Robinson-Lambert 1

Ian Robinson-Lambert RN364 Buddhist Literature

Comparing the Depiction of Women Across Three Branches of

The relationship between women and organized religion has always been somewhat fraught; in almost no popular religion have women been depicted as equal to men since the beginning, and in many cases are active demonized or antagonized as immoral, greedy, or seductive. Buddhism—though speaking the name of the religion conjures mental images of peace, harmony, and serenity—is no exception to this difficult relationship. Sexism, misogyny, and inequality appears in some form in all the major branches of Buddhism, though there is a definite positive evolution in the portrayal of women with time. Buddhism, the oldest branch of Buddhism and derived from the teachings of the historical Buddha himself, has the most wholly negative view of women, with much of its female-featuring literature falling into the categories of institutional androcentrism (only depicting women as objects to be used by men) or ascetic misogyny (actively portraying women in a misogynistic light).

Buddhism, the largest sect of Buddhism and the second-oldest, is more progressive in its views towards the sexes, but still teaches that the female body is inferior and can even be a punishment for a past life’s sins. Buddhism (also called Tantric Buddhism), the smallest and most recent branch, is also the most enlightened in its view of women, with numerous writings about the joys of the female body and literature that features bold, independent women. For the purposes of this paper, we will not be examining how women were treated in Buddhist society itself, but rather solely how they were portrayed in selections of the teachings and literature found in each branch—Theravada (originally southern Indian, now found all throughout Asia), Robinson-Lambert 2

Mahayana (primarily East Asia, such as China, Korea, Japan, and Indonesia), and Vajrayana

(primarily Tibet).

Although there has been some discourse about the timeline of the Buddhist canon, scholars generally agree that the oldest branch of Buddhism is Theravada, which draws its teachings from the himself in the 5th century B.C.E. In the introduction to her book Theravada Buddhism: Continuity, Diversity, and Identity, Kate Crosby notes that although

Theravada Buddhism is historically rooted in southern India, it has since been found in parts of

China, Sri Lanka, Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Burma, Thailand, Indonesia, Nepal, and even parts of Europe, Africa, Australia, and the Americas. The teachings of the Gautama Buddha were passed down orally until they were eventually transcribed and became the Canon, the largest and oldest collection of in the world. The Pali Canon is considered to be

“the highest authority on what constitutes the Dhamma—the truth or teaching of the Buddha” and is generally regarded as the preeminent source of “” (Crosby 1). As such, it is an essential tool for analyzing Buddhist thoughts and views on societal issues such as the treatment of women.

The Pali Canon is divided into three “baskets”—the (discourses), the

Pitaka (disciplines), and the Abdhidhamma Pitaka (analyses). Each of these baskets contain collections that themselves are composed of dozens and sometimes hundreds of texts; for example, the enormous body of is merely one of many collections within the

Khuddaka Nikaya, which itself is a collection within the Sutta Pitaka. In short, the Pali Canon is a tremendous body of literature, and therefore it is impossible to make generalizations about its treatment of social issues. It would easy to make a sweeping statement that “Theravada Robinson-Lambert 3

Buddhism is misogynistic,” but it would be grossly oversimplifying and discrediting the wide range of texts within the Canon.

Alan Sponberg writes at length about the treatment of women within the Pali Canon, and opens his paper “Attitudes Toward Women and the Feminine in Early Buddhism” by positing a

“multivocality” of female portrayals in Theravada literature (Sponberg 2). Because of the sheer size and volume of the Pali Canon, he writes that there cannot be a “single, uncertain voice” that dictates the Buddhist stance of various issues, but rather a “multiplicity of voices, each expressing a different set of concerns current among the members of the early community”

(Sponberg 2). By analyzing the major texts of the Pali Canon that discuss women or the female body, Sponberg draws four conclusions about the treatment of women in Theravada Buddhism, two of which we will examine more closely in this paper.

