4
The late twelfth to the late sixteenth century is considered Japan’s medieval age. Over these centuries the warrior class accumulated power and wealth and was able to gain a large degree of independence from the court. The transfer of power from the court to the warrior elites began in the late twelfth century with the establishment of the first warrior government, the bakufu (tent government) or shogunate, established by Minamoto no Yoritomo (1147–99) in the eastern city of Kamakura in 1185. Yoritomo earned the warrior class the ability, granted by the court, to tax all public and private estates in return for keeping law and order. By receiving the title of Shogun from the emperor, he was designated the military protector of court privileges. Nevertheless, the warrior class began to siphon off the wealth and privileges of both the court and the Buddhist monasteries.
The Mongol invasions of the thirteenth century, however, impoverished the Kamakura regime and disrupted its authority, leading eventually to the establishment of the Ashikaga shogunate, also known as the Muromachi bakufu, in Heian-kyō (hereafter referred to as Kyoto, its current name) during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. The idea of vassalage emerged under these warrior governments. Bushi, or samurai, a term derived from the verb meaning “to serve,” were warriors who fought in return for material reward and personal advancement—in essence, mercenaries. The Minamoto extended their powers by offering military families lucrative posts or control over land. Vassals did not follow their leaders out of an abstract sense of loyalty or honor, but for concrete benefits.
As the warrior elite ascended within the social and political order, they sought to develop religious and cultural capital in keeping with their status as rulers. They became patrons of Zen Buddhism, which in turn influenced the aesthetics of different art forms that emerged during the medieval era. Other Buddhist sects that emerged during these centuries effectively extended the message of salvation, previously limited to the elites in Nara and Kyoto, to all classes of people in all regions of Japan.
POLITICAL AND SOCIAL DEVELOPMENTS
During the Heian period, while the court enjoyed luxurious pastimes, the provinces slowly slipped into lawlessness and rebellion. Imperial courtier families had little taste for military campaigns and were reluctant to leave the amusements of the capital, so they increasingly relied on deputies to govern their shōen estates and landholdings. Many courtiers sold their appointments to these men, who proved willing to reside in the provinces in order to recoup their investment. Deputies reclaimed lands, extending the reach of tax-free estates, and made alliances with local warrior families, many of which had aristocratic origins. As the product of numerous illicit love affairs, many of the children of nobility could not be appointed to high court ranks and were instead given commoner names and settled into provinces as subjects, where they were left to fend for themselves. They devoted themselves to increasing their wealth in land and to practicing martial skills. The arts of war were limited to the rural elite, as they called for costly equipment like swords and armor, bows and arrows, and stables of horses. Large regional leagues of warriors clustered around two rural clans that claimed imperial ancestry: the Taira, also known as the Heike, claimed descent from Emperor Kammu; the Minamoto, or Genji, claimed to be descendants of Emperor Seiwa (850–78). The rivalry between these two great military families is described in one of the greatest works of premodern Japanese literature, The Tale of the Heike, discussed later in this chapter. Members of these clans acquired land and followers in different areas of Japan, forming independent Taira and Minamoto branch families.
During the tenth and eleventh centuries, these clans and branches grew in size, especially in eastern Japan, but none was powerful enough to seriously challenge the power of the court—they could only control their immediate domains. Occasionally rebellions occurred in the countryside, such as the 939 revolt of Taira no Masakado, who took control of eight provinces. A chronicle of his career, Shōmonki, claims that Masakado launched his campaign after receiving an oracle announcing that he would be the new emperor. Lacking any military power to control such uprisings, the court relied on the provincial warrior clans to quash the rebels. The Minamoto became known as the “claws and teeth” of the Fujiwara. Warrior families agreed to serve courtiers in return for land and immunity from taxes and for court honors and appointments, which they valued because of their aristocratic origins. Even though they had become a provincial military class, warrior families continued to seek the legitimation and cultural capital associated with the imperial court.
By around 1100, there had been a significant shift in the position of the military class. While the court remained the source of honors and awards, and central officials continued to pass edicts, outside the capital actual control over land mattered more than court titles; military force was more effective than law. As the Taira and Minamoto built their wealth and power, they were increasingly called upon by different factions in Kyoto, like the retired emperors or the Fujiwara, to intervene in court-related matters such as imperial successions. In 1159, a succession dispute between a cloistered and a reigning emperor resulted in the Hōgen and Heiji rebellions, pitting the military clans directly against one another. Taira no Kiyomori (1118–81), leader of the Taira clan, which had developed extensive ties with China’s Song dynasty, emerged victorious and assumed a position of control over the court, taking the title of chief minister in 1167 and settling his vassals into the capital. Kiyomori forced his critics and rivals to resign from government posts and engaged in Fujiwara-like marriage politics, coercing the emperor to marry his daughter and to abdicate the throne in favor of his grandson, who was named Emperor Antoku in 1180.
Courtiers resented the boorish upstarts who had invaded their capital and usurped their privileges and began to search for alternative sources of military power that might oust the Taira. The Minamoto leader Yoshitomo and his eldest sons were killed in the Heiji rebellion, but Kiyomori had spared his younger sons Yoritomo, Noriyori, and Yoshitsune. From his stronghold in Kamakura, Yoritomo mustered the remnants of Minamoto strength in the eastern provinces and launched the Genpei War (1180–85), a campaign to drive the Taira from the capital. In 1183, the Minamoto set fire to the Taira palace in Kyoto and forced them to flee to their ancestral homelands around the Inland Sea. The Minamoto achieved final victory in the battle of Dan-no-Ura, one of the most famous in Japanese history, in which most of the Taira were slaughtered and the child emperor Antoku was forced to commit suicide by jumping into the sea along with his grandmother, the widow of Kiyomori, and the women of the Taira court.
Establishment of Kamakura Bakufu
The Minamoto had long been building their own institutions of warrior rule in Kamakura, a city in the eastern Kanto plain. Under Yoritomo, the age of warrior government—the medieval period of Japanese history—was set to begin. There were three shogunates in Japanese history: the first established by the Minamoto in Kamakura; the Muromachi bakufu established by the Ashikaga shoguns in Kyoto during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries; and the Tokugawa bakufu, which ruled from the seventeenth to the mid-nineteenth century from the city of Edo (now Tokyo). The source of bakufu authority, however, remained the imperial court. As noted above, the title of Shogun made Minamoto no Yoritomo the military protector of court privileges. The court accepted the bakufu as an agent concerned with maintaining discipline in the warrior order, headed by Yoritomo and his vassals.
Because his control of military vassals and allies relied on the ability to provide them with material rewards (e.g., confiscated lands) for their services, Yoritomo had to strike a balance, obtaining new prizes to distribute to followers while maintaining and protecting enough of the court’s privileges for them to retain him as their shogun. Thus, he didn’t attempt to replace the existing system of court governance but added another layer to meet the needs of the rising warrior class. Yoritomo sent his army to the capital to “request” that the court establish two new official posts: a military governor for each province (shugo) and a military steward for each of the great private shōen estates (jitō). These officials were in control of all military and police affairs in the province or estate and were entitled to collect a tax for the service. The tax was assessed on all cultivated land, whether public or private. This radical step meant that no longer were there estates completely immune from taxes, and the warrior class could begin to siphon off the wealth of the noble families and temples.
Yoritomo appointed his most trusted vassals to these posts. Over time these officials increased their own duties and powers. They collected not only the military tax due to the bakufu, but all taxes due on lands under their charge, remitting the proceeds to the owners after subtracting a portion for themselves. They also carried out land reclamation, supervised roads and post stations, arrested criminals, and judged lawsuits. In this way, they slowly replaced the officials and authority of the civilian governors appointed by the court. In Kamakura, Yoritomo established three main branches of government: the military, the administrative, and the judicial, each headed by trusted vassals. These offices were responsible for dividing war booty among vassals, handling disputed claims, administering justice, and maintaining law and order. The judicial branch was particularly noteworthy for its scrupulous examination of evidence and precedents in deciding claims, which were often complicated by the system of dividing the proceeds of estates among numerous holders of shiki, or rights to income.
