Speaking of the famous “nun warlord” Hojo no Masako, I wanted to share something really great that I picked up in Japan in Kamakura (still uploading pics from that trip, blog post coming later):
This totebag features the famous speech by Hojo no Masako shortly before the Jokyu War of 1221, when the retainers of the new Kamakura government (shown above) balked at taking up arms against Emperor Gotoba:
その恩[故右大将軍, 源頼朝に]はすでに山よりも高く、海よりも深い。
“The obligation we bear to the late Udaishogun (Minamoto no Yoritomo, Masako’s husband) is higher than a mountain, and deeper than the sea.”
from the “Azuma Kagami” (吾妻鏡, “Mirror of the East”), dated to , made in the 19th day of 5th month of the 3rd year of JOKYU era
The totebag is really cute, and represents a really great moment in Japanese history. I have been proudly using it for shopping and such since I came back to the US. The bag is made by Samurai Kibun (homepage here), which makes a lot of great products featuring famous figures in Japanese history. It appears they are focused on domestic, Japanese audiences, so there is no English site, and it states that it cannot ship overseas. So, chances are, you’re more likely to see Samurai Kibun goods in local shops in Japan.
So, if you are in Japan and you do find some of their goods, definitely show some support and pick something up!
I’m still keeping up with the Japanese historical drama the Thirteen Lords of Kamakura, discussed here, which is based primarily on the Azuma Kagami (吾妻鏡) a historical text about the period, and a fascinating look at how the Shogunate, or samurai military government, of the Kamakura Period rose and fell.
The rise of the Kamakura Shogunate began with the climactic battle between the Heiki (Taira) clan and the Genji (Minamoto). In order to topple their rivals, the Genji had to enlist a complex web of alliances with other samurai clans in the eastern regions of Japan, with Kamakura as their capitol, most crucially the Hojo Clan (the source of the Triforce in the Legend of Zelda series). This alliance overwhelmed the Heike and led to downfall.
However, once the Heike were wiped out, and the old Imperial political order ended, the various clans including the Minamoto themselves turned on one another to sort out who the Shogun would be, and would be pulling the strings behind the throne. The first Shogun, Minamoto no Yoritomo, turned on his half brothers and killed them one by one using flimsy legal pretexts, while his firstborn son Yoriie, the second Shogun, vied with his council (the aforementioned 13 Lords above) until he was driven into permanent exile. Hojo Masako, the so-called “Warlord Nun” contended with her father Hojo Tokimasa when he tried to assert a dominant hand, and had him exiled too. As all this was going on, the various allied clans took sides with members of the Hojo and Minamoto. Generation after generation, people kept stabbing each other in the back in order to advance their faction in the new military government.
Sanetomo in court clothing, painting by the priest Goshin. Photo courtesy of Hannah, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
This left Yoritomo’s younger son, Minamoto no Sanetomo (源 実朝, 1192 – 1219), to assume the position as Shogun, the 3rd in line. Sanetomo was doomed from the beginning.
Sanetomo was a puppet of his maternal family, the Hojo Clan, who surrounded him as advisors and ministers, but also carried out the real functions of government. Sanetomo knew from early on that he was essentially a figurehead, and could easily be toppled by whatever faction wanted to replace him with a more amenable candidate for Shogun. It is said that Sanetomo retreated into drinking and composing poetry, of which one of them is included in the Hyakunin Isshu anthology:
Japanese
Romanization
Translation by Joshua Mostow
世の中は
Yo no naka wa
If only this world
つねにもがもな
Tsune ni mo ga mo na
could always remain the same!
なぎさこぐ
Nagisa kogu
The sight of them towing
あまの小舟の
Ama no obune no
the small boats of the fishermen who row in the tide
Sanetomo evidentially composed the poem after watching some fishermen at work on the shore, envying their simple lives in contrast to the constant political infighting and manipulation that surrounded his.
Sadly, things never got better.
Sanetomo’s life ended at the age of 28, when he was assassinated by his nephew at the footsteps of the famous Tsurugaoka Hachimangu Shrine (visual tour here) in Kamakura. It is said his nephew hid behind the ginkgo tree there, and as Sanetomo descended the steps, leapt out and ran him through with a sword.
Further, the Kamakura Shogunate only spiraled further. With Sanetomo’s death, the Minamoto line ended, and the Hojo Clan promoted various relations of the Minamoto (often drawn from the Fujiwara clan) as the subsequent Shoguns. Each one of these shoguns was simply another figurehead, while the Hojo tightened their grip on power as “regents”. Once Hojo Masako died, there was no one left savvy enough to hold it together, and the Mongol invasions further drained away any remaining resources until the government was finally toppled by a rival warlord.
Sanetomo’s life, the ignominious circumstances that surrounded his family (both his father’s line and his mother’s family’s scheming) ensured that even with the powerful title of Sei-i Taishōgun (征夷大将軍, “Commander-in-Chief of the Expeditionary Force Against the Barbarians”) he lived alone and apart from everyone, constantly in fear of his life, and powerless to do anything about it.
As I continue watching a Japanese historical drama, the Thirteen Lords of Kamakura, I have been delving more into the history of the Kamakura Period (12th – 14th century) of Japan, under the new military government. I know this era a lot less than I do the Heian Period, but while it is different, it is no less interesting.
The Shogunate of Kamakura, while nominally ruled by Minamoto no Yoritomo and his descendants, was actually controlled by their close allies, the Hojo (北条) clan, the same folks who gave us the Triforce symbol. Yoritomo was almost as bad as his dead rival, Taira no Kiyomori, and wasn’t above killing his various brothers and half-brothers who were potential rivals for the coveted title of Seii Shōgun (征夷将軍, generalissimo of Japan). The dynamic warlord, Minamoto no Yoshitsune (younger half-brother to Yoritomo) was killed shortly after earning the title from the Emperor, allowing Yoritomo to get the title himself by default.
In any case, for all of Yoritomo’s titles and power, he was less effective as a ruler, and the Hojo clan filled in this crucial role as regents and other administrative roles. The most important of these was in fact, Yoritomo’s wife, Hojo Masako. When Yoritomo died from illness a few years later, it was Hojo Masako, who by now took tonsure as a Buddhist nun, who filled in the role at a crucial time in Japan and kept things together. So effective was she at ruling Japan, that she earned the title ama shōgun (尼将軍), or “Nun Shogun” / “Nun Warlord” and so on.
Hojo Masako spying on one of her husband’s love trysts, painting by Utagawa Kuniyoshi (1840’s) courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
In many ways, Hojo Masako fulfills a similar role to that of Empress Irene of the Byzantines: someone who has excellent leadership skills, but is prevented from openly leading armies by paternalistic society, so she played the role of a pious wife (later widow), while carefully pulling the strings.
