), in the Rec­ord of the Three Jewels throughout Successive Generations (Ch. Lidai san­ bao ji 歷代三寶紀) from 597, credits the translation of the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life to the fourth-­century Central Asian monk known in Chinese as Zhu Tanwulan 竺曇無蘭.8 ­There is reason to be skeptical of this claim: it is well known that Fei Changfang made numerous questionable attributions as a means to respond to suspicions over the authenticity of the Buddhist canon as a w ­ hole (Tokuno 1990, 46–47).9 Regardless, the attribution to Zhu Tanwulan influenced several ­later cata­logs, which all accepted Fei’s claim. T ­ hese include the Notes on the Illustrations to the Transla­ tions of Scriptures Past and Pres­ent (Ch. Gujin yijing tuji 古今譯經圖紀, 645), the ­G reat Tang Rec­ord of Buddhist Scriptures (Da Tang neidian lu 大唐内典錄, 664), 7. For more on the dating, see Masuo 1996, esp. 819–822. For a study and translation, see Lowe 2014c. For its place in the Japa­nese canon, see Lowe 2014b. The following paragraphs summarize t­ hese articles. 8. T 2034.49.70a. I have kept Zhu Tanwulan’s name in Chinese ­because the Sanskrit version of his name is uncertain and contested. Sanskrit candidates include Dharmarājan, Dharmarakṣa, and Dharmaratna. For an overview, see Van Put 2008. 9. For more on Fei Changfang, his larger proj­ect, and historical context, see Storch 2016.

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and the Cata­log of Scriptures, Authorized by the ­G reat Zhou (Da Zhou kanding zhongjing mulu 大周刊定衆經目錄, 695).10 But the most authoritative cata­log to be produced in medieval China, the Kaiyuan Cata­log (730) by Zhisheng 智昇(669–740), reintroduced skepticism over the origins of the text. As we have seen, the Kaiyuan Cata­log was first imported to Japan by Genbō and played a key role in shaping Japa­nese canons, though the Office of Sutra Transcription did not always adhere to its judgments. The Kaiyuan Cata­log placed the Scripture on Saving and Pro­ tecting Body and Life in a section entitled “Rec­ord of Dubious [Texts] to Be Further Scrutinized” (Ch. Yihuo zai xiang lu 疑惑再詳録). Zhisheng advocated caution regarding ­t hese texts, suggesting that if their authenticity cannot be determined, t­ here was no choice but to allow learned ones in l­ ater generations to decide.11 Although he was willing to admit that ­future scholars may determine the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life to be au­ then­tic, he was not convinced enough to include it within his list of canonical works. He was explicit about this, recording the Scripture on Saving and Pro­ tecting Body and Life in a list of titles to be excluded from entering the canon (Ch. bu ru zang 不入藏). In theory, banishment from an official canon should have functioned as a virtual death sentence for the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life, but since canon formation on the ground often strayed from versions proposed in Chinese cata­logs, the text continued to circulate in China and Japan for the next few centuries and in ­Korea through the early modern period. In fact, Shōsōin documents indicate that it was incorporated into some early Japa­nese canons, including the 5/1 canon discussed in chapter four. This inclusion may have stemmed from Genbō’s influence as he brought a copy of the text back to Japan and may have promoted it at court.12 At the same time, other Shōsōin documents suggested that it should be removed from the canon. Officials at the scriptorium ­were clearly aware of its dubious status and unsure ­whether to canonize it.13 The contents of the text can roughly be divided into three parts.14 In the first section, the Buddha, preaching on his deathbed, notes that a­ fter his passing, in a period known as the evil age of the five corruptions (Ch. wuzhuo eshi 五濁惡世), demons and sorcerers ­w ill torment sentient beings and try to steal their vitality.15 He promises that ­those who propagate this scripture ­w ill be protected from t­ hese evils. They w ­ ill also be spared from disasters such as floods and fires. This section ends with the Buddha providing the names of the seven buddhas of the past and the six spirits (Nanatsudera, lines 10. See Gujin yijing tuji, T 2151.55.356b; Da Tang neidian lu, T 2149.55.245c; Da Zhou kanding zhongjing mulu, T 2153.55.411c. 11. T 2154.55.671b–­c; for an analy­sis, see Tokuno 1990, 54. 12. For the document connecting Genbō to the text, see DNK 7:89 (ZZS 16:8). 13. For example, see DNK 23:128 (ZZS 12:11) and for a discussion of this document, see Lowe 2014b, 242–243. 14. In dividing the text into three parts, I follow Suwa 1996 and Masuo 1996, 819–820. 15. I have followed Luis Gomez (1996, 292) in rendering this term “five corruptions.”

Haunted by Demons, Watched by Kings 177

1–34; T 2865.85.1325a–­b).16 He advocates the recitation of t­ hese names as a means to protect oneself from illness and “evil vapors” (Ch. eqi 惡氣) (Nana­ tsudera, line 33). In the second section, vari­ous divine beings pledge their protection to ­those who uphold the scripture (Nanatsudera, lines 35–74; T 2865.85.​ 1325b–­c). First, the bodhisattva Mañjuśrī promises to lead a group of twenty-­ five bodhisattvas to guard against attacks from apparitions. Mañjuśrī is followed by the four heavenly kings, who vow that they and their entourage ­w ill protect ­t hose devoted to the scripture wherever they may be. We ­w ill see that ­t hese kings ­were central to the cultic world of mid-­eighth-­century Japan. Fi­nally, five of the eight kinds of beings (Ch. ba bu zhong 八部衆), who serve as protectors of the dharma in Mahāyāna texts, promise that they and their followers ­w ill fly in the sky above ­t hose who promulgate the scripture and protect them from demons, fires, floods, bandits, and ­legal punishment. In the final section, the Buddha describes the power of the scripture and again urges p ­ eople to propagate it (Nanatsudera, lines 75–103; T 2865.85.1325c–1326a). This type of encouragement is a common feature of Buddhist texts, but the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life adds a new twist. The Buddha explic­itly states that it is best to use fine paper and ink (Ch. hao zhi hao mo 好紙好墨) and to take care to avoid even the smallest ­mistakes (Nanatsudera, lines 84–86; T 2865.85.1326a). This concern with the quality of the paper is unusual in the sutra lit­er­a­ture, and we ­will return to it in a moment.17 The Buddha then instructs his disciple Ānanda to be sure that all sentient beings learn of this scripture, and Ānanda pledges to do so. The scripture concludes with verses summarizing the teachings of the text. Altogether, the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life depicts a series of prob­lems that sentient beings w ­ ill confront in an evil age following the passing of the Buddha. At the same time, it promises protection to the pious and encourages individuals to propagate the scripture. Scriptorium documents and the broader historical rec­ord reveal that it was at a particularly dark time in 748 when Kōmyōshi deci­ded to transcribe the text. To piece together this puzzle, it is now necessary to turn to the scriptorium documents in detail to identify the patron and precise timing of the proj­ect.

The 748 Proj­ect to Transcribe the Scripture I have found seventeen documents related to the proj­ect to copy the Scrip­ ture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life in 748 (see t­able 2). This paper trail makes it pos­si­ble to identify the patron, explore connections to other 16. This reference to the six spirits may reflect an idea that originated in China rather than India. For an analy­sis of this concept and other Dunhuang manuscripts that cite ­t hese beings, see Lowe 2014c, 10–15. 17. References to fine paper in Buddhist sutras are extremely limited and are one clue for the Chinese origins of this text. See Lowe 2014c, 15–18.

178 Microhistories

Table 2 Documents related to the 748 transcription of the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life Title of document

Dates

Citation

1. Ledger for Receipt of Paper for Interval Proj­ects (kanshi nōchō 間紙納帳)

2/746–3/749

DNK 9:64–69, 450–451, 12:222– 223, and 9:452–453 (all ZZS 37:2); 3:484 (SS 1:6:2 verso), 11:544 (ZZS 37:9:10), 3:484–485 (SS 1:6:1 verso), 10:267–271 (ZZS 37:4:1:1–3)

2. Ledger for Issuing Paper for Interval Proj­ects (kanshi jūchō 間紙充帳)

5/745–2/755

DNK 8:560–564 (SS 20:2 verso), 8:573–575 (SS 25:4 verso), 24:352–353 (ZSBS 46:5 verso), 24:353 (ZZS 37:9:9), 9:332–337 (SS 21:2 verso, 21:1 verso, 27:6 verso, 4:1 verso), 2:718–719 (SS 4:6 verso), 24:419–421 (SS 4:4 verso and 1:10 verso), 3:32–34 (ZS 7:5 verso), 3:104–105 (SS 18:3 verso), 10:554–555 (ZZS 34:6:1:1–2), 10:651–652 (SS 42:2 verso), 10:556–588 (ZZS 34:6:2)

3. Self-­reports for Interval Transcription (kansha shujitsu 間写手実)

7/748

DNK 24:517 (SS 12:4 verso), 10:312–313 (ZZS 23:4:29:1)

4. Ledger for Proofreading Interval Sutras (kangyō kōchō 間経校帳)?

9intercalary /746–8/748

DNK 9:279–280, 636–638, 10: 439–440 (ZZS 26:10:1:1)

5. Ledger of Proofreading for Interval Proofreading (kangō kōchō 間校校帳)

?/748?–6/755

DNK 11:16–39 (ZZS 26:7)

6. Ledger of Inspection and Use of Paper for Interval Proj­ects (kanshi kentei narabi ni bin’yō chō 間 紙撿定并便用帳)

10/745–6/752

DNK 9:367–380 (ZZS 28:7, SS 42:1:3–1 verso), 3:485–486 (SS 42:3 verso), 11:364–366 (ZZS 37:4:2:1), 11:156–169 (ZZS 37:4:2–3)

Haunted by Demons, Watched by Kings 179

Table 2 (Continued) Title of document

Dates

Citation

7–16. Vari­ous requests for pay

3/749 (or earlier)–2/751

7) DNK 10:588–592 (ZZS 41:5, sheets 1–3), 8) 10:612–614 (ZZS 6:1:20 verso), 9) 10:592–597 (ZZS 41:5, sheets 4–5), 10) 10:609–612 (ZZS 41:5 verso, sheets 13–11), 11) 3:471–475 (ZSBS 15:2), 12) 10:602–604 (ZZS 41:5 verso, sheets 9–7), 13) 10:597–601 (ZZS 41:5, sheets 6–8), 14) 10:604–609 (ZZS 41:5, sheets 9–13), 15) 3:478–483 (ZSBS 14), 16) 11:477–482 (ZZS 13:4 verso, sheets 3–1)

17. Memo related to scribal production for Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life

7(?)/748

DNK 24:345–346 (ZZS 26:6) (in ­middle of proofreading ledger for Latter Transcribed Canon)

texts copied contemporaneously, and provide a precise po­liti­cal context for analyzing the significance of this proj­ect. The earliest mention of this proj­ect appears in a scroll marked Ledger for Receipt of Paper for Interval Proj­ects, which rec­ords paper sent to the scriptorium during the years 746–749. The scroll was cut into several pieces ­a fter the Shōsōin documents ­were discovered in the nineteenth ­century, and the section that rec­ords the paper related to the 748 proj­ect appears ­toward the end of the original manuscript (DNK 10:268–269 [ZZS 37:41–2]). According to this document, the scriptorium received 89 sheets of colored paper along with 10 cover sheets of “pine-­dyed paper” on 6/26/748 for the transcription of 100 scrolls of the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life (each copy was one scroll in length).18 On 7/2, more paper arrived, including 370 sheets of hemp paper and 40 sheets of standard yellow paper for transcription, as well as 45 additional sheets of paper for the covers. From other documents, we know that the yellow paper and 45 cover sheets came from leftover materials from Shōmu’s Initially Transcribed Canon proj­ect, which had just been completed a few months earlier. The remain-

18. “Pine-­dyed paper” only appears in this document. It was likely a rare form of paper made with a pine cone–­based dye.

180 Microhistories

Table 3 Paper received at the scriptorium for transcription of the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life Type of  paper

Date received

Sheets received

Colored

6/26

89

Pine- ­dyed

6/26

10

Hemp

7/2

370

Yellow

7/2

40

Yellow (?)

7/2

45

 Stated purpose

Comments

Cover Total of 469 sheets from Queen Consort’s Palace Agency Cover

Total of 85 sheets from Initially Transcribed Canon proj­ect

ing 469 sheets composed of hemp paper, colored paper, and pine-­dyed paper all came from the Queen Consort’s Palace Agency (see ­table 3).19 The fact that Kōmyōshi donated much of the paper, including all of the relatively uncommon and expensive pine-­dyed, colored, and hemp sheets, suggests that she was the primary sponsor. The presence of leftover paper from Shōmu’s canon proj­ect does not necessarily imply his involvement, as extra paper from large proj­ects was often borrowed freely at the scriptorium when available. The paper from Kōmyōshi, on the other hand, was sent directly for use in this par­tic­u­lar proj­ect. She likely chose t­hese special materials ­because the scripture itself urges potential patrons to transcribe the text on fine paper. ­Here, the content informed the material practices. Moreover, the use of expensive materials implies that Kōmyōshi viewed it as an undertaking worthy of valuable resources. Between the donated paper and the leftover materials, the scriptorium officials had sufficient supplies to transcribe one hundred copies of the text. The sutra was copied on a single scroll composed of five sheets of paper and required an additional half sheet per scroll for the cover. Since fifty-­ five sheets w ­ ere supplied for covers, t­ here would have been five cover sheets left over. In addition, 499 sheets of paper ­were intended for transcription—­ this would have been one short, but it seems pos­si­ble that one of the five extra cover sheets could have been used for copying.20 19. The origins of the other sheets of paper are made more explicit in DNK 9:376–378 (SS 42:1:3–2 verso), which rec­ords that eighty-­six sheets came from the Initially Transcribed Canon and the other sheets ­were all from the Queen Consort’s Palace Agency. This document was originally part of a larger scroll of final reports that rec­ords how paper was used. The relevant section of the report dates to 7/16/748. 20. It is unclear why eighty-­nine sheets of colored paper w ­ ere donated; since each scroll contained five sheets, we would expect a number evenly divisible by five if the plan was to have

Haunted by Demons, Watched by Kings 181

Table 4 Timeline for copying the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life Source (document no. from ­t able 2)

Date

Event

6/26/748

Colored paper and pine-­dyed paper received

1, 6

6/27/748

Order issued by Saeki no Imaemishi

1, 7–16

6/27/748

Paper distributed to scribes

7/2/748

Hemp paper and yellow paper received

Through 7/14/748

Transcription

3, 17

Through 7/16/748

Proofreading

3, 4

7/16/748

Final report

3/749–2/8/751

Payment of employees

2 1, 6

6 7–16

Shōsōin documents also allow us to precisely date the start of the proj­ ect and trace the timeline for its transcription (see t­ able 4). Although the first shipment of paper was received on 6/26, the order to begin copying was not issued ­until a day ­later on 6/27/748, a date that ­w ill be significant when viewed in comparison to other sutra-­copying proj­ects. Saeki no Imaemishi, an administrator at the Tōdaiji Construction Agency, sent the order. The chain of command went through the agency—­t hat is, the initial order would have been issued from the royal patron to the construction agency and then forwarded to the scriptorium, a subsidiary of the construction agency. The fact that paper had already been received prior to the order being issued implies that Kōmyōshi had begun planning the proj­ect at an earlier date. When the scriptorium received the first shipment of paper, the sheets w ­ ere immediately given to Noto no Oshihito 能登忍人 (n.d.), an assembler who was one of the mainstays at the scriptorium for much of its history. He transformed the sheets into scrolls. Scribes began copying soon a­ fter the completion of this initial assembly. A document known as the Ledger for Issuing Paper for Interval Proj­ ects (kanshi jūchō 間紙充帳) rec­ords the distribution of paper to scribes and helps clarify the proj­ect’s timeline. This document is now in fragments, but the pieces originally comprised a long scroll used to rec­ord the allotment of paper for transcriptions completed between 745 and 755. From this and some scrolls composed exclusively of colored paper. This discrepancy may also be related to the fact that a total of 499 sheets ­were supplied even though the proj­ect required five hundred.

182 Microhistories

other documents, we know that fourteen scribes worked on this proj­ect.21 The case of Kaya no Tanushi 賀陽田主 (n.d.) reveals the speed at which copying activities commenced. Rec­ords indicate that Tanushi had already copied one hundred sheets by 7/13/748. Since it took the average sutra copyist around twelve days to transcribe this number of sheets, Tanushi prob­ably started copying around the beginning of the month, just a­ fter the order to initiate the proj­ect and as soon as the paper had been assembled into scrolls. The paper, therefore, likely reached the scribes’ hands within a few days of its arriving at the scriptorium. A comparison with the transcription of one hundred copies of Yijing’s translation of the Golden Light Sutra, which we w ­ ill turn to in the next section, shows that the administrators prioritized the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life.22 Both proj­ects w ­ ere ordered on 6/27/748, but the clerks directed the laborers to complete the Scripture on Saving and Protect­ ing Body and Life before turning to the Golden Light Sutra. This is apparent from an analy­sis of documents recording the activities of scribes who worked on both proj­ects. For example, Yamabe no Morokimi 山邊諸公 (n.d.) copied fifty-­f ive sheets of the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life at the beginning of the seventh month. He did not receive exemplars for the Golden Light Sutra ­until the m ­ iddle of the month even though the transcription of this text had already been ordered. Similarly, Wanibe no Shima­ mori 丸部嶋守 (n.d.) did not receive exemplars for the Golden Light Sutra between 7/2 and 7/14 while he was transcribing the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life. Only ­after completing work on the first proj­ect did he turn to the Golden Light Sutra. This evidence suggests that copying the Scrip­ ture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life was the scriptorium’s first priority. It is likely that one scroll for the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life proj­ect was copied outside the Office of Sutra Transcription. Rec­ ords show that scribes received a total of 495 sheets of paper. This would have been five sheets, or one scroll, short of the total five hundred sheets required for the proj­ect. It is highly unlikely that this discrepancy arose from a clerical error. The total of 495 sheets listed in the Ledger for Issuing Paper for Interval Proj­ects was written by an administrator named Osada no Minushi 他田水主 and corresponds to other sources including the sum total of sheets recorded in the self-­reports (shujitsu 手実) submitted by scribes.23 The fact that ­t hese dif­fer­ent sources composed by dif­fer­ 21. The relevant section from the above ledger is DNK 3:104–105 (SS 18:3 verso). 22. ­Here, I refer to Yijing’s ten-­scroll translation. The full title of this text is Jin guang­ ming zuisheng wang jing 金光明最勝王經 (T no. 665). This was the most impor­t ant translation of the sutra in the Nara period and beyond. For the reception of this text in Japan, see Sango 2015, esp. 1–23. 23. See DNK 24:517 (SS 12:4 verso) and 10:312–313 (ZZS 23:4:29:1). ­T hese two pieces ­were originally joined together into a single document. It is dif­fer­ent from most self-­reports in that multiple names appear on each sheet in dif­fer­ent hands. Usually, a single scribe would write his own slip, and an administrator would join them together. A separate memo appended to the ­middle of a dif­fer­ent document about copying a canon rec­ords total sheets

Haunted by Demons, Watched by Kings 183

ent individuals agree corroborates the idea that the scribes ­really did copy only 495 sheets. But what happened to the final five sheets that would have composed the hundredth scroll pledged by Kōmyōshi? ­Were they simply forgotten? This does not seem to have been the case: the assembling and proofreading reports show that all five hundred sheets w ­ ere assembled and corrected at the scriptorium.24 So it is likely that one scroll was copied elsewhere and then returned for proofreading and final assembly. I suspect that Kōmyōshi herself or possibly Princess Abe, who we w ­ ill see was prob­ably the beneficiary of this proj­ect, may have transcribed the final scroll, but this conclusion is speculative. By 7/16, all the work had been finished; the proofreaders had submitted their final reports, and Osada no Minushi had completed a write-up as part of his Ledger of Inspection and Use of Paper for Interval Proj­ects.25 All that remained was payment for the workers.26 Altogether, the proj­ect required the l­abor of around twenty ­people including scribes, proofreaders, assemblers, and clerks, not to mention significant material support from Kōmyōshi, and took about three weeks to complete from the time paper first arrived at the scriptorium. ­These facts alone suggest the proj­ect’s significance; for additional insight into the reasons for Kōmyōshi’s decision transcribed for the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life proj­ect when it was about halfway complete. See DNK 24:345–346 (ZZS 26:6). From the date of the main text, which predates our proj­ect by a few months, it seems likely that a clerk was referring to this ledger for another purpose and needed to jot down a memo. The relevant section was labeled as “non-­canon” (issai gai 一切外), which was likely written as a reminder that the memo was distinct from the other parts of the document. 24. The proofreading report lists a total of one thousand sheets in two hundred scrolls. Since proofreading was performed twice on each scroll, the proj­ect totaled five hundred sheets in one hundred scrolls. For the proofreading, see DNK 10:313 (ZZS 23:4), as well as 9:638 (ZZS 26:10:1:1) and 11:17 (ZZS 26:7). 25. The Ledger of Inspection and Use of Paper for Interval Proj­ects was originally a lengthy scroll that was cut apart in the modern period. The relevant section appears in DNK 9:377–378 (SS 42:1:2 verso). Earlier in the same ledger, a report for this proj­ect also appears, but it is circled in ink, which indicates deletion. 26. The final documents relate to pay requests. ­T hese w ­ ere issued multiple times over a period of several years. Unpacking t­hese payment requests would require an extended discussion that would take us far afield. ­Here, I ­w ill just state my conclusions. ­T here appear to be four dif­fer­ent sets with dif­fer­ent groups of individual proj­ects listed in each set (the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life appears in each set). Corrections w ­ ere made in red and black between sets marking the changes in the texts listed and number of scrolls copied between each version. The first set contains DNK 10:588–592 (ZZS 41:5, sheets 1–3) and 10:612–614 (ZZS 6:1:20 verso). The second set consists of DNK 10:592–597 (ZZS 41:5, sheets 4–5) and 10:609–612 (ZZS 41:5 verso, sheets 13–11). The third set is composed of DNK 3:471–475 (ZSBS 15:2) and 10:602–604 (ZZS 41:5 verso, sheets 9–7). For each of t­ hese sets, one document was preserved and the other was l­ater reused on the other side. The final set contains four documents: DNK 10:597–601 (ZZS 41:5, sheets 6–8), 10:604–609 (ZZS 41:5, sheets 9–13), 3:478–483 (ZSBS 14), and 11:477–482 (ZZS 13:4 verso, sheets 3–1). For this set, only one document was reused (DNK 11:477–482) and one appears to have been an official copy (utsushi 寫) of the final version that was sent out (DNK 10:604–609).

