Sacred Economies: Buddhist Monasticism and Territoriality in Medieval China 9780231148320, 9780231519939, 2009012521

Table of contents :
Contents
List of Illustrations
Preface
Dynastic Chronology
1. Monastic Identity, Buddhist Religiosity, and Land
2. A Square at the Center of the World
3. Corporate Bodies
4. A Culture of Estates
5. Grains of Sand
6. Cultivating Salvation
7. Salvation and Survival
Appendix A. Yin County Buddhist Monastic Land, c. 1226 C.E.
Appendix B. Population Figures for Yin County, Ming Prefecture
Appendix C. Land Totals in Ming Prefecture
Appendix D. Major Structures in Tiantong Monastery’s Compound
Notes
Glossary
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

The Sheng Yen Series in Chinese Buddhist Studies

The Sheng Yen Series in Chinese Buddhist Studies Chun-Fang Yu, series editor

F

ollowing the endowment of the Sheng Yen Professorship in Chinese Buddhist Studies, the Sheng Yen Education Foundation and the Chung Hua Institute of Buddhist Studies in Taiwan jointly endowed a publication series,

the Sheng Yen Series in Chinese Studies, at Columbia University Press. Its purpose is to publish monographs containing new scholarship and English translations of classical texts in Chinese Buddhism.

Scholars of Chinese Buddhism have traditionally approached the subject through philology, philosophy, and history. In recent decades, however, they have increasingly adopted an interdisciplinary approach, drawing on anthropology, archaeology, art history, religious studies, and gender studies, among other disciplines. This series aims to provide a home for such pioneering studies in the field of Chinese Buddhism.

Buddhist Monasticism & Territoriality in Medieval China

Michael J. Walsh COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS

New York

Columbia University Press Publishers Since 1893 New York  Chichester, West Sussex Copyright © 2010 Columbia University Press All rights reserved Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Walsh, Michael J. (Michael John), 1968– Sacred economies : Buddhist monasticism and territoriality in medieval China / Michael J. Walsh. p.  cm. — (The Sheng Yen series in Chinese Buddhist studies) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-231-14832-0 (cloth : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-0-231-51993-9 (electronic) 1. Monastic and religious life (Buddhism)—China. 2. Monasteries, Buddhist—Economic aspects— China. 3. Buddhism—Economic aspects—China. 4. Tiantong si (Yin Xian China) I. Title. II. Series. BQ6160.C6W35  2009 294.3’6570951—dc22

2009012521

Columbia University Press books are printed on permanent and durable acid-free paper. This book was printed on paper with recycled content. Printed in the United States of America c 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 References to Internet Web sites (URLs) were accurate at the time of writing. Neither the author nor Columbia University Press is responsible for URLs that may have expired or changed since the manuscript was prepared.

ix

List of Illustrations

xi

Preface

xiii

Dynastic Chronology

xiv

1. Monastic Identity, Buddhist Religiosity, and Land

24

2. A Square at the Center of the World

50

3. Corporate Bodies

70

4. A Culture of Estates

92

5. Grains of Sand

102

6. Cultivating Salvation

120

7. Salvation and Survival

127

Appendix A. Yin County Buddhist Monastic Land, c. 1226 c.e.

131

Appendix B. Population Figures for Yin County, Ming Prefecture

133

Appendix C. Land Totals in Ming Prefecture

137

Appendix D. Major Structures in Tiantong Monastery’s Compound

139

Notes

187

Glossary

201

Bibliography

227

Index

Contents

2

1.1. “Old Tiantong” (gu tiantong).

29

2.1. Main road leading to the compound.

30

2.2. Arriving pilgrims.

30

2.3. The monastery’s many roofs require constant repair.

31

2.4. Early morning.

31

2.5. Incense altar. The inscription reads Tiantong Chan Temple.

32

2.6. The library.

33

2.7. Early woodcuts of Tiantong monastery.

34

2.8. On the road to Tiantong monastery.

35

2.9. Republican-period woodcut of Tiantong monastery.

37

2.10. Tiantong monastery’s “reflecting wall.”

38

2.11. Seven pagodas (stupas).

39

2.12. Buddha Hall.

40

2.13. One of many passageways on the side of the monastery that eventually leads to the central axis.

41

2.14. Zhongguo

42

2.15. A schematic of the Forbidden City. The bottom part of the map is the southern end.

44

2.16. Plan of Tiantong monastery’s main compound as a luoshu.

45

2.17. Baoguo Temple schematic (Zhejiang province).

73

4.1. Jing

73

4.2. Tian (field with irrigation channels)

90

4.3. Lingyin monastery today. The “precious hall.”

125

7.1. The end of the day.

136

Appendix D. Major Structures in Tiantong Monastery’s Compound

Illustrations

Preface

A

number of years ago I hiked the slopes of Mount Emei, one of China’s four famous Buddhist mountains, located in Sichuan province. At the foot of the mountain, I entered Baoguo monastery, where monks’ chanting

voices trailed upward into the pine trees along with their incense smoke. As I strolled along an outdoor corridor, I peered through one of the round doorways into a room. There, a pile of money almost two feet high lay on top of a table. The next moment the head of a monk peeked from behind the stack and smiled at me. As I watched him counting money, any naïve sentiment I may have had about Buddhist materiality was shattered. Weren’t monks supposed to be penniless? Wasn’t their daily terrain devoid of production, their lives ascetic? I spent the next few days climbing up and down Mount Emei. On my last morning there I stood in a People’s Liberation Army trench coat rented from a young entrepreneur (it gets cold at the peak, even in August), waiting for the rising sun

to appear above the famous sea of clouds, and thought about how religious institutions support themselves—economically, socially, politically, doctrinally. What type of space could allow for all these activities, many of which seemed contradictory in principle, if not in practice? What type of space was conducive to producing an income as well as a salvific outcome? So began a long journey of exploring the relationship between Buddhist ideas and the institutions Buddhists build to project and protect those ideas. Many teachers and friends have helped me on that journey. With a profound sense of debt, I would like to thank all of you in Taipei, Sapporo, Santa Barbara, Tacoma, Poughkeepsie, New York, London, and Cape Town, who have supported me over the years. I will spare the reader the details of my gratitude but emphasize that karma is infinite, and what are meritorious debts if not a form of love? A few names need to be named. To Chang Che-chia, Chen Laoshi, Chen Yuan-peng, David Chidester, Ron Egan, Roger Friedland, Allan Grapard, Richard Hecht, Michael Hegner, Huang Min-chih, Paul Katz, John Kieschnick, David Leeming, Wendy Lochner, Peter Lorge, Jeffrey Meyer, Lu Miaw-fen, John McRae, Tracy Miller, Christine Mortlock, Bill Powell, Qiu Pengsheng, Gil Raz, Eric Reinders, Shimomoto Hironobu, and Yu Hsiao-rung; to my home department, specifically, Mark Cladis, Marc Epstein, Rick Jarow, Jonathon Kahn, Max Leeming, Lynn LiDonnici, Larry Mamiya, Deborah Dash Moore, Judith Weisenfeld, Tova Weitzman, and Chris White; to my students, past and present, here at Vassar College in New York, and to Vassar’s Research Committee, as well as the National Endowment for the Humanities, which awarded me a summer stipend at a crucial point in time, thank you. I especially wish to thank the reviewers who read my manuscript, and Leslie Kriesel for her copyediting skills. Finally, this book is dedicated to two extraordinary persons: Elspeth West Walsh and Brooklyn Elspeth Walsh.

xii 

 

Preface

Xia dynasty

2205?–1818 b.c.e.

Shang dynasty

c.1766–c.1050 b.c.e..

Zhou Dynasties

c.1050–221 b.c.e.

Warring States

475–221 b.c.e.

Qin dynasty

221–206 b.c.e.

Han dynasty

206 b.c.e.–220 c.e.

Six Dynasties period

220–589

Three Kingdoms period

220–280

Jin dynasty

265–420

Northern and Southern Dynasties period

386–589

Sui dynasty

581–618

Tang dynasty

618–907

Five Dynasties period

907–960

Northern Song dynasty

960–1127

Southern Song dynasty

1127–1279

Liao dynasty

916–1125

Jin dynasty

1115–1234

Yuan dynasty

1279–1368

Ming dynasty

1368–1644

Qing dynasty

1644–1911

Republic of China

1911–present

People’s Republic of China

1949–present

Dynastic Chronology

1  Monastic  Identity, Buddhist Religiosity, and Land

Among all the donations given to the monastery the most important has been land.

—Ma Tingluan1 I have heard that Buddhists made “nirvana” the focus of their doctrine. . . . We plow the fields and produce goods to support ourselves; Buddhism wants none of this. Thus, a monk may not even stay under a tree for three days lest he begin to like the place too much; he can only walk the streets and beg for his food. This becomes the monk’s entire life. Parinirvana consists of nothing whatsoever. This is their doctrine of “tranquil extinction.” Now, however, monks are no longer like this; they still need to nourish their physical body. They still gather together to substitute for their real families, and [appoint] chiefs and monastic administrators in imitation of [secular] governmental hierarchy. They use land to feed themselves and live under shelters. They seem no different from the ordinary people, sometimes even so far as to have better accommodation and food than the common people. This is quite the opposite from their former doctrine.

—Huang Zhen2

W

hen in 301 of the Common Era the monk Yixing made his way up the slopes of Mount Taibai in eastern Zhejiang province, he must have been impressed.3 The scenery was beautiful, and he decided to build a

small hermitage on the side of the mountain, tucked into the slope for shelter, a few hours’ walk from Dongjian Lake. Peaks and valleys surrounded the breathtaking site, all blanketed in thick trees that in winter would occasionally be painted white with snow. To the east lay what later would come to be called Dinghai county. To the north was Hangzhou Bay. Still farther north, the Yangzi (Yangtze) River poured into the East China Sea. Shanghai would later develop in this region. Dozens of islands— Liuheng, Taohua, Zhoushan, Zhongjieshan, Dayang, Xiaoyang—speckled the coastline, and a day’s journey by boat took one to Mount Putuo, a site where the Bodhisattva Guanyin came to reside. These waters, rich in fish, also had navigable sounds and channels that would ensure their location a name in China’s histories for

centuries to come. Following the thirty-degree parallel from the coastline would take one due west of Mount Taibai, through Cixi county, and eventually across the Yangzi River in two places. Beyond lay modern-day Sichuan province and Tibet. South of Yin and Fenghua counties, across the Tiantai mountain range and Tai and Wen prefectures, lay a region that would become Fujian province, flanked by the Taiwan Straits to the east and the so-called “barbaric” southern interior, “uncultivated” and “wild.” The area immediately surrounding the new hermitage eventually came to be named Mingzhou (Ming prefecture) and some eight centuries later, during the Southern Song dynasty (1127–1279), was home to many of China’s most prominent families. A few days’ journey westward from Yixing’s hermitage was a site that would be declared the new capital of the Southern Song dynasty, Lin’an, today known as the city of Hangzhou. Not long after Yixing had “opened” (kaishan) Mount Taibai and begun constructing his hermitage (really more of a thatched hut), a child was said to appear on the mountain who declared the following to Yixing: “I am the Greater White Star.4 The emperor has sent me to be by your side.”5 The location of this conversation can be visited today and is called Gu Tiantong, or ancient Tiantong (see figure 1.1).6

Figure 1.1

“Old Tiantong” (Gu tiantong). The temple is located about fifteen minutes’ walk from the main compound.

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Monastic Identity, Buddhist Religiosity, and Land

Yixing accepted the boy’s offer. Taibaixing collected water and wood and took care of the monk until one day the boy suddenly left. This child was a tiantong, a child of a heavenly being (tianshen), sent down to protect the Dharma, the cosmic law and teachings of the Buddha. Whether Yixing knew this or not, we have no idea. His followers suspected it, however, for Yixing’s name spread far and wide and his disciples increased in number. The thatched hut became a small temple and in due course a monastery growing in size and in number of resident monks. Although the monastery’s official name changed many times over the centuries, it became most well known as Tiantong si, the Monastery of Heaven’s Child.7 One thousand seven hundred years have since come and gone. How does a religious institution last that long? Which activities ensure such longevity? There are many ways to answer such questions, but the angle of inquiry this book takes is to focus on Buddhist monastic territoriality, a spatial strategy to influence resources and people by controlling land. This book is a study of monastic land acquisition in China and the implications of this practice. To answer the above questions, as well as the more economically oriented question as to what kind of exchange mechanisms were required to ensure the survival of an institution, which is also to say its ability to socially reproduce itself, for over a thousand years, I explore a number of monasteries, but Tiantong monastery serves as an excellent example, as it held a powerful position in local social hierarchies.8 Much of my attention will be on the thirteenth century; however, some careful extrapolations beyond this time period serve well to show the translocal and transtemporal nature of Chinese Buddhism.9 Large Buddhist monasteries in China sought to produce and perpetuate a monastic space by accumulating land to provide economic capital and secure their social position. As a commodified object, land was the key component in an exchange environment instituted by these powerful monasteries. On a material level in the Chinese monastic context, land was the source of food and the sustenance of monks. On a more ideological level it was part of a discourse on Buddhist practice: to donate land was to be a good Buddhist. This material logic was vital not only to the longterm success of Buddhism in China but also to anything else we might wish to term “Chinese religion.” By the thirteenth century, Tiantong owned at least thirty-six estates. The monastery enjoyed economic wealth (it operated water mills and grew tea); was frequently visited by wealthy patrons, famous poets and literati, and Japanese monks (such as Dōgen); and was well known throughout the empire. Housing upward of a thousand monks during the thirteenth century, the monastic complex

Monastic Identity, Buddhist Religiosity, and Land 

 

3

was enormous; so too were its efforts to sustain itself. Buddhist land, both imagined (as, for example, the Pure Land, or fodi, Buddha land) and material (as, for example, a source of income and crops) played a foundational part in the development of Chinese religiosity in general and Chinese Buddhism in particular.

Ti m e a n d P l a c e

An examination of monastic land exemplifies and problematizes the traditional dichotomy of the material and spiritual in Buddhism. It is a false dichotomy: monks and nuns seeking wealth (for the community) was, and still is in some ways, the very salvation of Buddhist monasticism. From at least the fifth through the early twentieth century, land formed the primary economic foundation of the sangha, the social body of monks and nuns. This began to change during the Republican period (1911– 48), and especially after 1949 with China’s communist revolution. During the Cultural Revolution (1966–76), all temple lands were confiscated, thousands of temples destroyed, and every effort made to eradicate Chinese religiosity.10 These efforts ultimately failed. Since the 1980s and Deng Xiaoping’s reforms there has been a remarkable revival, reinvention, and re-creation of Chinese religiosity and Chinese Buddhism,11 which has grown at a pace comparable to that of China’s economy. In some cases temples sought to get their land back, but for the vast majority of China’s Buddhist temples and monasteries new, innovative sources of income had to be found. The most common solution was to become a tourist center, a fact that today is often criticized by more conservative Buddhists as negatively affecting monks and nuns and distracting them from their practice. This sentiment is echoed in Huang Zhen’s epigraph at the beginning of the chapter. While challenges continue to the present day, nevertheless, there has been a true renewal of Chinese Buddhism and Chinese religiosity across the board. Land will probably never play the central role it once did in China’s religious economy, although, in the case of Taiwan, for example, Buddhist groups like Tzu Chi (ciji), Fokuang shan (foguangshan), and Dharma Drum Mountain have amassed a fortune in real estate and assets, pouring much of this into the local economy, establishing hospitals and orphanages, and promoting international relief efforts and alternative welfare systems to the state. When I was living in Taiwan during the 1990s, I experienced firsthand the devastating earthquake in the fall of 1999. It was terrifying: so many

4 

 

Monastic Identity, Buddhist Religiosity, and Land

buildings collapsed, so many lives lost. Buddhist organizations responded to the suffering even before the state could, handing out blankets, food, and karmic consolation. Ideally I would want to push a medieval case study of Tiantong monastery all the way into the early twentieth century, but that is not possible in the space of this book. I will therefore focus primarily on the Song dynasties (960–1279 c.e.), a creative, watershed period in Chinese history that is essential to understanding the impact of Buddhism on Chinese society.12 My journeys to Tiantong monastery, and my research of medieval Chinese monasteries in general, do nevertheless suggest a historical continuation of important themes in the study of Chinese Buddhism. My own observations and a wealth of information from gazetteers break some basic stereotypes about what a monk is, and the space he produces and inhabits.13 Casual Western observers, students of religion, and even comparative religious histories of monasteries conjure up images of the solitary monastic engaged in silent devotions, or else in communal but definitely noncommunicative rituals carried out on a strict timetable. Historical materials about monks indeed reveal these aspects of the sangha, but they also unquestionably reveal a more complicated reality. Monks, and the monasteries they live and lived in, were part of a much larger geographical, economic, and religious fabric in society. Tiantong and its mountain were part of a chain of monasteries and mountains that were not simply solitary and isolated retreats but sites that participated in the construction of the physical and geographical backbone of an imperial religiosity. Monasteries were important stopping points and destinations for the emperors for a number of reasons. Beyond this, the monasteries existed and participated in a complex network of commerce, some of which became integral to the lives and salvation of people who visited these great institutions. Monasteries were, and still are today, sacred centers to solitary monks seeking their own salvation or equanimity; but equally important, they also represent a series of interconnected centers for the religious lives of lay Buddhists and for economic exchange bolstering the religious vitality of an empire.

We a l t h a n d S pa c e

One of the great ironies of monastic Buddhism was that renouncing materiality and the self through a series of metaphysical and bodily strategies resulted in the accumu-

Monastic Identity, Buddhist Religiosity, and Land 

 

5

lation of material wealth in abundance and a communal identity forged through discipline and practice. Buddhist monks and nuns were often represented as being poor and socially withdrawn, but we know the reality in Asia was quite the opposite.14 Throughout East Asia, and particularly in China, the sangha became, among other things, one of the most powerful economic forces in society. Those Buddhist monasteries in the Chinese empire that sought to accumulate wealth increased their chances of institutionalized longevity. A large Buddhist monastery was thoroughly institutional, that is, a social and physical structure that defined, imposed, and maintained sets of social values, and sought to acquire and distribute capital—economic, cultural, or otherwise—in a competitive manner. The relations a monastery codified were by no means mutually exclusive and were contingent on other groups within the social arena. Buddhist social agency that produced a monastic space favored certain codes of behavior and sought to reproduce and perpetuate this space and subsequent social ascendancy in the political hierarchies of the day. The sangha always prevailed and ensured the process of exchange and human interaction, more than a modicum of worldliness in the Dharma-prescribed otherness of monastic reality. European Christian monasteries, by way of contrast, have long been understood as sites of socioeconomic production.15 Producing an income, and preferably owning property, was a necessity for early Christian monastic institutions; so too, it turns out, with Chinese Buddhist monasteries. Since at least the fourth century of the Common Era in China, and certainly well before that in central Asia and India, the institutions Buddhist monks and nuns constructed, inhabited, and shaped, and were shaped by, required substantial capital to sustain them in the “this-worldly” realm. Attempts to attain the imaginative and material requirements to build religious institutions that could empower, enrich, define, and support Buddhist monks over centuries were remarkable, all the more so considering, for instance, the arduous task Buddhist monks faced on first entering China, a realm that claimed cultural and geopolitical priority with a sophisticated and clearly defined cosmology. In so many ways the task before Buddhist missionaries was (and today, still is) a spatial process. In part, it required a particular kind of produced space imbued with a language and architecture that legitimated that space (sometimes in contradistinction to Chinese imperial space); in other words, it was a highly complex process of signification, of assigning meaning to symbols in very creative ways so that which was textually represented could be perceived as real. Between the representational value of texts, how-

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Monastic Identity, Buddhist Religiosity, and Land

ever, and the everyday practices of living human beings lies a space of interaction in which people necessarily produce, maintain, and reproduce a meaningful existence. This must be taken into account when exploring acts of religiosity. A monastery needed funding, donors, lay supporters, monks to inhabit it, an abbot to oversee it, offices, bookkeepers, workers, farmers, wood, and tiles. To acquire these necessities, it depended on a reciprocal exchange process between institution and social agent, which in turn produced a space of consumption; meaning infused into that process made it sacred. Monastic space, one component of which was directly lived space, was about the forces of monastic production. Another component incorporated a monastery’s estates. Yet a third component came to be delineated by a monastic institution’s authority, legitimacy, and local and translocal power. With all three, protecting the sangha was paramount, for without the sangha there could be no perpetuation of the Dharma. Promoting the stability and growth of a Buddhist monastery was tantamount to ensuring the survival of Buddhism. To deepen our discussion, let us understand Buddhist material action as a form of religious discourse, and as part of a religious economy. Pierre Bourdieu’s work is helpful in this regard: The religious enterprise is an enterprise with an economic dimension which cannot admit to so being and which functions in a sort of permanent negation of its economic dimension: I undertake an economic act, but I do not want to know it; I do it in such a way that I can tell myself and others that it is not an economic act—and I can be credible to others only if I believe it myself.16

Bourdieu continues this line of thinking when he writes: The problem of knowing whether this is cynical or not disappears completely if one sees that it forms part of the very conditions of its functioning and of the success of the religious enterprise, that religious agents believe in what they are doing and that they do not accept the strict economic definition of their action and their function.17

If power is in part the relation between forces, then a social economy is a negotiated territory, a network of relations where those forces are instituted, shaped, and conditioned. For a religious institution to flourish, it had to organize itself based on

Monastic Identity, Buddhist Religiosity, and Land 

 

7

this principle. The accumulation of both economic and cultural capital on the part of a large Buddhist monastery, and of its donors, produced a particular kind of space and ensured its long-term survival and sometimes its ascendancy in a hierarchical network of religio-political exchange.

Negotiating Sacrality

I have spent considerable periods of time visiting Buddhist monasteries and examining historical texts in an effort to better understand what makes Buddhist space a religious space, and further, what one might mean by referring to it as sacred space. This can be difficult in the contemporary world, and things become all the more confusing when focusing on, for instance, a thirteenth-century world. The problem is exacerbated in historical documents. Obviously I am bound by the primary sources as well as the visual representation of culture. In this respect, Michel Foucault’s comment on documents is telling: “history, in its traditional form, undertook to ‘memorize’ the monuments of the past, transform them into documents, and lend speech to those traces which, in themselves, are often not verbal.”18 In many instances I do “lend speech” to aspects of Chinese Buddhist monastic institutional history that are not “verbal.” To wonder what occurred in a time and place is to wander from a modern perspective into the past, and to write from a present position is to imagine what happened. It is impossible to recognize things “the way they really were”—this would require scholars to move beyond themselves, to step beyond history (as perceived flow) so as to isolate events, record them, and be able to say, “This is really what occurred.” This impossibility need not be paralyzing. What is critical is the choice of exemplum.19 When I argue that large Buddhist monasteries in China sought to produce and perpetuate a monastic space via a form of labor exchange, in part through the accumulation of land to secure their social position, this is no more true than if I were to say that large Buddhist monasteries in China sought to accumulate land in order to propagate the Dharma. Or, large Buddhist monasteries in China sought to accumulate land so as to be able to project a particular ontological understanding on the world and provide salvation for human agents. These are all valid scenarios, and I have chosen to focus on the first one, which I believe allows the most access to the underpinnings of Chinese Buddhist monasticism. A focus on material religiosity forces us to recognize the human effort and the labor expended on trying to create a social world. For it is this social world that people, Buddhist agents in this case,

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Monastic Identity, Buddhist Religiosity, and Land

imagine, constitute, and realize in a series of progressions from the ideal to the actual. Consequently, I want to conceptualize the religious space of a Buddhist monastery by first understanding a monastery as a corporation with interests: in other words, a religious institution. An institution of any kind is both an idea and a materialized reality, or better yet, an actualized product of imaginative thinking. It is always a competitive structure. It competes with other ideas embodied in or around it; it competes with itself (it must do so for reasons of self-preservation); and it competes with the very notion that something, some idea, an actualized practice, can exist autonomously. It cannot: rules particular to its social arena dictate the religious institution’s function and relevance. Thus, by institution I mean both the physical structure of a monastic compound with all its shape, materiality, and orientation, as well as the social structure that defines, imposes, and maintains sets of values and seeks to acquire and distribute capital—economic, cultural, or otherwise—in a competitive manner. Consequently, a Chinese Buddhist monastery is an institution with a life of its own and with implicit causalities in its everyday functions. There is a binding relationship between solidarity and behavior, between the individual (the monk, the Buddha) and the group (the sangha), as well as between them and the overarching guiding cosmic principle of this arena (the Dharma). The anthropologist Mary Douglas observes that “nothing else but institutions can define sameness. Similarity is an institution”;20 and “institutions bestow sameness.”21 In other words, communal identity is paramount. This is a negotiated identity; it takes place within a competitive network of relations. Monastic success required incorporating devotees. Buddhist monasteries in China simultaneously represented and acted upon two interactive, codependent realities: one ontological, a belief in the efficacy of the Buddha’s powers and his law; and the other, the need to function within an environment shaped by social forces that came to define China and that continued to prioritize an agricultural economy with the family at the center. To what extent some of these massive Buddhist institutions contributed to the politics of medieval China is difficult to say. Buddhist monasteries can certainly be implicated in complex strategies of power used to legitimate the violence of empire building. They competed vigorously with other social institutions for power, prestige, legitimacy, wealth, and all the necessities of a power/knowledge base that would allow them social ascendency. In the Song periods (960–1279 c.e.), those institutions included Buddhist and Daoist monasteries, imperial academies, and literati social circles. Whether in the form of an

Monastic Identity, Buddhist Religiosity, and Land 

 

9

essay, painting, imperial proclamation, poem, or sutra, Song social agents sought to carve out a particular space that in retrospect we might call literary, artistic, imperialistic, poetic, or religious, but nonetheless, usually incorporated activities that might reasonably ensure the literatus or monk, and more importantly, the institution from which he came, a degree of peer recognition necessary for that first step toward longterm institutionalization. Thus, in a general sense we are speaking of efforts to construct, maintain, and perpetuate a space (or, to put it another way, a “social arena”) conducive to the types of activity required to sustain and reproduce one’s social group. This can be referred to as a type of social equation that required a certain quantity of capital and a particular kind of space within which that capital might be put to work. It also required specific socioeconomic and religiohistorical strategies used to define and refine what it was that a Buddhist monastic institution sought for itself. All large monasteries shared the capacity and will to generate a long-term goal of survival. This was not unique to the Song period. This long-term goal incorporated a conversion process of using economic capital (material wealth) to produce and accumulate cultural capital (those invisible assets such as prestige, “a good name,” cultural and spiritual authority, etc.). I rely heavily on Pierre Bourdieu’s work in this regard. In Bourdieu’s research, “cultural capital” is made up of cultural acquisitions (knowledge, skills, education, etc.). Its meaning is intimately connected with his concept of “symbolic capital,” which “is attached to groups—or to the names of groups, families, clans, tribes—and is both the instrument and the stakes of collective strategies seeking to conserve or increase it as well as individual strategies seeking to acquire or conserve it, by joining groups which possess it.”22 Symbolic capital is more closely linked to accumulated prestige, although I tend to use “cultural” and “symbolic” capital interchangeably. Bourdieu explains further that, “a capital (or power) becomes symbolic capital, that is capital endowed with a specifically symbolic efficacy, only when it is misrecognized in its arbitrary truth as capital and recognized as legitimate.”23 I have titled this book Sacred Economies because any human endeavor to produce a meaningful existence within a constructed space is a creative process of sacrality— part of the process of being human, a process of religiosity, and one result of the production of a monastic sacred space. “Economies” is used because, first, communal actions and transactions within a monastic setting delineate the reality of that institution more clearly than doctrinal descriptions; and second, because we can

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Monastic Identity, Buddhist Religiosity, and Land

rightly speak of Buddhist economies of salvation. My focus is on the material practices of social agents. As Charles Long puts it, “Religion is a practical social concern, and the reality of its objective pole must in some sense be validated by communal consensus. But, at the same time it is a mode of release from the entanglements of the social.”24 This “mode of release” is, I think, an impossibility, unless Long is specifically referring to a form of salvation. That is to say, even within a space of transcendence or meditational depth, these states are still culturally mediated and thus part of the social. I prefer to read Long here as meaning a creative mode of interpretation of the social, an active and engaged process.I believe this offers a better chance at understanding what it is a social group does, as opposed to what it presents itself as doing.

Interpreting Religion

The category of religion, for the most part, is a nineteenth-century construction that we have inherited.25 Its roots stretch back to the Enlightenment when philosophers, in a radical shift away from the Church, sought to categorize the world in order to explain it. Nearly all of the definitions and discourses that go along with the use of this category, however, reflect an ongoing tendency to treat religion as some kind of cognitive emotional state, as opposed to the actual work, the everyday mundane practices of religion. Moreover, religion as defined by Western scholarship since the late eighteenth century came to be located in texts. Monks and monasteries are not texts, yet they can be “read,” just as the body can be deciphered. To the extent we use the term “religion” today, it describes no reality, no material existence other than the ordering of what happens in a time and place from the scholar’s point of view. Thus the term is not a native category, nor is it typically used for self-definition. As Mary Douglas admonishes, “religion has to be explained; religion does not explain.”26 And yet religion, in addition to being a product of the scholarly enterprise, may also serve as a category that points toward human transactive processes, ones that engage in the negotiation of meaning in a humanly shaped world. There is no rational explanation for religiosity; nor, most of the time, is there a need for one. But if the desire to explain, to expose some innate logic of human behavior, to explore the religious mode of apprehension is so intense, and yet no rational explanation is possible, then surely our modes of inquiry are in crisis. Even if this is the case, we first need to recognize

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that a Buddhist monastery in China would never present itself as a religious institution, other than to perhaps use a native term such as jiao (teaching). This in itself is not the same as a European understanding of the category of religion. A monk in China would never describe himself, or his actions and behavior, as being religious. What then is Chinese religion? For a country the size of China, and a recorded history of at least 3,500 years, the extent of documentation is overwhelming. Our first point of reference must be that with China, or “Chinese culture,” “Chinese religiosity,” or “Chinese society,” there is always the lack of singularity: China is not some monolithic entity, complete in its appearance and historical representation. There is no singularity in any culture or in its mythologies. There are only multiple overlapping contexts, many middle kingdoms, and a virtually infinite number of communities. So we can and must speak of Chinese religions, or rather, what I believe we should term Chinese religiosity (more on this in a moment), in a way that encompasses a plural outlook on social and religious action. To be sure, religious action is social action, precisely produced activity through and by a social group—that communal form of behavior that Durkheim teaches is the source of all social phenomena, which “are born not in the individual but in the group.”27 Sociopolitical demands on a religious institution invite a response in kind, blurring any delineation of religion from politics, philosophy, or art. For better or worse, these are not discrete entities, and to label them as such is to misconstrue the very material action that makes them meaningful to those engaged in founding a world, in constructing a space within which to live and die. Chinese religions, if we are to use this cover-all category, must encompass all these attributes; thus, the so-called sanjiao (three teachings) of Chinese religiosity is a convenient way to demarcate a spatial arena—at least conceptually—within which a set of practices is founded and enacted, which historians of religion might feel comfortable calling “Confucian” or “Buddhist.”28 But, as scholars such as Jonathan Z. Smith have so ably demonstrated, the term “religion” is a category of emplacement. We decide which activities are religious, as opposed to political, philosophical, historical, or anthropological. There is no native term for “religion” in Chinese. The term used today, zongjiao, was borrowed from nineteenth-century Japan, which had made up the category based on its newfound love affair with German Protestant productivity and European nationalism.29 What Japan lacked in terms of modernity—according to the many advisors who were sent to study in Europe and then reported back to the em-

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peror—was a productive mentality and economic ambition that seemed to stem from Protestant values of economy and time. Japan wanted its own religion and found it in a sociopolitical construction that became realized after 1868 as state Shinto. China never sought such clarity and instead deferred to different categories of meaningful existence as “teachings” (jiao). Even these, however, were cultural constructs, most likely of the seventh century, and most likely perpetuated by Confucian ideologues right up until the late nineteenth century. We are thus saddled with socalled “native” categories of Buddhism (fojiao), Daoism (daojiao), and Confucianism (rujiao), themselves culturally constructed categories of a particular time and space. For instance, the term “Buddhism” may well be an anachronistic nineteenth-century category of scholarly emplacement; nonetheless, there are activities—for our purposes, activities within a monastic setting—that must be described, using a terminology that sometimes hinders as much as furthers our understanding of Buddhist monastic space. I stated earlier that I prefer the term “religiosity” to “religion.”30 The reason is that the latter sounds too static and passive, whereas the former has a more active connotation. Throughout the course of this book I use the term “religiosity” (and sometimes, the term “religion”) to refer to an active, participatory, social transaction, which is also to say, an active exchange between social agents as determined by social institutions. In other words, Chinese religiosity is consistently about human interaction within what one scholar refers to as a community of behavior, or as another puts it, an ever-changing, active, and irreducible experiment in being human.31 In almost all cases, it demonstrates a proactive, transactive, relational, and communal identity construction exchange within a particular network of social relations. Thus, to the extent we talk about Chinese religiosity, we are always talking about, and hopefully thinking through, material relations of exchange and power relations, taking place within a meaningfully prescribed space that we may refer to as participatory rather than simply as “sacred” or “secular” space. For instance, in C. K. Yang’s classic study, Religion in Chinese Society, the author describes a fundamental part of a monastery as representing “a miniature sacred order of life different from the secular social order, presumed to be perfect, capable of correcting all the imperfections of the material world and designed for saving men from everlasting suffering.”32 This distinction of “sacred order” from “secular social order” is misleading, as if a monastery operated outside of society.33 This does not mean we cannot speak of the religiosity of monks.

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Religious expression—faith, devotional acts, personal belief—was always present as a social fact. Monks and nuns within their carefully produced monastic spaces did not engage in socioeconomic practices in spite of their salvational or devotional dispositions; they engaged in such practices because of them.

Buddhist Production and Merit

Buddhist monastic institutions produced a variety of vital and material commodities in medieval Chinese society such as oil, flour, and bridges, and others apparently less mundane, for example, religious merit; however, I will argue that merit was the most powerful material religio-economic commodity they produced and disseminated. To better understand monasteries’ spatial roles as religious institutions, I draw attention to their landholdings, the capital they accumulated, and their location in what might tentatively be termed a monastic field, as this provides a window through which to view the development of Chinese Buddhism from a different angle, as having a propensity to pour considerable energy into economic affairs and thereby influencing China’s religious and social history. For an institution such as Tiantong monastery to have survived so well required tremendous human effort, expenditure, legitimation of these efforts, and above all, capital. Buddhist enterprises rarely represent discrete actions. On the contrary, monastic action and the resulting network of relations affected an untold number of social levels, most of which cannot be uncovered today. What we can do, however, is to think through the historical modes of monastic production and their impact on both imperial and modern Chinese society. For example, Tiantong monastery, irrespective of time period, never existed in a social vacuum. At the level of actualization, this monastic institution incorporated a multitude of practices required for a successful social existence, that is, the social reproduction of the institution. At the level of representation, all Chinese Buddhist monasteries sought to project— employing the Buddhist construct of upaya (expedient means) if need be—what the residents thought doctrinally appropriate to their particular context. These two levels, which we can call “spatial modes of existence,” operated simultaneously and conditionally as what one contemporary scholar terms “representations of space” and “representational spaces.”34 The former is space as conceptualized, the latter, space as directly lived. A Buddhist monastery would in part concern itself with presenting

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certain truths (representations of monastic space) in which ideology and knowledge overlapped. This meant that there was always a plurality of beliefs operating within the monastic arena. Representational space, at a level of actualization, was tied to the relations of production of a monastery, the ability through labor to manifest a lived space that endured. To a limited extent we can say that Tiantong was an “antisocial space” constructed to pursue and maintain a certain lifestyle different from that of the rest of the populace. However, as a social phenomenon, the monastery could not escape the social world, a world of representation, symbolically meaningful and material, political and economic, and constructed and actualized. We can thus highlight monastic economic behavior without detracting from the fact that devotion to the Buddha and promotion of the Dharma were still the first orders of business in the sangha. Furthermore, seemingly unrelated activities, promoting the Dharma and accumulating wealth, were at the many levels of social practice thoroughly integrated, not only in the Chinese Buddhist world but also in the Chinese empire as a whole. A pressing question is whether Buddhists should be considered as one more social group in the Chinese context. I believe so. Monastic institutions were as much part of a rise in commercialism and social activism as any other entity in China. Buddhism was everywhere. Pagodas emplaced landscapes; temples controlled space. Buddhist monks and nuns were in the countryside, the cities and towns, the imperial court, and peasant villages. Often Buddhist monasteries were the destination of travelers who needed a place to spend the night, a refuge from their daily troubles, a place to borrow money, eat, sell goods, pray to a bodhisattva, have grain ground or silk woven, receive medical treatment or personal inspiration, write a poem, and/or to achieve salvation through the acquisition of merit. Buddhist monasteries were even places where those who actively desired to see the demise of Buddhism found gain, one way or another. For example, Zhu Xi (1130–1200), one of China’s most influential philosophers and political strategists, sought a more clearly defined metaphysical stance in his policies, partly against the rise of Buddhism. Ironically, in constructing his neo-Confucian position, Zhu Xi borrowed heavily from Chan Buddhist terminology and philosophy, further demonstrating the social depths to which Buddhism had penetrated.35 Suffice it to say, however, at a local level of exchange monasteries were very active, trading, allowing for the interaction of literati and monks, disseminating Buddhist texts and lectures, sometimes even paying taxes in

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support of underemployed farmers, hiring field laborers, supporting local fairs and markets, and fully participating in the kind of sociopolitical atmosphere that allowed such an increase in commercialism and exchange to happen in the first place. To draw a clear, rational economic line between monastic commercialism and imperial China’s socioeconomic development is impossible; however, to tease out some of the manifestations of monastic economics and to postulate some of the reasons Buddhist monasteries aspired toward wealth is not only possible but crucial to further our understanding of the types of roles Buddhist monastic institutions played in Chinese society. It is my intention, however, not to simply define the social-functional role of monastic existence, but rather to suggest that an understanding of medieval Chinese society is incomplete if it does not better account for the impact of religious institutions in the social arena and the ways these institutions embodied the ideals, aspirations, and political sensibilities of their time, precisely so as to be able to continue beyond that time. Where there are social groups there are “religious interests” at stake, and institutions competing over limited resources such as legitimacy, prestige, educational influence, soteriological advocacy, ontological superiority, and intellectual legitimacy.

Gift-Giving, Exchange, and Capital

The field of anthropology has produced a remarkable body of work focused on that “thing” called “the gift.” Most of these studies have been of colonized societies, and a vast number have chosen the South Pacific as their arena. Rather than attempting to resolve this field’s debates, I seek to add to them in the belief that when a process as complex as an exchange is in place, our understanding might well be enhanced by further complicating it instead of attempting to simplify it.36 Probably the most wellknown scholar to discuss the importance of gift-giving in social relations is Marcel Mauss.37 In his book The Gift, Mauss argues that the practice of gift-giving, rather than creating solidarity, instead seems to define social boundaries, establish social values, and provide for punishment should the rules of the exchange game be transgressed. Suggesting that this type of “game” is still very much in existence, he aims to define the “total” social phenomenon taking place within a gift exchange and wants to uncover the principle in society that dictates a gift must be repaid. A theory of obligation is constructed, namely: “to make a gift of something to someone is to

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make a present of some part of oneself.”38 There is a morality at work within the exchange, one that ensures a process of obligation and reciprocity; what underlies it is competition, rivalry, ostentatiousness, and the stimulation of interest.39 These feelings are in turn controlled by a notion of “the total”; in other words, three obligations: to give, to receive, and to reciprocate. Mauss uses the example of a potlatch as a religious and economic phenomenon to demonstrate his point. In four particular groups (Haïda, Kwakiutl, Tsimshian, Tlingit), exchange exists, it is economic, and it is “total.” Furthermore, it is institutional (thus, it can serve as a basis to understand law and economic development) and is sustained by a presence of power that forces gifts to be exchanged. Mauss concludes that his observations are also present in “our own” societies because of the basic human necessity to emulate the “imperialism of human beings.” Furthermore, for Mauss, contract and exchange are about mixture: souls with things, things with souls, intermingling lives and the emergence of a renewed state of being. Exchange is a moral issue, and a return to the archaic model of exchange would revitalize the moral foundation of human relations. Someone gives, someone receives; a debt is instantly created. The relation of power established under these conditions—even though only two individuals may be involved—takes place between institutions, that is to say, socially arranged structures that define, impose, and maintain social values and circulate capital in a competitive manner. Gift-giving is definitive, and thus only inclusive to the extent that it excludes. For Mauss, what creates the obligation to give is that giving creates obligations.40 Exchanging gifts— the institutionalized reciprocation—is a social fact. How applicable is all the above to exchange and capital accumulation? First, let me suggest that while gift-giving is unquestionably exchange, exchange need not necessarily involve some kind of gift-giving. Jacques Derrida points this out in looking at Mauss’s research results. Derrida acknowledges that there are gifts exchanged, but asks whether they are still gifts once they are exchanged.41 Let us suppose that someone wants or desires to give to someone. In our logic and our language we say it thus: someone wants or desires, someone intends-to-give to someone. Already the complexity of the formula appears formidable. It supposes a subject and a verb; a constituted subject, which can also be collective—for example, a group, a community, a nation, a clan, a tribe—in any case, a subject seeking through the gesture of the gift to constitute its own unity and, precisely, to get its own identity

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recognized so that identity comes back to it, so that it can reappropriate its identity: as its property.42

If something is given back in return for a gift given, then the gift is annulled—hence the impossibility of the gift. There is in Derrida’s argument a progression: appearance of gift—movement of acceptance—annulment of gift. “If it [the gift] presents itself, it no longer presents itself.”43 A true gift, that is, without any expectation of something in return, must not appear or not be presented as a gift. This, of course, is impossible. Strict economics dictates that something can only be given in time. With land donated to a monastery the return exchange involved, in part, something out of time—merit for the deceased, for a future time, exchanged for deeds done in the past. Thus, “giving” land was not a gift but an exchange process, as something was expected in return. However, I do not believe that the Buddhist practice of merit is a Maussian gift economy. Mauss’s “gift as really exchange” scenario is precise to a point; what can be added to this social equation, at least in a Chinese Buddhist context, is the importance of transference (of merit) as a “gift,” as an investment. To make further use of Mauss, I think we have to be careful not to oversimplify the commodity and the notion of “debt,” karmic or otherwise.44 Merit transfer was an investment to overcome debt within a patrilineal institution of the Chinese family clan.45 The land–merit exchange was not a construed act but a deeply historicized ritual of social reproduction resulting in a complex, rich, and meaningful exchange process. Emperors, for instance, recognized Buddhist institutions as arenas that offered potentially potent options to them, were a donation to be made. A highranking monk, recognizing the deed of the donor, reciprocated with an award of merit. To desire, award, and receive merit produced a Buddhist society. Within this process the obligation to provide a return derived principally from the fact that exchange delineated and solidified social relations. If there were no returns, no exchange had taken place. This takes us back to the question of what the difference may be between a gift and a commodity. A gift is not simply a commodity, but rather an object that becomes commodified, thereby leading to the exchange process. Merit is a commodity; it was never freely awarded without an anticipated return. Land was not simply given to Tiantong monastery; rather, it was exchanged for merit. This process instituted a social relationship and offered a certain kind of truth to the donor, namely, that he

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or she would acquire merit through this exchange that could be used for salvific purposes (material gain, long life, an afterlife). Mauss is correct when he defines the “total” social phenomenon in gift-giving practices. But to be “total” it must be an exchange process in which a “theory of obligation” is constructed. I wish to articulate this more precisely by identifying the “gift” within a Chinese Buddhist sociokarmic architecture of merit as a commodity within an exchange process. To the extent that merit was a commodified product, it was an object of exchange. As one scholar puts it, objects are often not what they are made to be but what they have become.46 Material objects frequently have a value bestowed upon them via human interaction that goes way beyond their mere exchange value. Karl Marx made this argument over a century ago.47 His study, Capital, begins with a discussion of the everyday things required to reproduce social relations. He explains that the commodity is an external object that on some level addresses human needs,48 and “the nature of these needs, whether they arise, for example, from the stomach, or the imagination, makes no difference.”49 It is this notion of commodity that is mysterious, for it simultaneously embodies a “use-value” (variable in quality, and only realized in use or in consumption) and “exchange-value” (variable in quantity, and can be used to procure other commodities). This duality, quite often ambiguous, defines the doubleness that interests Marx, the process of money-commodity, as purchase, and commodity-money, as sale. What is not ambiguous is the fact that the world of the commodity only exists as a direct result of labor, thus the commodity is a product. However, Marx explains that a product of human labor is not always a commodity.50 If, for instance, a farmer produces a product for his own needs and with his own labor, say, a cultivated field whose harvests feed his family, that field has a use-value but is not a commodity. For it to become a commodity, it must be cultivated and have a use-value for others, what Marx calls “social use-values.” The cultivated field’s value as a commodity is related to labor time, and the exchange-value of the commodity is in fact “congealed labor-time.” The substance of the field’s value is the labor put into it. What could possibly be an equivalent? When we raise this question we confront the social reality of exchange and consumption. As Marx explains, “the value of a commodity represents human labor pure and simple, the expenditure of human labor in general.”51 If it is in labor that culture is produced, then it is in time that value is added. Both the cultivated field and the cultivated field of merit are the result of labor and of a commodification process, and

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both can be understood as incorporating temporal equivalents into their respective exchange-values. The donor, by offering the results of her or his labor (land, harvest), expects something in return, and that something, the merit, must hold out the promise of a qualitatively different reality. Herein lay the commodity’s surplus-value, the potential for salvation and long-term survival. For instance, in the capitalist mode of production the desire exists to convert a “use-value” to an “exchange-value” with a “surplus-value.” There is a shift in focus from the production of commodities to the production of value. Here Marx is dealing explicitly with the product as the property of the capitalist, whose aim is to produce surplus-value. I am not calling Buddhist monks in China capitalists; I am saying that with them, as with any institutionalized social group, exchange was the rule, both use-value and surplus-value were present, and economics worked hand in hand with salvation.52 The recipient expected something in return, namely, that the cultivated field would increase the economic capital of the monastic institution, thus adding longevity to its everyday existence. There is another value possibility in the land–merit exchange—the capital value accumulated during and after the exchange process by both the donor and the recipient.

