Adding Flesh to Bones: Kiyozawa Manshi’s Seishinshugi in Modern Japanese Buddhist Thought 9780824892081

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Adding Flesh to Bones

Pure Land Buddhist Studies

a publication of the Institute of Buddhist Studies at the Graduate Theological Union

•

Editorial Board Richard K. Payne Chair, Institute of Buddhist Studies at the Graduate Theological Union Carl Bielefeldt Stanford University Harry Gyokyo Bridge Buddhist Church of Oakland James C. Dobbins Oberlin College Jérôme Ducor Université de Lausanne, Switzerland Paul Harrison Stanford University Anne Klein Rice University David Matsumoto Institute of Buddhist Studies at the Graduate Theological Union Scott Mitchell Institute of Buddhist Studies at the Graduate Theological Union Eisho Nasu Ryukoku University, Kyoto, Japan Jonathan A. Silk Universiteit Leiden, Leiden, The Netherlands Kenneth K. Tanaka Musashino University, Tokyo, Japan

Adding Flesh to Bones

Kiyozawa Manshi’s Seishinshugi in Modern Japanese Buddhist Thought

Edited by Mark L. Blum and Michael Conway

University of Hawai‘i Press / Honolulu

© 2022 Institute of Buddhist Studies All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America First printing, 2022 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Blum, Mark L., editor. | Conway, Michael, editor. Title: Adding flesh to bones : Kiyozawa Manshi’s Seishinshugi in modern   Japanese Buddhist thought / edited by Mark L Blum, Michael Conway. Other titles: Pure Land Buddhist studies. Description: Honolulu : University of Hawai‘i Press, 2022. | Series: Pure   Land Buddhist studies | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2021039116 | ISBN 9780824892074 (hardback) |   ISBN 9780824892081 (adobe pdf) | ISBN 9780824892302 (epub) |   ISBN 9780824892319 (kindle edition) Subjects: LCSH: Kiyozawa, Manshi, 1863–1903—Influence. |   Shin (Sect)—Japan—History. Classification: LCC BQ968.I917 A64 2022 | DDC 294.3/926—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021039116 The Pure Land Buddhist Studies series publishes scholarly works on all aspects of the Pure Land Buddhist tradition. Historically, this includes studies of the origins of the tradition in India, its transmission into a variety of religious cultures, and its continuity into the present. Methodologically, the series is committed to providing a venue for a diversity of approaches, including, but not limited to, anthropological, sociological, historical, textual, biographical, philosophical, and interpretive, as well as translations of primary and secondary works. The series will also seek to reprint important works so that they may continue to be available to the scholarly and lay communities. The series is made possible through the generosity of the Buddhist Churches of America’s Fraternal Benefit Association. We wish to express our deep appreciation for its support to the Institute of Buddhist Studies. University of Hawai‘i Press books are printed on acid-free paper and meet the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Council on Library Resources. Cover art: Illustration from the title page of volume 1 of Seishinkai (Courtesy Hōzōkan).

Contents Series Editor’s Preface

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Acknowledgments ix Abbreviations xi Conventions xiii Introduction Robert F. Rhodes

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I. Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi: Formative Roots 1 Kiyozawa Manshi’s Response to the Personalizing of the Two Truths in Modern Shinshū Mark L. Blum

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2 Nishi Honganji’s Responses during Japan’s Transition to Modernity Iwata Mami

36

3 Inoue Enryō and Kiyozawa Manshi: Two Buddhists in Modern Japan Miura Setsuo

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4 Religion and Ethics in Kiyozawa Manshi’s Thought Sueki Fumihiko

89

5 New Perspectives on Kiyozawa Manshi and the Tannishō Nishimoto Yūsetsu

112

6 The Truth about Seishinshugi: Kiyozawa Manshi and the People 132 of Kōkōdō Yamamoto Nobuhiro 7 The Resurrection of Kiyozawa Manshi Fukushima Eiju

151

II. The Legacy of Seishinshugi: Impact and Influence 8 Voices of Buddhist Women in Modern Japan: The Representation of Female Spirituality in Seishinkai Michihiro Ama

173

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Contents

9 Philosophy of Religion in the Thought of Kiyozawa Manshi and Nishida Kitarō Sugimoto Kōichi

211

10 Sasaki Gesshō, Seishinshugi, and the Buddha Śākyamuni Micah Auerback

231

11 The Role of the Ālayavijñāna in Soga Ryōjin’s Reinterpretation of Dharmākara Bodhisattva Michael Conway

248

12 Soga Ryōjin’s Shinran’s View of Buddhist History Robert F. Rhodes

277

13 Soga Ryōjin’s Understanding of Merit Transference Hase Shōtō

296

14 D. T. Suzuki and the Ōtani School of Seishinshugi James C. Dobbins

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15 Sincerity of Spirit: Seishinshugi’s Influence on Tanabe Hajime Melissa Anne-Marie Curley

349

16 Yasuda Rijin’s Shin Buddhism and Western Thought Paul B. Watt

374

17 Being-within-the-Tathāgata in Yasuda Rijin’s Thought: Toward Laying a Foundation for the Religious Subject Kaku Takeshi

390

References

415

List of Contributors

449

Glossary-Index

451

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Series Editor’s Preface Kiyozawa Manshi’s thought has been long regarded as key to the development of modern Shin. This volume focuses on the idea of Seishinshugi, or “spirituality-ism”—a formulation of Shin thought highlighting individual religious experience, which is one of the key issues for Romanticism and German Idealism and therefore reflects Kiyozawa’s interest in engaging with modern European philosophy. Taken together, this collection of seventeen chapters provides both a comprehensive and a detailed introduction to the thought of Kiyozawa, the presentation of his work, and how it influenced and inspired others to reformulate Buddhist thought in terms appropriate to the changing times. Seemingly overshadowed by the members of the “Kyoto school,” Kiyozawa takes center stage here. At the same time, the historical events that affected him and the modern reformulation of Japanese Buddhist thought are presented as context for understanding that reformulation. Perhaps most importantly, this work allows readers to gain insight into the basis upon which Shin thought continues to develop in the present day. We wish to express our appreciation to the volume editors, Mark Blum and Michael Conway, for bringing to fruition this ambitious project. Each of the contributors receives our thanks for their individual efforts, and we note in particular the introduction by Robert Rhodes, which not only describes the project, but also includes a valuable outline of Kiyozawa’s life. We recognize the generous subvention from the Shin Buddhist Comprehensive Research Institute, Otani University, and support for the Pure Land Buddhist Studies Series provided by the Institute of Buddhist Studies’ IBS Bloomquist Educational Operations Fund. Adding Flesh to Bones makes an important addition to the Pure Land Buddhist Studies Series. The mandate of the series is formed by an expansive understanding of the field of “Pure Land Buddhism” that welcomes a variety of methods for its study. The modern development of Shin Buddhist thought is a key element within that purposely wideranging mandate.

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Acknowledgments This volume includes material initially presented at a symposium in commemoration of the publication of Cultivating Spirituality: A Modern Shin Buddhist Anthology. That book has its roots in the project to translate the works of the representative modern Shin thinkers included therein, which began in 1996 under the direction of Yasutomi Shin’ya as the chief of the International Buddhist Studies Research Group at Ōtani University’s Shin Buddhist Comprehensive Research Institute. He is, therefore, the person who planted the seeds that have ultimately born fruit in the current work. We sincerely regret that he is not here to see the results of his labors begun over twenty years ago. Ōtani University and the Shin Buddhist Comprehensive Research Institute have provided a great deal of support on a variety of levels to make the publication of this book possible. Therefore, thanks must next go to Kusano Kenshi, who was president of the university at the time of the symposium in 2015, and Kigoshi Yasushi, who has served as president of the university through most of the long editorial process, as well as to Matsukawa Takeshi, Katō Takeo, and Urayama Ayumi, directors of the institute over the course of the project. Takikawa Yoshihiro and Fujitani Noritaka, administrative heads of the department that oversees the activities of the research institute, also made important contributions in keeping the project moving forward. This book is almost entirely the product of the university’s institutional commitment to making the religious insight of Kiyozawa Manshi and those who came after him available to an international audience. The administrative staff at the Shin Buddhist Comprehensive Research Institute—particularly Ueshima Jun, Hyōdo Yoshinori, Suzuki Michie, Chikuda Kazuki, Higuchi Kōji, and Iwasaki Chihiro—have also been of invaluable help at every stage in the process, from the preparations for the symposium through to the final stages of manuscript preparation. The creation of this book has been a project of the International Buddhist Studies Research Group since 2013, when we began planning for the symposium. Robert F. Rhodes and Inoue Takami have both served as the head of that group since then and have played important roles throughout that time, particularly in the initial planning phases. We are ix

Acknowledgments

sincerely grateful for all of their advice and assistance in the course of this project. The research group’s research assistants—Ajimura Kōsuke, Kaji Tetsuya, Tsunezuka Yūtetsu, Tsurudome Masatomo, Chiba Issei, and Woo Jongin—have also helped in a variety of ways, from creating name tags for the symposium participants to making countless pots of coffee for the long editorial meetings where we proofread and prepared the manuscript. Wayne S. Yokoyama deserves really special thanks for his unflagging help in preparing the manuscript for submission, as well as in creating and revising several of the translations included below. Without his tireless support and many trips into the stacks at Ōtani University’s library, we never could have finished the manuscript. Ōtani University’s library and the staff there have also been very helpful in a variety of ways, particularly in the preparation of the images, most of which are taken from its collection. We also must express our thanks to Dylan Luers Toda for preparing most of the translations for the symposium and to all of the authors for their patience in the course of the long editorial process. The editors and staff at the University of Hawai‘i Press have also made precious contributions to the work for which we are profoundly grateful.

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Abbreviations AHZ Akegarasu Haya zenshū 暁烏敏全集 (Complete Works of Akegarasu Haya). 27 volumes. Mattō: Ryōfūgakusha 涼風学舎, 1975–1978. CS

Cultivating Spirituality: A Modern Shin Buddhist Anthology. Edited by Mark L. Blum and Robert F. Rhodes. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2011.

CWS The Collected Works of Shinran. 2 volumes. Edited by Nagao Gadjin, translated by Dennis Hirota, Inagaki Hisao, Tokunaga Michio, and Uryuzu Ryushin. Kyoto: Jōdo Shinshū Hongwanji-ha, 1997. DPB

Demythologizing Pure Land Buddhism: Yasuda Rijin and the Shin Buddhist Tradition. By Paul B. Watt. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2016.

DTED “D. T. Suzuki’s English Diaries.” Edited by Kirita Kiyohide 桐田清秀. Matsugaoka Bunko kenkyū nenpō 松ヶ岡文庫研究年報, volumes 19–29. 2005–2015. IES

Inoue Enryō senshū 井上円了選集 (Selected Works of Inoue Enryō). 25 volumes. Edited by Tōyō Daigaku Sōritsu Hyakushūnen Kinen Ronbun­ shū Hensan Iinkai 東洋大学創立一〇〇周年記念論文集編纂委員会. Tokyo: Tōyō Daigaku 東洋大学, 1987–2004.

JSZ

Jōdo shinshū seiten zensho 浄土真宗聖典全書. 6 volumes. Edited by Kyōgaku Dendō Kenkyū Sentā 教学伝道研究センター, Jōdo Shinshū Honganji-ha 浄土真宗本願寺派. Kyoto: Honganji Shuppansha 本願寺出版 社, 2011–2019.

KMZH Kiyozawa Manshi zenshū 清沢満之全集 (Complete Works of Kiyozawa Manshi). 8 volumes. Edited by Akegarasu Haya 暁烏敏 and Nishimura Kengyō 西村見曉. Kyoto: Hōzōkan 法藏館, 1953–1957. KMZI Kiyozawa Manshi zenshū 清沢満之全集 (Collected Works of Kiyozawa Manshi). 9 volumes. Edited by Ōtani Daigaku 大谷大学. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten 岩波書店, 2002–2003. MSZ Maida Shūichi zenshū 毎田周一全集 (Complete Works of Maida Shūichi). 14 volumes. Tokyo: Maida Shūichi Zenshū Kankōkai 毎田周一全集刊行会, 1969–1972. NKZ Nishida Kitarō zenshū 西田幾多郎全集 (Complete Works of Nishida Kitarō). 24 volumes. Edited by Takeda Atsushi 竹田篤司, Klaus Riesenhuber, Kosaka Kunitsugu 小坂国継, and Fujita Masakatsu 藤田正勝. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten 岩波書店, 2002–2009. xi

Abbreviations SDZ

Suzuki Daisetsu zenshū 鈴木大拙全集 (Complete Works of Suzuki Daisetsu). 40 volumes. New, enlarged edition. Edited by Hisamatsu Shin’ichi 久松真一, Yamaguchi Susumu 山口益, and Furuta Shōkin 古田紹欽. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten 岩波書店, 1999–2003.

SGZ

Sasaki Gesshō zenshū 佐々木月樵全集 (Complete Works of Sasaki Gesshō). 6 volumes. Edited by Sasaki Gesshō Zenshū Kankōkai 佐々木月樵全集刊行 会. Tokyo: Hōbunsha 萌文社, 1927–1929.

SMZ Shimaji Mokurai zenshū 島地黙雷全集 (Complete Works of Shimaji Mokurai). 5 volumes. Edited by Futaba Kenkō 二葉憲香 and Fukushima Kanryū 福嶋寛隆. Kyoto: Honganji Shuppan Kyōkai 東本願寺出版協会, 1973–1978. SRKS Soga Ryōjin kōgishū 曽我量深講義集 (Collection of Soga Ryōjin’s Lectures). 15 volumes. Edited by Gyōshin no Michi Hensansho 行信の道編纂所. Tokyo: Yayoi Shobō 弥生書房, 1977–1988. SRS

Soga Ryōjin senshū 曽我量深選集 (Selected Works of Soga Ryōjin). 12 volumes. Edited by Soga Ryōjin Senshū Kankōkai 曽我量深選集刊行会. Tokyo: Yayoi Shobō 弥生書房, 1970–1972.

SSZ

Shinshū shōgyō zensho 真宗聖教全書 (Complete Collection of Shinshū Scriptures). 5 volumes. Kyoto: Ōyagi Kōbundō 大八木興文堂, 1941.

SZ

Shinshū zensho 真宗全書 (Complete Writings of Shinshū). 75 volumes. Edited by Tsumaki Chokuryō 妻木直良. Kyoto: Zōkyō Shoin 蔵経書院, 1913–1916.

T

Taishō shinshū daizōkyō 大正新脩大蔵経. 85 volumes. Edited by Takakusu Junjirō 高楠順次郎 and Watanabe Kaigyoku 渡辺海旭. Tokyo: Taishō Issaikyō Kankōkai 大正一切経刊行会, 1924–1932.

TK

Teihon Kyōgyōshinshō 定本教行信証 (Critical Edition of the Kyōgyōshinshō). Edited by Shinran Shōnin Zenshū Kankōkai 親鸞聖人全集刊行会. Kyoto: Hōzōkan 法藏館, 1989.

TSZ

Teihon Shinran shōnin zenshū 定本親鸞聖人全集 (Critical Edition of Shinran’s Complete Works). 9 volumes. Edited by Shinran Shōnin Zenshū Kankōkai 親鸞聖人全集刊行会. Kyoto: Hōzōkan 法藏館, 1976–1979.

YRC

Yasuda Rijin shū 安田理深集 (Yasuda Rijin Collection). 2 volumes. Edited by Kyōgaku Kenkyūjo 教学研究所 (Higashi Honganji 東本願寺). Kyoto: Shinshū Ōtani-ha Shūmusho Shuppanbu 真宗大谷派宗務所出版部, 2014–2015.

YRS

Yasuda Rijin senshū 安田理深選集 (Selected Works of Yasuda Rijin). 23 volumes. Edited by Yasuda Rijin Senshū Hensan Iinkai 安田理深選集編纂 委員会. Kyoto: Bun’eidō Shoten 文栄堂書店, 1983–1994.

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Conventions The current work deals primarily with modern Japanese Buddhism, so it includes a great many terms in Japanese, as well as in Chinese and Sanskrit. The Japanese terms are provided in the text in transliteration based on the modified Hepburn system. Chinese terms are transliterated in Pinyin (without the accent notations). The characters for the Chinese and Japanese terms that appear in the text are included in the index. Those characters have been given in the simplified form used in contemporary Japanese. The titles of texts referred to in the body of the work are, as a rule, presented in their original language of composition, such that Chinese translations of Buddhist scriptures are presented in Pinyin and not with the Hepburn transliteration. Although the characters for the titles of classical scriptures, journals, and other works that cannot be easily presented on the reference list are included in the index, the characters for the titles of the vast majority of works referred to in the text are included on the reference list, which is organized alphabetically by author. Japanese and Chinese names are presented in the traditional order, with the family name coming first and the personal name following it, with the exception of contemporary scholars who work primarily in Western academia, such as Michihiro Ama. Given that the work has seventeen different authors, all of whom work intimately with the various texts referred to in their original languages, the editors have decided not to enforce consistent translations of the various technical Buddhist terms and the titles of various scriptures throughout the text. We hope that this will aid our readers who are not necessarily familiar with the original languages to get a sense of the semantic richness of the different terms involved.

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Introduction Robert F. Rhodes In 2011, Mark L. Blum and I edited a volume called Cultivating Spirituality: A Modern Shin Buddhist Anthology (CS, 2011), containing English translations of selected works by four modern Shin Buddhist thinkers: Kiyozawa Manshi (1863–1903), Soga Ryōjin (1875–1971), Kaneko Daiei (1881– 1976), and Yasuda Rijin (1900–1982). It had always been our hope to publish a companion volume of interpretive essays that would further clarify and contextualize the ideas of these thinkers. The current volume has its beginning at a two-day conference “On Cultivating Spirituality: The Significance of Modern Shin Buddhist Thought in the History of Religions” held at Ōtani University on June 26 and 27 in 2015. The conference, with papers presented by sixteen speakers, was held as the first step in realizing our goal. Later, several other prominent specialists of modern Shin thought were solicited to contribute articles discussing salient issues not addressed by the conference papers. It is hoped that the result, which is now in your hands, will serve as a stimulus to further research on modern Japanese Buddhist thought. The title, Adding Flesh to Bones, plays on the title of Kiyozawa’s book on religious philosophy, Shūkyō tetsugaku gaikotsu (hereafter, The Skeleton of a Philosophy of Religion, Tokunaga 1892). According to its preface, Kiyozawa gave this unusual title to his book because he only attempted to lay out the bare outline of his religious philosophy, without sufficiently “fleshing it out.” Similarly, although we were able to provide a representative sampling of the writings of Kiyozawa and company in Cultivating Spirituality, they are certainly not enough to provide a well-rounded account of these thinkers’ ideas and their place in modern Japanese intellectual history. It is hoped that the present volume will indeed help in “adding flesh” to the bare bones we have provided in the earlier collection. During the past several decades, the critical investigation of Buddhism in the modern period has emerged as an increasingly important 1

Introduction

field of Buddhist studies worldwide. In Japan, groundbreaking monographs on modern Japanese Buddhism began to appear from the turn of the century1 and their number has grown rapidly ever since. It is important to note, however, that a large portion of this new research has focused on Shin Buddhism. This is because, as Sueki Fumihiko has argued in his chapter in this volume, Kiyozawa Manshi, the leading figure of Shin Buddhist modernism, succeeded in creating a religious philosophy that could “stand up to criticism in the world of modern thought.” Moreover, Kiyozawa is also said to have propagated a new form of Shin Buddhist spirituality called Seishinshugi, which emphasized the importance of inward religiosity. Kiyozawa’s approach, emphasizing both the personal experience of faith and the need to create new forms of Buddhism suited to the modern age unencumbered by traditional dogma on the basis of such experience, became the hallmark of modern Buddhist thought in Japan. It is for this reason that Kiyozawa’s legacy, which was inherited and further developed by his successors such as Soga, Kaneko, and Yasuda, proved immensely influential, not only in modern Shin Buddhism, but within Japanese Buddhism as a whole. Before proceeding further, it may be useful to provide a short account of the situation faced by Japanese Buddhists at the beginning of the modern era. The modern era in Japan begins with the traumatic events of the early Meiji period (1868–1912). Over two and a half centuries earlier, at the beginning of the seventeenth century, the Tokugawa shogunate had unified the country under its rule. Subsequently, Japan entered a prolonged period of peace and stability. But this peace came at a price, for the Tokugawa government adopted a policy of seclusion and ordered the ports (with the exception of Nagasaki) closed to all foreign intercourse, thus largely cutting the country off from outside contact. Domestically, the government’s quest for political stability also manifested itself in its religious policies. As part of its program to eradicate Christianity, which had been brought by Jesuit missionaries in the sixteenth century, and to maintain surveillance over the population, the Tokugawa shogunate ordered all families to become parishioners (danka) of Buddhist temples. In return for the right to conduct funerals and other ancestral rites, the temples were required to maintain detailed records on each of the affiliated danka families. This danka system was undoubtedly a boon for the temples, as the monopoly on funerals provided them with a steady source of income. However, it also had the unfortunate consequence of encouraging complacency among the priesthood. This complacency was reinforced by another key feature of the shogunate’s 2

Introduction

r­ eligious policies. Fearing the power of religious institutions, the government discouraged social activism by the Buddhist sects and instead encouraged the monks to expend their energies on the academic study of the sects’ doctrines and sacred texts. Although there is no question that Buddhist scholarship advanced greatly as a result, the extremely detailed doctrinal systems it produced were criticized severely as being nothing more than arid scholasticism in the Meiji and post-Meiji periods. The situation changed dramatically in 1853, when an American fleet led by Commodore Matthew Perry forced the opening of Japan’s ports to foreign commerce. After a period of political confusion, the Tokugawa shogunate was overthrown and the Meiji Restoration in 1868 publicly returned the reins of government to the emperor. This epoch-making event marks the beginning of the modern age in Japan. It was, however, also the beginning of a period of severe dislocation for Japanese Buddhists. After the Restoration, the new government promoted Shintō as the state ideology and embarked on a program to separate Shintō from Buddhism (shinbutsu bunri), which entailed a persecution of the Buddhist orders. Although the persecution lasted only a few years, it was a shocking event for the Buddhist institutions that had long been accustomed to receiving unquestioned support from the state. The Meiji government also adopted a policy of modernizing the country along the lines of the Western powers. As a result, it abandoned the Tokugawa seclusion policy and actively sought to adopt modern knowledge and technology from the West. As part of this program, Western science and philosophies were introduced into Japanese education and Christianity, which had long been banned, was allowed to proselytize freely. This combination of Buddhist persecution, rapid westernization, and the threat of Christianity led many Buddhists to cry out for institutional reforms and the revitalization of their spiritual tradition through dialogue with modern Western religious and philosophical thought. Kiyozawa was a pioneering figure in this movement to reformulate Buddhist thought and practice in dialogue with the West. He was born into a low-ranking samurai family in Nagoya in 1863. This was a decade after the arrival of Commodore Perry and five years before the Meiji Restoration. After the collapse of the Tokugawa shogunate, the feudal domains were abolished and the samurais who had been employed by these domains lost their source of income. As a result, Kiyozawa’s family fell into poverty. In 1878, Kiyozawa was ordained as a priest of the Ōtani (Higashi Honganji) denomination of Shin Buddhism, mainly (he confessed 3

Introduction

later) to receive a scholarship to continue his education. After studying at the denomination’s high school, Kiyozawa was sent to the University of Tokyo, where he studied Western philosophy, Hegel in particular. He went on to the graduate school, majoring in the philosophy of religion. In 1888, Kiyozawa was suddenly called back to Kyoto by the Higashi Honganji authorities to become the principal of Kyoto Prefecture’s Ordinary Middle School (Jinjō Chūgakkō), which was then being operated by the denomination. It was during his tenure as principal that he wrote The Skeleton of a Philosophy of Religion, the first systematic Japanese work on religious philosophy, in 1892. Earlier, in 1890, Kiyozawa embarked on a regimen of extreme asceticism, which he called “minimum possible,” to test his limits. This experiment in self-denial eventually got to the point where Kiyozawa was only eating buckwheat flour mixed with water. As a result, his strength gradually weakened and he eventually contracted pulmonary tuberculosis in 1894. Two years later, after his plans to reorganize the middle school were rejected by Atsumi Kaien (1841–1906), the chief administrator of the Higashi Honganji denomination, Kiyozawa and several of his close associates launched an ambitious movement to reform the denomination. Although it achieved a certain degree of success (such as ousting Atsumi and establishing an elected legislative assembly), the movement soon lost its momentum and was terminated. Moreover, Kiyozawa was also expelled from the Higashi Honganji priesthood for his activities. However, the years following the failure of his efforts to reform the Higashi Honganji were of crucial importance to Kiyozawa, since they provided him with an opportunity to reflect deeply on his faith. It was during this period that he discovered and immersed himself in three texts that he christened “my three scriptures”: the Āgamas, the Tannishō, and the Discourses of Epictetus. His engagement with these texts helped him to articulate Seishinshugi, which came to express his religious thinking toward the end of his life. In 1898, Kiyozawa was reinstated to the Shin Buddhist priesthood. When Shinshū University (later Ōtani University) was newly established in Tokyo by the Higashi Honganji in 1901, he became its first president. During this time, Kiyozawa began to live in a communal setting with several of his disciples, including Tada Kanae (1875–1937), Sasaki Gesshō (1875–1926), and Akegarasu Haya (1877–1954), at the Kōkōdō (Capacious Cave). There he began publication of the journal Seishinkai (Spiritual World) to spread his new approach to Shin Buddhist spirituality called Seishinshugi (literally, “spirit-ism”), emphasizing inner spiritual aware4

Introduction

ness. However, Kiyozawa resigned his university presidency in 1902 and died a year later. This volume is divided into two parts. The first part, entitled “Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi: Formative Roots,” focuses on Kiyozawa’s intellectual background and various aspects of his thought. The first chapter by Mark L. Blum considers the Shin Buddhist use of the concept of “two truths,” which serves as the backdrop for Kiyozawa’s most important essay on ethics, “Shūkyō teki dōtoku (zokutai) to futsū dōtoku to no kōshō” (Negotiating Religious Morality [Worldly Truth] and Common Morality, 1903d). Ordinarily, the two truths refer to the two levels of reality perceived by an awakened person: the supreme truth (paramārtha satya) and the worldly truth (saṃvṛti satya). The former refers to the ultimate truth about existence, namely, that all things are empty, while the latter refers to the world as conventionally experienced by ordinary people. However, within Shin Buddhism, the two-truth concept was used to create a unique ethical discourse, with the absolute truth being identified with faith in the Pure Land teachings and the conventional truth with secular morality. In his detailed essay, Blum first discusses the understanding of the two truths found in Indian and Chinese Buddhist texts, then recounts how the distinctive Shin Buddhist interpretation of two-truth doctrine was developed by priests from the time of Kakunyo (1270–1351), and finally considers Kiyozawa’s critique of the distorted Shin Buddhist interpretation of the two truths. The next chapters are concerned with two Buddhist figures predating Kiyozawa. Iwata Mami’s contribution discusses the Honpa (Nishi Honganji) denomination of Shin Buddhism, focusing in particular on Shimaji Mokurai (1838–1911), who was instrumental in establishing the principle of freedom of religion in Japan. The third chapter by Miura Setsuo provides a detailed comparison of the life and thought of Kiyozawa and Inoue Enryō (1858–1919). Inoue was born into a Higashi Honganji temple family and was sent to study at the University of Tokyo a few years before Kiyozawa. Miura points out that, like Kiyozawa, Inoue’s life was replete with disappointments. But unlike Kiyozawa, who spent his entire life working within the denomination, Inoue left Higashi Honganji and established Tōyō University. Thus, although they both contributed to the modernization of Buddhism, they did so in quite different ways. Sueki Fumihiko’s contribution is a wide-ranging and insightful reflection on Kiyozawa’s ethical thought that attempts to situate it within the broad currents of Japanese religious history in the Meiji period. 5

Introduction

Sueki points out that, with the promulgation of the Imperial Rescript on Education in 1890, “the emperor system was established as the national morality” (see p. 94). Kiyozawa held that the field of religion goes beyond secular values (morality). In Kiyozawa’s view, for a person to live a moral life, they must take infinite responsibility for all of their actions. But, as Kiyozawa says, once one attempts to live a perfectly moral life, one finds it is impossible and falls into despair. However, it is at this very point where they realize their inability to be perfectly moral beings, that they can experience religious conversion and entrust themselves completely to the Tathāgata. Therefore, Kiyozawa concludes, there is no longer any need to worry about one’s inability to act morally since all responsibility is borne by the Tathāgata. In this way, Sueki maintains, Kiyozawa presented a convincing rebuttal of the position, advanced by such people as Inoue Tetsujirō (1856–1944), prioritizing the national ­emperor-centered morality over religion. However, Sueki also argues that religion and ethics cannot be completely separated from each other and proposes that Kiyozawa’s insight that “the existence of the Other as being predicated on the relationship that we initiate with it” (see p. 107) may provide the basis of a satisfactory Buddhist ethics. The following study by Nishimoto Yūsetsu explores Kiyozawa’s engagement with the Tannishō. As noted above, Kiyozawa placed great value on the Tannishō, including it among what he called “my three scriptures.” Nishimoto shows that Kiyozawa’s engagement with this text began quite early, while he was still a student at the University of Tokyo. Nishimoto also points out that, while Jinrei (1749–1817), the Edo-period Shin Buddhist scholar, saw the Tannishō primarily as a text written to criticize incorrect interpretations of Shin Buddhist teachings, Kiyozawa saw it as the most profound expression of the Shin Buddhist faith, providing the “ultimate standard” for living. Yamamoto Nobuhiro’s essay with the provocative title “The Truth about Seishinshugi,” summarizes the arguments he developed in his ‘Seishinshugi’ wa dare no shisō ka (Whose Thought Was “Seishinshugi”?, 2011), one of the most important books published on Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi in recent years. Yamamoto convincingly argues that a number of articles published under Kiyozawa’s name in the Seishinkai were intentionally altered before publication by Kiyozawa’s disciples, especially Akegarasu, thereby distorting Kiyozawa’s thought. The disciples felt that Kiyozawa, who was not born into a Shin Buddhist temple, did not fully understand traditional Shin teachings and sought to correct their teacher’s views by reworking his articles. At the same time, they 6

Introduction

sought to capitalize on Kiyozawa’s prestige to disseminate what they felt was the true interpretation of the Shin Buddhist faith. Yamamoto’s argument that the Seishinkai essays do not accurately reflect Kiyozawa’s position has had a major impact on recent studies on modern Shin Buddhist thought. The final piece in this section is Fukushima Eiju’s “The Resurrection of Kiyozawa Manshi.” In this fascinating study, Fukushima describes how the influential image we now have of Kiyozawa as a “Meiji-period Shinran” was constructed by his reverential followers in the years after his death. In constructing and disseminating this image, they distributed Kiyozawa’s portrait as well as his final essay, “Waga shinnen” (My Faith, 1903g). The portrait was often used at his memorial service; likewise “Waga shinnen,” which was elevated to the status of Kiyozawa’s final testament concerning his faith, was frequently read out loud in unison by those attending the memorial services. Eventually influential biographies of Kiyozawa foregrounding his image as a pious religious seeker were composed and he came to be styled as a Meiji-period reincarnation of Shinran in the pages of the Seishinkai. However, Fukushima notes that another image, that of Kiyozawa the philosopher, is increasingly gaining currency as a result of the works on Kiyozawa published by Imamura Hitoshi, a contemporary Japanese philosopher and a member of the editorial committee of the new edition of Kiyozawa’s complete works published by Iwanami in 2002 and 2003. The second part of the volume is entitled “The Legacy of Seishinshugi: Impact and Influence.” As the title indicates, the chapters in this section explore the various ways in which Kiyozawa’s Seishinshugi influenced later thinkers, both within and outside Shin Buddhism. The first piece by Michihiro Ama breaks new ground by investigating the ways in which female spirituality is represented in the poems and stories by four women published in Seishinkai: Akegarasu Fusako, Akiyama Keiko, Takei Fuku, and Kobayashi Shige. Akegarasu Fusako, who incidentally was Akegarasu Haya’s wife, wrote sensual poems expressing her love for her husband, as well as poems expressing the unity of sinfulness and salvation. Akiyama’s short stories feature bodhisattva-like women who awaken and bring together family members. Takei and Kobayashi wrote spiritual confessions that, in Ama’s words, “served as a means of self-­ reflection, self-transformation, and self-promotion, as well as a way to reconfirm their religious conversion” (see p. 189). Little research has been conducted on the impact of Seishinshugi on women and Ama’s  study, which includes translations of works by Akiyama, Takei, 7

Introduction

and ­Kobayashi as an appendix, opens up important new venues for future research. Sugimoto Kōichi’s chapter provides a provocative comparison of the religious philosophies of Kiyozawa Manshi and Nishida Kitarō. Sugimoto points out that Kiyozawa clearly demarcates religion from philosophy, arguing that religion begins where philosophical thinking comes to an impasse. In contrast, for Nishida, philosophy and religion permeate each other. Nishida constructs his philosophy in his Zen no kenkyū (An Inquiry into the Good, 1911) on the notion of “pure experience.” In other words, Nishida argues that it is possible to apprehend the “one true reality” of the universe through pure experience and further claims that this “one true reality” is none other than the unifying power of the universe or “God.” Hence, Nishida’s philosophy is founded on a notion that is usually categorized as “religious” rather than “philosophical.” After presenting Kiyozawa’s and Nishida’s religious philosophy in this way, Sugimoto subjects both positions to incisive deconstructive critique, pointing out that Nishida’s project to subsume everything under a philosophy of pure experience leads him to ignore the problems of the individual human being, while Kiyozawa’s attempt to differentiate between religion and philosophy leads him to downplay the problems of society. The perceptive study by Micah Auerback focuses on the impact of Seishinshugi on Sasaki Gesshō. Sasaki, one of the most prominent members of the Kōkōdō, later served as the third president of Ōtani University. Auerback argues that Sasaki inherited Kiyozawa’s interest in Śākyamuni (exemplified by the special place that Kiyozawa gave to the Āgamas), but developed it in a different direction by using the concept of jinkaku, or character, that was popular in the era of “Taisho culturalism” in which Sasaki lived. That is to say, like Murakami Senshō (1851–1929) and Anesaki Masaharu (1873–1949), who authored influential studies on the Āgamas and early Buddhism, Sasaki maintained that Śākyamuni’s greatness came from his perfected character ( jinkaku), but asserted that, since Śākyamuni had died long ago, his power to transform others through his character is no longer operative. What is needed now, Sasaki believed, is to delve into the interior life of the Buddha where the truth (i.e., the Dharma) to which Śākyamuni awakened can be discerned and recovered. Sasaki moreover held that the interior life of the Buddha— the dynamic working of the Buddhist Dharma—is expressed most clearly in Mahayana sutras, especially the Flower Garland Sutra with its narrative of the youth Sudhana’s quest for buddhahood. In this way, Sasaki reas-

8

Introduction

serted the importance of Mahayana teachings in an age when the teachings of the historical Buddha, as found in the Āgamas, were considered to represent the true teachings of Buddhism. The next three chapters deal with various aspects of the Shin Buddhist thought of Soga Ryōjin. Born into a Shin Buddhist temple family in Niigata, Soga is unquestionably the most important figure in modern Shin thought after Kiyozawa. Originally, Soga was critical of Kiyozawa but, after Kiyozawa’s death, became closely associated with the Seishin­ shugi movement, serving as editor of Seishinkai for a while. In 1913, he published one of his most famous essays, “Chijō no kyūshu: Hōzō bosatsu shutsugen no igi” (A Savior on Earth: The Meaning of Dharmākara Bodhi­sattva’s Advent, 1913a; hereafter, “A Savior on Earth”) wherein he interpreted the bodhisattva Dharmākara, which refers to Amida Buddha before he attained buddhahood, as a symbol of the arising of faith within human beings. Shin Buddhism holds that we are saved through faith in Amida. Moreover, it asserts that genuine salvific faith is not born from our own efforts but is turned over to us from Amida himself. However, as Michael Conway notes in his paper, Soga radically reinterpreted the traditional Shin Buddhist understanding of how salvation is achieved by asserting that Amida is not an “external savior figure who liberates sentient beings by welcoming them into a heavenly Pure Land on the moment of death” (the traditional Shin Buddhist view) but that “Amida brings about human liberation by appearing as the very subject that awakens to religious truth” (see p. 248). This is clearly indicated at the beginning of “A Savior on Earth” where Soga states, “The Tathāgata liberates me by becoming me.” Moreover, after making this assertion, Soga continues, “The Tathāgata becoming me is the advent of Dharmākara Bodhisattva” (SRS 2: 408). Soga’s point here is that Dharmākara is not a figure of the distant mythical past but the dynamic appearance of the working of Amida Tathāgata manifesting itself as faith within the human heart/mind. As Conway says, this insight, which reformulated Shin Buddhist faith as an inward, subjective religious awareness, laid the foundation for all of Soga’s subsequent thought. In 1925, Soga was appointed professor at Ōtani University and two years later published Nyorai hyōgen no hanchū toshite no sanshinkan (A View of the Three Minds as Categories of the Expression of the Tathāgata, 1927; hereafter, The Three Minds), in which he extended his arguments ­developed in “A Savior on Earth” by identifying Dharmākara Bodhi­sattva with the ālayavijñāna, the eighth and deepest level of human

9

Introduction

consciousness. The views expressed in this book, however, were considered heretical and Soga was forced to resign from the faculty of Ōtani ­University in 1930. He was recalled to the university in 1941 and eventually became the university’s president in 1961 at the age of eighty-six. In his chapter, Michael Conway considers The Three Minds and its analysis of the figure of the bodhisattva Dharmākara in terms of the ālayavijñāna. After briefly introducing the arguments of “A Savior on Earth,” Conway turns to Soga’s early writings on ālayavijñāna, pointing out that Soga understood it as the locus where the finite (or ordinary deluded beings) and the infinite (Amida) intersect. In The Three Minds, Soga developed this notion further and asserted that “the ālayavijñāna is  the bodhisattva Dharmākara,” or, phrased differently, that the ālayavijñāna is the locus where Dharmākara, as the dynamic working of Amida Buddha to liberate all beings, manifests itself as faith in the heart/mind of human beings. Soga further amplifies this point by correlating the three aspects of the ālayavijñāna (its aspects as result, as itself, and as cause) with the three minds or the three aspects of faith: the sincere mind, the mind of joyful entrusting, and the mind that aspires for birth in the Pure Land. My own chapter discusses another important contribution Soga made to modern Shin Buddhist thought: his interpretation of Buddhist history laid out in Shinran no bukkyō shikan (Shinran’s View of Buddhist History) published in 1935. Modern historical methods had been firmly established in Japan by this time and, although Soga recognized that they had produced significant results, he maintained that these did not accurately portray the true history of Buddhism as the working of Amida’s original vow in history to lead all beings to liberation. The last of the three chapters on Soga is Hase Shōtō’s “Soga Ryōjin’s Understanding of Merit Transference.” In Shin Buddhism, the arising of faith in humans is described as resulting from Amida directing or transferring his merits (ekō) to them. Hence, as Hase notes, the notion of ekō (Skt. pariṇāmanā) is central to Shin Buddhism. However, Hase declares that this traditional interpretation of ekō is inadequate to explain the manner in which faith arises. Taking a cue from Soga, Hase argues that faith arises through the “self-denial of Amida Tathāgata,” that is to say, when Amida, in an act of self-negation, appears in the human heart/ mind as Dharmākara. To express this, Hase proposes that we should follow Soga’s suggestion and translate ekō as “expression” (hyōgen). Such a translation accords with the original meaning of the Sanskrit term

10

Introduction

pariṇāmanā, which is “to appear in a different form.” In the latter part of the essay, Hase explores the meaning of ekō as “expression” by comparing it with the thought of Simone Weil, Nishitani Keiji, and Nishida Kitarō. The next chapter by James C. Dobbins is a detailed study of the influence of Seishinshugi on D. T. Suzuki (1870–1966). Suzuki, who was a professor at Ōtani University, is popularly believed to have had close ties with the Seishinshugi movement. However, Dobbins convincingly shows that this was not actually the case, finding little evidence of a close relationship between Suzuki and the major Seishinshugi figures like Kiyozawa, Soga, and Kaneko. Among the major Seishinshugi figures, Dobbins concludes, Suzuki felt the closest bond with Sasaki Gesshō, who initially invited Suzuki to Ōtani University and worked with him on various projects, such as translating Shin Buddhist texts into English and publishing the journal The Eastern Buddhist. Melissa Anne-Marie Curley’s essay turns to another figure of the Kyoto school, Tanabe Hajime (1885–1962), and explores the ways in which his major work, Zangedō toshite no tetsugaku (Philosophy as Metanoetics, 1946; hereafter, Metanoetics), is informed by Soga’s Shin Buddhist thought. In Metanoetics, focused on the notion of zange or repentance, Tanabe specifically states that his interpretation is based on Soga, especially his The Three Minds. For Tanabe, metanoetics (zange) opens up when “reason is brought beyond its limits and fails” (see p. 353). This is the point of conversion, specifically “conversion from philosophy as the exercise of reason to the philosophy of other-power” (see p. 353), signaling the breakdown of the old self based on reason and the discovery of a new self, based on absolute nothingness. The final two contributions take up the Shin Buddhist thought of Yasuda Rijin. Like Kiyozawa, Yasuda was not a son of a temple family. Although he was drawn to Christianity in his youth in Tottori, he came to Kyoto to study Buddhism after reading Kaneko’s highly praised Bukkyō gairon (Introduction to Buddhism, 1919). Deeply influenced by Western existential philosophy, during the postwar years Yasuda developed his understanding of Shin Buddhism in dialogue with the writings of Paul Tillich, Martin Heidegger, and other Western thinkers. In his chapter, Watt focuses on Yasuda’s most famous essay, “Na wa tan ni na ni arazu” (A Name but Not a Name Alone, 1960), that was inspired by conversations he had with the Protestant theologian Paul Tillich while the latter was visiting Japan on a lecture tour. In this work, Yasuda provides an incisive

11

Introduction

account of the manner in which Amida’s name or “Namu Amida Butsu” (meaning “I take refuge in Amida Buddha”) functions. Shin Buddhism holds that we are led to awakening by hearing the Name. But Yasuda states that names do not refer to real entities, because all things are empty and devoid of self-nature. Since all things are empty, it follows that the names referring to them are empty as well and have only provisional validity. On the basis of Yogācāra consciousness-only philosophy he had studied in depth, Yasuda asserts that “human beings function within the world they construct” (see p. 382) through names. Although this linguistically constructed world is ultimately empty, humans mistakenly believe it to be real, become attached to it, and fall into delusion. As Yasuda says, “In a sense, humans are beings who, through names, are deluded by names” (see p. 382). Amida’s name, too, is a provisional name, but, as Yasuda sees it, it functions to direct our attention to “the true empty nature of reality” and “enables humans to live in and engage the world of provisional names” (see p. 382). Amida, being emptiness itself, is something without form but it manifests itself as the Name calling us to awaken from delusion. This is why Yasuda concludes that Amida’s Name is “a name but not a name alone.” As to the reason why Amida manifests himself as a name, Yasuda explains that, since humans are deluded by names, “there is no way other than names to cause them to awaken from that delusion” (see p. 382). Yasuda’s engagement with Heidegger, a topic discussed in detail in the second half of Watt’s chapter, is also the theme of the following paper by Kaku Takeshi. Here Kaku notes that Yasuda discovered the importance of demythologizing the mythic narratives of Amida and the Pure Land through his encounter with Tillich. The key concept in Yasuda’s demythologization was ganshō or “aspiration for birth in the Pure Land,” which he understood as the human being’s turn away from an inauthentic way of being to an authentic one characterized by the realization that one is originally embraced within the Tathāgata’s wisdom. Yasuda called this authentic way of being “being-within-the-Tathāgata,” which he created from Heidegger’s term “being-in-the-world” (In-der-Welt-Sein). As the chapters in this volume indicate, Kiyozawa’s Seishinshugi had a major impact on the religious and philosophical thought of modern Japan. But despite its importance, it had long been studied almost exclusively by sectarian Shin Buddhist scholars and has rarely attracted the attention of scholars working in the wider field of Japanese intellectual history. Fortunately, with the recent growth of interest in modern Japanese Buddhism, the situation has changed significantly. Still, there is 12

Introduction

much more work to be done and hopefully the essays in this volume will serve as stimuli to future research on modern Shin Buddhist thought and its impact on modern Japanese religions and philosophy.

Note 1

Pioneering works from this period include Ōtani Eiichi 2001; Sueki 2004a, 2004b; Klautau 2012.

13

Part I Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi: Formative Roots

Chapter 1

Kiyozawa Manshi’s Response to the Personalizing of the Two Truths in Modern Shinshū Mark L. Blum Any student of Kiyozawa Manshi (1863–1903) is well aware of his rather radical turn against the prevailing Buddhist normative discourse on morality in the last few years of his life. Of particular interest is the way he seems to have found a new voice on this topic after being diagnosed with tuberculosis, which would prove fatal, suggesting a major personal transformation as well. That is, his later writings are not only unusually inspired in their creativity and existential honesty, but also differ significantly from his earlier leanings on the subject. The fact that he uses the Buddhist theory of two truths to frame his critique of Buddhist notions of worldly morality in his time is, however, in my estimation, of far more lasting significance than his deconstruction of socially prevailing norms of morality and ethics. I say this because many years before Kiyozawa’s courageous statements on the two truths were published, the Shinshū sect, especially the Honganji branch, had established its own, rather unique hermeneutic of the two-truth doctrine that not only obliterated any meaningful distinction between church and state but also jettisoned the traditional functionality of this concept within Mahāyāna Buddhist doctrine itself. The “modern” Shin orthodoxy creatively reimagined the two truths in a way that personalized what was originally a rather abstract and impersonal concept. In this new form, what had been called “absolute truth” now refers to the interior experience of the Buddha’s Dharma, and “worldly truth” corresponds to the rules of society, writ large. This chapter is an attempt to grasp the intellectual process by which Shin Buddhist intellectuals took the Shin 17

Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi

­ octrinal discourse in a direction that redefined both absolute and d worldly truths, but would inevitably focus on the infamous Shin move that applied the “king’s law and buddha’s law” paradigm to the Buddhist paradigm of the two truths, thereby removing them from their purely religious context, and pose the question of why Shin became committed (long before Kiyozawa) to this anomalous interpretation of the Buddha’s Dharma. Some have seen the shift in late nineteenth-century Shin thought as inevitable.1 Institutional Japanese Buddhism in the Meiji period (1868– 1912) as a whole underwent a rather severe weaning from its feudalistic cultural parent, mostly in response to its persecution in the early years of the Meiji government when ideologues controlled public policy. As the militarization of society and culture progressed apace until midway into the twentieth century, seemingly regardless of who was actually running things, government antipathy toward Buddhism remained strong even if it did not return to the overt suppression in early Meiji policy. Responses within the professional Buddhist communities to this pressure manifested both institutionally and doctrinally, but surely one of the most bizarre was the peculiar adaptation of the Buddhist theory of two truths within the leadership of Jōdo Shinshū whereby the worldly truth was redefined as fulfilling one’s duty to the state, and the highest truth was redefined as an interior tariki faith in the Pure Land teachings as defined by Edo-period shūgaku (sectarian studies). Essentially this amounts to Buddhism in Japan ceding an enormous piece of intellectual and cultural territory to whatever prevailing norms of ethical and political obligations were afoot in society at that time. There has been a great deal of Japanese scholarship on this topic in the postwar period, particularly since the 1990s, although very little has been published in English that examines these issues critically. It is important to stress here how anomalous this move was, and part of what I will attempt to do here is to show this. But this “outsider” response of the Honganji to modernity begs the question as to why this move characterizes the modern form of Shin Buddhism. The enigma arises out of the fact that while all forms of Buddhism were under attack or suspicion in the nineteenth century, only Shin came up with this form of rationalization for its social identity in the new, modern Japan. Discussions of this problem among Shin scholars usually begin with noting that the absolute nature of the emperor-centered political system of thought in the early Meiji period raised such serious questions about the viability of Buddhism in modern Japan that some form of ac18

Kiyozawa Manshi’s Response to the Personalizing of the Two Truths

commodation was unavoidable. As I see it, all systems of thought were being ideologized in the Meiji period, at least as far as policy goes, but in fact this new paradigm dates back perhaps fifty years prior to the Meiji Restoration. I am not only drawing on the histrionic, anti-Buddhist rhetoric of Hirata Atsutane (1777–1843), but also on the writings of Shin intellectuals themselves throughout the first half of the nineteenth century, especially that of a Nishi Honganji priest called Shōkai (1765–1838), and with hints of the same even earlier. But this does not necessarily help us deal with the question of why Shinshū? To fully grasp what it was about Shin culture in the Edo period that led to this sort of accommodation and what its consequences were, we need to know what part of this legacy belongs to the Shin tradition and what part can be found elsewhere. The basic theory of two truths in Mahayana thought is most famously traced back to Nāgārjuna’s Mūlamadhyamika kārikā śāstra (J. Chūron), but in fact the core idea goes back even farther to the Abhidharma notion that there are meanings or understandings of things that are “of this world,” or laukika, and those that “transcend this world,” or lokottara. This view also appears in middle-period Mahayana sutras as a way to explain the doctrinal variance between the Mahayana and non-­ Mahayana messages, perhaps most famously in the Nirvana Sutra where, in fascicle thirteen the relatively simple directives taught by the Buddha, such as discerning the cause of suffering from an analysis of perception, he labels “middle wisdom” (chūchi) connected with “worldly truth” (setai), and the more difficult truths he teaches to bodhisattvas he calls the “first truth” (daiichi gi) by which they thereby have access to “higher wisdom” ( jōchi). This amounts to a two-tiered hermeneutic of the four noble truths themselves, one based on a rational analysis of causality that yields sharp discrimination, the other based on grasping the transcendental unity and eternal nature of higher truth. Standing on this canonical distinction, Nāgārjuna interpreted the Prajñāpāramitā scriptures in a way that globally expanded this discrimination. In my terms, Nāgārjuna was distinguishing between what we rationally know of the truth and what the truth really is. Given the particularly strong influence of the Nirvana Sutra in the conceptual structure of medieval Pure Land thought in East Asia, its presentation of this same trope is particularly noteworthy for the present context.2 Although we do not have the original Sanskrit or Prakrit language that underlies the Nirvana Sutra passage, Nāgārjuna labeled the first truth (satya) as saṃvṛti, perhaps meaning “changeable,” and the “highest” truth as paramārtha, 19

Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi

which of course would be a very good candidate for the Indic original that led to the Nirvana Sutra’s phrase, diyi yi (J. daiichi gi), meaning “ultimate truth.” Although Nāgārjuna is better known for this two-dimensional way of understanding Buddhist doctrines, sutras, and the like, his analysis—taken together with the Nirvana Sutra’s—helped to clarify things from the practitioner’s point of view as opposed to the Buddha’s. The core message in both contexts is that it is because we assume individual realities to everything we see in the world that we rarely can rise above the mundane truth level. The worldly truth recognizes phenomena as real, as having a particular birth, duration, and death, but the true truth, so to speak, reflects the understanding that phenomena are empty of any intrinsic nature, are empty of any intrinsic identity, and are empty of any true meaning or value as individual, independent entities. But if we can only know the Dharma in the mundane, analytic way, how can we ever hope to achieve transcendental understanding? The answer lies in the fact that the mundane truth and transcendent truth are somehow no different, to borrow Nāgārjuna’s words. In a dialogue within the Nirvana Sutra, Mañjuśrī asks about the relationship between the two truths and the Buddha similarly answers that they are identical yet different. At that point Mañjuśrī addresses the buddha, saying, World-Honored One. You have expounded a worldly truth and an ultimate truth, but what does this mean? World-Honored One, does the ultimate truth contain the worldly truth? Does the worldly truth contain the ultimate truth? If so, then there is only one truth. Otherwise, one wonders if there is something incorrect in what the Tathāgata expounded.

The Buddha said, Good man. The worldly truth is precisely the ultimate truth.

Mañjuśrī said, World-Honored One, if that is the case, then there are not two truths.

The Buddha said, Good man, by using skillful means I have explained that, in accordance with [the understanding] of living beings, there are two truths. Good man, if I expound things accordingly, then there will be two kinds [of dharma]: a dharma for the world (*laukika) and a dharma for what is beyond the world (*lokottara). Good man, just as [the dharma] for the person who understands what lies beyond this world is called “ultimate truth,” what a worldly person understands I have called “worldly truth.” (T 12.443a7–14) 20

Kiyozawa Manshi’s Response to the Personalizing of the Two Truths

These teachings were known to China by the second quarter of the fifth century under the influence of Kumārajīva (344–413) and Dharmakṣema (385–433), translator of the Nirvana Sutra. The extant letters between Huiyuan (334–416) and Kumārajīva are testimony to the successful appropriation of this teaching at least by the intellectuals among Chinese Buddhists from the fifth century on. Another common set of Chinese terms for the two truths are, in Japanese pronunciation, shintai (zhendi) and zokutai (sudi). The Sui dynasty Sanlun exegete Jizang (549–623) has a treatise on the two truths, written precisely at the time when Buddhism was transmitted to Japan in which he quotes the Nirvana Sutra passage above. The strong impact of the Sanron school in Japan under the influence of Jizang’s Korean émigré disciple Hyegwan (J. Ekan, active ca. 625–650), Dōji (d. 744), and others who studied in China confirm that this orthodox understanding was prevalent among educated Buddhists from the Nara period on. But at the same time the rhetoric concerning the two truths begins to shift slightly in Chinese Buddhist thought through the impact of apocryphal or indigenous sutras. Especially noteworthy in this regard is the Renwang jing (hereafter, Sutra of Benevolent Kings).3 This sutra is set up whereby the Buddha preaches to sixteen kings from various lands on the importance of ruling according to the Dharma, with corresponding promises of great rewards if they do so and unmitigated disasters if they do not. Although translations are attributed to both Kumārajīva and Amoghavajra (705–774), today the text is more or less accepted as being of Chinese origin. Within the context of the sutra narrative in this case, however, worldly truth is explained as the way in which kings rule based upon Buddhist principles derived from the perfection of wisdom, which here seems to represent the final, and thus highest, truth of Buddhism as a whole. Worldly truth is not described specifically in political terms here, but by speaking to the imperative of its implementation by kings as a measure of their responsibility both to the Dharma and to their subjects, the sutra broaches the topic of how the Dharma is manifest in society through state policy and its implementation. Within Chinese Buddhist thought, we find many interpretations of the two-truth doctrine, more commonly with reference to the Nirvana Sutra passage than the writings of Nāgārjuna, and for that reason the concept of buddha-nature (fo xing) is part of that understanding. In Zhiyi (538–597) and Jizang, for example, worldly truth is typically defined as truth that does not include buddha-nature. When we come to Zhanran (711–782), there is a long analysis in which he weaves the two-truth 21

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e­ xegesis of the Nirvana Sutra passage cited above with the commentary on that sutra by Guanding (561–632) together with Zhiyi’s categories used in his Fahuaxuanyi where doctrines are ranked as tripiṭaka (zang), shared (tong), distinct (bie), and perfect (yuan) to produce a complex hermeneutic. In other words, in Zhanran we see how the two-truth doctrine has become a major factor within panjiao approaches to Buddhist doctrine so important to Chinese Buddhism.4 Moving to the Japanese context, specifically the Tendai tradition within which Shinran (1173–1262) was educated, here Saichō (767–822) inherits the position of Zhiyi and Zhanran in following the Nirvana Sutra outline by asserting the relevance or lack thereof of causality in understanding truth. But then with Ennin (794–864), Enchin (814–891), and Annen (841–915), a layer of esoteric language is added, and within the works attributed to Genshin (942–1017), the buddha-nature element is overshadowed by the original enlightenment element. Turning to the political context in Shinran’s time, by the Kamakura period intimate relations between Buddhist institutions and the state had at least five centuries of precedent. The content of that relationship is far too complex to delve into here but at least rhetorically speaking, a common way to refer to it was one of mutual dependence. By the twelfth century it is not uncommon in Japan to see reference to the Buddha’s Law and the King’s Law in the compound, ōbō-buppō, often described as two wings of a bird or two wheels of a cart; that is, neither has any hope of success without the other. Shinran does not discuss any particular theory of two truths, but he alludes to the concept, as this was a wellknown doctrinal trope in Tendai exegetical writing as mentioned above, and given his twenty-year education as a Tendai monastic, we can assume that he was well aware of the complex hermeneutical precedent within his sect. There is wide agreement today that the Shinshū normative stance of redefining the two-truth doctrine as king’s law–buddha’s law doctrine was not a position advanced by Shinran but instead grew out of moves by Kakunyo (1270–1351), Zonkaku (1290–1373), Rennyo (1415–1499), and Edo-period shūgaku where it was substantiated in the curriculum taught at Shinshū seminaries. But the seeds of this change can also be traced to Shinran’s employment of the Mappō tōmyōki (Candlelight of the Dharma of the Final Age), which he quotes almost entirely in the Keshindo chapter of his Kyōgyōshinshō. The Mappō tōmyōki is attributed to Saichō but does not appear until the early Kamakura period, so that attribution is rarely accepted today. While we have no way of knowing how Shinran regarded 22

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the text, for later Shinshū scholars this question appears to have been irrelevant, if it arose at all. The text is famous for declaring an end to monasticism in the age of mappō when there are no true monastics anymore, among other things. This redefinition of clerical status as justification for his own decision to leave the Tendai sangha but not fully return to lay status appears to be Shinran’s motivation for dwelling on this work to the degree that he did. However, in doing so, intentionally or not, Shinran opens the door to this political and religious linkage because the Mappō tōmyōki borrows the Benevolent Kings rhetoric in affirming secular law as reflecting Buddhist values and implies that the worldly truth as promulgated by a king who rules on the basis of Buddhist principles is therefore not fundamentally different from the worldly truth as taught in Buddhism itself. Shinran himself does not mention but alludes to worldly truth when he is quoting the radical mappō doctrine in the Mappō tōmyōki wherein, akin to the Sutra of Benevolent Kings, worldly truth is framed within public policy as the obligation of the king to make state policy conform to Buddhist values. But note how the onus is on the king, not the citizen. The only other indication of Shinran’s view on the laws or norms of society is some fairly critical statements he makes in letters, where he condemns any authority who contributes to suppressing the nenbutsu movement and urges his followers to recite the nenbutsu for them. In other words, when the two systems of authority are in conflict, and they definitely were in his time no less so than in the Meiji period, it is clear that Shinran sees his obligation as lying with the laws of the Buddha, not the laws of the state. But by the time of Kakunyo, the great-grandson of Shinran and third leader of Honganji, an accommodation is already evident. Despite the fact that Kakunyo is known for a great felt need to establish church orthodoxy, he is all too ready to fit Buddhist teachings into a framework that places them alongside Confucian ideas, and some would even say imparts the latter equal status. In his Gaijashō, Kakunyo states, “The teaching to transcend the world is called the five restraints (gokai). One should maintain the teaching for the world of the five constants of humanity, justice, ceremony, wisdom, and faith. And within the mind one should keep the inconceivable that is Other Power.” Here he is clearly affirming the validity of Confucian norms for social ethics, and does not even attempt to give Buddhism a role in society. Kakunyo’s legacy is somewhat similar to Paul for Christianity in that his interpretation lays the foundation for how the religion developed thereafter in a way that 23

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diplomatically minimized chances for further persecution, and in fact the later politicization of Nāgārjuna’s worldly truth within Shin discourse clearly stands not on the rhetoric of Shinran, but on this division by Kakunyo into two separate roles for Buddhism and Confucianism, one internal and spiritual, the other social and ethical. Kakunyo’s son Zonkaku, doctrinally known for his masterful commentary to Shinran’s Kyōgyōshinshō and his bringing recognition of kami and Shintō rituals back into legitimacy for Shin followers, also expands his father’s recognition of the value of secular norms by advancing from Confucian virtues to full-blown use of the Heian-period paradigm of ōbō-buppō wherein Buddhism and the state exist in a state of total mutual dependence. In his Haja kenshōshō, Zonkaku restates the Heian-­ period religious paradigm in asserting, “Buddhist law and imperial law are a pair, like a pair of wings for a bird or a pair of wheels for a cart. If one is missing, the other cannot be. For this reason the buddhist law protects the imperial law, and the imperial law reveres the buddhist law. This is how brilliant kings have ruled their kingdoms in the past and in the present.” Zonkaku would prove to be the most influential Shin intellectual for the next two centuries. Thus by the dawn of the Muromachi period, the dominant discourse within Shin would abandon Shinran’s stance that viewed Buddhism as residing on the moral high ground and thereby imbued with an obligation to lead kings in the right direction, in order to take up a more traditional view of equal status between secular and sacred locations of authority. Rennyo (1415–1499) is the next major Shin leader, and as he is known as the second founder of Shin, his stance on this question is crucial. If anything, Rennyo advances the recognition of secular authority even further with his famous rule for all members of the Honganji church that stated, “Imperial law must be central; humanity and justice must be made a priority” (ōbō ihon jingi isen). Rennyo was responding to the fact that his church had become so large that relations with the political powers demanded some control over his membership, particularly in that age of lawlessness. Rules like this one were meant to calm the religious enthusiasm and not provoke any hostile political persecution by any source of secular power. The first phrase is understood to represent those with faith, and the second for those still in practice aiming to achieve it. That is, if you have attained shinjin, you must be careful not to let your sense of spiritual freedom lead you to violate the norms of society.

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When we move into the Edo period, Shinshū, like all the major schools of Buddhism, set up academies in the Genroku period and by the end of the eighteenth century had a lively debate going on about church doctrine. It is important to keep in mind that the political context for this period of intellectual growth within Japanese Buddhism was one of rather rigid conservatism on the part of the bakufu government. By the 1760s we have a number of interesting statements about Shin doctrines and obligations versus those of society and the government. In what would become a kind of model for Meiji-period loss of celibacy for Buddhist clergy as a whole in Japan, in 1768 the Shin monk Shūen (d. 1798) writes: The rules for Shinshū are such that in disobeying the rule [against] eating meat, we are the same as laymen; in keeping the rule about shaving our heads and wearing robes, we are the same as monks. We do not betray the ultimate truth and we do not violate worldly truth. (Shinshū anjin chamise mondō, 1768; SZ 59: 149)

In 1771, the great Ōtani-branch scholar Erin (1715–1789) moves the discussion a step further toward fusing the “king’s law” concept with the “worldly truth” concept: “The humane king and the Dharma king manifest in tandem like two wings of a bird. The term ‘highest truth’ (shintai) hangs on the Dharma king, and the term ‘worldly truth’ hangs on the humane king. The highest and the worldly are in turn based on each other, like two wheels of wagon” (Keshindo chapter of Kyōgyōshinshō monrui rokuyōshō ho; SZ 37: 239). Around the same time, the Honpa Honganji scholar Gōsei (1721–1794) writes in Jisai jikiniku benwaku hen: Our seven historical patriarchs each contributed to the growth of Jōdoshin Buddhism, but each only spoke of the ultimate truth, and did not deal with how to benefit others. Therefore when we consider the highest [truth] of the seven patriarchs with the worldly [truth] of the Prince (Taishi no zoku), we can open up our distinguished teaching of the Nonduality of Ultimate and Worldly Truth, Neither Monk nor Layman (shinzoku funi, hisō hizoku). (SZ 59: 364)

Here we see how the two-truth doctrine is being affirmed for the first time as synonymous with the Shinshū social stance of rejecting the precepts for its clergy as well as yet another allusion to laukika truth as embracing both Buddhist and secular teachings. When we move into the nineteenth century, the political climate toward Buddhism has become openly hostile, and as a result there is a new

25

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level of rationalization of the two-truth doctrine expressed as apologetic. Now, the “neither monk nor layman” moniker is combined with overt statements wherein the two truths are described in terms of Buddhist Law and Imperial Law, implying that Shin is somehow closer to the secular model of the Imperial Law than other forms of Buddhism. The laukika/lokottara distinction has disappeared. By 1829, for example, the Ōtani-branch monk Hōkai (1768–1834) explains, The Buddhist Law is regarded as the ultimate truth, the secular law is regarded as the worldly truth. The Buddhist Law is the way by which one disciplines the mind, and thus is the highest truth, the secular law is the way by which one disciplines the body, and thus is called the worldly truth. (Honden shijushō, SZ 35: 178)

But the most detailed statement on the fusion of secular power and worldly truth comes from the somewhat alarming document by the Honpa (Nishi) Honganji monk mentioned above, Shōkai, called Shinzoku nitai jūgo mon (Two-Truth Doctrine: Fifteen Essays). The text is undated but Shōkai dies in 1838. These are fifteen discreet essays on how to resolve questions regarding the two-truth doctrine for Shinshū. This document was published in mimeograph in 1930 and was long out of print, but was reprinted recently.5 Here Shōkai pushes the link far further than what we have seen previously, saying things like, “Although it is said there are many buddhas, when they reveal themselves in any land they accept their debt to that land’s sovereign” (1930, 6; 2008, 341; 2010, 244). And, “The five Buddhist precepts were originally the laws of kings” (1930, 7; 2008, 341; 2010, 245). Or, again, One can divide the worldly truth into two levels. One is the foundation of the three teachings (Buddhism, Confucianism, and Shinto), and at this level everything must be bound to the absolute [authority] of the emperor. When the emperor of absolute [authority] speaks, he speaks of the Buddhist laws, both worldly and world-transcendent, of whatever is included in the two truths of both the highest and the mundane truths. (1930, 23; 2008, 356–357; 2010, 255–256)

In this way, Shōkai has not only completely conflated Buddhist truths, both worldly and ultimate, with secular, political truths but subsumed them under the authority of the king. Although the fusing of secular and religious truth is a common trope in the history of many nations and religions, when new political environments emerge one typically sees a reimagining of religious truth in an expansive way to suit the new social context. But the redefinition of a 26

Kiyozawa Manshi’s Response to the Personalizing of the Two Truths

core religious teaching like the two-truth doctrine in the radical way found in Shōkai is extreme. Given the enormous political tension in Asia in the nineteenth century in confronting the reality of potential subjugation to European imperialism, one might understand Shōkai’s conclusion as indirectly expressing the sense of fear that motivated Japan’s political class to demand a new kind of nationalism. If Shōkai’s hermeneutic died with him, then he would not represent any significant sign of sociopolitical transition. But in fact the opposite happens, affirming that in the religious realm Japan’s transition to the “modern” also began far before the Meiji Restoration. What is striking is how swiftly Shōkai’s modification doctrine emerged as normative. Especially for the Honpa Honganji, this perspective was codified quite early by Kōnyo (1798–1871), the twentieth leader of the Honpa Honganji branch of Honganji. In his final testament before dying in 1871, Kōnyo explained the importance of accepting his debt to the emperor, whose light illuminates everything it touches, including the Buddha’s Dharma. This is, in essence, emperor worship used to justify Kōnyo’s own professional commitment to Buddhism, as if he needed an excuse. For the next seventy-five years, the meaning of the two-truth doctrine was debated among Shin scholars, based on various interpretations of traditional exegetic thinkers in East Asia, but that rhetoric repeatedly returned to the basic theme that the worldly truth of Buddhism was always meant to designate the emperor’s law, that is, social convention and ethical norms as set down by the state. In this rationale, following the edicts of society, hewing to ethical and political norms demanded by the state and so forth, thereby constitute karmically good religious behavior. Only with the end of World War II was this spell broken, and only in recent years has this problem gained attention among Shin scholars, which has led to critical writing on it. I recently heard that the kangaku, the head administrator/scholar of the sectarian studies program at Honpa Honganji, is now leading a study group on the subject and with the publication of that book the Honpa branch will officially declare the end to their doctrine equating Buddhist worldly truth with secular authority. Indeed the promotion of this doctrine has led to a host of what are now embarrassing issues for both Honganji in the modern period, such as ignoring the plight of Burakumin members of its own church or the Honpa Honganji branch sending missionaries to Korea at the behest of the government during Japan’s occupation for the purpose of assimilating their Korean subjects. All of this stems from a major departure from 27

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the founder Shinran’s perspective, reconfiguring the two-truth doctrine under political pressure in the modern period to become completely affirming of, one could even argue representative of, the status quo in society, eviscerating the doctrinal definition of the Sangha as offering an alternative to that status quo, at least in theory. The damage to the credibility of Shin has not been insignificant, but we are left to wonder why this had to happen at all. Nearly all scholars thus far have sought to explain this phenomenon as a response to the increasingly strident anti-Buddhist rhetoric of the Hirata Atsutane followers in the Bakumatsu or late Edo period, which truly threatened the very existence of Buddhism in Japan, as evidenced by the actual destruction of thousands of Buddhist temples in the early Meiji period. But this does not explain why no other school of Japanese Buddhism reacted with such an explicit doctrinal shift in this way, sabotaging the very raison d’être of Buddhism as a social institution that keeps a healthy distance from politics. One can point to the heightened insecurity, particularly within the Nishi branch of Honganji, caused by the Sangō Wakuran incident at the end of the eighteenth century that led to the bakufu stepping in in 1806 and deciding that new interpretations of Shin thought were unacceptable, and even throwing some of the principals in jail. Whether or not this was the catalyst for pushing the already mounting accommodation to secular law within Shin to this more radical position is hard to know, but for a religious form where founder-worship is so strong, it is striking how his views on the subject of church-state relations would be so thoroughly set aside.

Kiyozawa Manshi’s Critique Kiyozawa Manshi’s radical position on this problem is well known in Japanese scholarship and I will only summarize his contribution here. Prior to his diagnosis of tuberculosis, his concerns are largely with philosophical inquiries and institutional reform. But in 1894, Kiyozawa is diagnosed with tuberculosis and begins a daily lifestyle of convalescence.6 This is when he has his major spiritual breakthrough, no doubt brought on in part by his own sense of mortality. In 1895 he begins to talk about two truths in a completely new way, as can be seen in his Hoyō zakki (Miscellaneous Notes during Convalescence, 1894–1895). This is where he famously glosses Shinran’s “neither monk nor layman” phrase (hisō hizoku), as “exteriorly lay but internally monastic” (gaizoku naizō). At the point of his diagnosis, he had been fully committed to his “minimum 28

Kiyozawa Manshi’s Response to the Personalizing of the Two Truths

possible” lifestyle that reduced his food intake and weakened him physically. In his essay, “Bukkyōsha, ikanzo jichō sezaruya” (published in 1898 in Kyōkai jigen), which is translated in Cultivating Spirituality as “Why Do Buddhists Lack Self-Respect?,” Kiyozawa brings up the topic of the two truths, stating that Buddhists all live in the midst of two worlds at the same time, namely, what is in this world and what is beyond this world, or the worlds of worldly truth and ultimate truth, or the relative and the absolute. This language perfectly matches the Indic concepts of laukika and lokottara, and is a clear example of how he had already moved distinctly away from Shin normative thinking by this time. Moreover the essay itself is quite explicit about how weak and spiritually uninspired he finds the Buddhist clergy in Japan, implying this is precisely because they have lost the meaning of the two truths. The worldly truth for Kiyozawa is clearly explained here as the pursuit of the goal of ending attachment to worldly things. Nothing could be further from the politicized conception of jindō, “the proper way of mankind,” coming out of government directives at the time in which the individual is encouraged in every way possible to form attachments to the nation-state and the emperor as its symbolic leader. This essay is also significant in that it contains, to my knowledge, the first explicit criticism by Kiyozawa of the lack of commitment to practice in Japanese Buddhism as a whole. Of course Shinshū is included by implication, as nenbutsu had been established as the most consequential practice in the Shin tradition by Shinran himself. Kiyozawa alludes to the pervasive view in his time that ultimate truth is defined as a sense of peace and confidence (anjin, shinjin) regarding rebirth in the Pure Land upon death, but since that rebirth was not dependent on any kind of achievement in practice, worldly truth had been relinquished to the state to serve its own purposes. In essence, there was little or no practice left in Jōdo Shinshū. About the Japanese Buddhist clergy in general, he writes, Although they expound the lofty teachings of Kegon or Tendai, they do not attempt to cultivate those practices, assuming that those forms of praxis are impossible. . . . Buddhism is reduced to something useless, akin to offering a painting of a rice cake to someone hungry. . . . In the end, truly living religious wisdom and virtue can only flow from the head and belly of someone engaged in practice. (CS, 70–71)

Kiyozawa also skillfully dismisses the mappō doctrine as an excuse not to practice. He then recognizes the great advances in scholarship in the 29

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Edo and Meiji periods but asserts that this has had a terrible side effect of making people think that that was enough. The thrust of this critique aims at reminding the professional religious community that clarifying the implications of doctrine should never be allowed to eviscerate the significant psychological benefits of practice. In comparison with his 1895 article on evolution in which he was positive about its inevitable results, by the time of this writing in 1898 Kiyozawa is now seeing all such “isms” (shugi) as dead ends, not so much in a philosophical sense as in a religious sense. He then writes “Rinri ijō no an’i” (Peace Beyond Ethics, 1902a) and “Rinri ijō no konkyo” (A Foundation Beyond Ethics, 1903b), and finally in 1903, just months before his death he concludes with the powerful “Shūkyō teki dōtoku (zokutai) to futsū dōtoku to no kōshō” (Negotiating Religious Morality [Worldly Truth] and Common Morality, 1903d). Here we have what may be the crowning of Kiyozawa’s critical thinking, where he holds nothing back in showing the inherent impossibility of any moral path, both because its values are hard to rationalize in a universal way and because even when clarified, those values are well-nigh impossible to implement. What is often lost in Kiyozawa’s assertion of the ultimate authority of tariki (other-power) is that he remains consistent in his valorization of practice. By Kiyozawa’s logic, the nature of tariki as doctrine is entirely different from tariki as realization. Practice is essential because only by investing a significant amount of oneself in practice does the individual come to realize the true significance of tariki. Failing at a jiriki (selfpower) through practice brings one to the door of tariki in an existential way that does not happen through mere study. Although this last essay echoes other criticisms of the Honganji’s two-truth interpretation, it is particularly persuasive in using the unassailably authoritative writings within both the Buddhist canon and the Shinshū canon to mount an academic criticism of the church’s policies. Kiyozawa’s radical reformation of the two-truth question raises the question of how a renunciant religion like Buddhism contributes to society as a whole. This has been a matter of concern within both individual sanghas and the social context in which they operate from the time of the very formation of the religion. The manner in which the Vinaya literature was crafted and the values it evinces repeatedly speak to questions of proper conduct for the individual karmically, for the sangha he belongs to, for the relationship between that sangha and its surrounding culture, and ideally for human society as a whole. The frequent lectures 30

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made by Śākyamuni to lay followers and his active involvement in adjudicating behavioral problems is evidence enough of the self-awareness within the professional community of monastics of the massive importance of Buddhist-secular relations in the Indian context. When Buddhism spread to China, although the transmission of Vinaya material and its understanding was fraught with inconsistencies, arguably a deeper problem was squaring the overtly Mahayana message of the sutras of concern in China with the Pratimokṣa and Vinaya material that was primarily of non-Mahayana origin in coming primarily from Dharmaguptaka, Sarvāstivādin, and Mūlasarvāstivādin lineages. In this regard it is worth remembering that in promulgating various categories of infraction and punishment,7 Indian sanghas made significant effort to affirm and maintain a degree of extralegal status by showing the secular world that, if anything, they demanded a higher moral standard than society as a whole. The fact that this issue of extralegal status was heavily contested in the Six Dynasties period in China reflects the enormous complexity of finding a balance between religious and sociopolitical obligations for Buddhist clergy in an entirely new societal environment. The Sui dynasty fusion of the two concerns, based largely on the Benevolent Kings, Nirvana, and Golden Light (Suvarṇaprabhāsôttama) sutras, was manifest in a government outreach policy that combined king’s law and buddha’s law in a way that was clearly inspired by these sutras and was implemented in Japan as well, namely, in the kokubunji system. Far from raising eyebrows as some deep aberration of Buddhist doctrine, this fusion of government and Buddhist interests is generally regarded as fundamental to the successful establishment of Buddhism on Japanese soil. So why is the fusion of the two-truth paradigm and king’s law–buddha’s law paradigm in Meiji Shin Buddhism so disturbing, and how does Kiyozawa’s critical if not rejectionist stance toward his church’s rather dogmatic position look when considered in this larger context? First of all, there is the question of which king’s law as well as which buddha’s law are we talking about when we match up these two principles. Surely one of the reasons why the Meiji-period conflation of the two concepts is so anathema today is that Japanese government policy was (a) overtly imperialist with racist undertones, and (b) generally hostile toward Buddhism. In some sense our postmodern sensibilities seem less offended by the nationalist policies of the Sui, Tang, or Nara governments than those of the Meiji government, but we need to ask if this is a fair assessment. All three of those governments essentially ruled by decree and the Tang and Nara regimes were particularly expansive by 31

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means of military force when necessary. When we look at the ōbō-buppō expressions in the Heian period, we may unwittingly draw from ideal scenarios in Buddhist sutras such as the Benevolent Kings and The Golden Light precisely because the religio-political rhetoric at that time did as well. In that Mahayana scriptural context, the social value of the Dharma is manifest in the stewardship of kings who are themselves personally and professionally pious Buddhists. Although The Golden Light Sutra did not arrive in Japan until 718 and was later chanted daily at kokubunji temples throughout Japan, in 720 the authors of the Nihon shoki (Dōji in particular) are already projecting a kind of ideal “fusion policy” reflecting that sutra’s perspective on to their description of Prince Shōtoku (574–622) as the savior of Buddhism in Japan fighting the nativists. This conception is later reiterated in miraculous legends that join Shōtoku and Gyōki (668–749), bringing together symbols of both the court and the unregulated lay Buddhist religious in a kind of Buddhist utopia.8 Even earlier, the so-called constitution attributed to Shōtoku shows another form of fusion in explicitly expressing commitments to Confucian and Buddhist ideals, but insofar as it is written in the language of encouragements and admonitions, its pronouncements mask a series of violent events at the time, including the violent destruction of Shōtoku’s own family following his death. Many of the disturbing parts of modern Japanese and Chinese government policies, such as territorial control, military adventurism, racial policies, or insistence on deference in support of leadership cults have had their own quasi-religious justification but were also present in the sixth to eighth centuries in both countries when Buddhism played a much bigger role in the conception of political power. The ambivalence shown toward the figure of Gyōki as an outsider–­ insider is a good example of the unstable nature of the relationship between Japanese government dependence on and resentment toward the ideals of Buddhism as represented by its professional clergy in this early period when ōbō-buppō relations were unclear. On the question raised above about what notion of the buddha’s dharma is being used in statements coming from the leadership of the two Honganji branches in the early modern and modern periods, we also find much to criticize, but in this case not because the specifics of that “buddha’s law” is morally and politically disturbing so much as that the entire area of buddha’s law has been relinquished and replaced by the Honganji leadership’s acquiescence to government social, moral, and political policies. However much there had been acceptance or appropriation of “king’s law” into the real lives of professional Buddhists previously or 32

Kiyozawa Manshi’s Response to the Personalizing of the Two Truths

even among other Buddhist groups at this time, this is an extreme position that, to my knowledge, no other Buddhist school has ever taken. The other mainstream Pure Land sect in Japan, the Jōdoshū, despite its closeness to the Tokugawa family who took it as their personal faith throughout the Edo period and beyond, to my knowledge has never taken this stance wherein secular social norms completely define the Buddhist notion of worldly truth. In the Jōdoshū tradition the concept of two truths is not mentioned by Hōnen; it first appears in the writings of Ryōchū (1199–1287), considered the third patriarch in the Jōdoshū lineage. But in general Ryōchū mentions the two-truth doctrine in the same context as the “two-wisdoms” doctrine in a way that perfectly matches the two-truth presentation in the Tendai tradition. The concept is not central to him and he makes no allusion to the king’s law–­buddha’s law paradigm. In fact, a digital search of the entire canon of the Jōdoshū, the Jōdoshū zensho, results in only one usage of the term ōbō-buppō, and the two-truth doctrine is not paired with it. Now when considering Kiyozawa’s standpoint on both questions of political context and the denuding of worldly truth from Shin Buddhist discourse in favor of secular laws, we find him rather mute on the first issue and explicitly critical, if not angry, on the second. In addition to the fact that before his “awakening” Kiyozawa was largely accepting of the orthodox church directives, the fact that Kiyozawa stays away from commenting on social issues after that spiritual transformation has led some to interpret this silence as implying tacit approval. In my view, this is wholly unfair. I myself do not publish my political views but that certainly does not mean I affirm the political status quo in my society. But it is on the second point where Kiyozawa really surprises. In addition to taking the annai or upāya position regarding morality, as Sasaki Gesshō described it, meaning that morality is valuable not in and of itself but as simply a means to a different end, the way in which he does this makes a significant statement about the value of traditional Buddhist thinking and the need to return to that standard. As I see it, key to understanding his argument is the fact that when Kiyozawa asserts that the ultimate value of morality is that it cannot be clarified and cannot be carried out even when it is clarified, it matters not if he is talking about secular morality or Buddhist morality because the principle applies equally in both cases. This is precisely what the transcendent, lokottara understanding of morality is all about, precisely how Nāgārjuna and many Mahayana sutras see it. In other words, worldly morality is based on worldly logic, religious or secular, both bound by rationality and the 33

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need for empirical confirmation. The nirvāṇic perspective is beyond logic or rationality and therefore does not rely on empirical evidence for its truth claims; it relies on religious experience. The fact that Kiyozawa’s conclusion looks very close to Shinran’s own position that disdained non-Buddhist forms of authority may be seen as an important contribution to the movement in modern Shinshū thinking known as the “return to Shinran” wherein students are encouraged to set aside the intervening sectarian scholarship that has redefined Shinran, obscuring as much as clarified his message, and to read Shinran directly. But Kiyozawa has accomplished even more, for he has managed to find a logical argument that, by its very philosophical nature, is appealing to modern intellectuals, and makes a claim that resonates with a great many basic Buddhist themes central to the Mahayana view of the world. Namely, that the pursuit of a rationally motivated moral and/or religious commitment to clarify the meaning of ethics for one’s own time will inevitably be so fraught with such difficulties that it will lead to a sense of frustration and failure, but when seen from a religious perspective, that very experience of failure may be its most valuable lesson.

Notes 1

Most of the discussions of this issue have come from Shin scholars who work in the field of sectarian studies (shūgaku), which tends to produce a certain apologetic attitude toward nearly any part of traditional church policy. See, for example, Yamazaki 1996.

2

See the upcoming essay, “For the Sake of Ajātaśatru: The Influence of the Nirvana Sutra on the Formation of Pure Land Buddhism” by the present author in the forthcoming The Mahāparinirvāṇa Mahāsūtra in Buddhist History.

3

J. Ninnōkyō, or the Prajñāpāramitā Sutra of the Benevolent Kings, whose actual title is Renwang [huguo] bore boluomiduo jing (J. Ninnō [gokoku] hannyaharamita kyō; Perfection of Wisdom of the Benevolent Kings Who Protect the Nation). Taishō 245 and 246.

4

See Take 1980.

5

See Shōkai 2008 and 2010 for these recent editions.

6

This summary is largely based on Yasutomi 1993 and Tonohira 1973.

7

Even Mahayana sutras use Vinaya material from non-Mahayana sources, which contributed to its legitimacy. The very self-consciously Mahayana

34

Kiyozawa Manshi’s Response to the Personalizing of the Two Truths Nirvana Sutra, for example, lists eight categories of rule transgression and adjudication used in the Dharmaguptaka Vinaya: seven rules for resolving conflicts (saptakaraṇa-śamathā), manifold rules requiring personal study (saṃbahulaśaikṣa-dharma), fourfold repentance (pratideśanīya), offenses requiring expiation (pātayanika), property offenses entailing expiation with forfeiture (niḥsargikā-pātayantikā), indeterminate offenses (aniyata), probationary offenses requiring penance (saṃghāvaśeṣa), and grave offenses entailing defeat (pārājika). 8

See Como 2009, 19–21, 121–124.

35

Chapter 2

Nishi Honganji’s Responses during Japan’s Transition to Modernity Iwata Mami Hayashi Makoto, a scholar of religious studies, points out that during Japan’s modernity, “The Shin school, to its advantage, was the first in the Japanese Buddhist world to abolish ranks used in the early modern period, send priests to study abroad in Europe, introduce the concept of ‘religion,’ reorganize its institutions, and so on. At an early point it began to work on turning itself into a modern religious institution, and was then followed by other schools” (2002, 32). In this chapter, I would like to consider the reason why the Shin school was the first in the Japanese Buddhist world to begin modernizing by focusing on its encounter with the West during Japan’s transitional period from early modern to modern times. During the Bakumatsu period (1853–1868), Christianity and scientific thought began to enter Japan from the West, and after the Meiji Restoration, Buddhism was persecuted throughout the country due to, among other reasons, the new government’s State Shintō policies. Buddhism, which was considerably shocked by this encounter with modernity, was compelled to respond to a new era. During this time, branches of the Shin school devoted their organizations to the vigorous protection of Buddhism (gohō) by criticizing Christian and scientific thought. For this reason, Buddhism’s encounter with Western thought during this tumultuous period is often presented as a set of debates with the “foreign.” However, in this chapter I will reconsider it from the perspective of Buddhists’ awareness of “Self” and “Other.” The relationship between “inside” and “outside” that comes along with the designation of something as “native” or “foreign” can also be seen as one between “Self” and 36

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“Other” (Kirihara 2009, 5; Katsurajima 2008). During the transitional period from early modernity to modernity, views of “Self” and “Other” were in a process of change that I would like to characterize as a “transformation” in Self-Other awareness. This chapter will consider how Shin school priests’ understanding of their Self (the Shin school) was influenced by their encounter with the Other (the West), focusing on the path that led to the modernization of Shin doctrinal studies. This chapter focuses on the Shin school’s Nishi Honganji branch in hopes that this will allow for a comparison between developments within it and the Higashi Honganji (Ōtani) branch, which is the other major denomination in the Shin school and the primary subject of this book. Specifically, in order to reconsider Shin thought during its transition to modernity in terms of the aforementioned turn in Self-Other awareness, I will discuss the Shin priest Shimaji Mokurai (1838–1911), who was involved in formulating the thought behind the efforts to protect Buddhism during the late Edo (1603–1867) and early Meiji (1868– 1912) periods and also traveled to the West during the latter.

Shin School Gohō Thought during the Bakumatsu and Early Meiji Periods In the Buddhist world in this period, the Shin school’s religious organizations were the most active in developing movements for the protection of the Buddhist teachings. In this section, let us consider the influence the “Other”—Western Christianity, scientific thought, and so on—exerted upon Shin doctrinal studies. Responding to Christianity was a task confronting not only the Shin school but the Buddhist world as a whole. Based on the Tokugawa bakufu’s religion policies, such as the prohibition of Christianity and the religious registration system that required temple membership, Buddhism during the Edo period had taken as its mission the suppression of Christianity. However, from the Bakumatsu period, when the bakufu and domain system began collapsing, many Christian texts started to flow into Japan, including ones that directly criticized Buddhism, such as the Shijiao zhengmiu (J. Shakkyō shōmyū; Correction of Buddhist Errors, 1861), a work written in Chinese by the British missionary Joseph Edkins (1823– 1905).1 Furthermore, after Japan opened to the outside world, Christian missionaries arrived. They said that their teachings (Protestantism) were different than those of the Christianity banned at the beginning of the early modern period (Catholicism), and began to preach. For these 37

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reasons, the Buddhist side’s sense of crisis rapidly heightened; this situation undermined Buddhism’s raison d’être under the bakufu and domain system. In order to respond to these crises, Buddhists came to actively engage in anti-Christian discourse. The Shin school devoted considerable resources to respond to the threat posed by Christianity. Its sensitivity to this issue was based on at least three reasons. First, on the surface, the Shin school’s exclusive reliance upon Amida Buddha and Christianity’s monotheistic faith are similar. This resemblance was used in anti-Buddhist writings directed at the Shin school, which motivated it to act. Second, the Shin school had an interest in maintaining the temple membership system (danka seido). While preventing the influx of Christianity was a shared aim of Buddhism as a whole during the Bakumatsu period, the Shin school’s religious organizations, lacking temple properties and the like, depended entirely on parishioner organizations for economic support. Third, during the Bakumatsu period Christianity was connected to a scientific heliocentric view of the universe and thus rejected one centered on Mount Sumeru. This heliocentric worldview was a shock for the Shin school, which had taught that hells and the Pure Land actually exist (Kashiwahara 2000, 321–323). For these three reasons, research on Christianity began in the Shin school at a comparatively early stage. Shin anti-­ Christian tracts included Kiyū shōgen (Reproving Needless Fears, 1868) by Nankei (1790–1873), Sekija manpitsu (A Causerie on Beating Back Christianity, 1865), Sekija nihitsu (Beating Back Christianity: Part 2, 1866), and Kankō sango (Words Like Hail in the Faint Cold of the Late Night, 1868) by Chōnen (1792–1868), Shaku yaso (Beating Back Christianity, 1864) by Ama Tokumon (1826–1906), as well as Buppō gokokuron (On the Buddha-Dharma Protecting the Country, 1856) by Gesshō (1817–1858). The rejection of Buddhism’s teachings about Mount Sumeru due to the influx of Western scientific thought was a major problem faced in the field of the Shin school’s doctrinal studies. The Buddhist teaching that the Pure Land is in the western direction was grounded in this Buddhist view of the universe, and the rejection of it (based on the newly introduced heliocentric theory and the surveys of Westerners who had circled the earth) considerably shook up the discipline. In order to respond to these problems, at an early stage research on Indian astronomy began at the Gakurin (a Nishi Honganji institution for educating priests), and theories defending the Mount Sumeru teaching were energetically developed. Sada Kaiseki (1818–1882) is particularly famous for his writings on the topic, such as Shumisen hitome kagami (A Mirror for Seeing 38

Nishi Honganji’s Responses during Japan’s Transition to Modernity

Mount Sumeru, 1867) and Shumisen chiron (On Knowledge of Mount Su­ meru, n.d.). To empirically prove Buddhism’s teachings about Mount Sumeru and respond to Western views of the earth depicted on globes, he also created models that included both normally visible terrestrial bodies and (what he held to be) non-visible yet actually existent terrestrial bodies. Similarly, Kamuro Anne (1819–1901, aka Shōkoku Dōjin), wrote Gohō shinron (A New Theory on Protecting the Dharma, 1867) in which he argued that Western astronomy cannot grasp the universe in its entirety because it relies upon eyesight, and thus one should use Buddhism’s Mount Sumeru teaching for an accurate model. The theories of these individuals were influenced by the “Buddhist astronomy” of the Tendai priest Fumon Entsū (1754–1834) that attempted to incorporate astronomical proofs into the Mount Sumeru doctrine. Drawing from his own research on Western astronomy and the Western calendar, Entsū explained that Mount Sumeru is consistent with calendrical science, trying to show that its existence can be scientifically proven. He also asserted that unlike Western astronomy, which is limited to that which can be perceived by the human eye, the Buddha’s teaching of Mount Sumeru is based on profound insights into the nature of the universe. Furthermore, to counter Western astronomical models, he created models of a universe centered on Mount Sumeru in its entirety (shumisengi) and of Jambudvīpa (shukushōgi), the continent south of Mount Sumeru where humans exist, attempting to demonstrate Buddhism’s astronomical system (see Okada 2010). While such theories in defense of the Mount Sumeru doctrine were actively advocated until around the first half of the Meiji period, they subsequently disappeared due to the spread of scientific thought. However, when considering the modernization of Shin doctrinal studies, it is important to remember that its encounter with the Other of Western science during the Bakumatsu period led the field to re-interpret the idea of the Pure Land. In addition to the above, the Sangō Wakuran heresy incident was another crisis that shook the Nishi Honganji organization during the latter half of the early modern period.2 Since the doctrinal positions that were being taught at the Gakurin academy were deemed heretical, this educational institution’s authority, as well as that of the branch headquarters, was diminished considerably, leading to disorder. After this incident, a major issue for Nishi Honganji from the Bunsei period (1818–1830) onward was how to rebuild its denomination’s doctrinal studies. Up to this point in time, authority in the field was concentrated in the hands of a 39

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single senior teacher (the nōke), but because the individual in this position preached what was eventually deemed to be a heretical understanding (see note 2), the field was thrown into a state of tumult. Reflecting upon these circumstances, the denomination subsequently carried out reforms at the Gakurin. A system was instituted in which multiple teachers of Shin doctrinal studies (now referred to as kangaku) taught on a rotating basis. There were more than a few priests in this new position who would author tracts to protect Buddhism. For example, Donryū (1769–1841), who became kangaku in Bunsei 11 (1828), wrote Suikinran (Oval Egg, 1839), and Nankei, who became a kangaku after Donryū, produced a considerable number of such works: Kakumō gūgo (Impossible Conversations, 1844), Shinbutsu suiha ben (On Kami and Buddhas as Water and Waves, n.d.), and the aforementioned Kiyū shōgen. Sada Kaiseki and Kamuro Anne were taught by Nankei. Donryū, Nankei, and other kangaku sought to protect the Dharma by reestablishing the authority of the Gakurin’s doctrinal studies after the Sangō Wakuran and in that process also came to lead the gohō movement in response to the crises within the denomination induced by the encounter with the West from the Bakumatsu period onward. On the other hand, the intensification of critiques of Buddhism and encounters with a variety of Others (Christianity, Western science, etc.) during the Bakumatsu period also brought about considerable changes in Shin priests’ education. While originally Nishi Honganji’s Gakurin was a place for studying Shin Buddhist teachings (shūjō) as well as those of other Buddhist schools (yojō), in order to respond to anti-Buddhist thought, in Tenpō 7 (1836) tests on Confucianism, calendrical sciences (rekigaku), national learning (kokugaku), and so on were added (Maeda 1901, 90–91). Additionally, in Bunkyū 2 (1860), Haraguchi Shinsui (1808– 1892) and others were directed by Nishi Honganji to study under the American Episcopalian missionary Channing Moore Williams (1829– 1910) in Nagasaki while hiding the fact that they were Shin priests, covertly reporting to their branch’s headquarters about developments relating to Christianity (Tokushige 1974, 288–388). The same year, the Gakurin purchased Chinese translations of the Bible and Christian writings, and research on Christianity began (Ryūkoku Daigaku Sanbyaku Gojū Nenshi Henshū Iinkai 1989, 548–549). In the first year of the Meiji period (1868), in addition to the previous subjects of Shin Buddhist teachings and other schools’ teachings, Nishi Honganji established new departments for studying non-Buddhist teachings, including calendrical science, national learning, Confucian studies, and anti-Christian 40

Nishi Honganji’s Responses during Japan’s Transition to Modernity

studies (Ryūkoku Daigaku Sanbyaku Gojū Nenshi Henshū Iinkai 1989, 618). Those who enrolled in the last department had their school expenses paid by the denomination’s headquarters. In sum, the encounter with Others during this period led Shin priests to reconsider the form their Self should take and brought about changes in both their thought and their educational institutions.

Shimaji Mokurai’s Surveys of “Religion” in European Countries In Meiji 5 (1872), the Shin priest Shimaji Mokurai became the first Japanese Buddhist priest to travel to Europe. Yoshida Kyūichi (1915–2005), a pioneer in research on Japanese modern Buddhism, argues that one of the driving forces that shaped Meiji Buddhism was the trips of Shin school priests to the West during the early Meiji period (1959, 103). In other words, Shimaji’s journey and those of other Shin priests had a great impact on the modernization of Japanese Buddhism. The aim of his trip was to survey the religious conditions of European countries. While abroad, Shimaji learned about the Western concept of religion, which was based in Christianity. After his return, Shimaji and other Shin priests would play a considerable role in the process by which this concept took root in Japan over the course of the latter half of the nineteenth century.3 Here, I will discuss how his experience in the West shaped his understanding of “religion” and his awareness of his Self (the Shin school). Let us first consider Shimaji Mokurai’s view of Christianity. As is well known, the ideology adopted by the government in the wake of the Meiji Restoration was Restoration Shintō. In Keiō 3 (1867), the Imperial Court proclaimed the “restoration of imperial rule” and revived the Jingikan (Department of Kami Affairs), and in Meiji 1 (1868) issued the Edict on the Separation of Kami and Buddhas (“Shinbutsu bunri rei”). Subsequently, in Meiji 3 (1870) the government issued the Imperial Edict Proclaiming the Great Teaching (“Daikyō senpu no mikotonori”), and would adopt State Shintō–based “unity of rites and rule” (saisei icchi) as a national policy, install preachers in the Jingikan in order to promote this policy, and work to indoctrinate the nation. Against the background of these policies, Buddhism’s persecution throughout the country intensified in ways such as the destruction of temples and Buddhist images, the closing and merging of temples, forceful laicization of priests, and so on. During this time, Shimaji Mokurai made every effort to defend 41

Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi

­ uddhism. In Meiji 4 (1871), he submitted the “Kyōbushō kaisetsu seiganB sho,” a memorial in which he petitioned the Meiji government to establish a Kyōbushō (Ministry of Religion). One can also get a sense of his view of Christianity before traveling to the West from this memorial. He writes, “Christianity spreads amidst the populace more and more every day. There is no damage to the state greater than this, and no sickness threatening the Imperial Court and the people greater than this” (1871; SMZ 1: 6). In the original text, he uses the compound yōkyō, or “dangerous religion,” to refer to Christianity, indicating his view that it is a sort of heathenism. Furthermore, with the ban on Christianity still in effect (it would be lifted in Meiji 6 [1873]), Shimaji says that the power of Buddhism is necessary to guard against it. He writes, If, as I propose, you make the people have something to rely upon and faithfully observe by having today’s Buddhist priests rectify the people’s current religion and spread the present governmental policies amidst them, even if Christians want to make them join Christianity they will not, and even if various Christian tricks are used to tempt them they will be filled with fear. This work of Buddhist priests truly should be given the precedence in this era and is the easiest way to prevent people from joining Christianity. Question: Then, what about the post of preacher (senkyō) as a government position? My reply: Religion and politics should not be separated. From the beginning they have been like a pair of wheels or wings. Then, why should the political be above the religious? (1871; SMZ 1: 9)

In other words, Shimaji’s idea is to establish a Kyōbushō and have not only Shintō but also Buddhism play a role in the Meiji government by continuing to indoctrinate the populace and prevent the spread of Christianity. Here we can see his desire to protect Buddhism, attempting to find a way forward by asserting its usefulness. As is reflected by his statement “Religion and politics . . . have been like a pair of wheels or wings,” he was of the opinion that imperial law and the Buddha’s law should mutually rely upon each other. These views of Shimaji’s about Christianity and Buddhism changed after he traveled to the West. Nishi Honganji sent Buddhist priests to the West in January 1872, a first in Japan. Initially the plan was to have Kido Takayoshi (1833–1877) arrange for the future abbot of Nishi Honganji, Ōtani Kōson (1850–1903), accompany the Iwakura Mission in November of Meiji 4 (1871). However, just before departure the abbot Kōnyo (1798– 1871) passed away, and Ōtani Kōson cancelled his trip. Approximately two months after the Iwakura Mission departed, assistant abbot Ume42

Nishi Honganji’s Responses during Japan’s Transition to Modernity

gami Takuyū (1835–1907) went as his representative, accompanied by Shimaji Mokurai as well as the study abroad students Akamatsu Renjō (1841–1919), Mitsuda Izen (1848–1875), and Horikawa Kyōa (dates unknown). Shimaji, who was from the Suō domain, was close to individuals belonging to the group of politicians from the Chōshū domain such as Kido Takayoshi and Itō Hirobumi (1841–1909), and planned his trip to the West while consulting with them. One of the big reasons that Shin school priests were able to go to the West at such an early time—when still only a few people were allowed to travel overseas—was such personal connections.4 When Shimaji and the others went abroad, the abbot wrote the following in the travel application he submitted to the Meiji government: “I hear that an overseas religion is beginning to spread around Japan. What do you think about the gradual spread of foreign religions within Japan’s borders? The people’s hearts are multifaceted; I cannot bear the fear that in the end it will foment trouble. With regard to this, there is the saying, ‘know them and know thyself,’ and thus I want to see the situation surrounding propagation in various countries.”5 In other words, he had a strong sense of crisis regarding the Christian proselytization that had begun throughout Japan, and the goal of Nishi Honganji in sending priests to the West was to survey the religious conditions (primarily Christianity) there in order to better be able to protect the Dharma. Additionally, the statement “know them and know thyself” reflects the effort during this new era to find a new mode of the Self (the Shin school) by gaining knowledge about religion in the civilized countries of the West. After the Meiji Restoration, Western culture was actively introduced in Japan to carry out the Japanese government’s project of “civilization and enlightenment” (bunmei kaika). For this reason there were discussions within the government about officially recognizing Christianity. Amidst these major changes of the era, Buddhism was compelled to respond. Immediately after Shimaji left for the West, in March of Meiji 5 (1872) the Kyōbushō was established to carry out a joint Shintō-Buddhist national indoctrination program. However, it gradually leaned toward policies emphasizing Shintō, and after the government issued the Three Standards of Instruction (“Sanjō kyōsoku”),6 Buddhist priests were forced to preach Shintō doctrines and worship kami. After finding out about this situation while abroad, Shimaji came to criticize the Meiji government’s policies toward religion using the concept of “religion” that he had newly learned in the West. He first wrote the “Sanjō kyōsoku 43

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hihan kenpakusho” (Memorial Critiquing the Three Standards of Instruction, 1872e), in which he argues as follows: [I read that] . . . recently the government has very mistakenly newly adopted and combined this and that, creating a religion (isshū) and forcing it upon the people. At the time I thought that this was another incorrect report, just like the one that a foreign religion [Christianity] was going to be legalized. Now, I know that it was true. It is reasonable for Europeans to laugh at and ridicule this. Religious tenets are made by gods, they should not be made by humans. Why is this being decided and proclaimed by institutional and legal discussions? Life and death cannot be known by people, and thoughts are not something that should be controlled. (1872e; SMZ 1: 21; translation adapted from Krämer 2015, 151)

Here, Shimaji argues that the attempt to put Buddhism under Shintō in the Meiji government’s Kyōbushō policies artificially created a religion, and that this form of religion is uncivilized. Furthermore, stating, “Thoughts are not something that should be controlled,” he advocates the freedom of religion: that religion is an issue of the heart and mind and should not be coerced by political power. Elsewhere, on the relationship between religion and politics, he states: “Politics and religion differ, and they of course should not be mixed. Politics is of human affairs and only restricts form. It is limited to the borders of one’s area [country]. Religion is created by gods, and restricts the heart and mind. It is shared by all countries” (1872e; SMZ 1: 15). In other words, while politics is of human affairs, controls forms, and is restricted to a single country, religion is created by gods (shin’i) and has a universality applicable in all countries. On these grounds, Shimaji holds that religion and politics should be separate. Before Shimaji went to the West, he was of the opinion that imperial law and the Buddha’s law should mutually rely upon each other, saying “religion and politics should not be separated” (1871, SMZ 1: 9). However, in the course of his trip abroad, he came to know about the new concepts of freedom of religion and the separation of church and state. Additionally, while he had in the past seen Christianity as a depraved and heretical set of teachings, he came to view it in a different light: Great individuals such as Luther, Calvin, and Zwingli wrote works totaling hundreds of volumes. While it is said that they resisted the authority of the Pope and reformed their religion, they did themselves not create teachings or tenets. They were just part of a reform and became the leaders of a new lineage of teachings. While subsequently it produced various erudite and 44

Nishi Honganji’s Responses during Japan’s Transition to Modernity highly able schools, they [just] disagreed about scriptural interpretation, and did not themselves establish new teachings. While in recent times “Mormonism” has been created as what seems to me to be an independent religion, this simply differs with regard to married couples. When they say they rely on an ancient text that was discovered in the ground, this is another case where even if it is one’s own position, one claims that it was entrusted to them by gods. This always happens when religions arise. There is not a single religion in this world that is not generally like this. (Shimaji 1872a; SMZ 1: 11)

Here, Shimaji describes the Christian reformers Martin Luther (1483– 1546), John Calvin (1509–1564), and Huldrych Zwingli (1484–1531) as “great individuals,” claiming that they did not create a new religion but a Protestant tradition by breaking off from the Roman Catholic Church in their movement for religious reform. Shimaji says that for religion to arise there is a need to transcend human contrivances and holds that doctrines must be “entrusted by gods” (shinju ni takusu). He is trying to point out that the Meiji government’s State Shintō national indoctrination measures are mistaken in their effort to artificially change the form of religion. Later he continues, When countries are not yet civilized, they believe in and worship multiple gods. These are called polytheistic religions (shūshinkyō). In the ancient past not just Asia and Africa, but even Europe was also this way. In civilization today, everyone calls [worshipping multiple gods in] Greece, Rome, Egypt, and so on, mythology and have done away with it; today no one observes polytheistic religions. . . . However, in barbaric countries, many gods are still worshipped. (1872a; SMZ 1: 12–13)

Here it can be seen that Shimaji came to subscribe to an evolutionary view of religion, which holds that polytheism evolves into monotheism with the advent of civilization. Furthermore, he began to describe polytheistic Shintō as a “barbaric” (yaban) religion, criticizing the uncivilized nature of the Meiji government’s State Shintō national indoctrination policies based on a Christian-informed view of religion.

The Transformation of Shimaji Mokurai’s Self-Other Awareness after His Trip to the West While abroad Shimaji learned about Christian doctrine by reading texts such as the Life of Jesus by Ernest Renan (1823–1892), and he appears to have taken a particular interest in Protestant teachings. He engaged in a dialogue with the Orientalist Léon de Rosny (1837–1914) on religion. 45

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­ ccording to de Rosny, Shimaji was most concerned about whether BudA dhism would be able to successfully harmonize with modern ways of thinking as Japan modernizes (Horiguchi 1994). Furthermore, through discussions with the minister Emil Gustav Lisco (1819–1887) in Berlin he came to hold that, for example, a “religion” appears after superstitious elements are eliminated from a system of belief and practice.7 Some fruits of his study of Christianity can be found in the piece “Kyōhō no minamoto” (The Source of Religion, 1872c), which he authored while in the West. Therein he comparatively discusses the merits and demerits of Catholicism and Protestantism. While there are many bad parts of Catholicism, basically its problem is that it stays the same and does not change; it does not know that times change. Even if something fit the past it might not naturally match the present. Never mind the fact that many bad practices appear in accordance with the times. The good part of Protestantism is that unlike Catholicism it repeatedly changes in accordance with the times and the tide. This is the reason that it has over twenty schools of different sizes. Many Europeans think that this is good. With academics and the arts flourishing, everyone in various countries says when a religion gets in the way of governing, it must be changed. This is the case in Europe. All the more in Japan, where the spread of Christianity might seem beneficial, but will be damaging. Yet who among the Christians will admit this? (1872c; SMZ 1: 193)

Shimaji writes that Catholicism did not revise its old customs and adapt to the era, and speaks highly of Protestantism, which arose as the result of a religious reformation movement. Shimaji, who had himself led a movement to reform Nishi Honganji’s religious institution, may have sympathized with Protestantism on a variety of points. However, on the other hand, he also touches upon the harm done by Christianity in its frequent wars. Shimaji states the following about the Shin school while comparing it to Protestantism. By himself the founder of the Pure Land school a long time ago revealed to people a great understanding and started a new school distinct from the others. Is this not Japan’s Protestantism? This is because while other schools normally place side by side various buddhas and bodhisattvas, the Shin school has only one buddha, Amida. It does not consider separate the founder Śākyamuni, or Amida’s attendants Kannon and Seishi. . . . While the various schools normally allow fortune telling and prayers, the Shin school prohibits this. It does not baselessly offer confused illusions, cleverly devouring an individual’s fortune. . . . The schools of Buddhism normally regard a variety of practices to be the cause of achieving buddhahood, and 46

Nishi Honganji’s Responses during Japan’s Transition to Modernity priests vary in level. The Shin school says there is only one cause and one effect, and that both the priests and the laity entrust themselves to the Buddha in the same way. (1872c; SMZ 1: 194)

After saying that the Shin school is monotheistic like Christianity because it “only has one buddha, Amida,” which is “basically the same as having one venerated God,” and that, unlike other Buddhist schools, it prohibits fortune telling and prayers, Shimaji asserts that the Shin school is “Japan’s Protestantism.” In other words, Shimaji saw the presence in Buddhism of Shintō and folk practices and beliefs as similar to that of superstition in Catholicism. Here it can be seen that by emphasizing the similarity of Protestantism and the Shin school’s teaching of a superstition-free faith in Amida Buddha alone, Shimaji was trying to position the Shin school as a modern “religion.” According to the Buddhist studies scholar Sueki Fumihiko: “One can already see during the early Meiji period in Shimaji Mokurai the effort to reconsider Buddhism based on a view that held Protestantism to be a model modern religion. We could also say that outside of Japan as well the same tendency formed one of the major characteristics of modern Buddhism. This is often called ‘Protestant Buddhism’ ” (Sueki 2004a, 175). In other words, while Shimaji had initially seen Christianity as a dangerous, false religion, after returning from the West he came to see it as a “model modern religion” and tried to redefine his Self (the Shin school) based on this concept of religion. This became one of the “major characteristics of modern Buddhism.” Shimaji also tried to position the Shin school as a “religion” that could withstand Protestantism. In “Kyōhō no minamoto,” he writes, “Religion probably originated in India. This has been made clear again by European scholars. This is not only the case for religion, it is also so for writing and language” (1872c; SMZ 1: 186). He would thus come to argue that Buddhism, having originated in India, was superior to Christianity. From around the latter half of the eighteenth century in Europe arose the field of Indian studies, which covered all aspects of Indian culture. Shimaji, having traveled to Europe, realized that research on Buddhism could also take place within Indian studies, which was seen as a modern academic discipline in the West. He came to think that by doing so and elucidating the development of Buddhism’s history from its roots in India to the Shin school in Japan, it could counter Christianity and scientific critiques.8 While during the Edo period research on Buddhism was centered on Chinese translations of Buddhist scriptures, from the Meiji 47

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­ eriod onward research on original texts in languages like Sanskrit as p well as through a historical lens flourished. The research perspective that Shimaji introduced to Japan was the forerunner of these later developments. Furthermore, in “Ōshū seikyō kenbun” (Observations regarding Politics and Religion in Europe), which he wrote while abroad, he says, “Observing European politics, first religion is established and worshipped by people high and low. Institutions and constitutional rules have never not followed it. Ceremonial occasions are of this religion, as are work and rest. Generally all things in a person’s life from their birth to death are of this religion” (1872d; SMZ 1: 198). By experiencing the situation in various countries in Europe, Shimaji came to know that Christianity is deeply rooted in Western cultures and lives, from ceremonial occasions to days off, and was surprised at the extent of its influence. It appears that he thought that part of the reason for this was Christianity’s energetic proselytizing. While abroad in February of Meiji 6 (1873), Shimaji wrote a letter dated the 23rd to Nishi Honganji’s Ōzu Tetsunen (1834– 1902) and others. Therein, he said, In the seventeen schools of Cambridge, one of the three major universities in England, most [teachers] are Christian; the only non-ministers are in the law school and medical school. Everyone in the other fifteen schools is a minister. At other universities such as Oxford and University College London, everyone is from the clergy. Of course their religion flourishes. Surveying scripture publishing companies, there are translations in over 160 foreign languages. As for this example [the Bible], 134 translations have been published. Five thousand are printed daily. Alas, [Buddhist texts] were only translated from Sanskrit to Chinese. In Japan, no one translates scriptures. It does not compare [to the situation in the West]. Other countries— England, France, Germany, and Russia—are translating Sanskrit, Thai, Burmese, and Tibetan texts, among others, as well as [Buddhist] doctrines and history and the like. I am amazed at how greatly academics are flourishing. (Shimaji 1873; SMZ 5: 195)

Shimaji writes that at many universities in England—Cambridge University, Oxford University, and so on—Christian clergy members work as teachers. He also mentions that within Christianity academics flourish. Christians learn various languages, translate the Bible, and publish it worldwide. In other words, Shimaji thought that one of the reasons Christianity had deeply penetrated Western society was the involvement of Christians in education and research and the various forms of missionizing they have engaged in. In contrast, he continues, while Bud48

Nishi Honganji’s Responses during Japan’s Transition to Modernity

dhist scriptures were translated into Chinese in China, there are no translation efforts in Japan like those of the West. On this point, he even says that Japanese Buddhism does not compare. In this way, by coming to know the Other of Christianity, he came to reconsider the form his Self should take. In the same letter Shimaji also states, Do not speak of protecting Buddhism (gohō). One should change this into the desire to spread it and should work on propagation activities. “Protecting” is just pursuing the past; one cannot proceed forward. [This] foreign religion [Christianity] will probably continue to spread more and more, and if we try to protect [Buddhism, it] will shrink. If we try to spread Buddhism, why should we limit ourselves only to Japan? I will only be satisfied when Buddhism is spread near and far from Hokkaidō, to Manchuria, Mongolia, Korea, China, and beyond, until it fills the world. It will be adequate when the people are all brought to believe. Thus, everyone must make efforts to know other languages and things of this world. People in Japan and overseas must all come to believe. There is not a single person in our country who takes note of this. We should not speak of “protecting” the Dharma. Also, do not put effort into beating back other religions. Religions will not be defeated by attacks. (Shimaji 1873; SMZ 5: 193)

Here, we can see that Shimaji thought that Buddhists should put their efforts not into protecting but into spreading and teaching Buddhism. He also asserts that while the school will decline by just carrying out gohō activities to drive out Christianity, if it works on proselytizing, Buddhism’s teachings will spread overseas, which will lead to the advancement of his branch’s religious organization. Shimaji also thought that the denomination’s previous ways should be changed: priests must be taught languages and a wide breadth of knowledge, thereby making them capable of acting on the international stage. It appears that these assertions of Shimaji’s considerably shaped the subsequent form of education in his branch of the Shin school. In Meiji 1 (1868), Nishi Honganji established departments for non-Buddhist teachings, in which classes for gohō purposes—protecting the branch’s religious institution from the influx of Christianity and anti-Buddhist thought—were taught. Subsequently this course was revised: secular education was introduced, effort was put into language education, and support was provided for priests to study abroad. With its eye on the propagation of the Shin school overseas, the branch came to instill in its priests a wide breadth of knowledge. Furthermore, it introduced a ­Western-style democratic parliamentary system, creating a voting representative body for the denomination (shūe), which was comprised of councilors specially 49

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selected by the abbot and representative councilors chosen in a general election. Its first meeting was held in Meiji 14 (1881)—before the establishment of the Japanese Imperial Diet. Additionally, Shimaji himself established Buddhist societies in Tokyo such as the Byakurensha (White Lotus Society), giving Buddhist lectures, publishing Buddhist magazines, establishing Buddhist women’s education, and so on. He also exerted a considerable influence on the activities of Buddhist youth and the religion’s internationalization by, for example, serving as president of the Kaigai Senkyōkai (Overseas Buddhist Propagation Society) and Bankoku Bukkyō Seinen Rengōkai (International Buddhist Young Men’s Association; see Iwata 2012, Iwata 2016). It appears that these activities were influenced by the Christianity he saw while in the West. The original goal of Shimaji’s trip to the West was to survey the religious conditions on the ground as part of the branch’s gohō activities. However, his encounter with Christianity in the West changed his views with regard to protecting the Dharma. In other words, by coming to know the West and Christianity more deeply, his views of the Other were gradually changed. At the same time, this also brought about a major transformation in his awareness of his Self (the Shin school) and how that should exist within the world. It is normally said that the modernization of the Shin school’s doctrinal studies began around the turn of the twentieth century (for instance, see Shigaraki 1987). During this time, at Nishi Honganji Maeda Eun (1857–1930) published Bukkyō kokon hen ippan (Some Changes in Buddhism from Ancient Times to the Present, 1900) and Honganji-ha gakujishi (A History of Honganji-ha Academic Affairs, 1901), thereby creating the modern academic fields of “Pure Land doctrinal history” ( jōdo kyōrishi, which considers the historical development of Pure Land thought prior to Shinran) and “doctrinal history” (kyōgakushi, which considers the historical development of Shinran’s thought), both of which incorporated historical research methods into sectarian studies. Furthermore, at Higashi Honganji, there was the philosophical research method of Kiyozawa Manshi (1863–1903). These new research methods exerted a great influence upon the subsequent formation of modern Shin doctrinal studies. However, Buddhism’s modernization did not begin all of a sudden at this time. Amidst their encounter with the Other that was the West from the Bakumatsu period onward, Shin Buddhists’ awareness of their Self—that is, their understanding of what Shin Buddhism is—continually changed. I believe that by investigating this process we can 50

Nishi Honganji’s Responses during Japan’s Transition to Modernity

make clear the school’s path to modernization. For example, Shimaji Mokurai had already realized the potential of historical research on Buddhism due to his exposure in Europe to Léon de Rosny and Emil Gustav Lisco’s views on religion. After returning to Japan, while incorporating information from overseas he co-authored Sangoku bukkyō ryakushi (1890) with Oda Tokunō (1860–1911), which outlined the history of Buddhism within a “three-country” framework—India, China, and Japan— and considerably influenced subsequent historical research on Buddhism, such as that of Murakami Senshō (1851–1929) and Maeda Eun.9 On the other hand, after Shimaji returned from his trip abroad, he came to explore the new concept of religion in terms of faith on the level of individual interiority. That focus became a major element of the Japanese understanding of religion from the modern period onward. It seems that this emphasis on interiority in the process of modernization was an easy path for Shinshū to follow, given its emphasis on shinjin, or the mind of faith. Shimaji Mokurai was the first to introduce this viewpoint into Japan, but it has recently been pointed out that this was not simply a case of trying to catch up with long established ways of thinking in the West, but is a phenomenon that occurred simultaneously in both the East and West (Krämer 2020, 158–160). It is clear that it has become necessary to consider the process of the modernization of Japanese Buddhism from a more global perspective that recognizes the degree of exchange between East and West and the extent of mutual influence that they had on each other. (Translated by Dylan Luers Toda)

Notes 1

Missionary Joseph Edkins’ Shijiao zhengmiu is a comprehensive critique of Buddhism. It was a most provocative work from the perspective of the Pure Land teachings because it argued against Buddhism’s Mount Sumeru doctrine from an empirical perspective. It criticizes Buddhism based on twenty different points, including its scriptures, understanding of Śākyamuni, and the doctrine of reincarnation. For example, it asserts that while Hīnayāna Buddhism’s Tathāgata actually existed, Mahāyāna Buddhism is a fabrication by followers of Northern Buddhism, that the doctrine of nirvana is unsuited to human beings, as well as that Mount Sumeru, hells, and so on, do not exist on this earth and are therefore baseless, unrealistic teachings.

2

As is discussed below, doctrinal authority at the Gakurin during the Edo period was concentrated in the hands of a single senior teacher (the nōke). Three major conflicts occurred over the course of the Edo period between 51

Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi the Gakurin faction centered on the nōke and opposing priests in the provinces: Jōō no Gekishō, Meiwa no Hōron, and Sangō Wakuran. The last was the biggest of the three. The Sangō Wakuran began in the Hōreki period (1751–1764) when Kōzon (1720–1796), criticizing the idea that salvation is guaranteed regardless of whether or not one takes refuge in Amida Buddha, wrote Ganshō kimyōben (On Taking Refuge When Seeking Rebirth in the Pure Land, 1762), in which he asserted that sentient beings must take refuge through the actions of body, speech, and mind (sangō) and ask for Amida Buddha’s help in order to acquire salvation. The opposing faction of priests argued that this idea—which was Gakurin orthodoxy—was heretical. This debate intensified after Kōzon’s death between the Gakurin faction centered on Chidō (1736–1805), who had become the nōke, and opposing priests, leading to riots. In the end the bakufu intervened in the conflict, declaring that the opposing priests’ view was correct. The position of nōke at the Gakurin was then abolished. 3

Regarding the concept of “religion” in Japan, see Isomae 2003; Shimazono and Tsuruoka 2004; Hoshino 2012; Klautau 2014.

4

Individuals from the Chōshū domain (present-day Yamaguchi Prefecture) were leaders in the new Meiji government.

5

Nichiyō shinbun (Day’s Essentials Newspaper), no. 5 (January 1872).

6

The Three Standards of Instruction were as follows: “(1) One should realize the essence of respect for the kami and love of country. (2) One should clarify the principles of Heaven and the Way of Man. (3) One should lead people to revere the emperor and obey the will of the Imperial Court” (adapted from Hardacre 2017, 376).

7

In Kōsei nissaku (Western Voyage Diary, 1872b), Shimaji writes that he had met with “Lisco” fourteen times in one month. Heidelberg University’s Hans Martin Krämer recently identified this “Lisco” as the Protestant minister Emil Gustav Lisco, and analyzed the influence of the liberal theology Shimaji learned from him. See Krämer 2014.

8

Hans Martin Krämer points out that through his trip to the West Shimaji learned that one can distinguish between religion and superstition based on the presence or lack of (1) a scientific and logical orientation and (2) history. Krämer also notes that Shimaji repeatedly engages in historical discussions of Buddhism (for example, his explanation in “Sanjō kyōsoku hihan kenpaku sho” of Buddhism’s development from its roots in India to Japan’s Shin school). See Krämer 2014.

9

In Kindai Nihon shisō toshite no bukkyōshigaku (The Study of Buddhist History as Modern Japanese Thought, 2012), Orion Klautau discusses how during Japan’s transition to modernity the concept of “Japanese Buddhism” was formed, as well as the involvement of Shin Buddhists in this process.

52

Chapter 3

Inoue Enryō and Kiyozawa Manshi Two Buddhists in Modern Japan Miura Setsuo

Their Early Education Inoue Enryō (1858–1919) was born on March 18, 1858 (Ansei 5) in Ura, Nagaoka City, in Niigata Prefecture, and Kiyozawa Manshi (1863–1903) on June 10, 1863 (Bunkyū 3), in Kuromonchō, Higashiku, Nagoya City, in Aichi Prefecture. They were five years and three months apart in age. Both were affiliated with the Shinshū Ōtani-ha (Higashi Honganji). Inoue, the eldest son of the Shinshū Ōtani-ha temple family of Jikōji, was expected to be the successor to the priesthood. Kiyozawa was the eldest son of the Tokunaga family of Nagoya, his father a minor figure in the hierarchy of the samurai class. This is a fundamental difference between Inoue and Kiyozawa, in that the former was a member of a temple family, while the latter belonged to a family of lay Shin followers. What linked the two was the scholarship program of the Ōtani-ha denomination, which was created in response to the sense of crisis that sectarian administrators felt in the wake of the religious policies of the Meiji government, such as the haibutsu kishaku policy suppressing Buddhism and the lifting of the ban on Christianity, as well as the need to create an independent system for proselytization after the denomination left the Daikyōin. From among its nationwide organization of ten thousand temples and one million followers, the denomination made an effort to select the most gifted students to give them an elite education as an investment in the future of the organization, as well as to construct an educational system that was suitable for the modern age. Both Inoue and Kiyozawa were chosen to receive support from the program 53

Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi

because, in addition to a strong foundation in Chinese studies and so on, they both also had a certain command of the English language. In September 1877, Inoue enrolled in the English course of the Higashi Honganji’s teachers’ training academy (Kyōshikyōkō) in Kyoto and in March 1878, Kiyozawa enrolled in another academy that had been established by the denomination in Kyoto to train its most promising youth. Since Inoue left to continue his studies in Tokyo at the behest of the denomination on April 2, 1878, less than a month after Kiyozawa arrived in Kyoto, it is unclear whether they met at this time.1 In 1878, Inoue was twenty years old and Kiyozawa was fifteen. Late in life, in 1912, Inoue would comment on his own faith saying: From long ago my religious conviction has been centered around Shinshū (Shin Buddhism) and that has remained consistent throughout my entire life, without changing in the least. No matter how impartially I might try to investigate other religions or other Buddhist schools, when it comes to my religious conviction, there is nothing that I could find that more suits my temperament than Shinshū. This is the natural conclusion that I reached thanks to the Buddhist education I received at home before I turned ten years old. Ah, how most fortunate I am: Namu Amida Butsu. (1912b; IES 4: 495–496)

As the eldest son of a temple family Inoue was expected to take on his father’s role as head priest of the family’s temple. He was ten years old at the time of the Meiji Restoration in 1868, and up to that time he had received an education intended to prepare him for his destined role in the local temple community from his parents, who served as head priest and bōmori (literally, temple guardian, a term referring to the wife of a head priest). As described in Inoue Toshio’s Honganji, the members of the temple’s congregation (monto) likely called him “the little novice” (ochigosama; 2008, 17) and treated him with respect as he would ultimately come to serve as head priest for the community. In this way, Inoue received a Buddhist education both inside and outside his family temple from a very young age. After that Inoue first enrolled in a Chinese studies academy (kangaku juku) and then in an Occidental studies academy (yōgakkō) in Nagaoka. It is at this point that he first came into contact with the ideas regarding bringing Western “enlightenment and civilization” (bunmei kaika) to Japan that were in the backdrop of the Meiji Restoration. Inoue wrote about his time at both academies in his “Rirekisho, dokusho roku” (Ré-

54

Inoue Enryō and Kiyozawa Manshi

sumé and Reading History, 1988, 3–8). There are also poems that he wrote in classical Chinese that express his inner thoughts at this time (2008). Several of those compositions touch on the theme of the centrality of the West in the world at the time and the need for Japan to follow a course of “civilization and enlightenment” in order to catch up with those leading nations, as well as some that discuss the equality of all humanity. In this way, Inoue had within him what he terms an affinity for Buddhism based on the education he received at his family’s temple yet he also had a keen sense that he was living in a new age, as can be seen in his statement, “The Japan of today is no longer the Japan of olden days” (1997, 169). In contrast, Kiyozawa Manshi was raised as the eldest son of the Tokunaga family, which was at the lower end of the samurai class. Kiyozawa’s father’s family was affiliated with a Zen Buddhist school, but it is said that his mother, Taki—who was also the eldest daughter of a samurai retainer—was a devout Shinshū believer. His cousin Isokawa Kenzō (dates unknown) writes it was due to Taki’s influence that Kiyozawa “at age five or six years old was already able to read the Shōshinge, Wasan, and Ofumi, to the great surprise of the head priest at the temple where he studied.” Having learned the basics of reading classical Chinese, Manshi went on to study at an elementary school in the newly established school system. “His father, reading the signs of the times” (according to Isokawa Kenzō) enrolled him in an English-language school but the school itself was later discontinued and he changed schools again, studying German at Aichi Prefectural Medical School. In this way, due to the changes in society in the wake of the Meiji Restoration, Kiyozawa’s early studies did not progress smoothly. However, the Shin Buddhist culture in the area where he grew up, which was a stronghold for followers of Higashi Honganji, provided a backdrop that opened an avenue for him to pursue his education. He was encouraged by a Shinshū priest named Ryūge Kūon (1825–1903) who told him “if you intend to become a priest, the Honganji will see to your education.” As a result, along with his childhood friends, the Ogawa brothers of Kakuonji,2 Manshi went to Kyoto where he received his initial ordination in February 1878 and in March enrolled in Higashi Honganji’s Ikuei Kyōkō (Academy for the Development of Excellence) as recipient of their scholarship program. It is said that Kiyozawa was a student of high academic acumen, and this of course was helpful in making him able to get a spot in the Ikuei Kyōkō. But what can be said about the young Kiyozawa’s religious

55

Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi

c­ onviction and his understanding of the times in which he lived? Having been born in the metropolitan city of Nagoya, it is all but certain that he would have felt the influence of the trends pushing toward bringing “enlightenment and civilization” to Japan, but it seems that his education and life at the Ikuei Kyōkō in Kyoto likely served as the starting point in the development of both his faith and philosophy. From that point of view, it seems possible to hold that his faith and thought are purely the product of cultivation by the Honganji denomination. During his school days at the Ikuei Kyōkō, Kiyozawa studied the Shinshū kana shōgyō and in that work came across the Tannishō. Terakawa Shunshō observes the following about Kiyozawa’s relationship with the Tannishō from this time forward: “For Kiyozawa, who had been acquainted with the book since his time at the Ikuei Kyōkō, there was no need for him to copy passages out of this work again after that, for it is a scripture that can be said to have been assimilated into his very being” (Terakawa 1973, 271).

