Emotions Conducive to Awakening

1 A Young Prince’s Longing for His Mother: Grief and the Arousal of the bodhi mind

It is well known that the so-called historical Buddha Śākyamuni supposedly lived during the sixth and fifth centuries B. C. and was born into a wealthy family of local rulers, the Śākya. All mentioned accounts of the life story of the Buddha up to the Shaka no honji are unanimous in their depiction of the upbringing of young Prince Siddhârtha in splendour and luxury. Likewise, the canonical and non-canonical sources agree that his biological mother Māyā perished only seven days after giving a painless and miraculous birth to the prince in Lumbinī (Runbini 藍毘尼).^[18] A peculiar characteristic of the Shaka no honji is not only the fact that one of the foci of the narrative is the prince’s childhood, but also that the decisive moment of “arousing [the bodhi-] mind” (hosshin) is placed in this stage of his life and not, as might be expected, during the famous four outings which are described in great detail, for instance in the Konjaku monogatari shū, arguably the most important Japanese hagiography of the Buddha during medieval times.^[19]

The brief passage we will look at is located at the beginning of the narrative and briefly depicts the young prince’s arousal of the bodhi mind through the realisation that parents of “sentient beings” (shūjō 衆生) care for and nourish their children and thus display “benevolence” (on) towards their offspring. From the observation of a pair of birds feeding their children with worms, the young prince infers two important facts. Firstly, he begins to think that he is the only sentient being that does not have a mother, and this evokes his “sadness” (hi) over the impermanence of human life. Further he is bemoaning the fact that he was denied the care and affection of a mother during his childhood. Secondly, the fact that he is apparently an exception to the general rule of being brought up by two parents^[20] does not prevent him from striving towards the repayment of the “benevolence” his mother showed him by nourishing him in her womb and giving birth to him. Far from portraying a detached and superior being, Shaka no honji draws a picture of the young Prince Siddhârtha entering the way of religion for the sake of the awakening of his mother and thus displays “filial piety” (kō), a core virtue in Confucian discourse. Regarding the way the protagonist’s experience of time is depicted, it is important to note the stark contrast between the child’s idle spending of his days and the sudden realisation of his mother’s demise, which brings with it a high awareness of impermanence. The childhood days spent in the palace of Kapilavastu (Kabira 迦毘羅) are described in the following way:

He [i.e. Siddhârtha] spent long spring days and on the long autumn nights he took in the light of the moon and spent the night waking in front of the window. When he thus spent the days and months […].

ちゝたる、はるの日をくらし、まんくたる秋の夜は、月のひかりをうけ、まとのまへにて、夜よあかし、月日をおくりたまひけるほとに […]^[21]

Due to confinement of the prince to his familiy’s palace, the tempo-spatial characteristics of the palace in Kapilavastu are distinguishable by very few new stimuli.^[22] The absence of new encounters, his social interaction being limited to his entourage, and the seemingly never ending recurrence of the same, which becomes clearly visible through repeated seasonal imagery, expresses an awareness of time, characterised by a slow processing of new information and the rarefication of new stimuli.^[23] This also becomes apparent through the use of expressions such as “slow” (chichi-taru 遅々たる), or “full” (manman-taru 漫々たる). As is apparent from the character chi 遅, often used to write the expression chichi, the passage indicates that things are advancing very slowly, in a calm, quiet, and unhurried manner. Since antiquity it seems to have referred to the spring days, just as in the example quoted above. Likewise, the term manman, even if not firmly assigned to a specific season, suggests that the autumnal nights are experienced as long and passing slowly. This use of the expression manman can be found in a poem contained in the collection of Poems in uncommon phrases^[24] of this Dynasty [i.e. Japan] (Honchō mudai shi 本朝無題詩, ca. 1162–64) compiled under the auspices of Fujiwara no Tadamichi 藤原忠通 (1097–1164), and composed by Nakahara no Hirotoshi 中原広俊 (born 1062), probably alluding to a long winter’s night:

What is the enjoyment of long winter nights? Isn’t it to [sit] around the crimson fire by the hearth, with [one’s arms] wrapped around the knees?

漫々冬夜興如何、紅火炉辺抱膝居。^[25]

Also, the deliberate use of the expression “moon and sun” (tsukihi 月日) suggests that time is experienced as cyclical, visible in the alternation of days and nights, or days and months.

We shall see that the description of idleness is deliberately set into contrast to the portrayal of the sentiments expressed by the prince in the passage immediately following the one quoted above. The contemplation of the idyllic scene abruptly comes to an end through an observation of two birds building a nest and feeding their offspring. Let us consider the whole passage:

When at the age of seven he thus spent the days and months, it was in the month of the deutzia [i.e. the fourth lunar month] that there were small birds next to the southern hall, building a nest and warming the bird’s eggs. When the female bird, eating insects, arrived [at the nest], the male bird left [the nest] in her stead. And when [the prince] saw them taking turns warming the [eggs] and embracing the little birds with their wings, he aroused the bodhi mind within himself.

[He thought,] “Since the past, from the quadrupeds of the mountains and meadows to the fish of the Gaṅgā, [all] beings have two parents. I am the ruler of fifty-six million [realms], why is it that despite having a father, I have no mother?” Although he asked the courtiers, there was no one to answer him. The crown prince shed tears and went to [his foster mother] Gautamī. Adjusting the hem of his clothes, he said, “Now, from the quadrupeds of the mountains and meadows to the fish of the Gaṅgā, all have fathers and mothers. Why is it that I have a father, but no human being who could be called a mother?” Then Gautamī thought, “How sad!” She cried tears and said, “Isn’t it sad? The crown prince doesn’t know yet. The crown prince’s mother was the daughter of Chief Zengaku [i.e. Suprabuddha], Lady Māyā. She was my elder sister, but seven days after she gave birth to you, the crown prince, she passed away. She let me adopt [you].” The crown prince carefully listened to this, and his sadness had no limits.