Yoritomo died in 1199 and was succeeded by his two sons, Yoriie and Sanetomo, but they were dominated by Yoritomo’s wife, Hōjō Masako, a formidable woman who had taken Buddhist vows after the death of her husband and became known as the “nun shogun.” For more than a hundred years, Hōjō regents controlled the titular shogun, just as the Fujiwara regents had controlled the emperors. Under the Hōjō, the shoguns themselves were of little importance. After the end of Yoritomo’s line, Masako adopted a Fujiwara baby to be appointed shogun. Thus, in the thirteenth century, Japan’s government structure was quite convoluted—a dual polity in which an emperor reigned in Kyoto, but his little remaining authority was actually controlled by retired emperors, while real power was exercised by a shogun in Kamakura, who was actually controlled by a Hōjō hereditary advisor. The Hōjō were, however, competent administrators who compiled a practical and effective formal code of law and believed in efficient government, strictly supervising their military constables and stewards. They established a branch of the bakufu in Kyoto to keep the court under surveillance and intervened in court matters like the imperial succession. The Hōjō also assumed authority in foreign affairs, organizing the defense of the country in the face of Mongol invasions in 1274 and 1281.
One feature of the early Kamakura regime was its simplicity and austerity. Founder Yoritomo kept his headquarters in Kamakura, far from Kyoto, because he believed the luxurious lifestyles and expensive cultural pursuits of the capital were a waste of resources. Minamoto vassals were encouraged to be frugal and industrious. As puppet shoguns were appointed from court families and moved to Kamakura, however, they brought courtly tastes that didn’t correspond with the austere military virtues idealized by Yoritomo. As arts and culture became highly valued in the shogun’s household, they also began to spread among the warrior elite.
The court, seeing more and more of its authority and income slip away to the warriors, made several attempts to recover their power. In 1221, retired emperor Go-Toba trained some of his own troops and proclaimed the Hōjō rebels, but he was easily crushed and banished to a remote island. This victory gave the Hōjō new powers over the court; they could now punish or exile nobles and even emperors, and they assumed full control over the imperial succession. They confiscated over three thousand estates from the ex-emperor and his supporters, which allowed them to appoint and reward more of their vassals to official positions.
The Mongol Invasions
In the mid-thirteenth century, the Mongols controlled an empire that stretched from Korea to Europe. They seized control of China, and their leader, Kublai Khan (grandson of Genghis Khan) claimed the title of emperor, establishing the Yuan dynasty (1280–1368), the first alien dynasty to rule China. Korea docilely accepted Mongol vassaldom, and the Khan expected Japan to similarly submit to his rule. In 1268, he sent a letter to the “king of Japan,” delivered to both the Hōjō in Kamakura and the emperor in Kyoto. The letter threatened war if Japan did not consent to Mongol rule. The bakufu refused to answer and continued to ignore increasingly menacing dispatches sent over the next five years. In 1274 the Mongols sailed from Korea with a fleet of around 450 ships manned by Mongolian and Korean troops. They sailed to Kyushu, capturing the islands of Tsushima and Iki en route. Local warriors tried to defend their shores but suffered heavy losses. Fortunately for the Japanese, a huge typhoon destroyed much of the Mongol fleet, and the remaining ships retreated to Korea. But Kublai Khan had not abandoned his desire to rule Japan. He summoned the Japanese again, demanding that they pay him homage at his court. The bakufu responded by beheading the Khan’s messengers. For the next several years the Mongols were preoccupied with their own affairs in China, and the bakufu used this opportunity to prepare for the next invasion by building fortifications at potential landing points, installing a coastal watch, and shoring up loyalty among its vassals, promising rewards to all who fought and threatening severe punishment for those who refused.
The Mongols launched their second attack in the spring of 1281, sending two separate forces totaling 140,000 troops on a fleet of over four thousand ships. The Japanese defense forces were heavily outnumbered, but their intensive preparations helped them battle the Mongols for two months. The weather, once again, proved Japan’s ally; another massive, two-day typhoon arose in Kyushu in August, wrecking the bulk of the Mongol fleet. The storms that had saved the Japanese were thought to be a gift from the gods—a kamikaze, or divine wind, a term later used for World War II pilots who sacrificed their lives in suicide missions against enemy ships in order to protect the nation.
The Mongol war impoverished the bakufu. Heavy expenditures were needed to build and maintain fortifications. Vassals and military supporters who fought the Mongols expected material rewards, but the bakufu had gained no new sources of income, as it was a defensive campaign. When the Hōjō failed to deliver on their promises, many warrior families became disgruntled. Court nobles spied a potential opportunity to plot against Kamakura using these dissatisfied warrior families.
FIGURE 13. Scene from the Mongol invasions on an illustrated scroll, thirteenth century. Source: Wikimedia Commons.
Kemmu Restoration and Muromachi Bakufu
In 1318, Go-Daigo (1288–1339) ascended to the imperial throne and made clear that he intended to overthrow the shogunate and regain imperial prerogatives. He enlisted the support of several disgruntled warrior families in the east and west, including the Ashikaga clan. In 1333, Go-Daigo’s allies captured and burned the city of Kamakura. Regent Hōjō Takatoki and more than two hundred of his vassals killed themselves rather than surrender. In this series of events, referred to as the Kemmu Restoration, Japan returned to direct imperial rule, with Kyoto once again acting as the single seat of the government. This situation, however, didn’t last long; in just three years, the warriors turned against the emperor for failure to properly reward their services. Ashikaga Takauji (1305–58) assumed the title of Shogun and forced Go-Daigo to flee Kyoto, installing in his place Emperor Kōmyō, a member of the rival imperial lineage. Go-Daigo and his supporters established a Southern Court in the mountains of Yoshino, near Nara, ushering in fifty years of ideological battle over whether Go-Daigo’s Southern Court or the Northern Court backed by the Ashikaga was the legitimate source of imperial authority.
The new Ashikaga shogunate (1336–1573) established its headquarters in Kyoto rather than Kamakura. It is also known as the Muromachi bakufu, named for the neighborhood in which the third Ashikaga shogun, Yoshimitsu (1358–1408), built his stronghold, the poetically named Palace of Flowers. In contrast to the Kamakura bakufu, which coexisted with the court in a balance of power between the warriors in the eastern part of the country and the courtiers in the west, the Ashikaga took over court privileges in Kyoto. The capital was thronged with soldiers, and the military elites immersed themselves in the culture of the court, aspiring to emulate its elegance, while treating the courtiers themselves with contempt. The Ashikaga shoguns thus lived in luxury, supporting the arts and the intricacies of court hierarchy rather than concentrating on affairs of state. Kamakura shoguns had been satisfied with modest court ranks, but the Ashikaga took the highest offices of court and lived in keeping with this position. When Yoshimitsu abdicated in 1395, he retired to his luxurious villa, known today as the Golden Pavilion (Kinkakuji), where he continued to rule behind the scenes, just like the cloistered emperors of earlier years.