Further Orientations

Three broad interpretive questions shape the direction of this book: 1) How does a religious group in a particular sociohistorical arena reproduce itself? 2) How are ideas materialized? and 3) Why would anyone donate land to a Buddhist monastery? Their logic rests on three assertions: first, a religious group must engage with its sociohistorical arena in order to reproduce itself; second, religious ideas—about salvation, good intention, hope—must be actualized into everyday materialities; and third, donating land to a Buddhist monastery becomes the equivalent of being a good Buddhist; in other words, if you donate land to a monastery you are establishing a karmic reward that will have positive payoffs in the future. I address the first question and the assertion connected with it by focusing on monastic exchange practices. Interpreting Buddhist monastic space requires studying social reproduction. Consequently, I look at several social and economic practices in which large Buddhist monasteries—as religious institutions in Chinese society—engaged to ensure their long-term survival. This monastic process constituted a

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particular kind of social equation, one that required a certain quantity of capital to ensure the desired result. It required a monastery to accumulate as well as to expend, to withdraw from society as well as to fully engage in its social surroundings, to legitimate its practices both doctrinally and politically, and to normalize those practices to the point of social acceptance. It also required a particular kind of space within which that capital might be put to work. Land was always the key factor in determining a monastery’s status as a viable social entity. Thousands of small Buddhist temples and monasteries dotted the landscape of the medieval Chinese social world, and those that existed over centuries most likely were bound to their land accumulation practices. Granted, there were many ways a monastery produced income (the subject of chapter 3), but land was the mainstay of Buddhist monastic economic practices (see chapters 3 through 6). Large monasteries staked out territory, be it physical land space, doctrinal terrain, upayan ontological-geographical space, the Buddha land, or the pure land. As we will see in chapters 4 and 5, there was always a kind of territoriality at work among large Buddhist monasteries. Strategies of capital accumulation and doctrinal dissemination took place in both a physical location and an imagined context. The second question and assertion—about how ideas are materialized—are explored via an interpretation of the Buddhist practice of merit production, the focus of chapter 6. For instance, the idea of merit and the idea of protecting the sangha had to be made more material, more tangible from a socioeconomic perspective, otherwise the survival of the Chinese sangha would have been threatened. Some kind of material exchange process had to take place. The most important such process in which monasteries were engaged was the exchange of merit for land. From a Buddhist doctrinal perspective, merit was accrued by the donor and could be used to attain salvation in a future life, or more commonly, to aid deceased family members in reaching a better state of existence. Donating to a Buddhist monastery was one of the most common religious practices in East Asian Buddhism, and by some accounts, in early Indian Buddhism as well.53 From a socioeconomic perspective, however, “merit” was closely connected to issues surrounding tax exemption. Land, through this process of exchange, was made a commodity of which monasteries accumulated as much as possible, often becoming wealthy. Finally, the third question and assertion take the above discussion even further. Why would anyone donate land to a Buddhist monastery, and how did that make

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them a good Buddhist? This is the focus of chapters 6 and 7. For a commodity to function effectively in a social arena, it must have an ideological structure to project it. On a material level in the Chinese monastic context, land was seen as food and the sustenance of monks. On a more ideological level, land was part of a discourse on Buddhist practice: to donate land was to practice Buddhism. To donate land was to earn merit, to be a good Buddhist. What bound these two levels was located in the process of land becoming a commodity through exchange: merit, offered by the monastic institution (the sangha) to the donor, provided “a possibility” of salvation, and land donated to the monastery offered the possibility of long-term survival. Land could be exchanged for merit, but land was not merit: an equivalence had to be created. Buddhists claiming to want land to feed themselves is not ideological, but connecting that claim to a discourse on salvation and the definition of a “good Buddhist” is. In this respect, traditional social structures were vital to maintaining the possibility of exchange and supporting the ideological structure, and as we shall see later, the role of the family structure was crucial. To approach a monastery, be it as monk, tourist, scholar, or pilgrim, is a complicated affair. Monastic space must be negotiated. It is a network of social relations integrating the individual body into the social body, then endorses the cosmic body. This is also to some extent true of other monastic cultural systems. Christian monasticism, for example, began in the late third century with monks wandering off into the desert to meditate on God, and later forming collective identities in monastic settings. We do not know for sure what those early monasteries looked like, but we do know that by 529 c.e., Benedict of Nursia established rules for Christian monasteries that would dictate what monks could and could not do within the monastic space and the wider community. In China too a monastery is a social fact in the strict Durkheimian and Maussian sense, a fundamentally collective modality and a social phenomenon completely relational in its significance. A monastery is also an expensive production. It is made of wood, trees chopped down in the forest, dragged by many hands, and carved by fewer into beams, pillars, structures, and dwelling abodes. But the monastery is also composed of ideas and memories. Monasteries are repositories: libraries, research sites, homes, safe havens, dwellings. Martin Heidegger wrote that “we attain to dwelling, so it seems, only by means of building. The latter, building, has the former, dwelling, as its goal. Still, not every building is a dwelling.”54 A monastery is a dwelling, a place to live in accordance with memories, and importantly, with the institutionalized memory of

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the Three Jewels—Buddha, Dharma, Sangha.55 It is not simply that the space is alive or that the monastic compound is empty and waiting to be filled with salvational desire; rather, there is always communal behavior, movement toward a perceived salvation, a space to be shaped and molded through human action. This is the main topic of the next two chapters.

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2 A Square at the Center of the World

The question of centrality in general . . . is not a very simple one. It inhabits every aspect of the problematic of space.

—Henri Lefebvre1

T

iantong monastery has long been simultaneously a sacred and mundane space. It was also a religious institution engaged with “practical social concerns.” To be sure, there was meditation to be practiced, salvation to be

sought, but there were also a roof to be repaired, merit to be dispensed to laypeople, and rituals—for gaining merit, promoting health, and conducting a proper burial— to perform. Reconciling these seemingly dissimilar activities, at least historically, offers a deeper understanding of Buddhist monasticism. The following chapter has three aims. First is to present a view of Tiantong monastery from both history and impressionistic experience. The latter does not always confirm the former, but it does humanize the institution. Second is to discuss the layout of the monastery, which incorporates all religious modalities needed for a monastic institution to orient itself; and third is to argue for certain categories of emplacement and centrality that render Tiantong monastic space as sacred space.

I m a g i n i n g Ti a n t o n g ’ s Te r r i t o r y Tiantong extends from the Plucked Star Peak of Tiantai Mountain. The Tiantong offshoot comes from the eastern Brilliant Horn Peak. Together these two ranges form Pan Mountain. Pan Mountain gradually unfolds out to a northern tip across the Taibai (Greater White) Ridge, becoming a second mountain called Great Cloud Mountain. There are many clouds over thfis high mountain. This is the eastern peak that rapidly descends into the eastern valley that is the ancient Tiantong. Then there is a breastshaped peak that unfolds to the northeast to face another peak called Central Peak. This in turn unfolds into flat land, and today that is where we can see Tiantong Mountain. Of its famous peaks the most famous is called Taibai Peak, right at the top of Tiantong Mountain. It looks powerful; indeed it is a majestic peak and is one of Ming prefecture’s well-known sites. Whenever the weather is particularly bad, thunder and rain come from that peak.2

Tiantong Mountain and all its peaks were historically considered part of the Si­ ming Mountains, a range of 280 peaks stretching for 180 li.3 Tiantong Mountain was 60 li (about 35 km) east of the county capital, today called Ningbo, but historically known as Mingzhou. Sometimes Tiantong monastery was thought to be on two mountains. The compilers of the 1712 gazetteer, Wen Xingdao and Dejie, one a proud citizen of Ming prefecture, the other a one-time abbot of the monastery, explain why. Their conclusions were based on the writings of Luo Jun of the Song period,4 as were all the later descriptions of the mountain in the Song and Yuan periods, perpetuating the idea that there were two mountains, Taibai shan (Greater White Mountain) and Tiantong shan (Heavenly Child Mountain). Wen Xingdao, in his 1712 gazetteer of Tiantong monastery, explains that as Luo did not actually travel there, his description was based on speculation.5 They are in fact the same mountain.6 Tiantong monastery is located in what was historically called Yin county, Ming prefecture. Usually referred to by its local name, Siming, due to its proximity to the Siming mountain range, the prefecture was located on the alluvial plain of the Yong River (northeast area of modern-day Zhejiang province), southeast of the imperial capital, Lin’an (modern-day Hangzhou). Following a long tradition in China, the prefectural capital had the same name as the prefecture and thus was also called Mingzhou.7 Ming prefecture was originally established during the Five Dynasties period (907–960). Between the mid-eighth and the late eleventh century, the population of the city of Mingzhou doubled.8 By the thirteenth century some 8,000 boats 26 

 

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plied up and down the coast, and the prefecture fast became the transshipment center of the Yangzi valley delta region.9 It remained a major shipping hub until late into the nineteenth century, and the volume of trade far surpassed that of medieval Europe.10 Yin county had the fortuitous position of being geographically close to the new capital,11 in Ming prefecture just southeast of Lin’an, and tucked away in the northeast corner of Liangzhe.12 In the early thirteenth century, Yin county was recorded as being 65 li from east to west and 57 li from north to south.13 The gazetteer of the Siming region, Yanyou period, 1314–20 (Yanyou siming zhi), compiled circa 1340, describes the county as being 65 li from east to west, 57 li from north to south, 125 li from northwest to southeast, and 215 li from northeast to southwest.14 By the Ming dynasty, the county’s size had not changed much; the compiler of a Ningbo region gazetteer, Huang Runyu, in the fifteenth century reported that Yin county was 65 li in width and 66 li in length, not significantly different from the figures in the Yanyou reign gazetteer of the Siming region compiled almost a century earlier.15 One hundred years after Yixing had built his hermitage on Mount Taibai, the site was destroyed during the Sun En rebellion (399 c.e.). Sun En was regarded by the imperium as a Daoist rebel who recruited peasants from the Zhejiang region and tried to overthrow the government. In the second year of the Kaiyuan period (732 c.e.), the Tang period Chan master, Faxuan, built another small Buddhist temple at the same location,16 just below Mount Taibai, Peak, and a pagoda was erected in the southwestern area.17 Then, in 757, Chan master Zongbi built an abbey just below the peak of Taibai.18 In 759 the abbey was awarded the imperial plaque, a crucial turning point in a monastery’s status: a form of recognition and social control. The abbey was then called Tiantong Linglong monastery. Beginning in 841, and continuing for five more years, Abbot Zanghuan built Zhenmang ta (lit. subduing python pagoda) near the top of Xiaobai Peak. In 847, under the abbotship of Chengqi, the monastery changed to the Shifang zhuchi conglin system (lit. ten direction/public or ecumenical monasteries). In 869 an imperial edict was issued and the monastery was renamed Tianshou. By the beginning of the Song dynasty almost a century later, Tiantong monastery was at the height of its socioeconomic power, in part because of the profound social and economic changes then taking place.19 In 1007, the fourth year of the Jingde reign period, the monastery received a new imperial plaque and was renamed Jingde Chan monastery. With an imperial edict issued in 1129, Abbot Xingbai was given the title “Chan Master of the Buddhist empire” ( foguo chanshi). Three years later, in 1132, Hongzhi Zhengjue took over as abbot.20 That same year he built a new sangha hall, and just two years later a thousand buddha statues were cast and A Square at the Center of the World 

 

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set up in the monastery grounds. In 1134 the outer and inner “Wangong chi” pools were built and seven stupas (qitayuan) erected. In 1189 the Japanese monk Eisai became a good friend of Tiantong monastery, and when he left to return to Japan he donated dozens of pine trees (Abbot Zining had first planted rows of pine trees in 1008–16). The trees formed a 20-li stretch leading up to the monastery’s gate. At this stage the monastery was reputed to be “number one in the empire.”21 In 1192, Xu’an built a thousand-buddha pavilion. Between 1208 and 1224, Tiantong became part of the so-called wushan shicha, the five-mountain/ten-monastery system; to what extent this was a coordinated monastic system is unclear and a topic for discussion in the coming chapters. Japan’s most famous Buddhist monk, Dōgen, arrived at Tiantong monastery in 1223. In 1256 the monastery was destroyed by fire; Abbot Bie Shanzhi took over and saw to its recovery.22 Tiantong monastery always kept up its appearances. Over the next century several buildings fell into disrepair and were restored by successive abbots. Several steps were taken to reestablish the financial viability of the monastery. For instance, in 1360 Abbot Yuanming purchased 17 qing (1,700 mu, approx. 236.3 acres) of land. By 1382, the monastery had once again been renamed Tiantong Chan and was ranked number two in the empire. In 1428, much of the monastery was again damaged by fire. A few years later, under the leadership of Abbot Yuan Kai, much was rebuilt. Restoration was well under way by 1432. In 1535, the first gazetteer (Tiantong siji) of Tiantong monastery was written by Yin county retired scholar Yang Ming; of the seven juan, only two are extant today. On July 21, 1587 torrential rains caused severe floods, which destroyed most of the monastery buildings. In the winter of 1587 Abbot Yinhuai began reconstruction. By 1629 intense reconstruction efforts were continued by Miyun Yuanwu, who had taken over as abbot. In 1632, when the monastery was still under his care, an important gentry patron, Zhang Tingbin, edited a new version of the gazetteer.23 Several reconstruction projects continued through 1635. In 1641, patron Huang Yuqi revised the monastic gazetteer. In an effort to bolster the institution’s land holdings, Abbot Feiyin in 1647 purchased 300 mu of land. In 1712, two Yin county locals, the aforementioned Wen Xingdao and Abbot Dejie, compiled their gazetteer. In 1756 the Dharma Hall was destroyed by fire. There were several fires throughout the nineteenth century, as well as ongoing rebuilding projects. During the 1920s and ’30s, there were again several fires and much rebuilding. During the 1950s, and particularly during the Cultural Revolution in the ’60s and ’70s, like almost all monasteries in China, Tiantong suffered damage by Mao Zedong’s Red Guards, although its somewhat remote location spared it to some extent. During the 28 

 

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1980s the monastery underwent renewal. In 1980 Master Chengxin came to study there. He eventually became the 163rd abbot in 2004. Today the monastery is in excellent repair. On the approach to the main compound, orange groves and graveyards can be seen on both sides of the road. Rice paddies and tea plantations with their clear-cut borders might draw your attention to the idea of boundaries. The borders of the paddy fields mark a space of labor.

Figure 2.1

Main road leading to the compound.

A large pagoda (stupa)—Wufo ta, or Five Buddhas Pagoda—still dominates the scene.24 The road is lined with pine trees and is stone-paved and swallowed by hills all around. Swaying bamboo thickly covers the mountains on either side, up the valley through the famous gates toward the main compound.25 There is a small fee to pay at the entrance, which goes directly to supporting the sangha. Tiantong monastery claims to be a strict, self-sufficient environment. The residents grow vegetables in nearby fields, enough to feed all the monks, and sell a variety of Buddhist paraphernalia at the monastery store. Annual income from the admission fee is considerable, as the monastery likes to claim it has over half a million visitors each year. I have no way to verify this other than to say that on my visits I did not see over 1,300 visitors per day, the number one would need to make such a high annual count. At any rate, the monastery is busy, and busloads of visitors arrive on a regular basis.26 A Square at the Center of the World 

 

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Figure 2.2

Arriving pilgrims.

Figure 2.3

The monastery’s many roofs require constant repair.

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Figure 2.4

Early morning.

Figure 2.5

Incense altar. The inscription reads Tiantong Chan Temple.

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Figure 2.6

The library.

There are few extant images of Tiantong monastery from earlier periods in Chinese history. Some of the earliest images can be seen below. From the thousand peaks, we see the offspring of the mountain One cannot know the going-ons of immortals I change into the spring rains of the third month Becoming so small compared to the clouds on the mountain peaks.27

A woodcut in the 1712 edition of the monastery gazetteer provides a sense of emplacement. The woodcuts depict both real and imagined space. At the monastery, three material realities are immediately experienced: physical ascension as one climbs the path leading to the monastery—this too is hierarchically symbolic of the need to ascend

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Figure 2.7

Early woodcuts of Tiantong monastery.

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Figure 2.8

On the road to Tiantong monastery.28

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toward the Buddha who is always above; forests, which are an important source of timber for fuel and repair supplies; and rice fields, which represent the symbolic and often real labor of the monks. This is also their food source. Pilgrims, patrons, tourists, or perhaps all three can be seen at various stages on the climb toward the main compound. Republican-period woodcuts follow a similar logic.

Figure 2.9

Republican-period woodcut of Tiantong monastery.29

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These images are “representations of space,” projections of an imagined reality and a spatial metaphor of ascendancy. The scenes are meant to evoke an emotional reaction from the viewer, one that sets a mood of peacefulness, prosperity, and geographical health (good fengshui). The viewer is also made aware of “representational space,” space as directly lived. Both produced and maintained by the monastery, it is functional, alive, and inspirational. The viewer is meant to imagine walking the pilgrim’s path, up and around the various peaks, past the stupas, ancestral halls, and productive tea and rice plantations, until they come face to face—individual to institution—with Tiantong monastery. This is a space for salvation as well as an efficacious monastic space: there are cultivated fields, bridges, wells, stupas, houses, and again, the importance of symbolic ascension. The viewer must look up toward the monastery; the pilgrim must climb up steep paths to get to the compound.

North–South Geographies

A typical Buddhist monastery has at least the following features:30 it is located on a north–south axis, and one enters the shanmen, the gates, often guarded by Heng and Ha, two protective deities. Collectively known as Generals Snorter (white light would beam from his nostrils with a “heng” that would evaporate enemies) and Blower (deadly gas would come from his mouth, hence “ha”), these two deities date back to the Shang dynasty. When one is facing the main gate, Ha is usually on the left, Heng on the right. Inside the main gate, the bell tower will usually be on the right, the drum tower on the left. Hearing their sounds awakens one’s consciousness to the Dharma, the Buddha’s teachings. Three structures then follow: the tianwangdian, Heavenly King’s Hall, often with Maitreya Buddha in the center flanked by four guardian kings; the fodian, the main Buddha Hall (also referred to as the daxiongbaodian, the precious hall of the great heroic one), and the cangjingge, the library hall.31 There may also be a lohan (arhat) (person who has attained the highest level of enlightenment) hall and a Guanyin hall. One often sees other bodhisattvas such as Puxian (Samantabhadra) or Wenshu (Manjusri). Meditation halls, monks’ cells, and guest rooms will be on the east and west sides. Often the monastery will have a pool of water in front of the gates. This is called the “releasing-of-life” pool ( fangshengchi), where fish are sometimes released to symbolize the saving of sentient creatures. Sometimes there is a wall running east to west in front of the shanmen. This is called a yingbi, a “reflecting wall” that prevents demons or ghosts from entering the monastery.

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Figure 2.10

Tiantong monastery’s “reflecting wall.”

Buddhist cosmologies are soteriological by design, and a journey to a Chinese monastery or temple is essentially a pilgrimage, a progression from outer to inner, low to high, karmic impoverishment to karmic wealth, samsara to nirvana. The center of the monastery is nowhere and thus everywhere. It is the Buddha with all of his body manifestations—nirmanakaya (the body of transformation; huashen in Chinese), sambhogakaya (the body of bliss, baoshen), and dharmakaya (the ultimate cosmic reality, fashen). Thus the fodian (Buddha Hall) is sometimes described as the axis mundi of the monastery.32 Mahayana Buddhists typically designate ten regions of space: the four cardinal directions, the four intermediate points, and up and down. These are all three-dimensional, with buddhas existing in all regions but attaining universal salvation via the compassion of the Buddha. To access this, one must ascend various hierarchical levels to reach the savior Buddha who is at the center of the temple or monastery.33 Fengshui, the ancient Chinese divinational practice of siting and placement, always comes into play.34 This generic description varies with site and geography.35

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Tiantong monastery’s basic layout is quite similar to the above description: the monastery follows a north–south orientation. A winding stone-paved road with the famous 20 li of pine trees described in poetry leads up to the monastery. A turn to the right takes one up to gu tiantong, ancient Tiantong, the original site where Yixing built his hermitage. The road goes through tea fields, their borders marked by huge swaths of bamboo. The main compound is nestled in a narrow valley with Mount Taibai surrounding it: a dramatic sight with stunning views. Inevitably there will be pilgrims, usually women, making their way to the main compound. Before the gates there are two bodies of water separated by a line of seven pagodas or stupas.

Figure 2.11

Seven pagodas (stupas).

The pool close to the monastery’s gates is a fangshengchi, a “releasing-of-life” pool.36 There is a reflecting wall (see figure 2.10) just before the tianwangdian, a Heavenly King Hall reconstructed in 1936 when Master Yuanying was abbot. Maitreya, the future Buddha, is inside. Next is the fodian, the main Buddha Hall, built by Abbot Miyun in 1635.

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Figure 2.12

Buddha Hall.

If one is facing north, they see Shijiamonifo (Sakyamuni Buddha) flanked on his left by Amituofo (Amitabha Buddha), and on his right by Yaoshifo (Bhaisajya, the medicine buddha), all of whom are looking southward. Nine lohan (arhats) are on either side of them, totaling eighteen.37 Also inside the Buddha Hall are a stele by the Emperor Yongzheng and couplets from donors in Hong Kong and Chinese living in Japan. Behind the Buddha Hall is the fatang, the Dharma Hall. Sermons are often given on the first floor; on the second is the monastery library (cangjinglou, lit. sutras pavilion). Behind the library is the luohantang, the eighteen-arhat hall. There are several halls containing lohans, many depicted in animated poses by the monk Zhuchan in 1918. Meditation halls, monk cells, the kitchen, and bathrooms flank the west and east sides of the compound. The eastern Chan Hall contains relics and gifts; the western halls are used for meditation and some ceremonies. Steles include tablets from Emperor Xiaozong of the Song dynasty and Emperor Shuzhi of the Qing, tablets commemorating Dōgen, and tablets from Japanese monks who undertook a period of study at Tiantong. In total, there are more than nine hundred structures in the Tiantong monastery compound. A schematic of the monastery can be found in appendix D.

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Near the center is a wonderful microcosm of a mountain. Size matters not where content is rich and varied: there are a total of ten stupas on this imagined mountain, the largest centered atop a lotus flower. Resident in the structure is a Buddha with a sign above his head reading omnipresent and free from illusion. There is a white elephant near the peak, a ubiquitous symbol of the Buddha. Streams cascade down the mountain to collect in the pool below. Small mirrors and colored glass reflect the light like jewels present in the buddha land. Coins are scattered everywhere. Maitreya (Mile in Chinese) Buddha, the “loving one,” sits at the top of the mountain. He is the fifth and final buddha, the future king who will return in due course. All buddhas are positioned at the top of a mountain, typically Mount Meru, a cosmological world system made up of mountains and continents resident in all sentient beings. The stupa represents Mount Meru, and the monastery is a palace at the top. There are stupa gardens where deceased monks, the famous ones, have been interred. It is almost possible to walk on a near perfect south–north axis from the main entrance to the back of the compound: the monastery is about ten degrees off due south.38 The longitudinal spread of the compound, the jagged tiles piled on rooftops, and the bureaucratic hierarchy are all consumed by an architecture that controls as

Figure 2.13

One of many passageways on the side of the monastery that eventually leads to the central axis.

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much as liberates those who participate within it. Walking along the circumference of the compound is difficult. All the angles, walls, and stairwells constantly push one back toward the central axis. The center holds; the periphery maintains the boundaries, the kitchens, toilets, sleeping quarters. There are no bathrooms located on the central axis. The south– north axis orientation of Tiantong, and of virtually all Chinese Buddhist monasteries, is perhaps its most conspicuous feature. Architectural layout may vary, as may the color, style, and furnishings of the institution, but almost all such spaces are oriented south. The south–north axis is ubiquitous in Chinese culture, from an imagined geography of China to the imperial city and palace, houses, bedrooms, and burial sites. Even the two graphs (pronounced zhongguo) used to designate the name China graphically represent this cosmological orientation.

Figure 2.14

Zhongguo

The first graph is a line bisecting a territory and indicates the centrality and balancing poles of its position; the second is a lance, emblematic of the ruler, encompassed by four borders. The emperor resides at the center of his palace; his palace is located at the center of the capital; the capital is located at the center of the empire; and the empire, Zhongguo, translated literally as “central empire,” is at the center of the cultured world. Tiantong monastery’s compound is in the shape of an imagined square (which ends up with a more rectangular form), a cosmological projection that has shaped Chinese architecture for centuries. There were other such square/rectangular layouts A Square at the Center of the World 

 

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in Chinese society, none more coherent than the imperial capital.39 One of the more obvious contemporary examples is the Forbidden City inside Beijing, or indeed old Beijing itself. A glance at any pre-twentieth century map of Beijing (especially the Ming through Qing periods, 1368–1911) will reveal its approximate squareness.

Figure 2.15

A schematic of the Forbidden City. The bottom part of the map is the southern end.

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Beijing and the Forbidden City within it are also on a south–north axis, partly the result of a cosmological schematic based on what is called a luoshu, or script of the Luo River.40 Chinese capitals like Beijing, and much earlier, Chang’an during the Han (206 b.c.e.–220 c.e.), Sui (581–618 c.e.), and Tang (618–907 c.e.) dynasties, along with imperial palaces, were mostly sited on that same axis.41 Capital cities were ideally designed in the shape of a near-perfect square comprised of nine smaller squares: a luoshu, an arrangement of the eight trigrams attributed to the founder of the Zhou dynasty (circa 1122 b.c.e.). From his palace in the north the emperor would face south when seated in his audience hall, thereby symbolically occupying the position of the pole star as the pivot of the universe. The four cardinal directions were associated with specific animals, elements, and colors.42 Throughout China’s history, all important cities, tombs, temples, and residences faced south in line with fundamental concepts of fengshui. One’s back should always be toward the north so as to ward off harmful and powerful yin influences. One therefore faced the south, whence healthy yang emanations could be received. Schools of thought that came to constitute a highly complex cosmological system by the mid-Tang included the yinyang school and the wuxing school. They were established toward the end of the Zhou dynasty (475–221 b.c.e.) and eventually influenced, among other things, city design. They were perhaps only systematized during the Han period, although many of their prototype notions go back at least as far as the Bronze Age Shang period (c. 1500–c. 1050 b.c.e.).43 By the Tang (618–907) this cosmology reflected particular bodies of knowledge: ancient texts such as the Yijing and the Zhouli, documents regarded as important for ritual purposes, diagrams, certain belief patterns, and philosophical schools. One narrative tells of an emperor who was walking along the Luo River with several of his ministers. A turtle emerged from the river. The emperor sent one of his ministers to investigate, whereupon a script and map were discovered on the turtle’s back. This luoshu is described in the Yijing, the Book of Changes.44 Therefore: Heaven creates divine things; the holy sage takes them as models. Heaven and earth change and transform; the holy sage imitates them. In the heavens hang images that reveal good fortune and misfortune; the holy sage reproduces these. The Yellow River brought forth a map and the Lo River brought forth a writing; the holy men took these as models.45

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The luoshu pattern projects an ancient Chinese ideal of a perfect world made up of nine divisions corresponding to the eight cardinal directions, with the ninth division in the center—the domain of the son of heaven. The legendary Emperor Yu was said to have drained the nine regions so that humans might live in them. We do not have the exact date when a systematic cosmology surrounding Emperor Yu and the luoshu began to be developed; however, as Joseph Needham has pointed out, the story of Yu the Great probably came about no later than the fifth century b.c.e., since there are references to it in the Lunyu and the Shujing.46 In fact, the earliest system of the nine provinces (and probably the model for all later ones) is to be found in the Shujing.47 The luoshu pattern appears in ancestral shrines, maps of cities, temple designs, house designs, and a variety of ritual configurations.48 Carefully prescribed rituals had to be performed by emperors within the space of an imperial city in order to legitimate their authority and ensure the proper spatial orientation of the metropolis.49 For instance, Chang’an, a city designed and constructed based on the luoshu configuration, was oriented in an exact manner, its spaces carefully produced and controlled. Tiantong monastery too was oriented in a carefully imposing style, a luoshu configuration siting the compound to face south.

Figure 2.16

Plan of Tiantong monastery’s main compound as a luoshu.

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When the emperor sat on his throne in the center of Chang’an, or Beijing, he faced south. When the Buddha, the abbot, the bodhisattvas of Tiantong monastery sit in their respective centers, they too face south. All are oriented purposefully. Tiantong’s layout, like Beijing’s and Chang’an’s, is much like the first character, zhong, from zhongguo (depicted in figure 2.14), a rectangle with a south–north axis running through the center. The graph symbolizes center, balance, centrality, an axis with yin and yang on either side uplifting the spaces of the seen and unseen, the mandate of the cosmological schema said to be discovered on the back of a turtle. The layout reflects a cultural logic that has been at the forefront of Chinese social and architectural design for well over two thousand years.

Figure 2.17

Baoguo Temple schematic (Zhejiang province).

Categories of Emplacement

To refer to the cultural logic of the luoshu architectural design as sacred space only makes sense if that space cosmologically and politically functions as a center. Sacrality is often thought of as a special quality of an object, person, place, or history, sometimes sui generis, sometimes unique only to the point of pragmatic functional-

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ity. To ask what is sacred, where is the center, and what spatial reality holds it together is to pose a political question directed toward the plurality of a society, not toward its individuals. Sacred architecture exists to the extent that social groups in specific geographical and cultural contexts construct, maintain, and perpetuate the idea behind certain material structures. For instance, a Buddhist monastery is a sacred center as delineated in part through fengshui practices; thus we might say that it is a sacred space. Although accurate, this statement lacks precision, for to call something sacred does no more to clarify the reality of that object or space than to call it political, religious, or profound. If, however, we employ “sacred” to draw attention to the fact that a Buddhist monastery is occupied much of the time with soteriological concerns, spatial maintenance, doctrinal output, and the salvation of its constituents, then perhaps we would have some measure of certainty that the term designates something that reaches beyond the mundane existence of everyday life. There is, however, something missing. There is still no indication of what or how human action and production take place in a monastic setting. What is sacred in a monastic context is both wholly other and utterly mundane, produced through monastic exchange; where those actions take place and are located may be termed a “sacred center.”50 To further explore it, space as a methodological tool is essential. Spatial analysis has generally been of a descriptive nature.51 Tiantong monastery is not simply an empty square space; it is foremost an oriented space. The practice of orientation can be described as a geographical action, but it is also a religious act. Several contemporary scholars have argued persuasively for the process of orientation as a means of ordering a world, and placing oneself and possibly others within that order.52 In much of his writing Mircea Eliade argues that the “sacred”—read in part as Rudolf Otto’s “mysterium tremendum”—reflects reality. For Eliade, Tiantong monastery’s central axis with the Buddha at the center would represent an axis mundi, that is, a cosmic axis53 that is not chosen but discovered. The sacred reveals reality.54 It is tempting to read Tiantong in this way, especially given the mythology of Yixing, its founder, along with the generic cosmological features of Buddhist temples. To designate the act of the manifestation of the sacred, Eliade uses the term “hierophany.”55 However, the labor of construction and maintenance on the part of the monks is not accounted for. Furthermore, Eliade’s language is flawed, for as Jonathan Z. Smith has clearly demonstrated, “there is nothing that is inherently sacred or profane. These are not substantive categories, but rather situational ones. Sacrality is, above all, a category of emplacement.”56 The sacrality of Tiantong monastery is em-

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placed both by practitioners, monks, and pilgrims and by scholars, past and present. Tiantong monastery is emplaced geographically. The labor embodied in the institution is a product of negotiation and a production of space; the result is an intricate balance of orientation. Charles Long has demonstrated that orientation is fundamentally about finding one’s place in the world.57 He suggests that if we can recognize social groups whose business is the practice of ultimate orientation as “interpretive communities,” then we can begin to understand the significance of the religious mode of being, or for our purposes, the practice of monastic action. In their analysis of sacred space, David Chidester and Edward Linenthal refer to the importance of “venerative consumption.”58 To attract tourist-pilgrims to spend time and money there, Tiantong monastery had to present itself as authentic, as a space within which one could expend economic capital and acquire cultural and/or spiritual capital, achieve salvation as well as be inspired by memorials to famous monks. Tiantong provided a physical space in line with traditional Chinese cosmological norms and Buddhist ideals of productive spatiality; it provided the monastic action required to maintain its centrality and sacrality; and it provided the hierarchy of order needed to perpetuate and project a certain type of salvational knowledge via a monastic spatiality. In this sense monastic space can be understood as a fundamental means of hierarchical organization through, by, and within which monks organize their social relations and construct a communal identity. Monastic space is produced, shaped, and organized in specific ways. It is the result of labor. It is a social product. This is of crucial importance, for as one scholar explains, the “spatio-temporal structuring of social life defines how social action and relationship (including class relations) are materially constituted, made concrete.”59 This concrete spatiality (actual human geography—the spatial mapping of culture) is principally a competitive arena for struggles over social production and reproduction.60 This brings us back to Henri Lefebvre’s statement: “the question of centrality in general . . . is not a very simple one. It inhabits every aspect of the problematic of space.”61 We can now connect the “question of centrality” to the practice of monastic sacrality, which is also to say, the production of monastic sacred space. The difficulty in interpreting monastic sacrality is a religio-historical one, because most acts of religiosity operate with a profound sensitivity to time and space (and quite often, an unconscious competitiveness to regulate a monopoly on ultimate human existence). Further, there is always a specific hermeneutic at stake in what we might term religious spatiality. Such a notion must account for the point of contact

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that results in the production of a certain kind of knowledge vis-à-vis the labor input into constructing a meaningful human space. Thus, we must account for the physical manifestation of the religious act—in this case, the architecture of a Buddhist monastery.62 Religious architecture, like most other architecture, is about the production of space, or what Lefebvre calls the spatial practice of the social formation. These practices involving intense human energy output provide a sense of continuity to the institution. To simply shift from a mental understanding of space to a physical social space is to ignore the labor required to construct it. Chinese monks had to produce their monastic space within a temporal and spatial framework and developed a Chinese cultural sensibility in terms of monastic design, something Buddhists were quick to pick up in their earliest days in China. To further add to this conceptualized reality, Buddhists also employed a sophisticated cosmological understanding of space, centrality, and time, which coexisted harmoniously with the Chinese cultural notions of centrality, luoshu, balance, and symmetry.63 I want to further think of centrality as a mode of human expression that is institutionalized and codified into a set of practices. The purpose of any religious institution is to construct a center—of activity, of legitimation, of salvation, of consolation, political and economic, and so forth. Centrality is created, organized, and maintained by specific interest groups whose understanding of their particular space is often radically different from those of others.64 However, it takes place or is founded in a particular configuration of space, that is to say, within a produced space that is hierarchically organized in specific ways. Centrality is of course wrapped up with the problem of production and the control over distribution, a dynamic that can be hard to follow in terms of monastic action; nevertheless, it can be said that cultural practice, production, and the establishment of centrality go hand in hand. A more immediate concern, however, is the difficulty that arises from two stubbornly interconnected issues: centrality and space. What conditions allow us to refer to them as “sacred” (in the sense of sacred center or sacred space)? This is an important question only to the extent that a Buddhist monastery is a center (as defined by human action and cultural practices) located and delineated within a specific space. A monastery can be a corporate, market, doctrinal, and economic center. At the very least, a monastery is the locus around and within which a community of monks or nuns organize and produce meaning in their lives while in residence. It is a community of behavioral dispositions. Finally, for a Buddhist monastery to be referred to as a sacred center it must have territory. There must exist imagined space, first conceived, then

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produced. In other words, there must be people, a group who act on their communal convictions regarding a particular place and time and memory, all grounded via monastic action into a constructed reality designed to embody meaning. Monastic action—the material activities of monastics, the human labor that ultimately produces the sacred—in medieval China produced monastic space. It is these material activities to which we now turn.

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3 Corporate Bodies

For better or worse, individuals really do share their thoughts and they do to some extent harmonize their preferences, and they have no other way to make the big decisions except within the scope of institutions they build.

—Mary Douglas1

N

ot far from Tiantong monastery is Qita monastery in downtown Ningbo, an institution that has close ties with Tiantong. On a recent visit there I watched a monk exiting the Buddha Hall with its low arched roof and

yellow tiles. He adjusted his work robe and made his way to the center of the courtyard in front of the main hall, carrying a broom. He began to sweep: not in some stereotypical Zen fashion, but in a manner indicative of a simple desire—to clean the courtyard. A family arrived; they had requested a memorial service for their ancestors. As they entered the courtyard, the monk with the broom hurried out of sight and reappeared moments later in full ritual regalia, a long yellow garment with an orange sash draped over his left shoulder. He joined his fellow monks as they began the service, which was paid for in cash. The monks chanted; the family imitated their bodily movements. Senior monks informed the family members when to sound a syllable, change direction, adopt a posture befitting a memorial service in the pres-

ence of the Buddha. Voices filled the main hall and resonated with the thwock of wood on wood and jingling bells. The family bowed in unison with the monks, their hands clasped in prayer. Long strips of red and gold paper dangled from the high ceiling. Everyone then exited the hall into the outer realm, where the sky was bright. Qita monastery was making a living by caring for the dead. Outside the main gates assorted Buddhist paraphernalia is offered; profits from sales go to the sangha. When I first met the monk Kexiang of Qita monastery, we spent the late morning ruminating on karma and the afternoon eating a delicious lunch, drinking tea, and wandering around the monastic compound. Kexiang occupies many different positions within this social arena: monk, leader, host, financier, teacher, scholar, student, caretaker of a tradition that dates back 2,500 years and of an institution that dates back 1,200 years. In this regard he is an individual body within a complex historicized social body, operating within a cosmological body. Qita monastery is a religious body, a corporate body, and an incorporated cosmological body. Kexiang works with at least 7 different organizations, some at the provincial level, some at the city level; yet he must also find time to raise money for a variety of ongoing reconstruction and renovation projects at the monastery, perform and participate in rituals, and carry out a variety of administrative tasks. Qita monastery is a composite space—a process of production resulting in an institutionalized arena. As a religious institution it is both an idea and a materialized, or better yet, actualized product of imaginative thinking. On a material level Qita is a composite, organic structure, embodying an identity of labor and allowing for choices and decisions within it as an institution. Long after Kexiang’s individuated body has left this world, Qita monastery’s corporate body will remain. Monastic ritual, monastic action, and the material reality of Buddhist monastic space come to shape and define monastic identity. Whether a monk is sweeping a courtyard or chanting on behalf of a family who has paid for a ritual service, he acts within the parameters of the institution. Indeed, he embodies the institution, and thus lives out its projected ideals and physical architecture. The same is true of the monks at Tiantong monastery, some forty minutes’ drive away. For the monastic institution to reproduce itself it must produce bodies with both agency and conformity, bodies we call monks. Thus a monastery is a corporation of sorts. What, however, does it mean to be corporate—to be incorporated into one body, the individual body and the social body merged; to be the monk who embodies rules and also institution?

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Monk and Sangha: The Individual and Social Body

In contemporary English we use the term “monk” to refer to every type of monastic agent in all cultural settings since the turn of the first millennium, from the Hari Krishna devotee to the Benedictine monastic, the Cenobite (living in a religious community), the eremite (Christian solitaries during the third century and hermits of the Saint Augustinian tradition), those engaged in a peripatetic lifestyle, and finally, the Buddhist or Daoist celibate.2 The term has been used to describe many other things: a shoe style, benches, bats, an ink blot, a fish, the upper part of a framefor heating samples of ore, a kind of pestle, a piece of tinder or fuse used to detonate a mine, and any number of various animals whose form suggests the cowled (hooded garment) or tonsured (shaven head) figure of a monk.3 The origins of the word in English date back to at least the fourth century of the Common Era and are found in numerous languages from Old Icelandic (munkr) to Anglo-Norman (moine, or munie) to the common Latin usage monicus and its variant, monachus, that referred to a religious hermit. At one brief period in the early twentieth century the term “monk” was even used as a derogatory reference to a person of Chinese descent, no doubt an expression left over from the colonial nineteenth century. Sometimes we use the term “monastic” synonymously. “Monastic” dates back to classical Latin monasticus, relating to a monk or monastery sometime in the fifth to sixth centuries. In Byzantine Greek it referred to monos (fourth century), meaning quite literally “alone,” or “solitary life.” By the fifteenth to seventeenth centuries the term was well used. Typically it refer to a male figure—in very early times it sometimes referred to a woman—who lives apart from the world, either alone or, more commonly, as a member of a particular religious community, and is devoted chiefly to contemplation and the performance of religious duties. Over the last two thousand years in China the conceptualization of a monk has shown up in several terminological forms. Not all were used during the same period, but all have been in vogue at one time or another. Some of the more common usages include the following: 1) fashi—a monk or nun who acts as a guide to sentient beings; a Dharma teacher; a person who knows the Buddhist teachings well; a master of the Abhidharma.

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2) biqiu—a fully ordained monk: Sanskrit bhiksu, lit. “one who begs for food.” The term was originally used in India to refer to the fourth stage of the brahmanistic life, wherein the householder would renounce the world, become a beggar, and seek enlightenment. In Buddhism, it came to refer to a Buddhist (male) monk, a practitioner who has renounced the secular world and received the precepts. 3) sengren and senglü (Skt. Samgha)—lit. “the community.” In East Asian usage, these two terms have come to refer to individual monks and nuns, but earlier they referred to a group of more than three or four: an assembly, collection, company, society. 4) shangren—a man of superior wisdom, virtue, and conduct, a term applied to monks during the Tang dynasty, possibly of tantric origin. 5) heshang—this is a Chinese translation of the Sanskrit upadhaya, meaning preceptor, a Buddhist teacher. Sometimes it is translated as abbot, but usually as priest. Sometimes it is used as a synonym for fashi (a teacher of doctrine), as opposed to lüshi (teacher of the vinaya) or chanshi (teacher of the Chan school; also an honorific title for a monk). 6) Shi—derived from Sakyamuni (shijiamuni), this is a general surname applied to all East Asian monks and nuns during the earlier periods of the assimilation of Buddhism into East Asia, a custom probably initiated by the monk Daoan (314–385 c.e.).

Finally, there are also shifu; chujiaren, one who has left home; endu, one who graciously saves; daoren, which can refer to both Daoists and Buddhists, or later, workers in a monastery; zhuchi; or famenjia (Dharma family). When addressing a monk, shi or fashi is the honorific for Buddhists and Daoists, and zhanglao, fangzhang, or chanshi is appropriate for an eminent monk. Heshang and chujiaren are regarded as impolite ways to address a monk. For Buddhist monks the term heshang is less respectful than sengren; biqiu is better, and fashi is usually the most appropriate. However, none of the terms in Chinese or English expresses what I referred to in the previous chapter as an “identity of labor.” That is, the monk is not an individual in the strictest sense of the term but a social agent for the sangha, the signifier of one who wishes to live in and according to the Dharma. Certainly, the monk as individual comes to the collective, the sangha, the group as whole, but the latter is not wholly constituted by multitude. Personality does count; after all, there are many

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stories of charismatic monks, yet the social space constructed by and inhabited by monks, the monastery, always harnesses the power of the sangha to survive and thrive in the long term. Monastic labor produced the capital needed to create, maintain, and reproduce monastic space, and it was the monk’s body that labored. The monk is a producer and part of the processes of production. A monk and his institution were not discrete entities but instead politically constituted components within a network of social relations. Monk and monastery both have agency; that is, both operate at a level of materiality, and these material realities produce a space of consumption, of meaningful existence well beyond the skin of the monk and the walls of the institution. The monk labored, but was he the owner of what he produced? Historical data will answer this question.

Problematic Bodies

The ideal of the monk as peripatetic notwithstanding, monks in India and Sri Lanka were sometimes men of considerable wealth and property.4 Although Buddhist monks morally renounced their claims to all personal and private possessions, this was not a legal act with legal ramifications.5 Buddhist monks possessed and used private wealth.6 Inscriptional records of all periods show monks and nuns as active and substantial donors almost everywhere in India. Not all vinayas forbade private wealth and worldly possessions. For example, whether monks could own land was open to interpretation. Not only did different sets of monastic regulations give different opinions on the issue, but mental state was also considered key for determining the propriety of ownership. Interpretation was therefore an important factor in how rules for monks were read. Traditionally monks were forbidden from cultivating their land due to the risk of inadvertently killing living creatures in the soil.7 In early Indian Buddhism monks could only consume food received from someone as a donation. The vinaya strictly forbade cultivating land, but Chan monks in China later reinterpreted this, calling for monks to work in their own fields (whether they actually did is another matter). Richard Gombrich has pointed out that a relational social determinant incorporated into the process of interpretation was “good intention,” one step on the eightfold path. Gombrich argues that this path had “radical implications for the social order” and was often invoked to explain or justify the actions of monks.8 Furthermore, a “great innovation of the Buddha was to say that the moral

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quality of an act lies in the intention behind it.”9 Good intention was also invoked to legitimate monks working on the land. For example, the great Chan master Huaihai was once asked by one of his disciples:10 “Is it sinful to cut grasses, chop trees, dig the field, and turn over the soil?” Huaihai responded: “I cannot say that it is definitely sinful. Whether it is sinful or not depends on how the person does it. If he does it with a worldly sense of gain and loss, then surely he has committed a sin. However, if he does it with a transcendent state of mind, then he has committed no sin at all.

In early Indian Buddhism, monks in principle could only consume food received from someone as a donation In China, however, although monks rarely worked the land themselves, if at all, there was nothing to prevent them from hiring or even purchasing others to do work for them.11 Monasteries typically employed three types of workers: monk novices (individuals who had joined the monastery but were not yet fully ordained as monks), slaves (they were part of the “permanent assets,” or changzhu, of the monastery), and tenant cultivators (individuals who hired themselves out to supplement the insufficient income generated from their own lands). This third group was the largest. Most peasants did own some land, but usually not enough to support their families and thus would hire themselves out as land laborers on other peoples’ farms.12 Many of these peasants would have worked for Buddhist monasteries. Throughout the Tang and Song dynasties, there were tens of thousands of slaves and tenant cultivators working in Buddhist monasteries.13 Slaves in China never formed an institutionalized caste like that found in European history. Monastic slaves were sometimes prisoners of war or criminals who were pardoned by being donated to a monastery, but most were private citizens who had sold themselves to a monastery to supplement their income. There were two types of tenant cultivators: land guests (dike) and tenant guests (dianke).14 A third type of agricultural worker was the field servant (dianpu or tianpu), an unofficial hired laborer. Furthermore, there were at least seven different types of people working on monastery lands: zhuangke, zhuanghu, dianke, dianjia, dianhu, dianmin, and jingren.15 The final category most concerns us at present. The term jingren, meaning literally “pure people,” referred to acolytes who did all the “unclean” services for monasteries; for example, cultivating the land and handling silver or gold for the monks. Their accumulated karmic debt could be negotiated and reduced by

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the monastery. The jingren were the lay servants. They cleaned the monastery grounds, prepared food for the monks, washed the bathrooms, and worked in the fields.16 They comprised the previously mentioned three groups of monastery laborers: novice monks, tenant cultivators, and slaves. In other words, by handling impure monastic duties, they allowed monks to remain “pure.” In Guanding’s (561–632 c.e.) commentary to the Dabo niepan jingshu (Mahaparinirvana), he lists several categories of “impure things” (bu jing).17 These include: accumulating gold and silver, slaves, cattle and sheep, and granaries; commerce; cultivating land; and cooking. In the mid-thirteenth century, the Buddhist monk Zhipan provides a similar list of categories:18 fields and gardens, agriculture, grains and cloth, keeping slaves, rearing animals, money and precious substances, blankets and saucepans, and all heavy goods. In principle, monks did not touch or handle any of these objects or engage in any of these practices. This was the ideal and in no way reflected the reality of thirteenth-century China.19 Nevertheless, in the case of land, the “pure people” were put to use in monasteries all across the empire. Although in principle, when a monk or nun entered a monastery they were leaving behind all their “this-world” possessions to enter the “otherworld” of the monastery, they were still Chinese subjects living in a Chinese environment. They could not simply ignore social conventions. Monks and nuns often had personal wealth that could be donated to the monastery they were entering.20 In many cases, upon their death their resident monastery inherited their personal property. The personal assets of monks and nuns were distinguished from the “permanent assets” (changzhu) of the monastery.21 Thus, when a monk or nun died, they could in fact donate their private belongings to someone else. This meant that on entering a monastery, most monks or nuns would donate their private possessions, thus adding the goods to the permanent assets of the monastery.22 As mentioned above, most of the goods owned by monasteries as part of their treasuries were “impure.” The vinayas did not prohibit this as such, but direct contact was best avoided if possible. While doctrine is a type of practice, practice is not necessarily doctrine. Former doctrines aside, Huang Zhen, whom I quoted in the opening epigraph to chapter 1, got it wrong. He made the error of equating the level of textual representation with the level of material action. The former bespeaks an ideal, the latter, a material reality. At any rate, the actions or labor relations pertaining to the production of monastic space speak directly to the notion of an identity of labor. We now turn to some more specifics of this component of monastic identity and production.