The impermanence of birth and death is the principle [that everything] is doomed to perish. As the place of our existence, in which those who meet must certainly part, is like a dream and like an illusion, it is difficult to stay in this world for long.

Life is foam on water, churned by the wind. The soul is a bird in a cage. When the cage is broken, [it] returns back to its origin. Those who vanish cannot be seen again. Also, those who have died do not return.

[Our life is] wiped out in merely a moment,^[26] scattered in a kṣaṇa.^[27] Really, just like the flash of a lightning and the dew of a morning. [Imagine] a snail on a horn, what can it oppose? The human body is just like the light of a flint fire.

[Even] the jade platform of the Seiryōden^[28] is only like a dream, like an illusion. The fact that old and young alike are not save [i.e. their life is uncertain] means there is not even a single person that remains in this world [for a long time]. Splendour is only the pleasure of this life. Those of high and low [status] alike are not spared from the reality of the dark land.^[29]

Also my mother left her house [full of] screens [decorated with] jade and silken cushions [and] there is no one to accompany her. All alone, she has headed for distant roads. [How] sad that she receives such bitterness!

The wind of instability, why, do you think, it took the flower shape with it? The [dark] sky of ignorance, why do you think it covered the moon’s skin [i.e. surface]? If I die, who shall pray for the bodhi of Lady Māyā?

[…] 月日をおくりたまひけるほとに

御とし七さいと申、卯月に、なんてんに、ことり、すをくひてかひこを、あたゝめ、めとり、むしをくひて、きたれは、おんとり、いてかわり、たかひに、これを、あたゝめ、はこくむを、御らんして、ぼたひのしんを、おこし給ひて

むかしより、さんやのけた物、がうかの、うろくつにいたるまて、二人のおやは、あるものを、五百六をくのあるしとして、ちゝはましませとも、はゝはましまささるらんとおほしめし、くきやうてん上人に、といたまへとも、とかく申人も、ましまさす

たひし、なみたを、なかしたまひて、けうとんみのまへにまいりて、そてをつくろひて、のたまひけるは

そも〳〵、さんやのけた物、かうかの、うろくつにいたるまて、ちゝはゝは候物をと、いかなれは、丸は、ちゝはましませとも、はゝといふ人、ましまさすと、おほせありけれは

けうとんみは、あはれと、おほしめして、御なみたをなかし、のたまひけるは、かなしきかなや、たいしは、いまたしりたまはすや

たいしの御はゝは、ぜんかくちやうしやの御むすめ、まやふにんとて、わらわかためには、あねこぜんにて、候らひしか、たいしを、うみをき給ひて、七日と申に、御かくれ候ひしに、わらわか、とりあけまいらせて候なりと、おほせありけれは

たひし、此よしきこしめして、かなしみたまふ事、かきりなし

それ、しやうじむじやうの、さたは、ひつめつの、ことわり、ゑしやちやうりの、すみかなれは、ゆめまほろしのことし、此世に久しく、とゝまりかたし

いのちは、みつのうへのあは、風にしたかひてまはり、たましひは、このうちのとり、こ、やふれぬれは、もとへかへる、きゆる物は、ふたゝひ見えす、しゝたる物は、又もかへらす

たゝ、しゆゆにめつし、せつなにりさんす、もつとも、でんくわうてうろのことし、くわぎうの、つのゝうへにいては、なに事をか、あらそはん、せきくわのひかりに、身をたとへたり

しやうりゃうでんの、たまのうてなも、たゝゆめまほろしのことし、らうせうふちやうの、さと (たカ) は、いつれもごせず、世に一人も、とゝまる物そなき

ゑいくわは、たゝ、此世はかりの、たのしみなり、めいとのふるまひには、たかきもいやしきも、のかれす

はゝの、まやぶにんも、たまのすたれ、にしきの、しとねのうちを、いてゝ、ともなふ人もなく、たゝひとり、とをきみちに、をもむき、くをうけたまはん事こそ、かなしけれ

むじゃうの風の、いかなれは、花のすかたをさそうらん、むみやうのそら、いかなれは、月のはたゑをかくすらん、まるかしゝなは、たれか、まやふにんの御ほたひを、とふらひてまつるへき^[30]

Abruptly, there is a drastic change in the prince’s awareness of time. However, the rarefication of new stimuli does not change into a state of saturation. In fact, the prince might have seen birds building nests on prior strolls through his pleasure garden, but it is only now that the scene acquires meaning for him. It is the comparison of what he observes at the present with his own previous experiences that leads him to the realisation that he is different. The resulting sadness over impermanence prompts his acceleration in the processing of new information, which is at odds with the unwillingness of the courtiers to respond to his inquiries. It is only his foster mother, Gautamī, who finally breaks the silence over his mother’s death. The rarefication of stimuli and accelerated processing of information is further paired with an uncanny feeling about the future, expressed in the lament of the prince that he is the only one who can pray for his mother’s salvation. This passage, however, does not lend itself to chronotopical analysis, since new stimuli in the form of information about the prince’s past are not a feature of the described space of the palace-garden. Still, it can be concluded that the prince’s awareness of time is suddenly radically altered and the new information provided by Gautamī intensifies Siddhârthaʼs process of awakening to “impermanence”. It is interesting to look at the way in which this sudden change in the perception of time is described in the text. In contrast to the long days spent in idleness, the prince is now aware that the “impermanence of birth and death” (shōji mūjō 生死無常, i.e. impermanence as a characteristic of saṃsāra) brought about the separation from his mother. Also, the very fact that this impermanence entails that “those who meet, certainly part [again]” (esha jōri 会者定離) prompts the prince to conclude that this world is ultimately unreal, like “a dream and an illusion” (yumemaboroshi 夢幻), an expression which can often be found in classical Japanese literature and is closely connected to the shortness and illusionary character of life. In the Lady who Loved Insects (Mushi mezuru himegimi 虫めづる姫君), a tale in the late Heian collection The Tale of Tsutsumi Chūnagon (Tsutsumi chūnagon monogatari 堤中納言物語), for instance, the difficulty of living long enough in this illusory world is connected to the problem of making right judgements regarding the moral quality of one’s acts:

Who can persist in this world, which is like a dream and an illusion, and who should see what is bad and what is good?

