Gohyaku Rakanji -
The Buddha and his Disciples

It was repentance for laziness that led the young priest Shoun to start carving 500 arhat statues. One almost wishes more priests had led an early life of indolence, for then we might have had more such treasures. Shoun Genkei ('Pine Cloud' - 1648-1710) came from Kyoto, where he studied Obaku Zen under the famous master Tetsugan ('Iron Eye'). Obaku Zen had been introduced to Japan by the Chinese priest Ingen (1595-1673), who had fled there after the fall of the Ming-dynasty. Compared to Rinzai and Soto, the established Zen schools in Japan, Obaku differs in its incorporation of non-Zen elements such as the nembutsu practice of Jodo Buddhism. Ingen also brought new cultural elements with him, from a new style of ink painting to a novel form of the tea ceremony.

But the most visible influence today is in the realistic, sometimes even grotesque arhats of Manpukuji, Ingen's temple in Uji. Shoun's meeting with another group of these arhats, in the Yabakei Gorge in Kyushu, impressed him so much that he decided to sculpt the whole set with his own hands.

The 500 arhats originate in the 500 disciples who gathered shortly after the Buddha's entering into Nirvana to compile his teaching into the Buddhist holy books, the sutras. In reality their names have not come down to us (except for the group of ten inner disciples, who were historical persons), and the number 'five hundred' is rather an indication for 'a great number' than a factual count. This circumstance, on the other hand, allowed the artist much freedom in compiling his set of 500 arhats.

Edo's oddest temple
Shoun came to Edo for the execution of his vow. The most populous city of Japan did not have an arhat temple yet, and he hoped to find funds there needed for his long labor. He choose Sensoji in Asakusa, not only the largest temple, but also an amusement center in its own right, as initial workplace.

After a slow start, the project picked up pace when the shogun's mother, Keisho-in, in 1694 gave a substantial donation. The next year Shoun finished statues of the Shaka, Monju, Fugen, and 36 rakan statues: a true explosion of energy.

Another shogunal grant led to the founding of a temple for them, Rakanji, on land on the east bank of the Sumida river, in the marshland outside the city proper. The temple flourished, so much that it even grew into the main tourist attraction of Edo.

Rakanji became popular because it was such an oddity. There were, of course, the statues, which according to the Obaku Zen tradition, had been sculpted in Chinese style. But there was more. In the original temple the arhats were sitting to the left and right of the altar, as if listening to the preaching of the Buddha at Vulture Peak. The Buddha was seated on a rock, the arhats sat in galleries around him and one could go up and down by stairs to see them from close-by. It was a dramatic reenactment of the preaching of the famous Lotus Sutra.

The hall with its arhats was not all. Rakanji also boasted a Turbo-shell hall: a three-storied hall where by architectural acumen a sloping floor led up and again down without a break so that large masses of people could move through it without congestion. The sloping floor resembled a turbo shell (or perhaps we should say a cork screw), which led to the name.

The temple, finally, also served as a kind of museum avant-la-date. Some other temples had similar functions, but Rakanji had the advantage of the exotic: it exhibited two Dutch still life paintings, originally given to the shogun by the Dutch trading post in Deshima. The intricate paintings, with their outlandish perspective, were great attractions.

The modern temple hall

Preaching at Vulture Peak
Nothing is left of all this eccentric greatness. Rakanji succumbed to a big earthquake in 1855 and was not rebuilt. The new time, with its novel exotics, was about to dawn, and there was no need for a mock Vulture Peak, Turbo Shell Hall or Dutch paintings anymore. Part of the statues survived the temple's fate and after many tribulations, they came to rest in Gohyaku Rakanji in Meguro. The present buildings were finished in 1981.

First I enter the Rakan Hall, a corridor where 146 statues sit in three rows. They laugh, shout, cry, sit listening or meditating, all have their own individual expression. Some look as if they want to tell me something important. In the middle sits Rahula, the Buddha's son, born before Sakyamuni's enlightenment, and one of his major disciples. With both hands, he opens his chest, revealing his pure Buddha heart to the world.

Next I come to the Main Hall. On the altar sits Sakyamuni (Shaka in Japanese), carrying a lotus flower, flanked by large-sized statues of Monju, Fugen, Ananda and others. On benches to the left and right, six rows deep, about 150 arhats sit in silent admiration. It is as if the Buddha is preaching, 2,500 years ago.

I notice the strangeness of these central statues. The Buddha Sakyamuni looks Chinese; the curls on his head do not cover his whole scalp, as is usual; he wears a mysterious smile and carries a lotus flower. This is how Sakyamuni is said to have answered busy questions from his disciples: by smiling and picking up a silent flower. Such an answer is the essence of Zen.

It is a wonder that this huge number of arhats was carved by only one monk. Sometimes this fact is doubted, but I do not see reason to do so. Sculpting these numerous arhats was the fulfillment of a religious vow. The 350 odd statues still speak of the wonder that was Rakanji, and of the passion of the man who sculpted them.

He is here himself, Shoun, Pine Cloud. An elderly man of dignified mean, sitting on a Chinese chair, in front of the statues. It could be a self-portrait. He looks satisfied, posing in front of his life's work. Intently, he listens to the voice of Sakyamuni, that goes on for all ages.

For a short while, I join.