As the wife of Minamoto no Yoritomo, she had to protect her family and descendants from Minamoto no Yoritomo’s constant philandering, but once he was gone, she stepped in to guide the Regency while her son and second shogun grew up. The Hojo clan regency was the true force behind the Shogunate, but as her son was now a member of that clan, she also wanted to ensure that lineage was safe from rival claimants. She is portrayed as crafty, but level-headed and responsible in contrast to her moody, and reckless husband.
So, what did Hojo Masako do that earned her such a prestigious title? When Minamoto no Yoritomo had prevailed over the Heike (Taira) Clan, he was the dominant power, but the title of Seii Shōgun wasn’t given willingly by the Emperor. In fact, the Emperor’s grandson, later Emperor Gotoba, would make one last effort to wrest true political authority. He rallied a large number of samurai clans, primarily from the West, away from the new capitol of Kamakura, with promises of titles and land.
The samurai clans allied to Minamoto no Yoritomo wavered in support. Going against the Emperor was never part of the deal, they rallied to stop the Heike Clan only, and they were hesitant to take up arms against their sovereign.
Hojo Masako, according to the Azuma Kagami, was said to have made the following speech:
“Since the days when Yoritomo, the late Captain of the Right, put down the court’s enemies and founded the Kantō regime, the obligations you have incurred for offices, ranks, emoluments, and stipends have in their sum become higher than mountains and deeper than the sea. You must, I am sure, be eager to repay them. Because of the slander of traitors, an unrighteous imperial order has now been issued.
Those of you who value your reputations will wish to kill [Fujiwara no] Hideyasu, [Miura] Taneyoshi, and the others at once in order to secure the patrimony of the three generations of shoguns. If any of you wish to join the ex-emperor, speak out.”
It is said that this put some backbone in the Shogun’s allies and they were able to crush Emperor Gotoba’s army, finally ending resistance from Kyoto. Later she was dispatched by her brother the regent to try and heal the political divide with Emperor Gotoba, among other important tasks. By the time she passed away, she attained the rank of Second Junior in the Imperial Court (still around, but largely ceremonial now), which is very high for someone of a more humble, warrior-class family.
Schoolchildren in Japan often learn about Hojo Masako when they learn Japanese history, including the famous phrase 山よりも高く、海よりも深い from the speech above: yama yori mo takaku, umi yori mo fukai (“[kindness is] higher than a mountain, and deeper than an ocean”). She was dynamic, intelligent, and charismatic leader who held together a fragile alliance of clans in a force that could resist Imperial power, and maintain a dynasty that lasted for 200 years.
As I wrote about recently, the end of the Heian Period in Japan (8th century to 12th century) represented a seismic shift in Japanese culture from a cultured aristocracy to a military society led by the samurai class. This finally stabilized Japan from decades of strife, but there was also a palpable sense of loss reflected in such works as the Hojoki (Ten Foot Hut) and other works of the time.
One of my favorite, and the best known from this era is a work called the Tsure-zure-gusa (徒然草) which is hard to translate in English.1 The most accepted translation of the title is “Essays in Idleness”, but this not the only one. It’s a classic that every kid in Japan studies in school, just as American kids might read Ivanhoe or something.2
A depiction of Kenkō, drawn centuries later by Kikuchi Yōsai. Courtesy of Wikipedia Commons.
The Tsure-zure-gusa was written by a Buddhist monk of the Jodo-shu sect named Yoshida Kenkō (吉田兼好, 1283?–1350?). The text was composed between 1330 and 1332, and is a form of free-form writing. Kenko would just write down what he was thinking. Sometimes it was old anecdotes, or stories he had heard. At other times, he wrote deeper thoughts about life. Sometimes, he would just point out social faux-pas committed by others. There is no overarching messages in the text, but it covers many aspects of life, so it’s a fascinating look at Japan during the Kamakura Period (12th-14th century) as well as food for thought.
For example, here’s a commentary on fish:
119) The fish called katsuo is unequaled among those caught in the sea off Kamakura, and of late has been much in demand. An old gentleman of Kamakura told me, “When we were young, this fish was never served to persons of quality. Even the servants refused to eat the head. They cut it off and threw it away. It is typical of these degenerate times that such fish have become accepted.
Translation by Donald Keene
Interestingly, katsuo (known in English as bonito) is pretty universal in Japanese cuisine now as it is the most common ingredient of dashi (fish broth), as well as numerous dishes.
Another amusing example:
57) It is exasperating when discussions of poetry are devoted to bad poems. How, one wonders, could anyone with the smallest knowledge of the art have supposed such verses were worthy of discussion?
Even to an outsider, it is both embarrassing and painful to listen to someone discuss a subject — whatever it may be — that he doesn’t really know.
Translation by Donald Keene
One can imagine a bad TED Talk the same way too.
The text is at times surprisingly relevant to people living in the 21st century, though:
29) When I sit down in quiet meditation, the one emotion hardest to fight against is a longing in all things for the past. After the others have gone to bed, I pass the time on a long autumn’s night by putting in order whatever belongings are at hand. As I tear up old correspondence I should prefer not to leave behind, I sometimes find among them samples of calligraphy of a friend who has died, or pictures he drew for his own amusement, and I feel exactly as I did at the time. Even with letters written by friends who are still alive I try, when it has been long since we met, to remember the circumstances, the year. What a moving experience that is! It is sad to think that a man’s familiar possessions, indifferent to his death, should remain unaltered long after he is gone.
Translation by Donald Keene
It’s a pretty moving book to read, with all its random quips, reflections on an age now gone, plus deeper thoughts. The Donald Keene copy is hard to find now, but I have seen other good translations too, so don’t hesitate to pick one up if you can find it.
1 The phrase つれづれ (徒然 tsure-zure), pronounced as “tsoo-ray zoo-ray”, often appears in modern blogs or diaries as well in Japanese as a kind of introduction.
2 My wife recalls learning it, but just as reading Shakespeare without some guidance is hard for English speakers, reading the Tsure-zure-gusa to a native Japanese speaker is difficult since so many centuries have passed and the language has changed.
One historical period that has continuously fascinated me for a long time is the end of the Heian Period in Japan, culminating in the climactic war between the Heike (Taira) Clan and the Genji (Minamoto) Clan, followed by the rise of military government for the next 800+ years.
“How did you go bankrupt?” Bill asked.
“Two ways,” Mike said. “Gradually and then suddenly.”
The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway
Why does this matter?
