Kristin Kwasniewski

Religion Major Senior Seminar

13 March 2002

Surrounding The Crowd—Through Sacrifice, A Tendai Deity is Born Anew

A Paradigmatic Model—The Life of Soo and the History of the Kaihogyo Practice

The creation of a connection between the sacred and the profane is perhaps one of mankind’s most primal desires.  To touch that which we idolize, to contact a power and understanding greater than our own requires of man an offering powerful enough to join these two worlds.  As Rene Girard has illustrated in countless examples, death and blood are often the only sacrifices suitable to produce the bond between heaven and earth, as well as a bond within the community craving this connection.  The crowd must therefore destroy a masked victim.  Girard defines this victim as a scapegoat [1] .  He is an innocent in this practice, unhappily forced into death by his community.  The victim is nameless when sacrificed, his body mutilated after death to conceal his human form.  Such collective violence, contends Girard, is at the heart of the sacrificial ritual.  It is only through a violent sacrifice that the community can be defined. 

Yet contrary to the arguments of Girard, the Kaihogyo Practice of Mt. Hiei involves no collective violence.  The victim is self-appointed, and the community acts as supportive onlookers and devout followers rather than savage killers.  Here, a bloodless, symbolic death is practiced without victimization, without a scapegoat.  The community is still bound by the act of sacrifice, and a connection to the sacred is achieved.  While the effects of the ritual remain identical to those of a violent sacrifice, the image of sacrifice is reversed.  In place of Girard’s crowd encircling the victim we find it is the victim that encircles the crowd.

Mount Hiei and Tendai Buddhism—The Axis Mundi of Japan

“The Mountain itself is a mandala” --Soo

            To study Tendai Buddhism alone is a formidable task.  Indeed, the details and nuances of this religion deserve far more attention than will be given here.  However, in order to gain some understanding of the Kaihogyo practice and its meanings, a brief explanation of Tendai mountain asceticism is necessary. 

The sacred Lotus Teachings of the Good Law [2] arrived in Japan long before any other Buddhist doctrine, planting themselves firmly atop Mount Hiei, the Axis Mundi of Japanese Buddhism.  Mount Hiei may be considered the “focal point of Buddhism in Japan; all the major schools either developed in conjunction with or directly from Tendai”, the mountain’s premiere inhabitant [3] .  Certainly Tendai’s founder, Saicho, captured the importance of the mountain when he explained, “it is better to rely at first on the place, rather than the mind” [4] .  Mount Hiei then, is a reservoir of sacred knowledge and natural peace.  The presence of the Eternal Flame of the Dharma on the mountain illustrates the importance and centrality of this peak.  Lit by Saicho over 1,200 years ago, the flame has burned continuously as a guide to the “way” and is currently housed in the Kompon Chu-do [5] . 

Tendai Buddhism, the main religion of Mount Hiei and its surrounding environs, finds its core in the detailed esoteric studies of its monks.  The two pillars of Tendai Buddhism, study and practice, thus find their centers on Hiei as well [6] .  The educational system “on Hiei instituted by Saicho was the most thorough in Japanese Buddhism” requiring twelve years of constant study from its pupils [7] .  This period was later lengthened to twenty-one years during the Kamakura period [8] .  This Tendai educational system functioned much like those in Tibetan Buddhism—the pupils were tested publicly and encouraged to debate their teachings rigorously so that they might develop an understanding of the text rather then just venerate the words [9] . 

The first chapter of the Lotus Sutra states “disciples of the Buddha cultivate all manner of practices, seeking the path of Buddha-hood” [10] .  Thus, the students were required to gain an understanding of their studies through practice.  This firsthand experience is called samadhi or sammai, “identification with and grasping of a principle” [11] .  Chih-I, an ancient tendai monk outlined four types of sammai that were necessary aspects of the path to enlightenment [12] .  These four types include: joza sammai, a continuous seated meditation; jogyo sammai, a continuous moving meditation or kinhin; hangyo hanza sammai, a meditation half in movement, half sitting; and finally higyo hiza sammai, a meditation involving neither sitting nor moving but rather encompassing all activities [13] .  In each of these practices the future monk learns to release his sense of desire, and thus his egocentric self-image.  With the elimination of desire, the trainee is able to move on to becoming a Tendai monk of Mount Hiei, a long and difficult process.

