Yoshimasa and the Silver Pavilion

The Creation of the Soul of Japan

Donald Keene

• Publisher: Columbia University Press
• Year: 2003
• ISBN:
  9780231503860
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: Japanese History
• Index: History

Yoshimasa may have been the worst shogun ever to rule Japan. He was a failure as a soldier, incompetent at dealing with state business, and dominated by his wife. But his influence on the cultural life of Japan was unparalleled. According to Donald Keene, Yoshimasa was the only shogun to leave a lasting heritage for the entire Japanese people.

Today Yoshimasa is remembered primarily as the builder of the Temple of the Silver Pavilion and as the ruler at the time of the Onin War (1467–1477), after which the authority of the shogun all but disappeared. Unable to control the daimyos—provincial military governors—he abandoned politics and devoted himself to the quest for beauty. It was then, after Yoshimasa resigned as shogun and made his home in the mountain retreat now known as the Silver Pavilion, that his aesthetic taste came to define that of the Japanese: the no theater flourished, Japanese gardens were developed, and the tea ceremony had its origins in a small room at the Silver Pavilion. Flower arrangement, ink painting, and shoin-zukuri architecture began or became of major importance under Yoshimasa. Poets introduced their often barely literate warlord-hosts to the literary masterpieces of the past and taught them how to compose poetry. Even the most barbarous warlord came to want the trappings of culture that would enable him to feel like a civilized man.

Yoshimasa and the Silver Pavilion gives this long-neglected but critical period in Japanese history the thorough treatment it deserves.

1

The assassination in 1441 of Ashikaga Yoshinori, the sixth shogun of the Ashikaga line, was carried out with exceptional efficiency and brutality. Assassinations of high-ranking persons were comparatively rare in Japan, at least until modern times, but a few are memorable: Sanetomo, the third Minamoto shogun, killed at the Tsurugaoka Shrine by his nephew, and Oda Nobunaga, murdered at the Honnō-ji by Akechi Mitsuhide. But about neither of these men was it said that he “died like a dog,” as Gosukō-in (1372–1456) wrote of Yoshinori.¹

Ashikaga Yoshinori (1394–1441), the third son of Yoshimitsu, had been sent (like many younger sons of high birth) to a Buddhist monastery for his education and preparation for a future career as a priest. At an early age, thanks no doubt to family connections, he attained the exalted rank of zasu (abbot) of the Shōren-in, an important temple of the Tendai sect. His elder brother Yoshimochi (1386–1428), who had succeeded Yoshimitsu as shogun, abdicated in 1423 in favor of his son Yoshikazu (1407–1425). The young man, however, whose excessive indulgence in liquor and general dissolute conduct had earned him severe reprimands from his father, died of illness after only two years as shogun.

After resuming the post of shogun after Yoshikazu’s death, Yoshimochi prayed for an heir at the Iwashimizu Hachiman Shrine, the ancestral shrine of the Minamoto clan (the clan to which the Ashikaga family belonged). He drew lots to see whether the god would accord this wish, and the desired answer was given: he would indeed have another son. Yoshimochi placed such great trust in the oracle that he felt it was unnecessary to designate a successor other than the unborn son. But his trust was misplaced: in 1428 Yoshimochi, who had not been favored with another son despite the oracle, developed a serious infection that seemed likely to prove fatal. The senior officials decided that they had no choice but to ask Yoshimochi directly for his choice of successor. The priest Mansai (1378–1435), who had served as “protecting priest” (gojisō) to the shogun, was delegated to go to the bedside of the dying Yoshimochi and ask him to designate his successor by name. Yoshimochi refused to name anyone. Mansai repeated the request several times, but still Yoshimochi refused, insisting that the successor be chosen by the senior retainers (shūgi).²

Mansai did finally succeed, however, in eliciting Yoshimochi’s consent to draw lots to determine the successor. It was hoped that the god of the Hachiman Shrine, as guardian of the fortunes of the Ashikaga family, would choose a suitable man. Mansai wrote on slips of paper the names of four younger brothers of Yoshimochi. The slips, in elaborately sealed envelopes, were taken to the Iwashimizu Hachiman Shrine by the shogunal deputy (kanrei) Hatakeyama Mitsuie (1372–1433) so that he might draw the lots in the presence of the god. The lot that Mitsuie drew, which was opened as soon as Yoshimochi died, bore the name of Gien, the abbot of the Shōren-in.³