After the fall of the Mongol dynasty, Yoshimitsu reestablished regular embassies to China’s new rulers, the Ming. China once again became a model for cultural emulation, as well as a source of Ashikaga income from controlling trade with the Ming. The bakufu built many new seaports to support China-related trade and commerce. Nevertheless, the Ashikaga grip on national power was never as firm as that of their Kamakura predecessors, because they possessed neither extensive landholdings nor their own significant military power. They had to rely instead on the cooperation and loyalty of the shugo constables they appointed to govern the provinces. Many of these shugo began to exercise power autonomously within their landholdings. A chronicle of this period called the Taiheiki said of the constables: “Now all matters great and small were determined by the Shugo, who was master of the fortunes of his province, treated the (Bakufu) stewards and vassals like servants, and forcibly took over the manors of shrines and monasteries using them as a source of military supplies.”1
Strong Ashikaga shoguns could dominate the coalition of warriors, but under the weaker shoguns the local warriors competed among themselves to extend their local power bases, resulting in nearly constant warfare. In 1467, war erupted between rival leagues of shugo constables supporting different candidates for the shogunal succession. The Ōnin War was a ten-year conflict that laid much of Kyoto to waste and escalated into a nationwide war, ushering in a century of sporadic warfare known as Sengoku jidai (the age of warring provinces), to be discussed in chapter 5.
RELIGION IN MEDIEVAL JAPAN
From the late twelfth century onward, revivals within different sects of Buddhism increasingly extended the promise of salvation beyond the elites to the masses. Reform and revival were championed by monks critical of the established Buddhist sects for catering to the elite, breaking vows, and engaging in commerce. They believed in mappō, the idea that the world had entered a stage of spiritual decline, and thought this could be seen in the degeneration in monastic life. In the age of mappō, the old paths to religious salvation by self-effort through meditation, textual study, and good works would not be enough even for monks to attain salvation. Buddhist reformers sought new and easier paths to salvation that might benefit all of society.
A long autobiographical essay from 1212, Hōjōki (An account of my hut, or The ten-foot-square hut), illustrates how some individuals responded to living under mappō; it is considered a masterpiece of Japanese literature. The author, Kamo no Chōmei (1153–1216), began his career as a poet at the imperial court. In the Hōjōki, he describes the advantages of a life of isolation and tranquility compared to the turbulence, hazards, and upheavals of life in the capital. The essay provides both historical and philosophical perspectives on life in thirteenth-century Japan. Historically it describes a series of disasters that hit the city of Kyoto in rapid succession: a great fire, a whirlwind, a famine, and an earthquake, all while the war between the Taira and Minamoto clans was plaguing the capital. In the midst of such chaos, the author decides to renounce the world; but rather than entering a Buddhist monastery, he becomes a hermit living in a small hut in the wilderness, where he contemplates nature and the seasons, writes, plays music, and reads Buddhist texts. The Hōjōki elegantly celebrates the pleasures and virtues of this simple life, away from the turmoil in Kyoto. It is deeply infused with Buddhist ideas about the impermanence of life and the need to renounce worldly attachments to escape from the sufferings that characterize all of human existence. The opening lines of the Hōjōki are among the most familiar in Japanese literature:
The flow of the river is ceaseless and its water is never the same. The bubbles that float in the pools, now vanishing, now forming, are not of long duration: so in the world are man and his dwellings. It might be imagined that the houses, great and small, which vie roof against proud roof in the capital remain unchanged from one generation to the next, but when we examine whether this is true, how few are the houses that were there of old. Some were burnt last year and only since rebuilt; great houses have crumbled into hovels and those who dwell in them have fallen no less. The city is the same, the people are as numerous as ever, but of those I used to know, a bare one or two in twenty remain. They die in the morning, they are born in the evening, like foam on the water.2
Buddhist reformers established new traditions and sects: Pure Land (Jōdo Shū) and True Pure Land (Jōdo Shinshū), based on faith in Amida; Nichiren (Nichiren Shū), based on faith in the Lotus Sutra; and Zen, which centered on the practices of seated meditation and contemplation of paradoxical word puzzles known as kōan. These new schools shared certain features. In contrast with Shingon and Tendai, which advocated blends of meditation, practices and rituals, and textual study, they tended to focus on a single, simple practice said to be the best and only route to salvation. In addition, they tended to reject traditional monastic life as an ideal in favor of the life of the layman, embedded in the family and community ideal. This was most evident in the Pure Land movements. Zen, on the other hand, reaffirmed the importance of the monastic community, although it also encouraged lay practice. Another common characteristic of the new Buddhist schools was the strong, charismatic personality of the founder. In many cases, the founder did not intend to establish a new, separate sect, but after his death his followers multiplied, establishing new religious institutions that, over time, became as powerful as the older Buddhist sects in Kyoto and Nara.
Faith in Amida and the Lotus Sutra on one hand, and Zen on the other, also characterizes two main streams in Japanese Buddhism, Other Power (tariki) and Self Power (jiriki). Other Power is characterized by pure, devout faith in a deity or sutra that will help humans in their hour of need. By reciting a prayer or mantra, like the nembutsu “Namu Amida Butsu,” one can be reborn in the Pure Land or attain religious salvation. By contrast, religions emphasizing Self Power believe that one must take individual responsibility for one’s life—that to depend on some external power is an escape rather than true salvation. Zen epitomizes such an approach, focusing on personal cultivation rather than devotion to a deity. This idea of Self Power is illustrated in a Zen fable about a monk who, facing the piercing winter cold in an old temple, burned a wooden statue of the Buddha for warmth. When criticized for his sacrilegious action, he pointed out that he was cold and that the statue was nothing more than an ordinary piece of wood. Adherents of Other Power religions such as Pure Land, however, think that the idea of Self Power is an example of human arrogance and egotism in a universe where much remains unexplained.
During the Heian period, belief in Amida’s Western Paradise had been one school of thought within Tendai. It was adopted by many court elites who commissioned elegant statues, raigō paintings, and temple buildings as testaments to their faith. In the medieval era, reformer-monks broke with Tendai, establishing schools dedicated solely to Pure Land devotionalism. They believed that faith in Amida was the singular route to salvation and should be open to all men and women, no matter how poor, uneducated, or sinful. Hōnen (1133–1212), who established the Pure Land School, believed that one must constantly chant the nembutsu as the surest way to salvation. As a Tendai monk at Mount Hiei, one day he read a passage from a Chinese Pure Land master that urged adherents to focus solely on the nembutsu; thinking of Amida during every waking moment was the surest path for obtaining rebirth in the Pure Land. Hōnen discarded all other Tendai beliefs and rituals for the sole practice of chanting the nembutsu. His revolutionary approach was strongly opposed by the other monks of Enryakuji, who thought they were being criticized for not meeting the needs of the mappō era. Hōnen left Mount Hiei and settled in Kyoto, where he began to gather followers. The powerful temples and monasteries tried to ban the nembutsu and persecute the new faith, but the simplicity of the practice attracted large numbers of both lay and monastic devotees.
Hōnen’s disciple Shinran (1173–1263), also a Tendai priest, founded the True Pure Land school of Buddhism. Rather than his master’s call to constantly chant the nembutsu day and night, he argued that one single, truly sincere invocation, expressing complete surrender of the self to Amida, was adequate for gaining rebirth in the Pure Land. Shinran also believed that in the time of mappō, Buddhist monks were unable to keep their vows. Meat consumption was common among the clergy, although forbidden by their vows. Monks evaded the prohibition by removing their outer robes before eating meat, but Shinran refused to even remove his robe. He also eschewed monks’ vows of celibacy, marrying and fathering seven children. Shinran’s attitudes foreshadowed Buddhist practices in modern Japan, with priests who commonly marry and pass their temples and positions on to their heirs.