The first concept that Sponberg proposes is called institutional androcentrism, which he writes is a common thread that links hundreds of Theravada texts together. This concept, though not outwardly misogynistic as some of his other conclusions, reinforces the superiority of men and the male body. Sponberg describes institutional androcentrism as “the view that women indeed may pursue a full-time religious career, but only within a carefully regulated institutional structure that preserves and reinforces the conventionally-accepted social standards of male authority and female subordination” (Sponberg 16). Texts that espouse institutional androcentrism do not necessarily demonize or antagonize women (though we do see that in many other Theravada texts), but rather they tend to preach the great virtue of men and the inferiority of women as though it is the proper way of the universe.

Interestingly, one example of Sponberg’s theory of institutional androcentrism comes from the , the oldest written accounts of Buddhist nuns in their own words. The Robinson-Lambert 4

Therigatha is a large collections of poems by the “wise women of early Buddhism,” according to

Susan Murcott in her introduction to First Buddhist Women, and are considered among the most impressive texts in the Pali canon (Murcott 15). These poems are far from misogynistic—on the contrary, they show that there are countless Buddhist women who were revered and admired— but many of the texts reflect that women were viewed through a fundamentally different lens than their male counterparts.

In a poem by Buddhist nun Nanduttara, she notes that she was “obsessed with sensuality” before finding Buddhism, and “loved makeup and jewelry, baths and perfumes, just serving my body” (Murcott 62). The theme of women being shallow and narcissistic is echoed in many male-authored Pali texts (such as the jataka tales), and it is unlikely that a man would have written about his own “obsession” with sexual desire and his own body before becoming enlightened. This is a minor example, of course, but it shows that Theravada Buddhism clearly did not seek to treat men and women equally.

Later, in a section on Buddhist wives, the nun Isadasi writes at length about how she strove to be the perfect wife for her “rich merchant” husband (Murcott 106). She describes herself as a “humble and affectionate servant” to her husband, rising early every morning and bringing him “comb, mirror, soap, and ornaments as though [she] were a servant,” despite the fact that her husband does not reciprocate her feelings and in fact “felt nothing for [her]”

(Murcott 107). This dichotomy—the woman whose duty it is to act as “mother, servant, and slave” to her husband despite not getting anything in return—is a profound example of how women in Thervada literature are largely viewed only in relation to the morally and physically superior male. Robinson-Lambert 5

Another example of Sponberg’s institutional androcentrism can be found within the jataka tales, one of the largest and best-known bodies of work within the Pali canon. The tales are presented as stories of the Buddha’s past lives, with a distinctive moral that espouses one of the Buddha’s teachings. In the tales, the Buddha (or the , as he will not be the Buddha until a later life) is often the protagonist or one of the main characters, while his various well- known followers (such as Ananda, Sariputra, or ) comprise the rest of the characters. Occasionally, a past life of the Buddha’s villainous cousin Devadatta appears as the antagonist of the story. There are countless jataka tales that present the bodhisattva as a king, an ascetic, or an animal, but in almost none of the tales is he a woman. Therefore, it is essential to examine those few tales that do show the bodhisattva as female if we are to analyze women’s role in the Pali canon.

One such tale is the Rupyavati jataka, in which the bodhisattva is in the form of the eponymous young woman in a kingdom overrun with famine. One day she encounters a female servant who has just given birth and is on the brink of starvation; to save herself from starving to death, the servant girl is considering eating her own newborn child. Horror-struck by the girl’s determination to commit this ultimate sin, Rupyavati intervenes and chooses to sacrifice the most feminine part of her body—her breasts—so the girl can eat something and save her baby. She severs her breasts—a metaphorical destruction of her female side—and feeds the servant girl, which summons the god-king Sakra to Earth, as all enormous acts of virtue do in the jataka tales.

After ensuring that Rupyavati does not want to usurp him and take his place among the gods (a suspicion that he notably does not have when men commit great acts of virtue in other tales),

Sakra asks what Rupyavati’s greatest wish is so he can fulfill it. She answers immediately that she wishes to become a man, “for manhood is an abode of virtue in this world,” and because “ a Robinson-Lambert 6 man is superior in goodness and strength and much better at achieving the welfare of others”

(Ohnuma 160-168). Sakra fulfills this wish, transforming Rupyavati into Rupyavata, and the new man goes on to become a great and generous king. The Rupyavati jataka, though it does portray the female body as something sacred and beautiful, is a clear representation of Sponberg’s theory of institutional androcentrism: even though Rupyavati is a good and virtuous woman, the only way for her to attain a higher level of virtue is to transform into a man.

