· CHAPTER TWO The Revival of Old Buddhism

DuruNG THE LATE HEIAN and the early Kamakura periods, major shifts were taking place in the politics and religion of Japan. The changes in the Buddhist world were so significant that historians refer to a great divide between an Old Buddhism consisting of Tendai, Shingon and the Nara schools; and the New Buddhisms of Honen, Shinran, Nichiren, and Dogen. The term "Kamakura Buddhism'' refers primarily to the remarkable innova­ tions of the New Buddhism camp, and implies that by the Kamakura period the Old Buddhists were effete, stale, and therefore deserving of their demise. In reality, the Old Buddhists enjoyed an increasing popularity, and the number of Shingon temples, for instance, that sprang anew in the coun­ tryside of central Japan rivaled that of any of the so-called Kamakura sects. Both camps were deeply involved in a process of reformation spurred by the common doubts they all had about which form of Buddhism could pro­ duce visions of realities more perfect than those of the political and social world. The result was an outpouring of a great diversity of interpretations. While Honen was discovering that rebirth in the Pure Land was possible by reciting Amida's name; Shinran that Amida Buddha saves even those who are evil; Dogen that enlightenment was achievable just by meditative sit­ ting; and Nichiren that a text, the Lotus Sutra, could save; the Old Buddhists were regaining their confidence in traditions that were rediscovered and renewed through a newly awakened historical consciousness. Myoe was at the forefront of this renaissance, and he and others like him delighted in their repeated experiences of visions of the ordinary world made divine, or of a divine world created solely by the faculty of fantasy. Imagination, fan­ tasy and their visions were alive and well; but only because there were those who persevered in the face of doubt and, at times, great destruction. DEATH AND REMEMBRANCE OF THE PAST

The Death and Remembrance of the Past By late evening of December 7, 1180, Taira Shigehira (1156-1184), commander of a large force sent by his father Kiyomori (m8-1181) to destroy the mili­ tary power of the Nara monasteries, finally overpowered the soldier-monks at Narazuka and Hannya-san in Nara after an all-day battle. Pursuing the fleeing monks, Shigehira's soldiers "rode in victory, set fire to hamlets and villages everywhere, and burned everything."1 A strong wind fanned the fires and blew embers into the distance, setting off a chain of fires that even­ tually reached Todaiji, Kofukuji, and other temples slightly to the south. The great statue of Locana Buddha at Todaiji was utterly ruined, the Kaidan­ in where priests were ordained was a total loss, as were scores of other build­ ings. Shigehira had succeeded spectacularly; the old cultic center of the nation lay in ashes. Kiyomori triumphed in his strategy of destruction; but it proved to be his last major mistake, at least in the minds of his enemies. For years, he had provoked the Fujiwara establishment and the Buddhist clergy by reduc­ ing their power, boldly disregarding their feelings in a way that only a man of superior military might could afford. But his arrogance had won him a growing band of enemies, who were saddened and outraged by the destruc­ tion of so much that only an old tradition could produce and maintain. The material loss was bad enough, but how could the disruption of rituals that had been performed regularly at Kensaku-in since 752, for instance, be comper1sated for? 2 Once broken, that kind of continuity could never be repaired, unless history could be repeated or rewritten. Even more, the loss was not just a tragedy limited to several temples, but was of national propor­ tion. "Have the Buddhist law and the imperial law," lamented Kujo Kane­ zane (1149-1207), "been utterly destroyed as regards the people and the world? It is not something that words can reach, nor the tip of a brush explain."3 For Kanezane, the disaster exceeded even national significance, for it indicated that something was awry in the cosmos, in time itself: "Have we reached the time of evil fate? Have we opened a season of destruction?"4 This interpretation of events on such a cosmic scale meant that Kiyomori, as the perpetrator of this evil, should suffer from more than human hands. Barely three months after the burning of Nara, Kiyomori was stricken by an intense fever and died in excruciating pain. The fiery fever, everyone said, was not just due to his illness, but was a direct consequence of the mistake he made by burning the temples. Justice was swift, certain, and clearly com­ mensurate with the crime. Emperor Takakura (r. 1168-1180) suffered an even speedier fate for being the monarch in whose reign this awful disorder took place: he died only two weeks after the burning. The physical continuity represented by the buildings, at least, was totally disrupted; and Kanezane, aware of what was lost and what it would take to replace them, could only "look to heaven and weep, fall down to

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