Japanese Tales

by Royall Tyler

  BUDDHISM

  Buddhism began in India about 500 B.C., and first came officially to the Japanese court’s attention in the mid-sixth century A.D. In between it had permeated Southeast Asia, Central Asia, China, and Korea, and gone through a thousand years of evolution. In time it all but vanished from India and faded in China. During the thirteenth century, certain Japanese Buddhists even began claiming that the center of Buddhism was now Japan.

  So old, complex, and sophisticated a religion is hard to summarize, even for the limited purpose of introducing these stories. Perhaps it is best to begin with some basic terms.

  This book is full of Buddhist “monks,” with a few “priests” scattered here and there. Some were saintly, some frivolous, some worldly and rich. The religious or quasi-religious population was large, as in medieval Europe, and many monks who appear in these stories were sons of great families. Subclasses of varying standing and outlook made up the religious population, but I have not tried to distinguish them in translation. Instead, I have called everyone a monk unless he is obviously ministering to the laity; then I have called him a priest. I have left out all ecclesiastical titles.

  Monks had boys of varying ages (acolytes) to serve them, and often disciples studying under them. In their all-male society, there naturally occurred certain things that are made quite explicit in nos. 154 and 155.

  Monks were attached more or less closely to religious establishments conventionally called “temples” in English, although in many cases the word “monastery” might do as well. (It is also simply a useful convention to call the native gods’ holy places “shrines.”) Typical temple names are Tōdaiji, Kōfukuji, and Tennōji, where the element -ji means “temple.” Another pronunciation of the same -ji element is -dera, which occurs in such temple names as Shigadera, Koyadera, and Miidera. Two other endings that for our purposes also mean “temple” are -in (Urin’in) and -dō (Rokkakudō). Nos. 22 through 26 are a tiny sampling of Japan’s many temple origin legends.

  Important temples were large and complex communities. Kōfukuji and Tōdaiji in Nara, Mount Hiei near Kyoto, and the Mount Kōya of no. 26 each had a total population of many thousands, and consisted of countless buildings great and small. They also had vast, widely scattered estates which supported their activities. The most prominent temple complex in these stories is Mount Hiei. Mount Hiei is first of all a mountain about 3,000 feet high that rises near the northwest corner of Kyoto. The temple complex that grew up there after about A.D. 800 came to wield enormous religious, political, and even military power. Since its doings were of special interest to the nobles, almost all of whom had relatives on the mountain, there was a lot of traffic, material and intellectual, between Kyoto and Mount Hiei.

  Buddhist scriptures are called sutras. The one most commonly mentioned here is the Lotus Sutra, but the Heart Sutra (nos. 74, 182), the Sutra of Golden Light (no. 149), the Diamond Wisdom Sutra (no. 151), and others also appear. “Sutra,” a Sanskrit word, means a text accepted by the tradition as having been spoken by the Buddha. The Japanese used Chinese translations.

  Shakyamuni, the historical Buddha, was called Shaka in Japan. Shaka was a man and taught as a man, without claiming to be a god or to share in any divine nature. His aim was simply to teach the way things are. One who understood his message would be free from bondage to the complex seductions of the physical and mental realms, characterized above all by the round of birth and death. This theme remained vital throughout Buddhist history, and the Japanese monks followed through on it as thoroughly as anyone. Although the Buddhist cosmos became filled with divine beings, Buddhist philosophy continued to hold that these divinities had no ultimate existence, but only pointed to, or acted from, a reality beyond name or description: the ways things really are.

  Since “the way things really are” obviously does not exclude the round of birth and death (we are all born and we all die), medieval Japanese Buddhism taught routinely that enlightenment and the world which enslaves us are not different from each other. It would be foolish even to try explaining this paradox further, but I mention it because it underlies no. 38, the story of a saint and a prostitute. It demonstrates that to the enlightened eye (the saint’s), all things, even the incarnation of base, enslaving desire (the prostitute), speak of their true nature, which is freedom and enlightenment.

