What separates countries and empires from civilizations is not size or wealth, or military power. It is their cultural significance, their contribution to Humanity.
Cultures might conquer others, but also ascend above raw power and economic exploitation, and contribute to science, art, philosophy, literature, and so on. Such contributions leave a lasting mark on Humankind for the better, not worse.
Conquering other nations, exploiting other people’s resources, and such contributes nothing useful. No one will remember you when you are gone someday, except maybe historians.
Instead, if a nation is going to be remembered, it will be remembered for leaving violence behind, and embracing reason and goodwill. By lifting people up, not trampling them By elevating science and reason, not superstition and religion. This is true for empires long ago, but also for police-states now.
At least that’s my opinion… 🖖🏼
1 Quoted from both Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, and the Star Trek: Enterprise episode “The Forge” (s4:ep7)
Long, long ago, I wrote about the struggles in the Late Roman Republic between its version of progressives versus conservatives. The Roman Republic did not have political parties as we would know them, but the factions and disagreements on how to solve changing political issues did exist in its Senate, much as happens in the modern world.
But that’s not something limited to ancient Rome.
In the late 6th century CE Japan was still limited to a small kingdom called Yamato (大和) which had conquered most of its rival kingdoms. At this time, the ruler of Yamato was still little more than a “chieftain” of the largest territory called an ō-kimi (大君) meaning “big king”, not even emperor (tennō, 天皇) as they are called now. Further, the authority of the king depended on powerful clans who had strong influence on the government.
For example, during Emperor Yōmei’s short and problematic reign there rose a power struggle between two opposing factions, the Soga (蘇我) clan, and the Mononobe (物部), and during the interregnum after he died. One one side of the struggle was a reform faaction that wanted to modernize the government based on the based on Sui-Dynasty Chinese government models, away from the older, clan-based kingship. This faction included:
Soga no Umako – head of the once powerful Soga clan, who had ties to the Korean peninsula
If the Soga were a progressive, reform faction wanting to modernize the country using the latest imported culture from China, the Mononobe were the exact opposite. The Mononobe Clan was a conservative, traditional clan that distrusted the new imported Chinese culture, and especially the foreign-imported religion of Buddhism. They supported the more native Shinto traditions, and were on the more xenophobic side of the political spectrum. Their current head, Mononobe no Moriya, actively skirmished with Soga no Umako during Yomei’s reign.
According to a historical text from the time, the Nihon Shoki (also discussed here and here), these conflicts came to a head in the year 587 after Emperor died, and a successor had to be chosen. In Japanese this is called the Teibi Conflict (teibi no ran, 丁未の乱) of 587. The Soga Clan and Prince Shotoku supported one successor, the Mononobe, the other. During the battle for succession, Mononobe no Moriya attacked Buddhist temples, and burned some of the images (often imported from the Korean kingdom of Baekje).
Finally, the battle came to a head at Mount Shigi (shigisan, 信貴山) in July of 587. The Soga lost multiple engagements at first and retreated. Then, according to tradition, Prince Shotoku, who was related to the Imperial family, fashioned a sacred branch of sumac, prayed to the Four Heavenly Kings (四天王) of Buddhism,1 promising to build a temple if they could help him trounce the Mononobe.
The subsequent battle was a complete rout for the Mononobe clan, and their leader Moriya was shot with an arrow. The rest was history: Shitenno-ji Temple, one of the oldest in Japan.
Under the reign of Empress Suiko, one of the few, powerful female monarchs in Japanese history,2 Japan further prospered under the triad of Suiko, Soga no Umako and Prince Shotoku, her advisors. Prince Shotoku in particular was said to have introduced:
Japan’s first ever Buddhist-influenced constitution: the Seventeen-article Constitution (jūshichijō kenpō, 十七条憲法 ). It’s not a modern, legal document, but it was meant to provide a spiritual framework for governing the country.3
Reorganized the bureaucracy into a meritocratic system based on the Chinese model, the Twelve Level Cap and Rank System (kan’i jūnikai, 冠位十二階).
The first use of the title “Emperor” (tennō, 天皇), when Prince Shotoku addressed the Emperor of China from the “Emperor” of Japan. This was a bit of a diplomatic coup by placing Japan as a co-equal to Imperial China.
What I always find interesting about this period of Japanese history was the overtly progressive nature and forward-thinking of the government at the time, not to mention a powerful female sovereign, and how it triumphed over conservative, xenophobic thinking. Of course, by today’s standards, it doesn’t seem that progressive, and some of these reforms eventually petered out,4 or were abandoned for various reasons, but some aspects persisted up until modern times. It is also the subject of various manga over the years.
But also, what I really like about this period is that the old order wasn’t totally destroyed either. The two sides eventually just learned to co-exist for many generations (e.g. the Nara and Heian periods of Japanese history). It wasn’t a smooth transition, but the forces of history marched on nonetheless.
P.S. Fun fact, one of the supporters of the conservative Mononobe faction was a small clan called the Nakatomi. Later, the Nakatomi would become the Fujiwara, and would eventually dominate political life in Japan. History is weird.