As the quote above suggests, the fall of the Heian Period and of the Imperial aristocracy, built around a Chinese-inspired Confucian bureaucracy, came slow, then suddenly when the lower samurai class rose and and asserted power. Let’s compare the before and after:
The Heian Period (平安時代, 794 – 1185) of Japanese was a long, 400-year period, that began when the Imperial capitol moved to the new city of Heian-kyō (modern day Kyoto) away from Heijō-kyō (modern day Nara). The Imperial government had been plagued with infighting and manipulation by powerful temples in Heiji-kyo, so the Emperor decided to make a clean start and migrate the capitol.
But the earlier Nara Period and the Heian Period represent a single continuum of life in Japan where the Emperor ruled in a Chinese-Confucian style bureaucracy with Japanese characteristics. The Imperial bureaucracy was run by a large number of literate officials either through Entrance Exams that tested your knowledge of the Confucian Classics, and aspects of Chinese history, or through connections if you were nobility.
Speaking of nobility, everyone in the Court, from the lowliest bureaucrat, to the Emperor had an official rank. This was part of the old Ritsuryō system. The Emperor was automatically 1st rank upper (正一位, shō ichi-i), while just below him someone might be 1st rank lower (従一位, ju ichi-i), then 2nd rank upper (正二位, shō ni-i), and so on until you get to the lowly paper-pushing bureaucrat at 少初位下 (shō so-i no ge) rank. Each year, the Emperor would approve promotions or demotions of rank, which would be annouced, so for doing some good work, you might be promoted one year, and your stipend increased, as well as other perks. However, there was a catch. If you were born to a venerable noble family such as the Fujiwara, Ōe or Tachibana, you were automatically 5th rank or higher. If you were not, it was almost impossible to attain anything above 7th rank. Sugawara no Michizane was a rare exception, but he paid for it when court treachery got him exiled.
Thus, the aristocracy held a grip on the Imperial court, but it didn’t stop there. The aristocracy held increasingly large tracts of land called shōen (荘園) that were tax-exempt due to a loop-hole in the system. The wealth of the aristocratic families grew larger and larger while the state became increasingly bankrupt.
Further, as the Heian Period went on, the aristocracy figured out how to manipulate power even further by arranging marriages with the reigning Emperor, and if they had a son, pressure the reigning Emperor to abdicate, so the ambitious family could control the Imperial heir as a regent. Case in point, during the 990’s two different branches of the Fujiwara clan were struggling for control, on led by Fujiwara no Michitaka and the other by Fujiwara no Michinaga. Both them had daughters wed to reigning emperor Ichijō, who had multiple sons. Initially, next reigning emperor was his son Emperor Sanjō who had not been born from a Fujiwara mother, but he was soon pressured to abdicate by Fujiwara no Michinaga, thus allowing Michinaga’s grandson and Ichijo’s other son to become emperor Go-Ichijō (i.e. “Ichijō the latter”) to reign.
Things got even nuttier when certain emperors, forced to abdicate and take tonsure as Buddhist monks, figured out how to retain power behind the scenes at odds with the nobility. The most well known example was Emperor Go-shirakawa who only reigned officially as emperor for three years, but retained power as the “cloistered emperor” for another 37 years.
None of this takes into the account the growing power and political manipulation of Buddhist temples, and their armies of soldiers, an open violation of the Buddhist principle to abstain from politics and violence.
Thus with such a toxic mix of competing power centers, a crippled central government, to say nothing of the earthquakes, plagues and political neglect of the provinces.
… and then it finally started to fall apart.
The Fall
The battle of Dan-no-ura, courtesy of Wikipedia
The fall of the Heian Period and its aristocratic society started with a power struggle between the upstart Taira and Minamoto clans. Like many other samurai families, they began as little more than escorts and bodyguards to the nobility, but in time they rose to positions of power and influence, filling in the gaps of government when emperors pushed the Fujiwara back.
This culminated with the dreaded Taira no Kiyomori seizing power in all but name. This grandson, the child Emperor Antoku, technically reigned, but behind the scenes Emperor Go-Shirakawa mentioned above still held to some power, but was effectively a hostage himself. The Minamoto clan were scattered and its clan head was executed for formenting a rebellion.
Kiyomori’s grip on power didn’t last long, and wasn’t long before the his enemies in the provinces began to rally around Minamoto no Yoritomo who led a successful counterattack that resulted in a war across most of Japan, with the Taira (e.g. the “Heike clan”) mostly dominating the west and the Minamoto (e.g. the “Genji”) ruling in the eastern provinces. The current TV drama in Japan, the Thirteen Lords of Kamakura, reenacts this struggle, and the aftermath.
The Taira, including the child emperor Antoku, were wiped out at the battle of Dan-no-ura, but the battles didn’t end there. The genie was out of the bottle, and there was no going back. Minamoto no Yoritomo then seized power by compelling to emperor to recognize him as Shōgun, the generallisimo of all Japan, and he went after rivals within the Minamoto clan including the famous warrior and half-brother, Minamoto no Yoshitsune. He based his regime in the eastern city of Kamakura, not Kyoto, thus drawing power away from the old Imperial court. Emperor Go-shirakawa’s son, Emperor Go-toba, attempted one last military effort to restore the power of the Imperial court in the Jōkyū War, but the samurai class centered around Yoritomo’s widow, the powerful Hojo Masako, and Go-toba’s efforts were doomed. He was exiled until his death.
Ironically, Minamoto no Yoritomo would end his life as little more than a figurehead himself as the Hojo family he married into (ironically a branch of the Taira he defeated) manipulated marriages and increasingly held power.
In the end, the new “Kamakura Period” of history was the first of several military regimes in Japan until 1868 (arguably 1945) where the Imperial court still held nominal power, but true power rested with the military class. The old Confucian-style bureaucracy still existed, people including power warlords still held rank in the Court, but it was a shadow of its former power, and was mainly used to legitimatize the ruling shogun and little else.
On the Ground
Amitabha Buddha rising over the mountain to welcome the believer to the Pure Land
Reading this history is one thing, but to people on the ground, as one crisis after another affected Japan during the end of the Heian Period both political and physical, it certainly felt like the End Times.
Millenarian Buddhist movements among the provinces sprang up in great number, as people were convinced that the era of Dharma Decline, the era mentioned in Buddhist scriptures when the Buddha-Dharma had utterly faded from the world, had come and that they were all doomed. This is why the Pure Land Buddhist movement started by Honen became so widespread and popular. By this point, people were so convinced that it was all over, they focused on escaping the endless cycle of birth and death to be reborn in the Pure Land of Amitabha Buddha instead. Pure Land Buddhism had been popular before this, but it took on a new sense of urgency under the collapse of the old society. Thus Honen’s disciples, such as Shinran, carried this message further out into the provinces and Pure Land Buddhist movements sprang up everywhere.
