Buddhist Warfare

by Michael Jerryson

  In 815, Li Che-tao took advantage of the government’s vulnerability resulting from simultaneous insurgences of other military leaders. He, too, decided to revolt. He kept himself informed by spies who worked under cover, alongside hired hands in his Lo-yang residence. He terminated the project by setting fire to the imperial palace and raining fire and brimstone upon the capital. The plot was exposed in time. As Li Che-tao’s armed participants were retreating from Song-chan, the imperial army crushed them. When they were taken prisoner, it was discovered that they had been under the command of the monk Yuan-tsing, a seasoned veteran, according to the Tang chou, since he had already served as general in Che Sseu-ming (703–761). He was Ngan Louchan’s lieutenant in the great insurrection that had placed the Tang dynasty about a hair from its ruin, just after the middle of the seventh century. Yuan-tsing is described as a man of unmatched courage and savagery.

  In 815, when he was captured, Yuan-tsing had already passed his eightieth birthday. He observed that, when his executioners tried to torture him with a hammer, they found his bones to be so hard that they were unable to break his legs. Yuan-tsing then began to curse them: “These vermin!” he said, “they are brave men, and they do not even know how to break a leg!”75 So, he positioned his legs and showed them how to break them himself. At the moment of his death, he exclaimed, “I missed my shot! I wasn’t able to make blood flow in the city of Lo-yang!” It is reported that Li Che-tao had been paid through donations apparently destined for the restoration of the Song-chan convent, Fo-Kouang sseu.76 Nevertheless, it most assuredly was not for the protection of the sangha’s residence that this soldier-monk loved to take up arms. More likely, he was one of those dynamic, wild leaders who rebel against all authority, like his contemporary, Yi-hiuan († 867). Yi-hiuan, the founder of the Lin-tsi sect, was called the “general of Lin-tsi.” It was said about him, “If he had not been a monk, he would have most assuredly been a great ringleader.”77 He ardently preached spiritual murder and the “reversal of all values.” “Kill everything you encounter, internally as well as externally! Kill the Buddha! Kill the patriarchs! Kill the saints! Kill your father and mother! Kill your closest friends! This is the path of deliverance, the way to escape the bondage of things; this is freedom!”78

  Buddhist monks in China do not seem to have often taken up arms to protect their belongings and land, as they most likely did in Japan. The authority of the state remained strong, and the church remained very much a vassal of the state. In the case of the Yuantong monks, on the Lou-chan, north of Kiangsi, they had received a thousand k’ing of land and all sorts of favors from the poet-emperor Li Yu, the last one from the Southern Tang dynasty. When the Song dynasty troops marched on Nankin in 975 to oust Li Yu, the monks formed an advance guard numbering in the several hundreds to retain them on the banks of the Yangtze River.79 Here we see monks entering into war to defend a dynasty that had supported them. This is a rather common motive for the militarization of the clergy in the history of China.

  As early as the sixth century, the last emperor from the Northern Wei dynasty, Hiao-wou-ti, had to flee his capital, Lo-yang, only to go to Tch’angngan where death and disaster awaited him and where his courtesans abandoned him like vermin leaving a boat in distress. A Buddhist church dignitary, Houei-tchen, acting general of the sangha, was charged afterward with carrying the imperial shield and sword and protecting the monarch.80 In 755, at the time of the Ngan Lou-chan insurrection, one of the loyalist generals who intervened on the side of the Tang dynasty was a temporarily defrocked monk, Tao-p’ing. He commandeered one of the armies of the guard,81 and fought several times against rebel troops. After regaining Tch’ang-ngan in 756, he refused the official titles bestowed on him and reentered the clergy.82

  During the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, during the Jurchen and Mongol invasions, numerous monks were seen fending off the invaders. When Pien-leang (Kaifeng) was taken by the Jurchens, in 1126, the monk Tsong-yin (a descendant of the Song dynasty’s imperial clan, and known for his interest in the art of war) was recruited into General Fan Tche-hui’s army staff with the provisionary titles of advisor to the commanding general and cavalry inspector. General Fan Tche-hui was attempting to regain control over the Song capital. Accordingly, he organized an army of monks who were given the name August Victory Squadron. He also organized one of young volunteers calling them the Pure Victory Squadron. The first of these squadron names is a Chinese translation of Vijaya, “the Victorious,” or Vikira, “the Destroyer,” deities from the Tantric pantheon.83

  At this time (1126), in the Chan-si province, a monk from Wutai shan mountain range, Tchen-pao, sided similarly with the Song dynasty. He did so with so much heroism that his biography had to be included in the History of the Song Dynasty, listed alongside those imperial statesmen worthy of commemoration for their loyalty and sense of duty.84 Once he had learned of the arrival of the Jurchens in the Wutai shan region, Tchen-pao began to dispatch his disciples on the mountain. The Emperor Kintsong, the last of the Northern Song dynasty, ordered him to Pien-leang and lavished him with encouragement. When the Jurchens showed up in front of the Tai prefecture at the foot of the Wutai shan mountain range, he protected it himself, since the prefect had defected. He was overwhelmed by the vast numbers arrayed against him. Consequently, the monasteries were consumed by flames. The Jurchen general had Tchen-pao brought back to him alive. So taken aback was the general by Tchen-pao’s superb moral makeup, he was unable to decide to have him executed. He attempted to get around it, but in vain: “In my law,” the monk told him, “it is a sin not to keep your word. I promised the Song emperor I’d die for him: how could I take it back?”