Because of its centrality to the Tendai religion, the path toward abbot or monk-hood on Hiei involves a great deal of preparation.  Pupils must spend three years performing one of three “Hells of Hiei” [14] .  These involve the Cleaning Hell—where one must spend a minimum of six hours a day sweeping the grounds of Jodo-in; the Chanting Hell—which involves complete isolation while chanting and meditating at Yokawa; and the Walking Hell—which involves the marathon run of one hundred days discussed later in this paper [15] .  In all, the process necessary to become a Tendai monk (and thus eligible to participate in the Kaihogyo) is a grueling twenty-four year process [16] .  It is important to understand that the Kaihogyo practice begins not with the initial hundred-day run discussed later, but with the initiation into monastic life that itself is a tremendous sacrifice.

A Paradigmatic Model—The Life of Soo

The life of Soo, the founder of the Kaihogyo practice, has become a picture of sacred mysticism.  From birth, Soo embodied a connection between the sacred and the profane, elevating him to a deistic level.  Soo, the first Ajari, became the model for all Kaihogyo practitioners to follow.

            Born into the Ichii family (a line that claims imperial descent) in 831, Soo was said to have been conceived when his mother dreamed of swallowing a sword [17] .  “Since the sword is one of the implements carried by Fudo Myoo, this legend can be seen as an attempt to establish the Soo had a close affinity with the Buddhist deity, the main object of devotion in the Kaihogyo practice, even from before the time he was born” [18] .  Yet beyond creating a connection between Soo and the main deity of the Kaihogyo practice, the myth of his mother’s conception produces in Soo a man born outside of the profane world.  Even at birth, Soo is closer to the deistic world than any other; he is a paradigm even before he begins his practice.

            Throughout his life, Soo exhibited multiple abilities often attributed to those connected to the sacred.  At the young age of fifteen, Soo expressed his desire to join the Tendai monastery atop Mount Hiei [19] .  Ascending the mountain, he took up residence in the monastic community and two years later was granted preliminary ordination [20] .  At this time, Soo first developed a desire to attain enlightenment, and thus dedicated himself to a life as a bodhisattva [21] [22] .  When the abbot Ennin offered Soo the honor of becoming a Tendai government ordinal several years later, Soo declined, suggesting a different monk receive the position in his stead [23] .  Soo’s generosity earned him his current name, Soo, “one who serves for others” [24] or “to correspond”, a prolific title given his current sanctity [25] .  Over the course of his practice, Soo was eventually initiated fully into the Tantric mysteries of Tendai Buddhism, learning tales of various holy pilgrimages from his teacher, Ennin [26] .  One night in a dream, Soo heard a voice explain to him his destiny:

All the peaks on this mountain are sacred.  Make pilgrimages to its holy places following the instructions of the mountain gods.  Train hard like this each and every day.  This is the practice of Never-Despise-Bodhisattva.  Your sole practice is to be the veneration of all things; through it you will realize the True Dharma [27] . 

Following this dream, the twenty-five year old Soo retreated into hermitage, where he spent one thousand days practicing various austerities [28] .  Through his suffering, Soo gained instant understanding of the sutras, as well as an ability to heal the sick by touch [29] .  This “ability to cure illness through magical powers” won the good graces of the royal family, gaining a place of honor for Tendai Buddhism in Japanese culture [30] .  After healing several ladies of the court, Soo returned to a life of fasting and prayer in solitude [31] .  Again, his religious efforts were rewarded, as one day he witnessed Fudo Myoo standing before him in a waterfall [32] . Soo rushed toward the flaming water [33] only to find a log where his god had once been [34] . This log he enshrined, and in honor of his experience began his thousand-day practice at Katsuragawa [35] .  In 861, Soo returned to court to continue to heal the ill and exorcise evil spirits [36] .  His powers now legendary, Soo was able to finance the creation of Mudo-ji, the central temple atop Mount Hiei [37] .  On November third of 918, Soo passed away facing west, the direction of the Amida Buddha’s Pure Land [38] . 