The second concept Sponberg theorizes is one that is decidedly more toxic: he calls it ascetic misogyny, or “a Buddhist appropriation of prevailing social views regarding gender…portraying women not just passively as weaker human beings, but seeing them rather as active agents of distraction and ruin” (Sponberg 18-19). Whereas institutional androcentrism merely downplays women’s role in society in favor of the male, ascetic misogyny goes much further and actively demonizes women as untrustworthy, selfish, and evil. The source of this misogyny, Sponberg writes, is unclear, but it is possible that it arises from “seeing transcendent purity to be expressed in masculine celibacy,” while the natural opposite—the female sexual body—is seen as impure and wrong (Sponberg 28).

For an example of Sponberg’s ascetic misogyny, we turn again to the jataka tales, this time to the Kunala jataka (as collected in H.T. Francis’ The Jataka, Volume V). Featuring familiar Buddhist figures such as Ananda and Sariputra, this lengthy tale essentially serves as a basis for “teaching” the ultimate immorality of womankind. In a series of vignettes and short stories, Kunala (the Buddha in a past life) and his companions tell their friend Punnamukha of the evils of women, with no shortage of graphic language. In the various miniature stories, women are described as “harlots, wenches [and] streetwalkers,” “murderous as covered pit,”

“like Hell’s insatiable maw,” “transgressors of the moral law,” “seducing traitresses,” and Robinson-Lambert 7

“pernicious as a poison-tree” (Francis 225-6). There is no doubt that this is shockingly misogynistic language, and the fact that there is an entire jataka tale devoted to demonizing womankind suggests that such misogyny was a common theme throughout strains of Theravada literature. Sponberg himself has no shortage of harsh words to say about this kind of literature, calling it “vituperative” and “insidiously pernicious” (Sponberg 22).

The jataka tales that feature women in leading or at least major roles seem to fluctuate between portraying them as mere objects to actively antagonizing them as vicious and immoral.

Rupyavati features the bodhisattva as a woman, but she chooses to become a man at the end of the story so she can live her life more virtuously than she could as a female. Kunala is an entire jataka tale meant to show how women are shallow, immoral creatures that add nothing of value to the universe. The Therigatha, the earliest known writings of Buddhist women, are not at all misogynistic in tone or content, but they do echo the idea that a woman is intended to be virtuous and devoted to the men in her life without expecting virtue or kindness in return. These three texts—Rupyavati, Kunala, and Therigatha—are merely examples in a vast canon, but each of them espouses Alan Sponberg’s theories of institutional androcentrism and ascetic misogyny in

Theravada Buddhist literature.

The largest branch of Buddhism practiced today, and the second-oldest of the three major sects, is Mahayana Buddhism. Like Theravada, Mahayana has its roots in India, but has since become far more popular in southeast Asian countries such as China, Korea, Japan, Taiwan,

Malaysia, and Vietnam. It was founded in the early years of the Common Era, and became grounded in East Asia around the 9th century (“Britannica: Mahayana”). The term Mahayana in

Sanskrit means “Great Vehicle” – there are some Mahayanists who refer to other branches of

Buddhism as , or “Lesser Vehicle,” but this term is considered somewhat derogatory Robinson-Lambert 8

(Smillie 17). Unlike the teachings of Theravada Buddhism, which supposedly derive directly from the teachings of the Gautama Buddha, the Mahayana were not written until at least four hundred years after Siddhartha Gautama’s death; however, they are not seen as any less legitimate than the Pali Canon (“Britannica: Mahayana”).