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Monastic Business

On December 10, 1120, a group of ministers, when granted an audience with the emperor, humbly beseeched his opinion regarding a matter about which their minds were decidedly clear. The ministers requested that Buddhist monks, officials, and family members of officials, whose many boats carried different types of cargo through certain districts, should be taxed. If their boats passed though the customs of the various waterways, local government officials ought to be allowed to inspect their cargo, and according to prescribed law, tax them based on its value. Also, it should be calculated how often each year they would pass through the checkpoints, and then all the applications to the Tax Transport Bureau (zhuanyunsi) office for permission to do so should be evaluated. The emperor responded by saying the officials could do all this in the manner prescribed by the law of the Yuanfeng period (1078),23 which granted them permission to tax boats owned and operated by monasteries and carrying cargo for monastic use. It would appear the issue at hand was not definitively resolved, for less than six months later imperial and Buddhist shipping trade networks were extensive in the empire, so much so that on May 13, 1121, a decree was issued concerning river traffic.24 Apparently an official who had been dispatched to compile a report on the matter saw traders from different districts engaged in business. As it turned out, officials and monasteries owned a considerable number of vessels transporting grain—so many, it was reported, that other vessels could not pass through and the stated vessels were unreasonably dominating the waterway. Historically, Buddhist monasteries located near waterways, canals, or rivers, were active in transporting goods. One example in Song China (960–1279 c.e.) demonstrates that Buddhist monks traded actively. “In Guangnan it is common to see monks sitting in the marketplace buying and selling goods. Monks run most business operations. Indeed they make great profits,” wrote the scholar-official Zhuang Liyu, perhaps even grumbling in frustration as he waited for the ink on his page to dry.25 Another literatus, Chen Liao (1032–85), wrote that26 “In the area of Sanxiang [modern-day Hunan province], only Yong province is remote. . . . There, Buddhist and Daoist monks engage in business with the local people and seek out the ‘luxurious life.’”27 Buddhist economic activity is not in itself surprising given the necessity of the Chinese sangha to establish themselves as a social group with societal efficacy (as with the Roman Catholic Church).

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Monastic institutions faced the same challenges as any other social group at the time—gaining legitimacy, sustainability, local support, imperial recognition, and the respect of their peers. It was precisely through their economic actions that Buddhists could establish and perpetuate their monastic space. A monastery’s own forces of production would directly affect its social position and purported religiosity. These forces produced economic capital that shaped the institution’s ability to negotiate an identity for itself. One type of economic activity in large Buddhist monasteries was religious festivals, ritual markers of space and time, which drew on the social effervescence of a community. Religious festivals and market fairs were frequently held simultaneously in the same locations, often in the vicinity of a monastery. Performances reenacted myth and ritual located the space. Goods were sold and exchanged, donations could be made to monks and nuns, and salvation could be negotiated. Other commercial activities of Chinese Buddhist monks included tea production, salt trading, silver smelting, and pawnshops and lotteries where, for instance, the robes of a deceased famous abbot associated with a specific monastery might be sold for profit. Buddhist monasteries held auctions; produced paper, ink sticks, and ink stones; and were actively engaged in printing and the production of books. Some became well known as medical dispensaries and their resident monks famous as medical doctors. Other monasteries produced silk, selling it at a profit. Still others engaged in embroidery (convents were the primary producers in this area). Some produced lead powder, operated hostels, and made and sold food. It was common for larger Chinese Buddhist monasteries to establish oil presses to add to their overall income. Certain Buddhist monasteries had the expertise to grind grain products to a fine powder and sell them to the local people. This was a technology to which few social groups in China had access. During the Song period (960–1279 c.e.), milling was commonplace in the larger Buddhist monasteries. Few social institutions had the financial capability and technological knowledge to run such facilities, so the impact on local communities was considerable. At various times in history, Buddhist monasteries’ economic power prompted severe crackdowns by the government, resulting in massive land confiscations.28 In most cases the argument was made that the institutions controlled too much land. Monasteries were often subjected to crackdowns that sought to take back the precious metals used in their Buddha statues. In almost all examples, however, after suffering severe economic and religious disruption, Buddhism for the most part

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would recover and renew its economic strength—a clear indication to the degree to which monasteries had become integrated into society. Again, the Song periods (tenth to thirteenth centuries) provide an example. Officials, envoys, candidates for the imperial examinations, monks, and of course, merchants were all actively engaged in processes of exchange and profit making. These were not their only activities, but exchange and profiteering were a common aspect of everyday life. Monks and merchants, on the whole markedly different social groups, shared a surprising number of similarities. They were both more geographically mobile than other segments of society, with monks traveling around the countryside from monastery to monastery and merchants generally following the flow of capital from market to market. Neither monks nor merchants were tied by farming practices to one locality. Therefore, it was no coincidence that so many markets were established in front of monasteries and vice versa. The capital to set up a market often came from a Buddhist monastery.29 Given the nature of many of the commercial activities in which the larger Buddhist monasteries were engaged, the level of interaction between monks and merchants and other social groups was high. In the Southern Song empire, boats owned by merchants and monks traded along the rivers. At times Buddhist monasteries with the necessary financial capability and expertise may even have built and repaired boats, either for their own use in trading or to be sold to others. For example, in Baolin, at Huayan monastery,30 “In the fourth year of the Zhida reign period (c.1311), Buddhist Master Fori encountered some problems but wished to continue; having recovered the land previously lost during the Qingyuan period (1195–1200), to the extent of 3,000 mu. . . . Many buildings were established and a boatyard was built.” It seems unlikely that this was ever a major economic enterprise of many Buddhist monasteries; however, clearly Buddhist monasteries engaged in socioeconomic activities at many different mundane levels of society. Monasteries frequently produced medicine.31 Medical products were commonly sold at marketplaces, and during the Song period one could find in markets all sorts of medical goods, herbs, and healing substances. This was particularly true in the Sichuan region in central China, where fairs were all held in the city of Chengdu and almost all took place at monasteries. The capital of the Southern Song, Lin’an, was also well known for its medicine fairs. By the thirteenth century, monasteries were producing and selling medicines,32 and in some cases, training monks as medical practitioners. For example, in 1233, the monk Jingxian of Zhulin monastery in

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Xiaoshan county apparently cured one of the empresses, thus ensuring the fame of the monastery.33 The monks of Zhulin monastery were known throughout the realm for being able to cure women’s ills, and the monastery claimed a medical practice back to the tenth century.34 The emperor bestowed the title “Kings of Medicine” (yaowang) on all the monks. Zhulin also made and sold medicine for profit.35 Buddhist monasteries were actively involved in ministering to the sick and dispensing medicines, and helping sick people could earn merit for a monk or nun.36 The larger Buddhist monasteries frequently engaged in two other economic practices, owning and operating mills and oil presses. Already during the Tang period this was common in cities such as Loyang and Chang’an. Mills were located on many private estates owned by imperial family members, high-ranked officials, and Buddhist monasteries.37 Milling by monasteries had enormous impact on the common folk, who rarely had such expertise and equipment.38 Milling practices were commonplace. For instance, one temple stele inscription (991 c.e.) reads:39 “Shou Zhong said: in Yongxing jun in Wannian county,40there is a compound with two mills; also, at Jielin jing, Jingyang county there is such a compound.41Now I bestow these lands and compounds to Guangci monastery to become part of their permanent holdings.” Tiantong monastery also owned and operated water mills.42 In 1657 the monastery undertook construction of a five-room water mill with two grindstones, no small engineering feat. Some monasteries also produced flour.43 Making oil was a profitable business for monasteries. In 1124, the prominent monk Huihong recorded the following: “In inquiring as to what value their land had, it was predicted that the land was insufficient to supply all the monks; thus, some of the temple rooms were converted into oil and grain storage units in order to make a profit.”44 These rooms were most likely used to house oil presses. Many monasteries could even sustain themselves financially through the operation of oil presses. Oil was an important product in medieval China, used for cooking, cosmetics, ship construction, the manufacturing of weapons, waterproofing, lacquered goods, rust prevention, construction, the manufacturing of ink, and of course in lamps.45 The larger Buddhist monasteries had the capital to operate and maintain these income-generating practices. Smaller monasteries with fewer monks in residence relied principally on donations from local practitioners or from pilgrims traveling through the region. Two additional activities specifically restricted to the larger monasteries were pawnbroking and money lending. Both required that a monastery have plenty of extra cash on hand and preferably abundant goods in the treasury. The first

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pawnshops in China date back to the fifth century and were established, owned, and operated by Buddhist monasteries; only later did they become more widely seen in society. There were many terms to describe them. The word changshengku (long-life treasuries) originally referred to Buddhist monasteries in general. Other terms included jifupu (seen in Tang texts), didangku (used in the Song periods), and jiedianku (Yuan period).46 During the Southern Song dynasty, wealthy laypeople would sometimes form partnerships with Buddhist monasteries and open pawnshops (in doing so they also managed to avoid certain property taxes from which monasteries were sometimes exempt).47 For example, a 1202 memorial records the practice of ten people coming together to form an association know as a ju, which would then back the establishment of a pawnshop in a monastery.48 In China, lending money at interest dates back to the fourth century. During the Han dynasties (206 b.c.e.–220 c.e.), the term ziqianjia was in common use, meaning literally “interest-making specialists.” Money lending and pawnshops were incorporated into the same system of credit and were for the most part controlled by Buddhist monasteries.49 Loans were made from the monasteries’ wujinzang (inexhaustible treasuries) and usually without documentation, as fear of divine retribution, should the borrower default, was usually enough to ensure repayment. Loans at interest became one of the principal activities of Buddhist monasteries and monks.50 Several documents pertaining to Song dynasty loans were discovered among the Dunhuang material. For example, on the back of one Buddhist sutra discovered by Paul Pelliot, document number 3051, is written:51 On the twenty-third day of the third month during the Bingchen period (956 c.e.), a monk from Sanjie monastery called Fabao traveled to the Western prefecture as a messenger. From the monastery he borrowed one pi of raw yellow silk, 40 chi and 9 cun worth. The interest on the amount borrowed was set at one pi . . . if at the appointed time the full amount was not returned . . . then the interest would be increased.

Yet another monastic practice to earn income—albeit not a common one—was to hold an auction. Certainly by the Tang period, and probably earlier, monasteries sometimes had auctions. For instance, Daoxuan (596–667),52 the famous Tang vinaya master, was said to have criticized auctions as being noisy and overly boisterous. By the Song, auctions were being held by Buddhist monasteries. For example, beginning in 1082, a yearly festival was held at Baoguo monastery and later at Wansui

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monastery in Fuzhou, in celebration of the Buddha’s birthday.53 More than ten thousand monks and nuns took part and a lottery was held with fans, medicines, clothes, and other prizes. Sometimes a famous monk’s robe or other personal belongings would be auctioned for profit.54 Buddhist convents sometimes engaged in the production of silk and embroidered cloth. Prior to the Song, the production of silk took place primarily in the cities and was under official control; commercialization was not that prevalent and enough was usually produced to meet tax requirements.55 Traditionally, the oldest centers of production were in Shandong, Hebei, and the eastern parts of Henan; later Sichuan became another center of the silk industry. The fourth to the sixth centuries saw the silk trade develop in Jiangsu and Zhejiang provinces. By the Song dynasty, the main areas of production were China’s northeast, southeast, and Sichuan province. A commercial trade network was already in place, allowing some farmers to specialize in producing mulberry leaves and others to grow silkworms. Most of the high-quality silks used by the court or for foreign trade were obtained by three primary methods:56 direct production by the imperium’s silk industry; purchase through the government purchasing system; or converting the twice-yearly tax to cloth, that is, requiring that the taxes be paid in some other form. There are examples of Buddhist nuns involved in the production and weaving of silk. Zhu Yu describes some nuns in Kaifeng during the Northern Song dynasty:57 Residents in the capital (Kaifeng) use Lotus Flower yarn from Fuzhou for their summer clothing. It is highly valued. In Lianhua monastery, nuns of all the four halls produce and spin this silk; outsiders are not allowed to impart it to others. Each year, each of the halls weaves close to 100 lengths of material, yet this is not enough for the stores and the imperial household. People outside the monastery also weave a lot, and their products are used to make up for what is lacking. People in the city who buy from both groups know the difference between the two types of material; consequently, silk from outside the monastery sells for 20 to 30 percent less than silk from inside the monastery.

Meng Yuanlao wrote that the nuns of Xiangguo monastery in Bianjing (modernday Kaifeng, Henan province) during the Song period operated their own market, where they sold embroidered goods that they themselves had produced. Meng describes how “on the two verandahs, the nuns would sell their embroidered goods:

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collars, embroidered flower buds, pearl sequins, various head dressings, gold-threaded designs, scarves, hats, special hair decorations, and different types of sashes.”58 Xiangguo monastery had its own “embroidery alley” where they sold their goods. Most of the time, however, these products were sold directly to the imperium. The government would first ask the nuns, and only if they were sold out or low in stock would go to the common folk for any material/embroidering needs.59 The Songhuiyao jigao also says:60 On the eighth day, third month during the third year of the Chongning reign period (1104), the Director of the Palace Administration (shidianzhongshao), Zhang Kangbo,61 said: “Now, be they carriages, clothes, or even embroidered items to be used in sacrificial ceremonies for the imperium’s needs, all these things must have a specific, fixed design; furthermore, there is no section in the government that produces these objects, thus they have to look to the women in the residential and market areas, or give the responsibility to Buddhist nuns and pay them for their works.”

Although we have no exact sales figures, these passages demonstrate that Buddhist nuns were producing such commodities, selling them in the marketplace, and in particular, selling them for profit to the imperium. Buddhist monasteries were one of the few social organizations that had the technology to produce paper, frequently on a massive scale.62 Cai Lun in 105 c.e. supposedly invented paper. Its use and popularity spread to Chinese Turkestan in the third century, to Korea in the fourth century, Japan in the fifth century, India in the seventh century, Western Asia in the eighth century, and then on to Egypt in the tenth century, finally reaching Europe in the twelfth century.63 Monasteries sold paper at markets.64 Related to paper production was printing, which began in China around 700 c.e., and some of the larger Buddhist monasteries were active in this practice. Buddhist monastic institutions made a significant contribution to the development and spread of printing, inventing wood-block printing in the eighth century or possibly even earlier.65 There was a dramatic increase in Buddhist printing during the Sui and Tang dynasties.66 Finally, Buddhist monasteries engaged in other commercial activities, such as the production of lead powder, silver and iron smelting,67 operating hostels,68 and growing and selling tea.69 Constructing, maintaining, and ensuring the long-term survival of a monastery was an expensive affair. Major financing would be needed to purchase

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the lumber required for the buildings, tiles for the roofs, lacquer, etc., and to pay the salaries of the craftsmen and builders. An adequate water supply, an effective drainage system (especially if a monastery was being built to house over a thousand monks), and a constant food supply were vital and expensive necessities of any monastery. Like all wooden structures in medieval China, monasteries were highly susceptible to fire, and funds would have to be sought to cover the cost of repairs. In the larger monasteries, income from water mills or from interest earned on loans, could subsidize all these. Monastic income could be used to purchase slaves or hire workers to work in the fields, growing food for all the monks in residence. Excess income from harvests would often accrue, providing the monastery with a financial support base. Income from donations—a substantial source for any Buddhist monastery— would be combined with other income from economic operations and often be added to the treasury. There is a famous tale of a Parthian merchant who in the early sixth century sailed up the Yangzi river, with two boats filled with goods, jewels, and other merchandise collected in his travels. At one stage, he arrived at Ox Head Mountain and met a monk called Da who preached Buddhism to him. The merchant was suitably moved and decided the best way to rid himself of all attachments would be to throw his treasures into the river. And so he promptly sank one of his two junks. He was preparing to sink the other when a group of monks arrived and begged him to make use of the riches from the remaining boat for pious deeds and good works. In other words, they wanted the merchant to donate his wealth to the sangha.70 This kind of patronage was a major source of income, and Buddhist monasteries regularly attempted to associate with the nobility and with wealthy and powerful families. By at least the sixth century, Chinese Buddhists developed what came to be referred to as the Inexhaustible Treasuries (wujinzang), storehouses of gifts, goods, and items of value. Loans from these treasuries were regularly given to merchants at high interest and generated immense profits. The Inexhaustible Treasuries became one of the principle commercial activities of the larger Chinese Buddhist monasteries, where surplus wealth was used to sustain the monastic community.71

Let us return to Yin county and Tiantong monastery for a moment. Over the centuries Tiantong monastery grew and sold tea, grew trees, ground grain, and exchanged merit for land. The monastery drew tourists and patrons from all over the empire.

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Specifically in this regard, I wish to think of a complementary opposite to the monk’s laboring body: the donating body of the patron. The high number of Buddhist monasteries in Yin county shows that such institutions received much patronage and fully participated in the flow of local capital in the region. Patrons in Yin county almost always donated to the monasteries in their surrounding area, indicating that the monasteries were active in pursuing social connections that would enhance their standing in the community. There was much at stake in the exchange of prestige and wealth; indeed there was much that was exchanged in Yin county during the imperial period—land, ideas, daughters (through interclan marriages), and essays and poetry.72 Moreover, Yin was a wealthy county.73 During the mid-thirteenth century the county was recorded as paying the highest taxes in Ming prefecture, which means its land was the most extensive and its income the highest.74 To have a literatus write an inscription or compose a poem (a space of representation), a wealthy patron give land, or an official visit a monastery and drink tea with the abbot (in representational space—space as lived politically), were all symbolically meaningful acts with social consequences that had a direct impact on the nature of monastic space. Buddhist monastic institutions thrived in this environment,intellectually, socially, and financially. Monasteries in Yin county had no shortage of patrons well into the eighteenth century.75 The donation invited prestige and recognition, a process of self-legitimation on the part of both the donor and the recipient. A scholar writing an essay about the monastery or an emperor’s visit heightened that institution’s prestige.76 During the Qing dynasty, for instance, the Emperor Kangxi once visited Jingci monastery (part of the wushan shicha [five-mountain/ten-monastery] system and located in the city of Lin’an).77 Noticing that parts of the main structure were in disrepair, he donated money to the monastery for the necessary renovations. The well-known politician and scholar Wang Anshi wrote several poems describing Tiantong monastery and its environs:78 Mountains and mulberry trees create the illusion of floating greenery. Birds sing on a spring day while a breeze blows in the valley; 20 li of pines are about to come to an end, when the green mountain reveals the palace of the Buddha.

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And: Mount Taibai expands both east and south; Peaks crowd the reds and greens. Smoky clouds, thick and wistful, are all lovely; Uninhabited rocks and villages seem naturally connected. After sunset birds continue twittering, rivers flow unceasingly, and fish swim. How do the villagers live so harmoniously with the birds and fish?

Lu You too wrote a poem describing Tiantong monastery: The sound of tolling bells welcomes guests to the stream pavilion. Emerald roof tiles and red orchids shine on each other. I think only of the peace of the one tree. Where the porters set me down will mark the end of this poem.

Once the famous general Han Shizhong visited Lingyin monastery on the outskirts of Lin’an (also part of the wushan shicha). He expressed great admiration of the monastery’s beauty but noticed some foundations in bad condition. He then personally funded the construction of a new resting pavilion called Cuiwei.79 Donations of such sorts brought prestige and a certain notoriety to a monastic institution. Yet another example involving Lingyin monastery occurred during the Yuan period (1206–1368), when a Mongolian minister, Da Shiman, paid a visit, was amazed by its splendor, and wrote a few poetic lines.80 These actions lent an air of refinement to the institution. Yang Ming, and indeed all the compilers of the various Tiantong gazetteers, are remarkably successful at presenting the greatness and legitimacy of the monastery as self-evident. Tiantong monastery’s monastic estates, and thus its wealth, were at an all-time high during the thirteenth century: the monastery owned at least thirty-six estates. When Yang Ming wrote his account, the monastery had only ten estates on record.81 Yang laments the decline in the number of monastic estates not simply because of the loss of land, but perhaps more importantly because of the loss of prestige and the perception of immense wealth.

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To conclude this chapter, it is important to reiterate that medieval Chinese Buddhism permeated every level of society, becoming part of the very fabric of Chinese culture and identity. Buddhism had become instituted and was thus an instituting force in imperial China. Monks and nuns as individual bodies constituted the Buddhist social body, the sangha, the collective institutionalized through codified behavior, ritualized activity, and the desire to perpetuate their dispositions. Because of their thorough integration into almost all levels of society, Buddhists as a social group could undertake these economic practices without them being understood, at least most of the time, as contradictory or compromising to the so-called proper Buddhist ways of life. There were of course exceptions. In 1220, the Buddhist monk Miaoning argued: In earlier times, monks had a jar and begging bowl. During the day they would go around begging and at night they would sleep among the graves and under the trees. With the exception of the “three robes” (sanyi), they had nothing else. At this time there were many who truly understood Buddhism. But afterward, monks began constructing buildings, and after many generations, their structures became very beautiful, with high ceilings and magnificent mansions. These became even more luxurious with time, surpassing even officials’ residences. Buddhist monks have become comfortable and satisfied. No longer does anyone sleep under the trees and among the graves; no more do monks lead a painful existence.82

To what extent monks ever led a painful existence is debatable and perhaps beside the point. Of course, the Buddha himself argued for the middle path between extreme asceticism and extreme wealth. But, like all scriptural designations, this was open to interpretation. In the Chinese context, monasteries had to accumulate in order to survive. Miaoning, it could be argued, was being impractical, and his doctrinal position perhaps untenable. The degree and intensity to which many of the above-mentioned economic practices took place indicates on one level, the acceptance of Buddhism as a social institution in Chinese society, and on another, the impact these activities had on different levels of society. As Gernet argues, “it was the introduction of commerce into the circuit of giving that turned a community of mendicant monks into a great economic power.”83 So much of the giving in medieval China involved donating land to a Buddhist monastery, and many commercial activities were connected to Buddhist land practices by virtue of the fact that a large

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land base provided a monastery with a stable income, thus allowing the resident monks or nuns to pursue other social activities—which frequently also resulted in an accumulation of wealth. The vast majority of the larger Buddhist monastic institutions in medieval China could not have survived without land, and it is to this material reality we now turn.

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4 A Culture of Estates

Under heaven there is no territory that is not the emperor’s territory. Under heaven there are no subjects who are not the emperor’s subjects.1 Our plots are as numerous as the grains of sand in the river Ganges. They have endured for aeons (kalpas) and cannot be limited by measurements like mu and qing, or divided by months or years. One also cannot use the months and years to calculate how much the monks can harvest from their lands.2

T

here is a wonderful juxtaposition with these two quotes.3 The first implies that all under heaven belongs to the emperor. There is no territorial space that is not designated and cultivated as imperial space, so social agents who

work within it are, in effect, controlled by the imperium. In the second quote all plots of land, the monks who work on it, and the harvest itself are part of the Buddha. All territory—which cannot be measured by human quantifiers—is Buddha territory. Thus, if territoriality can be understood as a spatial strategy to influence or control resources and people, then this was the name of the land game in medieval China. Territoriality in geographical terms is a form of spatial behavior.4 The territorial ambitions of the imperium and those of Buddhist monasteries profoundly shaped space and the behavior of those in and around that space as the imperal or monastic institution strove to acquire and control economic resources. Territoriality involves basic geographic expressions of influence and power, forms of communication, and strate-

gies to establish different degrees of access to people, things, and relations.5 This chapter provides a translocal overview of the more important strategies of monastic territoriality; the subsequent chapter will focus on the local level and explore the specifics of monastic spatial behavior and land acquisition.

This Land Is Our Land

From about 300 b.c.e. on, most land in China was privately owned and could be transferred between consenting parties.6 Han dynasty (206 b.c.e.–220 c.e.) land transaction agreements confirm this.7 China’s economy comprised countless small, somewhat independent production units, what one scholar refers to as an “atomistic market economy.”8 This makes it difficult to know who owned land and exactly how much land was available for cultivation at any given time. Despite laws imposed by various imperial governments restricting and stipulating land usage, sales, and purchases, land constantly changed hands. Owing to China’s sheer geographical size, only a few full-scale cadastral surveys have even been conducted. A Han dynasty survey provided total acreage of cultivated land for a period of six years.9 The next full-scale survey was undertaken during the Eastern Qin (330 c.e.), followed by one survey during the Tang dynasty (780 c.e.), several during the Song period (961 c.e., 992 c.e., 1143–49 c.e.), and finally, two national surveys during the Ming, which resulted in the most accurate statistics for traditional China (1368 c.e.).10 Land in early China was difficult to acquire and even more difficult to accumulate and maintain: The rate of land accumulation was so low in traditional China that a landowner could add only a small piece to his holding every few years. By the time he was ready to buy, he had few choices in terms of location and had to settle for the size of plot he could afford. As a consequence, a typical landowner ended up holding small plots scattered not only throughout the same village, but sometimes throughout the neighboring region.11

The same conditions held true for monastic land acquisition. One of the earliest land control systems in China was the jingtian, or “well-field” system. The idea was that every family ought to have the amount of land necessary to be able to support and sustain themselves. Land, in principle, was distributed in the shape of the Chinese character jing.

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Figure 4.1

Jing

Figure 4.2

Tian (field with irrigation channels)

The harvests from the center field, farmed by all the people, went to the imperium while one local family farmed each of the remaining 8 surrounding fields. Each field comprised an equal area of 100 mu.12 This land control system was based on what was thought to be the ideal organization of an agrarian economy, one that would allow for good distribution and general well-being of the populace. The jingtian system was remarkable for several reasons. The very name of China, zhongguo, as we saw in chapter 2, indicates the type of centrality crucial to maintaining and reproducing distinct cosmological assumptions about the nature of the universe, human relations,

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and imperial sanction. In the ubiquitous configuration of the luoshu, a nine-squared square, the emperor resides at the center and balances the four directions. In the character jing, farmers must labor at the boundaries so as to stabilize and maintain the center. The religiocultural ramifications of this are significant; from China’s spatial and temporal self-conceptualization to the cultural logic of Buddhist and Daoist meditational and architectural practices. At the end of the second century b.c.e., proposals were made to limit the private ownership of land, but these were never carried out. The first recorded land law was ratified in 280 c.e. during the Western Jin; all persons between the ages of 16 and 60 were liable for tax and corvée services.13 Under this new system, called the ketian (allotted land) system, males were allocated 50 mu of land, females 20 mu, and adolescents and old men 25 mu. Shortly after its introduction, however, the courts realized they had no practical way to enforce this law. Having just moved to the south, they had their hands full dealing with powerful feudal princes and no tangible method to regulate land ownership. By the fourth century, Emperor Xiao Wen (471–499) of the Northern Wei dynasty advocated a new land system called the juntian (equitable land) system.14 Under this system the emperor supposedly controlled all the land in the empire and would distribute it among all those living within its borders in exchange for tax and labor (corvée) services. The government divided the land into 2 categories: koufen (personal shares) and yongye (permanent holdings). Every 3 years household registers were updated and land allocation was made based on these figures. Personal shares were to be allotted every 3 years up until the age of 60, when the land was to be given back to the imperium. The permanent holdings land was supposed to be used for growing mulberry trees, elms, and fruit trees, and consequently was sometimes referred to as sangtian (mulberry fields). Males between the ages of 15 and 70 received 20 mu of yongye and 40 mu of koufen. If land was plentiful, then the distribution was 20 mu and 80 mu, respectively.15 It was forbidden to sell personal share land unless a family was particularly poor and needed money for funeral expenses.16 After a family died out, or if their land was confiscated for any reason, the land reverted to the imperium and became gongtian (public land). All this was the ideal state of affairs; it was virtually impossible for local magistrates, prefects, and other officials to account for every case of land being transferred, bought, or sold while the equitable field system was in use. For example, powerful officials would often claim barren land and add it to their holding, thus increasing the total amount of land they owned.17 Families always sought ways to increase their allotments, and

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strict control over the system was difficult.18 Decrees issued in the eighth century lament the fact that so much land was being exchanged between consenting parties without the imperium being able to control any of it.19 By the mid-Tang (c. late eighth to early ninth centuries), the juntian system had been abandoned. By then the exchange of private land in the countryside was already commonplace, and all the government could do was try to ensure that as much land as possible was registered for tax purposes.20 During the eighth century, the term zhuangyuan, loosely translated as private estates, appeared with increasing frequency, and was used to differentiate between land distributed by the government to individual households and privately owned land.21 Zhuangyuan during the Tang and Song dynasties were relatively large in size. As implementation of the equitable field system declined, wealthy families began to buy up public land and convert it into private estates, although this was officially illegal. In the early eleventh century, a new type of private estate appeared for the first time, the charitable estate ( yitian or yizhuang).22 Charitable estates were trust properties held in the name of a clan and given in charity to other clan members to provide income for weddings, funeral expenses, and education. The well-known official Fan Zhongyan (989–1052) was the first to set up such an institution.23 The charitable estates had many features in common with certain land practices of Buddhist monasteries, and the idea derived from the Buddhist permanent field system. From the sixth century c.e., Buddhist monasteries were allowed to “own” special estates called permanent fields (changzhutian). This category of ownership was unique to Buddhism (although later Daoist institutions may have participated in this system) and was generally accepted by the imperial bureaucracy. The permanent fields formed part of the concept of permanent assets (changzhu) under the control of the Buddhist sangha—a special ownership system that allowed Buddhist monasteries to own material goods, land, etc. in perpetuity. From the sixth through the tenth centuries the role of Buddhists in land exchange, and most importantly in the commodification of land, continued to grow, and by the thirteenth century, accounts of Buddhist monasteries accumulating land were common. Zhuangyuan, however, was also used to designate everything from a single building to collected plots of land. The term was inherently confusing and by the Song period was rarely used for a tax or administrative unit.24 The twelfth century was a turning point in Chinese land practices. A rapidly increasing population meant that there was a need for an increase in food production.

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This was partly achieved by increasing the amount of land reclaimed, growing more than one crop on any given piece of land, and using more sophisticated fertilizers and more disease-resistant, higher-yielding strains of rice.25 Though the population of the Southern Song was higher than that of the Han, Tang, or Northern Song, only half the land of those periods was under cultivation. Hence, when the population density rose dramatically, one immediate result was serious land shortages.26 Liang Keng-yao isolates two significant effects of the changes in population during this period. First, production costs of many daily items increased; second, the high population density on the land available (particularly in Zhejiang and Fujian provinces) meant that the land could not adequately support the population.27 Monastic fortunes were not as precarious as those of local farming communities. Many of the larger Buddhist monasteries owned permanent fields and received favors from members of the imperial family sympathetic to their cause. Monasteries also attracted the attention of local literati patrons. As for merchants, their ability to move across geographical and financial borders and negotiate a variety of business transactions that were not necessarily tied to land allowed them more flexibility in land shortages. A greater population meant more business opportunities, particularly in the Southern Song capital, Lin’an. At the time, high urban density translated into an increased need for service industries, many of which were provided by merchants. High density also meant an increased need for specialists to perform burial rituals and prayers for the well-being of families. The Buddhists were a highly visible social group in this regard. The population of rural China from the tenth through the thirteenth centuries can be roughly divided into three groups:28 families whose landholdings may have been sufficient to support themselves, families whose landholdings far exceeded their sustenance needs, and families with no land who worked as tenants on other people’s land. All households were designated as either zhuhu (local residents native to that area who owned land and were residing there) or kehu (families who had migrated to their present location and did not own land of their own). Rents from families who owned land were usually paid in grain. Tax breaks were sometimes offered by the imperium as incentives for families to open up derelict fields.29 Land was principally measured in qing and mu.30 Almost all cultivated land during the Song was controlled privately; however, virtually no tenancy contracts, no household or village registers, and only a handful of local yamen land registers and few land sale contracts survive.31 We do know that

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when land changed hands, it was not necessarily sold outright but was usually pawned or leased (diantian). When the respective parties involved in the transaction wanted to achieve a permanent transfer, the land was pawned with the intention of never being redeemed.32 With the transfer of property, there were usually three “option holders”:33 immediate agnate relatives (brothers and male descendants), neighbors (those whose property adjoined the property to be transferred), and mortgage holders (those who occupied property by virtue of limited tenure but did not actually own it).34 The most common transfer of property was called dianmai (lit. to give-in-pledge sale), whereby the buyer received full use of the land but not full ownership. In other words, the owner had the right to repurchase the land within a given period of time.35 It is clear that while land was difficult to acquire and accumulate, it nonetheless frequently changed hands.

Imperial Hegemony

The imperium was concerned about the tremendous social support base cultivated and nurtured by Buddhist monasteries and often ratified by land donations. The ruling class sought to maintain its hegemony and control over knowledge, even monastic types of knowledge. By the thirteenth century, Buddhist monasteries constituted their own social organization with their own laws, regulations, customs, texts, and methods of perpetuating their institutional power. In a sense, this power was one of the few social forces capable of standing in opposition to the imperium. Of course, Buddhists in China never actually posed a serious threat to a a government that controlled an army and, perhaps more importantly, had the authority to tax, threaten, and even shut down monastic institutions. At times, Buddhist monasteries reinforced imperial authority through ritual and other levels of representation.36 On an ontological level, however, they challenged that authority by constructing and maintaining alternative conceptions of space and time.37 Often the larger monasteries were warmly in favor with the emperor and received imperial donations and tax exemptions. On less fortuitous occasions, the heavy hand of the imperial house would come down on these religious institutions, making their existence precarious and sometimes closing them altogether. It was, however, a balancing act for the imperium. Buddhist monks enjoyed social popularity and also performed much-needed rituals for both the general populace and the imperial family. During famine or other local disasters, monasteries would

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function as relief centers.38 In everyday life, Buddhist monasteries fulfilled several fundamental socioeconomic roles such as money lending, producing and distributing medicine, and offering accommodation. The imperium monopolized power from above but the locality was the socioeconomic reality of daily life. At the local level the county magistrate played an important role, and at the local level lay the strength of Buddhist monasteries. And yet, translocally, the imperial arm was long: there was remarkable consistency in imperium-Buddhist relations due to the centralized government of the Southern Song, and for the most part, the imperium was able to maintain strict control over monasteries.39 For instance, by the twelfth century it was using at least three methods to help control both the number of Buddhist monks and the number of Buddhist monasteries: the issue of ordination certificates (dudie) authenticating the holder as a legitimate Buddhist monk; 40 the issue of the imperial plaque (ci’e) to Buddhist monasteries that met certain requirements, authenticating them as imperially sanctioned institutions; and tax control policies. Ordination certificates (dudie) were difficult for the imperium to control; oftentimes illegal dudie would be sold. This was certainly true in the Tang period, and the imperium itself participated in the selling of dudie to raise money for the campaign against the rebel general, An Lushan. Stanley Weinstein explains, “Faced with the very real possibility of collapse during the rebellion and in desperate need of money to finance the war, the T’ang rulers sought some means by which they could tap the formidable resources of the [Buddhist] church.”41 However, the imperium quickly realized that to force the monasteries to surrender some of their wealth would be disastrous. Consequently, officials proposed to authorize government-controlled ordinations for all who could pay for the privilege of being admitted into the clergy. These were carried out on a large scale immediately following the outbreak of the rebellion. In the year 757 alone, more than 10,000 individuals were ordained in Chang’an either as Daoist priests or Buddhist monks after paying the fee of 100 strings of cash.42 This was euphemistically referred to by the government as xiangshuiqian, “money for the purchase of scented water.” During the Song periods dudie were sometimes sold illegally at the local level.43 During the Northern Song, dudie were sometimes sold for cash by the government. For example, when the famous poet-scholar Su Shi arrived in Hangzhou to take up his new position as prefect, he requested that the imperium sell 200 dudie to raise funds to repair the local government offices.44

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The second method of control was the imperial plaques (ci’e), the most coveted item of authentication sought by Buddhist monastic institutions. The ci’e was a type of signboard hung up in front of a monastery to indicate imperial recognition. If a monastery did not have this signboard it was by law an unofficial institution and could be shut down by the government, or even destroyed, should the government see fit to do so. The idea was that the imperium would issue imperial plaques as a means of controlling Buddhist monasteries, and monasteries would apply for a plaque to ensure their legitimacy and hence survival.45 Sometimes plaques were issued on special occasions such as the emperor’s birthday or the beginning of a new reign period.46 Plaques were also issued to monasteries when the emperor fell ill or died. There were three official conditions a monastery had to meet: it could not be too small (the physical size of the structure and number of structures mattered); it had to have a relic in its possession; and it had to have monks in residence. In the late tenth century, Emperor Taizong announced that a monastery should have at least ten rooms before applying for an imperial plaque.47 By the early eleventh century, a monastery had to have at least thirty rooms before applying. This number may have reached as high as fifty. In any case, the physical size of a monastery was important. The application would first be sent to the Secretariat-Chancellery (Zhongshu menxia). It would then be passed down to the prefectural level, then on to the county level, where the county magistrate would verify the eligibility of the monastery in question (it never helped for an abbot to make enemies with his county magistrate). The entire process sometimes took a year or longer. After approval from the imperium, the monastery would be informed and the plaque granted. Monasteries might not have always wanted imperial recognition. An official plaque brought with it a host of new relations that the abbot of a smaller monastery might not want. For instance, perhaps a monastery was not paying taxes on its land. Official recognition would bring scrutiny upon the institution and undoubtedly alter its financial condition. Generally speaking, however, an imperial plaque was a desirable object, as it demonstrated imperial legitimacy, thus also increasing the possibility of more land acquisitions. Quite often, the granting of an imperial plaque resulted in an imperial land donation. An abbot would therefore make the effort to establish good ties with the county magistrate, who most likely knew higher-ranked officials. For example, when a newly appointed county magistrate arrived to take up his position in the county capital (this usually occurred every three years), any re-

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spectable abbot would either personally go and officially welcome him or, at the very least, dispatch some senior monks to meet with him. Taxation was a third method of imperial control and a crucial factor in monastic land management practices. As policies on land exchange and control changed, there were corresponding shifts in taxation policies.48 Taxes were a thorn in the side of any family, particularly for those who were landowners.49 During the Han period, taxes were sometimes paid in silk, a method disliked by most taxpayers.50 By the Song, the imperium wanted taxes paid in currency or harvest instead.51 In the early Song, government revenues derived mainly from taxation were sometimes paid in paper, lacquer, wax, or silk, but most often in agricultural products. There was a dual tax system (liangshui) for products, with payments due in the autumn and in the summer;this was first implemented in 780 c.e.52 A second type of tax was the ershui, on land. The fall rice tribute, part of the liangshui system, was assessed on paddy land (tian) and paid primarily in rice. The summer tax was assessed on both paddy land and garden land (di) and in principle, paid in cash. Most of the time, however, it was paid with commodities such as silk or wheat.53 Oftentimes tax assessments would not correspond to actual estates, as a land survey might not have been done for a while. The numbers the local official had in his recoreds might be out of date, or the mortgage and exchange of land in any particular locality might not have been accounted for. Related to taxation policies was the practice of corvée, a military duty imposed on all registered male adults and also administered by the taxation bureau. When a family registered its property as a taxpaying household, it also simultaneously registered its male members for corvée service. From the tenth through thirteenth centuries, most Buddhist monasteries paid land taxes as well as a head tax on monks who did not perform corvée labor.54 In principle, all monasteries paid the liangshui, the twice-a-year tax due in the summer and in the fall. Nonetheless, individual monasteries were at times granted tax exemptions. Land donated to a monastery by the emperor or a member of the imperial family was not taxed, meaning that the monastery did not have to pay either of the twice-yearly taxes.55 For example, Lingyin monastery in Hangzhou was granted lands by the empress and did not have to pay taxes on it.56 Lingsi (lit. tomb/mound temples), guansi (lit. imperium temples), and gongde yuan (lit. merit temples) were for the most part not taxed.57 Under the Song system wealthy families would regularly seek tax shelters by donating their land to families who for one reason or another did not have to pay taxes. Wealthy families would sometimes “donate” their land to a

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Buddhist monastery that was tax exempt, then have the monastery pay them a percentage of their revenue produced by the land.58 “Merit monasteries” were usually founded with imperial permission and built next to the gravesite of a wealthy family or official. The resident monks (usually only a few) were obliged to perform the necessary rituals for the well-being of the deceased family members. Merit monasteries were a tax haven for wealthy families, as they did not have to pay taxes on land set aside for them.59 In general, taxation for all social groups was never a pleasant process. During times of hardship when local peasant families could not harvest enough to pay their taxes, there were even cases where local monasteries would pay on their behalf. For example, in Fujian province in the south of China, some monasteries would help the common folk to pay their taxes.60 Taxation, as directly connected to land ownership and management practices, was nonetheless one of the more practical methods for the imperium to maintain some control over Buddhist monasteries. When a Buddhist monastery owned land, legally it was supposed to register the land with the county magistrate. Then the land was subject to taxation (unless it had been a donation from the emperor or someone in his immediate family). This meant the imperium had records of the existence of the monastery, how many monks were officially registered there, who the abbot was, and where he came from. Abbots probably did not always want the local or imperial bureaucracy to know their internal affairs, and it seems safe to speculate that monastic records would sometimes have been altered, hidden from local officials, or rewritten to make them appear more legitimate. Buddhist monasteries faced the same constraints and problems (agricultural, political, and so forth) pertaining to land ownership as did other social institutions in China. Further, as mentioned earlier, land accumulation, to the extent that it could occur, often meant acquiring plots in a hodge-podge fashion. This was certainly the case for Buddhist institutions. As we shall see in the next chapter, monastic estates were often scattered throughout the countryside, which meant that maintaining their estates—assuming they were not rented out at the time—was a difficult task. Moreover, for the most part, Buddhist monasteries were subject to similar taxation policies as other landowners. However, three important differences existed: monasteries were at times allowed to pay less in taxes than “regular” landowners, and usually did not have to pay taxes on land donated by a member of the imperial family; the larger Buddhist monasteries had their permanent fields, a system found nowhere else in China until Fan Zhongyan established his “charitable estate”; and most im-

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portant for our purposes, few landowners in medieval China “gave” land away to other landowners, whereas Buddhist monasteries received most of their land from donations.