Some scholars believe that the drawing of lots was rigged and that no matter which one had been drawn, it would have been inscribed with Gien’s name. But as Imatani Akira convincingly argued, drawing lots was not a matter of mere chance to the people of that time: everyone involved was convinced that the choice was made by the god himself. In terms of such faith in the god’s responsiveness to the Ashikaga family’s prayers, it was unthinkable that anyone would have dared tamper with the slips.⁴ At this distance from the events, we may wonder—even if we accept the genuineness of the drawing of lots—whether the god did not make a serious mistake in choosing Gien, the future Yoshinori, as the next shogun.

When it was discovered that Gien had won the lottery, he was informed that he would have to return to the laity. At first he expressed unwillingness to leave the priesthood, but eventually he convinced himself that his elevation to the rank of shogun had been the wish of the god and that he was therefore obliged to obey. His belief in the efficacy of drawing lots as a manner of discovering the will of the gods was further illustrated four months after he succeeded as shogun, when he proposed that a land dispute be settled by lots. In later years, other important decisions, ranging from the selection of the editor of an imperially sponsored anthology of poetry to the appointment of a priest for the Inner Shrine at Ise, were made according to lots drawn at Shinto shrines.

During his reign as shogun, Yoshinori displayed an undoubted executive capability, maintaining order in a country that was divided into “principalities,” some of which rivaled the shogunate in military and economic strength. He also was a man of considerable culture who could take part in a renga session without disgracing himself. He stands out, however, not for his capability as shogun or for his cultural attainments but for the ferocity of his temper. In 1434 the nobleman Nakayama Sadachika (1401–1459) recorded in his diary that up to this date eighty high-ranking persons had been disposed of by Yoshinori’s order, including fifty-nine members of the nobility, headed by a former kanpaku.⁵

Many were harshly punished for trivial offenses. One noble incurred Yoshinori’s wrath merely because he smiled while serving as a torchbearer at a ceremony. On another occasion (in 1433) when the crowd watching a cockfight near Ichijō Kaneyoshi’s residence got in the way of the shogun’s procession, the enraged Yoshinori not only prohibited further cockfights at the Ichijō mansion but ordered that all chickens be driven from the capital.⁶ Again, when a retainer offered the shogun a splendid plum tree, Yoshinori was angered to discover that one of the middle branches had been broken. The three gardeners who had transported the tree were imprisoned for breaking the branch, and an order was issued for the arrest of five retainers of the man who had presented the tree. Three of these men fled for their lives, and the other two committed suicide. In 1435 when Yoshinori traveled to Ise, he was annoyed by the tastelessness of the food he was served. The cook, albeit a samurai, was unceremoniously sent back to Kyoto. After Yoshinori had returned to the capital, the cook, all fear and trembling, again appeared in his presence. He was immediately arrested and beheaded. Two years later, three other cooks were executed for the same crime.⁷

These people do not rank among the important victims murdered by command of Yoshinori. Rather, he tended to find grounds for suspecting even high-ranking daimyos of harboring treacherous intentions, and when he thought they might be dangerous, he did not hesitate to provoke them into committing an offense. In the seventh month of 1431, a ceremony was held at which Yoshinori, following an old custom, ranked his generals in order of merit. Isshiki Yoshitsura (1400–1440) was named second best. He was offended because his grandfather had been ranked first by Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, and he thought he deserved the same distinction. Pleading illness, he declined to take part in the ceremony. This, predictably, infuriated Yoshinori, whose first impulse was to confiscate all of Yoshitsura’s lands. Although he was dissuaded from taking such drastic action, he never forgave him, and when he judged the moment for revenge had come, he ordered Yoshitsura’s death.⁸

Yoshinori’s reign of terror was small in scale when compared with similar periods of imperial persecution in China, but in Japan there was no precedent for the bloodthirsty cruelty Yoshinori showed toward those who displeased him. During the Heian period, not one person in high office was executed for his crimes,⁹ the worst punishment being banishment. Even during later periods, when a shogunate ruled the country, there was a reluctance to resort to capital punishment. Instead, serious offenses were usually punished by confiscation of property or (in the case of nobles) by loss of the privilege of attending court. Partly because it contrasted so greatly with the policies of earlier times, Yoshinori’s persecution inspired dread, especially among nobles and daimyos who feared that they might be suspected of being disloyal. This fear led to sycophancy among those who surrounded Yoshinori, each man desperately eager to assure him of complete submission to his will. Wherever Yoshinori went, he could be sure of receiving costly gifts from men of the locality who craved to demonstrate their loyalty. No one dared to remonstrate with the shogun in the manner prescribed in Confucian texts for those who advised men in power.