Developing Tradition--The History of the Kaihogyo Practice

In his book regarding Japanese religions, H. Byron Earhart argues for the “importance in Japanese faith in an individual, rather than in the doctrine taught by the individual” [39] .  Certainly this emphasis on the individual is evident in the Kaihogyo practice.  “Over a number of years, Soo’s relatively simple mountain asceticism grew into the elaborate and highly structured Kaihogyo practice as it is carried out on Mt. Hiei today”, a testament to the power and sacredness of Soo [40] .  Though the process by which Kaihogyo evolved from an obscure Tendai practice to a ritual honoring its paradigmatic model remains somewhat of a mystery, Kodera (1979) has been able to reconstruct the history of the Kaihogyo practice based on salvaged documents [41] .  Kodera has divided the history of Kaihogyo into four sections, each of which are outlined below. 

            Between 831 and 1130, Tendai mountain asceticism focused on a reenactment of Soo’s austere hermitage [42] .  During this period, the Kaihogyo practice was not yet regulated; monks were able to perform any ascetic lifestyle they felt resembled that of Soo while in retreat at Katsuragawa [43] .  Thus, there are no existing records on organized pilgrimages on Mount Hiei [44] .

            Institutionalized pilgrimages to the Three Pagodas on Mount Hiei became an integral part of Tendai mountain asceticism between 1131 and 1310 [45] .  As Tendai practitioners began pilgrimages to the Eastern, Western and Northern Pagodas, the idea of religious pilgrimage gained popularity among the imperial family and their courts [46] .  This pilgrimage joined with the Katsuragawa retreat of the first period to form the basis of Tendai mountain practice.  The involvement of the imperial family—which was truly the impetus for the revival of pilgrimage practices—acted to raise Japanese awareness of the practice, resulting in a surge in popularity [47] .  In response to this increase in practitioners, Tendai monks began to require pilgrims to carry Kaiho tefumi, lists of the holy places along the route that must be offered prayers [48] .  These lists are still used today, though the number of sites has grown from forty sites to two hundred sixty [49] . 

            The third period in the history of the Kaihogyo witnessed further rise in systematization [50] .  Between 1311 and 1570, rules regarding the proper clothing, instruments and preparations were created, resulting in the detailed regulations observed today [51] .  The “Shokoku ikken hijiri monogatari, story of wandering ascetics once seen in the provinces of Japan, written by Ryokai in 1387”, describes the Kaihogyo practice as it existed in great detail [52] :

It states that the practitioner walks for seven and a half ri (about 26 miles) every day, and that the practice lasts seven hundred days.   Furthermore, it is stated that once they have competed these seven hundred days, they must take part in a nine day fast at Mudo-ji.  The practitioners must wear white robes and hakama (pleated skirt), and carry a cypress hat in their left arm, wrapped in black leather and hung from the elbow [53] .

            The final stage in the history of the Kaihogyo incorporated into the practice mountain austerities that centered on the circumambulation of Mount Hiei [54] .  This period suffered a major loss when Oda Nobunaga burned the Tendai complex in 1571 [55] , thus destroying many Kaihogyo documents [56] .  However, in 1583, “the monk Koun completed the thousand day practice” creating a resurgence in public interest in Tendai mountain asceticism [57] .  From this period on, the regulations and details of the Kaihogyo practice are well known.

The Kaihogyo Practice Today

Currently, the Kaihogyo practice has been divided into two types of practices—a hundred-day practice, the hyaku-nichi, and a thousand-day practice, the sennich, both of which may only be performed by one who has become a fully initiated Tendai monk [58] .  The hundred-day process begins with a single week of preparatory training, including a review and cleaning of the pilgrimage path [59] .  With a secret handbook of ritual directions in hand, the new practitioner dresses in the traditional white garb of the Kaihogyo pilgrim, and begins his journey [60] .  This novice monk, or gyoja, follows a series of basic rules regarding his pilgrimage:

During the run the robe and hat may not be removed.  No deviation from the appointed path.  No stopping for rest or refreshment.  All required services, prayers, and chants must be correctly performed.  No smoking or drinking [61] .