  The effort to realize or, better, to embody this understanding had profound consequences in Buddhist thought and practice. One approach held that the path toward freeing onself from slavery (that is, toward opening the eye of enlightenment) went through close embrace with this apparently enslaving world. Since the detailed Buddhist code of conduct for monks is designed precisely to discourage anything of the kind, those who took this approach were likely to break various rules. Traces of a line of adepts who do seem to have lived beyond the rules may be seen in nos. 182 and 211, and perhaps in no. 212. All three monks were from the same temple in Nara, and at least the first two were from the same lineage; the visionary of no. 101 may have been connected with them. Meanwhile, the monk’s life told in no. 213 is a garland of triumphant affronts to respectability.

  A related approach avoided rule-breaking, upholding instead orthodox conduct to achieve the same enlightened embrace of the world of birth and death. This was the tradition founded in Japan by Kōbō Daishi, who is still a powerful presence in Japanese Buddhism. Kōbō Daishi taught that all objects of sense and thought are the “preaching” of the Cosmic Buddha, and stressed for everyone the possibility of enlightenment in this body. His own legend naturally exemplifies this achievement, for he did not die (no. 26). Instead, he entered eternal meditation on his mountain.

  Kōbō Daishi and the others all practiced one variety or another of the Esoteric Buddhism that underlies the Buddhism of these stories. One or two terms from this tradition need explaining. Nos. 26, 87, 88, and 101 mention the vajra (a Sanskrit word), which is a ritual as well as a symbolic implement. “Vajra” is variously translated “diamond” or “thunderbolt,” and refers to spiritual power. The Vajra-Bearer (no. 101) is therefore a being of pure power. The Vajra-Realm Mandala is paired (nos. 101, 127)) with the Womb-Realm Mandala: both complementary diagrams of the cosmos sum up a vast and complex understanding of “the ways things are.” The healing described in no. 127 works because the healer endows the mandalas with living potency and so briefly transforms the area around him into a perfect realm where sickness is impossible.

  BUDDHIST DIVINITIES

  Shaka must have seemed more than human to his disciples, though he preached purely as a man, for people’s tendency to deify great beings and principles is very strong. In any case, as Buddhism developed and spread it was influenced in many ways by other, theistic religions. By the time it reached Japan it was rich in divinities, having even absorbed the Hindu gods Indra and Brahma, who appear in these stories respectively as Taishaku (nos. 11, 147) and Bonden (no. 36). Of course the Buddhist divinities have Sanskrit names, but I will use their Japanese names as they appear in these tales. I have retained two Sanskrit titles, though, because they are so well known in English: buddha and bodhisattva.

  Buddhas. “Buddha” means a fully enlightened being. Naturally the title applies to Shaka himself, who is mentioned here once as a divinity (no. 101) and once as a mountain (no. 88). But it also applies to other divinities who represent one aspect or another of the timeless, universal character of enlightenment.

  Buddhism came to teach that Shaka, the buddha of our age, was one of a line of buddhas extending out of the remote past and into the indefinite future. Two of the past buddhas, Bibashi and Kashō, appear here (nos. 101, 197). The next buddha after Shaka is Miroku, who at present is still technically a bodhisattva. He will descend into our world eons from now, as no. 88 explains. According to a Japanese legend (nos. 22, 88, 102), the earth will then be covered with gold. This no doubt means that the earth will be made new, since Miroku has at times been worshipped in Japan as a deity of world renewal. In the meantime
he waits in the Inner Sanctum of the Tosotsu Heaven (nos. 73, 86), which is a kind of paradise where certain earnest practitioners longed to go. One monk (no. 73) reached the gate but unfortunately could not get in. The Tosotsu Heaven was associated with salvation achieved through the Lotus Sutra (nos. 73, 111).

  Dainichi (“Great Sun”), described as “the Cosmic Buddha” in no. 101, is associated especially with Kōbō Daishi’s teaching. He is philosophically interesting, but too abstruse ever to have been popular.

  No buddha required sole allegiance, but many people (like the nun in no. 160) centered their devotion by choice on Amida, whom the Japanese imagined and depicted as a simple buddha in meditation. Amida is the loftiest savior figure in the Japanese Buddhist pantheon. His name means both “Infinite Light” and “Infinite Life.” In the thirteenth century there emerged a trend toward exclusive faith in Amida, but this development lies outside the world of these stories.

