Word Embodied: The Jeweled Pagoda Mandalas in Japanese Buddhist Art 0674983866, 9780674983861

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WORD EMBODIED

Harvard East Asian Monographs 412

Transcription of the Heart Sutra in the shape of a pagoda, recto, from Dunhuang (Stein collection Or.8210/S.4289), tenth century, black ink on paper. British Library, London. Photograph courtesy of the British Library (also reproduced as fig. 3.1a).

WORD EMBODIED The Jeweled Pagoda Mandalas in Japanese Buddhist Art

Halle O’Neal

Published by the Harvard University Asia Center Distributed by Harvard University Press Cambridge (Massachusetts) and London 2018

© 2018 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College Printed in the United States of America The Harvard University Asia Center publishes a monograph series and, in coordination with the Fairbank Center for Chinese Studies, the Korea Institute, the Reischauer Institute of Japanese Studies, and other faculties and institutes, administers research projects designed to further scholarly understanding of China, Japan, Vietnam, Korea, and other Asian countries. The Center also sponsors projects addressing multidisciplinary and regional issues in Asia. Publication of this book has been aided by a grant from the Millard Meiss Publication Fund of the College Art Association and by the Japan Art History Forum First Book Prize Subvention. I gratefully acknowledge permission to reproduce material from the following two articles: “Performing the Jeweled Pagoda Mandalas: Relics, Reliquaries, and a Realm of Text,” Art Bulletin 97, no. 3 (September 2015): 279–300; and “Continental Origins and Culture of Copying: An Examination of the Prototypes and Textualized Community of the Japanese Jeweled-Stūpa Mandalas,” Journal of Oriental Studies 22 (2012): 112–32. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data O’Neal, Halle, author. Word embodied : the jeweled pagoda mandalas in Japanese Buddhist art / Halle O’Neal. Harvard East Asian monographs ; 412. Cambridge, Massachusetts : Published by the Harvard University Asia Center, 2018. | Series: Harvard East Asian monographs ; 412 | Includes bibliographical references and index. LCCN 2017032867 | ISBN 978-0-674-98386-1 (hardcover : alk. paper) LCSH: Mandala (Buddhism)—Japan. | Buddhist art—Japan. | Words in art. | Mandala in art. | Painting, Japanese. | Pagodas—Japan. N8193.3.M3 O54 2018 | DDC 700/.482943—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017032867 This publication uses the multilingual ‘Brill’ typeface. With over 5,100 characters covering Latin, IPA, Greek, and Cyrillic, this typeface is especially suitable for use in the humanities. For more information, please visit brill.com/brill-typeface. Index by Mary Mortensen  Printed on acid-free paper Last figure below indicates year of this printing 23 22 21 20 19 18

For Sylvia O’Neal, A model of southern civility and grace, and For Jerry O’Neal, Entomologist, poet, and author of historical westerns— but most important to me, loving father and the most compassionate of men.

Con ten ts

Illustrations Acknowledgments Introduction 1 Performance and Iconicity in the Jeweled Pagoda Mandalas 2 The Historical Context of the Mandalas 3 Medieval Textual Images 4 Dharma Relics in Medieval Japan 5 Buddhist Reliquaries and Somatic Profusions Conclusion: Creating a Salvific Matrix of Text and Body List of Names and Terms Abbreviations Notes Bibliography Index

ix xv 1 21 53 122 168 193 218 237 244 245 267 283

Illust r at ions



Frontispiece: Transcription of the Heart Sutra in the shape of a pagoda, recto, from Dunhuang, British Library, London (also reproduced as fig. 3.1a)

I.1

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. I.3), Ryūhonji; Kyoto National Museum

I.2

Guillaume Apollinaire, Calligrams made to illustrate a catalogue of the works of Irène Lagut and Léopold Survage; British Library, London

2

I.3

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Lotus Sutra, Ryūhonji; Kyoto National Museum

4

I.4

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Lotus Sutra, Tanzan Shrine; Nara National Museum

5

I.5

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Golden Light Sutra, Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi

6

I.6

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 6 of the Lotus Sutra, private collection 7

I.7

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 3 of the Lotus Sutra, Jōshinji, Shiga Prefecture

I.8

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 8 of the Lotus Sutra, Myōhōji, Sakai 9

1.1

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. I.3), Ryūhonji; Kyoto National Museum

24

1.2

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. I.3), Ryūhonji; Kyoto National Museum

25

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xviii

8

I l lu s t r a t ion s

1.3

Frontispiece for chapter 23 of the Lotus Sutra, Heike nōkyō, Itsukushima Shrine, Miyajima

34

1.4

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 7 of the Lotus Sutra, Ryūhonji; Kyoto National Museum

37

1.5

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 7 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 1.4), Ryūhonji; Kyoto National Museum

39

1.6

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 7 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 1.4), Ryūhonji; Kyoto National Museum

39

2.1

Great Perfection of Wisdom Sutra frontispiece from the Kiyohirakyō, Nara National Museum

56

2.2

Great Perfection of Wisdom Sutra frontispiece from the Hidehirakyō, Metropolitan Museum of Art

56

2.3

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 2 of the Golden Light Sutra, Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi

60

2.4

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 2 of the Golden Light Sutra (detail of fig. 2.3), Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi

61

2.5

Lotus Sutra frontispiece, fascicle 7, Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC

63

2.6

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 10 of the Golden Light Sutra, Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi

64

2.7

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 10 of the Golden Light Sutra (detail of fig. 2.6), Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi

65

2.8

Great Perfection of Wisdom Sutra frontispiece, fascicle 182, from the Hidehirakyō, Sankōzō, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi

68

2.9

Great Perfection of Wisdom Sutra frontispiece, fascicle 63, from the Hidehirakyō, Sankōzō, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi

69

2.10

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 3 of the Golden Light Sutra, Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi

70

2.11

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 3 of the Golden Light Sutra (detail of fig. 2.10), Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi

71

2.12

Interior of the Konjikidō, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi

72

2.13

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Golden Light Sutra (detail of fig. I.5), Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi

74

2.14

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 3 of the Golden Light Sutra (detail of fig. 2.10), Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi

75

2.15

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 3 of the Golden Light Sutra (detail of fig. 2.10), Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi

75

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i l lu s t r a t ion s

2.16

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 4 of the Golden Light Sutra, Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi

76

2.17

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 4 of the Golden Light Sutra (detail of fig. 2.16), Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi

77

2.18

Inscription on the exterior of the box housing the Tanzan Shrine jeweled pagoda mandalas; Nara National Museum

79

2.19

Lotus Sutra mandala, Matsunoodera, Kyoto

80

2.20

Lotus Sutra mandala, Honpōji, Toyama Prefecture

81

2.21

Hata no Chitei, Pictorial Biography of Prince Shōtoku (one panel from a set of five wooden bifold screens), Tokyo National Museum

86

2.22

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 6 of the Lotus Sutra, Tanzan Shrine; Nara National Museum

88

2.23

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 6 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 2.22), Tanzan Shrine; Nara National Museum

89

2.24

Lotus Sutra frontispiece, fascicle 1, Tanzan Shrine; Nara National Museum

89

2.25

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 8 of the Lotus Sutra, Tanzan Shrine; Nara National Museum

91

2.26

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. I.4), Tanzan Shrine; Nara National Museum

93

2.27

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 4 of the Lotus Sutra, Tanzan Shrine; Nara National Museum

94

2.28

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 4 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 2.27), Tanzan Shrine; Nara National Museum

95

2.29

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. I.4), Tanzan Shrine; Nara National Museum

96

2.30

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 6 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 2.22), Tanzan Shrine; Nara National Museum

96

2.31

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 8 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 2.25), Tanzan Shrine; Nara National Museum

98

2.32

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 7 of the Lotus Sutra, Tanzan Shrine; Nara National Museum

99

2.33

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 7 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 2.32), Tanzan Shrine; Nara National Museum

99

2.34

Inscription on the back of the jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Lotus Sutra, Ryūhonji; Kyoto National Museum

101

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I l lu s t r a t ion s

2.35

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 3 of the Lotus Sutra, Ryūhonji; Kyoto National Museum

104

2.36

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 3 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 2.35), Ryūhonji; Kyoto National Museum

105

2.37

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. I.3), Ryūhonji; Kyoto National Museum

106–7

2.38

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 5 of the Lotus Sutra, Ryūhonji; Kyoto National Museum

108

2.39

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 5 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 2.38), Ryūhonji; Kyoto National Museum

109

2.40

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 2 of the Lotus Sutra, Ryūhonji; Kyoto National Museum

111

2.41

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 2 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 2.40), Ryūhonji; Kyoto National Museum

112–13

2.42

Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 3 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 2.35), Ryūhonji; Kyoto National Museum

114–15

3.1a

Transcription of the Heart Sutra in the shape of a pagoda, recto, from Dunhuang, British Library, London

124

3.1b

Diagram showing the order of transcription of the Heart Sutra in the shape of a pagoda in fig. 3.1a

125

3.2

Transcription of the Heart Sutra in the shape of a pagoda, recto, from Dunhuang, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris

126

3.3

Partial transcription of the Heart Sutra in the shape of a pagoda, verso, from Dunhuang, British Library, London

127

3.4

Transcription of the Lotus Sutra in the shape of a pagoda, Korean, Tōji, Kyoto

132

3.5

Transcription of the Lotus Sutra in the shape of a pagoda (detail of fig. 3.4), Korean, Tōji, Kyoto

133

3.6

Illustrated Scripture of Cause and Effect, volume 2, section of the handscroll, Nara National Museum

136

3.7

Lotus Sutra frontispiece, fascicle 5, tenth century, Enryakuji, Mount Hiei

138

3.8

Lotus Sutra frontispiece, fascicle 1, early eleventh century, Enryakuji, Mount Hiei

138

3.9

Ichiji ichibutsu Hokekyō (one character, one Buddha Lotus Sutra), section of the handscroll, Zentsūji, Kagawa Prefecture

139

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i l lu s t r a t ion s

3.10

Ichiji ichihōtō Hokekyō (one character, one jeweled pagoda Lotus Sutra scroll), section of the handscroll, Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC

140–41

Ichiji ichihōtō Hokekyō (one character, one jeweled pagoda Lotus Sutra scroll), section of the handscroll, Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC

142

Ichiji tengai rendai Hokekyō (one character, canopy, and lotus pedestal Lotus Sutra scroll), section of the handscroll, Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC

144

3.13

Ichiji ichirendai Hokekyō (one character, one lotus pedestal Lotus Sutra), section of the handscroll, Yamato Bunkakan, Nara

145

3.14

Sugawara no Mitsushige, Illustrated Miracles of Kannon, section of the handscroll, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York

145

3.15

Lotus Sutra fan, Shitennōji, Osaka

147

3.16

Lotus Sutra booklet of the Sutra of Meditation on the Bodhisattva Universal Worthy, Gotō Museum of Art, Tokyo

147

3.17

Eyeless Sutra (Menashikyō) rendition of the Scripture That Transcends the Principle, section of the handscroll, Dai Tōkyū Memorial Library, Tokyo

149

3.18

Fujiwara no Koreyuki, Collection of Japanese and Chinese Verses for Recitation, section of the handscroll, Kyoto National Museum

152

3.19

Nichiren Shōnin, Great Mandala, Honmanji, Kyoto

154

3.20

Shinran Shōnin, Jūji myōgo (ten-character formulation of the name of Amida treated as an icon), Senjuji, Mie Prefecture

156

3.21

Taji issekikyō (“many characters, one stone sutra”), Kansai University Museum, Osaka

161

3.22

Kawarakyō (sutra tile inscribed with the Lotus Sutra), Nara National Museum

163

5.1

Malla Nobles Rejoicing on Receiving Their Share of Śākyamuni’s Relics, relief on the northern gateway pillar of stupa 1 at Sāñcī 204

5.2

Veneration of a Stupa, relief on the Prasenajit pillar of the Bhārhut stupa

205

5.3

Gorintō (five-ringed pagoda), Shin Daibutsuji, Mie Prefecture

207

5.4

Iconographic drawing of the Diamond-World Mandala from the Taishō shinshū Daizōkyō zuzō 208

3.11

3.12

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I l lu s t r a t ion s

5.5

Kakuban, drawing of a gorintō from the Secret Interpretation of the Five Wheels and Nine Syllables 209

5.6

Deitōkyō (small clay pagodas onto which sutra characters are inscribed), unearthed at Chishakuji, Tottori Prefecture

216

C.1

Hyakumantō (one million miniature pagoda), Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York

223

C.2

Momitō (rice-grain pagoda), Murōji, Nara

224

C.3

Kokerakyō (wood strips inscribed with sutra text and cut into the shape of a pagoda), Gangōji, Nara

225

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Ack now ledgmen ts

H

aving taken over a decade to bring this project to fruition, the gratitude I owe to a vast number of people is humbling. Sherry Fowler has always been generous with her support, patience, and guidance during the various stages of my studies and career. Her appreciation of things unusual instilled within me a love of relics that grew into this book. Courses on Buddhist and Chinese art with Amy McNair and Marsha Haufler were some of the high points of my graduate studies, and their instruction and example made me want to be a better scholar. Maggie Childs’s insightful comments on an early version of this book were crucial to improving the text and honing my arguments. I was fortunate to study with a great cohort of fellow students; in particular Hillary Pedersen, Alison Miller, and Amanda Wright were excellent friends. As with any big project, its development maps the moves of my life. My time in Japan at Kōbe University, funded by a Monbukagakushō Scholarship, was instrumental for my development as an art historian. Working with Donohashi Akio was enlightening and always enjoyable, and I am grateful to him for facilitating private viewings of the jeweled pagoda mandalas. I made great friends while there—Su Jia-ying, Tabayashi Kei, Catherine Ludvik, Ichimoto Takayuki, Ujiro Takafumi, Kinoshita Asuka, and Washoku Moe. I also benefited enormously from the monthly lessons conducted by Naitō Sakae in the storage area of Nara National Museum. A postdoctoral fellowship at the Reischauer Institute of Japanese Studies, Harvard University, served as a turning point for this project. The Reischauer generously funded an author’s conference where Ryūichi Abé, Melissa McCormick, Max Moerman, and Fabio Rambelli read the dissertation and offered discerning suggestions on how to transform it into a book. I am indebted in particular to Melissa for

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a c k no w l e d gm e n t s

her continuous support of the project and my professional development. Yukio Lippit, Eugene Wang, Elizabeth ten Grotenhuis, John Rosenfield, and Sylvan Barnet all offered insightful perspectives on various aspects of the book, and I am grateful for their expertise. Ted Gilman and Stacie Matsumoto along with my cohort of fellow postdocs all made my time at the Reischauer that much more gratifying. Although only at Vanderbilt University for one year, I benefited from the friendship of colleagues like Rebecca VanDiver, Tracy Miller, Bryan Lowe, Betsey Robinson, Rob Campany, and Leonard Folgarait. In particular, Tracy, Bryan, and Rebecca offered extensive comments on my work. Chris Strasbaugh took a wild idea I had to animate the transcription process of the jeweled pagoda mandalas and made it a reality. I am thankful to the University of Edinburgh for a Chancellor’s Fellowship, which granted me the time and support to complete this book. The Research and Knowledge Exchange Fund and the Moray Endowment Fund were critical in defraying the costs of copyright clearance and image acquisition. My colleagues in the History of Art Department make Edinburgh a warm institutional home and dynamic research environment. Collectively, their inspirational example was crucial during final revisions: I extend special thanks to Jill Burke, Catriona Murray, Heather Pulliam, Carol Richardson, and Genevieve Warwick. Over the course of writing this book, advice from numerous friends and colleagues has greatly refined the final product. Comments on presentations at a variety of venues by Naomi Appleton, Ian Astley, Rosina Buckland, Kevin Carr, Lucia Dolce, Joachim Gentz, and Gregory Scott helped me shore up and clarify my arguments. Kaori Oikawa has been a true friend and invaluable help with difficult translations and with obtaining illustrations for the book, which proved very tricky yet amenable to her ingenious solutions. I could not ask for better editors than Bob Graham and Deborah Del Gais. I am very thankful for Bob’s early and steadfast belief in the project and Deborah’s keen art historical eye and meticulous reading of the text. The anonymous readers devoted considerable time and energy to suggestions that greatly improved the book. I am blessed with incredible family and friends, who astoundingly do not share my love of relics and reliquaries, but have nevertheless been a source of support and good humor. My mother- and father-in-law, Susan and Harry Hom, are amazing people on whom I lean for wisdom about the academic vocation, and I have been fortunate to embark on many family adventures with them. I am proud that I can now add a book next to those of my talented Aunt Brenda and my own dear father, whose writing has always been an inspiration to me. Julie Bowman and

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a c k no w l e d gm e n t s

Laina Davis have been constant companions, and in the UK, I have been lucky to meet brilliant friends with whom I can talk shop: Sarah Jenkins, Megan Daigle, Andrew Priest, Julie Grady Thomas, Patrick Thomas, and Cian O’Driscoll. Finally, as much as we are ambulatory palimpsests, I am blessed to have been textured with the beautiful shared experiences and continual love of my family. I am grateful to my mother, Sylvia O’Neal, for being the wonderful and graceful person she is. She is one of the funniest and strongest people I know. My husband –Andy Hom's way of living, understanding the world, and raising our sons, not to mention his prodigious skill as a scholar, astonishes me continually. Hank and Atticus are bundles of joy, mischief, and wonder. Sharing in their journeys is the pleasure of my life. Finally, I would like to thank my dedicated father, Jerry O’Neal, aka Jess McCreede, for always loving me. The passage of time cannot diminish my devotion to you.

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Fig. I.1 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. I.3), thirteenth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Ryūhonji, Kyoto. Photograph courtesy of Kyoto National Museum.

In t roduct ion

Embracing the Tangle of Word and Image

A

t first glance, the characters swirl around, haphazard and infinitesimal (fig. I.1). Picking out a few familiar words provides temporary stability, but a moment later the viewer is lost again in a sea of resplendent script at once accessible and remote. Neither legible nor illegible, these intriguing characters are discombobulating. This vision of a luxurious realm constructed of golden text gleams against the deep blue background and evokes the idea that the Sanskrit letter A begat the world.1 Experiencing these twelfth- and thirteenth-century paintings, known as the jeweled pagoda mandalas (kinji hōtō mandara), is like entering a state of captivating and at times bewildering visions, a world shaped by the artistic union of individual words. The paintings use precisely choreographed characters from sacred scriptures rather than architectural line to compose the central icon of a pagoda.2 Surrounding this textual image, pictorial vignettes narrate the content of the scriptures. By utterly dissolving the distinction between text and image in the central pagoda, this combinatory composition projects a new visual relationship between the two previously distinctive media. Word becomes picture as characters from the sacred scriptures replace line; simultaneously, picture realizes word—together creating an innovative and salvific synthesis that discloses layers upon layers of religious and artistic meaning. The avant-garde poet, artist, and critic Guillaume Apollinaire (1880–1918) recovered and popularized visual poetry

—1—

Fig. I.2 Guillaume Apollinaire, Calligrams made to illustrate a catalogue of the works of Irène Lagut and Léopold Survage. Action: Cahiers individualistes de philosophie et d’art 1, no. 5 (1920): 5. British Library, London. Photograph courtesy of the British Library.

i n t roduc t ion

at the turn of the century. His calligrams (pictures composed of words), which require the audience—much like those of the mandalas—to be both viewer and reader at once, revel in their plasticity and freedom from linear verse (fig. I.2).3 In our post-Apollinaire age, the novelty of the jeweled pagoda mandalas might be lost and their impact diminished. But at the time of their production, they were unprecedented in Japanese art. Jeweled pagoda mandalas first appeared in the twelfth century and enjoyed a limited yet solid popularity for roughly a century. Three complete sets, each of eight or ten paintings, remain: those from Ryūhonji in Kyoto (fig. I.3), Tanzan Shrine in Nara (fig. I.4), and Chūsonji in Hiraizumi (fig. I.5).4 Three other mandalas have been separated from their original sets. Two of the lone mandalas appear to have originally been part of the same set, and based on stylistic analysis, were likely commissioned during the late eleventh or early twelfth century. Of these, one is currently in a private collection (fig. I.6), and the other is owned by the temple Jōshinji in Shiga Prefecture (fig. I.7). The third lone mandala, likely produced in the late twelfth century, is now in the temple collection of Myōhōji in the city of Sakai (fig. I.8). On average, each fascicle transcribes two to four chapters of a particular scripture. In all of the aforementioned examples apart from the Chūsonji set, it was the Lotus Sutra5 that was transcribed; the textual source for the Chūsonji set is the Golden Light Sutra.6 The paintings organize the text into the shape of a pagoda with narrative vignettes illustrating associated sections of the sutra positioned along the sides and bottom of the mandala. Unpacking the obscure and sometimes unknown circumstances surrounding the mandalas’ connection to these religious establishments will allow us to contemplate the nature of their commissions, even if definitive conclusions still remain elusive. Exploring the jeweled pagoda mandalas reveals the entangled realms of sacred body, beauty, and salvation engendered through intricate interactions of word and image. The book engages these central but neglected relationships to uncover the rich intersections of relics, reliquaries, and notions of body in Buddhist painting. The study revolves around important questions concerning the role of the written word in artistic production and what those interactions disclose about the expansive function of text in Japan. These singular paintings exhibit a novel use of language that refuses hermeneutical restriction and reveals texts as open and malleable, with functions far beyond that of religious reading material. In particular, they expose underlying dynamics in medieval Japanese Buddhist art such as invisibility, performative viewing, and the spectacular visualizations of embodiment.

—3—

Fig. I.3 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Lotus Sutra, thirteenth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Ryūhonji, Kyoto. Photograph courtesy of Kyoto National Museum.

Fig. I.4 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Lotus Sutra, twelfth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Tanzan Shrine, Nara. Photograph courtesy of Nara National Museum.

Fig. I.5 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Golden Light Sutra, twelfth century, gold, silver, and color on indigo paper. Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi. Photograph courtesy of Chūsonji.

Fig. I.6 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 6 of the Lotus Sutra, twelfth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Private collection, Japan. Photograph courtesy of Kyoto National Museum.

Fig. I.7 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 3 of the Lotus Sutra, twelfth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Jōshinji, Shiga Prefecture. Photograph courtesy of Kyoto National Museum.

Fig. I.8 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 8 of the Lotus Sutra, late twelfth–early thirteenth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Myōhōji, Sakai. Photograph courtesy of Sakai City Museum.

i n t roduc t ion

However, scholarship on the jeweled pagoda mandalas largely overlooks these dynamics and instead is dominated primarily by formal analysis and iconographic study of the narrative vignettes. Miya Tsugio’s Kinji hōtō mandara (Jeweled pagoda mandalas) remains the most extensive treatment of the paintings to date.7 He conducted an illuminating visual analysis of the vignettes surrounding the central pagoda that connected the narratives to their doctrinal content but which failed to address conceptual and practical issues regarding the textual pagoda and did not posit questions about the mandalas’ larger meaning. Although quite strong, the scholarship in English on the paintings is sparse: only Willa Tanabe and Mimi Yiengpruksawan have discussed the mandalas in any real detail. In Paintings of the Lotus Sutra, Tanabe considers the Tanzan Shrine and Ryūhonji mandalas as examples of the twelfth-century emphasis on the narrative description of sutra content in the art of the Lotus Sutra.8 She positions the jeweled pagoda mandalas as transitional works bridging conventional blue-and-gold illustrated sutras and the pictorial transformation tableaux (Jpn. hensō; Ch. bianxiang) or visualizations of miraculous transformations occurring in scripture.9 Yiengpruksawan examines the Chūsonji jeweled pagoda mandalas in Hiraizumi: Buddhist Art and Regional Politics in Twelfth-Century Japan.10 She offers an elegant and contextualized study of the paintings, interweaving the importance of the Golden Light Sutra with the authoritative aims of the Ōshū Fujiwara and demonstrating how the intimate illustrations of the narrative vignettes reveal the anxieties of that ruling family.11 However, these discussions exclude the critical role of the central pagoda in the construction of the paintings’ meaning. This lacuna marginalizes the intriguing interplay of text and image at the core of the paintings, precludes a holistic reading of the mandalas, and dilutes their full import in medieval Buddhist visual culture. To redress these issues, this book offers an alternative methodology by developing interdisciplinary insights into the social, religious, and artistic implications of this provocative entwining of word and image. Its focus on the phenomenon of images composed of text also fills a gap in the scholarship on Asian art. By reorienting the discussion of the mandalas from a textual angle, the project integrates various facets of medieval Buddhist experience, such as visual and material culture (like sutra art and popular visual narratives) and the religious praxis and doctrine surrounding relics, reliquaries, and theories of the Buddha’s body. By tracing the power of the written word and the role reversals between text and image that challenge conventional understandings of their functions, it also expands our thinking about the demands of viewing, the audience’s role as active producers of meaning, and disciplinary discussions of word and image that often presuppose an

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ontological divide between the two. Examining image and text separately cannot hope to reflect the historical situation nor allow scholars to grasp the inventive interplay between word and picture that operates visibly and invisibly in the art itself. Furthermore, by investigating the performative nature of the paintings, this discussion explores the viewer’s own experiential engagement with the surface. This encounter uncovers much deeper meanings related to the role of the Buddha body, a subject sometimes absent in Buddhist art history scholarship but central to the meaning of many objects and to the timely discussion on iconicity. Through the jeweled pagoda mandalas’ innovative assembly of written word, pictorialized projection of the scripted pagoda, and narrative vignettes with cartouches, the sum far outstrips the independent value of its constituent parts. The synoptic composition brings into focus a vision of the power of the written word, the multiplicity and immediacy of the Buddha’s body, and the interconnected nature of these foci of religious veneration in premodern Japan. When each part stands alone, the scope is greatly reduced. Their separate deployment allows us to focus on their individual importance and usage, but it is through their combination that we comprehend the complex and interrelated nature of Buddhist visual culture, doctrine, and praxis.

Art, Text, and the Facilitation of New Meanings How might art facilitate new significations once released from a perceived dependence on the written word? It no longer suffices to find an appropriate text and to treat it as the sole source or unproblematic interpretative scheme. Art is not always beholden to written documents for its origin story. Furthermore, art does not just reaffirm textual understandings, but rather it is capable of synthesizing multiple texts and viewpoints, responding to ritualistic practices and literary developments, and incorporating a great range of innovations occurring in visual culture. In effect, each picture has the potential to project a new take on the multilayered Buddhist experience during the medieval period. Buddhism has long been understood as a written tradition, but numerous disciplines, including art history, literature, and religious studies, now challenge this assumption, stressing not only the formative role of orality and the prominence of the verbal in Buddhism but also the power of visual culture to create new meanings tailored to the particular needs of specific audiences, which frequently depart from textual sources. The agency of the artist and the creative license taken in the produc-

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tion of visual culture often embellish or exceed the textual source, if there is one. Additionally, the whims of the patron might cause the commission to deviate from the conventions of a generative text in order to communicate their own interpretation of the story or emphasize aspects that contain distinctive resonance. Indeed, shifts in institutional identity and leadership contribute to the alteration of standard textual accounts. Furthermore, what we might call the intervisual dialogue between objects is most ubiquitous though difficult to trace and substantiate.12 Viewing objects through an intervisual lens reveals that artistic creations respond aesthetically to one another, and small changes in iconography, subject matter, framing, and countless other adjustments ripple out, affecting productions to come. Visual art has the ability to instantiate direct observation, to confront the viewer with its totality rather than disclosing meaning in an incremental fashion. In the case of hanging scrolls, the single surface composition can be witnessed in its entirety and the unfolding of Buddhist concepts conveyed all at once, not over the span of several pages or multiple texts. This encounter is not one of complete comprehension but of immediate totality, which draws connections across concepts and forms new meanings that demonstrate Buddhism to be a living religion. The different interactions inspired by texts and images have been explained through the space/time dichotomy, where readers engage with the written word through a linear accumulation of time, whereas art exists in space, capable of apprehension all at once. However, this explanation is perhaps too limiting and diminishes the vast number of ways both texts and images encourage an involvement that vacillates between space and time engagements. Distinctions in the media of texts and images engender different physical relationships with viewers. As explored throughout this book, the combinatory compositions of the jeweled pagoda mandalas foster an awareness of the embodied character of viewing, engaging the body of the viewer in a participatory performance scripted by the complicated and fluctuating exchanges of word and picture. Beyond the demands of the media, specific cultural prescriptions frame the scope of possible, indeed acceptable, reactions by viewers. In medieval Japan, restricted access and ritualized protocols at times dictated a narrowed range of interactions with sacred texts and icons. Lurking behind all of these constraints lingers the challenge of using words to capture the interpretation and immediate effects of an artistic production. The perceived chasm separating word and image restricts full description of one by the other and contributes to the trials of using art as source material. However, as advocated in the conclusion, Buddhist art need not surrender to this limitation.

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The capacity of art to synthesize, adapt, or even forego existing concepts in the presentation of a message is what makes it crucial to understanding medieval Japanese culture and society; this is precisely why art should be treated as a primary source. Although some of the points made in this section are not new, the need to understand the role of art in capturing new and multiple meanings persists. In the context of a book that probes the meaning of paintings about which so little of their production context and reception history are known, this argument requires underscoring. This study endeavors to trace the driving forces stimulating the mandalas’ inventive origin, such as broad historical dynamics, intertextual practices within the Buddhist community of the eleventh through thirteenth centuries, scriptural copying traditions, and the importance of relics and reliquaries, among others. But it also attempts to read what the mandalas tell us that is all their own by analyzing the paintings as a salvific matrix of text and body. This interpretative framework joins discourse, praxis, and the materiality of the Buddha body to comprehend the visual expression of somatic multiplicity displayed in the textual reliquary and to demonstrate the inherent connectivity of the various bodily manifestations, out of which a new image of body and devotion emerges.

Combinatory Compositions The singular construction of the jeweled pagoda mandalas straddles disciplinary lines, making them useful objects for consideration across a range of approaches and subjects. Those in art history might be drawn first to the paintings’ stunning materiality and multifaceted surface. For those in religious studies, the relationship of the mandalas to transcription projects, along with the prominent display of relics and reliquaries, provides a productive visual complement to examination of these topics. For literature scholars, the pictorial depiction of popular Buddhist narratives lends the tales an innovative material interpretation. In performance studies, the mandalas would be a useful case study for the way audiences engage such a complicated surface that maintains its own viewing prescriptions. Thus the mandalas speak to a multidisciplinary audience, fashioning a meeting ground fruitful for considering the fluidity of these intertwined subjects in Japan and beyond. Perhaps because of these aspects, the jeweled pagoda mandalas present an immediate quandary: what exactly are these objects? A simple question, but answering it reveals how the mandalas continually overturn conventional forms

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and blur modern structuralist categories. Having no exact counterpart in Japan or elsewhere, they challenge the boundaries of their constituent components. First, are they transcription projects, mandalas, or paintings? They certainly manifest qualities of all three possible labels. The transcribed sutra features centrally in each of the compositions, and narratives vignettes encircle the textual icon. And of course, this all takes place on pieces of paper, the most common medium for both transcriptions and paintings. The beauty of the painted forms and written characters is clearly prioritized, and patrons spared little expense in the provision of materials like deep indigo dyes, brilliant golds, luminous silvers, and durably vibrant blues, reds, and greens. So are they paintings, or some of the most elaborate and embellished transcriptions to survive? To complicate the matter further, the title of “mandala” has been applied variously and is notoriously ambiguous. Indeed, the case can be made for these objects that they are a rare type of transformation tableau, or at least incorporate elements of this type into key compositional spaces. The nomenclature of the jeweled pagoda mandalas has never enjoyed consistency. Labels fluctuated among and between the sets throughout their histories, as presented in more depth in the next section and in the philological discussion in chapter 2. Depending on which component of the composition is under investigation, I employ all three terms and often use mandala and painting interchangeably. To parse finer and restrict the terminology is to mischaracterize the inventive nature of the jeweled pagoda mandalas. Second, is the central icon a relic or reliquary, an image or a text? Much depends on the viewer’s position before the object. When close, one apprehends the written word acting as building material for the pagoda. In this way, proximity manifests relic and text. Conversely, distance materializes reliquary and image. But these are not static projections; they fluctuate, appearing and disappearing depending on how and where one’s attention is focused. Manifesting the nature of interrelated visual expression in Japan, the mandalas create a new combinatory composition through multilayered interactions of text and image and the mixture of transcription and painting on a single, expansive surface. The mandalas express the mutability of these parts: transcription and Buddhist narrative, relic and reliquary, word and picture, and other combinations therein, which are all made starkly visible and intimately connected through their artistic rendering. Such visual and conceptual conflations recapitulate and expand upon their most immediate and initial blurring, which rejects exact location and categorization. In order to study the jeweled pagoda mandalas as holistic entities, we must allow them the freedom and unobstructed movement to embody multiple visualities,

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modalities, and conceptualities at once. The visual and conceptual indivisibility informs the methodology of this book. By not limiting the objects and restricting their analysis to the distillation of discrete parts, but rather allowing them to exist as a constellation where categories and concepts collide, the interrelated and fluid situation of eleventh- through thirteenth-century Japanese visual culture, praxis, and doctrine resolves itself more fully. Their connectedness and ability to glide between different visualities speak to medieval conditions of text, notions of body, and the experientiality of viewing that helps engender significations. As I argue throughout, the format of the jeweled pagoda mandalas is the wellspring of their meaning. Therefore, the project approaches the paintings as a web, unraveling threads that reveal their connectivity, disclose rich meanings produced by specific conflations, and bring Buddhist piety and artistic innovation into focus.

Nomenclatural Issues It is unfortunate but not unexpected that scant textual records only partially illuminate the shadowy history surrounding the production and reception of the mandalas. Additionally, as is typical of medieval paintings, the extant records exhibit flexible nomenclature. My decision to use “jeweled pagoda mandalas” to refer to this group of objects stems from three considerations. The first is that to use the title “pagoda sutra” or “transformation tableau” risks minimizing the complexity of the composition. These mandalas are a far more complicated visual and conceptual affair. I therefore employ the term “mandala,” which is supported by some of the earliest textual references to the paintings, in order to acknowledge the composition in its entirety.13 As Elizabeth ten Grotenhuis notes, the categorical fashion of applying the term “mandala” to paintings outside the definitional sphere of standard esoteric mandalas began in the early eleventh century.14 The jeweled pagoda mandalas were clearly part of this trend. The second consideration involves my use of the term “pagoda.” This word originates from the early sixteenth-century Portuguese “pagode,” a term of uncertain derivation traced to Dravidian (via Sanskrit) as well as Persian beginnings.15 Despite these etymological issues, pagoda has become part of the art historical lexicon for its ability to acknowledge the visual discrepancies between the tower-like architectural structures of East Asia and the reliquarial mounds of India called stupas.16 I use “reliquary” to refer to the central icon of the jeweled pagoda mandalas, and in doing so, I intend to signify the function of the pagoda as an architectural shrine

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housing the relics of the Buddha, a role that it shares with the Indian stupa. As a conceptual shorthand stressing the somatic connections of this type of structure, it is not meant to flatten the multidimensionality of pagodas, which served a variety of purposes, nor to conflate them visually with various smaller types of reliquaries so popular in Japan during the medieval period. The third nomenclatural hurdle, the application of the term “jeweled pagoda” to the mandalas, occurred for the first time in the early eighteenth century with the inscription on the box housing the Chūsonji set. This appellation has since been applied with some consistency to both the Chūsonji and Ryūhonji sets and less frequently to the Tanzan Shrine set. It is a curious choice to make because a jeweled pagoda typically refers to a specific style of one-storied pagoda characterized by a rounded core and a four-sided roof crowned by a finial. These pagodas are associated with the eleventh chapter of the Lotus Sutra, in which the past Buddha Prabhūtaratna (Jpn. Tahō nyorai; Ch. Duobao rulai) miraculously appears in a flying jeweled pagoda during Śākyamuni’s lecture. Śākyamuni ascends and continues preaching while seated next to Prabhūtaratna, thus establishing the iconography. Practically speaking, a one-storied pagoda would not be sufficient space for the transcription of the sutras. However, the mandalas of Ryūhonji make a clear reference to this moment by featuring the double Buddha imagery, which neither the Chūsonji nor Tanzan Shrine versions do. Possibly, the vision of an opened pagoda with one or two seated Buddhas was a strong enough allusion to this momentous occasion to warrant the jeweled appellation. Another possible explanation is that the central icon of the mandalas can be considered a jeweled pagoda because of the golden luminosity of the text building the body of the reliquary. Pushing this further, these golden apparitions are actually characters, which are in turn dharma relics (the written teachings of the Buddha venerated as sacred relics; Jpn. hōshari; Ch. fa sheli; Skt. dharma śarīra) and therefore precious treasure. For these reasons and because it has become a standard part of modern art historical writing, I continue this nomenclatural practice.

2 Because of the enigmatic circumstances surrounding the mandalas’ histories, chapter 1, “Performance and Iconicity in the Mandalas,” delves first into the materiality of the objects themselves and the dynamic viewing encouraged by such rich surfaces, thereby revealing the perplexing issues treated in the later chapters. In particular, for the first time in scholarship this chapter maps the path of the tran-

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scription to describe explicitly how the textual characters construct the pagoda while observing the order of scripture. A digital humanities project complements this discussion by providing a short animation that tracks the rigorous construction of the central pagoda.17 This cartographic exercise reveals alternative functions for written words that have jettisoned their exegetical purpose, as well as the performative engagement that the paintings require of the viewer. Since the surface is the subject of this chapter, I also consider the process of production for these inventive compositions by looking at what the formal components can tell us individually and collectively. By deciphering the extensive planning necessary to create the jeweled pagoda mandalas through a close visual analysis of the surface, I reflect on the importance of unseen ephemera, such as preparatory studies and grooved tracks sketching the path of the transcription that are nearly invisible to the eye. The practicalities of construction, including the order of assembly, the number of hands involved, and the distribution of work, all relate back to the investment of wealth, time, and labor for such large-scale projects. The paintings also require an examination of the negotiations and interactions between text and image on a surface where conventional functions are overturned. These role reversals provide the basis for the perlocutionary acts required by the mandalas. The jeweled pagoda mandalas’ surface comes with viewing prescriptions: unpacking the function of the written word within them discloses the wide range of textual occupations in the medieval period, a crucial theme pursued throughout the book. To better understand these elusive mandalas, we will also need some historical traction. Therefore chapter 2, “Historical Context of the Mandalas,” traces the paintings’ history. It speculates on the patronage and production dates of the thirty-one extant paintings by examining epigraphic evidence, textual records associated with the temples, contemporary contextual clues, and styles of brushwork and compositional technique. I investigate the contemporary circumstances of Hiraizumi that might have contributed to the production of the Chūsonji set and link the paintings to Fujiwara no Hidehira’s (1122–87) ambitious proclamation of divine authority. Based on inscriptions on the paintings, this chapter proposes that the Tanzan Shrine version was commissioned as a commemorative project dedicated to the founding of a nearby temple known as Shigaiji, established in honor of the eccentric Tendai monk, Zōga (917–1003). Least is known about the Ryūhonji set; however, using formal analysis, I date the paintings to the early thirteenth century. Examining the inscriptions on the back of the mandalas ties them to Hōryūji and later to Ryūhonji and speaks to their seventeenth-century entanglement with prominent samurai

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families and women devotees of the Nichiren school of Buddhism. Through this examination, the chapter uncovers the private purposes of these monumental commissions of Buddhist art, from paintings that serve as confessions revealing the hopes and anxieties of the ruling elite, to votive commemorations marking a mortuary temple’s founding, to the desire of a seventeenth-century Nichiren laywoman and her samurai family to be permanently linked to the objects. Building from the previous discussion’s attempt to locate the paintings in time and space, chapter 3, “Medieval Textual Images,” goes beyond the individual histories of the sets to construct the intertextual community of the jeweled pagoda mandalas by considering their continental prototypes and the artistic climate surrounding contemporary Japanese sutra copying practices. I begin by tracing the mandalas’ roots to tenth-century Chinese transcriptions discovered at Dunhuang. The practice of transcribing scripture into the form of a pagoda continued in China, as recorded in the dynastic catalogues. Perhaps through printed versions this singular type of sutra copying entered Korea and Japan. Once again the ephemeral character of the printed medium prevents greater specificity. During the eleventh through thirteenth centuries the culture of sutra copying manifested a drive toward novelty, as demonstrated by the artistic innovations seen in decorated sutras. The structural divide between word and image, which assigns picture to the frontispiece of the scroll and text to its subsequent lengths, began to break down at this time. An examination of early medieval documents reveals a corresponding increase in elaborate and intense copying practices in this period. This trend manifested itself in terms of quantity, for example, in group and individual projects transcribing the entire Buddhist canon, in the accelerated pace of sutra transcriptions, in the practice of repeated genuflection while copying, and in the incorporation of alternative media, such as transcriptions on stone, tiles, and with blood. These investigations into the origins and contemporary context of sutra copying show that, despite their wholly unusual use of text, the paintings did not materialize mysteriously. Rather, the jeweled pagoda mandalas mark the apex of a much larger system of sutra transcription that trended toward artistic, innovative, and even extreme copying practices. In their role as sutra transcriptions, the mandalas manifest a profound belief in the potency of the sacred word. At the time of their creation, devotees sought various and layered means of eliciting the power within sacred text, often showing little interest in discursive readings of scripture. To reveal this intriguing dynamic, chapter 4, “Dharma Relics in Medieval Japan,” argues that nonhermeneutical manipulations of text accessed the power of the sutra, opening up vast stores of

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merit and rewards. Numerous scriptural proclamations justify this assertion, and this chapter presents a selection of some of the more convincing sources related to the jeweled pagoda mandalas. Because doctrinal decrees do not necessarily indicate monastic and lay absorption, I also cite a variety of contemporary sources, such as setsuwa (a genre of collated anecdotes often Buddhist inflected and didactic in nature) and ecclesiastical commentaries that characterize the sacred word as endowed with an active, salvific force. Due to the elusive history of the mandalas, the chapter does not attempt to capture a specific Buddhist school’s perspective on dharma relics; rather, it examines a range of sources—doctrinal, literary, and commentarial—to get a sense of the general attitude toward the power that resides within the sacred word and its connection to the body of the Buddha. Moving beyond textual accounts, I then analyze the deployment of this belief in the religious practices of sutra copying, including the burial of sacred text, in the visual treatment of the sacred characters in scriptural art, and in copying in accordance with ritual prescriptions. The chapter maintains that the jeweled pagoda mandalas embody the great reverence for and need to manifest the beneficence of scripture, thus fostering a karmic connection with this repository of power. Chapter 5, “Buddhist Reliquaries and Somatic Profusions,” pushes the analysis of the mandalas’ bodily connotations further by addressing the choice of the pagoda shape for the textual icon and revealing this selection to be inextricably connected to Buddha body theory. Doctrinal assertions claiming reliquaries to be emanations of the body of the post-parinirvāṇa Buddha in the form of the dharmakāya (dharma body; Jpn. hōshin, Ch. fashen) are corroborated by religious practices that also treat the pagoda as the body of the Buddha. The chapter explicates the long history of this association stretching back to early Pāli sources and Indian art, while also locating its manifestation in medieval Japan. The identification of the pagoda as the soteriologically charged architectural body of the Buddha, a structure housing other bodies of the Buddha in the form of living relics, explains the importance of the monument as the central icon of the mandalas. This discussion then investigates the prophylactic power possible in pagoda constructions, including the ability to appease the war dead and grant safe childbirth. The mandalas present a karmic confluence of the bodies of the Buddha, from written word and somatically imbued architecture to the anthropomorphically painted Buddhas enshrined within the pagoda. After these performative, historical, intertextual, and relic and reliquarial explorations, the conclusion, “Creating a Salvific Matrix of Text and Body,” returns to the theme of performativity to explore how the movements dictated by the surface

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encourage viewers to experientially constitute the resolution and dissolution of the various instantiations of the Buddha body into one. That is, the act of examining the jeweled pagoda mandalas is a crucial part of their expressive creation of somatic visualization, precisely because viewers must negotiate the opening and closing of space between themselves and the surface, a move that blurs distinctions of word and image but also relic and reliquary. Building on the arguments made throughout that scripture and pagoda embody soteriological potential, this chapter offers a final reading of the mandalas as the visual nexus of a somatic and textual matrix that reveals the indivisibility of scripture, dharma, body, relic, and pagoda. Each seemingly independent manifestation deconstructs to divulge an underlying identification with body. In this way, the mandalas present a complex reckoning, a visual treatise on the conceptual potentialities of text and body that expounds the fluidity with which they interacted in medieval Japan.

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Performance and Iconicity in the Jeweled Pagoda Mandalas

T

his chapter is about the superficial. It is about the craft and design essential to the creation of elaborate textual images whose central icon is a reliquary composed almost entirely of scriptural characters. Most importantly, it is about how the very production of the surface invites a certain level of engagement from its viewers. The recent revival of attention to art’s surface rejoices in the sometimes beautiful and nearly always compelling artistic qualities of the object; it asks not only what it takes to engage the surface, but also how such encounters complicate the putatively straightforward activity of viewing. Moreover, because of the lacunae in the records concerning the jeweled pagoda mandalas’ patronage, potential ritualistic function, and transferal history between temples and shrines, the paintings are well suited for a methodology that finds meaning in the surface. And it is because of these holes in our understanding of their historical circumstances that I begin the book with an analysis that proceeds from the objects’ materiality and the dynamic viewing encouraged by such rich surfaces, thereby gradually uncovering the puzzles that will continue to unravel in the coming chapters. Approaching the jeweled pagoda mandalas from this point of view expands our thinking about the demands of viewing as the progenitor of meaning. These complexities of collaboration between word and picture require a performative viewing on the part of the audience that exposes two fundamental juxtapositions tackled in this chapter: accessibility and alegibility,1 and visibility and invisibility. For it is only once the scripture becomes invisible as text that the visual gestalt resolves. Decoded through experiential engagement, the ultimate indivisibility of word and picture, sutra and pagoda, and relic and reliquary is apprehended — 21 —

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as a profound visualization of the multiplicity of the Buddha body, an interpretation explored further in later chapters.

Diagramming the Pagoda Due to the painting’s excellent preservation and clear transcription, the first fascicle of the Ryūhonji set (fig. I.3) is a fitting starting point to explore in depth the nature of the pagoda’s inventive transcription. Despite notable differences, the textual icon of Ryūhonji shares many architectural and transcriptive characteristics with those of the other two sets. Both Ryūhonji and Chūsonji (fig. I.5) ground their pagodas with solid foundations and stairs that flare out to the right and left at the bottom of the dais, whereas the Tanzan Shrine version (fig. I.4) omits these architectural details. Ryūhonji’s pagoda depicts steps leading up to the platform enclosed by a low banister. The stairs read as plausible steps, achieving visual closure through tightly packed, horizontally oriented characters forming parallel and consistent lines, thus presenting the reliquary as an accessible monument. Chūsonji’s steps are composed of evenly dispersed, vertically oriented characters whose wide horizontal spacing prevents their appearance as a viable pathway. And unlike the other two sets, Ryūhonji’s golden reliquary does not rest on a lotus pedestal. Growing out of thinly washed swaths of golden land on the edge of a silver sea,2 the pagoda of the Ryūhonji mandalas provides a balanced fulcrum around which the narrative vignettes are arranged. It also reads as more transitory, for even though the key architectural features are represented and the pagoda itself is gently grounded, at several points the blue sea of silver-tipped waves is visible through the reliquary. The bright blue ocean glimmers through the supposedly solid architecture of the exterior wall panels flanking the door of the reliquary, causing the viewer to acknowledge the idiosyncrasies of a pagoda constructed by textual characters. Inside the structure, two Buddhas identical in appearance sit side by side. This scene would be instantly recognizable as the common iconography of Śākyamuni and Prabhūtaratna from the “Apparition of the Jeweled Stupa” chapter of the Lotus Sutra in which Prabhūtaratna appears in a glorious pagoda while Śākyamuni preaches the sutra, in another metareference to the scripture.3 But without intimate knowledge of the design, the exact choreography of the transcription of text into pagoda can seem impenetrable. Where does one start? Because such an account has yet to be undertaken in either Japanese or English, I provide a description of the exacting construction of the reliquary by mapping the textual pagoda of Ryūhonji’s first fascicle.4 Excluding minor differences, the — 22 —

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structure of transcription is markedly consistent across all three sets. However, for readers who would rather witness the process in animation and skip the next few pages of detailed description, the associated digital project maps the sequential transcription of word into architecture.5 Diagramming the pagoda underscores the inherent performativity of the design and its effects on the spectator. Experiencing the textual acrobatics encourages an experiential viewing and sparks contemplation of the utter indivisibility of word and picture from which the paintings make their ultimate statement of signification. From the start, the copyists privilege the accuracy of the pagoda’s shape and inclusion of fundamental architectural components over the legibility of the scriptural characters. And even though the transcription proceeds in sequential order and adheres to key copying conventions, such as writing from top to bottom and right to left, reading the characters presents multiple challenges. The very first character at the top of the finial seems a logical place to begin the elaborate process of writing the textual pagoda (fig. I.1). The reliquary opens with the title of the sutra. But rather than form the topmost accent of the finial known as the crowning jewel (hōju), the text flows vertically down its long spine. The title of the chapter and then the chapter itself follow these introductory characters. At the simple flower base upon which the upper structure rests (ukebana), the text then jumps back to the crowning jewel and completes the right side of the hemisphere followed by the left. The round detail (ryūsha) just below is also written using the same method. The characters fall in gentle arcs moving from right to left to form the metal decoration (suien) affixed to the exposed central pillar. The text then switches alignment— horizontally oriented characters move from left to right, writing the nine metal rings (kurin) attached to the central pillar and completing the top line of the hemisphere first. In another directional twist, the simple flower base begins with the left petals, top line written first, followed by the base line and the right petals. Completing the right side of the downward-facing arches, the script continues in a strictly leftward movement, radiating from the interior out to craft the inverted bowl (fukubachi), which acts as a support for the flower base. Finally, the transcription of the dew basin (roban) maintaining the entire finial begins with the short left side of the rectangle, at which point the line of text writing the top of the rectangle flips onto its side and moves toward the right. The middle and bottom lines continue this trajectory, and the rectangle concludes with a vertical realignment of the characters composing the short right side. From this point, the nine floors follow a predictable pattern (fig. 1.1). A horizontal stretch of characters flowing toward the right and oriented on their sides scripts the roofline of each floor. The transcription then continues with the two flaring — 23 —

Fig. 1.1 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. I.3), thirteenth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Ryūhonji, Kyoto. Photograph courtesy of Kyoto National Museum.

Fig. 1.2 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. I.3), thirteenth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Ryūhonji, Kyoto. Photograph courtesy of Kyoto National Museum.

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lines making up the top of the eave as they extend from the right side of the body of the pagoda. From here a multitude of possible paths opens up and challenges the intrepid reader to rediscover the trail and thereby regain semantic footing. Dangling out into the blue of the background, the first tile of the roof appears in the narrowest point of the right eave—just room enough to fit one character. In the gradually widening space, vertical lines of text tile the roof from right to left until it concludes with the last, solitary character in the small space in the left eave. The sutra continues with the two curving lines forming the top of that extended eave. The direction inverts and the bottom line completes the next sequence of text followed by the top line. Switching from the horizontal script angled onto its right side at the tip of the flare, the reoriented text compels the reader to physically turn their head to continue to read the bottom line, which this time has shifted to its left side and runs the length of the roof. While following the text, the venturous reader continually experiences location and dis-location, as exemplified by the point at which they are swept from the pagoda by a dangling line of text gathered in the corners of the eaves. The three tail rafters (odaruki) on the right side below each of the roofs reconnect the viewer with the next sequence, moving from inner reliquary to outer. What would normally have jutted out at the reader from this frontal perspective instead flattens out. Rather than forcing a difficult foreshortening, this strategy instead enhances the compression of the pagoda’s structural attributes. The seemingly random relocation of text can be understood by the directionality of the tail rafters to the right—to move strictly from right to left would be to work against the inherent movement of the architecture. From the tail rafters, the text writes the bells ( fūtaku) hanging from the edge of the eaves, including the clapper ( fūshō), adding an imaginative sonorous dimension to the visual. The next string of scripture again relocates to a somewhat surprising position, as the reader must leap over already transcribed sections in order to reconnect with the text at the brackets on the right side. The architecturally accurate three-on-one bracket system (mitsudo tokyō) supporting the roof structure features the fundamental components of the large bearing block (daito) upon which the bracket arm (hijiki) rests with the three smaller bearing blocks atop the bracket arm (makito). At multiple points in constructing the brackets, single characters stand alone in order to function as architectural design rather than part of a sequence of text. The transcription continues across the breadth of the pagoda body, to the three tail rafters sweeping to the left and on their sides, and finally to the scripted bell waiting to sound. Immediately below, a horizontal beam running the width

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of the reliquary rejoins the sequence with the text turned onto its right side. From here, the scripture jumps down to the next horizontal beam. From the end of this second stabilizing beam, the brackets are written from right to left, followed by the short, dual pillars underneath them, which again move from right to left. Upon reaching the pagoda’s first floor where the two Buddhas sit in golden splendor, several of these patterns continue (fig. 1.2). Because of this repetition, as well as the fact that many lines of text populate this section of the pagoda, I describe the general activity and note the directional switches to give an overall feel for the conclusion of the scripture. After the completion of the roof and the pillars on the right side of the reliquary, the transcription jumps to the open right door, first writing the short, diagonal line marking the top and then continuing with the line joined at its end to form the door’s outer edge. The rest of the door, which consists of three lines of text, then concludes with an additional bottom diagonal line. Moving right to left, the two sets of central pillars are written and the left door reached. The sequential order differs, however, when compared to the writing of the right door. After scripting the first three lines of the interior, the repetition breaks and the downward-slanting top edge of the door precedes the exterior fourth line. Afterward, the short bottom line completes the door. The remaining vertical pillars on the left, followed by the horizontal lines written in broken sections across the breadth of the pagoda, complete the first floor. Horizontal text moving from left to right and top to bottom composes the top rail (hokogi), middle rail (hirageta), and bottom rail ( jifuku) of the balustrade (kōran) on the right. The short, vertical struts (tsuka) stationed between the railings radiate out from the corner post, and having joined with the railing on the right side of the stairs, the three rails of text flow downward in a gentle curve, depositing the reader at the most exterior point of the pagoda. From this position, the only way to proceed is up, folding back into the realm of the reliquary. The two newels (oyabashira) at the end of the railing are next in the sequence, and their design is particularly elegant. The jewel-shaped decoration (gibōshi) adorning the top of the newels is written as one with its support. Divided vertically into hemispherical halves (a division made visible only by reading the jewel), the text writes the short right half followed by the left, which connects first with the jewel’s one-character base and then the right side of the newel, in effect drawing a graceful S-like line. After finishing the left side of the newel, the pattern repeats for the next jewel-topped post. Maintaining this ascension, the struts move upward along the steps until the beginning of the railing is again reached. From this point, the text leaps the stairs to compose the left side of the platform. The sequence begins with the intuitively appropriate frontal railing; however, the

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conventional order reverses, writing the text from bottom rail to top. Additionally, rather than proceed to the side railing as established by the right side, the text moves to compose the railing descending the stairs, again bottom rail first. Next, the struts continue the downward movement of the design, writing the newels and crowning jewels last. The bottom newel scripted, the reader seems to have exited the pagoda only to find that the transcription continues with the struts along the frontal railing, moving from right to left. From bottom to top, the text writes the side railing and then its vertical struts. After composing the top step and beam directly beneath the railing on the right with horizontal characters tipped onto their sides, the characters revert to the standard, vertical position and transcribe the fifteen lines filling in the body of the platform on the right side, moving left and over the steps to finish the rest of the platform’s sixteen lines. The text then returns to the steps, scripting the descent along with the final two horizontal beams making up the bottom of the platform on both sides. Here the designer of the textual reliquary appears to compensate for the shortness of the two chapters composing this pagoda by repeating passages from the end of the chapter to finish the bottom few steps. At last, the long, twisting journey from the peak of the finial to the final step of the pagoda concludes with the closing words of chapter 2 and the title of the revered scripture and the volume number, perhaps to the surprise of the copyist. Despite careful design and precise execution, including that of planned repetition to complete the pagoda, the last few characters providing the volume information refused to be squeezed onto the final step. Rather than omit them, the copyist dangles them directly below. Throughout the copying of the pagoda, characters are repeatedly written on their sides, forced into contortions to fit small spaces, and appear as solitary components dissociated from the characteristics of a coherent text. Perhaps most challenging are the abrupt directionality switches and leaps about the pagoda to different architectural spots, making it difficult to discover the next string of scripture. Any viewer who chose to encounter the mandalas on such a detailed and intimate level would most likely have been motivated by a curiosity to solve the word puzzle. And by diagramming these maneuvers, it becomes clear that the audience of the jeweled pagoda mandalas was not intended to read large sections of the scripture for content. Confronting the very un-text-like nature of this highly textual composition obliges us to consider the type of viewing dictated by such a creative design, along with alternative interpretations of the function of scripture in this context and what that can reveal about a text’s medieval condition.

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The Process of Production Because the subject of this chapter is the surface, its production and performative requirements, it is fruitful to consider the role of a head priest who would have been in charge of project design. An undertaking of such novel conception and vast scale likely required a person with ecclesiastical knowledge and artistic vision to spearhead it conceptually and practically; these attributes point to the unseen hand of a priest with the necessary doctrinal training and acquaintance with religious art forms. The role of such a priest goes either undocumented in primary sources or the accounts no longer survive. So although extant textual evidence cannot corroborate this speculation, the practicalities of production demand its consideration. This approach shifts the emphasis to the mechanics of manufacturing the jeweled pagoda mandalas and foregrounds the initial production of the performative relationship between the surface and the designer, copyist, and audience. The persons responsible for the design of the jeweled pagoda mandalas were most likely aware of Chinese prototypes in the form of circulated prints of textual pagodas made with paper and ink, which have not survived in Japan to testify to their influence. However, the addition of the narratives seems to be a uniquely Japanese creation. Certainly in the case of the jeweled pagoda mandalas, extensive planning would have been critical, not only in the selection of narrative vignettes but especially in the dramatic transcription of the sutra into a pagoda. Sketches mapping out the path would have been vital in knowing such things as the appropriate number of lines and the spacing between them, as well as the approximate end of the transcription. Because more than one copyist worked on the sets of eight to ten paintings,6 these sketches likely served as crucial references available for frequent consultation. It should be noted that these sketches did not always ensure perfection. An attempt is made to end each pagoda in the Ryūhonji set with the last characters of the scripture followed by the explanatory attachment indicating the title of the sutra and the volume number. Scrolls one and two end more or less as planned. However, the transcription becomes more complicated after this. Volumes three, five, seven, and eight lack the length required to construct the large reliquary and so verses are attached to the conclusions of the last chapters, to which the sutra titles and volume numbers are then appended. Volume four makes do with an abridged sutra title at the end of the eleventh chapter. Battling the opposite transcription challenge, volume six is too long to fit completely and so the leftover text is omitted and the sutra text concludes with the same formulaic ending.7

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On the other hand, the Chūsonji mandalas are not adjusted so that each scroll finishes at the end of the volume. Sometimes the architectural concluding point is reached before the volume finishes.8 Other times, when the volume closes before the pagoda’s terminal point, the copyist simply continues writing until the architecture is complete, reflecting a much more relaxed copying style compared with the other sets. Overall, these adjustments that do not uphold the accuracy of the text demonstrate the primacy of the pagoda form and reinforce the interpretation that the scripture was not meant to be read in its entirety. Instead, such modifications and pictorial manipulations speak to the wealth of scripture’s functions beyond exegesis. The study of medieval artistic productions must contend with pervasive lacunae in the historical record and the natural loss of ephemera, and it is not surprising that no preliminary sketches have survived. A complicating question is that, whereas the transcription for the original sketch must have required exact adherence to the correct sequence of the text to determine the design, the final execution did not necessarily obey that order if an easier means was found to write the structure. For instance, it seems plausible that the simplest way to copy the roof would be to create the defining edges before filling in the tiles, even though this contradicts the sequence of the sutra. But copying itself is by nature an alegible activity, regardless of the form the final scripture takes. Even when composing conventional sutra scrolls of tidily spaced lines of seventeen characters, writing and reading for content do not go hand in hand. David Lurie created the term alegible to describe the role of the written word beyond its linguistic function. Beginning with the earliest written artifacts in Japan, Lurie observes that rather than characterize inscriptions on imported tomb objects as meaningful because of their linguistic message, we should consider the political and social authority and ceremonial potency the writings convey quite apart from their content, a point especially appropriate when examining the slightly later nonsensical writings carved onto Japanese mirrors. 9 Lurie shows that writing from early Japan and well beyond served purposes other than linguistic communication, and its alegible meanings were often even more important in the context of the writing’s deployment. Instead of asking whether people could or did read these writings, he redirects the question by classifying them as alegible rather than as belonging to the legible/illegible dichotomy, thus focusing on their nonsemantic functions. With this term, Lurie offers a succinct way to describe the multivalency of texts, an issue also explored by scholars like Fabio Rambelli and Ryūichi Abé, as discussed later. My use of the term augments the scholarship around this topic by focusing on

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Buddhist visual culture, and in particular, the way writing functioned in primarily visual contexts. Whereas the activity that produced the jeweled pagoda mandalas is fundamentally the same, they retain the alegibility that originated them. When the characters are viewed individually, they are crisp and clear but as the text was not meant to be read synoptically, this legibility morphs into alegibility within the greater composition. Therefore, simply casting them as illegible reduces the inherent quality of the characters and the overall purpose of the text, which never sought substantive readability. But of course, the priority of calligraphed characters so often concentrated on the pictorial nature of the written word. Considerations such as the individual character’s balance, spacing, form, weight, and hue can even preempt the semantic content.10 In this way, the very appreciation of calligraphy for its aesthetic attributes can cast them as largely alegible too. Lurie describes it thus: “Where calligraphy can be seen as external to the linguistic functioning of writing, these uses of graphs involve internal aesthetic effects.”11 The wealth invested in each set ensured careful preparation and precision of execution to prevent the waste of such precious materials as gold and silver inks and rich indigo dye, which although not uncommon in illuminated sutra transcriptions, nonetheless imparted the mark of material value. Even the paper upon which the transcription was copied was a commodity. Describing the assembly process of the complicated pagoda and its many compositional components indicates the scale of skill, labor, and funding required. Given the demands of such a vast copying project, a traceable pattern based on the preliminary sketches would have ensured consistency of shape and size across all mandalas of a particular set. Close scrutiny of the paintings identifies grooved marks left by an iron stylus that mapped out the complete design of the pagoda’s text on the paper in a noninvasive way, thereby providing the copyists with a path for their brushes.12 These notional preparations demonstrate that the many lines of text composing the pagoda were predetermined, dictating the location of each line of scriptural text before a single character was brushed. Seven pieces of specially-cut paper join together to create the radiant world of the three sets of jeweled pagoda mandalas. The central pagoda is composed of two sheets of paper that meet near the fourth story. The upper sheet reaches all the way to the top border of beautiful brocade flowers. The lower sheet terminates just under the architecture of the pagoda. The sheets are closely cropped to the shape of the reliquary, leaving very little extra space and implying careful planning of the exact form of the pagoda before the dyeing and cutting of the paper. The narrative

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vignettes are divided among five other separate sheets. The bottom sheet spans the width of the mandala beginning again just under the pagoda, with the two sheets for the narrative vignettes joining atop it on the right and left. The slender sheets used for the illustrations bordering the pagoda, two per side, join at that same place near the fourth story. The seams of the sheets carrying the narrative vignettes often coincide with vertical details of landscape and architecture, effectively hiding the intersection of papers, and the vertical rows of characters above the architectural brackets further obscure the seams. The color consistency of the pagoda’s two sheets, made stark by their contrast with the hues often seen with the narrative vignette papers in the Chūsonji and Tanzan Shrine sets, implies that they were dyed at the same time. This observation offers a sense of sequencing in the creation of the mandalas. A formal analysis of the three sets of paintings suggests that the pagoda form was executed first in the process of production. This idea is supported by the entrance of the narrative vignette edges into the space of the pagoda, many times encroaching quite close to the architecture, and thus necessitating that the pagoda be finalized before the surrounding pictures were completed. Unlike the Chūsonji and Ryūhonji versions, where a few waves and edges of vignettes venture between the pagoda’s eaves, the space around the pagoda is compressed in the Tanzan Shrine mandalas. The vignettes as pictorial interlopers leave little negative space, often filling in the areas between the floors. Because of the difficulty of gauging the placement of the narratives that exceed the boundaries of the bordering bands without having already constructed the pagoda, it seems highly likely that the reliquary was completed first and then the sheets containing the vignettes were added. The narrative sections at the top of the mandala, which expanded out into the realm of the reliquary, were finished last, upon the assembly of the papers. It is also possible that the surrounding narratives were not painted until all the papers of the mandala were joined, although this seems unlikely given the extra care such a sequence would require.13 The development and construction of the paintings point to a workshop setting where multiple trained painters of Buddhist subjects and copyists of Buddhist texts executed a consistent style under the direction of a lead priest in charge of design and oversight. Another possible scenario for production can also be considered. Given that sketches mapped the path for transcription and predetermined grooves based on that traced pattern outlined the shape of the pagoda, perhaps the patrons themselves copied the scripture for karmic merit. As multiple sheets of paper were used in the construction of the large mandalas, the patrons could have completed

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the copying portion of the project, after which the narrative vignettes, painted by professional artists, would be attached. Such significant participation from patrons has precedence. The Tale of Flowering Fortunes (Eiga monogatari), an eleventh-century epic story centered on the life and career of the powerful regent, Fujiwara no Michinaga (966–1028), describes an elaborate scene of courtly copying. During a particularly melancholic time in the ninth month of 1021,14 the ladies-in-waiting of Empress Kenshi (994–1027) proposed an ambitious transcription project: each of the attendants, along with close relatives, would produce a sumptuous scroll dedicated to one chapter of the Lotus Sutra,15 thus creating a thirty-volume set composed of the twenty-eight chapters of the Lotus Sutra plus the opening and closing scriptures, the Sutra of Innumerable Meanings,16 and the Contemplation of the Samantabhadra Bodhisattva Sutra.17 This particular style of transcription is known as ipponkyō (each richly decorated scroll is dedicated to a single chapter of the sutra). The resulting scrolls were quite extravagant. Some composed the sutra in gold on a blue background; others incorporated illustrations either above or below the text or as a frontispiece. Most of the scrolls were lavishly decorated with the seven treasures (shippō: gold, silver, agate, lapis lazuli, coral, crystal, and pearl), and the sutra rollers and boxes were bejeweled. Upon learning that a location for the sutra dedication ceremony (kyōkuyō) was sought, Michinaga offered the Amida Hall of his temple, Hōjōji, as a stage for the ritual. The ceremony seems also to have been a lavish affair that included chanters of the sutra title and a lecture praising the ladies and describing their vast rewards. Such opulent services and the elaborate sutra copies embody the longing for paradise through beautification and elaboration of ritual space and sacred word. The scrolls of the Heike nōkyō (fig. 1.3) offer a tantalizing glimpse of what this extravagant project might have resembled. Commissioned in 1164 by Taira no Kiyomori (1118–81) for dedication at Itsukushima Shrine on Miyajima, this elaborate project boasts thirty-three scrolls transcribing multiple sutras. As he notes in the petition scroll, Kiyomori enlisted thirty-two family members and important retainers to compose a scroll each, resulting in one of the most celebrated sutra transcription projects to survive. Packed with opulent decoration, the Heike nōkyō layers gold upon gold with infusions of silver and bright colors. The Kunōjikyō is another scroll that augments its transcription with a preponderance of precious materials.18 Much like those produced in the Tale of Flowering Fortunes, the sumptuous ornamentation of the Kunōjikyō reveals its royal associations, for the scrolls are the product of Emperor Toba (1103–56), Empress Taikenmon’in (1101–45), Empress

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Fig. 1.3 Frontispiece for chapter 23 of the Lotus Sutra, Heike nōkyō, ca. 1164, black ink, gold, silver, and color on paper. Itsukushima Shrine, Miyajima. Photograph courtesy of Benrido, Kyoto.