人は夢幻のやうなる世に、誰かとまりて、悪しきことをも見、よきをも見思ふべき。^[31]

In the Buddhist tradition, the expression “dream and illusion” is often paired with that of “foam and froth” (hōmatsu 泡沫), and thus it is not surprising that the image of “foam on the water” (suihō or mi na wa 水泡) should also appear as a typical expression for impermanence that can again be found in the famous Account of the Ten Foot Square Hut (Hōjōki 方丈記, 1212) by Kamō no Chōmei 鴨長明 (1153 or 1155–1216), where we read the following:

Just as people die in the morning and others are born the evening: So are we like the bubbles on water.^[32]

朝に死に夕に生るるならひ、ただ水の泡にぞ似たりける。^[33]

The expression “being on the horn of snail” (kagyū no tsuno no ue ni ite くわぎ うの、つのゝうへにいて) refers to a passage in the work Zhuāngzǐ 莊子, in which this image stands for a battle or dispute that is petty and meaningless from its very outset. The chapter “Zéyáng” 則陽 relates the fable of a certain Chù 触 ruling over a land on the left horn of snail and one Mán 蛮 residing on its right horn, disputing each other over territory. Glassman believes the expression kagyū refers to a “fire-bull” (kagyū 火牛), a Chinese method of warfare in which a bull with burning torches on his horns is driven to an adversary camp in a nighttime attack to set it on fire.^[34] Glassman thus concludes that it must refer to death, which may come quickly and unexpected, like an unpremeditated attack. However, the expression kagyū no tsune is widely attested and the interpretation given here better fits the overall context, namely the impermanence of the body and the futility of its doings.

Another expression employed is that of the “wind of impermanence” (mujō no kaze 無常風). As the wind tends to scatter flowers, the impermanence of this world which is responsible for the fact that everything alive will perish is likened to wind. In the present context, the “flower shape” (hana no sugata はなの姿) may refer directly to Māyā, alluding to her beautiful shape, but it is also worth mentioning that in the poetic tradition, the expression often refers to “cherry blossoms” (sakura 桜) or “plum blossoms” (ume 梅) and is thus related to spring. It is interesting to note that while the term mujō refers to impermanence, the following mention of “ignorance” or “absence of light” (mumyō 無明) is alluding to a long time span. The dark or gloomy sky points to the well-known expression of the “long nights of ignorance” (mumyō jōya 無明長夜). The long nights refer to the potentially infinite “cycle of birth and death” (shōji ruten 生死流伝), which is clearly contrasted with the extremely short—but perpetually repeating—individual life spans full of suffering.

Finally, this passage also reveals the importance of the concept of rebirth of a personal entity wandering from one life to the next. “Bird in a cage” (ko no uchi no tori このうちのとり) does not seem to be a fixed expression, but its bearing on the shortness of life and the impermanence of the body becomes clear. Glassman translates the passage as follows: “The soul is like a bird in a tree; when the tree withers and dies, it flies away home.”^[35] However, the translation of ko as cage seems to be more appropriate in this context, as the verb yaburu 破る first and foremost means “to break” or “to smash” or “shatter”, rather than “to wither”. Also, Meguro Masashi 目黒将史 and Kim Yŏngsun 金英順, in their explanation of the parallel passage found in the Bodmer-manuscript, provide the character 籠(ko) “cage” for the kana.^[36] In both cases, the bird is presumably likened to the “soul” (tamashii たましひ), while the habitat of the bird, tree or cage, is likened to the body, bearer of the soul.^[37] Again, we find the focus shifting to the impermanence of the body, as becomes apparent in the contrast between the image of a broken cage and a bird/soul flying without constraints once its confinement is over.

It remains to be asked just what meaning these expressions of sadness over impermanence and worry over the post-mortem destiny of Māyā might have implied for the readers or listeners of the Shaka no honji. What is clear is that they are intricately connected to the prince’s wish to display “filial piety” towards his mother and to pray for her awakening or bodhi. Glassman rightly identifies the presence of the motif of filial piety in this hagiography of the Buddha as originating from the many medieval Japanese (as well as much older Chinese) Buddhist texts, in which the pious concern for the salvation of the mothers of many eminent monks play a central role. He shows that figures such as Maudgalyāyana have served as models for Shaka no honji,^[38] where we also read that the young prince is worrying about the kind of ordeals his mother will have to go through after death. She is “all alone, […] headed for distant roads” (tada hitori tōki michi ni omomuki たゝひとり、とをきみちに、をもむき).^[39] From the way the character kō 孝 is employed in the Analects (Ch. Lùnyǔ, J. Rongo 論語) of Kǒngzǐ 孔子 (J. Kōshi 551–479), it becomes clear that “filial piety” means, above all, to act in a pious and obedient way. Consider the following citations taken from the chapter On Learning and [Practicing] (Ch. Xué Ér, J. Gakuji 學而):

When a young man enters [his home], he behaves piously [towards his parents], when he leaves [his home], he is obedient [towards his elder brother].

弟子入則孝、出則弟 […]^[40]

An identical notion of kō 孝 can be found in much later Japanese texts such as The Tale of [Lady] Ochikubo (Ochikubo monogatari 落窪物語, ca. tenth century),^[41] in the third chapter of which the following is said about pious behaviour:

The people of this world recognise the mourning for one’s old parents as a real [act] of filial piety.

世人は、老いたる親のためにする喪こそ、いと孝ありと思ふこと。^[42]

The latter quotation also points to the fact that “filial piety” should not only be practiced during the lifetime of one’s parents but also acquires special significance after their death. To conduct the correct “rites of mourning” (mo 喪) is of paramount importance for the Confucian ideal of a good son.