P.P.S. Featured photo is one of many pagodas (Buddhist stupa) promulgated by Shotoku, this one in Kyoto.
1 In Sanskrit, these were the Caturmahārājakayikas or Caturmahārāja. For example, if you visit Todaiji, you see some of the Four Guardian Kings around the giant statue of the Buddha, plus many other, older temples. I liked their adaptation in Roger Zelazny’s “Lord of Light” as well.
2 There were other Empresses who reigned as well, some powerful, but many remained as temporary regents until someone else could assume the throne.
3 The modern constitution of Japan adopted in 1947, at the instigation of US Occupation Forces, is ironically significantly more progressive and modern than the US Constitution. To be fair, they were written almost 200 years apart, but the Japanese Constitution explicitly grants suffrage to women and abolishes slavery. Even now, with its amendments, the US Constitution grants neither. In college, I met the lady (a US army secretary at the time) who helped write the clause on women’s suffrage. She was a very fascinating person, though she’s probably passed away by now.
4 Many generations later, this was still largely true: powerful clans ruled many parts of Japan outside the capital, gradually evolving into a feudal system over the centuries, until the Meiji Restoration of 1868,
It’s hard to believe but in some places Plum Blossom season is already here! My wife sent me this post from Dazaifu Tenmangu Shrine in western Japan showing the first blooms of the year:
This is a famous Shinto shrine (homepage here) that venerates the God of Learning, Tenjin (天神), better known in history as Sugawara no Michizane.1 I have visited Kitano Tenmangu Shrine in Kyoto, and Yushima Tenmangu Shrine in Tokyo, but Dazaifu is in western Japan where Michizane died in exile and not easily accessible for me, though my sister-in-law somehow got me a charm from there last year. I’ve always liked Tenjin/Michizane, so if I had to pick a Shinto deity, he gets my vote.
Plum blossoms, which imported from China (unlike native cherry blossoms), were trendy among the elite of Japanese society as far back as the Manyoshu anthology (7th century):
Original Manyogana
Modern Japanese
Romanization
Rough Translation1
和何則能尓
我が園に
Waga sono ni
Perhaps
宇米能波奈知流
梅の花散る
Ume no hana chiru
the plum blossoms will
比佐可多能
ひさかたの
Hisakata no
scatter in my garden
阿米欲里由吉能
天より雪の
Ama yori yuki no
like falling snow
那何久流加母
流れ来るかも
Nagarekuru kamo
from the gleaming heavens
1 Amateur translation, apologies for any mistakes
Later, because of Michizane’s devotion to his old plum tree while in exile, plum blossoms became associated with his deified form of Tenjin, and thus Tenmangu shrines typically have some on the sacred grounds.
My own tree2 blooms in early-to-mid February and I look forward to it every year.
I hope you all get a chance to see some plum blossoms in your area too!
1 Elevating historical figures to the status of kami is not that unusual in Shinto religion.
2 Mine are more typical Thundercloud Plum trees (Prunus cerasifera), common here in the US, while Japanese umé (梅) are a somewhat different variety (Prunus mume). But I am happy with what I have.
Some years ago, I received a tenugui (手ぬぐい), a kind of cotton cloth traditdionally used in Japan, with the following calligraphy on it:
我逢人 gahōjin
“self meets person”
I have briefly mentioned here this notion, but today I wanted to delve into it more. I have struggled to find a clear reference, but according to one story I found, these were the words uttered by founder of Soto Zen in Japan, Dogen, after first encountering his new teacher Rújìng (如淨, 1163–1228) in China.1 Dogen had studied under the Tendai sect in Japan for years, but he was dissatisfied with the lack of rigor, and journeyed with his mentor to Song-dynasty China to learn more there. At the Tiantong Temple (天童寺, Tiāntóngsì) he met Rujing, and after their first meeting, Dogen was said to have uttered these words meaning “At last, I have met someone”.
The sentiment here is that even though we might be physically in a room full of people, we may not really connect with them. We all go through this feeling. In modern society, that sense of isolation in a crowded room may feel even more acute. It is indeed a noisy yet lonely world we live in, and as the Buddha described it, a world of aimless wandering.
Only when you connect with someone does it really feel like you meet them. This could be someone romantic, or someone like a mentor, or just a really good friend. When you connect with that person, you can speak your mind 100%, and they will understand you. Such encounters are indeed rare (I can probably think of maybe 10-15 people in my own life), but it’s an example of how karma can work in mysterious ways, maybe across many lifetimes.
It is also why, in my opinion, when one encounters the light of Amida Buddha, or the Dharma in general, it subtly alters one’s aimless trajectory. Imagine an asteroid hurtling through the void of space for eons, then one day it’s finally caught within the gravity of a star. It’s still moving, but now its trajectory gradually bends more and more toward the star. I like to think of encountering the Dharma like that.
It’s also a great example of how Zen phrases and idioms proliferate Japanese language.
Namu Shakamuni Butsu
P.S. Please enjoy the Maha Santa Claus Sutra, an old classic I wrote 6 years old (!). Happy Holidays!
