Record of Miraculous Events in Japan

The Nihon ryoiki

Burton Watson

• Publisher: Columbia University Press
• Year: 2013
• ISBN:
  9780231535168
• Topic: Literatura
• Subtopic: Colecciones literarias asiáticas

The Nihon ryoiki, a collection of setsuwa, or "anecdotal" tales, compiled by a monk in late-eighth- or early-ninth-century Japan, records the spread of Buddhist ideas in Japan and the ways in which Buddhism's principles were adapted to the conditions of Japanese society. Beginning in the time before Buddhism was introduced to Japan, the text captures the effects of the nation's initial contact with Buddhism—brought by emissaries from the king of the Korean state of Paekche—and the subsequent adoption and dissemination of these new teachings in Japanese towns and cities.

The Nihon ryoiki provides a crucial window into the ways in which Japanese Buddhists began to make sense of the teachings and texts of their religion, incorporate religious observances and materials from Korea and China, and articulate a popularized form of Buddhist practice and belief that could extend beyond monastic centers. The setsuwa genre would become one of the major textual projects of classical and medieval Buddhism, with nearly two dozen collections appearing over the next five centuries. The Nihon ryoiki serves as a vital reference for these later works, with the tales it contains finding their way into folkloric traditions and becoming a major source for Japanese authors well into the modern period.

PREFACE

If we inquire into the matter, we find that the inner, or Buddhist, writings and the outer, or non-Buddhist, writings were first transmitted to Japan in two groups. Both of them came from the country of Paekche,¹ the latter in the reign of Emperor Homuda [Ōjin, r. 270–312], who resided at the Toyoakira Palace in Karushima, and the former in the reign of Emperor Kinmei [r. 539–571], who resided at the Kanazashi Palace in Shikishima. However, it was customary for those who studied the non-Buddhist writings to denigrate the Buddhist Law, while those who read the Buddhist writings made light of the other works. But they are ignorant and foolish, embracing fatuous beliefs and disbelieving in the consequences of evil or good action. People of true wisdom regard both types of writing with seriousness and have faith in and are fearful of karmic causation.²

Among the successive emperors, there was one who, ascending a high hill, was moved to compassion and, content to live in a palace where the rain leaked in, brought succor to his people.³ Or another who was born with great ability and knew the direction things were taking. He could listen to ten men expounding without missing a word. When he was twenty-five, at the request of the emperor, he lectured on a Mahayana sutra, and his commentaries on the scriptures have long been handed down to later ages.⁴ Or there was an emperor who, making great vows, reverently created a Buddhist image. Heaven assisted his vows, and the earth opened up its treasure.⁵

And among the great monks, there were those whose virtue led them to the ten stages of bodhisattvahood and whose Way transcended that of the two lower levels of voice-hearer and pratyekabuddha.⁶ Grasping the torch of wisdom, they lit the dark corners; riding in the boat of compassion, they rescued the drowning. Because of their pursuit of difficult actions and bitter practices, their fame spread to foreign lands. As to the truly wise men of our time, we cannot as yet tell how great is their accomplishment.

Now I, Kyōkai, a monk of Yakushi-ji in Nara, observe the people of the world carefully. There are those who, though possessing ability, are petty in their actions. Greedy for treasures, they outdo a magnet that attracts an iron-rich mountain and pulls out its iron; eager for others’ goods, stingy with their own, they are harsher than a grinder that splits each millet seed and sucks out its core. Some covet temple property and are reborn as calves to repay their debt; others speak evil of the doctrine or of monks and meet with calamity in their present lives. But some seek the Way, pile up practice, and gain recognition in their present existence, or are deeply faithful, practicing good in their lives, and are showered with blessings.

The rewards of good and evil are like a shadow following a form; the recompense of suffering and bliss is comparable to a valley echo following a sound. Those who observe such occurrences shrink in alarm, but forget them in a moment’s time. Those who are shamed by them with draw in perturbation, but soon lose all memory of them. If the disposition of good and evil were not known, how could we straighten these tangles and make clear the right and wrong of them? And how, without evoking karmic causation, could we mend evil hearts and advance the path of goodness?

Long ago in the land of China, the Myōhōki [Ch. Mingbaoji; Record of Invisible Works of Karmic Retribution] was compiled; and during the great Tang dynasty, the Hannyagenki [Ch. Bore yanji; A Collection of Stories on the Kongō-hannya-kyō (Diamond Sutra)] was written.⁷ But why should we respect only these records of foreign countries and not credit the miraculous stories that occur in our own land? Since these events occurred here and I saw them with my own eyes, I cannot let them go unrecorded. After pondering them for a long time, I can no longer remain silent. Therefore, I have written down what I have chanced to hear, entitling it Nihonkoku genpō zen’aku ryōiki [Miraculous Stories of the Reward of Good and Evil from the Country of Japan], compiling it in these three volumes and handing it down to future times.