The gyoja travels in solitude, beginning his day at midnight with an hour-long service and a small meal [62] .  His 18.8mile journey begins at 1:30 am, and continues until between 7:30 and 9:30 am, punctuated by stops at over two hundred and fifty-five sacred places along the way [63] .  At these designated places, the gyoja is required to perform a specific mudra and recite a specific prayer [64] .  Upon returning to his starting point, the gyoja participates in a second hour-long service, and then returns to his quarters to prepare his midday meal [65] .  After his meal, the gyoja attends to his chores until a 3:00 pm temple service [66] .  An evening meal follows, allowing the gyoja to retire at 9:00 pm [67] .  This routine is repeated every day for the next hundred days, interrupted only by the kirimawari, a thirty-three mile run through the city of Kyoto [68] . This marathon run occurs on the 65^th and 75^th days of the practice, and functions to introduce the gyoja to “practicing for the sake of others in the world” [69] .  The kirimawari takes almost twenty-four hours to complete, leaving the gyoja little if any time to rest before he resumes his pilgrimage [70] . 

            Certainly, the hundred-day practice is a rigorous achievement.  These freshmen monks suffer a multitude of physical and emotional traumas, ranging from frostbite, infected sores, fever and hemorrhoids to psychological strain [71] .  However, their practice acts only as a precursor to the sacrifices given by those who choose to perform the thousand-day practice.  Since 1571, only forty monks have completed the thousand-day practice, a number that testifies to the difficulty involved [72] .  In this practice, one thousand days of walking meditation are spread over a period of seven years, during which the monk takes part in several important austere retreats [73] .  The sevens years of intense practice are divided as follows.

            During each of the first three years of practice, the monk, or shingyo (one who has completed the hundred-day practice), walks only one hundred days each year [74] .  These hundred days are divided into thirty to forty kilometers per day, as well as one day of kirimawari (fifty-four kilometers) each year [75] . 

            The fourth and fifth years of practice involve walking two hundred days per year, thus a total of seven hundred days of walking meditation are completed [76] .  The seven-hundredth day of walking meditation marks a turning point in the thousand-day practice.  At this point, the focus of the practice shifts from the practitioner’s own benefit to that of the community with the completion of the Do-iri ceremony.  Held at the Myoo-in in Mudo-ji (the central Tendai temple on Mount Hiei, founded by Soo in the 880s), the Do-iri is a ceremony of death and rebirth [77] .  During the Do-iri, the practitioner fasts for nine days, abstaining from all food and drink [78] . As well, the monk is forbidden to sleep or to lie down; he must remain in constant meditation, reciting the mantra of Fudo Myoo a total of one million times [79] .  Six times a day, the monk must perform a two-hour ceremony for the Mudo-ji monks, leaving the remaining hours to solitary recitation [80] .  Only once a day the monk is allowed out of the Great Hall [81] .  At two in the morning, he may rise to draw water from a well two hundred meters from the temple, at which point he is allowed to drink a designated amount of water [82] .  This daily trip becomes more difficult as the nine days progress and the monk becomes increasingly weaker—“by the final day, this short trip to and from the well can take up to forty minutes” [83] . 

            The final two years of the Kaihogyo practice involve walking thirty-six and two hundred days respectively, coming to an end with a final circumambulation of Mount Hiei and the city of Kyoto [84] .  The monk, now considered a Great Ajari, concludes his practice with a ceremonial visit to the imperial palace, where he “prays for the well-being of the Emperor and the welfare of the Japanese state and its people”, and performs a goma fire ceremony in which a thousand goma sticks are burned [85] .  When this ceremony is competed, the “kaihogyo cycle comes to an end” [86] .  

The Do-iri as a Non-Violent Sacrifice

Although the Kaihogyo practice as a whole may be considered sacrificial, it is the Do-iri ceremony that truly embodies the concepts of a sacrificial ritual expressed by Rene Girard and Henri Hubert and Marcel Mauss.  Certainly the Do-iri fits Hubert and Mauss’ definition of sacrifice as a “religious act which, through the consecration of a victim, modifies the condition of the moral person who accomplishes it or that of certain objects with which he is concerned” [87] .  Though the sacrifier and the sacrificed are one and the same in the Kaihogyo, the transition from sacred to profane is still accomplished, raising the practitioner to a holy state.  The Kaihogyo practice functions as a classic sacrifice of sacralization; it accentuates a “sacred character” that already exists to some extent within the practitioner [88] .  Likewise, the Kaihogyo operates as an expiatory sacrifice as well, cleansing the practitioner of his profane existence during the first seven hundred days of the practice so that he may be sacralized later in the process. 