1 In Chinese, he is known better is Tiāntóng Rújìng (天童如净, “Rujing of Tiantong [temple]”).
The Hellenistic Age in history is the period after Alexander the Great died in 323 BCE, when his soldiers scrambled for power over the vast conquered empire, and ruling the known world for three centuries until they were toppled one by one by the Roman Republic.
These dynasties, descended from Alexander’s generals and philoi (trusted companions), were all Greco-Macedonian in culture and language, yet because each dynasty ruled over a different culture: Egyptian, Persian, Babylonian, and so on, they took on their own unique characteristics. These Hellenistic kings exemplified masculine warrior king ideology as they competed for legitimacy through warfare and conquest, with no overarching political ideology.
The Seleucid Empire, descended from former general Seleukos I Nikator (“the victor”). The Seleucid Dynasty had by far the largest chunk of Alexander’s conquests, but also the most difficult to maintain. The diversity of people of people from the Levant, including the Hebrews, the Babylonians, the Parthians, and peoples in northwest India required constant vigilance to rule by a tiny Greco-Macedonian minority.
To assist with their rule, the Seleucids wisely adopted Babylonian customs and religious ceremonies, while their patron god Apollo synthesized with eastern Persian (and Parthian) cultures who venerated archery. The Seleucid kings had to go on campaign constantly to maintain control over such a large empire, while maintaining religious functions in Babylon. The satraps (local kings ruling each province in Persian tradition) required constant discipline because they were prone to set themselves up as rivals. The early Seleucid rulers also established or augmented Greek colonies across the empire to help maintain rule.
The powerful Antiochus III Megas, (a.k.a. Antiochus the Great) made a famous Anabasis campaign that took him all the way to Kabul, Afghanistan to crush rebel satrap Euthydemus I, in Bactria, before swinging back around and crushing then re-subjugating Persia, and Coele Syria (the lands around modern Israel). Antiochus III Megas, the most successful of the Seleucid rulers, only keep it all together through sheer force of will and constant warfare, and many later rulers were simply not as capable or successful.
After Antiochus III, the empire began to unravel as his sons Seleucus IV Philopator and Antiochus IV Epiphanes, and their progeny gradually split the ruling family, as one side would usurp the throne, while the other would eventually reclaim it. All this happened, as enemies gradually increased on their borders, and the territory they ruled over got smaller and smaller.
Antiochus IV Epiphanes is particularly infamous in the biblical tradition, namely in the Old Testament, for his Abomination of Desolation (defiling the Temple of Jerusalem and replacing worship of G*d with pagan idols) and became the archetypal antichrist figure later. The Hellenistic Age podcast has a really nice series of episodes about this period:
Definitely check them out if interested. By the way, the Jewish holiday of Hanukkah dates from the time of Antiochus IV, and his (failed) efforts to crush the Maccabean revolt, though according to the Hellenistic Age Podcast, the tradition of the Menorah seems to date some time later. (Happy Hanukah to Jewish readers, btw!)
Ptolemaic Egypt
The Ptolemies, by contrast, ruled a somewhat smaller empire, but it was more culturally unified, and incredibly rich. By the time Alexander the Great came to Egypt, Egypt as a nation-state had already existed for 2500-3000 years. So, Egyptian culture was OLD even by the standards of the ancient Greeks.
To rule such a state, the Ptolemies adopted rulership as another Pharonic dynasty, technically the 33rd such dynasty if you are counting. Unlike the traditional dynasts of Egypt, who ruled from either Memphis (Old Kingdom) or Thebes (New Kingdom), the Ptolemies settled in the northwest city of Alexandria, and ruled over a small but powerful Greek aristocracy. Much like the Seleucids, this ethnically Greek minority had certain privileges and rights that the rest of the population did not, and frequently filled key positions of the powerful bureaucracy. Their phalanx armies were, until relatively late, ethnically Greek in composition, while the Egyptian mostly fielded armies of archers and sailors. The Ptolemies were filthy rich, because the bureaucratic system they inherited from Egyptian society was so effective at regulating taxation and exploiting the farm labor for maximum profit.
Alexandria itself grew to a powerful center of learning and culture in the Mediterranean (rivaled only by Antioch in the Seleucid Empire) under Ptolemy II Philadelphus, and Greek religion synthesized with Egyptian leading to gods such as Sarapis with Greek deities, leading to an explosion of popularity in Egyptian deities (particularly Isis) outside of Egypt. These “refurbished” Egyptian deities didn’t always resemble their original Egyptian form, but represented a fascinating synthesis of Greek thought and Egyptian religion.
Edit: Extra History happened to put out a nice video about the Ptolemies in Egypt here:
Confusingly, every single king from Ptolemy I Soter to Ptolemy XIV Philopator was named Ptolemy. Every one of them. Further, brother-sister marriages were practiced with each generation per Egyptian custom, so after so many generations, you can guess what happened. The truth is, Hellenistic kings frequently married their sisters, not just the Ptolemies, since the available pool of “eligible” women of sufficient pedigree (ethnically Macedonian-Greek, from one of the elite families) were pretty small. So, after a few generations, every Hellenistic monarch was marrying a relative in some form of another, much like the Hapsburgs many centuries later.