Another monk of the Pure Land tradition, Ippen Shōnin (1234–89), established the Ji (Time) sect in the late thirteenth century. Wanting to ensure that the message of the Pure Land was carried to the ordinary people, he spent his life as an itinerant preacher, wandering throughout Japan with a band of monks and nuns. They distributed amulets to all they met and encouraged them to chant the nembutsu, often in group sessions that also involved ecstatic dancing. Female disciples were entrusted with the same tasks as the male, including the authority to conduct memorial services and run local practice halls. They and other Pure Land preachers delivered the message that women, not just men, could achieve salvation. Ippen’s peripatetic life is the subject of one of the finest medieval scroll paintings, The Life of Ippen the Holy Wanderer.
Itinerant preachers extended Pure Land faith throughout remote regions and among all sectors of society from the thirteenth to the sixteenth century. Unlike the wealthy Buddhist institutions of Nara and Kyoto, Pure Land evangelists needed to proselytize directly among the commoners in order to solicit donations. In addition to chanting and dancing sessions, many delivered pictorial sermons (etoki), using a pointer and large, highly detailed mandala paintings depicting Buddhist paradises and hells, or narrative paintings illustrating tales of Buddhist saints and miracles. By the sixteenth century, Pure Land sects were as firmly established as the earlier schools of Buddhism but drew their support from a larger cross section of society than the Nara and Heian sects that relied on elite and state support.
Another reformist school adopted the Tendai emphasis on the Lotus Sutra. Established by the monk Nichiren (1222–82), this school advocated chanting a different sacred invocation, “Namu Myōhō Renge kyō” (Hail to the Mysterious Law of the Lotus Sutra), as the only means to achieve salvation in the age of mappō. The sect he founded is Japan’s only major Buddhist school that did not originate in China. Unlike other founders of medieval sects, Nichiren was not a member of the elite courtier or warrior classes. He was born in a remote eastern province to a family of fishermen. At age twelve, he entered a Tendai temple near his home and studied Pure Land teachings. At seventeen, he embarked on a tour of the famous temples in Kamakura and Kyoto but felt alienated by the grandeur of the elite-sponsored Buddhism he found there. Dissatisfied with Pure Land doctrine, Nichiren became a devotee of the Lotus Sutra instead and saw his mission as returning Tendai to its original advocacy of the Lotus Sutra as the ultimate vehicle of deliverance.
Nichiren was a fierce, controversial figure who attacked rival schools and criticized the court and bakufu for supporting other Buddhist institutions. Following a series of natural calamities from 1257 to 1260, Nichiren told the shogun that these were caused by the growing popularity of evil sects and prophesied that unless all people, from the ruling classes to the masses, paid homage to the Lotus Sutra, the calamities would continue. In 1268, when the bakufu received the first letter from the Mongols demanding Japan’s submission, Nichiren claimed this was proof of his earlier prophecy. Because of such brash opinions, he was sent into exile on remote Sado Island. Unchastened and fearless, he built a devoted following among warriors and farmers throughout northern and central Japan. His followers shared his zealous, uncompromising stance. Rivalries developed between his devotees and followers of the Pure Land faith, resulting in battles between the two sides during the mid-sixteenth century (see chapter 5). Incidentally, Nichirenism is the forerunner of one of the largest Japanese religious movements today, Sōka Gakkai, established in 1938 and achieving massive growth in the 1950s (see chapter 11).
Meditation was already a part of many Buddhist traditions, but in Zen, intensive seated meditation (zazen) was believed to be the single most efficacious way to religious salvation—just as the nembutsu was for the Pure Land school and the Lotus Sutra was for Nichiren. The first advocates of Zen in Japan were Tendai monks who traveled to China in the twelfth century looking for a means to revitalize Buddhism in Japan. Chinese Zen (Ch’an) developed in a strict monastic setting that stressed intensive communal meditation as the core of monastic life and used aids to help achieve enlightenment, such as contemplating kōan. When these reformers returned, they met resistance from Tendai leaders, so they sought new patrons to give Zen an independent identity. Luckily, in the late twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the warrior class had come into power. They wished to establish their own source of spiritual authority, separate from the Buddhist sects patronized by the court. Thus, the shogunate and elite warrior families became the primary patrons of Zen, and Kamakura developed into an important Zen center.
Many warriors were attracted by the discipline and directness of Zen training, the rigor of meditation, and the possibility of personal enlightenment. In contrast with the Other Power of Pure Land or Nichiren, Zen taught that enlightenment could be attained here and now by one’s own efforts. Achieving this was not helped by methodical, rational methods like studying sutras; the best path to enlightenment was through meditation, the means used by the Buddha himself. Intensive zazen meditation could break through the delusions of the senses and of the rational mind to grasp one’s own Buddhahood directly and spontaneously.
Two main schools of Zen were established during Japan’s medieval period. Rinzai, introduced by the monk Eisai (1141–1215), who is credited with popularizing green tea in Japan, emphasized “sudden enlightenment,” centering on the use of kōan—stories, dialogues, or phrases that include absurd or contradictory statements, intended to force the mind to abandon rational thinking. Zen masters tested their disciples’ progress through question-and-answer sessions using kōan. In the West, kōan are often characterized as unanswerable riddles; the best-known examples are “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” and “Does a dog have Buddha-nature?” Kōan study is better described, however, as a method for understanding the recorded sayings of past Zen masters or comprehending the world from an enlightened point of view. Progress in kōan study was a standardized process, following a set curriculum. Zen masters expected their students to deliver fixed, correct responses. Collections of and commentaries on kōan, such as the twelfth-century Blue Cliff Record, form an important body of Zen literature. The following example is from The Gateless Gate, a thirteenth-century collection of forty-nine kōan and commentary on them by a Ch’an master known in Japan as Mumon Ekai.
NANSEN KILLS THE CAT
The Case
Once the monks of the eastern and western Zen halls in Master Nansen’s temple were quarrelling about a cat. Nansen held up the cat and said, “You monks! If one of you can say a word, I will spare the cat. If you can’t say anything, I will put it to the sword.” No one could answer, so Nansen finally slew it. In the evening when Jōshū returned, Nansen told him what had happened. Jōshū thereupon took off his sandals, put them on his head, and walked off. Nansen said: “If you had been there, I could have spared the cat.”
Mumon’s Commentary
What is the meaning of Jōshū putting his sandals on his head? If you can give a turning word concerning this matter, you will be able to see that Nansen’s command was not meaningless. But if you can’t, look out! Danger!
The Verse
Had Jōshū been there,
He would have given the command instead;
Had he snatched away the sword,
Even Nansen would have begged for his life.3
While this story may seem illogical, Zen adherents believe that it expresses obvious truths to those who have experienced true Zen realization. It was the responsibility of the Zen master, part of a lineage of teachers that could reportedly be traced to the historical Buddha, to gauge whether students had achieved such realization.
Under the patronage of shoguns and warriors, Rinzai Zen built up a system of several hundred officially sponsored monasteries in Kamakura, in Kyoto, and throughout the provinces. They became centers for the cultivation of Zen-related arts like landscape gardening, calligraphy and ink painting, and tea ceremony (described later in this chapter).
The other primary school of Zen is Sōtō, introduced from China by Dōgen (1200–1253), who emphasized that zazen meditation, which he called “just sitting,” was the core of Zen practice. Dōgen rejected the official patronage that tied Rinzai to the ruling elite, and he established his temple Eiheiji in rural Fukui prefecture, far from the distractions of Kamakura and Kyoto. Development of meditative self-awareness in Sōtō was not limited to formal zazen sessions, but might also be pursued while engaged in the mundane activities of everyday life—working, eating, walking, and resting. In his work Tenzo kyōkun (Instructions for the cook), Dōgen explained the daily duties of monastery cooks in detail, emphasizing the opportunities for practicing mindfulness, such as in the following excerpt: “When washing the rice, remove any sand you find. In doing so, do not lose even one grain of rice. When you look at the rice see the sand at the same time; when you look at the sand, see also the rice. Examine both carefully. Then a meal containing the six flavors and three qualities will come together naturally.”4
After Dōgen’s death, Sōtō teachings and practices expanded to incorporate folk beliefs, prayers for material benefits, and elements of esoteric Buddhism, giving Sōtō more popular appeal among ordinary people than Rinzai. It spread widely among farmers and local samurai in northern Japan.