Bifukumon’in (1117–60), and other aristocrats, dedicated in the twelfth month of 1141. Although these two sets are among the finest of their kind, numerous other examples of scrolls of vibrant colors paired with precious materials survive, many also made using the ipponkyō technique.19 By comparing the writing style of the characters building the pagoda with that of the title and scripture excerpts accompanying the narrative vignettes in the Chūsonji set, Kameda Tsutomu has argued that the writing of the pagoda is of a more professional quality, whereas the texts identifying the pictorial scenes show rougher and more simplistic brushwork.20 From this observation, he suggests the patron brushed the titles and excerpts.21 Ishida Mosaku, however, disagrees with this assessment, finding that the characters of the pagoda share a consistency across the ten mandalas indicating that the massive project was executed by one hand, but not that of a professional.22 However, Kameda’s argument is the most convincing based on a visual analysis of the pagodas and cartouches. The writing

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of the reliquary and of the surrounding cartouches does differ, implying different brushes. Furthermore, it is difficult to imagine that the sizable task of copying the scripture into its complicated shape would be given to only one copyist. Rather, it seems likely that the studio of professional artists at work in Hiraizumi cultivated the consistent style that we see in all ten pagodas. The textual pagodas and cartouches of Tanzan Shrine and Ryūhonji exhibit the styles of multiple hands, suggesting the participation of several people across the projects. Regardless of whether the patrons of the jeweled pagoda mandalas had a direct hand in the transcription of the textual pagodas, the complexity of choreographing approximately 70,000 characters (as is the case with the twenty-eight chapters of the Lotus Sutra) into the shape of a pagoda with little error suggests the unseen hand of a coordinating priest. But apart from the practical considerations of the surface’s production and who exactly brushed these radiant characters, personal and conceptual changes are also at work. As the jeweled pagoda mandalas depart from conventional copying methods, how does this style of transcription alter the copyists’ relationship to the scripture itself? How does the copyist respond to a re-encounter with a section of text previously shaped into a finial or spread out to form an eave bracket? For the viewer of the mandalas, the relationship to the text is complicated by its graphic manipulation. Because few would have been shown the road map of the pagoda or granted the quantity of time needed to discover it on their own, the complex assemblage of characters allows viewers to experience the sutra in their own highly personal ways. Moreover, there is an internalization effect possible with the paintings. Writing, chanting, and reading the sacred word has the potential to create a body of text within the participant.23 Performing text through pious engagement dissolves barriers between the external manifestation of text and its private and internal absorption. The spectator mirrors the scriptural reliquary, rendering seeing as becoming, because reading even small sections of the text in the shape of a pagoda and hearing the text in one’s mind through personal oral or even silent recitation constructs a parallel Buddha body within the viewer. Performing the sacred word realizes the potential for conflation through contact and memorization and fulfills the promise of lasting good karmic benefits, made profusely in the scriptures.

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Role Reversals of Text and Image The jeweled pagoda mandalas are the vanguard of innovative text and image interactions by challenging the conventional functions associated with their constituent parts through deliberate role reversals of word and picture. As demonstrated in the earlier diagramming of the pagoda, the sutra text relinquishes its discursive properties. The vignettes must now assume the role of transmitting content through pictorial visualizations of the scripture’s didactic episodes. They are, however, assisted by cartouches that do not participate in the role reversals at work in the sutra transcriptions.24 These cartouches offer a clear instance of highly legible writing intended to be read for content in a painting known for its iconic manifestation of text. For instance in the Ryūhonji scrolls, the cartouches are mostly brief quotations from the Lotus Sutra corresponding to the associated narrative vignette. Given the sporadic assemblage of the encircling pictures that prevents an easy, sequential trail, cartouches served as helpful signposts, and most scenes are accompanied by one, although not all are. At their most minimal, only a few words are written. Given their abbreviated nature, the cartouches likely worked in tandem with the vignettes in the communication of content, serving as reminders rather than bearing the weight of full narrative expression.25 Many of the scenes depict pre-established iconography, and the medieval viewer would perhaps recognize their content, especially after initiation by a priest. For the vignettes unknown to the viewer, cartouches might give just enough to jog the recollection of the story. As an example of how the narrative vignettes might have been read, I analyze a few episodes from the twenty-third chapter of the Lotus Sutra, “Former Affairs of the Bodhisattva Medicine King,” in the seventh scroll of the Ryūhonji set (fig. 1.4). The beginning of the chapter is not illustrated, but I summarize it here as character background for the key figure, the Medicine King Bodhisattva (Jpn. Yakuō bosatsu; Ch. Yaowang pusa; Skt. Bhaiṣajyarāja bodhisattva). The synopsis also highlights two further points about reading pictures. First, it serves as an example of the type of information the audience would either bring to the viewing or do without. And second, it illustrates the designer’s distillation of the story to the most important scenes necessary to convey the key message, which in this case is the celebration and rewards of sacrifice engendered by love for the Lotus Sutra. The chapter opens by describing the Medicine King Bodhisattva’s extraordinary devotion to the scripture and his promise to commit self-immolation in gratification.26 The Buddha reconstitutes the Bodhisattva, who immediately appears before the Buddha, bowing in obeisance and offering prayers. The Buddha informs this pious

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Fig. 1.4 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 7 of the Lotus Sutra, thirteenth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Ryūhonji, Kyoto. Photograph courtesy of Kyoto National Museum.

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disciple of his decision to enter parinirvāṇa, the physical death of the body and the passage into nirvāṇa, that same night. The scene of parinirvāṇa is found in the lower left corner of the mandala (fig. 1.5); this episode illustrates the Buddha lying prone on a raised dais, surrounded and worshiped by his disciples, heavenly deities, and mythical animals. The vignette above the parinirvāṇa scene is a depiction of the Buddha’s instructions to the Medicine King Bodhisattva to build 84,000 reliquaries for the dissemination of his relics: “After my passage into extinction, whatever śarīra [corporeal relics] there may be I entrust to you also. You are to spread them about and broadly arrange for offerings to them. You are to erect several thousand stūpas.”27 The next episode directly above describes the creation of corporeal relics: the cremation of the Buddha on the funeral pyre. Along the right side of the mandala and in the middle of the long, narrow band of pictorial illustrations, two more episodes detailing the past life of the Medicine King Bodhisattva are found. After completing his task, the bodhisattva offers his forearms to the fire because he remains unsatisfied by his donation of the reliquaries. Figure 1.6 illustrates the Medicine King Bodhisattva extending his forearms engulfed in flames toward three pagodas in a passionate gift of his body.28 Below this scene, in the final illustration from the twenty-third chapter, viewers find the recently immolated deity seated in the lotus position, moments after his offering has been made and slender wisps of smoke trail from his truncated arms, as worshipers gather round his figure. The role assumed by these vignettes is not unlike that of other Buddhist visual narratives. But in a context where narrative text is included, it is unusual that so much of the task of telling the story falls to the visual depiction alone. Thus, to encounter the many parables and episodes within the scripture, the design compels the viewer to confront the Lotus Sutra tales, not through discursive textual examination, but visually, by decoding the system of signs at work, many of which refer to the particular tale and others that refer beyond it—in effect by reading the pictures and expanding upon their content. Immensely popular stories like that of the Medicine King Bodhisattva lend themselves easily to such engagements. In this way, image in the form of pictorial vignettes assumes the role of visual text. Despite the responsibility placed on the narratives to communicate the content of the scriptures, it should also be noted that this reading is most likely microcosmic; rather than performing on a macro-level that engages each narrative on a particular mandala in a continuous and sequential assessment, the vignettes are pieced together to form the stories spanning multiple chapters of the scripture.

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Left: Fig. 1.5 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 7 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 1.4), thirteenth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Ryūhonji, Kyoto. Photograph courtesy of Kyoto National Museum.

Above: Fig. 1.6 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 7 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 1.4), thirteenth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Ryūhonji, Kyoto. Photograph courtesy of Kyoto National Museum.

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The chaotic assembly of the Tanzan Shrine and Ryūhonji pictures and the sheer disconnect among many of the Chūsonji vignettes from the Golden Light Sutra support the idea that reading the narratives chronologically, from scene to scene and chapter to chapter, is not their main purpose. Instead, much like the jettisoning of exegetical function by text in the scripted pagoda, the narratives might instead be understood to function as a whole, across each set of eight to ten paintings, as a projection of the Buddha through the stories of the sutra. Taken together, the pagoda manifests the Buddha through his word and the pictures through their graphic portrayal of the scriptural content, rendering a complex composition of two sides of the iconicity coin where the parts are stripped of their traditional function and redeployed to project the visual possibilities of somaticity. The next chapter further explores the details of the narratives for each of the three sets, pointing out opportunities to unravel their scriptural stories but also demonstrating the impracticality of doing so beyond a few scenes. This method of engagement relates closely to the possibilities for reading the text of the pagoda; both are limited in scope—the text by its diminutiveness and graphic manipulation and the narratives by their haphazard arrangement and, at times, by their utter detachment from the tales of the sutra. There is also the image in the form of the pagoda as imagined through actual text. From a distance, the pagoda succeeds in becoming that picture, rendering the jeweled pagoda mandala a composite of word and picture role reversals. This perspective is fleeting and inevitably ruptured once the viewer draws closer, for this is no normal text. The alegible text is in fact utterly legible, character by character. But the sutra jettisons its expository role by virtue of the incredibly small size of the characters and its structural manipulation into a visual image. The text continues in order, and the copyists take care to avoid transcription errors, which when they occur usually amount to little more than an added or missed character.29 Additionally, when choreographing the pagoda’s construction, characters combined to form words are separated, undercutting their semantic function. The choice to downplay the ease of reading by separating these compound characters—despite the copyists’ freedom to extend the line and maintain the integrity of the word—is not born of a concern for the exact symmetry of the pagoda, because mirrored lines do not necessarily contain the same number of characters. Thus, even though text is sequentially connected, is copied with few errors, and retains its legibility in a fashion, reading the scripture for content becomes unfeasible. No longer for discursive analysis, text instead becomes an artistic device and an emblem of redemptive and soteriological power.

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The mandalas manifest a further transformation of text: the intensification of the visual properties of the word. The scripture of the written reliquary experiences a reversal of the conventional role of text transcending that of typical sutra copies: the textual pagoda becomes graphic image in function and appearance. The jeweled pagoda mandala format is a discovery of text, both in the pagoda and in the narrative vignettes, because nothing remains what it seems: word is picture and picture is word. Thus, text and image experience a role reversal of their conventional functions. As Mimi Yiengpruksawan asserts, “doctrine and image at once reinforce and subvert one another, and . . . the friction so generated enriches readings of all Buddhist objects be they words or pictures.”30 As such, it is possible to interpret the role reversal evinced in the jeweled pagoda mandalas as a subversion of text by image and vice versa. The mandalas expose the intertwined roles of two previously distinct media, creating a vacillating, surreptitious relationship between written word and pictorial image. When the combined visual effects of the boundary-pushing mandalas are considered, we realize the full consequence of the reversals occurring and reoccurring in a single painting and the rarity of this sort of combinatory composition.

Viewing as Performance Exploring the mechanics of viewing the mandalas’ surface, that is, the operations performed by the audience as impelled by the design, uncovers the paintings’ inherent performativity, providing the viewer with the opportunity to experientially encounter the multiplicity of the Buddha’s body. In the context of Japanese Buddhist art, such an exploration must contend with the issue of hidden objects. Even if the viewership is restricted to the artisans who made these works and their patrons with a small circle of intimates, this exclusive audience does not negate the visuality of the objects. As discussed in more length in the next chapter, at the time of their production, the likely audience for these objects would have been the clergy of Hōryūji and Shigaiji (if indeed these were the original temple homes for the Ryūhonji and Tanzan Shrine sets) and members of the Ōshū Fujiwara family and clergy of Chūsonji. Since the display history of the mandalas is nonexistent, the frequency with which they were seen is unclear. In the cultural context of premodern Japan, limited access was the standard and precious works of exquisite production were rarely seen. Indeed, an inscription on the back of the Ryūhonji mandalas asserts that the preeminence of the paintings requires their careful storage and protection from view (fig. 2.34).

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Yet this does not diminish the intentionality of the design by the hypothesized priest spearheading the extensive project and the meaning thus extrapolated, nor does it lessen the careful craftsmanship and the performativity the surface compels. Because of their overall size31 and combinations of textuality and encircling narrative vignettes, the jeweled pagoda mandalas dictate a performance on the part of the viewer. Originally produced either as hanging scrolls or as panels of a folding screen, the paintings were possibly deployed in their entirety for important occasions. Once unfurled, the large sets of eight or ten paintings would dominate a room in sumptuous suffusions of blue, gold, and silver, and in the case of Chūsonji, vibrant reds, oranges, and greens as well. From a distance, the viewer does not register the pagoda’s profound textuality. But these paintings pack a hidden punch. What appears from afar as inert or slightly blurred linework constructing the image of a pagoda deconstructs upon closer examination, vitiating the solidity and continuity of our initial perception. Indeed, the indistinct quality hints to the spectator of something more, beckoning them close. With this greater intimacy, the icon reveals itself to be both pagoda and sutra. The disaggregation of the shape into textual characters from the scriptures occurs in multiple steps, announcing the inherent dynamism of the mandala. An overall transformation occurs during the initial approach, when line dissolves into tiny, individualized characters forming the body of the pagoda, establishing that this central icon is in fact a textual reliquary erected of dharma. Upon more intimate inspection, the dynamic arrangement and twisting movements of the characters emerge as the eye attempts to trace a line of text, stumbling upon characters that flip and turn and dangle over deep blue space. It is at this point that the pagoda relinquishes much of its pictorial quality and becomes instead lines of character stacked upon character: an emergent text. In an oscillating, fluid, and wholly inventive transformation, the image of the pagoda upon close scrutiny dissolves into text; when distance is established, it reemerges as picture. With paintings of such elaborate and interconnected word and image forms, the audience must negotiate their viewing experience. Claude Gandelman offers interesting observations on the function of text within paintings: “Inscriptions can also be said to represent the ‘performative’ aspect of the work of art in the literal meaning of this word; that is they are used to direct the gaze of the observer to specific spots within the painting and are part of the manipulative strategy of the painter.”32 Working from the theories of J. L. Austin,33 Gandelman describes a form of kinetic subversion, meaning that the inscriptions cause a perlocutionary effect, which forces the viewer to perform some action or confront the paintings in a

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prescribed way.34 Text in the jeweled pagoda mandalas is much more than inscription. It dominates picture in a new way, thereby requiring something different from the viewer. The particular production of the surface induces a performance on the part of the audience because seeing and reading the visual complexity of the textual image requires an exchange of vantage points. The bodily mechanics involved in experiencing the paintings manifest as delving into text and zooming out to pagoda and are enacted by the participant’s body.35 As an architextual icon, the indivisibility of word and picture forces the viewer to both see the pictorial pagoda and nonsynoptically read its textuality. This particular type of reading is born of a curiosity that acknowledges the presence of the text and apprehends the meaning of a few characters or lines, but does not reach a holistic comprehension. However, the simultaneous vision of the whole of both is precluded by their very conflation. Seeing the entirety of the reliquary requires a distance that excludes the ability to read the sutra.36 From the vantage point of several paces from the painting, the pagoda stands, nine floors complete with brackets and bells. Only in stepping closer and leaning in does the audience recognize that text is building the pagoda, at which point it is impossible to appraise the pagoda as a whole. This interchange of distance and proximity performed in viewing the paintings suggests a fluidity between seeing and reading. Through the performance of the viewer’s body, the ability to fluctuate between the two realms eventually blurs the distinction between them. The performativity dictated by the mandalas engenders a rare viewing experience, although not completely unique. For example, the description of the Buddha’s miraculous presence and optical illusionism in the legendary Shadow Cave offers a comparable visual experience. According to the lore, Śākyamuni entered the grotto home of a subdued dragon king and leapt into the cave’s wall while continuing to project his image. But because “only those who looked from afar could see him, for close by he was invisible,”37 seeing the shade depicted in Chinese murals that attempted to replicate the shadow required a bodily negotiation between the material surface of the painting and the illusionistic depth engendered only by distance. Thus, similar openings and closings of space between viewer and image are encouraged by the surface of the mural. Whereas reading even a brief portion of the jeweled pagoda mandalas’ text is optional, the requirements resulting from that choice are not. Subtler movements are obligatory; heads tilt sharply from right to left while attempting to read sections of the text in which the axis flips horizontally, as occurs in all horizontal supporting beams, portions of the platform and railings, and other architectural details. The text itself cannot be reoriented and read, so the viewer must renegotiate their position

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before the painting. Even after establishing a closeness to the surface, the tiny text might still invite the urge to squint in hopes of sharpening the brushstrokes of the characters and summoning forth greater legibility. From this intimate perspective, the viewer might mouth the words while reading a line of text, thus acknowledging the interior voice marking the orality ever-present in the text’s materiality.38 Given these bodily demands, reading as such would have been limited. The paintings’ very format provokes these subconscious and conscious bodily acts on the observer’s part. In this way, the macro- and micro-motions transcend mere movement. Though they are innately flexible and accommodate an individualized approach unbound by a specific sequence, the movements are nonetheless the result of the surface’s perlocutionary effect, marking it as a performance. Two perplexing juxtapositions operate at the heart of this transcription style. The first is the alegibility of textual characters. Despite being clearly written, the characters are persistently challenging to read for two main reasons. First, the viewer’s physical distance from the painting obscures the textuality of the pagoda: distance elides distinction. The second reason is that it is a necessary outgrowth of the format. As demonstrated in the section diagramming the arrangement of the text as it builds the pagoda, the unpredictability of a sequence that jumps around to unconnected parts of the architecture prevents any easy or direct reading. Characters flip their axes of alignment, hang from roof eaves, and jump over large areas so that the sutra text can be formed into a complicated shape. Combined with the minuteness of the characters themselves and regardless of how discernable the individual characters may be upon close scrutiny, this basic feature makes the scripture exceedingly difficult to read. The second, elegant juxtaposition is that, in the jeweled pagoda mandalas, the invisible constructs the visible. The alegibility of the text is a necessary condition for the visual gestalt to resolve. The vision of the pagoda depends on the invisibility of the very properties of text that we associate with its function as an object to be read, mainly, the legibility of words and their amenability to semantic interpretation. This erasure of function is the very creative force that erects the reliquary. The text rendered invisible from a distance manifests not only a vision of a pagoda, but a highly legible and architecturally accurate reliquary composed of alegible script. Indeed, the text itself remains inaccessible in its projection of the tower, whereas the pagoda is conversely more accessible than most architecturally constructed versions: the doors are open, affording rare access to an interior sanctum complete with two corporeally rendered Buddhas. Only one, pagoda or sutra, fully manifests in a single moment, but the blending of the two summons contemplations of indivisibility.

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The juxtaposition of the invisible rendering the visible is further complicated by the fact that it represents another role reversal of the conventional functions and expectations surrounding relics and reliquaries. Where once reliquary contained relic, guarding and hiding it from sight, it is only through the activation of dharma relic as sutra transcription that the structure that once housed it is revealed, thereby conflating the two. The design’s deeper significance lies in the act of viewing performed by the audience. Within the paintings there exists a precarious balance of alegible and accessible, of invisible and visible, of exclusive and inclusive distance—and the combination of these defining characteristics is the singular hallmark of the jeweled pagoda mandalas. In essence, the mandalas offer several layered and experiential promises for their viewers. The more knowledgeable and indoctrinated members might recognize most of the scenes with the help of cartouches, and given time, they might also discover the scriptural path of the sutra as it builds the pagoda. But for those with more limited exposure who lack the aid of a guide, the mandalas might exist more immediately as embodied emanations. The jeweled pagoda mandalas are one of several categories of Buddhist visual culture that functioned as iconic projections, elaborate artistic constructions capable of communicating intricate, substantive arguments but not always called upon to do so. They often play an important role in crafting a hallowed space. The potential of such paintings is not binary—either iconic or substantive—and depends upon the particular situation and viewer. Max Moerman argues that Buddhist cosmological maps function on multiple modalities, wherein their complexity can be fully engaged or not.39 In his study of Buddhist visual narratives, Kevin Carr also foregrounds the iconicity of narrative paintings rich in detail and substantive content. He explains that, “while the formal details and narrative structures were undoubtedly of great concern to the producers and perhaps the explicators of the scrolls (who would have been able to view them up close and at their leisure), the average audience member likely had a much different experience of the works.”40 By categorizing these paintings as iconarratives, Carr emphasizes that these narrativized scrolls functioned principally as icons. Although the figurative vignettes in the jeweled pagoda mandalas include the option for substantive visual reading, their presence does not necessarily mean that viewership was always so targeted and interactive. In this way, they function in part as iconarratives. The projection of the somatic multiplicity of the central pagoda and the visual narratives of the mandalas continues to generate karmic connective possibilities for audiences as an icon of the Buddha in word and picture.

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The concept of alegibility has so far been used in this book to highlight the tension between seeing and reading by pointing to the significant space between legible and illegible in written text; however, the concept can also help us understand the inherent dynamic at work in Buddhist visual culture. In projecting iconicity, these often meticulously intricate and sumptuous surfaces are rendered alegible. The abundant details, which are key to creating a powerful and endowed object, slip into cognitive if not optical invisibility in their emanation of the iconic substrate and remain legible piece by piece only under close inspection. Although not rendered strictly illegible, such carefully crafted and substantively rich particulars are nevertheless occluded in the object’s function as sacralizing icon; they are subordinated by the gestalt. Therefore, this inherent alegibility of surfaces, which are constructed from markedly rich designs that must almost be overlooked, is a formal relationship between the literally visible and artistically visual.

Conclusion: Text in Medieval Japan Having burrowed into the surface of the jeweled pagoda mandalas to explicate the performative viewing encouraged by the textual icon, telescoping out from these paintings to the cultural context of sacred word in Japan allows us to understand how such an innovative composition came into existence. As demonstrated in the investigation of the role of the written word in the central icon of the mandalas, text jettisons its discursive function. It ceases to be reading material, but in this regard, directly corresponds to the openness of sacred text in the medieval period. Ultimately, it is the ability of the text to break exegetical strictures that enables the written word to project an embodied icon. The countless explications and manifestations of sacred word in the art, literature, and poetry of Japan suggest that scriptures are open texts capable of potentially endless re-creation and reinterpretation. They necessitate constant and pious reconstruction, as claimed by Shingon monk and polymath Kūkai (774–835). Ryūichi Abé explains: “Kūkai approaches the text as a yet-to-be bound—or, perhaps more appropriately, never-to-be bound—constantly reworked manuscript. For Kūkai, the text is not a book but a writing that remains open-ended.”41 The centrality of text’s ritualistic performance within Japanese Buddhism is difficult to overemphasize. Indeed, medieval Japan was penetrated by textuality. Whether through the Shingon insistence on the ritualistic performance of both esoteric and exoteric texts to unlock their meanings; the chanting of sutra texts or titles widely popular-

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ized by Nichiren and Pure Land schools; the enshrining of sacred writings within icons for ritualistic vivification; the practice of sutra burials; or the pious transcription of scripture,42 the enactment of sacred texts was woven into the religious and social fabric of the age. In this chapter, I have suggested that when confronted with the textuality of the jeweled pagoda mandalas, the viewer’s response had little to do with the careful, linear ingestion of the written word for content, known as a “true reading” (shindoku). Instead, text is transformed into a graphical icon of salvific grace. This openness of scripture further accords with the various techniques of reading and chanting that were employed to access the power of sutra. Peter Kornicki summarizes the ambiguity entangling our current-day understanding of reading in premodern Japan: “it is extremely difficult to determine what is meant by ‘read’ (doku) in many contexts in which the word is used. Indeed, it should be remembered at the outset that in many cases what was of crucial importance was the actual production of Buddhist texts either in manuscript or in print, and that ‘reading’ them was a secondary consideration, if they were even intended to be read at all.”43 The analytical reading and studying of sutra text was only “one of a range of possible engagements with Buddhist texts, some of which were more akin to ritual than to what we think of as ‘reading.’”44 Premodern texts often do not provide enough description to know whether a reading was voiced or silent, group or individual. The term “reading” must therefore be made to stretch and embrace a wider array of encounters and its definitional borders must be tested. For instance, does reading have to be accompanied by the written word? Is the recollection or recitation of memorized text a form of reading? When does reading become chanting? By exploring the diverse encounters with text (written or otherwise), we can see the differences and overlaps between reading for content, ritualized reading, chanting, and copying. Numerous scholars have undertaken to flesh out the oral and aural qualities of the sacred word, refuting the binary function of texts as either read or chanted and instead showing their intimate overlaps. Indeed, Rambelli notes that when medieval texts were read, they were read aloud and thus the orality of texts is a critical component of medieval textuality.45 William Graham, in his study Beyond Written Word: Oral Aspects of Scripture in the History of Religion, advocates the “fundamental orality of scripture,” or what he describes as the sensual dimension of text.46 Likewise Mary Carruthers, in her analysis on memory and texts in medieval cultures, explains, “A book is not necessarily the same thing as a text. ‘Texts’ are

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the material out of which human beings make ‘literature.’ For us, texts only come in books, and so the distinction between the two is blurred and even lost. But, in a memorial culture, a ‘book’ is only one way among several to remember a ‘text,’ to provision and cue one’s memory with ‘dicta et facta memorabilia.’ ”47 The art historical approach of this project stresses the material expression of sutras in both text and picture, and it is important to consider that even though a wealth of written texts does survive, shindoku was not the primary method for textual interaction in medieval Japan and most certainly not outside the monastic setting.48 The particular technique of tendoku, the vocalization of the sutra, usually refers to briefly chanting the title along with selected lines of scripture. Though it does not involve a sustained or deep engagement with the full text, it nevertheless remains incredibly potent. Tendoku is therefore often a vocalized, abbreviated, and devotional form of textual engagement.49 For example, Kornicki describes one interpretation of the action found in the much later Zenrin shōkisen by Mujaku Dōchū (1653–1744), in which tendoku meant reading aloud seven lines from the beginning of a volume, five lines from its middle, and lastly, three from its end.50 In the ninth century the Tendai priest Ennin (794–864) described reading 5,000 scrolls over a five-day period upon his return from China.51 Reading was often accompanied by incense, as Ennin describes in this passage; as a multisensory experience engaging the olfactorial, aural/oral, tactile, and visual senses, it stands apart from an exegetical reading. The terminology around “reading” employed by Ennin involves variations of “ten” from terms like tendoku, including its solitary use as in this particular instance. Such an impossible feat could only be accomplished if he meant a truncated reading of the scriptures.52 And in fact, perhaps it was more of a gestural engagement, one where the movements of the body performed a reading of the text. Ritualistically flipping through a sacred text granted the participant great merit. The ritualistic handling of written sutra known as tenpon is an active process that involves holding the text with both hands and moving it in a motion that mimics the flapping of a bird’s wings three times to the right, three times to the left, and once more in front. This dynamic treatment usually occurs during chants of the sutra.53 Charlotte Eubanks has drawn out the connection between reading and movement, pointing out that embedded within these assorted forms of textual handling is the suggestion of circular movement.54 “Ten” means “turning,” a harkening back to the original sermon by Śākyamuni that set the wheel of the law into motion. As it was, reading often assumed a correlative, perambulatory response. Rotating sutra cabinets (tenrinzō) embody this associ-

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ation in their architectural structure.55 By gripping the handle of this repository for scriptures and walking in a clockwise fashion, one performs a circumambulation with the library as a partner of sorts, all while keeping the entirety of the Buddhist canon at one’s center. However, this circumambulation is more than a devotional journey; it is an act of reading with the body that extends our contemporary definition of the term: “to revolve a cabinet containing a full set of sutra had the same merit as to have read all the volumes,” without ever unrolling a single scroll.56 Perhaps the ultimate distillation of text into sound is the ability to condense the Buddhist canon (and indeed much more) into the single, primordial syllable A. As the first syllable of the Sanskrit syllabary, it is identified as the original ground from which all things derive and is consequently conflated with the cosmic Buddha Dainichi Nyorai (Ch. Dari Rulai; Skt. Mahāvairocana) as his seed syllable. Furthermore, as A is fundamental to other syllabary vowel sounds, it assumes the aspect of universality and commonality uniting all things. Finally, in its function as a negative prefix, the syllable A expresses the inexpressibility of the absolute.57 It gives rise to Dainichi and by extension, all Buddhas and phenomena. As the original non-arising, it writes the universe as text, or perhaps it would be best to say, as sound. The A syllable encapsulates the totality of the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras,58 as affirmed within its own text. In the chapter “The Blessed Perfection of Wisdom, The Mother of All the Tathāgatas, in One Letter,” the Buddha states, “Ānanda, do receive, for the sake of the weal and happiness of all beings, this perfection of wisdom in one letter, i.e. A.”59 The thirteenth-century Shingon monk Chidō extended the all-pervasiveness of the A syllable when he wrote, “Because all the doctrines preached in the hundreds and thousands of sutras and treatises in their entirety are encompassed by this one syllable [A], reciting this one syllable produces the same amount of merit as reading the entire Buddhist canon.”60 And by practicing ajikan (A-syllable contemplation in the Tendai, Shingon, and esoteric Pure Land schools of Buddhism), the practitioner realizes their nonduality with the cosmic Buddha. Kakuban (1095–1143), an influential Shingon monk, captures the great rewards of ajikan practice: Listening to the name, or just hearing it, all evil actions melt away like ice. Reciting verbally or visualizing the syllable, ten thousand virtues gather around one like clouds.

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With weak visualization and only faith, one immediately [upon death] enjoys the Pure Land. With deep practice and complete wisdom, one realizes the fruit of Buddhahood in this world.61

When a participant enacts this compression of all sutras into a single syllable that scripts the universe, this action demonstrates the expansive medieval understanding of text’s openness, flexibility, and all-encompassing nature and indicates how text could operate in multiple modalities. Text also had the ability to perform miraculous somatic transformations. One such example comes from the eighth-century Miraculous Tales from Japan (Nihon ryōiki),62 in which a devoted reciter of the Heart Sutra63 and copier of other scriptures was summoned to the court of King Enma (Ch. Yanluowang; Skt. Yama Rājā) after her death so that she might chant sutras before him, allowing him to witness and revel in the beauty of her celebrated voice. After three days, she is allowed to return to life. She then notices three men in yellow robes standing by the gate who explain to her that this encounter is not their first and that at the Nara east market in three days’ time, they will meet again. It is at the market that the woman purchases two scrolls of the Brahma Net Sutra64 and one scroll of the Heart Sutra and afterward realizes that these scriptures are in fact her own copies made years before on yellow paper. Furthermore, she discovers the sutras to be none other than the three men of yellow robes.65 The inherent power of the Buddha’s words not only to protect, guide, and comfort but also to perform miraculous transformations surely propelled the continuously (re)created lives of texts. The material expression of writing also articulates a variety of meanings as conveyed by Henri-Jean Martin: Writing systems are not disembodied, and written messages from past times are objects that speak more than one language. Dug out from the soil, discovered in tombs, or transmitted from generation to generation, they often seem odd to us and a far cry from our modern books. By their very aspect they remind us that the shape of written signs depends on the material on which they are written. When signs are written with care they attest to an interest in proclamation and durability; when they are cursive they show that a society was familiar with writing. When they are laid out without separations they remind us that our modern page layouts are recent acquisitions. When they are written on scrolls the text unfolds like a film. When only a small number of characters appears on

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each page rapid reading proves impossible. Hence all these odd objects need careful scrutiny before we can begin to understand what the always ambiguous relationship between speech and text may have been in their own time.66

Insofar as the very materiality of texts is a signifier, ownership of the written word carries great social and authoritative value. The ubiquitous practice of shōgon, or elaborate adornment of Buddhist ritual objects, stresses the importance of materiality.67 Expensive and laborious commissions can signify a desire to manifest not only extreme piety but also wealth and social prestige. With the jeweled pagoda mandalas, beautifully dyed blue paper establishes an exquisite background upon which golden characters erect the central icon. Narrative images of gold and silver—and bright reds, greens, and blues in the case of the Chūsonji set—surround the dharma reliquary. And of course the large size of the individual mandalas and the scale of the sets as a whole further augment the projects. The various interpretations and range of uses of Buddhist texts reflect their polysemic nature. They were valued for their performative qualities and for their material manifestation of the immaterial, the physical expression of which constituted various systems of value, from economic to symbolic and religious currency.68 Understanding texts reductively only through their discursive properties ignores the many dimensions of their lives. Roland Barthes claims that the purpose of interpreting a text is “not to give it a (more or less justified, more or less free) meaning, but on the contrary to appreciate what plural constitutes it.”69 Barthes conceptualizes the ideal text, writing that “the networks are many and interact, without any one of them being able to surpass the rest; this text is a galaxy of signifiers, not a structure of signifieds; it has no beginning; it is reversible; we gain access to it by several entrances, none of which can be authoritatively declared to be the main one.”70 In his study of the transmission of the Tipiṭaka through the perspective of writing and orality in northern Thailand, Daniel Veidlinger explains that “when looking at the ‘roles’ that manuscripts in particular have played, it is essential to realize that manuscripts can fit into the lived practice of religious communities in a variety of ways beyond their obvious function as support for the words of texts.”71 As Richard Payne has noted, it is impossible to characterize Buddhism as employing just one view of language’s potential.72 But as this chapter has also suggested, texts create pluralities through diverse visual expression. It is the flexibility of sacred texts that makes them distinctively suitable for artistic manipulation. Their visual manifestations not only reflect established meanings, but also create new interpretations of the signified and the nature and plurality of the written word. “Every reading is always a rewriting”;73 and every visual manifestation can expound

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and explore the possibilities of sacred text, opening up new perspectives through their very materiality. That sacred scripture was not always meant to be consumed character by character testifies to the diverse functions and values of sacred text. The purpose of the jeweled pagoda mandalas was realized in part through the act of copying itself, engendering karmic, material, and social cachet. Textual encounters—even fleeting or frivolous ones having nothing to do with reading or chanting—had the ability to convey tremendous apotropaic and salvific power as well as satisfying more earthly ambitions associated with the authoritative and social value of the texts. Scriptures were valued for their materiality, their salvific, apotropaic, and prophylactic power, and indeed for their sheer presence, which enlivened such things as pagodas and sculptures regardless of their visibility. In the jeweled pagoda mandalas, text assumes roles beyond the borders of exegetical reading; their graphically copied scriptures expand our relationship to text and our interactive experiences, necessitating new ways of performative engagement. They are visual treatises on the potentialities of text that challenge all restrictions placed on Buddhist scriptures. After all, text created the world.

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The Historical Context of the Mandalas

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hapter 1 operated without the constraints imposed by the dearth of historical information on the jeweled pagoda mandalas. In doing so, it offered a visual analysis of the surface and advocated that a close reading of the intricate relationships of text and image produced insights into the paintings’ meaning. Prioritizing the surface sets the stage for all that follows. To continue the exploration of these elusive mandalas, it is necessary to pursue historical and stylistic research on the objects. This chapter complements chapter 3, in which I examine the intertextual community of the paintings so that their context is located historically. Having assembled all of this information to establish the environment and possible circumstances out of which these mandalas evolved, I will return to further theoretical discussion of the scrolls in chapters 4 and 5. In this chapter I examine inscriptions on the paintings, textual records associated with the temples, contemporary contextual clues, and styles of brushwork and postulate patronage and production dates for the three sets. The material is organized chronologically, based upon the respective dates of each of the three groups. Extensive and thorough work exists on the subjects of style, narrative vignette content, and potential patronage scenarios. I rely on much of this scholarship to build the historical case for each set. Once that evidence is presented, in the remainder of the book I will then pursue the larger and previously unasked questions centered on the mandalas’ connections to innovations in sutra art and copying, in word and image interactions, in notions of body in Buddhist visual culture, and in the performativity of the composition.

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The Chūsonji Mandalas: The Set’s History Unlike the two other jeweled pagoda mandala sets, the history and circumstances of commission of the Chūsonji set are not so elusive, and examining them allows us to understand the more personal nature of the paintings’ production. Located in the small but culturally sophisticated northern outpost of Hiraizumi, the Ōshū Fujiwara fashioned political and cultural legitimacy through the appropriation and localization of courtly symbols of authority and the insignia of Buddhist mandate. Examples include sutra copying, Jōchō-style sculptures,1 and most important to this study, the northern Fujiwara’s devotion to the Golden Light Sutra and their patronage of the jeweled pagoda mandalas. It is in this context of acculturation between Kyoto and the Emishi (a catchall term for people living in northern Japan who were considered apart, politically, culturally, and ethnically, from those ruling in the south) that the jeweled pagoda mandalas were created.2 By situating the mandalas within the tumultuous context of twelfth-century Hiraizumi, we can open a window on the distinctive cultural amalgamation existing under the rule of the Ōshū Fujiwara. Close examination of the paintings reveals the concern of the northern rulers for legitimized political authority, the mingling of Kyoto aristocratic and Emishi culture, and even the patron’s innermost salvific desires and anxieties. Miya proposes that the mandalas were originally free hanging scrolls (kakefusō) now framed,3 but Sudō Hirotoshi and Iwasa Mitsuharu believe that the paintings were attached to the panels of a folding screen (byōbu) before they were removed and framed.4 Until the mid-twentieth century, the mandalas were stored in Chūsonji’s Benzaitendō in ten zushi, or miniature shrines, designed in 1705 to house the paintings.5 The shrine’s simple two-doored exterior has a gilded interior space enshrining the unfurled scrolls, which are stabilized by golden lotusshaped supports (rendaiza). In the middle of the interiors of the two doors, two informative inscriptions offer a glimpse of the eighteenth-century conception of the paintings. The inscription to the right lists the sutra title and volume number; the left side records an Edo-period categorical title for the paintings, Jikkai hōtō e mandara, or Ten World Jeweled Pagoda Mandala. Hamada Takashi characterizes the “ten worlds” (  jikkai) of the title as a reference to the ten levels of the mandalas’ pagoda—including the first story’s false or pent roof (mokoshi).6 Kameda Tsutomu advances a similar argument, explaining that the nine floors plus the pent roof, collectively called jūkai, or ten stories, came to be known as jikkai, a phrase he notes, however, shares no relation to the Golden Light Sutra;7 presumably, the homonymic quality of the words is responsible for the transference. Neither author provides support for this supposition, and given the lack of textual records — 54 —

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for the jeweled pagoda mandalas, perhaps it is equally possible to suggest that the “ten worlds” refers to the ten scrolls of the set, rather than to the ten stories of the pagodas, which is itself an inaccurate count. Takahashi Tomio also suggests that jikkai refers to the number of scrolls, culminating in a statement about the transformation of all things into the lands of the Buddha: one scroll, one pagoda, one world, and thus ten scrolls, ten pagodas, and the worlds of the ten directions (Jpn. jippō sekai; Ch. shifang shijie; Skt. daśa dig loka dhātu), symbolizing the infinite expanse and all-encompassing nature of the Buddha-realm.8 Precisely because no data remains about the paintings, they have been given multiple titles. In 1968, the Japanese Agency for Cultural Affairs categorized the paintings as a National Treasure of Japan and gave them the official appellation Konshi choshoku Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu (a title that translates rather awkwardly into English as Jeweled Pagoda Mandala of the Golden Light Sutra in Gold Letters with Polychrome on Blue Paper), thus establishing the standardized title for this set of paintings.9 The Commission Context During Ōshū Fujiwara rule Hiraizumi rivaled the Kyoto court in artistic commissions in terms of precious materials and the sheer scope of single projects. Documents like Petition of the Bunji Era (Bunji no chūmon) composed in 1189 for Minamoto no Yoritomo (1147–99) by the Chūsonji monks Genchō and Shinren offer a glimpse of twelfth-century Hiraizumi and its extensive building campaigns.10 The Ōshū Fujiwara enjoyed great financial success, which allowed for expensive and laborious artistic productions. To aid in this endeavor, they established a center for sutra copying (shakyō kikan) known as Chūsonjikyō.11 The celebrated sutras known as the Kiyohirakyō (fig. 2.1) materialized the entire Buddhist canon on blue paper with alternating lines of gold and silver text (konshi kinginji kōsho issaikyō).12 This vast project was commissioned by the patriarch of the Ōshū Fujiwara clan, Fujiwara no Kiyohira (1056–1128), and was dedicated in 1126.13 It is most likely this set that the controversial fourteenth-century text known as the Chūsonji rakkei kuyō ganmon refers to when mentioning the commission of a blue paper Buddhist canon with alternating lines of gold and silver script.14 Under not-so-illustrious circumstances, most of the scrolls have made their way to Mount Kōya’s Kongōbuji by the command of the powerful warlord, Toyotomi Hideyoshi (1536–98). Kiyohira’s son, Fujiwara no Motohira (1105–57), and grandson, Fujiwara no Hidehira, continued the practice of elaborate sutra transcription. Motohira commissioned a set of ornate Lotus Sutra scrolls, and Hidehira followed the tradition of his grandfather and ordered a blue-and-gold Buddhist canon (fig. 2.2).15 Hidehira’s — 55 —

Fig. 2.1 Great Perfection of Wisdom Sutra frontispiece from the Kiyohirakyō, 1117–26, gold and silver on indigo paper. Nara National Museum. Photograph courtesy of Nara National Museum.

Fig. 2.2 Great Perfection of Wisdom Sutra frontispiece from the Hidehirakyō, ca. 1175, gold and silver on indigo paper. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Photograph courtesy of Metropolitan Museum of Art.

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scrolls were enshrined at a sutra repository at Motohira’s temple, Mōtsūji, and unlike the dispersal of Kiyohira’s copy of the Buddhist canon, most of the extant scrolls have remained at Chūsonji.16 Given the rarity of such sumptuous transcription projects as the blue-and-gold (and silver of Kiyohira’s) Buddhist canon, not to mention the many other sutra commissions, copying the scriptures was an important ritual conveying the Ōshū Fujiwara’s political and salvific ambitions. Because of the lack of documentary evidence locating the exact circumstances of the jeweled pagoda mandalas’ origin at Chūsonji, three possible patrons deserve investigation: the patriarch, Kiyohira; his son, Motohira; and his grandson, Hidehira. Kiyohira is perhaps the easiest to strike from the list. The Chūsonji rakkei kuyō ganmon records the services and objects commissioned by Kiyohira for a massive dedication ceremony held in 1126 at Chūsonji. However, missing from the extensive description are the jeweled pagoda mandalas, which given their novelty and expenditures in wealth and time would have surely warranted a prominent place in the document. Furthermore, there is broad consensus that the style of the mandalas bears little resemblance to sutras subsequently chronicled in the record, which were produced at Kiyohira’s behest.17 On Kiyohira’s death, Motohira’s assumption of the position of family patriarch and lower-level military bureaucrat for Mutsu and Dewa (ōryōshi) in 1128 is perhaps a moment meriting commemoration. When considering the Hiraizumi projects attributed to Motohira, such as the elegant golden hall (Kondō) of Mōtsūji; Kashōji and the paintings of the Lotus Sutra decorating its walls; and Kanjizaiō-in, a temple founded by Motohira’s wife, and the landscape drawings ornamenting its walls, Hamada Takashi believes that the artistic period under Motohira offers the greatest possibility for the commission of the mandalas. He also suggests that, given the mandalas’ focus on righteously ordained power via the choice of the Golden Light Sutra, the more appropriate time for such a subject would be earlier in the three generations’ rule because the solidification of Ōshū power occurred before Hidehira’s era.18 The Golden Light Sutra and the Lotus Sutra were first linked as scriptures protecting the realm (gokoku kyōten) when Emperor Shōmu (701–56) and the Queen-Consort Kōmyō (701–60) proclaimed in 741 that all provincially sponsored temples (kokubunji) and convents (kokubunniji) enshrine, copy, and chant these two sutras. These events might provide evidence for Motohira as patron.19 By characterizing the sutras in terms of strong gender affiliations, Hayashi On views the Golden Light Sutra as associated with the protection of kings and the Lotus Sutra as connected with the plight of women; he portrays the two scriptures as a husbandand-wife team working jointly to protect the country.20 Based on this relationship, — 57 —

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he points to Motohira’s sutra transcription project honoring Kiyohira (Motohira gankyō) by commissioning a section of the Lotus Sutra to be copied once a day for one thousand days (senbu ichinichikyō). This extensive project began on the sixth day of the eighth month of 1128 as a memorial service for Kiyohira. Perhaps this commemorative occasion, which involved such large-scale copying of the Lotus Sutra, might also have included a corresponding and equally impressive sponsorship of the Golden Light Sutra. Although conclusive proof does not seem possible and the argument for Motohira is somewhat persuasive, I believe Hidehira presents the best option for patron of the jeweled pagoda mandalas. Two dates might warrant such an elaborate commission. In 1170 Hidehira was promoted to the constabulary position of “pacification” general (chinjufu shōgun); and in 1181 Hidehira was again promoted to a position of great and independent power as the governor of Mutsu province (mutsu no kami).21 Characterizing the mandalas as “realm-directed projects,” Miya Tsugio proposes that Hidehira’s recently elevated position came with access to taxes for use in the construction of the paintings. Thus the mandalas make a statement not only about the Ōshū Fujiwara’s aristocratic position as expressed through the manner and style of the commission but also proclaim their firm rule of the northern province.22 Mimi Yiengpruksawan plausibly argues that Hidehira’s appointment to chinju shōgun in 1170 is the most likely occasion for the production of the mandalas given the Golden Light Sutra’s strong message of righteous authoritarian rule.23 Additionally, the ceremony for Hidehira’s surprising elevation took place at the imperial palace during the annual saishōkō, an imperially sponsored ceremony reaffirming the Golden Light Sutra as guardian of the country and legitimizer of imperial authority, a symmetry that Yiengpruksawan highlights as additional confirmation of Hidehira as the patron of the paintings.24 Moreover, the arabesque design of peony, lotus, and other intertwining flowers (hōsōge karakusa) from the Hidehirakyō strongly resembles the arabesque border framing the mandalas.25 Even though it is easy to see the direct similarities between the mandalas’ narrative vignettes and those occurring in twelfth-century blue-andgold frontispieces, including those of Hiraizumi, the close range of dates for the Ōshū sutra transcriptions and the general inability to date blue-and-gold frontispieces consistently because of the general patternization of the imagery and styles make it difficult to date the paintings.26 Instead the most reliable information about the commission history of the mandalas comes from contextual indicators. Given the patronage patterns not only of the Ōshū Fujiwara but of the elite in general, and the widespread social practice of producing elaborate projects to memorialize and venerate important public and personal events and dates, the — 58 —

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jeweled pagoda mandalas likely functioned as a fantastic and profoundly intimate copying project proclaiming northern Fujiwara rule while also revealing their interior anxieties. In this way, the choice of the Golden Light Sutra for the mandalas is a revealing one. Beginning in the Nara period (710–84), the sutra enjoyed significant imperial patronage as a scripture capable of protecting the state. When Emperor Shōmu established the provincial temple system, he ordered copies of the Golden Light and Lotus Sutras to be enshrined within seven-storied pagodas at each of the outlying temples, thus blanketing the country with the apotropaic texts.27 The Golden Light Sutra, which was crucial to imperial ideological and political goals, supported the emperor’s political and theological power with its discussion of the wheel-turning king (Jpn. tenrin jōō; Ch. zhuanlun shengwang; Skt. cakravartin). Through great virtue and sincere penitence, the wheel-turning king is divinely sanctioned, ruling his empire in the Buddha’s name, serving as the ultimate authority on earth, and reaping vast benefits from his devotion to the sutra. Such connotations of power were not lost on rulers, who claimed the sutra as a mandate. Having conformed to the laws established by the sutra, the emperor ruled under the protection of the Four Guardian Kings: And he will produce in us great prowess, energy and power. He will magnify our brilliance, glory and splendour. Therefore we, dear Lord, the four great kings, with our armies and retinues and with numerous hundreds of thousands of Yakṣas, with invisible bodies, now and in future time, wherever we come upon villages, cities, settlements, districts, lands and royal palaces, there this excellent Suvarṇabhāsa, king of sutras, will go forth, and we will give protection, will give salvation, assistance, defence, escape from punishment, escape from the sword, peace, welfare to their royal palaces, their lands, and their regions. And we will deliver those regions from all fears, oppressions, (and) troubles. And we will turn back foreign armies.28

The sutra was read annually at the saishōkō and was a centerpiece of the annual misaie, a ritual for the protection of the emperor and his rule.29 Indeed, annual saishōkō were held at Chūsonji and Mōtsūji and several Golden Light Sutra copies with gold letters were stored in the sutra repository of Chūsonji, highlighting the Ōshū Fujiwara’s devotion to this scripture.30 Key themes stressed in the narrative vignettes reveal particular inclinations and motives on the part of the patron. One of the most prominent and consistently featured motifs in the pictorializations is that of the Four Guardian Kings (figs. 2.3 and 2.4). Indeed, the guardian kings appear in six of the ten scrolls31 in a unique — 59 —

Fig. 2.3 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 2 of the Golden Light Sutra, twelfth century, gold, silver, and color on indigo paper. Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi. Photograph courtesy of Chūsonji.

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iconographic style identified by a fine, gold outline technique. The visual prominence of the guardian kings mirrors the critical and active role that the deities play in the Golden Light Sutra. Significant passages are dedicated to extolling their and other tutelary deities’ protection for those who hold and keep the sutra; more specifically, the twelfth chapter of Yijing’s translation, The Protection of the Country by the Four Guardian Kings,32 details the vast rewards offered to those—and in particular, kings and monks—who revere the sutra. The chapter begins with the promise of protection from encroaching enemies, freedom from sundry afflictions, and salvation from the bitterness of famine and epidemics for those who follow the Golden Light Sutra.33 The Four Guardian Kings swear an oath to smite and subdue oppressors and to destroy evil and disease through Fig. 2.4 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 2 of the Golden the great power and authority bestowed Light Sutra (detail of fig. 2.3), twelfth century, gold, silver, upon them as defenders of the scripture’s and color on indigo paper. Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hirairighteous followers.34 The promises of such zumi. Photograph courtesy of Chūsonji. sought-after blessings often focus on the eradication of enemies, devoting long passages of strong rhetoric specifying the annihilation of adversaries and their lands: There will arise a conflict between that neighbouring hostile king and other kings. And there will be regional disturbances in his own regions. There will be fierce troubles with kings, and diseases caused by planets will become manifest in his area. Hundreds of different distractions will become manifest in his area. And if, dear Lord, there should arise for that neighbouring hostile king in his own area hundreds of such various oppressions and hundreds of various distractions, and (if), dear Lord, that neighbouring hostile king should employ his fourfold army to go against a foreign power and it should leave his own area, and (if) that hostile king together with his fourfold army should desire to

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enter, should desire to destroy that region where this excellent Suvarṇabhāsa, king of sūtras, may be, we, dear Lord, the four great kings, with our armies and retinues, with numerous hundreds of thousands of Yakṣas, with invisible bodies, will go there. We will turn back that foreign army from the very path it has taken. We will bring upon it hundreds of different distractions, and we will make obstacles so that that foreign army will not be able to enter this region, much less cause destruction to the region.35

Perhaps this emphasis would have been of comfort to the patron of the mandalas because of the tenuous relationship with the Kyoto court and the Minamoto clan, a peace ultimately broken with the devastating destruction of Hiraizumi in 1189 during the war between Minamoto no Yoritomo and the remaining Ōshū Fujiwara. Because of the scripture’s political and ideological symbolism, the commission of the paintings by a northern warlord is laden with political implications. Hidehira likely ordered the mandalas soon after his appointment as chinju shōgun in 1170, linking them with the claim of legitimacy for a northern, holy rule. Interestingly, even though Chinese precedents exist, the Chūsonji paintings represent the first and only use in medieval Japan of the Golden Light Sutra as opposed to the typical Lotus Sutra to construct the central pagoda of the mandalas. Possibly, in their quest for legitimacy, the northern Fujiwara circumvented Kyoto altogether in favor of continental prototypes. What is clear is that the sutra’s efficacious ability to secure political authority via divine sanction offered an enormous appeal to the northern rulers. Thus, the jeweled pagoda mandalas espouse a manifesto of righteously ordained power through their devotion to the Golden Light Sutra, a sutra traditionally employed for the protection of the emperor and his rule. The northern rulers’ authority was continually contested, and their decision to adopt a scripture so closely identified with conventional sources of power marks an attempt at legitimacy and recognition through the sumptuous and rare format of the Golden Light Sutra mandalas, while simultaneously revealing the tenuous nature of their rule in its prayers for persistent protection. Themes within the Narrative Vignettes Given the scale of the projects, a close visual treatment of the narrative vignettes of each scroll in all three sets is not feasible and lies outside the bounds of the book’s central puzzle. Moreover, Miya and others have produced extensive analysis on this topic. Instead, I tease out the overarching themes. Through formal analysis, I will venture certain insights into the production of the paintings and their place at the close of the Heian period, clearly a particularly tumultuous time for the Ōshū Fujiwara.

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Fig. 2.5 Lotus Sutra frontispiece, fascicle 7, 1180, gold, silver, and color on indigo paper. Charles Lang Freer Endowment, F1980.199. Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Photograph courtesy of Freer Gallery of Art.

The distinctive use of vibrant color sets the Chūsonji mandalas apart. The strong contrasts between the brilliant blue background, shining golden characters, and vivid vignettes of red, indigo, white, silver, cinnabar, and deep green compose an arresting image. As Ariga Yoshitaka observes, it is also a most unusual one. He postulates that the remarkable combination of gold characters copied onto a blue background and complemented by the new addition of colorful vignettes that was developed in Hiraizumi was a result of the visual conflation of conventional blue-and-gold illuminated sutra transcription with the purple paper sutra transcription style. This combination, which incorporated multiple colors, is exemplified in the Freer/Sackler’s copy of the Lotus Sutra (fig. 2.5).36 Ariga observes that traditionally, colors do not accompany the blue-and-gold (and occasionally silver) transcriptions, whereas color often adorns purple paper. The jeweled pagoda mandalas, already an innovative transcription project, display additional inventiveness in this merged approach to the visuals of sutra copying, leading this contrasting and combinatory style to be described as the essential character of “Hiraizumi art.”37

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Fig. 2.6 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 10 of the Golden Light Sutra, twelfth century, gold, silver, and color on indigo paper. Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi. Photograph courtesy of Chūsonji.

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Additionally, the Chūsonji set depicts more superfluous and uninhabited landscape serving as fillers and transitions between the vignettes; the narrative scenes are fewer in number than those in either of the other two sets, creating a more balanced composition with extensive negative space. A particularly good example of the minimalistic compositions of the Chūsonji set is the sparse fascicle 10, whose copious amounts of empty blue paper rival the space devoted to visual depiction (fig. 2.6). Whereas the Chūsonji mandalas offer almost equal space to the graphic and negative areas, those of Ryūhonji—albeit wider by approximately five centimeters—contain many more vignettes, with traces of landscape and trails of clouds even extending into the areas between the roof eaves and leaving little room for the blue paper to stand alone (fig. 2.40). As a near-polar opposite of the Chūsonji version, the Tanzan Shrine paintings verge on confusion with their crowded compositions (fig. 2.25). The general configuration of the Chūsonji scenes begins in the upper right and moves down into the space beside the foundation and then continues on the left side, moving again from top to bottom. The focus of the mandalas on the depiction of deities rather than narratives is a reflection of the content of the sutra, which does not lend itself as easily as the Lotus Sutra to narrative accounts. However, that is not to say that sequences depicting tales from the scripture are not included. For instance, the tenth scroll features a rendition of a famous tale from the past lives of the Buddha. Three scenes stacked along the right side of the mandala depict in continuous narration the story of the hungry tiger and the ultimate bodily sacrifice of the prince, a past reincarnation of Śākyamuni (fig. 2.7).38 In the first scene, the prince and his two brothers and father enter the mountainous landscape. Below this, the princes separate from their father and explore the rugged terrain. The

Fig. 2.7 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 10 of the Golden Light Sutra (detail of fig. 2.6), twelfth century, gold, silver, and color on indigo paper. Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi. Photograph courtesy of Chūsonji.

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final vignette describes the climax of the tale in which the starving tiger and her seven hungry cubs move the prince to compassion. Depicted as the standing figure to the left of the action, he prays and readies himself for his sacrifice. In the next moment, the prince catapults himself off the cliff. The tiger and her cubs then feed upon his broken and bloodied body lying at the base of the precipice.39 Yet this narrative-driven vignette is nevertheless in the minority. The majority of the scenes depict assemblies of deities, representations of lectures, and proclamations of the sutra. Many also lack narrative content and instead manifest the ideological and symbolic. Copyists often do not supply cartouches, but when present, they frequently only identify the chapter title or detail the great benefits bequeathed to those who venerate the sutra and its followers. Actual passages from the scripture are quite rare. Scholars have characterized the vignettes’ focus on a parade of deities rather than scriptural content in a few different ways, often without offering compelling explanations. Miya finds indications of general Heian sensibilities in the selection of the narrative vignettes by comparing the ambiguities of the scenes with the vagueness and indirectness of Heian-period literature, which merely hints at meanings that are rarely explicitly discussed. He elaborates that Heian-period aristocrats expected an erudition and competency in sutra content among their educated contemporaries; therefore ambiguous vignettes provided an opportunity to elucidate the illustrations’ meaning and connect them to the appropriate scriptural passage.40 However, Hamada explains that this style, in which representations are often disconnected from scriptural content, suggests either that the person overseeing the production struggled to select which passages to pictorialize or that he lacked a firm understanding of the Golden Light Sutra.41 Hamada also notes that this departure experienced by the vignettes could have happened only at a far-flung place like Hiraizumi, so removed from the capital and thus freed from its restrictions.42 In a related observation, Hayashi concludes that the painter of the vignettes could not have been a trained Buddhist artist.43 But rather than interpret the fluidity and ambiguity of the narrative vignettes and cartouches either as mistakes or as deriving from a lack of understanding and training, a more fair-minded and likely interpretation is that these attributes are indications of the localization of mandalas intended for a specific audience with a particular and tailored message.44 Rather than jettisoning all indications of Emishi culture and adopting wholesale the Kyoto trappings of culture and legitimacy, the Ōshū Fujiwara transformed Hiraizumi while maintaining traditions and symbols important to their northern roots and their private concerns. The Chūsonji mandalas manifest this attitude in

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the prioritization of certain deities, such as the Four Guardian Kings and figures not connected to the Golden Light Sutra like Amida and Jizō (Ch. Dizang; Skt. Kṣitigarbha), and in the atypical scenes of extraordinary violence and the prominence of women worshipers. The strong faith in the Four Guardian Kings, manifested through the visual dominance of the deities in the Chūsonji mandalas’ vignettes, reflects the Tōhoku area’s belief in the guardians in general and in particular in Bishamonten (Ch. Pishamentian; Skt. Vaiśravaṇa), a variant of Tamonten (Ch. Duowentian; Skt. Vaiśravaṇa) worshiped independently of the quadriad. His importance to the area likely stemmed from the alignment of the god’s militaristic emphasis and Tōhoku’s position as a northern outpost.45 The images of the Four Guardian Kings serve as visual prayers for heavenly protection and the investment of divine authority. Through a comparison of the conventional iconographic positions of the Four Guardian Kings with the ordering of the guardians in the Chūsonji mandalas (fig. 2.4), Hayashi interprets this atypical alignment as the Ōshū Fujiwara’s visual claim to autonomous authority over northern Honshū. When arranged in a threedimensional or stacked configuration, the characteristic allocation takes the form of Jikokuten (Ch. Chiguotian; Skt. Dhṛtarāṣṭra) in the lower right position marking east, Zōchōten (Ch. Zengzhangtian; Skt. Virūḍhaka) in the lower left position marking south, Kōmokuten (Ch. Guangmutian; Skt. Virūpākṣa) in the upper left position marking west, and Tamonten in the upper right position marking north. But as Hayashi observes, the standard arrangement of the guardians in the jeweled pagoda mandalas flips the north-south axis, switching the positions of Tamonten and Zōchōten in scrolls 2, 3, 5, 6, and possibly 7.46 I would note that scroll 7 seems to depict Zōchōten in the bottom right corner with Jikokuten in the upper right; however, the iconography of these two guardians in particular is fluid. In any case, these realignments typically maneuver Tamonten and Jikokuten to the front when the arrangement is read three dimensionally, privileging the north and east. Hayashi infers from this switch that the perpetually directionally conscious patron of the mandalas asserted the dominance of the northeast, the geographic position of Hiraizumi in relation to Kyoto.47 Much like the sutra frontispieces associated with the Ōshū Fujiwara, scenes of graphic violence—extraneous to the scriptural content—populate the mandalas. In the frontispieces of the Buddhist canon commissioned by Hidehira, before the observant eyes of the Buddha and his attendants, a monk stretches taut the string of his bow, directing his arrow toward a flock of ducks (fig. 2.8). In another frontispiece, demons gleefully mutilate a person, shoving the body head first into a meat

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grinder while the emaciated hungry ghosts (Jpn. gaki, Ch. egui; Skt. preta), bellies painfully distended, attempt to slake their suffering with food and drink (fig. 2.9). In the jeweled pagoda mandalas, in a similarly vicious scene in the third scroll, a body lays decapitated and spilling blood while above it a man quickly prepares to pierce the corpse with another arrow, all while Jizō watches (figs. 2.10 and 2.11). Adjoining that scene, a figure swings the axe that will inevitably fell a Buddha image enshrined in a pillar. Thus this violent vignette describes two of the most tragic sins, murder and crimes against Buddhism. Yiengpruksawan postulates that the Ōshū Fujiwara’s preoccupation with violence reveals not only Emishi cultural traditions and ways of life marked by hunting and frequent warfare but also continuing anxieties over salvation rife among the several generations of northern warlords.48 She suggests that giving visual utterance to such violence might reflect the patron’s adherence to the commands of the Golden Light Sutra, which calls upon all rulers who wish to be successful to confess and repent their karmic transgressions.49 Indeed, the third scroll in this set visualizes the fifth chapter of the scripture, which was

Fig. 2.8 Great Perfection of Wisdom Sutra frontispiece, fascicle 182, from the Hidehirakyō, ca. 1175, gold and silver on indigo paper. Sankōzō, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi. Photograph courtesy of Chūsonji.

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dedicated to confession and, through penitence, to salvation. The sutra cautions against the dangers of ignorance and warns that in times of estrangement—when one does not know the Buddha, dharma, monks, or even good from bad—one is perilously close to committing endless crimes because such a state of dismal ignorance renders us incapable of discerning right from wrong. Therefore, these evils perpetrated—even if perpetrated unknowingly—result in injury to the body of the Buddha, the usurpation of justice, the destruction of monastic harmony, and the murder of arhats (Jpn. rakan; Ch. luohan) and even parents.50 A proper confession of crimes and of ignorance is required: In the oppression of existence (or) through foolish thought, whatever severe evil I have done, in the presence of the Buddha, I confess all this evil. And I confess that evil which has been heaped up by me in the oppression of birth, by the various oppressions of activity due to passion, in the oppression of existence, in the oppression of the world, in the oppression of the fleeting mind, in the oppression of impurities caused by the foolish and stupid, and in the

Fig. 2.9 Great Perfection of Wisdom Sutra frontispiece, fascicle 63, from the Hidehirakyō, ca. 1175, gold and silver on indigo paper. Sankōzō, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi. Photograph courtesy of Chūsonji.

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Fig. 2.10 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 3 of the Golden Light Sutra, twelfth century, gold, silver, and color on indigo paper. Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi. Photograph courtesy of Chūsonji.