Their Time at Tokyo University The day after arriving in Tokyo, the first place Inoue visited—letter of introduction in hand—was Nensokuji, a Shinshū Ōtani-ha affiliated temple in present-day Bunkyōku. The reason was that Kondō Shūrin (dates unknown), the head priest of the Nensokuji, had a connection with Katō Hiroyuki (1836–1916), the president of Tokyo University, based in Buddhism (Inoue 1915, 1–12).3 After meeting the Katō through the offices of Kondō, Inoue was advised to take the entrance examination for the university, where he enrolled in the third grade (second year) of its preparatory course in September 1878. In this way, Inoue made the acquaintance of Baron Katō and assumed his place in the society of elite students gathered in Tokyo (shosei shakai)—students who were poised to become the next generation of cultural and political leaders of Japanese society (see Nakanome 2002). After completing the three-year course of study at the Ikuei Kyōkō in Kyoto, Kiyozawa went to Tokyo with two other students in November 1881, three and a half years after Inoue had moved there. Having received orders from the administration at Higashi Honganji to the effect that “since the three of you are still young, you should take Inoue Enryō as a role model for everything that you do” (KMZH 1: 579),4 the three visited Inoue straightaway after their arrival in Tokyo. It is likely that this encounter is the first time that Inoue and Kiyozawa met each other. Ino­ue told them to take the entrance examination for Tokyo University, 56

Inoue Enryō and Kiyozawa Manshi

encouraging them to respond to the call for applications to fill vacant seats. Among the three who had been sent to study in Tokyo at this time, Kiyozawa was the only one who passed this particular examination, so he was able to enroll in the second grade of the preparatory course in January 1882. Years later, in a speech at the Occidental studies school in Nagaoka, Inoue described the experience of taking the entrance examination for the preparatory course at Tokyo University as follows: [At our Occidental studies school] one of the really strange things was that we were all making translations of texts without knowing what the spoken language sounded like, so we would render the written language literally. We just memorized the meanings of words by rote, so with words like “night,” which has several silent letters, we would read even the silent letters as ni-gu-hu-to, and so a phrase like “day and night” would become “de-i an-do ni-gu-hu-to.” We could get the gist of what a written text meant, but since we had no idea what the spoken language sounded like, we could not understand what anyone was saying when we met someone who spoke it. After that I went to Tokyo to take the entrance exam for the preparatory course. That was the time that I moved away from this place. At the entrance exam there were only about two teachers who were Japanese who sat in on the interviews and all the rest were Westerners. The exams were all done Western style, everything that was said in the classrooms was in Western languages. The signs on the walls were all in Western languages. Even the Japanese people were speaking English. . . . We were surrounded by Westerners and everything was being done Western style. It seems that they took the attitude that since going all the way to the West from Japan is such a difficult thing, it is not necessary to force the issue and go all the way there provided you build a school for Occidental studies in Japan and make it entirely in the Western style, because that will end up being the same as having gone abroad. But at the entrance exam if you were like me and had learned to read “day and night” as “de-i an-do ni-gu-hu-to” here in Nagaoka, well, I tell you, you were in a lot of trouble. When I asked people how to deal with this, they told me to learn the right way—learning both the proper pronunciation and the meaning of words directly from a native speaker—so I of course tried to follow their advice right away, but hard as I might try old habits die hard and pretty soon the day for the exam was upon me. The examiners were Westerners who spoke Western languages a mile a minute and I could not understand them at all. I was, however, able to stitch together the questions we were being asked on the written exam by my old reliable rote memorization of terms and their grammatical function. Yet when it came to the answers, I had to write in English too. I had never 57

Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi ­ racticed writing sentences in English and so here again I was in a lot of p trouble, but I was somehow lucky enough to pass this first written examination. In those days the final score was calculated as the average of all the subjects we were examined for. If you got more than sixty points average then you passed the written portion. About the results, I happened to know someone who was in a position to see them, so when I saw my results that he copied for me, I could not believe it. For the English exam I only scored nineteen points for literature and twenty-five for composition. It was only because I was fortunate enough to get a perfect score in mathematics that I was able to pass. (1999, 213)

How then did Kiyozawa Manshi fare with the English he learned at the Aichi English school? One of Inoue’s classmates relays that after entrance to the university, Inoue was always near the top of the class in terms of marks. In Inoue’s case, there were 130 students in his class at the time of admission, but by the fourth year that number had drastically dropped to only 48, so over 60 percent of the students admitted together with Inoue had dropped out. From this we can see that the competition for good grades in the preparatory course was fierce and the grading standards high, but Inoue and Kiyozawa persevered and were both able to succeed in that harsh environment. In September 1881, just before Kiyozawa moved to Tokyo, Inoue had matriculated to the philosophy department of the Faculty of Literature. Two years later Kiyozawa also entered the philosophy department. Seen in this way, Inoue and Kiyozawa were only separated by two academic years. An examination of Kiyozawa’s university notebooks and transcripts shows that the two received instruction in the fields of humanities, social sciences, and various natural sciences with a focus on Western philosophy from various instructors, including the foreigners who had been hired to serve as faculty there. Inoue and Kiyozawa were among the first in Japan to receive a modern higher education in a systematic way, which enabled them to acquire knowledge that was at the leading edge of these fields at the time. The 1880s was also the time when Japanese academia itself was taking shape. Inoue, with the help of his forerunners and colleagues in the field of philosophy, established the Tetsugakukai (Philosophy Association) in January 1884. Kiyozawa joined him in this endeavor, taking charge of preparing for the publication of the society’s journal Tetsugakukai zasshi, as well as other matters related to running the society. In addition, Ino­ue and Kiyozawa founded a group called the Jushinkai together with other students who had been sent to study in Tokyo by Higashi Honganji where they met regularly and deepened their ties. 58

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Prior to Inoue’s and Kiyozawa’s arrival in Tokyo, Nanjō Bun’yū (1849– 1927) and Kasahara Kenju (1852–1883) had gone off to England to study Sanskrit under Max Müller (1823–1900) at Oxford University. But Kasahara fell ill and returned home. In a letter to Nanjō in England, Kasahara wrote of meeting some of the Tokyo scholarship students as follows: Inoue Enryō of Jikōji in Echigo, Tokunaga Manshi of Owari, Sawabe Masamaru of Tokuryūji in Osaka, Yanagi Yūkyū of Echizen, all of them are in the university. Inoue is the oldest of the four. A very unusual person. Imagawa Kakushin (brother of Shūsui) is in Dōjinsha [an English-language academy] and will graduate this month. Yanagi Yūshin is at Keiō Gijuku. These people are all being made to study so-called philosophy. They are always hopping around talking about Mill and Spencer, so I am not sure what in the world they are trying to do. (KMZH 1: 585)

From the viewpoint of Kasahara, who was engaged in pure research on Buddhist Sanskrit literature, Inoue’s and Kiyozawa’s study of Western philosophy seemed strange because it had no direct relationship to either Buddhism or Shinshū. All the same Nanjō Bun’yū, the recipient of the letter, wrote down his impression on receiving it, saying, “When I read this letter I had a feeling that great people would be forthcoming from the process” (KMZH 1: 585–586). In this way, both Inoue and Kiyozawa threw themselves into their studies at the university. Especially with regard to the field of Western philosophy, which was new to Japan, we know that they were both doing research on their own, in addition to attending university lectures. In the case of Inoue, two of his notebooks full of quotations from Englishlanguage works that he copied during his third year in the Faculty of Letters remain. The philosopher Kayano Yoshio, who analyzed the notebooks, found that they primarily contain transcriptions from a wide variety of sources. In addition to presenting a detailed analysis of their content, he remarks, “What most impressed me was the amazing ability in English reading comprehension attained by those Japanese who lived over a hundred years ago” (Kayano 1995, 34–36). Inoue’s research notebooks had references to more than 220 titles touching on themes such as philosophy in general, psychology, logic, ethics, and education, among others. He also lists the names of over eighty Western philosophers gleaned from various histories of philosophy. The actual quotations are primarily transcribed from works on the history of philosophy, philosophy, moral philosophy, and psychology. After engaging in such extensive exploration into this literature, ­Inoue reached the following conclusion: 59

Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi One day I had a great awakening. I realized that the truth I had been struggling over and longing for over ten years was not in Confucianism or Buddhism, nor was it in Christianity; it could be found only in the philosophy that was being taught in the West. My joy at that time was immeasurable. It was like what Columbus must have felt upon discovering landfall in the Atlantic Ocean. The cloud of delusion in which I had been lost for decades was suddenly lifted and I felt as though my heart had been cleansed. (1887a; IES 3: 337; translation adapted from Staggs 1979, 363–364)

Buddhologist Mori Shōji holds that this awakening “ought to be described as a kind of conversion experience” (1990; IES 4: 542). Inoue’s “astounding discovery” of the West would then evolve into his rediscovery of the East. Inoue relates this in the following statement: Having already discovered the truth within the world of philosophy, when I again looked over the various religions of the past, it became increasingly clear that the truth is not within Christianity. It was also easy to prove that the truth is not within Confucianism. Only the Buddhist religion is largely in accord with philosophical principles. Then I reviewed the Buddhist scriptures again, and gradually came to know the truth of their teachings; I was overjoyed. Who would have thought that the truth that was the product of thousands of years of study in Europe already existed three thousand years ago in the East! When I was a child, I was a Buddhist, but I did not know the existence of the truth within my own religion, because my scholarly abilities were meager then and I was incapable of making that discovery. However, after I had arrived at that realization, I first relinquished my long-cherished desire of founding a new religion. I determined then that I would reform Buddhism and make it a religion for the enlightened world. I reached this conclusion in 1885. I regard this as the epoch-making year of my reform of Buddhism. (1887a; IES 3: 337; translation adapted from Staggs 1979, 364)

In this way, through Inoue’s pursuit of his studies at Tokyo University, he first confirmed that Western philosophy reveals the truth he sought to clarify and then he verified for himself that, among the various other Eastern religious traditions, Buddhism was the best match for Western philosophical principles. And so based on the latest modern Western knowledge, Inoue discovered traditional Buddhism as modern thought. In the autumn of 1884, Inoue, now a fourth-year student, submitted a proposal to the head temple, Higashi Honganji, on behalf of the six scholarship students studying in Tokyo under the title, “A proposal for a school curriculum for our denomination as well as its future purpose. Most respectfully submitted by a group of humble followers.”5 In this 60

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proposal Inoue argued that as Japan became more international in the wake of the Meiji Restoration, in the same way that the Japanese government established institutions to handle both domestic and foreign affairs, the Higashi Honganji administration needed to establish a division that would do research on Christianity and various Western academic disciplines in addition to the traditional training in the domestic Shin teachings. Inoue outlined the following specific problem areas as the urgent task of Buddhists today: 1. To study the various branches of Western philosophy and clarify their correspondence with Buddhist theories. 2. Through courses of study on physics and biology, to harmonize the areas of dissonance between Buddhism and science. 3. To refute the ultimate principles of Christianity and to disclose the truth of Buddhism. 4. To explore the nature of politics and public morality, as well as the situation of contemporary society, and to consider the issue of actual religious propagation based on those investigations. These items all belong to the category Inoue referred to as foreign affairs, or outward-oriented. To summarize the conclusion of this proposal, Inoue essentially writes as follows. “When the time comes for us six scholarship students to graduate, it will be necessary for us to be able to meet to do research and consult with one another. We would like to propose the establishment of two academies in the capital (Tokyo) one for Buddhism and one for philosophy. . . . That is, these two academies—an Academy of Buddhism and an Academy of Philosophy—will serve as centers for ministerial studies and as standards for the world of Japanese religion. This project has not been undertaken by any of the other Buddhist schools or denominations yet. If our sect alone can first establish such an outwardoriented academy, it will surely become the pride of our denomination.” (See Miura 2010, 16–24.) We can say that Kiyozawa shared Inoue’s critical awareness of the times they lived in. But around 1877, the administration at Higashi Honganji, which up to then had taken steps to innovate and expand its educational programs, reversed its policy and decided instead to reduce them, so Inoue’s proposal was not immediately accepted. Inoue thereafter attempted to negotiate with the administration repeatedly to get them to take up his proposal. During this time, Inoue graduated from 61

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Tokyo University as the first of the group whose studies in Tokyo were sponsored by Higashi Honganji. Inoue stood at a crossroads in the run-up to graduation. His benefactor Dr. Ishiguro Tadanori (1845–1941), later Surgeon General of the Japanese Army, highly recommended Inoue to be selected for a position at the Ministry of Education and Minister of Education Mori Arinori (1847– 1889) accepted that proposal and tried to recruit him. However, Inoue responded, “I truly appreciate your kind consideration, but from the very outset I have been at university as a Honganji scholarship student, and I would not be able to live with my conscience if I were to accept a position as an imperial government official” (Miwa 1919, 86). In refusing this offer, he relayed his desire to engage in the religious educational projects that he had outlined in his proposal to Higashi Honganji. When Inoue graduated in 1885 he was seated at the head of the class in the first group of graduates from Tokyo University. Instead of returning to Kyoto, he was ordered by the Higashi Honganji administration to undertake “an investigation of Indian philosophy” and he became a research student at Tokyo University, as well as a student in the graduate school of the Imperial University6 with a scholarship from the government (he later withdrew from the graduate school due to illness). In 1887, Kiyozawa graduated from the Imperial University with grades that were equivalent to being at the head of the class, and following the example of Inoue became a graduate student. His major was philosophy of religion. Inoue had published articles in various newspapers and magazines from the time that he was a student. He authored the first history of Western philosophy by a Japanese writer in his column entitled “Essentials of Western Philosophy” in Ryōchikai zasshi over a period of two years. In the Tokyo-based Buddhist newspaper Meikyō shinshi, he penned a series of articles over a two-year period on “Are there theoretical grounds for excluding Christianity?” and “Is there any actual way to exclude Christianity?,” as well as “On the reason that Buddhism is the only religion that is entirely complete on both the intellectual and emotional levels.” (These articles were later compiled and published in a three-­ volume work called Shinri kinshin [The Golden Compass of Truth], 1887c.) As the titles of these works indicate, their contents discussed the same issues that he had raised in the proposal introduced above: the relationship between Buddhism and various fields of Western scholarship, the ultimate theoretical grounds for refuting Christian principles, and the challenges Buddhism faced in modern religious propagation. One widely 62

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accepted theory among researchers in modern Buddhist history is that Inoue’s criticism of Christianity—what is referred to as “excluding Christianity”—was derived from Edo-period discussions regarding the need to exclude the foreigners, but, in fact, Inoue’s criticism of Christianity was made on the grounds of his investigation into the various fields of Western scholarship, Western philosophy, and the natural sciences. As far as this point goes, it is necessary to revise our thinking on the history of Buddhism in modern Japan to incorporate this important point. In addition to these early works, Inoue also presented his reading audience with new knowledge by producing a slew of works that amount to more than six hundred thousand characters worth of manuscripts. These include his three-volume Tetsugaku issekiwa (One Night’s Talk on Western Philosophy, 1886–1887a), the two-volume Rinri tsūron (Outline of Ethics, 1887b), Tsūshin kyōju shinrigaku (Psychology: A Correspondence Course, 1886), Tetsugaku dōchū ki (A Record of My Studies of Philosophy, 1887e), Shinri tekiyō (Psychology in Summary, 1887d), and the second volume of Tetsugaku yōryō (Essentials of Western Philosophy, 1886–1887b). These numerous works attest to the attention he attracted as a young, up-and-coming public intellectual. But this constant regimen of research and writing day and night nonstop began to take a toll on his health. His physical condition worsened, as he was afflicted with first hemorrhoids, then tonsillitis (pharyngeal catarrh), and ultimately tuberculosis. Even though he was forced to take time to rest and recuperate, he continued to write. Bukkyō katsuron joron (The Revitalization of Buddhism: Introduction, 1887a), which was published in February 1887, became a best seller in the movement to reform Buddhism. The book shed light on the problem of Buddhism in the modern age from the viewpoint of Western philosophy, and clarified the significance of the existence of Buddhism as oriental philosophy. It became the cornerstone of the modernization of Buddhism for a stagnant Buddhist world and exerted an influence on many people. I would like to introduce here how that work of Inoue’s had considerable influence on two scholars who later came to be revered as leading figures of Shin Buddhist studies in the twentieth century. First, Soga Ryōjin (1875–1971) wrote the following about this book: When I was still a boy, Inoue Sensei published for the first time a book called Bukkyō katsuron joron. Well, to be quite honest, it was more like a 63

Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi ­ amphlet than a book, and as far as its contents went, well, when I think of p it now, it was pretty unsystematic. But when that pamphlet called Bukkyō katsuron joron came out, let me tell you how much it went toward literally saving us people in the Buddhist world. . . . Seen from the perspective of that age I believe that Inoue Sensei made a boundlessly immense contribution to the Buddhist world of the time with the publication of that book. (Soga 1999, 7–8)

Also, Kaneko Daiei writes: The most notable contribution that Inoue Enryō made to our country’s culture was to ring in a new era in the Buddhist world of the Meiji period. This fact should be recognized by all and be passed down to posterity. . . . It was back when I was in the third or fourth year of higher elementary school. I was ordained as a Buddhist priest by then, so when one of my classmates criticized [the Buddhist statesman] Prince Shōtoku, I felt as if the criticism was directed against me personally and that I had to find some way to present a rebuttal. It was then that I got my hands on Inoue Sensei’s Bukkyō ka­ tsuron joron. I was just a small timid soul bearing all the weight of Buddhist tradition on my shoulders when I was shown this intense work. I was surprised and delighted with what it had to say and could not help being absorbed in reading it. . . . Just as Inoue Sensei marked a new era for the Buddhist world of the time, this book also marked the beginning of a new period in my own life. (Miwa 1919, 169–170)

In Bukkyō katsuron joron, Inoue leveled some harsh criticisms at the Buddhist world of the time: Present-day Buddhism as it is practiced among foolish laymen and handed down by stubborn clergy is full of mistaken practices, so it necessarily appears to be a barbaric teaching from the outside. It is not without reason that the religion is in a state of decline by the month and even the day. Greatly deploring this situation, I desire to defend these teachings unflaggingly for the sake of the truth, to reform these evils relentlessly for the sake of the nation. Yet while I hope to formulate my methods for this defense in cooperation with today’s clergy, unfortunately the great majority of them entirely lack education, discernment, energy, and strength. (1887a, 3–4; IES 3: 328; translation adapted from Staggs 1979, 351)

The radical position Inoue took in Bukkyō katsuron joron could have led to strict rebukes from the denomination that had funded his education. Andō Shūichi (1873–1950) relays that Inoue, “fearing his views might be seen as going against his Shinshū doctrine, submitted a letter of resignation from the Shinshū priesthood before [Bukkyō katsuron joron] was published” (1933, 489). It was with that degree of commitment that Inoue 64

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became a strident voice for Buddhist reform and pursued the path that he did.

Their Time at the Tetsugakukan (Academy of Philosophy) Armed with this awareness that Buddhism was facing a profound crisis, Inoue sought to use education to reform the tradition. In September 1887 Inoue borrowed a temple called Rinshōin in the Yushima area of Tokyo where he established a private school called the Tetsugakukan (Academy of Philosophy), precursor of present-day Tōyō University. Although the Tetsugakukan began as an institute to train specialists in Western philosophy rather than Buddhism, for funding Inoue did not turn to religious denominations or influential people in political and economic circles. Instead he established the academy using contributions from 280 individual donors. Inoue’s intentions in creating the academy can be concisely summarized as follows: The development of civilization is primarily reliant on the development of intellectual capacities. Education is a method for fostering the development of intellectual capacities. In order to achieve higher intelligence, one must employ an academic discipline that is appropriate to such capacities. That academic discipline is none other than philosophy. Philosophy is the academic discipline that explores the fundamental principles of all being and determines the laws by which they function. It is the academic discipline that defines those principles. Whether we are speaking of jurisprudence, political science, the physical sciences, technology, or the arts, philosophy serves as the central government for all academic disciplines and is also the academic discipline that integrates all fields of studies.7 Inoue’s sense of the problem that he was trying to address in establishing the Tetsugakukan is expressed in his statement, “Buddhist priests these days are entirely caught up on this issue of heaven and hell and are not engaging in the study necessary to be real ministers. I find this to be quite regrettable, so it seems to me that if they are exposed to a little bit of philosophical thought, it will benefit society quite a bit” (Tanahashi 1936, 69). Around this time, Kiyozawa, having graduated from the university in July of the same year (1887), had matriculated to the Imperial University’s graduate school and had accepted a teaching position at the First Higher School. He also participated in the founding of the Tetsugakukan. In fact, Kiyozawa was the only other faculty member listed on the 65

Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi

documents submitted to the Tokyo prefectural government regarding the establishment of the academy, which also list Inoue as proprietor and instructor. In addition, Kiyozawa served as one of the four members of the academy’s board of trustees. These documents further show Kiyozawa taught two courses there: “Pure Philosophy (Philosophical Theory)” and “Psychology (Applied).”8 This is noteworthy since Inoue was originally in charge of the course on philosophical theory, but when he fell ill, he asked Kiyozawa to substitute for him. From this we can see that Kiyozawa played a major role at the time of the establishment of the Tetsugakukan, and that Inoue counted on him immensely. It took Inoue two years to found the Tetsugakukan after graduating from university. The reason is that he was waiting for the other students who had received scholarships from Higashi Honganji to finish their studies. (In addition to Kiyozawa, there were other Higashi Honganji–related lecturers at the academy: Yanagi Yūshin, Murakami Senshō, and Oda Tokunō, although the latter two were not Honganji scholarship students per se.) It is likely that when Inoue was stricken with tuberculosis, he thought of Kiyozawa as a possible successor in the event that he were to pass away. At first, the Tetsugakukan started accepting applications with a limit of fifty possible seats, but in fact the academy attracted so much interest that ultimately Inoue enrolled 130 students and had to turn others away. Inoue espoused the ideal that education should be made available to “those who lack surplus resources” (those who do not have the financial capacity to proceed into higher education) and “those who lack leisure time” (those who do not have the free time or social standing needed to read and understand source materials). He hoped to provide such people an opportunity for higher education and therefore he also started correspondence courses based on transcripts of the lectures delivered at the academy. Since it was the first correspondence course offered in the humanities in Japan, a total of 1,831 students from Hokkaido to the Korean peninsula enrolled for study. And so from the very outset the academy was a nationwide educational institution. Higashi Honganji’s Honzan hōkoku, a magazine directed toward its membership, announced the founding of the Tetsugakukan, thus expressing the administration’s approval of his enterprise.9 By contrast, Kiyozawa, who became a graduate student at the Imperial University and a faculty member of the Tetsugakukan after graduating from university, was summoned to Kyoto in January 1888 by the order of the abbot-in-waiting Ōtani Kōei (1852–1923)—who was one of the highest authorities in the denomination—and asked to provide lectures 66

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as part of the education of the young future abbot Ōtani Kōen (1875– 1943, also known as Kubutsu). Kiyozawa later wrote the following regarding religion: “It is neither for the sake of our physical sustenance, nor for the sake of our professional obligations, nor for the sake of humanity, nor for the sake of the state, nor for the sake of national prosperity and military security, that religion exists. Religion exists for the sake of the strongest desire that arises from the depths of the human heart. One must seek religion, but religion seeks nothing of us” (KMZI 7: 188). The religious ideal held by Kiyozawa expressed in this passage was one that he arrived at by the careful study of various Western academic disciplines, in particular, the philosophy of religion, which was one of the cutting-edge disciplines of the time. Inoue had arrived at a similar view of religion, and what they sought was a significant departure from the traditional practices of popular Buddhism. Their standpoint on religion issued instead from their rather highly refined, intellectual grasp of religion. This passage displays Kiyozawa’s stance as a straightforward seeker of the way. Kiyozawa must have also found strong support for his position in the dialogues between Shinran (1173–1262) and Yuien (ca. 1222–1289) compiled in the Tannishō where it was as if he could listen in on their interviews on the nature of the Dharma. In June 1888, Inoue and Kiyozawa came to a major turning point in their working relationship. At this time Inoue decided that he had sufficiently laid the foundations for the educational program at the Tetsu­ gakukan and chose to set off on a world tour, in spite of the fact that the new academy had only been open for less than a year. He intended to do firsthand observations on the situation of politics and religion in Europe and America (especially the relationship between church and state and the systems governing that relationship), as well as the conditions of philosophical research there, before the promulgation of the Meiji Constitution. Questions have long surrounded Inoue’s sudden decision to set out on a world tour, but my research shows that Higashi Honganji’s leadership may have played an important role in that decision (see Miura 2005, 66–70). Kiyozawa left the Tetsugakukan and assumed the office of principal of the Ordinary Middle School (Jinjō Chūgakkō) that the Shinshū Ōtani-ha operated under the auspices of Kyoto Prefecture in July 1888, just a month after Inoue’s departure. Kiyozawa was also appointed as an instructor in the bureau devoted to the abbot-in-waiting’s academic studies. On August 7 of the same year, he married Kiyozawa Yasu, the 67

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daughter of the family which administered Saihōji, one of the major temples in the Mikawa region. In this way, Kiyozawa ended up leading the rest of his life as a Shinshū Ōtani-ha priest. The reason Kiyozawa “resolutely flung himself into the world of religion” (KMZH 8: 598) is related by Hitomi Chūjirō (1863–1929), a close relative of his, who attests Kiyozawa had the following to say: “A person must consider their obligations. . . . Needless to say, I have obligations to the state and to my parents. I was born in a lay family, but as fate should have it, circumstances have led me to enter the Shinshū clergy. I have become what I am today having been educated by the denomination. On this point I feel most heavily indebted to the head temple and feel I have no choice but to do everything I can to repay that debt of gratitude” (KMZH 3: 609). As an Imperial University graduate student, Kiyozawa was in the elite class of society and the doors were open for him to a career in the academic world or whatever he sought to pursue. But instead he abandoned those chances to pursue a career serving the Shinshū Ōtani-ha (Higashi Honganji). Inoue and Kiyozawa were members of the elite who were the first to receive a modern higher education in Japan. Both were aware of the fact that education would play a key role in the future of Buddhism in Japan and in the reform of the Shinshū institution. Inoue sought to introduce modern higher education into the Buddhist world in Japan, while Kiyozawa hoped to introduce it into the Shinshū Ōtani-ha. Both of them also made the firm decision to abandon the pursuit of worldly fame and fortune in order to realize those goals. In the case of Kiyozawa’s return to the fold of the Higashi Honganji, however, researchers have tended to emphasize this part of his life story, either describing it as the choice of a specific religious denomination, which made him exceptional among the elite students of the time, or reference is made to Kiyozawa’s friend Sawayanagi Masatarō (1865–1927) calling it a “small stage” that was too insignificant for his talents (see Terakawa 1973, 44–58). To my mind, however, it does not seem at all unusual for Kiyozawa to choose to return to work for the Shinshū Ōtani-ha for the following two reasons. First of all, the Ōtani-ha was not necessarily a “small stage” unsuited to Kiyozawa’s abilities. According to Imagawa Kakushin, the lay members of the Ōtani-ha in 1897 numbered more than 4.97 million, while the total population of Japan was just over 41.55 million in 1895 (1897, 36). In other words followers of Ōtani-ha comprised 12 percent of the entire population of the country. Since the membership of the Honganji-ha (Ni68

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shi Honganji) exceeded that of the Ōtani-ha, the total number of Shin followers in Japan would have amounted to over 30 percent of the nation’s population. That is, the denominations were large enough that if the two Honganjis could be made to move, this would also affect the whole country. This was the stage that Kiyozawa had chosen to return to. In fact, the withdrawal of the Shinshū denominations from the Daikyōin in May 1875 had a domino effect leading to the disintegration of the entire institution, which had been conceived by the Meiji government as the centerpiece of the agencies designed to enlist Shintō, Buddhism, and other groups in Japanese civil society into the project of disseminating the emperor system ideology. Considering the fact that the Shinshū institutions wielded enough political influence to make the government— which could resort to military force to realize its designs—abandon one of its primary policies, it seems quite inappropriate to refer to the Ōtani-ha at this time as a “small stage.” Secondly, regarding his motivations in this period, Kiyozawa, whose future prospects as the eldest son of a low-ranking samurai family in Nagoya were quite dim, chose to become a member of the Ōtani-ha and was thereby able to complete his studies to the point that he was enrolled as a graduate student at the Imperial University. Thanks to those studies, he was able to fulfill the responsibility he had toward his parents as the eldest son, bringing them to Tokyo to live together with him. Therefore, it seems the natural choice as a human being to take the path of repaying his debt of gratitude to the denomination that allowed him to fulfill that responsibility to his parents. In that sense, his choice to take on the position of principal at the middle school that the denomination had prepared for him was a very realistic way of repaying that debt. Therefore, it seems more appropriate to view what is often talked about as his commitment to the Higashi Honganji institution as a later choice that occurred after his return to Kyoto.

The Period of Setbacks (1) At the end of June 1889, Inoue returned from his yearlong inspection tour of Western countries. As a result of that tour he gained a better understanding of the state of Western society and recognized that universities and research institutes there were making considerable advances in research on Asia. The trip also made him keenly aware of the need to establish private universities for the sake of Japanese modernization, and he made a firm resolution to develop the Tetsugakukan toward that 69

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end. He communicated his vision to leaders in the various sectors of society seeking to elicit their cooperation. In August of the same year, ­Inoue initiated the construction of a new school building for the academy with the aim of developing it into a private university. But on September 11, just when the new building was almost completed, it was knocked down by a storm in what Inoue came to refer to as “the trial by wind.” Inoue, who was in Kyoto at the time, immediately returned to Tokyo and arranged to have reconstruction begin on the twentieth. Count Katsu Kaishū was the person who lent him emotional support at this time. Inoue first became acquainted with the count because his daughter and son-in-law helped arrange Inoue’s marriage. Katsu was a strong supporter of Inoue’s plans to expand the Tetsugakukan. Thanks to this sort of encouragement, Inoue was able to hold a relocation ceremony for the new school building in November, just over two years after the initial founding of the academy. The debts incurred in constructing and then reconstructing the new building, however, placed a heavy burden on Inoue as proprietor of the academy. Inoue consulted with Katsu about this problem as follows: “As for the Tetsugakukan, at present we do not have any means of maintaining the school. From this fall I intend to undertake a fund-raising drive, and although I have put a great deal of thought into what we might do, I have yet to arrive at any good ideas about what should be done” (from Inoue’s letter to Katsu dated July 21, 1890; Katsube 1982, 152–153). As a solution to the problem, Inoue’s consultation with Katsu led to the conclusion that “rather than telling people what to do orally, one should lead them with one’s entire being.” In that spirit, Inoue set off on a nationwide lecture tour in November 1890, where he spoke on academic subjects and solicited donations for the Tetsugakukan. He quickly became an object of attention because it was rare for “a bachelor’s degree holder” to visit rural areas from Tokyo. In some cases, however, he was mistaken for an antique appraiser, or wizard, or eccentric, and so on. For all his trials, the result of this fund-raising trip was far from what he had hoped. His disappointment can be gauged from the opening words of his report a year later: “To all volunteers nationwide, I implore you with tears in my eyes.” Needless to say, not enough funds were raised. Inoue took to the road over the course of the next four years, traveling from Hokkaido to the north and Kagoshima in the south, giving lectures on 390 different days. Almost all the donations were in small denominations of less than one yen, but through them he was able to raise donations of a little more than three thousand, five hundred yen 70

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from the general public. For Inoue, however, this represented the first real setback in his life. As for how Kiyozawa was spending his days, as already mentioned, he had abandoned the elite course in government employment and had returned to pursue a career within the denomination. In that switch in career he had great expectations for the future of the denomination’s educational system, but the congregation was a centuries-old one with its own inured ways of doing things and Kiyozawa faced innumerable problems in trying to realize those hopes. Up until that point, the only experience he had had of life within the denomination was his three years as a student in its elite training program. The well-known author Shiba Ryōtarō argues that, “It is most certainly the case that the people surrounding him must have known that the Higashi Honganji in Kyoto where Kiyozawa was going to serve was not an appropriate object for youthful ideals. Rumors about the problems at the Honganji were common fare. It must have been plain to his colleagues in the academic world that he was entering a den of stagnation and decline utterly divorced from any sort of ideals” (Shiba 1965, 403). It remains an open question if Kiyozawa himself was aware of this situation. We can certainly point out the following four problems with the denomination at that time. First, the denomination itself was quite feudal in both character and structure, and lacked a clear understanding of Japan’s rapidly developing state and society. We can point to one of Inoue’s experiences as evidence of this. One source relays that, in 1892, Inoue “was almost run out of town by the head priest (rinban) and the rest of the crowd at the Sanjō Betsuin, because he made a cautionary speech about the bleak prospects of the Ōtani-ha” (from the reminiscences of Igarashi Kōryū [dates unknown]; Miwa 1919, 253). In those days it was strictly taboo to express critical views about the denomination. Second, there was the problem of the lack of devotion and religious commitment among the members of the denomination. Based on his own experiences in the denomination, Kiyozawa once observed that, “In the world today, it is the priests who are most lacking in religious conviction, and then next in line are the laymen who are close to the priests. It seems as though the further away people are from the priests, the stronger their faith is” (relayed by Sumida Chiken; KMZH 8: 286). Third, the denomination was doctrinally quite conservative. Kiyozawa had hoped to set an educational reform in motion, but the Kanrenkai stood in the way of those hopes. “In the Higashi Honganji-ha of the day, the Kanrenkai was a conservative organization created by a clique 71

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of scholars of sectarian studies who wielded immense authority as representatives of doctrinal orthodoxy within the denomination. It engaged in delivering judgments against so-called heretics through procedures such as investigations into compliance with the intention of the sect’s teachings or inquisitions of faith. . . . Put simply, it was an institution created to prevent free research in sectarian studies” (Hirose 1957, 197). Later the Kanrenkai would slander Kiyozawa as “a heretic from the point of view of the sect’s teachings,” “a Unitarian in the Buddhist community,” and “a destructive villain with socialist ideas” (see Hirose 1957, 198; KMZH 8: 208). Fourth, at the time the denomination (that is, the head temple) was working on clearing off its massive debt and paying for the reconstruction of the two main halls on the temple compound that had been burned down in 1864. In 1872, the head temple’s yearly income was only about thirty thousand yen, while their debts totaled over eight hundred thousand yen. By 1894 the debt had quadrupled to 3.3 million yen. According to Terakawa, in order to repay the debts, “The administration used every option available, including mortgaging the land owned by the head temple, in addition to employing all the resources the denomination had at its disposal for the project of raising funds, particularly by creating fund-raising mechanisms designed to sustain the denomination (sōzokukō). Based on these efforts, the total income for 1893 is said to have been over one million yen. . . . In this way, ultimately these immense debts were in large part amortized” (1957, 418). In the meantime, the reconstruction of the two halls that began in 1879 would take sixteen long years to finish, only being completed in 1895. In order to effectively undertake these huge projects, the chief administrator—who was primarily supposed to serve as the abbot’s assistant—was also installed as the head of all three departments in the administrative headquarters (the offices of internal affairs, accounting, and doctrinal studies), effectively creating a dictatorial system where one man was put in charge of steering the whole administration at the abbot’s behest. During this period the denomination’s policies were focused solely on these projects and collecting the funds necessary to complete them, so the areas of education and doctrinal studies that were the object of Kiyozawa’s interest were left entirely unaddressed. About Kiyozawa’s lifestyle when he first returned to Kyoto, Nishimura Kengyō reports: “Although the document for his appointment as secondary school principal states ‘monthly emolument one hundred yen,’ his income tax returns indicate his monthly salary was eighty yen. In either 72

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case, this was a considerable sum of money in those days. It allowed him to live in a sizable residence, smoke Western cigarettes, and commute to school every day by rickshaw. Of course he let his hair grow out and had all kinds of Western clothes that were considered unusual in those days” (KMZH 8: 117). This was exactly the lifestyle someone with a degree from the Imperial University or an administrator at Higashi Honganji would assume. In Kiyozawa’s case, though, he was not merely enjoying the amenities of life that the denomination provided for him. At the same time, he also was observing the state of the denomination and the way of life of those within the organization. Surely he found that in the denomination at the time, people were living as priests for the sake of food, clothing, and shelter; for the sake of their families; for the sake of their careers; or for the sake of their reputations. As a layperson who became a priest he still lacked certainty regarding the Shinshū ideal of shinjin. But it seems likely that he never forgot the importance of the sort of religious sentiment (or religious drive) that he would later describe saying, “Religion exists for the sake of the strongest desire that arises from the depths of the human heart” (KMZI 7: 188). In the year 1890, around the same time that Inoue began his nationwide lecture tours bearing the weight of the financial crisis of the Tetsugakukan on his shoulders, Kiyozawa also underwent a radical change in lifestyle. In July of that year, the second one since his return to Kyoto, Kiyozawa abandoned the elegant lifestyle of an educated member of the elite that he had learned in Tokyo, as well as his position as school principal, and began a life of spiritual seeking as a priest wearing the simplest robes. His new approach to religious life was not found in traditional Shinshū training, but was instead the ascetic practice of radically restricting the sustenance necessary to continue living to its utmost limit, or what he called the “minimum possible.” Through this experiment, he sought to fully understand the finite nature of human existence and thereby attain faith in the infinite. It was an admittedly dangerous method, but Kiyozawa was determined. It is this choice of Kiyozawa’s to perform this experiment that is best characterized as representing his decision to commit to the denomination and live the rest of his life as a member of the Shinshū Ōtani-ha. As Terakawa notes, “Kiyozawa’s decision to rein in his desires and appetites in a life of self-­ imposed precepts is actually not entirely as original as it may seem. As other researchers have pointed out his actions fall in line with those of other Buddhist figures of the day such as Shingonshū’s Shaku Unshō [1826–1909] and Jodoshū’s Fukuda Gyōkai [1809–1888] who preceded him” 73

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(1973, 62). While it is quite possible that Kiyozawa made reference to such cases when making his decision, he differs from these precedents in that he was trained in Western philosophy and set the minimum possible as his goal. To my mind at least I would think his originality ought to be emphasized, not dismissed. In this life of religious seeking, Kiyozawa continued to propose ways to modernize the denomination’s policies regarding education and doctrinal studies. In 1889 he proposed the revival of the scholarship program to send students to Tokyo or abroad to study. In 1891 he suggested reorganizing the Okazaki Gakkan to better see to the abbot-in-waiting’s education, and in 1892 he advanced a proposal to make an independent system for doctrinal studies within the denomination. In 1893 and 1894, he also formulated a new educational system with the help of the educator Sawayanagi Masatarō, who had served in the Ministry of Education and was a friend of Kiyozawa’s at Tokyo University. Unfortunately, most of these proposals were either ignored or the systems that he conceived were left unimplemented. For Kiyozawa the source of the most regret was the educational system he designed together with Sawayanagi. The primary aim of this reform was to revise the denomination’s policy regarding education—which up to then had existed in name only—and improve the organizations at all levels of the institution through the incorporation of modern elements. In particular, since the middle and higher academies for training in doctrinal studies had been subject to frequent, poorly planned attempts at reorganization, they entirely lacked any sort of an integrated curriculum, so the plan intended to increase the quality of education for youths training to become priests in the denomination by revamping these two academies and creating some consistency between them. . . . The most noteworthy among these reforms was that second division was to be reorganized to include compulsory courses in philosophy and other modern academic disciplines. This was an epoch-making decision that would shatter the conservative shell of the denomination’s traditional academics. (Hirose 1957, 226)

As a result of his ascetic “minimum possible” lifestyle, Kiyozawa was diagnosed with tuberculosis in 1894 and entered a sanatorium for treatment at the strong recommendation of his friends. He was hopeful that through such reforms of the denomination’s educational system, an ideal education would become possible, but because his conservative opponents used student strikes as an opportunity to subvert his plans, the system started to crumble within a few months of its inception. Sawa­ yanagi was dismissed, and Kiyozawa’s colleagues Inaba, Imagawa, and 74

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Kiyokawa Enjō (1863–1947) had their salaries reduced (Hirose 1957, 229). Kiyozawa’s disappointment was profound and it forced him deeper into his life of religious seeking. At Higashi Honganji around this time, in addition to these internal problems, the media repeatedly picked up on reports of financial problems and donation irregularities as well as scandals surrounding the abbot’s activities, which weakened the image of the Honganji in the public eye. For that reason, Kiyozawa returned to Kyoto from the sanatorium where he was receiving treatment to submit a proposal for administrative reform that “emphasized doctrinal studies (academic affairs and teaching the membership)” cosigned by well-known experts such as Murakami Senshō (KMZI 7: 170–172), but this was also ignored. How did Kiyozawa respond to the situation that had played out until this time? In his diary he wrote the following entry about this period: “Looking back, in 1894 and 1895 while recuperating from that malady, my thoughts on life completely changed. And although I was more or less able to completely reverse my deluded, self-power way of thinking, my mind was still ceaselessly caught up in the vicissitudes of human affairs. Further, the events that occurred within the denomination in 1895 and 1896 ultimately led to the reform movement that lasted into 1897” (KMZI 8: 441). After all these repeated attempts at reform, Kiyozawa and five other like-minded reformers secluded themselves in Shirakawa-mura in Kyoto’s northern suburbs and established the Kyōkai Jigensha (Society with Timely Words for the Religious World) on October 10, 1896, in order to spearhead a movement to reform the denomination. This small band of six intended to reform a religious organization comprised of ten thousand temples and one million member households. All six members of this group, referred to as the Shirakawatō (Shirakawa Party), had received the higher education that was available at that time. On October 31, the first issue of the group’s magazine Kyōkai jigen was launched. In Kiyozawa’s explanation of the reason for creating the journal, he states, “The Ōtani-ha Honganji is the source upon which we rely and where we expect to find genuine peace of mind for ourselves, for our countrymen, and for all humanity throughout the world” (1896, 2). The group called for the implementation of policies governing education and doctrinal studies, the resignation of the current administrative leadership, reformation of the denomination’s administration, and establishment of a new denominational parliament. When Kiyozawa and his associates began this reform movement, they did so with the full knowledge that they might well be expelled from the 75

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denomination for their actions. In November, however, Inoue and other important members of the denomination raised their voices in support of the reform movement, calling out to all the different affiliates of the denomination throughout the country and encouraging them to join the cause. Supporters from across the country and students at the denomination’s schools joined in and the movement was taken up in the press, so it grew quickly and took on a broader social significance. In spite of his illness, Kiyozawa took responsibility for leading the movement (Yamada 1991, 75–110).

The Period of Setbacks (2) As mentioned above, Inoue was active in a secular role (he never reinstated his status as a priest), but when it came to problems with the denomination, he had sometimes privately communicated with the head administrator, cautioning him regarding certain matters, but his advice was never heeded. However, in order to support the decision of Kiyozawa and the other former scholarship recipients and help expand the reform movement they had started, Inoue published a statement in the third issue of Kyōkai jigen (December 1896), called, in effect, “If I may humbly borrow some margin space in the Kyōkai jigen to issue a word of encouragement to the priests of the Ōtani-ha affiliated with the Tetsugakukan.” In this piece, Inoue encouraged the more than seventeen hundred graduates of the Tetsugakukan to join the reform movement. That the cautious Inoue, who had up to that point been active outside the denomination, chose to once again involve himself in its internal politics, is clearly due to his high regard for Kiyozawa’s aspiration to reform the Buddhist community of his day. This movement developed to the point that it drew the attention of a broad swath of Japanese society, and the bad public relations this created for the chief administrator forced him to resign. The movement then turned its focus to its next goal: the establishment of a denominational parliament for the Shinshū Ōtani-ha. A Petition Office for the Reform of the Ōtani-ha Temple Administration was established and called for a list of demands to be submitted to the abbot. On February 13, 1897, the National Alliance for the Innovation of the Ōtani-ha was formed and a petition was submitted. But on the very next day, all six members of Kiyozawa’s Kyōkai Jigensha were stripped of their priesthood because of the role they played in leading the reform movement. In the end, the movement did in fact achieve the concrete results of the establishment 76

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of a denominational parliament, but the institution created differed greatly from the one Kiyozawa and his associates originally envisioned (Terakawa 1957, 436–443). And so the reform movement did not bring about the spiritual reformation that Kiyozawa and his co-workers had hoped to set in motion. According to the testimony of Kōno Hōun (1867–1946), Kiyozawa reflected on this as follows: Indeed, at one point I actually believed that, if only I could accomplish this one thing, then subsequently everything would automatically fall in place like clockwork. But I had one fatal error in my thinking: That fact is that however much a minority of people might struggle to speed reform, it will ultimately be ineffective. Even if there are some people who have graduated from the Imperial University and Shinshū University, as long as those who belong to this denomination—with its seven thousand temples throughout the land—remain the way they were in the past, then no attempt at reform will be of any use. At the start, I was not aware of this fact. Once I recognized it, I decided to abandon all efforts at reform and instead devote myself entirely to fostering my own faith. (KMZH 5: 622)

So thinking, in April 1898, Kiyozawa ceased the publication of Kyōkai jigen and, with the reformation campaign having ended in failure, returned with his family to his wife’s family’s temple, Saihōji, in Ōhama, Mikawa. Here we will note that, while Kiyozawa’s establishment of faith is generally accepted to have started from his Ōhama period as Kōno Hōun’s testimony indicates, in fact Kiyozawa’s serious pursuit of religious truth began soon after he returned to Kyoto to serve the denomination and that it continued thereafter in his minimum possible lifestyle. After the reformation movement, Kiyozawa sought even more deeply for the core of Shinshū. He recorded his process of religious conversion as follows: From the end of 1897 through the beginning of 1898, I read the Four Āgamas and so on. And in April 1898, together with the abolition of the Kyōkai jigen, I concluded the reformation movement and returned to my home temple. With this opportunity to rest and recuperate, although the situation permitted me to reflect profoundly upon myself, my lack of spiritual cultivation still made it impossible for me to remain serene in the face of vexation with people and situations. As autumn turned to winter in 1898, having come to read through the Discourses of Epictetus, I felt as though I gained a great deal. And in 1899, ever since I responded to the invitation to come to Tokyo, and having further 77

Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi been given opportunities that I could not refuse, I feel as though I have been able to make progress on the path of spiritual cultivation. And so now it seems as though the Buddha has set out yet another great difficulty for me, in order to propel me further on to this climax. How could I possibly not feel grateful for this? (KMZI 8: 441–442)

During his time in Ōhama, Kiyozawa pursued his study of the Buddhist teachings focused on what he called “my three authoritative scriptures” (yo no sanbukyō): the Four Āgamas, the Discourses of Epictetus, and the Tannishō. Looking at this passage where he records his progress, he speaks of experiencing a spiritual conversion, saying “I gained” or “I have been able to.” He clearly indicates he has at last advanced to a decisive point that he refers to as a “climax.” In the meantime, in 1896, the year Kiyozawa and his colleagues initiated their reform movement, Inoue began a new fund-raising drive in order to realize his long-standing hopes of establishing Tōyō University. Count Katsu Kaishū, who was well known as a brilliant calligrapher, cooperated—in spite of his advanced age—by taking up his brush to produce pieces of calligraphy that were given to donors in thanks for their cooperation. Katsu called his help “serving with the brush in the shadows.” As already mentioned, Inoue approved of the reform movement that Kiyozawa and his colleagues had initiated, and he willingly volunteered his support in spite of the fact that he had chosen to work outside the denomination in lay society. As a show of support, he made an appeal to the graduates of the Tetsugakukan, encouraging them to support it. This appeal that appeared in the third issue of Kyōkai jigen was dated “in the middle of the night December 12, 1896.” In the middle of the night of the next day, December 13, however, the classroom building and dormitory of the Tetsugakukan were caught up in a fire that had broken out in the neighborhood and were burned down completely. This unforeseen tragedy forced Inoue to withdraw from actually participating in the reform movement, itself. (Inoue’s younger brother Inoue Enjō [1862–1915] and graduates from the Tetsugakukan took part in the movement in his stead.) Also, as a result of this fire Inoue lost most of his research materials and original manuscripts for Bukkyō tetsugaku keitō ron (Genealogical Examination of Buddhist Philosophy), for which he had been awarded his doctoral degree. This fifteen-volume work classified the different schools of Japanese Buddhism based on philosophical categories and presented a systematic outline of their historical development. All but

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its first volume, Gedō tetsugaku (Non-Buddhist Philosophies, 1897)—which was already with the printers—was lost entirely. This “trial by fire” was Inoue’s second major setback. He chose to rebuild the school buildings on land that he had already purchased in the Hakusan district of Tokyo (where Tōyō University is still located today). A few years later he again went on a national lecture tour (from this time on he switched to making the rounds of one prefecture at a time), giving talks for the sake of educating the populace at large, as well as raising money for the Tetsugakukan. Katsu Kaishū had passed away by this time, so Inoue took up the brush to write pieces of calligraphy to give to donors. Inoue’s activities became the subject of broad criticism. One newspaper ridiculed his constant fund-raising, saying, “Inoue Enryō’s shoes squeak ‘kifukifu’ (donation, donation).” It is said that people called him the miser and the vulgar scholar behind his back and some even remonstrated him directly for his donation collecting, but he would always just laugh and never take such warnings seriously. What gave him the courage to continue on is seen in the following statement by Inoue: In olden days Shinran was exiled to Hokuetsu due to his close ties with Hōnen [1133–1212], his teacher. At that time Shinran is said to have remarked, “If I had not been sentenced to exile, how could I have taught the masses in those remote areas? All of this is a gift from my teacher and his teachings.” As for me, in recent years due to the fire, everything—the school building and so on—has come to naught. After that, I began a tour of the country in hopes of collecting donations for reconstruction. Therefore, let me paraphrase Shinran and say of my own situation, “If it were not for the fire, how could I have encountered the masses in those remote areas? All of this is a gift from the academy.” This is my cry of complete satisfaction with the way things have turned out. (1903; IES 24: 230)

It was Shinran who gave Inoue the moral support he needed at this difficult time in his life. While Inoue was struggling to raise funds for his educational institution, in the wake of Kiyozawa’s reform movement, a proposal to relocate Shinshū University to Tokyo was passed by the Ōtani-ha’s denominational parliament in October of 1899, and in January of the next year Kiyozawa was charged with overseeing the construction project. Just over a year after Kiyozawa ended the reform movement in failure and in spite of his poor physical condition, he was put in charge of relocating the university. He took on this role because the creation of an academy for the study of Buddhism in Tokyo had been one of his long-cherished

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­ rojects. During the university construction Kiyozawa lived together p with the college students who fought alongside him in the campaign to reform the denomination. They called their living quarters the “Kōkōdō” and called the philosophical outlook gained through years of spiritual cultivation “Seishinshugi.” They also published a journal entitled Seishinkai. Through these activities, they developed a philosophical movement that inspired youths who agonized over the turmoil of the age. Seishinshugi amounts to Kiyozawa’s confession of his own religious faith, but what exactly did that consist of? Kiyozawa clarifies this in the first issue of Seishinkai as follows: As long as we live in this world of ours, it is absolutely necessary to have a perfect foundation on which to stand. . . . Well, then, how do we attain that perfect foundation for living our lives in this world? Indeed, it is possible only through the absolute infinite and nothing else. . . . We hold nothing other than that unless one encounters the infinite in this way, it impossible for such a foundation for living to exist. We call the process of spiritual development by which one acquires such a foundation Seishinshugi. Seishinshugi is a pragmatic way of thinking for living our lives in this world, its first principle being to believe that one can seek and find complete satisfaction within the realm of the spirit. Further, when that principle is set into action, it means that one does not agonize over conforming to external situations and other people. It means that through harmonious interaction, happiness and enjoyment of life will increase. It means that because one realizes both perfect freedom and absolute obedience at the same time, any suffering that might arise due to friction between the two will be entirely swept away. (KMZI 6: 3–5)

The “realization of both perfect freedom and absolute obedience at the same time” is the key feature of Kiyozawa’s Seishinshugi. This phrase also seems to express the state of “working out naturally of itself” ( jinen hōni) that Shinran described. In my opinion, from this time on until his death, Kiyozawa lived a life that “worked out naturally of itself,” functioning in accord with the Dharma just as it was. In October 1901 Shinshū University was founded in the Sugamo district in Tokyo, with Kiyozawa appointed as president. Shinshū University (present-day Ōtani University) aimed to be something more than Inoue’s Tetsugakukan. The Tetsugakukan sought to train religionists and educators by offering liberal arts courses such as philosophy, on top of which students were able to receive instruction in specialized subjects including Buddhism. The purpose of Shinshū University was different from

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this, as can be seen in Kiyozawa’s statement at the opening ceremony after the relocation: Our university differs from other schools in that it is a religious school. More specifically, it is an academy for the study of True Pure Land Buddhism (Jōdo Shinshū), within the Buddhist tradition. In other words, taking the fundamental teaching of the Other Power of the Original Vow, which we serve and trust, as our basis, we seek what is for us the matter of greatest importance: to establish one’s own religious conviction and then relay that faith to others. That is, the special character of our university is to cultivate individuals who will strive to achieve the true spirit of “having faith and teaching others to have faith.” (1901b; KMZI 7: 364; translation from Kokusai Bukkyō Kenkyū 2006, 85)

Although Shinshū University started out holding to high religious ideals in this way, one year after its opening, students staged protests demanding such practical things as the right to be awarded secondary school teacher’s licenses without sitting for examinations (graduates of institutes certified by the Ministry of Education were given this benefit). In October 1902 Kiyozawa took responsibility for the problems caused by this conflict and resigned, soon returning to his temple in Ōhama. The high ideals for the university that Kiyozawa had set forth despite his debilitated physical condition, were not understood or accepted by the student body. Instead they sought conditions comparable to what other universities generally offered (Hirose 1957, 243–246). Around the time that Kiyozawa resigned his post at the university, while the exact conditions differ, disturbances had also begun at Inoue’s Tetsugakukan over the issue of special certification for graduates to receive secondary school teacher’s licenses. Less well known is the fact that Inoue was the pioneer educator who first requested that the Ministry of Education create a pathway for graduates of private higher education institutions to receive licenses to teach at secondary schools. In 1899, after Inoue had submitted several petitions toward that end and in light of the gradual improvement of educational standards at private educational institutes, the Ministry of Education accredited three schools such that their graduates became eligible to receive secondary school teacher’s licenses. The Testsugakukan was among these first three. When the first group of eligible students were taking their graduation examinations, however, an inspector from the Ministry of Education took issue with the examination in the Tetsugakukan’s ethics course taught by Nakajima Tokuzō (1864–1940). Once Inoue

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had gotten the sense that this problem could be resolved without further incident, he decided to set out on another tour to inspect the situation of educational institutions in Europe and the United States, which had been planned well before the problem arose. Inoue left on this trip in November 1902, just one month after Kiyozawa resigned from his position at Shinshū University. In spite of Inoue’s hopes for a simple resolution, in fact, in the course of the Ministry of Education’s probe, the problem developed beyond the issue of the ethics exam to the point where it came to revolve around questions of how to understand the national polity (kokutai). In the end, the Tetsugakukan was stripped of its accreditation because the content of its courses were deemed to be inappropriate on this point. Nakajima Tokuzō was serving as head of the academy during Inoue’s absence and attempted to bring the government’s actions to the attention of the public, making a case in favor of the Tetsugakukan by publishing in newspapers and magazines. As the issue was tried in the court of public opinion, it developed into a major problem that garnered attention from much of society and came to be referred to as the “Tetsugakukan Incident” (Tōyō Daigaku Sōritsu Hyakunenshi Hensan Iinkai 1988b, 488–559; Miura 2000, 53–92). Inoue only learned of the incident while in London in January 1903. In the May 1903 issue of Seishinkai, Kiyozawa published his essay “Shūkyō teki dōtoku (zokutai) to futsū dōtoku to no kōshō” (Negotiating Religious Morality [Worldly Truth] and Common Morality, 1903d) where he criticized the Ministry of Education severely for its role in the Tetsu­ gakukan Incident. But his condition continued to worsen and on May 30 he penned his final essay, “Ware wa kaku no gotoku nyorai o shinzu” (I Believe in the Tathāgata in This Way, 1903h; better known as “Waga shinnen,” 1903g; see CS, 93–98 for an English translation). He passed away soon after, in early June. He was just under forty years old. Inoue curtailed his tour of Europe and America and returned to Japan in July. It is unclear how he responded to Kiyozawa’s passing. In October of the same year, Tetsugakukan University was accredited based on the ordinance governing vocational schools, but the influence of the Tetsu­ gakukan Incident continued to linger on campus and in society at large. In particular, the stigma of having been treated as a school that teaches subversive ideas by the Ministry of Education, an organ of the government, was not easily removed. On November 15, Inoue included a preview of his last will—explaining how he wanted his affairs to be handled

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after his passing—at the beginning of a book published at this time. What was his motive in publishing his intentions in this way? Inoue was clearly thinking of the future of the Tetsugakukan after he was no longer able to lead the institution. Two years later Inoue suffered a nervous breakdown and ultimately retired from his position as president of Tetsugakukan University. As indicated in the will he published in 1903, the Inoue family did not inherit the university. Instead the university was reorganized into an educational foundation and its name was changed to Tōyō University. After that, having given up his affiliation to the university, Inoue established the Self-Cultivating Education Association Movement and National Morals Promotion Association and set out on yet another nationwide lecture tour for the sake of social education under its auspices. He allocated the funds raised on that tour—and from the calligraphy he distributed in thanks for donations received—to the construction of the Tetsugakudō (Hall of Philosophy) in Tokyo’s Nakano Ward as a public park devoted to spiritual cultivation. In a book called Tetsugaku shin’an (New Proposal for Philosophy) published in 1909 after he retired from the university, Inoue relates the religious experience he had that led him to set out on this new way of life in the following words: When it comes to human knowledge, emotion, and intention, or from the perspective of our capacity for reason, since human capacities are taken to be fundamental, then as one progresses in the pursuit of one’s goals, one will come to see one’s finitude and weakness, recognize one’s lack of freedom and how the world does not conform to one’s will, come to feel anxiety and fall into either anguish or despair. And yet, from the perspective of our capacity for faith, since the absolute is taken to be fundamental, one is integrated into oneness itself, comes to see its wondrous working, gains a sense of its subtlety, and, without even trying to do so, that sense of anxiety is transformed into peace and contentment, one’s laments of discontent become expressions of satisfaction, one finds oneself ecstatically dancing for joy in the heavens and on the earth. This is not a fantasy. It is a fact. It is the result of actual experience. This is not an experience someone else can have, it is an experience that occurs within one’s own heart. . . . One cannot know the true flavor of paradise unless one has attained a sense of faith. The true religious paradise actually lies right here. In spite of this, the fact that religions teach us to despise the world is simply them speaking of our state of delusion before awakening. Once one has had an awakening, there is no room at all for despising the world, because one necessarily becomes able to stroll serenely in a world full of joy. I call out to all those in the world

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Is the faith that Inoue mentions here not Shinran’s “working out naturally of itself” ( jinen hōni)? It is my view that after experiencing this religious conversion Inoue lived his latter years in this state of jinen hōni. In his lecture tours, Inoue spent over 250 days a year on the road, and he did that for over ten years. Over the course of these lecture tours—which took up over half of Inoue’s career—Inoue spoke in more than 60 percent of all the Japanese municipalities that existed in 2013. In that sense, these were also a very intense, demanding religious practice for him. On June 5, 1919, Inoue was heading toward Dalian, China, his next lecture venue. He was greeted by Tetsugakukan graduate Nitta Shinryō, rinban at Dalian Higashi Honganji Betsuin who recorded the following conversation he had with Inoue at the time. “I mentioned how back when I was a student, he would always tell us we had to strive hard and pioneer our own destinies and he responded that after he turned fifty, he decided to let destiny take its course, so I asked, ‘Have you come to live by the principle of absolute other-power,’ and he replied speaking of Shinran’s greatness and saying that he always marked the founder’s memorial day, paying respect to his virtues” (Nitta 1996, 32). Inoue collapsed from an acute brain hemorrhage during that night’s lecture and passed away. It was sixteen years since Kiyozawa’s passing. Inoue was sixty-one years old at the time.

Inoue and Kiyozawa as Modern Buddhists We have followed the elite tracks of two individuals, Inoue Enryō and Kiyozawa Manshi. Oddly enough, the anniversary of the death of both these gentlemen falls on the same day: the sixth of June. According to Tada Kanae (1875–1937), late in life Kiyozawa once praised Inoue, saying “The Inoue Enryō I knew lived in a simple house in a corner of the Tetsugakukan campus. He wore clothes that were not fancy at all. But all the same he was always in good spirits and working hard” (KMZH 8: 240). Inoue also praised Kiyozawa for initiating the denominational reform movement. There seems to be something between the two more than just their friendship from their student days, perhaps a relationship of mutual trust based on their shared aspiration to modernize Buddhism. While Inoue and Kiyozawa shared the same hopes for the modernization of Buddhism, they were active toward this end in their own ways,

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Inoue as an individual within secular society and Kiyozawa as a priest working within the denomination. Furthermore, Inoue emphasized a social perspective and tried to understand Buddhism in a comprehensive manner. In contrast to this stance, Kiyozawa sought after the Shinshū mind of faith within himself, and pursued it deeply with a careful focus on Shinran’s teachings specifically. Inoue was a forerunner of Kiyozawa, and while Kiyozawa pursued a singularly consistent path, the path Inoue pursued was a multifaceted one with broad social dimensions. In that sense, Inoue and Kiyozawa differ significantly in terms of their environment, vision, and goals. In the way that the history of modern Buddhism in Japan is often portrayed, the modernization process is presented in fine, sequential divisions from “Restoration Buddhism” to “Enlightenment Buddhism” and then on to “Modern Buddhism.” In this schema, Inoue is said to belong to “Enlightenment Buddhism” while Kiyozawa is seen as a representative of the later “Modern Buddhism” (see Yoshida 1959). However, there are several points that Inoue and Kiyozawa have in common as modern Buddhists. First of all, they both were among the first to receive a modern higher education in Japan, and juxtaposed the Western knowledge they had learned against the Buddhism and Shinshū of their upbringing. In addition to recognizing the essential role that knowledge would play in modern society, in the face of the feudal nature of the Buddhist communities they were a part of, they sought to modernize those institutions by introducing modern forms of knowledge through education, while still holding the traditional teachings of Buddhism and Shinshū to be important. Inoue went on to found the Tetsugakukan, while Kiyozawa was responsible for establishing Shinshū University.10 Second, Inoue and Kiyozawa both aspired to modernize Buddhism. Despite having received a modern higher education at the only university in Japan at the time, they abandoned the path open to them as elites and instead chose to work toward reform in the fields of Buddhism and education. They both had very clear visions regarding the world and society, as well as a strong awareness of the roles they ought to play there.11 The character they assumed in this historical drama was closely modeled after Shinran, with Inoue seeing himself as a seeker “neither monk nor layman” (Shinran’s description of himself), and Kiyozawa similarly saying he was “outwardly lay and inwardly monk.” Both of them served and trusted in the absolute infinite and, through the respective

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­ ardships in their lives, they both became modern Buddhists possessed h of the Shinshū mind of faith. Third, regarding faith, they both maintained the stance that free inquiry—and not simple reliance on received tradition—is critical. Kiyozawa’s emphasis of this position is well known from his stance in “Jiyū tōkyū no igi” (The Significance of Free Inquiry, 1897) that appeared in volume 12 of Kyōkai jigen, but Inoue also advocated the same principle, saying, My Shinshū faith is not like the narrowly constrained faith of other believers. On the one hand, from a philosophical perspective, the principles of Buddhist doctrine—and of course the central tenets of the Shinshū teachings, as well—allow for free inquiry, holding that one should seek for development and improvement. On the other hand, while I myself am a Shinshū believer, I do not reject those others who have faith in other schools, for it is sufficient if each person accepts the teachings that correspond to their ills and their capacities, and thereby attains contentment. Therefore, among Shinshū followers, I am the one who most advocates release from the bonds of dogmas and taking a liberal stance where people are free to choose their faith based on their own will and free inquiry. (1912a, 882)

Fourth, both of them were altruistic Buddhists who had a strong sense of personal religious conviction. As we have seen it was because of their strong sense of personal religious conviction that they were able to overcome the many hardships in their lives without relying on other authorities or powers to resolve those problems. In addition, they gave priority to the benefit of others (the public good). This was especially the case with Inoue, who in his position as a layperson, developed the Tetsugakukan into a university and did not leave it to his descendants, but instead made it into a public foundation. The Tetsugakudō, which he established in his later years, was also not left to his descendants. He twice refused to be decorated with medals of honor from the government and spent his entire life as a “street” educator, devoting himself to teaching those who would otherwise not have had an opportunity for education. Neither Inoue nor Kiyozawa sought honor and social status for themselves. Further it is well known that their shared characteristics and commitments were inherited by their successors, who in turn led the two major modern Buddhist movements in Japan: Inoue’s legacy being linked with the New Buddhism movement and Kiyozawa’s with the Seishin­ shugi one. 86

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In studies up to now there is a tendency to emphasize the difference between Inoue and Kiyozawa, but as shown in this analysis, it is necessary to reconsider these two as modern Buddhists, is it not? (Translated by Wayne S. Yokoyama and Michael Conway)

Notes

This chapter was originally written at the request of the Center for Shin Buddhist Studies (Shinran Bukkyō Sentā) and was initially scheduled to be published in its journal, Gendai to Shinran (Today and Shinran). But before that, with the permission of the center, it was included in my book Inoue Enryō: Nihon kindai no senkusha no shōgai to shisō (Inoue Enryō: The Life and Thought of a Pioneer in Modern Japan), 2016a. It was subsequently published in Japanese as “Inoue Enryō to Kiyozawa Manshi: Nihon kindai ni okeru bukkyōsha” (Inoue Enryō and Kiyozawa Manshi: Two Buddhists in Modern Japan) in Gendai to Shinran (2016b). I would like to dedicate this piece to Kurube Shin’yū, former chief administrator of the Shinshū Ōtani-ha.

1

Inoue Enryō has a travel diary from this time called Manyūki daiippen (A Record of My Meanderings, vol. 1), but it does not provide a list of the names of his friends during his short time in Kyoto. See Inoue 1991, 97.

2

Kakuonji is a temple that was located very near Kiyozawa’s childhood home. His mother is said to have regularly visited the temple to listen to sermons there. Kiyozawa was close friends with Ogawa Kūe and Ogawa Kūjun, who were sons of the temple’s resident minister. See Wakimoto 1982, 36–38.

3

According to this account, Inoue was a classmate of the Nensokuji head priest’s son Kondō Shūtai (dates unknown) at the teacher training academy in Kyoto. Since Inoue was going to be studying in Tokyo, Shūtai asked his father Shūrin to write a letter of introduction to Baron Katō. The Kondōs of Nensokuji had had a close relationship with the Baron ever since they conducted the funeral for one of his children. Katō was one of the three benefactors who supported Inoue when he set out to establish the Tetsugakukan (Academy of Philosophy). The other two were Terada Fukuju (1853–1894) of Shinshū Ōtani-ha’s Shinjōji in Tokyo and Count Katsu Kaishū (1823–1899).

4

This is a statement by Inaba Masamaru (1867–1944), another one of the three students sent to Tokyo at this time, which is relayed in the Hōzōkan edition of Kiyozawa’s collected works, along with other materials from that time. In this chapter I have quoted Kiyozawa’s own works from the Iwanami edition of his collected works and used the Hōzōkan edition to quote statements made about Kiyozawa by his disciples that are relayed there. These editions are cited as KMZI and KMZH, respectively. 87

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See my study “Tetsugakukan sōritsu no genten: Meiji jūnana-nen aki, Inoue Enryō no Higashi Honganji e no jōshinsho (shitagaki)” (2010). By contrast Imagawa Kakushin and Inaba Masamaru refer to it only in the most superficial vein; see KMZH 1: 588.

6

Tokyo University was restructured and renamed the Imperial University in 1886.

7

This position of Inoue’s on the spirit of establishing the Tetsugakukan is reflected in Tōyō University’s motto “The basis of all learning is in philosophy.”

8

For the documents see the item “Shiritsu gakkō setchi negai” (Application for the Establishment of Private School), in Tōyō Daigaku Sōritsu Hyakunenshi Hensan Iinkai 1988a, 84–86. Up to now researchers have held that Kiyozawa taught three courses: Psychology, Logic, and Pure Philosophy, but this source indicates that the correct number is two: Psychology and Pure Philosophy. The source of this confusion is no doubt Akegarasu Haya’s statement that Kiyozawa taught three courses (KMZH 1: 632). Research on Kiyozawa has tended to rely heavily on the testimonies of his disciples, but it seems necessary to verify the reliability of such statements whenever possible.

9

The notice reads, “Inoue Enryō (Bachelor’s Degree), appointee of the main bureau, has reported that he has recently completed his study of various Western disciplines and is now seeking to establish an academy specializing in the study of philosophy with the cooperation of various expert degree holders. . . . Its temporary campus will be located at Tokyo Hongō Tatsuokachō 31 and will open on September 16” (Honzan hōkoku, no. 26 [August 15, 1887]).

10 In most writings on modern Japanese Buddhist history to date, the relationship between Buddhism and modern higher education has not been discussed, although many people who sought after Buddhist reform from 1887 on were influenced by the higher education they had received. The relationship between modern and contemporary forms of knowledge and civilization and traditional Buddhist doctrines and beliefs is an important issue that future researchers on the history of modern Buddhism in Japan need to address. 11 In the case of Inoue, it has been pointed out that there are points regarding him that cannot be understood adequately unless we take into account his actions and behavior, not just his written works alone (Iijima 1986, 69).

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Chapter 4

Religion and Ethics in Kiyozawa Manshi’s Thought Sueki Fumihiko In the early modern period, Jōdo Shinshū, then referred to as Ikkōshū, was largely considered to be a peripheral element within Buddhism. It was not only viewed suspiciously because of its opposition to governmental authority using immense military force in the ikkō ikki, but was also seen to lie outside the pale of orthodox Buddhism because it permitted clerical marriage. However, a great shift occurs in the way Buddhism is regarded in modern times. From among the various religious orders, Jōdo Shinshū came into the forefront and took the lead in the modernization of the Buddhist world. This appears to have occurred in two stages: First, in the early Meiji period (1868–1912), a modern view of religion was created based on the work of Shimaji Mokurai. Second, in the Meiji thirties, around the turn of the century, Pure Land faith was transformed into a sort of religious philosophy that could stand up to criticism in the world of modern thought by Kiyozawa Manshi and the like. On the other hand his efforts to purify Jōdo Shinshū as a religion raises the question of how it relates to ethics and this is a problem that has been carried over to the present day. In the present essay we will briefly summarize the situation in the early Meiji era, and then focus on Kiyozawa Manshi, especially the issue of religion and ethics in particular. In recent years, research on religion in the early Meiji era has taken great strides. Yamamoto Nobuhiro has done groundbreaking research on Kiyozawa Manshi in his study ‘Seishinshugi’ wa dare no shisō ka (Whose Thought Was “Seishinshugi”?, 2011). According to the book, what was published in the Seishinkai journal as Kiyozawa’s statements actually contains significant input from his disciples such as Akegarasu Haya. He 89

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urges those who regard it as Kiyozawa’s thought, as I will be doing below, to tread with extreme caution. Yamamoto presents ample proof of his argument and so it is an important point that future research on Kiyozawa cannot ignore. However, my present chapter is based on a talk I gave long before his book was published and so it does not fully take his point into consideration. In this chapter then I would like to broaden the parameters to address the problem of religion and ethics in Kiyozawa’s group as a whole rather than narrowly view how it pertains to Kiyozawa the individual.

The State and Religion in the Early Meiji Period In order to understand Kiyozawa’s place in Japanese intellectual history, first it is necessary to look at the trends taking place in the Buddhist world of the early Meiji era. In particular, it is important to note that freedom of religion was established through the efforts of Shimaji Mokurai. At the beginning of the Meiji era, the rise of so-called Restoration Shintōism became the center of the so-called reverence for the Emperor and expulsion of foreigners movement. In 1868 the Department of Divinities (Jingikan) was restored by the ruling government in the process of establishing governance based on church-state unity. In this way, the Meiji state was founded with Shintōism at its center, and soon after on the popular level the anti-Buddhist haibutsu kishaku movement arose. Such Shintōism-centered national policy to exclude Buddhism, however, quickly encountered a variety of difficulties. Though it was meant to celebrate a return to the ritsuryō legal code of ancient times, one of its problems was it could not adequately cope with the rapidly changing situation of the day. Another was that, however much the state attempted to exclude Buddhism from the political life of the nation, the fact remained that Buddhism wielded such enormous political power it could not well be ignored. In light of this situation, it became necessary to reincorporate Buddhism into the state’s activities, so ultimately policy shifted with the establishment of a Ministry of Religious Education (Kyōbushō) in 1872 that aimed to create a new state religion that integrated Shintōism and Buddhism, which could be used to indoctrinate citizens through institutions such as the Institute of Great Learning (Daikyōin). In the same year, a decree was issued permitting Buddhist priests to eat meat and marry, in such a way that the monastic community was 90

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secularized through governmental proclamation. In the Edo period, the right of Buddhist priests to marry had already been recognized for those in the Jōdo Shinshū. But now it was being extended to all Buddhist sects, such that the whole of Japanese Buddhism moved one step closer to Jōdo Shinshū. What had once been a special, world-transcending pursuit or super-secular existence within society had become irreversibly reduced to just another profession within the secular world. In the midst of such circumstances, the question was how Buddhism would respond to the new challenges it now faced. The Ministry of Religious Education was thus set up with a new policy of so-called Shintō-Buddhist integration. But as that policy was implemented, it became clear this was a way of incorporating Buddhism into the state’s Shintōist program. The main person who responded critically to this situation was Shimaji Mokurai of the Jōdo Shinshū. Shimaji—who was investigating the situation of religion in Europe at the time and was well abreast of the progressive religious policy in place there—argued that it was not appropriate for religion to be mixed up with national policies. He insisted that, like in Europe, it was necessary to clearly separate church and state, and allow freedom of religion. So thinking, he organized the various branches of Jōdo Shinshū into an association that strove to separate themselves from the Ministry of Religious Education. As a result, Jōdo Shinshū institutions were actually able to leave the Daikyōin and engage in proselytization separate from its program of indoctrination. Because the Daikyōin was virtually meaningless without the Jōdo Shinshū, the Daikyōin itself was ultimately dissolved in 1875. This event is said to mark the establishment of freedom of religion in Japan, which is a remarkable achievement considering the problems of the era. On the other hand, however, this freedom of religion was in fact a limited one, which ended up limiting the way in which the issue of religion was treated from that point forward. To explain more exactly what I mean, let me discuss two points in detail. The first is that this freedom of religion is only possible when religion is understood to be wholly a matter of individual choice—a matter limited to the mind of each individual subject. That is, the fundamental principle behind this sort of freedom of religion is the stance that what religion the individual choses to believe is totally a matter of individual freedom, and the state cannot interfere with that freedom at all. In fact, Kiyozawa Manshi’s presentation of Seishinshugi develops in a direction that deepens this stance that takes religion to be primarily a matter  of choice within each individual subject’s mind. In that sense, the 91

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e­ stablishment of religious freedom achieved by Shimaji itself may be considered to be directly related to Kiyozawa’s approach to religion. But this very point may cause yet another major problem to be overlooked if not entirely forgotten. As I mention in my book Jōdo shisōron (2013b), Buddhism originally served as a kind of national religion for much of Japanese history, especially during the Edo period. At the same time, it was not merely a top-down, politically enforced religion. It could also be said to have deep roots in the people and the community as well. This means Buddhism was not merely limited to the level of individual faith. It was also understood to relate to family and community. This broader significance actually continued to serve as the true foundation of Buddhism even after the Meiji period. As a result, so-called funeral Buddhism, which conducts funeral ceremonies, manages family plots, and does memorial services, has remained the most basic form of Japanese Buddhism since the Meiji era up to the present day. However, when religion is viewed the way Shimaji sees it—as something limited to the subjective choice of each individual’s mind—this base of the pyramid supporting Buddhism gets cut off or obscured. And contradictions arise when one seeks to establish a modern religion using only the upper level of the pyramid shorn of its base. The second point has to do with the relationship between church and state that is posited in Shimaji’s position. It is a matter of huge significance that Shimaji was able to establish a territory for religion outside the sphere of politics. But the other side to that achievement was that it involved a sort of political compromise. The greatest problem in making that compromise was how to handle Shintō. These days the name of Shimaji Mokurai often gets cited as one of the architects of the ideology of State Shintō. This may appear strange at first, but in fact Shimaji was the one who clarified the standpoint that Shintō is not a religion. Since he looked at the problem against the backdrop of the European religious evolution theory of the day, he held that the religion called Shintō, with its worship of myriad kami, was a very primitive religious form. But rather than arguing that Shintō is completely worthless, Shimaji saves it by treating it in another category altogether. He declared that Shintō is not a religion, but instead a way of worshipping the ancestors of the imperial family who serve as the axis of the state and as such it is an expression of respect for those ancestors. Thus, holding that such respect was not a religious matter, but a political one, Shimaji divorced Shintō from the category of religion altogether. He resolved the problem posed by Shintō by admitting to its im92

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portance in a dimension entirely different from that of religion, which he and his fellow Buddhists would be responsible for. Therefore, on the one hand, Shimaji’s establishment of Buddhism as a personal religion caused the Buddhism that had actually already taken root in Japan—the funeral Buddhism and a danka system that existed at the popular level— to be ignored, while on the other, Shintō and the problems surrounding it were divorced entirely from the issue of religion and assigned to the sphere of politics. This made it impossible for Buddhism to comment on matters related to Shintō and forced them to silently accept any state policies regarding it. These moves by Shimaji could be called a dual obfuscation, in that by divorcing these matters from the realm of religion proper, he has made them invisible. But, in reality, popular religion and individual religion exist in a mutually complementary relationship. Indeed, without the popular foundation provided by funeral Buddhism, individual religion as a matter of faith cannot come about. And also, on the other hand, separating Shintō from Buddhism by saying the former is not a religion, made it possible for the relationship between Buddhism and Shintō to be recreated in a new form. What happened there, as well, was not simply the obscuring of the structure of that relationship, but also the establishment of a novel system where Buddhism and Shintō complemented each other. Of course, those on the Shintō side were willing to say, superficially, as a sort of pretense, that “Shintō is not a religion,” but, since in fact there is no such thing as a non-religious Shintō, Shi­ maji’s move led to the incorporation of a self-deceptive dual structure within Shintō itself. As opposed to the earlier syncretism of kami and buddhas (shinbutsu shūgō), I call this structure the complementary interrelation of kami and buddhas (shinbutsu hokan), because in this system precipitated by Shimaji’s division, while kami and buddhas are distinguished from one another, practically speaking they complement one another. This complementary relationship between religious Buddhism and political Shintōism is the salient feature of the structure of religion in modern Japan. In those days the most heretical form of religion was Christianity. And so, in a sense, the shinbutsu hokan structure was constructed tightly so as to eliminate any place for Christianity to enter. Next to Christianity, the various kinds of new religions that appeared in turn came to be treated as heretical. It was in this situation that the structure where Buddhism and Shintō solidly complement each other as the only orthodox religions was created. 93

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In this context the role Kiyozawa played was to thoroughly pursue the form of Buddhism as an individual religion, which had been set center stage by Shimaji, thereby taking the lead in contributing to the advancement of the modernization of Buddhism.

Kiyozawa Manshi and His Age Let us now move on to Kiyozawa Manshi. First I would like to take a quick look at the historical background of his times. The Meiji Constitution, or Dainippon teikoku kenpō, which was issued in 1889, legally guaranteed the freedom of religion. In that sense, the issuing of the constitution held great significance for the history of religion in Japan. At the same time, the promulgation of this constitution signals the establishment of an emperor-centered system of government, after much trial and error, including the Freedom and People’s Rights Movement at the popular level. The modern system of governance in Japan was established in this way. It can be said that the various ideologies that appeared after that time, as well as the intellectual trends including religion, were, in a sense, all moving within the framework of the Meiji Constitution. But what we must take note of here is that the constitution merely sets out the general principles for politics. It does not go beyond the statement of the abstract principle, so its promulgation in itself does not mean it will immediately take root among the populace. It was the Imperial Rescript on Education (Kyōiku chokugo, 1890), which was issued the year after the release of the Meiji Constitution, that took on great significance when it came to getting the principles outlined in the constitution to actually take root among the people. In other words, with the Imperial Rescript on Education, the emperor system was established as the national morality and through education it was integrated into every corner of Japanese citizens’ lives. In response to this trend, in 1891, one year after the issuance of the Imperial Rescript on Education, Uchimura Kanzō (1861–1930) was accused of lèse-majesté. In the same year, Kume Kunitake (1839–1931) drew criticism for writing “Shintō wa saiten no kozoku” (Shintō is an Outmoded Relic of Nature Worship), such that he was forced out of his position at the Imperial University in Tokyo. Through these instances of ideological oppression, freedom of speech under the emperor system was severely limited in a single stroke. In particular, in the year following the Uchimura Lèse-majesté Incident, philosopher Inoue Tetsujirō (1855–1944) initiated the controversy 94

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referred to as “the clash between education and religion.” The controversy drew comments from various religious leaders, researchers, journalists, and so on, and generated great excitement between 1892 and 1893. But how this controversy would turn out was basically decided from the outset. The Inoue camp who championed the Imperial Rescript on Education raised it up as a sort of imperial banner to execute a highhanded attack on the Christian camp whose speech was already restricted, such that all the Christian camp could do was try to defend itself, so they were soon driven to the ground. In this controversy, the Buddhist world basically supported the assertions made by the Inoue camp. That is because the exclusion of Christianity was a point that would have worked to favor the interests of the Buddhist world. But while the main purpose of this controversy was to criticize Christianity, it was not merely the criticism of Christianity. As its theme—“the clash between education and religion”—indicates, and the content of that criticism was questioning in real terms how religion as a whole ought to be, that is, what position should religion hold in the modern emperor-centered system of government. In that sense, the religion that was at issue in this controversy of course was not limited to Christianity, but included the religion known as Buddhism. Inoue emphasizes four main points that make Christianity unsuited to the Japanese system of government. First, Christians “do not put the state first” (1893, 35). Second, they “do not value loyalty” (114). Third, they “place importance on the unworldly and look down on secular society” (115). Fourth, “Their fraternal love, like Mozi’s universal love, is an indiscriminate form of love” (118). Here Inoue applies all four points to Christianity. The Buddhists are somewhat exempt from them since they tend to listen to what the state has to say. But, considered carefully, all four points could just as well apply equally to Buddhism too. Accordingly, Inoue’s position that Buddhism is acceptable because it does what it is told to do by the state is extremely disparaging. Inoue went on to develop a theory of national morality. In it he emphasized moral sentiment, arguing that religion will eventually be superseded and replaced by morality. In short, he regarded religion as a premodern phenomenon, taking a very negative stance toward religion that might be called a fundamental criticism of it. If that is the case, the question becomes whether the Buddhist camp should accept Inoue’s position, just because it is also critical of Christianity. Of course, from the Buddhist standpoint, it became necessary to 95

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address the issue of how they could advance their own position in light of that secular, national morality. But it is actually quite late when Buddhism comes around to confronting this problem. That is, unlike Christianity, where figures like Uchimura Kanzō and others directly addressed these issues head-on, on the Buddhist side they only became a major subject of discussion during the decade between the Sino-Japanese War (1894–1895) and the RussoJapanese War (1904–1905). Among the figures who appeared at this time, I think the most typical, if we can call it that, was Kiyozawa Manshi who stood out front and center. Accordingly, it is here that you will find there is a degree of difference between my theory of Kiyozawa and today’s general understanding of him. For instance, to my mind, rather than ask how Kiyozawa corresponds directly to the problem of the Imperial Rescript on Education, we should instead take “the clash between education and religion” controversy as our starting point. The question should be how did Buddhists respond to the challenges that arose there. In Kiyozawa’s case, this response occurred during the period when he was advocating Seishin­ shugi. And my view is that it may be necessary to review his thoughts during that period once again from the perspective of this larger question. Kiyozawa had of course been active before such issues arose. In 1892 he published Shūkyō tetsugaku gaikotsu (Tokunaga 1892) and in 1896 he published the Kyōkai jigen journal as part of the movement to reform the Shinshū Ōtani-ha denomination that he had embarked on. While each of these activities deserves to be evaluated individually, in the present essay we will focus our attention on the latter period when he was advocating Seishinshugi. This was a period when not just Kiyozawa, but virtually the whole Buddhist world began developing new movements. The Meiji Constitution had already been established, so political movements were reaching the limits of the possibilities set forth there. During this period, people who had been observing worldly affairs in society at large began to direct their gaze inwardly, to the individual—the believing subject discussed above. At this point, religion began to receive much more attention. In addition, Christianity, once the leading edge in progressive activities, was flummoxed by the Uchimura Lèse-majesté Incident and lost its momentum. Therefore Buddhism began to attract attention for undertaking new religious activities. It was not just a matter of the difficulties facing 96

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Christianity at the time. The period as a whole was trying to move away from the European ideas of religion and ideology based on the Enlightenment tradition and was beginning to reevaluate traditional Japanese thought and culture. This has been called Nihonshugi (Japanism) or kokusuishugi (a movement to preserve the Japanese national essence). The fact that the times were advancing in that direction appears to be in the backdrop of Kiyozawa’s thought. At this point, people who had been reading only the new literature from Europe began to gradually turn their attention to re-reading the old Japanese classics or Buddhist texts again. In terms of politics and society, the modernization of Japan had been achieved to a certain degree by this time. Emerging victorious from the Sino-Japanese and Russo-Japanese Wars, and at the same time also successfully revising the unequal conventions by the Anglo-Japanese Treaty of Commerce and Navigation in 1894, Japan was able to achieve an international position almost equal to that of the Western countries. Thus, the goals of modernization can be said to have been achieved to some extent at the national and societal levels. The new problem then was how to develop modern individuals who could support that modern state and society. That is, at this stage in the process of Japan’s modernization, the question of how the modern individual should be started to be addressed. This issue had also come to the forefront at this time. In this period, in the Shinshū denomination Kiyozawa Manshi was engaged in the most innovative activities. In Zen, Suzuki Daisetsu (1870– 1966) was just beginning to start his activities. And in the Nichiren sect, Tanaka Chigaku (1861–1939) wrote Shūmon no ishin (The Reformation of Our Sect, 1901), signaling the start of a new reform movement initiated from the standpoint of a new Buddhist laity. One person who was strongly inspired by Tanaka Chigaku was Takayama Chogyū (1871–1902), who become an axial figure in the spiritual movements of the time. In this way, people were searching inwardly, exploring their minds, so to speak, and this work of internalization progressed further around the end of the Russo-Japanese War thanks to Tsunashima Ryōsen (1873– 1907). Tsunashima started off from Christianity, but later he revealed a unique religious experience where man is able to become one with God in what he referred to as “the experiment to see God” (kenshin no jikken), which made waves among the people of the times. In response to Tsunashima’s “experiment to see God,” another major controversy erupted that borders in scale and scope on the one regarding “clash between education and religion.” The leading critic in this 97

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case was, again, Inoue Tetsujirō. Inoue and company severely criticized the trends initiated by thinkers such as Kiyozawa, Takayama, and Tsunashima as amounting to a sort of subjectivism that turns its eyes away from the problems of society. He also criticized them by saying because they were young and stricken with tuberculosis, the ideas they produced in the face of death were not healthy thought. However, we can just as easily turn the logic around to say the opposite: that their thought can truly be said to have worth for that very reason. That is to say, by antisocially immersing themselves wholly in the subjective, they seem to have been able to generate the power to resist the nationalistic moralism of Inoue and company. Briefly, that marks out the area at the center of my viewpoint in this chapter.

Kiyozawa Manshi’s Thought Philosophy and Religion When we attempt to evaluate Kiyozawa’s place in the overall situation of ideological change going on around him, should he be pegged as a social activist or as a proponent of subjective introspection? Both of these two aspects can be said to coexist within him. But it would be difficult to say summarily that he is either one or the other. We cannot simply say that Kiyozawa was crushed by his failure to reform the denomination. Nor can we say his advocacy of Seishinshugi was merely aimed at deepening his subjective insight or introspection solely for the sake of introspection. He continues to have strong interest in society and raises the banner of Seishinshugi as a kind of movement aimed at addressing problems in society at that time. And so how to reconcile these two aspects of his being is a major issue that remains relevant for us even today. Seishinshugi certainly is most subjectivistic. At the same time by opening a private academy called Kōkōdō, Kiyozawa is indicating that his activities are not merely personal pursuits. By engaging in collaborative efforts with his disciples, he could be said to be striving to achieve a new sort of sociality. If we see it in that light, then Seishinshugi is not quite as contradictory to the Honganji denomination reform movement as it first seems. It becomes a question, rather, of how to bring that most decidedly inward aspect outward, that is, how to express it outwardly to the world. This is an exceedingly difficult problem to resolve and while I am sure Kiyozawa made an effort to lay down guidelines, he was not necessarily able to mete out its logic fully. He left the problem unresolved and it has remained as such ever since. 98

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Further, with regard to the role Kiyozawa played, on the one hand, as mentioned earlier, the element of modernization is particularly prevalent. That is, Kiyozawa further ensconces the understanding of religion as relating specifically to the realm of the individual’s mind in the sense that he imbues that framework of modern society that had already been established decades earlier with new, more profound content. Seen from that perspective, Seishinshugi has a very rational and logical structure to it. Since Kiyozawa began his career studying philosophy, the use of philosophical logic is pronounced in his thought. However, it is not just that. Kiyozawa is not intent simply on rationalizing or modernizing religion. I detect in him, rather, a person who is striving to overcome rationalism, a person who is striving to overcome modernism. It is from this perspective that Kiyozawa continues to exert a fresh appeal to people today. This becomes clear when we compare him with Inoue Enryō (1858– 1919) who was a key Buddhist figure from the generation before. Inoue is entirely concerned with making Buddhism into a philosophy. He tried to reorganize Buddhism into a form that could be understood rationally. By contrast, in the case of Kiyozawa, he sought for religion at a point beyond all possibility of rationalization. Here, we have to address the problem of how rationalism and subjectivism relate. In Kiyozawa’s case, that relationship might be called one of irrationalism in the sense that it appears in a form where, in the course of pursuing a rational line of thought, that rationalism runs up against its limit and that limit gets transcended. Therefore, from one perspective, Kiyozawa’s thought was thoroughly rationalized. This rationalistic side takes the form, for instance, of what is referred to as demythologization. On that front, ideas such as a Pure Land of Supreme Bliss in the life hereafter were denied, as was a simplistic understanding of the actual existence of Amida and the Pure Land, which posits that Buddha living in the Land of Supreme Bliss. Based on such denials or negations, those notions such as the Pure Land and Amida are internalized. In that sense, the path that Kiyozawa pursued can be said to be very modern and rationalistic. It seems, however, that that path did not seek complete resolution solely through recourse to mundane, secular logic, but instead can be seen as an element of irrationality sought out where secular, mundane logic breaks down. It is necessary to consider Kiyozawa’s philosophy as well as his religion based on such a standpoint. But I will not dwell on this point here. Since my thoughts on this topic have not progressed much beyond what 99

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I wrote in Meiji shisōka ron (2004b), I will focus only on the pertinent points in this chapter. First of all one thing I would like to point out is that if we examine the terminology Kiyozawa uses, we can see that from his starting point in Shūkyō tetsugaku gaikotsu onward his thought is highly philosophical. From that time, until he begins advocating Seishinshugi, he speaks in terms of the infinite (mugen) or the absolute infinite (zettai mugen), entirely eliminating the specificity included in terms such as Amida Buddha or the Pure Land, instead casting his arguments in generalized terms. Accordingly, Kiyozawa’s intent here, I would contend, is primarily directed toward clarifying the universal structure of this order of religion. On this point, Kiyozawa’s thinking can be said to have a much stronger philosophical character than that of his disciples. In opposition to what he calls the infinite or absolute infinite he poses the question of how we, as finite beings, can relate to the infinite. In his thought, this opposition between infinite and finite becomes a critical issue. But in the early days of his career, he took an optimistic view of the problem of religion and ethics and seems to have thought they could be brought into comparative harmony in some way. All of this changes in the Seishinshugi of his later years. By this time, though, it appears that he intends to very painstakingly establish a sphere for religion that is sharply opposed to the moral and ethical realm. This delineation can be said to be Kiyozawa’s precise answer to the “clash between education and religion” controversy discussed above. Inoue Tetsujirō proposed the principle that morality is all powerful and held that religion would eventually be subsumed within morality. Opposing this view, Kiyozawa attempted to establish a unique realm for religion by holding that the issue of religion is one that cannot possibly be contained within morality. This is the major contribution that Kiyozawa made, and is, I would argue, profoundly significant in terms of intellectual history. This contribution starts from a stance that views religion as a matter entirely from the perspective of inner subjectivism. In that stance, Kiyozawa maintains a sustained interest in philosophical problems, but also deals with the problems addressed by religion as being fundamentally different from the problems addressed by philosophy, thereby clearly distinguishing the differences between the two. That is to say, from Kiyozawa’s perspective, the problem of philosophy lies in clarifying the structure of the world. By contrast, the issues addressed by religion set aside such external and objective problems and turn attention completely to subjective, interior problems. Kiyozawa 100

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clarifies that fundamental characteristic of religion as essentially interior. This means he grasped the issue of the centrality of the mind of the individual subject in religion proposed by Shimaji at an even more profound level. Rather than understanding Amida Buddha and the Land of Supreme Bliss as actually existing externally, Kiyozawa instead delved deep down into his own subjective interiority and reinterpreted these as existences encountered in that interiority. In this way, in the Meiji period, religion came to be thought of as existing in an entirely new sphere that did not relate to science, which treated external issues, or to the problems of secular society. Surely the Other that is encountered there is not this self, but Amida Buddha, the absolute infinite. In that way, through immersion in a subjective interiority in a sense divorced from the exterior world, it became possible to treat the realm of morality and the realm of religion as problems of two completely different levels.

Religion and Ethics Of course, in order for this position to be valid, a major shift from morality to religion has to take place. In Kiyozawa this is expressed as the shift from infinite responsibility to irresponsibility. In this world the fabric of life is such that all things are interconnected with one another. Kiyozawa calls this the universal principle of the oneness of all things (banbutsu ittai). In Buddhist terminology it would be the world of conditioned arising (Skt. pratītyasamutpāda; J. engi). If that is the case, then all the problems in the world are completely interrelated to one another, so I am necessarily responsible for all things in the world. That is what I referred to as infinite responsibility. Yet however much we make a serious effort to fulfill that responsibility, we find that is really totally impossible to do so. This point is clearly set forth in Kiyozawa’s final essay “Ware wa kaku no gotoku nyorai o shinzu” (I Believe in the Tathāgata in This Way, 1903h; published as “Waga shinnen” [My Faith], 1903g). He makes the confession that “If I were to seriously set out to pursue the fulfillment of all my duties, in the end I would be left to lament the impossibility of doing so. Indeed how greatly I have suffered having run into the wall of my own inability to carry out my responsibilities fully!” (KMZI 6: 334). When we take it upon ourselves to be infinitely responsible individuals, the impossibility of achieving such responsibility looms up before us. On this occasion, if we turn over all our responsibilities to the 101

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Tathāgata, after having shifted all responsibility we had borne up to then to the Tathāgata, we adopt the mode of living free of all responsibility. This dramatic shift can be considered a form of religious conversion. This makes possible the switch from the standpoint of ethical morality to the standpoint of religion. Accordingly, when one reaches this perspective, one comes to now live wholly according to the Tathāgata’s orders, the direction of Amida—what Kiyozawa called the absolute infinite, or infinite compassion. Here is an extreme example, but suppose there was a sick man by the roadside, “If infinite compassion should appear to our spirit and order us to care for the sick man then we will look after him. But if infinite compassion should order us to walk past the sick man and do nothing then we will walk past and do nothing” (“Seishinshugi to tariki” [Seishinshugi and Other-Power], 1901d; KMZI 6: 74–75). As shown in this example, whether we look after the sick man or not is not a problem at the level of individual morality. At all events we must look at the problem from the standpoint of what infinite compassion orders us to do when it “appears to our spirit.” When one takes this sort of stance, the ordinary world of ethical morality totally falls apart. When one truly takes this ultimate standpoint of religion, the level of ethical morality gets dismantled. There is a famous statement by Kiyozawa’s that goes, If you seriously intend to enter the religious way of being . . . you have to abandon your parents, you have to abandon your wife and children, you have to abandon your estate, you have to abandon your country. And beyond that, you also have to abandon yourself. In other words, those of you who wish to become religious have to discard the mind of filial piety in the world of appearances, you have to abandon the mind of patriotism. Furthermore only when you have come to entirely disregard righteousness and justice, morality, science, philosophy, then for the first time the vast and magnificent state of religious conviction will open to you. (“Shūkyō teki shinnen no hissu jōken” [The Indispensable Conditions for Religious Conviction], 1901f; KMZI 6: 77)

According to the position presented here, every worldly thing must be abandoned. In a sense, I suppose that it is only natural to take such a stance when one is attempting to open up a separate realm for religion. It is only when all those secular things have been abandoned that it is possible for the super-secular to exist. More or less, this is what the traditional Buddhist renunciants used to do in leaving home life. If we say it

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that way, then it sounds as if this is not necessarily a new idea. But I think one major contribution Kiyozawa made was to bring this logic forward into the context of the modern age and clarify it explicitly. The problem presented in this way is meaningful in that it responds to the criticism of religion in the “clash between education and religion” controversy set off by Inoue Tetsujirō by clearly pointing out the unique standpoint of religion. In Kiyozawa’s position, I think we can at last find a rebuttal of Inoue’s critique from the Buddhist side although it is presented many years after the criticism was made. Kiyozawa’s stance establishes the domain of religion as entirely transcending Inoue’s ethical moralism. Because religion has a value that transcends morality, religion supersedes morality, and therefore religion cannot be reduced to morality. This can be said to be an extremely viable objection to Inoue’s ethical moralism. Although the traditional Buddhist renunciant was a person who quite literally left secular life behind, abandoning society to pursue an ascetic lifestyle in the wilderness, Kiyozawa, by contrast, elected to seek a path of religious life while living within secular society. As in the phrase “transcending within the secular,” Kiyozawa sought a path to transcend the secular while living in the secular world. But then the question of how it is possible to abandon worldly ethics and morality while living a secular life becomes a major problem. When one argues that religion should be set above secular values (worldly morals) within secular society, that assertion is a message directed toward secular society and is sure to have an impact on the secular world. Since such discourse is already an act performed within society, then that position necessarily exposes itself to, or has to face, the question of what significance such assertions hold for society. It is particularly notable what Kiyozawa does here by saying that we must go beyond the state and abandon patriotism. In an age when Japanese nationalism was growing more and more powerful, his stance becomes a criticism of that trend and instead moves in the direction of relativizing the state. Although the Russo-Japanese War took place after Kiyozawa’s death, among his disciples associated with the Seishinkai journal, there was a prowar faction on the one hand, and on the other, there was a faction that made assertions that cannot be called antiwar, but that showed skepticism toward it by placing religious values above such matters. From this perspective, Kiyozawa’s philosophy held great social significance.

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Yet the question arises: Even if a person asserts that religion goes beyond secular values (worldly morals), as long as he himself does not leave the secular world behind, is he not ultimately going to end up being caught up within those secular values? Actually the major problem with Kiyozawa relates to this point. While it is true that he once denied secular morality and country and patriotism, saying that “you must abandon the state” or “you must abandon patriotism,” at the same time he also said, “Once you have been touched by the Tathāgata’s compassionate light there is nothing that you find disdainful, there is nothing you find disagreeable. . . . And when duty to your country calls you must embrace it even if it means marching to war rifle to shoulder. You find yourself approving even of acts of filial piety, you find yourself approving even of acts of patriotism” (“Shūkyō teki shinnen no hissu jōken,” 1901f; KMZI 6: 78–79). Here Kiyozawa’s position shifts to become a total affirmation of secular values and he is often criticized on this point. Of course, according to research by Yamamoto Nobuhiro, there are many passages in the essay “Shūkyō teki shinnen no hissu jōken” that come from the hand of Kiyozawa’s disciple Akegarasu Haya, and it would be hard to say that all the ideas expressed therein are Kiyozawa’s. It seems that Kiyozawa did not necessarily leave us with a definitive statement on this problem. And if he had been able to continue his activities for a little longer, it seems he would have developed his ideas a step further regarding this matter, but unfortunately he passed away before he was able to do so. After that his disciples did attempt to address these problems, and although various opinions were set forth, they failed to sufficiently address the matter in the form of philosophical discourse. In Kiyozawa’s work, the main focus is placed on presenting a religion that is beyond the level of morality, so it seems that he did not necessarily fully address the issue of how morality opens up from that religion, which might be characterized as the problem of the aspect of returning from the Pure Land, as opposed to the aspect of going there (which his thought succeeds in thoroughly addressing). For instance, he writes, “The distinction between religion and morality is clear. If religious people uphold the portion related to religion and moralists uphold the part related to morality, each exerting themselves to the full extent of their abilities, then each has merits to contribute to state and society” (“Shūkyō teki dōtoku (zokutai) to futsū dōtoku to no kōshō” [Negotiating Religious Morality (Worldly Truth) and Common Morality], 1903d; KMZI 6: 158). At the time he wrote this, Kiyozawa clearly distinguished between religion and morality, holding that he as a religious person must 104

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deal with the problem of religion, while leaving the problem of morality to the moralists to ponder. But in “Rinri ijō no konkyo” (A Foundation beyond Ethics, 1903b), Kiyozawa says that ethics just conceived as relations between finite beings is not possible without a foundation in the “absolute infinite” that is greater than ethics. In this work, religion and ethics cannot be separated and he criticizes ethics conceived as independent of religion. Although this sort of ambiguity remains in his thought, Kiyozawa’s criticism of taking ethics and morality to be absolute and his attempt to establish a field for religion that transcended them are definitely an important accomplishment on his part.

Kiyozawa Manshi’s Contemporary Significance Evaluating Kiyozawa When we inquire as to how Kiyozawa is evaluated within Shinshū, there seems to have been a wide range of disputes with no consensus reached. I have not kept track of all of them. Hisaki Yukio’s work, Kenshō Kiyozawa Manshi hihan (Evaluating Criticisms of Kiyozawa Manshi, 1995), clearly presents the different critiques and the way that they developed. It seems that a variety of conflicts are continuing today premised on the different points Hisaki addresses. There are even criticisms of Kiyozawa from a radical standpoint such as Hishiki Masaharu’s Hisen to bukkyō: Hihan genri toshite no jōdo (Antiwar and Buddhism: The Pure Land as a Principle of Criticism, 2005). But when we look at these critiques and controversies, to be quite honest it seems to me that they are really just making arguments that have currency only for people within the denomination or the sect, itself. I highly doubt that the issues taken up in these debates have the sort of philosophical significance that would make them applicable on a universal level outside that sectarian context. The structure of the arguments themselves are generally quite stereotyped. The criticisms are all aimed at the modern teachings of Kiyozawa’s lineage, which has remained the orthodox faction in the Shinshū Ōtani-ha throughout the postwar period. In the early days, there seems to have been strong criticism from the right, but recently there are more attacks from the left. There is also a tendency to attack or repudiate the Shinshū Ōtani-ha’s Kiyozawa from the stance of the Honganji-ha denomination. In that sense, these all appear to be very much internal conflicts that are essen105

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tially centered on the political level around the question of whether the protagonists are oriented to the right or to the left. All this leaves me wondering whether these discussions are actually contributing at all to addressing the religious issues that Kiyozawa’s thought raises. As I have said, Kiyozawa’s thought certainly contains elements that criticize the state, and he also held critical views on the Imperial Rescript on Education. But if we understand him solely on that level then we end up portraying his thought in an overly politicized way. But, among Kiyozawa’s various contributions, the most noteworthy is his presentation of religion as an issue that cannot be adequately grasped solely at the political level. If we were instead to remand the issue of how to evaluate him to the level of whether he was politically a nationalist supportive of the emperor system, or approved of the Imperial Rescript on Education, that would end up with the actual role Kiyozawa played out of focus. Also, there is the risk that Kiyozawa’s position in the broader currents of Meiji intellectual history discussed above will be misunderstood and he will be conspicuously portrayed outside of that context. At least to my mind, it appears necessary to reinterpret Kiyozawa’s thought by locating it within the situation of the times. That ultimately leads us to the question of how to evaluate the orthodox modern teachings in the postwar Shinshū Ōtani-ha and its Dōbōkai movement, as well as the criticism directed toward the wartime teachings of Kiyozawa’s disciples. It is of course necessary to precisely think through such historical developments, but on the other hand, Kiyozawa’s thought itself and the problems of Shinshū as a sect that developed after his death are not necessarily one and the same thing. In contemporary discussions of Kiyozawa’s significance, it seems that such things that are really on very different levels are getting confused and treated together. In reviewing the controversies over how best to understand Kiyozawa, I get the impression that the situation continues even today where rather than calmly evaluating his philosophical significance, the problem is still being framed as a binary choice of either complete supplication to him or a total denial of everything related to him. Recently, Imamura Hitoshi, among others, has made a very important step by engaging the problem of Kiyozawa outside of the specific denominational context. Kiyozawa deserves to be re-viewed and reevaluated as having made important contributions to modern philosophy of religion and should not be treated solely within the confines of the sect. In a sense, even the basic inspiration for my book Bukkyō vs. rinri (Buddhism 106

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versus Ethics, 2006, 2013a; for an English version see 2016) came from my attempt to address the problem posed by Kiyozawa head-on. Thus we can see Kiyozawa’s thought is still quite alive and well today.

Kiyozawa’s Understanding of the Other As I mentioned above, the most important point in Kiyozawa’s thought— especially in his stance of Seishinshugi—was presenting the problem of religion as something that could not be adequately understood just at the level of secular ethics. With regard to the Other, that is, gods or buddhas, they are not to be seen as existing in the external world, but as subjective facts that could only be encountered as Others in the process of profound introspection into one’s own mind. In this understanding, it appears that Kiyozawa is proposing a novel way of encountering the Other. For instance, Kiyozawa’s original grasp of the Other could well be compared with the understanding of the Other proposed by the French philosopher Emmanuel Levinas (1906–1995). In this respect, Kiyozawa’s theory of the Other is really quite significant, but there is a problem in it in that it is unclear whether it is actually really possible for the absolute infinite that he proposes to genuinely be “absolute” if it is understood as the Other. More specifically, this problem is the question of whether it is possible to see the Buddha of Buddhism as essentially the same when compared with the absolute Other understood in Abrahamic religions as the monotheistic God. The ultimate absolute Other is always transcendent of any attempt to approach it from the side of the human being. From the outset, it should transcend both being and nothingness and be entirely beyond human grasp. Accordingly, the ultimate absolute Other cannot be understood from our side nor can we have a relationship with it. Any relationship with the Other has to be unilaterally imparted us from the side of God and is not within our freedom to decide. But the Other that Kiyozawa discovered, quite to the contrary, is an Other that is related to us. As he concisely states, “It is because we believe in gods and buddhas that gods or buddhas exist for us” (“Shūkyō wa shukan teki jijitsu nari” [Religion Is a Subjective Fact], 1902e; KMZI 6: 284). In this way Kiyozawa treats the existence of the Other as being predicated on the relationship that we initiate with it. This point I think holds very important significance. The Buddha is an Other who is always understood only in mutual relationships, which is very different from the absolute Other that transcends relationships, 107

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such that it can only unilaterally impart relationships from its side. The Abrahamic God is a creator God that has existed from even before the creation of heaven and earth, so it is impossible to form a relationship with it that is initiated from the human side. It exists ever transcendent of our world and therefore it has an entirely different character from the absolute infinite that Kiyozawa speaks of. Even Amida Buddha was once a human named Dharmākara Bodhi­ sattva, and is not isolated from our world as an absolutely transcendent entity. In the case of Kiyozawa, he expresses it as the absolute infinite, which brings it much closer to the Abrahamic God. Indeed, I think that there might have been some influence of Christianity on Kiyozawa here. For that reason, I think it necessary for us to adopt much of Kiyozawa’s understanding of the Other, while also reconstructing it in a way that brings it back closer to a more Buddhist understanding of the Other.

Religion and Ethics Reconsidered One other point is the problem of religion and secular ethics and morality. This is a major problem that is linked to the use of the two-truth theory (shinzoku nitai setsu) and the Shinshū teachings in support of the war effort. And as mentioned in my book (2013b), recently, there has been a resurgence of debates over the difficult problem of how to situate volunteer work within the framework of Shinshū. One thing we need to point out first is, as Kiyozawa himself certainly pointed out, that it is not possible to say that religion is always consistent with the problem of morality. There are times when religion turns its back on morality. An easy to understand example of this problem in Buddhism is presented in Yamaori Tetsuo’s Budda wa naze ko o suteta ka (Why Did the Buddha Abandon His Child?, 2006). Gautama Siddhārtha is said to have abandoned his child and left his home to embark on a religious path. But even before he abandoned his child, he had given his son the name Rāhula, which means demon, or obstruction. He then declared his intention to abandon his young child and leave the house. If such actions were viewed in the context of ­present-day society the Buddha would be accused of child abuse and child abandonment, and such actions would not be acceptable. But Yamaori raises the problem that it is just where the Buddha dared to commit such amoral actions that the religion of the Buddha begins. This is just like Kiyozawa when he says that one must abandon one’s parents and abandon one’s wife and children if one wishes to enter the realm of 108

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religion. At this point the world of enlightenment that is not caught up in secular values opens up for the first time. We human beings are belabored with impulses that cannot be resolved by secular morality alone; that is, we are an ugly clump of passions and afflictions. Worse than that, when we peer into that self of ours, we discover something even more inexplicable and amorphous that cannot be described with the words passions or afflictions—something that terrifies us. It is utterly impossible to say that one understands oneself. One cannot be sure what one might do. While that self ought to be what is most familiar to us, it is in fact the most inexplicable Other. One can say that religion is concerned with that Other that defies understanding. There was a time when quite a few scholars of religious studies were sympathetic with Aum Shinrikyō and waxed with praise for it. But later when it came to light that they had committed crimes it gave us all a great shock. I had little sympathy for it from the outset, but that does not mean I am going to say, “I told you so,” and gloat over the fact I was right. By and large everyone finds something attractive about Aum. That is because it indeed has something that fits with the deepest and darkest parts of human beings. And since religion absorbs those dark depths into itself, there are times when it can run wild beyond ethics and morality. Ethics and morality belong to the realm of the visible, but religion runs beyond that into the realm of the unseen. In this way, Kiyozawa’s major achievement was his discovery of the significance of religion as transcending beyond ethics. But, as I have already pointed out, the question is, is religion really entirely separate from ethics? Is there no ethics born from religion? It is this area of inquiry that remains unresolved in Kiyozawa’s thought. According to the Christian way of thinking, since God is omniscient and all powerful, He knows all and therefore can serve as the source of all principles, including ethics and morality. Secular ethics and morality also arise from behaving just as God orders. But in the case of Buddhism, can you say the same thing applies? What exactly is included within the Buddha’s enlightenment? In the case of the Christian God, He knows everything, even the latest scientific discoveries. Whatever problem might arise today, whether it be bioethics or whatever, God ought to already hold all of the solutions. But when it comes to the Buddha, it is quite doubtful whether the Buddha possesses such detailed knowledge regarding contemporary issues. In Buddhism, it is impossible to say that just because a person attains enlightenment, they will be able to resolve 109

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every kind of problem. That leads to a gap where super-secularity, or the supra-mundane, cannot be reduced to the same dimension as secular ethics. But I cannot help but feel doubtful over the position that views them as a complete dichotomy, holding that Buddhism is completely different from and unrelated to secular ethics. As we were abundantly instructed by Nakamura Hajime (1912–1999) and others, there was a very strong aspect of secular ethics in early Buddhism. Looking back on Japanese Buddhism in early modern times (the sixteenth to nineteenth centuries), there were numerous Buddhist figures who preached secular ethics. The opposition between religion and ethics was not as severe then as in the modern era. Today, the Dalai Lama, among others active, comments on problems of science and secular ethics from the standpoint of Buddhism. Since the concept of the bodhisattva in Mahayana Buddhism developed from the relationship with the Other (Sueki 2013b, chapter 1), the ethical problem of how one should relate to others should also be addressed by that thought. Here I will have to forego dwelling on the topic at length, but what I am interested in recently is the ethics of care. Up to now ethics has been regarded from the perspective of justice, and the problem has generally been framed as a question of how to consistently achieve that justice. Yet when one takes justice as a starting point and goal, one is thereby required to continuously try to realize what one thinks is right, regardless of what others might say. But the ultimate result of such a pursuit is a collision between two types of justice, as occurred in the American war in Iraq. There are, inevitably, problems that cannot be resolved just by consistently attempting to realize justice. By contrast, if we consider the problem of care such as child-rearing or education, nursing the sick, or care of the elderly, there is a place for some universal pursuit of justice in such situations. Instead, the biggest issue is relational—how does one respond to the person one is caring for? Indeed the relationship predicates the existence. This better approaches a more Buddhist understanding of the world as well as of what it means to be human. Until now, the ethics of care have not crossed over to the problem of religion very much. But if we were to open it up into the domain of the Other, it could come to embrace a vast network of relationships, including the deceased and gods and buddhas. If that is the case, then the realm of ethics and the realm of the Other would no longer be in absolute opposition, but would be better thought 110

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of as fluid, with ambiguous boundaries such that they mutually overlap and interchange. From the standpoint of religion, rather than God unilaterally decreeing moral principles, new possibilities for ethics could then arise from considering how best to develop relationships within the mutual interrelationship with the Other. (Translated by Wayne S. Yokoyama and Michael Conway)

Note

This chapter is a translation of “Kiyozawa Manshi ni okeru shūkyō to rinri,” chapter 7 of Jōdo shisō ron (2013b, 231–240). The work was originally presented as a lecture at the Shinran Bukkyō Sentā on October 13, 2006, and published under the same title in Gendai to Shinran (2008).

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Chapter 5

New Perspectives on Kiyozawa Manshi and the Tannishō Nishimoto Yūsetsu The topic of this chapter is Kiyozawa Manshi and the Tannishō (Record in Lament of Differences). A great deal of research has already been done on the theme of Kiyozawa Manshi (1863–1903) and the Tannishō such that it would seem wholly unnecessary to revisit it here. After all, what is there to say that has not already been said before? But I wish to assure you that is not the case—that needs to be stated first. Along with the Kudenshō (Tract on Oral Transmission), Kiyozawa held the Tannishō in high esteem for the insights it offered when he sought to “inquire into the essence of the anjin (settled-mind) of Shinran (1173– 1262).” As Sumida Chiken (1868–1938) and Akanuma Chizen (1884–1937) would recall, Kiyozawa referred to it as one of “my three authoritative scriptures” (yo no sanbukyō). While this makes clear beyond a doubt that he prized the text, the fact remains there were no known extant writings in which he discussed it as a primary theme. There are even studies by scholars who raised questions about this very point. In light of the fact that there were examples of learned Shinshū Ōtani-ha scholarpriests from the Edo period leaving records of lectures they gave on the Tannishō to posterity, it struck them as odd that he left behind no such record, even though he was purportedly enamored with the text. In fact I find this is not surprising at all. Kiyozawa is not known to have produced a study on any Shin scripture or sacred literature, let alone the one in question. That means the absence of any lectures on the Tannishō is nothing out of the ordinary for Kiyozawa. Instead we need to evaluate this in a different way, recognizing that the lack of a

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detailed commentary on the work simply reflects his way of treating scripture. In the opinion expressed in many previous studies, not only did Kiyozawa leave us with neither commentary nor lecture on the Tannishō, his writings and diaries also have virtually no quotations from it. Here we need to stop for a moment to dwell on this problem. Along with the Tannishō, Kiyozawa counts the Āgamas and Discourses of Epictetus among his chosen “three authoritative scriptures,” modeled after the idea of the “three Pure Land sutras.” But while he often quotes large tracts of the Āgamas and Epictetus, there are virtually no similar quotes of the Tannishō in his writings. This posed a kind of conundrum when it came to investigating his relationship to the text, since it made it difficult to say exactly what part of it he held to be important or what message he had derived from the work as a whole. All that changed when Ōtani University published a new edition of the Kiyozawa Manshi zenshū (Collected Works of Kiyozawa Manshi) in 2002 and 2003 through Iwanami Shoten (hereafter, KMZI). This new complete works included many texts that were not found in the earlier edition published by Hōzōkan (hereafter, KMZH). In addition, the editors of the new Iwanami edition sought to present the works included there in a way that faithfully reflected the original works, using Kiyozawa’s handwritten manuscripts and the articles in their originally published format as the base text for the collected works. As such, the new Iwanami edition serves as a new starting point for Kiyozawa research. As we once again turn to its pages to investigate the theme of Kiyozawa Manshi and the Tannishō, we find that he did indeed cite the Tannishō quite frequently. His quotes and extracts from it are in the following: 1. “Zen aku” (Good and Bad). 1886. Fourth-year university notebook entry. Three times. KMZI 4: 163 (all on the same page). 2. “Shōgyō bassui” (Scripture Excerpts, see section 3 below). 1890. Seven times. See KMZI 9: 377–379 (1890a). 3. Rōsenki (December Fan Diary). 1898. Once. KMZI 8: 370 (1898–1899). 4. “Sansei no mon” (Passage on the Three Vows). February 1901. Seishinkai 1 (2): 20. Once. KMZI 6: 23 (1901c). 5. “Seken shusseken” (The World and Transcending the World), number 56 in the column “Shinrei no shūyō” (Cultivating the Spiritual Side of the Mind). May 1901. Mujintō 6 (5): 57–58. Once. KMZI 7: 255 (1901e).