184 Microhistories

to transcribe one hundred copies of this text at this time, let us turn to an analy­sis of other proj­ects at the scriptorium in 748.

The Context at the Scriptorium In 748, many of the canon-­copying proj­ects described in chapter four ­were winding down.27 The 5/1 canon had reached a temporary conclusion early in the year,28 and the transcription of the two canons vowed by Shōmu ­were also completed in the first half of the year (Haruna 1995; Yamashita 1999c, 439–447). The period when the interval proj­ect of copying the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life took place followed the completion of ­these large canon-­copying proj­ects that had consumed so much of the ­human and material resources of the scriptorium up to that point. In fact, most of 748 was taken up with interval proj­ects in which a sutra was transcribed, often in multiple copies, at the request of a patron, usually Kōmyōshi or occasionally a monk close to the throne. The interval proj­ects from 748 are listed in t­ able 5. Overall, t­ hese proj­ects divide into three periods: t­ hose predating the death of Empress Genshō on 4/21/748, ­those from the ­middle of 748 (when the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life was copied), and t­ hose from the final months of 748 a­ fter the resumption of a proj­ect to transcribe one thousand copies of the Lotus Sutra. ­Those from the first period served a variety of purposes. The earliest proj­ect from 748 that we have evidence of is the transcription of twenty copies of the Flower Garland Sutra sponsored by the monk Rōben, which had begun the previous year. Watanabe Akihiro has studied this proj­ect in depth and argued that it was likely intended as a prayer for the safe casting of the ­Great Buddha at Tōdaiji.29 This was followed by the transcription of the newer eighty-­scroll translation of the same text. ­There ­were also small proj­ects to copy the Daoxuan’s six-­scroll commentary on the Four Part Vinaya and Wŏnch’ŭk’s 圓測 (613–696) commentary on the Treatise of Establishing Consciousness Only (Ch. Cheng weishi lun 成唯識論). The next two large proj­ects w ­ ere both aimed at healing the retired empress Genshō, who was battling a serious illness in the early months of 748. One aimed to transcribe an impressive one thousand copies of the Lotus Sutra on her behalf. The other involved 196 copies of the Scripture on the Medicine Master.30 When Genshō died on 4/21, the still incomplete Lotus and Flower Garland Sutra proj­ects w ­ ere both suspended. 27. The following overview of activities in 748 has benefited from Nojiri Tadashi’s 2002 cata­log of documents from this year. Much of the following section is supplemented with my own research into documents not appearing in Nojiri’s study. 28. The “break” was actually intended to mark the completion of the proj­ect, but copying resumed a few years ­later as more texts ­were added to the canon. See Yamashita 1999c, 416–432. 29. For a detailed study of this proj­ect, see Watanabe Akihiro 1998. 30. The proj­ect to transcribe one thousand copies of the Lotus Sutra has been examined exhaustively by Sakaehara 2005b and 2009. For a brief overview of the Scripture on the Medicine Master proj­ect, see Nojiri 2002, 50.

Haunted by Demons, Watched by Kings 185

­Table  5  Interval proj­ects transcribed in 748 Sutra copied

Dates

Comments

Sixty-­Scroll Flower Garland Sutra (20 copies)

8/747–5/748

Prayer for successful casting of ­Great Buddha. Temporarily suspended soon ­a fter Genshō’s death on 4/21/748; resumed four years ­later.

Eighty-­Scroll Flower Garland Sutra

1/748

Lotus Sutra (1,000 copies)

1/748–4/748

Daoxuan’s six-­scroll commentary on the Four-­Part Vinaya

1–2/748

Wŏnch’ŭk’s commentary on the Treatise of Establish­ ing Consciousness Only

2–3/748

Scripture on the Medicine Master (196 copies)

2/748–4/748

Intended to heal Empress Genshō.

Golden Light Sutra (100 copies)

6/748–8/748

On behalf of Princess Abe; ordered by Saeki no Imaemishi.

Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life (100 copies)

6–7/748

Ordered by Saeki no Imaemishi.

Scripture on Brahma’s Spirit Tablets (3 copies)

8/748

Ordered by Saeki no Imaemishi.

Commentaries on the Flower Garland Sutra

9/748

In preparation for lectures on Flower Garland Sutra.

Scripture on the Guiding Princi­ple

10/748

Ordered by Rōben.

Four scriptures related to merit-­making practices (2 copies each)a

10/748–11/748

Ordered by Rōben.

Intended to heal Empress Genshō. Temporarily suspended a­ fter her death on 4/21/748; resumed 9/748.

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­Table  5 (Continued) Sutra copied

Dates

Comments

Scripture on the Eleven-­faced [Bodhisattva] (11 copies)

11/748

Ordered by Rōben.

Commentary on the Treatise on Logic

11/748

Ordered by nun.

Daily Heart Sutra b

?

a

Namely, the Scripture on the Merits of Rightward Circumambulation of a Stupa of the Buddha (Ch. Yourao fota gongde jing 右遶佛塔功德經), Scripture on the Merits of Washing Images (Ch. Yu xiang gongde jing 浴像功徳經), Scripture on the Bath­house (Ch. Wenshi jing 温室經), and Scripture on the Odana Bowl (Ch. Yulan pen jing 盂蘭盆經). For recent scholarship that provocatively reconstructs yulan as odana or boiled rice, a reading I have ­adopted, see Karashima 2013. b Copies of the Heart Sutra ­were frequently transcribed for ­every day of the year in the Nara period, usually on behalf of members of the royal ­family. Most of the sources from 748 actually rec­ord preparations for the following year’s daily Heart Sutra proj­ect. But ­ there is one document from 751 that mentions leftover paper from a 748 proj­ect; see DNK 11:161 (ZZS 37:4).

Genshō’s death in fact led to the cessation of all sutra-copying activities at the scriptorium for more than two months. The first proj­ects to commence ­a fter her passing ­were devoted to the Scripture on Saving and Protect­ ing Body and Life and the Golden Light Sutra.31 A third proj­ect to copy the Scripture on Brahma’s Spirit Tablets, which we ­w ill examine below, began soon ­a fter. This m ­ iddle period of 748 is clearly demarcated from the preceding and ­later ones. The death of Genshō had resulted in the aforementioned suspension of sutra-­copying activities at the scriptorium, and the resumption of proj­ects begun prior to Genshō’s passing only occurred ­a fter the three ­middle-­period proj­ects ­were completed. ­These three proj­ects share a ­great deal in common and are best viewed as complementary. The proj­ects to copy the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life and the Golden Light Sutra ­were for one hundred copies of each, a number not replicated in any other transcription proj­ects from 748. Moreover, Kōmyōshi was the sponsor of both proj­ects. By themselves, ­these facts could be considered coincidental, but the suggestion that the two proj­ ects w ­ ere linked is supported by temporal data. Both proj­ects w ­ ere initiated on the exact same day, 6/27/748, with an order by Saeki no Imaemishi (DNK 11:171 [ZZS 16:1]), and both marked the resumption of sutra-­copying activities at the scriptorium ­a fter the two-­month hiatus following Genshō’s death. ­There is reason to think that preparation for both proj­ects had begun slightly before the official 6/27 start date, as paper for the Golden Light 31. This Golden Light Sutra proj­ect has been studied by Haruna Hiroaki (1993) in detail. I have drawn heavi­ly upon his findings in tracing documents related to this proj­ect.

Haunted by Demons, Watched by Kings 187

Sutra proj­ect was first delivered at the beginning of the sixth month (DNK 3:193–194 [SS 16:4 verso]) and materials for the Scripture on Saving and Pro­ tecting Body and Life arrived just prior to Imaemishi’s order on 6/27. Since materials had already been sent, Imaemishi, or perhaps the patron, likely chose this start date so that both proj­ects would begin si­mul­ta­neously. Transcription for the two proj­ects began soon ­after the order was issued, although scribal resources w ­ ere prioritized t­ oward completing the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life first, as described above (DNK 10:296–304 [ZZS 10:16]; 24:488–507 [SS 12:2–3 verso]). This scripture was in fact finished first, with proofreading of the text wrapped up by the ­middle of the seventh month. The transcription of the Golden Light Sutra, a substantially longer text, continued into the eighth month, when proofreading was completed. Assemblers then worked on the scrolls through the beginning of the tenth month.32 Although both proj­ects called for one hundred copies, the Golden Light Sutra took more time to complete. The timing of t­hese proj­ects and the allocation of resources highlight their importance. As the first proj­ects undertaken at the Office of Sutra Transcription ­after the retired empress Genshō’s death, they needed to be completed before the thousand-­scroll Lotus Sutra, which had begun as a proj­ect to heal Genshō, could be resumed as a memorial proj­ect for the deceased empress. Accordingly, the scriptorium gradually increased the number of scribes working on the Golden Light Sutra from the thirty who had started the proj­ect to fifty-­eight in an effort to quickly complete it (Haruna 1993, 20–25). This prioritization of the Golden Light Sutra over the proj­ects that had been suspended earlier in the year suggests that it was of supreme importance, even surpassing the memorial transcription for Genshō. What prompted this urgency? Only by knowing the intended beneficiary of t­hese efforts can we ascertain why they received priority. A short but crucial entry in a Shōsōin document notes that one hundred copies of the Golden Light Sutra ­were transcribed “on behalf of the spring palace” (DNK 11:171 [ZZS 16:1]). The spring palace is a reference to Crown Princess Abe, the ­d aughter of Shōmu and Kōmyōshi, who would ascend the throne the following year. Princess Abe had a particularly close connection to the Golden Light Sutra. She sponsored copies of it from as early as 735 and continued to rely on it a­ fter her coronation (Katsuura 2014, 52–53). According to Haruna Hiroaki (1993, 34–35), Kōmyōshi viewed the transcription of the Golden Light Sutra as a means to solidify Princess Abe’s position at a time when Shōmu was contemplating abdication, a possibility put into play by Genshō’s death, as ­w ill be argued below. ­There is no explicit rec­ord of the intended beneficiary of the Scripture on Saving and Pro­ tecting Body and Life proj­ect. This is typical of the histories that can be reconstructed from Shōsōin documents; the fact that we have this information for the Golden Light Sutra is an uncommon boon. But since the Golden Light Sutra and the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life proj­ects started on 32. For the timing, see Haruna 1993, 30–37.

188 Microhistories

the same day, w ­ ere sponsored by the same person, called for the same number of copies, and, as we ­w ill see, shared doctrinal and narrative concerns, it seems reasonable to conclude that both ­were intended for Crown Princess Abe. During the time ­these proj­ects w ­ ere underway, only one other proj­ect was undertaken at the scriptorium: a transcription of the Scripture on Brah­ ma’s Spirit Tablets. This scripture, originally a part of the Consecration Sutra, is a Buddhist divination text written in one hundred rhyming stanzas. To divine an individual’s fate, the prophetic stanzas would be randomized in a bag before a se­lection was made (Strickmann 2005, 57–75). This order is the only known instance when this text was copied on its own at the Office of Sutra Transcription.33 Much like the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life, which was only transcribed in large numbers in 748, this divination text was an unusual choice for a patron to have selected for transcription. Documents related to the transcription show that two copies w ­ ere ordered by Saeki no Imaemishi on 8/2/748 (DNK 10:269 [ZZS 37:4]). It is pos­ si­ble that the proj­ect may have been connected to a nun who was affiliated with Kōmyōshi, although the evidence is incomplete.34 ­A fter the proj­ect was ordered, clerks immediately distributed the paper to two scribes, who each transcribed one copy of the sutra. Since the text required ten sheets of paper, it would have taken each copyist one or two days to transcribe his scroll. All of the documents related to copying and proofreading rec­ord a date of 8/2/748, so the entire proj­ect may have been completed at once (DNK 3:105 [SS 18:3 verso]; 9:638 [ZZS 26:10]). To summarize, ­these rec­ords show that the text was transcribed at the beginning of the eighth month, shortly ­a fter transcription of the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life concluded but before the Golden Light proj­ect was completed. Although the link between this divination text and the two longer proj­ects is less clear than the connection between them, ­t here is still reason to think that the 33. The Consecration Sutra as a w ­ hole was copied in the Nara period, but this is the only recorded instance when this individual section received special attention. Evidence of the Scripture on Brahma’s Spirit Tablets circulating in­de­pen­dently can be found in Dunhuang and Nara-­period manuscripts. For a Dunhuang manuscript, see S 1322 (early seventh c­ entury). For a citation of an early Japa­nese manuscript, see NI, 622. The version from the Consecration Sutra can be found in T 1331.21.523c–528c. For a useful English-­language overview of the Consecration Sutra, see Strickmann 1990. 34. The nun is only listed as “Amagimi” or “Nikō” 尼公, which is likely a generic term of re­spect. She first appears in the third series of payment requests outlined above; DNK 3:471–475 (ZSBS 15:2). The document was edited substantially. Not all of ­t hese edits are vis­ i­ble in the Dai Nihon komonjo edition, so it is necessary to consult the original photographic reproduction. In light black ink, Saeki no Imaemishi’s name is crossed out and the nun’s name is added beside it. The total number of scrolls is changed from two to three by adding another stroke to the character two (ni ニ) in regular black ink. This document dates to 12/23/750. All of the earlier payment requests list the total number of scrolls as two and the person initiating the proj­ect as Saeki no Imaemishi. The ­later payment requests follow the edits to replace Imaemishi with the nun and two scrolls with three. It is unclear when an additional scroll was added to the proj­ect and ­whether the nun was involved with the initial two scrolls copied in 748.

Haunted by Demons, Watched by Kings 189

Scripture on Brahma’s Spirit Tablets was at least loosely related to them in that it was copied within a month of the start of the other proj­ects at a time when all other activities at the scriptorium had been put on hold. Moreover, it shared thematic concerns with the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life to be assessed below. Since all three proj­ects occurred during a distinct period at the scriptorium, bookended by the suspension and resumption of the thousand-­copy Lotus Sutra proj­ect, I w ­ ill treat them as a set for the remainder of the chapter and read them alongside one another. Before turning to the po­liti­cal context in which ­t hese texts ­were copied, it is necessary to briefly survey the other proj­ects commissioned in the final months of 748 to see if ­there are any pos­si­ble connections to the three texts copied between the sixth and eighth months. To state my conclusion first: ­there are not. In the ninth month, a series of commentaries ­were copied for the purpose of monastic lectures on the Flower Garland Sutra.35 Next, Rōben ordered the transcription of a number of texts in the tenth and eleventh months, including several related to vari­ous merit-­making practices.36 Fi­nally, a nun initiated the transcription of a treatise on logic in the eleventh month.37 ­These texts lack thematic similarities to the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life, they postdate it by several months, and they ­were ordered by dif­fer­ent ­people than the three linked proj­ects, which ­were all initiated by Saeki no Imaemishi, likely on order by Kōmyōshi. Although further research is needed on each individual proj­ect, the evidence available offers no reason to connect them to the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life.

Po­liti­cal Context The impetus for transcribing the three texts alongside one another in the ­middle of 748 on behalf of Princess Abe likely stemmed from tensions under­lying the reign of Emperor Shōmu (r. 724–749). 38 Considering the 35. For the lectures and commentaries, see Miyazaki 2006, 201–239. 36. T ­ hese include eleven scrolls of the Scripture on the Eleven-­faced [Bodhisattva], i.e., Avalokiteśvara; one scroll of the Scripture on the Guiding Princi­ple; and two scrolls each of the texts listed in t­ able 5, note 1. T ­ hese proj­ects warrant further study individually, but many of them are related to specific merit-­making practices and do not appear to have any direct connection to the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life. 37. For the transcription and proofreading, see DNK 9:379 (SS 42:1:1 verso), 10:270 (ZZS 37:4), 10:555 (ZZS 34:6), 11:18 (ZZS 26:7). The most promising connection between this proj­ect and the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life is that it was sponsored by a nun who may have played a role in commissioning the divination text discussed above. This similarity prob­ably has more to do with the fact that the nun was close to Kōmyōshi and thus had access to the scriptorium’s resources than with any doctrinal, cultic, or po­liti­cal connection between the proj­ects to copy the divination text and the treatise on logic. 38. For some recent overviews of Shōmu’s reign, see Tōyama 1999 and 2007, Takinami 2000, Morimoto 2010, and Yoshikawa Shinji 2011. In En­glish, see Piggott 1987, 44–63, and 1997, 236–282, and Naoki 1993, 247–257. I have mostly followed the recent Japa­nese scholarship in constructing a narrative of Shōmu’s life. See table 6 for ruler lineages.

*The name Prince Motoi 基王 is based on ­later sources and likely derives from a misreading; his ­actual name is unknown.

­Table  6  Ruler lineages in the seventh and eighth centuries (adapted from Ooms 2009)

Haunted by Demons, Watched by Kings 191

grandeur of his patronage, ­there is some truth to Joan Piggott’s description of Shōmu’s reign as the zenith of kingship in early Japan, but it is also necessary to recognize that he faced numerous prob­lems throughout his time on the throne. The most pressing concern was that of succession. As we ­w ill see, Shōmu lacked a suitable male heir, a situation that led to ­increased tensions at court culminating in a highly risky move to step down soon a­ fter ­t hese three sutras ­were copied. Disputes over succession w ­ ere nothing new. The seventh ­century had witnessed numerous conflicts and even civil war over the issue. Shōmu’s own ascension to the throne had faced opposition stemming from the fact that his ­mother was not of royal blood. In fact, Shōmu was forced to wait seventeen years before assuming the throne ­a fter the death of the previous emperor, Monmu. The delay was partially caused by Shōmu’s youth (he was six years old at the time of Monmu’s death), but it also took time to garner enough support for the young prince (Piggott 1997, 239–241). Shōmu’s grand­mother Genmei and aunt Genshō ruled in the period between Monmu’s death and Shōmu’s ascension. ­A fter ascending the throne, Shōmu confronted a new challenge with the death of his first-­born son, the crown prince, on 9/13/728 (Shoku Ni­ hongi, SNKBT 13:200–201). The value of this prince to Shōmu and Kōmyōshi and the shock that must have accompanied his passing is underscored by the fact that he had been named crown prince at all. Never before had an infant been formally granted this title, but Shōmu’s son received the rank at the age of thirty-­three days old. ­There are at least two reasons why Shōmu and Kōmyōshi took such an extreme step. The first is related to lineage: Shōmu seems to have desired a Fujiwara heir. His lifetime partner, Kōmyōshi, was of Fujiwara lineage, and Shōmu himself had a Fujiwara m ­ other (Tōyama 1999, 81–83). Second, it is likely that Shōmu intended to prevent disputes over succession by quickly naming a successor. Conflicts over identifying the heir to the throne had plagued the court in the generations preceding Shōmu’s reign. He and his advisers ­were surely cognizant of the civil war that had erupted between Prince Ōama 大海人皇子, who would rule as Tenmu 天武, and Prince Ōtomo 大友皇子(648–672), the defeated heir apparent, as well as the case of Prince Ōtsu 大津皇子 (663–686), who had been accused of treason and executed by a competing faction at court.39 Both of ­these events ­were the result of succession disputes. While less violent, Shōmu’s own ascension had been marked by uncertainty and delays. His eagerness to prevent similar power strug­gles must have influenced his decision to name an heir immediately. In clearly expressing his opinion from the outset, he hoped to consolidate support around a single candidate. Unfortunately, the young prince died before his first birthday.40

39. For English-­language scholarship on ­t hese seventh-­century incidents, see Piggott 1997, 123–131 and 156–157; Duthie 2014, 123–159; and I­ noue with Brown 1993, 216–220. 40. For a useful overview of this period in Japa­nese, see Morimoto 2010, 79–84.