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Fig. 2.11 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 3 of the Golden Light Sutra (detail of fig. 2.10), twelfth century, gold, silver, and color on indigo paper. Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi. Photograph courtesy of Chūsonji.

oppression of the arrival of evil friends, in the oppression of fear, in the oppression of passion, in the oppression of hatred and in the oppression of folly and darkness, in the oppression of the opportunity, in the oppression of time, in the oppression of gaining merits, standing in (my) oppression before the Buddha, I confess all this evil.51

It is therefore only appropriate that this confessional scene would appear on the third scroll devoted to the admission and exoneration of sins. Additionally, the figure of Jizō in the vignette of violence is wholly unconnected with the sutra, raising questions about his placement in this brutal scene. The insertion of the deity represents another example of how the set was personalized to convey the desires and fears of the Ōshū Fujiwara. Jizō’s presence in a project with which he is scripturally unaffiliated exposes the private relationship the patron maintained with a deity so celebrated for his salvific abilities. Jizō’s willingness to assume multiple manifestations in order to intervene on behalf of sinners, even to enter the depths of hell, made him a very popular figure in the Heian period and a particularly poignant one for the Ōshū Fujiwara. Though Jizō is a bodhisattva, he is not painted in gold as are the other high-ranking deities; instead he is rendered in color like the people who populate the earthly realm

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Fig. 2.12 Interior of the Konjikidō, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi, ca. 1124. Photograph courtesy of Chūsonji.

depicted in the mandalas. This visual nod to Jizō’s humanity affirms his intercessional proclivities.52 Jizō is also given a very prominent role in the Konjikidō of Chūsonji; here he manifests as the Six Jizō (Roku Jizō), whose dedicated function is to search out and save sinners trapped in the six paths (rokudō) of suffering. This efficacious materialization is part of a larger, singular program in the form of a family mausoleum (kidō), which visualizes an elaborate and costly prayer for redemption and salvation. This small but nonetheless spectacular-to-behold hall is coated with black lacquer and covered with gold leaf on both the interior and exterior. Precious gems, stones, shells, pearls, and other exquisite materials decorate the radiant walls that serve to entomb the bodies of the three generations of northern Fujiwara.53

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Each of the three altars displays an involved program of Six Jizō stationed in two rows of three along two sides of the main Amida triad (Amida sanzon). Kannon (Ch. Guanyin; Skt. Avalokiteśvara) and Seishi (Ch. Shizhi; Skt. Mahāsthāmaprāpta) flank the central Buddha, and pairs of guardians, Zōchōten and Jikokuten, are posted in their traditional corners to the left and right at the front of each altar (fig. 2.12). Yiengpruksawan captures the anomaly of a hall that so intimately mixes the sacred with the profane, the pure and eternal with the decaying and fleeting— despite the attempt for immortal preservation: “If scholars have often argued about Konjikidō or been puzzled by its ambiguities, it is because the hall contains the story of the Hiraizumi Fujiwara in the privacy of their death.”54 The anxiety over sins committed, the disquiet of approaching death, and the fear that paradise is beyond reach permeates the visual program of the Konjikidō and the mummification of their bodies. It is also embodied in the visual program of the jeweled pagoda mandalas. In the context of the mandalas, the theme of repentance to achieve merit so stressed in the Golden Light Sutra is not only aimed at political ambitions but soteriological goals as well. The scene of bloodshed and Jizō is not the only vignette connected with these driving desires. Throughout the mandalas, the motifs of descending musical bodhisattvas (sōgaku bosatsu) and Amida triads recall the promise and visual culture associated with pure land worship. The musical bodhisattvas typically play an assortment of instruments while flower petals fall around them, visualizing the sounds and scents of paradise come to earth. In the left register of the first scroll, nine bodhisattvas fly closely together at a steep angle, implying a rapid descent (fig. 2.13). The scene captures a moment of joyous celebration. The second grouping of these figures occurs in the left middle register of the third scroll, where ten bodhisattvas gather (fig. 2.14). The clouds upon which they sit trail behind in slender wisps, amplifying the speed of the descent, while flower petals rain down around them. These collections of descending bodhisattvas playing musical instruments evoke familiar scenes of the welcoming descent (Jpn. raigō; Ch. laiying) associated with faith in Amida and his promise of salvation. The Amida triad found on the third scroll furthers testifies to this persistent desire and anxiety (fig. 2.15). Neither of these two recurrent motifs relates to the sutra content; instead, they should be seen in a vein similar to the scenes of violence and the prominence of women. Once again, the prayers for the absolution of sins and admission into heaven, as well as the Ōshū Fujiwara’s syncretic faith incorporating pure land worship, give visual utterance to the blended and localized faith that makes it impossible to categorize the mandalas within one school of Buddhism. These diverse references and

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Fig. 2.13 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Golden Light Sutra (detail of fig. I.5), twelfth century, gold, silver, and color on indigo paper. Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi. Photograph courtesy of Chūsonji.

many vignettes unconnected to the sutra content cater to a limited and specific audience to whom the content and messages would be intelligible. Furthermore, the inclusion of so many women unrelated to the scripture’s subject matter in the vignettes surrounding the pagoda also speaks to the works’ specific customization (for instance, figs. 2.16 and 2.17). Women had an impor­ tant place in the Ōshū Fujiwara’s political aspirations, and their active role in the Buddhist pursuits at Hiraizumi is yet another compelling reason for the presence of so many female worshipers. Elizabeth ten Grotenhuis even suggests that the women depicted could be portraits of Hiraizumi’s women,55 and Ariga Yoshitaka argues that there is a strong possibility that the women of the Ōshū Fujiwara were intimately connected to the making of the mandalas, as they were with numerous other artistic projects.56 Therefore the jeweled pagoda mandalas of Chūsonji manifest an intimate and personalized commission involving prayers for political

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Fig. 2.14 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 3 of the Golden Light Sutra (detail of fig. 2.10), twelfth century, gold, silver, and color on indigo paper. Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi. Photograph courtesy of Chūsonji.

Fig. 2.15 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 3 of the Golden Light Sutra (detail of fig. 2.10), twelfth century, gold, silver, and color on indigo paper. Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi. Photograph courtesy of Chūsonji.

authority: 1) through the choice of the Golden Light Sutra and its focus on repentance and forgiveness, with the accompanying narrative vignettes that express the longing for the absolution of sins; 2) through the selection of images that reflect the Tōhoku area’s regional emphasis on Bishamonten worship; 3) through the directional assertiveness discernable in the manipulated alignment of the

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Fig. 2.16 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 4 of the Golden Light Sutra, twelfth century, gold, silver, and color on indigo paper. Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi. Photograph courtesy of Chūsonji.

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Fig. 2.17 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 4 of the Golden Light Sutra (detail of fig. 2.16), twelfth century, gold, silver, and color on indigo paper. Daichōjuin, Chūsonji, Hiraizumi. Photograph courtesy of Chūsonji.

Four Guardian Kings; and 4) through the prominent focus on women in the narrative vignettes, perhaps visualizing their involvement in the production of the mandalas.

The Tanzan Shrine Mandalas: The Set’s History Unfortunately, far less is known about the Tanzan Shrine and Ryūhonji mandalas than the Chūsonji set; the context of the paintings’ commission and production and their intended purpose is vague. Only a few inscriptions remain to cast some light on the mandalas’ shadowy history. However, piecing together the limited

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clues with a visual comparison of contemporary works gains some purchase in the pursuit of the mandalas’ history. Though not widely discussed in the literature, the Tanzan Shrine set has been touted as one of the best examples of the blue-andgold transcription style.57 A few clues emerge from ink inscriptions on the boxes housing the Tanzan Shrine mandalas. Brushed along the exterior seam of the double doors is the mandalas’ title at the time of the 1655 inscription, “Lotus Mandalas” (Hokke mandara) (fig. 2.18). As Miya points out, the term “lotus mandala” carries connotations unrelated to the Tanzan Shrine set. By examining several medieval texts, he determines that two broad categories of lotus mandalas existed.58 The more schematically arranged lotus mandala associated with esoteric Buddhism (Jpn. mikkyō; Ch. mijiao) and often used in the Lotus Sutra rites (Hokekyōhō) frequently features a composition of Śākyamuni and Prabhūtaratna sitting side by side within a jeweled pagoda framed by an eight-petal lotus, a reference to the eleventh chapter of the Lotus Sutra, the “Apparition of the Jeweled-Stupa.” Matsunoodera in Kyoto owns a beautiful thirteenth-century example of this type (fig. 2.19). The other category is the narrativization of the twenty-eight chapters of the Lotus Sutra (Hokekyō nijūhachi bon daiie, often shortened to daiie), for example, the fourteenth-century paintings in the collection of Honpōji in Toyama (fig. 2.20). However, if an entry is sufficiently ambiguous, as is often the case, then it becomes difficult to ascertain whether the “lotus mandala” in the passage refers to the esotericized version or the transformation tableau type; certainty is possible only if the record describes the appearance of the mandala, or if it uses the full categorical title for a painting of the twenty-eight chapters. The categorization of the Tanzan Shrine mandalas as lotus mandalas suggests that at this time and at this particular place, the paintings were positioned within the context of Buddhist visual narrative traditions, perhaps in line with transformation tableaux, given the pictorialized content of the Lotus Sutra in the form of vignettes encircling the textual pagoda. Certainly, the jeweled pagoda mandalas as a group embody the transformation of the sutra’s passages into visual narratives, in particular the mandalas focusing on the Lotus Sutra, which was celebrated for its descriptive content. The Tanzan Shrine and Ryūhonji sets feature graphic interpretations of the sutra’s didactic tales with the accompanying chapter titles and passages as affixed cartouches—a style corresponding directly with the transformation tableau-type lotus mandalas—but the narrative vignettes are only half of the jeweled pagoda mandalas’ composition. Although these images incorporate specific characteristics of the transformation tableau-style images, they are

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Fig. 2.18 Inscription on the exterior of the box housing the Tanzan Shrine jeweled pagoda mandalas, Nara National Museum. Photograph courtesy of Nara National Museum.

Fig. 2.19 Lotus Sutra mandala, thirteenth century, ink, color, and gold on silk. Matsunoodera, Kyoto. Photograph courtesy of Nara National Museum.

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a far more complicated visual and conceptual affair, therefore deserving of their own distinct, albeit small, categorization of painting, that of a jeweled pagoda mandala. This subject of nomenclature will be revisited at the end of the chapter in greater detail. The Commission Context Whereas strong contextual factors historically positioned the Chūsonji mandalas, no primary texts record the date, commission, or even a se­ cure provenance for the Tanzan Shrine mandalas. The only recourse left to arrive at reliable suggestions is a possible link to the twelfthcentury founding of a nearby temple and a visual analysis of the technique and style of the paintings that corroborates this dating. Another tantalizing but ambiguous inscription from the outer lid of the box containing the mandalas mentions a temple roughly half a kilometer northwest of Tanzan Shrine called Shigaiji (fig. 2.18), and on the other side of the lid gives the date of 1652 for Fig. 2.20 Lotus Sutra mandala, ca. 1326, color on silk. Honpōji, Toyama Prefecture. Photograph the remounting of the mandalas, suggesting that courtesy of Honpōji. Tanzan Shrine was not the original home of the paintings. The temple records for Tanzan Shrine rarely refer to Shigaiji, and when the temple does appear in the literature, it is only in records much more recent than the twelfth century.59 One of the few texts to directly connect the Tendai monk Zōga with Shigaiji is the mid-sixteenth-century Record of the Deeds of the Monk Zōga at Tōnominedera, Yamato (Washū Tōnominedera Zōga shōnin gyōgōki).60 According to this source, Shigaiji was founded as a mortuary temple in 1187 to honor Zōga, whose devotion to the Lotus Sutra was renowned.61 Several records dating from the medieval period celebrate Zōga not only for his love of the Lotus Sutra but also for his rather stringent, and perhaps exaggerated, asceticism. Originally a disciple of Ryōgen (912–85), the famed Tendai chief abbot of Enryakuji on Mount Hiei, Zōga left the temple to live in reclusion on Tōnomine, a southern peak outside Nara.62 Tōnomine’s founding as a religious center combining both Shinto and Tendai halls is rather shadowy.63 According to the 1197 Brief

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History of Mount Tōnomine (Tōnomine ryakki), several structures were built to house the remains of Nakatomi no Kamatari (614–69), supposedly by his son, the monk Jōe (d. 665).64 Nakatomi no Kamatari, an important figure at the court, assisted in the development of the Taika Reforms of 645. For Nakatomi’s years of service, Emperor Tenji (D. 665) later honored him by promoting him and awarding him the new clan name Fujiwara, thereby establishing the illustrious and powerful Fujiwara family. The government-mandated institution of shinbutsu bunri, the forcible separation of previously intertwined Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples, threw Tōnomine into a state of upheaval, resulting in the loss of Buddhist establishments and the crowning of Tanzan Shrine as the cultic center.65 So even though the exact provenance of the Tanzan Shrine jeweled pagoda mandalas evades us, the context of their likely production on Tōnomine, with its deep Tendai roots and strong Shinto presence known for its appreciation of recluses, gives a sense of the interconnected religious structures that might have commissioned the paintings. As a devotee of the Lotus Sutra, Zōga was proficient in Zhiyi’s (traditionally considered the founder of Tiantai Buddhism, 538–97) Great Calming and Contemplation (Mohe zhiguan) and other Tendai texts.66 A Brief History of Mount Tōnomine describes Zōga as a master of debate.67 Although there is no consensus as to the reason for Zōga’s departure, perhaps he tired of participating in the court performances and the political intrigue of Enryakuji and chose instead to retire to Tōnomine.68 After Zōga received an invitation from a fellow earnest practitioner, Fujiwara no Takamitsu (ca. 939–94), who was based on the mountain, Tōnomine most likely seemed an ideal retreat.69 Takamitsu and Zōga must have met during the former’s period of study and ordination at Enryakuji under Ryōgen. As a celebrated hijiri (monk who chooses to live in reclusion away from powerful monasteries and the court, often an itinerant preacher),70 the later tales of Zōga’s life were sensationalized to some extent by glorifying his supposed erratic behavior as an indication of his elevated state. The thirteenth-century compilation of setsuwa known as A Collection of Selected Tales (Senjūshō) records an audacious account of Zōga’s departure from Hiei.71 Having grown discontent with his perceived lack of development, Zōga traveled to the Grand Shrine of Ise to pray to Amaterasu, the sun deity and proclaimed progenitor of the imperial family. Amaterasu divined in a dream that to gain his desired enlightenment, he must divest himself of the aspiration for fame and fortune. Immediately upon waking, Zōga disrobed and began the journey back to Enryakuji naked. He was met with various expressions of embarrassment and

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concerns for his sanity. Finally meeting with Ryōgen, Zōga was counseled by the master to eradicate desire from his mind but to also act with proper manners. The nude disciple refused, saying that to cleanse the mind of such treacherous cravings must occasion a behavioral change as well. And with that, he left Mount Hiei and headed to Tōnomine. Zōga features frequently in later ōjōden (Pure Land Buddhist tales of the biographies of those who have achieved rebirth in Amida’s paradise). Ōe no Masafusa (1041–1111) composed such a text around 1101 known as the Continuation of the Biographies of Japanese Reborn into the Pure Land (Zoku honchō ōjōden). Within this celebration of eccentric monks of the past, Zōga is described as having removed the perceived hindrances to his enlightenment by feigning madness and rejecting and antagonizing nobles solicitous of his appointment.72 Tales of Pious Resolution (Hosshinshū) of ca. 1214, attributed to Kamo no Chōmei (1153–1216), records, among other things, accounts of rebirth, including a short but ribald biography of Zōga.73 In this story, Zōga again deliberately provokes an argument with a potential patron seeking to make a donation, all in an effort to eliminate thoughts of fame and fortune that had begun to encroach on him. The same tale describes Ryōgen’s procession to the palace to offer gratitude for his appointment as archbishop. Zōga, bearing a piece of dried fish and astride a scrawny cow, inserts himself at the head of the procession and causes those in attendance to rebuke him for his outlandish behavior. He then proclaims loudly that fame and fortune bring misery and that only the vagrants are happy. The account ends with a description of Zōga at the close of his life, in which the unconventional monk indulges in long-held desires, such as playing go (igo, originally a Chinese game of strategy played with black and white stones on a board) by himself and dancing with saddle flaps on his head. Ever disdainful of monks seeking clerical promotion, Zōga also refused retired Emperor Reizei’s (950–1011) summons to serve as court chaplain.74 When he did accept royal invitations, his behavior shocked and even bordered on licentiousness, if the tales are to be believed. According to Tales of Times Now Past (Konjaku monogatarishū, ca. 1120), an anthology of setsuwa, Zōga acted as preceptor in Sonshi Naishinno's (966–85) ordination.75 He boasted of his endowed manhood, citing that as the likely reason for his requested presence. Afterward, he complained of diarrhea, and hiking up his robes, relieved himself in full view over the railing of the hall. Surely such tales are an exaggeration of Zōga’s eccentricities by later authors. But even stories in which he is sought as a teacher for those who have renounced

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their worldly ties characterize him as a relentless master. The case of a young man named Munemasa who, distraught after the untimely death of his wife, abandons his young daughter and retreats to Tōnomine, illustrates Zōga’s explosive temperament.76 The story describes him as exceedingly quick to anger and prone to harsh judgments, so much so that the young disciple Munemasa flees the monastery to await the waning of Zōga’s temper, which he had aroused through expressions of sentiment after reading a poem composed by a prince who had been moved by the young man’s story. The Tanzan Shrine jeweled pagoda mandalas obviously connect to Shigaiji, based on the exterior inscription on the box housing the paintings. However, the exact nature of that correlation is undetermined. The dating of the mandalas based on a formal analysis of their composition locates the paintings in the twelfth century, which corresponds to the founding of Shigaiji in 1187 to memorialize Zōga. If we pursue this line, it seems likely that Shigaiji wished to commission a commemorative project worthy of a temple founding. Ten large scrolls of gold and silver inks on indigo-dyed paper featuring a novel design merging a scripted pagoda with copious narrative vignettes certainly qualifies as a grand project. Moreover, the transcription of the Lotus Sutra carries connotations specific to the establishment of a temple in honor of Zōga, given his devotion to the beloved scripture. This scenario adds a memorial function to the jeweled pagoda mandalas and stresses the transference of merit through the copying of the sutra, the adorning of the body of the Buddha with precious materials, and the construction of pagodas—a karmic confluence particular to the commission of this rare type of project. Shigaiji retained the mandala set until the mid-nineteenth century. Considerations of Technique and Style Whereas the near total destruction of Chūsonji and banishment of the remaining Ōshū Fujiwara clan in 1189 by Minamoto no Yoritomo and his invading army provides the end bracket in dating the set of mandalas preserved there, the Tanzan Shrine and Ryūhonji versions cannot be as firmly dated. However, the evidence provided suggests that the Tanzan Shrine paintings were connected with the late twelfth-century founding of the Tendai temple Shigaiji in honor of the monk Zōga, and an analysis of compositional technique and style provides the necessary reinforcement for such a production date. An examination of the technique used in communicating the Lotus Sutra content in the form of narrative vignettes and a few distinctive stylistic features

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suggests a late twelfth-century production date for the Tanzan Shrine mandalas. Unfortunately, the paintings are not as well preserved as the Chūsonji and Ryūhonji sets. Faded scenes and damage to the surface hinder the reading of many of the illustrations. Each scroll suffers from extensive creases, the result of having been stored in rolled form for a long time. This is particularly true in the case of the Sutra of Innumerable Meanings and the Contemplation of Samantabhadra Bodhisattva Sutra, the opening and closing fascicles, respectively, where much of the textual pagoda has been worn away and a majority of the surrounding scenes are almost illegible even with the aid of a magnifying glass. The fine-line description of the narrative vignettes and crowded composition further undercut the decipherability of the mandalas. The extensive scriptural passages copied in the form of rather long cartouches reproduce the style of text and image relationships in early setsuwa pictures in which copious cartouches record lengthy excerpts from the sutra. Each scroll offers a minimum of 13 and upwards of 46 cartouches, with a total of 204 for the entire set. For example, Miya points to the biographical painting of Shōtoku Taishi (574– 622) (Shōtoku taishi eden) by Hata no Chitei, dated to 1069 and now in the Tokyo National Museum’s collection of Hōryūji treasures, where cartouches are treated similarly (fig. 2.21). Despite the many restorations of the biographical painting, which introduce uncertainty regarding the original content of the cartouches, it is clear from the size of the paper strips originally attached to the painting surface that the cartouches transcribed lengthy passages from the scripture.77 The cartouches in the Tanzan Shrine mandalas served an important function. The crowded composition of each painting likely made identification of the numerous scenes difficult, and so the mandalas’ many and extensive cartouches clarified the connection of the visual narrative to the written sutra. Aside from slight mistakes in copying and omissions, the cartouches remain faithful to the sutra. In this way, the mandalas present the scripture in its entirety in the form of the central textual reliquary, but also in the form of a truncated text occurring through the ten paintings.78 And given the difficulty of reading the unabridged Lotus Sutra manipulated into the shape of a pagoda, the cartouches preserve the option of reading the scripture. The Tanzan Shrine’s mandalas offer condensed transcriptions of the Lotus Sutra beside the pictorialized versions of these passages, and in this way reflect the relationship between text and image in narrative handscrolls. But rather than alternating in a clear, consistent fashion where the usually extensive text known

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Fig. 2.21 Hata no Chitei, Pictorial Biography of Prince Shōtoku, 1069, one panel from a set of five wooden bifold screens, ink and color on silk. Tokyo National Museum. Photograph courtesy of Tokyo National Museum.

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as kotobagaki precedes a painting made for a limited audience (as is the case with many handscrolls), the mandalas must utilize one continuous picture surface where contiguous vignettes are often unrelated and the explanatory text and image are viewed simultaneously. Early twelfth-century frontispieces generally display a sensitivity of line and less patternization of the composition; those of the early twelfth-century Kiyohirakyō, for instance, exemplify these traits (fig. 2.1). These frontispieces, brimming with drawings over most of the picture surface, later trend toward simpler compositions in the Kamakura period. The line quality of thirteenth-century frontispieces is generally harder and stiffer and the compositions more formulaic and standardized. The Tanzan Shrine mandalas fill all available space with sensitively rendered fine-line description. The figures of the deities and people, along with the flames of fire and waves of water, are drawn with lines thin and lively, reminiscent of twelfth-century blue-and-gold sutra frontispieces (figs. 2.22 and 2.23). Several stylistic choices made in the mandalas do not conform, however, to the general characteristics of blue-and-gold illuminated frontispieces. Bodies of brilliant gold paint for both deities and people; red paint for the pinched mouths; black ink for the eyes, noses, and fingers; and white paint for hair are all uncommon visuals for Heian-period frontispieces. Yet a miniature Lotus Sutra blue-andgold illuminated scroll in the possession of Tanzan Shrine shares these distinctive stylistic qualities. Miya believes this seventh volume of the Lotus Sutra was likely an eleventh-century product of Korean provenance (fig. 2.24).79 Its frontispiece depicts the familiar scene of Śākyamuni preaching to a gathered crowd. The bodies of the assembled deities shine forth in gold while their lips are rendered in red and details of the body are delicately drawn using black ink. The meticulous drawings expand to fill the composition on all sides. The lines are elegant and slender, and the details are finely executed. Although we cannot be certain that the producers of the Tanzan Shrine mandalas were influenced by this handscroll, the visual commonalities suggest some undetected connection. Thus we can approximate the dating and commission of the set to the late twelfth century. More specifically, the techniques of highly detailed vignettes with long scriptural passages and largely saturated compositions; the stylistic choices reflecting the impact of twelfth-century blue-and-gold illuminated sutras; and finally, the inscription bearing the name of Shigaiji all come together to support a production date of ca. 1187 and a commemorative commission for the Tanzan Shrine mandalas.

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Fig. 2.22 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 6 of the Lotus Sutra, twelfth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Tanzan Shrine, Nara. Photograph courtesy of Nara National Museum.

Fig. 2.23 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 6 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 2.22), twelfth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Tanzan Shrine, Nara. Photograph courtesy of Nara National Museum.

Fig. 2.24 Lotus Sutra frontispiece, fascicle 1, eleventh century, gold on indigo paper. Tanzan Shrine, Nara. Photograph courtesy of Nara National Museum.

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The Narrative Vignettes Analyzing the compositional density and narrative arrangement of the vignettes emphasizes the complexity of the many pictures and the hurdle faced by viewers in deciphering them. Doing so also reveals that amidst the chaos, certain organizational rules apply and particular stories are given preference over others. Unlike the tidy and distinct vignettes of Ryūhonji and especially of Chūsonji, the scenes surrounding the central pagoda in the Tanzan Shrine mandalas create a narrative mass, engendering more than a little confusion as scenes unconnected in content partake of the same shared space. The density of the compositions results from the sheer number of narrative vignettes and the extensive use of mountainous scene partitions. Further accentuating the sense of surface saturation, these many scenes are firmly grounded in golden, hilly landscapes populated by numerous figures associated with the narratives. Indeed, the Tanzan Shrine version offers by far the most landscape settings of the three sets, nearly filling all available space. The gradually sloping hills and rocky mountain faces have golden washes as a base, with thin lines of gold over the landscape elements to add descriptive strokes and enhance the volumetric development. Although scale is certainly not a priority, this set is more dimensionally faithful, achieved in part because the mountains are much higher and steeper than the landscapes depicted in the other two sets. Within each scene, the profusion of delicate, fine-line detail heightens the sense of graphic density and offers a full description of even the most minute components, giving the composition a unique richness now vitiated by extensive fading and wear. This set offers the greatest number of narrative translations of the Lotus Sutra’s parables with its approximately 230 illustrations, creating a cramped composition with all available space devoted to graphic description. The most beloved of the sutra’s tales are awarded more scenes to capture the key moments of the story. In fascicle 8, for example, the popular parables of chapter twenty-five, “The Universal Gateway of the Bodhisattva He Who Observes the Sounds of the World [Kanzeon],” fill the entire right column and a quarter of the left column of the composition with depictions of the perilous circumstances in which Kannon [Kanzeon] might intercede (fig. 2.25). With some exceptions, the arrangement of the narrative vignettes creates a circular assembly around the textual pagodas. In particular, chapters are broadly grouped together around the reliquary, but within the space assigned to a particular chapter, the order of the tales is often random and not constrained by the sequence of the scenes as dictated by the scriptural text. Generally, the scenes begin in the lower left under the pagoda, flow upward to the top of the narrative band before

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Fig. 2.25 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 8 of the Lotus Sutra, twelfth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Tanzan Shrine, Nara. Photograph courtesy of Nara National Museum.

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crossing over to the right side, then continue downward to the concluding scene at the bottom. The narrative path usually begins with an illustration of Vulture Peak at the base.80 The system of vignette arrangement, which differs greatly among and between the three sets, indicates another facet of the jeweled pagoda mandalas’ rarity as pictures that exist on the periphery of artistic production and skirt the standardization often found in other categories of painting. This is partly attributable to the flexible nature of transformation tableaux and setsuwa picture organization—a visual stream in which the mandalas move—but also to the fact that the format’s uniqueness allows for great flexibility, especially since these paintings were being produced at vastly different places. The themes of paradise and hell also govern the placement of the narrative episodes. Illustrations depicting heavenly scenes are typically grouped in the upper registers of the mandala, often jettisoning the chronological arrangement within their chapter allocation around the pagoda. In the first fascicle, a paradisiacal scene of Akaniṣṭha Heaven (Jpn. Akanita ten; Ch. Ajianizha tian) breaks from its fellow first-chapter illustrations located at the bottom half of the scroll in order for the heaven to be depicted at the very top next to the spire (fig. 2.26). A short caption taken from the sutra identifies the scene of floating palatial architecture.81 Appropriately, a large scene on the upper right of the fourth scroll describes the celebrated apparition of Prabhūtaratna’s pagoda in the air above the gathered crowd at the time of Śākyamuni’s lecture of the Lotus Sutra (figs. 2.27 and 2.28).82 Likewise, the explicit description of the torture and misery in the lesser paths of existence populates the lower registers of scrolls 1 (fig. 2.29) and 6 (fig. 2.30). The bottom corners of the first scroll stage grotesque scenes of violence and suffering: pictorializations of Avīci Hell (Jpn. Abi jigoku; Ch. Abi diyu) act as the complement to the topmost scene of Akaniṣṭha Heaven. These scenes emphasize the expansive and limitless reach of the Buddha’s light, which is also directly portrayed in a scene under the pagoda in which the golden rays even reach hell.83 On the right side above the scene of warring gods (Jpn. ashura; Ch. axiuluo), hungry ghosts dwell in anguish, the water they attempt to drink turns into flames and their necks—as thin as pins—prevent them from quenching their thirst. In the lower corner of the sixth scroll directly to the right of the pagoda’s base, the cartouche records the torturous screams issuing from hell and the cries of the hungry ghosts as they desperately search for food and drink, scenes which are vividly illustrated.84 This quote continues in the lowest cartouche on the narrative band on the right, which details the terrifying voices of the warring gods living by the edge of a vast sea.85

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Fig. 2.26 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. I.4), twelfth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Tanzan Shrine, Nara. Photograph courtesy of Nara National Museum.

Fig. 2.27 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 4 of the Lotus Sutra, twelfth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Tanzan Shrine, Nara. Photograph courtesy of Nara National Museum.

Fig. 2.28 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 4 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 2.27), twelfth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Tanzan Shrine, Nara. Photograph courtesy of Nara National Museum.

Fig. 2.29 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. I.4), twelfth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Tanzan Shrine, Nara. Photograph courtesy of Nara National Museum.

Fig. 2.30 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 6 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 2.22), twelfth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Tanzan Shrine, Nara. Photograph courtesy of Nara National Museum.

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A heavenly scene drawn in the upper left corner of the eighth scroll compresses space with adjoining illustrations of Trāyastriṃśa Heaven (Jpn. Tōri ten; Ch. Daoli tian) and Tuṣita Heaven (Jpn. Tosotsu ten; Ch. Doushuo tian) (fig. 2.31). Without the explanatory cartouches, viewers would be forgiven for reading the palaces as near extensions of one another. The longer excerpt directly under the leftmost palace specifically praises the transcription of the Lotus Sutra, promising a favorable rebirth in Trāyastriṃśa Heaven to the glorious music of 84,000 female deities, some of whom can be seen in a celebratory welcoming descent drifting downward to the architecture below.86 A cartouche under the floating palace to the right identifies it as Miroku’s (Ch. Mile, Skt. Maitreya) Tuṣita Heaven. The directional pull of the welcoming descent to the left is balanced by the ascension of a small group to Miroku’s paradise; having not only copied the scripture but read it, kept it, and correctly interpreted its message, this group receives the rewards of heaven.87 Other circumstances also require the bending of the spatial rules and serve to further confound the viewer. Each scroll is a continuous single picture surface, with space at a premium and scenes grouped together despite being from different chapters. Chapters graphically intrude on each other’s allocated space, leaving the resulting merger ordered by compositional convenience rather than chronological sequence. Given the convergence of several ostensibly unrelated scenes, cartouches serve an important identification function. But as Miya points out, these choices usually had a rationale.88 In the upper-right register of scroll seven, narratives from chapters 22, 23, and 24 all occupy the same space because such visual mergers take advantage of similar landscapes, narrative reoccurrences, and references to identical characters within the tales, even if they are not illustrated (figs. 2.32 and 2.33). These tactics indicate that one graphic space can hold multiple meanings and make connections across chapters by allusion, if not direct representation. In this case, the lone Śākyamuni Buddha along the top right edge of the scroll represents the beginning of chapter 24, the cartouche of which describes the all-penetrating divine light issuing from his ūrṇā.89 These rays of light shine directly across onto a different Buddha positioned at the base of the spire, the Pure and Bright Excellence of Sun and Moon (Jpn. Nichigetsu jōmyō toku; Ch. Riyue jingming de; Skt. Candrasūryavimalaprabhāśrī), who features in the twenty-third chapter of the sutra. His cartouche similarly references verses praising Pure and Bright Excellence of Sun and Moon’s fine countenance and his brilliant light, which penetrate all ten quarters.90 This theme of glowing light is picked up again in the middle scene between the two lone Buddhas. This narrative from chapter

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Fig. 2.31 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 8 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 2.25), twelfth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Tanzan Shrine, Nara. Photograph courtesy of Nara National Museum.

Fig. 2.32 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 7 of the Lotus Sutra, twelfth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Tanzan Shrine, Nara. Photograph courtesy of Nara National Museum.

Fig. 2.33 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 7 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 2.32), twelfth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Tanzan Shrine, Nara. Photograph courtesy of Nara National Museum.

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22 captures eight seated Buddhas radiating out in a circle and crowned by Buddha Prabhūtaratna’s jeweled pagoda. The illustration references the moment when Śākyamuni caused Buddhas to emanate from his body and return to their original lands spread across the ten quarters, leaving the stupa of Prabhūtaratna as it was, an allusion achieved through the use of closed doors.91 Beyond the focus on penetrative light, these chapters share reoccurring characters across their texts; namely, Prabhūtaratna is mentioned in all three chapters, the Medicine King Bodhisattva is referred to in chapters 23 and 24, and other minor characters also reoccur. Overall, these many dissimulating choices in narrative organization and the sheer density of graphic description in the Tanzan Shrine mandalas force the viewer to act as a detective attempting to sequence the depictions, in effect transforming him into a short-lived narrator of the sutra.

The Ryūhonji Mandalas: The Set’s History Mystery shrouds the patronage of the Ryūhonji jeweled pagoda mandalas, much as it does the Tanzan Shrine set. An alluring yet elusive black-ink inscription on the back of each scroll, which documents the Ryūhonji mandalas’ location at Hōryūji during the set’s first recorded restoration in the seventh month of 1362, hints at their complicated historical journey (fig. 2.34). Whether Hōryūji was the paintings’ original home or just their first verified residence is unclear. However, it is certain that by the mid-fourteenth century the scrolls were in the possession of Hōryūji. The inscription also makes clear that the mandalas were to remain protected from sight, presumably because of the paintings’ honored status as treasures of the temple. To continue tracking the paintings, records associated with the temple must be consulted. A list of Hōryūji’s treasures found in volume nineteen of the midfifteenth-century Taishiden gyokurin shō documents eight Lotus Sutra pagodas (Hokke hattō) housed in a box.92 Slightly later, the record of temple effects, Hōryūji shariden hōmotsu chūmon, still locates the mandalas at Hōryūji during the inventory checks of 1550 and 1591.93 In these two entries, the descriptions of the mandalas are similar to those in the Taishiden gyokurin shō. Both entries list them as eight Lotus Sutra pagodas (1550: Hokke no hattō; 1591: Hokke no hattō). Based on these findings, it is apparent that Hōryūji was in possession of the paintings from the mid-fourteenth until the late sixteenth century. The objects themselves provide additional information in the form of a later,

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Fig. 2.34 Inscription on the back of the jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Lotus Sutra, thirteenth century. Ryūhonji, Kyoto. Photograph courtesy of Kyoto National Museum.

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undated inscription on the paintings that hints at their seventeenth-century journey into the world of the samurai and Nichiren Buddhism. As the epigraph tells us, Satsu (b. 1660), the daughter of Nakagawa Hisatsune (1641–95) of the Oka clan and wife of Sengoku Masaakira (1669–1706) of the Ueda clan, commissioned the remounting of the eight mandalas. The inscription records Satsu’s Buddhist name, associated with the Nichiren school; her mother, her husband, and his family were all known to be strong supporters of this particular school of Buddhism,94 the tenets and visual culture of which are discussed in more detail in the next chapter. Given the dates of these historical figures and the date of the final inscription on the paintings, which testifies to another restoration in 1681 in Edo (modernday Tokyo), the two epigraphs are clearly closely linked. That the remounting and restoration occurred in Edo, where Satsu and her husband resided, rather than in the Nara/Kyoto area where the paintings had been preserved for centuries, suggests that Nittsū (1621–1701), the Nichiren monk of Ryūhonji who signed this last inscription, was likely connected with the Sengoku family through the network of prominent Nichiren supporters. Having learned of the mandalas’ move from Hōryūji to Ryūhonji, Satsu must have expressed interest in donating the money for the remounting. By referencing Shōtoku Taishi at the start of his inscription, Nittsū also recalls the mandalas’ illustrious past history at Hōryūji and that temple’s connection to the prince. While we do not know the Ryūhonji mandalas’ original purpose, we can at least say that in the seventeenth century they were co-opted and rededicated for the karmic merit of a specific woman and her family. Finally, inscriptions on the new boxes in which the paintings are currently stored use the title Pagoda of Lotus Sutra Characters in Eight Scrolls (Hokekyō moji no hōtō hachijiku).95 Without more indications of patronage or function, it is difficult to speculate on the precise circumstances surrounding the creation of Ryūhonji’s set of paintings, but with the aid of seventeenth-century epigraphic evidence, we can reveal that the lives of the mandalas post-production were closely tied to prayers for karmic benefit, Nichiren Buddhism, and a woman of prominent daimyō lineage. Considerations of Technique and Style Whereas speculation about commission contexts based on epigraphic evidence for the Tanzan Shrine mandalas and on extrapolation from Hiraizumi’s wellknown history for the Chūsonji mandalas yielded some results, the origin of the Ryūhonji paintings is much more elusive. Estimating a production date therefore requires a visual analysis of the technique and style of the works. The task is made easier because the Ryūhonji paintings are beautifully preserved. Nearly every

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scene remains vibrant and complete, and the gold paint still glitters and leaps off the rich blue background. A cursory comparison between the Ryūhonji and Tanzan Shrine versions reveals pictures composed using different compositional and stylistic methods, exposing vastly different approaches to the innovative transcription and illustration of the Lotus Sutra. Unlike the crowded and even jumbled compositions of the Tanzan Shrine mandalas, those at Ryūhonji offer a tidy picture surface of distinctly separate vignettes. Large, distilled drawings enhance the visual clarity of the scriptural narratives. The combination of larger vignettes and lower levels of detail endows the mandalas with greater legibility, which is also a technical characteristic of later illustrated sutra frontispieces and setsuwa and hensō pictures of the thirteenth century and after (fig. 2.20). Furthermore, the cartouches are also far more abbreviated than those of the Tanzan Shrine version. Because of the emphasis on clarity of composition and distinct visual forms, Miya argues that the content of the narratives falls short of those in the Tanzan Shrine set.96 However, such a judgment is more likely based on stylistic preferences rather than on the vignettes’ ability to communicate content. The opposite could be argued, that the distilled narratives render the stories without the visual distraction of excessive detail or overcrowded compositions. The brushwork in the Ryūhonji paintings is on the whole soft and fluid, indicating a date not too late in the thirteenth century; the exception is the rendition of the faces of the Buddhas and devilish creatures, which exhibit some strictness (figs. 2.35 and 2.36). In these ways, the Ryūhonji set’s simplified and clear compositions recall the characteristics of thirteenth-century illustrated sutra and setsuwa visual culture. Whereas the Chūsonji set offers more superfluous landscapes and the Tanzan Shrine set tucks away most of its scenes in mountainous settings, filling in nearly every area of blue paper, most of the Ryūhonji narratives take place on thin, golden swaths of land. When more substantial landscape is used, it is dictated by narrative content. Figures often stand alone, free of heavily contextualized settings (fig. 2.37). Jettisoning scale, they consistently dwarf the mountains, ravines, and trees (figs. 2.38 and 2.39). Clearly, the Ryūhonji mandalas focus on the narrative aspect of the vignettes, and to that end the majority of them are plainly marked with succinct explanatory cartouches. Both the technique and style of the Ryūhonji paintings suggest a date later than the ca. 1187 production date for the Tanzan Shrine version. In addition to recalling the thirteenth-century tradition of sutra and setsuwa illustrations, the composition and brushwork of the scrolls point to a mid-thirteenth-century date. And

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Fig. 2.35 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 3 of the Lotus Sutra, thirteenth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Ryūhonji, Kyoto. Photograph courtesy of Kyoto National Museum.

Facing page: Fig. 2.36 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 3 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 2.35), thirteenth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Ryūhonji, Kyoto. Photograph courtesy of Kyoto National Museum.

Previous page: Fig. 2.37 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 1 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. I.3), thirteenth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Ryūhonji, Kyoto. Photograph courtesy of Kyoto National Museum.

Fig. 2.38 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 5 of the Lotus Sutra, thirteenth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Ryūhonji, Kyoto. Photograph courtesy of Kyoto National Museum.

Fig. 2.39 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 5 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 2.38), thirteenth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Ryūhonji, Kyoto. Photograph courtesy of Kyoto National Museum.

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although the mandalas cannot be situated in the context of a commission which would further inform the production date, as it does for the other two sets, by considering the earliest known restoration of the paintings it is possible to gauge their time of creation. Based on the general trends in the maintenance of images in the medieval period, most initial restorations were made one hundred years after the object’s initial production.97 Applying this hypothesis to the Ryūhonji jeweled pagoda mandalas and calculating back from the earliest recorded mending of 1362 dates the scrolls to the mid-thirteenth century, which further substantiates the conclusions suggested by the visual qualities of the paintings. The Narrative Vignettes This divine realm of indigo and gold, where word constructs architecture and deities and humans intermingle, casts a striking vision of the potentialities of the Lotus Sutra. The mandalas of Ryūhonji proffer a resplendent realm. This is partly because gold is the primary color, whereas the Chūsonji version displays a rich palette and the severely faded Tanzan Shrine set offers a more muted gold, balanced by a profusion of silver. This visual formula, derived from the blue-andgold illustrated sutra tradition, also differs from the artistic techniques witnessed in the handscrolls. The animals are described in silver, but all the Buddhas, principal bodhisattvas, people, and even demons appear in gold. The eyes, noses, hands, and legs are detailed with black ink and the mouths of the Buddhas, bodhisattvas, and people are dotted with red. This portrayal closely resembles the techniques adopted in the Tanzan Shrine mandalas. Even though the silvery description of the buildings’ walls and the ephemeral mist tempers the abundance of gold, the world of Ryūhonji’s jeweled pagoda mandalas remains a golden one. In addition to their vibrancy, because the Ryūhonji mandalas are the widest of the three sets and because the scenes themselves are larger and selectively chosen rather than comprehensively presented, the paintings are much easier to read. As noted before, the Chūsonji scenes, which illustrate the Golden Light Sutra, are not so much narratives as images of symbolically charged deities and worshipers. However, with its endless parables and episodes, the Lotus Sutra readily lends itself to pictorialization. Thus the Ryūhonji and Tanzan Shrine sets are replete with narrative scenes. Approximately 120 illustrations populate the eight Ryūhonji mandalas. The compositions are deftly proportioned and avoid overwhelming the viewer; in contrast, the density of the Tanzan Shrine scrolls is likely to overpower the viewer. Though certainly not a steadfast rule, the arrangement of the narrative vignettes tends to start in the lower half or right of the mandala; from this beginning point,

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Fig. 2.40 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 2 of the Lotus Sutra, thirteenth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Ryūhonji, Kyoto. Photograph courtesy of Kyoto National Museum.

Fig. 2.41 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 2 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 2.40), thirteenth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Ryūhonji, Kyoto. Photograph courtesy of Kyoto National Museum.

Fig. 2.42 Jeweled pagoda mandala, fascicle 3 of the Lotus Sutra (detail of fig. 2.35), thirteenth century, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo paper. Ryūhonji, Kyoto. Photograph courtesy of Kyoto National Museum.

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the narratives travel upward to the top of the right band before switching over to the lower left and working their way up to the top of the left band. Miya argues that this configuration follows the conventional Japanese narrative arrangement style, such as that seen in the Shōtoku Taishi biographical painting (fig. 2.21).98 Around the pagoda, cartouches are interspersed that quote passages from the scripture, with between 7 and 21 cartouches attached to each scroll, altogether totaling 106.99 These quotations are often much shorter; occasionally the ambiguity and brevity of the passage prevents an easy identification of the scene on its own. Yet thanks to the clarity of the graphic episodes, the intended scriptural content remains accessible. By offering roughly half as many vignettes as those found in the Tanzan Shrine mandalas, the distilled composition of the Ryūhonji mandalas represents a transition to the thirteenth century. Fewer and sparser cartouches also signify a shift toward the styles popular in thirteenth-century Japan. Adding to the thirteenth-century proclivities observable in the Ryūhonji jeweled pagoda mandalas, the limited number of vignettes requires a highly specific selection of narratives that privileges popularity over comprehensiveness. A survey of the scenes illustrated in each mandala reveals that stories with themes amenable to visual description, as well as stories embedded in time that require continuous narration, are most common.100 By examining and collating the most frequently depicted scriptural episodes from blue-and-gold illuminated sutras copied from the eleventh through thirteenth centuries, Miya proposes a ranking of the most popular narrative images. These beloved episodes correspond directly with the choices made in the narrative selection process in the Ryūhonji mandalas, and moreover, they occur in particular spaces around the textual reliquary. By charting the arrangement of the scenes, Miya discovers that the most popular illustrations from the Lotus Sutra were concentrated at the top and bottom of each mandala, with the exception of the bottom of scroll 1, which depicts the standard scene of preaching on Vulture Peak.101 For instance, the bottom of scroll 2 offers a rather large scene of the popular burning house parable (figs. 2.40 and 2.41).102 The three carts stationed outside the burning house are employed as metaphors for expedient means (Jpn. hōben; Ch. fangbian; Skt. upāya). The three vehicles (Jpn. sanjō; Ch. sansheng; Skt. triyāna) are the auditors (Jpn. shōmon; Ch. shengwen; Skt. śrāvaka), the individually enlightened (Jpn. engaku; Ch. yuanjue; Skt. pratyekabuddha), and the bodhisattvas. The Lotus Sutra preaches that this form of understanding reflects a preliminary time, whereas in the time of the Lotus Sutra all three paths are subsumed, offering the sutra as the one Buddha vehicle (Jpn. ichibutsujō; Ch. yifo sheng; Skt. ekayāna), or perfect path

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to Buddhahood. In another example of placement of popular tales, scroll 3 depicts a scene with a substantial palatial garden attended by royal retainers from the “Medicinal Herbs” chapter in the lower right-hand corner (fig. 2.42). This chapter again explains the concept of expedient means using the metaphor of medicinal herbs.103

Lone Jeweled Pagoda Mandalas Three other jeweled pagoda mandalas have surfaced in recent years, and unfortunately, I have not had the opportunity to examine them personally. Two of the lone paintings appear to be from the same original set, the rest of which seems to be lost. Presumably from the early twelfth century, one of them is housed in a private collection (fig. I.6), and the other was uncovered in the late 1990s at a temple in Shiga Prefecture, Jōshinji (fig. I.7). Regrettably, these two mandalas have not fared well and many of their narrative vignettes are barely legible. The third example, most likely dating to the late twelfth or early thirteenth century (fig. I.8), is stored in Myōhōji. It survives in excellent condition, with its gold still glimmering and its vignettes clear and readable. Despite the separation of these paintings from their original sets, all three examples are valuable because they establish that jeweled pagoda mandalas were more widely produced at this time than previously thought. The Dispersed Set How a jeweled pagoda mandala came to be in the possession of a private collector is not currently publicized, nor is much known about the travels of the Jōshinji example.104 The compositional structure, pagoda construction, and rendition of the narrative vignettes strongly indicate that they were originally from the same set and were later separated. The original commission for this disbanded set and the location of its fellow mandalas remain a mystery, leaving very little evidence for understanding the context of their production. Unlike the faded compositions surrounding the reliquaries, the gold of the pagodas gleams—a result of the restoration of the central icon. The pagodas of this set are far simpler than those of the other mandalas. Like the Chūsonji and Tanzan Shrine versions, the reliquaries consist of nine levels with a false roof. These mandalas also terminate in a squared foundation without handrails and steps, like the Tanzan Shrine set. However, this scattered set lacks the decorative flourishes seen in other versions. As is typical of jeweled pagoda mandalas, the

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scripture begins at the top of the finial and concludes in the right corner of the foundation with the title of the sutra and volume number. But the transcription also reads as more cramped and the characters are less distinct. Housed inside the reliquary sit two Buddhas, now faintly described and barely visible. Although gold is the most obvious ink used, silver accents can still be detected in details of the pagoda, such as the paneling and windows, as well as parts of the landscape and buildings within the narrative vignettes. Unfortunately, the vignettes’ extensive fading makes discernment of most scenes nearly impossible, and fewer scenes are offered overall. The arrangement of the narratives proceeds much like the Chūsonji vignettes, beginning in the top right and continuing to the bottom of the column, then crossing over to the top left column and continuing down.105 In his analysis of the privately owned mandala, Izumi Takeo concludes that, based on the style of the Buddhas, bodhisattvas, and their clothing, which reflects a softness and roundness seen in the late eleventh and early twelfth centuries, the mandala was produced no later than the early twelfth century, making these paintings the oldest example of the jeweled pagoda mandalas currently known.106 Myōhōji’s Jeweled Pagoda Mandala The same lacuna plaguing other examples of this rare form of painting haunts the only remaining fascicle from an otherwise lost set now housed at Myōhōji in Sakai. Before the 1985 exhibition in Sakai City Museum entitled “Sakai no butsuzō butsuga,” few people knew of the existence of this lone jeweled pagoda mandala. Nothing is known of its commission, original set context, or historical trajectory. Curiously, the legends swirling around the apotheosized Shōtoku Taishi, which continued to grow in prominence long after the death of the real prince, touched even this mysterious mandala. An inscription on the back of the scroll claims that the great prince’s brush composed the mandalas.107 This type of text likely functioned in a similar way to the one composed by Nittsū on the back of the Ryūhonji mandalas. Connecting the immortalized prince with the painting acted as another instance of pious fabrication. The inscription also describes the dedication of a ten-storied108 mandala on an auspicious day in the ninth month of 1641 by the monks Nichiyō and Nichitō of Ryūhonji, creating a curious connection between two of the few temples to acquire jeweled pagoda mandalas. However, according to textual records connected to the Ryūhonji set’s history, those mandalas appear to have been in the possession of Hōryūji until at least 1591 and are only recorded entering the collection of Ryūhonji in 1681. The intervening and undocumented

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years mean that it is difficult to speculate on a possible link between the newly acquired Ryūhonji mandalas and the Ryūhonji monks Nichiyō and Nichitō and their connection with the Myōhōji mandala. Therefore, the idea that Nichiyō was perhaps invited in 1641 to the dedication service because of the temples’ shared rare objects is impossible to prove given the later date of the Ryūhonji mandalas’ inscription. Another explanation comes from the temples’ shared school affiliation, as Ryūhonji and Myōhōji were both Nichiren temples. Nichiyō’s exposure to the mandala at Myōhōji might have brought this unusual style of the Lotus Sutra ornamental transcription to the attention of Ryūhonji at an advantageous time since Hōryūji’s mandalas would be available only forty years later, assuming 1681 is when the mandalas were acquired. It is conceivable then that this category of painting would still be in the collective temple memory, thus encouraging Nittsū to pursue their acquisition. The Myōhōji mandala is the seventh from a series of presumably either eight or ten paintings, depending on the inclusion of the opening and closing sutras.109 The mandala’s construction resembles the standard techniques found in the other mandalas. Gold, which is used for the major part of the reliquary, the bodies of most of the figures, and the landscape and buildings, dominates the composition. However, silver accents are also profuse. Many of the human faces and a few of the deities’ bodies are rendered in silver, which is also found in the landscape washes, details of the buildings, and parts of the pagoda such as the paneling, the forward-facing foundation, and the steps that alternate gold and silver. As noted in the sections analyzing the Tanzan Shrine and Ryūhonji sets, the technique of using gold and silver for the bodies of the narrative figures is rarely found in Japanese blue-and-gold illuminated sutras, suggesting that this is another hallmark of the jeweled pagoda mandala style. Unlike the Tanzan Shrine set and the majority of the Ryūhonji mandalas, the golden reliquary of Myōhōji does not emerge out of an ocean of waves, and in this aspect, the Myōhōji version resembles the Chūsonji set. Much like the Ryūhonji paintings and the disbanded mandalas, two Buddhas painted in gold and heavily damaged sit inside the pagoda. A handrail surrounds the foundation and leads down the steps, again manifesting the same architectural style seen in the Chūsonji and Ryūhonji mandalas. The sutra transcription begins at the top of the finial and ends with the last step, terminating at the curve of the right handrail. The Myōhōji mandala’s narrative vignettes depict many of the conventional illustrations from the seventh volume of the Lotus Sutra. The favorite vignettes are represented, and like the Ryūhonji rendition, the arrangement of the scenes

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is less orderly, with the narratives being more randomly distributed. The explanatory cartouches also resemble those of the Ryūhonji version. Given the similarities with the Ryūhonji set in terms of the architectural style of the pagoda, the scene selection and arrangement of the narratives, and the mirroring of the cartouches, compounded with the painting’s late twelfth- or thirteenth-century style reflected in the brushwork and compositional choices, a date roughly contemporary with the Ryūhonji mandalas seems most plausible.

Conclusion Examining the circumstances of the commission and the formal characteristics of the jeweled pagoda mandalas from the Chūsonji, Tanzan Shrine, and Ryūhonji sets, along with the three lone mandalas, reveals the singularity of this category of paintings. At the same time, it also indicates their indebtedness to Japanese blue-and-gold illuminated sutras. This chapter explored the technique, style, and commission context of the jeweled pagoda mandalas to produce a historical narrative about each set. In offering insight into the private aspects of their commissions, the Chūsonji paintings reveal a matrix of confession, anxiety, ambition, and ingenuity. The importance of the Golden Light Sutra to the Ōshū Fujiwara and their concerns about both strong authoritarian rule and personal salvation are manifested in the Chūsonji set’s innovative transcription and illustrations. These mandalas were shown to be the final products of a commission by Fujiwara no Hidehira in 1170. The Tanzan Shrine set offers more in-depth visual descriptions of the Lotus Sutra’s parables, perhaps due to the mandalas’ commission in 1187 to celebrate the founding of Shigaiji in honor of the priest Zōga. This connection adds a distinctly commemorative function to the mandalas, one that was likely meant to convey karmic merit to the renowned recluse using the transcription and illustration of the scripture he loved so well. A study in balance and artistic control, the Ryūhonji set reflects the distillation of sutra illustrations and cartouches combined with tidy and bright compositions. Taken together, these qualities embody the visual style and technique of thirteenth-century scriptural imagery. This approximate date is further narrowed down by calculating one century back from the earliest recorded restoration in 1362, which places the production of the mandalas sometime around the midthirteenth century. Two later inscriptions also tell the fragmentary story of Satsu,

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a Nichiren Buddhist laywoman who through marriage joined the Nakagawa and Sengoku families, and of the mandalas’ transition from Hōryūji to Ryūhonji in the seventeenth century. The dedication of the new mounting for the mandalas gives us a glimpse into the types of projects women were involved in and the set’s life after production, as it entered the orbit of a samurai family and Nichiren Buddhism. Although the exact histories of the extant jeweled pagoda mandalas cannot be pinned down any further, the next chapter will follow a different investigatory line to lend additional clarity to the paintings’ stylistic origins and contemporary artistic and copying contexts.

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Medieval Textual Images

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fforts to unveil the commission and production context of the three sets of jeweled pagoda mandalas yielded several conclusions. Nevertheless, the historical record was far from complete, and in this chapter I will complement those findings with an investigation into the paintings’ visual sources. Considerations of stylistic origin and the culture of copying at the time of the mandalas’ manufacture will shed further light on the background of these works. I begin with an investigation of the continental prototypes, followed by an exploration of the culture of Japanese sutra transcription in the eleventh through thirteenth centuries that exposes the trend toward innovative and intensive copying practices. In this way, I locate the continental sources of this unusual style of transcription as well as provide a contextual study of significant fashions in sutra copying around the time of the mandalas’ first production in twelfth- and thirteenth-century Japan, revealing that rather than emerging sui generis, the jeweled pagoda mandalas were in fact intimately imbedded within the broader system of contemporaneous sutra art and copying.

Continental Prototypes Though the jeweled pagoda mandalas were novel at the time of their first appearance in Japan, prototypes existed in China as early as the tenth century. Dunhuang manuscript Or.8210/S.4289 recto housed in the British Library shows a small, blackinked pagoda built of characters from the concise Heart Sutra (figs. 3.1a–b). A closer look at this example reveals the complex pattern of character arrangement that builds the textual pagoda. — 122 —

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The title of the sutra crowns the pagoda like a canopy: the floating center line begins with the characters foshuo (sermon of the Buddha), and the rest of the title is split into two lines with flames drawn in red above each (one also appears above the center line but a trim of the paper has made it only partially visible). The dangling line to the right of the reliquary continues with bore boluo and the left concludes the title with miduo xinjing, together forming Bore boluomiduo xinjing (Heart Sutra). The sutra begins its seemingly erratic and meandering course with the first character of the scripture, guan (meditative insight), located to the center right of the top line of the foundation and marked in the diagram by a star (fig. 3.1b). From there the sutra continues in a diagonal line down to the left-most character at the bottom, shen (profound). Zigzags, abrupt directional switches, and crisscrossing paths construct the rest of the visual puzzle, forming a configuration of diamonds and triangles. Assuming that the dotted red lines linking the seemingly scattered characters are drawn afterward, as suggested by their unruly and wavy nature, it is not until well past the sutra’s halfway point that the superficially random appearance of a collage of characters arranged without meaning or order is broken and the interior order, once presumed to be structureless, is revealed to be a patterned system of semantically connected lines of text arranged symmetrically along the vertical axis.1 The inexactitude of manuscript Or.8210/S.4289 recto’s construction, with its winding dotted lines, skewed horizontal rows of characters (a contrast to the orderly character of the vertical columns), and an empty central niche, indicates that this was likely a personal composition rather than a professional one. Moreover, the absence of a deity in the niche also suggests that the manuscript was a private one composed by a single person, perhaps without the necessary drawing skills to illustrate an anthropomorphized deity or without access to a stamp. On the other hand, the Bibliothèque nationale’s Dunhuang manuscript P.2168 displays the markers of a professional copyist: tidily and accurately spaced rows and columns of carefully written characters, the seated figure of Kannon in the niche, and the embellishment of hand-painted decorative bands at the top and bottom (fig. 3.2). Whereas figure 3.1a omits the last character of the sutra, the Pelliot example reduces its size and squeezes the final word of the text in between the opening and closing characters directly below Kannon. These modifications recall the adjustments made in the transcription of the jeweled pagoda mandalas discussed in chapter 1. There is also meaning scripted into certain characters’ positions. In figures 3.1a and 3.2, the top three characters summarize the Heart Sutra’s emphasis on empti-

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Fig. 3.1a Transcription of the Heart Sutra in the shape of a pagoda, recto, from Dunhuang (Stein collection Or.8210/S.4289), tenth century, black ink on paper. British Library, London. Photograph courtesy of the British Library.

Fig. 3.1b Diagram showing the order of transcription of the Heart Sutra in the shape of a pagoda in fig. 3.1a. Courtesy of Dalila D’Amico, Graphic Design Department, University of Edinburgh.

Fig. 3.2 Transcription of the Heart Sutra in the shape of a pagoda, recto, from Dunhuang (Pelliot collection P.2168), tenth century, black ink on paper. Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris. Photograph courtesy of Bibliothèque nationale de France.

Fig. 3.3 Partial transcription of the Heart Sutra in the shape of a pagoda, verso, from Dunhuang (Stein collection Or.8210/S.4289), tenth century, black ink on paper. British Library, London. Photograph courtesy of the British Library.

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ness by formulating some variation on the phrase “knowing the path of emptiness.” The line to the right framing the niche reads “the nonexistent eye, ear, nose,” while the frame to the left inscribes the text “Buddhas of the three world periods.” Perhaps then the vacant niche is an intentionally empty space framed by passages that conceptually explain that absence while writing the Buddha’s presence. The process of initial production would require that the puzzle be devised beforehand and the positions of the characters perhaps be scripted using a tracing model. The verso of manuscript Or.8210/S.4289 can further illuminate the transcription process (fig. 3.3).2 Here the copyist had barely begun before the project was abandoned for reasons unknown, although it is clear from the handwriting that different people composed the two sides of the manuscript. This interrupted composition tells us that the text’s sequence was not the determining factor at the moment of transcription because, rather than copy the scripture in order, the copyist works from the top down. This process suggests that the emphasis is not in fact on the act of copying as religious practice but instead on drawing the accurate form of the pagoda using sacred script. How the manuscript was used after it was written is another matter. Perhaps the professionally executed examples were sold to the Buddhist community as talismans.3 But what are we to make of the dotted red lines? What was their purpose if not to ease the task of the copyist by illuminating the path? Their presence is a direct confirmation that these small manuscripts were intended to have a life beyond their transcription. Since the sutra seems to have been written without regard for textual order, the lines played little part in the production process. Therefore, as a finishing touch the lines functioned for the recipient rather than the copyist, assuming that the person was not one and the same. At least two possible reasons can account for this circumstance. The first is that the lines preemptively solve the word puzzle for the viewer by connecting the dots of the scriptural path.4 In doing so, the objective is likely to mark the way for readers of the Heart Sutra, not in any exegetical sense but more in terms of a sequential assimilation that focuses on the movement of scripture. Perhaps the scrambling of characters also worked as a visual mnemonic by marking each character’s position in a distinctive way that makes their sequence easier to remember, as opposed to the conventional, tidy vertical rows of a sutra scroll. The second possibility is that the quickly changing path of the text recalls the circulatory system, an interpretation heightened by the presence of red lines that join one character to the next as the sutra courses through the body of the pagoda. Reading the text then gives life and kinetic energy to an otherwise static image.

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The circulation of the characters as points of linked text also recalls the 84,000 atoms of the body. When Aśoka constructed 84,000 stupas across his empire, each reliquary corresponded to an atom of the Buddha’s skeleton.5 But the monuments can also be read as beacons enshrining the dharma of the Buddha, since 84,000 is also the number of sections in the Buddha’s teachings.6 In doing so, Aśoka recast both the physical and dharmalogical body of Śākyamuni as reliquarial monuments.7 And by locating these reliquaries locally, he enveloped his kingdom within the Buddha’s body. This dual expression of body is also captured in the visuality of the manuscript through its suggestion of circulatory movement via reading, which conflates word and picture to signify the indivisibility of sacred text and body in a scaled-down prototype of the later Japanese jeweled pagoda mandalas. As the earliest extant instance of the textual pagoda format, these tenthcentury Dunhuang manuscripts contrast markedly with the later Japanese versions analyzed in this project. Whereas the text of the Japanese jeweled pagoda mandalas might jump around, in general, sequential characters are placed in line with one another so the viewer need not search character by character but rather for the next line. The order of the characters in the prototype is intentionally complicated. Furthermore, even though the Dunhuang manuscripts required careful preplanning before their execution, it is hardly on the scale of the elaborate sets commissioned in medieval Japan. The Japanese mandalas transcribe long sutras resulting in sets of eight to ten large scrolls. The tenth-century Chinese versions are made of less expensive materials such as undyed paper and black ink, whereas the Japanese paintings use costly resources like large and numerous sheets of indigodyed paper and inks of gold and silver. In light of these fundamental differences, it seems unlikely that the earliest examples of the textual pagoda format were the direct model for the later Japanese mandalas. The textual pagoda developed further on the continent—and likely in Korea, though no early examples remain— before arriving in Japan, where the idea was greatly transformed into expensive and involved icons of elaborate visual beauty and pious intent. The ephemeral nature of the prototypes means that we cannot trace with specificity but rather conjure by imagination their impact on the artistic developments in Japan. Later examples reveal the development of the textual pagoda format in China. A tantalizing Northern Song (960–1127) entry from the Calligraphy Catalogue of the Xuanhe Period (1119–25) (Xuanhe shupu) seems to describe a three-dimensional textual pagoda illuminated with light.8 According to the entry, dated 1112, the Buddhist monk Fahui (act. early twelfth century) presented a spectacular pagoda built of sutra transcriptions in tiny regular script, termed a xishu jingta, to Emperor

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Huizong (1082–1135, r. 1100–1125) as a wish for longevity on the occasion of his birthday. In fact, Fahui accommodated not one but ten scriptures on the reliquary:9 the Lotus Sutra, Scripture on the Great Buddha’s Crown,10 Vimalakīrti Sutra,11 Sutra of Perfect Enlightenment,12 Diamond Sutra,13 Contemplation of Samantabhadra Bodhisattva Sutra, Mahākaruṇā puṇḍarīka sūtra,14 Dhāraṇī of the Jubilant Corona,15 Dhāraṇī of the Superb Door to an Extended Lifespan,16 and Sutra for Humane Kings,17 although it seems doubtful that these scriptures could have been transcribed in their entirety. Instead, it is likely that a form of abbreviated transcription was used where each sutra is represented by its title and a portion of its text. Placing an incense burner inside the textual pagoda animated the sacred characters, causing them to fly about before what must have been a transfixed audience. In this way, the flickering characters danced on the walls and even perhaps on the bodies of the audience, writing them in sacred text. The entry credits Fahui’s piety as the source of his remarkable abilities. Unfortunately, although this three-dimensional textual reliquary was in the palace collection at the time Calligraphy Catalogue of the Xuanhe Period was written, it has not survived. But this early twelfth-century example demonstrates the experimentation with textual pagodas concurrent with and yet vastly different from the Japanese versions. Later on, the imperial records of the Qing (1644–1911) emperor Qianlong (1711– 99, r. 1736–95), entitled Pearl Forest in the Secret Hall, document thirty-four textual pagodas composed from the Song dynasty (960–1279) to the Qing.18 These records offer insights into the mysterious production of these rather rare and intricately composed images. The brief entries give vital information such as the copyist (if known), the dynastic date, the chosen sutra, and the number of scrolls produced. From this information, it is revealed that creation of textual pagodas, although not popularly pursued, was practiced by persons of elevated rank such as literati and even emperors. The most commonly selected sutras are the Diamond Sutra with fifteen scrolls and the Lotus Sutra with nine scrolls; although the Heart Sutra is only selected twice, the enthusiastic Qing emperor Kangxi (1654–1722, r. 1661– 1722) configured the scripture into a textual reliquary fifteen times. Other scriptures used were the Amida Sutra19 with three scrolls, the Scripture of the Original Vows of the Medicine Master Tathāgata of Lapis Light (otherwise known as the Medicine Buddha Sutra)20 with three scrolls, and the Golden Light Sutra with one scroll. The entries in the Pearl Forest in the Secret Hall are brief, providing valuable but scant information. However, as best as can be ascertained given the brevity of the passages, seventeen of the textual pagodas recorded in the Qing document are now housed in Taipei’s National Palace Museum.21

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There still remains the question of connecting these continental prototypes with the significantly altered mandalas produced in twelfth- and thirteenth-century Japan. Given the greater ease of production and transportation of printed material, perhaps the textual pagoda format entered Korea and Japan as printed manuscripts which are no longer extant. Clearly, broad lacunae characterize the trajectory of the textual pagodas across East Asia. But given the meager records concerning the textual reliquaries in China and Korea and the jeweled pagoda mandalas in Japan and their rarity, the journey of this uncommon combinatory format is unlikely to shed its mysterious shroud entirely. The only medieval Korean example I am aware of is in the collection of Tōji in Kyoto (fig. 3.4). And though the dating and precise provenance of the textual pagoda is uncertain, by calculating the year mentioned in the vow located at the very bottom of the scroll, the date of 1369 is offered.22 If so, this places it nearly two centuries beyond the earliest examples of the jeweled pagoda mandalas of Japan. However, it seems likely that other Korean examples simply have not survived or are currently unknown. How precisely the painting came to be in the collection of Tōji is also unclear. Tōbōki, the historical record of Tōji from its founding to the Muromachi period (1333–1573), documents its existence in the collection by the fourteenth century with a brief citation recording the presence of a Korean image of a pagoda made from the text of the Lotus Sutra.23 In contrast to the Japanese versions, which portion out the sutra transcription into the conventional volume divisions, thus making large sets of eight or ten scrolls, this seven-story Korean pagoda contains the entire Lotus Sutra on a single piece of silk dyed a deep blue (fig. 3.5). The area enclosing the textual reliquary is gracefully decorated with bodhisattvas, flying paradisiacal deities (Jpn. hiten, Ch. feitian; Skt. apsarases), worshipers (perhaps portraits of the donors), and flowers that rain down from heaven, all rendered using fine, gold lines. On both sides of each story, bodhisattvas kneel upon lotus pedestals encircled with a thin, golden line and with trailing silver clouds—surprisingly also composed of sutra characters. Two figures with halos stand on each side of the pagoda’s foundation and its first floor. Additionally, on the first floor two identical Buddhas sit side by side, their iconography indicative of Śākyamuni and Prabhūtaratna. A Buddha emanating rays of light is depicted on each successive story. On each side of the large jewel crowning the finial, celestial deities fly with outstretched hands of offering. At the bottom of the painting, a vow is written within a box and flanked by standing, haloed figures; unfortunately, the text of the inscription has sustained damage over the years, making it difficult to read. But importantly, a passage praising the

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Fig. 3.4 Transcription of the Lotus Sutra in the shape of a pagoda, Korean, ca. 1369, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo silk. Tōji, Kyoto. Photograph courtesy of Benrido, Kyoto.