Corruption was a chronic problem in the Ptolemy court, especially after Ptolemy IV Philopator, who lived a reckless and decadent life, then died, leaving the kingdom a mess for sycophants and corrupt officials to run into the ground. Things unravelled and got so bad that at one point, there were two Ptolemy kings (VI and VIII) who were rivals, one of them married to his sister Cleopatra III at some point, each fighting over Egypt as the Seleucid rule Antiochus IV above nearly overran Egypt until the Romans stepped into tell him to go home.
Out of all Hellenistic kingdoms, Egypt under the Ptolemies lasted the longest, but by the time that Cleopatra (yes that famous Cleopatra, the VII) died with her lover Marcus Antonius (Marc Antony) after the Battle of Actium, Egypt was a flailing, second-rate power that had greatly diminished through the centuries.
Problems with the Hellenistic Kingdoms
Although each kingdom, including the Ptolemies and Seleucids, was diverse in how Greek culture interacted with local cultures, there were some functional problems that affected each one until the Romans eventually crushed them one by one.
First, as you might have guessed, they fought each other a lot. The Hellenistic dynasts were constantly warring with one another. This required tremendeous funds to raise armies, but Hellenistic warfare relied upon Greco-Macedonian phalanxes, which were difficult to raise and train. So, with their vast wealth, they would often just buy their way out of the problem and hire huge mercenary armies. However, once you lost your army in battle, it was hard to raise another one quickly. By contrast, the Romans raised large citizen armies quickly and cheaply, so when an army was lost, they’d just raise more of them and replace their numbers. When Antiochus III lost to the Romans at the Battle of Magnesia, the empire never quite recovered.
Second, each royal family was constantly fighting with itself. The Antigonids who ruled Macedon proper were the exception, in that they faithfully supported one another until near the end, but the Seleucids and especially the Ptolemies were constantly murdering other family members. The strong central power of the king, with little or no shared power, meant that absolute power was very attractive and “there could only be one”.
Third, because monarchs often died relatively young, eunuchs and powerful ministers often filled in as regents (again the Antigonids were a happy exception), and many of them did not rule justly or honestly, leading to further conflicts and revolts.
Finally, because they were ethnic minorities ruling over much larger territories, mismanagement led to revolts that required even more resources to suppress. Very few Ptolemies, for example, learned the Egyptian language fluently, preferring to use Greek. Some monarchs tried to “Hellenize” subject cultures through organizing Greek-style poleis cities, gymnasiums and other features. Further, subject people often found it handy to take on Greek-style names, and style in order to find work in the government. Many famous Jewish people at the time spoke and wrote in fluent Greek while still maintaining traditions handed down from their Hebrew forefathers.
Across the Hellenistic world, the once powerful kingdoms, descendents of Alexander the Great and his famed army, collectively faded in power through squabbles, unstable regimes, and failure to adapt to new threats, and some whims of Fate, until they either were crushed by other, newer powers (Rome in the West, Parthians in the East). That being the case, the cultural legacy of the Hellenistic kingdoms, and the (often bumpy) synthesis of cultures is super fascinating, and its echoes still lives on with us today in such things as Hanukkah, Buddhist statuary, famous philosophers, the Library of Alexandria, and many more.
P.S. featured photo is a reconstruction of the Pergamon Temple in Berlin, Germany, a famous Hellenistic Age monument. Photo by Lestat (Jan Mehlich), CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons.
Recently I talked about the human tendency to grab power, and the tendency to self-destruct as a result. I wanted to look at a very fascinating, but often forgotten, period of Western history: the Wars of the Diadochoi, probably one of the most clear expressions of this tendency.
The Greek term diadochos (διάδοχος) means “successor”, or in plural diadochoi (διάδοχοι). These were the troops of Alexander the Great, who had marched with him all the way to India, battle after battle, and were present when he died in the city of Babylon on June 10th, in 323 BC.
Alexander’s premature death left the small Greek kingdom of Macedon ruling a vast empire stretching all the way from Macedon and Greece, down to Egypt, and east to central Asia and northwestern India. Much of this territory had been administered under the Achaemenid Persians as “Satrapies” each with their own king. The Achaemenid emperor ruled these local kings as the “king of kings”.
But as soon as Alexander the Great died, this empire unravelled.
Alexander, in true fashion, had rushed headlong in one invasion after another, with no clear plan how to rule the newly acquired territory. Alexander was a military genius who never lost a battle, and was genuinely convinced he was the son of a god. Yet, he was also extremely impetuous and didn’t really have a long-term plan other than a vague notion of Greco-Persian empire.
Upon his sudden death, his close confidants (philoi, φίλοι), generals, and various troops quickly divided into factions who rallied behind one successor of Alexander or another, while also scrambling for territory (satraps).
Update: Extra History put out a really nice video summarizing these early years of conflict:
Anyhow, to put it mildly, this scramble for power, territory, and regency of the heirs unleashed one war after another, from Greece to Central Asia, from Egypt to Asia Minor:
First War of the Diadochoi (321–319 BCE) – an alliance against general Perdiccas who sought to expand his regency by marrying Alexander’s daughter, resulted in the death of Perdiccas who was betrayed by his men who worked out a deal with the opposing faction. During this time, Ptolemy stole Alexander’s body and escaped to Egypt. Seleucus (one of Perdiccas’s murderers) made a deal with Ptolemy. Remember these two men.