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6. “Shōrai no shūkyō” (The Religion of the Future). April 1902. Shin bukkyō 3 (4): 189. Once. KMZI 6: 309 (1902d). 7. “Rinri ijō no an’i” (Peace beyond Ethics). September 1902. Seishinkai 2 (9): 19–22. Once. KMZI 6: 122 (1902a). In these texts he repeatedly quotes the same passages. His choices give us an insight into the nature of his interest in the Tannishō and the fact that it was consistent throughout his career. In the process of editing the Iwanami edition at Ōtani University, I was able to examine the contents of “Shōgyō bassui,” which includes a substantial section of excerpts from the Tannishō. It goes without saying that a careful analysis of this section is indispensable when investigating the question of what passages in the Tannishō captured Kiyozawa’s interest as he perused its pages. It is also known that he kept a copy of the Tannishō kōgi (Lectures on the Tannishō) by Kōgatsuin Jinrei (1749–1817) published by the Gohōkan in 1899 on his desk. Jinrei’s text has always been regarded as one of the normative studies on the Tannishō within traditional sectarian studies. But up to now sufficient research has not been done to allow us to make a definitive statement on the nature of the relationship, if any, between the traditional sectarian understanding as represented by Jinrei’s Tannishō kōgi and that of Kiyozawa. As you can see, there are more than a few issues that demand our attention in connection with the theme of Kiyozawa Manshi and the Tannishō. It is not possible to go into great detail on each of these problems, but I would like to briefly discuss some of the issues mentioned above in order to clarify what philosophical problems Kiyozawa was attempting to address in selecting the Tannishō as a text to “inquire into the essence of Shinran’s anjin.” First, in order to clarify the extent that traditional interpretations of the Tannishō that were current at the time influenced Kiyozawa’s understanding of it, we will look into the relationship between Kiyozawa’s perspective and Jinrei’s Tannishō kōgi, which he always kept near at hand. Next, we will consider Kiyozawa’s understanding of the Tannishō as seen from the perspective of the passages that he quotes in his fourth-year university notebook entry called “Zen aku” (1886), as well as the later “Shōgyō bassui.” This should help point out what philosophical issues led him to choose the Tannishō in his inquiry into the essence of Shinran’s anjin. In addition, we will identify the particular edition of the Tannishō that he read, a point that has not been clarified up to now. 114

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Jinrei’s Understanding of the Tannishō What was the understanding of the Tannishō during the Meiji period (1868–1912), when Kiyozawa was active in the affairs of the Shinshū Ōtani-ha denomination? I noted above that Jinrei’s Tannishō kōgi provides an important source for the relationship between the sectarian understanding and Kiyozawa’s view of the text. Regarding this point Andō Shūichi (1873–1950) writes: Among the books Sensei always had on his desk were a compact edition of the four Confucian classics, Discourses of Epictetus, the Āgamas in Chinese translation, a compact edition of Shina rekishi nenpyō (Chronology of Chinese History) printed on bamboo paper, Rinshōiten (Clinical Medicine Dictionary), the Tannishō kōgi by Kōgatsuin [Jinrei], and Ogawa Shōhei’s Kyōshaku bassui hōgoshū (Excerpts of Dharma Words Taken from the Scripture Commentary Literature, 1902). (1904; KMZI 9: 424)

Thus it is certain he had a copy of Jinrei’s work that he kept close at hand. As to Jinrei’s understanding of the Tannishō, it is clearly set forth in the following statement from his Tannishō kōgi: Thinking to myself there must be some way to sum up all eighteen chapters in a single phrase, with great trepidation I have conceived the idea that the general outline of this record [i.e., the Tannishō] could well be expressed by the four-character phrase kanshin kaigi—“to encourage faith and admonish doubt.” This is the way our second generation zenjishiki (spiritual guide) [Nyoshin (1235?–1300)], who compiled this work,1 sought to transmit the essence of the legacy of Jōdo Shinshū. (Kōgatsuin Jinrei 1899, 8)

Jinrei thus says that if we sought to fully express the organizing principle of the Tannishō in a single phrase, it would be kanshin kaigi, “encouraging faith and admonishing doubt.” He further comments that, in the Shin tradition, the foundation for “encouraging faith and admonishing doubt” is laid out in the teaching of the section known as “revealing wisdom” (kaiken chie dan) in the Wuliangshoujing (Sutra on Immeasurable Life; hereafter, Larger Sutra). That portion of the Larger Sutra clarifies that the self-power practice of the nenbutsu (i.e., attempting to transfer the roots of merit from nenbutsu practice toward the goal of achieving rebirth in the Pure Land) is itself an expression of the most profound doubt in sentient beings. Jinrei understood this section of the sutra to be a teaching that clarifies the nature of that deep-rooted doubt and encourages other-power faith; this is what he calls the scriptural basis for “encouraging faith and admonishing doubt.” He further explains that the 115

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seven patriarchs inherited this teaching, holds that Shinran’s entire teaching career was none other than “encouraging faith and admonishing doubt,” and concludes that that way of teaching had been passed down over three thousand years from the time of Śākyamuni. To show how the content of the Tannishō is to be understood through the teachings of this tradition, Jinrei’s lectures take Shinran as their starting point, while making reference to the writings of the seven patriarchs, as well as Kudenshō, Rokuyōshō (On the Essentials of the Six Fascicle [Kyōgyōshinshō]), Hōonki (Record of Repaying Gratitude), Ofumi ([Rennyo’s] Letters), and so on. Also, with regard to understanding the essence of the Tannishō as kanshin kaigi, Jinrei also makes the following point: As I have said, the entire eighteen chapters of this record [i.e., the Tannishō] can be summed up as kanshin kaigi, “to encourage faith and admonish doubt.” We must have this insight into the sacred writings when we look at them, otherwise one is liable to make mistakes. What do I mean by this? The chapter that comes first among the eighteen chapters [of the Tannishō] states, “Thus, for those who entrust themselves to the original vow, no good acts are required, because no good surpasses the nenbutsu. Nor need they despair of the wrongdoing they commit, for no wrong can obstruct the working of Amida’s original vow” [Collected Works of Shinran; hereafter, CWS 1: 661, adapted]. . . . The text begins from that point and then at various points starting from the third chapter, the teaching of the salvation of the wicked (akunin shōki) is clarified: “Even a good person attains birth in the Pure Land, so it goes without saying that the wicked will do so” [CWS 1: 663, adapted]. If this were expressed in terms of his usual teachings, it is the statement that even the wicked attain birth so the good are also undoubtedly able to. . . . And, in his teachings to Yuienbō [in chapter 9 of the Tannishō, Shinran] encourages him to think that, as an ordinary, unenlightened being possessed of blind passions, his impending birth is all the more completely assured. As for examples such as these, if someone should misunderstand their intention, these passages could very well cause them to fall into the mistaken view that flagrantly committing wicked deeds is not problematic. (Kōgatsuin Jinrei 1899, 10)

Jinrei says that if when reading the Tannishō one does not adopt the perspective of seeing the teachings therein as an extension of the “encouraging faith and admonishing doubt” that has been passed down by the seven patriarchs since the time of Śākyamuni, one will misinterpret the various passages in the text and end up falling into mistaken views about committing wicked acts. As an example of such a statement, he points to one that appears in the first chapter of Tannishō. Then, in relation to this, he points out that mistaken understandings might arise 116

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with regard to the idea of akunin shōki (that the wicked are the prime object of the vow), frequently discussed from the third chapter on, as well as the danger of misunderstanding the question and answer exchange between Yuien and Shinran in chapter nine. In this way, Jinrei offers “encouraging faith and admonishing doubt” as a hermeneutic to understand the passages in the Tannishō that might be seen as having an antinomian message as not just a simple affirmation of transgressive behavior. Further, explaining the term “Lament of Differences” (tanni) in the title of the Tannishō, Jinrei says, “The Tannishō is a record that extracts the essential points from the teachings of our founder [Shinran] and, using them as a mirror, corrects different interpretations” (17). In other words, Jinrei understands the phrase “Lament of Differences” in the title to mean criticizing divergent understandings based on the correct understanding. Here, his stance that the Tannishō is a critique of heretical interpretations is quite clear. He also says, The way to view the Tannishō is to distinguish one part as the encouragement of faith and another part as admonition of doubt. This work [the Tannishō] has Rennyo Shōnin’s postscript affixed to it, saying, “This sacred writing is an important scripture in our tradition. It should not be indiscriminately shown to anyone who lacks past karmic good” [CWS 1: 682, adapted]. This postscript is an instruction to regard the text carefully. (1899, 14)

Here, he says that Rennyo’s postscript is a word of instruction regarding the Tannishō, and that the passages in the Tannishō should be understood as encouraging faith and admonishing doubt. While the intention behind Rennyo’s postscript is a theme that deserves a separate discussion in itself, suffice it to say that Jinrei’s position was inherited by Shinshū Ōtani-ha scholars of the Gakuryō (an institution for training priests and doctrinal research) following him. This inheritance of Jinrei’s stance can be seen in the lecture given for the denomination’s intensive study session (ango) by entry-level lecturer (gakushi) Inaba Dōkyō (1816–1894) and those given in 1887 by assistant lecturer (shikō) Miyaji Giten (1827–1889). Since these lectures were delivered while Kiyozawa was an active member of the denomination, they provide us with insight as to how the text was viewed by scholars of traditional doctrinal studies during his lifetime. Inaba writes: The origins of this record, the Tannishō, are related in its introduction. If I were to express the principle of the entire work in a single phrase it would be with the four characters kanshin kaigi (to encourage faith and admonish 117

Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi doubt). This is the legacy characteristic of Jōdo Shinshū transmission of our second zenjishiki [Nyoshin]. This means the guiding principle of our founder [Shinran] is none other than the encouragement of faith and the admonishment of doubt. (Inaba 1882, 3 [verso])

Miyaji writes: With regard to the correct way of explaining the principle of this entire work, our superior Kōgatsuin concluded that the four characters kanshin kaigi (to encourage faith and admonish doubt) characterize it. While there are eighteen chapters, the first ten are the words of our founder [Shinran]. The following eight present the different interpretations of his disciples, which are then refuted. . . . While the teachings of the Jōdo Shinshū are wide in scope, in the end they all come down to the encouragement of faith and the admonishment of doubt. (1887, in Shinshū zensho [hereafter, SZ] 29: 238)

As we can see from the above, ever since Jinrei’s lectures, students at the Gakuryō adhered to his understanding that encouraging faith and admonishing doubt is the organizing principle of the Tannishō. It would be no exaggeration to say that these lectures by Inaba and Miyagi are virtually identical in content as far as that point is concerned. Miyaji Giten even went so far as to articulate the view that kanshin kaigi is the fundamental issue addressed by all Shinshū teachings. Therefore the idea that kanshin kaigi is the organizing principle of the Tannishō was probably still the received understanding when Kiyozawa held a position within the ranks of the Shinshū Ōtani-ha. But did Kiyozawa indeed accede to that understanding? We will consider this question from the next section.

Kiyozawa’s Early Engagement with the Tannishō What can we say as to Kiyozawa’s first point of contact with the Tannishō? It was at the recommendation of his good friend Ogawa Kūe (b. 1861) that Kiyozawa enrolled at Ikuei Kyōkō, a secondary school established by the Shinshū Ōtani-ha for especially promising students. He made this decision in 1878 after he had himself ordained as a Shinshū Ōtani-ha priest at age sixteen at Kakuonji, Ogawa Kūe’s temple. While the Tannishō is not found in the curriculum for classes at Ikuei Kyōkō that was set up starting in 1875, there is a listing for a class on Kana shōgyō tsūge, “Comprehensive Introduction to the [Shinshū] Scriptures in Classical Japanese,” for students in class 2, level 2. There is a good chance that Kiyozawa might have heard of the Tannishō during lectures in such a course. There is no reference to the Tannishō, however, in the few pieces of writing from 118

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his time at this school that are still extant (which are collected in “Kyōkō jidai shibun” [Writings from the Period at the Kyōkō, 1878–1881; KMZI 9: 323–333]), so there is no record of Kiyozawa having engaged in the study of the Tannishō at this time. The first clear point of contact with the text we can verify is in a notebook entry he wrote in 1886 as a fourth-year student at Tokyo University entitled “Zen aku” (1886). There he transcribed select passages discussing good and bad not only from the Tannishō but also from the Jingtu lunzhu (Commentary on [Vasubandhu’s] Pure Land Treatise) by Tanluan (476–542), the Anleji (Collection of Passages on [the Land of] Peace and  Contentment) by Daochuo (562–645), the “Sanshanyi” (Chapter on Unfocused Wholesome Practices) in the Guanjingshu (Commentary on  the  Contemplation Sutra) by Shandao (613–681), the Dazhidulun (*Mahāprajñāpāramitā-śāstra), Fahuawenju (Words and Phrases of the Lotus Sutra) by Zhiyi (538–597), Apidamo jiyimen zulun (Treatise on Pronouncements), Chengshilun (Treatise on the Fulfillment of Truth) by Harivarman (ca. 250–350), Zhiyi’s Fajiecidichumen (Prerequisite for Entering the Dharmadhātu), and Chengweishilun (Discourse on the Perfection of Consciousness-Only). After these quotations, he writes the following, posing a question about a standard for right and wrong: The story about the two people, father and son, who take their cow to ­market. Who gets to determine what is right? Together determining this is right (agreement of the majority) Just one alone determining this is right (individual independence) This is one problem. Is it ultimately impossible for there be two answers [to the question of what is right]? If two answers are not possible, What is the ultimate standard? (KMZI 4: 164)

After posing this question about what can serve as the ultimate standard for right and wrong, his notes ask whether criteria such as “profit and loss,” “personal happiness,” “direct intuition of the conscience,” or “the teachings of sages” can serve as such a standard. He asks what qualifies as the ultimate standard: What is an ultimate standard that does not lose its authenticity in the face of any criticism? He points out the problems with each of these criteria showing why none of them qualify to serve as that ultimate standard. 119

Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi Some hold that profit and loss are a standard. Is it immediate profit and loss? (Calculation of loss and gain) Or eternal profit and loss? (What is the purpose of human life?) Profit and loss for society, for the nation, for all humanity The greatest happiness for the greatest majority Some hold that personal happiness is a standard. Is it immediate pleasure? Or ultimate peace and contentment? It is difficult to set forth the ultimate position. Calculation Uncertainty Speculation Some hold that direct intuition of the conscience is a standard. Is it in the intuition of one individual? (What to do about individual   differences?) Or the intuition of the majority of people? Popular opinion of each era? (Is it the wisdom of the foolish masses?) (What to do about the contradiction with the theory of progress?) The teachings of sages: What to do about the danger of their becoming a theory of retrogression? The popular opinion of the intellectuals of each era? What can we do about our lack of a method to assess these problems?   (KMZI 4: 163)

With regard to all these possible standards, Kiyozawa points out that there are some sources of uncertainty that make it impossible for them to serve as a genuinely consistent, ultimate standard. Even about the teachings of wise people, he points out that such a stance might end up becoming a nostalgic attempt to retrogressively recover some past ideal. He also notes that even if they were the popular opinion of the intellectuals of a given time period, the standards that should be employed in assessing their contemporary value is unclear. The way that he raises this issue could be interpreted as his criticism of the Shinshū Ōtani-ha’s sectarian studies at the time, which placed a sort of absolute authority on the academic positions set forth by Jinrei and other figures in the history of the denomination. After posing these questions about what might serve as an ultimate standard for determining right and wrong, Kiyozawa then lists five passages from Shinran’s teachings in the Tannishō and Shōzōmatsu wasan (Hymns on the Right, Semblance, and Last Dharma Ages), introducing them with the statement, “Our Founder says.” In the margin above this section, he includes instructions to revise the order of these quotations. 120

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This shows that the series of quotes from the Jingtu lunzhu to the Tannishō that Kiyozawa recorded in his notes under the heading “Zen aku” (1886) are not just a random list of passages relating to good and bad that he found scattered throughout the scriptures and recorded in the order that he happened to see them. Rather, they can be seen to represent traces of his contemplations about a clear philosophical question he had in mind. Let us then introduce these five passages, following Kiyozawa’s instructions to reorder them (KMZI 4: 163): Our Founder says: 1. “Those who put on the face of knowing the meaning of good and bad are great liars.” (Shōzōmatsu wasan; cf. CWS 1: 429) 2. Also he says: “I myself understand neither true nor false, right nor wrong. I do not have the least sympathy or compassion, but I enjoy being a teacher for fame and profit.” (Shōzōmatsu wasan; cf. CWS 1: 429) 3. Also he says: “Is the nenbutsu the seed for hell or the karmic act for the Land of Bliss?” (an allusion to the Tannishō, chapter 2) 4. Also he says: “I do not understand good and bad at all.” (Tannishō, postscript; cf. CWS 1: 679) 5. Also he says: “There is just faith alone.” Kiyozawa has rearranged the order of the phrases such that the first one he recorded “I do not understand good (zen) and bad (aku) at all” is now the fourth and concluding statement on the problem of defining good and bad. Moreover, we must carefully consider his intention in concluding his discussion seeking an ultimate standard for right and wrong with the single phrase, “faith alone.” In his notes, Kiyozawa shows that “profit and loss,” “personal happiness,” “direct intuition of the conscience,” or “the teachings of sages” cannot serve as the ultimate standard for determining right and wrong. In contrast to any attempt to use these concepts as a basis for a standard for what is “true and false,” “right and wrong,” or “good and bad,” he records that “faith alone” does not represent another criterion, but rather writes that the ultimate standard can only be arrived at in the Jōdo Shinshū religious realization of “faith alone.” This means that the various worldly standards for right and wrong cannot serve as the ultimate standard and that only within the religious faith of “faith alone,” is it possible to have an awareness of the problems implicit in worldly standards for right and wrong. For ­Kiyozawa, realizing that one does “not understand good 121

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and bad at all” does not mean abandoning the attempt to address the question of good and bad. Instead, that realization indicates that one becomes aware of that ultimate standard in the experience of “faith alone.” This means that in a state of “faith alone,” one is liberated from having to live bound to any sort of worldly standard for right and wrong. Kiyozawa holds the Tannishō to be important as a work fully expressing the most profound elements of Shinran’s understanding of shinjin, or “the mind of faith.” Here in his notes, Kiyozawa is paying careful attention to the fact that in that text Shinran describes shinjin with the words “faith alone.” How did Shinran understand the content of shinjin that is described with this phrase “faith alone”? Shinran explains the elements in the phrase in Yuishinshō mon’i (Notes on “Essentials of Faith Alone”),2 saying: “Alone” means “this one thing only.” It expresses a rejection of two things standing in contrast to one another. “Alone” also means “one person.” “Faith” means to be without doubt. . . . When we rely upon the power of the original vow and are removed from self-power, this is “faith alone.” . . . “Faith alone” also means that there is nothing other than this other-power shinjin, because it is the original, universal vow. (CWS 1: 451, adapted; Teihon Shinran shōnin zenshū [hereafter, TSZ] 3: 155–156)

As Shinran states, “alone” refers to “this one thing only” and expresses “a rejection of two things standing in contrast to one another.” This sense of singularity indicates that it is a term that clarifies an ultimate standard that cannot be replaced by anything else. This state of “faith alone” is a faith that merges with Amida Buddha’s original vow that seeks to liberate people from the suffering that results from being bound by worldly concerns about right and wrong. In these notes, Kiyozawa confirms that this “faith alone,” which transcends the mundane categories of right and wrong, good and bad, serves as the ultimate standard. When seen in this way, it must be said that the questions posed by Kiyozawa with regard to the prescriptions of right and wrong did not simply arise out of an academic interest in the form of research on ethics, but rather were rooted in an earnest existential desire to inquire into the “ultimate standard,” in other words, a foundation for living a life faced with innumerable choices in the real world. Through phrases in the Tannishō, Kiyozawa clearly expressed that this issue cannot be resolved on an ethical plane where some sort of worldly criterion serves as the standard for right and wrong, but only on a religious plane that transcends such ethics in a state of “faith alone,” which follows in the 122

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spirit of Amida’s original vow, aiming for liberation from a way of being that suffers bound by those worldly categories of right and wrong. We can see from the notes presented here that he regarded the Tannishō as containing sacred teachings that could open up this religious plane for him.

The Tannishō in Kiyozawa’s “Shōgyō bassui” Four years after recording the excerpts on “Zen aku” in his fourth-year university notebook (1886), Kiyozawa once again took excerpts from the Tannishō and included them in another volume of personal notes that he entitled “Shōgyō bassui” (Excerpts from Sacred Teachings). “Shōgyō bassui” is a set of quotations that Kiyozawa copied out of the Shinshū hōten (Treasured Shinshū Scriptures; Yamamoto 1889–1890), an anthology of passages from a wide variety of Shin scriptures, including the Tannishō. The date, July 1890, when “Shōgyō bassui” was compiled, coincides with the time when Kiyozawa resigned as principal of Kyoto Prefecture’s Ordinary Middle School (Jinjō Chūgakkō). Shaving his head, he began wearing Buddhist robes instead of Western clothes, and took up his “minimum possible” lifestyle. There are references to Shinshū hōten in “Zuihitsu gūroku” (Occasional Record of Essays, 1890b; KMZI 8: 43–44), his diary from this time. These passages show us that he kept Shinshū hōten close at hand and was also very fond of the Tannishō at this time. In addition to the latter, “Shōgyō bassui” includes excerpts from Shandao’s Guanjingshu, Senchaku hongan nenbutsu shū (Collection of Passages on the Selection of Nenbutsu in the Original Vow; hereafter, Senchakushū) by Hōnen (1133–1212), Gaijashō (Reforming Heretical Views) by Kakunyo (1270–1351), Anjin ketsujō shō (Treatise on the Settlement of Anjin), Rennyo shōnin goichidaiki kikigaki (Record of Rennyo’s Statements throughout His Lifetime), Ofumi, and so on. The text closes with excerpts from Rennyo shōnin goichidaiki kikigaki. As its title indicates, “Shōgyō bassui” is only a collection of quotations from scriptures and does not include any statements by Kiyozawa regarding his understanding of them. While this makes it difficult to decisively determine the exact issues Kiyozawa was attempting to address in making this collection, in this section I will try to shed some light on Kiyozawa’s intention in selecting the passages that he did. The first excerpts are from the following parts of the Guanjingshu: the sections that explain the title of the sutra and address certain contradictions presented in the “Introduction” of that commentary; the sec123

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tions regarding the audience for the sutra and the imprisonment of Bimbisāra in the “Commentary on the Prologue”; the commentary on the visualizations on the land, a statue of Amida, the true form of Amida, Mahāsthāmaprāpta, the general visualization, all in the “Commentary on Focused Wholesome Practices”; portions from the parable of two rivers, establishing faith regarding practice, and the closing section of the sutra in the “Chapter on Unfocused Wholesome Practices.” At first glance, they seem to be a set of diverse, unrelated passages. However, Kiyozawa concludes his excerpts with the following passage in which Shandao considers the meaning of the teachings in the closing section of the Guanwuliangshoujing (Sutra on the Contemplation of Immeasurable Life; hereafter, Contemplation Sutra): “Up to here, [the Sutra] has explained the benefit of the twin gates of focused and unfocused [wholesome practices], but when we take into consideration the intention of the Buddha’s original vow, it lies in sentient beings devotedly reciting the name of Amida Buddha.” Here, Shandao makes clear that, while part of the Contemplation Sutra preaches the benefit of the twin gates of focused and unfocused wholesome practices, the intention of the Buddha’s original vow is to make sentient beings choose the single practice of invoking the Buddha’s name. This passage is one of the decisive elements in his project of correcting the misunderstandings of earlier interpreters of the sutra and set forth the correct understanding of it. Shandao here shows that the single practice of the nenbutsu should be chosen and the other various practices are to be cast away based on Śākyamuni’s instructions to uphold the name of Amida Buddha at the end of the sutra and the intention of Amida’s original vow. By quoting it at this point in “Shōgyō bassui,” Kiyozawa is drawing attention to the single practice of nenbutsu recitation that is chosen by the intention of the Buddha’s original vow. Following the guidance laid out by Shandao in the above passage, Hōnen interpreted the intention of Amida’s original vow—the source of birth in the Pure Land through the nenbutsu—as the centerpiece of his soteriology, calling the eighteenth vow “the original vow for birth based on the nenbutsu.” Based on this connection, Kiyozawa next quotes passages from the chapter on the original vow in the the Senchaku hongan nenbutsu shū where Hōnen extends the argument made by Shandao about the choice of the nenbutsu based on its superiority and ease in relation to other sorts of Buddhist practice. When read carefully, the passage that Kiyozawa quotes where Hōnen describes the ease of the nenbutsu is not a simple assertion that the nenbutsu is better than the more difficult practices 124

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of traditional Buddhism because it is easier to perform, but that the nenbutsu called for in the original vow is an easy practice in that it does not make any demands on people to fulfill particular conditions or to create some specific situation as a requisite to attaining birth in the Pure Land. The section Kiyozawa quotes confirms that there are not any conditions for sentient beings’ birth with regard to human effort or capacities such as wealth, wisdom, or observance of the precepts. The passage that he quotes shows that birth is realized through the selected original vow where the single practice of the recitation of the nenbutsu is chosen as the sole practice necessary for birth in the Pure Land. Further, in that passage Hōnen characterizes the vow as being motivated by great compassion, made with the intention of realizing universal salvation for all, equally, saying it was made by “Amida Tathāgata in the distant past when he was Dharmākara (Hōzō) Bhikṣu and moved by equal compassion for all in order to universally embrace all sentient beings” and also “in order to equally enable all sentient beings to be born in the Pure Land” (Shinshū shōgyō zensho [hereafter, SSZ] 1: 944–945). From the passages in Shandao’s commentary on the Contemplation Sutra and the Senchakushū that Kiyozawa recorded in his notes, we can see that he was focused on the single practice of reciting the nenbutsu that is selected by the Tathāgata in the original vow. In particular, he has chosen passages that show that the practice based on that vow brings the Buddhist path to complete fulfillment for all people, regardless of the individual characteristics, historical period, geographical location, situation, and abilities of particular human beings. Kiyozawa further highlights a passage from the Gaijashō: “Our Founder the Shonin told us, ‘When you see this fellow before you (Shinran) close his eyes for the last time, slip his body into the Kamo River for the fishes to feed on’” (SSZ 3: 81). This passage was likely chosen by Kiyozawa because it expresses Shinran’s grasp of the inner reality of human life, which transcends worldly value systems. As such, the passages from these three works all relate in some way to the way that the nenbutsu and the life of faith that opens up in it transcend the usual concepts of practice—performing a good act to get a good result based on one’s best abilities—and other mundane human values. Kiyozawa’s quotations of excerpts from the Tannishō, which appear next in “Shōgyō bassui,” also appear to be thematically related to these issues. Here, Kiyozawa quotes from the first, third, twelfth, and thirteenth chapters of the Tannishō. In the lectures by Jinrei introduced above, the same passages from the Tannishō’s first and third chapter that 125

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Kiyozawa quotes are addressed as the reason that the text must be ­understood carefully through the lens of “encouraging faith and admonishing doubt.” Kiyozawa’s excerpts read as follows: Tannishō —Thus, for those who entrust themselves to the original vow, no good acts are required, because no good surpasses the nenbutsu. Nor need they despair of the wrongdoing they commit, for no wrong can obstruct the working of Amida’s original vow. (CWS 1: 661, adapted) —Even a good person attains birth in the Pure Land, so it goes without saying that the wicked will do so. Though it is so, people commonly say, “Even a wicked person attains birth, so it goes without saying that a good person will.” This statement may seem well founded at first, but it runs counter to the intent of the other-power of the original vow. (CWS 1: 663, adapted)

Although both Kiyozawa and Jinrei focus on these passages from the Tannishō, it is clear that their understanding of them differs considerably. While Jinrei views these passages as belonging to the Pure Land tradition of “encouraging faith and admonishing doubt” begun in the Larger Sutra, the concern that Kiyozawa shows in his quotations of the Guanjingshu, Senchakushū, and Gaijashō regarding the nature of Pure Land devotion as transcending worldly human values and ideas about the need for human practice is also motivating his choice of these passages from the Tannishō, which clearly challenge those usual ideas. In that sense, their interest in the Tannishō naturally differed significantly. Jinrei’s primary interest in using the categories of “encouraging faith and admonishing doubt” to understand the text lay mostly in denying the antinomian stance that these passages might be taken to justify and in affirming the need to adhere to worldly norms and values, but Kiyozawa appears to be interested in these same passages for the very fact that they show a path that transcends those ordinary norms. Kiyozawa then turns his attention to passages in the twelfth and thirteenth chapters of the Tannishō. If we take careful note of the passages he chooses from chapter 13—the content of which correlates to the third chapter—we can see that his choices focus on the specific issue of human beings as conditioned by past karma (shukugō). His quotes are as follows: —Suppose that all other schools joined together in declaring, “The nenbutsu is for the sake of worthless people; that teaching is shallow and vulgar.” Even then, without the slightest argument, one should reply, “When fool-

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New Perspectives on Kiyozawa Manshi and the Tannishō ish beings of inferior capacity like ourselves, persons ignorant of even a single letter, entrust themselves to the vow, they are saved. Since we accept and entrust ourselves to this teaching, for us it is the supreme dharma, though for those of superior capacity it might seem utterly base. Even though other teachings may be excellent, since they are beyond our capacity they are difficult for us to put into practice. The fundamental intent of the Buddhas is nothing but freedom from birth-and-death for all, ourselves and others included, so you should not obstruct our practice of the nenbutsu.” (CWS 1: 669, adapted) —Good thoughts arise in us through the prompting of good karma from the past, and bad comes to be thought and performed through the working of bad karma. The late Master said, “Know that every wicked act done— even as slight as a particle on the tip of a strand of rabbit’s fur or sheep’s wool—has its cause in past karma.” (CWS 1: 670) —“Since you lack the karmic cause inducing you to kill even a single person, you do not kill. It is not that you do not kill because your heart is good. In the same way, a person may not wish to harm anyone and yet end up killing a hundred or a thousand people.” Thus he spoke of how we believe that if our hearts are good, then it is good for birth, and if our hearts are bad, it is bad for birth, failing to realize that it is by the inconceivable working of the Vow that we are saved. Shinran wrote in a letter, “Do not take a liking to poison just because there is an antidote.” This was in order to put an end to that wrong understanding. It by no means implies that bad can obstruct one’s attainment of birth. He also said, “If it were only by observing precepts and upholding rules that we should entrust ourselves to the original vow, how could we ever gain freedom from birth-and-death?” Even such wretched beings as ourselves, on encountering the original vow, come indeed to “presume” upon it. But even so, how could we commit any bad acts for which we lack a karmic cause? For those as well who make their living drawing nets or fishing in the seas. . . . (CWS 1: 671, adapted)

The primary issue addressed in chapter 13 of the Tannishō is the problem of “presuming upon the original vow” (hongan bokori) or impudently doing wrong based on the assurance that the vow will save such wicked people. Kiyozawa, however, does not directly quote the passages that deal with this problem. He instead focuses on the passages that contain Shinran’s teachings in response to this problem, which discuss how human beings are decisively conditioned by their past karma—a stance that exemplifies the Tannishō’s view of humanity. This stance understands human existence as being fundamentally shaped by conditioned arising (engi)—the coming together of causes and conditions in a way 127

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that transcends normal human conception and machination—as is shown by the use of the word “karmic cause,” in Shinran’s statement to Yuien explaining why he cannot kill a thousand people at Shinran’s behest: “You lack the karmic cause inducing you to kill even a single person.” This is a view of humanity that arises in the religious awakening of taking refuge in the nenbutsu chosen in the Tathāgata’s original vow that Kiyozawa found in the passages he quotes from the Guanjingshu and the Senchakushū, above. The words that he quotes that describe this view of humanity from the Tannishō have essentially the same significance as those that he quotes from Gaijashō. That is, they express the reality of human life that is not bound by any sort of worldly value system. Considered in this way, the answer Kiyozawa is presenting in this list of quotations is the same as the answer of “faith alone” that he provided to the question of the “ultimate standard” when inquiring into the issue of “Zen aku” in his fourth-year university notebook (1886). This is because the clear recognition of the nature of the self that is realized in the “faith alone” referred to the fact that there is nothing other than the awakening to oneself as entirely conditioned by past karma that is described in the passages from chapter 13 of the Tannishō quoted here. This recognition of oneself as conditioned by past karma is an understanding that however much one might try to live morally based on worldly conceptions of right and wrong, one is actually an existence that might perform any sort of action (such as accidentally killing a thousand people) when the conditions that cause us to do it happen to coalesce beyond the control of our ideas about what is good and bad. When one follows in the spirit of the original vow, which aims to save people who are living such a karmically conditioned existence, one is liberated from a way of life where one suffers from being bound by the norms and expectations created by ideas of right and wrong in worldly value systems. The Tannishō relays this message with Shinran’s statement, “I do not understand good and bad at all,” showing that he has found a peace of mind that was not based on such categories or reliant on the fulfillment of the conditions posited by them. Kiyozawa finished writing “Shōgyō bassui” on July 31, 1890, immediately before he began his “minimum possible” life of religious cultivation. It is said that the biggest factor for Kiyozawa in choosing to take up this lifestyle was the perceived degeneration of the Buddhist clergy. It is generally held that in light of the problem posed by this degeneration, he sought to clarify how Buddhists should live by engaging in a life of

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spiritual cultivation. However, at the same time, “minimum possible” refers to the absolute limit of human capacity. In that sense, it was an expression of Kiyozawa’s intent to determine what the true foundation for human existence is by questioning what is really necessary for human life and what can be done without. Therefore we can say that his “minimum possible” experiment was qualitatively of the same content as his early attempt to determine an “ultimate standard.” In Kiyozawa’s focus on the Tannishō during his university days, we can see that he discovered there teachings that would clarify the “ultimate standard” that he wanted to elucidate for people who are bound by secular value judgments but suffering in the gap between those values and the reality of their lives and seeking a more solid foundation for living. Kiyozawa showed that by finding such an “ultimate standard” through the religious awakening of “faith alone,” one can discover an answer to the question of right and wrong in real, day-to-day life and gain a sense of perspective that will relativize mundane value systems (based on categories such as “profit and loss,” “personal happiness,” “direct intuition of the conscience,” or “the teachings of sages”). Immediately before setting out on his “minimum possible” lifestyle of religious cultivation that inquired into the minimum needed for a human being to live, Kiyozawa compiled a collection of excerpts from Shin scripture entitled “Shōgyō bassui” that included a considerable number of quotations from the Tannishō. This suggests that he discovered teachings in the Tannishō that could answer his question as to what the only thing required of human beings is—that is, what is the sole condition for human liberation. This “Shōgyō bassui” can be seen as addressing an issue of essentially the same nature as the one he took up in the “Zen aku” section of his fourth-year university notebook (1886). In the passages he quoted from the Guanjingshu, Senchakushū, Gaijashō, and Tannishō, he discovered the reality of human life that unfolds in the religious awakening that takes the name (myōgō) of the original vow as a compass for living one’s life and is able to transcend worldly values through a recognition of one’s karmically conditioned nature. Kiyozawa chose the Tannishō—which until then had been lectured on as one among many Shin scriptures and understood to be a work that criticized heretical positions under the organizing principle of “encouraging faith and admonishing doubt”—as the scripture that best expresses the essence of Shinran’s faith. Subsequently, Akegarasu Haya

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(1877–1954) featured a column in Seishinkai under the title “Tannishō o yomu” (Reading the Tannishō) beginning in January 1903. Chikazumi Jōkan (1870–1941) also later lectured on the text at the Kyūdō Kaikan. It cannot be denied that all of this considerably affected the understanding of the Tannishō. In response to the interpretations inspired by Kiyozawa, the Shinshū Takakura Gakuryō also published many commentaries on the scripture, reiterating the position that the Tannishō is a text intended to criticize heresy organized around the principle of kanshin kaigi. In connection with this heightened interest in the text, the Tannishō monki (Record of Lectures on the Tannishō) by Myōon’in Ryōshō (1788– 1842) was published by the Hōwakai Shuppan-bu in Tokyo in 1909. This Edo-period commentary continues to exert considerable influence on Tannishō research even today. Kiyozawa did not take the traditional stance set forth by Jinrei, which took the Tannishō to be a critique of heretical understandings through “encouraging faith and admonishing doubt.” Instead, he saw the text as a work that articulated the essence of Shinran’s insight in the experience of faith. The true content of life that Kiyozawa discovered in the Tannishō is nothing other than living in awareness of one’s past karma and thereby transcending attachment to worldly categories of right and wrong. The essential element in Kiyozawa’s rediscovery of the Tannishō lies here. This view of the text as showing a path to transcend a life bound up within ethical concerns through religious insight into the nature of the self, is not limited to the times that we considered above (his university days and around the time of his “minimum possible” experiment), but remained consistent throughout his life. This fact can be confirmed in many of Kiyozawa’s later statements, such as “What is the self? This is the fundamental issue of the human world”; “the complete standpoint of living in this world”; “Peace beyond Ethics”; and “A Foundation beyond Ethics.” In the religious faith that Kiyozawa articulates with these words we can find a faith that has the same content as that expressed in the Tannishō. Kiyozawa’s statements regarding the content of this faith are also, in a sense, an articulation of the two types of profound understanding (nishu jinshin) set forth by Shandao, in that they express Kiyozawa’s profound insight into the limited capacity of the individual to bring about salvation and the fact that that liberation is brought about entirely through the working of the original vow. Furthermore, Shinran’s statement “I do not understand good or bad at all” near the end of the Tannishō—which Kiyozawa quotes in works like “Rinri ijō no an’i” (1902a) and “Seken shusseken” (1901e)—opened up a new ho130

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rizon of religious serenity that allowed him to transcend worldly categories of right and wrong.

Postscript In his research regarding Kiyozawa’s reading of the Tannishō, Nishida Shin’in speculates that Kiyozawa must have used Shinshū kana shōgyō (Shinshū Kana Scriptures) (Nishida 2002, 624). However, there is no concrete evidence that would prove a connection between Kiyozawa and Shinshū kana shōgyō. By contrast, I would like to suggest that Kiyozawa read the Tannishō included in the aforementioned Shinshū hōten based on the following evidence: 1. Shinshū hōten is listed in the “Nyoze bunko mokuroku” (Nyoze Library Catalogue; KMZI 9: 355), the catalogue of books in Kiyozawa’s library. 2. The title appears several times in his diary, “Zuihitsu gūroku” (1890b), as well as other works of his. 3. The two-volume set of Shinshū hōten is still held at his temple Saihōji. 4. The page numbers above the extracts in “Shōgyō bassui” only match the page numbers in Shinshū hōten. Shinshū hōten is made up of two volumes and was published by Shinshū Hōten Shuppansho (Tokyo) with Yamamoto Kantsū as both editor and publisher. The first volume, containing classical Chinese texts, was published in December 1889, and the second volume, containing classical Japanese texts, in June 1890. (Translated by Dylan Luers Toda and Wayne S. Yokoyama)

Notes 1

The extant manuscripts of the Tannishō do not include an attribution for the author, so there was much discussion in the Edo period regarding its authorship. Although this is not the standard interpretation today, Jinrei made a very influential argument that the text was written by Shinran’s grandson Nyoshin.

2

This text is Shinran’s commentary on the Yuishinshō written by Seikaku (1167–1235), another disciple of Hōnen’s.

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Chapter 6

The Truth about Seishinshugi Kiyozawa Manshi and the People of Kōkōdō Yamamoto Nobuhiro Up to now Kiyozawa Manshi’s (1863–1903) thought has been typically divided into two parts: that of his early philosophical period and that of his later religious period, so-called Seishinshugi. I have come to question this cardinal assumption, however, and in my recent work, ‘Seishin­ shugi’ wa dare no shisō ka (Whose Thought Was “Seishinshugi”?; 2011), I think I have made it abundantly clear that the latter notion, “Seishin­ shugi,” which has often been seen as the quintessence of his thought, was actually the result of having his works intentionally altered by several key members of his Kōkōdō group. Why was that allowed to happen? In the three-year period prior to his death, Kiyozawa lived primarily in Tokyo where he focused his efforts on projects to reform the educational program in the Shinshū Ōtani-ha. Prominent among them was the relocation of Shinshū University, the denomination’s primary institution for higher education, from Kyoto to Tokyo.1 A number of students he had taught in Kyoto followed him to the new capital where they formed the Kōkōdō group. At their suggestion, a new journal entitled Seishinkai started to be published in January 1901  (Meiji 34), with Kiyozawa nominally installed as editor in chief. Seishinkai was the primary medium by which the intellectual reform movement commonly referred to as “Seishinshugi” developed. As far as Kiyozawa was concerned, though, he regarded the journal primarily as a place where members of his group could freely test out new ideas to sharpen their minds. But he himself did not take an especially active role and left the editing of the journal to his younger associates at the Kōkōdō. 132

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It was under these conditions that members of the Kōkōdō, in the process of editing Seishinkai, took advantage of Kiyozawa’s fame and authority to the furthest extent possible to promote Seishinshugi as if it were his own invention. This included reworking Kiyozawa’s essays without his express permission so that they more closely resembled their own philosophical positions and religious beliefs. This is a significant issue not only for the specialized field of Shin doctrinal studies, but also for the broader one of Japanese intellectual history, as well. The reason is that when it becomes apparent to us that “Seishinshugi” does not accurately express the religious philosophy of Kiyozawa himself, in spite of the fact that it has been understood as representative of modern Shin doctrinal studies, this exposes the fatal flaw among those Japanese thinkers who have taken “other-power” as the key conceptual basis to their thought, following the lead of the works attributed to Kiyozawa in Seishinkai. Today there is a compelling need for us to critically examine Kiyozawa’s works not only to clarify the problems present in his works as they have been revised, but also to try to sort out what in them are Kiyozawa’s own words and to tune into his actual voice.

The Members of the Kōkōdō and Seishinshugi Simply put, “Seishinshugi” refers to the religious thought published by Kiyozawa and his associates at the Kōkōdō in Seishinkai, their group’s main organ for which he served as the supervising editor. For many years, scholars generally shared the understanding that Seishinshugi represented the essence of Kiyozawa’s thought. Seishinshugi was thought to be the peak expression of his religious philosophy that he arrived at near the end of his life after facing many challenges in his career. According to this view, he gave up his long-held philosophical approach and unabashedly embraced the religious faith called Seishinshugi. If we carefully examine the circumstances leading up to the publication of Seishinkai, however, it can be seen that in reality Kiyozawa was virtually uninvolved in its production or even in the adoption of the iconic term “Seishinshugi.” In fact, his ardent, young associates who came to Tokyo to lead a communal lifestyle with him at Kōkōdō in Hongō were fully at the helm of this movement. We have statements by multiple individuals attesting to this very point2—that Kiyozawa left his associates in charge of everything and did not interfere with them in any way. In particular, Akegarasu Haya (1877–1954), who late in life became chief administrator of the Shinshū Ōtani-ha, was the de facto editor who 133

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oversaw every detail of the Seishinshugi movement, from fund-raising for the magazine to writing and editing it. It cannot be denied that ­Akegarasu and other Kōkōdō members exerted considerable influence on the formation of the popular understanding of the nature of Kiyozawa’s thought late in life. Kiyozawa sensei no shinkō (Kiyozawa Sensei’s Religious Conviction; Akegarasu 1909a) contains a series of six lectures by Akegarasu begun in December 1908, five years after Kiyozawa’s death. In it Akegarasu writes that Seishinshugi is “not a philosophy but a faith. It is not theory (rikutsu) but actuality ( jissai)” (AHZ 8: 476). He also says, “it takes an iron hammer to scientific thinking that tries to decide everything using the scalpel of reason” (AHZ 8: 554). He further asserts, “It must be said that Sensei’s throwing away his attachment to theories as delusion was truly an extraordinarily heroic decision” (AHZ 8: 563). In many texts published under Kiyozawa’s name in his later years, however, including the ones found in Seishinkai, he continually strives to articulate religion in a philosophically precise manner, as he had done before the advent of Seishinshugi.3 In light of this evidence, we must question whether we should accept Akegarasu’s presentation of a dramatic shift in Kiyozawa’s thinking in his final years at face value. To put it bluntly, the idea that Kiyozawa abandoned his previous socalled self-power ( jiriki) driven philosophical approach to religion and worked to promote Seishinshugi starting with the first issue of Seishinkai in January 1901 is sheer fiction made up by several of his key associates from the Kōkōdō. But why did they feel compelled to come up with such a fiction in the first place? Three of Kiyozawa’s former students from his time in Kyoto, Akegarasu Haya, Tada Kanae (1875–1937), and Sasaki Gesshō (1875–1926), were the ones that first laid out the plan for everyone to live communally in Tokyo at the Kōkōdō and publish Seishinkai. They were so central to the activities there that they came to be known as the “three pillars of Kōkōdō” (Kōkōdō no sanbagarasu). In July 1900, with their graduation from Shinshū University approaching, they visited their teacher Kiyozawa at a lecture hall in Mikawa (Aichi Prefecture), where they shared their ideas about what they should do after graduating and the possibility of publishing a journal in Tokyo. They also secretly harbored a fervent wish to give Kiyozawa, who was not from a temple family, a real taste of traditional Jōdo Shinshū doctrinal studies (shūjō). Reminiscing about that time, Akegarasu describes their hopes as follows in his confessions addressed to Kiyozawa composed in 1919: 134

The Truth about Seishinshugi Sensei, from Meiji 29 [1896], when you were living in the Shirakawa-mura [in Kyoto], and afterwards as well, I would often visit you along with Tada and Sasaki. On such occasions we would talk among ourselves secretly about how, while you, Kiyozawa Sensei, were a distinguished person dear to our hearts, you were not knowledgeable about traditional Jōdo Shinshū doctrinal studies and we had to do something to guide you in some way in order to bring you to experience the settled-mind (anjin) of Shin Buddhism. (“Kiyozawa Sensei e,” 1920; AHZ 12: 7)

In this way, one of their motivations for following Kiyozawa to Tokyo was their desire to familiarize him with “traditional Jōdo Shinshū doctrinal studies.” They thought that since, unlike them, Kiyozawa had grown up in a lay household, he needed their assistance to get a taste of Shin Buddhism’s “settled-mind,” which they themselves had experienced. In other words, it appears that they had these hopes in mind from the very beginning when they approached their “dear” and “distinguished” Kiyozawa. At the same time they were intent on spreading to society at large what they believed to be “traditional Jōdo Shinshū doctrinal studies” and “the Shinshū experience” (Shinshū no ajiwai) by capitalizing on the fame and authority of his baccalaureate from Tokyo Imperial University, which was an extremely rare degree at that time.

The Status of Kiyozawa’s Baccalaureate Let us now consider how someone like Kiyozawa, with a Tokyo Imperial University baccalaureate, would have been regarded as extremely important by his associates as a voice of authority in articulating “the Shinshū experience” to society at large. Kiyozawa enrolled in the Department of Philosophy, Faculty of Letters, Tokyo University (established 1877) as a member of its eighth matriculating class. In the twenty years from its founding until the creation of Kyoto Imperial University in 1897, it was “The University,” Japan’s only institute of higher education that was accredited as a “university.” It attracted the best students from across the country and many outstanding individuals in this elite group enrolled in the Department of Philosophy. According to university records, when Kiyozawa graduated in July 1887, only two other students from the Faculty of Letters graduated with him, and all three of them had studied in the Department of Philosophy. In the ten or so years following the first graduating class in 1880, the total number of graduates from the entire university hovered around  fifty per year. Approximately half were from the Faculty of 135

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­Medicine. ­Incidentally, the year Kiyozawa graduated, the highest number of graduates came from the Faculty of Law, but this totaled only eleven graduates: three from the Department of Law and eight from the Department of Political Science. In this way, Kiyozawa was part of an ultra-elite group and there were high expectations for his future. As his fellow student in the Department of Philosophy, Okada Ryōhei (1864–1934), whose later career included serving as Minister of Education, states, “Kiyozawa was regarded as the most excellent student among those of us who were at university at the same time. If he had proceeded on the same course as his other classmates, I have no doubt he would have distinguished himself considerably.” To have graduated from Tokyo University having studied philosophy was quite rare and highly valued, so the statements of someone with such a baccalaureate likely carried a degree of authority that we might find hard to imagine today. In order to understand the reason that his associates at the Kōkōdō wanted to promote their religious beliefs even if it meant distorting Kiyozawa’s thought, it is necessary to grasp the unique situation that the Japanese Buddhist world was facing during the early to mid-Meiji period. During this time, it found itself in a crisis that threatened its very existence because of the influence of the Buddhist persecution (haibutsu kishaku), the establishment of State Shintō, and the lifting of the ban on Christianity, among other things. Of course, the members of the Higashi Honganji (Shinshū Ōtani-ha) were no exception. In the November 1914 issue of Seishinkai, Tada Kanae contributed an article entitled “Negawakuba waga sakuhi o katarashimeyo” (Let Me Confess My Past Failures) where he describes his love for the Shinshū Ōtani-ha and resistance toward other religions as follows: “The [Shinshū] missionizing spirit that was deeply imbued in me when I was a child has not lessened one bit. I was consumed by the idea that I had to work harder and harder on this project of promoting the denomination. My sense of antagonism toward other teachings would not subside. The thought that our denomination was on the decline was too terrible for me to bear” (38). Here, Tada expresses in straightforward terms his strong attachment to the Shinshū Ōtani-ha denomination that he was born into. While from a lay family, Kiyozawa also held the denomination to be important. Having been born into the samurai class, he found himself in unfortunate circumstances after the Meiji Restoration. As such, he felt even more indebted to the Shinshū Ōtani-ha than others, because it provided an opportunity for him to freely pursue the higher education he had hoped to obtain. 136

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However, unlike Tada, Kiyozawa held that the denomination would only flourish as a result of reconceptualizing religion through philosophical inquiry rooted in logic and did not approve of simply discussing the experience of religious conviction without reference to logic. At the same time, Kiyozawa’s approach that sought to view “religion” through the eyes of “philosophy” was perceived negatively by some of his associates at the Kōkōdō. They held that such a stance would instead lead many Shin followers further afield from the sort of faith that they themselves had experienced.4

The Alteration of Kiyozawa’s Thought through Edited Transcriptions In order to make Kiyozawa Manshi articulate a form of religious thought that conformed to the Shinshū faith they themselves had experienced and were grateful for, Akegarasu and his fellows at the Kōkōdō primarily used the following two methods: First, they published pieces in Seishinkai that they had written based on Kiyozawa’s lectures or other statements either under Kiyozawa’s name or in a way that implied he had penned them, such as in editorials that did not carry an author’s name. These texts are referred to as “seibun” or “edited transcriptions” by the editors of the Kiyozawa Manshi zenshū (Collected Works of Kiyozawa Manshi, both the Hōzōkan and Iwanami Shoten editions). Second, they freely modified the content of texts that Kiyozawa had written in the process of editing them. Regarding the former (i.e., edited transcriptions), Akegarasu recalls how Kiyozawa reacted after reading an unsigned opening editorial that Akegarasu had written for the December 1901 issue of Seishinkai under the title “Seishinshugi to seijō” (Seishinshugi and Human Disposition) as follows: At the time Sensei was in Kyoto. I heard that an acquaintance of his, thinking Sensei was the author of this piece, remarked that he had written some rather shocking things in the current issue of Seishinkai. When Sensei then read the article himself and saw it said things like “adulterers should commit adultery, thieves should commit thievery. The Tathāgata will save them all just as they are,” he was a bit taken aback at first. Criticism started to pour in from all over. He immediately wrote to me saying that my piece was not bad in itself but that my way of saying things was rather extreme. Subsequently, whenever criticism would come in Sensei did not say anything about the authorship and simply defended what was written there. This was something I found quite admirable about him. (AHZ 8: 476) 137

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As we can see here, from an early time it was normal for Kiyozawa to tacitly permit one of his associates to write a piece in Seishinkai (or create an edited transcription) when, for example, he was not present at Kōkōdō or did not have time to write. At the very least, from just looking at the above statement by Akegarasu alone, Akegarasu was more profoundly impressed by Kiyozawa’s willingness to defend his controversial essay in the face of harsh criticism than by Kiyozawa’s critical comments regarding its content, such as his statement that Akegarasu’s “way of saying things was rather extreme.” Further, in this passage we cannot find the least sign of remorse on Akegarasu’s part over his responsibility for Kiyozawa being attacked. Of course this does not mean that Kiyozawa’s disciples had fully comprehended the import of his thought when they edited the content of the transcriptions. In fact, three months after the publication of “Seishinshugi to seijō,” Kiyozawa wrote the following words pregnant with meaning regarding the way that Seishinshugi is discussed in a letter to his friend Inaba Masamaru (1865–1944), another Shinshū Ōtani-ha priest who had studied at the University of Tokyo: In spite of the fact that, from the standpoint of Seishinshugi, as a rule we should not interfere in what other people say and do, we have made a terrible blunder. But merely giving someone a warning does not necessarily compel them to follow our advice. If we understand it that way, leave it up to them whether to adopt our advice, and we accept their decision, then perhaps this too is not necessarily something that goes against the teaching of Seishishugi! Ha ha! (KMZI 9: 284)

It appears that from some time before Kiyozawa wrote this letter, he and Inaba had been discussing the effectiveness of issuing warnings or criticisms of essays that had been published in Seishinkai. While it is not entirely clear from this letter whether the “terrible blunder” of interfering “in what other people say and do” refers to a mistake committed by Kiyozawa himself or someone involved in writing for Seishinkai, we can see that he certainly did not wholly approve of all the impassioned assertions in Seishinkai. Despite this, as Akegarasu approvingly notes, Kiyozawa did not directly admonish his disciples or demand that they stop publishing the edited transcriptions associated with him. This could be seen as a case of him allowing his Shinshū associates to act freely out of consideration for them as an educator. Regardless, the fact that he tacitly permitted ideas that were different from his own to be promoted under his name does 138

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not necessarily mean that a cohesive thought community that can be lumped together under the single heading “Seishinshugi” actually existed.

Seishinshugi as Grace-Centered (Onchōshugi) In the November 1901 issue of Seishinkai, published the month prior to the issue containing “Seishinshugi to seijō” that Akegarasu admits to having written in the recollection quoted above, we find an essay called “Shūkyō teki shinnen no hissu jōken” (The Indispensable Conditions for Religious Conviction, 1901f; KMZ 6: 76–79) printed under Kiyozawa’s name in the “Kōwa” (Lecture) column. Judging from its content, word usage, and so on, there is a very high likelihood it is an edited transcription by Akegarasu (see Yamamoto 2011, 94–99). Some of the text’s forceful assertions resemble those found in “Seishinshugi to seijō.” For example, it states: “When we are enlightened by the compassionate light of the Buddha, . . . when a person has come this far, he may live a moral life. He may seek academic knowledge. He may engage in politics or business. He may go fishing or hunting. When his country is endangered, he may march to war with a rifle on his shoulder” (KMZI 6: 78–79; translation from Kiyozawa 1984, 23–24). This last claim, “he may march to war,” has often been seen as problematic by scholars. Basically, they have raised the fundamental issue that regardless of the religious nature of such claims, approving of the act of war along with acts that are supposed to be ethically neutral (engaging in politics, business, and so on) is a questionable ideology (see Akamatsu 1991; Ikoma 1991; Sueki 2002; Kondō 2013, etc.). Six years after Kiyozawa’s death, in the May 1909 issue of Seishinkai, Akegarasu published an article entitled “Zaiaku mo nyorai no onchō nari” (Even Our Harmful Transgressions Are the Tathāgata’s Grace, 1909d; AHZ 21: 497–500), which he calls his “interpretive reading of the content” of Kiyozawa’s final essay “Waga shinnen” (My Faith, 1903g; KMZI 6: 160–164). There, Akegarasu’s characterizes the content of Kiyozawa’s faith late in life in the following way: Based on this faith, Kiyozawa Sensei said, “In whatever I do, I simply follow my inclinations and act according to what my heart dictates, without hesitation.” Unless one has come to believe that everything is the result of the working (hakarai) of the Tathāgata, one could never make such an audacious statement. [In such a faith,] one experiences the joy that even one’s past transgressions and harms are the result of the Tathāgata’s grace

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Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi (onchō) and therefore one comes to recognize that everything will be fine in the future no matter what one does. Without arriving at this faith, it is impossible to attain a truly settled-mind (anjin). My statement that even our harmful transgressions are the Tathāgata’s grace [in the title of this article] is my interpretive reading of the content of Kiyozawa Sensei’s “Waga shinnen.” (AHZ 21: 500)

This idea that it is permissible to “act according to what my heart dictates, without hesitation” if one encounters once the merciful light of the Tathāgata is the nature of the religious faith that Akegarasu repeatedly advocated. Here I would like to draw your attention to his use of the significant expression “Tathāgata’s grace” (nyorai no onchō). Shinshū doctrinal studies scholar Miyagi Shizuka (1931–2008) used the term onchōshugi, or “grace-centered thought,” to describe the religious thought of some of Kiyozawa’s associates who viewed his philosophical orientation negatively and focused exclusively on articulating their own experience of Shin faith (1957, 353–364). Put simply, the guiding force behind the publication of Seishinkai was Kiyozawa’s Kōkōdō associates, who sought to popularize their own vision of Seishinshugi using his name to spearhead their movement. They adopted this strategy because they were fully aware how much more effective it would be to have the message of “the Tathāgata’s grace” come from the mouth of Kiyozawa. As an elite member of society at the time, who was revered by the intellectuals around him, he was the ideal person to help them achieve their goal of disseminating the kind of Shinshū faith that they had been familiar with since their childhood in order to facilitate the recovery of the denomination’s status in Japanese society. In fact, in time Akegarasu candidly admitted his error of intentionally misrepresenting Kiyozawa’s thought as a form of onchōshugi. Akegarasu wrote that “[in the ten years following Kiyozawa’s death,] I ended up trying to, and ultimately succeeded in, inserting the lively faith that was so central to Sensei into the empty shell of the traditional, sectarian doctrines which were thought up just to serve the needs of the denomination as it degenerated during the Tokugawa period” (1920; AHZ 12: 7–8), and that he had thereby caused “an old and useless concept of faith to take on a new guise using Sensei’s name” (AHZ 12: 8).

Changing Kiyozawa’s Ideas by Rewriting His Works Regarding the second method—freely revising Kiyozawa’s works in the process of editing them—Maida Shūichi (1906–1967) provides the following testimony in the essay “Senshi to Kiyozawa-shi” (The Late [Akega140

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rasu] Sensei and Kiyozawa Sensei, 1967) describing how Kiyozawa’s disciples guided his thought in the direction of onchōshugi. When I was editing the late Akegarasu Sensei’s personal journal Kōdaie (Great Assembly), he said to me, “Feel free to edit my writing as much as you like. I would edit the essays that Kiyozawa Sensei contributed to Seishinkai whatever way I liked. You, too, should unhesitatingly do the same. I would not have it any other way.” When he told me this, Tanaka Kunizō (1863–1958), former head of the Ishikawa Prefectural Library, who was then working at the Tokyo Imperial University Library, was visiting. He said, “I just visited the Nishida Kitarō Museum in Unoke-mura, Kahoku-gun. There, they had Dr. Nishida’s collected essays and other manuscripts lined up on display. It was a wonderful experience for me to be able to pick them up and look through them. When Akegarasu Sensei heard him say this, he replied, “Oh, what is so wonderful about that? We used to use Kiyozawa Sensei’s drafts to blow our noses in and then we would just toss them away.” Since Akegarasu Sensei viewed his own writings to be nothing more than a form of excrement, something like this seemed to be well within the realm of possibility for him. (MSZ 7: 403)

Maida was a disciple of Akegarasu’s who hailed from the same prefecture, Ishikawa, and had studied philosophy in the Department of Philosophy at Kyoto Imperial University. If this statement of his is true, not only did Akegarasu create several edited transcripts that bore Kiyozawa’s name, he also freely revised the essays Kiyozawa contributed to Seishinkai, adding to and altering their content so that they would fall in line with his own beliefs and ideas. So how exactly did Akegarasu rewrite Kiyozawa’s works? Fortunately, a number of Kiyozawa’s handwritten drafts are still available, so we can compare these with the modified versions published in Seishinkai and see what additions and amendments were made. As an example, let us consider some of the changes that were made to one of Kiyozawa’s most famous works. Kiyozawa’s handwritten draft of his last work—written just a week before he passed away—bears the title, “Ware wa kaku no gotoku nyorai o shinzu” (I Believe in the Tathāgata in This Way, 1903h; see CS, 93–98), but the piece was eventually published in the June 1903 issue of Seishinkai under the title “Waga shinnen” (My Faith, 1903g). In that handwritten draft, Kiyozawa writes: In spite of saying that human wisdom is finite and imperfect, it is difficult to rid ourselves of the delusion that attempts to use that finite and imperfect human wisdom to clarify a perfect standard or the reality of the infinite. Before I also feared that if one did not understand standards for truth 141

Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi or good and evil, heaven and earth would crumble and society fall into chaos, but now I have reached the conclusion that human knowledge cannot possibly determine standards for truth or goodness. (KMZI 6: 333)

This passage appears as follows in the version published in Seishinkai after having being edited: Although before I would also speak of my finitude and imperfection, it is difficult to rid ourselves of the delusion that attempts to use that finite and imperfect human wisdom to clarify a perfect standard or the reality of the infinite. Before I also feared that if one did not understand standards for truth or good and evil, heaven and earth would crumble and society fall into chaos, but now I have reached the conclusion that human knowledge cannot possibly determine standards for truth or goodness. (KMZI 6: 163; see CS, 96)

Comparing these two passages, we can see that the expression “before I” (watakushi mo izen ni wa) has been added to the first sentence of the Seishinkai version; it is not in the original handwritten draft. Also, in that published version, the first reference to “human wisdom” has been deleted, implying that Kiyozawa is the subject of that portion of the sentence. Furthermore, this editorial change confuses the tense of the sentence, so that the first half is in past tense while the second is in present tense. In other words, to accommodate the insertion at the beginning of that sentence, the second half of it should read: “it was difficult to rid myself of the delusion that attempts to use that finite and imperfect human wisdom to clarify a perfect standard or the reality of the infinite.” The problem is this modification manipulates the reader’s impression of what Kiyozawa is saying. While the original handwritten draft is Kiyozawa’s confession right before his death that he has not yet “rid [himself] of the delusion that attempts to use that finite and imperfect human wisdom,” the revised statement leads readers to believe that he had already rid himself of it. The Seishinkai version presents Kiyozawa as having abandoned the spirit of philosophical inquiry and decided that since human wisdom is incapable of settling any issues, he should give up any sort of human effort and rely entirely on the Tathāgata. In that sense, the published version can only be read as presenting Kiyozawa as a person who had already fallen into the pitfall of onchōshugi. In this way, we can find many places in Seishinkai that present Kiyozawa’s ideas as matching up with the sort of Seishinshugi that Akegarasu and his colleagues were trying to promote. In fact, in addition to the above, there are many other examples of Kiyozawa’s thought being in142

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tentionally altered at the editing stage. Multiple instances can be found in a piece entitled “Tariki no kyūsai” (Salvation through Other-Power, 1903f) that was published in the June 1903 Seishinkai, the same issue as “Waga shinnen.” Kiyozawa originally wrote it as a speech for a celebration of Shinran’s birth held at Shinshū University on April 1, 1903. While due to space limitations I cannot touch upon each revision, let us focus on two of them. Comparing the original draft and the version published in Seishinkai, one notices that Kiyozawa’s statement, “the thought of other-power salvation is like . . . being admitted (irashimuru ga gotoshi) into the Pure Land of peace and awakening” (KMZI 6: 329), has been changed by the editors to read “admits (irashimu) one into the Pure Land of the peace and awakening” (KMZI 6: 159). In the original, Kiyozawa is trying to say that having a “thought of other-power salvation” feels “like being admitted” into the Pure Land, not that it “admits” one to the Pure Land. He did not hold that by just acquiring a “thought of other-power salvation” one would immediately be able to enter the Pure Land. In the original work, Kiyozawa is clearly focused only on the issue of how to live in this world as a finite existence burdened with delusion and ignorance. A similar issue can be found in the subsequent passage, as well. In his original manuscript, Kiyozawa writes, “I indeed feel that I am presently in the midst of being saved by this thought; if the teachings of otherpower salvation did not exist in this world, I would ultimately not be able to avoid confusion and utter despair” (KMZI 6: 329). In the published version this has been changed to, “Indeed, I am in the midst of being saved by this thought. If the teachings of other-power salvation did not exist in this world, surely I would not have ultimately avoided confusion and utter despair” (KMZI 6: 159). First, we should note that the somewhat vague “feel that I am presently in the midst of being saved” (gen ni kyūsai saretsutsu aru o kanzu) is changed into the clear declaration, “I am in the midst of being saved” (kyūsai saretsutsu ari). While the original maintains a delicate stance that continually attempts to grasp the reality of his deluded self as it is and indicates that Kiyozawa thought his salvation had not been perfectly realized, the Seishinkai version wipes away this subtle nuance, giving readers the impression that Kiyozawa was more positive about his own salvation than his manuscript actually indicates. Furthermore, we should not overlook the fact that the original’s “I would not be able to avoid” (manukarezaru beshi) has been changed to “surely I would not have avoided” (manukarezarishi naramu). If one 143

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straightforwardly reads the original text, it is about salvation in the present, stating that if there were no teaching of salvation by otherpower, then he would certainly be unable to avoid confusion and overwhelming agony. However, the edited sentence speaks of salvation as something already fully realized in the past. In short, this revision makes it seem like Kiyozawa is presently completely free from confusion and agony. In “Tariki no kyūsai” there are multiple other similar examples. In short, in spite of the fact that Kiyozawa clearly did not view the working of other-power salvation as separate from the finite self that is currently living in this “sahā world of delusion and suffering” (meitō kumon no shaba), the edited version of this piece presents salvation as a state devoid of all forms of confusion and despair. That is, by intimating that Kiyozawa regarded salvation as bringing such benefits and merits, the edited piece indicates that he had a tendency toward monistic onchōshugi.

The Ideas of Akunin Shōki and Absolute Other-Power As has often been pointed out, it is an undeniable fact that the Seishin­ shugi thought purportedly taught by Kiyozawa subsequently became a driving force that pushed Japan on to the path toward nationalism, fascism, and war. One major reason for this was the alterations to Kiyozawa’s thought by his associates at the Kōkōdō. This is an important point that has been overlooked up to now. At the same time, the problems actually caused by the religious thought (other-power thought) that was presented as Seishinshugi surely should not simply be dismissed as the misleading interpretations of a small group of individuals, because there seem to be even more deeply rooted issues involved. Presentations of Shinshū thought from the modern period up until today have centered on two concepts: the doctrine of akunin shōki (evil people are the right object of salvation) and “absolute other-power” (zettai tariki). The close relationship these two concepts are held to have in summaries of Shinran’s thought can be clearly seen in the two textbook explanations below: In order to save people who cannot become enlightened on their own, Amida Buddha made forty-eight vows. Therefore, rather than good people who can accumulate merit with their own power ( jiriki sazen no hito), evil persons who are aware of themselves as foolish beings caught up in delusion (bonnō gusoku no bonbu) are the very ones that are fit for Amida Buddha’s salvation. This straightforwardly expresses Shinran’s absolute other-

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The Truth about Seishinshugi power thought which holds that salvation is due to the original vow of Amida Buddha to save humans and not dependent on their own efforts. . . . Other-power within other-power (tariki no naka no tariki) means that the entirety of salvation is based completely on Amida Buddha’s power and designs, and not at all on the self-power of human beings. Also, it refers to this absolute power of Amida Buddha. The term expresses the form of otherpower faith that Shinran arrived at by taking Hōnen’s understanding of other-power even further, holding that even nenbutsu is not recited with self-power, but instead that the Buddha’s compassion causes one to do so. It refers to a position that emphasizes the entirely other-power nature of faith. It expresses a state where salvation is seen to rely completely on the original vow of Amida Buddha and not on human effort. (Hamai and Kodera 2010, 124, 125)

The first is an explanation of the doctrine of akunin shōki and the second is a description of “absolute other-power.” We can clearly see that these two concepts are closely connected in the statement in the former that “This straightforwardly expresses Shinran’s absolute other-power thought.” I cannot help but feel uncomfortable with the view that holds akunin shōki to be the core of Shinran’s thought. This notion has received attention due to the statement in the Tannishō, “Even a good person attains birth in the Pure Land, so it goes without saying that an evil person will” (CWS 1: 663). However, originally this was preached by Shinran’s teacher Hōnen; it is not the former’s original idea.5 Why, despite this, has the akunin shōki doctrine been treated as if it is the core of Shinran’s thought and unique to Shinshū? It is a result of not only Shinran’s thought being primarily understood based on the Tannishō since the Meiji period, but also the large shadow cast by the onchōshugi understanding of Shinshū that Akegarasu and others promoted under Kiyozawa’s name. Along with akunin shōki, the concept of “absolute other-power” has also profoundly influenced modern and contemporary understandings of Shinshū teachings. As can be seen from the second explanation quoted above, the originality of Shinran’s thought, or the Shinshū teachings, has been seen as lying in the idea of “other-power within other-power,” namely, in Shinran taking Hōnen’s unique ideas about the role of otherpower in Pure Land faith to their radical conclusion. While Shinran’s thought has been understood to be unique in its complete removal of the self-power elements within Hōnen’s Pure Land teachings and elucidation of the state of absolute reliance upon other-power, if this understanding 145

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is valid, it would mean that there are two types of other-power in Pure Land teachings: “relative other-power” and “absolute other-power,” which would be a very peculiar idea. Other-power already means an absolute other-power that does not allow for even a bit of self-power. Shinran uses the term “other-power” often in his works. However, it also appears in Tanluan’s Jingtu lunzhu (Commentary on the Treatise on the Pure Land), and, of course, Hōnen uses it as well. On the other hand, while there are a few examples of Shinran using “absolute” (zettai) in his works such as in Gutokushō (“Gutoku’s Notes”) and Kyōgyōshinshō (Teaching, Practice, Faith, and Realization), “absolute other-power” is nowhere to be found. A similar argument can be made with regard to the akunin shōki doctrine. There is no way that Shinran thought that his understanding of Pure Land thought went beyond that of his teacher Hōnen. Due to the recent tendency to explain Shinran’s thought with peculiar ideas like calling it “other-power within other-power,” a common understanding has arisen that Shinran, seeing Hōnen’s other-power thought as incomplete, preached “absolute other-power” that transcended the “relative other-power” doctrine of his teacher. This is a serious misunderstanding. In my opinion, presenting Shinran’s thought as if its true value lies in the notion of absolute other-power is a strategy that has been adopted with the aim of differentiating it from the Pure Land teachings of Hōnen (the Jōdo school), and is nothing more than a popular belief formed from the modern period onward.

Reconsidering Seishinshugi At any rate, it cannot be denied that due to the phrase “absolute otherpower” taking root widely in modern and contemporary Japan as a keyword to describe Shinshū, a tendency has emerged where Shinshū otherpower thought is understood with the Tannishō’s idea of akunin shōki superimposed upon it. However, why was the odd neologism “absolute other-power” accepted by many people as a term that expressed the essence of the Shin teachings, and why did it spread widely on a general level? The shadow of Kiyozawa’s Kōkōdō associates comes to mind. It is well known that Kiyozawa developed his unique thought using philosophical terms such as “infinite” (mugen) and “absolute infinite” (zettai mugen) instead of the Buddhist term “other-power.” According to Kiyozawa, all phenomena in this world follow the principle of dependent origination: They arise based on conditions and vanish when those con146

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ditions are exhausted. They are “relative” and “finite” in that they cannot come into being without relying upon other things. If one were to describe the entire world, which is comprised of these innumerable finite things, as “infinite,” there would be no finite thing that is not subsumed therein, and no finite thing that is relative to and can be placed alongside this infinite. In this sense, the “infinite” must be defined as singular and absolute. If this is the concept of the infinite, it means that with the term “absolute infinite” Kiyozawa is trying to say that the infinite is entirely absolute, and that which is absolute is the infinite. In that sense, the two elements of the term “absolute infinite” are conceptually appositional, meaning essentially the same thing. However, when the phrase “absolute infinite” circulates divorced from this intellectual context, “absolute” is understood to be modifying “infinite.” The greatest problem that arises when this happens is that many people end up subscribing to the illusion that there is an “infinite” that exists in opposition to the “absolute infinite.” In other words, they mistakenly believe that there is a “relative infinite.” This is like thinking that there is a “square triangle,” a fundamental contradiction in terms. Kiyozawa’s “philosophy of religion” clearly lies in the background of the odd theory that Shinran’s thought is an expression of “other-power within other-power.” Why can we be certain of this? Because the phrase “absolute other-power” was first used in the title to a piece that Kiyozawa’s disciple Tada Kanae created for the June 1902 issue of Seishinkai. That piece, entitled “Zettai tariki no daidō” (The Great Way of Absolute Other-Power, 1902f) was made up of excerpts that Tada took from the pages of one of Kiyozawa’s diaries (KMZI 6: 110–113). Tada was one of the temple-born associates who drew close to Kiyozawa in hopes that Kiyozawa would develop a true understanding of the traditional Shinshū doctrinal studies that he had missed out on by not being raised in a temple. If one compares the original text in Kiyozawa’s diary and the version edited by Tada that was published in Seishinkai, the phrase “absolute other-power” is clearly a creation of Tada’s. While in the diary we find “absolute infinite,” Tada changed all instances of this term to “absolute other-power” during the editing process. Kiyozawa used “infinite” to express the idea of “other-power” in philosophical terms. Therefore, one might not think there is any problem in Tada’s switching these two words. However, as pointed out above, even in the case of the phrase “absolute infinite,” people end up picturing a “relative infinite.” This happens even more so with the phrase “absolute 147

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other-power”—it is no easy task to prevent this from evoking “relative other-power.” Once the concept of “relative other-power” emerges, people inevitably get a meta-message that they must overcome this kind of half-hearted “other-power.” To understand the religion arrived at by Shinran and the core of Kiyozawa’s faith as “other-power within other-power” (that is, other-power belief and thought that completely rejects and parts ways from “selfpower” elements) is to follow the same path as the Seishinshugi that Akegarasu and Tada tried to promote. In “Zettai tariki no daidō,” many of Kiyozawa’s words are changed to have an orientation toward onchōshugi, which emphasizes the salvation of the wicked through grace. We should not overlook the fact that in the background to this was Tada’s fear that the Shinshū Ōtani-ha was lagging behind other religious institutions and his strong desire to have Kiyozawa Manshi, one of the top scholars of his time, write about “Shinshū’s cardinal teachings” in order to help remedy that situation. If the phrase “absolute other-power” arose out of the desire to have more people know about these doctrines for the purpose of differentiating Shinshū from other schools (including the Jōdo school), this aim succeeded in a way that exceeded the expectations of Tada and his Kōkōdō associates. However, their use of it as grounds for their claim that the essence of the religion that Kiyozawa and Shinran spoke of is an onchōshugi-oriented Seishinshugi, which ignores logic and reason and can only be understood on an affective or emotional level, is a grave problem that cannot be overlooked. In summary, it is an undeniable reality of modern Japanese thought that a line of discourse was intentionally proliferated by Kiyozawa’s Kōkōdō associates that capitalized on his fame as a respected figure among intellectuals of the time. That discourse presented the essence of other-power thought in a way that contradicted how Kiyozawa had originally formulated it. Following his passing, the notion of “absolute otherpower” that was articulated with the support of his intellectual authority was, after the Russo-Japanese War, used in the background to a marked degree to support the state of affairs of a country that would plunge itself into a long series of wars. It goes without saying that we must point out that this problem is a major danger for all forms of religious thought. Furthermore, I believe that this issue is of critical importance because it continues to exert considerable influence on contemporary thought and has led to broadly held misunderstanding and suspicion regarding religion in general and religious philosophy in particular. 148

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Did Japanese philosophy at some point make a definite error in judgment as to the role that thought should play in society and human life, leading to the mistakes of the 1930s and 1940s? If that is the case, it is imperative we take the opportunity now to carefully reexamine how such an error arose, as well as the essential issues that brought it about. Such a task has important implications not only for research on Kiyozawa Manshi but also for the entire field of Japanese intellectual history. (Translated by Dylan Luers Toda and Wayne S. Yokoyama)

Notes 1

Shinshū University was returned from Tokyo to Kyoto and ultimately renamed Ōtani University. See Ōtani Daigaku Hyakunenshi Henshū Iinkai 2001, 241–294.

2

For instance, in Kiyozawa Manshi sensei, Nishimura Kengyō relays the discussion between Kiyozawa and his disciples when they asked him to write the opening editorial for the first issue of Seishinkai, which was entitled “Seishinshugi,” as follows: “Kiyozawa asked, ‘What should I write about?’ ” so his disciples responded, ‘Since it’s the opening essay for Seishinkai, you should probably write about Seishinshugi.’ What he wrote is the piece ‘Seishinshugi’ ” (1951, 291).

3

For example, “Hōritsu, dōtoku, shūkyō” published in Kyōgaku hōchi in May of 1901, makes a careful analysis of sanctions against doing wrong, holding that legal and moral sanctions are “other oriented” and “outward looking” while religious sanctions are “self-oriented” and “introspective” (1901a). Also, in response to requests for further explanation regarding the piece “Rinri ijō no an’i” (1902a), which was an edited transcription prepared by Andō Shūichi on Kiyozawa’s behalf, Kiyozawa himself penned “Rinri ijō no konkyo” (1903b) in a highly logical fashion. Further, in light of the fact that Kiyozawa wrote “I intended to a degree to set forth a rigorously academic foundation” about his piece “Shūkyō teki dōtoku (zokutai) to futsū dōtoku to no kōshō” (Negotiating Religious Morality [Worldly Truth] and Common Morality, 1903d) that was published in May of 1903, we can say that that work too is a reflection of his attempt to maintain a degree of philosophical rigor even up to the last months of his life.

4

For instance, Andō Shūichi relates that on hearing Chikazumi Jōkan say, “The Tathāgata bestows pity upon us with a face full of tears,” in a lecture, Kiyozawa expressed his disapproval saying, “Looking at the people around me, I could not bring myself to describe the Tathāgata with a term like ‘a face full of tears’ ” (Andō 1991, 213). 149

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150

This statement originally appeared in a biography of Hōnen. In Kudenshō (A Chronicle of Oral Tradition) by Kakunyo (1270–1351), Shinran touches upon these words of Hōnen’s: “Even in [Shandao’s] commentary (Xuanyifen) there are statements such as, ‘All ordinary persons good and evil attain Birth.’ This too regards the evil-ridden ordinary person as main and the good ordinary person as incidental. For that reason, if the good ordinary person, who is cast in the incidental role, can attain Birth, how can it be possible that the evil-ridden ordinary person, who is cast in the main role, will not attain Birth? Thus, I was told [by Hōnen], ‘If the good people can attain Birth, how much more so does this apply to the evil-ridden ones’ ” (Bloom and Habito 2007, 30, slightly modified).

Chapter 7

The Resurrection of Kiyozawa Manshi Fukushima Eiju In his recent book, ‘Seishinshugi’ wa dare no shisō ka (Whose Thought Was “Seishinshugi”?, 2011), Yamamoto Nobuhiro has pointed out that disciples of Kiyozawa Manshi (1863–1903) took liberties to amend and alter his writings in Seishinkai, thereby rendering them into a form different from his “original thought.” This reveals the difficulty involved in getting a closer look at the actual Kiyozawa through analyzing the set of essays generally associated with him. Suffice it to say that, even without resorting to this kind of critical textual analysis, it is a very difficult thing for later researchers to reconstruct the “actual image” or “original thought” of any thinker. In the field of Kiyozawa studies, it was Imamura Hitoshi (1943–2007), an influential scholar of modern Japanese thought, who played a major role in the reevaluation of Kiyozawa as a significant modern philosopher. He was involved in the publication of the Iwanami Shoten version of the Kiyozawa Manshi zenshū (Collected Works of Kiyozawa Manshi; hereafter, KMZI). Prior to that, Kiyozawa was primarily famous within the Shinshū Ōtani-ha and only known to a certain degree within Japanese academic circles, but in both spheres he was simply understood to be the founder of one particular lineage of modern Shin doctrinal studies, while Imamura points out his role as a philosopher. Furthermore, since it has only been fifteen years since the publication of the Iwanami edition of Kiyozawa’s collected works, we can well expect the perception of his image and thought to further evolve as those works continue to be evaluated by future scholars. That is to say, since the perception of the image of any thinker is actually the product of those who came after him, it is important to address the issue of how that image was formed. In Kiyozawa’s case, he was in 151

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fact both a philosopher of religion and a Shin priest, so the question for one interested in intellectual history should be how these various images of him were developed over time. This chapter considers how his followers created an image of Kiyozawa during the six years following his passing and clarifies how the image they created might have had a long-term influence on the perception of Kiyozawa today. Concretely speaking, I will adopt a perspective that looks at how Kiyozawa was “resurrected,” so to speak, after his death. I am interested in how Kiyozawa’s Kōkōdō disciples breathed life back into him on the pages of Seishinkai, the Seishinshugi movement’s journal, after he passed away on June 6, 1903, at the age of thirty-nine. For example, how were the texts presented under Kiyozawa’s name printed in the journal? How was he textually described and visually depicted? Primarily by analyzing articles found in Seishinkai from this point of view, it becomes clear that Kiyozawa’s disciples attempted to resurrect him as the “Meiji-­period Shinran,” as it were. Finally, I would like to say a few words in closing as to the influence this image subsequently exerted both within and outside the Shinshū Ōtani-ha.

From “The Late Kiyozawa Manshi” to “Kiyozawa Manshi” Starting with the July 1903 issue of Seishinkai published the month after Kiyozawa’s death, the prefix ko (deceased, “the late”) came to be affixed to his name in the credit line of the articles he had authored. Furthermore, the next year of issues following this one all include at least three pieces by Kōkōdō members reminiscing about Kiyozawa. Starting in the August issue, the column heading “Kiyozawa Sensei” is added to this section of memorials. The August issue includes essays that focused on episodes from Kiyozawa’s life such as “Higashi-katachō jidai no sensei” (Sensei during His Time in Higashi-katachō, 1903) by Andō Shūichi (1873–1950) and “Waga Kiyozawa shi” (My Teacher Kiyozawa, 1903) by Inoue Hōchū (1863–1923), which continued serially over several issues. Although such remembrances can also be found in later issues of the journal, the section heading “Kiyozawa Sensei” last appears in the June 1904 issue, one year after his death. Similarly, in the next month’s issue, the character ko no longer appears before his name on his works. He went back to being “Kiyozawa Manshi” instead of “The Late Kiyozawa Manshi.”1 Since there is no editor’s note explaining these changes, the intention behind them is unclear, but it does seem that in this way, on the pages of Seishinkai, Kiyozawa goes from being treated as a deceased individual back to a living one. That is, he is given new life, or in a sense, “resurrected.” 152

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Kiyozawa’s Portrait In the “Tōkyō dayori” (News from Tokyo) column that appears in the July 1903 Seishinkai published the month after Kiyozawa’s death, one finds the following notification: “At the urging of many of our comrades on the path, in his memory, we have prepared an exquisite half-length portrait of Kiyozawa Manshi printed in large format collotype, and plan to distribute it among his friends and associates. If there are any among our readers who would like a copy, we intend to distribute them at cost. It should be finished sometime in the middle of this month” (Kōkōdō 1903b, 59). In the “Tōkyō tayori” in the next month’s issue, there is the announcement, “The cost of one Kiyozawa Manshi portrait is twelve sen, including postage” (Kōkōdō 1903c, 39). In this way, immediately after Kiyozawa’s death, his portrait was distributed to interested individuals through Seishinkai. This might be related to the popularity of collotype picture postcards at the time that resulted from postal rules being revised in 1900 to allow postcards.2 It appears that these portraits were set out on display at the services held in honor of the first anniversary of Kiyozawa’s passing. For example, in the June 1904 Seishinkai, the Kōkōdō member Kondō Jungo (1875– 1967) wrote in “Himeji ni okeru isshūki” (The Gathering for the First Memorial in Himeji), “Quite fortuitously, the portrait of Kiyozawa Sensei that you mailed arrived this morning, and I immediately placed it in the alcove. I am grateful for your kindness” (1904, 49). In a similar article entitled “Kaga dayori” (News from Kaga) in the March 1906 Seishinkai, Akegarasu Haya (1877–1954) reports the following regarding a gathering held in commemoration of Kiyozawa’s death: “On the night of the sixth, a gathering was held at my temple. Sixteen people came: teachers, priests, merchants, and farmers. First we all bowed to Sensei’s photo, and then recited his ‘Waga shinnen’ ” (44). In this way, on the anniversary of Kiyozawa Manshi’s death, as well as on the sixth of other months, his portrait was put on display and used as an object of worship. The portrait displayed at the gatherings in Himeji and Kaga was probably the same as what is here presented as figure 1, which was used as a frontispiece to Kiyozawa’s Shūyō jikan (Impressions of Self-Cultivation, 1903e), published in September 1903, two months after the distribution of his portrait was announced. A similar portrait (figure 2) is also included at the beginning of Kiyozawa sensei no shinkō (Kiyozawa Sensei’s Religious Conviction, 1909a), 153

Figure 1. Portrait of Kiyozawa in Shūyō jikan and its cover. Ōtani University Library

Figure 2. Portrait in Kiyozawa sensei no shinkō and its title page. Ōtani University Library

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a work by Akegarasu Haya that was published in July 1909, to commem­ orate the seventh memorial of Kiyozawa’s passing.3 In the book’s ­explanatory notes, Akegarasu writes, “This is a reproduction kindly made by Nakamura Kinzō of Yokohama of the photograph of Sensei taken in Kyoto in February of the year he passed away, Meiji 36 (1903)” (3). The two portraits used in these two books are very similar, but it is unclear if they are the same. A photograph of a portrait was included as a supplement to the June 1905 Seishinkai (vol. 5, no. 6) to mark Kiyozawa’s third memorial service (figure 3). The original painting by Nakamura Fusetsu (1866–1943) is

Figure 3. Portrait of Kiyozawa included in the June 1905 Seishinkai. Courtesy Hōzōkan

155

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a­ pproximately 90 × 120 cm. It was unveiled at a ceremony at Shinshū ­University’s assembly hall during a gathering to commemorate the third memorial service for Kiyozawa. In that issue’s “Tōkyō dayori” column, likely written by the Kōkōdō member in charge of editing Seishinkai, one finds the following explanation: “As the white sheet was quietly slipped from the portrait revealing the modest image of Sensei in the frame, it was as if he were being brought back to life again. I remember a feeling of gratitude passing through me. A reduced size reproduction of the portrait has been attached to the beginning of this magazine” (Kōkōdō 1905, 51). In the words “as if he were being brought back to life again,” we can sense the editor’s longing for a resurrected Kiyozawa. Furthermore, in the “Kaga dayori” column (which we may assume was submitted by Akegarasu) in the next month’s issue of Seishinkai, there is a letter by someone named Koshimura Kiichirō (dates unknown) stating the following: “This month’s Seishinkai arrived on the fourteenth. The portrait of the late Sensei included at the beginning made me feel nostalgic just looking at it. I felt as if I were a soldier, depressed in a lonely outpost in a far off, foreign land, who suddenly encountered the image of his compassionate parents” (Akegarasu 1905, 46). In the “Beikoku dayori” (News from America) column in the November 1905 issue of Seishinkai, there is a letter from Philadelphia by a person named Akita Kōhan (1885–1919). He writes regarding the portrait in figure 3: “To mark the third memorial for the late Kiyozawa Sensei we hung his portrait and gazed respectfully at it as all those in his lineage do” (Akita 1905, 45). In this way, it can be seen that just one month after Kiyozawa passed away, Kōkōdō advertised the creation and distribution of his portrait, and those connected to Kōkōdō (primarily Seishinkai readers) purchased it and used it as an object of worship. Furthermore, the Seishinkai issue that marked his third memorial included a photographic reproduction of the portrait painted by Nakamura Fusetsu, which generated feelings of nostalgia in the readership.

Kiyozawa’s Last Work, “Waga Shinnen” The June 1903 Seishinkai was published the month Kiyozawa passed away. It opens with an essay he wrote a few days before his death entitled “Waga shinnen” (My Faith; for an English translation, see CS, 93–98). Its preface introduces it as “Sensei’s last work, the last lecture that Sensei has left for us in the world” (Seishinkai 3 (6): 1). From the editorial notes 156

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in the “Tōkyō dayori” at the end of the issue, it can be gathered that the text received special treatment. While the editors originally intended to include it in the “Kōwa” (Lecture) section of the journal, due to Kiyozawa’s death the editors quickly reformatted it, explaining “to make it easier for everyone to read, we set it in ‘size four’ font and placed it at the beginning of this issue” (Kōkōdō 1903a, 46).4 The editorial note then states, “It is our hope that our brothers on the path will read it two or three times.” This special “size four” (13.75 point) font format for Kiyozawa’s writings continued until the March 1908 issue (vol. 8, no. 3). Furthermore, in Chūgai nippō, a newspaper that reports on religious affairs, on June 17, 1903, just eleven days after Kiyozawa’s death, there is an advertisement containing the table of contents of the current issue of Seishinkai (figure 4). There, the title of “Waga shinnen” and Kiyozawa’s name along with the following description of its contents are set in a larger font (size two [21 point]): “The essay ‘Waga shinnen’ appearing in this issue is Kiyozawa Manshi’s last work. Facing death, he took up his brush and here he has set down a meditation on religion, discussing the conclusions he had drawn from his life.” While informing readers about “Waga shinnen,” a special meaning is given to the text: it is not simply his last work, but a discussion of his conclusions about life and religion that Kiyozawa himself wrote in the face of death. In this way, the text “Waga shinnen” would be introduced over and over again using the set phrase “last work” (zeppitsu), imparting the text with special status and significance, and ensuring it would be read for generations to come. Furthermore, it was published as a booklet in the summer of 1903 by Bunmeidō (Tokyo), and subsequently by Hōzōkan and the Morioka Rōsenkai in 1906, and Mugasanbō in 1908 (Akegarasu 1909a, reigen, 2).5 It can be assumed that these booklets were read at gatherings that venerated Kiyozawa. Let us now consider how the text “Waga shinnen” was read by readers. I would like to introduce several specific aspects. For example, it was reported by Kondō Jungo that more than ten people came together as the Shūyō Kondankai (Informal Gathering for Religious Cultivation) in Himeji to remember Kiyozawa one year after his death, and “read aloud Sensei’s last teaching ‘Waga shinnen.’ ”6 Furthermore, in the “Kaga dayori” column found in the March 1906 Seishinkai, Akegarasu Haya reports that on February 6, in commemoration of the day of the month that Kiyozawa passed away, a total of sixteen teachers, priests, merchants, and farmers came together at his temple and launched the Rōsenkai (December Fan Society) (44). This society chose to use the word “Rōsen” in its title, which was the name Kiyozawa used when he was in Tokyo. This 157

Figure 4. Advertisement for the June 1903 issue of Seishinkai in Chūgai nippō. Ōtani University Library

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“Kaga dayori” column states as follows: “We first all bowed to Sensei’s photo, and then recited his ‘Waga shinnen.’ We subsequently read Sensei’s last letter and had a discussion, which ended at twelve o’clock” (Akegarasu 1906, 44). This was written by Akegarasu Haya who had received Kiyozawa’s last letter.7 The meeting was probably held at his temple Myōtatsuji. From this report, we can see that at this gathering as well “Waga shinnen” was read aloud. Also, around the time of the third memorial service for Kiyozawa, his “Waga shinnen” was read at “Rōsenki” (memorial services to commemorate Kiyozawa’s passing) held around the country. The aforementioned Rōsenkai in Himeji also called its gathering for Kiyozawa’s third memorial “Rōsenki.” In “Kanazawa no Rōsenki” by Kyōgoku Itsuzō (1887–1953), in the July 1908 Seishinkai, we learn that at the Rōsenki service in Kanazawa, participants read “Waga shinnen” aloud after gathering in front of the altar and reciting the Amida Sutra: From afar I imagine that the gathering for Kiyozawa Sensei’s memorial yesterday was a solemn and beautiful affair. Here as well we held a modest but pure gathering. . . . The members and I gathered in front of the altar, where we read the Smaller Sutra led by [Umehara] Rōshi, and at the end Fujii read “Waga shinnen.” Since they did not have time both priests went home and for the time being we also ended our meeting. (Kyōgoku 1908, 42)

Until Seishinkai ceased publication in 1919, articles such as these were included in this way to report on the annual services to commemorate the anniversary of Kiyozawa’s death. The magazine reported that Rōsenki services were held in the two aforementioned places of Himeji and Kanazawa, as well as Sapporo, Akita, Morioka, Echigo Sanjō, Etchū, Mattō, Fukui, Tomioka, Mino, Sugamo, Koyasu, Nagoya, Kyoto, Osaka, Kobe, Hiroshima, Kokura, Fukuoka, Wakamatsu, Saga, Kumamoto, Aso, Iyo, Miyazaki, Kagoshima, and so on. Truly, they were held throughout the country. I would like to emphasize that it was not his essay “Seishinshugi” but Kiyozawa’s last work “Waga shinnen” that was read at these Rōsenki services. In fact, as I will discuss below, from around Kiyozawa’s third memorial service, one can find statements to the effect that it is necessary to read “Waga shinnen” in order to understand Kiyozawa’s faith (Anonymous 1908, 6). Furthermore, a discourse that styled Kiyozawa as the Meijiperiod reincarnation of Shinran also began to appear in the magazine. For example, Kōkōdō member Tada Kanae (1875–1937) wrote in the June 1908 Seishinkai that “Sensei’s ‘Waga shinnen’ is the new Tannishō. Tannishō and ‘Waga shinnen’ will certainly spread in society ­inseparably” (20). 159

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Let us look at another discourse similar to Tada’s. Although the quotation is long, it is extremely valuable for us to understand the position Kiyozawa came to occupy in the Shinshū Ōtani-ha denomination. If one wants to experience the liberating feeling of Sensei’s faith, one must read “Waga shinnen.” The text “Waga shinnen” is the crystallization of Sensei’s character as well as the essence of Buddhism. If one wants to see the wondrously liberating significance of Shinran’s faith, one must read the Tannishō. The text Tannishō is the cornerstone of Shinran’s faith and the spirit (seishin) of Buddhism. The Kamakura period Tannishō is the Meiji period “Waga shinnen.” If “Waga shinnen” had come out in the Kamakura it would have been the Tannishō and if the Tannishō had come out in the Meiji it would have been “Waga shinnen.” (Anonymous 1908, 7)

Here, the faith of Kiyozawa expressed in “Waga shinnen” is described as the same faith of Shinran that is found in the Tannishō. This is the appearance of a discourse that sees Kiyozawa’s “Waga shinnen” as equaling Shinran’s Tannishō. In Kiyozawa sensei no shinkō, Akegarasu Haya states much the same view regarding the identity of the Tannishō and “Waga shinnen”: It appears that this “Waga shinnen” has the same position in the Meiji intellectual world as the Tannishō (a record of Shinran’s words and actions compiled by his grandson Nyoshin) had in the Kamakura period. If the faith of the Kamakura period Tannishō were written in terms of Meiji thought it would become “Waga shinnen.” . . . There is not a hair’s breadth of difference between this “Waga shinnen” and the Tannishō. They are both scriptures that succinctly, clearly, directly, radically, and poignantly present faith in absolute other-power, without holding back or fear of social repercussions. (1909a, 4)

This is from a December 3, 1908 lecture transcript, and it reflects the formularization of the idea that “Waga shinnen” equals the Tannishō.8

The Resurrection of Kiyozawa At the beginning of the April 1909 Seishinkai, which was the magazine’s one hundredth issue, there is an announcement that a memorial for Kiyozawa will be held on the anniversary of his death in June. This announcement, which was written by “Kōkōdō members,” states the following: “Since we face Sensei’s portrait, remember and discuss his teachings more or less every day, it is impossible for us to think he is no longer part of this world. While we may feel that Sensei died just recently, this year it is already time to mark his seventh memorial service” 160

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(Kōkōdō Dōjin 1909, ii). Here, they state that since they face Kiyozawa’s portrait daily, recall, and recite the teachings he left behind, they are unable to think that he has passed away. The seventh memorial service for Kiyozawa’s death was held over the course of three days (June 5–7, 1909) at Shinshū University in Sugamo, Tokyo (the first two days) and Asakusa Honganji (the third day). The June 1909 Seishinkai was a special issue devoted to “Commemorating Kiyozawa Sensei’s Seventh Memorial Service.” The first day, a Buddhist memorial service, an assembly where select participants expressed their gratitude toward Kiyozawa (kanshakai), and an informal reception with tea (sawakai) took place. Memorial lectures were held intermittently over the course of the second and third days. Summaries of the entire proceedings were published in the journal under the title “Nana shūki kiyō” (Seventh Memorial Service Proceedings). Words of thanks at the assembly on the first day were given by members of the Kōkōdō, including Sasaki Gesshō (1875–1926), Tsukimi Kakuryō (1864–1923), Tada Kanae, Kondō Jungo, Kaneko Daiei (1881–1976), Sekine Ninnō (1868–1943), Inaba Masamaru (1867–1944), and Akegarasu Haya. In addition, other speakers included Okada Ryōhei (1864–1934), who was Kiyozawa’s friend from the time he was studying at Tokyo University, students he taught at Kyoto’s Ordinary Middle School (Jinjō Chūgakkō), and so on. On the second and third day, lectures were given by individuals affiliated with the Shinshū Ōtani-ha such as Kaneko Daiei, Sumida Chiken (1868–1938), Soga Ryōjin (1875– 1971), Nanjō Bun’yū (1849–1927), Murakami Senshō (1851–1929), Sasaki Gesshō, and Andō Shūichi, as well as Kiyozawa’s friends from his time at Tokyo University, Ueda Kazutoshi (1867–1937) and Sawayanagi Masatarō (1865–1927). We should take particular note of the lecture by Kiyozawa’s friend Sawayanagi Masatarō. He gave the eighth lecture on the second day, after Soga Ryōjin. It was entitled “Kiyozawa shi imada shisezu” (Kiyozawa Sensei Has Yet to Die, 1909). Sawayanagi did not choose this title for himself; he remarks in the beginning that when he met with the event organizers, they requested that he speak on the subject. The Kōkōdō members chose the title of his lecture, probably a reflection of their feeling we saw at the beginning of this section in their announcement of Kiyozawa’s seventh memorial that it was “impossible for us to think he is no longer part of this world.” Surmising this, Sawayanagi offered the following interpretation of his lecture’s title:

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Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi Today I am living here. However, what I have to say is not necessarily just my own ideas. The earlier speakers spoke about various things. Since everyone is borrowing from Kiyozawa Sensei to say what they have to say, in this sense we can say that Kiyozawa Sensei presently exists. Above all, today across the country there are Buddhist services or lecture gatherings to remember him in some twenty places. In addition to today’s seventh memorial service gatherings, every year on the day of his death such events spontaneously occur. . . . Today the influence of Kiyozawa Sensei’s power that extends over the intellectual world and society is developing. For many people their influence ends with their death, but Kiyozawa Sensei’s has continued to develop to this day, and I think from now onward it will grow even larger. Looking at it this way, one could say that Sensei is still alive or that he has more power than he would if he were alive. (1909, 57–58)

Sawayanagi is saying that Kiyozawa still exists in the sense that, like the previous speakers, he is going to speak using Kiyozawa’s power, as it were. Furthermore, he says that almost yearly memorial gatherings were held on the anniversary of Kiyozawa’s death throughout the country, and that Kiyozawa still survives today or is more powerful than he was when alive in the sense that his intellectual and social influence has been increasing more and more after his death.

The Creation of Short Biographies of Kiyozawa With regard to the creation of an image of Kiyozawa, attention must be paid to “short biographies” (ryakuden) of him. When someone creates his life history as a chronological short biography, the biography narrates an image of Kiyozawa matching that held by the writer. An early short biography of Kiyozawa can be found at the beginning of Shūyō jikan (September 1903), a collection of essays that he wrote, edited by Mujintōsha. It is entitled “Kiyozawa sensei ryakuden” (A Short Biography of Kiyozawa Sensei).9 Some months after his death, a short biography appeared, notable for its division of Kiyozawa’s life into different periods, which was the first instance of such periodization.10 Some years later a “Kiyozawa sensei ryakuden” that presented his life in what would become the typical format was printed (without attribution) on the inside cover of the June 1909 Seishinkai (vol. 9, no. 6), a special issue marking the sixth anniversary of Kiyozawa’s death. With the exception of one part, it is identical in content to the “Kiyozawa sensei ryakuden” included in Kiyozawa sensei no shinnen (Kiyozawa Sensei’s Faith, 1909b), edited by Akegarasu Haya and published on May 29 of the same year.11 162

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The printing of this short biography of Kiyozawa on the inside cover of Seishinkai so that it would stand out meant that an image of him was now taking shape. Since its content is significant in that it served as a prototype for the subsequent image of Kiyozawa, I include it here despite its length. Kiyozawa Manshi Sensei was born on the twenty-sixth day of the sixth month of Bunkyū 3 [1863] in Nagoya. He was the eldest son of banshi (samurai retainer) Tokunaga Naganori. In Meiji 11 [1878] he was ordained as a Buddhist priest and entered the Ikuei Kyōkō Academy in Kyoto. In November of Meiji 14 [1881] he was chosen by the Shinshū Ōtani-ha Honganji to study at Tokyo University, and entered its Preparatory Course. In Meiji 20 [1887] he graduated from the Department of Philosophy in the Faculty of Letters there. While enrolled there he was always a top student. In September of the same year he entered the graduate school, and also taught at the Daiichi Kōtōgakkō (First Higher School), the Tetsugakukan (The Academy of Philosophy), and so on. In September of Meiji 21 [1888] he became the principal of Kyoto Middle School (Chūgakkō) at the order of the denomination. At this time Sensei made a major decision: he concluded that he would devote himself to religious education. That year he married Kiyozawa Yasuko [1867–1902]. During this time he gave lectures on philosophy and the philosophy of religion at the Takakura Gakuryō. Later in September of Meiji 24 (1891) something stirred in him and subsequently he chose to wear the white undergarment and linen robe of a Buddhist priest, instead of the Western clothing he had been accustomed to until then. He distanced himself from his wife and children, stopped eating meat, and earnestly sought the Way. Toward the end of Meiji 26 [1893], he contracted tuberculosis. Following the recommendation of his friends, he announced that from today he would place himself in their care and went to recuperate in Suma. At this time he read the four Āgamas carefully. Also, he resumed a diet that included meat and drew closer to his wife and children. In September of Meiji 29 [1896], perceiving that with each passing day the operation of the denomination’s headquarters was becoming more problematic, he consulted with Inaba Masamaru, Imagawa Kakushin [1860– 1936], Tsukimi Kakuryō, Kiyokawa Enjō [b. 1863], and Inoue Hōchū, and they planned to reform it. In October they began publishing Kyōkai jigen (Timely Words for the Religious World), confessing their true feelings and calling out to people everywhere to join their cause. They made some slow progress, and in the summer they ended it. In the spring of Meiji 31 [1898], he withdrew to Ōhama. During this time, he solely engaged in cultivation. It was a time when he deeply appreciated Epictetus. In the spring of Meiji 32 [1899], he went to Tokyo, and became the tutor of the next abbot (monshu) of the Shinshū Ōtani-ha. In addition, he devoted 163

Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi himself to guiding young seekers of faith. In the spring of Meiji 33 [1900], he opened Kōkōdō, and in January of the next year he began publishing Seishinkai with Tada Kanae, Sasaki Gesshō, and Akegarasu Haya, in which he advocated Seishinshugi and championed faith in absolute other-power. In Meiji 34 [1901] Sensei was appointed as a senior advisor in the denomination and when Shinshū University moved to Tokyo in October, he became its president. In November of Meiji 35 [1902], he resigned from his post, and returned to his hometown of Ōhama to nurse his illness. On June 6 of Meiji 36 [1903], he suddenly passed away at one in the morning. He was forty-one years old.12 Sensei had four children. His oldest son, third child, and wife died of illness in succession before him. Sensei’s writings include Seishin kōwa (Lectures on the Spirit [1902b]), Bukkyō kōwa (Lectures on Buddhism [1906a]), Shūyō jikan (Impressions of Self-Cultivation [1903e]), Zangeroku (Record of Repentance [1906b]), and Shūkyō tetsugaku gaikotsu (The Skeleton of a Philosophy of Religion [Toku­ naga 1892]). The latter book was translated into English and distributed overseas. Works that he wrote with his disciples include Seishinshugi [1903c], Zoku Seishinshugi (Seishinshugi Continued),13 Bukkyō no shinkō (Buddhist Faith [1903a]), Reikai no ijin (Great People of the Spiritual World [Kōkōdō 1901]), and so on. All are lovingly read by people of the world as books of faith (shinkō no sho). Now since Sensei has passed away it has been six years, and those who revere his teachings have increased. When coming together to meet under the names Rōsenkai, Muikakai (The Sixth Day Society), and so on, there are many people who discuss the Way. From the bottom of our hearts we cannot stop thinking deeply that in this way the impact of his virtues will continue to spread throughout the world and widely save the hearts of people today and in the future. (Italics added by the author.) 14

If one reads the italicized sections in order, one can see that the emphasis of the passage is not on Kiyozawa as a religious philosopher but rather on his path as a seeker. Namely, despite becoming the principal of Kyoto Ordinary Middle School at the order of the Shinshū Ōtani-ha, after something stirred in him he stopped wearing Western clothing and lived a seeker’s life in his “minimum possible” lifestyle. However, he fell sick with tuberculosis, and read the four Āgamas when recuperating. Furthermore, he called for the reform of the branch’s headquarters, and published Kyōkai jigen. Further, after returning to Ōhama, he read The Discourses of Epictetus. Moreover, he went to Tokyo as the tutor to the next abbot of the Shinshū Ōtani-ha, established Kōkōdō, began publishing Seishinkai, advocated Seishinshugi, and actively promoted absolute other-power. Subsequently, despite becoming the first presi164

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dent of Shinshū University when it was opened in Tokyo, he resigned from the university, and returned to Ōhama to recuperate from his illness. He then died on June 6, 1903. In his life, he published many works, which were lovingly read by people in this world as documents of his faith. The “Kiyozawa sensei ryakuden” that appears in Kiyozawa sensei no shinnen (nana shūki kinen), which was printed to be distributed to those attending the gathering for his seventh memorial service, is very similar to the one from Seishinkai quoted above. However, the fourth paragraph, which introduces Kiyozawa’s works, continues with the following statement: Sensei drafted the text “Waga shinnen” on May 30 of the year he passed away; in fact it is his last work. Sensei contributed “Tariki no kyūsai” (Salvation through Other-Power [1903f]) for Shinshū University’s celebration of the birthday of the denomination’s founder on April 1 in Meiji 36 (1903), and wrote “Zettai tariki no daidō” (The Great Way of Absolute Other-Power [1902f]) in the diary written during his recuperation in Ōhama during Meiji 31 (1898). (Akegarasu 1909b, 5)

Of course, this was inserted because these three texts were seen as important for understanding Kiyozawa’s faith. In this way, the members of the Kōkōdō formulized Kiyozawa’s life story, drawing people’s attention to his last work “Waga shinnen.”

The Resurrection of Kiyozawa Manshi and His Subsequent Image How was Kiyozawa Manshi resurrected after his death? It was primarily done by his disciples, using the Seishinkai journal into which Kiyozawa had invested his energy as their primary platform, and in Rōsenki memorial services marking key occasions. In closing, I would like to again draw our attention to the concrete ways in which Kiyozawa was resurrected. 1. By removing “The Late” (ko) from Kiyozawa’s name when it appeared in the pages of Seishinkai. 2. By trying to make it more convenient to venerate Kiyozawa and recall his legacy by creating and distributing his collotype portrait and enclosing his image as a supplement in Seishinkai. 3. By giving special treatment to texts authored by Kiyozawa printed in Seishinkai starting with his last work “Waga shinnen,” through 165

Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi

increasing their point size, thereby trying to strengthen the sense of his presence in the journal after his passing. 4. By holding gatherings called Rōsenki in commemoration of his death, the recitation of his last work “Waga shinnen” at them, and the establishment of a ritual for expressing gratitude toward Kiyozawa in the form of venerating his portrait. 5. By setting forth a discourse that equated “Waga shinnen” with the Tannishō and presented Kiyozawa as the Meiji-period Shinran on the pages of Seishinkai starting from around the second anniversary of Kiyozawa’s death, and revering him as such. 6. By printing in Seishinkai the statement made by Kiyozawa’s friend Sawayanagi Masatarō during his lecture at the Rōsenki gathering in commemoration of Kiyozawa’s seventh memorial that it is just as if Kiyozawa “presently exists.” 7. By the narration of a short biography of Kiyozawa by the members of the Kōkōdō, which included a periodization based on stages of his journey seeking the path. By Kiyozawa’s seventh memorial service a fairly formulaic one had been created, which appears to have subsequently been passed down and exerted broad influence both inside and outside of the Shinshū Ōtani-ha. Incidentally, “Kiyozawa sensei shōden” (A Short Biography of Kiyozawa Sensei) by Kōkōdō member Tada Kanae is included at the beginning of the book Kiyozawa Manshi, published by Kanshōsha within Ōtani University in September 1928. It traces Kiyozawa’s life while dividing it into five periods: (1) the academic-oriented time from his birth to his study at Tokyo University; (2) the morality-oriented time covering his working as a middle school principal upon returning to Kyoto, practicing a “minimum possible” lifestyle, and going to Suma in order to recuperate from tuberculosis; (3) the time in which he became a person of religion, returning to Ōhama from Suma and savoring the Tannishō; (4) the time in which he deepened his self-reflection and read the Āgamas and The Discourses of Epictetus after being involved in the Shinshū Ōtani-ha reform movement and its “failure”; and (5) the time when he moved to Tokyo due to the relocation of Shinshū University and the beginning of his propagation of Seishinshugi at Kōkōdō. The text closes by touching on the last ten years of his life, “Shūkyō teki dōtoku (zokutai) to futsū dōtoku to no kōshō” (1903d), and his last work “Waga shinnen” (Tada 1928, 16). In terms of content, this generally mirrors the abovedescribed “Kiyozawa sensei ryakuden” that was edited by the Kōkōdō. 166

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Furthermore, the first detailed chronology of Kiyozawa’s life is included at the end of the book. In this way, a pattern for the life history of Kiyozawa was created by the members of the Kōkōdō who were close to him. We can surmise that it came to be read as his official “biography” as such. Furthermore, soon after the end of World War II, in 1951 the first serious biographical research on Kiyozawa Manshi was published by Nishimura Kengyō (1915–2003). It was also called Kiyozawa Manshi sensei (Hōzōkan). Ever since Nishimura’s time as a student at Tokyo University, he received instruction from Akegarasu and engaged in research on Kiyozawa, the fruits of which came together in this book. It divided his life into five periods in accordance with the five monikers—Kenpō, Gaikotsu, Sekisui, Rōsen, and Hamakaze—that Kiyozawa mentioned in the last letter he addressed to Akegarasu, making clear the “development of Kiyozawa Sensei’s state of mind” (Nishimura 1951, 4). In the first section of the two-part introductory chapter, Nishimura provides a general overview of Kiyozawa’s life, centering on his journey to establishing faith. In the second section entitled “Shinkyō no kyokuchi” (The Summit of Faith), Nishimura primarily introduces “Shūkyō teki dōtoku (zokutai) to futsū dōtoku to no kōshō” and “Waga shinnen,” two works Kiyozawa wrote just before he passed away. The chapter closes with a quotation from Kiyozawa’s last letter that was addressed to Akegarasu: “This ghost will now take his leave” (KMZI 9: 305). Crafting an image of Kiyozawa as a seeker, Nishimura writes, “The absolute, infinite, and mysterious Tathāgata is shining, above this image of Kiyozawa Sensei stating this and passing away” (Nishimura 1951, 15). This image of Kiyozawa was subsequently inherited by Yoshida Kyūichi (1915–2005) in his Kiyozawa Manshi (1961), and can be presumed to have exerted an influence on many general readers. In fact, in the book’s bibliography, one finds works that contain biographical information on Kiyozawa: Kiyozawa sensei no shinkō (Akegarasu 1909a), Kiyozawa Manshi (Kanshōsha 1928), which includes Tada Kanae’s “Kiyozawa sensei shōden” (1928) and Nishimura’s Kiyozawa Manshi sensei (1951). The second chapter of Yoshida’s Kiyozawa Manshi is entitled “Kiyozawa Manshi no shōgai” (The Life of Kiyozawa Manshi), which is narrated in eight periods: (1) youth, (2) before and after Tokyo University, (3) self-power cultivation, (4) conversion, (5) denomination reform movement, (6) Shinshū University management, (7) time at the Kōkōdō, and (8) final days. It is clear that Yoshida consulted these earlier works in formulating this periodization of Kiyozawa’s life. 167

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Furthermore, Yoshida’s Kiyozawa Manshi was published not by a Buddhist publisher but by Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, a large publisher known for scholarly works on history. This work in turn then served as an introduction to Kiyozawa for a broad readership and was likely a major factor leading to the adoption of the history of Kiyozawa’s life that had been formulated by the members of the Kōkōdō as the standard model for it both inside and outside the Shinshū Ōtani-ha for decades afterwards. Furthermore, since this image of Kiyozawa has existed for a long time as something that is self-evident, the new image of “Kiyozawa the philosopher” that Imamura Hitoshi painted after the publication of the Kiyozawa’s collected works by Iwanami Shoten has naturally awakened fresh interest in him. Of course, the reconstruction of the life and thought of any intellectual is unavoidably influenced by the position and interests of the writer who attempts to do so. Furthermore, a critical examination of Kiyozawa’s texts might clarify what he said and what he did not say. However, if it is true that Kiyozawa even allowed his disciples to publish texts they wrote under his name, exhibiting the broad-minded personality of an educator amidst open and free discussions with his disciples, then he influenced them and they influenced him, so it is very hard to extract what is “purely” Kiyozawa from his writings. Thus, is it ultimately even possible to reconstruct a perfect image of Kiyozawa Manshi? From this perspective, to take my argument to the extreme, it could be said that there are as many images of Kiyozawa as there are people who write about him. Has Kiyozawa research not currently reached this kind of horizon? The articulation of a diverse set of Kiyozawa images has already begun, and through these endeavors Kiyozawa’s presence will probably grow even greater. (Translated by Dylan Luers Toda)

Notes 1

There are exceptions: in Seishinkai 4 (10) and 5 (1–5), one finds the author name “The Late Kiyozawa Manshi.”

2

Regarding the popularity of collotype printing and picture postcards, see Nakahara 2007, 14; and Hosoma 2006, 19.

3

The month after Kiyozawa’s death, a portrait of him was immediately included at the beginning of Mujintō 8 (7). While it is a full-length representa-

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The Resurrection of Kiyozawa Manshi tion, it appears to be the same as the upper body portrait included in Shūyō jikan, which was published by Mujintōsha in September of the same year. 4

Other texts in Seishinkai were printed with size seven font (5.25 point). Size four is 13.75 point. Incidentally, it is said that when a piece by Hirano Banri (1885–1947) was printed in small type in the monthly magazine Subaru (The Pleiades; first published in January 1909), an exchange ensued after he protested to its editor Ishikawa Takuboku (1885–1912). The size of printed characters was an issue that was directly connected to authors’ status in the world of readers and literary circles, as well as manuscript fees. See Yamaguchi 2005.

5

I have not yet seen the Bunmeidō version that Akegarasu refers to.

6

Kondō (1904) relays that the participants included teachers from ­Shirahama-mura Higher Primary School, Himeji Middle School, Wajunkai members, employees of Sagizaka Newspaper Co., and members of the Buddhist Young Men’s Association (Bukkyō Seinenkai).

7

The booklet Kiyozawa sensei rinmatsu no gokyōkun kōwa (Akegarasu 1937) includes the last letter Kiyozawa ever addressed to Akegarasu (also in KMZI 9: 304–305), as well as “Shūkyō teki dōtoku (zokutai) to futsū dōtoku to no kōshō” (which was printed in the Seishinkai issue published the month before Kiyozawa passed away, 1903d), “Waga shinnen” (My Faith, 1903g), and a lecture Akegarasu gave for his own sixtieth birthday entitled “Kiyozawa sensei rinmatsu no gokyōkun kōwa” (1937). In the latter, Akegarasu states that Kiyozawa wrote the aforementioned letter on June 1, two days before he would be in serious condition coughing up blood. In this letter, Kiyozawa confesses that “Waga shinnen” (originally entitled “Ware wa kaku no gotoku nyorai o shinzu” [I Believe in the Tathāgata in This Way, 1903h]) is “the complete expression of how I really feel” (Akegarasu 1937, 2) and that in this essay he is attempting “to describe the absolute truth in contrast to the relative truth set forth in the previous issue” (2) in the article entitled “Shūkyō teki dōtoku (zokutai) to futsū dōtoku to no kōshō.”

8

Based on the content of this piece by Akegarasu, it can be assumed that the anonymous “Gedatsu” article (1908) is by Akegarasu.

9

Up until the third paragraph it is basically the same as the “Ryakuden” in the June 1909 Seishinkai (vol. 9, no. 6) devoted to Kiyozawa’s seventh memorial service.

10 A short biography that provides a general outline of Kiyozawa’s life already appeared (without a clear attribution to an author) as “Kiyozawa sensei no ryakuden” in the Mujintō published the July after his death (vol. 8, no. 7). While it shares some content with the “Kiyozawa sensei ryakuden” included in Shūyō jikan (published in September of the same year), it does not include periodization of his life. 169

Kiyozawa and Seishinshugi 11 In addition to a short biography of Kiyozawa Manshi, Kōkōdō’s Kiyozawa sensei no shinnen includes “Waga shinnen,” “Tariki no kyūsai” (Kiyozawa 1903f), and “Zettai tariki no daidō” (Kiyozawa 1902f). The passage introducing these three texts is not included in the “Ryakuden” found on the inside cover of Seishinkai (vol. 9, no. 6). 12 This is Kiyozawa’s age according to the traditional Japanese way of calculating ages. According to the Western system of counting from the date of birth, he was only thirty-nine years old when he passed away. 13 It is unclear whether this work was ever published. 14 June 1909 Seishinkai (vol. 9, no. 6), inside front cover.

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Part II The Legacy of Seishinshugi: Impact and Influence

Chapter 8

Voices of Buddhist Women in Modern Japan The Representation of Female Spirituality in Seishinkai Michihiro Ama Despite abundant scholarship on Buddhism and its adaption to our modern society, the experience of Japanese Buddhist women during the early twentieth century is still relatively unstudied. In the case of Shin Buddhism, scholars have considered Kiyozawa Manshi’s (1863–1903) Seishinshugi (Cultivating Spirituality) to mark the beginning of the modern development of Jōdo Shinshū and have carefully examined his thought and his influence on his students. However, they have paid scant attention to his family, and especially how his wife, Yasu, understood Shinran’s teaching. This is also the case for the wives of Soga Ryōjin (1875–1971) and Kaneko Daiei (1881–1976), two giants of modern Shin Buddhist studies. The journal Seishinkai (1901–1919), started by Kiyozawa and members of his group called Kōkōdō (Capacious Cave), which included Soga and Kaneko, is a major source for the study of modern Shin Buddhism. As Mark L. Blum points out, Seishinshugi and Seishinkai have been studied academically by “students of Japanese thought, Japanese religion, or Buddhism in the modern world” (2011, 32). Seishinshugi appears to be “the most important new conception of Shin thought since Rennyo reformed Honganji in the fifteenth century” (32) and Seishinkai posed “a public challenge to its [i.e., the Ōtani denomination or Higashi Honganji’s] religious authority and therefore to the identity of the church itself” (33). This study, while focusing on Seishinkai, sheds light on the spirituality of modern Shin Buddhist women. In contrast to previous studies that investigated Shin priests’ domestication of female members, it examines 173

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ways in which Shin Buddhist women revealed and discussed their spiritual concerns. Female followers generally accepted the religious ideas developed by the clergy, but they were extremely diverse and dynamic in their spiritual expressions. Seishinkai includes many articles that vividly describe the religious experiences of young Shin Buddhist women during the early twentieth century. The present study investigates the feminization of Shin Buddhist faith by exploring their expressions in both poetry and prose. This case study, which includes analyses of the tanka poems of Akegarasu Fusako (1886–1913), Akiyama Keiko’s short stories, and confessional writings by Takei Fuku and Kobayashi Shige, situates their religious experiences into broader contexts, such as issues of sexuality, women’s spiritual roles in fiction, comparisons of written spiritual confessions between Buddhist and Christian traditions, and confession as an institutional practice. Translations of some of Akiyama’s works and the confessional writings of Takei and Kobayashi are appended below. A review of former studies, which focused on modern female Shin Buddhist experiences characterized by male clergy, may be helpful.

Shin Buddhist Clergy’s Attitude toward Women in Modern Japan Today scholars would agree that Shin Buddhist priests during the early twentieth century took a sexist stance when educating female Shin followers (fujin kyōka). Based on his study of the journal Katei (Home), which began publication in 1901, Fukushima Eiju argues that Buddhist clergy, while treating women as weak and sinful, urged them to be aware of their defiled nature and take refuge in Amida Buddha’s original vow. Male priests considered female spirituality to be inferior to male spirituality, because of the long-standing concepts of the “five hindrances and three forms of obedience” (goshō sanjū), and urged women to obey. They also described their ideal womanhood in terms of those concepts and contained women’s growing awareness of equal rights for both sexes, whose notion was derived from the West. Fukushima observes that those who contributed articles to Katei discussing the salvation of women were all men and that the journal did not really represent the opinions of Shin Buddhist women (2006, 30–39). Interestingly, many of the male “preachers” were also members of the Kōkōdō. Although the Dainihon Bukkyō Fujinkai (Buddhist Women’s Association of Great Japan) initially published Katei, Kōkōdō members, such 174

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as Kondō Jungo (1875–1967) and Andō Shūichi (1873–1950), later took over the work of editing and publishing the journal. As Fukushima points out, since reformers of Higashi Honganji supported the publication of Katei, it reflected the Seishinshugi movement (2006, 25–29). In the case of Nishi Honganji, ordination of female followers took place for the first time in 1931. The discovery of the Eshinni monjo (Letters of the Nun Eshinni) in a Nishi Honganji storehouse in 1921 and the commemoration of Kakushinni’s 650th memorial service in 1931 paved the way for this development. However, those ordained women were not allowed to become resident priests. Nor were they eligible to run for the Nishi Honganji assembly or elect its diet members. Furthermore, their clothing was regulated (Watanabe 1999, 118–119). In both Higashi and Nishi Honganji, the wives of resident priests were called bōmori and expected to assist their husbands. Although scholars have researched the ways in which clergy discriminated against women while propagating Shin Buddhist doctrine among them, the voices of modern Shin women recorded in journals, such as Seishinkai and Kyūdō, remain unexplored.

Akegarasu Fusako’s Poetry Akegarasu Fusako stands out among the women who contributed poems, short stories, confessions, eulogies, and regional correspondences to Seishinkai. Yamada Fusako married Akegarasu Haya (1877–1954) in 1902 when she was seventeen. Fusako was a younger sister of Sasaki Gesshō (1875–1926), third president of Ōtani University, and Akegarasu’s friendship with Sasaki led him to become interested in her. Haya and Fusako were married for about nine years until her death from tuberculosis at age twenty-six. Although constantly in poor health, she served as bōmori of Myōtatsuji, Haya’s home temple in Ishikawa, and supported her husband in spreading the Shinshū teaching (Matsuda 1997–1998, 1: 209–210, 335–336). In Seishinkai, Fusako’s name appears variously. She used hiragana or ateji when writing poetry, and her proper name in kanji when reporting miscellaneous matters to the journal. Fusako’s poetry first appeared in Seishinkai in 1905. There she wrote a set of five tanka poems under the general title “Akikusa no hana” (Autumn Flowers), as well as other poems between 1906 and 1909. In them, she repented her base passions, expressed her experience of Amida’s compassion, conveyed love for her husband, and mourned the loss of loved ones. Her early poems were religiously romantic. 175

The Legacy of Seishinshugi Embraced by / Amida’s limitless compassion, / I recite the Name / With my husband. / How joyful, Sunday School! Mihotoke no / fukaki megumi no / sono uchi ni / tomoni mina yobi / asobu hi tanoshi (nichiyō gakkō) Wandering afield during autumn / With you, my dear husband, / I hear / The tinkling sound of bell crickets / In the shadow of the plume grass. Otto no kimi to / aki no nobe ni / samayoite / obana no kage ni / suzumushi o kiku A clear moonlit evening . . . / My thoughts rush to you. / Hearing the sound of waves / Reminds me again / Of how lonely I am. (1905, 24)1 Sumu tsuki ni / mukaite / kimi o omoitsutsu / nami no oto kiku / yū samishiki

When Akegarasu was chief editor of Seishinkai, he and Fusako lived apart. While he was away in Tokyo, Fusako maintained the Sunday School that Akegarasu established in 1905 at Myōtatsuji (Matsuda 1997–1998, 1: 254). She often reported her Sunday School activities in the Seishinkai (see, for instance, Akegarasu Fusako 1906b and 1906c). Akegarasu was a leading disciple of Kiyozawa’s who treasured the Tannishō. As Terakawa Shunshō points out, the Tannishō was extremely important to Kiyozawa because it led him to take refuge in Amida Buddha, introspect through Shinran’s words, and examine how to reorganize the Higashi Honganji to restore the founder’s spirit (2002, 36–38). Akegarasu followed in the footsteps of Kiyozawa to initiate reforms in the Higashi Honganji organization and promote religious experience free from bureaucratic control. In 1911 he published a collection of his essays called Tannishō kōwa (Lectures on the Tannishō). In its preface, Akegarasu states that the Tannishō was the book of faith that first led him to realize Amida Buddha’s original vow and to appreciate Shinran’s teaching. Akegarasu initially propagated a doctrine of Amida Buddha’s grace (onchō) based on a “formula” created from his reading of the Tannishō. In it, he regarded himself as sinful and shed tears of remorse over his guilt. This led him to sense Amida Buddha’s compassion while accepting and appreciating his present life as it was (AHZ 12: 11–12). Akegarasu thus recognized the negative aspects of human life, such as immoral acts and crimes, as they were. Conservative Shin priests considered Akegarasu a heretic because he outspokenly endorsed evil and rejected the sacred scriptures as useless unless they were applied to one’s life (Matsuda 1997–1998, 1: 292). However, Akegarasu’s formula did not deviate from Shinran’s teaching: that Amida Buddha unconditionally embraces all 176

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who sincerely recite the nenbutsu regardless of their unwholesome karma. The institutionalization of the founder’s teaching and the bureaucratization of the Honganji as a powerful religious organization had until then prevented young priests from freely expressing their ideas and feelings. Fusako’s poetry shows the influence of her husband’s thought. She endorsed his Shin Buddhist tenets and composed poems on the unity between sinfulness and salvation, while expressing the persistence of her base passions within a given doctrinal framework. How delighted I am! / Even though this sinful body / Is hopelessly lost in the wilderness, / I can cling to the warm hands / Of the compassionate Buddha! (1907c, 41) Ana ureshi / tsumi no are no ni / mayou mi mo / jihi no mioya no / ote ni sugareba Though overjoyed / With the wondrous garment / Of entrusting mind bestowed upon me, / Still I find myself unwilling to discard / The old faded clothes that suit me so well. (1907b, 32) Tamawarishi / shin no myōi / ureshikeredo / nao sute kaneru / nareshi furugoromo

The second poem above brings to mind Shinran’s words recorded in the Tannishō and indicates Fusako’s familiarity with it: “What suppresses the heart that should rejoice and keeps one from rejoicing is the action of blind passions. . . . It is hard for us to abandon this old home of pain, where we have been transmigrating for innumerable kalpas down to the present, and we feel no longing for the Pure Land of peace, where we have yet to be born” (Collected Works of Shinran [hereafter, CWS] 1: 665– 666). In fact, based on his request, Fusako edited Akegarasu’s essays for Chinshiroku (Record of Sinking Deep in Thought; Kōkōdō Dōjin 1907), which he had published in Seishinkai between 1904 and 1905 (Matsuda 1997–1998, 1: 339, 365). Fusako participated in the Seishinshugi movement as Akegarasu’s wife. As Akegarasu once remarked, she helped him promote Kiyozawa’s teaching and assisted him in compiling the first volume of the Collected Works of Kiyozawa (Kiyozawa 1914). Fusako went to Tokyo twice to spend time with Akegarasu and join Kōkōdō gatherings. Back in Ishikawa, young Shin Buddhist priests, such as Fujiwara Tetsujō (1879–1975) and Takamitsu Daisen (1879–1951), who were influenced by Akegarasu and other members of the Kōkōdō, enjoyed her company as bōmori (AHZ 12: 8; Matsuda 1997–1998, 1: 338–339, 343). 177

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Fusako was as bold as her husband about expressing her sexuality. It must have been very difficult for a newlywed like herself to live apart from her husband. She composed the following poem titled “Betsuri” (Separation): I recite the Name of Amida / While seeing you off, / My dear husband, / And yet, / My breasts swell! (1906a, 73) Natsukashiki / kimi miokurite / mihotoke no / mina o yobikeri / chibusa zo kataki

On another occasion, she wrote: When separated / I wish only for the day we are together again. / When we meet again, / Not only am I reluctant to part, / My body literally aches for you. (1907a, 23) Wakarete wa / au hi o negai / aeba tata / wakaruru oshimu / modae no kono mi

These poems, which hint at sexuality, may not seem very revealing today but they must be considered in terms of the times when she wrote them. Fusako revealed her married life, expressed her love for Akegarasu, and even suggested her frustration, while embracing the Shin Buddhist teaching. Her carnal desires would seem to reflect her husband’s sensual character, which was extremely strong according to his later confessions, and corresponded to those he expressed in his poems. In the July 1904 edition of Seishinkai, Akegarasu included sixty-eight poems that he wrote when he and Fusako went to Yamanaka hot springs for her convalescence (Matsuda 1997–1998, 1: 251). One of them reads, “Feel my trying sorrow,” / She says, / Gently leading my hand to her breast. / With a start I realize / How slight she has become. (Cited in Matsuda 1997–1998, 1: 252) Setsunasa no / mune shirimase to / te o torite / chibusa sagurasu / shōjo yasetari

As chief editor of Seishinkai, Akegarasu was daring in disclosing his wife’s erotic desires, and the journal became a place where the couple could confirm their conjugal affections. Such poetic exchange must have been unusual in a journal dominated by young, progressive Shin priests who sought a new spiritual identity. It was, however, in accord with the Seishinshugi movement, which attempted to modernize their organization, challenge church authority, and allow free expression of their feelings. Compared with the poetry composed by other female Buddhists who praised the virtue of Amida and lamented the loss of their loved 178

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ones,2 Fusako’s tanka were quite provocative.3 Through her poetry she forged a new image of Shin Buddhist women similar to how her husband attempted to restructure the Higashi Honganji organization.

