I originally wrote this piece for a different blog during my year abroad in Kyoto 2011-12.
Sometimes you can meet extraordinary people in unlikely places. Since I was one of the only foreigners at the gym I used to go to during my year in Kyoto, random people would strike up conversations with me. Even when these conversations might start out on the topic of Japanese food, I would sneakily direct them so we would end up talking about Buddhism instead, a topic I was far more interested in. In fact, as a vegetarian in a country whose diet consists mainly of meat and fish, it was not actually very difficult to link food back to Buddhism. So it happened that I became friends with one of the staff working at the gym. A very sociable guy in his thirties with a good sense of humor, very little of which I understood due to his sophisticated use of local idioms. As it turned out, one of his relatives was an esteemed Buddhist nun in the Pure Land tradition and he was keen to introduce me to her. “Is it ok, even if it’s not Zen?” he asked jokingly, referring to the Western stereotype that Japanese Buddhism is mainly Zen.
Pure Land Buddhism is very different from Zen. In fact, some scholars consider it to be closer to Christianity than to other forms of Buddhism. Whereas Zen emphasizes the need for spiritual cultivation through one’s own effort, Pure Land Buddhism argues that such personal effort is in vain. We cannot achieve enlightenment on our own. In fact, believing that we might be able is a delusion, and therefore a hindrance on our path. Pure Land Buddhism instead emphasizes the importance of faith in Amida Buddha. One of the main concepts in Mahayana Buddhism to which Pure Land Buddhism belongs is that of the bodhisattva, someone who is on the verge of enlightenment but decides to turn back to this world to help other beings achieve enlightenment, too. Pure Land Buddhism takes this concept a step further, arguing that because Amida Buddha has achieved enlightenment, it means that he must already have saved all beings. If he had not, he would still be a bodhisattva.
Of course, there are different interpretations within Pure Land Buddhism as to what this means practically. In Japan, for example, there are two main schools of this tradition, Jōdo-shū, and Jōdo-shinshū. While the former does emphasize the need for faith in Amida, it is inclusive in that it acknowledges to a limited extent the benefits of religious practices. Certain practices can reinforce and strengthen one’s faith. The latter school is generally understood to be more radical, denying the utility of practice altogether. Its most important figure, Shinran, famously proclaimed that it was easier for “evil people” to be saved because they would be more acutely aware of their own weaknesses and therefore understand the need to rely on Amida better. Nothing apart from this realization would be needed. People are essentially already saved.
The nun I met belonged to the former school, Jōdo-shū, in which she is one of the highest dignitaries. Because she belongs to the imperial family, I was asked not to publish her name or photo here. I am not at all familiar with the status of the imperial family in present-day Japan, but it seems that if I did want to include her name here I might need a permit from the Imperial Household Agency. Since my primary concern here is with Buddhism, I do not think that her social status matters that much for my purposes, though. Suffice it to say that she lost her parents at an early age, and was asked by a family member when she was nine to become a nun so that she might later take over the management of a major temple. Now she was in her eighties, having been a celibate nun for more than seventy years. On a side note, it is not at all uncommon for Buddhist temples in Japan to be associated with nobility. Temples throughout Japanese history have been places of learning and cultural prestige. When I visited the temple of this particular nun, there was an art exhibition as well as opportunities to take part in a tea ceremony. The nun incidentally was also a teacher of the tea ceremony which befitted her social status.
Before I met her, I had a profound experience when I explored the temple grounds together with my Japanese friend from the gym. Below the main hall, there was a long corridor going around the square foundation of the hall. It was pitch dark. Even though I was warned in advance, I was surprised not to be able to see even my own hands. I was told to walk along the corridor while holding on to the wall to my right. It was strange to experience how this darkness made me feel uneasy, although I knew it was simply a corridor without any traps. In the beginning, I was worried I might hit my head or lose orientation. In my mind, I heard my own voice chattering that my friend might be playing a trick on me. I felt helpless and vulnerable for a moment. Not being able to rely on my sight was not something I was used to. As I slowly and very cautiously made my way forward, step by step, I became more relaxed and my shoulders less tense. There was no point in worrying now. All I could do was trust the design of this corridor and my friend in front of me, and move on. As soon as I realized this I felt relieved. After what seemed to be a very long time, but cannot have been more than a minute, I heard my friend’s voice: “Here it is. Can you feel it on your right?” I felt around on the wall and indeed something was protruding. “Hold on to it. It is connected to the big Amida statue in the main hall. If you touch it, your karmic connection to Amida Buddha will be strengthened. You can also wish for something if you like.” Now I began to understand the purpose of this corridor. It was an ingenious representation of what Pure Land Buddhism was all about. The dark corridor represented this world in which we would inevitably get lost without orientation. How, from a Pure Land Buddhist view, could we hope to achieve enlightenment if we were so deluded that everything around us was pitch dark? On our own, we were utterly helpless. The wall that was connected to Amida’s statue represented faith in Amida. It provided orientation and if trusted, relief from anxiety. The corridor was in effect an experiential introduction to Pure Land Buddhism’s central teaching. For a moment I had a real sense of understanding and I was grateful to my friend who had taken me there.