ARTS AND CULTURE OF THE WARRIOR CLASS
As the warrior class gained political power, it began to set the norms for society and culture. Warrior ideals were expressed in the concept of balance between bun and bu, the arts of peace and the arts of war. On one hand, elite warriors should be adept practitioners of bu—the martial arts, especially the way of the bow and arrow, but also including the sword. Idealized warrior ethics and behaviors, including heroism, loyalty, and willingness to die for your lord, were fostered and promoted in epic war tales like The Tale of the Heike, though not necessarily practiced among fighting men. The rising martial class patronized craftsmen who made weapons, armor, helmets, and horse trappings that reached sophisticated new technical and aesthetic levels. The blades of deadly swords and daggers were increasingly decorated with elaborate carvings; their fittings were luxurious, including sharkskin-wrapped handles and lacquered scabbards with special pockets for chopsticks and hair-arranging tools. Armor, traditionally made of leather and lacquer to withstand the weather, began to incorporate iron and steel plates to provide better protection from muskets.
On the other hand, elite warriors responsible for serving in official posts also had to master bun—the skills of governance and administration that involved literacy and cultural attainment. Rural, low-ranking samurai by no means possessed the time or resources to become literate and cultured, but as the military class rose in status, warrior elites learned to enjoy the cultural pastimes necessary for interaction with courtiers and high-ranking monks. They participated on equal terms in literary salons and became great patrons of artists and dramatists.
FIGURE 14. Samurai armor and helmet, mid-fourteenth century, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Gift of Bashford Dean, 1914. Source: ARTstor Images for Academic Publishing.
Nevertheless, the warrior class also held their own spiritual and cultural aspirations, modeled after, but divergent from, the court nobility. Older Buddhist sects in Kyoto, like Shingon and Tendai, were associated with the court, and the shoguns desired their own, separate forms of religious legitimation and power. Zen priests acted as their advisors, and Zen ideals, alongside those of Confucianism, deeply influenced many aspects of warrior society, including the arts. Many of the major arts associated with the medieval period, including ink painting, landscape gardens, Nō drama, and tea ceremony (discussed in chapter 5), are regarded as parts of a distinctive Zen culture governed by aesthetic tastes for abstraction, simplicity, and asymmetricality, along with a preference for things that look earthy, faded, or neglected (wabi or sabi). A meditative aesthetic of stillness and mystery, or yūgen, found in Nō, was felt to inspire the eternal and the profound. Such tastes represented a departure from the aesthetic preferences of the Heian-era courtiers, who favored colorful, lavish decorative styles and more lighthearted entertainment. The age of warriors and warfare sharpened the sense of life’s insecurities and sorrows, and the aesthetics valued in the era reflected this shift, from the luxury of courtiers to the spare, lean mode favored by warriors.
Zen Painting and Calligraphy
Zen masters patronized by the warrior class were often accomplished ink painters and calligraphers. In a sense, Zen ink paintings can be characterized as both impressionistic and expressionistic. While presenting abstract or idealized impressions of natural scenery, the medium of ink, which instantly creates an image that cannot be corrected, is thought to express the artist’s inner self and spiritual energy, conveyed via the vitality or subtlety of his brushwork.
With renewed ties to China, monks traveled regularly between Japan and the continent, and Rinzai Zen monasteries became centers of Chinese learning and arts. The Japanese artists built upon the monochrome ink-painting (sumi-e) techniques they learned there, epitomized by the sumi-e masters of the Song dynasty (960–1279). The simplicity and austerity of paintings using only black ink appealed to both the Zen monks and their warrior patrons. Song painters used scant strokes on vertical scrolls to depict birds and plants like bamboo and orchids; their impressionistic landscapes of pines and craggy cliffs are particularly impressive. The Japanese drew upon Song compositions but also executed their works in larger formats, on large folding screens (byōbu) or sliding paper doors (fusuma) enclosing entire rooms of villas and palaces (see chapter 5).
One of the greatest Japanese masters of ink painting was the fifteenth-century Zen priest Shūbun (?–1460), considered the founder of the Japanese-Chinese style of “mind-landscape” painting, depicting imagined visions of natural settings in China. This style features a distinctive use of space, eschewing the depiction of distinct foregrounds, backgrounds, and middle distances employed by Song masters in favor of a more abstract approach with an expansive sense of space, in which mountains, cliffs, trees, and other elements in the painting appear to float unanchored. Unfortunately, few of Shūbun’s work are extant.
Shūbun’s disciple Sesshū (1420–1506) became the best-known master of Japanese ink landscapes. Sesshū was also a Rinzai Zen priest and excelled in multiple styles and subject matter, including flowers, birds, and portraiture along with landscape. Sesshū’s works employed the choppy, bold brushwork of Song ink painters and their structured compositions of space, rejected by his master. Nevertheless, he retained some of the abstract qualities of Shūbun’s work. In Winter Landscape, strange, unidimensional shadows of mountains in the background contrast with the boldly drawn hills, trees, and castle in the foreground and middle ground, and an unexplained, irregular black line dominates the center of the painting. Paul Varley observed that Winter Landscape is “an abstract mosaic of surfaces that looks startlingly like the work of a modern cubist painter.”5 Sesshū is also associated with a style known as “broken-ink” (haboku sansui) that uses explosive splashes of ink, washes, and free brushstrokes to create abstracted scenes of nature. His disciples Sōen (1489–1500) and Tōshun (1506–42) inherited and further developed the haboku landscape style.
Zen Gardens
The imperial palaces and the residences of Heian nobility were built around carefully designed gardens that included streams and ponds with fishing pavilions, where courtiers often composed their poetry, using the garden for inspiration. They sometimes floated their poems on the ponds and along the streams. During the medieval age, a new variety of garden evolved that used rocks, water, and plant life to depict a “nature-scape,” a life-sized landscape represented on a miniaturized scale. Zen gardeners experimented with new and abstract ways to use rocks and sand in dry landscape gardens (karesansui) where gravel, sand, moss, and stones replaced altogether not just water, but flowers, plants, and trees. Rocks of varying shapes and textures were used to represent both natural features, such as mountains and waterfalls, and man-made structures such as bridges. Sand, gravel, or pebbles were painstakingly raked into wavy and circular patterns that represented water.
FIGURE 15. Sesshū, Winter Landscape, fifteenth century, Tokyo National Museum. Source: Wikimedia Commons.
The new approach to gardening was associated with the Rinzai Zen priest Musō Soseki (1275–1351), the abbot of Nanzenji Temple in Kyoto, reportedly the designer of the famous Moss Garden at Saihōji, which contains over 120 varieties of lush moss, and the renowned gardens of Tenryūji—both designated UNESCO World Heritage sites. Tenryūji’s rock gardens are arranged so that visitors can enjoy changing scenery while walking around the central pond. Boulders and stones symbolize a waterfall cascading into the pond and carp within it. The views of two hills outside of the garden are incorporated into the overall design in a technique known as shakkei that integrates background scenery into the garden plan.