  Thirty years later, the monk Yi-touan was also passionate about military things. He was involved in a Chinese insurrection against the Jurchen in the Shandong region. He organized a military outfit of a thousand men and placed them under the command of Keng-King, the head of the insurrection. One evening, however, the monk ran off, taking with him the insurgents’ seal. He was recaptured and put to death before he succeeded in gaining control of the Jurchen camp.85 In the thirteenth century, Mo Kien-tche from Yi-hing was another Buddhist monk whose conduct was even more commendable. In 1275, in the Kiang sou province, west of Tai-hou Lake, when the Khubilai troops were invading, Mo Kien-tche gathered a group of volunteers to defend the region. The last emperor of the Southern Song dynasty, Kong-ti, named Mo Kien-tche police chief of the subprefecture of Li-yang. He died in battle and was given posthumously the title of superior officer, for his military merits.86 It was reported that at the time, in the southern part of the Kaingsi province, the Wanngan monks put their own troops up against the Mongols. They carried flags with inscriptions on them like: “Down with the Mra(s)!” or even: “In times of danger, we become generals; once the matter is resolved, we become monks once more!” These monks were killed in combat.87

  Nevertheless, in China, Buddhist monks from the Dhyna sect were the most famous for going to war to serve the homeland. They went to war against Japanese pirates at the time of the Ming dynasty (a dynasty whose very founder was a monk-turned-ringleader-turned-general). In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, China’s coasts were infested with Japanese pirates who scavenged the seas, more or less under the official blessing of the Ashikaga lords. The Ming government had to then rely on masses of relief troops to halt the progress of the incursions of these pirates, even on their internal coastal territories. Among these ad hoc recruited troops there were bandits, salt merchants, coolies of the salt tax, salt furnace operators, fishermen, hunters, miners, brigands. They were a completely haphazard soldiery that, with the guidance of ordinary troops, in the end, was right about the islander looters. Nevertheless, all the source material recognizes that when it came to courage, the Chao-lin sseu monks were superior. The names of about twenty of them are known. Documents from the period describe them in combat, in the Shanghai region, under the command of regular army officers, with their hair dyed vermillio
n and their faces smeared with indigo like actors. They chased the terrified Japanese while flailing their arms about with clubs in hand. Next they cleaved them with iron picks.88 Their exploits were the premise of a play in the modern repertory theater.89 In addition, I have read in a Chinese newspaper from December 29, 1936, that a conference on the same subject was presented by a Tsiang Kiai-che army officer to the Nankin Buddhist monks to encourage them to obey the national government—without balking at the order for clergy to enlist.90 The monks and nuns were, in fact, formally recruited into the Chinese National Army during the Sino-Japanese War, which preceded, announced, and accompanied the last world war. These monks and nuns were usually under the sign of the Red Cross, which they wore on their sleeves. Nonetheless, they were given military uniforms and taught how to use and handle their weapons. In Nankin, 1937, because the clergy had the financial means, they used their own money to pay their military instructors to enforce two hours of training a day.91

  There remains still a lot to discuss about the sects, such as the White Lotus sect, the White Cloud sect, Maitreya, and others, which were more or less Buddhist. In addition, there are the secret societies that were somewhat connected to these sects and played an integral role in this still misunderstood story. A part of history still intensely investigated today is the insurrectional trends and revolts which plagued China for two millennia.92 These sects and secret societies were always tainted with heresy or marked by a syncretism with Taoism, or even by the old shamanist roots of the reigning religion of the day. The regular Buddhist clergy preferred to keep their distance from these sects and secret societies. The official church turned a blind eye to this tumultuous unrest. The influence of the government, however, was much stronger in China than in Japan. The Chinese government considered this turmoil an illegal and clandestine activity (except when said government might benefit from using these sects and societies to further its own interests). We can conclude from the documentation collected above, although very incomplete and still very anecdotal, that militarization of the Buddhist clergy as such seems to have been only an episodic and sporadic phenomenon in China.

  It was not the same in the neighboring countries, most notably in Korea, and especially in Japan. One reason for this is that Buddhism was introduced in these countries from China at the same time as civilization itself. Also, this was a time when, even though the Chinese civilization was saturated with Buddhism, Buddhism had to contend with national traditions. Buddhism ultimately absorbed them. As a result, it was changed in a very decisive and enduring way. As for the populace in China (often referred to as barbarians), Chinese culture was usually exported in the form of Buddhism, whereas even in China this religion was continuously given a thrashing as barbaric. It follows that in these countries, Buddhists participate more effectively and openly in state-run life than in China. This very Chinese phenomenon of secret societies has scarcely ever existed there. Military history, however, does not escape such an inclination.