Second War of the Diadochoi (318–316 BCE) – the new preeminent power, Antigonus, went to war against a faction challenging his authority in Mesopotamia. By the end of this long, complex war of shifting alliances, Ptolemy was now firmly in control of Egypt as Ptolemy I Soter (“savior”), and Antigonus was still the strongest power who reigned as Antigonus I Monopthalmus (“the one-eyed”). Macedon was ruled by Cassander who also instrumented the death of Alexander the Great’s primary heir, Alexander the IV. By this point the empire had broken up into massive dynasties, with no more pretense of ruling in Alexander’s stead.
Third War of the Diadochoi (315–311 BCE) – continued wars by Antigonus against an increasingly powerful Seleucus who built a power-base from the eastern Satraps, and also with Ptolemy I in Egypt. Antigonus was unable to decisively defeat either, and things devolved into a detente.
Babylonian War (311–309 BCE) – the war between Antigonus and Seleucus resumes, and ultimately Antigonus is later defeated by Seleucus and a coalition of other Diadochoi at the Battle of Ipsus in 301 BCE. Seleucus now rules the remnants of the Persian empire as Seleucus I Nicator (“the victorious”).
Fourth War of the Diadochi (307–301 BCE) – This was a prolonged four-way battle between Antigonus I, who now ruled Macedon with his son Demetrius I Poliorcetes (“besieger of cities”), Ptomley I in Egypt, Seleucus I in Mesopotamia, and Lysimachus (another successor) who ruled Asia Minor. By this point, the various dynasties were mostly stable now, but further battles continued:
A prolonged three-way war from 298–285 BCE between Demetrius I Polircetes, Phyrrus of Epirus, and Cassander’s sons, resulting ultimately in Demetrius’s death, but succession by his son Antigonus II Gonatas and thus establishment of the Antigonid Dynasty.
Meanwhile, Seleucus I and Lysimachus battled for a long time (285–281 BCE) until Lysimachus was killed in battle in 281 BCE. It should be noted that Seleucus’s victory was as close to reunification of Alexander’s empire as the Diadochoi ever came. However, Seleucus I was murdered while marching to Europe by his ally, Ptolemy Ceraunus, an ousted son of Ptolemy I, for reasons unknown. Seleucus’s son, Antiochus I Soter, established the Seleucid Empire in Mesopotamia, Persia, and the east.
The last struggle was Ptolemy Ceraunus’s brief seizure of power in 281 BCE in Macedon, but his reign was unexpectedly cut short due to a massive invasion of Celtic tribes into Macedon, Greece, and even Asian minor. These Celts later came to rule a territory known as Galatia for centuries. With Ceraunus dead, the Antogonid’s reclaimed power in Macedon and ruled for centuries.
Thus, by 280 or so, the various successors and powers had finally settled into three great dynasties:
the Antigonid Dynasty (Greece/Macedon),
the Ptolemaic Dynasty (Egypt, eastern Mediterranean), and
A fourth Hellenstic dynasty, the Attalids, came to rule a small, but powerful state in western Asia Minor, and were a close ally of Rome for generations, while a fifth dynasty (a hybrid Greco-Persian one), ruled the Black Sea as the Mithridatic or Pontic Dynasty until they too were annexed by Rome. And then we have the Bactrian-Greeks far to the east as well.
Aside from the Bactrian Greeks, each of these dynasties ruled their respective lands for the next three centuries, a period known in history as the Hellenistic Period, until the rise of the Roman Republic who destroyed them oneat atime.
The four wars of the Diadochoi make Game of Thrones look mild. There was so much switching of sides, backstabbings, intritrigue, scandals, and of course constant warfare. The excellent Hellenistic Age Podcast spends the first twenty episodes alone covering this conflict. And even after the wars had settled down, the constant struggles between the Antigonids, Ptolemies and Seleucids never really ended. They fought dynastic battles within their own families, but also constant battles with one another. The Ptolemies and Seleucids in particular fought six wars over a territory called Coele-Syria (modern Lebanon and Syria, sometimes included modern Israel and Palestine) until the Ptolemies finally lost it for good. The Book of Daniel in the Old Testament even alludes to this war between the “king of the north” and “king of the south”.
Next time, we’ll look more into how these different dynasties thrived and survived (until the Romans came), and how each took on different personalities.
MCCOY: What he’s saying, Spock, is that a man who holds that much power, even with the best intentions, just can’t resist the urge to play God.
Star Trek, “Patterns of Force” (s2ep21), Stardate 2534.0
Since the beginning of time, powerful men have risen and then fallen. Doesn’t matter which culture, or which time period, sooner or later someone wants to be the Alpha, King of Kings, Pharoah, Shogun, President for Life, etc etc. It happens over and over again, and more often than not they self-destruct or their legacy crumbles after their death.
Take the case of Marcus Licinius Crassus, better known in history as simply “Crassus”. Crassus was absurdly rich. His wealth, and the political influence he bought with it, would make many hotshot-CEO’s today look like chumps.