The most famous Zen dry landscape garden, thought to be the work of the artist Sōami (1472–1525), is located at Ryōanji Temple in Kyoto. This garden represents an ocean with islands protruding above the surface and consists of a flat rectangular surface of white gravel, raked into straight lines, with fifteen boulders scattered about singly and in clusters, surrounded by circles of raked gravel. The garden is meant to be viewed from a seated position on the adjoining veranda, and its stones are arranged so that one can view only fourteen of the fifteen from any given angle. Legend has it that one can view the final boulder only after attaining enlightenment. Sōami is also credited with the remarkable sand garden of the Silver Pavilion, shogun Ashikaga Yoshimasa’s retirement villa. In this garden, alternate bands of raked and smooth sand and gravel lead to a carefully formed, massive pile of sand with a flattened top, thought to represent the sacred Mount Fuji.
Two fundamental principles in designing Zen gardens are the recreation of natural habitat and the attempt to appeal to the intuitive, less rational side of the viewer. The abstract nature of dry landscape gardens allowed visitors to engage their imagination in conjuring up the natural scene represented by the garden. Zen monks also considered dry gardens an aid in attaining enlightenment, gained not only through zazen meditation or by studying kōan, but also in the mindful performance of simple, daily tasks such as the peeling of vegetables for a monastic meal or the meticulous labor required to rake the sand and gravel in these gardens.
FIGURE 16. Ryōanji Temple rock garden. Courtesy of JNTO.
Nō Drama
Another arena of artistic development related to Zen-based aesthetics is Nō, the oldest extant form of Japanese theater, originating in the fourteenth century. A Nō performance consists of solemn, highly ritualized dance, drama, and music centered on a masked main character (shite) who usually represents an incarnation or ghost of a past historical figure returning to a site of significance in his or her life. The shite harbors a powerful emotion such as jealousy, rage, or sorrow that prevents him or her from finding spiritual release after death. The main character’s true identity is revealed over the course of the play. The stories presented in Nō dramas, drawn from multiple sources including folk tales, The Tale of Genji, and The Tale of the Heike, are suffused with Buddhist themes such as karma, rebirth, suffering, and impermanence.
The actors speak and sing in poetic verse, accompanied by a small chorus. Rhythm and pacing are very important, following a pattern of a stately introduction (jo), mounting through the exposition of the play (ha), and culminating in a fast, intense finale (kyū). This jo-ha-kyū rhythm is a foundation of many other Japanese arts, from linked verse poetry (renga) to tea ceremony to martial arts like kendo. The dance, drama, and rhythm of Nō are heightened by the music of the flute and drums and by the chanting of the chorus.
FIGURE 17. Nō performance. Courtesy of JNTO.
Costumes and especially masks are critical elements of Nō performance. Masks denote character types and include men and women of different ages, holy men, gods, and demons or spirits, corresponding to the five categories of Nō plays: gods, warriors, women, demons, and miscellaneous. In many plays, the main character switches masks to reveal his true character. For example, in Aoi no ue, based on an episode from The Tale of Genji, the beautiful mask of the main character, Genji’s lover Rokujō, is traded for that of a horned demonic spirit (Hannya) that expresses her jealousy and sorrow over his unfaithfulness. One of the actor’s challenges is expressing emotion while masked. This is particularly true of the female masks, which wear blank or neutral expressions in comparison to those of warriors and demons. Masks are carved and painted by master craftsmen, who are able to construct them in a manner that allows a slight change in expression when the actor tilts his head. Costumes are bulky and luxurious, consisting of at least five layers of robes, the outermost of rich damask, brocade, or embroidered silk, along with wigs, hats, and other headpieces.
The costumes are opulent, but other aspects of Nō share the austerity and abstraction that characterize other Zen-related arts. Stage props like boats, carriages, and huts are seldom more than abstract outlines of the objects. An actor’s fan may be employed to represent a cup of sake or a weapon. The gestures of the actors are also spare and highly stylized—for example, a hand lifted in a certain position in front of the mask represents weeping. Many of the actors’ movements, such as their distinctive walk, barely lifting the feet from the floor, can be seen in traditional martial arts, the tea ceremony, and the decorum expected of Zen priests. These Nō props and movements embody the economy of means and the preference for suggestion over realism valued by Zen.
The origins of Nō are attributed to various sources, including masked dances performed at shrines as ritual prayers for peace or abundant harvests, rustic forms of music and dance performed during rice-planting season (dengaku), and acrobatic dance performances (sarugaku). Their transformation into an elite art form is often identified with the relationship between the shogun Ashikaga Yoshimitsu and the gifted actor and playwright Zeami Motokiyo (1363–1443). In 1374, Yoshimitsu, then seventeen, attended the play Okina, performed at a shrine by a sarugaku troupe led by the actor Kan’ami, with his eleven-year-old son Zeami in a minor role. The shogun fell in love with the beautiful boy actor, a not uncommon phenomenon among samurai elites who, like the ancient Greeks, sometimes demonstrated erotic preferences for male youths. Yoshimitsu became the patron of Zeami and his troupe, but some viewed the shogun’s favored treatment of the youth with disdain. When Yoshimitsu constructed a special platform so that he and Zeami could watch the spectacular floats of Kyoto’s annual Gion Festival together, one court noble wrote:
The Shogun was accompanied by a boy, a Yamato sarugaku player, who watched the festival from the Shogun’s box. The Shogun, who has for some time bestowed his affection on this boy, shared the same mat and passed him food from his plate. These sarugaku performers are no better than beggars, but because this boy waits on the Shogun and is esteemed by him, everyone favors him. Those who give the boy presents ingratiate themselves with the Shogun. The daimyos and others vie to offer him gifts, at enormous expense. A most distressing state of affairs.6
In his twenties, having succeeded to the headship of his troop, Zeami began to attract acclaim for his acting skill. In his thirties, he began to author plays, including many of the most beloved classics of the Nō repertory, along with critiques and treatises on acting techniques. In these works he extolled yūgen, an aesthetic style characterized by mystery and depth, as the highest ideal of perfection in all arts, including Nō. To achieve yūgen in performances, Zeami urged actors to study poetry and costuming and to make certain that all of their visual and aural expressions were beautiful. After the fall of the Ashikaga bakufu, Nō remained a potent means for warriors to display their cultural patronage. At the end of the sixteenth century the great unifier Toyotomi Hideyoshi (see chapter 5), born a peasant, decided that studying and performing Nō was the best avenue for proving that he was not culturally inferior to nobles and priests. Other warrior elites were obliged to study Nō in order to stay in Hideyoshi’s good graces. The founder of the third and last shogunate, Tokugawa Ieyasu, was also a patron and performer of Nō.
Other Literary and Visual Arts
During the medieval period, poetry continued to be considered an essential practice for members of the court. Emperor Go-Toba commissioned the eighth imperial anthology of poetry, the Shinkokinshū, which is considered the greatest Japanese poetry collection after the Man’yōshū. Six courtiers, including one of Japan’s greatest poets, Fujiwara no Teika (1162–1241), completed the anthology, which contained nearly two thousand works of verse. Entries were organized in remarkable linked sequences, using similarities of word or expression to connect poems on a given topic, such as the season of spring, the experience of travel, or the stages of love.
In his Guide to the Composition of Poetry, Teika advocated using the language of famous poets of earlier times, stating: “There are no teachers of Japanese poetry. But they who take the old poems as their teachers, steep their minds in the old style and learn their words from the masters of former time—who of them will fail to write poetry?”7 Critics charged, however, that such sentiment resulted in works that lacked originality, used worn clichés, and evoked nostalgia, harkening back to the golden ages when courtiers enjoyed unquestioned dominance. Teika also compiled the Hyakunin isshu, an anthology of one hundred poems by one hundred different poets. This collection became the basis for a popular card game by the same name, still played by many Japanese during the New Year holiday.