To understand the role of women in Mahayana literature, we must first understand the major differences between Theravada and Mahayana philosophy, as these differences inform how women are portrayed in their respective texts. First, where Theravada Buddhism teaches that a bodhisattva is an earlier life of the Gautama Buddha before he became enlightened,

Mahayana Buddhism teaches that “anyone can aspire to achieve awakening and thereby become a bodhisattva” (“Britannica: Mahayana”). In other words, as Smillie writes in her dissertation,

“Anyone, male or female, can become a Buddha” (Smillie 22). On a similar note, Mahayana

Buddhism also introduces the idea of the “cosmic Buddhas,” an unlimited number of Buddhas and in an unlimited number of universes, rather than viewing the Gautama Buddha as the “sole or source of liberation” (“Britannica: Mahayana”).

The idea that a bodhisattva can be anyone at any time, rather than a specific past life of the Gautama Buddha, informs Mahayana’s view on men and women. Diana Paul writes that

“women were elevated to equal—or near-equal status in Mahayana societies” because of their more enlightened view on who can be a bodhisattva (Paul 63). Certainly more so than Theravada

Buddhism, Mahayana was at least “a step in the right direction for women, as its teachings were more egalitarian” (Smillie 17). Mahayana texts also seem to acknowledge the struggles of women and the female body in a way that the Pali Canon does not. The on Transforming the Female Form, a Chinese text thought to be Mahayana in origin, writes that “throughout [a woman’s] life, she is like a maidservant who must serve and follow a great family…she is beaten Robinson-Lambert 9 by different kinds of swords and staves, rocks and tiles, and is defiled by every evil word”

(quoted by Balkwill on p. 3 of her article). This simple acknowledgement of the suffering that women go through in society at the time shows that Mahayana has more enlightened views on womankind than its early Indian counterparts.

However, this is not to say that men and women were entirely equal in the eyes of

Mahayana literature. Quite the opposite, in fact: although Mahayana Buddhism teaches that the male and female bodies are supposedly no different because everything is empty, its texts still view the female body as inferior and impure. Although sex and gender are seen as fluid and interchangeable in Mahayana Buddhism, to be incarnated in a female body is seen as a negative quality, and sometimes even a punishment for sins in a past life. Smillie writes that under the

Mahayana philosophy, men “were warned not to be disrespectful to a Buddha or a bodhisattva, not to slander, flatter, deceive, or envy the happiness of another man or they would be reborn a female” (Smillie 23).

In Robert Thurman’s translation of The Holy Teaching of Vimalakirti, one of the best- known Mahayana texts, there is a chapter in which the Buddha’s follower Sariputra converses with a goddess on the nature of the body. Sariputra asks her why she maintains her “female state” if she could willingly transform to a male; the goddess replies by asking him whether he would say the same thing to a woman created by a magician. Sariputra says that he would not, because the woman would not really exist, to which the goddess replies that “all things do not really exist,” and so she is not really a woman any more than he is really a man (Thurman 61).

To illustrate her point, the goddess magically switches their bodies, so she appears in the form of

Sariputra and Sariputra appears in the form of her. Though their natures have not changed, they have taken the form of the opposite sex, but this does not matter in the grand scheme of things; Robinson-Lambert 10 the Buddha believes that “in all things, there is neither male nor female” (Thurman 62). In this way, Mahayana seems to teach that the male and female bodies are equal because they both do not really exist in absolute reality. But if there is no difference between males and females, then why are female bodies seen as something to be punished with for committing a wrongdoing against a Buddha or bodhisattva?

Likewise, the female body cannot become a Buddha in Mahayana literature, unless she is reborn in a later life as a male body or unless she magically changes sexes in her current life

(something which happens frequently in Mahayana texts). Stephanie Balkwill opens her article on women’s bodies and Mahayana Buddhism with the statement that “in no Mahayana sutra known to us does a woman ever become a Buddha in her own body” (Balkwill 1). She views this as an inherent representation of the misogyny that carried over from Theravada Buddhism, a lingering view that the female body is “defiling, sexualized, rooted in karmic bonds, and ultimately entrapping” (Balkwill 3). She also writes that Mahayana literature continued to view the female body as “predisposed to lust, attachment, and defilement,” though this is not necessarily considered to be the fault of the woman (rather, it is more of a “biological defect”)

(Balkwill 2). This opens up a further question of Mahayana’s apparent teaching of the equality of the sexes; if they are equal in that they both do not really exist, then why are females barred from becoming Buddhas unless they change to males?