            The Kaihogyo practice fits the classifications of a classic sacrifice save for its role of the community.  In the Kaihogyo, there is no collective violence.  This key aspect of the practice sets it apart from the archetypal sacrificial model designed by Rene Girard.  According to Girard, it is only those religions that reject sacrifice as violent cycle that successfully rid their community of the scapegoat [89] .  Yet in the Kaihogyo practice, we find a ritual that involves sacrifice, but includes no scapegoat.  The sacrificed is the sacrifier—he enters into he practice of his own volition.  As there are no persecutors, there can be no mimetic desire or collective violence.  The community neither demands the practitioner’s sacrifice, nor does it act to realize it.  Rather, the community supports the practitioner from the sidelines—their role in the sacrifice is only that of a spectator.  The lack of a scapegoat (or the need for one) and thus the lack of collective violence create that which Girard considers impossible: a non-violent, self-imposed sacrifice that still serves to benefit the community. 

The Death of a Man

In the words of Mircea Eliade, “access to spiritual life always entails death to the profane condition, followed by a new birth” [90] .  Thus, the Kaihogyo ceremony is wrought with the symbols of death.  The practitioner must undergo a “radical change in ontological and social status”; he must become dead to his community so that he might rise again as a holy being [91] .  This process of “dying” begins with the first visual requirements of the future Ajari—his clothing.

            The attire of the practitioner functions to both remove the monk from the profane, living world and to introduce him into the sacred.  The pure-white clothing of the practitioner mimics the traditional white death shrouds of Japanese custom, transforming the monk into a walking ghost [92] .  His identity is thus removed, he is no longer a son or brother, but a nameless wander—he is disconnected from his family and community.  This death motif is furthered by the monk’s pledge to kill himself should he not be able to finish his practice correctly [93] .  Around his waist, the practitioner wears the “cord of death”, a hemp rope he must use to hang himself [94] .  By his side, the monk has sheathed a knife, the goma no ken, which is to be used for self-disembowelment should he not be capable of hanging himself [95] .  In his hat, the monk carries a single coin called a rokumon-sen [96] .  This coin is meant to “pay for the ferry across the Sanzu River, which in Buddhist cosmology is considered to separate the dead from the living” [97] .  The Kaihogyo practitioner is thus separated from the living world.  By eliminating his role in the profane community, he is capable of beginning his entrance into the world of the sacred. 

            “The kaihogyo practitioner is considered to be a symbol of a living Fudo Myoo.  Thus his entire attire is interpreted to represent Fudo Myoo in some way” [98] .  His clothing acts to initiate him into the sacred.  This is most notable in the monk’s headgear, an elongated hat made from strips of hinoki wood and rolled to create an oblong tube [99] .  “This headgear is considered to be Fudo Myoo himself and is treated with utmost respect” [100] .  For the first three hundred days of the practice, the monk is not permitted to wear the hinoki, and must carry the hat under his left arm [101] .  Certainly these first three hundred days serve as a period of “death”, during which the monk becomes far enough removed from the profane that he may begin to develop his relationship with (or existence as) Fudo Myoo.  This movement into the sacred is further displayed by the monk’s footwear, the straw-woven wajari sandals [102] .  After three hundred days, the monk is able to wear tabi socks as well as the sandals, which are meant to symbolize the lotus petals of Bodhisattva iconography [103] .

            The trappings of death displayed during the walking portion of the thousand-day practice lead up to the Do-iri ceremony, which “literally brings the practitioner to the brink of death” [104] .   During the first seven hundred days, the monk has begun his slow transformation into a living embodiment of Fudo Myoo, a process that is culminated with the death and rebirth experienced during the Do-iri.  Each aspect of the Do-iri functions to imitate a human death.  The practitioner’s corner of the hall is partitioned off by a sakasa byobu, “a folding screen which has been arranged upside down, which is used only when someone dies” [105] .  Behind this screen the practitioner enters into a meditation that strongly resembles death itself—the monk does not participate in any basic human functions.  He neither eats nor drinks nor sleeps, avoiding those key activities that define a man as living.  Yet instead of emulating death in body (by lying still), the monk recites the Fudo Myoo mantra repeatedly [106] .  This recitation is considered an embodiment of Fudo Myoo, thus the practitioner’s only real action is to embody the sacred. 