The poems of the Shinkokinshū demonstrate a more melancholic and solemn tone than those of the Heian-era Kokinshū, which were more concerned with expressing elegance and wordplay. Two examples by the Buddhist priest Saigyō (1118–90), known for composing verse on long, solo journeys that later inspired Matsuo Bashō (see chapter 7), are particularly poignant:
In a tree standing
Beside a desolate field,
The voice of a dove
Calling to its companions—
Lonely, terrible evening.
Living all alone
In this space between the rocks
Far from the city,
Here, where no one can see me,
I shall give myself to grief.8
The most representative works of literature of the medieval period, however, are the war tales (gunki mono), which provide much information on historical events and battles from the tenth to fourteenth centuries and relate the values and culture of the rising warrior class. Like the Greek epics The Odyssey and The Iliad, these tales were originally recited by blind monk-bards who memorized the stories and retold them with accompaniment on the biwa, a lute-like instrument. Most were not written down for many years after the actual events occurred. The best-known version of The Tale of the Heike was not recorded until 1371. War tales mixed historical fact and fiction; they were based on actual events but often embellished the exploits of individual warriors or introduced invented characters. In keeping with the shift toward warrior governance, the tales glorify courageousness and military valor, providing idealized and romanticized descriptions of warfare and accomplishments on the battlefield. They provide insights into the values of the rising warrior class, including the importance of loyalty to one’s lord, to the extent of sacrificing one’s family or one’s own life to protect the lord. Tales valorize warriors who lead austere lifestyles, controlling their emotions and desires in the service of victory.
Such ideals would become the basis for the code of Bushidō—the way of the bushi, or samurai—which was not elaborated until centuries later, during a time of peace, as rationale for the status and privilege accorded a warrior class that no longer engaged in actual violence. War tales portrayed valiant warriors highly conscious of personal honor and status; when enemies encountered one another on the battlefield, each announced his lineage and accomplishments to determine whether he faced a worthy opponent. In reality, warfare was messier and more ruthless. Warriors readily engaged in deception and guerrilla tactics; they murdered the innocent and burned villages in pursuit of victory and reward.
The tales draw distinct portraits of the warrior and courtier classes. Since many tales were composed by courtiers, they offer unflattering comparisons between refined court manners and warrior brutality. This contrast is captured vividly in The Tale of Hōgen, which describes a one-night skirmish in 1156 between Taira and Minamoto forces called to Kyoto by Emperor Goshirakawa and retired emperor Sutoku to settle a dispute, resulting in the first warfare seen in the capital for three hundred years. In this tale, the warrior Minamoto no Tametomo describes his battle plan to Sutoku and his ministers, recommending a nighttime attack on Goshirakawa’s palace, setting fire to three sides, and waiting to slaughter those who fled the fire from the fourth side. Minister of the Left Fujiwara no Yorinaga condemns the plan as “a crude scheme which is quite out of the question” because it is not fitting for a struggle between emperors to be settled by such underhanded and dishonorable tactics.9
The Tale of Heiji, recounting the 1159 Minamoto attack on Taira no Kiyomori’s forces, then installed in the capital, provides an unusually graphic account of the warriors’ wanton arson and slaughter of courtiers. Here, Minamoto no Yoshitomo engages in the very strategy Tametomo had advised, setting fire to the palace of Goshirakawa, now a retired emperor:
The situation at the Sanjō Palace was beyond description. Soldiers were guarding all the gates, and flames were shooting up here and there. Wild flames filled the heavens, and a tempestuous wind swept up clouds of smoke. The nobles, courtiers and even the ladies-in-waiting of the women’s quarters were shot down or slashed to death. . . . When they rushed out, so as not to be burned by the fire, they met with arrows. When they turned back, so that they would not be struck by the arrows, they were consumed by the flames. Those who were afraid of the arrows and terrified by the flames even jumped into the wells in large numbers, and of these, too, the bottom ones in a short time had drowned, those in the middle had been crushed to death by their fellows, and those on top had been burned up by the flames themselves. . . . How could anyone at all have saved himself?10
Warriors from the eastern provinces, associated with the Minamoto, were considered the fiercest—skilled horsemen able to draw the largest bows, capable of penetrating armor. Eastern warriors appeared especially battle-hardened when contrasted with the vassals of Taira no Kiyomori and the Ashikaga shoguns, who became soft from their pampered lifestyles in the capital. The difference between such “courtier-warriors” and their provincial opponents is poignantly illustrated in “The Death of Atsumori” episode of The Tale of the Heike, in which the young Taira commander Atsumori encounters Kumagai no Naozane, a Minamoto vassal. Atsumori is richly attired according to courtly tastes, “wearing a silk hitatare embroidered with cranes under delicately tinted green armor, a helmet with spreading horns, a sword of gold fittings, and, on his back, arrows fletched with mottled feathers. He carried a lacquered, rattan-wrapped bow and rode a dappled gray with a gold-trimmed saddle.”11 Naozane roughly grabs Atsumori from his horse, pushing off his helmet to sever his head, but is taken aback when he sees a handsome youth with a powdered face and blackened teeth. He wishes to spare Atsumori’s life but fears what the youth might suffer at the hands of his brutal comrades, so he beheads the boy himself with great regret. Among Atsumori’s belongings is a flute that Emperor Toba had given to his grandfather; Naozane marvels that a warrior would bring such a refined possession to the battlefield. This episode was further immortalized in Zeami’s classic Nō play Atsumori, in which the ghost of the young warrior appears to a priest, who is a reincarnation of Naozane, and declares that, though they were once enemies, they are now friends under Buddhist law.
FIGURE 18. Detail of a warrior and courtier from a scroll illustrating The Tale of Heiji, thirteenth century, Boston Museum of Fine Arts. Source: Wikimedia Commons.
The Tale of the Heike is the most renowned of the military tales. In the canons of premodern Japanese literature, it is considered second only to The Tale of Genji, and like Genji, its episodes have deeply influenced subsequent culture, serving as familiar material for Nō and Kabuki plays and for paintings and prints. In the modern era, these classics continue to inspire retellings in film, television, and manga comics. The epic spans many decades, providing a comprehensive account of the rise and fall of the Taira clan and their defeat by the Minamoto in the Genpei War. Heike’s sympathies generally lie with the Taira. Although Taira no Kiyomori is portrayed as an arrogant tyrant and villain, the Taira as a whole are pitied as an aristocratic clan overpowered by the rough, provincial warriors of the Minamoto. Although the downfall of the Taira is presented tragically, as a military tale, Heike also extols martial values, lauding the Minamoto for their strategic skills, courage, and close ties between commanders and soldiers.
Heike is also deeply informed by religious beliefs. Important Buddhist motifs in the tale include karma and impermanence. The law of karma is especially illustrated through the figure of Kiyomori, whose hubris and evil acts lead to the ruination of his clan. Impermanence (mujō) is a notion crucial to both Buddhist belief and medieval Japanese values. It is the belief that human (and all) existence is transient, in a constant state of flux between growth and decay. Impermanence is illustrated in the rise and eventual downfall of even the most powerful of their day, as invoked in the famous opening passage of Heike: “The sound of the Gion Shōja bells echoes the impermanence of all things; the color of the sala flowers reveals the truth that the prosperous must decline. The proud do not endure, they are like a dream on a spring night; the mighty fall at last, they are as dust before the wind.”12
The arts of portraiture and picture scrolls (emakimono) also made great strides during the medieval era. In the Heian period, individual features were portrayed generically rather than realistically, as too faithful a rendition might be considered rude. Around the twelfth century, however, portraits known as “likeness pictures” (nise-e) achieved greater fidelity to the features of their subjects. Fujiwara no Takanobu (1142–1205) specialized in large-scale portraits that not only captured the distinctive eyes, noses, and lips of his patrons, but imbued these with the very spirit of their subjects. His famous portrait of Minamoto no Yoritomo gave the shogun buckteeth and a somewhat bulbous nose, but there is no questioning the strength of Yoritomo’s character behind his steely, focused gaze. Another artist, Bokusai, captured the likeness of the iconoclastic Zen master Ikkyū Sōjun (1394–1481) as tight-lipped, wary, and careworn but still exuding sharp intelligence. Artists often painted only the faces of their subjects, leaving the more generic clothing, bodies, and background to lesser craftsmen.