Akiyama Keiko and Her Work Akiyama Keiko contributed four short stories to Seishinkai between 1907 and 1908, which dealt with children, although not necessarily addressed to them. The first story titled, “Yoshiko-san,” depicts the transformative relationship between a female child, Yoshiko, and her stepmother, while the second story titled, “Takeshi-kun,” describes the growth of an ­elementary-school boy, Takeshi. The story line for “Yoshiko-san” is: Yoshiko weeps every day because of her mother’s recent death and, therefore, her aunt frequently comes to console her. One day Yoshiko’s aunt tells her that Yoshiko’s mother went to a place far from this world but enjoys being in a country where pretty flowers bloom all year around and birds sing beautifully, and that she constantly watches over Yoshiko from there. Soon after, Yoshiko’s father marries a second time and Yoshiko’s aunt stops visiting her. Because Yoshiko and her stepmother do not communicate well, Yoshiko’s stepmother is led to mistreat Yoshiko. One day, when Yoshiko returns home, she sees her aunt and Take, a maid, talking. Yoshiko is overjoyed at her aunt’s unexpected visit, but her stepmother thinks that Yoshiko has secretly invited her aunt in order to complain about her. The stepmother thus comes to dislike Yoshiko even more. One day the stepmother becomes ill. Yoshiko nurses her despite her stepmother’s previous mistreatment of her. The stepmother wonders why Yoshiko is so kind and asks Yoshiko what she thinks of her. Yoshiko says that her aunt told her that her biological mother and she (her stepmother) are the same, because Yoshiko’s biological mother has sent the stepmother to Yoshiko. The stepmother is deeply moved and changes her attitude toward Yoshiko. The story ends with the narrator’s remark, “Now Yoshiko’s family fully embraces the Buddha’s light and that light illuminates them all” (Akiyama 1907, 26). Like Yoshiko, Takeshi-kun is a kind and popular student. He studies hard, earns his teachers’ praise, and has many friends. One day, while playing baseball with his friends, he sees Ueda-kun excluded from the game. Ueda is bullied because he is poor and dirty. Takeshi is conflicted because his friends urge him to ignore Ueda, but his mother has always told him to be friends with everyone. He thus talks to his own mother, 179

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who tells him not to look down on others because of their looks. She tells Takeshi, “We are all bad from the Buddha’s point of view, but the Buddha doesn’t treat us with contempt or abandon us. So help your friend and study together” (Akiyama 1908c, 99–100). Takeshi thus ignores his friends’ advice and befriends Ueda. Takeshi and Ueda are initially isolated, but because his classmates had relied on Takeshi’s leadership, they gradually accept him back and with him, Ueda. The friendship between Takeshi and Ueda continues even after they graduate from elementary school. Takeshi goes on to middle school, while Ueda becomes an apprentice. Ueda never forgets Takeshi’s friendship and the story ends with the narrator’s remark: “How promising their futures are! They will both grow strong physically and mentally because their lives are illuminated by the Buddha’s compassionate light” (Akiyama 1908c, 101–102). Akiyama builds “Yoshiko-san” and “Takeshi-kun” on the patriarchal notion of “good wife and wise mother” (ryōsai kenbo). Adult women educate children in morality and ethics to form a happy home. Buddhist teachings are supplementary to children’s education. The female characters in these two stories, however, do not consider themselves to be sinful or spiritually weak. Rather than crying, Yoshiko’s aunt explains to Yoshiko that Yoshiko’s mother was born in the Pure Land from where she is working for Yoshiko and her family. The Buddhist teaching, which Takeshi’s mother explains to her son, enables Takeshi to develop an impartial view vis-à-vis his friends and to not discriminate against others based on their looks. The Buddhism spoken by these women is practical and not abstract. Unlike the stories about Yoshiko and Takeshi, in “Sukui no hanawa” (hereafter, “Garlands of Salvation,” 1908b) and “Shirayuri” (hereafter, “White Lilies,” 1908a), a little girl is the intermediary in the spiritual realization of the adults around her. “Garlands of Salvation” describes the conversion of an adult woman, Fumiko. One day Fumiko sees a group of girls, including her niece Ayako, making flower garlands. The girls decide to have a fashion show wearing Western clothing and featuring the garlands they just made. One of the girls, Atsuko, returns home without joining that activity because she does not have a Western dress to wear. Fumiko is impressed that Atsuko was neither embarrassed by not having a Western dress nor jealous of the other girls. Fumiko decides to talk to Atsuko, who tells Fumiko that her mother always says, “The Buddha arranges a home, clothes, meals, dolls, and everything, in just the right way. If I don’t have things that others do, that means I’m better off with180

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out them. That’s why I don’t want them” (Akiyama 1908b, 60). Atsuko further tells Fumiko that she no longer misses her late father, because her mother taught her that the names of the Buddha and her father are the same—Namu Amida Butsu. Fumiko is amazed by the little girl who recites the nenbutsu in full awareness of what it means. Fumiko actually has a problem. She married about a year ago and was happy until she went to a wedding banquet organized by the president of the company where her husband works. She became jealous of the young women there who wore expensive clothes and jewelry. She also happened to meet Toshiko, a former classmate, who had married a diplomat and whose life revolved around high-class society. Comparing her present life with Toshiko’s, Fumiko came to regret her marriage. That was why Atsuko’s words resonated with her so deeply. Fumiko meets Atsuko’s mother and studies Buddhism. Unexpectedly, however, Fumiko’s husband is transferred to Kyoto and she accompanies him. Several months later, Fumiko sends a letter to Atsuko’s mother and confesses her agony over her husband’s affair and discusses her turning of mind. Fumiko remembers Atsuko saying “the Buddha arranges a home, clothes, meals, dolls, and everything, in just the right way” and for the first time understands what it means to rely on Amida Buddha. Although the setting of “White Lilies” is different from that of “Garlands of Salvation,” the former can be read as a continuation of the latter. “White Lilies” is a story about a man who lost his wife and later understands the significance of Namu Amida Butsu because of his young niece, Yuriko. Ojisama (literally, “honorable uncle”), a naval officer, married a woman named Sumiko, who died soon after their marriage. A month later, Yuriko was born to his brother. Ojisama considers Yuriko’s birth to be Sumiko’s incarnation and cares about Yuriko even after his second marriage. He returns to his main family once a year for the anniversary of Sumiko’s passing and visits her grave with Yuriko. One day after a grave visit, Yuriko delivers to Ojisama a message that she received from her grandmother, Sumiko’s mother, who had come to visit from Yokosuka. The grandmother gave Yuriko two envelopes and asked her to tell Ojisama that what was written inside one envelope was very important—by coincidence, Yuriko had a dream where Sumiko appeared and gave Yuriko the same two envelopes. Ojisama opens the envelopes and sees a piece of brocade with the inscription of Namu Amida Butsu and a juzu (string of beads) that Sumiko had always carried with her when she was alive. Ojisama felt a marvelously mysterious power 181

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that ­reconnected him with Sumiko. He decides to visit Sumiko’s mother (who Yuriko calls grandma) to learn what Namu Amida Butsu means. In both “Garlands of Salvation” and “White Lilies,” the spiritual qualities of women appear more advanced than those of men. Fumiko, Sumiko, and the grandmother have received the entrusting mind, whereas in “Garlands of Salvation” Fumiko’s husband is ignorant of Buddhism. Ojisama, who avoided Sumiko when she attempted to discuss Buddhism with him, finally understands what the nenbutsu is. In “Garlands of Salvation,” Fumiko suffers because of her husband’s affair, but it simultaneously creates a “reverse relationship” (gyakuen) for her to realize Amida’s compassion and to wish that her husband someday experiences a turning of his mind. In “White Lilies,” Sumiko’s wish for Ojisama to become a follower of the Shin teaching continues to influence him even after her death, through Yuriko and the grandmother. To put it differently, these women are bodhisattva-like: Fumiko accepts her husband who cheats on her; Fumiko and Sumiko extend sympathy to their husbands and patiently await their husbands’ spiritual capacities to mature. Sumiko’s heart guides her husband to the Buddhist path. In this context, Carol P. Christ’s analysis of a woman’s spiritual search in fiction is relevant to this study. Christ observes two aspects of the heroine’s spiritual quest in Margaret Atwood’s Surfacing (1972). The heroine first experiences fear and uncertainty when she moves away from a world controlled by men. She then develops a sense of autonomy, recovers from the hurt, and finds joy in her life. Her liberation from a maledominated world suggests feelings that were previously suppressed and that her identity was formerly forced to conform to the value system of men. Second, after encountering cosmic powers, the heroine is no longer victimized or powerless and becomes spiritually independent. For the unidentified female protagonist in Surfacing, the Nature that Canadian Indians worship makes her aware of life and death as a continuum of transformative power, like the biological cycles of women. Nature renews the heroine’s energy and, unlike men in the West who must conquer nature, helps her expand the Christian idea of sacrificial death (Christ 1976, 325–327). Liberation from a patriarchal system and women’s attainment of spiritual power are also part of the plots in Akiyama’s short stories. In “Garlands of Salvation,” Fumiko, who cried about her destiny being determined by her husband, finds herself embraced by Amida Buddha, and becomes free from anxiety. Despite her agony caused by her husband, Fumiko decides to stay with him. In “White Lilies,” although Ojisama 182

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loved Sumiko very much, Sumiko suppressed her religious faith when she was with him. Sumiko, who died eleven years earlier, appears in Yuriko’s dream and helps in Ojisama’s transformation. The grandmother also overcomes Ojisama’s contempt—he had previously looked down on her Buddhist faith as well—and, in return, urges him to take refuge in the nenbutsu. Another element common to “Garlands of Salvation” and “White Lilies” is the presence of a female child. Atsuko and Yuriko are not just lovable but mature beyond their years. Fumiko finds Atsuko independent and admirable, whereas Yuriko looks like a “precious inviolable angel” (Akiyama 1908a, 22). The innocence of these girls arouse curiosity in both Fumiko and Ojisama. Atsuko recites the nenbutsu and Yuriko honors her late aunt. Atsuko asks Fumiko to keep to herself what she is going to tell her because the nenbutsu is strictly a private practice for Atsuko and her mother. Yuriko, on the other hand, delivers the grandmother’s message to Ojisama only after he promises to comply with Yuriko’s request—which turns out to be the wishes of the late Sumiko and her mother—that he recite the nenbutsu. Atsuko then introduces Fumiko to her mother, while Yuriko initiates an interaction between the grandmother and Ojisama. In other words, Atsuko and Yuriko are the agents that cause Fumiko and Ojisama to understand the Buddhist teaching. The female spirituality that Akiyama expresses in her stories is free from male ideology and similar to Buddhist women’s religious experiences in medieval Japan. Scholars who have studied the Letters of the Nun Eshinni would agree that Eshinni did not believe in the doctrine of henjō nanshi—that a woman must become a man before attaining birth in the Pure Land—although Shinran, her husband, observed the tradition that had defined Buddhist attainment for women. Eshinni also expressed the wish to build her own stupa while she was alive and prepared for death, even though from Shinran’s perspective, death rituals were unnecessary for the attainment of birth in the Pure Land (Nishiguchi 2006, 153–159; Dobbins 2004, 99). Further, Nishiguchi Junko points out that in medieval Japan bodhisattvas were believed to take a female form and that because of their spiritual powers it was not uncommon for monks to have relationships with them (2005, 34). Medieval revelatory tales, such as in se­ tsuwa and monogatari, testify to the powers of women who play the role of bodhisattvas and guide men to spiritual attainment.4 Such expressions of women’s independent spirituality were, however, gradually forgotten. In modern Japanese literature, women are often portrayed as spiritually inferior to men. To give a few examples, the 183

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f­ emale characters in “Kitsune” (Fox, 1909) by Nagai Kafū (1879–1959) are superstitious and afraid of fox spirits, while male characters hunt foxes with great enthusiasm. In Michikusa (Grass on the Wayside, 1915), Na­ tsume Sōseki’s (1867–1916) autobiographical fiction, Osumi, the protagonist’s wife, appears superstitious, reflecting the personality of Sōseki’s wife Kyōko, who believed in fortune-telling. While those descriptions represent one aspect of women’s religious experiences at that time, Akiyama used fiction to reinvigorate female spirituality in Buddhism in the milieu of gender inequality in modern Japan where women’s spirituality was assumed to be inferior. At the same time, “Garlands of Salvation” and “White Lilies” mirror modern developments of both Buddhism and literature in Japan. As an author Akiyama took a universalistic approach and neither specified nor implied a Buddhist denomination in those stories. She did not mention Amida Buddha, Shinran, Honganji, Jōdo Shinshū, or the specific name of a temple. Rather, she used popular Buddhist terms, such as nyorai, myōgō, Namu Amida Butsu, and daihi. In other words, Akiyama maintained the autonomy of literature by not identifying the tenets of a particular religious denomination in her stories. She appealed to a wider audience by not making the characters’ denominational backgrounds known. She also employed an epistolary form to demonstrate Fumiko’s confession. Integrating letters of confession into fiction was a popular literary practice at that time.5

The Confessions of Two Shin Buddhist Women Writing spiritual confessions was a common practice among Shin Buddhists and Seishinkai included many such writings. There is no doubt that Kiyozawa Manshi’s “Waga shinnen” (My Faith, 1903g), the testimony of his spiritual attainment, which he wrote just a week before his death, inspired many young Shin Buddhist priests. Although men confessed more than women, two female writers, Takei Fuku and Kobayashi Shige, also discussed their religious experiences in Seishinkai. The journal Kyūdō, which was started by Chikazumi Jōkan (1870–1941)—another student of Kiyozawa’s—also became a venue for young people to confess their religious concerns and transform their perspectives (Ōmi 2012). Both Takei and Kobayashi experienced a turning of the mind according to the Shin Buddhist doctrinal framework of the so-called two kinds of profound insight (nishu jinshin). According to Shandao (613–681), a Buddhist monk in medieval China, this set of beliefs refers to accepting 184

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one’s unwholesome karma and entrusting oneself to Amida Buddha’s vow. Shandao, as well as Hōnen and Shinran, saw it as a critical religious experience. Realizing one’s unwholesome karma is, however, difficult and exhausting, because one must face up to oneself as full of egotistical concerns and come to see that, regardless of what one’s original intention might have been, one ends up misbehaving and hurting others. It requires an individual to destroy the assumptions she holds about herself—how good she is—and to abandon her moral standards, which is the basis for her to judge what is right and wrong, as well as who is good and bad. When such value judgments start to collapse, she loses her sense of direction in life and becomes hopeless. This phase of spiritual crisis is, however, necessary for her to experience Amida’s compassion. Takei and Kobayashi were educated; that is, they were both able to read and write. They described how ideas of moral superiority had prevented them from understanding Amida Buddha’s compassion and how important it was for them to meet Shin Buddhist teachers and to make Dharma friends. Their confessions, originally sent to their teachers, therefore included their feelings of sorrow, humiliation, and desperation, as well as joy. In a short essay titled, “Nyūshin no kokuhaku” (A Confession [regarding My Experience of Shin Buddhism], 1911), which was sent to her teacher (whose identity is unknown), Takei discussed her turning of mind and thanked him for his guidance. She mentions abandoning her husband, disobeying her parents, and causing problems to her relatives, and identifies her suffering as a consequence of those unfilial acts. She had met Shin Buddhist teachers from the Kōkōdo several times in the past but had not felt the presence of Amida ( jikkan no tomonawazarishi ariyō). She had an ideal moral standard, which she strove to maintain. But because her commitment to her own rules was extremely strong, her friends left her alone. Takei, however, looked down on them as unethical and undisciplined. One day, she met Gochō Tetsujō, later known as Fujiwara Tetsujō. He was a Shin Buddhist priest who converted from Sōtō Zen after meeting Akegarasu and later joined the Kōkōdō. He completely destroyed her worldview and threw her into an abyss of despair. But it was Gochō’s words that awakened her to her real self. Compared to Takei’s spiritual confession, Kobayashi’s essay is much longer and more descriptive. Kobayashi seems to have sent her letter to Chikazumi Jōkan in order to report her spiritual progress and thus thank him. She described herself as a logical (rikutsu) person who liked to read books on Buddhism. The more she studied Buddhism, the better 185

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she felt about herself. Kobayashi was, however, disturbed by her inability to put Buddhism into practice ( jikkō no dekinai koto). Although she read Seishinkai, Katei kōwa (Talks for the Home), the Tannishō, and Chikazumi’s Zangeroku (hereafter, Record of My Repentance, 1905), she was unable to understand the heart of Shin Buddhism. Kobayashi disliked those who disclosed their weakness and easily accepted themselves as being restrained by their unwholesome karma, while considering herself to be morally superior. She then became isolated from her friends. One day she participated in a regular meeting of the Kōkōdō and met Chikazumi, the charismatic leader of the gathering. Chikazumi destroyed her confidence and explained to her the impossibility of attaining buddhahood with her present body. Because of his words, she eventually experienced a turning of her mind. Several elements are common to the experiences of Takei and Kobayashi. First, they were caught between what constituted being a “good person” (zennin) and a “bad person” (akunin). They could not accept themselves as akunin, because they considered themselves righteous and hardworking, whereas other women were not. Second, both Takei and Kobayashi held on to their achievements with pride and expected Shin clergy to recognize how much they knew about Buddhism. Gochō and Chikazumi, however, emphasized the importance of their spiritual states, in the here and now. Third, their conversions were facilitated by male clerical leaders. Gochō helped Takei feel the presence of Amida Buddha, while Chikazumi led Kobayashi to sense Amida’s compassion. Initially, Takei and Kobayashi reacted against their teachers, but later found truth in their words. These women’s experiences, therefore, endorsed the importance of having a “good teacher” (zenjishiki) in Shin Buddhism. Takei and Kobayashi also used traditional expressions of devotional Buddhism such as oya, oya-sama, and nyorai-sama. The religious environment where Takei and Kobayashi experienced Shin Buddhism was also modern. They first sought moral righteousness and then took refuge in other-power Buddhism only after realizing their limitations. Their spiritual trajectories echoed Kiyozawa’s experience of jiriki mukō—that is, the ineffectiveness of self-power practice. These women and Kiyozawa were actually similar. Particularly, in her essay, Kobayashi quoted Kiyozawa’s words along with passages from the Tannishō. Both women used popular Shin Buddhist expressions of the day, such as “to experience” ( jikkan suru) and “unable to put my ideas into practice” ( jikkō dekinai)—all of which pointed to Kiyozawa’s subjective religious attitude. 186

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The spiritual confessions of Takei and Kobayashi paralleled the confessions of male Shin Buddhists. For Sasaki Eiichi, Endō Tomohiro, and Ikejima Masaharu, the idea of akunin was linked to their failures in filial piety, their doubts about Amida Buddha, the persistence of self-­ calculation, and dissolute activities. Fear of death by incurable illness was another factor that caused them to seek spiritual solace. Irrespective of their gender differences, these men and women took a rational approach to Shin Buddhism. Although clergy helped Takei and Kobayashi take refuge in Shin Buddhism, these women did not acknowledge the inferiority of female spirituality nor consider gender to be obstacles in the pursuit of Buddhist learning. The confessions of Takei and Kobayashi follow the patterns of spiritual confessions observed in other religious traditions. Aaron B. MurraySwank, Kelly M. McConnell, and Kenneth I. Pargament characterize functions of spiritual confession based on previous studies of confessional practices in Judeo-Christianity, Theravada Buddhism, Native American religion, and Alcoholics Anonymous (AA). Spiritual confessions work in four ways: Confessors reduce guilt and shame, integrate themselves with society, gain the understanding of life, and impress others (2007, 282). Confessors overcome guilt associated with a specific conduct, or violation of codes of conduct, and the shame caused by their feelings of inferiority. The confessors of monotheistic religions then experience “reconciliation” as forgiveness and unity with God. For Buddhists, the reconciliation suggests turning away from negative base passions, such as greed and hatred, that lead them to suffer, and coming to terms with themselves (278). The confessors also discover the meaning of life within a structured scheme of their religion and share their newfound beliefs and values with others. Finally, people confess because by confessing, they impress others with a positive image. According to attribution theory, when a person confesses, others tend to attribute causes of the violation of codes of conduct to “external, uncontrollable, and situational factors,” rather than to his or her personality and disposition (285). The psychological effects caused by spiritual confession are helpful for analyzing the confessional writings of Takei and Kobayashi, even though the notion of sin in monotheistic religions is different from the Shin Buddhist idea of zaiaku, or misdeeds caused by one’s unwholesome karma. First, Takei and Kobayashi are bound by their own judgments— but not by a set of ecclesiastic rules—and suffered the burdens of obligation. They did not experience a sense of inferiority but saw their failure 187

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to reconcile the actualities of their lives with their moral ideals as a grave problem. Second, Takei and Kobayashi did not experience forgiveness but felt welcomed and relieved when they took refuge in Amida Buddha. Third, their conversions took place within a traditional setting where male teachers guided female followers. Finally, by having their letters published in Seishinkai, Takei and Kobayashi impressed those who read their essays. In his study of confessional columns found in the journal Kyūdō, Ōmi Toshihiro points out that those who read Shin Buddhist confessions sympathized with the writers, initiated religious experiments modeled on the stories they had read, and reported their spiritual growth (2012, 18). The confessional writings of Takei and Kobayashi must have had the same impact on readers that the confessions by male writers had. The characteristics of the confessional writings of the two Shin women discussed above are also found in the penitential writings of Orthodox female Christians in modern Russia. Nadieszda Kizenko differentiates and characterizes two groups of women, educated and uneducated, who sent letters of confession to Father Ioann of Kronstadt (1829–1908). Their confessions include their violation of sexual mores and the rules of communion, cursing, and rebellion against male authorities; however, educated women tend to “treat their confessions as psychological self-analyses,” whereas uneducated women tend to “accept unambiguously the definitions of the Orthodox Church, calling a sin (in the definition of the Church) a sin and to describe actions committed in as much detail as possible” (Kizenko 2007, 104–105). The educated women were also “proud of their learning” (104) and used “religious language to describe their states” (105). Similar to Takei and Kobayashi who consulted with leading clergy by writing letters, the Russian Orthodox female Christians contacted charismatic leaders more than male parishioners did (97). In the feminization of modern religious faith, common traits are thus found in Christianity and Buddhism. After the Meiji government lifted the ban on Christianity in 1873, Western missionaries reintroduced it to Japan. Since then, the Christian practice of confession is seen as the primary informing source of modern Japanese literature, which took the form of autobiographical fiction (shishōsetsu). In his study of modern Japanese literature, Karatani Kōjin (1993) argues that writers of Japanese Naturalism, such as Tayama Katai (1871–1930) and Shimazaki Tōson (1872–1943), must have realized their sexuality through a system of confessions, which helped them construct their inner lives, although the author as a pre-existing entity was seem188

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ingly confessing his struggle, carnal desire, and spiritual gridlock (76– 80). Building on Karatani’s theory of inversion of consciousness, it can be said that Takei and Kobayashi discovered their religiosity and were able to put their religious experiences in perspective by participating in the practice of producing confessional writings common among Higashi Honganji reformers. Writing a spiritual confession was an indispensable means for young Shin Buddhists—male and female alike—to examine their moral fortitude and establish faith in Amida Buddha. In addition to Japanese Christians, modern Shin Buddhists engaged in spiritual confession, which had always been a traditional part of their religious culture.6 Shin Buddhist women participated actively in the Seishinshugi movement and helped modernize Jōdo Shinshū. They were not just wives of ministers assisting their husband—cleaning the temple, serving food after major services, raising their children, and helping the congregation—but educated individuals, as represented by Akegarasu Fusako, who sought new Buddhist expressions through poetry. Seen through Seishinkai, the efforts of Akegarasu Haya and Fusako demonstrate that the collaboration of a husband and wife is essential to an understanding of the teaching, which reflects a long-standing Shin tradition. According to Nishiguchi Junko, since medieval times, Shin clergy had always treated a husband and wife as a pair and promoted the teaching among them (2005, 38).7 Like husband like wife, Fusako willingly discussed her spiritual concerns in public. Akiyama expressed her Buddhist ideas by writing short stories. In each story, home appears as the venue. The unity of family life is one of her literary themes. The Buddhist teaching awakens and brings together family members. The feminization of the Shin Buddhist faith, which takes place within this setting, includes the female characters’ efforts to direct men to spiritual realization and excludes the women’s internalization of the five hindrances and three forms of obedience. For Takei and Kobayashi, writing spiritual confessions mirrored a popular practice among young Shin Buddhist priests associated with the Seishinshugi movement and the literary practices of the day. It served as  a means of self-reflection, self-transformation, and self-promotion, as  well as a way to reconfirm their religious conversion. In this respect the spiritual struggles and experiences of turning of the mind among female seekers were not so different from those of their male counterparts. 189

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Akegarasu Haya was instrumental in facilitating these expressions of women’s spirituality in Seishinkai. All of the Shin Buddhist women’s writings explored in this study were published in the journal when he was in charge of editing it. Akegarasu quit the journal and left the Kōkōdō in early 1915 (Matsuda 1997–1998, 2: 40). During his tenure as editor he revealed his liking for both Japanese and Western modern literature and even wrote a short work of fiction about a Nichiren priest (Akegarasu 1908). He also produced confessional writings of his own in which he discussed Fusako’s death, disclosed his losing battle against sexual desires and moral failures, and after his spiritual recovery praised Kiyozawa very highly. It is fair to say that Akegarasu, as chief editor of the journal, selected and published Fusako’s poems, Akiyama’s short stories, and the letters of confession by Takei and Kobayashi.8 He played a significant role in presenting their spiritual experiences. At the same time, he seems to have excluded other types of female spiritual experiences in which he had no interest from Seishinkai. It is also unclear how extensively he and the other members of Kōkōdō edited those writings. In that sense, the expression of Shin Buddhist women’s spirituality was still controlled by male priests. Despite these shortcomings, Seishinkai is an important testimony to female spirituality in Shin Buddhism at the turn of the twentieth century.

Appendix of Translations White Lilies Akiyama Keiko (1908) It was the end of June. Yuriko got up at four to help her mother, because Ojisama (an uncle) was visiting today. After finishing cleaning the upstairs rooms, she went to the backyard with a child’s basket. Mountains and fields were veiled in morning mist, as far as the eye could see. Frogs were heard croaking from afar. Yuriko was absorbed in the beautiful landscape for a while, with the bottom hem of her kimono and its sleeves moistened in the morning dew. She stood in the kitchen garden where flowers and strawberries grew. Bright red ripe strawberries, underneath fresh green leaves, were ready to be picked. Yuriko, however, had not harvested even a single one until today, because she wanted to offer the first ones to Sumiko— Obasama, her late aunt. Now, she spread leaves on the bottom of the basket and filled it up with ruby-red strawberries. 190

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Yuriko carefully brought the basket upstairs. She walked to an alcove where a picture of Obasama had been relocated from the rosewood desk. In front of the picture, there was a celadon vase full of water. Yuriko and Ojisama would go to the hill behind the house, where they would gather white lilies and wildflowers, and offer them to her late aunt. Yuriko knelt and bowed humbly in front of the picture. She offered the strawberries from the basket and looked longingly at the picture. The beautiful figure of Obasama stood out from the frame. She was standing straight with a fan in her hand. Her light yellow and pink kimono had long sleeves while her rolled up hair was elaborately coiffured. Yuriko stood up quietly and went to a chest. There she took a small envelope from a drawer and removed the wrapped cloth before gently placing the envelope behind the picture frame. Praying for a short time, she looked not just adorable and naive but rather more like a precious, inviolable angel. After breakfast, she dressed in a kimono made of merino fabric dyed with a hemp-leaf pattern and put on a yellow habutae sash with white lilies embroidered on it. She decorated her hair with a light-blue ribbon and cheerfully walked to the train station with her father to pick up her uncle. Yuriko lived about twenty-five miles from Tokyo in a town known for its textile industry. Her father, a fabric dealer, was one of the most affluent men in this area. He had a younger brother (Ojisama) who became commander in the navy and was working at the naval college. During the Russo-Japanese War, he served Admiral Tōgō and made distinguished achievements, so people in this town were proud of him. The relationship between Ojisama and Yuriko was more than that of uncle and niece. Because they were deeply connected by their karma, Ojisama and Yuriko cared for each other in a peculiar way. Almost eleven years ago, Ojisama married Sumiko, but about a year later she became ill and died at the age of twenty in the bloom of her youth. Because they were newly wedded and Sumiko was kind and faithful, you cannot imagine how much young Ojisama regretted her premature death. Ojisama returned to his hometown to bury her ashes in their ancestral grave and quietly remained there for a while. During his stay, at the start of July, his brother and his wife had a baby girl. How strongly the first cry of his niece resonated with Ojisama who had been completely dejected! Suddenly he remembered what Sumiko had told him. She thanked him for his care and said, “If I die first, I promise you to reincarnate as your child.” Ojisama had been unable to think of having his 191

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own child after Sumiko’s death, but now felt there was something inconceivable about the birth of his niece. Ojisama thus asked his brother to name her Sumiko. All the relatives opposed this by saying, “What an awful idea! You should pray for the baby to grow up strong and healthy rather than give her the name of your late wife who had such an ephemeral life.” But Ojisama did not back down. He instead asked his brother to name her Yuriko, referring to white lilies (shirayuri), which Sumiko had liked, and the flowers that were in blossom at that time. When Ojisama asked him for the second time, his brother sympathized with him and just said, “I understand.” But their relatives still opposed that name because of the flowers’ ominous association. Ojisama pampered Yuriko and took care of her more often than her parents. His affection toward Yuriko never changed even after he remarried and had two sons. Every year, Ojisama returned to his hometown for Sumiko’s memorial service if he was in Tokyo. If not, or if he was on a voyage, he visited her grave either before or after his trip and always stayed with Yuriko for that day. When Yuriko was small, Ojisama held her in his arms and went to the hill. He picked lilies and wildflowers, offered them at Sumiko’s grave, and brought back some to place them in front of her picture. For Yuriko, it was the most enjoyable day of the year. She looked forward to his visit more than the New Year, the local festival, or the last day of school. Today was the day Ojisama was coming to see her. Yuriko and her father were able to get onto the train platform because country life was not strictly regulated. They waited for the train impatiently. Soon, she heard the sound of the ground rumbling and saw black smoke coming out from the tunnel. She stared at the train and saw Ojisama sticking out his neck from a window of the second-class car. As soon as he got off, Yuriko ran and leapt into him, saying, “Ojisama!” “Thank you for coming!” Ojisama immediately held her up and pressed his bearded face to her rosy cheek, “You’ve grown up so much!” He looked at her as usual. After Ojisama arranged for a porter to carry his luggage, they were headed home. Yuriko held Ojisama’s hand in her right hand and her father’s hand in her left hand. Happiness and joy lit up her face. After returning from the grave visit, Yuriko, Ojisama, and her parents gathered in front of Sumiko’s picture, with Yuriko’s three-yearold brother Tacchan sitting on his mother’s lap. As usual, Ojisama began singing a yōkyoku (Noh ballad) titled, “Yuya,” which Sumiko had 192

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enjoyed listening to. Yuriko joyfully sang part of it following after Ojisama. She had memorized some of the lyrics during the past eleven years when he had sung it once every year. Yuriko especially liked the verse, “the memory of spring nights at Kansenden [Ganquandian where Emperor Hanwudi spent his time with his wife, Li Furen] has become the cause of his distress and [Emperor Xuanzong Huangdi] lost his interest in viewing the moon from Rizankyū [Lishangong, when Yang Guifei died]. Even Śākyamuni Buddha, the lord of salvation, could not avoid death.” Yuriko was able to recite it fluently, because this verse had been Obasama’s favorite part and the brilliant tone of the Kanze Noh style deeply sank into Yuriko’s heart. Yuriko’s parents could not stop smiling at her. After singing “Yuya,” the adults began chatting about the late Sumiko. “How fortunate she is! Her memorial service is warmly arranged every year like this,” Yuriko’s mother said. She considered the behavior of her brother-in-law and wondered why he was such a kind-hearted man, although he was a naval officer. “Do you want to try dying? We’ll take care of your soul,” Yuriko’s father said playfully. Yuriko usually snuggled up close to Ojisama and played with him, but today she listened to them quietly. With a pause in their conversation, Yuriko slightly changed her posture with her hand still placed on Ojisama’s lap and asked him, “Why do you always sing ‘Yuya’ in front of Obasama’s picture?” She tilted her face and looked up at Ojisama. She looked adorable, but she was serious. The three adults were surprised and stared at her. Ojisama became slightly puzzled, so her mother spoke to her, “What are you saying now? Can you not imagine how happy the late Obasama would be, when Ojisama dedicated the song she had liked to her?” “Is that right, Ojisama?” Yuriko asked. “Yes . . .” he nodded. Yuriko smiled at him and said, “You’ll certainly do other things that would make Obasama much happier, correct? . . . I know something. . . .” “Of course, I’ll do anything. Are you going to tell me what I can do to make her happy?” “Will you promise? Let’s link our fingers for your pledge.” She held her small pinky and Ojisama connected his thick pinky to it. “This will do it,” Yuriko said. The three adults could not help smiling at her. “I actually heard this from my grandma in Yokosuka. The other day, she came here. We picked wildflowers and visited Obasama’s grave 193

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t­ ogether. At that time, I said, ‘When I come here with Ojisama, we almost always offer white lilies.’ “Grandma said, ‘How kind you both are! Sumiko must have been comforted by you and Ojisama.’ She then asked, ‘Does he still sing “Yuya”?’ “I said, ‘Yes, but I can also sing parts of it.’ Grandma then began weeping. I felt bad and said, ‘I’m sorry . . .’ “She said, ‘No, I’m crying for joy, only thanking him.’ “By the way, Ojisama, is it true that people often cry when they are happy?” Yuriko asked. “Yes, that happens. . . . But go on, what did Grandma say?” “She said, ‘Do you like Ojisama?’ “I said, ‘Of course! One day I would marry him.’ “Grandma laughed, and then said, ‘Can you do me a favor?’ “I said, ‘I will do anything for you.’ “Now, the next time you see Ojisama. . . .” Yuriko looked at him and stood up. She went and picked up the envelope from behind the picture frame where she had placed it that morning. “Look, this is what Grandma gave me. Grandma said, ‘Please give it to Ojisama, and tell him to keep it to himself and recite what’s written in here because this is much better than singing “Yuya” on her behalf. Please make sure to deliver this message to him. This is what Sumiko wished for him when she was alive. I have no one else to ask, except for you, Yuriko. . . . Then, you must find out from Ojisama what’s in the envelope. Don’t tell anybody until then.’ ” Yuriko took out a larger envelope from the sleeve of her kimono and said, “Grandma gave this to me, asking you to open it.” She then placed it next to the small envelope. The three adults gazed at them. Yuriko’s mother moved closer to Ojisama, while holding the sleeping boy in her arms. Ojisama took Yuriko’s hand and said, “Well done, Yuriko! You did a great job.” Yuriko’s father also said to her, “That’s right. . . . Did you write down Grandma’s message?” while her mother was staring at Yuriko as if she was deeply contemplating. “I didn’t write it down, but repeated it in bed every night,” Yuriko said. “Oh, one more thing. . . . Don’t open it yet, but listen to me, Ojisama. Yesterday, I had a dream and spoke to Obasama. I was standing on the hill as usual and looking for the white lilies. The place suddenly became full of the flowers. How happy I was! When I was about to pick them for 194

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Obasama’s memorial service, a breeze began blowing and the stem with a bud nearby rapidly grew up to the height of my mom. The bud unfolded itself with a pleasant odor. The flower was then transformed into Obasama. She was dressed in a furisode and had her hair just like in that picture, but she was holding a lily, instead of a fan. “ ‘Wow! Obasama?!’ I uttered. “She said, ‘Hi, Yuriko . . . let’s play together, let’s sing “Yuya.” ’ “So, I sang that portion of “Yuya,” ‘the memory of spring nights at Kansenden,’ you know? Then Obasama became. . . . ummmm. . . . What do you call the princess whose clothes were taken away by a ferryman?” “That’s a heavenly maiden (tennyo),” the mother said. “That’s right, a heavenly maiden. . . . Obasama became a heavenly maiden, joyfully floating on the clouds. I asked her to take me there. But she said, ‘No, not yet, if you want to come here, look at this with Ojisama.’ She then threw me a bunch of lilies. When I picked them up, it became an envelope that was familiar to me. ‘This is what Grandma gave me. . . . ’ I thought, and then I awoke. There was nothing around me. . . . Now, open the envelopes, Ojisama!” Ojisama opened the small envelope first, revealing a piece of fine brocade with the six letters of Namu Amida Butsu written on it. “What is it?” Yuriko looked at it and asked. “Hold on,” Ojisama said and opened the second envelope. It was a juzu (string of beads) made of crystal beads with a worn-out scarlet tuft. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Yuriko held it up and showed it to her mother. “Was this Obasama’s?” her mother mumbled and looked at it carefully. “Ah! I remember now,” Ojisama uttered marvelously. He then told them a story from eleven years ago. After Sumiko passed away, the grandmother and Ojisama sadly cleared her belongings away. He discovered the brocade and her juzu in a small box, but showed no interest in them. “Please, you keep them,” Ojisama had said to Sumiko’s mother. “Are you sure?” the grandmother said. “They were her most precious things. . . . Well, I will keep them for you until the time when you can appreciate them,” she said. “No . . . Sumiko died young because she had carried such things. She used to talk about the importance of having a belief (shinkō) and entrusting mind (shinjin), but I kept saying, ‘That’s not for me, not for me.’ She looked sad,” Ojisama said. Ojisama was amazed that the piece of brocade and the juzu, which he had completely forgotten, came back to him after all these years through 195

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the grandmother and Yuriko, and that Sumiko had visited and communicated with Yuriko in a dream. He sensed an indescribable power working behind these events. Yuriko’s father felt the same way and said to his brother, “Sumiko’s message must have reached you now. I don’t know what it means, but you should take good care of them.” Yuriko’s mother also said to him, “Sumiko must have been kind and persistent. Don’t treat them slightly.” She then turned to Yuriko and said, “You may use this juzu when you honor Obasama during her memorial services.” “What does it say?” Yuriko asked Ojisama, shaking his knees. “Oh, that’s right. You mean the brocade? This is what your grandmother always recites.” “Is it Namu Amida Butsu?” “Yes, that’s it.” “What happens if I say it?” “That, I don’t know. . . . But there must be something to it, because Sumiko had recited it from time to time and Grandma is still reciting it all the time. I should visit her in Yokosuka. I’ll find out and let you know. But thank you for remembering this. . . . Let’s eat some strawberries now.” “All right, please let me know as soon as you can,” Yuriko said. She was somewhat unsatisfied, because she could not understand the importance of Namu Amida Butsu. The three adults felt deeply spiritual and missed Sumiko even more. That night, Yuriko and her father saw off Ojisama at the train station. About a week later, Yuriko received a letter from Ojisama. Dear Yuriko, Thank you for your help the other day. I went to Yokosuka and met Grandma yesterday. I gave her a full account of the event. She was happy and spoke highly of you that you hadn’t forgotten her message. I finally understood what it meant. I’ll soon visit you with my two children and explain it to you. Don’t forget about it until then. Tell my wife what you want for a souvenir. Grandma also gave me something for you. I’ll bring it to you next time. Take care.

Yuriko was very happy and now looking forward to meeting Ojisama again. How brilliantly the light would shine upon this family on that day! 196

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Garlands of Salvation Akiyama Keiko (1908) Since the morning, Fumiko had been diligently sewing the dress. She felt tired and stepped out onto the veranda. Outside, a light snow of petals was at its height, but it was more than just softly falling blossoms for her. The color of the sky, the fading rays of the sun, and even the recently sprouted buds gave her the impression that spring was almost past. They combined to give her a sense of spring pathos, as she had been distressed. A sudden gust caused blossoms on the other side of the hedge to flutter down on her sleeve and her shoulders as if those blossoms were visiting Fumiko. That was when she heard the light clattering of geta, wooden clogs, from the other side of her house. It was her dear niece Ayako and some of her friends. “Look at all these flowers!” one of the girls said as the other girls gathered around the tree from which the blossoms had fallen. “Aren’t they beautiful?” another girl said. “The flowers here are even more colorful than where we were!” The girls marveled as they gathered under the tree. Each girl had a garland of flowers in her hand and began adding more petals to it with a needle. Through the hedge of her house, Fumiko saw each one make a garland. “I’m finished!” one girl said. “Me too!” “I’ve made one.” The other girls immediately followed. The five girls stood up, each one holding a garland in her hand. “Let’s put them around our necks,” one girl said. How pretty they looked with their garlands! With their surroundings, it looked like a beautiful spring picture. “If we wear Western dresses, we’d look like princesses, wouldn’t we?” Ayako said. “That’s right. The princess in my sister’s picture wears a necklace,” Michiko said. “I have a deep-blue dress,” Hanako remembered. “I have a cream-colored one!” “Me too. Mine is greenish blue!” “I don’t remember what color it is, but I have one, too.” 197

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“Let’s ask our moms to help us get dressed and then we’ll wear our garlands,” Michiko proposed. “All right.” “Yeah, I can ask my mom.” “Me too!” When the girls were about to dash out, Atsuko, who had been quiet, said, “I shall go home now. See you tomorrow.” “Why are you going home now? Ask your mom! Let’s get dressed and play more,” Michiko said impatiently. “But I don’t have a Western dress,” Atsuko said without hesitation. “That would be all right, wouldn’t it?” Michiko was a bit disturbed, but sympathized with her and passed it on to other girls. “Doesn’t matter! Just wait here. We’ll come back quickly,” Hanako comforted Atsuko. “But mama told me to come home early. I should go now,” Atsuko said. “I see. . . . Then, good-bye.” “Bye now,” Atsuko left. Fumiko was observing this event. Surrounded by the glory of the springtime, with peach cherry blossoms and pretty young maidens, all of whom were clad in yūzen-style kimonos of brilliant colors and arrowfeather patterns. Atsuko appeared regal among them, even though she was clad only in a simple washed-out kimono and plain flesh-colored obi. An ordinary girl would have easily wept, if she had not had a Western dress. But Atsuko was not embarrassed by not having one. Fumiko was impressed, so quickly walked to the hedge and called to Atsuko. “Atsuko, could you come here just a minute?” All the other girls had already disappeared from Fumiko’s sight, except for Atsuko. Atsuko turned back and said, “Me?” “That’s right. Come here just a moment,” Fumiko opened the wicket fence made of branches and twigs, and waited for her to come in. “What is it?” Atsuko ran up and grabbed Fumiko’s hand. Fumiko tenderly held her tiny hand. She was not looking at her simply as Ayako’s friend. Atsuko sensed Fumiko’s affection and they joyfully walked together. “I want to talk to you, Atsuko. Do you mind staying here a little bit?” Fumiko asked. “Sure, just for a short time,” Atsuko said.

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Fumiko took her to the drawing room, where she usually played with Ayako, and gave her apples and bean-jam cake—Atsuko’s favorite sweets. Fumiko sat close to her and held her hand. Atsuko was extremely delighted. “Atsuko, don’t you want a Western dress?” Fumiko asked her smilingly. “No,” Atsuko shook her head. “But why? Ayako has one and so do your other friends.” “I know . . .” “Why? Can you tell me why you don’t want a Western dress?” Atsuko became quiet. “You don’t like me?” Fumiko asked. “Oh no, I like you very much.” “Please tell me then.” “Well, mama told me not to tell this to anybody. But if you like the Buddha, I can explain it to you.” Fumiko was surprised, but said, “Sure, I like the Buddha. I pray to him every day.” “Really? All right, then. . . . I don’t need things, if the Buddha doesn’t arrange them for me.” “What do you mean by ‘the Buddha doesn’t arrange them for you’?” “Mama always says this. . . . The Buddha arranges for us a house, clothes, meals, dolls, and everything, just in the right way. If I don’t have things that others have, that means the Buddha thinks it’s better for me not to have them. So, I don’t need them.” “I see. . . . So that’s why you don’t want a Western dress.” Fumiko was impressed. “Besides, I no longer miss my father. I don’t cry anymore. I don’t wish to go back to the big house where we lived before. Mama told me to recite the name of my father and the Buddha when I’m alone. I often say it while in bed or when I look at the garden.” “What is that name?” “Would you promise not to say anything mean to me?” “Of course. . . . What is it?” “It’s Namu Amida Butsu.” “What?! Did you just say Namu Amida Butsu? How can you say that?!” Fumiko raised her voice without knowing. She was surprised how innocent girls, such as Atsuko, can say the nenbutsu. She thought that people would recite the nenbutsu only when someone died.

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“Oh, no! Do you think I’m strange? No wonder my mama told me to keep it to myself.” “That’s not what I meant. I said it because I was so impressed. But why did your mom tell you not to talk about it?” “Because there are many people out there who don’t know anything about the Buddha. They may laugh at it or say bad things about the Buddha. So she said nobody needs to know. . . .” “I see. . . . How thoughtful she is! I envy you for having a great mother. Can I become her daughter, too?” “That’s impossible! But mama told me that we are all children of the Buddha. My late father, too. That’s why I don’t cry anymore because he went to be by the side of the Buddha.” How admirable Atsuko was, Fumiko felt. Buddhist faith, as pure as a white thread, was being formed in Atsuko’s heart. Fumiko then felt ashamed of herself, reflecting on what she had been brooding over. “Thank you so much for telling me about it. I’m really happy. I want to talk to you more, but if I keep you any longer, your mother will start worrying about you. So, let me walk you out. . . . Please come and see me again, and send my regards to your mom.” Atsuko went home with the sweets and apples that Fumiko gave her. Fumiko sat alone by the side of the sliding paper door and reflected on Atsuko’s words. She felt the inconceivable power working behind Atsu­ko, which made her look extraordinary. Fumiko also thought about her mother: she must be intelligent and guiding her daughter decently. Fumiko thought, “Atsuko’s mother was said to be wealthy in the past, but that did not make her complain about her present conditions. Perhaps, she does not mind how successful her husband would have become if he had not died. Atsuko’s mother must have been living with peace of mind.” Fumiko admired her for the first time. She had seen Atsuko only as Ayako’s friend and hardly paid attention to her mother. Fumiko reflected on her own problems and on the virtues of Atsuko’s mother. “What am I complaining about?” she thought. Fumiko had been happy since her marriage, but one event changed everything. She bitterly remembered that day, when she left home pleasantly but came home in agony. One day, the president of the company where her husband worked held a wedding banquet at a garden. Fumiko dressed up and went to the party with her husband. But for Fumiko, the madams who gathered at the banquet were dazzling: they were showing off their most expensive jewelry. (Fumiko had been the kind of girl who was unable to sleep when 200

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her father bought her only a brooch she had asked for.) There might have been less showy women, but Fumiko did not pay attention to them and followed with her eyes the women who had decorated their heads, fingers, dresses, and sashes with gleaming gems. Among them, one lady dressed in a Western dress stood out. Her pearl necklace and diamond bracelet shined brilliantly among the women dressed in kimonos. When Fumiko stared at her in wonder, she smiled back. She then approached Fumiko with an air of familiarity. “You must be Fumiko?” she said. Fumiko looked at her carefully. It was Toshiko, her old classmate. “Wow . . . Toshiko?!” Fumiko raised her voice. “I was right. . . . It’s been a long time since I last saw you!” Their faces brightened up as they began talking. Fumiko found out that Toshiko had married a Japanese consul. She lived in Europe for a few years and recently returned to Japan. Toshiko told her that while in Europe, she happened to meet one of their old friends who had married a banker. He was serving there as the branch manager of his company. Fumiko and Toshiko talked endlessly. Throughout the conversation, however, Fumiko could not stop thinking how much Toshiko had changed and how superior she looked. Fumiko wondered, “Is this really Toshiko? We weren’t too different in terms of our family backgrounds, appearances, and grades at school. How did she attain such glory? Well, too bad. . . . Women’s destinies vary, depending on their choice of husband,” Fumiko looked at her own husband and felt sad. “If I had waited a bit longer and had chosen the right person, I could have been like Toshiko. But my life is over now. What can I look forward to now?” This was the beginning of Fumiko’s anguish. She agonized over it day after day and suffered deeply. Atsuko’s words touched Fumiko and gave her a ray of hope. Fumiko respected her mother and wanted to meet her. She even imagined her agony would lift immediately after talking to her. Fumiko waited a month just thinking about it. Finally, she visited her on a day in early summer when the rain and fresh greenery felt good. Fumiko did not disclose all her problems nor did Atsuko’s mother, a modest person, talk a lot, but they felt sincere about each other. Fumiko began visiting her and called her nee-sama (elder sister), since Atsuko’s mother was about ten years older than Fumiko. She treated her like she was her own sister. In the fall of that year, Fumiko moved to Kyoto because her husband changed jobs. She cried and bid farewell to Atsuko’s mother, exactly the 201

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same way she did to her own mother and sisters. By that time, Fumiko had begun to understand Buddhism, but she was unable to completely entrust herself to the Buddha with peace of mind. Spring, then, arrived. One evening, Atsuko’s mother received a letter from “the Western Capital”—Kyoto. She became excited, since she had not heard from Fumiko for sometime. The fragrance of fresh green leaves, which reminds me of you, has filled the air of Rakuyō [the old capital, Kyoto]. I think of Atsuko when I look at the flowers, and I miss you when I smell the fresh leaves. I have wanted to see you so much that I even feel I should fly over to visit you. I wish I could hold your hand and bathe myself in your tears of sympathy. You may ask what has happened in my life. What I am going to tell you is really embarrassing. However, I would like to open up my heart and share with you my agonies. In retrospect, leaving the Eastern Capital [Tokyo] was the beginning of my anguish, because I was hoping to become a wealthy wife. My husband and I enjoyed living in a new place for the first two months. After the early spring, however, our life became dismal. My husband began visiting pleasure quarters, where he had never been before, because of his obligation to entertain his customers. I contained my anger, thinking that he was there only once. But then he stayed overnight frequently. It was as if he was ignoring me. Many unpleasant things happened to me after that. I heard through the grapevine that my husband had fallen in love with a popular geisha who made him live in her neighborhood. A few days later, I confirmed that with my husband. Imagine how distressed I was! I felt miserable and mortified. I even thought of killing myself. You may think it disgraceful of me to disclose the ugly details of a private affair. But I have no one else to turn to, so please pardon me and continue to listen to me. One month passed. During that time there were evenings that I thought about returning to Tokyo to live with my parents. When I saw an affectionate couple on the street doing menial labor, I felt jealous of their love and wept over my loneliness. “Did I come to this place just to cry and suffer? Wealth and fame are the only reason I bear this grudge.” I regretted having moved to Kyoto. This led me to recall my childish agony last year and Atsuko’s words I had heard at the time the cherry blossoms were in full bloom—“the Buddha arranges for us a house, clothes, meals, dolls, and everything, just in the right way.” When I reflected on these words and thought of Atsuko, her saying “everything is arranged by the Tathāgata” began to resonate with me. The sensation I felt at that moment was hard to describe. Two days ago, I was devastated. But since yesterday, I have gained a new perspective on life. I am full of joy, and I feel as if everything is being 202

Voices of Buddhist Women in Modern Japan i­ lluminated by light. Looking back, I have realized that the Tathāgata arranged everything just in the right way. The heart of the Tathāgata will someday affect my husband—as it did me—and I am looking forward to it now. Ah, the bitter tears, which gushed from my eyes before yesterday, have now  turned into my source of joy. How inconceivable the Buddha’s compassion is! I have shared with you both my sadness and happiness. But please do not tell this to my mother who does not know anything about the Dharma. Her heart would break over my unhappy marriage. It has been raining this evening and the sounds of rustling green leaves make me lonely. I am getting tearful as I think about the Eastern Capital. But I am embraced by the Tathāgata’s light, which helps me overcome my sadness and which will illuminate my husband in the future. I am truly thankful to Atsuko who gave me this splendid gift. I have many more things to say, but I am no longer able to write because of my strong, mixed feelings. I should stop now. Please take care of yourself and Atsuko.

After reading the letter, Atsuko’s mother covered her face with it, as if she was buried in thoughts. She felt sorry for Fumiko and thankful toward her at the same time. With a sense of gratitude, she then raised her face with tears in her eyes, which shined with the light of hope. She joyfully recited the name of Amida.

A Confession [regarding My Experience of Shin Buddhism] Takei Fuku (1911) Dear Sensei, I am missing you. I wish I could run to you and cry. Finally, I feel my life has been fulfilled. I have come to know the significance of my life for the first time; I have stopped complaining about my life. I cannot stop crying, because I am just so grateful. I had tried very hard and often said that I was a sincere person, but I realized I was a most insincere person. I had never tasted bitterness in life; I only assumed that I was in agony. I then came to the point where I could no longer advance. I was searching for an ideal state that I could not attain. I felt absurd. Please pardon me for all I went through. I knew why religion was important, through my interactions with Tada-sensei, Ochiai-sensei, and other teachers; however, I had overlooked my own presence, here and now. I treated the Buddha’s teachings merely as the teachings of a philosopher in India; I tried to believe them without reflecting on them. Each time a problem arose, I tried to find the 203

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meaning of my life by engaging myself in the problem. I was unable to solve the problems, instead only committing myself to further wrongdoings—things I cannot even talk about. I had abandoned my husband, disobeyed my parents, and made my relatives upset. I could no longer deal with the complications that arose from daily problems, which were always befalling me; I cried. The way in which I searched my way out of these problems was never serious enough. I held to an ideal spiritual state and strove hard to attain it. I felt at that time that I must endure pain, because someday I would enjoy the spiritual state I achieved and be proud of my spiritual endeavor. I considered myself morally great, but my co-workers perceived me as abnormal and even hysterical. I was disappointed at the degeneration in the world. Looking back, I was extremely arrogant. If I had been a real “doer,” I would have easily run up against a wall, because I would not have been able to deal with the series of obligations I would have faced. On the fifth day of this month, Ms. Fujii and I asked Gochō-sensei to come and speak to us, as he was traveling to our area. When we met, he called me a beggar. I was stunned. He then said, “What is the basis of your ideal? What is good and what is bad merely reflects your convenience. If you attempt to fulfill your obligations seriously, you will definitely suffer, like Taira no Shigemori.” This hurt my pride. I was proud of myself for having studied Eastern and Western philosophy; now, I had to carefully rethink the basis of my moral judgment, because I was close to losing the foundation of my entire being. I was unable to sleep for two days. The next morning, I saw off Gochō-sensei at a local train station. After that, I could not go to school to work; I wept all day at home. I thought that there was no way out but to kill myself; I had no energy left to search for the way again. Furthermore, a physician told me that I had contracted tuberculosis. I was sure that my life was over. While in agony in bed, I recalled what Gochō-sensei explained to me— that is, I am embraced by oya [Amida Buddha], and my state of being instantly reflects the oya. Somehow, these words warmed me and I cried. I did not know that the oya had always embraced me. When I realized that the oya was working day and night throughout the universe and reaching out to me, I could no longer contain myself. Ms. Fujii happened to visit me when I was crying for joy, and we wept together. Now, I can bear any illness, if I am together with the oya. I can deal with a million harsh words directed at me, if I suffer together with the oya. I can die at any time, if I die together with the oya. I am no longer 204

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concerned about my future, because I am happy at this moment, and together with the oya. I am at the height of my happiness, because now I know that the oya will never abandon me. I am guided to the spiritual state much better than through the spiritual ideal I upheld in the past. This is more than what I have asked for. I am amazed. Sensei, thank you very much for your guidance. I can never thank you enough. Please send my regards to Kiyozawa-sensei, Tada-sensei, Gochōsensei, Ochiai-sensei, and everyone else. How great this universe is! The Pure Land is being formed moment by moment, just for me. All I need do is entrust myself to the hands of the oya. I am walking on air, for the first time. Please excuse my bad writing, as I am overwhelmed by the sense of wonder I now have. February 9 Takei Fuku Fukuchiyama, Tanba

My Confession Kobayashi Shige (1912) I first encountered Buddhism when I lost my father at the age of seventeen. It was then that I read Buddhist books for the first time, including Sanzen dōwa (Anecdotes on Zen Meditation, [1908]) and Zengaku kōwa (Lectures on Zen Studies, [1906]) [by Nukariya Kaiten (1867–1934)]. I was rational and poetic, and enjoyed imagining the Buddhist temples and Buddhist priests described in the stories. I found Buddhism logical, and I began reciting Buddhist sutras every morning and evening. I had no Buddhist altar at home. Nevertheless, I was extremely delighted, because I felt Buddhism fulfilled my life. I wept for the Buddhist faith, which I felt I could not obtain—though I felt I experienced moments of awakening from time to time. I wanted to know more about Buddhism and began reading more books, including the teachings of various Buddhist schools. I felt superior when I compared myself to others. Because I thought I was pure and exceptional, I became arrogant and looked down on other people. Naturally, they began avoiding me, and even my best friend kept me at a distance. It was understandable because all I did was promote Buddhism and criticize others; I must have been an obnoxious person. I was, however, left wondering why I could not practice what the Buddha had practiced, although I considered my mind identical to his; I was simply pursuing what I thought was the true Buddhist way of life. 205

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At that time, the Buddha I was speaking of was more like an objective truth. I could never humanize the Buddha; I could not worship him or thank him. Because I sensed that the Buddha had manifested himself in everything in this world, there was no need for me to rely on anybody. I thought I had understood the state of “I, myself, am the most precious”— the words that the Buddha was said to speak immediately after his birth. It was impossible for me to talk about nyorai-sama and oya-sama, which other people discussed. I was complacent for a long time. I examined my objective truth from various perspectives and could find no contradictions. Buddhist texts only helped justify my principle. I felt like I had mastered Buddhism because whenever I sent a letter to the Buddhist priest who had introduced me to Buddhism, he praised my knowledge. I thought I had become devout. In retrospect, that Buddhist priest did not understand my true self. He must have thought that I was good at Buddhism as a beginner. The only thing that bothered me was my inability to practice what the Buddha had practiced. I grew tired, because I relied solely on myself. I made myself busy and always felt it necessary to do this and do that, but I hardly accomplished anything the way I wanted. I thus became irritated. I thought about becoming a nun, because I could not stay at home like this. I felt it necessary to observe precepts. I was determined to leave my family, but my mother cried and others prevented me from joining a nunnery. I also realized that, physically, I was too weak to lead an ascetic life. I felt it was more fitting for me to pursue Buddhism as a lay Buddhist woman. I therefore gave up the idea of becoming a nun, but felt lonely soon after. I missed having cordial friendships and wondered if I could make friends again. I was unable to trust others, because I felt I had to solve all of my problems by myself. I also despised others for their ignorance and, as mentioned, I considered my mind identical to the Buddha’s, even though I was imperfect. Gradually, however, I felt a need to have a friend and relieve my mental fatigue. Someone told me that everyone has his or her own strengths and weaknesses. This sounded all right, but I could not accept my weakness. I can vividly recall my agony and how pained I felt at that time. Every time I picked up and read journals, such as Seishinkai or Katei kōwa, I envied those who were able to express their feelings. I thought, “It would be nice if I were able to interact with them.” At the same time, 206

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however, I was irritated by their weakness. I was not even close to those people, but could not understand why they were willing to show their weakness so freely. Finally, I began wondering if my thoughts about Buddhism had been incorrect; such thoughts bothered me considerably and I could not do anything. I began reading books again. I read Chikazumi-sensei’s Record of My Repentance. No matter how many times I read it, I did not “get” it. I was not interested in the Tannishō, because I thought it was not for me. But for some reason, the phrase, “a person of unwholesome karma” weighed on my mind. I wondered why Chikazumi-sensei had suffered so much and why he had considered himself to be a man of unwholesome karma. I knew that the Tannishō was important for people like him, but not for me. I then wondered why I could not understand “a person of unwholesome karma” the way he felt about himself. I began questioning myself, though I previously thought I understood myself. I wanted a teacher, or someone to talk to, but I did not have anybody to turn to; this made me more miserable. Hōnen Shōnin’s sayings resonated with me: We must talk to others about our understanding of the nature of Buddhist faith. It was at this time that I discovered the Kōkōdō weekly gatherings. I felt good and smiled all day, for no particular reason. Then, a day of gathering arrived. When I awoke, I felt uneasy and ended up staying at home and doing nothing. The next day, I regretted doing so and felt worse. One week later, another day of gathering came. I was desperate to attend the meeting. In order to calm myself down, I sat in front of the Buddhist altar at home and placed my hands together several times. I then went to the Kōkōdō gathering. I walked into what was an ordinary room and sat alone. I felt uncomfortable because I did not know anybody there, but soon I became relaxed when I saw old and young women smiling at each other. I then met Chikazumi-sensei. As soon as I saw him, I felt embraced by his power; it was difficult to describe. This man, who confessed his weakness, was pursuing Buddhism, just like me. In his presence, I felt that what I had struggled with was insignificant. When I talked to him, however, I was in pain. My pride was hurt. When I left the Kōkōdō, I shouted to myself, “He did not understand me!” I was about to lose my mind but managed to get on a train and go home. I sat in front of a desk, sought some relief, and cried my heart out. I felt weak. I said to myself, “The way he spoke to me and the way he looked at me. . . . No, No, No! He was wrong. He only spoke of the present. He did not understand how knowledgeable I am.” I decided to write him 207

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a letter, because I thought I had failed to express myself. In order to do so, I brought out all the books I had previously read. I came across the “Shinkō kajō” (Articles of Faith, 1902) of Dr. Murakami [Senshō (1851–1929)]. His words, “Take refuge in the Buddha, take refuge in the Buddha,” struck a chord in me, although I had certainly read it before. I began thinking about it and recalled a passage from the Tannishō: “Do those who speak of realizing enlightenment while in this bodily existence manifest various accommodated bodies, possess the Buddha’s thirty-two features and eighty marks, and preach the dharma to benefit beings like Shakyamuni?” (CWS 1: 679). Furthermore, I recalled Chikazumi-sensei’s words: “We can never attain buddhahood in this life, and the Buddha alone is absolute.” I stopped writing the letter. I realized that I was wrong about “I, ­myself, am the most precious.” The more I thought about Chikazumi-­sensei’s words, the more they made sense. When I reflected on nyorai-sama, how insignificant I felt about myself! I then recalled Kiyozawa-sensei’s saying, “Now I don’t doubt that a great basis for my action is to believe others.” I was unable to entrust myself to nyorai-sama; if that were the case, how could I trust others? This suspicion had been the cause of my agony, had it not? It became clear to me that I had been incorrect about Buddhism. I cried again, but for a different reason. Gradually, my pain disappeared. Slowly, I came to accept how great nyorai-sama was. The “no-self” of which I had spoken was merely a reflection of my egotism. I had been arrogant and pathetic: I had compared myself to nyorai-sama. I then took a fresh look at Chikazumi-sensei’s Record of My Repentance. It was as if he had written it just for me, as he seemed to be discussing the state of my mind very carefully—and yet, I could not accept it. At the same time, I felt sad, because I was unable to see myself as a “person of unwholesome karma.” Chikazumi-sensei’s words lingered: “Don’t talk about what you did in the past. Don’t talk about what you are going to do in the future. How about now? Buddhist faith is a matter of the present.” I had never considered myself in the here and now. In the past, I never hesitated and looked only to the future. When I considered the relationship between nyorai-sama and sentient beings, I did not count myself as a sentient being; now, I began to think about myself for the first time. I was still covered by layers of ignorance that prevented me from weeping for joy. Although I questioned very much why I was unable to consider myself as a person of unwholesome karma, I was unable to answer. I scarcely slept that night. 208

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I then decided to ask my friend to tell me my shortcomings so that I could accept myself as a person of unwholesome karma. We went out to Yoyogi, a suburb of Tokyo. Nature helped me recuperate, and I felt the great power of nyorai-sama. I confessed my problems to my friend, but she ignored me—or, rather, she gave me a smile of smug satisfaction, as she saw me struggling. I saw my old self in her—previously, I had always looked down on her—but at the same time, I sensed the presence of ­nyorai-sama in her mean behavior. Because she refused to criticize me, I began to repent. I then realized my shortcomings and finally accepted that I was bound by unwholesome karma. I was not happy about it, because I had considered myself a superior person. This sense of unhappiness was, however, different from the sense of awkwardness I felt whenever I boasted of my superiority. When I accepted myself as a person of unwholesome karma, I felt welcomed. I was embraced by the nyorai-­ sama’s compassion, just as the sunlight has always illuminated me. I came home full of joy. Ever since then, I have been reading the Tannishō. I have also read Shūyō jikan (Impressions of Self-Cultivation [Kiyozawa 1903e]). I take every single word of it as my spiritual guidance. Now, I have completely understood Shinran Shōnin’s saying, “[The Vow of Amida] was entirely for the sake of myself alone” (CWS 1: 679). I have uttered the nenbutsu for the first time in my life. Various problems that I had tried to resolve disappeared, and I have finally found peace of mind. Each time I feel the presence of nyorai-sama, I consider myself ignorant and full of base passions. I had the habit of reasoning everything, but not anymore; I am able to entrust myself completely to the nyoraisama. How happy I am! I sent a letter to Chikazumi-sensei six days after my first Kōkōdō gathering. I had not written a sincere letter in some time. Now, I am able to work in a kitchen all day without complaining about my job—something I was never able to do in the past. I do show my temper from time to time, but I now know that nyorai-sama takes care of my problems, and so I need not worry about them. I am thankful to Chikazumi-sensei, who has guided me to nyorai-sama. I can hardly contain my happiness, and so I have kept writing about my present feelings, even though I am not good at writing. Ah, how can I see nyorai-sama and the sensei as separate beings? Now, I understand Kiyozawa-sensei’s words, which I had been unable for some time to understand—that is: “I don’t need to feel responsible for any event in this world, because everything I do is guided by nyoraisama.” He must have spoken these words after thoroughly investigating 209

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his sense of selfhood. How is it possible for ordinary people like me to understand that? It is possible only through the wisdom of nyorai-sama that I have attained. I do not know what will happen in my life, but I am optimistic and peaceful—especially in comparison to my old days, when I hurried to make decisions and when I thought I was being upright. What lies ahead is just spending my days expressing my indebtedness to nyorai-sama; otherwise, I know of nothing else.

Notes 1

In Seishinkai 5 (12).

2

See, for instance, Haneda 1911; Kita no Onna 1914.

3

Fusako was not alone in publishing romantic poems in Seishinkai. See, for instance, Hishikawa, Hiroaki, and Akiko 1914; Senuma 1916.

4

See, for instance, Marra 1993.

5

For a discussion of epistolary episodes of confession, see Rimer 1990.

6

The practice of spiritual confession goes back to Shinran, the founder of Shin Buddhism. In the Kyōgyōshinshō, he confesses: “I now truly realize! How wretched I am! Ran [Shinran], the stupid bald-headed one, deeply submerged in the wide ocean of desires and cravings, confusingly lost among the huge mountains of worldly fame and interests, has no aspirations for being counted among the elite of the definitely assured group and feels no pleasure in approaching the really true experience. How deplorable! How heart-rending!” (Suzuki 2012, 160).

7

While recognizing Shin clergy’s sexist attitude toward women, Nishiguchi points out that Shin clergy condemned male followers just as much as they deprecated women because in either case the targets of propagation were bonbu, full of base passions. Men were considered akunin, while women were seen as having the five hindrances and three forms of obedience. See Nishiguchi 2005, 38.

8

Akegarasu also serialized Takeda Kikuko’s Ai yori shi made (From Love to Death, 1914) in Seishinkai, 14 (4, 5, 7), because he was deeply moved by it. Kikuko was Fusako’s good friend and the daughter of an elementary school principal. She expected to die in the near future because of poor health and wrote the piece as a story of her own life for her five-year-old daughter that she asked Akegarasu to read (see Akegarasu 1914).

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Chapter 9

Philosophy of Religion in the Thought of Kiyozawa Manshi and Nishida Kitarō Sugimoto Kōichi Kiyozawa Manshi (1863–1903) and Nishida Kitarō (1870–1945) are the two best-known modern Japanese philosophers of religion. “Philosophy of religion” refers to philosophy (as a discipline among academic disciplines) addressing the issue of religion as one object of inquiry among a variety of possible objects by analyzing it in a logical, conceptual manner. However, when philosophy addresses the issue of religion, a particular difficulty arises based on that specific subject matter. Because religion relates to a dimension that transcends the pursuit of truth based on reason or logic, which is the usual purview of philosophy, entering deeply into the issue of religion opens up the possibility for the philosophical stance in the conventional sense of the term to be undermined. Depending on the type of “philosophy of religion,” it is entirely possible to consciously choose not to enter into the issue to that extent and maintain a philosophical stance that goes no further than analyzing religion as an object. The philosophy of religion of both Kiyozawa and Nishida did not stop at such a point. Kiyozawa and Nishida are philosophers who approached religion from the perspective of questions related to their own very existence, which in a sense precede any philosophy. Therefore, even when discussing religion from the perspective of philosophy, they are not satisfied to fit all things related to religion within the sphere of philosophy as an established academic discipline. Their philosophy of religion, in that it aimed to deal exhaustively with the issue of religion, ultimately came to challenge the very standpoint of philosophy.1 In this instance, then, in order to understand their philosophy of religion, it is necessary to turn our 211

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attention to the stance of philosophy itself and in particular to clarify the nature of the philosophical stances that they took in their examination of religion. (That inquiry will also lead us to question what sort of an attitude their philosophies of religion demand of us.) In this chapter, I will attempt to do so by considering the multilayered relationship between religion and philosophy in their philosophies of religion. In doing so, I will discuss Kiyozawa and Nishida alongside each other, making comparisons throughout. The primary reason for choosing such an approach is that I aim to clarify the differences (in emphasis) between the two while also showing that they are two philosophies of religion that held in common a variety of points, especially the fact that in inquiring into the problem of religion they both addressed it as an issue directly related to the self.2 Specifically, in sections 1 and 2 below, I will compare Kiyozawa’s philosophy of religion, which emphasizes the separation of the spheres of philosophy and religion, with Nishida’s, which takes into account Kiyozawa’s position but further tries to argue for the identity of the two.3 In addition, in section 3, I will also attempt to develop a more dynamic understanding of the two philosophies of religion by clarifying elements that are not necessarily apparent superficially in one thinker’s work by incorporating perspectives that are present in the other’s. By considering Nishida’s philosophy of religion in light of Kiyozawa’s emphasis on the separation of the spheres of religion and philosophy and showing that indeed at the basis of his thought there lies a cognizance of the separation of these two realms, we will be able to develop a more dynamic grasp of Nishida’s understanding of their ultimate identity. Furthermore, by examining Kiyozawa’s philosophy of religion in light of Nishida’s emphasis of the identity of religion and philosophy and considering the possibility that there is some overlap between the two in Kiyozawa’s thought, we will also be able to see his position that distinguishes between the two spheres in a more dynamic form.

Kiyozawa’s Separation of the Spheres of Philosophy and Religion As is well known, Kiyozawa, in his youth, studied Western philosophy and employed that methodology in discussing religion. That is Kiyozawa’s philosophy of religion, which comes to fruition in his Shūkyō tetsu­ gaku gaikotsu (The Skeleton of a Philosophy of Religion, Tokunaga 1892). Later, Kiyozawa experienced a shift in thought that is expressed in state212

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ments such as, “While recuperating in Meiji 27 or 28 (1894 or 1895), my thinking about human life was completely transformed and my delusion of self-power was almost entirely uprooted” (KMZI 8: 441). This shift led him toward the establishment of other-power faith. One of the things that Kiyozawa denies here as a “delusion of self-power” was the stance of philosophy as an academic discipline that he had engaged in up to this point. From the perspective of Seishinshugi that Kiyozawa reached toward the end of his life, he spoke critically about the fact that he had immersed himself in the pursuit of philosophy in his youth. For instance, in his final essay (“Ware wa kaku no gotoku nyorai o shinzu” [I Believe in the Tathāgata in This Way], 1903h), he looks back over the development of his thought throughout the course of his life and says, “Before I also feared that if one did not understand standards for truth or good and evil, heaven and earth would crumble and society fall into chaos, but now I have reached the conclusion that human knowledge cannot possibly determine standards for truth or goodness” (KMZI 6: 333). The young Kiyozawa, who had chosen to study philosophy, aimed to establish “standards for truth or good and evil” and even when addressing the issue of religion had the tendency to “try to establish religion based on logic or research” (KMZI 6: 332). Although he reflects that at times he believed he had “come to the conclusion that religious faith can be understood in this way” (KMZI 6: 332), ultimately what he had discovered at the level of “logic and research” was destroyed one after the other. In the course of that process, Kiyozawa came to the painful awareness that human wisdom cannot come to conclusions about the ultimate problems of human life and reached the state of mind where, “Having realized that I know absolutely nothing whatsoever about what is good or evil, true or false, happiness or unhappiness, I turned over all things, every one of these things, to reliance on the Tathāgata” (KMZI 6: 332). That was a religious faith that could not be arrived at through the philosophical “logic or research” that he had performed earlier. Here, Kiyozawa is clearly discussing philosophy and religion as belonging to two entirely separate spheres. The religious faith of Kiyozawa’s toward the end of his life described here is his subjective experience of faith, not something that was brought about through a philosophical proof. However, if we look back at the philosophy of religion that Kiyozawa developed in his youth from this perspective, we will find that in his works from that early stage, the logical foundation for the fact that he would reach this sort of a conclusion late in life by exclusively choosing the position of religion had already been 213

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clearly set forth. Since Kiyozawa’s statement in Shūkyō tetsugaku gaikotsu that “If reason and faith are in contradiction with each other, one should abandon faith and choose reason” (KMZI 1: 7) is very well known, it gives the impression that this work prioritizes reason over faith, or philosophy over religion (and this position is often seen as contrasting significantly with Kiyozawa’s religious faith late in life). However, Kiyozawa’s philosophy of religion from this early period does not simply attempt to subsume religion within philosophy. Instead, what is actually clarified in Shūkyō tetsugaku gaikotsu is the limitation of philosophy that Kiyozawa came to face in his later years and his presentation of the rationale by which philosophy must ultimately reach its conclusion in religion. In Shūkyō tetsugaku gaikotsu, Kiyozawa describes the nature of reason (which makes philosophy possible) in the following way: “Reason always ceaselessly seeks for the reason behind phenomena. . . . This complete lack of an end is the fundamental characteristic of reason” (KMZI 1: 7). Philosophy asks how various phenomena exist as they do, questioning their foundation and the principles by which they occur based on “reason.” So having reached a given conclusion, it necessarily sets out next to question the basis or reasons for that conclusion. Endlessly seeking out the reason for the reason, the basis for the basis, is the nature of philosophy. Therefore, it can never reach a final answer. Indeed, taking one specific answer to be the final answer and stopping any further pursuit is something that must never happen in philosophy. In contrast to that, Kiyozawa says, “the religious mind has from its very first step assurance in the actual existence of the infinite and aims to be taught by it by turning toward it” (KMZI 1: 6). This would indicate that for him the stance of religious faith has gone beyond the endless pursuit based on reason and at once reached the assurance of a final answer. From Kiyozawa’s perspective, it is only possible to put an end to endless seeking and find an ultimate foundation for living based on faith, not reason. “If one hopes to attain a state of rest or a foundation through reason, that state necessarily must be faith alone. Therefore, reason always has to be based on faith” (KMZI 1: 7). “One should realize that the point where philosophy ends is where the work of religion begins” (KMZI 1: 6). In these passages, the position that Kiyozawa ultimately reached at the end of his life is expressed in philosophical terms. Shūkyō tetsugaku gaikotsu is a conscious attempt to discuss the issue of religion based on philosophy premised upon this sort of clear awareness of the stance of philosophy and its limitations. Although Kiyozawa clearly recognizes the limitations of philosophy, he holds that in certain 214

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instances, such as when people who have yet to attain faith in religion are caught up in doubt, or when conflict might arise between religions, the reason of philosophy is necessary. For him, becoming faithful does not occur through suppressing all the doubts that occur to one, but instead it happens after one has thoroughly exhausted reason. Kiyozawa says, “When the wise people and scholars of the world attempt to reach religion, they first pose doubts, and seek solutions to them, only entering into religion after they have completely melted away. This is truly the proper order” (KMZI 1: 7). In the other-power faith of his later years, this way of thinking has not changed in the least. He states, “It was necessary for me to go through this process” (KMZI 6: 331). Pointing out the difference between philosophy and religion is not in itself particularly unusual. However, one important significance of Kiyozawa’s philosophy of religion is that he chose not to leave that distinction unclear and while keeping aware of the limitations of philosophy, attempted to discuss religion (which transcends the realm of philosophy) based on it. Imamura Hitoshi describes the issues addressed in Kiyozawa’s philosophy of religion, writing, “Where is the borderline and limitation of philosophical discourse, or more generally, logical reason? How and to what extent can philosophy talk about the sphere beyond the limitations of reason? Can it talk about that sphere at all? The central problem in Kiyozawa’s early philosophical work is the rigorous, consistent discussion of these issues” (Imamura 2004b, 6). From the viewpoint of philosophy, Imamura positively appraises Kiyozawa’s attempt to pursue the question of how, in light of the limitations of philosophy, it can discuss something that goes beyond those limits (that is, how can it discuss the undiscussable). This appears to be the reason that Imamura evaluates Kiyozawa’s philosophy of religion more highly than Nishida’s.4 As we will see in the next section, Nishida tends toward a position that sees philosophy and religion as fundamentally the same, in such a way that goes beyond the limits of philosophy defined in the narrow sense. When we consider that tendency in light of the standard by which Ima­ mura evaluates Kiyozawa, we can understand why he negatively appraised Nishida.

The Identification of Religion and Philosophy in Nishida We can of course find instances where Nishida, like Kiyozawa, clearly recognized the distinction between philosophy and religion. For instance, that distinction is one of the primary points in an article that he 215

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contributed to Mujintō (a journal with close ties to Kiyozawa) entitled “Yamamoto Yasunosuke kun no ‘Shūkyō to risei’ to iu ronbun o yomite shokan o nobu” (A Statement of My Impressions on Reading the Article “Religion and Reason” by Yamamoto Yasunosuke, 1898). Nishida criticizes Yamamoto’s article, which exclusively prioritizes intellectual understanding and attempts to discuss religion rationally, saying, “I cannot help but doubt whether a work performed solely from the cold, dry perspective of a philosopher can inquire into the depths of the breast of the religious person and truly grasp what is there” (NKZ 11: 52). Nishida argues that although the intellectual stance of philosophy might be somewhat useful in the process of reaching religion by providing a “standard to distinguish the true from the false” (NKZ 11: 56), it is a complete mistake to attempt to establish religion upon a philosophical foundation and that it is impossible to understand religion based on philosophical knowledge. In this argument, philosophy, which stands upon finite human knowledge, and religion, which deals with the infinite, are clearly delineated and Nishida expresses his dissatisfaction with philosophy, which cannot resolve the problem of the infinite. In one place, Nishida goes so far as to say, “From my perspective, the philosopher’s view of the universe is the shallowest and most incomplete” (NKZ 11: 56). At the time that Nishida wrote the above article, he was, on the one hand, engaged in the study of philosophy as an academic discipline and, on the other, focused on the religious practice of Zen meditation, confused as to which path he should choose to follow. Yet around the time that he was writing the various essays that culminated in the publication of his first book, Zen no kenkyū (An Inquiry into the Good, 1911), his intentions crystallized and he clearly chose academic philosophy as the realm in which he should work. That decision is clearly expressed in a letter that he sent to his friend from his days at the Fourth Higher School, Suzuki Daisetsu (1870–1966), around this time (dated July 23, 1907). There he writes, “What I was uncertain about recently was the scientific nature of it. Although I intend to continue religious cultivation for the rest of my life, I have come to think that academics is the most appropriate realm for me to work in. What do you think?” (NKZ 19: 107). Yet the philosophy that Nishida says he has chosen here is not on the same level as the philosophy that he criticized as the “shallowest and most incomplete” understanding of the world which is left completely powerless before the issue of religion. Nishida did not aim to do philosophy in the narrow sense that could only function in a sphere separate 216

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from religion, but instead sought to do philosophy with a broader scope that could indeed grasp religion. Nishida’s stance that takes as its foundation the idea that philosophy and religion are ultimately identical is clearly set forth in his Zen no kenkyū. The philosophical position that Nishida takes in that work is expressed plainly in his statement, “I hope to explain everything from the perspective that pure experience is the only actual existent” (NKZ 1: 6). Nishida provides the following examples of “pure experience”: “The instant that one sees a form or hears a sound, not just before thoughts such as ‘This is the activity of external matter’ or ‘I am feeling this’ arise, but even before the determination about what this form or sound is, is made” (NKZ 1: 9); “As when one uses all one’s energy to scramble up from a cliff, or when a musician plays a song they know perfectly” (NKZ 1: 11). For Nishida, “pure experience” refers to a state like the one in these examples where one enters into a special level of concentration wherein the distinction between subject and object, self and other, is forgotten and the fact of each instant appears to one just as it is. We should note that in Zen no kenkyū, this sort of experience is not presented simply as an individual one, but also given the significance of a principle of philosophy (which has the capacity to “explain everything”). The individual experience of “pure experience” and “pure experience” as a philosophical principle are not necessarily directly related. Although there is a danger that “pure experience” might be understood to mean a particular state of mind experienced by a specific person under very specific circumstances when considered in light of the above examples, if the term had no greater significance than that, it could not possibly serve as a principle upon which to build a philosophy. The key that allows Nishida to treat “pure experience” as a philosophical principle is his understanding of it as “the only actual existent.” This view is based on the idea that “There is a singular, unifying force at the basis of all phenomena in the universe and all things are expressions of the same actual existent” (NKZ 1: 63). We usually make distinctions between subject and object, mind and matter, self and other, me and the world, and view these various phenomena appearing in varied forms in the world as separately existing entities. Yet Nishida asks whether such a view can really be called “direct knowledge that is entirely beyond doubt” (NKZ 1: 40). From his perspective, such distinctions are nothing more than ideas created after the fact of experience based on the needs of intellectual discrimination, determination, or thought. Seeking a more immediate form of existence, and a more immediate 217

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form of knowledge, Nishida turns his attention to the point before those distinctions arise. Then he attempts to find “something” in the basis of those distinctions that unifies them, “something” in the basis of those distinctions that leads them to appear in spontaneous development. Nishida refers to that existence as “the only actual existent.” The originality of Nishida’s thought is that he does not posit that “only actual existent” to exist in a separate world that transcends the world of experience, but instead finds it within our own immediate experience of the world, that is, in “pure experience.” Nishida’s idea is that in the instant we “see a form or hear a sound,” in the “pure experience” before the distinction between the perceiving subject and the perceived object arises, before any and all distinctions, we are in touch with “the only actual existent” from which all distinctions arise. In that experience, there is no distinction between self and other, such that our little, individual selves become one with “the only actual existent,” which is the great, unifying force of the universe. In this way, Nishida holds “pure experience” to be “the only actual existent” and develops a philosophy that “explains everything” using it as the fundamental principle. For instance, Nishida addresses the problems such as why can human beings know the truth of the universe and how can we discover a universal good from the perspective of “pure experience” in the following way: “The power of the infinite lies hidden even within the breasts of us who are bound by time and space. That is, the unifying force of the infinite actual existent lies within us. Because we have this power, we are able to seek the truth of the universe through academics and express the true intent of existence through art” (NKZ 1: 80). “There is only one true good. That good is nothing other than to know one’s true self. Our true self is the totality of the universe itself. When we know our true self, we not only conform to the general good of humanity, but fuse with the totality of the universe itself and conform faintly to the will of God” (NKZ 1: 34). Nishida explains that in our becoming one with “the only actual existent” in “pure experience,” our self conforms with the unifying force of the universe and thereby we can know the truth of the universe and realize good common to all humanity. The distinctive feature of this philosophical stance of Nishida’s is that there is something in its basis that does not fit within philosophy proper, in the narrow sense of the term. Although “the only actual existent” as “pure experience” can serve as a principle to explain everything, one cannot explain that “actual existent” in a logical manner. As when Nishida writes, “The true form of the actual existent is just something 218

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that each of us must intuit. It is not something that we can express through language after self-reflection and analysis” (NKZ 1: 52): It is something that must be individually experienced. The fact that it serves as “direct knowledge that is entirely beyond doubt” (NKZ 1: 40) is not because doubts have been resolved through some sort of a logical proof, but only because it is grasped immediately in experience (with an immediacy that leaves no room for logical proofs). From the perspective of philosophy in the narrow sense of the term, relying on that sort of immediacy leads to a complete collapse of the philosophical standpoint that could very well be viewed as an irrational mysticism, but from Nishida’s perspective, the inclusion of an element in the basis of philosophy that does not fit within its bounds as narrowly construed is essential. “Thought is something that can never be fully explained. There is a direct intuition at its basis that cannot be explained. All explanations are built upon that. In the basis of thought there always lies something mystical” (NKZ 1: 36). Nishida actively admits the existence of something that does not fit within the bounds of the narrow definition of philosophy and by taking that as his standpoint tries to develop a broader range for philosophy that includes things that cannot be explained by it in the narrow sense. This stance of Nishida’s that includes elements that do not fit within philosophy proper inside the realm of philosophy comes to overlap with his stance regarding religion, as well. As when he says, “The basis of the actual existent is directly God,” from Nishida’s perspective, the God that is the object of faith in religion is not different from “the only actual existent” discussed above. God as conceived by Nishida is not something that transcends us or goes beyond this world. Nishida says, “God is the foundation of the universe and also must be our foundation. Our return to God is our return to that foundation” (NKZ 1: 139). In Nishida’s view, we ourselves and this world of ours, in its authentic form, are not different from God. The fact that we ourselves and the world exist in various differing forms is explained as the appearance of God—which is in their basis as the only actual existent—in a variety of different ways. That we seek God in religion is none other than our quest—as beings existing in various different forms—for unity within the basis of that diversity. The religious phenomenon that is described as our small selves “returning to God” refers to our conforming with the unifying force of the universe as “the only actual existent” in “pure experience” when expressed in philosophical terms. If we can say that the self becoming one with God is a specifically religious phenomenon, then the fact that Nishida places “pure experience” as “the only actual existent” at the basis of ­philosophy, 219

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is in fact the situation of something religious in the foundation of philosophy. About the relationship between philosophy and religion, in Zen no kenkyū, Nishida speaks of “religion, which I have long thought to be the conclusion of philosophy” (NKZ 1: 6). This expression has similarities with the statement from Kiyozawa’s Shūkyō tetsugaku gaikotsu quoted above: “One should realize that the point where philosophy ends is where the work of religion begins” (KMZI 1: 6). However, there is an important difference in the point of emphasis of the two thinkers. As I pointed out in the last section, as a rule, in Kiyozawa’s work, the spheres of philosophy and religion are clearly distinguished and even if one left the former to enter into the latter, the stance of religion does not intrude into the realm of philosophy in a way that would corrupt the philosophical stance (although I will consider the possibility that this distinction could be blurred below). For Kiyozawa, although philosophy must in the face of religion recognize and delineate its own limitations, it remains a logical pursuit based on reason. On the other hand, when Nishida calls religion the “conclusion of philosophy” in Zen no kenkyū, he means much more than just that. In Nishida’s original philosophy, which aims to “explain everything from the perspective that pure experience is the only actual existent” through the expansion of the sphere of philosophy, the realms of philosophy and religion come to meld together. From the standpoint of philosophy in the narrow sense, our becoming one with the unifying force of the universe (or God) as “the only actual existent” belongs entirely to the sphere of religion and thus should be kept out of philosophy, but in Nishida’s philosophy it becomes the fundamental philosophical principle at the basis of philosophy. Therefore, his assertion that religion is the “conclusion of philosophy” does not mean that the sphere of philosophy ends and a different sphere begins. Religion (not some specific religion, but the source from which all religions might be said to arise) is always seen in the basis of that philosophy, as its conclusion. Nishida’s philosophy in Zen no kenkyū is established on that foundation.

Religion’s Upsetting the Philosophical Stance and the Possibilities of Philosophy in Light of That The Case of Nishida The philosophy set forth in Zen no kenkyū, which asserts the fundamental identity of philosophy and religion, in a sense contrasts greatly with Ki220

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yozawa’s philosophy of religion, which clearly distinguishes the limitations of the two. In the background to Kiyozawa’s distinction between the two is his personal experience of the difficulty involved when a finite human being attempts to approach the infinite, what in Shin Buddhist terms could be called his awareness of the futility of self-power. From the perspective of human finitude, it seems a variety of doubts could be forwarded regarding the philosophy of religion in Zen no kenkyū. For instance, one might well wonder if “pure experience” is not actually a very unusual experience that can only be had by certain specific people, such as artists or religious professionals, and that ordinary people cannot really found their lives upon, and if that is the case, then isn’t it unfair to seek a philosophical principle in such an unusual experience.5 It appears that Nishida as author of Zen no kenkyū was so focused on emphasizing “pure experience” as “direct knowledge that is entirely beyond doubt” that he did not attempt to address this type of question at all. However, the issue of the finite human being who is incapable of taking such a foundational stance was an important internal concern for Nishida in his early career. It is worth noting that we can find evidence of influence from Kiyozawa in that concern of Nishida’s. Let’s look at one passage that clearly shows the influence of Kiyozawa in an unfinished draft written while Nishida was developing the outline of Zen no kenkyū,6 which appears under the title “Shūkyō teki shūyō.” There, Nishida writes: However profoundly I wish to, however hard I might try to, ultimately I cannot overcome the many temptations of this world. I cannot reach my ideal. About this, I truly despair, I am truly disillusioned. Facing this, all people must surely sink into the profound depths of pessimism. Only earnest people can discover light and a single path forward in this extremity.  .  . . How can one discover a single path forward? When we have exhausted all our energies and abilities and still cannot reach where we wish to be, we profoundly sense our powerlessness and, clearing away all thoughts of calculation and discrimination, we feel a great, inconceivable power boldly at work in the depths of our breasts. Then, entrusting ourselves to this great energy, we become filled with a pure, fresh, heroic spirit that treads unimpeded throughout the world ever rising as one wishes. (NKZ 16: 154, 155)

However much we may endeavor to the best of our abilities, as long as we are finite entities, we must necessarily run up against our limitations and sink into the depths of despair and disillusionment, yet when that despair is in earnest, then there appears a single ray of light. By 221

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e­ ntrusting ourselves to that light, we attain a new life. Here, Nishida is expressing the core transformation of spirit of the person who enters into other-power faith. That is also the core of Kiyozawa’s religious faith near the end of his life. From Nishida’s use of terms such as “entrusting” ( jōtaku) and “as one wishes” (nin’un), which are specific to one of Kiyozawa’s most famous works (see Rōsenki [1898–1899], KMZI 8: 363), we can see that he clearly has Kiyozawa in mind as he is writing these passages. An intense concern regarding one’s own finite nature would of course lead one to distinguish between philosophy and religion. If one holds that human beings are necessarily finite beings, then philosophy, which is the work of the intellect of such finite human beings, would be thought to be incapable of providing a complete solution to religious problems. If we accept the argument in the previous section about Nishida’s attempt to develop a philosophy that is the same as religion in Zen no kenkyū, then we can see that there is a rift or gap between the stance set forth there and the internal concerns of Nishida’s laid out in the above passages that show Kiyozawa’s influence. The concern we find here regarding the finite, relative self has fallen into the background in the published version of Zen no kenkyū. It is not necessarily the case, however, that the concern that was present in the early Nishida’s internal life completely disappeared with that publication. In the published Zen no kenkyū, there are points where this interior concern with finitude seen in relation to Kiyozawa appears as a sort of exception to the larger stance laid out there. In particular, I would like to focus on the first chapter of the fourth part of the work, entitled “Shūkyō teki yōkyū” (Religious Desire). One unusual characteristic of the theory of religion Nishida describes in part 4 of Zen no kenkyū is the fact that he begins that discussion with a consideration of “religious desire.” In discussing religion, it is entirely possible to begin from the standpoint that is ultimately reached through religion (the infinite, the absolute, God, the Buddha, enlightenment, etc.) and address various issues with that as a starting point, in a sense going from top to bottom. In Zen no kenkyū, religion is addressed not just in part 4, but in all the other parts, as well. In those parts, the ultimate stance of identity with “the only actual existent” is discussed directly as the foundation of actual existence or the foundation of ethics. This is the mode of argument taken throughout most of Zen no kenkyū in its presentation of a philosophy that maintains the identity of philosophy and religion that we saw in the previous section. In contrast to this foundational stance, however, in chapter 1 of part 4, the “religious desire” that occurs within us is taken as the starting 222

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point. There, he writes, “Religious desire is a desire regarding the self. It is a desire about the self’s life force. We both become aware of the relative and finite nature of our selves and also desire to achieve true eternal life through becoming one with the power of the absolute and infinite” (NKZ 1: 135). When we reflect upon our own existence, we cannot help but recognize its relativeness and finitude as an immediate problem for us. Furthermore, we also realize it is impossible to discover in that relative, finite stance an ultimate foundation based on which we can live our lives. For the finite, relative self to gain such a foundation upon which to live, we must seek something that will provide such a foundation from a position that transcends that self. That is, we must seek the “absolute and infinite.” That is the “religious desire” that occurs in the finite, relative self. The mode of argumentation in chapter 1 of part 4 is to take this “religious desire” as a starting point and attempt to clarify the issue of religion in a sense taking into account the problem from a bottom-up perspective. Because the chapter is framed in this way, it appears exceptional or incongruous within Zen no kenkyū as a whole, which primarily discusses religion from the perspective of identity with “the only actual existent.” In that chapter, we can find elements that are closer to the young Nishida’s introspective concern described above in consideration of the connection with Kiyozawa. Here, I would like to point out that the presence of that exceptional chapter within Zen no kenkyū is extremely significant for our understanding of Nishida’s stance in his philosophy of religion. If Zen no kenkyū were entirely consistent in its development of a philosophy that was identical with religion by holding that “pure experience” is “the only actual existent,” Nishida could have presented a philosophy that was more complete and systematic as a philosophy. For the philosophical question Nishida poses of “hoping to explain everything from the perspective that pure experience is the only actual existent,” there is a danger that overemphasizing the stance of “the finite, relative self” could very well upset this fundamental principle that he has set forth, because that perspective admits the possibility that such a finite, relative person might not be able to adopt the stance of “pure experience” where the oneness of the self and “the only actual existent” is experienced. That possibility could in turn undermine the basic principle upon which he has premised the entire work. We should also keep in mind, however, that the fact that the finite, relative self is discussed in the chapter “Shūkyō teki yōkyū,” causing a rift in Zen no kenkyū’s philosophy, which is based on its identity with 223

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r­ eligion, actually provides depth to the philosophy of religion presented there. Although a philosophy that aims to explain everything based on the fundamental principle that “pure experience is the only actual existent” surely does have the possibility of being a broad one that can make a consistent explanation, which encompasses the level of religion, it also contains the danger of becoming an abstract discussion of the “absolute” divorced from the reality of the self that suffers in a world of separation and conflict. In contrast, the position of the finite, relative self in chapter 1 of part 4 refers readers back to the problem of the actual self, upsetting an attitude that is satisfied within the bounds of philosophy (even a philosophy that goes beyond the narrow sense and includes religion within it). Because of this wavering, the philosophy of Zen no kenkyū avoids falling into abstraction and is able to always remain a living philosophy. That is to say, alongside the self, which is held to become one with “the only actual existent” (although this self ought to be based on concrete experience, it is in constant danger of being fixed and abstracted in the philosophical stance), Nishida also highlights the state of being of the actual self, which cannot be that way, repeatedly returning to it, which brings the focus out of abstraction and back on to the problem of the actual self in reality.

The Case of Kiyozawa In the previous subsection, by examining Nishida’s philosophy of religion from the perspective afforded by Kiyozawa’s, we attempted to grasp Nishida’s stance on the identity of philosophy and religion in a more dynamic way. In this section, we will attempt the opposite: to examine Kiyozawa’s philosophy of religion from the perspective of Nishida’s in order to explore the possibility of understanding Kiyozawa’s thought more dynamically by upsetting some of its static elements. As I have already mentioned, Kiyozawa’s philosophy of religion stands on a clear recognition of the distinction between philosophy and religion. Although this is a fundamental stance that can be found consistently throughout Kiyozawa’s philosophy of religion, I would like to point out the possibility that if we consider it in light of Nishida’s, we might be able to find points within some of Kiyozawa’s discussions where philosophy and religion overlap. Here, I will focus on the fact that even in works such as Shūkyō tetsu­ gaku gaikotsu, Kiyozawa intimates the possibility that philosophy and religion are, at a fundamental point, identical, saying “True reason and 224

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true faith must ultimately return to identity” (KMZI 1: 7). In other works, that position is discussed as “an aspiration” for “another day” (KMZI 7: 223), so it is not necessarily a stance that has been brought to the fore in Kiyozawa’s works. Here, I will ask if it is possible to find anywhere in Kiyozawa’s works where that aspiration is realized, or if we can find any evidence that might lead us to believe he had realized it. In order to answer those questions, I will examine the discussions about the intersection of the finite and the infinite found at various points in Shūkyō tetsugaku gaikotsu and “Tariki mon tetsugaku gaikotsu shikō” (Draft of a Skeleton of a Philosophy of the Gate of Other-Power, 1895). Although we are clearly finite beings, for Kiyozawa, in religion, the fact that the finite “at the extremity of its development, reaches the infinite” and, conversely, that the infinite “in its development appears as the myriad phenomena of the finite” (KMZI 2: 54) becomes an issue. Peace of mind is referred to in religion because, “We finite ones become aware of the existence of the infinite and based on that awareness recognize that we can progress from this finite state and reach the state of the infinite where we will achieve a singular mind of serenity” (KMZI 1: 28). While in philosophy the finite and the infinite are always distinct, as a fact of religion, although they are always distinguished, they are not divorced into separate spheres, but the finite turning toward the infinite and the infinite coming down to the finite must occur. The problem lies in how one can discuss that fact as a philosophy of religion. In “Tariki mon tetsugaku gaikotsu shikō,” this is discussed through the incorporation of the viewpoints of “logical necessity” and “actual fact.” According to Kiyozawa, as long as one attempts to think in terms of “logical necessity,” the finite and the infinite belong to separate spheres, such that one can only admit to a “fundamental contradiction” between them. Having set forth this point, Kiyozawa then expresses the position of “actual fact” as opposed to that “logical necessity”: “Regarding the finite, although we may know that it is finite, we cannot know its infinite nature. Regarding the infinite, although we may consider its infinite nature, we cannot consider its finiteness. Based on this logical necessity, we can only admit that the idea that the finite and infinite are two sides of the same thing is a fundamental contradiction. And yet, in that idea there is an actual fact” (KMZI 2: 53). Although from the perspective of logical necessity the transformation of the finite into the infinite and the infinite into the finite can only be thought to be contradictory, as an actual fact one must admit that in religion that very thing is happening in the present. Here, Kiyozawa speaks of the religious 225

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c­ oncern with the infinite by limiting the discussion to religion (“actual fact”) as distinct from philosophy (“logical necessity”). We can see this position as taking the same tact that he takes in his philosophy of religion in general of delimiting religion from philosophy. Yet there are also other instances where Kiyozawa discusses this fact of religion using extremely philosophical terminology. For instance, concepts such as “causation of the infinite” (KMZI 2: 72) or “the infinite’s selfaware reconstitution” (KMZI 1: 36, 57) were created to express the religious fact of the infinite coming down to the level of the finite using philosophical terms. With these expressions, Kiyozawa is showing the structure by which the infinite (which functions prior to its relationship to the finite) develops within the finite by delimiting itself and further reconstituting it within the infinite itself. The fact that he is trying to express using these terms is an “actual fact” of religion that cannot be grasped by the “logical necessity” of philosophy, but the words that he is using are very much the terms of philosophy. The fact that Kiyozawa speaks in this way is extremely significant for his philosophy of religion. For example, in “Tariki mon tetsugaku gaikotsu shikō,” Kiyozawa presents a possible challenge to his discursive style of strictly developing his argument logically, positing an interlocutor who says, “Rather than a discussion based on logic, I would prefer to hear a discussion of actuality.” In response to that challenge, Kiyozawa writes, “A discussion of the actuality regarding the infinite is impossible unless one is oneself enlightened (in reality infinite). Now, both you and I are in reality finite, so between us it is absolutely impossible to discuss actuality regarding the infinite (such discussions would necessarily have limitations). Therefore . . . our mutual discussions must necessarily be based upon the track of logic” (KMZI 2: 67). These passages clearly express the stance in Kiyozawa’s philosophy of religion that the only people who can speak about the “actual fact” of religion are those who have actually experienced it and for those of us who are finite, it is necessary to speak based on logic. We must ask what is the nature of this philosophical logic that can discuss the “actual fact” of religion that transcends “logical necessity.” Regarding this question, Kiyozawa’s idea of “analogical description” (KMZI 1: 22) is of interest. When Kiyozawa is discussing the “causation of the infinite,” he expresses his awareness that “Causation is a principle of the finite while the infinite completely transcends causation” (KMZI 2: 72). In the usual sense of the term, causal relationships are found when one finite thing “transforms” into a different finite thing. Even if one were to use the same terms of “causation” and “transformation” to refer 226

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to the transformation of the finite into the infinite or the infinite into the finite, or the causation that is thought to bring that about, such “causation” and “transformation” must belong to an entirely different dimension from what occurs among finite phenomena. However, when Kiyozawa attempts to speak philosophically about these things related to the infinite, he consciously chooses to use the concepts of “causation” and “transformation.” He writes, “The relationship between true suchness and the myriad phenomena is a transformation inconceivable to us. . . . Yet I have applied this concept of transformation to what is not transformation” (KMZI 1: 23). “Transformation” on a finite level and “transformation” in relation to the infinite cannot be discussed on the same plane. Although Kiyozawa recognizes that the latter transcends an understanding from the perspective of the former, he chooses to use the term “transformation” in order to discuss that fact philosophically. This is what he refers to as “analogical description.” Here, we can see the terms of religion and philosophy approaching each other. However, Kiyozawa holds that this manner of speaking is only provisionally acceptable, saying, “I have risked advancing an analogical description” (KMZI 1: 22), and does not forget to warn that if one were to understand the “transformation” and “causation” wherein the finite becomes the infinite and the infinite becomes the finite as having the same meaning as “transformation” and “causation” in the finite world, it would be a grave mistake. In order for this “analogical description”—where one discusses the infinite with finite words—to avoid degenerating into a misconception, it is of course necessary to clarify the distinction that exists between the two. Imamura Hitoshi positively evaluates the fact that this distinction is clearly delineated in Kiyozawa’s works. He writes: When the study of the Buddha discusses what cannot be discussed, that is, when it speaks of a sort of “mysticism,” it borrows the intellectual format from philosophy. However, that borrowed discourse, as well as that intellectual format, is not the usual philosophical argumentation, but instead is a metaphorical discourse that has taken on the guise of that intellectual format. Kiyozawa’s addressing of the issue of “analogy (metaphor)” in Shūkyō tetsugaku gaikotsu is profoundly insightful. It is evidence of his full awareness of the fundamental difference between the scope where philosophical discourse is effective and the scope of religious discourse. (Ima­ mura 2004b, 15)

Although, as Imamura points out, it is of course important to clearly demarcate the bounds of “philosophical discourse” and “religious 227

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discourse,” it also seems necessary to admit that in order for “analogical explanations” that discuss things related to the infinite in finite words to truly be capable of expressing something about religion, the philosophical terms used will only become meaningful when they have religious facts in their background, such that the realm of philosophy will have to bleed over into the realm of religion. As we have already seen, logical inquiry based on philosophy is incapable of providing an ultimate answer regarding problems related to the infinite, so the final answer must be left to a religious faith that goes beyond philosophy. Only based on this can we attain grounding to address our actual problems. Regarding issues where one cannot decide one over the other based on logic, Kiyozawa says that in faith, “Because one chooses one or the other and has faith in it, here for the first time one is able to attain a foundation for practical action” (KMZI 2: 48). Kiyozawa says that based on this “foundation for practical action,” one can come to solutions to both philosophical problems such as whether the finite and the infinite are of the same substance or a different substance and religious problems such as whether to take the stance of the gate of self-power or the gate of other-power. He writes: Those who believe the finite and the infinite are of a single substance, because they hold that within the present, finite self there is the nature and capacity of the infinite, endeavor in self-power to develop that intrinsic infinite capacity. This is the religion of the gate of self-power. On the other hand, those who believe that the infinite exists outside the finite, because they recognize the wondrous working of the infinite without, aim to follow in that wondrous working of the infinite and bathe in its light. This is the religion of the gate of other-power. (KMZI 2: 48)

I pointed out the concept of “causation of the infinite” as an “analogous description” of religious matters in philosophical terms, but the “causation of the infinite” from the standpoint of the gate of self-power is not the same as a religious fact as the “causation of the infinite” from the standpoint of the gate of other-power, even though the same terms might be used to describe it. Although there may be fundamental commonalities between having a finite self turned toward the infinite by the infinite’s self-development inherent within a finite self and the infinite acting upon the finite self from a place that transcends it, enveloping that finite self within the infinite, their actual content is very disparate. Simply discussing the “causation of the infinite” without focusing on that substantive difference in content is insufficient to really express the fact of religion. Only when founded upon “actual fact” does “analo228

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gous explanation” cease to be just empty speculation and become a philosophical term capable of expressing religious fact. Such a philosophy can no longer remain a fixed, settled area of academic interest that is distinguished from religion and maintains that distinction by limiting its focus within the bounds of that area. That philosophy is only possible when provided a “foundation for practical action” by religion, or when moved by the “actual fact” that cannot be known through “logical necessity.” This sort of a reading of Kiyozawa’s philosophy of religion, which attempts to see an overlap between philosophy and religion, may very well weaken what Imamura held to be its strong point.7 If we hold that the characteristic feature of Kiyozawa’s philosophy of religion is his strict distinction of the spheres of philosophy and religion that refuses to admit the possibility of their intermingling and try to understand Kiyozawa’s thought exclusively from that perspective, we may be able to paint a more consistent image of Kiyozawa. However, in this section, by throwing light on the aspects that cannot be explained consistently, I have attempted to open up the possibility of grasping Kiyozawa’s philosophy of religion in a more dynamic way. Although in both Nishida and Kiyozawa we can find that philosophy and religion overlap and that philosophy seeps into the sphere of religion, that overlap in Nishida’s Zen no kenkyū is not necessarily entirely the same as the one that I argued in the last subsection might be found in Kiyozawa’s works. If I were to express this difference using the terms from the foregoing quotation from Kiyozawa, we could say that the stance in Zen no kenkyū is the position of the “gate of self-power,” which sees the infinite within the self, while Kiyozawa’s is that of the “gate of other-power,” which sees the infinite working from outside the self. Since the “gate of other-power” takes the finitude of the self as its basic stance, it is more difficult to see the possibility that philosophy, which is the activity of the finite self, might overlap with religion, which relates to the infinite. As I have already pointed out, however, it is not possible to make the determination that the self is a finite entity based solely on the finite activity of philosophy. Philosophy, which continually seeks the basis of the basis, and then again the basis for that basis so that it never reaches a final conclusion, ultimately cannot reach the final conclusion that the self is finite. Such a conclusion cannot be deduced through reason, but only decided through faith. In that sense, we can say that the infinite is already present to the self at the very point where the ­determination that the self is finite is made. Only when that serves as a 229

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“foundation for practical action” do the philosophical terms used to discuss religion cease to be simple formulaic logic and become words that have true content. At that point, philosophy’s discussion of the infinite is both a discussion of something that transcends the finite world and that can never be reached by the finite from a point outside of it and at the same time a discussion of something that is present to the finite self just as it is appearing there. If we hold that philosophy clarifies the structure of the actual world in which we are living, then it also must discuss the fact of religion that is indeed working in the actual world.8 It must certainly also be possible to conceive of a philosophy that overlaps from the stance of the gate of other-power, as well. (Translated by Michael Conway)

Notes This article originally appeared in Japanese as Sugimoto 2016. 1

Regarding this point, see Sugimoto 2013a and 2015.

2

Regarding the relationship between Nishida and Kiyozawa, see Fujita 2002, 119–136, and Nawa 2015.

3

In this chapter, I will limit my discussion to the earliest phase of Nishida’s career, which comes to fruition in Zen no kenkyū (1911), but it seems to me that this tendency can also be found to a degree in Nishida’s later philosophy, as well.

4

Imamura rarely refers to Nishida’s philosophy, but there are a few instances where he refers to him unfavorably. See, for instance, Imamura et al. 2004, 192–246, and Imamura 2004b, 215, 218.

5

I discussed this point in Sugimoto 2013b.

6

These drafts are included in volume 16 of Nishida’s collected works under the title “Junsui keiken ni kan suru danshō.”

7

Imamura criticizes this overlap within Kiyozawa’s thought, saying “I am slightly critical of Kiyozawa’s way of writing. . . . Kiyozawa is certainly developing a philosophical discourse in a conceptual way, but really from the starting point, he discusses in a way that overlaps with a logic of awakening.  . . . I believe that he has made them overlap too much” (Imamura 2004a, 83).

8

Nishida writes, “I am not discussing philosophy based on religion. I simply believe that a profound analysis of the logical structure of our historical, actually existent world is naturally connected to what is referred to as the true core of religion” (NKZ 8: 250).

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Chapter 10

Sasaki Gesshō, Seishinshugi, and the Buddha Śākyamuni Micah Auerback The Shin Buddhist reform movement initiated by Kiyozawa Manshi (1863–1903) stands out not just for its new focus on inner personal conviction, but also for its fresh openness to outside influence. To be sure, Seishinshugi was founded in 1900 by Kiyozawa and young Shin priests living in the communal setting of the Kōkōdō (Capacious Cave)—but those men read and discussed widely and directly. More to the point, they dwelt a scant few minutes’ stroll away from Tokyo University, placing them at the very hub of Japanese intellectual life.1 Kiyozawa had in fact graduated from the same university’s Department of Philosophy in 1887. He and his followers were thus readily positioned to access, and to assimilate, intellectual resources from beyond the ken of established Shin doctrinal studies. They found such resources both within Japan— for instance, in Buddhist canonical texts long available in Japan through Chinese translations, but heretofore largely neglected—as well as beyond Japan—prominently, in the intellectual legacies of European civilization. In turn, their access to such resources was mediated by developments in the broader intellectual world of their day in Japan. The present short chapter points to the intersections of these tendencies in the writings of Sasaki Gesshō (1875–1926), one of the three most prominent direct disciples of Kiyozawa’s from the Kōkōdō period. It demonstrates (1) that Sasaki maintained and developed Kiyozawa’s interests in early Buddhist literature and the literary heritage of pre­ modern Europe, on the one hand; and (2) that Sasaki adapted broader ­tendencies from what has been called an era of “Taishō culturalism”—

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specifically, the two notions of jinkaku (character, personhood, Persönlichkeit) and kyōyō (self-cultivation, culture, Bildung), each born from Japanese encounters with Post-Kantian German idealism. While Sasaki was, naturally, centrally concerned with the figures of Shinran and the Buddha Amida (Skt. Amitābha, Amitāyus), these two intellectual tendencies also converged in his attention to the historical Buddha, Śākyamuni. Sasaki’s writings harnessed and redirected these new intellectual resources, all emanating from regions beyond the sphere of traditional Shin thought, to affirm the Shin notion of reliance on the Buddha Amida. The following discussion traces that process of harnessing and redirection in two steps. The first step establishes relevant historical background for Sasaki’s writing about Śākyamuni, through a brief discussion of intellectual precedents from Kiyozawa and his other followers. The second step examines key passages from a few of Sasaki’s writings, traced chronologically, to show how he amalgamated “Hinayana” scriptures, European literary references, and new, culturalist notions to place Śākyamuni within a Seishinshugi—and therefore, Shin—framework.

Historical Background in Kiyozawa and His Followers Kiyozawa Manshi’s manifold bequeathals to his disciples included his receptivity to literature outside the Shin canon. It was at the Kōkōdō, shortly before his death, that Kiyozawa articulated his attitude of trust in what he called “my three scriptures” (or “my three sutras,” yo no sanbukyō): the Āgama literature; the writings of Epictetus (ca. 50–135); and the Tannishō (Record in Lament of Divergences), which is a record of the final teachings of Shinran (1173–1262).2 Kiyozawa testified that he was driven to read the Āgama texts and Epictetus as his efforts to reform the Ōtani denomination faltered, and as his own tuberculosis worsened. As he recorded in his diary in 1902: I recall this: In the twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth years of Meiji (1894– 1895), when I was bedridden, my thoughts concerning the lives of human beings changed; although I had mostly been able to overturn my deluded sentiments about self-power ( jiriki), the ups and downs of human affairs still moved my mind without cease. Then, in the twenty-eighth and twentyninth years of Meiji (1895–1896), I began a movement to reform the denomination. But from the end of the thirtieth year of Meiji (1897) through the start of the thirty-first (1898), I read and recited the Four Āgamas and other texts, and in April of the thirty-first year of Meiji (1898), I stopped publishing [the reform movement’s journal] Kyōkai jigen, and at the same time con232

Sasaki Gesshō, Seishinshugi, and the Buddha Śākyamuni cluded its [reform] movement. When it came about that I put in at my home temple and had a chance to rest, I had the great good fortune of being able to reflect on matters objectively and to examine myself, but for lack of cultivation (shūyō), I was still unable to be placid in the face of the kleśas (“defilements”; J. bonnō) of human feeling. In the autumn of the thirty-first year of Meiji (1898), I came to read the Teaching of Epictetus, from which I felt that I had gained much. Since the time I responded to the invitation to go [back] up to Tokyo, I have come across more [such] unceasing opportunities, and I sense that I shall be able to advance on the path of cultivation. (KMZI 8: 441–442)3

Although left unmentioned here, the Tannishō was already part of Shin Buddhism. On the other hand, Epictetus was certainly not: Kiyozawa had to read his words via an English translation that had been published about two decades earlier (Long 1877; see Kawaguchi 2016, 145–146). The position of the Four Āgamas (Shi Agongyō, T nos. 1–151, including variant translations), with which Kiyozawa began to engage in 1897– 1898, is more ambiguous. Corresponding in substantial part to the Pālilanguage nikāya literature, these texts are typically held to represent the earliest layer of Buddhist scriptures still extant in Chinese translation. Needless to say, the “earliest” here should not be overstated. Some of the texts among the Āgama literature were translated into Chinese as late as the early Song dynasty (960–1279). Even if issues of Chinese translation are set aside, in any case, the nikāya texts to which these sources correspond themselves seem not to have been first recorded until half a millennium after the death of Śākyamuni. Nonetheless, the Āgama texts were conventionally treated in Japanese Buddhist thought as representative of the “Smaller Vehicle” (Hinayana), a derogatory term for what East Asian Buddhists considered an early, provisional, and limited stage of the preaching of the Buddha. With the rise to prominence from the Heian period (conventionally, 794–1185) of the notion that Japan was a land uniquely “well-suited to the Mahayana” (daijō sōō)—the “Greater Vehicle”—the texts classified as “Hinayana,” including those belonging to the Āgama literature, were largely disregarded. Exactly how Kiyozawa came to revisit these texts remains to be determined. As noted by the historian of Buddhism Mark L. Blum, during the later Meiji years, “the Japanese Buddhist tradition” (at least as represented by its newly developed academic wing) did indeed arrive at “a new appreciation for the early Buddhism represented in the Agongyō that previously had been dismissed as primitive and inferior” (CS, 57– 58). Nonetheless, at the time that Kiyozawa began to read from the Āgama 233

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literature, the first major academic study of the Āgama texts to be written by a Japanese scholar—a massive concordance of the Chinese texts with their Pāli counterparts—was still a decade away, and it would be published in English, for the benefit of Anglophone scholars (Anesaki 1908). While Kiyozawa’s debt to the Tannishō is widely appreciated, only relatively recently has scholarship asked precisely what Kiyozawa derived from his reading in the Stoic thought of Epictetus and early Buddhist literature.4 In an interpretation offered by Shin scholar Yasutomi Shin’ya, Kiyozawa learned from Epictetus to uphold a position of aloofness toward mere worldly success or death, and “in reading the Four Āgamas, it could be said that Kiyozawa returned to the tradition of the meditative path (naikandō) in Buddhism” (2002, 230). Based on a study of notes from the Āgama texts in Kiyozawa’s diaries, the historian Moriya Tomoe found that he read these prototypically “Hinayana” texts with a distinctly Mahayana focus on the eternal nature of the dharmakāya— which is to say, the transcendent nature of the Buddha. Moriya also found that he expressed little interest in the texts’ emphasis on the practice of monastic precepts, again in keeping with established Shin Buddhist priorities, even as he also seems to have admired these texts’ descriptions of ascetic life, and as he noted the behaviors forbidden monastics (1997, 57–58). Based on Moriya’s reading, it seems safe to conclude that Kiyozawa used these “Hinayana” materials to elevate some quintessentially Mahayana (and Shin) themes. Kiyozawa’s immediate disciples carried on his interest in these “three scriptures.”5 The most famous case, of course, is of Akegarasu Haya (1877–1954), who played a key role in popularizing the Tannishō for the twentieth century. However, Kiyozawa’s adherents also pursued his interest in Epictetus and the Āgamas. In 1904, to commemorate the first anniversary of Kiyozawa’s death, the Kōkōdō issued a partial translation into Japanese of The Teaching of Epictetus (1888), by the Irish-born writer T. W. Rolleston (1857–1920).6 This book was itself Rolleston’s English translation and adaptation of the Greek of Epictetus: primarily his short Enchiridion, or handbook, augmented by passages from his Discourses. In 1908, four years after the publication of this partial translation, the journal Seishinkai carried a series of articles by Kiyozawa’s disciple Tada Kanae (1875–1937) about the Āgamas.7 As in the case of Kiyozawa himself, though, novel attention to the texts of early Buddhism did not necessitate adopting a new doctrinal position toward the historical Buddha. The Shin tradition in Japan ad234

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opted Chinese master Shandao’s (613–681) parable of the white path, according to which the Buddha Amida “summons” (shōkan) the lost worldling to take refuge in his Pure Land, while the Buddha Śākyamuni “urges” (hakken) the worldling to leave the defiled and dangerous realm into which Śākyamuni had been born. The two buddhas (nison) of this parable thus serve complementary but asymmetrical roles, in which Amida offers a salvation whose revelation falls to Śākyamuni. Although it is not couched in the language of Shandao’s parable, a similarly limited appraisal of Śākyamuni’s role characterizes a Seishinkai piece published in 1909 by another of Kiyozawa’s followers, Soga Ryōjin (1875–1971): “Shakuson o chōetsu seru bukkyō” (The Buddhism That Transcends Śākyamuni, 1983). In this essay, Soga echoed a historical interpretation for the rise of the Mahayana conception of the Buddha previously sketched by two of his contemporaries: another Ōtani priest, Murakami Senshō (1851–1929), as well as by Japan’s pioneer scholar in the discipline of religious studies, Anesaki Masaharu (1873–1949). During the first years of the twentieth century, these intellectuals had separately argued that the historical Buddha was possessed of a “character” ( jinkaku) so perfect that it was inevitably idealized by his followers. After the death of Śākyamuni, and across the centuries, they maintained, this increasing idealization gave rise to the Mahayana conception of a mythic, transcendent Thus-Come-One (Skt. tathāgata; J. nyorai).8 Both men concluded that the Mahayana was, therefore, no historical aberration, but instead the ultimate result of processes set in motion by the being of the historical Buddha himself. While following this portrait in broad terms, Soga employed it not to yoke the (relatively) human Buddha of the “Hinayana” with his divinized Mahayana namesake, but instead to argue that the ever-growing remoteness of the historical Buddha had created an aporia for later generations of his followers. Soga began by observing that “Hinayana” and Mahayana Buddhists alike both revere Śākyamuni, but not the same Śākyamuni: “The World-Honored Śākyamuni in the Hinayana is almost [the same as] the actual character ( jinkaku) of his historical reality,” while the Śākyamuni “of the Mahayana is an entirely idealized character surpassing history” (mattaku rekishi ijō no risō no jinkaku; 1983, 567). With the worsening corruption of the “Hinayana” church caused by the gradual fading away of the founder’s radiance, later Buddhist followers had no choice but to escalate the (presumably devotional) “adornment” (sōshoku) of his character, to compensate for the dimming of the original light. 235

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This process resulted in the “Mahayana of Self-Power” ( jiriki daijō), which faltered, Soga claimed, because it was able neither to return to a reliance on the authority of the character of the historical Buddha, nor to “direct itself toward a principle of freedom ( jiyūshugi) centered on its own ideals” (568).9 The compromise struck was to “idealize the character [of Śākyamuni], to humanize the ideal version, and to combine the two to construct a ‘Śākyamuni Eternally Present on Eagle Peak’” ( jōzai [Ryō] jusen no Shakuson), a key notion in Japanese versions of Buddhism centered on the Lotus Sutra (568).10 But this compromise, Soga held, was made only to grotesque result: “Who, in the end, is this World-Honored Śākyamuni of the Mahayana of Self-Power? Is he a historical person, or a Dharma of the mind (sōjō no hō)? The main object of worship in the Hina­ yana teachings is clearly a historical person, and that of the Pure Land teachings truly a Dharma of the mind. But the main object of worship in the Mahayana of Self-Power is a monster, half-human, half-Dharma” (568). Soga found that this hybrid Śākyamuni left his adherents with only one choice: “But we are no longer able to return to the Hinayana teachings and to build our faith (shinnen) upon a real Śākyamuni. Thus, there is only one object in which the Mahayana of Self-Power may take refuge. The gates of the Hinayana teachings having been shut, we may now enter only the single gate of the Pure Land teachings” (569). Here, what matters is less the plausibility of Soga’s historical reconstruction than his development of established Shin doctrinal positions in the context of a growing Japanese intellectual interest in early Buddhism. Although not always with such startling metaphors, Sasaki Gesshō would follow much the same route.