Fig. 3.5 Transcription of the Lotus Sutra in the shape of a pagoda (detail of fig. 3.4), Korean, ca. 1369, gold, silver, and slight color on indigo silk. Tōji, Kyoto. Photograph courtesy of Benrido, Kyoto.

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combinatory practice marrying sutra and pagoda is legible; it says that if an image of a pagoda is made with sutra text, happiness and great merit will be returned to the practitioner.24 This rare direct explanation of the patron’s ambition in commissioning the textual pagoda illuminates a fourteenth-century understanding of the vast rewards engendered by the conflations of scripture and reliquary. The textual pagodas of China and Korea preclude the pictorial dimension of sutra description that so prominently adorns the Japanese mandalas. The narrative vignettes are a distinctly Japanese addition but not a consistent feature of later Japanese textual reliquaries made after the production of the jeweled pagoda mandalas of this study. At this point, it is impossible to know the precise origin or developmental path of the mandala format. From what can be gathered from the simpler East Asian prototypes, the textual pagoda style originally possessed strong indications of a visual puzzle for the pious and erudite. From the Chinese imperial records, it is clear that learned persons, such as literati, monks, and even emperors, copied the scriptures into the form of pagodas, demonstrating that this curious style was known and practiced by the educated and elite. But given that the very process of creating a textual pagoda requires the copyist to be literate, intimately familiar with the scriptures, and in possession of the texts, the association of the textual pagoda with the high ranks of society comes as little surprise. This same connection with the upper echelons continues in the Japanese twelfth- and thirteenth-century mandalas, the Chūsonji set being a particularly applicable case. The difference is that their immense scale and sumptuous artistry necessitates a transfer of brush from elites to professional copyists and artists.

The Culture of Copying The jeweled pagoda mandalas reflect the culture of copying during the eleventh through thirteenth centuries, a time frame chosen because its range covers the period of the paintings’ production and because it is a time of burgeoning innovation in sutra art and transcription. Examining the extant sutra art places the mandalas among other inventive projects in a time that trended toward finding the more extreme and extraordinary forms of copying. The standard seventeen-character line structures the vast majority of sutra copies; however, many examples remain that depart from this basic ordering principle, including those examined in this section. This character configuration, though ubiquitous in medieval scripture transcription, nonetheless has a nebulous foundation. Tanaka Kaidō explores the conven-

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tional arrangement of sutra copies and posits a few explanations; however, the mystery still largely remains.25 Previous scholarship sought answers in the translation of verses from Sanskrit to Chinese, attempting to reconcile the typical combination of four, five, or seven characters per verse to the eventual standardization of seventeen characters per line. But as Tanaka points out, this theory always leaves vacant spaces when used to formulate a seventeen-character line.26 He also examines symbolic numerology in India, China, and Japan. Two of his examples offer potential origins for the seventeen-character line. The Scripture That Transcends the Principle27 claims the number seventeen embodies purity, although the impact of this declaration is unlikely to dictate such standardization. Alternatively, the odd number nine is respected as the positive yang (Jpn. myō), and the even number eight is respected as the inverse yin (Jpn. on) in China. Jointly they total the harmonious seventeen, the unity of which represents heaven and earth together.28 He finds that by the time of Kumārajīva the translation of texts into Chinese was standardized in many ways, including that of using the seventeen-character line, which was then transmitted to Japan.29 Tanaka explains the occasional use of twenty-character lines during the Muromachi period as an influence from printed sutras. Artistic Innovation in Decorated Sutras Nara-Period Precedents The Japanese jeweled pagoda mandalas were singular among their contemporaries for their extensive use of textual images. However, the textualized stage, as it were, was set for the production of such paintings. The juxtaposition of early sutra copies from the eighth through tenth centuries with the later examples examined in this chapter highlights the proliferating complexity of eleventh- through thirteenth-century sutra transcriptions.30 Although Nara-period sutra transcriptions are not particularly known for their elaborate decoration, the later opulent copies nevertheless had their visual roots in eighth-century examples. For instance, when in 741 Emperor Shōmu ordered the establishment of the provincial temple system, he mandated that each temple enshrine a copy of the Golden Light Sutra in a pagoda.31 Likewise, precious materials were to be used in the transcription, resulting in sutras written with gold on a purple paper background. So as to accommodate this immense directive, a special center specializing in gold-lettered sutra copies (kinjikyōjo) was opened at the Nara court.32 These sutras became known as Kokubunjikyō and even though the sutra copies in ten volumes were dispersed all around the country, only two examples remain.33 Another celebrated Nara-period copy boasting precious materials is the

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Fig. 3.6 Illustrated Scripture of Cause and Effect, volume 2, section of the handscroll, eighth century, ink and color on paper. Nara National Museum. Photograph courtesy of Nara National Museum.

Flower Garland Sutra, sometimes called the Nigatsudō yakegyō, or the burned sutras of the Second Month Hall. The appellation is a result of damage inflicted during a fire that occurred on the fourteenth day of the second month in 1662, engulfing the hall at Tōdaiji during the ritual known as shunie, a repentance ceremony lasting two weeks and featuring both fire and water.34 The scroll was marred, leaving evidence of the fire along the bottom of the silver-inked characters where the blue paper is discolored cinnabar with shades of green.35 Other evidence of the practice of sutra copying on decorative paper can be found in the Shōsōin collection.36 Rolls of dyed but unused paper, cut to the size used for copying, remain as a testament to unfulfilled transcription plans.37 The variety of colors among the stored rolls speaks of a creative breadth in sutra copying during the Nara period, and textual records also reveal the extent of Nara decorative sutras. The Shōsōin Documents (Shōsōin monjo) records sumptuously crafted sutra papers like purple paper with gold dust and red paper with silver dust for such scriptures as the Sutra for Humane Kings, the Medicine Buddha Sutra, the Sutra of the Explication of the Underlying Meaning,38 and the Lotus Sutra. Shōsōin Documents also records sutra paper dyed green, with gold used for the transcription of the sacred word, as well as the practice of blue paper inked with gold and silver, so commonly seen in the Heian period.39 As for illustrated decorative sutras produced during the Nara period, the Illustrated Scripture of Cause and Effect (Kako genzai ingakyō emaki)40 based on the biographical text of Śākyamuni’s life, Sutra of Past and Present Causes

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and Effects,41 offers an intriguing and yet not-often-repeated text-and-image format where the graphic description of the major events in the Buddha’s life runs continuously above the text written below (fig. 3.6).42 The Illustrated Scripture of Cause and Effect handscrolls are also recorded in the Shōsōin Documents.43 Although the eighth century cannot compete quantitatively or qualitatively with the explosion of decorated sutras seen in the eleventh through thirteenth centuries, the origin of the decorated sacred word certainly reaches back at least as far as the sutra productions of the Nara period. Parallel Media What follows is a brief survey of some of the key manuscripts exhibiting a growing interaction between word and image that by its comparative nature must take a targeted approach to these rich objects rather than propose a full explication. The conventional design for illuminated scriptures of the late Heian and Kamakura periods took the form of deep indigo-dyed paper with gold and/or silver ink for the transcription of the sutra, a format known as konshi kinginji kyō (blue paper, gold- and silver-script sutra), which was often accompanied by frontispiece paintings. This particular type of decorative transcription gained popularity by the tenth century and continued undiminished from the eleventh through the thirteenth centuries and later. The oldest remaining example is the tenth-century, eight-volume Lotus Sutra set housed at Enryakuji (fig. 3.7). The frontispiece compositions are rendered in fine-line gold detail, creating a picture with minimal negative space where the scripture follows in narrow lines of silver ink. One of the more celebrated blue-andgold projects is surely the early eleventh-century Lotus Sutra copy also at Enryakuji (fig. 3.8). This eight-volume set offers a rare view of an early transcription whose lines of scripture are composed of alternating gold and silver. Because of the great popularity of this format, many examples remain from this time of abundant hand-copied scriptures.44 The jeweled pagoda mandalas, rare in their particular design and height of inventiveness, were the apotheosis of a great thrust toward innovative sutra art around the time of their production. A trend toward the decorative in sutra transcription had a firm hold by the tenth century, and by the eleventh, copying experienced a burst of innovation in text and image collaboration. Though not a comprehensive survey, a few examples are discussed here to establish the fashions in copying that reveal the mandalas as an iteration of a transcription system trending toward more and more imaginative designs and, at times, extremely intensive practices. Interestingly, the majority of these creative scrolls are copies of the

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Fig. 3.7 Lotus Sutra frontispiece, fascicle 5, tenth century, gold and silver on indigo paper. Enryakuji, Mount Hiei. Photograph courtesy of Enryakuji.

Fig. 3.8 Lotus Sutra frontispiece, fascicle 1, early eleventh century, gold and silver on indigo paper. Enryakuji, Mount Hiei. Photograph courtesy of Enryakuji.

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Lotus Sutra—a testament to the scripture’s great popularity. The structural chasm between graphic illustration and the scriptural text of conventional sutra copies began to break down around the time of the mandalas’ production, as is evident in the Ichiji ichibutsu Hokekyō (one character, one Buddha Lotus Sutra scroll) at Zentsūji in Kagawa Prefecture (fig. 3.9). In this scroll, a small drawing of a Buddha seated upon a lotus pedestal is sketched beside each character of the sutra, creating alternating lines of ten characters followed by ten Buddhas. The Buddhas are drawn in black ink with red robes and a seat of green lotus petals, and each figure’s face and countenance are depicted differently. The style of the scriptural characters suggests an eleventh-century date.45 Scrolls such as the Ichiji ichihōtō Hokekyō (one character, one jeweled pagoda Lotus Sutra scroll) in the Freer collection, in which each textual character is adorned with a pagoda, demonstrate another manifestation of the expansion of sutra art at this time (fig. 3.10).46 Against a deep blue, abbreviated golden pagodas

Fig. 3.9 Ichiji ichibutsu Hokekyō (one character, one Buddha Lotus Sutra), section of the handscroll, eleventh century, black ink and color on paper. Zentsūji, Kagawa Prefecture. Photograph courtesy of Zentsūji.

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Fig. 3.10 Ichiji ichihōtō Hokekyō (one character, one jeweled pagoda Lotus Sutra scroll), section of the handscroll, 1163, gold on indigo-dyed paper, with silver-ruled lines and gold-painted decoration. Gift of Sylvan Barnet and William Burto in honor of Yanagi Takashi and his sons, Kōichi and Kōji, F2014.6.3a–c. Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Photograph courtesy of Freer Gallery of Art.

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Fig. 3.11 Ichiji ichihōtō Hokekyō (one character, one jeweled pagoda Lotus Sutra scroll), section of the handscroll, twelfth century, ink on paper with thin mica coating and mica-stamped decoration. Gift of Sylvan Barnet and William Burto in honor of Tajima Mitsuru, F2014.6.6a–g. Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Photograph courtesy of Freer Gallery of Art.

enshrine the characters written in gold ink while silver lines running both horizontally and vertically lend further structure to the composition. Many scrolls made in this style modify the conventional blue-and-gold transcription type by retaining the pictorial frontispiece and color scheme while at the same time incorporating an enshrining pagoda for the scriptural characters. This format also employed decorative paper, as in the twelfth-century Lotus Sutra scroll in

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the collection of the Freer Gallery of Art, where light grey paper embellished with mica-powdered pagodas encircles individual characters of black ink attributed to Fujiwara no Sadanobu (d. 1156) because of the slanted style of the calligraphy (fig. 3.11).47 Another format corresponding to this type of inventive copying is the Ichiji tengai rendai Hokekyō (one character, canopy, and lotus pedestal Lotus Sutra scroll), where groups of four characters rest upon a lotus pedestal and are crowned by a canopy (fig. 3.12). The twelfth-century Ichiji ichirendai Hokekyō (one character, one lotus pedestal Lotus Sutra scroll) in the collection of Nara’s Yamato Bunkakan is another highly ornamented scroll making use of large amounts of gold and silver and a full-color frontispiece illustration (fig. 3.13). The lotus pedestals of white, cinnabar, and blue-green enthrone each character of the scripture. The handwriting is thought to be that of Go-Shirakawa (1127–92), and correspondingly, the central aristocratic figure in the frontispiece is believed to represent the emperor with his consort seated slightly behind him and at an angle in a scene of gathered monks and aristocrats chanting the Lotus Sutra.48 These scrolls demonstrate a heightened but still limited interaction between text and image. However, they are particularly relevant to the jeweled pagoda mandalas, in that they too visually expound the nonduality of the Buddha and his word, which casts scriptures as dharma relics. The fundamental difference between these scrolls and the jeweled pagoda mandalas is that in the mandalas, the nonduality of the Buddha and his teachings reaches new expressive heights by achieving a visual format that mirrors the conceptual indivisibility. The conflated central icon of the mandalas thus encourages experiential viewing, whereas the designs of the handscrolls do not require performative engagement. The Illustrated Miracles of Kannon of 1257 by the calligrapher Sugawara no Mitsushige (active mid-13th century; the painter is unknown) in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art manifests a slightly different take on the relationship between a scripture and its illustration, and in particular one that liberates and prioritizes the picture (fig. 3.14). Based on a Chinese original, individual episodes of the text from the twenty-fifth chapter of the Lotus Sutra alternate with beautifully executed polychrome pictures throughout the scroll. This text-image alternation, atypical of sutra art at the time, represents a collaborative storytelling through word and picture more akin to the structure of emakimono, illustrated narrative handscrolls. Such an organizational format emphasizes the importance of the vignettes in communicating the stories from the scripture.

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Fig. 3.12 Ichiji tengai rendai Hokekyō (one character, canopy, and lotus pedestal Lotus Sutra scroll), section of the handscroll, thirteenth century, ink on paper with silver and gold. Gift of Sylvan Barnet and William Burto, F2014.6.15a–d. Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Photograph courtesy of Freer Gallery of Art.

Fig. 3.13 Ichiji ichirendai Hokekyō (one character, one lotus pedestal Lotus Sutra), section of the handscroll, twelfth century, gold and color on paper. Yamato Bunkakan, Nara. Photograph courtesy of Yamato Bunkakan.

Fig. 3.14 Sugawara no Mitsushige, Illustrated Miracles of Kannon, section of the handscroll, 1257, ink, color, and gold on paper. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Photograph courtesy of Metropolitan Museum of Art.

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Divine and Profane Layers The twelfth-century Lotus Sutra fans from Shitennōji are celebrated as important testaments reflecting the intense belief in the Lotus Sutra during the late Heian period and as precious artifacts of decorated sutras (fig. 3.15). It is possible that the original set may have been donated to Shitennōji by Fujiwara no Yasuko Taishi (Kaya no In, 1095–1156), Emperor Toba’s empress, after her 1152 retreat to the temple for prayer. If so, this is a significant point, as it would mean that the fans are the result of a commission by a woman and also that they preceded the famous Heike nōkyō scrolls of 1164.49 The fans conform to the conventional rules for the copying of sutras in that the scriptural text is structured in orderly lines of seventeen clear and intelligible characters set in twelve evenly spaced rows on each of the two sheets of paper pasted together at the center of the fan. Shitennōji’s Lotus Sutra fans combine the graphic styles associated with illustrated narratives like the Tale of Genji Scrolls (Genji monogatari emaki) with the recognizable structural and kanji style of typical sutra copies. The underdrawing unites hand-drawn and woodblock-printed images. Most of the pictures describe life at the imperial court and the lives of commoners at the close of the Heian period. The depictions are varied, showing different seasons and landscapes, men, women, and children, and the rich and the poor, in an attempt to render a broad scope of early medieval life.50 The layering of text upon image represents a joining of two distinct media previously forced to inhabit different spatial realms of visual culture, a practice particularly evident in conventionally illustrated handscroll sutra transcriptions. This union, however, does not correspond to any specific link between the two worlds, since it is noted that the pictures and the sutra’s content are often unconnected. But even though text and image are combined in one visual plane on the fan—and this on its own represents an important marker in the increasingly complicated visual relationship of text and image—word and picture still enact their own roles and to a large extent maintain their functional and visual independence. In a different yet popular format, the Lotus Sutra booklets offer the same treatment of text and image. The Sutra of Meditation on the Bodhisattva Universal Worthy booklet in the collection of the Gotō Museum of Art illustrates again the intermingling of sutra text with images of earthly aristocratic scenes (fig. 3.16). This booklet conforms to the familiar arrangement of seven rows of seventeen characters. The opening pages for volume five illustrate a scene of interior court life at twilight, indicated by the halo of moonlight in the upper section of the image. In the lower right, a man wearing his night robes is illuminated by moonlight and

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Fig. 3.15 Lotus Sutra fan, twelfth century, black ink and color on paper. Shitennōji, Osaka. Photograph courtesy of Shitennōji.

Fig. 3.16 Lotus Sutra booklet of the Sutra of Meditation on the Bodhisattva Universal Worthy, twelfth century, black ink and color on paper. Gotō Museum of Art, Tokyo. Photograph courtesy of Gotō Museum of Art.

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the faint light emanating from the fire he tends. Three court women populate the scene, one of whom cradles a baby. Tiny white plum blossoms and the carpet of snow on the garden floor suggest a chill in the air. The complicated patterns of the figures’ robes further accentuate the displays of wealth. Overall, the scene is highly atmospheric and dotted with seasonal and nightly references. Interestingly, rather than sutra text, the opening pages for both the third and sixth volumes present waka selected from the early tenth-century Kokin wakashū, or the Anthology of Ancient and Modern Waka. It is possible that the sutra was later copied into this booklet as a memorial to the owner of what had originally been an uta-e booklet (the combination of waka with pictures that sometimes relate in content).51 The Eyeless Sutra (Menashikyō) refers to an intriguing category of sutra scrolls associated with the retired emperor Go-Shirakawa in which the sutra text is copied over a black ink, sketch-like underdrawing of pictures portraying interior court life and daily scenes, with the curious exception that most of the figures are left without facial features. The style of the pictures is typical of Heianperiod narrative illustrations, but the content of the underdrawing has yet to be firmly linked to a particular story. According to the colophon, the Golden Light Sutra version was transcribed on the first day of the fourth month in 1192.52 The Scripture That Transcends the Principle version in the Dai Tōkyū Memorial Library in Tokyo (fig. 3.17) copied in 1192 offers a more extensive, albeit damaged, colophon: The Tonsured Emperor Goshirakawa and Nun [X]’s painting, when not yet completed [was interrupted by] the emperor’s demise, whereupon the paper was used for copying this sutra. The calligraphy [of the sutra text] is by [former] Major Counselor Master Jōhen [and the] Sanskrit letters are by Master Jōken. In the eighth month of the fourth year of the Kenkyū era [1192], this scroll was respectfully received from the abbot [Shōken] by Shinken.53

Komatsu Shigemi suggests that the identity of the nun, sadly obscured by damage to the scroll, could be Go-Shirakawa’s consort, Takashina no Eishi (d. 1216), the Lady of the Tango Chamber.54 Akiyama Terukazu also proposes that Lady Kii (twelfth century) could be the mystery woman due to her strong connections with the monks associated with the scroll’s production and ownership and because she is referred to as “Kii the nun” in some documents.55 What seems reasonably secure is that Go-Shirakawa died before completion of the picture scroll; and as a

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Fig. 3.17 Eyeless Sutra (Menashikyō) rendition of the Scripture That Transcends the Principle, section of the handscroll, 1192, black ink on paper. Dai Tōkyū Memorial Library, Tokyo. Photograph courtesy of Dai Tōkyū Memorial Library.

memorial act intended to grant repose for the departed, the scroll was left unfinished and sutra text and Siddhaṃ-style letters were copied over the object closely related to the emperor, thus establishing a karmic bond between the deceased and the redemptive powers of the sutras. The interpenetration of word and picture in this context reveals a commemorative effort, much like that seen with the jeweled pagoda mandalas. Does the conflation of worldly image (with all its implications for sin and corruption) with the potent, sanctifying word redeem the aristocracy, who would be the most likely audience for these examples? Is the profane life representing the larger illusory world of privileged society depicted in the background then purified and protected by salvific and apotropaic text? Although this is one way to interpret the combinatory textual images, applying the theory of nonduality gives a more nuanced understanding. Nonduality denies any “ontological distinction between samsara and nirvana, or between conventional and ultimate truth.”56 Therefore, to quote William LaFleur’s discussion of Buddhist imagery in poetry, even the symbols of our illusory world must “be subjected to the . . . insistence that no thing is ever merely a pointer or means for recognition of another thing.”57 This is the egalitarianism of signified and

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signifier, that a symbol is what it is and also what it represents. The twelfth-century poet Fujiwara no Shunzei (1114–1204), in response to the dilemma Buddhists faced in the composition of poetry due to the perceived impure qualities of verse, counters with the argument that there can be no bifurcation of sacred and mundane.58 The interpenetration of one into the other, of reality and emptiness, suggests that we cannot just interpret the use of secular images as a mere juxtaposition or foil for the holiness of textual dharma. In light of this, these objects become the visual manifestation of the principle of nonduality, encouraging us to avoid the extremes of profane and holy. Scripted Images Increasing interaction between word and picture is also evident in the practice of “reed-hand script” (ashide). This type of disguised script is often found in marsh-like landscapes where Chinese characters and Japanese phonetic script form simple images such as rocks, reeds, coast lines, and birds in flight. In his study of the Heike nōkyō, Komatsu Shigemi provides a rich analysis of the motifs assumed by reed-hand script. He finds that certain phonetic characters are routinely chosen to construct particular and specific pictures because their shape lends them naturally to common forms.59 The practice of reed-hand script extended broadly into many different writing formats and contexts, such as that of uta-e, or poem-pictures. Though the script crafted by this technique often could be constructed into meaningful passages of sutra text or waka, reed-hand script had a purely decorative function as well. Because of the breadth of this practice in visual culture of the ninth through thirteenth centuries (indeed, it continued much later), I will focus primarily on reed-hand script in the context of sutra transcription. In 1164, Taira no Kiyomori commissioned one of the most elaborate and sumptuous of the ippon kechienkyō, a lavish type of sutra transcription in which a single scroll is dedicated to one chapter. The Heike nōkyō is a set of thirty-three scrolls consisting of twenty-eight rolls of the Lotus Sutra as well as single rolls of the Amida Sutra, the Heart Sutra, the Sutra of Innumerable Meanings, and the Contemplation of the Samantabhadra Bodhisattva Sutra. A particularly interesting example of the text-and-image relationship comes from the frontispiece for the twenty-third chapter of the Lotus Sutra, “Former Affairs of the Bodhisattva Medicine King” (fig. 1.3). The picture depicts Amida in a welcoming descent in the upper left corner, with rays of divine light issuing forth from his ūrṇā (a tuft of hairs between his eyes). Next to Amida floats a small lotus throne, supported by a wispy, purple

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cloud. An aristocratic female figure leans on an armrest, appropriately reading this chapter of the Lotus Sutra.60 The sumptuously decorated scene is flecked with gold and silver details. Although the text of the sutra still remains separate from the frontispiece, thus maintaining the standard segregation, portions of the image itself are constructed from highly calligraphic forms of Chinese characters and Japanese phonetic script. The disguised text would challenge erudite viewers to locate the obscure message hidden among the images. As Julia Meech points out, the sutra open before the woman reads, “the woman who hears this sutra and keeps this chapter of the Previous Life of the Medicine-King Bodhisattva will not be a woman in her next life. After my extinction. . . .”61 The passage quoted from the chapter ends there but is continued among the rocks and reeds of the textualized image. For example, above the woman’s head is the katakana for moshi (if), below her knees the katakana for no of kono (this), beside her right knee the katakana characters arite (there is), floating toward Amida the kanji for kokoni myōjū (when this life is over), further along framing the shoreline the kanji for sunawachi (instantly), below the Buddha’s right knee and hidden among the lotus petals the kanji-hiragana phrase anraku sekai (world of happiness), and finally, the kanji for umaru (to be born) very clearly rests atop the pedestal.62 With some sleuthing the scholarly viewer discovers the masquerading text and the remainder of the phrase may be completed. Rewriting the visually expressed woman and Amida Buddha as text, the phrase is finally finished, albeit in shorthand form: “The woman who hears this sutra and acts according to the teachings of it . . . will [immediately] be able to be reborn, after her life in this world . . . on the jeweled seat in the lotus flower blooming in the World of Happiness where Amida Buddha lives surrounded by great Bodhisattvas.”63 The metamorphosis from pictorial form into the text of the sutra transforms the woman’s body; she becomes part of the sutra but is also the instrument for its transcription. The Collection of Japanese and Chinese Verses for Recitation (Wakan rōeishū), originally compiled by Fujiwara no Kintō (966–1041) and here copied by Fujiwara no Koreyuki (d. 1175) in 1160, according to the colophon attached to the second scroll, offers an example of reed-hand script utilized for waka poetry (fig. 3.18). The disguised script hides among the natural features common to waterside landscapes. Ka, na, no, and other phonetic characters are concealed as reeds, rocks, and other motifs. In this case too, the reed-hand script forms riddles associated with key words or phrases from the verses listed atop the simple drawings. The visual relationship of word and image in examples like the Heike nōkyō and Koreyuki’s

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Fig. 3.18 Fujiwara no Koreyuki, Collection of Japanese and Chinese Verses for Recitation, section of the handscroll, 1160, black ink and color on paper. Kyoto National Museum. Photograph courtesy of Kyoto National Museum.

Collection of Japanese and Chinese Verses for Recitation parallel the dynamic witnessed in the jeweled pagoda mandalas, with the important exception of scale. Text in both cases forms the pictorial image; however, because text in the reedhand script examples is hidden and the graphic quality of the characters is emphasized over the textual, reed-hand script ultimately manifests a pictorialized text. Pictorial motifs found in texts such as illustrated sutras and poetry compilations can frequently be read not only for their symbolic meaning but also for their phonetic value. For example, a partially submerged, broken wheel can be read as the hiragana character wa because of the similarities in form between the letter and the wheel. The same semantic and phonetic logic applies to small baskets, which are read as ko due to their similarities in shape.64 Such occurrences can be called phonograms (hyōonmoji); however, because contextual understanding of the cultural and religious references is required in order to read the pictures, the use of motifs in this context might also be classified as ideograms (hyōimoji).65 Empowered Inscriptions Empowered inscriptions that utilize sacred text are the final category of innovative artistic expression examined here. These images emphasize the utter abandonment of visual depiction and the assumption of strictly textualized compositions

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where word alone paints the image that a picture once captured. Nichiren Shōnin’s (1222–82) Great Mandala, in which calligraphic text becomes the image, exemplifies this phenomenon (fig. 3.19). Both celebrated and reviled, Nichiren was a fervent proponent of the Lotus Sutra as the supreme Buddhist authority within which all other doctrines and praxis are subsumed.66 His advocacy of the Lotus Sutra as the ultimate authority and the sutra’s emphasis on text and language-oriented practice67 is reflected in his promotion of the sutra’s daimoku (the invocation of the sutra title) as the mantra namu Myōhōrengekyō (homage to the Lotus Sutra). He famously wrote, “It is better to be a leper who chants Namu-myōhō-renge-kyō than be chief abbot of the Tendai school.”68 According to Nichiren, the title of the scripture contained within its five characters the power to realize Buddhahood imminently in this very body (Jpn. sokushin jōbutsu, Ch. jishen chengfo): “All Buddhas of the three time periods and ten directions invariably attain Buddhahood with the seed of the five characters myōhōrengekyō.”69 Thus, the daimoku served all dimensions of religious practice and expression and should be the follower’s constant practice. The calligraphic mandalas known collectively as the Great Mandala grew out of Nichiren’s advocacy of the Lotus Sutra as the supreme authority, reflected in his daimoku practice. In an essay written in 1260, Nichiren responded to a question about the appropriate object of worship for those who are dedicated to the Lotus Sutra: “First of all, as to the object of worship, you may use the eight rolls of the Lotus Sutra, or a single roll, or one chapter, or you may inscribe the title and make it the object of worship.”70 This passage reflects a germinating seed for the Great Mandala, which epitomizes this concept. As such, Nichiren’s mandala depicts the venerated title of the scripture in calligraphic script running vertically down the center of the scroll. The names of Śākyamuni and Prabhūtaratna, as well as those of other deities populating the ten realms, flank the central daimoku, calligraphically recreating the assembly at Vulture Peak. Nichiren individually inscribed the mandalas for his disciples, instructing them to practice the invocational daimoku before the Great Mandala because through this unity of contemplation and recitation the practitioner could enter the enlightened space of the mandala.71 Nichiren’s mandala represents yet another twist in the relationship of text and image. Visually depicted images, in conventionalized form, are completely abandoned in the Great Mandala. We find no anthropomorphic Buddha figures, no text restructured to create an image. Instead Nichiren and his followers fashion a calligraphic inscription, itself a picture of exceptional fluidity and grace. What

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Fig. 3.19 Nichiren Shōnin, Great Mandala, 1276, gold, silver, ink, and slight color on paper. Honmanji, Kyoto. Photograph courtesy of Kyoto National Museum.

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emerges after brush has left paper is not just the written word, but a portrait of the infinite soteriological powers of the Lotus Sutra, in effect a textual image. The category of objects known as the Great Mandala manifests an increasingly textualized dynamic between word and picture. Rather than the cohabitation of text and image, this group of scrolls demonstrates a complete usurpation of picture by text in a realm traditionally dominated by its counterpart. The category of paintings known as myōgō honzon (the name of a Buddha or a powerful verse that is treated as an icon) also embodies the notion of empowered inscriptions. This format of painting continued from the twelfth century throughout the medieval period. The foundational myōgō honzon is the nenbutsu chant (calling on the name of Amida Buddha [Ch. Amituo; Skt. Amitābha]), namu Amida butsu (homage to Amida Buddha), otherwise known as the rokuji myōgō or the six-character formulation. Within this group of paintings commonly associated with the Pure Land schools are several additional subvariants, including the slightly longer chants using different names for Amida, such as the kuji myōgō or nine-character formulation, namu fukashigikō nyorai (homage to the unfathomable radiant Buddha), and the jūji myōgo or ten-character formulation, Kimyō jin jippō mugekō nyorai (homage to the Buddha of unhindered light that illuminates the ten directions). Several examples brushed by Shinran Shōnin (1173–1263), the founder of Jōdo Shinshū, the True School of Pure Land Buddhism, remain today, such as the 1257 Jūji myōgo preserved at Senjuji, Mie (fig. 3.20). This unassuming black-ink-on-paper composition features the ten-character nenbutsu resting upon a simply drawn lotus pedestal, not unlike the Ichiji ichirendai Hokekyō format that honors textual characters with a lotus support. This compositional structure finds its root in the paintings and sculptures of Buddhist icons privileged with lotus seats. In Pure Land Buddhism, chanting the nenbutsu invoked the presence of Amida, therefore the inscription visualizes the fundamental portrait of Amida. Of similar visual construction to the myōgō honzon are the kōmyō honzon (sacred light inscriptions). These Pure Land Buddhist images combine the nenbutsu inscription with the patriarchal portrait tradition.72 The typical structure of the kōmyō honzon places the nenbutsu inscription in the center of the composition with rays of divine light emanating outward, embracing the surrounding portraits of the patriarchs.73 Through the collaboration of sacred inscription and graphic portraiture, the kōmyō honzon manifests the presence of Amida as well as diagramming the transmission of Pure Land doctrine. Inventive collaborations trend toward a greater role for text within the visual space of paintings, from the limited forays seen in the scrolls enshrining each

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Fig. 3.20 Shinran Shōnin, Jūji myōgo (ten-character formulation of the name of Amida treated as an icon), 1257, ink on paper. Senjuji, Mie Prefecture. Photograph courtesy of Fujimoto Keita.

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character with a pagoda, to the layering of text upon image as in the Lotus Sutra fans; to word masquerading as picture in the Heike nōkyō scrolls, and on a much grander scale the jeweled pagoda mandalas; to the usurpation of image by text in the Great Mandala and myōgō honzon. The intertextuality of the mandalas with earlier and contemporary paintings discussed here and between the sets themselves creates a referential system of emergent, acquired, and sustained understandings about how objects should look and what they mean. This innovative community of eleventh- through thirteenth-century sutra art demonstrates the broader trend toward more complicated interactions of text and image and through comparison highlights the augmented roles of the two media in the jeweled pagoda mandalas. The artistic stage was thus set for the emergence of the jeweled pagoda mandalas. As demonstrated in this survey of key textualized objects, however, the mandalas outstripped the word-image interactions of the past in novelty and scale to bring forth a complex depiction of body that through an amalgamated form of script and picture urged the performative participation of the viewer. Extreme Practices in Sutra Transcription In the eleventh through thirteenth centuries, sutra transcription practices also partake of the heightened complexity witnessed in scriptural art. Whether evinced in terms of sheer quantity, pace, genuflection, interment, or use of alternative media, the religious practice of copying became increasingly imaginative and complicated. Surveying emblematic manifestations of extreme exercises reveals the parallel between religious practice and the visual inventiveness seen in the art of the time. In doing this, I expose the context of the jeweled pagoda mandalas’ creation as one of novelty in artistic manipulation and in religious practices of transcription, placing the paintings at the heart of these phenomena. Quantity Although the practice of copying the entire Buddhist canon dates back to the seventh century, the exercise increased in popularity and prevalence during the eleventh through thirteenth centuries.74 In this later time, Buddhist canon production was notably different because more individuals and small groups of family undertook such enormous projects, hand copying the texts, likely supported by the belief that vast quantity and effort are rewarded by great merit. Aristocrats and imperial family members nevertheless continued to commission the Buddhist canon, even producing several copies in the expensive blue-gold technique.75

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In this period one of the earliest examples of a lay individual engaging in Buddhist canon production comes from an 1106 entry in Chūyūki, Fujiwara no Munetada’s (1062–1141) diary. According to the record, an unnamed holy person from Tōji walked Kyoto, encouraging residents to copy the entire Buddhist canon, and eventually transcribed a set and conducted the dedication service at a hall belonging to Emperor Shirakawa (1053–1129).76 A similarly vague entry can be found in Hyakurenshō, a thirteenth-century anthology of various records and tales by an unknown compiler. On the first day of the sixth month in 1115, another unnamed holy person at Kitano copied and performed the dedication of a Buddhist canon.77 Honchō seiki, a mid-twelfth-century text compiled by Fujiwara no Michinori (1106– 60), also records that in 1143 the monk Kaku’a copied the Buddhist canon.78 Many other such examples exist, but probably the most renowned instance of the transcription of the Buddhist canon by an individual is that of Fujiwara no Sadanobu (fig. 3.11, thought to be by his hand).79 Vowing at the age of forty-two to hand copy the entire Buddhist canon, Sadanobu finally finished the massive project twentythree years later, at the age of sixty-four. Tsuji Zennosuke estimates that the endeavor required Sadanobu to copy around two volumes every three days.80 So celebrated and astonishing was this undertaking that it is recorded with great amazement and praise in other medieval texts. Fujiwara no Yorinaga (1120–56) commended the project in his diary on the seventh day of the tenth month in 1151, remarking that the enormity of the project would ensure Sadanobu’s name in history.81 As a gesture of his respect for such efforts, on the second day of the seventh month of 1152, Yorinaga also wrote that he donned new robes and washed his mouth before meeting with Sadanobu.82 Tales remain of others in less financially secure and well-connected circumstances vowing to copy the Buddhist canon. Examining the epigraphic evidence at the end of the transcribed volumes of another set reveals that the mendicant monk known commonly as Shikijō (1159–1243) enlisted the aid of his fellow monks, Saikan and Shinshō, in begging for paper, brush, and ink during their travels in order to fulfill Shikijō’s ambitious vow.83 Having bathed in incense, Shikijō set himself to the task of copying the canon. By charting the times mentioned in the inscriptions, the project began in 1187 when he was twenty-nine years old and was not completed until 1228 when Shikijō was seventy years of age, taking a total of forty-two years. Tsuji again provides calculations for the labor, estimating that in the span of one month Shikijō copied around ten volumes and so averaged one volume every three days.84 The inscriptions, as well as the sixteenth-century text of unknown authorship, Munakata gunki, reveal the circumstances under which the diligent group toiled. In

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the monks’ journeys all over the country, even while standing, walking, or on a boat, Shikijō copied the sutras.85 Of the original 5,048 volumes, over 4,000 survive in the collection of Kōshōji (in Tajima, Kanagawa); 448 volumes were spoiled by insects and a severe flood in 1702 damaged 1,200 volumes, 230 of them beyond repair. Pace Another hallmark of the intensification of ritualistic copying was the extreme pace set by some performances. It was not uncommon for large groups of people to assemble so that they might collectively copy substantial quantities of scriptures all together and in just one day. On the fifth day of the fifth month in 1135, the courtier Minamoto no Morotoki (1077–1136) records in his diary, Chōshūki, that Emperor Toba commissioned all 600 fascicles of the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras to be copied that day at the Amidadō of Hosshōji in Kyoto.86 Probably one of the most daunting and logistically challenging types of sutra transcription calls for copying the entire Buddhist canon in a single day, known as ichinichi issaikyō.87 But just such an event occurred on the eighteenth day of the third month in 1096 when ten thousand people from all literate strata of society gathered in Kyoto to copy the canon.88 In 1211, on the twenty-third day of the fourth month, an ichinichi issaikyō event was organized by Emperor Go-Toba (1180–1239) at his recently constructed temple, Saishō Shitennō-in.89 Monks from across the country, totaling 13,215 in number, congregated in Kyoto for the massive service, all under the sponsorship of the emperor. These performances of extreme sutra transcription practices once again reflect the typical eleventh- through thirteenth-century drive to reach new heights in copying. Genuflection The laborious practice of “one character, three bows” (ichiji sanrei), as it is often translated for ease, involves the copyist’s writing one character and then paying obeisance three times—usually understood to be prostrations—before moving on to transcribe the next character.90 Two notable examples of this practice, including the related “one line, three bows” (ichigyō sanrei) in which obeisance is paid to each line of characters copied, were carried out by the Buddhist sculptor from the Kei school, Unkei (1151–1223), and the courtier Madenokōji Nobufusa (b. 1258).91 In 1183, Unkei made a vow to copy the Lotus Sutra according to very strict procedures.92 Fortunately, the inscriptions on the scrolls illuminate much about the nature of the mission. Elaborate efforts were made to guarantee the purity of the process. According to the inscription on the eighth volume, participants ensured

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the cleanliness of their bodies and clothes; the paper was specially made; the scroll rollers were crafted from the wood remaining after Taira no Shigehira (1158–85) razed Tōdaiji in Nara; and the water for the ink was drawn from three different sacred places: Miidera, the Yokawa on Mount Hiei, and Kiyomizudera. Fifty men and women, including another celebrated sculptor from the Kei school, Kaikei (late twelfth or early thirteenth century), participated in the project. And on top of the extraordinary lengths Unkei took to guarantee the sacredness of the scrolls, after each line of text was copied three prostrations were made to the recently finished characters. Tsuji tabulated the number of prostrations, nenbutsu chants, and chanting of the august title of the Lotus Sutra that the project required: 50,000 prostrations, 100,000 nenbutsu chants, and 100,000 chants of the title of the Lotus Sutra. And to prevent an invasion of malevolent spirits, every day services were performed and ten parts of the Lotus Sutra were read. This project serves as an indication of the overall trends in copying in that Unkei was thinking not only of ways to intensify the practice of the transcription and the exterior appearance of the scrolls but also of the interior composition. The final product is itself undifferentiated in appearance from any other standard inscription. The extreme measures undertaken to create the interior life of the scroll are rendered invisible and only brought to light by the explanatory inscription. A later example is that of Nobufusa, who copied two hundred volumes of the five great Mahāyāna sutras (Jpn. gobu daijō kyō, Ch. wubu dasheng jing) using the “one character, three bows” technique.93 In several of the inscriptions, it becomes clear that Nobufusa undertook this challenging mission not only to engender merit for himself but also for his parents. In the seventh volume of the Lotus Sutra, he writes that this scroll was dedicated as a memorial to a deceased family member. Komatsu Shigemi identifies this person to be Nobufusa’s father, who retired from public life to join the Buddhist ranks in 1284 due to illness, but was fortunate enough to live for an additional twenty years. The inscription coordinates with the seventh anniversary of his father’s death, and he dedicated the third volume of the Great Collection Sutra94 to his deceased mother.95 Such laborious genuflection corresponds to the search for more inventive and challenging ways of creating sutra copies in order to augment the merit generated. Alternative Media The incorporation of alternative media also reflected the move toward innovation. Although there were other types of vehicles employed, I want to highlight here the cases of stone sutras, kawarakyō, and blood copying as some of the more common

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Fig. 3.21 Taji issekikyō (“many characters, one stone sutra”), medieval period, black ink on stone. Kansai University Museum, Osaka. Photograph courtesy of Kansai University Museum.

examples of unconventional media.96 The practice of copying sutra text onto stone is known as sekkyō. This term refers to the broad practice of copying scripture onto the durable surface of stone and is more commonly ascribed to the longstanding tradition of copying sutras onto stone tablets. However, it also includes the more uncommon practice of inscribing a single character onto each stone, known as “one stone, one character sutra” (isseki ichijikyō), or of inscribing several characters per stone, referred to as “many characters, one stone sutra” (taji issekikyō) (fig. 3.21).97 These sandstones collected from riverbeds, in the collection of the Kansai University Museum, measure between three and ten centimeters in diameter. Unfortunately, the location of their recovery and their exact date of production are unknown.98 The text is written in black ink, but on other examples of this type, red ink is sometimes used.99 Because of the nature of the small stone transcription, even though the stones might all be completed and stored together, often through burial, the text could not be reconstructed without a superhuman feat of will and copious amounts of time, thus reconstruction was never the point.100 Identifying which text the writing references can also be difficult. Kaibe Hiroshi, however, has

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connected the transcription on at least three of the Kansai Museum stones (third from the left in the top row and the first and last stones in the bottom row) to the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras, even suggesting the same hand might have written the stone on the top row and the first one on the bottom, given the similarity in handwriting, in ink quality, and in the appearance of the stone.101 This particular practice gained in popularity from the Muromachi through Edo periods. Kawarakyō, or sutra tiles, present a similar situation (fig. 3.22). Typically measuring thirty centimeters, the ceramic tiles are scored with a sharp implement to carve the boundary lines for the text—much like those of conventional sutras—and then the scripture is copied, often on both surfaces of the tile, and the sutra title and volume number are inscribed on the sides. After their firing in a kiln, the kawarakyō were often buried upright in the ground, with a pagoda sometimes marking the site.102 Occasionally, rather than inscribing sutra text on both sides of the tile, one side might have rows of Buddha images resembling the Ichiji ichibutsu Hokekyō (fig. 3.9). In 1142, the Shingon monk Zen’ne began copying sutras onto tile, producing five hundred by the following year. Zen’ne began this project with a rather long list of vows he hoped to fulfill with the merit generated from the kawarakyō and sculptures: grand prayers for the country’s and the emperor’s peace, as well as more intimate appeals for his own repose in this realm, a long and healthy life of good quality, and rebirth in paradise. Together with the Amida and Jizō sculptures he made, the tiles were buried at his family’s mountain temple.103 Copying scriptures in blood, although not that common, represents one of the more intimate and extreme forms of sutra transcription.104 According to his diary, Taiki, in 1145 Fujiwara no Yorinaga famously copied sutras in blood, although not wanting to use his own, he asked Fujiwara no Atsuto to make a sanguinary donation for the project.105 According to the Tale of the Hōgen Disturbance (Hōgen monogatari), for three years the exiled Emperor Sutoku’in (1119–64) wrote scriptures in ink mixed with his own blood in hopes of securing a paradisiacal birth after death.106 Practitioners of scriptural blood writing seek to transform what is illusory into something adamantine, hence blood into dharma.107 Blood was not the only substance capable of establishing a karmic bond; in 1137 Fujiwara no Munetada (1062–1141) enshrined votive copies of sutras that he and his children transcribed on paper containing strands of his deceased wife’s hair.108 There are even tales of the Buddha’s former lives (Jpn. jataka, Ch. sheduoqie; Skt. jātaka) that describe the self-flaying of skin for paper, the liquefying of marrow and pulverizing of flesh for ink, and the breaking of bones for brushes, all so that the sacred word could be copied.

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Fig. 3.22 Kawarakyō (sutra tile inscribed with the Lotus Sutra), twelfth century, unglazed earthenware. Nara National Museum. Photograph courtesy of Nara National Museum.

Not content with mere paper and ink, alternative media such as small stone sutras, kawarakyō, and blood copying represent the search for new and inventive means to transcribe scripture. As with the other examples provided in this section, even though the trend encouraged copying in novel and innovative ways, the impetus was often to establish more personal connections with the sutra and its salvific and restorative power by undergoing extreme measures, and even by

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merging the materially intimate with the numinous nature of scripture. Certainly, these are but a few of the examples and possible categories of extreme copying. But in selecting these samplings of intensified scripture transcription practices, strong parallels can be seen with the art of sutra copies. When this trend toward innovation in transcription is examined together with the creative measures taken in sutra art rather than viewing these two developments as separate and unconnected trajectories, we can see that this movement toward invention characterized both scribal and artistic practices centered on the word of the Buddha. Therefore, exploring these two transformations together allows us to see wider, interrelated trends at this time of burgeoning engagement with scripture. The jeweled pagoda mandalas are thus beacons of the most radical change in sutra art of the period.

The Fundamental Functions of Sutra Transcription The more explicit reasons for performing sutras in myriad manifestations are analyzed in chapter 4 on dharma relics; however, I introduce here the basic concepts driving the faithful to copy scriptures, sometimes to an elaborate extent and in extreme circumstances. The previous examples of sutra transcription represent a type of copying known as kechienkyō, or sutras that establish kechien, a connection made between the copyists and their patrons and the Buddha, thus bequeathing great karmic merit for the hope of future salvation along with freedom from earthly suffering and desires. The earliest mention of the term kechienkyō appears in Shōyūki, the diary of the Heian-period courtier Fujiwara no Sanesuke (957–1046), in an entry for the ninth month and tenth day of 1021.109 The expression appears with frequency after this point, and another example merging Buddhist canon copies and kechien ceremonies comes from Hyakurenshō, when on the fourth day of the third month of 1142, a ceremony utilizing a copy of the Buddhist canon was held at the Byōdōin in Uji to establish kechien for the benefit of Emperor Toba.110 In transcription performances reminiscent of the Heike nōkyō and the scene from the Tale of Flowering Fortunes, the typical arrangement began with a rather large group of people, each of whom prepared a single scroll, and concluded with the dedicatory ritual for the sutras as a completed set. These sutra dedication ceremonies imbued recently copied sutras with the essence of the Buddha, thereby in a sense activating them and solidifying the connection between the partici-

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pants and the Buddha. Fabio Rambelli notes that “texts were endowed with all the characteristics of sacred objects and were not essentially different from relics, icons, and talismans”111 and that “as soteriological tools . . . they acquired a magical and mystical dimension as sorts of ‘relics’ of past masters (and ultimately, of the Buddha).”112 Much as icons and pagodas doubled for the Buddha in the illusory realm, sutras were not merely symbols of his presence, but rather embodiments of the Buddha. The same karmic connection is possible in the more intimate and personal copying rituals described. The ornamentation of scriptures, the inclusion of bodily material, and the labor of the hand used to copy the sacred word all establish personal and lasting connections with the numinosity of the dharma through tactile transference. The primary function of these sutra transcriptions was fulfilled in the act of copying itself. The merit from the reverential treatment of the scripture and the karmic connection established through the textual contact and labor exerted is earned in the moments of copying: a direct connection is formed with the sacred word in the case of a personal, hand-copied sutra and in the commission and facilitation of copying in the case of patrons. This is the situation even with projects that clearly exhibit a puzzle-like component in their transcription, such as the tenth-century Chinese textual pagoda and Heike nōkyō. This is not to negate or diminish the further lives of the sutra copies, or even the merit they continued to generate, but to emphasize that the very act of transcription was the religious goal, although a certain level of social prestige and love of beauty clearly factored into the creation of sutra art as well. But as in cases like that of the jeweled pagoda mandalas, where the scrolls were stored away and rarely presented in any ritualistic context, the production of the sutra transcription itself embodied the fundamental function of the project. As I will demonstrate in chapters 4, 5, and the conclusion, however, the mandalas’ symbolic and theoretical functions extend beyond the original merit gained and the karmic connection established in the moments of the copying. Nevertheless, the sutra art of this period has been heavily criticized in past scholarship. Harsh evaluations have been leveled against what was perceived as the era’s decadence and the decline in its religious practices and beliefs. For example, Tsuji Zennosuke disparages the practice of quantity copying, such as that of the Buddhist canon, from the eleventh century onward, describing it as a sign of the deterioration of the religion. He views this type of quantity transcription as a sad indication of formulization, which inevitably leads to decline, and eventually, to the manufacture of religious icons and art as a mere hobby.113 Beyond

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the focus on the production of quantity, he cites as further evidence of this decay the trend in copying that added “twists” or elaborations in the search for novel manifestations. Claiming that these novel “twists” are simply products of an overconcentration on design, he lists as proof many of the examples discussed in this section.114 Komatsu Shigemi ponders the idea that from a present-day perspective, this period’s religious atmosphere appears bizarre and fanatical. He analyzes the practices employed in sutra transcription and concludes that faith itself at the close of the Heian period is drastically formulized and lacking in any real sincerity. He points to the practice of “one character, three bows” as an example of the diminishing of sincere faith and the corruption of religious practices, presumably because the copyist had attempted to obfuscate his degraded faith by intensive and seemingly pious copying strategies.115 A further example of this argument in older scholarship comes from Tanaka Kaidō. Tanaka sees the importation of Songdynasty printed scriptures and the Zen school’s supposed lack of interest in textual sutras as key factors in the decline of copying practices. He views the mutable fashions of sutra taste, as manifested by an increased preference during the Kamakura period for the new, printed scriptures, as reasons for the decrease in sutra transcriptions. He also points to the innovations in copying techniques, such as those seen in Unkei’s project, as excessively baroque and lacking in earnestness of faith, a trend he traces into the Muromachi period. Criticizing elaborate measures, like the search for pure water and ink not made of animal products and the replacement of animal hair for brushes of willow bark, as the creation of obstacles for the sake of enhanced merit, Tanaka claims such methods reveal the absence of the true spirit of sutra transcription and the presence of narcissism.116 Such judgments are rarely found in scholarship now. To criticize an entire era’s religious practices as devoid of real faith, as if this is easily ascertainable or even plausibly posited without slipping into anachronism, and as an omen of the decline of religion recalls the problematic argument which contends that at certain times and in particular places people were not following real Buddhism because practices were not always in accord with doctrine.

Conclusion This chapter has revealed some historical evidence concerning the origins of the jeweled pagoda mandalas, both in terms of their stylistic precedents, as well as the eleventh- through thirteenth-century culture of copying out of which the

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mandalas emerged. By locating the foundations of the paintings in early Chinese transcriptions and by situating the mandalas among other inventive and novel sutra art and copying practices at the time of their first production, the paintings become intelligible, less as having materialized mysteriously and without precedence for their brief period of production and more as a particular manifestation of a system of sutra transcription that trended toward the artistic, innovative, and extreme. This examination is not intended to diminish the mandalas’ inventiveness but to reveal the context of their creation—they represent the apotheosis of broad efforts to transcribe sutras imaginatively and laboriously, especially given their high level of artistic achievement.

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Dharma Relics in Medieval Japan

T

ext is more than just inscribed letters. Indeed, whether it is word etched in memory, a vocalized mantra (esoteric chant; Jpn. shingon, Ch. zhenyan), or even the entire universe, text need not be limited to written script. The profundity and numerous manifestations of text in early medieval Japan represent the integrality of word with discourse, with political and cosmic authority, and with revelation of the reality masked by illusion. The power of word saves lives and redeems souls and spurs creative and elaborate statements about the nature and potentialities of text in visual culture. The murky history of the jeweled pagoda mandalas does not allow the paintings to be tied specifically to a single school of Buddhism, thereby requiring a broader analysis of early medieval Japanese belief in the power of the sacred word to uncover general attitudes across a wide spectrum of monastic and lay society. This chapter establishes the power of text and dharma relics1 as conceived in early medieval Japan and examines the ubiquitous custom of copying scriptures as a means of harnessing this textual benefit. The mandalas are then cast as an elaborate example of this meeting ground between perceived power and the attempt to capture it in material form. Moreover, this chapter argues that it is the inherent power of the sacred word that acts as a catalyst for the mandalas’ creation.

The Power of the Sacred Word Early medieval sacred texts enjoyed many and diverse lives. Venerated for their inherent salvific power, coveted for their social and economic cachet, possessed

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for their authentication of political and religious authority, sutra texts enjoyed a central position in medieval Japanese textualized society. The manipulation of scriptural power secures ambitions as grand as eternal salvation, political success, protection from harm, and health and longevity; and as mundane as wishes for a beautiful countenance, good harvests, and the all-important control over rain. Sutras are greater than their materiality and orality; they are imbued with a dynamic, sacred power that serves as an efficacious talisman. If harnessed, great miracles await. Understanding this power in explicit terms, with historical and doctrinal certitude, is unlikely. But in an effort to qualify and define the use of such a nebulous and elusive term as power and offer an explanation of the potency of the sacred word and its basis as a catalyst for the mandalas, I examine the sutras’ selfreferential boasts of their inherent powers. And because doctrinal assertions do not necessarily convey the impact or influence of those claims on believers in early medieval Japan, I also explore declarations from setsuwa and aristocratic diaries about scripture’s miraculous abilities and examine pronouncements from monastic commentaries on the sacred word’s potentialities. I then investigate the origin of this scriptural power as dharma relic and offer examples in religious practice— such as copying and burying sutras—as further evidence of this phenomenon, citing doctrinal and visual support throughout. In the end, the jeweled pagoda mandalas are revealed to be a prime illustration of the equivalence of sutra, dharma relics, and Buddha. Testaments to Their Own Abilities Serving as more than just vessels and vehicles for access to salvific power and enlightenment, sutra texts embody soteriological potential as material manifestations of the Buddha’s nature (Jpn. busshō, Ch. foxing; Skt. buddhadhātu). Because a vast number of sutras testify self-referentially to the limitless capabilities of the sacred word, I shall not undertake to catalogue every sutra’s proclamations.2 Instead, I consider the Lotus Sutra, the Golden Light Sutra, and the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras, only a few of the myriad scriptures which declare the sacred word’s manifest power to assist the user of the text in sundry ways.3 The Lotus Sutra and the Golden Light Sutra are selected because of their direct connection with the jeweled pagoda mandalas; the many scriptures comprising the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras are chosen for their impassioned advocacy of the power of the sacred word and the clear conflation of the Buddha with his doctrine. My goal is to demonstrate the doctrinal justification for the active and salvific

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potency imbued in the sacred word by sampling sutras that directly and forcefully advocate the power invested in scripture. I also make the case that the sutras employed in the jeweled pagoda mandalas are texts that have strong elements of sutra worship. The chapter then develops this assertion further by suggesting that the mandalas’ display of the scriptures represents the visual manifestation of the sacred word as dharma relics in a form that signifies their veneration and captures the multivalence of Buddha body doctrine. The Lotus Sutra, like numerous other scriptures, proclaims itself to be the most important text in the Buddhist canon. In chapter eleven, the “Apparition of the Jeweled Stupa,” when summarizing the important lessons of the chapter, the Buddha says: For the sake of the Buddha path, I, In incalculable lands, From the beginning until now, Have broadly preached the scriptures, But among them This scripture is first.4

By proclaiming the supremacy of the sutra, the scripture positions itself as worthy of worship and, with the proper attention and devotion, followers of the sutra are promised access to many rewards. At several points the sutra instructs devotees to copy and recite its text, venerate its rolls with offerings, and disseminate the dharma, resulting in great returns for the practitioner, such as the direct protection of the Buddha: “O Medicine King, be it known that after the extinction of the Thus Come One [a Buddha], those who can write it, hold it, read and recite it, make offerings to it, or for others preach it the Thus Come One shall cover with garments.”5 The scripture also promises that those who uphold the sutra will be accorded the honor and gifts of a Buddha. If a good man or good woman shall receive and keep, read and recite, explain, or copy in writing a single phrase of the Scripture of the Dharma Blossom, or otherwise and in a variety of ways make offerings to the scriptural roll with flower perfume, necklaces, powdered incense, perfumed paste, burned incense, silk banners and canopies, garments, or music or join palms in reverent worship, that person is to be looked up to and exalted by all the worlds, showered with offerings fit for a Thus Come One.6

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Not only can the miraculous powers of the Lotus Sutra grant the upholder the venerative status and gifts of a Buddha, if a person falls ill, he shall be cured and enjoy eternal youth: “O Beflowered by the King of Constellations! With the power of supernatural penetration, you are to protect this scripture. What is the reason? This scripture, for the people of Jambudvīpa, is a good physic for their sickness. If a man has an illness and can hear this scripture, the illness shall immediately vanish. He shall neither grow old nor die.”7 It seems that no matter the ailment, physical or spiritual, the Lotus Sutra promises salvation, because “like a clear, cool pond, it can slake the thirst of all. As a chilled person finds fire, as a naked person finds clothing, as a merchant finds a chief, as a child finds its mother, as a passenger finds a ship, as a sick person finds a physician, as darkness finds a torch, as a poor person finds a jewel, as the people find a king, as a commercial traveler finds the sea, as a candle dispels darkness.”8 Men “gain incalculable, limitless merit”9 upon hearing the twenty-third chapter, the “Former Affairs of the Bodhisattva Medicine King,” but if a woman “can accept and keep it, she shall put an end to her female body, and shall never again receive one”10—a significant promise because a woman’s body was considered polluted and imprisonment in the female form hindered salvation. The examples culled here by no means exhaust the extensive promises of the Lotus Sutra, but simply serve to highlight a few of the inherent powers of the scripture. Daniel Stevenson describes the Lotus Sutra in the context of Chinese practice “as a repository of religious power and as an object of worship.”11 Tapping into that sacred power “was usually articulated in the idiom of stimulus and response. This interactive piety was grounded in concrete conventions of ritual gesture and devotion, the vocabularies of which were shared across a diversity of cultic venues— including worship of different sūtras, buddhas, and bodhisattvas—and hence not unique to Lotus devotion proper.”12 The examination of the following sutras and their proclamations of power will bear out this assertion, demonstrating the co-constitutive creation process of miraculous powers manifested. Much like the Lotus Sutra,13 the Golden Light Sutra proclaims itself the “king of sutras” [Jpn. kyōō, Ch. jingwang; Skt. sūtra-rājan]. Repeatedly expounding its own excellence, “king of sutras” becomes a sort of synonym for the scripture. For example, “it is the king of sūtras, extremely profound, (and) nothing is found to compare with it. Neither the dust in the Ganges, nor on the earth, nor in the ocean, nor that found in the sky can provide comparison.”14 And as would be expected from the utmost sutra, grand pronouncements of power are frequent. The first chapter of the Golden Light Sutra catalogues the many woes and distresses suffered by unenlightened beings:

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For those beings whose senses are defective, whose life is expended or failing, beset by misfortune, their faces averted from the gods, hated by dear, beloved people, oppressed in such places as households, or at variance with one another, tormented by the destruction of their property, both in grief and trouble, and in poverty, likewise in the plight of fear, in the affliction of planet or asterism, in the violent grip of demons, one (who) sees an evil dream full of grief and trouble.15

But relief from these heavy burdens is promised to those who hear the scripture in the proper religious context, thus activating the vast potency of the sutra: “most severe misfortunes are forever extinguished by the splendour of this sūtra.”16 By the power of the sutra, armies of great and terrifying deities guard those who honor the scripture. Not only do ranks of deities pledge their protection to those who respectfully hear and uphold the Golden Light Sutra, the pious are “honoured throughout numerous millions of aeons by gods, serpents and men, by Kiṃnaras, Asuras and Yakṣas” and “gladly accepted by Buddhas in the ten directions and likewise by the Bodhisattvas,” all the while accumulating “endless, incalculable, inconceivable” merit.17 Vast portions of the sutra’s promised rewards are directed at the sovereign, propagating a hierarchically structured empire with a Buddhist monarch at the head. The scripture outlines the virtuous acts of the ideal just king, a wheelturning king, including reproduction and veneration of the Golden Light Sutra, adherence to its injunctions and lessons, and a great deal of penitence. In exchange, the power of the sacred text is unlocked, offering the efficacious protection of the Four Guardian Kings and ensuring a peaceful, stable country.18 Even if an ambitious and ruthless king contrives to destroy a country upholding the Golden Light Sutra, “at that time, at that moment, by the power of the brilliance of that excellent Suvarṇabhāsa, king of sūtras, there will arise a conflict between that neighbouring hostile king and other kings. And there will be regional disturbances in his own regions. There will be fierce troubles with kings, and diseases caused by planets will become manifest in his area.”19 As explored in the second chapter, the iconography of the Chūsonji mandalas proves to be largely concerned with the ideology of the Golden Light Sutra and its prescriptions and promises for the wheel-turning king. A proclamation of superiority similar to those in the Lotus Sutra and the Golden Light Sutra is issued in the Diamond Sutra, as the Buddha reveals, “The Tathagata has taught this as the highest (paramā) perfection (pāramitā). And

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what the Tathagata teaches as the highest perfection, that also the innumerable (aparimāna) Blessed Buddhas do teach. Therefore it is called the ‘highest perfection.’ ”20 And as the “highest perfection,” the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras are the mother of all Buddhas: So fond are the Tathagatas of this perfection of wisdom, so much do they cherish and protect it. For she is their mother and begetter, showed them this all-knowledge, she instructed them in the ways of the world. From her have the Tathagatas come forth. For she has begotten and shown that cognition of the all-knowing, she has shown them the world for what it really is. The all-knowledge of the Tathagatas has come forth from her. All the Tathagatas, past, future, and present, win full enlightenment thanks to this perfection of wisdom. It is in this sense that the perfection of wisdom generates the Tathagatas, and instructs them in this world.21

As Edward Conze explains, the all-potent power of the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras is both the origin and outcome of Buddhahood.22 Throughout the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras, claims of astonishing power are made with great frequency. For instance, in the third chapter of the Perfection of Wisdom in Eight Thousand Lines,23 in a section titled “The Merit Derived from Perfect Wisdom,” the scripture claims: One who will take up this Perfection of Wisdom, Wherein the Saviours course, and constantly study it; Fire, poison, sword and water cannot harm him, And also Mara finds no entrance, nor his host.24

The Buddha, extolling the apotropaic power of the scripture, promises to those who take up the sutra that “men and ghosts alike will be unable to harm them. Nor will they die an untimely death. . . . A person who is devoted to this perfection of wisdom will certainly experience no fear, he will certainly never be stiff with fright—whether he be in a forest, at the foot of a tree, or in an empty shed, or an open place, or a road, or a highway, or the woods, or on the ocean.”25 The power of the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras cancels karmic debt, releases the pious from the woes of existence, and even empowers upholders to reach enlightenment.26 Furthermore, as the Heart Sutra explains, it is not just people who achieve enlightenment through the salvific power of the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras, but

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“all those who appear as Buddhas in the three periods of time fully awake to the utmost, right, and perfect enlightenment because they have relied on the perfection of wisdom.”27 The tremendous merit generated from expounding the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras for others, from its veneration, from its recitation, and even from taking up but one stanza of four lines, is explained as outweighing immeasurably even the most generous of gifts to the Buddhas. To demonstrate how the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras serve as a repository of power, the Buddha institutes a hierarchy of various merit-generating gifts that privileges the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras as the apex. These comparative metaphors are posed as questions between Subhuti and the Buddha: gifts that “filled this world system of 1,000 million worlds with the seven precious things”28 and “piled up the seven precious things until their bulk equaled that of all the Sumerus, kings of mountains, in the world system of 1,000 million worlds”29 or believers who “renounce all their belongings as many times as there are grains of sand in the river Ganges”30 are juxtaposed with the preferred scenario where a person takes “from this discourse on dharma but one stanza of four lines, and would demonstrate and illuminate it in full detail to others, then he would on the strength of that beget a still greater heap of merit, immeasurable and incalculable.”31 Again and again, the Buddha extols engagement with the sutra as the most salvific path possible. We also find the similar theme of accessing the Buddha through sacred texts articulated in the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras. In the Diamond Sutra, the Buddha assures Subhuti that those “who will take up this discourse on Dharma, will bear it in mind, recite, study, and illuminate it in full detail for others, they have been known, Subhuti, by the Tathagata with his Buddha-cognition, they have been seen, Subhuti, by the Tathagata with this Buddha-eye, they have been fully known by the Tathagata.”32 Such claims are important for understanding the ultimate conflation of sacred texts and the Buddha—in other words, for establishing scripture as dharma relics. Even this narrow examination of sutra proclamations reveals the vast potentialities imbued in sacred text. But how literally were these prescriptions to revere the sutras taken? How much faith was placed in the power of the word, and how do we see this faith manifested? Are the mandalas reflections of this compelling power? Examinations of various early medieval records that reflect the salvific and apotropaic power of scripture address these questions and help to locate these beliefs in early medieval Japan.