Hundreds of picture scrolls on a variety of subjects remain extant from the medieval era. Some, like the excerpts above from picture scrolls depicting the Mongol invasions and the Heiji rebellion, portray scenes of battle and warfare. These were known as masculine paintings (otoko-e) in contrast with the decorative feminine paintings (onna-e) described in chapter 3. In addition to such battle-centered narratives are picture scrolls based on episodes from popular novels or depicting a variety of religious topics, including the lives of religious leaders, the histories of famous temples and shrines, and the didactic paintings of Buddhist heavens and hells used by itinerant preachers. One of the most beloved picture scrolls is Chōjū giga (Pictures of frolicking animals), a set of four satirical ink monochrome scrolls depicting animals engaging in human behaviors, such as picnicking, sumo wrestling, and engaging in religious rituals. These scrolls poke fun at the twelfth-century Buddhist clergy—in one scene a monkey priest chants in front of an altar of a Buddha, represented by a fat, bored-looking frog.
FIGURE 19. Fujiwara no Takanobu, Portrait of Yoritomo, thirteenth century, Jingoji Temple, Kyoto. Source: Wikimedia Commons.
FIGURE 20. Detail from Chōjū giga, twelfth or thirteenth century, Kōzanji Temple, Kyoto. Source: Wikimedia Commons.
CHANGES IN ELITE WOMEN’S STATUS
During the Heian period, elite women were often quite powerful—they were educated and inherited property on par with their male counterparts, were able to hold land and office and operate independently from their husbands, and could pass on their inheritances to whomever they pleased. But rather than following the court custom of dividing property among sons and daughters alike, thus diluting a family’s wealth over time, the new warrior elites engaged in primogeniture, selecting a single, male heir to inherent all of a family’s property. By the fourteenth century, there was a marked decline in women’s property rights.
Changes in patterns of marriage residence contributed to the decline in women’s status. Among Heian courtiers, children traced their descent through their father’s line but lived in the natal home of the mother. The father/husband might also reside there or might simply visit, but the maternal grandparents raised and controlled the children. Marriages among the powerful warrior houses were, by contrast, virilocal—that is, the couple lived in the natal home of the husband, where the bride was taken in as a daughter-in-law. In this way, the maternal natal family lost all control over the grandchildren and thus lost interest in maintaining a daughter’s wealth, education, or other assets that might attract powerful husbands. By the sixteenth century, when elite warrior women married, they had no source of independent income, depending completely on the family of their husband for support; they no longer had the right to name an heir or take part in lawsuits.
Marriage ritual also underwent a fundamental change, from simple, domestic ceremonies—essentially the sharing of rice cakes at the hearth of the woman’s house to formalize a sexual union—into an elaborate public arrangement between two houses. With the increase of virilocal residence among the warrior class, husbands’ families began to dispatch palanquins, oxcarts, and bands of vassals to fetch the bride to their new home. Marriage ceremonies became increasingly elaborate. In the sixteenth century, Hōjō Ujimasa dispatched twelve palanquins, three thousand horses, and ten thousand vassals to retrieve his bride. Such marriage rituals were spectacles performed for an audience to demonstrate male success and power—they signaled that women were no longer relatively equal partners in the relationship, but pawns for political and military alliances between families. By the Tokugawa period (1600–1868), women in the ruling warrior class were economically, sexually, and ideologically subordinated to the males of their households. Under warrior rule, the perpetuation of the house (ie) through a line of male successors became the highest goal, making women useful primarily in a reproductive capacity, sometimes referred to dismissively as “borrowed wombs” valued primarily for their ability to produce male heirs. Among commoner classes such as farmers and artisans, however, women continued to work alongside their husbands and retained a greater degree of influence in household and family matters.
In summary, as the warrior class grew in power they usurped wealth and ruling prerogatives from the court. In 1185, the Minamoto established their own capital in Kamakura where shoguns and their regents ruled in a dual-polity system, with authority divided between themselves and the court. Sapped by the thirteenth-century Mongol invasions, the Minamoto regime was replaced by the weaker Ashikaga bakufu, based in Kyoto, who emulated courtiers’ lives while the provinces descended into chaos and warfare, considered part of the age of mappō spiritual decline. In response to this ethos, several new schools of Buddhism emerged to meet the needs of the warrior and commoner classes by offering simple, direct methods for achieving salvation and enlightenment. As warrior elites became Zen patrons, aesthetic qualities associated with Zen, characterized by simplicity and solemnity, influenced many emerging forms of art and culture, including painting, drama, gardens, and poetry. The foremost military epic of the medieval age, The Tale of the Heike, idealizes warfare and martial values but infuses its episodes with Buddhist themes, such as karma and impermanence. In the subsequent era of civil war, values such as loyalty to one’s lord were often disregarded in warriors’ quests for more land and power.
FURTHER READING
Conlan, Thomas D. From Sovereign to Symbol: An Age of Ritual Determinism in Fourteenth-Century Japan. New York: Oxford University Press, 2011.
Farris, William W. Heavenly Warriors: the Evolution of Japan’s Military, 500–1300. Cambridge, MA: Harvard, 1992.
———. Japan’s Medieval Population: Famine, Fertility, and Warfare in a Transformative Age. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2006.
Goble, Andrew E. Kenmu: Go-Daigo’s Revolution. Cambridge, MA: Harvard, 1996.
LaFleur, William R. The Karma of Words: Buddhism and the Literary Arts in Medieval Japan. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986.
Mass, Jeffrey P. The Origins of Japan’s Medieval World: Courtiers, Clerics, Warriors, and Peasants in the Fourteenth Century. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1997.
———. Yoritomo and the Founding of the First Bakufu: The Origins of Dual Government in Japan. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1999.
Oyler, Elizabeth, and Michael Watson. Like Clouds or Mist: Studies and Translations of Nō Plays of the Genpei War. Ithaca, NY: Cornell East Asia Series, 2013.
Payne, Richard K., ed. Re-Visioning Kamakura Buddhism. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1998.
Segal, Ethan I. Coins, Trade, and the State Economic Growth in Early Medieval Japan. Cambridge, MA: Harvard, 2011.
Souyri, Pierre F. The World Turned Upside Down: Medieval Japanese Society. New York: Columbia University Press, 2003.
Yiengpruksawan, Mimi H. Hiraizumi: Buddhist Art and Regional Politics in Twelfth-Century Japan. Cambridge, MA: Harvard, 1999.
RECOMMENDED FILMS
Gate of Hell (Jigokumon). 1953. Feature film directed by Kinugasa Teinosuke. Award-winning depiction of the tensions between courtiers and warriors under the reign of Taira no Kiyomori.
Mongol: The Rise of Genghis Khan. 2007. Feature film directed by Sergei Bodrov. Semi-historical epic about the early life of Genghis Khan.
Onibaba. 1964. Feature film directed by Shindō Kaneto. A horror film that depicts the travails of two women trying to survive amid the civil warfare surrounding the Kemmu Restoration.
Taira Clan Saga (Shin Heike monogatari). 1955. Feature film directed by Mizoguchi Kenji. Saga based on Yoshikawa Eiji’s historical novel Shin Heike monogatari, by an iconic director.
Zen: Principles and Practices. 1986. Documentary film. Illustrates life in a Rinzai Zen monastery.