Ultimately, we can conclude that Mahayana literature certainly represents progress from the earlier Theravada period, but still raises a host of issues with inequality of the male and female bodies. Although Mahayana texts do seem to teach that men and women are equal in that neither gender or sex truly exists in absolute reality—as shown in The Holy Teaching of

Vimalakirti—there is an unquestionable bias towards the male body regarding the Buddha and Robinson-Lambert 11 the bodhisattvas. Women are ineligible to become a Buddha in their lifetime, unless they change their sex—despite the fact that neither sex is supposed to exist—or unless they are reborn as a man in a later life (which they will not accomplish if they act poorly, which results in being reborn as a woman).

Finally, we turn to the smallest and most comparatively recent branch of Buddhism,

Vajrayana (also known as Tantric Buddhism). Primarily found in Tibet and parts of East Asia,

Vajrayana is an expansion of traditional Mahayana ideals, which has led some scholars to dismiss it as more of an “offshoot” of Mahayana Buddhism than a distinct branch. However, for the purposes of this paper, we will be considering Vajrayana as its own separate canon, because there are subtle but important differences in how women are perceived between Mahayana and

Vajrayana literature. In her article “Buddhist Attitudes Towards Women’s Bodies,” Diana Paul notes that her research primarily analyzes Mahayana literature, “and does not deal with

Theravada Buddhism nor with Tantric or Vajrayana Buddhism,” which suggests that Mahayana and Vajrayana are different enough to warrant a distinction (Paul 64). Similarly, in a dissertation entitled “Women in Vajrayana Buddhism: The Embodiment of Wisdom and Enlightenment in

Traditionally Male-Oriented Buddhism,” Eneli Coakley states that “Tibetan Vajrayana is considered a distinct movement within Buddhism regardless of its direct expansion of Mahayana

Buddhism” because it “mainly elaborates on the line of reasoning already accepted in Mahayana

Buddhism but also involves extensive descriptions of esoteric meditation techniques” (Coakley

8).

Vajrayana Buddhism shows a continued evolution in how women are perceived in

Buddhism, further still than Mahayana Buddhism. Whereas Mahayana acknowledged the struggle that women face in society but still preached the impurity of the female body, Vajrayana Robinson-Lambert 12 does away with the concept of inequality entirely and places men and women on much more level ground. In her dissertation “A Study of Non-Egalitarianism Found in Early Indian, Early

Mahayana, and Vajrayana Buddhism,” Julia Smillie posits that “while [she] was able to find examples of gender-bias and misogyny in early Indian Buddhism, by the time this philosophy had reached Tibet in the form of Vajrayana there was little doctoral evidence of spiritual inequality” (Smillie v). Under Vajyrana Buddhism, “no longer is a woman seen as an evil temptress or an unwelcome renunciant” as she is often depicted in the Pali Canon (Smillie 46).

The theme of a female body being inferior (found in Mahayana teachings and literature) is also not present in Vajrayana; under this branch of Buddhism, “women’s bodies reflect the energetic qualities of limitless space and the wisdom which knows that space…human women have power simply because they have female bodies, which is seen in Vajryana as emanations of the wisdom principle” (Coakley 13).

Vajryana’s more progressive stance on women—lacking the androcentrism and misogyny found in Theravada, and the inequality of the body found in Mahayana—is reflected in the literature of the time as well as the teachings. One of the most renowned pieces of Vajrayana literature is Tansgnyön Heruka’s The Life of Milarepa, an account of the “eleventh-century poet and meditation master” who is “perhaps the most recognizable figure in the history of Tibetan

Buddhism” (Quintman 20). This biography (or rather “autobiography,” as Heruka believed he was Milarepa reincarnated) was written in the fifteenth century, several centuries after

Buddhism’s resurgence in Tibet, and takes place during a time when Vajrayana dominated

Tibetan religious life. The tale is interesting in that the main character is not a devout Buddhist monk from the start, but rather a man drawn to black magic in order to take revenge on his cruel aunt and uncle. After committing said revenge and becoming a renowned sorcerer, Milarepa Robinson-Lambert 13 desires to atone for his sins and leaves to study Buddhism under Marpa the Translator. There are only a few women in the story, but they are complex and developed characters who are a far cry from the one-dimensional “harlots” and “slaves” that are portrayed in Theravada literature.