192 Microhistories

In the aftermath of the infant prince’s death, tensions at court between the Fujiwara and anti-­Fujiwara factions escalated. The Fujiwara clan had risen to power in the late seventh and early eighth centuries. Their ascent was largely due to the po­liti­cal acumen of Fujiwara no Fuhito, one of the most prominent statesmen of his age. Fuhito had played marriage politics brilliantly by arranging for two of his d ­ aughters to marry emperors, one of ­these being Kōmyōshi. The increased presence of nonroyals at court, however, upset some aristocrats of direct imperial descent. ­These tensions culminated in the second month of 729, shortly ­a fter the death of the crown prince, when Prince Nagaya was accused of practicing black magic (sadō 左道). It was suspected that Nagaya and his circle had cast curses that led to the death of the infant imperial heir. While most scholars agree that the accusations against Nagaya ­were actually a Fujiwara plot, the false allegations proved convincing to the court, and Nagaya and his f­ amily ­were forced to commit suicide.41 The case of Nagaya points to the stresses of Shōmu’s reign. Living in constant fear of black magic, the sovereign was counseled by advisers who readily spread rumors intended to bring about the demise of their enemies. Although Nagaya’s death temporarily mediated the factional strife that had emerged in the preceding de­cades, his ghost—­literally and figuratively—­ continued to haunt the capital for years to come. The death of Nagaya undoubtedly strengthened the Fujiwara position, but debates over succession continued to rage throughout Shōmu’s reign. ­T hese prob­lems ­were compounded by the birth of a non-­Fujiwara male named Prince Asaka 安積親王 (728–744), the son of Shōmu’s consort Agata no Inukai Hirotoji 県犬養広刀自 (?–762). At this time, Kōmyōshi’s ­daughter, Princess Abe, was the only Fujiwara child of Shōmu. While Prince Asaka would have been an acceptable candidate in terms of his credentials, Shōmu did not name him crown prince as he had done with the infant son of Kōmyōshi. It was perhaps in response to this threat of a non-­Fujiwara candidate that Kōmyōshi received the rank of queen consort on 8/10/729, about six months ­a fter the Nagaya incident (Shoku Nihongi, SNKBT 13:220– 221). According to Takinami Sadako (1991, 18–28; 2000, 137–138), Kōmyōshi’s promotion was intended to prevent Asaka’s ascension; a child of a ­woman with the title of queen consort would have priority as a candidate to assume the throne. This change in title significantly strengthened Kōmyōshi’s position. It was also a daring move, as she was the first ­woman of non­royal birth to be named queen consort. Shōmu’s decision to promote her to a position in which she would produce an heir reveals his preference for a successor of Fujiwara blood born by Kōmyōshi. 41. Not all scholars accept the explanation of a Fujiwara conspiracy. For example, see Tōyama 1999, 90–91. For an overview of the Nagaya incident in En­glish, see Ooms 2009, 237–241. In French, see Gras 2011. For the official account in the Shoku Nihongi, see SNKBT 13:204–207.

Haunted by Demons, Watched by Kings 193

Kōmyōshi, however, never conceived another child. Her ­daughter, Princess Abe, was named crown princess on 1/13/738 (Shoku Nihongi, SNKBT 13:336–337). This was another remarkable step, as she was the first female in Japa­nese history to be named the heir to the throne. It should be noted that her promotion came immediately ­a fter a smallpox epidemic that had decimated the population and killed all of the prominent Fujiwara aristocrats on the Council of State.42 In a climate where the court had just been reminded of the transient nature of life, Princess Abe’s appointment provided a plan in case disaster struck again. Although her promotion was unpre­ce­dented, it is unlikely that she was actually expected to succeed to the throne. Japa­nese scholars have argued that she was originally named crown princess to serve as an intermediary ­until Prince Asaka was ready (he was eleven at the time) or ­until Kōmyōshi could conceive another male child (she was thirty-­eight).43 Of course, from the perspective of Kōmyōshi and the severely weakened Fujiwara clan, such a plan, in serving the purpose of at least temporarily preventing Asaka’s ascension, would have been agreeable to them as well. Although this move seemed to offer a solution to the succession dispute, court politics remained tense in the 740s. First, Shōmu had to strike down a rebellion started in 740 by Fujiwara no Hirotsugu, who had become disgruntled over the growing strength of the non-­Fujiwaras at court.44 ­A fter the rebellion, Shōmu moved capitals three times between 741 and 745. While the reasons for ­these moves are not entirely clear, it is hard to believe that his actions resulted in increased feelings of stability. It was in this uncertain climate that Princess Abe performed a dance in front of Emperor Shōmu and the retired empress Genshō in 743 (Shoku Nihongi 5/5/743; SNKBT 13:418–421). Scholars have claimed that this dance was intended to assert her position as the f­ uture ruler.45 ­W hether it was successful in achieving its intended purpose is unclear, but Abe’s position was strengthened by the sudden death of Prince Asaka the following year (Shoku Nihongi 1/13/744; SNKBT 13:437–438). Scholars debate ­whether Prince Asaka’s death was caused by illness or assassination. ­There is no evidence of the latter, but obviously t­ here was a significant motive for such an action. Regardless, it is undeniable that his death was a boon for Princess Abe’s ­career. Altogether, Shōmu spent nearly five years away from Nara, but he eventually returned to the capital in 745 ­a fter a series of earthquakes and fires caused him to reconsider his decision to relocate.46 From this time, Shōmu 42. For the classic English-­language study of this epidemic, see Farris 1985, 53–69. 43. My reading has been influenced by Takinami 1998, 46–72, and Yoshikawa Shinji 2011, 134–135. Also see Tōyama 1999, 116–117, and 2007, 56–60. 44. For an overview of this rebellion in En­glish, see Farris 1992, 60–69. 45. This dance has received significant attention in past scholarship. In En­glish, see Piggott 2003, 54; Ooms 2009, 121–122; and Como 2009, 80–81; in Japa­nese, see Katsuura 2014, 83–94. 46. For a detailed study of this period away from the Nara capital, see Sakaehara 2014.

194 Microhistories

began battling a series of illnesses that would continue over the next few years. It is easy to imagine that his fragile condition focused the court’s attention on succession. It had become increasingly certain that Princess Abe would succeed her ­father. Kōmyōshi was now forty-­f ive and unlikely to bear any more ­children; Shōmu was battling illnesses that made it difficult for him to effectively rule; and Prince Asaka, Abe’s chief competition for the throne, had died in 744. Although the inevitability of Abe’s eventual coronation would have been obvious to anyone, ­t here was ­little Shōmu could do in the first few years a­ fter returning to Nara. This po­liti­cal paralysis would end, however, with the death of the retired empress Genshō on 4/21/748. Genshō’s death was significant, ­because it opened up the position of retired sovereign for Shōmu, giving him the chance to abdicate the throne in f­ avor of his ­daughter. Indeed, a few months ­later, just before the three sutras we have been concerned with w ­ ere copied, another Fujiwara consort of Shōmu died, further decreasing the possibility of a Fujiwara male heir (Shoku Nihongi 6/4/748; SNKBT 14:58–59). In fact, soon ­after Genshō’s passing, Shōmu deci­ded to fill the now vacant role of retired sovereign.47 He resigned from his kingly responsibilities and became a monk, the first male ruler of Japan ever to abdicate (Yoshikawa Shinji 2011, 200). An edict from two de­cades ­later reports that Genshō saw Abe as the successor to Shōmu and spent most of her last ­w ill and testament cautioning against potential usurpers, though it seems at least pos­si­ble that this was a ­later forgery.48 In 749, Princess Abe ascended the throne as Empress Kōken in a climate filled with uncertainty and potential threats (Shoku Nihongi 7/2/749; SNKBT 14:82–87). The three texts at the heart of this chapter ­were copied just a­ fter the death of Empress Genshō and before Princess Abe’s ascension. The death of the retired empress is a key event in this narrative as it provided Shōmu with the opportunity to pass the torch to his ­daughter, Princess Abe. Even if Shōmu had not yet made the decision to abdicate at the time when the three texts w ­ ere being copied, he would have surely been considering it. He had few other choices: he was in weak health, and his d ­ aughter’s ascension seemed only a m ­ atter of time. As we have seen, the proj­ects to transcribe one hundred copies of the Golden Light Sutra and the Scripture on Sav­ ing and Protecting Body and Life ­were the first to be initiated ­a fter Genshō’s death, and they took pre­ce­dence over all other transcription activities at the scriptorium. Moreover, one Shōsōin document indicates that the Golden Light Sutra, which was started on the same day as the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life, was commissioned on behalf of Crown Princess Abe. 47. It should be noted that the position of retired sovereign in the Nara period lacked the po­liti­cal power and institutional strength associated with the title in the Insei period. For the classic study in En­glish, see Hurst 1976. 48. Shoku Nihongi 10/1/769; SNKBT 15:256–263. For a helpful translation, see Ross Bender 2015a, 108–112.

Haunted by Demons, Watched by Kings 195

In other words, while Shōmu pondered the possibility of abdication, his wife sent supplies to Tōdaiji for the transcription of ­t hese linked proj­ects. Soon ­after, they used the Scripture on Brahma’s Spirit Tablets to perform divinations. When we consider the po­liti­cal environment of 748, we can begin to understand why Kōmyōshi prioritized the transcription of the Scripture on Sav­ ing and Protecting Body and Life, a relatively obscure text related to protection from demonic threats, at this time. Princess Abe would need all the help she could get.

Evil Times The discussion so far has focused on the context of activities at the scriptorium and the politics at court in the period leading up to the death of Empress Genshō, a moment that marked the beginning of the three sutra proj­ects from the m ­ iddle of 748 and the time when Shōmu began to contemplate abdication. In the remainder of the chapter, we w ­ ill turn to thematic similarities in the three sutras to assess the ways ­t hese texts reflected and ­shaped ideas about kingship and cosmos in early Japan. In short, the following sections ­w ill interpret ­these three texts with regard to one another and in relation to the precise moment in which they ­were copied. The Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life describes a time in the ­future a­ fter the Buddha’s death called the evil age of the five corruptions (Nanatsudera, line 4; T 2865.85.1325a). This is the starting point of the sutra and a key aspect of its narrative structure, which details the turmoil the world w ­ ill face ­a fter the Buddha’s passing. Buddhist texts define the five corruptions as t­ hose of (1) lifespan (Skt. āyuḥ-­kaṣāya; Ch. ming zhuo 命濁), (2) sentient beings (sattva-­kaṣāya; zhongsheng zhuo 衆生濁), (3) afflictions (kleśa-­kaṣāya; fannao zhuo 煩惱濁 or huo zhuo 惑濁), (4) views (dṛṣṭi-­kaṣāya; jian zhuo 見濁), and (5) eon (kalpa-­kaṣāya; jie zhuo 劫濁). The corruption of lifespan refers to diminishing longevity. The corruption of sentient beings is characterized by feeble minds and bodies, as well as not being attentive ­toward one’s parents and neglecting Buddhist practice. The corruption of afflictions is marked by immoral propensities. The corruption of views denotes deluded ideas, and the corruption of the eon is an age marked by warfare, disaster, and epidemics.49 ­These corruptions ­were said to appear when eons or kalpas w ­ ere in decline.50

49. This is one of the more common lists that appear in texts such as the Abhidharma kośa. I have referred to the entry on the five corruptions in Daoshi’s medieval Chinese encyclopedia, Fayuan zhulin T 2122.53.1005a–­c. For an overview in En­glish, see Chappell 1980, 140–143. 50. Kalpas are divided into four kinds, which are further subdivided into twenty sub-­ kalpas (Skt. antarakalpa; Ch. xiao jie 小劫). Within a subkalpa, h ­ uman lifespans go through cycles of growth and decline. It is during a period of declining lifespan that the five corruptions are said to appear. For more on the divisions within kalpas, see Nattier 1991, 15–17.

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Although many Indic texts assert that the age of the five corruptions is the period when Śākyamuni and other buddhas are born, in East Asia it became fairly common to claim that the pres­ent era, which was decidedly absent of a buddha, was stained with t­ hese five contaminants.51 This reading is strengthened in the case of the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life ­because the Buddha delivers this sermon on imminent threats from his deathbed, just prior to his passing from this world. In East Asia, the doctrine of five corruptions was frequently linked with the teaching of the final age of the dharma (Ch. mofa; J. mappō 末法), a dark period when the message of the Buddha begins to dis­appear, ­human capacities are limited, and natu­ral disasters frequently appear (Chappell 1980, 142–143).52 In fact, the eighth-­century Japa­nese monk Zenju 善珠 (723–797) understood the doctrine of five corruptions as intimately connected to the teaching of the final age of the dharma. He writes of “the final era of the five corruptions” (matsudai gojoku 末代五濁) when ­people face shortened lifespans, frequent epidemics, and delusions that impede spiritual pro­gress (Hongan Yakushikyō shō, Nihon Daizōkyō 9:153–154). While most scholarly attention on narratives of decline stemming from mappō discourse have focused on medieval developments, the notion was widely accepted at the court in early Japan, where it was believed by many that mappō began in 552, precisely at the moment Buddhism was said to have officially entered the country.53 In eighth-­century Japan, therefore, the doctrine of the five corruptions was generally understood as the pres­ent age and viewed within the Buddhist teaching of the decline of the dharma.54 This doctrine is central to the narrative structure of the Scripture on Sav­ ing and Protecting Body and Life, but it also plays a strong role in the Scripture on Brahma’s Spirit Tablets. ­Here, the Buddha preaches that the divination methods outlined in the text are particularly attuned to the evil age of the five corruptions (T 1331.21.524a).55 The intended audience of both texts consists of ­t hose who believe they are living in troubled times. The doctrinal similarity of ­these two relatively obscure and compact sutras suggests that this par­t ic­u­lar teaching of the evil age of the five corruptions was on the minds of t­ hose at court. The epidemics, natu­ral disasters, and insurrec51. ­T here is evidence from cata­logs of entire scriptures centered on the theme of the “age of the five corruptions.” T ­ hese works w ­ ere likely indigenously produced in China; the theme of the decline of the dharma and the five corruptions was frequently explored in indigenous Chinese scriptures. See Hureau 2010c, 769–771. 52. For the classic study on the decline of the dharma, see Nattier 1991. 53. For mappō consciousness in early Japan, see Blum 2006, 32–33, and 2008, 214–215 and 220; and Yoshida Kazuhiko 2010, 34–37. 54. The term “evil age of the five corruptions” circulated on ninth-­century preaching cir­cuits as well; see Tōdaiji fujumon kō, line 28. 55. The term “five corruptions” also appears several times in the Golden Light Sutra, which we have seen was transcribed at the same time as the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life. The discourse on corruptions in this text is used in a generic way, limited to describing the time Śākyamuni appeared or separately in a vow to save all the beings born in such an age.

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tions faced at this time would have been understood as confirmation of the doctrine of decline and would have surely prompted the rulers to seek refuge in texts that promised protection during dark periods.

Demonic and Spectral Threats The Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life highlights several threats characteristic of an evil age, but two in par­t ic­u­lar stand out. The first is vio­ lence at the hands of demonic forces and the second is a form of sorcery known as “venom.” To begin with the first, a variety of baleful beings including evil dev­ils (Ch. ema 惡魔), evil demons (Ch. egui 惡鬼), and myriad malefic apparitions (Ch. zhong xie wangliang 衆邪魍魎) populate the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life.56 ­These beings are closely associated with vio­lence. According to the text, they threaten to “shorten lifespans,” “rob vitality,” and commit outright murder. The sutra focuses much of its attention on combating ­t hese dangerous attackers. Many of the prognostications in the Scripture on Brahma’s Spirit Tablets also deal with demons and phantoms (Ch. mei 魅), including the very first prediction in the text, which promises that the power of scripture overcomes demonic adversity: If you hear the Scripture on the Buddha’s Spells The hundred phantoms ­w ill all dis­appear. . . . ​(T 1331.21.524a)

For ­t hose who are less fortunate, however, the text forecasts bewitchment by assorted evil spirits: You are an ill-­omened person. And so have been made to dwell in this place. In it are malefic phantoms and demons Which are constantly coming and loitering. (T 1331.21.525b)57

­ hese types of predictions continue throughout the text—anyone who T uses the method of divination sanctioned by this scripture would be likely to confront demonic beings. Indeed, the randomized nature of drawing lots made it just as likely for patrons to receive predictions of a ­future filled with menacing spirits as they w ­ ere to receive ­those promising blessings (Strickmann 2005, 60). More generally, ritualized writing was itself closely linked to protection from demons. As noted in chapter one, ­people frequently dedicated sutras on abstinential days to demonstrate their piety to the four heavenly kings 56. For an overview of apparitions (Ch. wangliang 魍魎), see Mochizuki and Tsukamoto 1954–1963, 10:650–651. In transcribing “myriad malefic 衆邪,” I have followed the three Dunhuang manuscripts, which all give zhong xie 衆邪. Nanatsudera gives Zhong ye 衆耶. This character ye 耶 is frequently used in Buddhist manuscripts in place of xie 邪, which can also be read as ye. 57. I have followed the translation in Strickmann 2005, 62, with some minor ­modifications.

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and to augment the merit of their transcription through ceremonial practice. But t­ hose days w ­ ere also the times when demons ­were believed to most readily appear. This idea is described most prominently in the Treatise on the ­G reat Perfection of Wisdom, a text frequently copied in the Nara period. As Sylvie Hureau (2006, 92), who has done extensive work on abstinential days, has usefully summarized, the relevant section asserts that “on t­ hose specific days the demons harass the p ­ eople, except t­ hose who observe the poṣadha and the prohibitions and do good deeds. . . . ​On ­t hose days, the ­father of the demons used to cut flesh and extract its blood to feed his fire, and that this is the reason why the demons gain energy during ­these days.”58 With re­spect to sutra copying, patrons performed the ­wholesome act of dedicating sutras during regular abstinential periods as a response to demonic threats in general, but t­hese threats w ­ ere a specific concern of the three texts copied together in 748. Rulers in eighth-­century Japan w ­ ere an appropriate audience for ­t hese texts, as they lived in nearly constant fear of demonic attacks. For example, the death of Empress Saimei 斉明 (594–661) was attributed to a demon (Nihon shoki 8/1/661; NKBT 68:350–351). Shōmu himself issued an edict regarding a series of threatening portents, including a celestial occultation and a storm of thunder, rain, and g ­ reat winds, which had attracted attention at court. The edict claimed that earthly demons and celestial spirits (kijin 鬼神) had displayed ­t hese anomalies in response to poor conduct on the part of the ruler and lazy habits by officials at court (Shoku Nihongi 2/21/727; SNKBT 13:178–179). Around a ­century ­later, Kūkai similarly described how demons attack the realms of kings who fail to practice piety (Abé 1999, 335–336). This connection between w ­ holesome conduct and divine punishment ­w ill be further explored below, but it should be noted ­here that the appearance of demonic beings was commonly connected to lapses of morality throughout East Asia. Another type of evil spirit known as vindictive ghosts (onryō 怨霊) posed a par­t ic­u­lar threat to the early Japa­nese court, as t­ hese beings frequently sought revenge on ­those who had caused their untimely demise.59 This notion of vindictive ghosts was based on a shared East Asian cosmology, one that is perhaps common to cultural contexts outside Asia as well. This worldview regards t­ hose who have died unjust deaths as remaining in this world seeking justice through any means pos­si­ble.60 Kings and t­ hose around them ­were frequent victims of t­ hese threats, as rulers seldom w ­ ere blameless in ­matters of life and death and, therefore, frequently begot ghosts. On this view, their control over legally sanctioned vio­lence made them particularly susceptible to unsanctioned eruptions of apparitional attacks.

58. For the original text, see Da zhi du lun, T 1509.25.160a–­c. 59. For more in En­glish on this general phenomenon, see Plutschow 1983 and Mc­ Mullin 1988. 60. Alvin Cohen (1982, vi) has called t­hese “ghosts with unfinished business.” For a translation of an early Chinese collection of tales about ­t hese beings, see Cohen 1982.

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Shōmu’s court was no exception; it was responsible for the deaths of Prince Nagaya and Fujiwara no Hirotsugu, two figures whose spirits w ­ ere thought to haunt the court.61 For example, the official obituary of the monk Genbō, who enjoyed close relations with Shōmu and Kōmyōshi, reported rumors attributing the power­ful monk’s death to the ghost of his e­ nemy, Fujiwara no Hirotsugu (Shoku Nihongi 6/18/746; SNKBT 14:30–31). Other stories claimed that the ghost of Prince Nagaya had attacked t­ hose in the province where his corpse had been disposed (Nihon ryōiki II.1; SNKBT 30:59–60). Since Shōmu and Princess Abe’s power was built on foundations laid through vio­lence, the social and po­liti­cal order of their realm could only be maintained with constant rites of spirit pacification. The fear of the demons and ghosts created by courtly misconduct surely contributed to Kōmyōshi’s decision to commission the transcription of ­t hese three texts just prior to her d ­ aughter’s ascension to the throne.62 It was a preemptive strike against the spectral enemies she and her husband had birthed.