Yoshinori was not easily convinced of the loyalty of those around him. In order to feel absolutely secure, he reversed the tendency toward rule by consensus that had evolved and instead most often acted like a bloodthirsty tyrant. His first response to any act that seemed to be disloyal was an order to kill. When the heads of his enemies were sent to the capital, he personally inspected them, to satisfy himself that the heads were not those of imposters. After the fall of Yūki Castle, the stronghold of one of Yoshinori’s chief enemies, some fifty heads were sent to Kyoto for his inspection. Although they had been pickled in saké, in the intense heat of the Kyoto summer their features had decomposed and lost all semblance of their original appearance. The nobles had little desire to participate in the head inspection or even to get a glimpse of the unspeakably horrible sight, but they hurried to the spot, buckling on borrowed swords, each trying to be among the first to offer congratulations and fearful of incurring the shogun’s wrath if he arrived late.

Any account of Yoshinori’s actions is likely to make him seem so devoid of human feelings that one wonders how it was possible for a man whose early life had been spent in a monastery to forget so completely the Buddhist proscription on taking life. But he had not quite forgotten religion. After a major victory over pretenders to the position of shogun, when he at last decided that not one enemy of his regime was left on earth, he not only took part in the elaborate celebrations of victory staged by his sycophants but made pious pilgrimages to Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines to express thanks for the victory bestowed.

In the sixth month of 1441, Yoshinori received an invitation from members of the Akamatsu family to visit their house to celebrate his triumph over the Yūki family and particularly his success in tracking down and putting to death two boys of twelve and ten years who might have been used to restore the Yūki fortunes. The Akamatsu family had a tradition, dating back to Ashikaga Yoshimitsu’s childhood, of staging matsubayashi—festive dances performed early in the New Year in honor of the shogun. The tradition had lapsed after Yoshimitsu expressed a preference for sarugaku (nō) in celebrating the New Year, but it was revived in 1429, and since then matsubayashi had been performed every year at the shogun’s palace. For the New Year of 1441, however, there was no performance of matsubayashi. It was announced that the head of the family, Akamatsu Mitsusuke (1373–1441), would be unable to attend the shogun’s court because he had lost his senses. His younger brother, Mochisada, had not long before run afoul of Yoshinori when an affair with a lady-in-waiting was brought to light and his estates were confiscated. Rumor had it that Mitsusuke would be next to experience the shogun’s wrath. Acting like a madman was probably the best way of deflecting Yoshinori’s suspicions. The strategy worked for a time, but there was no way of telling what might next provoke Yoshinori’s rage.

The invitation to Yoshinori mentioned that this year there was an unusually large number of ducks in the garden pond. The shogun, it predicted, would surely enjoy watching parent and baby ducks cavorting in the water. Accustomed to dining out almost every night at the houses of his officials, Yoshinori accepted the invitation and arrived at the Akamatsu residence on the afternoon of the twenty-fourth day of the sixth month, accompanied by a retinue of nine provincial governors (shugo) and other high officials, almost all of whom owed their position to Yoshinori. The host this day was Akamatsu Noriyasu, Mitsusuke’s heir. Mitsusuke himself, because of his alleged madness, did not appear.

After admiring the ducks and ducklings on the pond, the shogun and his party were offered drinks and other refreshments. The entertainment was lavish, with a full program of nō to be offered for the shogun’s diversion. It was gradually growing dark as the third nō play was performed. Another round of drinks was passed around, and the guests were in a genial mood. Suddenly a thumping, as of drums, could be heard from somewhere in back of the house. The tipsy shogun opened his eyes and demanded what had caused the noise. A senior official replied...

Table of contents

• Cover 
• Half title
• Series Page
• Title
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents 
• Chronology
• Shoguns of the Ashikaga Family
• Introduction
• Yoshimasa and the Silver Pavilion
• Notes
• Bibliography
• Index