  Amida presides over a paradise that lies a vast distance away from our world, toward the west. This paradise is sometimes called the Pure Land and sometimes the Land of Bliss. Amida established it for all those who have faith in him, and he vowed that whoever calls his name sincerely shall be reborn there. That is why the key practice for the Amida devotee is simply to chant Amida’s Name, “Namu Amida Butsu” (“Hail Amida Buddha!”). Many people in these stories call on Amida, but none so urgently as the robber who actually hears Amida answer him from the depths of the sea (no. 115). Calling the Name was also a common practice at funerals, for the benefit of the deceased (nos. 143, 203).

  Unlike the “enlightenment in this body” approach just described, Amida faith was almost entirely concerned with the life to come. At the moment of death, Amida would come down from his paradise in a blaze of glory, preceded by the two Bodhisattvas Kannon and Seishi, and by a joyous host of musicians and saints, to welcome the soul into the Land of Bliss (nos. 118, 119). The people around the dying person would not see this vision, but they would know by certain signs that the soul had gone to glory: they would hear strains of celestial music, smell an indescribably sweet fragrance on the air, and see a purple cloud trailing away from the spot in the direction of the west (nos. 113, 160).

  Voluntary renunciation of the body (rather than “suicide”) is an identifiable strain in Japanese spiritual endeavor, especially in medieval times. A few people thirsted so strongly for paradise that they sought death to hasten their journey there. The way to seek Amida’s paradise in this manner was by drowning. The sea off Tennōji (mentioned in no. 43) was a well-known place for this, but the two stories on the theme here (nos. 116, 161) involve the Katsura River near Kyoto. Both show in different ways how dangerous the practice was, and how complex piety could be.

  Bodhisattvas. A bodhisattva is, in theory, a being who has vowed not to enter final Nirvana (enlightenment) until all beings in the world can enter it with him, and who in the meantime helps and saves all those who are caught in the round of birth and death. For example Amida, as a buddha, does not intervene directly in this world, although he welcomes to his far-off paradise the soul of anyone who calls his Name with faith. On the other hand Kannon, as a bodhisattva, works actively in the world to save those in distress.

  The Bodhisattva Kannon, together with the relatively obscure Seishi, accompanied Amida to welcome the soul into the Land of Bliss. But Kannon’s religious role in Japan was much broader and more autonomous than that of an attendant to Amida. It was based partly on the “Kannon Sutra,” actually a chapter of the much longer Lotus Sutra, where Amida is only briefly mentioned, and partly on other scriptures and traditions.

  Kannon is often identified as the “Goddess of Mercy.” The “mercy” is quite right, but for Japan the “goddess” part is doubtful, if only because in terms of the Lotus Sutra a female bodhisattva is impossible. Sexually specific depictions of Kannon are all male. In any case, the variety of Kannon’s forms makes the question less interesting than it might sound. The “Kannon Sutra” tells how Kannon may take any conceivable form to save beings from any conceivable peril. (In no. 137, for example, he appears as a huge snake.) Moreover, Nyoirin Kannon (no. 23), Thousand-Armed Kannon (nos. 70, 98, and others), and Eleven-Headed Kannon (nos. 27, 82, and others) are only some of the forms of Kannon that are depicted in religious art.

  The main image on the altar of a temple dedicated to Kannon would be a specific form such as Eleven-Headed Kannon, and that form alone would be associated with that temple. Nyoirin Kannon usually has six arms, Eleven-Headed Kannon looks quite normal except for a sort of crown formed of faces with different expressions, and Thousand-Armed Kannon has about that number of arms. The thousand-armed form simply shows graphically the countless ways Kannon saves beings from danger (sickness in no. 70, a frightful snake in no. 98), but the reasons for the other forms are more complicated. All wield saving power.

  Kannon has a paradise called Fudaraku in Japanese. Potalaka, its Sanskrit name, is visibly the same as that of the famous Potala Palace in Lhasa, until recently the home of the Dalai Lama. (For the Tibetans, the Dalai Lama is an incarnation of Kannon.) Some mountains in Japan were thought of as Fudaraku, but the Japanese knew that Buddhist texts identify it as a mountain at the southern tip of India.