In the present context, filial piety is also closely connected to the emotion of sadness. Being “sad” (kanashi 悲し) is the emotion shared by Prince Siddhârtha and Gautamī alike, as they have lost their mother and sister respectively. The prince is unreconciled with the fact that he is unique in the world in having a father but no mother.^[43] Kanashi designates the true feelings towards an object that arise because one’s heart is deeply upset. It is foremost associated with death, parting, and the pain felt when someone’s longings or hopes are defied. This usage of kanashi is already attested in the Collection of Ten Thousand Leaves (Man’yōshū 万葉集). See, for instance, the following poem:

When [I] realized that the world is empty, [it] turned out to be more and more sad.^[44]

世の中は空しきものと知る時しいよよますます悲しかりけり^[45]

In the same work, we also find that kanashi expresses the feeling of love between parents and their children. It is said about the age of the deities that since the times of Ōkuni nushi no kami 大国主神 and Sukunabikona no kami 少彦名神 wife and children are “dear” (kanashiku かなしく):

[…] when [one] looks at his father and mother, [he] is filled with awe, and when [he] looks at his wife and children, [they] are adorable and dear [to him …].^[46]

父母を見れば貴く妻子見ればかなしくめぐし。^[47]

From the Shaka no honji passage quoted above, it becomes apparent that the sadness felt by Siddhârtha is a driving force for his quest to pray for the bodhi of his mother. As seems to be already implied in the words of Gautamī that “the prince does not yet know” (taishi imada shiritamawasu たいしは、いまたしりたまはす), the news of his mother’s demise brings with it the realisation of impermanence, and this realisation is fundamental to the future awakening to truth. The passage in its entirety makes it clear that emotions of grief and affective love are not detrimental to, but rather constitutive for the quest of bodhi.

Moreover, it is by no means a coincidence that birds play a key role in this process of awakening. Readers throughout the early modern period familiar with other otogizōshi may have been reminded of the story of the Sparrow’s Arousal of the [bodhi] Mind (Suzume no hosshin 雀の発心)^[48] which probably originated in the early Muromachi period and was perceived as belonging to the subgenre of the so-called “tales of arousal of the [bodhi] mind and turning away from the world” (hosshin tonsei mono 発心遁世物 – like the Shaka no honji.^[49] Albeit relating quite a different content, Suzume no hosshin is linked to the bird scene of Shaka no honji, as it also involves a bird couple who care for their offspring and describes how their sadness over the subsequent death of their only son leads them to the realisation that they ought to seek the path to awakening. In the province of Yamato (Yamato no kuni 大和国), we are told, there once lived a cunning sparrow called Kotōta 小藤太 which, much to his joy, had fathered a son soon after he had found a spouse. Unfortunately, the couple’s joy does not last for long, as their child is devoured by a snake while they are away searching for food. Needless to say, their sorrow is unbearable. However, despite loathing the snake and attempting to beseech a befriended eagle to avenge the death of their son, the tragic experience turns into a seed for their wish to renounce the world. After having exchanged poems of mourning with other birds who have all come to the couple’s nest to offer their condolences, they agree to “request the circumstances for a rebirth in the Pure Land” (raise no en o negai 来世の縁を願い), and both go their separate ways. While the wife becomes a nun in a place called Amagasaki 尼崎 in the province of Settsu (Settsu no kuni 摂津国), Kotōta restlessly wanders around the archipelago, staying at such places as Kōya-san 高野山, Kumano 熊野, and Shikoku 四国, finally settling in a forest to practice under the guidance of an owl called Fukurō no Ren’ami 梟蓮阿弥. Having reached the old age of one hundred years, he passes away after constant practice of the “concentration on the Buddha[-Amitābha] in dance” (odori nenbutsu 踊り念仏).^[50] As in Shaka no honji, the tale of Suzume no hosshin features birds as the embodied epitome of parental love and care, as well as the assessment that family ties, rooted in deeply felt emotions, become the source of suffering once they are discontinued. The fact that the intensity of joy derived from familial union is proportional to the suffering inflicted by the dissolution of it, is thoroughly understood by the sparrows, and hence their decision to withdraw from this world is as radical as it is consistent with their worldview. Of course, the constellation is different from that of Shaka no honji. From the plot of Suzume no hosshin it transpires immediately that the destiny of the lost child is not of much concern for the further development of the story, as the focus remains on the liberation of the parents. It is surely due to the concept of “filial piety” mentioned above that the constellation in Shaka no honji has decisively different implications for the religious path. Mourning a mother is intrinsically different from mourning a child, since, at least where the Confucian – and, as we shall see, also the Buddhist—interpretation is involved, the obligations of children towards their parents do not end with the latter’s death.^[51] This is presumably also why we do not detect such a radical break with family ties as in Suzume no hosshin, and it is not overstated to say that there is an absence of an unconditioned embrace of impermanence in the Shaka no honji. The awakening of the young prince to impermanence does not propel him to free himself from his clinging to his mother should be understood as being rooted in a false conception of the chimeric person or pudgala, but leads him to worry for her post-mortem existence and the consequences his own demise would have for her welfare. In other words, where the emotions and attitudes pertaining towards time are concerned, we see a turn from a quasi-absence of the awareness of impermanence to a sudden and unsettling realisation of the brevity of the human existence accompanied by grief and worry. This realisation does not seem to lead to a radical break with the world and an unconditioned embrace of impermanence, but to a preoccupation with the future, even to the point where both mother and son will already have perished. This concern betrays a focus which rests on the idea of a continuity of the karmic bond through an endless chain of existences as mother and son.