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Setsuwa: Wondrous Tales Proper religious practice accesses the efficacious power of the sacred word, for example, through veneration, reproduction, recitation, and dissemination in an interactive relationship between the text and the upholder that allows for the power of the sutras to be realized. Beyond testifying to the power vested in sutra, setsuwa also reveal the flexible and open-ended nature of the text that makes possible the many and various iterations of the sacred word exemplified in the text’s particular rendering in the jeweled pagoda mandalas. As is repeatedly demonstrated in setsuwa, people beckoned forth this potency embodied in sutra in myriad ways. Compilations like Priest Chingen’s Miraculous Tales of the Lotus Sutra from Ancient Japan (Dainihonkoku Hokekyōkenki) of the mid-eleventh century record countless examples praising the redemptive and prophylactic power of sutras. One account tells the story of two monks who unwittingly took refuge in a temple where a demon lurked.33 The demonic creature, reeking of cow’s breath, crashed through the wall of the room where the monks lay sleeping and dismembered and devoured the older monk. The younger monk, a Lotus Sutra chanter, clamored atop the altar and, gripping a statue of Bishamonten, recited the Lotus Sutra throughout the night. Dawn broke, and the monk discovered the mutilated body of the demon in front of the altar. Seeing the spear of Bishamonten stained red with fresh blood, the young monk realized that the Guardian of the North quelled the evil creature to save a follower of the Lotus Sutra. Such is the apotropaic power of the Lotus Sutra that a pious life would be spared if the scripture was recited. Another example relayed through the twelfth-century Tales of Times Now Past offers the story of an official who, hunted by a voracious demon previously disguised as a beguiling woman, fled into a cave. When the carnivorous creature threatened to continue his pursuit of the official, a disembodied voice sounded from within the cavern, commanding the demon to retreat. The voice is revealed to be the first character of the Lotus Sutra, myō, the last but potent remaining part of a wind-battered copy of the scripture once enshrined within a now-fallen pagoda.34 The setsuwa admonishes the audience to realize that “though only one character of the Lotus Sutra remained, it saved a man’s life. You can imagine, then, the merit that will come from copying the Lotus Sutra in the prescribed form and with true faith. If such is the benefit in this present life, do not doubt that you will escape all torments in the life to come.”35 Often setsuwa testify to the miraculous healing power of sutra. The Miraculous Tales from Japan records just such an instance. A respected monk, Chōgi, inexpli-

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cably lost sight in one of his eyes. Distressed at and ashamed of his misfortune, he gathered many monks to recite the Diamond Sutra for three days and nights. Amazingly, the monk’s eyesight returned, and the setsuwa proclaims, “How great is the miraculous power of the Hannya! For, if a vow is made with profound faith, it will never remain unfulfilled.”36 Piously copied sutras also demonstrate the extraordinary ability to transform into flesh, a phenomenon Charlotte Eubanks describes as “sutras incarnate,” evidence of which she finds in the next tale.37 Some stories claim that even reciting the title of the Lotus Sutra in a mocking fashion is enough to spare a sinner from a tortuous hell, as was the case for an unbeliever named Sonko.38 After Sonko mocked and ridiculed a Lotus devotee, causing the pious man to drop the copy of the Lotus Sutra he wore around his neck, Sonko collected the sutra and took it home, only to forget about it. Years later, he died and faced the judgment of King Enma. As he was about to be sentenced, a kindly demon in attendance reminded Enma that Sonko had recited the title of the Lotus Sutra, albeit sarcastically and cruelly. This one recitation was enough to send Sonko back to life. The demon then told the man that he was an incarnation of the last remaining scroll of the tattered sutra left exposed and forgotten in the man’s house.39 Such testimonials recounting the efficacious power of the Lotus Sutra abound, suggesting the prevalent belief in the scripture as a talisman and active agent capable of transformations benefitting one’s personal salvation, be it from imminent physical danger or from eternal damnation. Scripture has the power to not only assume corporeal manifestations but to alter devotees’ own bodies. In a creative take on the transformative role of the sacred word, Charlotte Eubanks proposes that in writing sacred text onto memory during medieval Buddhist practice, sutras become internalized.40 In this way, the power of scripture offers us the opportunity to transform even our profane bodies into sacred vessels. As she explains, “When sutras ask their devotees to accept them, to internalize them in memory, and then to bear them forth again into the world, they treat the human body (particularly the mind) as a special type of container that they call a ‘dharma vessel.’ ”41 Collections of setsuwa often record surikuyō, a ritual in which sutras are copied and the merit dedicated to deceased loved ones so that they might improve their karmic lot in the form of a more advantageous rebirth or at least to lessen the anguish and physical torment inflicted in hell. For example, the Miraculous Tales from Japan describes an occasion when King Yama (another name for King Enma) summoned Fujiwara no Asomi Hirotari to hell at the request of his suffering wife. Having already endured three years of her six-year punishment, she wishes for her husband to shoulder some of the burden since her death was caused by childbirth.

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Hirotari promises to return to the world and copy, expound, and recite the Lotus Sutra in order to dedicate the merit to his suffering wife.42 Examples within setsuwa manifesting the extraordinary powers of the sacred word, though varied and fascinating, are too numerous to discuss in detail here. The episodes presented represent the wide spectrum of efficacious powers believed to reside in scripture—from defense against demonic attacks and spontaneous healing to salvation from hell and relief from tortuous suffering. Miraculous tales from China, such as those documented in the Accounts in Dissemination and Praise of the Lotus [Sutra] (Hongzan fahua zhuan), also record feats equally as astonishing performed or made possible by sutra’s power. These ubiquitous tales of extraordinary performances executed via sutra’s inherent power suggest the open-ended nature of text that enables scripture’s numerous and diverse iterations. Within Buddhist visual culture and religious practice, the limitless potential of vivified sacred word not only to generate merit but also to transform and act on the world encourages the performance of text in various ways. The active and flexible nature of scripture manifests itself through the textuality of early medieval society as reverent objects in the form of relic deposits, elaborate and exquisite sutra scrolls—sometimes incorporating bodily offerings such as blood or hair—layered images of sacred text and mundane picture, and even sutra as relic-constructed reliquary in the jeweled pagoda mandalas. Commenting on the Power of the Sacred Word Ecclesiastical commentaries provide another source for reports on sacred text’s significance for Buddhism, society, and the cosmos; the examination that follows will help to establish the place of sutra in early medieval Japan and its role and potentialities in visual culture. The jeweled pagoda mandalas cannot be pigeonholed into a particular school, much like the fluid relations between the porous systems of Buddhist thought at this time. Therefore in this section I analyze the general commendations and concerns reflected in the writings of several prominent and influential medieval monks associated with different schools, exposing the often-shared understandings of the active, salvific, and foundational nature of sacred text as well as its limits and dangers if carelessly regarded or invoked. However, this is not to imply a universal concept of the role of sacred text in Buddhism. Texts and the exercise of writing certainly did not have the same meaning for all, and therefore I wish to avoid a homogenized characterization, but rather intend to present some examples of the textualized context out of which the innovative jeweled pagoda mandalas emerged.

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As one of the most prolific writers on the power of language and sacred text, Kūkai provides a good starting point when considering the role of word in early medieval Buddhist Japan. As Ryūichi Abé demonstrates throughout his book, Kūkai’s writings accomplished a great deal in shifting attitudes toward language and text, representing a sea change that reverberated throughout Japanese Buddhist history.43 The revolutionary approach to text promoted by Kūkai represented a drastic break from the general considerations of language in the eighth century. He re-characterized44 the very nature of language and its origins, asserting in the Shōji jissōgi45 that the Sanskrit letter A is the dharmakāya’s seed mantra and thus is the progenitor of all letters, words, languages, and indeed all things as the “originally nonarising” (Jpn. honpushō, Ch. benbusheng; Skt. ādyanutpāda). He explains: It is the wheel of letters or the syllabary given in the Vajraśekhara sūtra [Jpn. Kongōchōkyō, Ch. Jingangjing] and the Mahāvairocana sūtra [Jpn. Dainichikyō, Ch. Darijing]. By the syllabary is meant A, Ha, etc. in the Sanskrit alphabet. A, etc. are the namewords, secret designations, of the Dharmakāya Tathāgata. Gods, serpents [Skt. nāgas, Jpn. ryū, Ch. long], demons, etc. also have their respective syllabary. Yet the root of them is in the fountainhead of [the king of mantras of] Mahāvairocana [Dharmakāya]. Emanated from this and ramified on and on are the languages current in the world. If a man knows the true significance of this, we call him one who knows the true words [mantra]. If he does not know the fountainhead, we call him one who uses false words. The use of false words makes one subject to sufferings in long nights of darkness. The differences are precisely those between medicine and poison, enlightenment and delusion, or gain and loss.46

Declaring the Sanskrit syllabary, and indeed all languages, to be identical with the dharmakāya and asserting that all language is mantra articulates an image of the universe as cosmic text. Kūkai identifies the ten realms as matters of semiotic differentiation ( jusshu monji). Using a vertical reading of the world scheme, the highest and most perfect language is that of the Buddhas (mantra). However, by horizontally interpreting the realms, the languages of all ten spheres are none other than mantra as he explains: “All sorts of names (signs) originate from the dharmakāya. They all issue forth from it (him) and become the languages circulating in the world. The language that is aware of this truth is called the true word (shingon) and other languages that are not conscious of their source are called illusory words (mōgo).”47

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Summarizing a key point in the Ten Abiding Stages of Mind According to the Secret Mandalas (Himitsu mandara jūjūshinron),48 Abé describes Kūkai’s conclusion: “the universe itself, as it is, is the Dharmakāya’s body made up of the sacred letters, the body of the text manifesting itself as the realm of the ultimate reality, his palace.”49 This radical concept of language as originating in the dharmakāya institutes a vision of the world as textual imbrication: everything is text, and thus text constructs everything and is the root of all things. There exists nothing that is not encapsulated by sacred text, nothing that does not issue forth from it, for differentiation is a matter of semiotic articulation and signification (shabetsu).50 In essence, language produced the universe, and thus all is world-text. Kūkai’s revelatory claim leads Fabio Rambelli to assert the ultimate value of texts not just as signs but “microcosms, holographs of the dharma-realm.”51 Kūkai has removed language and text from the mundane world of humans and revealed it to be the embodiment of the dharmakāya and thus emptiness. Sutras therefore contain all things of the world, and the world reflects back as sutra. Kūkai’s theories on language advocate a positive evaluation of the possibilities of language in the process of enlightenment or awakening. Holding that dharmakāya Dainichi constantly preaches the dharma without cessation (Jpn. hōsshin seppō, Ch. fashen shuofa) advances the argument that language makes enlightenment possible.52 This recasting of language contradicts other Buddhist schools that limit its power and abilities and maintain that “language cannot express, and ordinary dualistic cognition cannot grasp, the reality of emptiness and interdependence.”53 And though Kūkai himself lamented the limits of language, mostly in the context of exoteric teachings, he nonetheless advocated a strong position for the ultimate value of text.54 Kūkai’s notion of “open text” informs discussions of material manifestations of scripture. His all-inclusive theories on text demand that it remain an open and active palimpsest, because even though text reflects all of the universe, it is a scripture in flux, fluid and dynamic. Such a concept encourages diverse visualizations of the sacred word. Shingon Buddhism is not the only school of Buddhist thought in early medieval Japan that advocated a prominent and positive role of language. Many associated with Tendai and Nichiren promoted a particularly Lotus Sutra–centric view of worship and enlightenment. Greatly impacted by the writings of the renowned Chinese Tiantai monk Zhiyi, Saichō (767–822), who is credited with establishing Tendai in Japan in the early ninth century, repeatedly praised the Lotus Sutra as the ultimate scripture of truth and the path to the final awakening55 and ordered that

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the Lotus Sutra be preached at all times in the samādhi hall (Jpn. sanmaidō, Ch. sanmeitang) on Mount Hiei. Indeed, a crucial stage along the path toward awakening in original enlightenment discourse (Jpn. hongaku, Ch. benjue) is “verbal identity” (Jpn. myōjisoku, Ch. mingziji).56 The verbal identity stage in original enlightenment thought is the moment when one realizes through pious interaction with the words of the sutras—either through reading or hearing an explication—that all things are in fact identical with the Buddha. As Jacqueline Stone surmises, “From this perspective, there could be no enlightenment unmediated by words; only by reading the characters of the sūtra or hearing an explication of doctrine could original enlightenment be realized.”57 The integrality of words to enlightenment privileges sutras for their inherent soteriological power. The Digest of the Light of Han (Kankō ruijū),58 a thirteenth-century Tendai text of oral transmissions, claims that “written words are not [merely] written words; language is liberation” in response to the criticisms of extreme attachment to—yet denial of the power of—written texts. 59 The Digest of the Light of Han explains that Each word and phrase is in every case endowed with the eight aspects [of the Buddha’s career]. Thus we speak of the principle that written words are precisely liberation. Ignorant persons do not know this meaning, and so they either cling to words and letters, or reject words and letters altogether. Neither way will do. . . . The Denbōketsu60 states, “The Great Teacher Nanyue [Huisi, 515–77] said, ‘Words are none other than liberation. If one seeks liberation apart from words, there is no such place [where it can be found].’ ”61

As discussed in chapter 3, Nichiren fervently promoted the Lotus Sutra as the supreme Buddhist authority, subsuming all other doctrines and praxis.62 He advocated chanting the sutra’s title as the mantra and proposed that the power to realize buddhahood in this very body was contained in the characters of the title.63 Thus, through the mobilization of language, the title of the Lotus Sutra is the key to religious practice and salvation. Based on this advocacy of the inherent power within the characters of the Lotus Sutra’s title, Nichiren created the Great Mandala (fig. 3.19). These calligraphic compositions, brushed first by Nichiren and later by his followers, championed the salvific force invested in word. But in monastic commentaries, texts were commonly treated in a highly prescriptive manner. Kūkai, Saichō, Kakuban, and Genshin (942–1017), to mention a few, all prescribed very specific directions for accessing the power in sacred texts and warned against improper use, citing dire consequences for uninformed or

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reckless handling. Limiting production of and access to texts originated mainly in Confucian attitudes toward language and writing; in Japan its vehicle was the ritsuryō system of government that standardized administrative and penal codes under a centralized state with the emperor as its head. The strict control over sacred texts and the high value placed on literacy during the Nara and early to mid-Heian periods suggest the power to be gained by possessing and composing written documents.

Dharma Relics Any examination of dharma relics must include a discussion of the notion of dharmakāya; however, beyond the necessary references to the concept, I reserve the analysis of the bodies of the Buddha for the following chapter. Concentrating on the nonduality of the Buddha and the sutras builds the theoretical framework underpinning the discussion of dharmakāya elaborated in the next chapter. By briefly exploring this nonduality here, we will understand the origin and basis of the power invested in sutras and the impetus compelling the ubiquitous and diverse visual manifestations of this potency. It should be noted that dharma does not have merely one definition, but instead is a multilayered fusion of interrelated concepts, the basis of which was established long before the early medieval period in Japan. Although some of these early texts might not have impacted medieval Japanese notions of dharma relics and Buddha body directly, they demonstrate several of the earliest understandings of the nonduality of the Buddha and his dharma, a concept also shared by later, influential Mahayana texts. The commentaries by Dignāga (ca. 480–ca. 540) and Vasubandhu (fourth century) on the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras characterize dharma “as nondual awareness, as a book or collection of teachings, as a path, or as the cessation of suffering.”64 Asaṅga’s (fourth century) commentary categorizes dharma as the collection of teachings, which can be materially manifested in the form of sutras; dharma as understanding, meaning both the goal (Buddhahood, Skt. buddhatva) and the path to cessation; and dharma as nondual awareness.65 And as it is frequently described in Pāli canonical texts, dharma is “beautiful in the beginning, beautiful in the middle, and beautiful in the end.”66 Even in early texts we find evidence of the nonduality of the Buddha and the dharma. In the noncanonical Pāli text, Sutra on the Questions of King Miliṇḍa,67 the Buddha declares that one who sees the dharma thus sees the Buddha.68 A similar

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sentiment in the Saṃyutta Nikāya of the Pāli canon discloses a conversation between the Buddha and a sickly Vakkali who longs to see the Tathāgata. Gautama exposes the error of Vakkali’s desire saying, “What is there in seeing this vile body (pūti-kāya) of mine?69 He who seeth the Norm [Pāli dhamma/Skt. dharma], Vakkali, he seeth me: he who seeth me, Vakkali, he seeth the Norm. Verily, seeing the Norm, Vakkali, one sees me: seeing me, one sees the Norm.”70 The distinction drawn here is one of corruptibility versus the adamantine essence of the Buddha-nature encapsulated in his teachings. Elsewhere in the Saṃyutta Nikāya, the juxtaposition is reiterated, although this time the Buddha explains the inevitable decay of the human body: “This body be devoured by crows and vultures, devoured by kites and dogs.”71 In the Perfection of Wisdom in Eight Thousand Lines, Bodhisattva Dharmodgata explains the fool’s errand: “Equally foolish are all those who adhere to the Tathagata through form and sound, and who in consequence imagine the coming or going of a Tathagata. For a Tathagata cannot be seen from his form-body. The Dharmabodies are the Tathagatas and the real nature of dharmas does not come or go.”72 Again, such comparisons cast the true Buddha-essence as embodied only in the dharma. The Diamond Sutra also confirms this nonduality and its significance as the path to enlightenment: Those who by my form did see me, And those who followed me by voice Wrong the efforts they engaged in, Me those people will not see. From the Dharma should one see the Buddhas, From the Dharmabodies [dharmakāya] comes their guidance. Yet Dharma’s true nature [dharmatā] cannot be discerned, And no one can be conscious of it as an object.73

As further evidence of this nonduality, the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras stake their claim as the genetrix of the Buddhas, as discussed the previous section. The persistent pattern of explanation on the nature of liberation in the Nirvāṇa sūtra74 repeatedly identifies the Buddha with the dharma: “True liberation is precisely what the Tathāgata is, and the Tathāgata is precisely the dharma itself.”75 The Perfection of Wisdom in Eight Thousand Lines offers a parallel perspective on relics: “O Kauśika, the Tathāgata attains his body (śarīra) through the skill-inmeans of the Perfection of Wisdom. This [body] is the location (āśraya) of omniscience. At this location omniscience comes into being, the Buddha relic (śarīra)

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comes into being, the Dharma relic (śarīra) comes into being, and the Saṃgha relic (śarīra) comes into being.”76 This is not to suggest a uniformity in the characterization of the relationship between relics and text in the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras, the Lotus Sutra, and other sacred writings. For instance, the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras tend to emphasize worshiping the physicality of the book, which might affect the ritual deployment of the text as a relic, although reciting and writing its verses are also commended as bastions of veneration. This collection of sutras also expends effort in praising dharma relics while still allowing for the value of the cult of corporeal relics. The concept of designating textual dharma as relic is also found in the Lotus Sutra, where the equivalence of the Buddha and the dharma, and not surprisingly, the Lotus Sutra as the ultimate or true vehicle of the law, is articulated.77 “O Medicine King! Wherever it may be preached, or read, or recited, or written, or whatever place a roll of this scripture may occupy, in all those places one is to erect a stūpa of the seven jewels, building it high and wide with impressive decoration. There is no need even to lodge śarīra in it, what is the reason? Within it there is already a whole body of the Thus Come One.”78 Again, the scripture equates the sutra with the Buddha, saying, “If there is anyone who can hold [the Lotus Sutra], / Then he holds the Buddha body,”79 and “if there is a man . . . who shall look with veneration on a roll of this scripture as if it were the Buddha himself,” bountiful rewards await.80 The Collection of Tales of the Lotus [Sutra] (Ch. Fahua zhuanji), an eighth-century text expounding the glories and benefits of the Lotus Sutra written by the Chinese monk Sengxiang (mid-eighth century), proclaims that each character of the Lotus Sutra is a Buddha.81 The nonduality of the sutra and the body of the Buddha as scriptural text represents the ultimate conflation of dharma and relic, thus constituting the dharma relic category of relic veneration. It is the understanding that the dharma preached by the Buddhas is in essence the dharmakāya—which was early on specifically understood as the concrete, material doctrines captured in sutras— that so imbues the sacred word with authoritative power and soteriological sway. Dharma-verse relics and dhāraṇīs (endowed incantations) constitute receptacles impregnated with great power believed to capture the whole of the dharma in a condensed and potent form. For instance, the pratītyasamutpādagāthā, commonly referred to as the “Buddhist creed” or the ye dharmā hetuprabhavā verse, was honored as a powerful distillation of the Buddha-essence encapsulated by the doctrine of the “dependent origination” (Jpn. engi; Ch. yuanqi; Skt. pratītyasamutpāda) and often enshrined as a relic of the Buddha. As Daniel

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Boucher has demonstrated, this verse is conflated as nondual with the Buddha’s dharma in several sutras. For instance, the Śālistamba sūtra, a canonical text on the pratītyasamutpāda, declares, “He, monks, who sees the pratītyasamutpāda sees the dharma; he who sees the dharma sees the Buddha.”82 The Sutra on the Merit of Bathing the Buddha,83 supposedly translated by Yixing, also reveres the pratītyasamutpādagāthā as the dharma relic of the Buddha: After my nirvāṇa, if you wish to do homage to these three bodies [dharmakāya, saṃbhogakāya, and nirmāṇakāya], then you should do homage to my relics. But there are two kinds: the first is the bodily relic; the second is the dharma-verse relic. I will now recite the verse: All things arise from a cause. The Tathāgata has explained their cause And the cessation of the cause of these things. This the great ascetic has explained.84

And the Pratītyasamutpāda sūtra, a short Mahāyāna text, also reveals the verse to be a dharma relic worthy of veneration through enshrinement.85 Dhāraṇīs, although most often associated with esoteric rites, actually make frequent appearances in exoteric texts as well. Indeed, the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras, the Lotus Sutra, and the Golden Light Sutra all contain dhāraṇīs loaded with such promises as protection from harm and miraculous recovery from illness or disease. But as Ryūichi Abé notes, dhāraṇīs function more as “appendages to the sūtras’ main body of text. As a linguistic device for accelerating the learning process, dhāraṇī recitation is auxiliary to the reading, understanding, and memorizing of a sutra.”86 On the other hand, esoteric dhāraṇīs require quite different semiological actions from ritual participants and even from the sutra itself: “It is no longer the reading, reciting, and memorizing of the sūtra but the ritual actions prescribed in the sūtra that provide the context for recitation of the dhāraṇī. That is to say, the esoteric sūtra partakes of the function of a ritual manual.”87 And much like the self-ascribed powers of sutras, dhāraṇīs can lay claim to considerable potency, which is perceived to have emanated from the dhāraṇī ’s root as an expression of the essence of the dharmakāya and thus the embodiment of wisdom. The Ritualistic Constitution of Dharma Relics In the examination of the potency of the sacred word, certain questions require consideration. Central to those is the issue of when sutra text becomes a dharma

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relic. Is there a time when scripture is in fact not a relic? At what point does the transubstantiation of ordinary into sacred language occur? Or as Stanley Tambiah has posited the question, “If sacred words are thought to possess a special kind of power not normally associated with ordinary language, to what extent is this due to the fact that the sacred language as such may be exclusive and different from the secular or profane language?”88 Are the modern renditions of the sutras we hold in our hands in scholarly pursuit, in fact, relics? What role did the invention and common incorporation of printed versions of scripture have on notions of dharma relics? The overall question is not unlike the activation or vivification of icons; it is often the ritualistic placement of relics, including dharma relics, inside a sculpture that transforms what was merely mundane material of wood, metal, and clay into an icon partaking of the essence of the Buddha.89 And even if the sutra’s content goes unread in a diacritical sense, it is nonetheless also the content, the expoundings of the Buddha, that make the text sacred, potent, and legitimate. Textual dharma did not only come to be conceived as relics of the Buddha through direct doctrinal statements as such, but perhaps more importantly, through the treatment of sacred text as relic in religious practice. As William Graham has astutely observed, A text becomes “scripture” in active, subjective relationship to persons, and as part of a cumulative communal tradition. No text, written or oral or both, is sacred or authoritative in isolation from a community. . . . A book is only “scripture” insofar as a group of persons perceive it to be sacred or holy, powerful and portentous, possessed of an exalted authority, and in some fashion transcendent of, and hence distinct from, all other speech and writing.90

Without the appropriate context, dharma relics are otherwise used text, read, scribbled upon, dissected, or untouched—words devoid of meaning. As repositories of great and sacred power and manifestations of the dharmakāya (unlike relics of corporeality), scriptures are at the same time the only records of the Buddhas’ teachings and instructions. By necessity they must straddle the line demarcating the sacred from the practical. It is through the proper veneration of the sutras as sacred, empowered objects that the transubstantiation of paper into relic occurs. Through ritualistic preparation, veneration, and visual cues, such as in the elaborate transcription in the jeweled pagoda mandalas, the sutra is revealed to be a sacred and powerful embodiment of the Buddha.

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Scriptures themselves suggest that sutras should be venerated as one would a Buddha, or for that matter, an icon. At multiple points, the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras are worshiped by devotees “with flowers which they had brought along, and with garlands, wreaths, raiment, jewels, incense, flags and golden and silvery flowers, and one after another, they deposited their portion in front of it,”91 just as you would a Buddha with “heavenly flowers, incense, perfumes, wreaths, ointments, aromatic powders, jewels and garments. They worshipped the Lord with heavenly parasols, banners, bells, flags, and with rows of lamps all around, and with manifold kinds of worship. They played on heavenly musical instruments.”92 The scripture also directs that the material sutra be elevated to demonstrate its transcendental status, as one might raise an icon upon a pedestal. Not only should one honor the sutra with luxurious materials and heavenly music and establish it upon a lofty pedestal, the Diamond Sutra also proclaims that “the spot of earth where this Sutra will be revealed, that spot of earth will be worthy of worship by the whole world with its Gods, men and Asuras, worthy of being saluted respectfully, worthy of being honored by circumambulation,—like a shrine [caitya] will be that spot of earth.”93 Malcolm David Eckel has pointed out that “it is this causal association between the Perfection of Wisdom and the Buddha’s omniscience that makes it possible for the physical text to serve as ritual substitute for the Buddha and to gather around itself all of the devotional actions normally associated with the cult of the Buddha’s relics.”94 In a direct relationship to the jeweled pagoda mandalas, several passages of the Lotus Sutra reveal veneration of a Buddha through offerings of great material and sensory value, which parallel the scripture’s injunctions to worship the sutra. As an offering to the Buddha Pure and Bright Excellence of Sun and Moon, the Medicine King Bodhisattva in a former incarnation “entered into this samādhi, and in open space there rained down māndārava and mahāmāndārava flowers, while a finely powdered, hard, black candana, filling all the space, descended like a cloud. There also rained down the scent of candana of the near seashore, the six shu of this scent having the value of the Sahā world [the secular world, Jpn. shaba sekai, Ch. suopo shijie] sphere.”95 Multiple passages convey similarly elaborate instructions for the appropriate veneration of the sutra after its proper transcription: “If, having written down this scriptural roll, he makes offerings with floral scent, necklaces, burned incense, powdered incense, perfumed paint, banners and parasols, garments, and sundry torches . . . the merit he gains shall also be incalculable.”96 The Lotus Sutra again directs worshipers to treat the scriptural text as Buddha, revealing that those “who shall look with veneration on a roll of this scripture as if it were the Buddha

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himself, or who shall make to it sundry offerings of flower perfume, necklaces, powdered incense, perfumed paste, burned incense, silk canopies and banners, garments, or music, or who shall even join palms in reverent worship of it”97 are, in point of fact, honoring and worshiping the Buddha. These elaborate gifts befitting a Buddha, as detailed here, correspond to the dedicatory rites for copied sutras (ten kinds of offerings; Jpn. jisshu kuyō, Ch. shizhong gongyang) in which recently transcribed scriptures are presented with the ten offerings.98 Such praises and offerings worthy of the Buddha are also accorded to the Golden Light Sutra. Throughout the sixth chapter on the Four Guardian Kings, exalted perfumes, heavenly odors, divine golden light, and brilliant umbrellas and banners honor the scripture. But it is not just a matter of doctrine. Various and diverse early medieval records, such as the ones explored earlier in this chapter, testify to the belief that dharma relics are imbued with the potent power of the Buddha. Moreover, evidence from religious practices verifies that sutras were venerated for their potency and as relics of the Buddha. To demonstrate the practical application of the doctrinal assertion of sutra text as dharma relic, I next examine the protocols for sutra transcription and the messages communicated by the materiality and visual description of the scriptures. I then explore the practice of sutra burials and the construction of dharma-relic pagodas, as they reveal the treatment of scripture as dharma relics. The Transcription of Scriptures: Revealing Sutras as Dharma Relics The strict rules and formality associated not only with copying, hearing, and expounding the scriptures, but also with simply approaching the texts suggests the power of the sacred word and the decorum required for respectful engagement with the scriptures.99 Purity concerns dictate many of the requirements, such as the stipulations in the Golden Light Sutra instructing devotees in the proper way to approach the sutra: “Having put on clean robes, wearing well-perfumed clothes, having produced a mind (full) of love, one must do honour untiringly.”100 In early medieval records, such as the thirteenth-century Important Documents of Mount Hiei (Eigaku yōki), the famous Tendai priest Ennin is traditionally credited with establishing the practice of copying sutras in accordance with ritual prescriptions (Jpn. nyohōgyōhō; Ch. rufajingfa), although scholars now doubt his role in initiating these rules.101 In 833, feeling his body beginning to fail and his eyesight diminish, Ennin retired to a grass hut in Yokawa on Mount Hiei to await death; however, death did not come, and for three years he practiced austerities

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and meditated while his health improved.102 For these three years, Ennin, in an exhausting ritual, made preparations, such as growing his own hemp plants for the paper and ritualistically reciting the Lotus Sutra each morning, afternoon, and evening (the Lotus repentance rite common to Tendai Buddhism; Jpn. Hokke senbō, Ch. Fahua chanfa) as absolution for his karmic debt, before finally copying the Lotus Sutra.103 The purity of the materials is paramount in the ritualistic transcription of sutras, and Ennin is said to have gone to great lengths to ensure that the brush, ink, and paper were untainted by sins resulting from the use of animal products. Instead of animal hairs, Ennin crafted a brush of grass and twigs; and rather than ink solidified by animal glue, he opted for graphite.104 Gifts of fragrant incense and flowers were made to each character,105 much like the ten offerings made to an icon of the Buddha. In 1031, these painstakingly transcribed scrolls were buried in Yokawa inside a copper container by the monk Kakuchō (960–1034).106 The likely exaggerated tales of Ennin’s preparation and transcription of scripture (nyohōgyō) created the precedent for ritualistic copying in the Tendai school; however, the extensive procedures were obviously abbreviated. Tanaka Kaidō has examined early medieval texts to understand the rigorous process of ritualistic transcription, as described below.107 The copyist spends the first seventeen days cleansing the body and spirit by penitence and fasting.108 During the next twentyseven days, the paper and water to be used are carefully prepared, involving rituals around the altar space. The altar space should be specifically crafted: the four corners of the altar should have an overhead canopy, flower vases, and offerings such as burning incense. The table upon which the sutra is copied should also have incense, with all sorts of decorative accents like banners and nets made from strings of jewels. After announcing to the main icon that the ceremony is about to begin, the copyist recites aloud the Lotus Sutra, repents his sins, and makes full body prostrations. The prescription for the preparation of the ink strictly dictates that, having applied incense to the body, the ink should be ground and filtered through a cloth. The drops are collected into a bowl, and this process is repeated until enough pure ink has been gathered. The papers used for the transcription are then glued together using the root of grass as an adhesive. All these steps are merely the preparatory measures for ritualistically transcribed sutras. The procedure of copying often prominently involves the body of the copyist: after writing the first character or the first line of characters, the copyist offers five bodily prostrations, followed by three bows to the characters, the method known as “one character, three bows.” At the close of the transcription project, a devotee would

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often enshrine the sutra within a container for burial and make the ten offerings to it. The meticulous preparation and transcription of the sutras reflect great reverence for the sacred word. Laborious and elaborate copying rituals were pursued in China as well. For example, Stevenson notes that the monastic historian Zanning (919–1001) observed of contemporary transcription practices, There are persons who, in imitation of the ancients, venerate the texts of the Lotus and Flower Garland sūtras [by prostrating themselves to] each character, one at a time. They regard this to be veneration of the undefiled treasurestore of the dharma itself. Thus we find members of the fourfold saṅgha who actually insert the words “homage to” [namo] before each word and “-buddha” [fo] after each word [of the sutra].109

Daniel Veidlinger, quoting the Saddhammasaṅgaha, a late fourteenth-century Southeast Asian chronicle of uncertain authorship, provides another parallel, albeit a later example coming from a different tradition of venerating sutra text as the Buddha: “each letter should be considered as a Buddha image, therefore the wise should write the Tipiṭaka.”110 The practice of burying sutras in preparation for the return of the future Buddha, Miroku, at a time when the dharma will have all but vanished as the earth enters the last phase of our world age known as mappō, represents another widespread religious practice of venerating and, more importantly, of preserving sutras as dharma relics.111 Aptly characterized by D. Max Moerman as “the archaeology of anxiety,” the burial of sutras in reliquary mounds (kyōzuka) was intended to preserve the Buddha’s dharma, which would well up out of the ground at the advent of Miroku; but the sutras also were interred with fervent prayers for personal salvation, the birth of heirs, and even cures for minor physical afflictions.112 Significant to this study is the method of interring those sutras (Jpn. maikyō, Ch. maijing). The scriptures, which were copied on paper but also on more permanent materials such as tiles, wood, copper, stone slabs, and seashells,113 were often executed according to the ritualistic method of transcription (nyohōgyōhō) and were sealed in sutra cylinders (Jpn. kyōzutsu, Ch. jingtong). The small reliquaries entombing these sutras as dharma relics varied in form from the most simple and understated to elaborate jeweled pagodas. The treatment of scripture as relics united with a jeweled pagoda container poses a striking and undeniable resemblance to the mandalas, suggesting that this ritual of interment impacted

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the objects’ painted union of reliquary and sutra in the mandalas. Buried in small, stoned-lined underground chambers often filled with charcoal to combat water damage, sealed with stone, and marked by a raised earthen mound and at times a stone pagoda, the entire process of scriptural burial reflects not only the anxiety over preserving the dharma (and one’s own salvation), but a profound reverence for sutra text as relics of the Buddha.114 As J. Edward Kidder points out, “it was not unusual to include a sword or two in the mound as protection for holy texts.”115 Often times the sutra containers themselves were inscribed with protective phrases such as the mantra of light (kōmyō shingon) and/or an invocation of the name of the Lotus Sutra (namu Myōhōrengekyō).116 On a 1007 sutra container commissioned by Fujiwara no Michinaga and discovered on Mount Kinpu, the inscription declares: “Burying the relics of the dharmakāya recalls Śākyamuni’s mercy.”117 Clearly, the handling of sutra text in this archaeological context reflects the many injunctions in various scriptures not only to copy and worship the text, but also to enshrine it as dharma relics and as embodiments of the dharmakāya principle. These representative examples offer a glimpse into the elaborate preparatory methods of sutra transcription, whose complex care and concern reflect the nonduality of sacred texts and the Buddha. Visually, this fundamental conflation manifests again and again in extant sutra copies. In the eleventh-century Ichiji ichibutsu Hokekyō (one character, one Buddha Lotus Sutra) at Zentsūji (fig. 3.9), the copyist graphically illustrated this concept by placing a figure of the Buddha beside each character, thereby rendering visual the nonduality of the Buddha and his word. One cannot see or read the Ichiji ichibutsu Hokekyō without registering the conflation of sutra text and Buddha reinforced by the symbolically emblematic placement of a Buddha figure next to the letters of the sacred scripture. Similar treatments of the sacred word are seen in scrolls where each character is supported by a lotus pedestal and even crowned by a canopy, such as the Ichiji tengai rendai Hokekyō (one character, canopy, and lotus pedestal Lotus Sutra) (fig. 3.12). The enshrinement of individual letters placed upon a pedestal and ornamented with a canopy recalls the ubiquitous practice, visualized in countless sculptures and paintings, of elevating a Buddha on the pure seat of a lotus. This deferential treatment of enlightened beings stems from doctrinal descriptions of preaching Buddhas. Thus, not only do such scrolls visually conjure the nonduality of dharma and Buddha by borrowing from established iconography, the mode of representation also implies a deep reverence for dharma relics by establishing a sacred space for each character.

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Furthermore, the twelfth-century Lotus Sutra handscrolls adorn each textual character with a pagoda as an example of the Ichiji ichihōtō Hokekyō (one character, one jeweled pagoda Lotus Sutra) format (figs. 3.10–3.11). Enclosing the word within a reliquary enshrines—in a very literal way—the relics of the Buddha. As mentioned in chapter 3, these particular scrolls also represent a unification of dharma relic and pagoda, albeit one less involved than the relationship imagined in the jeweled pagoda mandalas. The mandalas depict one of the most complex and multifaceted visual treatises on the nature of dharma, relic, body, and sutra. Whereas the handscrolls lend visual description to the notion of dharma as relic, the mandalas not only privilege the text of the sutras as the centerpiece of the paintings and serve as visual commentaries on the nature of sutra as dharma relic by referencing the conventional partnering of relic and reliquary; they further layer the symbolism of scriptural text as the body of the Buddha through the structuring of the dharma in the form of a pagoda. At the foundation of this visual culture and religious practice is what Schopen described as the “cult of the book.”118 Schopen reveals that early Mahayana groups developed around particular sutras, promoting a “cult of the book” often in contrast to and stressed above the focus on relics and stupas. As he points out, “this cult did not develop in isolation, it had to contend at every step with the historical priority and the dominance of the stupa / relic cult of early Buddhism in the milieu in which it was attempting to establish itself.”119 Schopen’s study confirms the doctrinal foundation in early texts for classifying textual dharma as relics of the Buddha—dharma relics which, in places where the book was venerated, established a sacred space, variously characterized as a caitya (Jpn. shidai, Ch. zhiti) or stupa. Thus, in establishing its superiority, the cult of the book borrows the language of sacredness and metaphors of authority and salvific power from the cult of the stupa / relic. Sutras that privilege the cult of the book negatively assess corporeal relics and related reliquary construction in varying degrees. The third chapter of the Perfection of Wisdom in Eight Thousand Lines offers a prototypical example of the privileging of the cult of the book: Suppose that there are two persons. One of the two, a son or daughter of good family, has written down this perfection of wisdom, made a copy of it; he would then put it up, and would honour, revere, worship, and adore it with heavenly flowers. . . . The other would deposit in Stupas the relics of the Tathagata who has gone to Parinirvana; he would take hold of them and preserve them; he would honor, worship and adore them with heavenly flowers. . . . Which one

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of the two, O Lord, would beget the greater merit? . . . The son or daughter of good family who has made a copy of the perfection of wisdom, and who worships it, would beget the greater merit. For by worshiping the perfection of wisdom he worships the cognition of the all-knowing.120

Conclusion As complex paintings with many layers of meaning, there is no single way to approach and interpret the jeweled pagoda mandalas. This chapter and the next work in tandem to explore the paintings’ connections to Buddhist doctrine and praxis. By establishing the power of the sacred word as perceived in early medieval Japan and by demonstrating that this inherent power was a basis for the mandalas, what is revealed in this chapter about the force, both salvific and temporal, of scriptural text uncovers persuasive reasons for the creation of the paintings. By exploring the concept of sutra text as dharma relic manifested in copying practices, not only are the mandalas shown to be in line with this practice but even to have taken the notions of relic, text, body, and reliquary a step beyond through the visual conflation of all four concepts, which ultimately reflects their underlying unity. In addition, I demonstrated that the religious praxis of venerating scriptural text as relics reflected the ubiquitous enshrinement of sutras in pagodas. These lines of inquiry lay the foundation for the next chapter’s analysis of the mandalas’ interpenetrated manifestation of Buddha body theory. Ultimately, these two chapters attempt to uncover the various and elusive meanings of the mandalas by analyzing their relationship to sutra, dharma, relics, body, and pagoda, wherein lies the key to their interpretation.

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Buddhist Reliquaries and Somatic Profusions

M

aking the Buddha present in absentia is perhaps the ultimate basis for much of the material and visual culture of Buddhism. The parinirvāṇa, or physical death, of Siddhārtha Gautama made the issue of absence unavoidable, sparking complex and creative ontological understandings of the Buddha’s nature and raising philosophical questions about how to “presentize” the abstract and absent. However, it is the concretized, obvious absence after the parinirvāṇa and the need to visualize Buddhist teachings as manifest, accessible concepts that give shape and form to the intangible, thus greatly enriching the presence in the absence. Understanding the Buddha in absentia necessitated theories of the Buddha’s bodies and manifested materially in such things as relics, pagodas, sutras, and icons. The jeweled pagoda mandalas are no exception. By presentizing the Buddha narratively, textually, and architecturally, the mandalas suggest the many forms in which the Buddha is embodied and his salvific power thus accessed. In the previous chapter, I addressed the issue of the sacred text’s privileged status as the mandalas’ most prominent and certainly innovative feature, suggesting that the power imbued in scripture and the prolific practice of copying were compelling forces ushering the mandalas into existence. This chapter continues the discussion of the mandalas’ reflection of doctrine and praxis by addressing the question of the pagoda form and revealing it to be inextricably linked to Buddha body theory. I will explore the multiplicity of Buddha bodies as the unifying theory underpinning the jeweled pagoda mandalas’ construction as the visual locus of what I call the salvific matrix of text and body, which ultimately conflates text, dharma,

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body, relic and pagoda. In order for the bodies of the Buddha to be revealed as the foundational denominator for building the mandalas, a brief discussion of the complexities and ambiguities of Buddha body doctrine must be undertaken to ascertain the theory’s relationship with them. What is attempted is by no means a complete survey of Buddha body doctrine—which is, as one scholar appropriately described it, “notorious for its complexity”—or the discourse and debates surrounding it.1 This chapter presents a broad trajectory of Buddha body conceptions across several schools, periods, and geographies in order to establish the philosophical shifts that had already been performed before these ideas reached early medieval Japan. It is also important to consider the place of body in the Lotus Sutra and the Golden Light Sutra, the texts specifically used to construct the dharma reliquary of the mandalas. I also address the choice of the pagoda for the visual format of the text. Building on the Lotus Sutra claim that the earthly body of the Buddha is a pagoda, I examine another concept of the reliquary as dharmakāya. Such an interpretation suggests further conflation of the bodies of the Buddha as manifested in the mandalas, once again revealing another aspect of the interconnections within the soteriological web constructing the paintings. I maintain that the identification of the pagoda in medieval Japan as a salvifically charged, architectural body of the Buddha—a structure housing other bodies of the Buddha in the form of corporeal relics, dharma relics, and anthropomorphic figures—argues for its selection as the monument for the central icon of the mandalas. Through these avenues of investigation, I conclude that the centrality of the paintings’ dharma reliquaries is not a random or conceptually light choice—salvific power and multiple iterations of body resonate in the form of the pagoda as the iconic image of the jeweled pagoda mandalas.

The Bodies of the Buddha Introduction to Buddha Body Theory Plotting the precise development of Buddha body doctrine from a single-bodied Buddha (as at least one scholar argues)2 to a two-, three-, four-, or even ten-bodied theory, is an impossible task fraught with anachronistic traps. Presenting evidence from texts, archaeological sites, and visual culture long predating and geographically distant from the eleventh- through thirteenth-century Japanese context in which the mandalas were produced is in no way to imply that Buddhism and

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its religious practice and material expression were monolithic. Rather the goal is to establish the long-set precedence and earliest foundations of Buddha body theory and pagoda potency before examining their place in medieval Japan. This approach allows us to locate the notions active in medieval Japan as part of a much wider and older tradition. The early conflation of the Buddha’s teachings with the Buddha’s true nature eventually established a transcendental, and as considered by many, eternal body of the Buddha identified as the dharmakāya. But an examination of the occurrences of dharmakāya in early texts reveals that the uses of the term identified it as the “collection of teachings” or “body of teachings” and as the “collection of dharmas” in which followers could seek refuge and access to the Buddha and his law after the parinirvāṇa, rather than the highly conceptual body of the trikāya, or three-body system. Over time, scholarship on Buddha body doctrine corrected the tendency of earlier studies to nominalize the early uses of dharmakāya and to ignore the plural forms of the term, resulting in what many scholars have described as an anachronistic reading of dharmakāya in which the fully developed transcendental body corresponds to the later trikāya theory, effectively mischaracterizing the development of the doctrine as far too consistent and tidy. Paul Harrison, through extensive research on Buddha body doctrine, concludes that many of the early uses of dharmakāya should be translated as “body of dharmas” rather than the more specific and loaded term “dharmabody.”3 He determines that rather than establishing a distinct spiritual body of the Buddha, the main intention in these early texts is to equate the Buddha with the dharma, and that even when dharmakāya occurs in the nominal case it refers to the body of scriptures. Thus, he suggests the emphasis be placed on dharma rather than kāya. Most scholars on the subject have reached similar conclusions about the early understandings of the bodies of the Buddha.4 Such is the case in the Nirvāṇa sūtra, the Perfection of Wisdom in Eight Thousand Lines, and the Diamond Sutra, along with the Pāli texts, the Sutra on the Questions of King Miliṇḍa and the Kindred Sayings,5 among numerous others. An emblematic example comes from the Perfection of Wisdom in Eight Thousand Lines: “Indeed, the Tathāgata is not to be seen in the body of form and shape [rūpakāyato]. For the bodies of the teachings [dharmakāyāḥ]—these are Tathāgatas.”6 This passage also typifies the sentiment prevalent in descriptions of the dharmakāya, namely, one of bodily bifurcation: the division from—and often privileging of—the dharmakāya over the earthly form, or rūpakāya (Jpn. shikishin, Ch. seshen), assumed by Śākyamuni during life on earth. Because the

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rūpakāya is ultimately only a manifestation of the Buddha, and as such cannot embody the dharmatā (reality of things; Jpn. hosshō, Ch. faxing) within the realm of form, only the dharmakāya is synonymous with the pure essence of buddhahood and truth. As an emanation in the realm of form, the rūpakāya was portrayed as fundamentally tainted but at the same time was celebrated as the most beautiful manifestation, as Bhāvaviveka, a sixth-century Madhyamaka (Middle Way tradition; Jpn. Chugan ha, Ch. Zhongguan pai) monk describes it in his work, the Verses on the Essence of the Middle Way:7 The [Buddha’s] incomparable Form [Body] is surrounded by a fathom of light that has the appearance of a rainbow; its splendor consists of permanent, radiant, and complete primary and secondary characteristics; its ornament is glory; it is charming to the mind and eyes; and it surpasses all things in beauty. [With this form] and with a miraculous voice that has sixty attributes [the Buddha] captivates the minds of all beings. With body and voice like a wishing jewel, [the Buddha] assumes the universal form of all the gods to help those who are ready to be taught.8

There is broad consensus that the works of Nāgārjuna (ca. 150–ca. 250) and the Madhyamaka tradition presented and popularized a thoroughly bifurcated image of the bodies of the Buddha: that of the dharmakāya and rūpakāya.9 As Malcolm David Eckel points out, this two-body system grew out of the canonical distinction between the vile body of form and the body of pure teachings or dharmas, as seen in the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras and the Lotus Sutra.10 The Mahāyāna commentator Mātṛceṭa (first century ce) reveals the two-body system in his work, One Hundred and Fifty Verses:11 “Even when you had attained nirvana, you showed the unbelieving world, ‘My Dharma and Form Bodies are meant for others.’ For when you handed over the Dharma Body completely to the virtuous and split the Form Body into parts, you attained parinirvana.”12 Nāgārjuna’s Jeweled Garland 13 offers a similar sentiment: “If the causes of the Buddha’s Form Body are as immeasurable as the world, how can someone measure the cause of the Dharma Body? The Buddha’s Form Bodies arise from the collection of merit; and, to put the matter briefly, O King, the Dharma Body is born from the collection of insight.” 14 Much in this way, the Madhyamaka tradition continued to popularize the two-body system of the Buddha, which was later adapted into what became the more standard view of the Buddha’s bodies, the three-body theory.

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As propagated by the Yogācāra-vijñāna school, the trikāya doctrine offered the following somatic scheme: svābhāvikakāya (essence body; Jpn. juyūshin, Ch. shou­ yongshen), sāṃbhogikakāya (enjoyment body; Jpn. jishōshin, Ch. zixingshen), and nairmāṇikakāya (transformation body; Jpn. hengeshin, Ch. bianhuashen).15 As John J. Makransky points out, the sāṃbhogikakāya refers to the illustrious Tathāgatas found in the Mahāyāna sutras, and the nairmāṇikakāya corresponds to the innumerable manifestations of the Buddha in the world of the unenlightened.16 These terms roughly correlate to the later ones that succeeded them in popular usage: the saṃbhogakāya (reward, enjoyment or retribution body; Jpn. hōjin, Ch. bao­shen) and nirmāṇakāya (manifestation or transformation body; Jpn. keshin, Ch. huashen). According to the Sutra on [the Buddha’s] Entering [the Country of ] Laṅkā,17 the saṃbhogakāya is the body of the Buddha that experiences enlightenment in the pure palace of Akaniṣṭha, and it is only a manifestation (nirmāṇakāya) that is enlightened in the polluted world of the living.18 The saṃbhogakāya, though still categorized in the realm of form along with the nirmāṇakāya, is only visible to those of enlightened capabilities for the purpose of shared enjoyment of the dharma. The saṃbhogakāya is described as possessing the thirty-two lakṣaṇa, or identifying attributes of the Buddha. The perishable body is the nirmāṇakāya, with which the Buddha, in his great compassion, causes infinite emanations to project into the unenlightened realm of the living. The quasi-mythical Yogācāra scholar Maitreyanātha (ca. 270–ca. 350), in his commentary on the Perfection of Wisdom Sutras entitled Ornament of Clear Realization, notes:19 “[The body] by which he brings various benefits to living beings without interruption as long as there is samsara is the Manifestation Body of the Sage.”20 Śākyamuni Buddha was one such manifestation. The svābhāvikakāya roughly corresponds to the dharmakāya of the trikāya system. As Makransky explains, in early Yogācāra literature the svābhāvikakāya is understood as “being the dharmakāya, whose character is aśrayaparāvṛtti [Yogācāran characterization of buddhahood as a shift in standpoint or basis].”21 This literature thus equates “svābhāvikakāya with dharmakāya in its sense of buddhahood as a whole. But why, one might ask, do we need another term for all of buddhahood? We already have so many of these terms. The answer is that there is buddhahood as it actually exists, i.e., as a buddha has realized it (svābhāvikakāya).”22 Makransky explains, “A buddha has achieved only one buddhahood, the dharmakāya.”23 He also notes that the usage of the term svābhāvikakāya in sutras has been controversial, with the word not fully understood or at least functioning

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in subtly different ways depending on the text; this controversy is still communicated in commentaries and in scholarship today.24 Gradually, however, dharmakāya came to replace svābhāvikakāya once influential commentators such as Vasubandhu (fifth century), Asvabhāva (sixth century), and Sthiramati (sixth century) lent it greater prominence by adopting it in their commentarial texts.25 The dharmakāya of the three-body system is one of transcendent, undefiled essence, such as that described by Jñānagarbha, an eighth-century Madhyamaka monk: When [the Buddha] takes no notice of subject, object, or self, no signs of cognition arise [in his mind]. His concentration is firm, and he does not get up. The place where he sits is a locus (sthāna) of every inconceivable virtue. It is incomparable, worthy of worship, a guide, and utterly beyond thought. This is the Dharma Body of the Buddhas, because it is the body of all the qualities (dharma) [that constitutes a Buddha], the locus (aśraya) of every inconceivable virtue, and rational in nature.26

Though still denoting the teachings, and hence the scriptures as evidenced in the praxis of sutra worship discussed in the last chapter, dharmakāya acquires a more abstract and grand philosophic dimension. In his examination of texts such as the Jewel Nature Treatise27—an important work in tathāgatagarbha thought which holds that all beings possess the ability to achieve Buddhahood—Ruben L. F. Habito characterizes the dharmakāya as the all-pervading principle of unity and truth encompassing every living being by highlighting several passages from the sutra, such as “The universal body (dharmakāya) of the Tathāgata penetrates all living beings.”28 The dharmakāya is truth without cessation, it is “not a body, is not created, is not born, does not cease, is not produced by a combination [of causes], does not arise, does not remain, is not established, has no end, has no limit, is happy and is utterly quiet.”29 It is from the dharmakāya that the other bodies emanate. The dharmakāya is broadly understood to be the Buddha’s teachings, the ultimate truth embodied in those lessons, as well as the realization of that truth; thus, we have a body composed of sutra, which embodies the ultimate truth by which the realization of such truth is attained, effectively making the dharmakāya both the path and the goal.

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The Buddha Body in the Lotus and Golden Light Sutras Although the Lotus and Golden Light Sutras do not present a systematic, fully fledged vision of the trikāya doctrine, they do offer a view of the eternal Buddha accessible though the dharma. In chapter sixteen of the Lotus Sutra, “The Life Span of the Thus Come One,” the Buddha confesses that even though he presently lives the life of Śākyamuni—a prince of the Śākya clan who forsook earthly pursuits and pleasures, thus attaining anuttarasamyaksaṃbodhi (the utmost and perfect enlightenment; Jpn. anokutara sanmyaku sanbodai, Ch. anouduolo sanmiao sanputi) at Gayā—in fact, he was enlightened in the beginningless, incalculable past: And yet, O good men, since in fact I achieved buddhahood it has been incalculable, limitless hundreds of thousands of myriads of nayutas of kalpas. For example, one might imagine that in the five hundred thousand myriads of millions of nayutas of asaṃkhyeyas of thousand-millionfold worlds there is a man who pounds them all to atoms, and then, only after passing eastward over five hundred thousand myriads of millions of nayutas of asaṃkhyeyas of realms, deposits one atom, in this way in this eastward movement exhausting all these atoms.30

Indeed, the Buddha reveals that for “a hundred thousand myriads of millions of nayutas of asaṃkhyeyas I have been constantly dwelling in this Sahā world sphere, preaching the dharma, teaching and converting; also elsewhere, in a hundred thousand myriads of millions of nayutas of asaṃkhyeyas of realms [I have been] guiding and benefiting the beings.”31 Thus the Lotus Sutra portrays a Buddha, limitless and eternal, continuously expounding the dharma via the compassionate method of expedient or skillful means. Moreover, the Lotus Sutra characterizes other Buddhas from other realms as emanations of the body of Śākyamuni,32 thereby subsuming all Buddhas under the one ceaseless, limitless Buddha presently identified as Śākyamuni. As examined in the last chapter, the Lotus Sutra explicitly and unequivocally equates itself with the body of the Buddha. The Golden Light Sutra also speaks of the incalculability of the Buddha’s existence. In the second chapter, “Measure of Life of the Tathāgata,” the assembled Tathāgatas proclaim in a united voice: The drops in all the oceans of water can be counted, but no one can count the life of Śākyamuni. As far as the Sumeru mountains are concerned, all their

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atoms can be counted, but no one can count the life of Śākyamuni. However many atoms there are on earth it is possible to count them all but not to count the life of the Buddha. If anyone should wish to measure the sky, (it is possible), but no one can count the life of Śākyamuni. Let there be so many æons and hundreds of millions of æons, so many perfect Buddhas, yet the count (of his life) is not obtained.33

In the same chapter, the brahmin Kauṇḍinya observes that Śākyamuni “is not created and has not arisen. His body that is as hard as the thunderbolt manifests his transformed body. And hence there is nothing called a relic of the great sage even the size of a grain of mustard. How will there be a relic in a body without bone or blood? The depositing of a relic is by an expedient on account of the welfare of beings.”34 Kauṇḍinya explains, “For the one who has the Law as his body is the one fully enlightened; the sphere of the Law is the Tathāgata. Such is the Lord’s body; such the exposition of the Law.”35 In unison, the congregation of thirty-two thousand gods exclaim: “The Buddha does not enter complete Nirvāṇa (and) the Law does not disappear. For the ripening of beings does he teach complete Nirvāṇa. The Lord Buddha is inconceivable. The Tathāgata has an eternal body. He shows various manifestations by reason of the welfare of beings.”36 Again, similar themes appear in the Golden Light Sutra involving a timeless, compassionate Buddha manifesting the dharma through expedient means, formless and nondual with the Law. Such a Buddha thus emanates as the ground or source for all other manifestations rendered in form.

Choosing the Pagoda The question raised in this section, namely, the choice of the pagoda for the textual icon, elicits three topics for examination: the corporeal dimension and worship of the reliquary, the notion of the pagoda as a salvific monument, and the prolific commission of pagoda projects in early medieval Japan. This three-pronged approach to the choice of the icon further explicates the interconnections within the web dealing with the somaticity of the Buddha and the salvific spheres accessible in our realm, all of which underscore how the mandalas represent the karmic convergence of these concepts.

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The Corporeality of the Pagoda There is no one definitive way to think about the notion of body, which can be conceptualized and sacralized in a multitude of ways. True to this observation, the mandalas do not exhibit just one definition of Buddha body; they exhibit several. In this section I continue the somatic thread, building on the earlier explications of sacred body and on the layered corporeal visualizations in the jeweled pagoda mandalas by revealing the reliquary to be another manifestation of the body. As John S. Strong noted, the “apparent functional equivalence of stūpa and buddha” in the worship of reliquaries stems from the conviction that “a stūpa ‘is’ the living buddha.”37 Both doctrine and praxis confirm this corporealization of the pagoda. For example, in chapter eleven of the Lotus Sutra, the “Apparition of the Jeweled Stupa,” the Buddha instructs his disciple in the proper postparinirvāṇa methods of veneration saying, “After my passage into extinction, anyone who wishes to make offerings to my whole body must erect a great stūpa.”38 As discussed in the conclusion, the Lotus Sutra adeptly straddles the devotional line between the cult of the book and the cult of the stupa, a synthesis of extremes that in all likelihood reflected the blended practice of medieval Buddhism. Therefore, when the Buddha unequivocally equates his “complete body” to that of a grand architectural monument, that is, a pagoda, any distinction between the reliquary and the Buddha is abolished. The Buddha presciently articulates a strategy for manifesting his presence in absentia, thus elevating the status of the pagoda to the nondual level with the Buddha. Several studies have been conducted comparing the architectural structure of the stupa with the attributes of the dharmakāya as detailed in sutras. Overall, these studies have attempted to characterize the presence of the Buddha’s seeming absence. Gustav Roth argues that the stupa is equivalent to the Buddha by analyzing passages from the Caitya vinayodbhāva sūtra in its Tibetan form, the Sanskrit manuscript Stūpa lakṣaṇa kārikā vivecana, and the Kriyāsaṃgrahapañjikā of Kuladatta, a Buddhist Tantric ritual compendium, among other sources.39 Quoting from the Caitya vinayodbhāva sūtra on the nature of the dharmakāya, Roth writes, “The substance of the Dharmakāya are the applications of mindfulness, the exertions, the moral faculties, the abilities.”40 As he notes, the sutra then reveals that the stupa embodies these enumerated elements: “The stupa is the reflected image of these . . . i.e. the reflected image of the Dharmakāya.”41 The texts examined by Roth dissect each part of the stupa, equating the sections with various characteristics of the Buddha’s essence, thereby exposing it as yet another manifestation of the Buddha’s body, and more specifically, the dharmakāya of the Buddha. Indeed,

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from the foundational terrace steps to the crowning canopy, the characteristics of the dharmakāya are embodied in each section of the stupa structure, articulating in architectural form a terrestrial dharmakāya in absentia. For example, the arguably dominant feature of the stupa, the kumbha (the dome or “pot,” as Roth calls it), has been shown to have roots in the rituals of relic preservation. Both the Nirvāṇa sūtra and the Pāli Mahāparinibbāna sutta describe the collection of the Buddha’s ashes and their placement in the kumbha as a relic repository for the Tathāgata’s corporeal remains.42 In terms of the stupa’s symbolic equivalent of the dharmakāya’s essence, the kumbha embodies the seven constituents of enlightenment.43 As Peter Harvey summarized, “the stūpa, the primary focus of early Buddhist development, should not only contain the relics of the Buddha or a saint, but should also symbolise the Dhamma, or the Buddha in the form of his Dhammakāya.”44 These crucial components of stupa architecture are also transposed to the tower-like structure of the pagoda during the East Asian shift. Religious practice has long reflected this corporeality of the stupa, as Gregory Schopen has persuasively argued in his study of the medieval practice of burial ad sanctos (a Latin verse meaning “at the place of saints”).45 Schopen exposes the “functional equivalence of the relic and the living buddha”46 in his examination of inscriptions from early Indian reliquaries, circa first and second centuries ce. Two very early inscriptions from the reign of King Menander (second century bce) on the lid of a reliquary describe Śākyamuni’s relics as having life: “[on] the 14th day of the month Kārttika, the relic of the blessed one Śākyamuni which is endowed with life is established,” and “[This is] a relic of the blessed on Śākyamuni which is endowed with life.”47 Such testimonials reveal relics as living entities. But relics of the Buddha embody more than just life—inscriptions from the first and second centuries ce describe relics as possessing the attributes of a living Buddha, such characteristics as wisdom, vision, morality, virtue, and emancipation.48 Thus relics impregnated with the dharma and essence of the Buddha are marked not just “like” the Buddha but as nondual entities. Stupas, enshrining corporeal and dharmic relics—both of which presentize the Buddha—were thus viewed as architectural bodies of the Buddha. According to the inscriptions from stupa number 1 at Sāñcī, circa first century bce, to do harm to a stupa through desecration or theft was a harshly punishable sin: “He who dismantles, or causes to be dismantled, the stone work from this Kākaṇāva [i.e., the old name for the stupa at Sāñcī], or causes it to be transferred to another ‘house of the teacher,’ he shall go to the [same terrible] state as those who commit the five deadly sins that have immediate retribution.”49 As Schopen notes, this

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inscription is telling. Because committing crimes against the stupa is tantamount to the five deadly sins (matricide, patricide, killing an arhat, causing divisions within the sangha, and physically harming a Buddha), for such grievous sins to apply means that a stupa was viewed as a “living person of rank.” That desecration and the removal of offerings made to the stupa were punishable sins indicates a legal status accorded to the stupa equivalent to that of a “legal person,” with all the accompanying rights, privileges, and protections. Through an investigation of the legal and karmic protection afforded stupas in the monastic codes (vinayas) and Mahāyāna sutras, Schopen reveals that early stupas were indeed conceived of as a “legal persons” capable of owning property, including land and monetary funds. For example, the Ratnarāśi sūtra declares that all money and objects given to a stupa cannot be used by the populace or clergy or exposed to the elements, and those properties must even be allowed to rot rather than be removed. The Ratnarāśi sūtra explains that the reason for such protectionist measures is that the stupa, in its role as the Buddha, sacralizes these objects through possession: “Whatever belongs to a stūpa, even if it is only a single fringe that is given . . . that itself is a sacred object for the world together with its gods.”50 These examples highlight the early tradition of stupa veneration and identification as a body of the Buddha. Expressions of architectural reliquaries as bodies of the Buddha occur as well in visual culture. Before analyzing its expression in Japan, it is instructive to look at a few of the earliest Buddhist images featuring the worship of a stupa as a Buddha to demonstrate the icon’s long standing as a reverential object. A white sandstone carving from the first century ce on the northern gateway pillar of Sāñcī’s stupa number 1, topically titled the Malla Nobles Rejoicing on Receiving Their Share of Śākyamuni’s Relics, portrays a scene of stupa worship (fig. 5.1).51 In the horizontally arranged relief, the Mallas of Kuśinagara venerate the stupa through dance, song, music, feasts, and offerings of flower wreaths. Kiṃnaras (half-human, half-bird gods associated with celestial music) in flight lay flower garlands upon the stupa. Other such visualizations come from the remains of the Bhārhut and Amarāvatī stupas. The second-century bce Bhārhut relief, Veneration of the Stupa, comes from the pillar featuring the religious rituals of King Prasenajit, a ruler contemporary with Śākyamuni (fig. 5.2). The red sandstone carving describes the virtuous pilgrimage of King Prasenajit and his consort to a stupa, perhaps even the stupa erected at the site of the Buddha’s parinirvāṇa, as suggested by the two śāla trees. Pictorialized in continuous narration, the king and his consort approach the stupa, prostrate before it, and circumambulate its perimeter while winged

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Fig. 5.1 Malla Nobles Rejoicing on Receiving Their Share of Śākyamuni’s Relics, relief on the northern gateway pillar of stupa 1, Sāñcī, India, first century ce, white sandstone. https://commons.wikimedia .org/wiki/File%3AForeigners_Worshiping_Stupa_-_East_Face_-_West_Pillar_-_North_Gateway _-_Stupa_1_-_Sanchi_Hill_2013-02-21_4287.JPG.

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Fig. 5.2 Veneration of a Stupa, relief on the Prasenajit pillar of the Bhārhut stupa, second century bce, red sandstone. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:KITLV_87926_-_Unknown_-_Relief _on_the_Bharhut_stupa_in_British_India_-_1897.tif

beings fly overhead offering gifts of flowered garlands. In both reliefs depicting stupa worship in the manner befitting the Buddha, flower arrangements and/or elaborate designs already adorn the surface of the structure. As described in the previous chapter, this manner of veneration accords with the proper worship of the Buddha, as instructed through doctrine, and indicates the reverential status of the stupa. For example, in the Mahāparinibbāna sutta of the Pāli canon, great benefits are awarded those who pay proper veneration to the stupa: “At the four cross roads a cairn [stupa] should be erected to the Tathāgata. And whosoever shall there place garlands or perfumes or paint, or make salutation there, or become in its presence calm in heart—that shall long be to them for a profit and a joy.”52 The eighth-century Indian monk Śāntideva devotes an entire chapter to stupa worship in his Training Anthology.53 Quoting from the Avalokana sūtra, Śāntideva urges the worship of stupas because of the tremendous, unparalleled merit gained. He reveals that in merely offering a garland to a stupa, one would become “an imperial monarch and Śakra the lord, and Brahma in Brahma’s world.”54 Furthermore, “he who gives one sunshade, adorned and brilliant to

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see, to the Blessed One’s shrines” is awarded a body resplendent and perfect as the Buddha’s and celebrated and worshiped as a most virtuous and all-knowing being.55 Many more texts and sutras command the worship of stupas. At multiple points in the Lotus Sutra, good people are encouraged to worship stupas; for instance, having erected a grand stupa to house the Lotus Sutra as the dharma relic, the Buddha offers these instructions: “This stūpa is to be showered with offerings, humbly venerated, held in solemn esteem, and praised with all manner of flowers, scents, necklaces, silk banners and canopies, music skillfully sung and played, if there are persons who can see this stūpa and worship and make offerings to it, be it known that these persons are all close to anuttarasamyaksaṃbodhi.”56 And like the scripture’s injunctions to copy its text, the sutra also prescribes devotees to construct reliquaries: “O Ajita! Wherever these good men and good women sit, or stand, or walk, there one should erect a stūpa, and all gods and men should make offerings to it, as if it were a stūpa of the Buddha himself.”57 Due to the prominence of pagoda veneration in the Lotus Sutra, jeweled pagodas became objects of worship themselves. Brian Ruppert, in his illuminating study on the many uses of relics in medieval Japan, and in particular the harnessing of their power for authoritative purposes, notes that, in the Buddhist relic offerings rite in which relics are offered to shrines throughout the country, a jeweled pagoda served as the main icon, thereby expressing the “fecundity of the body of the buddha.”58 Images such as the 1203 wooden gorintō (five-ringed pagoda) at Shin Daibutsuji in Mie Prefecture, which is constructed of one thousand miniature seated Buddhas, further defines the pagoda as equivalent with the Buddha (fig. 5.3).59 The back of the gorintō features the text of the Dhāraṇī of the Seal on the Casket [of the Secret Whole-Body Relic of the Essence of All Tathāgatas]60 written in Siddhaṃ-style letters (Jpn. bonji, Ch. fanzi).61 This scripture conflates the sacred word with the bodies of the Buddhas of the past, present, and future. Thus, the gorintō manifests the bodies of the Buddha in the form of pagoda and sutra. A strong tradition in Shingon Buddhism holds that the pagoda, and in particular the gorintō, is the architectural manifestation of Dainichi as the dharmakāya. This gorintō further reveals the pagoda to be Dainichi because of the visualization of one thousand emanating seated Buddhas, the iconography of Dainichi grounded in doctrine. The Brahma Net Sutra describes the emanation of one thousand Śākyamuni Buddhas from Dainichi as the dharmakāya and thus the ground or origin of all things, including the Buddhas.62 The iconographic drawing for the Kongōkai

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Fig. 5.3 Gorintō (five-ringed pagoda), 1203, wood. Shin Daibutsuji, Mie Prefecture. Photograph courtesy of Nara National Museum.