Nichiren Buddhism, which came slightly, was a similar millenarian movement, but instead Nichiren blamed society’s ills ironically on the Pure Land movement itself for leading society away from the True Dharma (e.g. the Lotus Sutra). Like many others in society, including Honen a couple generations earlier, Nichiren was appalled by the death, warfare and disasters affecting Japan and felt there had to be a reason for it all.
This may seem odd to us in the 21st century, but for people who grew up that the world around them was governed by the Buddha-Dharma (or lack of it), this is the only conclusion that would make sense. We in our time believe the world is governed by science, so when something happens, we tend to look for a scientific-analytical explanation. When the Byzantines in the 8th century saw their world collapse due to the Plague of Justinian followed by invasions from the new Muslim Arabs, they saw felt that their world that had been governed by God as approaching the End Times too, culminating with the siege of Constantinople itself. Thus, Iconoclasm sprang up soon after.
In each case, people are faced with a cataclysm and are using reason to try to come to grips with what’s going on, and how to fix it. We can look back and laugh and people for their “backward views”, but what will people say about us 1,000 years in the future, I wonder?
The Aftermath
In any case, once the war between the Taira and the Minamoto ended and the capital was moved to Kamakura, life in Japan was simply never the same. Generations had lived with the trauma of last years of the Heian Period, the warfare and so on, and much of the literature of the time including the Hojoki and the Essays in Idleness carry a sense of “paradise lost”. It was over. Everyone knew it, and there would be no going back.
And yet, for all the sadness and sense of loss, Japan did carry on through many subsequent generations to be the country it is today. The court life of the Heian Period is still remembered in things such as the Hyakunin Isshu poetry anthology, doll displays on Girls’ Day, woodblock art, and so on. And of course, historical dramas.
P.S. A scene from the Illustrated scroll of Tale of Genji (11th cent.), depicting the Azuma-ya (“East Wing”). Imperial court in Kyoto, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Recently, I finished a fascinating book about the Parthian Empire called The Parthians: The Forgotten Empire, which covered almost every aspect of the Empire and its eclectic culture including religion. The Parthians, originally a nomadic people, inherited a logistical mess from the Hellenistic Seleucid Empire, but somehow made it all work for 400 years until the Sasanian Empire of the Persians defeated them. The Parthians, and their practical, flexible approach allowed them to rule over a very diverse land of many cultures, languages and so on. But that’s a story for another day.
One example cited in the book was the adoption of a goddess from Greek mythology named Tyche. In ancient Greek, her name was Τύχη, which sounds like Tö-hay with a throaty “h” (i.e. like Arabic language). For most of us growing up in Western culture, it’s unlikely you’ve ever heard of Tyche, but her influence eventually eclipsed even the Olympian gods for a long period of human history.
In the Classical period, including the Archaic period (i.e. the Iliad), Tyche was a minor figure, who would present herself when someone received a boon from the gods. So, at this time, Tyche personified good fortune, especially granted from the gods.
But with the chaos following Alexander the Great’s conquests, and the tremendous upheaval as Alexander’s generals turned on one another during the famous Wars of the Diadochoi,1 people increasingly believed that their lives were at the will of fate and that the gods were either aloof, or didn’t really help. Tyche at this time came to represent the whims of fortune, both good and bad. Tyche could change her mind at any moment, and a person’s fortune could take a turn for the worse, or for the better. Tyche wasn’t really worshiped in the sense of state religion at the time, but was venerated and respected, with the hope that Tyche will rain good fortune down upon a person, a city or a state. Tyche was conflated with the Roman equivalent, Fortuna, as well.
Tyche’s shadow was everywhere in the Hellenistic Period and the Roman Empire (and subsequent European medieval culture), but surprisingly Tyche also shows up in the neighboring Parthian Empire. The Parthians were first and foremost Zoroastrians, and Zoroastrianism flourished during the Parthians, but they were also very tolerant of other local religions, including the Greek colonists who had previously lived in the Alexandrian Seleucid Empire. The Parthians depended on the Greeks in the early years, and adopted Greek language in their coinage, and Greek gods were featured. This flexibility toward the Greeks, the Babylonians and other peoples allowed them the flourish and grow the empire bit by bit, even when the Romans or nomadic tribes tried to defeat them.
However, by the second half of the Parthian Empire, the Parthian rulers were probably more confident in their own culture and began using their own language (which by now had a writing system based on Aramaic), and Greek gods faded from coinage,2 except one: Tyche.
Silver Tetradrachm of Vologases I Enthroned king Vologases I facing left, receiving diadem from Tyche, standing with sceptre. AD 55-56. Photo by akhenatenator, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons
Because the Parthians were primarily Zoroastrian, Tyche took on a more Zoroastrian tone in the form of Khvarenah, the divine power bestowed upon righteous kings. Further, as with the other Greek gods, the Parthians conflated them with Persian/Zoroastrian deities such as Anahita or Ashi.
Given Tyche’s outsized influence both in Classical, medieval European and Persian culture, it’s a small wonder that she far outlasted the original Olympian gods, and became deeply woven into many cultures across the world. Then again, across time, people have often felt the sting of fortune or misfortune, so it’s a small wonder that people would anthropomorphize this as a deity. Unlike the seven luck gods, Tyche didn’t just grant luck, she embodied it. Even now when we talk about “Lady Luck” the shadow of Tyche still looms over us.
1 The Hellenstic Age Podcast is a great overview of the Wars of the Diadochoi and the subsequent kingdoms that arose. The Wars of the Diadochoi make Game of Thrones look wimpy by comparison. It’s an underrated, but compelling period in Western and Near-Eastern world history.
2 According to the book, the Parthians still used Greek letters on their coinage sometimes, but it these were corrupted inscriptions, copies that no one really understood anymore.
Life in Japan was especially hard during the last half of the twelfth century to the first half of the thirteenth. The historical transition from the aristocratic Heian Period to the militaristic Kamakura Period was a time of tremendous political upheaval, nationwide warfare between the Heike and Genji samurai clans, and finally good ol’ fashioned plagues, famines and natural disasters. In time, Japan did rebuild, and life moved on, but within a couple generations a great deal in Japan had changed.
It was under this backdrop that a man named Kamo no Chōmei (鴨長明, 1155-1216), a former poet of the Imperial court turned Buddhist renunciant, composed a small work in 1212 around the age of 60 detailing the dramatic and painful changes in society, and his subsequent self-imposed hermitage in a tiny hut titled the Hōjōki (方丈記). The term hōjō (方丈) is a unit of measure meaning 10 square shaku which is very close to 10 square feet, and “ki” (記) just means a record of something. So, it’s reasonable to translate this as “A Record of [my] Ten Square Foot Hut”.