  I cannot keep from discussing Korea more in depth; there is such an abundance of material. On many occasions Korean kings enlisted in their own armies to fight against foreign invaders; the Korean peninsula was always seriously vulnerable. Monks were enlisted in the thousands. In the twelfth century they were recruited against the Jurchens; in the fourteenth, against the Mongols; in the sixteenth, against the Japanese from Hideyoshi; in the seventeenth, against the Manchu people. In return, this armed force often allowed the great Buddhist abbots to address the royal authority and to incite turmoil.93

  In Japan, we can say that Buddhist military groups truly became an institution. For six or seven centuries (roughly speaking from the tenth to the sixteenth century), they represented an essential fact in the nation’s history and in particular, its military history. We note in passing that before the modern era, Japan’s military history was hardly more than a history of its own civil wars. Yet, this is a country wherein the virtues of the warrior have always been revered. Japan’s insularity protected it against foreign aggressors who were then too weak. Until modern times this continued to be the case; as a result, it could support extensive initiatives for external expansion. So it was among themselves that the Japanese let loose their combative impulses. Furthermore, this trait is even found in the history of Japanese Buddhism; Japan has never really experienced religious unity. The Buddhist church was divided into multiple sects and then even subdivided in an entire hierarchy of branches and ramifications. A spirit of competition has continued for centuries between all these factions. The effects of this rivalry can still be felt and have contributed to the militarization of the clergy. However this was nothing like the syncretism that had led to total integration in China.94

  What is remarkable about the history of the shei, which General Renondeau so meticulously recounted, is that it takes place between the two periods when Japan was governed by centralized and unified regimes. During this period the state had established itself as the authority. Warrior monks appeared at the beginning of the Heian era, after the disintegration of the Nara Empire. This empire was very similar to the Chinese empires wherein Buddhism had been firmly supervised, regulated, bureaucratized. It was an administration modeled on the Tang dynasty and aimed at assimilating both the sangha and the state, as is now the case in present-day Thailand.95 After the tenth century, the royal court instituted a monopolizing and oppressive aristocracy in Heian (present-day Kyoto). The people were crushed by over taxing; as a consequence, the royal court pushed the peasants to seek refuge in Buddhist convents that were exempt from taxes and from civic duties, as they were in China.96

  The large monasteries benefited from this influx of manpower, for one reason because they were then able to exploit or clear their rather extensive property. This donated land had rendered them quite well off, even in China. These estates were incorporated into the “villas” (sh, shen) or the nobility’s private domain. They were given by the imperial administration and received tax-exempt status.97 Moreover, this influx of manpower soon served as the monasteries’ armed defense (which in China rarely ever transpired) against the intrusion of government administration and also against the nobility, who did not look highly upon the monasteries unjustifiably assuming rights of true manorial authority. Soon groups of monks could be found armed and beginning to rebel against their own abbots, who were often of noble birth and in collusion with the royal court.98 At the same time, military barons from the provinces instigated insurrection against the royal court. This must have resulted in the formation of what we have every right to call a feudal regime. Such formations have not been seen in China since pre-imperial antiquity, or perhaps to some extent under the Six Dynasties, or at the end of the Tang dynasty—periods in which we actually see Chinese Buddhists becoming agitated and taking up arms.99

  In Japan, religion was feudalized at the same time society was. Armed conflicts between the sects and the imperial court, between the sects and the nobles, and then even among the sects themselves, are commonplace within feudalism. Occasionally the sects were in league with the provincial barons. Since they were established in the provinces of large communities, they were like pockets of decentralization. They escaped the control of imperial power with the help of local nobles who sometimes commended them to the court, all while appropriating tax revenue. Sometimes the local nobles protected them. Sometimes the local nobility was protected by the sects.100 According to General Renondeau, in the middle of the twelfth century the imperial domain had nearly all but disappeared, with no more than a hundredth of the land left among the provincial statesmen. The remaining land formed sh, private property. Accordingly, Buddhism became involved in the formation of medieval feudalism in Japan. As indicated by some authorities on the subject, feudalism might even have originated in Buddhist convents.101

  Another point I found particularly fascinating in General Renondeau’s work was the diverse composition of the personnel in the monasteries. We are beginning to distinguish the complex
elements that compose what we call essentially Buddhist clergy.102 Regular monks who were given support by the state had to be recorded on the state’s register; others were supported by a good family, and even others by popular associations. In contrast, atypical monks were vagabonds, hermits, deserter soldiers, farmers cheating on their taxes, ecclesiastical employees, and the entire population of what’s called “peasant monks.” Peasant monks depended on the monasteries, but we cannot say too much about how they were actually connected to them or if they were, strictly speaking, truly monks or just laypersons. There was great diversity under the imprecise designation of the word sangha. In Japan, besides the monks who were there to devote themselves to their studies (gakuryo, gakush) and who formed a purely elite group of ecclesiastics in the monasteries, there was a second tier of monastics (the shuto), from whom most of the monastic troops were recruited.103 These troops, called kokumin, were composed of many pure laypeople employed on the grounds and trained with weaponry. They ultimately were combined with the shuto. After the fourteenth century, the shuto outflanked the gakuryo, only to then be outflanked in turn by the kokumin.104 One wonders what proportion of actual monks in fact participated in warlike activity.