However, the question remains how this concern can be binding for a future Buddha. It also bears on the degree of insight of the future Buddha. Is he not completely detached from all emotions, and is he not the one who “left his household” (shukke) and severed all ties with his family, much like the aforementioned monks Maudgalyāyana and Genshin should have done? One might object that the sadness and feeling of obligation resulted from the young age of Prince Siddhârtha and the fact that he had not yet realised his awakening under the bodhi tree. But the depiction of the Buddha in Shaka no honji rests on a different Buddhology.^[52] The Shaka no honji does not describe numerous former existences of the bodhisattva striving to become a Buddha, but limits itself to relating one episode from his former lives, in which the bodhisattva was famously known as the “young man of the snow mountains” (Sessen Dōji 雪山童子). In this narrative, the bodhisattva, as a young ascetic practicing in the mountains of the Himâlaya, encounters a man-eating demon who confronts him with the first half of a well-known gāthā on impermanence: “All conditioned things are impermanent” (shogyō mujō 諸行無常). This first half intrigues the Sessen Dōji in such a way that he begs the demon to recite to him the second half of the gāthā. However, as the demon happens to be hungry and craving human flesh, the young ascetic suggests throwing himself into his maw to be devoured by him, in a way putting “impermanence” into practice. The demand of the demon, who is none other than the god Śakra in disguise, must be understood as a test of the ascetic’s insight into the truth of impermanence, as the second half of the gāthā is by no means deeper in meaning than the first, merely presenting its logical implication: “This is the law of arising and ceasing” (ze shōmeppō 是生滅法). The basic idea seems to be that listening to the second part would be of no use if the prince had refused to offer himself up in the first place. From this episode, it becomes clear that the bodhisattva already has a considerable grasp of impermanence.

As Michael Radich has pointed out, there is in Mahāyāna Buddhism a very influential strand of thought which emphasizes the docetic^[53] body or docetic nature of the Buddha by acknowledging the human condition of the nirmāṇakāya, the “response body” (ōjin 応身),^[54] while simultaneously positing that this body and mode of existence is in many instances superior to that of ordinary human beings. Let us consider, for example, the following passage from the Lokānuvartanā-sūtra (Ch. Nèicáng bǎibǎo jīng, J. Naisō hyappō kyō 内藏百寶經, T 807):

The bodhisattva also did not enter his mother’s womb, nor did he exit through his mother’s womb. For what reason? In the fundamental world of the dharma expounded in the sūtra, there is no place, and one does not enter anywhere. Visible as a human being, the bodhisattva enters the womb of his mother. He enters [into the womb] according to the customs of the world.

菩薩亦不入母腹中。亦不從母腹中出。何以故。經法本界無所不入。菩薩現人入母腹中。隨世間習俗而入。^[55]

This statement begs the question why the prince must go to such states of deep grief and sadness. Once we accept the idea of the superior human existence of the Buddha, we are at pains to explain why the process of seeking awakening with all its detours is even necessary.

However, this seeming contradiction can be resolved by briefly reconsidering the motivation for the arousal of the bodhi mind, which is rightly given by Glassman as being the display of filial piety, although he does not consider it in connection with another concept prominent in Buddhist discourse and not entirely absent in Confucian discourse. It is “benevolence” (on) which seems to play an important role in the motif discussed. The fact that it is the observation of the birds’ activity that inspires the Buddha’s resolve to seek awakening is telling in this regard. The warming of the nest, the breeding of the eggs, and the feeding of the small birds by means of the insects they carry in their beaks need to be understood according to their specific Buddhist context. It is benevolence parents show, specifically and importantly, mothers when they bear and give birth to their children. Alongside filial piety, benevolence plays an immensely important role in the intellectual history of the Sinosphere since the oldest strata of its written records whenever the concept of the family is touched upon. The basic meaning of the character 恩 is “benevolence” (megumi めぐみ) shown to others and received from them. It may also signify acts that express gratitude for the benevolence received from another person, specifically one of higher standing.^[56] In the context of the Shaka no honji passage, it is necessary to draw attention to the fact that “benevolence” was thought of as a disposition ingenious not only to men but also to animals. This becomes apparent in the following quote found in an entry for the seventh month of the year Yōrō 養老 5 (721) in the Continued Records from [the Land of] the Rising Sun (Shoku Nihongi 續日本紀, 719), in which it is stated:

Humaneness extends itself to animals and plants, benevolence covers feathers [of birds] and fur [of birds alike]. 仁及動植、恩蒙羽毛。^[57]

This passage makes it clear that benevolence must be understood in connection to parental care, and especially motherly care for her offspring. This notion in turn is strongly linked to the concept of nourishing and giving life. In an entry in the Dai nippon hyakka zensho 大日本百科全書, Yoshikawa Tetsushi 吉川哲史 explains that the term megumi stems from “sprouting” (megumu 芽ぐむ) of “grass and trees” (kusaki 草木). The image associated with megumu is that of the returning sun in spring after the cold and dark winter, bringing forth the “life force” (seimeiryoku 生命力) of grass and trees. One entity benefits from the life-giving force of another.^[58]

It must be presumed, as Kurobe does, that Siddhârtha’s wish to save his mother is not only motivated by “sadness” but first and foremost by the awareness of the benevolence he received from his mother. It is true that benevolence was often evaluated in negative terms at least in Buddhist monastic contexts, since family ties had to be severed, when one decided to “leave the house” (shukke). In his article on the Shaka no honji, Glassman cites a passage from the Mokuren no sōshi, which is itself a quotation of a work compiled by the monk Dàoxuān 道宣 (596–667), the Notes on the Practice of the Fourfold Regulations (Ch. Sìfēnlǜ xíngshì chāo, J. Shibunritsu gyōji shō 四分律行事 T 1804), and unsurprisingly, states the following:

In the midst of this drifting and revolving triple world, it is not possible to escape from the benevolent love. [One] who discards the benevolence and enters the [realm] of non-doing, is one who truly repays benevolence.

流轉三界中 恩愛不能脱 棄恩入無為 眞實報恩者。^[59]

As is rightly emphasised by Glassman, this view on the Buddhist path and the monastic life differs from the one outlined in Shaka no honji, but he nevertheless understands the two motivations of repaying the received benevolence to one’s parents on the one hand and the decision to lead a monastic life on the other, and comes to the conclusion that the Shaka no honji simply places them side by side.^[60] I would argue instead that intertwining these two motivations in such an intricate manner as in the Shaka no honji merges these seemingly contradictory motivations. This leads to a re-evaluation of the concept of “repaying benevolence” (hōon) which is now considered as being part of a monastic form of life.

