Living Images: Japanese Buddhist Icons in Context includes four essays presented at the conference “The Japanese Buddhist Icon in Its Monastic Context,” held at McMaster University in Hamilton, Ontario, in March 1994, that represent new trends in scholarship in both Buddhist studies and art history. In his insightful introduction, “Prolegomenon to the Study of Japanese Buddhist Icons,” Robert H. Sharf argues that although extant physical and textual evidence suggests that images played a key role in East Asian Buddhist belief and practice, our understanding of the function of images in the Buddhist context is still unsatisfactory. In his brief historiography of Buddhist studies in the West, Sharf explains that one of the reasons for the disregard of images is related to an academic division of labor. Since its inception, the field of Buddhist studies focused on the study of written texts and doctrinal aspects, while the discipline of art history traditionally studied only the formal aspects—that is, style and iconography—of Buddhist images. Sharf proposes that, in addition, the concept of idolatry in the Judeo-Christian tradition may have played a role in marginalizing Buddhist images as a subject of study.

Each of the four following essays reveals the complexity of religious beliefs and practices by focusing on specific religious icons, recreating not only the circumstances of their production but also, more importantly, that of the use of the images. These studies cast light on our understanding of the role played by images in Japanese Buddhism and the way believers understood them. Together, the essays stress that religious images were endowed with belief as living entities, enlivened not only by rituals but also by appealing narratives about their miraculous origins and deeds.

In “Portraits of Shinran in Medieval Pure Land Buddhism,” James Dobbins focuses on portraits of Shinran (1173–1263)—the founder of Shin Pure Land Buddhism (hereafter Shin)—as objects of worship. Dobbins briefly outlines the different types of images associated with Shin practice, including portraits of other religious figures associated with the school, paintings and sculptures of the Buddha Amida (Skr. Amitâbha), hanging scrolls inscribed with nenbutsu (known as myōgō honzon), and illustrated biographies of the patriarchs. He introduces a concept that he calls “transposition of iconographical symbols,” in which “someone or something that represents the recipient of Amida’s power in one context is identified as the source of such power in another” (22), and explains that myōgō honzon is an example of the transposition, because the nenbutsu inscriptions were seen as substitutes for Amida and therefore worshiped as such. Before addressing the role of portraits in Shin, Dobbins indicates that portraits may have been created to attest to lineage and authentic religious transmission and to be used in funerary rituals and memorial services; and, importantly, the portrayed person was seen as an embodiment of the sacred. By tracing the histories and stories of various portraits of Shinran and the buildings that housed them, Dobbins concludes that representations of the founder, and those of other Shin religious figures, also functioned as previously described. One distinctive feature in Shin practice related to the “transposition of iconographical symbols” is that as Shinran was believed to be the incarnation of Amida, his portrait therefore was worshiped not only as Shinran, but also as Amida. Furthermore, the centrality of Shinran’s portrait is also evident in the layout of Shin religious complexes, which, since the sixteenth century, usually include a Portrait Hall (goeidō or mieidō) and an Amida Hall. Dobbins’s analysis indicates that at Nishi Honganji, the bigger size of the Portrait Hall, as well as the placement of the portrait of Shinran, stresses his importance as focus of worship but, at the same time, reinforces the belief that he is the embodiment of Amida.

Art historian Karen Brock’s article, “ ‘My Reflection Should Be Your Keepsake’: Myōe’s Vision of the Kasuga Deity,” is aligned with the 1990s trend in art history that shifts the subject of study from the masterpiece to images in general, and places the emphasis on issues of production and reception. The images analyzed in this essay are copies of paintings in the Buddhist temple of Kōzanji in Kyoto that are associated with the monk Myōe (1173–1232). The works represent the deities Kasuga Daimyōjin and Sumiyoshi Daimyōjin, who are not Buddhist deities (as one would expect in a Buddhist temple) but rather are kami (indigenous deities). As copies, the paintings have not been a subject of study, but their presence at Kōzanji reveals the complexity of religious practices in Japan as the cult of kami of Kasuga, Sumiyoshi, and other kami flourished in this Buddhist community. By a masterful analysis of the temple’s archival sources, Brock recreates the historical context for the establishment of the Kasuga cult at Kōzanji in the early thirteenth century. Accordingly, the cult of Kasuga is linked to the oracles Myōe received from the Kasuga deity, who vowed to protect him. Brock sees this as Myōe’s political move, since he claims the tutelary deity of the Fujiwara clan as his ancestor. These documents also provide information for the making of the paintings, especially about their unusual iconography as old men. Brock demonstrates that Myōe’s Buddhist beliefs, and the visual material available at the time at Kōzanji, played a role in the creation of the images. This is the only essay that includes art-historical methodology. Brock explains the formal aspects of the paintings not only by interpreting textual sources, but also by comparing them to other paintings at Kōzanji. The essay further considers the later use of the paintings and their copies as she traces the history of patronage by the Konoe family that allowed for continuity of the cult of Kasuga at Kōzanji until the mid-nineteenth century.