Fig. 5.4 Iconographic drawing of the Diamond-World Mandala from the Taishō shinshū Daizōkyō zuzō, vol. 1, p. 1074, twelfth century, ink on paper. Daizōkyō Database. http://dzkimgs.l.u-tokyo .ac.jp/SATi/images.php?alang=en. Photograph courtesy of the Fine Arts Library, Harvard University.

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Fig. 5.5 Kakuban, drawing of a gorintō from the Secret Interpretation of the Five Wheels and Nine Syllables (T. 79, no. 2514: 12c17–29), twelfth century, ink on paper. Photograph courtesy of the Harvard-Yenching Library, Harvard University.

mandara, or Diamond-World Mandala, a twelfth-century Japanese copy of the Chinese original brought to Japan by Kūkai, visualizes the pagoda as the dharmakāya of Dainichi (fig. 5.4). Inscribed on one of the supporting lotus petals is the Sanskrit letter “vaṃ” for Dainichi of the diamond realm; the stylized, adamantine thunderbolt (Jpn. kongō, Ch. jingang; Skt. vajra), another symbol denoting Dainichi, rests at the base of the pagoda. Kakuban, an influential Shingon monk, wrote extensively on the correlative relationship between the gorintō, the Buddha, and the practitioner. His text, Secret Interpretation of the Five Wheels and Nine Syllables (Gorin kujimyō himitsushaku),63 attempted to systematize the correlative systems found in Indian Tantrism and Chinese doctrines. Rambelli notes that these contributions of Kakuban’s and others “became the template of Japanese Esoteric Buddhism and also influenced various aspects of cultural life in medieval Japan, such as music, linguists, and poetry.”64 Kakuban advocated the visualization of the universe as a gorintō in five elements

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(air, wind, fire, water, and earth) consisting of the five fundamental shapes (sphere, crescent, triangle, circle, square) and corresponding to sets of five-syllable mantras (fig. 5.5).65 By visualizing this interpenetration, a transformation from mere practitioner is possible: “by becoming a stupa, that is, the mystic and cosmic body of the Buddha, the practitioner is able to become a buddha himself.”66 Rambelli also introduces the thought of Raihō (1279–1330), a Shingon monk who characterized the shape and nature of the dharmadhatū as a gorintō (hokkai tōba) in his text, Shohō funbetsushō.67 He argued that this conflation “is the origin of all body-mind complexes of the universe; it is also the place where beings return to after death.”68 Rambelli goes on to explain that this characterization of the dharmadhatū as a gorintō and its connection to the origin of life, as well as its associations with death, sets the stage for the prolific use of the gorintō as funerary markers.69 The pagoda as the architectural expression of the Buddha body and the sutras as the textual body of the Buddha render visible the double expression of the dharmakāya in the jeweled pagoda mandalas. This rare combinatory visualization presents two manifestations of the dharmakāya that are possible to witness in our post-parinirvāṇa realm. The mandalas not only privilege the text of the sutras as the centerpiece of the paintings and serve as visual commentaries on the nature of sutra as dharma relic by referencing the conventional partnering of relic and reliquary; they further layer the conflation of scriptural text as the body of the Buddha through the structuring of the dharma in the form of a pagoda. In the jeweled pagoda mandalas, the complete blending of both materializations of the dharmakāya serves as a visual treatise on the ultimate indivisibility of body, for one cannot behold the pagoda without reading it as the sutra, and it is equally as impossible to see the sutra without regarding the pagoda. The utter conflation creates the visual capacity to constantly manifest and yet subsume each of the dharma bodies. Indeed, this indivisibility does more than portray the conflation and possible manifestations of the Buddha bodies. It complicates the conceptual boundaries of reliquary and relic, of exposed and hidden, of container and contained; whereas reliquaries typically protected the relics of the Buddha from damage and from sight, the jeweled pagoda mandalas reveal an innovative perspective on the functions of reliquary and sutra. In the paintings, what was conventionally buried inside and hidden from sight now builds and makes present the structure that historically housed it.

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The Pagoda as a Site of Emanating Power The bodily connotations of the pagoda certainly offer a compelling reason for its centrality in mandalas rife with conflated notions of somaticity; however, the pagoda—as an active and highly charged monument in medieval Buddhism— functioned as a multidimensional icon. Therefore, the central role of the pagoda in the mandalas reflects the varied symbolisms and functions of the architectural reliquary, and as a site of radiating salvific power, it further warrants its prominent place in the paintings. Dotting the medieval landscape, pagodas, as centers of salvific power, manifest the Buddha’s presence, making possible interaction between the cosmic divine and those who seek it. The inherent potency of these structures as bodies of the Buddha and as centers from which power radiated, promising proximity to the salvific presence of the Buddha, propelled pagodas to become sacred spaces valued by the pious populace, clergy, and rulers. Again, a long tradition exists proclaiming the salvific grace of the pagoda. As Schopen has shown in his study of the practice of burial ad sanctos, stupas marking important places in the life of Śākyamuni or containing corporeal relics were often the objects of funerary anxieties and paradisiacal ambitions. Around such monuments of soteriological potency, numerous smaller stupas were constructed, many of which contain relics of their own—and as Schopen points out, they were likely not those of Śākyamuni since relics of the Buddha were most often identified by inscription.70 There seems to have been little spatial planning or organization to the surrounding stupas, and often newer stupas were erected over preexisting ones. As such, these examples of burial ad sanctos indicate an attempt to create a cosmologically charged realm for local funerary practices. Acting on both horizontal and vertical axes, the smaller stupas radiated out and down to create a multilayered three-dimensional space in which people yearned for the proximity of the Buddha as manifested in the stupa. Schopen notes that the goal of this burial practice was to be near Śākyamuni, indicating a conviction that funerary proximity to the Buddha as manifested in the stupa gifted a soteriological impact.71 The content of the dhāraṇī placed inside many of the smaller surrounding stupas reiterated this anxiety over death and karmic causation. Schopen offers a typical dhāraṇī found in this context: “Moreover, if someone were to write this dhāraṇī in the name of another (who is deceased) and were to deposit it in a stūpa and earnestly worship it, then the deceased, being freed (by that) from his unfortunate destiny, would be reborn in heaven. Indeed, being reborn in the realm of the Tuṣita gods, through the empowering of the Buddha he would (never again) fall into an unfortunate destiny.”72

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A related phenomenon in Japan involves the practice of relic burials (Jpn. nōkotsu, Ch. nagu) around Kūkai’s grave, but the space on Mount Kōya is horizontally arranged rather than being vertically organized, piling marker upon marker.73 Is it the propinquity to the pagoda or the promise of proximity to the salvific treasure within that encourages this funerary practice? Extricating one from the other seems a fruitless task, much like the attempts to disentangle the individual components of the jeweled pagoda mandalas’ central icon. Reaping the benefits does not require the whole of the body or all of the ashes of the deceased; rather, the deposit can be a mere hair or tooth. Kūkai’s promised bodily assumption at the advent of Miroku encourages the popular practice of relic burials around his grave, where he resides in a state of samādhi. Thus, being buried next to Kūkai’s living presence ensured a beneficial rebirth. Nishiguchi Junko points out the curious phenomenon of permitting women’s ashes in places that excluded women during life, such as Mount Kōya and Mount Hiei.74 According to the mystical origins of Shingon Buddhism, the Bodhisattva Vajrasattva (Jpn. Kongōsatta, Ch. Jingangsaduo) was initiated into the esoteric teachings by none other than Dainichi. Vajrasattva then hid himself and the teachings away inside an iron pagoda where Nāgārjuna discovered him and received the dharma transmission from within the protective walls of the reliquary.75 This story was recorded in Kūkai’s Record of Dharma Transmission, furthering its popularity in medieval Japan.76 Another example illustrating the preservative and apotropaic abilities of the pagoda comes from the story of Zhiyi’s request that a stone pagoda guard the texts he had written.77 Imperial funerary practices certainly reflect the belief in the preservative powers of pagodas. Numerous emperors and aristocrats requested the interment of their ashes within pagoda structures or asked for pagodas to mark the place of their remains, as Haga Noboru’s study of Japanese funerary history reveals.78 Even restoring a pagoda that has fallen into a state of neglect and disrepair can deliver a favorable rebirth, as testified to in the Three Jewels (Sanbōe), a text by Minamoto no Tamenori (d. 1011) composed for Princess Sonshi Naishinnō: Long ago, there was an elder who lived after Vipaśyin Buddha has already entered Nirvāṇa. He noticed a crack in the plaster at the back of a stūpa, so he prepared some fresh plaster and repaired the crack, then he scattered sandalwood incense around the stūpa, uttered a prayer, and went away. As a result, he did not fall into the Evil Realms through ninety-one kalpas of rebirth but was always reborn as a Celestial or as a man with fragrant body and a fragrant

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mouth. . . . Eventually, he became one of the Buddha’s disciples, and attained the state of an arhat.79

Whether in doctrine, legend, or religious practice, the pagoda has enjoyed a profound respect and a revered sense of salvific power, cultivated over many centuries and across multiple borders. As such it was the object of countless construction projects. Pagoda Commissions in Early Medieval Japan Pagoda construction across medieval Buddhist societies enjoyed a long and sustained history. As has already been discussed, numerous influential sutras and commentarial texts encouraged such building projects. Texts such as the Sutra on the Merit of Building a Stupa as Spoken by the Buddha80 expound the meritorious potential of pagoda projects. The Buddha addresses Kannon before the vast assembly of deities, saying: Noble son, among the heavenly beings present here and all the living beings of future generations, whoever is able to erect a stūpa wherever there is a place without one—whether its form be exaltedly marvelous as to surpass the triloka or so extremely small as an āmalaka fruit; whether its mast ascends to the brahma heaven or is as extremely small as a needle; whether its parasol covers the great chiliocosm or is extremely small like a jujube leaf.81

And within this reliquary, if one enshrines a corporeal or dharma relic of the Buddha, this person’s merit will be as great as the brahma heaven. At the end of his life, he will be born in the brahmaloka. When his long life reaches its end in that realm, he will be born in the five pure abodes; there he will be no different than the gods. Noble son, of such matters have I spoken—the magnitude of these stūpas and the cause of their merit. You and all the heavenly beings should study and observe this.82

In the Three Jewels, Tamenori recorded a short sutra for the princess which reported the dialogue between King Prasenajit and the Buddha known as the Sutra on Earning Merit for the Extension of Life through Stupa Building.83 The king, convinced that in seven days’ time he would succumb to death, beseeches

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the Buddha to extend his life. In this context, the Buddha preaches the amazing benefits of pagoda construction: “Among all excellent deeds, nothing exceeds the excellence of stūpa building.”84 He tells King Prasenajit of a young cowherd who was predicted to die in seven days, but because the child built a pagoda of sand pebbles “only as tall as the span between his thumb and middle finger . . . his life was immediately lengthened by seven years.”85 The Buddha also reveals to the king the enlightened message of a great sage who explained to a group of mischievous children the exponential scale of the rewards of pagoda construction. The sage tells them that building a reliquary of sand pebbles as tall as one hand will transform them into iron-wheel kings in the next world; he goes on to link the size of the small pagodas to exponentially increased rewards.86 The Buddha grandly promises in the sutra that “he who builds a stūpa will be immune to poison for the rest of his life. His lifespan will be very long. He will not die of unnatural causes; evil spirits will not come near him, and he will escape all his enemies and assailants. He will never be ill, and his sins will be expunged.”87 At this end of this tale, Tamenori joins the theme of small sand pagodas and their disproportionately large rewards to the passage from the Lotus Sutra that reads, “There are even children who in play / Gather sand and make it into buddha stūpas. / Persons like these / Have achieved the buddha path.”88 Transformation tableaux and illustrated sutra frontispieces commonly portray this theme of children constructing pagodas for fun yet unknowingly reaping great benefits; the eleventh-century example of fascicle 1 of the Lotus Sutra from Enryakuji illustrates children building pagodas out of sand (fig. 3.8). The Lotus Sutra at several points urges the construction of various types of pagodas, usually to enshrine copies of the sutra itself as a dharma relic. For example, the Buddha instructs devotees, saying, “O Medicine King! Wherever it may be preached, or read, or recited, or written, or wherever place a roll of this scripture may occupy, in all those places one is to erect a stūpa of the seven jewels, building it high and wide with impressive decoration.”89 These proclamations and many others like them resulted in great building projects such as those for the ailing princess in the Three Jewels. Tamenori records the activity of piling stones into the shape of a pagoda, a group participatory practice occurring often in the spring and common among lay aristocrats in the Heian period.90 These spring festivals frequently took place along a river on the sixteenth day of the second month, the day after the anniversary of the Buddha’s pari­ nirvāṇa.91 Tamenori, in a rare description of the festival, lamented that “there are ignorant people who think of it merely as a pleasant excursion. They are responsi-

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ble for setting the date of the annual observance, and they are the arbiters of taste regarding the adornments upon the altars, but in the evening they get drunk and collapse and tumble down the streets.”92 But due to the incredible merit derived from building pagodas, even those who view the occasion as an opportunity to drink and carouse at night “will reach the garden of merit, and they too shall plant their own good roots there.”93 It seems one cannot go wrong. The merit and salvific grace promised by pagoda construction and veneration propels countless reliquarial projects in the early medieval period. One of the earliest recorded commissions of vast numbers of small pagodas occurred at Hosshōji on the twenty-third day of the fourth month in 1122 at the behest of Shirakawa.94 As explained in Hyakurenshō, a small hall was built to house the massive project of 300,000 pagodas measuring approximately three centimeters each. In his diary, Gyokuyō, in the entry for the twenty-fourth day of the fourth month of 1174, Kujō Kanezane (1149–1207) records that Fujiwara no Motofusa (1145–1231) commissioned 10,000 small pagodas to pray for a safe childbirth for his wife.95 And on the tenth day of the tenth month in 1178 Nakayama Tadachika (1131–95) recorded in his diary, Sankaiki, that a court official ordered 15,000 small clay pagodas for his wife’s safe childbirth.96 Small pagoda commissions frequently comprised part of a larger project, such as the one by Emperor Toba and Empress Taikenmon’in in which 10,000 small pagodas were produced for a series of ceremonies at Hosshōji, as recorded in Chūyūki.97 Much larger projects, such as the celebrated commission of 84,000 pagodas in emulation of Aśoka’s original dedication, were produced in great quantities. Tsuji Zennosuke claims that the commissions of 84,000 small reliquaries became very fashionable during the Kamakura period (1185–1333), functioning largely as memorials intended to offer repose for those killed as a result of the shift in power to the Minamoto clan but also as prayers for good health and prevention of disaster.98 For example, in 1197 Minamoto no Yoritomo commissioned 84,000 deitōkyō (small clay pagodas onto which sutra characters are inscribed) to be constructed for the pacification of the troubled spirits of the Hōgen disturbance (July 28– August 16, 1156). Yoritomo explains, “we search here for the ancient tracks of Aśoka, constructing 84,000 jeweled-stūpas, and believing [in the promise of] the benefits of wealth [i.e., wealth derived from the merit of ritual], copy the Hōkyōin dhāraṇī [Skt. Karaṇḍamudrā dhāraṇī] in all the sites of spiritual power in the provinces [throughout the realm].”99 Dated to the thirteenth or fourteenth century, figure 5.6 represents a selection of deitōkyō on which the Lotus Sutra was copied; these are thought to have been unearthed at Chishakuji in Tottori Prefecture.

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Fig. 5.6 Deitōkyō (small clay pagodas onto which sutra characters are inscribed), unearthed at Chishakuji, Tottori Prefecture, thirteenth–fourteenth century, unglazed earthenware. Nara National Museum. Photograph courtesy of Nara National Museum.

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Azuma kagami, a late twelfth- through mid-thirteenth-century chronicle, documents several instances of projects of 84,000 reliquaries, many made for the repose of the dead and as prayers for health and prevention of disaster. On the twentyninth day of the eighth month in 1203, the second Kamakura shogun, Minamoto no Yoriie (1182–1204), dedicated 84,000 deitōkyō at Tsurugaoka Hachiman Shrine in Kamakura for his recovery from illness.100 Likewise, the fourth shogun, Kujō Yoritsune (1218–56), dedicated 84,000 deitōkyō for the prevention of disaster and request for good health on the fourth day of the seventh month in 1241.101 Brian Ruppert, noting an increase in the number of deitō commissioned during the early 1240s, hypothesizes that the clay pagodas were attempts to pacify the spirit of the cloistered emperor Go-Toba, who died while in exile.102 These are but a sampling of the range and quantity of early medieval small pagoda projects manifesting the degree of faith in the reliquaries to affect positive outcomes through their inherent salvific and apotropaic power.

Conclusion The pagoda as a body of the Buddha, worthy of worship and a tremendous source of soteriological power, combined with the long tradition of pagoda construction, elucidates the significance and the compelling factors behind the choice of the reliquary as the dominant textual icon. This chapter built evidence for the prominence of the monument not only in the jeweled pagoda mandalas but across time and space. Tying the reliquarial structure to Buddha body doctrine expanded the somatic layers expressed in the mandalas, projecting a double vision of dharmakāya. This connection is further explicated in the conclusion, which weaves a salvific web of text and body at whose center sits the jeweled pagoda mandalas. This chapter also related the choice of the pagoda to its significant place in doctrine and visual culture, which cast it as an important body of the Buddha, from the earliest examples in Central Asia to more recent instances in medieval Japan. The chapter also demonstrated the ubiquitous characterization of the pagoda as an icon offering salvific grace and even more earthly gifts, such as protection during childbirth and safety from the vengeful spirits of the war dead. As a monument dotting and adorning the medieval Buddhist sphere not only of Japan but of many realms, the pagoda became a prolific emblem in visual culture and perhaps found its highest conceptual expression in the jeweled pagoda mandalas.

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Creating a Salvific Matrix of Text and Body

T

o conclude this study, this chapter will reengage with the performative aspect of the jeweled pagoda mandalas. Here I will investigate further the indivisibility of the central icon by exploring the durable practice of combinatory commissions of sutra and pagoda, in part to place the mandalas within this venerated tradition but also to demonstrate their revelatory status. The performance urged by the indivisibility of the icon ushers the viewer into the creative realm of participatory meaning. Seeing the text requires the close proximity of the viewer to the surface of the painting, a prescription that causes the viewer to lean forward toward the object. But such a movement, while simultaneously manifesting scripture, renders the pagoda as a whole invisible. Therefore, this interaction of opening and closing the space between viewer and object brings about the resolution and dissolution of word and image, and through those alternations, the emergence and recession of relic and reliquary. This performance reinforces the inextricability of the textual pagoda’s constituent components and envisions the paintings as a salvific matrix of text and body. Rather than assume the paintings’ meaning is complete and without need of the viewer’s interaction, the participant plays a critical role in fitting this final piece of the jigsaw together and in bringing the full impact of the paintings’ meaning into the space of the believer by collapsing not only the physical distance between the worshiper and the surface but also the intangible distance between the devotee’s body and the multiplicity of the Buddha. I conclude by arguing that the jeweled pagoda mandalas are the visual nexus of this matrix of text, dharma, body, relic, and pagoda. By merging the textual and somatic threads of the salvific web explicated throughout chapters 4 and 5, I

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demonstrate that the mandalas are the visual manifestation of these concepts. The nuanced and ultimately intertwined conceptions are all expressed in the structuring of the paintings. To establish the assertion that this somatic and textual matrix forms the doctrinal backbone of the mandalas, I analyze the ambiguity of the language used to define the components’ many potentialities. Doing so reveals the conflation of the identities at play in the mandalas, as the concepts build, support, and subsume one another—a combination intended to constitute and contain multitudes of multiplicity.

A Long Tradition of Combinatory Commissions The transcription of sacred text was a ubiquitous practice in the medieval period. It was also an amalgamated one—copying sutra was often not the worshiper’s sole pursuit. Devotees frequently paired sutras with three-dimensional pagodas in a variety of ways, manifesting the understanding of scripture as dharma relics and revealing the polyvalent notion of the bodies of the Buddha as revealed through both sutra and pagoda. In this context, the jeweled pagoda mandalas embody a particularly creative format of sutra transcription: their central icon marks an emboldened step in the long history of the combination of sutra and pagoda in visual culture, religious practice, and doctrine. Through this rupture with previous convention, the possibility of performative viewing enters this venerated combinatory tradition. The religious practice of pairing sutra text and reliquaries was established long ago. In their travel diaries, both Faxian (337–ca. 422) and Xuanzang (602–64), intrepid Chinese monks who journeyed to India, bear witness to the existence of dharma relic stupas (Jpn. hōsharitō, Ch. fashelita). In his Record of Buddhist Countries (Jpn. Bukkokuki Ch. Foguoji), Faxian notes that, in his visit to India during 399 to 414, stupas were constructed for the specific purpose of sutra veneration: “Where a community of monks resides, they erect topes [stupas] to . . . the sūtras [kyōtō, Ch. jingta].”1 Faxian’s testimony perhaps introduced the practice to China. Xuanzang likewise records the pervasive and related practice of enshrining sutra verses in mini-stupas: It is a custom in India to make little stūpas [Skt.; Jpn. shō sotoba, Ch. xiao sudubo] of powdered scent made into a paste; their height is about six or seven inches, and they place inside them some written extract from a sūtra;

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this they call a dharma śarīra ( fa-shi-li [sic]) [dharma relic; Jpn. hōshari, Ch. fasheli]. When the number of these has become large, they then build a great stūpa, and collect all the others within it, and continually offer to it religious offerings. This then was the occupation of Jayasēna (Ching-kian); with his mouth he declared the excellent law, and led and encouraged his students, whilst with his hands he constructed these stūpas. Thus he acquired the highest and most excellent religious merit.2

As abundant archaeological evidence demonstrates, the ye dharmā hetuprabhavā verse (verse espousing dependent arising) inscribed on clay seals was commonly enshrined in such stupas. And as Daniel Boucher points out, the Sutra on the Merit of Building a Stupa as Spoken by the Buddha encourages the construction of these dharma relic stupas, expounding on the great merit accrued from such devotional acts. The sutra employs the standard formula of question and answer: Kannon asks the Buddha the proper method for stupa construction. The Buddha responds that if one were to build a stupa, regardless of its size, on a newly established site “and if inside this stūpa one encloses the [body of the] Tathāgata down to even one minute portion of his relics, hair, teeth, beard, or fingernails; or else if one deposits the twelve section scripture, which is the storehouse of the Tathāgata’s dharma, down to even one four line verse, this person’s merit will be as great as the brahma heaven.”3 The Buddha then clarifies that the “one four-line verse” is the ye dharmā hetuprabhavā verse, of which he reveals, “this verse signifies the Buddha-dharmakāya. You should write [this verse] and place it inside the stūpa. Why? Because all causes and the dharma-nature of all things that are produced are empty. This is the reason that I call it the dharmakāya. If a living being understood the import of such causes, you should know that this person would then see the Buddha.”4 This practice, which seems to have been widespread in India, carried over to China where it was met with enthusiasm. Hsueh-man Shen analyzed Chinese relic deposits, including dharma relic pagodas, from the seventh to the mid-twelfth century.5 She also found evidence of great numbers of pagodas dedicated to the enshrinement of textual dharma not only as the dharmakāya of the Buddha, but as expressions of the entire body of the Buddha. From within a Liao deposit (907– 1125), a protective cloth ensconcing a copy of the Lotus Sutra records the phrase: “the whole of the Lotus Sūtra as the entire-body śarīra is in this pagoda.”6 Furthermore, in a relic deposit in Inner Mongolia dated to 1049 Shen finds evidence that, more than just encompassing the entire body of the Buddha, the

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scriptures housed within this deposit embody the three bodies of all Buddhas, past, present, and future. Instructions in Enshrining Dharma-Śarīra inside Buddha Images, likely a compilation of Liao date that was excavated at the site, quotes the Dhāraṇī of the Seal on the Casket: “The Buddha told Vajrasattva Bodhisattva that the entire-body śarīras of all Buddhas, including those of the future, of the past, and those who entered nirvāna, all exist in the Baoqie yin tuoluoni dhāraṇī [an abbreviation of the longer sutra title]. All these Buddha’s [sic] three bodies are also present in it.”7 Such distillations were commonly used in esoteric rituals. Through the analysis of several more texts, inscriptions, and other findings at relic deposits, Shen demonstrates that what began in India remained a popular devotional practice in China. In these examples we see a three-dimensional parallel to the jeweled pagoda mandalas: the dharma-relic pagodas (or, as they are occasionally called, fashen shelita, which places emphasis on “body”) create an architectural dharmakāya through the enshrinement of sutras or verses; in a related manner, the mandalas manifest the different, yet ultimately conflated notions of body through the architextual unity of scripture and pagoda. Another comparable example from the architectural realm is the celebrated and regularly depicted Leifeng Pagoda gracing the shores of West Lake in Hangzhou. Commissioned in 976 by Qian Hongchu (929–88), the final ruler of the independent kingdom of Wuyue, the pagoda finally collapsed in 1924. When it did, it yielded an interesting discovery. Holes had been drilled in the bricks of the pagoda in order to secret printed and rolled copies of the Dhāraṇī of the Seal on the Casket within them. Each copy contained a votive colophon explaining the commission: “Qian Chu, Generalissimo of the Army of the World, King of Wu-Yue, has made 84,000 copies of this sutra and interred them into the pagoda at the West Pass as an eternal offering. Noted on a day of the Eighth Month of the Yihai Year [976].”8 If the inscription is to be believed, Qian envisioned a pagoda projecting multiple iterations of the Buddha’s body through sutra copies, pagoda construction, and of course, the somatically significant number of 84,000. But rather than place the copies in a smaller reliquary inside the pagoda, the inscription leads us to imagine that 84,000 scriptures were preserved within 84,000 molded bricks, thereby erecting a body of body through architectural and textual indivisibility. Another curious facet of this pagoda is the invisibility of key components of the project—only by falling into ruin did it trigger the revelation for viewers of the body enshrined within. The enclosing of dharma relics in pagodas also found expression in Korea, where the practice included some related combinatory aspects, such as the installation

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of both textual and corporeal relics in pagoda deposits;9 the same practice is also found in early medieval Japan. Constructing architectural pagodas for the enshrinement of sutras has a long history in Japan. For example, Kawakatsu Kenryō, in his study on the origins and various manifestations of the many-jeweled pagoda (tahōtō) and its connections to the Lotus Sutra, notes that during the ninth century Saichō commissioned several pagodas that each enshrined one thousand copies of the Lotus Sutra—and that this was not an uncommon display of veneration.10 During the Goryeŏ dynasty (918–1392) mini-pagodas housing dhāraṇīs were commissioned,11 a practice consistent with Chinese precedent and one that took root in Japan as well. From 764 to 770, Empress Kōken (718–70) commissioned the remarkable project of hyakumantō (one million miniature pagodas) containing an assortment of dhāraṇī 12 from the scripture known as the Dhāraṇī of the Pure Immaculate Light,13 for donation to several influential temples (fig. C.1).14 The sutra makes grand promises throughout: for example, the prolongation of life, release from horrible rebirths, the absolution of all sins, and the eradication of evil. Crucial to an imperial commission, the scripture promises protection for the sovereign and the country if projects like the hyakumantō (and even far less grandiose projects) are sponsored using the sutra’s dhāraṇī. The related practice of momitō (rice-grain pagoda) production calls for wrapping an unhulled grain of rice inside a small slip of paper upon which lines of the Dhāraṇī of the Pure Immaculate Light are written and enshrining it within a small votive pagoda, usually still bearing the marks of the knife that carved it. A vast store of fifteenth-century momitō was discovered under the altar of the Mirokudō of Murōji (fig. C.2).15 Inside fifteen or sixteen straw sacks, over 37,000 momitō of plain and colored wood were unearthed. Sherry Fowler explains that the construction of momitō was a regional trend revealing the area’s focus on agricultural productivity. The commission was strongly linked to wishes for good harvests and beneficial rain, and the visual appearance of the grain of rice recalled polished relics of the Buddha. Consequently, the worship of jewels and relics was associated with fecundity, which was targeted at harvests.16 The combinatory practices bringing together sutra and pagoda also took on inventive forms during the eleventh through thirteenth centuries. Rather than the more common grouping of sutras enshrined within pagodas, as in the previous examples, a classification of reliquary known as a pagoda sutra (Jpn. tōkyō, Ch. tajing) was imprinted with the word of the Buddha on the exterior, embodying a deeper level of indivisibility akin to the jeweled pagoda mandalas. The category of pagoda sutras is large and ambiguous, with the Lotus Sutra the primary scripture

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Fig. C.1 Hyakumantō (one million miniature pagoda) commissioned by Empress Kōken, ca. 764–70, wood and gesso for the pagoda; ink on paper for the interior scroll. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Photograph courtesy of Metropolitan Museum of Art.

manipulated in this format.17 Two of the more widespread examples of the pagoda sutra are the deitōkyō (small clay pagodas onto which a sutra character is inscribed; already discussed in chapter 5) and the kokerakyō (wood strips inscribed with sutra text and cut into the shape of a pagoda). Another well-known type is the Ichiji ichihōtō Hokekyō handscrolls, classified as pagoda sutras because the scrolls visibly enshrine the text inside reliquaries (figs. 3.10–3.11). Kokerakyō were known by assorted names, causing some confusion. They were variously referred to as sasatōba (memorial pagoda made of bamboo grass), mokkan

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shakyō (sutra copying upon long, wooden strips), and senbon tōba (one-thousand pagoda, which references the large quantity of the typical kokerakyō project).18 The term sotōba (pagoda) has been used to subsume the entire category of pagoda construction from the slender kokerakyō to the full-sized pagoda of temple architecture.19 The practice of kokerakyō was most popular during the Heian and Kamakura periods, although rare examples remain from the Muromachi to Edo periods.20 Ishida Mosaku identifies three common shapes of kokerakyō: the top of the strip is cut into a triangular shape; the top is cut into a triangular shape with indented sides to resemble a pagoda more closely; and the top is shaped like a gorintō (a fiveringed pagoda).21 The earliest surviving, dated examples of kokerakyō come from the stash discovered in the attic of Gangōji’s Gokurakubo, Fig. C.2 Momitō (rice-grain pagoda), fifteenth century, the living quarters of the monks at the plain and painted wood and rice for the pagoda; ink on Nara temple (fig. C.3).22 Ishida’s study of paper for the interior scroll. Murōji, Nara. Photograph courtesy of Sherry Fowler. these kokerakyō, dated by inscription to 1215, discloses their previously mysterious method of production. Normally, kokerakyō contain sutra text on the front and back; however, it is not usually easy to make a connection between the two sides containing scriptural text. But among the 20,000 to 30,000 pieces of kokerakyō uncovered at Gangōji, five sets of twenty kokerakyō stand out. Banded together with rolled paper binding, these sets finally exposed the method of kokerakyō transcription. Researchers working at the site noticed that they were able to read the text of the bound wooden strips continuously, beginning with the fronts and continuing onto the backs, which was not the case with the disbanded and scattered kokerakyō typically found. This discovery indicates that the copyists laid out the twenty pieces of kokerakyō, transcribed text upon the front side of each, and after turning over the strips, finished the transcription on the backs (beginning with the front piece

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copied last). They then strapped them together.23 Ishida believes that the patron dedicated the kokerakyō in this joined manner and that with time the bands fell apart.24 Surveying the content of the pieces, researchers learned that the overwhelming majority of the strips containing text were quotes from the Lotus Sutra.25 In early medieval documents, the earliest mention of kokerakyō comes from Hya­ku­renshō. In the tenth month, eleventh day of 1181, Hyakurenshō records that Taira no Shigemori (1138–79) told Go-Shirakawa of his dream, in which one thousand volumes of the Heart Sutra were copied onto koke­ rakyō in order to pacify the troubled spirits of the Heike. Learning of this dream, Go-Shirakawa then commissioned the project and accumulated twelve barrels filled with kokerakyō, setting them adrift upon the east and west seas.26 Because of the vagueness of the passage and because Fig. C.3 Kokerakyō (wood strips inscribed with sutra persimmon and kokera share the same text and cut into the shape of a pagoda), Gangōji, Nara, twelfth–thirteenth century, wood with black ink. Photokanji, some confusion about the medium graph courtesy of Gangōji. of the transcription is possible. Tanaka Kaidō argues that by the tenth month the leaves of the persimmon tree have already fallen and gone, thus making the use of persimmon leaves highly unlikely.27 Ōta Masahiro notes that if the kokerakyō contained the standard seventeen characters, then it would take nineteen such lines to copy the short Heart Sutra, thereby resulting in 19,000 pieces for the one thousand copies.28 An early textual source that might allude to the transcription of kokerakyō comes from Eishōki, Fujiwara no Tametaka’s (1070–1130) diary. In the fourth month, eleventh day of 1107, Tametaka records that the Lotus Sutra was written in the shape of a pagoda in a single day.29 But given the ambiguity of the entry, the record might be referring to copying the Lotus Sutra in the Ichiji ichihōtō Hokekyō manner, the jeweled pagoda mandala format, or another method of transcription entirely.

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The crucial element is that this early medieval diary speaks to the combinatory practice of sutra and pagoda, albeit somewhat elusively. Other early medieval records also document the merging of sutra and pagoda in religious practice. For instance, the entry for the eighth month of 1140 from the Journal of the Monk Sainen on the Memorial Service with Blue-Gold Sutras (Sō Sainen konshi kinji kuyō nichiroku) records the construction of 69,384 sotōba (the traditional count of characters from Kumārajīva’s [344–413] translation of the Lotus Sutra).30 The entry also documents another dedication of gold-and-silver-inscribed deitōkyō of multiple sutras along with a blue-and-gold Lotus Sutra, bringing the total to 97,189 characters and pagodas.31 The late Heian and early Kamakura text, Sanbutsu jōshō, also records the commission of sotōba on the twenty-first day of the eighth month in 1187, as well as the transcription of the Lotus Sutra onto sotōba, among several other projects; all of these served as a dedication to the patron’s deceased wife on the twentysecond day of the fifth month in 1193.32 In his circa 1203 memoir, Benevolent Deeds (Namu Amida Butsu sazenshū), the celebrated monk Chōgen (1121–1206) describes copying scriptures onto sotōba, or perhaps onto paper stamped with repeating pagoda forms, several times over the course of a single day.33 The ambiguity of the term sotōba makes it difficult to determine the exact nature of these commissions, beyond the blending of sutra and pagoda. Many early medieval texts simply mention the construction of sotōba with no further clarification. It is clear then that combinatory practices utilizing sutra and pagoda were a common and long-standing tradition across much of East Asia. The desire to merge sutras and pagodas in one project likely stemmed from the benefits derived from the convergence of these highly meritorious forms of devotion. Sutras commanded copying and promised great rewards for doing so. Komatsu Shigemi calculates that the Lotus Sutra accounts for approximately 90 percent of all surviving scriptures from the Heian period.34 This is owed in part to the several instances within the sutra that instruct devotees to copy its text and disseminate the dharma, resulting in abundance for the practitioner (as discussed in chapter 4). Similar rewards and injunctions are also made for pagoda construction (as outlined in chapter 5). Ishida Mosaku explains that four merit-generating methods have characterized Buddhism: making banners, constructing pagodas, copying scriptures, and carving sculptures.35 He posits that in early forms of Buddhism, banners played a crucial role as the symbol of the religion. After the parinirvāṇa, reliquaries became the symbol of the Buddha and served to expand the religion along with banners. Copying scriptures was important not only for the dissemination of the faith, but

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also as a meritorious activity, much like the creation and display of sculptures. Ishida notes that from the Heian period on, attempts were made to combine some of the four types of activities in one project: banners with the image of a Buddha, sutras placed within sculptures, sutra copies of alternating lines of script and images of Buddhas, and pagoda sutras.36 The merit was thus doubled, with only marginal effort and expense compared to the commission of individual projects. In the same vein, Miya Tsugio claims that the jeweled pagoda mandalas manifest the meritorious activities of building pagodas, copying sutras, and interpreting the dharma.37 Although not alone in combining text and reliquary, the jeweled pagoda mandalas represent a striking solution because of their simultaneous synthesis of both. Not only do they fulfill the injunction to honor, revere, and copy the scriptures, thereby reaping considerable salvific benefit; they also respect the injunction to erect pagodas. This solution embodies a more economical fulfillment of the order to erect architectural reliquaries, which was usually a directive quite costly to fulfill. The Lotus Sutra is celebrated for its unifying perspective on both the cult of the pagoda and the cult of the book. And as it was the most commonly used sutra in the jeweled pagoda mandala format, this rather equitable confirmation of both devotional practices probably did not go unnoticed. At multiple points the sutra proclaims the transcendent value of both devotional activities, comparing the merit and rewards generated by each and suggesting a nondual parallel between the two.38 Therefore we can understand the mandalas as the visual manifestation of the conflation of the cult of relics and the cult of the book. They thus reflect a merging of devotional exercises on the painted surface that mirrored the blended religious practices of medieval Japan. Such practices as these demonstrate the diverse lives of sacred text beyond their discursive or hermeneutical value or simply as a medium through which the dharma is communicated. In its many forms, the merging of sutra and pagoda reveals again the early medieval understanding of sacred text as dharma relics. But explanations for the central reliquary of the jeweled pagoda mandalas have still not ventured beyond the conclusion that the mandalas are yet another incarnation of this long tradition of combinatory practice based on the merit of constructing pagodas and copying sutras in one unified project. Although this is certainly a sound and secure interpretation, I argue that the mandalas embody more than the search for the combination of multiple merits in one manifestation. The mandalas are undoubtedly a transcription project; and yet they are more than that: they exceed conventional transcriptions because of the novel conflation of a written

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pagoda surrounded by depictions of multiple narrative episodes from the same sutra, rather than the single vignette characteristic of typical sutra frontispieces. Most significant, the format of the jeweled pagoda mandalas is both the conveyor of meaning and the meaning itself. Exploring the site of this amalgamation uncovers Buddhist depths revealed only by an analysis of the interaction of the two media that are merged to create a new textual image, which is neither strictly word nor purely picture.

Performing an Indivisible Icon This book aimed to explicate the jeweled pagoda mandalas’ connection to their contemporary historical circumstances, sutra art, and transcription practices, as well as their relationship to the Buddha body through its inventive invocation of relics and reliquaries, significant points by and large neglected in previous interpretations. However, a final reading of the mandalas through their performative abilities is necessary to articulate the full force of the paintings’ innovative and salvific power. The conflation of relic, reliquary, dharma, and body—manifested through the indivisibility of word and image—requires the viewer’s participation to realize the icon’s full potential. Through the observer’s experiential engagement, the textual reliquary shifts from a static representation to a fecund icon capable of reproducing the multiplicity of the Buddha body in the viewer’s immediate space. It provides the opportunity for spectators not only to comprehend this multiplicity and the connections between key medieval concepts but to experience it with their very body, to partake in its constitution. As such the power of the jeweled pagoda mandalas lies not only in their immediacy as artistic objects that present their totality to us (see the introduction), but also in their ability to foster intimate and personal connections between the viewer and what would otherwise remain highly abstract concepts. Through their bodily engagement with the mandalas, viewers perform the collapse of distinctions among the paintings’ constituent parts as well as the distance between themselves and the key somatic concepts articulated through the depiction of the textual pagodas. In the jeweled pagoda mandalas, scriptural text reveals the architextual icon. Yet because scripture is not just recorded teachings but actively partakes in the essence of the Buddha as a dharma relic, it is no mere signal.39 The central, textual image deconstructs to reveal body building body. Ultimately, the written pagoda is more than a single image of body; it is an embodied projection of the somaticity of

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the Buddha composed of his relics. By closing the gap between reference and referent, the mandalas challenge the assumption that only partial signification is possible. This undifferentiated yoking of sutra and pagoda provides the viewer with a visual path to contemplation of the multiplicity of Buddha bodies. It is through the macromovements of opening and closing the physical space between spectator and object, encouraged by the perlocutionary effect of the surface, that the viewer becomes a crucial part of the expressive creation of this somatic profusion. By doing so, the viewer experientially constitutes the revelation and dissolution of the bodies into one. Ultimately, through this conflation the icon manifests an amalgamated form of the Buddha, including the anthropomorphic appearances of the Buddha/s seated within the pagoda. The paintings thereby collapse distinction and indivisibility, resist rigid duality by allowing for the constant slippage of dharma into sutra and sutra into pagoda, and foster a dynamic visual relationship between the concepts of body, relic, text, and reliquary on their very surface. Rather than merely reinforcing what is already known, these objects create new potentialities of visualization by mirroring the conceptual fluidity of these identities in an indivisible format. In this way, the jeweled pagoda mandalas bridge the perceived gulf between word and image.40 According to Michel Foucault, there exists an untraversable and eternal chasm separating the two. He believes that written word and graphic image run parallel to one another, that what is expressed in writing cannot be given visual form while retaining the original meaning of the text. The same fractured communication exists when visual form is described through words. This divide prevents full expression of one by the other.41 However, Foucault finds hope in calligrams (pictures composed of words), because they bring “a text and a shape as close together as possible” by simultaneously invoking and conflating written and visual modes of communication.42 He writes, “Pursuing its quarry by two paths, the calligram sets the most perfect trap. By its double function, it guarantees capture, as neither discourse alone nor a pure drawing could do.”43 Yet even this optimistic analysis of the calligram’s abilities still presumes the ontological divide between word and picture. So although a Foucauldian lens can carry a reading of the jeweled pagoda mandalas further by focusing on the indivisibility of the media constructing the central icon, an analysis of these paintings need not accept such a break between text and image. Rather than proceed from a presupposition of unbridgeable distance, the mandalas offer an excellent opportunity to consider whether it is appropriate to assume that this gulf is characteristic of Buddhist art. The mandalas exhibit a dynamic bond between the two media

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that approximates a nondual relationship, resulting from text’s sacred ontology as relic and even as world progenitor. Sutra therefore constructs the pagoda and illustrates through the indivisibility of scripture and reliquary their fundamental unity as bodies of the Buddha. Through a Buddhist interpretation of the paintings, text and image are both icons of the body that depend upon one another in a visual conflation that challenges any reading that would attempt to divide them. This performance enables the revelation of the salvific matrix of text and body, in which the concepts of sutra, relic, dharma, body, and pagoda are allowed to exist in a fluid and constantly interchanging visual relationship that reflects the definitional ambiguity and ultimate nonduality of all things visualized in the mandalas.

Salvific Matrix of Text and Body Jeweled pagoda mandalas are visual instantiations of the somatic and textual matrix that are premised on the conflation of their constituent parts, not only in art but also in doctrine and praxis. Chapters 4 and 5 worked to disclose how the conceptual convergences of sutra, relic, dharma, body, and pagoda in scripture and religious practice offer further evidence for the idea of indivisibility witnessed in the mandalas. I followed the salvific, textual, and somatic threads of the matrix as they emerged throughout the visual and theoretical excavation of the paintings in an attempt to answer some of the fundamental questions regarding the inventive privileging of scriptural text and the role of the pagoda as the dharma reliquary. In this final reading, each of the following sections draws on an individual thread to reveal different aspects that comingle in the jeweled pagoda mandalas. Following these thematic links as they move through the paintings explicates the matrix in particular ways. The strands inevitably lead to the mandalas as the center of this web, and the interpenetration of these concepts in doctrine, culture, and praxis explains the conceptual fluidity manifesting and underpinning the paintings. In doing so I resolve the definitional indivisibility that makes the mandalas so exceptional. There is an inherent tension between Japanese Buddhist doctrine, praxis, and culture—all of which treat the fundamental components of the mandalas as not only interconnected but at times identical—and the demands of scholarship, which often dictate the analysis of each element distinctly and systematically in combination with the linear process of writing and reading. In the following discussion, I resist the urge to delimit these blended concepts too strictly and instead embrace and explore the ambiguities of meaning and porous

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definitional boundaries, for it is precisely this conceptual fluidity that enables and produces the visual manifesto on the inextricability of sutra, body, and pagoda that is the mandalas. Pulling the Soteriological Thread By analyzing the possible impetuses behind the manipulation of scriptural text into a textual reliquary, I have foregrounded the idea that both sutra and pagoda are repositories of significant salvific power. What is perhaps a natural urge to understand and presentize the Buddha in his seeming absentia creates a space to conceptualize areas of access. In the mandalas, the deeply comingling icons of sutra and pagoda provide entry points by engendering spheres of potent power. Sutra text embodies the essence of the Buddha, and therefore has the ability to act on the world. At times scripture assumes human form to save the faithful in need. At others, reciting, copying, and otherwise disseminating but a verse of scripture—even in jest—is enough to envelop one in the salvific embrace of the sutra. As testified to in doctrine, in setsuwa, in commentarial literature, and in praxis, sutra text encapsulated the Buddha-nature and thus constituted a sphere through which access to the Buddha and his redemptive power was possible. It is my contention that the desire to contact this repository of soteriological potency as embodied in dharma relics encouraged the creation of the jeweled pagoda mandalas. Pagodas, much like sutras, have been celebrated as monuments of great sal­ vific potential. Worshiped with music, prayers, banners, and offerings of flowers, perfumes, and even land and gardens, pagodas enjoy a long history of veneration. The Indian practice of burial ad sanctos reflects the belief that stupas possess great apotropaic and redemptive power. The urge to inhabit in burial the space around the stupa suggests that proximity to the stupa affects a favorable outcome, thus locating the stupa as the center of a radiating soteriological force. This much is attested to by the content of the dhāraṇīs found in the surrounding stupas. The pagoda as a protective and redemptive realm is also at the root of the Japanese enshrinement of imperial and aristocratic ashes within the reliquaries. Building, guarding, and venerating pagodas ensured protection and abiding grace for the devotee. Once we consider that pagodas were the divinely chosen vehicle for the interment of some of the most precious objects in Buddhism—textual, corporeal, and contact relics—the potency of their architectural structure manifests itself most clearly. As a specially designated guardian entrusted with the honor of relic enshrinement, it is no wonder that the pagoda dominates the visual structure of

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the mandalas and features as a pervasive icon in the larger visual culture of the eleventh through thirteenth centuries. Scriptural text and architectural reliquary embody transformative possibilities. Thus the mandalas, as the nexus of this salvific web, visualize spaces of salvation. However, because of the visual codependence of the sutra and the pagoda, the mandalas manifest the two spheres as one salvific space. In praxis, the transcription of sacred text and the construction of reliquaries (and their consequent veneration) made it possible to access this embodied power; the paintings embrace both prescriptions, resulting in an innovative perspective on and realization of two of the most common devotional practices. Pulling the soteriological thread reveals the mandalas as the nexus of a salvific matrix composed of both sutra and pagoda. Pulling the Textual Thread Beyond written word and architectural form, the conflations within the dharma reliquary compose an image that exceeds the sum of its parts. The central icon offers a vision of indivisibility that surpasses doctrinal and ritual manifestations of sutra and pagoda by performing both simultaneously and without ontological distinction. This challenges the presupposed gap between word and image and projects a karmic confluence unique to the mandalas. The union of sutra text and pagoda, with its references to relics, dharma, and body invoked by this visual relationship, offers multiple perspectives on the definitional possibilities for the concept of scripture. The very prominence of textuality in the composition dictates an investigation of the textual thread running throughout the paintings. At its most cursory level, scripture is privileged as the central and most dominant icon; however, this in itself is not all that remarkable. What sets the mandalas apart from other textbased examples in visual culture is their innovative manipulation of written scripture into a textual reliquary. Thus privileged and prioritized, the sutra expresses the soteriological force invested in the sacred word and on the paintings’ surface, bringing together the salvific and textual threads of the web. Furthermore, because of the nondual conflation of scripture and dharma, sutra text embodies the ultimate truth that the dharma is indivisible from the Buddha, transforming word into potent relics. More than just written word, sutra text is a dharma relic and therefore a manifestation of the Buddha’s dharmakāya. In this way, the paintings visually synthesize written word, dharma, and body. Pulling the reoccurring textual thread reveals the mandalas as embodiments of the openness of text during the medieval period.

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Pulling the Somatic Thread Relating the theories of the Buddha body and the pagoda back to the mandalas and positioning the paintings as the visual locus of the matrix of text, dharma, body, relic, and pagoda reveals a diversity of references to various manifestations of the bodies of the Buddha. The ambiguous and multifaceted nature of body in the mandalas is not unlike the controversy and flexibility surrounding Buddha body doctrine in the literature. Therefore, precision of conceptual definition cannot be the goal, for this would inevitably be as illusory as it is elusive. Instead of wrestling with the ambiguity of text, dharma, body, relic, and pagoda as a problem to be resolved, we should appreciate their conflations in the literature and in the jeweled pagoda mandalas as the unifying factor behind the paintings’ creation. Sutra text as a manifestation of the dharmakāya constructs the form of a pagoda, which is also an embodiment of the dharmakāya. The mandalas erect a textualized icon of vast salvific power and presence, a dharma reliquary manifesting two visible somatic forms of the post-parinirvāṇa Buddha. The dharma embodied in the scriptural text reveals another nuanced iteration of the Buddha body; and the rendering of the sacred word as dharma relic—now constructing the architecturally conceived body of the Buddha—deconstructs to reveal body building body. And with their emergence from an interior and hidden place within the reliquary to construct the monument that previously secreted them away, relics expand beyond their conventional boundaries and urge viewers to contemplate the somatic possibilities when different bodily emanations build, manifest, and yet subsume one another. Pulling the somatic thread reveals the mandalas’ ultimate relationship to body shared by all conceptual components visualized in the paintings. As is evident in the pulling of these conceptual threads at work in the mandalas, if one follows any one thread, inevitably one arrives at an intersection joining other threads of the web. Indeed, I argue that the threads’ inextricability and the visual manifestation of that convergence in the mandalas serves as the very basis of the paintings. Reflecting the Conceptual Conflation Having traced the salvific, textual, and somatic threads of the mandalas, I suggest that this reoccurring conceptual blending can be traced as well to the definitional fluidity of the ideas at work in the paintings. The visual indivisibility of sutra and pagoda, of relic and dharma, and ultimately of the various emanations of body are nothing less than graphic manifestations of the multidimensional nature of the Buddha. The bodies of the Buddha are the key that unlocks the salvific, textual,

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and somatic secrets of the jeweled pagoda mandalas. Indeed, the very inextricability of the threads in the central icon mirrors the transitive relationship of sutra, dharma, relic, and reliquary constituted in doctrine and praxis. Nowhere is this indivisibility more in evidence than in the term “dharma.” Dharma can be conceived of as the fundamental understanding of reality and as the dharma that is taught, creating a constantly interpenetrating notion in which dharma is the goal and the path, both the teacher and his message. Paul Harrison concludes that this ambiguity is in fact built into the Pāli term dhamma.44 Throughout the Mahāyāna sutras, dharmakāya is equated with other concepts such as śūnyatā (emptiness; Jpn. kū, Ch. kong), tathatā (suchness; Jpn. shinnyo, Ch. zhenru), dharmatā (reality of things; Jpn. hosshō, Ch. faxing), tathāgatagarbha (Buddha nature intrinsic to all sentient beings, conceptualized as womb; Jpn. nyoraizō, Ch. rulai zang), dharmadhātu (underlying principle of reality; Jpn. hokkai, Ch. fajie), and buddhadhātu (Buddha nature; Jpn. busshō, Ch. foxing), among several others.45 Nagao Gadjin’s explanation of the equivalence of dharmatā and dharmakāya provides an example of the transitive relationship among these concepts: The word dharmatā (dharma-nature) came to be also used to represent the essence itself of this dharma. Therefore, the dharma-kāya is the body of the dharma-nature as well. Again, when the universe is conceived in the dimension of such dharma, the universe is none other than the dharma-dhātu (dharma-realm). Being the true way of the universe, the notion of dharmadhātu is further identified with that of dharmatā or tathatā (suchness) or even śūnyatā (emptiness).46

And as we saw earlier, many sources identify the perfection of wisdom (prajñāpāramitā) with the Buddha and with śūnyatā, dharmatā, dharmadhātu, and tathatā to name a few. The perfection of wisdom literature characterizes the dharmakāya as the textual body of the Buddha and so reveals sutras to be the dharmakāya. As a further layer of conflation, the pagoda is also identified with the dharma qualities possessed by a Buddha and is thus equivalent with the dharmakāya, which we have seen is synonymous with so many other concepts. The terms śarīra (Jpn. shari, Ch. sheli), dhātu (Jpn. kai, Ch. jie), and kāya (Jpn. shin, Ch. shen) can all mean “body,” thus providing ample room for ambiguities of meaning. This is not to suggest that these concepts are completely synonymous with one another or to minimize the nuanced aspects of their meanings, but merely to point out the inherent inseparability of one from the others.

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The jeweled pagoda mandalas render visible these conceptual interpenetrations, which are ultimately inextricable from one another. The featured textual reliquary quite literally presents a body made of dharma, with all of its conceptual layers. Furthermore, within this relationship, each seemingly independent manifestation can be deconstructed to reveal an underlying identification with body. Through this indivisibility, the mandalas present a complex somatic reckoning, a visual treatise on the potentialities of these concepts. The mandalas’ graphic indivisibility expresses the connectivity possible when “presentizing” the Buddha, for even as the understandings and manifestations of “Buddha” move fluidly through a variety of concepts, these concepts also unite in him, forming intersections where concepts merge and meanings synchronize. This conceptual mutability discourages and indeed prevents an exact, tidy, and fully delimited definition of terms and their relationships to one another; we cannot look at the dharma reliquary of the mandalas as just one type of body, or as just a single manifestation of the Buddha’s presence. This very same mutability works to create a new image of the salvifically endowed body in the paintings.

Conclusion: Indivisibility, Invisibility, and Alegibility The jeweled pagoda mandalas embody the notion that there is no one way to pre­ sent and engage sutras. Their combinatory composition offers a rare opportunity to witness the triangulation of scripture, manifested in the complete transcription of sacred text in the form of repeating graphic pagodas, the cartouches that when strung together present a distilled form of scripture’s text, and the pictorial narratives that both portray the tales and move beyond them. At the heart of their projected iconcity in triplicate is the inherent alegibility of the main components of the paintings. Viewers might recognize popular themes and figures; however, the substantive readability of dozens of narratives on a single mandala and up to hundreds across entire sets of eight to ten paintings diminishes greatly. It is not that they are illegible individually or even in a collective grouped by chapter, for they certainly preserve the option of reading; rather, it is that the function of the narrative vignettes exceeds a didactic communication of scripture ingested via a careful and linear investigation of scenes. The synoptic illustrations project a multifaceted icon capable of constituting a karmically rich, connective experience for the spectator. The alegibility of the graphic vignettes as iconarratives is at the root of this projection.

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In a related manner, the muted legibility of the textual characters allows for their manipulation into the graphic shape of the pagoda. To manifest the indivisibility of sutra, dharma, relic, and reliquary and thereby craft a salvific matrix of text and body, the discursive function of written word must be subordinated. Through the oscillation between legibility and illegibility, this multifaceted composition projects iconicity. Furthermore, the alegibility of the written script mirrors the function of sacred text more broadly in the medieval period. Exegetical readings of scripture were certainly a crucial part of the Buddhist experience; however, they were but a narrow occupation for text, which often operated in an open and visual manner. For the central icon of the mandalas, the text must be rendered invisible in order for the image of the pagoda to resolve. Although somewhat of a surprising contradiction, in Buddhist visual and material culture invisibility is a recurrent theme upon which so many projects depended. The realization of these variegated endeavors relied on the indiscernibility of key components to achieve their artistic vision and religious import. Manifested through the blending of text and image, the indivisible icon of the jeweled pagoda mandalas seamlessly interweaves sutra, dharma, relic, reliquary, and body. These paintings exceed word play and symbolize more than clever optics. They embody and visualize the deeper theoretical conflations of core Buddhist concepts repeatedly expressed in medieval Japanese visual and literary culture, doctrine, and praxis. However, the jeweled pagoda mandalas also transgress their surface by entering into the realm of performativity. The experiential nature of the mandalas elevates the viewer from mere passive observer to active participant in the revelation of a salvific matrix composed of a congregation of somatic and textual threads. The innovation of the mandalas lies not just in their creative composition but also in the performative engagement they afford and indeed demand. Not only do participants glimpse the complexity of the Buddha, but they experientially constitute the multiplicity of the Buddha’s body, saturated with soteriological potential, using alegibly written characters to visualize a manifold image of salvation ordained by the text itself.

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Names and Terms

Abi jigoku 阿鼻地獄 ajikan 阿字観 Akanita ten 阿迦尼吒天 Amaterasu 天照 Amida 阿弥陀 Amidadō 阿弥陀堂 Amida sanzon 阿弥陀三尊 Arakawakyō 荒川経 arhats (Skt.; Jpn. rakan; Ch. luohan) 羅漢 ashide 葦手 ashura 阿修羅 Benzaitendō 弁財天堂 Bifukumon’in 美福門院 Bishamonten 毘沙門天 bonji 梵字 busshō 佛性 byōbu 屏風 Byōdōin 平等院 Chidō 智道 Chingen 鎮源 chinjufu shōgun 鎮守府将軍

Chishakuji 智積寺 Chōgen 重源 Chōgi 長義 Chugan ha 中觀派 Chūsonji 中尊寺 Chūsonjikyō 中尊寺経 daiie 大意絵 Dai mandara 大曼荼羅 daimoku 題目 daimyō 大名 Dainichi 大日 daito 大斗 darani 陀羅尼 deitōkyō 泥塔経 doku 読 emakimono 絵巻物 Emishi 蝦夷 engaku 緣覚 engi 縁起 Enma-ō 閻魔王 Ennin 円仁 Enryakuji 延暦寺

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Fahui 法暉 Faxian 法顯 foshuo 佛説 Fujiwara no Asomi Hirotari 藤原朝臣 広足 Fujiwara no Atsuto 藤原淳登 Fujiwara no Hidehira 藤原秀衡 Fujiwara no Kenshi 藤原妍子 Fujiwara no Kintō 藤原公任 Fujiwara no Kiyohira 藤原清衡 Fujiwara no Koreyuki 藤原伊行 Fujiwara no Michinaga 藤原道長 Fujiwara no Michinori 藤原通憲 Fujiwara no Motofusa 藤原基房 Fujiwara no Motohira 藤原基衡 Fujiwara no Munetada 藤原宗忠 Fujiwara no Sadanobu 藤原定信 Fujiwara no Sanesuke 藤原実資 Fujiwara no Shunzei 藤原俊成 Fujiwara no Sonshi 藤原尊子 Fujiwara no Takamitsu 藤原高光 Fujiwara no Tametaka 藤原為隆 Fujiwara no Yasuko/Taishi 藤原泰子 (Kaya no In 高陽院) Fujiwara no Yorinaga 藤原頼長 fukubachi 伏鉢 fūshō 風招 fūtaku 風鐸 gaki 餓鬼 Gangōji 元興寺 Genji monogatari emaki 源氏物語 絵巻 Genshin 源信 gibōshi 擬宝珠 gokoku kyōten 護国教典 Gokurakubo 極楽坊

Go-Reizei 後冷泉 gorintō 五輪塔 Go-Shirakawa 後白河 Go-Toba 後鳥羽 guan 觀 (Ch.) Hasedera 長谷寺 Hashinoku-ō 波斯匿王 Hata no Chitei 秦致貞 Heike nōkyō 平家納経 hengeshin 變化身 hensō 変相 hijiki 肘木 hijiri 聖 hirageta 平桁 hiten 飛天 hōben 方便 Hōgen no ran 保元の乱 Hōgonji 宝厳寺 hōjin 報身 Hōjōji 法成寺 hōju 宝珠 Hokekyōhō 法華経法 Hokekyō moji no hōtō hachijiku 法華経 文字之宝塔八軸 Hokekyō nijūhachi bon daiie 法華経二 十八品大意絵 hokkai 法界 hokkai tōba 法界塔婆 Hokke hattō 法花八塔 Hokke mandara 法華曼陀羅 Hokke no hattō 法華之八塔 / 法花之 八塔 Hokke senbō 法華懺法 hokogi 架木 Hōkyōin darani 宝篋印陀羅尼 hongaku 本覚

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Honkōji 本興寺 Honmanji 本満寺 honpushō 本不生 honzon 本尊 hōshari 法舎利 hōsharitō 法舎利塔 hōshin 法身 hōsōge karakusa 宝相華唐草 hōsshin seppō 法身説法 hōsshin sharitō 法身舎利塔 hosshō 法性 Hosshōji 法勝寺 hyakumantō 百万塔 Hyakusaiji 百済寺 hyōimoji 表意文字 hyōonmoji 表音文字

Jikkai hōtō e mandara 十界宝塔絵曼 荼羅 Jikōji 慈光寺 Jikokuten 持国天 Jingōjikyō 神護寺経 jippō sekai 十方世界 jishōshin 自性身 jisshu kuyō 十種供養 Jōchō 定朝 Jōe 定恵 Jōshinji 浄信寺 jūji myōgo 十字名号 jūkai 十階 jusshu monji 十種文字 juyūshin 受用身

ichibutsujō 一仏乗 ichigyō sanrei 一行三礼 Ichiji ichihōtō Hokekyō 一字一宝塔法 華経 Ichiji ichijibutsu Hokekyō 一字一仏法 華経 ichiji sanrei 一字三礼 Ichiji tengai rendai Hokekyō 一字天蓋 蓮台法華経 ichinichi issaikyō 一日一切経 ippon kechienkyō 一品結縁経 ipponkyō 一品経 Ise jingū 伊勢神宮 Issai shūjō kiken 一切衆生憙見 isseki ichijikyō 一石一字経 Itsukushima jinja 厳島神社 jataka 闍多伽 jifuku 地覆 jikkai 十界

kai 界 Kaikei 快慶 Kaku’a 覺阿 Kakuban 覚鑁 Kakuchō 覚超 Kakuonji 覚園寺 Kamo no Chōmei 鴨長明 Kangxi 康熙 Kanjizaiō-in 観自在王院 Kannon 観音 karura 迦樓羅 Kashōji 嘉祥寺 kawarakyō 瓦経 Kaya no In 高陽院 kechien 結縁 kechienkyō 結縁経 kendatsuba 乾闥婆 keshin 化身 Kidō 墓堂 kimyō jin jippō mugekō nyorai 帰命尽 十方無碍光如来

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Kinji hōtō mandara 金字宝塔曼陀羅 kinjikyōjo 金字経所 kinnara 緊那羅 Kiyohirakyō 清衡経 Kiyomizudera 清水寺 Kōken 孝謙 kokerakyō 杮経 kokubunji 国分寺 Kokubunjikyō 国分寺経 kokubunniji 国分尼寺 Kōmokuten 広目天 kōmyō honzon 光明本尊 kōmyō shingon 光明真言 Kondō 金堂 kongō 金剛 Kongōbuji 金剛峯寺 Kongōkai mandara 金剛界曼荼羅 Kongōsatta 金剛薩埵 Konjikidō 金色堂 Konshi choshoku Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu 紺紙著色金 光明最勝王経金字宝塔曼荼羅図 Konshi kinginji kōsho issaikyō 紺紙金 銀字交書一切経 Konshi kinginji kyō 紺紙金銀字経 kōran 高欄 Kōshōji 興聖寺 kotobagaki 詞書 kū 空 kuji myōgō 九字名号 Kujō no Kanezane 九条兼実 Kujō no Yoritsune 九条頼経 Kūkai 空海 Kunōjikyō 久能寺経 kurin 九輪 kyōkuyō 経供養 kyōō 経王

kyōzuka 経塚 kyōzutsu 経筒 Leifengta 雷峰塔 Madenokōji Nobufusa 万里小路宣房 magoraga 摩睺羅伽 maikyō 埋経 makito 巻斗 mandara 曼荼羅 mandara ke 曼陀羅華 mappō 末法 Matsunoodera 松尾寺 Menashikyō 目無経 Miidera 三井寺 mikkyō 密教 Minamoto no Morotoki 源師時 Minamoto no Tamenori 源為憲 Minamoto no Yoriie 源頼家 Minamoto no Yoritomo 源頼朝 Miroku 弥勒 Mirokudō 弥勒堂 misaie 御斎会 mitsudo tokyō 三斗斗きょう mokkan shakyō 木簡写経 mokoshi 裳階 momitō 籾塔 Motohira gankyō 基衡願経 Mōtsūji 毛越寺 Mujaku Dōchū 無著道忠 Munemasa 障泥 Murōji 室生寺 Muryōju-in 無量壽院 mutsu no kami 陸奥守 myō 陽 Myōgenji 妙源寺 myōgō honzon 名号本尊

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Myōhōji 妙法寺 myōjisoku 名字即 Myōōn 妙音 Nakagawa Hisatsune 中川久恒 Nakatomi no Kamatari 中臣鎌足 Nakayama Tadachika 中山忠親 namu Amida butsu 南無阿弥陀仏 namu fukashigikō nyorai 南無不可思 議光如来 Nanyue Huisi 南嶽慧思 nenbutsu 念仏 Nichigetsu jōmyō toku 日月淨明德 Nichiren 日蓮 Nichitō 日東 Nichiyō 日遙 Nigatsudō yakegyō 二月堂焼経 Nittsū 日通 nōkotsu 納骨 nyohōgyō 如法経 nyohōgyōhō 如法経法 nyoraizō 如來藏 odaruki 尾垂木 Ōe no Masafusa 大江匡房 ōjōden 往生伝 Oka han 岡藩 on 陰 ōryōshi 押領使 Ōshū Fujiwara 奥州藤原 oyabashira 親柱 Qian Hongchu 錢弘俶 Qianlong 乾隆 raigō 来迎 Raihō 頼宝

Reizei 冷泉 rendaiza 蓮台座 Rinnōji 輪王寺 Risshakuji 立石寺 ritsuryō 律令 roban 露盤 rokudō 六道 rokuji myōgō 六字名号 Roku Jizō 六地蔵 ruri 琉璃 Ryōgen 良源 ryū 竜 Ryūhonji 立本寺 ryūsha 竜車 Saichō 最澄 Saikan 西観 Saikokuji 西国寺 saishōkō 最勝講 Saishō Shitennō-in 最勝四天王院 sanjin 三身 sanjō 三乗 Sanmaidō 三昧堂 sasatōba 笹塔婆 Satsu 左津 Seishi 勢至 sekkyō 石経 senbon tōba 千本塔婆 senbu ichinichikyō 千部一日経 Sengoku Masaakira 仙石政明 Sengxiang 詳撰 Senjuji 専修寺 setsuwa 説話 shaba sekai 娑婆世界 shabetsu 差別 shakyō 写経 shakyō kikan 写経機関

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shari 舍利 shen 深 (Ch.) shidai 支提 Shigaiji 紫盖寺 Shikijō 色正 shikishin 色身 shin 身 shinbutsu bunri 神仏分離 Shin Daibutsuji 新大仏寺 shindoku 真讀 Shingon shū 真言宗 shinnyo 眞如 Shinran 親鸞 Shinshō 心昭 shippō 七宝 Shirakawa 白河 shōgon 荘厳 Shōmu 聖武 Shōsōin 正倉院 Shōtoku Taishi 聖徳太子 shunie 修二会 sōgaku bosatsu 奏楽菩薩 sokushin jōbutsu 即身成仏 Sonshi Naishinnō 尊子内親王 sotōba 卒塔婆 Sugawara no Mitsushige 菅原光重 suien 水煙 surikuyō 摺供養 Sutoku’in 崇徳院 Tahō 多宝 tahōtō 多宝塔 Taikenmon’in 待賢門院 Taira no Kiyomori 平清盛 Taira no Shigehira 平重衡 Taira no Shigemori 平重盛 Taisanji 太山寺

taji issekikyo 多字一石経 Takashina no Eishi 高階栄子 Tanzan jinja 談山神社 ten 轉 Tendai shū 天台宗 tendoku 轉讀 Tenji 天智 tenpon 轉翻 tenrin jōō 轉輪聖王 tenrinzō 転輪蔵 Tesshūji 鉄舟寺 Toba 鳥羽 Tōdaiji 東大寺 Tōji 東寺 tōkyō 塔経 Tōnominedera 多武峰寺 Tōri ten 忉利天 Toyotomi Hideyoshi 豊臣秀吉 tsuka 束 Tsurugaoka Hachimangū 鶴岡八幡宮 Ueda han 上田藩 ukebana 受花 Unkei 運慶 uta-e 歌絵 waka 和歌 wenzita 文字塔 (Ch.) xishu jingta 細書經塔 (Ch.) Xuanzang 玄奘 Yakuō 薬王 Yijing 義淨 Yixing 一行 yosegi zukuri 寄木造

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Zanning 贊寧 Zen’ne 禅恵 Zen shū 禪宗 Zentsūji 善通寺

Zhiyi 智顗 Zōchōten 増長天 Zōga 増賀 zushi 厨子

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A bbr e v i at ions

BD Bukkyō daijiten Ch. Chinese DNBZ Dai Nihon Bukkyō zensho DNK Dai Nihon kokiroku GR Gunsho ruijū Jpn. Japanese KBS Kōkan bijutsu shiryō NKBT Nihon koten bungaku taikei NST Nihon shisō taikei Skt. Sanskrit SNKBT Shin Nihon koten bungaku taikei SNKBZ Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū SZKT Shintei zōho kokushi taikei T. Taishō shinshū Daizōkyō ZGR Zoku gunsho ruijū ZST Zōho shiryō taisei

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notes

Introduction 1 For instance, the Flower Garland Sutra (Jpn. Daihōkō Butsu kegonkyō; Ch. Dafangguang Fo huayan jing; Skt. Buddhāvataṃsaka mahāvaipulya sūtra, trans. Buddhabhadra. T. 9, no. 278) visualizes the universe textually. See Gómez, “The Whole Universe as a Sūtra,” 107–12. The Mahāvairocana sūtra (Jpn. Dainichikyō; Ch. Dari jing, trans. Śubhakarasiṃha with Yixing. T. 18, no. 848) is also used to cast the world as text. See Abé, The Weaving of Mantra, 275–300. For more on the topic of ajikan (A-syllable contemplation in the Tendai and Shingon schools of Buddhism), see Bogel, With a Single Glance, 199–200; Payne, “Ajikan”; and Winfield, Icons and Iconoclasm in Japanese Buddhism, 81–84. 2 Throughout the book, I use the phrase “central icon” to refer to the textual reliquary in the middle portion of the mandalas’ composition. In doing so, I am not drawing a link to the concept of honzon or the main icon of a temple and the focus of rituals. Rather, I want to highlight the centrality of the textual reliquary and its embodied status. 3 Bohn, Modern Visual Poetry, 31–50. 4 At the time of the mandalas’ production, the relationship between the Kansai region and Hiraizumi was a complicated one. Rather than the wholesale adoption of the Kyoto trappings of culture and legitimacy resulting in the jettisoning of Emishi culture, the Ōshū Fujiwara transformed Hiraizumi while maintaining traditions and symbols important to their northern heritage. See Yiengpruksawan, Hiraizumi. 5 Jpn. Myōhō renge kyō; Ch. Miaofa lianhua jing; Skt. Saddharmapuṇḍarīka sūtra, trans. Kumārajīva. T. 9, no. 262. 6 Jpn. Konkōmyō saishōō kyō; Ch. Jinguangming zuisheng wang jing; Skt. Suvarṇaprabhāsottama rāja sūtra, trans. Yijing. T. 16, no. 665. 7 Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara. Before the publication of his book, Miya wrote a few articles introducing his ideas, which he later incorporated into the monograph. 8 Tanabe, Paintings of the Lotus Sutra, 98–108. 9 For more on transformation tableaux, see Mair, T’ang Transformation Texts; Tanabe, Paintings of the Lotus Sutra; ten Grotenhuis, Japanese Mandalas; Wang, Shaping the Lotus Sutra; and Wu Hung, “What is Bianxiang?” 10 Yiengpruksawan, Hiraizumi, 161–84.