The inspiration for the hut, which was in the hills southeast of Kyoto (photos here), was from the legendary Buddhist figure Vimalakirti who practiced the Buddhist path from a similar hut in India.
Kamo no Chōmei spends much time in the Hojoki explaining the numerous disasters and tragic tales that befell the capital, Heian-Kyo (now modern Kyoto) during the 1180’s (the Yōwa era), and the social upheaval of the time. For this blog post, I am using Dr Meredith McKinney’s translation from the the book Three Japanese Buddhist Monks, published by Penguin Random House.
All this drove people throughout the provinces to leave their land and migrate elsewhere, or desert their homes and simply take to the hills. Various prayers to the gods were instigated and fervent Buddhist ceremonies performed at the palace, but to no avail….People [in the capital] were driven to offer all their treasured possessions to buyers for a song, but no one would so much as glance at them. And if any exchange did happen to be made, money meant almost nothing, while grain was everything. Beggars crowded the roadsides, and the sound of wailing filled the ears.
Pages 9-10
Kamo no Chōmei then continues on with a series of disasters that came after: a pandemic, scarcity of basic goods, an earthquake, and so on. Starvation and illness were rampant, and Kamo no Chōmei saw many heart-breaking sights:
….In their sympathy for one another they [husband or wife] would put themselves second, and give their partner any rare morsel that came their way. So also, if parent and child lived together the parent was always the first to die.; a baby would like suckling, unaware that its mother was dead.
Page 11
He summarizes all this with the words:
Yes, take it for all in all, this world is a hard place to live, and both we and our dwellings are fragile and impermanent, as these events reveal.
Page 13
Then, the Hojoki shifts gears, and Kamo no Chōmei discusses his own failed career in the Court bureaucracy, and eventual hermitage.
All told, I spent some thirty troubled years withstanding the vagaries of this world. At each new setback, I understood afresh how wretched my luck is. And so, in the spring of my fiftieth year, I came to leave my home and take tonsure, and turned my back on the world. I had never had a wife and children, so there were no close ties that were difficult to break. I had no rank [in the imperial court] and salary to forgo. What was there to hold me to the world? I made my bed among the clouds of Ōhara’s mountains…
page 15
He describes his hut in detail, discussing the garden, water system, farming he does to make ends meet, and his relations with a father and son living nearby. He talks about his small Buddhist altar, and his devotion to Amitabha Buddha, with whom he hopes to be reborn in the Pure Land after death.
Finally, he reminisces about the capital and how much things have changed:
When news of the capital happens to come my way, I learn of many people in high places who have met their end since I retired to this mountain, and other lesser folk besides, too many to be told. And how many houses too, have been lost in all those fires? In all this, my mere passing shelter has remained tranquil and safe from fears.
page 19
and contrasts it with his own life:
I love my tiny hut, my lonely dwelling. When I chance to go down to the capital, I am ashamed of my lowly beggar status, but once back here again I pity those who chase after sordid rewards of the world.
page 21
In the final page though, he begins to doubt his own progress along the Buddhist path due to his attachment to his quiet life and hut, and whether he’s simply traded one set of delusions and attachments for another. To this he ends the text with these words:
When I confront my heart thus, it cannot reply. At most, this mortal tongue can only end in three faltering invocations [the nembutsu] of the holy, unapproachable name of Amida.
page 22
Throughout the Hojoki, there is a strong sense of Buddhist impermanence, things coming and going, the pointlessness of attaining ephemeral benefits in this world, the empty decadence, and bittersweet nostalgia for the good old days in the Capital (Kyoto) before the war. Anyone who’s read The Great Gatsby might appreciate a common thread between the two books, even if separated by almost 1,000 years and totally different cultures.
I highly recommend anyone reading the Hojoki if they have an hour or two to spend. This is a good online translation in particular, but I also think Meredith McKinney’s is also excellent and worth picking up. The Hojoki is short, about 20 pages in a modern book, but a fascinating look at the last days of the historical “Heian Period” of Japan, the passing of a golden age in Japan, and life since then. Plus, it is a reminder that the powerful do not last very long anyway. It’s pretty grim at times, somewhat bittersweet in others, but I think there’s something for everyone.
Edit: updated blog post with Meredith McKinney’s translation as I like her style more.
I was cleaning out old photos from my phone’s camera roll, when I realized that I still had photos left over from this post, including a photo of my omamori charm that I got from Enoshima Shrine way back in 2019. Sadly that was my last trip to Japan, and I haven’t been able to return my omamori since.
One thing a careful observer might notice the three triangles at the top. This is probably the most famous family crest (kamon 家紋) in the history of Japan because it’s also the inspiration for the Triforce of the Legend of Zelda series!
An example of the Hojo Family crest on a stone lantern, which I took in 2010 at Ueno Park in Tokyo, Japan. Clearly the Hojo family influence extended beyond the borders of Kamakura.
The Hojo Clan was a powerful clan during the Kamakura Period of Japanese history, and has an interesting history. Originally, the Hojo Clan was an offshoot of the Heike (Taira) Clan, but during the famous Genpei War, they openly sided with the Taira’s enemy, the Genji (Minamoto) Clan after being snubbed by the Heike due to a succession issue. The Genpei War ended with the total destruction of the Heike Clan, and the Genji Clan under Minamono no Yoritomo became the ascendant power. The power of the Emperor and his Court in Kyoto effectively ended and was now in the hands of Genji Clan’s samurai forces, who were based in Kamakura far to the east.
What’s interesting is that while Minamoto no Yoritomo was the clear victor and the first Shogun of the new government in Kamakura, he was surrounded by Hojo Clan allies, and before long married into the family through Hojo Masako. Within a generation, the Kamakura Shogunate was entirely controlled and managed by the Hojo Clan, and the Minamoto clan whom they nominally served was relegated to mere figureheads.
The historical drama (Japanese: 大河ドラマ. taiga dorama), 鎌倉殿の13人 or “The 13 Lords of the [Kamakura] Shogun” is about the struggle for power by several Hojo family members, and their rivals, after the death of Minamoto no Yoritomo. It’s been fun to watch so far.
So, the next time you see the Triforce in a Zelda game, don’t forget the powerful clan that was behind it all.
Recently, I’ve been delving into both the Sanskrit and Pali languages, both used for Buddhist religious scripture, and just when I thought I had things figured out, I realize the situation is even more complicated and fascinating than I thought.
Fragmentary Kharosthi Buddhist text on birchbark (Part of a group of early manuscripts from Gandhara), first half of 1st century CE. Collection of the British Library, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons
Sanskrit is a language that was brought to India by invaders who called themselves the Arya (“the noble”), but had origins in what is now Iran. They came to India sometime after 2000 BCE and settled across northern India and surrounding areas, subjugating the native population, and bringing their religious values with them. From there, we see very early religious inscriptions such as the Rig Veda, composed in very old Sanskrit (e.g. “Vedic Sanskrit”).