            The Do-iri ceremony serves as the final gateway through which the practitioner passes into sacredness.  The monk “dies to his old egocentric self and is reborn as a bodhisattva who works for the salvation of all beings” [107] .  The man is dead; a deity is born.

The Birth of a Deity—The Transformation of Practitioner into Ajari

            In the Epic of Gilgamesh, the hero’s quest for immortality is best displayed by his interactions with Utnapishtim.  After relating the story of the floods to Gilgamesh, Utnapishtim challenges him to remain awake for six days and seven nights [108] .  To monitor Gilgamesh’s wakefulness, Utnapushtim sets a loaf of bread in front of the subject each day [109] .  By the seventh night each of the loaves remains, displaying various states of decay (marking the passage of time) [110] .  Gilgamesh has failed.  Incapable of remaining awake for the allotted time, Gilgamesh loses his chance at immortality.  He has proven his mortality—and thus his humanness—by falling sleep. 

Refraining from sleep, then, acts as a sign of immortality.  Certainly this is evident in the Do-iri ceremony of the Kaihogyo as well.  The monk’s abstinence from typically human activities—eating, sleeping and drinking—serves not only to emulate death, but also to place the practitioner on a higher plane of existence.  In not sleeping (or eating or drinking), the monk becomes “immortal”.  He is no longer subject to the same rules regarding survival that his community must obey.  The physical possibility of this is difficult to imagine.  “Since under normal circumstances humans can survive only about seven days without water”, how is the practitioner capable of enduring the Do-iri?  It is possible that the monk in question enters into a form of sleepwalking hibernation, his metabolism dropping to a low enough level to require only minimal sustenance—his body using only a handful of calories a minute.  Accounts of physical near impossibilities are documented in other practices as well.  Yet while these amazing activities present a comparative basis for the Do-iri, they do not begin to explain how such austerities are possible to endure.  

            Though little scientific explanation exists, Tendai mountain asceticism provides complete spiritual rationalization.  The monk becomes a god.  He is, through these austerities, transformed into a deity who does not necessitate such earthly provisions.  The practitioner becomes Fudo Myoo, and thus also becomes a reincarnation of Soo, the founder of the practice.  The monk, now a daigyoman (“one who has fulfilled his practices) is given the title of Dai-ajari, or Great Ajari” [111] .  He is now a sacred being. 

            The course of the one thousand day Kaihogyo practice may be divided into two sections regarding the practitioner’s identity.  The first seven hundred days, before the Do-iri, act as a purification period, cleansing the monk of his profane, human existence, and preparing him for the final transformation into Fudo Myoo.  Perhaps this purification is necessary in order to survive the Do-iri ceremony.  The remaining two years of the Kaihogyo are practiced not by the monk, but by the deity he has become.  With the Do-iri, the focus of the practice shifts from the mountain to the deity.  During the first seven hundred days, Mount Hiei functions as the axis mundi of the practice.  After the Do-iri ceremony, however, the new ajari himself becomes the axis mundi.  Rather than the monk circumambulating the mountain, the community now circles the ajari.  The first section of the Kaihogyo practice is self-benefiting for the practitioner—he cleanses himself from his impurities.  The second section of the Kaihogyo (that time after the Do-iri) is solely for the benefit of the community.  The individual no longer exists; a deity whose purpose is to aid others replaces him.  The new ajari is capable of blessing people as well as healing the ill in the same manner that Soo once did.  He has taken on the powers of a holy being. 

The Cyclical Nature of The Kaihogyo Practice

            Where Girard perceived the community crowding around the chosen victim, the Kaihogyo practice presents a sacrifice that circumambulates the crowd.  Like the circling of a Buddhist stupa, the movements of the practitioner around Mount Hiei and its environs define the interior area as sacred.  The community is defined by the sacrificed, who physically traces the boarders of his society.  This encircled area, while it is defined as sacred by the practitioner, reciprocally defines the practitioner as sacred too.  Outside of his environment, the ajari’s holy status declines.  Thus the sacred space and the sacred being create a mutually dependent circle.  Without the space, the man is nothing; without the man, the space is profane.     