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11 For more studies on the jeweled pagoda mandalas, see Ishida Mosaku, Chūsonji ōkagami, vol. 2, 4–13; Kameda, “Jūbun Saishōōkyō jikkai hōtō mandara,” 68; Hamada, “Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu”; Ariga, “Konkōmyō saishōō kyō zu saikō”; Hayashi, “Daichōjuinzō Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu oboegaki”; Miya, “Myōhōjizō Myōhōrengekyō kinji hōtō mandara ni tsuite”; Izumi, “Hokekyō hōtō mandara.” I have also provided a more extended analysis of this literature. See O’Neal, “Written Stūpa, Painted Sūtra,” 7–13. 12 As readers will notice, I use the term “intertextual” later in the book to explore the artistic community and transcription trends out of which the mandalas developed. Employed first by literary scholars, the scope of intertextuality has expanded to include a range of approaches and materials, including the visual. For now, however, the term “intervisual” is more appropriate for its specificity. 13 The Sanskrit word maṇḍala was transliterated into the Chinese term mantuluo and the Japanese term mandara. The term connotes the essence of enlightenment and is often spatially connected to the location of the Buddha’s spiritual awakening. Esoteric mandalas typically configure deities according to geometric schemata that render a cosmological map of the realms. However, in Japan the term expanded to include a variety of artistic depictions, such as visualizations of sanctified spaces like those of the Pure Land paradises and Shintō kami and their shrines. The term is also applied to images that portray tales from the scriptures. For thorough treatments of Japanese mandalas, see Ishida Hisatoyo, Mandara no kenkyū; and ten Grotenhuis, Japanese Mandalas. 14 ten Grotenhuis, Japanese Mandalas, 2. 15 For an etymological analysis, see “pagoda, n.,” Oxford English Dictionary Online (http://www .oed.com.ezproxy.is.ed.ac.uk/view/Entry/136027?redirectedFrom=pagoda&; accessed June 7, 2014). The term does not appear in the 1603 Japanese-Portuguese dictionary, Vocabvlario da lingoa de Iapam, compiled by Jesuits in Nagasaki. For a reproduction of the Bodleian Library copy, see Iwanami Shōten, Nippo Jisho. 16 Stupa has been used as an umbrella term for all Buddhist reliquaries, of which there is a great variety. Xuanzang (602–64), a Chinese Buddhist monk whose travels in India were recorded in the Great Tang Records on the Western Regions (Da Tang xiyuji), advocated for this terminological unification. He declared the Chinese term for stupa, sudubo (Jpn. sotōba), to be the accurate term for the architectural reliquaries he encountered. Sotōba is now commonly used for gravemarkers in Japan. For more on the etymology, see Miller, “Perfecting the Mountain.” For Xuanzang’s passage, see T. 51, no. 2087: 872a23–25. For a concise yet thorough summary of the historical origins of the stupa and its etymological derivation, see Trainor, Relics, Ritual, and Representation in Buddhism, 32–39. 17 To view the animation, see my faculty webpage (http://www.eca.ed.ac.uk/history-of-art/halle -oneal). It is also downloadable from the Taylor & Francis website as a complement to my article, “Performing the Jeweled Pagoda Mandalas.” Chapter 1

1 David Lurie coined this neologism in his book, Realms of Literacy. Unfortunately, I had not read Lurie’s book when I started using the term in 2012, as I was revising my PhD dissertation and writing my article, O’Neal, “Performing the Jeweled Pagoda Mandalas.” 2 The waves of the sea are depicted with silver paint in all but the first and second fascicles. 3 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 167. T. 9, no. 262: 32b17–32c2. 4 Ishida Mosaku offered a small picture showing the general flow of the characters for one of the Chūsonji scrolls. Ishida Mosaku, Chūsonji ōkagami, vol. 2, 5. My digital project differs in a

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few important ways. It is unabbreviated so that the viewer is able to experience the transcription of the textual pagoda in an enlarged and dynamic way. By allowing for a contemplation of the manner of production, the integration of all surface components of the mandala, and the possible functions of the text, the animation makes clear that the scripture was never meant to be read in more than small passages. Furthermore, the digital project brings to the foreground the performativity of the mandalas’ surfaces and the integral role of the viewer in the production of meaning, as explicated later in this study. 5 To view the animation, see my faculty webpage (http://www.eca.ed.ac.uk/history-of-art/halle -oneal). It is also downloadable from the Taylor & Francis website as a complement to my article, “Performing the Jeweled Pagoda Mandalas.” 6 This is evident given the different handwritings seen within the sets. 7 Miya first noted where the transcriptions ended. Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 91. 8 Ishida Mosaku, Chūsonji ōkagami, vol. 2, 5. 9 See in particular Lurie, Realms of Literacy, 15–114, 368–69 n. 1.5. 10 In the case of the jeweled pagoda mandalas, the characters follow sutra-script style. 11 Lurie, Realms of Literacy, 7. 12 Miya and Hamada also note these indentations. Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 119; and Hamada, “Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu,” 262. 13 However, Hamada Takashi does suggest this approach. He explains that all ten textual pagodas were copied at the same time, which is a convincing point, but then he posits that the surrounding paper was attached and the narrative vignettes along with the chapter titles and scriptural passages were then executed. Hamada, “Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu,” 263. 14 All dates cited in the text are converted to the Gregorian calendar with the Japanese era names generally given in the footnotes. Months and days conform to the Japanese lunar calendar. 15 Eiga monogatari (SZKT, 20:371–76). McCullough and McCullough, A Tale of Flowering Fortunes, vol. 2, 530–35. 16 Jpn. Muryōgi kyō; Ch. Wuliangyi jing; Skt. Amitartha sūtra, trans. Dharma-jātayaśas. T. 9, no. 276. 17 Jpn. Kan Fugen bosatsu gyōhō kyō; Ch. Guan puxian pusa xingfa jing, trans. Dharmamitra. T. 9, no. 277. 18 Komatsu, Heike nōkyō no kenkyū, vol. 2, 810. Some of the scrolls have been dispersed among the Gotō Art Museum in Tokyo (two scrolls), the Tokyo National Museum (three scrolls), and the Mutō Kinta collection in Hyōgō Prefecture (four scrolls). 19 For example, see the scrolls at Hōgonji on Chikubushima (eleventh century), Taisanji in Hyōgō Prefecture (twelfth century), Jikōji in Saitama Prefecture (thirteenth century), and Hasedera in Nara (thirteenth century). 20 Kameda, “Jūbun Saishōōkyō jūkai hōtō mandara,” 68. 21 Ibid. 22 Ishida Mosaku, Chūsonji ōkagami, vol. 2, 4. 23 For a similar discussion relating to memorization, see Eubanks, Miracles of Book and Body, 133–72. 24 For Willa Tanabe’s discussion on this subject, see Tanabe, Paintings of the Lotus Sutra, 98–108. 25 Miya Tsugio makes a similar observation. See Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 122. 26 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 270. T. 9, no. 262: 53b4–5. Encouragement for one to commit self-immolation can also be found in Chinese texts such

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as the Fanwang jing (Brahma Net Sutra). For more on the subject see Benn, Burning for the Buddha; and Yu, Sanctity and Self-Inflicted Violence in Chinese Religions. 27 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 272; T. 9, no. 262: 53c14–15. 28 For more information on the gift of the body, see Ohnuma, Head, Eyes, Flesh, and Blood. 29 Very rarely, the copyists omitted phrases. These are most likely mistakes rather than intentional omissions as transcription accuracy was paramount and the deletion of those phrases does not form new meanings. 30 Yiengpruksawan, “Illuminating the Illuminator,” 116. 31 The average individual size of the paintings in the Ryūhonji set is 111 cm x 58 cm. The Tanzan Shrine and Chūsonji versions are roughly similar. 32 Gandelman, “By Way of Introduction,” 140. 33 J. L. Austin proposes the concepts of locutionary act, illocutionary act, and perlocutionary act. Austin, How to Do Things with Words. 34 Gandelman, “By Way of Introduction,” 146. For Austin’s discussion on perlocutionary acts, see in particular Austin, How to Do Things with Words, 109–32. 35 When viewing the paintings on display, I routinely saw people step close and squint in a physical attempt to see the miniscule text and then step back to see the pagoda. This bodily engagement was repeated multiple times. I also found myself replicating this performance when studying the paintings in storage. 36 In his analysis of “Duck/Rabbit,” Ernst Gombrich explores issues of perception and the fundamental interdependence of shape and interpretation. Gombrich suggests that as viewers we are incapable of a pure seeing without the application of intellect, and in this way, whether one sees the text or the architectural reliquary in the jeweled pagoda mandalas is perhaps a matter of attention. Gombrich, Art and Illusion, 4–6. 37 This quote from the Sea Sutra (Jpn. Kan Butsu sanmai kaikyō; Ch. Guanfo sanmei haijing; Skt. Buddha dhyāna samādhi sāgara sūtra, trans. Buddhabhadra. T. 15, no. 643) is a translation by Eugene Wang. See Wang, Shaping the Lotus Sutra, 246. For more on the artist response to the Shadow Cave, see ibid., 245–55. 38 Rather than understand the material and oral expression of signs as two genres without overlap, Ruth Finnegan suggests that written and oral manifestations are not rigid categories, but are often genres with permeable borders. Finnegan, Oral Poetry, 16–24. 39 Moerman, Geographies of the Imagination. 40 Carr, “The Material Facts of Ritual,” 39. 41 Abé, The Weaving of Mantra, 276. 42 This is not an exhaustive list, and the reader will likely be aware of further examples. 43 Kornicki, The Book in Japan, 252. 44 Ibid. 45 Rambelli, “Texts, Talismans, and Jewels,” 55. 46 Graham, Beyond Written Word, ix. 47 Carruthers, The Book of Memory, 9–10. 48 Ruth Finnegan cautions against the tendency in scholarship to privilege written forms of text over oral transmission. See Finnegan, Literacy and Orality, 124–26. 49 Sasaki Kōkan, “Sō no jushika to ō no saishika,” 53. For more on tendoku, see Shimizu, “Nōdoku to nōsetsu,” 25–29. 50 Kornicki, The Book in Japan, 252. Kornicki also notes that tendoku can be used to describe the more involved and semantically engaged act of reading, increasing the potential for confusion.

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51 Nittō guhō junrei kōki, Jōwa 14/11/28, 11/29, 12/1, 12/2, 12/3 (DNBZ, 113: 281). Reischauer, Ennin’s Diary, 406–8. 52 Kornicki, The Book in Japan, 253. Reischauer also points to evidence that Ennin commissioned monks to carry out such tasks on his behalf. Reischauer, Ennin’s Diary, 407 n. 1543. 53 Sasaki Kōkan, “Sō no jushika to ō no saishika,” 52. 54 Eubanks, “Circumambulatory Reading,” 1–24. 55 Ibid., 8. 56 Guo, “The Architecture of Joinery,” 103 and 105. 57 Payne, “Ajikan,” 223–24. 58 Jpn. Dai hannya haramitta kyō; Ch. Da bore boluomiduo jing; Skt. Mahaprajñāpāramitā sūtras, trans. Xuanzang. T. 5, no. 220. 59 Conze, The Short Prajñāpāramitā Texts, 201. Payne, “Ajikan,” 224. 60 Stone, “Just Open Your Mouth and Say ‘A’,” 171. 61 Payne, “Ajikan,” 234. 62 This collection is also known by its full title, Miraculous Tales from the Country of Japan Concerning Immediate Recompense for Good and Bad Actions (Nihonkoku genpō zen’aku ryōiki). 63 Jpn. Hannya haramita shingyō; Ch. Bore boluomiduo xinjing; Skt. Prajñāpāramitā hṛdaya sūtra, trans. Xuanzang. T. 8, no. 251. 64 Jpn. Bonmōkyō; Ch. Fanwangjing; Skt. Brahmajāla sūtra. T. 1484, no. 24. 65 Nihon ryōiki 2.19 (SNKBT, 30:90–92). Kyoko Motomochi Nakamura, Miraculous Stories from the Japanese Buddhist Tradition, 186–87. 66 Martin, The History and Power of Writing, 43. 67 For a brief introduction to shōgon with further citations for sources on the subject, see Watsky, Chikubushima, 36. Also see Boehm, The Concept of Danzō, 107–16. 68 Rambelli, Buddhist Materiality, 88–90. 69 Barthes, S/Z, 5. 70 Ibid. 71 Veidlinger, Spreading the Dhamma, 5. 72 Payne, “Awakening and Language,” 89. 73 Eagleton, Literary Theory, 12. Chapter 2



1 By Jōchō-style sculptures, I refer to the style popularized by the sculptor Jōchō (d. 1057) and his workshop, in which they used a multiblock carving technique known as yosegi zukuri. They also popularized a new canon of proportions, creating the appearance of youth, balance, and roundedness in their sculptures. Jōchō’s Amida of 1053 at the Byōdōin is the preeminent example of this style of sculpture. 2 Debate has swirled around the relationship between the Emishi, Ainu, and “Japanese.” Mark Hudson provides a nuanced analysis; see Ruins of Identity, in particular 197–232. 3 Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 11. 4 Sudō and Iwasa, Chūsonji to Mōtsūji, 148. 5 Hamada, “Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu,” 265. The black lacquered boxes measure 165 x 67.2 x 15 cm. 6 Ibid. 7 Kameda, “Jūbun Saishōōkyō jikkai hōtō mandara,” 68.

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no t e s t o pa ge s 5 5 – 59

8 Takahashi, “Chūsonji to Hokekyō,” 39. 9 Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 34 n1. 10 Bunji no chūmon (SZKT, 32:352–55). 11 Hamada, “Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu,” 264. 12 For a discussion of this very unusual stylistic technique of sutra transcription, see Sasaki Hōsei, “Kingin kōsho no tejun to kufū.” For more on the rarity of this style, see Ishida Mosaku, Chūsonji, 16. 13 Others propose alternative dates. For instance, Tanaka Kaidō suggests 1124. For his discussion of the Kiyohirakyō, see Tanaka, Nihon shakyō sōkan, 390–94. 14 Hiraizumi Chōshi Hensan Iinkai, “Chūsonji rakkei kuyō ganmon,” vol. 1, 59. 15 Most scholars agree that this project is the product of Hidehira, but because of the vagueness of records and inscriptions, others have suggested that Motohira originally commissioned the set and Hidehira completed it sometime between 1150 and 1170. Part of the confusion arises from a postscript on the eighth scroll of the Lotus Sutra that testifies to Hidehira’s wish for his father’s peaceful rest. See Yiengpruksawan, Hiraizumi, 111. 16 Ibid. 17 Hamada, “Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu,” 264; Hayashi, “Daichōjuinzō Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu oboegaki,” 82; Kameda, “Jūbun Saishōōkyō jikkai hōtō mandara,” 68; and Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 33. 18 Hamada, “Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu,” 265. 19 For a discussion of the strong relationship of the Lotus Sutra with the Ōshū Fujiwara, see Takahashi, “Chūsonji to Hokekyō.” 20 Hayashi, “Daichōjuinzō Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu oboegaki,” 93. 21 Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 33. Miya rejects the ascension of Hidehira to the rank of Mutsu governor as the likely event because this 1181 promotion occurred after the commission of Hidehira’s Buddhist canon in 1176. And as Yiengpruksawan notes, these powerful and high-profile appointments did not go without critical commentary by Kyoto contemporaries. See Yiengpruksawan, Hiraizumi, 97. 22 Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 33. 23 Yiengpruksawan, Hiraizumi, 174. Miya also seems to side with the 1170 date as the probable occasion. Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 122. 24 Yiengpruksawan, Hiraizumi, 174. 25 Hamada, “Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu,” 264; and Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 31–33. On the other hand, Hayashi describes the flowers of Hidehira’s scrolls as more formulaic and sees the pattern used in the front cover of Motohira’s Lotus Sutra as more strongly related. Hayashi, “Daichōjuinzō Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu oboegaki,” 82. 26 Hamada, “Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu,” 264. 27 Ruppert, Jewel in the Ashes, 60. 28 Emmerick, The Sūtra of Golden Light, 27. T. 16, no. 665: 427c07–20. Emmerick’s translation from the Sanskrit does not adhere exactly to Yijing’s text, but when his English translation is used in this book, the main ideas and general structure and wording of the passages are similar. 29 Ruppert, Jewel in the Ashes, 103–7. See also Sango, The Halo of Golden Light. 30 Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 33. 31 The figures appear in scrolls 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, and 8. In scroll 8, Bishamonten is the only figure represented from the group.

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32 Jpn. Shitennō gokoku bon; Ch. Sitianwang huguo pin. T. 16, no. 665: 427b20–432c10. 33 T. 16, no. 665: 427c01–06. 34 T. 16, no. 665: 427c09–28. 35 Emmerick, The Sūtra of Golden Light, 27–28. T. 16, no. 665: 427c20–27. 36 Ariga, “Konkōmyō saishōō kyō zu saikō,” 93–98. 37 Kameda, “Jūbun Saishōōkyō jikkai hōtō mandara,” 68. 38 T. 16, no. 665: 451a24–452b4. 39 For more information about the gift of the body, see Ohnuma, Head, Eyes, Flesh, and Blood. 40 Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 27. 41 Hamada, “Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu,” 263. 42 Ibid., 264. 43 Hayashi makes this statement in regard to the atypical representation of the Four Guardian Kings in the mandalas. See Hayashi, “Daichōjuinzō Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu oboegaki,” 88. 44 This approach is more in line with Yiengpruksawan, Hiraizumi. 45 Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 23–26. Iwate Nippōsha, Yomigaeru hihō, 41. 46 In scroll 3, Kōmokuten assumes the top right position and Zōchōten moves to the top left. The reasons behind this change are unclear. Possibly it is attributable to a more flexible approach to Buddhist art production that manifests in various ways throughout Hiraizumi around this time and is most strikingly apparent in the visual program of the Konjikidō and its mummified remains of the Ōshū Fujiwara. 47 Hayashi, “Daichōjuinzō Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu oboegaki,” 83–87. 48 Yiengpruksawan, Hiraizumi, 118–20. 49 Ibid., 176. 50 T. 16, no. 665: 414a15–18. 51 Emmerick, The Sūtra of Golden Light, 13. For a long passage containing many expressions of repentance and confession and the absolution of those sins, see T. 16, no. 665: 412a27–b22. 52 Hayashi, “Daichōjuinzō Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu oboegaki,” 89. For a thorough study of Jizō in Japanese art and religion, see Glassman, The Face of Jizō. 53 The head of Yasuhira of the fourth generation of the Ōshū Fujiwara also found its final resting place in the altar of his father, Hidehira, actually making the entombment three bodies and one head. For more information about this spectacular and complex hall, see Yiengpruksawan, Hiraizumi, 121–60. 54 Ibid., 137. For a thorough discussion of the Konjikidō mummies, see Ishida Mosaku, Chūsonji. 55 Quoted in Yiengpruksawan, Hiraizumi, 177. 56 Ariga, “Konkōmyō saishōō kyō zu saikō,” 97–98. 57 Hamada, “Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu,” 263. 58 Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 39–42. 59 Ibid., 85. For a reference to the 1783 passage, see Heibonsha, Nihon rekishi chimei taikei, vol. 30, 411. 60 Washū Tōnominedera Zōga shōnin gyōgōki (ZGR, 8:748–51). 61 Ibid., 751. 62 For more on Zōga, see Miki, Tōnomine hijiritan. 63 For a brief history of Tōnominedera, or Tōnomineji, see Heibonsha, Nihon rekishi chimei taikei, vol. 30, 408–10. 64 Tōnomine ryakki (GR, 24:424–26). Although Allan Grapard notes that Jōe died before his father, further obscuring the origins of Tōnomine. Grapard, “Japan’s Ignored Cultural Revolution,” 251.

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65 For more on the effects of this compulsory separation, which uses Tōnomine as a case study, see Grapard, “Japan’s Ignored Cultural Revolution,” and Heibonsha, Nihon rekishi chimei taikei, vol. 30, 410–11. 66 Miki, Tōnomine hijiritan, 179–97. 67 Tōnomine ryakki (GR, 24:432). Hokke genki also touts his skill as a debater. Hokke genki 3.82 (NST, 7:157). 68 For instance, Miki suggests that, instead of avoiding further scheduled debates, Zōga left to fulfill a long-held desire to live in reclusion. Miki, Tōnomine hijiritan, 98–100. 69 Tōnomine ryakki (GR, 24:432–33). For more on Takamitsu, see the Tōnomine shōshō monogatari (Tale of the Lesser Captain of Tōnomine) written roughly contemporaneous with the events it describes. Tōnomine shōshō monogatari (GR, 27:428–43). 70 For more on hijiri, see Itō, Hijiri Bukkyōshi no kenkyū. 71 Senjūshō 1.1, in Senjūshō zenchūshaku, vol. 1, 6–17. 72 Zoku honchō ōjōden 10, 11, 12 (NST, 7:236–38). 73 Hosshinshū 1.5, in Kamo no Chōmei, Hōjōki, Hosshinshū, 73–79. 74 Hokke genki 3.82 (NST, 7:156–59). 75 Konjaku monogatarishū 19.18 (SNKBT, 36:162–65). 76 Ibid., 19.10 (SNKBT, 36:144–46). 77 Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 80–81. For more on the visual depictions and cult of Shōtoku Taishi, see Carr, Plotting the Prince. 78 Miya also observes that if one rearranges the passages on each mandala into the correct textual sequence, a form of the Lotus Sutra emerges, albeit abbreviated. Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 79. 79 Ibid., 84. 80 Ibid., 76, 120. Clear exceptions to this rule are the first, fourth, and eighth scrolls. The first scroll, perhaps because it only contains two chapters, is divided roughly in half along the vertical axis with chapter 1 occupying the lower half and chapter 2 assuming the upper half. Rather than start in the lower left, the fourth fascicle has a minor alteration in that it begins in the lower right. However, the eighth scroll breaks the convention almost entirely. Because of the popularity of the twenty-fifth chapter, which champions the intercessory might of Kannon, the majority of the composition is dedicated to representations of its themes, perhaps to the detriment of the twenty-sixth chapter, which is completely elided. Miya argues that this system of allocation originates in the wall paintings of Lotus Sutra transformation tableaux at Dunhuang. Hamada Takashi also finds parallels with Song dynasty Buddhist painting in the compositional style of the saturated picture surface of the mandalas. Hamada, “Konkōmyōsaishōōkyō kinji hōtō mandara zu,” 263. 81 T. 9, no. 262: 2b18. 82 The passage describes the thunderous moment when Śākyamuni opens the door of the recently manifested pagoda with his right finger. Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 167. T. 9, no. 262: 33b26–28. 83 The cartouche identifies this scene as the lowest realm of hell, Avīci. Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 5. T. 9, no. 262: 2b17–18. Another explanatory cartouche just outside the wall of hell reiterates in verse the Buddha’s salvific reach throughout the six realms. Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 7. T. 9, no. 262: 2c16–17. 84 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 244. T. 9, no. 262: 48a19–20. 85 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 244. T. 9, no. 262: 48a21–22.

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86 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 307. T. 9, no. 262: 61c04–06. 87 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 307. T. 9, no. 262: 61c08–10. 88 Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 66 and 77. 89 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 277. T. 9, no. 262: 55a17–18. 90 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 272. T. 9, no. 262: 53c04–05. 91 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 268. T. 9, no. 262: 52c26–28. 92 Hōryūji zō son’ei-bon taishi den gyokurin shō, vol. 3, 456. Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 90. 93 Ogino, “‘Hōryūji shariden hōmotsu chūmon,’” 35, 37. 94 Nakao, “Kyōto Ryūhonji no Hokekyō shakyō,” 6–7. 95 For the complete inscriptions on the new boxes, see ibid., 5. 96 Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 122. Most likely Miya prioritizes the Tanzan Shrine version because it offers more scenes and thus presents a more comprehensive selection of the tales. 97 Ibid., 116. 98 Ibid., 135. 99 Interestingly, Miya privileges the density of the Tanzan Shrine mandalas over the tidily composed Ryūhonji paintings, explaining that he feels the Ryūhonji version lacks the intensity of the Tanzan Shrine set. See ibid., 121. 100 Ibid., 112–14. 101 Ibid., 115. 102 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 55–60. T. 9, no. 262: 12b13–13c18. 103 For example, see Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 95–96. T. 9, no. 262: 19a27–19c08. 104 These scrolls measure slightly smaller than the other mandalas at about 96.2 cm x 46.5 cm. 105 Izumi, “Hokekyō hōtō mandara,” 36. 106 Ibid., 35, 37. Interestingly, Izumi does not agree that the high density of the Tanzan Shrine narratives embodies an earlier style and that the pared-down quality of the Ryūhonji vignettes reflects a later style. Instead, Izumi suggests reversing the order, with the Tanzan Shrine manifesting the later style and Ryūhonji recapturing an earlier, sparser style. However, this perspective seems to contradict much of the extant visual evidence. See ibid., 37–38. 107 Miya, “Myōhōjizō Myōhōrengekyō kinji hōtō mandara ni tsuite,” 96 n.1. 108 The central architecture of the Myōhōji mandala is a nine-storied structure with a false roof, much like the paintings of the Chūsonji, the Tanzan Shrine, and the dispersed set represented by the two mandalas referred to earlier. 109 This scroll measures 103.7 cm x 54.5 cm. Chapter 3 1 The copyist makes an error in drawing the red lines: the fourth character (jie) from the bottom of the second line on the right links out to two identical characters (di). 2 Miya also briefly discusses this example. Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 4. 3 Drège, “Le stūpa du Sūtra du coeur,” 290. 4 Even if the first owner drew the line rather than its having been part of the production process, the dots remain thereafter connected. 5 Legge, A Record of Buddhistic Kingdoms, 69 n. 1. Strong, Asoka, 117. 6 Strong, Asoka, 117. Lamotte, Histoire du Bouddhisme Indien, 162–63. 7 Strong, Asoka, 117–19. 8 Xuanhe shupu, juan 6, 52. I am indebted to Professor Amy McNair for this fascinating source.

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9 It is possible to translate this passage as ten mandalas illuminated by light from the center. 10 Jpn. Ryōgonkyō; Ch. Lengyanjing; Skt. Śūraṃgama sūtra. T. 19, no. 945. 11 Jpn. Yuimakyō; Ch. Weimo jing; Skt. Vimalakīrti nirdeśa sūtra, trans. Kumārajīva. T. 14, no. 475. 12 Jpn. Engakukyō; Ch. Yuanjue jing. T. 17, no. 842. 13 Jpn. Kongō hannya haramitsu kyō; Ch. Jingang bore boluomi jing; Skt. Vajracchedikā prajñāpāramitā sūtra, trans. Yijing. T. 8, no. 239. 14 Jpn. Daihikyō; Ch. Dabeijing; Skt. Mahākaruṇā puṇḍarīka sūtra, trans. Narêndrayaśas. T. 12, no. 380. 15 Jpn. Butchō sonshō darani kyō; Ch. Foding zunsheng tuoluoni jing; Skt. Uṣṇīṣavijayā-dhāraṇī, trans. Yijing. T. 19, no. 971. 16 Jpn. Enju myōmon darani kyō; Ch. Yanshou miaomen tuoluoni jing; Skt. Sumukha dhāraṇī, trans. Faxian. T. 20, no. 1140. 17 Jpn. Ninnō gokoku hannya haramitsu kyō; Ch. Renwang huguo banruo boluomi jing, trans. Amoghavajra. T. 8, no. 246. 18 Guoli gugong bowuyuan, Midian zhulin. The entries are scattered throughout the volumes. For a compiled list of the thirty-four images, see Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 8–9 n. 16. 19 Jpn. Amidakyō; Ch. Amituo jing; Skt. Amitābha sūtra, trans. Kumārajīva. T. 12, no. 366. 20 Jpn. Yakushi rurikō nyorai hongan kōtoku kyō; Ch. Yaoshi liuliguang rulai benyuan gongde jing; Skt. Bhagavato bhaiṣajyaguruvaiḍūryaprabhasya pūrvapraṇidhānaviśeṣavistāra, trans. Xuanzang. T. 14, no. 450. 21 See Gugong bowuyuan, Gugong shuhua lu, vol. 4, juan 8, 8–10, 14–15. For a compiled list of the textual pagodas in the collection of the museum, see Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 9 n. 17. 22 Niimi, Tōji hōmotsu no seiritsu katei no kenkyū, 272. 23 Tōbōki (KBS, 2:447). I thank Michael Jamentz for bringing this source to my attention. 24 Niimi, Tōji hōmotsu no seiritsu katei no kenkyū, 272. 25 Tanaka, Shakyō nyūmon, 52–56. 26 Ibid., 53. 27 Jpn. Hannya rishukyō; Ch. Bore liqu jing; Skt. Prajñāpāramitā naya sūtra, trans. Amoghavajra. T. 8, no. 243. 28 Tanaka, Shakyō nyūmon, 53–54. 29 Ibid., 55–56. Tanaka also notes that, according to his research, the first time the number seventeen was used in an official capacity was with the establishment of Shōtoku Taishi’s seventeen laws. See ibid., 54. 30 For more on the production of the canon during the Nara period, see Lowe, “Contingent and Contested”; and his Ritualized Writing. 31 Shimatani, “Sōshokukyō no hassei to tenkai,” 20. Nunneries were ordered to enshrine the Lotus Sutra. 32 Tanaka, Nihon shakyō sōkan, 19. 33 Nara National Museum houses Hiroshima’s Saikokuji set, and Mount Kōya also has one set. 34 Nara Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan, Narachō shakyō, 51. 35 For an image of the Nigatsudō yakegyō, see the Metropolitan Museum of Art, “Nigatsudō Burned Sutra,” metmuseum.org: http://metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/44909 (accessed April 17, 2017). 36 For a great digital resource on the Shōsōin, see the site edited by Bryan Lowe and Chris Mayo: https://my.vanderbilt.edu/shosoin/. 37 Shimatani, “Sōshokukyō no hassei to tenkai,” 19.

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38 Jpn. Gejin mikkyō; Ch. Jie shenmi jing; Skt. Saṃdhinirmocana sūtra, trans. Xuanzang. T. 16, no. 676. 39 Shimatani, “Sōshokukyō no hassei to tenkai,” 20–21. 40 For in-depth research on this scroll, see Tsuboi, E ingakyō no kenkyū. 41 Jpn. Kako genzai ingakyō; Ch. Guoqu xianzai yinguo jing, trans. Guṇabhadra. T. 3, no. 189. 42 For a series of eighth-century examples and a few from the twelfth through fourteenth centuries, see Nara Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan, Bukkyō setsuwa no bijutsu, figs. 2–14. 43 Ibid., 332. 44 For other notable examples see the decorative scrolls at Honkōji in Shizuoka Prefecture (eleventh- and twelfth-century sets), Kongōbuji in Wakayama Prefecture (several sets), Rinnōji in Tochigi (dated 1129), Itsukushima Shrine (multiple sets), and Hyakusaiji in Shiga, to name just a few. For images of these scrolls and many more, see Nara Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan, Hokekyō, 42–45, pls. 47–93. 45 Egami, “Sōshokukyō,” 37. 46 I would like to thank Elizabeth ten Grotenhuis for an introduction to Sylvan Barnet and William Burto, whose company and collection were enlightening. 47 Egami, “Sōshokukyō,” 40. Other notable scrolls are the nine at Honmanji, Kyoto, produced in the twelfth century in which individual pagodas vividly expressed with luminescent silver for the body and pedestal and fine gold detail for the finial enthrone the sacred characters composed in generous gold. 48 Kyōto Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan, Koshakyō, 315. 49 Nara Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan, Josei to Bukkyō, 232. 50 For more on the history of the fans and costumes appearing in them, see Akiyama, Yanagisawa, and Suzuki, Senmen Hokekyō no kenkyū. 51 Yamato Bunkakan, Nezame monogatari emaki, 165. 52 Komatsu, “Menashikyō to sono shūhen,” 25. 53 Akiyama, “Women Painters at the Heian Court,” 167. 54 Komatsu, “Menashikyō to sono shūhen,” 24–26. 55 Akiyama, “Women Painters at the Heian Court,” 167–70. 56 Stone, Original Enlightenment, 215. 57 LaFleur, The Karma of Words, 23. 58 Ibid., 91. Shunzei uses the Contemplation of the Samantabhadra Bodhisattva Sutra as support for his argument. 59 Komatsu, Heike nōkyō no kenkyū, vol. 2, 819–29. For more on the interpretative readings of the ashide in this scroll, see Meech, “Disguised Scripts and Hidden Poems”; and Eubanks, Miracles of Book and Body, 167–71. 60 This chapter is a particularly important one for women because it promises salvation to all women who hear the sutra and uphold its teachings. Important studies have brought to light the role of women in medieval Japanese Buddhism and visual culture. To name a few, see Chin, “The Gender of Buddhist Truth”; Hirasawa, Hell-Bent for Heaven in Tateyama Mandara; Kanda, “Behind the Sensationalism”; McCormick, “Mountains, Magic, and Mothers”; Moerman, “Demonology and Eroticism”; and Ruch, Engendering Faith. 61 Meech, “Disguised Scripts and Hidden Poems.” 62 Ibid., 74. 63 Ibid. 64 Komatsu, Heike nōkyō no kenkyū, vol. 2, 828. Komastu provides many more examples; see ibid., 823–29.

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65 Shibuya Kuritsu Shōto Bijutsukan, Mojie to emoji no keifu, 128. 66 Stone, Original Enlightenment, 261. 67 Stone, “‘Not Mere Written Words,’ ” 160. 68 Stone, Original Enlightenment, 254. 69 Ibid., 271. 70 Stone, “Chanting the August Title of the Lotus Sutra,” 152. 71 Ibid., 152–53. See also Takeda, “Nichiren no mandara.” 72 Andō, “Shin hakken.” 73 For several examples of kōmyō honzon, see Ōsaka Shiritsu Bijutsukan, Shōtoku Taishi shinkō no bijutsu, 163–67, figs. 289–96. 74 For more information on this practice, see for instance, Bukkyō daigaku, Issaikyō no rekishiteki kenkyū; Kabutogi, “Hokekyō no ichinichikyō to tonshakō”; Kabutogi, Hokke shakyō no kenkyū, 216–18, 221–28; and Kudo, “Bukkai no shōgon.” Tsuji Zennosuke scoured primary sources for entries on ritual practice and assembled a multivolume set, which although not heavy on analysis, is useful as a thematically organized compilation. Many of the references to copying practices in this section and other types of ritual practice in the next chapter can be found in his volumes. Tsuji, Nihon no Bukkyō shi. 75 For instance, in ca. 1117 Fujiwara no Kiyohira (1056–1128) commissioned a blue paper and gold- and silver-script copy of the Buddhist canon known as the Kiyohirakyō; in the mid-twelfth century Emperor Toba commissioned a blue-gold copy of the Buddhist canon now known as the Jingōjikyō for Go-Shirakawa; in 1150 Bifukumon’in commissioned the set known as the Arakawakyō for the repose of Emperor Toba’s soul; and in ca. 1176 Fujiwara no Hidehira completed a blue-gold copy of the Buddhist canon. 76 Chūyūki, Kajō 1/9/2 (ZST, 11:137). 77 Hyakurenshō, Eikyū 3/6/1 (SZKT, 11:50). 78 Honchō seiki, Kōji 2/3/20 (SZKT, 9:424). 79 Ibid., Ninpei 1/10/7 (SZKT, 9:789). 80 Tsuji, Nihon no Bukkyō shi, 660. 81 Taiki, Ninpei 1/10/7 (ZST, 25:203). 82 Ibid., Ninpei 2/7/2 (ZST, 25:208). 83 Komatsu, “Ichiji sanrei no shakyō,” 3. 84 Tsuji, Nihon no Bukkyō shi, 662. 85 Munakata gunki (ZGR, 23.648:174–76). 86 Chōshūki, Hōen 1/5/5 (ZST, 17:276). 87 For more, including variations, see Kabutogi, Hokke shakyō no kenkyū, 223–28. 88 Chūyūki, Eichō 1/3/18 (ZST, 9:341). 89 Hyakurenshō, Kenryaku 1/4/23 (SZKT, 11:142). 90 Nakamura Hajime, Iwanami Bukkyō jiten, 30. 91 Tanabe offers a parallel example: as recorded in the Honchō bunshū, Emperor Go-Reizei (1025–1068), while copying several sutras, prayed after writing each character. Tanabe, Paintings of the Lotus Sutra, 46. Honchō bunshū, Jiryaku 1/9/25 (SZKT, 30:205). 92 The Lotus Sutra rolls are now in a private collection. The following information concerning Unkei’s project comes from Tsuji, Nihon no Bukkyō shi, 672–73, based on the dedicatory inscriptions that describe the project. See also Komatsu, “Ichiji sanrei no shakyō,” 4–8. 93 The following information concerning Nobufusa’s efforts comes from Komatsu, “Ichiji sanrei no shakyō,” 3–8, based again on evidence provided in the dedicatory inscriptions on the scrolls.

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94 Jpn. Daijikkyō; Ch. Dajijing; Skt. Mahāsaṃnipata sūtra, trans. Dharmakṣema, et al. T. 13, no. 397. 95 For more examples of this phenomenon, see Komatsu, “Ichiji sanrei no shakyō,” 4. 96 This is not to draw unilaterial motives and conceptual foundations between these examples, but to incorporate instances of alternative materials as part of the trend toward the augmentation of scriptural practices. 97 For more on this subject, see for example Amimoto, “Kansai Daigaku Hakubutsukan shozō no rekisekikyō,” 215–37, and Ikemi, “Tsumi to sono kaiketsu,” 116–29. 98 Kansai University Museum, Hakubutsukan shiryō zuroku, 154–56. 99 Ikemi, “Tsumi to sono kaiketsu,” 129. 100 For more on this topic, see Seki, “Kyōzuka to sonno ibutsu,” 70–79. 101 Kansai Daigaku Hakubutsukan, Hakubutsukan shiryō zuroku, 155–56. 102 Tanaka, Nihon shakyō sōkan, 27. 103 Ikemi, “Tsumi to sono kaiketsu,” 129. 104 For more on this practice, see Kieschnick, “Blood Writing in Chinese Buddhism,” 177–94. 105 Taiki, Ten’yō 2/10/25 (ZST, 23:162–63). 106 Nagazumi and Shimada, Hōgen monogatari; Heiji monogatari, 179. 107 Rambelli, Buddhist Materiality, 119. 108 Chūyūki, Hōen 3/7/20 (ZST, 15:204). For more on this practice, see ten Grotenhuis, “Collapsing the Distinction Between Buddha And Believer,” 876–92. 109 This occurs in reference to the transcription and dedication service of the Lotus Sutra at Muryōju-in sponsored by the Empress Fujiwara no Kenshi (994–1027). See Shōyūki, Jian 1/9/10 (ZST, 47:333). Egami, “Sōshokukyō,” 19. 110 Hyakurenshō, Kōji 1/3/4 (SZKT, 11:65). 111 Rambelli, Buddhist Materiality, 90. 112 Ibid., 96. 113 Tsuji, Nihon no Bukkyō shi, 644. 114 Ibid., 644–70. 115 Komatsu, “Ichiji sanrei no shakyō,” 4. 116 Tanaka, Nihon shakyō sōkan, 30–34. Chapter 4

1 Dharma relics are further revealed to be the dharmakāya (dharma body; Jpn. hōshin; Ch. fashen) of the Buddha, a subject examined in the following chapter on the bodies of the Buddha. 2 For instance, the Flower Garland Sutra visualizes the universe textually. See Gómez, “The Whole Universe as a Sūtra,” 107–12. 3 Absent from this discussion of the power of the sacred word are mantras and dhāraṇīs (Jpn. darani; Ch. tuoluoni). Although I touch on these concepts later in the chapter, a detailed examination falls outside the borders of this project given its focus on the jeweled pagoda mandalas. For thorough analyses of mantras and dhāraṇīs, see Abé, The Weaving of Mantra; Copp, The Body Incantatory; Kodama, Bonji no shohō; Lopez, “Inscribing the Bodhisattva’s Speech”; Lopez, Elaborations on Emptiness; Payne, “Awakening and Language”; Robson, “Signs of Power”; and Wallis, “The Buddha’s Remains.” 4 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 175–76. T. 9, no. 262: 34b10–12. 5 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 163. T. 9, no. 262: 31b21–23. Hurvitz notes that to be cloaked with the Buddha’s garments means to be protected.

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6 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 160. T. 9, no. 262: 30c17–21. 7 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 276. T. 9, no. 262: 54c23–26. 8 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 274. T. 9, no. 262: 54b14–18. 9 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 275. T. 9, no. 262: 54b27. 10 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 275. T. 9, no. 262: 54b28–29. 11 Stevenson, “Buddhist Practice and the Lotus Sūtra in China,” 146. 12 Ibid. 13 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 165. See T. 9, no. 262: 32a16. 14 Emmerick, The Sūtra of Golden Light, 68. T. 16, no. 665: 445a14–17. 15 Emmerick, The Sūtra of Golden Light, 2. T. 16, no. 665: 404a18–24. 16 Emmerick, The Sūtra of Golden Light, 2. T. 16, no. 665: 404a28–29. 17 Emmerick, The Sūtra of Golden Light, 2–3. T. 16, no. 665: 404b1–17. 18 Emmerick, The Sūtra of Golden Light, 24–44 and 59–65. T. 16, no. 665: 413c10–417c16 and 427b17–432c10. 19 Emmerick, The Sūtra of Golden Light, 27. T. 16, no. 665: 427c21–23. 20 Conze, Buddhist Wisdom, 52. T. 8, no. 239: 773b20–22. 21 Conze, The Perfection of Wisdom in Eight Thousand Lines, 172–73. 22 Conze, Buddhist Wisdom, 37. 23 Jpn. Dōgyō hannya kyō; Ch. Daoxing bore jing; Skt. Aṣṭasāhasrikā prajñāpāramitā sūtra, trans. Lokakṣema. T. 8, no. 224. 24 Conze, The Perfection of Wisdom in Eight Thousand Lines, 15. 25 Ibid., 103. 26 T. 8, no. 239: 774a1–5. 27 Conze, Buddhist Wisdom, 108. T. 8, no. 251: 848c16–17. 28 Conze, Buddhist Wisdom, 34. T. 8, no. 239: 772c02–03. 29 Conze, Buddhist Wisdom, 62. T. 8, no. 239: 774c26. 30 Conze, Buddhist Wisdom, 51. T. 8, no. 239: 773b02–03. 31 Conze, Buddhist Wisdom, 35. T. 8, no. 239: 772c03–05. 32 Conze, Buddhist Wisdom, 54. T. 8, no. 239: 773c12–14. 33 Hokke genki 2.57 (NST, 7:124–25). Dykstra, Miraculous Tales of the Lotus Sutra from Ancient Japan, 82–83. 34 Konjaku monogatarishū 12.28 (SNKBT, 35:152–55). Ury, Tales of Times Now Past, 87–89. 35 Ury, Tales of Times Now Past, 89. Konjaku monogatarishū, 12.28 (SNKBT, 35:155). 36 Nihon ryōiki 3.21 (SNKBT, 30:277). Kyoko Motomochi Nakamura, Miraculous Stories from the Japanese Buddhist Tradition, 249. 37 Eubanks, Miracles of Book and Body, 161–66. This section on setsuwa is targeted and brief, but for a nuanced and thorough study of the subject, see Eubanks’s book. 38 The story comes from the twelfth-century Summary Notes of One Hundred Lectures on Dharma (Hyakuza hōdan kikigakishō). See Hyakuza hōdan kikigakishō, 133–35. 39 Ibid., 134–35. 40 Eubanks, Miracles of Book and Body, 54–55 and 118. 41 Ibid., 54. 42 Nihon ryōiki 3.9 (SNKBT, 30:141–43). Kyoko Motomochi Nakamura, Miraculous Stories from the Japanese Buddhist Tradition, 233–35. 43 Abé, The Weaving of Mantra. 44 For the Indic and Chinese origins of Kūkai’s concepts of language and text, see ibid.; and Payne, “Awakening and Language,” 79–96.

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45 Hakeda, Kūkai, 234–46. Abé translates the title of this treatise, Voice, Letter, Reality, whereas Hakeda chooses to translate it as The Meanings of Sound, Word, and Reality. 46 Ibid., 242. 47 Abé, The Weaving of Mantra, 283; and Hakeda, Kūkai, 240–41. 48 Throughout his writings on text, body, and dharmakāya, Kūkai refers back to the Avataṃsaka sūtra’s characterization of the world as scripture text. See Abé, The Weaving of Mantra; and Gómez, “The Whole Universe as a Sūtra,” 107–12. 49 Abé, The Weaving of Mantra, 334. 50 For a thorough analysis of Kūkai’s argument of language as differentiation, see Abé, The Weaving of Mantra, 275–304. 51 Rambelli, “Texts, Talismans, and Jewels,” 73. 52 For a discussion of this subject, see Abé, The Weaving of Mantra; Gardiner, “Kūkai’s View of Exoteric Buddhism in his Benkenmitsu nikyōron”; Payne, “Awakening and Language”; and Rambelli, “The Semiotic Articulation of Hosshin Seppō.” 53 Payne, “Awakening and Language,” 90. 54 Hakeda, Kūkai, 151–57. For a discussion of Kūkai’s prescriptions for textual use and for accessing and harnessing the power inherent in the sacred word, see in particular Abé, The Weaving of Mantra, 67–184, 273–398. 55 For a thorough analysis of Saichō and his impact, see Groner, Saichō. For an analysis of original enlightenment in medieval Japan, and in particular its relationship to Tendai and Nichiren thought, see Stone, “Medieval Tendai Hongaku Thought and the New Kamakura Buddhism”; and Stone, Original Enlightenment. 56 See Groner, Saichō; and Stone, Original Enlightenment. And for a discussion of Tiantai Buddhism, see Donner and Stevenson, The Great Calming and Contemplation, 207–18. 57 Stone, “ ‘Not Mere Written Words,’ ” 162. 58 Kankō ruijū (NST, 9). 59 Stone, “ ‘Not Mere Written Words,’ ” 174. 60 Stone clarifies that this text is likely a reference to the oral transmission Saichō received in China. Stone, “ ‘Not Mere Written Words,’ ” 189 n. 22. 61 Stone, “ ‘Not Mere Written Words,’ ” 168. 62 Stone, Original Enlightenment, 261. 63 Ibid., 241. 64 Eckel, To See the Buddha, 100. 65 Ibid., 101. For a good introduction to the many understandings of dharma/dhamma, see the Pali Text Society’s Pali-English Dictionary’s extensive entry for dhamma. T. W. Rhys Davids and Stede, The Pali Text Society’s Pali-English Dictionary. 66 T. W. Rhys Davids and Stede, The Pali Text Society’s Pali-English Dictionary, entry on dhamma, which lists some of the many occurrences. 67 Jpn. Nasen biku kyō; Ch. Naxian biqiu jing; Skt. Miliṇḍapañha. T. 32, no. 1670a. 68 Mrs. Rhys Davids, The Milinda-Questions, 110. Davids’s exact translation reads as follows: “Just so, great king, whosoever sees what the Truth [dharma] is, he sees what the Blessed One was, for the Truth was preached by the Blessed One.” 69 According to T. W. Rhys Davids and Stede, The Pali Text Society’s Pali-English Dictionary, entry for kāya, pūti-kāya refers to the foul body or physical body of the Buddha, which is finite. 70 Woodward, The Book of Kindred Sayings, vol. 3, 102–3. 71 Ibid., vol. 5, 320–21.

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72 Conze, The Perfection of Wisdom in Eight Thousand Lines, 291. 73 Conze, Buddhist Wisdom, 63. T. 8, no. 239: 775a14–17. 74 Jpn. Dai nehan kyō; Ch. Da banniepan jing; Skt. Mahāparinirvāṇa sūtra, trans. Dharmakṣema. T. 12, no. 374. 75 Blum, The Nirvana Sutra, vol. 1, 146. T. 12, no. 374: 392b24. 76 Eckel, To See the Buddha, 98. Haribhadra’s commentary on the sutra also classifies all scripture as dharma relics. Ibid., 213 n. 7. 77 See also Kabutogi, Hokke shakyō no kenkyū, 212–13. 78 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 163. T. 9, no. 262: 31b26–29. 79 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 176. T. 9, no. 262: 34b12. 80 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 159. T. 9, no. 262: 30c11–13. 81 Kuno and Nakamura, Bukkyō bijutsu jiten, 842. T. 51, no. 2068: 49a22. 82 Boucher, “The Pratityasamutpadagatha,” 2. 83 Jpn. Yokubutsu kudoku kyō; Ch. Yufo gongde jing, trans. Yijing. T. 16, no. 698. 84 Boucher, “Sūtra on the Merit of Bathing the Buddha,” 65. T. 16, no. 698: 800a07–11. 85 See Salomon and Schopen, “The Indravarman (Avaca) Casket Inscription Reconsidered,” 117, which provides a translation from the Tibetan text: “If a devoted son or daughter of good family were to make on an unestablished place (apratiṣṭhite deśe or pradeśe) a stūpa the size of an āmalaka fruit—with a yaṣṭi the size of a needle and an umbrella the size of a bakula flower—and were to put in it the verse of the Dharma-relic of pratītyasamutpāda, he would generate brahmic merit (brāhmapuṇyaṃ prasavet).” 86 Abé, The Weaving of Mantra, 166–67. 87 Ibid., 167. 88 Tambiah, Culture, Thought, and Social Action, 22. 89 Another common ritualistic method of icon vivification calls for the painting of the eyes. 90 Graham, Beyond Written Word, 5. 91 Conze, The Perfection of Wisdom in Eight Thousand Lines, 289. 92 Ibid., 132. 93 Conze, Buddhist Wisdom, 55. T. 8, no. 239:773c27–29. 94 Eckel, To See the Buddha, 97–98. 95 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 270. T. 9, no. 262: 53a29–b3. 96 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 274–75. T. 9, no. 262: 54b21–26. 97 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 159. T. 9, no. 262: 30c11–13. 98 Seki, Heian jidai no maikyō to shakyō, 264. 99 For a Nara-period discussion on the prescriptions surrounding sutra copying, see Lowe, “The Discipline of Writing.” 100 Emmerick, The Sūtra of Golden Light, 2. T. 16, no. 665: 404b19–21. 101 Kabutogi, Hokke shakyō no kenkyū, 31–45. 102 Mochizuki, Bukkyō daijiten, vol. 5, 4140. 103 Kageyama, “Yokogawa ni okeru nyohō shakyō to maikyō,” 3. 104 Mochizuki, Bukkyō daijiten, 4140. 105 Seki, Heian jidai no maikyō to shakyō, 264. 106 Ibid., 264. 107 Tanaka, Shakyō nyūmon, 40–46. 108 Tanaka notes that this initial step is crucial for first-time copyists, but may be omitted for those who routinely practice ritualistic transcription. See ibid., 40.

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109 Stevenson, “Buddhist Practice and the Lotus Sūtra in China,” 140. This quote comes from the Song Version of the Biographies of Eminent Monks (Jpn. Sō kōsō den, Ch. Song gaoseng zhuan), by Zanning. T. 50, no. 2061. 110 Veidlinger, Spreading the Dhamma, 177. 111 Sekine, Mainōkyō no kenkyū, 108–81. For an introduction to the practice of kyōzuka with many images, see Seki, “Kyōzuka to sonno ibutsu.” 112 Moerman, “The Archeology of Anxiety.” 113 Yamakawa, “Kyōzuka no shinkō,” 72. 114 For an interesting but later example of a kyōzuka with relics in the form of precious gems and colored glass as well as a sutra, see Yajima, “Konshi kinjikyō to busshari.” 115 Kidder, “Busshari and Fukuzō,” 224. 116 Rambelli, Buddhist Materiality, 109. 117 Seki, “Kyōzuka to sonno ibutsu,” 19. 118 Schopen, “The Phrase ‘Sa Pŗthivīpradeśaś Caityabhūto Bhavet.’ ” 119 Ibid., 168. 120 Conze, The Perfection of Wisdom in Eight Thousand Lines, 105–6. Chapter 5

1 Harrison, “Is the Dharma-kāya the Real ‘Phantom Body’ of the Buddha?” 2 “The earliest ideas in Mahāyāna sūtras were neither the two-body nor the three-body ones, but rather the notion of one Buddha body.” Lancaster, “The Oldest Mahāyāna Sūtra,” 46. See also Lancaster, “An Early Mahāyāna Sermon.” 3 Harrison, “Is the Dharma-kāya the Real ‘Phantom Body’ of the Buddha?” 4 For example, see Demiéville, “Busshin”; Eckel, To See the Buddha; Xing , The Concept of the Buddha; Habito, “The Notion of Dharmakāya”; Habito, “Buddha-Body Theory and the Lotus Sutra”; Kajiyama, “Stūpas, the Mother of Buddhas, and Dharma-body”; Lancaster, “An Early Mahayana Sermon”; Lai, “The Predocetic ‘Finite Buddhakāya’ in the Lotus Sūtra”; Nagao, “On the Theory of Buddha-body”; Makransky, “Controversy over Dharmakāya in India and Tibet”; Makransky, Buddhahood Embodied; and Sharf, Coming to Terms with Chinese Buddhism, 100–111. This is not to suggest a uniformity of opinion on the Buddha body doctrine among these scholars. 5 Jpn. Zō agon kyō; Ch. Za ahan jing; Skt. Saṃyutta nikāya, trans. Guṇabhadra. T. 2, no. 99. 6 Habito, “Buddha-Body Theory and the Lotus Sutra,” 306. 7 Jpn. Daijō shōchin ron; Ch. Dasheng zhangzhen lun; Skt. Madhyamakahṛdayakārikās, by Bhāvaviveka; trans. Xuanzang. T. 30, no. 1578. 8 Eckel, To See the Buddha, 124–25. 9 For a cursory look at Nāgārjuna’s view of Buddha body, see Nagata, “Ryūju no busshinkan.” 10 Eckel, To See the Buddha, 115. For canonical quotes supporting this distinction, see the previous chapter’s section on dharma relics. 11 Jpn. Ippyakugojū sanbutsuju; Ch. Yibaiwushi zanfosong; Skt. Śatapañcāśatka, trans. Yijing. T. 32, no. 1680. 12 Eckel, To See the Buddha, 115. An alternate translation is available in Bailey, The Śatapañcāśatka of Mātṛceṭa, 179. 13 Jpn. Hōgyō ōshō ron; Ch. Baoxing wangzheng lun; Skt. Ratnāvalī, by Nāgārjuna; trans. Paramārtha. T. 1656, no. 32.

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14 See Eckel, To See the Buddha, 115. T. 32, no. 1656: 498a15–20. For another translation, see Hopkins and Rimpoche with Klein, The Precious Garland and the Song of the Four Mindfulnesses, verses 210–12, pp. 48–49. 15 Nagao, “On the Theory of Buddha-Body,” 30–39. 16 Makransky, “Controversy over Dharmakāya in India and Tibet,” 53. 17 Jpn. Nyū ryōgakyō; Ch. Ru lengjia jing; Skt. Laṅkāvatāra sūtra, trans. Bodhiruci. T. 16, no. 671. 18 Eckel, To See the Buddha, 126. 19 Jpn. Genkan shōgon ron; Ch. Xianguan zhuangyan lun; Skt. Abhisamayālaṃkāra śāstra. 20 Eckel, To See the Buddha, 216 n. 61. 21 Makransky, “Controversy over Dharmakāya in India and Tibet,” 55. 22 Ibid. 23 Ibid. 24 Ibid., 48–51. 25 Ibid., 68–69 n. 35. 26 Eckel, To See the Buddha, 65, whose translation is adapted from his own Jñānagarbha Commentary. 27 Jpn. Hōshōron; Ch. Baoxinglun; Skt. Ratnagotravibhāga, trans. Ratnamati. T. 31, no. 1611. 28 Habito, “The Notion of Dharmakāya,” 357. 29 Eckel, To See the Buddha, 166. Bhāvaviveka is quoting the Tathāgatajñānamudrāsamādhi sūtra in his commentarial work, Tarkajvālā (The Flame of Reason). 30 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 219. T. 9, no. 262: 42b12–16. 31 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 220. T. 9, no. 262: 42b25–28. 32 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 168–69, 211, “Apparition of the Jeweled Stupa” and “Welling Up Out of the Earth,” respectively. T. 9, no. 262: 32c22–27 and 41a04–06. 33 Emmerick, The Sūtra of Golden Light, 5. T. 16, no. 665: 405a13–18. 34 Emmerick, The Sūtra of Golden Light, 7–8. T. 16, no. 665: 406c8–12. 35 Emmerick, The Sūtra of Golden Light, 8. T. 16, no. 665: 406c13–14. 36 Emmerick, The Sūtra of Golden Light, 8. T. 16, no. 665: 406c18–21. The Chinese translation by Yijing contains a chapter on the trikāya doctrine not included in the Sanskrit versions and Emmerick’s translation, called “Distinguishing the Three Bodies” (Jpn. Funbetsu sanjinbon, Ch. Fenbie sanshenpin). 37 Strong, Relics of the Buddha, 32. 38 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 168. T. 9, no. 262: 32c15–16. 39 Roth, “Symbolism of the Buddhist Stūpa,” 183–209. 40 Ibid., 187. 41 Ibid. 42 Harvey, “The Symbolism of the Early Stūpa,” 71. 43 According to Rhys Davids and Stede, The Pali Text Society’s Pali-English Dictionary, the seven constituents of enlightenment (bojjhaṅgā) are: “sati, dhamma vicaya, viriya, pīti, passaddhi, samādhi, and upekhā or mindfulness, investigation of the Law, energy, rapture, repose, concentration and equanimity.” 44 Harvey, “The Symbolism of the Early Stūpa,” 84. 45 Schopen, “Burial Ad Sanctos.” 46 Ibid., 209. 47 Ibid., 204.

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48 49 50 51

Ibid., 204–6. Ibid., 206–7. Ibid., 208. For a study on the “aniconic” argument of early Buddhist imagery, see Huntington, “Early Buddhist Art and the Theory of Aniconism”; and Huntington, “Aniconism and the Multivalence of Emblems: Another Look.” 52 T. W. and C. A. F. Rhys Davids, Dialogues of the Buddha, pt. 2, 156. 53 Bendall and Rouse, Śikshā-samuccaya, 270–82. Jpn. Daijō shū bosatsu gaku ron; Ch. Dasheng ji pusa xue lun; Skt. Śikṣāsamuccaya, trans. Dharmarakṣa, Richeng, et al. T. 32, no. 1636. 54 Bendall and Rouse, Śikshā-samuccaya, 271. 55 Ibid., 272. 56 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 163. T. 9, no. 262: 31b29–31c03. 57 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 234. T. 9, no. 262: 45c29–46a02. 58 Ruppert, Jewel in the Ashes, 68. 59 The pagoda measures 60 cm x 27 cm. 60 Jpn. Issai nyorai shin himitsu zenshin shari hōkyōin darani kyō; Ch. Yiqie Rulai xin mimi quanshen sheli baoqie yin tuoluoni jing; Skt. Sarvatathāgatādhiṣṭhā hṛdaya guhya dhātu karaṇḍa mudrā nāma dhāraṇī, trans. Amoghavajra. T. 19, no. 1022a. 61 Ishida Mosaku, Nihon buttō, zuhan, vol. 2, 239. For a range of Japanese objects incorporating Siddhaṃ-style letters, see Shiga Kenritsu Biwako Bunkakan, Shinpi no moji. 62 See in particular, T. 24, no. 1484: 997c7–16 and 1003c29–1004a22. 63 T. 79, no. 2514. 64 Rambelli, A Buddhist Theory of Semiotics, 56. For more on correlative thinking in Esoteric Buddhism, see ibid., 53–59. 65 This image comes from T. 79, no. 2514: 12c17–29. 66 Rambelli, A Buddhist Theory of Semiotics, 56. 67 T. 77, no. 2448. 68 Rambelli, A Buddhist Theory of Semiotics, 58. 69 Ibid., 58. 70 Schopen, “Burial Ad Sanctos,” 198. 71 Ibid., 201. 72 Ibid., 199. The dhāraṇī comes from the text Raśmivimalaviśuddhaprabhādhāraṇī, in its Tibetan translation. 73 For more on this, see Nishiguchi, “Where the Bones Go.” 74 Ibid., 422–28 in particular. 75 Stone, Original Enlightenment, 103. Relatedly, see Okada, “Nagarunja to buttō sūhai.” 76 Abé, The Weaving of Mantra, 221. 77 Stone, Original Enlightenment, 131. 78 Haga, Sōgi no rekishi. 79 Kamens, The Three Jewels, 269. Sanbōe (SNKBT, 31:155). 80 Jpn. Bussetsu zōtō kudokukyō; Ch. Foshuo zaota gongde jing; trans. Divākara. T. 16, no. 699. 81 Boucher, “The Pratityasamutpadagatha,” 9. T. 16, no. 699: 801a23–28. 82 Boucher, “The Pratityasamutpadagatha,” 9. T. 16, no. 699: 801b1–5. 83 Jpn. Zōtō enmyō kudoku kyō; Ch. Zaota yanming gongde jing; trans. Prajñā. T. 19, no. 1026. Sanbōe (SNKBT, 31:161–64). Kamens, The Three Jewels, 279–81. 84 Kamens, The Three Jewels, 279. Sanbōe (SNKBT, 31:162). T. 19, no. 1026: 726a29–b01.