We can look at examples and think to ourselves “what fools!”, but I think an even bigger lesson from this is that it can happen to any of us given the right circumstances. When we have power and authority, it is almost inevitable that we start to play god. In the Star Trek episode “Patterns of Force”, a historian tampered with an alien planet and (inadvertently) turned them into space Nazis.
The Ring of Power from J.R.R, Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings series illustrates this. Any person who gets a hold of the Ring, whether they be wizards, kings or elf-lords or even just hobbits, inevitably become corrupted.
Even Galadriel, one of the last of the mighty Noldor Elves on Middle-Earth and among the wisest of the elf-lords, was briefly tempted when Frodo offered her the ring, asking him if he wanted her to be a queen “terrible and fair”. Yet unlike her kin, she was able to resist and avoided a more terrible fate.
I feel I would be tempted too. This week I am filling in for my boss who’s on vacation, and even with this small dose of authority, I feel tempted to throw my weight around. How much more so if I was a world leader.
Why are we prone to this behavior?
I suspect it’s simply ego: our desire to mold the world in our own image. Even if we believe we are doing the right thing for others, our own ego blinds us to realities on the ground. If I had such power, I would probably fall into the same trap. People with strong egos are even more blind because they want so badly to project themselves onto the world while choosing to ignore the suffering it causes.
Of course someone has to be in charge. There has to be some form of authority for societies (or offices) to function. But it has to be treated as a radioactive, hot potato: something to be handled very carefully.
Anyhow, rambling thoughts here from the “Ozymandius” of my workplace.
Something fun to end this post though (direct link).
A photo of the Shurangama Sutra (the purple book on the left) from my personal collection. I purchased this years ago at Powell’s City of Books and haven’t found a copy since.
In my last post, I talked about Tetsugen Doko’s open-minded approach to Buddhist practice especially among his lay followers. But there was one thing that Tetsugen Doko did not compromise on.
In 1674 in the castle town of Mori (now Oita Prefecture), Tetsugen gave a controversial Buddhist lecture on the Shurangama Sutra, an influential Buddhist sutra in China not widely discussed in Japan. The lecture caused an uproar.
Tetsugen later summarized the lecture contents in an affadavit as follows (emphasis added):
I lectured first of all about the good and evil of the False Dharma and the True Dharma in the Final Age, which are referred to as the Three Absolutes in the Suramgama Sutra. Those who practice without keeping the precepts set out by the Buddha all represent the False Dharma. The reason for this [is as follows:]
Although practices such as chanting the Nembutsu, seated meditation, and reciting the sutras are each practiced differently depending on the abilities of the believer, the precepts against taking life, stealing, sexual misconduct, lying and the like are absolute, regardless of the sect. Not to keep them is unacceptable. Therefore these precepts are called “absolutes.”
This lecture earned him the ire of the local Jodo Shinshu community whose priests did not, by tradition, uphold any precepts. The local members rioted and multiple arrests were made by the authorities, who feared a return of the Ikko-Ikki riots, and Tetsugen quietly left town to avoid further trouble, especially for the feudal lord who had sponsored the lecture.
Nonetheless, more and more I believe that Tetsugen is correct: the basic lay precepts (a.k.a. the Five Precepts) should be front and center of one’s practice. Everything is grounded on that. Not the other way around, as I believed. What practices you choose to undertake are secondary to how you conduct your life the rest of the time.
I spent many years in my pursuit of the Buddhist path, fretting about doing the right practices, and chanting the right things, but these days I feel that the way to not be a dickhead is to simply stop acting like a dickhead. This is what the “training rules” of the precepts do: file away the sharper edges so that one’s Buddhist practice has a solid foundation.
Recently, I found myself stuck in one of my usual nerd “rabbit holes” of trying to make sense of Zen lineages in Japanese Buddhism, but this led to a more complicated rabbit hole of making sense of the source “Chan” (Zen) lineages in China. This started after reading my new book on Rinzai Zen, which included a nice chart. At first, I tried to emulate and translate that chart in Canva, but then I realized it was missing some critical details, so I kept adding more. This is the result (click on the image for more detail):
Let’s go over this a bit so it makes more sense.
The premise behind all Zen sects regardless of country and lineage is that Zen started when the historical Buddha, Shakyamuni, supposedly held a flower up to his disciples and said nothing. Everyone was confused except his disciple Maha-Kashyapa who smiled in understanding. From here, according to tradition, the teachings were passed down from teacher to disciples for 28 generations in India, culminating in a monk named Bodhidharma who came to China.
A painting of Bodhidharma at Sojiji temple (head of Soto Zen sect) in Kawasaki, Japan. Taken by me in 2010 (?).
The history up to this point is somewhat vague, and possibly apochryphal, but easy to follow.
This continues for a few more generations in China, until you get to a monk named Hui-Neng (Enō in Japanese)1 who is the supposed author of the Platform Sutra, a Chinese text. As the 6th “patriarch” of the lineage in China, he establishes what we know today as “Chan Buddhism” or Chinese Zen.