The first of these major female characters, and the one to appear first in the story, is

Milarepa’s mother Nyangtsa Kargyen. When her husband—Milarepa’s father—dies at the beginning of the story, her relatives naturally plan on ceding control of his estate and “the remaining wealth” to her, while they “provide whatever assistance she needs as best we can from the sidelines” (Quintman 22). Immediately, we see that she is a woman in a position of power and independence, and is a cunning and savvy agent rather than merely being a devoted wife and mother. It is Nyangtsa Kargyen that drives Milarepa to pursue the art of black magic, which she achieves through skillful manipulation of her son and his love for her. She chastises him for going out and drinking one night, asking him “Can you really think about singing songs when nowhere on earth is there anyone more miserable than us?” to which Milarepa instantly responds

“I shall do whatever you wish” (Quintman 27-8).

Though Nyangtsa Kargyen’s actions are callous and manipulative, they are certainly not without reason—her brother-in-law and his wife seize control of her late husband’s land and wealth, and force her and her children into a life of indentured servitude and cruelty. To save his family from their suffering, she demands that Milarepa “train to become an expert in black magic, curses, and casting hail…then you should destroy those who inflicted misery on us, villagers and countrymen beginning with your uncle and aunt” (Quintman 28). Should he fail at his quest, she threatens to kill herself in front of him as a visceral reminder of his shortcomings.

The simple act of giving Nyangtsa Kargyen a legitimate reason for her bloodlust sets The Life of

Milarepa apart from earlier Theravada literature, where she would have been portrayed much Robinson-Lambert 14 more as a two-dimensional villainess. Yes, her actions and her manipulations are abhorrent, but she does them out of a deep love for her family and a desire to take revenge on those who did them harm.

The other main female character that appears in the story is Dakmema, the wife of

Milarepa’s teacher Marpa the Translator. While she appears in a more stereotypical role as the nurturer and caregiver, she is still a complex character who is defined by her kindness. A generous and comforting woman, she fulfills the maternal role for Milarepa that Nyangtsa

Kargyen is too manipulative and distrustful to fill. She is a faithful wife to Marpa, who does not particularly reciprocate her devotion, reminiscent of Isadasi’s poem in the much earlier

Therigatha—her first scene in the story is telling Marpa of a prophetic dream she had, but he coldly ignores her warnings and sends her away. Nevertheless, she urges Milarepa not to “form wrong ideas about [Marpa]” when the latter is overwhelmed by his teacher’s abuse and cruelty.

She also tells Milarepa that she will try and plead his case to Marpa, but her husband is “a strong willed-judge and will like not consider [her] testimony,” suggesting that their relationship has been one-sided for quite some time and she has grown used to it.

But where Isadasi continues to blindly serve her merchant husband in the Therigatha,

Dakmema finally takes matters into her own hands after Marpa’s latest cruelty leaves Milarepa’s body “festered with sores, while pus and blood oozed from three wounds” (Quintman 60). With her sympathy for Milarepa at last overcoming her faithfulness to her husband, Dakmema flies to

Marpa and furiously tells him, “Your power has blinded you to the truth…It is disgraceful that

[Milarepa’s torture] was caused by a great such as yourself” (Quintman 61). Marpa does not consider her views and continues his abuse of Milarepa, but the fact that Dakmema was able Robinson-Lambert 15 to stand up to her husband rather than continuing to follow him silently is telling enough of the great evolution from Theravada to Vajrayana literature.