Paul Groner’s article, “Icons and Relics in Eison’s Religious Activities,” discusses the beliefs and practices of the monk Eison (1201–90), the founder of the Shingon Ritsu school. Most biographies written about Eison focus on his role in reviving the Vinaya (Ritsu) precepts during the Kamakura period (1185–1333) and do not mention his Esoteric training or his devotion to a variety of Buddhist deities, including Aizen Myōō (Skr. Râgavidyârâja), Shakamuni (Skr. Sâkyamuni), and Monju (Skr. Mañjusrî) and, more importantly, his belief in relics. Groner’s study reveals important aspects of the production of images and the rituals associated with them. The extant images and the information provided in Eison’s autobiography and later biographies reveal that most of the sculptures associated with the monk and his followers have an unusual number and variety of deposits inside them, including relics, sutra scrolls, dhârani (mystic phrase), written vows, and rosters of people. Analysis of the deposits enables us to understand the role of the believers as patrons of the images and to recreate their specific beliefs. It is clear the believers wanted to establish a karmic connection with the images and, moreover, that the deposits were thought to enliven the images. In the same way, the use of relics and dhârani reveal Eison’s Esoteric beliefs, an aspect that is usually not mentioned. Particularly significant for our understanding of the use of images is the sculptural portrait of Eison, made when he was eighty years old. Records indicate that this statue was enshrined in Eison’s quarters until his death ten years later. They also state that the portrait was used in his funerary rituals. It was taken to the cremation grounds and later returned to the living quarters to serve as the embodiment of Eison’s spirit.

The last of the essays, “Visualization and Mandala in Shingon Buddhism” by Robert Sharf, attempts to debunk the standard idea that the Mandalas of the Two Worlds are used as aids for visualization in Shingon Buddhist practices. Through an analysis of two of the Shidokegyō (“four emancipatory practices”) initiation rituals, Sharf unequivocally demonstrates that mandalas do not have any function in these rituals and, moreover, that none of these requires the practice of visualization. He explains that the reasons for the spread of the notion that mandalas are related to visualization might have derived from the translation into English of the term kan and its compounds as “visualization.” In fact, Sharf argues that the activity proposed in the ritual manual is not “visualization” (creating images in the mind), but “contemplation” (“the image of the deity is manifest before the adept in fine detail, and the body of the practitioner becomes one with the body of the principal deity” {156}). To explain the role of mandalas, Sharf indicates that Kûkai (774–835) believed Esoteric teachings are extraordinarily difficult to expound, thus these diagrams and paintings are used to elucidate them. As Esoteric sutras have long lists of deities, with descriptions of their attributes, Sharf concludes mandalas are “visual commentaries” of the sutras, and that they are the ground where a deity manifests itself.

The book contains a helpful index and detailed footnotes. Some minor problems with Sino-Japanese characters (Chōgen {122}, ganmon {125}, and others), transliteration of Japanese terms (Hōonkō shiki should be Hōon kōshiki {35}, ontai should be gotai {93}, and others) and typographical errors (Jingō should be Jingū {49}) do not interfere with the readability of the essays. Graduate students and scholars in religious studies, art history, and history will find this book particularly interesting, as it shows the results of multidisciplinary studies and, at the same time, reveals that rigorous scholarship and the knowledge of a variety of methodological approaches are necessary to span more than one discipline.