Territorial Ambitions Some may still ask: “Can monks own land?” Then we lay down the law with orthodox treatises, saying: monks are men who live in monasteries; common people plow the fields. Now, if you insist, you can leave the monastery and wear commoner’s clothing and then work the land. If you do not return home and do not wear clothes of the common folk but still work the land, then are you a monk or are you a common person?61

In the above quote the thirteenth-century scholar-official, Ma Tingluan, inquires as to the difference in status between common people and monks. Ma does this to defend monks who own and work the land. Were these just the words of a Buddhist sympathizer, or did they reflect a wider public consensus in thirteenth-century China and perhaps even beyond? I suspect the latter. To be sure, Confucian officials would from time to time lambaste the monks for owning too much property and would point out how this was supposedly contradictory to the very foundational tenets of Buddhism. Most of the time, however, these arguments never went anywhere. If they had, an entire system of exchange between laity and Buddhist monastic institutions, local family and monastic power structures would have been undermined—and this would have posed a threat to the imperium. For the most part Buddhist land ownership was tolerated, and sometimes it was even promoted by the imperium.62 Monasteries in China became landlords early on in Chinese history. While some monastic rules (vinaya) forbade private wealth and worldly possessions, others did not.63 As discussed, interpretation was a key factor in how rules for monks were read.64 By the seventh century Buddhist monasteries were a crucial component in the economic life of the empire, and their landholdings were the foundation of their economic power.65 The shift from having no real land to beginning to accumulate it occurred no later than 405 c.e., suggesting that this was part of a Buddhist adaptation to Chinese customs.66 Just as land was important to other groups in Chinese society, it become important for Buddhist monks.67 One possibility is that the number of Buddhist monks living in remote areas in China increased significantly, thus making the beg-

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ging ritual difficult, as the nearest town or village was too far away. A practical solution was for Buddhists to purchase and cultivate their own land.68 It is questionable, however, whether monasteries in China were ever supported to any significant degree by begging; besides, there are accounts of Indian monasteries also owning land, so such patterns were by no means unique to China.69 By the fifth century c.e., the larger Buddhist monasteries increasingly purchased more. Three important factors were linked to the economic strength of Buddhist monasteries: land ownership, the labor force of monks, and the rapid spread of Buddhism among the populace. With these, Buddhism had the right combination to sustain economic strength from an early stage.70 What this meant in practical everyday terms is difficult to say. It is clear, though, that from early on Buddhist monasteries engaged in social activities that enabled them to accumulate wealth that could sustain them economically and socially. Whether monks undertook physical labor themselves may not be known, but Buddhist monasteries, particularly the larger ones, had the resources to support a labor force, whether purchased slaves or acolytes studying to become ordained monks. Following the end of the Tang dynasty at the beginning of the tenth century, much of the wealth of the empire flowed southward at the hand of wealthy families. Many Buddhist monasteries that had survived terrible persecution during the Hui­ chang suppression in the ninth century were able to either reclaim their former wealth or construct new economic positions for themselves based on the establishment of large estates. This movement continued throughout the Song and Yuan periods. Jacques Gernet argues that because Buddhist communities moved increasingly southward, they contributed significantly to this economic shift.71 By the Northern Song (tenth to early twelfth century), for example, much of the land in Fujian, a province in the south of China, belonged to Buddhist monasteries. Chikusa Masaaki shows that during this period Buddhist monasteries controlled anywhere from one third to one half of all common land (mintian). In Fuzhou, the average ratio of monks to land was one monk owning 160 mu of land, whereas in the same geographical area, one peasant owned on average 14.5 mu.72 Buddhists controlled highquality (cultivable) land in this region. By the late twelfth to late thirteenth century, although Buddhist monasteries had lost some of their land—particularly coastal land—to merchants and officials, they still controlled about one fifth of the common land. Moreover, this did not include mountain or forest land, which would raise the amount to almost one fourth of the total land available.73

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Buddhist monasteries acquired land by the following means: imperial gifts or grants, donations (most examples are of this kind), purchases, mortgages, and sometimes illegal occupation (there are also cases of monasteries illegally purchasing land).74 During the Tang period Buddhist monasteries would also acquire land as imperial grants allotted to individual monks and nuns: 30 mu to Buddhist monks and 20 mu to Buddhist nuns. The allotments were later abandoned, and it is not clear whether they were allotted under the juntian system or the changzhutian system. During the Huichang persecution of Buddhism in 845, the imperium confiscated hundreds of these estates. Later, however, many were returned to the monasteries. The most common method by which Buddhist monasteries acquired land was by donations from local patrons or followers of Buddhism.75 This type of land was called shetian (lit. bestowed field).76 Jian Xiuwei and Xia Yihui explain that in the early stages of donating land to temples (Northern and Southern dynasties), plundered land was often given to a monastery or temple.77 Land donations by the imperium could be as much as hundreds of qing or just several dozen mu. This type of land was called citian (lit. imperial conferred fields). Another term used during the Tang period was cizhuang (lit. imperial conferred estates). Other social groups also donated land to Buddhist monasteries. Individuals would donate land for a number of reasons—tax exemption, to generate cultural capital, to establish connections with a powerful monastery, and most importantly for our purposes, to gain merit. For example, a man’s wife would die and he would donate land to a monastery (usually to accumulate merit for her);78 or someone’s mother would die and land would be donated to a monastery in her name.79 There were at times struggles between the imperium and monasteries as to the status of estates, but in principle, monasteries held exclusive ownership.80 Prior to the An Lushan rebellion in 755 c.e., most Buddhist monks relied on gifts and offerings from the nobility.81 Following the rebellion, however, and certainly by the tenth century, most monasteries could not rely solely on imperial donations for support. But they could support themselves if they owned land. Much of the donated land was hilly and mountainous terrain, sometimes not suitable for farming but often suitable for orchards. High-quality fertile and arable land was donated less frequently, mainly because it was almost always in use. Shortages meant that much of the land donated to Buddhist monasteries was mountainous or coastal,82 and it was not necessarily in the vicinity of the monastery. For example, both Jingci and Lingyin, two institutions we shall take a closer look at in a moment, had land in at least three counties. Tiantong monastery had land in at least two counties. 84 

 

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There are many cases of land being donated to Buddhist monasteries from the tenth through thirteenth centuries.83 Baoyan monastery on Haiyu Mountain was poor. The father of a local resident, Liu Kang, died, so his son donated land to the monastery because that was his father’s wish while still alive.84 In 1176, a wealthy official, Chen Bi, spent a considerable sum of money to purchase land to give to an abbot of a monastery.85 In 1300, 2,000 mu of land was donated to Puji monastery.86 In 1313, the Empress Dowager donated 3 qing of land to Yuquan monastery.87 In one account, the Xu family donated 16 mu of land to Jingci monastery. Fifteen mu was to be used for the abbot’s food and provisions, and one mu was to be divided into 8 parts and used to help provide oil for the monastery lamps.88 In a Ming dynasty (1368–1644) account, Tang Xianzu wrote that “in the world there are idle people which means there is idle land, and where there is ‘busy land’ it means the people working on it are not being idle.” The people of Yong’an monastery were not idle.89 Some land was given to the local prefect of Linchuan, who in turn donated it tothe monastery.90 The Bao family would donate part of their annual harvest (in excess of 200 hu, approximately 2,000 bushels) to the abbot of Xianshou monastery, Qing Ya.91 He had established a division within the monastery to handle all economic matters. As Xianshou already owned permanent fields (changzhutian), the abbot felt it prudent to use the harvest received each year from the Bao family to increase the monastery’s landholdings. Every ten years the profit from these lands would be reinvested in more land, thus generating more profit.92 Xu Shuo, the author of the essay from which this story comes, explains that there are many monks who waste money, but “our monastery [Xianshou monastery] is not like that! Our abbot [Qing Ya] runs our monastery like the head of a large family.” He goes on to say that Xianshou certainly makes money, but it is for the good of the monastery, not for personal use. Purchasing land was a slightly more complex process, somewhat less frequent than receiving and accumulating land through donations. Legally it was quite difficult for monasteries to purchase land from commoners, and if this happened the government was entitled to confiscate the land; however, the government rarely took any measures to prevent such transactions. During the Tang period the “sale” of land was officially forbidden, yet land was exchanged.93 For example, sales were permitted in certain circumstances when an owner moved to another area.94 Monasteries, especially the larger ones, participated in all these processes, purchasing both common land (mintian) and official land (guantian).95 For example, in 1176, Jiankang circuit, Piaoyang county, Bao’en monastery purchased land, according to precedents ( fangli) A Culture of Estates 

 

85

set by other monasteries.96 In the late ninth century, Sanfen monastery had no land and the monks lacked food. The abbot, Hui Yin, sold some of his personal belongings and with the cash bought some land for the monastery (100 mu of changzhutian).97 In the Song Gaoseng zhuan (Song biographies of eminent monks), we read that Tianzhu monastery “purchased fields that produced harvests of 10,000 hu and unending wealth.”98 Buddhist monasteries worked hard to accumulate land. There were cases where monks had their land confiscated, lodged a formal complaint with the local authorities, and legally fought to get the land back. For instance, the famous Shaolin monastery had its land confiscated during the Tang dynasty. The land was later returned.99 In other cases, local farmers would illegally begin using monastic land. The monastery would confront the local magistrate about the matter in the hope that he would ensure that the land was vacated. In 1233, Longshou Chan monastery had land rightfully returned after some local folk had been illegally using it.100 Sometimes the opposite would occur and a monastery would claim land and attempt to illegally occupy it. For example, during the Yuan period, a monk called Chen Wuliang of Jingmiao monastery claimed that a certain tract of land belonged to his monastery and not the county school (Lishui county). The local magistrate investigated the matter and requested that the school and monastery each provide proof of ownership. The monastery provided textual evidence, but the magistrate accused the monastery of forging the document and ordered the land returned to the school.101 A similar case appears in the Qingming ji. Fang Qiuyai tells of a Buddhist cloister, Miaoyuan monastery, that in the mid-twelfth century laid claim to a tract of land that had been in the possession of the Wu family for close to a century.102 The monastery sued but to no avail; Fang ultimately dismissed their case. By the thirteenth century countless monasteries throughout the empire owned land, with a particular concentration in the Liangzhe region. Without this asset, a large monastery or family would not have survived long. To accumulate land was to accumulate economic capital, a prerequisite for acquiring the necessary cultural capital a large monastic institution needed to legitimate itself. Land afforded monasteries and families alike the means of self-perpetuation.

M e d i e va l M o n a s t i c Te r r i t o r y

During the thirteenth century it seems that a unique monastic system was established called the wushan shicha, the five-mountain/ten-monastery system. Whether this system formally existed or not is debatable; what is not debatable, however, are 86 

 

A Culture of Estates

the vast landholdings of these ten monasteries, specifically the five largest. In a Ming dynasty account, Lang Ying describes the names and locations of the five-mountain/ ten-monastery system.103 The five largest landholders were:104 1. Lingyin monastery (Lingyin si), on Lingyin Mountain, Hang prefecture, Qiantang county 2. Jingci monastery ( Jingci si), on Nanping Mountain, Hang prefecture, Qiantang county 3. Jingshan monastery ( Jingshan si), on Jing Mountain, Hang prefecture, Lin’an county 4. Tiantong monastery (Tiantong si), on Tiantong Mountain, Ming prefecture, Yin county 5. Ayuwang Monastery (Ayuwang si), on Ayuwang Mountain, Ming prefecture Yin county

Four out of these five monasteries still stand today. The first three are introduced in this chapter, and the fourth, Tiantong monastery, in the next. In chapter 6, I use the fifth, Ayuwang monastery, as a case study to demonstrate the primary transactive mode of religiosity prevalent within the monastic arena, namely, the land-merit exchange.105 Thirteenth-century gazetteers list at least eight different types of monastic institutions.106 These eight types, with their general level of landholdings, were: 1. Local cult temples (shenmiao). These smaller temples usually had little or no land. 2. Nunneries (ni yuan).107 Nunneries usually had little or no land. 3. Merit monasteries (gongde yuan). Wealthy families would often set up this type of monastery as a tax shelter. These temples were for the most part relatively small with few monks in residence. Any of the land under their control was free from taxation. 4. Daoist temples (gongguan). Doaist temples usually had some land, but not nearly as much as Buddhist monasteries. 5. Chan monasteries (chan yuan). Monastic land in this category was usually listed as permanent fields (changzhutian), which included both paddy fields (tian) and mountain land (shan tian). 6. Teaching monasteries ( jiao yuan). Land was usually listed as permanent fields (changzhutian). A Culture of Estates 

 

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7. Ten-direction/public monasteries (shifang lüyuan). Land was usually listed as permanent fields (changzhutian). 8. Lineage monasteries ( jiayi lüyuan). Land was usually listed as permanent fields (changzhutian).

There was, however, considerable overlap. Ten-direction/public monasteries (shifang siyuan or shifang lüyuan) and lineage monasteries (jiayi siyuan) also included gongde yuan (merit temples).108 Furthermore, ten-direction/public monasteries, the “sangha of the ten directions,” included Chan (chan),109 teaching (jiao), and vinaya (lü) monasteries. By the thirteenth century, many of the largest monasteries in the empire were designated Chan monasteries. This meant that doctrinally they recognized particular lineage configurations. From an institutional standpoint, however, a Chan monastery did not appear all that different from, say, a vinaya or teaching monastery, and their methods of accumulating land were very similar. The difference would have been primarily in the content of the lectures given by the respective abbots. Irrespective of claimed lineage, monasteries with large landholdings had tremendous economic viability. During the fourteenth century, the scholar-official Song Lian (1310–81) explained in writing that a certain Shi Weiwang had, during the Ningsongjia reign period (1208– 24), suggested the emperor establish a five-mountain/ten-monastery system:110 Those abbots of the past occupied chairs,111 and spread the Dharma in order to teach the people. Never before had there been a distinction between “high” (chong) and “low” (bi) positions.112 Only in the Song dynasty did Shi Weiwang suggest to the emperor to establish a five-mountain/ten-monastery system. This system resembled the structure of government. Those who worked within the five-mountain/ten-monastery system definitely came from other smaller monasteries. After gaining a name for themselves [within these other smaller monasteries], they were allowed to be promoted by rank; of those who had the opportunity to go and work at one of the five mountains [i.e., at one of the monasteries on the five mountains], all were like government officials, ministers, and generals with rank. According to most, this was a great honor, for there was no other [system] like it. Other monks and nuns often envied the high positions of those who lived and worked within the five-mountain/ten-monastery system. If one’s cultivation, however, did not exceed that of others, then there was no way to enter this system.

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The five-mountain/ten-monastery system was the highest ranked monastic system in the empire. In his detailed account of the history of Chengtian Nengren monastery, Huang Jin (1277–1357) briefly mentions it.113 He compares the greatness of Chengtian Nengren to the likes of the institutions included in that system. Unfortunately, Huang says no more on the matter.114 The status of the wushan shicha changed in the fourteenth century when the imperium designated a Tiantai monastic institution as the most important in the empire.115 The five-mountain/ten-monastery system comprised some of the largest monastic complexes in the empire, rivaled by few others in Chinese history in their size and splendor. The top five monasteries were all located in Liangzhe (modern-day Zhejiang province);116 three of them, Jingshan, Jingci, and Lingyin, were located in the imperial capital, Lin’an. The remaining two, Tiantong and Ayuwang, were perhaps a two-day journey from Lin’an. All five had imperial plaques, and all had received significant land donations from members of the imperial family. All of the monasteries in the wushan shicha were landowners, many controlling dozens of large estates. All were ten-direction/public monasteries, which meant the imperium appointed all the abbots, and all were classified as Chan institutions. Some had been Chan monasteries prior to being incorporated into the five-mountain/ten-monastery system; however, most in the Jiangnan region were only redesignated as such during the Five Dynasties period.117 In the ten-direction/public monasteries, the abbot was usually not chosen internally but rather was sought from outside the monastery.118 The position was, in principle, open to all fully ordained monks, and the successor abbot was highly ranked, highly regarded in the Buddhist community, and well known for his knowledge and experience. However, given the “openness” of the system, it was not uncommon for bribes to be used and for the abbacy to be bought. Any large public monastery was concerned about whether or not a prospective new abbot would bring funding to the institution, either in the form of personal wealth or in financial backing through his reputation and influence in the community. If he had a track record of raising donations this would play heavily in his favor. Usually the emperor had the final say in choosing the new abbot.119 In the lineage monasteries (jiayi siyuan), the abbot would choose his own successor, who would usually be his closest student. Lineage monasteries had fewer government restrictions, as their affairs were less public than those of the ten-direction/public monasteries. During the thirteenth century a lineage monastery would sometimes change its status to a ten-direction/public monastery. This was usually

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allowed by the imperium, as such a change meant that ultimately the imperium had more control over the monastic institution. The opposite was less likely to occur; it was very difficult for a ten-direction/public monastery to change status to a lineage monastery.

Lingyin Monastery Lingyin monastery, founded by the monk Huili, was originally constructed in 328 c.e. during the Eastern Jin dynasty.120 It is located on the West Lake of Hangzhou on Lingyin Mountain.121 During the early Five Dynasties period (420–618), the monastery comprised 9 buildings, 18 pavilions, and 73 halls, and reputedly had some 3,000 monks in residence.122

Figure 4.3

Lingyin monastery today. The “precious hall.”

Lingyin monastery was destroyed during the Huichang suppression (841–846) but rebuilt later. In 1007, the monastery received its imperial plaque and was titled Jingde Lingyin Chan monastery. It was again destroyed by fire in 1359, rebuilt in 1363, destroyed yet again in 1569, and once again rebuilt. In the eleventh century, the Empress Dowager donated land to the monastery.123 Later Lingyin purchased 5 qing of land in Hangzhou, Qiantang county.124 Sun Zhi records the monastery as controlling some 198 qing of mountain and common land—a considerable amount.125 90 

 

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Jingci Monastery Jingci monastery was, and today still is, located on the West Lake of Hangzhou (formerly called Lin’an).126 It was built in 954 on Nanping Mountain, Qiantang county. During the early Song period it was called Shouning Chan monastery. The monastery was destroyed in 1149. On being rebuilt, it was renamed Jingci Baoen Guangxiao Chan monastery. At that time there were 1,700 monks in residence. Jingci monastery had dozens of estates ranging from a few dozen mu to several thousand in size. In 1265, the monastery is recorded as having 3,733 mu of mountain land, paddy fields, and cultivatable land.127 Most of Jingci monastery’s land came from donations and purchases.

Jingshan Monastery In 741 the monk Guoyi built a small abode on Jing Mountain that later came to be called Jingshan monastery.128 Eventually it had as many as 1,000 monks in residence. The monastery went through several name changes, then finally received its imperial plaque and was given the title Jingshan Xingsheng Wanshou Chan monastery. Jingshan was destroyed in the Yuan and rebuilt in the Ming period. In the twelfth century, 13,000 mu of tax-exempt land was donated to the monastery.129 The monastery controlled at least a dozen estates. These three monasteries—together with Tiantong and Ayuwang, to be discussed—had significant landholdings. All owned imperial plaques and imperially donated tax-free land, had their abbots appointed by the imperium, and received a constant flow of visitors to their compounds. This begs the question as to whether they were typical of all Chinese Buddhist monasteries. All five exemplified what many other monasteries aspired to, namely, success at accumulating economic capital and perpetuating the conditions for such accumulation, and more importantly, the ability to convert this economic capital to cultural capital. Economic strength alone was not enough to ensure their long-term survival. As had happened earlier in Chinese history, a monastery’s economic resources could be confiscated by the imperium for any number of reasons. What Buddhist monasteries required for their social reproduction was a different kind of asset—an end result of accumulating land, not the land itself.

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5 Grainsof Sand

A

t the beginning of the last chapter we read an official’s claim that Buddhist plots were as numerous as the grains of sand in the river Ganges.1 Exaggerations aside, monastic landholdings certainly numbered many, and whether

the wushan shicha (five-mountain/ten-monastery) system existed or not, the top five monasteries certainly did exist. Yin county in Zhejiang province is the historical and current location of the last two, Tiantong monastery and Ayuwang monastery.

Land, People, and Monasteries

During the thirteenth century there were 6 counties in Ming prefecture. The Yong river divided the prefecture in half, with Cixi and Dinghai on the northern side, Fenghua on the south, Yin southeast of the county capital, Changguo on an island to the northeast, and Xiangshan directly to the south across the Xiangshan bay,

which juts into the mainland. During the Baoqing reign period, 1225–27, Yin county’s population was 41,617 households with a total of 65,694 residents.2 By the midsixteenth century, the county had some 200,000 registered residents, although as Timothy Brook points out, the number was likely closer to 300,000.3 During this time one gazetteer, the Ningbofu jianyao zhi, lists 267 Buddhist monasteries in Ming prefecture, with 81 in Yin county.4 However, a Baoqing gazetteer, compiled some two centuries earlier, lists 90 Buddhist monasteries in Yin county.5 These monasteries, all of which owned land, can be broken down as follows: 22 were registered as Chan monasteries, 24 as teaching monasteries, 8 as ten-direction/public monasteries, and 36 as lineage monasteries. The Yanyou siming zhi (Gazetteer of Siming, Yanyou period, 1314–20) lists 106 Buddhist monasteries: 22 Chan monasteries, 25 teaching monasteries, 8 vinaya monasteries, 49 lineage monasteries, and 2 nunneries.6 By the late imperial period, scholar Qian Weiqiao argued that his prefecture (Ming prefecture, or as it came to be called in the Late Ming and Qing periods, Ningbo prefecture) was the “most Buddhist in Zhejiang province.” By 1788, 112 monasteries, 17 cloisters, and 239 chapels were listed. In other words, by the eighteenth century, the number of monasteries in Yin county had increased.7 Moreover, the number of Buddhist monasteries also increased from the thirteenth to the fourteenth century. The primary significance of this is simply that, historically, Yin county had more Buddhist monasteries than any other of the five remaining counties in Ming prefecture; furthermore, its monasteries owned more land, especially during the Song, than any of the monasteries in those five counties. Yin county Buddhist monasteries that owned land included Chan monasteries (chan yuan), teaching monasteries (jiao yuan), ten-direction/public monasteries (shifang lüsi), and nunneries. Most Buddhist land was owned and controlled by Chan monasteries. Yin was clearly a wealthy county with a high number of monastic landholders.8 It should be noted, however, that most counties in the empire, particularly those where wealthy families resided, had Buddhist monasteries and convents that owned land.9 The gazetteers list five primary categories of land: tian (paddy fields), di (land, probably uncultivated), shan (mountain land), guantian (imperial land), and mintian (common land). In 1226 Yin county land ownership comprised 746,029 mu of paddy fields, 149,005 mu of uncultivated land, and 902,064 mu of mountain land (almost always the largest category), totaling 1,797,098 mu. Given that monasteries during this time owned 182,773 mu of land, Buddhist monastic land accounted for a little over 10 percent of all ownable land in Yin county. The two largest monastic landholders were Tiantong and Ayu-

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wang. Tiantong had 3,284 mu of cultivable permanent land (land given in perpetuity to the monastery) and 18,950 mu of mountain land, (about 1.2 percent of all the ownable land in Yin county). Ayuwang monastery had 3,895 mu of permanent land and 12,050 mu of mountain land (about 0.9 percent of all ownable land in the county).

Ti a n t o n g M o n a s t e r y ’ s E s tat e s

Some twelve centuries after Yixing settled on Mount Taibai, Yang Ming, in his gazetteer on Tiantong monastery, describes a mountain dotted with Guanyin grottoes where bodhisattvas clothed in white would appear.10 Small white flowers covered the mountain.11 Yang continues by saying how Tiantong monastery flourished and declined with the times, eventually attracting “over ten thousand monks.”12 The monks lived and ate together. The pavilions and pagodas were all splendidly decorated with gold, red, and green colors. Yang goes on to write about the monastery’s wealth: 13,000 mu of land spread out in different prefectures and counties.13 This land did not include Tiantong monastery’s mountain and marshlands, and Yang proudly proclaims the monastery to be the wealthiest in southeast China. The truth of the claim, however, is of far less importance than making the claim itself. Projecting back in time—as Yang Ming does so compellingly from the Ming dynasty into the Song— lays the groundwork for a legitimation of activities, the embellishment of an authenticity, the establishment of a name, and the articulation of some ground rules of exchange pertaining to the existence of a Buddhist monastery. During the thirteenth century Tiantong monastery owned a considerable amount of land, at least 36 estates.14 By 1559 when Yang Ming compiled the Tiantong si ji (A record of Tiantong monastery), he assessed the total holdings with the following comment: “I have heard that previously the monastery had estates totaling 13,000 mu . . . these cannot be investigated as most of this land no longer exists.”15 Yang describes the estates on record as follows:16 1.  Tutian estate17

1,300 mu

This estate is located in front of Tiantong



monastery, close to Qiaopan Mountain. The



monastery uses water from the Zixi stream to



irrigate its crops being cultivated on the land.



Although sometimes there is no rain for a long



time, the land still produces a fall harvest,

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95



indicating the high quality of the land. The



original estate buildings no longer stand and



the area where the ruins were is all now being



used as farmland.

2) Xiaobai estate

This estate is right next to the Xiaobai

1,300 mu



(Little white) river.



No houses or buildings remain on this estate.

3) Xihu estate

This estate was located at the Mao mountain

2,500 mu



bridge in Wudu Ertu.18 Now the estate



buildings are long gone but the foundations



are still there. Mao mountain is located 30 li



east in Yin county.19

4) Sanshan estate

Located in Dinghai county, Ming prefecture,

460 mu



at Taiqiu erdu ertu.

5) ? tou estate20

(no figure

This estate is also called



recorded)

Baocheng estate and is located in



Dinghai county. No land is listed.

6) Daming estate

600 mu

This estate is in Dinghai county, Yidu ertu.

7) Panshan estate

+200 mu

This estate is located at the peak of the



mountain. Previously, the monk Jiang Mohe



became friends with the famous monk Bu



Dai.21 Jiang then built a Buddhist temple in



preparation to “search for the original truth.”



He bequeathed more than 200 mu of land to



Tiantong monastery.

8) Tiantong estate

1,300 mu

Located on Zhou mountain, Dinghai county.

9) Jindi estate

+1,600 mu

Located in Yuyao county.

10) Mufeng estate

3,400 mu

This estate is in Dinghai county and comprises



1,700 mu of arable land, and again the same



amount in mountain and swamp land.

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The total land of the above ten estates is +12,660 mu. In the 1712 Gazetteer of Tiantong Monastery, compiled 160 years later, there is some overlap in the estates but the figures are not quite the same. An additional 3 estates are recorded.22 1) Jintian estate

1,300 mu

This estate is no longer extant.

2) Xiaobai estate

(no figure

This estate, originally located at Qidu ertu, is



recorded)

no longer in existence.

3) Maoguo estate

(no figure

Previously called Xihu estate; also called



recorded)

Tiantong estate, at Wudu ertu.

4) Sanshan estate

+400 mu

Originally located in Dinghai county, Taiqiu

5) Fulin estate

(no figure



recorded)

6) Zengyi estate

(no figure



recorded)

7) Baocheng estate

+2,000 mu

xiang, but today no longer exists.

Also known as ? tou estate (that first character,



again, being illegible); three estates are located



in Changguo and Dinghai counties. These



estates were established by Abbot Hongzhi but



today are no longer extant.

8) Daming estate

Located in Dinghai county, Haiyan yidu;

+600 mu



Hongjian monastery originally “opened”



this estate.

9) Zhoushan

(no figure

Originally the old Zhoushan estate was in

tiantong estate

recorded)

Changguo county; today it has become



Dinghai estate. Now the land is all gone.

10) Jindi estate

Located in Yuyao county; the land is not

1,700 mu



extant.

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11) Panshan estate

200 mu

This estate, which today no longer exists, was



located on the top of Pan Mountain in front



of the monastery [Tiantong].

12) Mufeng estate

(no figure



recorded)

13) Bieshan estate

+1,700 mu



Two estates were in Tai prefecture, Ninghai county.

Total land for the above 13 estates was +7,900 mu.

Over the next few centuries Tiantong monastery lost much of its land through drought and imperial confiscation, but by the early seventeenth century, the abbot was successful in recovering at least 300 mu of land. When Yang Ming was compiling his gazetteer, 10 estates remained of the original 36 owned and controlled by Tiantong monastery. Yang notes that in most cases the original estate buildings and foundations no longer existed but the land was still in use by the monastery. Yang Ming does not know what happened to the “lost” 26 estates.23 He lists 10 estates with land totaling more than 12,660 mu. The bulk of it was mountain land located primarily in Yin county and Dinghai county (both in Ming prefecture). The 1712 gazetteer for Tiantong monastery records 13 estates. The land figures are not quite the same and the total is just over 7,900 mu. At the very least these records indicate 2 important facts: first, monastic land accumulation was common and frequently successful; and second, the estates were spread out geographically. Tiantong’s estates were located in 5 different counties and 5 different prefectures: Ninghai, Dinghai, Yin, Yuyao, and Changguo counties, Tai prefecture to the south; and Ming prefecture, where the bulk of the land was located.24 It is quite likely that Tiantong monastery’s economic strength lay with these mountain lands. At least 88 percent of all the land controlled by Buddhist monasteries in Yin county (161,117 mu) was mountain land. Tiantong’s mountain land amounted to about 7.5 percent of this. Jacques Gernet has already shown how : “If a general indication can be derived from the documents that may serve as a common thread through the complex history of the landed estates of the Buddhist establishments in China, it is this: in most cases,

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the original kernel of the monastic lands was constituted from mountainous or hilly terrain.”25 It seems, however, that even at later stages in Chinese monastic development the real economic strength was the mountain lands, not the paddy fields (tian). Paddy fields may have provided in the short term a higher yield of profit, but over generations, mountain land become more important as the foundation of a Buddhist monastery’s properties. What did mountain land offer? One example was the ability to cultivate fruit orchards. The Japanese monk Ennin, who traveled in China during the Tang period, kept records in his diary of some of the monastic fruit orchards he saw. Other examples include lumber production (timber and bamboo were important, as they were the primary building materials in China) and tea production (as was the case with Tiantong monastery in the Ming period).26 Buddhist monasteries in Yin county owned four to six times more mountain land than paddy land. This may also have been the case with Buddhist monasteries in other counties throughout the empire. Finally, there is little evidence to indicate any dramatic departure from the above material realities. In other words, monastic land accumulation continued throughout the thirteenth century and well into the nineteenth century. Tiantong monastery’s estates afforded it an established position in the broader social hierarchy. Owning land allowed Tiantong the possibility to accumulate capital. Accumulating land as economic capital, however, was only the first step, albeit a fundamental one, toward the ability to accumulate cultural capital. The monastery’s estates increased and decreased with the times, making it difficult to keep track of each one. Yang Ming, the compiler of the first gazetteer of Tiantong monastery, faced the same problem. Imperial historians did not always keep detailed accounts of land that was not taxable, such as, for example, land donated to a monastery by a member of the imperial family or donated by imperial decree. Sometimes tax revenue generated may have been negligible. The county gazetteers were concerned with producing a detailed picture of what was happening in their area and the monasteries were only one part of the whole; there was no reason to elaborate in any detail about the economic activity of a monastery. Few would have been interested other than perhaps overzealous Confucian officials, who sometimes would criticize the monasteries for having too much wealth and land (often it was these officials who had donated land in the first place).27

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The monastic gazetteers, particularly in the case of Tiantong, were more concerned with keeping track of construction processes and, perhaps most importantly, who was associated with the mountain the monastery was located on, famous monks and officials who might have visited, poems written about the environs, and so forth. The monastic gazetteers were also concerned with local geography and local production, textual, agricultural, or otherwise; who the abbot was; and what he or other monks, nuns, or patrons might have done for the good of the monastery. Monastic gazetteers seldom, however, discussed in any great detail why they had land, other than to say it was to support themselves. Although during the thirteenth century in Song China (and almost certainly prior to that), the landholdings of Tiantong monastery were substantial and the income derived from them considerable, the situation would have changed from year to year. If, for example, a well-known monk or abbot came to reside at the monastery and preside over monastic affairs, he would undoubtedly attract many followers as well as monks who would then seek to live there and become the abbot’s pupils. The monk population would have increased considerably, more income from land would have been needed, and the economics of Tiantong monastery would have changed significantly during the tenure of that master. When he left, sometimes many of his followers would go with him, once again changing the economy of the monastery. Tiantong monastery had managed to accumulate at least thirty-six estates by the late thirteenth century, a clear indication of the institution’s ability to sustain itself economically over the centuries. The perception of longevity was important. By the thirteenth century Tiantong had a history—a discursive production of writing for the monastery, and an architectural materiality to match the written descriptions. It was no coincidence that by this stage, the monastery was one of the most famous in the empire: it had already survived almost a thousand years. This was attractive to upperrank monks seeking an abbotship, to monks seeking to take up residence at a famous monastery, and to patrons who must have thought that for an institution to have lasted so long, it must be a powerful phenomenon. Thus far I have made several references to the concept of merit, that is, the notion of donating something to a Buddhist monastery (particularly land) so as to get something back. What was the relationship between land donations, the salvation of laity who donated to Buddhist monasteries, and the social survival of Buddhist monasteries? If the idea of merit was so fundamental in the exchange process—the position I am taking—then what did the parties concerned (the donor and the monastic insti-

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tution) get from such an exchange? I concluded the previous chapter with the following statement: what Buddhist monasteries required for their social reproduction was a different kind of asset—an end result of accumulating land, not the land itself. Above all, this was a result of an exchange process. In the next chapter, the fifth and final monastery, Ayuwang, serves as historical exemplum.

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6 Cultivating Salvation

A

yuwang monastery is about fourteen kilometers from downtown Ningbo City in Zhejiang province. Similar to Tiantong and to quite a number of other large Buddhist monasteries, Ayuwang has a large “releasing-of-life”

pool ( fangshengchi) in front of the Heavenly King Hall. A large pagoda dominates the landscape, encasing relics of the Buddha (Skt. sarira; Ch. sheli). Along its main

axis are the front gate of the temple; a second gate; the Heavenly King Hall; the daxiongbaodian, precious hall of the great heroic one; the lecture hall; and the library. Inside the Heavenly Kings Hall, the first building on the main axis, Maitreya (Milefo) Buddha sits smiling. The walls of the monastery are all painted mustard yellow. The Taibai mountains can be seen behind the monastic compound, a maze of alleyways, stairwells, and monks’ quarters with laundry hanging on lines and laughing wooden arhats (being carved when I last visited), all enveloped in incense smoke and the

sounds of chatting pilgrims. There are a relic hall, a wishing pool, beautiful courtyards, and moon gates. A constant stream of worshippers come and go, lighting incense, making small offerings, and bowing before all the buddhas and bodhisattvas. Much like Tiantong monastery, Ayuwang is a busy place. Ayuwang monastery had close relations to Tiantong monastery throughout its long history, and also owned considerable tracts of land. By 1229 c.e. the monastery owned 3,895 mu of permanent land and 12,050 mu of mountain land.1 In an essay written by the Song historian Li Xinzhuan, monasteries on both Ayuwang Mountain and Jing Mountain were said to have controlled vast tracts of land:2 The permanent lands (changzhutian) of the Buddhist monasteries are vast. . . . Now the monasteries of Yuwang Mountain [Ayuwang], Ling’an, and Jing Mountain, and other areas of Ming prefecture have rich and fertile land abundant to the extent of tens of thousands of mu. . . . These lands have special decrees allowing for the avoidance of taxes and levies.

A few decades earlier a monk sent from Ayuwang commissioned the poet-official Lu You (1125–1210) to write a stele inscription.3 Lu agreed: “given that I (Lu) had just been appointed to assist in recording the events of Emperor Gaozong’s reign (1127– 62), I could not dare decline.” In 1131, Gaozong, on his way back to Kuaiji in eastern Zhejiang province, visited Ayuwang monastery and recalled how a former emperor, Renzong (r. 1023–63), had given a poem and eulogy for the monk Huailian (1009– 90). Gaozong then issued an edict written by his own hand granting Ayuwang permission to purchase land. For 50 years, nothing came of this. Finally, the monk Deguang (1121–1203) “used all the money and goods donated by the emperor, high officials, people who held positions, and Buddhist patrons, to purchase land.4 Each year the harvests totaled 5,000 bushels.” Lu You, in his stele inscription, wrote: During both the Jiayou reign period (1056–63) and the Shaoxing reign period (1131– 62), emperors bestowed upon Ayuwang monastery writings done by their own hands. This beautified the ten thousand things (everything). Thereupon, all the gods of the mountain and the spirits of the sea did their utmost to fulfill their duties. All the beasts, the giant turtles and water lizards, the kraken and the crocodiles, retreated in submission. All evil mists and virulent vapors disappeared, leaving clear air. Ships came from afar and merchants arrived from all directions; gold came in from the south, and shells

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poured into the market and shops—one could not count how much! The dams and dikes were strengthened, and the harvests were exceptional. Ah! How prosperous! Now the monk Deguang made good use of the imperial gifts and increased them all. He prayed for the long life of the emperors and the empresses. He established blessings for all the world and enabled them to multiply; it was unlimited and eternally peaceful. A stele was carved and this inscription was used to record these things. It is clear that Buddhists live a peaceful life within Ayuwang monastery, devoting themselves to propagating the Buddha law, and repaying the emperor’s benevolence; this should continue in the future. Otherwise, if you do not do this, you eat without plowing, making yourselves fat and jolly while commoners must support themselves. Would this not be a shameful existence?

This stele inscription incorporates at least six transactions pertinent to our study: active exchanges between social agents as determined by social institutions—the imperium and the monastery—that had a competitive structure and sought to perpetuate themselves via the exchange process. In this sense a transaction is the action of passing something from one social agent to another, in this case, with a politicosalvific goal in mind. Transaction exchange formed the foundation of a Buddhist monastic economy in China, an economy of salvation—as one scholar has so convincingly argued, one that provides a space for giving and receiving.5 The six transactions are: 1. Two emperors donate their calligraphy to a Buddhist monastery; Ayuwang and the surrounding area flourish as a result and the monastery becomes the protector of the busy port of Mingzhou and indeed the entire region. 2. An imperial-monastic relationship is outlined. 3. The monk Deguang prays for the long life of the imperial family. 4. It is stated that monks should “repay the emperor’s benevolence.” 5. Deguang “establishes blessings for all the world and enables them to multiply.” 6. Land is purchased by a Buddhist monastic institution; the income from it increases Ayuwang’s capital and represents a comprehensive strategy of the monastery to increase its landholdings.

All six transactions represent specific sociocultural understandings common to twelfth-century China and beyond, and reflect a religiosity based on the Buddhist

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practice of merit exchange. I suggest these six transactions lead inexorably to the Buddhist practice of merit, the quintessential social mechanism of Buddhist material exchange. Further, the salvation and survival of both the donor and recipient hinged on the logic and efficacy of merit.

Merit and the Institution

As we saw in the last few chapters, exchange relations between emperors and monks, imperial households and monastic institutions have a long history in China, dating back to just after the first century of the Common Era when Buddhist monks first made their way along the Silk Roads, headed for the Han city of Chang’an. From the first steps taken by central Asian Buddhist monks to establish and consolidate their new position in a new space, to place new texts in a new context, and to build new physical institutions, it was well understood that access to imperial power was crucial for the success of the sangha in China. Over the next four centuries Buddhists made tremendous inroads into Chinese society, arguing persuasively at the emperor’s courts for the ontological superiority of their practices and successfully persuading rural village heads that their local deities were part of the Buddhist pantheon. During the Sui dynasty (581–618 c.e.) Buddhist institutions increased their social base and frequently sent visitors to the imperial court.6 By the Tang (618–907 c.e.) the sangha was well entrenched in rural and urban settings.7 As demonstrated in the above stele inscription, by the Song period (960–1276 c.e.), established ties with the imperium were no less important. The first four transactions outlined above are all indicative of institutionalized exchange relations between different segments of Chinese society. Sometimes an emperor initiated the exchange, sometimes a monk did. As in any form of exchange, a return was demanded. The theoretical implications are discussed later in the chapter. These four transactions clarify a typical relationship between a large Buddhist monastery and the imperium. In the first transaction, the idea that some writing given to a monastery by an emperor could have such powerful effects as experienced at Ayuwang taps directly into a sociocultural understanding of Buddhist practices that was well established by the Song dynasty in China, recognizing that writing has power, and from a religious perspective, magical qualities.8 Why would an emperor donate anything to a monastery; what would he stand to gain? Aside

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from the personal motivations of emperors (almost impossible to discern), the imperium often needed the support, in this case, of a powerful southern Buddhist monastery. Further, the imperium often needed certain rituals to be conducted by Buddhist monks.9 Whether the rituals were for deceased imperial family members, soldiers on the battlefield, or to satisfy an emperor’s attraction to the salvational or philosophical aspects of Buddhist practice, these relationships were often complicated by the needs of the emperor to protect, stabilize, and prolong his reign. Buddhist monks regularly claimed that they could help out in this matter. For instance, during the tenth and eleventh centuries, imperial ministers were sometimes sent to Tianzhu monastery in Lin’an, not too far from Ayuwang monastery, to pray for the welfare of the nation.10 Monks would be asked to perform rituals for the safety of the nation, particularly in times of war, severe floods, or droughts. Specifically, a Buddhist ritual text called the Scripture for Humane Kings could protect the nation.11 Ritual use of this text required the expertise of Buddhist monks and was considered of the utmost importance throughout Buddhist East Asia. Sometimes the emperor was understood as a type of Dharma king who could protect the teachings of the Buddha. The practice of donating to a Buddhist monastery—those larger monasteries housing upward of five hundred monks, which to some extent had an understanding of social power and the distribution and renewal of such power—could most readily achieve this protection. As mentioned in chapter 1, while the full extent of the political power of Buddhists is difficult to determine for any particular time period, it is clear that Buddhists in China had such power.12 Although it became common practice for the imperium to support Buddhist monasteries, the opposite was also true. Clashes were inevitable. Buddhists suffered terrible persecutions in the third, fifth, sixth, ninth, and tenth centuries, the most notable being the Huichang persecution of 845 c.e., a clear indication of the insecure socioeconomic position of Buddhist monastic institutions in early Chinese society. Historically, the monasteries were well aware of their ambiguous status and took steps to protect as well as to promote themselves. Sometimes this meant being located in a remote region, far from the imperial gaze. This usually was not effective, for monastic access to local political power fast became a prerequisite for social survival. At other times monks would engage politically with the imperium, arguing that their existence in the empire was not only valid but also vital to its survival. This aspect of imperial-Buddhist relations is played out in the

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fourth transaction whereby monks must “repay the emperor’s benevolence” and continue doing so in the future.13 In the third transaction, Deguang prayed for the long life of the imperial family (he met several times with the emperor to discuss Buddhist matters). Sometimes special monasteries were established whose prime purpose was to pray for the long life of the emperor.14 The second and third transactions also reflect a vital relationship between the imperium and monastic institutions, namely, patronage. This social practice incorporated a variety of interactions, from the exchange transaction initiated by a farmer giving part of his harvest to a monastery to an emperor bestowing an essay or donating land in exchange for rituals and merit. Patronage as religious practice went well beyond imperial-Buddhist relations and affected every level of Chinese society. Although patronage is difficult to trace prior to the fourteenth century, patrons often donated to the monasteries in their surrounding area, which indicates that the monasteries of Yin county actively pursued social connections that would enhance their standing in the community.15 Along with monetary and land patronage, scholar-officials would write poems and essays about a visit to a wellknown monastery. Indeed, monastic institutions often sought out such tributes. A scholar writing an essay about the monastery or an emperor’s visit heightened the institution’s prestige.16 In exchange, the patron, scholar, or emperor (sometimes they were the same) would be offered tea, a view, an aesthetic opportunity to relax and reflect on their surroundings, increased prestige on their own behalf (to bestow was to receive), and of course, merit, the reward of a karmic investment. The other side of this social equation was the monks themselves. A Buddhist monastery was where Buddhist monks and nuns, as institutionalized bodies, made institutional decisions and practiced conspicuous consumption, all in order to perpetuate the Dharma (cosmic law) and ensure the survival of the sangha. Like any social group, Buddhist monks and nuns both produced and consumed, and this fact is essential to elucidate the notion of an idea materialized—poverty incorporated into a strategy of accumulation, expenditure, and transfer of merit through the process of exchange. One result of merit distribution was the wherewithal to maintain monastic buildings and to meet the daily needs of monks and nuns. The process was driven in part by the desire to preserve an institution that extended beyond the individual and beyond the life spans of any group of monastics, in the same way that a patriarch attempts to ensure the continuance of his family line. Monasteries were

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sources of pride for communities as well. Local elites banded together to rebuild monasteries out of a sense of local pride and civic duty. However, the preservation of an institution seems too abstract to provide sufficient motivation to make donations. While civic pride is part of the reason locals would donate to a monastery, the more general emotional and personal aspirations of donors played an equally important, albeit more difficult to establish, role.

The Experience of Merit

The fifth transaction outlined in the above stele inscription of Ayuwang monastery indicates that Deguang “established blessings for all the world and enabled them to multiply.” What allowed Deguang to multiply the blessings he himself established? The answer has to do with the ubiquitous Buddhist phrase, “field of merit” ( futian). The phrase stipulates that any donation to the Buddhist sangha is like planting a seed in the “great field of merit”—it will grow and provide the donor with more than they originally gave. Stanley Tambiah explains that “the monk has an obligation to be a ‘field of merit.’”17 Buddhist texts constantly refer to “cultivating,” “planting,” “the sowing of good karma,” and “reaping the benefits.” These concrete agricultural metaphors give us an idea of the wider audiences Buddhists were trying to attract. Owning land and producing food constituted part of the merit exchange experience. Much has been written over the past few decades about merit, karma, merit making, the transference of merit, and similarities between merit and, for instance, Luther’s “marvelous exchange.”18 Whereas karma could be understood as an investment strategy, the result of one’s own deeds, past and present, merit offered potential reward with the possible help of a third party, namely, the agent awarding the merit. Karma necessitated good intention, but merit required action and the ability to act correctly. This was true throughout Buddhist Asia. Building a hut for weary travelers in northern Thailand would earn merit.19 Offering food to local deities, or better yet, preparing a feast would earn merit.20 Undertaking a pilgrimage would earn merit for the pilgrim.21 Making a donation to the local monastic community was an opportunity to transfer the merit earned to deceased kin.22 Indeed, the very act of transferring merit increases the original merit accumulated by the donor. Pali texts recount specific cases wherein the practitioner accrues merit and transfers it to

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a third party to improve their well-being or aid them in their quest for salvation.23 One scholar writes that the idea and practice of transferring merit is “so that one’s good actions build up a kind of spiritual bank account from which one can make payments to others.”24 The experience of merit and merit making was a material exchange process, and at its heart was the practice of seeking, attaining, and verifying this-worldly benefits. This is something that Ian Reader and George Tanabe might call a “practical religiosity”—or what Barend ter Haar might refer to as a “Buddhist-inspired option” for the lay donor to gain some kind of salvific value.25 A donor might well have asked what Buddhism could do for her or him directly. The accumulation of merit was one option that could address their daily problems—illness, financial difficulties, poor harvest—or their larger concerns about death and the afterlife. Any of these scenarios, however, required active participation on the part of both the donor and the recipient, in a social exchange of possibility and practical religiosity. John Kieschnick shows how Chinese monks often built bridges and thereby participated in what some of the primary texts refer to as xingfu, or “to elicit blessings.”26 In the Platform Sutra the Fifth Patriarch chides one of his disciples for making offerings all day long and seeking only the “field of blessings.”27 A variety of activities elicited merit. A text from the Chinese Buddhist canon tells of seven ways for the layperson to gain merit: help build a temple or pagoda, plant trees, give medicine to the ill, build strong boats, repair bridges, build irrigation canals, and build public toilets.28 Each of these actions offered a return of some kind for others. All actions and results surrounding the practice of earning merit constituted good Buddhist exchange practices. The well-known scholar Étienne Lamotte provides a similar list to the one above translated from the Zhong ahan, which points out that giving land (an object with value) to the sangha or building a monastery earned merit for the donor.29 Historian of Chinese religion Stephen Teiser suggests that “merit describes the future happiness or liberation to be attained as a result of a meritorious action, and it also refers to the concrete blessings—long life and wealth—that flow from good acts.”30 Concrete blessings required concrete work. For example, a common practice was to donate harvest to a monastery to earn merit. In 1229, a son of the Zheng family left his home to join Yanchang monastery, taking his vows to become a monk. The family donated harvest and land to the monastery as a gesture of goodwill.31 In

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another example recorded by Lu You, the harvest of 1,100 mu of land was donated to Nengren monastery in 1186.32 These precedents were set before China’s middle period. Dongling monastery was established during the Five Dynasties period (tenth century). Once the monks’ harvests were poor and they lacked food. A monk named Guangrui bought 210 mu of land and gave it to the monastery, arguing that this was a good act.33 A similar logic of merit exchange functioned in Daoist institutions. In one case during the twelfth century, a certain Mr. Zhou’s son had taken ill. Zhou was told that if he were to donate land to a monastery (in this case Daoist) he would receive merit (dayuanshi) and that this would help improve his son’s health. Zhou promptly donated 100 mu of land to Tongzhen monastery.34 We cannot say with certainty what kind of happiness or feelings of salvation a donor may have felt or expected when donating to a monastery. Moreover, the degree of belief in salvation felt by a donor is impossible to fully discern. One scholar, Paul Veyne, poses the related question: “Can belief divorced from action be sincere?”35 How useful is it to talk about a belief in merit, or to ask whether an eighth-, twelfth-, thirteenth-, or twenty-first century practitioner believed her or his donation to a monastery would really result in existential and material relief? In any case, belief as a category has tended to be used historically by Christians claiming their own sense of history.36 It is not a universal category; or, to the extent that we might wish to think of it as such, the boundaries of belief and the truths attached to it are defined first by the imagination and then by actualizing the ideal. They are created through a process of labor intended to create opportunity and potential. In this regard we cannot ever fully know the motivational forces behind a decision even if the agent were to inform us. Veyne writes that “modalities of belief are related to the ways in which truth is possessed.”37 How would we know that Deguang “established blessings for all the world and enabled them to multiply”? How do we know how Deguang possessed the truth? We don’t, but the logic of merit, that is, the social action undertaken and the results thereof, dictate that he did: Ayuwang monastery flourished. Perhaps this was enough efficacy for Deguang. To take a blessing and increase it universally was what a good Buddhist was supposed to do. The truth of the experience of merit was not to be found; rather, it was created. In the fifth transaction the notion of “field of merit” was expressed by the pervasiveness of agricultural metaphors, and the fact that owning land and producing food constituted part of an exchange process. Here again is a clarification of the relationship between a

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large Buddhist institution and its perceived role in society. The emperor’s good work enabled him to initiate efficacious exchanges; in return the monk must labor (“to avoid eating without plowing”) to offer merit to the emperor, to the imperial family, or to the soldiers killed in battle, the villager whose son has died, and the empire at large. Merit, as a thing offered in exchange for a specified action or an object with value, became the pivotal mechanism in the justification and accumulation of donations by Buddhist monasteries.