Sasaki Gesshō Affirms a Shin Doctrinal Role for Śākyamuni As a founding member of the Kōkōdō and as the third president of Ōtani University (1924–1926), Sasaki today retains prominence as a reformist Shin Buddhist scholar-cleric. Despite living for a shorter span than either Akegarasu or Tada, Sasaki nonetheless left a formidable body of written work to later generations. He produced erudite monographs concerning various schools of Indian Buddhism: Mādhyamika (Ryūju no chūron oyobi sono tetsugaku, 1926), Yogācāra (Yuishiki nijūron no taiyaku kenkyū, 1923b), and Avataṃsaka (Kegon kyōgaku, 1919). He also composed massive studies of the doctrinal history of the Mahayana as a whole (Daijō bukkyō genri, 1923a; Sasaki Gesshō zenshū [hereafter, SGZ], volume 5) 236

Sasaki Gesshō, Seishinshugi, and the Buddha Śākyamuni

and of the historical development of Pure Land Buddhism across India, China, and Japan. To contemporary readers of English, Sasaki is renowned for a series of English-language essays carried in The Eastern Buddhist (1921–1925),11 and for his inaugural university address of 1924, “The Founding Spirit of Ōtani University” (Conway, Inoue, and Rhodes 2013). In spite of this diversity, it is still possible to identify patterns that undergird various pieces of Sasaki’s scholarship. One such pattern lies in Sasaki’s sustained interest in biography as an object and method of scholarship. Today Sasaki is known in large part for a trilogy of mammoth publications concerning the biography of Shinran, which appeared from 1910 to 1911. Writing in 1973, Fukushima Kazuto, a scholar of Shin Buddhism, identified one of Sasaki’s treatises, his Shinran shōnin den (hereafter, Biography of Shinran Shōnin, 1910), as “the first fruit of faith informed by a modern character (kindai teki seikaku)” (1973, 69). Examining this text, Fukushima noted a dual character to Sasaki’s scholarship, for it “inwardly embraced a traditional Shinshū ‘settledness of mind’ (anjin) and a reverence for the founder of the denomination, while outwardly seeking salvation from Shinran, keeping in mind the spirit of empiricism and contact with modern thought” (70). As this evaluation suggests, Sasaki, like Kiyozawa, did not embrace a wholehearted dependence on so-called objective and empiricist scholarship. In the field of biography, such academism was, for Sasaki, “no different from gathering the decrepit bones scattered about a grave and saying, ‘this is he,’ ” that is, the person in question (74). In this respect, Sasaki’s work offered a challenge to the imported tradition of empiricist, academic historical scholarship that was already taking root in the late Meiji. That basic challenge to a naively empiricist biography was not limited to Sasaki’s work on Shinran, but extended throughout his career. It is evident as early as his 1903 collection of biographies of famous Japanese Buddhist clerics, which Sasaki published under the title Jikken no shūkyō (The Religion of Experience). We also find suggestions of his objections to empiricism in his evident concern for martyrdom ( junkyō), with early contributions to Seishinkai on the grisly deaths of Kāṇadeva (published in the January 1901 issue) and Mahāmaudgalyāyana (March 1901). Along these lines, Sasaki’s most famous study was his later encomium to an early and prominent martyr to the cause of reform in the Ōtani denomination, Senshōin Kūkaku (1807– 1871), in the eponymously titled Senshōin no shi (The Death of Senshōin, 1920). 237

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In the case of Śākyamuni, however, Sasaki seems to have done most of his biographical reflection in comparative contexts. The following ­discussion treats Sasaki’s recasting of the traditional Shin doctrinal position for Śākyamuni, as the figure who “urges” entrustment to Amida but is not himself the final object of entrustment, in several different monographs. These are presented in chronological order: (1) the aforementioned Biography of Shinran Shōnin (1910); (2) Jinkaku no kyōyō (hereafter, The Cultivation of Character, 1917); and (3) Ningen o en toshite (hereafter, Connected by Humanity, 1921). Of these sources, only the first was written as a conventional scholarly study; the latter two are based in large part on Sasaki’s previous publications and public lectures. The term jinkaku, which appears in the title of the second work, in fact serves as a kind of leitmotif running throughout all three of these. As the previous discussion of Murakami and Anesaki implied, by the first decade of the twentieth century, writing in Japan about the historical Buddha had commonly begun to invoke his “character” or “personality” as a transcendent quality that preserved his relevance as a “great man” even millennia after his extinction.12 While Sasaki’s writings do acknowledge a notion of the “greatness” of the Buddha’s character, they also firmly limit its field of activity to his own era. In doing so, these writings restate a basic Shin Buddhist position about the limited reach of Śākyamuni’s salvific activity in an era of the decline of the Dharma. To evaluate Sasaki’s use of biography as a mode of exposition of this notion, and of the term jinkaku within it, it is first necessary to make a brief detour into the uses of jinkaku by early twentieth-century Japanese historians of Buddhism. Beyond the Japanese Buddhist world, the notion of jinkaku attracted a great deal of attention in late Meiji intellectual circles more generally (see Sako 1995 and Inoue 2001). Tokyo Imperial University professor Ino­ue Tetsujirō (1855–1944) popularized it, and it became a key pillar of the ethical program that he promoted through the influential textbooks that he authored. His disciple, Anesaki Masaharu, reacted negatively to some elements of Inoue’s thought, particularly his statism, but he nonetheless inherited and developed Inoue’s emphasis on the development of moral “character.” Anesaki went on to fuse the existing emphasis on great men with this concept of character. Such a notion of character as an object of moral development was also in evidence in the University Ordinance (Daigakurei), promulgated in 1918, by which the national government first made heretofore unaccredited institutions of higher learning, including the predecessor to Ōtani University, eligible for offi238

Sasaki Gesshō, Seishinshugi, and the Buddha Śākyamuni

cial recognition as universities. For the first time in Japanese educational legislation, the ordinance stipulated that “the nurturance of character” ( jinkaku no tōya) would be a goal of higher education. As indicated by Yasutomi Shin’ya, Sasaki responded to this call in his “Founding Spirit of Ōtani University” by calling upon entering students to study both the Śākyamuni of the Āgamas, and the life of Shinran through his biographies, in order to “make contact with their religious characters” (shūkyō teki jinkaku; Yasutomi 2010, 182–183).13 “Character” in these years signified not just an object of moral emulation, but also an object of evaluation or critique. Sasaki Gesshō employed the term jinkaku to more critical ends in his scholarship about the historical Buddha. For example, the eighth chapter of his Biography of Shinran Shōnin followed immediately upon an account of Shinran’s abandonment of study on Mount Hiei, Shinran’s acceptance by Hōnen as his disciple, and Shinran’s abandonment of practice in the path of selfpower. In the eighth chapter, Sasaki dilated upon the importance of this shift through an extended comparison between Shinran’s “renunciation” of self-power with the prince Siddhārtha’s renunciation of the ascetic practice. For the details of the life of the Buddha here, Sasaki used the Chinese translation of the Buddhacarita by Aśvaghoṣa (fl. ca. 100), a relatively late and ornate poetic version of the life story. Sasaki accounted for his choice of this version, in spite of the improbability of some of its claims as history, because “it is not a pure historical account, but a record of the spiritual experiences of the Great Sage Śākyamuni.” To that extent, even its incorporation of historically dubious material represented for Sasaki “a fact concerning his mental experience which we cannot today refute” (1910, 87; SGZ 3: 96–97). On the surface, Sasaki acknowledged in this chapter, Śākyamuni and Shinran could hardly be more different. As a prince, Śākyamuni had attempted study and ascetic practice under various masters, only to abandon them all, while Shinran’s breakthrough came precisely from his willingness to accept Hōnen as his master at Yoshimizu, in the eastern hills of Kyoto. “Oh, what a contrast between these two!” exclaimed Sasaki, after comparing a passage from the Chinese biographical canon with one of Shinran’s Wasan hymns. “Śākyamuni and the ‘Foolish Bald Monk’: one was a man of heaven, while the other is a man of the earth; one, a man of ideals, while the other, a man of reality; one, the highest man, the other, the lowest; one, a victor, the other, a failure” (1910, 93; SGZ 3: 102). They also critically differed, held Sasaki, in terms of character. Sasaki postulated that Shinran’s attraction for the “character” of 239

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Hōnen was, in fact, a sure foundation for his faith. On the other hand, the Buddha’s “character may have been great,” Sasaki conceded, but it was insufficient even to give adequate succor to Queen Vaidehī in Śākyamuni’s own day, much less to do so at the time of such later masters as Shandao or Hōnen (1910, 99; SGZ 3: 106–107).14 Settledness of mind may be achieved, Sasaki continued, only by the realization of the concept of the eternal Tathāgata, who is “more than a human being, and more than the mere apparition body (ōjin),” which is to say, the historical Śākyamuni (1910, 99; SGZ 3: 107). Here, the jinkaku important to Shinran—Hōnen’s—seems to gain its power from its ability to point to the transcendent, whereas Śākyamuni’s jinkaku does not. Sasaki returned to the theme of the content of Śākyamuni’s awakening in one of the lectures published in his 1917 collection, The Cultivation of Character. Like “character,” the neologism for “cultivation,” kyōyō, took on increasing importance in early twentieth-century Japan, particularly in the elite institutions of higher education.15 In one of the lectures comprising this work, Sasaki made reference to the academic tendencies in the study of the Buddha during his own time. “These days,” he wrote, “in both East and West, research on the biography of the Buddha appears to be coming into vogue. I believe that this is truly a fine thing,” he allowed (SGZ 6: 520). But in this case, too, Sasaki took issue with the standards employed in such scholarship: “As long as [this investigation] is limited only to the Āgama scriptures, I believe, it will be difficult to understand the true mind of Śākyamuni” (520). Early twentieth-century academic Buddhist historians had reevaluated these heretofore neglected scriptures as the extant texts closest to the life of the Buddha. By the empiricist standards of the academy, then, Sasaki’s was a surprising assertion. Sasaki turned around this very “closeness,” reading it as a kind of mimetic myopia. “Of course, I certainly do believe that even the Āgama scriptures are ‘photographs’ (shashin) that reflect Śākyamuni himself. . . . There is no doubt that they are close to the original, or to photographs,” he admitted (520). The problem, as he held it, was that such superficial images could not reveal the interiority of the Buddha. Compared to such profound Mahayana scriptures as the Flower Garland Sutra (Skt. Avataṃsakasūtra; J. Kegongyō), the Lotus Sutra (Skt. Saddharmapuṇḍarīka­ sūtra; J. Hokekyō), or the Sutra on the Buddha of Infinite Life, the “photographs” contained in the Āgama texts reveal “only the corporeal form” of the Buddha (521). Further, because the Āgama texts include a number of other characters, their image of the Buddha is necessarily indistinct: “The Āgama scriptures are photographs which reflect [Śākyamuni] to240

Sasaki Gesshō, Seishinshugi, and the Buddha Śākyamuni

gether with a range of people, including his disciples and kings and so forth; they are not folio photographs of one person” (521). By contrast, Sasaki continued, the interior life of the Buddha is better revealed in the various versions of the Flower Garland Sutra, much of whose narrative concerns boys who search for awakening, and whose peregrinations structure the exposition of the text. In an indirect reference to the traditional positioning (at least in the Tiantai hermeneutics in which Shinran was trained) of the Flower Garland Sutra as relating the Buddha’s first teaching assembly, made immediately after his awakening, Sasaki emphasized the youthfulness of the children whose journeys form the “album of photographs” that are this text. These boys are, in fact, none other than the Buddha himself; as Sasaki pointed out, one of the zenjishiki (“good friends” in the Dharma; Skt. kalyāṇamitra) whom they visit is none other than the Lady Māyā, the mother of the Buddha. Here, in a comparison that Sasaki would repeat in other writings, he drew on his knowledge of European classics to make his point. The traveler of the Flower Garland Sutra is in fact the Buddha Śākyamuni himself. He is comparable not only to the traveler in Shandao’s parable—whom Sasaki takes to represent Shandao himself—but also to the author-­ protagonists of The Pilgrim’s Progress (1678) by John Bunyan (1628–1688) and of the Divine Comedy (ca. 1308–1321) of Dante Alighieri (1265–1321) (523). This particular comparison nicely exemplifies the way in which Sasaki inherited Kiyozawa’s interests in both early Buddhist texts and European classics, while at the same time developing Kiyozawa’s commitment to Shin doctrinal ideas about the uses of “Hinayana” and Maha­ yana texts. In his Connected by Humanity, Sasaki developed his criticism of his contemporaries’ call for a “return to Śākyamuni” still further. Sasaki’s first chapter in this book, “The Death of the Gods and Buddhas,” begins by rehearsing an excerpt from Thus Spake Zarathustra (Also sprach Zarathustra, 1883–1885), by Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900).16 This rehearsal not only summarizes Zarathustra’s delivery of his message of the Übermensch before an astounded crowd at a market crossroads, but also includes Zarathustra’s famous exchange with a tightrope walker, who has just fallen from his tightrope to the ground, and who is on the verge of death. In Walter Kaufmann’s translation: [The tightrope walker . . . ] lost his head and the rope, tossed away his pole, and plunged into the depth even faster, a whirlpool of arms and legs. The market place became as the sea when a tempest pierces it: the people 241

The Legacy of Seishinshugi rushed apart and over one another, especially at the place where the body must hit the ground. Zarathustra, however, did not move; and it was right next to him that the body fell, badly maimed and disfigured, but not yet dead. After a while the shattered man recovered consciousness and saw Zarathustra kneeling beside him. “What are you doing here?” he asked at last. “I have long known that the devil would trip me. Now he will drag me to hell. Would you prevent him?” “By my honor, friend,” answered Zarathustra, “all that of which you speak does not exist: there is no devil and no hell. Your soul will be dead even before your body: fear nothing further.” (Nietzsche 1976, 131–132)

Sasaki’s evaluation of this episode is crisp and slightly dismissive: Nietzsche is the person who, as it were, gave the coup de grace to received morality and religion. He went so far as to declare: “God is dead”; “there is no hell”; and “life dies even before does the flesh.” And, while it takes a slightly different structure, among the works of the Russian novelist [Dmitry] Merezhkovsky [1865–1941], there is one titled The Death of God.17 I suppose that this is a parable that vividly and skillfully represents the intellectual tendency of rebellion and dissatisfaction with established morality, religion, and literature that suddenly arose from the end of the nineteenth century and into the twentieth. (SGZ 5: 198)

Only near the end of Sasaki’s essay does it become clear that it is not only the Christian God, whose death Nietzsche and Merezhkovsky proclaimed, who cannot be resurrected. In the historical scholarship on Buddhism that has lately emerged, there is precisely the same tendency [of focus on Śākyamuni]. This is to say that Śākyamuni has become the center of all research, and that here Buddhism has become the study of Śākyamuni. Concerning such research, which is to say, historical research, the representative figure of most attention is undoubtedly Dr. Murakami Senshō. His Bukkyō tōitsuron (On the Unification of Buddhism, [2011]) attempted to unify all teachings on the basis of Śākyamuni’s so-called parinirvāṇa. The research of Mr. Anesaki Masaharu is of a slightly different purport, but it is similar in also taking Śākyamuni as central and as a point of departure. (SGZ 5: 201–202)

As we have already seen, the work by Murakami and Anesaki on the life of the historical Buddha had previously emerged as objects of critique for Soga Ryōjin. Writing well after Soga’s essay, Sasaki could look back at the movement they began from a position of historical hindsight. In both scholarly and practical terms, the movements of Meiji Buddhists began from the problems of how to vivify a dead Buddha and how to make 242

Sasaki Gesshō, Seishinshugi, and the Buddha Śākyamuni a dead Buddhism into a living one, and they all arrived at this one figure of Śākyamuni. And while they may differ in direction and in method, everyone attempted to take Śākyamuni—which is to say, a Buddha who has been dead for three thousand years—and to call him back to life in Meiji. In this respect, not just scholars and men of religion, but even administrative clerics from the various denominations, rushed en masse to participate in this movement, welcoming śarīra (relics) of the Buddha from Siam.18 But neither scholarship nor research could use the śarīra of the Buddha to accomplish the resurrection (fukkatsu) of Śākyamuni. (202)

It is, after all, “human beings who are first vivified by the Buddhas and the gods, and never the case that the Buddhas and the gods are vivified by human beings” (203). Why could it be said that the Buddha Śākyamuni is “dead”? To address this question, too, Sasaki had recourse to the notion of jinkaku, and to the metaphor of visual representation of the dead. He used these notions to re-articulate the traditional Shin Buddhist notion of the decline of the Dharma in three stages, in a way that echoes both Soga’s piece and Sasaki’s own previous writing. In the second stage, the Semblance Dharma, the remnants of the light of the Buddha’s character survive. This is a period in which, even though a person is dead, it is still possible for that person’s portrait (shōzō) to influence others. In the era of the Final Dharma, even that portrait has vanished, and even that is not possible. This is a period in which the person’s ability to transform others through character ( jinkaku teki kankaryoku) has vanished, and there is no one left to practice his teachings and to attain awakening. (206)

In Sasaki’s hands, then, the appeal to character that served Murakami and Anesaki as a way of reclaiming the historical Buddha became a way of diagnosing the process of his disappearance. As an intellectual who helped launch one of Japan’s premier Buddhist institutions of higher learning, as well as a critical center for research into a variety of Buddhist movements and texts, Sasaki Gesshō merits greater attention today. So too do the ways in which the Seishinshugi movement represented not only innovation to the religious world that it tried to remake, but also continuity with well-established views from the Shin tradition. Even as such scholars as Akanuma Chizen of the early Buddhist tradition found a welcome home at Ōtani University, they and other followers of Seishinshugi maintained commitments to a reality that could not be exhausted by the clinical study of “decrepit bones 243

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s­ cattered about a grave.” The evident tension between those two positions—the commitment to secular standards of academic rigor, on the one hand, and the commitment to upholding the core tenets of the Shin tradition—need not have been detrimental. But it does deserve to be a part of future scholarship about Seishinshugi, and the ways in which Kiyozawa’s faith translated into the institution that he and his disciples built.

Notes 1

The Kōkōdō was originally established in the residence of the Shin priest Chikazumi Jōkan (1870–1941), who also belonged to the Ōtani denomination, in the Hongō district of Tokyo. Kiyozawa and his followers lived there communally while Chikazumi was abroad, studying the situation of religions in Europe and elsewhere. In 1902, after Chikazumi’s return to Tokyo, the Kōkōdō began a series of relocations to other sites. It finally closed in 1917. Meanwhile, soon after returning to his own residence, Chikazumi founded his own private academy, the Kyūdō Gakusha. (An article in the Japan Weekly Mail referred to it as “a high class Buddhist boarding school.” See “Monthly Summary of the Japan Religious Press,” Japan Weekly Mail, May 5, 1906, 466.) Much as Kiyozawa had done at the Kōkōdō, Chikazumi also used the site to offer regular lectures to the public. In 1915, using the same site, Chikazumi built the Hall for the Pursuit of the Way (Kyūdō Kaikan, renovated in 2002, and open to public tours and as an event space since then). Built as a space for instruction and cooperative living by Chikazumi’s disciples, the Hall externally imitates design elements from a Romanesque basilica, its brick façade adorned by a row of arched windows, and its portico supported by cylindrical concrete pillars. Its interior, however, was focused on a large wooden shrine, covered by a six-sided roof and built in the traditional style. It housed an image of the Buddha Amida, as might any typical Shin temple. While not built by Kiyozawa, this structure might nonetheless be taken to symbolize Kiyozawa’s own hopes for the transformation of Shin Buddhism: to preserve its essential devotional aspect, while housing that devotion in an edifice able to hold its own in a new era. Concerning the architecture of the Hall and its renovation, see Chikazumi 2002.

2

For a discussion in English of Kiyozawa’s selection of these three texts, see CS, 56–60. Needless to say, among these three, it was Kiyozawa’s selection of the Tannishō—until his time, little read even within Shin Buddhism, but now arguably Shinran’s best-known representative work in Japan—that ex-

244

Sasaki Gesshō, Seishinshugi, and the Buddha Śākyamuni erted the greatest influence in the long term. The phrase that Kiyozawa used almost certainly makes a wry allusion to the Three Pure Land Scriptures ( Jōdo sanbukyō), a selection first identified as a group by Hōnen (1133– 1212), and inherited by his disciple Shinran: (1) The Sutra on the Buddha of Infinite Life (Ch. Wuliangshoujing, T. 360); (2) The Sutra on the Visualization of the Buddha of Infinite Life (Ch. Guanwuliangshoujing, T. 365); and (3) The Sutra on the Buddha Amitāyus (Ch. Amituojing, T. 366). Find English translations of these texts in Inagaki and Stewart 2003. Although Kiyozawa’s “three scriptures” record words attributed to Śākyamuni, Epictetus, and Shinran, none of them claims to have been written directly by the author to whom they are attributed. 3

Cf. the translation of this passage in Wakimoto 1968, 82.

4

For articles devoted to this topic, see Moriya 1997 and Tsunoda 2003.

5

On the other hand, Akanuma Chizen (1884–1937), an Ōtani priest who joined the Kōkōdō only after Kiyozawa had passed away and who therefore was arguably an indirect disciple, played a major role in the study of early Buddhist texts and ideas in Japan. In 1908, he co-authored a free Japanese translation from Chinese “Hinayana” scriptural accounts of the lives of the Buddha and his disciples, including the Āgama corpus. See Akanuma and Sakai 1908. Akanuma went on to study Pāli in Ceylon (present-day Sri Lanka) and Britain. After his return to Japan in 1919, he became a professor at Ōtani University, specializing in early Buddhism; in 1929, he published his magnum opus, The Comparative Catalogue of Chinese Āgamas and Pāli Nikāyas.

6

The translation was released as Rolleston 1904. Inaba Masumaru (also, Masamaro, 1865–1944) was, like Kiyozawa, also a Shin priest of the Ōtani denomination, and was sent together with Kiyozawa to study at Tokyo University. Alongside Kiyozawa, he too suffered a temporary excommunication for his efforts at reform, though he was also later rehabilitated. From 1928 to 1931, Inaba served as the fifth president of Ōtani University. Notably, Ina­ ba’s was only the second published book to translate significant portions of Epictetus into Japanese. The first, by philosopher of religion Saiki Sensui (a.k.a. Nobujirō, 1880–1932), had been released just a year before, in 1903. See the list of early Japanese translations from the writings of Epictetus, which includes Saiki’s work, but not Inaba’s, in Nichigai Asoshiētsu 2006, 91.

7

See the tables of contents for these issues as reproduced in Hōzōkan 1986, 45–49, in the left-to-right pagination. The first of these articles is titled “Agon monogatari,” whereas its successors are all simply “Agon hen.” In the same journal, from 1906 to 1907, Tada had previously serialized an account of the Buddha’s parinirvāṇa, which he later published as Tada Kanae, Butsuden nehan-hen (Biography of the Buddha, Volume on His Nirvana, 1909). He based this account on a wide variety of Chinese scriptural sources,

245

The Legacy of Seishinshugi i­ncluding not only the received “Hinayana” and Mahayana versions of the Nirvana Sutra, but also the Āgama literature. 8

Find an able summary of these ideas in Ōmi 2014, 132–136. Also see the discussion in the fifth chapter of Auerback 2016. The term “Thus-Come-One” is one of the most popular standard epithets for any buddha, and therefore not the exclusive property of the Mahayana movement.

9

In this context, it seems unlikely that Soga used jiyūshugi in its sense of “political liberalism,” the sense of the term dominant today.

10 While the articulation is slightly different from Soga’s paraphrase of the text of the Lotus Sutra, see the discussion of the closely related notion that “the assembly on [Sacred] Eagle Peak is solemnly [present] and has not yet dispersed” (Ryōzen ichie gennen misan) in Stone 1999. 11 Originally scattered across a number of issues of The Eastern Buddhist, Sasaki’s contributions to the publication are now conveniently gathered in this edited reprint: Pye 2011. 12 For a stark example of this tendency, see the pieces carried in the April 1909 special issue of the journal Keisei (Warning to the World), which was devoted to the Buddha Śākyamuni. The journal was affiliated with the Honganji denomination of Shin Buddhism, but its contributors ranged widely from within and beyond the Shin Buddhist world. Nonetheless, a number of their pieces employed the language of jinkaku, either in their titles or in their main bodies. 13 See also the discussion of “The Founding Spirit of Ōtani University” in Ōtani Daigaku Hyakunenshi Henshū Iinkai 2001, 307–312. 14 Here Sasaki refers to the tale of the salvation of Queen Vaidehī, to whom Śākyamuni preached the Sutra on the Visualization of the Buddha of Infinite Life while she was imprisoned by her son Ajātaśatru. 15 On the early reception of this notion, particularly with regard to higher education, see Shindō 1973, the second chapter of Watanabe 1993, Tedo 2000, and Karaki and Okada 2001, 236–244. 16 The first Japanese translation of this book had appeared roughly a decade earlier: Friedrich Nietzsche, Tsaratusutora, trans. Ikuta Chōkō (Tokyo: Shinchōsha, 1911). Ikuta Chōkō (1882–1936) later went on not only to translate Nietzsche’s complete works into Japanese for the first time, but also to compose his own biography of the Buddha. 17 Although it is nearly forgotten today, this work by Merezhkovsky, the first of a trilogy published from 1896 to 1905, reimagined the life of Julian the Apostate (331/32–363), the final Roman emperor to attempt to reverse the advance of Christianity and to revivify the worship of the traditional gods. It sparked intense controversy around the turn of the twentieth century.

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Sasaki Gesshō, Seishinshugi, and the Buddha Śākyamuni This title was translated into English as Merejkowski (Merezhkovsky) 1901 and translated into Japanese as Merezhkovsky 1911. 18 This passage alludes to the presentation of Buddha relics unearthed in northern India in 1898 to the Japanese Buddhist community in 1900 by King Chulalongkorn (Rama V, 1853–1910) of Siam (present-day Thailand). These were enshrined at a specially built, nondenominational Buddhist temple in Nagoya, Nissenji (“The Temple of Japan and Siam,” founded in 1904), renamed Nittaiji (“The Temple of Japan and Thailand”) in 1942.

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Chapter 11

The Role of the Ālayavijñāna in Soga Ryōjin’s Reinterpretation of Dharmākara Bodhisattva Michael Conway As we have seen in the preceding chapters, the Meiji period was a tumultuous one for Japanese Buddhist institutions when many of the foundational tenets of belief were called into question by a variety of factors. The Seishinshugi movement that grew up around Kiyozawa Manshi (1863–1903) and continued after his passing attempted to respond to this situation by undertaking a project of doctrinal modernization that tried to interpret Shinran’s works in a radically different way than had been traditionally used. One of the most influential and lasting innovations of this movement was Soga Ryōjin’s (1875–1971) reinterpretation of the role of Amida Buddha’s causal phase, Dharmākara Bodhisattva, in Shin soteriology. Soga’s understanding shifted the role of Amida in Shin salvation from a superhuman, external savior figure who liberates sentient beings by welcoming them into a heavenly Pure Land at the moment of death— that is to say, an object of human faith—to the entrusting subject itself. This shift did away with the need to posit both an afterlife and the supernatural agency of Amida, both of which were being called into question by the rationalistic positivism that was prevalent at the time. It also brought the working of Amida into the interiority of the believing subject and the experience of faith, which was the only realm where religious truth was still granted authority over the objective truth demonstrable through scientific inquiry. Moving one step beyond Kiyozawa’s assertion that “Religion is a subjective fact” (Kiyozawa Manshi zenshū, hereafter, KMZI 6: 283) and based solidly in Shinran’s writings, Soga argued that Amida brings about human liberation by appearing as the very subject that awakens to religious truth. 248

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Soga began presenting this idea that, as he says it, “The Tathāgata liberates me by becoming me. . . . The Tathāgata becoming me is the advent of Dharmākara Bodhisattva” (Soga Ryōjin senshū, hereafter, SRS 2: 408; see Cultivating Spirituality, hereafter, CS, 107) on the pages of Seishinkai and Mujintō in 1912. While this fundamental view of Dharmākara as the linchpin of Shin salvation remained a consistent theme in his thought for the next sixty years, he gradually developed the idea, contextualizing it within Shinran’s works and also associating it with consciousnessonly thought, a subject that he had studied from youth. After very simply introducing the content of Soga’s early ideas on the role of Dharmākara, this chapter will explore his correlation between Dharmākara Bodhisattva and the concept of the ālayavijñāna posited in consciousness-only works such as Xuanzang’s (602–664) translation of Vasubandhu’s Triṃśikā and the Chengweishilun. We should note that Soga’s statements such as “Indeed, hell is the only existing reality for the human ego since internal kalpas ago. The land of peace and bliss is an illusion from the beginningless past” (November 1910; SRS 4: 298), while perhaps raising a few eyebrows among his elders, did not directly lead to questioning the orthodoxy of his ideas. Instead, it was his position that Dharmākara Bodhisattva is the ālayavijñāna, which was brought before the organ charged with maintaining orthodoxy within the denomination, and although there were never any formal charges, ultimately led to him leaving his post at Ōtani University in 1930 (Miharu 1991; Ōtani Daigaku Hyakunenshi Henshū Iinkai 2001, 347–357). Further, in the postwar period, Soga’s stance was also severely criticized by a variety of scholars of Buddhist studies who specialized in consciousness-only thought (see, for instance, Hirakawa 1972). Indeed, a work published just a few years ago by Odani Nobuchiyo  again criticizes Soga’s stance as a mistaken interpretation of ­consciousness-only doctrine (2015, 246–257). So we are forced to ask what led Soga to make such a bold declaration that opened him up to criticism not only from the perspective of Shin doctrinal studies, but also from Buddhist studies as well. In order to answer this question, we need to inquire into the interpretive stance that led Soga to combine these two disparate concepts from completely different Buddhist traditions. That is to say, we need to ask what kind of hermeneutical frame Soga was using that allowed him to see this correlation that is not apparent through the frames employed in traditional Shin studies and modern Buddhist studies. He views human liberation as occurring in a single instant of dynamic self-awareness, 249

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which allows him to correlate the consciousness-only grasp of time as an infinite succession of instants of awareness with Shinran’s concept of the single thought-moment of faith, endowing those instants with soteriological efficacy. This interpretive stance, with its emphasis on direct experience and suspicion of the capacities of human cogitation, can certainly be characterized as Buddhist in that it is firmly grounded in the scriptures of the two traditions, but it can also be seen as distinctly modern, since it firmly locates liberation in the realm of human interiority and the present moment. In this chapter, after roughly sketching out how Soga presented his initial reinterpretation of Dharmākara’s role and pointing out how it was innovative, I will introduce two of Soga’s early articles on ­consciousness-only thought where we can see the nature of his basic interpretive stance. Then I will discuss the content of his Nyorai hyōgen no hanchū toshite no sanshinkan (A View of the Three Minds as Categories of the Expression of the Tathāgata, 1927) in broad outline. Finally, I will consider what motivated Soga to make the very unconventional argument he lays out there.

Soga’s View of Dharmākara and Its Originality Soga began presenting his understanding of Dharmākara Bodhisattva as the true subject of sentient beings in 1912, first in his irregular column in Seishinkai, then in an article published in Shinshū University’s journal Mujintō. His stance in these early days is most explicitly laid out in “Chijō no kyūshu” (A Savior on Earth, 1913a), which appeared in the July 1913 issue of Seishinkai. His early formulation of the idea is perhaps best expressed in the opening passage of that article (which is translated in Cultivating Spirituality). There, he states, “Toward the beginning of July last year [1912], at the home of my friend Kaneko in Takada, it dawned on me that ‘The Tathāgata [i.e., Amida Buddha] is myself.’ Then, toward the end of August, this time at Akegarasu’s place in Kaga, I was handed the phrase, ‘The Tathāgata becoming me saves me.’ Finally, around October, I realized that ‘The Tathāgata becoming me is the advent of Dharmākara Bodhisattva’ ” (SRS 2: 408; see CS, 107). Here Soga describes the process by which he came to the realization that the Tathāgata’s salvific action in the world takes the form of sentient being’s faith—what Soga refers to as becoming the true self of sentient beings as opposed to the deluded self that is the subject of mundane human experience. The birth of this new subject entails what Soga calls an “inversion of subject and object.” He writes, 250

The Ālayavijñāna in Soga Reinterpretation of Dharmākara The wondrous fact of this inversion of subject and object shows to the utmost extent that the self is relative and finite while also showing that the self is a spiritual substance wherein the finite and the infinite are joined as one, such that while the faith that takes refuge in the Tathāgata is taken to be entirely the power of the self that takes refuge, it is also seen to be the transformed appearance and working of the Tathāgata’s other-power. (SRS 4: 339)

He describes the experience of awakening to this self, saying, “When I awaken to myself, and for the first time in innumerable kalpas return to myself, there lies the true subject that in the midst of eternal self-nature throws out that eternal self-nature into the objective realm. This very subject is an inconceivable self that is more than just myself. It is the self that is transferred through the working of other-power” (SRS 4: 347). In these passages and many others like them written in 1912 and 1913, Soga argues that awakening to this self that is both oneself and the working of the Tathāgata in the form of Dharmākara within oneself is the central facet of liberation in Shin Buddhism. For Soga, this experience of awakening was the root and branch of the tradition. He writes: Everything of faith and doctrine in Shin Buddhism is completely expressed in this single event: The advent of Dharmākara. Ah, the Tathāgata has come down and appeared as the human monk Dharmākara! This is in order to save human beings by giving them the rank of the Tathāgata. In order to liberate human beings, it is necessary to actually experience them. Thus, he has brought his form from the world of the absolute here to the human world of birth and death, ultimately actually experiencing human faith as the purest sincere and accepting mind and calling out to us intimately with human words. Let’s stop questioning the significance of Dharmākara Bhikṣu as an objectively existing entity. The Dharmākara Bhikṣu of the past, the objective Dharmākara Bhikṣu is, as the object of our faith, all too alien to us, just like a future birth in the Pure Land or the Tathāgata in the Western Pure Land. We must perceive the Dharmākara Bhikṣu of the present, the Dharmākara Bhikṣu within our own hearts, the Dharmākara Bhikṣu that is one with and inseparable from our self. Seek the calling voice of the sincere and entrusting mind deep within the recesses of your own breast. (SRS 4: 344)

In this way, Soga posits Dharmākara not as the object of our faith, something that we believe in, but instead as its subject, “the sincere and accepting mind” itself. This reinterpretation removed the working of Amida from the objective sphere and brought it within the sphere of the subject, something for each individual to intuit within their engagement 251

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with the teachings. Note also Soga’s emphasis on direct experience. The Dharmākara of the past is, just like the Pure Land of the future, all too removed from the realm of human experience to be seen as efficacious for human beings in their quest for liberation. Needless to say, this position was a radical departure from the traditional view of Shin salvation that developed during the Edo period largely under the influence of Rennyo’s (1415–1499) Ofumi. To get an idea of the nature of Soga’s departure, I would like to introduce one of the places where Rennyo refers to Dharmākara so that we can see how different Soga’s stance is. In one letter that is quite representative of his understanding of Dharmākara’s role in Shin soteriology, Rennyo states: “We must bear in mind, therefore, that ‘Namu Amida Butsu’ expresses the full realization of perfect enlightenment by Amida Buddha, that same enlightenment which, in the distant past when he was the bhikṣu Dharmākara, he swore he would not attain unless sentient beings also attained buddhahood. This, in other words, is evidence that our birth [in the Pure Land] is settled” (Shinshū shōgyō zensho, hereafter, SSZ 3: 491; see Rogers and Rogers 1996, 97). Here, Rennyo states that Dharmākara made his vows and completed his practice to become Amida in the distant past. For Rennyo, the story of Dharmākara simply provides further evidence of the efficacy of Amida Buddha’s soteriological power. In an interpretation that hints of predetermination, this story is said to be proof that sentient beings’ salvation is completely settled and has been since Amida became a buddha ten kalpas ago. In Rennyo’s view, Dharmākara’s practice was completed in the distant past and the immense virtues gained through that practice served to make Amida Buddha the powerful and compassionate savior figure who draws the faithful to his Pure Land, and thereby to buddhahood. From this perspective, Dharmākara is a backstory that proves the greatness of Amida and his power to save sentient beings from his distant Western realm. Soga criticizes this sort of an understanding of Dharmākara at the very beginning of the first full article where he articulates his understanding of this figure, which is entitled, “Kuon no busshin no kaikensha toshite no genzai no Hōzō biku” (The Present Dharmākara Bhikṣu as the Revealer of the Eternal Mind of the Buddha, 1913b). There he states: It goes without saying that the central object of reverence in Pure Land Buddhism is Amida Tathāgata who attained perfect enlightenment ten ­kalpas ago as the result of the vows of his causal phase, Dharmākara Bhikṣu. However, the position that therefore focusing solely on the single point of this [realization of] perfect enlightenment ten kalpas ago, viewing 252

The Ālayavijñāna in Soga Reinterpretation of Dharmākara Dharmākara Bhikṣu simply as a human being of the far distant past without seriously considering his character, and thus taking the world-­ transcending vows that he expressed to be just a means of the perfect enlightenment [realized] ten kalpas ago, cannot be said to be a really thorough understanding of the religion of other-power. (SRS 2: 370)

Here Soga challenges the received wisdom that the story in the Larger Sutra that describes how Amida became Amida is little more than proof of his greatness now that he has become a buddha. In the rest of the article, Soga argues that the figure of Dharmākara should be seen as acting in the present within the faith of each individual practitioner providing them with a direct connection to Amida and his Pure Land that not only affords them with peace of mind and strength amidst the suffering and vicissitudes of life but also effects the realization of Amida Buddha’s wisdom and compassion in this world. This interpretation takes Dharmākara out of the distant past and brings him into the present, into the instant of the attainment of shinjin, and by doing so, takes Amida out of his heavenly realm billions and billions of buddha lands to the west and brings him into the world of human experience. There is evidence that Soga’s modernization project was not exactly the same as those of his fellow members of the Seishinshugi movement. In a lecture that he gave in 1962, Soga reflects on the time when he first started discussing Dharmākara, saying, Back in the Meiji period, it was thought that it was safer just not to touch on Dharmākara Bodhisattva. People only talked about Amida Tathāgata and the great compassion of the Buddha. Even the term “original vow” was generally not used by younger people in the Meiji period. Further, the word nenbutsu was to be avoided at all costs. That’s how it was considered [back then]. People would only refer to the term Dharmākara Bodhisattva when discussing a specific academic issue in doctrinal studies, but people like Kiyozawa Manshi and his followers pretty much did not even think about Dharmākara Bodhisattva and seemed to think that they were not supposed to use the term in general. (SRS 12: 106)

Soga’s reflections show the extent to which the core concepts of Shin Buddhism had been called into question and just how difficult it was to discuss Shin salvation at the time. Rennyo’s view of the story of Dharmākara as evidence for Amida’s salvific power clearly no longer held the currency it once did. Even among progressive Shin thinkers, the mythic nature of the foundational scriptures was seen as problematic. Soga’s rehabilitation of the image of Dharmākara into the experiential realm of human interiority proved quite effective, such that Shin 253

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­ inisters following in his line speak frequently of living in the spirit of m Dharmākara Bodhisattva at temples throughout the country even today. We should also note that, while clearly motivated by these modernizing concerns, Soga was also very interested in a reclamation of scripture through a new, direct engagement with it. Like his fellow members of the Kōkōdō, Soga saw his project not solely in terms of modernization, but also as a creative return to the foundational scriptures of the tradition, particularly the Larger Sutra and Shinran’s Kyōgyōshinshō. Much of Soga’s intellectual output over the course of the decade following these early expressions of this idea was focused on contextualizing it within the larger scriptural tradition. Following in Kiyozawa’s footsteps, he makes a strict distinction between the doctrine expressed in the sutras, writings of the patriarchs, and Shinran’s works and the exegesis of the interpretive tradition that developed after Shinran passed away (see KMZI 7: 113). In his writings from the first decade of the Taishō period (1912–1926), Soga works over the advent of Dharmākara in light of many crucial elements in Shin scripture, including the parable of the two rivers and white path, the two aspects of merit transference, which are central concepts in the Kyōgyōshinshō, as well as in light of the broader intellectual concerns of his day, such as Naturalism. This cursory glance at Soga’s early formulations of his new, Dharmākara-centered soteriology fails to do it justice, but this is not our focus in this chapter.1 Instead it lies in Soga’s later development of the idea, especially his association between Dharmākara and the ālayavijñāna. Suffice it to say that Soga’s initial permutations of his theory of Dharmākara revamped the concept of salvation in Shin Buddhism, defining it as an internal transformation that occurs within the practitioner when a greater self—that transcends but remains within the mundane one—is intuited in a single instant of self-awareness. This view is, on the one hand, steeped deeply in the modernist concerns of his day, while on the other, rooted firmly in the Shin scriptural tradition. Indeed, Nyorai hyōgen no hanchū toshite no sanshinkan, the intended object of our considerations in this chapter, is first and foremost Soga’s attempt to read the central portion of the most important chapter of the Kyōgyōshinshō in light of his understanding of Dharmākara’s pivotal role in Shin salvation (and by extension, Shinran’s view of salvation). Soga also brings his original understanding of consciousness-only thought to bear on these considerations, so before looking at the content of this 254

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work, we need to take a step back and briefly consider the foundations of those ideas.

Soga’s Incorporation of Consciousness-Only Thought Soga studied consciousness-only texts from his youth, alongside his education in traditional Shin studies (see SRS 5: 162). His early teaching appointments at Shinshū University also involved teaching on subjects related to consciousness-only texts (Itō 1993, 151). Some of the first articles that he ever published in Mujintō deal with consciousness-only concepts (Itō 1993, 151; SRS 1: 351–360, 361–371, 372–387). Two of these were published in 1902, the year before Kiyozawa passed away, and another in 1905. These three articles contain elements that not only appear in the 1927 Nyorai hyōgen no hanchū toshite no sanshinkan, but also in Soga’s earlier discussions of Dharmākara Bodhisattva. In particular, Soga’s discussion of the ālayavijñāna as the human being’s ultimate subject, or actual self, and its place beyond the realm of human cognition in these early pieces clearly resonates with his discourses in the Taishō period on Dharmākara as the most foundational human subject that cannot become the object of human conception. For instance, we saw in the last section how Soga viewed Dharmākara as a self that “is a spiritual substance wherein the finite and the infinite are joined as one.” In “Sanbōin to yuishiki shū” (The Three Dharma Seals and the Consciousness-Only School, 1902b), Soga’s first article on ­consciousness-only, which was published in February of 1902, while Kiyozawa was still alive, Soga describes the ālayavijñāna in a very similar way. He writes: As I have already pointed out, as long as the ālayavijñāna is the actual principle by which myriad existents act based on the actual nature of true suchness, it necessarily must have some sort of limit. That is to say, the ālayavijñāna cannot actually encompass the infinite. That is, it is entirely unavoidable that the inborn karmic seeds that it innately possesses necessarily each have a limit in their breadth. Here, it is in principle infinite but at the same time in actuality finite. Thus, this is likely why it is both a universal universalism and at the same time particularism. (SRS 1: 359)

Here, the ālayavijñāna is presented as an entity with the same properties as those that Soga describes as existing in the “wondrous fact of this ­inversion of subject and object” introduced in the previous section. Over  ten years before Soga formulated Dharmākara as the intersection between suffering human beings and Amida’s salvific working, he 255

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a­ lready saw the same structure, a point where the infinite intersects with the finite, in the nature of the ālayavijñāna itself. In this article, Soga also discusses another aspect of the ālayavijñāna that he comes to see as a critical element of Dharmākara’s salvific function: complete equanimity in accepting karmic limitation. He describes this nonjudgmental acceptance of all circumstance by the ālayavijñāna, saying: The doctrines of the Consciousness-Only School hold that the eighth ālayavijñāna, which forms the centerpiece of human activity, must necessarily be completely without any special characteristics, pure, simple, and innocent. That is, it must view good and evil, beauty and ugliness, correct and wrong, high and low, in exactly the same way, and encompass them all equally. That is, it must be entirely without discrimination or intellectual stance. The ālayavijñāna must be by nature unobstructed and undetermined. Only in this way can it be equally perfumed by good and evil, beautiful and ugly, and at the same time encompass them making no resistance. (SRS 1: 358)

Here, Soga presents the ālayavijñāna as something that encompasses any karmic circumstance and is capable of doing so without being stained or corrupted by that circumstance in any way. This aspect of the ālayavijñāna resonates closely with Soga’s view of Dharmākara, a subject that he holds silently takes on all of sentient beings’ karmic responsibilities. There are examples of that stance throughout Soga’s Taishō period works. To pick just one, in “Daishizen no mune ni” (Into the Bosom of Great Nature, 1917a) from July of 1917, Soga writes, “Dharmākara Bodhi­sattva is the true result of all of the karmic recompense of these sentient beings in the ten directions. He encompasses all sentient beings’ karma within his own great ocean-like mind and serves as the one responsible for the totality of the karmic results, while also freely creating an unlimited life as the motive force for all sentient beings’ conscious activities” (SRS 3: 195). Although the language is slightly different, there is a clear structural similarity between the function of the ālayavijñāna as Soga described it in 1902, and that of Dharmākara in the 1917 piece. Both take on karmic circumstance without distinguishing good or bad, and in that sense are both pure and innocent. Soga picks up on this theme in Nyorai hyōgen no hanchū toshite no sanshinkan, as well. There, discussing the sincere mind laid out in Dharmākara’s eighteenth vow, he says,

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The Ālayavijñāna in Soga Reinterpretation of Dharmākara That is, this Dharmākara Bodhisattva, through our awakening to our actual situation—our actual situation as karmic result—appears in the furthest depths of that recognition and is the pure, great spirit that is felt there. When we truly suffer in reality, truly look upon ourselves, admit to the entirety of the reality of our selves, and throw our entire selves, the totality of our selves, throw our entirety out into the world, Dharmākara Bodhisattva is what catches our total selves. (SRS 5: 183)

Here again, Dharmākara is presented as something that takes on total responsibility for sentient beings’ karma and is styled as something that takes over all our karmic suffering at a point when we have a true, clear insight into our own true nature. This image of the sustaining power of Dharmākara in all karmic circumstances, and regardless of karmic evil, is clearly informed by the view of the ālayavijñāna as taking on all karmic results in innocent purity laid out almost twenty-five years earlier by Soga. We should note the resonance here with Kiyozawa’s stance that the Tathāgata takes on full responsibility for all actions of the faithful (see, for instance, KMZI 6: 164). Although Soga does not explicitly refer to Kiyozawa’s thought here, it is likely that he was stimulated by that stance in the course of the development of this idea. The third of these early articles, “Bukkyō yuishinron no kiso toshite no arayashiki no shōmei: Jittai no kannen wa kyakkan teki shōmei no kiso, shugi no kannen wa shukan teki shōmei no konkyo” (A Proof of the Ālayavijñāna as the Foundation for Buddhist Idealism: The Idea of Actual Substance Is the Foundation for Objective Proof, the Idea of a Philosophical Stance Is the Basis for Subjective Proof), which was published in 1905, is of particular interest because Soga is here clearly employing concepts from the consciousness-only tradition in order to lay a Buddhist foundation for certain ideas set forth by Kiyozawa Manshi. The title itself clearly rings of Kiyozawa’s distinction between the objectively provable facts of science and the subjectively provable ones of religion (KMZI 6: 283–284). I will discuss this at greater length below, but we should note here that Soga initially criticized Seishinshugi because it did not take a clear position regarding the problem of idealism and materialism, so this article can also be interpreted as his attempt to correct that fault through reference to the ālayavijñāna. The entire article is premised on proving the necessity of positing the ālayavijñāna as the only genuine foundation for “introspectionism” (naikan shugi), a term that Kiyozawa used frequently to characterize Seishinshugi. At the start of the article, Soga writes:

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The Legacy of Seishinshugi Thus, religion is necessarily self-fulfillment; it is introspectionism; it is a stance that finds the solution to everything in the depths of the subject. Seen from the perspective that introspectionism denies the existence of myriad things outside the mind, it is on the one hand world renunciation, passivism, yet from the perspective that it is an awakening to the fact that the self possesses all virtues, it is affirmation of the world, unsurpassed activism. It kills all existents outside the self, while also endowing all existents equally with absolute, infinite value and power in the depths of the self. (SRS 1: 372)

Soga clearly had Kiyozawa’s discussion of the nature of Seishinshugi in the back of his mind as he wrote this passage. Kiyozawa also uses the terms “introspectionism,” “passivism,” and “activism” to describe it and famously states, “Seishinshugi seeks fulfillment within one’s own spirit” (KMZI 6: 3) in the opening article of the first issue of Seishinkai. Soga engages in a discussion that attempts to show that the only way that such fulfillment is actually possible is through positing the existence of the ālayavijñāna and becoming aware of it as the foundational subject of human experience—what he refers to repeatedly as “the ultimate subject,” a term he uses to characterize Dharmākara in his later works. In this way, Soga employed consciousness-only concepts from the very early stages of his career. These articles give us a glimpse of what problems Soga was addressing in his application of these concepts, as well as hinting at the contours of the interpretive stance that he held that allowed him to view Dharmākara as the ālayavijñāna. We can see that from the start Soga was deeply concerned with the issue of the intersection between the infinite and the finite and that he saw the ālayavijñāna as the key to that intersection. Also, Soga makes recourse to consciousness-only thought in order to flesh out a foundation for two central concepts in Kiyozawa’s presentation of Seishinshugi: the idea that the Tathāgata takes absolute responsibility for the actions of sentient beings and the idea that one can find true satisfaction within the self through an insight into the working of the Tathāgata. In his later works, Soga attributes these two functions to Dharmākara, but in these early ones, he finds them in the concept of the ālayavijñāna. So we can see that at least one part of the interpretive frame Soga was using was provided by Kiyozawa’s articulation of Seishinshugi. It is likely that Soga was profoundly stimulated by Kiyozawa’s expression of his experience of religious insight and sought to provide that with a foundation in the Buddhist scriptural tradition, in spite of the fact that he was first critical of some Kiyozawa’s ideas as they appeared on the pages of Seishinkai. 258

The Ālayavijñāna in Soga Reinterpretation of Dharmākara

For about fifteen years after Kiyozawa’s passing, Soga approached this primarily based on Shin scripture, leaving his discussions of ­consciousness-only thought totally separate from his works on Shin doctrine, but over time, the ideas expressed in these early articles begin to creep into those Shin works as well. First, stray phrases from ­consciousness-only texts appear, then concepts appear together, and finally in 1917, Soga begins to correlate the figure and function of Dharmākara Bodhisattva with various aspects of the ālayavijñāna (SRS 3: 297–306), ultimately culminating in his 1927 lecture Nyorai hyōgen no hanchū toshite no sanshinkan, where he declares, “I believe that the ālayavijñāna in consciousness-only texts is Dharmākara Bodhisattva as the causal phase of Amida that is explained in the Larger Sutra on Immeasurable Life” (SRS 5: 157). In the next section, I will introduce the content of that work and then move on to ask what issues Soga was trying to address in presenting it in the following one.

Soga’s Discussion of Dharmākara as the Ālayavijñāna and the Question in Its Background Nyorai hyōgen no hanchū toshite no sanshinkan is a transcript of two lectures that were delivered in the fall of 1926 for the Shinshūgaku Kenkyūsho, which was published in May of the following year. In this work, in setting out his position that Dharmākara is the ālayavijñāna, Soga correlates the three aspects of the ālayavijñāna as described in the Chengweishilun (Taishō shinshū daizōkyō, hereafter, T 31: 7c20–8a3) with the three minds laid out in Dharmākara’s eighteenth vow. Through his considerations, he aims to elucidate the various elements contained in the instant of awakening that Shinran calls the single thought-moment of faith. In the first lecture, after laying out his stance in broad strokes, Soga makes a detailed discussion of the first of the three minds, the sincere mind (shishin), and its relationship to the resultant aspect (kasō) of the ālayavijñāna in light of Shinran’s comment upon it in the chapter on faith in the Kyōgyōshinshō. The second lecture begins with a detailed discussion of how time should be understood when one adopts the basic premise of consciousness-only thought that “All existents are consciousness only.” Soga then moves on to a consideration of the significance of Shinran’s comments on the second and third of the three minds—the mind of hopeful acceptance (shingyō) and the mind that aspires for birth in the Pure Land (yokushō)—in relation to his position that they are representations of ālayavijñāna’s “self-aspect” ( jisō) and causal aspect (insō), 259

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respectively. Apparently short of time, Soga’s discussion of the relationship between the mind that aspires for birth in the Pure Land and the causal aspect is quite short and he quickly moves into his conclusion where he argues that “the three minds are essentially fulfilled in the experience of [Amida’s] name” (SRS 5: 212), holding that the name functions to naturally transform those who hear it, independent of their individual consciousness of chanting it. In order to understand Soga’s position, it is necessary first to consider its basis: the chapter on faith in the Kyōgyōshinshō, particularly Shinran’s questions and answers regarding the three minds presented in Dharmākara’s eighteenth vow in the Sutra on Immeasurable Life and the single mind that Vasubandhu refers to at the beginning of his Treatise on the Pure Land. The pertinent portion of the eighteenth vow reads: “If, when I attain buddhahood, sentient beings in the ten directions who with sincere minds and hopeful acceptance aspire to be born in my Country, even just ten times, are not born there, then I will not attain perfect enlightenment” (T 12: 268a26–27). Although the Pure Land tradition in China and Japan had generally interpreted these three minds as conditions for birth in the Pure Land that could potentially be fulfilled by faithfully chanting Amida’s name just ten times, in the chapter on faith Shinran makes the argument that they are not conditions that sentient beings themselves need to fulfill, but instead represent Dharmākara’s mind itself, which is bestowed upon sentient beings in their hearing of the name “Namu Amida Butsu.” That is to say, Shinran holds that it is not necessary for sentient beings to give rise to shinjin through their own self-effort or machinations, but instead that it arises in the experience of hearing the name through the working of Dharmākara and as the result of the merit transference of the virtues he has created in the course of his eternal practice. Shinran argues that shinjin is thus entirely the result of “other-power,” or the arising of Dharmākara’s mind within each faithful sentient being. Soga’s stance that “The Tathāgata becoming me is the advent of Dharmākara Bodhi­ sattva” is based firmly on this discussion of Shinran’s in the chapter on faith, particularly on Shinran’s answer to the second question in the questions and answers therein, where he makes a detailed analysis of each of these three minds, repeating the conclusion that they are bestowed upon deluded sentient beings through Dharmākara’s endless practice (Teihon Kyōgyōshinshō, hereafter, TK, 115–140; Collected Works of Shinran, hereafter, CWS 1: 93–114). Soga’s position in Nyorai hyōgen no hanchū toshite no sanshinkan is unique (and was viewed as problematic by 260

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some of his contemporaries) because it tries to explain the content of these three minds with reference to the three aspects of the ālayavijñāna, which is a radical step because Shinran makes virtually no reference to consciousness-only thought or its doctrinal categories in any of his works. Before we consider the details of Soga’s argument, we should first inquire into Soga’s motivations for trying to make this correlation, which  is  clearly a leap since one cannot find any such reference to ­consciousness-only thought in describing Dharmākara and the Pure Land within the authoritative scriptures of the Shin tradition. Throughout these lectures Soga’s primary concern is to show that the three aspects of the ālayavijñāna correspond to the three minds set forth in Dharmākara’s eighteenth vow, which Shinran holds are bestowed upon sentient beings as shinjin through Dharmākara’s salvific activity. By making this correlation, Soga is not only trying to prove his position that the ālayavijñāna is Dharmākara, he is also trying to lay a doctrinal foundation for his position that Dharmākara is the true self of sentient beings by grounding it on the nuanced understanding of consciousness provided by consciousness-only thought. Toward the beginning of the first lecture, after having described his stance that the ālayavijñāna is Dharmākara at length, he says: When I say this, it may be unclear whether I am going to talk about Shin Buddhist studies or consciousness-only, but I will not be discussing either Shin Buddhist studies in the general sense of the term, nor discussing complete consciousness-only studies. I will be talking about the fact of my present consciousness. Therefore, it will not be a talk about Shin Buddhist ­studies divorced from conscious experience, nor will it be about consciousness-only studies unrelated to religious awareness. That is, I will talk about the Shin Buddhist studies that are flowing within my ­consciousness and the consciousness-only studies that are the result of reflection on my religious needs. (SRS 5: 167–168)

In this passage, Soga is indicating that consciousness-only thought is a vehicle for him to understand the various concepts in Shin doctrinal studies, such as Dharmākara and the three minds the bodhisattva bestows upon sentient beings as elements of his own conscious activity in the present. In that sense, this is one further step in the modernist project of discovering the present, subjective significance of the Shin scriptures, but it can also be seen as a reclamation of the resources that the Buddhist tradition provides to make a highly sophisticated analysis of the content of the experience of shinjin. By anchoring the three minds 261

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that Shinran holds are bestowed by Dharmākara on the three aspects of the ālayavijñāna, Soga becomes able to explicate their content in terms of conscious experience, but since the ālayavijñāna is a sort of foundational subconscious that differs substantially from ordinary, mundane conscious experience, it allows him to describe the “other-power” nature of these three minds without recourse to some supernatural intervention in karmic circumstance. As elements of this eighth, latent consciousness, these three minds are not created or brought about by the conscious activity of mundane human consciousness (the sixth consciousness) and are in that sense “other” to that consciousness. That is to say, they are “other-power” from the perspective of the sixth consciousness, but since they are simply part of the structure of consciousness as it has traditionally been understood in Buddhism, they are clearly not the result of some supernatural power miraculously intervening in the ordinary functioning of karmic causes and conditions. In that sense, Soga’s recourse to consciousness-only thought can be seen as a part of his greater project of trying to reclaim the resources of traditional Shin doctrinal studies that had been lost due to the introduction of Western science and philosophy in the Meiji period (1868– 1912). Soga refers to this problem early on in his first lecture in Nyorai hyōgen no hanchū toshite no sanshinkan, saying: So if one looks at the Larger Sutra of Immeasurable Life a little bit, then Dharmākara Bodhisattva seems to appear very much like a fable or a myth. Therefore, since long ago, preachers out in the countryside have preached about Dharmākara Bodhisattva, but recently, people with a little learning have come to feel that it is problematic to be talking about Dharmākara, so ultimately since just not bringing him up won’t make waves, people don’t even say the “Dharma” part of his name. That is, it is held to be more intelligent not to talk about him. So smart people don’t and not talking about him is seen as a sign of intelligence. (SRS 5: 158)

This passage clearly shows that one of Soga’s concerns in correlating Dharmākara with the ālayavijñāna was the negative view of Dharmākara as a mythological figure held by his contemporaries. He was trying to address that problem and bring Dharmākara back into the field of acceptable discourse by showing that his “three minds” that Shinran refers to were phenomena of human consciousness, not just silly fables created by the people of olden days. In that discussion, Soga heavily emphasizes the single, present instant of self-awareness, which he says is both the single thought-moment of faith discussed by Shinran and the “self-aspect” of the ālayavijñāna, 262

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which Soga characterizes as “the experience of introspecting upon the process of the arising of self-awareness in relation to the process of that delusion,” saying, “The ālayavijñāna is none other than the comprehensive principle of all self-awareness, the self-awareness of self-awareness, the self-awareness that becomes self-aware” (SRS 5: 164). This emphasis of the experience of self-awareness is on the one hand quite modern, given its stress on the present, subjective experience of awakening, while on the other, it provides a foundation in the traditional Buddhist scripture and philosophy for Soga’s reclamation of Dharmākara into the conscious awareness of the individual subject. Soga holds that this instant of true awakening, while being solely in the present contains within it the significance of both the past and the future, based on his analysis of the meaning of the resultant and causal aspects of the ālayavijñāna. Soga holds that the past is to be seen in the resultant aspect of the ālayavijñāna, arguing that since it is characterized as the consciousness of karmic maturation, it represents the totality of all past karma as it bears on the present instant. He says that the causal aspect, which is said to be the consciousness of karmic seed, or karmic potentiality, represents the opening or directionality that the  present instant has toward the future. Soga’s early works on ­consciousness-only thought also express this view of time that prioritizes the present instant of awareness and views past and present to be two aspects or meanings held within that present instant. Soga writes: “A self-aware ālayavijñāna is in actuality neither cause nor result. Further, it is only in the present activity that consciousness of cause and effect is possible. Therefore, in that present reflection, there is the significance of the past and the significance of the future. Therefore these two aspects of result and cause are two meanings contained within the present, infinite, continuous introspective activity of the ālayavijñāna” (SRS 5: 186–187). Here, the ālayavijñāna is characterized as having the significance of the totality of karmic history and the infinite possibility of the future within one present instant of self-reflective awareness. Here again we can see Soga’s emphasis on the instant of self-awareness as being everything in human experience. Soga extrapolates on the significance of the resultant aspect as the result of past karma and the causal aspect as future potentiality, saying: “Put simply, both the past and the future are ultimately comprehensively contained within the fact of the present instant. As I just mentioned, the past as the resultant aspect is our finite, painful reality and the causal aspect as future is the infinite, absolute ideal. And yet, these 263

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two only appear as the two poles of the present conscious self-­awareness” (SRS 5: 195). In this way, Soga holds that the present instant of selfawareness contains a recognition of oneself as a finite being that is the result of the working out of karma, as well as an orientation toward a future ideal. The resultant aspect of the ālayavijñāna represents an awareness of oneself as a finite product of history, while its causal aspect is said to be the awareness of an infinite ideal, yet both of these are just “two poles” of the single, present moment of self-awareness, or what is referred to as the “self-aspect” ( jisō) of the ālayavijñāna—the ālayavijñāna as present manifestation in the current instant, which Soga refers to as “conscious self-awareness.” Soga describes the content of the resultant and causal aspects of the ālayavijñāna in detail at the beginning of his argument in the first lecture. There, he states: Thus, self-awareness is the concrete function of the totality, but it is indeed a function that works to fulfill its substance [as awareness]. That concrete experience, which is one finite pole of the continuous flowing forth of cause and effect—the content of that ultimate limitation is the resultant aspect. The resultant aspect expresses one element of the significance of self-­ awareness of being finite and relative. In contrast to that, the causal aspect is the significance that appears at the other pole of being absolute and ­infinite. One might also say that the resultant aspect is the immanent ­significance or analytical content of the ālayavijñāna’s function of three-­ dimensional self-awareness. By contrast, the causal aspect is the trans­ cendental significance of the ālayavijñāna’s function of self-awareness; that is, it is the self-­reflection of the comprehensively self-aware subject itself. That is to say, while the resultant aspect can become the actual object of the ālayavijñāna, the causal aspect will never become its object. (SRS 5: 165)

Here again, Soga describes the ālayavijñāna as the point where the finite and relative intersect with the absolute and infinite, holding that the resultant aspect is “the self-awareness of being finite and relative,” while the causal one is the opposite pole of “being absolute and infinite.” We should note here that the term “Namu Amida Butsu” also contains this sort of dual significance, “Namu” representing one’s insight into one’s finite and limited nature, while “Amida Butsu” is an expression of one’s insight into one’s oneness with the absolute, infinite immeasurable life. Although Soga does not explicitly discuss this correlation of the significance of the name with these elements of the ālayavijñāna, since he does argue that the three minds that are called forth in sentient beings in hearing that name have this dual significance of being aware of both 264

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one’s finitude and one’s infinite nature, it seems that such an understanding is in the backdrop of his considerations here. The other pertinent point in the above passage is that Soga holds that although it is possible to become fully aware of one’s limited nature, the infinite, absolute, or ideal significance of one’s being is something that cannot become the direct object of consciousness. It is always a pole just over the horizon of that consciousness, which, while providing direction and guidance as one moves toward the future, is actually never realized in the present. This stance is the foundation for Soga’s understanding of the Pure Land as “pure future” (SRS 4: 106; see Yasutomi 1980), and also informs his position that the mind that aspires for birth in the Pure Land provides an ideal that can serve as a compass for action in the present, even though the present does not and will never fully conform to that ideal (discussed in detail below). Let us turn now to the nuts and bolts of Soga’s argument to see how exactly he describes the correlation between the three aspects of the ālayavijñāna and the three minds bequeathed by Dharmākara in the experience of shinjin. Soga correlates the resultant aspect of the ālayavijñāna with the sincere mind of Dharmākara that is transferred to sentient beings. As we saw above, for Soga, the resultant aspect refers to an insight into one’s finitude as a deluded being that is conditioned by karma and is the product of history. It refers to an insight into one’s specific, finite karmic situation, but since Soga holds that “self-awareness is the concrete function of the totality,” this insight into one’s conditioned nature does not just entail a personal insight into the failures in one’s individual life, but a recognition of oneself in the present as the result of the totality of history from time immemorial. Speaking of this element of selfawareness that is expressed in the resultant aspect, which is also referred to as the ālayavijñāna as the consciousness of karmic maturation, Soga states: One first sees this as the consciousness of karmic maturation and introspects even more deeply on this consciousness that karmically matures this karmic maturation and here one comes to realize a self-aware consciousness of the eternal past that comprehends and integrates the karmic causes and effects that had until now appeared to be substantially distinct as cause and effect. Through this great awakening of the ālayavijñāna, one turns and comes to discover again clearly this grand karma, one’s own total responsibility, as the resultant aspect of that self-awareness, as the actual form of the great awakening of the ālayavijñāna, as one actual form of the 265

The Legacy of Seishinshugi process of becoming self-aware, just as though one were standing before [Yama’s] crystal mirror. (SRS 5: 178)

The language is quite dense, but simply put, Soga is saying that the resultant aspect of the ālayavijñāna refers to an awareness of oneself as the result of all the karmic causes and results of the past. That insight entails an integration of those causes and results as necessarily causative of the present instant and substantively linked to it, not simply distinct and unrelated to it. Such an insight—brought about by considering how karmic maturation has led to the current instant—further leads one to an understanding of one’s total responsibility for that past: since one is the beneficiary of all those causes and conditions, one also stands responsible for them. Soga therefore likens this insight into oneself as the product of the totality of the causes and results of the entire past to standing in front of the mirror of Yama, king of the underworld and arbiter of the afterlife, where all the deeds that led one to that instant are reflected. Unlike Yama’s mirror, though, this insight is not limited to the deeds of one individual life, but instead extends through the entire past and all the karmic circumstances that led up to the current instant. When Soga correlates this sort of an insight with Shinran’s discussion of the sincere mind in the chapter on faith, he focuses particularly on the opening sentence of that passage, which reads: “In considering this mind, the entire ocean of the multitude of beings has, from the beginningless past down to today, this very moment, been evil and defiled, without a mind of purity, and has been vain and false, without a true mind” (TK, 116–117; see CWS 1: 95). Soga holds that because Shinran has had an insight into himself as conditioned by all the causes and results of the past, he is able to make this declaration about “the entire ocean of the multitude of beings” and their fundamentally deluded nature. Shinran’s awareness of his interconnectedness with, and thus responsibility for, all beings in the past—which Soga argues comes from the awareness brought about by shinjin—makes him able to speak about the entirety of that history as having been one of deluded suffering. However, this awareness is not just one of despair over that history of delusion, but also one of joy because the significance of that history is transformed from being one of simple suffering and evil, to one replete with the virtues fulfilled through Dharmākara’s endless practice. Soga says: A moment ago, I said that causes and effects in karmic maturation are substantially distinct and as long as karmic maturation is viewed abstractly or 266

The Ālayavijñāna in Soga Reinterpretation of Dharmākara partially, then surely cause and effect are substantially different. But now, when karmic maturation has truly reached the point of being conscious of karmic maturation—when karmic maturation has reached its ultimate limit—then the consciousness of karmic maturation transcends karmic maturation, opens up a true, pure light of wisdom, and takes up all sentient beings, transforming those various organic substances like the mountains, rivers, and earth which were symbols of the suffering of sentient beings, making them each individually symbols of joy and satisfaction. In this way, the significance of the sincere mind is that all phenomena are instilled with an individuality that is interiorly perfect and complete. (SRS 5: 176–177)

Soga here holds that when one has such an insight into oneself as the result of the totality of past karma, then all those things that had been perceived as suffering and delusion take on a new significance in the “true, pure light of wisdom” that sees them as ultimately bringing about that insight, and thus each complete and perfect in themselves. The suffering of the past—on both an individual and historical level—ceases to be simply evil, and instead can be characterized as virtues. Soga argues that this transformation is brought about by Dharmākara’s endless practice and his bestowal of the sincere mind employed there on sentient beings. The responsibility that one holds toward that history is also taken on by Dharmākara’s bodhisattva spirit. Through this interpretation, Dharmākara’s sincere mind becomes the foundation for the two aspects of Kiyozawa’s thought discussed in the previous section: genuine satisfaction realized in the individual’s spirit and the Tathāgata’s assumption of the burdens of karmic responsibility. Next, in the first half of the second lecture, Soga correlates the selfaspect of the ālayavijñāna with the mind of hopeful acceptance that Shinran holds to be the centerpiece of shinjin. Soga’s discussion of the self-aspect revolves around its significance as “the consciousness of present manifestation.” He stresses that when one views all dharmas as being only consciousness, then all that actually exists is the present instant of self-aware consciousness. About this self-aspect, he states: The process by which consciousness infinitely becomes aware of itself is the process where consciousness infinitely manifests itself in the present. Only when that process is within the format of time of the present instant does this become an actual fact based on this sole limitation and it is only based on this limitation that the infinite dharma-nature is reflected. Yet, the awareness of the infinite toward which this self-awareness proceeds—the foreground toward which consciousness progresses—is referred to as the causal aspect. Further, in the background of the progress of this 267

The Legacy of Seishinshugi self-awareness, there is the resultant aspect. The self-aspect always has the resultant aspect in its background and the causal aspect in its foreground, and thus there is the progression of the self-aspect. It is not that this progression becomes possible because it is predicated on the existence of both the causal and resultant aspects, but instead, where the self-aspect proceeds, there is nothing whatsoever, just like the great void of space. It proceeds entirely along the single, unobstructed path. (SRS 5: 197)

Although we can also get a sense of how Soga understood the resultant and causal aspects of the ālayavijñāna from this passage, what is important now is to note that Soga describes the self-aspect as the present, self-aware consciousness. In that sense, the self-aspect is for Soga an awareness of oneself as a conscious being in the present instant. Soga says that this aspect refers to the instant of awakening that is shinjin itself and links it particularly with Shinran’s discussion of the mind of hopeful acceptance in the chapter on faith. In his discussion, Soga focuses on Shinran’s strict denial of the possibility to be born in the Pure Land through one’s own efforts or machinations. Shinran calls such actions on the part of sentient beings aimed at birth in the Pure Land “good acts mixed with poison miscellaneously cultivated” and “empty, false practices,” concluding that “Aspiring to be born in the land of immeasurable light based on these empty good acts mixed with poison is necessarily impossible” (TK, 121; see CWS 1: 98). Soga focuses on this passage and its strict denial of the efficacy of human practice as an indispensable element of the awakening that is shinjin, elevating that shinjin beyond simple human hopes and desires and to the status of the aspiration of a genuine bodhisattva. The logic that denies birth in the Pure Land is the logic of hopeful acceptance. And as a result, hopeful acceptance is the Tathāgata’s mind of great compassion, of great sorrow. This hopeful acceptance means one also feels the Tathāgata’s great sorrow; one also feels the great, bottomless suffering of the Tathāgata, the Tathāgata’s great sorrow, the Tathāgata’s great pain. The mind that truly resonates with this is hopeful acceptance. If this mind of hopeful acceptance truly sympathizes with the great sorrow of the Tathāgata, then we will not be able to just affirm some cheap birth, birth in the transformed land, and remain there. Endlessly shining this light of selfawareness, our aspiration, our self-awareness, must infinitely proceed forward. Self-awareness must not stop. Self-awareness is not something that can stop. Self-awareness must be infinite self-awareness. It is in this way that the highest religious principle—that shinjin is buddha-nature—is opened up here. That is, shinjin is the cause of buddhahood. Or one might

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The Ālayavijñāna in Soga Reinterpretation of Dharmākara say, shinjin is the mind that aspires for buddhahood. This mind that aspires to become a buddha is the mind that aspires to save sentient beings. (SRS 5: 205)

Soga argues that Shinran’s consistent denial of the possibility to attain birth in the Pure Land through human efforts leads to a sublation of that desire to the point that it resonates with the Tathāgata’s mind of great compassion, essentially taking that compassion on oneself and aspiring to save suffering sentient beings. By correlating hopeful acceptance with the self-aspect of the ālayavijñāna, Soga is able to assert “our self-­ awareness must infinitely proceed forward,” holding that the attainment of shinjin is not simply a transformative instant that occurs once in one’s life, but instead is continually reaffirmed and re-experienced in the present instant. In this way, Soga styles Shinran’s staunch denial of the possibility of birth in the Pure Land as a motive force that propels one on to genuinely conforming with the great spirit of the bodhisattva that aspires to realize universal liberation, as opposed to being satisfied with the sort of pleasure and satisfaction human beings imagine are available to those who reach the Pure Land. We have already seen that Soga holds the causal aspect of the ālayavijñāna represents a sort of ideal toward which self-awareness in the present instant progresses. When speaking in terms of ­consciousnessonly thought, Soga describes that ideal in a variety of ways, calling it absolute, infinite, transcendent, and reflective of dharma-nature, but when he speaks of it in terms of the aspiration for birth in the Pure Land, he instead describes it as the dharma body of expedient means, which gives a concrete, understandable form to the dharma-nature that usually transcends human cognition and conception. That is, Soga holds that as the object of the aspiration for birth in the Pure Land, the various descriptions of the virtues of the Pure Land in the scriptures give form to that ideal, providing a compass point to guide present action and realize the great, compassionate aspiration of the bodhisattva to liberate all sentient beings. This aspiration for buddhahood solely seeks after the dharma body of dharma-nature. This mind that seeks after the dharma body of dharmanature is transformed and creates the dharma body of expedient means. The path to achieving the dharma body of expedient means, that is, the principle that achieves it, is this mind that aspires for birth in the Pure Land. The Tathāgata’s mind that aspires for birth in the Pure Land is what ardorns the Pure Land replete with the twenty-nine types of virtues,

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The Legacy of Seishinshugi ­ rimary and secondary, direct and circumstantial. For that reason, bep cause our true shinjin contains this aspiration for birth, we are born in the true, fulfilled land, and then, there we come to conform with the enlightenment of unsurpassed nirvana, attaining the enlightenment of the mind that seeks to become a buddha and fulfilling the mind of great compassion, taking the mind of merit transference as primary. (SRS 5: 211)

According to Soga, although the self-awareness in the mind of hopeful acceptance leads to a genuine aspiration for buddhahood, ultimately the content of that aspiration and the specific action by which that aspiration might be realized remains unclear in that awakening in itself. It is only in the awakening to this third mind of Dharmākara’s that causes one to aspire for birth in the Pure Land and is the causal aspect of the ālayavijñāna with its orientation toward the future, that that aspiration takes on concrete form. That concrete form is the scriptural representation of the Pure Land provided in Vasubandhu’s Treatise on the Pure Land— what Soga refers to above as “the Pure Land replete with the twentynine types of virtues, primary and secondary, direct and circumstantial.” Those specific forms lie in the foreground of the person of shinjin, pointing toward how they might specifically “fulfill the mind of great compassion,”2 or take on and realize Dharmākara’s aspiration in their specific karmic circumstances. By linking this aspiration for birth with the causal aspect of the ālayavijñāna, Soga is able to highlight the fact that that aspiration provides one with an ideal to aim toward in one’s present activities even if that ideal will not necessarily be realized in actuality. From Soga’s stance that correlates Dharmākara with the ālayavijñāna, the Pure Land is not a place that one will eventually go (say, after death or through intense practice in this life), but an ideal format that serves to shape action in the present. As we saw above, it is always on the horizon of consciousness and never directly becomes its object. This short summary of Soga’s argument in Nyorai hyōgen no hanchū toshite no sanshinkan fails to do justice to its richness and complexity, especially when it comes to his understanding of time, but it should suffice to give readers an idea of the overall thrust of his position. By correlating Dharmākara with the ālayavijñāna, and especially the three minds that he endows upon sentient beings with its three aspects, Soga is arguing that the significance of all of Shin Buddhist doctrine can be viewed entirely within the single, present moment of self-awareness that arises in hearing Amida’s name. This focus on the present, subjective nature of salvation is motivated on the one hand by modernist concerns, while on 270

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the other, it can be seen as Soga’s attempt to resurrect traditional Shin doctrines and provide them with a clear foundation in Buddhist philosophy, especially the Buddhist metaphysics that views all phenomena to be consciousness alone. Soga clearly has a great deal in mind in framing his argument, but in the next section I would like to point out two possible reasons that Soga attempted this creative interpretation of the three minds of shinjin through the lens of the ālayavijñāna’s three aspects.

The Issues in the Background of Soga’s Position We began this chapter with the question of why Soga would attempt to present the interpretation described above, in spite of the fact that it opened him up to criticism from scholars of both Shin Buddhist studies and consciousness-only studies. Certainly, his desire to resuscitate key concepts in the Shin tradition mentioned above was an important factor, but it seems that there are two other major problems that were on Soga’s mind when delivering these lectures. The first is the limitations that Soga saw in Seishinshugi. It seems that he is setting forth this bold argument in order to remedy the problems that he pointed out with the movement before he joined it, over twenty-five years before he delivered the lectures discussed in the previous section. The second is his concern over two major issues in traditional Shin doctrinal studies and his attempt to resolve those issues through recourse to the foundation provided by the ālayavijñāna as a latent consciousness and thus outside of the realm of ordinary, self-power, human consciousness. We should remember that Soga was not a member of the Kōkōdō from its inception. In fact, in an article that appeared in the January 1902 issue of Mujintō, he criticized Kiyozawa and the other members of Kōkōdō, raising two doubts about the Seishinshugi that they were advocating. Although Soga begins the article with high praise for Seishinshugi, calling it the “greatest product of 1901” (SRS 1: 291), he goes on to say that although he profoundly appreciates the message set forth in Seishinkai, he has doubts that are not easily resolved, so he hopes that the people of the Kōkōdō might provide him with an explanation that will help him get over that uncertainty. He describes his first doubt, writing: What I specifically respect about Seishinshugi is its passivity, its emphasis on resignation; Seishinshugi is a set of ideas that heals the moralistic suffering that arises from past behaviors. At the very least, it is a way of thinking that frees one from uselessly wasting one’s life’s efforts on the recovery of the past and allows one to turn all one’s strength to future activities. As 271

The Legacy of Seishinshugi the reverse [of this attitude to the past], they order us to work greatly in the future. Yet they do not teach what we should do in the future; they provide no positive standard or format for discernment. They simply provide pure, singular, undifferentiated power or qualities. They have given a child a sharp-whet sword. I see just how dangerous Seishinshugi can be, because it is irrationalism; because it is a system of thought that calls for blind action. . . . In short, while Seishinshugi is extremely effective in focusing a passive attitude toward the past and being resigned about one’s past mistakes, one’s past evils, I cannot help but say that it is worth practically nothing as a guide to one’s future actions. They do nothing more than just providing the energy for blind action.

In this way, Soga was initially critical of Seishinshugi because he thought that it failed to provide any clear instruction regarding how one should behave moving toward the future. That is to say, Soga criticized Seishinshugi because it failed to present any sort of ethical compass that might help guide people as they acted in the present. The second doubt that Soga expresses is related to the question of whether Seishinshugi, in its modernization project, takes a materialistic or idealistic stance when it comes to its understanding of the world. Soga writes: My second point of uncertainty regarding Seishinshugi lies in its metaphysical foundation. They distinguish Seishinshugi from idealism, holding that since the former is a practical system of thought, its first principle does not lie in initially making determinations about mind and matter. Yet is that really the case? When they first advocated Seishinshugi, they took the position of subjectivism. Yet when they came suddenly to discuss how all existents are of the same substance, I came to wonder whether they may very well be trying to say something about the first principle of the universe. And then, as it turns out, they call this the Buddha; they call it the Tathāgata; they call it light; they call it infinite wisdom; they call it infinite compassion. I cannot believe that they could present these sorts of ideas based on a materialistic foundation. (SRS 1: 293)

Soga here criticizes Kiyozawa’s refusal to take a stance regarding the question of idealism or materialism and goes on to say that without clarifying this “metaphysical foundation” for Seishinshugi, ultimately the concept of compassion that they are presenting will end up being an empty, deluded one. In response to these criticisms of Soga’s, the open pages of the February 1902 issue of Seishinkai have several articles that take up different elements of his position. Kiyozawa penned the piece “Seishinshugi to 272

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sanze” (Seishinshugi and the Three Times, 1902c), which lays out Seishinshugi’s attitude toward the past, present, and future. That article begins, “Seishinshugi takes a stance of complete resignation toward things of the past, one of complete ease toward things of the present, and one of staunch striving toward things of the future” (KMZI 6: 91). Although clearly intended as a response to Soga, the article does nothing to provide any “positive standard or format for discernment” regarding action in the future, only saying that Seishinshugi encourages an attitude of “staunch striving.” The other articles in that issue also fail to respond in any concrete terms regarding Soga’s doubts. They primarily address the first doubt about a standard for action, but all fail to set forth any such standard. In fact, there is little evidence in the articles that his interlocutors even understood his second doubt, because there is no reference to it at all in the opening pages of this issue. Soga published a response to these responses in the February issue of Mujintō, where he states: Regarding the doubts about Seishinshugi that I presented in the previous issue of this journal, the advocates of Seishinshugi have made careful explanations under titles such as “Seishinshugi to sanze” [Kiyozawa 1902c], “Ichinen no mondai, yōgō no mondai” [The Problem of the One ThoughtMoment and Eternity, Anonymous 1902a], and “Warera wa nani o nasu beki ka” [What Should We Do?; Anonymous 1902b]. I am very grateful to them. Unfortunately, I must lament the fact that I have gained almost nothing [from these articles]. My doubts remain, just as they were. I feel as though the Tathāgata has left these doubts unresolved for a time in order to give us an opportunity for spiritual development. So I humbly withdraw my questions. I have nothing other than gratitude.

Soga says that his doubts were not resolved by the response that he received, but that he will take that as an opportunity for further spiritual development. It seems that rather than seeking explanations from his friends at the Kōkōdō, he chose to join the movement and seek a resolution to those doubts himself. I have argued elsewhere that it was the first doubt that led Soga to focus on the figure of Dharmākara as the subject of faith (Conway 2017, 15–18), but surely the same concern can be seen in his discussion of the causal aspect of the ālayavijñāna and its relationship to the mind that aspires for birth in the Pure Land in Nyorai hyōgen no hanchū toshite no sanshinkan. As we have seen, there Soga argues that both of these provide an ideal to be strived toward in the future, serving as a compass for the concrete content of individual action in the present moment. It seems 273

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quite clear that the reason that Soga is so concerned with clarifying the significance of the single thought-moment of shinjin in terms of the past, present, and future in those lectures is this earlier concern about a “positive standard or format for discernment” regarding what should be done next. By linking the causal aspect with the mind that aspires for birth, Soga is able to say that the virtues of the Pure Land serve as such a standard for striving that are always just over the horizon of consciousness, and thus cannot be defiled by human, self-power machinations. Soga’s insistence on taking the consciousness-only position that “all Dharmas are consciousness alone” can be read as his attempt to respond to the second doubt that he raised. That is, we can read Nyorai hyōgen no hanchū toshite no sanshinkan as Soga’s attempt to provide a metaphysical foundation for the Seishinshugi position based on consciousness-only philosophy. It seems that the fact that Soga repeatedly returns to the theme of “all Dharmas are consciousness alone” in the course of the lectures indicates that he is attempting to set Seishinshugi firmly on what would be referred to as an “idealistic” footing if one were to use the Western dichotomy of idealism and materialism. It appears that Soga believed that without this clear foundation in traditional Buddhist philosophy, it would be impossible to explain the compassion of the Buddha and its power to transform an individual’s consciousness. I cannot treat this in detail here, but it seems that, in addition to trying to solve these doubts that he held about Seishinshugi, Soga was also trying to address two major problems in traditional Shin doctrinal studies by connecting Dharmākara to the ālayavijñāna. One is the position of Shandao’s (613–681) “two types of profound acceptance” (nishu jinshin), particularly the “profound acceptance of the individual” within Shin doctrinal studies. This issue arose repeatedly in the nineteenth century, primarily because “profound acceptance of the individual” is associated with self-power seeking in some of Shinran’s works while being prioritized in others. Soga’s discussion of the self-awareness of hopeful acceptance, which is sometimes associated with Shandao’s “profound acceptance of the individual” clearly indicates his awareness of the problem and that he was attempting to provide a solution to it (see SRS 5: 200– 202). The second issue is related to the role of Amida’s name in Shin soteriology. Throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, one of the primary issues of contention in Shin doctrinal studies was whether one needed to actively chant the Amida’s name to qualify for salvation, or if one could simply be saved by encountering the virtues the name itself 274

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possesses. In the last pages of Nyorai hyōgen no hanchū toshite no sanshinkan (SRS 5: 212–216), Soga is clearly taking a stance in this debate, holding that encountering the functioning of the name, divorced from individual consciousness of actually chanting it, is what is pivotal in the process of salvation. Such a stance only makes sense when one has recourse to the sophisticated understanding of consciousness provided by ­consciousness-only thought. By arguing that the name functions at the level of the foundational ālayavijñāna, he is taking it out of the realm of ordinary human consciousness—the sixth consciousness—which is where the problem of self-power resides. At the outset, I laid out the goal of clarifying the interpretive frame through which Soga was able to view Dharmākara and the ālayavijñāna as one and the same thing. Although the limited space of this chapter has prevented me from doing so entirely, we have certainly succeeded in pointing out several of Soga’s goals: the liberation of Shin soteriology from reliance on an external savior figure and future birth in a heavenly realm, the incorporation of Shin liberation into the experiential realm of human interiority, the contextualization of some of Kiyozawa’s primary insights in the Buddhist scriptural tradition, as well as overcoming the problems that Soga perceived in both Seishinshugi and traditional Shin doctrinal studies. While most of us frame Soga’s project as one of modernization, I believe that he himself would not characterize it that way. Instead, I think we can argue that he viewed himself as engaging in confirming the Buddhist foundation (based on his view of Buddhism as a religion of awakening) of both Shinran’s Shin Buddhism and Kiyozawa’s movement that grew out of it. His incorporation of consciousness-only concepts to describe Shin liberation can be seen as an outgrowth of that project.

Notes 1

See Conway 2016 for a more detailed treatment of Soga’s early formulations of his understanding of Dharmākara Bodhisattva.

2

This phrase is also based on Vasubandhu’s Treatise on the Pure Land. There, the practice of ekō, or merit transference, is defined as follows: “How does one perform merit transference? Without abandoning all suffering sentient beings, one continually makes an aspiration in one’s mind. Taking merit transference as primary, one is able to fulfill the mind of great compassion” 275

The Legacy of Seishinshugi (SSZ 1: 271). In laying out a system of practice that will lead to the speedy realization of the bodhisattva ideal of benefiting both oneself and others, Vasubandhu is saying that the practice of merit transference will allow one to fulfill the bodhisattva’s aspiration to realize great compassion. Based on Tanluan’s interpretations, Shinran makes a creative reinterpretation of the significance of merit transference in general, specifically correlating the “mind of merit transference” and the realization of the “mind of great compassion” with the mind that aspires for birth in the Pure Land in the chapter on faith in the Kyōgyōshinshō (see TK, 127–130; CWS 1: 103–105). Soga’s discussion in the preceding quotation is an explication of Shinran’s interpretations there.

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Chapter 12

Soga Ryōjin’s Shinran’s View of Buddhist History Robert F. Rhodes Soga Ryōjin (1875–1971) was arguably the most innovative thinker to ever appear in the history of modern Shin Buddhism. Following in the footsteps of Kiyozawa Manshi (1863–1903), who revolutionized Japanese Pure Land thought in the Meiji period (1868–1912) by incorporating philosophical ideas that had been imported into Japan from the West, Soga sought to express Kiyozawa’s religious insights in terms of traditional Shin Buddhist discourse. Soga’s many radically new ideas cannot be fully discussed in the space of this short chapter.1 Here I will limit myself to a consideration of his understanding of Buddhist history. Briefly put, Soga argues that the history of Buddhism should be understood as the history of Amida Buddha’s original vows (hongan) working ceaselessly in this world since time immemorial to save all beings by leading them to attain birth in the Pure Land and achieve buddhahood. Matters like the origins and development of Buddhist institutions and doctrine—issues that most engaged the attention of Buddhist historians of Soga’s age— are only its superficial aspects. The true history of Buddhism, Soga maintains, is the history of people seeking and achieving buddhahood by entrusting themselves to Amida Buddha’s solemn promise, embodied in his original vow, to lead all beings who practice the nenbutsu to his Pure Land.

Jōdo Shinshū as Shinran’s New View of Buddhist History In December of 1935, Soga published a short book called Shinran no bukkyō shikan (hereafter, Shinran’s View of Buddhist History), in which he developed his distinctive understanding of Buddhist history. This book is a transcript of a series of public lectures delivered by Soga on the occasion 277

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of his sixtieth birthday. These somewhat rambling but powerful lectures took place between May 10 and 12 in 1935 at the Yamaguchi Bukkyō Kaikan, a hall built by the textile entrepreneur Yamaguchi Gendō (1863– 1937) in Kyoto in 1923 for the propagation of Buddhism, and were attended by over four hundred people.2 At the beginning of this volume, Soga presents his central argument in the following words. In case you are wondering what I meant by affixing the title “Shinran’s View of Buddhist History” to these lectures, it has something to do with the founding of our Shinshū. Most people consider it only common sense to say that Shinran is its founder, that Shinran started Jōdo Shinshū. . . . However, to discuss this question sensibly, we should first investigate what it means to establish Jōdo Shinshū and therefore what Jōdo Shinshū is all about, what its concrete content is. Recently, while studying the Kyōgyōshinshō, I came face to face with that very problem: What is this Jōdo Shinshū? Suddenly, then I got the insight or inspiration: The thing called “Jōdo Shinshū” is the new view of Buddhist history experienced by Shinran, Shinran’s grasp and clarification of what constitutes the true history of the Buddhist tradition, the true spirit of the Buddhist path. Thus what goes by the name of “Jōdo Shinshū” represents the history of Buddhism as sensed by Shinran. (CS, 119–120)

Here Soga argues that the term Jōdo Shinshū expresses what Shinran (1173–1262) considered to be the “true history of the Buddhist tradition” and the “true spirit of the Buddhist path.” Ordinarily, Jōdo Shinshū is the name given to the Buddhist denomination founded by Shinran. Hence, when people call Shinran the “founder” of Jōdo Shinshū, they mean that he created a new school of Buddhism. However, for Soga, Jōdo Shinshū—which literally means “the true essence of the Pure Land way”—is not the name of a particular Buddhist denomination. Rather, he holds that it is the truth itself. Moreover, this truth is not a static and timeless principle, but something that works dynamically in the world taking the form of Amida Buddha’s original vow to lead all beings to buddhahood.3 Hence, Soga concludes, Jōdo Shinshū, the truth to which Shinran awakened, is none other than the history of the original vow working tirelessly since beginningless time for the salvation of all beings. Shinran can be called the founder of Jōdo Shinshū only in the sense that he discerned the original vow, took refuge in it, and taught others to take refuge in it as well. Although he does not say so explicitly, Soga probably derived this view of Buddhist history from Shinran’s Shōshin nenbutsu ge (Hymn of 278

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True Faith and Nenbutsu), popularly known as the Shōshinge (CWS 1: 69– 74). The Shōshinge is a lengthy hymn found at the end of the “Chapter on Practice” (Gyō no maki) of Kyōgyōshinshō (Teaching, Practice, Faith, and Realization), Shinran’s main doctrinal work. In the Shōshinge, Shinran traces the development of the Pure Land teachings, starting with Amida Buddha’s original vow as recounted in the Sutra of Immeasurable Life4 and continuing with the contributions made by each of the seven patriarchs of Shin Buddhism: Nāgārjuna, Vasubandhu, Tanluan, Daochuo, Shandao, Genshin, and Hōnen. In other words, in the Shōshinge, Shinran depicts Jōdo Shinshū—the nenbutsu path to buddhahood—as the historical elaboration of the spiritual tradition flowing forth (ruden) from the Sutra of Immeasurable Life and its proclamation of Amida’s original vow. Although Shinran does not use the term “history” to describe the transmission of the Pure Land teachings, the account of the Shin Buddhist tradition depicted in the Shōshinge was most likely in the back of Soga’s mind when he declared that Jōdo Shinshū represents Shinran’s distinctive understanding of Buddhist history. Moreover, in the passage found immediately after the lines quoted above, Soga argues that Shinran’s understanding of Buddhist history he describes was born from his encounter with his master Hōnen. Shinran received the doctrine of the nenbutsu of the original vow from Hōnen. From that time onwards this original vow served him, be it only vaguely, as a principle for viewing Buddhist history, or as what could be called the basic spirit of the history of Buddhism. . . . By way of Hōnen, then, by way of the Buddhist path that flowed through Hōnen’s personality and the doctrinal tradition he represents, Shinran quietly traced back far and deep to the background and root-source of that tradition. He traced back 2,000 years looking for the trunk or core of the long history of Buddhism. There he discovered Buddhist history with its profusion of forms, all vying with the others in beauty. What could be considered to be the trunk line in that 2,000-year-long development of Buddhism? Through the beginningless interplay of factors by which the Dharma flourishes and benefits sentient beings, Shinran was finally afforded an insight into the unifying factor of that history; that is, his spiritual eye was made to open so that he could inwardly discern the main line of Buddhist history. This very view of Buddhist history is precisely what is called Jōdo Shinshū. (CS, 120)

As is well known, at the age of twenty-nine, Shinran became a disciple of Hōnen’s and converted to Pure Land Buddhism. But why did the encounter with Hōnen provide Shinran with the fundamental standpoint from which to understand the history of Buddhism? This is because, ­according 279

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to Soga, Shinran awakened, through his meeting with Hōnen, to the dynamic activity of the original vow working within history to lead all suffering beings to buddhahood. To paraphrase Soga’s words in the quotation above, Shinran perceived the original vow manifesting itself in, and working through, Hōnen’s actions and personality. At the same time, however, Shinran also saw that there existed generation after generation of Buddhist believers in Hōnen’s background, extending back for countless eons, who had sought out, and had been saved by, the original vow. In this way, Shinran came to the understanding that (to use Soga’s words in the quotation above) the salvific activity of Amida Buddha’s original vow is the “basic spirit” or “unifying factor” of the entire history of Buddhism. Moreover, Shinran also perceived that, although a number of different teachings and paths of practice are found in Buddhism, Amida’s heartfelt wish to make all beings attain buddhahood constitutes (to cite Soga’s words once again) the “trunk or core of the long history of Buddhism.” It is for these reasons that Soga claimed that Jōdo Shinshū—the salvific activity of the original vow manifesting itself in history—provided Shinran with a new perspective for viewing Buddhist history.

The Japanese Interest in History in the 1930s It was no coincidence that Soga was drawn to the issue of Buddhist history in the mid-1930s. The 1930s were tumultuous years for Japan. The Taishō period (1912–1926), characterized as the age of “Taishō democracy,” was liberal and cosmopolitan in outlook but the political climate had changed significantly by the early 1930s. By this time, Japan had become increasingly militaristic and repressive, as exemplified by the Manchurian Incident in 1931, which resulted in the Japanese conquest of Manchuria and the creation of the puppet state of Manchukuo, and the mass arrest of left-wing thinkers and labor organizers in 1932 and again in 1933. The Marco Polo Bridge Incident in 1937, which occurred two years after Shinran’s View of Buddhist History was published, marked the beginning of a full-scale invasion of China and, ultimately, the tragic war with the Allied powers. Japan’s growing militarism was accompanied and abetted by what Tetsuo Najita and Harry Harootunian called a “revolt against the West” (1988, 711). Reacting against the earlier wholesale assimilation of Western culture, in the late 1920s and early 1930s, a number of intellectuals (many of whom remained deeply influenced by the cosmopolitanism of 280

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Taishō culture) embarked on a quest to recover the essence or the distinctive features of Japanese culture and thereby forge a new identity, both for themselves and for their country. It is important to note that their quest was not necessarily motivated by chauvinistic nationalism. Rather, these intellectuals believed that through her extensive interaction with Western thought and culture, Japan had realized “the best of East and West” and forged a “new cosmopolitan culture” that she could contribute to the world (712). Unfortunately, as Najita and Harootunian noted, “The emphasis on Japan’s special contribution to world civilization narrowed easily in the political environment of the late 1920s and early 1930s to a preoccupation with the status of Japan’s uniqueness” (712), which could be, and actually was, used to justify Japan’s aggressive policies in Asia. A representative figure in this movement to rediscover Japan’s distinctive essence was the philosopher Watsuji Tetsurō (1889–1960). Through such influential volumes as Nihon seishinshi kenkyū (Studies in the Spiritual History of Japan) published in 1926 and its sequel Zoku Nihon seishinshi kenkyū (Studies in the Spiritual History of Japan, Continued) published in 1935, he attempted to remind “his contemporaries of the pure expression of the Japanese creative power that was manifested in the past but neglected in the present” (Najita and Harootunian 1988, 744). A similar quest was undertaken by writers belonging to the Nihon Romanha (Japanese Romantic School), including such figures as Hagiwara Sakutarō (1886–1942) whose poem “Nihon e no kaiki” (Return to Japan, 1938) eulogized his own return (Najita and Harootunian 1988, 756; Doak 1994). Predictably, the quest for Japan’s uniqueness sparked a renewed interest in history, since it was hoped that the roots of Japan’s distinctiveness could be found through an investigation into the country’s past. Watsuji’s works mentioned above took the form of historical studies on various aspects of Japanese culture. Moreover, the influential study on the philosophy of history by the Marxist philosopher Miki Kiyoshi (1897– 1945) entitled Rekishi tetsugaku (The Philosophy of History), appeared in 1932. Eventually, after Japan’s invasion of China in 1937, the need to mobilize the support of the people in conducting the war led to the creation of a jingoistic school of historical analysis referred to as the “imperial country view of history” (kōkoku shikan). This school, which emphasized the unbroken continuity of the imperial line, was most closely associated with Hiraizumi Kiyoshi (1895–1984), a professor of Japanese history (kokushigaku) at Tokyo Imperial University.5 281

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In these ways, the concern with the issue of history increased among Japanese intellectuals. Soga’s interest in Buddhist history must also be understood in the context of this newfound concern with history. Like Watsuji, Soga was engaged in a quest for the roots of his tradition in order to come to terms with an age of unprecedented change. But unlike Watsuji, whose aim was to construct a new personal and collective Japanese identity by recovering the country’s cultural essence from the past, Soga’s concern was to recover the essence of Buddhism, which he considered to be Amida Buddha’s original vow working dynamically in history to lead all beings to enlightenment, in the face of the positivistic study of Buddhist history that dominated academia.

The Study of Buddhist History in Modern Japan In the first part of Shinran’s View of Buddhist History, Soga develops his interpretation of Buddhist history by mounting a polemic against what he saw as the shortcomings of the positivistic Buddhist historiography then current in Japan. During the Edo period (1603–1867), numerous seminaries were established by the Buddhist sects, resulting in an unprecedented growth of Buddhist scholarship. However, the vast majority of the studies published during this time were exegetical studies on the major texts of the different sects composed by sectarian scholars. During this time, historical studies of Buddhism in the modern sense were rare. But this is not to say that critical and historically sensitive studies were unknown. To give one well-known example, in 1745, Tominaga Nakamoto (1715–1746) published his Shutsujō kōgo (Talks after Emerging from Meditation), in which he compared the various teachings and doctrines found in Buddhism and argued that Mahayana Buddhism was a form of Buddhism that developed after the time of the historical Buddha.6 However, Tominaga was a rare exception. It was not until the Meiji period that the historical study of Buddhism became widely accepted. With the introduction of modern science and academic disciplines from the West in the Meiji period, the study of Buddhism in Japan was thoroughly transformed. The modern study of Buddhist history in Japan may be said to have begun with Murakami Senshō (1851–1929). Murakami, a Shin Buddhist priest of the Ōtani denomination, became a lecturer in Indian philosophy at Tokyo Imperial University in 1890 (Meiji 23). Four years later, he founded the Bukkyō shirin (Grove of Buddhist History), the first Japanese journal devoted to the study of Buddhist history. Both in its pages and in other academic publications, he argued force282

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fully for the need to study Buddhism historically. Murakami himself published a number of studies on Buddhist history.7 In 1901, Murakami became the center of major controversy when he proposed, in the first installment of his Bukkyō tōitsuron (Treatise on the Unification of Buddhism, 2011), that Mahayana Buddhist sutras were not preached by Śākyamuni himself but were created several centuries after his nirvana.8 This is his famous “theory that the Buddha did not preach the Mahayana” (daijō hi-bussetsu-ron). A similar theory had been proposed earlier by Tominaga, but the fact that it was being championed by a practicing Buddhist priest like Murakami proved quite shocking to the Buddhist community.9 It is significant that Soga took up Murakami’s theory in an article entitled “Daijō hi-bussetsu-ron ni taisuru gojin no taido” (My Attitude toward the Theory That the Mahayana Was Not Taught by the Buddha, 1902a) carried in the journal Mujintō in April of 1902, just months after the publication of Murakami’s volume (Soga 1973, 65–74).10 In this article, Soga declared that he found it impossible to accept that Mahayana Buddhism was not preached by Śākyamuni himself. He questions whether it is possible for the Mahayana teachings to develop out of the teachings of early Buddhism, since they are so different in character. Hence, Soga concludes, the Mahayana must have been a part of the Buddhist teachings from the very beginning. Moreover, noting that Mahayana teachings are not found in early Buddhist texts, he speculated that it was not passed down in the monastic community but was transmitted among the lay believers. Apparently, Soga was dissatisfied with this article, since he confessed, in a note at the end of the article, that he was hesitant about publishing it. Be that as it may, Soga’s engagement with the question of the relationship between Śākyamuni and Mahayana Buddhism that he first broached in this article later comes to fruition in Shinran’s View of Buddhist History. Despite the controversy caused by Murakami’s theory, the positivistic historical research that he championed was carried on by his students Washio Junkei (1868–1941), the author of the Nihon bukke jinmei jisho (Biographical Dictionary of Japanese Buddhists, 1903), and Sakaino Kōyō (1871–1933), noted for his works on Chinese Buddhist history like Shina bukkyō shikō (Outlines of Chinese Buddhist History, 1907) and Shina bukkyō seishi (Detailed History of Chinese Buddhism, 1935). Even before Murakami started Bukkyō shirin, Japanese scholars had embarked on the historical study of Indian Buddhism. The study of Sanskrit, the language of Indian Buddhism, was still undeveloped in Japan 283

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in the Meiji period and Japanese students traveled to Europe to study this language as well as the modern philological and historical methods for investigating Indian Buddhist texts written in this language.11 These students also translated a number of important studies by European scholars on Buddhist history and thought. As a result, the historical study of Indian Buddhism gradually took root in Japan. In his Shōjō bukkyō shiron (Historical Study of Hinayana Buddhism), published in 1904, Funahashi Suisai (1874–1945), a professor at Shinshū University (later Ōtani University), argued forcefully for the need to adopt the “historical” (rekishiteki) approach to Buddhist studies to supplement the traditional “systematic” (soshikiteki) study of Buddhist doctrines in order to gain a holistic understanding of the Buddhist religion (1904, 4–7).12 In a similar vein, before Sakaino wrote his studies on Chinese Buddhist history, he authored Indo bukkyō shikō (Outlines of Indian Buddhist History) in 1905. In this work, Sakaino argued that Buddhism is not a timeless truth but should be understood as growing out of the Indian cultural milieu and developing over time. Sakaino’s approach was followed by many scholars, including Umada Gyōkei (1885–1945), the author of Indo bukkyōshi (History of Indian Buddhism) published in 1917. This hefty volume of over four hundred pages is one of the first full-fledged histories of Indian Buddhism. By the time that Kimura Taiken (1881–1930) published his widely acclaimed studies on the history of Indian Buddhist thought,13 the standard evolutionary paradigm, which sees the Buddhist religion as (1) being founded by Śākyamuni, (2) developing into scholastic abhidharma Buddhism after splintering into numerous different schools, and (3) culminating in the rise of Mahayana Buddhism, had become firmly entrenched.

Soga’s View of Śākyamuni’s Place in Buddhist History Even while recognizing the importance of these new positivistic studies on Buddhist history championed by Murakami and other scholars, Soga criticizes them at length, arguing that they are totally inadequate to explain what he considers the true history of Buddhism. Although Buddhist historians focus on such issues as the original teachings of Śākyamuni Buddha and the growth of Buddhist institutions and doctrines, Soga complains that such studies only elucidate the “empty shell, the mere outward appearance of Buddhism” (CS, 126). At one point in his lectures, Soga takes up the division of the Buddhist community into different schools that occurred soon after the Buddha’s demise, and de284

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clares that such schisms are nothing more than the result of the egotistical rivalries of self-seeking monks. The true history of Buddhism is to be found in the underlying spirit of Buddhism, which, to use Soga’s analogy, strides forward like a majestic and imperturbable elephant king in spite of such petty rivalries and sectarian fragmentation of monastic institutions (127). What, then, is the true history of Buddhism? In answering this question, Soga begins from the premise that “Buddhism is not simply the doctrine which Śākyamuni realized and preached. . . . Buddhism is the doctrine directed at the attainment of buddhahood, the doctrine that teaches about the buddha, the doctrine that teaches that which makes a buddha truly into a buddha and thus aims at making all sentient beings into buddhas” (CS, 121). Inasmuch as Buddhism is the way to become a buddha (an awakened person), the history of Buddhism must be seen primarily as the chronicle of Buddhist practitioners seeking and achieving buddhahood through their encounter with the Buddha’s teachings. In Soga’s words, it must depict “the historical testimony of sentient beings, lost in delusion, staking their lives on the quest for the Buddha and finally finding him” (122). Any account that neglects its spiritual dimensions, Soga argues, is a “materialistic” interpretation of Buddhist history “that negates the very spirit of Buddhism, and leaves no room for any unified body of Buddhist truth, for any spirit pervading the whole of Buddhist history” (121).14 Soga stresses that one must never forget that the aim of studying the Buddhist teachings is to bring about an inner spiritual transformation resulting in the attainment of buddhahood. Soga further expands on this perspective by making another important point. Although Buddhist historians take it for granted that Buddhism began with Śākyamuni, Soga states that this position is not wholly correct. In Soga’s understanding, Śākyamuni became a buddha (an awakened person) when he gained insight into the Dharma, or the eternal truth. This signifies that Buddhism did not begin with Śākyamuni but has always existed since time immemorial. Śākyamuni simply discovered this eternal and unchanging Dharma, gave linguistic expression to his insight and relayed it to the people of his age. As Soga says, “The truth of Buddhism is not something produced by Śākyamuni. It is a truth without beginning or end. It existed long before Śākyamuni and is forever the same, not at all dependent on Śākyamuni’s coming into the world” (CS, 124). This notion—that the Dharma (the “truth of Buddhism” in the quotation above) did not begin with Śākyamuni but that it existed long before he attained 285

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a­ wakening—is central to Soga’s distinctive Buddhist philosophy of history. The roots of Soga’s idea are already found in the sutras of early Buddhism. In the Nagara Sutta (The City Sutra) found in the Saṃyutta Nikāya of the Pāli canon, it is said that Śākyamuni did not create the Dharma but only discovered and followed the ancient path that had already been traversed by earlier buddhas (Rhys Davids 1917–1930, 2: 74). Similarly, Soga explains that, far from being the founder of Buddhism, Śākyamuni himself was born from the eternal Buddhist Dharma. In a fascinating passage, Soga explains this idea with reference to Emperor Jinmu, the legendary first emperor of Japan. When speaking of Buddhist history, the presupposition has mostly been that Buddhism began with Śākyamuni. In my view, however, the position accorded Śākyamuni should be like that of Emperor Jimmu in Japanese history. The history of Japan is often said to begin with Emperor Jimmu’s ascension to the throne, but in fact the real beginnings of Japan go far back in time beyond that point. If we truly want to understand Buddhism, we must look for Śākyamuni’s background. What made Śākyamuni truly into Śākyamuni Buddha? . . . What was it that made the human Śākyamuni become a genuine buddha, Śākyamuni? . . . These are the important questions. (CS, 122–123)

The Japanese national ideology during Soga’s time held that the emperor was a god and that he was a direct descendant of Jinmu, the first Japanese emperor. Jinmu himself was a descendant of the Sun Goddess (Amaterasu Ōmikami) who ruled over the Plain of High Heaven (Takamagahara). Subsequently, she commanded her grandson Ninigi to descend to Kyushu. Jinmu, who was Ninigi’s great-grandson, later subjugated the Yamato region and established the Japanese state.15 As a child of his time, Soga accepted this myth of national origin and fell back upon it to express his understanding of the role of Śākyamuni in Buddhism. However, Soga’s approach, which saw the emperor as rooted in, and arising from, the history of Japan transcending the emperor himself, represents his own unique twist to the Japanese national ideology, which emphasized the absolute position of the emperor. Returning to the issue of Soga’s understanding of the role of the eternal Dharma in the history of Buddhism, Soga argues that this eternal Dharma not only gives rise to Śākyamuni but has been continuously at work even before Śākyamuni gained insight into it. Buddhism certainly is not something simply begun by Śākyamuni. . . . The Tathāgata Śākyamuni was born out of a legendary tradition that was already in place when he appeared. Such traditions have their roots in a long 286

Soga Ryōjin’s Shinran’s View of Buddhist History experience and practice of a people or, again, in the pure aspirations or feelings that lie at the bottom of such practice. While originating out of that long and profound tradition, Śākyamuni selected from it and unified it, so as to make out of it a clear guideline to follow for us sentient beings in the future. Would not that be what Śākyamuni realized, the true position he occupied, the very meaning of his coming into the world? (CS, 123–124)

Soga’s explanation here is somewhat cryptic but essentially he means that there existed even before Śākyamuni appeared a long tradition of people seeking and attaining buddhahood through their encounter with the Dharma. Although we do not know the names of these people, Soga states that the traces of their activities can be discerned in the legends recounted in Buddhist sutras. As examples of such seekers, Soga mentions the six buddhas who are said to have appeared in the world prior to Śākyamuni, the fifty-three buddhas of the past mentioned in the Sutra of Immeasurable Life (CS, 129), the innumerable bodhisattvas who welled out of the earth as Śākyamuni was preaching the Lotus Sutra, and the youth Sudhana who, according to the Flower Garland Sutra, visited fifty-three teachers in his quest for buddhahood (123). In Soga’s opinion, all of these figures above are the symbolic representations of the countless Buddhist seekers of the past. When Śākyamuni awakened to the Buddhist Dharma, he inherited the spiritual tradition embodied in these legends, systematized it into a coherent set of teachings for the benefit of future practitioners and transmitted it to his disciples and followers.

The Relationship between Śākyamuni and the Sutra of Immeasurable Life To recapitulate, Soga holds that Śākyamuni is neither the creator nor founder of Buddhism. Instead, Śākyamuni arose from, and participates in, the history of the actualization of the Dharma that reaches back to beginningless time. Hence Soga argues that “the real greatness of Śākyamuni lies in the greatness of his background” (CS, 129), the vast and profound Dharma that he realized, and even asserts that, if it were not for this background, Śākyamuni would be nothing more than a wise human being—unquestionably an extraordinary person but certainly not a buddha or an awakened being—and moreover that his teaching would be just a morally uplifting doctrine, “something not too different from, for example, Laozi’s Daodejing” (129). But what specifically does Soga mean by Śākyamuni’s background? In the later sections of Shinran’s View of Buddhist History, Soga emphasizes that it is Amida Buddha, or, more specifically, Amida Buddha’s original 287

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vow—the expression and embodiment of this buddha’s compassionate desire to lead all beings to enlightenment—that constitutes the spiritual background from which Śākyamuni emerged. Soga declares, “In my understanding, the tradition of Dharmākara Bodhisattva was, for Shinran, the pure background that gave rise to Śākyamuni. . . . The tradition in Śākyamuni’s background, this true and unadulterated tradition, must have its origin in Amida Buddha. The Buddha called Amida is ultimately the ancestor that embraces Śākyamuni; Śākyamuni is a descendant bathing in the light of Amida Buddha” (CS, 130). The vast and profound Dharma into which Śākyamuni gained insight is not a static truth. Nor is it something that can be encapsulated in such doctrines as the four noble truths and the twelvefold chain of dependent origination (129–130). Rather, it is something that works dynamically, manifesting itself as Amida Buddha’s original vow to lead all beings out of the cycle of birth-and-death and make them attain buddhahood. This dynamic salvific activity of the original vow is what Soga calls “the tradition of Dharmākara Bodhisattva” in the quotation above. Hence, Soga argues that Śākyamuni himself arose from this “tradition of Dharmākara Bodhisattva.” In other words, when Śākyamuni attained enlightenment, he awakened to Amida’s compassionate desire to save all beings as expressed in his original vow. But Śākyamuni did not just awaken to Amida’s compassionate desire to save all beings. Śākyamuni’s singular importance lies in the fact that he systematized and expressed this desire and preached it in the Sutra of Immeasurable Life so that this desire could be transmitted to later generations of Buddhists. In this context, it may be noted that Soga also equates the history of Buddhism with the history of the dissemination of the Sutra of Immeasurable Life, since it is this text that proclaims Amida Buddha’s original vow.16 Furthermore, Soga also states that, since the original vow proclaimed in this sutra constitutes the underlying spirit of Buddhism, this sutra is the root and basis of Buddhism, while all the other myriad forms of Buddhist faith that appeared in history—the cults of Maitreya, Akṣobhya, Mahāvairocana, and Bhaiṣajyaguru for example—“are all branches and flowers” that arise and flourish from the lifegiving trunk of the Sutra of Immeasurable Life. Declares Soga, “What, then, about the myriad forms Buddhism has taken in its history? They are all branches and flowers on that trunk of the Larger Sutra. They have bloomed in wild profusion and will continue to do so, precisely because the life-giving trunk is there” (CS, 127). But, on the other hand, Soga also stresses that the Sutra of Immeasurable Life itself arose from the original vow and that the original vow itself is 288

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rooted in Amida’s name (myōgō) that, in Soga’s view, constitutes the underlying reality of the universe. In an obvious allusion to the opening words of the Gospel of John, Soga makes the following startling statement. In a nutshell, the 2,000-odd year history of Buddhism is the history of the growth and transmission of the Larger Sutra of Immeasurable Life, and this is the history of the spread of the nenbutsu. Within this history of the nenbutsu, the Larger Sutra has gradually taken shape. The Larger Sutra marks the history of the nenbutsu; the nenbutsu is more fundamental than the Larger Sutra. In the beginning was the name. Before the Larger Sutra existed, the original vow of the Tathāgata was, and before the original vow existed, the name was. (CS, 133, slightly modified)

In this passage, Soga claims that the name (used synonymously with nen­ butsu in the passage above) gave rise to the original vow—the compassionate desire to lead all beings to enlightenment—and that the Sutra of Immeasurable Life (also called the Larger Sutra of Immeasurable Life and the Larger Sutra in the Shin Buddhist tradition) arose in turn from the original vow. Moreover, as the existence of various recensions of the sutra indicates,17 the Sutra of Immeasurable Life did not appear in complete form all of a sudden but gradually developed over time. Soga argues that this proves the sutra grew and perfected itself within history in response to the religious aspirations of the people. As he says, “The Larger Sutra grew up in history. What developed in the midst of history was the Larger Sutra” (CS, 133). Be that as it may, it is important to remember that Soga’s interpretation of the relationship between Śākyamuni Buddha and the Sutra of Immeasurable Life described above is based on the distinctive understanding of Śākyamuni’s role in Buddhist history found in the Sino-Japanese Pure Land tradition. In Pure Land Buddhism, Śākyamuni is depicted primarily as the Buddha who appeared in this world specifically to disseminate the Sutra of Immeasurable Life and its message of universal salvation through reliance on Amida’s original vow. Shinran makes this point explicitly in the Shōshinge, where he declares, Śākyamuni Tathāgata appeared in this world Solely to teach the ocean-like original vow of Amida. (CWS 1: 70, slightly modified)

This idea is also found at the beginning of the “Chapter on Teaching” of the Kyōgyōshinshō, where Shinran says, 289

The Legacy of Seishinshugi To reveal the true teaching: It is the Larger Sutra of the Buddha of Immeasurable Life. The central purport of this sutra is that Amida, by establishing the incomparable vows, has opened wide the dharma-storehouse, and full of compassion for small, foolish beings, selects and bestows the treasure of virtues. [The sutra further reveals that] Śākyamuni appeared in this world and expounded the teachings of the way to enlightenment, seeking to save the multitudes of living beings by blessing them with this benefit that is true and real. (CWS 1: 7, slightly modified)

In these passages, Shinran states that Śākyamuni appeared in this world specifically to disseminate Amida’s original vow. In view of Śākyamuni’s importance, the Shin Buddhist tradition has frequently described itself as “the teaching of the two worthies” (nisonkyō), the two worthies here being Amida and Śākyamuni. However, the important point is that Soga takes this idea one step further and argues that, not only did Śākyamuni appear in this world to preach Amida’s original vow in the Sutra of Immeasurable Life, but also that he himself arose from this original vow. The idea that Amida’s original vow lies in Śākyamuni’s background has an important implication for understanding Soga’s view of the position of Mahayana teachings in the history of Buddhism. By Soga’s time, most scholars had accepted Murakami’s theory that Mahayana Buddhism was not preached by Śākyamuni and had come to view the Buddhist tradition as gradually developing over time, from Śākyamuni’s relatively straightforward teaching of personal liberation, to the scholastic abhidharma Buddhism, and finally to the elaborate Mahayana doctrinal and soteriological systems. According to this evolutionary scheme of Buddhist history, Mahayana Buddhism arose several centuries after Śākyamuni’s demise and is not a direct outgrowth of Śākyamuni’s original teachings. Soga does not reject this understanding of Buddhist history outright. (Nor, it may be added, does he mention Murakami anywhere in his book.) However, Soga also asserts that “Buddhism has the identical taste of Mahayana” (CS, 127), that is, that the spirit of the Mahayana pervades and underlies all of Buddhism. As is well known, Mahayana Buddhism upholds as its ideal the figure of the bodhisattva, a Buddhist practitioner who strives, not simply to attain buddhahood for himself or herself, but to alleviate the suffering of others and make them achieve buddhahood as well. In Shin Buddhist discourse, Amida Buddha is considered to be the fulfillment and embodiment of the Mahayana bodhisattva spirit, inasmuch as this buddha promised in his original vow to lead all suffering beings to buddhahood by making them achieve birth in his Pure Land.18 In Soga’s view, 290

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this ­Mahayana bodhisattva spirit is the essence of the Buddhist religion and, moreover, Amida’s original vow, which is the consummate expression of the bodhisattva spirit, is the source and wellspring of the entire Buddhist tradition. Hence, even as he accepts that, in terms of historical development, Mahayana teachings postdate Śākyamuni by several centuries, Soga holds that the spirit of Mahayana Buddhism, as expressed in Amida’s original vow, provides the background that gave rise to the entire Buddhist tradition, including Śākyamuni and his teachings.

Soga’s Understanding of the Seventeenth Vow Finally, a word must be said concerning the way in which Soga understands how Amida’s original vow actually functions in history. Soga discerns the mechanism of this salvific activity in the seventeenth vow, which he calls “the real principle behind the history of the Pure Land path, the real principle underlying all of Buddhist history” (CS, 135). The vow reads, “If, when I attain buddhahood, the countless buddhas throughout the worlds in the ten directions do not all say and praise my name, may I not attain supreme enlightenment” (CWS 1: 13, slightly modified; cited in CS, 130). In this vow, Amida promises that, if and when he attains buddhahood, all the buddhas of the ten directions will recite and praise his name. This vow holds an important place in the Kyōgyōshinshō, where it is quoted as a proof text for the practice of the nenbutsu. After citing this vow, Soga comments, On hearing these bold words I have long contemplated this glorification of Amida by all the buddhas as happening in high heaven. In me, however, this evoked only a kind of mystical feeling without the voices of these buddhas becoming a roar to shake heaven and earth. No, the buddhas of the ten directions that praise Amida’s name are not abstract notions situated in a celestial sphere. These are buddhas working actively on this very earth, buddhas that order the history of this earth and are walking on this earth in the present. After long years of meditation on the seventeenth vow, as presented by Shinran, I came to see that Shinran had a clear vision of this. (CS, 130–131)

Here Soga confesses how he formerly believed that the glorification of Amida by the buddhas is something that happens high up in the heavens, totally divorced from everyday human activity. But, he continues, he now recognizes that these buddhas must be understood in a more concrete sense: as figures working actively on this very earth to spread and transmit the nenbutsu path to buddhahood. By hearing these figures 291

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praise Amida by reciting this buddha’s name—by reciting the nenbutsu (Namu Amida Butsu)—as stipulated by the seventeenth vow, we are enabled to attain faith and gain birth in the Pure Land. According to Shin Buddhism, birth in the Pure Land is made possible through faith. Moreover, it is said that this faith arises from hearing the name of Amida Buddha, that is to say, the nenbutsu. Such an understanding of the arising of faith has its basis in the Sutra of Immeasurable Life. As paraphrased by Shinran, it states, “All sentient beings, as they hear the name, realize even one thought-moment of faith and joy, which is directed to them from Amida’s sincere mind, and aspiring to be born in that land, they then attain birth and dwell in the stage of nonretrogression” (CWS 1: 80, slightly altered). The moment we hear the name and the desire to utter the nenbutsu arises within our hearts, genuine faith is turned over (ekō) to us from Amida, assuring us of our birth in the Pure Land.19 In Soga’s distinctive understanding of the seventeenth vow, the buddhas described as praising Amida in the seventeenth vow are identified with actual Pure Land practitioners who, in reciting the nenbutsu, enable others to awaken to Amida’s promise to save all beings and pronounce the nenbutsu themselves. The representative examples of such buddhas are the seven patriarchs of the Shin Buddhist tradition but they also include the countless generations of anonymous Pure Land believers who took refuge in the original vow and recited the nenbutsu. For Shinran, the exemplary model of such a buddha was his master Hōnen. Hearing his master intoning the nenbutsu, Shinran awakened to the original vow and was moved to recite the nenbutsu himself, thereby attaining faith and the serene but unshakable conviction that he would gain birth in the Pure Land. To recapitulate, it can be said that, according to Soga, Shinran envisioned Hōnen and the innumerable Pure Land nenbutsu practitioners before him to be the buddhas spoken of in the seventeenth vow, working ceaselessly to bring all beings to the Pure Land. In Soga’s view, the original vow works through such concrete historical figures, transmitting the nenbutsu from one generation of believers to the next.

Soga’s Quest for the Underlying Spirit of Buddhism It should be clear from the discussion above that, for Soga, the study of Buddhist history is not a dispassionate analysis of the development of Buddhist institutions and doctrines but represents his attempt to appropriate and retrieve the spirit underlying the history of Buddhism. Soga identified the spirit flowing through the history of Buddhism with 292

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Amida Buddha’s compassionate desire to lead all beings to buddhahood. Starting from this premise, Soga understands history as the stage where Amida’s salvific activity takes place and the arena in which the deepest spiritual yearning of the people is fulfilled. Such a view of history is undoubtedly a highly spiritualized and idealized one—an unabashedly “salvation history” to use a term from the Christian context. However, his view that the history of Buddhism is the chronicle of people following the path to buddhahood opened up through the practice of the nenbutsu, provided an important alternative to the positivistic views of Buddhist history then current in Japan.

Notes 1

A brief introduction to Soga’s life and thought along with translations of three of his seminal essays translated by Jan Van Bragt are found in CS, 101–156. All quotations in this chapter are from Van Bragt’s abridged and rather free translation of Shinran’s View of Buddhist History found in CS, 119–138.

2

Terakawa Shunshō has written insightful essays on Shinran’s View of Buddhist History (2007a and 2007b). The circumstances that led to Soga’s lectures are recounted in the address by Soga’s close colleague Kaneko Daiei (1881–1976), which preceded the lectures. The address is found in Soga Ryōjin senshū (SRS) 4: 475–480.

3

It may be noted that Shinran himself also did not use Jōdo Shinshū as the name of a particular Buddhist denomination. In the Mattōshō (Lamp for the Latter Ages), a collection of his correspondence, Shinran says, “In the Pure Land teaching there are the true and provisional. The true is the selected original vow. The provisional teaches the meditative and non-meditative practices. The selected original vow is Jōdo Shinshū (the true essence of the Pure Land way); good practices, whether meditative or non-meditative, are provisional ways. Jōdo Shinshū is the consummation of Mahayana Buddhism” (CWS 1: 524–525, slightly amended). As this shows, Shinran used the term Jōdo Shinshū to refer to Amida’s original vow and the Pure Land teaching based on it.

4

See Gómez 1996 for an English translation.

5

On the imperial country view of history, see Nagahara 1983 and Bitō 1984. Hiraizumi and his understanding of Japanese history are discussed in Brownlee 1997, 168–179.

6

On Tominaga, see Pye 1990. This work contains a translation of the Shutsujō kōgo. 293

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Among them were the Dainihon bukkyōshi (History of Buddhism in Great Japan), published in 1897 and the multivolume Meiji ishin shinbutsu bunri shiryō (Source Materials Concerning the Separation of Shinto and Buddhism during the Meiji Restoration), which he published together with Tsuji Zennosuke (1877–1955) between 1926 and 1929.

8

See Murakami 2011, 253–256. This theory and its background are discussed at length in Masutani 1941, 48–75.

9

In the ensuing controversy, Murakami was defrocked and banished from the Ōtani denomination. However, he was later reinstated and served as president of Ōtani University, the institution of higher learning administered by the Ōtani denomination, between 1926 and 1928.

10 Earlier, in January 1902, he had also written a short article critical of Murakami’s theory. See Soga 1973, 16–19. 11 For example, as early as 1875, Nanjō Bun’yū (1849–1927) and Kasahara Kenju (1852–1883) were sent by the Ōtani denomination to study Sanskrit under Max Müller (1823–1900) at Oxford. A number of other important Japanese Buddhist scholars also studied in Europe. 12 Funahashi also complained that the reason why many students of his day found the study of Buddhism conducted at sectarian universities unappealing is because so few professors take the historical approach in their lectures. 13 Kimura was professor of Indian philosophy at Tokyo Imperial University from 1923 to 1930. His works on Indian Buddhist thought include Genshi bukkyō shisōron (A Study of Early Buddhist Thought, 1922b), Abidatsumaron seiritsu no keika ni kan suru kenkyū (Studies on the Process of the Development of Abhidharma Treatises, 1922a), Shōjō bukkyō shisōron (A Study of Hina­yana Buddhist Thought, 1935) and Daijō bukkyō shisōron (Indian Maha­ yana Buddhist Thought, published posthumously in 1936). 14 The reference to the materialistic interpretation of history alludes to the Marxist view of history then popular in Japan. Although it was eventually suppressed as Japan became increasingly militaristic in the 1930s, Marxism was an extremely powerful presence in the Japanese intellectual scene in the 1920s and its influence was still strong in the mid-1930s when Soga published Shinran’s View of Buddhist History. For a detailed history of the Japanese socialist movement, see Duus 1988, 654–710. 15 The Japanese mythology is recounted in the Kojiki, the first history of Japan, compiled in 712. See Philippi 1969, 47–182. 16 Soga says, “In a word, for Shinran, the root and stem of Buddhist history is to be found in the Larger Sutra of Immeasurable Life; the history of Buddhism is the history of the dissemination of the Larger Sutra.” See CS, 127, slightly modified. 294

Soga Ryōjin’s Shinran’s View of Buddhist History 17 Presently, there exist seven different versions of the Sutra of Immeasurable Life: a Sanskrit version, a Tibetan translation, and five Chinese translations. A comparison of these seven texts shows that the sutra gradually developed over time. These texts are discussed in Fujita 1970, 12–32. 18 Such an understanding of the relationship between Mahayana Buddhism and Shin Buddhism can be seen in the following words in one of the letters found in the collection of Shinran’s correspondence called the Mattōshō: “Jōdo Shinshū is the consummation of Mahayana Buddhism.” See CWS 1: 524–525. 19 See the famous words of the Shin Buddhist classic Tannishō: “ ‘Saved by the inconceivable working of Amida’s vow, I shall realize birth in the Pure Land’: the moment you entrust yourself thus to the vow, so that the mind set upon saying the nenbutsu arises within you, you are immediately brought to share in the benefit of being grasped by Amida, never to be abandoned” (CWS 1: 661, slightly altered).