Venomous Sorcerers A second concern central to the texts ­under study in this chapter is a form of sorcery described as “venom” (Ch. gu 蠱). The venom is produced by filling a vessel with poisonous creatures and letting them consume one another ­until a victor emerges. This venomous creature is then transformed into a power­ful spirit that is capable of changing shape and following the commands of the sorcerer who created it. Venom-­based witchcraft represented one of the most prominent forms of black magic in premodern China (Feng and Shryock 1935). Protection against venom magic was a central concern of medieval Chinese Buddhists, who promoted Buddhism’s strengths in combating this kind of sorcery (Mollier 2008, 55–99). The Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life is one of several medieval Chinese texts that repeatedly describes its own powers in preventing venom-­based attacks: [This scripture] is much like a subtle medicine able to cure poisonous illness, able to ward off poisonous vapors, and able to cut off evil poisons. If t­ here is a person who holds it and practices it, even w ­ ere evil poisonous insects and myriad malefic prac­t i­t ion­ers of venomous arts to come and quarrel with and harm this person, then even a whiff of the vapors of this medicine against evil poisons w ­ ill make them scatter in the four directions and not dare turn back. This scripture is also just like this. (Nanatsudera, lines 17–19; T 2865.85.1325a)

61. For the onryō of ­t hese two figures, see Ōmori 2007, 16–32 and 215–235, and Yamada Yūji 2007, 13–22. 62. In the Heian period, rulers would continue to recite and copy scripture in response to vengeful spirits. For example, Kanmu had the canon copied in honor of Prince Sawara, who was thought to haunt Kanmu’s court, particularly a­ fter its move to the Heian capital. See Van Goethem 2008, 243–245.

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The Golden Light Sutra also explic­itly claims that it is useful against venomous attacks and contains spells that can be used to combat phantoms and sorcerers (T 665.16.434b-435c). The worldview shared by t­ hese texts was one centered on protection from malefic dangers. The threat of sorcery was a constant concern for ­those in the early Japa­ nese court. Reconstructed ­legal codes from the Nara period outlaw the use of black magic including the venomous forms described in the sutras copied in 748: “­Those who concoct or stock venomous poison or instigate ­others to do so [­w ill be punished with death by] hanging (kō 絞)” (Yōrō ritsuryō, NST 3:95). ­These codes use the term for venom (Ch. gu; J. ko 蠱) found in the sutras. Moreover, in response to the curses believed to have been performed by Prince Nagaya against Shōmu and Kōmyōshi’s infant son, the sovereign issued an edict banning malefic practices more generally: “[If ­t here are t­ hose who] learn heterodoxies, accumulate techniques of illusion, cast curses using effigies (enmi 壓[厭]魅), or harm any of the hundred ­t hings, the principal offender ­w ill be beheaded and the accomplices ­w ill be exiled” (Shoku Nihongi 4/3/729; SNKBT 13:210–211).63 In fact, p ­ eople w ­ ere actually punished for magical crimes. Prince Nagaya and his ­family ­were forced to commit suicide for his supposed attack on the infant crown prince. In a case dating to 769, a female courtier named Agata Inukai no Aneme 縣犬養姉女 (n.d.) was exiled for practicing a form of witchcraft described as sorcery venom (fuko 巫蠱), again using the same character for venom seen above. In this case, Princess Fuwa was suspected of having ordered Aneme to curse Empress Shōtoku (formerly Princess Abe) so that her own son, Hikami no Shikeshimaro 氷上志計志麻呂 (n.d.), could ascend the throne. To carry out the spell, Aneme had to steal a lock of the empress’s hair, stuff it in a skull taken from the Saho River, and recite a curse three times (Shoku Nihongi 5/769; SNKBT 15:238–241).64 Sentences of exile would follow in l­ater years in response to other alleged sorcerers (e.g., Shoku Nihongi 3/2/772 and 5/27/772; SNKBT 15:372–373 and 382–383).65 The sorcerers and demons described in the three scriptures transcribed alongside one another in 748 would not have been viewed as fantastic fictional creatures bound to scriptural tales. In the eyes of eighth-­ century rulers, they w ­ ere real and familiar threats. 63. I have tentatively translated the term enmi (Ch. yanmei 壓[厭]魅) as effigy. Modern commentators on the passage cited from the Shoku Nihongi have glossed the term in this way, and I have found pre­ce­dent for this usage in Chinese historical works, a genre relatively close to the Shoku Nihongi. For example, seventh-­century chronicles describe Prince Shujian 叔堅 “making a ‘yanmei’ by carving a ­human figure out of wood”; see Nan shi, 65 zhuan. The same scene also appears with slightly dif­fer­ent wording in Chen shu, 28 zhuan. In Buddhist texts, the term has been used both as a translation for vetāla, demons known to possess corpses, and to refer to forms of black magic that rely on “repugnant demons,” the literal meaning of enmi; see Nakamura Hajime 2001, 148, and Birnbaum 1979, 175–176, respectively. 64. For an English-­language overview of this episode, see Ooms 2009, 216. 65. Sorcerers continued to pose a frequent threat to the next two rulers, Kōnin 光仁 (r. 770–781) and Kanmu 桓武 (r. 781–806). See Van Goethem 2008, 25–32.

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Protection . . . ​at a Cost ­ hese threats required a response. L T ­ egal codes and edicts banning witchcraft ­were insufficient. Demons and sorcerers did not obey the commands of earthly kings. Kōmyōshi, like ­others, looked elsewhere. Buddhist texts and deities offered a solution. Rulers saw in the power of Buddhism a promising source of protection from demonic and malefic attacks. An edict issued by Kōken/Shōtoku in response to the Aneme sorcery incident attributed the detection of the plot in part to the “inconceivably mighty, divine power of Vairocana Buddha, the Golden Light Sutra, the Bodhisattva Who Observes the Sounds of the World [Avalokiteśvara], and the good spirits who protect the dharma: Brahma, Indra, and the four heavenly kings” (Shoku Nihongi 5/29/769; SNKBT 15:240–241). Copying and reciting texts, as well as constructing and worshiping images, w ­ ere acts that could combat sorcerers and evil spirits. In fact, as we have seen, texts such as the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life explic­itly promoted ­t hese capabilities, and in this edict the Golden Light Sutra is highlighted as particularly efficacious. Beyond the explicit reference to the Golden Light Sutra, the mention of the four heavenly kings in this edict points to another common theme with the sutra-­copying proj­ects of 748. The four heavenly kings play a central role in the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life and the Golden Light Sutra. In the former, they pledge to protect ­t hose who worship the text: At that time, the four heavenly divine kings bared their right shoulders and put their right knees to the ground. They single-­mindedly joined their palms together and said to the Buddha, “World Honored One, ­a fter the Thus Come One’s extinction, we ­w ill each lead our entourage to patrol the realm. If ­t here are ­those who recite or copy or uphold this scripture, our entourage and we ­w ill constantly come and shadow ­these ­people. Day and night we ­w ill protect them and make it so they do not encounter evil. (Nanatsudera, lines 44–47; T 2865.85.1325b)

The Golden Light Sutra devotes two entire chapters to describing the four heavenly kings. T ­ hese chapters w ­ ere likely the most influential depictions of ­t hese deities in early Japan, and, as the edict in response to the Aneme sorcery incident showed, the text and t­hese heavenly kings w ­ ere closely linked in the minds of ­t hose at court. Just as in the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life, the four heavenly kings of the Golden Light Sutra promise to lead an army of divine beings to protect ­human kings who uphold and propagate the scripture. In par­t ic­u ­lar, they vow to watch over queens and princes and subjugate vindictive enemies (Ch. yuan di; J. onteki 怨敵) of the court.66 As should be clear by now, Kōmyōshi, Shōmu, and Princess Abe had a number of vindictive enemies, both living and deceased. 66. For the relevant passage in the Golden Light Sutra, see T 665.16.427a–428b.

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­ hese doctrines proved attractive to Kōmyōshi in a climate in which she T saw herself and her ­daughter as surrounded by vengeful ghosts, unpredictable demons, and h ­ uman rivals practicing dark arts. Beyond t­ hese two sutras, the four heavenly kings played an impor­t ant cultic role as protective deities in early Japan more generally, as they appeared in a variety of sources including myths, sculpture, and edicts. In a well-­k nown narrative from early Japan, Prince Shōtoku vowed to build a ­temple on behalf of the four heavenly kings if the deities would help him secure victory in ­battle.67 They ­were also invoked in edicts, where they are described as aiding the rulers in suppressing treasonous enemies (Shoku Ni­ hongi 7/12/757 and the aforementioned 5/29/769 edict; SNKBT 14:216– 217 and 15:240–241). Moreover, statues depicting the four heavenly kings standing triumphantly atop vanquished demons w ­ ere frequently carved and cast in early Japan, often by members of the court. ­These vari­ous sources all portray the four heavenly kings as capable of conquering a host of enemies, both ­human and nonhuman. It was in a world where patrons had constant visual and mythic reminders of the efficacy of the four heavenly kings in the face of demonic and malefic forces that Kōmyōshi commissioned the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life and the Golden Light Sutra. Protection, however, had a cost. ­These deities, both in textual and visual sources, not only defended the realm from enemies of the throne; they also observed h ­ umans and punished them for misconduct. Their roles as observers of ­human conduct and punishers of the impious relate in part to calendrics. As noted in chapter one, the four heavenly kings would inspect the be­hav­ior of ­humans on days of periodic abstinence, the very days ­people most commonly dedicated sutras. They would then file reports to Indra recording what they had witnessed. ­These deities’ jobs, therefore, ­were not simply to protect ­humans but also to observe them. They played the role of watchers in what could be considered a celestial surveillance state. By invoking ­these protective deities, the rulers of Japan put themselves within a system where heavenly powers ­were capable of both protection and punishment.68 For example, the four heavenly kings promise protection in the Golden Light Sutra, but they caution that they w ­ ill desert the realm of ­those who do not propagate the sutra. They warn that once they leave the realm the king w ­ ill face disasters and lose the throne (T 665.16.429c–430a). The Golden Light Sutra is not simply a text for justifying the position of the ruler; rather it is also a cautionary tale for kings who fail to constantly uphold pious conduct. Even the texts promising protection, therefore, contain a threat: “Behave yourselves or risk retribution. We are watching you.” ­T hese fears seem to have been on the minds of the p ­ eople at court around the time the three texts w ­ ere copied. Just before Princess Abe’s as67. See Nihon shoki 7/587; NKBT 68:162–163. This narrative is discussed in Como 2008, 18–19, and 2009, 106–107. For a recent and provocative analy­sis in Japa­nese, see Nagaoka 2009, 167–170. 68. The following paragraph draws largely on Nagaoka 2009, 206–217.

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cension, Emperor Shōmu donated sutras and other objects to Tōdaiji and issued a cautionary prayer: I also vow that in ­later generations, w ­ ere a master who does not [follow the Buddhist] path or a minister who is a heretical thief to commit crimes or break and obstruct [Buddhism] without cultivating [Buddhist practice], this person would have surely disputed with and disgraced all of the buddhas and bodhisattvas of the three ages in the ten directions. . . . ​A ll of the vari­ous heavenly deities [including] Brahma, Indra, the four heavenly kings, as well as celestials, dragons, and the eight kinds of beings . . . ​would together cause g ­ reat disasters and make it so that they have no descendants forevermore. (DNK 3:241)

Shōmu’s prayer shows that the same deities who ­were responsible for ­protecting the throne in the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life, namely, the four heavenly kings and the eight kinds of beings, also threatened to punish ­those ­humans who failed to obey the sutra’s commandments by unleashing disasters and cutting off ancestral lines.69 Shōmu saw the celestial protagonists of the sutras his wife had just sponsored as posing a threat at the same time they promised protection. In promoting Buddhism, the rulers placed themselves within a system where their own power was subject to a higher authority. Iconographic features of the four heavenly kings from this period reveal ­these dual roles as punisher and observer.70 The punishing role is reflected in the fact that the kings are generally depicted with fierce expressions on their ­faces, wearing armor, and at least two of them are carry­ing weapons (see fig. 8). As punishers, they could attack both demons and impious ­humans. Their role in observation is subtler. For one, the king guarding the west, whose Chinese name translates as Wide Eyes (Ch. Guangmu; J. Kōmoku 廣目), often holds a brush and a scroll.71 Nagaoka Ryūsaku (2009, 180–182 and 214–216), one of the foremost authorities on Buddhist sculpture from early Japan, has argued that ­these objects reflect Wide Eyes’ responsibility in recording the be­hav­ior of sentient beings for regular reports to Indra in connection with days of periodic abstinence. In fact, some statues 69. ­T here is significant Chinese pre­ce­dent for this notion of heavenly rewards and punishments based on an individual’s moral conduct. Sørensen 1995 examines the Buddhist and pre-­Buddhist Chinese origins of this doctrine in detail. 70. The following discussion draws heavi­ly on Nagaoka 2009, 171–223. 71. Wide eyes can refer to e­ ither the size of the eyes or their ability to see a g ­ reat distance. The Sanskrit form of his name, Virūpākṣa, is prob­ably closer to “ugly eyes” or “variegated eyes” than “wide eyes,” and, in fact, an alternative Chinese translation of his name means ugly eyes (chou mu 醜目). See Mochizuki and Tsukamoto 1954–1963, 2:1097–1098. The prefix vi-­implies differentiation and rūpa means both form and color. Akṣa means eye. Virūpākṣa, therefore, could mean misshapen eyes of dif­fer­ent sizes or assorted colors. Some Chinese commentators reject ugly eyes in f­avor of multicolored eyes. For example, see Chengguan’s 澄觀 (738–839) Da fangguang fo huayan jing shu 大方廣佛華嚴經疏, T 1735.35.539b. I am grateful to Nancy Lin for helping me work through the Sanskrit.

Figure 8. Four heavenly kings from the Precept Platform Hall (Kaidan dō 戒壇堂) at Tōdaiji (originally in the Lotus Hall [Hokke dō 法華堂]). Permission courtesy of Tōdaiji and photo courtesy of the Nara National Museum.

Haunted by Demons, Watched by Kings 205

Figure 9. Closeup of Kōmokuten. Permission courtesy of Tōdaiji and photo courtesy of the Nara National Museum.

Figure 10. Closeup of Jikokuten. Permission courtesy of Tōdaiji and photo courtesy of the Nara National Museum.

of Indra similarly hold a scroll, thus linking him with the four heavenly kings in both the visual and textual spheres.72 The second clue that reveals the kings’ roles as observers appears in their eyes. Nagaoka (2009, 210–214) has conducted a careful visual analy­sis 72. For example, see the Indra statue in the Tōdaiji Lotus Hall. This image is traditionally identified as Brahma, but Nagaoka (2009, 216) argues convincingly that it was originally conceived of as Indra. For published images, see Nara rokudaiji taikan kankōkai 1999–2001, vol. 10, plates 12, 70, and 72.

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of the statues of the four heavenly kings currently in the Precept Platform Hall at Tōdaiji and convincingly shown that two of the kings have ferocious eyes that are round and fully open and the other two squint, gazing off in the distance to observe human conduct (see figs. 9–10). I have found a similar, although slightly less pronounced, set of statues at Hōryūji from the former refectory.73 Both sets date to the Tenpyō era, which is the precise period ­under study in this chapter. The images in the Tōdaiji Precept Platform Hall ­were originally in the Lotus Hall at Tōdaiji, a building that was completed right around the same year the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life was commissioned. This par­t ic­u­lar iconographic feature, which portrays two kings as observers, seems to be characteristic of this period; I have been unable to find any examples of distantly gazing kings in earlier or l­ ater works. This mode of repre­sen­t a­t ion, therefore, was closely connected to the court culture of the mid-­eighth ­century. In transcribing this text and calling upon the kings for aid, Kōmyōshi placed herself and her ­d aughter ­u nder the watchful eyes of heavenly kings. Statues of the four heavenly kings ­were pres­ent at nearly e­ very t­ emple an individual could visit in eighth-­century Japan. T ­ hese deities wielded both the pen and the sword: they promised protection to the pious but also recorded the deeds of the sinner and threatened to punish t­ hose who defied the Buddhist path. It is clear that t­ here is more at stake ­here than mere “state protection.” If ­human kings did in fact create a spectacle of their authority through the use of symbol, they also displayed visual reminders that they themselves would be observed and judged by a higher authority. By invoking the four heavenly kings, the Nara court received protection but also willingly submitted themselves to observation. U ­ nder the watchful eyes of power­ful and menacing heavenly kings, h ­ uman rulers w ­ ere expected to perform regular ­wholesome acts, such as the continued commissioning of Buddhist images, sutras, and ­temples. In this worldview, even the royal ­family needed to follow norms that accorded with Buddhist teachings. By agreeing to participate in a system in which their actions ­were judged by power­ful spirits, the royal patrons of Buddhism accepted ethical standards that ­were not entirely of their own making. Prophecies found in the Scripture on Brahma’s Spirit Tablets similarly functioned to establish a set of Buddhist norms that rulers would have been expected to follow. For one, the ­actual per­for­mance of the divination outlined in the Scripture on Brahma’s Spirit Tablets required careful ritual attention that mirrored the ritual procedures and ethical practices carried out by sutra copyists. The text instructs t­ hose carry­ing out the divination to first rinse their mouths and avoid consuming meat, alcohol, and the five pungent roots. The per­for­mance of the divination ritual, therefore, required the person consulting the text to engage in bodily practices connected 73. For the former refectory at Hōryūji, see Nara rokudaiji taikan kankōkai 1999–2001, vols. 3, plates 134–136.

Haunted by Demons, Watched by Kings 207

closely with ­wholesome conduct. Moreover, the under­lying logic of this Buddhist divination is that of karma. As Michel Strickmann (2005, 73) writes, “The oracle’s demonology is straightforward and uncompromising. For if you are imprudent enough to have left yourself karmically open to attack, ­there are several classes of ill-­omened beings that w ­ ill lose no time in taking advantage of your vulnerability.” In this way, the very appearance of disasters and demonic forces in the world could be explained by a lack of virtue on the part of the ruler. The fact that rulers viewed their own world as constantly threatened by demons suggests that performing such oracles not only demonstrated royal authority but also made a spectacle of their shortcomings and required adherence to Buddhist norms. Preventing demonic attacks demanded habitual Buddhist practice.

Conclusions This chapter has focused on the transcription of one hundred copies of the Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life in 748, as well as two other texts copied at roughly the same time. A ­ fter carefully considering the documents related to the transcription of t­ hese sutras and the politics of eighth-­ century Japan, the discussion turned to a thematic analy­sis of the texts from the standpoint of the specific po­liti­cal and cultic contexts in which they ­were copied. The purpose of this discussion was to look at the relationship between Buddhist ritual and the state from a new perspective, one that does not reduce the po­liti­cal function of religion to that of a tool used solely for ideological justification. Buddhist patronage in the Nara period had a variety of effects in the po­liti­cal sphere, not all of which necessarily served as an authentication of the imperial order. The transcription of t­ hese three sutras in 748 served to demonstrate the contingency of po­liti­cal power in the 740s, illuminate the past misdeeds of the ruler, and place the court u ­ nder observation by power­ ful deities. The view presented in this chapter differs significantly from traditional treatments of Nara Buddhism, which have focused on the way rulers performed their authority on a public stage through large-­scale symbolic proj­ects such as copying the Buddhist canon, constructing ­temples throughout the provinces, and commissioning ornate statues of divine beings. Attention to manuscript sources and material culture provides alternatives to the official accounts, which tend to assume an optimistic perspective on the theatrical benefits of religious symbols. It is impor­t ant to emphasize that official patronage of Buddhism did not simply demonstrate authority but also displayed fragility to its courtly audience. In invoking guardian deities, the rulers sent out reminders that they w ­ ere in constant need of protection from ghosts and demons of their own creation, beings that threatened to overturn the social and po­liti­cal order. Even as sponsors of ritual, rulers never had full control over the potential meanings the rite communicated. To take a performative approach to ritual seriously requires recognition of reception and unintended consequences.

208 Microhistories

But ritualized writing was not simply an expressive practice intended to convey meaning. It also had an ethical component. As Saba Mahmood (2005, 131) writes about ritual practice more generally: “Ritual is not regarded as the theater in which a preformed self enacts a script of social action; rather, the space of ritual is one among a number of sites where the self comes to acquire and give expression to its proper form.” The ritual acts of rulers offered a chance for self-­cultivation through repeated pious practice. As we saw in the last chapter, sutra copying provided ­t hese opportunities to scribes and queens alike. Failure to do so risked the possibility of punishment by the very gods invoked for protection. ­These efforts at staving off disaster through ritual practice and virtuous conduct, however, ­were never ending. The case for early Japa­nese Buddhism mirrors what Michael Puett (2012, 124–125) has observed about China: Much of religious practice throughout Chinese history can be characterized as an endless domestication of the divine sphere. . . . ​The divine sphere was consistently seen as inherently dangerous and capricious, in need of dramatic transformation so that ­humans could thrive. . . . ​So, yes, it was legitimization, but it was also an attempt to domesticate both the divine and the ­human—­and was always seen as an endless pro­cess that could never fully succeed.74

The transcription of scripture functioned similarly as part of a never-­ending pro­cess to pacify otherworldly threats. In the Buddhist context, keeping attacks at bay required rulers to constantly uphold pious conduct in accord with ethical norms. Commissioning scripture was but one example of Buddhist practices that rulers participated in. They frequently upheld precepts, performed penance, engaged in periodic abstinence, and ceremonially released animals. ­These practices can be explained in part as an effort by rulers to perfect themselves as a means to perfect the world. T ­ here was no end to the expectation for ­wholesome conduct. In other words, the rulers’ be­hav­ior was governed by a system of norms defined by Buddhist scripture. Transcription, therefore, established a code of virtuous conduct that the ruler was expected to follow or ­else risk punishment. Heavenly protection depended on the repeated per­for­mance of ­wholesome acts such as engaging in Buddhist rituals and commissioning the reproduction of images and texts—­all practices regularly performed and promoted by rulers and commoners alike in eighth-­century Japan. To call upon the gods for protection meant that the imperial ­family had to play by their rules. It is never clear in this model if the state is controlling Buddhism or Buddhism the state.