S a l vat i o n i n t h e F i e l d s

The sixth and final stele transaction records that Ayuwang monastery purchased land. Since at least the fifth century of the Common Era in China’s history, land donations have been implicated in a Buddhist discourse of what constitutes a good act. Therefore, donating land to a monastery ensured good karma for the donor. Or perhaps a more accurate way to state this is that donating land generated merit that could be used to negate bad karma. Either way, the notion of merit helped justify Buddhist monastic landownership practices. An object (land) was donated to a monastic institution and thus initiated a series of exchanges and institutionalizing practices. The materialization of merit had a tangible economic component. The donor could improve the lives of her or his family. In some respect, the receipt of land was for monks or nuns a religious act resulting in potential wealth. That this material wealth was monastic and the result of a land-merit exchange allowed Buddhist institutions the possibility of social reproduction and ensured social survival. Land in this sense became the pivotal component in monastic economic practices. As we saw in chapters 4 and 5, Buddhist monasteries could acquire land from imperial gifts or grants, donations, purchases, mortgages, or by illegally occupying it. Via the logic of merit as a social mechanism emplaced throughout exchange relations, donating land or products of the land to a monastery ensured the donor a possibility of long life, increased comfort and prosperity. Accepting the land donation ensured the recipient a possibility of institutional longevity and social status. Rarely did a Buddhist monastic institution speak of land as part of a strategy of wealth accumulation. Part of the justification of this exchange almost always involved arguing that a land donation was about feeding the monks. With the actualization of merit Buddhists construed connections between land and food donations,

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good acts, and karmic awards. One scholar accurately describes these connections as follows: One tried-and-true technique for accessing the world of real food lay in convincing farmers that the crops coming out of the ground were actually derivative of past moral actions, and that the future availability of food (and happiness, for that matter) could be secured only by exchanging a portion of this food for Buddhist merit—that invisible and rather magical product that the Buddhists specialized in.38

To some extent it is misleading to refer to merit as “invisible,” since the concept of merit was less nebulous than this implies. Merit was material benefit (harvest) for both the living and the dead. Merit was a tangible possibility—offered by the monastic institution as an interpretation of karmic law—for salvation and qualitative survival. Merit could literally be harvested in the fields. The term futian (field of merit) implied that any donation to the Buddhist sangha was like planting a seed in the “great field of merit.” The use of agricultural metaphors was no coincidence; in some ways it was what Reiko Ohnuma refers to as the “literalization of metaphor.”39 The category of merit is too abstract; the notion of land cultivation and harvest is concrete. The Tang dynasty Buddhist monk Zongmi (780–841) offers one possible explanation of this “field of merit.”40 It is like worldly people who want to obtain a granary so abundantly stocked with the five grains that they are never in want. They must gather the seeds from grain, use an ox and plow to till the fields, and plant the seeds. If they do not plant them, they will run out. It is the same with the Dharma. The heart of compassion, the heart of respect, and the heart of filiality are the seeds. Food, clothing, and valuables are the ox and plow. The destitute and the sick, the Three Jewels, and parents are the field. There are disciples of the Buddha who want to obtain a store-consciousness with all kinds of merit so splendid that it is never exhausted. They must pull together the hearts of compassion, respect, and filiality; take food, clothing, valuables, and their own lives; and donate them respectfully for the support and aid of the destitute and sick, the Three Jewels, and parents. This is called “planting merit.” If they do not plant merit, they will be poor; lacking merit and wisdom, they will enter the dangerous path of birth-and-death [emphasis mine].

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If the donor does not “plant,” they cannot cultivate: if they cannot cultivate they have nothing to receive, no resources with which to help deceased family members or enhance their own material needs. “Seeds” planted in the great “field of merit” will grow; in other words, objects of value donated to the sangha will generate merit for the donor. With accumulated merit, the donor can avoid treading the “dangerous path of birth-and-death.” Intimately connected to ideas of karmic retribution, merit provided a possible escape from karma, or at the least, a means of erasing bad karma. In point of fact, avoiding bad karma was easy according to Chinese Buddhists. Donate to a monastery (food and land) and you sow good seeds, perform good acts, earn merit, and thus ensure the safety and salvation of your family. This logic of karmic interrelatedness had not changed much by the thirteenth century when one literatus, Ma Tingluan (1223–89), provided another example of how merit worked and was connected to land: “if your heart is purified so too will Amitabha Buddha’s land be pure. This is the teaching of the Pure Land. When I have not done any bad deeds I receive unlimited good karma—this is the teaching of ‘field of merit.’”41 A detailed discussion of Pure Land Buddhism is beyond the scope of this chapter, but the argument can be made that, irrespective of school or lineage, the agricultural metaphors used by Chinese Buddhists were always abundant and rich. Both the monk and the farmer required self-cultivation to cultivate the land. If the intention is good and one’s heart is cultivated and pure, then the land is the pure land; its harvests can never be depleted, and the karmic results are unending. This “field of merit” (futian) can be given back to the donor. This is why Ma Tingluan makes clear that “among all the donations given to the monastery the most important has been land.” Ma also suggests that, unlike so many other families, the Buddhist sangha can truly take good care of land in its possession: “Who, over a period of a thousand years, can take care of their land without destroying or ruining it? The Buddhist family, the monks, the Buddhist monasteries can do this.” The above arguments constituted part of a discourse Buddhist institutions cultivated and promoted to convince laity that donating land to the sangha was indeed behaving in good Buddhist fashion.42 The donor earns merit (material benefit) through the act of donating land to the monastery, and the monastery becomes the caretaker of that donation (not to mention a wealthy recipient due to accumulated economic capital). For example, the bulk of Ayuwang monastery’s estates came from donations. It is reasonable to assume that much of this success at accumulating es-

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tates was the result of persuading social agents that their donation would be rewarded. When the donor gave land to a monastery in exchange for merit, was this act of exchange really a gift? In other words, did land donations constitute a giftgiving practice in imperial Buddhist China?

To G i v e o r t o E x c h a n g e

If indeed a land donation to a Buddhist monastic institution was a “gift,” then monks and their institutions could not refuse it, for to do so would deprive the donor of the opportunity to accrue merit. Tambiah has called this the “double negation of reciprocity.”43 The monk supposedly does not give anything, and the donor supposedly gives with no expectation of return, and somehow merit is generated and bestowed. It seems unlikely that such an exchange process was this “pure.” Wendi Adamek has clearly demonstrated this in a recent article, explaining merit donation as “giving bodies.”44 In principle Tambiah’s argument is correct, yet both the donor and the recipient had much to gain and were often quite clear about the significance of a land donation and the merit awarded. A gift to the sangha constituted communal property, yet many individual monks and nuns had personal wealth.45 Not surprisingly, there was always a gap between the level of representation and the level of practice. This brings us to the difference between a gift and a commodity within an exchange process. The former is in principle done with no motivation of gain, the latter with an awareness of profit and loss that motivates the transaction. I am not suggesting one practice is more true than the other; rather, I am suggesting that most gift-giving practices in Chinese Buddhist contexts might better be understood as exchange practices involving at least two parties who were well aware of the use-value and exchange-value of the capital. Exchange, therefore, was always connected to status systems involving a distribution of power of one kind or another. When, for example, a wealthy patron donated land to a monastery, this land-merit exchange had an obvious social component, or social use-value. Both the donor and the monastic institution as recipient would gain recognition for the donation, as is clear in Lu You’s stele inscription. The practice of erecting steles became particularly prevalent during the Ming (1368–1644) and Qing dynasties (1644–1911) but was also in use earlier.46 The stele was usually placed in front of the monastery and informed the public who had donated land to the monastery and sometimes specifically how the land ought to be used. Erecting a stele was

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an expensive and lengthy process involving many people.47 In addition to all the necessary participants, someone had to decide whether a stele was desired in the first place (after the donation) and this would have involved the abbot of the monastery, the donor, and any other patrons or family members who were implicated in the donation. Prestige was at stake. When a stele was erected people knew what it was even if many could not read it. The visual size was taken into account, but not all steles were large. Nevertheless, they constituted a powerful sign, representing something far greater than their mere physical presence. People within the surrounding social arena knew something important had occurred. A donation of land was made to a monastery and the results were spectacular. Someone was hired to write the inscription; stone cutters were needed; calligraphers were involved; the abbot made the decision; and the satisfaction of the donor had to be verified. Most important, in due course, others in the same sociopolitical field, in the same social arena as the donor, would learn of such a donation. Via a similar social logic, a stele erected at Ayuwang monastery lent the institution a credibility and notoriety that went well beyond its walls. Not only did it gain land (economic capital), it also gained prestige (cultural capital) in the strict Bourdieuean sense. A stele was a powerful form of cultural capital (for both the donor and the recipient), a structure that projected prestige, articulated a process of naming, and signified knowledge and power. Its effect was to make known and to be known. One scholar suggests that “objects never exhaust themselves in the function they serve, and in this excess of presence they take on their signification of prestige. They no longer designate the world, but rather the being and social rank of their possessor.”48 Land as a commodified object of exchange earned recognition for the donor; land as received by the monastic institution came to reflect the social rank of its possessor. The stele (like the merit awarded) is that “third thing” discussed by Marx. Both the land as a received object and the stele signifying the exchange process had a value that is difficult to quantify, but nonetheless encompassed a use-value and exchange-value as well as an economic and cultural value, which is also to say, the surplus-value. The stele projected a saturation of meaning that later would become indispensable in a monastery’s attempt to establish, maintain, and perpetuate its legitimacy and authenticity in the social arena. From the perspective of the donor and the donation (land, harvest) there was the accumulation of merit, the possibility of salvation, tax exemption, and perhaps most importantly, cultural capital (especially if a stele was

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erected and one’s family name was written into stone). From the perspective of the monastery, land donations were economic capital for an institution that required considerable financing in order to support itself. It did not hurt that the results of such exchanges also increased the legitimacy of the monastery. Monastic donations, however, were not gifts. They were part of an exchange of values within which merit was a commodity, a commodified object of exchange, and thus always part of a distribution of power. Vital to the legitimacy of any monastery were two societal requirements that prevailed in China from the earliest periods: the emphasis on family and lineage and the emphasis on land being the most stable form of security one could provide for one’s family. When a male member of a family left to become a monk, the term (still in use today) used to describe this was chujia, meaning literally to “go out of the family.” In a real sense, a person was leaving one family for another, the sangha, a new family not unlike the traditional Chinese family structure, with clan members having the same last name; ritualized rules and codes binding members to one another; and internal hierarchies reflecting external social conventions that in turn redefined the rules of etiquette, form, communication channels, punishments for transgression, and strategies for survival in a social arena in which a family member sought to bring prestige to his family.49 Prestige was more important than wealth. Indeed, the latter often generated the former. Family stability was crucial, and land afforded prestige, wealth, and merit to large families. This was also true for most, if not all, Buddhist monks. Abbot Qing Ya of Xianshou monastery ran his institution like the head of a huge family. Ma Tingluan argued that “over a period of a thousand years, who can take care of their land without destroying or ruining it? The Buddhist family, the monks, the Buddhist monasteries can do this.”50 The approaches taken by Buddhist monasteries to preserve their properties and accumulate prestige were not all that different from those taken by the large families of the Southern Song. Education was crucial to social reproduction. From the eleventh through the fourteenth centuries, learning academies (shuyuan) were established, simultaneously great transmitters and preservers of certain types of knowledge, culture, social values, and social programs that ultimately would dictate the distribution of symbolic capital. These academies were similar to another type of learning academy, the Buddhist monastery. Both institutions were repositories of texts. Both were concerned with transmitting certain kinds of knowl-

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edge designed in carefully prepared programs and exhibited strategic mechanisms of acceptance, transferal, graduation, and perpetuation. The transmission of property in families is of course different from that of monks in a monastery. Furthermore, if the person leaving his family in order to join the Buddhist sangha owned land, he could keep it and give it to the monastery, yet another blow to the traditional family culture.51 Generally speaking, it is possible to suggest that the Buddhists formed a lineage of sorts in opposition to traditional nonBuddhist family clans; it might be more accurate, however, to say that Buddhist lineages constituted an alternative to other family clans—pseudo-genetic versus genetic lineages. There was a historical distinction made. For example, the thirteenthcentury literatus Lu You, in response to a former student who wanted to set up a charitable estate to perpetuate his lineage, had this to say:52 The kinship system should be like this: if you consider the hearts of your ancestors, you will love their sons and grandsons and want them to be given sufficient clothing and food. When they marry, you will want them to become scholars and not want them to drift as artisans and merchants, to descend to become runners, or to leave and become Buddhist or Taoist monks.

This is a conventional statement such as might be made by any official of medieval China. Moreover, if a son had been a Buddhist or Daoist monk they could not take the imperial examinations.53 The primary long-term goal of any traditional Chinese family was to socially reproduce and perpetuate itself. This included the physical reproduction of clan members through birth, marriage, adoption—a strategy not permissible to monks, although Buddhist monasteries recruited from a far wider social base than any traditional family—and social reproduction, namely, what Pierre Bourdieu has called the reproduction of the family’s “tastes, distinctions and trappings.”54 “The family is the product of an institutionalization, both ritual and technical, aimed at durably instituting in each member of the instituted unit feelings that will tend to ensure the integration that is the condition of the existence and persistence of the unit.”55 For its survival, a family needed two specific kinds of capital: first, economic capital, a precursor to the second, cultural capital. Cultural capital, understood as being inherently beyond mere material value, in turn bestowed a certain prestige (and privilege) allowing its possessor to confer legitimacy on other objects or participants in the

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same arena, or social field.56 In the case of Tiantong monastery, for example, the only way to perpetuate itself was to accumulate cultural capital. Land, as commodified object, provided economic capital that, through some of the ideological underpinnings and the symbolic structure and social structure just discussed, could be converted into cultural capital.57 Big families are “united by a solidarity of interests.”58 Monastic landowners and family landowners alike focused on strategies to acquire and transmit economic capital so as to generate the possibility of accumulating cultural capital—which brings legitimacy and confers the privilege of bestowing legitimacy on others. In all these social processes, the family was the primary unit. Reproduction of this unit was the only sure option to allow for the possibility of accumulating and preserving cultural capital. In this regard the sangha was indeed a family.

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7 Salvationand Survival

The farmer is not a man: he is the plow of the one who eats the bread.

—Georges Bataille1

T

hroughout the course of this book I have argued that Tiantong monastery (and indeed all the Buddhist monasteries discussed) was a space of representation (woodcuts, poems, stele descriptions, imagined reality), represen-

tational space (lived labor, an identity of labor, participant in a religious economy), emplaced sacred-mundane space, an institution engaged in territoriality, and a space of salvation via its economic practices. Like most institutions and like any powerful social group such as a large family, Tiantong operated in an environment contingent upon all the relations between positions of competing social agents (abbots, magistrates, prefects, local patrons) and within the arena of a produced social space where these positions were constantly being negotiated. Consequently, Tiantong was part of a monastic field, that is, part of a network of relations. To achieve dominance required accumulating capital appropriate to that field. The medieval social world of monastic institutions incorporated the relations between social agents within differ-

ent fields; the relations between different types of capital; and the relations to other institutions such as the imperium, the prefectural government, the magistrate’s office, wealthy families in the community, and local peasants.2 The volume of capital accumulated by any of these social groups was a critical important factor that dictated their respective position in the social hierarchy. Land became the denominator of capital; as “object-commodified” it played an instrumental role in the ability of a monastic institution to accumulate. Land as “object-commodity” can be broken down into all its possible purposes—utilitarian, geographical, ecological, use-value, territory, exchange-value, sustenance, wealth, prestige, ownership, security, economic capital, cultural capital—all equally valid. These have little to do with individual monks or abbots, but rather with institutional contexts that reflected the social rank of their possessors. Tiantong monastery had wealth and prestige. Tiantong Monastery had power of a dual nature, namely the power to influence patrons and the symbolic power required to produce cultural capital, to give the monastery standing in the local community, and in the case of Tiantong, to attract many famous visitors, abbots, and imperial guests to visit. The results of patronage—the financial gains from tea production, water mills, the harvests from the land, the money given to the treasuries, the land given by imperial discretion—all were converted, through a series of eqivalences shaped by symbolic and social structures with ideological underpinnings, to cultural capital. For a large Buddhist monastery to own, purchase, exchange, sell, and accept donated land from patrons was the rule, not the exception in Buddhist socioeconomic practices that placed monasteries well within the everyday world of thirteenthcentury China. Monastic institutions, often thought of as otherworldly realms, were on the contrary active in everyday life at the grassroots level and thoroughly engaged in a variety of social practices. Buddhist monasteries actively sought out objectified capital—commodities such as money, harvests, buildings, and especially land from wealthy patrons, local worshippers, and elite literati—and converted it into cultural capital. We can refer to these activities as monastic territoriality, and they highlight the socioeconomic constitution of Buddhist religiosity. Without social competition for capital, conversion processes resulting in cultural capital and legitimation from the masses, local patrons, and the imperium, Tiantong monastery’s chances of survival would have been slim indeed. I have argued that Buddhist monastic institutions functioned at multiple levels; at the very least there were doctrinal representation (wealth is bad karma) and mate-

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rial practice (wealth is required to support the sangha). This was not a contradiction at all, but rather reflected a naturalized gap between two operating realities that exist in most social products, in most social arenas where institutions delineate the course of human actions, and in most processes of exchange where the level of consumption and the level of expenditure almost never neatly balance. For consumption to occur, there must be substitution. Land was substituted for merit, and in this consumption process there was an exchange. Merit as an object of exchange in the Chinese Buddhist context was (and is) a product of labor, a direct result of a donor’s effort to produce the donation and the recipient’s awarding the merit and explicating its meaning to a wider society. This process was the direct consequence of an agricultural culture. Marx wrote that a society can no more cease to produce than it can cease to consume. Every social process of production is a process of reproduction. The conditions are the same for both.3 In other words, humans as social agents do not just live in society, they produce society in order to live.4 If we accept that exchange is one of the most basic material expressions of a society, then the Buddhist merit exchange resulted in at least a social hierarchy, behavioral codes, power distribution, capital, legitimacy, wealth, transcendence, domination, subversion, happiness, social status, and so forth. Merit encompassed a number of factors—intangible abstract value, salvific value, tangible tax exemption, a use-value of material gains, wealth, and possibility. Merit was capital. Merit was potential and a possibility of recognition (of the act of donating and the act of receiving), and of salvation (personal and institutional longevity). Marx wrote that a commodity must have many exchange-values instead of just one. Merit thus had a number of exchange-values and could be accrued in exchange for land, harvest, money, a poem or essay, and so forth. Merit also constituted part of a semantic universe of meaning that came to delineate Buddhist society. Consumption was key, a process of taking in the whole package of symbolic meaning, not just the sign. Merit, land, expenditure, social status, the accumulation of wealth, and conspicuous consumption were all part of the same social system. Donating land resulted in status (cultural capital); to receive land resulted in accumulated wealth (economic capital) as well as status acquired through the recognition— from the imperium, literati, other monastic institutions—that such an exchange had taken place. Strict economic capital is, in and of itself, meaningless. Economic capital could be used to acquire and accumulate cultural capital; it allowed a Buddhist monastery the

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123

possibility to increase its landholdings through further acquisitions, to keep its buildings in good repair, to increase the physical size of the monastic compound, to lend money at high interest, to establish water mills and other enterprises, to purchase slaves who could work in the fields, to train monks and send them out into other areas of the empire to spread the Dharma, and to commission poet-officials to write stele inscriptions. The result hoped for in all of these practices was cultural capital that in turn would beget more economic capital: increased prestige, increased visibility in the social arena, the ability to attract well-known personalities to visit, imperial recognition, more pilgrims who would make donations, and increased legitimacy in the eyes of other monastic institutions, of the imperium, and of the local populace. Without land—an exchange commodity accumulated primarily through merit exchange practices—a monastery most likely would have no economic capital and therefore no ability to produce cultural capital, thus diminishing its chances for long-term survival. The merit exchanged for land was potential salvation, survival (social reproduction), hope, capital (economic and cultural), and importantly, misrecognized labor time and potential future time. Merit functioned, acted, and participated as a socially viable truth, one result of a constitutive Buddhist-Chinese imagination materialized and actualized through the everyday practice of donating to a Buddhist body, social or individual—in either case, an institution. I began this study with the axiomatic assumption that human beings necessarily produce, maintain, and reproduce a space within which to live a meaningful existence. This is the creative process of sacrality. To imagine a world and then to work toward its construction and inevitability is an act of salvation, and a Buddhist monastery is such a sacred space. Further, Buddhist monasteries in China are religious institutions and therefore social phenomena. Their centrality in the lives of monks, nuns, farmers, and emperors rested on their human expressions of social transactions. Their space was sacred because it was participatory at all levels, both profound and mundane, and within it human beings engaged in a variety of activities, living out their practices on a daily basis. This everyday living offers a hint of what makes for a meaningful existence within a religious institution. As a participatory space of human exchange, a monastery exemplifies the religious mode. With the ongoing exchange practices beyond and within its walls, Tiantong monastery, this dynamic and corporate entity, is a critical component of Chinese religiosity. As I have argued, the driving force behind any religiosity is that which can be imagined and made material. In this regard Buddhist monastic space in China continued to assert the

124 

 

Salvation and Survival

possibility of hierarchical change, as well as offer the material means toward salvation: a true economy of the sacred at work.

Figure 7.1

The end of the day.

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125

Appendix A Yi n C o u n t y B u d d h i s t M o n a s t i c L a n d ( c . 1 2 2 6 c . e . ) Monastery

Permanent Lands (mu)

Mountain Lands (mu)

CHAN MONASTERIES (22))

Ayuwangshan guangli si

3,895

12,050

Tiantongshan jingde si

3,284

18,950

Dameishan husheng yuan

172

25,040

Dameishan baofu yuan

725

25,042

Zhangxishan yansheng yuan

556

22,000

Jineshan zhenxiang yuan

332

4,220

Jinwenshan huizhao yuan

270

2,330

Wufengshan chongfu yuan

270

680

Dongshan fuchang yuan

435

1,120

Pankuashan chongguo yuan

186

1,120

Pujing yuan

209

2,410

Siming yuan

289

--

Baiyun yanxiang yuan

60

4,404

Faren yuan

200

2,100

Xiyanqing yuan

110

0

Jiedai zhangsheng yuan

--

--

Cuiyanshan yizhong zifu yuan

1,129

2,296

Baozhongshan yuan

342

9,800

Folongshan jiqing xianqin yuan

280

1,027

Baoguo yuan

20

--

Jiaozhong baoguo yuan

--

--

Miaozhi yuan

--

--

Zijiao yuan

355

916

Wuzhen yuan

222

404

Xizhen si

201

681

Huiguang yuan

130

--

Zhiping yuan

290

--

Guangshou yuan

87

--

Guangyan yuan

120

0

Bujin yuan

173

--

Haihui yuan

156

--

Xingjiao yuan

66

--

Puhe yuan

99

--

Yuantong yuan

183

--

Dengqiao guangfu yuan

202

--

Puan yuan

109

--

Mingxin yuan

110

--

Huideng yuan

113

--

Fusheng yuan

79

234

Qingxiu yuan

83

2,000

Puzhao yuan

87

--

Bianli si/gongde si

80

305

TEACHING MONASTERIES (24)

128 

 

Appendix A

Cibei puji si

100

20

Puguang yuan

20

105

Jiaozhong baoguo yuan

50

100

Baohua si

--

--

Baoyan yuan

220

800

Guangxiu yuan

130

1,200

Puzhuo guangfu yuan

46

3,000

Chanyan yuan

54

0

Ciyun yuan

66

0

Fayun yuan

180

0

Duofu yuan

32

0

Wukong yuan

--

--

Chongshou si

170

0

Yanfu yuan

383

0

Zisheng yuan

50

0

Baolin yuan

88

0

Yanshou wangguangfu yuan

262

3,121

Fuji yuan

199

320

Zunjiao yuan

88

fig. unclear

Nengren yuan

267

0

Shengshou si

367

0

Faci yuan

80

0

Chongfa yuan

129

0

Dabei yuan

67

0

Tianshou yuan

230

1,000

Zhuan’an yuan

398

1,700

Puxuan yuan

100

0

Kongxiang yuan

70

0

Fangguang yuan

107

0

Guoxuan si

40

0

Miaozhi yuan

100

0

Cifu yuan

110

0

TEN DIRECTION/PUBLIC MONASTERIES (8)

LINEAGE MONASTERIES (24)

Yin County Buddhist Monastic Land, c. 1226 c.e.

 

129

Cien yuan

14

70

Cuiyanshan Baoji yuan

99

0

Mingjue yuan

94

980

Puguang yuan

220

396

Jingzhong yuan

62

0

Zhushan Jingtu yuan

120

2,800

Ruanshanguang yuan

70

2,000

Duobao yuan

85

68

Faqing yuan

350

3,008

Yunlong yuan

10

0

Baoan yuan

0

0

Jiaoci zifu yuan

310

0

Leifeng yuan

150

1,000

Shengxiang yuan

--

--

Dazhong xiangfu si

170

300

Tianfu yuan

--

--

approx. 21,666 mu

Total

Source: “Yinxian chansi,” Baoqing siming zhi, 13:16a–32a.

130 

 

Appendix A

approx. 161,117 mu

Appendix B P o p u l a t i o n F i g u r e s f o r Yi n C o u n t y , M i n g P r e f e c t u r e 1

Year (c.e.)

Registered landholders (zhu) Vagrant nonlandholders (ke)

TOTAL

1017–1021

9,454 households (hu)

8,815 hu

18,269 hu



15,856 population (kou)

12,201 kou

28,057 kou

1116

26,395 hu

7,525 hu

33,920 hu



50,218 kou

13,099 kou

63,317 kou

1168

30,990 hu

7,943 hu

38,933 hu



75,930 kou

19,577 kou

95,507 kou

1225–1227

—

—

41,617 hu



—

—

65,694 kou

2

1. Siming liuzhi jiaokan ji, 1:4b–5a. 2. Baoqing siming zhi, 13:3b.

Appendix C L a n d To ta l s i n M i n g P r e f e c t u r e Gazetteer

Ming Prefecture

Yin County

地方志

明州

鄞縣

Remaining Five Counties in Ming Prefecture:



Fenghua 奉化



Changguo 昌國



Cixi 慈溪



Dinghai 定海



Xiangshan 象山

Baoqing

tian 7,460/292

siming zhi

di 1,490/5



shan 9,020/64

1



Yanyou

21,169/30

4,373/81

Fenghua 4,948/3

siming zhi

guan 2,700/4

guan 526/61

guan 630/17



min 18,469/25

min 3,847/20

min 4,318/14

3



Changguo 1,501/19



guan 313/8



min 1,188/10



Cixi 4,616/44



guan 196/44



min 4,419/85



Dinghai 3,839/1



guan 414/62



min 3,424/39



Xiangshan 1,890/52



guan 618/96



min 1,271/56

Zhizheng

23,475/26

7,208/79

Fenghua 3,482/93

siming / xuzhi

guan 3,745/71

guan 1,013/43

guan 278/46



tian 2,786/14

tian 825/69

min 3,204/47



di 270/90

di 8/69



shan 631/15

shan 179/5

guan 524/36



min 19,729/54

min 6,193/28

min 1,382/78



tian 19,675/89

tian 6,139/95



di 53/33

di 53/33

guan 183/50



shan none listed

shan –

min 4,258/5

4



Changguo 1,907/1

Cixi 4,441/55

Dinghai 3,847/43



guan 428/39



min 3,419/4



Xiangshan 1,817/30



guan 545/71



min 1,271/59

134 

 

Appendix C



tian 田

paddy fields



di 地

land



shan 山

mountain land



guantian 官田

imperial land



mintian 民田

common land

1

Baoqing siming zhi, 13:3a.

2

The first number before the slash indicates qing, and the number immediately after it

indicates mu. For example: 1,234/12 = 1,234 qing and 12 mu. There are six to nine size categories of land. I have only used the first two (qing and mu) as the rest are too small to be significant. This is the reason the totals are not exact. 3

Yanyou siming zhi, 12:1a–3a.

4

Zhizheng siming xuzhi, 6:1a–3b.

Land Totals in Ming Prefecture

 

135

Appendix D M a j o r S t r u c t u r e s i n Ti a n t o n g M o n a s t e r y ’ s C o m p o u n d Key 1. Vegetable garden 2. Hall of Ancient Pines 3. Alms-bowl Spring 4. Bamboo gardens 5. Arhat halls 6. Room of Awakening 7. Tamed Dragon Fountain 8. Fountain of Realized Truth 9. Lotus Scent Room 10. Green Dragon Fountain 11. Pavilion of Realized Truth

12. Toilets 13. East Cinnamon Room 14. Dharma Hall 15. Room of Standing Snow 16. Room of Contentment 17. Room of Satisfaction (as Wished) 18. Hall of Clouds and Water 19. Buddha Hall 20. Dining room 21. Bell tower 22. Toilets 23. Jade Buddha Hall 24. Tower of Reflected Light 25. Hall of Quiet Cultivation 26. Vegetable garden 27. Contemplation room 28. Pond of Ten Thousand Works 29. Work courtyard 30. Tower of Returning Light 31. Toilets 32. Heavenly King’s Hall 33. Guest room 34. Hall of Grand Masters 35. Kitchen 36. Supplies room 37. Work room 38. Storage room 39. Chan/Zen Hall 40. Precepts Hall 41. Cultivation Hall 42. Vegetable garden 43. Abbot’s room 44. Meditation room 45. Hall of Quiet Observation 46. Flower platforms

138 

 

Appendix D

Notes 1. Monastic Identity, Buddhist Religiosity, and Land

1. Ma Tingluan, “Jingtu yuan shetian ji,” 17:9b–11b, Biwu wanfang ji, Siku quanshu, v. 1187 (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1982). The author of the essay, Ma Tingluan (1223–89), hailed from Jiangxi province. He passed the imperial examination and became a jinshi in 1247. Ma held the rank of Grand Councilor in the 1260s and 1270s. 2. Huang Zhen, “Baoqing yuan xinjian guanyin dianji,” Huang shi richao (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1983), 88:37a–38b. Huang Zhen (1213–80) was a native of Fujian province. During the 1270s he was the prefectural administrator of Fu prefecture in southeast China (modern-day Jiangxi province). 3. See Wen Xingdao and De Jie, Tiantong si zhi (Gazetteer of Tiantong monastery), Zhongguo fosi shizhi huika (Taipei: Mingwen shuju yinxing, 1980), 3:1a–2a for more on Yixing. Mount Taibai is located in the eastern part of modern Zhejiang province. It forms part of the Siming mountain range, and part of the discussion in the next chapter.

4. Venus, the evening star (taibaixing). Daoist immortal mythology includes the name Taibai Jinxing, the son of Bai Di (White Emperor). So it would seem that Bai Di dispatched Evening Star to help Yixing. Yet, taibaixing in this case was also a tiantong, a child of Heaven. 5. Yang Shi, Chenghua zhi (Gazetteer of the Chenghua period, 1465–87), Yanyou Siming zhi, Songyuan difangzhi congshu (Taipei: Dahua shuju, 1980), 17:2b. 6. If you visit today you can chat with the old caretaker, who will tell stories of China’s Cultural Revolution and the destruction the Red Guards inflicted upon the ancient site. Have him open up a locked door behind which stands a beautiful Song-period stele, a stone pillar with written inscription carved not only with gorgeous script but also, unfortunately, with chilling slash marks rendered by some overzealous Red Guard. 7. Contemporary Tiantong monastery—constructed during the Ming and Qing dynasties, and much of it reconstructed in Ming-style architecture—is located on Mount Taibai, some 30 kilometers east of downtown Ningbo city, Yin county, Zhejiang province, China. It is easily accessible by bus. Tourists, aged women pilgrims, farmers, students on a school trip, an ailing mother-in-law, all expend tremendous energy to travel there. 8. For the most part during the Southern Song, the larger monasteries—upward of 500 monks—were still spending considerable amounts on reconstruction, on building pagodas and halls, and on the construction of new monasteries. These practices again demonstrate the level of infiltration of Buddhism into the society as local patrons vied with one another to contribute to monastic institutions. The imperium was no exception, with a high number of land grants to Buddhist monasteries all through the Song periods. The Chan School was the strongest mainly due to imperial dictates that called for great numbers of Tiantai monasteries to be redesignated as Chan. Stricter laws with regard to which institutions were to be considered “legal” social entities were put into effect, but for the most part were impossible to enforce. Local social arenas continued to exert the most direct influence on Buddhist monasteries. See Chikusa Masaaki, Chūgoku bukkyō shakaishi kenkyō (Studies in the social history of Buddhism), (Kyoto: Dōhōsha Press Company, 1982), 150–51. 9. I use four main types of primary materials in this book: essays in literary collections (wenji), stele inscriptions (beiwen, or beiji), gazetteers (difangzhi), and various kinds of Buddhist materials located in different collections. All translations used are my own unless indicated otherwise. I have gathered information on Tiantong monastery from several sources: gazetteers, local historical records (often, as is the case with Tiantong si zhi (Gazetteer of Tiantong monastery), compiled by local officials or gentry concerned with

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the affairs of their county), essays in various congshu (collections of reprinted works gathered from a variety of sources and time periods), stele inscriptions (writing on stone pillars placed in front of temples), and information gleaned from other less related gazetteers. There were four historical gazetteers written for Tiantong. Information for the first was collected and edited by Yang Ming in 1559; its title is Tiantong si ji (Records of Tiantong monastery). Only two of the seven juan are extant. In 1632, Zhang Tingbin edited the entire gazetteer and a new edition was published under the title Tiantong si zhi (Gazetteer of Tiantong monastery). In 1641 the gazetteer was edited and revised by Huang Yuqi. Finally, in 1712, a local literati, Wen Xingdao, and the abbot of Tiantong at that time, Dejie, together reedited the previous gazetteer and wrote a new version, complete with new sections on mountain maps, wood-block prints of the monastery, a layout of the buildings, and an investigation of local mountains and rivers. Wen Xingdao and Dejie used a system of notes, supplements, and commentaries to further verify events that had occurred. In some cases the categories they used indicate whether events that were claimed to have occurred were accurate or not, whether Wen Xingdao and Dejie had any doubts about the authenticity of the materials they were looking at, and whether they had any additional information. Other footnotes refer to secondary minor sources, events not yet confirmed, the most accurately verified events, and discussions of incorrect or correct versions. While I often refer to the 1712 version of the gazetteer, whenever possible I have cross-referenced it with other gazetteers such as those found in the Song Yuan difangzhi congshu (Collections of gazetteers from the Song and Yuan dynasties) to verify dates, names, and places. A contemporary gazetteer was compiled in 1997. 10. For information on temple confiscations during the Republican period, see Holmes Welch, The Buddhist Revival in China (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1968). 11. See Ven. Jing Yin, “Buddhism and Economic Reform in Mainland China,” in Chinese Religions in Contemporary Societies, ed. James Miller (Santa Barbara, Calif.: ABC Clio, 2006), 85–99. 12. Up until recently this has been a somewhat neglected period in the religious history of China, and especially of Chinese Buddhism, of which the Tang was always seen as the “golden age.” This has changed thanks to the work of scholars such as Edward Davis, T. Griffith Foulk, Miriam Levering, Peter Gregory, Mark Halperin, and Daniel Stevenson, to mention only a few. See, for example, Peter N. Gregory and Daniel A. Getz, eds., Buddhism in the Sung (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1999). 13. See all of John Kieschnick’s work in this regard, particularly The Eminent Monk: Bud-

 

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dhist Ideals in Medieval Chinese Hagiography (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1997). 14. See all of Gregory Schopen’s work. 15. Not nearly enough is known about medieval Chinese Buddhist socioeconomic activities. Jacques Gernet’s magisterial work Buddhism in Chinese Society: An Economic History from the Fifth to the Tenth Centuries, trans. Franciscus Verellen (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995), published half a century ago, still dominates the field. Aside from a handful of Chinese and Japanese publications (discussed later), few books address this crucial topic of study. One notable exception is John Kieschnick recentThe Impact of Buddhism on Chinese Material Culture (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2003). By contrast, Western scholarship on European monastic history provides a wealth of such information and can serve as inspiration for further research of Chinese Buddhist monastic institutions. For an excellent overview, see J. Patrick Greene, Medieval Monasteries (London and New York: Leicester University Press, 1992). For monasteries in Britain, see Janet Burton, Monastic and Religious Orders in Britain, 1000–1300 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994). On the formation and sources of monastic culture and the drive toward monasticism in the West, see Jean Leclercq, The Love of Learning and the Desire for God: A Study of Monastic Culture, trans. Catharine Misrahi (New York: Fordham University Press, 1961). See also Jean Décarreaux, Monks and Civilization: From the Barbarian Invasions to the Reign of Charlemagne, trans. Charlotte Haldane (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1964), and André Vauchez, The Laity in the Middle Ages: Religious Beliefs and Devotional Practices, trans. Margery J. Schneider (Notre Dame and London: University of Notre Dame Press, 1993). 16. Pierre Bourdieu, Practical Reason: On the Theory of Action (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998), 115. 17. Ibid. 18. See Michel Foucault, The Archaeology of Knowledge, trans. A.M. Sheridan Smith (New York: Pantheon, 1972), 7. 19. As Jonathan Z. Smith writes: “The student of religion must be able to articulate clearly why ‘this’ rather than ‘that’ was chosen as an exemplum.” See Jonathan Z. Smith, Imagining Religion: From Babylon to Jonestown (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982), xi. The monasteries I use as exempla in this study are not the same as all Buddhist monasteries in China in all times and places. They are, however, representative of what I believe is a translocal Buddhist inertia about establishing themselves in as many places as possible.

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20. Mary Douglas, How Institutions Think (Syracuse, N.Y.: Syracuse University Press, 1986), 55. 21. Douglas, How Institutions Think, 63. 22. See Bourdieu, Practical Reason, 104. Also see In Other Words: Essays Towards a Reflexive Sociology, trans. Matthew Adamson (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1990); Language and Symbolic Power, trans. Gino Raymond and Matthew Adamson (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1991); “The Field of Cultural Production, or: The Economic World Reversed,” Poetics 12 (1983): 311–356; and Pierre Bourdieu and Terry Eagleton, “Doxa and Common Life: An Interview,” in Mapping Ideology, ed. Slavoj Zizek (London and New York: Verso, 1994). In his book Praying for Power: Buddhism and the Formation of Gentry Society in Late-Ming China (Cambridge, Mass.: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1993), Timothy Brook effectively demonstrates this “conversion process” for the late Ming period, showing the complex relationship between gentry patronage and Buddhist monastic institutions. Producing cultural capital would in turn increase the institution’s ability to acquire more economic capital. I would suggest that for Buddhist monastic institutions this social equation was not a reality at odds with other prescribed ontologies they projected, but instead complemented a necessary Buddhist lifestyle. 23. Bourdieu, In Other Words, 112. 24. Charles H. Long, Significations: Signs, Symbols, and Images in the Interpretation of Religion (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1986), 35. 25. See all of Jonathan Z. Smith’s work, particularly his book Imagining Religion, as well as his essay, “Religion, Religions, Religious,” in Critical Terms for Religious Studies, ed. Mark C. Taylor (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1998), 269–284. 26. Douglas, How Institutions Think, 36. 27. Emile Durkheim, The Elementary Forms of Religious Life, trans. Karen Fields (New York: The Free Press, 1995), 233. 28. See Stephen Teiser’s introductory essay in Donald S. Lopez, Religions of China in Practice (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1996). 29. For an excellent discussion of the term zongjiao see Anthony C. Yu, State and Religion in China: Historical and Textual Perspectives (Chicago and La Salle, Ill.: Open Court, 2005), 5–25. 30. I am well aware of the arguments against the term “religion” made convincingly in Timothy Fitzgerald’s work; he would have the study of religion under the more general rubric of cultural studies. While I am somewhat convinced that the category “religion”

 

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is predominantly a Protestant Christian term, exported globally throughout the colonial period, I choose at his stage to reclaim it and use it as I have defined it above. For further reading on this complex topic, see Timothy Fitzgerald, The Ideology of Religious Studies (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), chapter 1; and Tomoko Masuzawa, The Invention of World Religions (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005). 31. Edward L. Davis, Society and the Supernatural in Song China (Honolulu, Hawaii: University of Hawaii Press, 2001), 5; David Chidester, Shots in the Streets: Violence and Religion in South Africa (Boston: Beacon Press, 1991), xiii. 32. C. K. Yang, Religion in Chinese Society: A Study of Contemporary Social Functions of Religion and Some of Their Historical Factors (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1961), 14. 33. We see in Yang’s approach to Chinese religion the following antinomy: institutional religion (elite)/diffused religion (popular). Bernard Faure addresses this: “At the lower end of the sociopolitical spectrum, one could perhaps distinguish heuristically between folk religious culture and several ‘popular’ (or rather, ‘popularized’) religions such as popular/ folk Buddhism and Daoism. In actual practice, however, all these phenomena are hopelessly intertwined.” See Bernard Faure, The Rhetoric of Immediacy—A Cultural Critique of Chan/Zen Buddhism (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1991), 87. See also Mu-chou Poo, In Search of Personal Welfare: A View of Ancient Chinese Religion (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1998). Often what is “popular” forces its way into and reinforces the so-called “elite” and vice-versa. Buddhism in China has proven to be elite, popular, this-worldly, and otherworldly, often at the same time. 34. Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, trans. Donald Nicholson-Smith (Oxford: Blackwell, 1974), 38–40. 35. As Mark Halperin so clearly demonstrates, literati (scholar-officials) of the Song periods were actively engaged with Buddhist institutions, frequently writing inscriptions for monasteries and temples. See Mark Halperin, Out of the Cloister: Literati Perspectives on Buddhism in Sung China, 960–1279 (Cambridge, Mass. and London: Harvard University Press, 2006). 36. For a convincing account of gift and exchange in Indian Buddhism, and what she calls “gift-of-the-body” stories, see Reiko Ohnuma, “The Gift of the Body and the Gift of the Dharma,” History of Religions 37, no. 4 (May 1998): 323–359; and Head, Eyes, Flesh, and Blood (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007). There are too many works on gift

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exchange to list here in detail; please see the bibliography for some of the more interesting studies 37. Marcel Mauss, The Gift: The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies, trans. W. D. Halls (New York and London: Norton, 1990). 38. Mauss, The Gift, 12. 39. Mauss, The Gift, 28. 40. Maurice Godelier, The Enigma of the Gift, trans. Nora Scott (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999), 11. 41. Jacques Derrida, Given Time: I. Counterfeit Money, trans. Peggy Kamuf (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 37. 42. Derrida, Given Time, 10–11. 43. Derrida, Given Time, 15. 44. Alan Cole, Mothers and Sons in Chinese Buddhism (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1998); Wendi L. Adamek, “The Impossibility of the Given: Representations of Merit and Emptiness in Medieval Chinese Buddhism,” History of Religions 45, no. 2 (2005). 45. Adamek, “The Impossibility of the Given,” 167. 46. Nicholas Thomas, Entangled Objects: Exchange, Material Culture, and Colonialism in the Pacific (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1991), 4. 47. Karl Marx, Capital, Volume 1, trans. Ben Fowkes (New York and London: Penguin, 1990) 48. Marx, Capital, Volume 1, 125. 49. Marx, Capital, Volume 1, 125. 50. Marx, Capital, Volume 1, 131. 51. Marx, Capital, Volume 1, 135. 52. For a fascinating book on Christian theology and the impact of economics on Christianity and vice versa, see Kathryn Tanner, Economy of Grace (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2005), in particular pages 47–61, where the author discusses grace and gift exchange. Tanner argues for the applicability of a “theological economy.” 53. The Buddhist term commonly used to refer to this “donation” was bushi (Skt. dana). 54. Martin Heidegger, Basic Writings, ed. David F. Krell (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1977), 323. 55. The Three Jewels constitute the foundation of all Buddhist schools. They are the Buddha (Sakyamuni), the Dharma (cosmic law), and the Sangha (the body of monks and nuns).