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Chapter 13

Soga Ryōjin’s Understanding of Merit Transference Hase Shōtō It goes without saying that the concept of ekō (usually translated as “merit transference”) serves as the centerpiece of Shinran’s thought, yet its primary purport remains unclear and there is much disagreement over how to understand this pivotal idea. So here I would like to inquire into how the Shin thinker Soga Ryōjin (1875–1971) understood the concept of ekō within Shinran’s thought. We should note that Soga’s understanding of ekō is closely linked with his ideas about Dharmākara Bodhisattva. For Soga, the role of Dharmākara in Shin soteriology was an issue of concern that occupied his thoughts throughout his life. I believe that the reason that Dharmākara played such a central role in Soga’s philosophical life is that he viewed Dharmākara as the core of Shinran’s thought regarding ekō. Soga first discusses Dharmākara in his “Chijō no kyūshu” (A Savior on Earth, 1913a). There, Soga describes how he came to the realizations that “the Tathāgata is me,” “the Tathāgata liberates me by becoming me,” and “the Tathāgata becoming me is the advent of Dharmākara Bodhi­ sattva.” Here, Soga holds that “Dharmākara Bodhisattva” is “Amida Tathāgata” appearing as the “self” of us sentient beings. To put it another way, he says that Amida Tathāgata appears in the world of sentient beings as Dharmākara Bodhisattva and works within the basis of our beings, calling out to us. It is important to see that here Soga has grasped the core of the concept of ekō. Soga sees its centerpiece in the “self-denial of Amida Tathāgata” wherein Amida renounces his throne of enlightenment and appears in 296

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the world of sentient beings as Dharmākara Bodhisattva to call out to them. Soga takes this stance because he sees the reason Amida Tathāgata can be the “mind of truth,” the “mind of compassion,” and the “mind of merit transference” is because of his self-denial in becoming Dharmākara Bodhisattva. From this perspective, Soga comes to see “the spirit of Dharmākara” in this self-denial by Amida Tathāgata and ultimately argues that Shin Buddhism will cease to exist if it loses sight of this spirit. This is Soga’s basic stance regarding ekō. However, this understanding of Soga’s has elements that contradict the traditional concept of ekō as the “transferring of merit” (or “directing of virtues”), since this traditional concept of the transferring of merit tends to obfuscate rather than clarify the aspect of Amida Tathāgata’s self-denial, which Soga holds to be the core of ekō. Why does such a problem arise? It is likely because there is some sort of problem with the traditional concept of ekō as merit transference. Here, I hope to address that issue, but before doing so, we need to take a look at the standard understanding of ekō.

The Concept of Merit Transference The original Sanskrit for the term ekō is said to be pariṇāmanā, which means “to change” or “to appear in changed form.” In daily life, this word is used to refer to how something changes into something else as it matures, as when milk changes to yogurt. The term is also used to refer to things in philosophical discussion, such as in the works of the ­consciousness-only thinkers where the “transformation of consciousness” is referred to as vijñāna-pariṇāma. That is to say, the changing of bīja (J. shuji; karmic potentiality) stored in the ālayavijñāna (storehouse consciousness) into action and the change made by the impression those actions then leave as new bīja in the ālaya consciousness are both described with the word pariṇāmanā. This term, which was translated into Chinese as huixiang (J. ekō), was incorporated into Buddhism and ultimately became a central concept in Mahayana Buddhism. In that process, pariṇāmanā, or ekō, came to be used to mean “directing the merits that one has gained to another” or “redirecting the merits one has gained for a different purpose.” There is a great variety of meanings in the term ekō, but Kajiyama Yūichi (1925–2004) has grouped those complex and multivalent uses into two major classes. The first is instances where it refers to a “change in direction” and the second refers to a “change in content.” He says that ekō as a change in direction is “the shift in direction of one’s merits such 297

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that the results of one’s good deeds, which should only return to oneself, are turned and given to another” (Kajiyama 2013, 250). This type of ekō is called “directing of merit to sentient beings.” The other type, change in content, is “a change in the quality of the merits gained from one’s good deeds so that they do not simply result in worldly good such as personal welfare, but instead serve to bring about religious awakening,” and is referred to as “directing of merit to enlightenment” (Kajiyama 2013, 250). So what significance does this concept of ekō as merit transference hold for sentient beings? It liberated the populace at large from the ideas of karmic retribution, such as reincarnation or the idea that one’s entire situation was based solely on one’s previous actions. The idea of karmic retribution holds that the responsibility for a given action lies entirely with the individual actor, such that people are understood to be fundamentally incapable of being liberated, crushed under the weight of individual responsibility. In this system of thought, people were neither able to help others nor to expect help from others. There was no internal mechanism to effect liberation such that, under this system, people could do nothing but sink into the deafening silence of absolute isolation. The concept of ekō as merit transference appeared as an idea to liberate the masses from the weight of this system of thought based on the idea of karmic retribution. As such, it became the central concept of Mahayana Buddhism that served to break people free from the islands of isolation and silence they had been banished to by the concept of total self-responsibility and to make a world of genuine equality and interaction possible. So how was this concept of merit transference applied in Mahayana Buddhism, and particularly in Pure Land Buddhism? Shandao (613–681) defines ekō as “aspiring to equally give these merits to all sentient beings such that we all awaken the mind that seeks enlightenment and are born in the Pure Land” (Shinshū shōgyō zensho, hereafter, SSZ 1: 442). These words are generally referred to as “the passage by which one performs ekō” by Shin Buddhists and they express the fundamental elements of the concept of ekō as merit transference in Pure Land Buddhism. What about Shinran? In the chapter on realization in the Kyōgyōshinshō, he quotes Tanluan (476–542?), saying, “To generally explain the meaning of the term ekō, we can say that it is to take all the merits that one has cultivated and bestow them on all sentient beings, together turning them toward the Buddhist path” (Teihon Shinran shōnin zenshū, hereafter, 298

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TSZ 1: 215). Thus, Shinran uses the term ekō to mean to turn over and direct the merits from the good actions that one has performed to sentient beings and aim to attain enlightenment together, in the same way that the patriarchs of Pure Land Buddhism such as Vasubandhu, Tanluan, and Shandao did. The term has been limited to this meaning and therefore is usually translated into English as merit transference.

Shinran’s Understanding of Ekō and the Problems That Arise Based on It When considering Shinran’s understanding of this concept, we should recognize that he has upended the traditional view of ekō. Traditionally, the subject of merit transference—the one that did the transferring— was understood to be sentient beings, but Shinran shifts that subject from sentient beings to the Tathāgata, such that the Tathāgata performs this action of ekō. Shinran set forth his interpretation of this concept by making a highly unconventional Japanese reading of a classical Chinese passage containing the term. As everyone knows, this shift in its subject or agent is where the originality of Shinran’s understanding of ekō lies. Here, however, I do not intend to consider that issue. There is another problem that arises together with this change of the subject of ekō from sentient beings to the Tathāgata. In this new understanding of Shinran’s, it becomes impossible to properly interpret the concept of ekō in the traditional way as “directing merits to another” or “turning over.” Therefore, the linchpin of Shinran’s thought regarding this concept cannot be seen clearly. Viewing Shinran’s grasp of this concept through the traditional definition of the term is like trying to view an object through an out-of-focus lens. The true content of Shinran’s concept is blurred by the idea of transferring merit. What specifically gets placed out of focus? The aspect of Amida Tathāgata’s self-denial, which is the core of the concept for Shinran, is obscured by the idea of transferring merit in the traditional definition, such that it cannot be recognized. Soga viewed Amida Tathāgata’s selfdenial and appearance in the world of sentient beings in the form of Dharmākara Bodhisattva as the centerpiece of this idea, but this selfdenial falls outside of the traditional concept of merit transference. So how can we overcome this semantic disconnect? By changing the traditional interpretation of the concept as “directing or transferring merit.” How should it be changed? We should reconsider the meaning of this 299

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concept by returning to the original Sanskrit term pariṇāmanā, which, meant to “appear in a different form” (to transform) before it was translated into Chinese to mean “transfer merit.” By doing that, the central function of ekō as Amida Tathāgata’s self-denial in becoming Dharmākara Bodhisattva and appearing in this world can be understood more clearly.

Ekō as “Expression” Soga says that the problem with the traditional understanding of ekō as “transferring merits” or “turning over” is that it makes it appear that the concept refers to the exchange of items. He says, “Although some people interpret ekō to mean that sentient beings stand apart from the Tathāgata, with it doing the giving and them receiving, as though there were some sort of exchange of items, that is not the case” (Soga Ryōjin senshū, hereafter, SRS 11: 103). However, in traditional Shin studies, the concept of ekō was seen as “bestowing something,” and the experience of other-power was thought to be the reception of that thing that was given from outside oneself. What is wrong with this sort of an understanding of ekō? The problem is that the merits that are turned over end up being inert items that do not work actively within the recipient. In the Kyōgyōshinshō, Shinran holds that teaching, practice, faith, and realization are all given to sentient beings from the Tathāgata. And yet, when faith is understood to be bequeathed by the Tathāgata, it ends up becoming belief and ceases to be faith itself. So in that case, it ceases to be the active principle that brings about awakening and liberation in sentient beings. In order for faith to function as such an active principle, it must be understood as the appearance of the Tathāgata within sentient beings in a different form. For that reason, Soga argues that the term “expression” is more appropriate than “turning over” to describe ekō: Ekō is to express. Since the distant past, ekō has been understood to mean “to give,” to turn over from oneself and give to other sentient beings. While this is of course the case, I am not satisfied with this sort of an interpretation alone. I think that ekō means to express. Ekō in Shin Buddhism is ekō as expression. So what does this term “express” mean? Ekō as expression does not mean doing something based on one’s own intellectual capacity, wisdom, will, or desire, but instead flowing in the way water flows from high to low. When water flows, it does not sweep away rocks, but flows around them. I

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So what is the decisive difference between understanding ekō as “transferring merit,” or “turning over,” and seeing it as “expression”? In the view of ekō that sees it as transferring merit, the subject of the transferring is oneself and one’s own will or intellect, which gives the impression of the canyon rapids that sweep away any rock or boulder that does not suit their fancy. There, we get a sense of the self-assertiveness, selfishness, and arbitrariness of the one doing the transferring. On the other hand, in ekō as expression, the subject sets aside its own will and follows along with the other. It transforms itself to flow along the form of the rocks and boulders, giving the sense that it is expressing itself through these other things. In this imagery, we can see the self-denial of the subject of ekō, rather than its self-assertion. As these two different types of understanding ekō become clear to us, we should note that the subject of the transfer or transformation comes to take on two different faces. While in the understanding of ekō as merit transference, the Tathāgata as the agent doing the transferring appears as an entity of self-assertion and self-imposition, in the view that sees ekō as an expression or transformation of the Tathāgata, it appears as an entity of self-denial. While we feel the Tathāgata’s self-will in its self-assertiveness, in the Tathāgata’s self-denial, we can recognize that the Tathāgata is the mind of truth, the mind of compassion, the mind of purity. Which of these two is the true form of ekō? Clearly, it is the latter. Put in the terms of Pure Land Buddhism, ekō as expression is Amida Tathāgata’s self-denial and appearance in the world as Dharmākara Bodhi­sattva. Amida Tathāgata’s becoming Dharmākara Bodhisattva is Dharmākara’s taking upon himself all the suffering of sentient beings. Therefore, Shinran calls Dharmākara the “mind of the ocean of the multitude of beings” and says that “this mind completely fills the world like innumerable dust particles.” In these expressions, we can see clearly

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that Shinran has shifted from the former, traditional view of merit transference to the latter one of expression. Shinran viewed Amida Tathāgata’s appearance as Dharmākara Bodhi­ sattva within the world of sentient beings as the Tathāgata’s self-­denial and saw that to be the focal point of ekō. We can say that Shinran’s understanding of ekō has commonalities with Simone Weil’s idea of “creation.” Creation is generally understood to be the expression of God’s will and His self-assertion. Weil, however, says that creation is God’s self-­ denial. The presence of evil in a world created by God means that God created an imperfect thing—that is, He failed. If God had not made creation, He could have remained totally perfect in singularity, but through creation He brought about division within Himself, becoming imperfect. But if we hold that God cannot be God without creation, then the fact that God made creation is not God’s self-assertion, but rather signifies His self-renunciation, or self-denial. God’s self-denial is His allowing imperfection to exist. Herein lies “God’s love.” Therefore, God has two faces: “the God of self-assertion” and the “God of self-denial,” or “God as power” and “God as love.” “God as love” is usually covered up behind “God as power.” However, God’s true substance must be seen as that hidden “loving God.” When the true substance of ekō is seen as the Tathāgata’s self-denial, rather than self-assertion, then the traditional understanding of the concept of ekō as transferring one’s merits to another needs to be changed. This view of ekō as merit transference arose when the Sanskrit for “to appear in a different form” (pariṇāmanā) was translated into Chinese. We must say that the original meaning was warped by this translation. Therefore, rather than taking the sense of merit transference imputed into the Chinese translation of the term as the starting point, we must reinterpret this concept by tracing back to the pre-Chinese sense of “appearing in changed form.”

The Relationship between Amida Tathāgata and Dharmākara Bodhisattva in the View of Ekō as Expression In Soga’s interpretation of ekō as “expression,” what he calls “expression” refers to the absolute denying itself and appearing in the relative world in relative form. The absolute appears within the relative world not as the absolute, but having changed its form into the relative. 302

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Nishitani Keiji (1900–1990) used a metaphor that accurately expresses this structure of ekō as transformation that I would like to introduce here. He writes about a single board dividing off two rooms. The dividing line is like a single board that is dividing two separate rooms. The side of the board facing Room A (Side x) represents Room B by showing the limit of Room A. We can say that, in its substance, Side x is the expression of B appearing in A. At the same time, however, this same Side x that is an expression of B also belongs to A as a part of it. In that it appears within A, as a phenomenon, it belongs to A and is a part of A’s structure and capacities. The same can be said for the side of the board that is facing Room B (Side y). Side y belongs to Room B, is a part of its structure, and as a phenomenon is a part of the phenomena of B. Yet at the same time, Side y is in its substance a representation of A within B as something that delineates B from A, and is thus an expression of A appearing within B. Generally speaking, a “divide” includes the sense that the division is also a point of contact. And that contact exists as a connection that above I called inter-projection or inter-penetration. If we call this sort of structure “representative mutuality,” what is critical in mutual interconnection is first the point that when something which in its substance belongs to A expresses itself (appearing or entering) within B, or projects itself as a phenomenon within B, it does not arise within B as A, but instead arises as a part of B. Put in another way, when the substance of A conveys itself to the substance of B, it does not do so in the form of A, but in the form of B. A divides and presents itself in the form of B, and B then possesses what was received from A in the form of B. This is the working of A in its self-conveyance to B. The same holds for the conveyance from B to A. (2013, 133)

In this metaphor, Nishitani is expressing the relationship between the absolute and the relative, or the Tathāgata and sentient beings in the interrelation between Rooms A and B. We should note that in the interconnection between the two rooms, when A expresses itself within B, it does so not as A itself, but in the form of B. That is, when the Tathāgata expresses itself within the world of sentient beings, it does so not as the Tathāgata, but it instead denies itself as the Tathāgata and takes on the form of the world of sentient beings. In other words, Amida Tathāgata does not appear in the world of sentient beings as Amida Tathāgata, but functions as Dharmākara Bodhisattva. Nishitani calls this a relationship of “representative mutuality,” but it also describes the relationship of ekō. What is critical in that relationship—what must not be overlooked— is Amida Tathāgata’s denial of itself as Amida Tathāgata and appearance  in the world of sentient beings taking the form of Dharmākara 303

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­ odhisattva. This is a repetition, but the traditional concept of ekō as B merit t­ ransference does not grasp this relationship, which is really the crux of ekō. That is why Soga argues that we must understand ekō not as “turning over,” but instead as “expression.”

Dharmākara Bodhisattva as the Mind of the Ocean of the Multitude of Sentient Beings and the Calling Voice of Amida The structure of ekō as understood by Soga is what Nishida Kitarō (1870– 1945) was trying to grasp in his discussion of religion. It is well known that when Nishida was writing “Basho teki ronri to shūkyō teki sekaikan” (The Logic of Place and Religious Worldview, 1946), he said to friends and acquaintances that “the foundation of Shin Buddhism can only be laid upon a logic of place.” These words are rather oblique and it is unclear exactly what Nishida was trying to say with them, but it seems that he was aiming, perhaps unintentionally, to clarify the structure of ekō, which is the core of Shin Buddhism. Nishida says that a theory of religion that grasps it in terms of place is one that sees “the absolute as denying itself, changing itself into the relative, and expressing itself through the relative.” That is, the transcendent becoming immanent. It is God or Amida appearing not in the heavens above, but changing form to appear in the very earth where we sentient beings live. Described in Shin Buddhist terms, that is Amida Tathāgata denying himself to become Dharmākara Bodhisattva, transforming his body into the world of sentient beings’ karmic limitations. Nishida describes this using the term “expression,” just as Soga does, so we can say that Nishida is clarifying the concept of ekō in Shin Buddhism using his “logic of place.” The other thing that is worthy of note in Nishida’s grasp of religion in terms of place is the fact that the absolute and the relative are seen to be in a relation of “inverse correspondence.” Inverse correspondence means that the absolute is not seen as being to the fore of the relative, or in front of it, but instead appears and calls out to the relative from behind, or from under its very feet. Using Shin terms, Dharmākara Bodhi­ sattva does not appear before sentient beings, directly in front of them, but instead secretly behind them, or at the very ground under their feet. Why does such a thing happen? Because the absolute denies its absoluteness and changes form to appear in the relative world. When that happens, Dharmākara Bodhisattva becomes a force that calls out to sentient 304

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beings from behind them, or from the depths of the earth under their feet. Nishida alludes to this inverse correspondence between the Tathāgata and sentient beings saying, “It is not Shin Buddhism unless one can hear the calling voice of the Buddha.” Therefore, if we grasp ekō in this way, it is not the calling out of Dharmākara Bodhisattva to sentient beings from the heavens above, but is instead his appearance within the great mass of karmic relationships that make sentient beings what they are—the vast karmic ground on which they live—and his calling out to them from there. That is why Shinran called Dharmākara Bodhisattva the “mind of the ocean of the multitude of beings” (TSZ 3 [“Wabun hen”]: 171). He held that “this mind completely fills the world like innumerable dust particles” (TSZ 3 [“Wabun hen”]: 171) and viewed the centerpiece of ekō to be the appearance of the formless Tathāgata from the realm of singular suchness taking a variety of forms, such as a fulfilled body, response bodies, and transformed bodies.

The Grounded Nature of the Original Vow What must be noted is that Shinran and Soga understood ekō first to be the self-denial of the Tathāgata, or the Tathāgata’s becoming Dharmākara Bodhisattva, and second to be the Tathāgata’s becoming Dharmākara Bodhisattva and its appearance in this world of sentient beings. The Tathāgata’s becoming Dharmākara Bodhisattva signifies the fact that the place where ekō functions is the world of karma in which sentient beings are living. Therein lies the nature of the original vow as the great, supporting earth (daichi) for sentient beings. I have already discussed the significance of the Tathāgata’s self-denial above, so in this section I would like to consider in more detail the significance of the fact that the place where the original vow works is the great, supporting earth upon which sentient beings’ actions are based. In Nihonteki reisei, Suzuki Daisetsu (1870–1966) views the appearance of a distinct Japanese spirituality in Shinran’s Pure Land thought and understands its unique nature to lie in its rootedness in the great, supporting earth, or groundedness. This groundedness refers to the fact that spirituality works by permeating the great, supporting earth upon which sentient beings live. Yet this grounded nature of spirituality discussed by Suzuki must also mean the grounded nature of the original vow. In order for the original vow to function actively within sentient beings, it must be understood in relation to the place where it appears and functions. 305

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It seems, however, that although Shin Buddhism often speaks of the original vow, not much attention has been paid to the place where it works. For instance, in Shin discourse on the original vow, we often hear people say things such as, “sentient beings are the object of the Tathāgata’s vow,” or “the Tathāgata sets its thoughts on sentient beings,” or “the Tathāgata’s aspiration is focused on sentient beings.” Yet it appears that in most of those cases, the original vow is being understood divorced from its relationship to the place where it actually functions. As such, the original vow ends up simply being an abstraction. We must be cognizant of the fact that the original vow only becomes concrete when understood in its connection with the great, supporting earth that is sentient beings’ karma. Soga’s theory of Dharmākara Bodhisattva calls attention to that fact. What Soga had in mind when he argued that “Dharmākara Bodhi­ sattva is the ālaya consciousness” was the significance of “the great earth of sentient beings’ karma” as the place where the original vow functions. The ālaya consciousness can be understood as being synonymous with the great, foundational karma of sentient beings. About ten years before Suzuki wrote Nihonteki reisei, Soga expressed his understanding of the place where the original vow works as the great earth of sentient beings’ karma in the following way: Shinran’s nenbutsu—the whole of the true history of Buddhism for him—is all connected to the great earth. That history must all be the record walking upon that great earth. In this way, only in this true history of the great earth, have our ancestors buried their bones within it, have our ancestors raised their birth cries upon it, and have they shed their blood into it. The bones and blood of our ancestors all came out of the great earth; they were all discovered from the great earth. Shinran is clearly aware of this fact. What are referred to as the Mahayana sutras all show that fact. They were not just written about some otherworldly fantasy, and although they speak freely and unhinderedly about other worlds, it is because they have a very profound relationship to things on this earth. It is because they have perceived the heavenly ideal of flesh and blood as truly lying within the great earth. A heaven that is unrelated to the earth is meaningless. (SRS 5: 442–443)

In 1936, a year after writing this passage, Soga described in the following way how he realized that past karma (shukugō) is instinct, saying that this recognition allowed him to see for the first time what past karma means: For several decades, now, I have harbored a certain doubt about Buddhist doctrinal studies and have had a question about them. What was it? It was the issue of past karma. It was the question of what is past karma. I have 306

Soga Ryōjin’s Understanding of Merit Transference learned that past karma is an important doctrine, or doctrinal principle that is essential to understanding causation in time in Buddhism. That is what I have long been taught. And yet, I could not be fully satisfied with that explanation. Trying to use such a doctrine or doctrinal principle to understand my own life or my own behavior did not lead to a meaningful answer. So for the past several decades I have been inquiring into the fact of past karma as a fact, not as a doctrine or a doctrinal principle, or in any other sense. Yet, in November of 1936, when I was talking about something at a certain place, all of a sudden a sense arose in me. I heard the exclamation, “Past karma is instinct.” At this point, that doubt that I had harbored for decades was resolved in one momentous instant. I will never forget that insight. . . . “Past karma is instinct.” While that is certainly the case, “past karma” is in a sense an old, lifeless word and “instinct” is a new, living word. That is, I was able to translate a term from Buddhist jargon, which might be considered a dead word, into a living, contemporary language. At the same time, if we apply such a living word to one that might seem to have already died, we can see—perhaps not very clearly—that this archaic language that might have seemed lifeless is not really dead. Through that application to the older term (past karma), I was able to discern that there was a more profound, inner significance within that contemporary term (instinct). However, I was not yet able to clarify what meaning that holds. (SRS 11: 78–79)

So what is that “more profound, inner significance” that Soga grasped vaguely but was not able to clearly express when he intuited that “past karma is instinct”? It is that “instinct” is the infinitely broad and deep world of life in which we have lived since time immemorial and that that world is permeated with “the principle of intuitive interrelation.” Recognizing this, Soga states: I feel that recently I have come to see clearly the nature of instinct. I have come to realize that instinct is the capacity to intuitively interrelate. . . . Our instincts themselves intuitively interrelate. We are endowed with the capacity to intuitively interrelate from the time we are born. . . . The principle at the foundation of the universe, at the foundation of human life, becomes clear through intuitive interrelation. Through intuitive interrelation, we come to know the past, the future, and the present. Where can we find the principle that allows us to know these three worlds? . . . Intuitive interrelation itself is the content of instinct. (Soga Ryōjin kōgi shū, hereafter, SRKS 1: 17–18)

By describing instinct in this way, Soga is focusing on the fact that the original vow appears and functions within the great earth of past 307

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karma—that is, within the great life force that is instinct. Further, he states, “The Buddha’s original vow is the great life force, the great principle, the great spirit within that instinct. . . . The Buddha’s original vow permeates instinct and transcends it” (SRKS 4: 161–162). He says that the original vow has its roots in the depths of instinct. He also says that from the perspective of the world of instinct, the original vow appears as responsive resonance. The original vow appears in the world of past karma and is felt in that world. What Soga has in mind when he holds that “past karma is instinct” is none other than the idea that the ālaya consciousness is the place where the original vow functions. Dharmākara Bodhisattva is the expression of the grounded nature of the original vow in a specific image. Therefore, Shinran said that Dharmākara Bodhisattva is the “mind of the ocean of the multitude of beings” and held that “this mind completely fills the world like innumerable dust particles” (TSZ 3 [“Wabun hen”]: 171). The “mind of the ocean of the multitude of beings” is also the ālaya consciousness. Dharmākara Bodhisattva is the “mind of the ocean of the multitude of beings” because the original vow does not appear in some pure, heavenly realm, but in the great earth of past karma where sentient beings’ evil and defilements are accumulated and it calls out to sentient beings from within that defilement. Sentient beings in the midst of that defilement come into contact with the pure mind of Dharmākara Bodhisattva and that defilement is thereby transformed. The reason that Shin Buddhism has not yet been able to focus on Shinran’s understanding of ekō as the centerpiece of its soteriology is that ekō has been understood to mean “directing of virtue” or “transferring of merits.” Soga’s theory of Dharmākara Bodhisattva is an attempt to shed light on the central role that ekō plays in Shinran’s thought, which had up to that point been obscured or underappreciated because of this misunderstanding of the concept. When ekō is understood as “merit transference,” it is impossible to leave behind the sense that Amida Tathāgata is flying high above the world of sentient beings as a transcendental entity and showering down merits onto sentient beings. In that image, there will always remain a sense of the arbitrary nature of the Tathāgata and the salvation it doles out. Yet when ekō is understood to mean that the Tathāgata, denying itself, becomes Dharmākara Bodhisattva and calls out to sentient beings as the “mind of the ocean of the multitude of beings,” then Dharmākara Bodhisattva can be seen as a mind of complete truth, great compassion, and transformative power. Therefore, Soga takes up the following pas308

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sages from Shinran’s “comment on the intent of the Buddha” in requiring sentient beings to have a faith with three distinct aspects in the eighteenth vow as a condition for birth in the Pure Land, which appear in the questions and answers on the three minds and the single mind in the chapter on faith in the Kyōgyōshinshō, where Shinran paid close attention to the significance of the appearance of Dharmākara as the mind of sentient beings: The Buddha’s intent is difficult to determine. Although that is the case, in humbly considering this mind [that is, the “mind of the ocean of the multitude of beings,” or Dharmākara Bodhisattva’s mind], the ocean of the multitude of beings [that is, sentient beings] have been from the beginningless past down to the present day—the present instant—evil and defiled, devoid of any pure mind. They have been false and deceptive, devoid of any true mind. Based on this, the Tathāgata, out of pity and compassion for the ocean of suffering sentient beings, when engaging in bodhisattva practices over inconceivably, immeasurably, long kalpas, in all three modes of action, never for even a thought-moment or a millisecond was impure or without a true mind. The Tathāgata, with this pure mind of truth, achieved the utmost virtues—complete, pervasive, unobstructed, inconceivable, inexpressible, indescribable—and through the Tathāgata’s extended mind, bestowed them on the ocean of the multitude of beings, who are possessed of all afflictions, evil karma, and wrongheaded wisdom. This is the expression of the true mind that benefits others. Therefore, it is not at all tainted with a cloud of doubt. (TSZ 1: 116–117) In this way, sentient beings of the world of innumerable dust particles transmigrate in the ocean of the afflictions, and drown in the ocean of birth and death, without a mind of pure or true ekō. Therefore the Tathāgata, grieving over the ocean of all suffering sentient beings, when engaging in bodhisattva practices in all three modes of action, in every thought-­ moment and millisecond, took the mind of ekō (transformative power) as primary, was able to fulfill the mind of great compassion, and thus bestowed the true mind that aspires for birth in the Pure Land and benefits others upon the ocean of being. The aspiration for birth is the mind of ekō. Because this is the mind of great compassion, it is not at all tainted with a cloud of doubt. (TSZ 1: 127–128)

Soga discusses these passages from Shinran’s “comment on the Buddha’s intent,” saying: When we read the comment on the three minds in the chapter on faith, the fact that the mythical Dharmākara Bodhisattva is truly set forth there as a historical reality should genuinely surprise us and also move us profoundly. In fact, the argument laid out there is truly unheard of elsewhere. Shinran 309

The Legacy of Seishinshugi discovered that the Dharmākara Bodhisattva, who is described and relayed mythically in the Larger Sutra, is a buddha here in the present, the present Dharmākara. Further, he concretely depicts the interior of Dharmākara Bodhisattva, the mind of Dharmākara Bodhisattva, in a way that makes it visible to the eye. Even calling Shinran’s ability to concretely depict the interior of a buddha—a buddha’s mind—awe-inspiring is insufficient praise. One cannot find this anywhere else. (SRS 6: 64–65)

Up until this point, I have tried to clarify the reason that Soga attempted to grasp the central purport of Shinran’s thought regarding ekō through reference to Dharmākara Bodhisattva. Ekō does not refer to something as vague as gratefully receiving the merits bestowed upon one from the outside by the Tathāgata but instead that the Tathāgata becomes Dharmākara Bodhisattva, that is, the “mind of the ocean of the multitude of beings,” and calls out to each individual sentient being in the ten directions from the bottom of the ocean of the multitude of beings. Soga held that this is where the spirit of Dharmākara Bodhisattva lies and said that Shin Buddhism will cease to exist if this spirit is forgotten. In saying this, Soga is pointing out the need to clearly delineate where the linchpin of ekō lies. The famous positions that Soga took later in life, such as the idea that “past karma is instinct” or that “Dharmākara Bodhisattva is the ālaya consciousness” are also related to this stance about ekō. That is, they clarify that Amida Tathāgata’s becoming Dharmākara Bodhisattva and appearing within the very midst of sentient beings’ world of karma is the centerpiece of Shinran’s understanding of ekō and show why ekō is an “expression” of the Tathāgata in this world.1

Soga’s Grasp of the Two Types of Ekō and a View of History Based on the Original Vow Up to this point, I discussed how Soga understood ekō as the centerpiece of Shinran’s thought through his theory of Dharmākara Bodhisattva. However, based on Tanluan’s interpretation of the term ekō, Shinran holds that there are two types of ekō—an aspect oriented toward the Pure Land (ōsō) and an aspect oriented toward benefiting other suffering beings in this world (gensō)—which further complicates the matter. In this section, I will discuss Soga’s understanding of these two types of ekō. It seems one would be hard-pressed to find another Shin thinker who vacillated between as many different understandings of the two types of ekō as Soga did. That fact also means that no one has attempted to con310

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sider the various subtle and complicated elements involved in the transformation of the Tathāgata and its appearance within human beings to the extent that Soga has. In Soga’s “Jiko no gensō ekō to shōgyō” (The Self’s Gensō Ekō and the Sacred Teachings, 1917b), a famous work from the middle period in the development of his thought, he made the unheard-of assertion that gensō ekō should be understood to refer to the teachings one encounters that set one on the Buddhist path. As is well known, based on the ideas that Soga expressed in that article, Terakawa Shunshō set forth his argument that Shinran’s presentation of the two types of ekō in the Kyōgyōshinshō should be understood as two ways in which the Tathāgata functions in this world rather than two modes of being that sentient beings take (one in the process of seeking birth in the Pure Land and one after having attained it; Terakawa 1993).2 However, it appears that Soga himself, late in life, moved on to a more comprehensive position that included the latter stance within the former one. Regarding that shift, Soga states, “It seems that regarding the issue of the two types of ekō, the going and returning, Shinran late in life entered into an entirely new way of seeing the relationship between going and returning” (SRS 11: 150) and takes up the following wasan as an expression of that new understanding: “In the inconceivably great debt of gratitude to the ekō of Namu Amida Butsu, one enters into the returning aspect of ekō based on the benefits of the going aspect of ekō” (TSZ 2 [“Wasan hen”]: 183). What is it that Soga is viewing as “an entirely new way of seeing” this issue that Shinran came to late in life around the time that he wrote this Shōzōmatsu wasan? I believe that Soga sees Shinran as having come to appreciate even more profoundly the fact that the working of the Tathāgata’s ekō, which takes the form of Namu Amida Butsu in this world, appears in the historical world of sentient beings, infecting it and spreading within it, while maintaining a rhythmic or responsive resonance wherein one “enters into the returning aspect of ekō based on the benefits of the going aspect of ekō.” In that connection, what is of interest is Soga’s idea of the “great returning aspect” (dai gensō). Soga understands the functioning of the Tathāgata’s ekō broadly as the “great returning aspect” and holds that both the going aspect and the returning aspect are included within it, saying, “The going aspect has already been established within the great returning aspect and from there a secondary return aspect arises” (SRKS 1: 127). Soga understands the two types of ekō as being the appearance of the functioning of Tathāgata’s “great returning aspect” taking 311

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on the two forms of the going aspect and the returning aspect. Soga sees that functioning as bringing about the establishment of faith within sentient beings and further within that faith sees a shift from the going aspect to the returning aspect where reception and action alternate rhythmically such that that working functions in the human historical world from Śākyamuni to Nāgārjuna, to Vasubandhu, Tanluan, Daochuo, Shandao, Genshin, Hōnen, and Shinran, and then on to us, infecting each one in turn and realizing both the going and returning aspects within each. Because Soga understood the Tathāgata’s “great returning aspect” to function throughout the history of sentient beings taking the form of the ekō of the secondary returning aspect and the going aspect, he saw the two forms of ekō as showing a view of history based on the original vow. When the working of the Tathāgata’s original vow is taken to be its “great returning aspect” and the two types of ekō are understood as elements within that working, the two types of ekō can be seen as expressions of the “ornaments of the Pure Land.” The ornaments of the Pure Land are a description of the way in which the pure, singular mind of the Tathāgata takes on a variety of forms, becoming the twenty-nine ornaments within the threefold world of the Pure Land—the Buddha, bodhi­ sattvas, and land—and glints out within the historical world of sentient beings. The reason that the Tathāgata’s vow mind takes on those various forms and appears within the world of sentient beings is in order to allow sentient beings to come into contact with the pure mind of the Tathāgata, which is at the foundation of those forms, through them. The mind of sentient beings that encounters the Tathāgata’s pure mind and is purified by it is thereby caused to transcend the ocean of birth and death and reach nirvana. The functioning of the Tathāgata that causes this is the going aspect of ekō. Because sentient beings are able to come into contact with the Tathāgata’s pure mind and are led to nirvana within the teaching, practice, faith, and realization of the Pure Land way, Shinran says, “As to the going aspect of ekō, it contains the true teaching, practice, faith, and realization” (TSZ 1: 9). The content of the mind that is brought about in this way through the functioning of the going aspect of ekō is none other than “the mind that aspires to buddhahood.” And yet, even as sentient beings are turned toward the direction of nirvana through this desire to attain buddhahood, because of it they attain the energy to further remain in this real world and ground themselves in the depths of this historical world. This is what Soga calls the

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secondary returning aspect and what is traditionally referred to as “the mind that saves sentient beings.” The dual movement wherein the singular, pure mind of the Tathāgata expresses itself within the world of sentient beings in varied forms and causes sentient beings to also achieve that singular, pure mind is, in terms of the ornaments of the Pure Land, understood as the interpenetration of the varied and the singular (kōryaku sōnyū). Tanluan’s discussion of the reciprocal interaction between the two elements of this interpenetration is actually a rephrasing of the development of the going and the returning aspects within the two types of ekō. The fact that Tanluan, as the author of the Commentary on the Treatise on the Pure Land, described both this interpenetration and the two types of ekō is quite meaningful. Shinran’s idea of the two types of ekō is actually a description of the way in which the ornaments of the Pure Land develop in time in the process of interpenetration between the varied and the singular. The two types of ekō express an understanding of history as the playing out of the original vow in the historical world, but when expressed spatially with language such as “the Pure Land,” it becomes the development of the interpenetration of the varied and the singular. In closing, I would like to inquire into what comes to the fore as the central issue in the two types of ekō when one takes up the comprehensive stance that Soga did late in life. In the view of the two types of ekō that regards them both as different forms of the Tathāgata’s working in this world that was stressed by Tera­ kawa, emphasis is laid upon “attaining the mind brought about by the going aspect of ekō” and founding oneself on the awareness that one is a member of the group rightly assured of attaining buddhahood. In the comprehensive standpoint, however, that awareness comes to be understood further as the religious life referred to in the phrase “birth in the Pure Land.” In that perspective, the awareness of one’s position as a member of the group of the rightly settled becomes both more concrete and more profound. The content of such a religious life comes to be seen as “entering into the returning aspect of ekō based on the benefits of the going aspect of ekō.” In the former stance, having an awareness of oneself as having entered the stage of the rightly assured is emphasized because the two types of ekō are understood primarily from the perspective of the attainment of faith. However, since one is settled as a member of the group of the rightly assured in the present life, living as a rightly assured one

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must be living one’s present life founded in the awareness of being in that state of right assurance. Because that is the case, it becomes necessary to grasp living in the state of right assurance within the religious life that is referred to as birth in the Pure Land. So what, exactly, is birth in the Pure Land? It means being born in the Pure Land, that is to say, to have the Pure Land as the place in which one lives. So what is it to be born in the Pure Land? It does not mean that one reaches a Pure Land that exists in the west, billions of worlds away from here. It is said in the sutras that the Pure Land is not far away from here. To be born in the Pure Land means that the pure mind of the Tathāgata flows into the world in which we live and that we become able to live absorbing that pure mind. Biological life lives on the earth absorbing the oxygen that is contained in the air. In the same way, the pure mind of the Tathāgata has come blowing into this world of endurance (sahā) where we live, and human beings are able to live in this world of suffering by absorbing that mind. That is where the significance of “birth in the Pure Land” lies. The reason that the Pure Land is referred to as a “fulfilled land” and that living in that fulfilled land is called “birth difficult to conceive” is to call attention to the hard-to-grasp reality that human beings here are being given life through the pure mind of the Tathāgata that flows there. This is what is referred to in the phrase “the ornamentation of the Pure Land.” The ornaments of the Pure Land are the reflection of the Tathāgata’s pure mind as it changes shape and appears within the world of suffering where human beings live and, through those ornaments, human beings are able to come into contact with the Tathāgata’s pure mind, ultimately attaining nirvana. In this way, Shinran understood birth in the land of peace and contentment to be the “path to ultimately attain buddhahood.” The original vow, as the Tathāgata’s pure mind, which takes on various forms, appearing in the historical world of human beings, and functions as the power of the original vow, is the Tathāgata’s great returning aspect, or the working of ekō. However, the reality that is grasped in the basis of the idea of the returning aspect of ekō—that the formless Tathāgata takes shape and appears within the historical world of humanity—is not unique to Pure Land Buddhism. The Christian idea of “love thy neighbor” is actually pointing to the same phenomenon. Christianity holds the two primary commandments to be “to love God” and “to love thy neighbor,” and includes “God’s love” as the unifying factor of the two, thereby taking the 314

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fundamental stance that these three types of love are, in fact, one and the same. It is possible to correlate these three types of love—God’s love, the love of God, and the love for one’s neighbor—with the Shin concepts of the Tathāgata’s “mind of transformative power” (ekōshin, or great returning aspect), the “going aspect of ekō” and the “returning aspect of ekō.” Christianity teaches that the love of God, which is turned toward a God that transcends this world, must appear in the human world in the form of love for one’s neighbor. When human beings are taken up within God’s love through their love of God, God’s love then appears within them in the form of love for their neighbors. In Pure Land Buddhism, this is what Shinran describes in his hymns, saying, “Those who attain the mind that aspires for buddhahood by entering into the Tathāgata’s ekō completely abandon self power merit transference and benefit sentient beings unlimitedly” (TSZ 2 [“Wasan hen”]: 169), and “one enters into the returning aspect of ekō through the going aspect of ekō.” I have already mentioned that what comes to the fore in the comprehensive understanding of the two types of ekō that Soga set forth is the religious life referred to as “difficult to conceive birth in the Pure Land.” I believe that what Soga noted as an entirely new way of seeing things that Shinran developed late in life is an awareness of this religious life. There, faith is not seen statically, as simply having attained the stage of definite assurance, but also in the process of the development of an evermore profound religious life. That is why “entry into the returning aspect of ekō from the going aspect” becomes an object of concern. The position that Soga suggested in his fifties, which sees the returning aspect of ekō in the debt of gratitude one experiences toward one’s teachers and attempts to limit its functioning solely to that, ultimately appears to be too abstract. We must say that all of the working of the Tathāgata that appears in the environment in which we live must be called the returning aspect of ekō. Soga says, The going aspect of ekō is the nenbutsu and the returning aspect is all the myriad factors of human life. Those factors are all the returning aspect and all the path to buddhahood. . . . It seems somehow mistaken to consider the returning aspect of ekō within the same narrow range that we consider the going aspect. The returning aspect of ekō is what shows that all elements of human life are the Buddhadharma. (SRS 6: 190)

Therefore, what deserves careful attention in the thought related to the returning aspect of ekō is that it refers to the environment where the 315

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original vow functions and the nourishment for living that sentient beings receive there.3 (Translated by Michael Conway)

Notes 1

The preceding two sections are based on Hase 2016, 24–32.

2

Regarding these two different views of the two types of ekō, see Hase 2011.

3

The preceding section is based on Hase 2015, 256–262.

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Chapter 14

D. T. Suzuki and the Ōtani School of Seishinshugi James C. Dobbins This chapter is a historical exploration of the intersections and interactions between D. T. Suzuki (Suzuki Daisetsu Teitarō, 1870–1966) and the Seishinshugi school of Shin Buddhist thought based at Ōtani University. Specifically, it examines Suzuki’s contact with and response to the most prominent figures recognized in this school: Kiyozawa Manshi (1863– 1903), Soga Ryōjin (1875–1971), and Kaneko Daiei (1881–1976). I think there is the impression that Suzuki interacted and exchanged ideas with these figures a great deal, especially since they were all affiliated with Ōtani. But looking at the historical record, I have not found evidence that Suzuki was strongly engaged with the Seishinshugi movement, nor that his primary connection to it was through such figures as Soga and Kaneko. Instead, he seems to have had more in common intellectually with other Kiyozawa disciples at Ōtani, most prominently Sasaki Gesshō (1875–1926). This chapter is a preliminary examination of Suzuki’s links to these figures at different stages in his career, mapping his activities onto theirs, and trying to identify any shared threads or views in their approach to Shin Buddhism. The prevailing assumption in the last half century—and extending down to the present—is that Suzuki had close ties to the Seishinshugi figures of Ōtani. This is reflected in a variety of publications during the second half of the twentieth century: (1) a dialogue (zadankai) between Suzuki and Soga, published in the journal Shinjin in 1958 (Suzuki and Soga 1958); another dialogue between Suzuki, Soga, and Kaneko, moderated by Nishitani Keiji (1900–1990), published as Shinran no sekai (Shinran’s World) in 1961 (Suzuki, Soga, and Kaneko 1964); (2) a volume in the 317

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Nihon no meicho (Great Books of Japan) series grouping together writings by Kiyozawa and Suzuki, published by Chūō Kōronsha in 1970 (Kiyozawa and Suzuki 1970); and (3) a volume in the Jōdo bukkyō no shisō (Pure Land Buddhist Thought) series grouping together the intellectual biographies of Suzuki, Soga, and Kaneko, published by Kōdansha in 1993 (Bandō, Itō, and Hataya 1993). Looking at these publications, it is almost as if Suzuki is treated as an honorary member of the Seishinshugi school. Needless to say, there were parallels between Suzuki’s modern ideas about Buddhism and the themes articulated by the various thinkers of Seishin­ shugi: specifically, an emphasis on subjective and nondualistic religious experience in the present life. But we should be careful not to assume that their thinking was the same, or even similar, for such a perspective was widespread among many Buddhist thinkers of the twentieth century, coming from various backgrounds and proceeding in different directions. This chapter is an examination of the connections between Suzuki and the major Seishinshugi figures affiliated with Ōtani. I would like to focus primarily on the period from about 1890 when Suzuki was twenty years old until about 1945 when he was seventy-five. This is the time when he was most creative intellectually—as were Kiyozawa, Soga, and Kaneko. I am specifically interested in whether there were concrete ways or identifiable occasions in which they influenced each other. I will also look briefly at their interactions after 1945, but I suspect all these figures were fairly set in their thinking by then. My preliminary findings are that, despite broad-stroke intellectual parallels, there was not strong cross-fertilization of ideas between Suzuki on one side and Kiyozawa, Soga, and Kaneko on the other. They may have all been modern Buddhist thinkers, but they seem to have arrived at their views by different paths and to have deployed them in different ways. Today we might consider these differences inconsequential, but to them in their time they may have seemed substantive and important.

Approach and Sources I approach this topic from the standpoint of an evidence-driven historian. This is somewhat different from the common practice of examining Suzuki’s writings to identify philosophical similarities with Seishinshugi ideas. I am eager to know not just what Suzuki thought that might be comparable, but also when and where he thought it, and whether it had any connection to Kiyozawa, Soga, or Kaneko. In short, I consider 318

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philosophical resemblance to be an important, but not a sufficient, condition to claim a common tie between Suzuki and Seishinshugi. In addition, I am interested in what Suzuki thought or said specifically about Kiyozawa, Soga, and Kaneko, for such statements help us chart his own sense of closeness or distance to those thinkers. The sources I am using to explore these questions are a variety of writings by or about Suzuki. First of all are his published letters, found in volumes 36 to 40 of the most recent edition of the Suzuki Daisetsu zenshū (Complete Works of Suzuki Daisetsu, hereafter, SDZ). This is a rich and diverse collection spanning seventy-eight years of Suzuki’s life, which contains occasional references to Seishinshugi personages or issues. Another important source is Suzuki’s diaries, dating from 1920 to 1955 (except for a few missing years), which have been made public in recent years (in vols. 19–29 of Matsugaoka Bunko kenkyū nenpō, hereafter, DTED). The entries in the diaries are extremely short and sometimes cryptic, but they give us an idea of when and where Suzuki encountered Seishinshugi figures and what he might have thought on certain occasions. A third source that complements and augments the letters and diaries is the reference work Suzuki Daisetsu kenkyū kiso shiryō (Basic Materials for Research on Suzuki Daisetsu) by Kirita Kiyohide, containing a detailed chronology of Suzuki’s life and writings (2005). Because Kirita had access to unpublished materials on Suzuki when he compiled this work, it occasionally provides information not found in the letters and diaries. Other works consulted include miscellaneous writings, lectures, and interviews of Suzuki. Some indicate interactions that he had with Seishinshugi figures or at least themes that attracted his attention. In addition, I have examined all the issues of The Eastern Buddhist journal from 1921 to 1939, when Suzuki was the chief editor. The journal’s content during this period includes not only essays and translations, but also book reviews and editorial comments, some of which refer directly or obliquely to Seishinshugi issues. Though such editorial material is not always signed in the journal, we have to assume that much of it was produced by Suzuki, or at least had his tacit approval. I should offer a caveat that, in exploring Suzuki’s views of Seishin­ shugi, the conclusions presented here can only be preliminary and provisional. One reason is that my survey of his writings is not exhaustive. Suzuki wrote so much during his lifetime that no one person can have knowledge of everything. I have tried my best to track down any relevant material through electronic and indexical searches and also by old319

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fashioned skimming of texts. But I feel certain that important evidence has escaped my notice. The second reason is that I have examined Suzuki’s relationship to Seishinshugi primarily through the prism of his own works. For a fuller picture we would need to expand the scope of resources to include the writings of, say, Soga, Kaneko, Sasaki, and others, for they might present an alternative picture of interaction with Suzuki. Notwithstanding these shortcomings, the conclusions offered here give us a very concrete image of Suzuki’s tie to Seishinshugi, more than general assumptions about their philosophical resemblance. I must also acknowledge my indebtedness to the book Cultivating Spirituality (CS) as a resource for the ideas of Kiyozawa, Soga, and Kaneko, and for Seishin­ shugi in general. Finally, I have also benefited greatly from the material and observations in Jeff Schroeder’s dissertation, “After Kiyozawa: A Study of Shin Buddhist Modernization, 1890–1956” (2015).

D. T. Suzuki Before examining specific interactions between Suzuki and the major Seishinshugi personages, I would like to present the broad contours of his life and career, and to indicate possible points of overlap and divergence between them.1 Suzuki was born in 1870 in Kanazawa, an area with a large Shin Buddhist population. Though his family did not have historical ties to Shin, he was exposed to it as a child after his widowed mother became a member of a covert Shin group that claimed “secret teachings” (hiji bōmon). As a student, Suzuki was trained in both the Chinese classics and Western subjects, and he excelled in English. A math teacher in high school, Hōjō Tokiyuki (1858–1929), also sparked his interest in Zen meditation. In 1891, a year after the death of his mother, Suzuki moved to Tokyo and entered Waseda University, but then shifted to Tokyo Imperial University in 1892 where he studied philosophy and other Western subjects as a special student. His close friend from Kanazawa—and future philosopher—Nishida Kitarō (1870–1945) also attended Tokyo Imperial University at this time, graduating in 1894. Soon after Suzuki’s move to Tokyo he became absorbed in Zen, and began to spend long periods of time at Engakuji monastery in Kamakura training under the Zen master Shaku Sōen (1860–1919), so much so that Suzuki withdrew from university in 1895. He also assisted Sōen in his endeavors to promote a modern and international understanding of Buddhism, including translating into English Sōen’s addresses for the 1893 World’s Parliament of Religions in Chicago and also translating into Japanese The 320

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Gospel of Buddha (Budda no fukuin, 1901) by Paul Carus (1852–1919). Carus was an important scholar of religion in America and the head of Open Court Publishing in LaSalle, Illinois, who became a scholarly ally of Sōen at the parliament. It was during this period, in 1896, that Suzuki published his first book, Shin shūkyō ron (A New Interpretation of Religion; SDZ 23: 1–147), offering his own philosophy of religion based on both Western ideas (principally those of Carus) and contemporary Japanese perceptions of religion. But Suzuki’s greatest energies at this time were focused on Zen meditation and kōan practice, culminating, according to his own account, in satori in December 1896. In February 1897, Suzuki departed for America and would remain overseas for twelve years, until March 1909. Initially, he went to assist Carus with the translation of the Chinese Daoist classic Daodejing (Carus 1898), but he stayed on to work at Open Court Publishing for a total of eleven years, sometimes part-time and other times full-time. It was during this period that Suzuki became immersed in Western scholarship on philosophy, psychology, literature, and the study of religion. He borrowed books continuously from Carus’s large library, and carried on a lively correspondence with Nishida about philosophical ideas. During this time he developed prodigious language skills in English and amassed a great knowledge of Western learning, including the Western understanding of Buddhism. This was thus a time of intellectual incubation for Suzuki, and he began to publish in English on Mahayana Buddhism, Zen, Chinese philosophy, and other subjects. He also tried to stay up to date with Buddhist scholarship in Japan, and would send back short essays for publication in the Japanese Buddhist journal Shin bukkyō (New Buddhism, but not to the Seishinshugi journal Seishinkai). Suzuki did have occasional associations with Nishi Honganji missionaries and temples in California, but Shin Buddhism seemed not to be of particular interest to him during this period. After he left America in late February 1908, he spent a year in Europe, primarily in London where he worked as a translator for the Swedenborg Society. He also visited Paris and traveled briefly to Germany as well. When Suzuki finally returned to Japan in 1909, he was without a job. But he managed to get a one-year appointment, and then a permanent position the following year, as a professor of English in the preparatory division of Gakushūin, or the Peers School, in Tokyo. Coincidentally, Nishida held a one-year appointment there too, teaching German in 1909–1910. Suzuki stayed at Gakushūin until 1921, serving both as an English teacher and a dormitory master. But he also spent many 321

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­ eekends, holidays, and vacations in Kamakura practicing meditation w and doing kōan training with his Zen master, Shaku Sōen, and assisting Sōen in various projects to advance a modern understanding of Zen, including publication of the journal Zendō. Suzuki began to publish many short articles on Zen at this time, both in Japanese and in English. During his first year at Gakushūin, Suzuki met Sasaki Gesshō, a professor at Shinshū University (later renamed Ōtani), who enlisted Suzuki’s assistance with the English translation of a short work on Shin Buddhism. This was the beginning of a very cordial relationship. It led Suzuki to collaborate with Sasaki again the next year on a translation of a biography of Shinran (1173–1262) and also to publish his own short article entitled “Jiriki to tariki” (Self-Power and Other-Power, 1911). Sasaki moved away in 1912 after Shinshū University was reestablished in Kyoto, but their encounter seemed to mark the beginning of Suzuki’s serious interest in Shin Buddhism (SDZ 29: 296), though he would not publish much on it until later. In 1921 Suzuki resigned his position at Gakushūin to accept an appointment as professor of English and Indian philosophy at Ōtani University in Kyoto. Sasaki was largely responsible for recruiting Suzuki to this position. On Suzuki’s side, there was less reason to stay in the Tokyo area after Shaku Sōen’s death in 1919, ending his Zen training and their scholarly collaborations. Also, his lifelong friend Nishida, who was now based at Kyoto Imperial University, encouraged him to come to Kyoto (SDZ 29: 158). On Sasaki’s side, there was great incentive to hire someone of Suzuki’s background, for Ōtani was seeking official recognition from the Ministry of Education as an accredited university. Suzuki’s international experience, knowledge of the West, and proficiency in English would enhance Ōtani’s reputation as a modern university, rather than simply as a sectarian school of Shin Buddhism. According to an account by Suzuki in old age, Ōtani paid him an “outrageous amount of money” (hatenkō na kane) to join the faculty (“Yafūryūan jiden,” 1961b; SDZ 29: 158), approximately twice what he received at Gakushūin (Kirita 2005, 28, 1910.4.30; 47, 1921.3.22), and it also appointed his American wife, Beatrice Lane Suzuki (1875–1939), as a full-time professor of English. Sasaki also facilitated the establishment of The Eastern Buddhist journal with Suzuki and his wife as editors, thereby providing an international platform for many of Suzuki’s most important works in English and raising the profile of Ōtani in the world of Buddhist scholarship. Thus, unlike many professors at Ōtani, Suzuki’s appointment did not derive from any previous affiliation with Shin Buddhism. He stood outside the institu322

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tional and political structure of Higashi Honganji, and belonged to no particular school of Shin Buddhist doctrine or thought. Suzuki was an active professor at Ōtani for approximately twenty years, living in a grand house near campus built for him by the wealthy Osaka businessman Ataka Yakichi (1873–1949), a friend from youth. But Suzuki also maintained a small residence in Kamakura, the Shōden’an hermitage on the temple grounds of the Engakuji monastery, and retreated there every chance he could, whenever Ōtani classes were not in session. In fact, Kamakura became the site of much of Suzuki’s research and writing, and in old age, especially after his wife died in 1939, he spent less and less time in Kyoto. During his most active years at Ōtani, he invested much time editing The Eastern Buddhist, and he published some of his most famous works on Zen and Mahayana Buddhism. He also wrote several important articles on Pure Land Buddhism, foreshadowing his more sustained engagement with this topic later. During the 1920s and 1930s Suzuki developed close ties with a number of faculty members and students at Ōtani, but among them Soga and Kaneko do not seem to have been prominent. Their names appear rarely in his diaries, and the actual years that they overlapped at Ōtani were limited. Suzuki spent the war years primarily in Kamakura, though he traveled back to Kyoto periodically to conduct short courses at Ōtani or to participate in university functions. In research, he began to publish on Pure Land and Shin Buddhist topics more—specifically, his Jōdokei shisōron (Essays on Pure Land Thought) in 1942, Shūkyō keiken no jijitsu (The Reality of Religious Experience) in 1943, and Nihonteki reisei (Japanese Spirituality) in 1944—though he also continued to explore new topics in Zen—for example, his Bankei no fushō zen (Bankei’s Unborn Zen) in 1940. It was from this period that Suzuki became very interested in the theme of myōkōnin and focused attention particularly on the religious verses of Asahara Saichi (1850–1932) in his research. After the war, Suzuki continued to live in Kamakura and to visit Ōtani occasionally, but he had less time to do so because of new demands placed on him in that period. Both Japanese reformers and American occupation officials sought his advice because of his unique understanding of both America  and Japan. It was from this point that Suzuki gradually transitioned from being simply a scholar of Buddhism to a public intellectual in Japan. The next phase of Suzuki’s career was his long sojourn in America from 1949 to 1958—first in Honolulu, next in Los Angeles, and then mostly in New York. When Suzuki departed from Japan he had no idea 323

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that he would stay so long in America. His affiliations—which he sought successively as a means of supporting himself—were with educational institutions: University of Hawai‘i, Claremont, and Columbia. He also developed warm ties with Japanese-American Shin Buddhist churches of both the Nishi and the Higashi Honganji branches. Because there was a surging interest in Buddhism in America, particularly Zen, Suzuki’s reputation in New York quickly spread beyond academic circles to artists, writers, psychotherapists, and musicians. There was such a fascination with Zen that Suzuki might have become focused on it exclusively if not for Shin Buddhist churches that welcomed his talks on Pure Land Buddhism. Thus, he managed to continue his work on Shin Buddhism even amid the clamor for Zen. By the mid-1950s Suzuki was recognized in the West as a world authority on Buddhism. With fame in the West came fame in Japan too, whenever he returned for a visit and after he moved back in 1958. During the last eight years of his life Suzuki was in high demand for lectures, translations, contributions to publications, talks, interviews, and other public appearances. Ōtani University and Higashi Honganji were among those making requests, both during his time in America and after his return to Japan. Suzuki, for instance, informally mentored Ōtani Kōshō (1925–1999), who was then the heir apparent to become head priest of the Higashi Honganji, when he resided and studied in America in 1950 to 1953. Other examples of these requests were the published dialogues with Soga conducted in 1958 and with Soga, Kaneko, and Nishitani in 1961. In addition, Higashi Honganji began seeking Suzuki’s assistance to translate Shinran’s Kyōgyōshinshō into English in 1956, which he finally consented to do, and partially completed in 1961 (eventually published as Shinran’s Kyōgyōshinshō, 1973, 2012). Though Suzuki became world-renowned, he continued to feel a loyalty to Ōtani and Higashi Honganji, and responded to their requests as best he could. Inevitably, these events brought Suzuki into contact with the most prominent Seishinshugi representatives of that day, Soga and Kaneko, all in their twilight years. Before turning our attention to individual Seishinshugi figures, I would like to pose an alternative image of modern Shin Buddhist thought that Suzuki may have had at the beginning of his career at Ōtani. There is an interesting passage in an essay entitled “The Shinran Revival of the Last Year” written by someone named Kogetsu Mino published in The Eastern Buddhist in early 1923, which stated: “The most prominent figures of recent years in the propagation of Shinran’s teaching were Man324

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shi Kiyozawa and Kōjun Shichiri; both are dead now. Of their followers the most active and representative ones, still living, are Gessho Sasaki, Bin Akegarasu, Ryoshin Soga, Kanaye Tada, Taiye Kaneko, Chizen Akanuma, Shugaku Yamabe, Shinryu Umehara, Jokwan Chikazumi, and others” (1923, 287). This account unfortunately does not explain this list, nor do we know exactly who this Kogetsu Mino was. But what we do know is that Suzuki, in his second year at Ōtani, considered this essay important enough to publish in The Eastern Buddhist. I can only speculate here, but I wonder if this list represented a snapshot of the leading Shin Buddhist proponents in people’s minds in 1923, and perhaps in Suzuki’s mind too. What is interesting about the list is, first of all, that Shichiri Gōjun (1835–1900) is ranked alongside Kiyozawa Manshi. He was a welleducated scholar-priest living in Hakata, Kyushu, who had a knack for pithy religious sayings and folk wisdom. Suzuki wrote one of his earliest English articles on Shin Buddhism about him in 1924: “Sayings of a Modern Tariki Mystic” (Suzuki 1924). The second noteworthy thing is that among the living proponents of Shin, Sasaki Gesshō is listed first. He, along with Akanuma Chizen (1884–1937) and Yamabe Shūgaku (1882– 1944), who are included further down the list, were all close associates of Suzuki at Ōtani, collaborating with him on The Eastern Buddhist. The third point is that Soga Ryōjin and Kaneko Daiei, while mentioned, are not treated as the most important successors to Kiyozawa. Could it be that our present-day perception of them as giants in the Seishinshugi tradition was a later development, rather than how they were seen in the 1920s? I will return to this point later.

Kiyozawa Manshi Suzuki never met Kiyozawa Manshi directly. Though Kiyozawa was only seven years older than Suzuki and though they both studied philosophy at Tokyo Imperial University, they never overlapped there or in any other place. Kiyozawa left Tokyo in 1888—to become the principal of a Honganji middle school in Kyoto—before Suzuki arrived in 1891. And Suzuki left Kamakura (and Tokyo) for America in 1897 before Kiyozawa returned to Tokyo in 1899—ultimately to become the first president of Shinshū University in 1901. In old age Suzuki was invited to participate in memorials to Kiyozawa, for which we have two such accounts: “Kiyozawa Manshi shi o omou” (Remembering Kiyozawa Manshi), a memorial written in 1955 and “Kiyozawa Manshi wa ikite iru” (Kiyozawa Manshi Lives), a public address at 325

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Ōtani in 1963. In both, Suzuki celebrated Kiyozawa as a great religious thinker. He indicated that he never met Kiyozawa, but first heard his name in connection with his 1892 work Shūkyō tetsugaku gaikotsu (The Skeleton of a Philosophy of Religion; Tokunaga 1892, also in Kiyozawa Manshi zenshū [Collected Works of Kiyozawa Manshi, hereafter, KMZI] 1: 1–107),2 saying that it was well received at the 1893 World’s Parliament of Religions in Chicago where it was circulated in English translation. Suzuki also praised Kiyozawa’s deathbed testament “Waga shinnen” (My Faith, 1903g), which he apparently first read under the influence of Sasaki Gesshō sometime after they became friends in 1909 or 1910. Suzuki also indicated that he became seriously interested in Shin Buddhism around this time after reading the book Shinkō gobusho (Five Texts on Faith) compiled by Akegarasu Haya (1877–1954) containing five Shin texts: Tannishō, Mattōshō, Goshōsokushū, Rennyo shōnin goichidaiki kikigaki, and Anjin ketsujōshō (Akegarasu 1909c). This statement might suggest that Suzuki was drawn to Shin Buddhism mainly from reading its classical texts rather than from the interpretations of others. Certainly in Suzuki’s later writings on Pure Land Buddhism he invariably cited such texts rather than the writings of Kiyozawa and his successors. The question of how much Suzuki knew about Kiyozawa in the 1890s, and what he thought of him, is difficult to answer. In his 1955 memorial to Kiyozawa he said that he read his work Shūkyō tetsugaku gaikotsu back then (SDZ 34: 92), but in his 1963 address he stated that what struck him about the work was its peculiar name, and that he did not remember anything about its contents (SDZ 29: 295). To the extent that an English translation of this work was distributed at the World’s Parliament of Religions and that Suzuki himself assisted his master Shaku Sōen with an English translation of his addresses to the parliament, we might speculate that Sōen was the link between Kiyozawa and Suzuki. But the figure primarily responsible for circulating Kiyozawa’s work at the parliament was not Sōen, but Noguchi Zenshirō (1864–1936?) of Kyoto, who translated it and attended the meeting with his senior colleague Hirai Kinza (1859–1916).3 Though Suzuki may have been aware of Kiyozawa’s work because of the parliament, Sōen’s connection to it seems tenuous at best, and it is unlikely that he recommended it to Suzuki over the works of Paul Carus. It is noteworthy that, after Kiyozawa published Shūkyō tetsugaku gaikotsu in 1892, Suzuki published his own philosophy of religion in 1896, Shin shūkyō ron (A New Interpretation of Religion). Both works addressed the problem of the relation between religion and reason, seeking some326

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how to confirm religion in an empirical way.4 Though the two resembled each other in their goals and orientation, Suzuki seems to have composed his independently of Kiyozawa. At least, there are no citations of him that I can find. Overall, Suzuki’s work shows less sophistication in Western philosophy than Kiyozawa’s does, though it treats religion in greater scope, including its relationship to science, society, education, and the state. We should remember, too, that at this time Suzuki was deeply entrenched in the practice of Zen and seemed to have little interest in Pure Land Buddhism, as Kiyozawa did.5 If there was any philosophical influence on Suzuki in writing Shin shūkyō ron, it probably came from Paul Carus rather than from Kiyozawa.6 Suzuki’s own knowledge of Western philosophy, independent of Carus, increased exponentially only after he traveled to America in 1897, but was still limited when he wrote this book. One other possible connection between Kiyozawa and Suzuki in the 1890s and early 1900s was his friend Nishida Kitarō. When Nishida was a student at Tokyo Imperial University from 1890 to 1894, he probably heard of Kiyozawa’s reputation as a brilliant philosophy student. He apparently began to pay closer attention to Kiyozawa around 1897 while teaching at the prefectural high school in remote Yamaguchi. A colleague there, Inaba Masamaru (1865–1944), had been one of Kiyozawa’s closest followers and allies in his movement to reform the Higashi Honganji denomination in 1896 and 1897. And Nishida may have actually met Kiyozawa briefly while passing through Kyoto in 1897. But his enthusiasm for him can be documented only after Kiyozawa founded the Kōkōdō community of like-minded Shin Buddhist progressives in Tokyo in 1900, and began publishing the journal Seishinkai in 1901, essentially initiating the Seishinshugi movement. In an entry dated January 14, 1902, in Nishida’s diaries he mentioned reading essays by Kiyozawa in Seishinkai, and he himself contributed an essay to the journal in August 1907, four years after Kiyozawa’s death (Fujita 2003, 42–45, 53). Thus, by the time Nishida moved to Tokyo in 1909 to teach German at Gakushūin for a year, he already had ties to several members of Kiyozawa’s Kōkōdō.7 While Nishida’s appreciation of Kiyozawa and the Seishinshugi movement may date from the late 1890s, it is not clear that his enthusiasm spread to Suzuki at that point. Suzuki, while overlapping with Nishida when they were students in Tokyo, definitely orbited more in Shaku Sōen’s sphere of influence than in Kiyozawa’s. And by the time Nishida became enthusiastic about Kiyozawa around 1897 to 1902, Suzuki was already ensconced in America and focused on Western philosophy and 327

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scholarship. Suzuki did develop a robust correspondence with Nishida while in America, beginning in December 1897, which continued until he returned to Japan in 1909. But I have not found references to Kiyozawa per se or the Seishinkai journal in his letters to Nishida.8 By contrast, Suzuki had a strong connection to Shin bukkyō, the rival journal to Seishinkai, and he published dozens of short articles in it even from America beginning with the journal’s creation in 1900 and continuing to 1915 when it was disbanded (Kirita 2005, 10–21 [reverse]). This would suggest that Suzuki was not drawn into close association with Kiyozawa’s following until after he returned to Japan, and perhaps, properly speaking, until he became a professor at Ōtani in 1921. By the time Suzuki arrived back in Japan in 1909, a culture of respect and reverence for Kiyozawa had become well established among his followers. It began to take shape in the 1890s, especially after Kiyozawa’s attempt to reform the Honganji; it came to full flower at the beginning of the 1900s with the establishment of the Kōkōdō, the Seishinkai journal, and Shinshū University; and it was celebrated and reaffirmed at Kiyozawa’s seventh memorial service in June 1909, the year Suzuki returned to Japan from America. Suzuki began his appointment at Gakushūin then, and soon afterward came into contact with members of Kiyozawa’s following. It may have been Nishida who introduced Suzuki to this group, since they both taught at Gakushūin that year. We know from Nishida’s diaries that he invited Sasaki Gesshō to read sutras with him on October 9, 1909; that he visited the Kōkōdō on November 6, 1909; and that he gave a talk at Shinshū University on February 26, 1910 (NKZ 17: 242–243, 245, 253, respectively). Sasaki, who was universally recognized as one of Kiyozawa’s leading disciples, was clearly the person with whom Suzuki developed the greatest rapport (SDZ 29: 295–296). Even after Nishida left Tokyo in early August 1910, to take up an appointment at Kyoto Imperial University, Suzuki continued his association with Sasaki over the next year or two. Hence, this period was probably the time when Suzuki first discovered themes in Shin Buddhism that interested him. Shinshū University, where Sasaki was a faculty member, was reestablished in Kyoto by the Honganji in 1911. He, like many other professors, resigned in protest, but was persuaded during the following year to rejoin the faculty there. Sasaki’s move from Tokyo seems to have ended temporarily Suzuki’s involvement with Shin Buddhism, for the topic does not appear prominently in his chronology, letters, and publications for almost a decade. Suzuki was of course very busy with other things: he became more involved at Gakushūin, especially after his former 328

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teacher in Kanazawa, Hōjō, became the headmaster (inchō) in 1917; he married Beatrice Lane in 1911 and they adopted a child, Alan Masaru (1916–1971), in 1916; he continued his Zen training and collaborations with Shaku Sōen in Kamakura until Sōen’s death in 1919; and he published extensively on Zen, Mahayana Buddhism, and Emanuel Swedenborg (1688–1772; Kirita 2005, 29–48, 18–25 [reverse]).9 The next time that Suzuki engaged Shin Buddhism seriously seems to have been the 1920s after he joined the faculty of Ōtani in Kyoto. When Suzuki accepted the appointment at Ōtani in 1921, the university had become a major site for the preservation and advancement of Kiyozawa’s vision of Shin Buddhism. By then, the Kōkōdō in Tokyo was closed (in 1917) and the Seishinkai journal had ceased publication (in 1919). Ōtani thus took up the mantle of Kiyozawa’s legacy because of his one-year tenure as its founding president. Suzuki, in joining various disciples of Kiyozawa at Ōtani, in fact shared many values with them—a modernist interpretation of Buddhism, an emphasis on personal religious experience, a commitment to learning, a respect for academic freedom, and a belief that institutional Buddhism must undergo reform. He arrived at these values via a different path of intellectual development from his colleagues, but he gladly joined them in celebrating Kiyozawa, even though he apparently never undertook a systematic study of Kiyozawa’s writings. In this environment Suzuki renewed his interest in Shin Buddhism and published some of his most important essays on the subject, including several in The Eastern Buddhist. During Suzuki’s career at Ōtani, both before the war and afterward, we can find occasional references to Kiyozawa. There is, for example, a notice in The Eastern Buddhist in May 1936, apparently written by Suzuki, indicating that in the previous year Kiyozawa’s followers had published his complete works as part of the thirty-third commemoration of his death. Suzuki praised Kiyozawa as a great figure who realized that one cannot be grounded in philosophy or logic, but only in abandonment to the Buddha, a process similar to Suzuki’s own understanding of Pure Land experience. What is particularly noteworthy is that Suzuki himself published his own English translation of Kiyozawa’s famous essay “Waga shinnen” around this time (Kiyozawa 1936), of which two paragraphs appeared in The Eastern Buddhist: When I am asked about my faith, I say it consists in believing in Nyorai; he is the original body in whom my faith rests and in whom I cannot help but believe. The Nyorai in whom my faith rests is the original body which is able to make me what I am, in spite of the fact that I am the one who, as far 329

The Legacy of Seishinshugi as his self-power is concerned, has no power to accomplish anything, no power to stand by himself, being utterly helpless by himself. I am the one who has no power to understand what good and evil, truth and falsehood, happiness and misfortune are; and this being so I am utterly ignorant as to which way to move, left or right, backward or forward, in the world where good and evil, truth and falsehood, happiness and misfortune exist; and Nyorai is he who has the power to make me move in this world, to make me die perfectly unconscious of all these complications: Nyorai indeed is this primary body in which I have my faith. Without believing in this Nyorai I am unable to live this life, I am unable to die. I have no choice but to believe in this Nyorai, I have no other way in this world but to place my faith in this Nyorai. . . . How does the infinitely loving Nyorai allow me to enjoy this peace of mind? He does this in no other way than by taking all responsibilities off me and thus by saving me. No sins are hindrances before Nyorai. I have no necessity to judge by myself what is good and bad, what is just and unjust. In whatever affairs, I just follow my own moods, go on with what my heart dictates, and have no compunctions. Whether my conduct is faulty, whether it is sinful, I do not worry myself about it. Nyorai takes up all responsibilities for my deeds whatever they are. Only by believing in this Nyorai, I am enabled to abide in a state of eternal peace. The power of Nyorai is infinite. The power of Nyorai is peerless. The power of Nyorai pervades on every occasion. The power of Nyorai prevails in the ten quarters and acts with the utmost freedom breaking through every hindrance, every obstruction. (Suzuki 1936)10

Though Suzuki took some interpretive license in this translation, it is nonetheless eloquent and powerful. In later years whenever Suzuki was asked about Kiyozawa, it was these ideas from “Waga shinnen” that he brought up rather than Kiyozawa’s philosophical postulations in Shūkyō tetsugaku gaikotsu. The person who prompted Suzuki to produce this translation was not his colleagues at Ōtani but Akegarasu Haya. He was one of Kiyozawa’s most important followers and a longtime editor of the Seishinkai journal, who championed the Seishinshugi interpretation of Shin Buddhism through many popular writings and lectures, using his large temple near Kanazawa, Myōtatsuji, as his base. We know from Suzuki’s diaries that he was in regular contact with Akegarasu in 1936, and that Akegarasu requested him to translate this piece from Kiyozawa (DTED 25: 5, 1936.2.8; 25: 12, 1936.4.20; 25: 15, 1936.5.21; and 25: 18, 1936.6.5). We also know that Suzuki participated in a grand event at Akegarasu’s temple in April 1936—commemorating Kiyozawa along with Śākyamuni, Shōtoku 330

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Taishi (574–622), Shinran, Rennyo (1415–1499), and Akegarasu’s parents— at which Suzuki presented talks in honor of Śākyamuni, “Shakuson sangō” (In Praise of Śākyamuni, 1943a). Soga Ryōjin and Kaneko Daiei also participated in this event (Schroeder 2015, chapter 4, esp. 300–301; Kirita 2005, 93, 1936.4.5–7). Thus, we can see that Suzuki’s associations with Seishinshugi figures extended beyond those affiliated with Ōtani. Finally, in Suzuki’s writings we can find a cluster of references to Kiyozawa in 1963, the hundred-year anniversary of his birth and only three years before Suzuki’s death. The first is the public address “Kiyozawa Manshi wa ikite iru” that Suzuki gave at Ōtani in November, mentioned previously. The second is the preface to a book on Kiyozawa edited by Fukuda Masaharu (1895–1969), Kiyozawa Manshi no tetsugaku to shinkō (Kiyozawa Manshi’s Philosophy and Faith; Suzuki 1963b). And the third is another lecture at Ōtani in June, in which Suzuki made passing references to Kiyozawa (SDZ 6: 409, 415). In each case, the primary point that Suzuki sought to highlight about Kiyozawa was his idea of faith in the absolute other-power of the Buddha. This clearly was the theme that Suzuki associated most strongly with Kiyozawa near the end of his life.

Soga Ryōjin As in the case of Kiyozawa, we can map the chronology of Soga Ryōjin onto the life of Suzuki to detect when and where they may have had interactions. Soga was born only five years after Suzuki and died just six years after him, so their long lives largely paralleled each other. Soga was a prominent, though sometimes controversial, figure in Shin Buddhist circles, especially in the second half of his life, because of his brilliant, charismatic, and sometimes fiery declarations on belief and practice. Because Suzuki and Soga were both on the faculty at Ōtani, there is a tendency to think that they had many opportunities to interact. But in fact their overlap at Ōtani was, for all intents and purposes, only about five years, 1925 to 1930. Hence, there may have been less exchange between them than is commonly assumed. Soga grew up in a Higashi Honganji–affiliated temple in Niigata Prefecture, and as a gifted child was eventually tracked into the Honganji’s educational system in Kyoto, graduating from Shinshū University in 1899 and immediately entering its graduate division. When the university moved to Tokyo in 1901, Soga moved with it. He was thus a beneficiary of the institution that Kiyozawa helped foster, though his actual overlap with Kiyozawa seems to have been limited. Soga at first had 331

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­ isgivings about his Seishinshugi philosophy, but soon became an arm dent supporter of it and joined the Kōkōdō community in 1903 (after Kiyozawa had already moved away from Tokyo). Subsequently, in 1904 Soga was appointed to the faculty of Shinshū University and became a perennial contributor to the Seishinkai journal. When the decision was made in 1911 to move the university from Tokyo to Kyoto, Soga, like Sasaki, resigned in protest. He then spent a few years in Niigata at his adopted temple, during which he continued to publish important essays. Next, Soga moved back to Tokyo in 1916 to serve briefly as the editor of Seishinkai and then to become a professor at Tōyō University, which was founded by the great Buddhist reformer Inoue Enryō (1858–1919), who had also grown up in a Shin Buddhist temple. Finally, in 1925 Soga was invited to rejoin the faculty at Ōtani—by which time Suzuki had become an important professor there.11 Soga’s tenure at Ōtani was brief because he was swept up in the controversy over the alleged heretical teachings of his colleague Kaneko Daiei in 1928 and then over his own alleged heresies two years later. Under pressure, he resigned his position in 1930 and for the next decade operated out of a private academy and his own home, giving instruction to student enthusiasts and publishing essays in the new journal Kaishin, to which he became the foremost contributor. Soga was a prolific and innovative writer during this period and emerged as a popular lecturer in reformist Shin Buddhist settings around the country. He was, for instance, invited to speak at Akegarasu’s commemoration to Kiyozawa in 1936, just as Suzuki was. Soga was perhaps best known for his creative interpretation of the bodhisattva Dharmākara (Hōzō Bosatsu, or Amida in his quest for enlightenment) as the inner subjective religious awareness at work in people while living in the world (“Chijō no kyūshu” [A Savior on Earth], 1913a; Soga Ryōjin senshū [Selected Works of Soga Ryōjin, hereafter, SRS] 2: 408–422). He also became an outspoken critic of conventional Buddhist studies with its emphasis on historical and textual objectivity. In some ways Soga wanted to refract all Buddhist discourse through subjective faith and the personal message he derived from the Larger Sutra of Immeasurable Life (see his Shinran no bukkyōshi kan, 1935; SRS 5: 385–471; CS, 119–38). In 1940 and 1941, Soga was restored to good standing in the Honganji organization, partly because of his ability, along with Kaneko and Akegarasu, to articulate a strong nationalistic interpretation of Shin teachings at a time when the Honganji was under tremendous pressure to support the government’s war effort. Soga was granted the status of kōshi, the Higashi Honganji’s highest category of 332

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doctrinal authority, in August 1941, and reinstated in his position as a professor at Ōtani three months later (Schroeder 2015, chapter 4). This was precisely the time when Suzuki had reduced his activities at Ōtani and withdrawn to Kamakura. In the postwar period Soga was purged from Ōtani by the American military authorities in 1949 because of his prominent support of the war—the same time when Suzuki emerged as a spokesman for a new postwar Japan. After the American occupation ended in 1951 Soga was again reappointed to Ōtani as professor emeritus, and in 1961 he was elected president of the university at the ripe old age of eighty-six, serving a total of six years. He continued to give talks and lectures in the postwar decades, publishing many in a new journal entitled Shinjin, to which he was a major contributor. It was in this context that the famous dialogue between Soga and Suzuki was conducted and published in 1958 (CS, 103–106; Bandō, Itō, and Hataya 1993, 192–247, 254–259; and Schroeder 2015, chapters 4 and 5). It is unclear when Suzuki first heard about Soga. It may have been after Suzuki moved back to Japan and became acquainted with Sasaki Gesshō in 1909 or 1910, since Sasaki and Soga were both teaching at Shinshū University. Or it may have been after Soga joined the faculty of Tōyō University, since both were teaching in Tokyo then. At any rate, the earliest documentable reference to Soga that I have found is a brief review of his book Kyūsai to jishō (Salvation and Self-Realization, 1922), published in The Eastern Buddhist in January 1923, apparently written by Suzuki. It highlights the need for new strategies to interpret Buddhism in the modern period, since traditional doctrinal categories were no longer persuasive. And it identifies Soga’s work as a good example of this new trend. The review notes Soga’s “idealistic point of view” and his expertise in “Yogācāra philosophy,” and it praises his exposition of “the Amida doctrine” as grounded in “profound religious experience” and expressed with the sensibility of a “poet” ([Suzuki] 1923). Suzuki himself had an interest in Yogācāra philosophy, specifically in connection to the Laṅkāvatāra Sutra, and he was also working to articulate new interpretive approaches to Buddhism. So at this point in his career, while Soga was still at Tōyō University, there may have been good potential for intellectual exchange between them. Unfortunately, there is no good evidence that it ever occurred. Soga’s reappointment to the Ōtani faculty in 1925 no doubt had the strong endorsement of Sasaki who was president of the university then. Over the next five years, though, Soga was not mentioned at all in Suzuki’s diaries—suggesting that they had little contact with each other. The 333

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three times he is finally mentioned all revolved around Soga’s resignation in 1930: April 10, 1930: “Faculty meeting in the afternoon. / Prof. Soga’s resignation.” April 14, 1930: “To Ōtani, faculty meeting regarding resignation of Mr. Soga. Much vain discussion.” April 23, 1930: “Had special meeting of professors concerning Soga matter, taking up the entire afternoon.” (DTED 20: 8–10)

What is striking here is how muted the Soga episode is in Suzuki’s diaries, especially considering how controversial and traumatic it has become in Ōtani history.12 For Suzuki, this occurrence was crowded among a host of other activities and events that he recorded in his diaries for March, April, and May 1930: trying to bring his monumental Studies in the Laṅkāvatāra Sutra to publication (1930b); working on the next issue of The Eastern Buddhist; writing his monograph on kōan (and nenbutsu) for his Essays in Zen Buddhism, Second Series; giving a set of three lectures for the Kyoto branch of the Tokyo Women’s College alumnae association; countless meetings with faculty members, students, publishers, and other individuals—not to speak of traveling to his cottage in Kamakura three times in three months for approximately a week each time (DTED 20: 5–12). Beyond this episode, Soga is not mentioned in Suzuki’s surviving diaries of the 1930s, and hardly mentioned in his diaries of the 1940s and 1950s. Hence, there is not good historical evidence that they ever interacted with each other much.13 After Soga left Ōtani, he and Suzuki seemed to proceed along separate career trajectories, though they crossed paths occasionally, less as a result of their own planning and more as a result of other people bringing them together. For instance, after 1943, when Ōtani had too few students to operate as a university, it was reorganized into an academic institute with several research divisions. Soga was named official head of the Shin Buddhist Studies division, Kaneko of the Japanese Buddhist Studies division, and Suzuki of the East Asian Buddhist Studies division, though he remained in Kamakura and traveled to Kyoto only as needed (CS, 105–106; and SDZ 37: 95, letter 875, 1944.10.18). He did make one such trip in late November and early December 1944, hearing Soga lecture on the Kyōgyōshinshō and giving his own lecture on religious experience (DTED 23: 73–75). In May and June of 1945, the president of Ōtani requested Suzuki to come to Kyoto again and to give lectures along with Soga and Kaneko, but because of the horrific firebombing of Japanese 334

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cities by American planes (and also because of the death of Nishida Kitarō on June 7, 1945) the event was postponed (SDZ 37: 113, letter 908, 1945.6.8; 119–120, letter 916, 1945.7.6). Suzuki finally fulfilled his obligation in mid-September, lecturing on Japanese spirituality (Nihonteki reisei), and dining with the Ōtani president, Soga, and Kaneko the evening of September 20 before returning to Kamakura the next day (DTED 23: 104–105; and Kirita 2005, 137). Another example is a 1961 event during the seven hundredth memorial to Shinran at which Suzuki gave the lecture, “Hongan no kongen” (The Source of the Original Vow, 1961a),14 and to which Soga and Kaneko were also invited to lecture. We can also find a fleeting reference to Soga in one of Suzuki’s letters written while he was living in New York, indicating that he was unable to meet Soga, who had been invited to give lectures at the Higashi Honganji Betsuin in Los Angeles in 1955 and 1956, and that he had heard Soga had returned to Japan because of illness (SDZ 38: 299–300, letter 1706, 1956.1.22). We can also detect Suzuki’s various impressions of Soga from side comments made in his letters to other people. For instance, in a letter written to his former student and close protégé Sugihira Shizutoshi (1899–1984) in May 1945, concerning his lecture for the research institute at Ōtani, Suzuki wrote: “I wonder if Soga-san isn’t now moving toward seeing things a bit more broad-mindedly. He doesn’t seem to have the ability to organize ideas. Inaba-kun and others seem more moderate” (SDZ 37: 112, letter 906, 1945.5.30). In another letter written to a Honganji official, Takeda Junshō (1914–1998), in March 1957, concerning the project to translate the Kyōgyōshinshō, Suzuki expressed reservations whether he had the physical strength and stamina to do so, and he suggested that Takeda appoint an advisory committee including not only himself and Soga and Kaneko, but also others (SDZ 38: 495, letter 1929, 1957.3.22). And in another letter about the translation project to Takeda in January 1959, Suzuki indicated in passing that he received the book Kokoro o hiraku (Opening the Spirit; Soga 1958) containing Soga’s essays, saying that he did not understand some things in them, since he was not a specialist, but that he got the gist of them (SDZ 39: 120–121, letter 2191, 1959.1.6). These comments seem to suggest that Suzuki recognized Soga’s formidable knowledge and talents, but that he did not always see eye-to-eye with him. The work most commonly cited to exemplify interaction between Suzuki and Soga is their recorded dialogue in December 1958, after Suzuki moved back to Japan from America. While they were respectful and appreciative of each other in the conversation, the two seemed to come at their topics from very different points of view. Suzuki attempted to 335

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frame the important themes of Shin Buddhism—Amida’s vow, birth in the Pure Land, other-power—in terms of the great motifs and doctrines of Mahayana: emptiness, the bodhisattva path, wisdom and compassion, ignorance, skillful means. But Soga characterized such treatment as overly logical and not satisfactory from a Shin point of view. He suggested that Suzuki’s approach would simply merge Shin with Zen without properly recognizing its distinctive character. Suzuki, in short, operated within a conventional framework of Buddhist studies, thinking across disparate texts and literatures and trying to make connections beyond confessional boundaries. Soga, by contrast, treated this approach as missing the meaning of Shin Buddhism and resisted any characterization that lacked an insider’s point of view. It was as if Soga had a secret Shin template, which Suzuki lacked, that he could lay over any topic or text to reveal its true Shin meaning. And he sought to define the terms of his dialogue with Suzuki accordingly (Suzuki and Soga 1958). Finally, we should note that Suzuki wrote a preface to Soga’s book Hōzō bosatsu (Dharmākara Bodhisattva), a collection of lectures published in 1963, only a few years before both their deaths (Soga 1963; Suzuki 1963a; SDZ 35: 90–93). Suzuki was in high demand to write prefaces for publications, and he wrote a total of five that year for different people. He confessed that he was reluctant to write the preface because Soga’s presentations were so hard to understand and because he himself was seen as a Zen proponent rather than as a Shin Buddhist. But Suzuki finally did so, inspired by his own reading of Shinran. In the preface Suzuki started by proclaiming the primacy of an act or a thing prior to all logical differentiation of it (mufunbetsu). From this starting point he went on to interpret a host of Pure Land themes: this world of saṃsāra (shaba); returning from Pure Land to this world (gensō ekō); the inseparability of Pure Land from this shaba world, and of enlightenment from the human passions; the undifferentiated quality of Namu Amida Butsu; other-power as understood by Asahara Saichi, the geta-maker, in which neither self-power nor other-power even exists; and so forth. All these themes were prominent in Suzuki’s writings on Pure Land in the last two decades of his life. To that extent they reflected his own understanding of Shin Buddhism more than his reactions to Soga’s ideas.

Kaneko Daiei The other major Seishinshugi figure and colleague of Suzuki’s at Ōtani was Kaneko Daiei. He was a close associate of Soga’s throughout his life, 336

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and the events of their careers often intersected with each other. As in the case of Soga, Suzuki was well aware of Kaneko from the early 1920s at the latest, and their time of overlap at Ōtani was actually longer than Suzuki’s overlap with Soga. Kaneko was over ten years younger than Suzuki and lived ten years longer than he did. Hence, he was a kind of junior colleague to Suzuki and also to Soga. But he was bright and creative and prolific in his scholarship, and he established an independent reputation for himself early in his career. On balance, Suzuki seemed to have warmer feelings toward Kaneko than he did toward Soga. Nonetheless, it would be hard to characterize Kaneko as a close associate of Suzuki’s; rather, he was much more of a doctrinal ally and soul mate to Soga. Kaneko, like Soga, was born into a Higashi Honganji–affiliated temple in Niigata Prefecture, was educated in Honganji schools in Kyoto, and graduated from Shinshū University in Tokyo in 1904, overlapping one year with Kiyozawa Manshi who was president from 1901 to 1902. Kaneko then returned to his home in Niigata where he spent the next decade serving as a temple priest, and also studying, writing, and publishing. His relationship with Soga deepened during this period after Soga moved back to Niigata in 1911. In 1915 Kaneko’s first book, an overview of Shin Buddhist doctrine and history, was published, and the same year he was appointed editor of the Seishinkai journal in Tokyo (where he also taught briefly at Tōyō University). In 1916, though, he moved to Kyoto to accept a faculty position at his alma mater, Shinshū Ōtani University. This appointment occurred five years before Suzuki joined the faculty and nine years before Soga (who actually followed Kaneko at Seishinkai and Tōyō University). Once at Ōtani, Kaneko expanded his area of study to include Western philosophy, particularly the Kantian tradition, and Buddhism more broadly. These interests resulted variously in the publication of Bukkyō gairon (Introduction to Buddhism), in 1919; Shinshūgaku josetsu (Prolegomena to Shin Buddhist Studies), in 1923; and an innovative interpretation of the concept of Pure Land from the perspective of subjective idealism, Jōdo no kannen (The Idea of Pure Land), in 1925. It was this last work, allegedly denying the objective reality of the Pure Land, for which Kaneko was accused of heresy in 1927 and 1928. By this time Suzuki and Soga were professors at Ōtani too. Soga stood firmly with his friend, but in the end Kaneko was forced to resign and was stripped of his credentials as a Shin Buddhist priest, provoking protests in the university and polarization in the Higashi Honganji denomination. Soga’s resignation two years later was simply the denouement of this incident.15 337

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Kaneko continued to be active outside of Ōtani in both writing and lecturing. After Soga resigned in 1930, the two joined forces to teach like-minded students privately in Kyoto, and they also gave talks and published widely. Kaneko’s reputation as a scholar led to a position at Hiroshima University in 1930, where he finally moved with his family in 1933. He remained on the faculty there until 1941, teaching a wide range of courses on Buddhism and philosophy, while also continuing to publish on Shin Buddhism. Kaneko thus gained recognition for his scholarship on Buddhism generally, but also remained fully engaged in discussions and debates within Shin. He was, for instance, one of the lecturers invited to the commemoration of Kiyozawa at Akegarasu’s temple in 1936. And at the beginning of the 1940s he became an important advocate in the Honganji for the Japanese war effort, along with Soga and Akegarasu. These activities resulted in Kaneko’s reinstatement as a Shin priest in June 1940; his reappointment to the Ōtani faculty in November 1941; and his elevation to the position of kōshi, or highest-level doctrinal authority, in July 1944. From that time forward, Kaneko became an important and influential voice in denominational affairs, even though he had been excluded and punished almost twenty years earlier. In the postwar period, Kaneko, like Soga, was purged from teaching at Ōtani in 1949 by the American military authorities because of his wartime writings and activities, but he was reappointed as professor emeritus in 1951. He continued to be a prolific writer and lecturer to the end of his life, and he participated with Soga and Suzuki in the Honganji’s public lectures in 1961 as part of the seven hundredth memorial to Shinran. One of his signature themes—besides his subjective and idealistic interpretation of the Pure Land—was the idea of religious awareness as quiet, introspective “listening and reflection” (monshi; CS, 165; Bandō, Itō, and Hataya 1993, 294–304, 381–388; and Schroeder 2015, chapters 2 and 3). It is possible that Suzuki heard of Kaneko as early as 1909 or 1910, again through his association with Sasaki Gesshō. But the first concrete evidence we have is a brief entry in The Eastern Buddhist in October 1922, recounting an article Kaneko wrote for the Buddhist newspaper Chūgai nippō, which spoke with admiration of his approach to the study of Buddhism: seeking not just its historical origins, but also its essence; trying to bridge the gap between doctrines of self-enlightenment and salvation; and addressing the psychological dimensions of Buddhism in addition to its logical dimensions ([Suzuki] 1922). We have to assume that Suzuki was the person who wrote this entry, for the approach described here resembled his own strategy for studying Buddhism. Another indi338

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cator of Suzuki’s appreciation of Kaneko was the publication of Kaneko’s article, “The Buddhist Doctrine of Vicarious Suffering,” in The Eastern Buddhist five years later (Kaneko 1927). It seems that Suzuki was involved in translating the article into English, as intimated by a cryptic entry in his diaries dated December 15, 1926, stating tersely, “Kaneko finished” (DTED 19: 93, 1926.12.15). By this time Suzuki and Kaneko had served together on the Ōtani faculty since Suzuki’s arrival in 1921. But because Kaneko’s name did not appear elsewhere in Suzuki’s diaries until the time of his resignation, we have to assume that their interaction was  limited. Nonetheless, Suzuki apparently did admire Kaneko’s scholarship. When Kaneko resigned from Ōtani in June 1928, the event was recorded in Suzuki’s diaries: “Extra faculty meeting at 7 p.m. concerning Prof. Kaneko’s resignation” (DTED 19: 124, 1928.6.11). As in Soga’s case two years later, the episode did not seem to loom large in Suzuki’s diaries, and it occurred amid a busy schedule of other events in the months before and afterward: distribution of Suzuki’s recently published Essays in Zen Buddhism, First Series; reviewing the page proofs and notes of an English translation of the Tannishō by Imadate Tosui (1855–1931), which Suzuki helped polish and publish; continued work on the Laṅkāvatāra Sutra; and trips back to Kamakura (DTED 19: 120–129). With Kaneko’s departure from Ōtani in 1928, the opportunity for interaction with Suzuki decreased greatly, for by the time Kaneko rejoined the faculty in 1941 Suzuki had reduced his activities and presence at Ōtani. Nonetheless, he seemed to maintain an appreciation for Kaneko’s work in the intervening years, for a review of Kaneko’s book Bukkyō no shomondai (Various Problems in Buddhism), published by Iwanami in 1934, appeared in The Eastern Buddhist in March 1935. It notes: “The author concludes with these words: ‘It is only through the way of listening to the Dharma that Sudhana became equal to Bodhisattva Samantabhadra. This way of listening to the Dharma made him equal to Buddha. What a profound significance it has!’ ”16 It is noteworthy that one of Suzuki’s former students who became his close protégé on the faculty at Ōtani, Yokogawa Kenshō (1904–1940), published an article in The Eastern Buddhist four years later on a similar theme: “Shin Buddhism as the Religion of Hearing” (Yokogawa 1939). Kaneko’s name appeared only sporadically in Suzuki’s letters, diaries, and other writings in the 1930s, 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s, sometimes in the same context in which Soga was mentioned. The occasions described were often talks or lectures in which both Suzuki and Kaneko (and 339

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sometimes Soga) were invited. For instance, in December 1930, Suzuki presented a series of lectures in the city of Takefu in Fukui Prefecture entitled “Shūkyō keiken ni tsukite” (Regarding Religious Experience, 1930a; SDZ 10: 323–353, 430, esp. 349), in which he cited Kaneko, who spoke at the same event.17 Also, Suzuki and Kaneko both gave lectures in Kanazawa in late August 1942, and stayed overnight at the same hot springs hotel (DTED 21: 120, 1942.8.24–25). Likewise, they appeared together in the lectures of Ōtani’s research institutes in September 1945, along with Soga (DTED 23: 104–105; and Kirita 2005, 137). And finally all three presented public lectures at the seven hundredth memorial to Shinran in Kyoto in April 1961, the same time that the dialogue moderated by Nishitani was recorded (SDZ 29: 116–129, 554; and Kirita 2005, 218). Suzuki thus crossed paths with Kaneko now and then throughout his career. It would not be entirely accurate to say that they were close colleagues, but Suzuki nonetheless respected his scholarship. Even late in life he would occasionally invoke Kaneko’s ideas in presentations he would give—for example, in university-wide lectures at Ōtani in November 1962, entitled “Waga shinshū kan” (My View of Shinshū, 1963d; SDZ 6: 373–374). Suzuki’s appreciation was reciprocated by Kaneko, as reflected in his “Reminiscences of D. T. Suzuki” after his death. Both he and Soga wrote such memorials to Suzuki, but Kaneko’s contained more personal recollections than Soga’s did (Kaneko 1967, 148–150; Soga 1967, 147–148). He observed that, when hearing each other’s lectures at invited events, Suzuki was sometimes critical of Kaneko’s presentation, urging him to be less abstract and speculative. But at the same time Kaneko was gratified that Suzuki frequently recommended him to foreign scholars who sought to understand Shin Buddhism better. Kaneko did recognize that there were basic differences in the way he and Suzuki approached Buddhism. But he nonetheless respected Suzuki for his open-mindedness and warmth.

Sasaki Gesshō One last Seishinshugi figure that I would like to touch on is Sasaki Gesshō. The reason is that, of all the followers of Kiyozawa Manshi, he was the one to whom Suzuki felt the strongest tie. Sasaki was often cited as one of Kiyozawa’s three most eminent disciples, along with Akegarasu Haya and Tada Kanae (1875–1937). His contributions to Kiyozawa’s lineage and movement were substantial—as a perennial and prominent contributor to the Seishinkai journal, as a professor at Shinshū Univer340

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sity, and finally as president and chief architect of Ōtani as a modern university. It is tempting to speculate whether Ōtani, the Higashi Honganji denomination, and modern Shin Buddhism would have taken a different path of development if only Sasaki had not died at the relatively young age of fifty-one—at the height of his activities and influence. Sasaki was roughly a peer of Soga’s and an older fellow student of Kaneko’s. They moved together through the Honganji’s educational system in Kyoto in the 1890s and through Shinshū University in the early 1900s, first in Kyoto and then in Tokyo. But Sasaki was drawn to Kiyozawa before the other two were, originally to his movement for reform of the Honganji in the 1890s and then to his Kōkōdō community and Seishinkai journal in Tokyo. Hence, he was a prominent figure in the rise of the Seishinshugi tradition, and was respected as a leader and spokesman for it throughout his life. Unlike Soga and Kaneko, Sasaki was affiliated with Shinshū Ōtani University throughout his career, except for one year when he resigned to protest its relocation to Kyoto in 1911. Hence, he is remembered most widely as an educational leader and visionary. But he was also an active and prolific scholar, leaving behind a hefty corpus of writings for the short period he lived.18 Suzuki first encountered Sasaki in 1909 or 1910 after he returned from America and began teaching at Gakushūin. At the end of July 1910, the two apparently retreated from the summer heat of Tokyo and spent over a week at Nikkō working intensively on the English translation of Principal Teachings of the True Sect of Pure Land (Ōkusa 1910; see Kirita 2005, 29). The following year they again worked together, possibly in August at Nikkō once more, on the English translation of The Life of the Shonin Shinran.19 That same year Suzuki also published his brief article entitled “Jiriki to tariki” (Self-Power and Other-Power; SDZ 30: 434–437). After these collaborations, however, we do not find evidence of their interacting for several years, no doubt as a result of Sasaki’s move to Kyoto to rejoin the faculty of Ōtani. Suzuki himself was also busy with his own pursuits and interests in Tokyo and Kamakura throughout the 1910s. From Suzuki’s diaries we know that Sasaki contacted him again in 1920 and that they had frequent interactions that year: exchanging letters and telegrams, and also trading visits back and forth between Tokyo and Kyoto (DTED 19: 42, 1920.5.3, 1920.5.9; 43, 1920.6.6, 1920.6.11, 1920.6.12, 1920.6.13, 1920.6.20; 44, 1920.7.24). This was not long after Ōtani’s decision to seek accreditation from the Japanese Ministry of Education as an official university, a plan that Sasaki advanced enthusiastically. Hence, Sasaki’s renewed contact with Suzuki was aimed at 341

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r­ ecruiting him to the Ōtani faculty and thereby raising its academic profile. The establishment of The Eastern Buddhist journal was also part of this plan (Conway, Inoue, and Rhodes 2013, 11–12). As a result of Sasaki’s efforts, Suzuki moved to Kyoto and began teaching at Ōtani in April 1921. Once Suzuki was established in Kyoto his interaction with Sasaki was very limited at first. The reason is that in August Sasaki was sent on an eleven-month tour with a group commissioned by the Ministry of Education to investigate universities in England, and also Germany and France. This trip allowed Sasaki to identify best educational practices to adopt for Ōtani, but it also conveniently removed him from certain emerging tensions with Honganji officials. When he returned at the end of June 1922, however, he again assumed his leadership role on campus, was inaugurated as the president-designate in October 1923, and took office in January 1924 (Conway, Inoue, and Rhodes 2013, 10–11; Schroeder 2015, chapter 2; and Yamada 1992). It was during this period that interaction between Sasaki and Suzuki reached a peak. References to him in Suzuki’s diaries during these four years far exceeded those to Soga and Kaneko during the next four decades. Some of these entries simply recorded casual interactions: exchanging letters or visiting each other or sharing a meal (DTED 19: 49, 1923.1.25; 50, 1923.3.18; 61, 1924.3.10, 1924.3.12; 66, 1924.5.31; 68, 1924.7.25; 76, 1925.4.26; 79, 1925.7.16). Others expressed alarm over Sasaki’s poor health and hospitalization in 1924 (DTED 19: 64, 1924.4.14, 1924.4.16; 65, 1924.5.6). Still others indicated shared professional activities and events: an editorial meeting of The Eastern Buddhist; reading the Tannishō together in a small study group; editing and proofreading Sasaki’s manuscripts (DTED 19: 54, 1923.10.16; 78, 1925.7.8; 75, 1925.4.8; 82, 1925.10.4). And a few marked transitional events in Sasaki’s life: his inauguration as Ōtani president; his death and funeral; and Suzuki’s work on his posthumous writings (DTED 19: 53, 1923.10.5; 87, 1926.3.7; 88, 1926.3.11; 95, 1927.1.24). It is clear in the three memorials that Suzuki wrote after Sasaki’s death that he felt a deep sense of personal loss, that he considered Sasaki a timely leader and an enlightened scholar, and that he hoped Sasaki’s living presence would be embedded in the university as it moved forward (SDZ 31: 332, 333–335; Suzuki 1926a, 1926b, 1926c). The rapport between Sasaki and Suzuki existed on both a personal and a professional level, but it also extended to their scholarly interests and orientation. Sasaki was of course trained from an early age in traditional Shin doctrine, but he was also inspired by Kiyozawa’s philosophical views and ideas of religious introspection. Hence, one of Sasaki’s ear342

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liest, defining works was Jikken no shūkyō (The Religion of Experience, 1903). As Sasaki developed his scholarship, though, he diversified greatly the subject matter he explored and the methodology he used. When he first collaborated with Suzuki in 1910, for instance, Sasaki was engaged in a comprehensive study of Shinran’s many biographies, examining them from a historical and textual perspective, but also presupposing the experiential dimensions of Shinran’s life and teachings. Subsequently, Sasaki turned his attention to classical Mahayana philosophy— the Yogācāra teachings of Asaṅga and Vasubandhu and the Mādhyamika teachings of Nāgārjuna—probing them for their philosophical and religious implications, but also treating the texts critically and analytically according to the standards of modern scholarship. In addition, Sasaki had a perennial interest in the Avataṃsaka (Kegon) Sutra, both its interpretive implications and its comparison to other sutras (Conway, Inoue, and Rhodes 2013, 12–14; and Schroeder 2015, chapter 2). Sasaki’s scholarly approach and interests, going back to the classical texts of India, coincided felicitously with Suzuki’s, as well as with Akanuma Chizen’s and Yamabe Shūgaku’s, two other members of Kiyozawa’s movement who worked closely with Suzuki and Sasaki on the editorial board of The Eastern Buddhist. The style of Sasaki’s scholarship is sometimes characterized as objective and historicist, in contrast to that of Soga and Kaneko, which is considered subjective and introspective (Schroeder 2015, chapter 2). Interestingly, we can find in Soga’s 1935 book Shinran no bukkyōshi kan (Shinran’s View of Buddhist History; SRS 5: 385–471) a critique of conventional Buddhist studies for its focus on textual and historical issues, a critique that might be applicable to Sasaki’s scholarship. In order to understand Sasaki’s point of view, though, we should set aside the juxtaposition of objective to subjective, or of historical and textual to introspective, for he did not consider them to be at odds with each other. That is, in examining any particular historical figure or textual body of thought, Sasaki was also attuned to the subjective religious experience behind it. And he thought that the meaning of religion for Shinran and Shin Buddhism could be illuminated by the ancient ideas and practices elucidated in Buddhist studies. We can find this approach in a series of articles that Sasaki published with Suzuki’s help in the early issues of The Eastern Buddhist, which were subsequently compiled into the book A Study of Shin Buddhism in 1925. In them Sasaki made linkages between Śākyamuni Buddha and Shinran; between non-ego (anātman), emptiness, ālayavijñāna, wisdom, nondifferentiation between self and other, and Shin faith; and 343

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between the populist goals of early Mahayana in India and those of Shin Buddhism in Japan (Sasaki 1925). In short, by researching Buddhism’s history and texts Sasaki sought to expand the range of meanings associated with Shin Buddhism and at the same time to validate Shin as standing squarely in Buddhism’s historical traditions. The key to this approach was to link personal religious experience in Shin to personal religious experience in all of Buddhism going back to Śākyamuni. This was a very different approach from traditional Shin dogmatics, which validated Shinran through the lineage of the Pure Land patriarchs. It is this very approach that Sasaki shared with Suzuki, providing a basis of their close scholarly, professional, and personal association. For our purposes what is interesting is that during Sasaki’s lifetime this approach was considered part of Kiyozawa’s legacy and the Seishinshugi tradition. From the sources examined here, it is reasonable to conclude that D. T. Suzuki was not a close associate of the most celebrated figures of Ōtani’s Seishinshugi tradition—Kiyozawa, Soga, and Kaneko. The period of their overlap at Ōtani was short, and their interaction and intellectual exchanges were few. Admittedly, there were parallels in their interpretation of Buddhism—specifically, as an inward, personal experience in the present life transcending the distinctions and differentiations of the world. But such interpretations were common among Buddhist modernists in Japan, and not particularly unique to Suzuki or to Kiyozawa, Soga, and Kaneko. If there was any Seishinshugi figure to whom Suzuki felt a close bond, it was Sasaki Gesshō. There were abundant interactions and exchanges between them, and they shared a common goal of elucidating personal religious experience in the history and texts of Buddhism. Unfortunately, this style of scholarship seemed to have lost prominence in the Seishinshugi movement after the death of Sasaki in the 1920s and with the popularization of Soga and Kaneko in the 1930s and 1940s. Please allow me here to extrapolate from this conclusion and to hypothesize about trends in Japanese Buddhist modernism in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. There is a tendency in scholarship to define the modernists primarily by contrasting them to traditional sectarian scholars who held fast to doctrinal categories, canonical works, and modes of argumentation established in Tokugawa Buddhist hermeneutics. Modernists sought to breach those traditions and to identify the essentials of Buddhism differently—principally, in terms of personal religious experience, whether associated with Zen satori or Shin 344

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faith. It seems to me, though, that a greater fine-tuning of Buddhist modernism is required, considering the example of Suzuki and Sasaki on one side and Soga and Kaneko on the other. While united in their challenge to traditional doctrine, the two sides seemed to have very different visions of Buddhist modernism. For convenience’s sake I would describe their differences in terms of “Buddhist universalism” versus “Shin exceptionalism.” Suzuki and Sasaki sought to discover what the essence of Buddhism is and to identify it in all forms of Buddhism including Shin. This would place Shin squarely in the all-embracing and universal tradition of Buddhism, while still allowing it to be Shin. Soga and Kaneko, on the other hand, wanted to separate Shin out from other forms of Buddhism and to proclaim it as distinct and special. Whatever was sufficient to explain other types of Buddhism was not sufficient to explain Shin. In that sense, they portrayed Shin as exceptional in the history of Buddhism. These views, I believe, represent two very different impulses in modern Buddhism. Admittedly, universalism and exceptionalism can only be used as heuristic categories here, for it may be hard to find any thinker who fits perfectly and purely into one or the other. But as categories they do help us identify diverse trends in Buddhist modernism, some clearly conflicting with others, and they may help explain the seeming distance that developed between the Suzuki and the Soga– Kaneko approach to scholarship. As a corollary to this, please allow me to reflect on the historical development of the Seishinshugi tradition in the twentieth century. It goes without saying that Soga and Kaneko are recognized as the most illustrious heirs of Kiyozawa’s tradition. There is definitely a power and brilliance in their introspective interpretation of Shin Buddhism that has captured the imagination of many modern Shin intellectuals. And their individual life stories—articulating a new vision of Shin, suffering attacks and suppression by the religious establishment, staying true to their beliefs amid this adversity, and finally receiving recognition and reinstatement at the highest levels of the Honganji organization—could be interpreted as an extension of Kiyozawa’s own story and as a final vindication of his cause.20 But the question I would raise here is whether the valorization of Soga and Kaneko has in fact created an insular and introspective version of Shin Buddhism that is difficult to communicate to non-Shin audiences, including foreigners. And if so, is there a need to retrieve the style of Seishinshugi exemplified by Sasaki, one using the shared concerns and methodologies of Buddhist studies to reveal the significance of Shinran’s teachings? It is noteworthy that the version of 345

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Shin Buddhism that has had the most traction among foreigners is not that of Soga and Kaneko, but rather Suzuki’s. And we can largely trace Suzuki’s lifelong engagement with Shin Buddhism to the intellectual stimulation and influence of Sasaki. Hence, Sasaki’s version of Seishin­ shugi may have survived in disguise within the Shin writings and teachings of Suzuki. Or, to put it another way, Suzuki himself, without ever knowing it, may have inherited the legacy of Kiyozawa from Sasaki, and then popularized it in the West. In conclusion, let me reiterate the caveat I expressed at the beginning of this study. The theses presented here can only be provisional and speculative, inviting further examination. The sources on which my argument depends are limited, drawn almost exclusively from the writings of Suzuki, and even then from a selection of his works. A fuller picture would require other sources, including those of the major figures discussed in this essay. Secondly, my conclusions about Suzuki’s tie to Seishinshugi are contingent on a reexamination of the Seishinshugi tradition itself. If it continues to be defined primarily in terms of the Soga and Kaneko lineage, then I think it is difficult to establish a strong connection between it and Suzuki. But if it is redefined and diversified to include other styles of Shin Buddhist scholarship—ones with strong links to modern Buddhist studies, such as that of Sasaki and other figures at Ōtani—then it may be easy to connect the dots between Suzuki and Seishinshugi.

Notes 1

Suzuki’s biographical information in this section is derived largely from three sources: (1) Kirita 2005; (2) Suzuki’s diaries: DTED; and (3) Suzuki’s letters: SDZ, vols. 36–40. See also James C. Dobbins, “Introduction,” Suzuki 2015, ix–xxviii.

2

For a modern edition, as well as the 1893 English translation, “The Skeleton of a Philosophy of Religion,” see KMZI 1: 1–150 and Kiyozawa 2001.

3

Concerning Noguchi, see Yoshinaga 2007.

4

The attempt to ground religion in empiricism is reflected in the easy substitution of the words keiken, “experience,” and jikken, “experiment,” in Japanese works during the 1880s and 1890s, since the concepts were thought to be in some way identical. For a cogent discussion of this, see Schroeder 2015, chapter 1.

5

Suzuki’s critique of the otherworldly Pure Land and of nenbutsu as a dhāraṇī for the dead can be found in Shin shūkyō ron; SDZ 23: 7–8, 13.

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SDZ 36: 57, letter 35, 1895.6.3; 57–58, letter 36, 1895.8.26; and 75–76, letter 49, 1896.5.14. See also Suzuki’s statement in Shin shūkyō ron that “the truth of religion is the truth of science, and the truth of science is the truth of religion” (SDZ 23: 107), echoing Carus’s concept of the “religion of science.”

7

Nishida Kitarō zenshū (Collected Works of Nishida Kitarō, hereafter, NKZ) 17: 245, 1909.11.6, indicates that he visited the Kōkōdō in November 1909.

8

Suzuki did use the word seishinkai in a letter (SDZ 36: 163, letter 112, 1901.1.14), but simply to mean the spiritual realm rather than as the name of the journal. The two places I have found where Suzuki expressed some awareness of Nishida’s engagement with Shin Buddhists is SDZ 36: 104, letter 72, 1897.10.26, where he said that the Ōtani branch was somewhat more progressive (kaishin) than other denominations; and SDZ 36: 163, letter 98, 1898 (exact date unknown), where he mentioned a short writing of Nishida’s in the journal Mujintō (1898; NKZ 11: 52–57), which was published by Shinshū University.

9

Suzuki did publish a brief editor’s note in 1920 for a reprint of Matsutani Motosaburō’s English work The Ideals of the Shinran Followers. See Kirita 2005, 25 (reverse).

10 This is possibly the earliest published translation in English, rivaling another 1936 publication of Kiyozawa’s essays: Tajima and Shacklock 1936, 73–78. Concerning the Tajima and Shacklock translation, see Schroeder 2015, intro. and chapter 4 (esp. 301). 11 Concerning the life and works of Soga Ryōjin, see CS, 101–103; and Itō Emyō’s chapter in Bandō, Itō, and Hataya 1993, 132–191, 251–254. 12 There is one entry in Suzuki’s diaries (DTED 20: 14, 1930.6.23), which suggests that he kept an eye on these events from afar while in Kamakura: “Jochiji called with evening paper in which report Ōtani matter compromised.” 13 I did find, nonetheless, a reference to an essay by Soga in the preface to Suzuki’s 1948 book Myōkōnin, in which he described Soga as “an authority of the highest level in the Tariki school” (tarikishū daiichiryū no ken’isha; SDZ 10: 127–128). 14 This lecture took place on April 21, 1961, only two days after the famous dialogue was recorded between Suzuki, Soga, and Kaneko, moderated by Nishitani. See Kirita 2005, 218. 15 Concerning the life and works of Kaneko Daiei, see CS, 159–165; Hataya Akira and Tatsudani Akio’s chapter in Bandō, Itō, and Hataya 1993, 263–294, 376–381; and Schroeder 2015, chapters 2 and 3. 16 “Recent Publications,” Eastern Buddhist, o.s., 6 (4): 492 (1935).

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The Legacy of Seishinshugi 17 These lectures were published in Suzuki and Kaneko 1930. Suzuki then republished his lectures serially the next year in Shōbōrin under the title “Zen to Shinshū,” SDZ 31: 477–502 (see esp. 498). 18 Concerning the life and works of Sasaki Gesshō, see Conway, Inoue, and Rhodes 2013; Schroeder 2015, chapter 2; and Yamada 1992. 19 This work was published as part of the 650th memorial to Shinran: see Sasaki and Suzuki 1911. Kirita (2005, 30) indicates that Suzuki was in Nikkō again in August 1911, but does not specify whether he was there with Sasaki working on this translation. 20 This is a major theme in Schroeder 2015.

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Chapter 15

Sincerity of Spirit Seishinshugi’s Influence on Tanabe Hajime Melissa Anne-Marie Curley While cloistered in the mountains during the final months of the AsiaPacific War, philosopher Tanabe Hajime (1885–1962) experienced an intellectual breakthrough. The rational mode of investigation upon which he had long relied in making sense of the movement of history had utterly failed him, but in the depths of despair, he discovered a new approach: philosophy by way of other-power (tariki) (Tanabe 1986 [1946], 26–27). He called this new approach “metanoetics” (zangedō). Tanabe took Shinran to be his “master and . . . teacher” in metanoetics (260)—it was Shinran who urged Tanabe “on along the path of ‘philosophy as metanoetics’ ” (254) and Shinran who will serve as “our guide in metanoetical thinking” (lv) for the readers of Tanabe’s Zangedō toshite no tetsugaku (Philosophy as Metanoetics, hereafter, Metanoetics; 1946). Tanabe’s turn to Shinran offers an easy way to distinguish him from his senior colleague and opposite number within the Kyoto School, Nishida Kitarō (1870–1945), who typically drew upon the repertoire of Zen in developing his ideas. The neatness of this heuristic device has encouraged some overestimating of Tanabe’s investments in Pure Land. Consider, for example, the following suggestion from Bernard Faure: “Whereas Nishida was primarily interested in Zen, and only later in his life in Pure Land, Tanabe was from the start a Pure Land believer. In some ways, Tanabe and Nishida seem to replay in highly philosophical terms the old Zen/Pure Land controversy between ‘self-power’ ( jiriki) and ‘other-power’ (tariki)” (Faure 1995, 251). In fact, Tanabe’s interest in Pure Land did not crystallize until late in his career, when he was already on the verge of retirement—as Tanabe tells us, before reaching the 349

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philosophical impasse that drove him toward Shinran, he had had only a “passing familiarity” with Shinran’s thought by way of the Tannishō (1986, 224)—and the works he produced after Metanoetics turned away from Pure Land toward a philosophical engagement with Christianity (Heisig 1986, xv). Although he characterizes Pure Land as “the apex of Buddhism’s development” (Tanabe 1986, 253), he plainly understands Amida Buddha and Dharmākara Bodhisattva as myths and he has little tolerance for the school and its ordinary members. He claims that “while shōdōmon, the self-power ‘Gate of the Sages,’ retains some elements of discipline and practice, Pure Land believers (those who follow the way of nembutsumon) relax in the indolence of worldly life, believing that they will be saved merely by invoking the name of Amida” (17), and asserts that the contemporary Shinshū institution “has degenerated into a sect that covets prestige and prosperity above all else, a lifeless corpse from which the spirit has departed” (225). It seems to me then that it would be inaccurate even to say that Tanabe was primarily interested in Pure Land, much less a Pure Land believer. There is good reason then for contemporary Pure Land scholars to feel some consternation at Tanabe’s having come to be counted among the major modern interpreters of Shinran. Galen Amstutz wonders why “those who propose to build bridges between Shin and Western thought would see Tanabe as the best place to start” (1997, 186n64), given that Tanabe’s “real basis was nineteenth-century European thought rather than traditional Buddhism, his appropriation of Shinran was doubtfully accurate, and the existence of the Honganji as an independent religious institution for religious fellowship played no role for him” (92). Ueda Yoshifumi likewise holds that “Tanabe fails to faithfully incorporate so much as a single concept in its entirety from Shinran” (1990, 134); he tells us that his critique of Metanoetics is motivated by the possibility “that among those who have learned about Shinran through the lens of metanoia, there may be those who would like to see Shinran as he is” (149). I want to acknowledge the legitimacy of these critiques and reaffirm Amstutz’s assertion that Tanabe’s work “must be sharply distinguished from classical Shinshū” (Amstutz 1997, 186n64). At the same time, I want to argue that Tanabe’s work cannot be sharply distinguished from Seishinshugi. Scholars have been keen to identify the ways in which Seishinshugi has influenced other thinkers associated with the Kyoto School, even when the lines of influence are subtle (as in the case of Nishida Kitarō, whose intellectual relationship with Kiyozawa Manshi has been carefully examined by Fujita Masakatsu 350

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[2002]) or perhaps overstated (as in the case of D. T. Suzuki, as James Dobbins argues in this volume). Tanabe is unusual in that he does not make us guess as to his influences. He is explicit about the fact that his interpretation of Shinran is based on the work of Soga Ryōjin: “Among contemporary scholar-priests of the Shin sect, Soga Ryōjin (1875–1971) should be mentioned for his appreciation of and deep insight into the basic notion of metanoesis, as well as for his recognition of its significance for understanding Shinran’s faith. I have found his interpretation and doctrinal analysis most enlightening, and owe him a great debt of gratitude in this regard” (1986, liii). Tanabe notes his particular admiration for Soga’s “outstanding interpretation” of the three minds in terms of a temporal structure as found in Soga’s Nyorai hyōgen no hanchū toshite no sanshinkan (A View of the Three Minds as Categories of the Expression of the Tathāgata, 1927). As readers of this volume will know, it was this work that drew accusations of heresy, contributing to Soga’s resignation from Ōtani University in 1930.1 Recognizing that Tanabe’s reading of Shinran develops under the influence of Seishinshugi shapes my reading of Metanoetics in two ways, one minor and one major. First, it tempers some of the unkindness of Tanabe’s critique of Shinshū. In contrast, for instance, to the assertion by Watsuji Tetsurō (1889–1960) that there was nobody working within the Sōtō institution capable of competently interpreting Dōgen (Watsuji 2011, 28), Tanabe admires the philosophical work being done by sectarian thinkers; when he criticizes Shinshū for having allowed “charges of heresy [to erect] barriers impeding free research into its doctrine” (1986, 225), we should recognize this as not simply an attack on the institution but a defense of intellectuals working within that institution. Second, and more significantly, once we know that Tanabe is operating within the ambit of Kiyozawa and his disciples, his interpretation of Pure Land appears both less idiosyncratic and more thoughtful. In this chapter, I will try to show how Tanabe’s reading of Pure Land is mediated by interventions already made by Seishinshugi thinkers, and, in turn, use one of Tanabe’s arguments to try to respond to one critique directed at Seishinshugi.