But, gradually, Sanskrit and what was spoken informally “on the ground”, diverged. This diverged by regional variances, social classes, etc. They could probably understand each other’s regional dialects the same way that Americans can understand Australian English, and Australians understand American English, or Scottish English, etc, and all of them differ from “textbook English” also known as Standard English.
One might also draw an example from Latin. Classical Latin, such as the writings of Cicero, differed from “vulgar Latin” such as that spoken in the provinces. Further, vulgar Latin as spoken by the Celts in Gaul probably differed from vulgar Latin spoken by Berbers in north Africa or Egypt. Even Cicero’s spoken Latin probably differed than his writings.
Such regional dialects or variances of the original Sanskrit included:
Magadhi – A language spoken in the kingdom of Magadha, and quite likely the Buddha’s native language. It is spoken today in India as well, but like Ancient Greek has changed over time to its modern version.
Kosalan – A language spoken in the neighboring kingdom of Kosala, also mentioned in early Buddhist texts.
Arda-Magadhi – “Half-Magadhi”, a possible predecessor to Magadhi above, or at least closely related.
Paishachi – A popular, possibly literary-only language, though more research is needed.
Maharashtri – A language spoken more to the southwest of India and frequently used in poetry. Modern day Marathi and Konkani derive from it.
Gandhari – A prakrit spoken in north-west India, in the important region of Gandhara, and used in some Buddhist scriptures composed in the region, instead of Pāli. Examples of recoverd texts here.
Speaking of Pāli, what’s up with Pāli? The earliest Buddhist scriptures, or sutras, are recorded in Pāli language, but Pāli isn’t technically a Prakrit like those shown above. It seems to be a language that arose as a kind of lingua franca between Prakrits.1
It makes sense why early Buddhist sutras are recording in it then: rather than recording in each Prakrit for the benefit of local audiences, pick something that was generally understood, even if imperfectly.
Pāli may have arisen around the 3rd century BCE, two to three hundred years after the Buddha, so here’s a hypothetical (repeat: hypothetical) timeline:
The Buddha preached in his native language, Magadhi (assuming that’s what he spoke), probably around the 5th or 6th century BCE. It’s also possible he used other Prakrits as well depending on his audience, assuming they were mutually intelligible.
Disciples remembered his teachings, and per Buddhist tradition, recited them as beset as they could recollect after this death in the First Buddhist Council.
Per existing Indian tradition, the teachings were then passed down for centuries from teacher to students.
As Prakrits developed and diverged over time, it probably became harder to keep things consistent across Buddhist communities, and the communities relied on more. Since it was widely used anyway, this was probably a simple, practical move.
As Buddhist tradition changed from oral to written history, Pāli was the logical choice for some Buddhist schools, such as the Theravada. Other Buddhist school at the time stuck to local Prakrits (some of which became part of the Mahayana canon later), such as in the Gandhara region.
As Buddhism spread even further, and Pāli fell out of use in India, Sanskrit became the liturgical language of choice and Buddhist scriptures, notably in the Mahayana tradition were shoe-horned into Sanskrit in successive waves. Given the rise of Hindu religion, which relied on Sanskrit for scripture, Buddhist communities may have felt the need to “keep up”.
Anyhow, this is speculation, but seems to fit what I’ve learned so far, and shows a fascinating evolution where Sanskrit sets the foundation, but dialects flourish until a new lingua franca is needed (namely, Pāli), until things sort of come full-circle and return to Sanskrit again, at least for the Mahayana tradition.
However, a couple points should be emphasized:
The Buddha probably didn’t preach in Pāli language. We may never know exactly what the language was, but it is likely a local prakrit, or more than one.
Prakrit languages are neither Sanskrit nor Pāli, but possibly developed in this order (more research needed): Sanskrit at time of migration into India -> Prakrits -> Pāli -> Classical Sanskrit
Thanks for reading!
1 Speaking of “prakrit”, there is not a universally agreed upon standard as to which languages at the time are prakrits, and which ones aren’t. In some broader definitions, Pāli language is considered another prakrit. As an amateur, I have no opinion one way or another.
Author’s Note: this was another post I found recently from my old blog, possibly something I wrote in 2013 or 2014. It was shortly after this that I decided to leave the local Jodo Shinshu Buddhist community, give up the prospect of ordination, and strike out on my own. My feelings on the subject have changed somewhat, but I still agree with the general sentiment. I do miss many of my old friends at the local temple, but these days I am kind of done with Jodo Shinshu Buddhism. Apart from minor edits, and fixing broken links, this is posted as-is. Oh, and I added a cover image from that time and updated the title slightly for clarity. 😋
An old altar we setup years ago while living in Ireland. The central image was purchased from Tsukiji Honganji in Japan and venerates Amitabha Buddha, the Buddha of Infinite Light.
Lately, as I have been able to enjoy a small break in life, work and so on, I delved into some books I haven’t finished reading in a long while, including an excellent study on the life of Hossō Buddhist scholar, Jōkei. The book, titled Jokei and Buddhist Devotion in Early Medieval Japan by James L. Ford, is both a biography, but also a critical look at the late Heian, early Kamakura periods from a Buddhist perspective, and an effort to shed new light on this oft-studied and oft-misunderstood period.
In a way, I feel like I am betraying friends I have had the privilege of encountering over the years who are devout Jodo Shu and Shinshu Buddhists, but at the same time, I think Buddhism should be able to stand on its own two feet and take the acid test of criticism sometimes.1 To my friends on the Pure Land path, please forgive this post. It is not a personal attack, and I know many people in Jodo Shu and Jodo Shinshu who are admirable Buddhists in their own right. It’s just that while reading Ford’s book, I really felt he hit the nail on the head with certain things about Honen and Shinran’s teachings that made me uneasy, particularly the “exclusive” Pure Land approach that orthodox Jodo Shu and Jodo Shinshu followers adopt. Until recently though, I couldn’t quite articulate it myself.
This uneasiness came about back when I first started reading Rev. Tagawa’s book on Yogacara Buddhism, and on my recent trip to Kyoto and Nara, this old uneasiness arose in me moreso as I stood at the feet of great temples such in Kyoto and Nara. When I stood in the Treasure House of Kofukuji, beheld all the amazing artwork there, and the vast corpus of teachings they represented, I knew something was still amiss in my Buddhist path and it’s been gnawing on my mind for a while now.