 

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2 . A S q ua r e at t h e C e n t e r o f t h e Wo r l d

1. Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, trans. Donald Nicholson-Smith (Oxford: Blackwell, 1974), 331. 2. Wen Xingdao and De Jie, Tiantong si zhi (Gazetteer of Tiantong monastery), Zhongguo fosi shizhi huikan (Taipei: Mingwen shuju yinxing, 1980), 1:1a–2a. 3. Yang Shi, Chenghua zhi (Gazetteer of the Chenghua period, 1465–87), Yanyou siming zhi, Songyuan difangzhi congshu (Taipei: Dahua shuju, 1980), 1:15a. 4. Luo Jun, Baoqing siming zhi (Gazetteer of Siming, Baoqing period, 1225–27), Songyuan difangzhi congshu (Taipei: Dahua shuju, 1980). I have verified that this is the case by looking at Luo Jun’s text as well as the following gazetteers: Yuan Jue, Yanyou siming zhi (Gazetteer of Siming, Yanyou Period, 1314–20); Wang Yuangong, Zhizheng siming xuzhi (Supplemental Gazetteer of Siming, Zhizheng period, 1341–67), the Ming period gazetteer; Huang Runyu, Ningbofu jianyao zhi (Abridged Gazetteer of Ningbo prefecture), Yang Shi, Chenghua zhi (Gazetteer of the Chenghua period, 1465–87), and Zhang Shiche, Jiajing Ningbofu zhi (Gazetteer of the Jiaqing period, 1522–66). I have yet to see Zhang Shiche’s text. 5. Tiantong si zhi, 1:1a. 6. There is a long relationship between mountains and religiosity in China. There are too many first-rate studies of the significance of mountains throughout East Asia to list here, and there is a wealth of work by Japanese and Chinese scholars, as well as primary source materials to be found in poetry and essay collections, literary compilations, stele inscriptions, etc. Mountains were residences of immortals, places where sylphs roamed, where tranquility became tangible. Poets traveled to mountains for inspiration, hermits for solitude, and emperors for the great imperial sacrifices performed to balance the empire. Mountains marked the borders of imperial space. The five marchmounts (wuyue)— Heng shan (north), Heng shan (south), Song shan (center), Tai shan (east), and Hua shan (west)—signified the empire, the luoshu reality imagined on an imperial scale. The four Buddhist peaks—Wutai shan, Emei shan, Putuo shan, Jiuhua shan—symbolized Buddha space. They did compete with the five marchmount system: both constructed, projected, and mediated a reality. These mountains were as much negotiated products as they were natural, the result of both an imagined and projected geography. Thus it is significant, yet not at all surprising, that Tiantong monastery was built on the slopes of a mountain and that much is written about this in a variety of gazetteers. One common answer as to why monasteries were built in mountains is because of the peace and soli-

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tude. However, many Buddhists arguments propose that if the mind can be made peaceful it can be done on a mountaintop or in a bustling city. Besides, the number of urban monks in China, both past and present, is high indeed. I do not think it useful to approach Chinese monasticism from an urban-versus-rural framework. The difference is not as great as it might seem. 7. For example, during the Ming period (1368–1644) the area was known as Ningbo prefecture and so the regional capital was also called Ningbo. 8. See Shiba Yoshinobu’s work, such as Commerce and Society in Sung China, trans. Mark Elvin (Ann Arbor: Michigan Abstracts of Chinese and Japanese Works on Chinese History No. 2, 1970); “Ningpo and Its Hinterland,” in G. William Skinner, ed., The City in Late Imperial China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1977); and “Urbanization and the Development of Markets in the Lower Yangtze Valley,” in John Winthrop Haeger, ed., Crisis and Prosperity in Sung China (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1975). Shiba is the foremost specialist on the socioeconomics of the Mingzhou (Ningbo) region. See also Linda Walton, “Kinship, Marriage, and Status in Sung China: A Study of the Lou Lineage of Ningbo, c.1050–1250,” Journal of Asian History 18, no. 1 (1984): 35–77. 9. There were 624 boats officially registered in Yin county in the mid-thirteenth century (Mei Yingfa, Kaiqing siming xuzhi, Songyuan difangzhi congshu [Taipei: Dahua shuju, 1980]), 6:3b. Unfortunately we have no way of telling how many were owned or controlled by Buddhist monasteries. 10. Shiba Yoshinobu, “Ningbo and Its Hinterland,” 396. Also see Shiba Yoshinobu, “Sōdai Meishū no toshika to chi-iki kaihatsu” (The regional development and urbanization of Sung dynasty Mingchou), Machikaneyama ronsō 3 (1969): 127–149. The prefecture had a strong agricultural economy and a well-developed irrigation system. See Shiba Yoshinobu, “Urbanization and the Development of Markets in the Lower Yangtze Valley,” 30. With the shift of imperial officials from the north to the south during the early twelfth century, the prefecture also became a new home to many well-known political personalities. Probably the most famous was the Shi family, one of the most politically prominent families of the Song dynasties, between 960 and 1270 c.e. See Richard L. Davis, Court and Family in Sung China, 960–1279: Bureaucratic Success and Kinship Fortunes for the Shih of Ming-chou (Durham: Duke University Press, 1986). Famous families also created charitable estates in Ming prefecture, like the Lou family, who set up 500 mu of land in Yin county (see, for example, Yanyou siming zhi, 4:27b). Another famous Mingzhou resident during the northern Song was the statesman Wang Anshi, the chief administrative

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officer of Mingzhou in the 1040s. There were also the Fans, Lis, Zhangs, Zhous, and perhaps the most famous, the Shis. 11. The location of the new capital Lin’an, in the south, was previously a region with few residents but had already begun to transform around the Six Dynasties period (220– 589). Shiba, “Ningpo and Its Hinterland,” 391. During the Sui and the Tang dynasties, a period of roughly three hundred years (581–907 c.e.), this “backwater” was made the terminus of the Grand Canal, which forever altered its economic status. Those with wealth generated a considerable need for more goods, and thus Lin’an became a financial and transportation center. See Liang Keng-yao, Songdai shehui jingjishi lunji (Essays on the socioeconomic history of the Song dynasty), (Taipei: Chongchen wenhua, 1997), 1:499. By the early thirteenth century, the Liangzhe region, with many navigable rivers, was the economic center of China. The counties surrounding the new capital were the first to reap the rewards of economic growth, although this situation quickly changed as improving transportation networks allowed for faster movement of merchandise. There was tremendous improvement in the condition and durability of roads and bridges. Paddy rice culture had been perfected in the Liangzhe/Lower Yangzi valley area. See John Stuermer on use of polders (fields enclosed by dikes) that allowed for the reclamation of rich alluvial soil (“Polder Construction and the Pattern of Land Ownership in the T’ai-hu Basin during the Southern Sung Dynasty” [Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania, 1980]). Liangzhe and Jiangnan circuits, the larger regional units surrounding the new capital Lin’an, comprised two zones, the fertile alluvial plains (about 30 percent of total land surface in the region), and to the south, the mountainous regions interspersed with valleys and hills (approximately 70 percent of the region). Shiba, “Ningpo and Its Hinterland,” 391. 12. While much territory was lost in the shift from the Northern to the Southern Song, the Southern Song empire was still huge. It comprised some 16 provinces each having approximately 10 prefectures and 5 subprefectures (counties), with a total population of about 60 million. Territory was divided into circuits (lu), prefectures (zhou), and counties (xian), a circuit being the largest territorial administrative jurisdiction. Some 20,000 officials moved down from Kaifeng to Lin’an (Liang Keng-yao, Songdai shehui jingjishi lunji, 497). By the mid-thirteenth century this number had risen to 24,000. See Thomas H.C. Lee, Government Education and Examinations in Sung China (Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press, 1985), 225. Lin’an’s population quickly settled at around one to two million. Family relations were vital. See Beverly J. Bossler, Powerful Relations: Kinship Status and the State in Sung China (960–1279) (Cambridge, Mass.: Council on East

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Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1998). Intellectual life was ratified by educational systems designed to perpetuate those in power, the civil examination system was expanded, and commerce thrived. 13. Baoqing Siming zhi, 12:2a. 14. Yuan Jue, Yanyou siming zhi (Gazetteer of Siming, Yanyou period, 1314–20), 1:6b–7b, Songyuan difangzhi congshu (Taipei: Dahua shuju, 1980). 15. Huang Runyu (1389–1477), Ningbofu jianyao zhi (Concise gazetteer of Ningbo prefecture) Ningbo jianyao zhi, 1:2a–2b, Siku quanshu cunmu congshu (Tainan, Taiwan: Zhuangyan wenhua shiye youxian gongsi, 1996). 16. For more on Abbot Faxuan, see Tiantong si zhi, 3:2b. 17. “Yin xian siyuan,” “Chansi,” Yanyou Siming zhi, 17:2b3a. 18. For more on Abbot Zongbi, see Tiantong si zhi, 3:3a. 19. When Zhao Kuangyin, in a brilliant coup, gained political control among his contemporaries and founded the Northern Song in 960 c.e., he attempted to establish a more clearly defined center of power. See Peter Lorge, War, Politics and Society in Early Modern China, 900–1795 (New York: Routledge, 2005). The reassertion of centralized authority lay at the heart of Northern Song political change. Faced with threats in the northwest and particularly the Liao state in the northeast, and forced to flee south in the 1120s, the new Southern Song dynasty did not manage to gain limited stability of the frontier and its own stability until the 1130s. The collapse of the Northern Song dynasty and the retreat to South China in the early twelfth century constituted a disruption considerable enough to alter the dynamics of power in the Chinese empire: in 1126 China became decentered. Even the temporary name of the new capital signified this: it was at first called Xingcai—a temporary residence for the son of heaven. Later it was called Lin’an (what is today the site of Hangzhou). Zhejiang province (then called the Liangzhe region) was chosen as the region least exposed to attacks from rebels. Moreover, Gaozong, the founder of the Southern Song, and his mother came from this region. See Liang Keng-yao, Songdai shehui jingjishi lunji, 1:508. The Southern Song was far more localized than previous dynasties and had the benefit of increased technological developments. See Robert Hymes, Statesmen and Gentlemen: The Elite of Fu-chou, Chiang-Hsi, in the Northern and Southern Sung (London and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 210. These developments included tremendous advancements in farming tools and land specialization of crops. See, for example, Lawrence J. C. Ma, Commercial Development and Urban Change in Sung China (960–1279) (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Department of Geography, 1971), 14. Moveable type in printing had already been

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in use since the early eleventh century, and astronomical clocks were commonplace. There were improvements in inland waterway technology, as well as significant changes in shipping transportation technology. Shiba, Commerce and Society in Sung China, 5. Ships were larger and transport networks grew at an unprecedented pace. Liang Kengyao, Songdai shehui jingjishi lunji, 1:502–4. By the late Song, there were at least 35 different types of inland watercraft, 10 types of seagoing vessels, 21 types of ferries, and 10 varieties of warships. Shiba, Commerce and Society in Sung China, 6–7. Trading junks became more common and were operated by local Chinese. Income from maritime trade increased to 20 percent of the Song empire revenue. This went hand in hand with improved techniques of navigation. The speed at which trade occurred increased dramatically. Ma, Commercial Development and Urban Change in Sung China, 38. Trade routes extended as far as East Africa, Japan, Indo-China, India, and Malaysia. The most important exports were textiles, porcelain, tea, copper cash, and precious metals, and the principle imports included incense, perfumes, spices, pearls, ivory, coral, amber, and crystals. See Etienne Balazs, Chinese Civilization and Bureaucracy—Variations on a Theme, trans. H. M. Wright (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1964), 84, and Shiba, Commerce and Society in Sung China, 2. Along with the growth in commerce came an increase in urbanization and an overall change in urban structures. The urban ward ( fang) system and the urban market system declined and trade actually increased as trading hour restrictions were rescinded. Large Buddhist monasteries thrived during this period and well beyond. 20. For more on Abbot Hongzhi Zhengjue, see Tiantong si zhi, 3:11b–13a. 21. Yanyou Siming zhi, 17:3a. 22. Like any physical construction in early and late imperial China, Tiantong monastery’s hundreds of structures, were frequently destroyed and reconstructed over the centuries. The site is very old, the buildings sometimes far newer. Fire was a constant threat, as were war, harsh weather, famine, disease, and local uprisings. 23. Tiantong si zhi, 5 quan. 24. Built c. 841 c.e. Locally this pagoda is also called Xiaobai ta (lit. small bright pagoda). 25. One gazetteer says to look out for the Seven Pagoda Park, the Well of the Immortals, Guanyin’s grotto, and the Watery Moon Pavilion. The ten famous sights of Mount Taibai were vistas to be acknowledged and appreciated by any poet-scholar-tourist-pilgrim after their long walk up to the monastery, or by the monk in search of solitude. Tiantong si zhi, 166–168. 26. As is to be expected, all the food is strictly vegetarian. Lunch is a simple affair typically

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with fried vegetables, “bread rolls” (mantou), and soup. A monk beats a wooden fish (muyu) to indicate when to begin eating. 27. This poem, written by Shu Dan during the Song period (960–1279), describes the main peak of Tiantong Mountain. Tiantong si zhi, 1:2a. Shu Dan, who hailed from Ming prefecture, was a contemporary of Wang Anshi. See Songshi, 329, v. 30 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1959). See chapter 3 for more poems about Tiantong monastery and its surrounding landscape. 28. These woodcuts were made from drawings done by Shanxi, a monk. The carver’s surname is Yang. For another description of these woodcuts see Timothy Brook, Praying for Power: Buddhism and the Formation of Gentry Society in Late-Ming China (Cambridge, Mass.: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1993), 127–133. 29. These woodcuts are Republican period (early twentieth century). 30. J. Prip-Moller, Chinese Buddhist Monasteries; Their Plan and Its Function as a Setting for Buddhist Monastic Life (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1967), is still the best work we have. No two monastic layouts are exactly alike; however, the similarities are remarkable. 31. See Prip-Moller, Chinese Buddhist Monasteries. Jeffrey Meyer explains that the precious hall is indeed “the culmination of the temple complex, the most sacred place where the journey of the worshipper reaches its spiritual climax.” Jeffrey F. Meyer, “Chinese Buddhist Monastic Temples as Cosmograms,” Sacred Architecture in the Traditions of India, China, and Japan, Cosmos 8 (1992): 80–81. This is the realm of rupadhatu, where the great buddhas can be encountered. 32. The center is also Mount Meru, the mountain at the center of the cosmos. See W. Randolph Kloetzi, “A Buddhist Cosmology,” in Encyclopedia of Religion, ed. Mircea Eliade (New York: Macmillan, 1987). 33. Meyer, “The Chinese Buddhist Monastic Temple as Cosmogram,” 76. 34. The practice of fengshui is a complicated topic. For a brief introduction in English see chapter 4 of Richard J. Smith, Fortune-Tellers and Philosophers: Divination in Traditional Chinese Society (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1991), as well as Ronald G. Knapp, China’s Living Houses: Folk Beliefs, Symbols, and Household Orientation (Hawaii: University of Hawaii Press, 1999). Also see Jeffey F. Meyer, “Feng-shui of the Chinese City,” History of Religions 8, no. 2 (Nov. 1978): 138–155. 35. An excellent discussion can also be found in Meyer, “Chinese Buddhist Monastic Temples as Cosmograms,” 71–92. 36. Interestingly, Meyer points out that in earlier times large Buddhist monasteries may

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have also had a fangshengyuan, a stablelike structure for the safekeeping of farm animals. “Chinese Buddhist Monastic Temples as Cosmograms,” 78. 37. Jeffrey Meyer makes the convincing argument that we see the lohan, figures not particularly revered in Mahayana Buddhism, precisely because Chinese monasteries are “products of the literary tradition of monastic Buddhism,” in other words, products of the sutras made material in monastic space. See “Chinese Buddhist Monastic Temples as Cosmograms,” 81. 38. An approximate reading for the location of Tiantong monastery is: 29° 48’ 33” N, and 121° 47’ 44” E. I would like to thank Tracy Miller and Peter Lorge for these details. 39. See Jeffrey F. Meyer, The Dragons of Tian’anmen: Beijing as a Sacred City (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1991). 40. One of the richest works on Chinese cities, enough so to be deemed a classic, is Paul Wheatley’s The Pivot of the Four Quarters; a Preliminary Enquiry Into the Origins and Character of the Ancient Chinese City (Chicago: Aldine, 1971). Also see Jeffrey Meyer, Myths in Stone: Religious Dimensions of Washington, D.C. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001), Diana L. Eck, Banaras: City of Light (New York: Columbia University Press, 1998). Bardwell Smith and Holly Baker Reynolds, The City as a Sacred Center: Essays on Six Asian Continents (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1987). 41. Paul Wheatley points out that in fact Chang’an was 16 degrees west of true north, a discrepancy he attributes to an instrumental error. Wheatley, The Pivot of the Four Quarters, 427. For a detailed and complex discussion of Chang’an during the Han period, see Wu Hung, “The Monumental City Chang’an,” in his book Monumentality in Early Chinese Art and Architecture (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1995), 143–187. Also see Victor Cunrui Xiong, Sui-Tang Chang’an: A Study in the Urban History of Medieval China (Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan), 2000. 42. See for example, Joseph Needham, Science and Civilization in China, vol. 2 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959), 253–261. 43. Meyer, The Dragons of Tiananmen, 29. 44. See Anna Seidel, “Imperial Treasures and Taoist Sacraments: Taoist Roots in the Apocrypha,” in Tantric and Taoist Studies in Honour of R. A. Stein, ed. Michel Strickmann (Bruixelles: Institut Belge Des Hautes Études Chinoises, 1983), 2:298. 45. Richard Wilhelm, trans., The I Ching or Book of Changes, Eng. by Cary F. Baynes (New York: Pantheon, 1950), 344. 46. For further discussion see Joseph Needham, Science and Civilization in China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959), 3:55–62.

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47. See John S. Major, “The Five Phases, Magic Squares, and Schematic Cosmography,” in Explorations in Early Chinese Cosmology, ed. Henry Rosemont Jr. (Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1984), 137. 48. For a study of Beijing as a luoshu, see Meyer, “Feng-shui of the Chinese City,” and Dragons of Tiananmen. 49. See Meyer, Dragons of Tiananmen. 50. Required reading on this topic must start with Rudolf Otto, The Idea of The Holy: An Inquiry Into the Non-Rational Factor in the Idea of the Divine and Its Relation to the Rational, trans. John W. Harvey (New York: Oxford University Press, 1950), and Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane: The Nature of Religion, trans. Willard R. Trask (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1959). 51. Edward W. Soja, Postmodern Geographies: The Reassertion of Space in Critical Social Theory (London and New York: Verso, 1989), 73. See also Denis E. Cosgrove, “Towards a Radical Cultural Geography: Problems of Theory,” Antipode 15, no. 1 (1983), 1–11, and Henri Lefebvre’s work; both have dramatically changed the way space is interpreted. Roger Friedland and Richard D. Hecht argue: “The modern world has not gone far beyond poetic metaphors in its efforts to understand sacred and profane space.” In their work on the modern-day city of Jerusalem, Friedland and Hecht, in arguing for a new interpretation of urban environments, have demonstrated the fundamental importance of showing the connection between sociohistorical factors and the production of space. See chapter 2 in Jamie Scott and Paul Simpson-Housley, eds., Sacred Places and Profane Spaces: Essays in the Geographics of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam (New York: Greenwood Press, 1991); Friedland and Hecht, “Rocks, Roads and Ramot Control: The Other War for Jerusalem,” Soundings 72, no. 2–3 (Summer/Fall 1989): 227–273; and Friedland and Hecht, To Rule Jerusalem (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996). 52. See also Lindsay Jones, The Hermeneutics of Sacred Architecture: Experience, Interpretation, Comparison, vols. 1 and 2 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Center for the Study of World Religions, 2000). 53. Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane, 32–35. 54. Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane, 23–28. 55. Every religious tradition and culture has stories about itself and its past. These stories (myths) tell of the creation and ordering of the world (cosmogony). In it we learn how space was constructed (sacred vs. profane) and how the sacred manifested itself in the world (hierophany). Ritual makes the space sacred and defines the location of the axis

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mundi. That is the Center, the cosmic axis. For Eliade, every sacred space is inherently set apart from homogenous space, and incorporates a fusion of a hierophany with a Center. 56. Jonathan Z. Smith, To Take Place: Toward Theory in Ritual (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 104. Also see Smith, Imagining Religion: From Babylon to Jonestown (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982), 55. 57. Charles H. Long, Significations: Signs, Symbols, and Images in the Interpretation of Religion (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1986), 1–70. 58. David Chidester and Edward T. Linenthal, eds., American Sacred Space (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1995). 59. Soja, Postmodern Geographies, 129. 60. Soja, Postmodern Geographies, 130. The everyday discourses emitted from such an arena are dependent on conditioned bodies as social agents of change. These discourses map out the mode of existence via the human body, that ultimate functionary of monastic action, spatial practice, and Center construction. 61. Lefebvre, The Production of Space, 331. 62. See Prip-Moller, Chinese Buddhist Monasteries. 63. See Jeffrey Meyer’s work, as well as Rosemont, Explorations in Early Chinese Cosmology. Meyer concludes a recent article: “the Chinese monastic temple is a remarkable accomplishment. It manages to incorporate the cyclic Buddhist world view with its ‘externalized world center’ of the precious hall, and the more linear Chinese world view its egocentered viewpoint on the progression of the family from past to future. The iconography was thoroughly Buddhist, the structure Chinese, and the outcome of this blending was a harmonious temple complex which did justice to both sensibilities.” “Chinese Buddhist Monastic Temples as Cosmograms,” 90. 64. One obvious example of this is the journey of a pilgrim to a sacred center where the sacred comes to be imagined, defined, and articulated via human action, that is to say, cultural practice. On pilgrimage, see, for instance, Simon Coleman and John Eade, eds., Reframing Pilgrimage: Cultures in Motion (London and New York: Routledge, 2004), and W. Moskovich and S. Schwarzband, eds., Semiotics of Pilgrimage (Jerusalem: Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Center for Slavic Languages and Literatures, 2003). For Japan, see Ian Reader, Making Pilgrimages: Meaning and Practice in Shikoku (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2005). For China, see Susan Naquin and Yu Chun-fang, eds., Pilgrims and Sacred Sites in China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992). See also Victor and Edith Turner, who make the interesting case that “pilgrims are an

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expression of the communitas dimension of any society” (Image and Pilgrimage in Christian Culture: Anthropological Perspectives [New York: Columbia University Press, 1978], 32).

3 . C o r p o r at e B o d i e s

1. Mary Douglas, How Institutions Think (Syracuse, N.Y.: Syracuse University Press, 1986), 128. 2. I recall once being approached by a Hare Krishna monk in Seattle’s Sea-Tac International Airport. “Have you ever seen a monk!” he yelled at me. “I am right now seeing one!” I yelled back. It was a strange encounter. 3. See the Oxford English Dictionary for more detailed examples (http://dictionary.oed. com). 4. Again, see all of Gregory Schopen’s work in this regard. 5. The act of ordination, during which time the renunciation took place, was often recognized as producing a distinct legal category in law codes, but the renunciation of wealth itself was not understood literally and was not legally relevant as such. 6. The same was largely true in medieval English monasteries where, for example, a personal stake in the monastic economy was rarely incompatible with monastic possessions. As Janet Burton points out, “poverty was personal, not corporate.” Monastic and Religious Orders in Britain, 1000–1300 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 233. In China, however, the Buddhist sangha could be conceived of as a corporation that was, in principle, the owner of everything that was donated. Monks and nuns sometimes did have private wealth independent of their monastic institutional affiliation. 7. Richard F. Gombrich, Theravada Buddhism: A Social History from Ancient Benares to Modern Colombo (London and New York: Routledge, 1988), 100. An exception to this was the cultivation of fruit. Also, cultivating land would take time away from their meditation schedule. 8. Gombrich, Theravada Buddhism, 69. 9. Gombrich, Theravada Buddhism, 67. 10. Qtd. in Yü Ying-shih, “Intellectual Breakthroughs in the T’ang-Sung Transition,” inThe Power of Culture: Studies in Chinese Cultural History, ed. Willard J. Peterson, et al. (Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press, 1994), 161. 11. Kenneth K.  S. Ch’en, The Chinese Transformation of Buddhism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973), 142. Nor did Buddhist doctrine interfere with types of economic

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exchange now considered exploitative. During the Tang period (618–907 c.e.) in China, for example, it was quite common for individuals with excessive debt to mortgage themselves out to Buddhist monasteries as temple workers. Most of the larger Buddhist monasteries owned slaves who worked their land. 12. Joseph P. McDermott, “Chartering Blank Spaces and Disputed Regions: The Problem of Sung Land Tenure,” Journal of Asian Studies 44, no. 1 (Nov. 1984): 33. 13. Tao Xisheng discusses this period in his article, “Yuan dai fosi tianyuan ji shangdian,” in Fojiao jingji yanjiu lunji (Collected essays on the research of Buddhist economics), ed. Zhang Mantao (Taipei: Dacheng wenhua chuban sheyinhang, 1977), 278–279. 14. McDermott, “Chartering Blank Spaces and Disputed Regions,” 20. McDermott explains, “In Southern Song legal decisions the land guest was classified as his master’s servant [pu] whereas the tenant guest was classified as his master’s tenant [dian]—a legal category inferior to that of a master [zhu], but in no demonstratable way identical to that of a servant.” 15. Ch’en, The Chinese Transformation of Buddhism, 144. 16. See also Xie Zhongguang, Han-Tang fojiao shehui shilun (Collected essays on Buddhist social history from the Han to the Tang), (Taipei: Guoji wenhua shiye youxian gongsi, 1990), 115–138. 17. See Guanding’s commentary to the Dabo niepan jingshu (Mahaparinirvana), 10:98b, T.38, no. 1767 (Taipei: Baima jingshe yinjinghui, 1988). 18. Zhipan, Fozu tongji, 4:164a, T.49, no. 2035 (Taipei: Xinwenfeng chuban gongsi, 1983). 19. Gernet points out that the bulk of the changzhu, “permanent assets,” of the sangha were “impure” goods, but because of the sanctity of the Three Jewels (Buddha, Dharma, Sangha) the monks would not suffer any negative karmic results. Jacques Gernet, Buddhism in Chinese Society: An Economic History from the Fifth to the Tenth Centuries, trans. Franciscus Verellen (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995). 20. In principle, not in practice, Theravada law forbade monks and nuns from owning personal property. Mohan Wijayaratna, Buddhist Monastic Life According to the Texts of the Theravada Tradition, trans. Claude Grangier and Steven Collins (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 27. 21. Tao Xisheng, “Yuan dai fosi tianyuan ji shangdian,” 46. 22. Gernet points out, however, that there is little documentation regarding the rights of inheritance of Buddhist monks in China. He does offer a few examples though. See Gernet, Buddhism in Chinese Society, 79–85. 23. “Shihuo,” 17:30 “Shangshui,” Songhui yaojigao (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1957).

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24. Ibid. 25. Zhuang Liyu, Jileipian, juan zhong: 52, Congshuji chengxinbian, v. 86 (Taipei: Xinwenfeng, 1985–86). 26. Chen Liao, “Tianqing guanhuo xingge ji,” Yunchao ji 7 (Shanghai: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1936). For more on Chen Liao (1032–85), see Songshi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1959), v. 30, J. 31. 27. Literally, “eat meat and drink wine.” 28. The Huichang persecution in the ninth century is the most well-known example. 29. Setting up a market required a delicate balance between those who had local power (clans, monasteries, merchants) and those who laid imperial claim to represent local power (local government offices). The latter were vital in ensuring political and legal protection. Local officials wanted to collect revenues from the market, and local merchants would contract themselves out to do the collecting. There were over a dozen terms for different types of markets during the Song; nine alone referred to different levels of rural markets (Yoshinobu Shiba, Commerce and Society in Sung China, trans. Mark Elvin [Ann Arbor: Michigan Abstracts of Chinese and Japanese Works on Chinese History No. 2, 1970], 142). Sometimes village markets were called “Daoist gatherings” (daohui) or “Buddhist gatherings” (fohui) (149). They varied in size depending on their location and the needs of the local community. Many markets were placed in front of Buddhist monasteries to take advantage of Buddhist devotees coming to worship. 30. Huang Jin, “Baolin Huayan jiaosi ji,” Jinhua Huang Xiansheng wenji, 12:2a, Sibu congkan chubian (Taipei: Xinwenfeng, 1989). 31. Huang Min-chih suggests two reasons Buddhist monasteries would operate medical dispensaries: Buddhist monks and nuns wanted to help those in pain and in poor health, and most, if not all monastic institutions who operated such medical businesses did so at a profit. Huang Min-chih, Songdai fojiao shehui jingjishi lunji (Essays on the socioeconomic history of Buddhism during the Song dynasty) (Taipei: Taiwan xueshengshu, 1989), 220. 32. In the twelfth-century European some monasteries established “hospitals” as a way to attract endowments. Burton, Monastic and Religious Orders in Britain, 1000–1300. 33. Wu Yi-li, “Transmitted Secrets: The Doctors of the Lower Yangzi Region and Popular Gynecology in Late Imperial China” (Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 1998). 34. Ibid., 91. Naturally, this evoked concern, as treating female patients was a potential transgression for many Buddhists; clearly this was not an issue here. 35. See Wu Yi-li, “Transmitted Secrets,” chapter 3. She translates the term (chengyao) as “ready-made medicine” which the monks apparently sold in great quantity.

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36. Also see Raoul Birnbaum, The Healing Buddha (Boulder, Colo.: Shambhala, 1979). 37. Gernet, Buddhism in Chinese Society, 143. 38. In medieval Europe, whenever possible, monasteries built water mills to grind grain to sell to the common people. J. Patrick Greene, Medieval Monasteries (London and New York: Leicester University Press, 1992), 126. 39. Lu Yaoyu, “Guangci chanyuan zhuci zishizhong bei,” Jinshi xubian, 13:33b–36a, Shike shiliao xinbian (Taipei: Yiwen yinshuguan, 1966). 40. In modern-day Shaanxi province. 41. Also in modern-day Shaanxi province. 42. Wen Xingdao and De Jie, Tiantong si zhi (Gazetteer of Tiantong monastery), Zhongguo fosi shizhi huika (Taipei: Mingwen shuju yinxing, 1980), 2:5b. 43. See also Furubayashi Morihiro, “Sōdai ji-in no atsu-usu kei-ei,” (The management of temple mills in the Song), Kenkyū kiyō (Akashi kōgyō kōtō senmon gakkō) 9 (1970): 43–48, and by the same author, Sōdai sangyō keizaishi kenkyū (Study of industrial economics in the Sung dynasty), Tokyo: Kokusho Kankōai,1987. 44. Shi Huihong, “Zhongxiu sengtang ji,” Shimen wenzi chan, 21:16a, Zhongguo fojiao conhshu/Chan zongbian (Nanjing: Jiangsu gujie chubanshe, 1993). 45. See Ch’en, The Chinese Transformation of Buddhism, and Shiba, Commerce and Society in Sung China, 80–87. 46. Yang Lien-Sheng, Studies in Chinese Institutional History (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1961), 198–200. Yang provides several examples of Buddhist pawnshops. 47. Ibid., 202. This particular property tax was called hemai. 48. “Shihuo,” 70:102a–b, Songhui yaojigao. For more on Buddhist pawnshops see T. S. Whelan, The Pawnshop in China (based on Yang Chao-yü, Chung-kuo tien-tang yeh [The Chinese pawnbroking industry]) (Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan, 1979), and Huang Min-chih, “Songdai fojiao siyuan de changshengku,” paper presented at Taiwan National University, Conference on Song Dynasty Social History, May 10–11, 1999. 49. Here is a significant difference between medieval Chinese Buddhist monasteries and European monasteries. In Europe, this type of “money lending” was called usury and constituted a grave sin in the thirteenth century. Jacques Le Goff discusses this problem in his book, Your Money or Your Life: Economy and Religion in the Middle Ages, trans. Patricia Ranum (New York: Zone Books, 1988). Le Goff suggests that usury was understood as theft (27)—a “theft of property and a theft of time” (39) from people and from

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God. The punishment for usury was condemnation to hell, for usury by its nature (de natura) was a sin against justice (Thomas Aquinas). Le Goff’s aim is to show how the controversies surrounding the concept of usury were the “labor pains of capitalism” (9) and to demonstrate how “an ideological obstacle can fetter or delay the development of a new economic system” (69). 50. Gernet, Buddhism in Chinese Society, 166. 51. Qtd. in Huang Min-chih, Songdai fojiao, 223. 52. Daoxuan hailed from Zhejiang province. His common name was Qian. Daoxuan became a monk at age sixteen. See Song gaoseng zhuan, Dazangjing, T. 2061, v. 50, J. 14. 53. Shiba, Commerce and Society in Sung China, 158. 54. Yang Lien-Sheng, Studies in Chinese Institutional History, 198–207. 55. Shiba, Commerce and Society in Sung China, 111. 56. Shiba, Commerce and Society in Sung China, 113. 57. Zhu Yu, Pingzhou ketan, 2:21a, Siku quanshu zhenben, v. 235 (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1981). 58. Meng Yuanlao, “Xiangguo si wanxing jiaoyi,” Dongjing meng hualu, 3:3a–b, Siku quanshu, v. 589 (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1983). Meng Yuanlao lived during the Northern Song, and his text, Dongjing meng hualu (usually translated as “The eastern capital: a dream of splendors past”), provides an excellent example of biji (lit. miscellaneous notes). 59. Huang Min-chih, Songdai fojiao shehui jingjishi lunji, 215. 60. Huang Min-chih, Songdai fojiao shehui jingjishi lunji, 215 (“Zhiguan,” 19:8, Songhui yaojigao). 61. Zhang Kangbo hailed from Yang prefecture. Songshi, 351/14, “xia.” 62. For more on paper and printing see Joseph Needham and Tsien Tsuen-hsuin, Science and Civilization in China, Volume 5: Chemistry and Chemical Technology, Part 1: Paper and Printing (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 2–5; Tsien Tsuen-hsuin, Written on Bamboo and Silk: The Beginning of Chinese Books and Inscriptions (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1962); Fang Hao, “Songdai fojiao dui Zhongguo yinshua ji zaozhi zhi gongxian” (The contribution of Song dynasty Buddhism to China’s printing and paper production), Dalu zazhi 4, no. 41 (1952): 15–23; L. C. Goodrich, “The Development of Printing in China and Its Effects on the Renaissance Under the Sung Dynasty,” Journal of the Hong Kong Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 3 (1963): 36–43; and Thomas F. Carter, The Invention of Printing in China and Its Spread Westward (New York: Ronald Press, 1925).

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63. Tsien Tsuen-hsuin, Written on Bamboo and Silk, 131. 64. Huang Min-chih, Songdai fojiao shehui jingjishi lunji, 217. 65. Carter, The Invention of Printing in China and Its Spread Westward, 37–66. 66. Both in China and in Middle Ages Europe, the reading public was small, whereas the financing, technology, and interest were sustained in monasteries. In Europe, it was not until the Renaissance and the Reformation that the demand for Bibles and other reading material increased. 67. See Quan Hansheng, “Songdai siyuan suo jingying zhi gongshangye (Commercial enterprises of Song dynasty monasteries), Beijing daxue sishi zhounian jinian lunwenji yi­ bian (Beijing: Beijing University Press, 1939), 16–32. 68. Buddhist monasteries often offered accommodation for traveling officials and other monks (in European medieval monasteries, hospitality to travelers was an obligation; Greene, Medieval Monasteries, 9). The Japanese monk Ennin traveled around China in the Tang dynasty, staying at the hostels of Buddhist monasteries. See Edwin O. Rei­ schauer, trans., Ennin’s Diary: The Record of a Pilgrimage to China in Search of the Law (New York: Ronald Press, 1955). Certainly by the Song period and especially into the fourteenth century, monasteries operating hostels were quite common. Huang Minchih, Songdai fojiao shehui jingjishi lunji, 219–220. 69. For centuries, Buddhist monasteries were active producers of tea, which was a highprofit industry in China. See Fang Hao, “Songdai senglü duiyu zai cha zhi gongxian” (The contribution of Song dynasty Buddhist monks to tea production), Dalu zazhi 29, no. 4 (1964): 124–128. Also Saeki Tomi, Sōdai chahō kenkyū shiryō (Research materials on Song dynasty tea production) (Kyoto: Toho bunka kenkyūjo, 1941). Moreover, monasteries often controlled water sources to make the tea. Timothy Brook, Praying for Power: Buddhism and the Formation of Gentry Society in Late-Ming China (Cambridge, Mass.: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1993), 113. By the Song period, tea production by monasteries was common in Fujian province, as most of the best tea came from that region. Quan Hansheng, “Songdai siyuan suo jingying zhi gongshangye,” 19. 70. Dao Xuan, Xu gaoseng zhuan, 25:651a, Lidai Gaoseng zhuan (Shanghai: Shanghai shudian, 1989). See also Himanshu Prabha Ray, Monastery and Guild-Commerce Under the Satavahanas (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1986), and Xinru Liu, Ancient India and Ancient China—Trade and Religious Exchanges, a.d. 1–600 (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1988). 71. In recent decades relatively few scholars have stressed the importance the institutionalization of economic processes in Chinese Buddhism and the impact this had on the rest

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of the Chinese empire, compared with the number of studies of Buddhist doctrine, “belief systems,” schools of philosophical thought, and the history of ideas. By way of contrast, there are many excellent studies on the relation between economics and religion in the West. See Burton, Monastic and Religious Orders in Britain, 1000–1300. Land remained the most important asset any medieval European monastery could have in its possession. Scholars of medieval European monasteries tend to provide lengthy accounts of the relationships between a monastic institution and the local community surrounding it, taxes paid by monasteries, daily economic details, etc. Scholars such as Chikusa Masaaki and Michihata Ryōshū have greatly contributed to such an approach to Buddhism in society. Liu Xinru, Denis Twitchett, and Huang Min-chih have written on the economic materialities of Buddhism in the Chinese context. Liu Xinru suggests that Buddhist monasteries were closely connected to the rise and decline of urban centers during the Song period. See Liu Xinru, Ancient India and Ancient China. Edward Conze has noted the “urbanity” of Buddhism in India during its formative stages. See Conze, A Short History of Buddhism (Oxford: Oneworld Publications, 1996). In Fojiao jingji yanjiu lunji (Collected essays on the research of Buddhist economics), editor Zhang Mantao argues that the study of economics and Buddhism is a weak area in scholarship, and only after the impact of Japanese scholars who were heavily influenced by social history from the West did scholars begin to take notice of this approach. All the authors in this volume argue strongly that the relations between socioeconomics and Buddhism ought not to be ignored. Most stress the importance of addressing doctrinal issues while focusing on material practices. Jacques Gernet argues for a more sustained focus on economics in understanding Buddhism’s place in Chinese society. In 1956, in his book Buddhism in Chinese Society: An Economic History from the Fifth to the Tenth Centuries (cited earlier), he demonstrates that Buddhist institutions were involved in many different kinds of economic activities. Gernet relies heavily on materials from the Western parts of China, particularly Dunhuang. Denis Twitchett, however, questions how far these documents can be used to generalize about the whole of Chinese society during the medieval period. See Denis Twitchett, “Monasteries and China’s Economy in Medieval Times,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 19.1.3 (1957): 527. 72. For instance, during the late imperial period (Wanli era) there was the famous Yuji (jade table) Society, which met regularly at Ayuwang Monastery to compose poetry. 73. Two complete juan of the Baoqing gazetteer are dedicated to the gazetteer of Yin county. Luo Jun, “Yin xian,” Baoqing siming zhi (Gazetteer of Siming, Baoqing period, 1225–27) Baoqing siming zhi, 12–13, Songyuan difangzhi congshu (Taipei: Dahua shuju, 1980).

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74. See also Mei Yingfa, comp., Kaiqing siming xuzhi, Songyuan difangzhi congshu (Taipei: Dahua shuju, 1980), 4:27a. 75. See Brook, Praying for Power, 253. 76. For a concrete example, see Ronald C. Egan, Word, Image, and Deed in the Life of Su Shi (Cambridge, Mass. and London: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1994), particularly chapter 6. Countless examples can be found of literati spending time at Buddhist monasteries, writing poems inspired by Buddhism (during the Song period, particularly Chan Buddhism) and composing essays. For a Ming period example, see Timothy Brook’s discussion of the gentry personality, Zhang Dai, in, Praying for Power. 77. “Yuzhuang zhongxiu jingci si beiwen,” Wulin jinshiji, Shike shiliao xinbian (Taipei: Yiwen yinshuguan, 1966), 1:14a–15a. The wushan shicha, the five-mountain/tenmonastery system, is discussed further in chapter 4. 78. As mentioned earlier, Wang Anshi was the county magistrate of Yin for three years during the mid-eleventh century. Some of his essays can be seen in Yuan Jue, comp., Yanyou siming zhi, Songyuan difangzhi congshu (Taipei: Dahua shuju, 1980), 20:10b, 20:11a, 19:12b–13a, etc. 79. “Han Shizhong timing,” Wulin jinshiji, 8:15a. Han Shizhong (1089–1151), a native of Yan’an in Shanxi province, was a famous military official, particularly well known for killing the rebel Fang La. See T. Yoshida, “Han Shih-chung,” Herbert Franke, ed., Sung Biographies (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag GMBH, 1976), 1:373–376. 80. “Youfei laifeng zuofo timing liutong,” Wulin jinshiji, 8:4b–5a. The famous poet Bai Juyi also wrote about the monastery. 81. These estates are discussed in more detail in chapters 4 and 5. 82. Miaoning, “Chongfu siji,” Zhiyuanjia hezhi, 26:1a, Songyuan difangzhi congshu (Taipei: Dahui shuju, 1980). Professor Huang Min-chih has been immensely helpful in pointing me toward several of these references. Her advice has proved invaluable. All translations are my own. 83. Gernet, Buddhism in Chinese Society, 78.

4 . A C u l t u r e o f E s tat e s

1. Cai Jiuxuan, Qingming ji, 14/524. Cf. Brian E. McKnight and James T.C. Liu, trans., The Enlightened Judgments: Ch’ing-Ming Chi: The Sung Dynasty Collection (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999). 2. Said in reference to Buddhist land during the thirteenth century. “Jingtu yuan shetian

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ji,” 17:9b–11b, Biwu wanfang ji, Siku quanshu, v. 1187 (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1982). 3. The two quotes are completely unrelated other than that both were composed during the Song period and written by literati, male scholar-officials (shi) who were products of the age within which they lived. 4. Robert David Sack, Human Territoriality—Its Theory and History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 1. 5. Sack, Human Territoriality, 20. 6. Chao Kang, Man and Land in Chinese History: An Economic Analysis (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1986), 2. Hsu Cho-yun explains that, “no sooner had private landownership been established . . . than land became desirable for the powerful and the wealthy to seize and to accumulate” (Han Agriculture: The Formation of Early Chinese Agrarian Economy [206 b.c.–a.d. 220] [School of International Studies, University of Washington, 1980], 43). 7. However, the notion of “property” in traditional China had little in common with the Western European sense of the term. As H.  F. Schurmann explains: “In land deeds, statutes, and other sources on property relations, the terms used to designate landed property to be transacted or transmitted as inheritance generally do not connote ownership but productiveness. Such terms are, for example, tian, ‘cultivated fields,’ chan, ‘productive medium,’ ye, term denoting cultivation in the abstract sense.” None of these terms has the same connotation as “owned property” in the Western European sense. See H. F. Schurmann, “Traditional Property Concepts in China,” Far Eastern Quarterly 15 (Aug. 1956): 509. See also Allan G. Grapard, “The Economics of Ritual Power,” in Shinto in Historical Perspective, ed. John Breen and Mark Teeuwen (Surrey, U.K.: Curzon Press, 2001). Grapard connects the issues of land management and ownership in medieval Japan to issues concerning, kinship, political authority, and shrines and temples. 8. Hsu Cho-yun has shown that in early China, “commodities flew from one region to another as the empire was unified and that there was neither tariff nor restrictions on any natural resource” (Han Agriculture, 37). Chao Kang’s thesis in Man and Land in Chinese History is that a steady increase in population provided most of the reasons for economic shifts in Chinese history. He stresses the lack of resemblance between European and Chinese economic history. “Overpopulation induced the populace to adopt more labor-intensive technology and labor-absorbing institutions, which in turn raised the limit of tolerance for overpopulation. The population would then expand still further. While capable of alleviating short-run human suffering, China’s institutional resil-

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iency prolonged its economic stagnation” (228). Incidentally, Chao argues that this may well be why an industrial revolution comparable to that of eighteenth-century Europe never took place in Song dynasty China. There was just no need for labor-saving technology in China, as was the case in Europe. Some scholars disagree with Chao Kang’s thesis, or at least find fault with parts of it. See, for example, Wang Yeh-chien’s review of Chao’s book in Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 50, no.1 (June 1990): 407–411. 9. Chao, Man and Land in Chinese History, 67. 10. Chao, Man and Land in Chinese History, 80. 11. Chao, Man and Land in Chinese History, 95. 12. Etienne Balazs, Chinese Civilization and Bureaucracy—Variations on a Theme, trans. H. M. Wright (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1964). 13. Balazs, Chinese Civilization and Bureaucracy, 104. 14. The equitable land system (juntian) was first adopted by Toba Wei in 485 c.e. It is important to note, however, that as Joseph McDermott has explained, there is no indication that the system was ever implemented in South China. See Joseph P. McDermott, “Chartering Blank Spaces and Disputed Regions: The Problem of Sung Land Tenure,” Journal of Asian Studies 44, no. 1 (Nov. 1984): 15. 15. Under the juntian system, monks were awarded 30 mu of koufen land. See Michihata Ryōshū, “Tangdai fojiao siyuan yü jingji wenti,” trans. Li Xiaoben, in Fojiao jingji yanjiu lunji, ed. Zhang Mantao (Taipei: Dacheng wenhua chuban sheyinhang, 1977), 54. 16. Michihata Ryōshū, “Tangdai fojiao siyuan yü jingji wenti,” 30. 17. Tao Xisheng and Ju Qingyuan, Tangdai jingjishi (Economic history of the Tang dynasty) (1936; Taipei: Taiwan shangwu Publishing Company, 1968), 48. Balazs points out that officials could hold land (koufen) from between 200 and 6,000 mu (27.5 to 835 acres). Balazs, Chinese Civilization and Bureaucracy, 117. 18. Under the equitable field system, it was primarily large, powerful institutions—such as wealthy families and Buddhist monasteries—that were able to acquire substantial amounts of private land. These estates were usually supported through a variety of economic enterprises, as discussed in chapter 3. 19. See for example a decree issued in 752 c.e. as translated by Balazs in Chinese Civilization and Bureaucracy, 118. Some surviving contracts found in Turfan show that during the Tang period land was bought and sold contrary to the laws set down by the equitable field system. See Valerie Hansen, Negotiating Daily Life in Traditional China—How Ordinary People Used Contracts, 600–1400 (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1995), 10.