Things become more complicated a couple generations later as two descendants: Mazu Daoyi2 and Shitou Xiqian3 directly or indirectly found different schools of Chan Buddhism. This is known as the Five Houses of Chan period during the Tang Dynasty. Thus, the entire Chan/Zen tradition as we know it today is derived from Hui-neng and transmitted through these two men.
Out of the five houses, the Hongzhou,4Lin-ji and Cao-dong5 all survive in some form. The others are gradually absorbed into the Lin-ji school, which in the long-run is what becomes the most widespread form of Chan Buddhism in China. The Cao-dong school is the one exception, while the Hongzhou school’s success in Korea helps establish 8 out of 9 of the “Nine Schools of Seon (Chan)”6 in Korea. It through Bojo Jinul’s efforts in Korea that these nine schools are unified into the Jogye Order (homepage) which absorbed other Buddhist traditions in Korea into a single, cohesive one.
Meanwhile, in Japan, the Lin-ji and Cao-dong schools find their way to Japan where the names are preserved, but pronounced different: Rinzai and Soto respectively. Rinzai’s history is particularly complicated because they were multiple, unrelated transmissions to Japan often spurred by the Mongol conquest of China. Of these various Rinzai lineages, the two that survive are the “Otokan” Rinzai lineage through Hakuin, and the “Obaku” lineage through Ingen, but eventually the Otokan lineage absorbed the Obaku lineage. Today, Rinzai Zen is more formally called Rinzai-Obaku, or Rinnou (臨黄) for short. This is a bit confusing because Rinzai came to Japan under a monk named Eisai, and his lineage did continue for a while in Japan especially in Kyoto, but the lineage from the rival city of Kamakura ultimately prevailed and absorbed other Rinzai lineages. Obaku Zen arrived pretty late in Japanese-Buddhist history, and as you can see from the chart has some common ancestry with Rinzai, but also some differences due to cultural divergence and history.
Soto Zen’s history is quite a bit more streamlined as it had only one founder (Dogen), and although it did grow to have rival sects for a time, Keizan was credited for ultimately unifying these though not without some controversy even into the 19th century.
Anyhow, to summarize, the entire tradition started from a legendary sermon by the Buddha to Maha-Kashyapa, and was passed on over successive generations in India to a legendary figure who came to China and starting with Hui-neng became a tree with many branches. Yet, the roots are all the same. Speaking as someone who’s relatively new to the tradition, I realize while specific liturgy and practices differ, the general teachings and intent remain the surprisingly consistent regardless of culture or label.
Hope this information helps!
P.S. I had trouble deciding which term to use here: Zen or Chan or Seon since they all literally mean the same thing, but are oriented toward one culture or another. If this all seems confusing, the key to remember is that the entire tradition of Zen/Chan/Seon (and Thien in Vietnam) is all one and the same tree.
P.P.S. I realized that I never covered the Vietnamese (Thien, “tee-ehn”) tradition, but there’s so little information on it in English (and I cannot read Vietnamese), that I will have to differ that to another day.
1 Pronounced like “hwey-nung” in English.
2 Pronounced like “ma-tsoo dow-ee” in English.
3 Pronounced like “shih-tow shee-chee-yen” in English.
4 Pronounced like “hohng-joe” in English.
5 Pronounced like “tsow-dohng” in English.7
6 The Korean word “Seon” is pronounced like “sawn” in English. It is how the Chinese character for Chan/Zen () is pronounced in Korean Language.
7 If you made it this far in the post, congrats! I had to put so many footnotes in here because the Pinyin system of Romanizing Chinese words is a little less intuitive than the old Wade-Giles system. Pinyin is not hard to learn. In fact, I think Pinyin is better than the old Wade-Giles system (more “what you see is what you get”), but if you don’t learn Pinyin it can be confusing.better This is always a challenge with a writing system that strictly uses ideograms (e.g. Chinese characters). How do you write 慧能 into an alphabetic system that foreigners can intuitively understand. Also, which foreigners? (English-speaking, French-speaking, Spanish-speaking, etc). Anyhow, if you are interested in learning Chinese, I highly recommend learning Pinyin anyway because it’s quick and easy to pick up. BTW, since I posted about Hokkien recently it also has two different Rominzation systems: Pe̍h-ōe-jī (old, but widespread) and Tâi-lô (Taiwan’s official revised system).
While reading my introduction book in Japanese about Rinzai Zen, I came across a famous set of paintings that I had totally forgotten about for thirty years.
Me at the age of 17 demonstrating the “Lion Roar Yoga” pose (?) at my world religions class in high school with my teacher. The Burger King crown was something I got from the nearby restaurant because my friends and I would race there during lunch break, eat for 5 minutes, and run back to class. Ah, teenage life….
Many, many moons ago, I was a cocky 17-year old first learning about Buddhism, and Mr Pierini was my World Religions teacher in high school. Mr Pierini was a charming, older Italian-American gentleman who had a lovely opera voice, and loved sharing cool ideas with us kids. This is how I first started to explore Buddhism beyond reading books at home.1
There were a number of things I learned about Zen then that seemed really cool and mystical. Looking back they made no sense to me, but they were fascinating. It sounded “cool” to be Zen, but admittedly, I was young, clueless, showing off, and knew nothing. Among the things I read about at the time were the Mumonkan and the Ten Oxen, texts that (I realize now) are both related to the Rinzai Zen tradition.