To be sure, there also existed a positive appraisal of “benevolence”, widely attested in Buddhist discourse, which included forms of benevolence bestowed by one’s parents. In Buddhist doctrine, a human being must “understand benevolence” (chion 知恩), “feel benevolence” (kan’on 感恩), and “repay benevolence” (hōon) to one’s benefactors. In the Shaka no honji, it is the desire for retribution of received benevolence which inspires the prince’s wish to pray for the bodhi of his mother, and this wish is maintained by the prince throughout the years. When he has reached the age of nineteen, he confesses his wish to take up a religious life to his wife Yaśodharā stating that

I now enter the way of bodhi to console queen Māyā in her afterlife and to rescue her in all her afterlives.

我今、菩提の道に入て、母摩耶夫人の後生をも、とぶらひ奉り、めん〳〵の後生をも、たすけ^[61]

Further, very soon after he has reached the “correct awakening” (shōkaku 正覚), he ascends to the Trāyastriṃsa-Heaven (Tōri ten 忉利天), in order to visit his mother who dwells in this heaven as the wife of Śakra (Taishaku Ten 帝釈天), and to preach the dharma for the sake of her liberation. Much to Māyā’s distress, she is unable to recognise her son in the midst of his entourage, so that the Buddha suggests the peculiar idea that the queen should press her breast and direct it towards the Buddha and his disciples, consisting of twenty-four people. Automatically, the stream of milk enters the mouth of the Buddha, and this is the “sign” (shirushi しるし) by which she is able to recognise him. One might ask why the Buddha cannot make himself known to his mother in a different manner. It seems, however, that through this act of feeding her son, through the re-enactment of “benevolence”, she remembers her “benevolent love” (on’ai 恩愛) for the Buddha, in other words, the emotions concomitant to benevolent acts:

Queen Māyā, when she saw the Buddha, remembered the compassion in her benevolent love, and she could not hold back the tears of her compassion.

まやぶ人、佛をみたてまつり、むかしの恩愛の憐み、思ひいて給ひける、あはれみの御なみだ、せきあへず^[62]

The Buddha then tells her the following:

Even if I have now become a Buddha, when I was young, it happened to me, that [you, my] mother, were not existing [in this world any longer. And] it is because I thought that I wish to see my mother that I aroused the mind of the way^[63] and underwent difficult and painful practices.

われ今、佛となり候事も、ようせうなりしとき、母のましまさぬ事を、うけ給はりて、道心をおこし、難行苦行して、母を見奉らんと、思ひしゆへなり。^[64]

This reason for entering the Buddhist path for instance is completely absent from other hagiographies of the Buddha. More traditional accounts, like the one extant in the Konjaku monogatari shū, follow the canonical explanation, that it was the aim of the Buddha to attend “liberation” (kaisetsu 解説) from the trappings of birth, old age, sickness, and death.^[65] It is also interesting to note that in the Konjaku monogatari shū, the reason Prince Siddhârtha gives to his father, King Śuddhodana for his wish to take up a religious life, is precisely to overcome the suffering involved in the engagement of “benevolent love” (on’ai):

Where there is benevolent love, there is assuredly separation. The only thing I beg of you is to hear [i.e. to grant my wish] to leave the household and to learn the path. I wish to liberate all sentient beings from the sufferings of separation from loved ones.

恩愛ハ必ズ別離有リ。唯シ願ハ我ガ出家・学道ヲ聴シ給へ。一切衆生ノ愛別離苦ヲ皆解説セシムヤ。^[66]

The last citation strongly suggests that there was no unequivocally positive appraisal of “benevolence” within the Buddhist tradition, as I have argued before. But the importance accorded to it in the late Muromachi hagiography of the Buddha leaves no doubt that strong family bonds were not necessarily seen as detrimental to the attainment of awakening.

Are we then to understand the surfacing of this motif as the outcome of a development in which specific Japanese forms aesthetics, and sensibilities become more important in order to promote Buddhist ideas to a wider populace which does not seem to be able to grasp the intricacies of sūtras? In other words, must the fact that the texts of Shaka no honji speak to the readers or listeners on a direct emotional level be taken as the outcome of a Japanisation and simplification of the Buddhist message?

2 Zétiān Wǔ Hòu and the Role of Mothers in Buddhist Doctrine

That this is not the case becomes apparent when we look at another motif replete with emotions of grief and sadness, namely, the account of the Buddha’s resurrection which received great attention in the context of the reception of Buddhism in medieval Japan but clearly originated in China some centuries before in tales about the “rising and appearing from the gold coffin” (kinkan shutsugen 金棺出現). A comparatively large number of pictorial representations survive until this day, and an adaptation of this motif can also be found in Konjaku monogatari shū. In this wondrous account, the Buddha performs a post-nirvāṇa resurrection for the sake of his bereaved mother in order to retribute the benevolence he received from her during countless kalpas.^[67] It is by following the traces of this motive that we may be able to point to the beginnings of a Buddhist notion of indebtedness to one’s parents, which is congenial to but at the same time different from the Chinese concept of filial piety.