I, Kyōkai, however, am not blessed with a wise nature, but one muddied in content and hardly clear. Like a frog in a deep well, my understanding goes astray when sent on distant wanderings. I’m like a clumsy craftsman working on a piece carved by a master, only afraid that I will suffer long-standing injury to my hand. My work is no more than one pebble from Mount Kunlun.⁸ But my sources in the oral tradition are so vague that I fear there is much I have left out. In my zeal to attain the finest product, I fear that I have let even inept flute players play.⁹ May the wise men of later times not laugh at my efforts. My prayer is that those who read these strange accounts will shun what is wrong, enter the right, refrain from various evil practices, and carry out all that is good.¹⁰

1. Paekche (18 B.C.E.–660 C.E.), located in southwestern present-day Korea, was one of the three kingdoms of Korea, along with Koguryŏ (37 B.C.E.–668 C.E.) and Silla (57 B.C.E.–935 C.E.).

2. According to karmic causation, evil acts or karma beget evil, and good acts or karma beget good, although they may take considerable time to do so.

3. Emperor Nintoku (r. 313–399).

4. Prince Shōtoku, who lectured on the Lotus Sutra.

5. Emperor Shōmu (r. 724–749), who had difficulty completing his huge statue of Rushana Buddha until, in 749, gold was discovered in Japan.

6. In the Mahayana teachings, both the voice-hearers, or Hinayana believers, and the pratyekabuddhas, or “private buddhas” or self-enlightened beings, were regarded as being inferior to believers.

7. Tang Lin, comp., Myōhōki, in Taishō shinshū daizōkyō 51:no. 2082; Meng Xianzhong, comp., Kongō-hannya-kyō jikkeiki (718), 3 chaps., in Dainihon zokuzō-kyō, part 2, otsu, case 23:1.

8. Mount Kunlun was the source of fine jade.

9. A reference to King Xuan of Qi, a state in ancient China, who was so fond of playing the flute that he allowed even inept players to take part in his orchestra.

10. The last two clauses are a popular Buddhist maxim.

ON CATCHING THE THUNDER (1:1)

Chiisakobe no Sugaru was a favorite attendant of Emperor Yūryaku (called Ōhatsuse-wakatakeru no sumeramikoto, who reigned for twenty-three years at the Asakura Palace in Hatsuse).¹

Once, when the emperor was living at the Iware Palace, he and the empress were sleeping together in the Ōandono and were intimately engaged. Unaware of this, Sugaru walked in, whereupon the emperor, embarrassed, stopped what he was doing. At that moment, there was a clap of thunder in the sky.

The emperor then ordered Sugaru, saying, “You—invite that clap of thunder to come here!”

“I shall do so,” replied Sugaru.

The emperor said, “Yes—invite it here.”

Sugaru, leaving the palace, wore a red headband on his forehead and carried a halberd with a red banner.² Mounting his horse, he galloped past the heights of Abe and past the road to Toyura-dera until he reached the crossroads of Karu no Morokoshi. There he called out in invitation, “You god of the echoing thunder of heaven, the emperor invites you!” Then, as he turned his horse around and headed back, he asked himself, “Even though it’s the god of thunder, why wouldn’t it accept the emperor’s invitation?”

On the way back, between Toyura-dera and Iioka, lightning struck. When he saw this, Sugaru called for priests to place the lightning in a portable shrine and take it to the royal palace, where he announced to the emperor, “The god of thunder accepts your invitation!”

At that moment, the god gave off a brilliant blast of light that dazzled and frightened the emperor. He made many offerings to it and then had it sent back to the place where it had struck, which is now called Thunder Hill. (It is situated north of the Oharida Palace in the old capital.)³

Later, Sugaru died. The emperor issued a command that his corpse remain in its coffin for seven days and seven nights, in recognition of his loyalty and good faith. Then he had a grave built where the lightning had struck, with a memorial pillar that said, “The grave of Sugaru, who brought the thunder.” But this enraged the thunder, which struck the pillar and stomped on it. In destroying the pillar, however, its feet became caught in the splinters. When the emperor heard of this, he freed the thunder so it did not die. The thunder remained in a confused state for seven days and seven nights. When the emperor’s envoy erected a new pillar, he inscribed it, “This is the grave of Sugaru, who in both life and death ensnared the thunder.”

This is said to be the origin of the name Thunder Hill in the time of the old capital.

ON TAKING A FOX AS A WIFE AND PRODUCING A CHILD (1:2)

This took place long ago in the reign of Emperor Kinmei (Emperor Amekuni-oshiharaki-hironiwa no mikoto, who resided at the Kanazashi Palace in Shikishima). A man of the Ōno district of Mino province set out on his horse in search of a good wife. At that time in a broad field, he came on an attractive woman, who responded to him. He winked at her and asked, “Where ...