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20. Peter Golas, “Rural China in the Sung,” Journal of Asian Studies 39, no. 2 (1980): 299. 21. Chao Kang points out, however, that zhuangyuan was a new term but not a new land institution since land was privately owned well before the Tang dynasty. Chao, Man and Land in Chinese History, 137. 22. Denis Twitchett, “The Fan Clan’s Charitable Estate, 1050–1760,” in Confucianism in Action, ed. David Nivison and Arthur F. Wright (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1959), 97–133. 23. For the rules set up by Fan to maintain the estate, see Patricia Ebrey, “Rules for the Fan Lineage’s Charitable Estate,” in Chinese Civilization and Society: A Handbook (New York and London: The Free Press, 1981), 98–99. For more on Fan Zhongyan (989–1052) see Tuotuo, Songshi, J. 314, v. 29 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1959). 24. McDermott, “Chartering Blank Spaces and Disputed Regions,” 17. The brief description I have provided above betrays the complexity of contemporary debates surrounding the juntian land system, a topic that has received much scholarly attention over the last several decades, particularly from Japanese scholars. The debates have centered on the question of whether landed estates were feudal or rented out via “contractual relationships” during the Tang-Song transitional period—approximately the late eighth to the late tenth century—followed by the move of the Northern Song court to the South in the early twelfth century. These debates have never full been resolved and flare up from time to time depending on the line of historical reasoning being proposed. Generally, Chinese scholars have not been as interested as their Japanese counterparts. 25. The government initiated many land reclamation projects and spent much effort on improving land already under cultivation, often by constructing new irrigation systems. The aim was always to improve productivity of paddy fields. See Golas, “Rural China in the Song,” 310. As early as the eleventh century, a new strain of early ripening rice used in the south (Fujian) was shipped up north. It has been argued that this strain, called Champa (an area in present-day Vietnam) rice, changed the history of rice cultivation in China. See Ho Ping-ti, “Early-ripening Rice in Chinese History,” Economic History Review 9, no. 2 (1956): 200–218; Amano Motonosuke, Chūgoku nōgyōshi kenkyū (A study of Chinese agricultural history) (Tokyo: Ochanomizu Shobokan, 1962); and Dwight H. Perkins, Agricultural Development in China, 1368–1968 (Chicago: Aldine, 1969). 26. Liang Keng-yao, Songdai shehui jingjishi lunji (Taipei: Chongchen wenhua, 1997), 1:496. 27. Liang Keng-yao looks at four regions that provide solid research materials on population distribution: Lin’an prefecture, Zhejiang prefecture, Fuzhou, and Tingzhou. Songdai shehui jingjishi lunji1:494–496.

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28. Golas, “Rural China in the Sung,” 300. 29. Golas, “Rural China in the Sung,” 311. 30. I have counted at least eight different categories of land size listed in all the gazetteers I have looked at, most of which are too small to be relevant to this study. 1 qing = 100 mu = approx. 13.9 acres. See Perkins, Agricultural Development in in China, 220. Circa 1100 c.e. (Northern Song), Golas estimates there was approximately 7,000,000 qing (97,300,000 acres) of land under cultivation in the Chinese empire, about 15 percent of all the land in the empire. Golas estimates that about 77.5 percent was in the hands of wealthy families and officials. Official government land was probably less than 1 percent of all land under cultivation. Golas, “Rural China in the Sung,” 295–304. Wang Zhirui also discusses cultivated land figures in China for this period in Song Yuan jingji shi (An economic history of the Song and Yuan periods) (Shanghai: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1932). 31. McDermott, “Chartering Blank Spaces and Disputed Regions,” 14. There are only about thirty surviving contracts from between the tenth to the fourteenth centuries, most having to do with the purchase of land. Hansen, Negotiating Daily Life in Traditional China, 3. 32. John Stuermer, “Polder Construction and the Pattern of Land Ownership in the T’ai-hu Basin during the Southern Sung Dynasty” (Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania, 1980), 95. 33. Schurmann, “Traditional Property Concepts in China,” 513. 34. The character most often designated by the English word “mortgage” is dian, although, as Henry McAleavy has argued, this term does not have the same connotations. See McAlveay, “Dien in China and Vietnam,” Journal of Asian Studies 17, no. 3 (May 1958): 403. 35. There are cases in the Minggong shupan Qingming ji, a collection of famous legal judgments, that attest to this. See McKnight and Liu, trans., The Enlightened Judgments. Katō Shigeru traces this so-called mortgage practice back to the Tang period. Sudō Yoshiyuki demonstrates that the mortgaged land could become a final sale. Both are referenced in Golas, “Rural China in the Sung,” 299. 36. Bruce Lincoln explores how certain modes of discourse—myth, ritual, and classification—are used for the replication of social systems and also for the construction/deconstruction of society (Discourse and the Construction of Society: Comparative Studies of Myth, Ritual, and Classification [New York: Oxford University Press, 1989]). Buddhists did not hold the monopoly on ritual, vis-à-vis the imperium; however, their role as ritual

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specialists,and thus as active participants in the replication of a social system was very important. 37. For more on this notion of conflict over the meaning of space and time, see Roger Friedland and Richard D. Hecht, “Rocks, Roads and Ramot Control: The Other War for Jerusalem,” Soundings 72, no. 2–3 (Summer/Fall 1989): 227–273, and To Rule Jerusalem (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996). Naturally, the relations and interests at stake vary according to different historical contexts. It is typically the producers of space who clash with one another over the meaning of the produced space. 38. See Robert Hymes, Statesmen and Gentlemen: The Elite of Fu-chou, Chiang-Hsi, in the Northern and Southern Sung (London and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 183. See also Chikusa Masaaki, “Fukken no ji-in to shakai,” Chūgoku bukkyō shakaishi kenkyū (Kyoto: Dōhōsha Press Company, 1982), 145–198. 39. Of course, there were quite likely thousands of Buddhist temples and monasteries scattered throughout the countryside that had very little to do with the imperium and certainly were not registered. For the larger monasteries, it was far more difficult to escape the imperial gaze. 40. See Chikusa Masaaki, Chūgoku bukkyō shakaishi kenkyū, chapter 1, where the author discusses dudie. 41. Stanley Weinstein, Buddhism Under the T’ang (London: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 59. 42. Weinstein, Buddhism Under the T’ang, 60. 43. Chikusa Masaaki, Chūgoku bukkyō shakaishi kenkyū, 103. There were two distinct uses of dudie during the Song period: as a certificate of authenticity regarding the status of a monk (there were, however, ordained clerics without this government license); and as a money-raising tool used by the government to generate cash. In other words, when a monk was ordained he did not necessarily receive a government dudie. Regardless, the issue of dudie was carefully controlled by the imperium. 44. See Ronald C. Egan, Word, Image, and Deed in the Life of Su Shi (Cambridge, Mass. and London: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1994), 111–112. 45. Chikusa suggests these plaques were the equivalent of the dudie for monks and nuns. Chūgoku bukkyō shakaishi kenkyū, 102–103. For the Tang period background to imperial plaques, see Takao Giken, Sōdai bukkyōshi no kenkyū (Research on Song dynasty Buddhist history) (Kyoto: Hyakkaen, 1975). During the Song periods there was an increase in the number of monasteries without official signboards.

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46. Huang Min-chih, Songdai fojiao shehui jingjishi lunji (Taipei: Taiwan xueshengshu, 1989), 303–304. 47. Chikusa, Chūgoku bukkyō shakaishi kenkyū, 98. 48. A vast amount of research on land taxation policies and issues has been done by Japanese scholars, including Amano Motonosuke (1950s–60s), Umehara Kaoru (1960s–70s), and Yanagida Setsuko (1960s–70s). 49. For more on tax issues see Liu Daoyuan, Liang Song tianfu zhidu (The land tax system of the Song periods) (Shanghai: Shihuo shixue congshu, 1933); Brian E. McKnight, “Fiscal Privileges and the Social Order in Sung China,” in Crisis and Prosperity in Sung China, ed. John Winthrop Haeger (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1975); Liang Keng-yao, Songdai shehui jingjishi lunji; Zhao Yashu, Songdai de tianfu zhidu yu tianfu shouru zhuangkuang (The land tax system and harvest taxation during the Song dynasty) (Taipei: National Taiwan University Press, 1969); Sogabe Shizuo, Sōdai zaiseishi (The tax system of the Song dynasty) (Tokyo: Daien Shuppansha, 1966). 50. Liu Daoyuan, Liang Song tianfu zhidu, 1. 51. Liu Daoyuan, Liang Song tianfu zhidu, 11. 52. In the pre-Tang period, two other taxes were important: the dishui (land tax) and the hushui (resident tax). See Tao Xisheng and Ju Qingyuan, Tangdai jingjishi, 152. 53. Stuermer, “Polder Construction and the Pattern of Land Ownership in the T’ai-hu Basin during the Southern Sung Dynasty,” 129. On the liangshui tax law, see Sudō Yoshiyuki, “Sōdai no ryōzai butan” (The twice-a-year tax burden during the Song dynasty), in Chūgoku tochi seido shi kenkyū (Studies of Chinese land institutions) (Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Shuppankai, 1954), 513–536. 54. Valerie Hansen, Changing Gods in Medieval China, 1127–1276 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), 60. 55. The type of edict issued when land was to be donated to a monastery was called a shengzhi, or “holy edict.” 56. Ruan Yuan, “Song Lingyin si zhongshumenxia die bei,” Liangzhe jinshi zhi, 5:24b–25a, Shike shiliao congshu (Taipei: Yiwen yinshuguan yinhang, 1966). 57. Huang Min-chih, Songdai fojiao shehui jingjishi lunji, 318. 58. See Huang Min-chih, Songdai fojiao shehui jingjishi lunji, chapter 7, “Songdai de gongde fensi” (Merit grave monasteries of the Song period), as well as Chikusa Masaaki, “Sōdai funji kō” (A study of Song dynasty grave monasteries), Tōyō gakuho 61, no. 1–2 (1979): 35–66.

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59. Huang Min-chih points out that sometimes landowners would attempt to exhort taxes from the monastery but usually to no avail. Songdai fojiao shehui jingjishi lunji, 318. 60. Huang Min-chih, Songdai fojiao shehui jingjishi lunji, 319. 61. Ma Tingluan, “Jingtu yuan shetian ji,” Biwu wanfang ji, 17:9b–11b, Siku quanshu, v. 1187 (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1982), 17:9b–11b. 62. The obvious exceptions took place during the fifth century, and the Huichang persecution in the mid-ninth century. 63. Gregory Schopen’s work is the best research available on land ownership in Indian Buddhist monasticism. See Schopen, Bones, Stones, and Buddhist Monks—Collected Papers on the Archaeology, Epigraphy, and Texts of Monastic Buddhism in India (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1997), 4; “Monastic Law Meets the Real World: A Monk’s Continuing Right to Inherit Family Property in India,” History of Religions 35, no. 2 (Nov. 1995): 104; “The Suppression of Nuns and the Ritual Murder of Their Special Dead in Two Buddhist Monastic Texts,” Journal of Indian Philosophy 24 (1996): 564. For China, see also Wolfram Eberhard, “Temple-Building Activities in Medieval and Modern China: An Experimental Study,” Monumenta Serica 23 (1964): 310. Eberhard conducted a survey to ascertain just how much monasteries owned, but his sample size is too small to generalize about. By way of comparison, land accumulation in early medieval European varied depending on local law; however, in general, monasteries owned land and accumulated as much of it as possible (J. Patrick Greene, Medieval Monasteries [London and New York: Leicester University Press, 1992], 171–173). Revenue from the land was used to support the monks. This kind of land was mostly called “bookland,” meaning that the title of possession was maintained in writing. Janet Burton, Monastic and Religious Orders in Britain, 1000–1300 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 12. 64. Prior to the early fifth century in China there were no complete translations of rules for monastic communities. See Griffith Foulk, “Daily Life in the Assembly,” in Buddhism in Practice, ed. Donald S. Lopez Jr. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), 455. Foulk explains that there were improvised rules such as “Standards for Monks and Nuns” by Daoan (312–385 c.e.). One of the more famous vinaya masters in China was the monk Daoxuan (596–667), the founder of the Nanshan school, who wrote “Guide to the Practice of the Four-Part Vinaya.” In the eighth century Baizhang Huaihai (749– 814), who supposedly founded the first Chan monastery in China, wrote the first text on Chan monastic rules. The oldest extant Chan monastic code is the Chanyuan qinggui (Rules of purity for Chan monasteries), compiled in 1103. See Yifa, The Origins of Bud-

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dhist Monastic Codes in China: An Annotated Translation and Study of the Chanyuan qinggui (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2002). The Chanyuan qinggui became the standard in China, and Japanese monks such as Eisai (1141–1215) and Dōgen (1200– 53) would often quote from it. Both these monks spent time at Tiantong monastery. 65. Denis Twitchett, “Monastic Estates in T’ang China,” Asia Major 5 (1956): 123. This article also contains useful Japanese sources on the Tang period, in particular, research done by Sudō Yoshiyuki and Kato Shigeru. For more information on landed estates and the purchasing and mortgaging of land during the Tang period, see Tao Xisheng and Ju Qingyuan, Tangdai jingjishi. 66. Huang Min-chih makes this argument in Songdai fojiao shehui jingjishi lunji, 19. 67. Huang Min-chih, Songdai fojiao shehui jingjishi lunji, 20. 68. It would seem that for the most part in China, monks did not cultivate their own land; however, Gernet is adamant that there were monks who worked in the fields (at least based on his assessment of monasteries in Dunhuang). Jacques Gernet, Buddhism in Chinese Society: An Economic History from the Fifth to the Tenth Centuries, trans. Franciscus Verellen (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995), 96. Again, there is the question whether or not Buddhist monasteries at Dunhuang were typical. 69. For example, a copper-plate inscription unearthed by Hirananda Shastri in 1921 discusses a king’s gift of land to a monastery for the “spiritual merit and glory of his parents.” Hirananda Shastri, “No.17—The Nalanda Copper-Plate of Devapaladeva,” Epigraphia Indica 17 (1924): 325. 70. Huang Min-chih makes this point in her essay, “Nanbei chao siyuan jingji de xingcheng yü fazhan” (The formation and development of temple economics during the Northern and Southern dynasties), in Fojiao jingji yanjiu lunji, ed. Zhang Mantao (Taipei: Dacheng wenhua chuban sheyinhang, 1977), 1. 71. Gernet, Buddhism in Chinese Society, 140–141. 72. Chikusa Masaaki, Chūgoku bukkyō shakaishi kenkyū, 150–151. 73. I am unsure how much land was still under Buddhist control during the Yuan period (post-fourteenth century) although the figures seem to still be high. Tao Xisheng lists dozens of example of Buddhist monasteries who owned more than one qing of land, a considerable size. Tao Xisheng, “Yuan dai fosi tianyuan ji shangdian,” in Fojiao jingji yanjiu lunji, ed. Zhang Mantao, 274–275. For example, Shangfang monastery owned 2 qing of land during this period. The monk Huaihai discusses the monastery’s land during the Yuan-Ming periods in “Shangfang si zhi tianchou ji,” Wudu wencui xuji, 33:29a– 30a, Siku quanshu, v. 1386 (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1982).

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74. Huang Min-chih, Songdai fojiao shehui jingjishi lunji, 23. 75. Certainly this has been the case with all the examples I have seen in the primary collections. Both Huang Min-chih and Michihata Ryōshū confirm this. 76. Denis Twitchett also makes the point that during the Tang period land was often donated to the big urban monasteries. An edict called a chi or a jiao (an instruction) would usually be issued to ratify the agreement. See Twitchett, “Monastic Estates in T’ang China,” 126. 77. For example, Liang Wudi donated more than 80 qing of such land to a monastery; c.f. Nan shi (History of the Southern dynasty), quoted by Jian Xiuwei and Xia Yihui in “Nanbei chao shiqi de siyuan dizhu jingji chutan” (An exploratory study of the economy of temples who owned land during the Northern and Southern dynasties period), in Wushinian lai Han Tang fojiao siyuan jingji yanjiu (Research over the past fifty years on Han-Tang Buddhist temple economics), ed. He Ziquan (Beijing: Beijing shifan daxue chubanshe, 1986). See 279–280 for other examples. Jian and Xia tend to emphasize the so-called “religious” and “feudal” elements involved in early monastic accumulation, with an “opiate of the masses” undertone that is not useful to this study. 78. For example, “Shi Longjingsheng yuan shetian ji,” 7:2b–3a, an inscription on a stele erected on the side of Shilong monastery on Ciyun Peak that describes a plot of land donated to a deceased wife (Sanyi), Wulin jinshiji 武林金石記, Shike shiliao xinbian, v. 15 (Taipei: Xinwenfeng chuban gongsi, 1978–86). His is a late twelfth-century example. 79. “Dianshan Puguangwang si shetian bei,” in Jinshi cuibian, comp. Wang Xu (Beijing: Zhongguo shudian, 1985). In the Xukuocang jinshi zhi are many example of shetian (land donated to monasteries). For example, between 1253 and 1258, during the Baoyou reign period, land was donated to Wukong monastery on Xi Mountain, located in Lishui, central Zhejiang province. “Xishan Wukong si shetian ji duan bei,” Xukuocang jinshi zhi, 2:14b–15a, Shike shiliao xinbian, v. 15. 80. Tao Xisheng and Ju Qingyuan point out this struggle in Tangdai jingjishi, 58–60. Gernet argues that “the idea that lands could be donated, sold, and purchased appeared increasingly as the accepted norm.” Buddhism, he suggests, contributed to this “naturalized” process of exchange. Gernet, Buddhism in Chinese Society, 93. Michihata Ryōshū gives many good examples of the size and number of monastic estates during the Tang period. For the most part these estates were huge and most of the land came from donations. Michihata Ryōshū, “Tangdai fojiao siyuan yü jingji wenti,” 75. Most of these examples come from collections such as Jinshi xubian, Jinshi cuibian, Da Tang liudian, Jiu Tang shu, etc.

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81. Huang Min-chih, Songdai fojiao shehui jingjishi lunji, 20. 82. Most of the land figures listed in gazetteers and on steles from the Song period refer to mountain land. Sometimes larger Buddhist monasteries would also participate in reclaiming land, an expensive enterprise that usually only monasteries and wealthy families were able to undertake. The reclaimed land was usually located in coastal shallows or mountains. 83. Land was of course also donated to Daoist monasteries, although rarely were land figures as high as those of Buddhist institutions. For example, in the mid-thirteenth century 10 qing of land was given to Baozhong temple, a Daoist establishment. Xu Shuo, “Baozhong guan zhi tian ji,” Zhiyuan jiahe zhi 17:1a–2b, Siku quanshu, v. 491 (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1982). 84. Cui Dunli, “Haiyü shan Baoyan si tian ji,” Gongjiao ji, 6:9b–10a, Siku quanshu, v. 1154 (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1982). 85. Yuan Shuoyou, “Chen shi shetian daochang shan ji,” Dongtang ji 18:9b–10b, Siku quanshu, v. 1154 (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1982). 86. C.f. Nanhai futuoshan zhi, qtd. in Michihata Ryōshū, “Tangdai fojiao siyuan yü jingji wenti,” 83. 87. Michihata Ryōshū, “Tangdai fojiao siyuan yü jingji wenti,” 83. 88. Ji Xiang, Chijian Jingci si zhi, 6:9a, Zhongguo fosi shizhi huikan (Taipei: Mingwen shuju yinhang, 1980). 89. Tang Xianzu was the prefect of Linchuan. He was awarded the jinshi in 1583. See Mingshi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1959), J. 230, v. 20. Yong’an monastery was located in Beijing. 90. Tang Xianzu, “Linchuan Yong’an si fusi tian ji,” Wenzhang bianti huxian, Siku quanshu, v. 1409 (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1982). 91. Xu Shuo, “Dongta zhitian duseng ji,” Zhiyuan jiahe zhi 22:11b–14a, Siku quanshu, v. 491 (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1982). 92. Buddhist monasteries during the Song period would sometimes rent out land for profit, usually of two types: official land (guantian) and private land (sitian). There are, however, few primary resources on this topic. Huang Min-chih, Songdai fojiao shehui jingjishi lunji, 48 and 51. 93. Ch’en, The Chinese Transformation of Buddhism, 129. 94. During the Tang dynasty, land was also leased, or sometimes mortgaged for loans. 95. For example, Puming monastery in Huzhou bought 2,100 mu of land during the Song. In 1173, Tianning monastery purchased more than 5,000 mu of land. Between 1174 and 1189,

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Minghua monastery bought more than 700 qing of land—an enormous figure. Jiangtian monastery bought 60 qing. For more examples of monasteries purchasing land during the Song period, see Huang Min-chih, Songdai fojiao shehui jingjishi lunji, 38–42. 96. Cui Dunli, “Jiankang fu Piaoyang xian Bao’en si du seng tian ji,” Gongjiao ji, 6:7b–9a, Siku quanshu, v. 1151 (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1982). 97. Cao Xi, “Sanfeng si zhuangtian ji,” Wudu wencui xuji, 33:46a–47a, Siku quanshu, v. 1386 (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1982). 98. Song gaoseng zhuan, Dazangjing, 15, T. 2061, vol. 50, p. 803c. 99. “Shaolin si citian chi,” 74:1b–2b, Jinshi cuibian. 100. Wang Chang, “Longshou chansi futian ji,” 152:3a–5a, Jinshi cuibian. 101. Li Yusun, comp., “Lishui xianxue guitian canbei,” 12:3a–4a, Kuocang jinshizhi, Shike shiliao xinbian (Taipei: Xinwenfeng chuban gongsi, 1978–86). 102. McKnight and Liu, trans., The Enlightened Judgments, 158–159. 103. Lang Ying, “Wushan shicha,” Qixiu leigao, 592, Ming Qing biji congkan (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1959). 104. Ground plans owned by the monastery of Daijoji in Kanazawa provide detailed maps of several of the monasteries in the five-mountain/ten-monastery system. These plans are known as Gozan jissatsu zu (Illustrations of the Five Mountains and Ten Monasteries). The surviving manuscript (in two scrolls with a total of seventy-two illustrations) is said to be a copy of the original possibly dating to 1250 c.e. Many of the plans, designs, and maps were brought into Japan by Japanese Buddhist monks who spent considerable time monasteries in China during the Song and Yuan dynasties. By some accounts, Japanese master builders were sent to China to study the architecture of these monasteries, and Chinese builders were reportedly hired to help build monasteries in Japan. The Japanese monk Tettsu Gikai (1219–1309), a disciple of Dōgen and founder of Daijoji who was sent to China for the purpose of bringing back plans of Chinese monasteries, may have been the one who brought the illustrations back to Japan. Martin Collcutt, Five Mountains: The Rinzai Zen Monastic Institution in Medieval Japan (Cambridge, Mass. and London: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1981), 174. Jingshan monastery (part of wushan shicha) was most commonly used as the model for Japan’s gozan system. Tiantong monastery, however, was also very important as a model. 105. While all five of these monasteries engaged in this practice, Ayuwang monastery serves as a particularly productive exemplum. 106. The categorization of Buddhist monasteries is a complex matter: the eight categories listed here were extracted from the various Song-Yuan gazetteers I looked at.

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107. For more on Buddhist nuns and nunneries during the Song, see Miriam Levering’s excellent essay, “Miao-tao and Her Teacher Ta-Hui,” in Peter N. Gregory and Daniel A. Getz Jr., Buddhism in the Sung (Honolulu: Kuroda Institute, University of Hawai’i Press, 1999), 188–219. 108. See also Huang Min-chih, Songdai fojiao shehui jingjishi lunji, 302–304; Griffith Foulk, “Myth, Ritual, and Monastic Practice in Sung Ch’an Buddhism,” in Religion and Society in T’ang and Sung China, ed. Patricia B. Ebrey and Peter N. Gregory (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1993), 163–166; and Chikusa Masaaki, Chūgoku bukkyō shakaishi kenkyū, 102. 109. It is worth noting here that Chan was most successful during the Song in constructing what Griffith Foulk calls a “quasi-historical mythological lore” that allowed them to place themselves at the top of the Buddhist hierarchy. The “Chan lineage” was a Song dynasty construction. See Foulk, “Myth, Ritual, and Monastic Practice.” 110. Song Lian, “Zhuchi jingchi chansi gufeng degong taming,” Songxue shiji, 10:316b (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1985). 111. Lit. to hold the seat of the abbot. 112. High-ranked positions versus low-ranked positions. 113. Huang Jin, “Pingjiang chengtian nengren si ji,” Jinhua Huang xiansheng wenji, 12:7a–9a, Sibu congkan (Shanghai: Shanghai shuhu, 1985). 114. Chengtian Nengren monastery later became one of the monasteries under the fivemountain/ten-monastery system, but within a separate division, the jiaoyuan wushan system. 115. Huang Min-chih, Songdai fojiao shehui jingjishi lunji, 314. In 1330 the emperor designated a Tiantai school monastery called Jiqing as the “number one” in the empire. In 1368 the monastery was renamed Tianjie. The five-mountain/ten-monastery system significantly influenced the development of Chan Buddhism in Song China and even the development of Zen in Japan. Many famous Japanese monks visited; some (for example, Eisai and Dōgen) even studied at these monastic institutions (most often, Tiantong) for long periods of time. For more on Dōgen in China, see Takashi James Kodera, Dōgen’s Formative Years in China (Boulder: Prajna Press, 1980). For a study of the five-mountain/ ten-monastery in Japan, see Collcutt, Five Mountains. The five-monastery/ten-mountain (gozan) system in Japan, although loosely based on the Chinese system, had many significant differences (the number of monasteries was one). 116. The Liangzhe Circuit was divided into two zones: East Circuit and West Circuit. East circuit comprised a total of forty-one counties in seven prefectures (this included Ming

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prefecture with its six counties). West Circuit comprised a total of thirty-nine counties in nine prefectures. 117. For a general overview of the architectural layout of Chan monasteries, including some discussion of the five-mountain/ten-monastery system, see Dai Jian, Chanzong siyuan jianzhu buju chutan (An exploratory study of the architectural layout of Chan monasteries and temples), (Beijing: Mingwen shuju, 1991). There was another category of ten additional monasteries under the original five-mountain/ten-monastery system called the jiaoyuan wushan (teaching monastery five mountains). These were all teaching monasteries. Their position in the hierarchy, however, was considerably lower than the original ten Chan monasteries. 118. Ten-direction/public monasteries were usually large, often operated oil and mill presses, owned considerable tracts of land, and were generally quite wealthy. 119. See for example the appointment of Dahui as abbot of Jingshan monastery in Lin’an. Miriam Levering, “Ch’an Enlightenment for Laymen: Ta-Hui and the New Religious Culture of the Sung” (Ph.D. diss., Harvard University, 1978). 120. See Sun Zhi, Wulin Lingyin si zhi (A gazetteer of Lingyin monastery), Zhongguo fosi shi zhi (Taipei: Mingwen shuju, 1980). For more on Huili, see Lingyin si zhi, 3:1b–2a. 121. Lingyin Mountain and Tianzhu Mountain were collectively referred to as Wulin— hence the title of the gazetteer. 122. When the famous Japanese monk Dōgen was resident at the monastery, he reported a population of 1,000 monks. Given the disparity in all the figures I have seen, it seems more likely these monasteries had between 800 and 1,800 monks in residence at any given time. Dōgen, born in Kyoto in 1200, was resident in China from 1223 to 1226. He spent time in Ayuwang monastery (1223 and returned briefly in 1225), Jingshan monastery, and Tiantong monastery (1224–26). Dōgen studied with Abbot Wuji (who died in 1224) and Abbot Zhe Wengyan. He kept a diary of his travels in China, the Hokyo-ki (Ch. Baoqing ji [A record of the Baoqing period]). 123. Lingyin si zhi, 2:1a. 124. Lingyin si zhi, 2:11b. 125. Lingyin si zhi, 2:10b. Earlier in the gazetteer, the monastery is recorded as owning 190 qing of mountain land during the fifteenth century. I have not been able to verify that the monastery owned this land during the Song period. 126. Ji Xiang, Chijian Jingci si zhi (Gazetteer of Jingci monastery), Zhongguo fosi shizhi huikan (Taipei: Mingwen shuju, 1980). 127. Ji Xiang, Chijian Jingci si zhi, 7:9a–b.

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128. Guoyi, meaning “number one in the empire,” was originally surnamed Zhu. His Buddhist name was Shi Faqin (714–792). The earliest biographical source on Faqin (also known as Daoqin) is Li Jifu’s “Hangzhou Jingshansi Dajue chanshi beiming bing xu,” Quan Tang wen, 512:17–21 (Beijing: Zhinghua shuju, 1983). For more on Jingshan monastery see Song Kuiguang, Jingshan zhi (Gazetteer of Jing Mountain), Zhongguo fosi shizhi huikan (Taipei: Mingwen shuju, 1980). 129. Jingshan zhi, 14:1a.

5. Grains of Sand

1. Ma Tingluan, “Jingtu yuan shetian ji,” Biwu wanfang ji, 17:9b–11b, Siku quanshu, v. 1187 (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1982). 2. Shiba Yoshinobu discusses Ming prefecture’s population in “Urbanization and the Development of Markets in the Lower Yangtze Valley,” in Crisis and Prosperity in Sung China, ed. John Winthrop Haeger (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1975), 21. The total population around this era was approximately 200,000 households, meaning that Yin county constituted about one fifth. 3. Timothy Brook, Praying for Power: Buddhism and the Formation of Gentry Society in Late-Ming China (Cambridge, Mass.: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1993), 252. 4. Huang Runyu, comp., Ningbofu jianyao zhi, 5:1a–11a, Siku quanshu cunmu congshu 四庫 全書存目叢書. Tainan: Zhuangyan wenhua shiye youxian gongsi, 1996. 5. Qtd. in Brook, Praying for Power, 253 6. Yuan Jue, comp., Yanyou siming zhi, Songyuan difangzhi congshu (Taipei: Dahua shuju, 1980), 17:1a–21a. 7. Brook, Praying for Power, 253. 8. Detailed numbers are listed in appendix A. 9. Huang Min-chi makes a clear case for Tai prefecture (just south of Ming prefecture) and for the entire Fujian region in her book, Songdai fojiao shehui jingjishi lunji (The land tax system and harvest taxation during the Song dynasty) (Taipei: National Taiwan University Press, 1969), 181. 10. The gazetteer was compiled in 1559. Yang Ming, Tiantong si ji (A record of Tiantong monastery), Siku quanshu cunmu congshu (Tainan, Taiwan: Zhuangyan wenhua shiye youxian gongsi, 1996), vol. 244, 1:757–759. Only the first and second rolls ( juan) are extant.

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11. Hence the name, Yang says, “Small White Flower Mountain” (xiaobaihua shan). 12. This is probably an exaggeration; here, “10,000” most likely just meant “a great number.” 13. 100 mu (1 qing) was approximately 13.9 acres. 14. Luo Jun, comp., Baoqing siming zhi, Songyuan difangzhi congshu (Taipei: Dahua shuju, 1980), 13:16a–32a. 15. Tiantong si ji, 1:759. 16. The estates are listed in Tiantong si ji, 1:757–759, and Tiantong si zhi, 9:23a–30b. The monks in charge of managing the temple estates were usually called zhishu or zhizhuang. 17. The first character is a mistake and should read jin; the actual title of the estate is Jintian estate. 18. A du is a subdivision of a xian (county), and a tu is a subdivision of a du. I have not ascertained whether this “Mao mountain” is the same one as the location of Ayuwang monastery mentioned in chapter 3, though it seems possible given that it is the same as the old name of Ayuwang Mountain. 19. Yanyou Siming zhi, 7:4a. 20. Yang writes that he himself is unsure of the first character. 21. According to tradition, Budai, whose original name was Chizi, lived in Zhejiang province during the tenth century. He would wander about the town with his trademark hemp shoulder bag, playing games with children. He was said to be able to predict the weather. He was also known affectionately as the “laughing Buddha” due to his everfixed smile and jovial character. At his death he is said to have revealed his true identity as the bodhisattva Maitreya. 22. Tiantong si zhi, 9:23a–30b. 23. Tiantong si ji, 1:774. 24. In chapter 4 we saw how landowners in traditional China usually ended up with plots of land in several different locations. This was also clearly the case with monastic landowners. Monasteries within the five-mountain/ten-monastery system had land in many different counties. This was also true for monastic estates in medieval Europe. J. Patrick Green, Medieval Monasteries (London and New York: Leicester University Press, 1992), 134. 25. Jacques Gernet, Buddhism in Chinese Society: An Economic History from the Fifth to the Tenth Centuries, trans. Franciscus Verellen (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995), 117.

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26. Mining, obviously an industry with high profits, was strictly controlled by the imperium. I have yet to see a case of monasteries directly involved in mining. Denis Twitchett also points out how important the manpower of Buddhist monasteries were for all these trades. “Monasteries and China’s Economy in Medieval Times,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 19, no. 3 (1957): 541. 27. For example, the Yuan scholar Xu Shuo argues that at Chongfu monastery (in modern Zhejiang province), one monk’s expenditure was equivalent to that of 200 common folk. Xu Shuo, “Chongfu tian ji,” Zhiyuan jiahe zhi 26:3a–3b, Siku quanshu, v. 491 (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1982).

6 . C u l t i va t i n g S a l va t i o n

1. Luo Jun, comp., Baoqing siming zhi, Songyuan difangzhi congshu (Taipei: Dahua shuju, 1980), 13:18a. 2. Li Xinzhuan, “Sengsi changzhutian,” Jianyan yilai chaoye zaji (Taipei: Yiwen mingguo, 1969), Sec. 1, 16.7b. Li Xinzhuan (1167–1244) came from Long prefecture in Sichuan province. For some time he lived in the imperial capital, Lin’an. After failing the national imperial exams several times, he devoted the rest of his life to scholarship. Eventually, owing to the quality of his writings, he was given an official position as a historian in the Imperial Archives. 3. Lu You, “Mingzhou yuwangshan mai tian ji,” Weinan wenji, Sibu congkan (Shanghai: Shanghai shudian, 1985), 19:1a–2b. Lu You was most well known for poetry,which reflects his deep interest in Daoism and yangsheng practices, rather than his bureaucratic contributions (Michael S. Duke, Lu You [Boston: Twayne, 1977]). The name Ayuwang is a Chinese transliteration of the title and name, King Asoka. Supposedly in the third century a monk, Huida, founded a pagoda on Ayuwang Mountain—then called by its old name, Mao Mountain—which was said to be one of the 84,000 pagodas built on King Asoka’s orders. In 405 c.e. a monastery was built at this site; it received an imperial plaque in 522, the third year of Emperor Putong’s reign during the Liang dynasty. At that time ity was officially named Ayuwang (King Asoka) monastery. Guo Zizhang, Mingzhou Ayuwang shan zhi (A gazetteer of Ayuwang mountain, Ming prefecture), Zhongguo fosi shizhi huikan (Taipei: Mingwen shuju, 1980). All translations are my own. Mark Halperin also discusses this stele inscription in his dissertation (“Pieties and Responsibilities: Buddhism and the Chinese Literati, 780–1280,” Ph.D. diss., University of California, Berkeley, 1997), 232–237.

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4. Chan Master Fozhao Deguang (1121–1203), prior to his retirement at Ayuwang onastery, held the position of “Great Lineage Master” at Lingyin monastery. Deguang hailed from Jiangxi province and was a follower of Dahui. His family name was Peng. For more on Lingyin monastery, see Sun Zhi, Wulin Lingyin si zhi (A gazetteer of Lingyin monastery), Zhongguo fosi shi zhi huikan (Taipei: Mingwen shuju, 1980). 5. Benavides Gustavo, “Economy,” in Critical Terms for the Study of Buddhism, ed. Donald S. Lopez (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 2005). 6. Arthur F. Wright,. The Sui Dynasty (New York: Knopf ), 1978. 7. Patricia B. Ebrey and Peter N. Gregory, Religion and Society in T’ang and Sung China (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1993); Tansen Sen, Buddhism, Diplomacy, and Trade: The Realignment of Sino-Indian Relations, 600–1400 (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2003). 8. On the power of writing, see Mark E. Lewis, Writing and Authority in Early China (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999). On the magical qualities of writing, see John Kieschnick, The Impact of Buddhism on Chinese Material Culture (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2003), 172–176. 9. Daniel B. Stevenson, “Protocols of Power: T’zu-yün Tsun-shih (964–1032) and T’ient’ai Lay Buddhist Ritual,” in Buddhism in the Sung, ed. Peter N. Gregory and Daniel A. Getz Jr. (Honolulu: Kuroda Institute, University of Hawai’i Press, 1999). 10. Liu, Xinru, “Buddhist Institutions in the Lower Yangtze Region During the Sung Dynasty,” Bulletin of Sung-Yuan Studies 21 (1982): 35; Halperin, “Pieties and Re­sponsi­ bilities,” 256–259. 11. Charles D. Orzech, Politics and Transcendent Wisdom: The Scripture for Humane Kings in the Creation of Chinese Buddhism (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1998). 12. Jacques Gernet, Buddhism in Chinese Society: An Economic History from the Fifth to the Tenth Centuries, trans. Franciscus Verellen (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995), 278–306; Kieschnick, The Impact of Buddhism on Chinese Material Culture, 279–280. 13. This also raises the issue of imperial control over Buddhist monasteries. See Morten Schlütter, “Silent Illuminations, Kung-an Introspection, and the Competition for Lay patronage in Sung Dynasty Ch’an,” in Buddhism in the Sung, ed. Peter N. Gregory and Daniel A. Getz Jr. (Honolulu: Kuroda Institute, University of Hawai’i Press, 1999), as well as Morten Schlütter, “Vinaya Monasteries, Public Abbacies, and State Control of Buddhism Under the Northern Song (960–1127),” in Going Forth: Visions of Buddhist Vinaya, ed. William Bodiford (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2005).

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14. Chikusa Masaaki, Chūgoku bukkyō shakaishi kenkyō (Studies in the social history of Buddhism) (Kyoto: Dōhōsha Press Company, 1982), 95–97; Halperin, “Pieties and Responsibilities,” 204–218. Another special class of monasteries, often established by imperial permission, was the gongde yuan (lit. merit monasteries). These were usually built next to the gravesite of a wealthy family or official. The resident monks (usually only a few) performed the necessary rituals for the well-being of the deceased family members. Merit monasteries were a tax haven for a wealthy family, as no taxes had to be paid on land set aside for them. Huang Min-chih, Songdai fojiao shehui jingjishi lunji (Essays on the socioeconomic history of Buddhism during the Song dynasty) (Taipei: Taiwan xueshengshu, 1989), 241–300; Chikusa Masaaki, “Sōdai funji kō” (A study of Song dynasty grave monasteries), Tōyō gakuhō 61, no. 1–2 (1979): 35–66. 15. The Baoqing gazetteer lists ninety Buddhist monasteries in Yin county (Luo Jun, Baoqing siming zhi, ). 16. For a concrete example of a well-known scholar much interested in the life of the sangha, Buddhist doctrinal and social practices, and the relation of the Buddhists to the Song government, see Ronald C. Egan, Word, Image, and Deed in the Life of Su Shi (Cambridge, Mass. and London: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1994), particularly chapter 6. Countless examples may be found of literati spending time at Buddhist monasteries, writing poems inspired by Buddhism (during the Song period, particularly Chan Buddhism), and composing essays. For a Ming period example, see Timothy Brook, Praying for Power: Buddhism and the Formation of Gentry Society in Late-Ming China (Cambridge, Mass.: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1993). 17. Stanley J. Tambiah, World Conqueror and World Renouncer: A Study of Buddhism and Polity in Thailand Against a Historical Background (London: Cambridge University Press, 1976), 518. 18. Tommi Lehtonen, Punishment, Atonement and Merit in Modern Philosophy of Religion (Helsinki: Luthar-Agricola-Society, 1999), 66–146; Ilana Friedrich Silber, Virtuosity and Social Order: A Comparative Sociological Study of Monasticism in Theravada Buddhism and Medieval Catholicism (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1995); Roy C. Amore, “The Concept and Practice of Doing Merit in Early Theravada Buddhism” (Ph.D. diss., Columbia University, 1970); Kim Irmgard Gutschow, “An Economy of Merit: Women and Buddhist Monasteries in Zangskar, NW India” (Ph.D. diss., Harvard University, 1998); J. A. Mulder, Monks, Merit, and Motivation: Buddhism and National Development in Thailand (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University; Center for Southeast Asian Studies, 1973); Christoph von Fürer-Haimendorf, Morals and Merit: A Study of Values and Social 180 

 

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Controls in South Asian Societies (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1967); Melford Spiro, “Buddhism and Economic Action in Burma,” American Anthropologist 68 (1966): 1163–1173; Michael Aung-Thwin, Pagan: The Origins of Modern Burma (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1985). 19. Anthony R. Walker, “Sha La Te Ve: The Building of a Merit Shelter Among the Lahu Nyi Red Lahu of the Northern Thai Uplands,” Asian Folklore Studies 44 (1985): 51–80; Stanley J. Tambiah, Buddhism and the Spirit Cults in North-East Thailand (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970). 20. Du, Shanshan, “Cosmic and Social Exchanges: Blessing Among the Lahu of Southwest China and the Feast of Merit Complex in Highland Southeast Asia” and F. K. Lehman, “Can God be Coerced? Structural Correlates of Merit and Blessing in Some Southeast Asian Religions,” in Merit and Blessing in Southeast Asia in Comparative Perspective, ed. Cornelia Ann Kammerer and Nicola Tannenbaum (New Haven: Yale University, Southeast Asian Studies, 1996). 21. James B. Pruess, “Veneration and Merit-Seeking at Sacred Places: Buddhist Pilgrimage in Contemporary Thailand” (Ph.D. diss., University of Washington, 1974). 22. J. C. Holt, “Assisting the Dead by Venerating the Living: Merit Transfer in the Early Buddhist Tradition,” Numen 28, no. 1 (1981): 1–28; Jean-Michel Agasse, “Le Transfert de Mérite dans le Bouddhisme Pali Classique,” Journal Asiatique 226 (1978): 311–332; Heinz Bechert, “Buddha-field and the Transfer of Merit in a Theravada Source,” Indo-Iranian Journal 35, no. 2–3 (1992): 95–108; G. P. Malalasekera, “Transference of Merit in Ceylonese Buddhism,” Philosophy East and West 17, no. 1–4 (Jan.–Oct. 1967): 85–90; Gregory Schopen, Bones, Stones, and Buddhist Monks—Collected Papers on the Archaeology, Epigraphy, and Texts of Monastic Buddhism in India (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1997); Richard F. Gombrich, “Merit Transference in Sinhalese Buddhism: A Case Study of the Interaction Between Doctrine and Practice,” History of Religions 11, no. 2 (Nov. 1971): 203–219; Tambiah, Buddhism and the Spirit Cults in North-East Thailand, 1970. 23. Malalasekera, “Transference of Merit in Ceylonese Buddhism,” 85. 24. Gombrich, “Merit Transference in Sinhalese Buddhism,” 204. 25. Ian Reader and George J. Tanabe, Practically Religious: Worldly Benefits and the Common Religion of Japan (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1998); Barend ter Haar, “Buddhist-Inspired Options: Aspects of Lay Religious Life in the Lower Yangzi from 1100 Until 1340,” T’oung Pao 87 (2001): 92–152. 26. Kieschnick, The Impact of Buddhism on Chinese Material Culture, 161. 27. Philip B. Yampolsky, The Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch (New York: Columbia University Press, 1967), 128. 6. Cultivating Salvation 

 

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28. Foshuo zhude futian jing, Dacanzangjing, T. 683, vol. 16, 777a–778c (Taipei: Xinwengfeng chuban gongsi, 1995). 29. Ref. in Lamotte: T. 26, vol. 1, 427c–428a. 30. Stephen Teiser, The Ghost Festival in Medieval China (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988), 210. 31. “Yanchangsi zungong shetian bei,” Xukuocang jinshi zhi, 2:7a–9b, Shike shiliao xinbian, v. 15 (Taipei: Xinwenfeng chuban gongsi, 1978–86). 32. Lu You, “Nengren si shetian ji,” Weinan wenji, 18:13a–14a, Siku quanshu, v. 1163 (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1982). 33. Ibid., 34:19a–20b. 34. Zhou Shi, “Tongzhen guan shetian ji,” Chengdu wenlei, 40:15a–16b, Siku quanshu, v. 1354 (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1982). 35. Paul Veyne, Did the Greeks Believe in Their Myths? An Essay on the Constitutive Imagination, trans. Paula Wissing (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1988), 27. 36. Donald S. Lopez, Jr., “Belief,” in Critical Terms for Religious Studies, ed. Mark C. Taylor (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1998), 21. 37. Veyne, Did the Greeks Believe in Their Myths?, 27. 38. Alan Cole, Mothers and Sons in Chinese Buddhism (Stanford, California: Stanford University Press, 1998), 7. 39. Reiko Ohnuma, “The Gift of the Body and the Gift of the Dharma,” History of Religions 37, no. 4 (May 1998): 331. 40. Stephen Teiser has a translation of Zongmi’s commentary on the Yulan pen jing, T. 39:506a; Teiser, The Ghost Festival in Medieval China, 210–212. For more on Zongmi see Peter N. Gregory, Tsung-mi and the Sinification of Buddhism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991). 41. Ma Tingluan, “Jingtu yuan shetian ji,” Biwu wanfang ji, 17:9b–11b, Siku quanshu, v. 1187 (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1982). 42. Jacques Gernet has made more sweeping arguments for the importance of land in the history of Buddhism in China, suggesting that Buddhist monasteries carved out a niche in the Chinese economy by collecting land, through donations given in exchange for merit, in the “high lands” of China, rich in water, fruit, and timber (Buddhism in Chinese Society: An Economic History from the Fifth to the Tenth Centuries, trans. Franciscus Verellen [New York: Columbia University Press, 1995]). 43. Tambiah, Buddhism and the Spirit Cults in North-East Thailand, 213. 44. Wendi L. Adamek, “The Impossibility of the Given: Representations of Merit and Emptiness in Medieval Chinese Buddhism,” History of Religions 45, no. 2 (2005). 182 

 

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45. Schopen, Bones, Stones, and Buddhist Monks, 4. 46. Halperin, ““Pieties and Responsibilities,” 18–32. Also see Dorothy C. Wong, Chinese Steles: Pre-Buddhist and Buddhist Use of a Symbolic Form (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2004). 47. Valerie Hansen, “Inscriptions: Historical Sources for the Song,” Bulletin of Sung-Yuan Studies 19 (1987): 17–25. 48. Jean Baudrillard, For a Critique of the Political Economy of the Sign, trans. Charles Levin (St. Louis, Mont.: Telos Press, 1981), 32. 49. Lineage and clan formation in the reproduction of Chinese social structures and the importance of status and prestige in social relations have been well documented. Some of the more notable works include: Beverly J. Bossler, Powerful Relations: Kinship Status and the State in Sung China (960–1279) (Cambridge, Mass.: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1998); Timothy Brook, “Family Continuity and Cultural Hegemony: The Gentry of Ningbo, 1368–1911,” in Chinese Local Elites and Patterns of Dominance, ed. Joseph W. Esherick and Mary Backus Rankin (Los Angeles and Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990). The introduction by the editors is also particularly useful. Richard L. Davis, “Political Success and the Growth of the Descent Groups: The Shih of Ming-chou During the Sung” and Robert P. Hymes, “Marriage Descent Groups and the Localist Strategy in Sung and Yuan Fu-chou,” in Kinship Organization in Late Imperial China, 1000–1940, ed. Patricia B. Ebrey and James L. Watson (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986); Richard L. Davis, Court and Family in Sung China— Bureaucratic Success and Kinship Fortunes for the Shih of Ming-chou (Durham: Duke University Press, 1986); Linda Walton, “Kinship, Marriage, and Status in Sung China,” in Family and Property in Sung China: Yüan Ts’ai’s “Precepts for Social Life,” ed. Patricia Buckley Ebrey (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984); Robert M. Hartwell, “Demographic, Political, and Social Transformations of China, 750–1550,” Harvard Journal of Asian Studies 42, no. 2 (Dec. 1982): 365–442; G. William Skinner, ed., The Study of Chinese Society: Essays by Maurice Freedman (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1979); Hilary J. Beattie, Land and Lineage in China: A Study of T’ung-ch’eng County, Anhwei, in the Ming and Ch’ing Dynasties (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979); Fukuda Ritsuko, “Sōdai gishō kōkō—Minshū Roshi o chūshin to shite” (A study of the Sung period charitable estates—with reference to the Lou clan of Ming prefecture) in (Nihon Joshi Daigaku Shigaku Kenkyūkai) Shisō (Chūgoku kankei ronsetsu shiryō) (Articles concerning China) 14, no. 3 (1972): 188–206. Ihara Hiroshi has done much research on issues concerning clan organization and family/lineage issues in Chinese history; for example, “Sōdai Meishō ni okeru kanko no kon’in kankei” (Marriage relations of official 6. Cultivating Salvation 

 

183

households in Ming-chou in the Sung dynasty), Chūō daigaku daigakuin kenkyū nenpō 1 (1972): 157–168. Denis Twitchett, “The Fan Clan’s Charitable Estate, 1050–1760,” in Confucianism in Action, ed. David Nivison and Arthur F. Wright (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1959).Song dynasty writers who have written on the importance of family, lineage, etc., include Fan Zhongyan (989–1052), Ouyang Xiu (1007–72), Sima Guang (1019–86), Su Shi (1036–1101), and Zhu Xi (1130–1200). 50. Ma Tingluan, “Jingtu yuan shetian ji.” 51. For example, in 1255 the monk Zushao donated his land to Yanchang monastery. He came from a poor family and was given by his parents to be raised by the Ye family. When he was older, he decided to become a monk and offered his own land to the monastery. “Yanchang si seng Zushao shetian bei,” Xukuocang jinshi zhi, 2:15a–16b, Shike shiliao xinbian, v. 15 (Taipei: Xinwenfeng chuban gongsi, 1978–86). 52. Lu You, Weinan wenji, 21:124. Trans. in John Chaffee, The Thorny Gates of Learning in Sung China (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1995), 162. 53. Chaffee, The Thorny Gates of Learning in Sung China, 54. 54. Pierre Bourdieu, Practical Reason: On the Theory of Action (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998), 19. 55. Bourdieu, Practical Reason, 67. 56. To reiterate, thus far I have referred to three different—although connected—meanings of the term “field”: field as land (tian), “field of merit” ( futian), and “network of relations.” 57. It seems highly unlikely that this was an openly discussed strategy, obvious to the beholder, and planned on a timely basis. Rather, it would have taken place quite “naturally” (a successful result of ideological discourse) and constituted a process that went without saying (making it no less of a discourse). 58. Bourdieu, Practical Reason, 70.