Repentance, Metanoesis, Metanoia as Aspects of Tanabe’s Metanoetics It makes sense to begin with the cluster of concepts at the core of Tanabe’s Metanoetics and that Tanabe understands to be at the core of 351

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S­ hinran’s thought: zange, metanoesis, metanoia, and metanoetics (zangedō). In terms of making a case for Tanabe as a thoughtful reader of Shinran, however, this gets us off to a bad start, insofar as, in Ueda’s words, zange “is non-existent in Shinran” (1990, 134). Zange is usually translated as “repentance,” which is also one way of translating the Greek metanoia; zange has typically been used in the Buddhist context to refer to rituals of confession. Tanabe allows that zange “is not a formal part of the Kyōgyōshinshō” but insists that zange nonetheless “constitutes its whole basis and background, only occasionally breaking through the surface” (1986, 20). Tanabe discovers the philosophy of metanoetics through his own experience of zange, and there are a number of places in Metanoetics where he appears to be performing a kind of confession, asserting his ordinariness, his ignorance, his weakness and “incompetence as a philosopher” (l); “to my shame,” he writes, “I must confess that I am far from being noble-minded. . . . However severe the criticism against me may be, I cannot possibly excuse my vanity, folly, perversity, and wickedness” (2–3). An uncharitable reading might suggest that Tanabe’s posture of repentance represents little more than emotional selfindulgence. John Dower, for example, characterizes Tanabe’s zange as “masochistic” (1999, 683n26), a “paroxysm of self-denigration” (498), taking Shinran’s virtuosic “self-loathing” as its model (498). A more charitable but still critical reading might suggest that Tanabe’s posture of repentance should be understood in terms of the exercise or renewal of moral reason. Peter Suares proposes that Tanabe “called upon Otherpower to give him absolution for his past and a carte blanche, or even an imperative, to resume his philosophical activity with an appeased conscience” (2011, 163); Ueda similarly asserts that Tanabe’s zange should be understood in terms of lucid moral judgment, insofar as “what is central” to zange “is the repentance for wrongs committed” (1990, 136). This understanding puts Tanabe’s zange profoundly at odds with Shinran’s zangi, or deep shame, which “is completely lacking in the idea of doing away with evil and cultivating good” (Ueda 1990, 135); thus, we “cannot but conclude that Shinran is more thoroughgoing than Tanabe in the negation of self-power” (136). I think these readings conflate zange, metanoia, and metanoesis, and so misunderstand what Tanabe means when he talks about metanoetics. For Tanabe, metanoetics has an emotional dimension, but it is not reducible to emotion; it is not, Tanabe tells us, “a product of my subjective feeling” (1986, 36). Rather than beginning with feeling, metanoetics begins with thought—this is the significance of the noesis in metanoesis 352

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(37). However, in contrast to an emphasis on the lucid moral judgment that allows one to regret one’s past actions and reform oneself, expiating one’s sins and moving toward more perfectly embodying a moral ideal disclosed through reason, Tanabe’s zange involves the pain of repentance but admits no possibility of reform: zange “signifies repentance for the wrongs I had done, with the accompanying torment of knowing that there is no way to expiate my sins” (li). Rather than resting in thinking, or lucid moral judgment, metanoetics goes beyond thinking—this is why he calls it “meta-noetics” or “after-thinking.” Tanabe’s metanoetics does not represent the exercise of lucid moral judgment that can repent past wrongs and seek to do good; on the contrary, it truly opens up only when reason is brought beyond its limits and fails. Metanoetics “entails throwing oneself boldly into the crisis of antinomies” (42), using reason to criticize reason until reason has “no alternative but to surrender itself to this crisis of self-disruption, and to overcome it by allowing itself to be shattered to pieces” (38). This registers on the level of emotion as a shattering of the heart or “contrition”; it registers on the level of reason as the absolute critique that undoes reason, giving reason “no choice but to let go of itself and acknowledge its own ineffectiveness,” deciding “to die in the midst of contradiction” (256). The moment of shattering or death is also the moment when there is a change of heart or a transformation of mind—it is a moment of conversion, which is the other sense of the Greek metanoia.2 This conversion is the conversion from philosophy as the exercise of reason to the philosophy of other-power. So when Tanabe talks about metanoetics, he is not talking about a calculating repentance for wrongs committed but the self-negation of the finite reason capable of such calculation. Readers familiar with Seishinshugi will recognize two similarities between Tanabe’s discovery of metanoetics and Kiyozawa’s realization of faith in the Tathāgata. In both cases, what is required first is the exhaustion of reason. Early in his career, Kiyozawa had argued that because each finite thing is part of the totality that makes up the absolute infinite, the finite and the infinite must be of the same substance (nikō dōtai), and it must therefore be possible to grasp the absolute infinite by means of finite reason (Kiyozawa Manshi zenshū, Iwanami edition, hereafter, KMZI 1: 141) or even moral judgment (KMZI 2: 126). In the wake of the illness brought on by his ascetic experiments, however, he modified this position. From the point of view of the infinite, the finite must be totally encompassed within the infinite, or else the infinite could not rightly claim to be infinite. However, from the point of view of the finite, the 353

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infinite must extend beyond the finite, or else the infinite could not rightly claim to be infinite (Fujita 2002, 47). In order for a finite being to grasp the absolute infinite then, it must go beyond finite reason by means of faith. In his final essay, “Waga shinnen” (The Nature of My Faith, 1903g), Kiyozawa describes his faith in the infinite Tathāgata as something that “occurs at the limit of everything I know. . . . When I reached the conclusion that the meaning of life is incomprehensible, it was at that point that my faith in the tathāgata arose” (CS, 94–95). Reaching this conclusion did not happen on its own—it required bringing his own efforts at apprehending the Tathāgata through sense and reason to the point of absolute crisis: “It was necessary,” he tells us, “to exhaust my entire range of intellectual faculties to the point where I could no longer even raise my head” (95); unable to distinguish good from bad, happiness from unhappiness, he reached a point at which he found himself unable “to move right or left, forward or backward” (95). Only then, when all of his convictions based on finite reason had been destroyed, could “trust in the tathāgata” arise spontaneously (94). Tanabe experiences the same exhaustion of reason. In the summer of 1944, he writes, as it was becoming clear that Japan would lose the war, the state was growing less and less tolerant of criticism. Tanabe found himself unsure of what to do—should he confront the nation’s leaders, demanding freedom of thought and freedom of speech, or should he refrain from confrontation in order to avoid causing conflict that might do further harm to the people? Despite his best efforts, he was unable to make up his mind: “In the impasse I even wondered whether I should go on teaching philosophy or give it up altogether, since I had no adequate solution to a dilemma that philosophically did not appear all that difficult. . . . I spent my days wrestling with questions and doubts like this from within and without, until I had been quite driven to the point of exhaustion and in my despair concluded that I was not fit to engage in the sublime task of philosophy” (1986, l). This was the moment when Tanabe recognized himself as an ordinary fool (gusha bonbu)3 to whom the path of sages was closed, or the moment he recognized the limits of his knowledge, and the moment that the path of zange opened for him (114). And in both cases, the exhaustion of finite reason allows the birth of a new self through other-power. Kiyozawa, who is otherwise unable to move left or right, lives by virtue of the Tathāgata discovered at the very foundation of the self; this Tathāgata enables him “to course through this world calmly, without malice. Without believing in this tathāgata, I would neither know how to live nor how to die” (CS, 95). Kiyozawa char354

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acterizes his peaceful existence as a consequence of having turned every decision—including the decision of whether to live or die—over to the Tathāgata. For Tanabe too, metanoetics involves “a letting go of oneself in despair, where one forfeits altogether the ability to decide by one’s own will whether one should live or die” (1986, 30); within the depths of despair, thrown back upon his own interiority and away from external things (l), Tanabe discovers the infinite—or what he terms absolute nothingness—at the base of his own subjectivity. In his experience, this relinquishing of the self in surrender to absolute nothingness triggered “the ‘breaking through’ (Durchbruch) of a self that hitherto had moved exclusively within the realms of discursive thinking and reflection” (4). This new self or resurrected self, “brought to life as a mediator of absolute Other-power” (30), enjoys perfect naturalness ( jinen hōni) in its activities by virtue of the fact that all of its activities occur in “obedience to absolute nothingness” (81). Rather than describing a process of moral renewal then, Tanabe’s metanoetics describes the death of the self that exercises moral judgment, or self-power, through zange and the resurrection of the self as an instrument of other-power through ­ metanoesis. There is also, I think, an important distinction to be made between Kiyozawa and Tanabe with respect to the relation between the finite and the infinite. For Kiyozawa, as I understand it, what matters most for the individual person is union with the infinite; it is union with the infinite that allows Kiyozawa himself to course through life happily and resolves the problem of death. If by force of habit, one drifts back into attempts “to prove the existence of infinite compassion by means of finite, inelegant speculation,” it is easy “to reflect on the imprudence of this activity and abandon such theorizing” (CS, 96), returning to acceptance of the infinite. For Tanabe, on the other hand, these instances when the finite reasserts itself in opposition to the infinite are as important as the union of the two; he understands the need for continual zange not to be a sign that the negation of self-power in metanoetics is inadequate but, on the contrary, as revealing something profound about the relation between the ordinary fool and the Tathāgata. And this matters because he does not understand his metanoetics to be just a private experience of religious conversion. Rather, he understands himself to have discerned a structure also discerned by Shinran, and concealed within the Pure Land myth of Dharmākara Bodhisattva’s transformation into Amida Buddha: the dialectical structure at the base of reality. What is really at 355

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stake in Tanabe’s metanoetics then, is not individual moral redemption, nor personal salvation, but the possibility of understanding what drives the ongoing life of the world. It is in this way that his metanoetics improves upon his previous efforts as a philosopher, in that it allows him to better grasp the movement of history.

Three Ways of Construing the Relation between Finite Being and Absolute Nothingness: Unity, Duality, and Dialectics Tanabe holds that Pure Land Buddhism has unique strengths both in terms of its ability to describe the dialectical relation between finite being and absolute nothingness and its ability to describe that relation as actively unfolding in time. In this section, I want to explore how Tanabe harnesses elements of the Pure Land imaginary to explain the relation itself, before turning in the next section to how he draws on Soga in order to explain the active unfolding of that relation in history. Briefly put, in Tanabe’s own philosophical terms, finite being and absolute nothingness operate in a dialectical relation of reciprocal negative mediation. Being, which is finite and relative, can undergo transformation and become something new, precisely because it is finite and relative. But becoming something new is only possible through the negation of what already is. Thus, for being, the agent of transformation is absolute nothingness: through the negative mediation of absolute ­nothingness, finite being is negated and becomes something new. Tanabe describes this using the metaphors of death and resurrection. The generative or creative moment of death and resurrection, or ­“revolution-qua-restoration” constitutes “the basic structure of history” (1986, 62). At the same time, on the other side if you will, absolute nothingness is also undergoing transformation or, more precisely, selfrealization. Absolute nothingness cannot exist directly, precisely because it is nothingness, but it can “manifest itself in the mediation of negative transformation” (272). In other words, absolute nothingness realizes itself as absolute nothingness in the activity of negation, which means that for absolute nothingness, the negative mediating agent is being (273). This means that negative mediation is always and only a reciprocal relation, in which neither side has permanent priority (93); each side is dependent upon the other and is assured its independence by virtue of assuming the role of mediating agent for the other. This is a dialectical relation grasped from two sides simultaneously: finite being is 356

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negated by absolute nothingness and that negation is sublated in new being; absolute nothingness allows itself to be negated by finite being  and that negation is sublated in the self-realization of absolute nothingness. Every religious tradition is concerned with the relation between the finite and the infinite, so in Tanabe’s terms, every religious tradition says something about the relation between finite being and absolute nothingness. However, as Tanabe sees it, Pure Land is unusually well positioned to recognize the relation between finite being and absolute nothingness—or what the Pure Land Buddhist calls the ordinary fool and the Tathāgata—as one of reciprocal negative mediation, rather than either drifting into visions of mystical union or settling for a dualistic theism. Visions of mystical union spring out of the religious impulse toward transcendence, imagining the finite self merging totally with a transcendent infinite. Tanabe suggests that in Christianity, this takes the form of a mystical union of the human being with God, and in Zen, the form of realizing one’s own buddha-nature. Tanabe takes mystical union to be a fundamentally inadequate way of imagining the relation between finite being and absolute nothingness, insofar as it seeks direct affirmation of being—becoming a buddha in this very body (1986, 258)—and risks abandoning discrimination in the name of an “unmediated, nondifferentiating transcendence” (152). The sage’s potential for achieving a state of nondiscrimination here leaves him vulnerable to error, mistaking “a state of nature that is in fact sub-ethical” for transcendent wisdom (171). Pure Land, by contrast, insists that an ordinary fool such as myself cannot hope to become a buddha—in Zen, the Tathāgata cannot “confront the self because it already is the self” (1986, 169), but in Pure Land, the ordinary fool is, as an evil person, quite opposed to the Tathāgata. Pure Land therefore has a built-in resistance to the mystical tendency toward abstract nondifferentiation and unmediated equality (156). Instead, Pure Land Buddhism imagines the relation between the finite and the infinite as it appears from the standpoint of finite beings in terms of a “personal relationship” between the ordinary fool and Amida Buddha. This image of relation as personal relationship prompts us to conceive the encounter between finite being and absolute nothingness as one in which difference is preserved, which for Tanabe means recognizing the necessary contradiction between finite being and absolute nothingness that makes every encounter a confrontation. This dynamic of 357

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s­ imultaneous encounter and confrontation points to what Tanabe calls “the ­inevitable twofold need for union and repulsion between the universal and the individual” (173) or the “simultaneous presence of annihilation and preservation” that characterizes any dialectic (218). From the side of finite being, what Tanabe calls “repulsion” is experienced as an affirmation of finite being’s independence and autonomy with respect to absolute nothingness—it is my assertion, as a finite being, that “I am.” Tanabe understands finite being as possessed of an innate and pervasive propensity toward such self-affirmation. He defines this propensity, following Kant, as radical evil (kongen aku) (23). The Japanese kongen should recall for us the etymological meaning of “radical” as “forming the root”: radical evil is not a matter “merely of committing evil acts” for which one might seek expiation; it is the inherent impulse toward self-affirmation that lies at the root of the self and informs its every activity (23). So evil here really means the ground of egoity (167). “Sin” then does not refer to a specific set of bad acts. Rather, any act motivated by evil—that is, any act that, in being my act, asserts “I am”—is a sin. Since by definition all of my acts assert “I am,” all of my acts are marked by sin: they are all expressions of egoity. Because the propensity to evil is innate, each one of us is an evil person; because the propensity to evil is pervasive, “each and every act of ours cannot avoid the stain of sin” (23). Tanabe suggests that an understanding of the repulsive force of self-affirmation is reflected in the Buddhist critique of “the evil passions of self-attachment” that keep us trapped in samsara, or at odds with the absolute nothingness represented by nirvana (16). Given this definition of evil as the innate and pervasive propensity of finite being toward self-affirmation, or egoity, the Pure Land critique of self-power can be understood as deepening the traditional Buddhist critique of self. As Tanabe sees it, Shinran’s presentation of himself as an evil person expresses his understanding that finite being tends always toward self-­ affirmation; his despair over the falseness and insincerity that poisons his every good deed registers the pervasive propensity toward self-affirmation that urges finite being to declare its independence from absolute nothingness (159). Shinran’s assertion that salvation is possible for an evil person such as himself only by abandoning self-power—that is, by abandoning any activity that affirms the autonomy of finite being—then becomes, for Tanabe, an expression of Shinran’s insight into the fact that from the side of finite being, if repulsion between the individual and the universal takes the form of affirmation of finite being, union between the indi358

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vidual and the universal must take the form of negation of finite being. Union with absolute nothingness can only be experienced from the side of finite being as the absolute negation or annihilation of finite being; as Tanabe understands it, it is this absolute negation that Shinran is talking about when he talks about reliance on other-power, and it is this absolute negation that Tanabe refers to as “dying.” When Pure Land practitioners imagine themselves encountering Amida on the deathbed and through his saving grasp, attaining birth in the Pure Land, in Tanabe’s view, they are not far from understanding the true nature of the dialectical encounter between finite being and absolute nothingness as it appears on the side of finite being, as an encounter wherein finite being is negated by absolute nothingness and through that negative mediation, is transformed into new being or “resurrected” (50). But this new being, as being, must still be marked by radical evil, or an impulse toward self-affirmation. For some of Tanabe’s critics, this suggests that Tanabe does not understand the full significance of Shinran’s turn to other-power. Ueda tells us that “When self-power is completely abandoned, it is left behind forever and one enters the ocean of the Primal Vow which is Other-power” (1990, 136); having entered the ocean of other-power, “one simply lives entrusting the self to Otherpower, as if riding on a huge vessel, then by virtue of the natural working of jinen all the evil obstructions are transformed into the substance of highest virtue” (148). But what Ueda describes as “evil obstructions” are in no way different from what Tanabe describes as “self-power”: the ongoing creative development of finite being is experienced as spontaneous ( jinen hōni) or effortless (1986, 214) because it is a dialectical movement in which the work of transforming finite being is taken on by absolute nothingness as mediating agent. If Pure Land really described a situation of leaving self-power behind forever, it would, in Tanabe’s terms, be nothing other than a reiteration of the mystical vision of the self as identical with the Tathāgata. As Tanabe sees it, Shinran explicitly refuses such a mystical vision—when the bond between finite being and absolute nothingness, or ordinary fool and Amida Buddha, is understood as “founded on the principle of identity,” we call that the “profanity” of presuming upon the original vow (hongan bokori; 15). Instead, Shinran offers us a vision of a bond between finite being and absolute nothingness founded on the “dialectical tension of nonidentity and nondifference” (15), or repulsion and union. Shinran’s profound understanding of this dialectical tension is expressed in his assertion that birth in the Pure Land takes place without evil karma being eradicated (45). 359

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­ anabe takes this to be a robustly positive claim indicating not simply T that evil karma cannot obstruct the working of Amida’s vow, but that radical evil (or relative being) mediates that working, even as “the work of salvation” (or negation of relative being) “belongs to the absolute alone” (214). For Tanabe, Shinran’s claim that “we are destined to enter into membership in the realm of nirvāṇa without extinguishing our evil passions” (198) thus describes the twofold need for union and repulsion, or annihilation and preservation, from the side of finite, relative being. Metanoesis too, Tanabe suggests, should be understood not merely as a bewailing of repulsion and a longing for union but as expressing an understanding of this twofold need, in which the very evil or self-affirmation I lament is realized as “a medium of grace” (198). This dynamic of encounter and confrontation, union and repulsion, or annihilation and preservation, also holds from the side of absolute nothingness: mediation, if it is true mediation, must be reciprocal (273), so just as finite being relies upon absolute nothingness, absolute nothingness relies upon finite being. There is no way for absolute nothingness to realize itself except in the encounter with the contradiction of finite being (214). Now if Zen Buddhism is prone to making the mistake of drifting into mystical union, Pure Land practitioners, Tanabe thinks, are prone to making the mistake of settling for dualistic theism, wherein they recognize that sentient beings require the Tathāgata as a mediating agent but imagine that the Tathāgata has no need for sentient beings. In other words, they are inclined to imagine that sentient beings rely on other-power but Amida acts on the basis of self-power alone—they “insist on the unmediated absoluteness of his being and on his solitary activity of saving sentient beings without the aid of their mediatory function” (213). Tanabe claims that this has the effect of “converting Pure Land Buddhism into a kind of theism akin to Christianity” (213), turning the Tathāgata into “a transcendent being that rises above the totality of being” (183). We might be reminded here of the discussion of the imageries of light in Pure Land and Christianity found in Soga’s “Chijō no kyūshu” (A Savior on Earth): “The eternal Tathāgata of Unhindered Light,” Soga writes, “stays on the level of an object of our yearning, in other words, on the level of our ideals, and as such cannot be our savior” (1913a; CS, 109); God the Father, “the Supreme God, being eternal light, is not a being to be in intimate contact with the real world. . . . From the moment that the real world has come into actual existence, the Supreme God and the world are totally separated and independent from each other” (110). Just so, in Tanabe’s understanding, were such a transcen360

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dent, absolute being to exist, it would be unable to encounter finite, relative being—as unmediated and unchanging, it would be perpetually estranged from the world of finite, relative beings. If we are to avoid making this mistake, Tanabe maintains, we have to insist that the mediation taking place between the ordinary person and the Tathāgata is reciprocal: If finite, relative being realizes itself through an encounter with a power other than itself, so too absolute nothingness, which as nothingness cannot act directly, “in every case requires its ‘other’ ” (1986, 275). That other must be finite, relative being. Thus, as an individual finite being, I mediate absolute nothingness (121): because absolute nothingness “cannot be an unmediated transcendent being that simply embraces relative beings within itself” (236), it takes the finite, relative being as its object (276), “allow[ing] the relative a full mediatory role” (236). In the language of Pure Land Buddhism, because I cannot save myself, I rely on the other-power of the Tathāgata to save me, but because the Tathāgata becomes the Tathāgata by virtue of saving me, the Tathāgata relies on me. Thus I “participate” in the self-­realization of the Tathāgata by serving as the mediator driving its self-development (159). And it is precisely my lamentable disposition toward evil that qualifies me to serve in this mediatory role: the radical evil that urges me to proclaim my “independence from nothingness” (159) is what induces “mediatory activity” (147). What I experience as the moment of self-­ assertion that estranges me from the Tathāgata is, from the side of absolute nothingness, the moment of self-negation on the part of absolute nothingness through which the Tathāgata, granting me my independence, turns my finite, relative being into “the axis around which the absolute itself rotates” (10). Thus the isolation from the Tathāgata that I lament in zange is, from the Tathāgata’s point of view, a self-estrangement driving the Tathāgata’s own self-development. Zange can therefore be understood as the activity that “can coordinate both self-power and Other-power mutually” (197). Tanabe suggests that Pure Land believers would never make the mistake of settling for dualistic theism if they just paid close attention to their own foundational myth. Pure Land myth tells us that Amida Buddha is infinite life and infinite light: as the Buddha of infinite life, he pervades time; as the Buddha of infinite light, he pervades space. But Pure Land myth also tells us that a finite being carried out the work necessary to allow Amida Buddha to realize his own buddhahood. The name the tradition gives that finite being is Dharmākara Bodhisattva. As Tanabe understands it, Dharmākara arises out of the infinite, eternal 361

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Amida as “a self-determination of the Tathāgata seen from the standpoint of the Tathāgata” embodying the “negative mediatory element within the Tathāgata” (1986, 235). For finite being, Dharmākara represents the negation that allows finite being to be united with the Tathāgata; he thus represents our salvation, and his self-discipline represents our zange (211). But for absolute nothingness, Dharmākara represents the self-negation of nothingness that allows absolute nothingness to realize its own ends. The same dialectical relation experienced from the standpoint of finite being in terms of establishing a personal relationship with the Tathāgata is experienced from the standpoint of absolute nothingness as a circular movement unfolding within absolute nothingness, in which finite being serves as the axis of rotation. Dharmākara is, from this standpoint, “merely a symbol for sentient beings as relative beings, that is, as the negative mediating element of Amida Buddha’s absolute transformation” (211)—insofar as I participate in the dialectical self-realization of absolute nothingness, or what Pure Land Buddhists might call the fulfillment of Amida’s vows, Dharmākara is the name the tradition gives me.

Dharmākara and the Self-Awareness of the Historical Subject Tanabe is able to recognize Dharmākara as philosophically interesting because of Soga’s interventions in the foundational Pure Land myth; it is from Soga that Tanabe takes the possibility of inverting the usual temporal order of that myth, and from Soga that he takes the possibility of using Dharmākara as a way to think through the operations of time more generally. In this section, I will review some of the elements of Soga’s reading of Dharmākara and explore how they provide a foundation for Tanabe’s understanding of the three minds as describing the coming to self-awareness of the historical subject. A commonsense understanding of the foundational myth of Pure Land would locate Dharmākara in the past and Amida in the present: more than ten kalpas ago, Dharmākara came to the end of his five kalpas of discernment and innumerable kalpas of self-discipline, fulfilling his vows and becoming Amida Buddha; Amida is thus available to me now, when I need him. Soga rejects this version of the narrative, arguing that it reduces Dharmākara to nothing more than “ancient myth” (CS, 116). In Soga’s telling, rather than the bodhisattva becoming a buddha, the Tathāgata descends into this world and becomes me, and by becoming 362

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me, saves me; this itself “signals the birth of Dharmākara Bodhisattva” (CS, 107). The problem Soga is seeking to solve here is the one noted above—Amida Buddha, as “the father, who is eternal light,” is too far removed from the world of suffering to do the bodhisattva’s work of saving sentient beings. He overcomes this distance not directly but by “dimming his light and adapting to the dust” (110); when Amida becomes me—that is, when he becomes finite being—he can act in the world of suffering. This conversion of the Tathāgata into suffering being is the birth of the bodhisattva. Here Dharmākara is not a historical figure from eons ago but is born “directly in the heart–mind of us human beings,” his voice arising “from the dark breast of suffering of each human being” (111); he is not a mediator (chūkaisha) standing between two opposing parties but “in his one person he is precisely the Tathāgata and us sentient beings” (CS, 112; SRS 2: 414). Soga’s inversion of the usual temporal order that obtains between bodhisattva and buddha banks on an understanding of Amida as transcending time; Dharmākara becomes a momentary instantiation of eternity in the form of the present moment to which “the living reality of faith” belongs (CS, 115); his five kalpas of discernment, innumerable kalpas of self-discipline, and the ten kalpas since his enlightenment all arise and are exhausted “within the one moment of faith of the great present” (CS, 116). Here Amida exists always and Dharmākara exists now, when I need him; the causal relation between bodhisattva and Tathāgata is circular, with the eternal Tathāgata giving rise to the bodhisattva so that the bodhisattva can perform the austerities that give rise in turn to the Tathāgata. In Nyorai hyōgen no hanchū toshite no sanshinkan—the essay Tanabe specifically mentions as an influence in Metanoetics—Soga treats the same material in more technical terms, shedding more light on what he means when he asserts that Dharmākara is “born directly in the heart– mind of  us human beings” (CS, 111).4 He argues that Dharmākara ­Bodhisattva—literally the “dharma store” bodhisattva—is a figure for the storehouse consciousness (arayashiki; Skt. ālayavijñāna; SRS 5: 157). The storehouse consciousness has three kinds of characteristics or attributes: its intrinsic characteristic ( jisō), its characteristic as the cause (insō) of new phenomena, and its characteristic as the result (kasō) of past phenomena (161). In keeping with a traditional East Asian Maha­ yana interpretation, Soga characterizes the storehouse consciousness as fundamentally pure or quiescent; the intrinsic characteristic of the storehouse consciousness is self-awareness ( jikakusō) as consciousness of an uninterrupted present in which there is neither cause nor result (186). 363

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Dharmākara’s essential nature is thus the uninterrupted self-awareness of the Tathāgata. Results and causes—or past and future—arise within that uninterrupted present without disturbing it; when Pure Land Buddhists talk about ōsō and gensō, they are really talking about past and future unfolding within that uninterrupted present. Likewise, when Pure Land Buddhists talk about the three minds of faith, they are really talking about the three characteristics of the storehouse consciousness. The mind of joyous faith (shingyō), which dwells in the present, seeking nothing, is the intrinsic characteristic of the storehouse consciousness. Sincere mind (shishin), which dwells on the past, is the result of past phenomena. The mind wishing for birth (yokushō), which dwells on the future, is the cause of new phenomena. Rather than understanding the three minds as arising in sequence, from past to present to future, however, we should understand sincere mind and the mind wishing for birth as arising as a unity within the uninterrupted present of joyous faith, just as past and future arise as a unity within the present moment (197)— this is why it can be said that the three minds are one mind (169). The mind of joyous faith, as the intrinsic nature of the storehouse consciousness, is not my own defiled mind; it is the blissful self-awareness of the bodhisattva and the compassionate mind of the Tathāgata (202). As such, the mind of joyous faith refuses or negates birth (205) in order to pursue instead the bodhisattva vows. That mind of joyous faith is transferred to me (206) through a spontaneous conversion that takes place within the storehouse consciousness itself, like water moving under its own weight (174). Thus what is for me the arising of shinjin is nothing other than the working of the vow-making mind of the Tathāgata (206) and what is for me “birth” is itself a means by which the vow-making mind fulfills its own ends (208). Dharmākara’s being “born in the heart-mind” is not a moment in which I feel a special emotional investment in the figure of Dharmākara or a particularly intense will to do good for others; it is a “conversion of the base” (tenne; Skt. āśrayaparivṛtti), or a transformation of my own defiled or turbid consciousness into the undefiled, limpid consciousness of the Buddha. In such a conversion, as Hase Shōtō puts it, “the storehouse consciousness becomes the womb of the Tathāgata [tathāgatagarbha]” (1984, 187). This I think is the significance of Soga’s revelation that the Tathāgata “has deigned to consider me directly as ‘I’ ” (CS, 115). Because this realization is the realization of the infinite, the conversion taking place here must unfold infinitely (SRS 5: 205). Through Soga, Tanabe comes to understand the Pure Land myth as describing a circular relation between the infinite and finite, in which 364

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the infinite descends into the finite in order to effect the conversion that will allow it to return to itself, infinitely. Because of this, Tanabe can assert that the basic movement of history—which is circular—can be discerned in the Pure Land myth. The basic movement of history is circular rather than linear because history has to mean creative development (or change) over time, and creative development is always circular development (lii); creative development is always circular because it is dialectical, and dialectical development by definition involves sublation—annihilation but also preservation. Thus every new becoming is also a return to original being. Within the circular movement of history, time pivots around “the eternal present” (1986, 63), with every “reformation directed at the future” bringing about “a deeper return to the past” (62). Thus in the “authentic circularity” of the dialectic, every instance of “outward progress toward distinction and opposition is already an inward return to a unified self” (63). That this authentic circularity exists “within” Amida Buddha is, for Tanabe, a signal that we should be able to see how present, past, and future relate to each other in dialectical development if we attend to Pure Land thought. And indeed, following Soga, he discovers an account of the dialectical development of time in the theory of the three minds. Given Tanabe’s interest in being able to account for the reciprocal negative mediation taking place between finite being and absolute nothingness from both sides, he cannot be satisfied by a theory that only describes dialectical development in one direction. Happily, as considered at length by generations of Buddhist exegetes, Pure Land gives us not one but two sets of three minds. The Larger Sutra identifies the three minds as sincere mind, mind of joyous faith, and mind wishing for birth; the Contemplation Sutra identifies the three minds as perfectly sincere mind (shijōshin), deep mind ( jinshin), and mind aspiring for birth by merit transference (ekō hotsugan shin).5 Tanabe understands these lists to be different because they describe different aspects of a single dialectical dynamic: The three minds of the Larger Sutra represent the mind of the original vow, or the conversion taking place on the side of absolute nothingness; the three minds of the Contemplation Sutra represent the mind of sentient beings, or the conversion taking place on the side of finite being.6 For finite being, that conversion is made possible by zange. At first glance, the three minds of the Contemplation Sutra appear to describe a moral ideal. As Tanabe reads Shandao’s account (1986, 232), perfectly sincere mind is the mind concerned with one’s own deeds; it is sincere in that it “has never involved itself in fraud or untruth” (230). 365

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Genuine “both inwardly and outwardly,” the perfectly sincere mind is the basis on which one can perform good deeds (230). Deep mind is the mind that believes deeply in two things: the self’s sinfulness, and the salvation offered by Amida Buddha. Mind aspiring for birth by merit transference is the mind that resolves to attain birth in Amida’s Pure Land “by transferring all one’s good deeds and merits to others” (231). And birth in the Pure Land “is possible only when all of the Three Minds are present” (231). If the three minds indeed describe a moral ideal, it must then be the case that we are obliged to meet this ideal by means of “rigorous conscience” in order to attain birth (232). If we look more carefully, however, a problem appears: the three minds exist in contradiction with one another. If deep mind means to believe deeply in the self’s sinfulness, then to attain deep mind should mean realizing the impossibility of possessing perfectly sincere mind (1986, 238). If deep mind means to believe deeply in the salvation offered by Amida, then attaining deep mind should mean that one would no longer aspire to earn birth by transferring one’s own merit (239). And if perfectly sincere mind means one has in the past planted the roots of good required for birth in the Pure Land, then attaining it should mean one would feel no impulse to transform one’s future by transferring one’s merit (241). Tanabe holds that these contradictions are symptomatic of the dialectical structure of the three minds, which means the contradictions can be resolved but not by way of morality or lucid rational judgment. They can only be resolved by casting oneself upon the antinomies they present, accepting “the self-negation of destroying and abandoning” one’s own self-existence. This is what Shinran achieved through his “way of zange” (232).7 Zange is the ground on which deep mind arises for the first time. Deep mind, grounded on the self-negation of zange, realizes the true depths of the self’s radical evil and so negates perfectly sincere mind—as radically evil, in the sense of being selfish or self-asserting, I can never do a genuinely good deed unmarked by the sin of self-assertion. This negation of perfectly sincere mind, however, gives rise to truthful mind, or a mind that really knows the truth about me. This is sincere mind (shishin; 1986, 238–239). And deep mind, as self-negation, realizes reliance on otherpower and so negates mind aspiring for birth by merit transference—incapable of generating merit by means of self-power, I cannot but give up any hope of securing birth in the Pure Land for myself. This hopelessness, however, is mediated by my total reliance on other-power, sublating my hopelessness into a confidence that there is nothing to aspire for 366

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insofar as my birth is already assured. This “hopeless hope” is joyous faith (240). Finally, because they arise together in “mediative unity” on the basis of deep mind, perfectly sincere mind and mind aspiring for birth can “mutually penetrate and transform” each other (242). The negation of perfectly sincere mind represents a break with one’s own past acts; this negation of the actual enables the transformation into the ideal sought after by mind aspiring for birth. At the same time, the ideal sought after by mind aspiring for birth is concealed as a promise within the perfectly sincere mind that attempts to do good. Thus the transformation of one’s future both negates and fulfills the past (241). Tanabe does not make this explicit, but it seems to me that we can understand this as mind wishing for birth in its aspect as Soga’s vow-making mind of the Tathāgata (206), discussed above. In this way, through the self-­ negation of zange, the three minds of the sentient being give way to the three minds of the original vow. From the standpoint of finite being, this is the transfer of the mind of the Tathāgata to the sentient being, enabling birth. Thus for the sentient being, it represents the movement of ōsō, which in its usual context means something like “going to the Pure Land” but that for Tanabe means more literally “the going aspect”—for the sentient being, who is finite, relative being, this means going away from the finite and relative into the absolute by means of negation. Within the dialectical development of finite being, “the going aspect” is the negative moment in which finite being is mediated by absolute nothingness. At the same time, however, the absolute nothingness mediating this dialectical development is also undergoing dialectical development, from its own standpoint. What is ōsō from the standpoint of the sentient being is gensō—“the returning aspect”—from the standpoint of absolute nothingness. Tanabe refers to this as Dharmākara’s “absolute gensō” (233). Absolute gensō is, from the standpoint of the Tathāgata, the “inward return to a unified self” (63)— having descended into the world of suffering, the Tathāgata now returns to itself. And what looks like transfer from the side of the sentient being looks like conversion of the base from the side of the Tathāgata. For this reason, Tanabe suggests, we should understand the transfer that makes ōsō possible as accomplished by “a transferring of no-transferring,” which is the “transferring activity of Other-power working within and flowing forth from the bottomless depth of one’s mind” (205). Tanabe does not believe in Dharmākara or Amida as such, so what is the purpose of these exegetical gymnastics? The structure of the three minds has existential significance for him insofar as it discloses the real 367

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possibilities that exist for finite being within time. Tanabe explains that the past is given to us as actual fact, allowing us “no alternative but to accept it as it is” (1986, 65); we are “thrown” into history. The future, by contrast, is free—it lies ahead of us as a “project” (77).8 We can make choices that determine the future. Past and future, or history and freedom, are opposed to one another (67) but they meet in the present situation, mediating one another as “thrown project” (129). This mediation takes place through the self-reflection of the historical subject (66). My future possibilities are limited by, or determined by, the past into which I have been thrown, but this past only becomes history—that is, only comes to possess meaning—by means of my self-reflection or “willing embrace.” This willing embrace of pure passivity, as an expression of will, breaks through “to a freedom that affirms the self” (70), and my autonomy with respect to the future is secured (80). If, for Soga, the structure of the three minds of Dharmākara describes the bodhisattva’s self-awareness, for Tanabe, the structure of the three minds of sentient beings describes the historical subject’s self-reflection. Perfectly sincere mind, when realized on the basis of deep mind in terms of the radical evil that makes self-power untenable, represents a realization that, as an evil person, I am a thrown existence—determined by a past that I cannot determine (or in Buddhist terms, by karma). Mind aspiring for birth, when realized on the basis of deep mind in terms of the hopelessness of transferring merit in order to affect my future birth, represents an obedient submission to my own nature as determined by the past. But this obedient submission or willing embrace itself enables the negation by the absolute that breaks through such determination to a freedom that affirms the self, or birth in the Pure Land with evil karma intact. Because past and future arise in mediative unity within the present, as represented by perfectly sincere mind and mind aspiring for birth arising as a unity on the basis of deep mind, through zange, the continuity of the past is negated by my free choice as a subject and at the same time the meaning of the past is renewed by means of that free choice (241). This is, Tanabe thinks, how historical transformation actually takes place: the past must undergo a conversion that breaks its continuity or repetition in order to give rise to the future, and the future renews the past in drawing upon it as the source of its creative content (241). History is thus “the trail of footprints left by freedom” (67). It is in the selfreflection of the historical subject that this path unfolds. Zange, as anguished self-reflection, produces the historical subject in whom the creative development of history takes place. 368

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Dharmākara, Ondōbō Ondōgyō, and the Good Society The historical subject lives in the historical world, which is the product of human will; she lives not in nature but in society. In Tanabe’s understanding, the myth of Dharmākara both explains the general relation between the individual subject and society and, as a myth, suggests a particular social structure that might actually be realized within a given society. The discussion of metanoetics as a religious vision of society that concludes Philosophy as Metanoetics thus offers, I think, a useful basis for developing a response to the critique that Kiyozawa’s Seishin­ shugi demonstrates no concern for the social (Hishiki 2005, 167–170), or that it opens a path of ōsō without a complementary principle of gensō (Sueki 2004a, 328). Tanabe’s understanding of the myth of Dharmākara as a social myth follows from his reading of finite being and absolute nothingness as existing in a relation of reciprocal negative mediation: if the self-negating “going aspect” of the sentient being’s dialectical development is also the “absolute returning aspect” of the Tathāgata’s dialectical development, then the self-negating “going aspect” of the Tathāgata’s dialectical development must be the “relative returning aspect” of the sentient being’s dialectical development. As we know, absolute nothingness cannot act directly and requires the negative mediation of finite being to achieve self-realization; because finite being is relative being, this negative mediation takes concrete form in the relationships between relative beings. The relative return then is really a return to relation: for the sentient being, the path of ōsō unfolds as a direct confrontation with absolute nothingness but the path of relative gensō unfolds in the social world. In Tanabe’s terms, “the transformation through vertical mediation between the absolute and the self (Thou and I) must also be realized in horizontal social relationships between my self and other selves (I and thou)” (1986, lvii). Thus the path of ōsō has concealed within it, already, the principle of gensō. The Tathāgata’s descent into the world as a bodhi­ sattva is here my involvement in the social world: as the negative mediating agent of absolute nothingness, or “empty being” (kūu; 275), I do the bodhisattva’s work on earth, “as a true bodhisattva cooperating with the Great Compassion of nothingness” (143). Taitetsu Unno points out that although some contemporary interpreters looking for ways to develop a reading of Shin Buddhism as engaged Buddhism suggest that “gensō activities are carried out in this life by people of Shin faith,” such a suggestion runs counter to Shinran’s understanding of other-power, “for it 369

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lacks the radical negation of self-assertion which creeps into even the noblest of human deeds” (1990, 128–129). It is easy to misread Tanabe as also one who “speaks of gensō as the possibility of the relative performing salvific acts,” in the sense of doing noble deeds (Unno 1990, 129). But Tanabe does not understand the Tathāgata’s compassion in terms of noble deeds—given that he understands the Tathāgata as a figure of absolute nothingness, the only deed the Tathāgata performs is negation. When it is performed in the social world, this takes the form of a negation in which I, as relative being, negate myself through zange and in doing so grant others, as relative beings, the freedom to choose their own projects, just as they invariably negate themselves and grant me the freedom to choose my own project.9 Within this structure of reciprocal negative mediation, I give up my life for the sake of others and am restored to life as a free subject by and for them. This transformation of self-negation into self-affirmation is the real meaning of love—if gensō is the principle of human social existence, then love is its goal and fulfillment (Tanabe 1986, 265). Here then the “bodhisattva” is not a single heroic being who chooses to remain in the world of suffering in order to liberate others; rather the bodhisattva is a figure for the essential sociality of human existence. To carry out “gensō activity in this life” means to “love” others—to mediate their independence and spontaneity by means of zange (284). In Tanabe’s view, we should not be surprised to discern the truth of human existence as social existence in the myth of Dharmākara because myths exist to relay precisely that truth: “Of late,” Tanabe writes, “sociologists of religion belonging to the Durkheimian school have been investigating the religious life of primitive peoples” and discovering that the object of their religious worship is in fact the principles structuring their own societies, giving “positive corroboration and clear expression to the idea that God is society” (1986, 268). For Tanabe, this means that absolute nothingness mediates relationships between finite beings. But if every myth is at its heart about society, different myths suggest different ways of organizing society. The myth of Dharmākara as it is told in the context of Japanese Shinshū—that is, as it is told by the common people (rather than the samurai class that organized itself around Zen, or the bourgeois intelligentsia that organizes itself around existential philosophy [262])— specifically imagines its society in terms of fraternity. The principle of fraternity becomes discernible in the myth of Dharmākara when we imagine Amida as a father (as Soga has already prompted us to do) and Dharmākara, who is born from Amida, as Amida’s son (or in Soga’s terms, 370

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“the favorite child” [CS, 112]). Insofar as the bodhisattva is deputized to do the work of the Tathāgata, Dharmākara is “the firstborn son” (Tanabe 1986, 295); insofar as he opens up for us the path of ōsō, he is the eldest brother, who guides us and whom we imitate (295, 278). The Shinshū believer, relating to Dharmākara as younger brother to elder brother, or younger sister to elder brother, must relate to other believers as brothers and sisters too. Fraternal relationships (kyōdai) are like friendships (yūai) in that both are relationships of equals: brothers and sisters are equals insofar as they are children of the same parent, and friends are equals as friends. This equality in the fraternal relationship indicates the way in which all finite beings are equally negated in the vertical relationship with absolute nothingness; this vertical encounter, in which the individual transcends all social distinctions, manifests as horizontal equality in social relationships (280). But fraternal relationships are unlike friendships in that the fraternal relationship “recognizes the ranks of elder and younger in the religious sense” (lv), meaning in the sense of belonging to a tradition (the elder) that determines one’s future possibilities (the younger) (286). This dynamic priority within the fraternal relationship mediates freedom and equality, producing “harmonious cooperation in an ‘ordered equality’ ” (chitsujoteki byōdō) (290). This “ordered equality” appears to refer not to an orderly equality in which, for example, the rich lead and the poor follow, but rather to a more abstract vision of a society that develops on the basis of dialectical encounter toward a more and more perfect humanity (286). Relative gensō is both the basis for such a society and the means of achieving it; it is already realized in nascent form in Shinran’s ondōbō ondōgyō ideal. Tanabe’s working hypothesis here is that in the political moment in which he finds himself, his own society is caught between two opposing poles, with capitalist democracy on one side proclaiming the value of freedom, and socialism on the other side proclaiming the value of equality. The principle of gensō offers a way to mediate these two values through fraternity, holding out the promise of realizing “a world of brotherhood founded on human cooperation and reconciliation” (1986, 292) or, in religious terms, “a society of salvation” (288). Establishing such a society on earth by means of reciprocal negative mediation is, for Tanabe, the real meaning of birth in the Pure Land (292). Contemporary Shinshū thinkers who find themselves in a different political moment might find something to build upon in Tanabe’s treatment of ōsō as historical consciousness and gensō as social consciousness as they attempt to respond to a difficult present situation. 371

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Notes 1

In his contribution to the edited volume The Religious Philosophy of Tanabe Hajime, Hase Shōtō takes up Soga as “a representative theologian of Shin Buddhism” (1990, 109). Hase suggests that the difference between Tanabe and a theologian like Soga is that Tanabe “refuses to bring myth into philosophy.” As Hase sees it, because “myth is the only language that can bring to consciousness . . . the other shore that lies beyond the human horizon,” Tanabe’s refusal makes it impossible for him to fully grasp religious truth (111).

2

I take the understanding of contrition as a shattering of the heart from Max Scheler via Keta Masako (Keta 2017). Note, however, that in Keta’s view, contrition is a moral activity arising on the basis of reason and leading to reform; Shinran, by contrast, gives us “pure remorse” without reform, which thus becomes “wholehearted anguish.” In this respect, Tanabe’s repentance without expiation is closer to Keta’s reading of Shinran than to Scheler’s repentance and contrition.

3

Gusha, or “stupid person,” is usually treated as a synonym for bonbu, or “ordinary person”; in a Shinshū context, the ordinary person comes to be understood as the one for whom the path of other-power has specifically been made available (Dobbins 2012, 107). Tanabe’s repeated characterization of himself as gusha bonbu—not only an ordinary person but a stupid one too— is connected to his understanding of the path of metanoetics as philosophy of or for “stupid people” (Tanabe 1946, 20) in the sense that it becomes available only through the failure of reason. Tanabe’s emphasis on stupidity or foolishness is not always apparent in the translation of Philosophy as Metanoetics, where gusha bonbu is sometimes rendered simply as “ordinary person.”

4

This understanding echoes Shinran’s distinctive understanding of the three minds (sincere mind, mind of joyous faith, and mind wishing for birth) indicated in the eighteenth vow, as presented in the Kyōgyōshinshō’s chapter on faith. Against an understanding of these three minds as three discrete mental attitudes, Shinran reads them as one mind. Sincere mind, by definition, is mind free from doubt, but joyous faith and wishing for birth too are unmarked by doubt, and so cannot arise except out of sincere mind. This sincere mind is shinjin, the mind of truth. Given that I am a deluded and evil person, such a mind cannot be my own. Rather, it is the mind of the Buddha. The event of realizing shinjin is thus one in which, as Ueda Yoshifumi puts it, “the mind of Amida Buddha [is] given to and realized in a person” (1984, 70).

5

Both shijōshin and shishin are typically rendered in English as “sincere mind,” making it difficult to keep track of the difference between them. In

372

Sincerity of Spirit Philosophy as Metanoetics, shijōshin is translated as sincere mind and shishin is for the most part also translated as sincere mind, except in the specific instance when Tanabe discusses what I take to be the conversion of shijōshin into shishin through zange, in which case it is translated as “truthful mind” (239). I have translated shijōshin as “perfectly sincere mind” in an effort to mark the difference between shijōshin and shishin, which is philosophically important for Tanabe, without losing the similarity that exists between the two terms in Japanese. 6

For a discussion of Shinran’s own treatment of this difference, see Dennis Hirota, “Shinran’s View of Language: A Buddhist Hermeneutics of Faith: Part Two” (1993): 122–130.

7

Note the resemblance between Tanabe’s understanding of the moral ideal as existing in order to spur the exhaustion of reason and a conversion to other-power, and Kiyozawa’s presentation of religious morality as a skillful means existing in order to spur the exhaustion of self-power and a conversion to the absolute religious truth of other-power, as laid out in his “Shūkyō teki dōtoku (zokutai) to futsū dōtoku to no kōshō” (Negotiating Religious Morality [Worldly Truth] and Common Morality, 1903d).

8

A full account of what Tanabe is up to here would require a discussion of Heidegger alongside Soga, which is beyond the scope of this paper. Interested readers might consult James Mark Shields, “Zange and Sorge: Two Models of ‘Concern’ in Comparative Philosophy of Religion” (2013).

9

Again, note the resemblance between Tanabe’s picture of mutually guaranteed autonomy and Kiyozawa’s suggestion that persons of Seishinshugi coexist “at the same time and in the same place, without any conflict or difference,” each one of them “master of the dharma realm” (KMZI 2: 146).

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Chapter 16

Yasuda Rijin’s Shin Buddhism and Western Thought Paul B. Watt A fresh start for modern Shin Buddhist thought in the Shinshū Ōtani-ha (Higashi Honganji) began with the pivotal figure of Kiyozawa Manshi (1863–1903). Sent by the denomination to Tokyo Imperial University in 1881 to study philosophy and the philosophy of religion, he encountered there the thought of Spinoza, Kant, Hegel, and Spencer. Much later, in his 1892 Shūkyō tetsugaku gaikotsu (The Skeleton of a Philosophy of Religion, Tokunaga 1892), he attempted to articulate his understanding of Shin Buddhism with reference to certain strains in Western thought. As Fujita Masakatsu has noted, Kiyozawa held that “the essence of religion lies in the transformation of the finite into the Infinite through the workings of the power of the Infinite” (2003, 46) and that the infinite, in Shin terms, is nothing other than the Tathāgata Amida. Yet while the finite and the infinite are of the “same substance,” the infinite always lies beyond the finite (47), calling it to a lifelong effort of self-transcendence. In the twentieth century, Kiyozawa was followed by Soga Ryōjin (1875– 1971) and Kaneko Daiei (1881–1976) as formulators of still newer interpretations of the Shin tradition. Although Soga’s work was not especially informed by Western philosophy and religion—except perhaps in his intent to make clear the difference between Shin Buddhism and Christianity—Kaneko drew on the thought of Kant and others in articulating his understanding of the concepts of the Pure Land and the Tathāgata Amida. In particular, he was drawn to Kant’s concept of “Ideas,” which Robert Rhodes explains as existing “in an eternal and timeless realm lying beyond our world of everyday experience.” Yet, as Rhodes indicates, “These Ideas are of great practical significance, since they are regulative 374

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principles which serve as guides to which we must continually strive” (CS, 162). For Kaneko, the Pure Land was such an Idea, “a symbol of our deepest yearnings; our elemental desire to live in a perfect world free from all suffering and anguish to which we are daily subjected” (161–163). It is not my intent here to discuss in any depth the understandings of Shin Buddhism set forth by Kiyozawa, Kaneko, and Soga. I only want (1) to note the impact that Western thought had especially on Kiyozawa and Kaneko, and (2) to point out that, particularly in the thought of Kaneko and Soga, the consistent tendency was to interiorize an understanding of Amida and his Pure Land in contrast to the popular view that saw them as external realities. In that popular view, Amida was often understood as a kind of savior who would lead to his Pure Land all those who expressed a pure faith in him, regardless of their moral qualifications. I want instead to focus on Yasuda Rijin (1900–1982) and his adoption and adaptation of aspects of the thought of certain Western philosophers and theologians in articulating his understanding of Shin Buddhism. Yasuda knew well Kiyozawa’s thought and he had studied with both Soga and Kaneko. Yasuda was especially influenced by Soga’s stress on Yogācāra philosophy in his interpretation of Shin Buddhism, but Yasuda also had wide exposure to Western philosophy and religion. Continuing the line of thought initiated by his teachers, Yasuda too sought to interiorize Amida and the Pure Land, asserting that sentient beings are Amida’s form and that the Pure Land is the place where sentient beings seek to live out Amida’s compassionate vows. In arguing this position, it goes without saying that Yasuda drew on the teachings of Shinran (1173–1262), on the Chinese Pure Land masters, especially Tanluan (476–542), on the writings of Madhyamika philosopher Nāgārjuna and the Yogācāra scholar Vasubandhu, and the central Pure Land scriptures. However, he also drew on the philosophy and theology of a number of Western thinkers. The aim of this brief chapter is to suggest the ways that Yasuda used certain of these thinkers in expressing his understanding of Shin teachings.1 The Yasuda Rijin senshū (Selected Writings of Yasuda Rijin; hereafter, YRS) runs to twenty-two volumes. This essay will focus on a much smaller body of his work, those lectures and writings that I have translated in Demythologizing Pure Land Buddhism: Yasuda Rijin and the Shin Buddhist Tradition (hereafter, DPB). These pieces include two short essays from 1931, “Bukkyō no hōhō teki haaku” (hereafter, “The Practical Understanding of Buddhism,” 1931a) and “Mu no kagami” (hereafter, “The 375

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Mirror of Nothingness,” 1931b); the lecture “Na wa tan ni na ni arazu” (hereafter, “A Name but Not a Name Alone”) presented in 1960; “Bosatsu teki ningen” (hereafter, “Humans as Bodhisattvas”) published in 1962; the 1964 publication, “Sonzai no kokyō” (hereafter, “The Homeland of Existence”); and “Konpon gan, konpon gon” (hereafter, “Fundamental Vow, Fundamental Word”) from 1972. These essays give us an introduction to Yasuda’s Shin Buddhism and provide evidence of his knowledge of a number of Western philosophers and theologians.

Yasuda’s Path to Shin Buddhism Yasuda was born in 1900 in the town of Umigami near the Sea of Japan in Hyōgo Prefecture. At six, he was sent to a Christian kindergarten, although one can only speculate about the impact this experience had on his later interest in Christianity. Yasuda’s parents divorced when he was seven, and he was raised by his mother. After finishing primary school, he attended a private night school. It was during his teens that he became seriously interested in Buddhism, especially Zen, and he received the precepts from Hioki Mokusen (1847–1920) who later became head of the major Sōtō Zen temple Eiheiji. Later in his teen years, he read books on Christianity as well as Buddhism, and in 1919, he read Kaneko Daiei’s Bukkyō gairon (Introduction to Buddhism, 1919), a book that had a profound impact on his view of the religion. Yasuda’s mother died in 1920, after which he moved to Kyoto, primarily, it would seem, to further his study of Buddhism, although for a while he worked at the Keage water purification plant on the east side of the city. He heard lectures on Zen at the famous temples of Shōkokuji and Nanzenji, as he continued to pursue his interest in Zen. But when he sought advice from the Nanzenji monk Hitane Jōsan (1873–1954) about how he might further deepen his study of Buddhism, he was encouraged to contact Sasaki Gesshō (1875–1926), a professor at Ōtani University. Instead, Yasuda wrote to Kaneko, and their exchanges resulted in Yasuda enrolling at the university as an auditor in 1924. It was there that he heard lectures not only by Kaneko but by Soga as well, eventually becoming Soga’s student. Also at Ōtani during Yasuda’s student years was D. T. Suzuki (1870– 1966), the scholar who would later become famous in the West for his writings on Zen Buddhism. Nishida Kitarō (1870–1945), Suzuki’s close friend, had taught at Ōtani part-time for at least a decade beginning in 1911, when his first major work, Zen no kenkyū (hereafter, An Inquiry into 376

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the Good; Nishida 1990), was published. Nishida had even recommended Suzuki for the position at Ōtani that he took up in 1921. The degree of Yasuda’s contact with Suzuki and Nishida during his time at Ōtani is not clear, but Yasuda does tell us that he had the chance to hear Nishida lecture at nearby Kyoto University. As will be indicated below, Nishida had a noticeable impact on Yasuda’s early writings. This is not the place to discuss the many tumultuous events that took place at Ōtani in the late 1920s. But to appreciate the radically new interpretations of Shin Buddhism that Kaneko and Soga were advancing in the context of their day, it must be noted that Kaneko was forced to resign from the university in 1928, and that in 1929 he was no longer recognized as a Higashi Honganji priest. Already facing criticism from the same quarters within the denomination, Soga resigned from Ōtani in 1930.

Nishida Kitarō Not only had Nishida, the founder of the Kyoto School of philosophy, taught at Ōtani University part-time, but he and the later members of the Kyoto School—Tanabe Hajime (1885–1962), Nishitani Keiji (1900–1990), Takeuchi Yoshinori (1913–2002), and Ueda Shizuteru (1926–2019)—maintained a close relationship with the university, lecturing there from time to time. Nishida was already a major presence in the world of Japanese philosophy by the time Yasuda had begun to study at Ōtani. Passages of “The Practical Understanding of Buddhism” and “The Mirror of Nothingness” reflect Yasuda’s awareness of the philosophical vocabulary and viewpoint that Nishida had developed. Yasuda’s aim in “The Practical Understanding of Buddhism” is to argue for the primacy in Buddhist studies of achieving a true understanding of the self as an expression of the true empty nature of reality rather than understanding Buddhism as an “object of academic analysis.” He asserts that the teachings of the Buddha, or the Dharma, by their very nature, can only be lived in the present. Thus Yasuda states: The important point that should be made in distinguishing the practical understanding of Buddhism that entails study within the Buddha path from an analytical comprehension that entails study of the Buddha path is that the former has a relationship to the present existence of the self that has everyday life problems; thus, it rests on the demands that arise in conjunction with the unification and systemization of the actual self. In other words, it rests on the practical demands of the realization of the Dharma. (DPB, 49; YRS 1: 123)

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Buddhist texts and history, he points out, can reflect “the unification and systemization” of the Dharma in other times and places, but they do not represent the realization of the Dharma in the present. Somewhat later in this essay, Yasuda continues: In a view of the world as fixed and in a view of life as externally limited, the possibility of the life of practice cannot exist. The view that accords with reality, by negating such a fixed nature and external inevitability, causes experience to conform to reality. The world that exists as the unification of the Dharma and the practice that is the realization of the Dharma are realized through the medium of negation. (DPB, 52; YRS 1: 126)

In “The Mirror of Nothingness,” Yasuda again takes up the themes of the discovery of the true self and the role of negation in that process. He writes: That sentient beings can be human beings in reality depends upon their basing the self on that which causes the self to be the self while at the same time transcending the self. However, to base the self on the transcendent is not to form a union between the transcendent and sentient beings. This is because, as long as the transcendent exists over against sentient beings, the union of the two is impossible. Thus, to base the self on the transcendent must mean the discovery of the self within the transcendent or the discovery of sentient beings as the self-determination of the transcendent. (DPB, 54; YRS 1: 129)

In later writings, Yasuda makes it clear that, in Shin language, for sentient beings to understand themselves as the self-determination of the transcendent is to understand themselves as the self-determination of the Tathāgata Amida. On the place of negation in the process of self-­ discovery, Yasuda writes: It is not that there is the realization of the transcendent after the negation of sentient beings; rather it is the absolute negation of sentient beings itself that is the unification of the self of sentient beings, that is, the realization of the transcendent. Therefore, the unifier of sentient beings in this sense cannot be a substantive existence. Rather it is emptiness itself that signifies absolute nothingness, that is, absolute negation. It can be said that that which makes possible all existence is absolute nothingness. (DPB, 55; YRS 1: 130)

Yasuda’s discussion of the impermanence of all things (that is, the emptiness of all things), of the role of negation in the realization of the self, and of the realization of the self as a manifestation of the Dharma 378

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r­ esembles aspects of the views Nishida expressed in An Inquiry into the Good. In this work, Nishida ranges over a much broader philosophical landscape than does the young Yasuda, drawing on Western thinkers from the Greeks to the twentieth century. However, perhaps three points are particularly worthy of mention. (1) Nishida too embraced a conception of the “transcendent” as not something distinct from sentient beings and their world, but as the absolute nothingness at the basis of all existence. Perhaps the best illustration of this point is Nishida’s reflections on the nature of “God,” a word that most often conjures up images of a transcendent being. Nishida writes: “God is not something that transcends reality, God is the basis of reality” (1990, 79). God, he writes, is “absolute nothingness. God is not, however, mere nothingness. An immovable unifying activity clearly functions as the base of the establishment of reality, and it is by means of this activity that reality is established” (82). (2) Nishida too sees the religious goal of human existence as the transformation of the self so as to embrace the totality of existence. As I have written elsewhere, “In Nishida’s view, our individual existences should be understood as our relative and finite attempts to express ‘the infinite and unifying power of reality’ ” (DPB, 10). He writes, “If we regard our authentic self as being this unifying activity, then to know the truth is to accord with this greater self, to actualize it” (Nishida 1990, 24). As Yasuda’s later writings indicate, to actualize this greater self in Shin language would be to see oneself as an embodiment of the Tathāgata Amida and his vows. And (3) one sees in the writings of Yasuda examined here the use of language that Nishida so often used, language about the “unification” of reality by the enlightened self, or the “unifying activity of reality.” Yasuda sometimes uses the term “unification” along with “systemization” in reference to the self that seeks to live in accord with the Dharma, as in the above passage from “The Practical Understanding of Buddhism.” The path of practice, he says there, “rests on the demands that arise in conjunction with the unification and systemization of the actual self. In other words, it rests on the demands of the realization of the Dharma” (DPB, 49; YRS 1: 123). And in “The Mirror of Nothingness” cited above, Yasuda writes, “it is the absolute negation of sentient beings itself that is the unification of the self of sentient beings, that is, the realization of the transcendent” (DPB, 55; YRS 1: 130). What is noteworthy here is that in these early articulations of his thought, Yasuda could associate the Shin Buddhism that he had studied at Ōtani with contemporary philosophical developments as he encountered them in Kyoto. ­However, it 379

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should be noted that Yasuda never mentions Nishida directly in these early pieces.

Paul Tillich (1886–1965) and Martin Buber (1875–1965) Yasuda was aware of the thought of numerous Western theologians, including Karl Barth (1886–1968), Rudolf Bultmann (1884–1976), and the figures considered here, the Protestant theologian Paul Tillich and the Jewish philosopher Martin Buber. Works by these figures, and many more, are listed in the bibliography of Yasuda’s personal library now held at Ōtani University, the Yasuda bunko yōsho mokuroku (Yasuda Library Western Works Catalogue, Ōtani Daigaku Toshokan 1987). Although one might expect that, among these theologians, Yasuda would be more attracted to the great “de-mythologizer” of Christianity, Bultmann, Yasuda in fact was inspired more by Karl Barth’s view of the special nature of the Christian community in a time of crisis. Yasuda believed intensely that a renewed sense of community was needed within the Shin Buddhism of his day. As regards the liberal, existential theologian Paul Tillich, Yasuda not only was aware of his writings, but in 1960 he had two opportunities to meet Tillich and to discuss a range of religious and philosophical topics with him. By this point in Tillich’s career, he was a giant in the field of Protestant theology, although he was still working on the last volume of his three-volume Systematic Theology (1951–1963). Educated in Germany, but forced out by the Nazis in 1933, Tillich was welcomed in America and taught at Union Theological Seminary in New York City (1933–1955) and at Harvard (1955–1962), concluding his career at the University of Chicago (1962–1965). For his liberal, existential interpretations of Christianity, he was sometimes criticized as an “atheist” or “agnostic.” But in books like The Courage to Be (1952) and The Dynamics of Faith (1957), he reached a wide audience. As Sam Addison has noted, “[Tillich] uses the existentialist motif of ‘nothingness’ in his characterisation of the experience of beings as confronting the nonbeing inherent in our finitude. He opposed himself to any understanding of God that might give the impression of deity as a being among others; God in Tillich’s view had to be understood as ‘the ground of being.’ ”2 Even on the basis of this brief characterization of Tillich’s theology, it is easy to see in it a sympathetic basis for dialogue with Yasuda, since Yasuda, in a similar manner, interpreted the Tathāgata Amida as the true self of human beings that was continually calling lost human beings back to an awareness of their identity. 380

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There is a record of the second of their discussions, which was held at a hotel in the resort town of Karuizawa (see YRS 1: 482–512). Participants included, in addition to Tillich and Yasuda, Nobukuni Atsushi (1904– 1980), at the time president of Ōtani Senshū Gakuin, a school that trained Shin priests, and Richard DeMartino (1922–2013), who had studied with D. T. Suzuki and who taught Zen Buddhism at Temple University. DeMartino’s role was primarily that of interpreter. Their discussion ranged over a number of topics. As they are listed in the remaining record they included: the possibility of love, freedom and fate or destiny, the limits of personal responsibility (a discussion about reincarnation), Amida Buddha’s love and the pain of sentient beings, discovering the true self, the name that is the Tathāgata, magical incantations and the calling of the name, and the name’s meaning and content. After the discussions had concluded, Tillich wrote the words “A name but not a name alone” on a tanzaku to suggest his understanding of Amida’s name. In the fall of that year, Yasuda took these words as the title of a lecture he gave at Sennyūji in Kyoto. In their discussion, Tillich is presented mainly as a questioner, attempting to grasp more clearly Yasuda’s understanding of the name of the Tathāgata that is embodied in the words Namu Amida Butsu. It is significant that in their discussion, Yasuda and Nobukuni are not recorded as asking about Tillich’s own philosophy or referring to any of his writings explicitly. In Yasuda’s lecture as well, he does not engage Tillich’s writings directly, but rather he uses the occasion to expand upon Tillich’s insightful words, “A name but not a name alone,” that he had left behind. In their discussion, Tillich is interested to learn especially about freedom and fate, which becomes a discussion about the Buddhist idea of karma, about the nature of Amida, and about the calling or recitation of the name, Namu Amida Butsu. As regards the Buddhist teaching of karma, when Tillich pressed him on the traditional understanding of karma involving death and rebirth across lifetimes, Yasuda responded that that is a “mythical expression” (shinwa teki hyōgen). “The meaning that karma has for us modern people is that we have a responsibility for our own existence. Rebirth (rinne) is an ancient expression (kodai teki hyōgen)” (YRS 1: 489). In “A Name but Not a Name Alone,” rather than karma, the topics of the nature of the human predicament, and the relationship between the Tathāgata Amida, sentient beings, and the name, Namu Amida Butsu, are the major foci. This long and sophisticated discussion by Yasuda of these topics cannot be reproduced in detail here. Drawing on Yogācāra 381

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thought, Yasuda argues that unenlightened sentient beings are caught up in worlds of their own creation, worlds created through language as a matter of course as they seek to come to terms with their existence. Yasuda writes at one point: “Human beings function within the world they construct. In that sense, human beings are beings in the world. It is not that humans would exist whether or not there were names. In a sense, humans are beings who, through names, are deluded by names” (DPB, 69; YRS 1: 325). In a similar vein, he writes: “To be deluded by names is to regard them as having real substance. Our experience is formed on the basis of the substantiation of names. However, substantiated names, originally, are provisional names rather than real things” (DPB, 70; YRS 1: 325). Nonetheless, through provisional naming, we create the false objects of the passions. In this context, that is, in the context of ordinary human existence as being created through names, the name of the Tathāgata takes on special meaning as interpreted in the Shin tradition and by Yasuda. “Sentient beings objectify things through the use of names,” Yasuda writes. “Consciousness then becomes restricted by the objectified consciousness. Names belong to human beings. If those who are deluded by names are human beings, then, there is no way other than names to cause them to awaken from that delusion” (DPR, 85; YRS 1: 342). The name of the Tathāgata Amida is that name that is embodied in the words Namu Amida Butsu. It is the name that points to the true empty nature of reality, but that also enables humans to live in and engage the world of provisional names. Amida is something without form; when something without form becomes a name, that which is without form calls to that which has form. No matter how much it may call, that does not mean that there is something that is calling. Rather we receive the call at that place where there is no thing that calls. It is the voiceless voice. It is not that, having been called, I exist. Rather I myself take form as the call. I am transformed as the call. It is not that the call exists outside of us and that we listen to it and are moved. I take form as the call. (DPB, 85–86; YRS 1: 343)

The experience of the call, therefore, is an experience of our awakening to our true identity as self-expressions of the Tathāgata. The reference to Martin Buber’s thought comes late in “A Name but Not a Name Alone” and is very brief. Yet it again shows how Yasuda could find parallels in the thought of major Western thinkers that could help him express his understanding of Shin Buddhism. Martin Buber, who was often described as a “mystic,” was a leading Jewish theologian and 382

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philosopher of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. His best-known book in the English-speaking world was Ich und Du, or I and Thou, originally published in 1923, first translated into English in 1937, and published again in 1958 (Buber 1958). In this work, which the translator calls “the culmination” of all of Buber’s previous writings, Buber sees human consciousness as dominated by two types of relationships, I and Thou and I and It. As I have commented on these relationships elsewhere, “The former is a dialogic relationship in which the I and Thou meet one another in a mutual and totally encompassing encounter. In the latter, the human being interacts with the other as an unrelated object” (DPB, 63). Buber explains the I-Thou relationship as follows: “The primary word IThou can be spoken only with the whole being. Concentration and fusion into the whole being can never take place through my agency, nor can it ever take place without me. I become through my relationship to the Thou; as I become I, I say Thou” (1958, 11). Drawing on Buber’s insights, in explaining the relationship of sentient beings to the Tathāgata, Yasuda writes as follows, here referring to the name of the Tathāgata as the name of the primal vow (hongan): The name of the Primal Vow does not indicate a thing. It is a name that indicates a relationship. It indicates the relationship of I and Thou, not the existence of something. However, that relationship is not the relationship of one thing to another; it is the relationship between that which has form and that which does not. It indicates the relationship of time and eternity. The relationship is always mutual. It is not one-sided. To be called is to have heard, is to have responded. It is not that there is the call and then, later, one responds. (DPB, 86; YRS 1: 343)

Martin Heidegger (1889–1976) and Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900) Martin Heidegger is widely regarded as marking a new era in the history of Western philosophical thought. As I have noted elsewhere: Central to Heidegger’s thought is his rejection of the commonly accepted distinction in Western philosophy between subject and object and his understanding of human beings as being-in-the-World (Dasein), that is, as beings for whom the world is not simply given but rather must be created through the choices they make in the concrete circumstances of their lives. Humans are thrown into the world and, to exist authentically, as Heidegger would put it, they must confront the challenge of realizing the possibilities of their existence. But hovering in the background of their efforts, he asserts, is an awareness of or an anxiety about “the obstinacy of the ‘nothing 383

The Legacy of Seishinshugi and nowhere’ within-the-world,” or the “utter insignificance” of the world. Heidegger also describes this awareness as one of “not-being-at-home” in the world. To grossly oversimplify Heidegger’s argument, to be at home, one must embrace the ‘nothing’ at the base of existence and existentially engage existence in a new way, cognizant of the fact that one’s own existence is linked to that of others, that it is a shared existence. (DPB, 62)

In the works translated in Demythologizing Pure Land Buddhism (DPB), the first reference to Heidegger occurs in “A Name but Not a Name Alone.” There Yasuda seeks to clarify the manner in which the “provisional” language that humans naively use to create a world of meaning deludes them into thinking that the provisional world is “real,” making it the object of clinging and attachments. The name of the Tathāgata, Yasuda grants, is itself provisional, but in the hermeneutical context of the Shin Buddhist tradition, it is also the name that points to the true empty nature of all things, the world that simultaneously negates and affirms the relative world. In the concluding paragraph of this piece, Yasuda writes: In sum, what I wanted to say to you is that the name is originally a name, a provisional name. The name is just a name; however, it is the form and the dynamic working of that which is not just a name. It is also the practice that causes one to return to it. It is not that we negate provisional names and arrive at the true reality. Provisional names are the true reality. True reality, in the words of the Great Teacher Tanluan, is dharma-nature. This is not a dharma-nature that negates means. It is dharma-nature that affirms means. (DPB, 88; YRS 1: 345)

Dharma-nature here should be understood as the empty nature of all things that makes the existence of all relative things possible. In his understanding of language, Heidegger too points to the capacity that human beings have to avoid confronting the “nothing and nowhere” in the world and to take on the task of fully actualizing themselves. The language of such people, he argues, falls into categories of “idle talk,” “curiosity,” and “ambiguity,” the language of everyday society (Heidegger 1962, 211–219).3 Michael Wheeler has written of this sort of language, saying, “Each of these aspects of fallen-ness involves a closing off or covering up of the world (more precisely, of any real understanding of the world) through a fascination with it” (2014). Such a condition would seem to parallel Yasuda’s view of human beings who are trapped in the provisional world alone. Yet Heidegger sees the world of idle talk, curiosity, and ambiguity as carrying with it the seeds of anxiety and alienation that may cause a human being to search beyond them for the source of the authentic self. Thus the language of everydayness has the capacity to point be384

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yond itself to the true source of language, which Heidegger refers to as “the echo of silence” and “the soundless voice of Being.” Yasuda refers to Heidegger’s view of language toward the end of “A Name but Not a Name Alone.” He writes: Things that are not ultimate are names, but ultimate names are also names. A name is just a name. However, with regard to ultimate names, it is not that there is something, as named, that exists. All that exists is the name alone, and thereby that which is not just a name is symbolized. If that is not clear, I wonder if the name of the Primal Vow too won’t give rise to infinite misunderstandings. Therefore, the following representation of the name is perhaps best: name. (DPB, 84; YRS 1: 341)

Yasuda then follows this point with the line: “This manner of expression follows Heidegger.” Heidegger is an even greater presence in the essays “Humans as Bodhi­sattvas” (1962) and “The Homeland of Existence” (1964). In “Humans as Bodhisattvas” Yasuda begins by contrasting the consciousness of sentient beings and of bodhisattvas, and almost immediately he makes use of Heidegger’s language. The sentient being is unaware of the self itself. When one becomes aware of that self, we may speak of a sentient being as a bodhisattva. To exist in a contradictory state and yet to have no consciousness of that contradiction is to be an ordinary being. When one becomes aware of that contradictory structure, one has the perspective of a bodhisattva. Therefore, the actual existence of human beings, in everyday life, has lost the self itself. Human beings have dissolved in everydayness and have been spiritually leveled. When one breaks through that everydayness and recovers the awareness of one’s original existence, there is the human being who is a bodhisattva. (DPB, 90–91; YRS 1: 347)

The phrases “dissolved in everydayness” (nichijōsei no naka ni kaitai shite) and “spiritually leveled” (heikinka sareru) are drawn from Heidegger. The German behind the term “everydayness” is Alltäglichkeit and it occurs in several sections of Heidegger’s Being and Time. As is often the case, Heidegger’s language on this topic does not easily lend itself to a brief summary. However, the Iwanami tetsugaku shisō jiten (Iwanami Dictionary of Philosophy and Thought) offers this gloss on the term: “The present ­existence in everydayness flees from the self’s existence, relating to the self in the manner of forgetting the self’s existence, and it understands the self’s ­existence in the manner of being a person no different from any other. . . . [The present existence] does not problematize one’s true 385

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identity (the ­original nature of the self), but rather lives submerged in the self that is not one’s real self (one’s non-original nature)” (Hiromatsu et al. 1998, 1214). Heidegger’s use of what I have translated as “spiritually leveled,” but which John Macquarrie and Edward Robinson have translated as “averageness,” is closely related to “everydayness” and is a more approachable concept. In his discussion of the topic of “Everyday Being-one’s-Self and the ‘They,’ ” Heidegger notes the fact that “Being-with-one-another concerns itself as such with averageness, which is an existential characteristic of the ‘they.’ ” He then continues: The “they,” in its Being, essentially makes an issue of this. Thus the “they” maintains itself factically in the averageness of that which belongs to it, of that which it regards as valid and that which it does not, and of that to which it grants success and that to which it denies it. In this averageness with which it prescribes what can and may be ventured, it keeps watch over everything exceptional that thrusts itself to the fore. Every kind of priority gets noiselessly suppressed. Overnight, everything that is primordial gets glossed over as something that has long been well known. Everything gained by a struggle becomes just something to be manipulated. Every secret loses its force. This care of averageness reveals in turn an essential tendency of Dasein which we call the “levelling down” [Einebnung] of all possibilities of Being. (Heidegger 1962, 164–165)

Just these few lines from Being and Time could easily be the subject of an extensive commentary, but even without that commentary, one can see what Yasuda wants to suggest in terms of his own understanding of the consciousness of ordinary sentient beings, those who have not yet awakened to the true empty ground of their existence, those who are still trapped in the false belief that the world constructed through provisional language is the true world. As Yasuda continues to develop the theme of the difference between sentient beings and bodhisattvas in this piece, he turns to the topic of transmigration (ruten). The manner of existence in which, having lost the self itself, one manifests oneself in everydayness is called transmigration. The true meaning of transmigration lies in the Tathāgata. In short, sentient beings are the Tathāgata as sentient beings. However, those sentient beings who, while they are the transmigratory forms of the Tathāgata, transmigrate not knowing that they are the Tathāgata’s transmigratory forms, are ordinary beings. On the other hand, to become aware of transmigration does not mean that transmigration goes away, but rather it has the meaning of 386

Yasuda Rijin’s Shin Buddhism and Western Thought transforming transmigration. In the transformation of transmigration lies the positive significance of transmigration. (DPB, 91; YRS 1: 347–348)

Yasuda then goes on to further clarify the positive meaning of transmigration for the “self-aware,” that is, for bodhisattvas. “One takes on reality. . . . In other words, one does not avoid but takes on reality; there is the transcendence of transmigration while transmigrating. At the same time that one transcends transmigration, one transcends into transmigration.” A few lines later, Yasuda drives home his point: “Therefore, a bodhi­sattva is not someone who has merely cut off transmigration; rather, he or she is a sentient being who has the self-consciousness of the Tathāgata who has taken on reality” (DPB, 91; YRS 1: 348). It is at this point in his discussion that Yasuda introduces a concept from Friedrich Nietzsche, the prolific nineteenth-century German scholar famous for his critique of traditional European culture, morality, and Christianity. His works tend not to be philosophic treatises based on reasoned, well-structured arguments, but criticisms of traditional European culture and Christianity against which he launches his own assertions about the value of the self and the need to fully embrace life regardless of traditional morality. The passion of his criticisms and the unsystematic nature of his writings make me, at least, wonder if he is the best source for Yasuda to cite in his discussion of the bodhisattva’s embrace of the world. Nonetheless, in explaining the positive way in which the bodhisattva accepts transmigration, Yasuda draws on a concept from Nietzsche. Yasuda writes: “If we use another expression, it is the way of existing for human beings called the love of destiny (amor fati). In short, we must say that the compassionate Vow is something that has a positive meaning, like the love of destiny. It is a positive love, like the love of destiny” (DPB, 91–92; YRS 1: 348). R. Lanier Anderson, in an article on Nie­ tzsche in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy notes the importance of the affirmation of life in Nietzsche’s philosophy and cites Nietzsche’s statement about amor fati from his Gay Science. “I want to learn more and more to see as beautiful what is necessary in things; then I shall be one of those who make things beautiful. Amor fati: let that be my love henceforth! I do not want to wage war against what is ugly. I do not want to accuse; I do not even want to accuse those who accuse. Looking away shall be my only negation. And all in all and on the whole: someday I wish to be only a Yes-sayer” (2017). One senses that Yasuda gave a more positive Buddhist meaning to the term than originally intended by Nietzsche. The 1964 essay “The Homeland of Existence” provides further evidence of Yasuda’s use of Heidegger in articulating his understanding of 387

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Shin Buddhism. Yasuda begins the piece with reflections on lines in the Larger Sutra of Immeasurable Life that refer to the “land” into which one may be born according to this central Pure Land text. Yasuda writes of the land “calling out” to human beings and human beings responding. “The land that calls out to human beings and to which human beings respond is the Heimatland of human existence” (DPB, 102; YRS 1: 383), that is, the homeland of human existence. The land that calls out is “the source of human beings.” It is the ultimate homeland that is the ground of all existence. Ordinary beings are sentient beings who have lost their true home, their true authentic self, as Heidegger would say. But the call “resides in the one that is called.” Citing a line from the Larger Sutra of Immeasurable Life, Yasuda continues, “ ‘To desire to be born in my land’ are the words of the dharma-nature that is separated from words; it is the voiceless voice. It is not the voice of a transcendent other. That there is no coming out or returning is because the nature of existence that is a mediated relationship for present existences is not an other” (DPB, 112; YRS 1: 394). By mediated relationship Yasuda refers to the relationship between sentient beings and the dharma-nature that is their basis. Heidegger too writes about the call to authentic existence in language that closely resembles Yasuda’s. Heidegger writes of the call “that summons Dasein’s Self from its lostness in the ‘they’ ” (1962, 319): “Indeed the call is precisely something which we ourselves have neither planned nor prepared for nor voluntarily performed, nor have we ever done so. ‘It’ calls, against our expectations and even against our will. On the other hand, the call undoubtedly does not come from someone else who is with me in the world. The call comes from me and yet from beyond me” (Heidegger 1962, 320). To my knowledge Yasuda does not cite this passage from Heidegger, but the concluding thought in particular is one that they would seem to share. Still other examples of borrowings or adaptions of language used by Western philosophers and theologians by Yasuda could be given. In the final essay included in Demythologizing Pure Land Buddhism, a long and technical piece titled “Fundamental Vow, Fundamental Word” (1972), Yasuda transforms Heidegger’s term, In-der-Welt-Sein (sekainai sonzai)— which refers to the existence of human beings in a concrete and humanly constructed world of meaning—into In-Tathāgata-Sein (nyorai nai sonzai) to indicate the true nature of human existence from the Shin perspective (DPB, 128; YRS 1: 451). But perhaps enough has been said in these few pages to draw some tentative conclusions about Yasuda’s encounter with and adaptation of aspects of Western thought. First, al388

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though Nishida is not a “Western” philosopher, Yasuda’s encounter with his philosophy early on offered him an expansive philosophical context within which he could develop his own understanding of Shin Buddhism. It is true that in Kiyozawa Manshi and Kaneko Daiei, Shin had its own lineage of relating Shin Buddhism to modern Western philosophy. But the breadth of Nishida’s thought and that of later members of the Kyoto School opened new philosophical vistas for Yasuda. Yasuda came to share a world of philosophical discourse with the Kyoto School philosophers that included the thought of all of the philosophers and theologians mentioned here and many, many more. Second, in making use of the philosophers discussed above, Yasuda was skilled at discovering the phrase or term coined by them or associated with their thought that enabled him to articulate some important aspect of his understanding of Shin Buddhism—Tillich’s words composed after their discussion in Karuizawa, “A name but not a name alone,” for example, Buber’s “I and Thou,” or Heidegger’s In-der-Welt-Sein, which Yasuda transforms into InTathāgata-Sein. Yasuda was quick to see the potential of such language for broadening the philosophical reach of Shin Buddhism. Finally, in the works considered here, Yasuda remains closely focused on articulating his interpretation of Shin Buddhism, and he does not attempt a more comprehensive comparative consideration of Shin Buddhism with the philosophers and theologians he takes up. He is not interested, for example, in discussing the differences between the ultimate Buddhist affirmation of the world and Nietzsche’s amor fati, nor does he explore the suggestive parallels that might be found between Tillich’s conception of the sacred, not as some transcendent being, but as the “ground of being” and Yasuda’s understanding of the Tathāgata. Yasuda as we encounter him in these essays is first and foremost a Shin Buddhist philosopher.

Notes 1

I have also discussed Yasuda’s thought in Watt 2011 and 2014.

2

The page numbers cited here are those at the top of the page in the translation done by Macquarrie and Robinson, not those added by the translators in the margins. See the Reference section for the full citation of this work: http://www.giffordlectures.org/lecturers/paul-tillich.

3

The page numbers cited here are those at the top of the page in this translation, not those added by the translators in the margins.

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Chapter 17

Being-within-the-Tathāgata in Yasuda Rijin’s Thought Toward Laying a Foundation for the Religious Subject Kaku Takeshi Yasuda Rijin (1900–1982) did not regard religion to be just one of the many cultural activities that human beings engage in, nor did he see it as the relationship between humans and a nonhuman Other.1 He states the following about his view of the relationship between religion and human beings: How should we understand religion? I think it exists in the human beings’ awakening to their authentic self; it exists in the fulfillment of human life. I believe that becoming a buddha does not mean that a person becomes an Other, but has the significance of returning to one’s true self. Therefore, although we speak of the buddha, it is not an Other for human beings but rather their foundation. That is, calling sentient beings “the womb of the Tathāgata” (tathāgatagarbha) is to understand human beings as In-TathāgataSein, “being-within-the-Tathāgata” (nyorai nai sonzai). This is viewing humanity from the perspective of its foundation. (“Ganshōron nōto” [Notes on the Aspiration for Birth; hereafter, “Ganshōron Notes”], 1962; Kaku 2016, 23)

For Yasuda, religion meant “human beings’ awakening to their authentic self” and seeing humans as “being-within-the-Tathāgata.” What significance does viewing human beings as “being-within-the-Tathāgata” hold for religion?

Yasuda’s Lectures on the Aspiration for Birth in the Pure Land As a philosopher of Buddhism, Yasuda was a member of the modern doctrinal studies lineage of the Shinshū Ōtani-ha that includes figures such 390

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as Kiyozawa Manshi (1863–1903) and Soga Ryōjin (1875–1971). Unlike them, however, he had neither academic degrees nor major publications and he did not seek a position for himself in either the academic or religious sphere.2 His lifetime achievements did not really exert the kind of social or intellectual influence that would find its way into the timelines of Ōtani-ha history. However, the ethos of the denomination’s modern doctrinal studies has been subtly shaped by the original themes he explored over the years, such as the aspiration for birth, the sangha, the religious institution, the religious subject, the problem of language, the problem of anxiety, and the homeland of existence. Therefore his thought is very important when trying to understand the significance of those themes in terms of modern Ōtani-ha intellectual history. Born the first son of a small-scale landowner in Hyōgo Prefecture in 1900, his given name was Kameji. When he was nineteen, he read Bukkyō gairon (Introduction to Buddhism, 1919) by Kaneko Daiei (1881–1976) of Ōtani University. The intellectual nature of the book made such a strong impression on him, he eventually enrolled at Ōtani with the help of Kaneko at the age of twenty-four. The next year he met Soga, who would become his lifelong teacher, and upon hearing Soga’s university lectures on consciousness-only thought, “realized that my path lies here” (1971, 3; later compiled in Yasuda Rijin senshū [Selected Works of Yasuda Rijin; hereafter, YRS] 1: 523). Yasuda never held a job from the time he was thirty and finished studying as an auditor at Ōtani University, with the exception of one brief period.3 Instead he chose to continue learning under Soga and Kaneko while living in poverty. Throughout his life, he would give lectures in response to the requests of those who asked him to. At the age of forty-three, he was ordained as an Ōtani-ha priest and changed his name to Rijin. The year 1961, when the Seven Hundredth Memorial Service for Shinran was held, turned out to be a major turning point for Yasuda. Now past sixty, his thought had entered into its maturity, and he was given the opportunity to teach at Ōtani, his alma mater, thanks to the efforts of his friends who had come into positions of power within the denomination and at the university. From April of that year until falling ill with tuberculosis in April 1967, he gave lectures in the Shin Buddhist Studies Department that were all related to the topic of the aspiration for birth (ganshō) in the Pure Land. The theme of his lectures during the first two years was “The Aspiration for Birth in the Pure Land” (ganshō jōdo), which then became “On the Aspiration for Birth” (ganshōron) for the next four years. Below, I will refer to these collectively as the Ganshō ­Lectures. 391

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Fortunately, I have access to five notebooks that contain the detailed notes that Yasuda made as he prepared for these lectures (referred to below as “Ganshōron Notes”). Since Yasuda never published a work that comprehensively expresses his thoughts on this theme, it is difficult to understand his ideas systematically. However, when we seek to grasp Yasuda’s understanding of Shin Buddhism holistically, because he systematically discusses the most salient concepts of Shin Buddhism, such as shinjin, the name of Amida Buddha, and the Pure Land, in relation to the overarching theme of the aspiration for birth in the Pure Land over the course of these six years of lectures, the taped recordings of them and the notes that he made in preparation for them provide us with excellent sources to fill in the gaps left by the lack of a major work to refer to. Therefore, in this chapter, I will focus on these sources. The theme of these lectures, the aspiration for birth in the Pure Land (hereafter, aspiration for birth) is presented by Vasubandhu in the Wu­ liangshoujing youpotishe yuanshengji (Verses on the Aspiration for Birth in the Pure Land as an Upadeśa on the Sutra on Immeasurable Life; hereafter, Treatise on the Pure Land) as the central theme of the Wuliangshoujing (hereafter, Sutra on Immeasurable Life). Yasuda describes his intention in taking it up as the subject of his lectures, saying: “Without this aspiration for birth or desire for birth, faith is just faith in an object, a faith that believes in some other being, a faith within the structure of subject (grāhaka) and object (grāhya). The desire for birth or the aspiration for birth reverses this structure and causes one to discover that other being within one’s own self” (“Ganshōron Notes” 1962; Kaku 2016, 27). As Yasuda points out, he intends to overcome the problems in a faith that takes the form of belief in some sort of an object by clarifying the significance of the aspiration for birth. One unusual feature of Yasuda’s lectures is his attempt to elucidate this central concept from the Sutra on Immeasurable Life ontologically, likely because he felt that the mind that aspires for birth in the Pure Land was being mistakenly understood as a sort of “psychological experience” or “awareness of an object” (Kaku 2016, 62). Although this is a later statement, in his lecture notes from the 1963 academic year, Yasuda describes the purpose of his lectures in the following way: “If we were to express religious desire using philosophical terminology, we could call it an ontological desire. . . . My intention in giving these lectures is to clarify the ontological significance of the issue of the mind that aspires for birth as an ontological problem, or the ulti392

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mate issue in human life” (“Ganshōron Notes” 1963, 3b). From this we can see that Yasuda delivered these six years of lectures with the intent ofsystematically clarifying the ontological significance of the mind that aspires for birth as the primary concept in the Sutra on Immeasurable Life. By clarifying it ontologically, he aimed to reevaluate the experience of faith from the perspective of the profound nature of human existence, while his systematic explication of religious experience was intended to make it possible to answer all questions posed toward that experience from any direction.

Yasuda’s Discussion with Tillich and His Ganshō Lectures I believe that the momentum for Yasuda’s Ganshō Lectures was provided by his July 7, 1960, discussion with Paul Tillich (1886–1965).4 Fourteen years older than Yasuda, Tillich was a German Protestant theologian who exerted considerable influence on twentieth-century Christian theology and philosophy in general. Born in Germany, he was subjected to persecution under the Nazis and fled to the United States, ultimately becoming a citizen there. His theology is referred to as dialectical theology, as well as responsive theology, and is known for its elements of systematic theology and religious socialism. Okuoka Shin’ya, one of Yasuda’s disciples, has attested to the fact that Yasuda had an interest in Tillich’s thought long before their meeting, and had even said that if possible he wanted to go to the States to study under Tillich. In a piece written long after their encounter, Yasuda positively evaluated Tillich’s theology as being in dialogue with human culture, in contrast to the denial of culture found in the theology of Karl Barth (Yasuda 1976, 2). When Yasuda was sixty years old, he happened to have an opportunity to engage in formal dialogues with Tillich.5 Tillich recalls the conversations as follows: Twice we met again for hours of discussion with a priest and a philosopher from the Otani group. The last day in Kyoto, where we intended to see an exhibition of old Buddhist paintings in a temple belonging to so-called Esoteric Buddhism [Tōji], we were received by Kosho Otani and several others and invited by the chief priest to a Japanese luncheon. The discussion that followed centered around the doctrine of man and was very exciting. And then, after my official lecturing was finished and we were in the mountain resort, Karuizawa, they insisted on having another conversation there, although it took them a whole day by train from Kyoto. This four hour discussion (in an hotel with volcanic hot springs, in which we took a bath) was the 393

The Legacy of Seishinshugi last, very creative occasion of this kind for me in Japan. (Tillich 2013, 124–125; italics added for emphasis.)

The “philosopher” Tillich mentions here was Yasuda. In their second discussion, they covered topics such as the individual and love, karma, the Tathāgata, Amida’s name, and so on.6 Tillich expressed his gratitude to Yasuda for answering a question he had posed about karma in the following way: “I first asked about the contemporary meaning of karma, in other words, about its demythologization. This is a very important issue. Giving this fundamentally symbolic concept a meaning without mythological elements . . . I was really grateful that he said this” (Tillich, Nobukuni, and Yasuda 1960, 23; Yasuda Rijin shū [Yasuda Rijin Collection; hereafter, YRC] 1: 87; YRS 1: 490). In response to Tillich’s statement, it seems that Yasuda realized that “demythologization”—that is, giving symbolic concepts nonmythological significance—was an important mission for him to undertake in his own doctrinal studies. Yasuda’s sense of the need to engage in a project of demythologization can be seen in the following passage written at the beginning of his “Ganshōron Notes”: “As to the primary issue of demythologization, the ‘Pure Land’ is one of the most representative mythological concepts, yet for religion mythological expressions are necessary (the need for symbolism). The problem lies in understanding their existential significance” (“Ganshōron Notes” 1961; Kaku 2006, 76). We can assume that Yasuda’s discussion with Tillich was one of the main conditions that led him to take up the concept of demythologization7 in these lectures. The interpretive technique of demythologization was first proposed by Rudolf Bultmann (1884–1976), a German scholar of the New Testament. In 1941, at a conference of the German Society for Evangelical Theology, he delivered a speech entitled “The Problem of Demythologizing the New Testament Message” where he suggested that it was necessary to demythologize the New Testament and present an existential interpretation of the teachings there, which led to a variety of debates both within and outside of Christianity. In Japan, existentialist theology grew more and more popular during the 1950s and 1960s, and Bultmann’s method of demythologization became an important topic of discussion. In 1954, a Japanese translation of his New Testament and Mythology by Yamaoka Kikuo was published by Shinkyō Shuppansha. Yasuda, who kept a close eye on trends in philosophy and theology, was aware of the issue of demythologization before his encounter with Tillich. In a lecture Yasuda gave in 1959, he says: 394

Being-within-the-Tathāgata in Yasuda Rijin’s Thought The Larger Sutra on Immeasurable Life is preached in the form of a narrative. Only in relation to the self does myth resonate as something more than myth. There is no need to deny myth. In contemporary Christian theology, demythologization is a major issue, but Bultmann’s position is not a denial of myth itself. Its conclusion is the existential interpretation of myth. When divorced from one’s own actual existence, then those teachings end up being simply myth. When Shinran is quoted as saying that the vow was “made for me, Shinran, alone” at the end of the Tannishō, what he is “carefully considering” is the vow’s relationship with he himself. He is relating the “vow that is the result of five kalpas of meditation” with his present self. If it is not related to the self, then it is simply a myth, a tale describing the distant past. Demythologization is a denial of interpreting myth as nothing more than simply myth. (From an unpublished transcription by Nakano Ryōshun of Yasuda’s 1959 lecture entitled “Ganshō”)

In this way, Yasuda held that the centerpiece of Bultmann’s demythologization lay not in the denial of myth per se, but in presenting an existential interpretation of it. It is also noteworthy that here Yasuda interprets Shinran’s statement relayed near the end of the Tannishō to be an example of the demythologization of the Sutra on Immeasurable Life. As I will argue in detail later, Yasuda did not adopt Bultmann’s concept of demythologization exactly as Bultmann proposed it. Instead, maintaining a firm grasp on the limitations and problems with the term as Bultmann used it, he appears to have made reference to the concept—popular at the time—as an opportunity to emphasize the importance of making existential interpretations of scripture in Shin Buddhism.

The Issue of Shinjin as Settled-Mind Thanks to these dialogues with Tillich, the settled-mind (anjin)8 also emerged as an intellectual issue for Yasuda. Yasuda recounts a discussion that he had with Suzuki Daisetsu (1870–1966): Last year when I visited Suzuki Daisetsu on my way home from meeting with Tillich, we discussed the phrase “settled-mind” (anjin). At that time, I realized that when speaking with a foreigner about the concept of faith— which expresses the essence of religion—although we can communicate smoothly at first, as the discussion progresses it gradually falls out of focus and we end up talking past each other. Thinking about this carefully, there is a word that expresses the concept of faith but has content that is distinct to Buddhism. That is “the settled-mind.” Faith (shinkō) [in its contemporary Japanese usage] is the settled-mind, and the Shin concept of shinjin is the settled-mind. However, it seems that this is not necessarily the case for for395

The Legacy of Seishinshugi eigners. The faith that they discuss might be the beginning of the settledmind. It might be a handle to grasp leading to the settled-mind, but it is not the settled-mind itself. That is why the focus of the discussion gets blurred at the end of those conversations. (1961, 69; YRC 1: 149)

What Yasuda refers to here as the settled-mind is to firmly ground one’s mind on the reality of one’s existence. In their discussion, Tillich stated that “Insofar as one uses the words or phrases ‘faith’ and ‘shinjin,’ a distinction between subject and object is implied. In other words, it is impossible to avoid or ignore the distinction in having faith, that is, the distinction between a person in a state of faith and the content of that faith” (YRS 1: 506). He also says, “Faith is necessarily predicated on the subject” (YRS 1: 507), arguing that faith is a subjective experience that has an object and content. Yasuda explained that although the ordinary structure of consciousness distinguishes between subject and object, faith is not such an ordinary consciousness but an extraordinary one. Their discussion regarding this point, however, did not progress any further. Based on this experience, Yasuda probably felt the need to clarify the element of the settled-mind—a mind settled into the fact of the individual’s existence—in Shin Buddhist shinjin in order to communicate the unique nature of religious sentiment in that tradition. From Yasuda’s perspective, the confusion does not just lie with Tillich. When faith is broadly conceived as little more than “a handle to grasp leading to the settled-mind,” or a condition that people must fulfill for their salvation, because faith is simply understood to be a psychological state, its religious essence remains unclear. Yasuda’s understanding of this problem led him to address the position of the settled-mind in religious sentiment as an important issue in his Ganshō Lectures.9 In this way, Yasuda held that the central element of the concept of faith (religious sentiment or religious consciousness) was this settledmind and felt the need to clarify the substantive difference between that religious consciousness and ordinary, everyday human consciousness. In order to do so, Yasuda turned to consciousness-only thought, which makes profound investigations into the nature of human consciousness, and particularly sought an answer to his question about the nature of the settled-mind in the concepts of “abiding in the nature of consciousness alone” ( jūyuishikishō) and “the attainment of wisdom upon the transformation of consciousness” (tenshiki tokuchi). The closing passage of his notes from the 1961 academic year shows that Yasuda was responding to issues raised by Tillich regarding the na396

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ture of faith. There, he refers to the “ultimate concern,” an important concept in Tillich’s theology, writing: “Bodhicitta is truly faith as the ultimate concern. In the above, I interpreted this religious sentiment to be dharmatā-citta or citta-tathatā based on consciousness-only theory. Shinran speaks of the wisdom of shinjin and made clear the meaning of wisdom in a Buddhist sense” (“Ganshōron Notes” 1961; Kaku 2006, 150; the Sanskrit reconstructions are given as they appear in Yasuda’s notes). From this conclusion and the other passages presented above, we can see that Tillich served as an important interlocutor in the development of Yasuda’s thought after their dialogues. In particular, their encounter led Yasuda to recognize the unique nature of faith in the Shin Buddhist tradition and forced him to attempt to articulate it more clearly, both in reference to Shinran’s works and the Buddhist tradition in general.

The Method of Demythologization: Developing an Existential Understanding Yasuda describes the significance of myth, saying: Myth is what expresses the foundational world, as do the jātaka, or tales of the original lives of the Buddha. The “original” in the “original lives” is the same as in the “original vow.” These original lives are certainly the original lives of Śākyamuni, but they also can be called the origin of human existence. Myth is an expression that seeks out what precedes existence and what precedes awareness. Rather than precede, prefaces is better. It has the sense of transzendental. In ontological terminology it is authenticity. Authenticity is ontologisch-transzendental. It is structural transcendence. The relationship between existence and what prefaces existence is in a sense an ontological distinction, in the way that the relationship between Dharma and dharma-nature is said to be neither one of complete identity nor total distinction. (“Ganshōron Notes” 1962; Kaku 2016, 80)

Myth in Mahayana Buddhism is a literary form used to express “the foundational world” or primordial events that shape human existence. Here, Yasuda expansively interprets the concept of jātaka, which usually only refers to the past lives of Śākyamuni, holding that they have the significance of describing the original source of human existence and express the relationship between present “existence and what prefaces existence.” For Yasuda, myth is expressive of what precedes usual human consciousness and turns the subject’s attention from the present situation to its authentic roots. From this perspective of Yasuda’s, myth functions to force one to reevaluate an understanding of religious 397

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s­ entiment that merely grasps it within the superficial framework of experiential, psychological cognition that posits an external object and an internal, perceiving subject. Yasuda touches on the subject of demythologization when discussing the unique contributions that Soga made to Shin Buddhist doctrinal studies, saying: Generally speaking, the teaching of the original vow in the Sutra on Immeasurable Life is preached as a myth, a Märchen [fairy tale/fictional story] of Dharmākara Bodhisattva’s ornamenting the Pure Land. There we are moved to sense the presence of something profound; however, beyond this we cannot grasp it as a truth that makes us what we are. The sutra’s teaching demands that we understand it subjectively as a truth related to the self. Without such an awareness, we cannot possibly be moved. Developing such a personal understanding is in a sense entmythologisierung, entering into the myth oneself. This is not a simple destruction of the myth; it must be truly understanding it existentially. Surely the literary form of a Märchen was adopted because there is a truth to it that necessitated its adoption. (1971, 5; YRS 1: 525–526)

Soga is famous for arguing that one should understand Shinran’s interpretation of the figure of Dharmākara in the Sutra on Immeasurable Life as the true subject of each individual’s faith (see, for instance, Soga 1913a, 1927). We should note that in the above passage, Yasuda evaluates Soga’s unique understanding as “entering into the myth” and “understanding it existentially,” seeing Soga to be reading himself and his own subjective experience of shinjin into the myth presented in the Sutra on Immeasurable Life. For Yasuda, what is the truth that is preached as a myth in that sutra and requires the adoption of the “literary form of a Märchen”? While the world in which the finite operates upon the finite can be expressed within the sphere of reason-based discourse, the world in which the infinite operates upon the finite can only be expressed with mythological discourse. It is likely that the mythological discourse in the Sutra on Immeasurable Life is intended to express the authentic nature of existence described in that sutra with the phrase “to come forth born out of suchness” ( jūnyo raishō). That is, from Yasuda’s perspective, mythological discourse is probably the only way to describe the working of singular suchness—a truth beyond human conception—which is described by that phrase. This sort of understanding of myth has its foundations in Shinran’s view of the story of Dharmākara as an expression of the fact 398

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that such singular suchness becomes the fulfilled body of a buddha. Regarding that, in Yuishinshō mon’i, Shinran writes: The dharma body has neither shape nor form. And yet while the mind cannot grasp it nor words describe it, it assumes form from out of this singular suchness, appearing in the form referred to as the dharma body of expedient means. That form that appears to us—taking the name Dharmākara Bhikṣu and giving rise to the inconceivable great vow—is what Vasubandhu Bodhisattva calls the Tathāgata of Light Unhindered throughout the Ten Directions. This Tathāgata is referred to as the fulfilled body. ( Jōdo shinshū seiten zensho [hereafter, JSZ] 2: 702a)

Here, Shinran describes Dharmākara Bhikṣu and Amida Buddha as expedients intended to express the ultimate truth of oneness that extends beyond human conception or the human capacity for expression. Yasuda’s view of the mythical discourse of the Sutra on Immeasurable Life, which he refers to as a Mahayana jātaka, can be viewed as an extension of the position that Shinran has set forth here. While mythological expressions (or narratives) are necessary in religion, if understood solely as myths, they are incapable of responding to contemporary problems. With regard to the necessity of demythologization, Yasuda states, “If we affirm mythological expressions exactly as they are, it is impossible for them to serve as answers to the actual, existential problems of human beings. When there is a gap between the problem and the solution, religion is dead” (“Ganshōron Notes” 1961; Kaku 2006, 76). However, the issue with myths is not that they are Märchen, or fables. Yasuda also says, “Whatever one thinks of as being an Other outside oneself, it all ends up being myth. If one imagines that there is some separate Other that exists outside one’s own existence, that is all myth” (1961, 67; YRC 1: 145). This connection to the self is the crux of the issue of demythologization for Yasuda. For him, demythologization is not about making religious discourse more rational or making it accord more closely with secular norms, but instead is entirely focused on developing a “truly existentially understanding” of that religious language. As is well known, the limitations of Bultmann’s idea of demythologization have long been pointed out. For instance, Tillich criticized Bultmann’s concept of demythologization, arguing that it would cause confusion because it had the dual significance of being both “the fight against the literalistic distortion of symbols and myths” and “the removal of myth as a vehicle of religious expression and the substitution of 399

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science and morals” (1958, 152). Tillich suggests that, rather than engage in that sort of demythologization, one should treat myth as “symbolic” and understand it based on the method of “deliteralization” (1958, 152; for a Japanese translation see Tillich 1969, 2: 194). Since this work was published in the United States in 1951, it is likely that Yasuda was already aware of Tillich’s criticism of demythologization. The reason that Yasuda chose to adopt the concept in his Ganshō Lectures is probably twofold: First, as Yasuda points out saying, “At that time, Bultmann’s proposition to ‘demythologize’ the Bible was causing an uproar,” the concept was a subject of discussion and interest when he was giving the lectures. Second, in Japan at the time, Pure Land Buddhism was faced with the simple yet severe questions of “Does Amida Buddha actually exist?” and “Where is the Western Pure Land?” and Yasuda was attempting to provide an answer to them. However, as we can see from the above, although Yasuda did use Bultmann’s term, he did not necessarily take up the concept in its entirety. Instead, Yasuda’s true intent in using the concept was in order to emphasize the importance of making an “existential interpretation” of scriptural language. Because of that interest, Yasuda described the story in the Sutra on Immeasurable Life as a Mahayana jātaka that expresses the original, authentic life of human beings.

The Sutra on Immeasurable Life and ConsciousnessOnly Doctrine: The Thought of Vasubandhu In Buddhism, which views human beings as being fundamentally in need of practice in order to reach enlightenment, the profound nature of human existence is considered from two perspectives. One is to understand human existence as a form of deluded transmigration and the other is to understand human nature as making a return to quiescence—or the realization of enlightenment—possible. Yasuda calls the development of a basis from which to interpret scriptural discourse that describes human existence as transmigratory a “phenomenal-founding” and refers to the creation of a basis for interpreting human nature transcendentally in terms of its return to quiescence as “founding-in-principle.” The reason that these two foundations are necessary is that human existence contains a contradiction within itself: in principle, human existence is authentic, yet as an existing phenomenon, it is also inauthentic. In the Ganshō Lectures, Yasuda explains Vasubandhu’s existential interpretation of the Sutra on Immeasurable Life presented in his Treatise on the Pure 400

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Land by referring to key concepts presented in other works by Vasubandhu (such as his thought regarding the ālayavijñāna in the Weishilun; hereafter, Treatise on Consciousness-Only, T no. 1588), and his tathāgata­ garbha thought in the Foxinglun (hereafter, Treatise on Buddha-Nature, T no. 1610), thereby clarifying the principles that underlie both phenomenal transmigration and enlightenment in principle. Through these considerations, Yasuda attempted to construct a basis for understanding the thought structure of the aspiration for birth presented in the Sutra on Immeasurable Life both ontologically and systematically. Vasubandhu’s Treatise on the Pure Land is extant only in its Chinese translation by Bodhiruci. Further, the Tibetan biographies of Vasubandhu, as well as the one translated by Paramārtha (499–569), do not make any reference to him having been a devotee of Pure Land Buddhism or Amida Buddha. Based on these facts, questions have been raised as to whether the Vasubandhu who is said to be the author of the Treatise on the Pure Land is actually the same person as the author of works on consciousness-only and the Yogācāra School. However, given the fact that Bodhiruci, who translated many of Vasubandhu’s works into Chinese, was clearly a member of the lineage of Vasubandhu’s disciples (see the Jingangxianlun, T no. 1512) and since the contents of the Treatise on the Pure Land do not explicitly contradict consciousness-only doctrine, there is no evidence that would necessitate doubting that this work is by the Vasubandhu of the Yogācāra School. Yasuda states the following about the Treatise on the Pure Land, the only extant treatise on the Sutra on Immeasurable Life: “[Vasubandhu] wrote treatises about consciousness-only thought, but at the same time he sought to correspond to the original vow using the doctrinal studies of that school. As can be seen by the statement ‘corresponding with the Buddha’s teachings’ in the Treatise on the Pure Land, that work attempted to accord with the message of the Larger Sutra on Immeasurable Life using consciousness-only doctrinal studies” (2012, 1: 9). Yasuda holds that because Vasubandhu sought to correspond with the teachings in the Sutra on Immeasurable Life based on consciousness-only thought, the Treatise on the Pure Land is called an upadeśa, which in this case means a treatise elucidating the true intent of a sutra by a disciple of the Buddha. Yasuda saw the content of the treatise as Vasubandhu’s attempt to provide an existential interpretation of the mythological elements presented in the Sutra on Immeasurable Life, so he viewed it as an instance of “demythologization” of that sutra’s message on the part of Vasubandhu. Further, we can understand Yasuda’s adoption of consciousness-only thought in 401

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­ rder to correspond with the teachings of the Sutra on Immeasurable Life o as his conscious attempt to take on the same philosophical approach that Vasubandhu used in interpreting that sutra. Yasuda’s choice can also be seen as his inheritance of the stance of his teacher, Soga Ryōjin, whose desire to develop an existential interpretation of the Sutra on Immeasurable Life can be seen in the latter’s statement, “Because I am a simple, foolish person, I cannot be satisfied unless I can discover the true form of that Dharmākara Bodhisattva within my own consciousness” (1927; SRS 5: 158). For Yasuda, Vasubandhu’s declaration of his aspiration for birth in the Treatise on the Pure Land was his existential interpretation of the teachings of the Sutra on Immeasurable Life. In his Ganshō Lectures, Yasuda discovered Vasubandhu’s aspiration for birth to be the key concept for the demythologization of that sutra and tried to lay the intellectual foundation for that aspiration by employing Vasubandhu’s own doctrinal studies. Yasuda carried out his foundation-laying10 for Vasubandhu’s demythologization (upadeśa) of the Sutra on Immeasurable Life in the Treatise on the Pure Land from two directions: one is a founding-in-principle and the other is a founding-in-phenomena (“Ganshōron Notes” 1961; Kaku 2006, 82). It was necessary for him to do so because human existence is contradictory: on the one hand, from the perspective of principle, human beings are and can only be authentic, yet in the phenomena of ordinary human existence, they are also in many ways inauthentic. Yasuda chose Vasubandhu’s Treatise on Buddha-Nature and Treatise on Consciousness-Only (this text can be said to encompass Vasubandhu’s various works related to consciousness-only) as the sources for his project of laying these foundations. Vasubandhu’s thought regarding the ālayavijñāna clarifies what the nature of the phenomena referred to as transmigration and return to quiescence are, while his tathāgatagarbha thought clarifies the principle that serves as the basis for sentient beings’ return to quiescence. It may be possible to say that Yasuda discovered the following three roles for Vasubandhu’s doctrinal studies in his laying a foundation for the Buddhist path set forth in the Sutra on Immeasurable Life. 1. Founding-in-praxis in the Treatise on the Pure Land with the thought of the aspiration for birth in the Pure Land: Pure Land doctrinal studies clarifying selfhood (the single-mind [isshin]) 2.  Founding-in-principle in the Treatise on Buddha-Nature with tathāgatagarbha thought: Prajñā doctrinal studies clarifying authenticity (return to quiescence) 402

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3.  Phenomenal-founding in the Treatise on Consciousness-Only with Yogācāra doctrinal studies clarifying actuality (transmigration)

Founding-in-Phenomena: Ālayavijñāna Thought “Phenomenal-founding” refers to clarifying issues related to the reality of human life such as: What is human delusion? Why are people deluded? How can people transform delusion and attain enlightenment? In order to answer these questions, Yasuda turned to Vasubandhu’s interpretations of certain key doctrines in consciousness-only thought. He describes the significance of Yogācāra thought within the two great currents of Mahayana philosophy, saying: Although we might discuss sentient beings transmigrating or returning to quiescence, when it comes to explaining sentient beings themselves—why they transmigrate, what causes and conditions make them what they are— prajñā doctrinal studies are not enough. . . . In prajñā doctrinal studies, the complexity of sentient beings is not explained sufficiently while maintaining a proactive Mahayana stance. Therein lies the necessity for the emergence of Yogācāra doctrinal studies. (1969, 64)

Based on this perspective, Yasuda’s phenomenal-founding employed the ideas regarding the ālayavijñāna in the Treatise on Consciousness-Only in order to elucidate the complex nature of sentient beings in transmigration and their need to engage in practice in order to reach enlightenment. That is to say, this work of Vasubandhu’s served as a source for him to clarify human beings’ inauthentic way of being. Yasuda focused in particular on how the issue of karma—which is said to keep sentient beings within transmigration and to prevent them from attaining enlightenment—is addressed in that work. He points out that “We must say that an existential interpretation of the Sutra on Immeasurable Life first becomes possible when karma is understood as an existential concept” (“Ganshōron Notes” 1962; Kaku 2016, 56) and observes, “I think that Vasubandhu’s interpretation of the ālayavijñāna as the consciousness resultant of the maturation of karma (ijukushiki) holds immense significance for understanding the teachings regarding the original vow in the Sutra on Immeasurable Life” (“Ganshōron Notes” 1962; Kaku 2016, 56). In this way, Yasuda saw the theory of karma set forth by Vasubandhu in his discussion of the ālayavijñāna as essential for developing an existential understanding of the teaching of the original vow. As such, for Yasuda, who held that the issue of phenomena (the actual suffering of sentient beings) was more significant than principle (their 403

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capacity for enlightenment) in the Buddhist path laid out in the Sutra on Immeasurable Life, Vasubandhu’s Yogācāra thought was extremely important because it provided a rigorous doctrinal framework for understanding what makes sentient beings transmigrate in its elucidation of karma. Further, this work on consciousness-only by Vasubandhu also answers the question of what makes the transformation of that deluded mind into the wisdom of enlightenment possible in his discussion of “the attainment of wisdom upon the transformation of consciousness.” Therefore, Yasuda’s phenomenal-founding focuses primarily on the treatment of these two concepts in Vasubandhu’s Treatise on Consciousness-Only.

Founding-in-Principle: Tathāgatagarbha Thought To lay a foundation in terms of principle means to clarify the authentic relationship between sentient beings and the Tathāgata. However much sentient beings may transmigrate, they are never divorced from the Tathāgata, or their own authenticity as suchness. In fact, it is more appropriate to say that seeing sentient beings as caught up in transmigration is only possible based on an understanding of the Tathāgata as the authentic way of being that stands in contrast to transmigration. This founding-in-principle involves elucidating human nature from the perspective of emptiness or prajñā, as represented by the concept of buddha-nature. From this stance, human beings are by their very nature buddhas, hence incapable of ever acting out of accord with suchness. Without this sort of a founding in the principle of sentient beings’ authentic nature as buddhas, it is impossible to correctly grasp sentient beings’ transmigration and return to quiescence. If one does not recognize this principle of the fundamentally enlightened nature of sentient beings, enlightenment will end up being mistaken as some sort of mystical experience or psychological state, and so this founding-in-principle is necessary to avoid that misconception. Yasuda lays this foundation-in-principle based on the tathāgatagarbha thought elucidated in Vasubandhu’s Treatise on Buddha-Nature. He created the concept of “being-within-the-Tathāgata” (nyorai nai sonzai)—which I have included in the title of this chapter—in order to ontologically elucidate the significance of the enlightened nature of human beings in terms of the principle that makes it possible. That is to say, Yasuda uses this term to indicate that human beings are ontologically, by the nature of their very existence, entirely at one with true suchness and as such never inauthentic at the level of existence, regardless of their psycho404

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logical state or the specific content of their consciousness. It is their ontological status of “being-within-the-Tathāgata,” or existing entirely enveloped by true suchness, that makes their enlightenment possible. They can become buddhas not by a heroic severing of the bonds of karma, but by simply awakening to the fact that they already exist within authenticity itself. This awakening is the attainment of a transformative wisdom that allows for a shift of the understanding of the same phenomena of human life not as transmigration, but as a return to quiescence. Yasuda created the term “being-within-the-Tathāgata” based on the phrases “all sentient beings are within the Tathāgata’s wisdom” from Vasubandhu’s Treatise on Buddha-Nature and “being-in-the-world” (In-derWelt-Sein) from Heidegger. It is one of the key concepts in his thought in that it serves as a foundation for his grasp of the nature of faith in Shin Buddhism, especially because he sees it as expressing the content of the insight that is the central element of that faith. Yasuda describes the relationship between sentient beings and the Tathāgata saying: Mahayana Buddhism takes the Tathāgata to be the basis of human beings and takes human beings to be the Tathāgata. That is, calling sentient beings tathāgatagarbha is to view human beings as In-Tathāgata-Sein. This is viewing human beings from their basis. That sentient beings become buddhas is because sentient beings originally are buddhas. It is a perspective that sees sentient beings from the stance of the Tathāgata as sentient beings of the Tathāgata. That is taken to be the authentic way of being for human beings. (“Ganshōron Notes” 1962; Kaku 2016, 23)

In this way, Yasuda views the relationship between sentient beings and the Tathāgata as being one of authenticity, that is, sentient beings’ relation to their own authenticity. Yasuda calls “being-within-theTathāgata” “the self-awareness of human beings founded on basic intuition (fundamental wisdom, the wisdom of nondiscrimination)” (1969, 61), and explains that this insight is absolute, genuine knowledge regarding the ontological structure of sentient beings, namely, knowing that “sentient beings are within the Tathāgata before they recognize themselves as being sentient beings” (“Ganshōron Notes” 1962; Kaku 2016, 18). Further he writes: The Tathāgata does not exist externally to sentient beings. The Tathāgata is not an “other being” for sentient beings. The significance of faith in Maha­ yana Buddhism lies in causing sentient beings to realize that the Tathāgata 405

The Legacy of Seishinshugi is their basis. It is not that sentient beings become an Other but rather that they return to their true self. Sentient beings can be buddhas because the buddha is sentient beings themselves. Based on this point, it is said that all sentient beings have buddha-nature (Nirvana Sutra). Vasubandhu’s Treatise on Buddha-Nature, which shows the structure that sentient beings are the tathāgatagarbha because buddha-nature is the nature of sentient beings, makes clear the meaning of three types of encompassing. Specifically, it says that in terms of being encompassed, all sentient beings are without exception within the Tathāgata’s wisdom. . . . Sentient beings are within the Tathāgata before they recognize themselves as being sentient beings. (“Ganshōron Notes” 1962; Kaku 2016, 18)

Yasuda’s founding-in-principle entails this elucidation of human beings as “being-within-the-Tathāgata” based on his reading of Vasubandhu’s Treatise on Buddha-Nature, which can be seen as the primary element of his ontological explication of the nature of religious sentiment in Shin Buddhism. Yasuda uses this concept of “being-within-the-Tathāgata” to show that based on the structure of their very existence, human beings are “of the Tathāgata,” itself, and are “originally buddhas” in that authentic way of being. In the next section, we will see how Yasuda interprets the settled-mind—what he sees as the uniquely Buddhist element of faith—as being the mind that is cognizant of or awakened to that structure of human existence.

“Being-within-the-Tathāgata” and the Settled-Mind Yasuda held that human beings’ becoming aware of themselves as “being-within-the-Tathāgata,” or as existing encompassed in authenticity, is the content of the settled-mind, or shinjin in Shin Buddhism, the Buddhist path set forth by the Sutra on Immeasurable Life. When shinjin is understood to be awakening to “being-within-the-Tathāgata,” it comes to mean establishing the agency and autonomy of a self that lives aware of its position within the Tathāgata, as opposed to a transmigratory being that is simply pushed through life by the effects of past karma. The development of that sort of autonomous subjectivity brought about by insight into the nature of one’s being is what Yasuda means when he calls shinjin in Shin Buddhism, “the settled-mind.” If the foundation for religious experience in terms of principle is left unclear, faith is understood as a psychological state and ends up being faith in some external object, or a subjective faith. That is, without clarifying the fact that humans are “beings within the Tathāgata,” the 406

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Tathāgata ends up being understood as some sort of Other, external to the faithful, or comes to be understood at the level of mystical experience. However unique such a faith might be, ultimately it has essentially the same structure as ordinary, deluded consciousness, and therefore is not the true essence of religious faith. Regarding the distinction between religious consciousness and the psychology of religious experience, Yasuda states: Because that is cognition, it is not religious consciousness. Because it is emotion, it is not religious consciousness. One must say that the religious essence of faith lies in becoming aware of one’s authentic self. What makes knowledge or emotion religious lies in awakening to one’s own authenticity. That is, that citta is religious consciousness to the extent that it is the expressive awareness of dharmatā, to the extent that it is dharmatā-citta or citta-tathatā. (“Ganshōron Notes” 1962; Kaku 2016, 20)

Here, Yasuda holds that religious consciousness is not determined by the content of one’s emotive state or cognition, but by the relationship between that mind and true suchness or the world as it is. The mind according with that suchness—that is, the mind that recognizes oneself as “being-within-the-Tathāgata”—is for Yasuda the sufficient condition for religious consciousness and what he calls “the religious essence of faith.” Further, from Yasuda’s perspective, the human being’s awareness of “being-within-the-Tathāgata” serves as the foundation for the position Shinran set forth that the source of shinjin lies in the mind of the Tathāgata. Yasuda employs that expression to clarify the ontological roots of this understanding of Shinran’s that the mind of faith arises within sentient beings based on the working of the Tathāgata within them, which is epitomized by his argument that shinjin is buddha-nature itself. For Yasuda, confirming that faith is the awareness of “being-withinthe-Tathāgata,” or the settled-mind, was not simply a doctrinal problem, but also had profound implications for the issue of practice. The phrase “single-mind” that Vasubandhu uses at the beginning of the Treatise on the Pure Land does not refer to a psychological state of intense focus, but instead refers to the mind of the subject that has recovered its authentic nature as the Tathāgata, which is expressed in Vasubandhu’s Treatise on Consciousness-Only as “abiding in the nature of consciousness alone” ( jūyuishikishō). Yasuda describes his reasons for considering the “single-mind” in the Treatise on the Pure Land in light of this concept with reference to the settled-mind as follows: 407

The Legacy of Seishinshugi Shinjin is not a conscious faith that believes in an object, but a faith that is the wisdom that has awakened to one’s authentic nature. Shinran also speaks of the wisdom of shinjin. Only this sort of faith can be called the ­settled-mind. This self-aware faith is what the Treatise on the Pure Land calls the singlemind (of aspiring for birth) and what Shinran praised as the wondrous passage on the single-mind. It is not just a faith that believes in the Tathāgata; it is a faith that is the Tathāgata. I hope to clarify this point based on the Treatise on Consciousness-Only, which contains Vasubandhu’s doctrinal studies. The Treatise on Consciousness-Only discusses “the attainment of wisdom on the transformation of consciousness,” and that wisdom is expressed as “abiding in the nature of consciousness alone.” This is the mind as the ­settled-mind and consciousness as awareness of one’s own authenticity. The single-mind in the Verses on the Aspiration for Birth [i.e., the Treatise on the Pure Land] must be the wisdom that abides in the nature of consciousness alone. This is the reason that Shinran distinguishes it from the “single, undisturbed mind that latches on to the name” in the Amida Sutra. (“Ganshōron Notes” 1961; Kaku 2006, 104)

In this way, Yasuda’s founding-in-principle with reference to “beingwithin-the-Tathāgata” enabled him to confirm that the single-mind in the Treatise on the Pure Land is not a conscious faith in some external object, but a faith that has the wisdom that awakens to one’s own authentic nature as its essential element. As Yasuda says here, this faith is “a faith that is the Tathāgata,” that is, a faith that recognizes its inseparability from and oneness with the Tathāgata. Yasuda refers to the concept of “abiding in the nature of consciousness alone” from Vasubandhu’s Yogācāra thought to describe the content of that insight further. He also states that this insight is “the settled-mind,” which is for him an “awareness of one’s own authenticity.” This settled-mind that is aware of the structure of human existence as authentically existing within the Tathāgata is, from Yasuda’s perspective, not just what Vasubandhu calls the single-mind and what Shinran refers to as shinjin, but also the unique feature of religious sentiment in the Buddhist tradition. It was Tillich’s lack of a grasp of this element of faith that led them to talk past each other in the dialogues when it came to the topic of faith. In his Ganshō Lectures, Yasuda is clearly trying to highlight that unusual element of shinjin in Shin. His idea of “beingwithin-the-Tathāgata” serves as the logical foundation for that explanation because he understands the content of the settled-mind to be an awareness of one’s nature as “being-within-the-Tathāgata.”

408

Being-within-the-Tathāgata in Yasuda Rijin’s Thought

Being-within-the-Tathāgata and Practice When one is aware of being a “being-within-the-Tathāgata,” that awareness is shinjin and also the settled-mind. When faith is understood as this sort of a settled-mind, then it ceases to be something on a merely psychological level and becomes a dimension of a mind that encompasses the self and the entire world. That is to say, to recognize oneself as existing within the Tathāgata is to recognize one’s essential oneness with the Tathāgata, or the totality of authentic existence. Yasuda describes such an all-­ encompassing awakening as being fundamental to religion, saying: The concept of mind does not have a psychological significance but a religious one. In other words, the mind that is the subject of both the self and the world is the settled-mind. Shinjin means the settled-mind. The self that has attained the settled-mind is a buddha, and the world of the settledmind is the Pure Land that is the object of a buddha’s consciousness. The settled-mind refers to the mind which returns the mind itself to the mind itself. (“Ganshōron Notes” 1961; Kaku 2006, 108)

Yasuda holds that this settled-mind is the key to buddhahood and finding oneself in the Pure Land of a buddha—that is, the key to becoming an authentic human being and living in a world of true suchness, or the genuine world just as it is. What significance does this sort of awakening to “being-within-theTathāgata” then hold for the practice of Pure Land Buddhism, that is, the practice of responding to the problems at hand in specific times and situations? Yasuda writes: “Awakening is one sort of awareness, but the true nature of existence is expressed within that awareness. At the same time, that awareness serves as the foundation for practice. To put it in another way, awareness of human existence simultaneously determines the direction of human practice” (1969, 6). The awareness of “beingwithin-the-Tathāgata” shapes the direction of one’s interactions with oneself and others. Yasuda also describes the significance of realizing the settled-mind, saying: “One settles down into reality by returning to one’s authentic nature. The settled-mind has this sort of a dual meaning: one has attained a real and actual self” (“Ganshōron Notes” 1961; Kaku 2006, 148). The awakening to “being-within-the-Tathāgata” serves as the foundation-in-principle for “returning to one’s authentic nature.” No matter how much the times or society may change, no matter how the questions that need to be addressed may change, the issue of how to establish a genuine religious subject (shinjin in Shin Buddhism) that can

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The Legacy of Seishinshugi

correctly address these questions does not. Correctly addressing these problems means to face them without misapprehending them as substantially existent or being hindered by delusion. Only that genuine religious subject is capable of engaging in practice that does not create transmigration-causing karma, a practice that Vasubandhu refers to as “corresponding to the practice that is in accord with reality” (nyojitsu shugyō sōō) and therefore it is only this sort of a subject that can genuinely respond to the concrete problems that arise in human life. Without autonomy from the vicissitudes of transmigratory existence, it is impossible to address the enormously complicated questions facing society ­today. In light of Yasuda’s interpretation of shinjin presented in his Ganshō Lectures and the notes that he prepared for them, we must take care to avoid the mistake of seeing “religious sentiment in Shin Buddhism” (“Ganshōron Notes” 1961; Kaku 2006, 151) to be the acceptance of certain Pure Land doctrines (the Pure Land, Tathāgata, Amida’s name, etc.) as articles of faith. As we have seen, Yasuda expresses this religious sentiment as the “mind that is the subject of the self and world.” In other words, for Yasuda, it is the settled-mind where the subject understands its ontological status as being one with true suchness. Shinran describes this religious sentiment with expressions such as “great shinjin,” “shinjin is itself buddha-nature,” “the wisdom of shinjin,” “shinjin bestowed by the Tathāgata.” Yasuda focuses on these expressions to show that faith for Shinran was not simply about belief in certain doctrines, ideas, or some sort of external salvific working, but an insight into one’s original nature as “being-within-the-Tathāgata.” As Yasuda notes in the passage quoted at the start of this section, such an insight into the “true nature of existence” serves to “determine the direction of human practice.” Thus, by laying the foundation for the settled-mind upon the concept of “being-within-the-Tathāgata,” Yasuda was able to reinterpret the practical significance of Soga’s striking statement “the Tathāgata saves me by becoming me” (SRS 2: 408) to mean “When the Tathāgata becomes me, I rise up within the Tathāgata” (“Ganshōron Notes” 1961; Kaku 2006, 89). This reinterpretation means that the individual subject who recognizes the “true nature of existence” as “being-within-the-Tathāgata” then rises up to play a very specific role in that precise existential situation, informed by the direction discovered in that insight—thus assuming an invaluable role that cannot be interchanged with any other sentient being, for each human being by necessity is uniquely situated karmically.