The visual representation of the resurrection of the Buddha^[68] probably originated in the seventh century during the brief reign of the Wǔ Zétiān (武則天, ca. 624–705, r. 690–705, alt. Wǔ Zhào 武曌). The earliest example of this motif can be found on a stele presented to Empress Wǔ, the so-called Shānxī 山西 stele.^[69] The stele portrays a series of occurrences centred on the parinirvāṇa and thus belongs to a group of images termed “depictions of the changing marks^[70] of nirvāṇa” (nehan hensō zu 涅槃変相図) that do not have South or Central Asian origins and probably originated in the northern Wèi Dynasty (386–534) and subsequently evolved in the Sui (581–618) and Táng (618–907) Dynasties. It is in these images that we first encounter the motif of the “resurrection” from the golden coffin. On its front, the Shānxī stele consist of five columns which are all centred on the grief of Māyā. It is the part on the right side of the fourth column which is of concern for us, as it portrays the motif in question. This picture shows a coffin with an opened lid from which the Buddha is rising in a seated position. Māyā can be seen in front of the coffin with her “hands joined in genuflection” (gasshō kiza 合掌跪座). They are encircled by the Buddha’s disciples who have also joined their hands.^[71] A passage from the Mahāmāyā-sūtra (Ch. Móhēmóyé jīng, J. Makamaya kyō 摩訶摩耶經, T 383), which is the textual locus classicus for the “resurrection”, helps to clarify the meaning of this representation. It is replete with emotions and although the depiction of grief is quite stereotypical, the tragic tone of Māyā’s words allows the reader or listener to connect with her on an emotional level. The Buddha is said to have died in Kuśinagara (J. Kushinagara 拘尸那掲羅) between two śāla trees, unattended by his mother who was still residing in the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven, unaware of his death. After she was instructed by a disciple of the Buddha, she descended to the place where her son lay in state.

At that time, when Māyā explained these lines [of lament], she suffered, and shedding tears, she could not control herself. [She was] together with numerous heavenly women and others, who formed her entourage and encircled her and played wondrous music, burned incense, sang eulogies and lauded [the Buddha]. From out of the sky, they descended down to the place of the twin trees. And when she had reached the śāla grove, as soon as she saw the coffin of the Buddha from afar, she fainted abruptly, unable to control herself. Numerous female deva took cool water and sprinkled it on her face. After a truly long time, she returned to consciousness. Before she reached the place of the coffin, she conducted the rite of the tip of the head [i.e. bowing the head] and while shedding tears and suffering from her sadness, she said these words, “Of old, coming from the past of countless ka[lpa], we have long been mother and son and never yet has he cast off [saṃsāra] and parted from it. And only once more, now, is the time to see [my son in the state of] featurelessness.” Sobbing, she exclaimed, “Isn’t it bitter?”

時摩訶摩耶説此偈已。涕泣懊惱不能自勝。與於無量諸天女等眷屬圍遶作妙妓樂。燒香散花歌頌讃歎。從空來下趣雙樹所。到娑羅林中已。遙見佛棺即大悶絶不能自勝。諸天女等以水灑面。然後方穌。前至棺所頭頂作禮。垂涙悲惱而作此言。昔於過去無量劫來。長爲母子未曾捨離。一旦於今無相見期。嗚呼苦哉。^[72]

From this passage, it transpires that despite the important role the mother of the Buddha plays in the soteriology outlined in Buddhist scriptures, in the Móhēmóyé jīng she is incapable of restraining her grief over the death of her son, despite having already benefited from the sermon given to her by the Buddha in the Trāyastriṃśa-Heaven. Thus, the textual basis for the depictions found on the Shānxī stele places a heavy emphasis on the relationship between the Buddha and his mother and depicts it in highly emotional terms. The manufacturing of the stele can only be understood when considering the broader politico-religious context of the time. It is well known that Wǔ Zhào had risen to a powerful position when she became a concubine of emperor Gāo Zōng 高宗 (628–683, r. 649–683). After bearing two sons to Gāo Zōng, she was finally to replace her rival, Empress Wáng 王 (c. 628–655), who had remained childless. Having installed her son Lǐ Hóng (李弘, 652–675, r. 674–675) as heir to the throne in 674, Wǔ became Empress herself, seven years after Gāo Zōngʼs death in 683, and established the short-lived Zhōu Dynasty (690–705).^[73] Given that her rise to influence was closely linked to her position as wife and mother, it does not come as a surprise that she had a special predilection for the figure of Māyā and the “benevolence” that is part of the relations between mothers and children.^[74] Much in line with this emphasis are the expositions found in a “memorandum” (jōhyō 上表), which Wǔ Zhào had presented to emperor Gāo Zōng in the year of 674, demanding that the required period of mourning for a departed mother be extended to three years, even if the father of the bereaved son was still alive. This time span of mourning had hitherto only been prescribed to sons whose fathers had died.^[75] It is stated that “the affection and love of a child for his mother is especially deep” (hisoka ni ieraku, ko no haha ni okeru ya jiai toku ni fukashi 窃謂子之於母、慈愛特深) and that a mother pains herself to give birth and to raise, which must be regarded as the highest form of “benevolence”. Even among the beasts, Wǔ Zhào concludes, a mother is recognised by her offspring.^[76] As Nishikawa Yukihiro 西川幸宏 observes, the empress’ concept of “benevolence” is strongly Buddhist in connotation, and he assumes that it is based on the Sūtra on Deep Benevolence of Oneʼs Father and Mother (Ch. Fùmǔ ēnzhòng jīng, J. Bumo onjū kyō 父母恩重經, T 2887), composed between the end of the Suí and the beginning of the Táng Dynasty. As is apparent from the title, it places heavy emphasis on the importance of the “benevolence” one receives from one’s parents and invites readers to practice the “repayment of benevolence” (hoōn). This text in the form of a “Confucian-Buddhist discussion” (jubutsu kōshō 儒仏交渉)^[77] over the meaning of “benevolence” emerged only a century before the reign of Wǔ Zhào, and the empress may have concluded that its basic message fitted her need to assert her own position as a woman in the most congenial manner. The same may be said of the Móhēmóyé jīng, which probably was composed in mid-fifth century China.

Since the passages of the Buddhaʼs resurrection quoted above constitute a literary image that does not resort to much abstract or theoretical thought, it may be helpful to also draw attention to a passage which recurs to doctrinal terminology. The following quotation is also taken from the Móhēmóyé jīng and contains the words of the Buddha spoken to his mother on the occasion of his rising from the coffin:

Now, the mother who gave birth to me is the most outstanding [of all mothers] and there is nothing to compare her with. Indeed, she is [the one, who] can give birth in the three worlds to the treasures of the Buddha, the dharma and the monastic community. For this reason, I raise from the coffin, put my palms together and greatly rejoice and praise you. I use this to repay your benevolence of giving birth [to me] and to show you the loving feeling of filial piety. Even if all the Buddhas fade away and pass away, the treasures of the dharma and the monastic [community] are always present.