Interestingly, two of the main female characters in The Life of Milarepa can be considered a natural evolution of the two archetypes of women found in earlier Theravada literature—the scheming degenerate and the devoted servant. However, unlike their earlier counterparts found in the Kunala and Rupyavati jatakas, the female characters in Milarepa demonstrate the new attitude towards the sexes in Vajryana Buddhism—namely that they are fully fleshed-out, three-dimensional people rather than one-sided stereotypes. Nyangsta Kargyen may be amoral and manipulative, but she is fiercely protective of her family and her thirst for revenge is completely justified. Dakmema may be a virtuous and devoted “servant” to Marpa, but she is not afraid to stand up to her husband when she is sick of his cruelty towards Milarepa, and she is comforting and kind towards Milarepa when she sees that he is in pain.

Ultimately, examining selections of literature from the three dominant branches of

Buddhism, we can see a natural evolution in the treatment and portrayal of women. These portrayals may not reflect how women were actually treated at the time the literature was written, but they certainly show a progression towards equality between men and women. In the Pali

Canon of Theravada Buddhism, the oldest existing branch of Buddhism derived from the teachings of the Gautama Buddha himself, we see a fluctuation between portraying women as reactionary servants of the men in their lives and active agents of lust, betrayal, treachery, and violence. Mahayana Buddhism—the largest branch of Buddhism, primarily found in East Asian countries—are a bit more evolved on the relationship between men and women, as it preaches that anyone can be a bodhisattva rather than a direct past life of the Gautama Buddha, which supposedly includes both men and women. However, Mahayana Buddhism does not consider Robinson-Lambert 16 male and female bodies to be equal; the female body is always considered to be impure, inferior, and unworthy of progressing from a bodhisattva to a Buddha. Although it seems to teach that neither man nor woman truly exists, and therefore there are no real differences between the two,

Mahayana Buddhism still maintains that the male body is superior. It is only in Vajrayana

Buddhism—also known as Tantric or —that we see a real change in how women are treated compared to men. In The Life of Milarepa, possibly the best-known work of

Vajrayana literature, there are a selection of complex, fully-fleshed female characters alongside their male counterparts. Similarly, in Vajyrana teachings, the female body is treated as a fount of wisdom and divinity for the first time, rather than something to be passed over (in Theravada literature) or something that is a punishment for past sins (in Mahayana literature). Of course, these are relatively broad conclusions drawn about each sect of Buddhism, as it would be impossible to analyze all the literature from each school of teaching, but the literary selections above (each one an outstanding text from its respective school) paint a general evolution in the depiction of women across Theravada, Mahayana, and Vajrayana Buddhism.

Robinson-Lambert 17

Works Cited

Balkwill, Stephanie. “Why does a woman need to become a man in order to become a Buddha?” Religion Compass, 2018.

Coakley, Eneli. Women in Vajrayana Buddhism: The Embodiment of Wisdom and Enlightenment in Traditionally Male-Oriented Buddhism. 2012. Georgetown University. PhD dissertation.

Francis, H.T., translator. “Kunala Jataka,” from The Jataka, Vol. V, 1905.

Haribhatta, “Rupyavati Jataka,” from Jataka-mala, c. 5th century.

Murcott, Susan. First Buddhist Women: Translations and Commentaries on the Therigatha. Parallax Press, 1991.

Paul, Diana. “Buddhist Attitudes Towards Women’s Bodies.” Buddhist-Christian Studies, Vol. 1, 1981.

Quintman, Andrew, translator. The Life of Milarepa. By Tansgnyön Heruka. Penguin Publishing, 2010.

Silk, Jonathan A. “Mahayana.” Encyclopedia Britannica, 1998.

Smillie, Julia. A study of non-egalitarianism in early Indian, early Mahayana, and Vajrayana Buddhism. 1996. California State University, Dominguez Hills, PhD dissertation.

Sponberg, Alan. “Attitudes Toward Women and the Feminine in Early Buddhism.” Buddhism, Sexuality, and Gender. 1992.

Thurman, Robert, translator. The Holy Teaching of Vimalakirti. By Vimalakirti. Penn State University Press, 2003.