I did not have much time to hear about his experience of the corridor because when we came out into the daylight again, the nun was ready to meet us. The three of us were having matcha, Japanese green tea, as we were talking. In the beginning, our host concisely explained her understanding of Pure Land Buddhism. Whereas it might be appropriate for some people to practice meditation, she humbly insisted that she was a “bonbu” 凡夫, an ordinary person without any spiritual talent, who could not hope to achieve enlightenment on her own. All she could do was rely on Amida Buddha for salvation. Amida would then guarantee her rebirth into the Pure Land after her death. From there she would then be able to attain enlightenment. It is worth noting that the Pure Land is not a paradise in the Christian sense. It is an ideal place only in the sense that it provides the perfect conditions for achieving enlightenment, but it is not a permanent resting place. It is not nirvana itself. Next, the nun told me about her daily life as a nun. Her practice was based on three pillars: studying, faith, and cleaning. Concretely the pillar of faith was expressed in the practice of invoking Amida’s name, called nembutsu in Japanese. This is the major practice in all forms of Pure Land Buddhism as far as I know. It can be understood as both an expression and a reinforcement of faith. It is not a prayer if prayer is understood to be a wish for something specific. As I understand it, Japanese Pure Land Buddhists do not generally pray to Amida Buddha for specific purposes other than salvation, although they may well go to Shinto shrines to pray to deities.
While I had expected the chanting of Buddha’s name to be central to her daily practice, I did not exactly expect cleaning to be a spiritually significant part of her daily routine. However, she emphasized that cleaning the temple grounds was like cleaning the heart. Somewhat taken aback I asked her what she was thinking about while cleaning, but she succinctly repeated “nothing”. I blushed at what seemed like a silly question in retrospect. Her response was very Buddhist indeed. Perhaps the differences between schools of Buddhism are sometimes overemphasized, I thought. Later I recalled an essay by Ian Reader who had written about the importance of cleaning across a whole spectrum of Japanese religions. Zen monks in particular are famous for ‘cleaning’ gardens that already seem perfectly clean. For them, it is not the effect of cleaning but the act itself which is significant. It would be interesting to pursue further how cleaning features at Pure Land temples, but at the time it did not occur to me to ask further.
Finally, I asked her about her celibacy, but it seemed to have been straightforward for her to commit to it. Whether it was her own decision or a decision made on her behalf early on, I do not know. It struck me partly because marriage is a common practice for most Japanese Buddhist priests nowadays, and particularly (or so I thought) within Japanese Pure Land Buddhism. I always wonder about how people manage to live celibate lives, and why they choose to do so. I, therefore, asked her whether in Pure Land Buddhism there was any tendency such as that of medieval Christian nuns who adored Jesus as a bridegroom, but she smiled and said that there was no such tendency among Buddhist Pure Land nuns. Amida was a teacher to her, not a lover.
That the nun talked about her daily practice and also her celibacy exemplifies, I believe, the more inclusive attitude of the Jōdo-shū school as opposed to the Jōdo-shinshū (but that is not to discredit the latter). While faith was primary for her, a practice could help her sustain her faith. I told her about my experience of the dark corridor, the impression of which was still vividly in my mind. She neither affirmed nor rejected what I said, but simply listened attentively. It seemed to me that she was appreciating that I had attempted to engage with her faith or in any case I was hoping she was. After we had talked for a bit less than an hour my friend announced that we would be departing. Thanks to his sensibility he probably noticed that we were straining the nun’s time, although she would never have implied this herself. When we left the temple through the gate, she saw us off and kept standing at the gate until we were out of sight, a form of politeness in Japanese culture. My friend insisted we take the first road to the right so that we would be out of sight and the nun would not have to wait at the gate any longer.
It was a fine spring day and we were going to eat our lunch boxes, a present from the nun, near the Kamo River. Here in the sun, the world seemed friendly and inviting, quite unlike the dark corridor. Or did it only seem to be? “Itadakimasu,” I said and began eating my vegetarian sushi.