今我所生母 超勝無倫比 能生於三世 佛法僧之寶 故我從棺起 合掌歡喜歎 用報所生恩 示我孝戀情 諸佛雖滅度 法僧寶常住。^[78]

From this passage it becomes apparent that the indebtedness of the Buddha towards his mother rests not so much on the emotions that would motivate the desires of human beings to repay their mothers for the benevolence they have shown towards them. The Móhēmóyé jīng elaborates on a concept of the repayment of benevolence which is different from that of Dàoxuān’s Sìfēnlǜ xíngshì. True repayment of benevolence does not cast away benevolence but practices it in its highest form of fully acknowledging the karmic bonds that tie a mother to her son. And when we have seemingly lost track of the problem of time and the emotions and attitudes towards it, then it is important to point to the fact that far from displaying contempt for the “three worlds”, the entirety of saṃsāra, the Buddha in his last words shows his involvement in it praising his mother and all the mothers of the Buddhas to profess the ability to give birth to the three treasures. Not content with merely severing all worldly ties and time itself, he speaks of the future, when no Buddha will reside in the realm in which humans beings dwell, Jambudvīpa (Enbudai 閻浮提). Because of the dharma and the monastic community, a mother will eventually give birth to another Buddha. This is the truly significant role mothers play in the Buddhist soteriology.

3 Concluding Remarks

When we look at the Shaka no honji passages, we may conclude that in light of the fact that a Buddhist notion of benevolence existed for centuries and that the importance of its repayment neither demanded the complete transcendence of time nor the abandonment of the concept of benevolence itself,^[79] the motifs of grief and repayment of benevolence are much in line with the continental tradition and its Buddhology. But what about the audience? One may rightly point to the fact that there is a difference between a bodhisattvaʼs last existence in saṃsāra and the sentient beings. So how was it possible for sons and mothers to identify themselves in the stories discussed above? Another look at the Fùmǔ ēnzhòng jīng mentioned above might be useful to clarify this problem. The Fùmǔ ēnzhòng jīng relates “ten kinds of benevolence” (jūon十恩) mothers demonstrate during gestation, birth and upbringing of their children. These are not identical with the generation of the “three treasures” (sanbō 三宝), i.e., Buddhism in nuce, but they are an indispensable prerequisite for the generation of beings and their perseverance on their path to liberation through numerous existences. It becomes evident that some of the most fundamental experiences and emotions pertaining to mothers are part and parcel of the generation of the three treasures. It is exactly this kind of everyday experience and knowledge the affective literary images seek to implant in the audience, enabling them to integrate these experiences into their religious practice. In a paradoxical way, they have the potential to “generate” the unconditioned, the ever-abiding credentials of the Buddhist religion, even when they are far away from having cultivated an insight into “impermanence” and from the attainment of awakening. The literary images of the Shaka no honji provide the audience with knowledge rooted in everyday experience, exposing them to emotions specific to “sentient beings”, while re-evaluating them as emotions conducive to awakening. Thus, it became legitimate for the bereaved son or daughter to interpret his or her emotional outburst of grief and conventional exhibition of filial piety as a “repayment of benevolence” bestowed by a mother, who nourished a potentail bodhisattva on his or her path to Buddhahood for countless existences. The Shaka no honji does not achieve this by theoretical expositions in commentaries or treatises, but by literary aesthetics, by images, which provoke an affective response in the audience, and thus re-integrate potentially disruptive emotions into religious practice.

Abbreviations

DKJ

Morohashi Tetsuji 諸橋徹次 (ed. 1955–1960): Dai kanwa jiten 大漢和辭典. Tōkyō: Taishūkan shoten 大修館書店.

MJT

Yokoyama Shigeru 横山重 / Matsumoto Ryūshin 松本隆信 (eds. 1973–1988): Muromachi jidai monogatari taisei 室町時代物語大成. Tōkyō: Kadokawa shoten 角川書店 (15 vols.).

SNKBT

Shin nihon koten bungaku taikei 新日本古典文学大系 (1989–2005). Tōkyō: Iwanami shoten 岩波書店 (106 vols.).

SNKBZ

Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū 新編日本古典文学全集 (1994–2002). Tōkyō: Shōgakukan 小学館.

T

Takakusu Junjirō 高楠順次郎 / Watanabe Kaigyoku 渡邊海旭 et al. (ed. 1924–1932): Taishō shinshū daizōkyō 大正新脩大藏經. Tōkyō: Taishō issaikyō kankō kai 大正一切經刊行會 (100 vols.). Digitised in CBETA (v. 5.2) and SAT Daizōkyō Text Database (http://21dzk.l.u-tokyo.ac.jp/SAT/satdb2015.php).

Primary Sources

Fùmǔ ēnzhòng jīng Bumo onjū kyō 父母恩重經, T 2887

Honchō mudai shi 本朝無題詩, cited in DKJ

Konjaku monogatari shū, SNKBT 33, Konno Tōru 今野達 (ed. 1999).

Nèicáng bǎibǎo jīng, 内藏百寶經, T 807

Man’yōshū 萬葉集, SNKBZ 6–9 (Man’yōshū 1–4), Kojima Noriyuki 小島治之et al. (ed. 1994–1996).

Móhēmóyé jīng 摩訶摩耶經, T 383

Ochikubo monogatari 落窪物語, Text digitised in Kumazawa University (https://www.komazawa-u.ac.jp/∼hagi/txt_ochikubomonogatari.txt).

Shoku nihongi 續日本紀, SNKBT 2

Shaka no honji 釈迦の本地, MJT 7

Sìfēnlǜ xíngshì chāo 四分律行事抄, T 1804