In the climax of the Kaihogyo practice, the death of the practitioner as an individual man results in the birth of a deity.  The process of death and rebirth creates a model of the life cycle within the ajari, mimicking the human condition.  Yet the new ajari also forms the final link in a cycle of sacred time.  In the birth of each new ajari are the rebirth of Soo and Fudo Myoo as well.  The ajari’s magical healing powers suggest the presence of Soo, while his deep understanding of Tendai teachings are reminiscent of Fudo Myoo.  Through the creation of an ajari, a “primordial mythical time is made present” [112] .  The eternal time of Fudo Myoo, and the ancient time of Soo merge with the present in the body of the ajari.  Thus the sacredness of the ajari is eternal.  In dispelling his humanity, the ajari has become both Fudo Myoo and Soo, and therefore now exists within the present, past and eternal sacred time.  In this sense, the ajari has accomplished what Gilgamesh could not: he has achieved immortality through cyclical time.

            The Kaihogyo practice functions as an exemplary model of sacrifice.  The victim “dies” so that a higher state of sacredness might be reached.  The community benefits from this ascension, gaining a powerful healer as well as a direct connection to the sacred.  In the rebirth of the practitioner as Fudo Myoo, the community finds a spiritual center around which it may congregate.  In every aspect, the Kaihogyo practice should fit Girard’s model of a primitive and violent sacrifice, yet it does not.  According to Girard, the key to undoing sacrificial rituals is to “unmask” the victim, to allow him to maintain his identity.  Without an identity, the victim becomes a scapegoat, and thus the cycle of violence is continued.  Yet while the Kaihogyo practitioner is stripped of his human identity—he is, in fact, “dead” to his community from the beginning of his practice—the ritual remains bloodless.  The community stays removed from the practice, expressing neither mimetic desire nor violent acts.  In the Kaihogyo we find Girard’s model misfiring.  If each aspect of sacrifice is present, why is collective violence not incited?

                 As explained earlier, becoming a Tendai monk involves the removal of all desires.  The practitioner, once free of longing or aspiration, may then enjoy a Buddhist lifestyle—deficit of any cravings.  Given this absence of desire, what then might induce a monk to undergo first the hundred-day practice, and then the thousand-day practice of the Kaihogyo? One would imagine that such hardships could only be endured if some great reward awaited the practitioner.  Yet the lack of desire in any Tendai monk invalidates this motive.  Perhaps, then, the Kaihogyo practitioner undertakes his quest on behalf of a higher power.  Indeed the only possible explanation for such self-sacrifice would be that the monk experienced a “calling”, requiring of him that the Kaihogyo be completed.  Out of his destiny, the voices of Soo and Fudo Myoo, whom he will one day embody, oblige the monk to endure the Kaihogyo.  It is thus that the practitioner, and later the ajari, have no desires of their own to fulfill.  The sacrifice then is like a gift, given to the community without any reciprocal expectations, but still legitimized by a death and rebirth.  Through a desire-free self-sacrifice, the practitioner is able to break Girard’s cycle of mimetic desire.  How can a crowd wish to be someone who does not wish anything himself?  The monk (and the ajari) is set apart from the community in yet another manner.  Coveting nothing, the monk’s existence is foreign to the crowd—they cannot identify with him, and therefore cannot wish to be him.  Without the ability to imitate what the ajari is, or the ability to imitate what the ajari desires (as Christian man imitates Christ’s desire to be like God), there can be no mimetic desire.  Without mimetic desire there can be no collective violence.      

The movements of the sacrificed also act to prevent such violence.  In Girard’s classic sacrifice, the crowd surrounds the victim, defining his role in the ritual.  The then power lies in the hands of the community—they determine who shall be victimized and thus it is the community that obscures the victim’s identity.  In a compete reversal of Girard’s form, the practitioner of the Kaihogyo circumambulates the crowd.  Here, it is the victim who determines his own destiny.  The power of definition belongs to the practitioner himself, and yet through his lack of desire, he obscures his own identity.  In contrast, the crowd is left powerless—they make none of the decisions regarding the person victimized, or how he shall be transformed.  Thus the community can only act as supportive bystanders, watching the ritual from the sidelines rather than performing it themselves.  By encircling his sacrificers, the victim determines his own fate. 

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