74. For more on this never-­ending and even tragic quality of ritual, also see Seligman et al. 2008, 30–34.

Epilogue

This book has traced the history of sutra copying in the Buddhist world with a par­t ic­u­lar focus on ancient Japan. It has highlighted the role religion played in the lives of diverse individuals from scribes to kings, examined social institutions ranging from fellowships of ­ wholesome friends to large bureaucracies, and explored beliefs and practices regarding ritual, kingship, and cosmology. While the themes may appear disparate, they collectively offer new ways of understanding Buddhist practice, scriptural cultures, and eighth-­century Japa­n through the lens of ritual. The following pages w ­ ill synthesize, rather than summarize, the previous chapters.

Ritualized Writing, Scriptural Cultures, and Buddhist Practice Throughout much of the premodern Buddhist world, sutra copying represented a form of ritualized writing, a specific mode of textual practice distinguished from other more quotidian uses. This type of writing, I have argued, has a potentially transformative quality, enabled in part by its ritualized nature. This is a result of ritual’s reiterative qualities, namely, its tendency t­oward repetition that references past per­for­mances. Amy Hollywood (2002, 115), incorporating insights from Judith Butler and Jacques Derrida to elaborate Catherine Bell’s notion of ritualization, has theorized that this reiterative aspect of ritual allows for such transformations, albeit ones bound by par­t ic­u­lar contexts: In changed conditions, performatives constitute new kinds of subjects and communities. . . . ​We do not freely choose ourselves or our communities, nor are the worlds into which we are born absolutely determinative ones in which no new meanings can be performed. Instead, subjects and communities are created and sustained by the complex interplay of sameness and difference constitutive of repetition itself.

Hollywood stresses that ritual actions inherently give rise to a tension between sameness and difference. On the one hand, rituals are structured by the past per­for­mances they cite and by the historical and social contexts in which they are enacted. On the other hand, since ­t hese contexts always change, ritual acts never perfectly mirror past ones. They take on dif­fer­ ent forms and functions with each per­for­mance. As such, ritual generates 209

210 Epilogue

new possibilities for individuals and communities and shapes them in original ways. ­These claims fit the case of sutra copying in early Japan and evoke the continuities r­ unning through the previous chapters that illuminate the nature and function of scripture. For one, the notion of ritualized writing as a reiterative practice undermines claims that treat scripture as a static and stable entity. Rather, constant reinforcement through repetition is needed to sustain the very notion of scripture as a privileged corpus. ­There is no doubt that many Buddhist sutras claim the power to generate merit, as discussed in chapter one. In certain ways, this appears to be an intrinsic quality of the texts. But t­hese promises need to be enacted by ­people who uphold, read, recite, explain, and copy scripture.1 Tales studied in chapter one, for example, suggested that only through performing ritual acts such as purification and dedication was the merit of copying fully realized. Undedicated sutras sought out their patrons to complete the dedication. Sutras copied without purity lacked the power to survive fire. H ­ ere, ­human action consecrates scriptures. Similarly, the prayers uttered at dedication ceremonies studied in chapter two frequently contained a praise section lauding the powers of sutras. ­These public declarations of praise would have reinforced attitudes regarding Buddhist texts as profound and power­ful. It was not simply through textual promises but rather through h ­ uman practices, which w ­ ere themselves constantly evolving in new contexts, that Buddhist scriptures became sacred to the individuals and communities who worshiped them. For t­ hese reasons, this book has stressed the par­t ic­u ­lar individuals—­scribes and patrons, both collective and individual—­who copied scripture. Repeated practice, as Hollywood reminds us, also constituted individuals and communities in new ways. On the individual level, the practice of ritualized writing provided an opportunity for personal cultivation. This was true for scribes and patrons alike. Chapter five, for example, showed how workers at the Office of Sutra Transcription disciplined themselves in ways that met the demands of patrons and administrators but also served to advance their own development in accord with Buddhist norms and social ideals related to calligraphic prowess and literary accomplishment. As chapter six showed, patrons too had ample motivation to follow the prescriptions of Buddhist sutras, which encouraged acts of patronage as a form of piety and threatened punishment to ­those who did not abide. Sutra copying also enabled patrons to fulfill filial obligations through debt repayment. The path opened by per­for­mance of ritualized writing helped individuals embark on ­careers in the clergy, avoid the wrath of baneful beings, and secure benefits in this as well as other worlds. It constituted scribes and patrons alike as ­wholesome individuals. On the communal level, we have seen the precise ways that ritual practices both sustained existing communities and created new ones. Larger scriptoria, such as t­ hose studied in chapter four, emerged out of develop1. For ­t hese five practices, see Stevenson 2009, 136–146.

Epilogue 211

ments in writing and bureaucratic government in the seventh and eighth centuries, but they also represented a new type of or­ga­ni­za­tion that crossed categories of public and private. Chapter three showed how villa­gers and like-­minded individuals across districts frequently joined together, strengthening local identity and reinforcing existing regional hierarchies. At the same time, the practice of sutra copying spawned new forms of social or­ga­ ni­za­tion rather than merely reflecting existing ones. ­These groups often crossed clan and village lines to forge communities defined by w ­ holesome friendship, a concept originating in Buddhist texts but realized through social action. Within t­ hese groups, individuals joined together to worship deities such as Maitreya or support one another on the bodhisattva path. The iterations of ritualized writing, therefore, w ­ ere both built on past social and institutional structures and generative of new ones. They at once supported notions of scripture as distinctly power­ful texts and provided individuals and communities opportunities to transform themselves through practice.

Buddhism in Ancient Japan The standard historical narrative equates Nara Buddhism with “state” Buddhism. This characterization emphasizes the regulation and exploitation of religion by the state, particularly for apotropaic and ideological purposes. According to many scholars promoting this view, Buddhism did not spread to the populace ­until the Kamakura period hundreds of years ­later, when a “true” version of the religion was said to have first emerged. The authors of this narrative credited this flourishing to the efforts of the reputed found­ ers of the sects that grew into the most power­ful religious institutions in modern Japan. The depiction of Nara Buddhism as state Buddhism, therefore, aimed to glorify so-­called reformers who rid the religion of corruption and brought an au­t hen­t ic message to the ­people for the first time. It cannot be forgotten that nineteenth-­and twentieth-­century reformers of Buddhism, such as Sakaino Kōyō and Katō Totsudō, who aimed to create a new and purportedly more genuine form of Buddhism in their own time, played a key role in crafting this story about religion in premodern Japan. This reformist narrative has rightly come ­under attack in recent years. In par­t ic­u­lar, scholars of Kamakura-­period Buddhism have demonstrated that traditional institutions ­were far more dynamic, fluid, and responsive than previously supposed. Moreover, they have shown how the so-­called new schools only gained influence in subsequent eras. They have also demonstrated significant overlap between “old” and “new” in terms of doctrine and practice. More recently, scholars of ancient Japa­nese Buddhism such as Yoshida Kazuhiko have used sources from the seventh through ninth centuries to attack the state Buddhism model and show that Buddhism had spread to the populace well before the Kamakura age. This book, in a similar manner, has examined the case of sutra copying to demonstrate that Buddhism had penetrated wide swaths of Japa­nese

212 Epilogue

society in the ancient period. Chapter three, for example, looked at fellowship groups, including many that incorporated low-ranking or unranked provincial figures. Chapter five offered a narrative of Karakuni no Hitonari, the type of figure frequently forgotten in standard histories: a scribe, proofreader, and administrator active in the lower rungs of the bureaucracy in the capital. ­These chapters showed that the practice of sutra copying reached individuals outside aristocratic court circles from the earliest periods for which ­t here are reliable rec­ords. ­People from diverse social and geographic backgrounds enthusiastically participated in Buddhist practice soon a­ fter the religion reached Japan. They did so for a range of reasons that had l­ittle to do with the ritsuryō proj­ect, such as to mourn the dead, live in accord with Buddhist moral values, and create communities with shared cultic concerns. Buddhism was not limited to the elites in the capital in the ancient period, nor was it solely connected to ideological and apotropaic support of the state. While this book joins in Yoshida’s larger proj­ect to shed light on previously overlooked actors, it has rejected his thesis that the diversity of multiple Buddhisms in early Japan neatly map onto social class. For Yoshida, ­t here are distinct forms of Buddhism including the Buddhism of the state, the Buddhism of aristocrats, the Buddhism of provincial magnates, and the ­Buddhism of the masses. The data simply do not justify this conclusion. For one, communities did not see themselves in terms of the categories Yoshida proposes. Rather, they understood their own roles and communities as ­those of villa­gers and ­wholesome friends—­emic social categories remote from class-­based structures. Early Japa­nese Buddhism cannot be understood in terms of clearly demarcated and static social groups. Instead, to show the fluidity of bound­a ries between “state” and “pop­u ­lar,” chapters three and four have highlighted the roles of straddlers—­grassroots groups with institutional connections to the state—­and social networks focused on ­human relations and exchange. Seemingly “pop­u­lar” grassroots fellowships readily utilized offices and orga­nizational princi­ples introduced by the ritsuryō state. The Tōdaiji scriptorium, an institution sanctioned to produce imperially commissioned canons, functioned as one particularly wellendowed node on a larger network that enabled individuals with personal connections to the Office of Sutra Transcription to engage in private copying activities that they other­w ise would have been unable to perform. Neither fellowships nor scriptoria can be reduced to clear-­cut binaries of state and pop­u­lar Buddhism. Beyond social organ­izations and institutions, beliefs and practices similarly transcended social class. Chapters one and two highlighted common ritual acts such as purification and dedications and liturgical genres like ganmon that ­were performed by ­people throughout East Asia and much of the Buddhist world. Patrons, what­ever their social allegiances, shared a fundamental concern with properly mourning the dead, which required upholding purity while copying scriptures and holding a ceremony upon completion. In chapters five and six, the common narrative of state control was

Epilogue 213

replaced with a model grounded in discipline as a means to explore both scribal and elite patronal practices. For both Karakuni no Hitonari and the royal ­family, sutra transcription functioned as a tool they used to cultivate themselves in accord with religious and social norms, many of them outlined in Buddhist texts. Hitonari and the royal ­family together inhabited an ethical and cosmological system that ­shaped their aspirations and provided a model for their daily practices. To point out ­these commonalities between Hitonari and the ruling class is not to deny the importance of social and geographic distinctions. Authoring the prayers studied in chapter two required access to literate and literary authors. The patrons described in chapters three and four could only engage in ritualized writing ­because they had the wealth (sometimes communal rather than individual) that gave them access to skilled l­ abor, manuscripts to use as exemplars, and the requisite materials, including paper, glue, ink, and brushes. T ­ hese w ­ ere not universally available to every­one. Moreover, while Hitonari and the patrons alike ­were subject to a form of discipline, the practices of scribes, proofreaders, and assemblers ­were by no means identical to t­ hose of royals such as Kōmyōshi, Shōmu, and Kōken/Shōtoku. But while ­there ­were clear differences in access and social class, the previous chapters have suggested that they ­were never absolute. A variety of individuals from dif­fer­ent backgrounds could hire authors to write ganmon and did manage to pool resources together to secure the necessary materials and l­abor to sponsor the transcription of scripture, even successfully completing complex proj­ects such as canon copying, as was seen in the case of Mutobe no Azumabito. Moreover, elite patronage required the creation of institutions that needed laborers, who in turn gained exposure to traditional refinements through their work and occasionally went on to monastic ­careers, as was the case with Karakuni no Hitonari. In this way, the practices of elite patrons enabled a more diverse participation in Buddhism, and elites and commoners alike shared a common ground made up of ritual practices, cosmological conceptions, and even social organ­izations like ­t hose founded on the notion of w ­ holesome friendship. Despite the social and geographic constraints that are common to any society, widely shared religious beliefs and practices quickly took hold in the ancient period. In the seventh and eighth centuries, scripture proliferated on Japa­nese soil, both as a concept of a sacred work and in material form, and fundamental Buddhist doctrines and rituals spread within the scriptural communities across Japan that gathered in worship of texts. ­Later figures benefited from the social networks forged and the teachings and practices propagated then. The Nara period was not a corrupt era that ­later reformers reacted against. It was a foundational time that enabled subsequent developments.

Appendix Names of the Kōmyōshi / Tōdaiji Scriptorium

This appendix lists the most impor­t ant names that the Kōmyōshi/ Tōdaiji scriptorium and its subsidiary offices used over its history. It should be noted that other names also appear in documents (often si­mul­ta­neously). The full history of the institution is far more complex than the outline presented h ­ ere, though this appendix w ­ ill hopefully assist readers of this book as well as ­future researchers. The Palace Scriptorium, described in chapter four, had its own lineage as well. For a more detailed description of ­t hese institutions, see chapter four and Yamashita 1999c. 727?–729 Kōmyōshi House­hold scriptorium (name unknown) 729?–738 Office of Sutra Transcription (­under the Queen Consort’s Palace Agency) (Shakyōjo 寫經所) 737–738 Office of Sutra Copyists (Kyōshijo 經師所) 738–741 Bureau of Sutra Transcription (Shakyōshi 寫經司) 739–741 Office of Canon Transcription at Tōin (Tōin Sha Issaikyōjo 東院寫一切經所) 741–742 Office of Canon Transcription at Fukujuji (Fukujuji Sha Issaikyōjo 福寿寺寫一切經所) 742–747 Office of Canon Transcription at Konkōmyōji (Konkōmyōji Sha Issaikyōjo 金光明寺寫一切經所) 747–776 Office of Sutra Transcription at Tōdaiji (Tōdaiji Shakyōjo 東大寺寫經所) 747–750 Office of Commentary Transcription (Shashojo 寫疏所), as well as Office of Initial [Canon] Sutra [Transcription] (Senkyōjo 先經所) and Office of Latter [Canon] Sutra [Transcription] (Kōkyōjo 後經所) (both ended in 748)

215

216 Appendix



748–760 Office of Book Transcription (Shashojo 寫書所) and Office of Sutra Transcription (Shakyōjo 寫經所) 762 Office of Sutra Transcription at Ishiyamadera (Ishiyamadera Shakyōjo 石山寺寫經所) 770–776 Office of Reverent Transcription of the Canon (Hōsha Issaikyōjo 奉寫一切經所)

Bibliography

Manuscripts Cited Individual Shōsōin documents are not included.

Agency of Cultural Affairs (Tokyo) Jingang chang tuoluoni jing 金剛場陀羅尼經. Dated 5/686. Sponsored by Kawachi fellowship led by Hōrin 寶林. 15 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 1, and Cultural Heritage Database, http://­bunka​.­nii​.­ac​.­jp​/­db​/­heritages​/­detail​/­125977.

Bibliothèque nationale de France (Paris) P 2056. Apitan piposha lun 阿毘曇毗婆沙論, scroll 52. Dated 7/15/662. Sponsored by Yuchi Baolin 尉遲寳琳 and monk Daoshuang 道爽 with fellowship group as part of canon; copied purely by Shen Hong 沈弘 in Yu 雩 prefecture. 10 sheets. Reprod. IDP web site, http://­idp​.­bl​.­uk:80​/­database​/­oo​_­loader​.­a4d​?­pm​=­Pelliot chinois 2056;img=1/, and Faguo guojia tushuguan cang Dunhuang Xiyu wenxian 法國國家圖書館藏敦煌西域文獻, 3:349–354. P 2086. Shidi lun 十地論, scroll 10. Dated 4/25/594. Sponsored by yi group. Reprod. IDP web site, http://­idp​.­bl​.­uk:80​/­database​/­oo​_­loader​.­a4d​?­pm​=­Pelliot chinois 2086;img=1, and Faguo guojia tushuguan cang Dunhuang Xiyu wenxian 法國國家 圖書館藏敦煌西域文獻, 5:15–32. P 2340. Jiuhu shenming jing 救護身命經. Verso contains name of monk Daozhen 道眞 and character 界 signifying 三界 monastery. 6 sheets. Reprod. IDP web site, http://­idp​.­bl​.­uk:80​/­database​/­oo​_­loader​.­a4d​?­pm​=­Pelliot chinois 2340;img=1, and Faguo guojia tushuguan cang Dunhuang Xiyu wenxian 法國國家圖書館藏敦煌西 域文獻, 12:154–156.

British Library (London) S 791. Miaofa lianhua jing 妙法蓮花經, scroll 3. Dated 11/688. Sponsored by wife of Wang Lin (Madame Qi 齊氏). Reprod. IDP web site, http://­idp​.­bl​.­u k:80​

217

218 Bibliography /­database​/­oo​_­loader​.­a4d​?­pm​= O ­ r​.­8210​/­S​.­791;img​=1 ­ , and Dunhuang baozang 敦煌寶藏 6:495–508. S 1322. Guanding fantian shence jing 灌頂梵天神策經. Early 7th cent. Reprod. Dunhuang baozang 敦煌寶藏 10:127–134. S 2791. Da banniepan jing 大般涅槃經. Dedicated 4/8/598. Sponsored by Fan Zhongpei 氾仲妃. Reprod. Dunhuang baozang 敦煌寶藏 23:423–431. S 3054. Guanshiyin jing 觀世音經. Dated 11/28/918. Sponsored by monk Haiman 僧海滿 and transcribed by bhikṣu monk Shengzhi 比丘僧勝智. Reprod. Dun­ huang baozang 敦煌寶藏 25:443–444.

Chion-in (Kyoto) Fahua jing xuanzan 法華経玄賛, scroll 3. Dedicated 5/23/731. Sponsored by Kurahashibe no Miyatsuko Maro 倉橋部造麻呂. 20 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 10. Huayan bahui gangmu zhang 華嚴八會剛目章. Dated 4/22/765. Copied by the Tōdaiji monk Kōken 興顕. Cursive script. Heian-­period copy of Da Tang sanzang Xuan­ zang fashi biaoqi 大唐三藏玄奘法師表啓 on verso. 10 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 67. Yuqie shidi lun 瑜伽師地論, scroll 8. Dated 8/14/735. Sponsored by Disciples of Maitreya ( Jishi deshi 慈氏弟子) fellowship. Scroll transformed to orihon book format. 14 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 15.

Dannō-­hōrinji (Kyoto) Qizhi jing 七知経. Part of canon begun in 734. Sponsored by Emperor Shōmu 聖武. 3 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 14.

Fangshan Stone Sutras F 248. Jiuhu shenming jing 救護身命經. Reproduced in Fangshan shijing 房山石經 3:557.

Gotō Museum (Tokyo) Miaofa lianhua jing 妙法蓮花經, scroll 5. Likely dates to 747. Copied through Fujiwara Southern ­house 藤南家. 21 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 85. Shisong lü 十誦律, scroll 17. Part of Jingo keiun canon. Sponsored by Empress Shōtoku 稱德. 25 Sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 71. Yuqie shidi lun 瑜伽師地論, scroll 60. Dated 8/14/735. Sponsored by Disciples of Maitreya ( Jishi deshi 慈氏弟子) fellowship. Scroll transformed to orihon book format. 18 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 16.

Harvard Art Museum/Arthur M. Sackler Museum (Cambridge, MA) Hofer Collection, 1985.361. Da zhidu lun 大智度論, scroll 90. Dated 11/23/734. Ke­t aji 既多寺 manuscript. 13 sheets. Scroll transformed to orihon book format in

Bibliography 219 1787. Partial reprod. Harvard Art Museum web site, http://­w ww​.­harvard​art​ museums​.­org​/­collections​/­object​/­211648, and Shimizu and Rosenfield 1984, plate 2. Hofer Collection, 1985.353. Da kongqiao zhou wang jing 大孔雀呪王經, fragment of section entitled “Tanchang huaxiang fashi 壇場畫像法式.” Part of Zenkō 善光 canon. Contains vermillion Zenkō seal. Six sheets. Partial reprod. Harvard Art Museum web site, http://­w ww​.­harvardartmuseums​.­org​/­collections​/­object​ /­211161. Hyde Collection, 1974.92. Fangguang bore jing 放光般若經, scroll 30. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi. Part of 5/1 canon. 14 sheets. Reprod. Harvard Art Museum web site, http://­w ww​.­harvardartmuseums​.­org​/­collections​/­object​ /­202324, and Rosenfield et al. 1973, plate 2.

Hōgonji (Shiga) Bieyi za ahan jing 別譯雜阿含經, scroll 10. Part of 5/11/743 canon. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光明子. 14 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 31.

Ishiyamadera (Shiga) 36 函 29, 31, 34–40. Da zhidu lun 大智度論, scrolls 33–34, 50, 56, 60, 79, 83, 86, and 100. Dated 11/23/734. Ketaji 既多寺 manuscripts. Scroll transformed to orihon book format in 1787. Partial reprod. Ishiyamadera shiryō sōsho: shiryō hen 石山寺 資料叢書: 史料篇 3, plates 419, 421, 424–430. 39 函 7, 23–29, 31–43. Yuqie shidi lun 瑜伽師地論, scrolls 14, 68, 70–72, 74, 77, 79, 84, 86, 88, 90–96, and 98–100. Dated 3/15/744. Sponsored by Toneri no Kunitari 舎人國足. Scroll transformed to orihon book format. Partial reprod. Ishiyama­ dera shiryō sōsho: shiryō hen 石山寺資料叢書: 史料篇 3, plates 471, 474–493, and NCS, plate 35.