Jōkei is best known as a sharp critic of Hōnen and the exclusive Pure Land movement, or senju nembutsu (専修念仏). As such, he was the primary author in 1205 of the Kōfukuji Sōjō (興福寺奏状), or the “Kofukuji Petition” to the Emperor which sought to suppress the “exclusive nembutsu” Pure Land school started by Honen. History has not been kind to Jokei, and Professor Ford argues that the study of Kamakura Buddhism is flawed because of some underlying biases and assumptions about “old” vs. “new” Buddhism. Meiji-era and later studies tend to apply a kind of “Buddhist revolution” to Honen and Shinran, and paint traditional Buddhist sects as elitist or oppressive. Sometimes, parallels between Shinran and Martin Luther have been drawn in scholarly circles, though more modern research has refuted this analogy as superficial at best.
A while back, after reading Dr. Richard Payne’s collection of essays on the subject of Kamakura-era Buddhism, I started to question these assumptions, but more so after reading Ford’s book. He explores the Petition toward the last-half of the book and Jokei’s relationship with Honen to show how history has normally written about the incident, and carefully dissects it to show another viewpoint. In essence, he argues that Jokei’s criticism of Honen isn’t an “old-guard” or “elitist” perspective, but more accurately reflects a “normative” Buddhist doctrinal stance.
Ford explores at length about the content of Jokei’s Kofukuji Petition and its nine articles faulting the new senju nembutsu (専修念仏) or “exclusive nembutsu” movement, which are Ford summarizes in four points (I am quoting verbatim here):
[According to Jokei,] Honen abandoned all traditional Buddhist practices other than verbal recitation of the nembutsu.
Honen rejected the importance of karmic causality and moral behavior in pursuit of birth in the Pure Land.
Honen false appropriated and misinterpreted Shan-tao with respect to nembutsu practice.
Honen’s teachings had negative social and political implications.
To bolster his stance in the Petition, Jokei uses the same textual sources as Honen to demonstrate that Honen only selectively drew certain teachings from Chinese Pure Land patriarchs, Shan-Tao, Tao-ch’o and T’an-luan to prove his beliefs concerning the verbal nembutsu, while ignoring the whole of their teachings and writings, which included a more comprehensive Pure Land Buddhist path. Ford then turns to modern scholars to show that in China, the nembutsu (nian-fo) was never seen as a verbal-only practice even in Shan-tao’s time, but was interpreted as a well-developed meditation system. This is reflected even in modern day Chinese Buddhist writings, such as those of the late Ven. Yin-Shun.
As Ford then concludes:
Thus Jōkei’s claim that the Pure Land schools had no precedence in China is probably true. All in all, Jōkei’s critique of Honen’s construction of an independent Pure Land sect based on exclusive practice of the oral nembutsu is generally well grounded both doctrinally and historically. (pg. 178)
Jokei’s accusation that Honen abandoned the karmic law of causality and undermined the Buddhist teachings for upholding moral conduct, also weighs heavily. Jokei asserts the traditional Buddhist view2 of time as infinite, and that people are responsible for their own karma and the pursuit of wisdom. From Jokei’s perspective, one’s poor conduct can forestall one’s rebirth in the Pure Land, or reduce the conditions of rebirth itself. He notes the Nine Grades of Rebirth in the Contemplation of Amitabha Sutra, but I am personally also reminded of the proviso in Amida Buddha’s 18th Vow in the Immeasurable Life Sutra:
Excluded, however, are those who commit the five gravest offences and abuse the right Dharma.
Or Shakyamuni’s admonition in the same Immeasurable Life Sutra:
Anyone who sincerely desires birth in the Land of Peace and Bliss is able to attain purity of wisdom and supremacy in virtue. You should not follow the urges of passions, break the precepts, or fall behind others in the practice of the Way. If you have doubts and are not clear about my teaching, ask me, the Buddha, about anything and I shall explain it to you.”
One’s poor conduct doesn’t prevent the Vow of Amitabha Buddha from being fulfilled, but delayed and hindered for a time, Jokei argues. Either way, Jokei reinforces a traditional Buddhist view of the importance of karmic causality as central to Buddhism, inline with the teachings of Shakyamuni Buddha himself in countless, countless, countless sutras. As evinced elsewhere in the book, Jokei like many Buddhists believes in the power of Amitabha and his Vows to bring people to the Pure Land, but also asserts that one is still responsible for their karma, so one has to meet Amitabha Buddha half-way in a sense. Jokei’s many sermons and devotions to Kannon, Maitreya and others show that he often advocated this “middle” approach between devotion and personal practice/responsibility and Ford argues that this was the normative approach to Buddhism taken through out Asian Buddhist history.
Indeed, in Jokei’s words describing himself:
[My opinion] is not like the doubt of scholars concerning nature and marks, nor is it like the single-minded faith of people in the world. (pg. 179)
Meanwhile, later Ford shows how Jokei by contrast:
…represents a ‘middle-way’ between the extremes of ‘self-power’ and ‘other-power.’ He was not unique in this respect, since this perspective, though perhaps unarticulated, predominated within traditional Buddhism — despite the rhetorical efforts of figures like Honen and Shinran to paint the established schools as jiriki (self-power) extremists. (pg. 202)”.
But nevertheless, Ford shows how modern scholars in Japan and in the West have skewed this view of history with the belief that the politics of medieval Japan were reactionary, and stifling Buddhism in Japan at the time, leading to the Pure Land movement. Here, I quote Ford directly (emphasis added):
Hōnen’s response to the apparent social inequity and underlying monastic/lay tension — always a feature of Buddhism — was, in effect, to abolish the traditional lay-monastic framework. I am not convinced that he meant to destroy the system, particularly given his devotion to the monastic life, but the effect of his message, as revealed in the Senchakushū, was to undermine the practices and doctrines that sustained the monastic ideal. Pronouncing them obsolete because of the limitations of the age, he concluded that salvation was no longer contingent upon precept adherence, meditative practice, or diligent effort toward realization. Realization was now deemed a secondary goal, since it could not be attained in this world; it could only be attained in Amida’s Pure Land. Although others before Hōnen had devised “simple” practices to address the needs of lay practitioners and lessen the tension noted above, an implicit contradiction remained. If these practices could deliver as promised, why go through the arduous training of a monk? The monastic ideal could be interpreted as an ever-present source of doubt with respect to the efficacy of the “simple” practices. Hōnen can be seen, at least in terms of effect, as one who address this doubt directly, but Shinran appears much more explicitly conscious of this issue. (pg. 183)
Ford then adds:
We certainly cannot fault Hōnen and Shinran for creatively adapting these well-established labels [self-power/other-power, “easy” and “difficult” practices] for their own proselytizing ends. However, we must dismiss these sectarian rhetorical categories as legitimate analytical categories in the study of Kamakura Buddhism. (pg. 202)
Summing up here, I think Ford gets at two critical points here. First, in mainland Asia, historically Pure Land teachings have never been divided along exclusive or sectarian lines, and such was even the case for early medieval Japanese Buddhism:
Scholars generally agree that the tradition of the Pure Land in China represented more of a “scriptural tradition” than a “doctrinal school” and that people of many different schools practiced the nien-fo [nembutsu]. Thus, Jōkei’s claim that the Pure Land schools had no precedence in China is probably true.