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85 Kamens, The Three Jewels, 279. Sanbōe (SNKBT, 31:162). T. 19, no. 1026: 726b06–08. 86 Kamens, The Three Jewels, 280: “When you build your stūpas of sand pebbles, make them as tall as your hand, and in the next world you will become an Iron Wheel-King and rule one world. Make them two hands tall, and you will become a Copper Wheel-King, and you will rule two worlds. Make them three hands high, and you will becomes a Silver-Wheel King, and you will rule three worlds. Make them four hands tall, and you will become a Gold WheelKing, and you will rule four worlds.” Sanbōe (SNKBT, 31:163). T. 19, no. 1026: 726b12–16. 87 Kamens, The Three Jewels, 280. Sanbōe (SNKBT, 31:163–64). T. 19, no. 1026: 727c05–12. 88 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 36. T. 9, no. 262: 8c24–25. 89 Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 163. T. 9, no. 262: 31b26–28. 90 Kamens, The Three Jewels, 280 n. 2. 91 Ibid., 280 n. 3. 92 Kamens, The Three Jewels, 279. Sanbōe (SNKBT, 31:162). 93 Kamens, The Three Jewels, 279. Sanbōe (SNKBT, 31:162). 94 Hyakurenshō, Hōan 3/4/23 (SZKT, 11:52). 95 Gyokuyō, Jōan 4/4/24. Gyokuyō, vol. 1, 367. 96 Sankaiki, Jishō 2/10/10 (ZST, 27:146). 97 Chūyūki, Daiji 2/3/12 (ZST, 13:293). 98 Tsuji, Nihon no Bukkyō shi, 646. 99 Ruppert, Jewel in the Ashes, 237. 100 Azuma kagami, Kennin 3/8/29 (SZKT, 32:603). 101 Azuma kagami, Ninji 2/7/4 (SZKT, 33:282). 102 Ruppert, Jewel in the Ashes, 239. Conclusion

1 Legge, A Record of Buddhistic Kingdoms, 44–45. T. 51, no. 2085: 859b18–19. 2 Beal, Si-yu-ki, vol. 2, 146–47. T. 51, no. 2087: 920a21–26. 3 Boucher, “The Pratityasamutpadagatha,” 9. T. 16, no. 699: 801a28–b02. 4 Boucher, “The Pratityasamutpadagatha,” 9–10. T. 16, no. 699: 801b12–14. 5 Shen, “Realizing the Buddha’s Dharma Body during the Mofa Period.” 6 Ibid., 271. This echoes a passage from the “Apparition of the Jeweled Stupa” chapter in the Lotus Sutra. T. 9, no. 262: 31b26–29. 7 Shen, “Realizing the Buddha’s Dharma Body during the Mofa Period,” 272. T. 19, no 1022a: 711b27–29. 8 Wang, “Tope and Topos,” 491. 9 Fontein, “Śarīra Reliquary from Pagoda of Powŏn-sa Temple Site.” For more on Korean reliquaries, see National Museum of Korea, Pulsari changom. For more information on Korean relic deposits within pagodas and sculptural icons, see Umehara, “Kankoku keishū kōfukuji tō hakken shari yōki.” 10 Kawakatsu, Tahōtō to Hokekyō shisō, 52–55. For a brief examination into the origins of faith in Tahō, see Ocho, “Tahōtō shisō no kigen.” 11 Ch’ŏn, “Dhāraṇī-Sutra of the Early Koryŏ.” 12 The sutra provides six possible dhāraṇī, but only the following have been discovered: the Konpon darani, the Sōrin darani, the Jishin’in darani, and the Rokudo darani. 13 Jpn. Mukujōkō daidarani kyō; Ch. Wugoujingguang datuoluoni jing; Skt. Raśmivimalaviśuddhaprabhādhāraṇī. Translated by Mitraśānta 彌陀山 et al. T. 19, no. 1024.

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14 For a discussion of the hyakumantō, see Hickman, “A Note on the Hyakumantō Dhāranī”; and Yiengpruksawan, “One Millionth of a Buddha.” 15 Fowler, Murōji, 27. 16 Ibid., 29–33, and 112–14 for further examination of the momitō. 17 Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 2. 18 Ishida Mosaku, “Gangōji gokurakubō hakken no kokerakyō,” 230. 19 Ōta, “Kokerakyō ni tsuite,” 32. 20 Ibid., 32. 21 Ishida Mosaku, “Gangōji gokurakubō hakken no kokerakyō,” 230. In size, kokerakyō are roughly 25–30 cm long, 1–1.5 cm wide, and 1.5 cm thick. 22 Ibid., 232. 23 Ibid., 231–32. 24 Ibid., 234. 25 Ibid., 236. This is only one example of a very popular transcription method. Other instances can be seen at Risshakuji in Yamagata Prefecture, Chūsonji in Iwate Prefecture, and Kamakura’s Kakuonji. 26 Hyakurenshō, Yōwa 1/10/11 (SZKT, 11:107). Tanaka, Nihon shakyō sōkan, 28. 27 Tanaka, Nihon shakyō sōkan, 28. 28 Ōta, “Kokerakyō ni tsuite,” 31. 29 Eishōki, Kashō 2/4/11 (ZST, 8:84). Ishida Mosaku, “Gangōji gokurakubō hakken no kokerakyō,” 230. 30 Although, as Kabutogi Shōkō has pointed out, this number, though widely proclaimed, has no direct correspondence to any extant translation. See Kabutogi, Hokke hangyō no kenkyū, 322–25. 31 Sō Sainen konshi kinji kuyō nichiroku, 17 and 32–33. Ishida Mosaku, “Gangōji gokurakubō hakken no kokerakyō,” 230. 32 Sanbutsujō shō, Bunji 3/8/21 and Kenkyū 4/5/22 (KBS, 3:87–88). Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 2. 33 The original manuscript is in the collection of the Tokyo University Historiographical Institute. For a transcription of this short memoir, see Tazawa Yutaka, “Namu Amida Butsu sazenshū (Shiryō Hensanjō) Chōgen,” Bijutsu kenkyū 30 (1934): 39–51. The particular entry mentioned here can be found in ibid., 50. 34 Komatsu, Heike nōkyō no kenkyū, vol. 1, 47. 35 Ishida Mosaku, “Gangōji gokurakubō hakken no kokerakyō,” 229. 36 Ibid. 37 Miya, Kinji hōtō mandara, 7. 38 See for instance, Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, 232–36. T 9, no. 262: 45b11–46b13. 39 For more on the issues of presence and embodiment in icons, relics, and pagodas, see Brinker, Secrets of the Sacred; Faure, The Rhetoric of Immediacy; Kinnard, “The Field of the Buddha’s Presence”; Kinnard, Imaging Wisdom, 25–44; Kurata, “Zōnai Nōnyūhin”; Sharf, “The Idolization of Enlightenment”; Sharf, “Introduction”; and Sharf, “On the Allure of Buddhist Relics.” 40 For instance, W. J. T. Mitchell characterizes the relationship of word and image as two countries that share a long history of relations but speak different languages. See Mitchell, “Word and Image,” 53. Gombrich declares that “statements cannot be translated into images” and that “pictures cannot assert.” See Gombrich, The Image and the Eye, 138 and 175.

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41 Foucault, The Order of Things, 9. 42 Foucault, This Is Not a Pipe, 20–21. Also relevant here is Peter Wagner’s use of iconotext, in which words and pictures intermingle within a specified framework. See Wagner, Reading Iconotexts. 43 Foucault, This Is Not a Pipe, 22. 44 Harrison, “Is the Dharma-kāya the Real ‘Phantom Body’ of the Buddha?” 56. 45 For studies on the conceptual fluidity of these concepts, see Grosnick, “The Tathāgatagarbha Sūtra”; Habito, “The Notion of Dharmakāya”; Harrison, “Is the Dharma-kāya the Real ‘Phantom Body’ of the Buddha?”; Kajiyama, “Stūpas, the Mother of Buddhas, and DharmaBody”; Makransky, Buddhahood Embodied; Makransky, “Controversy over Dharmakāya in India and Tibet”; Nagao, “On the Theory of Buddha-Body”; Suguro, “Hokekyō no budda-ron”; and Takasaki, “Dharmatā, Dharmadhātu, Dharmakāya and Buddhadhātu.” 46 Nagao, “On the Theory of Buddha-Body,” 27.

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Bibliogr a ph y All citations to Buddhist sutras are arranged under their Japanese titles.

Premodern Sources, Including Compendia and Full-Text Databases Azuma kagami 吾妻鏡. 2 vols. SZKT, 32–33. Bunji no chūmon 文治の注文. SZKT, 32. Bussetsu zōtō kudoku kyō 佛説造塔功德経. Ch. Foshuo zaota gongde jing. Translated by Divākara 地婆訶羅. T. 16, no. 699. Chōshūki 長秋記. By Minamoto no Morotoki 源師時. 2 vols. ZST, 16–17. Chūyūki 中右記. By Fujiwara no Munetada 藤原宗忠. 7 vols. ZST, 9–15. Dai hannya haramitta kyō 大般若波羅蜜多経. Ch. Da bore boluomiduo jing. Skt. Mahaprajñā­ pāramitā sūtra. Translated by Xuanzang 玄奘. T. 5–7, no. 220. Daihatsu nehan kyō 大般涅槃経. Ch. Daban niepan jing. Skt. Mahāparinirvāṇa sūtra. Translated by Dharmakṣema 法護. T. 12, no. 374. Daihōkō Butsu kegon kyō 大方広仏華厳経. Ch. Dafangguang Fo huayan jing. Skt. Buddhāvataṃsaka mahāvaipulya sūtra. Translated by Buddhabhadra 佛駄跋陀羅. T. 9, no. 278. Daijō shōchin ron 大乘掌珍論. Ch. Dasheng zhangzhen lun. Skt. Madhyamakahṛdayakārikās. By Bhāvaviveka 淸辯; translated by Xuanzang 玄奘. T. 30, no. 1578. Daijō shū bosatsu gaku ron 大乗集菩薩学論. Ch. Dasheng ji pusa xue lun. Skt. Śikṣāsamuccaya. Translated by Dharmarakṣa 法護, Richeng 日稱 et al. T. 32, no. 1636. Dainichi kyō 大日経. Ch. Dari jing. Skt. Mahāvairocana sūtra. Translated by Śubhakarasiṃha 善無 畏 with Yixing 一行. T. 18, no. 848. Dai Nihon Bukkyō zensho 大日本佛教全書 (DNBZ). Edited by Bussho Kankōkai 仏書刊行会. 151 vols. Tokyo: Bussho Kankōkai, 1912–22. Dai Nihon kokiroku 大日本古記錄 (DNK). Edited by Tōkyō Daigaku Shiryō Hensanjo 東京大学史 料編纂所. Multiple vols. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1952–. Da Tang xiyuji 大唐西域記. J. Dai Tō saiiki ki. By Xuanzang 玄奘. T. 51, no. 2087. Dōgyō hannya kyō 道行般若経. Ch. Daoxing bore jing. Skt. Aṣṭasāhasrikā prajñāpāramitā sūtra. Translated by Lokakṣema 支婁迦讖. T. 8, no. 224. Eiga monogatari 栄花物語. Attr. Akazome Emon 赤染衛門. SZKT, 20. Eishōki 永昌記. By Fujiwara no Tametaka 藤原為隆. ZST, 8.

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Fahua zhuanji 法華傳記. J. Hokke denki. By Sengxiang 詳撰. T. 51, no. 2068. Foguoji 佛國記. J. Bukkokuki. By Faxian 法賢. T. 51, no. 2085. Gorin kujimyō himitsushaku 五輪九字明秘密釈. By Kakuban 覚鑁. T. 79, no. 2514. Gunsho ruijū 群書類従 (GR). Edited by Hanawa Hokinoichi 塙保己一. 29 vols. Tokyo: Gunsho Ruijū Kanseikai, 1959–60. Guoli gugong bowuyuan 國立故宮博物院, ed. Midian zhulin shiqu baoji xubian 秘殿珠林石渠寶 笈續編. 8 vols. Taipei: Guoli gugong bowuyuan, 1971. Gyokuyō 玉葉. By Kujō Kanezane 九条兼実. 3 vols. Tokyo: Kokusho Kankōkai, 1906–7. Hannya haramita shingyō 般若波羅蜜多心経. Ch. Bore boluomiduo xinjing. Skt. Prajñāpāramitā hṛdaya sūtra. Translated by Xuanzang 玄奘. T. 8, no. 251. Hannya rishukyō 般若理趣経. Ch. Bore liqu jing. Skt. Prajñāpāramitā naya sūtra. Translated by Amoghavajra 不空. T. 8, no. 243. Hōgen monogatari 保元物語. NKBT 31. Hōgyō ōshō ron 宝行王正論. Ch. Baoxing wangzheng lun. Skt. Ratnāvalī. By Nāgārjuna 龍樹; translated by Paramārtha 真諦. T. 1656, no. 32. Hokke genki 法華験記. NST, 7. Honchō bunshū 本朝文集. Edited by Tokugawa Mitsukuni 徳川光園. SZKT, 30. Honchō seiki 本朝世紀. Edited by Fujiwara no Michinori 藤原通憲. SZKT, 9. Hōryūji zō son’ei-bon taishi den gyokurin shō 法隆寺藏尊英本太子傳玉林抄. By Kunkai 訓海. 3 vols. Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 1978. Hōshōron 宝性論. Ch. Baoxinglun. Skt. Ratnagotravibhāga. Translated by Ratnamati 勒那摩提. T. 31, no. 1611. Hosshinshū 発心集. By Kamo no Chōmei 鴨長明. In Hōjōki, Hosshinshū 方丈記, 発心集, edited by Miki Sumito 三木紀人. Tokyo: Shinchōsha, 1976. Hyakurenshō 百錬抄. SZKT, 11. Hyakuza hōdan kikigakishō 百座法談聞書抄. Edited by Satō Akio 佐藤亮雄. Tokyo: Nan’undō Ofūsha, 1963. Ippyakugojū sanbutsuju 一百五十讚佛頌. Ch. Yibaiwushi zanfosong. Skt. Śatapañcāśatka. Translated by Yijing 義淨. T. 32, no. 1680. Issai nyorai shin himitsu zenshin shari hōkyōin darani kyō 一切如來心祕密全身舍利寶篋印陀羅 尼経. Ch. Yiqie Rulai xin mimi quanshen sheli baoqie yin tuoluoni jing. Skt. Sarvatathāgatādhiṣṭhā hṛdaya guhya dhātu karaṇḍa mudrā nāma dhāraṇī. Translated by Amoghavajra 不空. T. 19, no. 1022a. Kako genzai inga kyō 過去現在因果経. Ch. Guoqu xianzai yinguo jing. Translated by Guṇabhadra 求那跋陀羅. T. 3, no. 189. Kan Butsu sanmai kai kyō 觀佛三昧海経. Ch. Guanfo sanmei haijing. Skt. Buddha dhyāna samādhi sāgara sūtra. Translated by Buddhabhadra 佛駄跋陀羅. T. 15, no. 643. Kan Fugen bosatsu gyōhō kyō 觀普賢菩薩行法経. Ch. Guan puxian pusa xingfa jing. Translated by Dharmamitra 曇摩蜜多. T. 9, no. 277. Kankō ruijū 漢光類聚. NST, 9. Kōkan bijutsu shiryō 校刊美術史料 (KBS). Edited by Fujita Tsuneyo 藤田経世. 3 vols. Tokyo: Chūō Kōron Bijutsu Shuppan, 1972–76. Kongō hannya haramitsu kyō 金剛般若波羅蜜経. Ch. Jingang bore boluomi jing. Skt. Vajracchedikā prajñāpāramitā sūtra. Translated by Yijing 義淨. T. 8, no. 239. Konjaku monogatarishū 今昔物語集. 5 vols. SNKBT, 33–37.

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Konkōmyō saishōō kyō 金光明最勝王経. Ch. Jinguangming zuisheng wang jing. Skt. Suvarṇaprabhāsottama rāja sūtra. Translated by Yijing 義淨. T. 16, no. 665. Mukujōkō daidarani kyō 無垢淨光大陀羅尼経. Ch. Wugoujingguang datuoluoni jing. Skt. Raśmivimalaviśuddhaprabhādhāraṇī. Translated by Mitraśānta 彌陀山 et al. T. 19, no. 1024. Munakata gunki 宗像軍記. ZGR, 23. Muryōgi kyō 無量義経. Ch. Wuliangyi jing. Skt. Amitartha sūtra. Translated by Dharma-jātayaśas 曇摩伽陀耶舍. T. 9, no. 276. Myōhō renge kyō 妙法蓮華経. Ch. Miaofa lianhua jing. Skt. Saddharmapuṇḍarīka sūtra. Translated by Kumārajīva 鳩摩羅什. T. 9, no. 262. Nasen biku kyō 那先比丘経. Ch. Naxian biqiu jing. Skt. Miliṇḍapañha. T. 32, no. 1670a. Nihon koten bungaku taikei 日本古典文學大系 (NKBT). 100 vols. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1958–68. Nihon ryōiki 日本霊異記. By Keikai 景戒. SNKBT, 30. Nihon shisō taikei 日本思想大系 (NST). 67 vols. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1970–82. Nittō guhō junrei kōki 入唐求法巡礼行記. By Ennin 円仁. DNBZ, 113. Nyū ryōgakyō 入楞伽経. Ch. Ru lengjia jing. Skt. Laṅkāvatāra sūtra. Translated by Bodhiruci 菩 提流支. T. 16, no. 671. Sanbōe 三寶絵. By Minamoto no Tamenori 源為憲. SNKBT, 31. Sanbutsujō shō 讃仏乗抄. KBS, 3. Sankaiki 山槐記. By [Fujiwara] Nakayama Tadachika 中山忠親. 3 vols. ZST, 26–28. Senjūshō. In Senjūshō zenchūshaku 撰集抄全注釈. 2 vols. Tokyo: Kasama Shoin, 2003. Shin Nihon koten bungaku taikei 新日本古典文学大系 (SNKBT). 100 vols., plus indexes. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1989–2005. Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū 新編日本古典文学全集 (SNKBZ). 88 vols. Tokyo: Shōgakkan, 1994–2002. Shintei zōho kokushi taikei 新訂増補國史大系 (SZKT). Edited by Kuroita Katsumi 黑板勝美. 60 vols. Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 1929–64. Shohō funbetsushō 諸法分別抄. By Raihō 頼宝. T. 77, no. 2448. Shōyūki 小右記. By Fujiwara no Sanesuke 藤原実資. 3 vols. ZST, 46–48. Song gaoseng zhuan 宋高僧傳. Compiled by Zanning 贊寧. T. 50, no. 2061. Sō Sainen konshi kinji kuyō nichiroku 僧西念紺紙金字供養日録. By Sainen 西念. In Insei jidai no kuyō mokuroku 院政時代の供養目録, edited by Miyake Yonekichi 三宅米吉 and Tsuda Noritake 津田敬武. Tokyo: Tōkyō Teishitsu Hakubutsukan, 1924. Taiki 台記. By Fujiwara no Yorinaga 藤原頼長. 3 vols. ZST, 23–25. Taishō shinshū Daizōkyō 大正新脩大蔵経 (T.). Edited by Takakusu Junjirō 高楠順次郎 and Watanabe Kaigyoku 渡邊海旭. 85 vols. Tokyo: Taishō Issaikyō Kankōkai, 1924–32. Taishō shinshū Daizōkyō zuzō 大正新修大藏經圖像. Edited by Takakusu Junjirō 高楠順次郎 and Ono Genmyō 小野玄妙. 12 vols. Tokyo: Daizō Shuppan, 1932–34. Tōbōki 東宝記. KBS, 2. Tōnomine ryakki 多武峰略記. GR, 24. Tōnomine shōshō monogatari 多武峯少将物語. GR, 27. Washū Tōnominedera Zōga shōnin gyōgōki 和州多武峰寺増賀上人行業記. ZGR, 8. Xuanhe shupu 宣和書譜. In Zhongguo shuxue congshu 中國書學叢書. Shanghai: Shanghai Shuhua Chubanshe, 1984.

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Yakushi rurikō nyorai hongan kōtoku kyō 藥師琉璃光如來本願功德経. Ch. Yaoshi liuli­ guang rulai benyuan gongde jing. Skt. Bhagavato bhaiṣajyaguruvaiḍūryaprabhasya pūrva­ praṇidhānaviśeṣavistāra. Translated by Xuanzang 玄奘. T. 14, no. 450. Yokubutsu kudoku kyō 浴佛功德経. Ch. Yufo gongde jing. Translated by Yijing 義淨. T. 16, no. 698. Zō agon kyō 雜阿含経. Ch. Za ahan jing. Skt. Saṃyutta nikāya. Translated by Guṇabhadra 求那 跋陀羅. T. 2, no. 99. Zōho shiryō taisei 増補史料大成 (ZST). Edited by Zōho Shiryō Taisei Kankōkai 増補史料大成刋 行会. 48 vols. Kyoto: Rinsen Shoten, 1965. Zoku gunsho ruijū 続群書類従 (ZGR). Edited by Zoku Gunsho Ruijū Kanseikai 續群書類從完成 會. 37 vols. Tokyo: Zoku Gunsho Ruijū Kanseikai, 1957–59. Zoku honchō ōjōden 続本朝往生伝. Compiled by Ōe no Masafusa 大江匡房. NST, 7. Zōtō enmyō kudoku kyō 造塔延命功徳経. Ch. Zaota yanming gongde jing. Translated by Prajñā 般 若. T. 19, no. 1026. Secondary Sources Abé, Ryūichi. The Weaving of Mantra: Kūkai and the Construction of Esoteric Buddhist Discourse. New York: Columbia University Press, 1999. Akiyama, Terukazu. “Women Painters at the Heian Court.” Translated by Maribeth Graybill. In Flowering in the Shadows: Women in the History of Chinese and Japanese Painting, edited by Marsha Weidner, 159–84. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1990. Akiyama Terukazu 秋山光和, Yanagisawa Taka 柳澤孝, and Suzuki Keizō 鈴木敬三. Senmen Hokekyō no kenkyū 扇面法華経の硏究. Tokyo: Kajima Shuppankai, 1972. Amimoto Yuko 網本裕子. “Kansai Daigaku Hakubutsukan shozō no rekisekikyō” 関西大学博物 館所蔵の礫石經. Kansai Daigaku Hakubutsukan kiyō 関西大学博物館紀要 9 (2003): 215–37. Andō Fumihito 安藤 章仁. “Shin hakken no shinbutsu shosha shōgyō ni tsuite” 新発見の真佛 書写聖教について. Indogaku bukkyōgaku kenkyū 印度學佛教學研究 58, no. 2 (2010): 1097–92 (reverse pagination). Ariga Yoshitaka 有賀祥隆. “Hokekyō-e” 法華経絵. In Nihon no bijutsu 日本の美術 269 (1988). ———. “Konkōmyō saishōō kyō zu saikō” 金光明最勝王経金字宝塔曼荼羅図再考. Chūsonji Bukkyō bunka kenkyūjo ronshū 中尊寺仏教文化研究所論集 1 (1997): 92–99. Austin, J. L. How to Do Things with Words. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976. Bailey, D. R. Shackleton, ed. The Śatapañcāśatka of Mātṛceṭa. Cambridge: Syndics of the Cambridge University Press, 1951. Bakhtin, Mikhail. The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays. Translated by Caryl Emerson and Michael Holquist. Austin and London: University of Texas Press, 1981. Bal, Mieke. Reading “Rembrandt”: Beyond the Word-Image Opposition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991. Barthes, Roland. S/Z. Translated by Richard Miller. Oxford: Blackwell, 1990. Baxter, James C., and Joshua A. Fogel, eds. Writing Histories in Japan: Texts and Their Transformations from Ancient Times through the Meiji Era. Kyoto: International Research Center for Japanese Studies, 2007. Beal, Samuel, trans. Si-yu-ki—Buddhist Records of the Western World: Translated from the Chinese of Hiuen Tsiang (A. D. 629). 2 vols. London: Trübner & Co., 1884. Belsey, Catherine. Critical Practice. London: Routledge, 2002 (Reprint of the 1980 edition).

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IN de x Page numbers for figures are in italics.

Abé, Ryūichi, 30, 46, 178, 179, 184 ajikan (A-syllable contemplation), 49–50 Akiyama Terukazu, 148 alegibility, 30–31, 40, 44, 45, 46, 235–36 Amaterasu, 82 Amida (Ch. Amituo; Skt. Amitābha): images of, 67, 150–51; nenbutsu chant, 155 Amida Sutra, 130, 150 Amida triads (Amida sanzon), 73 Amitābha. See Amida Apollinaire, Guillaume, calligrams, 1–3, 2 architextual icons, 43, 228 Ariga Yoshitaka, 63, 74 Asan.ga, 181 ashide (“reed-hand script”), 150–52 Aśoka, 128–29, 215 Austin, J. L., 42 Avalokiteśvara. See Kannon Azuma kagami, 217 Barthes, Roland, 51 Bhārhut stupa, 203–5, 205 Bhāvaviveka, Verses on the Essence of the Middle Way, 196 Bifukumon’in, Empress, 33–34, 256n74 Bishamonten (Ch. Pishamentian; Skt. Vaiśravan.a), 67, 75, 175 blood copying, 160–61, 162

blue-and-gold illuminated sutras, 10, 55–57, 56, 63, 87, 88, 89, 116, 120, 137. See also sutra transcription bodies: bowing while copying sutras, 159–60, 166, 188–89; burial practices, 211–12, 231; movement while chanting sutras, 48–49; performative viewing of jeweled pagoda mandalas, 12, 21–22, 35, 41–44, 218, 228–30, 236, 248n35; sacred power of sutras and, 176; salvific matrix of text and, 13, 193–94, 218–19, 230–35, 236. See also Buddha bodies Boucher, Daniel, 183–84, 220 Brahma Net Sutra, 50, 206 Brief History of Mount Tōnomine (Tōnomine ryakki), 82 Buddha bodies: association with jeweled pagoda mandalas, 11, 193, 201, 228–35; association with stupas, 201–3, 220–21; in Golden Light Sutra, 199–200; in Lotus Sutra, 199; multidimensionality, 233–34, 236; in sutras, 199–200; trikāya (threebody system), 195, 196–98. See also dharmakāya Buddha body theory, 193, 194–98, 233 Buddhism, text in, 168–69, 177–81. See also specific schools burials: imperial, 212, 231; Ōshū Fujiwara family tombs, 72–73, 251n53; of relics, 212; stupas and, 211, 231; of sutras, 189–90

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Caitya vinayodbhāva sūtra, 201 calligrams, 1–3, 2, 229 calligraphic mandalas, 153–55, 180 calligraphy. See text; writing Calligraphy Catalogue of the Xuanhe Period (Xuanhe shupu), 129–30 Carr, Kevin, 45 Carruthers, Mary, 47–48 ceramic tiles. See kawarakyō Chidō, 49 China: dharma relic pagodas, 220–21; Leifeng Pagoda, 221; miraculous tales, 177; sutra transcription in pagoda form, 29, 122–23, 128–31; sutra transcription rituals, 189. See also Dunhuang Chingen, Miraculous Tales of the Lotus Sutra from Ancient Japan (Dainihonkoku Hokekyōkenki), 175 Chishakuji, deitōkyō (small clay pagodas), 215, 216 Chōgen, Benevolent Deeds (Namu Amida Butsu sazenshū), 226 Chūsonji: Benzaitendō, 54; clergy, 41; Fujiwara no Hidehira, 55–57, 58, 62, 67–68, 120, 250n15, 250n21, 251n53, 256n74; Fujiwara no Kiyohira, 55, 57, 58, 256n74; Fujiwara no Motohira, 55, 57–58, 250n15; Great Perfection of Wisdom Sutra frontispiece from the Hidehirakyō, 56, 67–68, 68, 69; Hidehirakyō, 55, 56, 57, 58; Kiyohirakyō, 55, 56, 57, 87, 256n74; Konjikidō, 72–73, 72, 251n53; sutra repository, 59 Chūsonji jeweled pagoda mandalas: arrangement, 40; box inscriptions, 16; cartouches, 66; colors, 42, 63; commission, 55, 57–59, 62, 71, 120; compositions, 65; copyists, 34– 35; dating, 55, 57–58, 62; fascicle 1, 6, 10, 22, 73, 74; fascicle 2, 60, 61; fascicle 3, 68–71, 70, 71, 73, 75, 251n46; fascicle 4, 76, 77; fascicle 7, 67; fascicle 10, 64, 65–66, 65; historical context, 54, 62; messages, 74–77; National Treasures designation, 54; pagoda architecture, 22; previous scholarship on, 10; production, 32, 54; shrine storage, 54; title, 54; transcriptions, 30; vignettes, 10,

58, 59–61, 62, 65–67, 68–72, 73–75; violence depicted, 68, 71; women in vignettes, 74, 77 Chūsonjikyō, 55 Chūsonji rakkei kuyō ganmon, 55, 57 Collection of Japanese and Chinese Verses for Recitation (Wakan rōeishū), 151–52, 152 Collection of Selected Tales, A (Senjūshō), 82–83 Collection of Tales of the Lotus [Sutra] (Ch. Fahua zhuanji), 183 Contemplation of Samantabhadra Bodhi­ sattva Sutra, 33, 85, 130, 150 Continuation of the Biographies of Japanese Reborn into the Pure Land (Zoku honchō ōjōden), 83 Conze, Edward, 173 cult of the book, 191–92, 201, 227 daimoku (invocation of Lotus Sutra title), 153 Dainichi (Ch. Dari; Skt. Mahāvairocana), 49, 179, 206, 209, 212 deitōkyō (small clay pagodas), 215, 216, 217, 223, 226 Dhāran.ī of the Pure Immaculate Light, 222 Dhāran.ī of the Seal on the Casket, 221 dhāran.īs, 130, 183, 184, 206, 211, 222, 231 dharma: meaning, 181, 234; nonduality of the Buddha and, 181–84, 190–91 dharmakāya (dharma body; Jpn. hōshin, Ch. fashen): early meanings, 195–96, 197–98; in jeweled pagoda mandalas, 210, 228–29, 233, 235; language and, 178–79; pagodas and, 194, 201–3, 205–6, 209–10, 217, 220–21, 233, 234; related concepts, 234; reliquary as, 194; stupas and, 201–3, 220–21; sutra text as manifestation, 165, 181, 185, 233, 234; in three-body system, 197–98 dharma relics (Jpn. hōshari; Ch. fa sheli; Skt. dharma śarīra): burials of sutras, 189–90; jeweled pagoda mandalas and, 16, 191, 192, 210, 231, 232; origins, 182–84; rituals, 184–87; sutra transcription and, 45, 187–89, 190–92, 219–22, 232, 233 dharma relic stupas and pagodas (Jpn. hōsharitō, Ch. fasheli ta), 219–21

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Diamond Sutra: Buddha bodies, 195; nonduality of the Buddha and dharma, 182; sacred power of, 172–73, 174, 175–76; transcriptions in pagoda form, 130; worship of, 186 Diamond-World Mandala, Taishō shinshū Daizōkyō zuzō, 206, 208, 209 Digest of the Light of Han (Kankō ruijū), 180 Dignāga, 181 Dunhuang: Heart Sutra transcriptions in shape of pagoda, 122–23, 124–25, 126, 127, 128–29; transformation tableaux, 252n80

Fujiwara no Michinaga, 33, 190 Fujiwara no Michinori, Honchō seiki, 158 Fujiwara no Motofusa, 215 Fujiwara no Motohira, 55, 57–58, 250n15 Fujiwara no Munetada, Chūyūki, 158, 162, 215 Fujiwara no Sadanobu, 143, 158 Fujiwara no Sanesuke, Shōyūki, 164 Fujiwara no Shunzei, 150 Fujiwara no Takamitsu, 82 Fujiwara no Tametaka, Eishōki, 225–26 Fujiwara no Yasuko/Taishi (Kaya no In), 146 Fujiwara no Yorinaga, 158; Taiki, 162

Eckel, Malcolm David, 186, 196 embodiment. See bodies Emishi, 54, 68. See also Ōshū Fujiwara family empowered inscriptions, 152–55 Enma (Ch. Yanluowang; Skt. Yama Rājā), 50 Ennin, 48, 187–88 Enryakuji, 81, 82–83, 214; Lotus Sutra frontispiece (tenth century), 137, 138, 214; Lotus Sutra frontispiece (eleventh century), 137, 138 esoteric Buddhism, 78, 184, 209 Eubanks, Charlotte, 48, 176 Eyeless Sutra (Menashikyō) rendition of the Scripture That Transcends the Principle (Dai Tōkyū Memorial Library), 148–49, 149

Gandelman, Claude, 42–43 Gangōji, kokerakyō, 224–25, 225 Genchō, 55 Genshin, 180 Golden Light Sutra: association with imperial rule, 59; Buddha bodies, 199–200; Chinese transcriptions, 130; devotion to, 54, 59, 62; Four Guardian Kings, 61–62; as king of sutras, 171, 172; linked to Lotus Sutra, 57–58; “Measure of Life of the Tathāgata,” 199–200; message, 58, 59, 62, 68–71, 73; ritual readings, 58–59; sacred power of, 169–70, 171–72; supremacy, 171–72; transcriptions, 3, 148; transcriptions enshrined in pagodas, 135; worship of, 187. See also Chūsonji jeweled pagoda mandalas gorintō (five-ringed pagodas), 206, 207, 208–10, 209, 224 Go-Shirakawa, retired emperor, 143, 148–49, 225 Go-Toba, Emperor, 159, 217 Graham, William, 47, 185 Great Mandala (Honmanji), 153–55, 154, 180 Great Perfection of Wisdom Sutra frontispiece from the Hidehirakyō (Metropolitan Museum of Art), 56 Great Perfection of Wisdom Sutra frontispiece from the Hidehirakyō (Sankōzō, Chūsonji), 67–68, 68, 69 Great Perfection of Wisdom Sutra frontispiece from the Kiyohirakyō (Nara National Museum), 55, 56, 87

Fahui, 129–30 Faxian, Record of Buddhist Countries (Jpn. Bukkokuki, Ch. Foguoji), 219 Flower Garland Sutra, 135–36, 245n1 Foucault, Michel, 229 Four Guardian Kings, 59–62, 67, 75–77, 172 Fowler, Sherry D., 222 Fujiwara family, 82. See also Ōshū Fujiwara family Fujiwara no Atsuto, 162 Fujiwara no Hidehira, 55–57, 58, 62, 67–68, 120, 250n15, 250n21, 251n53, 256n74 Fujiwara no Kintō, 151 Fujiwara no Kiyohira, 55, 57, 58, 256n74 Fujiwara no Koreyuki, Collection of Japanese and Chinese Verses for Recitation, 151–52, 152

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Habito, Ruben L. F., 198 Haga Noboru, 212 Hamada Takashi, 54, 57, 66 Harrison, Paul, 195, 234 Harvey, Peter, 202 Hata no Chitei, Pictorial Biography of Prince Shōtoku (Tokyo National Museum), 85, 86, 116 Hayashi On, 57, 66, 67 Heart Sutra: chanting, 50; kokerakyō transcription, 225; on power of sutras, 173–74; transcriptions, 150 Heart Sutra transcription in shape of pagoda, Dunhuang (Bibliothèque nationale de France), 123, 126, 128 Heart Sutra transcription in shape of pagoda, Dunhuang (British Library), 122–23, 124–25, 127, 128–29 Heike nōkyō (Itsukushima Shrine), 33, 34, 150–51 Hidehirakyō, 55–57, 56, 58, 67–68, 68, 69, 250n15 Hiraizumi: art, 63; Ōshū Fujiwara rule of, 54, 55, 58, 62, 66–67, 245n4; wars, 62. See also Chūsonji Honmanji: Great Mandala, 153–55, 154, 180; Lotus Sutra scrolls, 255n46 Honpōji, Lotus Sutra mandala, 78, 81 Hōryūji, 41, 100, 102, 118 Hōryūji shariden hōmotsu chūmon, 100 Hosshōji, 159, 215 Huizong, Emperor, 129 hyakumantō (one million miniature pagodas), 222, 223 Hyakurenshō, 158, 164, 215, 225 Ichiji ichibutsu Hokekyō (one character, one Buddha Lotus Sutra) (Zentsuji), 139, 139, 190 Ichiji ichihōtō Hokekyō (one character, one jeweled pagoda Lotus Sutra scroll) (1163; Freer/Sackler), 139, 140–41, 142, 223 Ichiji ichihōtō Hokekyō (one character, one jeweled pagoda Lotus Sutra scroll) (twelfth century; Freer/Sackler), 142–43, 142, 191

Ichiji ichirendai Hokekyō (one character, one lotus pedestal Lotus Sutra) (Yamato Bunkakan), 143, 145 ichiji sanrei (“one character, three bows”), 159–60, 166, 188–89 Ichiji tengai rendai Hokekyō (one character, canopy, and lotus pedestal Lotus Sutra scroll) (Freer/Sackler), 143, 144, 190–91 ichinichi issaikyō events, 159 iconarratives, 45, 235 Illustrated Miracles of Kannon, The (Sugawara no Mitsushige) (Metropolitan Museum of Art), 143, 145 Illustrated Scripture of Cause and Effect (Kako genzai ingakyō emaki) (Nara National Museum), 136–37, 136 imperial burials, 212, 231 imperial rituals, 59 Important Documents of Mount Hiei (Eigaku yōki), 187–88 India, reliquaries in, 202. See also stupas Instructions in Enshrining Dharma-Śarīra inside Buddha Images, 221 Ishida Mosaku, 34, 224–25, 226–27 Itsukushima Shrine, Miyajima, 33 Iwasa Mitsuharu, 54 Izumi Takeo, 118 Japanese Agency for Cultural Affairs, 55 jeweled pagoda mandala (Jōshinji), 3, 8, 117–18, 253n104 jeweled pagoda mandala (Myōhōji), 3, 9, 117, 118–20, 253n108 jeweled pagoda mandala (private collection), 3, 7, 117–18, 253n104 jeweled pagoda mandalas (kinji hōtō manda­ ra): alegibility, 30–31, 40, 44, 45, 46, 235–36; audiences, 41–44, 45; cartouches, 34–35, 36, 38; colors, 51; context, 13, 122, 137–39, 143, 157, 166–67; continental prototypes, 122–23, 128–31, 134; copyists, 29, 31, 32–33, 34–35, 40; currently existing, 3; designers, 29, 30, 31, 32, 42; dispersed sets, 3, 117–20; functions, 40, 45, 52, 165; intertextual community, 157; materials, 14, 31–32, 42,

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51, 129; narrative vignettes, 1, 32–33, 36, 38–40, 45, 62–77, 228, 235; nomenclature, 15–16, 78, 81; performative viewing, 12, 21–22, 35, 41–44, 218, 228–30, 236, 248n35; popularity, 3; previous scholarship on, 10; production, 29–33, 34–35; sizes, 42, 51, 248n31, 253n104; time frame, 3; transcription paths, 17, 22–23, 26–28, 29, 30, 44, 129; visibility and invisibility, 41–42, 44–45, 46, 218, 236. See also text and image in jeweled pagoda mandalas; and individual sets jeweled pagodas: architecture, 16; containers for sutra burials, 189–90; two buddhas in, 16, 22, 78, 118, 119; worship of, 206 Jewel Nature Treatise, 198 Jizō (Ch. Dizang; Skt. Ks.itigarbha), 67, 71–73 Jñānagarbha, 198 Jōe, 82 Jōshinji, jeweled pagoda mandala, 3, 8, 117–18, 253n104 Journal of the Monk Sainen on the Memorial Service with Blue-Gold Sutras (Sō Sainen konshi kinji kuyō nichiroku), 226 Kaibe Hiroshi, 161–62 Kaikei, 160 Kaku’a, 158 Kakuban, 49–50, 180; Secret Interpretation of the Five Wheels and Nine Syllables (Gorin kujimyō himitsushaku), 209–10, 209 Kakuchō, 188 Kameda Tsutomu, 34–35, 54 Kamo no Chōmei, 83 Kangxi, Emperor, 130 Kannon (Ch. Guanyin; Skt. Avalokiteśvara), 73, 90, 123, 213, 220 Kawakatsu Kenryō, 222 kawarakyō (sutra tiles), 160–61, 162, 163 kechienkyō (sutras that establish kechien), 164 Kidder, J. Edward, Jr., 190 Kii, Lady, 148 Kiyohirakyō, 55, 56, 57, 87, 256n74 Kōken, Empress, 222 kokerakyō (wood strips inscribed with sutra

text and cut into the shape of a pagoda), 223–25, 225 Kokubunjikyō, 135 Komatsu Shigemi, 148, 150, 160, 166, 226 Kōmyō, Queen-Consort, 57 kōmyō honzon (sacred light inscriptions), 155 Kongōbuji, 55 Kongōkai mandara (Diamond-World Mandala), 206, 208, 209 Korea: pagodas, 221–22; sutra transcription, 87; textual pagodas, 129, 131, 132–33, 134 Kornicki, Peter, 47, 48 Kōshōji, 159 Kujō Kanezane, Gyokuyō, 215 Kujō Yoritsune, 217 Kūkai: Diamond-World Mandala, 209; grave of, 212; on language and text, 46, 178–79; Record of Dharma Transmission, 212; Shōji jissōgi, 178; on use of sutras, 180 Kunōjikyō, 33–34 LaFleur, William R., 149 language, 178–79 Leifeng Pagoda, 221 lotus mandalas, 78, 80, 81 Lotus Sutra: “Apparition of the Jeweled Stupa” (chapter 11), 16, 22, 78, 170–71, 201; Buddha bodies, 199; “Former Affairs of the Bodhisattva Medicine King” (chapter 23), 34, 36–38, 97, 100, 150–51, 171; importance, 153, 170, 179–80; “The Life Span of the Thus Come One” (chapter 16), 199; linked to Golden Light Sutra, 57–58; nonduality of the Buddha and dharma, 183; number of characters, 226; offerings to Buddha, 186; pagoda construction, 214; pagoda sutras, 222–26, 227; sacred power of, 169–71, 175, 176, 179–80; sutra worship, 206; title, 153, 176, 180; “The Universal Gateway of the Bodhisattva He Who Observes the Sounds of the World [Kanzeon]” (chapter 25), 90; worship of, 186–87 Lotus Sutra booklet of the Sutra of Medita­ tion on the Bodhisattva Universal Worthy (Gotō Museum of Art), 146–48, 147

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Lotus Sutra fan (Shitennōji), 146, 147 Lotus Sutra frontispiece (Enryakuji; tenth century), 137, 138, 214 Lotus Sutra frontispiece (Enryakuji; eleventh century), 137, 138 Lotus Sutra frontispiece (Freer/Sackler), 63, 63 Lotus Sutra frontispiece (Tanzan Shrine), 87, 89 Lotus Sutra mandala (Honpōji), 78, 81 Lotus Sutra mandala (Matsunoodera), 78, 80 Lotus Sutra transcriptions: command in sutra, 226; by elites, 33; extreme practices, 159–60; on fans, 146, 147; Fujiwara family commissions, 55–57; images, 116, 143; innovations, 137–39, 142–43; in jeweled pagoda mandalas, 3, 84, 130; memorial projects, 58; in pagoda shape (Korean), 131, 132–33, 134; rituals, 188; supremacy, 169–71. See also jeweled pagoda mandalas; sutra transcription Lurie, David B., 30, 31 Madenokōji Nobufusa, 159, 160 Madhyamaka tradition, 196, 198 Mahāvairocana. See Dainichi Maitreya. See Miroku Maitreyanātha, Ornament of Clear Realiza­ tion, 197 Makransky, John J., 197 Malla Nobles Rejoicing on Receiving Their Share of Śākyamuni’s Relics, stupa 1 at Sāñcī, 203, 204 mandalas: calligraphic, 153–55, 180; lotus, 78, 80, 81; use of term, 14, 15, 246n13. See also jeweled pagoda mandalas Martin, Henri-Jean, 50–51 Mātr.cet.a, One Hundred and Fifty Verses, 196 Matsunoodera, Lotus Sutra mandala, 78, 81 Medicine King Bodhisattva (Jpn. Yakuō bosatsu; Ch. Yaowang pusa; Skt. Bhais․a­ jyarāja bodhisattva), 36–38, 100 Meech, Julia, 151 Minamoto no Morotoki, Chōshūki, 159 Minamoto no Tamenori, Three Jewels (San­ bōe), 212–15 Minamoto no Yoriie, 217 Minamoto no Yoritomo, 55, 62, 215

Miraculous Tales from Japan (Nihon ryōiki), 50, 175–77 Miraculous Tales of the Lotus Sutra from An­ cient Japan (Dainihonkoku Hokekyōkenki) (Chingen), 175 Miroku (Ch. Mile; Skt. Maitreya), 97, 189, 212 Miya Tsugio, 10, 54, 58, 62, 66, 78, 85, 87, 97, 103, 116, 227 Moerman, D. Max, 45, 189 momitō (rice-grain pagodas), Murōji, 222, 224 Mōtsūji, 57 Mujaku Dōchū, Zenrin shōkisen, 48 Munakata gunki, 158 Murōji, momitō (rice-grain pagodas), 222, 224 myōgō honzon (name of a Buddha or a powerful verse that is treated as an icon), 155 Myōhōji, jeweled pagoda mandala, 3, 9, 117, 118–20, 253n108 Nagao Gadjin, 234 Nāgārjuna, 196, 212; Jeweled Garland, 196 Nakatomi no Kamatari, 82 Nakayama Tadachika, Sankaiki, 215 nenbutsu chant, 155, 160 Nichiren school, 102, 118–19, 179 Nichiren Shōnin: advocacy of Lotus Sutra, 153, 180; Great Mandala (Honmanji), 153–55, 154, 180 Nichitō, 118–19 Nichiyō, 118–19 Nirvān.a sūtra, 182, 195, 202 Nishiguchi, Junko, 212 Nittsū, 102, 119 nonduality, 149–50, 181–84, 190–91 Ōe no Masafusa, 83 original enlightenment, 180 Ōshū Fujiwara family: Chūsonji jeweled pagoda mandalas and, 10, 41; as patrons, 55–58; rule of Hiraizumi, 54, 55, 58, 62, 66–67, 245n4; syncretic faith, 73–74; tombs, 72–73, 251n53; women, 74 Ōta Masahiro, 225 pagodas: association with Buddha body, 194, 201–3, 205–6, 209–10, 217, 233, 234;

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construction, 213–17; gorintō (five-ringed), 206, 207, 208–10, 209, 224; jeweled, 16, 22, 78, 189–90, 206; as reliquaries, 15–16, 213; salvific power, 211, 212–17, 231–32; small, 215–17, 216, 222; sotōba term, 224; sutra transcriptions and, 219, 221–26, 227, 230; textual, 29. See also jeweled pagoda mandalas; stupas pagoda sutras (Jpn. tōkyō, Ch. tajing), 15, 222–26, 227 paintings: inscriptions, 42–43; kōmyō honzon, 155; myōgō honzon, 155. See also mandalas; text and image parinirvān.a, 38, 193, 195 Payne, Richard K., 51 Pearl Forest in the Secret Hall, 130 Perfection of Wisdom in Eight Thousand Lines, 173, 182–83, 191–92, 195 Perfection of Wisdom Sutras: A syllable and, 49; commentaries on, 181; nonduality of the Buddha and dharma, 182–83; sacred power of, 169–70, 173–74; transcriptions, 159, 162; worship of, 186 performative viewing of jeweled pagoda mandalas, 12, 21–22, 35, 41–44, 218, 228–30, 236, 248n35 Petition of the Bunji Era (Bunji no chūmon), 55 poetry, waka, 148, 150, 151–52 Prabhūtaratna (Jpn. Tahō; Ch. Duobao), 16, 22, 78, 92, 100, 131 Prasenajit, King, 203, 213–14 pratītyasamutpādagāthā (Buddhist creed), 183–84 priests, head, 29, 32, 35 Protection of the Country by the Four Guard­ ian Kings, The, 61 Pure Land schools: ajikan, 49–50; kōmyō honzon, 155; myōgō honzon, 155; nenbutsu chant, 155, 160; ōjōden, 83; sutra chanting, 47; visual culture, 73 Qian Hongchu, 221 Qianlong, Emperor, 130 Raihō, Shohō funbetsushō, 210 Rambelli, Fabio, 30, 47, 165, 179, 209, 210

Ratnarāśi sūtra, 203 reading: alegibility of text and, 31, 40, 44, 45, 46, 235–36; compared to viewing, 12; following transcription paths, 26–28, 128–29; jeweled pagoda mandalas, 26–28, 30–32, 35, 40, 43–46, 210, 235–36; narrative vignettes, 36, 38–40, 235; oral, 47; performative viewing and, 36, 43–44; phonetic value of pictorial motifs, 152; sacred texts, 47–49, 52, 185, 236; text in cartouches, 36, 85. See also texts Record of the Deeds of the Monk Zōga at Tōnominedera, Yamato (Washū Tōnomi­ nedera Zōga shōnin gyōgōki), 80 “reed-hand script” (ashide), 150–52 Reizei, retired Emperor, 83 relics: burials, 212; creation of, 38; cult of, 227. See also dharma relics reliquaries: burials of sutras, 189–90; as dharmakāya, 194; Indian, 202; jeweled pagoda mandalas as, 14, 16, 42, 44, 45, 201, 210, 232; pagodas as, 15–16, 213; sutra text paired with, 219–21. See also stupas rice-grain pagodas (momitō), 222, 224 Roth, Gustav, 201–2 Ruppert, Brian D., 206, 217 Ryōgen, 81, 82, 83 Ryūhonji jeweled pagoda mandalas: arrangement, 40; box inscriptions, 102; cartouches and narrative vignettes, 36, 38, 65, 78, 103, 116; colors, 110; composition and style, 103, 110, 116; condition, 102–3; copyists, 35; dating, 102–3, 110, 120; fascicle 2, 111, 112–13, 116; fascicle 3, 104, 105, 114–15, 117; fascicle 5, 108, 109; fascicle 7, 36, 37, 38, 39; history, 100–102, 118–19, 120–21; inscriptions on back, 41, 100–102, 101, 120–21; materials, 31–32; narrative vignettes, 16, 103, 110, 112–13, 114–15, 116–17; previous scholarship on, 10; production, 29, 32; storage, 41, 100 Ryūhonji jeweled pagoda mandalas, fascicle 1, 4; details, xviii, 24, 25, 106–7; inscription on back, 101; narrative vignettes, 107, 109, 116–17; pagoda architecture, 22, 23; transcription path, 22–23, 26–28, 246–47n4 Ryūhonji monks, 102, 118–19

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Saichō, 179–80, 222 Saikan, 158–59 Saishō Shitennō-in, 159 Śākyamuni: body of, 199; earthly form, 195–96; images in jeweled pagodas, 16, 22, 78, 97, 131; Lotus Sutra references, 16; past reincarnations, 65; relics, 202; in Shadow Cave, 43; stories of, 100 salvific matrix of text and body, 13, 193–94, 218–19, 230–35, 236 salvific power of pagodas, 211, 212–17, 231–32 salvific power of sutras. See sutras, sacred power of samurai families, 102 Sam . yutta Nikāya, 182 Sanbutsu jōshō, 226 Sāñcī stupa number 1, 202–3, 204 Śāntideva, Training Anthology, 205–6 Satsu, 102, 120–21 Schopen, Gregory, 191, 202–3, 211 Scripture That Transcends the Principle, 135 sekkyō (stone sutras), 160–62, 161 Sengoku Masaakira, 102 Sengxiang, Collection of Tales of the Lotus [Sutra] (Ch. Fahua zhuanji), 183 setsuwa anthologies, 82–83, 85, 92, 103, 175–77 Shadow Cave, 43 Shen, Hsueh-man, 220–21 Shigaiji, 41, 81, 84, 87, 120 Shikijō, 158–59 Shin Daibutsuji, gorintō (five-ringed pagoda), 206, 207 Shingon school, 46–47, 49–50, 162, 179, 206, 212. See also Kūkai; Kakuban Shinran Shōnin, Jūji myōgo (ten-character formulation of the name of Amida treated as an icon) (Senjuji), 155, 156 Shinren, 55 Shinshō, 158–59 Shirakawa, Emperor, 158 Shōmu, Emperor, 57, 59, 135 Shōsōin Documents (Shōsōin monjo), 136, 137 Shōtoku Taishi, 85, 86, 102, 116, 118, 254n28 somaticity. See bodies Stevenson, Daniel B., 171, 189 Stone, Jacqueline I., 180

stone sutras (sekkyō), 160–62, 161 Strong, John S., 201 stupas: architecture, 15, 202; Buddha bodies and, 201–3; building, 213–14; burial practices, 211, 231; constructed by Aśoka, 128–29; dharma relic, 219; as legal persons, 203; as reliquaries, 16, 202–3, 211; small, 211, 219–20; sutra transcription and, 219–21; use of term, 246n16; worship of, 201, 202–6, 231 Sudō Hirotoshi, 54 Sugawara no Mitsushige, The Illustrated Mir­ acles of Kannon (Metropolitan Museum of Art), 143, 145 surikuyō ritual, 176–77 Sutoku’in, Emperor, 162 Sutra of Innumerable Meanings, 33, 85, 150 Sutra on [the Buddha’s] Entering [the Coun­ try of] Lan.kā, 197 Sutra on the Merit of Bathing the Buddha, 184 Sutra on the Merit of Building a Stupa as Spoken by the Buddha, 213, 220 Sutra on the Questions of King Milin.d.a, 181, 195 sutras: chanting, 35, 46–47, 48–49, 50, 175–76; cult of the book, 191–92; incarnations, 176; memorization as internalization, 176; reading, 47, 48–49, 128–29; ritualistic handling, 48–49; worship of, 186–87. See also dharma relics; texts sutras, sacred power of: achieved through rituals, 184–87; centrality, 168–69; commentaries on, 177–81; effects on bodies of believers, 176; evidence in setsuwa, 175–77; in jeweled pagoda mandalas, 231, 232; references in sutra texts, 169–74, 183; stories, 50; transcription and, 164–65, 176, 181 sutra transcription: alternative media, 160– 64; in blood, 160–61, 162; combinatory commissions, 219, 226, 227; conventional seventeen-character lines, 30, 134–35, 146; copyists, 188–89; dharma relics and, 45, 187–89, 190–92, 219–22, 232, 233; in early medieval period, 134–35, 165–66; by elites, 32–34, 130; of entire canon, 157–59, 165,

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256n74; extreme practices, 157–60, 163–64, 166, 256n90; on fans, 146; by groups, 159; ippon kechienkyō, 150; ipponkyō technique, 33, 34; in Korea, 87; materials, 135–36, 137, 188; merit generated, 160, 162, 176–77, 226–27; in Nara period, 135–37; in pagoda form, 122–23, 124–27, 128–31, 134, 232, 233, 236; pagodas associated with, 219, 221–26, 227, 230; rituals, 164–65, 187–89; salvific power, 164–65, 176, 181; stupas and, 219–21; surikuyō ritual, 176–77; text and image in, 135–39, 143, 146–53, 155–57. See also jeweled pagoda mandalas Taikenmon’in, Empress, 33–34, 215 Taira no Kiyomori, 33, 150 Taira no Shigehira, 160 Taira no Shigemori, 225 Taishiden gyokurin shō, 100 Taishō shinshū Daizōkyō zuzō, 206, 208, 209 Taji issekikyō (“many characters, one stone sutra”), 161–62, 161 Takahashi Tomio, 55 Takashina no Eishi, 148 Tale of Flowering Fortunes (Eiga monoga­ tari), 33 Tale of the Hōgen Disturbance (Hōgen mo­ nogatari), 162 Tales of Pious Resolution (Hosshinshū), 83 Tales of Times Now Past (Konjaku monoga­ tarishū), 83, 175 Tambiah, Stanley Jeyaraja, 185 Tanabe, Willa J., 10 Tanaka Kaidō, 134–35, 166, 188, 225 Tanzan Shrine: history, 82; Lotus Sutra frontispiece, 87, 89 Tanzan Shrine jeweled pagoda mandalas: arrangement, 40; box inscriptions, 78, 79, 81, 84; cartouches, 85, 92, 97, 252n83; colors, 87; commission context, 81–84, 120; composition and style, 65, 84–87, 90–92, 97, 252n80; condition, 85; copyists, 35; dating, 81, 84–85, 87; fascicle 1, 5, 22, 92, 93, 95, 96, 252n80; fascicle 4, 92, 94, 95, 252n80; fascicle 6, 88, 89, 96; fascicle 7, 97, 99; fascicle 8, 90, 91, 97, 98, 252n80; history, 77–78, 81;

as lotus mandalas, 78; narrative vignettes, 78, 85–87, 90–92, 93, 95, 96, 97, 100; pagoda architecture, 22; previous scholarship on, 10; production, 32; sizes, 253n104; Zōga and, 81–84, 120, 252n68 Tendai school, 48, 49, 179, 180, 187–88 tendoku (vocalization of sutras), 48, 248n50 ten Grotenhuis, Elizabeth, 15, 74 Tenji, Emperor, 82 Ten World Jeweled Pagoda Mandala (jikkai hōtō e mandara), 54–55 text: alegibility, 30–31, 40, 44, 46, 235–36; in early medieval Buddhism, 168–69, 177–81; orality, 47; power of, 177–81; in premodern Japan, 46–52; salvific matrix of body and, 13, 193–94, 218–19, 230–35, 236. See also writing text and image: calligrams, 1–3, 2, 229; gaps seen, 229; interplay between, 10–11; painting inscriptions, 42–43; in setsuwa, 85, 92, 103; in sutra transcription, 135–39, 143, 146–53, 155–57; text as image, 152–55 text and image in jeweled pagoda mandalas: combinatory composition, 1, 13–15, 219, 235; indivisibility, 15, 21–22, 40, 218, 228–31, 232–35, 236; meanings, 14–15, 228; multiple functions, 3, 227–28; as reliquary, 14, 16, 42, 44, 45, 201, 210, 232; role reversals, 36, 40–41; viewing, 1, 14, 35, 38–40, 42–44, 45 texts: cult of the book, 191–92, 201, 227; functions, 47–48, 51; materiality, 50–51; pluralities, 51–52; possession of, 181. See also reading; sutras tiles. See kawarakyō Toba, Emperor, 33–34, 146, 159, 164, 215, 256n74 Tōbōki, 131 Tōdaiji, 136, 160 Tōhoku, 67, 75 Tōji, 131, 158 Tōnomine, 81–82, 83, 84 Toyotomi Hideyoshi, 55 transformation tableaux (Jpn. hensō; Ch. bianxiang), 10, 14, 15, 78, 92, 214, 252n80 trikāya (three-body system), 195, 196–98 Tsuji Zennosuke, 158, 160, 165–66, 215 Tsurugaoka Hachiman Shrine, 217

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Unkei, 159–60

Wuyue kingdom, 221

Vajrasattva (Jpn. Kongōsatta, Ch. Jingangsaduo), 212 Vasubandhu, 181, 198 Veidlinger, Daniel M., 51, 189 Veneration of a Stupa, Prasenajit pillar of the Bhārhut stupa, 203–5, 205 visual culture, Buddhist, 11–13, 45–46, 73

Xuanzang, 219–20, 246n16

waka poetry, 148, 150, 151–52 women: burials, 212; Ryūhonji jeweled pagoda mandalas and, 102; in vignettes of Chūsonji jeweled pagoda mandalas, 74, 77 word and image. See text and image; text and image in jeweled pagoda mandalas writing: functions of texts, 30; “reed-hand script” (ashide), 150–52; systems, 50–51. See also text

Yiengpruksawan, Mimi Hall, 10, 40, 58, 68, 73 Yijing, 61 Yixing, 184 Zanning, 189 Zen’ne, 162 Zenrin shōkisen (Mujaku Dōchū), 48 Zentsuji, Ichiji ichibutsu Hokekyō (one character, one Buddha Lotus Sutra), 139, 139, 190 Zhiyi, 82, 179, 212 Zōga, 81–84, 120, 252n68

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H a r va r d E a s t A s i a n Mono gr a ph s (most recent titles)

365. 366. 367. 368.

Trent E. Maxey, The “Greatest Problem”: Religion and State Formation in Meiji Japan Gina Cogan, The Princess Nun: Bunchi, Buddhist Reform, and Gender in Early Edo Japan Eric C. Han, Rise of a Japanese Chinatown: Yokohama, 1894–1972 Natasha Heller, Illusory Abiding: The Cultural Construction of the Chan Monk Zhongfeng Mingben 369. Paize Keulemans, Sound Rising from the Paper: Nineteenth-Century Martial Arts Fiction and the Chinese Acoustic Imagination 370. Simon James Bytheway, Investing Japan: Foreign Capital, Monetary Standards, and Eco­ nomic Development, 1859–2011 371. Sukhee Lee, Negotiated Power: The State, Elites, and Local Governance in Twelfth-- to Fourteenth-Century China 372. Foong Ping, The Efficacious Landscape: On the Authorities of Painting at the Northern Song Court 373. Catherine L. Phipps, Empires on the Waterfront: Japan’s Ports and Power, 1858–1899 374. Sunyoung Park, The Proletarian Wave: Literature and Leftist Culture in Colonial Korea, 1910–1945 375. Barry Eichengreen, Wonhyuk Lim, Yung Chul Park, and Dwight H. Perkins, The Kore­ an Economy: From a Miraculous Past to a Sustainable Future 376. Heather Blair, Real and Imagined: The Peak of Gold in Heian Japan 377. Emer O’Dwyer, Significant Soil: Settler Colonialism and Japan’s Urban Empire in Man­ churia 378. Martina Deuchler, Under the Ancestors’ Eyes: Kinship, Status, and Locality in Premodern Korea 379. Joseph R. Dennis, Writing, Publishing, and Reading Local Gazetteers in Imperial China, 1100–1700 380. Catherine Vance Yeh, The Chinese Political Novel: Migration of a World Genre 381. Noell Wilson, Defensive Positions: The Politics of Maritime Security in Tokugawa Japan 382. Miri Nakamura, Monstrous Bodies: The Rise of the Uncanny in Modern Japan 383. Nara Dillon, Radical Inequalities: China’s Revolutionary Welfare State in Comparative Perspective 384. Ma Zhao, Runaway Wives, Urban Crimes, and Survival Tactics in Wartime Beijing, 1937– 1949

385. Mingwei Song, Young China: National Rejuvenation and the Bildungsroman, 1900–1959 386. Christopher Bondy, Voice, Silence, and Self: Negotiations of Buraku Identity in Contem­ porary Japan 387. Seth Jacobowitz, Writing Technology in Meiji Japan: A Media History of Modern Japa­ nese Literature and Visual Culture 388. Hilde De Weerdt, Information, Territory, and Networks: The Crisis and Maintenance of Empire in Song China 389. Elizabeth Kindall, Geo-Narratives of a Filial Son: The Paintings and Travel Diaries of Huang Xiangjian (1609–1673) 390. Matthew Fraleigh, Plucking Chrysanthemums: Narushima Ryūhoku and Sinitic Literary Traditions in Modern Japan 391. Hu Ying, Burying Autumn: Poetry, Friendship, and Loss 392. Mark E. Byington, The Ancient State of Puyŏ in Northeast Asia: Archaeology and Histori­ cal Memory 393. Timothy J. Van Compernolle, Struggling Upward: Worldly Success and the Japanese Novel 394. Heekyoung Cho, Translation’s Forgotten History: Russian Literature, Japanese Mediation, and the Formation of Modern Korean Literature 395. Terry Kawashima, Itineraries of Power: Texts and Traversals in Heian and Medieval Ja­ pan 396. Anna Andreeva, Assembling Shinto: Buddhist Approaches to Kami Worship in Medieval Japan 397. Felix Boecking, No Great Wall: Trade, Tariffs, and Nationalism in Republican China, 1927–1945 398. Chien-Hsin Tsai, A Passage to China: Literature, Loyalism, and Colonial Taiwan 399. W. Puck Brecher, Honored and Dishonored Guests: Westerners in Wartime Japan 400. Miya Elise Mizuta Lippit, Aesthetic Life: Beauty and Art in Modern Japan 401. Brian Steininger, Chinese Literary Form in Heian Japan: Poetics and Practice 402. Lisa Yoshikawa, Making History Matter: Kuroita Katsumi and the Construction of Impe­ rial Japan 403. Michael P. Cronin, Osaka Modern: The City in the Japanese Imaginary 404. Soyoung Suh, Naming the Local: Medicine, Language, and Identity in Korea since the Fifteenth Century 405. Yoon Sun Yang, From Domestic Women to Sensitive Young Men: Translating the Individ­ ual in Early Colonial Korea 406. Michal Daliot-Bul and Nissim Otmazgin, The Anime Boom in the United States: Lessons for Global Creative Industries ` 407. Nathan Hopson, Ennobling the Savage Northeast: Tōhoku as Japanese Postwar Thought, 1945–2011 408. Michael Fuller, An Introduction to Chinese Poetry: From the Canon of Poetry to the Lyrics of the Song Dynasty 409. Tie Xiao, Revolutionary Waves: The Crowd in Modern China 410. Anne Reinhardt, Navigating Semi-Colonialism: Shipping, Sovereignity, and Nation Build­ ing in China, 1860–1937 411. Jennifer E. Altehenger, Legal Lessons: Popularizing Laws in the People’s Republic of China, 1949–1989 412. Halle O’Neal, Word Embodied: The Jeweled Pagoda Mandalas in Japanese Buddhist Art 413. Maren A. Ehlers, Give and Take: Poverty and the Status Order in Early Modern Japan