410

Being-within-the-Tathāgata in Yasuda Rijin’s Thought

Yasuda tried to reinterpret faith or religious sentiment using the concept of the settled-mind because he thought that only religious sentiment with the quality of the settled-mind described above could genuinely respond in a fundamental way to the problems of contemporary life and society. He adopted Vasubandhu’s thought in order to lay a foundation for this religious sentiment particular to Shin Buddhism. Yasuda’s creative concept of “being-within-the-Tathāgata” highlighted above was created to lay a foundation in terms of principle for that unique Shin religious sentiment. By interpreting that sentiment as awakening to the fact of “beingwithin-the-Tathāgata,” he showed a way to understand religious sentiment not simply as a psychological state of belief in some object or some other sort of psychological experience, but rather as related to the problem of the establishment of the settled-mind—that is, the development of the autonomous religious subject, free from transmigratory suffering and aware of its nature as a buddha at one with the world of true suchness. Yasuda’s project of “demythologization” can thus serve as an important guide for us today, when mythological discourse in religious language is facing an even more severe crisis than when Yasuda and Bultmann were alive. (Translated by Dylan Luers Toda and Michael Conway)

Notes 1

Yasuda says, “As long as human beings exist, religion cannot disappear completely because religion has its basis in the foundation of human beings themselves” (“Ganshōron Notes” 1961; Kaku 2006, 77). Yasuda’s inquiry into the theme of “human studies” clearly expresses his understanding of religion.

2

There are several possible reasons for this choice. First, he chose not to become directly involved in the institutional reform movement or the academic activities of his friends such as Kurube Shin’yū (1906–1998), who played a leading role in the Ōtani-ha administration, and Matsubara Yūzen (1906–1991), who was instrumental in the administration at Ōtani University. Rather, he saw his own role as providing intellectual support in the form of elucidating the underlying principles for these activities from the perspective of doctrinal studies. Also, he chose to limit his own activities to the private academy that he ran under the name Gakubutsu Dōjō Sōō Gakusha (The Institute for Correspondence, An Academy for the Study of the Buddhist Path), which he received at the start of his teaching career in the 1930s from Soga Ryōjin. 411

The Legacy of Seishinshugi 3

In July of 1946 he became a salaried professor in Ōtani University’s graduate studies department, but resigned of his own accord in July of the next year.

4

Even before engaging in discussions with Paul Tillich, Yasuda held the issue of the aspiration for birth in the Pure Land to be an important subject in Shin doctrinal studies. For instance, he gave a lecture entitled “The Aspiration for Birth” in August 1959 at the Sixth National Conference for Sōō Gakusha. Notes taken during that lecture by Nakano Ryōshun (1916–1988), which give us an idea of its contents, are still extant. The main opinions Yasuda expressed to Tillich and the concepts and themes related to Shin doctrinal studies that he developed in his Ganshō Lectures almost all appear in that early lecture. In this sense, his conversation with Tillich was not so much an avenue into entirely new thought for him but more a case of him obtaining proof that he was on the right track with regard to his research (or in Shin doctrinal terms, “attestation by the myriad buddhas”; shobutsu shōjō) on the themes of demythologization (an existential understanding of scripture) and laying an ontological foundation for the religious subject.

5

In 1960, Tillich came to Japan and spent a total of five and a half weeks in Tokyo, three weeks in Kyoto, and a half a week in Karuizawa (Pauck and Pauck 1979). Yasuda attended Tillich’s sermon “Time and Eternity” on May 27 at Dōshisha University Chapel. It also seems that he attended Tillich’s round-table discussion at Ōtani University on June 6. On June 12, Yasuda attended a luncheon for Tillich held at Tōji temple in Kyoto. The episode introduced at the beginning of this chapter happened then. Along with Nobukuni Atsushi (1904–1980), the president of Ōtani Senshū Gakuin, he engaged in a formal dialogue with Tillich on July 7 at the Hoshino Hot Springs resort hotel in Karuizawa, Nagano Prefecture. The other attendees included Richard DeMartino (1922–2013), Bandō Shōjun (1932–2004), Tillich’s wife, Matsumoto Shigeharu (1899–1989), Matsumoto’s wife, and Takagi Yasaka (1889–1984).

6

The record of this discussion was first published under the heading “Myōgō ni tsuite” in the Ōtani-ha journal Kyōka kenkyū (1960). Eight sub-headings are included in the transcription, and based on them one can summarize the discussion in the following four points (the titles in quotations are the sub-headings provided by the editors of Kyōka kenkyū): (I) Individuals and Love: “The Potential of Love”; (II) Karma: “Freedom and Destiny: On Karma”; “To What Extent Is There Self-responsibility?: On Transmigration”; (III) Tathāgata: “Amida’s Love and the Pain of Sentient Beings,” “Towards the Self’s True Self”; (IV) Amida’s Name: “The Name That Is the Tathāgata”; “Spells and Names”; “The Meaning of Names.”

7

“Demythologization” is defined in the third edition of the Daijirin as “removing the framework of mythological thought in ancient texts and clarifying their essential meaning based on an existentialist interpretation,” but for Bultmann it means “an attempt to liberate faith in the New Testa-

412

Being-within-the-Tathāgata in Yasuda Rijin’s Thought ment from the form of mythic expression determined by the period in which it was created, thereby to understand and prove the essential, existential content of faith from the perspective of modern man” (Nihon kokugo daijiten). Thus, for Bultmann, demythologization did not mean to exclude the mythological expressions that appear in the New Testament, but to interpret them existentially. 8

According to the definition for this term in the Shinshū shin jiten, the an (settled) in anjin has the sense of still, determined, settled, but based on the significance of the phrase “settled-mind with determined intent” in the  Banzhouzan (by Shandao), it refers to the decisively satisfied mind. In the works of the seven patriarchs of Shin Buddhism, the term “settledmind” appears in Vasubandhu’s Treatise on the Pure Land, which states, “Because one has joined the members of the assembly, one will surely reach the home of practice and the settled-mind.” Yasuda, however, points out that it was Shandao who used the term as an important doctrinal concept. Shandao refers to the three elements of practice as “the settled-mind, beginning practice, and performing actions.” In addition, Yasuda defines the settledmind with reference to concepts in consciousness-only thought, such as “abiding in the nature of consciousness alone.”

  Regarding the English translation of the term anjin, in Kiyozawa Manshi’s The Skeleton of a Philosophy of Religion, it is translated as “The peace of mind or Belief” (KMZI 1: 111 [40]). In lectures on the theme, Kiyozawa defines it further by saying, “if we supplement the phrase, ‘to abide in a state of complete contentment,’ then for the first time we arrive at a definition of religion that encompasses its emotional elements” (“Shūkyō tetsugaku gaikotsu kōgi,” KMZI 1: 59). In that sense, we can say that anjin means both “peace and contentment” and “abiding peacefully.” Although Paul Watt translates the term as “the mind at ease” in Cultivating Spirituality (CS), Yasuda’s usage of the term indicates that it is more appropriate to translate it as “the settled-mind” as is done in this chapter. 9

This can be gathered from the fact that the final class report theme for the 1961 academic year was “On the Religious Sentiment in Shin Buddhism” (Ganshōron Notes 1961; Kaku 2006, 151), and that in his notes for the 1962 academic year, one finds “Aspiration for Birth in the Pure Land—Continued” and “The single-mind of aspiration for birth in the Pure Land = religious sentiment” (Ganshōron Notes 1962; Kaku 2016, 22).

10 Yasuda uses the expression “lay a foundation” in the following passage about Shinran’s project in his work Ken jōdo shinjitsu kyōgyōshō monrui (A Collection of Passages Clarifying the True Teaching, Practice, and Realization of the Pure Land): Shinran “demonstrated that the chosen Primal Vow—the foundation laid by Hōnen—is the genuine Buddhist path, and laid the foundation for it as such. Based on that, Shinran’s fundamental project was to respond to this transmission from Hōnen” (YRC 1: 139). 413

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References ———. 1967. “In Memory of Dr. D. T. Suzuki.” The Eastern Buddhist 2 (1): 147–148. ———. 1973. Shūkyō no shikatsu mondai: Meiji sanjūgō nen ronkōshū 宗教の死活問題： 明治三十五年論稿集 (The Life and Death Problem in Religion: Collection of Essays from 1902). Tokyo: Yayoi Shobō 弥生書房. ———. 1983. “Shakuson o chōetsu seru bukkyō” 釈尊を超越せる仏教 (The Buddhism That Transcends Śākyamuni). Shinshū shisō no kindaika 真宗思想の近 代化 (Modernization of Shin Thought), edited by Mori Ryūkichi 森龍吉, in Shinshū shiryō shūsei 真宗史料集成 13: 566–571. Kyoto: Dōhōsha Shuppan 同朋舎出版. ———. 1999. Kiyozawa Manshi sensei 清沢満之先生. Torigoemura, Ishikawa Pref.: Gusokusha 具足舎. Staggs, Kathleen Marie. 1979. “In Defense of Japanese Buddhism: Essays from the Meiji Period by Inoue Enryō and Murakami Senshō.” PhD diss., Princeton University. Stone, Jacqueline Ilyse. 1999. Original Enlightenment and the Transformation of Medieval Japanese Buddhism. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Suares, Peter. 2011. The Kyoto School’s Takeover of Hegel: Nishida, Nishitani, and Tanabe Remake the Philosophy of Spirit. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Sueki Fumihiko 末木文美士. 2002. “Uchi e no chinsen wa tasha e mukaiuru ka: Meiji kōki bukkyō shisō no teiki suru mondai” 内への沈潜は他者へ向いうる か：明治後期仏教思想の提起する問題 (Can Sinking Inward Turn Someone toward the Other?: The Problem Posed by Late Meiji Period Buddhist Thought). Shisō 思想 943:8–25. ———. 2004a. Kindai Nihon to bukkyō: Kindai Nihon no shisō, saikō ni 近代日本と仏教： 近代日本の思想・再考二 (Modern Japan and Buddhism: A Reconsideration of Modern Japanese Thought, No. 2). Tokyo: Toransubyū トランスビュー (Transview). ———. 2004b. Meiji shisōka ron: Kindai Nihon no shisō, saikō ichi 明治思想家論： 近代日本の思想・再考一 (On Meiji Intellectuals: A Reconsideration of Modern Japanese Thought, No. 1). Tokyo: Toransubyū トランスビュー (Transview). ———. 2006. Bukkyō vs. rinri 仏教vs.倫理 (Buddhism versus Ethics). Tokyo: Chikuma Shinsho ちくま新書. ———. 2008. “Kiyozawa Manshi ni okeru shūkyō to rinri” 清沢満之における宗教と 倫理 (Religion and Ethics in Kiyozawa Manshi’s Thought). Gendai to Shinran 現代と親鸞 14:103–158. ———. 2013a. Han bukkyogaku 反・仏教学 (Anti-Buddhist Studies). Revised, expanded edition of Sueki 2006. Tokyo: Chikuma Bunko ちくま文庫. ———. 2013b. Jōdo shisōron 浄土思想論. Tokyo: Shunjūsha 春秋社.

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References ———. 2016. Religion and Ethics at Odds: A Buddhist Counter-position. Studies in Japanese Philosophy 4. Nagoya: Chisokudō. Sugimoto Kōichi 杉本耕一. 2013a. Nishida tetsugaku to rekishi teki sekai: Shūkyō no toi e 西田哲学と歴史的世界：宗教の問いへ. Kyoto: Kyōto Daigaku Gakujutsu Shuppankai 京都大学学術出版会. ———. 2013b. “Zen no kenkyū wa dō sureba yomeru ka” 『善の研究』はどうすれば 読めるか (How Can We Read An Inquiry into the Good?). Ten kara sen e 点から線へ 61:91–105. ———. 2015. “Kiyozawa Manshi no ‘shūkyō’ oyobi ‘shūkyō tetsugaku’ ni okeru ‘tetsugaku’ no imi” 清沢満之の「宗教」および「宗教哲学」における「哲学」 の意味 (The Significance of “Philosophy” in Kiyozawa Manshi’s “Religion” and “Philosophy of Religion”). Gendai to Shinran 現代と親鸞 31:152– 199. ———. 2016. “Nishida Kitarō no ‘shūkyō tetsugaku’ to Kiyozawa Manshi no ‘shūkyō tetsugaku’” 西田幾多郎の「宗教哲学」と清沢満之の「宗教哲学」 (Philosophy of Religion in the Thought of Kiyozawa Manshi and Nishida Kitarō). Gendai to Shinran 現代と親鸞 33:150–171. Suzuki Daisetsu 鈴木大拙. 1896. Shin shūkyō ron 新宗教論 (A New Interpretation of Religion). Kyoto: Baiyō Shoin 貝葉書院. In SDZ 23: 1–147. ———. 1911. “Jiriki to tariki” 自力と他力 (Self-Power and Other-Power). In Shūsokan 宗祖観, edited by Ogasawara Shūjitsu 小笠原秀実. Kyoto: Ogasa­ wara Shūjitsu 小笠原秀実. In SDZ 30: 434–437. [Suzuki Daisetsu]. 1922. “Professor Kaneko on Japanese Buddhist Scholars.” The Eastern Buddhist, o.s., 2 (1/2): 87–88. [Suzuki Daisetsu]. 1923. “Professor Soga on the Theory of Salvation.” The Eastern Buddhist, o.s., 2 (3/4): 213–214. Suzuki, Daisetz Teitarō. 1924. “Sayings of a Modern Tariki Mystic.” The Eastern Buddhist, o.s., 3 (2): 93–116. Suzuki Daisetsu 鈴木大拙. 1926a. “Sasaki Gesshō kun o tomurau no kotoba” 佐々 木月樵君を弔ふの言葉 (Words in Remembrance of Sasaki Gesshō). Ōtani Daigaku shinpō 大谷大学新報 47: 2. In SDZ 31: 332. Suzuki, Daisetz Teitarō. 1926b. “The Late Professor Gesshō Sasaki.” The Eastern Buddhist, o.s., 4 (1): 73–74. Suzuki Daisetsu 鈴木大拙. 1926c. “Yukishi Sasaki Gakuchō” 逝きし佐々木学長 (The Late President Sasaki). Kanshō 観照 6:3–4. In SDZ 31: 333–335. ———. 1930a. “Shūkyō keiken ni tsukite” 宗教経験に就きて (Regarding Religious Experience). In Suzuki and Kaneko 1930; and SDZ 10: 323–353. Suzuki, Daisetz Teitaro. 1930b. Studies in the Laṅkāvatāra Sūtra. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.

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References Suzuki Daisetsu. 1936. “Manshi Kiyozawa.” The Eastern Buddhist, o.s., 7 (1): 125–126. ———. 1940. Bankei no fushō zen 盤珪の不生禅 (Bankei’s Unborn Zen). Tokyo: Kōbundō 弘文堂. In SDZ 1: 345–491. ———. 1942. Jōdokei shisōron 浄土系思想論 (Essays on Pure Land Thought). Kyoto: Hōzōkan 法藏館. In SDZ 6: 1–320. ———. 1943a. Shakuson sangō 釈尊讃仰 (In Praise of Śākyamuni). Dejiro-mura, Ishikawa Pref.: Myōtatsuji 明達寺. In SDZ 27: 309–373. ———. 1943b. Shūkyō keiken no jijitsu 宗教経験の事実 (The Reality of Religious Experience). Tokyo: Daitō Shuppansha 大東出版社. In SDZ 10: 1–124. ———. 1944. Nihonteki reisei 日本的霊性 (Japanese Spirituality). Tokyo: Daitō Shup­ pansha 大東出版社. In SDZ 8: 1–223. ———. 1948. Myōkōnin 妙好人. Kyoto: Ōtani Shuppansha 大谷出版社. In SDZ 10: 127–322. ———. 1955. “Kiyozawa Manshi shi o omou” 清沢満之師を憶う (Remembering Kiyozawa Manshi). Shinshū 真宗 620:30. In SDZ 34: 92–93. ———. 1961a. “Hongan no kongen” 本願の根元 (The Source of the Original Vow). Shindō 信道 17 (6): 2–6. In SDZ 29: 116–129, 554. ———. 1961b. “Yafūryūan jiden” 也風流庵自伝 (The Autobiography of Yafūryūan). Daijō zen 大乗禅 38 (4): 2–7. In SDZ 29: 147–157. ———. 1963a. “Jo ‘Hajime ni gyō ari’ ” 序「始めに行あり」 (Preface “In the Beginning There Was the Act”). In Soga 1963 and SDZ 35: 90–93. ———. 1963b. “Jo Kiyozawa Manshi no tetsugaku to shinkō” 序『清沢満之の哲学と信 仰』 (Preface to Kiyozawa Manshi’s Philosophy and Faith). Edited by Fukuda Masaharu 福田正治. Nagoya: Reimei Shobō 黎明書房. In SDZ 35: 93–95. ———. 1963c. “Kiyozawa Manshi wa ikite iru” 清沢満之は生きている (Kiyozawa Manshi Lives). Shinran kyōgaku 親鸞教学 3:83–96. In SDZ 29: 293–307. For an English translation see Satō Taira and W. S. Yokoyama, trans., “Kiyozawa’s Living Presence: A 1963 Commemorative Lecture,” The Eastern Buddhist 26 (2): 1–10. ———. 1963d. “Waga shinshū kan” わが真宗観 (My View of Shinshū). Shinran kyōgaku 親鸞教学 2: 90–108; 4: 94–112. In SDZ 6: 337–378. ———. 1972. Suzuki Daisetsu zadanshū 鈴木大拙座談集 (Collection of Dialogues with Suzuki Daisetsu). 5 volumes. Tokyo: Yomiuri Shinbunsha 読売新聞社. Suzuki, Daisetz Teitarō, trans. 1973. The Kyōgyōshinshō: The Collection of Passages Expounding the True Teaching, Living, Faith, and Realizing of the Pure Land. Kyoto: Shinshū Ōtaniha.

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References ———, trans. 2012. Shinran’s Kyōgyōshinshō: The Collection of Passages Expounding the True Teaching, Living, Faith, and Realizing of the Pure Land. Rev. ed. New York: Oxford University Press. ———. 2015. Selected Works of D. T. Suzuki, volume II: Pure Land. Edited by James C. Dobbins and Richard M. Jaffe. Oakland: University of California Press. Suzuki Daisetsu 鈴木大拙 and Kaneko Daiei 金子大栄. 1930. Shūkyō keiken ni tsu­ kite 宗教経験に就きて (Regarding Religious Experience). Takefuchō, Fukui Pref.: Byakudōsha 白道社. Suzuki Daisetsu 鈴木大拙 and Soga Ryojin 曽我量深. 1958. “Zen to shinshū” 禅と真宗 (Zen and Shinshū). Shinjin 真人 121:1–22. Reprinted in Suzuki 1972, 5: 123–150. For an adapted English translation see Satō Taira and W. S. Yokoyama, trans., “Dialogue: Zen and Shin,” The Eastern Buddhist 27 (1): 78–95. Suzuki Daisetsu 鈴木大拙, Soga Ryōjin 曽我量深, and Kaneko Daiei 金子大栄. 1964. Shinran no sekai 親鸞の世界 (Shinran’s World). Kyoto: Higashi Honganji Shuppanbu 東本願寺出版部. Reprinted in Suzuki 1972, 4: 5–265. For an English translation by Mark Unno, Satō Taira, and Thomas L. Kirchner, see “Shinran’s World,” The Eastern Buddhist 18 (1): 105–119; 19 (1): 101–117; and 21 (2): 78–94. Tada Kanae 多田鼎. 1908. “Ryōkyoku risō no chōwasha” 両極理想の調和者 (The Harmonizer of Opposite Ideals). Seishinkai 精神界 8 (6): 19–22. ———. 1909. Butsuden nehan-hen 仏伝涅槃篇 (Biography of the Buddha, Volume on His Nirvana). Tokyo: Mugasanbō 無我山房. ———. 1914. “Negawakuba waga sakuhi o katarashimeyo” 願はくば我が昨非を語 らしめよ (Let Me Confess My Past Failures). Seishinkai 精神界 14 (11): 32–50. ———. 1928. “Kiyozawa sensei shōden” 清沢先生小伝 (A Short Biography of Kiyozawa Sensei). In Kiyozawa Manshi 清沢満之, edited by Kanshōsha 観照社, 3–16. Kyoto: Kanshōsha 観照社. Tajima, Kunji, and Floyd Shacklock, trans. 1936. Selected Essays of Manshi Kiyozawa: The English Translation. Kyoto: Bukkyō Bunka Society. Take Kakuchō 武覚超. 1980. “Dengyō Daishi no shinzoku nitai ron: Zokutai jōjū setsu no tenkai o chūshin ni” 伝教大師の真俗二諦論：俗諦常住説の展開 を中心に (Paramārtha Satya and Saṃvṛti Satya as seen by Dengyō Daishi).  In  Dengyō daishi kenkyū bekkan 伝教大師研究別巻, edited by Tendai Gakkai 天台学会, 285–305. Tokyo: Waseda Daigaku Shuppanbu 早稲田大学出 版部. Takeda Kikuko 武田菊子. 1914. “Ai yori shi made” 愛より死まで (From Love to Death). Seishinkai 精神界 14 (4, 5, 7).

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443

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清沢満之.

Washio Junkei 鷲尾順敬. 1903. Nihon bukke jinmei jisho 日本仏家人名辞書 (Biographical Dictionary of Japanese Buddhists). Tokyo: Kōyūkan 光融館. Watanabe, Kayoko. 1993. “The Evolution of the Concept of Cultivation in Modern Japan: The Idea of Cultivation in the 1930s.” PhD diss., University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. Watanabe Noriko 渡辺典子. 1999. “Josei sōryo no tanjō: Nishi Honganji ni okeru sono rekishi” 女性僧侶の誕生：西本願寺におけるその歴史 (The Birth of Female Priests: Their History in the Nishi Honganji). In Bukkyō to jendā: Onnatachi no nyoze gamon 仏教とジェンダー：女たちの如是我聞 (Buddhism and Gender: The Way Buddhism Was Heard by Women), edited by Josei to Bukkyō Tōkai Kantō Nettowāku 女性と仏教東海関東ネットワーク, 108–126. Osaka: Toki Shobō 朱鷺書房. Watsuji Tetsurō 和辻哲郎. 1926. Nihon seishinshi kenkyū 日本精神史研究 (Studies in the Spiritual History of Japan). Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten 岩波書店. ———. 1935. Zoku Nihon seishinshi kenkyū 続日本精神史研究 (Studies in the Spiritual History of Japan, Continued). Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten 岩波書店. ———. 2011. Purifying Zen: Watsuji Tetsurō’s Shamon Dōgen. Translated with commentary by Steve Bein. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Watt, Paul B. 2011. “Yasuda Rijin: Shin Philosopher of Self-awareness.” In CS, 217–225. ———. 2014. “Approaching the Pure Land: Jiun Sonja (1718–1804) and Yasuda Rijin (1900–1982) on Amida and His Pure Land.” In Buddhist Tradition and Human Life: Perspectives toward Research on Shinran’s Thought, edited by Yasutomi Shin’ya Hakase Koki Kinen Ronshū Kankōkai 安冨信哉博士古稀記念論集刊 行会, 56–72. Kyoto: Hōzōkan 法藏館. Wheeler, Michael. 2014. “Martin Heidegger.” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Fall Ed.), edited by Edward N. Zalta. https: //plato.stanford.edu/entries /heidegger/.

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References ———. 1972. “Konpon gan, konpon gon” 根本願・根本言. Shinran kyōgaku 親鸞教学 2:71–91. In YRS 1: 440–462. Translated as “Fundamental Vow, Fundamental Word” in DPB, 118–140. ———. 1976. “Akabyōshi to shinbun” 赤表紙と新聞 (Shin Scriptures and the Newspapers). Soga Ryōjin senshū (SRS), Geppō 月報 3:1–4. ———. (1960). “Na wa tan ni na ni arazu” 名は単に名にあらず. In YRS 1: 318–345. Translated as “A Name but Not a Name Alone” in CS, 239–264, and DPB, 63– 88. Selections from the translation are included under the title “Self-­ awareness and the Nenbutsu” in Japanese Philosophy: A Sourcebook, edited by James W. Heisig, Thomas Patrick Kasulis, and John C. Maraldo (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2011), 280–285. ———. 2012. Yuishikiron kōgi 唯識論講義 (Lectures on Consciousness-Only). 2 volumes. Tokyo: Shunjūsha 春秋社. Yasutomi Shin’ya 安冨信哉. 1980. “Soga Ryōjin no mirai kan” 曽我量深の未来観. Ōtani gakuhō 大谷学報 59 (4): 62–65. ———. 1993. “Meiji chūki no shinzoku nitai ron to Kiyozawa Manshi” 明治中期の 真俗二諦論と清沢滿之 (The Twofold Truth Theory of the Ultimate and the Worldly in the Middle Meiji Era and Kiyozawa Manshi). Shinran kyōgaku 親鸞教学 62:1–17. ———. 2002. “Naikanshugi: Seishinshugi no hōhō” 内観主義：精神主義の方法 (Introspectionism: Seishinshugi’s Methodology). In Kiyozawa Manshi: Sono hito to shisō 淸沢満之：その人と思想, edited by Fujita Masakatsu 藤田正勝 and Yasutomi Shin’ya, 227–238. Kyoto: Hōzōkan 法藏館. ———. 2010. Kindai Nihon to Shinran: Shin no saisei 近代日本と親鸞：信の再生 (Shinran and Modern Japan: The Resurrection of Faith). Shirīzu Shinran シリーズ親鸞, volume 9. Tokyo: Chikuma Shobō 筑摩書房. Yokogawa, Kenshō 横川顕正. 1939. “Shin Buddhism as the Religion of Hearing.” The Eastern Buddhist, o.s., 7 (3/4): 296–341. Yoshida Kyūichi 吉田久一. 1959. Nihon kindai bukkyōshi kenkyū 日本近代仏教史研究 (A Study of Modern Buddhist History in Japan). Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan 吉川弘文館. ———. 1961. Kiyozawa Manshi 清沢満之. Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan 吉川弘文館. Yoshinaga Shin’ichi 吉永進一. 2007. “Hirai Kinza, Sono shōgai” 平井金三、その生涯 (The Life of Hirai Kinza). In Hirai Kinza ni okeru Meiji bukkyō no kokusaika ni kansuru shūkyōshi, bunkashi teki kenkyū 平井金三における明治仏教の国際化 に関する宗教史・文化史的研究 (Hirai Kinza and the Globalization of Japanese Buddhism of Meiji Era, a Cultural and Religio-Historical Study), 7–30. Report for Grants-in-aid for Scientific Research (Category C) no. 16520060 (April 2004 to March 2007).

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Contributors Michihiro Ama 阿満道尋, Karashima Tsukasa Associate Professor of Japanese Language and Culture, University of Montana Micah Auerback, Associate Professor, University of Michigan Mark L. Blum, Professor, University of California, Berkeley Michael Conway, Associate Professor, Ōtani University Melissa Anne-Marie Curley, Associate Professor, Ohio State University James C. Dobbins, Professor Emeritus, Oberlin College Fukushima Eiju 福島栄寿, Professor, Ōtani University Hase Shōtō 長谷正當, Professor Emeritus, Kyoto University; Professor, Ōtani ­University (retired) Iwata Mami 岩田真美, Associate Professor, Ryūkoku University Kaku Takeshi 加来雄之, Professor Emeritus, Ōtani University Miura Setsuo 三浦節夫, Professor, Tōyō University Nishimoto Yūsetsu 西本祐攝, Associate Professor, Ōtani University Robert F. Rhodes, Professor Emeritus, Ōtani University Sueki Fumihiko 末木文美士, Professor Emeritus, the University of Tokyo; ­International Research Center for Japanese Studies (Nichibunken) †Sugimoto Kōichi 杉本耕一, Associate Professor, Ehime University Paul B. Watt, Professor, Waseda University (retired) Yamamoto Nobuhiro 山本伸裕, Associate Professor, Tokyo Healthcare ­University

449

Glossary-Index abhidharma Buddhism, 284, 290 Absolute Infinite (zettai mugen), 100, 146; as unlike the Abrahamic God, 107–108; in Inoue, 85; in Kiyozawa, 80, 85, 100–102, 105, 107–108, 353–354; Kiyozawa changed by Tada, 147; and “relative infinite” in Kiyozawa, 147; replaces “other power” in Kiyozawa, 146–147; in Nishimura Kengyō, 167 absolute negation, 359, 378–379 absolute nothingness, 355–362, 365, 367, dialectical self-realization of, 362; as negative mediation 356, 360–361, 369–371; as nirvāṇa or God, 358, 379; relationship with finite being, 355–361; role in self-realization, 11, 378 Academy of Buddhism, 61 Āgamas: and Kiyozawa Manshi, 4, 8, 78, 113, 115, 163–164, 166, 232–234, 431; Meiji scholarship on, 8–9; and Tada Kanae, 234, 246n7; and Sasaki Gesshō, 239–240; and Akanuma Chizen, 245n5, 415; and Anesaki Masaharu, 417. See also Shi agongyō Agongyō 阿含経 (Āgamas), 233. See also Āgamas, Shi agongyō “Agon hen” 阿含編, 245 “Agon monogatari” 阿含物語, 245 Aichi English school, 58 Ajātaśatru 阿闍世, 34n2, 246n14 Akamatsu Renjō 赤松連城, 43 Akanuma Chizen 赤沼智善, 112, 243, 245n5, 325, 343 Akegarasu Fusako 暁烏房子, also Fusako ふさ子 (hiragana) and Fusako 不三子 (ateji), 7, 189, 210, 415; poems by, 174–179, 189, 190; participation in Seishinshugi, l77, 189; relationship with Akegarasu Haya, 175–178;

Akegarasu Haya (Bin) 暁烏敏4, 88, 167, 169, 175, 185, 415–416, 430; disciple Maida Shūichi, 140–141; editor of Seishinkai, 133, 178; and Kaneko, 338; Kōkōdō, 177; memorials held for Kiyozawa, 153, 157, 159–161, 330, 332, 336; nationalism, 332; portrait of Kiyozawa, 153–156; published women writers in Seishinkai, 190; reform movement, 176; regarded as heretic, 176; and rewriting Kiyozawa’s essays, 104, 137, 139–143, 148; role in redefining Seishinshugi, 133–137, 140, 139–142, 145, 176; role in public image of Kiyozawa, 133–134, 137–140, 153–165; and Soga, 250; and Suzuki, 326, 330, 332; and Tannishō, 129–130, 176, 234; wrote fiction, 190 Akita 秋田, 159 Akita Kōhan 秋田洪範, 156 Akiyama Keiko 秋山敬子, 7, 190–203, 416; published stories in Seishinkai, 179–184; short stories, 174–184, 189, 190; women’s spirituality, 182–184 Akṣobhya, 288 aku 悪, 121, 358 akunin 悪人, 186–187, 210; and confession, 187. See also bad person akunin shōki 悪人正機 (the teaching of the salvation of the bad), 418; in Jinrei, 116–117; and absolute other-power, 144–146 ālayavijñāna, 254, 256–259, 343; and bīja, 297; as foundation of Seishinshugi, 257–258, 271–274; identified with Dharmākara, 9–10, 248–249, 256, 258–259, 262, 270, 275, 363; as intersection of finite and infinite, 258, 264; and Kyōgyōshinshō, 259–261;

451

Glossary-Index ālayavijñāna (continued) particular appeal to Soga, 261–264, 271; as principle of self-awareness, 263–264; three aspects of and the three minds, 259–261, 265–270, 273; untainted by karmic circumstance, 256–257; in Yasuda’s thought, 401–404 Alltäglichkeit (averageness, everydayness), 384–386 Amaterasu Ōmikami 天照大神, 286 Ama Tokumon 阿満得聞, 38 American occupation, 323–333 Amida 阿弥陀 Buddha, 38, 52n2, 122–124, 126, 144–145, 244n1, 293n3, 295n19, 372n4, 392, 394, 399, 401; in Akegarasu Fusako, 175–178; in Akiyama Keiko, 181–182, 184, 203; as Dharmākara, 9–11, 108, 125, 248, 250–253, 296–297, 299, 301–310; in Kaneko, 374–375; in Kiyozawa, 99–102, 374; in Sasaki, 232, 235, 238; in Shimaji, 46–47; in Soga, 9–11, 248–253, 255–263, 274–275, 277–280, 282, 287–293, 296–297, 299, 301–310, 312–316, 332–333, 375; in Takei and Kobayashi, 185–189, 204, 209; in Tanabe, 350, 355, 357–368, 370–371. See also the infinite, myōgō, Tathāgata Amida’s vow, 295n19, 336, 360. See also original vow Amitābha. See Amida Buddha Amitāyus. See Amida Buddha Amituojing 阿弥陀経 (J. Amidakyō), 245n2 Amoghavajra, 21 amor fati (love of destiny), 387–388 Amstutz, Galen, 350 an 安, 413n8 anātman, 208, 343 Ana ureshi / tsumi no are no ni / mayou mi mo / jihi no mioya no / ote ni sugareba あなう

れし 罪のあれ野に 迷う身も 慈悲 の御親の 御手にすがれば (Akegarasu Fusako), 177 Andō Shūichi 安藤州一, 64, 161; and Katei journal, 175, on Kiyozawa, 115, 149 nn3–4, 152 Anesaki Masaharu 姉崎正治, 235, 238, 417; and Inoue Tetsujirō, 238; and

452

Sasaki, 242–243; study of early Buddhism, 8, 234, 242–243 Ango 安居 (summer retreat) lectures, 117 anjin 安心 (settled-mind), 437; in Kiyozawa’s 29, 112, 114, 413; in Kiyozawa’s students 135, 139–140; in Sasaki, 237; in Tannishō, 114; in Yasuda, 395–396, 413 Anjin ketsujō shō 安心決定鈔, 123 Anleji 安楽集 (J. Anrakushū), 119 Annen 安然, 22 Ansei 安政, 53 anti-Buddhist thought, 40, 49 Apidamo jiyimen zulun 阿毘達磨集異門足 論 (J. Abidatsuma shū imonsoku ron); Skt. Saṃgītiparyāya, 119 arayashiki 阿頼耶識. See ālayavijñāna Asahara Saichi 浅原才市, 323, 336 Asakusa Honganji 浅草本願寺, 161 Asaṅga, 343 ascetic practice, 73, 239 Aso 阿蘇, 159 aspiration for birth in the Pure Land, 10, 12, 52n2, 115, 125, 259-260, 265, 268, 269, 273, 276n2, 314, 372n4; contained within shinjin, 270; in Soga, 269–270, 309; in Tanabe, 364–368; in Yasuda, 12, 390–393, 401–402, 408, 412n4, 413n9 aspiration for Buddhahood, 269–270 Aśvaghoṣa, 239 Ataka Yakichi 安宅弥吉, 323 ateji 当て字, 175 Atsumi Kaien 渥美契縁, 4 Atwood, Margaret, 182 Aum Shinrikyō オウム真理教, 109 authenticity, 119, 397, 402, 404–408 authentic self, 379, 384, 388–390, 407 autobiographical fiction. See shishōsetsu Avataṃsaka Sutra, 240. See also Flower Garland Sutra bad person, 144–145, 150n5, 186, 266–267, 308–309, 357–361, 366, 368, 372n4 bakufu 幕府, 25, 28, 37–38, 52n2 Bakumatsu 幕末, 28, 36-40, 50, 425 banbutsu ittai 万物一体, 101

Glossary-Index Bandō Shōjun 坂東性純, 318, 333, 338, 347n11, 347n15, 412n5 Bankoku Bukkyō Seinen Rengōkai 万国仏 教青年連合会, 50 banshi 番士, 163 Banzhouzan 般舟讃, 413n8 Barth, Karl, 380, 393 base passions. See bonnō being, finite: and absolute nothingness (Tanabe), 356–361, 367–370; Dharmākara Bodhisattva as (Tanabe), 361–363; and the infinite in Kiyozawa 100, 105; in Kiyozawa’s influence on Nishida, 222–225; paradox of how it grasps the infinite (Tanabe), 354; in Soga, 264; as spontaneous ( jinen hōni) (Tanabe), 359; and zange (Tanabe), 365 being-in-the World (Dasein), 383 being-within-the-Tathāgata (nyorai nai sonzai): in Yasuda, 12, 390, 404–411; and practice, 409–410; shinjin, 406–408 belief: contrasted with faith in Shinran, 300, 410; in Kiyozawa’s circle, 133, 136, 141, 146–148, 329, 345; and practice in Shimaji, 46–47; and practice in Soga, 331; and provisional language, 386; questioned in Meiji period, 248; in Takei and Kobayashi, 187, 195; as translation for anjin, 413; in Yasuda, 392, 410–411 Betsuin 別院, 71, 83, 335 Bhaiṣajyaguru, 288 bie 別 (distinct), 22 bīja, 297 birth in the Pure Land: attainable by women as women, 183; attained by wicked/bad persons, 116, 127, 145–146, 150n5; causal aspect of ālayavijñāna, 269–270, 274; linked to the three minds, 365–366; not based on practice, 29; regardless of karma, 366–368; role of nenbutsu in, 124–125 (Hōnen), 115 (Jinrei), 125–126 (Kiyozawa); 292 (Soga); in Shin Buddhist discourse, 52n2, 126, 252, 290, 292, 295n19, 313–314, 336; in Shinran, 116, 127, 145, 150n5, 183, 268–269, 276n2, 292, 309, 311, 314, 359,

433; in Soga, 251–252, 259–261, 265, 268–275, 277, 290, 315; in Tanabe, 359, 371. See also aspiration for birth in the Pure Land, ōsō bodhicitta, 397. See also aspiration for Buddhahood bōmori 坊守, 54, 175, 177 bonbu 凡夫, 144; in Kobayashi Shige, 210; in Nishida, 221; in Nishiguchi Junko, 210n7; in Shandao, 150n5; in Tanabe, 354–355, 357, 359–361, 372n3; in Yasuda, 385–386, 388. See also ordinary beings bonnō 煩悩 (defilements, kleśas), 144, 175, 177, 187, 209, 210n7, 233 bonnō gusoku no bonbu 煩悩具足の凡夫, 144 Buber, Martin, 380, 382–383, 389, 417 Buddhacarita, 239 buddha-nature, 21, 22; in Soga 268, in Tanabe 357, in Yasuda via Vasubandhu’s Foxinglun, 401–407, 410 Buddha-relics, presented to Japanese Buddhist community, 243, 247n18 Buddha’s Law and King’s Law. See ōbō-buppō Buddhist astronomy, 38–39 Buddhist calendar, 38–39 Buddhist modernists, 344 Buddhist reform movement, 75–79, 97, 98, 132, 232 Buddhist universalism, 345 Buddhist Women’s Association of Great Japan. See Dainihon Bukkyō Fujinkai Bukkyō gairon (Introduction to Buddhism), 11, 337, 376, 391 Bukkyō katsuron joron 仏教活論序論, 63–65 Bukkyō kokon hen ippan 仏教古今変一斑, 50 Bukkyō Seinenkai 仏教青年会, 169n6 Bukkyō shirin 仏教史林 (Grove of Buddhist History), 282–283 Bukkyō tetsugaku keitō ron 仏教哲学系統 論, 78 Bukkyō tōitsuron 仏教統一論, 242, 283 Bultmann, Rudolf, 380, 394–395, 399–400, 411, 412n7

453

Glossary-Index Bunkyōku 文京区, 56 Bunkyū 文久, 40, 53, 163 Bunmeidō 文明堂, 159, 169n5 bunmei kaika 文明開化, 43, 54–56 Bunsei 文政, 39–40 Burakumin 部落民, 27 byakudō 白道. See parable of the white path Byakurensha 白蓮社, 50 calling of the name, 12, 264, 291–292, 296–297, 304–305, 308, 310, 380–383, 388 Capacious Cave. See Kōkōdō Carus, Paul, 321, 326, 327, 347n6, 418, 419 causal aspect, 259, 263–264, 267–270, 273–274 celibacy, 25 Chapter on Practice. See “Gyō no maki” Chengshilun 成実論 (J. Jōjitsu ron, Skt. Tattvasiddhi-śāstra), 119 Chengweishilun 成唯識論 (J. Jōyuishiki ron), 119, 249, 259 Chidō 智洞, 52n2 “Chijō no kyūshu” 地上の救主, 250, 296, 332, 360 Chikazumi Jōkan (Jokwan) 近角常観: journal Kyūdō, 184; and Kiyozawa, 149; and Tannishō, 130 children’s education and Buddhist teachings, 180 China, 21, 31, 49, 51, 84, 184, 236, 260, 280, 281 Chinese Pure Land masters, 375 chitsujoteki byōdō 秩序的平等, 371 Chōnen 超然, 38 Chōshū 長州, 43, 52n4 Christianity, 11, 23, 97, 136, 174, 182, 242, 246n17, 374; Bakumatsu and early Meiji period, 36–38, 40, 53, 93; in churchstate relations, 95–96; confession, 174, 187–189; influence on Shin studies, 36–41; Inoue’s view of, 60–63; Kiyozawa, 108; and the Kyōbushō, 42–44; notion of love compared to returning ekō, 314–315; and secular ethics, 109; Shimaji’s view of, 41–50; Tanabe, 350, 357, 360–361; in tension

454

with Buddhism, 37, 416, 418; Tsunashima Ryōsen, 97; Yasuda, 376, 380, 393, 394–395, 387 chūchi 中智 (middle wisdom), 19 Chūgai nippō 中外日報, 157–158, 338 Chūgakkō 中学校, 4, 67, 123, 161, 163 chūkaisha 仲介者, 363 Chulalongkorn, King of Siam, 247n18 Chūō Kōronsha 中央公論社, 318 Chūron 中論, 19, 236 citta, 397, 407 citta-tathatā, 397, 407 Claremont Graduate School, 324 clash between education and religion, 95–97, 100, 103 Collection of Passages Clarifying the True Teaching, Practice, and Realization of the Pure Land. See Kyōgyōshinshō Columbia University, 324 Commentary on the Treatise on the Pure Land. See Jingtu lunzhu compassionate Vow, 375, 387. See also original vow conditioned arising. See engi confession, 7, 11, 428, 432, 443; in Akegarasu Fusako, 175; in Akegarasu Haya, 190; in Akiyama Keiko, 184; comparisons with Christianity, 174, 187–188, 210n5; as a feature of Seishinshugi, 189; in Kiyozawa, 80, 101, 142; in modern autobiographical fiction, 188–189; in Shinran, 210n6; in Takei Fuku and Kobayashi Shige, 174, 184–185, 187–190, 203–210; in Tanabe, 352, 366–368, 373n5 confessional writings, 174, 187–190 consciousness-only studies. See Yogācāra consciousness-only thought. See Yogācāra conservative Shin priests, 176 conversion of base (see tenne), 364, 367 conversion: of adult women, 180, 186, 188, 189; of ālayavijñāna, 364; as the awakening of faith in Amida, 6, 188; and confession, 7; in Inoue, 60, 84; in Kiyozawa, 78, 102, 167; from philosophy of reason to philosophy of other-

Glossary-Index power, 11, 353; in Soga 363–365; in Tanabe, 353–356, 364–365, 367–368, 373n5, 373n7; of Tathāgata into suffering being, 363 correspondence courses based Tetsugakukan lectures, 66 Courage to Be, 380 Cultivating Spirituality, 1, 29, 173, 249–250, 320, 413n8 daichi 大地, 305 Daigakurei 大学令 (University Ordinance), 238 dai gensō 大還相, 311 daihi 大悲, 184 daiichi gi 第一義, 19–20 Daiichi Kōtōgakkō 第一高等学校, 163 Daijirin大辞林, 412n7 daijō 大乗, 233–236, 283, 294n13. See also Mahayana Buddhism daijō hi-bussetsu-ron 大乗非仏説論, 283, 290 daijō sōō 大乗相応, 233 Daikyōin 大教院, 53, 69, 90–91 “Daikyō senpu no mikotonori” 大教宣布 の詔, 41 Dainihon Bukkyō Fujinkai 大日本仏教婦 人会 (Buddhist Women’s Association of Great Japan), 174 Dainippon teikoku kenpō 大日本帝国憲法, 94 Dalian 大連, 84 danka 檀家, 2, 38, 93 danka seido 檀家制度, 38, 93 Daochuo 道綽 (J. Dōshaku), 119, 279, 312 Daodejing 道徳経, 287, 321 Dazhidulun 大智度論 (Daichidoron); Skt. Mahāprajñāpāramitā śāstra, 119 Death of the Gods, The, 241 decline of the Dharma in three stages, 238, 243 deluded, self-power way of thinking, 75, 243 DeMartino, Richard, 381, 412n5 demythologization: in Bultmann, 394; in Kiyozawa, 99; in Soga, 253; in Yasuda, 12, 394–395, 397–400, 402, 411, 412n4, 412–413n7

denomination’s educational system, 71, 74 Department of Divinities. See Jingikan Department of Kami Affairs. See Jingikan de Rosny, Léon, 45–46, 51 desire to be born in the Pure Land. See aspiration for birth in the Pure Land dharma body of dharma-nature, 269, 384 dharma body of expedient means, 269, 399 Dharmaguptaka, 31, 35n7 Dharmākara (monk who becomes Amida Buddha): 418, 420, 438; Advent of, 9, 249–250; appearance of within the individual (Soga), 249–253, 255–257, 363; as basis of Śākyamuni’s enlightenment (Soga), 288; in Hase, 10–11, 364; in Hōnen, 125; identified with ālayavijñāna (Soga), 9–10, 248–249, 254–256, 258–270, 273–275, 306–308; influence of Soga upon Tanabe, 362–363; influence of Soga upon Yasuda, 402; in Kiyozawa, 108; in Nishida, 304–305; in Nishitani, 303; as myth (Tanabe), 367, 369–371; in Rennyo (traditional viewpoint), 252; as self-negation of Amida, 10, 297, 301; in Shinran, 260, 302, 305, 308–309, 399; in Soga, 9–10, 248-255, 275n1; as subject rather than object of faith (Soga), 251–253, 258, 273, 296, 301, 332; in Suzuki, 336; in Tanabe, 350, 355, 361–364, 367–378; as three minds of Sutra of Immeasurable Life (Soga), 260, 265–267, 270; tradition of, 288; in understanding ekō (Soga), 296–310; using consciousness-only thought, 261–263; in Yasuda, 398–399 Dharmakṣema, 21 dharma-nature, 267–269, 384–388, 397 dharmatā, 397, 407 dharmatā-citta, 397, 407 Discourses of Epictetus, 4, 77–78, 113, 115, 164, 166, 233; translation to Japanese by Kōkōdō, 234, 245n6; translations to English in Meiji period, 430, 435 dissolved in everydayness, 385–387 Divine Comedy, 241 diyi yi 第一義. See daiichi gi

455

Glossary-Index Dōbōkai 同朋会 movement, 106 Dōgen 道元, 351 Dōji 道慈, 21, 32 Dōjinsha 同人社, 59 Donryū 曇龍, 40 Dōshisha 同志社 University, 412n5 Dower, John, 352 Dynamics of Faith, 380 Eastern Buddhist, 319, 342; and Kiyozawa, 324–325, 329–339; and Kaneko, 325, 338–339; and Sasaki, 11, 236–237, 246n11, 322, 325, 342–344; and Soga, 325, 333; and Suzuki, 11, 319, 322–323, 325, 329–330, 334, 342–343 Eastern Buddhist Society, 325 eating meat and marrying (nikujiki saitai 肉食妻帯), 90 Echigo 越後, 59, 159 Echigo Sanjō 越後三条, 159 Echizen 越前, 59 echo of silence, 385 Edkins, Joseph, 37, 51n1 Edo 江戸 period, 6, 18–19, 22, 25, 28, 30, 33, 37, 47, 51n2, 63, 91–92, 112, 130, 131n1, 252, 282 eighteenth vow, 124, 256, 259–261, 309, 372n4 Eiheiji 永平寺, 376 Ekan. See Hyegwan ekō 回向, 10–11, 297; definition in Pure Land Buddhism, 275n2, 298–299; as expression, 10–11, 300–302, 310; as merit transference, 299–300, 308; as self-denial of the Tathāgata, 10, 301–302, 304–310; and shinjin, 270, 308–310, 365–366; Shinran’s interpretation, 260, 292, 299–302; 307–309; Soga’s interpretation, 296–297; 302–310; traditional Buddhist interpretation, 297–298; two types of, 254, 310–315. See also gensō, ōsō ekō hotsugan shin 回向発願心, 365 ekōshin 回向心, 315 emptiness, 12, 336, 343, 378, 404 Enchin 円珍, 22 Endō Tomohiro 遠藤智祐, 187

456

Engakuji 円覚寺, 320, 323 engi 縁起 (conditioned arising), 101, 127 Ennin 円仁, 22 entmythologisierung, 398 entrusting mind. See shinjin Epictetus, 232; and Kiyozawa’s development of faith, 77, 163–164, 166, 232–234; and Kiyozawa’s disciples, 234, 245n6; and Kiyozawa’s “three scriptures,” 4, 78, 113, 115, 232, 245n2 Erin 慧琳, 25 Eshinni 恵信尼, 175, 183 Eshinni monjo 恵信尼文書 (Letters of the Nun Eshinni), 175 Etchū 越中, 159 evil person. See bad person experiment to see God (kenshin no jikken), 97 Fahuawenju 法華文句 (J. Hokke mongu), 119 Fahuaxuanyi 法華玄義 (J. Hokke gengi), 22 faith alone, 121–123, 128–129, 214 Fajiecidichumen 法界次第初門 (J. Hōkai shidai shomon), 119 fallen-ness, 384 Faure, Bernard, 349 female bodhisattvas, 183 female spirituality, 7, 173–210; and confession, 185–189, 203–210; Shin clergy’s view of, 174–175 feminization of Shin Buddhist faith, 174 fiction, 134, 174, 182, 184, 188, 190 fifty-three past buddhas, 287 Final Dharma. See mappō finite and the infinite; in Kiyozawa, 73, 80, 100, 105, 141–144, 146–147, 220–221, 225–230, 374; in Nishida, 216, 221–224, 229–230, 379; in Soga, 10, 250–251, 255–258, 263–265; in Tanabe, 353–355, 356–361, 364–368, 369–371; in Yasuda, 398 five hindrances. See goshō sanjū Flower Garland Sutra, 8, 240–241, 287. See also Avataṃsaka Sutra foreigners as faculty at the Imperial University, 57–58

Glossary-Index foundation-in-principle (riteki kisozuke 理 的基礎付), 404, 409 Four Āgamas. See Shi Agongyō fo xing 仏性. See buddha-nature Foxinglun 仏性論 (Treatise on Buddha Nature), 401–402, 404–406 fraternal relationship. See kyōdai fraternity. See kyōdai freedom of religion, 90–92, 94; and Shimaji Mokurai, 5, 44, 90–92 free inquiry, 86 fujin kyōka 婦人教化 (educating female Shin followers), 174 Fujita Masakatsu 藤田正勝, 230n2, 327, 350, 354, 374 Fujiwara Tetsujō 藤原鉄乗, 177, 185 fukkatsu 復活 (resurrection), 243 Fukuchiyama 福知山, 205 Fukuda Gyōkai 福田行誡, 73 Fukuda Masaharu 福田正治, 331 Fukui 福井, 159, 340 Fukuoka 福岡, 159 Fumon Entsū 普門円通, 39 Funahashi Suisai 舟橋水哉, 284 funeral Buddhism, 92–93 furisode 振袖, 195 Gaijashō 改邪鈔 (Record of Correcting Wrongs), 23, 123–129 Gaikotsu 骸骨, 1, 96, 100, 164, 167, 212, 214, 220, 224–227, 326, 330, 374, 413n8 gaizoku naisō 外俗内僧, 28 Gakubutsu Dōjō Sōō Gakusha 学仏道場 相応学舎, 411 Gakurin 学林, 38–40, 51–52n2 Gakuryō 学寮, 117–118, 130, 163 gakushi 学師 (entry-level lecturer), 17 Gakushūin 学習院 (Peers School), 321–322, 327–328, 341 Ganquandian 甘泉殿, 193 ganshō 願生, 12, 52n2, 391, 393–396, 400–410, 412n4. See also aspiration for birth in the Pure Land ganshō jōdo 願生浄土, 391. See also aspiration for birth in the Pure Land Ganshō Lectures, 391–395, 400–410

“Ganshōron Notes,” 390, 391–392, 397, 399, 400–410 geisha 芸者, 202 gen ni kyūsai saretsutsu aru o kanzu 現に救 済されつつあるを感ず, 143 Genroku 元禄, 25 Genshin 源信, 22, 279, 312 gensō 還相, 310, 367; in Soga, 310–315, 364; in Suzuki, 356; in Tanabe, 367, 369–371 Gesshō 月性, 38 geta 下駄 (wooden clogs), 197, 336 God, 8, 97, 187, 302, 314–315; and Amida, 47; death of, 241–243, 246n17; and ekō, 302, 304, 314–315; and Kiyozawa, 107–111; in Nishida, 8, 218–220; 222, 379; in Soga, 360; in Tanabe, 357, 360–361, 370; in Tillich, 380 Gochō Tetsujō 牛膓鉄乗. See Fujiwara Tetsujō gohō 護法, 36, 37–41, 49–50 Gohōkan 護法館, 114 going aspect. See ōsō gokai 五戒, 23 Golden Light Sutra. See Jinguangmingjing good wife and wise mother. See ryōsai kenbo Gōsei 仰誓, 25 goshō sanjū (goshō sanshō) 五障三従 (five hindrance and three forms of obedience), 174, 189, 210n7 Goshōsokushū 御消息集, 326 Gospel of Buddha, The Gospel of John, 289 grace. See onchō grāhaka, 392 grāhya, 392 Greater Vehicle. See Mahayana Buddhism group of the rightly settled, 313 Guanding 灌頂, 22 Guanjingshu 観経疏 (J. Kangyōsho), 119, 123, 126–129 Guanwuliangshoujing 観無量寿経 (J. Kanmuryōjukyō), 124, 245n2 gusha bonbu 愚者凡夫, 354, 372n3. See also being, finite Gutokushō 愚禿鈔, 146 gyakuen 逆縁, 182

457

Glossary-Index Gyōki 行基, 32 “Gyō no maki” 行巻 (Chapter on Practice), 279 habutae 羽二重, 191 Hagiwara Sakutarō 萩原朔太郎, 281 haibutsu kishaku 廃仏毀釈, 53, 90, 136 Haja kenshōshō 破邪顕正鈔, 24 hakarai 計らい, 139 Hakata 博多, 325 hakken 発遣, 235 Hakusan 白山, 79 Hamakaze 浜風, 167 Hanwudi 漢武帝, 193 Haraguchi Shinsui 原口針水, 40 Harootunian, Harry, 280–281 Harvard, 380 hatenkō na kane 破天荒な金, 322 Hegel, 4, 374 Heian 平安 period, 24, 32, 233 Heidegger, Martin, 11–12, 378n8, 383–389, 405 heikinka sareru 平均化される, 385 Heimatland, 388 Heki Mokusen. See Hioki Mokusen henjō nanshi 変成男子, 183 heresy, 39, 51–52n2, 130; accusations against Akegarasu, 176; accusations against Kaneko, 332, 337, 339, 377; accusations against Kiyozawa, 72; accusations against Soga, 249, 351 Higashi Honganji 東本願寺, 175, 189, 335; and Akegarasu, 176, 179; compared with Nishi Honganji, 37, 50, 68–69; and Inoue, 5, 53, 58, 60–62, 66; and Kaneko, 337–338, 345, 377; and Kiyozawa, 3–4, 53, 55–56, 58, 61–62, 68–69, 71–76, 98, 163, 325, 327–328, 374; and Sasaki, 328, 341–342; and Soga, 331–333, 338, 345; and Suzuki, 323–324, 338 Higashiku 東区, 53 highest truth. See shintai hiji bōmon 秘事法門, 320 Himeji 姫路, 153, 157, 159, 169n6 Hinayana (Smaller Vehicle, shōjō), 51n1, 178, 232–236, 241, 245n5, 246n7, 284, 294n13, 412n4

458

Hioki Mokusen 日置黙仙, 376 hiragana 平仮名, 175 Hirai Kinza 平井金三, 326 Hiraizumi Kiyoshi 平泉澄, 281 Hirano Banri 平野万里, 169n4 Hirata Atsutane 平田篤胤, 19, 28 Hiroshima 広島, 159, 338 Hiroshima 広島 University, 338 hisō hizoku 非僧非俗 (neither monk nor layman), 25–26, 28, 85 history, 10, 47–48, 50–51, 52n8–9, 168, 235, 239, 263–267, 277–295, 306, 310–316, 337, 343–345, 349, 355–357, 365, 368, 378 Hitane Jōsan 日種譲山, 376 Hitomi Chūjirō人見忠次郎, 68 Hōjō Tokiyuki 北条時敬, 320 Hōkai 法海, 26 Hokekyō 法華経, 240 Hokuetsu 北越, 79 homeland, 376, 385, 387–388. See also Heimatland Hōnen 法然, 33, 123–125, 131n2, 150n5, 185, 207, 245n2; and Shinran, 79, 145–146, 239–240, 279–280, 292, 312, 413n10 hongan 本願. See original vow hongan bokori 本願ぼこり (presuming upon the vow), 127, 359 Honganji 本願寺, 18, 23, 24, 27, 30, 32, 173, 177, 184, 350. See also Higashi Honganji, Nishi Honganji Honganji Betsuin [Higashi], Los Angeles, 335 Honganji-ha 本願寺派, 50, 68, 71, 105. See also Honpa Honganji, Nishi Honganji Hongō 本郷, 133, 244n1 Hongō Tatsuokachō 本郷龍岡町, 88n9 Honpa Honganji 本派本願寺, 25, 27 Honzan hōkoku 本山報告, 66, 88n9 honzon 本尊 (main object of worship), 236 Hōonki 報恩記 (Record of Repaying Gratitude), 116 Hōreki 宝暦, 52n2 Horikawa Kyōa 堀川教阿, 43 Hoshino 星野 Hot Springs, 393, 412n5

Glossary-Index Hōzō Bosatsu 法蔵菩薩. See Dharmākara Bodhisattva Hōzōkan 法蔵館, 87n4, 113, 137, 155, 157, 167, 245n7 huixiang 回向. See ekō Huiyuan 慧遠 (J. Eon), 21, 280, 363 Hyegwan 慧灌 (J. Ekan), 21 Hymn of True Faith. See Shōshinge hyōgen 表現, 9, 250, 254, 255–256, 259–260, 262, 270, 273–275, 351, 363, 381 Hyōgo 兵庫, 376, 391 Ich und Du (I and Thou), 369, 383, 389 Igarashi Kōryū 五十嵐光龍, 71 igyō 易行 (easy practice), 125 ijukushiki 異熟識, 403. See also ālayavijñāna Ikejima Masaharu 池島正治, 187 ikkō ikki 一向一揆, 89 Ikkōshū 一向宗, 89 Ikuei Kyōkō 育英教校, 55–56, 118, 163 Ikuta Chōkō 生田長江, 246n16 Imadate Tosui 今立吐酔, 339 Imagawa Kakushin 今川覚神, 59, 68, 88n5, 163 Imagawa Shūsui 今川拾翠, 59 Imamura Hitoshi 今村仁司, 7, 106, 151, 168, 215, 227 imperial country view of history (kōkoku shikan), 281, 293n5 Imperial Rescript on Education (Kyōiku chokugo 教育勅語), 6, 94–96, 106 Imperial University, 88n6, 94; graduate school, 62, 66; and Inoue, 62; and Kiyozawa, 62, 66, 68–69, 73, 77, 135–136. See also Tokyo University, Tokyo Imperial University, University of Tokyo Inaba Dōkyō 稲葉道教, 117 Inaba Masamaru (Masamaro) 稲葉昌丸, 59, 87n4, 88n5, 138, 161, 163, 327 inchō 院長, 329 In-der-Welt-Sein, 12, 388–389, 405 Indian philosophy, 62, 282, 294n13, 322 Indian studies, 47 infinite, the; in Inoue, 85; in Kiyozawa, 73, 80, 85, 100–102, 105, 107–108, 141–142,

146–148, 167, 214, 221, 225–229, 353–354, 374; in Nishida, 216, 218, 222–223; in Soga, 10, 251, 255–256, 258, 264–269; in Tanabe, 355–358, 364–365; in Yasuda, 398 Inoue Enjō 井上円成, 78 Inoue Enryō 井上円了, 5, 53–88; as author, 62–65; early career, 62–71; education, 53–58, 62; and Higashi Honganji, 56, 60–61, 88n9; as a lecturer, 70–71, 73, 79, 83–84; setbacks, 70–71, 79; support for reform movement, 76, 78; and the Tetsugakukan, 65–71, 80–83, 85, 88n7; trips abroad, 67, 81–82; youth, 53–54 Inoue Hōchū 井上豊忠, 152, 163 Inoue Tetsujirō 井上哲次郎, 6, 94, 98, 100, 103, 238 Inquiry into the Good, An. See Zen no kenkyū insight, 6, 9, 98, 114, 116–117, 130, 184, 257–258, 264–267, 278–279, 285–286, 288, 307, 351, 358, 405–406, 408, 410 insō 因相, 259, 363 instinct, 306–308, 310 Institute of Great Learning (Daikyōin 大 教院), 53, 69, 90–91 In-Tathāgata-Sein, 388–390, 405. See also being-within-the-Tathāgata interiorize, 375 inverse correspondence, 304–305 Ioann of Kronstadt, 188 Ishiguro Tadanori 石黒忠悳, 62 Ishikawa 石川, 141, 175, 177 Ishikawa Takuboku 石川啄木, 169n4 Isokawa Kenzō 五十川賢蔵, 55 irashimu 入らしむ, 143 irashimuru ga gotoshi 入らしむるが如し, 143 isshin 一心, 402n1. See also single-mind isshū 一宗, 44 I-Thou, 383 Itō Hirobumi 伊藤博文, 43 Iyo 伊予, 159 Japanese Naturalism, 188 Japan’s invasion of China, 281 Japan Romantic School. See Nihon Romanha

459

Glossary-Index jātaka, 397, 399–400 jikakusō 自覚相, 363 jikkan no tomonawazarishi ariyō 実感の伴は ざりし有様, 185 jikkan suru 実感する (to experience), 186 jikken 実験, 97, 237, 343, 346n4 jikkō dekinai 実行できない, 186 jikkō no dekinai koto実行の出来ない事, 186 Jikōji 慈光寺, 53, 59 Jimmu (Jinmu) 神武, 286 jindō 人道, 29 jinen hōni 自然法爾, 80, 84, 255, 359 Jingangxianlun 金剛仙論, 401 Jingikan 神祇官, 41, 90 Jingtu lunzhu 浄土論註 (J. Jōdo ronchū), 119, 121, 146, 313 Jinguangmingjing 金光明経 (Sutra of Golden Light, Skt. Suvarṇaprabhāsa), 31–32 Jinjō Chūgakkō 尋常中学校, 4, 67, 123, 161 jinkaku 人格 (character), 8, 160, 231–232, 235, 238–240, 242–243, 246n12 jinkaku no tōya 人格の陶, 239 jinkaku teki kankaryoku 人格的感化力, 243 Jinmu 神武, 286 Jinrei 深励, 6, 114–118, 120, 125–126, 130, 131n1 jinshin 深心, 130, 184, 274, 365 jiriki 自力. See self-power jiriki daijō 自力大乗, 236 jiriki mukō 自力無功, 186 jiriki sazen no hito 自力作善の人, 144 jisō 自相, 259, 264, 363 jissai 実際, 134 jiyūshugi 自由主義, 236, 246n9 jiyū tōkyū 自由討究, 86 Jizang 吉蔵, 21 jōchi 上智 (higher wisdom), 19, 347n12 Jōdokei shisōron 浄土系思想論 (Suzuki), 323 jōdo kyōrishi 浄土教理史, 50 Jōdo sanbukyō 浄土三部経 (Three Pure Land Scriptures), 245n2 Jōdo school. See Jōdoshū

460

Jōdo Shinshū 浄土真宗, 18, 29, 81, 89, 91, 115, 118, 121, 134–135, 173, 184, 189, 277–280, 293n3, 294n18. See also Shin Buddhism Jōdoshū 浄土宗, 33, 146, 148 Jōdoshū zensho 浄土宗全書, 33 Jōō no Gekishō 承応の鬩牆, 52n2 jōtaku 乗托, 222 jōzai [Ryō]jusen no Shakuson 常在[霊]鷲山 釈尊, 236 Julian the Apostate, 246n17 junkyō 殉教, 237 “Junsui keiken ni kan suru danshō” 純粋 経験に関する断章 (Nishida), 230n6 jūnyo raishō 従如来生, 398 Jushinkai 樹心会, 58 jūyuishikishō 住唯識性, 396, 407 juzu 数珠, 181, 195–196 Kaga 加賀, 153, 156–157, 159, 250 Kagoshima 鹿児島, 70, 159 Kahoku-gun 河北郡, 141 Kaigai Senkyōkai 海外宣教会, 50 kaiken chie dan 開顕智慧段 (section revealing wisdom), 115 kaishin 改進, 347n8 Kaishin 開神, 332 Kajiyama Yūichi 梶山雄一, 297 Kakunyo 覚如, 5, 22–24, 123, 150n5 Kakuonji 覚音寺, 55, 87n2, 118 Kakushinni 覚信尼, 175 kalyāṇamitra. See zenjishiki Kamakura 鎌倉, 22, 160, 320, 322–323, 325, 329, 333–335, 339, 341, 347n12 kami 神, 24, 40–41, 43, 52n6, 92–92 Kamuro Anne 禿安慧, 39–40 Kana shōgyō tsūge 仮名聖教通解 (Comprehensive Introduction to the [Shinshū] Scriptures in Classical Japanese), 118 Kāṇadeva, 237 Kanazawa 金沢, 159, 320, 329–330, 340 Kanazawa no Rōsenki 金沢の臘扇忌, 159 Kaneko Daiei (Taiye) 金子大栄, 1, 2, 173, 317, 374–375; heresy controversy, 332, 337, 339, 377; on Inoue, 64; and Sasaki, 341, 343; and Soga, 250, 293n2; and

Glossary-Index Suzuki, 11, 317–320, 323–325, 331, 334–335, 336–340, 342, 344–346, 347nn14–15 kangaku 勧学, 27, 40, 54 kangaku juku 漢学塾, 54 kanji 漢字, 175 Kannon 観音, 46 Kanrenkai 貫練会, 71–72 Kansenden 甘泉殿, 193, 195 kanshakai 感謝会, 161 kanshin kaigi 勧信誡疑, 115–118, 130 Kant, Immanuel, 358, 374 Kanze 観世, 193 karma, 126–128, 130, 177, 185–187, 191, 207–209, 256–257, 263–265, 267, 305–310, 359–360, 368, 381, 394, 403–406, 410, 412n6 Karuizawa 軽井沢, 381, 389, 393, 412n5 Kasahara Kenju 笠原研寿, 59, 294n11 kasō 果相, 259, 363 Katei 家庭 (Home), 174–175 Katei kōwa 家庭講話 (Talks for the Home), 186, 206 Katō Hiroyuki 加藤弘之, 56 Katsu Kaishū 勝海舟, 70, 78–79, 87n3 Keage 蹴上, 376 Kegon 華厳 (school), 29 Kegongyō 華厳経, 240. See also Flower Garland Sutra, Avataṃsaka Sutra keiken 経験, 230n6, 323, 340, 346n4 Keiō 慶応, 41 Keiō Gijuku 慶応義塾, 59 Keisei 警世 (Warning to the World), 246n12 Ken jōdo shinjitsu kyōgyōshō monrui 顕浄土 真実教行証文類. See Kyōgyōshinshō Kenpō 建峯, 94, 167 Keshindo 化身土, 22, 25 kenshin no jikken 見神の実験, 97 Keta Masako氣田雅子, 372n2 Kido Takayoshi 木戸孝允, 42–43 Kimura Taiken 木村泰賢, 284 kindai teki seikaku 近代的性格, 237 king’s law and buddha’s law. See ōbō-buppō, 18, 31 “Kitsune” 狐 (Nagai), 184 Kiyokawa Enjō 清川円誠, 163

Kiyozawa Manshi 清沢満之, 1–2, 11, 59, 117, 173, 184, 186, 205, 209, 235, 320, 374, 413n8; and the Āgamas, 6, 8, 77–78, 113, 115, 163–164, 166, 232–234, and Akegarasu, 134–135, 137–141, 159, 164, 169n7, 176–177, 190; conversion, 77–78, 167, 186; criticisms of, 105–106, 369; and doctrinal modernization, 2, 3, 50, 85, 91–92, 94, 232; early career, 65–69, 71–74, 88n8; education, 3, 54, 56–59, 62, 135–136, 245n6; as educator, 74, 79–81, 85, 132,138, 163, 168; and ethics, 5–6, 89–90, 101–105, 107–109; and Higashi Honganji, 53, 71–72, 74–76, 136–137; and Inoue, 5, 53–88; and Kōkōdō, 80, 115, 133–135, 149n2, 161, 163, 173, 231, 244n1; life story, 3–5, 163–165; minimum possible experiment, 4, 73–74, 77, 123, 128–130, 163, 164, 166; misrepresentation of, 6, 132–134, 137–144, 147–149; and Nishida, 8, 215–216, 220–224, 229–230, 350–351; as philosopher, 2, 4, 7, 8, 28–30, 50, 66–67, 89, 98–107, 114, 121, 133–134, 140, 142, 145–147, 151–152, 164, 168, 211–215, 224–230; 326–327, 330, 353–354, 374, 389; posthumous representation of, 7, 151–170; and reform movement, 4, 28, 74–77, 78, 84, 96, 98, 132, 163–164, 166–167, 176, 231, 245n6, 327–328, 341; on religion and philosophy, 98–101, 211–215, 220–221, 224–230; and Sasaki, 8, 164, 231, 237, 241, 244, 340–346; and Seishinshugi, 2, 4–5, 6, 12, 80, 86, 89–92, 96, 98–100, 102, 107, 132–133, 139, 148, 149n2, 164, 166, 173, 213, 231, 248, 258, 327, 353, 369, 373n9; and Shinshū University, 4–5, 79–81, 85, 132, 143, 164–167, 325, 328, 337; and Soga, 9, 248, 253–255, 257–259, 267, 271–273, 275, 277, 345, 374; and Suzuki, 11, 317–319; and Tanabe, 351, 353–355, 369, 373n7, 373n9; and the Tannishō, 4, 6, 56, 67, 78, 112–114, 118–123, 125–131, 159–160, 166, 176, 232, 234, 244–245n2; and two-truth doctrine, 5, 17–18, 28–31, 33–34; youth, 3, 53, 55–56

461

Glossary-Index “Kiyozawa Manshi no shōgai” 清沢満之の 生涯 [Yoshida book section], 167 Kiyozawa Manshi zenshū 清沢満之全集, Iwanami Shoten edition, 7, 87n4, 113–114, 151 Kiyozawa Yasu 清沢やす, also Yasuko や す子, 67, 163 kleśas. See bonnō ko 故, 152, 165 kōan 公案, 321–322, 324 Kobayashi Shige 小林蓁, 7, 174, 184, 205 Kōbō 興法, 375–376 Kōdaie 広大会, 141 kodai teki hyōgen 古代的表現 (ancient expression), 381 Kōgatsuin 香月院. See Jinrei Kojiki 古事記, 294n15 Kōkōdō 浩々洞 (Capacious Cave), 4, 80, 98, 132–137, 140, 146, 173, 185–186, 207, 209, 231, 244n1, 329; and Akegarasu, 137, 141, 177, 190; and Kiyozawa, 80, 98, 132–135, 138–144, 148, 164–165, 232–233, 327–328; after Kiyozawa’s passing, 152–168, 234, 245n5; and Nishida, 347n7; and Sasaki, 231, 236, 341; and Soga, 254, 271–274, 331–332 Kōkōdō no sanbagarasu 浩々洞の三羽烏, 134 kōkoku shikan 皇国史観, 281, 293n5 kokubunji 国分寺, 31–32 kokugaku 国学, 40 Kokura 小倉, 159 kokushigaku 国史学, 281 kokusuishugi 国粋主義, 97 kokutai 国体, 82 Kondō Jungo 近藤純悟, 153, 157, 161, 175 Kondō Shūrin 近藤秀琳, 56 Kondō Shūtai 近藤秀諦, 87n3 kongen aku 根源悪, 358 Kōno Hōun 河野法雲, 77 Kōnyo 広如, 27, 42 kōryaku sōnyū 広略相入, 313 kōshi 講師, 332, 338 Koshimura Kiichirō 越村喜一郎, 156 “Kōwa” 講話, 139, 157 Koyasu 子安, 159 Kōzon 功存, 52n2 Kubutsu 句仏. See Ōtani Kōen

462

Kudenshō 口伝鈔 (Tract on Oral Transmission), 112, 116, 150n5 Kumamoto 熊本, 159 Kumārajīva, 21 Kume Kunitake 久米邦武, 94 Kuromonchō 黒門町, 53 Kurube Shin’yū 訓覇信雄, 87n, 411n2 kūu 空有, 369 Kyōbushō 教部省, 42–44, 90 kyōdai 兄弟, 370–371 Kyōgaku hōchi 教学報知, 149n3 kyōgakushi 教学史, 50 Kyōgoku Itsuzō 京極逸蔵, 159 Kyōgyōshinshō 教行信証 (Teaching, Practice, Faith, and Realization), 22, 24, 146, 210n6, 298, 300, 372n4, 413n10; and Soga, 254, 259–261, 275–276n2, 278–279, 289–292, 308–311, 334–335; and Suzuki, 324, 334–335; and Tanabe, 362, 372n4; and two-truth doctrine, 25 Kyōiku chokugo 教育勅語. See Imperial Rescript on Education Kyōkai jigen 教界時言, 29, 75–78, 86, 96, 163–164, 232 Kyōkai Jigensha 教界時言社, 75–76 Kyōshikyōkō 教師教校, 54 Kyoto Imperial University, 135, 141, 322, 328 Kyoto Prefectural Ordinary Middle School, 67, 123, 161, 164 Kyoto School of philosophy, 8, 11, 215–224, 349–350, 377, 389 kyōyō 教養, 231, 238, 240 Kyūdō 求道, 175, 184, 188 Kyūdō Gakusha 求道学舎, 244n1 Kyūdō Kaikan 求道会館, 130, 244n1 kyūsai saretsutsu ari 救済されつつあり, 143 Lamp for the Latter Ages. See Mattōshō Lane, Beatrice. See Suzuki, Beatrice Lane Laṅkāvatāra Sutra, 333, 334, 440 Laozi 老子, 287 Larger Sutra, 115, 126, 365; and Soga, 253–254, 259, 262, 288–290, 294n16, 309–310, 332; and Tanabe, 365–367; and Yasuda, 388, 395, 401. See also Wuliangshoujing

Glossary-Index Larger Sutra of Immeasurable Life. See Larger Sutra, Wuliangshoujing LaSalle, Illinois, 321 Li Furen 李夫人, 193 Lisco, Emil Gustav, 52n7 Lishangong 纚山宮, 193 Longshu 龍樹. See Nāgārjuna Lotus Sutra, 119, 236, 240, 246n10, 287 love of destiny (amor fati), 387 Mādhyamika, 236, 343, 375 Maeda Eun 前田慧雲, 50–51 Mahāmaudgalyāyana, 237 Mahāvairocana, 288 Mahayana Buddhism, 110, 233, 245n7, 297–298, 363, 397, 399–400, 403; buddha in, 235, 246n8, 405–406; and Hinayana Buddhism, 233–235; as not preached by Śākyamuni, 51n1, 282–284; Sasaki on, 8–9, 236–237, 240–241, 343–344; Shinran on, 293n3, 295n18; Soga on, 235–236, 290–291, 306; Suzuki on, 321, 323, 329, 336; two-truth theory in 17–22, 31–34 Mahayana of Self-Power. See jiriki daijō, 235, 236 Maida Shūichi 毎田周一, 140 Maitreya, 288 Manchukuo, 280 Manchuria, 49, 280 Manchurian Incident, 280 Mañjuśrī, 20 manukarezarishi naramu 免れさりしなら む, 143 manukarezaru beshi 免れさるべし, 143 mappō 末法, 23, 29, 243 Mappō tōmyōki 末法灯明記 (Candlelight of the Dharma of the Final Age), 22, 23 Märchen, 398, 399 Marco Polo Bridge Incident, 280 Matsubara Yūzen 松原祐善, 411n2 Matsumoto Shigeharu 松本重治, 412n5 Matsutani Motosaburō 松谷元三郎, 347n9 mattaku rekishi ijō no risō no jinkaku まった く歴史以上の理想の人格, 235 Mattō 松任, 159 Mattōshō 末灯鈔 (Lamp for the Latter Ages), 293n3, 295n18, 326

Meiji 明治 period, 2–3, 5, 7, 18–19, 23, 25, 28, 30–31, 36–50, 64, 89–90, 101, 115, 136,145, 152, 159–160, 166, 233, 237, 242–243, 248, 253, 262, 277, 282–284 Meiji Restoration, 3, 19, 27, 36, 41, 43, 54–55, 61, 136, 294n7 Meikyō shinshi 明教新誌, 62 meitō kumon no shaba 迷倒苦悶の娑婆, 144 Meiwa no Hōron 明和の法論, 52n2 Merejkowski. See Merezhkovsky Merezhkovsky, Dmitry Sergeyevich, 242, 246–247n17 merit transference. See ekō metanoesis, 351, 352, 355, 360. See also zange metanoetics (zangedō), 11, 349–356, 360–362, 365–368, 369–371, 372n3, 373n5 Michikusa 道草 (Grass on the Wayside), 184 Mihotoke no / fukaki megumi no / sono uchi ni / tomoni mina yobi / asobu hi tanoshi (nichiyō gakkō) 御仏の 深き恵みの そ

のうちに 共に御名よび 遊ぶ日たのし （日曜学校） (Akegarasu Fusako),

176 Mikawa 三河, 68, 77, 134 Miki Kiyoshi 三木清, 281 minimum possible (Kiyozawa), 4, 73–74, 77, 123, 128–130, 163, 164, 166 ministerial studies, 61 Ministry of Education, 62, 74, 81–82, 322, 341–342 Ministry of Religious Education (Kyōbushō 教部省), 91 Mino 美濃, 159 Mino, Kogetsu, 324–325 Mitsuda Izen 光田為然, 43 Miyaji Giten 宮地義天, 117–118 Miyazaki 宮崎, 159 modernization of Jōdo Shinshū, 89, 320; of doctrinal studies, 37–40, 50–51; by Inoue, 5, 63–64, 84–86; by Kiyozawa, 5, 84–86, 89, 92–93, 97, 99, 248; by Shimaji, 37, 41–51, 92–93; by Soga, 248, 253–254, 272–275 monogatari 物語, 183, 245n7

463

Glossary-Index monshi 聞思, 338 monshu 門主 (abbot), 42, 43, 50, 66–67, 72, 74–76, 163–164 monto 門徒, 54 Mori Arinori 森有礼, 62 Morioka 盛岡, 157, 159 Morioka Rōsenkai 盛岡臘扇会, 157 Mozi 墨子, 95 mufunbetsu 無分別, 336 Mugasanbō 無我山房, 157 mugen 無限, 100, 146 Muikakai 六日会, 164 Mujintō 無尽灯, 113, 168n3, 169n10, 216, 249, 250, 255, 271, 273, 283, 347n8 Mūlasarvāstivādin, 31 Müller, Max, 59, 294n11 Murakami Senshō 村上専精, 8, 51, 66, 75, 161, 208, 235, 238, 242–243, 282–284, 290, 294nn9–10 Muromachi 室町 period, 24 myōgō 名号, 11–12, 124, 129, 184, 199, 203, 260, 264–265, 270, 274–275, 289, 291–292, 350, 381–385, 389, 392, 394, 399, 408, 410, 412n6 myōkōnin 妙好人, 323, 347nn13 Myōon’in Ryōshō 妙音院了祥, 130 Myōtatsuji 明達寺, 159, 175, 176, 330 mysticism, 219, 227, 357, 359–360, 382–383, 404, 407 myth, 45, 294n15; and Kiyozawa, 99; in Mahayana Buddhism, 397; and Soga, 235, 253, 262, 286, 309–310; and Tanabe, 350, 355, 361–365, 369–371, 372n1; and Yasuda, 12, 375, 380–381, 394–395, 397–402, 411 mythical expression. See shinwateki hyōgen Nagai Kafū 永井荷風, 184 Nagaoka 長岡, 53, 54, 57 Nagara Sutta, 286 Nāgārjuna (Ch. Longshu 龍樹, J. Ryūju), 19–21, 24, 33, 279, 312, 343, 375 Nagasaki 長崎, 2, 40 Nagoya 名古屋, 3, 53, 56, 69, 159, 163, 247n18 naikandō 内観道, 234 naikan shugi 内観主義 (introspectionism), 257, 258

464

Najita, Tetsuo, 280 Nakajima Tokuzō 中島徳蔵, 81, 82 Nakamura Fusetsu 中村不折, 155, 156 Nakamura Hajime 中村元, 110 Nakamura Kinzō 中村金蔵, 155 Nakano 中野, 83 Nakano Ryōshun 仲野良俊, 395, 412n4 name of Amida. See myōgō Namu Amida Butsu 南無阿弥陀仏, 12, 54, 181–182, 184, 195–196, 199, 252, 260, 264, 292, 311, 336; Yasuda on, 12, 381–383 “Nana shūki kiyō” 七周忌紀要, 161 Nanjō Bun’yū (Nanjio Bunyiu) 南条文雄, 59, 161, 294n11 Nankei 南渓, 38, 40 Nanzenji 南禅寺, 376 National Alliance for the Innovation of the Ōtani-ha (Ōtani-ha Kakushin Zenkoku Dōmei-kai 大谷派革新全国同盟会), 76 Natsukashiki / kimi miokurite / mihotoke no / mina o yobikeri / chibusa zo kataki なつ

かしき 君見送りて みほとけの みなを よびけり 乳房ぞかたき, 70, 83 Natsume Kyōko 夏目鏡子, 184 Natsume Sōseki 夏目漱石, 184

Naturalism, 188, 254 naturalness, 355. See also jinen hōni nee-sama 姉様 (elder sister), 201 negation, of the finite, 353, 356–357, 359–360, 366–367, 370, 378–379, 387; of self power, 352, 355; of the Tathāgata, 10, 299–305, 308–310, 361–362, 368 nenbutsu 念仏, 23, 29, 115–116, 121, 124–127, 176–177, 181–183, 199, 209, 253, 277, 279, 295n19; self-power practice of, 115, 145; in Soga, 260, 264–265, 279, 289, 291–293, 306, 315; in Suzuki, 334, 346n5 nembutsumon 念仏門, 350 Nensokuji 念速寺, 56, 87n3 New Proposal for Philosophy. See Tetsugaku shin’an nichijōsei no naka ni kaitai shite 日常性の中 に解体して (dissolved in everydayness), 385 Nichiyō shinbun日要新聞, 52n5

Glossary-Index Nietzsche, Friedrich, 241–243, 246n16, 383, 387, 389 Nihon e no kaiki 日本への回帰 (Return to Japan), 281 Nihon kokugo daijiten 日本国語大辞典, 413n7 Nihon Romanha 日本ロマン派 (Japanese Romantic School), 281 Nihon seishinshi kenkyū 日本精神史研究 (Studies in the Spiritual History of Japan), 281 Nihon shoki 日本書紀, 32 Nihonshugi 日本主義, 97 Nihonteki reisei 日本的霊性 (Suzuki), 305, 306, 323 Niigata 新潟, 9, 53, 331, 332, 337 Nikkō 日光, 341, 348n19 nikō dōtai 二項同体, 353 nikujiki saitai 肉食妻帯, 25, 90–91 Ninigi 邇邇芸, 286 Ninnō gokoku hannya haramita kyō 仁王護 国般若波羅蜜多経. See Renwang huguo boluomiduo jing, 34n3 Ninnōkyō 仁王経. See Renwang huguo boluomiduo jing, 34n3 nin’un 任運、22 nirvana, 31, 51n1, 270, 312, 314, 358, 360; of Śākyamuni, 242, 245n7, 283 Nirvana sutra, 19–22, 31, 34n2, 34–35n7, 245–246n7, 406 Nishida Kitarō 西田幾多郎, 11, 141, 215–220, 335, 347nn7–8; and Kiyozawa, 8, 211–212, 215–230, 327, 350–351; and Soga, 304–305; and Suzuki, 320–322, 327–328; and Tanabe, 349–350; and Yasuda, 376–380, 389 Nishi Honganji 西本願寺, 5, 19, 26, 28, 36–51, 175, 321, 324 Nishimura Kengyō 西村見暁, 72, 149n2, 167 Nishitani Keiji 西谷啓治, 11, 303, 317, 377 nishu jinshin 二種深信, 130, 184, 274 nison 二尊, 235 nisonkyō 二尊教, 290 Nissenji 日暹寺, 247n18 Nitta Shinryō 新田神量, 84 Nittaiji 日泰寺, 247n18

Nobukuni Atsushi 信国淳, 381 Noguchi Zenshirō 野口善四郎, 326 nōke 能化, 40, 52n2 non-ego. See anātman nonretrogression, 292 no-self. See anātman nothing and nowhere, 384 nothingness, absolute: in Kiyozawa, 107; in Nishida, 379; in Tanabe, 11, 355, 356–362, 365–367, 369–371; in Yasuda, 375–376, 378–380 Nukariya Kaiten 忽滑谷快天, 205 nyojitsu shugyō sōō 如実修行相応, 410 nyorai 如来. See tathāgata Nyorai hyōgen no hanchū toshite no sanshin kan 如来表現の範疇としての三心観 (Soga), 9, 250, 254, 255–275, 351, 363 nyorai nai sonzai 如来内存在 (In-TathāgataSein, being-within-the-Tathāgata), 388, 390, 404 nyorai no onchō 如来の恩寵, 139, 140 nyorai-sama 如来様, 186, 206, 208, 209, 210 Nyoshin 如信, 115, 118, 131, 160 “Nyoze bunko mokuroku” 如是文庫目録, 131 obi 帯 (sash), 198 ōbō-buppō 王法仏法 (king’s law and buddha’s law), 18, 22, 24, 31–33 ōbō ihon jingi isen 王法為本仁義為先, 24 “Occasional Record of Essays.” See “Zuihitsu gūroku” Occidental studies school in Nagaoka (Nagaoka yōgakkō 長岡洋学校), 57 ochigosama お稚児様, 54 Oda Tokunō 織田得能, 51, 66 Ofumi 御文 (Letters), 55, 116, 123, 252 Ogawa Kūe 小川空恵, 87n2, 118 Ogawa Kūjun 小川空順, 87n2 Ogawa Shōhei 小川丈平, 115 Ōhama 大浜, 77, 78, 81, 163, 164, 165, 166 ōjin 応身, 240 Okada Ryōhei 岡田良平, 136, 161 Okazaki Gakkan 岡崎学館, 74 Okuoka Shin’ya 王来王家真也, 393 onchō 恩寵 (grace), 139–142, 144, 145, 148, 176, 242, 360

465

Glossary-Index onchōshugi 恩寵主義, 139–142, 144, 145, 148 ondōbō 御同朋, 369, 371 ondōbō ondōgyō 御同朋御同行, 369, 371 ondōgyō 御同行, 369 oneness of all things (banbutsu ittai 万物 一体), 101 ontologisch-transzendental, 397 Open Court Publishing, 321 ordained women, as resident priests, 175 ordinary beings, 385, 388 oriental philosophy, 63 original vow (hongan 本願), 10, 165, 375, 383, 385, 387, 413n10; and bodhisattva spirit , 291; entrusting to, 118, 122, 126; history as based on, 307, 308, 310; intention of, 124; as myth, 397, 398; in relation to the name, 289; power of, 81, 122, 314; presuming upon, 359; and Śākyamuni’s intent, 290; salvation of, 145; as selected, 126, 293n3; taking refuge in, 174, 292; in relation to the three minds, 365; in relation to the two types of ekō, 313; working of, 130, 277, 280, 282, 288 ornaments of the Pure Land, 312, 313, 314 Orthodox female Christians, 188 ōsō 往相, 310, 311–315, 364, 367, 369, 371 Osumi 御住, 184 Ōtani 大谷 denomination, 69; 173, 237, 282, 294nn9–11; reform of, 96, 232 Ōtani-ha 大谷派. See Ōtani denomination Ōtani Kōei 大谷光瑩, 66 Ōtani Kōen 大谷光演, 67, 87 Ōtani Kōshō 大谷光紹 (also, Kosho Otani), 324, 393 Ōtani Kōson 大谷光尊, 42 Ōtani Senshū Gakuin 大谷専修学院, 412n5 Ōtani 大谷 University, 1, 324; as Shinshū University, 4, 294, 322 other-power (tariki), 11, 18, 20, 347n13, 349; absolute, 30, 84, 160, 164, 331, 355; other-power within other-power, 146–148; Shinran and, 369 other-power Buddhism, 186 Otto no kimi to / aki no nobe ni / samayoite / obana no kage ni / suzumushi o kiku / 夫

466

の君と 秋の野辺に さまよひて 尾 花の影に 鈴虫をきく (Akegarasu

Fusako), 176 Owari 尾張, 59 oya 親, 186, 204, 205 oya-sama 親様, 186, 206 Ōzu Tetsunen 大洲鉄然, 48

panjiao 判教, 22 parable of the white path, 234–235, 254 paramārtha satya, 5 pariṇāmanā, 10, 11, 297, 300, 302 parinirvāṇa, 34n2, 242, 245 “Passage on the Three Vows.” See “Sansei no mon” past karma, 126–128, 130, 256, 263–265, 267, 306–308, 310, 406 patriotism, 102–104 “Peace beyond ethics.” See “Rinri ijō no an’i” peace of mind, 75, 128, 200, 202, 209, 225, 253, 330, 413n8 Peers School. See Gakushūin, 321 phenomenal-founding ( jiteki kisozuke 事的 基礎付け), 400, 403, 404 philosophy and religion, 8, 11, 98–101, 134, 137, 211–230, 372n1 philosophy of religion: in Kiyozawa, 1, 4, 62, 67, 106, 147, 163, 211–215, 224–230, 374; in Nishida, 211–212, 215–224; in Suzuki, 321, 326–327 Pilgrim’s Progress (John Bunyan), 241 practice of monastic precepts, 234 preparatory course at Tokyo University (東京大学予備門), 57 Prajñā doctrinal studies, 403 Prajñāpāramitā scriptures, 19 Prajñāpāramitā Sutra of the Benevolent Kings. See Renwang huguo boluomiduo jing Pratimokṣa, 34n3 primal vow (hongan). See original vow provisional names, 12, 382, 384 pure experience, 8, 217, 218, 220, 221, 223, 224 pure future, 265 Pure Land Buddhism, 236, 315, 356, 400

Glossary-Index Pure Land patriarchs, 25, 116, 254, 279, 292, 299, 344, 413n8. See also seven patriarchs radical evil (see kongen aku), 358, 359, 360, 361, 366, 368 Rakuyō 洛陽, 202 rebirth (rinne), 29, 52n2, 381 recitation of the name, 381. See also calling of the name, myōgō reconstruction of the two main halls (ryōdō saiken 両堂再建), 72 reform. See zangi reform movement. See Buddhist reform movement reigen 例言, 157 rekigaku 暦学, 40 rekishiteki 歴史的, 284 Rekishi tetsugaku 歴史哲学 (The Philosophy of History), 281 “The Religion of the Future.” See “Shōrai no shūkyō” religious sentiment, 396, 397, 406, 408, 410, 413n9, 410 Renan, Ernest, 45 Rennyo 蓮如, 22, 24, 117, 123, 173, 252, 326, 331 Rennyo shōnin goichidaiki kikigaki 蓮如上人 御一代記聞書, 123, 326 Renwang [huguo] bore boluomiduo jing 仁王[ 護国]般若波羅蜜多経 (Perfection of Wisdom of the Benevolent Kings Who Protect the Nation, J. Ninnō gokoku hannya haramita kyō), 21, 23, 31–32, 34n3 Renwang jing 仁王経 (Sutra of Benevolent Kings). See Renwang huguo boluomiduo jing repentance, 11, 35n7, 164, 186, 207, 208, 351–353, 372n2. See also zange, metanoesis representative mutuality, 303 resident priests, 175 responsive resonance, 308 resultant aspect, 259, 263, 264, 265, 268 resurrection, 243; as gensō, 355, 356; of Kiyozawa 7, 151, 160–162, 165 returning aspect. See gensō

return to quiescence (genmetsu 還滅), 400, 402, 404–405 reverence for the Emperor and expulsion of foreigners movement (sonnō jōi 尊王 攘夷), 90 Revitalization of Buddhism: Introduction, The. See Bukkyō katsuron joron Rhys Davids, Caroline A. F., 286 rightly settled, 313 rikutsu 理屈, 185 rikutsu 理窟, 134 rinban 輪番, 71, 84 rinne 輪廻 (rebirth), 381 “Rinri ijō no an’i” 倫理以上の安慰 (Peace beyond Ethics), 30, 105, 114, 130, 149n3 Rinshōin 麟祥院, 65 Rinshōiten 臨床医典 (Clinical Medicine Dictionary), 115 ritsuryō 律令, 90 Rizankyū 纚山宮, 193 Rokuyōshō 六要鈔 (Notes on the Essentials of the Six Fascicles), 116 Rolleston, T. W., 234, 245n6 Rōsen 臘扇, 167 Rōsenkai 臘扇会, 157, 159, 164 Rōsenki 臘扇忌, 159, 165, 166, 222 Rōsenki 臘扇記 (December Fan Diary), 113 ruden 流伝, 279 ruten 流転 (transmigration), 386–387, 400–405, 412n6 386 ryakuden 略伝, 162, 165, 166, 169nn9–10, 170n11, Ryōchikai zasshi 令知会雑誌, 62 Ryōchū 良忠, 33 ryōsai kenbo 良妻賢母 (good wife and wise mother), 180 Ryōzen ichie gennen misan 霊山一会儼然 未散, 246n10 Ryūge Kūon 竜華空音, 55 Ryūju 龍樹. See Nāgārjuna, 236 Sada Kaiseki 佐田介石, 38, 40 Saga 佐賀, 159 Sagizaka 鷺坂, 169nn6 Saichō 最澄, 22 Saihōji 西方寺, 68, 77, 131

467

Glossary-Index Saiki Sensui 斎木仙酔 (Nobujirō 延次郎), 245 saisei icchi 祭政一致 (unity of rites and rule), 41 Sakaino Kōyō 境野黄洋, 283 Śākyamuni, 8, 30–31, 46, 51n1, 116, 124, 193, 232, 233, 235–236, 238–244, 245n2, 246n12, 246n14, 283–291, 312, 330–331, 343–344, 397 salvation of women, 7, 174–190 Samantabhadra, 339 Samsara, 358 saṃvṛti satya, 5 Saṃyutta Nikāya, 286 Sangha, 23, 28, 30, 31, 391 sangō 三業, 28, 39, 40, 52, 331 Sangō Wakuran 三業惑乱, 28, 39, 40, 52n2 Sanjō Betsuin 三条別院, 71 “Sanjō kyōsoku” 三条教則, 43, 52n8 Sanlun 三論 (Three Treatise; J. Sanron), 21 “Sansei no mon” 三誓の文 (Passage on the Three Vows), 113 “Sanshanyi” 散善義 (Sanzengi), 119 sanshin 三心. See three minds Sapporo 札幌, 159 Sarvāstivādin, 31 Sasaki Eiichi 佐々木英一, 187 Sasaki Gesshō 佐々木月樵, 4, 8, 11, 33, 134, 161, 164, 175, 231–244, 332, 376; and Suzuki, 317, 320, 322, 325, 326, 328, 333, 340–346, 348n18–19 satori 悟り, 321, 344 Sawabe Masamaru 沢辺昌丸. See Inaba Masamaru sawakai 茶話会, 161 Sawayanagi Masatarō 沢柳政太郎, 68, 74, 161, 166 Scheler, Max, 372 seibun 成文, 137 Seikaku 聖覚, 131n2 Seishi 勢至, 46 seishin 精神, 160 seishinkai 精神界 (spiritual realm), 347n8 Seishinkai 精神界 (Spiritual World; journal) 4, 80; Akegarasu, 176–178 Seishinshugi 精神主義 80, 89; Akegarasu,  133; doubts about, 273;

468

Kiyozawa, 91, 98, 107; movement, 133, 178, 248 “Seishinshugi to sanze” 精神主義と三世, 273 Seiten monogatari 聖典物語, 245n5 sekainai sonzai 世界内存在, 388 “Seken shusseken” 世間出世間, 113, 130 Sekine Ninnō 関根仁応, 161 Sekisui 石水, 167 self-aspect, 259, 264, 267, 268 self-awareness, 31, 249, 254, 262–274, 362–364, 368, 405 self-denial of the Tathāgata, 305 self-negation, 353, 361, 362, 366, 370 self-other awareness, 37, 45 self-power ( jiriki), 75, 115, 122, 134, 145–146, 167, 186, 213, 221, 228–229, 232, 235–236, 239, 271, 274–275, 330, 336, 349, 350, 352, 355, 358–362, 366, 368, 373n7 self-transcendence, 374 Semblance Dharma. See zōbō sen 銭, 153 Senchaku hongan nenbutsu shū 選択本願念 仏集 (Collection of Passages on the Selection of the Nenbutsu in the Original Vow) 123, 124–126, 128, 129 Senchakushū 選択集. See Senchaku hongan nenbutsu shū senkyō 宣教, 42 Sennyūji 泉涌寺, 381 sensei 先生, 63, 64, 115, 134, 135, 137, 139, 140, 141, 149n2, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, 157, 159, 160, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165, 166, 167, 169nn7–10, 203, 204, 205, 207, 208, 209 Senshōin Kūkaku 闡彰院空覚, 237 sentient beings, 52n2, 256, 305; Soga, 248, 250, 267, 308, 309; Yasuda, 388, 402–407 Seshin 世親. See Vasubandhu setai 世諦 (worldly truth), 19. See also zokutai Setsunasa no / mune shirimase to / te o torite / chibusa sagurasu / shōjo yasetari 切な

さの 胸知りませと 手をとりて 乳房さ ぐらす 少女やせたり (Akegarasu Haya)

Glossary-Index setsuwa 説話, 178 settled-mind. See anjin seven patriarchs (shichikōsō), 25, 116, 279, 292, 413n8. See also Pure Land patriarchs seventeenth vow, 291, 292 sexuality, 174, 178, 188 shaba 娑婆 (world of endurance), 144, 336 Shacklock, Floyd, 347 Shaku Sōen 釈宗演, 320, 322, 326, 327, 329 Shaku Unshō 釈雲照, 73 Shandao 善導 (J. Zendō), 119, 123, 124, 125, 130, 150n5, 184, 185, 234, 235, 240, 241, 274, 279, 298, 299, 312, 365, 413n8 shashin 写真, 240 Shi Agongyō 四阿含経 (Four Āgamas), 77–78, 163–164, 232–234 shichikōsō七高僧. See seven patriarchs Shichiri Gōjun (Kōjun) 七里恒順, 325 shijōshin 至誠心, 365, 372n5, 373n5 shikō 嗣講 (assistant lecturer), 117 Shimaji Mokurai 島地黙雷, 5, 37, 41–51, 89–92 Shimazaki Tōson 島崎藤村, 188 Shina rekishi nenpyō 支那歴史年表 (Chronology of Chinese History), 115 Shin Buddhism, 5, 12, 50, 54, 135, 173, 186, 187, 233, 251, 253, 261, 277, 292, 297, 304; existential interpretations, 395; introspective version of, 345; and Kaneko, 336–339; modern, 2, 18, 173, 277, 341; nature of faith in, 405; populist goals of, 344; religious sentiment in, 408, 410, 411, 413n9; religious subject in, 409; Sasaki and, 340, 341; sense of community, 380; and Soga, 331–336; Soga as theologian of, 372n1; and Suzuki, 317, 320–331; Unno on, 369; Yasuda’s understanding of, 376, 382, 387, 392 Shin Buddhism and Christianity, 2–3, 23, 36–38, 40–50, 61–63, 108, 136, 188, 314–315, 350, 357, 360, 374, 380–381 Shin Buddhist churches, America, 324 Shin Buddhist reform movement. See Buddhist reform movement Shin Buddhist scripture 250; and Kiyozawa, 112–113, 121, 123–129; and

Soga, 253–254, 259, 261, 263, 269; and Yasuda, 375, 395, 412n4 Shin Buddhist studies, 37–41, 50–51, 63, 72, 74–75, 87, 114, 117, 120, 133–135, 140, 147, 151, 173, 231, 249, 253, 255, 261–262, 271, 274–275, 300, 306, 334, 337, 346, 390–391, 394, 398, 401–402 Shin bukkyō 新仏教 (New Buddhism), 86, 114, 321, 328 shinbutsu bunri 神仏分離, 3, 41, 294n7 “Shinbutsu bunri rei” 神仏分離令, 41 shinbutsu hokan 神仏補完, 93 shinbutsu shūgō 神仏習合, 93 Shingonshū 真言宗, 73 shingyō 信楽, 259, 364 shin’i 神為, 44 shinjin 信心 (entrusting mind), 24, 29, 51, 73, 122, 177, 182, 195, 233, 251, 253, 260, 261, 265–274, 317, 364, 372n4, 392, 395–398, 406–410 Shinjin 真人, 317, 333 Shinjōji 真浄寺, 87 shinju ni takusu 神授ニ託ス, 45 shinkō 信仰, 195, 395 shinkō no sho 信仰の書, 164 “Shinkyō no kyokuchi” 信境の極致 [Nishimura book section], 167 shinnen 信念, 236 Shinran 親鸞, 22, 67, 112, 232, 278, 322, 375; absolute other-power, 146; anjin, 29, 112, 114, 237; biography, 237; ekō, 275n2, 292, 296, 299, 305, 308, 312–315, 336; faith alone, 122, 128; history, concept of, 279, 282, 288, 293, 306, 310–313, 344; jinen hōni, 80, 84; Kiyozawa as Shinran, 7, 152, 159, 166; karmic cause, 127; modern interpretation of his works, 248; moral support, 79; as neither monk nor layman 28, 85; nenbutsu, practice of, 29; other-power, 122, 145–148, 160, 260, 359, 369; return to Shinran, 34; self-power, 122, 145, 238, 358; shinjin, 122, 260, 267, 407, 410; and Tannishō, 67, 112–123, 125–131, 145, 159, 166, 176, 244n2, 395; two-truth doctrine, 22–24; and Yuien, 67, 116–117, 128

469

Glossary-Index Shinran Bukkyō Sentā 親鸞仏教センター, 87n, 111n Shinran no bukkyō shikan 親鸞の仏教史観 (Shinran’s View of Buddhist History), 10, 277–293, 293n1, 294n14, 343, Shinran’s View of Buddhist History. See Shinran no bukkyō shikan 親鸞の仏教

史観 “Shinrei no shūyō” 心霊の修養 (Cultivating the spiritual side of the mind; column), 113 Shinshū 真宗. See Jōdo Shinshū. See also Shin Buddhism Shinshūgaku Kenkyūsho 真宗学研究所, 123, 259 Shinshū hōten 真宗宝典 (Treasured Shinshū Scriptures), 123, 131 Shinshū kana shōgyō 真宗仮名聖教 (Shinshū Kana Scriptures), 56, 131 Shinshū no ajiwai 真宗の味わい, 135 Shinshū Ōtani-ha 真宗大谷派, 53, 56, 67–69, 71, 73, 75–76, 87n, 96, 105–106, 112, 115, 117–118, 132–133, 136, 148, 151–152, 160, 163–164, 166, 168, 374, 390–391, 411n2, 412n6. See also Higashi Honganji, Ōtani denomination Shinshū shin jiten 真宗新辞典, 413 Shinshū Takakura Gakuryō 真宗高倉学 寮, 117–118, 130, 163 Shinshū 真宗 University, 4, 77–82, 85, 132, 134, 143, 149n1, 156, 161, 164–167, 250, 255, 284, 328, 322, 325, 331–333, 337, 340–341, 347n8. See also Ōtani University shintai 真諦 (ultimate truth), 18–19, 21, 25–26 Shintō 神道, 3, 24, 36, 41–45, 47, 69, 91–94, 136 shinwa teki hyōgen 神話的表現 (mythical expression), 381 shinzoku funi 真俗不二 (Nonduality of Ultimate and Worldly truth), 25 shinzoku nitai setsu 真俗二諦説, 108 Shiqin 世親. See Vasubandhu Shirahama-mura 白浜村, 169n6 Shirakawa-mura 白川村, 75, 134 Shirakawatō 白川党, 75 shirayuri 白百合, 180, 192

470

“Shiritsu gakkō setchi negai” 私立哲学館 設置願, 88n8 shishin 至心, 259, 364, 366, 372n5, 373n5 shishōsetsu 私小説, 184, 188 Shōbōrin 正法輪, 348n17 shobutsu shōjō 諸仏証誠, 412 Shōden’an 正伝庵, 323 shōdōmon 聖道門, 350, 354 “Shōgyō bassui” 聖教抜萃 (Scripture Excerpts), 113, 114, 123–129, 131 shōjō 小乗. See Hinayana Shōkai 性海, 19, 26, 27, 34n5 shōkan 招喚, 234 Shōkokuji 相国寺, 376 shōnin 聖人 and 上人, 117, 122, 123, 207, 209, 237, 238, 239, 298, 326 “Shōrai no shūkyō” 将来之宗教 (The Religion of the Future), 114 shosei shakai 書生社会, 56 Shōshinge 正信偈 (Hymn of True Faith), 55, 278, 279, 289 Shōshin nenbutsu ge正信念仏偈 (Hymn of True Faith and Nenbutsu). See Shōshinge Shōtoku Taishi 聖徳太子, 32, 64, 330–331 shōzō 肖像, 243 Shōzōmatsu wasan 正像末和讃 (Hymns on the Right, Semblance, and Last Dharma Ages), 120, 121, 311 shūe 宗会, 49 Shūen 秀円, 25 shūgaku 宗学 (sectarian studies), 18, 22, 34n1. See also Shin Buddhist studies, shūjō shuji 種子, 297 shūjō 宗乗40, 134. See also Shin Buddhist studies, shūgaku shukugō 宿業. See past karma shukushōgi 縮象儀, 39 shūkyō teki jinkaku 宗教的人格 (religious character), 239 “Shūkyō teki shūyō” 宗教的修養, 221 “Shūkyō teki yōkyū” 宗教的要求 (Religious Desire), 222, 223 Shūkyō tetsugaku gaikotsu 宗教哲学骸骨 (Kiyozawa), 1, 96, 100, 164, 214. 220, 225, 227, 326, 330, 374

Glossary-Index “Shūkyō tetsugaku gaikotsu kōgi” 宗教哲 学骸骨講義 (Kiyozawa), 413n8 shumisengi 須弥山儀, 39 shūshinkyō 衆神教, 45 Shutsujō kōgo 出定後語 (Talks after Emerging from Meditation), 282, 293n6 shūyō 修養 (cultivation), 77–78, 80, 83, 113, 123, 129, 163, 167, 216, 221, 233, 238, 240 Shūyō jikan 修養時感 (Impressions of Self-Cultivation), 153, 154, 162, 164, 169n3, 169n10, 209 Shūyō Kondankai 修養懇談会, 157 Siam, 243, 247n18 single-mind, 402, 407, 408, 413n9 Six Dynasties period, 31 Smaller Vehicle. See Hinayana Soga Ryōjin (Ryoshin) 曽我量深, 1–2, 9–11, 63, 161, 173, 235–236, 242, 277, 374, 391; on Dharmākara, 248–275, 300, 302–306, 308–310; on ekō, 296–316; on history, 277–293; and Kaneko, 250, 293n2; on Seishinshugi, 257–258, 271–274; and Suzuki, 317–320, 323–325, 331–340, 342–346; and Tanabe, 351, 356, 360, 362–365, 365, 370, 372n1, 373n8; and Yasuda, 374–377, 390–391, 398, 402, 411n2 sōjō no hō 想上の法, 236 soshikiteki 組織的, 284 sōshoku 装飾, 235 Sōtō 曹洞 Zen, 185, 351, 376 sōzokukō 相続講, 72 Spencer, Herbert, 59, 374 Spinoza, Baruch, 374 spirituality of modern Shin Buddhist women, 7, 173–190 spiritually leveled, 385–386 storehouse consciousness. See ālayavijñāna Subaru スバル, 169n4 Sudhana, 8, 287, 339 sudi 俗諦. See zokutai Sugamo 巣鴨, 80, 159, 161 Sugihira Shizutoshi 杉平顗智, 335 Suma 須磨, 163, 166 Sumida Chiken 住田智見, 71, 112, 161 Sumu tsuki ni / mukaite / kimi o omoitsutsu / nami no oto kiku / yū samishiki すむ月に

むかひて 君を思いつつ 波の音きく 夕淋しき (Akegarasu Fusako), 176

suppression, 18, 37, 345 Sun Goddess (Amaterasu Ōmikami天照大 神), 286 Sutra of Immeasurable Life. See Wuliangshoujing Sutra on Immeasurable Life. See Wuliangshoujing Sutra on the Buddha Amitāyus. See Amituojing Sutra on the Buddha of Infinite Life. See Wuliangshoujing Sutra on the Visualization of the Buddha of Infinite Life. See Guanwuliangshoujing Suzuki [Alan] Masaru 鈴木勝, 329 Suzuki, Beatrice Lane, 322, 329 Suzuki Daisetsu. See Suzuki Daisetsu Teitarō Suzuki Daisetsu (Daisetz) Teitarō 鈴木大 拙貞太郎, 97, 216, 305, 317, 351, 381; and Kaneko, 11, 317–320, 323–325, 331, 334–335, 336–340, 342, 344–346, 347nn14–15; and Kiyozawa, 11, 317–319; and Sasaki, 317, 320, 322, 325–326, 328, 332–333, 338, 340–345; and Soga, 317–320, 323–325, 331–340, 342–346; and Yasuda, 376–377, 395 Suō 周防, 43 Swedenborg Society, London, 321 Swedenborg, Emanuel, 329 syncretism of kami and buddhas (shinbutsu shūgō 神仏習合), 93 Systematic Theology, 380 Tada Kanae (Kanaye) 多田鼎, 4, 84, 134–137, 147–148, 159, 161, 164, 166–167, 203, 205, 234, 236, 245, 325, 340 Taira no Shigemori 平重盛, 204 Taishi no zoku 太子の俗 (worldly [truth] of the Prince), 25 Taishō democracy, 280 Taishō period, 280, 254, 255, 256 Takada 高田, 250 Takagi Yasaka 高木八尺, 412n5 Takakura Gakuryō 高倉学寮. See Shinshū Takakura Gakuryō

471

Glossary-Index Takamagahara 高天原 (Plain of High Heaven), 286 Takamitsu Daisen 高光大船, 177 Takayama Chogyū 高山樗牛, 97 Takeda Junshō 竹田淳照, 335 Takeda Kikuko 武田菊子, 210n8 Takefu 武生, 340 Takei Fuku 武井ふく, 7, 174, 184–190, 203–205 Takeuchi Yoshinori 武内義範, 377 taking refuge, 52, 128 Tamawarishi / shin no myōi / ureshikeredo / nao sute kaneru / nareshi furugoromo 賜

はりし 信の妙衣 うれしけれど なほ すてかねる なれし古衣 (Akegarasu

Fusako), 177 Tanabe Hajime 田辺元, 11, 349–373, 377; and Soga, 351, 356, 360, 362–365, 365, 370, 372n1, 373n8 Tanaka Chigaku 田中智学, 97 Tanaka Kunizō 田中邦造, 141 Tanba 丹波, 205 tanka 短歌, 174, 175, 179 Tanluan 曇鸞 (J. Donran), 119, 146, 275–276n2, 279, 298, 310, 312, 313, 375, 384; commentary, 121, 146; on dharma-nature, 384; interpretation of ekō, 275n2, 298, 310, 313 tanni 歎異 (lamenting differences), 117 Tannishō 歎異抄 (Record in Lament of Divergences), 117, 129, 130, 177, 186, 207–209, 295n19; and Akegarasu, 130, 176, 326; and Jinrei, 6, 114–118, 126; and Kiyozawa, 6, 56, 67, 78, 112–131, 145, 159–160, 166, 232–234, 244n2; and Suzuki, 339, 342; and Tanabe, 350; and Yasuda, 395 Tannishō kōgi 歎異鈔講義 (Jinrei), 114, 115 Tannishō kōroku 歎異抄講録 (Miyaji Giten), 117, 118 Tannishō kōwa 歎異鈔講話 (Lectures on the Tannishō), 176 Tannishō monki 歎異抄聞記 (Myōon’in Ryōshō), 130 “Tannishō o yomu” 歎異抄を読む (Reading the Tannishō) [column in Seishinkai by Akegarasu], 130

472

tanzaku 短冊, 381 tariki 他力. See other-power “Tariki mon tetsugaku gaikotsu shikō” 他 力門哲学骸骨試稿, 225, 226 tariki no naka no tariki 他力の中の他力, 145 tarikishū daiichiryū no ken’isha 他力宗第一 流の権威者, 347n13 Tathāgata (Thus-Come-One, nyorai 如来), 20, 51n1, 167, 184, 186, 202–203, 206, 208–210, 235, 240; Akegarasu on, 137, 139–140; Kiyozawa on, 6, 101–102, 125, 142, 149n4, 213, 257, 258, 329–330, 353–355, 374; Soga on, 9–10, 249–253, 260, 268, 272–273, 286, 289, 296–297, 299–316, 363–365; Tanabe on, 357–368, 370–371; vow-making mind of, 364, 367; Yasuda on, 12, 378–384, 386–389, 390, 404–411. See also tathāgatagarbha (womb of the tathāgata), 364, 390, 405, 406 tathāgatagarbha thought, 401, 402, 404 Tathāgata of Light Unhindered throughout the Ten Directions, 399 Tayama Katai 田山花袋, 188 teaching of the two worthies (nisonkyō 二 尊教), 290 Teaching, Practice, Faith, and Realization (Shinran). See Kyōgyōshinshō Temple University, 381 Tendai 天台, 22, 23, 29, 33, 39, 241 Tenjin 天親. See Vasubandhu Tenne 転依, 364, 367 tennyo 天女 (heavenly maiden), 195 Tenpō 天保, 40 tenshiki tokuchi 転識得智, 396 Terada Fukuju 寺田福寿, 87n3 Tetsugakudō 哲学堂, 83, 86 Tetsugakukai 哲学会, 58 Tetsugakukai zasshi 哲学会雑誌, 58 Tetsugakukan 哲学館 (Academy of Philosophy), 65–70, 73, 76, 78–86, 87n3, 88n5, 183 Tetsugakukan Incident, 82 Tetsugakukan lecture transcripts, 66 Tetsugaku shin’an 哲学新案 (Inoue), 83 theory that the Buddha did not preach the Mahayana. See Daijō hi-bussetsu-ron

Glossary-Index three forms of obedience. See goshō sanjū three minds, 9, 11; Soga on, 250, 259–265, 270; Tanabe on, 361–368, 372n4 Three Pure Land Scriptures. See Jōdo sanbukyō Thus Spake Zarathustra (Also sprach Zarathustra), 241 Tianqin 天親. See Vasubandhu Tiantai 天台. See Tendai Tillich, Paul, 11, 12, 380–381, 389, 389n2, 393–397, 399, 400, 408, 412nn4–5 Tōji 東寺, 393, 412n5 Tokugawa 徳川, 3, 37, 140, 344 Tokugawa 徳川 family, 33 Tokugawa 徳川 shogunate, 2, 3 Tokunaga Manshi 徳永満之. See Kiyozawa Manshi Tokunaga Naganori 徳永永則, 163 Tokunaga Taki 徳永タキ, 55 Tokuryūji 徳龍寺, 59 Tokyo Imperial University, 88n6 Tokyo University, 23; Inoue and Kiyozawa at, 56–60; Kiyozawa at, 4–6, 74, 119, 135–136, 138, 161, 163, 166, 167, 245n6; Kōkōdō relative to, 231 Tominaga Nakamoto 富永仲基, 282–283, 293n6 Tomioka 富岡, 159 tong 通 (shared), 22 Tōyō 東洋 University, 5, 65, 78, 79, 83, 88n7, 332, 333, 337 transcendence, 357, 387, 397 transmigration. See ruten transzendental, 397 Treatise on the Pure Land. See Wuliangshoujing youpotishe yuanshengji Tsuji Zennosuke 辻善之助, 294n7 Tsukimi Kakuryō 月見覚了, 163 Tsunashima Ryōsen 綱島梁川, 97 two-truth doctrine, 5, 17, 21, 22, 25, 26, 27, 28, 33 Uchimura Kanzō 内村鑑三, 94, 96 Ueda Kazutoshi 上田万年, 161 Ueda Shizuteru 上田閑照, 377 Ueda Yoshifumi 上田義文, 372n4 ultimate concern, 397

Umada Gyōkei 馬田行啓, 284 Umegami Takuyū 梅上沢融, 42-43 Umehara Shinryū (Shinryu) 梅原真隆, 325 Umigami 海上, 376 Union Theological Seminary, 380 University of Chicago, 380 University of Hawai‘i, Honolulu, 324 University of Tokyo. See Tokyo University Unno, Taitetsu, 369 Unoke-mura 宇ノ気村, 141 Upadeśa, 392, 401, 402 Ura 浦, 53 Vaidehī, 240, 246n14 Van Bragt, Jan, 293n1 Vasubandhu (Ch. Tianqin 天親, J. Tenjin; also, Ch. Shiqin 世親, J. Seshin), 260, 275–276n2, 279, 299, 312, 343, 375, 392, 399, 400–405, 407–408, 410 vijñāna-pariṇāma, 297 Vinaya literature, 30–31, 34–35n7 voiceless voice, 382, 388 “Wabun hen” 和文篇, 305, 308 “Waga shinnen” 我信念 (The Nature of My Faith), 7, 82, 101, 130, 156, 165–168, 170n11, 184, 354; Akegarasu on, 139–140, 160, 169n7; editorial changes to, 141–142; as Meiji Tannishō, 166; in memorial services for Kiyozawa, 153, 157–159; and Suzuki, 326, 329–330 Wajunkai 和順会, 169 Wakamatsu 若松, 159 wakarete wa / au hi o negai / aeba tata / wakaruru oshimu / modae no kono mi 別

れては 逢ふ日を願ひ 逢へはたゝ 別るゝ惜しむ 悶えのこの身 (Akegarasu Fusako), 178 wartime doctrinal studies, 27–28, 108, 144, 332–333, 338 wasan 和讃, 55, 120, 121, 239, 311 “Wasan hen” 和讃篇, 311, 315 Waseda 早稲田 University, 320 Washio Junkei 鷲尾順敬, 283 watakushi mo izen ni wa 私も以前には, 142 Watsuji Tetsurō 和辻哲郎, 281, 351

473

Glossary-Index Weil, Simone, 11, 302 Weishilun 唯識論, 401–404, 407–408 Western philosophy, 59–63, 65, 74, 212, 327, 337, 374, 389 Western science, 3, 39, 40, 262 Williams, Channing Moore, 40 wisdom, 12, 19; of the foolish masses, 120; imperfect human wisdom, 141, 213; perfection of, 21, 34; of shinjin, 397, 410; infinite wisdom of the Tathāgata, 272; and transformation, 396, 408 wives of resident priests. See bōmori World’s Parliament of Religions, 320–321, 326 Wuliangshoujing 無量寿経 (J. Muryōjukyō), Skt. Sukhāvatīvyūha sūtra, Sutra on Immeasurable Life, 115, 245n2, 259–260, 262, 279, 287–292, 294n16, 295n17, 332, 388, 392–393, 395, 398–404 Wuliangshoujing youpotishe yuanshengji 無 量寿経優婆提舎願生偈, 260, 270, 275n2, 320–321, 326, 392, 400–402, 407–408, 413n8 Xuanyifen 玄義分, 150 Xuanzang 玄奘, 249 Xuanzong Huangdi 玄宗皇帝, 193 yaban 野蛮, 45 Yamabe Shūgaku (Shugaku) 山辺習学, 325, 343 Yamada Fusako 山田房子. See Akegarasu Fusako Yamaguchi 山口, 52n4, 169n4, 327 Yamaguchi Bukkyō Kaikan 山口仏教会館, 278 Yamaguchi Gendō 山口玄洞, 278 Yamamoto Kantsū 山本貫通, 131 Yamanaka 山中 hot springs, 178 Yama’s mirror, 266 Yamato 大和, 286 Yanagi Yūkyū 柳祐久, 59 Yanagi Yūshin 柳祐信, 59, 66 Yang Guifei 楊貴妃, 193 Yasuda bunko yōsho mokuroku (Yasuda Library Western Books Catalogue), 380

474

Yasuda Rijin (Kameji) 安田理深（亀治）, 1, 11, 272, 374–380, 377, 390; on demythologization, 12, 394, 395, 397–400, 402, 411, 412n5; on name, 381–385, 392, 408; on settled-mind, 395–396, 406–411, 413n8 Yasuda Rijin senshū 安田理深選集 (Selected Writings of Yasuda Rijin), 391 Yokosuka 横須賀, 181, 193, 196 Yogācāra, 12, 236, 249–250, 254–271, 274–275, 297, 333, 343, 375, 381, 391, 396–397, 401–404, 407–408 yōgakkō 洋学校, 54 yojō 余乗, 40 Yokogawa Kenshō 横川顕正, 339 yokushō 欲生, 259, 269–270, 309, 364 yōkyō 妖教, 42 yōkyoku 謡曲, 192 yo no sanbukyō 予の三部経 (“my three scriptures”) [Kiyozawa], 78, 112, 232 Yoshikawa Kōbunkan 吉川弘文館, 168 Yoshimizu 吉水, 239 Yoyogi 代々木, 209 yūai 友愛, 371 yuan 円 (perfect), 22 Yuien 唯円, also Yuienbō 唯円房, 67, 116, 117, 128 Yuishikiron. See Weishilun yuishin 唯信. See faith alone Yuishinshō mon’i 唯信鈔文意 (Notes on “Essentials of Faith Alone”), 122, 399 Yushima 湯島, 65 “Yuya” 熊野, 192–195 yūzen 友禅 style kimonos, 198 zadankai 座談会, 317 zaiaku 罪悪, 139, 187 zang 蔵 (tripiṭaka), 22 zange 懺悔, 11, 352–355, 362, 365–368, 373nn5–8; conversion made possible by, 361; historical transformation, 368; isolation from Tathāgata in, 361; negation of, 367, 370; pain of, 353; path of, 354; process of moral renewal through, 355 zangedō 懺悔道, 11, 349, 352

Glossary-Index Zangedō toshite no tetsugaku 懺悔道として の哲学, 11, 349–373 Zangeroku (Record of My Repentance), 164, 186 zangi 慚愧, 352–353, 372n2 Zarathustra, 241, 242 zen 善, 121 Zen 禅, 185, 205, 381; and Kiyozawa, 55; and Nishida, 216, 349; and Suzuki, 97, 320–324, 327, 329, 334, 336, 339, 344, 348n17; and Tanabe, 349, 357, 360, 370; and Yasuda, 376 “Zen aku” 善悪 (Kiyozawa’s Fourth-year university notebook entry), 113–114, 119–122 Zen Buddhism. See Zen Zen no kenkyū 善の研究 (An Inquiry into the Good), 8, 216–224, 229, 230n3, 376, 379 Zendō 禅道, 322 Zendō. See Shandao zenjishiki 善知識 (good friends in Dharma, Skt. kalyāṇamitra), 115, 118, 186, 241

zennin 善人 (good person), 186 Zen no kenkyū 善の研究 (Nishida), 8, 216, 217, 220, 221, 222, 223, 224, 229, 230n3, 376, 379 zeppitsu 絶筆, 157 zettai 絶対, 100, 144, 146, 147, 148, 165, 170 zettai mugen 絶対無限. See Absolute Infinite zettai tariki 絶対他力, 144, 147–148, 165, 170n11 Zhanran 湛然, 21, 22 zhendi 真諦. See shintai, 21 Zhiyi 智顗, 21, 22, 119 zōbō 像法, 243 Zoku Nihon seishinshi kenkyū 賊日本精神 史研究 (Studies in the Spiritual History of Japan, Continued), 281 Zoku Seishinshugi 続精神主義, 164 zokutai 俗諦 (worldly truth), 21 Zonkaku 存覚, 22, 24 “Zuihitsu gūroku” 随筆偶録 (Occasional Record of Essays), 123, 131

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