The Ten Oxen (shíniú 十牛 in Chinese) is a famous set of ten paintings, with poetic captions that were composed in the Southern Song Dynasty of China. The powerful Song Dynasty lost the northern half of China to the barbarian Jin Dynasty,2 and retreated to the south beyond the Yangtze River, where it held on for another 150 years. Despite having their back to a wall, the southern Song Dynasty oversaw a wonderful flowering of Chinese culture, including Buddhism, and especially Chinese “Chan” (Zen) Buddhism. This is also noteworthy, because historically this is the time when such monks as Eisai and Dogen both came to China from Japan to study Zen.3
The use of oxen as a symbol for taming the mind in Buddhism, according to Wikipedia, dates way back to early India including such texts in the Pali Canon as the Maha-gopalaka Sutta, but the Ten Oxen were a way to visually explain the Buddhist path (as described in the Chan/Zen tradition) to readers as a nice easy introduction. There were, evidentially several versions in circulation, but in Japan the version by one Kakuan (Chinese: Kuòān Shīyuǎn, 廓庵師遠) from the 12th century was all the rage during the Five Mountains Period of Japanese-Buddhist history. It is since known as the jūgyūzu (十牛図).
My book has a nice, down to earth explanation of the ten oxen and what they mean, so rather than posting the images with poetry, I wanted to share the simple explanations here. The illustrations are from Wikimedia Commons, and were originally painted by one Tenshō Shūbun (天章周文; died c. 1444–50).
Searching for the ox
The cowherd is searching for his lost ox. The book explains that this is like someone looking for their lost Buddha-nature: that potential within us to awaken to full Buddha-hood (a.k.a. “Enlightenment”).
Footprints sighted
The cowherd now finds the footprints of his missing ox. This is like the Buddhist disciple who studies the Dharma (e.g. “Buddhism”), and gets the first hints at the true nature of things.
Ox sighted
Just as the cowherd sees his lost ox at last, the disciple of the Buddha grasps the point of the Dharma is (i.e. what’s it all about).
Grasping the Ox
One moment the cowherd has grasped the ox, another moment he is about to lose it. In the same way, my book explains that a person may perceived their true nature one moment, but lose sight of it again. The Buddhist disciple is still inexperienced and lacks certainty.
Taming the Ox
The wayward ox is now under control and lassoed, so the cowherd escorts it back home. For the Buddhist disciple, my book explains that through self-discipline such as the precepts, one’s delusions and conduct are brought to heel. This doesn’t mean they have resolved things, and one can still backslide, but at least they are under control now.
Riding the Ox
The cowherd is now confidently riding atop the ox, playing a flute. This means that one’s Buddha-nature is expressed through one’s form and behavior.
Forgetting the ox
Now that the cowherd is safely home with the ox, the ox is no longer a concern. My book explains that this symbolizes Enlightenment as one attains peace of mind.
Forgetting the distinction between self and ox
Here this empty circle expresses the Zen ideal that all is empty, and that there’s no distinction between oneself and the ox, or anything else for that matter; this is the Heart Sutra in a nutshell.
Back to basics
Having awakening to the nature of all things, things “return to the source” in a sense, or put another way, one sees mountains and mountains, trees as trees, etc. No more, no less.
Returning to society
My book explains that the cowherd now appears like Hotei (Chinese: Budai), the famous, jolly-looking figure in Chinese Buddhism and is in turn sharing the Dharma with another young cowherd. This cowherd will undergo the same quest, starting at picture one above.
In other words, everything comes full-circle.
In the same way, I don’t think teenage me imagined myself blogging about this 30 years later, and a bit more experienced, but life is funny that way.
Namu Shakamuni Butsu
1 Mr Pierini, thank you. 🙏🏼
2 Both would ultimately be destroyed by the Mongols especially under Kublai Khan who formed the Yuan Dynasty. This period of time is important to Japanese Zen history too because the influx of Chinese monks, especially Rinzai monks, to Kamakura-period Japan helped fuel a rise in Zen there. In the same way, the Fall of Constantinople in 1453 helped fuel the Renaissance in the West as refugees from the Eastern Roman Empire brought lost knowledge and know-how to the West. If there was any proof that we’re all connected in some way, look no further.
3 Earlier generations of Buddhist monks like Kukai (founder of Shingon) and Saicho (founder of Tendai) came to China during the Tang Dynasty, when connections to India were still flourishing. Hence, in Kukai’s case, he could study esoteric doctrine and Sanskrit directly from Indian-Buddhist monks. Centuries later, when Dogen and Eisai came to China, Buddhism had declined in India, and had gradually taken root in China in a more Chinese way. Of course, the Dharma is the Dharma, regardless of which culture and time it is taught, but it’s noteworthy that the Buddhism Dogen and Eisai was different: esoteric and scholarly Indian Buddhism had fallen out of favor, and a growing Zen (Chan in Chinese) community had largely replaced them.
Gleanings in Buddha-Fields 
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