7 . S a l va t i o n a n d S u r v i va l

1. Georges Bataille, Theory of Religion, trans. Robert Hurley (New York: Zone Books, 1992), 42. 2. For example, it would useful to understand the habitus of an abbot of Tiantong monastery; this, however, would be another project. The habitus is the social made body, that is, society written into the body, the generative principles of distinct and distinctive practices. As Pierre Bourdieu explains: “One of the functions of the notion of habitus is

184 

 

6. Cultivating Salvation

to account for the unity of style, which unites the practices and goals of a single agent or a class of agents” (Practical Reason: On the Theory of Action [Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998], 8). Abbots were the primary monastic fund raisers, no doubt important in converting the economic capital of a monastery into the cultural capital needed to ensure the social survival and perpetuation of the institution. However, the networks of relations encapsulated in and around a Buddhist monastery were a more important factor in how the abbot accumulated the much-needed capital for his monastery’s survival. 3. Karl Marx, Capital, Volume 1, trans. Ben Fowkes (New York and London: Penguin, 1990), 711. 4. Maurice Godelier, The Mental and the Material: Thought, Economy, and Society, trans. Martin Thom (London: Verso, 1986), 1.

7. Salvation and Survival 

 

185

Glossary Ayuwang shan guangli chan si

阿育王山廣利禪寺

Ayuwangshan guangli si

阿育王廣利寺

Bai Juyi

白居易

Baiyun yanxiang yuan

白雲延祥院

Baizhang Huaihai (749–814)

白丈懷海

Bao

鮑

Baoan yuan

寶安院

Baoen si

報恩寺

Baocheng zhuang

保成莊

Baocheng zhuang

寶成莊

Baoguo yuan

報國院

Baohua si

寶華寺

Baolin yuan

寶林院

Baoyan si

寶嚴寺

Baoyan yuan

寶嚴院

Baoyou

寶祐

Baozhong guan

報忠觀

Baozhongshan yuan

報忠善院

bei

貝

Benhong

本宏

bi

痹

Bianli si/gongde si

辯利寺／功德寺

Bieshan zhuang

鱉山莊

biqiu

比丘

bu jing

不凈

Budai

布袋

Bujin yuan

布金院

bushi

布施

Caoyuanhuang

草原皇

chan

產

Chan

禪

Changguo

昌國

changshengku

長生庫

changzhu

常住

changzhutian

常住田

chanshi

禪師

Chanyan yuan

禪巖院

Chanyuan qinggui

禪苑清規

Chen Bi

陳泌

Chen Liao (1032–85)

陳遼

Chen Wuliang

陳無量

Chen Zhongguang

陳重光

chengyao

成藥

chi

敕

chici

敕賜

Chikusa Masaaki

竺沙雅章

chong

崇

Chongfa yuan

崇法院

188 

 

Glossary

Chongshou si

崇壽寺

chujia

出家

chujiaren

出家人

ci

賜

Cibei puji si

慈悲普濟寺

ci’e

賜額

Cien yuan

慈恩院

Cifu yuan

慈褔院

citian

賜田

Cixi

慈溪

Ciyun yuan

慈雲院

cizhuang

賜莊

congshu

叢書

Cuiwei

翠微

Cuiyanshan Baoji yuan

翠巖山寶積院

Cuiyanshan yizhong zifu yuan

翠巖山移忠資福院

Da Shiman

答失蠻

Da Tang liudian

大唐六典

Dabei yuan

大悲院

Dabo niepan jingshu

大般涅槃經書

Dameishan baofu yuan

大梅山保福院

Dameishan husheng yuan

大梅山護聖院

Daming zhuang

大冥莊

Daoan (312–385)

道安

daohui

道會

Daoqin

道欽

daoren

道人

Daoxuan (596–667)

道宣

daseng

大僧

dashi

大士

dayuanshi

大緣事

Dayunshan

大雲山

Dazangjing

大藏經

Dazhong xiangfu si

大中祥符寺

Deguang (1121–1203)

德光

Glossary

 

189

Dejie

德介

Dengqiao guangfu yuan

鄧橋廣褔院

di

地

diana (mortgage)

典

dianb (tenant)

佃

dianhu

佃戶

dianjia

佃家

dianke

佃客

dianmai

典賣

dianmin

佃民

dianpu

佃僕

diantian

佃田

didangku

抵當庫

Dōgen (1200–53)

道元

dike

地客

Dinghai

定海

dishui

地稅

Dongshan fuchang yuan

東山福昌院

du

都

dudie

度牒

Duobao yuan

多寶院

Duofu yuan

多褔院

e

額

Eisai (1141–1215)

榮西

endu

恩度

ershui

二稅

Fabao

法寶

Faci yuan

法慈院

Fahao

法號

famenjia

法門家

Fan Zhongyan (989–1052)

笵仲淹

Fangguang yuan

方廣院

fangli

方例

fangzhang

方丈

Faqing yuan

法慶院

190 

 

Glossary

Faren yuan

法忍院

fashi

法師

Faxuan

法璿

Fayun yuan

法雲院

Fenghua

奉化

Foding guangming zhi ta

佛頂光明之塔

fohui

佛會

Folongshan jiqing xianqin yuan

佛隴山積慶顯親院

Fori

佛日

Fozhao Deguang

佛昭德光

Fozu tongyan

佛祖統言

Fuji yuan

褔寂院

Fukuda Ritsuko

福田立子

Fulin zhuang

福林莊

Fusheng yuan

褔聖院

futian

福田

Futian jing

福田經

Gandao

乾道

gongde

功德

gongde yuan

功德院

gongtian

公田

Gozan jissatsu zu

五山十剎圖

Guanding (561–632)

灌頂

Guangci

廣慈

Guangrui

光瑞

Guangshou yuan

廣壽院

Guangxiu yuan

廣修院

Guangyan yuan

廣嚴院

guansi

官寺

guantian

官田

Guoxuan si

國宣寺

Guoyi

國一

Haihui yuan

海惠院

Haiyan yidu

海宴一都

Haiyü shan

海虞山

Glossary

 

191

Han Shizhong (1089–1151)

韓世忠

hao

號

hemai

和買

heshang

和尚

Hironobu Shimomoto

下元宏展

Hokyo-ki

寶慶記

Hongjian si

宏監寺

hongtandu

宏檀度

Hongzhi

宏智

Hongzhi Zhengjue

宏智正覺

hu

戶

hu

斛

Huaibi

懷敝

Huailian

懷璉

Huang Jin (1277–1357)

黃溍

Huang Runyu (1389–1477)

黃潤玉

Huang Yuqi

黃毓祺

Huang Zhen (1213–80)

黃震

Huida

慧達

Huihong

惠洪

Huili

慧理

Hui Yin

惠因

Huichang

會昌

Huideng yuan

慧燈院

Huiguang yuan

惠光院

hushui

戶稅

Ihara Hiroshi

伊原弘

Jiang Mohe

蔣摩訶

Jiankang fu

建康府

jiao

教

Jiaoci zifu yuan

教慈資褔院

Jiaoyuan wushan

教院五山

Jiaozhong baoguo yuan

教忠報國院

jiayi siyuan

甲乙寺院

Jiedai zhangsheng yuan

接待彰聖院

192 

 

Glossary

jiedianku

解典庫

jifupu

寄附鋪

jin

金

Jindi zhuang

金地莊

Jineshan zhenxiang yuan

金峨山真相院

jing

井

jing zhe zhuang

經摺裝

Jingang

金剛

jingangxiang

金剛像

Jingci bao’en guangxiao chan si

淨慈報恩光孝禪寺

Jingci si

淨慈寺

Jingde Lingyin chan si

景德靈隱禪寺

Jingde yuan

景德院

Jingmiao si

凈妙寺

jingren

凈人

Jingshan si

徑山寺

Jingshan Xingsheng wanshou chan si

徑山興聖萬壽禪寺

jingtian

井田

Jingzhong yuan

凈眾院

Jinshi cuibian

金石萃編

Jinshi xubian

金石續編

Jintian zhuang

金田莊

Jinwenshan huizhao yuan

金文山惠照院

Jiqing si

集慶寺

Jiu Tang shu

舊唐書

ju

局

Ju Qingyuan

鞠清遠

Juntian

均田

kaishan

開山

kan

刊

ke

客

keri

刻日

ketian

課田

Kongxiang yuan

空相院

kou

口

Glossary

 

193

koufen

口分

Lang Ying

郎英

Leifeng yuan

雷峰院

li

禮

Li

李

Li Jifu

李吉甫

Li Xinzhuan (1167–1244)

李心傳

Liang Gengyao

梁庚堯

liangshui

兩稅

liangtian

糧田

Lin’an

臨安

lingsi

陵寺

Lingyin si

靈隱寺

lishi

立石

Lishui

麗水

Liu Daoyuan

劉道元

lü

律

lüshi

律師

lu

陸

Lu You (1125–1210)

陸游

Luo Jun

羅濬

Ma Nankang

馬南康

Ma Qianxi

馬潛溪

Ma Tingluan (1223–89)

馬廷鸞

Ma Wenzhong

馬文忠

Ma Zhaowen

馬昭文

Mao

毛

Maoguo zhuang

鄮國莊

Maoshan

鄮山

Meng Yuanlao

孟元老

Miaoning

妙寧

Miaozhi yuan

妙智院

ming

名

Minggong shupan Qing Ming ji

名公書判清明集

Mingjielou

明角嶁

194 

 

Glossary

Mingjue yuan

明覺院

Mingxin yuan

明心院

Mingzhou

明州

mintian

民田

Miyun Yuanwu (1566–1642)

密雲圓悟

mu

畝

Mufeng zhuang

牧峰莊

Nanjin

南金

Nanping shan

南屏山

Nengren si

能仁寺

Nengren yuan

能仁院

Ninghai xian

寧海縣

Ouyang Xiu (1007–72)

歐陽修

Pankuashan chongguo yuan

跘跨山崇果院

Panshan zhuang

盤山莊

Peng

彭

Piaoyang xian

漂陽縣

pu

僕

Puan yuan

普安院

Puguang yuan

普光院

Puhe yuan

普和院

Puji monastery

普濟寺

Pujiao (1048–1124)

普交

Pujing yuan

普淨院

Pujue

普覺

Purun

普潤

Pushun

普順

Putong

普通

Puxuan yuan

普宣院

Puzhao yuan

普照院

Puzhuo guangfu yuan

菩捉廣褔院

Qian

錢

qing

頃

Qing Ya

清雅

Qingxiu yuan

清修院

Glossary

 

195

Ruanshanguang yuan

阮山廣院

Rufeng

乳峰

Sanfeng si

三峰寺

sangtian

桑田

Sanjie si

三界寺

sanmen

三門

Sanshan zhuang

三山莊

sanyi

三衣

senglü

僧侶

sengren

僧人

shami

沙彌

shangren

上人

shanmen

山門

Shengshou si

聖壽寺

Shengxiang yuan

勝像院

shengzhi

聖旨

shetian

捨田

Shi

釋

shi

史

Shi Faqin (714–792)

釋法欽

Shi Weiwang

史衛王

Shiba Yoshinobu

斯波義信

shidianzhongshaojian

試殿中少監

shifang lüyuan

十方律院

shifang siyuan

十方寺院

shifu

師父

Shilong yuan

石龍院

shishe

施捨

shouhuangsheng

壽皇聖

Shouningchan si

壽寧禪寺

shu

書

Shu Dan

舒亶

shuitian

水田

shuyuan

書院

Sima Guang (1019–86)

司馬光

196 

 

Glossary

Siming

四明

Siming yuan

四明院

sitian

私田

siyuan jingji

寺院經濟

Sogaba Shizu

曾我部靜雄

Song Gaoseng zhuan

宋高僧傳

Song Lian

宋濂

Su Shi (1036–1101)

蘇軾

Sudo Yoshiyuki

周藤吉之

Taibai shan

太白山

Taibaixing

太白星

Taiqiu erdu ertu

太丘二都二圖

Taizhou

台州

Tang Xianzu

湯顯祖

Tanghuiyao

唐會要

Tao Xisheng

陶希聖

tian

田

Tianfu yuan

天褔院

Tianjie si

天界寺

tianpu

田僕

tianshen

天神

Tianshou si

天壽寺

Tianshou yuan

天壽院

tiantong

天童

Tiantong linglong si

天童玲瓏寺

Tiantong shan

天童山

Tiantong si

天童寺

Tiantong zhuang

天童莊

Tiantongshan jingde si

天童山景得寺

Tianzhu shan

天竺山

tonghang

童行

Tongzhen guan

通真觀

tu

圖

Tuotuo

脫脫

Tutian zhuang

塗田莊

Glossary

 

197

Wang Binzhe

王彬

Wang Lifu

王立夫

Wang Pingfu

王平夫

Wang Yuangong

王元恭

Wang Zai

王宰

Wen Xingdao

聞性道

Wudeng huiyuan

五燈會元

wudu ertu

五都二圖

Wufengshan chongfu yuan

五峰山崇福院

Wuji

無際

wujinzang

無盡藏

Wukong yuan

悟空院

Wulin

武林

Wushan shicha

五山十剎

Wuzhen yuan

悟真院

xian

縣

Xiangguo monastery

相國寺

Xiangshan

象山

xiangshuiqian

香水錢

Xianshou yuan

賢首院

Xiaobai zhuang

小白莊

Xiaobaihua shan

小白花山

Xiaozong

孝宗

Xihu zhuang

西湖莊

xin

心

Xingjiao yuan

興教院

xiu

修

Xiyanqing yuan

西延慶院

Xizhen si

栖真寺

Xu Shuo

徐碩

Yanchang si

延昌寺

Yanfu yuan

延褔院

Yang Ming

楊明

Yang Shi

楊寔

Yanshou wangguangfu yuan

延壽王廣褔院

198 

 

Glossary

Yanyou siming zhi

延祐四明志

yaowang

藥王

ye

業

Ye

葉

yi

義

yidu ertu

一都二圖

Yin

鄞

yitian

義田

Yixian

義銛

Yixing

義興

yizhuang

義莊

Yong’an si

永安寺

yongye

永業

yu min zhichan

與民質產

Yuan Jue

袁桷

Yuantong yuan

圓通院

Yulan pen jing

盂蘭盆經

Yunlong yuan

雲龍院

Yuquan si

玉泉寺

Zengyi zhuang

增益莊

Zhaixingfeng

摘星峰

Zhang Dai

張岱

Zhang Kangbo

張康伯

Zhang Keqing

張客卿

Zhang Shiche

張時徹

zhanglao

長老

Zhangweng Rujing

長翁如凈

Zhangxishan yansheng yuan

仗錫山延聖院

Zhao Yashu

趙雅書

Zhe Wengyan

浙翁琰

Zheng

鄭

Zhenwu

真悟

Zhipan

志磐

Zhiping yuan

治平院

zhishu

知墅

Glossary

 

199

zhizhuang

知莊

Zhong ahan

中阿含

Zhongfeng

中峰

Zhongshu menxia

中書門下

zhou

州

Zhou

周

Zhoushan tiantong zhuang

舟山天童莊

zhu

主

Zhu

朱

Zhu Chunren

朱純仁

Zhu Xi (1130–1200)

朱熹

Zhu Yu

朱彧

zhuan

撰

Zhuan’an yuan

專安院

Zhuang Liyu

莊李裕

zhuanghu

莊戶

zhuangke

莊客

zhuangtian

莊田

zhuangyuan

莊園

zhuanyunsi

轉運司

zhuchi

住持

Zhulin si

竹林寺

Zhushan Jingtu yuan

珠山凈土院

zi

字

Zijiao yuan

資教院

ziqianjia

自錢家

Zisheng yuan

資聖院

Zongbi

宗弼

Zongmi (780–841)

宗密

Zunjiao yuan

尊教院

Zushao

祖紹

(?)tou zhuang ?

頭莊

200 

 

Glossary

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Bibliography

Index academies (shuyuan), 9, 117–18

auctions, 59, 62, 63

action: and merit, 109, 110, 111, 112;

axis, north-south, 36–45

monastic, 14, 46–49, 52, 57; and

axis mundi, 46, 153n55

religiosity, 7, 23; social, 12, 111

Ayuwang monastery, 87, 91, 101, 161n72,

Adamek, Wendi, 115

175n122; landholdings of, 95, 104, 105,

agriculture, 9, 149n19, 163n8. See also rice

112, 114; layout of, 103–4; location of, 89,

production allotted land (ketian) system, 74

93; stele inscription at, 104–16; and Tiantong, 103, 104

An Lushan rebellion (755), 78, 84 Analects (Lunyu), 44

Bai Juyi, 162n80

architecture, 46, 48, 100; Buddhist and

Bao’en monastery, 85–86

Chinese, 154n63; and centrality, 40–45;

Baoguo monastery, 62

in Japan, 173n104; luoshu pattern in,

Baoyan monastery, 85

43–45

Baozhong temple (Daoist), 172n83

Bataille, Georges, 121

Chan Buddhism, 15, 169n64, 174n115;

Beijing, north-south axis of, 42–43, 45

dominance of, 140n8, 174n109; monas-

Benedict of Nursia, 22

teries of, 87, 88, 89, 94, 127–28, 175n117;

Bie Shanzhi, Abbot, 28

at Tiantong, 27

Bourdieu, Pierre, 7, 10, 116, 118

Chang’an, 43, 44, 45

Brook, Timothy, 94, 143n22

Chao Kang, 163n8

Budai (Chizi), 96, 177n21

charitable activities, 4–5, 77–78

Buddha Hall ( fodian), 36, 37, 38, 39, 51

charitable estates ( yitian; yizhuang), 75, 81,

Buddhism ( fojiao): as category, 13; in

118, 147n10

Chinese culture, 5, 6, 68, 154n63; and

Chen Bi, 85

land, 74, 82, 182n42; merit in, 109–10;

Chen Liao, 58

opposition to, 15; Pure Land, 114; and

Chen Wuliang, 86

ritual, 166n36; and social relations, 8–9;

Chengqi, Abbot, 27

spread of, 83; in Taiwan, 4–5; Theravada,

Chengtian Nengren monastery, 89, 174n114

156n20; Tiantai, 89, 140n8, 174n115; and

Chengxin, Abbot, 29

writing, 106. See also Chan Buddhism;

Chidester, David, 47

monasteries, Buddhist; practice,

Chikusa Masaaki, 83, 161n71

Buddhist

“China,” characters for, 41, 45, 73 Chongfu monastery, 178n27

Cai Lun, 64

Christianity, 53, 111; and economic activity,

capital: cultural, 6, 8, 9, 10, 47, 86, 91, 99,

58, 145n52; Protestant, 12–13; and religion

116, 118–19, 122, 123, 124, 143n22, 185n2;

as category, 144n30. See also monasteries,

donations as, 61, 66, 116–17; economic,

Christian

6, 8, 9, 10, 47, 86, 91, 99, 114, 116–24, 143n22, 185n2; and economic activity, 59, 61–62, 64–65; and gift-giving, 16–20;

commerce, 5, 15–16, 60; and gift-giving, 68; on waterways, 58, 150n19. See also exchange

and labor, 55; land as, 86, 105, 119, 122;

competition, 6, 9, 16, 17, 47, 105, 121, 122

and merit exchange, 123; and social

Confucianism (rujiao), 13

reproduction, 21; spiritual, 47; symbolic,

consumption, 7, 19, 55, 56; and merit

10, 117. See also wealth Capital (Marx), 19

exchange, 108, 123; venerative, 47 corporate bodies, 51–69; and individual,

capital-value, 20

54–55; and merit exchange, 106–9;

centrality: and north-south axis, 36–45;

monasteries as, 9, 52

sacred, 47, 154n64; and space, 25, 45–49;

corvée labor, 74, 80

and well-field system, 73

Cultural Revolution (1966–76), 4, 28, 140n6

228 

 

Index

Da Shiman, 67

in exchange relations, 18, 105, 106–8, 112;

Dabo niepan jingshu (Mahaparinirvana),

and land, 71, 73–74, 79; and monasteries,

57

5, 59, 64, 77–82, 89–90, 122, 124; and

Dahui, Abbot, 175n119, 179n4

mountains, 146n6; and north-south axis,

Daijoji (Japan), 173n104

45; and status, 66. See also imperial

Daoan, monk, 54, 169n64

plaques

Daoism (daojiao), 13, 27, 74, 140n4, 178n3; merit exchange in, 111; monasteries of, 9, 87, 172n83; monks in, 53, 54 Daoist temples (gongguan), 87, 172n83

Ennin, monk, 99, 160n68 equitable land ( juntian) system, 74–75, 84, 164nn14,19, 165n24 estates: charitable ( yitian; yizhuang), 75, 81,

Daoxuan, monk, 62, 169n64

118, 147n10; private (zhuangyuan), 75; of

Deguang, Master Fozhao, 104–5, 108, 109,

Tiantong, 95–101. See also land

111, 179n4

Europe: concept of property in, 163n7; the

Dejie, Abbot, 26, 28, 141n9

Enlightenment in, 11; land in, 161n71,

Deng Xiaoping, 4

169n63, 177n24; technology in, 64,

Derrida, Jacques, 17–18

160n66, 164n8. See also monasteries,

Dharma Drum Mountain (Buddhist

Christian

group), 4

exchange, 3, 6; at Ayuwang, 105; and

Dharma Hall ( fatang), 39

emperor, 18, 105, 106–8, 112; of gifts,

Dōgen, monk, 3, 28, 39, 170n64, 173n104,

16–20, 68, 115–17, 144n36; institutional-

174n115, 175n122 donations, 59, 65–67; as capital, 61, 66,

ized, 106; of labor, 8, 20; of land, 22, 75–77, 116; and religiosity, 8, 13, 124–25;

116–17; of food, 55, 56; imperial, 77, 84,

and social reproduction, 20–21; and

91; and merit, 107–12; from monks, 55;

space, 7, 46; at Tiantong, 124. See also

and status, 67, 108, 112, 117; and steles,

commerce; merit exchange

116–17. See also land donations

exchange-value, 19, 20, 115, 116, 122, 123

Dongling monastery, 111 Douglas, Mary, 9, 11, 51

Fabao, monk, 62

Dunhuang manuscripts, 62, 161n71, 170n68

family, 9, 18, 121; and land, 22, 74, 117–19;

Durkheim, Émile, 12, 22

sangha as, 117–19; and taxes, 80. See also lineage monasteries

Eisai, monk, 28, 170n64, 174n115

Fan Zhongyan, 75, 81, 184n49

Eliade, Mircea, 46

Fang Qiuyai, 86

emperor: and Ayuwang, 104–5; as Dharma

Faure, Bernard, 144n33

king, 107; donations from, 89, 91, 140n8;

Faxuan, 27

Index 

 

229

Feiyin, Abbot, 28

habitus, 184n2

fengshui, 36, 37, 43, 46

Halperin, Mark, 144n35

festivals, 15, 59, 62–63, 157n28

Han Shizhong, 67, 162n79

filial piety, 113

Heidegger, Martin, 22

Fitzgerald, Timothy, 143n30

Heng and Ha (protective deities), 36

Five Buddhas Pagoda (Wufo ta), 29

Hongjian monastery, 97

five-mountain/ten-monastery system

Hongzhi Zhengjue, Abbot, 27, 97

(wushan shicha), 28, 66, 67, 86–89, 93,

household registers, 74

175n117; in Japan, 173n104, 174n115

Huaihai, Chan master, 56, 169n64

Five Phases (wuxing), 43

Huaihai, monk, 170n73

Fokuang shan (Buddhist group), 4

Hualian, monk, 104

Forbidden City (Beijing), 42–43

Huang Jin, 89

Fori, Master, 60

Huang Min-chih, 161n71

Foucault, Michel, 8

Huang Runyu, 27 Huang Yuqi, 28, 141n9

Gaozong, Emperor, 104, 149n19

Huang Zhen, 1, 4, 57

Gazetteer of Tiantong Monastery (1712), 97,

Huayan monastery, 60

98

Hui Yin, Abbot, 86

gazetteers (difangzhi), 5, 26, 27, 87, 94; contents of, 100; land listed in, 133–34; for Tiantong, 28, 32, 67, 95, 97, 99, 140n9 Gernet, Jacques, 68, 83, 98, 142n15, 161n71, 170n68, 171n80, 182n42

Huichang suppression (841–846), 83, 84, 90, 157n28 Huida, monk, 178n3 Huihong, 61 Huili, monk, 90

gift-giving, 16–20, 68, 144n36; and debt, 17, 18; vs. merit exchange, 115–17 The Gift (Mauss), 16

identity: and action, 52; Chinese, 68; communal, 6, 23, 47, 49, 52, 59

Gombrich, Richard, 55

imperial plaques (ci’e), 78, 79–80, 89, 90,

Gu Tiantong, 2, 38

91

Guanding, 57

income, monastic, 100; from admission

Guangrui, monk, 111

fees, 29; and land, 68–69, 105; of

Guangxi monastery, 61

modern monasteries, 4; from patrons,

Guanyin, 1, 36

65–67; from rituals, 51–52, 108; and

Guoyi, monk (Shi Faqin, Daoqin), 91,

social reproduction, 21; sources of,

176n128

230 

59–65, 122

 

Index

India: gift exchange in, 144n36; land in, 83, 169n63; monks in, 54, 55, 56; paper in, 64; trade with, 150n19

Lamotte, Étienne, 110 land, 71–91; acquisition of, 3, 72, 77, 81, 82–86, 98, 99, 105, 112, 123–24, 169n63;

Inexhaustible Treasuries (wujinzang), 62, 65

in allotted land (ketian) system, 74; of

institutionalization, 10, 118, 160n71

Ayuwang, 95, 104, 105, 112, 114; in Buddhism, 74, 82, 182n42; as capital, 86,

Japan: land in, 163n7; monasteries in,

105, 119, 122; commodification of, 75,

173n104, 174n115; paper in, 64; and

122; and concept of property, 163n7;

Protestantism, 12–13; trade with, 150n19

confiscation of, 4, 59, 83, 84, 86, 91,

Jian Xiuwei, 84

98; and emperor, 71, 73–74, 79; in

Jiang Mohe, monk, 96

equitable land (juntian) system, 74–75,

Jiangtian monastery, 173n95

84, 164nn14,19, 165n24; in Europe,

Jingci monastery, 66, 84, 85, 87, 89, 91

161n71, 169n63, 177n24; exchange of, 22,

Jingmiao monastery, 86

75–77, 116; and family, 22, 74, 117–19;

Jingshan monastery, 87, 89, 91, 104, 173n104,

and food, 112–13; income from, 68–69,

175nn119,122 Jingxian, monk, 60

105; in India, 83, 169n63; in Japan, 163n7; labor on, 55–56, 57, 170n68; laws on, 72–74, 164nn14,19; leased (diantian),

Kangxi, Emperor, 66

77; and materialization of ideas, 21–22;

karma: and merit, 109, 112, 113, 114; and

and merit, 14–16, 65, 87, 100, 108–11,

wealth, 122–23

123, 182n42; monastic, 76, 83–86, 122,

Kexiang, monk, 52

127–30, 133–34, 180n15; mountainous, 84,

Kieschnick, John, 110, 142n15

98–99, 172n82; ownership of, 55, 72,

Korea, 64

74–77, 83–86; permanent fields (changzhutian), 75, 81, 84, 85, 87, 88, 104;

labor: and capital, 55; corvée, 74, 80;

and population growth, 75–76; public

exchange of, 8, 20; identity of, 47, 52, 54,

(gongtian), 74; purchase of, 28, 85–86,

57; and images of Tiantong, 35; and

105; reclamation of, 76; records of,

intention, 55–56; Marx on, 19–20; and

133–34, 166n30; scattered plots of, 98,

merit exchange, 123, 124; and monastic

177n24; and social reproduction, 21, 86,

power, 83; of monks, 35, 54–56, 170n68;

91; and status, 99, 112, 116, 122, 124;

and space, 15, 29, 47, 48, 49, 55, 121

tax-exempt, 21, 80–81, 84, 87, 88, 91,

laity, Buddhist, 5, 7, 57, 82, 100, 110, 114. See also patrons

180n14; taxes on, 66, 74, 75, 76, 80–81, 99; of Tiantong, 28, 84, 87, 91, 95–101,

Index 

 

231

land (continued )

Long, Charles, 11, 47

127; in well-field ( jingtian) system,

Longshou monastery, 86

72–73

Lu You, 67, 104, 111, 118, 178n3; stele

land donations, 84–85, 89; in Buddhist

inscription by, 104–6, 115

practice, 3, 22, 82, 108; for food, 112–13;

Luo Jun, 26

income from, 68–69; and merit, 18–22,

luoshu (Luo River script) pattern, 43–45, 48,

65, 84, 87, 100, 112–15, 182n42; power from, 77, 82; and steles, 116; and tax

74, 146n6 Luther, Martin, 109

avoidance, 21, 80–81, 84, 87, 88, 91, 180n14 Lang Ying, 87

Ma Tingluan, 1, 82, 114, 117

laws: on land ownership, 72–74, 164nn14,19;

magistrates, local, 78, 79, 86, 122

on monasteries, 140n8; on ordination,

Maitreya Buddha, 36, 40, 103, 177n21

155n5; on tenant cultivators, 156n14

Manjusri (Wenshu) boddhisattva, 36

Lefebvre, Henri, 25, 47, 48

Mao mountain, 177n18

legitimacy: and capital, 10, 118–19, 122;

Marx, Karl, 19–20, 116, 123

competition for, 16; and donations, 116,

materialization of ideas, 20, 21–22, 108, 112

117; and economic activity, 59; and

Mauss, Marcel, 16–19, 22

imperial plaques, 79; and land, 124; and

medicine, 59, 60–61, 157nn31,32

merit exchange, 123; and space, 7, 44;

Meng Yuanlao, 63

and wealth, 67, 95

merchants, 60, 65, 76, 104

Li Xinzhuan, 104, 178n2

merit: accumulation of, 110, 114; Buddhist

Liang Keng-yao, 76

production of, 14–16; experience of,

Lin’an (Hangzhou), 2, 26, 76, 91, 148nn11,12,

109–12; field of ( futian), 109, 111, 113–14;

149n19

and food, 109, 111; vs. gift-giving, 115–17;

lineage monasteries ( jiayi lüyuan), 88, 89–90, 94, 129–30

and land, 14–16, 65, 87, 100, 108–11, 123, 182n42; materialization of, 21–22, 112;

Linenthal, Edward, 47

and medicine, 61; and sacred space, 25;

Ling’an monastery, 104

and social reproduction, 100–101, 112

Lingyin monastery, 67, 80, 84, 87, 89, 90, 179n4

merit exchange, 100–101, 106–17; in Daoism, 111; vs. gift-giving, 115–17; and

literati, 9, 108, 122, 144n35, 162n76, 163n3, 180n16

labor, 123, 124; and land donations, 18–22, 65, 84, 87, 100, 112–15, 182n42;

Liu Kang, 85

and power, 106, 107, 117, 123; and

Liu Xinru, 161n71

religiosity, 105–6, 123; and ritual, 81, 107;

lohans (arhats), 36, 39, 152n37

and social reproduction, 108, 123, 124

232 

 

Index

merit monasteries ( gongde yuan), 80–81, 87, 88, 180n14

monasteries, Christian, 22; economic activities of, 6, 58, 155n6, 157n32, 158n38,

Meru, Mount, 40, 151n32

160n68; land of, 161n71, 169n63, 177n24;

Meyer, Jeffrey, 151n31, 152n37

and money lending, 158n49

Miaoning, monk, 68

monasteries, Daoist, 9, 87, 172n83

Miaoyuan monastery, 86

money lending, 61–62, 65, 124, 158n49

Michihata Ryōshū, 161n71

monks: Daoist, 53, 54; and family, 117, 118;

mills, flour, 3, 59, 61, 158n38

labor of, 35, 54–56, 170n68; land

Ming (Ningbo) prefecture, 2, 26–27,

ownership by, 82, 84; and merit

93–94, 98, 133–34, 147n10, 174n116,

exchange, 106, 107, 108, 112; ordination

176n2

certificates (dudie) for, 78, 167n43;

Minghua monastery, 173n95

ordination of, 155n5; and property, 55, 57,

Miyun Yuanwu, Abbot, 28, 38

115, 155n6, 156n20; records of, 100; rules

monasteries, Buddhist: Chan, 87, 88, 89, 94,

for, 55, 82, 169n64; terms for, 53–54. See

127–28, 175n117; charitable activities of,

also sangha

4–5, 77–78; as corporate bodies, 9, 52; economic activities of, 5, 15–16, 58–65,

Needham, Joseph, 44

68, 78, 122, 124, 150n19, 160n68;

Nengren monastery, 111

education in, 117–18; and emperor, 5, 59,

neo-Confucianism, 15

64, 77–82, 89–90, 105, 106–8, 112, 122,

Ningbo prefecture. See Ming (Ningbo)

124; and family, 117–19; histories of, 100;

prefecture

imperial control of, 77–82; in Japan,

Ningbofu jianyao zhi (gazetteer), 94

173n104, 174n115; lineage ( jiayi lüyuan),

nuns, 63–64, 84, 87, 94, 156n20. See also

88, 89–90, 94, 129–30; merit ( gongde

sangha

yuan), 80–81, 87, 88, 180n14; persecutions of, 4, 59, 83, 84, 86, 90, 91, 98,

Ohnuma, Reiko, 113

157n28; populations of, 175n122; power

oil production, 59, 61

of, 77–78, 82–83, 107; as sacred space,

ordination certificates (dudie), 78, 167n43

124; teaching (jiao yuan), 87, 88, 128–29,

Otto, Rudolf, 46

175n117; ten-direction/public (shifang

Ouyang Xiu, 184n49

lüyuan), 88, 89–90, 94, 129; types of, 87–88; typical layouts of, 36–37; workers

paper production, 59, 64

in, 56–57. See also five-mountain/

patrons, 76, 108, 122, 143n22; local, 140n8;

ten-monastery system; income, monas-

records of, 100; as source of income,

tic; land donations

65–67. See also land donations

Index 

 

233

pawnshops, 59, 61–62. See also money lending

Reader, Ian, 110 reflecting wall ( yingbi), 36, 37

Pelliot, Paul, 62

releasing-of-life pool ( fangshengchi), 36, 103

permanent assets (changzhu), 75, 156n19

religion: as category, 11–12; elite vs. popular,

permanent fields (changzhutian), 75, 81, 84, 85, 87, 88, 104

144n33; vs. religiosity, 12, 13–14, 143n30 Religion in Chinese Society (Yang), 13

Platform Sutra, 110

religiosity, 11–14; and capital, 122; Chinese,

poetry, 15, 100, 104, 161n72, 178n3; literati,

12–14; and exchange, 124–25; material, 7,

66–67, 108, 180n16; and space, 10, 121,

8; vs. materiality, 4, 5–6; and merit

124; on Tiantong, 38, 66–67

exchange, 105–6; and mountains, 146n6;

population: growth of, 75–76, 163n8; of Yin county, 131

practical, 110; vs. religion, 12, 13–14, 143n30; and space, 47–48. See also

potlatch, 17

sacrality; salvation

power: and cultural capital, 122; in gift

Renzong, Emperor, 104

exchange, 17; and land ownership, 82–83;

Republican period (1911–48), 4, 35

local, 107, 157n28; and merit exchange,

rice production, 35, 76, 80, 148n11, 165n25

106, 107, 117, 123; of monasteries, 77–78,

ritual: and Buddhism, 166n36; and income,

82–83, 107; and religion, 13; and space, 7;

51–52, 108; and merit exchange, 81, 107;

and status, 115–16; symbolic, 122; and

and sacred space, 25, 44, 59, 153n55

territoriality, 71–72; of writing, 106 practice, Buddhist, 14; vs. doctrine, 57; and donations, 3, 22, 82, 108; merit in, 106

sacrality, 8–11, 46–47 salt trading, 59

printing, 59, 64, 149n19

salvation, 105, 111, 121, 123, 124–25

Protestantism, 12–13

Sanfen monastery, 86

Puji monastery, 85

sangha (social community of monks and

Puming monastery, 172n95

nuns), 4, 6, 108; as family, 117–19; and

Pure Land Buddhism, 114

individual, 54–55, 68; and materialization

Putuo, Mount, 1

of ideas, 21; and merit, 108, 114;

Puxian (Samantabhadra) bodhisattva, 36

permanent assets (changzhu) of, 75, 156n19; and power, 106; social reproduc-

Qian Weiqiao, 94

tion of, 119; wealth of, 115, 123, 155n6. See

Qing Ya, Abbot, 85, 117

also monks; Three Jewels

Qingming ji, 86

Sanjie monastery, 62

Qita monastery, 51–52

Schopen, Gregory, 142n14, 169n63

234 

 

Index

Schurmann, H. F., 163n7

space: and action, 47, 48, 49, 55, 59; and

Scripture for Humane Kings, 107

centrality, 25, 45–49; emplacement in,

servants, lay ( jingren), 56–57

45–49; and exchange, 7, 46; and

Shanxi, monk, 151n28

hierarchy, 47, 48; and images of

Shaolin monastery, 86

Tiantong, 32, 35–36; and labor, 15, 29,

Shi Faqin (Guoyi, Daoqin), 91, 176n128

47, 48, 49, 55, 121; and poetry, 10, 121,

Shi Weiwang, 88

124; and religiosity, 47–48; of representa-

Shilong monastery, 171n78

tion, 121; sacred, 8–11, 25, 44, 45–49, 59,

Shinto, state, 13

124, 153nn51,55; and social economy, 7–8;

Shou Zhong, 61

and social reproduction, 14–15; square,

Shu Dan, 151n27

41–42; and symbolism, 6–7; and wealth,

Shujing (Book of Documents), 44

5–8

Shuzhi, Emperor, 39

Sri Lanka, 55

silk production, 59, 63

status, 3; and cultural capital, 118; and

Sima Guang, 184n49

donations, 66, 67, 108, 112, 117; and

slaves, 56, 83, 124, 156n11

family, 117; and land, 99, 112, 116, 122,

Smith, Jonathan Z., 12, 46, 142n19

124; and merit exchange, 123; of

social relations: and Buddhism, 8–9; and

monasteries, 16; and power, 115–16; and

capital, 121–22; in gift exchange, 18; and

steles, 116; of Tiantong, 27; and wealth,

individual, 55; Marx on, 19–20; and

67

religion, 13; and space, 22, 47; and wealth, 83 social reproduction, 3, 20–21; and educa-

stele inscriptions, 61, 121, 124, 140nn6,9; at Ayuwang, 104–16; at Tiantong, 39 Su Shi, 78, 184n49

tion, 117–18; and expedient means, 14; of

Sun En rebellion (399), 27

family, 118, 119; and institutional identity,

Sun Zhi, 90

52; and land, 21, 86, 91; and merit,

surplus-value, 20, 116

100–101, 108, 112, 123, 124

symbolism, 66, 122; and capital, 10, 117; in

Song Gaoseng zhuan (Song biographies of eminent monks), 86

images of Tiantong, 32, 35, 36; and space, 6–7

Song Lian, 88 Song periods (960–1279), 5, 9, 27, 76;

Taibai, Mount, 1–3, 26, 38, 67, 95, 150n25

Northern to Southern shift in, 2, 148n12,

Taibaixing, 2–3

149n19

Taiwan, 4–5

Songhuiyao jigao, 64

Taizong, Emperor, 79

Index 

 

235

Tambiah, Stanley, 109, 115

30–35; land of, 28, 84, 87, 91, 95–101, 127;

Tanabe, George, 110

layout of, 25, 38–41; location of, 25–27,

Tang Xianzu, 85

89, 93; as model for Japan, 173n104; plan

taxes, 15; on economic activity, 58, 62;

of, 136; poetry on, 38, 66–67; restora-

exemption from, 21, 80–81, 84, 87, 88, 91,

tions of, 28–29; as space of representa-

104, 116, 123, 180n14; and imperial

tion, 121; structures in, 137–38; tourism

control, 79, 80–81; in kind, 63; on land,

at, 29, 35; wealth of, 3, 95, 122

66, 74, 75, 76, 80–81, 99 tea production, 59, 99, 160n69 teaching monasteries ( jiao yuan), 87, 88, 128–29, 175n117

Tiantong si ji (A record of Tiantong monastery), 95, 141n9 Tiantong si zhi (Gazetteer of Tiantong monastery), 140n9

technology, 59, 64, 149n19, 160n66, 163n8, 164n8

Tianzhu monastery, 86, 107 Tongzhen monastery, 111

Teiser, Stephen, 110

tourism, 4, 29, 35, 47, 65

ten-direction/public monasteries (shifang

Twitchett, Denis, 161n71

lüyuan), 88, 89–90, 94, 129

Tzu Chi (Buddhist group), 4

tenant cultivators, 56, 76, 156n14 ter Haar, Barend, 110

urbanization, 150n19

territoriality, 3, 21, 71–72, 121, 122

use-value, 19, 20, 115, 116, 122, 123

Tettsu Gikai, 173n104 textile production, 59, 63

Veyne, Paul, 111

Theravada Buddhism, 156n20 Three Jewels (Buddha, Dharma, Sangha), 23, 113, 145n55, 156n19. See also sangha Tianjie monastery, 174n115

Wang Anshi, 66, 147n10, 162n78 Wansui monastery, 62–63 wealth: donations of, 65; and family, 117;

Tianning monastery, 172n95

individual, 55, 57, 115, 155n6; and karma,

Tiantai Buddhism, 89, 140n8, 174n115

122–23; and land, 69, 82, 112, 122; and

Tiantong monastery: as antisocial space, 15;

legitimacy, 67, 95; and merit, 110, 112,

and Ayuwang, 103, 104; as corporate

123; of monasteries, 99; of sangha, 115,

body, 52; cultural capital of, 119; Dōgen

123, 155n6; and social relations, 83; and

at, 3, 28, 175n122; economic activities of,

space, 5–8; and status, 67; of Tiantong, 3,

14, 61, 65, 124; founding of, 1–3;

95, 122. See also capital

gazetteers for, 28, 32, 67, 95, 97, 99,

Weinstein, Stanley, 78

140n9; history of, 5, 27–29; images of,

well-field ( jingtian) system, 72–73

236 

 

Index

Wen Xingdao, 26, 28, 141n9

Yong’an monastery, 85, 172n89

Wuji, Abbot, 175n122

Yongzheng, Emperor, 39

Wukong monastery, 171n79

Yu the Great, 44

wuxing school, 43

Yuan Kai, Abbot, 28 Yuanming, Abbot, 28

Xia Yihui, 84

Yuanying, Abbot, 38

Xiangguo monastery, 63, 64

Yuquan monastery, 85

Xianshou monastery, 85, 117 Xiao Wen, Emperor, 74

Zanghuan, Abbot, 27

Xiaozong, Emperor, 39

Zhang Kangbo, 64

Xingbai, Abbot, 27

Zhang Mantao, 161n71

Xu Shuo, 85, 178n27

Zhang Tingbin, 28, 141n9

Xu’an, Abbot, 28

Zhao Kuangyin, 149n19 Zhe Wengyan, Abbot, 175n122

Yanchang monastery, 110, 184n51

Zhipan, monk, 57

Yang, C. K., 13

Zhong ahan, 110

Yang Ming, 28, 67, 95, 98, 99, 141n9

zhongguo, characters for, 41, 45, 73

Yanyou siming zhi (Gazetteer of Siming,

Zhouli (Rites of Zhou), 43

Yanyou period), 94

Zhu Xi, 15, 184n49

Yijing (Book of Changes), 43

Zhu Yu, 63

Yin county, 26–27, 65, 93–94, 98, 108,

Zhuang Liyu, 58

147n10, 176n2; monastic land in, 127–30,

Zhuchan, monk, 39

133–34, 180n15; population of, 131

Zhulin monastery, 60–61

yin-yang, 43, 45

Zining, Abbot, 28

Yinhuai, Abbot, 28

Zongbi, Chan Master, 27

Yixing, monk, 27, 38, 46, 95, 140n4; and

Zongmi, monk, 113

founding of Tiantong, 1–3

Zushao, monk, 184n51

Index 

 

237