  To the Japanese, the location of Fudaraku meant that Kannon’s paradise, unlike Amida’s, was in our own world and that in principle it could be reached in this body. A few people, like the man in no. 157, tried to sail there. But although Fudaraku was a geographically real place, it was so remote from Japan that the journey there was actually impossible. In other words, to set out for Fudaraku meant to renounce one’s body. (Perhaps the idea of sailing to Fudaraku was colored by legends of island paradises in the sea, as in nos. 106 and 186.) The devotees who did so can have had little doubt about this. They had themselves cast adrift from somewhere on the Pacific coast of Japan, sometimes sealed in a cabin aboard a rudderless boat. Only a story like that of the nice little road god who sailed to Fudaraku (no. 159) can make the theme bearable.

  People could hardly imagine paradise without imagining hell. Medieval Japan imagined hell vividly. Whereas Kannon normally saved people from earthly dangers, the Bodhisattva Jizō specialized in saving people from hell. He was naturally very popular. The Kasuga God in no. 215 was identified with Jizō, among other Buddhist divinities. Jizō looks like a mild little monk (nos. 104, 180). The wizard of the mountains (no. 88) rejected him on the grounds that he did not look tough enough to keep the unruly Japanese people in line, and perhaps the wizard was right; but many miracle stories show what a tireless savior Jizō is.

  The Bodhisattvas Monju and Fugen are closely associated with the Buddha Shaka, especially in connection with Shaka’s preaching of the Lotus Sutra. One monk sees, in a vision of this preaching, “the Buddha, flanked by Monju and Fugen, [sitting] before him on his Lion Throne” (no. 120). Monju embodies the Buddha’s wisdom. In no. 24 an Indian monk recognizes a Japanese saint as an incarnation of Monju.

  Fugen embodies the Buddha’s Teaching and rides a white elephant (nos. 38, 121). Since he plays a major role in the Lotus Sutra, he shared particularly in the Sutra’s popularity. The touching idea that Fugen could manifest himself as a woman of pleasure (no. 38) got sympathetic response, for a major medieval play is based on it, and the theme lived on in later woodblock prints.

  The Bodhisattva Kokūzō had no popular cult in Japan, but some scholar-monks honored him because invoking Kokūzō could dramatically improve one’s power to understand and remember sacred texts (no. 177). Kokūzō’s decision to manifest himself as a beautiful woman (also no. 177) is akin to Fugen’s appearing as a prostitute. It illustrates perfectly the enlightened tactic of using people’s own weaknesses and desires to draw them toward the true goal.

  Lower Buddhist Divinities. A third class of Buddhist divinities has a less exalted standing than the buddhas and bodhisattvas, but includes divinities who are prominent in these stories. There are, first of all, the protectors. The protec
tive attitude of the native gods toward Buddhism has already been noted, but Buddhism had a corps of official protectors before it even reached Japan. They guard the buddhas, the bodhisattvas, and the devotee as well. The only one who figures here is Bishamon. Images of such divinities show them as warriors, often trampling demons underfoot, and that is why Bishamon wields his spear so effectively (no. 146). He could also dispense wealth (no. 155).

  A class of wrathful divinities, associated especially with Esoteric Buddhism, represent energy-in-action, destroying whatever impedes enlightenment. Even important, peaceful divinities can take on a wrathful appearance. Kannon, for instance, has at times a terrifying form that is visualized surrounded by flames. Fudō (“The Unmoving”), the wrathful emanation of Dainichi, appears in several stories, and is still popular. He is especially to be found on mountains, near a waterfall. Usually blue-black in color, Fudō sits or stands on a rock and is surrounded by flames (no. 95). Practices associated with him involve the energy of fire (no. 34). Sometimes this energy is turned to the purpose of healing (nos. 74, 126). The fierce ascetic of no. 73 is also a powerful healer, and it is Fudō who carries him up to the Tosotsu Heaven.

  Two stories feature a gorgeous feminine divinity named Kichijōten, probably descended from the Indian goddess Lakshmi. Though well known as an object for a monk’s sexual fantasies (no. 20), she was actually one of many divinities you could pray to for wealth (no. 172).

  There is also the king of hell. In Buddhism there are multiple hells, just as there are multiple paradises and heavens. In these stories, though, hell is not too complicated. No. 149 evokes it nicely. Emma, the king of hell and judge of the dead, appears in nos. 46, 149, and 215. He was usually imagined in Japan as a Chinese magistrate, aided by a whole bureaucracy of assistants, officials, bailiffs, etc. Fortunately, he could be influenced by savior figures like Jizō.