Jingoji (Kyoto) Daoxing bore jing 道行般若經, scroll 5. Dated 3/15/740. Part of canon sponsored by Fujiwara no Bunin 藤原夫人. 20 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 22.

J ōmyōji (Shiga) Da bore boluomiduo jing 大般若波羅蜜多經, scroll 214. Dated 11/15/712. Sponsored by Prince Nagaya 長屋王. Scroll transformed to orihon book format. 17 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 4. In total, 27 scrolls extant at Jōmyōji.

J ōrakuji (Mie) Da bore boluomiduo jing 大般若波羅蜜多經, scrolls 50, 91, and 187. Scroll 91 contains prayer dated 6/30/757. All scrolls likely sponsored by group associated with monk Dōgyō 道行. Scroll 50, 16 sheets; scroll 91, 20 sheets; scroll 187, 22 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plates 55–57.

220 Bibliography

Kagawa Prefectural Museum B980166. Yuqie shidi lun 瑜伽師地論, scroll 61. Dated 3/15/744. Sponsored by Toneri no Kunitari 舎人國足. Scroll transformed to orihon book format. Partial reprod. Kagawa Prefectural Museum web site, http://­jmapps​.­ne​.­jp​/­kpm​/­det​.­html​?­data​ _ ­id​=2 ­ 8377, and Cultural Heritage Database, http://­bunka​.­n ii​. ­ac​.­jp​/­db​ /­heritages​/­detail​/­76352.

Kairyūōji (Nara) Zizai wang pusa jing 自在王菩薩經, scroll 1. Part of 5/11/743 canon. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光明子. 16 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 32.

Kobe City Museum (Hyōgo) Da zhidu lun 大智度論, scroll 91. Dated 11/23/734. Ketaji 既多寺 manuscript. Scroll transformed to orihon book format in 1787. Partial reprod. http://­w ww​.­city​ .­kobe​ .­l g​ .­jp​/­c ulture​/­c ulture​/­i nstitution​ /­museum​ /­meihin ​ _ ­new​/­elements​ /­0 09L​.­html, and Kōbe shiritsu hakubutsukan 2008, plate 9.

Kōsanji (Kyoto) Mile shangsheng jing 彌勒上生經. Dated 6/29/738. Sponsored by Ishikawa no Ason Toshitari 石川朝臣年足. 9 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 18.

Kyō’ō gokokuji (Kyoto) Guanding jing 灌頂經, scroll 7. Sponsored by Hata no Shizume/Yuzurime (?) 秦禪賣. 9 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 50.

Kyoto National Museum B 甲 47. Da bore boluomiduo jing 大般若波羅蜜多經, scroll 250. Dated 11/15/712. Sponsored by Prince Nagaya 長屋王. Scroll transformed to orihon book format. Partial reprod. Kyoto National Museum web site, http://­w ww​.­kyohaku​.­go​.­jp​/­jp​ /­s yuzou​/­i ndex​.­html (museum number BK 47), and emuseum, http://­w ww​ .­emuseum​.­jp​.­​/­detail​/­101010​/­0 01​/­0 01​?­x​= ​-­­98&y​= ​-­­145&s​=1 ­. B 甲 63. Da bore boluomiduo jing 大般若波羅蜜多經, scroll 232. Dedicated 7/18/741. Sponsored by Shimomura no Nushi Hiromaro 下村主廣麻呂. Partial reprod. http://­w ww​.­kyohaku​.­go​.­jp​/­jp​/­syuzou​/­index​.­html (museum number BK 63). B 甲 64. Fanwang jing 梵網經, scroll 2. Dated 3/25/757. Sponsored by fellowship group led by monk Ryōshun 靈春. 22 sheets. Partial reprod. Kyoto National Museum web site, http://­w ww​.­kyohaku​.­go​.­jp​/­jp​/­syuzou​/­index​.­html (museum number BK 64); Cultural Heritage Database, http://­bunka​.­nii​.­ac​.­jp​/­db​/heri​ tages​/­detail​/­133097; and NCS, plate 53.

Bibliography 221 B 甲 115. Yuqie shidi lun 瑜伽師地論, scroll 65. Dated 3/15/744. Sponsored by Toneri no Kunitari 舎人國足. 14 sheets. Scroll transformed to orihon book format. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 36, and Kyoto National Museum web site, http://­w ww​ .­kyohaku​.­go​.­jp​/­jp​/­syuzou​/­index​.­html (museum number BK 115). Moriya 247. Jiuhu shenming jing 救護身命經. Colophon reads 禪定持誦. 4 sheets. ­Beginning missing. Cata­loged in Kokyō zuroku: Moriya Kōzō-­shi shūshū 古経圖録： 守屋孝蔵氏蒐集, 55.

Kyoto University Library 01–24/タ/01 貴. Da zhidu lun 大智度論, scroll 40. Dated 11/23/734. Ketaji 既多寺 manuscript. 18 sheets. Scroll transformed to orihon book format in 1787.

Kyoto University Faculty of Letters, Japa­nese Language and Lit­er­a­ture Collection 国文 To 5 (貴). Yuqie shidi lun 瑜伽師地論, scrolls 76, 81, and 97. Dated 3/15/744. Sponsored by Toneri no Kunitari 舎人國足. Scroll 76, 16 sheets; scroll 81, 15 sheets;

scroll 97, 21 sheets. Scrolls transformed to orihon book format. Above-­referenced scrolls share single cata­log number.

Leeum, Samsung Museum of Art (Seoul) National Trea­sure 196. Da fangguang fo huayan jing 大方廣佛華嚴經, 2 scrolls (chaps. 1–10 and 44–50). Started 8/1/754 and completed 2/14/755. Sponsored by Yŏn’gi 緣起. Partial reprod. Chin et al. 1991, 2:176, and Cultural Heritage Administration of ­Korea web site, http://­jikimi​.­cha​.­go​.­k r (National Trea­sure 196).

Nakamura Calligraphy Museum (Tokyo) N 066. Weimo jie jing 維摩詰經, scroll 3. Dated 3/14/620. Sponsored by Yanshuo 閻 碩. Copied by Zhu Lingbian 朱令辯. 13 sheets. Reprod. Taitō-­kuritsu Shodō Hakubutsukan shozō Nakamura Fusetsu kyūzō uiki bokusho shūsei 台東区立書道博物 館所蔵中村不折旧蔵禹域墨書集成, 2:4–7. N 069. Apitan piposha lun 阿毘曇毗婆沙論, scroll 60. Dated 7/15/662. Sponsored by Yuchi Baolin 尉遲寳琳 and monk Daoshuang 道爽 with fellowship group as part of canon; copied purely by Shen Hong 沈弘 in Yu 雩 prefecture. 18 sheets. Reprod. Taitō-­kuritsu Shodō Hakubutsukan shozō Nakamura Fusetsu kyūzō uiki bokusho shūsei 台東区立書道博物館所蔵中村不折旧蔵禹域墨書集成, 2:12–20.

Nanatasudera (Nagoya) Jiuhu shenming jing 救護身命經. Late Heian. Reprod. Nanatsudera koitsu kyōten kenkyū sōsho 七寺古逸経典研究叢書, 2:504–512.

222 Bibliography

Nara National Museum 1164–0. Yuqie shidi lun 瑜伽師地論, scroll 89. Dated 3/15/744. Sponsored by Toneri no Kunitari 舎人國足. 17 sheets. Scroll transformed to orihon book format. Partial reprod. Nara National Museum web site, http://­w ww​.­narahaku​.­go​.­jp​ /­collection​/­1164–0​.­html. 1191–0. Guanding sui yuan wangsheng jing 灌頂隨願往生經. Dated 12/737. Sponsored by Ishikawa no Ason Toshitari 石川朝臣年足. 10 sheets. Partial reprod. Nara National Museum web site, http://­w ww​.­narahaku​.­go​.­jp​/­collection​/­1191–0​ .­html, and NCS, plate 19. 1248–0. Da zhidu lun 大智度論, scroll 66. Dated 11/23/734. Ketaji 既多寺 manuscript. 21 sheets. Scroll transformed to orihon book format in 1787. Partial reprod. Nara National Museum web site, http://­w ww​.­narahaku​.­go​.­jp​/­collection​ /­1248–0​.­html.

National Library of China (Beijing) BD 646 (cf. 日046; PK 8298). Jiuhu shenming jing 救護身命經. Dated 7th–8th cent. (Tang dynasty). 5 sheets. First 2 sheets damaged. Reprod. Guojia tushuguan cang Dunhuang yishu 國家圖書館藏敦煌遺書 9:241–243, and IDP web site, http://­idp​.­bl​ .­uk:80​/­database​/­oo​_­loader​.­a4d​?­pm​=­BD00646;img​=1 ­. BD 14496 (cf. 新0696). Apitan piposha lun 阿毘曇毗婆沙論, scroll 51. Dated 7/15/662. Sponsored by Yuchi Baolin 尉遲寳琳 and monk Daoshuang 道爽 with fellowship group as part of canon; copied purely by Shen Hong 沈弘 in Yu 雩 prefecture. 12 sheets. Reprod. Guojia tushuguan cang Dunhuang yishu 國家圖書館藏敦煌遺書 128:220–226.

National Museum of Japa­nese History (Chiba) H-194. Yuqie shidi lun 瑜伽師地論, scroll 18. Sponsored by fellowship group of Fujiwara southern h ­ ouse. 8 sheets. Reprod. National Museum of Japa­nese History’s web site, http://­w ww​.­rekihaku​.­ac​.­jp​/­database​/­index​.­html (資料番号 H-194), and partial reprod. NCS, plate 86.

Nezu Museum (Tokyo) Da bore boluomiduo jing 大般若波羅蜜多經, scroll 12. Dedicated 7/18/741. Sponsored by Shimomura no Nushi Hiromaro 下村主廣麻呂. 17 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 30. Da bore boluomiduo jing 大般若波羅蜜多經, scroll 23. Dedicated 11/15/712. Sponsored by Prince Nagaya 長屋王. Scroll transformed to orihon book format. Partial reprod. Cultural Heritage Database, http://­bunka​.­nii​.­ac​.­jp​/­db​/­heritages​ /­detail​/­185052. Da bore boluomiduo jing 大般若波羅蜜多經, scroll 57. Dated 11/8/747. Sponsored by Shanyi 善意. 14 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 40, and Cultural Heritage Database, http://­bunka​.­nii​.­ac​.­jp​/­db​/­heritages​/­detail​/­218370.

Bibliography 223 Da bore boluomiduo jing 大般若波羅蜜多經, scroll 267. Dedicated 9/23/728. Sponsored by Prince Nagaya 長屋王. Composed of long sheets of paper mea­sur­ing 176 cm per sheet; 5 sheets total. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 5, and Cultural Heritage Database, http://­bunka​.­nii​.­ac​.­jp​/­db​/­heritages​/­detail​/­157021​/­2. Da fangguang fo huayan jing 大方廣佛華嚴經, scroll 2. Part of Jingo keiun canon. Sponsored by Empress Shōtoku 稱德. 17 Sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 72. Da Tang neidian lu 大唐内典錄, scroll 10. Dated 7/23/755. Part of canon sponsored by Mutobe no Azumabito 六人部東人. 41 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 52, and Cultural Heritage Database, http://­bunka​.­nii​.­ac​.­jp​/­db​/­heritages​/­detail​ /­170911.

Ōtani University Museum (Kyoto) Yuqie shidi lun 瑜伽師地論, scroll 44. Dated 3/15/744. Sponsored by Toneri no Kunitari 舎人國足. 15 sheets. Scroll transformed to orihon book format; subsequently remade into a scroll.

Prince­ton University, East Asian Library and Gest Collection (Prince­ton, NJ) GM 220. Zhong shifen apitan lun, scroll 12. 衆事分阿毘曇論. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光明子. Part of 5/1 canon. 15 sheets. Reprod. Prince­ton University Digital Library, http://­arks​.­princeton​.­edu​/­ark:​/­88435​/­d504rm62m. GM 221. Guangzan bore boluomi jing 光讚般若波羅蜜經, scroll 10. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光明子. Part of 5/1 canon. 14 sheets. Reprod. Prince­ton University Digital Library, http://­a rks​.­princeton​.­edu​/­a rk:​/­8 8435​ /­8c97kr70c.

Private Collection (Kyoto) Da bore boluomiduo jing 大般若波羅蜜多經, scroll 232. Dated 7/10/739. Sponsored by Ishikawa no Toshitari 石川朝臣年足. 18 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 20.

Shimane Museum of Ancient Izumo (Izumo) Da zhidu lun 大智度論, scroll 37. Dated 11/23/734. Ketaji 既多寺 manuscript. Scroll transformed to orihon book format in 1787.

Shōgozō (Nara) SK 261. Guoqu zhuangyan jie qian foming jing 過去莊嚴劫千佛名經. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光明子. Part of 5/1 canon. Second colophon mentions collation and includes name of Heki no Miyatsuko Minomaro 日置造蓑麻呂. 18 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵経巻, disc 24.

224 Bibliography SK 273. Du zhufo jingjie zhiguangyan jing 度諸佛境界智光嚴經. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光明子. Part of 5/1 canon. 20 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵経 巻, disc 25. SK 290. Beihua jing 悲華經, scroll 6. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光明子. Part of 5/1 canon. 20 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵経卷, disc 27. SK 294. Beihua jing 悲華經, scroll 10. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光明 子. Part of 5/1 canon. 19 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵経卷, disc 27. SK 300. Rulai xingxian jing 如來興顯經, scroll 4. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光明子. Part of 5/1 canon. 22 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵経卷, disc 28. SK 350. Zengyi ahan jing 增壹阿含經, scroll 23. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光明子. Part of 5/1 canon. 25 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵経卷, disc 33. SK 395. Za ahan jing 雜阿含經, scroll 46. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光 明子. Part of 5/1 canon. 19 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵経卷, disc 37. SK 412. Zhong ahan jing 中阿含經, scroll 44. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光明子. Part of 5/1 canon. 17 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵経卷, disc 38. SK 419. Zhong ahan jing 中阿含經, scroll 52. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光明子. Part of 5/1 canon. 22 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵経卷, disc 39. SK 459. Faju piyu jing 法句譬喩經, scroll 2. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光明子. Part of 5/1 canon. 27 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵経卷, disc 43. SK 462–464. Baoyu jing 寶雨經, scrolls 5, 8, and 10. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光明子. Part of 5/1 canon. Copied by Takebe no Hirotari 建部廣足. Scroll 5, 19 sheets; scroll 8, 18 sheets; scroll 10, 18 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵 経卷, disc 43. SK 482. Xiaopin bore boluomi jing 小品般若波羅蜜經, scroll 8. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光明子. Part of 5/1 canon. 20 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵経卷, disc 44. SK 539. Yuqie shidi lun 瑜伽師地論, scroll 65. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光明子. Part of 5/1 canon. Verso contains name of scribe, Nishikori no Kimi Maro 錦織君麻呂. 17 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵経卷, disc 49. SK 540. Yuqie shidi lun 瑜伽師地論, scroll 69. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光明子. Part of 5/1 canon. Verso contains name of scribe, Nishikori no Kimi Maro 錦織君麻呂, and related information about copying. 22 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵経卷, disc 49. SK 752–761. Zhong shifen apitan lun 衆事分阿毘曇論, scrolls 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, and 11. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光明子. Part of 5/1 canon. Copied by Karakuni no Hitonari 韓國人成, whose name appears on verso of scrolls 1–3 and 7–9. Scroll 1, 18 sheets; scroll 2, 18 sheets; scroll 3, 26 sheets; scroll 4, 17 sheets; scroll 6, 17 sheets; scroll 7, 12 sheets; scroll 8, 19 sheets; scroll 9, 22 sheets; scroll 10, 22 sheets; scroll 11, 19 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵経卷, discs 68–69. SK 1467. Pusa dichi jing 菩薩地持經, scroll 5. Part of Imakō ichibu 今更一部 canon. 15 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵経卷, disc 95. SK 1474. Dengji zhongde sanmei jing 等集衆德三昧經, scroll 2. Part of Imakō ichibu 今更一部 canon. 17 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵経卷, disc 95. SK 1475. Genben shuoyiqie youbu pinaiye 根本説一切有部毘奈耶, scroll 3. Part of Imakō ichibu 今更一部 canon. 16 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵経卷, disc 95.

Bibliography 225 SK 1486. Genben shuoyiqie youbu pinaiye 根本説一切有部毘奈耶, scroll 30. Part of Imakō ichibu 今更一部 canon. 19 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵経卷, disc 95. SK 1492. Genben shuoyiqie youbu pinaiye 根本説一切有部毘奈耶, scroll 36. Part of Imakō ichibu 今更一部 canon. 25 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵経卷, disc 95. SK 1755. Weimo jie suoshuo jing 維摩詰所説經, scroll 2. Dated 4/15/750. Sponsored on behalf of Hozumi no Ason Oyu 穂積朝臣老. 18 sheets. Shōgozō kyōkan 聖語蔵 経卷, disc 98.

Tenri Central Library (Tenri-­shi, Nara) 183− ィ 3. Da zhidu lun 大智度論, scroll 96. Dated 11/23/734. Ketaji 既多寺 manuscript. 18 sheets. Scroll transformed to orihon book format in 1787. 183− ィ 5. Yuqie shidi lun 瑜伽師地論, scroll 85. Dated 3/15/744. Sponsored by Toneri no Kunitari 舎人國足. 17 sheets. Scroll transformed to orihon book format. 183− ィ 173. Yuqie shidi lun 瑜伽師地論, scroll 42. Dated 3/15/744. Sponsored by Toneri no Kunitari 舎人國足. 16 sheets. Scroll transformed to orihon book format; subsequently remade into a scroll. 183− ィ. 239. Da zhidu lun 大智度論, scroll 97. Dated 11/23/734. Ketaji 既多寺 manuscript. 18 sheets. Scroll transformed to orihon book format in 1787; subsequently remade into a scroll. 183− ィ. 263. Da zhidu lun 大智度論, scroll 53. Dated 11/23/734. Ketaji 既多寺 manuscript. 13 sheets. Scroll transformed to orihon book format in 1787.

Tokyo Historiographical Institute S 貴 41–4. Da zhidu lun 大智度論, scroll 87. Dated 11/23/734. Ketaji 既多寺 manuscript. 15 sheets. Scroll transformed to orihon book format in 1787.

Tokyo National Museum B 3083. Za ahan jing 雜阿含經, scroll 45. Part of 5/11/743 canon. Sponsored by Queen Consort Kōmyōshi 光明子. Partial reprod. http://­w ww​.­t nm​.­jp​/­modules​/­r​ _­collection​/­index​.­php​?­controller​= ­dtl&colid​=­B3083.

Tokyo University, Department of Japa­nese Language and Lit­er­a­ture L 54847. Da zhidu lun 大智度論, scroll 81. Dated 11/23/734. Ketaji 既多寺 manuscript (­here written as 氣多寺). 22 sheets. Scroll transformed to orihon book format in 1787.

Tōshōdaiji (Nara) Da bore boluomiduo jing 大般若波羅蜜多經, scroll 176. Dated 9/5/767. Completed by Gyōshin’s 行信 disciple Kōnin 考仁 and o ­ thers. 4 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 66, and Tōshōdaiji kokyō sen 唐招提寺古経選, plate 9.

226 Bibliography Da bore boluomiduo jing 大般若波羅蜜多經, scroll 176. Dated intercalendary 5/779. Copied on behalf of Sakanoue no Imiki Iwatate 坂上忌寸石楯. Colophon damaged and reconstructed with other sources. 8 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 75. Yuqie shidi lun 瑜伽師地論, scroll 21. Dated 4/745. Sponsored by Man’yu Bosatsu 萬 瑜菩薩 and copied by Shin’yu Bosatsu 信瑜菩薩. 15 sheets. Partial reprod. NCS, plate 39. Yuqie shidi lun 瑜伽師地論, scroll 55. Dated 9/5/767. Completed by Gyōshin’s 行信 disciple Kōnin 考仁 and ­others. 8 sheets. Partial reprod. Tōshōdaiji kokyō sen 唐招 提寺古経選, plate 10.

Waseda University (Tokyo) ハ 04 05096 1–2. Kokyō daibatsu zuikenroku 古經題跋随見録. Compiled and copied by Tanaka Mitsuaki 田中光顕 (1843–1939). 2 vols. Reprod. http://­a rchive​.­w ul​

.­waseda​.­ac​.­jp​/­kosho​/­ha04​/­ha04 ​_­05096.