A sectarian, exclusive Pure Land Buddhism quite literally did not arise until Honen and later Shinran’s time. Ford is right in crediting them with adapting teaching to suit a need, and I write this with a heavy heart because I actually like both Honen and Shinran, but I agree that the effect, perhaps unintended, was to foster a kind of narrow sectarianism that didn’t exist in Pure Land Buddhist teachings and practices before. I guess it was the sign of the times.
And yet in the modern world, there are many Buddhists in Asia, Japan and the mainland, who are devoted to Amitabha Buddha and still follow traditional Buddhist practices in some form or another. Such people have not forgotten the important balance of sila (moral conduct), samadhi (practice) and paññā (wisdom) even as they strive for rebirth in the Pure Land. Indeed the late Ven. Yin-Shun in his book The Way to Buddhahood, taught a comprehensive approach not unlike that which Shan-tao and Tao-ch’o offered many centuries ago:
The chanting of “Amitabha Buddha” should also be accompanied by prostrations, praise, repententance, the making of sincere requests, rejoicing, and the transference of merit. According to the five sequences in the “Jing tu lun” (Pure Land Treatise),3 one should start with prostrations and praise and then move into practicing cessation [meditation], contemplation [more meditation], and skillful means. One can thereby quickly reach the stage of not retreating from the supreme bodhi. As Nāgārjuna’s Śāstra puts it “those aiming for the stage of avivartin [non-retrogression] should not just be mindful, chant names and prostrate.
It’s a well-established trend, and works for many people in the world, but only in Japan is there a separate trend toward exclusivity and the idea of traditional Buddhism being invalidated. The sense of Dharma Decline so critical to Japanese Pure Land in today’s climate seems like a subjective anachronism now, and difficult to base a doctrine on with so great a diversity of sanghas and teachings in the world.
Second, what I believe to be the stronger refutation of Japanese Pure Land Buddhism as traditionally practiced in Jodo Shinshu and Jodo Shu is summed up in the following passage which deals with the issue of hōben (方便) or “expedient means” (again, emphasis added):
Both in his religious practice and, specifically, the Sōjō, Jōkei’s articulation of the normative voice of inclusivism and diversity within Buddhism is again instructive. The content of this vision of Buddhism, grounded in the tradition’s emphasis on karmic causality, appears almost boundless at times. Hōnen’s exclusive claims of efficacy, resonating with much of the contemporary Tendai hongaku discourse and effectively undermining the moral implications of karma and its ramifications for Buddhist soteriolology, was a wholesale rejection of Buddhist tradition. It invalidated not only the devotion to the variety of Buddhas and Bodhisattvas that manifest different qualities of wisdom and compassion but also the importance of various kinds of ascetic practices, long the centerpiece of monastic life. In short, Hōnen’s teaching “delocated” Buddhist sacrality from its traditional broad manifestations — temporal and spatial — to one single exclusive manifestation. (pg. 203)
Again, I think back to my experiences in Nara, Japan in particular. At Todaiji alone, I saw six or seven temples on the temple grounds devoted to various figures of Buddhism. The plurality was amazing, and welcoming in a way. It felt inclusive, not exclusive, and there was no sense of guilt in praying to Jizo Bodhisattva, or the Lotus Sutra, one might feel in a Jodo Shinshu temple for example4 While there, if all I wanted to do was see Kannon, I could do so, but if I wanted to see other figures too, no problem. In other words, the broad, inclusive nature of Nara-style Buddhism allows Buddhists to offer as much or as little devotion to their heart’s content. No need to worry about doctrinal clashes or implicit guilt.
Thus, my faith in Amitabha Buddha and the Pure Land is no less than it once was, but Ford’s and Jokei’s writings and my experiences in Nara and Kyoto remind me that Buddhism is strongest in diversity, and later Kamakura schools of Buddhism have a tendency toward exclusivity. Japanese Pure Land Buddhists, along with some Zen and Nichiren Buddhists, argue that exclusive approach is simpler and more accessible, but given what other Buddhists faiths I’ve seen, I believe the exclusive approach is ironically less simple and less accessible by virtue of their exclusivity. Too much rationalization, cutting off, and justification while the rest of the Buddhist world quietly hums along to a relatively consistent tune, even with all its own faults.
The inclusive approach exemplified by Jokei, and Ford’s argument that it’s the normative Buddhist approach for most of the Buddhist world, allows considerable flexibility to follow an approach that works for you, without having to deny other paths as too difficult, elitist or only valid during a “better era” of Buddhism. Just follow which aspect you tend to have a karmic connection toward, whether it be Amitabha Buddha, Shakyamuni Buddha, Kannon, zazen, tantra, or some combination.
First and foremost, I guess I consider myself a Mahayana Buddhist and second a Pure Land follower, not the other way around. So, what does this mean for me? I think I already know the answer, but I’m holding off for now to think further. Jokei’s “middle of the road” approach to Buddhist devotion and practice, and inclusiveness, provides a lot of inspiration right now, along with my experiences in Japan, and I hope to explore this more as time goes on.
Namo Shaka Nyorai Namo Amida Butsu
P.S. More regarding the critical role karmic causality plays in Buddhism from Ven. Thanissaro Bhikkhu
1 This would normally be the time to bring up the classic Kalama Sutta text, an awesome, though often quoted out of context in Buddhist writings. Instead, I’ll encourage you to read it yourself in full. It really is one of the best sutras in Buddhism. 🙂
2 Exemplified in the Yogacara/Hossō school in particular amongst the Nara Buddhist schools, and in opposition to Tendai “hongaku” or “innate enlightenment” teachings, and Shingon teachings regarding the “womb of Buddhahood”. It was one of the most tense and long-standing doctrinal feuds in Japanese Buddhism all the way until after Jokei’s time when some reconciliation was made. Ford does not elaborate on how this was done.
3 To be precise the Pure Land Treatise is: 淨土論, Ching-t’u-lun (Wade-Giles) or Jìngtǔ lùn (Pinyin), composed by Jiacai (迦才, ca.620-680).
4 Some Shinshu Buddhists I’ve met have explained it’s OK, as long as it’s an expression of gratitude but again there’s that subtle “if” in there.
Gleanings in Buddha-Fields 
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