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Index

Page numbers followed by t refer to tables and bold page numbers refer to figures. Abe, Princess. See Kōken/Shōtoku, Empress Abé, Ryūichi, 101, 102 Abe, Stanley, 86 Abhidharma Treatise of Discerning Myriad Things (Skt. Abhidharma prakaraṇapāda śāstra; Ch. Zhong shifen apitan lun), 162, 163 abstinential periods (Ch. zhai; J. sai), 48–49, 62, 103, 197–198, 202, 203–205 Agata Inukai no Aneme, 200, 201 Agata no Inukai Hirotoji, 192 Agostini, Giulio, 102 Alcuinus, 10 Amitābha, 74, 75, 91, 103, 168 Amitābha Sutra (Ch. Amituo jing), 123, 138 Analects (Ch. Lunyu), 35, 157 Apple, James, 5 aristocratic Buddhism (kizoku no Bukkyō), 17, 18, 142, 212 aristocrats: estates, 139; household scriptoria, 18, 139–143; patrons, 144–145 Aristotle, 100 Asad, Talal, 12, 37, 150 Asaka, Prince, 192, 193 Asakusa Bunko, 24 ascetic practices, 97–98, 102 Ashiura no Tsugute, 43 Asia. See East Asia; and individual countries assemblers (sō’ō or sōkō), 90, 106, 110, 113, 115, 119–120, 131, 181

Asukadera, 117 Ato no Otari, 21n47, 129 Avalokiteśvara, 75, 123, 125, 127, 141, 201 Bell, Catherine M., 2–3, 10, 209 Berkwitz, Stephen C., 30 Bible, 9 Biographies of Exemplary Females (Ch. Lienü zhuan), 123, 124 Blackburn, Anne, 104 black magic, 192, 199–202. See also demons bodies. See purification practices book, cult of, 3–6, 8–9 Book of History (Ch. Shu jing/Shang shu), 64, 72 Brahma’s Net Sutra (Ch. Fanwang jing): precepts, 103; on purification practices, 41; transcription projects, 103, 108–114 Brown, C. Mackenzie, 10 Buddhism: cult of the book, 3–6; household activities, 139; introduction to Japan, 5, 14; in Kamakura period, 16, 53–54, 211; in Nara period, 14–17, 18–19, 142–143, 211–213; privatization, 139, 145; reformers, 16, 211; roles of individuals, 169–170, 212; spread in Japan, 17, 84, 87, 212–213. See also state Buddhism Bunya no Mahito Kiyomi (Prince Chinu), 142 261

262 Index bureaucracies: development in Japan, 118, 126, 144; discipline, 150; in East Asia, 5, 114–116; emergence, 3, 117; karma and, 32; monastic, 153; networks, 108; scriptoria as, 107, 114; writing in, 1. See also officials; scriptoria bureaucratic skills, 153, 156 Bureau of Books and Drawings (Zushoryō), 109, 120, 129, 156 Bureau of Sutra Transcription (Shakyōshi), 126–127 Butler, Judith, 209 Cairo Genizah, 22 Caitanya Caritamrta, 9 calligraphic skills, 152, 153, 161–165 Campany, Robert F., 39, 59 canon catalogs, 117, 118, 125, 128, 133, 175–176 canon transcription: of 5/1 canon, 125–129, 131, 132, 140, 184; in household scriptoria, 139; Initial Single Set, 133; Jingo Keiun canon, 132; memorial for Kōmyōshi, 130–131; royal sponsorship, 116–117, 128, 132, 133; source texts, 132, 140; Tenmu project, 116–118. See also sutra transcription Chang’an scriptorium, 114–115 China: collective patronage, 86–87, 94; cosmology, 70, 76–77; devotional societies (yi), 86–87; domestication of divine sphere, 208; emperors, 77; friendship in, 100; household scriptoria, 118–119, 139; introduction of Buddhism, 5, 39; literary tradition, 5; poetry, 58, 73; purification practices, 39–40; scriptoria, 114–115, 118–119; village organizations, 86. See also Dunhuang manuscripts Chinese classics: knowledge of, 153, 157–161; language used in prayer texts, 59, 64, 69, 71–72, 73, 74, 78–79; transcriptions, 157 Chinu, Prince (Bunya no Mahito Kiyomi), 142 Christianity, 9, 10

Chronicles of Japan (Nihon shoki), 61n10, 109, 116–117 clans. See lineage groups Classic of Changes (Ch. Yi jing), 69 Classic of Filial Piety (Ch. Xiao jing), 71–72 Classic of Poetry (Ch. Shi jing), 64, 71 Classic of Rites (Ch. Li ji), 71–72 Clayton, Barbra R., 35 collective patronage, continental precedents, 86–87, 94. See also fellowship groups Collins, Steve, 100 colophons: of Flower Garland Sutra, 40–41, 115; information provided, 26; of Lotus Sutra, 33; of Silla sutra, 40–41, 46, 115. See also Dunhuang manuscripts; prayer texts cosmology: Chinese, 70, 76–77; concepts in prayers, 11, 58, 70, 74–79; East Asian, 31, 198; heavens and pure lands, 74–79; ritualized writing and, 3; sovereigns and, 172–174, 202–203. See also demons; ghosts cult of the book, 3–6, 8–9 Daoism: Laozi, 35, 38; problems with term, 73n42, 75n50; texts, 8, 9–10, 39 Daoshi, Pearl Grove of the Dharma Garden (Ch. Fayuan zhulin), 52 Daoxuan, commentary on the Four Part Vinaya, 49–50, 184 Dayal, Har, 100 death: defilement from, 44; memorial rites, 48n48, 122, 130–131; underworld, 32, 50. See also memorial projects; merit doctrine debt repayment, 51–53, 210 dedication ceremonies (kuyō): dates, 2, 46–50, 47t; debt repayment and, 51–53; merit created, 45–46, 50–51, 210; parts of, 46; for Tenmu project, 117. See also prayer texts defilement, 42–44, 46, 46n44. See also purification practices demons, 171–172, 173–174, 176, 197–198, 201–202 Denecke, Wiebke, 35

Index 263 Derrida, Jacques, 209 Diamond Sutra (Ch. Jingang bore boluomi jing), 33, 38, 125 Disciples of Maitreya (Jishi deshi), 103 disciplinary regimes, 150, 169–170, 210, 212–213 district magistrates (dairyō), 89 district organizations, 87–88. See also fellowship groups divination, 120, 188, 195, 196, 197, 206 Dōgyō: ascetic practices, 97–98; as leader of fellowship group, 97, 98, 101; prayer by, 74–75, 90 Dōji, 121 Dōkyō, 131, 132 Dōshō, 96, 118, 128 Douglas, Mary, 36 Dunhuang manuscripts: colophons, 33, 37, 39–40, 46, 86–87; evidence of scriptoria, 114–115, 119; prayer texts (Ch. yuanwen), 61, 64–65; references to wholesome friends, 86–87; time period and contents, 22 Duthie, Torquil, 57 East Asia: bureaucracies, 5, 114–116; cosmology, 31, 198; introduction of Buddhism, 5; scripture copying, 5–6; shared religious culture, 31. See also individual countries Echizen, 90, 90nn20–21 elites. See aristocrats; social classes; sovereigns emperors. See sovereigns; and individual rulers Ennin, 53 Essential Records of Tōdaiji (Tōdaiji yōroku), 55 ethics: calligraphic skills and, 165; ritualized writing and, 3, 11–12, 13–14, 55–56, 208; rituals and, 11–12, 13, 207–208; of sovereigns, 206. See also wholesome behavior Eve of Sevens (tanabata), 158–160 Excerpts on the Inexhaustible Royal Grace (Ōtakufukatsu shō), 65–66 Extensive Scripture (Ch. Fangguang jing), 123

Fajing, Catalog of Scriptures (Ch. Zhongjing mulu), 175 families. See filial piety; lineage groups; parents Farris, William Wayne, 21 Fei Changfang, Record of the Three Jewels throughout Successive Generations (Ch. Lidai sanbao ji), 175 fellowship Buddhism, 85, 91 fellowship groups (chishiki yui): in capital, 91; chief patrons, 87; district organizations, 87–88; evidence of, 87–88, 92–93; female participants, 95–96; friendship in, 14, 99, 101–103; Korean immigrants in, 87; leaders, 84, 87, 89–91, 95, 96–99, 104; lineage groups, 93–94; motives, 83; participants, 17, 18, 84, 88–89; relationship to state, 85, 88, 90–91, 104, 212; roles in spread of Buddhism, 84, 87; in scriptoria, 91; as scriptural communities, 104; social, political, and religious functions, 85, 94, 104–105, 211; sponsorship of scripture transcriptions, 11, 83, 84, 88–90, 91, 213; village organizations, 88–89 Fellowship of Intimate Servants of Yoga Practice, 95, 102–103 filial piety, 52, 73. See also parents final age of the dharma (Ch. mofa; J. mappō), 196 five corruptions, 195–197 Flower Garland Sutra (Ch. Da fangguang fo huayan jing): colophons, 40–41, 115; lectures on, 189; transcriptions, 54, 184; Vairocana’s Realm of the Flower Treasury, 78 Fond Recollections of Poetry (Kaifūsō), 159, 160 Foucault, Michel, 60 four debts (Ch. si’en; J. shion), 51–53 four heavenly kings: cult of, 197–198; days of descent to earth, 49, 61, 202; observing and punishing roles, 202–206; protective roles, 177, 201–202, 206; statues, 202,

264 Index four heavenly kings (cont.) 203–206, 204, 205; Wide Eyes, 203–205 friendship: Buddhist concept, 100–101; in fellowship groups, 99, 101–103; in premodern societies, 100. See also wholesome friends Fujieda Akira, 114, 115, 119 Fujiwara Bunin, 62, 139 Fujiwara no Asukabehime. See Kōmyōshi, Queen Consort Fujiwara no Fuhito, 122, 160–161, 192 Fujiwara no Hirotsugu, 193, 199 Fujiwara no Kamatari, 122 Fujiwara no Miyako, 108, 114 Fujiwara no Nakamaro, 70, 91, 130, 131, 134, 139–140 Fujiwara no Toyonari, 91 Fujiwara no Umakai, 160 Fujiwara clan, 91, 122, 139–140, 191, 192, 193 Fukujuji, 127 functionalism, 12–13 Furu no Kamitoko, 164 Furuoya Tomohiro, 91 Futaba Kenkō, 15 Fuwa, Princess, 200 Ganjin (Ch. Jianzhen), 132 ganmon. See prayer texts garments, pure (jōe): pure, 2, 30, 38, 40, 42, 43 Genbō, 73, 128, 134, 176, 199 gender. See women Genmei, Empress, 191 Genshō, Empress: death, 186, 187, 194; reign, 191; as retired empress, 184, 193 Gernet, Jacques, 86 ghosts: fear of, 172, 197; of Nagaya, 192; vindictive, 173, 198–199, 201–202 Ginzburg, Carlo, 169 Golden Light Sutra (Ch. Jinguangming zuishengwang jing): five corruptions theme, 196n55; four heavenly kings, 201–202; protection against black magic, 200, 201; recitation, 50n56, 151, 152; references to transcription, 6; transcription project (748), 182,

186–189, 194–195, 207; transcriptions, 54, 131 goodness. See ethics; wholesome behavior Graham, William A., 8 Gyōki, 90, 99, 167 Gyōshin prayer, 66–69 Hamamichi Takahisa, 157 Harima no Atai lineage group, 93, 94 Harima no Kuni-no-Miyatsuko Aka toji, 92, 95 Harima no Kuni-no-Miyatsuko lineage group, 92–94, 96 Harima province, 93. See also Ketaji Harrison, Paul, 102 Haruna Hiroaki, 187 Hata no Yanushi, 167 heavenly kings. See four heavenly kings heavens and pure lands, 74–79 Heki no Miyatsuko Minomaro, 156 Hida no Kunikatsu, 141 Hinduism, 10 Hoida Tadatomo, 24 Hokkeji, 111 Hollywood, Amy, 209, 210 Hōrin, 83, 99 Hōryūji, 87, 206 Hou Xudong, 75 households, religious activities, 139 household scriptoria: of aristocrats and officials, 18, 139–143; canon transcription projects, 139; in China, 118–119, 139; increased number of, 118; of Kōmyōshi, 84, 122–127, 145; memorial projects, 142; of Nagaya, 84, 119–122; provincial, 143–144; relationship to state, 107; temporary, 142; types of works produced, 123–124 Hozumi no Ason Oyu, 70 Huang, Zheng, 61 Hubbard, Jamie, 7 Hureau, Sylvie, 198 Ichihara, Prince, 135–136 Imazu Katsunori, 93–94 Imperial Household Agency, 25 Indian Buddhism: collective patronage, 86; purification

Index 265 practices, 37, 38; wholesome friends, 100–101; writing in, 5. See also Mahāyāna Indra, 49, 201, 202, 203, 205 Inoue Mitsusada, 15–16, 123 institutions: emergence, 3; political influences, 127. See also bureaucracies; scriptoria; social organizations Ishikawa no Okumaro, 136 Ishikawa no Toshitari, 33, 35, 63–64, 76, 84, 140–141 Ishikawa no Toyohito, 138 Ishiyamadera, 21n47, 42, 131 Islam, 8, 9 Ītaka no Kasame, 108 Iware no Kumataka, 167 Izumi province, 89, 167 Jainism, 9 Jicchū, 55 Jikun (Jikin), 130 Jingo Keiun canon: prayer, 76–79; transcription, 132 Jishu (Mononobe no Tanō), 151 Jitchū, 133, 153 Jones, Andrea Sun-Mee, 12–13 Journey to the West, 9 Judaism, 9, 10 Junnin, Emperor, 131 Kabutogi Shōkō, 53 Kadono no Furumaro, 135 Kaiyuan Catalog, 125, 128, 133, 176 kalyāṇamitra (wholesome friend), 99, 100–101. See also wholesome friends [and acquaintances] Kamakura period, Buddhism in, 16, 53–54, 211 kami, 97 Kami no Umakai, 110, 111 Kanda Kiichirō, 77, 78 Kapstein, Matthew, 37 Karakuni no Hitonari: background, 154–155, 167; calligraphy practice, 164–165; career at scriptorium, 154, 155–156, 169; cultural activities, 150, 157–158, 161, 166; literary knowledge, 157–161; poem and preface, 157–161, 158,

163–164; religious commitment, 166, 168, 213; request for ordination, 151, 152, 166; transcriptions by, 162, 163, 163 karma, 32, 36, 207. See also merit doctrine Kasuga no Mushimaro, 167 Katsuura Noriko, 95, 139 Kawachi no Oyatari, 134–135 Kawachi province, 83, 87, 88, 95, 99, 167 Kaya no Tanushi, 182 Kern, Martin, 79 Ketaji, 91–94, 95, 96, 101 Kiben, 121 Kieschnick, John, 32, 33 Kim, Jinah, 4–5 kinship. See filial piety; lineage groups Koguryŏ: fellowship groups, 87; paper makers, 109 Kōkaku, 95, 98, 101, 103 Kōken/Shōtoku, Empress: ascension to throne, 194; as beneficiary of sutra transcriptions, 187–188, 194–195; canon transcription project, 132, 133; as crown princess, 126, 127, 192–194; death, 133; political conflicts, 131; prayer sponsored by, 61–62, 76–79; return to throne as Shōtoku, 131; scriptorium, 84, 127; sorcery incident, 200, 201; sutra transcription in hand of, 183; sutra transcription projects, 108, 109, 126, 127, 130, 131, 187 Komine Kazuaki, 61, 61n11 Kōmyōshi, Queen Consort: canon transcription project, 124–126, 127, 128, 129; children, 123, 123n48, 124, 187, 191, 192–193; death and memorial rites, 130–131, 132; family, 122, 192; illnesses, 91, 129, 130; marriage, 192; patronage, 22, 122, 124, 139; prayers mourning parents, 71; as queen consort, 192; scriptorium, 84, 122–127, 145; sutra transcription in hand of, 183; sutra transcription projects, 171–172, 180–184, 186–188, 195 Kōnin, Emperor, 133 Konkōmyōji, 127, 128, 135, 136

266 Index Konkōmyōji Construction Agency, 134 Koran, 8, 9 Korea: fellowship groups, 87; immigrants from, 87, 154; introduction of Buddhism, 5; purification practices, 40–41; scriptoria, 115–116. See also Koguryŏ; Silla Kūkai, 153, 157, 198 Kurahashibe no Miyatsuko Maro, 70, 71–72, 72n39 Kurehara no Ikuhito, 110 Kuroita Katsumi, 15 Kurosu Toshio, 36 Kusakabe no Obito Maro, 89 Kwon Inhan, 115 Kyōkai, 31, 75n48. See also Records of the Numinous and Strange from Japan Laozi, 35, 38 lay practitioners: in fellowship groups, 102–103, 168; female, 95, 96, 101–102; in Indian Buddhism, 102; male, 101–102; precepts, 103 lineage groups, 89, 93–94 Linghu Yuangui, 38–39 Lingley, Kate, 94 Literary Selections (Ch. Wen xuan), 64, 64n23, 71, 98, 153, 157, 160, 161 literature: Chinese, 5, 58; poetry, 58, 73, 157–161; relationship to ritual, 57, 79. See also Chinese classics Longmen cave temples, 86 Lotus Sutra (Ch. Miaofa lianhua jing): colophons, 33; equivalence to Buddha, 4; merit from copying, 32–33; preparations for copying, 44–45; recitation, 151, 152; transcriptions, 54, 123, 125, 134, 135, 136, 184, 187 Maeyamadera, 140 Magnin, Paul, 46 Mahā-prajñā-pāramitā-sūtra (Ch. Da bore boluomiduo jing): colophons, 69–70, 96–97; patrons of transcriptions, 168; transcription projects, 42, 72n39, 88, 91, 119–122, 123, 131, 140 Mahā-prajñā-pāramitā-sūtra (Ch. Mohe bore boluomi jing), 37

Mahāyāna: purity of bodhisattvas, 37; texts, 3–4, 138 Mahmood, Saba, 13, 208 Maitreya, 74, 75, 87, 103, 140, 211 Manda no Emaro, 137 Manda no Sukune Hiramaro, 141–142 Mañjuśrī, 177 Manpuku, 88, 99 manuscripts: in East Asia, 5–6; imported to Japan, 128–129, 132, 144; preservation from fire, 29–30; veneration of, 5, 8–9. See also paper; scrolls; sutra transcription mappō (final age of the dharma), 196 Maro, 70 masters of conversion (keshu), 99 Mauss, Marcel, 57–58 McKenzie, D. F., 84 meat avoidance, 41, 41nn27–28 meditation masters (zenji), 101 memorial projects, 130–131, 187 Mencius, 35, 100 merit doctrine: agricultural metaphors, 6, 34–35; debt repayment, 51–53; dedication ceremonies, 50–51, 210; purity and, 36; Sanskrit terms, 33–34, 35; sutra transcription and, 6, 13, 14, 29–30, 31, 32–36, 70, 210; transference, 32, 34. See also wholesome behavior Mifune Takayuki, 18 Ming, Emperor, 39 Ministry of Ceremonials (Shikibushō), 120 Mino province, 88, 90 monks: bureaucratic skills, 153; Christian, 10; eulogies for teachers, 73; fellowship groups led by, 84, 87, 96–99; former scribes as, 151–154, 213; novice, 168; organizational roles, 98; private scriptorium projects, 136–137; pure lifestyles, 41; qualifications, 151–154, 157, 165; recluses, 97–98, 102; relationships with scribes, 167; relationships with wealthy patrons, 98; requests for ordination, 151, 152–153, 166–167; roles in sutra

Index 267 transcription, 115; in scriptoria, 120–121, 141; sutras taking form of, 50–51; sutra transcription as punishment, 112n15 Monmu, Emperor, 72, 72n39, 191 Mononobe no Tanō, 151 morality. See ethics; wholesome behavior Morocco, Islamic schools, 8 Mueggler, Erik, 173 Murayama no Muraji Obitomaro, 166–167 Muro, novice of, 29–30, 31, 36 Mutobe no Azumabito, 89–90 Nagaoka Ryūsaku, 203, 205–206 Nagaya, Prince: black magic accusations, 192, 200; death, 192, 199, 200; eulogy by, 72, 72n39; scriptorium, 84, 119–122 Nakai Shinkō, 85, 91, 94 Nakano, Chieko, 53 Naka no shima-in, 125 Nakatomi no Takatori, 142 Nan no Makimi, 151, 167 Nara National Museum, 22 Nara period: Buddhism in, 14–17, 18–19, 142–143, 211–213; sutra transcription in, 2–3, 2n2, 15, 17, 18, 21 National Museum of Japanese History, 25, 91 networks: access to, 141, 212, 213; building, 90; bureaucratic, 134, 138; scriptorial, 18, 108, 141, 142–143, 145; social, 212 Nihon ryōiki. See Records of the Numinous and Strange from Japan Nishikori no Kimi Maro, 168 Northern Fujiwara household, 139 Noto no Oshihito, 181 nuns, 15, 55, 96, 101, 114, 188, 189 nyohō kyō. See sutra transcription: correct method Ōe no Masafusa, 59, 59n7 Office for Transcribing the Canon at Tōin (Tōin Sha Issaikyōjo), 127 Office of Book Transcription (Shashojo), 129

Office of Reverent Transcription of the Canon (Hōsha Issaikyōjo), 132–133 Office of Sutra Copyists (Kyōshijo), 125, 126 Office of Sutra Transcription (Shakyōjo): administration, 1, 22–24, 41–42, 106–107, 140–141, 156, 182–183; Brahma’s Net Sutra transcription project, 108–114; canon transcription projects, 125–126, 128–129, 130–131, 132–133, 184; closing, 24, 132, 133–134; conflict over control of, 131; development from Kōmyōshi’s scriptorium, 125, 126–128, 145; interval projects, 129–130, 184, 185–186t, 189, 212; memorial projects, 130–131, 187; names, 126–127, 129, 215–216; paper supplies, 171, 181; as part of Queen Consort’s Palace Agency, 124, 127, 139, 154; private projects, 134–139; relationship to state, 145; in scriptural network, 145; source documents, 54; Tōdaiji buildings, 128. See also Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life, transcription project of 748 Office of Sutra Transcription employees: assemblers, 110, 131, 181; clerks and administrators, 1, 108, 110–111, 113–114, 128, 129, 156; cultural and ritual activities, 150, 157–158, 161, 166–168, 213; as fellowship group, 91; lent to other scriptoria, 142; number of, 131; proofreaders, 113, 131, 166–167; purification practices, 40–44; scribes, 41–44, 111–113, 131, 142, 181–182; working conditions, 149. See also Karakuni no Hitonari Office of Woodworking (mokkō sho), 54–55 Office of Writing Methods (shohōsho), 119–120 officials: administrators, 119, 156; in districts, 89; fellowship group leaders, 89–91, 104; household scriptoria, 139–143; midlevel, 138;

268 Index officials (cont.) in scriptoria, 120, 122. See also bureaucracies Oharida no Toshitari, 54–55 Ōkusa Hiroshi, 167 Ono no Kunikata, 125 Osada no Minushi, 182, 183 Osada no Toneri Ebisu, 50 Palace Scriptorium, canon transcription projects, 132, 133 paper: colors, 2, 109, 113, 179–180; manufacturing, 109, 121; quality, 109, 177, 180; recycled, 1, 23–24, 157; sizes, 121, 121n44, 143; supplied by patrons, 135, 137, 179–180; supplies, 179–180, 180t, 181. See also scrolls parallel prose (Ch. pianwen; J. benbun), 62–64 parents: debts to, 51–53; eulogies for, 71–73; memorial rites for, 122. See also filial piety patrons: motives, 13, 14, 31, 122, 138–139, 210; private projects, 134–139, 212; royal, 84, 116–118, 133, 207–208; scribes as, 168; selection of texts, 175; social backgrounds, 17, 18, 138, 144–145, 213; sutra transcription and merit accumulation, 14, 31, 32, 210. See also dedication ceremonies; fellowship groups; household scriptoria; prayer texts Piggott, Joan R., 153–154, 172, 191 Pillow Book (Makura no sōshi), 59 poetry: Chinese, 58, 62–64, 73; by Karakuni no Hitonari, 157–161, 158, 163–164; tanabata, 158–160 popular Buddhism, 17, 18, 79, 85, 88, 104, 134, 138 posadha, 48, 49–50. See also abstinential periods postmortem realms. See heavens and pure lands prayer texts (Ch. yuanwen; J. ganmon): anthologies, 59; authorship, 59–60; Chinese poetics and, 11, 58, 59, 62–64; combining Chinese literary and Buddhist language, 11, 59,

72–73, 78–79; cosmological concepts, 11, 58, 70, 74–79; East Asian context, 6, 58; functions, 57, 60, 61; Gyōshin prayer, 66–69; language on merit and karma, 33, 34–35; literary aspects, 11, 57, 58, 62–66; mourning sections, 66, 68, 71–73; Nara examples, 66; praise for merits of scripture, 69–71, 210; ritual aspects, 57, 60–62; social function, 57–58; structures, 64–66 precepts: in abstinential periods, 49; bodhisattva, 103, 168; monastic, 151; purification practices and, 38, 39–40; upheld by lay practitioners, 102, 103; upheld by rulers, 208 private copying, 134–139, 174n6, 212 proofreading: correcting errors, 2, 113; payments for, 135, 136, 155; process, 47n45, 120, 187; workers, 90, 113, 114, 115, 119–120, 131, 138, 155, 169, 183 provincial doctors, 90 provincial household scriptoria, 143–144 provincial magistrates, 17 Puett, Michael J., 208 pure lands. See heavens and pure lands purification practices: bathing and ablutions, 41–42, 42n29; in China, 39–40; divination and, 206; evidence of, 29, 30, 37–45; in India, 37, 38; Islamic, 9; in Japan, 37, 41–44; in Korea, 40–41; meat avoidance, 41, 41nn27–28; preservation of sutra manuscripts, 29–30, 38–39; before scripture recitation, 37; sutra transcription and, 6, 13–14, 37–45, 152, 210 purity, 14, 36–37, 44–45 Qiaoshan, Mount, 76–77 Queen Consort’s Palace Agency: employees, 136, 141; paper supplied by, 135, 171, 179–180; requests for ordination, 152; scriptorium, 124, 127, 139, 154. See also Kōmyōshi, Queen Consort Rambelli, Fabio, 5, 7, 175 Ratnaketuparivarta, 37, 38

Index 269 Read, Benjamin L., 85 recluses, 97–98, 102 Record of the Inner Scriptures from the Great Tang (Ch. Da Tang neidian lu), 89–90 Records of the Numinous and Strange from Japan (Nihon ryōiki), 29–30, 31, 36, 44–45, 50–51, 52, 75n48, 99, 103 Regulations of Monks and Nuns, 153 relics, 4–5, 4n9 ritsuryō project, 85, 88, 89, 107, 143 ritual efficacy, purity and, 37 ritualized writing: cosmological implications, 3, 13; distinction from other writing, 2–3; ethics and, 3, 11–12, 13–14, 55–56, 207–208; in other religions, 9–10; political implications, 3, 104; religious functions, 3, 13; social implications, 3, 10–11, 13, 14, 17–19, 104, 105, 210–211; transformative quality, 209. See also sutra transcription ritual manuals, 53–54 rituals: constitutive power, 13; divination, 206–207; ethics and, 11–12, 13, 207–208; functions, 12–13; reiterative qualities, 209–210; relationship to literature, 57, 79; statecraft and, 172; as symbolic actions, 11. See also dedication ceremonies; prayer texts; purification practices Rōben, 134, 184, 189 royal family. See sovereigns; and individual names Ryōshun, 103 Saeki no Imaemishi (Saeki no Wakugo), 135, 136, 181, 186, 187, 188 Saidaiji, 133 Saimei, Empress, 198 Sakaehara Towao, 93–94, 123, 157, 167 Sakanoue no Imiki Iwatate, 69–70, 72–73 Sanuki province, 143 Sasaki Keisuke, 164 Schleicher, Marianne, 10

Schopen, Gregory, 3, 5, 37, 139 scribes: Christian, 10; Islamic, 9; Jewish, 9 scribes (kyōshi): calligraphic skills, 152, 153, 161–165; disciplinary regimes, 150, 169–170, 210, 212–213; food, 41, 149, 166; garments, 2, 30, 38, 40, 42; Korean immigrants as, 154; ordination as monks, 151–154, 213; private projects, 137; productivity, 111, 112–113, 182; purification practices, 13–14, 37–45, 152; as quasi-religious figures, 165–166; recommendation letters, 164, 167; religious commitment, 31, 166–169, 213; requests for payment, 113–114, 127, 137, 183n26; salaries, 155; social backgrounds, 18; state employees, 120; temporary, 161n39; transcription process, 111–113. See also Karakuni no Hitonari; Office of Sutra Transcription employees scriptoria: administration, 106–107, 109–111, 113–114, 120, 210–211; budgets, 108–109; in China, 114–115, 118–119; efficiency, 106–107, 132–133; interval projects, 125, 128; in Korea, 115–116; monks in, 120–121, 141; networks, 18, 108, 141, 142–143, 145; private projects, 134–139, 212; production, 144; regulations, 14; relationship to state, 107–108, 144–145; royal patrons, 84, 91, 116–118, 132; salaries, 113–114, 155, 165–166; skilled labor, 107, 114, 121, 144, 161–162, 169; supplies, 109–110, 111; sutra transcription process, 2, 108–114, 181–183; workers’ roles, 106, 107, 110, 113, 119–121, 169–170. See also household scriptoria; Office of Sutra Transcription scriptural cultures, 3–6, 8–11, 55, 104, 169, 209–211 Scripture on Brahma’s Spirit Tablets (Ch. Guanding fantian shence jing): demonic and spectral threats, 197;

270 Index Scripture on Brahma’s Spirit Tablets (cont.) as divination text, 188, 195, 197, 206; five corruptions theme, 196–197; transcription project, 186, 188–189, 207 Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life (Ch. Jiuhu shenming jing): circulation, 176; contents, 171–172, 176–177, 195–197, 201, 203; five corruptions theme, 195–196; origins, 175; protection against black magic, 199, 201, 202; status in canon, 175–176; transcription in 751, 174n6 Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life, transcription project of 748: beneficiary, 187–188; choice of text, 174; context at scriptorium, 183–188; documentation of, 174, 177–184, 178–179t; links to other projects, 186–189, 195–197; motivation, 202; paper used, 171, 179–180, 180t, 181, 182–183; political context, 189–195, 207; proofreading, 183, 183n24; scrolls, 180, 183; timeline, 181–182, 181t, 183, 186–188; transcription process, 181–183 Scripture on the Correct Dharma of the Foundation of Mindfulness (Ch. Zhengfa nianchu jing), 52–53 Scripture on the Dhāraṇī of the Diamond Place (Ch. Jingang chang tuoluoni jing), 83, 87–88 Scripture on the Medicine Master (Ch. Yaoshi jing), 135, 141–142, 152, 184 Scripture on the One Who Observes the Sounds of the World (Ch. Guan shi yin jing), 123, 135, 152 Scripture on the Rain of Jewels (Ch. Baoyu jing), 164 Scripture on Understanding the Profound and Esoteric (Skt. Saṃdhinirmocanasūtra; Ch. Jie shenmi jing), 102–103 scriptures: cult of the book, 3–6, 8–9; defining with rituals, 10; in non-Buddhist traditions, 8–10; power, 210; protection against black magic, 199, 201–202; recitation, 8,

10, 37; social relationships and, 10–11; veneration of, 8–9. See also canon; sutras scrolls: assembling, 110, 115, 183; lining, 110; preparing, 110, 115, 135, 138; unlined, 121–122, 121–122n45; wrappers, 113, 121. See also paper Sei Shōnagon, Pillow Book (Makura no sōshi), 59 Shanyi, 73 Shōgozō Scrolls, 25, 162–163, 163, 164 Shōmu, Emperor: abdication, 187, 191, 194; canon transcription project, 179, 184; children, 123, 123n48, 124, 187, 191, 192–194; consorts, 62, 139, 192, 194; edict on black magic, 200; fear of demons and ghosts, 198, 199; mother’s death, 108; prayers for, 76–79; prayer sponsored by, 69; reign, 172, 189–194; scriptorium, 84; succession, 126–127, 187, 191, 192–194, 202–203. See also Kōmyōshi, Queen Consort Shōsōin, 21–22, 23 Shōsōin documents: comparison with other archives, 21–22; condition, 24–25; documentation of Scripture on Saving and Protecting Body and Life transcription project of 748, 174, 177–184, 178–179t; official documents, 23–24, 54–55; prayer texts, 66; on private projects, 134–138; on purification practices, 37, 40–44; requests for ordination, 151, 152–153, 166–167; scholarship using, 22–23; scriptorium administrative records, 21, 22–25, 106, 107, 110, 111, 112, 140–141, 165–166 Shōtoku, Empress. See Kōken/Shōtoku, Empress Shōtoku, Prince, 202 Sikhism, 9 Silla: colophons, 40–41, 46, 115; fellowship groups, 87; scriptoria, 115; tales, 37–38 skillful means (Skt. upāyakauśalya; J. hōben), 70

Index 271 Smith, Wilfred Cantwell, 10 social classes: Buddhism and, 16–19, 212–213; of patrons, 17, 18, 138, 144–145, 213; sutra transcription and, 17–18. See also aristocrats social organizations: religious practices and, 17, 18–19, 211; straddlers, 85, 88, 104, 212; textual production and access and, 11, 18, 84, 144. See also fellowship groups; institutions; networks; scriptoria Sonoda Kōyū, 84 sorcery. See black magic; venom South Asia. See Indian Buddhism Southern Fujiwara household, 91, 139–140 sovereigns: cosmological framework, 172–174, 202–203; ethical standards, 206; eulogies for, 72, 72n39; fear of demons and ghosts, 172, 198–199, 200, 201–202, 207; lineages, 190t; linked to Chinese rulers, 77; patronage of sutra transcription projects, 116–118, 133, 207–208; political use of Buddhist ritual, 172; power, 172; religious practices, 208; succession disputes, 191. See also individual rulers spirits. See ghosts; venom sponsors. See fellowship groups; patrons Sri Lankan palm leaf manuscripts, 33 Staal, Frits, 12 state Buddhism (kokka Bukkyō): fellowship groups and, 91; Fujiwara clan and, 122; ritsuryō project, 85, 88, 89, 107, 143; scholarship on, 15–17, 18, 85, 123, 211; scriptoria and, 144–145 statecraft, rituals and, 172 state officials. See officials Stewart, Tony K., 9 Stone, Jacqueline I., 8 straddlers, 85, 88, 104, 212 Strickmann, Michel, 207 Sugawara no Michizane, 59, 59n7 Sumidera, 124, 125 sutra-copying script (shakyōtai), 162–163

sutras: burials, 4n9; Chinese translations, 5; equivalence to Buddha, 4; manuscript collections, 25–26; power, 210; recitation, 2, 6; veneration of manuscripts, 2, 4, 5, 6, 114. See also colophons; prayer texts; scriptures sutra transcription: correct method (J. nyohō), 53–55; in East Asia, 5–6; institutionalization, 145; in Japan, 7, 11, 17; large-scale projects, 84, 116–118; materials, 109–110, 111; in Nara period, 2–3, 2n2, 15, 17, 18, 21; process, 2, 108–114, 181–183; proofreading, 2, 90, 113, 119–120, 155; as punishment for monks, 112n15; as ritualized writing, 2–3, 6, 13–14, 55, 209, 210–211; scripts used, 161–162, 162n44; selection of texts, 7, 175; in seventh century, 116–117; source texts, 111, 117–118, 128–129; as wholesome behavior, 2, 11, 13–14, 30–31, 32, 34–36, 56. See also dedication ceremonies; patrons; ritualized writing; scribes; scriptoria Swidler, Ann, 59 Tachibana no Moroe, 142 Tajihi the scrivener, 44–45, 95 Takaya no Akamaro, 125 Takebe no Hirotari: supplies, 111; transcriptions by, 112–113, 162–163, 164 Takeuchi Ryō, 87, 93 Takinami Sadako, 192 tales, 37–39, 44–45, 46, 54. See also Records of the Numinous and Strange from Japan Tambiah, Stanley J., 10–11 tanabata poetry, 158–160 Taylor, Andrew, 84 Teiser, Stephen F., 18n39, 64–65, 68 Tenmu, Emperor: canon transcription project, 116–118; civil war, 191 theater-state model, 172 Thousand Character Essay (Ch. qianzi wen), 164–165, 165nn50–51, 166 Tōdaiji: eye-opening ceremony, 50n56; four heavenly kings in Precept

272 Index Tōdaiji (cont.) Platform Hall, 204, 205–206, 205; Great Buddha, 184; Lotus Hall, 206; scriptorium buildings, 128; Shōsō, 22, 23. See also Shōsōin documents Tōdaiji Construction Agency (Zō Tōdaiji shi), 24, 108, 113–114, 131, 152, 181. See also Office of Sutra Transcription Tokyo Historiographical Institute, 25 Toneri no Kunitari, 143–144 Torah, 9 Treatise on the Great Perfection of Wisdom (Ch. Da zhi du lun): demonic threat, 198; Ketaji transcription, 92–94, 92, 95, 96, 101; language used in prayer texts, 70 Tsuji Zennosuke, 15 Uehara Mahito, 104 underworld, 32, 50 upāsaka and upāsikā. See lay practitioners Vairocana, 77, 78, 201 Vedic religions, 8 vegetarianism, 41, 41nn27–28 venom (Ch. gu; J. ko), 199–200 village organizations, 86, 87, 88–89. See also fellowship groups Vimala (Ch. Wugou), 36 Vimalakīrti Nirdeśa Sūtra (Ch. Weimo jie jing), 39–40 virtue. See ethics; wholesome behavior Wakai Toshiaki, 91 Wang Bo, 159 Wang Xizhi, 165 Wang Yun, 160 Wanibe no Shimamori, 182 Watanabe Akihiro, 184 Watanabe Yōko, 111–112 Weber, Max, 150 wholesome behavior: conversion to, 99; debt repayment, 51–53, 210; fear of divine punishment, 198; of groups, 14; by patrons, 210; by scribes, 210; by sovereigns, 206, 208; sutra transcription as, 2, 11,

13–14, 30–31, 32, 34–36, 56. See also merit doctrine; purity wholesome friends [and acquaintances] (zen’u [chishiki]), 14, 86–87, 99–103, 211 witchcraft. See black magic; venom women: fellowship groups led by, 95; lay practitioners, 95, 96, 101–102; nuns, 15, 55, 96, 101, 114, 188, 189; patrons, 95, 96; roles in sutra transcription, 95–96; toji, 95 Wŏnch’ŏk, commentary on the Treatise of Establishing Consciousness Only (Ch. Cheng weishi lun), 184 writing: calligraphic skills, 152, 153, 161–165; in East Asia, 5–6; in Indian Buddhism, 5; pragmatic acts, 1; sutra-copying script, 162–163. See also ritualized writing; scribes writing societies. See fellowship groups Xuanzang, 123, 130, 140–141 Yamabe no Chitari, 135 Yamabe no Morokimi, 182 Yamanoue no Okura, 149 Yamashita Yumi, 54, 120, 123, 126–127 Yamato no Oyumi, 164 Yijing, 125. See also Golden Light Sutra Yin-yang Bureau (Onmyōryō), 120, 156 Yogācāra-bhūmi-śāstra (Ch. Yuqie shidi lun), 89, 103, 143–144, 168 Yogācāra texts, 102, 123, 166 Yoshida Kazuhiko, 16–17, 211, 212 Yoshie Akiko, 95 Yungang cave temples, 86 zen chishiki. See fellowship groups; kalyāṇamitra; wholesome friends [and acquaintances] Zenju, 196 Zenki, 137, 137n100 Zhang Heng, 98 Zhisheng. See Kaiyuan Catalog Zhu Tanwulan, 175 Zhuangzi, 75n50, 77 Zoroastrianism, 8

About the Author

Bryan D. Lowe is assistant professor of religious studies at Vanderbilt University. He specializes in Buddhism in ancient Japan (seventh through ninth centuries). He has published ten articles in En­glish and Japa­nese on topics including Buddhist canons, scribal and manuscript cultures, the study of Buddhism in modern Japan, and Chinese indigenous scriptures. He received his Ph.D. and M.A. from Prince­ton University and his B.A. from Middlebury College. He is the winner of the Stanley Weinstein Dissertation Prize from Yale University for the best dissertation on East Asian Buddhism completed between 2012–2014 and has also received grants from National Endowment for the Humanities, Fulbright IIE, International College for Postgraduate Buddhist Studies, Prince­ton University, and Vanderbilt University.

Kuroda Institute Studies in East Asian Buddhism Studies in Ch’an and Hua-­yen Robert M. Gimello and Peter N. Gregory, editors Dōgen Studies William R. LaFleur, editor The Northern School and the Formation of Early Ch’an Buddhism John R. McRae Traditions of Meditation in Chinese Buddhism Peter N. Gregory, editor Sudden and Gradual: Approaches to Enlightenment in Chinese Thought Peter N. Gregory, editor Buddhist Hermeneutics Donald S. Lopez, Jr., editor Paths to Liberation: The Margā and Its Transformations in Buddhist Thought Robert E. Buswell, Jr., and Robert M. Gimello, editors Sōtō Zen in Medieval Japan William M. Bodiford The Scripture on the Ten Kings and the Making of Purgatory in Medieval Chinese Buddhism Stephen F. Teiser The Eminent Monk: Buddhist Ideals in Medieval Chinese Hagiography John Kieschnick Re-­Visioning “Kamakura” Buddhism Richard K. Payne, editor Original Enlightenment and the Transformation of Medieval Japa­nese Buddhism Jacqueline I. Stone Buddhism in the Sung Peter N. Gregory and Daniel A. Getz, Jr., editors

Coming to Terms with Chinese Buddhism: A Reading of The Trea­sure Store Treatise Robert H. Sharf Ryōgen and Mount Hiei: Japa­nese Tendai in the Tenth ­Century Paul Groner Tsung-mi and the Sinification of Buddhism Peter N. Gregory Approaching the Land of Bliss: Religious Praxis in the Cult of Amitābha Richard K. Payne and Kenneth K. Tanaka, editors ­Going Forth: Visions of Buddhist Vinaya William M. Bodiford, editor Burning for the Buddha: Self-­Immolation in Chinese Buddhism James A. Benn The Buddhist Dead: Practices, Discourses, Repre­sen­ta­tions Bryan J. Cuevas and Jacqueline I. Stone, editors The Making of a Savior Bodhisattva: Dizang in Medieval China Zhiru How Zen Became Zen: The Dispute over Enlightenment and the Formation of Chan Buddhism in Song-­Dynasty China Morten Schlütter Hokkeji and the Reemergence of Female Monasticism in Premodern Japan Lori Meeks Conceiving the Indian Buddhist Patriarchs in China Stuart H. Young Patrons and Patriarchs: Chan Monks and Regional Rulers during the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms Benjamin Brose Right Thoughts at the Last Moment: Buddhism and Deathbed Practices in Early Medieval Japan Jacqueline I. Stone Ritualized Writing: Buddhist Practice and Scriptural Cultures in Ancient Japan Bryan D. Lowe